#note - if blurry click for quality

[pumpkin-stew-brains]

Hmm,, how about Ragatha, Pomni, and Gangle talking over a tea party?

A cozy little prompt, thank you for the ask!

[noirscript]

call avoidance.

Yandere Hotline: 3/?

featuring: implied drugging. implied tresspassing. lots of male masturbation. unsolicited phone sex (?). implied kidnapping. AFAB!Reader (yan calling reader mommy)

note: this is written while half-asleep. not edited. brain go brrr. i'll add the src some time.

Dealing with mad people can drive anyone insane. But if you're given a hefty sum to keep the insane ones company, you'll take. Life is tough, but you can choose your own hell.

"Got you some drink. Your favorite flavor," Heidi, your 'neighbor' in cubicle, said cheerfully as she placed the drink and sandwich on your spot.

"Well, who are we kidding." You shook your head before placing the plastic cup in your trash bin along with the tasty sandwich that came with it. "They're really persistent, you know?"

You smiled sheepishly as you arrange your cubicle to start a new day. Unlike your workmates, your place is quite neat and devoid of anything that would identify that spot as yours.

No personal images pinned on the corkboard. Not even a framed picture of whoever inspires you to get up and work hard without becoming insane yourself.

Upon accepting the job offer, you made sure to draw the most visible line to keep your personal life to yourself. You've heard some stories—some myths—about some agents disappearing without any trace overnight. Like they never existed in the first place.

"I hope they fuck off, you know?" You sighed before putting on your noise-cancelling headphones. "May we survive this shift," you grumbled as you wait for the first call with baited breath.

You have frequent customers. Most of them were pleasant to talk to. Let's just say that they're not exactly the dangerous type of callers. Those type clients were, most likely, drawn to the idea of being a 'yandere' as a fantasy. Sometimes, there's a hint of sexualization.

Almost every person on the floor are taking calls. Including you. However, your gut's been telling you to ignore the call. Maybe it's one of those unhinged callers who believes that you're theirs. Like they own you and all of your time.

You still have some available credits for call avoidance since you rarely used your credits. Surely, this one call will not affect your performance rating.

While waiting for the phone to stop ringing, you decided to clean up your work email. Being bombarded with useless newsletters about food and books on sale is the worse. Not only does it make your inbox crowded, it's also spammy.

You were fightung the urge to just select all and delete everything at once when you suddenly heard a notification. One after another.

One from your email, another one from your messaging app, and lastly—from the internal chatroom.

You opened the email with an attachment. It was a blank email but as soon as the preview for the attachment appeared, you almost gagged.

It was an image of a man's cock. There were translucent liquid splattered everywhere while the tip of his dick is on a cup—filled to the brim with iced coffee with foamy top. Your favorite.

Your hands were shaking as you exit the window of the website. You clicked the messaging app first. 'Perhaps it was just a promotional message from one of those companies.'

But no.

It was a message from a private number. You don't have any idea how they did it, but they kept sending you images. Most of them were blurry, but the ones with better quality almost made you vomit.

It was taken in a small room. At first, the room was dark, but eventually the image light up. His face was blurred, but you could clearly see what he was doing.

He was fucking your pillow. The one you've been using since you've moved in a better place with better security.

You were confused. And scared.

How could he easily enter your place? Your keys are with you and only the management has access to other duplicates.

"No way..." you whispered as you close the messaging app's window.

One bomb was dropped after another. And you knew something's off.

[NOTICE OF TERMINATION]

Due to multiple reports of call avoidance and drop calls, the management has decided to relieve you from your position as an agent effective immediately.

As we value your well-being, rest assured that you will be receiving your full payment for the next three months along with the other benefits that the company has sworn to provide you.

We sincerely appreciate your efforts for the last three years. We wish you all the best from this day forward.

You were devastated, yet relieved upon reading the letter. You've been wanting to receive this for months. It was the only way out of this place and this industry. You've also managed to save up a lot that you can start fresh somewhere. Far from this place.

Another phone call managed to bypass the automatic system of the place. You took a deep breath before accepting the call.

"Hello?"

"I can't... wait... haah..." the man on the line was clearly doing himself. By the eay he sounds, he's probably close. "We'll move to a big house... haah... hngg... a baby, a babyyy... nhnn... come home..."

Your eyes widened upon hearing your name. Not the screen name you gave them, but your legal full name.

"Let me... hngg... make you a mommy... d'you want that, huh?" You could a wet sloppy noises in the background. "Tiny baby... sucking on your tits... while I make a mess out of you?"

"Ap—"

"No need for... apologies..." he was breathing heavily. "I'll see you soon, okay?

"Heimdall."

He chuckled. "That's me, my princess... took you long enough to say my name."

"How did you get into my house?" you asked while gritting your teeth.

"Patience, my love. We could talk all about it once you're home. Should I get you something to eat? Chicken? Cake? Sandwich? Coffee?"

"I'm done with you."

You immediately pressed the end call button before gathering your things and left. Not even a farewell to your friends.

But there's something you should probably know.

Heidi can't wait to be an aunt and to be your sister-in-law!

[mockerycrow]

SICK MOMENTS; Price Edition (GN!Reader)

price masterlist

authors note; i’m finally completing the sick moments series after being gone!!!! after this, I only have soap to do. i hope you enjoy, pls leave a comment if you can because i’m not sure the quality of this is acceptable 😵‍💫

[WARNINGS; Vomiting, descriptions of sickness, medical emergency. Secret relationship, Price is worried, fluff.]

You first began to feel unwell in the middle of a ruck march, your throat forming a frog and pressure rising in your skull. You didn’t pay much attention to it at first as ruck marches are generally brutal; of course you’re going to be uncomfortable. Your feet are going to hurt, your joints will be screaming for a break, especially your back. Slowly but surely, making your way over multiple terrains with a heavy rucksack on, your stomach began to turn. Nausea bubbles up in the pit of your stomach and into the back of your throat, leaving you extremely uncomfortable and confused.

You let out a cough, feeling sweat drip down your neck and into your shirt. You’ve already begun to slow down, catching Soap’s attention who had been keeping an eye on you already. His head turns to you as you stumble a bit on your feet, his eyes narrowing at the way you grab at the straps of your rucksack to balance yourself. “You alright?” Soap asks, slowing down his pace himself. Soap knows Ghost, who’s leading the march will probably chew into his ass as well as yours, but you truly aren’t looking well. Your eyes are distant, your expression one of pain. “Mm, just a wave of nausea is all.” You grimace, trying to wave both Soap and the sickness off.

Again, extreme discomfort and even feeling sick on a ruck march isn’t too uncommon, especially because it’s humid and there’s no clouds in the sky, which means the sun is beaming down on you with no protection aside from your hat and clothing. Clothing, which is not quite breathable. You don’t really realize how your vision is blinded until your boot fumbles over something solid—possibly another rock, or even your other foot—and it sends you crashing into the dirt below. Gravity shows you no mercy as your cheek presses into the ground, your bucket hat shuffled off to the side, exposing your head to the sun.

“Shit.” You garble, trying to push yourself up, but everything just feels so heavy and God, you feel so fucking nauseous. Throwing up sounds really nice right now.

So, you do.

You turn your head to the side and it bubbles out of your throat and past your lips with a burning pain scratching at the walls. You feel a pair of hands pushing you onto one of your sides—thankfully not pushing you directly into your puddle of vomit, which is mostly bile—and another tugging at your rucksack. You don’t have much energy to question anything, or even think all that much.

Someone’s hands are on your head and face, doing something that you couldn’t be bothered to try to recognize. It only clicks when someone pushes your leg into a certain position that you recognize the attempt of the recovery position. You try to blink to regain your vision, but you don’t even know if you actually blinked. Something feels very off as someone is pressing a luke-warm cloth to your neck before you find yourself in the infirmary.

Unlucky for you, your skull is still pounding like there’s a little guy in your head using a jackhammer and your stomach is still very unhappy with your decisions, but you no longer feel like you’re melting. Your vision is blurry for a bit and you realize you’re completely laying down. You blink harshly, your lips feeling chapped and dry—and your mouth tastes gross. Great.

Your hand twitches and you try to sit up, but you’re met with a pair of hands on your shoulders keeping you down on the semi-uncomfortable cot. “Easy.” A low, rumbling voice utters softly, a voice you recognize as Price. Your eyes dart to his face, taking a second for his facial features to come into focus. Your eyes trace the worried furrow of his brow, how his lower lip is barely visible from his mustache and the way it’s curled.

“Wha’ happened?” You croak, not attempting to sit up again but you wince at the pull in your throat. “Was hopin’ you could tell me that,” Price utters, reaching over to grab a white, small styrofoam cup with a plastic straw. He helps you sit up just far enough to reach the straw and to not choke. Once you take a few sips, he takes the cup and puts it back as you lay back down. The liquid helps soothe the ache. “I dunno. I just went down.” You mumble, feeling still quite disoriented.

Price sighs, his arms crossing—he’s wearing that familiar coyote brown shirt and you can’t look down, but you know he’s wearing cammies. “That’s the thing, yeah? You don’t go down.” Price rumbles, sitting down in a chair and scooting it closer. His eyes trace your face, frowning as he notes the sweat. “Medics said you’re sick, running tests now. Why’d you go on a march while this sick?”

You blink at him sluggishly, shaking your head. “I didn’t even realize that I was sick.” You croak, raising your arm to scratch the underside, realizing there’s an IV in your arm. You’re careful as you reach under yourself to scratch. “I started to feel unwell, but you know how those marches are, sir.”

Price sighs, his eyebrows remaining furrowed. “There’s no ranks in this room right now,” He murmurs, uttering your first name. Your glance down for a moment, your mouth feeling oddly dry. “They said you were severely dehydrated. Nearly had a heat stroke, love.”

Your eyes shut, a little “oh” escaping your lips. “That explains a lot.” You respond quietly, opening your eyes for a moment. You meet his stare, and your heart sinks into your stomach from how worried he looks. “I’m okay.” You try to assure him, reaching for his hand. Price immediately moves to intertwine your fingers together, his calloused thumb rubbing against your knuckles. “Guess I’m just not used to the humidity, I guess? I was feeling run down earlier, but I just thought it was an off day, y’know?”

Before Price can respond, a military nurse knocks on the door, causing Price to regrettably let go of your hand. His head turns to the door as it opens, a young man walking in, wearing some scrubs with a clipboard. “Oh! It’s good to see you awake.” The nurse greets you, and you return his courtesy with a weak smile. “Let’s see here.. Unfortunately you have the flu, but you tested negative for COVID and strep.” The nurse utters, flipping through the clipboard.

“However, as you did over-exert yourself.. I will have to give you a few days of rest. That means no training, no marches.” The nurse eyes Price as he talks and Price nods. “I’ll make sure they get the rest they need myself.” Price assures the nurse, his fingers twitching, aching to hold your hand again. He wouldn’t let you know, but hearing that you collapsed genuinely scared him.

You don’t ever go down—maybe someone else will occasionally, but no one in his task force ever does and hearing that a ruck march took you out was scary. Price was stuck wondering if it was an underlying health condition, maybe brain related from what he was told; you had collapsed and vomited, and you were shaking. However, they deemed you did not have a seizure. Luckily.

Price kind of spaces out, making a mental checklist of what he can do for you during this time. Soup and other light foods—electrolyte water for sure, crackers.. Heat packs and ice packs, definitely grab you some medicine. Trash bags for vomit. A movie or two.

“John.” You croak.

His head immediately snaps to you, noticing the nurse has left. “Yes, love?” Your eyes scan his face, your hand grasping his once more. You’re shaky and sweaty. “What’re you thinkin’ about?” You ask quietly.

The corner of his lip twitches. He knows you already are aware of the answer, especially when he scoots closer and squeezes your hand once more.

He’ll make sure you’re okay.

🏷️; @kivino @soapybutt17 @microwavedcheetos @frazie99 @narcolepticduck @ch3rrykoolaid @kimdiedlater @glossysoap @thisuserloveshalloween @missborntodiex @indefenseofkara @mushr00mf00d @queen-leviathan @specter319 @theunplannedvariable @spacelia @1117sblog @snoowply @dumb-fawkin-bitch @abigatorchomp @s8nsbride @talooolaaloolla @sstormyskyess @spicyspicyliving @tipsykeen @sweetcorpse

this is from my official taglist which you can fill out here. wrongfully tagged or you no longer wish to be tagged? let me know, there’s no hard feelings. :-)

[ilydeku]

teacher izuku...save me...i need more teacher izuku....

I WANNA BE SAVEDD

detention with teacher izuku

Detention serves as a form of a discipline, to ensure an unruly student would own up to their misdemeanors in a supervised setting. So why were you just sitting there smiling to yourself in earnest?

Well, quite frankly, it didn't feel like it in the first place.

Filling the empty air was the clock that ticked so painfully slowly and the subtle scribbles of a pen from the teacher's desk. But not just any teacher. You steal a quick glance at Mr. Midoriya from behind your arm in wonder of his occupacy, one of the many in succession. Was he looking at you? Working on anything? He was concentrated on something, probably grading, and his expression showed. His focus, the way his eyes trailed, narrowing at minor mistakes and the occasional grin when a paper read reasonably. Ugh, he just looked so good.

The missing assignments splayed out on your desk remained neglected, barely signed by your name and date in effortless strokes. Guess taking time to focus on your own happiness comes with a price. You sigh, propping your arm up on the desk and resting your cheek on your palm. Despite your best efforts to focus on the present moment, your gaze inevitably drifted toward Mr. Midoriya once again.

Within minutes, the classroom began to melt, with him remaining at the focal point. The stark lines of desks, the muted colors of the walls, and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights all seemed to fade into the background. Mr. Midoriya stood out with a clarity that was both mesmerizing and disorienting. There was no doubting it, Mr. Midoriya was one hell of an attractive teacher, in all ways possible you might add. There was just nothing bad any student could say about him. He has everything. He embodied a blend of qualities that made him stand out perfectly: his sweet, engaging personality, the genuine bonds he formed with his students, and his dual legacy as a hero, both past and present.

The blurriness fades away and you're met with the piercing emerald gaze of Mr. Midoriya himself, his eyes vibrant and full. In panic, you quickly avert your eyes in embarrassment, your heart racing.

"Y/n," he directs, his gaze unwavering. After tons of X marks and overly excessive side notes that practically ran off the pages, the pen finally came to a rest as he filed his last graded paper and cleared his desk. "Have you finished any of your missing assignments?"

"Uh- no sir..." you mumble, staring at them with guilt.

"...Over the past 30 minutes, I've just finished grading all 20 of your class's assessments, y/n. Am I keeping you here for nothing?" He inquired sternly, but not so much of hard criticism. Even then he remained as patient and pleasant as he could be. In his voice lay genuine concern behind his words, a silent affirmation that he cared deeply about your progress and well-being. In a way, it stirred your heart into ache at the thought of disappointing him and that's exactly what you were doing. The knowledge that you were falling short of his expectations was crushing, but it also underscored how much you valued his opinion and how keenly you desired to meet his standards.

The silence that followed was thick with the weight of shame. Seconds ticked by slowly, and the distant chime of the hour alarm set on his phone seemed faint and irrelevant. Mr. Midoriya remained resolutely in his chair, his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere between you and the floor, thinking. Instead of eagerly releasing you from detention so he could go home, he decided uphold his role as a teacher and take matters into his own hands.

Mr. Midoriya rose promptly from his chair, with almost deliberate grace. He approached your desk with a quiet resolve, his footsteps clicking against the hardwood floor.

"You know, the grading period for this semester's almost over, I won't even be able to accept these anymore soon..." He stands over you, his figure casting a long shadow across your cluttered desk as he reads through the titles of the assignments. They were WAY overdue, some by MONTHS. Your head hangs low over your desk miserably. Your lack of input concerned him, and he takes a deep breath, his concern evident as he searches for a way to offer genuine support.

"Tell me, what's going on, y/n? Really," Mr. Midoriya asks, his voice low and gentle. He doesn’t stand over you in a domineering manner but instead squats down beside your desk, aligning himself with your level. His posture is open and inviting as he gazes up at you with empathy, his emerald eyes soft and attentive beneath his dark hair.

"..."

"I won't understand unless you talk to me, dear."

DEAR!??///// Your mind screamed in fluster. There was really nothing meant behind it besides a comforting invite, but still!! It made your heart flutter!!

You take a shaky breath, trying to organize your scattered thoughts. "I guess I...I can't focus," you answer hesitantly, your eyes trailing down every detail on his face. The faint, almost imperceptible scar on his cheek adds a rugged charm to his otherwise gentle features. He looked even better up close.

"You can't focus? Why not?" He questioned with a slight tilt of his head as if the answer was somehow written on your face. With the way your face flushed, it practically was.

"..." His gaze was intense, yet so tender. It felt like he could see inside of you and those thoughts of yours that unapologetically swam around him. Maybe he did and you'd never know. You find yourself caught between the comfort he offers and the dizzying effect he has on you.

Before you could open your mouth to speak, he went ahead.

"It's okay," he says softly. "You don't have to tell me..." Mr. Midoriya stood up and glanced at the clock on the wall for a moment and exhaled, deciding his next course of action. He reaches his hands to shuffle all the papers on your desk and sort them into a neat, thick stack.

He sighs. "...I don't usually do this but, tell you what. If you can complete all of these and turn them in to me before class in 2 days, I'll give you full credit," he announces, carrying a hint of encouragement. He smiles warmly as your face lights up in shock and simply nods in confirmation as if telling you 'yes, I'm completely serious'.

"Oh, thank you sir, but...I don't think I can-"

"Of course, you can! You won't get anything done with a doubting outlook like that, dear. Have a little more faith in yourself!" His hand presses against your shoulder softly with a gentle caress and you nod in bashful silence.

AKJSUGDDFYAVDHJAS

"Alright, you're dismissed y/n. Enjoy the rest of your day, but please use your time wisely, okay? I don't wanna see my student in detention!"

Mr. Midoriya truly is a wonderful teacher (and an attractive man).

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook misses you before he even leaves.

idol!jungkook x reader / angst, fluff / word count: 3.7k

content/warnings: they both cry, they’re so in love and anxious of being apart 🥲 pls somebody give my babies a box of tissue damn it!!! / making out :") might be one of my favs i’ve written heh cherry koo ily

> in which masterlist!

note: hi hiii this serves as a prologue kinda to the giving up drabbles <3 and as to not confuse the timeline, this one takes place in sept 2018 and the first giving up drabble june 2019 ^^ hehe reblogs/feedback are appreciated + as always i’d love to chat abt ur thoughts 🥺

—

“i’ll call you when i arrive at the dorm, baby. let’s pack the rest of my things together, hmm?”

you hum softly in agreement, hiding your face on jungkook’s chest so he won’t see you yawn.

you’re so adorable, he thinks to himself with a grin.

matching his outfits with you in preparation for his travels has always been one of the little ways you spend quality time together. yes, you will be physically apart for most of this year and the next… but if he just pushes that fact in the back of his mind for an hour or two so he can make you laugh with his purposely horrendous choices, he thinks he may be able to leave with a lighter heart.

one last kiss is granted to your forehead, and you nuzzle your cheeks against his warm hands to cherish every ounce of his touch you can manage to steal.

you peek from the small space of the door to smile at your lover, which he then returns rife with fondness. you wave and bid your silly bye bye’s to each other, and it’s you who ultimately closes the door despite the voice in your head bewailing its protests.

it creates a clicking sound as you push it all the way, and after that, the defeaning silence fills your apartment like a toxic gas that makes it impossible to breathe. with no other soul left to witness it, your walls involuntarily come crumbling down. your eyes become blurry with unshed tears, and they fall one by one, some getting caught by your eyelashes. they hang heavy until they inevitably roll down your cheeks, as if they’re desperate not to crash and break, as if they’re horrified of their fate towards doom… much like you are.

recognizing the sensation of your weak knees threatening to give way, you lean your forehead on the hardwood to relieve some of the weight burdening your shoulders.

your chores have piled up while you were recklessly spending every second you had left with your boyfriend. you have better things to do than to cry. however, you can’t control your face that contorts to express the pain of having your heart mercilessly squeezed in your chest, tighter and tighter as the distance between you and jungkook grows, and it will only continue to do so.

you wind up as a heap on the floor, an intricate collection of love yet to be given and shards of memories calamitous and beautiful, knees hugged to your chest as you weep.

you swore you wouldn’t do this. you fucking swore you wouldn’t do this to yourself.

since losing your family, you’ve been alone, trying to survive in this world like a leaf in the eye of a storm, carried by a raging river that travels to an unknown sea. you then promised that no matter how much you affection you’ve grown to have for someone, if there comes a time that they make you feel lonely (skin-on-skin or heart-to-heart), you will be the one to walk away first. even if it hurts, even if it leaves you empty inside. for one, you’ve never liked wasting your time. you know what you want and what you need— someone who will stay within reach. your day-to-day life is far too draining for you to find the energy to beg for love and attention… and for the love of god, there’s already too many people you wish were still by your side.

your friends have witnessed you annihilate hearts and egos, leaving behind a string of jaded lovers.

but jungkook, with his bunny-like smile and endless gestures of kindness… has somehow slithered his way into a space in your heart where no one has ever been.

the apartment feels too empty with him not around. he’s not knocking rhythmically at your door from the inside to announce his arrival. he’s not in the kitchen humming songs while chopping vegetables. he’s not in the shower yelling at you because you forgot that turning on the sink makes his water cold. he’s not in the living room watching a movie on your laptop. he’s not snuggled closely with you and snoring execessively by your ear.

it’s going to be like this for a while. it’s always going to be like this, you realize.

you’re so fucking lonely.

you’ve only gotten used to him being here, and now you need to re-learn what it’s like to be without him.

you’re forced to gasp for air as you sob uncontrollably, interrupted by occasional hiccups that make your body jolt. you taste the salt in your tears as they seep into the crevice between your lips, can feel them beginning to poison your skin.

you let jungkook come too close. he slept on your bed and he learned that you’re always cold. he enveloped you in the safety of his warm embrace and you couldn’t will yourself to leave after the first time. you’ve surrendered to him the control over your body, and also your heart, which you may be breaking alongside your rule but… walking away would mean forsaking yourself.

for the first time, you are crying not because of the absence of love, but the abundance of it. humans are essentially a collection of dead stars that are brought back to life when they are consumed by the electric ache of love and yearning. you are addicted to the antidote that is the touch of another body that burns the same.

you’re free falling.

if you were to choose the cause of your madness, you would choose this.

because for the first time, you are not cursing a name, but the universe and its twisted ways. in your one-bedroom apartment, you don’t feel small; your arrogance is as big as the sun that threatens to swallow the earth whole. the empty space on your bed is now in the shape of the man who loves you.

the back of your head hits the door, and you sigh at the new predicament that presents itself to you: the fluorescent lightbulb at your doorway is flickering as if to signal its impending death.

your bad vision begs you to look away.

it’s too high. it’s too high for you to reach. jungkook isn’t here anymore.

you bury your face in your hands, another wave of tears spilling over before you could get a hold of yourself. your cries are unapologetic; you sound like a little child who got their hair pulled at the playground.

you would much rather wait for him than find a solution. you want to bear the weight of him in every possible way there is. you want to have him in mind every time you flip the light switch, because you always seem to forget that it’s dying after a long day at school.

but for now, all you can do is sit on the floor and smell his perfume on your clothes as you wait for his call.

—

jungkook is still frozen on the driver’s seat, struck with a suspicion that he left something behind in your apartment, but he can’t figure out what else there is besides his heart in the palm of your hands.

he opens up every single compartment of his backpack, but he soon carelessly discards it at the backseat because he has no idea what it is he’s even looking for.

“what is it? what is it? what is it?” he mutters absentmindedly to himself, wide doe eyes still actively darting around the car as he mulls over what could possibly be missing. “am i an idiot? am i just making things up in my head?”

but he is leaving for tour after all, it would be a big headache if he forgets to bring something important.

something important such as…

proceeding with a final inspection, he starts patting around his body, from his chest down to the pockets of his sweatpants.

“ahhh-” he makes a noise of enlightenment when he discovers one of them to be completely empty.

it then becomes vivid in his mind— the memory of him lazily setting down his wallet on your study table before he crawled on your single-sized bed as if it’s his own.

“…shit. i need to go back.”

—

he has a smirk plastered on his face as he jogs his way up to your apartment floor. radiating with pure excitement unbeknownst to himself, he even begins to skip a step with every long stride he makes across the staircase.

thanks to his forgetfulness, he found an excuse to be with you for a few minutes more.

the fourth door straight ahead, he still remembers chanting in his head the first time he visited your building on his own.

he stands before it with the intention to surprise you, but ironically, he is the one who ends up freezing in place. your muffled sobs escape through the narrow cracks of the door, and his hand slowly slips away from the handle until it drops back to his side. his vision becomes unfocused, mind going blank, only registering the shortness of his breath and the powerful punch to his gut.

that sweet, heart-fluttering smile that comforted him must’ve killed you inside.

—

“i won’t forget to call after every show.”

“that does sound nice but…” you scrunch your nose cutely. “i won’t be upset, if that’s what you’re worried about. go straight to sleep when you’re exhausted. i know you won’t have much time to rest.”

“please! you can watch me sleep too.” he pouts. “you know i always make it work. while i eat, while i shower! that won’t change. i need to see you and gain strength… or else i seriously think i won’t survive this one.”

and jungkook hopes that he’s not too much of a burden for loving you.

although, you did tell him once in passing— that anyone can be passionate, but not everyone will bravely go on stage every night to showcase those passions, even if it means testing the very limits of the human body.

“i can’t allow that to happen, can i?” you click your tongue, copying the angry frown of your boyfriend, who you find so, so, so cool.

his features soften after you pinch his soft cheek.

“your hyungs might kill me if i make their little one mope around missing me too much.”

“w-what do you mean?” he becomes flushed with embarrassment. “what kind of things do they tell you?!”

“nothing much.” your eyes shine with a glint of faux innocence. “when we were trainees, jungkook did this… since meeting you, he’s gotten more stubborn… can you tell him to wake up earlier if he plans on showering for an hour? you know, just things like that.”

“aish! jimin-hyung!” he releases a deep sigh to express his exasperation, knitted forehead not doing much to diminish the roundness of his eyes. “i bet one of them is jimin-hyung! i’m right, aren’t i? you- you’re getting too close with him! i can’t allow this- really, i- ah! no! no!”

the burst of laughter that fills the room only confirms his suspicion. you roll over on the bed to cover your face, half of your body collapsing on top of his, and you clutch your aching belly when he begins to aggressively shake you in a joking manner.

“listen, you can’t become best friends! you hear me? don’t! my secrets… what’s going to happen to them? who else can i tell them to?!”

immediately recognizing his poor choice of words once they have left his mouth, jungkook purses his lips in regret, and it’s his turn to feel his lungs burn from the lack of oxygen.

“oh, really?” you slowly sit up as you stare at him with raised eyebrows. “and what kind of secrets do you need to keep from me? huh?”

he doesn’t waste a second to reply, scrambling as to not leave any space for you to formulate more doubts in your head.

“nothing! nothing, baby!” he flashes a dreamy smile in return to your sharp glare. he gently cups the back of your head to pull you back closer, puckering his lips as he tries to meet you halfway. “come here- give me a kiss.”

you ignore his advances, moving away from him with a scoff you don’t even bother to hide. the annoyance bubbling up inside of you feels irrational, and yet you can’t stop it from controlling your body language.

his jaw slacks in disappointment. he despises being denied affection, more importantly, a kiss meant to be shared with you.

“are you mad?”

you turn your back against him, scooting closer to the edge of the bed, but jungkook doesn’t waste time in chasing after you.

“baby!” he whines, seizing your arm and tightly embracing you from the side before you can escape. “i was just joking- i promise- i swear. you’re even the first person i share my secrets with nowadays!”

you sigh in defeat, eyes fluttering shut as you allow him to caress your face and pepper your cheek with loving kisses. loud, and slightly wet, which you used to not be fond of when it came to the lovers you had before, but as for jungkook and his dewy lips, you weirdly don’t seem to mind.

“please don’t be mad.” he coos lightheartedly before ducking his head to press his lips against yours. “i don’t want us to fight before i go.”

“i’m not mad.” your reply is quiet, and it drips with hesitance. “i just don’t want to think about you having secrets while you’re away.”

you turn to communicate directly with his eyes. if you feel sick to your stomach imagining him as a person you’d never have the grace to forgive, you don’t show it.

“you understand where i’m coming from, right?”

he meekly nods.

this is another reason why he is eager to spend all his free time with you, albeit through a screen smaller than the palm of his hand, and perhaps buy you trinkets from every city that welcomes him because everything reminds him of you. he wants to give you the reassurance that he doesn’t have any plans on doing something that may hurt you. this will be excruciating, he knows, but it is also a chance to prove himself as a boyfriend worthy of your tears and sacrifices. this can’t end before it begins. he doesn’t think he’d be able to bear that. he just celebrated his first birthday with you. it hasn’t been long since you uttered the three words he’s been anxiously waiting to hear.

“i love you. please give me your trust for now… i won’t waste it. you’ll see, at the end of this, we’ll be stronger. i promise i won’t forget my responsibilities as your partner even if we’re physically apart.”

he tenderly strokes your hair, eyes filled with galaxies memorizing every inch of your face. he’s scared, too. he’s scared that he’s overestimating himself. too ambitious, too greedy for wanting both the world and the most beautiful person he has ever seen in it to love him. he’s scared of getting too exhausted. he’s scared that you won’t be there anymore when he opens his eyes.

“i will probably mope around, though, missing you too much…” he pauses, then he makes up his mind.

him getting more stubborn since he met you— it might just have some truth to it that he’s too sheepish to say out loud, especially if his members were around to hear it.

“yes, i will seriously be a handful.” he nods to himself. “so i’m already apologizing early.”

“what are those responsibilities exactly?”

“to show you that i love you!” he exclaims in a tone that screams obviously. “to make you happy, to keep you safe… to stay committed to you- yah, you already know these things!”

but still, it’s nice to hear him say it. this bed of roses is a bed of thorns; he has chosen to sleep on it with you.

you giggle heartily at the sight of his face getting flushed. “you’ve been doing a great job then, baby.”

the praise causes his doe eyes to sparkle with glee. “really?”

“really!” his heart skips a beat when you softly cup his face in your hands, wearing that kind smile he can’t help but fall in love with over and over again. “don’t worry, i won’t let you miss me too much. i have my share of the responsibilities too.”

—

he swallows the lump in his throat, shakily sitting on the floor with his back against the door. he doesn’t know how long he stays there. he only knows that it’s near sunrise because the lights across the hallways have gone out one by one.

with an elbow resting on top of his knee, he fiddles with the laces of his shoe with no rhythm or rhyme— silently crying with you, clueless as to what he should do. he didn’t learn about this in school, nor during dance practices. no one teaches you what to do when you hurt a person you love but there’s no fault to fix and apologize for.

every now and then, a tenant passes by, and he is overwhelmed with the urge to scream at them to fuck off and mind their own business.

adding to his frustration is his phone, which has been vibrating with calls and text messages. he only spares them a dismissive glance before clicking the off button. yes, he fucking knows it’s already 5am. yes, he’s still with his baby. however, he is forced to send a reply to his manager when asked if they could finish packing his luggages for him to save time. no. no, no, no.

on the other side of the door, the pitter-patter of mechanical rain tickles your ears. your nimble fingers doesn’t cease on tapping on the keyboard even as your eyes stray to the contact name above the conversation, just to make sure that it’s your boyfriend you’re texting.

to: my jungkook

babyyy the sun is about to rise

so i’m not sleepy anymore :(

you're not home yet?

wait. if you're still driving just reply later

be a good driver before a good bf for now ☺️

ohoh i don’t mind if you don't have time to call anymore. just text me rq before you take off pleaseee so i know you're safe and sound

and after the flight ofc!! 😭

i love you! ❤️

seconds later, a pounding at the door makes your body jolt in shock. you carelessly rush to stand up, the safety measure of looking through the peephole not even crossing your mind before you swing it open.

jungkook stuns you with his presence, chest heaving with every breath as he studies you in a fog of haze. your messy hair perfectly frames your pretty face. your parted lips are raw from the crime of your sharp teeth forcibly putting an end to your crying. your eyes are still damp with tears, and they shine every time the warm light hanging above your head flickers.

if you could only read his mind, you won’t have to worry about him wanting anybody else.

once again, he finds himself helplessly infatuated. why do you have to look utterly bewitching even when you cry? fuck, and your texts… how did he get so lucky? you fuel something carnal inside of him that he has difficulty putting into words.

and so, he allows his actions to speak for himself.

“jungk-” his name is interrupted with a high-pitched whimper caught in your throat. your trembling hands desperately grasp the sides of his hoodie as you stumble backwards, struggling to recriprocate the unrestrained fervour of his kisses.

he’s out of control. he has never kissed you like this before. you don’t know if he doesn’t feel your weak fists punching his chest or he just doesn’t care. you feel dizzy… dizzy, dizzy, dizzy.

you’re confused why he’s still standing at your doorway. you’re terrified of losing your balance. you’re crushing a pair of sneakers underneath the soles of your feet and it hurts. but his fingers are tightly tangled with your hair, the others playing a saccharine hymn along the keys of your spine, and for the pleasure he gives, you can endure to live with the pain.

the familiar taste of mint on his tongue is far too addictive for you not to indulge. you can’t stop craving for more of it, more of him, and you let your lungs burn.

but soon it mixes with the salt in his tears as his emotions crash on the shore like a tsunami. the seal of your lips is broken by a quiet sob, and in shame, he ends the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“____, what do i do? i don’t want to leave.”

your heart shatters into pieces as he sniffles, voice cracking as he musters up the courage to confess to you in between.

“jungkook…”

the words of sincerity feel heavy on his tongue. he’s never been good at this; always relied on his ability to feel. in spite of that, he wants to bare all of himself to you, and he prays that you believe him when he says- “i can’t imagine my life without you anymore.”

“so don’t. you don’t have to think about things like that.” you sigh as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, subtly swaying your bodies to soothe him. “come on, love. why are you crying…? you know where to find me, don’t you?”

you feel him nod before he mumbles pensively. “here… or school, or the restobar.”

“that’s right.” you chuckle. “just don’t lose your key. i’m not going anywhere.”

but he fears it’s his goddamn mind he might just lose. he squeezes his eyes shut, embracing you tighter as he counts the seconds in his head. he will let go after thirty, then perhaps he will stay for another ten.

in another lifetime, jungkook wishes that he could tell you the same.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[silvergyus]

polaroid

pairing: yeonjun x fem!reader

summary: you buy your boyfriend a film camera for his birthday, only for him to find his passion for taking pictures of your, ahem, intimate moments together

warnings: yeonjun & y/n (consensually) photograph each other naked/performing sexual acts, reader has a vulva, hickeys, oral (y/n receiving, yj receiving), penetrative sex (y/n receiving), use of “baby/ pretty/ my baby” for reader

word count: 900+

author’s note: written as part of @majestyjun's #24 days with jjunie !! event. check out the rest of the works here.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Your boyfriend blows the candles out on the birthday cake you baked for him, his face illuminated by the warm glow. There’s a mechanical click and sudden flash as you capture the moment. Yeonjun seems startled for a moment, and you giggle at his surprised expression.

“It’s your present!” you smile, holding up a vintage Polaroid camera. “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t get to wrap it.” You handed him the black device, the photo slowly being deposited from within. You kissed him on the cheek and scooted your chair closer to his. “It just arrived this morning and between baking the cake and everything…”

“It’s great; I love it.” He smiled and kissed you.

You wanted to get Yeonjun something that he could explore his burgeoning love of photography with. Something that would drive his fans crazy when he shared it on Instagram. Yes, even though Yeonjun was your boyfriend, you loved every opportunity for a “boyfriend photo.”

And Yeonjun did like the camera.

----

He never posts them of course, the pictures he takes of you. They’re just for him; special, secret photos that only the two of you will ever see. They start out innocently enough: pictures of you smiling at his birthday party, pictures of your fingers intertwined with his. But from there…

They’re faceless at first, the pictures of you in his bed. Your hair splayed out messily across the pillow, your neck and chest covered in dark hickeys. Your nipples, puffy and swollen after he tugged them into his mouth. The hazy quality of the film camera in the low light of his bedroom makes everything seem like it was taken in a dream.

The photos print instantly from the camera, a mechanical whirr as the paper releases and the wait as the image slowly, slowly comes into view. He saves each one in a photo album he keeps hidden away in a drawer.

At first, you’re shy around the camera, not used to a camera being out during intimate moments. But soon enough, Yeonjun’s habit of snapping a pic becomes comfortable and routine. It’s cute, the way he dates them in sharpie at the bottom of the film. Little hearts around your name on his favorite images.

You start to take pictures of him too. His pretty lips spread as he sucks on your fingers, his face snuggled against your bare chest. His mischievous eyes as he flicks at your nipple with his tongue.

The more comfortable the both of you become around the camera, the more involved it becomes.

Side by side in the photo album hide a set of matching photos. In the first, Yeonjun looks up into the camera, his eyes hazy with lust as he laps at your pussy. In the second, you’re on your knees with his cock in your mouth, his hand holding your hair back as the other snaps the picture.

He keeps the picture of you, ropes of his cum staining your face as you smile, eyes closed, behind the case of his phone. Behind yours you hide the one of him, your juices running down his chin as he smiles a dopey grin.

There are fuzzy Polaroids of his fingers buried inside you, taken with his left hand while he continued to pump into you with his right. Blurry and still images of his length buried inside your pussy. One where he was moving and one where he had the forethought to pause his hips while taking the picture.

He always, always asks before the camera comes out. He wants you to feel comfortable enough to have these moments preserved forever.

“Baby, you look so cute,” he says, pressing a wet kiss to your throat as he slowly pumps his hips, “wanna take a picture.”

You moan out a quiet “yes” as consent before whining at the loss of physical contact when he moves away to grab the camera from his bedside table. He moves quickly, not wanting to be away from you for long. Soon enough, the device is in-hand, loaded with film and ready to capture the moment.

Yeonjun gently places his tip at your entrance and pushes in just a little. You let out a soft moan at the feeling of him. He smirks, loving the effect he has on you with even this little contact. He leans back to get as much of you in the frame as he can, wanting to include the point where the two of you connect.

Your hands fly to your face, shyly covering it from the gaze of the camera. You hear the click and whirr as the image is captured and printed. As it develops in the light, Yeonjun thrusts the rest of the way in, drawing a long moan from you as you readjust to his length. He kisses along your jaw muttering sweet nothings. “So pretty, my pretty baby.”

The photo finishes developing and he smiles, showing it to you. You kiss him in response; you love the way he sees you, how his eye finds no flaws.

----

One picture from the camera does make its way onto his Instagram. The last slide of a photodump is a picture of a fuzzy Polaroid laying on his comforter. The tiny picture is two sets of sneakers touching toes on the sand of a beach. Fans debate who the other set of shoes belong to. They don’t know that the sneakers were Yeonjun’s birthday gift to you.

author's note: this is a work of fiction not meant to accurately represent the idol. please do not repost.

[narizaki]

photographed memories   ―   s. rintaro

＃   tags   gender neutral rdr,   fluff,   pre-timeskip,   4+1 trope,   getting tg ＃   notes   another suna fic someone save me.   wc 2.9k

we don’t need the memories.

rintaro had always hated inarizaki’s motto.

he thinks he always will, even if he knows its intention: to encourage students to forget past hardships and strive towards a better future.

it only makes him dislike it more. 

memories were what made a human a person. they decided how one would think, act, and speak — how does that not make them important? it was ridiculous to believe that the essence of one’s being was considered insignificant.

adversity served as a reminder of how one can improve. pleasure allowed people to look back on their lives without regrets. rintaro thought neither should be wiped away, even in the name of improving.

when he expressed this opinion to his teammates, he was met with various forms of confusion. atsumu had even said that the reason why rintaro felt so strongly about a school motto of all things was that he was a sentimental person. 

and while rintaro hates to agree with miya atsumu of all people, it was a hard claim to deny — especially when his statement made him increasingly aware of the camera in his pocket.

(still, he took the setter into a headlock, encouraging osamu to harshly run his knuckles along his twin’s head while ignoring his incessant cries of pain.)

“suna,” you hummed. his eyes flickered over to your place from across the store. you were bent over a pile of cameras, and you were sifting through a few of them. “d’ya wanna get one?”

rintaro’s raised an eyebrow, looking at you curiously. “why would i buy a camera? my phone works perfectly fine for taking photos.” 

you shot straight up, spinning on your heel to face him. in your hand was a black digital camera. it was small, a little worn from being used over the years, but appeared to be in otherwise pristine condition. 

“that’s exactly why!” you exclaimed, pointing a finger at the camera. “yer phone’ll run outta storage sooner than later. you can dedicate this to photos to keep all yer memories safe!”

“i thought you didn’t care about memories?” he bristles.

“i don’t,” you bluntly reply, “but i know ya do.”

rintaro’s heart beats a little faster. he fights the tinge of pink threatening to cover his ears away by pure will alone. then, he stalks towards you to snatch the camera you’re holding, paying no mind to your shrill hey! ya could’a ask!

he inspects the camera for a few seconds, feeling its weight in his hands. while there are a few scratches along the camera, it turns on perfectly fine. rintaro looks through the screen while aiming it at random items in the thrift shop the two of you dragged him into. the quality is pretty good, too, he notes. it’s not the best — a little blurry at the edges, but he appreciates the vintage look the lens provides. 

the camera unfocuses when he aims it at you. when it refocuses, rintaro watches you flick through old vinyl records. they’re stacked on a dinky desk and are probably as old as the camera he’s holding, but the glimmer in your eyes tells him that you’ve just hit the jackpot. you’re not paying attention to him or the camera, allowing him to click the shutter button without anyone but him knowing. the sound of the shutters closing is rather loud and catches him off guard — he fears you heard it too.

when you don’t react, rintaro lets out a silent sigh of relief.

he buys the camera the same day.

late-night convenience store runs were a staple in you and rintaro’s friendship. the both of you had a bad habit of staying up way too late into the night, and when it turned out that you only lived a few blocks from each other, midnight adventures spent buying snacks did as well. 

your eyes raked down the assortment of snacks on the shelves. rintaro stood behind you, playing a random game on his phone with his food in hand. 

“hey, suna?” you say, turning to the brunette. his eyes meet yours, half-lidded and bored. 

“can you not pick something?” he questions, standing up to his full height. while you whine a bit in response, you quickly remember what you were thinking of. 

“yes, but that's not the point! i was thinkin’, wouldn't this be a cute place to have a photoshoot in?” you reply. your thumb juts toward the shelves full of snacks, a small grin adorning your face. 

rintaro’s face contorts into a mix of confusion and judgment, so intense that you cringe a little. even after knowing him for a while, you don't think you'll ever get used to it. 

“you just don't understand the vision!” you exclaim, “c’mon, do ya have yer camera?” 

he nods in reply, but you can still see faint hints of confusion. still, rintaro pulls the digital camera from his hoodie to show you. what he doesn't expect you to do, though, is pluck the device from his palm and practically shove him towards the aisle. he nearly trips into the shelf but stabilizes himself at the last moment. 

the smile on your face only widens at his look of surprise, cheeky and teasing in a way he recognizes only you're capable of. 

“pose!” you usher him, the camera covering a portion of your face. he doesn't listen, giving you the most deadpan and uninterested look he can muster. it comes easy to him, considering how it’s already nearing early morning.

you giggle at the photo, before pulling rintaro away and handing him his camera. the look of confusion returns, and you bristle at him. 

“ya gotta take a photo of me, stupid.” you tease. 

rintaro frowns. “i'm not gonna if you keep on treating me like this,” he chides. when you shriek, the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. he raises the camera. 

when he takes the shot, your hair is mostly covered by the hood on your head. your smile is childish, and he can see a peek of your tongue. your hands have come up beside you in matching peace signs. the yellow lights of the store only accentuate the old quality of the camera, and don’t do you justice, but a voice at the back of suna’s head tells him that you look beautiful either way.

he ignores it, opting to push past you to grab items off the shelf for you. your whines follow him to the cash register, where he tosses the items down — your favorites. he rolls his eyes when you cheer, throwing the food at you. 

rintaro has only owned the camera for a few weeks, but he's already made it a habit to always carry it on him. you were, unfortunately, right — he definitely liked using the dinky device more for taking photos than he did on his phone. 

he still used it, of course. he wouldn't want to waste precious space on the camera filming the miya twins’ fights. but there was a particular way the camera managed to capture life; freezing memories perfectly in time, allowing no detail to be missed, even with the old quality of the images. 

“d’ya think they’re gonna wake up soon?” atsumu whispers to his brother. osamu takes a moment to respond, observing you and his friend. 

“dunno. it's gettin’ late though,” the grey-haired twin notes. he stands carefully, making sure that he doesn't make any sudden loud noises. when the floorboards creak under his weight, he cringes.

“ooh!” atsumu excitedly exclaims. “i wanna take a picture of ‘em. can ya check if sunarin has his digi…thing?” 

osamu rolls his eyes but glances through their friend’s belongings anyway to check. he's able to make out the faint outline of the camera and makes quick work of taking it from suna’s pocket. 

“it's a digital camera, dumbass. n’ here. what're ya gonna use it fer?” he questions. 

a sinister smile grows on the blonde’s face as he takes the camera in hand. the light from the tv is enough to make out the sleeping figures of you and rintaro, your head peacefully resting on his shoulder. his rests on top of yours and your limbs are tangled together. the two of you close — in all forms of the word — and it would be easy to assume that you were trying to fuse into one. the movie playing in the background becomes white noise atsumu clicks the shutter button without hesitation.

the flash goes off. 

“oh shit!” the blonde almost yells, flinching at the bright light. osamu’s eyes widen, and he cusses at his brother. a beat of silence passes through the twins, their eyes trained on you and rintaro in fear.

they watch as rintaro’s eye twitches, and they share a mutual look of terror before his face returns to normal. osamu sighs, and atsumu carefully places the camera back into its rightful place. the blonde drags his twin to their room soon after.

when morning comes, rintaro makes quick and careful work of untangling himself from you. he watches as the sunlight hits your face perfectly, forming what might as well be a halo around your figure. he wouldn’t be surprised.

he rubs the sleep from his eyes while unlocking his phone. the first notification is a text — rintaro doesn’t see who it's from, mindlessly swiping to open it.

from atsumu: 

hope ya enjoyed ur sleep with ur girl. check ur camera thing

to atsumu: 

you're so dead

it’s the first photo he flicks to whenever he misses you, which is embarrassingly often for someone who lives only a few blocks away. he thinks it might be his favorite — not just of you, because he thinks any photo of you is his favorite at this point, but of him. once he’s able to inspect the photo, he notes the strange look of serenity he has. rintaro doesn’t think he can chalk it up to a peaceful sleep — not when there’s an almost love-sick look to him, even when unconscious. 

rintaro doesn’t dare to voice his thoughts out loud, but he thinks he looks the best with you. 

you had always loved the sky.

this was a fact rintaro had known for as long as he had known you. more often than not, when you had nothing else to do, you would tip your head upwards, eyes adoring the endless scene in front of you.

and once he’d known you for longer, when he’d gotten used to your sporadic invitations to go out at ungodly hours of the night, rintaro also learned of your love for the stars.

in a way, he thought it was different from how you saw the sky. 

if you admired the sky — thought it provided you with inspiration for something rintaro didn’t know of, looked at it as if it gave you an infinite amount of opportunities (because it did, according to you), then your relationship with the stars was much more intimate.

you gazed at the lights scattered across the night sky like you’d known them for years. maybe you did, rintaro thinks. he believes that you’d spend hours looking at the stars if you could — having a silent conversation with them as if they were an old friend. sometimes, you’d point out different constellations to him and explain their stories. he would listen, of course, but never truly understand. 

and while you conversed with orion and told jokes to lyra, rintaro busied himself with you. 

he slipped the black digital camera from its place in his pocket — it was practically the device’s home, with how often it was found there. turning it on as quietly as possible, rintaro brought the screen closer to his face so he could capture you in your entirety. like the photo he took the day he bought the camera, you paid no attention to him, too immersed in your silent conversation with the stars above. he allows himself to admire you through the lens for a moment before clicking the shutter button.

the sound snaps you from your daze.

“hey!” you shriek, “did ya jus’ take a photo of me?”

rintaro snickers. “what else do you think i did?”

“i probably looked so bad,” you whine, “ya need’a delete it, please!” a pout forms on your lips, making the brunette feel just a little bad. 

the next thing rintaro says slips from his mouth before he’s able to catch it. 

“i’m not gonna,” he hums, “but if it helps, you look pretty in it.”

you freeze once you hear his words, and rintaro wants to slap himself. maybe he’d even ask atsumu to do it for him — only the gods know how badly the blonde wants to. his fingers drum nervously against his thigh, and he shifts his focus onto the stars above him. he thinks they’re laughing at him.

“i think yer pretty, too, suna.” you mumble, falling back onto the soft grass. 

rintaro looks at you in surprise. you’re no longer gazing at him, too enraptured with whatever the constellations may be telling you now. he doesn’t know if he should be grateful or not. he stays silent, butterflies swarming in his stomach.

if you were to ask rintaro what his favorite photo of all time was, he wouldn’t have an immediate answer.

he has dozens — maybe even hundreds — of photos that he likes. there are some of his friends, like the horrendous photo of osamu drooling in his sleep or of kita scolding atsumu. he knows he has a few of his sister throughout her life, from her first days of school to stupid .5 photos taken from the top of her head. there are some of him sprinkled throughout his camera roll, too. rintaro remembers the selfie he took after he let his sister mess with his hair — colorful hairbands and different clips adorned the strands, though his face was less than cheerful. he knows he has a photo of himself after he’d accidentally taken atsumu’s serve to the face. a large welt was present on his cheek, red seeping through the wound. 

he has photos of you, too. of course, he has less-than-great ones, like when you fell asleep on the bus ride home, or any of the moments he captured you off-guard. there’s the photo he took of you looking at the stars and the one he took of you posing in front of the snack shelf at your local convenience store. 

rintaro is a self-assured person — confident in both himself and his abilities. so, even if it’d take him a minute or two, he knows what he’d say if someone asked him what his favorite photo was.

the picture isn’t the clearest. it’s blurry, and you can hardly make out the faces of the people who are in it, even though the flash is on. for the most part, you can only see that there are two people in it, their faces smushed close together. 

you took it the day he confessed to you — it was an awkward confession, and he tripped over his words a few times, but it was everything and more to you. 

promptly after his un-planned confession, there was an ominous pause between your bodies. it made rintaro’s stomach drop, eyes skidding around to focus on everything and anything but you. what he didn’t see during that time, though, was the fond smile that stretched along your face — an obvious expression of your feelings and the answer to his admission.

rintaro missed the way your arms shot out to find solace around his shoulders to pull him down, too. the kiss was clumsy, your teeth clashing with his. you giggled throughout it, and rintaro felt his lips turn upwards to smile into the kiss.

he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. 

the photograph came after many other kisses were shared. you were both unsure how to take the perfect picture, as you weren’t able to see yourselves through the lens — resulting in the poor execution of the shot. 

“i’m starting to think you just wanted a reason to kiss me more,” he mumbles against your lips. you laugh, but don’t answer — holding the black camera out instead, your arm shaking as you attempt to find the right angle. rintaro only glances at the lens of his camera, putting the entirety of his focus back onto you.

he lets out an amused sigh, pressing forward to meet you. 

the shutter closes and the flash goes off, but neither of you flinch. the camera drops from your hand onto rintaro’s bed, coming to cup his face instead. you push further, deepening the kiss. rintaro doesn’t complain, his arms looping around your figure to pull you closer to him.

“this photo is so shitty,” he teases, finally looking at the picture. his lips are red and swollen, and yours are in a similar state. your bottom lip juts out in a dramatic pout, and you look over his shoulder at the photo. he’s right, but you’d rather be deprived of water than admit defeat. you lightly slap your boyfriend’s chest, laughing at the high-pitched whine he lets out. 

even if it's a shitty photo, it’s still rintaro’s favorite. he knows the photo doesn’t do either of you well — you can hardly even tell its you and him in it, much less what you’re doing. still, it’s a moment rintaro will never forget; a memory that he’ll always keep close to him.

when atsumu had said that rintaro hates their school’s motto because he’s a sentimental person, rintaro figured there was some truth to it. he sees it in the way that he wouldn’t let anything get in the way between him and the memories you’ve shared. 

[theoutcastrogue]

[From a 2014 article by John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats. He's talking about how a random spam email ended up inspiring a part of his book Wolf in White Van. Later, in 2020, the album Getting Into Knives came out, and I think it inspired its artwork too.]

"It took years for me to be able to just reflexively delete spam, or filter it so that I never see it at all. I blame the spammers for this; the quality of their work took a sharp nosedive at some point. But during whatever period of the internet’s growth you’d call the early 2000s, it seemed like you’d still get some winners: things that had been typed up by a person, sent out to a bunch of email addresses they’d bought or rented for 5 or 10 bucks from the only guy who was ever going to make any money in this particular exchange. Most of them went directly, if manually, into the trash; but once in a while, there’d be one that seemed to earn, at the very least, the minute it’d take me to read it.

The one I’m remembering here was subject-lined SUPPLY OF KNIVES. [...] The subject line opened on an all-caps email that boasted, in ornate, antiquated English appealing to the reader’s more refined sensibilities, about the high quality of the knives on offer at an external website. You shouldn’t click on links in spam email. I live my life on the razor’s edge! I clicked the link.

I want to tell you about these knives: They were beautiful. They were weird. They had elaborate designs in the handles, moons or stars of wolf heads, and special grips, and a variety of points. They were made from metals whose pedigrees were described lovingly, and had been struck — smithed? wrought? — via processes I knew absolutely nothing about, but that sounded fantastic, difficult, arcane. It’s the joy of specialized language: When you’re an outsider to it, it can’t help but sound cool.

Of course this is the whole idea of any operation like this. SUPPLY OF KNIVES could well have been, and probably was, a company in Ohio who’d stumbled across an old warehouse full of knives, and knew enough about sales to describe these things in the most exotic terms they could find. I’m pretty immune to pitches: Who likes to feel like he’s being pitched? But somebody involved with SUPPLY OF KNIVES had had just enough authorial flair — that, or true faith — to caption each knife’s mysterious, blurry accompanying JPEG with a description whose constant recourse to specialized vocabularies seemed to say, “You’re not even reading this unless you already know about this sort of thing. Let us therefore speak like the fellow travelers we are.”

It was like a trade catalog for roadside bandits in need of knives.

I can’t speak for everybody, but I know that when I was a child the life of the roadside bandit seemed like a pretty romantic way to go. I looked at all these knives and read the descriptions and was just generally delighted about the whole thing, so I saved the email in a “memorable spam” folder I used to keep that had maybe two other emails in it. A few years later, Apple came out with this robotic-arm-screen iMac you never see any more, and we were long overdue for a new computer so we got that; and then, after a while, I got myself a laptop, because I was traveling all the time, and eventually both the old iMacs ended up in the basement, and they were both asleep but alive until fairly recently, as far as I knew.

But when I went to check for the email, it was gone. The old blue iMac is dead, bricked, lifeless. Searches on the term “supply of knives” on this laptop and on good old robot-arm-screen find nothing. The backup CD for the blue iMac drive is probably in a drawer around here somewhere, but that’s like saying, “The coin I had in my swim trunks’ pocket is probably somewhere in the ocean.” There is no SUPPLY OF KNIVES. There’s only the memory."

[source]

And this is the wonderful cover art of Getting Into Knives. Back cover and promo material below. Note that "Knives International" and "Knives Wordwide" are not real companies, they appear to be a callback to that elusive spam email.

[kozachenko]

[Click image for better quality]

I FIGURED OUT A WAY TO FUCKING MAKE THE IMAGE SMALLER FOR POSTING ON TUMBLR WITHOUT SACRIFICING THE ACTUAL QUALITY OF THE IMAGE OH MY GOD

Ok so, what I did is go into the clip studio paint file, make a new file, copy and paste the group in the original file, merge everything, get rid of the extra stuff outside of the canvas, and then make the flattened image smaller and crop the canvas. Once you have that, export it and you're done. This helps maintain the actual quality of the image and also helps shrink the file size down to something actually postable (if anyone has a better way of doing this please tell me)

[Edit]: Ok I guess posting something to Tumblr just naturally compresses the image a bit more somehow because I'm looking at it now and zooming in too much makes it a bit blurry so I'm still gonna have to futz around with image quality for future pieces oof

Artist's Note:

I'm so glad I figured out a way to do this because I like working on a big canvas so I can get as much detail in as I possibly can. Only problems are how laggy it gets while drawing lol.

I had an idea for a drawing with Reimu and Zanmu because I really like thinking about their potential dynamic a lot. I also wanted an excuse to draw Zanmu again but in my normal rendering style because last time I drew her she was in my more sketchy style with generally flat colours so I wanted to draw her again. Speaking of, looking at the sketch for this is a jumpscare that I never enjoy seeing, like, man am I glad I didn't use those for my final piece.

Also about her spear. I was originally gonna make it like the ones she had in game, but it kinda threw off the whole piece. It was too big, too blue, and too flat, so I just went "fuck it" and gave her a different one instead. My headcanon justifying this is that the ones she uses in game are for danmaku battles whereas in any other fight she just uses a proper yari, or she still uses the yari and just makes it all glowy to power it up, maybe both lol. I pulled as much inspiration as I could from Sengoku era spears, and even put in some blue into the decorative part of the spear and also added a little skull to pay tribute to the original spear. Also, in my research I saw some art of izanami and izanagi making japan and saw that the yari izanagi has had a little decorative tassley thingy on it so I took some inspo from that and just made it one of Zanmu's tassles (Idk when that art was from or if the spear was still accurate to Sengoku period Japan but hey, probably the same reasons Eirin puts little bow ties on her arrows, it's just for personalization purposes).

I love rendering hair and clothes so much omg, while I like the super curly hair Zanmu, the longer, wavier hair suits her better for this drawing (I imagine it only does that like how Ghibli characters hair moves when they feel angry lol). I love making Zanmu's hair all messy and crazy, as well as giving her grey hairs, this woman has aged like a fine wine. Also, if the hem on the ends of her sleeves, top of her shirt, and her pants look like gold to you, that's because it is! It's fairly light so she's not collapsing under the weight, but it's gold! (I don't care how impractical it is, it's just cool). Not the undershirt though, it's made of a gold fabric. I had a cute idea with Reimu's hair to make it have a red shine to it. I also changed up Reimu's outfit so it isn't just a blob of red. I like it a lot when Reimu's skirt and outfit is segmented into different layers, so I wanted to incorporate that.

I tried to draw their hands differently as well, but IDK how noticeable that is. Also, I am super happy with how the side profiles for the two of them turned out, I used to struggle a lot with how to make the side profile of a character actually look like the character, so I'm really happy that they actually look like themselves.

Also added in the tree and rocks in the background as an homage to Zanmu's character art in Touhou 19, just because I was getting kinda stumped on what to do with the background lol.

In terms of a story idea with Reimu and Zanmu, idk why but the potential plotline of Zanmu wanting to ascend to godhood is so fascinating to me. Like, it is very possible that if she just convinced everyone she was a god (which would be very easy for her to do), she would become one in a heartbeat. Also, if she were to become a god, with her ability to return stuff to nothing, could she hypothetically get similar abilities to (Jojo Part 5 spoiler btw) GER? Like, idk about the death timeloop stuff, but the concept has been haunting me every night as I have been trying to find loopholes in GER's ability for a while now ( for no reason in particular). Back to the main topic, I imagine that she would probably tell Reimu that if she were to become a god she would take over the Hakurei shrine since the god there might as well be dead, and Reimu just says to her, "Over my dead body bitch." Like, I have no idea how to summarize their dynamic but like, it's the type of hero-villain dynamic where the phrase "We're not so different, you and I" would definitely be a phrase said during a fight. I think that if another IN style game were to release, Reimu and Zanmu would be in a team together. They could also have an interesting mentor and pupil kind of dynamic. Can you tell that Zanmu has been charging my mind rent these part few months? Like, instead of living in my head rent free, she kinda just uno reversed the whole situation and now she's the one charging me rent. What happens if I get evicted from my own brain? Actually, scratch that, I don't think I wanna know.

[theleechyskrunkly]

”These lights are far too bright for comfort…”

*[SR Music Week]* Aurinelle is finally here after much preparation as a main vocalist for GLOWCHAIN! This card is my contribution to @raguiras2 Music Week fan event! PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT’S SACRED, IF IMAGE LOOKS BLURRY, CLICK THE IMAGE LINK FOR BETTER QUALITY, TUMBLR LOVES TO FUCK IMAGE QUALITY UP‼️

— Voicelines below the cut! Sorry if they’re dry, Aurinelle is not a chatty guy —

Summon: Oh? Will you be joining us for rehearsals? Well, suit yourself.

Set to Home Screen: You wish me to sing you a tune?

Home transition 1: … is something on my face? Oh, you think the makeup looks good? Thank you, Vil made me wear it.

Home transition 2: Vil and Crewel are a hazardous duo to deal with, especially when it comes to our clothing and posture. You’d think we’d be performing to the Great Seven of K-EDM culture.

Home transition 3: Singing and dancing at the same time is not as difficult as I presumed it to be. Well, for me that is. Can’t say the same for Azul… or Clover… or Malleus.

Home after login: Welcome back. A little tardy, but back nonetheless.

Tap Home 1: Malleus has a wonderful singing voice, but it’s more suited for slow ballads rather than the modern songs we sing here. He’s struggling to adapt…

Tap Home 2: Vil is as stoked about this competition as he was about VDC. He’s determined to win, and he’s dragged me along for that very reason.

Tap Home 3: Viper is not letting Azul catch a break, he’s holding every slip up against him…

Tap Home 4: Vil insists I must tighten the bow around my neck so it doesn’t fall off mid performance, but if it were any tighter I’d be as purple as the stage lights.

Tap Home 5: You’ve never seen my hair up? Well, I initially wanted to keep it down, but soon came to realize having hair stick to my sweaty skin is not very flattering.

————————

OH GREAT HEAVENS I AM FINISHED!! Honestly this was a blast to make and I hope you guys like it as much as I do. I might make a Groovy if this gets over a hundred notes 😈

Tagging: @thehollowwriter @elenauaurs @tixdixl @distant-velleity @cyanide-latte (ask to be added or removed from taglist!!)

[tired-teacher-blog]

Late night surprise

Characters : Aizawa/ Fem reader

Warnings and Genre : NSFW/ 18+/ Somnophilia (consensual)/ Oral (fem receiving/ Pussy drunk!Aizawa/ Fingering/ Breast play/ One Shot

Notes : This is something that I've been talking about with my bestie @aizawas-non-right-foot 😍 Banner by : @/cafekitsune

Masterlist|Second Masterlist

Part 2

It has been a while— three weeks and five days to be exact, since you were able to spend a quiet evening with your boyfriend. Your schedules have been extremely hectic lately, and his night shifts have become reoccurring for the past few days, leaving you even less time together.

You miss him a lot, and lately, even the frequent calls and voice mails have become insufficient. You want to spend some quality time with him, cuddled up in bed together while watching a movie, or having a pleasant conversation and catching up with one another over dinner, as opposed to eating alone and going straight to an empty cold bed.

When was the last time you woke up in his arms? And how long has it been since you were.. intimate with one another?

Three weeks and five days, that's how long it's been.

_ "Really! You're coming home early today?" your heart almost leapt with joy when you heard a soft 'yes honey' on the other end of the line.

Finally, you will have the whole night to yourselves.

You run around the house like a maniac, fixing dinner, setting the ambiance and taking a quick shower before slipping into something that seemed to always make him lose his mind.

Your luscious curves are gleaming in the mirror as you observe the sexy night gown barely covering your pantiless bum and falling perfectly over your soft skin, "I'm ready."

You check your phone and sigh with relief as your preparations have been completed on time, only a few more minutes until hearing the door click and seeing his beautiful frame stepping into the apartment.

The anticipated few minutes turned into an hour and then another, your delectable dinner is now nothing but a cold lumpy mush, and your cheerful smile is nowhere to be found.

You plop onto your cold empty bed and reach for your phone again, sighing miserably as your eyes scan his latest text once more :

"I'm so sorry honey but something came up, looks like I'll be home late after all."

You're too exhausted to think straight or even move a muscle, your plans have gone to waste after careful preparations, so you need to get your ass up and clean the dining table before succumbing to sleep, not to mention removing the needless night gown that's making you feel stupid at this point.

You need to get up, but your mind is foggy and your head feels heavy on your fluffy pillow, still, you have to put away the food and get changed first.

You have to..

.. have to..

Something feels warm and, wet? A strange yet familiar sensation is spreading throughout your whole body, but what exactly is it? Last thing you can remember was moping about your ruined plans while struggling to fight off sleep, so what happened after that?

_ "Fuck, I can't believe I had to miss this after being forced into a second shift."

You recognize this voice, this growl, but where is it coming from? You're asleep right? Then it must be a dream..

_ "I'm so sorry for being late princess, so let me make it up to you huh?"

There it is again, that same recognizable voice.

_ "Shouta.." this dream, this sensation, it all feels too realistic.

_ "Yes honey I'm right here."

Your eyes flutter open and your body jerks in surprise as you clearly hear it this time, it's not a dream is it?

_ "Shouta, what are you.. oh God!" you tilt your head back and arch off the bed as you feel it deeper, his warm fat tongue, licking its way into your slick walls.

You are still in a haze, your vision is blurry and your brain is foggy, but your body is reacting on its own. You reach out a shaky hand and grab onto his raven locks, pushing his face deeper against you.

This isn't an unusual occurrence, you can't remember how many times you have awoken to find his lips or fingers latched onto you, and it's a favor that you have eagerly paid back many times in return.

The pleasure your man is giving you seems more intense than usual, it has been a while after all.

_ "Fuck I missed you gorgeous.." his words are mixed with obscene slurping noises and satisfied hums that vibrate into your core, he seems out of it, needy and desperate while lapping up your cute love bud and nibbling on the surrounding swollen lips like a bear clinging to a honey tree.

Your heavy eyes travel downward to steal a glimpse of the man doing wonders for you, and you whimper as you're faced with an arousing sight that almost gets you spasming violently with intense pleasure.

It's exhilarating, your boyfriend is still in his work attire, filthy sweaty and disheveled, and it looks like burying his face between your legs was the first thing he thought of doing after walking into the house.

You can't help gawking at him, propping yourself up on quivering elbows to have a better view of your beloved, and biting down on your lip as a knot starts to form in the pit of your belly.

He is beautiful, with his flushed skin and focused eyes staring back at you, and his soft hair falling perfectly around his face and neck to tickle your sensitive skin with every little move he's making.

His calloused hands release your thighs to slide along your sides, bringing your night gown further up and revealing more of your flesh to him.

_ "You dare fall asleep while wearing this instead of waiting for me? You're a bad girl." his playful words are groaned against your weeping cunt, and your legs instinctively squeeze him tight between them.

_ "Stop talking! Please don't talk with that in your mouth!" your cute little outburst brings a throaty chuckle out of the man who insists on feigning ignorance.

_ "Why's that? Why can't I speak while pleasuring my princess?" his purrs send a shudder deep inside of you.

This bastard knows his effect on you, he loves tormenting you, seeing you helpless underneath him, and he succeeds in making his wish come true every single time.

Your arms give out and your back hits the mattress again, you can no longer see his face but the feeling of his eager mouth is driving you mad.

His hands move under your silky night gown to grope your mounds, thumbs brushing over your perky nipples while his tongue fucks you deep and slow.

You're not going to last much longer at this rate, your heart is pounding harshly in your chest, and your whimpers are getting louder and needier by the second, "keep going! Please! Just a bit more!" your shameless demands are well received, as he humms with delight and keeps on thrusting his tongue deeper within you.

His fingers carry on massaging your soft breasts, kneading your flesh and pinching your perky teats teasingly before one of his large hands runs down your body and rests on your lower belly.

You know what this means, though you're not sure if your body will be able to handle any anymore of his taunting behavior, you've just about reached your limit.

_ "Shouta, I'm so close.."

He retracts his tongue and kisses your clit before rubbing two fingers along your wetness to slowly ease them past your welcoming slit.

Your mouth falls open but nothing comes out of it, your breath gets caught in your throat and your body twists under his brute dominance as his fingers take control.

You're a wreck, shattering a little bit more each second that passes, and he loves it.

His lips kiss along your inner thighs, and his fingers curl up and stroke that one particular sweet spot he knows all too well.

_ "No wait.. wait! It's too.. too much!" you finally find your voice, crying out a warning but only a moment before giving in to a splintering orgasm, shuddering uncontrollably and coating the fingers still moving inside of you before relaxing at last.

_ "That's my girl, you've done a good job sweetheart." he cooes sweetly while trailing a few soft kisses along your sensitive cunt, "so how's my princess feeling?"

_ "Perfect.." you breathe out drowsily, a satisfied smile adorning your face.

He carefully licks you clean, attentive as to not overstimulate you while flicking his tongue up and down on your throbbing clit, "fuck.. what a treat."

You giggle happily and reach out for him to get closer, your blush deepening as you notice his reddening lips and glistening chin, proof of what he has just done for you.

_ "I'm sorry for missing our date love, but I promise to make it up to you tomorrow." he looks apologetic as he speaks, and you can't help the giggles escaping your throat, he is truly adorable.

_ "But I don't want to wait until tomorrow, so how about taking a shower together right now and see what happens?" you request suggestively, sneaking a hand between your bodies and pressing it against his raging stiffness.

_ "Oh I'd love that even more."

[lauvwar-r]

from the start

a gepard x gn! reader smau

𑁤 sypnosis. despite claiming to be 'rizz master 3000' name has failed to ask out their crush and childhood best friend, gepard, for a few years (L). with this new wave of courage, will this lovestruck idiot be able to confess before gepard buys a house and adopts 3 cats and a bunny with someone else? (this is a joke. geppie will not be adopting 3 cats and a bunny).

. . . tags. gn!reader, fluff, they're both idiots lol, (minor) angst, unrequited love, hurt-comfort, modern au, social media au, smau w/ narration, college au, childhood friends to lovers, swearing, kys jokes, crack, ooc characters (all probably lol)

. . . notes. first ever smau so be warned :') and if any chapters have any potentially triggering topics, i will tag them (though i tend to stay away from them) also pls click on the picture for better quality. i swear it's not that blurry 😭

STATUS. ongoing! ⸝⸝ TAGLIST. open!

𑁤 profiles. mech fever on top!? / student council (nerd central)𓂃⸼

ONE. don't you notice how. . .

⌗01. lookism jumpscare ⌗02. god's favourite

⌗03. graphic designer geppie ⌗04. library date (gone wrong) 𖧧˚⸼

⌗05. antiseptic memories 𖧧˚⸼ ⌗06. try again tomorrow

⌗07. cold drinks and cowardice 𖧧˚⸼ ⌗08. tba...

TWO. unrequited, terrifying love. . .

. . . taglist. @520cafe, @kitsuxiv, @91ed0, @iridescentsunsetwaters, @yevene, @aestellia, @lunavixia, @vilthenothing, @ryuryuryuyurboat, @skylions-den, @20forty9, @binumoo, @oveloof

. . .if your username is in white, it means i can't tag you sorry :(

[cq-studios]

This one screenshot has so much I want to talk about in it so I’m gonna babble about it below the cut

(TLDR: CQ geeks out about translating the Scala Language)

Okay, so first off I’d like to say how much I love the newspaper vibe they are going for and achieving with menus. It has me gnawing on the walls. There’s just Scala Script (the Scala language, for clarity’s sake) everywhere and my code breaking brain is eating it up.

Speaking of which here’s what I’ve been able to translate so far (out of what I’ve been able to make out… the writing is pretty scuffed up in places and it’s not the highest quality image lol)

So the first thing I’d like to focus on are the banners. Each one has something written in Scalian underneath. Those things in order of left to right are “Daily”, “Item”, and “Avatar”, which uh, makes sense lol.

I think it’s a little strange that “Item” is the only one that isn’t exactly translated… like did they just forget the “S”?

On a more interesting note though, this one for one translation here means we now have an official Scalian character for “V”. Unfortunately the character used is pretty scrapped away, so I can’t be 100% sure, but I do think I know which character is used.

(Click/tap on the images below… for whatever reason they were just not formatting correctly)

I also considered it being the one below, but because of the location of the flecks I lean more towards the first one.

I also might have translated another new Scalian character but I’m not sure…

See, on the bar at the top of the screen it says “[unknown character]ho[same unknown character]colates”. I spent at least an hour trying to find out all the possible English words what it could be. I just filled in the blanks tried anagrams, the whole shebang (except for trying that with the other languages that are most likely to be used. Those being Japanese, for obvious reasons, and Latin, which has been used in Scala Script before on the manhole covers in KH3 Scala) and came out with one possible word: Chocolate.

And I must be wrong because that makes no sense, but in case I’m right, it’s here.

I tried to cross reference with KH3 signs to no avail so I’m a bit stumped…

Maybe the little blurb on the other side makes it make sense but it’s too blurry for me to read.

Next up I’ll talk about the “Weather”.

The top text is decently clear so I was able to work that out pretty quickly (pros of being fluent in this fictional language I guess lol) and thanks to that clear text I was actually able to make out a bit more of what was below it than I would’ve otherwise. See, the smaller letters are pretty blurry but I’m able to vaguely make them out. The “L” and “W” were what I caught first and I filled in the blank between pretty fast with some pretty simple connections. Once I’d seen that I realized that there was probably a high there too, and there do seem to be “H”s on either side of the word above it… and a “G”… and an “I” (I think, I was trying to double check but my iPad has significantly worse image quality than my computer).

As for the temperature, I tried my best but the numbers are probably inaccurate. They are very blurry.

Last but not least, here are a few of my smaller notes.

I’m a big fan of the Moogle stamp, but I could not tell you what the first word on that thing is. The second is “news”, clear as day but the first word doesn’t have any characters I recognize other than the “S”. I tried coming up with possibilities through context but I’m drawing a blank.

I also love the little Potion and Elixir advertisement in the bottom corner. Like, I’m so charmed by the art for it. That being said though, I also have no clue what the text next to this one says. I’m sure it’s an onomatopoeia of some sort but once again my brain wasn’t working with me.

If you guys have any ideas please let me know. I always love to have discussions and help.

(Also I know I left a whole text box out… I honestly have nothing to say about that. Not enough characters I recognize to decipher anything at this point)

[truths33k3r4]

CHAPTER 28 - An Un-Sound Mind

Murky black morphed into overwhelming, piercing white as Don’s vision steadily began to return. The growing ache in his shoulders were revealed to be two sets of large, gloved hands dragging him through the first dimly-lit corridor. His ears were echoing with a screeching hum as he once again was pulled back to consciousness. He tried to blink away as much of the sleep crusties in his eyes as he could, despite it making little difference given he still couldn’t SEE. That makes planning one’s escape and taking notes of surroundings just a bit more difficult. 

I bet Raph’s got the seeing thing covered.. Knowing that flame-head he probably fought off the sedative far quicker than I did.. 

Don got a little worried by how much concentration he needed just to turn his head. His mind still lagged, and his body still felt unreasonably heavy and uncomfortable to move.

Ughh.

Don slowly turned his head to face the guard on his left. The only human traits of his captor were their two legs, two feet, and their head. Anything else regarding the features of their hair or the color of their eyes was concealed behind their reflective helmets. Instead of looking into the face of another person- another soul, the only eyes that met his were his own mirrored in the reflection of the man’s helmet. 

While Don stared at the faceless soldier, his eyes quickly fell on to the design of their gear and armor. Thanks to the guard’s close proximity to himself, his infuriatingly blurry vision only partially distorted their image, making it easier for him to study the fine work of the man’s armor. Its sleek design and firm material moved with ease as the man walked. All the seams stayed pressed and tidy. Not a button was loose. It was excellent craftsmanship.

Of COURSE it is- look at the size of this place.. Pretty sure whoever’s in charge can afford giving his guards quality gear.. I should probably make some alterations to ours when I get back.. Maybe I would have enough saved up by then to be able to-

His words echoed painfully back to him like a slap to the face.

‘ ..when I get back.. ‘

This is not some vacation or a WEEKEND GETAWAY. 

He and Raph are prisoners.

.. And the chances of them returning to their home are slim at best. That isn’t fear. That’s fact.

Nevermind that- Focus. Raph is most likely awake now, if he hasn’t already been for the past few minutes.. I don’t hear any struggling, but if he got hit with the same stuff I did, then his body must feel heavy too.. I can hear footsteps behind me. Most likely Raph is being carried by two more guards..

And then a new problem arrived at the door of Don’s brain: 

HOW THE SHELL AM I GONNA COMMUNICATE WITH HIM? I can’t speak. I can’t reach him.. How-

Almost immediately a childhood habit reemerged from the forgotten corner of his matured mind.

Don inwardly groaned to himself.

That’s self-demeaning.. But it just might work.

As quietly as he could manage- cause he still had some dignity - Don sounded the tiniest of chirps; a sound he had not made in more than ten years.

Before he was taught how to speak, this is how the brothers would communicate to each other. Raph, Leo, Mikey and himself would sound an assortment of clicks and chirps, each in different orders to translate to specific messages. 

Click- chirp - click ~ “ Are you ok? “

Chirp ~ “ Hey “

Chirp - click  ~ “ Yes “

Click - click ~ “ No “

And so on.

The refreshing nostalgia that washed over Don with the memories of his childhood was quite welcomed in the situation he had found himself in. But with the joyous feelings of memories long past, comes the sadness of the fact that those times are, indeed, OVER. In fact, he was so lost in the past that he failed to pay attention to what was occurring in the present. Like if Raph even heard or answered his call..

Deafeningly silent minutes passed as Don’s anxiety only grew. The jingles of his chains no longer swayed, but shivered. He could feel the same painful ache in his chest infect his heart as it had throughout his teen years.

Now’s not a good time for a panic attack, calm down.

In spite of his clear refusal, Don’s body continued to betray him. Theories in his mind began to transform into worries; What ifs. 

What if Raph’s not here?

What if they took him away to some other lab?

What if he’s in another city entirely??

What if he’s being tortured as I just sit here being blind and USELESS?!!

NO. STOP IT. FACTS, DON. You don’t know where he is. BUT there’s a possibility that he’s literally right behind you, just unconscious. And if he’s asleep, then of course he wouldn’t answer your call. 

The jingles of keys snapped Don back to the situation at hand. He raised his head just as he and his captors reached what appeared to be the final door at the end of this eternal hallway. Thankfully, moving his body was slowly becoming an easier feat.

Guess the sedative is finally wearing off.

As one of the guards fumbled with the set of keys, Don took the opportunity to take one last look around. 

Why the shell did he use the word ‘ last ‘ ??

What if it was.

Ochitsuke, Don. THAT’S ENOUGH.

To Don’s right, a pane of see-through glass stretched across an entire wall, revealing the inside of another room. He tried to peer through, but his blurry vision once again became a hindrance. He had to squint and grimace to even begin forming the floating blobs into a recognizable image.

Something.. was kept upright. But the angle of the something made him think it was being held up. He could see that the something was mostly consisting of a pale green color as well. His confusion only grew when he noticed what appeared to be a large growth coming out of the something’s back. It was rounded, and covered the length of its body perfectly- 

And then it hit him.

That something was a turtle. A turtle LIKE HIM. And the only other turtle like him in this nightmare lab was Raph. And if that’s RAPH, then what the heck happened to his skin?!?!?? The shade of it was all wrong. It was misty and faded- not vibrant and healthy like his own.

He wanted to cry out. To scream to his brother. To make sure he was ok. To make sure that he was ALIVE. 

He could try to run. Attempt to save him and his brother from this nightmare. Or just try to get a closer look to see if there was even a brother to save anymore.

The decision was made for him as he was pushed through the now open doorway in front of him. He yanked and tugged and fought, but the grips on his shoulders stayed firm. Even so, he continued to try to elbow and kick at his captors, aiming always for the areas he knew would cause the most pain. His actions were harshly cut short with a single blow to the side of his face. His ears rang so loud it gave him a headache, pulsing and pressing deep into his mind. The nausea that came with the disorienting hit made his whole head go limp, hanging lifelessly as he tried to keep down his dinner. His cheek began to swell, burning with a reddish- purple bruise, and the fresh tears falling from his eyes stung as they trickled down his face.

Raph.. I’m sorry.

As he watched the door close behind him, he kept his eyes on his brother’s faded form till the last second. Then he was pulled to the floor and tied down by the cuffs and chains restricting his wrists. They locked into place in a slot on the ground, pulling him down to his knees. The room smelled dank and the cold, dirty ground dug into Don’s shins. His wrists ached from the abnormal pressure and weight.

But despite all the pain flowing freely through his body..

.. all he wanted was his brother back.

Without knowing if Raph was ok, Don’s mind could only guess. Estimate. Hope.

The room’s aura deepened into a chasm of fear and anxiousness as all he could do was think. His fear constricted him worse than any of his chained cuffs could. His anxiety weighed him down far below the floor he was already kneeling on. His doubt yanked and tugged at his thoughts relentlessly until they went to places he didn’t want to go. 

The thing about having a strong mind is.. It can turn on you. Like the monster from Frankenstein, the thoughts you give life to will eventually have a will of their own. And if you’re not strong enough..

.. it will consume you. It will control you, beginning with your thoughts, and ending with taking full control of your body. 

Sensei had noticed the power of Don’s mind when he was a kid. But not just on the technological side. He noticed Don would overthink things. Become super anxious if he were left to his thoughts. When one of the brothers got sick, Don would hide in his closet praying like a warrior. Not for his brother’s health, but for his own. He would stay up all night, not looking for remedies for his ill sibling, but instead searching for ways that he could make his body an impenetrable fortress against the germs. And when he became a teenager, things didn’t get much better. If anything they got worse.. He just got better at hiding it. 

Eventually, Sensei pulled him aside and told him about the dangers of his mind. How easy it is to become a slave to your thoughts. An empty shell, always worrying, always afraid. How if he didn’t learn to hold truth in his heart, then the lies his mind would create would roam freely, taking full control.

Don didn’t understand all those years ago.

Now he’s beginning to. Here, in this dark cell, held down not by his chains, but by the overpowering grip of his mind.

Sensei’s words echoed in his heart.

‘ Remember this, my son. When worry begins to pull things apart, never forget to speak truth in your heart. 2 Timothy 1:7, “ For God has not given you a spirit of fear, but of power, and love, and of a sound mind. “ ‘

A sound mind.

A.. sound.. Mind..

Sound - which means reliable or Sensible. Well, it seems my brain is quite reliable when it comes to solving diverse equations AND creating worries.

Ok. Let’s try this mind that is sound thing. 

Don did his best to get into a less- uncomfortable position on the ground as he took a long breath.

Or as long as he could make it, that is. Which was like two seconds, but it was close enough.

Breathe..

He closed his eyes and harnessed all his focus into keeping his thoughts at bay. 

Lord. I am scared. I know You already know that, but I will still communicate it.. I am scared and I don’t know what’s happening to Raph- but I know YOU do- You know all- You’re omniscient, which means that You know all, but ANYWAYS. I um.. I know You have Raph in Your hands right now. I know You’re with him. Please, God.. Please keep my brother safe. I don’t even know where we are- but AGAIN- I know You DO, so I really shouldn’t worry- but I am- cause my brain is being stupid right now- but uhhh please- please Lord- help us to make it back home. Alive preferably.. That’s not sarcasm! Just being honest- I’d really prefer to not die today- You’ve seen my list- there’s still so much that needs to be done in the lair- And I’ve already lost so much time being here- AGhhhhh I’m so bad at this. Which You.. already know.. Cause You made me this way.. And I know You still love me- despite my blatant faults and failing to do the simplest of chores… Aaand there I go again.. I’m sorry- my brain just won’t stop- yes, that is my request- Please, Lord, help me to have a sound mind. Help me not to have a spirit of fear. Uh.. A- amen.

Don let out a frustrated groan as he rubbed at his temples. He flinched at the tenderness of his bruised cheek as his hand skimmed over the fresh bruise.

“..D - don? “

 A familiar voice strained from the far corner of the cell, making Don flinch something awful to the sudden noise in the silent room.

Don twisted his head as far as it could turn towards the dark corner where the voice emanated from.

 Even with blurred vision, Don knew it was his twin.

“ RAPH!!!!! “

That's it for this chapter. :) Not sure if you can tell- ( I truly hope you do since its spread out all throughout this chapter ) but Don deals with anxiety. The kind that pulls you to silent, dark places. The kind that doesn't ever let go of your brain and thoughts.

In my Biblical Study of Anxiety, I am learning how imperative it is to speak truth in your heart. " Don't fill your heart with what if's, but instead truth. " And I wanted to explore this with poor Don here. XD Worry and fear have been a huge part of my life- just as much if not more than my faith. But slowly, I'm learning to let go of the lies I tell myself. I'm learning to give all my fears and worries to God. And it's hard. It's very hard to let go of control. But the peace I have found in Him- It is indescribable. And I pray that this chapter will touch hearts- and help them to see there is a way out of your anxiety. There is hope to quiet your noisy soul and mind. :) And giving it all to God is a good first step. :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

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[kazukazuhas]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 💌 ꒱ old friends, lloyd garmadon.┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 💌 ꒱ act one ;; scene two┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️

  ୧ ⎯⎯ DRIVE

୧ ⎯⎯ WARNINGS ;; longing ;; lloyd being not human, so real

  ୧ ⎯⎯ NOTES ;; um, i don't know how to feel about this chapter lowkey

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there was a sore feeling in lloyd's heart when they finally departed from the girls' place, one that made him long to be at his sisters' for at the least a few more moments or even just a second. disappointment dragged down his lips into a frown before he decided on shifting to make himself comfortable. green eyes set onto the stationary road beside him, mindlessly watching the bystanders in his life move along in their own without much worry for his.

not that they cared any more if they knew it was him.

lloyd subconsciously leaned against the door, tired eyes still were kept trained on the now blurry roads of the city streets while he consciously fought back a yawn threatening to break his attention. he swallowed down the yawn with some successful effort before sighing quickly after. the blond then moved to lean against the seat instead of the window, moving his head to rest on jay's shoulder who laid his own on the younger's.

the muffled and soft sound of the older boy's heartbeat calmed his thoughts, subtle but effective enough to bring him back to his very much normal-at-the-moment reality.

"soooo?" jay whispered above a breath to make sure he didn't wake anyone up (cole sat in the front passenger seat to keep zane company while he drove but he fell asleep after kai did a little after when they left the road the girls were staying). he ruffled lloyd's hair before dropping the hand to the boy's lap to hold one of his own. "how you doing?"

lloyd squeezed the brunet's hand softly, lightly purring into the jacket covering his shoulder with a nuzzle of his nose. "okay," it was a soft mumble, but jay hummed back in a delicate tone.

he didn't think his disappointment was worth the mention. of course he would feel so, lloyd only found his old friend after years and all that time lost needed some catching up. he felt something similar when they first left the outskirts, but the shadowy emotion lurked in something else while beside his thought of disappointment.

the boy peeked over jay's shoulder to catch a quick glance at his phone. jay smiled while sparing a quick glance down to lloyd, tilting his phone to lloyd to show the flashy colours belonging to edits of the secret ninja force the public managed make from the choppy clips filmed during some attacks and some better ones from impromptu interviews all courtesy of NGTV news.

jay himself never really understood why, but he enjoyed watching the silly edits of the city's ninja from time to time. it did kill time and he did have an addiction to the incredibly addictive tiktok.

the bright blues and white swirled back and forth, the edit was of the lightning ninja that switched back and forth from good old fighting to some interviews, the one in question was particularly a popular vlog, done by some kid that managed to show up at all the right times.

"hey, aren't those nelson's videos?" lloyd quietly asked, shifting to see the phone a little better. jay hummed, agreeing quietly before opening the comments and mindlessly scroll through them. "yeah, he has some of the best quality clips when yk? we are fighting nine out of ten times we do show up." lloyd nodded slightly, going back to watching whatever edit played next.

"aw, they like me!" jay quietly exclaimed with a wide and happy smile at the thought, informing the driver (who seemingly went into auto pilot for a moment) of a random comment from the following video's comment section he liked before giving it his own verbal one and going back to scrolling aimlessly. the soft phonk music turned to gentler ones and back, switching to and forward between all sorts of genres before stopping shortly and starting up again.

the feeling didn't leave while lloyd tried hard to concentrate on whatever was playing on jay's phone even if most of it was bright, flashy colours. it lingered and mixed with the tiredness marching through his body uninvitingly.

lloyd sighed again, choosing to close his eyes and enjoying the peace of the trip back home after the light began to lose its hold on his attention. the eye hurting array colours mixed with dark that surrounded his closed eyes. fortunately, it didn't bother him too much. slowly he finally succumbing asleep on jay's shoulder, still partially attached to his brother's side.

"g'night, kid," jay murmured, knowing lloyd barely heard him in his sleepy daze, before switching his phone off and resting his head against lloyd's again and trying to catch up on his lack of shut eye himself.

maybe if he slept, lloyd thought, that pit in his gut would go away?

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˗ˏˋ ꒰ 💌 ꒱ kazukazuhas copr. 2023 darling┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️

[rolandrockover]

Paul's Balls-in-the-Zipper Voice (Special)

Donington, Monsters of Rock 1988

Kiss' or rather Paul's performance of Strutter at the Monsters of Rock Festival in Donington in 1988 is regularly spit out in popular polls on fan forums, especially when it comes to determining one's vocal best performance as precisely as possible based on a certain representation of a certain era of the band.

And that's pretty hard stuff, as I would like to point out, because I personally always find such a result a little thought-provoking, as my Paul's Balls-in-the-Zipper column owes its name to precisely this appearance.

I can't remember exactly when I first consciously saw and heard this one version of Strutter in today's context, maybe five or six years ago on Youtube, who can say for sure in this age of the internet. I can only remember being pretty sure that I clicked on a video with the title "Kiss Strutter Live Donington 1988" or something similarly unambiguous (1).

I can also remember just as clearly how the further the video progressed, the more unsure I became as to whether it was actually Kiss I was watching, and not in fact a mis-tagged band like Poison or some other shrill-squealing contemporary hair metal band. You have to understand, the picture quality really wasn't the best (2), but my ears still worked without the slightest problem.

Needless to say these doubts only grew in me after I made sure that I hadn't accidentally switched the video to increased speed replay beforehand.

And only then did I take a closer look at the figures jumping around on the stage. Blurry figures with curly long black hair: Check! A drum kit with a good half meter of swirling curls and a round traffic sign with a Japanese symbol on the bass drum: Check! Gene in all black leather gear trying to hump his staccato McBrown bass in routine leg-spreading rock-it poses: Check! Bruce Kulick confidently and casually immersed in his guitar playing and strolling across the stage with playful ease: Check!

But there was this other figure, dressed in white sporty clothes, armed with one of those not really shapely headless Steinberg guitars of that late 80s period that Paul had been photographed with on one occasion or another (3). And I admit, it could well have been Paul, but, it sounded nothing like him.

Maybe it was just the sound engineers having a nasty little joke that everyone but me had missed, but could that really be the case? And so it actually went on for the entire video, until it gradually but inevitably dawned on me: Yep, that's actually Paul, and not Vince Neil after some hardcore vocal training, or a similar figure in a black wig.

Well, and now you know the whole story.

And should this not be the truth in all truthfulness, and I shout this to the heavens with a raised fist, may I jam my balls in my zipper every day for the rest of my life when I get dressed, or undressed!

As my name is Roland Rockover!

Side Note:

(1) The complete concert of their Monsters of Rock performance in Schweinfurth '88, however, was shown on German cable television a few days before Christmas. My mother spontaneously and secretly recorded it on video and surprised me with it, unsuspectingly, the day before Christmas Eve. God bless her immortal soul.

(2) I think I even managed to find this YouTube video again. It's a good five years old, so that should work.

(3) I think Paul had mentioned at some point that he had played these things for hip health reasons, as they were considerably lighter than the classic models he was used to.

Strutter (Live at Donington, 1988)