#look i am very pro-strike

[danceofmyimpressions]

oooh I just realised: does the strike mean that we won’t get any vlogs from Tobie? at least not any time soon, right?

[heich0e]

ever since you were young, you've fallen victim to at least one terrible cold per year.

it's not your fault—your almost laughably fallible immune system is seemingly genetic, as your family was always the same growing up—but even that biological truth does little to make you feel better when you're in the thick of cough and cold season, waiting for illness to inevitably strike. one faint, meagre consolation from your predictably lacklustre immune response means that you at the very least have a fairly well-practiced routine for when you fall ill. you know the brands of medication that work best, the fever patches with the most reliable adhesion, which teas seem to help decongest you better than others. you've got soup recipes, and hot water bottles, and fuzzy socks tucked away at the ready for when you need them, because you know that you eventually will.

but this season, there's a wild card in the mix. a variable you haven't had the opportunity to plan for in years past.

shouto.

you met shouto last summer at a going away party to which you were a plus one of someone who didn't even know the person who was going away particularly well. you'd been beyond shocked when you turned up to the gathering only to see half the top pro-hero ranking list gathered before your very eyes. even more shocked when the most handsome one in the room—in the world?—bothered to speak to you.

your relationship with shouto built slowly. you were casually dating last cold season, so he hadn't had to witness you at your lowest, but this year you're living together—having moved in rather suddenly just shy of your one year anniversary since your lease was ending and shouto's apartment was more than suitable for two.

so now here you are, languishing in the bed you share with your still unfairly handsome pro-hero boyfriend, drifting in and out of consciousness in a decongestant fuelled haze, with a (now tepid) fever patch stuck to your forehead.

and there is a god awful racket coming from outside your bedroom door.

peeling yourself up from the loving embrace of your mattress is a nearly herculean task, but once you're upright it's not so hard to stuff your feet into your slippers and stumble your way to the the door. your head feels heavy and your cough is still in the nasty hacking stage, but you suspect your fever's dropping, which means the worst of your illness is likely over. any relief you may feel is decidedly shortlived as you turn the corner to the kitchen and freeze in place.

"shouto—" your voice is so raspy it sounds foreign to you "—what are you doing?"

in the kitchen, standing in the eye of what can only be described as a culinary hurricane, is your apron-clad boyfriend. he has one of your barrettes clipping his two-toned bangs up off his forehead, and a smudge of something (presumably edible) across his cheek. his eyes are wide as he turns to face you in the centre of this disaster, a carrot in one hand and a potato masher in the other.

"i," shouto pauses, and though you know it's not for dramatic effect it sure sounds like it is, "am cooking."

you start coughing, and rush to cover your mouth—turning away and bending a little at the waist from the force of it. you see shouto step towards you in your peripheral vision, but with the hand not covering your mouth you wave him away—you should have gotten a mask before you left your bedroom, but in your haste you'd forgotten to grab one.

"you sound terrible," shouto remarks and then follows up his own commentary with another, somewhat reproachful, "that's not very nice."

you look at him curiously, confused as to what he's just said and he points to his ear where he has one wireless earbud in.

"that was bakugou," he explains, and you realize he was only relaying the comment of his friend on the phone. "i'll call you back," he says again, and this time you don't need to wonder who he's speaking to before he plucks his headphone out of his ear and sets it (and the carrot and potato masher) down in the very limited counter space left.

shouto fidgets with his hands now that they're empty, inching a bit closer to you—slowly, like he know's you're going to wave him off again and is trying to avoid it.

"how are you feeling?" he asks.

"a bit better," you say, even though you don't sound it.

"why are you out of bed?" he follows up his first question with another, concern in his gaze.

"i heard... something," your eyes scan the room as you take in the very something you speak of. "why are you cooking?"

"i'm making you soup," shouto says, and then looks around the room at the scene you'd just surveyed. then he looks back at you again with a somewhat grim expression. "i'm trying to make you soup," he corrects himself.

and maybe it's the fever, or the decongestants, or the fact that he's possibly the sweetest man you've ever met in your life (on top of being the most handsome), but suddenly you feel like you might cry. or laugh, maybe. you aren't entirely sure either of them is off the table.

"what kind of soup?" you ask him, and this time your voice is croaky for an entirely unrelated reason.

"chicken soup," he answers, and he's suddenly closer than he'd been at first—having continued creeping closer to you when your guard was lowered. "with ginger. you said you like that."

"i do," you answer, and when shouto reaches out to wrap his arms around you, you have no will left in you to push him away. you tuck your face against his chest and relax against the firm, familiar shape of his body pressing into yours.

shouto peels the old fever patch from your forehead and tosses it aside, replacing it with the delightfully cool palm of his hand. he's been doing this since you fell ill, and was more than a little affronted the first time he came home from work and saw that you'd put a cooling patch on in his absence—as though jealous that it wasn't his touch that you were turning to for relief.

"was bakugou helping you make soup?" you ask, leaning into his hand.

shouto hums, and you feel the sound reverberate through his broad chest. "i don't know if helping is the right word."

"why did you have a potato masher out for chicken soup?" you then ask, remembering the utensil he'd been holding when you first walked into the kitchen.

"potato masher..." shouto says, realization heavy in his tone. he'd clearly had no idea what it was to begin with. "i was looking for a slotted spoon."

you laugh, and then cough a little.

"you should get back to bed," shouto insists.

"just another minute," you sigh, reaching up to hold his wrist and keep his hand in place. shouto freezes, and you feel his eyes on your face, peeking up at him through your lashes.

"what?" you ask him curiously.

in place of an answer, shouto wraps his arm (the one you don't have in your clutches) around your waist and hoists you up, balancing you against his hip like an overgrown toddler.

"sho-shouto! wait!"

he doesn't wait. in fact, he barely acknowledges you've said anything at all as he trots back in the direction of your shared bedroom. before you even manage to get your bearings, shouto's placed you gently back into bed, shucked his apron, and crawled in alongside you under the covers. you hardly have time to miss the cool weight of his hand before it's returned to its rightful place against your brow.

"what about your soup?" you ask him, but even in spite of your own words—and the fact that you've been keeping him at arm's length for days out of concern for his own health—you find yourself curling up against his side in bed, snuggling closer.

"i don't think it was going to taste very good anyway," shouto remarks somberly. he pouts a little. "bakugou said he'd drop some off for you later, because he was worried my soup was going to kill you."

you laugh, and then cough, and then rest your cheek against his chest.

shouto's heartbeat thumps steadily beneath your ear. his hand stays cool against your skin.

you may not have planned for him, but you think you might keep him around.

[inert-displacement]

Hey! Just wanted to. I guess speak on behalf of everyone. Something I am definitely in a position to do.

First, absolutely without a doubt, your word should be final when it comes to your body. Only you know what you want, and no-one else has the authority or the right to tell you what to do with it.

I think people might just be a little. Confused? I guess? Coz like you said, you don't take sexual satisfaction from gaining weight or maintaining a heavier weight. In itself, completely fine - gaining definitely isn't for everyone - but you do run a gaining blog. Using gaining tags. And post in a very pro-gaining way a lot of the time. And it kinda feels like you snap between being very pro- and very anti-gaining...suddenly. And often. Which can be a bit disorienting from an outside perspective.

If you dislike being skinny, also perfectly fine - but if you don't like gaining, it strikes people who do as quite an unusual avenue by which to address disliking being skinny.

To speak personally, it sounds like you might be experiencing some kind of body dysmorphia - not gender dysphoria, which sounds similar but is very different - where you dislike how you perceive yourself physically. It sounds like you're addressing that in a very intuitive and sensible way: changing how your body looks. But if you don't like how your body looks now either, it might be worth just chatting with someone with some professional experience about addressing it, coz it might run deeper than what your body looks like.

If you do like how your body looks now though, you just don't want to be involved in gaining: brilliant! Being heavier doesn't have to be a kinky thing: it's a kinky thing for us, but it's also just a completely neutral fact about a person.

What can happen, and I've seen happen before, is people can enter the gaining scene because they enjoy being a little heavier in a completely non-sexual way, but the people around them in their everyday lives are like. Vehemently against it. So they find communities online that support them. But the thing is, there's a middle ground between people who are totally anti-fat and. Y'know. Fetishists. It's what we talk about when we talk about the body positivity movement! If you're healthy and happy, it isn't for anyone else to make you feel bad about how you look. And there's a thriving online space for that as well! Hell, a lot of us are kind of part-and-parcel members in a non-sexual context.

I would say, in either case, the online gaining community might not be for you. We totally support whatever decision you choose to make, but if gaining fundamentally isn't your thing, we're ill-suited to help you get what you want from your body or environment.

Let me rephrase something. I completely love the idea of getting bigger and fatter. Makes me aroused every single time. But the actual eating part I can’t get aroused by like others can.

I enjoy getting bigger than what I was and at time it is very intoxicating and erotic. But being a cheerleader I’ve learned to become very vain with how I look because the culture I’ve been apart of is just very self deprecating.

I do enjoy this community it’s very lovely i just tend to get very down on myself sometimes and often very ashamed of myself.

Because I live in the south anything that’s sexually deviant is shameful. And I feel that this fetish is very deviant from traditional sexual behavior. So I often get conflicted about myself.

I have had this kink since forever, I used to shove pillows

In my shirt as a kid, blow balloons up in my shirt. And that was at a time when I had anorexia (ironic asf) but my relationship with food is better but I don’t want to be gluttonous or greed because as a kid I’d get yelled at for that!

Sorry for the long long long post but I hope this has cleared up a lot and makes my mindset more clear to all of you🫶🏻

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Wedding Invitations (2)

Summary: Colter Shaw x Fe!Reader -> You and Colter have known each other since you were 15. He was there to help you once, and he's here to help you now.

Disclaimer: This is Part Two. Fluff, maybe some light swearing. Mostly just cute fluff, with the added addition of some slightly annoying family members.

“Reenie,” Colter’s voice came out a little shocked as he held up the suit in front of him. “It’s tailored.”

Reenie smiled on the other end of the phone. “You’re welcome.”

“How is it tailored?”

“Relax, James Bond. I have a video, remember? I sent it to Bobby and he used his magic and got your measurements.”

“What video-” Then Colter remembered. “Please delete that.”

“I don’t think so. You’re very…appealing to the eye, shall we say. But the look of shock on your face…I think I might make it my screen saver.”

“Please don’t.”

“Just make sure to get to the venue on time.”

“I will.”

And he did. 

However, it just took him a little longer to actually find his date. 

But once he spotted you, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. 

You stood, dressed in the bridesmaid’s gown you’d been given, in the corner talking - or rather, being interrogated – to one of your aunt’s. 

But Colter’s breath knocked him out for a few seconds. He’d seen you dressed up before. He’s seen you…like this before. But something just felt…different. 

“But, honey, if he doesn’t show, what am I meant to say? That my niece got jilted at the altar and is now making up dates? Do you know how that would look?”

“There is more to me than being engaged,” you replied. 

Colter smiled. 

You frequently kept in contact with each other and over the last couple of months, you seemed happier. Certain things you’d remember when you were with Jonathan and you’d, slightly, be thankful that you were no longer together. 

Now, you could bake whenever you liked in the kitchen, not having to be worried if it would upset his sense of smell. You could finally finish TV shows you’d been dying to watch, without fear of spoilers or someone getting bored and switching it over. You could also finally decorate your bedroom how you liked. Of course, you liked it how it was. But the small things, like the colour of the throws, and pillows, and the way you organised your clothes. It could be…you. 

When certain events came around, it hurt. Like what was meant to be your wedding day. The entire day you just walked around a garden centre looking at plants until you grew hungry and went to get a pizza. 

You even managed to go on a couple of dates. 

They never lasted longer than a month or so, but it was nice to have the feeling of moving on. 

Until you got cornered by your aunt, interrogating you over your relationship status and if you had in fact made up your date for the evening. 

Thankfully, luck was on your side because just as she was about to point out the list of pros a relationship can provide, Colter came up behind you. 

And your aunt fell silent. 

At first she was shocked. The fact that you did, in fact, have a date and it just so happened to be a man that looked like Colter was the first part. Then she smiled. 

“My goodness, didn’t you strike lucky with this one,” your aunt said, talking to you. 

Until you felt Colter’s hand on your arm. “I did.”

You smiled and leaned a little into Colter, silently revelling in your aunt’s shock at his answer, rather than yours. 

“Please, excuse us.”

You walked Colter away from your aunt before she could quite literally jump on him. 

“Thank you for coming, nice tux by the way.”

“Reenie.”

“Figured. She does know a good tailor.”

“What was that back there?”

“My aunt? Oh, yeah, apparently being a tenured history professor doesn’t live up to the same standing as being a married tenured history professor with a kid on the way.”

“Shouldn’t they be more focused on, I don’t know, your happiness?”

You nodded. “Most of them are, but there’s just the odd few who don’t realise how deep they’re actually digging their knives.”

Colter studied you for a moment. “Are you okay?”

You looked up at him. “It’s been a long day.”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“I have been up since four am, I feel like I’ve been poked, prodded, burned, scratched and pinched on every surface of my body. God only knows how Ida is feeling, and she’s the bride. I just hope they start the wedding soon because my feet are killing me.”

You lowered your hand to meet your raised ankle, to rub at it for a moment. 

“Don’t you wear heels for work?” 

You nodded. “I do. But they’re broken in. These are not.”

“But I thought-”

“Last minute change.” You quickly explained. “Either way, I’m glad you’re here. Thank you for coming.”

“No need. I was in the area.”

“How was the case?”

“Quick, easy. Stolen car. The husband reported it missing, but it turned out his mistress had stolen it because he still hadn’t left his wife.”

“Wow.”

“I was there when they had the argument. Got heated, let me tell you that.”

An hour later, the ceremony started and Colter’s eyes rarely left you. People laughed and cried during the speeches and you couldn’t have looked happier for the couple. However, the minute it was over you found Colter before he could find you in the sea of wedding guests. 

And for the next forty minutes whilst the new bride and groom shared some alone time surveying their venue, yourself and Colter found two seats at the back of the hallway. 

From your purse you pulled out a small pile of plasters. 

“Here, let me.” 

Colter tore some of them open whilst you angled your foot to place them on the growing hot spots. However, just as you placed your feet down on the ground, thankful to feel the flat floor, your aunts seemed to have jumped out from the corner beside Colter. 

And you were both subject to different questions until they finally opened up the doors to the dining hall. 

“Thank god, I’m starving.”

Colter managed to get yourself and him around the crowd to find your seats. You’d been placed at table four with a couple of the other bridesmaids and their partners. 

For most of the night, it ran smoothly. You ate, drank, danced. All in all it was a fun evening. You listened to the different speeches made by the parents and new in-laws. 

However, when couples were dragged onto the dancefloor, you were fully prepared to sit that section out. Until Colter reappeared from the gents toilets, just past the bar, and lowered his hand to you. 

“Colter…”

“It’s just dancing.”

It took you a moment before you placed your hand in his and allowed him to pull you towards the dancefloor. 

Holding you in his arms, his hand enveloped yours by his chest whilst his other hand remained securely on your back, your own hands in his and on his shoulder. 

For a while, you both danced. Slowly, holding each other closer. Until Colter shocked you by dipping you slowly with the song. 

And you smiled. 

And so did he. 

Bringing you back to your feet, he spun you close to his body before pulling you back in. 

“I don’t know if I’ve said this already, but thank you. For coming, I mean.”

Colter smiled, leaning down. “You never have to thank me for coming to you.”

“I do mean it, though.” You told him. “I could have made up an excuse or found someone else. You didn’t have to say yes, and you did, and I’m…glad. Thank you.”

“Do you have anything else to do? For the wedding?”

You shook your head. “Not unless Ida needs to go to the bathroom.”

“Can’t the other girls help her?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Want to get out of here?”

Usually, you would have said ‘no’, but something changed when you looked at Colter. So, you replied. 

“Yes. But let me say goodbye, first.”

Colter nodded, letting you go for a moment whilst you walked around the dance floor to where Ida was standing by her table, finding her drink. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” Ida smiled as she looked over your shoulder and back to you.

After that, you grabbed your bag and found your hand in Colter’s as you both made your way out and away from the wedding. 

Colter helped you into the passenger seat of his truck, closing your door for you. By the time he got into the driver’s seat, you already had one of your heels off. 

It wasn’t long before Colter was pulling up alongside his home, and grabbing the small bag of groceries from the back whilst you hooked your heels through your fingers, hitched up your dress and carried the pizza box inside. 

Shutting the door behind you, Colter came back out from his home and took the box from you before helping you up the stairs. 

By the time he closed the door behind him, you were already pulling the pizza box open as you sat down by the table. 

“So they just had one delivered to the classroom?”

You nodded. “Yep. It was the final day and they did share, so I let them off with a warning. It’s fun to have cake delivered to the classroom, but it’s also not school policy to have food delivered during class time.”

“Sounds like I missed a party.”

You laughed before taking a bite of your pizza. 

It wasn’t long before you found yourself snooping around Colter’s place, leaving him sitting at the table, watching your every move. 

“You have a mug from every state? Hey, wait a minute.”

Colter hung his head to cover the smile creeping up on his face before he looked back at you. He tried his best to remain guiltless, but you could practically smell it on him. 

“This is my mug.”

“Is it?”

“This is my mug that has been missing for three months.”

“Three months? Sure you didn’t just leave it at work?”

“This is my mug that you stole-”

“Stole?” Colter asked. “You should have set up a reward.”

“-from my home.” You gasped a little, trying to hide your smile. “Oh, Colter. I never pegged you for a thief.”

“Finders keepers, I say.”

“Oh,” you said, your eyes never leaving Colter as he stood and walked closer to you. “The Rewardist is calling finders keepers now, is he?”

“I believe he is. Considering you never set up a reward.”

“Because I thought I lost it.”

“Oh, well in that case.” Colter plucked the mug from your hands before placing it back on the shelf in pride of place. “It’s still lost.”

“Oh, really?”

He shut the door. “Really.”

However, when Colter looked back at you, you felt something shift. It felt silent in the camper. Too silent. And yet somehow, too loud. You were suddenly aware of your own breath, trying to find a way to keep it controlled in order to avoid suspicion until you noticed Colter seemed to be, albeit more subtly than you, doing the same thing. 

However, just as you felt yourself leaning in a little and seeing Colter doing the same, it was like something pulled you back into reality. 

Cleaning your throat, you placed your gaze anywhere else. Or, at least, the very least, you tried. Every other second, your eyes flashed back to him as you both leaned against the counter and dared not look at each other. 

“I better-”

“Yeah.”

However, despite that awkwardness passing when Colter jumped into the shower and you had full access to snoop. You found a picture of himself, his brother and his sister. By the looks of it, his mom had made them all pose for it. And it didn’t look like it was that long ago.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“This your brother?”

Colter paused for a moment. “Maybe. Why?”

“He’s hot.”

Colter tried his best to hide his groan. “Please don’t tell him that. It’ll only inflate his ego.”

You chuckled softly. “Relax, Colt. It’ll just be our little secret. Besides, he’s a little too…burly, for my type.”

“Burly?” Colter asked, trying his best to not let his smile show in his voice. But you heard it. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view though. Your mom seemed to strike gold with her children.”

Colter paused for a split second, not holding back the smirk. “Are you saying I’m good looking?”

“Shit,” you thought to yourself. “Don’t let it inflate your ego, Shaw.” You told him. “Just because you’re not…unpleasant to look at.”

The shower cut off and a moment later, the shower door opened causing you to turn around and face Colter as he stepped out, sweeped up in steam whilst his towel remained securely wrapped around his hips. 

“Unpleasant?” Colter repeated. 

“You have nice…” you swallowed, taking in the picture in front of you. Colter. Shirtless Colter. Wet hair, smelling great, shirtless…Colter. “Eyes.” you forced yourself to finish, whilst also forcing your eyes to look at his face. 

But he caught you staring. 

He half smiled coyly. 

“Eyes, hm. Never heard that one before.” 

Turning around, you found yourself watching him and his back, partly memorising the small scars you saw littering his back before he turned back around and closed the door. 

Ten minutes later, it was you being his bedroom door getting changed. However, the struggle came with your dress. 

“Colter?”

“Yeah?”

“I need your help.”

You slid open the door. “My dress. Can you do the zip?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Walking closer, Colter found the top of the zip and pulled it down watching it loosen around your shoulders and hips before it reached the bottom. 

“Thanks.”

Colter cleared his throat a little as he closed the door on you once more to let you get dressed. 

When you opened it again, you were dressed in a t-shirt and what looked to be Christmas pyjama bottoms. 

Your hair that had been styled for the wedding was now a little messier, but out of your face a little more. 

And at some point between brushing your teeth and arguing with Colter over which movie to watch, you fell asleep beside him. 

Little did you know, everything would change when you woke up. 

A small sliver of light was coming in through his blinds, lighting up the side of your face in a warm glow of the first breath of the morning sun. And all Colter could do was watch you for a moment. 

You were so still and calm. No thought process that made your brows furrow or made you rub your hands across your face. Not worrying about getting up early or grading papers or teaching a class was only taking it for the credit rather than the actual joy of the subject. 

You were just…you. 

“Are you watching me sleep?”

“You look peaceful.”

“Only seems fair. I watched you.”

“I knew it!”

“Shut up.” You laughed a little, digging your head further into the pillow. “What time is it?”

“Early, I’d guess.”

“How early? Because if it’s before eight, then I’m using you to block out both the light and the cold.”

Colter turned over and looked at his watch. 

“It’s before eight.”

You groaned and when Colter turned back around, it looked like you were wishing for the bed to swallow you whole. 

“Come here.”

Scooching closer, Colder wrapped the blankets, along with his arm, around your back before allowing you to lower your head against his chest. 

“You really are like a hot water bottle.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

After a few moments of silence, which included Colter unknowingly tracing patterns on your back with his hand that lay under you, you asked him a question. 

“Where did you get your scars from?”

“Hmm?”

“The scars on your back. They’re small, but they’re deep. Where did you get them?”

“Since when did you know how deep a cut was?”

“I’m a History Professor.” You told him. “I’ve seen plenty of case pictures.”

Colter smiled a little before nodding and explaining a couple of them. 

“Okay, so what about this one?”

Your finger lightly traced an old bullet wound on his shoulder. 

“Bullet wound.”

“What?!”

“Relax, it wasn’t fatal.” Colter assured you. “Hurt. But it was a clear wound.”

“I can’t believe you got shot.”

“Twice.”

“What?”

“And that’s just recently.”

“Do you make it a habit of getting shot?” You asked him. 

“I try not to.”

And then there was that look again. Except this time there was no turning away. There was no escaping to a shower or bathroom. Mostly because, well, you were interlinked. 

But also because…you didn’t want to. 

Laying beside Colter, it made you feel…calm. And for the first time, you didn’t want to turn away. 

So when Colter pulled away for a moment before leaning in further, accepting your nod, you let his lips meet yours. 

It was shy at first. New. Uncertain. You’d both been friends for over twenty years and in the blink of an eye, you were kissing him. 

But then, something broke. Or, rather, moulded into place. 

You pulled Colter closer, holding the side of his face. Whilst his own hands pressed you closer to him before one creeped up towards your own face, through your hair and back down your back. 

After that, it felt like your body was moving independently, or maybe with your mind. 

Pushing up, Colter rolled onto his back, still holding onto you before you managed to move to straddle him, your hands running down his chest before he shot up to meet you once more in a kiss where your arms stretched over his shoulders just as his own hands were beginning to make a mess of your hair, letting it down from the scrunchie you had thrown it up into. 

However, before things could go any further, a call came through Colter’s phone. 

Looking to his bedside desk, you looked back at him and for a moment, you wished it would stop. But then, reality hit. 

“You should answer that.”

“Wait.”

“Answer it, Colter. It could be important.”

It took Colter a moment but he stretched back as you climbed off him, escaping out of the bedroom as he answered it. 

“Hey Teddi,”

Forgetting your shoes, you grabbed one of Colter’s sweaters and made your way outside, being hit with fresh, but very cold air that was as close to a cold shower as you could get for the time being. 

However, it wasn’t long until Colter opened up the door and walked down the steps to where you were pacing back and forth. 

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- we-we shouldn’t have-”

“Shouldn’t we have?”

“Should we have?” 

“I don’t regret it, if that’s what you’re asking. Do you regret it?”

“No. At least, not yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You stopped pacing and faced him. “What is this, Colter? Because I don’t have any answers. And we’ve been friends for, what, twenty years? I didn’t even see this coming. I- did you see this coming?”

Colter had to speak truthfully. “Not exactly.”

“See. So…what do we do? Do- are…are we meant to forget it? Do we move on?”

“Do you want to move on?”

You shook your head. “Colter…I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe we don’t have to know.”

You looked at Colter. “You do know me, right?”

Colter smiled a little and walked closer towards you, albeit a little slower than normal. 

“I do,” he nodded. “Which is why I am going to ask you this. Not thinking of anything else, not thinking of how it will change things, did you want to kiss me?”

“Yes,”

“And not thinking about that, would you want to do it again?”

“Colter…” You could feel yourself blushing, hard, as Colter got closer to you. 

“Just answer the question,” he smiled reassuringly, his voice a little softer. 

“Maybe…yes.”

“And if I asked you that tomorrow night,” Cotlet took one of your hands in his, slowly, before picking up your second.”Could I take you out on a date, what would you say?”

“Yes.” 

“Then, tomorrow night, at seven o’clock, can I pick you up from your home and take you out on a date?”

You finally met Colter’s eyes fully, for the first time, since you were lay in bed. 

“Yes.”

Colter smiled, leaning in closer. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes.”

[maliciouslove]

ℍ𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕪 𝕋𝕣𝕒𝕡

✧ pairing: fuckboy smileball barista!denki x reader  ✧ summary: having a slimebucks apron is equal to having unlimited rizz (source: me) and denki proves it by bedding his brand new colleague on her very first day of work.  ✧ word count: 5.5k ✧ tags: dubcon(?), manipulation(?), weed and alcohol use, oral (f!receiving), fingering, squirting, overstimulation, forced orgasm, pussyjob, unprotected sex, pulling out, size difference (denki is Tall and Lanky TM), unappropriate work relationship, scummy denki, no feelings.

✧ my submission for the @bastardblvd Slimeball collab ✧

✧ AN: happy birthday to my little slimy fuckboy denks <3 this was so fun to work on, genuinely love being a grimetown resident now. the fanart is made by me but i'm no pro so.. be kind please. :D it was written in a daze so if you see discrepancies.. look away. based on my own tiny starbucks where i work (i am slimebucks denki incarnate). you may expect of me to make this a slimebucks series.. katsuki or touya next? ;)

Denki doesn’t like morning shifts — he doesn’t like how grumpy people are first thing in the morning because it makes scoring dates much harder for him. No matter how bubbly and pleasant he is, Monday mornings are just a bad time to flirt with clients. Most customers don’t even spare a glance at him, too busy figuring out their schedule for the day and burying their noses in their phones. He does, however, enjoy the morning business attire — stockings, pencil skirts, white shirts that allow him to see the outline of a bra underneath… and those heels. Something about office fashion always getshim riled up. 

Typically, if he couldn’t strike up a conversation with the morning customers he would settle for watching them, eyes trailing down their crossed legs when they sit down to enjoy their coffee. He would follow their elegant movements and the curves of their bodies — from the corners of their painted lips turning upward in delight after a sip of hot coffee, to their dainty ankles decorated by the ankle strap of their heels swinging to the rhythm of the music playing softly on the speakers.

That is how his Mondays usually go, yet today he couldn't even enjoy that, all because of a new recruit.

His manager Katsuki (that angry bastard) had not even mentioned to them that he was hiring; he announced only yesterday that there would be a new trainee, pushing the responsibility of showing them around the store and kicking off their barista training onto him. Of course he wouldn’t ask Touya to train them — he would end up with his cock in his hand less than ten minutes into the start of his shift due to his “side hustle” schedule conflict, which in turn would scare off any new hire… and then the hiring process would have to start all over again. Katsuki himself is not much better off as barista trainer, his constant irritation and habit of screaming at everyone and everything has made many employees quit (and cry) early on, but the reason he was shoving the responsibility onto Denki was simply that he wouldn’t be in the store due to a manager’s meeting in Tokyo.

Bummer. 

According to the clock on the wall, the new hire should be coming in any time now, so Denki settles for focusing his attention and efforts on that instead of his grumpy morning customers. And then, there you were in your yellow raincoat, all sunshine and smiles from the moment you step inside the store. Denki gives you a once over and decides maybe this Monday morning wouldn’t be so awful after all — you were cute and far too innocent and optimistic looking for him not to take advantage and have a little… fun. 

His plan begins to form before you’ve even laid eyes on him.

“Hi! You must be the new addition to our team, pleasure to meet you!” The blonde extends a hand to greet you, his most charming smile plastered on his face. “Our team is a bit of a sausage party right now, so I hope you can bear with us and not get discouraged. We desperately need someone like you on our team.” 

“Oh I can tell, your merch cabinets look very… dry. You fellas are not big on decorating, are you?” Your heartfelt laugh nearly disarms the blonde man as he scratches the back of his head awkwardly, admitting that the three men working there did not have the best sesne of aesthetics and beauty. 

Oh, you were just his type — confident, energetic, and just a bit too kind and trusting. 

“Well, you’re here to save us, right? How about we get started on your training, get the boring part over with so we can get to know each other better.” 

There was not a single pure intention behind his words, but his face remains the picture of innocence and kindness. He’s had time to practice this look after all — can’t let people find out what’s behind the sunshine facade now, can he?

“Oh well training shouldn’t take long, I worked at a different Slimebuckslocation before moving to this part of town, hence why I’m being transferred here. I can get around drink making just fine, so you can just show me around the store I guess?” You bat your eyelashes at him and Denki thinks of you as a pure miracle. This expedites the timeline he had in mind.

With a pep in his step, he shows you around the store and back of house, informing you where they keep extra syrups and toppings at the front and the storage in the back. He hands you a new apron and name tag while informing you of the usual cleaning routine and covering all the basics that you need to get around the new store on your own. Not that he follows these cleaning routines that closely anyhow, but hey, you were here to pick up the slack now.

“So, think you got everything? Any questions?” Denki leans back against the bar on his elbows, long black painted fingers interlocking in front of his torso. He’s laid back and so pretty it’s almost distracting. A regular person has to exert effort not to stare too long at his honey colored eyes that crinkle when he smiles.

However, you cannot get too distracted — you must remain focused and make a good impression today. 

“Yes, can I please rearrange and restock your merchandise cabinets? They do not spark joy and desire to buy in their current state. No offense.” 

“Have at it.” Denki does not break eye contact, not once — feline eyes following your every move, gears turning in his head and schemes hatching in his pretty little head. 

He doesn’t want to seem too overbearing, but he also doesn’t want you to think he isn’t interested. So, as it is pretty quiet in the store right now, he decides to give you a hand with the merchandise, chatting with you — learning about you. After all, the only times he actually puts effort into his minimum wage job arewhen there is a prospect of a cute girl removing her panties for him. 

“So, you live nearby?” he begins to prod at you with innocent questions.

“Ah, not quite. I have to take a bus to get here since I don’t have a car anymore. I live on the east side of town, close to that big mall they built recently.” 

Denki is easy to talk to, a nice balance budding between the two of you as he takes boxes out and hands you colorful cups and tumblers to put on the shelves. 

“Hey, I live around those parts, too, I can give you a lift after work, save you some bus fare. Unless you have some super jealous boyfriend or something?” Despite flunking out of college, Kaminari isnot stupid — he isplaying his cards just right, creating an opportunity to learn if you’re single and give you an option to spend more time with him, which isn’t really an option. Unless you do have a boyfriend, you wouldn’t have a reason to say no, not after the deliberate way he phrased it. 

“Haha, no, no boyfriend — kind of the reason I don’t currently have a car and why I had to move.” There’s an edge to your voice, maybe even a trace of anger, but to him they appear as feelings that seem to have simmered down. “I got out of a long relationship recently. We used to live together and share a car, but I had to get my own place after the breakup, and he took the car. And the dog.”

“That bastard!” Denki chimes, a bit too exaggerated, but he figures making a small joke won’t actually hurt. “Really though, that sucks. I’m sorry it happened.” 

The way he switches from being a clown to being a gentleman can give a person whiplash. 

“Don’t be, I’m not sorry it happened.” You shrug your shoulders and give him a wide, genuine smile. “Now I get to hook up and have flings whever I want.” 

You keep the tone light, and you mean what you said — you’re not looking for anything serious right now, and the satisfaction from your answer was well written on the blonde’s face. He was cute, so maybe you’ll play along, have fun for once. 

“So this means you’ll let me give you a ride?” 

“If you really don’t mind?” You put the final tumbler on the shelf and examine your work in delight. Meanwhile Denki examines your body in delight. 

“Oh, I’d be honored to.” A devious grin adorns his face as he follows you behind bar to help serve customers. 

The day goes on, the playful banter between you and the blonde continuing — turns out you have similar hobbies: you like the same movies and games, you even have similar music taste, and Denki relinquished the store music rights to you for the day. 

Your shoulders would brush as you work side by side at the coffee machines, and he would laugh shyly, complimenting your pace and how well you’re adjusting to the new store. The exchanges between the two of you were flawless, seamlessly passing each other lids and pitchers without so much as saying a word. 

Kaminari gave the perfect performance of a man who enjoys his work; he didn’t even obnoxiusly flirt with every beautiful girl that placed an order. 

“Hey, can you grab some more caramel drizzle from the back?” Denki asks after a huge line of people finally dissipates and gives room for some tidying up and restocking. 

“Yea, absolutely. Need anything else?” 

“Also grab some extra bags of coffee beans and vanilla syrup if you can?” 

You nod and head to the back of house energetically.

Denki’s been working here for over two years now, so he knows that after this rush there won’t be anyone in the store for another half an hour at least, so sending you to the back of house away from customers was a calculated move. As soon as you disappear behind the doors he follows — after all, you wouldn’t be able to carry all that back to the front on your own.He should give you a hand. 

Smiling to himself, he enters the storage area to see you standing on your tip toes trying to reach the bags of coffee on the top shelf. Quietly he walks up behind you, one hand on your waist to pull you back a bit, the other hand reaching above you for the coffee beans. 

“Be careful. If you can’t reach somewhere, just call for me. Don’t want you getting hurt back here.” He can feel you melt into him and rest your back against his chest as he takes the four-pound bag down for you. 

“Oh, sorry… I thought I was gonna be able to reach.” You smile at him, realizing how he was surrounding you in that moment, and something about itmade your skin tingle. “Thank you.” 

“Of course! I figured you wouldn’t be able to carry everything at once so I came along to give you a hand.” The two of you stood very close to one another in the cramped storage, but you didn’t mind, as it was far too cold back here, and Kaminari was pleasantly warm to the touch. “The caramel drizzle is all the way down on that same self, if you want to grab that?” 

Eager to complete the task, you turn around and bend over to open the box labled “caramel drizzle,” giving Denki a perfect view of you round ass, making him gulp hard. If he just reached forward he would be able to trace the curve of your ass with his hand, squeeze one cheek as his other hand trails down your side. 

He shakes the thoughts out of his head as you stand back up, several bags of caramel sauce in your hands. You were squishing them playfully which was not helping Denki in keeping unholy thoughts at bay. 

“I always loved the texture of these bags; it’s so stress relieving to play with them.” Grinning up at him, you were the picture of innocence. 

“Yea, they remind me of tiddies.” Denki blurts out without even thinking, too enthralled by his imagination showing him images of you wrapping your pretty lips around his cock and playing with his balls. Once he realizes what he said he waves his hands around in defence. “No, no, not what I mea–” 

“You haven’t touched boobs recently, have you?” You deadpan, and he can feel his heart sink. “Boobs are much more firm. I get where you’re coming from, but a bag of caramel sauce can not compare to a tit.” You say matter of factly while squishing a bag with your hand. “Can’t do that to a boob, can you?” 

Denki snorts out a laugh. 

“Yea, you’re right — tiddies do feel better. And it has indeed been a while since I got to touch one.” He dramatically wipes a fake tear from the corner of his eye, a big pout on his lips as he turns to exist the storage. 

“Aww, poor Denki… Wanna cop a feel?” You can see him physically freeze up at these words, turning to give you a bewildered look. “I’m joking! Obviously. You that desperate, pretty boy?” 

You walk past him with a gleeful look on your face. 

The look in Kaminari’s eyes changes as soon as you’re out of sight, and he cannot wait to get his greedy hands on you. In fact, he was going to challenge himself and get between those plush thighs of yours by tonight. 

When the two of you are behind bar again, he continues to orbit close to you, watching videos on your phone over your shoulder, brushing his fingers against your skin when he passes you a milk carton, caging you between his body and the bar while he reaches for something behind you. 

And every time you accidentally touched, you could feel electicity run down your spine and butterflies flutter in your stomach. His light amber eyes trailing down your body lit a fire in your lower belly. The day went on just like that — standing a bit too close to one another, making inappropriate jokes, flirting. And so came time to close and go home, riding in his car. 

“You done with the trash?” you ask as he takes his apron off. 

“Yeah, if you’re done with the floor we can head on out.” You head to the back of house together to grab your stuff from your lockers and lock up. 

“So, got any plans for tonight?” he asks, leaning on his locker while waiting for you to put your jacket on. 

Now that you’re officially off the clock, you take the time to pay attention to small details about the man — how long his eyelashes are, how he cockily half smiles at you, how veiny his forearms are. 

“No plans, no — I’m probably gonna end up watching Desperate Housewives with a glass of wine by myself.” 

And there you go — giving him another opportunity. 

“Oh you watch that too?” He’s excited, presenting this as an interest that not many share with him. “That’s basically my plan for the evening, except I was gonna get high instead of drinking.” Sharing with you that he smokes weed is also tactical; it indicates trust that you won’t misuse that information, and it also opens a gate for you to bond with him over weed if you smoke. 

“Oh, well...” And there you go, taking the bait. “If it’s not too forward of me to offer, I’ve got alcohol and pizza on speed dial, you have weed and good company. Maybe we can merge resources, watch tonight’s episode together?” 

Score.

“Sounds perfect.”

He places his hand at the small of your back as he leads you towards his car, being very caring and gentle — making you feel comfortable and safe, letting you open up to him. It was going to be a fun night for Denki. 

Your apartment is exactly what he envisioned: small but cozy, full of plants, color and art. The small space reflected your personality, a variety of interests on display, different styles clashing in every corner of the room. It was cute. And your chouch seemed very comfortable for eating pussy.

“Cute place.” 

“Thanks. I finally got the chance to decorate my own space however I want, so I went a bit crazy with it.” 

Kaminari doesn’t miss the emphasis in your voice; you lived for a long time with no control over small and insignificant things such as decor. You were frustrated. At the same time, he notes that now you seem to cling to control. He noticed it at work, too — you rarely gave yourself time off. Things are really looking up for the blonde man, and he can barely contain his wolfish smile as the gears in his head turn. You’d love to give up control, wouldn’t you? 

“Make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll grab us some drinks and we can order pizza.” 

As you make way to the small kitchen, Denki takes two pre-rolled joints from a cigarette tin and places them on the table. Wine and weed should make you nice and pliable for him. You return with a glass of white wine and a cold beer. 

“I figured you’s prefer a beer over wine.” You offer with a smile, and he accepts. 

“How observant of you. I just wanna check first:Are you sure you want to mix alcohol and weed? Might hit you hard.” He shows concern, but it’s fake — the more crossfaded you are, the easier it would be for him to get you naked. 

“Yea I’m uh.. More practiced than I care to admit.” You give him a coy smile and sit next to him on the couch, phone in hand ready to order food. Once that is out of the way, you both finally lean back and relax on the couch, the episode of Desperate Housewives starting with a recap. 

“So, do you invite people you just met to your apartment to get stoned often, or..?” He offers jokingly as he lights one of the joints up. 

“No, just the pretty and charming ones.” You’re no longer being coy about it like you were at work; you like him, and you aregoing to make it known. 

“Oh, you think I’m pretty? So you only want me for my face?” He retorts with faux disappointment, eyes focused on yours intently, curious and full of desire. 

“Not just your face. You have pretty hands too.” You answer with a straight face, reaching for his hand that was holding the joint and pulling it towards yourself, taking a drag from the joint between his slender fingers. 

Denki swallows, the lust thick in his throat. The way your lips wrap around the joint is sinister, the eyecontact you maintain while doing it — electrifying. 

His body responds before his brain can process, leaning in towards you to capture the smoke from your lips with his own, inhaling it and placing his free hand at the back of your neck, keeping your lips close to his. 

Honey-colored eyes stare down at you as your cheeks begin to heat, mind and heart racing as your tongue darts to wet your lips and taste him. Screw your plan to just tease him, wind him up for a week or two, make him eager — you don’t have the patience for all that. You set your glass on the coffee table and close the gap between the two of you, pushing him back, straddling him. 

“Feeling bold tonight, sweetness?” He smiles up at you, letting you get your dose of control, let you simmer in the illusion that you initiated this, you took the lead. His free hand rests on your thigh, thumb drawing circles over your jeans, gently squeezing you. 

You don’t dignify him with a response as your lips crash onto his in a searing kiss, fingers carding through his blonde locks. He can tell how needy you are by the way your body moves — pulling his hair a bit harder than you should, nipping at his lower lip, canting your hips over his. You’re leaning into his every touch, almost aggressively taking what you want from him, claiming control. 

He smiles into the kiss and in one swift move shifts you to lay flat on your back on the couch, his larger frame towering over yours. 

“Don’t move.” He sounds almost like a different person as he yanks the control from you, and you obey. You lay still and watch him intently as he lights the joint again, taking a long drag and putting the joint back on the ashtray. 

Leaning down, he places his hand under your chin, parting your lips and blowing the smoke into your mouth. You inhale and hold your breath as he traces kisses down your jaw and collarbone, warm hands sneaking under your shirt. He only speaks after you slowly exhale the smoke.

“You’ve brightened my day, you know. Let me thank you properly.” 

His fingers trail down your body and unbutton your jeans, feather light kisses pressed against your tummy just above the hem of your pants. You don’t protest, so he continues his ministrations, pulling your shirt up above your head and leaving you in your pink lacy bra. He pushes one of the bra straps to the side and—

Ding dong!

The pizza has arrived. 

“Fuck–” He scrambles to his feet to go answer the door while you qucikly throw your shirt back on and head to the kitchen. Denki follows with pizzas in hand that he quickly discards on the table. 

“Are the pizzas cut? Do you need any sauce or—” You’re scooped up in his hands and pressed against the kitchen counter. His lips are on your again, insistent and needy. “Denk— The food?” 

“I was hoping for a different meal.” 

His breath is hot against the shell of your ear as he lifts you up to sit you on the marble counter, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he makes desire bubble inside you once more. 

Discarding your pesky shirt again, he wastes no time in removing your bra and cupping your breasts, lips enclosing around your pert nipple. 

“You’re right — much better than a bag of caramel sauce.” His words are barely above a whisper as he tweaks your nipple between thumb and index finger, leaving wet kisses across your sternum and stomach. His hands grip at the hem of your still unbuttoned jeans, and you follow his wordless instruction, lifting your hips and letting him slip the jeans off. 

There you were, practically naked on your kitchen counter while he, still fully dressed, devoured you with predatory eyes. Large hands rest on your bare thighs, and he gently spreads your legs and drags you closer to the edge of the countertop.

You’re pretty and soft, and you smell nice. Denki can’t help but wonder if you’ll taste sweet as well. A single digit traces the outline of your lacy thong, marveling at the wet spot forming on the material. Hooking his finger behind the material, he roughly pulls it upwards — the feeling isn’t exactly pleasant, but it doesn't hurt either; it’s simply not enough friction. You need more. Your nose and eyebrows scrunch, and you wrap your hand around his wrist, a pleading whine leaving your parted lips.

“Aw, I’m sorry pretty girl… I won’t tease you too much, promise.” 

Another quick peck to your lips and he sinks to his knees in front of you, eye level with your needy wet cunt. Pushing the pink fabric to the side, he inspects your pretty cunt, glistening with arousal. Kissing from the inside of your thigh and making his way to your core, all you can do is tug on his hair and hold on while he devours you whole. 

Kaminari finally delves his tongue into your heat, leaving a long stripe from your needy hole to your sensitive clit and then focusing on the latter. His tongue is gentle, teasing — like he has all the time in the world to enjoy this tasty treat, working you up until your body starts moving on its own against his tongue. Your head is so far up in the clouds that you probably aren’t even aware of how tightly you’re gripping his hair and how you’re moving your hips rhythmically against his mouth. 

You sound cute: breathless and whiny, softly begging under your breath, head tilted back in pleasure as the muscles in your thighs stiffen and your legs shake. Yet, Denki does not speed up, maintaining his languid pace and dangling true bliss right in front of your eyes. 

“F-fuuck… Denki, please...” 

Your heart is in your throat, and your body aches from the tension, you need release. You can feel the smirk on his lips as you beg him. 

At the peak of your high, delirious from the need to cum but not being given enough friction to tumble over the edge, Denki lifts two long, slender fingers to your wet cunt and slowly pushes them inside you, the feeling of being filled up driving the air out of your lungs. 

Quickly, Denki finds that spongy spot inside you and presses against it, moving his fingers right against it while his lips and tongue focus on your clit. 

It takes seconds for you to ascend, body going rigid as your muscles contract around his fingers and your orgasm is forced out of you with a strangled moan. He does not slow down. 

One strong arm wraps around your thigh, keeping you still while his mouth continues to ravage you, fingers slipping in and out with precision. He was intending to force another orgasm out of you without giving you time to recover from the first. 

Your arms and legs feeltingly and limp, and Denki has to support your weight all while eating you out like a man starved. His cock is painfully hard in his tight jeans, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make you cum one more time on his face. 

You taste like wild honey, and your whiny pleas fuel him to keep going, marveling in the feeling of you becoming tighter and tighter for him, chest heaving erraticly and shaky fingers scratching at his arms and shoulders. You are about to come undone for him. 

Before your mind can respond to your body, the coil in your belly snaps, and you gush onto his fingers with a scream, squirting in his earger mouth as he licks up every clear droplet. He removes his fingers and helps you come down from your high with gentle kisses over your swollen clit and soft thighs. 

Your mind is spinning, but your ears register the sound of a belt unbuckling. Groggily opening your eyes, you are met with the image of him keeping his t-shirt tucked between his teeth as he fists his cock to the sight of you. His pupils are blown — only a thin ring of gold remaining. He closes the gap between you again, his warm length resting on your sticky cunt, slowly gliding between your folds. 

You open your mouth to ask if he has condoms, but he seems to have already read your mind. 

“Don’t have any on me, but I’m clean, and I won’t put it in.” His words are rushed, and he is far too entranced by the feel and sound of wetness to even look you in the eyes. 

You can’t even bother to argue, too tired and blissed out with a new sesnse of hunger growing in the pit of your stomach. Your hips instinctively move to meet his thrusts, the mushroom tip of his cockhead grinding into your sensitive clit, and you just want more. Tired hands reach out to him, thumb rubbing over his cheek as he leans into your touch, kissing your palm with his eyes shut as his hips thrust faster against your sloppy wet cunt. 

“Fuck, gorgeous, you have no idea how bad I wanna be inside ya.” He nips at your hand still resting on his cheek and growls lowly, frustrated by his own imagination of how snug you would feel around his cock. 

Drunk on his words and the previous two orgasms he forced out of you, you want him just as bad. Throwing all logic and reasoning out the window you use the last of your strenght to lift your hips and line him up to your entrance, slamming your hips down and taking his cock all at once with a yelp. 

“P-Please, please…” You mumble in a chant as your velvety walls spasm around his girth, mouth loosly hanging open and a bit of drool trickling down your chin. You were so beautifully fucked out, heavy eyelids giving you the most seductive look. 

Finally overcoming his shock and managing to stifle his impending orgasm, Denki moves his hips and curses under his breath at the feeling of your gummy walls sucking him in. Grinning wolfishly at the way your eyes roll to the back of your head, small hands gripping his sleeve for dear life, he angles his hips to thrust his cock right into your sweet spot making you scream his name in pleasure. 

God, if he hadn’t edged himself half to insanity, he’d want to stay buried in your warm cunt for the whole evening, but you felt so good, he knew he wouldn’t last. Hooking his arms under your knees and then linking his finger behind your neck he rams his cock fervently inside you. The angle change of this position made you feel him all the way in your stomach, your clit slapping against his pelvis with each thrust. Snaking a hand between your bodies you circle a finger over your clit to help yourself while he uses you as a fleshlight.

“That’s right sweetness, keep doing that, you need to cum one more time f’me. One more.” 

Folding you even more and slamming you on his cock he could feel your insides trying to push him out as a third orgasm washes over you, more clear liquid splashing against his abdomen as you cry out his name.

Letting you out of the headlock, he pulls out quickly, pumping his fist over his cock as his balls thighten, and he empties his seed all over your wet cunt, smearing his cum over your clit and folds with a relieved sigh.  

Still caging you in with his arms at your sides, he leans down to place a kiss on your forehead. 

“You good?” You answer with a weak nod, and he can’t help but chuckle at how exhausted you are reaching over for the kitchen paper. “Sorry, it’s the closest thing I can clean you up with.” 

After catching your breath and no longer being covered in sticky cum, post-nut clarity finally settles in, and you chew on your lower lip, anxiously pondering the consequences of your actions. 

“Don’t freak out, pretty girl.” He’s his usual charming self now, feline eyes crinkling in a smile. “You don’t want anything serious, nor do I, and if word gets out at work we’d be both in trouble. So, how about we keep this between us?” 

Offering you a perfect escape — the final part of his plan. You smile widely glad to know you’re both on the same page, the anxiety dying down. 

“Also, sorry to bust a load and hit the road, but my landlord has left me like 12 messages about some emergency at the flat so I think I should really go check it out, might be a flood.” He awkwardly scratches his neck, showing that he feels bad about this. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it! Go, I hope it isn’t flooded.” You turn to grab one of the abandoned pizzas on the table. “Why don’t you take this with you? You never got to eat it anyway. Won’t be as good as fresh pizza, but it’s something…” 

He grins widely, accepting the pizza and giving you a chaste kiss on the cheek. 

“Thank you. I’ll see you at work then, newbie?” 

“See you then.” 

Escorting him to the door you lock it behind him and rest your back to the door taking a deep breath. 

Walking outside of your apartment complex, Denki pulls his phone out of his back pocket and dials a number under the name “Landlord Toshi”. 

“Hey man, thanks for always having my back with the apartment ‘emergencies.’” The blonde laughs into the phone. “Yea, I told you she was gonna be easy — fresh out of a relationship, wants to let loose and make up for lost time, constantly feels like she has to be in control so naturally gives the reins away when it comes to fucking. It was a fun little challenge.” 

“You dog.” The man on the other line chuckles and a bong can be heard in the background. “You gonna tap that again?” 

“Nah, she seems the type to catch feels.” Denki lights up the other joint in his cigarette tin and gets in his car, revving the engine. “Plus, the only reason I did this was to even the bet scores at work while Touya is still on vacation.”

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑! I do not own any of the characters or people mentioned in my work. these are works of pure fiction that do not reflect the views, opinions, or actions of any person, real or fictional. Furthermore, all characters I write for [thirsts, drabbles, fics, etc.] are aged up to 21 or older – they are adults with adult characteristics presented and written in adult contexts.

all rights reserved © by maliciouslove. my work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. all fanfics belong to me, please do not copy, translate nor repost the fics or files seen above as this is strictly prohibited.

[buttered-milky]

https://youtu.be/XqXZ0tJppok?si=kF5httv3agxyOzqe

Messmer can actually turns into a snake it's his original form, and he looks soo abused and neglected maybe because of the seal?

Eeeee okay so. The summon he uses a: appears to have more blood and/or burn wounds on it. and b: otherwise has most of its scales and doesn’t have the transparency effect I thought it had like the winged serpents!! Also there’s a bunch of eyeballs all over the place but we’ll get to those later.

Burn wounds are pretty straightforward and also interesting since they imply either the serpent fucked around and found out (Messmer burned it) or the serpent fucked around and found out (burned itself like an idiot, not surprising in the slightest for snakes since they miss prey strikes all the time and are, in my humble snake owner opinion, some of the dumbest creatures you’ll ever meet. Curious yes. But also. Idiots)

The snake Messmer turns into has much deeper wounds and scarring on it than just the summon of the abyssal serpent. This snake also appears to have a blind right eye (note for any reptile keepers who care: not the temporary blindness that comes with shedding). Its body is very misshapen and there are scales trying to protrude along the spine, and in several places where there don’t appear to be any wounds the scales are just…missing. This is as expected not good for snakes! They need those scales! I am honestly not quite sure how to interpret the overlapping layers of scales in some places. Like sometimes it looks like a shedding issue but also it seems like it’s the attempts of two souls trying to occupy one body? Also missing shed transparency effect! Idk what the hell was going on in my brain or if it was just lighting but I was sooooo fucking sure of the shed buildup. I was also really tired though and don’t care. The visual read was still fun. It can be a headcanon to me <3

So on those thoughts of it being two souls trying to occupy one body. What strikes me about this design is that some of the wounds look like bite scarring you’d see from live prey fighting your snake back. Again, this is a thing entirely avoidable with good husbandry (don’t live feed unless absolutely necessary). The scales to me still imply shedding has gone very wrong at some point. You’d expect to see shedding heal and scar over these wounds, but they’re all fresh. Very symbolic. You can’t heal violence by just pretending it doesn’t exist.

Ideally when a snake is wounded, you do routine care to help them with sheds and make sure the wound is clean. The scales will grow back and the wound will scar, but it will take several sheds and consistent work! You cannot, as Marika tried to do, just put a bandaid on it. You also can’t just lock a snake in a cage it will hurt itself trying to get out of (ie messmer himself) and expect that to go even remotely well.

Some of this feels like visual symbolism of self-hatred. Like I said, the base serpent looks like it’s gotten in a fight. With its host. Some of it also feels like visible neglect (ie the wounds not being healed, missing scales)

I’m gonna discuss the eyeballs bc I fuck w them immensely. First of all congrats Messmer on having an Eldritch Horror in ur body. Second of all, all these eyes appear to have lids. Actual snakes don’t. They have hard eye caps instead and cannot blink. Some of the eyes seem like they might not be able to blink, but the scales around them are still more closed than you’d expect? I fuck with it. Fits with Messmer’s blindness motif which maybe I’ll make a post on eventually. But in regards to the base serpent specifically, of course violence can afford to close its eyes and be blind to who it chooses to hurt. Violence is also something that, when committed, always seems to haunt you. Its gaze will always be there.

It’s interesting that Marika replaced Messmer’s eye to seal the serpent off, and so maybe it grew more eyes? That could be why the scales around them aren’t correct—they’re trying to protrude from the body. This occurs in both the summon and the physical snake form Messmer has. Repression of identity = Eldritch horrors? Sure I’ll take that fromsoft.

Final thing on the eyes. They’re red, not green. The winged serpents have green eyes, Elden Ring’s color of endurance. Super fitting! The abyssal serpent’s eyes are all red, the color of rot and death in this game. Red to me also feels primordial given its use in lightning by the dragons, but I digress. It’s pretty obvious why a base serpent would have base powers. This thing is old as fuck.

Okay. I’m sure you all thought the post was done but one last note on snake biology! So, snakes’ tongues retract into their mouth. When a snake opens their mouth you won’t see a forked tongue just curled up, hanging out. It’s in a little pocket for safe keeping :)

Neither of the base serpent’s forms appear to have the anatomy for this, since there are eyeballs replacing this anatomy. This is problematic for Messmer in a snake form specifically since he’s blind, and real snakes compensate for shitty vision by having an incredibly strong sense of smell. Messmer’s snake form also doesn’t have the heat pits that the abyssal serpent has. Heat pits are another part of snake anatomy, usually located below the nostrils, and are what they use to “see” heat and locate prey. In pythons (like the winged serpents) you’ll see multiple heat pits all in a row above the lip as opposed to the single very deep pit behind and below the nostrils in vipers. This single pit is what the base serpent (summon) has. Neither Messmer’s base serpent form nor his winged serpents have heat pits which is…interesting. It could be a modeling error but I don’t think so given base serpent has very clear heat pits.

My point is, Messmer is somehow even more blind than you’d expect from a snake. Maybe this makes sense given Messmer carries an internal fire, which would likely fuck with infrared? Still interesting nonetheless.

In summary: The base serpent alone (summon) seems overall in better shape than its other form (transformation). I think this is pretty straightforward symbolism—as a being on its own the serpent would probably be fine. It’s just that it uses Messmer as a host and this causes issues. Fuck around and find out I guess, base serpent.

And holy shit Messmer Cannot fucking see. Good luck with the seeing eye snakes babe because snakes notoriously have shit vision !

(Also just an aside both of the base serpent forms kind of have narrower faces than you’d see on a real snake? Like they’re more eel like to me. Anyways.)

[littlebluentebook]

Alastor x Sewing!Reader

Hi everyone! This is my first ever fic but I have read far more than anyone should in a lifetime! Please let me know if theres any criticism. Im open to other ideas and fandoms (that I will eventually make a list for.) I'm merging some chapters I have just because they're short or make better sense that way and tried tot keep things gender neutral. If I slipped let me know and I will go back and edit! This is probably super out of character but I did my best! Hope you all enjoy :)

Chapter 1 <3

You and your husband had always gotten along like a house on fire.

Every other week a client would come in asking for costumes and repairs for a speakeasy she sung and danced at.

"-just say Anne invited you love n' they'll be bound ta let you in!" she exclaimed while picking up her newest order for the night ahead.

"Well darling I'll just have to see if I've got any sort of plans." You said knowing full well you were going to come up with new patterns until eventually falling asleep.

"Come on Y/N, Ive been coming to you for months! Don't you want to see where all your heard work goes to?" Anne was definitely pulling your strings taking advantage of your curiosity. She had a point.

"I suppose you've gotta point Anne. What time are you starting tonight?"

"Nine!" She was bouncing up and down in excitement. " I've got to get going now doll! See you tonight!"

The jingle of the bells on the door signified she was gone. You started to realize what you agreed to and panicking.

"Oh my goodness gracious!" you stressed out loud, "what even am I going to wear! Im going to look ridiculous- I don't know a single soul there! What if I make a fool of myself?!"

Your thoughts battles for longer than you would like them to eventually grabbing a paper riddled with measurements no longer needed and started writing pros and cons of visiting Anne.

Pros: Cons:

Meeting new people! Showing up alone

Can make friends Looking like a buffoon!

New possible clients

Deducting that embarrassment is temporary, your cons list could easily be eradicated by breaking out of your shell and talking to others. Plus, Anne would be there and she was your friend... kinda? You considered her a friend but was unsure if she felt the same way. Well, she did invite you to visit her tonight, at the very least she will introduce you to her friends! There shouldn't be a worry.

With your mind finally set you heard the clock strikes four. Ashamed of how long you let your thoughts get the better of you, you got back to work. The task was to complete a keepsake blanket from a wedding. You created the dress for the newlywed, sitting for hours with her finding the perfect materials and creating patterns and designs for her. In the family, it was a tradition to create a quilt from the dress of the bride using the grooms suit as a border. All the pieces were cut and you could not wait to sew them together and create a stunning memento.

Chapter 2 <3

you knocked on a door two streets over from your shop. A short lady opened the door raising an eyebrow.

"And who might you be?"

"Im Annes... friend," you tried. "She comes to me for her outfits and graciously offered me the opportunity to come a view her performance tonight."

The lady's gaze hardened, staring at you intensely.

"It looks like I have got the wrong place then, I am so sorry to waste your time," you stammered taking a step back away from the door.

"Oh Mimzy! You mustn't be giving anyone trying to see me a hard time now!" Anne's bubbly voice spoke from behind the short lady who must be Mimzy. "Y/N is a good friend of mine! Works far too hard for me and deserves a break, plenty of time to relax!"

Mimzy bursted into a smile and reached for a hug. "of course! Welcome! Sorry for being all prude- just had to makee sure you weren't anyone coming tottery and ruin what I've got going for me here" she drawled.

"No ma'am of course not! Im just here to watch my friends performance then I'll be outta your hair, away from your 'do," you explained to Mimzy while she dragged you from the door to the bar.

"Nonsense my dear! Please have a drink and stay awhile!" you sat at the bar with Mimzy talking about how difficult it was to be a female business owner. No one takes you lot seriously!

The lights dimming and shinning on stage caught the room's attention effectively hushing all conversation. Anne sauntered to the center of the stage, dress shimmering. You recognized it as the most recent dress that you crafted for Anne. It was stunning on her.

"My oh my! Look at the handiwork that went into making that dress. Must of taken days!" a familiar voice chipped. You were unable to put a name to the voice but luckily Mimzy did it for you.

"Alastor," Goodness! The radio broadcaster! You had always loved his voice, you would have his station playing while sewing- waiting patiently for songs to end just to hear him speak. "Our dear friend Y/N made that specifically for our lovely Anne!" Mimzy exclaimed.

She admired your work while Anne sung and waltzed around the stage. You were incredibly proud of your work. Every detail of that dress took so much time and effort and turned out beautifully. The fringe was all hand cut, the lace took countless hours of stitching for the perfect design and finally the beads. Each bead had to be placed individually in the right spot on the dress to shimmer. It was a fine dress indeed.

"Y/N, how would you like to make dresses and suits for the rest of those who preform for me?" As soon as the song ended Mimzy had dropped the question, ensuring she wouldn't tale any attention away from Anne.

"Oh my! Why I would be honored and ecstatic to! Thank you so much for the opportunity Mimzy!" You were so excited! Sure the flapper dresses were hard work and time consuming, but now, seeing how they looked on a stage, in front of an audience, made you realize you didn't mind all the time and effort it took into making them.

Mimzy left her seat in an excited hurry to go get paperwork for you.

"You know," the broadcaster- Alastor leaned over Mimzy's now empty seat, "she goes on and on about how beautiful Annes dresses on stage are." The comment caused you to blush but he continued, grabbing your hand gently. "I must agree with her, although the lady behind the creation of this wonderful attire is much more beautiful than what she creates."

With that Alastor kissed the back of your hand with his lips. You were speechless.

Mimzy came back with paperwork and Alastor smiled at you. The three of you spent hours conversing, telling both jokes and stories.

"Oh my!" You glanced at the nearest clock- almost one in the morning. "I have got to get going! I have to open the shop in the morning."

"Do you ever take days off darling?" Alastor asked softly.

"Only Sundays. No one is out on Sundays!"

"Goodness! -at least let me walk you home. You know its not safe for a lovely person such as yourself to be out alone this late."

"Are you sure? I don't want to inconvenience you at all Alastor."

"Of course I'm sure dear, its not an inconvenience if its you." The words were rolling off his tongue and you blushed so hard it could have matched his vest.

"Your performance was amazing Anne! You are so talented, I have definitely been missing out, I am going to come back to watch you! " Enthusiasm and pride towards your friend took over. You wanted to let her know what you thought before you suddenly ran off.

"Thank you for coming out tonight for me. Sure was nice seeing a friend in the crowd!" A jittery wave of happiness washed through you at her last statement.

"Im so glad to hear you enjoyed yourself!" Mimzy gushed to you giving a farewell hug. "Blessed to know you'll be coming back doll."

"Of course! You have an amazing place Mimzy. This is a pleasant change of scenery compared to what I'm used to!"

With your goodbyes concluded you walked out the door arm in arm with Alastor.

[happyandticklish]

Sore Loser

Notes: Commission for @ultimatelee19 Thank you so much for commissioning! It’s been a while since I’ve spent any time in the Legend of Korra fandom, so it was fun to get to revisit it for this piece. I hope you enjoy ^^

Summary: After several losses in the Pro-Bending Arena, Bolin is anxious to prove his worth amongst their group. Meanwhile, Korra shows him the hard way that sometimes it’s okay to lose.

“You know you’re gonna lose, right?”

The field was clear save the two of them. They had snuck out hours before Mako had even had a chance to wake up for their usual training, and the hint of pink in the sky was the only indicator that it was morning at all. There was something nice about being out this early, the only creatures awake as the rest of the world slumbered. It was a peaceful feeling. Korra, however, was never very good at accustoming herself to times of peace.

Perhaps this is why she had been so easily persuaded by Bolin to come and spar before their next competition in the Pro-Bending Arena, even if she felt a bit uneasy about it. He hadn’t said anything, but she could tell he was nervous about their upcoming competition. Their last few fights hadn’t gone very well for them, but he especially had been off his game. Nothing to worry about, really, but it could be if he got in his head about it. Most likely, this was just an excuse to get a win under his belt in order to ease his nerves. Not that he would ever admit it—hence the attitude.

Korra raised an eyebrow at him, adjusting her stance. “Is that so? Well then, I look forward to my swift defeat, since you’re so cocky. It’s a risky move, going up against the Avatar alone.”

Bolin scoffed, but his fists clenched by his sides. “Please. ‘The Avatar’. You’re also reckless and undisciplined.”

“Undisciplined? As opposed to you?”

“Obviously.” A grin made its way to his features and she relaxed a little at the easy banter. “I’ve worked myself to the bone for years on training.”

“So have I.”

“In general, maybe,” he conceded. “A typical jack of all trades, whereas I am a master of earthbending. Which is why for tonight, I challenge you, oh great Avatar—a battle, earthbending style! If you use any other elements, you’re disqualified.”

Korra considered the proposition for a moment. An easy handicap, even still. She knew it might be better for Bolin’s ego if she lost, but Korra had never historically been a great loser. If he wanted a challenge, he was going to get one.

She smirked, trying not to enjoy how her words made the cocky expression on Bolin’s face waver. “Alright. You’re on. Just try not to be too disappointed when you lose.”

“I could say the same to you.” The ground under them rumbled, and Korra yelped as she just barely jumped back in time to avoid a cluster of rocks that had nearly toppled her from underneath. “Careful.”

Korra laughed, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. “Oh, you’re in for it now.”

With that, the battle was on. For a while, Korra tried to play the long game and keep her attacks careful and coordinated, opting more for defense than anything else. Bolin, on the other hand, lashed out with a determination that was only serving to make him sloppy. His lunges were too quick, his strikes too sudden, and his words were tinged with frustration as he attempted to keep up the same arrogant banter as before. Heneeded to just relax if he was going to get a hit in, let alone win.

Bolin ducked forward suddenly with a fist that was evaded as she grabbed onto his arm. He struggled against her fruitlessly for a moment and her eyes widened with an idea as a smirk slowly took over her features.

Bingo.

“You know, maybe it’s time to get a bit more up close and personal,” she said, gripping his arm and using his own weight to flip him down to the ground. He grunted as his back hit the earth and she threw a leg over him in his distraction, one of his arms still captured in hers. “Take a more offensive stance, perhaps?”

“What are you talking about—gah! K-Korra!”

Bolin’s words were cut off by a strangled yelp as Korra’s fingers skittered over his stomach, poking and prodding occasionally to great effect. Bolin’s face, already red from exhaustion, pinkened as his features scrunched up in defiance. Tickling. Perhaps cheating in an official fight, but for now it came with the side benefit of always working to relax Bolin. After all, if she could knock him out of his weird mood and win the fight all in one, where was the harm there?

Bolin was squirming underneath her, giggling up a storm as she managed to slip a hand under his shirt to get at bare skin. “N-Naha knock it off! This is cheheheating!”

“I fail to remember you ever specifically banning tickling as an option.” Korra vibrated her hands into his ribs and Bolin shrieked, lurching out of her grip suddenly and scrambling to get away. She clucked her tongue, dusting off her hands as she stood up. “Bad move, my friend. I’m afraid you’re still wide open.”

She ran after him, throwing herself at his back in an unskilled but effective attack. The momentum carried them both forward, and they tumbled to the ground in a clumsy roll. Before Bolin could gather his bearings, she pulled her fist up, forming a rock foundation around him that effectively covered and pinned him to the ground. The rock formed makeshift stocks for his feet, and his hands were encased in stone raised far above his head. Bolin struggled fruitlessly against the bonds, but with his hands trapped, there was no way out. Korra strolled over, stretching her arms above her head before taking a seat by his feet.

“You have been awfully strung out all week now. I think it’s a high time that you take a moment to sit back and actually relax. And—” she held his toes back, scribbling her fingers over his bare arch. “If you’re not gonna do that on your own, then I’ll take it on myself to help you out.”

Bolin threw his head back in wild laughter, his other foot dancing around wildly in the stead of his trapped one. “W-Wait Korrahaha! I’m fine, j-just—shit, n-not tihihickling!”

“Yes tickling,” she said, digging her fingers under his toes to a torrent of frantic giggles. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing to yourself all week.”

“What—not the other fohohohoot!!”

“You lose a couple of fights and get all in your head about it,” Korra continued, ignoring his protests. Her fingers spidered over his arches, pausing occasionally to scritch under his toes in a manner that she knew from experience made him go crazy. “That’s not the Bolin I know. No, the Bolin I know would use those losses as encouragement to do better—to train, not whatever pity party this is.”

The corners of Bolin’s mouth made an attempt to turn down in indignation, but the tickling was quickly sapping all of the venom and frustration out of him. He shrieked when she moved up to his thighs suddenly. His clothing got in the way a tad, but she was able to pinch up and down the area in a manner that seemed just as effective, if not more so, than if his skin had been bare. “And challenging me to dumb fights at some crazy hour of the morning before a competition is not ‘training’. You need rest. You need diligence. You need to stop beating yourself up about this.”

Bolin shook his head back and forth, his legs jerking against the stone. Out of curiosity, she tried scribbling her fingers over his inner thighs and the sound he let out at that seemed to indicate that the strategy was worth continuing. “It tihihickles though!”

“Mm, and I know how much you hate tickling.” Korra raised a brow and Bolin’s cheeks flushed red. It wasn’t something that he advertised, per se, but it wasn’t hard for anyone who witnessed these moments to tell that he was enjoying himself. “Listen, man, we’ve all had bad days. You think I got where I am by winning every fight I’m in or always nailing new skills first try? You think Mako did? You practice. You study. And you don’t let one defeat get in your head.”

He shrieked when she moved her hands up under his arms suddenly, tugging desperately at his hands. “Okahahay okahahay I get it! Just p-please gihive me a breheheak!”

Korra considered it for a moment, continuing to trace idle circles under his arms as she did, much to Bolin’s chagrin. “Okay, I’ll consider it. Considering…”

Bolin whimpered underneath her, his face scrunched up in an intense expression of concentration. As his skin was still protected by his clothing, the tickling wasn’t as intense as it could be. She glanced down, however, to notice that his shirt had ridden up in the tussle, revealing a sliver of his stomach—historically, his worst spot. Perhaps it was time to really show Bolin exactly what happens to teammates who underestimate themselves.

She placed her hands on his stomach, sliding them slowly under his shirt as she did. She bit back a grin when Bolin visibly jumped. “Here’s the deal. We have about a half hour till Mako wakes up and starts to wonder where we are. Either you admit that you’re a good fighter and that it’s okay to make mistakes, or I tickle your stomach until he finds us—your choice.”

With that, she descended into a frenzy of scribbling and poking fingers all over his stomach that left Bolin a wheezing mess under her. He arched his body back against his bonds, but there was no escaping rock. He probably could have used his bending to get out, but bending required a certain focus that tickling left no room for.

In the end, Bolin held out for another five or ten minutes until Korra discovered that his naval was a hotspot of nerves that broke down his pride in a matter of seconds. And while Bolin complained and muttered indignantly while he caught his breath when she finally set him loose, the happy flush to his cheeks revealed the truth of how much he had needed to be able to let go.

Next time, Korra just hoped he asked instead of making her endure the horror of being awake at four in the morning.

[hanasnx]

profighter!anakin

WARNINGS: sfw | no established relationship | reader has a date/situationship | maybe a little ooc for the sake of the au but i tried my very best to maintain characterization | reader is mentioned to wear a dress and black heels and has shaven legs | blood mention | your date has he/him pronouns | anakin pressures you a bit | this fighting league has almost no rules | action and boxing violence.

You and your situationship were supposed to have date night tonight, and you were excited for something romantic. Instead, your date enthusiastically shows you the tickets he won to a pro fighting match that’s supposed to be "the match of the season." You are uninterested, doesn’t matter if it’s front row seats.

Nevertheless, you try to be a good sport about it, and decide to go because you don’t want your night to be totally ruined. It's just not a sport that’s ever hooked you.

Your company for the night can't believe their stroke of good luck, exclaiming how you can "smell the sweat from here" as if that'll somehow appeal to you. Unexpectedly, what does appeal to you is the fighter that comes in announced. Youngest in the league, hotshot ANAKIN SKYWALKER from the dunes of Tattooine is introduced and he’s cute. Cuter than you thought these guys would be. You’d think from the hits to the face these guys take, Anakin would look like a sandbag but instead he’s gorgeous. You don’t dwell on it really, you barely watch the match while your date screams next to you at fouls and ref calls. It's a while of you staring at the stringy black heels you wear. The crowd stirs, and Anakin gets kicked out of the ring, landing right at your feet.

You're startled, and before you lean forward to help, he picks himself up by his fists on the floor. The expanse of his muscled back widens with each heave, and a mix of drool and blood spatter the ground underneath his head. He inclines his head up, hazy eyes trail up your smooth crossed legs in a black dress, so close you can feel his hot pant against your skin, and you freeze as he meets your gaze. He grins- a dopey, toothy grin. Cheeky as if he wasn’t just thrown out of the ring. The scar along his temple has reopened, blood trickling his face.

Hastily, the staff picks him up off the floor but he keeps looking at you. Lulling, intoxicated from adrenaline and brain-fog; he winks at you. Your date notices and even though you dismiss it your heart is fluttering. Your date is considerably less enthused for his favorite boxer Anakin Skywalker.

When the next round starts, Anakin will not stop looking at you. You’re embarrassed about it—looking anywhere but him—but he’s determined to nab your attention.

Lazily, he dodges his opponents strikes. Your eyes widen. What once didn’t interest you, interests you greatly, gesturing to him to focus on his opponent but he scoffs in response to your external expression of worry for him.

A glance to his contender, and it's clear he's running out of steam. He's an older gentleman, and Anakin is too swift for him. The rounds have dragged on long enough, it's time to finish it. Yet, Anakin takes the opportunity to single you out. That unwavering eye contact breaks as he motions to himself, following his hand with his gaze. As if to say, "You like what you see? Am I doin' alright?" Now painfully unaware of the company you keep, you chuckle about it and shake your head at him.

He tilts his head. A playful countenance about him before he's rudely awakened by a lunge from his opponent who's caught his breath. Anakin blocks a fatal blow to the neck, and jabs his padded knuckles into the nose, knocking him back. It's well placed because red blood pours from the orifice and Anakin shoves him back to give himself some wiggle room. His finger points to you, another signal to ensure you're paying him mind, and to convey who his next move is for. The circumstance distracts the enemy, and Anakin seizes it. The flat of young Skywalker's foot smacks against his temple. The fluid from his nose spatters against the mat as he tumbles to the ground cold. Showcasing his arrogance, Anakin doesn't bother waiting for the ref to count, and leans against the rope on your side. Deft fingers brush through his jaw-length sweaty curls. In the lighting you can see how the salt sprays into the air from the act.

He completely disregards your date, and you've forgotten all about him as well. "What are you doing after this?" There's no charm to his words, no handsome smile, a question that could've just as easily been interpreted professionally. Yet a potential co-worker wouldn't have implied he'd knocked a guy out for your affection.

Somehow, you feel comfortable with him already. "Going home." you answer honestly. There's no way you'd be persuaded to go to your situationship's place after this.

Anakin bows his head to eye you down through his brows, a curl to his lips. "No, you're not." Definitive phrase that causes a defiance to flare up in your chest. It dulls as that crystalline gaze drinks in your form once more. "Looking like that?"

You open your mouth to interject, the need to continue entertaining him driving your thoughts, but you're cut off by your own warning. "Behind you!"

Just in time, thanks to you, Anakin pivots on his heel. His newly rejuvenated opponent giving it all he's got in one, good punch. A yelp emits from you before you even realize you cared that much, rising from your seat to watch Anakin's back collide with the mat, skidding across it. He rolls out of the way when his enemy stomps onto the space he occupied mere seconds ago. As close as you can get, you take it, and before you know it you're shouting with the rest of the crowd, cheering Anakin on to overcome it.

He's able to land on his feet, but he stays evading. Infuriating side-steps that rouse you like nothing else.

"Hit him!" you call, and Anakin regards you with a furtive glance. As if he was waiting to hear your voice.

He lets the guy back him up to the ropes, dodging his jabs quicker than you thought possible. Since you're near to him now, he shouts over his shoulder, "When I finish the match, you'll come with me to the after-party. Deal?"

Your date's had enough, grabbing hold of your shoulder, finally reminding you of his presence.

Anakin takes your silence and puts his enemy into a hold. "Deal?" he reiterates, more urgently this time. He won't let you dwell on it too long and he doesn't want your date getting in the way of what you choose.

The audience exclaims its disapproval for Anakin stalling, and the pressure of it gets to you knowing you're the reason for the hindrance. You push your date's hand off. "Deal!" The reply coming off more desperate than you meant it to.

Not another second passes before Anakin throws his enemy off, and pitches a right cross so mean it should be illegal. Using his own momentum against him, there's no question as to why his body drops to the ground like dead weight. Your ears go deaf from the sound of the crowd, covering them to protect them from the pain while your date excuses himself out and you watch Anakin's back heave in violent pants, letting the referee raise his thick and swollen arm to the sky in victory.

[red-riding-wood]

I’m so sorry about what happened to you and so many others. Disgusting misogynistic behavior. You all deserve so much better ):.

Also sending this bc I do believe he has made two new accounts. Drcranessweetestdoe and monsterfromthewoods. I have no proof these are him ,but it just strikes an absurd resemblance to his writing and he seemed to interact with both of them a few weeks ago. The first one hasn’t blogged in weeks either. Just seems strange. Once again though, I could be wrong. Just something for everyone to stay weary about. Stay safe ❤️

Thank you for the well wishes, anon! I really do appreciate you reaching out. <3

From my conversations with @drcranessweetestdoe, she does not behave like Kill (nor does her writing style compare to his), and I am pretty positive he is incapable (or at least very bad) at taking on different personalities since I believe I witnessed his attempt with the second account you mentioned. Aurora is very sweet, and she used to be a fan of Kill's writing and mine. I don't want people to be suspecting her of foul play because I do believe she is genuine. Kill has a pattern of reblogging fics as a way of seeing what victims he can latch onto and I see that as a coincidence with his reblog of Monster's.

As for @monsterfromthewoods... I was hesitant to make a callout, mainly because no one has actual solid proof that he is Kill. But, there is too much evidence for me to ignore, and I wanted to give my honest opinion and observations. Monster, if you are not this person, feel free to reach out and vouch for yourself, and if I am wrong, I am deeply sorry.

Fuck that. As I was typing this message up, I decided to check my DMs and noticed that my friend had said that he gave her the same name that, as of this morning, was revealed to me as his actual name along with his real picture and Facebook profile. That really sealed the deal for me. Here is the rest of my evidence to prove that this is "Kill":

Monster followed my friend around the same time that she blocked Kill.

Monster followed me the same day that I sent Kill a confrontational message, calling him out for his lies and pleading with him one last time for medical treatment and answers.

From the posts on Monster's account, and the one comment I know he made on my friend's post, his personality exactly fits Kill's. This is why I said I do not think he is capable or likely to be able to craft a believable persona.

Monster made a post about suicide, and a pro-Palestine post, the former of which Kill discussed with me a lot and the latter my friend pointed out as suspicious since Kill was also very strongly pro-Palestine. Seeing as Monster doesn't have that many posts yet on his blog, this isn't irrefutable evidence but it is very coincidental.

Lastly, I actually did my best to analyse and compare Kill and Monster's writing, since I had recalled a few things that stuck out to me when I read Kill's writing. Him and Monster share many similarities with their writing habits/consistencies. They are as follows (the examples listed are from 18+ content so please do not view if you are a minor):

Use periods and exclamation marks -- but never commas -- as punctuation to end dialogue tags.

Starter dialogue tag always facing outward. Like: ”So... Tight”

Tend to each use a snapshot style of writing, favouring incomplete sentences with frequent use of periods. Examples: K: "His mind, usually so sharp. Focused and organized like the most expensive machines. A killing machine, that worked in perpetual motion, living off killing, adrenaline used like a drug." M: "Your dear, understanding doctor. Doctor Jonathan Crane, who laughed out loud suddenly a couple moments ago. The dark colour covering his exotic looking eyes as he revealed his real nature to you."

Similarly, they both tend to avoid using possessive pronouns and determiners. Examples: K: "_ Pale, little pussy peaked from between her thighs." M: "The scars covering _ man's pale skin," _ = absence of "her, that, the," etc.

Often use adverbs after verbs in a way that feels out of place.

Capitalise after ellipses, always.

"Y/n" always has a lowercase "n".

Sometimes use three ellipses, often use only two.

Use "pants" but never "trousers".

Yeah, so, I may have spent way too much time on this. And I think most of this is redundant, now, especially after the name revelation, but still, I put work into it and didn't want it to go to complete waste lmao. I also had no idea until I was tagged today that apparently there are programs that do this sort of thing for you. Oops.

[riaraa]

Analyzing the Kiara and Rafe Moments in "Outer Banks: Dead Break" by Jay Coles

Over the weekend, I read the book Outer Banks: Dead Break by Jay Coles. I bought this book because I was happy to see that we would be getting a story from Kiara’s POV and I found early excerpts for the book that name-dropped Rafe as one of the competitors in the surf competition that Kiara signs up for. As a riara shipper, I had to read it to see if there would be any interactions between them (and I was not disappointed)! 

Fellow riara fans, enjoy!

This post is GIANT, so everything is below the line!

Summary of the Book from the Dustjacket:

The waves are off the hook, and Pope and the other Pogues are betting big on Kiara blowing the Kook competition out of the water. What could possibly go wrong? It's summer in the OBX, and a big surfing competition is bringing in pro surfers from around the world to Kildare Island, along with plenty of Kooks and tourists. Meanwhile, a storm has delivered massive waves, making for perfect—yet challenging-surfing conditions. But Kiara, who has been training, is up for the challenge. As for Pope, he just started his summer internship at the city morgue—his dream job! When Kiara strikes up a flirtation with one of the pro surfers, Pope, John B, and JJ can't help but get a little jealous at the attention she receives. Meanwhile, the visiting surfers are treating Pope's dad, Heyward, like some kind of hero, but he won't explain why. When one of the professional surfers washes up dead on the beach, everyone assumes he got crushed by a wave. But Pope, Kiara, and the rest of the Pogues aren't so sure…

Quoted Moments and My Thoughts:

“The sound of heavy metal rips through the air. Rafe Cameron drives onto the sand in his expensive Jeep, multiple surfboards hanging out the back. I shake my head as he parks, pulls his t-shirt off, and heads toward the water, board at his side.” (Page 32)

Rafe's first mention is during Kiara's POV when she is at the beach with a professional surfer named Gabriel who came to OBX for the surfing competition. Is it now canon that Rafe is a heavy metal fan? Because I was NOT expecting that, but I totally love it. I like that the author wrote that he drives a Jeep, because that's what I have him drive in my riara fics (I can't remember if it's canon in the show or not). Kiara doesn't say much about Rafe in her thoughts during this moment but she saw him shirtless (which he only is once in the show I think), so a win is a win in my book.

“I’d heard that Rafe was planning to enter the competition, too. Ward has probably bought Rafe lessons with the best surf instructors money could buy from the time he could walk. He’s a decent surfer, but next to Cole [a professional surfer who is in OBX for the surf competition] and Darren [a professional surfer who is in OBX for the surf competition], he looks like a littel kid beside giants. I hope that’s not how I’ll look next to the pros in a few days. Unlike Rafe, I am entirely self-taught.” (Page 32)

I find this moment interesting because despite both being rich and living on Figure 8, Rafe and Kiara live very different lives. A big plot point in this book is how her parents don't support her dreams of becoming a professional surfer and I find it interesting that Ward is supporting Rafe's because that doesn't seem like something he would do in the show. It makes me think Rafe wasn't as bad at this point with his mental illness and drug abuse. I also like that the author used Rafe as a talking point for Kiara to compare herself to, no matter how small (we are hardly scratching the surface here), because I think there is a lot to compare between them as characters.

“I see Ward and Rafe Cameron saunter in [to The Wreck, where Kiara is waitressing] and join Darren and Alan’s [Darren’s manager] table. By the time I bring Alan and Darren their (raw) oysters, Ward is deep into his pitch for Alan to take on Rafe as a client. I try to listen in. I gotta admit, I’m jealous [...] it must be nice to have a parent who supports your dreams.” (Page 43)

This paragraph expands on my above thoughts. I find it super interesting that both Rafe and Kiara have dreams of becoming professional surfers. The rest of the Pogues aren't the same way. JJ even states, "This is why I don't think surfing should be competitive. It's all about the experience, not the medals." (Page 8). Which makes Kiara and Rafe the two competitors of characters we know that have the same dreams with surfing, and Kiara even states that, knowingly. It's also fascinating to me that Kiara would admit to being jealous of Rafe and his relationship with Ward, because once the canon of the show begins, we definitely know that would all go down the drain.

“Not only do I feel like a failure, but I also embarrassed myself in front of everyone: Gabriel, my friends, Sarah, Rafe and people from school. The entire island just saw me royally screw up. They all saw that my parents are right, surfing is a waste of my time. I’m no better than Rafe, another Kook wannabe who’s never going to travel the world surfing professionally.” (Page 86)

This moment takes place after Kiara falls off her surfboard during the competition. I just like that she name dropped Rafe, because you would usually think he is irrelevant to her, but right now, it matters to her that he saw her wipe out. AND THEN, she compares herself to him. Although, this comparison confuses me. She calls Rafe a Kook wannabe, when he is the Kookiest-of-all-Kooks. Does she think on some level he is pretending with his life status, like she is? And then she groups herself in with him, never going anywhere with their shared dream of becoming professional surfers.

And later on, in Pope's POV, JJ texts him saying, "Rafe fell almost as soon as he stood on his board. He drove off so fast he left his fancy surfboard behind." (Page 92). This makes me wonder why the author had Kiara and Rafe parallel each other even further by having them both fall during the competition and then storming off in anger over their failure.

“Rafe is here for questioning. He’s under eighteen, which means the police aren't allowed to ask him anything without a parent present.” (Page 121)

This moment is from Pope's POV, but I thought it was interesting enough to note. He says Rafe is under eighteen years old, but this since this is the summer after Kiara's Kook Year where she was a freshman at the Kook Academy, that means Rafe is either a school year younger in this story compared to show canon, or his birthday is really late in the year for his age. So, I am assuming he is seventeen in the current timeline of this story, while the Pogues are fifteen. Although John B is old enough to drive the Twinkie, so it must be passed July for him to be sixteen. Overall, this make's it a canon timeline where Rafe and Kiara's age difference is two years, instead of three.

“Kie’s the sort of person who gives everyone the benefit of the doubt, who believes that deep down, no one is beyond redemption.” (Page 128)

This is another moment from Pope's POV that I thought was really sweet. I think it is a great note about Kiara as a character. Pope later then notes that Kiara is looking at Sarah like she did something horrible (the Pogues don't know what happened between them, like in the show) and despite what Sarah did, Kiara forgives her. It makes me wonder how her and Rafe's relationship would pan out if they talked more.

On Page 154, when the Pogues (plus Gabriel, the surfer who Kiara has a crush on) are trying to figure out what happened to Cole (a professional surfer who was found murdered and also Gabriel's best friend), Kiara simultaneously defends and condemns Rafe when they look into going to him for answers since he was at the beach where Cole got murdered the morning before it happened. Rafe had gone to the police with Ward to tell them everything he knew and Pope overheard, but the Pogues think he is hiding something.

Defending: “Unless [Rafe] was lying," I interject. "Think about it: Ward was trying to get Darren’s manager to represent Rafe. Ward would never let Rafe say anything that might turn Alan against him—and implicating Alan’s star client [Darren] in a murder is hardly a way to stay on Alan’s good side.” Condemning: “In fact, maybe that’s why Rafe told the police he’d been surfing at the Evergreen Bayou to begin with—so that he could specifically say that he hadn’t seen Darren there. Maybe Rafe thought that protecting Alan’s star client would get Alan to rep him, despite his mediocre surfing skills.”

The way Kiara phrases how Ward and Rafe went to the police is important and shows she is much more observant than she thinks. She says that Ward would never let Rafe say anything. She has already noted the control Ward has over Rafe. She defends Rafe in this moment saying he might have not been able to say anything that he knows because Ward is more worried about his shot with Alan as a manager.

She then gives Rafe the power in the scenario by saying he might have thought that protecting Darren would give him a shot at having Alan as a manager. I find it interesting that she thought of Rafe in both ways.

Pages 174-185 are a GOLD MINE for riara shippers. During this sequence, Kiara infiltrates a Kook party to find Rafe and lure him outside so that the Pogues (and Gabriel) can interrogate him about the murder of Cole. I have noted my favorite passages:

“Okay, then how’re we going to get Rafe?” “We’re not going to get him,” I correct. “I am.” (Page 174)

The Pogues had pulled up to a party where they know all the Kooks are, but haven't figured out how to get Rafe. When JJ asks how they are going to do it, Kiara volunteers herself. When I tell you I almost passed out when reading this moment because I was so excited! So dramatic!

“The fact that this party is exactly the same as the one I went to months ago means I know exactly where to find Rafe. Rafe doesn’t go for plastic cups and cheap beer. He’ll be upstairs, in Ryan’s dad’s study. Last fall, Ryan called it the ‘inner sanctum’ and invited Sarah and me there.” (Page 176)

Once again, Kiara keeps noting things about Rafe that you would think she wouldn't care to remember. To me, this shows how observant of him she was during her time at the Kook Academy. And I want to know what happened when Kiara and Sarah would party alongside him!

“But at least tonight, I'm turning the power dynamic around, using the fact that [the Kook guys at the party] see me as an object, as pleasing to the eye as wall sconces and chandeliers against them. I’m using it to get what I want. And what I want is for Rafe to leave with me. Just the thought—I want Rafe to leave with me—is enough to make me gag…” (Page 179)

And what I want is for Rafe to leave with me. I AM SCREAMING, WHAT IN THE FANFIC. I love how disgusted over it Kiara is. She is a girl on a mission.

“I see Rafe and walk over to him. I can already smell the alcohol on him, like a strong odor, which tells me he’s been drinking for a while. It’s not unusual for Rafe; I’ve known him long enough to know that this is how he forgets he is Ward’s son.” (Page 179)

This paragraph made my jaw DROP. First off, it's sad to see how drunk Rafe is and then KIARA SAYS WHY HE DRINKS LIKE HE DOES. It's because of Ward and he wants to forget. She knows this information about him and I want to know how and why! It shows even further how observant she is of him. She has noted things that others fail to see. And this is why I think their relationship dynamic is important and interesting.

“Hi, Rafe,’ I say. “Hi . . . Kie,’ Rafe says (well, slurs).” (Page 179)

HE CALLS HER KIE! But, what was that pause? Did Rafe need a moment to remember who she was? Or was it surprise at seeing her? I NEED TO KNOW. I am interpreting it as surprise at seeing her and this part also emphasizes even more how drunk Rafe is; if he is slurring a simple "hi" and name.

"I sit on the shiny leather couch beside Rafe and ask if I can have a sip of his drink. He hands me a crystal tumbler etched with diamond shapes. I take a sip of the brown liquid, recognizing the flavor of good Kentucky bourbon, but I act like I’ve never had something so strong before. Rafe laughs as I pretend to have trouble swallowing. "We can get you something more your speed, little girl," he promises.” (Pages 179-180)

Rafe is WHIPPED. Immediately handing over his drink when she asks? Also, how cute, they have the same taste in alcohol lol.

AND THEN HE CALLS HER LITTLE GIRL? LIKE SIR WHAT? I seriously need to know what was going through the authors mind when he chose that pet name. In this story, Rafe is at most 2 years older than Kiara so it's not like he is way older than her or something.

“Then he literally snaps at a girl sitting on the other side of the coffee table to pass me her drink.” (Page 180)

Like, damn Rafe show your favoritism some more, please? LOL. So demanding when Kiara is in need (and this is demonstrated in show canon, too, with the entire trapped in Singh's mansion plot-line).

“I sip my sticky drink and lean into Rafe, sneaking a peek at his hand. He has two pair. ‘Fold,” I whisper. “Why?” I nod at Ryan across the table. “Ryan’s got something big.” “How can you tell?” “See the way he’s tapping his thigh?” Rafe nods. “He did it in algebra last semester when he cheated on his test. He knew he was going to get an A no matter what.” Rafe looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. I can feel his gaze taking in my tank top and short shorts.” (Page 180)

This is like the longest and most normal conversation Rafe and Kiara have and it literally melts my heart. They are just playing poker together and THEN we get the trope of character A looking at character B and seeing them for the first time after a pivotal moment in their relationship?? Thank you Jay Coles (author)! Also, Rafe is turned on by a smart woman, confirmed!

“Whatever the lady says,” he promises, placing his cards facedown on the table. When Ryan reveals a full house, Rafe gives me a high five.” (Page 181)

Can you see Rafe initiating a hive five with anyone? This is so heartwarming to me that he wanted to high five her out of genuine excitement. I would love to see Drew Starkey and Madison Bailey act of this entire scene, it would be so entertaining.

“Looks like I found my lucky charm,” he says. “Kiara Carrera, the half-Kook wonder.” I pretend being called a half Kook doesn’t offend me. That’s how Rafe and his friends thought of me for the year I went to school with them: not entirely a Pogue or a Kook.” (Page 181)

First off, it's so cute that he calls her his lucky charm. BUT THEN I like the deep dive into Kiara's character here. I'm surprised she is offended by something Rafe said, but it goes to show how the half-life she is living really effects her. She is adamant she is a Pogue, yet still feels in-between. And it's interesting that she notes that Rafe had previous thoughts about her. Did he explicitly tell her this, or was this something she concluded based on his actions? I wish she expanded more on her thoughts to give concrete evidence. Because that means that she and Rafe must have communicated at least a little bit during her Kook Year and I want to know it all!

“I advise Rafe for a couple more hands. But on the fourth hand, when he has three of a kind, I tell Rafe, “Go all in.” He grins at me. “Whatever my lucky charm says.” I have to keep myself from shuddering when he refers to me as his anything. Rafe pushes all his chips into the center of the table. Ryan calls. Rafe doesn't notice that Ryan's tapping his thigh again.” (Page 181)

Rafe is so oblivious to Kiara's actually feelings and I think it's so funny. He is just having a good time. Also, I love that it's canon in the show and this book that he grins at Kiara. I also think it's interesting how Kiara makes note that Rafe isn't noticing the clues she pointed out earlier. Is it because he is drunk?

"Crap!" Rafe shouts, throwing his cards down. He turns to me angrily. "Why'd you tell me to go all in?" I swallow the urge to point out that he has no right to be angry at me. I was just giving him advice; I'm not actually a magic lucky charm. But instead I say, "Look on the bright side." "What bright side?" Rafe pouts. “Now we can get out of here.” Rafe’s scowl twists into a smile as he catches my meaning. He grabs my hand and pulls me up to stand, like I’m a prize instead of an actual person.” (Pages 181-182)

I honestly wish Kiara could have called him out, because I would love to know his reaction, but I understand she had to keep playing along to accomplish her goal. BUT! We have a full confirmation that Rafe has the hots for Kiara!!!

“No way,” I shake my head. “I’m not hooking up where anyone could walk in. Your sister’s around. You know what she’ll say if she sees us together?” I make a face like I’m horrified. “I don’t care what she says.” (Page 182)

I think it's an interesting note that Rafe doesn't care about Sarah's thoughts on him and Kiara.

“I lead Rafe down the stairs and out the front door, rolling my eyes as soon as my back is turned. Boys like him are so easy.” (Page 182)

In this entire book, I do not remember a time where Rafe's love life is brought up. The Pogues joke about Topper and how he messed around with every Kook girl before getting with Sarah, but Rafe is a mystery. And, there is no mention of any girls sitting near him when Kiara found him in the study. It makes me wonder how much of this is that Rafe is easy, or that if he actually just really like Kiara.

“Where are we going, gorgeous?” Rafe asks. He holds my hand, his fingers playing on my inner wrist in a way I’m sure he thinks is sexy and suggestive. “You’ll see,” I promise and Rafe grins, his teeth white in the moonlight.” (Pages 182-183)

RIARA HOLDING HANDS!

JJ stuffs a rag in Rafe’s mouth to keep him from shouting. “Where’d you find that?” I ask. “The floor of the Twinkie,” JJ answers, which is almost enough to make me feel sorry for Rafe. I don’t think John B has ever actually cleaned the van.” (Page 183)

Kiara expresses no regret or guilt over kidnapping Rafe except that he might have a dirty ass rag in his mouth lol.

“And also? Don’t be so stupid as to leave a party with a girl who’s inexplicably interested in you after never having given you the time of day.” Rafe’s eyes go wide as it dawns on him that my flirting was all an act.” (Page 184)

Rafe has literally been gagged and thrown into the Twinkie. Is being held by Pope and JJ and JUST NOW REALIZED THAT THE FLIRTING WAS ALL FAKE? Oh yeah, he is down bad for Kiara.

"Rafe continues, his breathing slowing. “He said there wasn’t enough money in the world for him to represent me. I didn’t want my dad to know that I couldn’t close the deal with Alan.” (Page 191)

This is from Pope's POV as they interrogate Rafe, but I thought it was interesting to note that we can see bits and pieces of how much Rafe looks up to Ward and doesn't want to disappoint him, which will eventually lead to their turbulent relationship in the show.

They like to complain that I left them for Kook Academy last year (as if my parents gave me any choice in the matter), but the truth is, when they saw that I was actually making friends with some of my classmates, the guys pulled away from me, not the other way around.” (Page 194)

THIS MOMENT. This is probably the most important one in this entire book because it completely contradicts the show canon. In the show, we are meant to believe that Kiara left the Pogues in favor of her Kook friends and that is what caused a rift between them and explains why she is so loyal to them, to make up for leaving them. But, NO they left HER. This will change how I look at all of John B, JJ, and Pope's interactions with Kiara when I watch the show. She had wanted to kill herself over being at the Kook Academy, and now I wonder if she felt this way after the Pogues cut her off? My heart breaks for Kiara. Her best friends she grew up with turned their backs on her when she was forced into going to another school and happened to be friends with some of her classmates. Nobody wants to be alone at a new school. And it's probably why her relationship with Sarah hurt so much, too. Because Sarah had been her one true friend at the time, and Sarah left her, too. It changes how I view all the show dynamics, now. I wish we could dive more into Kiara's Kook year because it's such a pivotal part of her character but we only get glimpses (in the show and the book).

“[Pope] wasn’t holding Rafe tightly on purpose. He didn’t want to hurt him. Realizing that makes me love Pope more than I already do.” (Page 195)

This moment is definitely meant to focus on how Kiara admires how good of a person Pope is, but I think it can also be viewed that she didn't want Rafe to be hurt, either. And it's interesting because JJ loved hurting Rafe in this scene stating "I can do this all night and all day." as he laughs (Page 190), which probably explains why Rafe has it out for JJ n the show which leads to them fighting.

“Thanks to Rafe...” (Page 196)

This moment is so small and means nothing, but I just thought it was funny that Kiara would ever be "thanking" Rafe.

"And I'm not here to debate the finer points of toxic masculinity--" “That’s a first,” I interject, yawning. She’d somehow managed to fit in Rafe’s kidnapping.” (Page 201).

This is from Pope's POV after Kiara as snuck through his bedroom window. I just think it's funny that Kiara did use Rafe's kidnapping to give the Pogues (and by proxy, Rafe) a lesson on toxic masculinity lol.

“Tonight, I was barely home long enough to take a shower and change my clothes—my tank top and cutoffs need to be de-Rafed in the washing machine, ew…” (Pages 209-210).

AND this is the last mention of Rafe in the book and it's the funniest.

Conclusion

This book was a MAJOR win for Rafe and Kiara lovers because it confirms Rafe's liking for her further. It also gives us background on their relationship. Rafe still likes her after she lied and kidnapped him? This man is in love with her. This book further proves that the creators/writers/showrunners of OBX just love having Rafe and Kiara interact! They must see the potential if they keep teasing it! We can only hope for more moments in s4!

Let me know your thoughts! ❤️

[conductoriya]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. :* BYF + RULES!

this blog, while containing my writing, also doubles as my personal account. i post a lot about jik, hq, a-24 movies, and other things that strike my interest, but i’ll mostly be posting about my writing.

please filter the tag #jjk spoilers and #jjk leaks if you are not interested in getting spoiled!

when it comes to interactions — i'd like to kindly reiterate once again that this is an 16+ blog. if you are interested in becoming mutuals, sending messages, asks, or liking/commenting on my posts, you need to be at least 16. i check those who follow me, and blank, ageless, and underage blogs shall be promptly blocked.

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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. :* WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING!

i write only SFW currently, at most suggestive content. comments, reblogs, and asks allegedly motivate me to write more and will be highly appreciated! requests, please do not send me a whole essay, only 3 to 5 sentences is fine! some things i won't write: scat, noncon, kidnapping, piss play, vore, vomit, step-cest/incest, and more will be added as necessary. i reserve the right to refuse any kind of requests for any reason, please do not take it personally.

super busy being a very cool and tired girl working, so please be patient when it comes to updates. i write when i have the time to, but i will try my best to cover everything! nov-feb is probably when i will exhibit the most activity.

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JUJUTSU KAISEN — gojo satoru, geto suguru, shoko ieri, sukuna ryomen, megumi fushiguro, choso kamo, yuuji itadori, toge inumaki, maki zenin, nobara fushiguro, nanami kento, toji fushiguro, shiu kong, higuruma hiromi

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© CHOSOSCAMGIRL ! — do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

[hologramcowboy]

Hey. First of all I love your blog. I’ve been a fan of Jensen’s for years, like before supernatural. I know he’s far from perfect so I’ll lead with that.

I can’t stand Danneel. She’s a classic narcissist and she tries too hard to stay relevant. The way she treats not just Jensen but others around her is beyond comprehension.

Anyway, I digress. My question for you is do you think given the chance Jensen would actually leave Danneel for a “regular” person.

I mean someone not in Hollywood, not a model, just someone who is an average person.

I know there have been rumors he’s had flings, but like all rumors they can’t be confirmed without proof.

We know she’d run to the next paycheck, but I’m honestly curious what your thoughts are about him.

IMO I believe he could. I think he’d be happier with someone who knows what it’s like to just relax and enjoy the little things in life. Not the money.

Thanks and keep on blogging for us rabid readers.

First of all, thank you so much for your kind words. 🧡

As for dating a regular person, actors who are looking for serious relationships usually date outside of the Hollywood pool.

Jensen doesn’t strike me as someone who has ever known true love and that saddens me very much. Would he date a regular person? He has in the past so I’m sure he is acutely aware of the differences, the pros and the cons. He’s at a stage in his career during which he needs no one to raise his profile so if he wanted to he could steer clear of PR relationships and go for a regular person instead. But there’s a huge trust factor involved with that, said regular person would have to be trustworthy, grounded, aware of the aspects of his industry, understanding of them and be clear of the fangirl mentality. There a lot of fans out there who dream of dating someone like him but they choose obsession and infatuation and would be toxic to him. I think it’s a very thin line, especially when you are a sex symbol. It’s hard to find people that you can deeply trust, who see you for you and treat you with real respect and love as opposed to coming from obsession.

Due to his ego, I think a regular person would be highly grounding to him and would help him get in touch with his vulnerability and humanity. He needs someone objective who can empower him from a grounded place. I, personally, would love to see him date a regular person because it would allow him to get in touch with many aspects he is currently ignorant about due to living in a bubble. Sorry but that is how he comes off to me, disconnected sometimes.

I hope he finds true love, whether it’s with someone high profile or low profile. I would be very happy to see him live that and I am sure it would help him evolve in his career as well. An artist/actor is only as great as the depth they explore in real life.

[sgiandubh]

The Decay of Lying

I have made an exception for this particular IG story (https://www.instagram.com/stories/sarahholden_fit/3331637698664665001/) and downloaded it.

A story I would really like a particular troll (and her 666 sock accounts) to watch very carefully:

Particularly this snippet:

'I was not drinking champagne on a Monday afternoon, sadly, but that was very kind of Gleneagles to give us.'

LOL, indeed and LOL for days.

As usual, her way of speaking strikes me as bizarre and convoluted. If anything, those glasses rather look like white wine glasses to me, not champagne (which is also wine, really, just sparkling with some extra cachet). Either way, I do not think this single mother and fitness professional had a wee drink with her friend at noon, then picked up her boy (who is clearly mentioned in a later story) from school - DRIVING! in Scotland! in the rain! -, then went to train, kid in tow and then post it on her Instagram.

No mother would do that. No fitness pro would promote alcohol in her stories like that, even if that was visibly a typical influencer perk, graciously offered by The Gleneagles Hotel's Marketing and Sales Department (perhaps with a wee bit of help from another friend and, that much we know, longtime client?).

That lunch happened during the week-end, and I am not even sorry. Carefully separated lives, probably even friends (but nothing more) and certainly a mutually beneficial, mercantile rapport.

The thing that particular troll's crowd will never be ready to accept is their own unexplainable stupidity in buying all that poorly cobbled BS.

Second time in a row she's debunked like that. Mark me, I will start keeping tabs just for fun.

[utilitycaster]

hi, what are your thoughts on the recently announced changes to dnd classes? I'm particularly interested what you think about the new paladin and warlock since you always have very correct opinions on them.

Hi anon, I must admit I have not been keeping up with the PHB playtests; I do intend to get the updated book when it comes out but I found keeping up with every change was a lot of time I would rather spend on other things, especially since they came out very intense and have walked a lot back (some for valid reasons, some not)

I did, however, go look at Paladin and Warlock though I didn't go into depth with any subclasses.

Warlock, since that's the one I found first (Playtest 7): in terms of general progression I am always pro focusing more on invocations so having them from the start and having two more is good in my mind. I am also pro pact magic. I think it is a cool different thing and is a feature of the class; making it a normal spellcasting table was a mistake. Spell progression/cantrips/slots seem otherwise the same as the 2014 PHB, which seems reasonable.

I haven't read thorough other classes so I don't know if swapping cantrips is true of every class; I do think there should be a way to change out cantrips because sometimes you pick a bad cantrip. You shouldn't be able to prep them if you're a prepared caster (wizard, cleric, etc) but yeah I'd say levels or at least ASI levels should permit cantrip swaps.

Magical cunning is GREAT actually because that used to be a L20 feature and now it's slightly weaker and L2. Hilarious, but also I think it offers more opportunities for engaging with your patron and the RP/story that provides. Same with the Contact Patron L9 feature. Keeping Eldritch Master for the capstone is admittedly a little weak but also I'm lenient on L20 because so few people play at L20.

I think the pacts being invocations is fascinating because like, you could just be a pact boon-less jack of all trades if you really wanted, OR you could have all three, and that's funny to me. I also like that you get additional spells rather than just expanded options.

The one thing I'm not sure about is moving the subclass to L3. This works okay for paladins because paladins are like, you dedicate yourself at L1 and your powers come from your own dedication and conviction, and then you take an oath at L3. Warlocks are like...until you have a patron you are just a guy. That should be at L1.

Paladin:

Bonus action lay on hands is killer. incredible. no notes. big fan. I do think they should still be permitted to cure diseases however; basically 5 lay on hands should be a lesser restoration spell.

Simplifying spell prep is probably a good idea just in terms of time and ease but the drawback is you don't have as many cool options each night. Less of a big deal for a paladin but this would be an issue for full prepared casters, and I checked and (EDITED I FORGOT TO INSERT WHAT I MEANT TO SAY HERE) full casters get full spell prep as before so nevermind, fine for paladins.

haven't been following weapon mastery but given most characters don't swap weapons that often, seems fine.

Smites are also fine; paladins can do STUPID damage as is so limiting smites to only one per turn is not unreasonable imo.

Big fan of find steed always being prepared because I think a lot of people just don't use it because there's better spells unless it's a really important part of their character. We need more steeds.

Abjure Foes seems awesome; Radiant strikes are great also FINALLY. SORT OF SMITING ON UNARMED STRIKES.

Restoring Touch makes more sense to me than Cleansing Touch, also seems reasonable.

Broken Oath flavor text very good

Overall this seems pretty good for paladins and the only warlock thing is that I think they need to work on when you choose a subclass.

[kindathewholepoint]

A small but delightful set of JPEGs from SPN Charlotte, starting with this adorable R2M where the instruction was "We're all going to squish Robbie." What is Rich doing? No one knows! But it sure is funny.

Gather round for story time on these next few. I had decided I was going to be brave and do the leaning against the car pose for my Jensen/Baby. Go into the op thinking I'm going to tell the handler this but she walks away right when it's my turn and I'm left to deal with Jensen on my own. Strike one for me being flustered. So I tell him what I want and then get into position against the car and I'm looking down making sure my hands are in an okay spot by my sides and he goes, "No, give me your hand." I do, and he proceeds to place it on his shoulder and hold it. Strike two for me being even more flustered.

I finally look at him and he is way closer and staring way more intently than anticipated and that was strike three. My face immediately starts to break and I am just desperately trying to hold it together long enough for the two snaps and not bust out in giggles. By the time I decided I had fought it long enough I'm curled over with my head practically on his shoulder in embarrassed laughter apologizing, and he's got my arm and goes, "That was so smooth. SO smooth."

The op turned out way better than I was expecting given what it felt like in the moment, but you can definitely see in the close up that we are both trying not to laugh.

Took me a while after that op to recover myself. And then I start panicking because I had already selected another pose for my solo that involved looking him in the eye and in my head I'm thinking, "He's going to think I'm nuts trying this again."

So I go in for the solo with a reference photo and after the handler shows it to him, I walk up and go, "I'm going to keep my shit together this time." And he says, "I don't believe you." And then I proceeded to stare him down like a pro. And after the photo was done he went, "You did it! Look at you!" Yes, yes, I did, thank you very much.

Is it just me or does it look like he is staring extra intently trying to break me?

Finally, moving on to Sunday, we've got this adorable Misha/Alex with kitty ears and bouncy pumpkins. A'int we all cute?

Just one more con for this year, so a few more ops from Chicago coming soon.