#like - it doesn't make sense but i get it??

[paragonrobits]

honestly this whole thing being treated as an exclusive problem to superhero tropes in general, or implying that superheroes as a concept are inherently bad because I guess people assume they were specifically created to Keep The People Down or what-not, REALLY ANNOYS ME A LOT so this seems a good opportunity to make a point:

this trope is not specific to superheroes, and has been a thing for quite a while in fiction overall, specifically in TV and films (and at the risk of being snappy and letting irritation doing the talking, thus in mediums that get the most coverage and it makes people sound like a series doesn't exist if its not in TV or movies)

At its worst, this is basically a low-effort way to give a villain some nuance without putting much thought into it. It's not really meant to imply, at least in most cases, that their goal or motive is BAD, as some people seem to suggest. This is probably an outgrowth of the common idea of a villain being the hero of their own story; its common to suggest that a villain MUST have some kind of moral point or heroic quality to them, and that's basically where this comes up; its a less well-written handling of that concept by using it to get some pathos into a villain that can often be counterproductive.

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and suggest that its not suggesting that their cause is BAD; indeed, the writer implicitly means that their cause is good, because that's where the villains Good Cause Points come from; if it wasn't a good cause to them, they wouldn't be trying to humanize the villain by rooting them in that cause.

It's not exclusive to superheroes by any means, and the general trend predates the modern superhero genre in film and television, at least in the post-MCU sense.

The other point to be made is that sometimes, the supervillain isn't actually concerned by a problem at all, and they're just using it as an excuse to satisfy their own personal grudges, because it gets them support as they pursue their own goals, or because they're cynical manipulators who never gave a damn about that problem but it furthers their own goals to manipulate others who DO care about that problem.

There is also one other aspect; sometimes the villain does genuinely believe in solving a problem, but their understanding of it is completely divorced from reality, or their intended plans are inherently a bad thing. For example, lets take the common idea of Poison Ivy as a heroic eco-heroine fighting corporations who pollute the planet. All well and good, but Ivy actually doing that is an extreme outlier in her established character. More often than not, what she's actually doing it is causing massive destruction that gets a lot of completely unrelated people killed because her explicit end goal is the complete genocide of all human life, and at extremes, all ANIMAL life as well. This makes her a textbook ecofascist of the 'kill all people, especially the ones that have no power to do anything about ecological destruction' kind.

This is closer to the sort of villains you're actually likely to see; their stance on a problem is completely destructive, counterproductive and generally just kind of evil. Thats why heroes stop them; because their entire plan is to kill lots of people while making vague comments about 'x thing is the Real Evil' or something like that.

This, uh, also tends to be the actual nature of villains that fandoms often present as enlightened True Heroes unjustly antagonized by heroes. Almost every time, they only give lip service to any real goal and mostly just want to kill lots of people or do large scale disasters to satisfy their own grudges, and as such they're not really meant to be taken seriously.

And from another point of view, its like this: the reason we don't usually see the hero solving that problem is because that's not the focus of those sort of stories. If you're going in for an adventure story about someone with fantastical powers have action-filled showdowns with larger-than-life antagonists, its not really reasonable to expect it to suddenly swerve into a political treatsie about sociological phenomenon just because the villain of the week makes some vague references to societal ills as they start kicking orphans into a giant blender to fuel their giant robot that's going to burrow to the core of the earth and blow it up.

Its a fairly basic writing bit to give a villain some apparent nuance without having to do much more, and that's basically it. And to follow the metaphor, I don't think its really reasonable to give a go-ahead to the sort of person who kicks orphans into blenders just because they make some vague references to a greater good and then never follow up on it. As a villain, their only real purpose is to be an entertaining roadblock, rather than 'a hero but kinda edgy' as the term seems to become around some fandoms.

[lis-likes-fics]

eddie munson drabble

cw: smut, swearing, aftercare. 1.5k words.

Eddie Munson is a talker.

Eddie doesn't know how to shut up during sex. When he's balls deep inside of you, your arms pinned over your head as he fucks you, he's a constant spout of curses and pants and groans and words of “you're so tight” or “you're so pretty” or anything along those lines.

It's nice, though, and you enjoy it: his constant praise, his reassurance that you're making him feel good just by the way he breathes.

But you're not loud. You can't help it—you're shy. When Eddie's making love to you, you express your pleasure in gentle sighs and tiny moans. Sometimes you whine a little louder than you mean to, or a gasp is sharper than intended. You don't need to say much. Eddie speaks enough for the both of you.

But there's something about this position that gets you.

He doesn't do it a lot—mostly because you don't end up in this position a lot. Eddie is usually between your legs, or maybe you're on top of him, something simple and effective. You enjoy it either way.

But in times like these—which you seem to keep rare—where he's got you on your knees, one hand on your hip and the other wrapped gently around your throat, you seem to lose control.

It's not on purpose. You enjoy the little sounds, the gentleness. Eddie does, too. He loves his shy girl more than anything.

But when you're on your knees, you're nothing but shy. It surprises him so much that he's the quiet one compared to you.

Eddie's fucking you nice and deep, fast thrusts that have you gasping and seeing stars. You grip the sheets and let your head fall limp on his hold as you moan and whine loud enough to be heard clearly in the living room. (Granted it's a small trailer, but usually Eddie has to focus in to hear you when he's only inches away.)

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cry, your breaths rough and raspy. “Oh, fuck, don't stop. Please, please, please.”

Your words are pitchy and loud. They sound like you might actually be crying as his hips slam into yours. He has to keep checking to make sure you aren't.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” he asks, his grip tightening on your hip. “You like bein’ fucked like this?”

You nod quickly, a tearful huff slipping out of you. “Yes, Eddie! Yes, so much. Feels so fucking good, baby. Please don't stop, please.”

He's drunk on the sound of you. There's something so special about hearing you express your pleasure so much. He loves you shy, but this version of you also has a very special place in his heart.

“Won't stop, sweetheart,” he huffs. “Won't stop ‘til you fuckin’ cum for me. I'll have you cryin’, huh? You wanna cry for me, baby?”

You nod your head into the pillow, gripping the sheets until your knuckles pale. “Yes, yes, yes. Yes, make me cry for you, Eddie. God, fuck.”

Eddie's breath is thick, coming out in harsh puffs at the sound of your pleas. He reaches one hand to your clit, rubbing at it and grunting at the way you cry out.

“Fuck. Fuck, ‘m gonna cum, Eddie. You're gonna make me cum, Eddie.” Your voice is thick with pleasure, your breaths shaky.

Eddie's thrusts are unsteady now, shorter and rougher as he nears his own release. “Yeah? You feel good, baby?”

You're chanting “yes” over and over like a prayer on your tongue, each one more faithful than the last. His name slips from your lips again, and it feels like an orgasm on its own with the way the E erupts, the way the D’s stick on your tongue like honey, the I drags out in a desperate cry.

You choke on the pleasure, and you do it with joy. “Oh, God, Eddie,” you gasp. The names so close together, an interesting pair, makes sense in this moment when his cock thrusts into you and makes you see stars you could easily be convinced he placed in the sky himself.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, please,” you beg, burying your face in the sheets on the mattress as he grips your hips and smacks his hips into them. You bite down on the, the cheat cotton indented with the shape of your teeth as your pitchy moans turned into a sound that mimics a growl.

Eddie's going to lose it, looking down at you and seeing the way he's making you so feral. You're like a wolf tasting lamb for the first time, a delicate and addictive taste that has your mouth watering and your hunger running deeper than instinct.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his thrusts sloppy and his finger a messy, almost rough circle on your clit. “You look so—fuckin’ pretty like this. So fucked out on my cock, screamin’ my name like a fuckin’ angel.”

Tears have unblurred your vision as they slip down your cheeks. You can't help it. What you're feeling is reaching down into your soul and unleashing a lust that you hadn't known existed until the very first time he had you like this. It takes you by surprise each time, fills you up and leaves you wanting.

“Eddie. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, my God, Eddie.” Your voice will be sore in the morning, if the roughness of its sound now is any indication. “I-I'm gonna cum for you, Eddie. Eddie, you're gonna make me fuckin’ cum, Eddie.”

Your words are climbing higher and higher, the pitches rising like the prayers you were just sending to him ascending to the sky. You echo his name as the waves grow, charging on you with force and speed, but bating you all the same.

A harsh thrust makes you choke, and as you take a breath in, the water consumes you, and then you choke on that. You cry out his name, claw at the sheets—which fall from your mouth in disregard as you gasp around the pleasure.

The waves wash over you, crash after crash after crash, a swell of pleasure all over you. You go blind with it, your hands flexing straight.

Eddie keeps rubbing at your clit, slamming into you. As you clench down around his cock, a tight, crushing hug that makes him stagger, he follows right after you. “Ah, fuck, sweetheart,” he huffs, a moan squirming out of him as he buries himself to the hilt, listening as your pussy squelches around him.

He curses as you gasp, riding the high together as every atom in your body buzzes with pleasure. You cry out his name, rambling “I love you. Fuck, you're fucki—Ahh, I love you. S’fuckin’ perfect.” Half your words are cut off by moans or more words, other times they're blurred into the same until you're not quite sure what's been said.

His sounds are relatively the same. Stacked on top of each other, you both ramble as you burst, mewling as you're filled to the brim with his warmth and his love.

Your eyes blur as the crashing ends, and you fall down against his sheets. You feel yourself losing time, losing all feeling but the delightful buzz of your release. The feeling of his hands pawing at your flesh comes into focus later, along with the weight partially bearing itself onto you in his own creeping exhaustion.

You blink heavily, humming when you feel the warmth of chest on your back and the love of his lips at your neck, tickling behind your ear. “So pretty,” he whispers between kisses to your skin. “You did fuckin’ amazing for me, princess. So good, baby. So perfect.”

You bask in his care, in the haze of his cooing. His knuckles brush against your sides, rubbing into your hips as if apologizing for the bruising touch you hadn't even realized before. “Thank you for lettin’ me touch you, sweetheart,” he smiles. “So good for me.”

Your answer is a deep dumb that sits in your throat. Eventually, he turns you over and begins wiping away your tears with gentle thumbs. “You still with me?”

You nod, though your eyes are glazed and your smile is sticky. “Yeah,” you manage. “Just feel–” You take a deep breath. “Feel r’lly good.”

His smile rivals the sun. “Yeah? That's good. I'm glad.”

He leans down, kissing you so gently as he continues to embrace you with the gentlest fingers. You lift one hand, carding it through his tangled hair and rubbing the pads of your own fingers into his scalp. He hums.

“I love you, sweetheart. You know that?” He smiles. “Even when you're screaming.”

The delicacy is broken by a shocked laugh, snort included. “Sorry,” you say between bumpy giggles. “I just get excited.”

His gentler laugh is rough with the roll of his uvula at his throat. “Don't apologize. I said even when you're screaming—shoulda said ‘especially’.”

You hum again, your laugh still present but reduced to a tiny chuckle. “I love you, too.” You scratch his scalp at the back of his head so lightly, watching his lashes flutter. Then you reach up to kiss him again, his lips, then his forehead.

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[renku]

Princess

「 Scenario smut - Yeseo x Male Reader 」

A/N: This is just pure BFH. Yeseo is just... yeah, many of you know it.

So no proofreading and edits at all. The other fic is still ongoing by the way. Happy Holidays to all!

~~~

It was a warm heat; a pair of thick flesh residing on your own, eyes glued to yours while Yeseo removes her cashmere crop top. A sight to behold—her silky hair dragged up by the motion. Perky, aroused tits reaching its perfect state. Oh, oh, she knows you want ‘em but she doesn't how you crave for those buds. Lastly, her intoxicating scent mixing into bloodstream, flowing at the right places. You can’t wait, but you have to. Being needy would be the last thing you’d show to this princess.

“Fuck, you’re making me crazy, princess,” you remarked, almost whispering the words with your face just centimeters away from her.

She smiled. Just smiled. As if she knew, and she does. Yeseo knows how to be minimalistic—low effort but extraordinary results. “And here too,” she replied, unzipping your pants to release her favorite toy from its constraints.

“Did this ‘good boy’ missed me?” she asked, an unnecessary question that somehow displayed her power over you.

“Why don’t you sit on it to know the answer, princess?” you responded, making sure she won’t have her way. Yeseo’s too dangerous. Especially when she’s fired up. And right now, the fire within her burns with such intensity that you’d never dare to put out. Only she can do it, by satisfying her wants.

“Don’t move an inch. Let me do it my way. Your princess’ way.”

Yeseo reached beneath her skirt, undoubtedly pushing her panties to the side to reveal her awaiting wet and dripping pussy. She grabs your already raging shaft and aligns it with her sweet entrance.

With a slow and steady movement, Yeseo patiently drops herself with your cock. Eating those inches with her warm and slick walls.

“Fuck...,” you grunted, shutting your eyes as you almost lift your head up to conceal the pleasure rapidly consuming your entire body.

“So big... so warm... all for me,” Yeseo noted in full ecstasy. She reached for your lips with hers to initiate a quick make out with her tongue invading yours in an instant.

In doing so, that sinful body of hers starts to grind on that small couch you have. Muffled moans became a series of vibrations in your mouth. Your hands can’t stay idle. They wander all over her upper torso, all those nerves in your fingertips doing its job to feel her soft and delicate skin.

Yeseo breaks the kiss. “Oh, oh- ah, yes! Ah, fuck! So deep!”

“Moan for me, princess. Tell me how you feel good by riding my dick. Let me hear it.”

“Yours is the best! Ah- I- I can’t stop! Make me cum with your huge cock! Oh, God!”

“So- so tight! Damn it!”

Her pace continues to rise with each second passing. She’s not like this before. Maybe Yeseo’s getting used to it. Should you be glad? Don’t know for sure. But the build up inside your groin can’t be ignored. Her tightness also is killing you. She’s close, too.

“Cumming for me, princess?”

“Ye- yes! Just a bit more! Fuck! I’m close!”

“Good, cum with that slutty pussy of yours. Take all my cum!” you exclaimed.

“Breed me! Please, claim my pussy! Claim it till it's full of cum!”

You didn’t move a bit the entire time. All of the work was from Yeseo. She wanted it. You just want her to experience things. Explore. Figure what works for her and what isn’t. She insisted to all of this. It’s a fact that makes you less guilty and not to think about it too much. You had a good time and the same goes for her. And that time tonight is about to reach its conclusion—pleasurable conclusion.

“Yeseo, I’m cumming!”

“Me too, I’m cumming! Don't hold back!”

“It’s coming! Ah!”

There it is, the climax. Ropes and ropes of semen filled Yeseo’s walls. Her walls convulses as she reached the promised land but also making sure not a drop of cum will escape from her cunt.

The highs from the sex slowly declines, and both of you came back to your senses.

“Amazing.”

Catching her breatg and drenched in sweat, Yeseo happily responded biting her lower lip, “Yeah, you’re the fucking best.”

[heavenorhella2001]

This had never occurred to me way back when when I first watched playthroughs of the game/played it myself, but;

Seeing this post made me remember Max's nightmare, when she was trapped in her own mind/a broken version of reality.

And seeing this now?

Max definitely has PTSD.

Everyone always primarily discusses/ focuses on Chloe's trauma (which is understandable. I'll always be a Chloe defender and don't want to downplay her trauma by any means.)

But, unfortunately, Max's is overlooked.

Now, a lot of people might view this skeptically, question the idea of Max having PTSD. To many, it might seem like Max doesn't really have any lasting form of major trauma after the events of the game. Maybe she really was content and at peace and happy-go-lucky. (I've always scoffed at that scene at Chloe's funeral, when Max smiles at the butterfly.) And I'll admit, within the context of the story maybe we aren't supposed to think so. But if that's the case I just have to assume that's due to the developing team's lack of knowledge, experience with mental health and how it works, the impact things like this have on someone. Not that they are coming from a malicious place, of course. But very rarely does a person 'get it' unless they've been through it themselves. The average person simply won't understand.

But if you see everything I've described here as it's laid out, it makes total sense;

Let's talk about Jefferson. He is just one of many elements in the game contributing to Max's trauma. He was her teacher, someone she looked up to, respected, and was supposed to be able to trust. She truly felt safe around him. It's implied she had a crush on him. But her image of him completely shattered. After the truth about him was revealed, she was no longer able to trust her own judgement of people, her perception of reality.

He drugged her when she was vulnerable, and she was helpless to watch as he shot and killed the love of her life right in front of her. He kidnapped her, and she was thrown from the frying pan right into the fire. When she woke up she was tied up in a basement, helpless, and he had burned all her photos. Not only precious memories, but also one of her only means of going back and fixing things. He then took photos of her, over and over, this went on for who knows how long, while she was drugged, tied up and helpless, in order to satisfy his own perversions. Throughout, he mocked and tormented her.

Then, let's go into what happened with Chloe. Having to watch her best friend, the girl she loved, die over and over and over again. Max felt responsible for fixing it, preventing it, because she was the only one who possibly could. She would blame herself, think of it as a failure on her part each time Chloe died.

After watching her die in various ways, so many times, I'm sure Max questioned if she really even could save Chloe- or if Chloe was supposed to die from the start, and the universe was determined to restore the balance, no matter what Max did or how hard she tried.

And then there's Kate. This could go one of two ways depending on your choices, one of which is infinitely worse and more traumatizing, but either way it would definitely have haunted Max and left an impact on her.

Imagine how you would feel, knowing one of your closest friends was being bullied. Knowing they have been drunk/drugged and taken advantage of at a party. Yet instead of anyone coming forward, doing the right thing and helping Kate out of that situation, everyone at the party instead weaponized it, used it against her, slut-shamed her even though she wasn't in her right mind, was barely even conscious and was in no way able to consent to anything that was happening. Not that slut-shaming her would have in any way been okay or excusable even if Kate was acting of her own volition. Knowing that, even though you don't agree/don't identify with that, that your friend is deeply religious and clings to faith as a means of comfort. Knowing that she feels like a failure, that she feels like she's betrayed her faith, everything she stands for, and her family, even though she was in fact a victim in her situation. Being able to read letters, watching her family victim-blame her, hide behind their beliefs as a means to tear down someone they should feel obligated to protect, to support. Watching your friend be alienated by everyone around her, including her own family. Watching the school bullies write obscenities about your friend on the walls, and in the bathroom, make jabs at her and taunt her at every possible opportunity. Your friend's light has begun to dim, she starts pulling away from you, begins hiding away in her room more, which now feels like a dark, oppresive void. You know your friend is depressed, and you're trying to be supportive in any way you can, but there's a distance building between you you feel you can't bridge.

Then it happens. She kills herself/tries to kill herself. In front of you, and everyone who tormented her. Even then, the people who hurt her have no shame, laughing and recording her when she's in crisis. You begin to question and blame yourself, blaming youself for not noticing something was severely wrong earlier, not recognizing the impending signs for what they were. You want to help your friend, to save her, but your powers at failing you at the worst possible time. You only get one chance to do this, like everyone else, and you have to do it the right way.

If Max managed to talk Kate down, that's still an instense emotional weight, still a serious event to work through and process.

If Kate jumps…well…

Max feels like a failure. Like she contributed to Kate's death just as much as everyone else. Like she may as well have pushed Kate off that ledge herself. Not only watching your friend die in front of you, but knowing that it was self-inflicted in a moment of desperation, that they chose to do so and your words had no effect…

Now, the end of the game. Depending on what you choose, Max either has to to feel an immeasurable weight on her conscience, the responsibility for the destruction of the town where she was born. Where she grew up. Where she has countless memories, despite its' faults. The deaths of almost everyone there she's ever known.

Including (especially) Joyce.

The guilt of feeling like she took Chloe's mom away from her too, after Chloe had already lost her dad.

Oh. And that reminds me.

It was an incredible miracle, Max discovering her ability to go back through time via photos. Being able to go back 5 years, to when she and Chloe were only 13, before all the horror had happened, and save William. The sense of sheer relief, happiness and accomplishment she felt. She felt like a hero.

Only for it to all blow up in her face in the worst possible way.

Seeing Chloe, now a total shell of her former self. Completely disabled, and paralyzed. Helpless. Unable to live on her own. Seeing firsthand the emotional and financial stress William and Joyce are going through as a result of the accident. Chloe having so little quality of life that she pleads with Max to kill her, because she can't even do it herself.

(This is not my narrative or opinion on Chloe's situation, by the way. This is how it's portrayed. Quality of life, determining whether your life is worth living to due a life-changing accident or consequent disability is the choice of the invidual whom it effects. I'm not saying that anyone in Chloe's situation, who is paralyzed would inherently have no quality of life or no reason to live. That really depends on the invidiual, what that person needs in order to truly live and thrive, whether that person has family and friends and an emotional/practical support system in their life, etc. For Chloe, for me, and for many other people, though not all, living that kind of life would not be worth it.)

Max, depending on your choices, having to kill Chloe, to choose the merciful path, allow Chloe to exercise her autonomy in a world in which she can no longer do so and put her out of her misery. Knowing that she's doing for Chloe what she'd want someone to do for her if she were in that situation, yet still full of pain and regrets.

Max then having to go back and undo it all. Allow William to die again. Watch Chloe experience that horror and trauma again, knowing now she could've prevented it. But at what cost?

Lastly, if you chose to let Chloe go. To let her die.

That makes it immeasurably worse in my opinion.

The week she and Chloe spent together, reconnecting and rebulding their friendship, everything they went through together, would essentially never have happened.

Chloe, in this timeline, died alone in a bathroom. She never recieved any sort of closure, never got to know what happened to Rachel, questioning if Rachel perhaps just abandoned her, similarly to how Max did.

She never got to resolve things with Max, never heard from her again. She never got to know that Max still loved her, still cared about her and thought of her, but was too scared and guilty to reach out.

She never got to patch up things with her mom, or with David.

Everything Max went through. Everything she experienced.

To recap:

Having to watch her best friend, the woman she loves, die over and over again, feeling helpless, trapped in this endless, hellish cycle of death.

Being lulled into a false sense of security, betrayed and abducted by someone she thought she could trust, someone she looked up to.

Witnessing firsthand Kate's suicide/attempt, feeling like she failed her.

Being forced to let William die again, and force Joyce and Chloe to suffer that loss again.

Having to watch Joyce mourn her only daughter, after already losing her husband. Knowing she could've prevented it.

Everything that happened would still exist, but only in Max's mind.

She has no one she could ever confide in, talk to, or open up about it.

Chloe, for her, was that person.

No one would believe her, albeit understandably.

It's implied her powers vanish after she goes back that final time to let Chloe die.

She'd have no way to prove her story was true.

Carrying the weight of that burden, that knowledge and trauma, alone, would drive anyone insane.

Feeling like everything she went through, all the efforts she made to keep Chloe alive, were pointless.

I don't believe there is any way Max could be okay after that.

She'd be a hollow shell, just going through the motions. Totally disconnected from the world and the people around her. (Understandably. Who the hell could she connect to? Who would understand her?) Everyone at Blackwell, and their student lives and petty drama would feel so insignificant. So incredibly stupid and shallow to Max after what she's been through.

In fact, I've always felt - years after the events of the game, were you to choose to let Chloe die - that Max likely killed herself.

Over time, she probably began to question herself, to feel crazy, and begin wondering whether any of what happened, actually did, or if it was just something her mind created.

Max's trauma, her thoughts and emotions in regards to all of this are reflected in this part of the game, her mental breakdown. You can see her self-loathing, the way she blames and criticizes herself, in her interactions with herself and in her distorted journal entries.

Anyway. I never really liked Max all that much as a protagonist.

I thought she was a pushover, a little shallow, cared too much about what people like Victoria thought of her. I thought it was pretty unforgivable the way she ghosted Chloe, at the most traumatic, formative time of Chloe's life, when she had just lost the most important person in her life, besides Max. I understand anxiety, feeling awkward, helpless and flailing in that situation and not knowing what to say or do to make it better, but it just doesn't matter to me. Nothing excuses that.

However…

Max, did ultimately (well, depending on your choice at the ending,) make it right.

This has given me some perspective, and I have a lot more empathy for her now.

     you thought you could control everybody and everything, huh?      —   twist time around your fingers?

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 4)

Rio helps you relax after your revelation about being framed

Word count: 3150

Warnings: oral, more murder

The sound of your breathing is so loud in your own head that it takes Dr. Vidal calling your name four times for you to actually hear her. 

“They’re trying to frame me,” you turn around and say frantically, hands fastening in your hair as you start to pace back and forth. Your therapist watches bemusedly. “They took the knife when they were here and killed that guy in a different way so it would look like someone else did it, they planted the knife in the woods so that it would all trace back to me, and if I bring that in…” 

Dr. Vidal finally stands up and leans against the table. “You think The Witch and Lady Death want you arrested?” 

You don’t know what to think. They broke into your motel room, left a flower and a circle on your sticky note that, if anything, gave you a clue, and now they’re setting you up for murder? It doesn’t make any sense, there’s a piece missing, but you can’t find it. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,” you chant and Dr. Vidal grabs you by the forearms. 

“Breathe,” she orders and holds you while she shows you how to inhale and exhale. “You’re spiraling.” The diagnosis makes you laugh hysterically. Of course you’re spiraling! “Sit down,” she says, gently pushing you onto the couch. You obey and keep taking deep breaths. 

Slowly but surely, your heart rate starts to slow down and the fog in your head starts to clear. 

“You’re under a lot of stress,” Dr. Vidal says. “This is a case unlike nothing you’ve ever dealt with before.”

You frown. “How do you know–” 

“These killers are smart, dangerous,” she keeps talking like you didn’t speak at all. “But so are you. How are you going to catch them?” 

Shrugging weakly, you slump back against the couch. “I don’t even know where to start,” you admit. “There hasn’t been one of their signature murders since I’ve gotten here, I haven’t been able to examine a crime scene or talk to witnesses or anything. All I know is that we’re looking for two women who are lovers.”

“Have you tried thinking like them? What do you think they want?” 

“What do I think they want out of poisoning innocent people with a drug they invented and then carving out their hearts? What does someone gain from that?” 

You try to imagine doing that to someone. Putting the poison in their food or drink, watching the light slowly leave their eyes as they try to figure out what happened to them. Their skin slowly tightening over their bones, cheeks hollowing out. Neatly sliding a knife into their chest and then holding their heart in your bare hands. A shiver runs through you involuntarily. 

“Power,” you answer your own question, knowing that you’re right. The fantasy has you feeling the same way as you did with Agatha yesterday, full of adrenaline and something else. Dr. Vidal has a strange look on her face, almost orgasmic, as you come to that conclusion. 

“Why do they want power?” she asks in a hushed voice. 

You bite your lip and hold your gaze steady on her. “Who doesn't?” 

Dr. Vidal falls to her knees in front of you so her face is almost level with yours. A thrill runs through you. “Do you?” she rasps. 

Gulping, you nod and then she practically lunges at you, mouth finding yours in a scathing kiss, all lips, teeth, and tongue, and you moan. Is this the arrangement her and Agatha have? What one gets, the other gets, too? 

Is it getting, or is it taking? 

Either way, it’s crossing a line, so many lines, but you don’t care right now. You need this. 

“Doctor,” you gasp and she chuckles into your mouth, hands delving into your hair. Your fingers scramble to yank at the lapels on her blazer and she climbs into your lap, the warm weight a grounding force for your spinning mind. She kisses so much like her wife, but also so different at the same time, and you can’t help but want to know what it looks like when they kiss. The thought causes heat to flash through you.

Her lips trail down your neck and then she sinks her teeth into your clavicle, the low-cut of the bathrobe giving her lots of room to work with. The pain makes you keen and 

Snow. 

Trees. 

A clearing in the woods. 

You shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut to get rid of the same images from your therapy session the other day. Dr. Vidal doesn't notice if you falter, leaving more bites all over your chest. Entangling your fingers in her hair when she unties your robe, you try to submerge yourself into the pleasure you feel. 

Her tongue sucks on your hardened nipple and you whine, back arching off the couch. “Please,” you pant and she pauses to grin at you. The electricity from yesterday is back, crackling under your skin with a vengeance, and you need Dr. Vidal to put it out. 

“Lie down,” she says and quickly stands up so you can move until you’re on your back, lying horizontally on the couch. She gets back on, between your legs, and pushes your robe apart so that she can see all of you. 

Her mouth finds its back back to your breasts and she nibbles on the underside of it, and then she moves down, sucking on the skin of your stomach. 

She pauses and you know immediately what she’s found. 

Before you can offer a short explanation for the ugly scar on the left side of your belly, her tongue licks up the length and you sharply inhale. Her eyes find yours to make sure it’s okay and you nod.

Kisses are peppered all over the wrinkled tissue and you rest your head back against the couch. It had been really hard for you to be naked in front of someone after that, and now here is your therapist, worshipping it like it’s a work of art. 

Dr. Vidal bites at your hip bone, resuming her quest downward, and it feels so good 

Snow. 

Trees. 

A clearing in the woods. 

A frozen stream that you kneel in front of and look down to see your reflection in. 

She sucks a kiss into your upper thigh and it pulls you out of your head, the memories flashing away. You try and grab back onto them, desperate to see who it was, but they’re gone. 

Your groan is out of frustration at first, but quickly turns into one of pleasure when she drags her tongue through the folds of your pussy. 

“Oh, fuck, Doctor,” you whimper, fingernails digging into the couch on both sides around you. 

Her deep laugh sends vibrations all through you and it makes wetness leak out of you. “I think you can call me Rio now,” she says and you nod breathlessly before she dives back in. 

There is no warm up, no building to anything; it’s like she’s trying to get as much of you in her mouth as she can. She is determined to not let a drop go to waste and her slurping sounds almost drown out the noises that are slipping out of your mouth. 

Her tongue thrashes against your clit, making your hips roll up against her face, and then she curls it inside you, stroking up to make you gasp. She sucks and swirls and licks and you’re getting ever so close 

Snow.

Trees. 

The frozen stream. 

You look down into it, peer at the reflection staring back at you and 

Two fingers are shoved into you while Rio roughly scrapes her teeth against your clit and it pulls an explicit moan out of you. 

“Rio, Rio, please,” you beg, almost in tears with how good it feels. You feel simultaneously so present and so far away at the same time and it’s like every single vein in your body has become a livewire, about to explode. 

She curls and scissors and twists her fingers, making you gasp and groan and whine. “What do you want?” Rio asks, her dark hazel eyes gleefully taking in your messy state. Your wetness stains her cheeks and you can’t help but clench. 

“I want to cum, I need to cum,” you plead and her smirk is wicked as she stuffs a third finger into you and watches you react as she flicks her tongue against your clit, barely giving you anything. Your eyes close in frustration at the loss of the intense stimulation that you need.

She sets a slow pace with her fingers and her mouth climbs up your body until she’s near your scar again. You tense when her lips press to it again. “You know, Agatha and I cannot wait to have you over.” 

“Really?” You gasp. You were right about the threesome then, it seems. It’s impossible to ignore how your body heats up at the thought. You didn’t know it was possible to want something this much. 

Rio chuckles. “Don’t be so shocked, doll. You’re such a pretty young thing. So smart, too. You’re everything that we’ve been wanting. We’ve been so patient, but you’re finally here now,” she coos and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You raise your head to ask what exactly she means when she leans back down to suck on your clit and harshly thrusts her three fingers into you, pulling a loud moan out of you as you cum hard all over her hand and face. 

Your mind goes blank for a second and there’s no thoughts in your head at all when

Snow. 

Trees. 

The frozen stream. 

You look down into it, peer at the reflection staring back at you and it’s ten-year-old you, staring back at you. 

Lurching back, you fall into the slippery wet mud on the bank, getting your clothes all dirty. 

You peek back into the ice and it’s still you, from over fifteen years ago. 

Laughter fills the air. 

Standing up and brushing your hands on your jacket, you follow the sound into a clearing in the woods. 

Snow crunches underneath your boots and you squint through the falling precipitation to make out something in the tree line. 

Something draws you in closer. 

A stick under your foot cracks and red birds flutter from the branches, startled.

The figure — a person, you can now tell — whirls around and 

“You okay?” Rio asks and it jolts you out of whatever you were seeing. You try to reach for the fleeting tendrils of the memory, but they’re too fast. 

You’re laying on the couch, Rio sitting back on her heels still between your legs. Her face still gleams with your wetness. 

You palm your forehead and wipe the sweat off. “The flashes from your office yesterday? I kept getting more just now. I think it’s a memory from my childhood.” 

“You were seeing things while I was eating you out? Not a great performance review,” she says, meaning to lighten the tension but she can see how serious you are. “Why don’t you tell me about them?” 

“It was snowing in the woods again. I was walking through them, found a frozen river, and saw the reflection of myself from when I was a lot younger, like ten or so. And then there was laughing so I followed it, and I think I saw a person,” you tell her, sitting up and tying your robe back together. The cold air in the room has given you goosebumps. 

She taps a finger to her mouth. “Did you see the person?” 

You shake your head and you try to force through whatever block is in your brain, but the thrumming behind your eyes comes back. “It disappeared right before I could. I don’t understand, I don’t remember any of this.” 

“Did you live someplace where it snowed around that age?” Rio asks gently and you frown. 

“I was nine when we moved to Massachesetts. We weren’t there for very long, only for a little over a year. I don’t know why we left though,” you say, the pain in your head getting greater when you strain to find the reason. “Do you think it could have something to do with what I can’t remember?” 

She shrugs. “Sometimes it’s best not to ask questions about things you don’t understand just yet. It seems that your memories, or this one specifically, are slowly coming back in pieces. Don’t rush it or you may not get the whole, true story. Let it come to you naturally.” 

“I’ve never had this happen before,” you admit, the fear of feeling like something is happening to you creeping into your tone. Is it something about this town? “I didn’t know I had this block, or whatever. But now that I’m here, it’s like I can’t stop getting these flashes. I think I’m losing my mind.” Saying it out loud makes it sound irrational, but you know Rio is listening to you intently. 

She reaches a hand out to cup your cheek. “You’re not losing your mind. Everything will make sense soon enough, I promise. You’ll get all the answers you want.”

“Why did you have my clothes?” 

Rio’s head ducks down in amusement, tongue pushing against the inside of her cheek again. It must be a habit, maybe a nervous one? “You really don’t remember?” 

You shake your head. You think you would at least partially recall it if your therapist had undressed you and taken your clothes. 

“You called me,” she says, and your jaw drops open. 

“No,” you answer faintly. “I mean, I did that first night, if that’s what you mean, but I never told you to come take my clothes.” 

“Yesterday,” she tells you levelly. “A few hours after I saw you. You asked me if I could come to your motel, you sounded really frantic. So I did. You were naked and you handed me the bag of clothes. I took them home, washed them, and now you have them back.” 

The pounding in your head gets worse. “You washed them?” 

Rio tuts and gets up from the couch, walking over to the soup that is still on the counter. She picks up a different spoon from the caddy, stirs it into the liquid, and then brings it over to you. “It’s still warm so eat it while you can.” 

She’s being evasive, hiding something about yesterday, but you can’t force her to answer the questions. So you raise a spoonful of chicken noodle to your lips and eat it under her watchful eyes. 

It’s about room temperature now, but there’s a hint of something else, tasting almost like syrup. 

“What’s in this?” You ask as Rio takes the spoon from you and feeds you herself after you stop after the first bite. 

She hums absentmindedly and your scar starts to tingle. She positions the utensil at your closed lips and raises her eyebrow until you open and swallow. “It’s chicken noodle soup, doll, what do you mean?” 

After a few more, your eyelids start drooping and your body feels fuzzy. “Did you…drug me?” Your limbs are limp and you slowly fall sideways to lean against the back of the couch. 

“You were sick. Some rest will help you recover,” she says like it makes perfect sense. 

“Are…you…The Witch?” The words take an immense effort and you heave with each one. You’re struggling to stay conscious and you know you’re about to lose the battle. 

Rio chuckles and it echoes around the room. “No, doll, I am not. And that’s the truth.” She stands up and pats her hands on her thighs. “I’m just curious about something.” 

You don’t even have the energy to ask about what. 

She strokes your hair and it almost feels nice with her nails. “You’re so brilliant, you know that?” 

Your eyes flutter shut just as she bends down to kiss your forehead. The door closes sounding so far away and then there’s nothing. 

When you wake up an indiscernible amount of time later, your mouth is incredibly dry and your head is groggy. It feels like your body is in a vat of molasses. 

Your muscles are tight and sore and when you get off the couch, you look down and realize that you’re naked again. You tear the room apart looking around for your phone and find it eventually between the bed and nightstand on the floor. 

It’s eight at night. 

You open it up and you’re about to text Rio and ask if she has your clothes again, but then you remember that she did this to you. Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if she had come back and taken the robe just to mess with you. 

There’s something weird about the people here. 

Your phone buzzes with a call from Agatha. You raise it to your ear and accept it. 

Before you can say anything, she starts talking. “Hey, superstar, hope you’re feeling better. Would you be able to get down here? I’ll text you the address.” 

“Another murder?” You ask but she’s already hung up. 

Still a little out of it, you pull on some more clothes and get in your car. It’s about ten minutes away, still in the woods, in the other direction of the murder from yesterday. 

Two back-to-back like this indicates frustration or feelings of superiority. Do they want to be caught?

When you get there, you only see Agatha’s car though, and she’s leaning against it. You get out of yours and slam the door, walking over. 

“Where is everyone?” You ask. 

“I wanted you to get a look at this first,” she says and leads you into the trees. You don’t have to go very long before you stop. 

It’s the most blood you’ve ever seen in your entire life. It’s another man this time, but he’s spread eagle in the snow and there’s a long gash running from his chin down to his pubic hair, his chest entirely split in two. 

You gag at the smell and raise your hands to your mouth in case you throw up, but then you notice the metallic scent on them. 

Agatha shines her flashlight on you as you look at your fingers to find dried blood under your fingernails. You meet her eyes in horror, fear coursing through you. 

It doesn’t make sense. 

But Agatha doesn’t look surprised, or scared. If anything, she looks delighted. 

“I think you better come to our place tonight,” she says, and stretches an arm around you, tucking you into her side. 

Your breaths are shaky as she leads you back to her car, back to her house, to her and Rio. 

[retiredteabag]

learning together - Christmas Special

parental Gojo attempts to get Megumi in a Christmassy mood, it appears to be more of a challenge than he thought.

pt. 1

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Ice crystalized the window of Satoru's Tokyo apartment, A thick dusting of snow laid atop the city below, and the house smelled distinctly of mulling spices and his favorite "sugar cookie" candle. But the teenage boy had a deep sense of dread when he remembered that he had no idea what his little pupil wanted for Christmas.

Typically, Satoru did not live with Tsumiki or Megumi; he paid for them to have their own place closer to their school. But with the end of the year came winter break, and a wide gap of time for the children to be home alone. That, and as he so often found himself saying these days,

"It's Christmas!!!!"

Tsumiki would giggle, and Megumi would roll his eyes. This phase had propagated into Satoru's vocabulary ever since the children's last day of class when Megumi had asked on the road out of school,

"Why do we have to go to your place? Can't we just stay at home?"

Tsumiki had glared harshly at the boy and nudged him to be quiet. But Megumi just furrowed his brows and softly whispered, "What?"

Satoru leaned back in the passenger seat of his car, an assistant had accompanied them because 1) Gojo doesn't like to drive, and 2) he wanted someone else to unpack all of the kid's stuff so they could spend that time settling in.

As it would later turn out, Megumi was closely attached to his backpack and refused to let anyone else touch it. Odd kid, that one.

Gojo had grinned then, "Becaauuuse" He began in a whining tone, "It's Christmas! You can't be all alone for the holidays!"

The little boy turned to look out the window, fog had accumulated so he could not view of the passing busy street, he avoided Gojo's covered gaze and squeezed his bag handle. "'M not alone. I've got Tsumiki." He mumbled, resting the crown of his head on the door.

Since then, every time Megumi made some negative comment, be it about: Satoru's overindulgence at cafes, the excessive decorating, or even his hyper attitude, Satoru would reply,

"Megumi, it's the Christmas season, be a little more jolly!"

But it seemed more evident as the days went by that Megumi did not have a jolly bone in his body. That, accompanied by his inability to come up with his wish list for Santa, Satoru was discouraged.

"Santa isn't real, Gojo." The boy would huff, rolling his eyes.

"How do you know that?" Gojo would pout, pointing out that at least his big sister humored him with the Santa stuff.

The boy would just pull his, 'are you really being serious right now' face and attempt to extricate himself from the conversation.

One day, after much time purchasing Sanrio toys, art supplies, lip glosses, new shoes, an adorable tea set, a bundle of DS games, and virtually any other gift he could imagine for Tsumiki, and stowing them away in one of his many walk-in closets, he called the young girl into the kitchen.

Megumi was reading in on of Gojo's guest rooms, avoiding everyone.

"Every time I ask him what he wants he just gets all grumpy and tells me not to get him anything..." Satoru confessed after thanking the girl for her willingness to make a list to Santa that included: A cute plushy or maybe new colored pencils?

Santa would pull through on her requests, of course, but Megumi hardly even said anything about food he enjoyed, let alone anything "unnecessary". Every time Satoru found something the boy might like, he got the image of an upset or disappointed Megumi and felt his stomach drop. The kid was hard to shop for, to say the least.

"He won't complain about anything! I promise, Gojo, he just... doesn't...like asking for things." Tsumiki smiled at her benefactor, so mature. From an outsider's perspective, it would seem as though a little girl was consoling a very oversized child who just fell on the playground and scraped his knee.

"But...Why?" Satoru groaned, looking to the girl for some idea of how to make the boy smile. It was Christmas for goodness sake. "I don't want him to 'not complain' I want him to get him something exciting, something he really wants."

Tsumiki twisted her mouth and twiddled her thumbs, "I think...hmm", she cut herself off, rethinking what she meant to say, "I think he already feels so indebted to you, you know? I think it would just upset him to ask for a present."

Satoru opened his mouth, only to close it a few times. He had no words. Why would a child, a boy who has practically just learned to read, feel as if he owes him something?

It was this event that caused Gojo to switch his mindset. If the boy refused to ask for something verbally, Satoru would use his innate talent of observation to deduce for himself what the boy wanted. He would unearth every little wish inside that emotionally constipated boy's heart.

A day later, Satoru found the kids on the floor in the living room, drawing together by the fireplace. Under closer inspection, it was clear why Tsumiki wanted new colored pencils. The ones she had been using in school were practically nubs, she had to hold them at an odd angle to be able to draw properly.

"Watcha dooooin'?" Satoru strolled into the living room, carrying bags of sweets and tissue paper.

"Drawing!" Tsumiki sang back. Her brother huffed and caged his arms around his sheet of paper. Trying to hide his drawing, he put his head down and scribbled some more.

"Ooooo! That's fun!" Satoru called out, tiptoeing to the master bedroom, "Don't let me bother you, I've got some top-secret Santa business to get up to-" Satoru spun around, turning this way and that in a comical show of 'spying', "You kids better stay out of my room!" He squinted at them, "It's never good to be nosy around Christmas!"

Tsumiki laughed and nodded at Gojo but Megumi made a face that showed clearly what a fool he thought the man was. What he didn't know, is that Satoru had real good eyes, and for the first time all week, he had an idea of how to get the boy in the Christmas spirit.

--

The image of Megumi's green crayon scrawled across a sketched pine tree stuck out in Satorus mind as he zipped up Tsumiki's coat. "C'mon Megs! The trees aren't gonna pick themselves!"

Megumi hurriedly called, "I'm coming! Just-ugh- gimmie one second!" as he fumbled with his shoe laces.

"Hey buddy, no rush, I can help." Satoru knelt down on the floor, still a head taller than the boy, he bent and tightened the laces.

The boy's eyes twitched, he had stumbled and clung to Gojo's shoulder for a moment before embarrassment flooded him and he huffed.

Satoru stood, patted the boy's head, and ushered them out the door.

On the eve of the big day, and for the first time, it was clear, Megumi was as excited as Tsumiki, though he tried to hide it, his spine was straight, he was wide awake, his hands tapped his lap unknowingly, and he kept puffing air in his cheeks, he could hardly wait to get to Christmas tree farm.

The boy was brimming with anticipation.

As much as Satoru wanted to follow the kids around, pestering them about what trees they liked, he decided to fall back, allowing them to meander and play amongst themselves. Although unspoken, Tsumiki had been trying to help Satoru in bringing her brother out of his shell. It hadn't really changed much outside of learning that the boy liked reading just a bit more than Gojo suspected.

"GOJO!! GOJO!!" The little girl eventually spun around and waved her arms around in the air. "LOOK! THI- This one-" She inhaled deeply, "Don't you think...it's nice?"

Megumi, who had privately been grinning with his sister just a moment prior, was now avoiding his benefactor's eyes, shifting his weight awkwardly while pretending to be occupied by the snow on his shoe.

"Nice? Oh, Miki, I think it's perfect!" He ran around the tree and came to the other side of them, "Only... Megumi? Do you think this one is right as well?"

Tsumiki stood by the tall man now, blinking at the boy expectantly.

"Mmm." He nodded after a second.

"'Mmm' yes? Or 'Mmm' 'let's find a different one'?"

"'Mmm' yes." He stood up straight and decided.

Satoru pumped his fist, "Whooooo! We got a Christmas tree! Oh boy! I can't wait to decorate! Good thing the farm has got some stuff, huh?"

By the time they had wrapped the tree to the top of a staff vehicle and acquired just about every ounce of tinsel and bows the little shop had, the children's noses were pink with cold and the sun was beginning to crest the horizon.

Not too long ago, Satoru had been feeling deep-seated dread around the Christmas atmosphere or lack thereof. Now, as he raced back to the car to start heating the seats, he had a spring in his step.

--

Satoru, surprisingly, was quite a good cook, unfortunately, they hadn't the time for a homecooked meal when they had important tree-decorating-business to attend to, so they ordered take out and got straight to work.

The three of them worked as a team to adorn the branches with twinkles of silver and velvet ribbon. Satoru had purchased far too many strands of lights so they set aside bunchs of them to decorate the kids rooms.

After taking a moment to back away, they all admired their diligent work. It was beautiful, all lit up and sparkling. Satoru had never felt so grown up. Buying a tree and decorating it himself.

After grinning to themselves, Satoru noticed. Oh, how had he forgotten? It's the most important part!

"The topper!" He groaned. "Ughhhh what are we gonna do...I guess I can go out and buy one..." He mumbled, he spun around, hoping to avoid any sighs of disappointment from the little ones. He looked at the clock on the wall and realized how late it was getting.

Tomorrow was Christmas. Everything was closed. Satoru was just about to suggest making one of their own when Tsumiki spoke up.

"Umm... Gojo... Megumi has something to say." She poked at him with her shoe.

There was a long pause before he spoke, "Well....".

But then he was rushing from the living room. Trapsing his way back to the bedroom he was staying in. Satoru felt awful. He wanted everything to feel like a family event.

"What... was that?" The white haired man began, "Is he... that upset?"

Tsumiki didn't even have time to disagree before the boy was racing from the threshold again, this time, something behind his back. He was huffing and puffing with the effort of his speed.

"What've you got there Megs?" The boy still had his hands behind his back. He looked a bit strange with his elbows bent all weird.

"We can... just use this." He spoke so lowly, it was as though he was ashamed. "If we haven't got anything else."

Imagine Satoru's surprise when the boy, who had been the grinch incarnate since day one, brought out a glass star tree topper. It seemed as though it had been hand painted, perhaps a school project. When did Megumi get this?

It took a moment before the oldest of the three spoke, this seemed to discourage Megumi and he was about to hide it once more, saying, "We don't need to... it's not very good."

"NO!" Both Satoru and the boy's sister practically screeched. "NOT VERY GOOD???" Satoru basically flung himself to his knees to get a better look. His glasses had long since been on his head, but he yanked them off, as though they might obstruct the boy's creation. "IT"S GORGEOUS!"

"You're over doing it..." The boys brows were furrowed. Satoru knew the kid was trying to play it off as if he wasn't happy with the older boy, but Megumi's lips were twitching.

"This!" Satoru tilted his nose to the ceiling, "Is the finest of tree toppers! I do declare! How dare you keep this from us! This is what we've needed all along."

--

That night, Megumi would lay in bed, recalling how it felt to be lifted so high, setting his little star atop the tree. His teacher in the week prior had loudly told the class to hang up their stars with their family over Christmas break. There was a strange giddiness he felt knowing he was able to use it. To know it was hung up, not hidden in his school bag.

That morning Satoru had woken the kids up early, skipping into their bedrooms to announce that Santa had come in the night.

"Wow. Santa sure does like cookies..." Megumi almost smiled as he pointed out that the sweets on the counter from the days before were nearly gone.

"Right you are Megumi! I like how you think, we'll need to get more!"

Gojo watched as the kids opened their numerous gifts. The both of them seemed quite uncomfortable with the stacks they had laid out at first. Tsumiki jumped with joy after opening the smallest box, a designer set of colored pencils along with a new sharpener. And that, more than anything, made her little brother smile.

Megumi, however, had a harder time accepting his gifts. Christmas evening, after opening new clothing to grow into, book after book, dog toys, and much more. He found himself watching Satoru from the living room as his sister played games on her DS.

"Whatcha lookin' at Megs?"

Satoru hadn't even peered up from the dish sink, but he knew Meg's had been eyeing him.

"Nothing." Megs turned away and watched Tsumiki reach a new level.

Oddly, he felt like crying. Did he not want it to end? Did he feel guilty? Did he wish he had gotten something else? No, he knew it wasn't any of that.

And then it struck him. This felt an awful lot like a family... it hurt him deep in his stomach and sent pricks to his eyes. Satoru, of course, could tell something was brewing in the boy but he just couldn't get him to say anything.

It wasn't until Gojo was tucking Megumi in for the night, (for the very first time) that he asked.

"Well Megs, was it a good Christmas?"

The boy just nodded and pulled the duvet to his nose.

"Did Santa do a good job, or was there something else you were wishing for?"

The thought struck the boy as insulting.

"No. It was seriously too much, Gojo."

"Hey, kid, don't blame me, that was alllllllll the big guy."

"So were all those cookies going missing..." Megs rolled his eyes.

"Now you're getting it." Satoru decided not to push his luck with patting the boys head and lifted himself to his full height. "Well..." he rolled his head over too the door, "I'm going to go say good night to your sister."

It was at this precise moment, just as Satoru was leaving, that Megumi had a wave pass over him. He tried to sit up but it was too much. He forced the words out, shutting his eyes.

"I wish you would s-stay."

After he said it he breathed a huge sigh, as if it was the most challenging thing he's done.

"What was that?" Gojo's eyes were huge, confused. He sped over to the boys bed, kneeling once more, "What did you say?"

It was too hard to get out again. Megumi just shrugged and felt blood fill his cheeks.

"Did you ask me to stay?" Satoru seemed to chase the boys eyes with his head, leaning over into Megumi's space. "Do you mean here? Or... with you? You and Tsumiki?"

Megumi tugged his comforter to his nose once more, hiding the majority of his face. "With us. Like this."

Years later, Megumi would groan every time he would recall this moment, but for now, it was just for Satoru and him, and his warm toned desk lamp.

"Hey, kid, I'm not goin' anywhere."

Satoru smiled but Megumi wouldn't meet his eye.

"'Cause it's Christmas?"

Satoru's smile widened and this time, he did pat Megumi's head.

"Nah, 'cause I don't want to."

[blackdykegirlblogger]

a/n: yes yes ik she's bi/pan but hey let's just pretend she doesn't like dick for a TINY second. this is pure butchcock (9 inches-) folks, take it or leave it (this came to me while i was in the midst of greening out and i was like woah!)

wc: a little over 1k

what can be said about ambessa medarda?

well, it depends on who you ask. to some, she's a symbol of everything noxus stands for: power, dominance, exuding an energy of strength and might so potent that it rumbles the battlefield. she was a symbol, someone to be admired.

to others, she was cruel. bloodthirsty. a tyrant who needed to be put down and stopped before she can inflict any more tragedy on whoever crossed her path.

but regardless of how one felt about her, one thing was always clear: she knew how to keep her clan in line. like any good chief, it was her sole responsibility to uphold a certain sense of morale among her soldiers. after all, it's mighty hard to feel like performing at your best day after day when that thought constantly plagued the back of your mind. the reminder that you were fighting for her, and fighting with your life. every conflict, every war. death knocked on your door constantly, and shit, it was just fucking spooky.

for her male warriors, the promise of typical medals and bragging rights hung over their heads, leaving them to jump and leap for it like the little pawns that they were (not that they knew that). men were always so easy to toy with, so proud, so arrogant. their egos being the only thing that they ever seemed to think with.

well, not the only thing. but, to put it bluntly, cock has never been her preference.

now, for all the fine gals armored up, she had a very different way of showing her appreciation for such blind loyalty.

your legs were thrown on either side of ambessa's lap, drooling cunt on full display as the warlord fucked you with a vengeance. her fat thumb flicked on your clit repeatedly, using the gallons to slick you were producing to draw little shapes onto the bud. she massaged her palm over your pussy, giving it a few firm slaps before sliding not one, not two, but three of her fingers into your cunt. the stretch was unforgiving, but you tried your hardest not to squirm away or resist. you were dumb and grateful for whatever she decided to give you, however or whenever she choose.

"this is what i expect from you all. submission. obedience." her voice boomed over the courtyard. it was barely the asscrack of dawn, the lanterns scattered around the lot of you making up for the lack of sunlight. and yet, the stage was filled. ambessa had a tradition of picking a.....soldier of the month, so to speak, and you had been her newest prize. every warrior with a cunt between their legs knew where to meet on the fated 28th of every month, praying that their good behavior had managed to catch her attention this time around.

you weren't even sure what you did, to be completely honest. you had slipped up several times during training, forgetting a certain move or staying off-guard long enough to get tackled when it was time to spar. you (along with the others) found the idea of you being her latest star student laughable.

and yet.....

she clearly saw something in you, whatever it was.

and it was enough for her to decide to make you leak with her godly touch. her digits pulled out before slamming back into you with rhythm, not only assaulting your g-spot, but areas you didn't even know existed. the tips of her fingers curled just right as streams of creamy white arousal oozed from you. maybe, if you were actually coherent and with half a brain, you would've felt some form of shame from being so exposed. maybe embarrassment. humiliation, even.

but again, you would need to have the ability to think in order to feel any of that.

your head was lolled back on her shoulder, eyes briefly meeting hers as she continued to drain you for all you had. you couldn't quite read her expression, but it only served to turn you on even more.

without even a fraction of a heads up or warning, she tears her fingers (and in turn, your orgasm) out of you, leaving you gaping and pulsing around nothing but air. oh, you were going to be the talk of the fucking town after this.

she lifted you with ease with only one of her hands, hovering you over where you were initially spread out as she used the other to guide her cock out of her pants. considering that she was well over 6 feet and built like a fucking military tank, it was only natural that what was between her thighs followed suit. you had seen it many, many times before (and creamed at the thought of it even more), but still.

it was kind of scary.

"look at them, girl. show your peers what they could earn if they perform to my standards." her dick, slathered in pre-cum and standing loud and proud, twitched with every minor movement. after what felt like ages of tense anticipation, she finally lowered you onto her. if you thought her fingers were enough to keep you full, you were in for a surprise.

"a-ah!" she wasn't even at the halfway mark yet, but gods. this was unlike anything you've ever felt, anything you've ever imagined. her hands were firm on your waist, directing you to exactly where she wanted you as you continued to face the remainder of the troop. their faces were coated in lust, with a few of them shuffling uncomfortably in their seats to ease the ache that was no doubt torturing them.

she lowered you even further, inch by inch as her girth began to suffocate you. you could feel her everywhere, and the bulge slowly appearing by your belly button only proved it. you really, really weren't sure if you could take anymore, but the last thing you wanted was to disappoint her.

no, never that.

so you had to grit your teeth and take it. absolute submission, just like she wanted. she was balls deep and tears were escaping from your eyes in bursts as you sobbed. it hurt, obviously, but it felt so fucking good. her tip kissed your cervix just right as she bounced you.

your grip welcomed her as much as it could, not even having the chance to squeeze her back out because she just kept on slamming you down.

she paid you no mind, piercing eyes raking over the crowd as she used you like a fleshlight. "let this motivate you all, hmm?"

"if you're lucky, you might be next."

[abrthephantomq]

You tell me I'm a good boy or a good pet and I'll melt in your hands. - Jazz, probably, when he figures out that he's a simp for Zim even if he doesn't realize WHY he's obsessed with him.

Zim this, Zim that - he's all you talk about, Dib. Maybe you don't actually hate him. Maybe you actually like, wanna suck his dick or something --

GAZLENE --

what? Am I wrong?

Nnn-- I mean -- yes. Yes you're wrong Gaz.

Hey, have you noticed there's lots more planes flying overhead around here, lately?

Yeah, that'd make sense and all, considering what happened last week.

What happened last week?

...........Dib. You know what happened last week.

I don't, actually -- oh no...

What is it? Why're you acting so weird? Like, weirder than usual?

Fuck I overshot.

What do you mean, you overshot?

Gaz, what year is it?

It's 2001. Why?

Month?

September --

Of course! That's what happened, last week. Thanks. I forgot for a second. That's all.

How could you forget about it? All you've been talking about is how Zim was the one who did all of it --

BECAUSE HE DID, GAZ.

What?

That was ZIM - he didn't manage to sell any candy bars so he lost our bet. He was so confused why humans weren't falling to their knees, terrified. In those EXACT words. I have a recording of him saying just that.

What the hell, Dib --

:voice recording plays - Zim sounds absolutely devastated: "they didn't even blink an eye when I put that city in ruins. How can these humans be so.... Eh? I forgot the word, what was I saying?

Oh. Yeah. These hyumens aren't scared of my super scary simulation of me destroying one of their precious cities! They just shrugged and said whatever. I don't want your fucking candy."

Do you humans not get enough moneys to buy these things? These are....really good chocolate. Like, I expected them to be sand based on the name of them, but -- they're actually good? Is this a PRIVATE school?

[Dib's voice can be heard in the background; he apparently planted a bug that looked exactly like The Bug --, right where Zim tended to look at himself in the mirror. Because Zim likes to talk to himself out loud - but he's gotta see his reflection to do it. But Zim's eyes are fucking terrible and he can't see shit, even with his occular implants. Even though he is an Irken Elite. You're not gonna get anymore information from me than that. Either way, you hear enough to know that it's Dib speaking, even if you can't make out what he's saying. But Zim can hear him even if Dib is WAYYYYYY. Over there bc of his antenna. Like. You can hear a Dib when he is in his home. That is how much better Zim can hear than Dib]

Did you really just hijack me, space boy? I'm trying to tell my part of the story here as the fly on the wall of every single moment the two of you think you're alone.

Bobby Dawn what are you doing. (Barbie Dan?)(nah, Bobby Dawn. But if you wanna say it where people hear the name both ways, go for it)

Anyways, Steven asked for my assistance with the next chapter of class clown. This ain't the next, next chapter, but it is a chapter that'll show up later down the road. He's gotta finish a Mr. sludgey POV, first.

This just the super unedited version done while I'm high bc I love creating bonds and strengthening them via writing them. That includes my TikToks and my journal entries I ain't shared with y'all and all the writing we ain't shared with y'all, neither.

Gonna go get myself some lunch now, tho. Been at this long enough. ❤️ Have a good day now, y'hear?

All fanfiction authors have praise kinks in the form of comments and likes

[moghedien]

I think that Popular works really well in the movie, because for one thing the comedic timing is great and it low key pulls off the unvocalized "why isn't Galinda unpacking her trunks" joke so well by having her open them all during Popular to reveal increasingly ridiculous and impossible things inside

but also I feel like it does Elphaba soooo much better when you sort of remove the audience being literally present in front of the performers.

because I wouldn't say that Popular is inherently always a mean spirited song on stage, but it is to some extend a joke a between the audience and Galinda at Elphaba's expense. like not entirely not even purposely from a character standpoint so don't start getting defensive, but on stage, with basically every song, they're performing to and looking at the audience when delivering these lines. if you remove that, then its exclusively between Galinda and Elphaba, and it just feels so different that way

For one thing, even before the song starts, the build up to it feels much more personal when they're sharing secrets and bonding and it is for the first time literally only them there during this scene. You see that Galinda hasn't really changed all that much in how she acts, she's just nicer now, but it feels like Elphaba might have.

Elphaba's guard is completely down for the first time and she's sooo much softer and letting herself smile, and you can see what she's smiling at a lot is specifically how Galinda is acting and reacting to her. like even when Galinda throws a tantrum at Elphaba not telling her a secret, you see that Elphaba's reaction is to smile and let her guard slip again and she just looks so fucking fond of Galinda even when she's being like that.

And Elphaba tells her something incredibly vulnerable and something that she has never told anyone, which is that she thinks she's responsible for Nessarose's disability and her mother's death and that her father hating her is deserved. This is the first time she's ever told anyone she feels like this, and Galinda's response is to tell her that she's wrong, that none of it is her fault and she doesn't deserve to be hated or have to live in guilt over it??? like hello?? can we actually talk about this more in general?

and like yes, all of this happens on stage, but without the audience literally being there, these little moments, these reassurances, these playful actions and kindnesses are literally only for the two of them and it isn't being played off for a literal punchline where they pause for a reaction before continuing. it just feels so much more intimate

Then you get into Popular itself, which I said always is a little bit of a joke at Elphaba's expense and I wouldn't say its entirely free of that in the movie. But if you have it so that literally the only person that Galinda is playing off of and getting reactions from IS Elphaba, it feels sooo different.

Like its built up because you have these moments where you can visibly see how much Elphaba is actually fond of Galinda and her silliness. And it makes so much sense that after that and after Galinda was the only person that basically said "you don't deserve to be hated" for something she genuinely blames herself for, that Elphaba would just sit there and let Galinda play dress up with her. And on Galinda's part, it is so much clearer that it IS something she's trying to do to help Elphaba (and we can discuss how fucked her worldview is for thinking this is the best way help Elphaba because Popular is basically Galinda also showing how deeply unwell she is) and not just a joke she's having with the audience.

Because like during the song, she's directing it all to Elphaba and all of the things they try on and do are only seen between the two of them because the audience isn't literally there. like its so much clearer that Elphaba wants to be there (even when she thinks its silly and ridiculous and is clearly questioning everything on the floor while Galinda swims around her like a gay little fish) and that she's enjoying it and letting herself enjoy it, and is specifically enjoying it because Galinda is the one there with her.

I think the movie just does it so well and it just feels much kinder than it sometimes does on stage

[love-byers]

we all know about the parallel of mike hugging karen when he feels like he's lost will, but i've never seen anyone talk about the other parallels in the s1 and s3 heroes scenes. there are more than you think!

will's fake body being pulled out of the quarry VS will (+ the others) pulling out of the driveway for california

a close up of mike looking at both

mike leaving the scene on his bike after 'losing' will

in one, he has no hesitation. he gets his bike and doesn't look back. not at wills fake dead body, not at el (which would be odd if he knew he was in love with her then...), not at dustin and lucas, not at anyone. he keeps moving forward.

in the other, he is full of hesitation as the other bike away, not looking back. mike stays back and takes one last look at will's house, looking nervous, before hesitantly tearing his eyes away and biking off, trailing behind dustin lucas and max.

do i really need to explain the implications of that....

mike entering the wheeler house visibly upset after losing will, and karen immediately noticing

mike seeking out a hug from karen, something he rarely does

mike hugging karen

note how both clips end with mike moving/sinking deeper into the moment. i'm not sure what the best way to describe this is, but im talking about mike shoving his face into karen's shoulder in the s1 scene and his eyes flicking down in the s3 scene. i know it seems like it doesn't matter, but it does. sprinkling things like that in as a director is purposeful! it's showing how mike is processing the events. in s1 he sinks deeper into karen's comfort, further breaking down because he thinks will is dead. in s3 he doesn't do that. he is extremely still, eyes not moving as he is in shock. then his eyes do move at the last moment, showing he is further processing whatever event has occurred, transitioning from shock to really processing whatever happened.

raw emotion vs icy shock.

and oomf @reo-bylerwagon who is a film major told me that the way the camera tilts upward in the s3 clip is used to show that a realization has occurred, or that something new is being revealed. does that not PERFECTLY line up with:

1. the way mike seems extremely shocked as though he has realized something huge

2. the fact that LITERALLY over that moment is a hopper voice over where he says "to turn back the clock, to make things go back to how they were"

and 3. the way he behaves in s4 (being weird about touching will, rink o mania, etc.)

so yeah, these are definitely parallels through and through and it's really interesting. mike has lost will in both, but in different ways. his reactions say a lot about how he's processing the events and how he views them/his relationships.

also reminder that this is not delusional in the slightest because heroes has only played twice and it's in these two sequences.

and to anyone thinking "well they're just trying to show that mike deeply cares for will, just not in a romantic way!"

......

why in the fresh FUCK would they eat up SO MUCH screen time to show that mike platonically cares about will, rather than use that time to develop his relationship with el and, i don't know, show that he loves her??? why would they feed into will's unrequited love like this??? spoiler alert: THEY AREN'T.

that would be doing WAY too much for a relationship that will end in an amicable split so one can get married and one can get over his deep seeded love for the other and navigate the (extremely homophobic) world alone.

like yall are very clearly not writers or creatives in the slightest 💀💀💀 any writer (or anyone with the faintest creative/analytical bone in their body) will immediately understand why that's fucking dumb and makes no sense. yall are just heteronormative af and instead of admitting that it's greatly affecting your perception of the characters you double and TRIPLE down until you sound like a homophobic disaster

also

season 1 - heroes plays (when mike feels like he lost will)

season 2 - heroes does not play

season 3 - heroes plays (when mike feels like he lost will)

seasons 4 - heroes does not play

season 5 - heroes will play...? perhaps the original david bowie version? and byler will finally kiss as though nothing could fall and the shame will be on the other side? and they can be heroes? just for one day?

so yeah anyways byler endgame

[acowardinmordor]

I think when Steve gets Vecna'd, Eddie adds together what he knows about the situation and comes to a logical conclusion. To him at least. He knows that Steve came here asking for heavy drugs and high quantities. He knows that Steve was sounding a hell of a lot like 'sleep' meant something worse.

He knows that Steve is X, and that means all of the horrible things that Eddie knows X thinks about himself, the guy in front of him thinks that too. He knows that Steve, ever since the letters stopped, has been upsetting the freshmen by being distant and cold.

The only assumption he can come up with is that Steve already took something, and it's hit. Or it's causing a reaction. Or its a bad trip.

He has no hesitation about touching him, immediately checks his breathing and his heart rate. It sorta, kinda seems like an overdose, a little bit could be an allergic reaction, but Steve is trembling like he's scared, and his body is stiff. Those explanations don't make perfect sense, so he watches for something that would mean it IS medical, and heads towards his better guess.

Bad Trip.

Steve is high, and is in a bad brain place, and that means he needs to be grounded. Music helps, right? When he was on that bad trip with Rick after his first senior year, Rick put on one of Eddie's tapes, and talked to him. Calm shit. Encouraging shit.

Eddie fully ignores the flickering lights - electrical gets weird in the trailer sometimes - and grabs the mixtape he made for X, and shoves it into his sorta fucky boombox. It's a mix of X's favorite songs, and the ones he mentioned in his own letters. He doesn't know if Steve ever listened to them, but that tape is the only thought he has.

Gets it playing, and grabs hold of Steve's arms. He knows that Steve stopped talking to him. Since Steve knew who he was, and Eddie didn't know who X was, it means Steve probably doesn't care if Eddie wants him to be okay.

Eddie talks about how everyone else feels.

He tells him about how protective Dustin is. How angry Lucas gets anytime anyone says a bad word about Steve. How Eddie has never seen Robin smile so much. How no one judges him for needing to repeat a year. Everyone knows about how hurt he got, and everyone gets it. No one thinks worse of him for it.

He knows his voice isn't exactly calm and soothing, but the longer this insane eye-flutter, non responsive thing goes, the more terrified Eddie is.

"Steve, please, please, it's okay. Just find your way back. try to breathe, try to feel your body, and you'll be okay. I know - I know I've been an asshole to you. I know, okay. But the boys, Robin, shit, fuck, Steve, I need to apologize for shit, so you gotta slow down your breathing. Whatever you're seeing, it isn't real. I promise it's not real, okay? Come back to the real world and I can get you feeling better, I promise. Steve? Steve?"

He doesn't notice at first that Steve is starting to float. He's too focused on his face, the way his eyes are still rolled back. He lets go before he can notice his own hands rising with him. Shits too real, this isn't just a bad trip, he needs help, he needs an ambulance, a cop, anyone that can actually help Steve.

He has the phone in hand, and is about to dial when he turns back, needing to keep looking at him while he begs someone to come fast. He sees Steve in the air.

One step closer, then another. He keeps trying, another whispered sentence or three. But the lights are going crazy, and the music is staticky, the dialtone is screaming, and suddenly Steve is flattened to the ceiling, arms pulling slowly to the sides.

Eddie runs.

Leaves the door swung open as he throws himself into his van. His hands are shaking and he's hyperventilating too hard to notice Max Mayfield sprinting across the road, up the stairs and into the trailer. He's pulling away, when Max screams as Steve falls.

He hears the scream, he hears and feels the heavy thump of a weight hitting the ground. He knows what that sound must mean.

Eddie runs.

Behind him with the tape still playing, Max holds onto a terrified Steve, who has trickles of blood on his cheeks, and bruises blooming on his arms.

Steve, alive, cursed, who immediately asks if Eddie is safe.

[timperleyworldofwater]

trans women are women because their doctors will say the same shite to them about their HRT regimen as what they say to cis women about their birth control. there is still the presumption of silly lass doesn't know what she's talking about. trans women get asked invasive questions about their transition status and are subjected to the same kinds of sexual harassment cis women are subjected to. this is the kind of thing we should be talking about more, but instead the flavour of trans positivity we have at the moment is just. Be Who You Want To Be! ❤️ Gender Is A Social Construct So It Doesn't Actually Matter! ❤️ What Is A Woman, Anyway??

and it's like. yes these are all fair and interesting points to make but they only make sense to you and me, tumblr users, but Gary, 63 from Bolton isn't going to know what any of that means. i'm not out to convince anyone that my identity is "valid" because that's kinda the bare minimum and also doesn't really address how you're actually treated in the world. i think that's what the TMA/TME labels are getting at, but even then it's hugely reductive and outside conversations about gender, it doesn't mean anything.

i should probably read more judith butler.

"Trans women are actually women for real, not in a metaphorical sense, not in a "anyone can be anything" sense, but genuinely actually make more taxonomic sense to classify in the category of women than any other group you could classify them in" is a position you'll find is pretty radical even in queer spaces

[unknown7s]

Can I just say that I really fucking HATE how the majority of the Arcane fandom praising Season 2 is deeply in the mindset of Piltover in reality? Like, it's not even funny, and I don't know where to begin.

I'll just start with Silco because he's this huge metaphorical character who is clearly written as the embodiment of a long list of sociopolitical agendas in the real world. And before I start, pardon my English, since it's not my first language.

I know y'all in the Anglo-American sphere tend to focus more on classism, inequality and police brutality theme. But the way I see it, THAT and every single dialogue plus the specific word choice of Silco & Sevika literally SCREAMS of postcolonial discourse (I guess F. Fanon is most well-known to y'all) and even some part of M. Foucault's philosophy, etc. I'm writing "etc." because the list will go on forever if I describe all these creepy historical parallels between the depiction of Zaun's internal conflict and what real countries that have been (or still are) colonies went through, and what real colonizer propaganda looked like during that time—like how those characters who fight for the nation's independence are the big bad villain and psychotic monsters who need "redemption arc" therapy, while those who cooperate with the oppressors are the good-hearted familial heroes of this story.

So upon reflection, if this fandom were to be a collective intelligence, we should have asked ourselves, "Is this show truly not problematic for portraying such a character as villainous?" and thus, "Is this show thematically implying far-right propaganda?" even before Season 2 presented us with this insane plot that glamorized the militaristic fascist aristocrat proclaiming martial law as a 'romantic revenge arc'.

But what did the majority of the fandom do since 2022? They were so busy shitting on this dead villain, claiming he has done so much wrong that he doesn't even deserve to be praised as a character. So instead of trying to understand where this character's point of view is coming from, they blindly hate him to the point where they are now fabricating a list of crimes that he didn't even commit, editing false information on the fandom wiki profile.

What's more frustrating to me is that I thought the problem was media illiteracy all along, but oh no, I was being way more optimistic than the reality. Now that I’ve read all these interviews from the showrunner and main writer—Linke and Overton—I get the sense of why Season 2 turned out like that. The more they babble on about this show, the clearer it becomes that they don't even acknowledge how messed up their political views are, which are so far-right. Taking the seemingly-centrist line doesn't make you fair, you're just passively siding with the oppressors. And lesbian sex scene doesn't make this show "progressive", in fact, hiding oppressor fantasy behind a rainbow flag makes it even more treacherous.

So yeah, I think critical voices should be much louder than this, but watching the majority of this fandom neglacting problems only to praise the show? I think my hope for humanity kind of get lost more and more as time passes, lol.

[chericos]

𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 ᝰ ⋆⁺₊❅.

CHRISTMAS ACTIVITIES WITH THE JJK MEN!

you can definitely see my favorites...

Satoru Gojo:

Satoru would try and take you moose-back riding: keyword try

he grew up being exceptional at everything, so he thought this would be no different

boy, was he wrong

you walked up to your moose calmly, hands held out for the massive creature to sniff—to gain its trust. It seemed to relax in your presence. with a few reassuring words and a couple of pats, it allowed you the honor of being able to climb onto its back with ease. meanwhile, the scene next to you was anything but graceful. gojo was struggling. a lot. "why is he looking at me like that?" "i think it wants to kill me," "why doesn't he like me..." he all but whined "maybe he can sense your charming personality," you teased. gojo spent the majority of his time whining about the audacity of the moose (that he picked out mind you). and when he was finally able to mount it, for a few gratifying seconds, the moose bucked wildly, sending him flying backward. you guide your own moose towards where he lies sprawled out in the snow, trying to contain your laughter. "totally planned for that to happen." "sure ya did honey," let's just say gojo never looked at a moose the same way again.

Suguru Geto:

Suguru was skeptical when you brought up the idea of Christmas baking.

you wanted to do something to keep the twins, mimiko, and nanako, entertained

"are you sure this isn't going to end in a mess?" he asked, arms crossed over his chest as he stood in the kitchen doorway. "it's supposed to be messy, besides, they'll love it" mimiko and nanako were already perched up on the counter, smiling excitedly as they tried to get geto to join them, tugging on is sleeve and looking up at him with big puppy eyes. its no surprise that he gave in. mimiko was meticulous, carefully pressing cookie cutters into the dough with laser focus, while nanako was more chaotic, enthusiastically cutting out shapes in rapid succession—often forgetting to clean off the edges. geto couldn’t help but chuckle as he leaned over to help Nanako fix her crooked star cookie. “like this,” he said softly, guiding her hands. meanwhile, you were rolling out more dough when mimiko quietly came up to you. “can we make a heart one?” she asked shyly. You nodded, handing her the cutter. “of course, sweetie. maybe we can decorate it for suguru-nii later?" geto definitely overheard that. when it came time to decorate, the real chaos began. nanako somehow managed to get frosting everywhere—on her hands, her face, and even a streak across her cheek. “nanako, the frosting is for the cookies,” geto said with a sigh, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. mimiko, ever the perfectionist, took her time placing each sprinkle with care. “suguru-nii, look! I made a snowman!” she said, holding up her creation proudly. he smiled, brushing a hand over her hair. “It’s perfect, mimiko.” by the time you were done, the kitchen was a disaster. flour dusted the counters and the floor, and there was frosting on practically everything, including a streak in geto’s hair that he hadn’t noticed yet. (no one tell him) the girls were exhausted but happy, sitting at the table with mugs of warm milk and admiring their cookies. mimiko leaned against geto’s arm while nanako leaned against yours, both content and sleepy. geto glanced over at you, a soft smile on his face. “you were right, they loved it,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “told you,”

Kento Nanami:

tree picking with Kento was probably one of the most tedious tasks on the planet

you never expected him to be so serious about such a holiday, but you can't say you're surprised

nanami wasn't sure how he roped into picking out a Christmas tree with you, I mean, this wasn't exactly his idea of a relaxing afternoon. but with relentless begging and pleading on your end he found himself holding a saw in one hand while his other had his fingers laced between yours and secured in his coat pocket. "we should get this one" you gigglied while pointing towards a lopsided tree. "absolutely not." "but it adds character!" after what felt like hours of deliberation (and a lot of back and forth over the "symmetry of a tree") you finally settle on a tall, full tree, that met nanami's (ridiculous in your eyes) standards. decorating, however, was a different story. nanami was a perfectionist in every sense of the word. as he meticulously placed ornaments and adjusted the lights until everything was perfectly balanced. “It’s just a tree,” you teased as he redid the tinsel for the 3rd time. “It’s not ‘just a tree.’ It’s the centerpiece of Christmas,” he replied, dead serious. by the time the tree was finished, it was nothing short of a masterpiece. as you admired the warm glow of the lights, nanami handed you a cup of hot cocoa and let out a rare, contented sigh. “you were right,” he said softly. “It was worth the effort.” for the rest of the night, you caught him stealing glances at the tree, his lips curving into the faintest smile.

Ryomen Sukuna:

it took you 3 hours of incessant pestering for Ryomen to finally crack and join you on your holiday shopping trip

let's just say you end up regretting it.

sukuna couldn't care less about christmas. to him, it was nothing but an annoying excuse for humans to prance around in hideous sweaters and screech (sing) ridiculous songs to one another. so when you dragged him out to do christmas shopping, he made it his personal mission to ruin everyone else’s day. “why are we even here?” he grumbled as you wandered through aisles of ornaments and festive decorations. “because you need to get out more,” you replied, dodging his annoyed glare. but instead of helping, sukuna decided to make his own fun. anytime a kid got too close, he’d flash them a devilish grin, his sharp teeth on full display. “you better behave, or i’ll really give you something to cry about,” he said, voice low and menacing. cue the immediate screaming. “kuna!” you hissed, swatting his arm as the poor kid ran to their parents. “what? i thought this was the season for fear,” it got worse when he found an aisle with animatronic decorations (ok maybe this is just where I live but why is there still halloween decor out???). he’d activate the ones with creepy faces, making them jump-scare unsuspecting shoppers while he cackled in delight. “look at them! scrambling away like scared little mice,” he sneered, clearly having way too much fun. you, on the other hand, were mortified. “this is christmas, not halloween,” you groaned, dragging him away from the chaos he caused. but he just smirked, completely unbothered. “could’ve fooled me. everyone looks terrified.” by the time you finished shopping, the store staff was glaring at you, and sukuna looked smugger than ever. as you hauled your bags to the car, you gave him a pointed look. “you’re impossible.” note to self: never let him out to the general public.

Megumi Fushiguro:

megumi has been ice skating once in his life, at the age of 10

he fell flat on his ass and vowed to never touch the ice again

until you, that is

megumi still wasn’t sure how you convinced him to come ice skating. “it’s not like i’ll be good at it,” he grumbled, he was already mentally preparing for disaster. but somehow, here he was, lacing up skates while you beamed at him. a bright smile on your face as you tugged on the sleeve of his sweater (your favorite) and directed him towards the ice. the moment he stepped onto the ice, his legs wobbled like a newborn deer. he gripped the wall with a death grip, glaring at the ice as if it personally offended him. “this is stupid,” he muttered. you, ever the showoff, skated effortlessly back toward him, stopping with a little flourish. “you’re supposed to move, megumi, not cling to the wall,” you teased, holding out your hands. he stared at your hands, then at the ice, then back at your hands. “i’m going to fall,” he stated flatly. “probably,” you said with a shrug, “but that’s part of the fun!” begrudgingly, he let go of the wall and took your hands. his movements were stiff and awkward as you guided him across the ice. every slip and stumble made him scowl harder, his ears burning red from embarrassment. at one point, his balance gave out completely, and he went down with a thud. you tried not to laugh, but the way he just sat there, glaring and grumbling at the ice like it betrayed him, made it impossible. “go ahead. laugh,” he deadpanned. “i’m not laughing at you! just… near you,” you replied, wiping tears from your eyes before offering him a hand to get back up. he hesitated but eventually allowed you to help him. after a while, he found a rhythm—though he still refused to let go of your hand for long. by the end, he was still wobbly, still scowling, but there was a faint sense of satisfaction in his eyes. when you pointed it out, he rolled them and muttered, “it’s not like i enjoyed it.” he was a liar.

Yuji Itadori:

yuji was so excited to decorate gingerbread houses

at least, until the smell hit him

“this smells so good,” he said, already nibbling on one of the walls. “yuji, that’s supposed to be part of the house,” You watched as he sheepishly put it down… only to sneak a bite of a different piece when he thought you weren’t looking. you were. at first, he tried to stay focused. he squeezed out some frosting here, stuck a gumdrop to the roof there, and proudly showed it off like it was a masterpiece. but within minutes, you noticed the pile of gingerbread shrinking. at an abnormally fast rate. “yuji, for the love of—stop eating the house!” “i’m not!” he said, crumbs falling from his mouth as he tried to look innocent. “i’m just… quality checking.” "quality checking my—" by the time you finished your own gingerbread house, yuji’s was barely half built. instead of walls, there were just scattered crumbs and a single frosting-covered gummy bear left standing. it was a mess. “what happened to your house?” you asked, trying not to laugh. “it’s an abstract gingerbread house. very minimalist. also, i was hungry.” he shrugged, unapologetic. you couldn’t even be mad at him—especially when he offered you a piece of gingerbread with a sheepish grin. “want to split the roof? it’s the best part.”

Yuta Okkotsu:

it was a miracle that yuta was even in town for christmas

after a rough week-long mission you just wanted him to relax

yuta had just returned from a week-long mission, his exhaustion obvious in the way his eyes barely stayed open and the dark bags under them. his voice was hoarse from the travel and long days, and when he stepped into your place, he gave you a tired smile. “sorry, i’m late,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “it’s been a long week…” you didn’t mind, though. seeing him home was enough. “you’re not late,” you said softly, leading him to the couch. “how about we just spend christmas indoors? we can watch movies and… just relax.” his eyes flickered with relief at the idea. “sounds perfect,” he murmured, sinking into the couch beside you. you picked out a christmas movie to start, but the moment the opening credits rolled, you noticed his breathing slowing. yuta, still curled up in a blanket beside you, let out a soft sigh, his head leaning gently on your shoulder. as you ran your fingers through his hair, he gave a small hum of contentment. “you’re really tired, huh?” you asked quietly, looking down at him. “mm… a little,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. “just need to rest for a bit… your hands feels nice…” the movie played on, but yuta didn’t even make it halfway through the first one. his body shifted, and soon, he was completely asleep, his head still resting on your shoulder, his chest rising and falling slowly in deep, peaceful breaths. you smiled softly, continuing to run your fingers through his hair, the warmth of him against you making the entire room feel cozy. the movie continued, but no one was watching at this point. you pressed a sweet kiss to his forehead before whispering "welcome back, my love,"

an; i was gonna add toge but when I got home and clicked on my drafts I never finished his part and I couldn't for the life of me remember what I was going to do or think of a new idea so... sorry!

hope you all had a wonderful holiday!

unedited!

@ CHERICOS 2024 all rights reserved do not repost, edit, copy, translate or plagiarise my works

[namism]

lost | seishiro nagi

➳ categories: canonverse, breaking up, angst, communication problems, gender neutral reader

➳ word count: 1.7k

➳ summary: Nagi breaks up with you nonchalantly and you're wondering where it all went wrong.

➳ notes: this may or may not have been based on experience and i may or may not have gone through war flashbacks while writing this but it's a-okay!

➳ cross-posted on ao3

You got up from bed 28 hours ago. Nagi broke up with you 5 hours afterward.

Now that the clock strikes 1 in the afternoon, you can't tell whether or not the substance you're drinking out of your personalized coffee mug—which, by the way, was given to you by Nagi on your sixth monthsary—is water, coffee, or Red Bull. You have been officially up for 28 hours with nothing but this mystery substance to fuel your brain, but even not-water, not-coffee, or not-Red Bull can take your mind off the sinking anxiety that floods your system.

Thus comes the sudden urge to walk to the nearest convenience store and buy the first alcoholic drink your eyes land on. Although best boy Yoichi Isagi is already on speaker as he talks you out of doing so, in fear that your insomniac body will crash in the middle of the street with no guidance or a merciful civilian around to rush you to the hospital. He speaks in a hurried tone, almost panting, like he's on his way to your flat so that he can stop you before you ride the elevator four floors down to the building lobby, where the exit doors await your presence—but the sad truth is, he's in München, Germany, for work-related reasons, so all he can do to lend a hand is to stop whatever he's doing and focus on talking you out of doing silly things.

"I just need to sleep, Isagi," you tell him weakly, clutching your wool blanket closer to your chest as you lay on your couch in a fetal position. From the looks of your ongoing FaceTime call, Isagi is in his apartment, well-groomed and dressed in simple house clothes, and fresh out of the shower after a morning gym session. He has an AirPod in his left ear, while the other is probably somewhere in his apartment, wedged between tight spaces or buried under heaps of laundry. You wiggle your toes as the air conditioning restarts, feeling the cool air blow on your feet. "A Strong Zero will do it. They also have a new flavor, ha-ha."

"No, it won't. Sit tight and wait until Chigiri comes," he advises sternly. He called your mutual friend Hyoma Chigiri ten minutes ago upon FaceTiming you and learning about the terrible news that he never would have seen coming. Isagi was terrified by the sight of your bloodshot eyes, deepened eye bags, and unruly hair that spread on your couch pillow. When you began to cry, he knew that calling for backup was the best route. "I just… don't understand. Why did you break up?"

"He broke up with me," you correct. He mumbles a passive apology. "I don't understand it either. I mean, I kinda do, but my brain isn't making any sense of it, or maybe it just doesn't want to."

"Nagi is unreadable. I get it."

You groan.

"You see, it's not even that."

You turn on your side and lay flat on your back. You situate the phone on your chest, so that Isagi has a rather unpleasant view of your chin. He mimics your actions by flopping on his bed and lying on his back, inclining his phone perpendicular to his torso.

"Most people can't read him, but I can. I can tell if he's bothered or hungry, if he's annoyed or upset. We were doing okay until yesterday."

"Maybe there's a part of him that you can't read after all," Isagi suggests, then he realizes his indifferent tone. "Crud. Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"It's fine," you mumble with a frown. "I might as well get used to reality."

You fear that Isagi might be right. While you were always confident that Nagi was more loose around you (save for his childhood friend Reo), there could have been some part of himself that he kept hidden.

In that case, you wonder why. As far as you can remember, Nagi never had any trouble voicing out his feelings to you.

"What did he even say?" asks Isagi.

"He said some things," you answer.

"I'm going to assume that he didn't elaborate." He sighs, disappointed in the turn of events. "How did it sound to you?"

You think about it deeply. Nagi, a man of a few words, in fact, did not elaborate much on his breakup speech, but from the many years you knew him, you caught on to his reasoning. The way it happened and how it turned into a breakup just didn't make sense.

"Let's break up," he said out of nowhere as you were getting yourself a glass of lemon tea. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you put down the glass on the counter. "Sorry. It's random."

"Are you serious?" you asked quietly. When you turned around, Nagi was already looking at you.

He nodded.

"I think," you begin, "I think he fell out of love."

Isagi stares at the virtual image of you on his screen, jaw slightly ajar as he finds the right words to say. You beat him to it, though.

"He didn't say much, but he could have been embarrassed to admit it because all this time, I've-I've been..."

"You've been loving him for God knows how long," Isagi finishes.

Tears well up in your eyes, and you turn to your side again. Your whole body hurts as you're hit with a new wave of emotions. Falling out of love? It happens to couples all the time, for many reasons. Usually one gets fed up by the other, or one ends up not being good enough for the relationship to move forward in the long run. Your heart sinks.

Suddenly, you're finding certain moments in your relationship with Nagi that can support this thought, and they don't stop coming even when Chigiri is knocking repeatedly on your apartment door.

Isagi is the one who alerts you of your friend's presence, but you're bundled up under the blanket as the shitty feeling resides in you. You need alcohol. Badly.

Chigiri manages to break into your apartment using a key that you have hidden on the upper ledge of your door. When he finds you rotting on the couch, he embraces you in a warm hug and uses a couple of back pats to snap you out of your senses, but they don't work.

Isagi has to go to work, so he hangs up the call after bidding you goodbye and giving an empathetic look that you don't notice. Chigiri sits with you in silence until you're ready to speak.

"Chigiri," you croak.

"Hm?" he hums.

"Did Nagi ever think I was horrible?"

He sighs.

"Of course not."

You snuggle your head into your hands.

"Then why are we in this situation right now?"

"As much as I want to help, you're the only one who can truly answer that," he explains.

"Could it be because I don't play the games he plays?" you mutter. Chigiri is quiet. "Or maybe because I wasn't too big on football when we met?"

He shakes his head.

"That's stupid. Nagi didn't even get into football until high school."

"But when we started out, I learned that we were much more different than I thought we were, so I was always catching up with him and his friends," you admit. "I didn't know how to play his games, so I tried to get into them just so we could spend time together even though I sucked and he looked happier playing with Reo and his girl. I couldn't understand football language until a few months of dating, either. No offense, Chigiri, but I couldn't understand any of your lingo and I would just sit and stand in your celebrations while nodding my head just to fit in!"

"You can't doubt your relationship because you don't game the way he does," Chigiri reasons, "and Nagi never expected you to know football like that."

"But wouldn't those be reasons to get tired of someone?" you ask. "What if... just what if he thought that it would have been nicer if he had someone who had the same interests as him?"

Chigiri sighs.

"Look. You've been awake for more than a day, so your brain isn't braining correctly. How about you get some sleep and we can talk about this again when you wake up?"

"But—"

"No buts!"

Standing up from the couch, Chigiri tugs the wool blanket off your body to force you up on your feet. Once successful, he drags you to your bedroom, where your pillows and comforter are sprawled on the mattress, just the way you left them a day ago. He forces you under the comforter, which you obey pretty quickly.

He fetches your water bottle from the kitchen and cranks up the room temperature. He doesn't leave until he's sure that you're asleep, but your mind stays running long enough for Chigiri to doze off first in your mini sofa bed by the door.

With the background sound of Chigiri's faint snores, you're left with even more time to think about what went wrong with your relationship with Nagi and how you can possibly move on. Every aspect of your life for the past few years that you've been together has had Nagi involved in it in some way. With the presence of the man you're no longer with appearing in every recent memory you have, how is letting go anywhere achievable?

By the looks of it (and your personal gut feeling), perhaps Nagi did get tired. Although the extent of this certainty falls a little below 50% because he didn't explain his reasons as well as you wanted him to.

Using the strength you have left in your drained body, you grab your phone from the nightstand and open your messages. You type a message that comes to mind as soon as you see his contact.

You hey, can we talk? Read 1:43 PM

Nagi reads the message fairly quickly. You're nervous upon realization. A few minutes pass, and the read receipt stays as it is until a small bubble pops up.

Nagi okay can we talk later?

The same nonchalant Nagi that you love is the same person who just replied.

You sure. as long as we get to talk, please

Nagi mhm of course

Whatever is about to happen, will happen. If he can explain as well as you want him to, then you're happy to accept it and move on. If he's sure of losing you, then maybe you should, too.

[crimsoncandy04]

I had some thoughts again...

sometimes I just be sitting and thinking about what kind of positions wanderer would actually enjoy if he were fucking someone. And just like how he'd casually fuck in general. And my personal theory is just from the back while standing up. And rough but not painful. Specifically standing up because it would give him more power in the situation.

Like just imagine how fun it would be.

Him holding your wrists as he buries himself in your pussy from behind. You want to fall to your knees as he thrusts deep and hard but he won't let you. Literally thrusting harder to make you keep your ass up and pulling on your arms every time you try to fall forward too. You basically would just be limp in his hold as he fucks you because he won't let you go anywhere. Your legs could be shaking underneath you and he still wouldn't let you fall.

And gods don't even get me started on how fast he could move if he wanted to. He was blessed with an anemo vision.

Wanderer could make someone scream as they came on his dick with just how quickly he could move his hips with a little bit of elemental channeling in the right area.

He'd leave your poor cunt dripping and abused but utterly satisfied.

And afterwards he'd definitely be the type to cuddle. I like to imagine too that he's not exactly an exhibitionist because he hates attention. But he's totally down to do you anywhere at any time (as long as it's just you and him) and you could be out fighting monsters and then he'd just push you up against a tree or something. It's unexpected but welcomed.

So like after he disrespects you by fucking you senseless, he'd be hugging you and helping you clean up and stuff and then would do something cute like pick flowers for you or something cause wanderer is a bit of an ass but he's still got his sweetness deep down.

And I feel like his kindness would kinda just spill out as he spilled in you.

You know? (He's just a little excited to have someone who wants him even if he doesn't show it. Don't worry. If you can't walk afterwards he'll just carry you:))

Also just another note, he's a flirt when he puts his mind to it. It's playful too. And teasing;)

If this doesn't make sense or is written weird I'm sorry I'm high again