#only a few panels - i might have another part in me but i do Not want to deal with tumblrs resizing again this was a nightmare and still bad

[lyeekha]

[tofixtheshadows]

I've been thinking a lot lately about how Kabru deprives himself.

Kabru as a character is intertwined with the idea that sometimes we have to sacrifice the needs of the few for the good of the many. He ultimately subverts this first by sabotaging the Canaries and then by letting Laios go, but in practice he's already been living a life of self-sacrifice.

Saving people, and learning the secrets of the dungeons to seal them, are what's important. Not his own comforts. Not his own desires. He forces them down until he doesn't know they're there, until one of them has to come spilling out during the confession in chapter 76.

Specifically, I think it's very significant, in a story about food and all that it entails, that Kabru is rarely shown eating. He's the deuteragonist of Dungeon Meshi, the cooking manga, but while meals are the anchoring points of Laios's journey, given loving focus, for Kabru, they're ... not.

I'm sure he eats during dungeon expeditions, in the routine way that adventurers must when they sit down to camp. But on the surface, you get the idea that Kabru spends most of his time doing his self-assigned dungeon-related tasks: meeting with people, studying them, putting together that evidence board, researching the dungeon, god knows what else. Feeding himself is secondary.

He's introduced during a meal, eating at a restaurant, just to set up the contrast between his party and Laios's. And it's the last normal meal we see him eating until the communal ending feast (if you consider Falin's dragon parts normal).

First, we get this:

Kabru's response here is such a non-answer, it strongly implies to me that he wasn't thinking about it until Rin brought it up. That he might not even be feeling the hunger signals that he logically knew he should.

They sit down to eat, but Kabru is never drawn reaching for food or eating it like the rest of his party. He only drinks.

It's possible this means nothing, that we can just assume he's putting food in his mouth off-panel, but again, this entire manga is about food. Cooking it, eating it, appreciating it, taking pleasure in it, grounding yourself in the necessary routine of it and affirming your right to live by consuming it. It's given such a huge focus.

We don't see him eat again until the harpy egg.

What a significant question for the protagonist to ask his foil in this story about eating! Aren't you hungry? Aren't you, Kabru?

He was revived only minutes ago after a violent encounter. And then he chokes down food that causes him further harm by triggering him, all because he's so determined to stay in Laios's good graces.

In his flashback, we see Milsiril trying to spoon-feed young Kabru cake that we know he doesn't like. He doesn't want to eat: he wants to be training.

Then with Mithrun, we see him eating the least-monstery monster food he can get his hands on, for the sake of survival- walking mushroom, barometz, an egg. The barometz is his first chance to make something like an a real meal, and he actually seems excited about it because he wants to replicate a lamb dish his mother used to make him!

...but he doesn't get to enjoy it like he wanted to.

Then, when all the Canaries are eating field rations ... Kabru still isn't shown eating. He's only shown giving food to Mithrun.

And of course the next time he eats is the bavarois, which for his sake is at least plant based ... but he still has to use a coping mechanism to get through it.

I don't think Kabru does this all on purpose. I think Kui does this all on purpose. Kabru's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder should be understood as informing his character just as much as Laios's autism informs his. It's another way that Kabru and Laios act as foils: where Laios takes pleasure in meals and approaches food with the excitement of discovery, Kabru's experiences with eating are tainted by his trauma. Laios indulges; Kabru denies himself. Laios is shown enjoying food, Kabru is shown struggling with it.

And I can very easily imagine a reason why Kabru might have a subconscious aversion towards eating.

Meals are the privilege of the living.

[dataglitch]

Your art is extremely inspiring. Do you by chance have any tips for creating reflective highlights and their placement? It’s something I’ve been trying to figure out for so long and it’s just not computing in my brain. 🫠

First of all, thank you! Ahh I'm not as descriptive with words, so let me give you a quick rundown.

Once you have your base and all is good to go, you create the gradient in the direction of where your light source is (up -> down in the image). The direction will always depend on angle or 'curve' of the metal/material you're trying to work with. Up top, I did a downwards reflection since my shape is more diagonal, rather than uniform and straight. There are times you'll have a round shape, in where this time you'll go ahead and create the highlight at the apex of it. Next, you have to decide what KIND of highlight you'll be using. I usually work with multiple lighting layers, but for this example I'll only show 3. The DULL lighting is just regular low lights that show the texture as reflective, but is most likely AWAY from a light source and/or is reflecting off something that doesn't have much shine. The NORMAL is your regular highlights that is usually just a lighter shade than your base. Since most if the time it just follows your low light(think of it as the intensity of the reflective light source), you can just place it on top of the DULL lighting. The HARSH lights are only portion that are directly in front of the light source OR are the most intense parts of it. Think of it as extreme sunlight etc, and it goes apart from your regular highlights. Lastly, you can add more color to you material by taking in other reflective surfaces, specially those with different color. I added the blue as an example and just color the panel that directly faces it.

I added a few example of lighting from my works so you can kinda see what I'm talking about. They might not seem as different at first, but the placement really makes a difference once you start finishing your rendering. I'm not great at explaining sorry, but I'll try to do another stream and walk people step by step? Would that be ok? Hope this helps a little!

[prncssie]

miffy’s note you might have thought i wouldn’t have done it, but i DID! this is not my comeback. don’t count on consistency MDNI — another suburbia kuna moment

when the itadori’s invited you on their annual beach trip, this is not what you had in mind. in your romanticized head, you imagined yourself sipping margaritas out of salt-rimmed glasses, decorated with limes and lemons and little paper umbrellas. you saw yourself sunbathing in a tiny-topped bikini, baby pink beach towel protecting your smooth skin from the fine sand grains. you envisioned walking the bustling streets during the late hours of the night and half dressed and waving dainty fingertips at the pretty boys that stare you down as you walk by.

what you didn’t expect, however, is to be pressed against baby blue paneling in the pantry, hands grasped so tightly around a certain pink-haired man. you tell yourself you didn’t expect it, at least. truly, you brought this onto yourself, parading around in tiny baby-tees and cutoff shorts. you even wore your hair the way he liked, curls framing your face and lips highlighted with the shimmery pink lip gloss. perhaps you didn’t expect it but you certainly were hoping for it.

“kuna, please,’” your words are practically stolen from you with the way he licks the inside of your mouth. your top hangs off of you at this point, the string loosened and dangling around your neck. it’s on the brink of unraveling completely and doesn’t do you any good with sukuna toying with it with an arm snaked around your waist and reaching up behind you.

“please,” he mocks you cruelly in between a laugh and a gasp for necessary air. you’re such easy prey to him, whether you know it or not. even when you think you have the upper hand, sukuna will always be there, watching with a smug smile across his face. that’s really all he’s been the past couple days, just waiting to get you alone.

waiting to get you in a corner like this, quiet and meek and pliant, just as you always are when he gets his hands on you. his particularly rough hands gliding across your skin, gripping and grabbing where he finds it especially soft. your hips, your ass, your breasts, the part of your waist just below your ribcage. every now and then he’ll go as far as sliding his hand in between your sternum and securing his fingers around your neck.

“you’re going to get us in trouble. yuji will never forgive me.” you try to appeal to his conscience through a mewling plead, tilting your head as his lips move to your neck. the mix of adrenaline and lust buzzing just beneath the surface of your skin is driving you crazy. it's ridiculous how just a few kisses can get your knees to buckle and your heart to race.

the warmth of him, the weight of his body, even the way he smells — a mix of soap from a recent shower and salt from the wind permeating his clothes — fills your brain with a particular neediness, one reserved only for him. your entirety is reserved only for him, from the hairs atop your head to the jeweled sandals on your feet. it’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you, no matter who you pretend to flaunt around in the eyes of your peers.

it’s because of that, that sukuna doesn’t care. if anything, it only encourages him more, pulling back just to show off his arrogant smirk. “yeah? yuji is going to be so mad, huh. he’s going to be so upset you let his mean, rude older brother touch you and fuck you and – oh? you’re not wearing anything under the shorts. slut.” he pulls the waist bands at your gingham shorts before you can realize and his hand finds its way inside within a matter of seconds. it’s no surprise when he’s met with your slippery folds. he could already tell from the way you were desperately humping his thigh. you’re such an eager, darling thing, even when you pretend you’re not.

“it wasn’t for you.” you grip the fabric of his opened button up shirt. you mean it too, it really wasn’t for him. you had no intention of getting in the water today. truly, all you planned to do is lay against the sand and enjoy the beaming sunlight. you didn’t know he’d be palming you beneath your clothes but if you did now, you doubt you’d change a thing.

you practically writhe every time he catches your clit when he runs his fingers up and down your slit so agonizingly slow. you have half a mind to beg him to do something else, something to appease the searing lust in the base of your tummy. instead, all you do is roll your lips into themselves and angle your hips in his direction, hoping that’ll be enough.

“mm, wasn’t for me, was for me. it doesn’t really matter, does it?” sukuna ghosts his pink sugared lips along your skin — across your collar, up the side of your neck, from your cheek to your lips, warm breath forcing goosebumps to prickle your skin. for a moment, he looks pleased when he finally dips inside you. the feeling of your walls constricting against sukuna provokes a low whistle hum, followed by a singular pump of his fingers. it all comes to a screeching halt the moment you grasp his wrist.

you’re not even sure what possessed you to do such a thing, anyway. such a small movement could not have sent you that far over the edge and yet, here you are, squealing under your breath.

“move your hand.” sukuna is merely a few inches away from you, hovering and speaking his words into you. his eyes settle low, judging and burning into your soul. he squints, flickering his gaze down to where you were connected and right back to you. “move your fucking hand and don’t be a little bitch about it.”

your toes curl against the sole of your sandals. you can’t help but look at the cracked sliding door of the pantry. it’s risky enough to be kissing behind semi-closed doors but touching? and like this on a family vacation? “kuna, please. another time. i . . . we shouldn’t.” still, your hand is lax against his wrist. you’re barely holding him, simply resting your hand on his in what’s supposed to be protest

“if you don’t want it then stop me.” his words are almost animalistic against the shell of the ear. despite your persisting grip, he continues with his assault against your gummy walls. the pads of his fingers slip inside your silkened pussy, grinning at each sharp inhale of your breath.

you don’t stop him. if anything, you relax in his hands, softening against the wall behind you. you loop your arm around his neck, giving in to your desire. pushing sukuna away is the last thing on your mind. to be honest, there isn’t much on your mind to begin with. your thoughts are all screaming the same mantra, how badly you never want this to end. the weight of his body against yours, the heat of his lips on your skin, the fullness of his fingers inside you. you could live forever like this, die like this just as satisfied as ever.

you’d be the happiest, you’d think, living your last moments sandwiched between sukuna and whatever immovable object behind you, completely to his mercy. an interrupted moment in time, past, present, and future, where such an off-limits opportunity is fully within hands reach, in your grasp right now.

your breath hitches when the pads of his fingers press against a particular spot deep inside your hot cunt. it sends a wave of milky slick gushing from out your walls and coating his fingers. you can’t help but lift a leg and wrap it around his waist. you don’t even realize until you’re pulling him closer, running your fingers through the soft tresses of his dark colored undercut.

which is why you feel particularly disappointed when said minstrastions cease to exist, following the telltale sound of the front door hinges creaking open and yuji’s boyish voice breaking all existing tension. “we’re back. you guys ready to go?”

sukuna’s retreat from your personal space gives you whiplash. one moment, he’s all up on you and the next, he’s standing on the other side of the tiny room, grinning and gleaming from the exhilaration of his best kept secret. “later, then? keep her wet for me, pretty.”

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXVII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Diana helps mediate. Stinky Dad and the Alien Guy observe.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny’s space-watching time is very important to him. He’s pretty sure it’s on his schedule, even.

Every few days—and even more days in a week, now that people are relatively certain that he’s not going to start hitting the medical staff—Danny gets wheeled over to the big window to stare out at the moon.

The moon hasn’t changed all that much since his first few visits, since. You know. It’s in space. Still, the stars shift in their positions, and sometimes they face Earth, and sometimes they do not, and a couple times Danny sees people flying out there, which is super neat.

Sometimes Danny sees maintenance workers out doing repairs on their buildings, too. They wave back at him when they’re not busy or carrying something, which makes Danny’s core bubble and spark with joy.

So, Danny is watching the stars twinkle in the sky with all the meditative calm his Obsession requires when something plops onto his head. It doesn’t hurt, but it does put pressure onto his neck. Ow.

Danny hisses automatically, but he already knows who it is—the quick-fast-kid-who-hasn’t-introduced-himself practically vibrates against Danny’s skin, all excited by omg/omg/misch/iefomg.

Typical. Danny wants to feign a bite, but his neck kind of hurts. He settles for grumbling. “What?”

“Dude,” the teenager says, or, uh, Danny approximates he says something kind of like dude, anyway— “Want to come see a feoht?”

Uh. “A what?” Danny asks, ignoring how the guy’s chin keeps digging into his scalp. It might be the most non-medical physical contact Danny’s had since he broke down with Diana. Maybe.

The teen backs up, and models some very quick punches into the air, making his own sound effects to match. It’s all very impressive, or whatever. Danny’s not going to applaud, though; his arms are tired.

“…Sure.” It’s not like Danny has anything better to do.

“Berstan!” the kid chirps, and—

Danny clamps down on his wheelchair wheels because holycraptheyaremoVINGFAST. His wheels aren’t on the ground—the teen is carrying him, chair and all—!

He’s going to be in so much trouble for running. Danny’s wheels touch the ground, and he drops straight to the floor. His hands shake all the way up to his elbows as he grips his wheels. He is going to be in so much trouble when the nurses look for him and he’s not there.

Oh no. Oh no.

“Here we are!” the quickfast teenager announces, grinning. They’re in a room with a big, rubberized floor. It’s basketball orange. The rest of the room is virtually indistinguishable from the cloth folding walls Casper High uses to divide the gym into smaller gyms—giant cloth panels line every surface that isn’t the floor. Walls. Ceiling.

Well. It’s certainly…sound dampening. There’s vents, though. So. At least they can breathe.

The other teenagers Danny recognizes yell out to them, cheerful as ever. One waves—the kid behind him waves back, and then they’re all clustered together, pleased and breathing heavy and slightly sweaty.

“Feel alright?” one teen asks—Danny recognizes him after a second; he usually has a leather jacket on over his brightly colored shirt. He isn’t sure what the huge S is for, but hey, it’s a cool emblem or whatever. Danny used to have his initial on his…

…Danny doesn’t want to think about that, actually. He doesn’t want to think about anything about home at all.

Oh. Someone asked him a question, and now they’re all looking at him for answers. Danny nods jerkily—something sloshes inside his skull, though, which. Ew. He scrunches his face up when everyone else starts to look worried about his expression, though; it’s no big deal! It’s just! Gross!

The boy who is very fast pats his hand before sliding to the other side of the room. There are buttons there, which he presses; the room shifts, just a little, to make a piece of the floor turn away in favor of a rack of weapons. The teenager who’s always masked, but is now in an exercise shirt, whistles approvingly, and two of the teens—whoah—start flying off to grab at the equipment available.

…There’s some cool stuff there. Danny. Danny might…

He doesn’t want to fight, per se, but. Um. Weaponry is intrinsically cool. There’s no doubt about it. Half the reason he liked to play Doomed was collecting the newest and coolest weapon to blast at all his enemies with! And Tuc—

—and—

—Tucker—

Something clicks right up in front of Danny’s face.

He flinches.

“You good?” the teenager asks, big blue eyes on him as Danny struggles to breathe. “Do you want hweorfan?”

Danny gasps around three uneasy breaths before his ears catch up. Or. Well, his ears work, but his brain doesn’t know what the teen is saying?? Danny shakes his head anyway—he doesn’t want more to happen. He wants less.

The teenager frowns. Danny immediately worries that he did something wrong. “Okay, but tell me if you change your mod.”

As soon as Danny figures out what that is? Sure. He’ll tell him.

In the meantime, the kids split up into groups; one set of two goes to one side of the gym and the other goes in the air, floating on the other si— wait, they can float??

…Danny stares, and two ostensibly human-looking teenagers take to the air, loudly teasing the two left on the ground, and, yeah. They’re flying. Danny watches as the one on the ground starts counting, ready to start their match, only to interrupt his own countdown for a sneak-attack at the start and a PIFF of a smoke bomb going off. Danny can’t see the buzzing kid disappear from sight as the air begins to thicken, but there’s a distinct taste of JOY/games/VICIOUS that flutters through him that tells Danny that, wherever he is in that smoke cloud, he’s living his best life.

 And. Well.

The fighting is—there isn’t a better word for it, it’s just so damn cool. There’s kicking and punching and throwing and tossing and—sure, Danny can take a few hits and deal out some surprise punches when he has to, but these kids know what they’re doing, which is so cool, because once Danny lost the benefit of gravity mid-fight basically everything Mom had trained in him had been thrown out the window. The physics were just never right.

(And— Mom—)

Like, all the punches are happening at speeds that Danny can only kind of follow. His neck starts hurting from trying to follow them—but he can’t stop watching, and the kids are really having a blast. They’re laughing. They’re teasing. They show off, even, stopping to pose and flex and be admired by their sole observer, which Danny obliges with some gentle claps. The others are quick to jump on any distraction, though, and are more than willing to have Danny be the center of attention while they sneak up on showstoppers, stick or lasso in hand.

On one hand, Danny should probably be more alarmed by the sight of kids acting as literal child soldiers training to be combat ready. He…he’s pretty sure he’s meant to be one of them as soon as he’s recovered enough to get trained.

And…it is scary. It is kind of a scary thought that Danny might have to go back to…go back to fighting and getting hit and hitting and everything that fighting means.

On the other hand, there’s no one here. All the kids here are Danny’s age, and they’re not fighting because someone is making them; they’re having fun, and their job is to help people.

…Danny puts his legs higher up on his wheelchair, until he can wrap his arms around his knees. They’re supposed to beat up threats, but they don’t think that Danny’s a threat. They’re letting him sleep in a bed and get medical care and making sure he gets medication and everything. They let him hang out with their children and he has toys and fidgets to pass the time, and maybe he’ll have to pay them back later, but… isn’t helping out because he got helped only fair?

And they let non-humans live on Earth! That one teen’s stinky dad said that they could help Danny stay on Earth, he thinks. Or, uh, it’s what he thinks the green guy translated that as? So as long as he doesn’t leave, they could even protect him from the— all the bad stuff on Earth! So really, all Danny has to do is work on getting better. He’s safe here. Diana is here, the stinky dad is here, and there’s a whole team of super-people with super powers ready to help people.

Danny’s safe. He’s calm. He’s fine. He’s…worried that Diana doesn’t know where he is, but she’s smart and there’s probably cameras.

He watches the teens play around with various weaponry like they’re his model rocket. There’re thrown projectiles and giant hammers and dodgeballs and sticks, staves, and lassos; someone pulls out a shield, of all things, glittering gold and gleaming with something that itches at the back of Danny’s eyeball, and there’s a gun that sh—

Danny only breaks out of the memory of RUNNINGRUNNINGRUNNING when he realizes that someone is holding him. He’s choking. He doesn’t know who’s holding him, but they’re not hurting him right now and he can see a crowd of other colorful figures around him, which means he’s not with the Guys in White.

He’s hyperventilating. He can’t help it. He can’t stop it! His lungs hurt and there’s no end to the stress pressing out of his chest. Someone is holding him; where’s his chair? Did he lose it?? That’s really expensive medical equipment—they’re going to be so mad at him—!

Someone lifts him out of the stranger’s arms. It’s one of the older quick-buzzing humans. Not the teenager, and not the oldest one, he thinks. Danny can’t tell. He can’t breathe, and it’s hard to focus.

He’s shushing Danny like he’s a kid. Danny would be insulted, except he can’t breathe, and he really wants someone to help him, and his eyes are all weird and he can’t see and he doesn’t know where he is and his core hurts and his chair is gone—

Oh. The guy puts Danny’s hand on his chest and models breathing in with one big, visible breath.

Danny breathes in.

The guy models breathing out. It’s a long, slow breath.

…Danny struggles through the follow-through, but he manages. Well. He chokes hard enough to cough, twice, but…close enough.

The colorful forms milling about slowly disperse, until it’s largely just Danny, and the fast guy radiating very measured levels of calm, and his friend in black and blue, who is eating a sandwich. They breathe in, and they breathe out. That one guy eats his sandwich.

Danny looks around. He’s…the room he’s in is really big. Tables. Benches. Little stands of foo… Oh. He’s in a cafeteria. Cool.

…He squints through the new haze of green in his eyes. He’s probably strained something, but there are more important things at stake here: can he get some real food here?

“Where is here?” Danny asks. Rasps. He’s mostly horizontal, so manipulating his head around to glance at his surroundings is kind of a strain on his neck. Is that a hot dog cart?

“Wistheall,” the two say simultaneously—the guy in black and blue and a bird on his chest swallows his sandwich. “…Want a snakka?”

You know what? Danny’s going to assume that this means a snack. Sure! Why not. Nodding his head so quickly hurts, but he’s also not walking anywhere, so it’s not like it’s a full-body pain. The buzzing-quick guy sort of just…carries him around and asks Danny what he wants, and the bird guy gets it for him.

The little vibrations the guy is giving off are tinged a little with wor/ryworry/worry, but the guy’s mostly…at peace? Forcibly shoved it all down? Danny and the guy are practically chest to chest at this point, so it’s probably just that Danny’s close enough to feel even really quiet things.

His suit is super smooth, by the way. It’s not, like, skintight—there’s a little armor underneath, Danny can feel—but the fabric itself is like super slick. It’s cool. Texturally.

Also, he gives Danny a tube of something that are clearly off-brand Prongles, so Danny’s mostly just enjoying that instead of wondering what’s up with this guy and his friend.

“Are you okay?” the guy finally asks, his chatter mostly winding down into a question Danny can recognize. Danny swallows his bite of chips with a swig from his water bottle, and nods. He’s…unsettled, but he’s fine. He doesn’t know where he is, but he didn’t know where the teenagers had left him either, so this is about what he expected.

Even under his red hood-and-mask, the guy’s eyes are kind. Kinda worried. Not mean. “Something bad happened?”

…Danny looks back at his chips. Something bad happened, but it didn’t happen recently. “No,” Danny muttered around the crumbs in his mouth. He swallowed dryly. “Not…not now.”

The vibrations slow, and dim, melancholy lacing through the air. The sensation makes Danny itch. “Before?”

Danny nods. He thinks about his body melting from the outside in, his face dripping off in chunks of wet matter, his throat torn open still screaming.

“It was a—“ Danny tries, but he doesn’t actually know their word for gun or blaster. He just forces his fingers to make a familiar symbol, holding his own middle and end fingers back, leaving a shaking, uncomfortable thumb and pointer.

The quiet pew pew sound effects probably aren’t necessary, but the more detail, the better, or something like that.

Danny remembers how hot it got. Just…all the heat and light, and he could smell smoke right up until he couldn’t. And his face…everything hurt—everything still hurts, even—but the scary point had been when suddenly his face hadn’t hurt, and there was nothing left to feel.

…The guy holding him pulls Danny’s fingers away from his face. Oh. Danny was pulling at his still-green, still-healing wound. He. Uh. He doesn’t remember starting to do that anymore.

“Sorry,” Danny whispers. He swallows something wet from his sinuses to his stomach, and has to fight back the memory of a blood-and-ecto-and-flesh slurry taking its place in his esophagus as he tried to crawl away to die. Again.

The man sends out pulses of sorrysorrysorry through his skin. “Me too,” he murmurs back.

Then Danny gets hitched up—Danny squawks—and gets thrown into a better position over one shoulder, so Danny has better height to see from and a better perch in the guy’s arms. Danny drops half his prongles on the floor in the process. “Want to go find your chair?” the guy asks, body vibrating just a touch outside of Danny’s conscious awareness. Still, even without seeing the guy’s face, his whole body radiates sympathy/curiOSITy/Hungry.

…Didn’t they just eat?

Either way, Danny’s not torn between staring sadly at the ground where his prongles lay cold and bared to the cruelty of the world or getting up to go find his chair. “Yes,” he agrees, and uses the flat of his forearms to haul himself up higher onto the guy’s shoulders. Kindly, the guy in red doesn’t even budge. “Thank you.”

“Na geswincan,” the guy reports back easily, which Danny is pretty sure is a less-formal you’re welcome. Too bad there’s a whole language’s worth of context Danny’s missing out on here. His friend even snags Danny an extra can of prongles, and is kind enough to rips open the seal for him.

Nothing beats recovering from a crying jag like chips. Danny takes them earnestly.

The quick-fast guy hooks his arm onto his friend’s, and the world starts to stretch and blend into the in-between planes of reality, slices of world layered atop each other. The guy smashes through each one and pulls them both along for the ride.

It’s not quite like dunking his head in the portal, but it’s not not like sticking his head in a homemade portal either. Danny shakily pulls out a chip and starts chewing. He’ll just take the ride as it comes.

*

“Superboy.”

Kon winces.

“Robin.” Wonder Woman’s eyes turn to the more remorseful end of the bunch. “Wonder Girl. Impulse.”

“Wedidn’tmeanto!” Bart wails into a pillow, which. Fair. Cassie is sweating from possibly every pore she’s ever had (and maybe even a few she doesn’t??), and Tim is doing that stoic-faced thing that means he’s flipping the hell out too much to even tell his face to make expressions about it.

Kon just looks…miserable. Just absolutely miserable.

“…Triggered by firearms, maybe…?” Tim mutters under his breath, which means that he’s theorizing about their guest’s symptoms rather than coming up with solutions-oriented paths out of this confrontation and Cassie wants to shake him because this is NOT the time, Timothy Jackson Drake, except he’s kind of made of mortal human flesh and if she actually shakes him too hard he might die.

“I hope you understand how deeply irresponsible it was to take our patient out of his rooms without any form of supervision from either myself, his medical team, or an adult up to speed with our patient’s medical and psychological needs.” Wonder Woman’s voice is sharp—and her eyes are on Timmy Wonder Boy, who’s barely paying attention, making it clear that the majority of her ire is currently on him. “All four of you are being taken off of mission rosters for the next month in favor of remedial training. I hope that you are all satisfied with the decisions you made.”

“Fiiiine,” Cassie groans. Kon slumps in place. Tim nods without really looking.

Bart, still wailing at lightning speed into his pillow, continues doing…that.

[marlynnofmany]

Other Uses for Packaging

I waved goodbye to the customers — other humans this time — then sat back and waited for the trash pickup. I didn’t blame them for not wanting to take all the packing material out into the spaceport. They hadn’t brought a hovercart or forklift, and had been unprepared for the huge crate full of bubble wrap and foam.

Other times, our little courier ship had done deliveries where time was short or regulations were tight, and all we would have been able to do was advise them on where to rent a hovercart or buy a crowbar. Luckily for these customers’ convenience and my conscience, today we could stick around and help them unpack the custom end table or whatever that was.

They’d left happy, with something much easier to carry, and Captain Sunlight had headed for the cockpit to call in the station’s trash crew. (Apparently this was a regular feature at this space dock, which was a nice change from the last few where we’d had to move the ship’s garbage over to the trash area under our own power.)

Zhee looked over the crate that he’d just taken great joy in disassembling. “Wood may be valuable here,” he said with a thoughtful click of a pincher arm. “If not to the station at large, then surely to another ship. I wonder if the captain thought of that.”

I glanced back at the open cargo bay. “Probably?”

“Probably,” Zhee agreed.

We were both silent for a moment while the spaceport bustled around us.

“I’m going to check,” he said, tapping his way up the ramp on his many bug feet. “Make sure none of that blows away.”

“Sure thing.” I looked at the piles. The only breeze in here was the faint wafting of ventilation systems and the occasional gentle landing of other ships at a safe distance, but I understood the impulse to be careful. That one package awhile ago, full of styrofoam beads, had been memorable. And terrible. The darn stuff was almost as bad as glitter, what with the way it stuck to things with static electricity. Nobody wanted a repeat of that.

This set of packaging was much better. The boards made a tidy stack, the foam was in rubbery sheets that didn’t leak bits everywhere, and even the bubble wrap was in long rows instead of individual panels. This was no top-of-the-line cryo suspension or force field generator, but it was respectable.

I organized the mess a bit while I waited. The rest of the crew either had stuff to do on the ship or out in the station, so despite all the ambient noise, things were quiet.

I started rolling up the bubble wrap, thinking someone might want to use it again, but found that many of the bubbles had gotten popped in the disassembly, leaving it only good for one thing.

The first bubble popped with a satisfying snap. By the third I’d pinpointed which direction the sounds were echoing from most, and I enjoyed the different noises I could get by tilting my head. None of the pedestrians were close enough to pay much attention, so I happily worked my way down the roll. I’d seen multiple other types of bubble wrap, some made by different cultures and different materials, and most of them didn’t actually pop. What a simple joy to find the regular old Earth kind again.

Mur’s voice from the cargo bay asked, “What’s making that sound?”

I sighed and turned. “Don’t tell me, this is another swear word in your language.”

Mur waved a tentacle. “No, of course not. I just wanted to know what’s breaking out here. It sounded like a problem.”

Before I could answer, Paint appeared behind him in a rush. “Is there a problem??”

“No,” I hurried to say. “Everything’s fine. It’s just bubble wrap. See?” I held up the section I’d been working on and popped another bubble.

Paint winced. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“No, it’s just garbage.” I rolled up the part I’d already flattened, then twisted it to pop the next row all at once.

“Okay, that almost sounded like a swear word,” Mur admitted.

I had to laugh at that. “Of course it did.”

Blip and Blop hurried out to join the growing crowd in the cargo bay. “What keeps breaking?” Blip asked, frills waving anxiously.

“It’s just bubble wrap!” I exclaimed. “See?” I held it up and popped another one.

Instead of nodding and going back to whatever they’d been doing, my alien coworkers remained perplexed. “Why does it keep popping?” Blop asked. “Are you doing that?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed.

“Why?” asked both Frillians at once. Paint and Mur also looked curious.

“Because it’s fun?” I replied, scrambling for an answer. I hadn’t thought this needed explaining. But apparently it did.

Paint asked, “How is that noise fun?”

“Well, it echoes—”

“You don’t need to worry about condensing materials for the trash pickup, if that’s the concern,” Mur said.

“Yes, I know—”

“Are there food items on your planet that you have to open like this?” Blip asked. “Large fish eggs, maybe?”

“No, ew! It’s just—”

A shadow loomed taller than the Frillian twins. “It is violensssss,” Trrili hissed, making them twitch. (I don’t know how she found a shadow in the cargo bay. Sometimes I think she brings them with her.) “Small-scale, sanctioned violence. These can be destroyed without repurcussionssssss.” She was choosing which words to hiss on, for effect.

“Sure,” I said, spreading my arms and lifting the bubble wrap. “Let’s go with that.”

Trrili wasn’t done. “Each tiny section can be crusssshed individually, with precision, or multiples at once for maximum volume.” She glided forward on quieter feet than Zhee’s, and the others made room for her.

I held out the bubble wrap. “You want a turn?” Her pincher arms didn’t seem suited to it, but I was curious to see where she’d go with this.

“Plasssssse it on the floor.”

“Sure.” I flapped the row out in front of her like a red carpet, and she moved like the predator she was to crush one after the other. With precision. And shiny black bug feet.

It gave me an idea. “Hey, wanna see who’s faster?” I grabbed another section and laid it out to one side. “You’ve got more feet, but my shoes are bigger.”

Trrili spread her mandibles in her favorite creepy smile. “Challenge acssssssepted.” She crouched like a spider and waited for me to be ready.

I glanced back at the others. “Anybody else wanna race?”

Mur spun on his tentacles and scooted back into the ship. “No thanks! I’m going back where it’s quieter.”

“Me too,” Paint said. “But thank you!” She scampered off.

Blip and Blop looked at each other in silence for a moment, fins waving. Then they turned to me. “We’ll judge,” Blip announced.

“All right!” I said. I wrangled my own section of bubble wrap, roughly the same length as Trrili’s, and struck my own ready pose. “Say when!”

The twins chorused, “Start!” and we were off. Pops filled the air along with Trrili’s delighted hisses and my laughter. There were probably people staring, but that didn’t matter.

Maybe I could talk Trrili into a dance-off afterward. On whatever was left when one of us was declared the champion of small-scale, sanctioned violence.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[alphajocklover]

I love your stuff bro! Do you think you could help me out? I’m a younger small guy but I’m trying to become a bodybuilder jock. Is there anything you can do to help me grow huge like that? 💪💪

Hm… I’ll admit, I don’t normally do that kind of thing. So far my job has been detailing the stories I find of nerds getting turned into jocks, usually unwillingly or accidentally, by various methods. I warn people of them so that they can avoid them (or seek them out). I’m more of a reporter than anything. I’ve never transformed anyone myself.

But… I have picked up a few methods during my travels. It’s hard not to with all I’ve learned. Now let’s see what I have on hand.

First is a jar filled with the sweat of an Alpha. When I say Alpha I mean Alpha with a capital A. The ones from my earlier story, that can change people with their sheer dominance. Drinking their sweat can give someone their powers, for a short time. But there are some… side effects. Normal people aren’t meant to have Alpha powers, even if the powers are only temporary. Maybe another transformation method will do.

Next is a piece of the Reality Stone. Yes, that reality stone, the one that changed Spider-man into a cocky jock. I had a lot of fun getting it out from between those juicy pecs of his. I didn’t hurt him if that’s what you're worried about. I wasn’t even able to get it entirely out of him so he kept some of those reality altering powers of his. But the fragment I got is enough to make some changes. The only problem is the reality stone is… very powerful. I mean you’ve read the comics right, or at least seen the movies? Even the bit of it I have is powerful enough to be dangerous, so you could accidentally do something very bad with a spare thought. So maybe that’s not the best. I hear Big Pete Parker is having fun with his part though.

How about this smartphone? It has a version of InstaJock downloaded on it. You’re probably wondering how I got one without getting transformed myself, but that’s a whole other story. Use the app and you’ll be a jock. Instantly. Of course if you do that I’ll have to find another phone with the app on it, which would be a pain. How about instead…

Ah. Now this is perfect. The energy of a supernova. A very specific supernova actually. You may recognize it from some of my first stories. Usually the supernova jockifys whoever wishes on it by granting their wish, but it’s less mystical than you might think. I’m not sure how it works, but the star doesn't change reality with magic. The energy from the star is what makes the change. So, with a slightly adjusted solar panel, I was able to make this. It looks like a regular battery, but if you speak your (muscle growth related) wish into it, it will come true. I think this one will work perfectly. No side effects, no danger, and you can customize.

So go ahead, say your wish. I’m sure you’ll-

-whoa. That worked quicker than I thought. You look amazing. Bouncy pecs, killer abs, a good amount of manly hair and stubble. I think you’re even a bit older too. You’re a total bodybuilder jock, through and through. So go, enjoy it!

And make sure to tell your friends. This might have been the first transformation I personally oversaw, but I don’t think it’ll be my last.

[imustbenuts]

nuts reading trigun in japanese 5 - vash is. super good with kids

disclaimer: more triangulation purposes etc etc

so i mentioned before in my part 3 that the japanese language has an inbuilt hierarchy quirk to it. and i kind of noticed this nuance getting somewhat lost in the english translation, either because again i have skill issues with english, or that EN inherently doesnt come with the same quirk.

elaborating a bit more: this hierarchy of position/standing can be determined by age, profession, occupation, and experience. in terms of hard priority, age and profession tends to take precedence over everything else.

this means effectively, vash being over 150 should be top dog and given respect in JP/Asian context (respect your elders! or else!!), but because he 1) looks 24, 2) uses very immature speech with strangers, 3) uses boku, hes effectively keeping his head down and posing as a dumbass schmuck.

ヴァッシュの兄貴　行っちまうのか！？ Big bro Vash, you're leaving?! (兄貴 = aniki = big bro but informal and can be used for no blood relations)

so schmucky that he has no problems handling children. in fact, in the JP version during his departure on the sand steamer, the kids call him Big Bro Vash. twice! so he's earned their adoration in no time flat.

ヴァッシュの兄貴—ッ Big Bro Vash!!

leaving the translation like that ^ wouldnt flow well in english, so rip. also. cute scene.

and yet his meeting with Kaite is chaotically bad to say the least. i mean, he even gets drugged and knocked out. Kaite does not respect the guy who gave him food at all and plans to seemingly feed him 3 meals a day for the entire trip. so how? well.

once Brilliant Dynamites Neon comes in and turns things serious, Vash's starts doing a few interesting things.

skipping forward this and that. after getting almost blown off the sand steamer, vash holds onto kaite and they both cling on for dear life:

もうちょっと登れば通風口があるよ mou chotto noboreba tsuufucou ga aru yo If we can climb a little higher there's a ventilation duct そーか　そーか　今行こうすぐ行こう souka souka ima ikou sugu ikou Okay, okay, let's get going right now!

added romanji and color to highlight how vash is repeating phrases in his line. the そーか　そーか souka souka and 行こう 行こう ikou ikou repeats are there as if to 1) make himself sound immature, and 2) to reassure kaite that things are under control.

only touching on the bottom right panel. another possible reading of that line:

助けて頂いてありがとうございましただろう Situations like these are where you should say "thank you very much for saving my life" instead!

はいそーでした!!!

Now say it!!!

he's chiding kaite and doing the very asian adult thing of teaching the youngin manners in terms of tone. but in a stern funny way no offense taken way bc, as you might have noticed...

vash is deliberately putting himself on the same level as a kid. in tone in standing in speech. hes not being condescending. hes not lording his status as an adult over a child. (something something christ like but in the context of jp... hehe.)

this is ultimately what gets tough nut kaite to trust vash to get down to business to defeat The Neon. even without the words hes visually getting himself to be on the same (eye) level with kaite. i think its so good alsdjfdsa

kaite starts crying after thinking of his dad and regretting what he's done, gets caught in a regret reflection loop, but vash brings him back to reality. like this:

な に を 感 傷に ひ た って る か な こい つ は

another reading of this "What the hell are getting all sentimental for now ya brat?!" line might be "What. Good. Is. It. To. Lose. Your. Grip. On. Yourself. Now. You. Dummy?!"

with this he puts kaite's head back into reality and readjusts both their priority.

so again. vash just. is good with kids. his emotional intelligence is through the fucking roof as proven by all the other moments throughout tristamp and trimax*

idk its warms me bc. the asian confucius hierarchy is so... yuck. im technically of chinese descent so i know how fucked it is. so. vash is really cool with this slightly extra japanese asian hierarchy context.

i think this aspect of vash is something i dont see in english fanworks a lot, and not in the same tone. on the other hand, i do see this a lot in the jp fanworks. so idk exactly what factors or if im looking in the wrong places, but yeah. vash is good with kids. just like wolfwood.

again, studio orange understood the assignment and gave some of that dynamic here to Tonnis.

are they called studio orange bc im meant to squeeze stampede for all its worth or what. stampede is actually incredible to me im in awe.

bonus:

the jp version of the left text says roughly:

"I'm cursed!! I must be! By either the reaper or a god of misfortune and or more!!"

yeah he specifically says Shinigami and Binbougami. i dont think that would translate well in en bc this kinda throws the catholicsm theme into a bit of a tailspin LMAO. (also. the Ore here. note the context.)

[kingmaxstatic]

In Defense Of Lanolin, A Post About Perspective, Flaws and Development. (Part 1: The Incidents)

Hey there everyone! It's time for another ✨Max Opinion Moment✨. Out of all of the IDW characters I think Lanolin is the character I've seen get the most hate. I'm not just talking about "I dislike this character" I'm talking I've seen posts where people act like Lanolin killed their family sort of hate.

Today I plan on defending Lanolin as a character! Talking about the main panels that caused this hatred and why I think she's... actually justified in her actions!

DISCLAIMER! This post is not meant to say "You can't DISLIKE Lanolin!". You're allowed to have your opinions of the character!

with all of that out of the way, let's talk sheep! Buckle up! Because this is a long one! (So long I might have to make a part 2)

Case #1: The Paddle Ball Incident

One of the earliest examples (comic timeline wise) was this set of panels! I've seen people actually seethe over these panels. Now I want to explain why I, personally, understand why she's taken the paddle away from her!

Lanolin is talking about important stuff here! Tangle is ACTIVELY interrupting the conversation by playing with the paddle ball in her face. Also, as an autistic person, I personally know how distracting those noises can be!

People also seem to forget that Lanolin, a few pages earlier, looks EXHAUSTED. That is not the face of a sheep that's well rested. Of course she's going to be irritable!

You'd be a bit of a bitch too if you were trying to talk about important stuff and someone was cutting off the conversation by fiddling with something really loud in your face! It's like if you were trying to present a school project you worked all night on and someone started playing a really loud video next to you.

Does this make Tangle a bad person? Of course not! She's energetic and gets bored easily (trust me girl, I get it.) but Lanolin isn't bad for being upset.

Case 2: The Duo Incident

THIS is the main reason a lot of people hate Lanolin as a character. Though in the timeline it's the second panel people will point to as justification for wanting this fictional sheep dead. This is the part of the post where I talk a LOT about perspective and justification.

Get ready for a LOTTTT of panel posting to add context.

SO Let's discuss the main perspective we see, Silver and Whisper's

Silver and Whisper know something is up with Duo, hell Whisper hits the nail right on the head when she instantly assumes Duo to be Mimic! This all happens after Mimic sneakily kicks Silver and Whisper notices.

Another event this happens is when Mimic basically leaves Silver for dead and what does he say after Lanolin asks him where silver is?

"I'm sorry I couldn't save him... the teeth... so big."

From LANOLIN'S PERSPECTIVE, Duo is the new guy, inexperienced and doesn't know how to deal with badniks and this one was HUGE. So from HER pov Duo did his best to save Silver and just simply couldn't. Of course she doesn't know that Duo is Mimic.

So what do Whisper and Silver do after they assume there's a traitor amongst them?

"We're Going Hunting."

Silver and Whisper don't first contact Lanolin or the others, they jump INSTANTLY to murder. The next panel we sees Silver and Whisper in in this arc is them camping in a bush, ready to shoot this Mimic.

Once again, I need to emphasize, they DID NOT discuss this with Tangle or Lanolin. They jumped to murder. This is a rash choice on both of their ends.

I also want to point out that Lanolin acted a lil playful and friendly... before she saw Whisper coming out of the bushes with her wispon.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize what Whisper is implying here. She wants to kill someone. Justified? Yes, Mimic is a horrible person who seems to only know one word, betray. But from Lanolin's perspective Duo is a newbie who's only crime was being inexperienced. She does not know Duo is Mimic.

She even asks "The Shape-Shifter? That's a big accusation. Do you have any proof?" She isn't saying "Whisper, this guy clearly isn't mimic." She's saying "If you have proof he's mimic, show it instead of shooting this person I assume is innocent.".

and Whisper responds "We will soon."

Whisper then walks forward and proceeds to grab Lanolin's arm and move it, if you have a keen eye, you'll notice it was the arm Lanolin was using to protect Duo.

A teammate is walking towards your other seemingly innocent teammate, accusing them of being someone from their past. They're carrying a loaded weapon and move you out of the way. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what would happen next. Someone is going to get shot, someone is going to get killed.

So what do you do?

You knock the person down.

What Lanolin does here is knock Whisper over before she does anything and attempts to reason why her. Before whisper then KICKS her legs, trying to knock her over. Thus starts a fight. I'm not gonna post the full panel because we already got the idea.

But afterwards Jewel asks "Hey let me get this straight, you tried to attack this dude based on an assumption"

And Silver is like "Yeah shit guess I was"

THEN Lanolin steps in like "Hey until you can like. think before you act you should stay away from us, kay?"

OKAY SO, TO EMPHASIZE THIS A THIRD TIME. Silver and Whisper decided to try and kill this guy before discussing with their team. Silver is a powerhouse and a well known powerhouse at that. "Yadda Yadda great power, great responsibility." and all that.

People act like Lanolin is banning Silver from ever being in the diamond cutters ever. But she's saying "FOR NOW you can't be one of us.". Until is a word that changes a LOT here. She's also saying "That's my vote." implying she wants the others' input.

Hell this is even more emphasized when Jewel says Tangle has a say in this! Lanolin is saying "Hey, I think Silver shouldn't be around until he grows more, what do you guys think?".

I do think Lanolin has flaws here, she should've tried to give whisper a bit more benefit of the doubt here, but Whisper shouldn't of ALSO jumped to murder. They're BOTH in the wrong here.

PHEW THAT WAS A LONG ONE.

Case #3: The X-Treme Gear Incident

This is the latest Lanolin panel that I've seen spark debate about her! Let's talk about the Diamond Cutters' roles in this arc!

They're referees! They're even called "The Restoration Refs" in issue 70! Basically, people who oversee the race to make sure everyone is playing fair and safe.

She's not doing this because she hates Sonic (okay maybe she has beef with Sonic), Amy and Tails. She's doing this because it was an active threat to everybody else and themselves!

Hell I want to point out that in the first panel of this case, she's pointing at Sonic. Who she has witnessed first hand clearly having a disregard to the rules and safety.

This then proceeded to almost get one of her teammates hurt.

So Lanolin calling Sonic a "Hazard" Isn't too far off. Do I think Lanolin is being harsh here? Yeah. Hell even the comic points out she's being harsh after the first panel of this case.

People act like she swiveled around to Tails and went "You suck as an inventor" and spit on him. She's calling the gear "faulty" and "hazards". Shes literally doing her job. I need to emphasize this. Is she being rude? Yes. But she's blunt and it's apart of her character. Tangle is gonna be naive, Whisper's gonna be distant, Lanolin is gonna be blunt.

Bonus Case: The Shattered Glass Incident.

Okay so this isn't one that I've seen people hate on Lanolin for but I... have seen the Anti-Lanolin squad be weird over this panel. Being all like "HA!! Not as perfect as she thought!" and "She's finally facing the consequences of her actions!!"

What actions?

Ah yes! Stopping Sonic from endangering more racers!

Lanolin broke the glass, yes. She acted quickly, yes. This wasn't her scheming and being like "Heehee!! Time to put all these people in danger for some reason!!"

Let's call it what it is.

A Mistake.

Something people are allowed to make, something Lanolin is allowed to make. This isn't some sort of "her getting what's coming to her" it's her realizing she fucked up. Let her make mistakes and let them BE mistakes!

But yeah, if you've read this all the way through, thank you! I had a lot of fun making this (despite how exhausted I am of the lanolin hate train). Hopefully I'll actually make that part 2! Because that would be more so me talking about Lanolin's flaws, her role, and her backstory! Things I like to discuss (I do not like being a hater).

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 2]

Summary: Mary has something of yours from your last encounter. You have something of his. In a standoff, Mary suggests you meet to make the trade off, so you can pay your ransom.

Little does he know, you have a secret weapon up your sleeve... or rather, his sleeve...

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: Teasing, lingerie, nipple play, choking, biting, cunnilingus, oral sex (f receiving), being gagged, squirting, manhandling, contraception mentioned but raw p in v sex still, angst, hurt 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3

A/N: SO listen, this was supposed to be a silly little series of smut one shots with Mary that was low priority and something to do between other fics. Then... I started plotting. And now, the plot is plotted. So here you go, heathens - more Mary filth, except now we got storyline... Huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles & @angellayercake again for beta reading!

Oh, and I now have a ko-fi if you fancy leaving me a little tip, but no pressure. Love ya!

You stared at your phone, the unread notification on your screen lighting up with each time you hit the side button. You hadn’t opened the message, only able to see the preview but it was enough.   

After two weeks of radio silence from Mary Goore, he’d finally text you late this afternoon.  

R u willing 2 pay ur ransom yet doll?  

You’d maybe stared at it for a few minutes, thinking of ways you might be able to sneak Mary in, or you could sneak out yourself. You knew your parents were home this evening; they’d invited your father’s deputy and his wife for dinner. You were not invited.   

“Just business, darling,” your father had told you. “Not for children.”  

That had pissed you off beyond belief. You weren’t a fucking child anymore; hadn’t been for a long time. But that’s daddy for you... Treating you like the same pigtailed little girl in the photo frame on your dresser, sat on her father’s shoulders at a Fourth of July parade. She looked happy, innocent.   

But that was well over a decade ago.   

And so, still simmering with a hint of anger and a flame stoked in your rebellious little soul, you decided you were indeed ready to pay your ransom.  

You were ready for round two with Mary fucking Goore.  

I have what you need. 8:30pm. I’ll leave my window open. Be quiet, daddy’s downstairs. No funny business, Goore. I’ll have my secret weapon ready if you try anything stupid.  

A few minutes went by, when the ‘sent’ turned to ‘read 5:43pm’, and the three little dots popped up on his side.  

Wouldn’t dream of it. C u l8r doll.   

You smirked at your screen, a thrill rushing through you at the thought of another night with Mary Goore...  

Mary sat in his old black van across the street from your house, staring at the only light that was on upstairs. He’d been here early, around 8pm, and seen a couple pull up in a fancy car through the ornate gates that shut your house off from the rest of the street. Your father had greeted them with a firm handshake and a cheek kiss at the porch. Some kind of work thing, he assumed, scoffing at the nature of the situation he found himself in.  

Climbing through your window in the darkness of night to fool around with the Mayor’s daughter while he conducted a formal business meal downstairs. How cliché...  

As he’d watched, he bit at his thumb nail, plotting his route to get to the window. He could climb up the trellis panels along the edge of your garage, shuffle his way along the guttering and climb in that way... First, he’d have to climb over the tall iron railings without impaling himself on the spikes around the back of the house and away from the security cameras along the porch.   

He checked the clock on his dashboard, hissing a quick ‘fuck’ realising he was out of time; it was 8:27pm. It was now or never.   

Mary scrambled his way over the fence of the back yard, carefully dodging the view of cameras and the French doors that he could see your father through, sat at the dining table with his guests. Miraculously, he hadn’t impaled himself on the railings, though he did manage to snag his already ripped jeans, but that was no real loss to him.   

Climbing up the trellis should have been easier than it was, but he hadn’t accounted for the thorns on the roses that were growing up them. He quickly learned his lesson after blindly grabbing and piercing his palm in multiple places, almost stumbling and falling a few feet off the ground.   

But eventually, Mary made it up on the garage, and shuffled his way along the guttering to your open window. With a less than graceful forward roll and a clatter of trinkets falling to the ground from the desk he’d knocked them from beside the window, Mary was in.   

“Could’a told me I’d be pulling some Top Gun shit to get up here, doll...” he grumbled, dusting himself off and sucking at the puncture wounds on his palm as he turned around to find...  

An empty room.   

“Doll?” he asked, looking around to see if he’d missed you, but you were nowhere to be found. Mary’s shoulders slumped, huffing in annoyance as he found himself in a room that frankly was the exact opposite of his personal taste.   

Patterned wallpaper from decades long since passed coated your walls, covered in pretty pink peonies. Pretty pink and white bedding draped over a large bed in the middle of the room, frills and lace neatly assembled with a well-kept collection of stuffed animals and scatter cushions against the headboard. Sparkly trinkets and polished ornaments sat on most surfaces he could see with the naked eye, clearly collected over the course of your childhood.   

It looked like a kid’s bedroom... A little princess’ dream room. Not the bedroom of a young woman of your age, and certainly not the kind to fuck a guy like him in the stall of the men’s bathroom at a dive bar.   

In your absence, Mary took the time to look closely at some of the trinkets lining your dresser; a necklace rack with pretty little pendants hanging neatly in different metals; a little gold tray filled with pretty stones and crystals you’d collected; a tiny little ornament of a pink kitten; a white half-burned candle that smelled faintly of roses.   

You really were the cliché Mary thought you were, huh? Mary was little more than a touch of excitement and rebellion in an otherwise pristine little life – he could live with that, he supposed. He too had felt a thrill in claiming you as his two weeks ago in that bar, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about doing it again ever since.   

As Mary looked around your room, flicking at the necklaces, inspecting the trinkets, he came across the photo frame of tiny little you. He picked it up, smiling to himself at the goofy grin on the little girl’s face, the pigtails tied up with pretty red ribbons that matches the dungarees she wore. He shook his head with a little laugh, noting the Mayor in the photo and how much younger he looked. Office had aged him, that was for sure.   

How he’d come to find himself in this predicament, he had no idea. How ironic that the daughter of the Mayor to the very town that loathed him had become his booty call.   

Well, you would be if he could fucking find you.  

Putting the photo frame back in its place, Mary looked around one more time, noting there were two doors in the room. He figured he’d try his luck – if he were quiet enough, he wouldn’t be caught. Your parents had no reason to be upstairs with guests over, and maybe you were in a second living room or something? This house was definitely big enough to have two.   

Mary crept over to the door closest to him, reaching for the handle. He’d just grasped it in his palm, when he heard a click behind him.   

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” your pretty little voice warned, more stern than he’d heard it before. Mary froze, a smirk playing on his lips.   

“I think you just lost, doll...” he teased, standing up straighter yet still facing the door.   

“Lost what, Goore?” you enquired, leaning up against the doorframe of the bathroom you’d just been in, hiding from him as you applied the final touches to your make up. Mary began to turn towards the sound of your voice, then.  

“Your little game of hide and see-” He stopped in his tracks, the last syllable getting caught in his throat as his eyes fell on you.   

There you were, this pristine little daddy’s girl, leaning up against the doorframe with cherry red lips so ridiculously enticing, scantily clad in pretty red lace. The matching set you’d prepared came with a garter belt, only attached to strips of elastic around your upper thigh. The straps of the bralette contoured the curve of your breasts, similar straps of elastic sitting high on your hips. The lace only covered what it needed to, the straps themselves doing most of the enticing.   

But what really got him, was the leather jacket you wore over the top of it, covered in spikes, badges, patches and chains.  

His leather jacket.  

You smirked at Mary’s silence, watching his eyes drink you in as you showed off more than he’d got to see that night at the bar... This wasn’t rushed, this wasn’t on a whim. This had been planned, specifically to scramble his brain the second he saw you. And if the way he readjusted his jeans and his jaw dragged across the floor was anything to go by, you’d succeeded.  

Mary scraped his jaw back from the floor, collecting himself and settling his gaze on your eyes, feigning a look of deviance and irritation.  

“So, this is your secret weapon, huh?” he asked, gesturing towards your outfit – or lack thereof. “I told you I wanted that back,” he said, his voice deep and vaguely threatening.   

“I propose a trade. Do you have them?” you asked, holding your open hand out towards him.   

Mary patted at his chest as if looking for something, hands travelling down to his front pockets of his jeans, then to his back, where he let out an “ah-ha!” and pulled the familiar white lace of your panties from your last encounter from one of the pockets. “You’ll see they’re completely unharmed...” he dangled them out towards you.   

“Put them on the bed and step away...” you warned, keeping up the facade of a ransom exchange just a little longer. Mary did as you asked, slowly stepping towards the end of your bed and gently laying your panties on the edge, before holding his hands up in surrender and stepping back a few paces.   

You walked to the bed, picking them up and inspecting them for any damage at all. Mary watched you from afar, amused and shoving his hands into his pockets. With a satisfied hum, you balled the panties up and threw them back down onto the end of your bed, turning on your heels to look at him.   

“See, doll? Completely unharmed. Now... your turn,” he smirked, his eyes drifting back over your body, enjoying every inch of skin he could see beneath his jacket.   

“Can’t I keep it just a little longer...? It suits me, don’t you think?” you asked innocently, twirling around for him to catch a good glimpse of your ass peeking from beneath the leather.  

Mary pinched at his chin, unashamedly watching your ass as you modelled his jacket for him. “Hmm,” he hummed, “I suppose... it does have a kind of charm on you, doll.”  

You giggled, the sound momentarily scrambling the frequencies in his brain again before he shook his head and refocussed. You stepped towards him, biting your sultry red lip as you looked him up and down with the same hunger he had shown you.  

“So... do I get to wear it a little longer?”   

“Maybe just a little, doll...” he shrugged, waiting as you slowly approached him.   

“Just a little?” you pouted, coming to stand in front of him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He kept his hands to himself, tucked back into his pockets. “Why just a little longer?”  

“Because, doll... I ain’t gonna be able to stop myself ripping it off ya pretty fuckin’ soon,” he threatened. You grinned, pulling your body to rest against him, breasts pushed into his chest and hips grazing his half-hard length in his tight jeans.  

“Enough talk, Mare... You came here to fuck me, so fuck me,” you told him, hovering your lips close to his.   

But Mary just laughed, throwing his head back. “Oh, doll... Nuh-uh... You think I’m gonna rush this?” he asked, stepping either side of your feet and pushing you a step backwards simply with the force of his chest against yours. “Last time, we were in danger of gettin’ caught. Had to be quick, hm?” He took another step, forcing you back again. “But I reckon we got some time while daddy shmoozes his guests downstairs... I ain’t rushin’ this time, doll...”   

He backs you up until you can feel the frills of your bedding on the bare backs of your knees, tickling the exposed skin but he stops you there, not yet pushing you down onto the mattress. Instead, he lifts one of his hands from his pocket, pressing his thumb to your bottom lip and lightly pulling it down.  

“You wear this shade just for me, baby?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. From this close, you could see the details in his make up, the dark circles he painted on with pale skin, the fake blood dripping from his hairline. The fringe of his spiked hair tickled your nose where it came to a point, and you shivered from the tickle and his light grasp on your lip.   

“Uh-huh,” you confirmed, Mary smirking in triumph.  

“I like it... Wonder how it’d look on me,” he teased. “Let’s find out...”  

In less than a heartbeat he dropped your lip, his hand reaching for the lapel of his jacket draped over your body and pulling you to him, pressing his lips to yours. You whimpered at the contact, your mind blanking with the sensation of being able to finally kiss him again after a painful two weeks.   

Mary stayed true to his word, taking his time to mould his lips with yours, tilting his head in order to make you more pliant in his grasp. He tasted as he did the last time you met, with the exception of the beer you had pounded together that evening; the lingering taste of cigarette smoke and a vague sweetness from whatever he used as fake blood to drip down his face.   

Your fingers wound their way into the shorter hair at the back of his head, tugging at the roots while your arms tightened around his neck. Mary’s grip on his jacket fell to your hips, pulling at the elastic of the garter belt around your waist. He could feel your bare skin beneath it, driving him utterly insane with want. But no, he said he wouldn’t rush this. He wouldn’t. He wanted to savour every touch, every taste, every noise he could from you.   

But he also couldn’t bring himself to deny you when you ran your tongue along his bottom lip, a clear indication you needed to taste more of him, directly from the source. And so, he allowed you to invade, tongue meeting in a slow and deliberate show of sensuality.   

Somehow, despite being so much slower in his movements this time around, it felt all the more filthy than your encounter in the bathroom stall. Your little mewls of pleasure and his dark little chuckles and groans added something to the moment, a familiar sense of desperation for each other.  

Eventually, Mary pushed you to sit at the edge of your bed, tapping the steel toecap of his boots at your inner ankles to spread your knees for him to stand in the space you created. You did so without a fight, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes and curving your back to give him a nice view of your ass over your shoulder. He pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger, smirking down at you with a smudge of red across his lips.  

“Well...? How does your lipstick look on me, doll?” he asked, pouting for added effect.   

“Suits you...” you giggled, “but I’m wondering...” You reached for his belt, unbuckling the leather from the oversized skull buckle, “how it’d look smothered along your cock...”   

“Fuck, you’re filthy, doll...” he praised, but he gripped your wrists and paused your movements. “But as my memory serves me, you’ve taken my cock in that pretty mouth before, hm? And as fucking good as that was, I wanna try something new tonight. That alright with you?” he asked, a genuine tenderness in his eyes that let you know it was alright to tell him no, that you could back out any second if you wanted.   

But the sparkle that said Mary had a plan was still very much prevalent, and you let your curiosity get the better of you. You wanted whatever he planned. You wanted anything Mary was willing to give.  

“Whatever you want, Mare,” you smirked, fluttering your eyelashes up at him as you loosened your grip on his belt.   

Mary whistled with a smirk and a shake of his head, “Careful sweetheart... That’s a real dangerous door to open.”  

Before you could think of a witty response, his hand wrapped itself around your exposed neck, the cool feel of his silver rings contrasting with the heat of arousal that emanated from your skin. With his thumb, he titled your chin up a little more, before he dipped his head to attach his teeth to the space under your ear, nibbling, suckling, licking over the skin as he travelled down your neck, holding you in place while he bent over you.  

Because he was stood between your thighs, you couldn’t help but widen them to accommodate him, his body slotting itself in and crowded your senses. You could smell a cologne on him – not one he’d worn last time... was he try to impress you? - that was musky and woody, only complimented by the faint smell of cigarette smoke.   

Mary made his way down your neck, holding you tightly as he moved to your chest, paying close attention to the sounds of your laboured breaths and little whimpers as he got closer to the curve of your breasts. To aid his descent, Mary got down onto one knee, his free hand gripping your thigh for stability just as tightly as he held your neck. To your disappointment, he moved back just as he was getting close to the red elastic that sat above the cup of your bra, still holding you in place.  

“Look at me, doll...” he commanded, and you did so without question – a little difficult, with the way he was holding your chin higher than it naturally sat. But he held eye contact with you, even as he moved in to lick a wide stripe between your breasts from your sternum, right up to where his hand grasped your neck. Your hips bucked just a little in arousal, but he noticed. Mary didn’t miss a trick.   

“Fuckin’ needy little thing, you are. What, you want me to touch you?” His hand on your neck slid up to cup your jaw, two of his fingertips forcing their way past your lips and holding you tight. “Want my tongue? My fingers? My cock?”   

You couldn’t answer if you tried, his hand locked in place, keeping you silent save for the pleading whine you let out. Mary laughed, reattaching his lips to your chest and trailing open mouthed kisses down to the curve of your breast, finally mouthing at flesh instead of skin and bone. He bit down on you, digging his nails into your thigh as he did to spread the light pain further across your body. You couldn’t help the gasp you let out, hips rolling on the bed in search of something more.   

“Undo this bra for me, doll. My hands are busy,” he told you. You did as you were told, reaching behind you and unclasping the hooks, letting it fall loose on your shoulders underneath Mary’s jacket. With the tension removed from the elastic, he could move the flimsy cups out of the way, nudging them with that delectable nose of his to finally reach the nipples that had hardened for him long ago.   

His tongue laved over the bud, heavy breaths flooding from his nose while his mouth was preoccupied with your tits. By the noise he was making, Mary seemed to be enjoying himself, fingertips digging into your thigh against, his rings imprinting on your flesh.   

With Mary distracted, you shimmied out of his jacket, wanting to take the bra off completely. When you’d thrown the thin little thing to the side, Mary’s eyes looked up at you with a darkness, a hint of distaste in them.   

“Put that fucking jacket back on,” he growled against your breast. “Ain’t nothin’ prettier than tits and leather.” You giggled around the fingers in your mouth and reached for the jacket that lay around you, shuffling until you had it back on. “Good girl,” he mumbled against your breast again, suckling at your nipple while he slid the hand from your mouth down to cup the other breast, pinching in time with his teeth nipping at the other.   

Your hands found his hair again, messing with the way he’d styled it and scratching at his scalp as you pulled his head closer to you. You rolled your hips again where you sat, trying desperately to grind against his chest but you simply couldn’t reach from here, and you whimpered at the lack of contact to where you really needed him.  

With a popping sound, Mary pulled back from your breast and levelled his face with yours, demanding eye contact.  

“Needy little girl wants me to touch her cunt, huh?” he asked, no hint of shame or shyness to him at all. It made your core burn for him.   

“Please, Mare...” you whined.   

“Said I was gonna take my time, doll. You gettin’ impatient?” He arched an eyebrow, testing you. You were in no mood to hide your lust.  

“Mhm...”  

“You want my cock that badly?” he asked, a cocky smile playing on his lips. You nodded, giving him your best pathetically needy puppy-dog eyes. He just laughed.   

“Tough shit, doll. I’m sure you’re used to gettin’ what you want, but I wanna enjoy this. And frankly, baby, I’m thirsty. I’ve been here all this time, and you haven’t even offered your guest a drink?” he accused, acting insulted. “Just rude, that. Guess I’ll have to get my own...”  

A swell of panic rose in your chest, your eyes widening as your eyes darted towards the door to the hallway. He couldn’t... Your father would go nuts, throw Mary out by the collar of his band shirt and ground you for the rest of eternity – even if you were a fucking adult.  

Mary followed your gaze and laughed. “Not from there, doll. I got what I need right here.”  

Without warning, Mary pulled the feeble lace of your panties to one side, exposing your dripping centre to him and launching himself between your thighs. His lips encircled your clit and with a loud slurp, and he took enough of your arousal onto his tongue to coat the appendage completely. You couldn’t help the loud gasp that forced its way up your throat, Mary’s hand slapping over your open mouth to cut it off.   

Now silenced, you allowed the moans to spill freely against his palm as he dove into your core, lapping at your clit, your lips and your entrance like he already knew what you liked, where you needed him. True to his word, Mary drank from you every drop of arousal you produced as if he hadn’t hydrated in days. His make up smeared all over you, a mixture of fake blood and whatever black and white paints he’d used for his dull skull make up. You could see the pink tinge of your lipstick still around his lips, getting messier by the second.   

As he focussed on your clit, you howled against his palm, prompting him to remove himself from your core and shush you just inches from your face, warning you with darkened eyes to keep quiet, or he’d stop everything. You may have a big house, but Mary was still very aware of the dinner going on downstairs; he was not about to get thrown out of your house with a raging boner and smeared pussy juice all over his fucking face.   

“Seems I can’t keep you quiet, doll... How do I shut you up, hm?” he asked, pressing his hand harder against your lips as he looked around your room for something to aid him. His eyes landed on the white lace beside you, draped over the corner of your bed, and his eyes glimmered with mischief.   

With his free hand, he grabbed at your used panties, balling them up and stuffing them into your mouth until he was sure he’d plugged up the source of the noise.  

“There. Now do me a favour, pretty girl...” he leaned in to whisper in your ear, the faint scent of your juices hitting your nose from the mess over his mouth and chin, “ shut the fuck up...”   

You moaned into the lace in your mouth, muffled well enough that only Mary would be able to hear. The way he spoke to you, took command and degraded you made you so damn weak for him; because you had a weird feeling you were safe with Mary.   

Absolutely, he was a son of a bitch, a fucking asshole, a total whore and the filthiest guy you had yet to meet but there was always an air of safety with him, of comfort and a mutual respect you didn’t seem to get with any of the assholes you’d fooled around with in the past. Mary wasn’t exactly your usual type – unwillingly a cliché, you only seemed to fool around with jocks or preppy guys – but that was because you had always, always lived up to daddy’s expectations. You fooled around with the guys your father would approve of, in the hope that someday he may approve of you in the same way.   

Mary was the opposite of that and truthfully, the first guy you’d slept with that made you feel anything other than a dull buzz. For starters, he knew where the clit was and what to fucking do with it – but there was an electricity there, the spark of a passion you’d not yet felt with anyone else. Mary knew what buttons to press, how far he could go; he was running off pure instinct, listening to you, feeling you, understanding you.   

He dove back between your legs, the jolt of pleasure as his tongue swept over your clit forcing your legs to clamp down around his head. His hands gripped onto your thighs, nails digging into the flesh as if encouraging you, taunting you to try and squeeze until you crushed him. Your moans were caught by the lace in your mouth, muffled but still as desperate as they had always been under Mary’s spell.  

You had always thought there was no way a man could make you cum with just his tongue, but you thought the same thing of men in general, having been left unsatisfied without your own intervention during every sexual encounter with a man previously. But Mary had already proved you wrong when he’d made you squirt on his cock – you hadn’t even realised you could do that.  

He was determined to make you do the same again, still feeling particularly thirsty for you. He persevered, swiping his tongue over your most sensitive of nerves, winding the coil in your abdomen tighter and tighter... The only warning you gave him was your hands gripping the roots of his hair, your hips shoving themselves against his face right before you squealed against the lace, biting down and once again, squirting as you came from Mary’s ministrations.   

Mary growled with hunger as he caught as much as he could, drinking every drop he could reach, rutting against the tightness in his jeans for some kind of friction for himself, now too turned on to hold back. He didn’t stop for air, never pulled away from you until you were physically pushing at his head, overstimulated and in need of a reprieve.   

Mary fell back, his hands catching himself on your carpet as he gasped for air, your cum dripping from his chin mixed with fake blood, white paints and your smeared lipsticks. You fell back against the mattress, pressing your fingertips into your eyes in a hope it might ground you as you came down. You made no move to remove the lace from your mouth; it served to still silence the whimpers of aftershocks that rippled through you, your limbs convulsing every few seconds after brief pauses of stillness.  

You missed the smugness on Mary’s face as he licked what he could reach from around his mouth, smearing the rest on the back of his palm. Slowly, he crawled back to his knees, slinking his way over your chest and hovering above you like a serpent ready to wrap himself around you and squeeze your life essence from your body. His eyes looked predatory, and your heart rate that had begun to stabilise shot through the roof again.   

Mary wasn’t finished.  

“Think that’s my thirst quenched, doll...” he smirked, running his thumb along your stained bottom lip, noting how the red had transferred to the white lace gag. “Fuckin’ love that you can do that for me.”  

You did your best to smile around the intrusion in your mouth, your eyes doing most of the emoting.  

“But y’know what?” he teased, pressing kisses under your ear lobe as his hands travelled down to your breasts again, lightly tracing around your nipple and back up to your throat. “I’m fuckin’ hungry, now.”  

With a strength you didn’t know he possessed judging by his scrawny little frame, he gripped the edges of his open leather jacket in one fist, lifted it with enough force that he could throw you backwards, back hitting the piles of stuffed animals and pillows. You yelped, again muffled by the cotton lace.  

Mary just laughed. He stood up at the end of the bed, reaching to the back collar of his cut-off band tee and dragging it over his head until it fell to the ground.   

“You want my cock, didn’t you doll?” he asked, keeping his voice relatively low so as not to raise suspicion from downstairs. You may have been gagged, but he wasn’t. He had to still be careful. But you nodded at him frantically, squeezing your thighs together in anticipation.   

His hands worked the button and fly of his skinny jeans, shoving the tight material down his thighs until he could stand on them to pull one leg out, then the other. He whipped his briefs off pretty quickly too, freeing himself completely. You watched in delight as he fisted his length a couple of times – this was the first time you’d seen him bared to you like this, and frankly, you couldn’t seem to get enough...   

His subtle definition over his skinny form had you drooling, eyes following the trail of hair from his stomach to his well-kept pubic hair. You whimpered at the sight of his cock, completely free from confinement, and his thighs that tensed as his fist squeezed at the head of his cock.   

Without another word, Mary knelt on the bed, pulling your ankles apart to give him space to shuffle between them. He wanted unrestricted access to your core, and so began pulling the garter belt from your waist along with the garters themselves, so he would finally make progress and get to the waistband of your panties underneath.   

This pretty red shade was gonna haunt him at night, he just knew it. He couldn’t get away with keeping it this time; his memory would have to do.  

Now fully undressed, Mary had you right where he wanted you – naked and beneath him, with only his leather jacket on. You were the sexiest god damned thing he’d ever fucking seen.  

He hovered above you, trailing his fingertips from your neck, down over your breasts and to your thigh, where he hooked his hand under your knee and hiked it up to his hip. He lowered himself, his bare cock sliding against the mess between your legs. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment he seemed to falter, as if looking for some kind of anomaly in your irises. Suddenly, Mary was pulling the panties from your mouth and instead, pushing his lips to yours for another engulfing kiss.  

You held his head in place, raising from the pillows to meet him and move so effortlessly with him. You could taste yourself faintly on his lips, and eagerly you swiped your tongue over his for more of it.   

Mary pressed his forehead to yours as he let the kiss fade out, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself as he lined the head of his cock up with your dripping centre. He hadn’t prepped you at all, and so he knew that first push he had to go slowly, he had to be careful – but he also knew you’d be tighter than last time, his fingers not yet working you open.   

“Tell me you want me, baby...” he whispered to you, nuzzling his nose against yours, lost in bliss.  

“I want you, Mare...” You didn’t even hesitate, whispering back. “Please...”   

Mary kissed you again, using your lips to try and distract him from the squeeze of his cock pushing into you, slowly filling you so deliciously, so completely... With the strain of keeping his composure, his lips pressed harder against yours. Your fingernails dug into his head as you held him in place, whimpering into your kiss.   

When he’d completely filled you, his hips flush against yours, he stilled for a moment and parted his lips from yours.  

“You good, doll?” he asked, searching your face for any signs of discomfort. He found none, but he needed confirmation. This felt different to last time, more intimate than the bathroom encounter. Maybe it was because he was surrounded by your childhood bedroom and very aware of how vulnerable that made you to him. Maybe it was because he was able to actually see you this time. Maybe it was because he was pressed up against you, held by you in such a way that he hadn’t had in quite some time, his usual encounters with women fleeting and rushed.  

But like Mary had said in the beginning; tonight, he wasn’t rushing.   

“I’m good, Mare. Please, move,” you begged, rolling your hips beneath him for the slightest friction.  

He obliged without hesitation now he had the green light, slowly rolling his hips to drag his length back through your sopping heat until he could push himself back in with a more deliberate and angled thrust. You gasped beneath him, his hand once again coming to slap over your lips to silence you.  

“Careful, baby. Don’t make me gag you again, hm?” You nodded from underneath his palm as he found his pace, filling you over and over and deliciously hitting that same pressure point he’d found last time. “Good girl... You know I love the pretty noises you make for me, but they’re just for me, you hear?” he warned. You nodded again, slamming your head back down into the pillows beneath you, your hands running down to his shoulders to hold onto him.   

His hand drifted from your mouth, instead finding purchase on your hip bone to hold you down against the mattress while he drove his cock deep inside you over and over again. Although a struggle, you managed to contain your moans for the time being, biting down on your bottom lip and squeezing his shoulders.   

Mary, too, was struggling to keep quiet. He wanted nothing more than to roar in his bliss, to grunt and growl and lose his fucking mind between your legs but he held back, gritting his teeth around the noises he let escape. You saw his struggle, and figured now was as good a time as any to mess with him...  

“You feel so good, Mare...” you whispered breathlessly. His brow visibly creased, his eyes boring into yours. “Filling me so perfectly. C-can feel you... in my fucking... stomach,” your sentence broke apart as his thrusts got harder and harder with each of your words, spurred on by your filth.  

“ Fuck , baby girl... You tryna make me lose it, huh?” You just giggled beneath him, riling him up further.   

“C’mon Mare, fuck me... Gag me if you gotta, but fuck, just lose it. Fuck me, Goore...” You begged.   

Mary buried himself in your neck and growled against it, biting at the flesh and ramming his hips into you harder and harder. Your own whimpers slipped from within, and again, Mary had to cover your mouth with his hand to stop them getting any louder, drawing attention to you both.   

Between his hand on your mouth and jaw and the other pinning your hips to the bed, you were stuck beneath him, unable to writhe and move much at all below the unforgiving Mary, who – like you had told him to – had lost it. The sight of him was maddening, intoxicating. It had you clenching your walls around him, earning muffled groans and huffs from above you.   

“Fuckin’ love the way this pussy grips me, baby. Like you never wanna let me go...” he chuckled, gritting his teeth.   

You were so close, that familiar tingle growing desperately by the second, heat pooling and spreading from your core through every limb, like magma spilling from a crater and coating everything in its path.   

“M-Mary...” you whispered, nails digging into his back and dragging across the pale skin, leaving red scrapes in their path. He fucking loved that shit.  

“What is it, baby? You gonna cum again for me? I get two outta you, this time?” he teased. “Go ahead, cream on my cock. I got you,” he promised; and you believed him.   

Even with the grip on your body he had, Mary couldn’t stop you from curling in on yourself, that coil inside you seeming to wind you up like a clockwork toy until you eventually broke, pulling Mary against your chest and ripping his hand from your lips so you could kiss him, releasing all of your energy into a scream that was swallowed by his lips and tongue.   

Mary’s hips never faltered, but he felt the way your pussy gripped him, the drag of each thrust so much harder between that and your hands pulling his body taught against your own. His resolve crumbled quickly, hips frantically smacking into yours until he could feel himself on the edge.   

Mary hadn’t cum inside last time, and in the absence of a condom, he wasn’t sure you’d allow him. He’d understand, but with your lips trapping his from asking permission, he was beginning to panic, his end rushing towards him like a freight train.   

He held off, somehow managing to keep himself from climaxing until your climax had dulled enough for him to pry you from his lips, smacking his forehead to yours as he grunted and took a breath.  

“Doll, g-gonna cum... W-where?” he could barely ask a full sentence in the state he was in, but you understood despite the haze of a ridiculously powerful second orgasm.   

“On... the pill...” you’d said between breathless gasps, still reeling from more aftershocks and surrounded by the suffocating heat of both your bodies entwined in each other. “Inside, Mare. Fill me,” you told him.  

That was the spark to a puddle of gasoline... it ignited him instantly, barrelling headfirst into an orgasm he felt in every single nerve in his body.   

You held him, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders as his forehead bruisingly pressed into yours, his jaw dropping as a loud moan began to rip from his chest. This time, it was you stuffing your white panties into his mouth, just in time to stop the noise reverberating on the walls and causing one hell of a scene for your parents to rush in on.   

He didn’t still his hips, rather slowed them to savour the feeling of his spend filling you up, warming both your insides and his shaft. His cock was so damn sensitive now, every slow drag through his mess inside you having him jolt against you in overstimulation until finally, he’d calmed himself enough to be able to pull out and collapse into your chest, his leather jacket sticking to the both of you.   

For a while, you lay like that; catching your breath and laying in the afterglow of a damn good fuck. It wasn’t until Mary rolled onto his side next to you and spat your panties out that you felt the relief of a cool breeze caused by his movement.  

“I got no idea where you got that mouth of yours, darlin’, but it’s gonna get me in a lot of trouble...” he chuckled, running his fingers through his sweat-damp hair, pushing it from his forehead.   

“Oh, my mouth? Seems to me, you’re the talker of the two of us, Goore,” you prodded an accusatory finger into his peck. Mary made a “meh” noise, falling into his back and rubbing his hands over his face, only to look at them and notice the mess of colours that transferred to his palms.   

“Shit, was that a bathroom you popped out from earlier? I uh... could do with a hose down.” You laughed at him, nodding as you sat up.   

“Me first, though. Heard a girl should always pee after sex,” you shrugged. “Helps... something? Whatever.” You stood, clenching your thighs together when you felt the mess that threatened to drip from you. Ah, that’s why.  

Mary just chuckled at the way you waddled into your little en suite and waited patiently for his turn to spruce himself up in your shower, teasing you when he’d seen you emerge in a towel with your hair thrown up and out of the way.   

Truthfully, he’d hoped maybe you’d have joined him – but perhaps you felt like that was a little too intimate. He had to remember his place, after all. Just a booty call, and booty calls don’t wash each other’s bodies and shampoo each other’s hair.   

Now clean, Mary emerged in a towel with his hair still dripping. You hadn’t seen him without his signature face paint since he’d dropped out of school at 15, and he seemed somewhat vulnerable without it; like he’d stripped himself of a protective layer between him and the rest of the world.   

Nevertheless, Mary dressed himself again and sat down at the edge of your bed, where you’d sat waiting for him in a fresh pair of sweatpants and a cami top – topped off, of course, by his leather jacket. Mary laughed at the sight.  

“Am I not gonna get that back, doll?” he asked, nodding at the jacket as he buckled his belt back up.  

“Not yet... Gonna need it, it’s cold out tonight,” you shrugged.  

“Oh? We goin’ somewhere?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he dug into his back pocket for his pack of cigarettes, pulling one from the box and shoving it between his teeth.  

You stood and took a step towards him, plucking the cigarette from his teeth and instead pushing it between your lips. “Can’t smoke inside, daddy will smell it.”  

Mary’s lips curled into a wicked smile. You really were the hottest little minx he’d had the pleasure of fucking.   

You strode over to the open window Mary had climbed in through, climbing out onto the roof and heading for the edge of the apex, climbing down it to the flat platform of the garage roof, safely tucked to the side of the house. Up there sat a little flowerpot filled with sand that you’d put there over two years ago – a makeshift ashtray for your little sneaky smokes.   

Mary followed you, both of you taking a seat to the back of the garage roof, overlooking the street shrouded in dim streetlights.  

“Little more rebellious than I thought, huh?” he joked, tapping the flowerpot with his foot. He reached over and took the cigarette from your lips, plucking another fresh one from his pack and pushing them both between his teeth. With a zippo lighter engraved with a bat, he lit them both and passed one to you.   

“Thanks,” you smiled, taking your first lungful of nicotine. You sighed, content and relaxed.  

“Ain’t nothin’ like a cigarette after an orgasm, is there?” Mary chuckled, the cigarette bobbing between his lips as he spoke around it.   

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’ for dramatic effect.   

As you took another drag, you caught sight from the corner of your eye your parents shaking the hands and kissing the cheeks of his deputy mayor and wife. Their meal must be over, the goodbye pleasantries exchanged as your parents wave off the car pulling out of your driveway. You watch quietly as they turn and head back to the porch beneath you, out of sight from where you sat.   

But Mary isn’t watching them. He’s watching you , with a creased brow and a million questions swarming around his mind. It’s not until you turn to look back at him that you notice, and you feel like you’ve somehow been caught doing something you shouldn’t.  

“Alright, I gotta ask ‘cause this is killin’ me,” he said, taking another drag of his cigarette and mulling over how to word this without causing any kind of offense – something Mary usually got wrong. “What is it about me that you seem so attracted to?”  

His question caught you off guard, your brow creasing in confusion. “What do you mean?”  

“Well... I assume that in order to sleep with me – twice – you'd have to be somewhat attracted to me, right?” he shrugged. You nodded, urging him to continue, as if you still didn’t understand his question. “So, I guess what I’m asking is... what does a girl like you see in a guy like me?”  

Your expression darkened, an anger and defensiveness bubbling away inside you. This was exactly the kind of shit you expected; Mary had stereotyped you, just like the rest of them. You thought he might be different, that as an outcast himself who was stereotyped by the entire fucking town he might have given you the same leeway you had him. But no, here he was, putting you back in your neat little box.  

“What do you mean... a girl like me?”  

Mary noticed the change in your demeanour, but he was just being honest. He didn’t want to upset you, why would he? But he was overcurious, and perhaps, just a little too honest.  

“Oh, come on, doll... First night I met you, you were wearing that pretty little sundress and out with your ‘girlfriends’. Then tonight, I climb in through your window like some shitty high school movie and find your bedroom is covered in lace and frills and pink. You’ve got the trinkets and the pretty little ornaments... and your bed is covered in stuffed animals, like you’ve had that collection since you were a kid. You and I ain’t the same, we’re so polar opposite so logically, it doesn’t make sense,” he rambled. All the while, your blood boiled hotter and hotter, anger turning to rage.  

“I mean, you’re daddy’s little girl, so sweet and pretty and the town loves you. You’re too damn good for a ‘shit for brains’, ‘punk-ass kid’ like me.” Those had been direct quotes from a couple of cops who’d gotten to know Mary’s face over the years.   

“I am not ‘ daddy’s little girl’,” you seethed, “And you don’t know a fucking thing about me, Goore. You’re just like all of them, treating me like some fucking kid who can’t think for herself.”  

“I never said that, I just don’t understand why-” he started, but you cut him off.  

“No that’s just it, you don’t understand. That’s all people see of me, being his daughter...” you stood, shoving the cigarette between your teeth and walking to the edge of the roof, sitting there and dangling your feet over the edge. Mary stayed put for a second, bewildered and letting you cool off for a moment. Clearly, he’d struck a nerve. Guilt wracks through him, and he awkwardly rubs the back of his head, his hair still damp but now chilled in the night air.   

With a sigh, he holds his cigarette between his teeth and gets up, coming to sit down beside you without a word. He notes your scowl, and the way you avert your eyes from him.   

“So, go on... what’s the deal with your dad, then?” he asked, looking out ahead of him as he took another drag. He watches you fold your arms over your chest, the leather of his jacket squeaking as it rubs over itself.   

“Treats me like a kid, like I’m not a grown-ass woman with her own brain,” you sighed, looking down at your feet swinging over the edge of the garage. “I gotta be this perfect girl all the time, because that’s the image he created for me; the all-American, perfect family. It’s just part of his fucking political career. I don’t get a say, I never have.”  

Mary’s nose wrinkles as he thinks to himself, not quite understanding. Surely you were old enough to have your own mind, or at the very least, to redecorate.  

“Well, if you think that’s not you, why do you go along with it? You play the part very well...” he says, watching you from beside you.   

Your head snaps to look at him, a fresh anger brewing again, like someone had turned the heat right up on the stove.   

“You think so? Gee, thanks, Goore,” you mocked him in your best girl-ish, high-pitched bimbo voice.  

“I just meant-”   

“You don’t get it. Whatever. Why would you? I never asked you to give a fuck about my shit anyway.”  

Now Mary was getting pissed off, his mind working its way into overdrive as he looked at you and your little temper tantrum, thought about your life of privilege – something he’d never had. You had money, a big house, nice clothes, fucking bodyguards at the drop of a hat. And he’d had an alcoholic mother, a deadbeat father and a lifetime of people hating him for his love of metal and macabre. Your lives were total fucking parallels, and he couldn’t understand why you got so angry at your life when you had it all.  

So, he scoffed at you. “’Your shit’, huh? Sure, your struggle sound real tough, Barbie.”  

“Barbie?!” you shrieked, uncaring if someone had heard. “I’m fucking Barbie, now?”  

“Just seems to me like you don’t know privilege when you see it, doll. Even when it’s right under your nose.” He could hear it in his voice; he was being an asshole, he had no idea what your life was truly like, but he was so defensive of his own upbringing, his own issues that he wasn’t willing to see that you had any. To him, your life was perfect, and you were just being a brat.  

“Fuck you, Goore,” you spat through gritted teeth. Mary smacked his lips, nodding in anger.   

“Yep,” he said, shoving his cigarette between his teeth again, now burnt over halfway down. “Y’know what? I’m gonna go. This was fun, Barbie, but this Ken’s gotta split.” He slapped his hands against his thighs before swinging his legs up to the rooftop and standing, dusting himself off.   

“Yeah, maybe you should. Don’t think we’re exactly compatible...” you scowled, pulling your knees up to your chest as you smoked, refusing to look at him.   

He waits a moment, chewing over whether he should say anything else, try and fix this animosity and maybe even apologise. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words... Not when he didn’t see what he’d done wrong. Instead, he crouched down beside you, holding his hand out. You turned to stare at it for a moment, wondering what on earth he wanted you to do. Did he expect you to hold it? To say sorry? To go with him?  

No, none of those.  

“My jacket, Barbie,” he deadpanned, curling his fingers in a ‘gimme’ motion.   

You didn’t speak, instead holding your cigarette between your teeth and pulling the leather from your body. The chill hit your skin immediately, but your stubbornness refused to let it show. Instead, you slammed the jacket back in his hand, and turned away from him.   

“There, we both got our shit back. Now you’ve got no reason to come back,” you told him. �� 

Mary shook his head, smacking his lips one more time before he headed over to the trellis he’d climbed up, and made his way back down, avoiding the windows and making sure he wouldn’t be caught when he climbed back over the fence.   

Just as he got to his van, he turned back around to see you climbing back through your window, shoving the frame closed and storming off into your room where he couldn’t see you. Mary shook his head with an eye roll, yanking his van door open and throwing his jacket into the passenger side before he climbed in and settled into his seat. He was about to turn the key in the ignition, to get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible, but he stopped himself.  

Instead, he slammed his palm against the steering wheel, cursing himself out.  

“Fucking idiot, man...” he chastised, throwing his head back against the battered headrest of his seat. He sat there for a while, replaying your conversation in his head. He thought of every single way that could have gone differently, how he could have handled that better rather than resorting to his usual defensive self.   

After about ten minutes of self-reflection – and frankly, self-loathing – he turned to look back at the bedroom window he’d climbed through that night, just in time to see your light switch off.  

What he didn’t know, was that you were still watching him from the darkness of your bedroom... or, at least, his van; parked where it had been all evening. He hadn’t even made a move to turn on his engine, sitting in the street in silence.   

But now, seeing your light switch off, Mary sighed to himself and found his keys to switch on the ignition. His engine roared to life, as did his stereo that was tuned to some kind of heavy metal. His headlights switched on, and you watched from your window as his van drove off into the night. Tears streaked down your face, and you became overwhelmed by that suffocating feeling of your only morsel of freedom running away from you, after you’d managed to push him away.   

You’d never felt more trapped in your all-American dream-life than you did now.  

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

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[i-heart-hxh]

is Killua truly jealous of Palm?

Yes, I absolutely think he is!

It's never explicitly stated, but the subtext is so in your face in a few different ways that it's essentially not even subtext any more.

Togashi could have chosen so many different ways to portray the way Killua feels about the Gon/Palm date subplot, but making it clear over and over again how bothered Killua is by the whole situation absolutely reads as jealousy, especially within the larger context of the arc. Look at these especially!

Togashi puts so much emphasis on Killua's expressions and distress throughout the whole subplot. Of course it's partly intended to be comedic, but this situation with Gon and Palm does have serious emotional weight for Killua as well--pulling out the needle, his breakdown in front of Palm, what she ends up saying to him after that, etc. I do think the exaggerated and extreme ways Togashi expresses Killua's feelings are intended to make the audience go, "Oh, he's really jealous, isn't he?"

People can argue Killua's reactions are just because of who Gon is on a date with (someone unhinged/violent and much older than him), or that it's just "concern" about Gon because of his nen situation, and those are both definitely aspects of what's going on here--but to reduce it down to only that ignores those deeper emotional impacts it has on Killua. I think the protectiveness aspect is something Killua uses to veil some of the other things he's feeling about it even though of course he is legitimately protective of Gon in this situation (and he has good reasons to be so). I also think Togashi himself uses the ambiguity to his advantage here, because if he put in romantic jealousy that was any clearer, would Jump allow it?

The way Killua goes immediately from the topic of going on dates/being freaked out about the prospect of Gon having been on dates before to feeling heartbroken because he wants to be with Gon forever the next panel is telling, in my opinion... (The English translation is a little vague, seems like it was intentionally toned down. In the original Japanese version he says he wanted to be with Gon forever.)

Here's a post where @tjlnn22 and I discuss this weightlifting scene in more detail.

I firmly believe that a big part of Palm's role as a character is to get the audience to question the nature of Killua's feelings for Gon. Without considering this context, the way her character is set up from the beginning and what role she's intended to play in Chimera Ant Arc is confusing. But when if you look at her character as having been built for that role, suddenly her entire character and subplot makes sense. Here's an older post where OP talks about some of the framing of Palm's character, and then I talk in more depth about why Palm is written the way she is.

It especially makes sense when you consider that the date with Palm is one of the factors that destabilizes Killua's faith in his relationship with Gon, leading to him wondering if they're acting together as friends or just as teammates. Here's an awesome post @tjlnn22 put together and submitted to me on this topic, with specific details supporting this argument. I think this is an important part of the arc that gets overlooked, and I love how clearly it's laid out in the linked post.

Killua also acts dismissive of Gon worrying about Palm to the point where other characters comment on his behavior, which to me seems like another sign of jealousy and bitterness on Killua's part. Then when he encounters Palm again after her transformation, this is how he behaves towards her:

Hands on his hips, full sass mode here. Again with the jealousy...

...And then shortly after this he proceeds to have a total emotional breakdown when he admits to himself that he thinks maybe Gon cares more about Palm than him, and that Palm might be the only one who can help Gon, rather than Killua. Of course there are more factors than this behind his breakdown, including him getting pushed away by Gon prior, but this is DIRECTLY the thought that leads him to start crying and then sobbing on the ground.

The Palm subplot is one of the biggest things in the series that makes me confident that the romantic subtext around Killua's feelings is completely and utterly intentional. The way the whole subplot is constructed, the decisions Togashi makes around Palm and how she's presented as a character, the way Killua's reactions and emotions are emphasized with regards to it, and the significance of this subplot in the greater arc of Killua's character all show a great deal of thought and care, and it's hard to come to any other conclusion when looking at it carefully.

Thank you for asking!

[darkcircles4lyfe]

This doesn't have anything to do with anything, but i had a talk with a friend a few days ago, about shonen biasis and the way this shapes our expectations, and mha came up so i remembered how so many people apply those biasis HEAVILY into the manga, to the point that they sound like they're looking for a different story.

And one of those things that it seemed to be MOST talked about is exactly bkdk's relationship.

I have seen many times people from the fandom (sometimes really angrily) point out how in most cases Katsuki seems to basically take up not one, but four roles in Izuku's life and this includes putting him in situations that people associate with the MC's love interest, and it is weird that, despite Izuku "having a girl" for people to make assumptions about, he seems to completely repulse any female character that could be the counter part to Izuku's.

And this made us wonder if Katsuki's placement in those roles and lack of interest was made specifically because the author precisely did not want the actions that both do for each other as romantic but a whole another thing entirely, as a subversion for the these classic tropes, as he did by making the conflict between Ochako and Himiko not a "rivals fighting for the affection of a boy" but something that is connected to the plot of these characters instead.

Oh you bet! I am always down to talk about this, because I think about it a lotttt.

This reminds me, recently I remembered a funny habit I used to have with books I read. Like, back in middle school. I used to start by flipping directly to the last page and reading the final sentence. Usually this did not spoil anything whatsoever, but sure enough, by the time I read through the whole book, that sentence would take on new meaning.

So I started musing about what it would be like if only I could do this with bnha, if everything was already out. It made me feel so nostalgic…

Will the last panel be something grand, or something small? Hopeful or sad? Distant? Intimate? A parting message to the reader? Will it look like almost nothing of consequence to the unknowing eye—yet burst with hard-hitting subtext?

Of course I wonder about all the twists and reveals that might be still ahead of us, but it’s kinda soothing to think about how the whole thing could be put to rest. Because then I realize I’m not worried.

For once, this is not because the story is following so many tropes so predictably that I know exactly, in so many words, how it will end. It’s more like the story is a close friend who I’ve gotten to know well enough that everything they do is so “them” it makes me smirk. I'm often marveling at how Horikoshi has managed to pull all this off. How is it that (at least here in the west) people who aren't really paying attention call it basic and cookie-cutter. Even a Japanese animator called it "classic," and this interview shows such obvious dissonance between Hori and the interviewer, just... wow. But it's so clear that bnha has broken just about every rule in the book at this point, so much so that I struggle to condense it into words. I'm like--*gestures broadly at everything*--why haven't more people picked up on it??

Yet we still get bombarded with people saying "it's a shonen, c'mon, we all know how this will end." Um. No you don't. I KNOW there has to be a bunch of people who are secretly frustrated by Kacchan taking up all the roles and getting all the moments. It's not even in a mysogynistic way, because Kacchan is the most anti-dudebro character imaginable. Bkdk's relationship isn't intended for them and they know it... and you know what, I'm starting to ramble. You've heard all this before. The thing I should really be focusing on in your ask is the part where you mentioned how you and your friend were speculating about bkdk ending up as "a whole other thing entirely" rather than simply romantic.

Well, fuck it, I've been biting my tongue, but now might as well be the time I talk about this. I got into a bit of a disagreement with someone over it once and then I shut up. Because it's very difficult to approach the subject without being lumped in with those people who see bkdk as "brotherly" (ew) or otherwise try to push some "crisis of male friendship" agenda, or at the very least without being accused of enabling people to make excuses against bkdk being canon ad infinitum. So let me be clear that I do NOT want bkdk to have an ambiguous or open ending. I want their complexity and importance to be acknowledged. I want them to use their words. I think we may have created a bit of a false dichotomy there.

I am aromantic, and to suggest romantic relationships are inherently the most important and intimate goes against every fiber of my being. I also reject the idea that cut-and-dry gay representation is more desirable just because it is more easily understood by the masses than aspec representation or representation of relationships "beyond" both romantic and platonic. We recognize how ridiculous it is for people to expect Izu*cha at this point, right? Well, the reason they're so confident anyway isn't just because of heteronormativity. It's also because of amatonormativity, the assumption that romantic attraction trumps all: no matter how much focus bkdk get, Izuku blushed at Ochako, so that automatically makes them more "important." THAT is the notion that I want to challenge most. More than anything, I want bkdk's relationship to be fully acknowledged because they have so much more going for them than just attraction.

You and your friend make an excellent point, that it would be very much in line with Horikoshi's taste and the patterns of his writing so far if he chose to subvert the shonen romance trope not just by giving it to two boys, but also by disregarding its premise entirely. It's unlikely he'd try to stuff them into such a copy-paste ending right at the end.

So maybe they won't get the blushy confession, the obligatory kiss, the wedding, the 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. That's fine, we shouldn't pretend those tired tropes are suddenly revolutionary just because they're gay. But don't be disappointed! Without them, we have more room for things that are actually personally meaningful to bkdk to stand out and receive the nuance they deserve: talking through their feelings openly, building each other up like no one else can, understanding each other like no one else can, smiling at each other, embracing, holding hands, rushing to the other in the hospital, being glued at the hip (or even closer), healing mutual trauma, putting each other first in all things. Maybe we'll also get confirmation on Ochako's side as she moves on from her crush on Izuku. You know what other shonen manga took this exact angle as a way of subverting tropes and presenting genuine complexity? Blue Flag! There are so many ways to do bkdk justice.

Even a kiss isn't out of the question, if the right opportunity comes along. A perfect example of what I'm talking about is Good Omens (major season 2 spoilers) because the kiss between Crowley and Aziraphale was not at all about canonizing them. It was an expression of pain and desperation that just made sense at that particular moment. Neil Gaiman was adamant that if it took that kiss to understand the context of their relationship, you really weren't paying attention. I respect the hell out of that.

Recently I was even daydreaming about bkdk getting something similar to the sort of uh, shall we say tasteful nudity, that togachako got, because of how Izuku appears in the vestige realm.

Ya know like not in an nsfw way but in like a "this is so deeply intimate and soft that I feel like I'm intruding" kind of way... yeah. Because it represents vulnerability and openness and acceptance of someone as they are. And I don't care if people call that bait. It's not. It's beautiful. It’s honest.

[angstydisaster02]

An analysis about why Bakudeku is one of the most inspirational relationships. (Manga spoilers)

First part : my thoughts

Tbh, I really have this impression the manga is coming to an end very soon, which breaks my heart because I don’t know what I’ll do without my daily leaks. However, I trust Horikoshi about the rest of the story and I do think he’ll make an open ending about which “ship” is canon, even if we all know that the biggest and most developed relationship in the manga is bkdk.

It would be interesting to see the “after” of this war, the hospital beds, the tears because they lost people, the relief because it’s over and the final conversation beg the ending. Knowing Horikoshi until now, never made things randomly because everyone is thinking in advance, including the conversation between Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugo.

You can’t tell me the author of this manga who always did things with a smart brain will put aside such an important detail about the dynamic between his characters.

A part of me hopes we’ll have the bkdk talk at the hospital or somewhere else because there’s no way these two idiots keep living their lives as if nothing happened. I have high expectations due to the fanfics, but I’m pretty sure I’ll never be the same once the chapter with the bkdk talk comes.

Second part : the analysis feat manga panels

looking forward, it’s incredible how Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki’s relationship started in the worst way (I’m not including the childhood memories) and…Ended up being something like that.

I’m emotional when I think about everything they’ve been through, the many realizations about losing each other, the development of their relationship after an emotional scene such as Deku Vs Kacchan 2, the way they need to push each other’s up to be the best version of themselves in any situation.

It’s not a surprise if these two are mean to be canon (in a platonic or romantic to way, depends about your opinion !) and each little moment highlights this statement.

Think about it : they all learned one of few important things with the other’s presence by their side, on purpose or not. Their dynamic is something unique you can’t find in others shonen or mangas, because they have this specific bond, the one getting stronger though the years because their mistakes became a reason to improve and be a better person for this childhood friend they knew since the early days.

Izuku Midoriya needs Katsuki Bakugo like Katsuki Bakugo needs Izuku Midoriya.

You can’t take away this part of their soul, and even when people like AFO tried, they ended up paying the price by revealing how much they care about each other.

Don’t startd with the Heroees rising thing because I can write an entire novel about them, but this is another proof of how they’re made for each other. Their relationship improve though the years and it’s only the beginning, I can’t help but imagine how future bkdk will have an amazing relationship once they figured out everything and untold truths.

They’re each other’s pillars, holding the other up to do the best and watch from afar their other’s improvement.

That’s why the hospital conversation might be the peak of their relationship: the moment when they’ll both break their shield, welcoming the tears and listening how life is a fragile line on a thread.

None of them refuse to break this meaningful thread, because this is something they’ve built for years, and it’s their biggest strength (and biggest weakness like Shigaraki pulled out)

In conclusion: they’re driving me crazy and I have no regrets following their journey because it’s probably one of the best relationships I’ve seen (and I watched a lot of anime/manga, read a lot of books and they’re still superior !)

Thanks for reading my analysis because it’s one of my guilty pleasures when I’m passionate about something, especially my comfort ship ! Take care of yourself <3

[crepes-suzette-373]

Ichiji's right eyebrow being wonky is something that I'm not too sure about, because as an artist I understand that mistakes happen when you're really tired. I very often screw up my drawings when I'm tired too. Missing details, accidentally drawing something backwards or mirrored, drawing wrong accessories on the wrong person, etc.

But there are two examples where I felt like it looks too glaringly-visible to screw up:

As an example, there has been multiple times when I draw Sanji or his bros with their eyebrow backwards, so errors do happen sometimes. But the curl actually just flat out missing like this is a bit weird.

There's other panels where you can argue that it was meant to be covered by hair, but sensei just accidentally drew the hair parting too far to the left. The two above are just too dead-on to be missed.

And my whole point of bringing this up is the above examples also happen to be incidents where Ichiji is clearly displaying intense emotions.

The child panel, for example. Ichiji has been shown to be irritated at Sanji in other scenes, but this is the only time that he got so angry he started beating up Sanji. In all other times, he just watched, and Niji and Yonji are the ones doing the beating.

See below, how the brow under the bangs seems like it's drawn in the same manner as how Sanji's one is drawn, and see how different it looks when the curly brow is properly drawn:

Ichiji just looks so intensely enraged at that moment, it feels like there has to be something else that is wrong here.

I left that first one as the raw, because what he says (生意気) in this context seems to be better translated as "How impudent/how insolent". Why is he this angry about being hit? Why is he so angry that Sanji is "different"? Why say "don't touch me"? That punch was obviously weak and did nothing.

Judge was just unimpressed when Sanji tried to fight him, so what is Ichiji so angry about?

(incidentally, this is probably why a few people got concerned when Sanji called Vegapunk "insolent man")

As of now, we don't know what's happening yet, but you don't see this level of reaction from Niji and Yonji.

I have previously wondered if Ichiji's modifications are actually also "messed up", and that the eyebrow being weird might be indicative of that.

There were also panels where it seems like he's having emotional moments, like the adult Ichiji panel I highlighted on top (details and explanation in this post). If the weird eyebrow is explicitly happening during the emotional outbursts... that sort of makes him Sanji's reverse, which possibly implies that when Sanji's brows flip, it also looks like this:

There's also other lore analysis/theory I have that really points to Ichiji and Sanji being mirrors/opposite counterparts, which I probably might write up later, and if all of that is true, I don't know yet what sensei's intention for it is.

There's one additional scene where you might be able to argue the curl is also missing, but this one is not as glaringly strange as the first two:

If that was actually not a mistake, it's another point to the "display of emotion" argument.

It's less obvious in English, but in Japanese, he was using a rather unusually rough speech in this very specific panel. There's not enough dialogue to be truly certain that this is out of the ordinary, but again, if this is actually something that's not normal and the eyebrow is actually also weird... well, we have questions to be asked.

[yesbutmakeitgay]

Can't Win Your Losing Fight

GIF by dailyflicks

Carol Danvers x Reader

We’ve Loved A Thousand Lives

Same beginning, different story every time.

Part 7

Heavy angst, no happy ending.

Beta'd by @cordeliasdarling 💜

Word count: 1.9k

Masterlist | This collection | AO3

Carol enters her ship after another successful mission, worked up, exhausted, out of breath.

When you see her come in, you jump down from the vents and land right behind her. She swiftly turns around and gives you a quick kiss as her lips curl into a smile, "Did anyone see you come in?" she asks with concern.

You give her a knowing look, "I’m a trained spy, remember? I know what I’m doing." You wrap your arm around her waist trying to get her to calm down, but she only seems to grow even more restless, she’s fidgeting with her gloves, her eyes darting from one point to another.

Before you know it, Monica enters the ship and closes the door behind her. You immediately change your composure and step away from Carol, "Captain Rambeau?" Your face is riddled with confusion, but you try your best to conceal it.

She takes a long look at you, trying to recognize you, "Hey, you are…S.H.I.E.L.D., right?"

It takes a moment for you to be able to form words again, "Yup, that's me, that's my job."

Monica looks at Carol and then back to you, squinting her eyes, "What are you doing here?"

You scramble to come up with an excuse, "Uh, Fury wanted me to bring a message to you."

"I was just on call with him, anything he couldn't have told us himself?" Her tone isn’t hostile in any way, she’s merely puzzled and a little suspicious as you’re not wearing your uniform and you don’t even have comms on.

You eye Carol, silently asking her for help, "It is very sensitive, so I’m gonna go down to the engine room with Captain Marvel to discuss it." You take Carol’s hand and leave as quickly as possible.

Monica tries not to think about it too hard and goes to the control panel to set route for their next mission.

You get to the engine room and let go of Carol’s arm, "A little help, what was that?"

"I’m sorry." Carol seems extremely distracted.

"You did say to come today, didn't you?"

"Yes, but something came up, I texted you, I guess you didn't get them on time."

You pull out your phone to reveal several messages from Carol, "Crap," you mumble, "now what?"

"I can call Val, she can use the Bifrost to get you home," she suggests apologetically.

"Hell, no! You have no idea how awful it is to use that thing when you are human," you point at yourself, "is Monica the only one here, or did you assemble the whole team?"

Carol looks to the side, "Well, Kamala isn’t here…yet."

"Are you serious? What is going on?"

"We got an emergency call in the Magellanic."

You lift a questioning eyebrow, "The Magellanic?"

It doesn’t take a lot of pressure for her to budge, "There's a situation in Aladna, The Prince asked us to check it out."

You cross your arms with a scoff, "So, our plans just got canceled because your husband needs help."

"Baby, come on, it's not like that, you know it." She gently grabs your wrist, but you immediately yank it away from her.

"No, it's fine, you should help him, I’m gonna go call Valkyrie," you respond passive-aggressively as you storm back upstairs.

You get in touch with The King, and she warns you she’s very busy with work at the moment, so it might take her a while to come get you, you still agree to wait for her since you don’t really have another choice.

A few hours later, Kamala arrives and makes her presence known by screaming, "Ms Marvel's in the house—" She chokes mid chant when she sees you, "We have company? Why didn't you guys tell me we have company?" she hisses at her team, embarrassed.

"We have company," Monica states flatly from the other side of the room.

The girl walks toward you, "Hi, I’m Ms Marvel," she introduces herself, extending her hand for you to shake.

You are mad at Carol, but it's not Kamala's fault, so you accept the handshake, "Hi, it's good to meet you."

"May I ask who you are?"

You look at Carol intensely, you could so easily tell this girl what you are to each other and ruin everything for the both of you, and you are so pissed right now, you just might.

As if she could read your mind, Carol subtly but firmly shakes her head as she tenses her entire body in a silent threat.

Your breathing becomes heavy, "I’m with S.H.I.E.L.D., running an errand, just waiting for my ride to get here."

Kamala can feel the tension around her, "Okey doke," she responds awkwardly, shooting you finger guns, "I’m gonna—" she points toward the kitchen and walks away.

"Incoming call from Aladna," the ship announces as it begins to display a hologram of Prince Yan, Carol picks up the device, and takes it to her room to answer. You follow her every move with your eyes and loudly huff once she has closed the door behind her.

Monica approaches you carefully, unable to keep her gaze off you, "Don't like the guy?"

Her voice startles you, "He's fine, I don't really know him," you shrug.

She takes a seat beside you on the couch, "I know you from somewhere, you look so familiar."

You begin to panic, "You're S.A.B.E.R., right? Maybe we've crossed paths at work."

"No, without the uniform," the gears in her brain are turning so fast, "isn’t there a picture of you in—" You immediately cover her mouth, look around to see if Kamala was listening, and drag Monica to the engine room.

You only take your hand off Monica’s mouth once you’re fully downstairs, "So there is a picture of you in aunt Carol's house!"

"It's not a picture of me, it's a picture of us," you clarify.

"Why are you being weird about it?"

You lower your voice, "Because we're not allowed to."

Her eyes go wide, "Oh my God, you're dating my aunt Carol?"

"Of course not!" you exclaim, "I’m married to her." You take your ring out of your pocket smugly.

"Holly shit! We can't let Kamala know about this."

"No, we cannot."

She frowns, "What are you really doing here?"

"It’s our anniversary this weekend, we had plans to celebrate."

She slowly nods in understanding, "And then the emergency call happened."

"Yup."

"So, instead of being with her wife, she's going with her husband." She's quick to deduce.

"Exactly."

"Crap," she whispers with a pained expression.

You weakly lean into the wall, "That's what I said."

There is a beat of silence.

"You know this is a real emergency, right?"

"Yeah."

"And that they're just friends," she follows.

You nod, "I’m aware."

"So, why are you so mad? If you don't mind me asking."

You take a deep breath before responding, "This is the first time I've seen her all year."

Her features change instantly, "That’s a long time."

"Mhmm," you muse, "I knew when I met her, I knew when I started dating her, but we're married now, I don't know how long I can keep on going like this, like teenagers sneaking around."

"Have you talked to Fury? I mean, what even is the rule there?"

"Can’t date your coworkers," you repeat your boss’ words with a bitter aftertaste.

"Are you coworkers?"

"Fuck if I know, she's my superior in some way."

"Is she? Or is she just taller?" you snort, "We should go back up, it's getting late," she suggests after a moment.

"What are you, twelve?"

"We have a mission in less than eight hours, we gotta rest up."

You give her a skeptical look, "We?"

"Are you not coming?" She was hoping to get all the help they could get for this emergency mission.

"I don't work in the field," you explain, "anymore," she raises her eyebrows prompting you to continue, "Carol was concerned, and after a few close calls, I agreed."

"That’s a big sacrifice."

"There was a time I would have done anything for her."

'Was,' Monica has a bad feeling about this, but she also knows it's none of her business, "Well, you can stay here, or come upstairs, or keep waiting for your ride, I’m going to sleep."

"Night, Captain."

"Night, Agent."

A few minutes later, you walk upstairs, once you make sure Kamala is in her room, you carefully walk up to Carol's door. Hearing her laughter makes your heart flutter, until you also hear Yan's, they're still talking, and by the sound of it, they aren't talking about the emergency anymore. You step away and go crash on the couch instead.

You wake up to the ship’s door opening, and The Marvels doing their pre-mission checkup. Before they exit, Carol gives you a soft look, you only stare back at her blankly.

After they complete their mission, The Prince walks them back to the ship to extend his people’s gratitude to Carol, "Thanks again, my Princess, you should come back for pleasure soon."

"I most certainly will," Carol smiles, the sight makes your blood boil.

Once Prince Yan leaves, and the door closes, Kamala asks, "Are we also included in that invitation?"

"If you want," Carol chuckles, as she begins to take her suit off.

"That reminds me, my mom says you must stay for dinner when we get back, she's really missed you since mother's day dinner."

Kamala’s words make you snap your neck in Carol’s direction, "You had dinner with the Khans on mother's day?"

"Yeah, I thought I told you." The Captain barely glances back at you.

"No, you did not."

She shrugs, "I guess I forgot."

"You guess?" You stand up, unable to keep your cool anymore, "You came to Earth and didn't bother to tell me?"

Carol stops what she’s doing and takes a step closer to you, beginning to feel worked up herself, "What? I can't have dinner with my friends anymore?" The faint ghost of flames runs through her arms for a split second.

"Do not twist this, you are not the victim here!" you yell, "When I last saw you on New Year’s Eve, you told me you had a packed schedule until our anniversary," you spot Kamala out of the corner of your eye, reminding you, you have an audience and making you lower your voice, "You know, I never question you, I thought I was doing the right thing, but maybe I should have," Carol looks at you with sorrow in her eyes, "do you even love me anymore?"

"Baby, what are you on about?" She takes another step toward you, running a hand through her hair.

"Answer me."

She freezes in place for a moment, "I—Of course I do," she stammers.

"That took too long," your anger has now turned into sadness, "I know I said I would wait an eternity for you, but not like this, it seems you're available for everyone except for me." You walk the rest of the way to her, "Let me know when you have the time to be my partner again," you whisper as you return your wedding band to her.

King Valkyrie has been by the ship’s entrance long enough to witness the argument, as soon as you make eye contact with her, she opens her arms, and you run to bury yourself into her body.

"Val, help me out here," Carol pleads, Valkyrie simply shakes her head in disappointment, as you both dissolve into rays of light.

Carol stands still, holding her breath, hoping this was all just a bad dream somehow.

"Well, fuck!" Kamala exclaims after a minute of silence.

"Language," Monica and Carol chastise her in unison.

Fear not, I'm working on a continuation for this one ;)

Part 7.5

[max1461]

Thought for a moment in the 2010s that we were entering a new serious era (e.g. 1920s, 30s, 40s), but it seems that we're instead in an increasingly tacky era (50s, 60s, 70s). Like look at the change in YouTube. Well you all are textheads you don't do video, I know that. But like. In 2017 there was ContraPoints. Agree or disagree with her opinions, what she was doing was conceptually and aesthetically serious. Even her early, low-production-value stuff. She was talking about incels and other internet shit, but the internet is part of the real world, that's fine. In fact that's what gave me hope for another serious era, people were finally talking about internet stuff the way 1920s German intellectuals or whatever talked about the cultural trends of their day. Maybe because Contra has half a philosophy PhD and was explicitly influenced by those German intellectuals.

Another example from a totally disjoint cultural niche was Digi a.k.a. Trixie a.k.a. Ygg Studios or whatever they go by now. Drunk, smelly, and unkempt—yes. Or at least so went the persona. Talking seriously about anime—also yes. When they claimed they were the only good anime reviewer on the internet it made a lot of people mad. But they were right!

There were thinkers, we had thinkers. My generation, or roughly my generation, had thinkers. To be clear, when I include Contra here I'm not including all of her ilk, I'm not including the leftist-theory-regurgitators and so on. But Contra herself was a thinker! Digi was a thinker! We had thinkers.

But that era is over now, on YouTube at least. I go on there and it's all algorithmic drivel. I look for anime content and as I've explained it's all about #hype and #epic and how the new season of whatever #hits different and other empty meaningless bullshit. No analysis, no thought, fundementally unserious bullshit. Tacky! It's tacky! The the YouTube thumbnail O-face is fucking 70s-ass fake wood paneling tacky bullshit!

MrBeast. I've never seen a MrBeast video but I hate him for what he represents. I used to watch this channel called Wranglerstar, he made videos about different types of axes and forest fire fighting equipment and various other stuff. "Modern homesteading" I believe was the tagline. And it was always evident that he was a far-right guy but who gives a shit, his videos where good. Serious videos about interesting topics, that a fucking normal guy might watch. Well around 2020 he basically started flooding his channel with covid conspiracy bullshit and "the Chinese are going to attack us any day!" bullshit and other unserious crap. And I had to stop watching. How could I find any of that compelling? It's vapid nonsense.

And I don't know if it's a shift in the algorithm or people becoming more savvy to the algorithm or what, but all of YouTube is like this now. Vapid clickbait empty meaningless bullshit for another tacky commercialized bullshit era.

And you know, I felt like it might just be localized to YouTube for a while, but I started to look around, and it just feels like everything is like this. Backsliding to the tacky times. God I hate tackiness. I hate unseriousness. I'm having a little meltdown. At least SMW kaizo hacks are having a renaissance. People are doing serious shit in that space, serious shit that is also not anachronistic, you know, it's kept up with the modern world. It addresses modern concerns (fun to play hard Mario). But it's serious. People are serious. One of the few serious things happening in my orbit.

Even in science it feels like people aren't serious anymore. You know, standard Sabine Hossenfelder complaint about particle physics. But I don't really know enough about that to say. Get the vibe that biology is still serious these days.

To be clear, everything I'm saying here is pure vibes. I'm just saying shit. I'm just saying shit that I feel. But I'll be deeply disappointed if I have to live my youth in another tacky era, god damn it. Even the 80s seem like they were better than this.