#like i feel like we gotta acknowledge just how odd he is like

[woolydemon]

What I need to do is like spend several hours analysing klavier's dialogue bc he talks like a Freak weirdo that doesn't know how human conversation works and I NEED TO EMBED HIS SPEECH PATTERNS INTO MY BRAIN

[fruittt-punchhh]

what about a toji fic where the reader dominates him? She ties him up and teases the hell out of him and he’s pisseddddd, he wants to escape that rope so bad but he can’t, and when he DOES he goes feral. i feel like that’d be scrumptious 🤌🏻

everyone please let anon cook.

MDNI!! incredible smut ahead, this is your final warning.

WC: 4.8k

CW: Toji x reader. Breeding. Name calling. Teasing. Little bit of free use. Toji is a whiny begging mess?!?!? Smut smut smut.

“Hey babe?” You call from the kitchen of your shared apartment. There’s a few creaks in the ceiling above you as you hear who you assume to be Toji shuffling to his feet.

“Whaddya’ want?” Toji yells from the top of the stairs, not wanting to make the full commitment of coming down just yet.

“Could you come down here? I wanna talk to you,” you yell back before he’s hesitantly taking the first step down. He was nervous since your birthday was in a few days. He wanted to play the nonchalant type and then surprise you this weekend with a party full of friends, drinks, and music. He already had plenty of presents picked out, buying one for each day of the month.

You were nervous, too. Your birthday was in three days and while you’ve mentioned it on and off to your boyfriend, you were still scared he’d forget. He worked at odd hours of the night and you didn’t even know if he had to work on your birthday. Birthdays weren’t usually a big deal for you, but you at least wanted him to acknowledge the day somehow.

“Hey, y/n, what’s up?” He says, heavy feet dragging the floor before he hugs you from behind.

You turn to face him, finding it a little difficult to escape his strong grasp.

“Remember that special day coming up soon?”

Oh god. Here you go. He wanted to act as if he had no idea, hoping to not spoil the surprise in case you asked if he made plans. But seeing that poor look in your eyes was enough for him to drop the façade.

“Of course baby doll, it’s your birthday. Why?”

Oh. So he did remember! Why has he led on like he didn’t?

“Well, it’s sort of embarrassing but I wanted to ask you somethin’. Figured you’d say no if it wasn’t my special day,” you admit, crossing all of your fingers and toes that Toji doesn’t laugh at your request and walk the other way.

“Shoot. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about, hun,” he says, putting a hand on his hip and the other on the counter, leaning into it while he studies your expression. You looked hopeful but scared, like a stray pup on the side of the road that just met their new owner.

“So ya’know how you like to tie me up sometimes when we…do it?”

How elementary.

“You mean when we fuck? Yeah, I like it quite a lot. Love seein’ you tied up on your back for me, ready to take me. If that’s all you want for your birthday don’t worry, I was plannin’ on doin’ that already, love,” he responds earnestly. You two didn’t use the ropes that often as Toji preferred using his own hands and arms as your restraints. But he always saw the way your face lit up when he tightened the rope around your wrists, corded nylon digging into your soft skin hard enough to leave marks for a few days.

“Well I was thinkin’ maybe we could do it like that but the other way around…?”

Jesus, if you weren’t blushing already, you sure were now. Toji always gets excited when you talk to him about anything remotely sexual. It seems as if a switch was flipped when you mentioned the ropes as he was now towering over you, green eyes peering into yours as he drinks in every word that leaves your lips.

“So tie you up and fuck you in doggy? We’ve done that before, ya’ just gotta’ ask, sweetheart. Use your words and be clear with me, you know how I feel about trying to read through your lil’ mind games you like to play,” he says with a smirk on his pretty face.

He grabs your hand in his, fingers interlocking as he rubs his thumb over yours as if you two were being purely romantic and thinking no kind of sinful thoughts.

You huff when he grabs your hand. You thought he’d catch on by now. You were never one to really take initiative in the bedroom. Toji always had to ask what you wanted and make you speak up if you mumbled too lowly. You were too embarrassed to voice your needs to him although it was something he could never get enough of.

“No, I-I don’t mean like that. I was thinking I could tie you up…?” You ask, nearly closing your eyes for fear of him laughing in your face.

He grips your hand tightly.

His other hand flies to your waist, large thumb pressing into your ribcage, hard.

His eyelids are lower, and his eyes quickly dart between your lips and your eyes.

Was he… mad? You couldn’t tell. When he got angry, he looked awfully similar to how he looked when you two were in bed together. A part of you found yourself slightly excited whenever he did get mad, losing yourself in his aggressive body language and taut figure.

“Oh. You wanna’ tie me up?” He removes his hand from yours, bringing the back of it up to your cheek as he brushes the hair out of your face.

“That’s what you’re all embarrassed about? You’re too cute. What’s gotcha’ wantin’ to take charge all of a sudden?”

Fuck it, you think. If there was a time to be honest, it was now.

“Well… I was watchin’ this video the other day. She had him tied up.. and it looked like he really liked it. Jus’ wanna make you feel good,” you admit, knowing the video you saw was much more explicit than your words let on.

“Make me feel good? On your birthday?” He asks.

He was trying to keep his cool as he pictures you finally taking control. He loved having the say-so in bed and he was more than happy to keep it that way. He liked to push your buttons and make you squirm, making you speak clearly when you asked him if he could eat you out or kiss your neck. But something about this scenario has him feeling red hot.

“I mean we d-don’t have to, I just thought it’d be fun to try… I even looked up knots I could do and stuff,” you beam, overly excited that he hadn’t shut you down the moment the words left your lips.

You were so precious. Doing research on a project you hadn’t even gotten approval for yet, overzealous at the slight chance he might say yes.

“Aw hun, look at you hittin’ the books. You think you could find some rope I can’t break out of?”

This conundrum had occurred to you, and you’d taken it upon yourself to run to the hardware store a few weeks ago to find some rope that was somewhat Toji-Grade.

“Maybe? I went to the store a while ago and found some I think might be good,” you respond as you watch the smirk leave his face.

He steps impossibly closer to you, now covering you completely in his shadow.

“If you’re extra good for me and you let me fuck you whenever I want, however I want for the next week, you have yourself a deal,” he says, quite excited to have you ready to use at his disposal as he pleases.

Holy shit. He actually said yes? All you had to agree to was a shit ton of sex for the next week? This was going to be your best birthday yet.

“O-Of course, baby,” you coo.

He picks you up by your thighs and puts you on the counter, attacking your neck with his lips, tongue, and teeth.

“How ‘bout we get started on that free use now then, huh doll?”

The day was finally here. You’d all eaten your cake, opened way too many presents, and the drinks were flowing. Most of your friends had left, only leaving a few stragglers that were currently looking for their belongings before their ride arrived.

You were starting to get very nervous. You had practiced a few of the knots that morning while Toji was out getting your cake, and you were sure you had the basic ones down. You had never practiced on a live model before, but you were hoping the glass of liquid courage you just finished would boost your confidence.

You wave the last of your friends goodbye, thanking them for coming. Toji had thrown one hell of a party. You twist the deadbolt to the left after you make sure your friends make it to their cars safely. You turn around to see Toji going upstairs.

“Where are you runnin’ off to?” You ask, hoping he hadn’t forgot about his promise.

Always so nosy.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget. Gotta shower first, get yourself ready baby,” he says, not even turning around as he reaches the top of the stairs.

You rush upstairs as soon as you hear the shower faucet running. You grabbed one of your kitchen chairs, trudging upstairs, trying not to hit the walls on either side of you.

You steady your breath as you place the chair on the hardwood. You grabbed the rope from your closet and took your party dress off to reveal your black lingerie underneath. You sit in the chair, tapping your foot wildly while you wait for your best present yet.

You hear the doorknob turn and you hop up, grabbing the rope tightly as you try to calm your nerves. You knew this wouldn’t be good for either of you if you half-assed it — the whole reason Toji made you fall apart when you two had sex was because of his confidence with his words and actions. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself that the more into it you were, the better it would be for your man.

He saunters into the office, droplets of water still beading off of his musculature while clouds of steam rise from his figure. All he had on his lower half was a short white towel, leaving next to nothing to the imagination. He lets out a whistle as he sees you dressed in your not-quite birthday suit.

He walks towards you, reaching his hands out to grab your waist and pull you in for a heated kiss.

Or so he thought.

You poke your finger against his burly chest, trying with all your might to push him back, though all you do is stop him in his tracks.

“Uh-uh sir, no touching. Sit down.”

He laughs at you, apologizing as soon as he saw the hurt look on your face.

“S-Sorry baby, didn’t think you’d be ready to start quite yet. This is gonna be hard for me ya’know, but I’ll try my best to act like how you do when we fuck, okay?” His reassuring words ease your worries, as you grab his hand and lead him to the chair.

You walk to the back of the chair, placing one hand on his buff shoulder, leaning down to whisper in his ear, “don’t call me baby. it’s ma’am and nothin’ else, yeah?” You ask, trying your best to channel whatever dominant nature you possessed.

Fuck. He told himself he wouldn’t like this. He needed to regain his composure before you got any bright ideas about dominating him more often. He mumbles back a low ‘yes ma’am’ as he watches a small tent form underneath his towel.

You start to unravel the rope, grabbing his large wrists and bringing them behind the chair before you’re wrapping the thick cord around them.

“What was that? Gonna’ have to speak up f’me,” you said, coining one of Toji’s phrases for your own.

Jesus. You were really laying it on thick.

“I said yes ma’am,” he growls, ashamed at how excited he was that the roles were reversed this time.

“Good boy,” you coo in his ears, noticing how his cock twitches as the sound of your voice.

You’ve wrapped the rope up and around his arms and the back of the chair, and while the first knot you tied around his wrists was shotty work at best, the rest were definitely suitable. You move your way to his front now, wrapping the rope underneath his broad pecs extra tight, loving how the rope accentuated his voluptuous figure. With each taut pull of the rope, his dick would spring up a few inches further.

“Won’t be needing’ this anymore, huh?” You ask as you snake your cold hands under the towel, pulling it off of him slowly as he raises his butt up to let you grab the rest of the fabric.

He huffs as he feels the cool air hit his member, a bead of precum at the tip revealing his love for the scenario he was in all too soon.

“Looks like somebody’s enjoying themselves,” you add, noticing just how excited he’s gotten since you two have started.

“Let me take care of you tonight, baby. I know you’re so stressed from work and you always take such good care of me. Wanna’ make you feel so good, yeah?” You say as you tie the last bit of rope around his ankles.

You were surprised he was being so silent about this. No protests, no sly remarks, no jokes at your expense. He was always so quick and cunning both in and out of the bedroom.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“No, just ready to get this shit over with s’all,” he scoffs, hoping you didn’t catch onto his bluff.

“No what?”

You were pushing him to his limits. He liked this, but his pride was being wounded with every word that left your pretty lips.

“No ma’am. Let’s hurry it up though, yeah? Been waitin’ for you to put that pussy on me all night,” and you can’t help but blush at his words. He took all the dominant energy you were feeling and turned it into submissiveness just with a sentence. You take a deep breath as you drop to your knees in front of him, ready to get the show on the road.

You glare up at him as you run your hands on top of his thighs, fingers splaying over the ropes holding him tightly. He smiles down at you, looking past his cock at your soft lips, aching for them to be wrapped around his leaking tip.

You finally reach the area Toji wanted your hands to be most, running your nail up the bottom of his long dick. He grunts at the contact, not anticipating just how much you wanted to tease him through this.

“So pretty f’me baby, you look so good all tied up when you’re not runnin’ that mouth,” you say, running your thumb on the underside of his tip before he bites his bottom lip.

You wanted to tease him plenty, sure, but you also had needs of your own that needed to be fulfilled, soon. You finally wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, and he was so thick you couldn’t even join your thumb to the rest of your fingers.

He drops his head back behind him, not realizing just how desperate he was for your touch. He’s cursing as you run your hand up his length, stopping to gather all the precum at the tip before you use it as lubrication.

You’re now teasing just the tip, rubbing your hand over and over it, overstimulating his most sensitive area just like he loved to do to your clit when he ate you out. The whiny moans he was emitting made your cunt ache with want. You reach your other hand down to play with your throbbing clit, moaning at how erotic this whole situation was.

“You like i-it too, bab — sorry, f-fuck,” he says before he’s even realizing he said it. He didn’t want to hear you chastise him for not calling him ma’am, but he couldn’t help but speak up when he saw your tiny hand rush down to your sweet pussy.

“What’d I tell you, huh? Am I gonna have to punish you?

He shakes his head with a fervor, responding with a firm “no ma’am”. He was so fucking whipped for you and if Shiu ever found out about this he would have to kill him. Absolutely nothing personal, just business.

You tell him he’s a good boy, wanting to reward him for being so quick to correct himself for you. You reach your head down before you lick his weeping tip so teasingly. He grunts, looking down at your pretty face as you take the full tip inside your wet heat.

“God, jus’ like that,” he whines, needing you to take more of him now.

You suck his tip harshly, pulling off with a loud pop!

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you command. You were all too eager as you cover your fingers in your lust, using it as lubrication to enter yourself (although you wish it was Toji’s fingers instead).

You take in more of him, hollowing your cheeks, using your free hand to stroke the rest of his massive length. You were hardly ever able to take him all the way down your throat, but the liquor helped you loosen up just a little bit more. You shove your head down until he reaches your throat, taking a deep breath before you remove your hand and push yourself almost all the way down. You swallow around him in your throat, trying your best to breath through your nose. Toji is squirming in the chair, so frustrated that he can’t grab a fistful of your hair and fuck your throat like you deserved.

“F-Fuck, takin’ all of me so well, doll,” he says, too lost in the warm wet walls of your throat to notice his mistake. He tries his hardest to buck his hips, making you gag around him before you’re pulling off of him much too quickly. He worries he pushed in too far before you’re sitting in his lap, so ready to scold him for slipping up one too many times.

You put one hand on his chin, running your finger over his bottom lip like he always did to you. You knew you looked far from intimidating right now, but you tried your best to keep up the act.

“That’s three times now baby. Guess I’ll have to punish you after all,” and boy did you have the perfect punishment in mind. You knew how difficult it was for him to keep his hands off of you the entire time, especially when you were reaching a hand down to continue touching yourself.

He tracks your every movement, panting while he watches you push two of your tiny fingers into yourself. He wouldn’t be able to last much longer like this. He knew your knot tying skills weren’t as practiced as his, and the ones you tied at his hands were loose from the start. He starts pulling on the rope more than he already was, hoping he can loosen the hold it had on his wrists to finally take you like he so desperately needed.

“You’re torturing me,” he says, making extra sure not to throw in a nickname like he usually would, “please just touch me, I’ll do anything,” he adds, really hoping you’d give in sometime soon.

You moan on top of him, leaning down to kiss his poor, over-bitten lips. He whines into the kiss, trying his best to be aggressive when all he could do is pull against the tight ropes and hope you take it easy on him.

“Anything, huh? Would you beg for it? I love when you get all needy for me. Beg and I’ll think about it, boy,” you tell him. You loved when he asked anything of you, just knowing that he wanted you had you absolutely melting for him.

He was passed the point of caring at this point. He was painfully hard, his red swollen tip leaking an obscene amount of precum. Watching you attempt to please yourself while he knew that he’d be able to make you cum in a minute with just his fingers was sending him.

“I’d do anything I swear. You don’t know how bad I need you. You look so fuckin’ good and I’m about to cum just watchin’ you. I know you want it, too, you still look so desperate f’me even though you’ve got this whole tough guy thing goin’ on,” he rambles, hoping what he said was enough to break you.

“Me? D-Desperate? I could just cum right here and be done with you, slut. You look like you’re about to explode j-just waitin’ for me,” you add, knowing he was about to fucking lose it.

The knot was so close to coming undone, but he didn’t want to let on as to was he was doing. He had to stop in his tracks once you reach a hand down to tug at his puffy nipple, cursing under his breath. You knew that was one of his most sensitive spots and you were too quick to use it to your advantage.

“I am, I promise I am. I’ll be such a good boy for you, I swear. Please just fuck me. Please I swear I’ll be good I don’t know what else to say just please fucking put it —“ he says as all the breath is ripped from his lungs. You had stood up at this point, turning around as you line up his cock with your puffy folds.

You sit down on him, wasting no time before bottoming out entirely. The stretch was so extreme, but you were much too desperate for him to fill you up. You hear Toji let out a desperate whine, not expecting you to take all of him so quickly. He was so pent up from all the teasing and all he wanted to do was to fuck into your sweet cunt with reckless abandon.

“G-God, yeesss, you’re so good for me, ma’am,” he says as obediently as he could.

You slowly draw your hips up before you slam back down, giggling at how cute Toji sounded when he was this pussydrunk. One taste of your cunt and he was already whimpering for you and obeying your every command.

“That’s it, you’re a quick learner, aren’t ya, daddy?” You ask. You knew Toji loved when you called him that, which is why you saved using it for special occasions such as these. You continue to fuck back into him, grinding on his lap as you moan so sinfully for him. All that can be heard is the lewd plap! plap! plap! of your skin meeting his as he whimpers underneath you.

Toji could tell your legs were getting tired as your pace became more sloppy.

“F-Fuck, baby, so so close,” you whine out, trying to fuck yourself through your high before your legs give out.

This would be the perfect opportunity to escape. With one final tug of the ropes around his wrist, he feels his hand set free. He bucks his hips into you, quickly removing the other hand from its confines.

“Yeah, is my baby gonna cum all over my cock like the cockslut she is? Huh? I asked you a question, bitch,” he spits out.

Did you hear him correctly? Did he forget how this game was supposed to go? You were debating pulling off of him entirely until you feel —

A hand?

Toji grabs a fistful of your hair before he yanks you back into him, wrapping the other around your waist before he is pounding into your sopping cunt at lightning speed. The ropes you bound were only held together by the knot at his wrist and two at his feet, so the rest of the ropes fell off of him with ease. You had no clue how he escaped and quite frankly, you didn’t care.

“Gotta get better at tyin’ those ropes, doll. Coulda’ got out a while ago, but I like watchin’ you struggle to cum,” he says casually, like he’s not brutally fucking you through your long awaited orgasm.

“That’s it, take this fuckin’ dick, doll. Lemme feel that pussy suck me in like she does so well,” he says, fully talking you through it as you release all you have onto him.

Before you can even come down from your high, Toji is literally spinning you around on his dick before he’s standing the both of you up. His legs are still bound to the chair, so it takes him a minute to find his balance. But once he does, he is absolutely abusing your filthy cunt as he fucks you in the air. Two big hands glued to your ass cheeks as he moves your whole body on top of him, not leaving any inch of his cock uncovered with your slick.

“Been teasin’ me so fuckin’ much, brat, gonna make me cum too soon.”

Your arms are tight around Toji’s neck as he absolutely ruins you, nothing but choked moans leaving your lips.

“Not my f-fault you can’t last old m-man,” you stutter, all power behind your words lost as soon as that knot came undone.

All he can say is a loud, “fuck you,” before he’s bullying into your precious cunt with a ferocity you’ve never seen before. You warn him that you’re so close to tipping over the edge.

“Nah, babydoll. Little brats don’t get to finish. Yer’ gonna’ take this fuckin’ load like the cumslut you are and you’re gonna fuckin’ like it,” he says as he’s fucking into you with a harsh final thrust before he empties his thick load into your tight, wet heat. His cum shoots out so fast, he’s moaning into your neck with each rope that comes out.

He’s all but collapsing back into the chair with you still on top of him, earning a low moan from you as the position pushes his seed even further into your womb. You start to pull off of him to go get a towel before he’s grabbing a wad of your hair and slamming you back down onto his cock for the nth time that night.

“No ma’am. We’re jus’ gettin’ started, hah.”

@theobsidianempress @scorpiosugar @voloslobotomyservice @lostsoul526 @shhreya @placxdbaby @iminurwallsgege @slvttyplum @tojiluhbit @leeisyourmom

[merakiui]

risky rascality (tsum sex).

azutsum x (female) reader x azul ashengrotto cw: nsfw, non-con, tsum sex, tsum has a dick, ntr, shameless smut, loss of virginity, cumflation, characters written as 18+ note - don't underestimate the importance of body language. (or: azul's tsum misreads your intentions and fucks you.)

You’ve found yourself in Azul’s VIP room plenty of times in the past, so it’s impossible to explain the anxiety that washes over you. Sudden like a devastating tidal wave, it rocks you to your core the moment Azul offers you a casual smile. He’s so charming. You almost forget you’re here for your usual tutoring session and not a study date. One can dream.

“Before we begin, I’ll have to step out for a moment. There’s something that requires my immediate attention. I shouldn’t be too long. In the meantime, would you mind getting your notes out and turning to the chapter we last left off at?”

Having been so caught up in admiring the way he stands in the doorway, you startle at the sound of his smooth voice. “Next chapter… R-Right! Yes, of course! I’ll do that. You do your thing. I’m not going anywhere.”

With a nod of acknowledgement, he shuts the door behind him. The stiffness in your shoulders ebbs away then, and you slouch back against the sofa. With an embarrassed groan, you drag your hands down your face.

Be normal for one minute, (Name). This isn’t anything special.

Something nudges your thigh and you lower your arms to find Azul’s tsum pushing your textbook towards you. He struggles more than he makes any apparent success, and it’s a cute sight that has a smile sprouting on your lips.

“Thanks, little guy.” You lift the book up to spare him of the burden and set it on the table. A cup of tea rests inches away, steam curling from the liquid in fragrant tendrils. The tsum blinks up at you, wordless like always. “You don’t have to stay for this, you know. I’m sure you’d much rather explore campus.”

The tsum stares and then, as if your words have somehow offended him, he rears forward to knock his head into your thigh again. His fedora falls off in the process, but he pays it no mind and continues to bump into your leg.

“Okay, okay! You can stay.” You laugh and hold your hands up in surrender. “I never said you had to leave.”

Lifting the tiny fedora from the sofa, you place it atop the tsum’s head. It’s uncanny how much of Azul you see in him. Even the beauty mark is in the right place… How peculiar.

Seeming pleased with this, the tsum scrambles to get into your lap. You place your hand under him and help him up. Even though he doesn’t have a mouth, he looks very happy here, bouncing up and down with what you think is a show of enthusiasm.

“You’re adorable, Azutsum. I wish I could say that to your counterpart. He’s great, you know? The most amazing guy I’ve ever met.” You squish Azutsum between your hands and sigh dreamily. “I’m actually not that bad at magic history. I just pretended so I could spend more time with Azul outside of class.”

Azutsum narrows his eyes at you.

“You disapprove?”

He squirms out of your grasp and jumps up towards your chest. You catch him before he can fall back onto your lap. It doesn’t look like open disapproval. Maybe the tsum just doesn’t understand your feelings. You don’t expect him to. If he’s anything like Azul, he’s probably more focused on the lounge or money. Azul did mention he spent a good half of the morning testing the tsum’s affinity for business.

You glance at your textbook. One day you’ll confess. It won’t be today, though. With a sigh, you resign yourself to your reality and place the tsum on the table. You manage to open the book and flick through a few pages before Azutsum pounces on top. He glowers at you, demanding attention. In a way, when he isn’t being expressive like this, he reminds you of a turtle. That thought prompts a chuckle from you and you nudge him away gently.

“I’d love to play more, but I’ve gotta start reviewing. It’ll look odd if Azul walks in and I haven’t made any progress.”

Despite this, Azutsum persists. He prods at your hand, squeaking at you in what sounds like annoyance. A needy thing, this tsum. You’ve never known Azul to be so shamelessly direct, so it takes you by surprise when his tsum rolls around to wrinkle the pages. You gasp just as it tears.

“Don’t be so careless!” You grab hold of the tsum before he can cause further damage to your precious book. Pinching his cheek in light admonishment, you hold him close to your face. “All right, you have my attention. Please don’t destroy my books.”

The tsum beams.

“Aren’t you proud? Seriously… I’m only forgiving you because you look like my crush,” you mutter, your cheeks warming.

If only Azul was this hungry for my attention…

Azutsum wriggles happily in your hands. It’s a challenge to stay angry at such a cute plush. A prisoner to his charms, you pet him affectionately. He seems to bask in your touch, turning over on his back so that you can give his belly the same amount of love.

“Maybe not a turtle. You’re more like a puppy.”

Smiling to yourself, you rub the tsum’s belly. He seems to appreciate the gesture, for he squeaks in excitement. If he wasn’t sentient, you’d probably mistake him for a pillow. He’s soft like one, squishy like a plush. You knead him every now and then, pressing your fingers into his abdomen. You’re sure there’s nothing but stuffing inside, but a morbidly curious part of you wonders if he has organs and blood. Unlikely. But it’s still fun to fantasize over the wildly impossible.

“Do you like that?” You watch gleefully as the tsum squeezes his eyes shut and squirms. His squeaks are loud. “Seems like it. After this, though, I need to get back to work.”

You’re so swept up in toying with the tsum that it shocks you out of your skin when he jumps out of your arms abruptly. You assume he’s gotten tired of the teasing, but then he’s launching himself at you to tackle you onto the sofa. The force knocks you down, and you gasp as the leather cushions cradle you in the aftermath of your fall.

“Hey! What was that for?” You lift your head up to look at him. A familiar weight settles on top of you. “You’re stronger than you look…”

You gaze at Azutsum and the laughter sticks in your throat. There’s a distinctly human cock curving up along the length of your stomach, grotesquely thick and leaking pre-cum, maddeningly disproportionate. Your eyes widen, and a shard of horror lodges itself in your heart.

“W-Wait… Hold on!” You scramble to get away, but the tsum shifts so that the head of his cock presses against your skirt. You yelp when he moves again to prod at your clothed pussy. “Don’t touch there—you can’t!”

He presses inwards, blocked only by your panties, and squeaks sadly. You claw at the sofa, desperate to escape. Azutsum isn’t listening. He continues to rut uselessly between your thighs. Much to your disbelief, the pressure of his cock straining to find its home inside your tight hole leaves you soaking through your panties. If you aren’t thinking about it—about the fact that this insane cock belongs to this little tsum—you almost trick yourself into picturing Azul leaning over you on the sofa. He’d grab your hips, yank you to meet him halfway, slot himself inside slowly… He’d praise you for taking him so well, whisper the sweetest of filth, kiss you dizzy!

That sugar-encrusted delusion shatters the moment his fleshy head catches on your panties. Somehow they’re pushed aside as he bullies his way closer to your cunt. Your eyes snap open just as he pushes inside.

“No, no, no! A-Azutsum, don’t do—ooh!”

Your pleas taper off into a low groan just as he slides in. It feels strange, a foreign fit. Is this really going to be your first time? With withering resolve, you reach for the tsum in hopes of tugging him away from your pussy. He draws back, searching for the right rhythm, and sinks further into wet walls. The breath is punched out of your lungs once he’s managed to fit half of his absurd length inside you.

Tears gather in your eyes. “Take it out… Please… It feels weird and—” he bucks forwards and you suck in a breath through your teeth— “h-hurts!”

Azutsum squeaks softly at you. Consolation? Maybe. Or perhaps it’s a parody of a sweet nothing. How is this possible? He shouldn’t be this big. He shouldn’t even have this anatomy to begin with! Where was he even hiding such a monstrous size?

Your arm falls over your face. Despite everything, the fit is snug. You’re not sure you can take another inch. Azutsum disagrees with this unvoiced sentiment, instead choosing to fuck in and out of you until you’re properly slick. It leaves you shuddering with a strange desire—whether that’s to get away or stay, you can’t determine.

Submitting to your fate—though your hips flinch with every thrust—you allow your mind to wander. You envision Azul and wish he was here in place of this devious tsum. Maybe then you’d be more receptive. Maybe then you wouldn’t be crying. Maybe then the drag of his cock along your walls would actually feel satisfying.

Azutsum’s squeaks join the obscene squelch of skin on skin. It’s noisy and gross. You smell yourself on the air—the unmistakable odor of salt and sin. He fucks like he’s running late, driving his cock as deep as it can possibly go. Your back arches up towards the invisible body that ought to be hovering over you right now. If it was Azul, you’d loop your arms around his neck and pull him down to taste him.

It’s not Azul. It will never be Azul.

All you can do is lie there and take it. At some point, the stretch is less of a pain and more of a unique fullness. It’s not unpleasant, weirdly. Rather, you find yourself grinding down to meet each of his sporadic thrusts, chasing a high that’s so conflicting.

What am I doing? This is so wrong! you think, writhing like a fish out of water. And yet you can’t stop.

“Azutsum, please—” You gasp sharply when he hits a particular spot deep within you, your eyes rolling back into your skull. That’s…not your cervix, is it? There’s no way… Surely he didn’t do that. But then the tip of his cock prods at it again, this time with more insistence, and you throw your head back and howl. “Wait, slow down! Hurts—that hurts!”

Tears trail down your cheeks. You wipe them away to no avail. They just keep pouring, made plentiful by the cock ramming against a place that’s never been reached before. You cry out again when he eases out partially and slams back in with forceful determination. His motions are sloppy now, a stuttering, jerky movement that fills you with more cock than you’ve ever taken in your life before. Your fingers and dildo can’t compare to this—nothing can.

In just a few more riotous strokes, the tsum burrows his cock all the way to the hilt and releases inside with a strangled squeak. Thick, warm cum floods your womb at once, so copious it leaves your stomach with a slight bloat. Dazed, just managing to collect yourself, you press down against your belly to feel the bulge of his cock.

“Please…” you whisper, panting, “pull out already…”

Azutsum starts to do that, only to thrust back in. His cock keeps all of his cum effectively plugged.

“No more… I can’t take anymore. Please…”

But he’s already moving, intent on going at it until his balls are drained and you’re properly filled. In the meantime, you shut your eyes and welcome the chimera of an absentee Azul.

You’re not sure how long it’s been or how many rounds you’ve gone, but by the end of it you’re stuffed. Azutsum finally eases out after so much time spent thrust up inside. Shivering, you peer over the deceptive dome that is your stomach. If anyone were to see you, they’d certainly think you were pregnant and not just packed full of cum. You don’t want to know where such a little tsum gets so much virility. Best not to question it, otherwise you’ll drive yourself mad trying to figure it out.

Azutsum climbs up onto your rounded belly, gazing down at you with newfound fondness in his blue eyes. You’re not sure where his cock’s retreated to now. At least it’s over. Defeated, you reach up and pat his head.

The door to the VIP room creaks open then. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, (Name). Some nuisances—ah, I mean customers—don’t know when to—” Azul chokes on the rest of his sentence, his wide-eyed gaze drawn to you splayed out on the leather sofa. Cum dribbles from your abused cunt, pooling below on the cushion.

You can’t bear to look at him, so you bury your face in your hands. “S-Sorry. I’m sorry! I’ll clean it. Just please… Please don’t look.” Shyly, you squeeze your legs shut in hopes of preserving what’s left of your dignity. You’ve never felt humiliation as hot and heavy as this before.

Azutsum squeaks a joyful greeting.

You can’t see him, but his face has exploded with a fiery embarrassment. He’s doing everything he can to avoid staring at you. No matter how hard he tries, his eyes are drawn to your stomach, to your pussy clenched around nothing and leaking cum, to the devilishly proud tsum perched on top… Most importantly, you miss the way his slacks tighten in the crotch and the way he swallows thickly.

Clearing his throat, his words awkward, Azul says, “P-Perhaps we ought to postpone today’s session…”

It’s for the best. He’s not sure he’d be able to explain his reaction if you were to catch it.

[hermajestytak]

Everyone talks about Pilot!Dib vs Show!Dib, but Pilot!Zim doesn't get enough love for how unique he is

So after my bizarrely thorough pilot research, here's my points on what makes Pilot!Zim unique! (aside from his pretty sakura pink eyes)

Also note that a lot of this info comes from the original Show Bible; the Pilot itself shows a lot of characterization but can only show so much

Firstly, writing aside, we gotta talk about performance. Whether it's Richard Horvitz, Billy West, or the ORIGINAL Mark Hamill lines that Nick is keeping somewhere in their vault, Pilot Zim is more low-key and mellow than his finalized version. Like sure, he's still evil and hammy (in more of a "cringe angry little kid on the playground" sort of way) and he still screams, but it's NOTHING compared to the balls to the walls "HAVE YOU THE BRAIN-WORMS?!" madness that is Show!Zim. So this is the only continuity where Zim is way more sane than Dib tbh

Pilot Zim is really only shown on the defense in his episode; even in the fight scene, he only really uses his mech's shield and armor. The show bible describes scenarios where he's antagonistic and tries to actually ruin human lives (in a very pathetic way), but for the most part he's an observing alien spy trying to defend himself from Dib's torment. Hell, it's said in the show bible that he only ruined Operation Impending Doom 1 because his short ass couldn't see over the control panel. The most evil thing he does is snatch one child's brain nonchalantly. This is in contrast to Show Zim being a PURE MENACE.

He's a gamer! And an angry one at that. In main series, Zim's Computer claims that his base has no video games.

Pilot!Zim's got way less constitution than Show!Zim. The show bible REALLY emphasizes Zim's allergies being a major reacurring part of the show while in the final series they're just an occasional danger. Pilot!Zim's body also reacts to Earth allergens much more violently than Show!Zim's.

Pilot!Zim and Pilot!GIR feel simultaneously more positive yet more distant. They just meet up, Zim gives a command, GIR does the thing he's asked, and Zim walks off smiling. Sure, GIR is still said to get distracted behind Zim's back or straight up make up information in the Show Bible, but he doesn't piss off Zim like he does in the show. It really makes them feel more like coworkers than, dare I say it, family.

PILOT ZIM JUST STOPS TO COMPLIMENT DIB'S WORK BEFORE BATTLE?? AND LIKE...DOESN'T TWIST IT OR ANYTHING HE'S JUST "WOW THAT THING YOU MADE IS COOL! YOU MUST HAVE WORKED HARD ON IT :)))" LIKE WHATTTT??!?! I know I always bring this ONE brief interaction up when talking about the pilot but I can't emphasize enough how BIZARRE of a thing this is for Zim to do.

Building on last point, Pilot Zim is much, much more capable of positive interactions with humans. He still wants to conquer them because by God, that's his job, but he doesn't seem to hate them????!?!?!? Like he actually tries twice to sit with human kids only to weird them out, the whole...Dib compliment thing[?!] and in the original rough draft, he actually THANKS Gaz for taking him home?! Like he's having a normal conversation?!! This is really odd for him since in the show, his undying hatred for humans is one of the things Zim is loudest about and he specifically chooses to sit alone at lunch.

Pilot Zim doesn't have the insane ego levels of Show Zim! He still refuses to acknowledges his flaws, is enthusiastic and proud of himself and his mission, and is VERY eager to please his Tallest, but it's very minor compared to Show Zim CONSTANTLY boasting about how AMAZING he is because HE IS ZIIIM!!!!

Speaking of, Pilot Zim lacks a LOT of Show Zim's iconic mannerisms!!! You know, the iconic big evil laughs, the "EH?!"s, the constant use of his own name, the occasional referring to himself in third person, Zim repeating himself, Zim not listening to anyone, ALL of those qualities are just straight up absent in Pilot Zim. Part of this is the less quirky writing and part of this was Richard Horvitz not getting to add his ✨️spark✨️ to the character yet.

Instead of just Richard Horvitz doing a straight up scream like "AAAAAAHH" Pilot Zim screeches with more of a "EEE! EEE! EEEE!" when panicked (which I think is adorable)

So next time y'all feel like drawing your maniac Pilot Dibs or alternate Zims, try spicing up your art with some Pilot Zim! He's like show Zim except he remembered to take his meds and you can have a semi-normal conversation with him.

[toxicanonymity]

virgin patrol

2.9k / dark!Joel Miller x f!reader /master

he could be doing anything with his left hand here 🥵

CW/Notes: he's a creep!, dubious consent, virginity loss, unsafe P in v, violence (NOT joel vs. reader). I8 + mdni. same reader from Patrol. loosely edited.

You pull your arms into your jacket.  It’s colder than the first time you patrolled with Joel.

"Damn it's freezing," Joel says.  "Ya know, we really helped each other last time up in the shack."  He tugs on the flaps of his trapper hat. "Felt good too, didn’t it?”

Against all odds, you were hoping somehow this wouldn’t come up.  It sounds like the sick charade is fading, at least.  No point in pretending it was just to stay warm.  You don’t acknowledge him.  

“I know you’re cold, darlin’.  Why don't we go on up and take a break now?"  

You remain silent. 

"We can help each other. . . Got somethin' you're gonna like up there, too." You can only imagine what.

Your face is so numb you can barely get the words out.  "I think . .  I'm okay. I'm. . . not that cold."  

"Suit yourself," Joel says and starts heading toward the shack alone, cruelly taking one of the blankets with him. 

"You're gonna leave me here alone?"

"Sure. You've had training. You'll be alright.  Come get me in an hour.  We’ll switch off." He starts walking away, then calls back, "Or you’re welcome to join!" 

Last time, he got you naked under the pretense of huddling for warmth, gave you an orgasm with his hand, then convinced you to keep his most precious appendage warm with your mouth. You managed to get your assignments shifted away from his zone until now.  You don't want to be alone with him in the shack, but you really don't want to be alone on this windy hill with a rifle you can barely fire.  You're not sure you can fire it at all with your hands this cold. 

"Wait," you say.  "I'm coming."

He stops in his tracks and he turns enough that you can see half his face, enough to see his self-satisfied smile.  "You sure? You really wanna help each other."  His words make your stomach turn, but against all logic, you're also tingling between the legs and not from the cold.  Physically, he made you feel really good that one time, and your body seems to remember.  But it felt so. . .dirty. So dirty and strange the way he went about it.  He’s a creep. 

Your heart sinks. "I, um. . ."  

-

You're fighting with yourself, thinking it over when both of you hear something down the hill.  It's three men headed your way and they look like trouble. 

"Shhh," Joel says, and you're relieved that he doesn't keep walking up to the shack. He's more than capable of taking care of these guys himself. Your heart swells with appreciation for him.  Maybe you’ve been too hard on him in your mind. 

"You remember how to aim and shoot, right?" He whispers to you, no sign of getting his own rifle ready. Your heart drops.

"You're not gonna shoot them??"

"Well I'd love to, darlin',  but it can't just be me doin' everything or you'll never finish learnin’.  Be right up there if ya need help." The men are getting closer.  One of them notices the two of you and starts to load his gun.

"Joel, help, please!" 

He looks at you, intrigued by your plea.  "We've gotta help each other though, right?" 

"Please, I'll do anything.  Anything"

"Anything…" he takes his rifle off his back and sighs.  

The men are climbing up the ridge.  Joel points and shoots one of them in the forehead with an instant kill shot. But he doesn't continue shooting.  One of the men fires at the two of you and misses. 

"Anything?" He says. "Cause I wouldn't want these men to take you."

You can't even remember how to shoot. Even if you could, you're too numb and distracted to take a good shot. 

"Yes, anything."  It feels like a tiny price to pay in exchange for your life. 

Joel aims and takes out a second man in one shot without flinching.  Then he pauses again. 

"You're gonna take it like a good girl for me, aren't ya?"  The lack of pretext startles you.

"Y-y-yes." Your heart might beat out of your chest.

"You don't sound too happy 'bout it."  The last man fires and it's a near miss.  

"Yes, yes!"

Joel aims at the last man, and the man falls to his knees begging for his life.  Joel shoots him in the head without even blinking much less saying a word. And just like that, all three of them are dead.  It was a piece of cake for him.  He gathers their weapons.  Joel carries their guns over his shoulder and hands you their knives. 

"Let's go then," he says flatly. 

"Aren't you worried there are more of them?"

Joel's eyes narrow, scanning the horizon then he adjusts himself in his pants.   "We'll just have to keep an ear out." 

He can't get you into that shack soon enough.

-

Joel is already unbuckling his belt as he leads you into the shack. You try not to look at him. Your body is buzzing with its own heat from the near-death experience.  But even without the adrenaline, you have to admit the shack would be far more tolerable than the ridge.  There's no wind.  

"Hey," he turns around and stops you, standing there with his belt undone.  He cups your cheek. "You're alive, darlin'." Yeah, you have that going for you. He smiles with a twinkle in his eye.  

He puts down the guns and walks to the forlorn couch, his belt jingling ominously with each thud of his boot. 

“See what I got for us?”  

He holds up the corner of a bigger, thicker blanket.  Your eyes widen. It looks like such a luxury compared to the one you've been huddled under.

“Thought you’d like it.”  He’s pleased with himself, but he’s a jerk for keeping it up here.

He takes off his trapper hat and smoothes his hair. Then he starts undressing and you look away.

"Go on now, take off your pants. Then under the blanket.  We’re gonna get real warm...”

True to your word, you’ll do what he wants. You begin removing layers and watch his face change as he sees you in just your underwear, and his voice lowers, too. 

“Sure are pretty, aren't ya,” he says. 

You get on the couch and climb under the blanket. 

“Come on now, don't be shy. Take’em off.” 

You take off your bra and panties. 

“Good girl. How ‘bout a drink?” He hands you a bottle of whiskey and looms over you shirtless. You study his scars.  There are two longer slashes on his right side, one across the outside of his pec  down his ribs and one closer to his pants.  He drops his jeans to the ground and steps out of his long underwear.  He stands before you naked, already aroused.  His arms flex as he tenses them near his crotch then rubs his hands together in an exaggerated display of how cold he is.  He looks at you like a hot cup of coffee. 

-

You scoot over to the back edge of the couch, practically falling into the seam, and Joel slides under the blanket.  Then he coaxes you halfway on top of him.  His hard cock presses into your hip and sends a pang of desire between your legs.  When you settle onto his warm chest, your whole body gets a rush of heat.  You both have on socks. 

He mercifully allows a few minutes for the two of you to just lie there.  In that time, he’s getting harder and harder, and you're getting wet.  Then he adjusts your body, bringing you further on top of him for full contact and his hips begin to move, grinding his arousal into one side of your lower abdomen. 

He looks down and lifts your chin with his finger, then quietly announces, "I'm gonna put myself inside ya, darlin'.  And I think you're gonna like it."

"But, I - I don't think I can."

"Oh you can, you can." He slides his hand over your ass and down to your pussy and feels your wetness. "Mmmm.  You can, baby."

"It's too big," you protest.  You felt like it barely fit in your mouth.  

"Let's get you ready then," he replies. He bends the knee you're not on top of to make room for his hand between your bodies.  Then he slides his middle finger into you and his cock swells even harder. "Mmm." 

He adds a second finger as he grinds himself against you. His fingers already make you feel full,  but they're nothing compared to his thick cock. 

"I need ya, darlin," He pants, then adds a third finger. "Need your help real bad. . ."

The third finger is at a rough angle  and you feel his nail.  "Ouch!"

"You're okay. You're okay."  He curls his thick digits and reaches as far into you as he can with them, then mercifully removes the third.  

"Ah, fuck," he breathes as he ruts against you. The horny sound of his voice makes your clit throb, even as your pussy recovers from his third finger.  "I think you're ready for me, darlin'. . ." He removes his other two fingers and eases you onto the couch as he gets out from under you. The blanket goes with him, leaving you cold and exposed.  He sucks his fingers clean then wraps his hand around his cock.  "Nice n' wet for me, hmm?" 

He takes hold of your hips and coaxes you onto your back.  "There ya go.  Won't be cold for long." Then his free hand nudges your thighs apart, and the cold air hits your wet pussy.  He scoots between your legs. 

You've made peace with it. You're as ready as you'll ever be.  He puts his large, veiny hand on your mound with his thumb at your clit  "You're beautiful," he whispers to your pussy. 

Then he nestles the swollen head of his cock at your slick entrance.  Your breath hitches in fear but your lower belly flutters with desire.  It's bigger than three fingers but also smoother, rounder, and hopefully more comfortable. 

“Ready?” He takes a deep breath.  

You bite your thumb and nod.

He begins to push his imposing manhood into you, and it feels surreal, like your body is slowly being divided.  Just the tip of him is already plugging you right like a bottle of wine.

And then there's a sound outside. 

You gasp, and Joel covers your mouth.  Your eyes are wide and your breath is wet against his palm.  

-

Joel pulls out the smidgen of him that was inside you and whispers in your ear, “sit tight for me, baby.”  He pulls on his jeans in a hurry, zips them up, no time to button, but his engorged member helps keep them up despite his belt hanging there heavily, unbuckled.  He steps into his unlaced boots and throws a jacket over his bare chest, then pulls on his trapper hat and puts on his rifle. He looks. . . Hot. 

A low voice speaks outside. Your heart races.  "They're in there," the voice says.  "You go around." 

Joel walks to the door and holds up a finger to his mouth as though to say "shhh." You pull the blanket up around you.  

He opens the door and shoots his gun right away.  A man yelps and someone returns fire.  It sounds like there are at least three of them. You scramble to put on your clothes and grab your rifle. You pull on your pants and meanwhile you lose track of how many gunshots are fired.  A man bursts through the back door and yells "THERE'S A GIRL!" Then approaches you. You don't have your shirt on yet.  The man grabs you by the elbow and forces you up to your feet. He has a knife in his hand. 

After two more shots fired outside, Joel bursts back through the door and yells, "STEP AWAY, NOW!" 

The man raises his hands in surrender.  Joel disarms him, putting the knife in his pocket, then walks him out of the cabin.  You hear screaming, then the man begging for his life, then gurgling, then a gunshot.   

Your heart races.  A second later, you could have been dead.  

-

Joel returns to the shack and closes the door behind him.  You can’t seem to slow your heart rate back to normal.

It turns out you've actually never seen anything hotter than Joel Miller standing there in his unlaced boots, his unbuttoned pants still largely held up by the bulge beneath them but still sagging enough to reveal a peek of pubic hair. His strong, bare chest heaves. There's a little blood splatter on his jacket.  The rifle strap across his chest really completes the look.   He takes off the rifle and jacket.  When he removes his trapper hat, oh god, his mess of gray and silver hair - he looks so, so good.  You feel something happening inside you, your body opening up, making space for him.  Thankfully, he doesn't smooth his hair this time. 

He’s still catching his breath, amped up from the gun fight and anxious to get back in your pants. 

"C'mon now, where were we?" He palms himself as he unzips his jeans and his hard cock springs free as he lets them fall to the floor.  All his muscles are bulging from the fight. His chest is red from the cold.  

He hovers over you, and from the look on his face, you must seem terrified, perhaps even more than you are. "It's okay baby they're gone." He pulls the blanket off,  tugs your pants down, then removes them.  "They're all gone," he repeats.  You're naked again, and he looks your body over.  His thick, messy hair  makes his dark eyes look so intense. 

He wets his lips as he gets between your legs again. He's in a better mood now.  He hovers over you and dips his head down to kiss and suck a nipple with his fingers lightly pinching the other one.  "Prettiest girl I ever saw." 

He feels between your legs and you're even wetter than before. "Good girl.  Ready for me?"

"Yeah," you nod, and this time you kinda are.

You watch the veins on his neck as he notches himself at your entrance and begins to push. You wince at the massive stretch of his girth. Your eyes drift to his muscular arms.  He doesn't wait.  He pushes further, harder.  He plunges into you as far as he can and your insides scramble to get out of the way. 

"Ahh," you whimper and your eyes sting. 

"You're alright, darlin." 

You look at the ceiling and breathe.  It's exactly as big and hard as you knew it would be. It feels impossible.  

"Look at me, beautiful."   You can't. 

"Look at me," he repeats, and his hand on your jaw forces you to. 

"You're gonna take it like a good girl, aren't ya?" 

You nod and your eyes drift to his hair again. 

He pulls back a couple of inches then thrusts his stiff length into you hard with a grunt, but still  doesn't make it all the way.  You're too tight. You can't help it. 

"Relax for me, baby."

He pulls back a little, then plunges into you again, finally bottoming out with a sigh. You never imagined you could feel so full.  As your body adjusts, you marvel at the feeling.  Your walls are still fighting the intrusion, squeezing him, trying to push him out. And he lets it an inch at a time,  but his cock is easily winning. It always reclaims its territory. 

"Good girl," he says.  He pulls back and slams in, to the hilt again. "Yeah," he whispers as he slowly retreats.  "Just like that," as he fills you up again. 

He pulls back slowly then briskly slams all the way into you.  Each time he buries himself inside you, it feels a little better.  You stop pushing him out at all.  After a minute or two, your body allows him a regular rhythm.  He looks at you with a new expression, sighs, and slows down but doesn't stop. 

Catching you off guard, he leans in and presses his lips against yours. You freeze, then he pulls back and says "gimme some sugar." You accept his mouth and he kisses you hard and long.  Something flutters in your chest.  He pulls away then ramps up the intensity of his hips and begins to pound you, grunting each time his balls hit your ass.  It starts to become too much.  

After another minute, his face gets dark, angry.  It scares you. You worry that he's upset with your body starting to reject him.  He pulls out and lowers his head, looking up at you as he pumps himself. Then he shoots his warm load all over your tired seam with a long sigh. 

"Wasn't so bad, was it, beautiful?"  He starts thumbing your clit.  "Now I'll help you back." 

You don't really feel like it, though, you're just spent.  

"Um. Maybe next time," you say, not realizing what you've implied until his face lights up. 

"Any time you want."

He moves to lie down next to you and you make space.  Then he lets you fall asleep on his chest until the shift is almost over. 

-

Thank you so much for reading and engaging! 🖤

Please check your content settings!!

OTHER VIRGINITY LOSS by me

series: Left in Lincoln (outbreak dbf)

one shots: night talks, Just the tip, Virgin sex worker.

-

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339   @manazo @wolvesandvampires  @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy

@tonysterco

@dark-scape the hair is for you

[secretagentsociety]

loves makes people crazy

yandere dragon X madly in love reader

Here's another idea,a yandere dragon like all powerful and scary the villager is scared of him,the king is scared of him,the Wizards and pretty much everyone and their grandmother is scared of him but then there's you,you different breed of a human decides to see him for the first time and say "yes that's my hubby" and the rest is history

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

• people often called you crazy, dilusional and others not so nice insults for being still not being married despite hitting the big 2 0 that and also rejecting the local lords and basically anyone who tries to court you

• now just because people say it doesn't mean you HAVE to follow it yk?oh but you did you played their little fantasy of you being crazy so perfectly people were honestly scared for your mental well being,why?you may ask

• well it's because when khum first arrived at the village (I say first but it's really his 100th time terrorising the village) you decide to whisper something that some people might have heard "he's perfect" you said eyes filled with hearts watching him scaring the sht out of the locals

• honestly you're staring so much he could feel you boring holes into his head,curious he looked around for whoever it is that dared to stare at him for so long and BAM! He saw you,at first he thought you're staring at him in contempt or anger maybe both but then you sigh lovingly and waved at him a fools smile placed upon your face

• he had to look around and points at himself just to made sure he even mouthed "m-me? you're talking to me?!" But you blowing him a kiss and winking made it pretty clear it was him,well let's say after that he couldn't help but think about you "what an odd human" he thought

• "oh my god haven't you heard?! The dragons visit has been so frequent lately our village can't keep affording the rebuilding cost!" One of the villagers said,you aren't paying attention but just hearing him coming back more and more made your heart flutter "I know it's a blessing" you sighed melting into the seat as you remembered the first time he talks to you

•well it happened,khum stood Infront of you folding his hand,what is his plans anyway?kidnapping a human all of a sudden,a weird one at that,"human,do you have a name?" He said

• "you can call me yours,and I'll call you mine" you said "how about the name....treasure?no too basic maybe clove?nah um.....oh darling?" he said tilting his head,khum never thought one day he'd witness a human visibly explode and faint but here we was

• it was a rocky start to the relationship,well...rocky as in everything was so perfect it's scary, here's the recap,on day five of your kidnappings you've opened up to how the villagers had been treating you(not that it's hard to make you open up,all he had to do was give you food and call you pet names while stroking your head and bam! you're dumping your entire trauma onto him) and oh boy was he not happy

• now despite everything he's still a classy dragon,he ofcourse had hoarse of treasure but he also had a pretty nice castle he may or may not seize from a royal you don't have to know that tho so moving on,and with a huge castle come servants and with those come soldiers who needs to maintain security,not that he needs any but you know he likes to have thing's completed and that including the castles needs

• now when his subordinates first saw you absolutely gushing on how cute he was they were absolutely shocked,because one he literally look like a demon ripping out people's heart and two this isn't some flower field it's a grusome battle scene yet you couldn't help but blush when his shirt got torn off,you even closed your eyes to savor the moment after a while

• khum really can't understand your fixation on him,is it like his love for you?but even then he acknowledges your weird behaviour but you literally looked at him as if he was a god,not that he minds,he gotta admit that day he kinda wore a shirt that's a couple of size down so when he does some movements that needs intents flexibility his shirt would rip off in some cool cinematic style,it worked,it worked too well

• so apparently his stamina had their limits he'd come to know it last Night after the battle,oh but the details won't be necessary,oh but don't be fooled if he were to actually try you'd be the one to pass out

• now is he dilusional?nope he knows full well that it's not healthy but does he care?nope he's a powerful dragon,are you dilusional?maybe?...idk...probably....yes?.... Well he is cute so I'll give you that

• he is possesive, but it's really hard to show possesive when the person he loved won't look at other people,you will talk to people normally but once he entered your line of sight the other people can forget ever having a conversation with you

• now for the big question does this technically make you a yandere? maybe..yes.

•i feel the need to say he is 100% taller than you, I'm sorry but it's just the rules 乁⁠(⁠ ⁠•⁠_⁠•⁠ ⁠)⁠ㄏ

• yes he has two pp lets move on now

• he had a way of marking you so other beasts knows to back the fuck off it's called biting,the first night you ever discover the chamber of secrets together(wink wink nudge nudge)he bit down on your neck,it leaves a pretty little flower mark that's imbued with his power it's very very very tiny teeny I cannot stress enough how tiny it is so it's safe

• now if you EVER even say someone else is cute then oh boi oh my,now I have established that he is jealous have I?,no?well too bad because he is,and his jealousy doesn't play nice,he will rip out the heart and torture the person over and over and over each time reviving them again and again and put a curse of Resurrection on them only to leave them in a forest of ravaging beasts that has lost their minds to be feasted upon and tortured until he sees them having suffered enough. ಠ⁠︵⁠ಠ Moral of the story? don't just don't say anyone is cute (yes not even babies) (he won't like k.o them but he will like curse them or sum sht )

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on that note good night people

[outrunningthedark]

I dont think he needs to come out defending Lou - Lou can handle himself he’s a grown man and has taken ( I think at least) the best course of action (stay silent until the season starts back up again). However I do have a lot of mutuals who are queer men who feel little hurt by the lack of acknowledgement for this queer relationship. Like getting excited that your favourite show has a relationship that you feel represented (just like with Michael and David) only to have silence from the social media team and the actors (well we clearly know why Lou is currently silent -when he was active he did talk Beautifully about them) can be hurtful. I don’t know if this makes any sense at all. But I did find it a bit odd ( and this is not me assuming malicious intent - I like to give the benefit of the doubt) some of the patterns I’ve seen. At the end of the day everyone is free to do whatever they want - while at the same time fans can feel how they want to feel. I understand both perspectives.

I don’t know if any of this makes sense -it got away from me as I was writing 😂

I know what you're saying, and I agree. I think people are (I assume unintentionally) lumping calling out bad behavior and acknowledging the canon relationship together as the same course of action, but...it's not. (I mean, from what I saw of the reaction to my post there was a lot of hand-waving for why Oliver's "doing the right thing" because fandom is out of control.) I don't think Oliver needs to "defend" Lou or even Tommy as a character. (He didn't defend any of the women on the show until they were gone so why start now, honestly.) But there IS a way to take a stand without even saying anything, isn't there? Post a story. Post a pic. Share a fan edit. Captions not needed. The content would speak for itself. He's not staying silent because he hates the story line - sorry Buddies! - because he definitely knew that if the GA reaction went well BuckTommy was going to continue past those four episodes. He's staying silent because he lets these people behind a screen get in his head and make him feel like he has to walk on eggshells while "interacting with fandom". And listen, we all get it! He's gotta do what he's gotta do to protect his mental health! But you can acknowledge his feelings without dismissing the feelings of the queer fans who are only seeing a guy essentially do a 180 because public pressure is too high. How is he "representing" anybody if he doesn't even celebrate the story he's telling? [There's a quick-fix to all of this, btw. Get a fucking social media manager to do the posting so he doesn't have to see any of this shit with his own eyes if it's gonna drag him down that much.]

[epiphainie]

Hey, I know you said you don't wanna get into fandom discourse so feel free to ignore this but I wanted to add something to you metioning yesterday how people talk about Bucktommy always bringing in bvddie/eddie somehow. I feel like a lot of people also expect this from canon including Bucktommy fans? like all the posts about which one will feel like the third wheel or which one's gonna get jealous over the other two spending time together and I find that kind of weird. I don't know if I got my point across but you know what I mean?

Hi anon,

Yeah, I think I get what you mean. Gotta say what I saw in my little corner of the BuckTommy fandom, people are usually having fun with those situations/headcanons than actually expecting something out of canon. But I can guess how a certain part of the fandom really thinks how Buck's relationship with Eddie in the context of BuckTommy must be addressed by the show. And I agree with you in that I find this expectation odd because why must they?

Is it because Buck is into men now that his significant other must address how he is/isn't okay with his friendship with another man? This was never an issue or even a topic of conversation in the narrative for Taylor so I cannot think of any other reason for why it would be for Tommy. Or on the flip side, is it because Buck is dating a man now that Eddie will feel like his time with Buck is being limited? Buck has been in a relationship for the most part of their friendship, why would this one be different that the narrative would need to address it?

I think in general in the fandom, regardless of whether people ship them or not, there's this sentiment that Bvddie has such a special relationship that needs to be addressed by their romantic partners / lampshaded by the narrative which strikes me as odd. Not because they don't have a special relationship - they have a very special relationship - but because the perception and related expectations over how the canon should treat this relationship is very different from something like say Hen and Chim. For every very intense Buck and Eddie story beat in this show, you have an equally insane Hen and Chim one. But you don't see anyone reading that relationship as something that needs to be acknowledged (as a threat or something they're okay with) by their spouses. It's an emotionally codependent friendship between a straight man and a lesbian. Not that sexual compatibility matters but they are not interested in each other that way and their partners don't even think about that.

So why would this be any different for Buck (a bi man) and Eddie (a straight man)? Like, even the idea that it must be acknowledged differently by the narrative kinda brings me back to negative stereotypes about queer men and their straight friends even though I know most people don't mean it that way.

Honestly, I kinda think it just comes back to fandoms' urge to read the intensity of relationships as romantic when it comes to two attractive men in a way we don't do with other characters. I say we because I've had my share of fandoms and almost exclusively shipped the two guys who were not canon; we just read more into these relationships regardless of whether we actively ship it or not. Like I said, Hen and Chim have some of the insanest relationship moments in this show. Like, can you imagine if something like Jonah happened to Buck and he thinks he's gonna hurt Tommy to get to him but he actually has Eddie and tortures him in front of Buck? Or if Eddie opposes Buck and Tommy getting married like Hen did with Maddie, for example. They would most certainly be read as romantic even if we had the same textual explanation as we did with Hen and Chim.

But the truth is, there is no relationship hierarchy. Platonic relationships can be as deep as romantic ones, what sets them apart is not the degree to how intense they can be, it's the flavor. And as it stands, I don't think the show treats Buck and Eddie's relationship with any different flavor than it does Hen and Chim despite how we treat it in the fandom. And sure, this does not mean realistically no love interest would be weirded out by their friendship (and negative stereotypes about bi people exist in the lgbtq community as well so that could happen too) but I don't see why the narrative would need to go there with Tommy. Like, what would be the purpose of it in-story? The acknowledgment of it would just further perpetuate the queer man in love with his bff thing that we know they said they don't wanna do. They should (and imo will) treat it as they do treat the other platonic relationships on the show.

I'm sorry, this got derailed at one point but whatever, send.

[anonymous-dentist]

q!Etoiles assuring q!Cellbit last night kinda made me realize that they’re two kinda similar characters when it comes to how the island sees them, because the island doesn’t actually see them.

Think about it.

Etoiles is the Code Breaker. He’s the island’s shield. He is their last line of defense for protecting the eggs and, if he dies, so does everybody else. Imagine how that feels, knowing that one mistake could kill every last child on the island. When there’s a Code, call Etoiles, he’ll always come running because he’s the only one who can. Even when he isn’t confident in his odds, everybody looks at him like a hero and says he’s their last hope, and that’s gotta wear a guy down

And Cellbit is the mystery guy. If there’s a mystery, he’ll solve it. Even if the island doesn’t necessarily trust him, they depend on him to solve things even when he himself says that he doesn’t think he can. People see a puzzle and go, “Well, Cellbit can fix this!” When he ‘wakes up’, at least one person has usually gone, “Oh, good, he’s awake, now we can solve this enigma and stop the Federation”. And after all the failures he’s been experiencing lately, the fact that everyone leans on him to help solve everything has to be breaking him

So Etoiles assuring Cellbit last night was one tired hero telling the other that it’s okay. It’s hard now, but it’ll be okay. And I think he’s the first person besides Pac and Roier who’s actually acknowledged how hard Cellbit must be taking all of this considering half the server is waiting for him to figure things out and rescue all the eggs and save Forever. He’s a hero, but he’s also just a guy, and I think Etoiles the French Beast, who just wants to keep his daughter and her friends safe, knows that better than anyone

[wolverinedoctorwho]

Gonna ramble about my thoughts on Ghost Trick below the cut, spoiler warning if you decide to read!

I really love the animations in this game, and how some of them are really thought-out. The one that comes to mind first is Lynne carrying Kamilla in the submarine, where you can see how Lynne adjusts her grip to carry the kid one handed while holding out the flashlight. There's so much personality visible in each character and it brings them to life really well.

I also really liked how everyone in this game owns up to their mistakes and calls out their own recklessness, particularly Cabanela and Jowd. They acknowledge that the incident with Yomiel was caused by their inexperience and carelessness, and that was really cool to see two police officer characters do.

The 3D-esque artstyle was interesting, especially for a DS title. There were a few places where it fell (pardon the pun) kind of flat, like in the scene with Jowd in the submarine. Because the scenes are 2D it's hard to convey distance, so when characters stand in front of one another it piles up and looks awkward. Also you could see the textures on Jowd's prison jacket swap around when he turns, so that was odd.

The only character whose vibe I didn't quite understand was Cabanela's - is he supposed to be in a relationship with Lynne? Sometimes it felt like the game was implying they were a couple and sometimes it just felt like a mentorship. It was weird.

The controls... I played the Switch port, so everything was joysticks and buttons, and moving from place to place stopped feeling fun and fluid about half way through the game. It felt like once Missile showed up they artificially limited Sissel's movement. Even with Missile's increased range, moving got sticky sometimes because you can't move between objects that are the same shape, you can only swap them. I also found things like people got in the way a lot. Getting used to using Missile's powers was also tricky, and I really wish it hadn't been implemented during that park mission where there's a lot of quick things you gotta do. The number of times I fucked that level up because I hit the wrong button in the moment...

I also found some of the puzzles sort of convoluted, but that's probably just me. There were some puzzles where I had the right idea and if I'd pushed a little farther I could have figured it out, there were some puzzles where I was thinking in the right direction but was missing a step, and then there were puzzles where I looked at the walkthrough and went "and how the HELL was I supposed to figure THAT out?"

Speaking of, the twist ending felt unnecessary. I don't think we gained anything from Ray being Missile, and Sissel being a cat felt really cheap. I would have been happier with some bullshit "oh it's Yomiel from another universe" explanation. The second that kitten appeared in the flashback I said "oh, we're the fucking cat?". I think if there had been hints at the twist throughout the game other than just repeating over and over that Sissel isn't the man in red, or if we had seen the cat more often, it would have felt less random and thrown in. I would have been satisfied with Ray just being a mysterious spirit, too.

There were some questions the ending left me with that I think the game tried to answer but I didn't quite get. The biggest one is, are Yomiel and Sissel the only ones who remember the events of the game? Do the others keep their memories as well? If so, when do they kick in? Was Kamilla born knowing about her death in another timeline?

One other small thing I liked, to cap off - in the new future epilogue, the two spies from the restaurant just straight up die lmao

Overall a fun game! I originally played the demo on the DS back when the Wii still offered freebie demos like that and I'm glad I was finally able to play it. For a game of its age it held up quite well!

[crackedpumpkin]

|| ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ ʙʟᴏꜱꜱᴏᴍꜱ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴅɪᴍᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ || ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴ ||

a/n: lol this somehow reached 2.3k hits on ao3, I will never know how. I'm so tired it's 4am and this is a very very lengthy chapter xo pls enjoy I'm gonna go crash now who even needs Grammarly anyway I AM the Grammarly

“You’re a princess?”

“I mean, technically? I don’t really like to talk about it much.”

“But how did Casey know?” 

Y/n hesitates. “I…Don’t know. I don’t think I’ve told anyone besides you.” She admits softly, her eyes trained on her nails as they pick away at her cuticles. 

It’s silent for a while, and she glances up nervously to check on Leo’s stunned figure. His lips are pursed, exhaling steadily with eyes of acceptance. “Huh.” He says after a while, leaning against the wall next to her. 

He looks back up with a small smile. “And I’m the first one you told?” 

She nods.

“Hey, lovebirds! We could really use some help over here!” Raph yells across the room at the two. She starts slightly, accidentally making eye contact with Leo before ducking her head, feeling a gentle heat on her cheeks.

“Coming!” She walks off, Leo following suit. He can’t stop the smile that’s stuck to his lips. 

She told him first. He’s the first one to know more about her.

The thought makes him euphoric, helping y/n pick up scattered comic books on the floor, the pages drenched from her earlier actions. “So, how does it work where you’re from? Y’know, the whole princess thing?”

Y/n looks up in surprise, not expecting him to ask more about her background. She pauses, trying to explain it as best she can. “I’m the niece of the Northern Water Tribe’s chief. I’m just a princess in name, though. It wasn’t made official.” 

“Why not?” 

She stiffens, looking away from him. “Some stuff….happened. I mean, it’s not that important since I ended up going with Aang, Sokka, and Katara.” She brushes over it, though the slight tinge of sorrow in her voice only serves to pique his curiosity.

He hums. “In that case, do we have to refer to you by your title now, princess?” He jokes, but his teasing smile falters when she looks up at him with wide eyes and a beautiful flush on her cheeks, making part of him want to tease her more if only to see that same expression again.

“I-I mean, you don’t have to. It’s just a formality thing.” Her voice fades into an almost shy whisper, averting her gaze and focusing on arranging the wet comic books on the floor. His cheeks blossom with a soft pink matching hers, mirroring her actions. His hand brushes against hers, both flinching and drawing their hands to their chests as if they had been burnt.

“What’s going on here?” 

She clears her throat, standing back up with a quick shake of her head. Raph watches them both with a playful smile, his hands crossed and ignoring Leo’s flustered glare. Neither responds to Raph, y/n focusing on bending all the water out of the pages and leaving them dry again. 

Mikey whoops happily, scooping them up into his arms with a gleeful grin. “Thanks!!” He scurries back into his room with comic books in tow, ready to stash them away in fear of another incident like earlier happening.

“Anyway,” her attention is back on Raph, who regards them both with a skeptical gaze, “don’t you gotta go home for school tomorrow, Pipsqueak?” 

We’re on nickname terms now?

This makes her grin, glad that she’s been acknowledged by him. The reminder makes her pause, looking around the more or less dry lair. “What about April and Casey?” 

“I’ll walk her-”

“I’ll walk her back.”

Donnie interrupts Casey with a hostile glare, making the boy quirk a brow at the turtle’s odd behaviour. “Sure… See you tomorrow then, Red. Princess.” Casey shrugs, turning to head out the way he followed Raph.

“Oh, would you look at that! It seems that y/n doesn’t have anyone to walk her home. I gotta do…stuff, and so does Mikey.” Raph rubs the back of his neck with probably the worst acting y/n’s ever seen, though she does chuckle at the effort.

“We do?” Mikey shuts up when Raph glares at him, pouting at how mean his brother is. “I guess we do.”

“But April and I live together-”

“Actually, I have something to discuss with Master Splinter. You go on ahead first, y/n.” April grins mischievously, patting y/n’s shoulder with an encouraging nod. 

“I’d be glad to accompany you.” Leo offers with a roll of his eyes at how obvious everyone is being, taking the hint. She nods with a warm smile, walking past the turnstiles with him. 

“Shall we, princess?” He asks, holding his hand out to her with a charming grin. She’s about to take it, but a hot flash of pain rips through her head, the familiar line making her wince.

“Shall we, princess?”  Jet holds out his hand to her with a teasing grin, undeterred by the hostile scowl sent his way by the very girl he’s called out to. 

“Jet. Nice to see you again.” Her eyes are narrowed into a glare, hands clenching into fists. Just in case, though, she bends a stream of water out of the buckets beside her, steadying herself in case he attacked. After what happened, she couldn’t trust him. Not anymore.

“Calm down,” He chuckles, hands lifted up in surrender. “I’m here to talk.”

“Does that talk include trying to drown another innocent village?” She scoffs, the hairs on her neck bristling when he takes a step forward. “Don’t,” She warns, the water bubbling as it begins to heat up from the rapidly growing anger in her heart. 

“I’m here to help. For real this time, I promise.”

“We both know what your ‘promises’ are worth.”

“Not this time. Please. Just hear me out. It’s about your parents.”

Her breath hitches in her chest, eyes widening before she swallows a bitter lump in her throat. “What do you mean?”

“I promise it’ll be worth your time. I don’t have the gang with me anymore; all I want to do is talk.” She eyes his outstretched hand with doubt, but her curiosity ultimately wins. She lets the water drop to her feet, splashing onto the dry floor without soaking her dress in the slightest. 

“Fine. I’ll hear you out. But one wrong move, and you’ll be frozen for the next five years before you know it.”

She expects him to flinch. Instead, his lips curve into a playful grin, reminiscent of the day they met. Heat crept across her cheeks, tinging the tips of her ears with a rosy pink before looking away with a huff and crossed arms. Damn, those good looks of his.

He holds out his hand, waiting for her to take it. “It’s good to see you again, princess. I missed you.”

“You can leave now!” Raph calls out from a short distance, and she’s instantly brought back to the present. She looks up at Leo’s eyes filled with nothing but warmth and kindness for her. Her stomach turns, her hand about to brush his before she snatches it back. She swallows, unable to bring herself to look him in the eyes.

“Yeah, let’s go.” She mumbles, brushing past him in a hurry. He hesitates, eyes filled with mild hurt at the cold way she rejects his hand. He follows suit, missing the wince on April’s face as she watches them leave. 

“Should I tell her that tomorrow’s Saturday?”

— — — —

Y/n runs across the rooftops, the cold breeze whistling past her ears soothing her somewhat. Her heart is heavy, but the sensation of practically flying across the rooftops is freeing. 

She barely registers Leo following along, having slowed his usual pace for her. She appreciates the thought, her steps slowing so they walk side by side. His curious gaze unnerves her slightly, still unable to bring herself to meet his innocent eyes that hold so much worry, and so many questions.

“So, how’s school life going for you?” 

“It’s going good, I suppose. I introduced the history of the avatar and the war to my classmates.” 

“You what?” 

“I know, April told me not to do it again. Not even about the frog talk too.” She replies grumpily, crossing her arms with a huff.

Leo’s bemused by her words, every single sentence of hers still catching him off guard. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any more baffling, she always managed to surprise him. 

His gaze softens, watching her kick a stray pebble. She’s so endearing, he thinks with a chuckle. 

“About earlier,” He sees her stiffen slightly, probably thinking about how he’d address her rejecting his hand. “What’s it like being a princess?” 

“It was…” She pauses, looking out at the city. He stands beside her, waiting patiently for her reply. “Isolating.” She finally says after a few moments, lips pursed. The silence from Leo spurs her to continue, his reassuring presence encouraging her to speak more freely. 

“When I was little, my parents left me with my uncle. He was the chief of our tribe, and it was one last favour he did for my parents before they left. That’s where I met Yue.” She recalls peeking out from behind her father’s legs with a timid smile, meeting her cousin for the first time. 

“Yue and I were close growing up. We played dolls together and studied together. We were like sisters. But as we grew up, it became more and more apparent that she was of higher status. She’s the direct daughter of the chief, while I’m just his niece. I wasn’t mistreated, just less…included.”

“What about your royal duties? Did you knight any knights? Dance at balls? Have a coronation?”

“What are knights?”

“Y’know, like, warriors who wear armour and wield swords? They’re loyal to their kingdom and their kingdom alone? You have to knight them with a sword? They swear all loyalty to the princess?” 

“I don’t think we have those,” Her eyes shine with humour, smiling at his amusing reply. At first, she thought he was describing himself, what with the swords and all. He had mimicked a ‘knight’s’ actions, dramatically holding out his katanas. She had to hide a giggle at that.

“That’s a shame. I think being a knight would’ve been pretty cool. Why’d you choose to follow them, though?” 

His question makes her hesitate, glancing up at him. “There was no more reason to stay.” If she had, Yue’s betrothed would’ve only gone to her. She’d forever be a replacement for her cousin. 

But no one could ever replace Yue.

It’s silent for a while, both settling into comfortable silence. 

“I’m tired of losing people.”

The loaded statement that slips past her lips is weary, with pure exhaustion laced in every single word. She’s too tired to realize how it sounds, her true feelings bubbling to the surface. 

“It must’ve been hard.”

His single reply comes instantly, his words nothing but heartfelt. She doesn’t realize that her eyes have already started tearing up until her vision becomes blurry. She blinks, the tears sliding down her cheeks. She feels something soft brush against her skin, slowly registering a green finger brushing off her tears with a gentle smile. 

“It’ll be okay.” Leo promises. “We’ll get you home.”

She sniffles, allowing herself to melt into his touch with a tiny sigh. “Thank you.”

“For now, though, let’s get you home.” Leo chuckles, letting his hand drop to his side after her tears stop flowing. She manages a nod, the both of them starting a slow jog with a shared smile. 

Something’s off.

She glances around; brows furrowed in confusion, when she doesn’t spot anyone else. She could’ve sworn they were being watched. The prickling sensation that ruffles her nerves isn’t easing; her gut twists and tugs slightly in a particular direction. 

“Something wrong?” Leo asks, curious as to why she’s suddenly on high alert. He didn’t sense anything. But then again, y/n had slightly keener instincts than any of them did.

“Just…felt like we were being watched,” She murmurs uneasily, rubbing her arm in discomfort. She didn’t like the sensation, reminding her too much of the days when they were busy being hunted down by Zuko. 

“I don’t see anyone around. Maybe you’re a little tired from earlier.” Leo suggests, the skin above his eyes creasing in worry. “You should get some rest.”

“Maybe,” she still can’t brush it off but continues to jog back to the apartment building. The feeling fades after a while, the tension leaving her body. She unlocks the window, sliding it up. Leo watches from the fire escape, the close proximity making her stiffen slightly. 

“Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, princess.” He says, the nickname filled with fondness. A breathy laugh falls from her lips, still flustered when he calls her with such affection. She climbs into the room, pausing before gesturing for him to come closer. 

His eyes widen slightly in intrigue, taking a step and leaning in. She gestures for him to come closer still, as if she’s about to tell him a secret. 

“Thanks for keeping me safe, my knight.” She whispers, brushing her lips gently against his cheek. 

He’s frozen.

She leans back with a heavy blush on her cheeks, her neck hot. She slides the window shut, clearing her throat. She watches him take a step back, climbing back up the fire escape with jerky movements and a blush that matches hers. 

“Wow.” 

Y/n yelps at the sudden voice, stumbling back and almost falling onto the ground. She grabs onto the chair nearby in time, looking up wide-eyed to see both April and Donnie in the doorway, stunned into silence. 

“I mean…wow.” Donnie can’t help but be impressed by y/n’s boldness, April lifting her hands to clap slowly, eyes filled with awe. ”Wow,” She agrees.

 “Y-you saw that?” 

What was she even asking? Of course, they saw it based on their reactions. She groans, holding her head in her hands. She could never recover from this.

“That’s it. I’m banishing myself from all interactions.” She mutters, brushing past them both and into the kitchen to make some tea to calm herself down. April doesn’t stop the slow claps, sharing a mischievous grin with Donnie. 

“We’re so gonna bring it up around them, right?”

“Without a doubt.”

— — — —

She can’t sleep. Y/n turns and shifts in her spot on the shared bed, freezing when she hears April mumble a sound of protest. She sits up with a sigh, moving to exit through the window and heading up the fire escape to the rooftop. 

She’s barefooted, standing on the cold, dirty ground that no one bothers to clean. She takes a moment to sit on the ledge, looking up at the night sky. Her heart is heavy, recalling just moments ago when she had so daringly pressed a soft kiss against Leo’s cheek.

Her heart hammers in her chest like a hummingbird’s melodious thrums, except she’s sure that hers is faster and much louder. How had she been so bold? 

Did she even deserve to have the right to feel this way again? After what happened with Jet, it's hard to believe so.

A weary sigh leaves her lips, looking down at her calloused hands with regret starting to fill the emptiness that makes itself known. The silence is deafening, almost too much for her to bear. 

Jet.

She hadn’t remembered that name in a while. After everything she’s been through in this dimension, it’s easy to let the name of one’s first love slip their mind. With fighting aliens, discovering mutagen, and befriending a girl with psychic powers, it’s hard to believe that she isn’t just in a fever dream.

Who knows, though? Maybe it really is, and she’d wake up to Katara nagging at her to wake up for another of Aang’s pranks that she’d been a victim of. Sokka would snort at her, and she’d bend a stream of water to soak him in response.

She pinches her hand, wincing at the sharp pain. She huffs out a sad laugh. What had she expected?

It’s not a dream.

“So princess, you gonna come with me or what?”

“Shut it, Jet. I don’t trust you.” Y/n huffs, following Jet with a cautious gaze. 

“I really have changed, y’know.” Jet turns to face her with a sorrowful smile she almost falls for, her eyes softening before the reminder of what he did to the innocent village makes her sober up. 

“People don’t change so easily.” 

“I’ll prove it to you, princess. I promise.” 

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why?” He sounds genuinely surprised, and y/n crosses her arms defensively. The both of them are in an alleyway, with no one else around. She glances behind her, wondering if she should just make a run for it and forget this all ever happened.

“Because you don’t have the right to. Not anymore. Not after what you did to me. To us.” 

What had they been, anyway? A couple of teenagers with a mutual crush on each other? That’s all they were. And safe to say, hers had burned out as soon as he endangered her friends.

“Y/n…” He hesitates, his hand falling to his side. “I’m sorry.” 

It’s sincere, but she can barely bring herself to look him in the eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

He nods resignedly, continuing to trek forward. “Where are we going, anyway?” She asks, staying a wary distance from him. 

“Your parents are here. In Ba Sing Se.”

“What?” 

It’s as if the breath is knocked out of her with that statement alone, disbelief tinging her voice. “That can’t be.”

“It’s true, princess.”

“Don’t lie to me!” 

“I’m not, princess. They’re only a few houses down. Please.” Jet holds his hand out to her, but she’s hesitant to take it. It couldn’t be. Everything she’s built up to protect herself from her parents abandoning her is crumbling in her hands. She can’t let herself believe it. It’s easier for her to think that they’re dead. 

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” She hesitates, the painful lump in her throat and tightness in her chest scaring her more than anything she’s faced so far, “I’ll know for sure that they really abandoned me.”

Once the words leave her lips, she feels herself crumble to pieces, dropping to her knees as her eyes sting with tears. She feels his warm arm wrap around her back, holding her against his chest. The warmth brings her painful comfort, allowing the tears to spill over. They wet his shirt, but his hold around her only tightens. She clutches his shirt, crumpling the fabric in her hands as she hiccups through her sobs.

It’s as if she’s back in the throne room again, waving goodbye to her parents with an uneasiness in her gut that she brushes off as a mere stomachache. That was the last time she ever saw them. The warm kiss her mother pressed against her forehead and her father’s affectionate ruffle of her hair. Those were the last forms of affection she’d ever receive from them.

She calms down after a while, having held onto Jet for dear life. She’s about to move away from him, her shaky breaths not doing much to convince him that she’s okay. She yelps, Jet picking her up in a bridal carry and walking back the way they came. 

“Put me down!”

“Calm down, princess. You’re tired.” 

She narrows her eyes into a glare, though it’s less hostile than before. Her eyes drop to his neck, stubbornly refusing to look into his eyes. She tries to move her feet but finds that she’s lost all feeling in them after having sat on them for as long as she did.

“Any more glaring, and you’re gonna burn a hole through my shirt, princess.”

“Good,” She grumbles with a huff. 

His chest shakes with a deep chuckle, her own heart warming at the sound. “Let’s get you something to eat.” She hesitates. Was this really a good idea? Maybe Aang, Katara, Toph, and Sokka would be worried she’d get back so late. Maybe he was actually taking her to be captured again. 

Maybe he had something else up his sleeve.

“Fine.”

The first few drops of rain snap her out of her memory, before the rest come down in full force. The rain pelts her body, droplets sliding off her hair and streaming down her face. Her entire body is soaked, and the shirt and shorts provident little protection. 

She cups her hands, the rainwater quickly gathering in a small pool. Her body feels heavy and tired, her heart filled with all sorts of emotions that crash against each other like raging waves in a vast ocean that she’ll never be able to calm. 

She stands up. She takes a deep breath, bringing her arms up into a circle and suspending the raindrops in midair when her hands meet above her head, moving to sweep her left foot in a semi-arc. 

The movement guides the water to surround her in streams, mimicking the image of a hurricane she had seen in passing during geography class. Her movements are slow and controlled, but as thoughts start to cloud her mind, they become more erratic and more emotional. 

She thrusts her right arm out to the sky, a jagged spike of ice following suit. The edge is as sharp as the hot flash of anger in her heart, anger at herself for being so helpless and pitiful in this state, anger at her parents for abandoning her, and anger directed at herself for being unable to control anything around her.

She shifts her arm back, leaving the large spike of ice as is and allowing herself to feel the next emotion: Despair. How could she even think about falling in love in a dimension that isn’t even hers? She had to leave sometime. Whatever she felt for Leo would be over before it even began. 

She despairs for a life lost, for the various that she’s seen leaving the plane of mortality in the blink of an eye. Despair for her parents. Despair for Yue. Despair for Jet. 

Despair for all the lives lost in the war. 

Despair for a love that once was. 

The water around her seems to adapt to her feelings, shifting and surrounding her in a flurry of churning, rapidly moving stream that she almost lets go of. 

Then, Fear takes hold. Her body is simply flowing along with the water, allowing herself to become one with its motions. She’s scared. She’s scared to lose the people around her. She’s scared she’ll never make it back to her home. 

She’s scared that once she takes the first step forward to confirm what she and Leo have, she’ll lose it. 

She’s scared that she’ll lose him. 

The water bubbles, drawing back and coating her body in a protective shield, leaving her face unguarded. 

All her guarded emotions finally rise to the surface. She raises her hands again, bending every drop around her to form a huge orb of water above the apartment building. 

Then in a single movement, she bends the water to become mist, letting it — and her emotions, dissipate into the morning of New York City, surrounding the buildings with heavy fog.

She sighs softly. It’s as if a huge burden has been lifted off her shoulders. She walks back down the fire escape, slipping back into April’s room and under the covers, not noticing the dirt that covers the soles of her feet and staining the white bedspreads.

She falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow, lip curved upwards into a soft smile.

Maybe she should do that more often.

— — — —

“I never understood how turtles — could be so fast!” April says between pants, breathless from the amount of running they’ve just done. Y/n nods in agreement from beside her. She could run, just not for two hours straight.

“C’mon, April! This is just the warmup,” Mikey encourages, all four turtles completely unfazed. “I’m sorry — the warmup?” Y/n echoes in disbelief, holding a finger up as she catches her breath from beside a tired April, “For two hours??”

“That’s what ninjas do. Training sometimes lasts for four–five hours at a time. Awesome, right?” 

“Awesome?” April’s baffled by how normal this is for them. “Are you kidding me? I’m gonna puke.”

“I second that motion.” Y/n raises her hand from beside her, already leaning against Donnie, who supports her with a worried smile. Her stomach turns, all her stamina spent. Her legs have zero feeling in them, barely managing to hold herself upright.

“What about a real mission?”

“It took fifteen years of training before Master Splinter let us go on a ‘real mission’. You got a long way to go, sister.” Raph scoffs, sassily dismissing April’s request.

“Not that long. A decade or two will fly by like that!” Donnie snaps his fingers to prove his point, but it only serves to heighten April’s dismay. 

“For a turtle!”

Y/n groans softly, the familiar unnerving sensation back again with full force. It had been plaguing her for the past couple of days, and she wanted to tell the rest but didn’t know how to — especially after that night when Donnie and April had both caught her kissing Leo’s cheek.

She constantly felt like she was being followed, but every time she glanced around to try and narrow it down, the feeling disappeared, as if whoever was doing so had fled. It’s back again, though - and growing more intense by the minute. 

Everyone’s voices fade into white noise. She closes her eyes, trying to focus on what exactly her instincts are trying to tell her. Her gut twists and turns as if it’s wringing itself out to dry. However, it’s tugging in a particular direction, and she opens her eyes to see April pointing in the same direction as well. 

A masked figure is hidden in the shadows, but the brightness of a neon sign reflects onto the signboard they’re hiding behind, revealing their location. They flinch at being caught, grabbing their things and running away. 

Great. More running.

She staggers to her feet with a groan, beginning to give chase. If it’s one thing she’s learnt about being watched, it’s that it never leads to a good outcome. 

Case in point: Sparky Sparky Boom Man. 

As they run to catch up to the mysterious stranger, y/n gets a better look at them now that they’re more exposed to the light. She stops at the edge of the building they’re on but pauses once she bends the water out of the water bag on her hip. She judges the distance between the two buildings, unsure if the amount of water is enough to create a bridge over. 

However, she’s hastily scooped up and pressed against a strong plastron, instinctively wrapping her arms around Leo’s neck as his own circle her waist protectively. He jumps off the building after securing a grappling hook to the next, pushing himself off the ledge and landing safely on the rooftop. 

He sets her down gently, y/n whispering her thanks softly as their gazes lock. “Make goo-goo eyes a​​​​t each other later; we got a guy to catch!” Raph rolls his eyes, the both of them flustered at suddenly being called out. 

They resume their run, though the distance between them is a bit closer than before. She reaches the edge once more, kneeling down to get a better look at the man who slips into an apartment in the opposite building. 

She allows herself to get carried over by Leo, the gesture almost second nature now. She lets go of his neck once they land on the fire escape, hands reaching out to open the window. She’s stopped, however, when Leo shakes his head, his hands holding hers and gently pushing them down. 

He produces a tool from behind his back, y/n stepping aside in understanding as he jimmies the lock open before slowly sliding it up. She’s already prepared a shield of ice in case any arrows come flying, holding it in front of them both. 

Luckily, no projectiles come flying at them. She breathes a sigh of relief but still keeps her shield up as they enter the apartment. It’s comparatively devoid of decorative furniture, a potted plant in the corner drawing her attention.

She walks over, noting how its leaves are somewhat wilted. She bends a small stream of water to soak into the soil around it, smiling when the plant looks a little livelier than before. She bends the rest of her shield back into liquid form, guiding it back into her water bag.

She hears a gasp, everyone having gathered around a board in the middle of the room. She walks over, curious as to what they’ve found, but her words fall short as soon as her eyes land on pictures of the turtles and April. 

“Uh, Y/n? You should see this.” 

She turns to Raph with raised brows, walking over to see what he’s looking at with such wide eyes. He passes her his flashlight, and she shines it onto a board that’s separate from the rest. 

“Tui’s gills….”

Pictures. 

So many pictures of her litter the board, pinned up with metal thumbtacks in a crazed organization system. Red thread connects them all haphazardly, words scribbled in red onto each. 

There’s a picture of her healing Baxter Stockman, and another of her on the rooftop with Leo. Another is of her healing people during the Kraang Invasion, while one captures her mid-laugh, eyes gleaming with happiness and her nose scrunched at a joke someone says. 

There’s also another of her slumped on the ground in the alleyway, moments away from having blood-bended. Her eyes are dark, her expression blank as blood trickles down the side of her head. Her hand is outstretched to Raph, who’s not captured in the photo, lips parted as if she’s talking to another.

Then there’s another of her with angry tears in her eyes, the close-up shot sending chills down her spine. It captured every emotion she had felt from that night — anger, helplessness, fear…

It’s unsettling. Her hands grip her arms, shuddering at the thought of someone taking all these photos of her without her knowledge. She shines the torch on the hastily scrawled words, beginning to read them.

‘Power over water?’

‘Not of this earth.’

‘Kraang mutant?’

‘The blue one.’

The sentence is scribbled next to a photo of her and Leo looking at each other with gentle smiles as if they’re in their own little bubble. His hand is brushed against hers, and the memory brings a strong heat to her entire face. She sneaks a look around, Raph having walked over to the other board where more photos of their existence are. 

She reaches up, quietly removing the thumbtack and stuffing the photo into her pocket. It’s not like she isn’t creeped out by the photo — It is incredibly weird and unsettling after all. 

But she kinda liked that one.

She shines her torch on the left side of the board, catching a few messily written words on another piece of paper. She moves the torch to shine on it, her breath hitching in her chest when she reads it. 

‘Possible affinity with blood?’

Sudden light-headedness strikes through her head like a shard of pain, her breathing stuttering in her chest. She takes a step back. The red ink starts to bleed, dripping down the pictures of her with a crimson red that both draws her in and terrifies her to her core.

A loud slam draws her attention to Raph, who holds the stranger that followed them to the wall in an aggressive chokehold, his sai pressed to his throat with the intention to intimidate. She shakes her head and blinks rapidly, her racing heart doing nothing to calm how rattled she is.

“Don’t hurt me, I’m a friend!” 

“Stalker’s more like it.” Raph scoffs.

“After all these months, finally face to face with the talking ninja turtles and April O’Neil herself. Even the Water Whisperer, Y/n.” He takes a step toward Y/n with his hands outstretched to grab her shoulders. Leo instantly moves to protect her, drawing his katana and pointing it at the man, who takes a step back, hands raised in surrender.

“You better start talking, pal. What’s with the photos? Who are you?” Leo’s aggressiveness seems to make the man start talking, eyeing his sword nervously.

“The name’s Kurtzman. I was a journalist on the case of the missing scientist last year. Then I discovered something much bigger.” 

He moves to turn on the light, using his arm to sweep off scattered papers and the mug on his desk. He faces them with a book, placing it down on the desk with a thud. “The Kraang.”

He begins to explain, opening the book and showing the research and pictures inside. “The alien infiltration is long-lived. Ancient, in fact. The Kraang have been trying to use the mutagen to terra-form our planet for thousands of years. But they couldn’t use the mutagen in our universe without a specific chain of human DNA. They spent millennia capturing people. Shaping humankind’s genetic code until finally….” 

He lifts up a picture of a baby, and April inhales sharply when she sees it. “That’s me.”

“Your mother was taken by The Kraang before you were born. Then, she was experimented on.” He flips to a family picture of April and her parents. April’s eyes are filled with pure shock, discovering new information about her family for the first time. 

“My mom was experimented on?”

“That’s why you’re so special, April. Your DNA can perfect the mutagen in this dimension.” Kurtzman reveals. 

“I-I think I need to sit down.” April slumps against a chest of drawers, holding her head as she processes everything he’s said. Y/n, on the other hand, has questions. She takes a step towards the man who’s been spying on them. 

“What do you mean when you called me ‘Water Whisperer’?” She questions, her arms crossed defensively across her chest. 

“Because you can control water! I couldn’t believe it at first, but once I saw those bridges made of ice, and the streams of water you surround yourself with, I knew at once you had some sort of power over it. There’s something I’ve been dying to ask, though.”

“What is it?”

“Well, it’s a fact that the human body consists of up to sixty percent water, with over ninety percent of it making up blood. So theoretically, wouldn’t it be possible that-”

He’s cut off with a single flick of her wrist, a small stream of water instantly covering his mouth and y/n freezing it in a split second. He’s effectively silenced, all four turning to look at her in shock. Her eyes are cold, her outstretched fist that’s aimed at Kurtzman a silent threat. 

“If you complete that sentence, your mouth isn’t going to be the only thing frozen.” 

The promise rings through the quiet room, and she unclenches her fist, bending the water back into its liquid state and back to her side, though the threat reminds everyone exactly how capable she is.

Leo’s about to say something – to check if she’s okay, when the door is slammed open by three disguised Kraang bots. They enter the room with their blasters, armed and ready to fire.

“They found me,” Kurtzman says, his voice filled with fear, “I don’t know how, but they found me.”

“Kraang, the human known as ‘Kurtzman’ has allied himself with the ones called the ‘turtles’, who are turtles.” The bot on the left says.

“Observe, Kraang. Disintegrate first, capture for interrogation later.” The bot on the right says.

All three start firing, beginning to spread out. Y/n’s lips curve up into an empty grin. “You came just in time. I have a few frustrations to take care of.” She jumps out of the way from a blast that’s aimed at her, letting out a cry as she moves her arms in a small arc, bending the water out of her water bag and crafting a spear of ice in an instant. 

She sends it flying at the Kraang bot that’s firing at both her and Mikey, the latter throwing two ninja stars that embed itselves into the gun and its eye, while her spear pierces its abdomen. She hears a sharp squeal of pain that goes quiet after, the bot no longer moving to get up. 

She waves her arm dismissively, bending the water back into its liquid state and reusing it. It’s tinged pink now, having pierced through the Kraang’s very being. She regards it with nonchalance, levitating it above her hand with her fingers around it. 

“Y/n, watch out!” 

Leo’s about to make a move to stab the bot that’s moving behind her but falters in his steps once she turns at his cry and sends the spear through the Kraang in the middle. It leaves a gaping hole through the pink flesh, the bot falling to her feet. 

“Retreat!” Raph cries out as more of the Kraang begin to enter the apartment. They escape through the window, y/n groaning in annoyance when Kurtzman doesn’t make his exit. He flounders, trying to get to his notebook. The Kraang refuse to allow him to get near it, firing away at him. 

She’s so close to just leaving him there. But she sighs, grabbing the back of his collar and pulling him back with as much force as she can muster, falling out the window. 

She’s miscalculated his weight, and they both hurtle toward the ground at a terrifying rate. She doesn’t scream, the sound caught in her chest and only a choked exhale escaping. Was this how she would die? Saving an idiot?

She vaguely feels something circle around her leg, and it tightens when they’re inches away from meeting the pavement. They dangle upside down, and she looks down to see Mikey above them, holding on with all his strength using his nunchucks to secure both her and Kurtzman.

He slowly lowers them to the ground, and she collapses onto the ground, releasing Kurtzman’s collar. She stands back up with a grunt, dusting off the dirt on her clothes and ignoring the man’s pained cries. The creep could take care of himself.

“This way, move!” Leo orders after giving y/n a quick glance over to check if she’s injured. He looks away as soon as he confirms that she isn’t, his eyes hardening. His main priority is to get all of them out, unharmed.

They’re about to leave, but a van screeches to a halt, blocking their means of escape. The doors open, and the Kraang step out in spider-like robots. The clawed ends clatter against the pavement, the sound sending a chill down her spine.

A large blaster is revealed when the front panel moves aside, and they start to fire at everyone around. “This way!” Y/n cries out, gesturing for everyone to leave through the other side of the alleyway. Donnie ushers them into the secret entrance installed that leads to the garage, all of them piling into the ShellRaiser before Leo starts the engine up and drives it to the surface.

“Everyone, brace yourselves!” Leo calls out a single warning, y/n grabbing the closest thing to her, which is a handle attached to the wall of the van.

“Here’s the plan. We’ll infiltrate T.C.R.I. Then, we’ll wipe out all the ingo the Kraang have on April and her DNA.” Kurtzman suggests.

“T.C.R.I? I thought you guys blew that place up.” April points out. Donnie stiffens slightly at the reminder, glancing at y/n who doesn’t notice.

Leo drives to a safer area, everyone getting out and staring at the large building a short distance away in disbelief. “They rebuilt T.C.R.I? Raph mutters.

“We break in, erase April’s DNA codes, and get out. Infiltration only.” Leo orders in a hushed whisper.

“Le’s do this,” April clenches her hands into fists, ready to take action. 

“Great. You and Kurtzman stay outside on lookout.”

“Stay outside? On lookout?” April’s incredibly offended, her hands on her hips. 

“No problem. Take this,” Kurtzman rifles through his pockets, taking out a card and handing it to Leo. “It’s a key card I stole from one of their vans. It’ll get you into T.C.R.I.”

“I can be lookout.” Y/n volunteers, giving her friend a half grin. She shrugs at Leo’s baffled expression. “Hey, give her a chance. It’s the least you can do after you left me behind that night.”

Leo’s wounded expression makes her inhale sharply. She couldn’t help being salty over it still, having felt hurt that they excluded her. “Be careful out there, April.” She cautions her friend.

“Fine,” Leo caves in easily, unable to fight back against her. “Thanks Mr Kurtzman. Look after her.” He says sternly, casting one last worried glance over his shoulder as he leaves with April and the rest. 

Y/n raises a brow. Just who was protecting who, here?

She’s left alone with Kurtzman, who she can see in her peripheral, is just itching to ask her questions. His eager eyes make her sigh, caving in. “What is it?” 

“I just have a few questions. How did you receive your powers? Do you communicate with water? What exactly are your limits? How many phase changes can you make? Do you ever get dehydrated?”

She feels as if she’s a blueprint being studied by Sokka.

“I was born with waterbending. I don’t communicate with water, no. I feel the flow and simply guide it to the results I wish to produce.” She demonstrates using a simple stream of water from her water bag to wrap around her arm in a spiral, Kurtzman watching in fascination and awe. 

“I can change it to be mist or even ice. And yes, I do get dehydrated if I don’t drink enough water. There was a time when I was in the desert and was really tempted to drink cactus juice.” 

“Oh,” He sounds genuinely surprised at the last answer. He hesitates. “About my question from earlier….” 

Y/n tenses, shooting him a glare that tells him to stop. But he pushes on, determined to find an answer. “Doesn’t this mean you can control people’s bodies?”

He waits for an answer, wishing he had a piece of paper to jot everything down. She takes a shaky breath, trying to steel herself. “Mr. Kurtzman. I do not know why you want to know this information, and nor do I plan to reveal it to you. Consider yourself lucky that none of them are around right now, or I would have frozen your entire being right here for speaking of such things.”

“Is that a yes?” 

Her gaze darkens. This man is treading very, very thin ice. “It is a taboo power. A dark one I wish I never knew. Some things, Mr. Kurtzman, are better left unanswered.”

A moment of silence passes, y/n leaning against the wall and mulling over her own thoughts when Mr. Kurtzman speaks up again. “Maybe we should secure a van for their escape.” He suggests.

She moves to stand flat on her feet, nodding in agreement. “How about that one?” He points out a van a few feet away. They make their way over, Kurtzman jimmying the lock smoothly with ease. 

She regards him with a mildly impressed nod. He rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Had to secure a few getaway cars myself when investigating the Kraang.”

She sits in the passenger seat, Kurtzman sitting behind the wheel and hotwiring the engine. It starts with a purr, and he sits back up with a satisfied smile. She hears the sound of doors being smashed open, looking at T.C.R.I. to see the four running away from a crowd of Kraang that are chasing after them.

Kurtzman holds down the gas pedal, y/n yelping as the van suddenly moves. They screech to a stop in front of the five making their escape, y/n opening the door. “Get in!” She urges. They pile into the vehicle, Leo shutting the door behind them as Kurtzman drives off.

“What happened? Why is April dressed like that?” She has so many questions, but none get answered as the driver laughs loudly, gleeful at escaping the Kraang.

“Thanks for the save, Mr. Kurtzman.” She had to hand it to him; Leo was anything if not polite.

“I owed you one! So, did you wipe out the Kraang computers?” 

“We did, by the skin of our noses.” Donnie shrugs.

“The only reason we survived was because of April. Whatever you did back there saved us all.”

“I have no clue what I did,” April sighs, clinging to her friend’s arm for emotional support. Y/n pats the top of her head softly, offering comfort in whatever way she can. “I was freaking out and then zap. The Kraang were toast.”

The van slows to a stop, and Leo opens the door for everyone to exit. “Well, I’m off. Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on the Kraang. Let me know if you need my expertise again, you know where to find me.” He hands Leo his card.

“And uh, blue one.” Leo’s about to walk off with the rest, April filling y/n in as they walk back to their apartment. Kurtzman gestures for him to come close, and he obediently leans in. He sees Kurtzman hesitate, looking at y/n in case she overhears. 

“Here’s a piece of advice. Watch out for the Water Whisperer. Remember the question I wanted to ask earlier? Remind your brainiac brother about it if you want to stay safe. 

You have no idea what she’s capable of.”

taglist:

@brunnetteiwik

@ivuriexo

@httpjiikook

[lemontongues]

yknow ive been thinking again lately about how i would like to see more realism in batman content, both canon and fandom, but not the Dark And Gritty kind. the kind thats like.

yes actually he is highly emotionally intelligent and does understand himself quite well and has just accepted that he is A Freak and decided to roll with it rather than being so horrifically emotionally repressed that he can barely even acknowledge that what hes doing is based in trauma. hes been in therapy since he was like 9 years old. he studies human psychology extensively both for himself and so he has better odds of predicting whats gonna go wrong and how when hes up against a rogue or negotiating a hostage situation or whatever. he meditates for two hours a day and is fully capable of keeping a healthy handle on his anger 98% of the time. he's nice to people and fun to be around and sincerely caring. if he were just Always Right but super isolated and reactive and cruel and controlling everyone would fucking hate him and no it wouldnt be enough to sustain his crimefighting activities, thats a stupid lone wolf fuckboy fantasy

he has a strict 9pm bedtime that he only breaks for mandatory WE/brucie activities or emergencies. if theres a gala where he needs to rub shoulders with ppl to gather intel or keep his company running he'll do it but hes Not Happy about being out until midnight and cuts out early as often as possible, and when hes chasing the joker around until 3am hes lamenting his poor sweet circadian rhythm that did nothing wrong ever in its life the whole time. when hes batmanning hes expending a fuckton of energy and he needs to make it up and have a well-established routine to counteract the punishment hes putting his body through. on a similar note, this man is building braces and compression into his suit and doing extensive physical therapy exercises every day of his life bc he wants to have helpful little things like "knees" and "shoulders" by the time hes 40, and hes probably eating a small farms worth of assorted leafy greens and several chickens per day

he is simply Never drunk and he doesnt actually have that much sex. hes really really good at faking a) being drunk and b) getting a high priority phone call from lucius the minute someone hes making out with starts trying to get his shirt off. he also does a lot of "hey look i gotta get out of here with my reputation intact, can we help each other out and pretend we're gonna go fuck?" kind of negotiating with ppl (see: his 9pm bedtime, plus sometimes hes gotta slip away from an event to be sneaky), which is how a lot of the more wild stories about him start circulating lol. this is a man who's regularly getting gassed/injected/etc with highly experimental substances created by maniacs trying to torment or kill him, he does NOT want substances like drugs or alcohol in his body that could potentially interact with them, and the last thing he needs is to be dealing with a pregnancy or sti scare. plus if he can play it safe with someone and have them think of him as a nice and trustworthy dude who just has a bonkers reputation, all the better for his batman activities!

idk i just feel like theres unexplored potential in a lot of that stuff bc so much of recent batman mythos is like HES SO HARDCORE AND CAN DO ANYTHING AND HES ALWAYS RIGHT CAUSE HES SO PARANOID AND DISRESPECTFUL OF PPL AND THEIR BOUNDARIES BUT ITS OKAY BC ITS IN THE NAME OF BEING RIGHT and im like. okay. gotta admit that i dont rly find that believable or in line with my values. can we talk about WE's sweet sweet employee benefits package and bruce designing his suit to take most of the impact off his knees when he jumps off a roof. members of the jl discovering that he gives shockingly balanced and insightful advice about their mundane personal problems. bruce printing his own batsymbol envelopes to leave people cash after he misaims his grappling hook and breaks their window. things of that nature.

[sun-undone]

i'm finishing up yet another rewatch because when am i not rewatching this godforsaken show and all throughout season 2, i kept honing in on all the times we see JJ with that fucking flask and how it is NEVER ADDRESSED. the most we get are the two moments in 2x01 and 2x03 when Kie's telling him to chill out before school and then when she takes the flask from his hand when she thinks he's asleep.

the fact that the closest we got to any acknowledgement of that being a deeper problem was always framed around jiara???? and now we know from the EW articles that JJ's mental health is gonna be a bigger deal (thank fucking god pates i love you and i never said anything bad about y'all) in season 3, which is the jiara season??????? it's all connected and i truly cannot believe i am praising writers for basic set up and payoff but !!!!!! i really thought the flask was their half-assed way of giving JJ some kind of individual arc when they totally dropped all his other plot lines (restitution and Luke/abuse trauma) but i could not be more happy to be proven wrong.

(i mean, they might be talking a big game now, it all comes down to the actual execution but i'm still so fucking excited that they've specifically mentioned taking a look at the pogues' mental states and it gives me a lot of hope okay)

everyone's already said this but i really think we're gonna see JJ struggling hardcore with being back home and not knowing what his place is as the dynamic of the pogues has changed so much. Cleo and Pope are paired off, since we now have confirmation that she'll be staying with him and his family. John B is gonna be reunited with his father, and he and Sarah have got each other as well. Kie has her parents to go back to, as strained as that relationship is. JJ is very clearly the odd one out.

poguelandia is the first time that JJ has ever been away from the obx. he has never existed outside the bubble of what it means to be a Maybank in the obx. so he's gotta feel so free, right?? he can provide for his family by fishing and they can get by just well enough to survive and live off the land and they have each other, and that's always been enough for JJ.

and if he and Kie gravitate closer on poguelandia like we all think they will, then all of that happiness and a taste of his surf trip dream will suddenly get ripped away from him when they have to go back home, and he's absolutely gonna spiral. he's gonna pull away and deflect and overcompensate with alcohol and use all the other immature coping mechanisms we've seen him use before, and i am so fucking ready for this angst holy shit cause there's just been so much set up for it. the pates love a fast burn so i think we were all kinda worried about the slow burn with jiara, but my expectations are officially sky high. i'm so glad that they're using the established character flaws and insecurities for JJ as part of the angst, and i'm assuming Kie's issues with her parents will be the external force adding onto that and making it even angstier.

it's not mind-blowing writing whatsoever, but after season 2 kinda let us down in terms of giving us insight into JJ's headspace, i'm just over the moon to see that it might've all been a set up for something bigger. they knew they wanted to save the deep dive into JJ's trauma for the jiara season because it's so integral to understanding how JJ receives and doesn't receive love. you can't put JJ in a romantic plot line without addressing all that trauma and self-hatred, and it's something fic writers have created masterpieces about and i can't stop saying it but i am just so fucking happy that the pates are putting it in canon. they really do care about these characters huh

if season 3 ends up being a disaster and the trauma plot line is disappointing as hell then no one saw this i didn't write it you didn't read it

[hes-striker]

One Month Later…

Striker: 3 Months (out of 6) pregnant.

Striker leans back on the I.M.P. office couch, glaring at the small pile of pillows Blitzø insisted he use to “get comfortable.” His stomach’s growth spurt has made his situation more obvious, and it’s put him in a constant state of irritation. Blitzø, however, has been extra attentive in his own chaotic way, checking in on him like some strange, overbearing guard dog.

Blitzø: *bouncing over with a grin after wrapping up paperwork with Millie* Lookin’ good, cowboy! You’re starting to get that whole “glow” thing goin’ on—though in your case, it’s more of a “glower,” huh?

Striker: *scowls* Real funny. Remind me again how this turned into your business?

Blitzø: *shrugs, flopping onto the arm of the couch beside him* Look, I had a rough time lately, and now I’m feelin’ better! You’re just lucky you get the better version of Blitzø—the one that’s decided to be a decent guy and make sure his… *pauses, gesturing vaguely at Striker’s stomach* …legacy or whatever doesn’t turn out as much of a mess as I did.

Striker: *snorts* Guess I should count my blessings, then. Didn’t ask for a damn babysitter, though.

Blitzø: *leans in, smirking* Tough luck, partner. 'Cause like it or not, you're stuck with me 'til those twins are out.

Striker rolls his eyes, shifting in his seat as he fights to hide the faintest hint of a grin. He’s been feeling the weight of it all more lately, but Blitzø’s annoying, relentless enthusiasm—even his odd attempt at kindness—is starting to make the whole situation a little more bearable.

Blitzø: *grinning* So, what’ll it be tonight, huh? We could hit up one of those sketchy drive-throughs, or… *leans in with a mischievous glint* …I could whip up somethin’ for ya right here.

Striker: *raises an eyebrow* The day I let you cook for me is the day I throw in the towel.

Blitzø: *laughs* Fair, fair. Well, lemme know if you change your mind.

Striker rolls his eyes and shifts on the couch, resting a hand on his stomach as he adjusts to the unfamiliar weight of it. He grumbles something under his breath, but he can’t deny that Blitzø’s energy has been… less grating than usual. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Blitzø: *still grinning, oblivious to Striker’s irritation* So, you feelin’ any weird cravings yet? I hear that happens around this time. Gotta make sure you’re not chompin’ down on, like, *smirks* raw steak or some other backwoods nonsense.

Striker: *glares at him* Just because I’m from the Wrath Ring doesn’t mean I’ve lost my taste buds, jackass.

Blitzø: *shrugs, unfazed* Just checkin’! Maybe you’d be in the mood for somethin’ other than bein' a pain in my ass.

Striker snorts, a half-smile tugging at his lips before he quickly hides it, looking away.

Blitzø: *leans in, his voice dropping a bit* Look, I get you didn’t ask for this. Hell, *I* didn’t ask for this. But... you and I? We’re stuck with each other for now. And maybe that’s not the worst thing.

Striker: *grunts* Long as you don’t start gettin’ sentimental on me. Ain’t exactly built for all that mushy crap.

Blitzø: *chuckles* Trust me, mushy’s not my thing either. But, hey, you’re family now, kinda. *pauses, giving Striker a serious look* So, if you ever need something… *sighs, looking almost uncomfortable* …I’m here, alright?

Striker studies him for a moment, his defenses slipping just a bit before he nods, barely acknowledging the offer.

Striker: …Alright. Just don’t make it a habit.

[banjjakz]

bleed for me; hananene 5+1 oneshot

He’s amassed whole lifetimes of bad habits, and never has one felt more grievous than the way his lifeless body threatens to rise again after Yashiro launches herself off of him in mortified realization of their compromising position. A bad habit, thinks Hanako, watching his roommate flee away as he barely resists the urge to give chase. Predator and prey. A body drained dry. I’d take good care of you.

(Or: Five times Hanako is painfully, embarrassingly obvious about being a vampire -- and the one time he doesn't even need to be.)

wc: ~6.7k

warnings: vampire!au; horror elements; disturbing themes; graphic descriptions of blood & ensuing oral consumption; etc, etc

🖤 read on ao3 🖤

1. Garlic Bread

“I’m home!”

From his lax recline on the bed, Hanako calls out a lazy welcome back. He doesn’t get up because he’s far too comfortable watching old primetime reruns of ridiculous game shows, and also -- well. 

He’s a little unhappy.

Ah, maybe not unhappy. That’s a rather strong word -- sensation? Feeling? For someone who’s felt a lot of them for a very long time, Hanako isn’t the most adept at categorizing his own emotions. Let alone experiencing them. It’s much more convenient to acknowledge that something probably important is sounding off in his chest, and then leave it alone to run its course. Hands-off is always the way to go. Less messy that way.

But then, he’s forced to deal with complex situations such as these:

The lovely, strange, absolutely enrapturing human being whose life he feels lucky enough to occupy even just a small, miniscule part of -- flouncing into his bedroom, all bright eyes and wide-lipped smiles and rosy cheeks and limbs jittering in excitement at seeing him after a mere handful of hours spent apart--

And Hanako, whose cold, dead heart threatens to jolt back to life at the mere sight of her.

How odd. He wonders what it means, and then immediately stops doing that. Hands-off. Mess free.

“Hanako-kun!” Greets Yashiro, rushing to stand at his side, her stockinged feet thump-thump-thumping at the hardwood in a rapid, red-blooded pulse. Her hair flows freely today, which is unusual. Normally, she has it pulled back and away from her face, in one neat platinum sphere at the base of her neck. There’s a decorative clip or three in there, somewhere, too.

Where are those tonight? What happened to the disturbingly skull-shaped barrette? He likes that one. “Hanako-kun, look! For you!”

Oh, she’s holding something. He hadn’t even noticed. Upon closer inspection, it seems to be…

“A greasy paper bag,” Hanako deadpans. “How kind of you, Yashiro.”

She rolls her eyes, and stomps her foot. He can see the vibrant red of her painted toenails even through those dark tights she insists on wearing out everyday. These are one of her nicer pairs, though. No rips or runs in sight. Not even when Hanako scans her legs up and down and up again, just to check. Just to make sure.

Yashiro’s irate scoff sends his eyes scrambling very rapidly back to meet her own. “You’re impossible. You gotta guess what’s in- side the bag, dummy.”

“Radishes. No, wait, we already have plenty of those on hand.”

“Oh my God, I am literally going to kill you. Do you wanna die?” Hanako almost laughs. “Last chance before I change my mind and don’t let you have any!”

“Ohhh. Something I can have?”

Yashiro nods. Hanako tracks the movement of her jaw like a vulture circling a corpse, freshly splayed open and vulnerable and tantalizing with how red the blood, how plump the flesh, how easy it would be to sink his talons in and bare his teeth and--

“I have no idea,” he muses, “what that would be, then.”

“You’re so weird sometimes, Hanako-kun. Anyways, remember how I went over to Kou-kun’s tonight? Because he needed a taste-tester for his school assignments? Remember?”

Ah, and here he returns to the root issue of tonight’s predicament. Hanako is swiftly delivered back into the strange sensation of discontent that plagued him mere moments prior to Yashiro’s arrival. She’d distracted him -- as she is so often does -- from his brooding. 

Hanako remembers that he’s supposed to be brooding.

Hanako begins to brood. 

It’s a pitiful attempt, really, because Yashiro is hellbent on injecting the evening with her unique brand of excitable fanfare, and Hanako has never been able to put up much of a fight against her. He’s weak to the sun and all it’s gifts of brightness, after all.

In a last-ditch effort to save face, he manages to pout. Yes, this will show her. This will express to her his deep-seated dissatisfaction! 

“Hmph. I guess,” sighs Hanako, batting his lashes for good measure.

“Oh quit it. Don’t look like such a jealous puppy--”

“-- Excuse me--”

“--Especially ‘cause I brought you such a good gift! Look!”

And then Yashiro reaches into the bag and pulls out a slice of greasy, buttery, deliciously succulent garlic bread.

Hanako doesn’t even have the time to process her accusation of jealousy (which, hello? A little absurd if you ask him.) as he’s preoccupied with scrambling backwards to the opposite side of the bed, as fast as what will hopefully appear to be humanly possible.

“Kou-kun’s in the middle of his global unit in school, and he chose to make some Italian dishes, so I thought I’d bring home-- hey!! Where are you going!” Yashiro, clearly perplexed, pauses in her bubbly explanation. “Don’t be like that! I know you don’t like Kou-kun for whatever stupid reason, but really? He made it just for you!”

Of course he did, thinks Hanako, scathingly. He will deal with that overgrown menace of a mutt later, when his physical body is not in imminent danger and Yashiro is not growing steadily closer, brandishing the bread as though it were a sword, or rapier.

Oh, if only she knew.

Normally, Hanako would be elated -- ecstatic, even -- to see Yashiro crawling across his mattress, chasing him with a dark intensity in her eyes and a palm outstretched. But the issue here is that her palm, as sweet-smelling and milky soft as it looks and probably feels (Hanako wouldn’t know), is currently wielding a weapon of mass destruction.

He tries to placate her, or at least slow her steady advance, but it’s all for naught. “H-Hey now, Yashiro--”

He should throw her off. She shouldn’t even be in his home in the first place, let alone in his bed, but somewhere along the way Hanako had started making inappropriate, foolish, misguided allowances for this strange woman, and then he… never stopped.

Honestly? For a mistake as silly as entertaining a human of all things, he supposes he should go out in an equally as embarrassing fashion: death by sliced bread.

Yashiro is on top of him now, her thick calves bracketing the bony jut of his hips as she sits on his chest and leans over him, her cheeks incensed a bright and healthy rouge -- a mere few shades darker than those glittering fuschia eyes. Hanako can’t help but wonder just how red she can get; how much red she has to spare. How much red would be enough to burst her open and leak along the sides of her pristinely pale canvas like spilled acrylic in one big, gory, spattering mess. 

For two (definitely, totally, absolutely) mutually exclusive reasons, Hanako feels his stomach contract.

“You’re being ridiculous,” announces Yashiro from her perch atop his body, blissfully unaware of the fact that Hanako could very easily toss her clean across the city if he so chose. 

(Or maybe, it’s the fact that might know, and is unafraid of the prospect. As though she believes he won’t. Humans are such an arrogant, fickle species. He can’t say that he particularly misses being amongst their ranks.)

“It’s bread. Would it kill you to be agreeable for once and just take a freaking bite?”

Her heartbeat. He can hear it loud and clear even as he lays underneath the vice grip of her sturdy legs. Does she even know how fast her pulse rams itself against her veins? Like it’s begging to be rescued from the confines of that pretty, porcelain cage? 

Fuck. Fuck.

Hands-off. 

Mess free. 

“I’m allergic,” says Hanako, slowly, face blank and clean as a slate as he stares unblinkingly back up at his captor. “To garlic.”

There’s a curtain of shimmering white that cascades around the two of them, shifting to block out any and all extraneous stimuli. He should remind her to pick up some more bleach the next time she takes a trip to Daiso. It’s time to touch-up her roots again.

“Allergic,” she parrots.

The way her lips shape around the word, tasting it and rolling it around in suspicion, is captivating. In all his years of dealings on this earth never has Hanako followed a journey so gripping, so intense, as the way that Yashiro Nene’s mouth moves across a sentence. “Allergic,” she says again, flat and faint.

He’s just barely able to nod. “Deathly.”

“You’re deathly allergic to garlic.”

Time grinds to a painful, halting stop. The gradual slowing of the outside world is so acute that Hanako can track with his eyes the moment that Yashiro’s gaze flickers down to his cracked lips and the steady in-and-out of her breath is all but frozen in place. It’s excruciating, the level of detail he’s been subjected to bear witness to as a creature borne of blood and misery. He hates that he can hear her lungs rattle in suspense. He hates that he can name each muscle that goes still and locks solidly into place, anchoring around him in a rigid, tense embrace. He hates that he can smell her fear.

“Precisely. And you are straddling me. Are we done stating facts or would you like to continue on, Yashiro?”

It’s a bad habit he has, relying on humorous deflection. He’s amassed whole lifetimes of bad habits, and never has one felt more grievous than the way his lifeless body threatens to rise again after Yashiro launches herself off of him in mortified realization of their compromising position. A bad habit, thinks Hanako, watching his roommate flee away as he barely resists the urge to give chase. Predator and prey. A body drained dry. I’d take good care of you.

The crumbs in his bed dig into his skin and burn there, serving as a very stark, very physical reminder of his worst habit.

He’s already served his penance. Is currently serving it. Is slated to serve it for the rest of whatever conceivable eternity awaits him. 

So why, then, does his chest twist and ache with an ardor he thought had died with him, all that time ago? 

2. Reflection

The only reason he’d agreed to tag along was because Yashiro promised him that he didn’t have to speak if he didn’t want to. He isn’t much inclined to converse with random humans -- especially not over cheap, young wine. 

But this is, of course, exactly what he finds himself doing on a Thursday evening he would otherwise spend alone, holed up in his room, with his blackout curtains drawn to the side to bask in the glow of the full moon. Longingly, Hanako glances out of the large window he’d surreptitiously made a home next to immediately upon their arrival. Ah, well. Next month.

A round of boisterous laughter startles him out of his reverie. He chances a glance back to the sectional sofa in front of him and is greeted by the sight of Yashiro nearly doubled over in apparent amusement, wine glass tipping dangerously to the wayside. Her cheeks are speckled with the beginnings of a youthful pink. Unshed tears cling to her thin eyelashes. When she straightens up to catch her breath, she meets his gaze and allows her grin to melt into something soft and warm and entirely unsuited for the terrible, awful things that run through Hanako’s mind faster than the speed of light.

Having fun? She mouths discreetly, bringing the glass up to take another sip.

He nods, draining the red in his own grasp long and slow. It tastes like ash on his tongue. 

One of the other humans speaks, then. It isn’t the orange haired fellow who’d immediately struck Hanako as a sniveling, blindsided, spineless fool of a man -- no, it’s his wife, who’s entirely too preoccupied with asking questions about Hanako’s personal life for his comfort. 

“Hanako-san,” she begins pleasantly, gripping the wine bottle by the neck as she tops off his glass. Unprompted. “I’ve been wondering about something! Nene-chan is an Insta-freak, you know, right?” A what? “But you’re never on her page,” she continues with a pout, “And you aren’t tagged in any photos. Are you shy? That’s adorable!”

How can a woman speak so politely with eyes as cold as hers? They glitter at him underneath the fluorescent lighting of the living area, small and hard and blindingly bright, a twin set of enchantingly haunted jewels. Delicately, she tastes at the rim of her glass, and says nothing else.

Before he can conjure up a response that isn’t mood-killing and really little more than a thinly veiled threat, Yashiro pipes up. “Hanako-kun’s super off-grid!” She stresses, eyes wide, words comically over exaggerated as though she is delivering information of the utmost importance. “He has a very troubled childhood! He doesn’t like talking about it! So that’s why!”

“A troubled childhood,” muses the purple haired menace.

Yashiro nods solemnly, gulping another hit of her dry white. “Yeah! He’s got a bunch of weird allergies, too. Did you know that he can’t eat garlic? Not even garlic bread? Isn’t that so sad!”

“...Indeed it is. My condolences, Hanako-san.”

Right.

The evening doesn’t really improve from there, apart from Yashiro falling into his side after she gets a bit too wine drunk. Hanako can smell more than just the saccharine perfume she slathers on all the time; no, from this close, Hanako inhales and internalizes the scent of a robust, earthy musk, far richer than anything spritzed or patted superficially into the skin. Hanako can smell underneath her skin. Hell, Hanako can practically see -- can practically taste the delicacies hidden there, with how firmly she leans onto him. Would she still feel comfortable holding clutching onto his arm, if she knew the kinds of things he thinks about her? About doing to her?

They say good night to the amethyst wench and her sad excuse of a clueless human husband not long after that. The apartment isn’t far away and it’s too late to stumble into the car of a subway, so the pair of them trek home on foot.

A quiet night. The moon is as full as she is healing, and Hanako returns to himself a little bit more underneath her watchful, healing gaze.

“Now that I think about it… we really don’t have any pictures together.”

Although Yashiro has sobered up enough to stand straight, she still maintains a loose grasp on his arm. Her fingernails curl into the sleeve of his button down, a splash of bright, vivid red disappearing in the deep dark of a moonless night. Swallowed right up without a second thought. “Is it… is it because you’re embarrassed, Hanako-kun? Of, um… well. Do you not want to be seen with me? I’m sorry…”

He could break his own neck. He should. He would, if she asked him to.

“You own a Polaroid camera, yes?”

“Ah! You mean my Hello Kitty one? Uh-huh! Why?”

“When we return home,” Hanako says, like a fool, “We can take a picture.”

If he were a defendable creature, he’d point to Yashiro’s sudden and swift ascent into excitement as the justification for the latest manifestation of his long, long list of bad habits. Her strong ankles defy gravity and carry her as she floats on air, giggling as she skips the whole way home. Even as they make their way through the front door. Even as she must root around in her cluttered bedroom (that Hanako cannot follow her into, for obvious reasons). Even as she struggles to remember how to change the film, and inputs a decorative mascot-inspired roll, nicking more than a few of her pale, slender fingers in the process.

Even as she wades through darkness, Yashiro is so bright. 

The actual photo itself requires some set-up which eventually results in Hanako reversing the contraption unto them and pressing down on what he’s only halfway sure is the capture button. He assumes that he’s done well when a thin strip of glossy paper leaks out from the bottom and Yashiro swipes at it in a giddy stupor, remnants of the Riesling from earlier that evening rendering her sloppy and uncoordinated. 

“‘Kay, it’s gotta develop now… should only be a few more seconds! Will you keep it safe tonight? ‘M sooooo tired, and I really gotta shower before I pass out…”

Yashiro is already stumbling away, back towards her bedroom. She slips the rapidly lightening square in his palm as she slips back, lingering for one moment too long against the doorframe.

“Thanks, Hanako-kun. G’night.”

And then she is gone.

Which is probably for the best. The film has finally pulled itself from the murky depths of ambiguity. Hanako looks down at the picture in his palm and Yashiro stares back at him: her bold, red lips and silver-spun hair are two twin beacons of color, misplaced and incongruent within the impenetrable sea of blackness surrounding her. 

Where Hanako should have been instead lies a lapse in composition. The photograph is blank and undeveloped around his general silhouette. But that is not the strangest thing about the photograph.

The strangest thing is howYashiro leans into the darkness, unafraid of the way it spindles into her own boisterous portrait and slowly eats at the brightly hued pigments of her warm flesh, her pretty, frilly dress, her smile. That unerringly loud, human smile.

How long will it take, he wonders, before the shot is entirely eclipsed by that cold, dead void.

3. Sunlight

It’s a bad day before he even opens his eyes.

As a creature of indeterminate longevity and supernatural capabilities, sleep is not the necessity it once was for him. But he indulges, from time to time, when there’s little to do during the daylight hours. After all, he’s confined to his bedroom from sunrise until sunset. Pacing the perimeter of a lion’s cage grows tiresome, even to eternally patient apex predators such as himself. Much easier to force his body to shut down and pass the time for him, as his consciousness wanders aimlessly through the realm of a deep, dreamless slumber.

This day is not one of those days. This day is the peak of Summer’s cruel, tyrannical reign. This day is suffocating. This day is warm. This day is bright. 

This day maneuvers above and below and all around the blackout curtains that are always painstakingly drawn over his windows. This day leaks into his bedroom and weasels its way into his sheets, underneath his skin, scorching him from the inside out with such a ferocity that it renders him immobile. Every fiber of his being threatens to splice into terrifying, meaningless oblivion. 

When Yashiro first asked, Hanako told her it was migraines.

It was a vague excuse that pinpointed some rare, untreatable immune-disease that left him inexplicably weak to sunlight. Yashiro really should have been more persistent in hunting down the real truth -- the actual truth -- especially considering her occupation as an urgent clinic nurse. He considers the idea that it’s an answer she doesn’t care enough to unearth. He mulls over the alternative, which is that she is too frightened by whatever she may find to go searching for it in the first place. He then decides he’s done thinking about her. Today is torture enough.

A gentle knock at his door renders all of his efforts fruitless, however. “Hanako-kun?” Her voice filters easily through the heavy fog clouding his awareness, like a blade through slackened flesh. “You okay?”

She’s still standing hesitantly in his doorway, as though waiting for permission to enter. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so badly to do anything other than lay still and flat as a corpse.

He can’t afford to expend any unnecessary effort lest he wear himself out completely, so he goes for the most direct course of action:

Snakes his arm out of the big, black ball of sheets and comforter in which he’s coffined himself inside. Holds back a curse as he’s made aware of just how weak he’s become. Struggles not to drop his cellular phone when he finally manages to blindly locate it. Unplugs the device single handedly with tremorous fingers. Holds it out to the open air.

“Take this,” says Hanako, voice dim and tepid. “Dial the contact ‘Tsukasa.’ Give him this address.”

Not for the first time, Hanako realizes that he should be grateful for this human’s absence of curiosity. He has amassed plenty of bad habits in the past, all of them metastasizing entirely too close for comfort until he’d been forced to handle them in a way that had been entirely hands-on and the very opposite of mess-free. For Yashiro to wordlessly collect the cellular phone from his trembling grasp and do as she’s told is what he’d call a blessing, if he still believed in feats as fickle as faith. 

She is confused as she makes the phonecall. Hanako can hear the shift of her hair sliding past one shoulder as she tilts her head. He can feel the way her chest flutters in a muted gasp of surprise when the line connects after the first ring. She can’t be more than three or four feet away. Close enough for him to reach out and brush, with the pitifully pale pads of his fingertips. What a sight that would paint, muses Hanako, deliriously. Icarus and his glittering, lethal lover.

Time ebbs and flows and bends and breaks after that. He’s distantly aware that he drops in and out of consciousness. The hot wax slathering each of his limbs is an imagined thing, he’s sure, as is the sensation of free-falling to an anticipated, blunt death. These sensations are from the dreamscape that pulls him beneath its suffocating depths only to release him at the last second, in a cruel imitation of the sea and all her unfathomable terror. 

(He has not dreamt in so very, very long. It’s a bad habit.)

The final time he breaks the surface, he surges up against something -- cold. The kind of cold that forces his own to bow its head. The kind of cold that relieves him of his fever, and sends a violent chill through his body, all at once. The kind of cold one should only absorb in small doses, with limited contact. A once-in-every-three-decades kind of cold. That kind of cold.

“Hi, Amane! You look terrible!”

Tsukasa’s hand on his forehead is frigid enough that it loops back into the realm of burning. Hanako must gently bat it away and blink blearily up at the sight of his twin brother, just as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he always was. Always is.

“Hi, Tsu.”

“Hold still, ‘kay? I brought the bendy straws you like. All you gotta do is sip. Open wide!”

Obediently, Hanako parts his lips and accepts the flimsy piece of plastic. 

He tries not to think about what, exactly, it is that he’s doing. If he closes his eyes and holds his breath, Hanako can almost pretend that he’s being fed by different hands, in a different world, as a different person. 

“Hey, Amane?”

Gulp, shudder. Resist the instinctive gag that claws its way up his throat like a beast bending the bars of its cage. “Yeah, Tsu?”

“Why are you starving yourself?”

Eyes closed. Mouth shut. Another swallow. Hands-off. Mess free.

“You have food right there,” Tsukasa whispers. “Is there something wrong with her? Is she sick? Y’know, I’m not picky. If you don’t want her, I can--”

Hanako, with newfound strength, launches upright into a sitting position. What wonders a couple of mouthfuls can do. 

Oh, how to explain this. Oh, how to navigate his way through an intersection of muddled implications and unspoken subtleties, all of which will go right over Tsukasa’s head. How can Hanako pretend to be a creature of innuendo and self-control, when his biggest, most glaring lapse in judgement sits across from him in the damned den of his own design?

He struggles for a moment, running a tired hand down his face. “Yashiro is a -- friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes,” confirms Hanako, desperately avoiding Tsukasa’s curious gaze. “And friends don’t eat friends.”

The words are slimy and leave a bad taste in his mouth. Well. Maybe the words themselves aren’t what lingers at the back of his tongue and stains his teeth. But they are odious, nonetheless, and hang in the air like empty nooses dripping down from a gallows.

“Friends don’t let friends starve,” is Tsukasa’s counterpoint. “If it were me, Amane, I’d let you. Even though you already did, I’d let you do it again. I’d always let you.”

Hanako has never understood why Tsukasa refuses to cover up the twin bite marks that marr his jugular. Is it to punish him? Is it not punishment enough, that Hanako has to see his face at all? 

When his brother grins at him, it cuts like a knife. Hanako remembers a time where those cheeks stretched wider, when those eyes glistened with something other than black ice. Tsukasa plucks the bendy straw out of the cup and drinks straight from the rim, tossing his head back to give Hanako full view of the way his throat opens and closes around the infernal contents. 

He can’t stop staring at the scars: two lone stars fixed in an empty, pallid, apocalyptic sky.

The younger boy is sated only when the cup has been drained dry -- and even then, he pants, exhilarated, pupils blown large and dangerously obsidian as they flitter back and forth as though in search of more, more, more. 

Why are you starving yourself?

He’d always been a messy eater. His baby brother, Tsukasa. Tsukasa who loved Katanuki. Tsukasa who loved to paint. Tsukasa who still loves to paint, but now works solely in abstract monochrome. Tsukasa, who paints himself over and over and over again until he’s dripping, covered head-to-toe in a masterpiece of his own design. Tsukasa, who licks his canvas clean at the end of each night only to start anew in tomorrow’s dangerous twilight dusk. Tsukasa, who collects victims like portraits.

Tsukasa, who had once been a portrait himself. Hanako, who held the brush in his hands and created something freakishly beautiful that wretched, awful night.

Why are you starving yourself?

He feels full enough, watching Tsukasa pass his tongue over his chops. He feels like he’ll never need to eat again.

By the time his brother makes his departure, the sun has long since sunk beneath the horizon. Hanako’s room is once again as it should be: a thick, inky fog of opaque black. It’s so dark, in fact, that had he not been what he is, he would never have spotted the slight gap between his door and its frame, where a slender figure lingers in apprehensive wait.

Yashiro is checking on him, he realizes belatedly. 

Why are you starving yourself?

“Good night,” She calls, softly. “I’m about to head out for a double.”

“Be safe.”

“‘Course! I always am… I hope you feel better soon, Hanako-kun.”

He couldn’t have this if he ate like an animal. He couldn’t have Yashiro -- sweet, gentle, lovely Yashiro -- living alongside him as he devoured bodies made in her image. Already, Hanako struggles with what his baser instincts urge him towards… to give into those temptations would be putting her in danger. 

His door clicks quietly shut. His room is bathed in the cover of night once more.

Left alone to his own devices, the beat begins to roam its cage. A growl sounds, low and deep and mortally wounded. Not from his throat -- but from the very pit of his stomach.

Resistance is one thing, but ignorance, however feigned, is quickly ruled out of the realm of his personal possibility. There is no disregarding the sensations that fester inside of him. There is no course for his desires to run. There is only the ugly, maddening truth:

Hanako is hungry.

Hanako needs to put his hands on something.

Hanako needs to make a mess.

4. Silver

“Promise rings!”

“... Excuse me?”

“N-Not in a weird way, or anything like that!” Stutters Yashiro, fumbling with the miniature wooden box in her shaking, manicured grasp. “They’re just little cheap ones. I saw them on display at the mall, and I couldn’t just not… plus, do you even know what day it is?”

Hanako raises a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“It’s our six-months-as-roommates-a-versary!”

“Wow.”

“I’m really happy you recognize the importance here, Hanako-kun. Now stick out your hand so I can put yours on! And then you do me!”

If he didn’t know any better, Hanako would wonder how Yashiro gets anything done with those delicate fingers of hers. They’re as soft-looking and malleable and enticingly peachy as the rest of her, topped off at their gracefully tapered ends with a neat coat of ruby red. They dance along everything they touch, nimble little ballerinas hopping from pose to pose, commanding rapt attention wherever they leap. 

As his own hand raises to meet hers, he must fight the urge to clench into an ugly, defensive fist. 

The first touch sends something like electricity ricocheting down his spine like lightning through a weather vane. She is so gentle. How can she be so gentle? How can she be so round-edged and rosy-cheeked and expect him to just stand here, wordlessly, with nothing to do or say about it? How can she live in his house for six months and celebrate, rather than mourn? How can she look at him, a creature innate to unsightly presence and habit, and say to herself: this is something worthy of care.

The second touch is just as unnerving, but for all the wrong reasons.

“I thought you said this was cheap,” grits Hanako, exhaling sharply through his nose as the silver ring slides slow and meticulously down the length of his finger. 

Yashiro pauses, eyes narrowed. “Is it not? How can you even tell?”

“A-allergic… !”

To her credit, she’s properly mortified. Yashiro almost falls all over herself  to wrench the offending piece of jewelry off and away, apologizing profusely as she studies the burn wound on his middle finger. Her mouth twists into a tense little knot. Hanako wants to smooth it out.

Instead, he follows her obediently into her bathroom after she tells him to come inside and sit his ass down on the toilet -- which he does, sheepishly.

“I can’t believe -- oh, God, I’m so sorry, Hanako-kun… Just, hold still okay? It’s only gonna hurt a little, I promise.”

It’s an injury that would’ve long since healed itself by now, if he were in any other state than the one he currently occupies; which is to say that he’s rather unhealthy. Which is to say that the rats and possums and other small rodents he guiltily entraps in the alley behind the house do nothing besides sate a momentary desire. Which is to say that it is impossibly difficult to keep himself aware and conscious and disciplined enough not to careen head-first into Yashiro’s exposed clavicle and unhinge his jaw and feel his skull shift to accommodate the extra layer of fangs and sink his claws into her perfect, supple hips and feel her go paralyzed with terror as he--

“Okay! All done. Do you feel better now?”

“Yes.” It’s a pretty bandage. Pink and bright with tiny dancing radishes along the perimeter.

“I really am sorry,” mumbles Yashiro, encasing his frigid hands with her own, squeezing and rubbing with her soft thumbs. “I don’t ever want to hurt you. You’ve always -- you’re always so kind to me, all the time, and it just seems like… well, I don’t know. Lately I feel like I just never know how to help you, Hanako-kun. I feel like I just make things… worse. So can you promise me something?”

“Anything,” says Hanako, unblinkingly, because blinking is a sign of dishonesty.

“You have to tell me when you need something. Or when you don’t need something. Or when you -- uh, well, I really want you to be honest with me. Okay? Can you promise me that? Because it makes me really sad that you struggle with… a lot, and there’s not so much I know about how to help. So, please? Do you promise? To be honest?”

“I promise,” says Hanako, unblinkingly, because blinking is a sign of dishonestly and also because he can’t close his eyes without seeing her body splayed out in the bathtub behind her, limbs limp and gore overflowing past the rim and into his eagerly awaiting mouth. In this fantasy, he uses his tongue to follow the carmine droplets bulleting down the porcelain edge, licking and slurping until he reaches the source of the mess, the heart of the storm, the original inspiration to all his reverence. He would take his time. 

(Or would he lose himself? Would it be hands-on? Would it be messy?)

“Thank you for trusting me. I trust you… with my life, you know. Maybe it’s naive, but I hope one day you could do the same.”

He can’t touch her, not right now, even though she looks like she’s about to shake apart at the seams. All Hanako can do is watch from a safe distance, and wonder. And want. And ache.

As always.

5. Blood

She comes home early.

Hanako has only just padded his way into the kitchen when he hears the front door unlock. Is it that time, already? No, it can’t be. Yashiro usually arrives when he is just settling in to go back to sleep. She brings with her the pale light of a budding dawn, and although Hanako regrets their sparse interactions and conflicting schedules, he’d rather not disintegrate into a pile of ashes atop the living room couch just because he felt like saying welcome home, honey.

Tonight is different, apparently. A cursory glance thrown over to the microwave clock reveals that it’s only a few minutes past the witching hour. And despite there being a total absence of sunlight when Yashiro opens the door, Hanako still falls to his knees in a sudden onslaught of unadulterated agony.

His vision turns spotty, only worsening as Yashiro rushes inside and screams at the sight of his crumpled body. “Hanako-kun? Oh my God! Oh my God, can you hear me?”

Barely, is what he wants to say, but can’t. His throat is too tight, too dry. His mouth begins to salivate at an alarmingly disgusting rate. 

That smell.

Pathetically, he crawls over to her on his hands and knees, body running on autopilot as it drives him towards the source. Hanako can feel his body shift and transform with the pavlovian response he’s developed over the decades -- an instinct borne out of the memory of a chase, of a hunt,of warm flesh twisting and stretching and tearing underneath his capable grasp, of muffled screams and kicking legs and the eventual, gradual descent into permanent stillness, of hands scrabbling desperately into dirt, into pavement, into carpet, as they scream his name and beg him -- no -- no, stop -- what are you -- Hanako-san--!

Blood. But, not just any kind of blood. 

Fresh, human blood.

Six months is a very, very long time to go without food.

The scent wafts from the messenger bag thrown haphazardly over Yashiro’s shoulder. Hanako claws weakly at it, burying his nose into the worn fabric and moaning in relief at the contact. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, breathy. The debauched soundtrack of his own muffled desperation would embarrass him, probably, if he were cognizant of anything other than the metallic tang filling his nostrils.

The last thing he remembers is Yashiro running her fingers through his hair, shushing him quietly. 

And then it all fades to black.

“Oh, Good. You’re awake!”

Hanako gets about halfway through a sarcastic reply before something is shoved past his lips. Something… familiar. Something -- bendy?

“Drink up,” huffs Yashiro, pushing the straw more firmly into his mouth. “You’re lucky we had a contaminated batch of bags today. I-it’s still safe to drink, though! Or at least… I hope… tell me if it tastes funny, okay? Jeez, Hanako-kun… I didn’t know you were so hungry! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?

His lack of a response only propels her onward. 

“Well… I know you don’t like to talk about it… I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t just sit and watch you waste away--”

“You knew?”

“... Um. Was I not supposed to know?”

“You knew,” Hanako repeats numbly around the plastic in his mouth, dumbfounded. “This whole time, you knew.”

Unimpressed, Yashiro raises an eyebrow. “That you’re a vampire? Duh. Allergic to garlic? And silver? And sunlight? I’m not stupid, and you aren’t nearly as slick as you think you are, mister.”

 The chuckle she gives after this quickly peters off into something more melancholy, a little bit darker in origin. From where she’s perched on the couch, leaning above him to adjust the straw’s positioning into the medical packet on his chest, Hanako can see the sorrow, there, in her big, doe-like eyes. 

“You never brought it up… and I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries! I’ve never, erm, done ‘this’ before… if you couldn’t already tell. But since you never said anything… I just thought that, I don’t know? Maybe my blood wasn’t good enough to drink, or something like tha--”

“That is absolutely not the case.” 

He’s quick to cut her off. Too quick. “Far from it, really,” he attempts to joke in an effort to lessen the intensity of the blow, but the damage has already been done. Yashiro’s hand freezes around the blood bag, her eyes flitting up to lock onto his own. 

It’s unfairly attractive, the way her blush blossoms across her face. Hanako takes a long drag from the straw and swallows, never breaking his stare.

“I would… definitely be okay. More than okay. With doing -- ahem. That.”

“Drinking,” supplies Nene, so quietly that Hanako reads her lips more than he hears the charged word spill from her pink, glistening tongue. “You’d drink from me?”

What a question. Oh, if only she knew.

“Sure,” he hums, easily, “as long as you promise not to bring home anymore garlic bread. Especially not from that mangy mutt.”

“Hey, that isn’t very nice! Kou-kun isn’t… wait. You’re… you don’t mean…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my god. That’s why you don’t like him!”

“His pack leader really, really hates me. Heh.”

“You know, you probably shouldn’t look so pleased about that.” She says, with a fond smile. Hanako wants to taste it. 

On his next sip, he’s met with an ugly slurping sound. Normally, the fact that he’d sucked down a pint of blood in less than five minutes would be cause for concern. But his circumstances are not normal. His circumstances haven’t been normal for quite a good while, really, and Hanako can’t bring himself to think about it too hard. Not when his worst bad habit is within arms’ reach; not when she’s digging into her bag and procuring another packet of blood for him to puncture with the blunt end of his straw.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, awestruck.

“And I’ve got seven more where that came from! So just take your time, okay? No rush. I’ll stay here and make sure you get your fill… I promise.”

Hanako thinks he will hold her to that.

+1: Feeding

This is nothing like the first time, which is what he’d originally been terrified of. This is nothing like the second, or third, or fourth or fiftieth or hundredth time.

(How could it be? How could having her pliant and wanton underneath his capable grasp be anything other than pure ecstasy?)

Before he takes the plunge, he -- has to warn her. Again. Just in case she’s changed her mind. “Last chance,” Hanako breathes into the fleshy meat of her, the aroma of pumping blood doing unspeakable things to his mind. “This is your last chance to back out, Yashiro.”

She’s pretty as a portrait, the way she shifts and wriggles underneath his body reminiscent of the melding of a varied color palette coming together in one grand, epic composition. 

But he’s about to stain her in monochrome. 

“Don’t be gentle,” Yashiro gasps, dragging his hands to hold her down. “I’m not afraid o-of a little mess.”

You should have been, thinks Hanako, mournfully, as he paints his first stroke of bright, brilliant red.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: An evening with Bill.

Moon Knight afterward from issue #25. 

Truth, I agonized on if I was going to acknowledge this. My business is with the Moon Knight comics, after all… History, development, and personal insight into the comics. You know, me screaming into a dark room about how much I love this comic. 

But where would we be if we didn’t have a little insight into the legend himself: Bill Sienkiewicz. 

Issue #25 was a special double long comic. These bad boys come out once in a blue moon to celebrate the success and growing popularity of a comic! Once a comic becomes top ranking, you’ll start to get Annuals and yearly (sometimes bi-yearly) double longs! 

So here we sit in 1982, just a few years after the creation of Moon Knight and we get our first double! 

But what really makes you pick up a comic in the store in the first place? Especially if you know nothing about the characters. Sure, Marvel (and DC) will splash a crossover event with a popular character across the cover to lure in those that are fans of the one character. They’ll also do variant covers to get the collectors wild (gotta catch ‘em all!). Limited runs? You know someone’s trolling Ebay for that blank cover that gives nothing away. You’ll also get guest artists who do ONLY covers. Fans of the art will collect them just for the covers. 

But all those special things aside, you know that a well done cover piece is what makes you pick it up and go “Neat. I wonder what’s inside.” 

So what makes a cover? To all the aspiring artists out there, this one’s for you. 

Don’t worry people. I’m not going to make you squint. I’ll just type up everything verbatim that Mr. Sienkiewicz has to say. And I admit, I was so pleasantly surprised to find his sense of humor on point. 

I've also added the final cover product so you can really see how the cover ended up laid out in publishing.

A TALE OF THREE COVERS by Bill Sienkiewicz

When Denny and Ralph asked me to come up with a possible topic for the editorial pages in the double-sized issue of MOON KNIGHT, my first reaction was "Editorial? Isn't that your job? I've just finished the art for this issue and the last thing I feel like doing is an editorial page." Then I made some crack about them earning their money and proceeded to walk out. 

"Hold it!" Denny snapped, bringing his riding crop down smartly on the New York Post. I turned, my nostrils filling with the stench of wounded printer's ink, and did some serious reconsideration. 

"Look," Denny began, "I don't want you to get the idea that this is something you have to do," his gloved hand waving the riding crop in what could be construed as a menacing fashion, "But we'd like to give you the opportunity to do something that you'd like to do to get you involved in EVERY aspect of the book, not just the artwork, to tell the readers some of your viewpoints and..." Denny leaned back, crossed his jackbooted feet on the desk. He smiled a wicked smile "...to let the readers know that we're just one big family here at Marvel. My mind raced. 

"Covers." I said. 

"What?" asked Denny, cocking a thumb under the visor of his cap. Light glinted off some odd metallic insignia there. 

"Covers." I repeated. "Unused covers." 

"Go on..." He crossed his arms awkwardly, creasing his holster.

"Well... The covers -the unused one-- we could run them along with the ones that were used, and I could write about the dumb...the uh, reasons that they weren't used, you know, why I did them the way I did and why you turned them down." 

There was a long pause. Very long. Then he smiled again. Only worse than before, and said -- "We'll do it..."

I relaxed. I turned to leave but Denny wasn't finished. "Sienkiewicz," he hissed. 

I cringed. "Yeah?" 

"Don't make me look like the bad guy in this." 

"No. Of course not." I said, then turned I left. 

I returned one week later, armed with the covers and my feelings about each. I walked into Denny's office and snapped to attention. The Post was still on the desk. It had decayed horribly "At ease." Denny cooed. He shot a sly grin at Ralph. 

"What did our little artist friend bring us perchance?" Said Ralph as he woke up, "Our meal ticket?" 

Denny's smile faded. "You can be replaced, Macchio." 

I looked at Ralph. Innocent of face. Stubbly of beard. Ralph. Ralph Macchio. Ralph went back to sleep. There was a smile on his face. 

Denny turned back to me. "What have you got?" 

This--" I replied, and proceeded to show him what a week of coffee, cigarettes and images of a mutilated newspaper had inspired.

"First: Issue #9's cover for The Return of the Midnight Man. I wanted to do a total image, an essence of the relationship between him and Moon Knight. The paintings --the Jekyll and Hyde shots of Midnight Man's face. The target around Moon Knight. Moon Knight's expression of worry and insanity --He was going through a lot back then." 

"That's all well and good--" Denny smirked. "But it's too tall--the paintings would be obscured by the logo. All that we could see would be the two big faces and MK going crazy. And he's been crazy or in a losing position on the past five covers. I wanted to show him fighting, maybe winning. I thought about it. I really did. But you were moving to a studio and couldn't be reached in time to do another. Frank Miller was in the office and drew the cover that was used." 

"Oh," I said. My hand shook as I reached for another cover. Number 12. Morpheus and Moon KNight. Boffo action. "I wanted a closeup," Denny said. "Simple as that. Miller was in again and did it up. Milgrom inked it." 

"That Miller guy again." I thought. 

I turned to issue 13, which guest-starred Daredevil. Frank was drawing Daredevil. Denny thought it would be fun to have Frank draw the cover and me ink it. I agreed. I spoke to Frank on the phone. He said we could do "crossover" covers; I'd do one later for Daredevil. Fine idea. "What are you waiting for, Sienkiewicz, "Denny screamed, interrupting my reverie. Veins showed in his forehead. Big ones. 

"Right," I said. "The cover for issue 13--Frank pencilled, I inked. I really had a good time with this one. It was the first time I inked anyone else's work." 

Denny Scowled. "Except it was too tall. The logo would have obscured the pinball machine's scoreboard. That's why I nixed it. Ron Wilson happened to drop by the same time as Dave Simons did. The deadline was tight. I had no alternative. They did the cover." 

Deja vu. Denny was beating a dead Post. "That will be all for now. And Sienkiewicz--About the article. Flattery will get you nowhere." 

I managed a weak smile, and again turned to leave. As I did so, I glanced at Ralph Macchio, his eyes closed in contented slumber.

—

Ralph Macchio is a comic book editor and writer. He's done a lot of the big ones (The Avengers, Captain America, Ultimate Marvel, Doctor Strange, Thor, Spider-Man...). He retired in 2011. 

Dennis O'Neil (Denny) is the editor for Moon Knight at the time. He also worked for DC back in the day. He tended to write the more mature themes in early comics that were often controversial. Also the creator of notable characters like Ra's Al Ghul, Talia Al Ghul, Iron Monger, Lady Deathstrike, and many others that I have no idea who they are off the top of my head. 

If anything, I am more endered towards Bill after this. The idea of him turning in cover after cover only to have them nixed and replaced by the LEGENDARY Frank Miller, and then being playfully bitter about it is the funniest thing. The notion that these other cover artists just happened to be hanging around only to ruin Bill’s day… 

Also, some of those nixed covers are amazing! The Dare Devil one in particular is amazing! And relevant to the comic! I wish I could see it in color! What happens to these rejected covers? Do they get sold? Trashed? Look at that Midnight one!

Anyway, there are a lot of little afterwards in the backs of the early comics. A lot of letters from fans with author/editor responses mostly. But now and then they include a behind the scenes with narrative from various levels of Moon Knight creators. My favorites are these ones that show the character of the creators themselves. It also gives us a peak at the process of how a comic is made and the art and skill it takes. 

Current comics don’t really include these anymore. You’ll see some fan letters in the backs of some (I’ve been in one! For a Moon Knight of course.), and a few spotlight articles on writers or artists… But you don’t really get the big behind the scenes things anymore. The characters are all established, the readers/fanbase know what they’re in, and there just doesn’t seem to be interest anymore into the creation of the comics. 

Which is a pity. 

I’d love to see more excerpts like this. Imagine getting an aside from Lemier!Jed Mackay! Smallwood! 

What do you think? What afterwards would you like to see in modern day comics?