#im going to write the fic… eventually…

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a digital drawing of riz gukgak from fantasy high. in the front is a relatively small drawing of riz juggling books that are falling out of his hand and a phonecall, and he has a huge backpack on. he looks a bit overwhelmed, hair flying in all directions, and has a nervous smile on. in the background is a large shadow of riz, only one glowing eye and a shining gun visible. the background is red, giving an eerie feel. End ID]

Kill your best friend

Cheat your way to your rogue teacher

Announce your presidential campaign

Don't let them know how angry you are

LEARN TO RECOGNIZE A MONSTER

[utopiastri]

Hi, hello!!!

May i request sleep deprivation for the fic prompt, pretty please???? To be honest I'd be so happy with any ship (bc im obsessed with ur writing), but mayhaps landoscar or maxcar???🥺🥺🥺

Hope you are having a wonderful day!<3

-💫

💫 anon!!! hi lovely! thank you for the prompt! i hope you're having a lovely day too and i hope you enjoy some maxcar!!!

Of all the people that Oscar expected to bump into whilst walking around Monaco at 5am, he wouldn’t have bet on Max Verstappen.

Or, well, he wouldn’t have bet a lot on Max Verstappen – Monaco’s tiny and Max does live here, so it’s not entirely unreasonable to run into him. But still.

5am.

“Oscar! Mate, hi!”

Oscar does his best not to wince at how cheery Max is. From the way Max’s face falls slightly, he’s guessing he doesn’t do a particularly good job of it.

“Hey, Max,” he says quietly, giving him a tired smile.

“What are you doing up so early? I wouldn't have guessed you were a morning person.”

“Just, um, going for a walk, I guess.”

Max frowns. “Hm.”

He doesn’t elaborate any further. Oscar prays that the street lighting is dim enough for the dark circles under his eyes to stay hidden.

Eventually, when it becomes clear that Max isn’t going to say anything else, Oscar says, “Right, uh, I’ll see you.”

Oscar’s barely even turned around to start walking in the opposite direction when Max calls out, “Wait! What are you doing after your walk?”

Living the Monaco high life, Oscar thinks to himself, going back to bed and tossing and turning for another six fruitless hours.

“Nothing much,” is what Oscar actually says. In fairness, it isn’t exactly a lie.

“I was just finishing up my run. You should come back to mine for some breakfast,” Max suggests.

Oscar gives Max an assessing look and notes that he looks more like a person about to go for a run than one just finishing one up. Max folds his arms and raises an eyebrow, as if daring Oscar to call his bluff.

On another day, maybe Oscar would. But he feels so tired his bones are heavy with it and giving in is the much easier thing to do.

“Yeah, ok.”

-

Oscar doesn’t realise that the breakfast invite is a trap until he’s blearily blinking his eyes open a few hours later. Or, maybe ‘trap’ is the wrong word. ‘Trap’ implies that there was some trickery or persuasion involved. Max didn’t exactly have to do much convincing to get Oscar to take a seat on his sofa. And Max certainly didn’t have to do much convincing to get Oscar to let his eyes flutter shut, since they were very much doing that of their own accord.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Max calls from the kitchen. Oscar slowly begins to register where is. He bolts upright when he realises that he managed to fall asleep on Max’s sofa when the poor man had only invited him in for a pastry and some coffee.

“Shit, Max, I’m so sorry,” he says, trying to stand up from the sofa and only managing to almost fall flat on his face, his legs getting twisted in a knitted blanket Max must’ve thrown over him. His face flares bright red and he refuses to look in Max’s direction.

Unfortunately, Max has other plans. He feels Max’s gaze burn into the side of his face until finally Oscar looks up and meets Max’s eyes. He’s smirking ever so slightly.

“No apologising. You needed sleep and, for whatever reason, you cannot get it at home. So you slept on my sofa.” Max says it so matter-of-factly that Oscar almost finds himself nodding along.

“No, wait,” Oscar shakes himself and reminds himself that this is ridiculous, “Max, it wasn’t fair, or, I mean, it was rude of me to fall asleep on your sofa.”

“No, it wasn’t, I didn’t mind.”

Oscar groans slightly. “Well, maybe, you should mind.”

A calculating look appears on Max's face. “To clarify," he says, "You object to the part where you fell asleep on my sofa?”

“Yes,” Oscar says firmly.

“Fine. I agree you should not fall asleep on my sofa.”

“Good.”

“You should fall asleep on my bed.”

“What?” Oscar splutters staring at Max, “Hang on.”

However, Max is too busy grabbing Oscar by the arm and frogmarching him through his flat to take heed of Oscar's request for him to hang on. Oscar’s so bewildered by this turn of events he doesn’t even fight the manhandling that much. Before he knows it, he finds himself sat down on Max’s giant bed, staring up at him.

Max is smirking again.

“There, problem solved. You can’t fall asleep on the sofa if you’re asleep in my bed.”

“Max,” Oscar starts.

Max raises an eyebrow ready to counter whatever Oscar’s next argument will be. Oscar sighs.

He knows when he’s beaten. Max smile grows even wider.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me." He turns to leave but Oscar, almost without thinking, grabs his hand before he can.

His skin starts tingling where it's touching Max's and he does his best to ignore it. Oscar swallows. “Stay?” he asks, voice nothing more than a whisper.

Oscar thinks he might have found the one thing to say that would catch Max off-guard, even if that wasn’t his intention. His expression doesn’t shift, but Oscar can just about make out two dots of pink high in Max’s cheeks.

“Are you sure?”

“Stay,” Oscar repeats, less of a request and more of a command.

Max takes a second but eventually nods and crawls into the other side of the bed. Oscar carefully arranges his body so it's not touching Max's at all and then has to do his best not to react when he feels Max reach out and gently interlock their fingers. “Sleep,” he whispers.

Oscar convinces himself the kiss he feels pressed to his forehead is purely induced by sleep deprivation.

[glasvera]

Hi not sure if your looking for requests but can you write something like the fic you just posted with punisher and winter smut but this time just winter? (Ps if you want could you add his kraken tentacles bc im are real sucker for those.please and thank you!)

Oh I GOT you-

What You Do To Me

Winter Soldier x Fem!Reader

Description: You've recently acquired a new hero suit, and suddenly, Bucky's performance is suffering. Your obliviousness to his plight is maddening, and eventually something in him is going to snap.

Warnings/Disclaimers: SMUT (18+ only, Minors DNI!!!!), cursing, clothed sex, Bucky's arm tentacles, asphyxiation, rough sex, vaginal sex, tentacle bondage

A/N: Marvel Rivals has been doing a really good job of getting me all hot and bothered for characters I didn't think twice about when they were in the MCU. Godsdamn.

Word Count: 3.2k

“Hey! Barnes! Snap out of it!”

His teammate’s voice finally breaks through to him just in time for him to duck in cover while a sniper’s bullet grazes his organic arm. Bucky winces in pain and shakes his head to clear his mind; this mission hasn’t been his best work by far. He was being reckless. None of his teammates needed to tell him that.

But, then again, you had just begun debuting your new super suit. A skin tight leotard clings to your curves, lifting you in all the right places. Your tights stop at your thighs, leaving the rest of your skin exposed as they squish into the plush of your legs. I mean, could anyone really blame him for ogling?

“Bucky!” he hears your lilting voice call out as you make your way over to him, worry etched into your features.

Oh great. Now he’s never going to get you out of his head.

You slide over to hide behind cover with him, and he instinctively catches you by the waist to halt your momentum. A yelp escapes you when he inadvertently tugs you close to him. His metallic hand is cold, even through the fabric of your suit. You could have sworn it felt like it was trembling. But you don’t have time to think about that when you see the blood soaking into his shirt sleeve. Your hand hovers over it in an instant, your eyes closing shut and muttering the proper words as a cool blue light pours out from your palm, and he groans out his relief even if he shoots you a glare afterwards.

“Don’t worry about me. Get to the rest of the team and do your job.” He hadn’t meant to put so much venom into his voice, but you being this close to him was driving him crazy. He could smell your perfume, feel the curve of your bosom when he pulled you to him, hear the sweet concern in your voice as you uttered your incantations. Being around him right now was dangerous for you, and it wasn’t because of his reckless fighting.

That doesn’t stop him from feeling terrible pangs of guilt when you recoil from him, visibly hurt. “I…”

But this is the battlefield, and there is still truth to his words. You steel yourself and nod briskly. “Right. Of course. Be careful, Soldier,” you respond curtly before taking off back into the fray.

Even with you tending to the rest of the team, Bucky couldn’t get you out of his head. It was starting to frustrate him endlessly. Frustration, at least, was an emotion he could channel. His attacks get more aggressive, his shots more deadly, and he ensures every enemy who crosses his path feels his pent-up rage. That doesn’t mean he dodges well, however, and as your team finishes off the remaining stragglers, he’s a sweating, bloody, bruised mess. The adrenaline begins to fade, and suddenly it’s much more difficult to stand up straight.

You had followed his orders to the letter, leaving him to his own devices. You trusted Bucky, after all. He had been one of your partners for quite some time now. But now that the battle was over, you knew it was best to check up on him. You’d seen the way he was fighting. With an exasperated sigh, you approach him to help him to the med bay. He stiffens a bit but doesn’t protest when you throw his arm over your shoulder. The two of you stumble over to the make-shift medical center, and you lie him down onto a low table.

“S…Stop fussin’ over… over me,” he mumbles weakly when you place your hands over his wounds. “‘M fine… I swear.”

You let out a deep sigh and shake your head. “If you were fine, I wouldn’t have had to drag you back here. Let me take care of you.”

Bucky doesn’t hear a word of it. His ears are ringing, and his eyes are glued to your lips as you speak. Lips that would look so pretty wrapped around his--fuck. It’s too late, and he can feel the blood beginning to rush south. He lets out a low groan and turns his head away from you. If you were going to heal him no matter what he said, then he would just have to do everything in his power to avoid looking at you.

You take his silence as defeated compliance and continue your work. Your eyes shut tight, and you recite your healing spells while hovering your hand over different parts of his body. With the extent of his injuries, the two of you stayed behind long after all the others had left. That much time leaves far too much of it for Bucky’s mind to wander. Closing his eyes doesn’t help. He can still smell the faint fragrance of your perfume, and occasionally you rest your hands directly atop his body to better channel your magics.

It’s maddening.

And what’s worse is that you’re completely oblivious to the effect you have on him. When he shifts about, you can only assume it’s from the pain. With his mask on, you can’t see the way his face reddens with each escalating fantasy in his mind.

“Ah!”

Your sudden scream yanks him out of his perverted day dreams, and his eyes snap open to find his metal arm having come to life. The plates have withdrawn and tentacles wrap around your wrists, binding them together in front of you.

“Y/N! I’m so sorry!” he apologizes as he reigns himself in and sheathes his eldritch appendages back into his arm. Fuck, when had he…?

You were completely caught off guard, your chest heaving with your quickened breaths. It had happened just as you were finishing tending to the last of his wounds, and it was so sudden you had no chance to react. Of course you had seen Bucky use these in battle to crush his enemies, and so of course for a split second you were absolutely terrified. But they had been surprisingly gentle, looking only to restrain rather than constrict or break. This only left you even more confused.

“I-I… I’m okay,” you reassure him as you stare down at your wrists. When you finally meet his gaze, you can see the way his brow furrows. “Are… are you okay, Bucky?”

Why did you have to look so damn cute when you worry over him? Why did your suit hug your tits so perfectly as you leaned over him? His face feels hot, and he rips off his mask in a desperate attempt to ease his discomfort. It does little to help.

“Can’t… can’t control myself around you,” he mumbles mostly to himself, but with his mask off you’re able to pick up on his words.

“What do you…?” After a few moments, a few glances at his flushed face and blown pupils, you catch on to his meaning. You blush and let out a soft, “Oh.”

Did the Winter Soldier really think about you like that? But then the pieces are falling into place, and all of his behaviors from the last few hours are starting to make a lot more sense. Sure, you were hoping to catch his eye with your new suit. You’d been crushing on him for a while. You never would have expected to have such a strong effect on him, though. Admittedly, you felt empowered by it.

Bucky suddenly sits up then, ready to push himself off of the table. “You did your job. I should be going.”

But you place a hand on his chest, not using much force, but enough that he stays seated and eyes you dangerously.

“Let me go, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire.”

Despite his words, he scoots back slightly as you get closer. You rest one knee on the table alongside his hip, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you throw your other leg over him and straddle him. The bare skin of your thighs scrapes along the rough fabric of his cargo pants.

“Maybe I want to get burned,” you retort seductively.

His jaw clenches, and he takes in a deep breath. You were going to be the death of him.

“Last warning,” he growls. “I’m not gonna be gentle.”

Oh gods, you don’t want him to be gentle when he talks like that. You settle onto his lap, and his hardness presses up against your core deliciously. You grind against him as your hands grab hold of his vest collar. Strong hands grip your hips, trying to hold you still, but you can see the turmoil in his eyes. It’s taking every ounce of his restraint to keep him from fucking you like an animal.

Well then, you just need to break through that last little bit.

“I don’t want you to be gentle,” you purr as you raise a hand to trace your finger along his jaw.

He jerks his hips up into you then, releasing a staggered breath as his head hangs low. “Shit…”

The pad of your index finger encourages him to lift his chin and look at you again, and it’s at least some consolation to him that your eyes seem just as crazy with desire as he feels. “I’m a healer, Barnes. You can be rough with me.”

That’s it. The final thread snaps. He grabs a handful of your ass and cradles your head with the other, lifting and tossing you so you lie on the table beneath him. His lips crash onto yours. Technique is abandoned for raw desire as a clash of teeth and tongue ensue, but it’s so rough and devouring that you moan low in your throat. He bites and tugs on your lower lip until it’s swollen, tangles his fingers into your hair and pulls until it almost hurts, and his metallic fingers squeeze and fondle your breast through your suit. Your legs wrap around his waist and you desperately try to grind up against him to relieve the aching pressure in your core.

He breaks the kiss, pulling back to admire his handiwork as you stare up at him with half-lidded eyes, and immediately attacks your neck. He bites just below your ear and sucks hard on the skin before laving his tongue along the bruise he leaves. 

“Ahn… Bucky…” you moan, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck.

His name on your lips is intoxicating, and he growls against your skin as he grinds his growing bulge against your needy cunt. His hand leaves your breast to tug desperately at the neckline of your leotard and reveal more unmarked skin. At least this suit was made to withstand all sorts of stress and impacts that would destroy normal fabri-

RIIIIIP

It tears like paper in his grip, and you gasp out in surprise when he rips it straight down the middle. The sight of more and more of you bared before him sends him into a frenzy, and you notice the metal plates shifting as though those tentacles of his were begging to break free. This unrestrained side of him shouldn’t turn you on this much, but you can feel the wetness pool in response.

For a split second, a flicker of remorse passes over his face. “Sorry,” he mutters, but just as quickly he returns to pawing at your flesh and fondling your exposed breast.

Your arms leave his neck and you raise them above your head, crossing your wrists.

“I told you not to hold back,” you state simply, looking pointedly at his metallic arm.

He cocks his head to the side and gives you a warning glare. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he argues, but he can’t deny that the thought of it was drawing forth incredibly hot images in his mind.

“What, you think I’m not strong enough for a little bondage?” you accuse, pouting and sticking out your kiss-swollen lips.

“That’s not--fuck,” he stammers, words failing him as he feels the last of his self-control slipping away. “If I hurt you--”

“--I’ll heal it later,” you interrupt him, bringing your hands down to cup his face tenderly. “Bucky, if I didn’t want this, if I didn’t want all of you, I wouldn’t be here.” His movements stop as his attention focuses on your face and your words. You nod your head towards his metallic arm that looks ready to burst at its vibranium seams. “I know you can control it. I trust you. Plus,” you pause, shooting him a flirty smirk as you return your arms to rest above your head, “what kind of girl would I be if I didn’t take advantage of the Winter Soldier’s tentacles?”

A breathy chortle vibrates from his chest. “You’re terrible. And kinky.” He lowers his head just inches away from your lips, capturing your gaze. Metal slides and shrieks as plates shift, and you hear the quiet slithering before you feel tendrils wrapping around your wrists again.

“And it’s fucking sexy,” he finishes before kissing you again.

Those tendrils don’t stop at your wrists. You feel them parting the remaining fabric of your ruined leotard, wrapping around your breasts, curling around your thighs… Bucky ruts into you shamelessly now, grunting animalistically into the kiss as he spears his tongue into your mouth. You fight for dominance but relent quickly as his lips and tongue devour your very essence, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. Resting his weight on a mass of tendrils, he quickly unbuckles his belt and nearly rips the button and zipper off of his pants as he tries to free his cock. The weight of it falls solidly against your stomach, and you whimper at the heat of it against your skin.

“Mm…” you moan between kisses. “Fuck me,” you mutter against his lips.

Oh, that sound was definitely being archived in his memory for later. But you teased him to the breaking point earlier, so it’s only fair that he returns the favor.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he asks, taking himself in hand and stroking it as he nudges the tip teasingly against your clit. You frown up at him and let out a soft mewl. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Bucky,” you keen. “Please…”

“Please what?” he taunts, rubbing the tip up and down your drooling slit. You try to buck up against him, but tentacles wrap around your hips and hold you down.

“Please!” you practically cry out. “Please fuck me!”

“Fuck, that’s a good girl.”

He lets out a triumphant huff before guiding his cock to your entrance. Slick with your juices, he slides in slowly yet easily, only giving you just long enough to accommodate to the stretch before pushing in further. Your head falls back against the table with a soft thud as a low moan drawls from your lips. He fills you perfectly. Once he starts moving in and out, you can feel every delicious draw of his length along your walls.

“Yes, fuck…” you curse as your ankles lock behind his waist. The tentacles on your hips release their grasp, instead traveling upward to wrap around your beautiful neck. You feel Bucky hesitate, but once they squeeze you gently, he can’t miss the way your pussy clenches around his cock in response. Fuck, there was no way he was going to be able to last long with you. Not if you were going to keep being this kinky, this sexy.

You angle your hips up to meet his thrusts as he increases his pace. Immediately your moans increase in pitch as he starts hitting that perfect, spongy spot inside you. His pubic bone hits your clit with every thrust, and your thighs quiver around him as you feel the pleasure building. The tendrils around your neck squeeze harder, leaving you with just enough air to remain conscious, and yet another snakes down your stomach to circle your bundle of nerves. You were in heaven, your eyes going crossed as he fucks you in earnest. He goes harder, faster, grunting as he palms your breast and pinches the nipple between his fingers.

CRACK!

That’s the only warning you have before the table snaps straight down the middle, and both of you go crashing down to the ground. It takes you both by surprise, but Bucky is too far gone to let it affect him for long. Instead, the tentacles wrapped around you lift you and reposition you until you’re on your knees. You’re thankful to still have your tights on as your knees meet rough concrete, but that’s the last sane thought you have before Bucky enters you from behind. The tendrils around your wrists lift your arms up so your back is arched against his chest as he leans over you. His arm wraps around your waist and grips tight, fucking into you like a feral animal and panting desperate growls and grunts into your ear.

Tendrils leave your neck and you gasp for air, and then they’re replaced by Bucky’s firm hand. He doesn’t choke you, instead content to feel the curve of your neck beneath his fingers as his thumb caresses your jawline. Your moans go uninhibited now, singing a song of lust and debauchery for his ears alone.

This angle has him somehow hitting your g-spot even more thoroughly, and the tentacle at your clit flicks and rubs ceaselessly. You can feel yourself getting close, and the way you spasm and clench around his cock drives him closer and closer to the edge himself. Your velvety walls suck him in like they never want him to leave, like his dick was made to be in your pussy.

“Bucky, I-I’m, I… fuck--”

“Me too, Y/N,” he concurs in a gravelly voice.

He fucks you with reckless abandon, bringing you closer, closer, closer--

“Cum for me,” he commands before taking your earlobe between his teeth.

The coil shatters, and a wordless scream leaves your jaw slack as you shudder and convulse around him. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over you in its hedonistic warmth. Bucky follows soon after, his thrusts quickening and his groans growing more and more feverish. With a few final thrusts and a guttural roar, he empties himself in your womb. He’s panting, sweating through his clothes, and the two of you collapse sideways onto the cold concrete floor as you catch your breath.

“That was…” you breathe out, not even sure what the rest of the sentence was supposed to be.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, returning his tendrils to the safety of his metallic arm as it shifts back to its original shape. He hugs you close, spooning you and holding you gently. It was a stark contrast to the way he was pounding into you just moments ago. “Stay with me for a while?” he asks you softly.

Yeah, you were definitely going to need to heal yourself after that. But for now? This…

This is nice.

You respond to him by snuggling closer against him, resting your arms over his. You can stay like this for as long as he wants you to.

[major-alenko]

anyway it’s kind of depressing and scary in the USA today so here’s my ✨shenko wedding headcanons✨ for Kaidan and Tara

Kaidan proposes in the back half of ME3, before Thessia. His comment during Leviathan about “Let’s make sure we never let time slip by us, okay?” is him thinking about it. to me.

They decide to do it on shore leave and have a private civil ceremony on the Citadel. (Citadel DLC elopement!!)

Liara and Steve are their witnesses. Kaidan and Tara want to keep their wedding low-key because of the war and they don’t trust their other friends to keep quiet (lovingly).

They get married in their dress blues bc those are the nicest clothes they have!! But they get matching cheap silicone rings bc of work lol.

Anderson busts them immediately when they get to the apartment bc they’re goofing around and Kaidan’s trying to carry Tara over the threshold like a dork while he’s on the comm lol

Joker does not notice the ring when Tara meets him for dinner. In his defense, however, he doesn’t really get a chance before they’re under fire.

When everyone comes over, Kaidan and Tara are sweating bullets, bc they’re gonna notice. Someone’s going to figure it out.

And they do, in the Archives when Wrex overhears Tara joke about “This isn’t how I expected to spend our wedding night…” “Your WHAT???!” *sounds of absolute chaos and betrayal over the radio*

The party at the end is a combination of shore leave celebration and belated wedding reception. Even though they swear they’re going to have a “real” wedding after the war is over for everyone.

Kaidan: “Are you gonna tell your mom that we’re married when you call her?” Tara: “…” (she will)

Tara does take Kaidan’s name, but for identification purposes, she probably hyphenates. Or at least accepts the fact that no one is going to ever stop calling her Shepard, especially not their friends lmao

[lonelychicago]

r/relationship_advice

u/hot_pilot84 • 2d ago

MY (40M) BOYFRIEND? (33M) IS IN LOVE WITH HIS BEST FRIEND (36M) AND IM THE THIRD WHEEL

I'm new to this reddit stuff, but a coworker suggested it, and I thought I'd give it a try. I probably should start saying he's not really my boyfriend??? We just started dating a few weeks ago, and it's been... interesting. But I really like him and he is a nice, sweet guy.

He recently came out, so I've been trying to be patient and understanding. But recently it's been hard to spend any time alone because his best friend is always there.

Now, I also like the guy, so I don't really mind, and to be honest, I kinda suspected from the first moment they were in love with each other. They both talk about each other all the time, and when we hang out together, I can't help but feel like intruding on an intimate moment I shouldn't be part of.

Like, our second date was at his sister's wedding and the best friend spent most of the time glued to our side. He has a son who my date adores, so they danced together for most of the party as well. It was cute, but again: it felt like intruding on a private moment.

Then we had a relaxing night at his place, eating take out on his couch and watching a movie.... when the best friend just, came in. No notice, no knocking. He has a key to the place and he just walked in. It was awkward at first but we insisted it wasn't a big deal so he stayed for tge rest of the night.

By the time I was leaving, my date was telling him to just get comfortable on the couch.

Another thing is. My date? Situationship? I don't know how to call it anymore. Well, I recently found out that he is the legal guardian of his best friend 's kid? In case anything happens? I wouldn’t find this weird at all if it wasn't for the fact this man has parents and sisters and other close family members that also have a less chance of dying along with him on the job. (They work together.)

Also. Recently, the best friend broke up with his girlfiend and called this guy in the middle of our date. So, he crashed again.

All of this to say, I'm not really hurt? This was new and sure, I like the guy. But to be honest my expectations were low. This is fairly recent, so it's not like my heart is broken and I just lost the love of my life. No, that's not the problem.

I just don't think these two know they're in love with each other, and it’s starting to get really uncomfortable for me. Should I say something? Should I talk with my date about it or just break things off and keep it vague, but that we should still be friends? Should I talk with both of them at the same time and confront the situation?

This is a situation I don't even know how to begin to get a handle on. Does anyone know where I should start?

rctherpcliarredditor • commented 1d ago

to be honest, i don't really have any advice for you. i just find this gay drama really hilarious. thoughts and prayers for you, my man 🙏🏼🙏🏼

twohottakes • commented 6hrs ago

definitely have a conversation alone with your date. point all of this out to him and tell him you don't wanna get in the middle if there's deeper feelings involved for someone else. all the luck to you, man!

storyreddit23 • commented 2hrs ago

talk to ur date!! and pls, post an update if u do. i wanna know how this ends.

[hauntingofhouses]

We all already know Mizu and Akemi are narrative foils. But you know what? Lemme just say it, here's what I think:

Taigen and Mikio are foils.

Not necessarily to each other as individuals in the way that Mizu and Akemi juxtapose each other, but mostly in the contrast between their relationships with Mizu.

I've covered specific parallels between Taigen and Mikio in other posts I wrote; but as the number of parallels I'm noticing between them keeps piling up, I'm compelled to just compile them all in one post. So! This is, thus, the post in question.

First of all, let's look at their similarities.

1. Their status in society is the same. They are both samurai who lost their honour and have dreams of reclaiming it.

2. They are also both diligent as they strive to achieve this goal, they both care deeply about their work, but here as they begin to contrast, as the work in question and way they go about their goals is different:

For Mikio, his work is in taming and rearing horses; in order to prove himself, he must tame Kai—a willful and strong horse—and present it to his lord. For Taigen, his work is in sword fighting and martial arts; in order to prove himself, he must kill Mizu—a willful and strong swordsman—and present her dead body to his lord.

In the parallel above, not only are Taigen and Mikio contrasting each other, but Mizu and Kai are placed in comparison as well. And of course, Kai is Mizu's horse, and represents her. Which is why, when later, Mikio sells Kai off, it represents the way he is tossing Mizu (and their relationship) aside.

From there, the rest of the details of their character begin to contrast and juxtapose each other more clearly. So let's look at those differences, shall we?

Their backstory:

Mikio was a great samurai who was banished. A somebody to a nobody. Taigen was a fisherman’s son who rose to the top. A nobody to a somebody.

2. The first time we meet them on-screen:

Mikio is an adult. An older man. Mizu's superior in age. He is Mizu's to-be husband. A love interest. Taigen is a child. A young boy. Mizu's peer in age. He is Mizu's bully. An antagonist.

3. Their maturity and growth:

Mikio is mature, but stuck in his ways. Taigen is immature, but capable of changing and learning.

4. Their overall attitude:

Mikio is generally relaxed, easy-going and unfussy. Taigen is uptight, irritable and severe.

5. How they talk to and conduct themselves around Mizu:

Mikio is aloof, soft-spoken, and serious. Taigen is obnoxious, brash, and sarcastic. Mikio is quiet, speaking only when spoken to, even when Mizu turns to smile at him and shows openness to be near him. Taigen is loud, talking while others are silent, even when Mizu turns from him and shows no interest in conversing with him.

Mikio doesn't show much of who he is to Mizu throughout their marriage, despite their growing affection. Taigen openly shares his traumas and life story to Mizu during their brief alliance, despite their mutual antagonism.

6. Their external vs internal selves:

Mikio is calm, gentle, and considerate on the outside. Taigen is hot-headed, rude, and selfish on the outside. Mikio is cowardly and deceitful on the inside. Taigen is brave and loyal to a fault on the inside. Mikio tells Mizu that he wants to know and see all of her. But he scorns and betrays her, the woman he loves. Taigen tells Mizu that he wants to duel and kill him. But he endures torture to not betray him, the man he hates.

9. Their hair, a symbol of their honour:

Mikio's topknot is untied by Mizu during their spar. This humiliation occurs in private, the two of them alone in a rural location where no one can see them. Taigen's topknot is cut off by Mizu during their duel. This humiliation occurs in public, the two of them being watched by many others in the Shindo Dojo.

10. Their power dynamic with Mizu:

Mikio believes he is Mizu's mentor. He teaches her to throw knives, how to ride and care for horses, and about the tactical benefits of using a naginata. Taigen believes he is Mizu's equal. He views Mizu as a samurai like himself who received all the same teachings he did, and who possesses the same values.

11. Their perceptions of Mizu:

Mikio sees Mizu's feminine side first. He sees her as sweet and gentle, but also clumsy and incompetent. Taigen sees Mizu's masculine side first. He sees her as terrifying and deadly, but also strong and skilled.

12. The way they approach sparring with Mizu:

Mikio only spars with Mizu once. As the fight progresses and she is beating him, he tries to put a stop to it. When she teases/provokes him, he starts taking the fight personally and seriously, finding no enjoyment in it. Taigen spars and brawls with Mizu all the time. No matter how many times Mizu beats him, he doesn't back down. When Mizu challenges him with a chopstick, he is eager to compete with her and gladly rises up to the challenge.

Mikio and Mizu's one and only spar is a friendly match; Mizu is smiling and having fun while he grows increasingly frustrated. Taigen and Mizu's last-seen spar is a playful wrestling match; both him and Mizu are having fun and laughing.

Mikio cannot deal with Mizu being better than him, so he scorns her and walks off, avoiding her thereafter. When Taigen cannot deal with Mizu being better than him, he follows her to observe her moves and continues training in hopes to eventually beat her. After being bested by Mizu once, Mikio leaves her and sells the horse he'd previously gifted to her. After many times losing to Mizu and fighting alongside her, Taigen commends her and admits she is better than him.

13. When Mizu pins them down in a friendly spar:

Mikio sees Mizu's whole face objectively. Taigen stares at Mizu's mouth and eyes.

Mikio gets angry when she kisses him, throwing her off of him and snapping at her, calling her a monster. Taigen gets aroused, apologising, so she pulls herself off of him.

14. Mizu's blue meteorite sword is a reflection of her soul. She believes most are undeserving to face it, let alone hold it. And on that note:

Mikio is the first person (chronologically) that Mizu fights against using her sword. Taigen is the first person (we see on-screen) that Mizu fights against with her sword. Mikio is the first person (chronologically) to ever hold her sword, as she passes it to him, letting him wield it. Taigen is the first person (we see on-screen) to ever hold her sword, as she passes out, and he picks it up and carries it for her.

15. Then, last but not least, in Fowler's fortress, when she is drugged and in pain, she hears Ringo's voice in the dungeon. She then follows it to an open cell:

Mizu first sees Mikio as a hallucination, the sight of him haunting her and causing her to lose her grip on reality. Her eyes glow a surreal blue to represent this. Her Mama appears then and says Mizu's name accusingly.

Mizu then sees Taigen, but he is real, the sight of him a relief and grounding her back to reality. Her eyes return to their normal blue colour to represent this. Taigen looks at Mizu weakly and says her name softly.

Then, later, when facing Fowler, her revenge awaiting her, she instead chooses to follow her conscience (represented by Ringo's voice in her mind), putting aside her vengeance for a time, in order to save Taigen.

So that's basically all the ones I've noticed so far, but even then, I feel there's already so much that forms a contrast between these two.

What makes it especially incredible about these juxtapositions is that Mikio was Mizu's husband, the man she had fallen in love with, the one person she had ever been intimate with, the man who made her begin to accept herself, to put down her desire for vengeance and instead live a life of peace and happiness.

So for Taigen to have so many parallels with him... Do you see what I'm saying here!

Not to mention that Mizu clearly already has some burgeoning attraction to him, as indicated by how she thinks of him when asked about her desires. And Taigen clearly has shown interest as well (see: him getting a boner after their spar, him holding her hand and telling her, "We're not done yet.").

And on the topic of speculating future possibilities of this relationship, this post by @stromblessed has pointed out yet another parallel between Taigen and Mikio:

Mizu promises Taigen to meet him for their duel in autumn. Mizu fell in love with Mikio and duelled him during autumn.

With all that said, I do believe Mizu and Taigen's relationship is definitely hurtling towards something. But whether they will actually end up together in a sustainable relationship and have a happily ever after? Well, that is a whole other story; we'll just have to wait and see.

[lovesickeros]

☆ decadence divine [ act I ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, neuvillette, furina {☆} notes yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings yandere content, stalking (implied), kidnapping (implied) {☆} word count 2.3k

ARLECCHINO

Arlecchino was wont to leave social gatherings to her subordinates– the private meetings were where she thrived. It was so much easier to lure your prey into a trap when you didn't have prying eyes and ears waiting for the barest hint of blackmail.

She clicked her tongue in distaste, her eyes narrowing beneath the mask of the fox as she set down her cup sharply. It was difficult as it was to draw them from the safety of their bubble– at the slightest hint of danger, her quarry would run. A chase would be fun, but she couldn't risk getting caught here. The political nightmare it would cause..it already gave her a headache. She had to be discreet.

They weren't making it easy, however.

Which is why she never liked crowds. But this chance didn't come by every day. She wasn't going to simply let it pass by because of a little danger. She'd have them eventually, it was just a matter of how. There were already numerous of her own lingering in the crowds, hidden beneath the masks that every patron bore. It was difficult to stand out amongst the flurry of masked patrons constantly shifting around the room, moving from one conversation to another, gliding from one dance partner to another.

Her heeled boots clicked sharply against the tile as she stalked through the crowds, keeping a wide berth yet always lingering nearby– she was sure they could feel the vague sense of being watched, but with the huge crowds..her lips quirked into a grin with the barest flash of teeth. There were a great many ways to break them in– she'd spent a great amount of time and mora to get anything she could for blackmail, if she so wished. She had the backing of the Fatui as well if she played her cards right– it wouldn't be difficult to convince them that they were a valuable target, and none of them would dare to question just what she did with them afterwards.

Perhaps a bit of play, first. Test the waters. She was familiar with playing the polite gentleman, despite her status as a Fatui Harbinger. Stage something for her to intervene, perhaps, to look the hero. The look of shock when she revealed the wolf beneath the wool..she could see it already. That wide, doe-eyed look as they realized the monster they've followed blindly like a lost lamb..she was beginning to see the appeal.

All it took was a few hushed words and subtle signals before the tiles started to fall in place, her hand gliding along their lower back as she leaned over their shoulder with a thin, predatory smile. She'd have to organize for the agent to be released later, her eyes following as the Gardes dragged him out of the room in a flurry of curses, but for now..she tilted her head to peer down at them, polite and almost apologetic.

"You aren't too startled, are you? Now now, there's no need to look so..scared, poor thing. I won't let another lay a hand on you," She cooed in a sickly sweet tone, the husky rasp of her voice whispered in their ear like dripping honey. "You have my word. Now, why don't we get you some fresh air? Come. Allow me to escort you."

Her lips pulled into a jagged grin at the relief in their eyes– the blind lamb following the shepherd as it led them into it's maw. Just a little longer, and she could finally have her own caged bird– a pretty thing to admire, to protect, to possess.

Something no one else would ever touch again. Something hers.

NEUVILLETTE

Neuvillette was not one for parties. The intricacies and delicate handling of public relations he oft left in the capable hands of Furina, rather then himself. It was only at her behest he even attended at all, but he still felt rather..out of place amongst the bodies constantly shifting through the ballroom like a constant rush of water from one end to the other, no rhyme nor reason to the flow. The only thing that kept him afloat among the tides was the mask of the deer obscuring his face– even if it was exceedingly difficult to truly hide himself among the crowds, most passed over him without second thought.

Though he had to be honest with himself, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it to Furina despite her insistence that his attendance was mandatory. He had his own reasons for coming– selfishness that left a sour taste in his mouth. It was purely by chance he'd seen the briefest glimpse of them prior, and he..was intrigued, that was all.

He refused to let his thoughts linger on the sleepless nights he spent prying every piece of information he could from loose tongues and obscure documents, every moment he managed to squeeze in between trials spent lingering in their most favored locations– cafes, stores, restaurants, the like.

Now a masquerade.

He tried not to let the guilt gnaw at his conscious, but it lingered like an age old scar that still ached.

So he relegated himself to simply residing in the further corner, nursing a goblet of water like a fine wine, trying not to let his eyes stray to the brief glimpses of them through the ever moving bodies filling the center of the room, dancing like puppets in music boxes.

Still, his hand twitched in an instinctual desire– a need to clasp his hand in their own, to touch his lips upon their knuckles, to indulge in a moment of reprieve and unshackle himself from the mantle that bears heavy upon his shoulders. He seeks reverence, worship, but not of himself– but towards the one who had drawn the eye of the dragon amongst the waves of humans he'd seen come and go for a great many years.

No one could compare, he is certain. None have left him as breathless, as hopelessly infatuated, as the one who made him wish only to kneel at their feet in senseless reverence until he could no longer speak. A hopeless man, indeed, if he has never even truly met them.

Instead he's spent his time prying into their life from the shadows. Caution, or simple cowardice?

He dares not ponder.

Yet in his ceaseless pondering he'd blocked out the world without, failing to notice the figure stepping up beside him until their hand brushed against his elbow– just the briefest touch, but it had his pupils narrowing and his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. That touch..bliss. It left him breathless and lightheaded as he tilted his head to regard them, his lips parting in a shaky sigh. They are as beautiful as he remembers– even with their face obscured beneath the mask, he would never forget them.

"Greetings, Monsieur– I hope I didn't frighten you too much." Their laugh made him feel rather faint, just the sound of their voice making his hand tighten around his cane. "..Not at all. I was simply lost in thought." He admitted apologetically, trying to reign in the urge to cup their face between his palms. A dangerous thought. He didn't want to scare them off when they'd provided him a priceless opportunity.

"My apologies, you must have needed something. It was rude of me to have been so absorbed in my thoughts to have ignored you." He continued, gently turning to set his goblet down– offer them his full attention, be a gentleman. The words rang in his skull like a ceaseless alarm, blaring and rattling his thoughts as he gently took their hand in his own. It was a split second decision– an indulgence, but he could simply not help himself. Even with his gloves between them, he felt like he was going to lose his composure just from such a brief touch..

He truly was a hopeless man before an altar, praying for a salvation he intends to bury deep beneath the waves– to keep it hidden in the darkness of the depths that only he can reach. A selfish man, he must be, to even think of it, but it is an itch that he cannot scratch. A need that must be satisfied. He cannot allow any hands but his own to tend to them, to know what it feels to touch them, to hear their voice and see their eyes as he prays– prays like a man starved, devotion born of desperation.

"I hope I did not make you wait too long." He smiles, soft and affectionate, like the bloom of spring beneath the winters chill– yet just as deadly, only masked by the sweet fragrance of flowers.

He had waited too long.

No longer.

FURINA

Furina was right at home amongst the crowds– where the masks obscured the identities of most, it was impossible to not recognize the charming banter of the Hydro Archon beneath the mask of the lamb as she graced the masquerade with her presence, speaking with a silver tongue to any who would listen. A truly enthralled audience fitting for the grandest of performers in Fontaine.

But her eyes lingered not on the people who's praise dripped from their lips like honey– yet so very bitter upon her tongue. Even the mask obscuring her expression did little to hide the longing that had her visibly deflating like a popped balloon. She hated all the eyes on her, really– it was suffocating. She was only putting on a show in the foolish hope that they'd finally pay attention to her. Just her luck, she supposes, that instead she's had to throw herself straight into the role of Archon without a pay off..

They hadn't even spared her a glance! It would be infuriating if not for the fact she couldn't even keep her composure just seeing them across the room. They didn't even have to look at her and she could feel the heat rush to her ears as she forced another smile at the crowd gathered around her. It was unfair how easily they could fluster her without even knowing it– her heart was thumping so hard against her ribcage she felt like it might burst.

Her only solace was the fact none of the patrons seemed to realize she'd clocked out of the conversation, her thoughts and eyes lingering on the distant figure– what a lovestruck fool she makes..it was a chance encounter she'd seen them during one of her outings. That was all it took to enthrall her, evidentially, try as she might to have ignore it for months.

They never left her mind for longer then a day, in the end, and she had to face the fact they had managed to enrapture her so deeply she felt like a newborn lamb learning to walk whenever she so much as thought of them. What an embarrassment! She..she was the Archon, she had a reputation to maintain, she couldn't be seen fawning over a human.

But oh, she still longed for it, beneath the veneer of a God. She'd watched them more times then she'd admit even to herself, wishing to find herself in place of those who'd hands were cradled so casually in their own– to hear their voice, their laughter, as often as she pleased..like a fine delicacy she so badly wished to taste, yet so far from her reach.

Would they think her pathetic for her infatuation? She pursed her lips at the thought, trying to bury the sour mood beneath her faux image of the Archon. Yet it lingered, and with only the quietest of excuses, she slipped into the crowd like a ghost– she needed to leave before she did something..stupid. Neuvillette would surely have a few choice words with her if she did, and she was inclined to avoid such a fate.

She..she just needed a moment to collect herself was all. That was it. She could go back to playing Archon for a little longer, she just needed a moment to herself. At the very least, the balcony had been regarded as off limits so late into the party– which gave her an opportunity to slip out of the public view for the briefest of moments. A welcome reprieve– she was starting to feel suffocated amongst the crowds.

Perhaps on instinct, she reached for the mask, lifting ever so slightly away..only to let out a startled yelp at the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the mask slipping back into place far too easily. It made her lightheaded, even now, but she dared not to dwell on it.

But when she turned sharply on her heel to chew out the person who'd followed her and had the gall to scare her..oh, she was done for, her ears flush with heat. The brief glimpse of their eyes beneath the mask, the curl of their lips as they smiled– her heart stuttered in her chest, and she was certain it had stopped all together when they clasped her hand.

"Y–you.." She wanted to be angry, to brush them off and leave with her rationality in tact, but the warmth of their hands on her skin rendered her speechless. She was no better then a fish on land, struggling to fill her lungs with air as she drew in a shaky breath. "Ahem, you caught me off guard. That's all. Surely you do not make it a habit to sneak up on people?" She huffed in indignation, trying to mask the fluster that threatened to break through her carefully crafted facade.

Ah, what a cruel twist of fate..she'd slipped away to escape their allure, but here they were, dragging her back into their orbit without even knowing how deep her infatuation ran. They were alone, too..it was a chance she wasn't sure she'd ever get again.

Maybe, just this once, she could do something for herself rather then everyone else.

She buried her guilt, the fear– buried it beneath the need to be seen.

"But if you want to make it up to me.."

[good-beans]

*runs into the room out of breath* Prisoner @justzosiahere! Prisoner @archivalofsins ! You thought you'd seen the end of me, hm? Not so fast!

(Who knew healing up from my own injuries would take so long, but no matter 👏) The wardens have named you both guilty, and as their chosen hero, it's my job to ensure you get a taste of your own medicine! I'm sorry, but this is what everyone wants 🤷‍♀️

And @oboetemasuka, don't think I've forgotten you either...

Zosia's - Gunsli's - Kyanako's - and eh, I might as well post more art while I'm already doing my duty 🫡

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday

tagged by @tizniz @daffi-990 💖

just a tiny lil snippet of the bucktommy fic before I post it probably later tonight (it's basically almost done, and then I just need a title) ngl this whole fic turned out hornier than I expected but buck is just a baby bi who has his first boyfriend, and I am not immune to how hot tommy is okay 🙈 (buck and I have literally the exact same taste in men and women istg 🤣) i kinda wanted to turn it into smut but I want it posted before the episode and it turned out too long already haha

prev snippet

___

“When you’re ready.” Tommy says, his thumb tenderly brushing against where Buck’s birthmark is.

“Yeah.” Buck nods. “And when I am, I- Well, I bet you can teach me more stuff than just flying or Muay Thai.” he says half-jokingly, referencing the conversation right before their first kiss, when Buck didn’t even realize he was flirting until he thought back on it – which freaked him out, too, because how often did this happen before? Tommy just grins, all confident and charming, and leans in to press a soft but hungry kiss to Buck’s lips. Buck’s insides swirl and dance and make him feel all giddy and floaty. 

“Oh, I can teach you. I’m gonna.” he whispers, lightly pulling at Buck’s lip. Buck almost asks him to stay. Almost tries to bring Tommy closer, and thrust his hips up to make their clothed dicks collide again, wanting to feel that pressure again. He doesn’t, though. Which requires an impressive amount of self-control, if he says so himself.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @neverevan @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @theotherbuckley @buddieswhvre @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @your-catfish-friend @hippolotamus @bidisasterbuckdiaz

[mastercrownmonday]

ft. star dream

wow i wonder what shenanigans lie ahead

(sibling post on main)

[achenetype]

i’m in the business of losing your interest — kevin day // explicit

pairing: kevin day x reader

MDNI; explicit content, oral (m receiving), gender neutral reader, ex-raven!reader, past riko x reader, violence in flashbacks, riko is his own warning, reader has a warped view of consent and autonomy, slight allusions to stockholm (thanks ravens!)

you’re trailing behind kevin day as he pushes open the locker room door after a midnight practice. it’s pitch black outside, and the air seems to hang in place, hot and humid.

you catch the heavy door with your free hand and feel the impact travel from your fingertips to your shoulder. your muscles protest with the strain of the day; tiny ribbons of pain slither up your arm and settle in, making you all too aware of the dull ache that stretches through your whole body.

everyone is being ran ragged in preparation for the match against edgar allan. you know that. but there’s something off about it. the entire team seems on edge, like this match has much higher stakes than the normal collegiate sports amount.

you understand wanting to win, but you’d never trained so hard in your life—practices in the mornings were one thing, but practices at eleven and midnight were something else entirely. you’d barely had time to do anything besides work precision drills with kevin and practice passing and tackles with the rest of the team.

you’d set aside three hours to catch up on your homework yesterday, but you’d slept through them instead, too exhausted after trying to score on andrew for an entire practice to do anything but collapse into bed.

you spare a glance towards your backpack, leaned up against your locker, and sigh. that biology paper will have to wait.

kevin turns to you and tugs off his helmet. his hair is damp and he shakes his head, sending droplets of sweat flying. your own sweat sticks your jersey to your back, soaking through the fabric.

training with kevin was always ruthless, had always left you drenched in sweat and sore for days afterward. but it had never punched the breath out of your lungs like his eyes moving up and down your form did. normal practices, even night practices, had never made the room seem so warm as it felt to you now.

with no one else around, the world narrowed to a singular point; it mimicked the arc of the ball between kevin's racket and yours, a shimmering, invisible string connecting the two of you. tension threaded the space between you like a whip, snaking into every muscle and movement. it was electric and demanded feeding; you pushed and drove yourself until you couldn't give it anything more.

when you look at kevin, flushed and disheveled, with sweat dripping down his neck, you know that he's giving it just as much.

"good work out there," you say hoarsely. your throat feels raw, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

kevin flashes you a quick smile. "we're making progress."

that was another thing about kevin: nothing was ever good enough for him.

“my, uh, my blocking—” you start, and cut yourself off in the same breath. “you said it was sloppy, earlier.”

kevin nods. “you’re getting better,” he says, slowly.

this is so desperate, but you don’t even care.

you let yourself slide from one side of the lockers to the other, brushing your shoulder against kevin’s as you lean against the cold metal. “how?”

this is how it had worked back in the nest—you'd improve, slowly but surely. your learning curve wasn't as sharp as most of the other Ravens, but you could keep up and you were good at taking beatings when they came.

you'd smile up at riko, dizzy from his palm connecting with your cheek, tonguing at the cut on your lip where one of his rings had torn flesh. you'd taste the blood; it sat in your mouth like dirty coins.

you'd suck in a breath and rasp, "tell me again," and riko would stroke his thumb over your jaw before slapping you.

the crack of his hand against your face mixed with his words—your catches were better today. you would grin and spit a piece of a broken tooth at his feet. he would tangle his hands in your hair and yank you forward. with your face inches from his own, you could see every scar and dimple and imperfection. every time something had made a mark on him.

because riko let you see. because even when he hated you, even when you fucked up over and over, forcing him to punish you, he still trusted you.

you weren't sure if the same thing would work with kevin, but you missed the feeling so much that you had to try.

kevin runs a hand through his hair. "you're learning when to duck out of a grapple," he says. "when you got here, you wouldn't give up for anything. even if you knew you were outmatched."

"that's the Raven way," you say, light, joking. kevin raises an eyebrow and looks down at your chest, at the white 13 emblazoned on your orange jersey.

not a Raven anymore, his gaze seems to whisper.

he looks over at you and laughs softly. "you remember when dan paired you and matt together?"

"yep," you say, your face breaking into a smile—a genuine smile—at the memory. "i think i spent hours trying to get through him."

kevin nods. "you did. two hours, in fact."

you're a bit shocked that he remembered the exact time. kevin hadn't given you a second glance back at the nest until he walked in on you in riko's lap. you didn't think you were the kind of person people like him noticed.

"today, you turned out of my way like it was as easy as breathing," kevin continues. "and the ball didn't move an inch."

"did it," you murmur, stretching ever so purposefully so that your jersey rides up around your stomach.

he nods again. "you're improving faster than I thought. bad habits are hard to break." his shoulder brushes yours, gentle but firm with muscle, and he leans against you. "reckon you'll be better here than you ever were as a Raven."

your mind stops and starts for a few moments. it clicks like the sound that a car's turn signal makes: on-off-on-off in quick succession. before you can think better of it, you turn and lace your fingers with his, crashing your mouths together.

kevin pulls away, looking at you with something dark and unnameable. his face is flushed again, muddy red sitting high on his cheekbones. he licks his lips. they're the color of a fresh bruise and you hate yourself for it, hate yourself for what you've just done.

what you've just ruined.

"i'm sorry—" you say, your voice raw.

kevin's fingers are still laced with yours. it was a stupid move, to hold the two of you together like that. it meant that you could pull him around, but he could do the same to you.

you turn, your mind screaming get out get out go go go, but kevin's grip is tight. you can feel the ropes of his scar tissue against your palm, feel the twitch of his fingers as he runs his thumb over your knuckles.

"what are you doing," he murmurs. you can feel your breath coming in gasps, high and choked. "[Y/N]," kevin says again. "[Y/N], look at me."

you do, biting the inside of your cheek as you meet kevin's eyes.

"i should go," you breathe. "i need—i need to go."

your lungs feel the same way they did four months ago, when riko slammed his racket into your chest hard enough to crack your ribs. each breath feels like it could be your last. each drag of air through your throat is barbed wire, cutting you into tiny bloody ribbons.

kevin cups your face in his free hand and connects your mouths again, gentle but hungry. his teeth barely graze your bottom lip as you kiss him; you step backward until you feel the metal of the lockers.

"don't," kevin murmurs. "stay."

you kiss him again. he tastes like the second worst decision you've ever made.

"okay," you whisper. you slip your free hand under kevin's jersey and feel the scars there, ripples of tissue that break the uniformity of his stomach. some of these scars you remember, but some of them are new. you run your thumb over a puckered button of flesh on kevin's hip, feeling the shape of it.

you duck your head lower, mouthing at kevin's neck and his chest. sweat pools in the divots of his collarbones and you lick it up, flattening your tongue against his skin. he groans low in his throat and releases your hand to tangle his fingers in your hair.

“[Y/N],” he says. “is this—do you want this? really?”

you pause and laugh. “shouldn’t i be asking you that? i’m the one tryin’ to fuck you, aren’t i?”

he looks at you with something dark in his eyes as you separate your mouth from his hip with a wet pop. you lick your lips from your position on the floor, half-knelt in front of kevin like you’re praying.

for what? forgiveness? absolution?

what do you think doing this is going to accomplish?

“i know what it’s like,” kevin says, slowly, haltingly. “sex in the nest is simple because you don’t really have a choice. i’m telling you that you do have a choice with me.” he sighs and scratches lightly at your scalp. “so, do you want this?”

“i do,” you murmur, and it’s almost the first truth you’ve told all night. quieter, you say, “i don’t want us to be like we were before. i just—”

here’s what you think this is going to do:

“—i miss you,” you whisper, and let your forehead drop to rest against the sharp plane of kevin’s hipbone. you smell sweat, the faint chemical tinge of deodorant. “i miss us.”

you know there was no us. riko never let there be anything but no-strings-attached hookups between the two of you. you were their third, the moon that orbited a figure-eight between the gravity of their planets.

but you had always orbited a little closer to kevin. you think that was why riko hated you, when he left. a part of you left with him. a part that he couldn't get back.

(not only did he lose kevin, but he lost the part of you that was kevin, too. that somehow stung worse than anything. or you imagined it did—you're not sure anything could hurt riko. not anything you could do, anyway.)

but now kevin is here, standing above you in orange and white, with one hand in your hair and the other cupping your face. he does it tentatively, like he’s not sure whether such softness is allowed.

you wonder if he’s picturing you in red and black when he thumbs at your lips and presses down on your tongue.

you open your mouth wider easily, like you were born to do it. kevin smiles above you. “old habits, hm?”

a laugh bubbles in your throat, but it’s choked out when kevin pulls your face to rest against his clothed cock. he’s hard, even through the compression fabric of his shorts and boxers. you lap at him as much as you can around the fingers in your mouth before the hand disappears from your hair and reaches below his waistband.

to kevin’s credit, he’s more cleaned-up than he was in the nest. his happy trail runs in a thick line up his stomach, ending in a thatch of short-trimmed black curls just above the root of his cock. his thighs are thicker, though—stronger, more muscular despite the thick white stripes of scarring across them.

you press a kiss to his thigh, then his hip. he shudders above you and his hips twitch forward, the tip of his cock catching against your cheek and smearing precum there. he lets out a breathy groan when you press your lips to his tip and slowly sink down, hollowing your cheeks.

his hand moves back to your head and tangles into your hair, pulling tight as you bob your head up and down. you tongue at the vein on the underside of his cock; kevin lets out a whine in response, a tiny choked-off thing that curls up from his stomach and looses itself like an arrow from his lips.

kevin's hips rock into your mouth, staccato-needy-desperate. he's gasping something above you, something like god, something like you're so good, how did you get so good.

you pull back and whisper, "you. you."

when he finishes on your face and claps one hand over his mouth, when he cups your cheek and pulls you back to stand, your face still turned upward toward him like he's the sun, you know it:

you can never go back to being a Raven.

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a digital drawing of sandra lynn and sklonda from fantasy high. sklonda is sitting on sandra lynn's chest in her underwear and caressing sandra lynn's face. sandra lynn is naked and holding sklonda's thighs. neither woman's face is visible as they're looking at each other. the background is pink and says, how did you get infected? End ID]

[abyssal-ilk]

bioware where is the dao epilogue slide that has my warden going to par vollen with sten. where is it bioware.

[pencilofawesomeness]

Guys I'm having such a bizarre moment. I didn't expect to win like this, or to have my personal headcanons be confirmed so directly, but I also feel simultaneously robbed because Akutami is reaching into my head /jk

We received so little about Sukuna, but those brief brief brieeef moments of existentialism really caught me and I've thought about him for so long because of it. He was a fantastically terrifying villain, but there was always that dissonance there, between some of his words and actions, that portrayed that aimless longing and hurt and what that meant as a characterization point, and I'm honestly so hyped we turn around and get this in 271:

(scanlation for this panel because I think it gets the sentiment across better)

Followed by

I'm—

Y'all I started my draft for my Sukuna Reincarnation AU months ago and I never expected canon to validate me. They leave it easier and more open-ended, of course, but I'm coming on the record to say I wasn't crazy for my stretch of a character exploration and also I called it.

I won't go into the specifics of my "study Sukuna like a cockroach" notes now I just wanted to come grab the mic and announce that I beat Akutami to it >:D /lh

I'm being a good noodle and not stretching myself thin by starting a new multichap now, but I've had With the Storm in the works since January, and in light of the end of JJK and this lovely little tidbit, I'm tossing a sneak-peak from Chapter 7 because why not:

But maybe it could be. Maybe, just maybe, Uraume could accept this proffered hand and continue to hope.

---

Yet… things were different now. Things changed. Uraume changed, Sukuna changed, and even though they were still themselves, there was a myriad of shifts that piled on their shoulders until something gave way. Maybe a subconscious part of Uraume had braced for that to be a crash, but instead, Sukuna had been nothing but accepting and open. It only made them more nervous about losing him, just as they feared losing Pops. Uraume was not used to wanting, or hoping, but there was a powerful need in their chest that childishly demanded that they should get to keep both their kinder father and this happier Sukuna close, even if that may not be possible.

They nodded, not trusting their words at the moment, and Sukuna relaxed slightly.

“Good. Though that reminds me… You never really answered my first question. What do you want to do? With this life, I mean.”

There was that want again. Uraume felt the pull at their lungs until it was unbearable. They knew what he was asking; the question didn’t hinge on his involvement anymore, just them. Sukuna said he wanted to live peacefully, so what, then, was Uraume’s answer?

As much as they felt like a coward saying this, maybe that was okay. Sukuna felt the same way, after all. “I like this life too…” Uraume answered, and it was very different saying those words aloud. “Pops isn’t a shaman at all, and he’s good company and a good father. If I wasn’t able to find you, or you were not of this world, then… I would stay as his family.”

“That’s good,” Sukuna agreed, lifting yet another anxious weight from their chest. “I get that. Nobody else in my family are shamans either—at least, not really—and they’re all good people. It’s a good life, and even though I would have never expected it… I don’t want to lose it.”

It was amazing how similar they were, then and now. Uraume…really shouldn’t have worried about a lack of understanding. Sukuna didn’t have to say it, but it was clear that their thoughts had wandered down a similar road yet again. Their families, full of normal people living normal lives, were an unexpected treasure; to willingly become a monster, to become a scourge upon the world for whatever reason, would forfeit that. More than that, having people to care about made the desire to spread destruction lessen, rather significantly. Maybe that hurt and rage and bitterness was still there, in between their ribs, but in the ones that were dead and buried—a part of them, but also not quite there anymore, like when a scar ceases to constantly itch and ache and becomes only a mark on functioning skin.

They didn’t have to be monsters anymore. There were calmer, kinder things available to want—available to receive, even.

“This is so weird,” Uraume blurted, staring at their small hands and thinking of the strange miracle their lives turned into.

Sukuna barked a quick laugh before it was muffled into something like a snicker. “I know, right?” He leaned back in a stretch, his face catching the sun and lighting him in something that wasn’t a fire, but equally bright. “It’s not bad though.”

It was weird, to be a child, to be without some far-off goal, to be loved and happy, in the sense that it was absurd and foreign and absolutely unexpected. It was a breath of fresh air after years and years of having frozen lungs. Weird, surprising, but unmistakably good after so long of believing that no such term, deceptively simple, could have ever been applicable.

“Not bad at all,” Uraume agreed, a bright and blooming thing in their chest as their life began to slot into a new place. Still open-ended and perhaps a little terrifying for it, but Pops accepted them, and Sukuna accepted them, so maybe they could truly accept themself now, and whatever that will look like.

[moosemann404]

Entering my George RR Martin era where when I lock myself in my room to write the literal last chapter of the fic that I’ve been working on for 3 ish years, I come out having mostly worked on another chapter for a completely different, valve game based fic

[a-neru-neru]