#once school isn’t kicking my ass at least

[kenna-the-cosmic]

Me you and @still-jon-snow when we go to Ireland after finally learning Irish Gaelic😂

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT2FpcXeF/

Also us https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT2Fp4d2s/

[captain-hawks]

THE LINE BETWEEN LUST & CONTEMPT

♡ — kento nanami x f!reader

As you glance down at the skimpy, khaki skirt and blue shirt that’s missing far too many buttons on the top end, topped off with a silky, patterned yellow tie and heels that may actually kill you, you find yourself wondering again who in their right mind let Gojo pitch Secret Santa-style costumes for the Halloween party.

18+ ONLY

wc — 5.5k

content — enemies to lovers speed run, protective Nanami, soft dom!Nanami vibes, "fucking it out", gagged with a tie, oral fixation, spit kink, spitting in mouth, fingering, squirting, handjob, choking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, washing machine sex, wall sex, praise kink, Nanami’s big dick

— AKA what if nobody went to Shibuya and everyone went to a Halloween party instead?

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“You’re joking, right?”

There’s a familiar chuckle that rings out over the phone, one that often signifies nothing good is to come when you’re on the receiving end of it. 

“Does everything fit?” Gojo asks coyly, as if he’s incapable of hearing the thinly-veiled threat in your prior question. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

You glare at your phone where it’s perched atop your dresser before returning your gaze to the mirror in front of you, readjusting the blue button down shirt once again in an attempt to keep your chest at least modestly covered—it’s a lost cause. 

“Well, this shirt’s somehow missing half the buttons from the top,” you respond dryly, moving on to fix the silky, yellow tie with black spots that’s secured loosely around your neck. 

This is a disaster waiting to happen. 

“And?”

“And my ass is basically hanging out of this skirt,” you continue, roughly tugging the khaki-coloured material down in vain, as if that will persuade it to extend past its otherwise permanent resting place against your very upper thighs.

“I really don’t see what the problem is.”

Kicking at the precariously tall pair of heels sitting on the floor waiting to wreck your feet, you grumble, “I can’t even walk in heels.”

“Shoko’s house is small. You’ll be fine.”

You walk over to your bed, eyeing the gift bag that Gojo had left sitting on your desk at the school earlier this morning. Something still remains neatly placed at the bottom—a lacy, red lingerie set.

“Should I ask why you bought me lingerie, too? I don’t see how that’s part of the costume. Unless Nanami likes wearing thongs on his days off.”

There’s that fucking chuckle again.

“Nanami-kun loves the color red, don’t you know?”

An unwelcome flash of heat flares white-hot in your gut at the implication behind his words, and you’re mortified. “You’re aware we hate each other, right? Have you been living under a rock? He’ll probably turn around and leave as soon as he walks in and sees me wearing this.”

Gojo’s chuckle turns into an outright laugh, and you can practically hear him shoving his stupid blindfold up to wipe away the tears of amusement prickling at the corners of his ridiculously blue eyes.

“Hate? Yeah, sure. Alright.”

Asshole.

You hang up on him. 

–

You had the (dis)pleasure of becoming acquainted with Kento Nanami just over a year ago, shortly after Gojo roped him back into the world of jujutsu sorcery, despite his best efforts to avoid it during his stint as a salaryman. Given that Jujutsu High isn’t exactly brimming with a large roster of full-fledged sorcerers, the two of you have—naturally—been paired up on your fair share of cases.

To say that you don’t work well together is an understatement. 

Nanami’s straightforward and calculated way of operating in the field is a direct contrast to your fast and loose approach, one that relies heavily on acting on your feelings in the heat of the moment, rather than calculating precise, measured ratios that guarantee a critical hit.

You’re too reckless.

Too emotional.

Too spontaneous.

Too sentimental. 

You grate on him much in the way Gojo does, but whereas there are years of friendship that give Nanami the patience to put up with the strongest sorcerer’s antics, he has no reason to extend that same courtesy to you. 

Needless to say, he’d outright balked when Gojo happily announced that you were a grade 1 sorcerer as well, something that never fails to ruffle his feathers as he watches you flirt with dangerous situations time and time again just for the thrill of it, saving your finishing blow of cursed energy for the last possible moment.

“I can’t work with someone who’s actively trying to get themselves killed,” you’d overheard him snapping at Gojo after your second mission together. “She’s worse than you.”

“She always gets the job done, doesn’t she?”

“At the cost of my sanity, I can’t say it’s worth it.”

Admittedly, you may or may not exacerbate the issue on occasion, exaggerating the aforementioned behavior that you know gets on his nerves just to further get a rise out of him in your attempts to try and dislodge the perpetual stick that’s lodged up his ass. 

–

When Shoko opens the door to her apartment later that evening, the sounds of music and laughter spilling out onto her front step, she takes one look at your costume, eyes wide, and laughs, “Oh, Nanami is going to love this.”

You exhale dramatically through your nose, though the exasperated gesture is thrown off by the way you then proceed to shiver, your meager outfit doing little to protect you from the crisp October air. “Tell me again why we didn’t veto Gojo’s Secret Santa Halloween?”

She shrugs, stepping aside to let you in as she offers you a knowing glance. “I seem to remember you saying how fun it would be to surprise each other with costumes.”

“That was before he picked my name,” you lament, glancing down at the outfit that you’ve now begun to refer to as The Slutty Salaryman. 

“Guess I’m lucky you picked me, then,” she winks, waving a hand to show off the far more modest and fun rendition of Principal Yaga that you’d put together for her, complete with a faux cursed corpse seated on her shoulder with large googly eyes glued to its little bear face. “If it makes you feel any better, someone with a sense of humor clearly got Gojo.”

Careful not to trip and fall to your death in the heels as you head through the entryway to the party beyond, which is bustling with a mixture of familiar faces and strangers alike, you scan the room for a tall head of white hair. True to Shoko’s words, you’re not at all disappointed when you catch sight of Gojo dressed as Gakuganji, looking completely ridiculous with fake facial hair, crudely drawn makeup to add decades to his appearance, and loose-fitting pants that are amusingly unflattering on his lean frame. 

It’s not quite revenge, but it’ll do.

–

Two hours pass without a sign of the man you’re dressed as, and for a moment, you’re relieved at the thought that perhaps you’re off the hook. Every little smug, knowing grin Gojo’s been tossing your way will have been for naught. 

But perhaps just to spite you, the front door swings open the moment you take a celebratory swig from the glass of wine in your hands, leaving Shoko to pound on your back while you start choking on the liquid at the goddamn sight standing before you.

Nanami’s dressed as Gojo.

Sort of.

His blonde hair can’t quite disobey the laws of gravity like the other sorcerer’s stark white locks, so it hangs soft and loose over the white blindfold on his face, which is lifted just enough over one eye so he can actually see. Rather than don Gojo’s typical uniform, Nanami’s in an all-black suit (save for the tie he never goes anywhere without), the well-fitting material leaving little to the imagination as it snugly hugs his muscled arms and thick thighs. 

You’re too distracted to respond to the way Shoko’s snickering in your ear, and when Nanami turns around to talk to someone—thus offering you a view of the outfit from behind—you choke again. 

Naturally, you spend the next hour doing everything in your power to avoid Nanami for reasons you’re not quite ready to examine, utilizing an excessive amount of mental gymnastics to justify the way you keep dipping out of conversations every time you catch a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of your eye. The confusing mixture of feelings you’re experiencing has sent your fight-or-flight response into overdrive. 

Your concerted efforts take a nosedive when a far-too-observant Gojo manages to wrangle the two of you into a conversation before you can find an excuse to be somewhere else. It’s disastrous at best, Nanami offering a blunt, disinterested list of every poor decision he felt that you made when Gojo asks how your joint assignment the other day went. 

And just when you’re about to lay into Nanami about how difficult he made that mission, Shoko grabs you by the hip, resting her head on your shoulder with a smile as she turns to him and asks in a calculating tone, “Nanami-kun, doesn’t her costume look great?” 

He glances at you with a gaze full of disinterest before turning to Gojo with an unimpressed look. “I’d never wear such a cheap tie.”

Nanami walks away to get another drink before you can think of a good comeback, though admittedly, the tie is a terrible knock off.

—

“Shit, sorry!”

Cold beer splashes across your chest and soaks the front of your shirt as a man trips and stumbles in your direction, and you groan in annoyance at the feeling of the sticky liquid dripping down your skin. Despite the fact that you wave him off, heading toward the kitchen in search of paper towels, he follows you, spilling out a string of apologies as he himself scrambles for a pile of napkins. 

It’s an awkward shuffle of you trying to clean your chest off without flashing him and the man getting entirely too close as he awkwardly makes an attempt to dab your shirt dry. To your relief, he doesn’t make it that far, the fingers now wrapped around his wrist halting his arm midair. 

“She’s fine.”

Nanami.

The blindfold is long gone, leaving behind the rare sight of him with no glasses and soft, tousled hair. Internally, you scramble to rustle up the familiar feeling of annoyance that always weighs heavily in your gut at the sight of him. Instead, it’s all you can do to try and keep the hitch in your breath inaudible as you feel your stupid heart trip over itself. 

“I’m just—”

“Do you need his help?” Nanami interrupts the man’s slightly slurred words, directing his steely gaze to you. 

For all of the endless comebacks you can normally conjure up to hurl back at him between one breath and the next, you’re temporarily rendered speechless in confusion as to why he’s helping you. So instead, you just shake your head. 

“She doesn’t need your help,” he repeats, nothing friendly in the way he says it. 

The man apologizes again as he drops your arm and scurries from the kitchen, and you turn away from Nanami, leaning against the counter as you attempt to catch your breath and school your expression into something that doesn’t scream, “Why the fuck was that so hot?”

“Are you alright?” he asks carefully, the tinge of concern in his voice sinking into your bones. 

Hand coming up short from the now-empty paper towel roll, you let out a sound of frustration, though it’s moreso due to the infuriating way your body’s been reacting all night to a man you normally can’t even be in the same room with without arguing about something. 

“Like you said, I’m fine,” you tell him sarcastically, spinning around and pushing past him to grab napkins from the table instead. When all else fails, deflect. 

Unfortunately, spinning in heels is arguably one of your worst decisions of the evening, because you instantly lose your balance on the smooth tile floor. When you try to right yourself mid-step, the room tilts as the heel on one shoe cracks under the pressure. Your hands fly up to break your inevitable fall, but it never comes, a pair of arms wrapping firmly around your body and catching you.

Body momentarily on an angle as Nanami holds you against his warm, solid frame, you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression. If he did this in the field, you’d have jumped out of his hold with a snarky remark about not needing his help. 

But right now?

Right now, you don’t know what you want. 

He stares down at you, nonplussed. “You can’t walk in heels,” he observes.

You blink.

“I can’t walk in heels,” you concede, for once not brimming with the fire to argue. 

“And you’re still dripping wet.”

Nanami lifts you back into a standing position, napkins clutched in one hand as he stands on your side with the broken heel and wraps an arm around your waist, helping you to walk. You desperately try to ignore the way it feels to be tucked against him. 

You hate him. 

Right?

He has you facing the short hallway that you know leads to Shoko’s laundry room instead of the living room. “Should I ask where you’re taking me?”

He looks at you, sighing and shaking his head as he walks you toward another door, flicking on the light before he suddenly hoists you up without warning. You yelp at the feeling of something cold touching the backs of your thighs, short skirt and thin tights doing nothing to protect you from the metal surface you’re now sitting on. Glancing down, you realize he’s put you on top of the washer. 

“Here,” he unceremoniously drops the pile of napkins into your lap. “I thought you might want to clean yourself up somewhere more private, given that you seem to be missing most of the buttons on your shirt.”

Is that fucking sarcasm in his voice?

He waves his hand in the direction of the damp blue button down, as if it’s not meant to be an imitation of his trademark outfit. 

“And what are you going to d—”

You’re cut off by your own gasp at the feeling of Nanami’s hand wrapping around your ankle, the gentleness of the gesture a stark contrast to the way he’d nearly manhandled the stranger in the kitchen. He raises an eyebrow, holding up the broken-off heel in his other hand. 

“Can’t have you limping around Shoko’s house the rest of the night, can we? That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

You can’t bring yourself to argue, too mesmerized by the way he drags a hand through his blonde hair to push it out of his face, the stubborn locks fighting their way back across his forehead as his brows furrow together in concentration.

You want to card your own hands through it, to see what kind of expression his face will morph into. 

No. 

“I think they’re a lost cause,” you sigh, leaning forward to take them off and admit defeat. You’re sure Shoko has a pair of slippers somewhere. 

You get a face full of Nanami’s hair instead as he beats you to the punch, his long, deft fingers making surprisingly quick work of the tiny buckles as you try not to make it too obvious that you’re now purposely inhaling the scent of his shampoo for whatever fucking reason has compelled your traitorous body to do so. 

This entire night is a write off at this point.

Head elsewhere, you belatedly realize that your legs are spread far too wide for the microscopic length of your skirt, which may be why Nanami’s gaze has remained dutifully trained on your feet, rather than the bright red thong you know is staring him in the face. You try not to make it too obvious as you inch your thighs back together. 

Putting your shoes on top of the dryer, Nanami goes to leave, turning his head to the side once he’s facing the door, “Do you want me to get Shoko?”

You should say yes. 

You should say yes and watch him go back out to the party, letting the door swing shut on this strange, baffling detour in your contemptuous, stormy relationship. 

You’ll go home and sleep off the tightening of your throat and the pressure in your chest, these hazy, confusing feelings sure to fade in the night, long gone after sunrise like the evaporation of morning dew.

But you’ve never been one to make things easy for yourself.   

“So that’s it?”

Nanami turns around fully, eyes meeting yours. “What do you mean?” he asks carefully.

“You’re just going to go back out to the party?” You’re not sure why you’re pushing him.

He takes two slow steps back toward you, hip brushing against your knee when he comes to a stop. “Are you incapable of getting off of the washer without hurting yourself, too?”

There’s an unfamiliar, teasing lilt to the way he says it, and you shift in place, blood prickling hot beneath your skin. What’s wrong with you tonight?

“You really have nothing to say about my costume?” The words are out of your mouth faster than you can take back the idle thought that’s been nagging you since he walked in the door. 

Since you caught him looking at you from across the room several times after his initial biting remark about the tie, his expression unreadable. 

Nanami scoffs quietly, the scent of his cologne licking its way up your nostrils as he leans one hand atop the washer, just beside your thigh. Veins bulge against his forearm, and you find yourself wondering when he rolled his sleeves up. 

Electricity shoots down your spine as a caress of hot breath tickles the shell of your ear. “What do you want me to say?”

You stare straight ahead, not turning to face him. “How much you hate it.” 

The air in the small room is thick with the tension that hangs heavily in the scant space between your bodies. Nanami’s quiet for a moment. 

“I do hate it.”

Why do you feel so disappointed by the response you knew you’d get?

Then, his dress shoes scuff against the floor, his right hand coming to rest on your other side as he slides over and cages you in entirely. 

“I hate how badly it makes me want to fuck you,” he breathes out. 

Suddenly, you feel far too hot and dizzy to be perched atop Shoko’s washer. “What?”

He chuckles darkly. “Don’t act stupid, princess.”

The air feels like it’s rattling in your chest as you inhale, your increased intake of oxygen doing nothing to clear your clouded brain. “You hate me,” you say dumbly.

His thumb twitches, brushing against the outside of your thigh where there’s a small run in your sheer stockings. The contact is so minimal, you barely feel it, but it leaves a burning hot brand echoing through your nervous system all the same.

Despite the fact that he has you caged atop the washing machine, he’s barely touching you, his body arched just enough to avoid the idle sway of your legs. His tie dangles in the space between your bodies, and you have to fight the urge to wrap your fingers around it and tug.

Nanami stares at you, an odd expression on his face. “I hate the way you make me feel,” he corrects you. 

Oh.

“But you—”

“You’re reckless.”

“I’m—”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Well—”

“You’re too fucking smart to be risking your life in jujutsu sorcery.”

“You’re one to tal—”

“Too talented—”

“Well that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever—”

“—you have no regard for your own life in the field.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“You infuriate me to no end—”

“Are you hitting on me or trying to hurt my feelings I really can’t te—”

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he rasps, chest heaving.

You stare at him, blinking slowly. “The feeling’s mutual.”

He runs his tongue over his lower lip. “I can’t stand it.”

You can hardly hear the sounds of the party anymore.

“Then do something about it.”

Nanami’s lips come crashing into yours, and every flickering ember in your body flares to life. 

There’s a dizzying precision to the way Nanami kisses, mouth claiming yours so thoroughly that a moan crawls its way up your throat before he’s even begun to skirt the seam of your lips with his tongue. Your lips part for him, and he deepens the kiss, one hand cupping the back of your head as his tongue slides over yours. 

He explores your mouth like he wants to devour you, and you let him, already dangerously addicted to the taste of his saliva mixing with your own, keening when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down. 

His hand drifts from your thigh to your shirt, and he grunts as he feels the still-damp material. Without hesitation, you begin to undo the few buttons Gojo hadn’t torn off before giving it to you, overcome with the need to feel the pressure of Nanami’s large, callused hands against your bare skin. He slips the loose tie over your head as you toss the soiled shirt aside, a groan escaping his mouth when he finally takes in the unhindered sight of your bright red bra.

While the straps are lace, the cups are thin and sheer, leaving your peaked nipples on display. You almost hadn’t worn it after realizing how little it left to the imagination.

But now, seeing the way Nanami’s jaw ticks as he stares down at you, fingers twitching where they’re resting against the tops of your thighs, you don’t regret it one bit. 

Your breasts feel heavy and tender under his rapt attention, and the coil nestled in your gut tightens. 

Nanami looks like he’s holding himself back, and you feel a surge of arousal drip between your legs as you watch him teeter at the knife’s edge of his restraint. 

“You don’t need to be gentle with me,” you tell him, overcome with the need to feel exactly what it is that he wants to do to you.  

He cradles the side of your face, fingers curling behind your ear as he slots his mouth against yours. The kiss is thorough but brief, and soon he’s dragging his lips along the curve of your jaw, mouth blazing a trail down the side of your neck, tongue exploring the dip of your collarbone.

While you know where he’s headed, your entire body still arches hard into him when he finally cups your breasts with both hands, leaning in to wetly mouth at one of them through the material of your bra. He licks and sucks, the sensation making you tremble, and you throw your head back and moan, one leg hooking around his waist to pull him in as you scoot closer to the edge of the washer. 

You’re about to take off your bra, but Nanami beats you to the punch, fingers easily flicking open the hooks and allowing your supple breasts to spill out before him. He dives back in, groaning as his lips close around your bare nipple, tongue dancing along the sensitive skin that surrounds the hard bud. His mouth is hot, and slick saliva coats your breasts as he goes back and forth between the two, kneading and sucking. 

With both of your legs now wrapped around his waist in the haze of your arousal, you inadvertently begin to rock into him, your short skirt hiked up around your hips and rendered useless. You moan at the feeling of the sizeable shaft that presses hard into the heat between your legs, his erection straining against the zipper of his slacks. Nanami groans as you start shamelessly dry humping him, and your panties dampen further at the feeling of the sound vibrating against your tits. He gazes one of your nipples with his teeth, teasing it a final time before he straightens, hand coming up to cup your cheek. 

Nanami stares at you intently, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, eyes tracking the way your pupils dilate in turn. He does it again, and your tongue darts out, grazing the tip. Tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, he presses the tip of his thumb just past the entrance of your lips, eyes darkening as he watches how easily you welcome the intrusion. He drags his thumb down the side of your chin, pulling down your lower lip with his pointer finger, and your lips part.

A small, eager thrum flares in your gut as you take his finger into your mouth, tongue wrapping around it as you coat it with saliva. Your panties are slick with arousal as you continue to chase the friction of his cock, moaning when he puts another finger in your mouth. You begin to bob your head on the digits, sucking on them so eagerly that you can’t bring yourself to care about the drool sliding from the corner of your mouth.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he groans, wiping off the stray saliva with his other thumb and licking his finger clean. 

He’s said the same thing time and time again before, but it’s far more preferable in this context. 

You whimper in relief when he finally slides that hand down your body, bringing it to rest at the apex of your thighs. The sound is muffled by the fingers still shoved in your mouth, and a sound of amusement rumbles in his chest as he watches you desperately keen and writhe for him. 

He drags a finger down the length of your wet pussy, though the contact is muted by your stockings. You begin to shift your hips, a plea for him to tear them off of you, but his impatience wins out as he outright tears them open to gain access to the plush, dripping warmth of your cunt. 

“More red,” he murmurs in approval, running his fingers over the matching sheer material that covers your mound, one digit sliding up to firmly tug at the thick, lace waistband that sits high against your hip bones.

“You like red?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

But he surprises you, still. “I like you in red.”

Nanami uses his thumb to push your thong aside, steadily dragging his finger down your soaking wet slit now exposed to him. The digit slides right through your sensitive folds, and he smirks before sliding one long digit knuckle-deep into your tight hole. 

You gasp, toes curling as you buck into his touch, already greedy for more. Greedy to be filled. 

“More,” you pant out as he slowly pumps the finger in and out of your cunt.

“Open for me,” he tells you, voice low and rough.

You don’t hesitate, lips falling open, and your body radiates with tremors of pleasure as Nanami spits directly into your mouth. Swallowing it down, you moan, drunk on the feeling of submission as he slides in another digit and continues fucking you on his fingers.

“Good girl,” he breathes out heavily. “So pretty like this.”

You shudder under the weight of his praise, something unlocking inside of you as you begin to realize maybe you’ve wanted this from him all along. Needed this from him all along. 

“Fuck me, Nanami. Please.”

“Kento,” he corrects you, hair tickling your neck as he leans in, licking and sucking at the junction between your shoulder and neck.

“Fuck me,” you moan, loosening his tie as your fingers trail their way down opening each button of his shirt. “Kento.”

He bites down hard at the sound of his first name on your lips, his gravelly voice like fire against your skin, “Come for me first.”

He picks up his pace, fingers squelching lewdly in your cunt. Your mouth falls open as you try to temper down the loud moans of pleasure you want to give him, aware that all that separates you from the partygoers is the closed door a few feet away. 

Kento roughly spits into your mouth again at the same moment that he brings his free hand between your legs to tease your clit, the fingers buried inside of you curling as he strokes your sensitive, spongey wall. A choked out sob leaves you when you come, and he swallows it down with a messy kiss, meeting your muffled cries of pleasure with his own rough moan as he feels you squirt all over him, clear liquid spraying his shirt and pants.

“Fuck,” he groans, the wavering loss of his composure now evident in his voice as you ride out the last waves of your orgasm on his hand. 

Overcome with the desire to feel the large erection tented painfully at the front of his pants, your fingers fumble with the button and zipper, a sigh of pleasure leaving you when you finally wrap your hands around his long, thick cock. Kento kisses you filthily, moaning into your mouth as you begin pumping his cock, thumb sliding over the precum dripping from the head. 

His large hands grasp your thighs, pulling you as close to the edge of the washer as possible. Kento wraps his own hand around his dick, firmly dragging the head down your creamy slit. You rock forward, chest heaving, muscles clenched tight with desire and need, only to be met with a sharp burst of pleasure as he slaps his cock heavily against your pussy. You whimper for him.

Placing a finger over your lips, which have been far from quiet throughout this ordeal, Kento goes to grab the tie left discarded beside you. However, after his fingers close around the material, he raises a brow and shakes his head, letting it drop to the floor as he begins to loosen his own tie instead.

You make no effort to hide the shameless need on your face as he smirks at you, shaking his head before wrapping the tie around your mouth and gagging you with it. 

“I like seeing you desperate,” he murmurs against your ear, before finally sheathing his thick cock inside of you.

His dick is so big, your tight pussy throbs from the stretch while he splits you open, flooding your body with an overwhelming wave of pleasure. Suit jacket already discarded somewhere along the way, your fingers tug off his unbuttoned dress shirt, leaving your hands free to explore the firm expanse of his abdomen.

The washing machine begins to shake loudly with each thrust, and Kento grunts, arms wrapping tightly around you as he lifts you, choosing to fuck you up against the wall instead. The continuous push and drag of his fat cock through your slick channel leaves your mind begging for more.

Your lewd moans are quiet and muffled against the gag, but he can still hear it when you beg, “Harder.”

He obliges, the shelf leaning against the wall beside you trembling ever so slightly when he begins to roughly thrust in and out of your cunt. His cock relentless plunges in to the hilt, your pussy greedily taking every long, thick inch as he fucks you deep. One of his hands runs down the side of your neck, and you find yourself leaning into the pressure, whimpering against the wet material blocking your mouth.

“Should have known you’d like this,” he rasps, hand sliding to the front of your throat as he tightens his grip and starts to choke you. “Now come on my cock.”

The pleasure that erupts inside of you swipes every remaining bit of air from your lungs, a choked out sob crawling its way up your throat as you tremble and shake in Kento’s steady grip, cunt squelching wetly around his dick. 

He looks down between your bodies, the sight of the creamy ring you’ve left around the base of his shaft drawing a rough, aroused noise of appreciation from him. 

Kento goes to pull out, but you shake your head, a small whine slipping past the tie, and he groans heavily, forehead falling against yours as he slams his cock back in to the hilt. It only takes a few strokes before he’s coming, too, shaft pulsing and throbbing within the tight grip of your slick cunt as he dumps rope after rope of hot cum inside of you, filling you to the brim. 

When you’re finished, Kento sets you down carefully, his fingers tender as he undoes the gag and leans in, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, tongue swiping along your lower lip.

“Are you alright?” He asks, thumb stroking your neck.

You don’t answer him for a beat, and his mouth curls downward in concern, meeting your gaze only to find the deceivingly innocent pout of your lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re done already?” you say. 

You should be exhausted from how thoroughly he just fucked you, but instead, you’re already thinking about feeling the thick stretch of his cock inside of you again, and your cunt flutters and aches with a need that’s yet to be sated.

Kento laughs, the sound deep and rich, and you think you could get used to hearing it.

He pulls up your underwear, along with your now-ruined tights, lowering himself down on one knee before you as he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your cunt while his thick, sticky cum begins to soak into your panties. You exhale shakily, already far too close to undone just from the sight before you alone, and he smirks, standing back up.

Kento takes your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, teasing your bottom lip. “We’re not done, we’re just going to go somewhere where I don’t need to cover your pretty lips next time.”

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[deadlynavigation]

Season’s Greetings

Warnings: swearing. reader has straight hair in this one.

Author’s note: yall when i tell you school has been kicking my ass. like i expected a challenge but this is just straight evil. anyways, so so sorry for literally no writing these past three months. i’m going to work on stuff i swear.

(Addams Family Masterlist)

(Full Masterlist)

“Cara mia, it’s barely November.”

No response.

“Amore mio?”

Still nothing.

“Y/n.”

A muffled “here!” comes from the pile of christmas decorations scattered on the floor. Wednesday slowly walks over to where the little voice emerged, taking in the garlands and ornaments that spring from half-opened, dusty boxes. He carefully sidesteps the multiple throw blankets and pillows strewn about, admiring your eye for such things whilst also trying to recall where he hid the matches and gas. Vinyls, unlike the decorations, are placed neatly on the sofa, one already removed from its case and sitting on the record player waiting to be played. Finally, Wednesday reaches the small bump in the mountain of holiday cheer.

Your head pops out. “Need anything, baby?”

Wednesday has to place a hand over his mouth to contain his smile. You do this every year, and it somehow becomes even more endearing to him. “Halloween was yesterday, cara mia.”

“...Ok?” You fail to grasp his point, blinking up at him as innocently as possible.

“We have months to do all of this, Y/n.”

“Time is ticking, baby. We gotta get a head start on this.”

He sighs, dropping onto his knees and accepting his fate. “Then you must need help, if we’re running on such a tight schedule.”

Your eyes dart from the dried flowers you’d been fiddling with to his face, which, although rare, held no signs of deception or teasing. “You’d really help? You’re not just fucking with me?”

Wednesday chuckles, reaching up to brush back a piece of your hair that had fallen loose in the chaos. “Of course, cara mia. It’s important to you, is it not?”

You nod enthusiastically.

“Then I shall help.”

Hours later, Wednesday isn’t regretting that promise in the slightest. Or at least, that’s what he’s telling himself. He’s sorted through pounds of decorations, had dozens of arguments over what to trash or keep, and gone back down to the basement at least a dozen times to grab even more boxes. It’s now past midnight, and he can clearly see your eyes drooping.

“Amore mio, perhaps it’s time to put this away for the night,” He murmurs, reaching for the ornament you hold and gently pulling it away. It’s placed right back in its box, set on top of the pile for tomorrow.

You try to conceal a yawn, reaching for the ornament. “But we’re so close, baby. Just a couple more minutes, we could finish.”

“See, normally, I would agree with you,” Wednesday smirks, memories of last night running through his head, “but you’re exhausted, cara mia. What type of partner would I be if I didn’t chase you up to bed right now?”

“Shut up,” you grumble, pushing at his arm with no real intent. He snatches the opportunity, grasping your arm and bringing it up to his lips. Kiss upon kiss is imprinted on your skin as Wednesday moves from your wrist to your shoulder and back down again. He takes his time, holding eye contact with you as he kisses every individual vein of your arm, appreciating each little indent and bump, even burying himself into the warmth of your shoulder once he draws close enough.

“M’still not tired. Your tricks don’t work on me, baby.”

He snorts, face still tucked safely into your shoulder. “Of course not, my love.”

You almost let your eyes flutter shut at his voice, but remembering all the work that must be done, you shoot awake almost instantly. “No, baby, I mean it–we gotta finish this.”

“And we will–tomorrow. Let me take care of you, Y/n. Let yourself rest.”

You stare at the back of his head for a moment, narrowing your eyes as you run through your options. One: stay here, fall asleep on the floor, wake up with a broken back. Two: let Wednesday take you to bed, where you’ll then end up sleeping for at least fourteen hours. Three: refuse through yawning fits and insist that you’re perfectly fine to handle breakable decorations at one in the morning.

Only one of those options will end up working. You’re still in denial about which one it may be.

Wednesday can practically feel the gears turning in your mind and eventually tires of it, rising from your neck and standing. “Come on, amore mio. Time for bed. I will hear no more of it.”

“Okay,” you grumble, because as much as you’d like to stand your ground, you can feel the exhaustion creeping through your body. It becomes much more apparent as you step forward, legs half-asleep and shaking from the hours spent crouching in uncomfortable positions. “Carry me?”

Wednesday looks down at you, shaking his head. “As if I would allow anything else, Y/n.” With that, he scoops you up, adjusting for a second before maneuvering around the scattered decor and into the foyer. You bury your face in his neck, all too eager to be surrounded by warmth after the sunset brought frigid temperatures into your home. Wednesday plants a short kiss on your hairline before climbing the stairs, steadily guiding you both into the master bedroom.

He stops, and you realize it’s an indication that you’ve reached the bed and have to get down. You cling to him, refusing to jump down.

“Cara mia,” Wednesday cooes, pressing another peck onto your head. “How are we supposed to get ready for bed if I’m carrying you the whole time?”

“You’ll figure it out. I have confidence in you.” Your words are barely there, fading with your sleepiness. Your grip on his clothes slackens, and that’s the final straw for your partner. He gently lowers you onto the pillows, quickly spreading a blanket over your form.

“As much as I appreciate your reliance on my strength, I cannot live up to those expectations,” Wednesday laughs, strolling into the adjoined bathroom to quickly brush his teeth and rinse his face. The splashes of water reach your ears, spurring you to blearily rise and join him over the sink.

“M’tired,” you mumble, grabbing your toothbrush. You run it over your teeth for a time most dentists would consider unacceptable, rinsing and flossing afterwards to make up for your rush. Wednesday smiles softly, handing you your cleanser after you’re done.

“You coat your face in chemicals, I’ll worry about your hair.” He leans down, laying a cold kiss on your collarbone before getting to work. The brush glides through your hair as you rinse your cleanser off, reaching for a serum as Wednesday reaches for the soft little elastics you seem to prefer for nighttime. He combs his fingers through your hair, watching in fascination as the color catches the soft copper lights of the lamps in the bedroom. Over and over again, he watches it fall from his fingers and envisions a future where he combs through your graying hair with weathered hands. Yes, he’ll sleep well tonight with that in his mind.

He’s knocked from his train of thought as you plop your moisturizer back onto the counter, finished with your routine and now just waiting on the braids you were promised. Wednesday smiles sheepishly, kissing the back of your head as an apology before getting started. He manipulates the strands with expert fingers, years of practice on his sisters and mother proving useful.

“M’sorry I yelled at you about the mistletoe. You wouldn’t have known where exactly I wanted it, that was my fault.” You lean back into his chest as he works diligently, the motions lulling you to sleep.

“Amore, I would hang the moon and stars for you if you asked. The mistletoe will go exactly where you need it tomorrow.” He holds back a laugh as he recalls the argument, a five-minute long discussion involving door frames, rulers, and a silly little piece of the plant.

“I’m also sorry for the wreaths. I didn’t even know we had that many.”

“It’s ok, Y/n,” Wednesday whispers as he ties off on a braid, moving to the next one without jostling you from where you practically lie on him. “We all have passions. You support mine. These next two months, I will support yours.”

It’s quiet for a minute, both of you too content to break the silence. He finishes the second braid quickly, trying to get you both into bed before you end up in a heap on the bathroom floor.

“There we go, amore. All done, you did so well for me.” Wednesday rubs your arms up and down, trying to rouse you from your almost meditative state.

“Bed?” You whisper, rubbing an eye while trying to stay attached to him.

“Yes, come on.”

“What time is it?”

“Late,” Wednesday whispers back, checking the clock on your nightstand. He’s right–it’s almost 1:30 in the morning, an hour that he isn’t sure qualifies as late or just incredibly, wickedly early.

You fall into bed, rearranging the pillows until you can comfortably lie on them. Once Wednesday climbs in next to you, you forsake them, instead nuzzling right against his chest as he pulls you into him. It’s so warm and familiar that you fall asleep almost immediately, all the caffeine, disagreements, and upcoming holidays forgotten.

Wednesday almost laughs at how quickly you managed to fall asleep, proving him right that the decorations were a matter for another day. He’ll have to rub it in your face tomorrow, but for now, he envelops you with his arms pressed tightly against your back and dreams of many more holiday seasons to come.

[ominousvibez]

random dp x dc writing

i suddenly had an idea for a new dp x dc crossover fic, here's a piece of it!

🦇

“So much for movie night.” Tucker complains.

Sam groans, stretching her legs as Danny gets up, and transforms. The rings come easily to him now, unlike they had just a little more than two years ago. Their ghost-hunting tech had merely been discarded to the side after their patrol before they settled for the movie night.

“You guys can stay here.” Danny says, pushing himself into the air. “I told Skulker and Technus to pass along the message to the other usuals, but maybe somebody else didn’t get the memo.” The Box Ghost surely hadn’t; but, then again, the Box Ghost doesn’t usually get any news from the Ghost Zone. Or maybe he does, and he doesn’t care. Either way, the cardboard-loving menace was stuck in thermosland right now, and Danny wasn’t going to let him out until after they found out if Amelia would survive INVASION OF THE KILLER TEACHERS III: SCHOOL’S OUT or if she would become another zombie student.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll make it quick.” Danny allows himself to turn invisible and intangible, and slingshots himself through the roof of Sam’s house and into the sky. The clouds that had been moving in during their patrol clouded Amity Park in a dreary autumn rain. Leaves that had begun to turn were blown off the trees by the wind, and a distant rumble of thunder echoes in the distance.

Once upon a time, the storm would’ve terrified Danny. It would bring too many bad memories, of electricity burning through his skin, killing him and bringing him to life at the same time. But now, as a flash of lightning hit the sky, he can’t deny the surge of energy and delight in his core.

Stupid electric core.

“Ah! Sir Phantom!”

It isn’t one of his usual rogues for once. Instead, it’s a familiar face, and an ally. He calms down a bit at the sight of Lady Dorothea. He’s still a little annoyed that his movie night is being interrupted, but at least it’s by another friend.

Plus, he’s sure Lady Dorothea, who’s working hard at modernizing her kingdom, probably wouldn’t understand what a movie night was, anyway.

“Hey, Dorothea!” Danny drops his shoulders. He keeps himself intangible, feeling the rain fall through him. Lady Dorothea is intangible as well. “Is everything okay? Does your brother need to get his ass kicked into next week again?”

“No, not quite.” Lady Dorothea sighs. “I do need your assistance, but it is not for kicking any asses this time. Something… else has happened.”

“Something else?”

Lady Dorothea nods. “Yes. A few cycles ago, a newly-formed ghost stumbled into the castle gardens. My head gardener, Montagu, had found him stumbling through the hedges, and our healers were able to stabilize him before he could have faded, but then…” She bites her thumbnail nervously. A roar of thunder echoes around them. “… Sir Phantom, I believe he may be a halfa.”

Danny blinks at her. “Sorry, what? Did you say there’s another halfa?”

“Yes, I did— Sir Phantom, as far as my kingdom has come with modernization, I do not believe we have the capabilities of assisting a halfa, let alone one so young. I, no, we need your help, as soon as you are able to.”

A new halfa. Danny’s brain feels like it’s melting and spinning at the same time. He’d never encountered this before. Was that what Danny had felt? The new Halfa, forming? Or, well, maybe transforming for the first time, or something. He felt like pop-rocks were bursting under his skin, and he could feel a few stray sparks shoot off from his hands.

A new halfa.

[astupidweeb69]

Unrequited (Yandere! Ticci Toby x Reader) Part 8

Links to Previous Chapters: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Next Chapter: Part 9

Author’s Note: I know this chapter is a lot shorter than my previous one's but, I figured it was better than nothing. I might end up rewriting this to make it longer or something.

Cross-posted on my Ao3 account, which I update more frequently.

Warnings: Swearing. Some threats of violence. (1,276 words)

___________________________________________________________

“I love you, (Y/N).”

He said it so genuinely, like there was nothing wrong with the situation. Like he hadn’t taken you from your home, stalked you, tormented you, fucking bashed your head in with a baton. He said the words as if he was just a regular school boy confessing to his crush.

It made you sick to your stomach.

“Well? Are you guh-going to say something?”

He sounded impatient, as if you were the one in the wrong somehow. You looked up from the ground, his dark eyes and expression turning colder each second that passed.

“You’re insane.”

Wrong answer.

Toby’s face dropped, and with a heavy tension in the air, he raised his arm, his hand closing into a fist.

You prepared for the worst.

Then, Toby took a sharp breath, holding it for a moment, and exhaled. Slowly lowering his hand again. Trying to muster up the strength to not lash out, most likely.

“I’ll give you some time to warm up to me. I wuh-won’t hurt you.” He paused, thinking. “I’ll tuh-try not to.”

He didn’t sound very convincing.

You decided to hold your tongue for the time being. At least until you came up with a game plan to get out of this fucking place.

Toby sat down on the couch next to you, still pissed off. The sudden shift in weight causing you to look over at him. It was hard not to notice just how big he was. Tall and lanky, but at this distance it was obvious he did some kind of exercise. He’d be hard to take down on your own, and you’d need some kind of weapon that could immediately incapacitate him. He couldn’t feel pain. You knew that now.

“See suh-somethin’ you luh-like?”

Your thoughts were interrupted, noticing the wide grin stretched across Toby’s face as he looked you over. You had been staring.

Albeit, you were trying to figure out how to kick his ass, but you had been staring nonetheless.

Frowning, you decided it was best to stay silent, choosing to just shake your head ‘no’.

Toby sighed. The noise making you jump a little. “There’s nothing you can do now.” He put his arm around you, your body tensing as you were pulled into him. “And that’s okay.”

The ends of fingers started playing with your hair.

“It isn’t.”

Your voice came out quieter than you’d had hoped. But soon rose from desperation, sadness, anger or a combination of the three.

“It isn’t okay. I have a life, I have fucking friends who care about me, you can’t just tell me it’s okay. God! How could a person be so selfish?!”

“Because I can.” Toby hissed. “Fuh-for once I can be selfish. I finally found suh-something that I want. So I’m going to get it. Even if I have to drag you back here kicking and screaming over and over again.”

His words sunk in, like a rock falling into a bottomless pit.

“You’ll have to.”

Toby laughed cruelly at your response, not phased at all by your determination. He leaned forward in his seat, playing and picking with the skin on his hands. His nose scrunched in a smile, and he turned his head to you, putting a hand on your knee. “That’s fine. I duh-don’t mind a cat and muh-mouse chase every once in a while.”

____________________________________________________________

You felt numb. Your brain buzzing, probably the after effects from the head injury Toby gave you. All the energy you had was focused on the fireplace on the other side of the room. You could hear your captor behind you in the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards. After a couple of failed attempts to get you to speak, he resorted to pacing the cabin, occasionally glaring at you. Muttering phrases and curses under his breath. He finally stopped when your stomach started growling, quickly making his way to the fridge to find you something to eat. Of course, you didn’t ask him to. You decided you weren’t going to ask him for anything.

But there was one thing that had started to bug you, well, other than the whole kidnapping thing.

Scanning the room more intently, you noticed two hatchets that hung by the front door. One with a bright orange handle, and the other dull and wooden. They looked well used, and if it wasn’t your paranoia just seeing things, there were definitely specks of red on the handles and on the holster they hanged from.

It made you wonder what Toby did in his free time.

Sure, you had asked him before if he was going to kill you. And he had alluded to murdering people in his fits of rage. And although you never saw any evidence of it, bloody fucking axes on the wall seemed like pretty solid proof.

You moved closer to get a better look at them.

“Hey. Yuh-your food.”

A bowl of cold soup was shoved in front of your face.

Toby stood next to you frowning, trying to figure out what you were looking so intensely at.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I was - um….. Nothing?” You stammer back.

He placed the bowl into your hand and walked over to the wall, lifting the leather holster off the hooks. The blades of the hatchets swung as he carried them over, before sitting down on a musty chair across from you.

“You like em’?” Toby asked, a hint of tease in his voice, like he was trying to be playful.

“Not really” You shot back.

“Aw, yuh-you’re hurting my feelings.”

Toby took the orange one out of the holster, tossing it back and forth in his hands with ease. He looked up at you for a moment and smirked, before l lifting the handle behind his head, and throwing it forward. It missed your head by a few inches, but you still ducked instinctively. The blade connected on the other side of the wall with a loud ‘THUNK’, the force knocking some empty bottles off the window sill and shattering on the floor.

“What the fuck!”

He cackled at your reaction, throwing his head back in the chair. After a few moments he collected himself.

“Duh-don’t worry, I have good aim.”

You stared at him dumbfounded. "Why do you have those?”

He glanced over at the hatchet embedded in the wall and then back to you. “Firewood.” Was his curt response.

You didn’t believe him.

A small buzzing sound came from Toby’s pocket, startling you both for a moment. He furrowed his brows, before taking out his phone, and glanced down at the screen. He grimaced, reading through something.

“F-fuck.”

If you were wanting an explanation, you weren’t going to get one. Because he got up from his chair and angrily stormed through his home, saying nothing, and grabbing items to get ready for something. He stopped in front of you with a small plastic bag.

Zip ties.

Of course he would tie you up.

“Get up.”

You rose to your feet hesitantly, not liking his tone at all. Something in those texts must have set him off. His hand quickly grabbed your wrist, practically dragging you back to his bedroom where you had first woken up in this hell hole. He threw you onto the bed, and placed your wrist against a metal pole on his bed frame, securing the zip tie to your hands so you couldn’t move. Toby grinned once he was done.

“There. Suh-so you don’t get any ideas while I’m guh-gone.”

Before he left the house, you heard him call out.

“I’ll be back soon!”

[morphean42]

The mystery of the second child

Now isn’t that delightfully dramatic! In the first instalment of The Marvin Trilogy, a few In Trousers songs mention the existence of another kid between Trina and Marvin besides Jason, and this post will offer a few explanations as to what this means. It got… long… so for the sanity of everyone here’s a read more

Explanation One:

This is the most boring one, and it is simply that William Finn wrote In Trousers, changed his mind while writing March of the Falsettos, and nixed the existence of any children besides Jason. The rewritten version of In Trousers, which came out in 1985, removed the songs in which Trina mentions another kid, and added songs like “Packing Up” and “I Have A Family” specifically reference only the existence of Jason, which is proof that Finn simply decided to retcon the idea of multiple children. While this is also most likely, I want to delve into reasons within the universe of The Marvin Trilogy for this inconsistency as well.

Explanation Two:

I don’t personally believe this one at all, but it’s worth stating: it’s possible there was a death in the family. Trina references ‘the eldest’ and ‘the baby’, and due to the fact that “Your Lips and Me (Reprise)” takes place once Marvin has left Trina for Whizzer, the eldest is arguably Jason. So, it’s entirely possible that the baby dies at some point between the end of In Trousers and the beginning of March of the Falsettos.

The problems with this? They don’t mention it at all in the show, and while it could be interesting to explore, the loss would have a profound effect on all the characters and it isn’t plausible to not be a major component of their arcs. Another problem correlated with this too is that In Trousers and March of the Falsettos overlap with each other, or at least occur very very close together. Whizzer and Marvin are together at the end of In Trousers, the baby is alive, and by March of the Falsettos (which personally I believe starts right after, quite literally weeks later), they’re dead? It doesn’t add up, even if the shows theoretically take place, at most, eight months from each other

Explanation Three:

One of the children is meant to represent Marvin. This solves the issue of the child existing at all, and due to the lyrics Marvin could metaphorically exist as either.

If Trina is referring to him as The Baby, then the lines ‘the baby is crying on the swingset’ and ‘the baby’s wailing’ could be references to how volatile and emotional Marvin can be. The swingset may be a correlation to the idea of a game that is so often used as a metaphor for sexuality and personhood in the trilogy.

If Trina is referring to him as The Oldest, then the lines ‘the oldest drinks wine’ and ‘the oldest is kicking ass’ could simply be jibes at the fact that he’s an adult who is acting as a child. Obviously, kids should not be drinking, and while they do get into fights, the other line could be a reference to less physical altercations such as the ones between Trina and Marvin.

Personally, this is my favourite solution, as it ties into “Trina’s Song” and “March of the Falsettos” with Marvin acting childish, especially in Trina’s eyes (which is the viewpoint of “Your Lips and Me”). However, depending on which child Marvin is supposed to be, one gets conflicting views of Jason. If Marvin is the oldest, then the lines referring to the baby can easily be attributed to him, but the other way works too. If Jason is the oldest, then the kicking ass could be in relation to chess, or misbehaviour in school, and the wine could be a metaphor for how old he acts despite his young age.

There aren’t cons to this theory, per se, besides the fact that I don’t think William Finn intended this interpretation as evidenced by the rewrites. The only problem is the later when Trina sings ‘so he kissed the two boys’ as Marvin leaves, directly stating there are two sons. I don’t know how to work around that line in this explanation, besides saying the other boy is some convoluted metaphor for Trina and Marvin’s ideal life.

Both Trina and Marvin live vicariously through Jason in ways, shown in “Year of the Child”, and are extremely invested in how he turns out. Of course, they’re parents, they want him to be a successful human being, but their flaws as parents are meant to show how they place unreasonable expectations on him, wanting Jason to be their perfect little kid, as well as an emotionally stable adult. In this way, the ‘two boys’ could be seen as both Jason and another fake son, a Jason that is everything all three of them fail to be. This hypothetical son could be a metaphor for heterosexuality, perfectionism, and the patriarchy, all of which Marvin is effectively leaving behind… that’s a bit of a stretch though, I’ll admit.

Explanation Four:

There could be another child in the family, but they simply aren’t relevant to the plot. This is boring and feels like a bit of a cop out, but could work to explain everything. Jason exists in the second two works in the trilogy due to his fears of becoming like his father, and also to explore Marvin’s character arc. At the core of it, Marvin needs to be a good dad before he can be (or start to be) a good person; the final song of March of the Falsettos is “Father to Son”, the whole point of Jason is to show how children are hurt within these familial disputes.

So, one could argue that if Jason is the eldest child and Trina has recently given birth to a baby, this baby would not factor into the plot as a character at all. He wouldn’t have a personality, wouldn’t contribute to Marvin’s arc as a father (nor the rest of the characters relationships), and having a prop baby on stage would just be difficult, so it simply doesn’t get mentioned.

Again, I don’t like this, because like the death theory, having a newborn or young child would impact the way these characters act with each other. Trina would feel more abandoned than she already does due to being left with a baby, and Jason would have to contend with not only losing his home structure by his father leaving but by no longer being an only child. It would be an interesting AU to explore, but doesn’t quite work in canon (in my opinion).

Explanation Five:

Trina’s views on her children are skewed. This is the most plausible besides three, I believe. Mothers often continue to see their kids as younger than they are, using language to reflect that, so it’s possible the baby is meant to be Jason, as she still thinks of him like that, and the eldest has left the home to go to college.

This works within canon as it would make sense not to reference another son when he’s theoretically very far away and grown up, at least partially. This eldest kid is not as affected by the events of the musical and therefore doesn’t need to be acknowledged by the characters who are presumably used to this absence in their lives, the oldest having been at college for some amount of time.

This also fits within my personal timeline, which places the events of Marvin leaving Trina to occur over the summer, so the line ‘he kissed the two boys’ makes sense, as the other son would be visiting home for summer.

However, there are obviously holes in this theory. Depending on how old Marvin and Trina are meant to be, they would have had a son in High School and be at least in their late thirties for the child to have grown up to college age. I think Trina and Marvin don’t reach late thirties or early fourties’ until after the end of Falsettoland, but that’s my own interpretation.

Another issue is, of course, why the oldest boy isn’t at Jason’s bar mitzvah. This is a pretty big deal, and you’d imagine he’d be invited back. One could argue that they celebrate the bar mitzvah in the hospital before the official date that was set, due to Whizzer’s illness, but personally I do think the bar mitzvah takes place on Jason’s birthday or at least whenever it was supposed to occur. Due to the timeline of the AIDS crisis, we know Jason’s birthday and Whizzer’s death have to happen in the fall or winter of 1981 (theoretically Whizzer could have died in the summer, but by July only eight or so men had been hospitalised due to what we now know were AIDS complications, so it’s unlikely he was with the very first victims in the summer). This means there aren’t any finals for the oldest kid, and if it had been important to the family he could have been brought home for the bar mitzvah.

These are simply my ideas, although the only one that truly makes complete sense is of course that William Finn just changed his mind. If anyone else has another theory I’d love to hear it!!

[moonlightwriter]

Bullies Begone

[Content warnings]: Mentions of transphobia, bullying, slight physical violence.

[Paring]: Katsuki Bakugou x Male Transgender Reader.

[Summary]: The bullying, the notes, the insults, they never end. You hated it, it upset you that no one could accept you for you. But at least, you had him by your side.

[Word count]: 830 words

[Credits to]: @cafekitsune for the divider!

It was the same routine, every single day. Having to pass the halls was hell if it meant seeing their faces or having to open your locker to see the notes they wrote. Either it be ones on paper or permanently inked on the inside of the locker.

‘Freak’

’Go to hell’

’Stick to your original pronouns, weirdo’

’Your parents probably hate you’

You’ve heard them all before, and yet they still bring you down. Just this morning, when you had to get your books out for Present Mics’s class, the words ‘What a freak!’ just had to be written on the inside of the locker door. You rolled your eyes and grabbed what you needed before heading to class. Luckily, you were placed in 1-A instead of 1-B where the asshats were. Though it was sad knowing you had to deal with them later throughout the day.

A sigh escaped you once you made it to 1-A and entered. “Morning, [Name]!” “Mornin’, Kirishima!” You headed over to your seat, which was behind the shark-teethed redhead, and chatted for a bit. There were only a few students in the room before the others started to file in. You noticed the familiar spiky-haired male walk in and ran towards him, jumping on his back and covering his eyes. “GET OFF, HELL SPAWN!” He regained his balance quickly and tried to shove you off. There was no use, your grip was like iron.

“That’s not my name Katsuki, and no.” He let out an annoyed sigh and clicked his tongue. “Get off,[Name].” “Thank you.” You hopped off and kissed his cheek. “Dumbass.” “I’m your dumbass.” He rolled his eyes, a small smile made it to his lips. He gave a small peck on yours and headed to his seat right when Present Mic entered, yelling out “GOOOOOOOD MORNING, 1-A!” You quickly went to your desk, ignoring how red your face was.

Soon class began and the day went on, though what would come after it was going to be a pain in the ass.

—

Your tail swayed lazily in the air as you finished your notes and packed up. Everyone had already headed back to their dorms or left for training so the room was basically empty except for you. You left, heading down the hall and exiting the school building to the dormitory. It was quiet and peaceful- “Well, if it isn’t transy!” Nevermind. You silently groaned and just kept walking, Ignoring them.

The two 1-B boys ran up to you, one of them pushing you to the ground rather harshly. “Hey! The fuck is wrong with you guys?!” You tried to get up, but you were met with a hard kick to the face. “Aw, is trans boy getting angry?” The other boy laughed, “Looks like it.” You rolled your eyes, they were just some transphobic idiots who only had shit for brains. “If we’re done here, I’ll be leaving. Your dorms are over there if you guys can’t remember.”

You spat out the bit of blood that was in your mouth before getting up, though when you tried to turn to leave, your body stood stiff. Apparently, one of them used their quirk on you. Damnit. “Leave me alone!” “Shut up, dipshit!” Just as the other was readying to use his quirk, he was knocked to the ground. The ash blonde male stood towering over him, hands giving out small explosions. “If you both don’t wanna die, I suggest leaving.” He grabbed the other guy’s collar, finally freeing you from his hold. “Got it?” He hissed, glaring at the both of them.

The two of them nodded their heads quickly, causing Bakugou to throw the other guy to the ground. “Now beat it!” They quickly got up and ran away to their dormitory. You smiled gratefully, hugging him. He sighed and hugged back, wrapping his arms around you. “They didn’t hurt you, right dumbass?” “No, just a kick to the face is all. I’m okay.” He gently touched the red mark, giving a hum in response. “Better not be lying.” You shook your head, leaning into his touch just a little. It still stung a bit. He pulled his hand away and began to drag you back to the dorms while holding yours. “We’re going to my dorm, I’ll get you some ice and then we can watch a movie or something.”

You smiled and compiled, allowing him to drag you by the hand back. “Thank you, Kats.” “No problem, hell spawn.” Soon, you both got to the 1-A dormitory and headed inside. Bakugou got the ice and gave it to you to place it on your now slightly swollen cheek before heading to his dorm. Let’s just say, he held you close once you both fell asleep.

Yeah, Katsuki might be hot headed, explosive, egotistical, angry, and mean. But he sure as well won’t let anyone hurt you. After all, you mean a lot to him.

Property of @moonlightwriter; please don’t steal, translate, or plagiarize any of my work. This story, along with others, belong to this blog. Re-blogs are appreciated though! (=^ ◡ ^=)

[ambcass]

Betrayed.

“I can’t stand him!” Y/N exclaimed, throwing a fit while walking with her best friend, Jaime Reyes. Her anger made her walk faster, making Jaime chase after her. It all started when Jaime noticed Y/N distancing herself from him and he asked why, she said it was nothing and just to mind his own business. During their gym class, Jaime noticed how violet Y/N was when playing a dodgeball match but he couldn’t help to notice how her arm was bruised. He also wondered how she was able to throw and dodge a ball like that. That bruise made him realize that it was the same spot where he hit a specific villain last night. The thought of his best friend being a villain hurts him. He tried removing the thought but it just came back every time he tried to shake it off. After school and on his way home, he spotted Y/N and decided to walk up to her. 

“I know you probably don’t wanna talk about your problems right now but ya’know I’m here for you…” Jaime suggested with a soft smile. Y/N turned to him with a dull expression and kept moving forward. Jaime once again followed up in front of her, “Can I at least walk with you? I do feel bad and I can’t stand to see you like this” Jaime pleaded, making Y/N give in. She nodded and the two started walking to the local 7-11 store. On their way, Y/N randomly blurted out “I can’t stand him!” and started marching towards the store angrily. Jaime followed up, hoping to hear more about this mystery guy. “Who? Who’s bothering you?” Jaime asked. Y/N scoffed as she opened the store door.

“You don’t know him…” She said, trying to keep her cool. She couldn’t expose herself to a guy who would most likely betray him to the heroes. “At least you can describe him. I’ll get a better idea of who the hell the guy is. If he is that much of a bother to you then I’ll make sure he gets it coming.” Y/N started chuckling, “And what the hell are you gonna do to this guy? But fine. He’s annoying, always on my ass, and doesn’t stop until he gets his way. Which annoys me because he went way too far yesterday.” Jaime stop to think too far? What does she mean too far? She was the one causing harm and trying to poison the water supply. Is it her? Please... Please… tell me that (villain name) isn’t you, Y/N. Jaime then felt Y/N nudge him. She mouthed you okay?  and Jaime nodded. They went inside the store and went to the chip aisle. When reaching for a bag of Takis, the sides of their hands touched each other. The two retracted immediately and looked away embarrassed.

“So…What did he do that was too far?” Jaime asked, trying to change the subject. Y/N grabbed that bag of Takis and walked off to a different aisle. “He- uh… I-I can’t say. Sorry.” Y/N tried to explain but she knew that Jaime wouldn’t believe her. Jaime gave a sympathetic nod. When the two finished paying for their food, they said goodbye and left. 

Y/N’s POV

It was very late at night. Almost 4 AM. I had to wait for the perfect time to cause any harm to anyone. Two nights ago, stupid Blue Beetle roundhouse kicked the shit out of me. I thought to myself when I find this bug, I swear I’m going to fucking smash and kill it. As I aggressively put on my suit, a shadowy reflection flew past my window and they left a sticky note on the outside of my window saying “Meet me on top of the xxx building. Rooftop –BB.”  I rushed to my window, opened it, and snatched the sticky note. The writing was in all blue ink. I knew who this was. My heart started beating fast, I felt nauseous and anxious. How was he able to find where I live? Was one of the many questions racing in my mind. I crushed the paper and tossed it over my bed as I finished changing into my suit. I flew out the window and headed towards the address. As I was flying there, I tried to retract where I went wrong and how I blew my cover so easily. Nothing came to mind and while trying to come up with another explanation, I had already arrived. There was a figure lurking in the shadows, eyeing me down as I landed on the rooftop of the building. 

“Come out, Beetle. I see you in the shadows. Hey, if you were a Shadow then you wouldn’t even make it out of Santa Prisca alive. Your dumb blue armor gives you away” I teased, crossing my arms as Blue Beetle slowly came into the light. I glared into his eyes and stepped closer. Pulling out (some type of weapon) out and pointing towards him. “How did you find me? How did you find where I live?” Blue Beetle didn’t answer but he simply just stepped forward. “Y/n…” Beetle murmured. Y/n? What the fuck? How did he know? I stood there in silence. He walked closer, closer, and closer, but I didn’t move a muscle. Now he was in front of me. I looked down at the rooftop floor while feeling Blue Beetle’s hand reach for my arm. I looked up at him and snarled.“Don’t touch me.” He immediately let go and sighed. 

“Why Y/n? Why would you go through this path? You know better than this.”  He said, trying to get an answer from me. I knew better than to answer. After all, anything I say can and will go against me.  As I was still glaring into his eyes, his face armor started to retract back to his suit. I broke eye contact and turned my head away, refusing to lock eyes with him. No, no, no…not him. Not him!  My head started to get foggy and blank. I felt nauseous and took a few steps back. I couldn’t believe that the boy that I cared for, my best friend, Jaime Reyes, is a fucking traitor and gave me that awful beating two nights ago.  “Look Y/n, can we please talk about this? Please just hear me out.” I ignored his suggestion. Still not looking at him. I was angry, betrayed, and sad. Tears wanted to come out of my eyes but I held back. With a sour look on my face, I gazed into Jaime’s eyes and mouthed “I’m sorry”  He looked at me with confusion. “I’m sorry? Sorry for what?” he asked, looking at me like a pathetic pleasing bitch. I shook my head repetitively and walked towards the edge of the rooftop. I leaped off of it, disappearing and never to be seen again.

Jaime’s POV:

I rushed after Y/N when I saw her leap off the edge of the rooftop but when I tried looking for her, she was nowhere to be seen. I attached my face armor back and flew back home. As I was flying back, I kept thinking to myself What does she mean when she said she’s sorry? What was she sorry for? Days went on and I haven’t seen Y/N attack since. Which is probably a good thing but she wasn’t at school either. It’s like she disappeared from the face of Earth. A few months went by and I still haven’t seen Y/N at all! I asked around at school such as Paco, Brenda, and the staff but they haven’t seen her. I talked to the principal but I didn’t get much from him. The only thing I got from him was that Y/N is no longer in their school system.

When I was dismissed from school, Brenda and Paco both offered to walk me home but I declined. Once I got home, I didn’t even think of patrolling for the night. I just wanted to rest. I can’t help the feeling but I miss Y/N. 

I woke up to a crowd outside of my house screaming and yelling but I couldn’t hear anything. My mom rushed into my room screaming into my ear but I couldn’t understand what she was saying for I was still half asleep. She dragged my arm into the living room and turned my attention to the TV. The news reporter was saying something but for some reason, I couldn’t understand what it was that he was saying until I started reading the words that were displayed on the screen. My face froze, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Local High School Teenager Jaime Reyes Is the Superhero Blue Beetle.

a/n: AHHH THIS TOOK SO LONGGGGGGGG. IM SORRY MY GRAMAR IS SO DOOKIEEE :((

Word count: 1,483

Character Count: 7,572

literally ty @miguelnation bc idk if this is even angst or not

[matt-imagines-popcorn]

Hello! I hope you're day's been good, if not I send my condolences that it gets better. Would it be okay if I could get some relationship headcanons for Juri Han? Sorry if it isn't, if you don't want to do them it's perfectly fine! Either way, thanks for taking the time to read this, have a great week!

These two requests are similar so hopefully you fellas don't mind if I mixed the two together!

Being in a relationship with Juri Han [Male! Fighter! Reader]

As much of a flirt as Juri is �� she really wasn’t looking for a deep relationship. I imagine being in a relationship like that, no matter how many times she tries to deny it, terrifies her. Juri is a wanted woman. Always on the run. It's easier to do that when you have as little baggage as possible. Not to mention, her enemies. Many of which wouldn’t hesitate on torturing or even killing you to get to her. It stings slightly less since she knows her boyfriend can hold up a good fight but it still worries her deep down.

She doesn’t hold back during sparring … like at all. What's the point of holding back her true potential if you're trying to get better right? That's her excuse anyways but everyone can see right through it. Juri’s a sadist, she likes being the cause of one's pain, even her boyfriend. Though, she won’t hurt him enough to cause any permanent danger and (in her own way} gets concerned if she happened to draw blood during sparring or more suggestive workouts.

Juri is … one way to put it possessive over her partner. She’s the only one who can kick your ass, the only one who can tease you till your face feels like burning off, you belong to her and her only and she’ll be damned to hell before anyone even tries to take you away from her. 

She’s a constant tease, giving no moment to let her boyfriend have a breather. However, she has no patience with being teased herself though. She is tough as steel, damn impossible to fluster. Inpatient as well. If you take too long she will steal the show and take what's hers. The closest you are probably ever going to get to her getting all blushy, is being rougher on her during sparring or other activities 

Juri would probably consider a long quiet motorcycle ride through the city as a date and calls it a day. She isn’t much for the whole, romantic dinner sort of thing. Or anything fancy of the sort.  She tries to avoid moments where she is forced to talk about herself. She is rather secretive about her past, and any conversation about it, especially her eye, is shut down immediately. 

It’s rare to find Juri being in a soft mood. As mentioned before, she tries not to fall in too deep, in case she has to run off again. But it has happened at least once.

 She was quieter, which can be worrying for some but she just seems so much more relaxed, being in the moment, with her eyes closed. You never saw her more at peace before. Laying on the couch next to her, she found her hands on you, soft touches all over your body. 

When she realizes what doing, however, she returns to her normal self. But that night, she runs off. Leaving nothing behind, not answering her calls. You really thought you lost her.

But, you being a fighter and constantly joining tournaments, it wouldn’t be long before you saw her again - perhaps get back together only for the cycle of her leaving to start all over, or maybe, just maybe, she’ll stay [or at least keep in contact the next time she has to book it]

I do apologize for taking so long! As much as I hate making excuses, I've been busy with school + currently really into Darkstalkers due to some pals of mine!

[porcelana-r0ta]

Bound for Glory

Fandom: Night In The Woods

Word Count: 2119

Ao3 Link: Only available to registered Ao3 users

Summary: Casey Hartley is nineteen and isn’t ready to grow up (and he won’t).

xxXxx

He strikes the match against the sandpaper side of the matchbox, igniting his small world of the night sky and the train tracks. He brought the orange flame to the tip of his cigarette, and once the flame took, he shook the match out. Dropping it, he stomps on the burned out match: Smokey Bear would be proud. Or disappointed. 

Shoving the box of matches in his hoodie pocket, Casey Hartley takes his first drag of the cigarette as he resumes walking west. The smoke fills his lungs, clouding his organs, stretching them and destroying them all in one. He blows out. He can’t see the smoke under the new moon. The only light on the train tracks lives with the stars and the dim ember of his cancer stick.

“What, not gonna offer me a light?” Cain asks, flipping his Zippo out and sparking the end of his Marlboro. 

“You hate my matches,” Casey says. 

“‘Cause it’s not fuckin’ 1923, damn.” Despite lighting his cigarette, Cain keeps his Zippo out, flicking the flint wheel. Sparks fly, but never catch. 

Casey likes matches. Likes lighting them up and letting the flame crawl down to his fingertips. Likes blowing them out and smelling the woody smoke of their dying breath. Likes stomping them beneath his feet. Likes using them for his cigarettes or blunts, going through the same motions as thousands of smokers before him and the invention of the lighter. Likes feeling like something. Feeling like there’s something other than Possum Springs. 

Mae got out, at least. And Angus and Gregg are saving to get out. 

He and Bea, though? 

He brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales. Holds it. Lets it out in a sigh. 

“Cain—”

“No,” his cousin says immediately. 

“No?” 

“No, you can’t join the business.” 

Casey is offended, “I don’t want to join your business.” 

“Good,” Cain says. He flicks his cigarette, sending ash to the tracks. “You’re gonna have a future, you know.” 

His stomach curdles. “In Possum Springs?” He tries to keep his tone wry and playful, but his bitterness takes over. Consumes, like the smoke. 

“You can leave. Get a job, like your gay friends. Gary and Angie, or whatever.” 

“Gregg and Angus.” Casey rolls his eyes. 

“That’s what I said.” 

"Uh-huh."

“Yeah, whatever. Point is, you don’t have to be like me. Mary and Bryan love you. They’ll support you even if you get a bitch pregnant and walk out on her.” 

His mom would sooner beat his ass for walking out on a girl after knocking her up, but Casey doesn’t argue the point. 

“That’s not the problem.”

“Yeah?” Cain’s voice takes on a hint of arrogance, the inflection he uses whenever he successfully blows a smoke ring. It’s too dark to tell, but Cain is always sure of himself. “Enlighten me.” 

Casey kicks at the ground, hoping to strike a rock, and only scuffs a plank on the track. 

“I dunno what I wanna do.”

“What, with life? For a job? No one does.” 

The lit end of his cigarette shakes in time with his fingers. “No. Or yes? I don’t know what I’m fucking doing.” 

“Yeah, and no one does. Life is a guessing game, man.” 

“Well, it sucks. The only thing I know is I don’t wanna stay in this shithole town. Maybe I should just hop on a train already.”

“Possum Springs ain’t that bad.” 

Casey scoffs. 

“No, really. It’s kinda nice, minus the xenophobia.”

“Huh, so you did pay attention in high school.

“Shut it, kid.” Cain punches his shoulder. He’s only seven years older, which isn’t that much older, but Cain milks it for all it’s worth. 

They’re quiet for a long moment, the only sounds being their feet on the tracks and earth and their sighs of smoke. Then Cain suddenly breaks it. 

“I wanted to be a teacher.” 

Casey looks down, startled. “What?”

“‘S true.” He flicks his cancer stick. Cinders falls and die in the dark. “Loved art. Loved Mrs. Terry. Wanted to make other kids like me feel like they were worth a damn.”

Casey knows the name, even if he never took art class himself in high school. Mrs. Terry had taken Cain in after he was kicked out, at least until Casey’s parents found out and gave him the spare room. Cain stayed there until he scrimped up enough money for his trailer house. 

“It was really cool of her to take you in like that,” he says quietly in the night. 

“Yeah,” his cousin agrees. “Mrs. Terry’s real cool. She said I could make it. But college’s expensive. ‘N I’m just a dealer now.” 

Casey’s not good with this, with comforting people or supporting people. But he can’t say nothing. 

“Maybe you can save up. Do a ju-co, then something cheap for your last two years.” 

Cain scoffs a laugh. “No…. Nah, that’s just not me.”

He drops his cigarette and steps on it, suffocating the fire. Killing its short life. “Seriously, Case. You can do whatever you want, and your parents will help you. I’ll help, too. You’re my cousin, more like brother, honestly. You can take all the time you need to decide what you want in life.” 

But Casey’s not in high school anymore, he doesn’t want to go to college, and he feels stuck in place. He doesn���t want to grow up. He wants to stay Casey Hartley, seventeen years old, rage-playing drums while Gregg plays guitar and Mae plays bass and Angus sings. He wants to commit crimes with Gregg and Mae, wants to lift snacks from the Snalcon and smoke weed in the upper office of the old Food Donkey and referee Gregg’s and Mae’s dumb knife fights. 

God. He won’t even be a teenager in a few months. His twentieth birthday is creeping up. 

He’s scared of getting a job. He’s scared of hating his job and being stuck with it. He’s scared of taxes. He’s scared of finding an apartment to rent. He’s scared of never owning a house. He’s scared of owning a house.  He’s scared of Cain being arrested. He’s scared that Mae will never come back. He’s scared that Gregg and Angus will leave and never come back. He’s scared that Bea will be crushed under the weight of the Ol’ Pickaxe and her negligent father. He’s scared that he’ll be all that’s left of them, left behind in dying Possum Springs, left behind to die here with no one but conservative asshats and nothing to do and nothing accomplished that means anything.

His parents will stay, and they are young, but they aren’t getting younger, and a good son dies after his parents. He’s scared of that. Of being with just them until old age claims them and then he really is—

a   l   o   n   e

He doesn’t want to grow up.

The train tracks start to rumble, quiet and gentle. A headlight beams behind them, though it has not reached their backs quite yet. Casey steps off on the right, and Cain goes left. 

“You’re right,” Casey says instead of any of his fears. “You’re right.”

“I usually am.” He looks at the stars and hums. “Look, it’s late. I’m going home. You should, too.” 

The train gets closer and louder. The light reaches them.

Casey has to yell, “Yeah, I will. See you later!” 

“I—”

Cain’s response is stolen by the train, cutting in between them and blocking Casey’s path back to town. 

The train wails as Casey lights another cancer stick. He lets the fire creep to his fingers before dropping the match and stomping it out beneath his black canvas shoe, his fingers stinging as he puts the cigarette between his lips. 

The air is warm with the birth of summer. He shouldn’t even be in his black hoodie in this weather, but it’s the same hoodie he’s had since sophomore year and he’s not good at letting go. It was only during the hottest August days that he’d shed the hoodie in previous years.

He hums “Die Anywhere Else” as the train passes, whistling and crooning all the way. He finishes his cancer stick, considers lighting another, but ultimately doesn’t. 

When he gets to the chorus, his chest burns, and he sings the words instead of humming the melody. That part was always meant for Mae. But she had bigger and better plans than an idiot like him who was scared and clueless all at once for his future and would throw that future away as soon as he gathered the courage to hop a train.

Maybe I should just jump on the train, he thinks to himself. Leave for Durkillesburg. Crash with Mae for a weekend or two. Start finding my own place.

But his legs are stuck in place, just like he is. Glued down by fear. Petrified of the culmination of the future of his wrong decisions.

The train eventually passes, and Casey is expecting to be alone, Cain long gone to his trailer. But he’s not. 

Someone stands on the other side of the tracks, a silhouette in the darkness. They are tall and look like they are wearing something long, like a trench coat, maybe. Some kind of hard hat rests on their head. 

A crusty, his mind supplies, a vain attempt to calm his heart. His fur stands on end, his blood going cold. He’s jumped off the train, just like a million other crusties.

For a moment, the two can only stare. 

“Casey Hartley?” they ask. They sound male. No crusty is likely to know his name—he’s befriended some, sure, but they hardly ever return, and they wouldn’t just assume that the first shadowy figure they see is him. 

“No,” he says. “Cain, actually. Casey’s my cousin.” 

Their hand goes up to their head. A clicking noise is instantly followed by a beam of bright light. 

Casey flinches back, his arm raising to block the light. He squints against it, trying to make out who is across the tracks. His stomach drops and he takes several panicked steps back, the other suddenly on the same side of the tracks as him. 

“Look like Casey to me,” the person notes, voice dangerous. 

He’s not going to try pleading his case. He turns and bolts.

He makes it maybe five yards before there’s a bang and a sharp pain in his right calf. 

He falls, yelping, sweating, crying. He claws at the dirt, forcing himself to turn over so he’s not face-down and accepting death quietly. Anywhere else, he tells himself. Anywhere fucking else. I won’t die here.

“You fuckin’ shot me!” he cries. He reaches for his leg with a trembling hand, expecting a bleeding bullet hole, but instead he feels something cool and cylindric with fine hairs coming out from the top. He yanks it out and throws it, terror mixing with drowsiness. 

No, wait—

He immediately regrets the action, belatedly realizing it could have been his own weapon if he’d kept it. Fuck.

“No,” says the person, confirming what Casey has already concluded. “I tranq’d you.”

“Why?” His vision spins. He feels alert and subdued all in one. His stomach twists. His body is heavy, like he’s trying to pull himself out of the public pool after being in all day. Please, no. Don’t sleep. Don’t fucking sleep. Don’t even lay down.

“Don’t be scared, Casey.” The person kneels next to him, still bright and unknown. It hurts his eyes, but he’s so scared that if he closes his eyes, he won’t open them ever again. 

Casey swings at him, but his hands glance off, doing nothing against this monster. They coo and cup the back of his head, fingers grasping Casey’s fur, their other hand grabbing at Casey’s upper arm. They force Casey to lay down, and he’s full-on sobbing now despite the call of sleep. 

“No,” he begs. “Pl’s, no. Don’ do this to me.” 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. This is for you, Casey, and your family. Your parents. Possum Springs doesn’t need another dealer, hmm? But we need business. This is just business, Casey. It’ll all be over soon. You won’t even know it when you’re gone.” 

“Nnnnnnnoooooooooo.” It’s a low moan, grieved and miserable. It takes the rest of his energy, his body numbing, his mind clouding. He tastes smoke.

He wants his dad. He wants his mom. 

Did he say bye to them this morning? When was the last time he said he loved them? He can’t remember—it's all too fuzzy now.

“Shh, shh. Just go to sleep, Casey. It won’t hurt none.” 

He’s supposed to fucking grow up. 

He falls asleep instead.

xxXxx

Casey Hartley's away message:

BORN 2 LOSE COUNTRY TRASH PROUD DRUMMER SK8 AND DESTROY SK8 2 CR8 BOUND FOR GLORY

[irenewsky]

Anime I watched in 2023 (Part 1)

In honor of the new year, I’m gonna be casting a look back at the anime I watched last year. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a lot of free time to watch anime at the beginning of the year due to university kicking my ass, but after I finally graduated with my master’s degree, I could finally work through some of the backlog I had accumulated on Crunchyroll and Netflix.

Anyway, without further ado, this is a list of anime I watched in 2023 with some short descriptions and my own personal opinions. Let it be known, there is a lot of text in this one.

Also, since there ended up being a lot more shows that I watched than I thought there would be, this had to be cut in two -> Click here for part 2

Some of my older lists:

My favourite animes (Old. Tells of my tastes back in, like, 2018-2020 or something. Updated list coming once I get around to it)

Feel good anime Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Handa-kun

Handa Seishuu is a calligraphy prodigy and a high schooler. For years he has been living under the assumption that his student peers all hate him. This is, of course, a huge misunderstanding. In reality, Handa is very much admired in his school, to the point of being popular. Where did this misunderstanding stem from and how can it be resolved?

12 episodes - comedy, slice of life

I liked this one! Although I did have a little bit of distaste towards one of Handa’s so called friends. You’ll understand who and why if you decide to watch this.

Barakamon

Handa Seishuu, now a 25-year-old man, punches a famous, older calligrapher judging his latest work. As a consequence of his own actions, he is sent to live in small town in the countryside where a group of kids rutinely keeps breaking into his house. Beautiful friendships bloom between Handa and the people of this town.

12 episodes - comedy, seinen, slice of life

Took me an episode or two to get in to, but once I did I thoroughly enjoyed it!

Backflip!!

Shoutaro Futaba enters high school with intense love for sports, especially men’s rythmic gymnastics after he saw Shoushukan high school’s team perform in a competition. He enrolls into said high school and hopes to join the team despite not having any prior experience with gymnastics. Another boy, Ryouya Misato, get recruited alongside him and together with their senpais they start to work towards Inter-high tournament.

12 episodes and an OVA - sports

I started this in the beginning of the year and only got around to finishing it in November. Actually liked this one a lot! The final movie left me feeling so happy yet bittersweet. I recommend this one!

Skip and Loafer

Mitsumi Iwakura leaves her small countryside town and moves to Tokyo to live with her aunt in hopes that attending a prestigious high school would aid with her ultimate goals in life. As the new school year begins, Mitsumi leaves for school with high hopes, gets lost at the subway station, runs into classmate called Sousuke Shima and together the two barely make it to the entrance ceremony. What will her school life shape up to be?

12 episodes - romace, shojo

Nao-chan supremacy! The bestest aunt!

I really liked to animation animation style of this anime. For me, the show looks very soft and fresh in a spring and pastels kind of way. It’s hard to explain but I hope at least one person gets what I mean. I like the characters a lot and their interactions feel nice and grounded. The romance isn’t the main focus in this one, at least not in this season, which I liked since it’s always lovely to just see friendships put into the spotlight.

Buddy Daddies

What do you get if you combine two trained, professional assassins who live together and an accidental child acquisition? A riot of a family dynamic. Katsuki Kurusu and Rei Suwa fumble through their new shared life as parents to a four-year-old Miri Unasaka. What seemed like a temporary situation at first, stops looking temporary when genuine affection and care for the little girl and her well-being start to blossom in both men’s hearts.

13 episodes - action, comedy

This one was so good. I loved every minute of this and the characters’ dynamics worked so well together. Anyone in the shows comment section who complained about Miri being annoying had clearly never been around young children and it showed. Miri is a delightful little girl who loves her dads very much. There was also a fair bit of action in this which was a nice change of pace amidst all the parenthood things.

My New Boss Is Goofy

Momose Kentaro is a 26-year-old office worker working for a marketing firm, Minette. He is new to the job, having just recently quit his previous job due to power harrassement and abuse he received from his former boss. Can his new clumsy and little goofy manager Shirosaki Yuusei make him feel comfortable in his new job?

12 episodes - comedy, slice of life

I love everything about this show. The characters, the storylines in each episode, the art style. This just makes you feel happy and a little giddy. Definitely my favourite show of the year. This one earned the top spot on my rewatchable shows list.

If you liked Play It Cool, Guys or The Ice Guy and His Cool Female Colleague, you might like this one.

Ron Kamonohashi’s Forbidden Deductions

Kamonohashi Ron was the best stundent of an elite detective school until an incident took away his future career path and made him live as a recluse as he refused to receive any information about the world outside his four walls. One day a police detective Totomaru Isshiki is adviced to approach Ron about a series of cases that have stumped the police for a while now. But because Ron is not allowed to do any sleuthing, Totomaru has to work as Ron’s puppet of sorts. Oh, and there is also the thing about having to keep Ron from influencing the killers to take their own lives. Oh well.

13 episodes - comedy, mystery

I’m a sucker for anything ’Sherlock Holmes’ type of media so this show was right up my alley. Eagerly waiting for the confirmed second season.

Play It Cool, Guys

Group of goofy and clumsy guys from different stages of life happen to meet one another and develop heartwarming friendships. Little mishaps won’t ruin their day!

24 (short) episodes - slice of life

Easily one of my favourites of the year. Watching this felt like sipping a cup of hot green tea while wrapped up in a blanket. Instant rewatch.

If you enjoyed The Ice Guy and His Cool Female Colleague or My New Boss is Goofy, you might also like this one

Vanitas no Karte

A vampire named Noé Archiviste is looking for a book called ’the book of Vanitas’ in the 19th century Paris, when he unexpectedly meets a man calling himself Vanitas and carries the book he’s searching for. The Vanitas he meets isn’t the original maker of the book but a doctor who possesses the ability to save vampires by returning their true names to them.

24 episodes - action, fantasy, mystery

Me, mere minutes into the first episode: ”If anything were to happen to Noé, I would kill everyone in this room and the myself.” Anyway, love me some vampire action, especially with that late 1800s, early 1900s Paris vibe. Delicious.

Vampire Dies in No Time

One day vampire hunter Ronald is tasked to infiltrate a castle and save a woman’s son. Things don’t quite go as he expected. Inside the palace, he meets a vampire called Draluc, who is truly so pathetically weak that he turns to ash from smallest of things that ahppen to startle him, and Draluc’s companion, armadillo John. The kid he seeked was totally fine and playing with Draluc’s video games. Oh and Draluc’s castle gets destroyed. Yeah… Ronald has a new roommate now.

2 seasons - comedy, supernatural

This truly is armadillo John’s world and we’re just living in it.

Love me some more vampire action. Only this time it’s a lot less angsty and violent and a lot more ridiculous and goofy. I laughed so much while watching this.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

All Talk, No Talk

Summary: Lucy is tired of hearing Icy insult an belittle Mirta. She and a small group of witches decided to put a stop to it.

Note: For @febuwhump late entry for day 1: vocal cords.

Warnings: gore, whump, no happy ending, dead dove

It was bound to happen one day—she talks a lot of shit.

She was warned that it would happen one day eventually; that someone would get tired of her running her mouth and do something about it.

Or maybe a small group of someones. 

She knew that it was coming, that she had it coming and she won’t deny that. But she had been anticipating a slap, or perhaps even a full on punch to the face taken directly to the mouth. They’d get her to close it that way since she’s always running it.

She should have known that they wouldn’t settle for something so simple and easily mendable as a punch. 

It takes seven of them in total, eight of the corner that they had backed her into counts as a player in this game. She thinks that it does to some degree, as far as it had helped the seven witches trap her. Lead by Lucy and railed up by Ursula, the group closes in on her. 

Cowards, the lot of them. But can she blame them—it would take at least five or six for them to stand even a fraction of a chance, Icy is used to taking on at least five at once. Seven is a bit much even for her. And they’d all waited for Darcy and Stormy to leave too. She has to commend the seven of them for being such scheming opportunists.

Lucy steps forward and throws her hands up. A vivid green glow announces her conjuring spell as she speaks the incantation. Twin ropes of vine come to tangle around Icy’s arms and legs squeezing them tightly enough for her skin to bulge and go red. Tightly enough to leave indents and raw spots. Lucy flexes her fingers and the vines pull just tautly enough for her to feel aa pull in her muscles. Any more and her joints might pop. Any more and they’ll have her quartered. Maybe that is precisely their intent.

Maybe they’ll kill her.

Cloud Tower doesn’t encourage murder in mayhem and mischief but the curriculum doesn’t exactly dissuade it. On the courary, there is a waiver—one that she had signed—that absolves the school of most of the responsibility of spells gone wrong. It’s dark magic, something is bound to happen eventually.

But this isn’t a spell gone wrong. 

It is going exactly right. 

A fifth vine comes to slink around Icy’s neck, it smells of rotting moss or seaweed.

“So you're a swamp witch.” Icy comments. “I guess that that suits you well enough. Your hair looks like a fucking oilslick. You’ve got the charm of a snake or…” And she’s still running her mouth. The very thing that got her into this predicament. 

Lucy snarls. “We’re getting tired of you…”

“No shit.” 

“Really tired.” 

And Ursula steps forward with Shilly behind her. 

“What?” She laughs, “do you three think that you’ll run Cloud Tower from here on out?” And with a haughty sniff she adds, “as if, you’ll have to kill the three of us.” It’s a challenge that she shouldn’t make, not when Lucy can jerk those vines and have her limbs scattered across the hallway. “You’re magic isn’t strong enough for that, is it? That’s why you need Shilly here. To give you a power boost. I don’t need a friend to enhance my power…”

“Then how’d you end up in this position if our magic is so weak and yours is so strong?” Lucy scoffs. 

Because she underestimated a gaggle of idiots. 

Or overestimated herself.

“We heard that you got your ass kicked by those Alfea faeries again!” Ursula informs her. 

“Perhaps your hearing needs to be checked.” Icy rolls her eyes. “How’s that loser, Mirta doing? You think that you’re too good to talk to her now?” 

Lucy grits her teeth. “Yeah, that’s also about to change. You’re not going to say another word to or about Mirta.”

“Oh, is that right?” Icy quirks a brow. “And what are you going to do to stop me? She’s not a real witch, you know? She doesn’t belong here and neither do you.” Icy sneers.  “Cut me down and face me one on one like a real witch!”

The vines retract suddenly and her body hits the ground with a heavy, knee bruising thud. The other four witches are there to catch her, one to grasp each of her limbs. Her face twists into a snarl. She brings a ripple of magic to her hands but Shilly raises arms first and the ground closes  Icy’s wrists. “I am going to make you—all of you—wish that you’d attended Alfea instead of Cloud Tower, you all and that transmagical loser.” She fixes her glare back on Lucy. “Do you think that she’s going to fall in love with you for this? She can’t even decide if she wants to be a fairy or a witch, and you’re expecting her to figure out how she feels about you? I’d feel disgust, if I were her. You’re revolting Lucy, and not the cool kind. Revolting and weak, your powers are useless.” Icy says. 

And then she says no more.

They cut into her throat. 

Icy sees a glint before the dagger falls.

“I don’t need magic for this.” Lucy says as it plunges into her throat.

“We’re all getting really tired of listening to you going on and on about how great you are and how worthless everyone else is.”  Ursula folds her arms across her chest. 

Icy gives a gurgled little gasp as the blood rushes out of her grinning throat. She tries for another breath but there is only blood. Blood and the knife that Lucy has lodged in her throat. Her head spins. 

How humiliating.

To be killed by a bunch of talentless first years and their basic spellwork.

“What are you waiting for, Ursula!?” Lucy asks. “Do your thing, if she actually dies we won’t get away with this.”

“I know, I know!” Ursula grumbles. She holds a single hand out and the blood stops gushing. 

“Your turn, Shilly.”

“I–I don’t know about this, Lucy.” 

“Don’t back out on me now! We planned this together and we’re going through with it together.” 

“Isn’t this a bit much?” One of the others steps closer to Shilly.

“See, Icy, those are weak witches.” Lucy tilts her chin up with the dagger’s tip. “They don’t have the guts to see a deed through. But I do.” She chuckles. “I do.” With those two words, she reaches into Icy’s split throat and gives a good tug. 

A tug that deprives her of the ability to scream her anguish. 

And she has plenty of that. 

Her entire neck is burning but there is no blaze. 

Her vision blurs and her world spins.

And they kick her. 

Kick her until the rest of the air leaves her lungs and blood bubbles between her lips.

Kick her until her pale skin is spotted all over with bruises. 

Shilly and the other timid witch take a few steps back. The break into a run when they hear the crunch of Icy’s nose beneath Urusla’s studded combat boot. 

Lucy stoops down to pat her cheek. “This is where I’d usually threaten a person not to say a fucking word. But…” she holds something up, the tiniest flaps of skin. “I don’t think that I’ll have to worry about a thing.” 

.oOo.

It’s a shame, really, she had such a pretty voice. 

Not that it mattered when she’d used it to say such ugly things. 

She should have learned to hold her tongue—should have learned when to shut the fuck up. 

She always pushes her luck. 

She’d pushed it too far this time. 

Thoughtlessly, Icy touches the soft part of her throat.

“Don’t mess with those.” Darcy says for the fifth time that day. Likely, she’ll have to say it a sixth time. Icy has roaming fingers. And those fingers tend to wander up to the stitches that hold her throat together. 

Darcy doesn’t seem to realize that she is perfectly content to rip the seam.

It is hard to eat. Hard to drink. 

She isn’t all that hungry anyways, these days. 

Stormy holds a spoon out for her, she swats it away. Do they think that she can’t take care of herself? That she can’t even hold a spoon!? 

“Icy, please.” Darcy mumbles. She stoops over to retrieve the spoon. 

She should have died. 

She wishes that she did. 

It’d be better than wandering around missing a piece of herself and listening to Lucy boast about it. Although it is plenty satisfying to see Mirta slink timidly away from her former friend. And more satisfying still to know that she isn’t the only one with snark and wit. “There’s something wrong with you, Lucy!” Icy had the fortune of overhearing. “I don’t even know you anymore.”

At least she can relish in the rift that she unwittingly wedged between the two of them. 

Maybe one day, if she ever feels like herself again, she’ll go ahead and steal Mirta from Lucy. She could break two hearts that way…

But she hasn’t been up for mischief much these days. 

“She had it coming, Mirta!” Lucy’s shout echos down the hallway. “You know that she did. I did it for you.” 

And Mirta cries.

Cries because she feels responsible for something that she couldn’t have done a damn thing about. 

Icy cries too sometimes but her cries are mostly wheezes that nobody can hear. Not that she wants anyone to hear her mourning her voice. Not that anybody needs to know that she was never as strong as she pretended to be. 

Indeed, she was all talk. 

And if she had been all talk, then what is she now?

Nothing. 

Nothing at all. 

She’ll never say another nasty thing to anyone again.

She’ll never say anything at all.

[1lostsoul0fishbowl]

here’s the rest of that steve chapter especially for you @the-unforgivenn since you wanted more! 😘

(part one is here if you missed it)

“I gotta say, I’ve been threatened with plenty of violence over the last couple weeks, but you’re the first one who’s actually hit first and asked questions later.” Gareth huffs out a sharp, angry sigh. “You gonna give me ‘the talk’, now, too? ‘Cause believe me, there’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already heard from Eddie and Chief Hopper and my sister and Max and Dustin… you’ve already demonstrated remarkably well that if I break her heart you’ll break some other part of my body. I wish I knew why everyone’s already expecting me to break her heart though.”

Steve remembers all too well how it felt to be the guy who nobody thought deserved to be with the amazing girl.

Gareth gingerly prods at his nose. “Jesus, that hurts. Look, I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure I never break Janie’s heart. I know we’re both way too young and we don’t know anything about life or how the world works or any of that shit but I don’t care, man, I love her. If I ever broke her heart I would die before any of you could actually kill me.” He scoffs. “What am I telling you all this for? What would you know about it? You dated a different girl every month in high school. I’m not like you, man, I’m not used to actually getting the girl that I want. But now that I did there isn’t anything that would convince me to let her go. And if I screw things up I’ll go ask Janie to help me fix them without anyone needing to come in and kick my ass to make me, because that’s bullshit.”

It bursts out, filling the room, bouncing and reverberating off the cold echo of tile. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. It knocks the wind out of Steve, punching him in the gut just as hard as he’d punched Gareth in the face. Bullshit.

“I’m sorry,” Steve gasps. “I’m so sorry.”

Without waiting for a reply, he bolts.

*

He’s not crying, when Dustin and Max find him shivering outside the club’s back door. He is definitively and categorically not crying. He’s just getting some fresh air after a heavy conversation stirred up some bad memories. There’s nothing wrong with fresh crisp night air. Maybe the cold is making his eyes water a little, but that’s all. That’s all it is.

“Finally! We’ve been looking all over for you,” Dustin shouts, rushing to his side, and there— at last— there’s the hug he’s been waiting for. And if he muffles a few soft sobs in Dustin’s curly hair, well, nobody else has to know that.

“Steve,” Max says gently, “I never thought I’d find myself actually quoting Eddie, but… what the actual fuck, dude. What happened to you in there?”

“I don’t know,” he groans. “I don’t know! It’s like I’m not back to my own mind yet, I’m still in Parent Pleasing Mode. I acted like they would’ve, and I hate it. I hate them.”

“If you hate them so much, why’d you even bother going to all those boring parties and doing all that stupid stuff they wanted you to do?” Dustin inquires, and it’s not an unreasonable question, but the answer only makes sense to a few people in a certain way. Max looks like she understands, though Steve wishes she didn’t have to.

“It’s the only way I can get them to notice me at all,” he explains miserably, feeling incredibly foolish. “They didn’t come home because they missed me or wanted to see me. They came home because they needed something from me. And if I gave it to them, then at least for a little while, I wasn’t a disappointment to them.”

He can’t pretend he isn’t crying anymore. “But once they got what they needed they went ahead and left me anyway. They’re always leaving me behind. Everybody leaves me behind.” He hiccups, loud and embarrassing like a little kid, but he can’t even bring himself to care. “Nancy left me behind. Robin’s gonna be leaving me soon too, she might be transferring to University of Illinois Chicago starting in January instead of waiting til next fall. Even you guys are starting to leave me behind. I clearly have no idea what’s going on in your lives anymore, and why would I need to? You’ve got Eddie for that now. A cool big brother is much more fun than an uptight babysitter.” He hiccups again.

“Steve, don’t be ridiculous,” Dustin immediately protests. “Just because we hang out with Eddie doesn’t mean we forgot about you. You’re still my best friend! I’ll always need you around.”

“Since Robin’s inside, I’ll call you ‘dingus’ for her,” Max adds. “We love you, you big dingus. We can love both you and Eddie too, you know, you don’t have to be jealous of him.”

“I’m not!” Steve bursts out. “At least, I didn’t used to be. Maybe I am. When he first started hanging out with you guys and we were getting to be friends, I kinda thought, wow this guy’s as lost as I am. I thought it might be kinda cool if we could help each other figure life out. But he went ahead and got his life together without me, he found a job he loves and… he knows exactly where he’s going and I’m still just stuck at stupid Family Video. All of you guys know where you’re going and I feel like I never did. Except when I was with Nancy.”

“Nancy broke up with Jonathan,” Dustin (un)helpfully supplies.

“But she’d never in a million years come back to me. And she shouldn’t, y’know? I made everything in our relationship all about me. I didn’t look out for her the way I should’ve. Gareth already takes better care of El than I ever did of Nancy, and I punched him in the face for it. And I don’t know why I did that! I didn’t think I was that kind of guy, but maybe I am. I don’t know who I am. Maybe I never did.” He’s sobbing again, not even trying to hide it, and Max and Dustin are both holding him now, trying to soothe him, but he can’t calm down. “I don’t know who I am or what I want, and everyone else does, and you’re all gonna end up leaving me here alone.”

“Steve,” Dustin squeaks out, his voice hoarse since he’s begun to cry, too. “You’re my best friend. You’ll always be my best friend. I could never forget about you. None of us will ever leave you alone.”

“No way,” Max agrees. “And we love you for who you are, not what your job is or whatever college you might or might not get into. We love you because you’re our friend, you protect us and take care of us and even though you grump about being our babysitter you’re always here for all of us, no matter what. None of us could’ve survived the last few years without you. Not even Nancy. You looked after all of us, and you never left any of us behind, so how could we leave you?”

“We never could. We’d never want to.” Dustin sniffles. “You took me in when I didn’t have anybody else. You looked out for me and gave me advice and tried to help me make good decisions. And you listened to me, at a time when nobody else was. You made me feel like I was still important. I wanna do the same thing for you now, because you’re still one of the most important people in my life and you always will be.”

Steve, wrapped up warm in the middle of a tight squishy group hug— Dustin’s specialty— finally manages to get control of his tears again. He doesn’t feel cold or aloof anymore; he feels cozy and safe and, for the first time in a very long time, like it’s okay to simply be what he is in this moment. He draws in a deep breath, which he can’t remember the last time he was actually able to do.

🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

[dreamersbcll]

“Ink Blots”

4/5

for @krikeymate

—————————————————————————

June 21st, 2019

Dear Sam,

The summer solstice. The longest day of sunlight in the whole year.

I remember that you used to force me to stay awake, and savor every drop of sunlight. Some years we spent it at the beach, some in the backyard, some on the roof of the twins house. It didn’t matter where we spent it, as long as we were together.

Amber picked up on our plans. She now makes me spend the day with her, holding her hand at the county fair and riding the tilt-a-whirl until I get ill. I hate spinning. But it makes her happy.

How do you spend your summer solstice? Do you stay outside all day? Or do you hide?

I wish I could hide. The sun doesn’t shine quite as bright without you.

Your sunshine, Tara.

—

August 1st, 2019

Dear Sam,

It’s been a muggy, humid summer. I can’t go outside without my hair sticking to my face and my clothes damp. It’s disgusting.

The bad news is, our air conditioner is broken. Has been since early July. Mom never paid the bill, so the city shut it off. I’ve been working non stop at the local Dairy Queen, but surprise surprise. Minimum wage doesn’t pay shit. It’s not like I can do anything with my checks anyways. Most of it goes to house bills.

Luckily Amber lets me sleep over. I’ve been practically living there. It’s been nice, being in a house where mothers act like mothers, and fathers stay. Plus the dinners and A/C. It’s been nice.

I hope wherever you are, you have air conditioning. And popsicles. I know you like Helado de coco. Papi used to pick those up from the taquería on the way home from work. You used to spill it everywhere and get me all sticky when you hugged me.

I’d kill for a coconut-y, sticky hug right about now.

Love, Tara.

—

October 3rd, 2019

Dear Sam,

Junior year is kicking my ass. I can’t remember the last time school challenged me this much.

You were always so good at school. So bright. So good at math and science. Unlike you though, I am a whizz at English. Seriously! I can write like no other.

I’m now the Chief Editor of the newspaper. Ms. Smith put a lot of faith in me to be able to handle a staff. I'm not very good at it. Leading people isn’t very natural for me. It is for you, though.

Chad is the captain of the football team, Mindy the captain of the debate club. Amber was made captain of the forensics team. We’re all growing up, Sam.

The kids you used to spend so much time doting on, feeding, changing; are all grown. Not really. I won’t be eighteen for a bit. But still.

I hope you know we think of you everyday. I do at least. Chad likes to talk about the sleepovers you held for us, and Mindy wishes you were here to help with calculus. Amber gets an odd look when we talk about you, but I don’t care enough to ask.

Sending you love, Tara.

—-

December 14th, 2019

Dear Sam,

I am seventeen. Does anything special happen at seventeen?

Mindy stuffed so many balloons in my locker, that when I opened it, a bunch exploded. That wasn’t a very fun principal office experience.

It wasn’t my first time there, though. I try to keep my nose clean, but I still sniff after danger. I mean, you left me Sam. I know what you did in high school. The teachers know.

I want some danger, too. I want to know what it was like for you to disappear and leave me. I want to know what forced you to leave me.

So I drink. I smoke. I have an ID. I drove drunk once.

It doesn’t matter. I don’t really care. As long as I graduate and leave, that’s all that matters.

Happy Birthday to me. I’ll pretend you said it to me.

Tara.

—

January 1st, 2020

Dear Ssmmy,

i can’t see straight and i miss you so much do you know that

but it’s new year and i’m seventeen and i have all these beliefs that you broke why does it matter

hope it’s nice where you are

i love you tara

—

March 24th, 2020

Dear Sam,

It’s been a minute. I’m sorry. Time has moved so fast, but also, not at all.

Chad won state of the basketball team. A buzzer-beater shot. Whatever that means. He picked me up and spun me around after he won. There’s a photo in the newspaper of it. I don’t like him like that, but he's my brother. I love him like that.

Mindy took the debate team to nationals. They got second place. I watched her on the shitty livestream. She was incredible Sam. You would’ve been so proud. She’s always been a genius argumentalist. Ever since she was young.

Amber won first in her forensics division. Something about stab victims and their criminal family. It creeped me out how much eye contact she made with me. I didn’t love that.

I just write for the newspaper and sling ice cream.

What do you do? Are you happy? Does life still pass you by? Or do you live?

Love, Tara.

—

April 19th, 2020

Dear Sam,

Well, AP season is upon us. I signed up for five.

I’ll ace maybe three. Environmental science, Spanish, and English literature. The other two are math. I’m not good at math, but perhaps it’ll work.

I stumbled upon a photo of us when we were young. Twas the night you taught me how to bake cookies. I had so much flour in my hair. How did that happen? Did I bathe in it? Doesn’t matter. I just love seeing your big smile, always directed at me.

Sometimes if I close my eyes I can still feel your smile on my face. Like the sunlight from the solstice.

Better go back to studying. One of us has to go to college and become master of the universe. I know you aren’t in college. It was never your speed.

Once I make a shit ton of money, I’ll come find you.

I promise.

Love, Tara.

—

May 17th, 2020

Dear Sam,

I passed ⅘ of my tests. Failed the physics one. No surprise there. I skipped that class at least three times a week.

I’m almost done with Junior year. And then I’ll be a senior. One step closer to leaving.

We didn’t have heating or a/c through the past few seasons. I can’t make enough money to keep us afloat. Mom works, but she’s out of the country more often than not. And gas bills are not forgiving, let me tell you that.

I’m moving into Amber’s house for the summer. I can’t survive another couple of months dying from sweating.

Your birthday/leaving anniversary is soon. You’re gonna be twenty-two. That should be fun, yeah?

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

Love, Tara.

[izunias-meme-hole]

One Villainous Scene - “I’m Proud of You… My Son”

The Fire Emblem series has had many different archetypes and many different antagonists as well, but one of the most well received archetypes, for the antagonists, are the big bad emperors, otherwise known as “Rudolfs.” However if you truly want to understand what this archetype is comprised of, you’ll have to take a look at Emperor Rudolf himself, specifically in the Remake of Fire Emblem Gaiden, or as the new school fans know it as, Shadows of Valentia.

Emperor Rudolf is the emperor of the cold, and merciless Rigelian Empire. A man who is infamous for his cold exterior and great ambition, or at least that’s what he was built up as. We all hear his name during the first act and know that he’s basically conquering the land of Zofia, but when the player first sees him, it’s when Celica has a nightmare about the possibility of him killing Alm, and when we see him again, he’s with his nephew, Berkut, who had recently challenged The Deliverance for sport and lost, giving his nephew a chance to redeem himself. He rarely appears in the game, but when he does he certainly makes a statement, like when we finally see HOW he managed to take over Zofia by basically killing the Earth Mother, Mila with the Falchion. So yeah, he’s certainly made a name for himself so far. Then we get to Chapter 4: The Land of Sorrow.

The Deliverance has began to assult Rigel Castle, and Rudolf plans to confront them. Berkut goes up to his uncle to ask him why he hasn’t requested him to go on the front lines, basically begging Rudolf to give him another chance. However the old man just tells him to stay behind in the most asshole way he could say it, yet… you can tell something is different about Rudolf. You don’t exactly know what it is yet, but you can obviously tell that there’s something running through his head.

Once he enters the battlefield, he tells his men that should he be killed, that they should lay down their arms, and this just adds to feeling that something is up. Then you actually go ahead and fight him with Alm, and… he doesn’t attack. This is Emperor Rudolf, right? The Rigelian Emperor, right? The man who kicked Mila’s ass, right? One of the biggest villains in this game, RIGHT? Well… once Alm beats him, he drops this revealation.

“You’ve… done well… I’m proud of you… my son.”

This. Changes. Everything.

Rudolf, with his last few minutes of life, then explains some of the details to his son, including the fact that he entrusted him to his good friend, Mycen. He then informs Alm about that the God of Strength, Duma has indeed gone mad, and since Alm was indeed one of the children of prophecy that are meant to slay Duma, he basically begs Alm to finish the mad god off. Then when life leaves the emperor’s eyes, Alm lets out a gut-wrenching scream upon the realization of what had just transpired.

This one scene, this one fricken scene changes your perspective on Rudolf, while showcasing just how screwed up the situation is. This man basically hid his son away from Duma and his worshippers, turned himself into a tyrant, had a small hand in the many insecurities his nephew has, CONQUERED THE NATION HIS SON AND BEST FRIEND WERE HIDING IN, and well… just let his own son kill him, all so a hero could rise to slay Duma and give Valentia a brighter future. This wasn’t a well thought together master plan, this was a coin flip that required a lot of unnecessary suffering to land on the right side!

There is extra stuff in this game that expand upon this old windbag, but if you want a summary of Emperor Rudolf, especially SoV!Rudolf, watch this scene, and you’ll see a man with an endgoal that isn’t inherently bad, but said endgoal relyed on a gambit that required 15 different levels of mass suffering, including his own, to reach the good ending. That is what the Rudolf Archetype was built on, and Jesus Christ, it doesn’t matter if you love him, hate him, or love to hate him, I think we can all agree he’s pretty much caused a crapton of unnecessary suffering without trying that hard.

[senditcolton]

call my bluff... call you babe (1)

CHAPTER ONE

summary - an old friend reaches out to Madeleine on what she was sure will go down as one of the worst days in her life thus far. 

word count - 2.1k

a/n - first chapter and first time we are into the meat of this story! as a reminder, this starts in the 2018-2019 playoff run and will continue into the 2019-2020 season (except it will be set in a covid-free universe) 

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The slamming of the front door echoes around the apartment as Madeleine storms in, hot angry tears slightly blinding her, her hand still clenched around the surprise graduation present for her boyfriend.

Well, now, her ex-boyfriend.

She throws the gift-wrapped box onto the sofa, not caring where it landed as she continues her heavy steps down the hall and into her bedroom. As soon as the door is closed and her shoes are kicked into a corner, Madeline collapses face first onto her mattress, the plush cotton of her covers swallowing the angry shriek that she had been holding inside since she left Logan’s house.

Eventually, the rage and anger and adrenaline wear off and as Madeleine rolls over to stare at the ceiling above her, feeling completely… empty.

God, I’m such an idiot, she thinks, her mind flashing back to just a few moments earlier.

Driving to her boyfriend’s house. Grabbing his present off the passenger seat. Opening the door with the very same key he had given to her six months before. Hearing him upstairs. Walking into his bedroom to find him in bed with some other girl.

Choking back every emotion that she wanted to express. Instead, disappearing without a word.

She didn’t know if Logan even knew she was there.

Maybe there’s a reason. Maybe it was my fault, she thinks to herself. I haven’t been as attentive as a girlfriend, not since I graduated last December. With him still busy at school and me busy with work, maybe that’s why. Whatever the reason, he’ll explain it and tell me it was a one-time thing and we will move on from there, stronger than before. This happens to everyone, at least once. Nothing we can’t overcome.

Madeleine was pulled from her thoughts at the sound of her cellphone chiming, alerting a new text message. Blindly reaching out across the bedsheets, she grabs her phone to see that it was Logan contacting her. And as she reads the text, any hope Madeleine had of salvaging this relationship was quickly dashed, like a ship on the rocky coast.

Hey, I can’t make it to dinner tonight. Work just called. Sorry baby. Received on April 18th at 5:46pm

He was blatantly lying to her. She knew that now.

Opening the text conversation she had with Logan, she scrolls back through their messages and starts to count the number of times he had sent her a similar excuse. And after each excuse, the fire in her chest started to burn brighter and more ferociously.

One-time thing, my ass, she thinks as she hits the fifteenth apology. If the texts she was reading were any indication, this had been going on for months, ever since Logan had gotten that new internship.

Hell, was the internship even real? Or was that just another excuse? Madeleine wasn’t sure of the answer and now, she wasn’t even sure that she wanted to know.

Hatred must have been fueling her next actions as she swipes back down to the most recent message and types out a quick reply.

That’s fine. The reservations are still good so if you want to take the brunette you were in bed with today, you can. They are at 7pm under the name Madeleine. Sent on April 18th at 5:58pm

As soon as the message was sent, Madeleine throws the phone across the room, listening to the dull thud it makes as it hits the carpet. A deep sigh falls from her chest as she collapses back across the bed.

What a fucking mess.

Madeleine isn’t sure how long she’s laid there, her mind completely blank. The light shining in from the windows slowly dims from the golden light of sunset to the dusky greys of the early evening. Eventually, she lifts herself up off the bed and wanders over to her vanity, taking in her haggard appearance, mascara streaked and eyes still puffy. She sighs once more, running her hand through her hair and attempts to wipe away the black circles from under her eyes.

There is no clear path on what to do now. No one really makes a handbook on ‘what to do after you catch your boyfriend in the act of cheating on you’. So, instead of thinking about the grand scheme of things, Madeleine decides to start small.

Hop into the shower and try to wash this entire day away.

As soon as the water temperature is just right, Madeleine steps in, the steam and warmth enveloping her. The first relaxed breath she has taken in hours whooshes through her and she takes the time to stand there, letting the water run over her.

After a few moments, Madeleine finds herself going through the motions while her brain decides to –   once again – run through every tiny detail of her previous relationship.

Part of her knew. Some small part of her had been screaming for the past few months, telling her something was off. But she hadn’t wanted to believe it. Logan was the first long-term boyfriend that she had had since high school. She wanted that to last.

When she first met him, he was the loud, slightly obnoxious guy that sat next to her in her Intro to Philosophy class sophomore year. She figured he wouldn’t even notice the quiet girl that sat across the row from him and she didn’t really make an effort to try and be noticed. But a month into the school year, she ran into him at a bar downtown and he remembered her name. It caught her by surprise. And it caught her even more off guard when he offered to buy her a drink.

They ended up talking for the rest of the night and the next day in class, while she was writing down the notes that Mr. Lauer had up on the chalkboard, a crumpled piece of paper landed on her desk. She glanced over to the other side of the aisle to see Logan glance at her out of the corner of his eye. Unfolding the paper, she saw the hastily scrawled note: ‘want to grab drinks at the 1905 tonight? Please text your response to the number below’

That was their first official date and their relationship just took off from there. Madeleine didn’t even know why he picked her out of all the other girls wandering around campus. But part of her believed that she balanced him out.

Logan was always dragging her out to clubs and bars with his friends whereas she convinced him that a quiet night studying, with plenty of snacks, in one of the private rooms the library could be just as fun. He lifted her up while she mellowed him down. And it worked. She wanted to make it work with him. And it did, for two whole years. Until now.

Madeleine wracked her brain, trying to figure out what changed. Was it because she graduated a semester early? Maybe because she wasn’t there on campus with him, maybe that caused the spark to die.

But as soon as that thought passes through her mind, she scoffs. It wasn’t her responsibility to stay attached to Logan’s side to make sure he didn’t cheat. Not cheating on your partner was just the bare minimum in any relationship.

Madeleine instead just sighs, shaking her head as she turns off shower, wringing the water from her hair before stepping out.

Whatever the reason, or whatever bullshit excuse that Logan may try to give her, she was done. If the women in her life, the women she grew up around had taught her anything, it was to never cut yourself down in order to fit into a situation where you didn’t belong.

Madeleine wraps herself in her fluffy white robe before padding into the kitchen and pouring herself a hefty glass of red wine before pulling a pint of her emergency ice cream out of the freezer and making her way back to the bedroom.

Grabbing her phone off the floor, her eyes scan over the texts and missed calls from Logan, ignoring every single one of them as she unlocks the phone. Instead, she crawls back into her bed, throwing on her comfort movie and debates calling her mom or one of her friends to rant to them.

After a brief contemplation, she decides against it. Things still felt too fresh, so much so that she couldn’t even begin to unravel her own emotions, let alone try and explain them to someone else.

So instead, Madeleine opens her Instagram and posts a photo of her wine glass and ice cream onto her stories, just to put some sort of explanation out there before placing the phone facedown on her nightstand and turning her attention elsewhere.

She’s about halfway through the first season of the original 1969 Scooby-Doo when she hears her phone buzz. Madeleine picks it up to look at whatever notification came in. And is slightly shocked to see the words within the banner blazed across her screen.

Instagram: josty17 sent you a message

Tyson. Madeleine hadn’t talked to him in ages, not since he left their shared small hometown to chase his dreams of playing professional hockey.

Curiosity gets the better of her and before Madeleine can register what her hands are doing, she has opened the app and clicked on his message.

josty17: rough day?

Her fingers type off a quick response before she can really overthink why she was entertaining this conversation with someone she hadn’t seen in almost five years.

madsmurph: You have no idea.

Part of Madeleine thought that might be the end of it. If she really thought about it, a picture of a full glass of wine and a pint of ice cream would raise concern, or at the very least some questions.

But since Tyson wasn’t a part of her life anymore, Madeleine figures that this one question and her vague explanation would most likely be the end of it.

Until her phone buzzes again with another message.

josty17: need a distraction?

madsmurph: Please tell me you’re not trying to pick me up Tyson Jost. madsmurph: I sometimes talk to Kacey and she’d be mortified about you sliding into my DM’s.

josty17: fuck. i just realized how that sounded josty17: that’s not what I meant josty17: please don’t tell Kacey

Madeleine can’t stop the slight snort of laughter that escapes her, the first happy sound she made this day, at the panic in Tyson’s rapid messaging. She quickly assuages his fears by typing out her response.

madsmurph: I won’t. I promise. madsmurph: What’s the distraction?

josty17: the Avs, the hockey team I play for, we’re in Calgary tomorrow night for the playoffs josty17: i have an extra ticket if you want to come and watch the game

The offer on her screen gives her pause. Why was he offering her this? Again, they hadn’t spoken in years. And yes, while she didn’t hold any resentment towards him or felt like their friendship ended poorly… this wasn’t something that you offered your childhood best friend that you lost contact with years ago.

madsmurph: I wouldn’t want to intrude…

She watches as the dots that indicate Tyson’s imminent response appear and for some reason, her heartbeat increases the more those circles bounce on her screen. And when Tyson’s message appears, her heart doesn’t settle like she would’ve expected it to.

Instead, it leaps.

josty17: you aren’t. my family couldn’t make it and josty17: it’d be nice to have someone cheering for me in the stands.

A small smile tugs at her lips. This was the Tyson that she remembered; the sweetest person she knew. And now, here he was again, messaging her on one of her worst days. As if he could tell she needed someone so she wouldn’t be alone in her sadness.

Tyson was doing this, without prompting, without demanding an answer. All he asked in return was for Madeleine to support him as well, albeit in a slightly different capacity.

How could she refuse?

madsmurph: Okay Josty. I’ll come.

josty17: awesome! maybe after the game we can hang out and catch up

madsmurph: You don’t have to go straight back to Colorado?

josty17: not if we win

madsmurph: Well then, you better win.

josty17: missed me that much? 😜

The question was rhetorical, comical. So reminiscent of the texts Tyson used to send her almost every day back when they were two stupid kids trying to figure out their lives.

Madeleine knew she didn’t need to give him an answer. And she didn’t.

But her still wounded heart spoke, the truth reverberating around her ribcage:

More than you know.

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