#ok world pause

[ashtxrie]

i read this at school and this guy asked me “what are you studying for now” (context: it’s finals week) like how am i supposed to answer this i’m reading fanfics off tumblr ???!!!! 💔 i was devastated in 4K leave me alone 💔

"collision" a twoshot by @cosmicalily. view masterlist and outline here | 5.3k words

side A: 'i told you, we're like stars in the sky' - yang jeongin x fem!reader, han jisung x fem!reader (not poly)

author's note: lowkey edging all of you with this ending...please remember that this is a work of fiction, and my depictions are not a representation of them as real people. enjoy x warnings: implied sex (no actual smut, you nasties), kind of betrayal? the whole thing is basically a right person, wrong time trope

There was beauty in the simplicity of childhood love; you just loved or hated whatever and whoever was there. The intangible didn’t matter, the future or past or the consequences or benefits. It was present and physical. You could see it and feel it without a doubt, and there wasn’t ever a need for doubts, anyways.

Yang Jeongin always had a penchant for shoving very large pieces of food in his mouth, risking oxygen, jaw functioning, and his dignity, just to eat something before his younger brother could get his hands on it. He loved playing with small kids and babies, even if at the time, he was little more than a small kid himself. He liked to talk, but not too much, and was the oldest in his year, but the youngest out of his friends. He liked your trampoline. You liked his dog.

Jeongin had never really been friends with someone his own age before, not until he met you. He had his friends in the year above, the ones he considered older brothers. He had his little brother’s friends, the ones who begged him to play with them whenever they were over. Jeongin had lots of friends, but this summer, he felt left behind. 

Until he met you. Or rather, you met him.

His older friends had gone to a summer camp, one that he wasn’t old enough to attend, and his younger brother and his friends were doing a holiday soccer program for young children. Jeongin was bored and lonely and curious of the huge moving trucks that had been coming by daily, particularly of the trampoline strapped onto the back of one of them. He wanted to know who had finally inhabited the two-story house next door, the one with the empty backyard that he’d stared into for years. The backyard that was now set up with a trampoline, on which a girl lay out like a starfish, alone, staring into the bright blue sky.

So Jeongin had put on his baseball cap, found his pack of UNO and made his way down the sidewalk, ringing the doorbell. 

After that first day he’d invited himself over, you’d spent almost every day of summer break with him. You took his dog for walks (although their golden retriever, Cookie, was very strong, and more often than not, the dog was walking you), played on your trampoline and on his back porch. You had never felt so close to someone in your life. It seemed everyone loved Yang Jeongin, but you felt like you loved him the most. You told him this one day, with the kind of unfaltered kid confidence that disappears during teenagehood. He didn’t laugh or joke or tease you, the way he normally did when you made remarks like that. He nodded sincerely, and assured you that you were his best friend, or in his words, his “favourite girl”. You replied that he was most definitely your favourite boy. You treasured each other's words; a reminder that, at least in this lifetime, in this town, you would never be alone. From then on, you weren’t addressed by your name in your birthday and Christmas cards anymore. You were his favourite girl and he was your favourite boy. Your families, who had become quite close after your friendship had blossomed, thought it was adorable, and you often heard jokes about how the two of you would get married someday. You wrinkled your nose at this; marriage seemed so distant, a practice that couldn’t express the kind of connection you and Jeongin had. 

Of course it wasn’t all favourite girls and boys and bubble wars in the backyard. There were petty fights, some so bad that you weren’t sure if you’d ever be friends again afterwards. He could be clumsy and careless, and you could be sensitive and uptight. Once, you received a huge lego set as your twelfth birthday present and immediately invited him over. However, the fight over whether to follow the instructions and actually build the palace that was intended (your idea) or build a plane in the shape of a fox (his idea) lead to pieces being snatched, stolen, hidden and eventually lost, and lots of tears and shouting. He said you were being boring, you said he was being annoying. Then, in a moment of frustration, you dropped the bomb.

“You’re not my favourite boy anymore, Yang Jeongin,” you shouted, then your hand flew to your mouth, realising just what you’d said.

You’d seen Jeongin cry before. When he’d fallen off his top bunk trying to do a trick, the time he sprained his ankle on your trampoline. But you’d never seen him cry like this. He was silent, his cheeks flushing pink, eyes watering. He walked out of your room, down the stairs and left. You wanted to follow him, to apologise, say you didn’t mean it. You were also very petty, and wanted to hold a grudge, to prove a point.

But Yang Jeongin was sweet, the sweetest boy you knew. You broke his heart for the first time that day, yet he was the one to slip a letter through your windowsill a few days later. A letter you still kept today, folded tightly into squares in your wallet.

I’m sorry I messed up your lego, I know it was annoying of me. I miss you and want to make friends. Cookie misses you too. Do you want to come for a walk with us today? 

You’re still my favourite girl, even if you don’t like me anymore, I will still like you, I promise.

(But I hope I am still your favourite boy, were you just angry and maybe didn’t mean it?)

You were twelve, reading a hastily written letter from the boy next door who once shoved a whole orange into his mouth, who got dragged into a lake by his overexcited dog, who invited himself over to play on your trampoline, who tried to build a plane in the shape of a fox.

Yes, you’d known you loved Yang Jeongin before that, but as you reread the letter, then ran over to his house and hugged him, sobbing into his shoulder and promising that he was your favourite boy and that you didn’t mean it, you felt something in your chest twinge.

He got under your skin often. It irritated you.

But now, it felt like he was crawling in, making a home there.

He was still there, even though your high school summers had ended, and you were in the bed of someone else, someone who you’d been so deeply intimate with, someone who made your heart and body ascend when you were with them.

You’d told Han Jisung that you’d loved him eight months ago. Only him.

This had been your fourth summer without Yang Jeongin, for he had moved in eleventh grade with his family. His younger brother had gotten into a soccer academy five hours away, and so they had left to move to the city. You remembered that last week with him as clearly as day; as if it was all happening in front of you again.

The two of you had been laying on his bed, crinkled linen and pillows strewn on the floor, sheets pulling loose from the mattress. The window had been open, and a warm breeze had blown through the curtains. His bedroom was hot, despite the fan being on full blast, and you felt as if you were going to melt into a puddle. Boxes surrounded the bed, labelled hastily in Sharpie. Some in your handwriting, some in his. Every surface was emptied and wiped clean, his walls bare. Yang Jeongin was leaving.

Jeongin had laid beside you, your leg on top of his. His bare torso was warm against your shoulder and had a glowy sheen to it, and you suddenly felt very aware of your body in its pale blue underwear and loose white t-shirt. You definitely hadn’t been this aware of yourself two hours  ago. You didn’t know how or why you’d let yourself go, not like this, not this fast. Not now, when it was all too late.

Jeongin rolled over to look at you. He opened his mouth to say something.

“Don’t say it,” you whispered, staring at him. “It’ll make it all more real.”

Jeongin took a deep breath and nodded.

You stayed where you were, bodies entangled, the heat of a summer afternoon and the glow of the midday sun filling the room.

And, like some fucking miracle, the person who moved in next door was another boy. Your age. Sparkling brown eyes, heart-shaped smile, joking and mischievous.

Just like that, Han Jisung crash landed into your life. The gap of loneliness was filled before it properly formed. But maybe, that had been a curse. Because now, as you pressed your cheek closer into Jisung’s neck, your heart ached, and your skin itched.

You’d never forget.  

It had been eight months since you had told Han Jisung you loved him. The boy who had moved next door the week after Jeongin had left, the boy who you’d met that evening at one of one of Changbin’s parties, your very first, and in his tipsy state had taken you into the depths of the backyard, fingers entwined with a kind of immediate affection that almost knocked you over. Expecting him to kiss you, you’d quickly finished your cider and taken a deep breath in anticipation. Instead, Jisung pulled your body tight against his, his grip firm yet his action so gentle, and simply held you in an embrace.

You couldn’t remember exactly how long you’d rested against him; your vision had been slightly blurred, and your head had been hurting a little. It could have been a mere two minutes or an hour. You didn’t mind, though. A beautiful boy was holding you, not wanting anything more from you than simply your presence. Your heart had warmed, your eyes had closed. 

After that night, you’d find yourself ending up at more and more of Changbin’s parties, during which Jisung would always find you, always take you away, always leave you longing for more. You’d go to each other’s houses, in the mornings, afternoons and evenings, spending hours together, simply doing. He would write songs and play his guitar, and you’d bring your art portfolio and sketch and paint. He’d run a hand through your hair as you worked, his hand wet with the coldness of his can of soda. When your hands got tired, you’d rest your head against his thigh and close your eyes, listening to him talk, write or play. 

When he kissed you for the first time, out on the trampoline at the back of your lawn, you’d seen literal stars. It had been a cloudy night, and even the moon had been difficult to distinguish, but you felt your whole world melt in Jisung’s presence. He kissed you gently, slowly, like he was savouring a spoonful of the sweetest honey. He kissed you, not like it was a chore, but like it was something he’d been longing for. You wanted to stay with him until you physically couldn’t, until your breath ran out and your lungs collapsed and your heart stopped beating. He felt like a dream, like a hallucination you’d made up. He didn’t feel tangible.

Throughout that summer, kisses at parties and in backyards turned into long drives to the beach, to nights spent in suspicious hotels in the sticky heat, limbs entwined and chests rising and falling sharply. He would pay for each and every one of your expeditions; his allowance was generous and, after all, it was his car, even if he was four months too young to drive it. 

This particular evening, you’d found yourselves in a motel by the coast. Your hair was damp and tousled, the scent of saltwater and sweat strong on your skin. Cheeks flushed, lips bruised and swollen. You could still taste his cola on your tongue, feel the faint fizz through your throat. He was lying on his back, chest bare and warm, your face pressed into the crook of his neck, leg thrust over his. The fan in the room was long broken and the window only opened a fraction, but the two of you lay together, sweat dripping, eyes closed. Jisung was like an addiction; you felt like you needed him every minute of the day, every second. He said he felt the same about you, and was always quick to sneak through your back door.

“I don’t want to exist around anyone else,” Jisung had murmured into your hair. “You’re the only one for me, Star. I’ll marry you one day, you know that, right?”

He had a habit of making these passionate promises, of making your world seem so rosy. Of giving you hopes and dreams of a future where he would love you forever and ever.

In his head, you two were bound. Names written in the stars, bodies entwined in a sea of saltwater.

In reality, you were in an unrenovated motel, hours away from both of your friends and family. Both of you said exactly what you needed to hear in order to heal, or at least, pretend that you were healing. 

You had been dating Han Jisung for eight months, but not once had he actually called you his girlfriend, nor had you called him your boyfriend. He had called you his love, his lover, his angel, his Star. All beautiful words, but none that confirmed your feelings for each other. You knew he wanted you, for he told you this every single day, but why only in the dark, in the back of his car, in motels with ugly floral sheets and broken blinds? Why couldn’t you love each other openly, fully?

You knew why. 

You were both liars.

Love with Jisung felt like every celestial object in the sky was colliding. Like the stars were all being reborn, like the clouds had never, ever clouded your vision in the first place. It felt magical and fantastical and like an intangible, out of body experience. It felt like something you had to hunt for, like something you would only ever experience once in a lifetime.

“Mm,” you replied, resting your face closer against his warm skin. You’d worry about the things your friends had warned you about later. He was here, close and real. Even if everything he said was a lie, the moment you were in was real. He was real.

You felt his hand run through your hair, breath suddenly halted. He was waiting for a proper response.

“Mm,” you repeated again, nuzzling closer. You felt his chest rise and fall again, his breathing steady. Soon, you heard a gentle snuffle, and he was asleep, bare skin warm, soft lips slightly open.

Gently, you wriggled out of his embrace. God, wasn’t he beautiful? Dark brown hair wavy from the sea breeze, the skin under his eye that you’d always kiss ever so gently. You reached out and touched his finger lightly, as if reminding yourself that he existed, that he was before you. It never felt real with him. The love you shared was real, the passion, but his presence? You were only there for each other when you were alone together. Fully there.

You pulled the sheet over his chest and silently slipped out of the front door.

Yang Jeongin moved to Cherry Bay when he was nineteen. 

After moving to the city with his family, leaving behind the small universe he’d curated from the beginning of his childhood, of which you were at the centre, he had begun to spiral. His parents had enrolled him in a fancy, all-boys school. He had struggled with his feelings; feelings of anxiety around being by himself, around being with people, feelings of frustration when boys his age teased his now quiet nature and low grades, feelings of helplessness for his own future. He began going to the school gym at lunchtimes, not to play, but to sit and think. When he’d left, Jeongin’s phone had broken, and he’d never managed to regain contact with you. He’d heard from his friends that you had someone else now, anyways. He didn’t want to intrude and ruin things, or, even worse, have already been forgotten.

It was in the gym that he met Lee Felix and Kim Seungmin. 

Felix had moved from Australia two years ago, and Seungmin, despite having never moved from anywhere, had never quite managed to fit in at the school. The two boys had found comfort in each other, and soon, in Jeongin as well. Seungmin told stories of his life at primary school, how he’d always had friends there, and how nobody here understood him. Everybody took him too seriously, thought he was cold and unkind, not understanding the love that hid underneath his dry humour. Felix had joined midway through the year, and despite his sweet, outgoing personality, had been ignored and left out.

They began hanging out at each other’s houses, going swimming in the summer at Seungmin’s older sister, Rosie’s place in Cherry Bay. Rosie was twenty-three and lived in a cottage by the beach, one she had inherited from a great aunt. She he had a girlfriend, Margot, who was an artist like her. Margot worked primarily with ceramics, whilst Rosie preferred gouache. Quite often, the pair would work together on projects, Rosie painting Margot’s various pots and sculptures, and quite often, Rosie and Margot would go on exotic vacations to Vietnam or Corfu or Albania. This was when Seungmin was allowed to invite his friends up, as long as they swore to feed her cat, Nellie, and keep her plants watered.

That had been Jeongin’s first summer without you. His friends weren’t a distraction from the loneliness he felt, a bandage to cover it up, but rather people who were also wounded. People who needed healing and support and laughter and trust.

“Margot and Rosie are going to move,” Seungmin revealed one summer evening, hair tousled from the sea breeze. They sat out on the pier, toes dipping in the warm water, cold bottles of beer laid out across the wood planks. 

“To where?” Felix asked, sitting up and leaning against a wooden pole. “Overseas? Or to a different house?”

“France, I think, where Margot’s family lives,” Seungmin replied. “It’s not a permanent arrangement, but neither of them think they’ll come back. Rosie’s visited Margot’s family there before and she said the whole country just felt like magic, she’d never been so creative in her life.”

Jeongin smiled. “That’s sweet. So, is she selling the house?”

“And what about Nellie?” Felix added.

“That’s the thing,” Seungmin said, taking a sip of his beer. “She doesn’t want to sell it, especially since she knows it’ll just get knocked down and turned into some ugly modern beachside McMansion, a place that’ll probably just be used for vacations and shut up during the other seasons. But she also knows she can’t just leave the house. So she had a chat with me, and said if I wanted it, I could have the place. And Nellie.”

“And you said, . . ?” Felix waited, eyes bright.

“Fuck yes,” Seungmin replied, bursting into laughter. “How could I say no? Living here for free in a house by the beach? It’s a dream. But there’s a small issue; I have these two best friends that live hours away in the city, and there’s two empty spare bedrooms.”

“Oh my god,” Jeongin gasped. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

“If what you’re thinking is that I’m asking you guys to move with me, then yes,” Seungmin confirmed, smiling wide. His cheeks were flushed and eyes glistening, maybe from the alcohol, but he looked so happy. Genuinely happy.

Felix jumped up and screamed in excitement, throwing himself onto Jeongin. Seungmin jumped up and pulled the boys in his arms, then flung the three of them into the saltwater. They emerged, panting and out of breath, laughing hard. Tears rolled down Jeongin’s cheeks, salt on his lips, and they swam up to the shallows, sitting where the water was waist-deep and still retained the heat from the afternoon sun. 

Cherry Bay was far from home, but there was something about the place, something about the moment that made it feel like a part of him. It wasn’t the boys he was with or the cottage, although both of those things he was incredibly grateful for.

There was a lingering feeling, a presence.

And as you stepped outside the motel room and looked out at the pier, you saw three boys sitting in the shallows of the water, laughing and joking. You knew that laugh.

“Baby? Why’d you leave,” Jisung whined sleepily, his arms sliding around your waist from behind you. His bare torso was warm against your back and he kissed your neck softly. You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek to placate him, and squinted out at the beach one last time. You weren’t wrong. He was putting on his shirt now, the same one you’d been wearing while you helped him pack.

“Star?”

“No reason, pretty boy. Just needed some air. Let’s go back inside, yeah?”

And as Jisung spent long minutes pressing kisses down your neck and chest, mumbling promises that you knew neither of you could keep, your mind was somewhere else. You knew there had been a reason your gut had twisted into a tight knot when Jisung had pulled up at this motel. You knew there had been something drawing you closer when you’d picked Cherry Bay on the map out of all of the beachside towns.

When you finally drifted asleep, sweaty bodies entangled, it was not Jisung you dreamed of. 

Rosie and Margot left a week after Seungmin shared the news. They packed minimally, just a suitcase each of clothing, a stack of Rosie’s sketchbooks, two sculptures Margot had made and toiletries. “We won’t need much,” Rosie had explained. “We’ll be living with Margot’s family. Besides, it makes it easier for you guys, it means you don’t have to go out and buy a bunch of the awkward things everyone forgets when they move in.”

“Are you asking me to thank you for leaving us with all of your crap?” Seungmin teased, and Rosie rolled her eyes and shoved him lightly. His gaze softened, though, and he suddenly pulled her in for a tight hug. “I’ll miss you. Stay safe, yeah, and contact me.” he turned to Margot. “You too.”

Margot’s eyes shone. “You sound like her big sister, Minnie,” she laughed playfully. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t forget to call you, and if she does, I promise I will.”

“Good,” Seungmin replied, closing the trunk of the car and stepping back.

“Look after yourselves,” Rosie called out as they drove down the road. “Don’t take things so seriously. Let loose, all of you.”

“What does she mean by that?” Felix raised an eyebrow, and Seungmin sighed and shook his head.

“Interpret it any way you’d like,” he mumbled, then his eyes brightened as he flung open the door to the cottage. “I can’t believe we have this to ourselves now. It’s like a dream.”

Jeongin smiled, eyes crinkling. “We’re so lucky. You’re so lucky that you have a sister like her, Min.”

“I am,” he said proudly, taking in the salty air and warm breeze. “Now, do we want to actually organise our stuff today, or do we want to get drunk on the pier?”

Felix tapped his chin, pretending to think, then burst out laughing. “Let’s leave everything. There’s a bottle shop down the road, you guys coming?”

You’d convinced Jisung to spend the rest of the month with you in Cherry Bay. He’d been confused at first, asking why you wouldn’t rather driving further along the coast, stopping at different motels and beaches along the way. You didn’t have a great answer; just told him that something about the place made you feel at home. And he’d smiled at that, and the two of you shared a bottle of peach soju on the beach that night, eating clementines and making out in the water, then trudging back to the motel, sandy and wet, making out for even longer on the bed, sheets damp, bodies sticky, hearts full.

Jisung got hungover pretty easily, and would often stay in bed for most of the morning. You, on the other hand, were an early riser, and enjoyed the quiet and solidarity you had in the early hours of the day. Dressed in your navy gingham bikini, the one you’d had since long before you’d met Jisung, you would swim in a silent ocean, the sky still dark, sun unrisen, everybody else asleep. You would swim out to the flags and back, then rest, seated in the shallows, the water warming as the sun began to peek out from the horizon.

This morning, when you’d returned from your swim, Jisung was still out cold. He looked adorable when he slept; cheeks puffy, mouth slightly parted, hair tousled. He seemed innocent and genuine, the boy you remembered falling in love with from the start. The boy who you’d promised you’d love forever. The two of you had already gotten through most of the fruit you’d bought together at the grocery store, and there was a single can of cola in the minifridge. You left this for him, placing it and a peach on his bedside table. You found one of his t-shirts and pulled it on top of your bathers, grabbing your purse and slipping out the door, leaving a kiss on his lips as you left.

The local grocery store was small but well-stocked, and you’d grown familiar with it over the past week you had spent here. It was a five minute walk from your motel, further inland, painted a charming butter yellow and run by an equally charming woman named Angie. Adjacent to it was a liquor store, run by Angie’s husband. Often, you caught them smiling at each other through the glass door that connected the stores.

“Good morning, sweet girl,” Angie beamed at you, eyes shifting into crescent moons. “There’s fresh fruit out on the floor for you. The peaches are amazing this time of year.”

“Thanks, Angie,” you smiled back, picking up a handful of peaches and a plastic carrier of cherries. You walked down the side of the store and grabbed a crusty loaf of bread and butter, then set your items down in front of her. Behind you, the doorbell jingled, and two boys entered, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.

“Seungmin, my darling, here for more clementines?” she asked, not looking up. She handed you your change with a wink and then walked around the counter, giving the tall boy a big hug. “Young Rosie’s told me that she and Margot are leaving the house to you; in good hands, I’m sure of it.”

“I’ll do my best, Angie,” he laughed. “And what did you say about clementines?”

Your face shifted into an automatic smile at the sweet scene. 

“They’re right here. Did you want some too, lovie?” Angie asked, grabbing you a bundle before you could reply. 

“You’re too kind,” you chuckled, and Seungmin looked at you curiously. The door adjoining the two stores opened, and another boy walked through, thrusting two six packs of beer at the freckled boy standing beside Seungmin. Your eyes widened, and you felt your body freeze. He looked up at you, smiling shyly. The doorbell jingled again, and suddenly his eyes shifted and he looked at the ground. You turned behind you.

“C’mon, baby, let’s go swim,” Jisung pulled you close, arms warm around your waist, eyes bright and smile wide. Your body tensed a little.

“Yeah, okay,” you replied, thanking Angie before being swept into Jisung’s arms. As you looked over his shoulder from your embrace, you saw Jeongin’s face fall. “Wait, no, Ji, can we just go back to the motel?”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “Why?”

“Missed you,” you whispered, and his face softened. He set you down, cupping your warm cheeks and kissed you softly. Like he loved you. You kissed him back, deeper, like you loved him. You ran through the door of the motel, locking it behind you, and acted like you loved each other for hours. You both lied to each other, pretended, used actions instead of words, because words were real and he was not.

You had not missed Han Jisung, but my god, you had missed Yang Jeongin. 

That night ended the same way every night ended with Jisung. Him passed out on the sheets, his body wrapped around yours. Skin sweaty, chests heaving, the room too hot yet both of your bodies cold. And when his breathing slowed, and he began to softly snore, you pulled yourself away, kissing him on the lips before heading out the door and down the pier. You sat down at the end, a bottle of cider beside you, but you didn’t attempt to open it. 

It had been four summers without Yang Jeongin. You didn’t understand why even though you hated the feeling of isolation he had left you with, a feeling that whilst Jisung filled in the moment, had left you aching all this time, you would still force yourself to stay in solitude, to remember all the things you wanted to forget, to recall everything you never said to him, and now, weren’t able to.

He had his own life. He might even have his own girlfriend. You had Jisung. He should have been enough for you.

You remembered the summer before he had left, when the two of you had snuck into the school pool in the evening. That had been the first time you’d been drunk, the first time you’d broken in somewhere. Although it was wrong, it had felt right, and you yearned for that feeling again. Not the thrill, but the consistency and comfort that he gave you, back when he’d promised he would never leave you.

You heard footsteps approaching, and felt the presence of someone shuffling to sit beside you.

“You’re a liar,” he said, but his expression was soft. Adoring, even. 

“So are you,” you replied, and he pulled you close into his chest.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger @woozarts - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[ask2ps]

i made interps of 2p liech and 2p swiss so many years ago but never posted em... not sure where the files are now. >__< but i finally am working on the new ones lol. i know that 2p swiss and 2p liech arent as popular, but theyre one of the few i have an Actual history planned out for.

tldr: the worlds ultimate paranoid germaphobe and his creepy little sister, who is armed with lysol wipes and also a Gun

[fumifooms]

Just finished Fool Night vol 7 (chap 63) and clutching my head. Mayhaps I shall never be the same. Oh Mukuru Izumi the villain that you are… "What’s back teryas? Veer usses?" "What’s oxygen? Is it like air?" "What’s that? What are you holding?" "Do you think I can live happily one day?" Just shoot me mysterious masked guy it’ll hurt less idc anymore just do it. This is my csm Aki I feel the tragedy in my bones even more here

It’s the cycle of revenge right, that goes on and on until there’s no one left to avenge the last one murdered— And the thought that there’d be no one that would remember or care or want or try to avenge Mukuru is the fucking saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

Trying to be as vague as possible to avoid spoilers but man. Fool Night, the manga that’ll make me cry over trees… Like so far I’ve only cried once and it was during the first umm trees field scene right, because it was simply too fucking real yeah that’d happen yeah, but my god. They’re not just trees they’re lives and they’re not just lives they’re humans and more but does it matter and what are souls???? What are feelings????? What is communication?????? "Oh sure I’ll bring you to Shiika." then that. evil.

…….. And also today I started NegaPosi Angler!!! Great and comfy so far very looking forward to watching it every week. For anyone who didn’t know yet I have a weird ultra fixation on fishing in media in general, Tsuritama and River King are two of my fave things, sooo this is perfect for me lol, came around just at the right time too. Big recommend. Surprisingly topical since both NegaPosi and Fool Night deal with poverty hm. It’s csm Denji meets FN Toshiro except this guy fixes his life through fishing. Bless.

2 works that make me say "I want to live!!" in very different ways! 😀 Fool Night’s out in english through Viz what are you doing here go check it out

[snailfen]

aw man all that hunter practice i did in arena mode this week really paid off. i mauled the first vulture i saw in expedition and backflipped away from so many jaws in story mode. im REALLY good at slug violence now! this expedition is gonna be a piece of ca-

[mr-nicegirl]

i cannot for example try to explain basic concepts of feminism and or politics to people who don't even know wtf i mean when i say 'most people think we genuinely live in a post-feminist world' like. ok. pause. mama lets research

[frommybedroom]

i hate that it’s getting colder. i hate that it gets dark at 5 pm. i hate having so much work to do.

[alicedrawslesmis]

I think Robert and Valjean should go on a double date with Oyelowo!Javert and Rivette. For my own amusement.

[indigopoptart]

HIII- sorry I’ve been acting dead, my computer fried and I’m currently using my iPad 😅-

how are you doing 😁

ft @akemima and @sammysun. yall real ones fr

[teamfreewill58]

As I watched this most recent episode and possibly one of the last of JJK (season 2 ep: 41) the only thing that ran through my mind the whole time I watched it was the animators. The animators comments of being burned out, of feeling sick of being sick, of not being proud of their animation---everything I've seen and heard so far about what is going on in MAPPA's walls---and I couldn't help but think of all the JJK episodes/chapters that it was this episode. How fitting and how loudly it screams at us. The feeling of dread, horror, panic, seeing that destruction and all of the people who die and all I could think of was how strongly this represented the animators right now. Being ravaged and destroyed and not even cast a glance by Sukuna (MAPPA) as they are bursting into flames and being cut apart because all Sukuna (MAPPA) sees is what he wants and how much he's getting fed in this fight. The line work being messy and kind of off and wild, while I know its mostly due to the animators conditions, still fits. It is making a statement and carving this devastation into our bones.

And then to see Yuji at the end, unable to do anything, powerless, having to relive everything that just happened in rapid fire, and the look on his face....how in this moment he's the animators, and us, who don't want this, who feel like they can't do anything and they need to leave but in a way also can't really.

I adore the animators at MAPPA, they are some of the most talented animators I have ever seen in my life. I love many of the shows that they have animated and I love what they have given us, but they and others, do not deserve to be treated this way. They shouldn't be wondering how they are going to pay rent, or starving, or so exhausted and burned out that they look like Yuji does at the end of this episode. I want them to be taken care of. And if that means that JJK gets paused for a while then good. I will wait.

Look at what these amazing, creative, talented, passionate people are able to do for you when they are in such poor conditions why not take a second and think about that. If you treated them like the people they are, don't you think you would get amazing art you couldn't even fathom?

I have signed the petition and I am staying as up to date as I can, financially I could never support these wonderful people, but things need to change. The anime industry should and does know better than this and these passionate creators need and deserve to be treated better than this. This is their lives and their jobs. But no one's job should come before or at the cost of their life.

I hope JJK is paused, I hope the mangaka speaks out. I hope there is change for these wonderful men, women and non-binaries. They deserve the world because look what they've brought to life in ours.

I love the Maleovent kitchen subbing and they better never ever take it out because it is such an important tag now.

[camaraderieofharmony]

out of the whole group, who does pages hang out the most with- if anyone? and why?

he’s just as close with everyone tbh, just that gaze and howl are usually busier than silence and sparrow. so he talks and hangs out w them the most ❤️

[padawahsoka]

hm. did not like the episode objectively. but emotionally i AM distraught

[doerot]

I need more writer friends so someone can tell me to shut up and work on my outline

[navree]

I don’t know if it’s been asked before but why do you like Batman? What’s so special about him?

It's been talked about a bit by me just rambling, but never really explained in depth, and even then, I never mind repeating myself <3

So, a not insignificant part of it is that one of the first TV shows I ever remember watching, other than Redwall and Dragon Tales was the DCAU Justice League show, and I immediately fell in love with their version of Batman, especially how he was performed by the late, great Kevin Conroy. So I just started seeking out that version of Batman through the DCAU shows when I was really young, like, seven years old, and it just kinda imprinted itself on me, the way media often can when you're a young child. And I do maintain that, despite some flaws (like the Jason Todd-ification of Tim Drake for no reason, and the obsession with making Bruce and Barbara a couple, which just.....hurl) the DCAU characterization of Batman as a person and as a hero is is the gold standard. But I did start reading comics once I ran my way through all the shows, and that core love still remains.

Part of it is, again, he's Amélie's very first blorbo ever since the mid-2000s, but Bruce as a character is genuinely compelling. Bruce goes through an unimaginable trauma at a very young age, and rather than how most people would react, he chose to do something with it. Seriously, if you think about something like the death of Batman's parents happening in the real world and you just read about it on the news, that's horrific, and it makes sense that it's not only fucked Bruce up, but could have potentially resulted in him turning into a mess. And he is a mess, don't get me wrong, but he also chose to be more than that. He chose to create Batman, to try and help a city that was drowning and make it better. There's an element of choice to Batman's character and his arcs that I've always liked. He doesn't need to do anything that he's done. There's no outside force compelling him to try and create a better version of his city where no one has to experience the hurt that he went through. There's no external pressure demanding that he protect the world even in the face of odds that he cannot win just to keep innocent people safe. There's no ulterior motivator making him take in children who have nothing, children who need a home and a family and loving care, other than the fact that he wants to do right by them and he has an infinite capacity for love in his heart. Bruce has no responsibility to Gotham, the people of Gotham, to other heroes, to the world, to random kids he meets on an off chance. No one asked him to do anything he does, and he's under no obligation to do it or continue. Bruce could stop being Batman tomorrow and dismantle the entire operation and turn his entire family into civilians, and nobody would be able to say he can't do that because he had no duty to start it in the first place. But he did. He chose to do good, to turn his pain into a drive to try and make life better for people in his city, to take a drive that could become a very selfish motivator (for instance, devoting resources solely to finding Joe Chill) and using it for something purely selfless (putting his own self on the line, in all possible ways, just to make sure people can lead better lives and that no one ever experiences the pain that he has).

There is a fundamental goodness to Bruce Wayne's character that is incredibly compelling. Because it would be so easy for there not to be. And he's had a fair amount of writers who've forgotten that it's there (people who write abusive Bruce Wayne are never seeing heaven), but if he's got someone who understands the character, then yeah, he's good. He's selfless and he's kind and he's got a capacity for love and care that is astounding. He opens his heart to children he has no connection to purely just to give them a good home, he refuses to harden himself against letting people in even with the amount of times he's been hurt, he never stops trying to help people who are hurt or sick get better (as clearly seen in his neverending quest to try and help Harvey Dent be rehabilitated). He's a good person who chooses to keep that goodness and not let it slip away from him, no matter what, even when he would be well within his rights to. He never lets himself. I mean, God, Bruce Wayne is someone who will personally resuscitate a man he hates more than anything, a man who murdered his child, just so that his other son won't become a killer and have to live with that guilt (that's real fyi, Dick Grayson once beat the Joker to death after the Joker had taunted him with details of his murder of Jason Todd's, and Batman, along with possibly Robin, managed to revive him so that Dick wouldn't be guilty of murder). Bruce Wayne is someone who could have been fundamentally broken by the things that happened to him, if not the murder of his parents then certainly the murder of his child (and we know it did alter a lot of his personality, which makes sense, cuz his kid died), and no one would have really blamed him. He could have become cold and cruel and a killer, and he knows he has that capacity within him, but he actively chooses not to.

And he doesn't always do the right thing; trust me, if you're a fan of Jason Todd, you're well aware of the fact that Bruce doesn't always do the right thing. He falls short. Batman is only human, and he makes mistakes. He makes wrong and bad choices, he fucks up and needs to try and fix it, he fails to meet his own standards (I don't know how many times I need to say it, but for all intents and purposes, Batman has absolutely broken his no kill rule, going into his confrontation with the Joker in Batman #429 with the express intent to kill, refusing to save him when he can, and never expressing a moment of doubt or remorse when he's believed to be dead, is basically Batman breaking his no kill rule, the only reason it doesn't technically count is because the Joker is revealed to have survived, but he had intent and he never had any remorse or second guessing, it counts as breaking the rule). Bruce has fucked up, with rogues and cases, and with friends and family too, and he's had to live with those mistakes and, if he's got a good writer at least, try to rebuild from there and earn whatever redemption he needs to depending on how big the screwup (and how much the writer either thinks Bruce is an untouchable god/hates whoever he hurt, no I'm not bitter about Certain Storylines, why would I be bitter?).

Bruce Wayne is incredibly human, painfully human. He lives in this world of gods and monsters and there he is, a man with a plan. And it is enjoyable, from a character perspective, that this man who is nothing but human, entirely ordinary, is able to fight and talk and think circles around people who'd routinely be considered superior, who has this place as one of the most god-tier people in his universe entirely because he's earned it, because he's lived up to his potential and his reputation. But there's also something beautiful in that. Like yeah, Bruce is stupid levels of rich, but beyond that, there's really nothing outwardly special about him. He's just a man. But he becomes larger than life through his actions, the choices he makes, the fact that he be brought low as he could be, low as he'd have the right to be, by his circumstances. His goodness remains intrinsic to him, and he refuses to give it up, because it's the core aspect of his humanity, a humanity that he refuses to relinquish in the face of greater and mightier odds and unspeakable evils, and it speaks to an immense fortitude as well as just how good he is.

(and I know there are a lot of generally bad faith criticisms made about the concept of Batman, and what Bruce chooses to do but a) no he does not go around beating up pickpockets and the mentally ill, he either stops crime non-lethally and informs the cops or is specifically asked to intervene in something by the authorities, not to mention that the "mentally ill" people that are his rogues are also basically domestic terrorists who are often full murderers, sorry that my heart does not bleed for the fact that the Joker has some kind of disorder while Batman punches him in the nose, and b) the fact that the system Gotham has in place is made explicitly clear on numerous occasions to not be remotely adequate to deal with what they have to deal with, that a lot of the cops and politicians and people meant to protect citizens are either completely inept and terrible at their jobs or just straight up corrupt and actively making the situation worse, and I do find it amusing that a lot of the criticisms of Batman come from left wing Twitter activists who crow about the incoming revolution but then go catatonic at the idea that a fictional character has decided the system is too corrupt to work with and thus forcibly changes it from the outside, isn't that what y'all's fucking incoming commie revolution is meant to do? Just sayin. Also no, he's not a fascist, tf, words mean things.)

And from a character perspective, from my enjoyment of him as a part of a fiction and an overall puzzle piece in a greater story (cuz I always do try to separate liking a character as a person vs liking them as a character), I'm not immune to the fact that Bruce's complexities come from a good number of tragedies. He's not real, and it does add to interest in him as a narrative device that he deals with a lot and needs to react to it and overcome it (and he deals with a lot, I wrote a list and it's not even comprehensive I definitely left out a lot just out of pure forgetfulness). Watching Bruce as a character, already with all the traits I enjoy listed out above, deal with the things he has to deal with makes him not just a character to enjoy as person, but a character to enjoy as a character, as part of a larger story, as a significant part of what makes that story rich and compelling and routinely interesting even when it's been going on for close to a century. Plus, again, from a character perspective, he's got fascinating interpersonal relationships that are captivating as well and add to his own complexities, relationships not just in terms of romance, but with friends and allies and enemies and especially with family (I think it's kinda impossible to be a Batman fan and not have an insane number of thoughts about the relationship he has with at least ONE of his kids).

There's a lot that's been written about Batman that I don't like, I am not a fan of DC's insistence that Bruce is a shitty dad who routinely beats his children, and it does feel a lot of the time these days like Bruce is a character that I like more for his potential than the way he tends to be written. But I still love that potential, and the kind of character he can be in the hands of a competent writer (and given what a decentralized medium comics are when it comes to canons and characterizations, you have to allow for that kind of leeway in a way you can't with other forms of storytelling) is one that can be truly great. As a character, he's kind of everything you can want, flawed and imperfect and deeply human, but always trying, and with not just a rich interior but complex relationship dynamics that have helped shape who he is.

Ultimately, I think why I like Bruce is best summed up by something Amanda Waller said in the Justice League Unlimited episode Epilogue: I've never met anyone who cared as deeply about his fellow man as Bruce Wayne. And I love him for that.

[salsa-di-pomodoro]

Hi???

[slingbees]

Anyway monster hunter gives you a time limit of like, what, 40 minutes? So if you enter the field to do a mission you actually have already opted into dedicating a set amount of time to the gameplay, if you have a life to live in that time you should turn it off and come back to it later

[s0dium]

𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍

Haikyuu men x Reader

A/n: This is part of my Olympic event, please click on the for more! If you would like to suggest something for this event don't hesitate!

Synopsis: What do Haikyuu men do after the Olympics? Well, they do you

Warnings: Spanking, fingering, praise, groping, squirting

The camera zooms in on the bustling Olympic stadium in Paris, its energy palpable even through the television screen. The crowd's roaring cheers reverberate, celebrating the electrifying victory of the Japanese volleyball team. Among the sea of jubilant teammates, the camera focuses on one player, your boyfriend, glistening with sweat and wearing an infectious smile: fresh from clinching the gold medal.

As he steps away from the celebratory huddle, a reporter, microphone in hand, intercepts him. The reporter's voice is enthusiastic, mirroring the atmosphere, "So, what are your plans to celebrate the big win?"

He chuckles, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, his grin widening, "Well, after drinks with the guys," he pauses, "I have a little post-game ritual."

Intrigued, the reporter leans in, the crowd's cheers serving as a dramatic backdrop, "Oh yeah? What's that?"

He winks at the camera, "Secret."

Yes a secret it was, one that only you and him knew. One that started off with you being bent over his knee with his fingers deep in your creamy cunt.

"Been thinking about this all day," he murmurs, right hand caressing the fat of your ass while his left curls and massages the sweet part of your gummy walls that makes your eyes roll back. At this point you have given up resisting, letting your body hang limp over his muscular thighs.

As his fingers probe and massage your gspot, the wet sounds of your arousal fill the room, an intoxicating symphony that drowns out all other thoughts. Each movement, each touch, creates a chorus of slick, rhythmic noises that seem to echo in your mind, pushing you further into a state of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

"So good," you whine and you don't know it but the tips of his ears go red from the sound of your voice. Your brain begins to haze, the world around you blurring until all that exists is the sensation of his ministrations. His touch is both fast and demanding, knowing exactly how to tease and please, drawing you closer to the edge. He reaches a spot inside you that you can only dream about reaching with your own fingers.

"I know baby, I know you feel good. Shit, i cant feel you squeezing my fingers." he groans at the feeling of your cunt convulsing around his digits. He is already two fingers deep in you but at this point he's thinking about stretching you further and slipping in a third. So he does. Using your dripping arousal as lubricant he slips in a third finger making your thighs tremble from the sudden intrusion. The stretch is delicious, who knew a volleyball player's hands had other uses besides volleyball?

"I won for you princess, the whole time i was playing I was thinking about you."

You can feel your pussy tighten and convulse at his words, the clicking sound of your arousal a testament to your connection, your mutual need.

Time loses all meaning as you surrender to the overwhelming sensations. His fingers, his praises, every part of him is dedicated to driving you wild, and you find yourself unable to hold back the moans that escape your lips. The noises you make together are primal, raw, and they pull you deeper into the abyss of pleasure.

"M'feel weird," You choke. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps as the sensations become almost overwhelming. You feel something press down on your core like there is a pressure building inside you, a sweet, urgent tension that demands release.

"Shhh its ok, let it go baby." He coos and before you can respond he delivers a sharp smack to your ass. "make a mess on my hands, come on~"

The pleasure is so intense, so all-consuming, that it creates an almost paradoxical sensation. The euphoria is so great it feels as though you might lose control, as if you need to pee. It's a raw, primal feeling that heightens the urgency and the pleasure, pushing you further toward the edge.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity. Your mind races, caught between the need to let go and the fear of losing control. Then, it hits you. with a curl of his fingers against your wall, you surrender to it, letting the sensation wash over you.

Your are too lost in the ecstasy to realize that you are squirting all over his hand. It's like an explosion, your body trembling, your mind going blank, consumed entirely by the pleasure he has given you.

"Just like that, let it go y/n let it go." His hands rubs circles on your ass as your body shakes and trembles from your orgasm.

"So perfect so perfect, the best prize I swear."

HINATA, KUROO, BOKUTO, OIKAWA, TSUKISHIMA, Kenma, Ushijima, IWAZUMI, AKASHI, ATSUMU