#reminding myself that it just gives me extra time to Draw Something and Flesh Out The Whiteboard and Post Those Theories-

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

my brain keeps Flinching because i've had March 1st ingrained in my head for long enough now that every once in a while i'l glance at the date/time and go THE UPDA-ohhhh yeah...

[flash-the-readies]

Calling my younger self out for all the embarrassing things they thought/did when I first started getting into Pink Floyd (I just think I was endearing albeit annoying)

Initially confused them with LED Zeppelin because for some reason my brain put them on a similar tier

Went to watch the Pulse tour DVD … promptly realised it was post-Waters, cried, shut it off immediately, and haven’t seen it since (I actually own a DVD and a VHS tape of the film…both of which were gifts actually)

Saw that Live at Pompeii gif of Roger blowing the smoke rings and just stared at it for a long while promptly falling in love

Didn’t know the Wall was a double album and just assumed the second disc was demos so I never listened to it and would only listen to half the album. Eventually I decided to play the second disc and realised how stupid I was (In the Flesh confused me)

Had an entire wall in my room dedicated to The Wall (I painted out the brick design and had these posters)

Didn’t really care much for the WYWH album (and now it’s my favourite Pink Floyd album..)

FUCKING GAVE AWAY THE IN THE PINK NICK SEDGWICK BOOK BECAUSE I WAS GOING THROUGH SOME SHIT AND ROGER WAS MAKING ME FEEL GUILTY AND HORRIBLE

Would listen to the Wall at least once a day for months on end especially while sitting alone at lunch

Used the fact that my mum desperately wanted me to make friends to go to a Roger Waters concert with this boy who had a crush on me and then promptly started trying to convert me to Catholicism once he found out I’m atheist, bisexual, and non-binary. Roger Played the Gunner’s Dream for the encore so no regrets there

Had a long and unhealthy obsession with The Final Cut and would play my LP of it at least once a day

Read something about Roger calling the rest of the band “the muffins” and promptly dubbed David “greasy muffin”…and got the rest of my online friends to join in

Wrote endless HCs with a friend about Watershend (Roger Waters x Pete Townshend)… I stand by this one. Sorry

Did a 10 minute presentation on the Wall for a history class when I was…14

Called in sick to school even though my teachers knew I was going to watch Roger Waters in concert

Found a copy of Rick Wright’s Wet Dream on vinyl at a market… had no cash in the moment … asked my friend if they could give me cash and then I’d pay them back later… my friend agreed thinking it was for food (I wasn’t trying to deceive them I promise I just didn’t communicate what that money was for as clearly as I thought I did… but I did pay them back plus a bit extra!) I did get my record tho

Went to Battersea Station…. DIDN’T REALISE IT WAS A FUCKING SHOPPING MALL ON THE INSIDE BECAUSE I FAILED TO DO MY RESEARCH AND DIDN’T EVEN ATTEMPT TO GO INSIDE BECAUSE I AM AWKWARD AS HELL… so instead I opted to awkwardly stand around the outside and check out the nearby shops (this is recent ;-;)

I used to draw and would just fill my notebook up with drawing of Pink Floyd (mostly just Roger…)

I am just now remembering how much of my fanart was nose-centric

You know that common trans experience of “trying desperately to live as your assigned gender one last time so you overcompensate before you come out”… well that overlapped with my “ukulele and Syd Barrett let’s dress psychedelic” phase

Have bought way too many pieces of clothing because they remind me of something Roger wore once (I think I’ll make this into it’s own post perhaps)

That’s all I can remember for now. Just feeling nostalgic. I could make a second part of all the most recent cringe shit I’ve done. I’m not laughing at myself I’m laughing with myself. Honestly my younger self was iconic, gotta love her

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Anything you write is so amazing so can I please request a marriage au and possibly mafia with Hyunjin. You can pick the plot!!

Hi! I’m not sure if you wanted smut, but I was inspired to write smut. Please enjoy.

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Hyunjin

Genre: Mafia AU; Marriage AU

Warnings: Language and Smut

Word Count: 1.7K

It was cold when you pulled up to your expensive estate, bundled up in a luxurious coat and an evening gown that cost more than the car your driver had brought you home in. But no amount of money could improve your current mood, silently loathing your husband’s insistence, yet again, that you return home early and miss out on all the fun at your best performing club.

“Fuck him,” you decided aloud, slamming the door closed behind you as you marched along the neat sidewalk leading to the front door. 

For the past several weeks, you had done your best to run the club downtown where you entertained the wealthy patrons who enjoyed the rare alcohol selections from the bar. You were the reason why the club was so successful, but then everything seemingly changed overnight, and you would always blame the drunk, inconsiderate asshole who started a huge fight that had to be broken up by every security guard you had hired. 

By the time Hyunjin arrived on the scene, your husband was incensed, and he enforced a very strict curfew that prevented you from staying in the club past nightfall. “Extra security measures my ass,” you growled. “Who else is gonna run that place while he drives around town making all sorts of deals?”

He hadn’t always been that protective. When Hyunjin found you after taking over your father’s pathetic excuse for an organization, merging the two together, and sealing the deal by asking for permission to marry you - the gorgeous daughter who could certainly handle herself in a fight - he promised that you would be involved in every aspect of his underground mafia dealings.

But then the fight happened, and you were stuck at home bored out of your mind while you resented Hyunjin’s decision to keep you locked up like some kind of animal. The anger and frustration continued to grow each night you found yourself gazing out the window in the living room and wondered what was happening to the rest of the world while huge, well-armed security guards walked the premises of your home and kept you inside. “I’m not doing this anymore,” you decided, and you didn’t even bother to change out of your club skirt before planting yourself at the mini-bar in the kitchen where you would wait for Hyunjin to drag his ass back home. “I won’t stand down!”

It was a worthy declaration, and you were in the process of rehearing everything you wanted to say to Hyunjin, ruminating over the past few weeks of isolation while glancing at the fancy clock ticking away in the background. The hour had entered the early AM when you heard the front door open, followed by the sound of Hyunjin’s voice as he spoke on the phone to one of his subordinates. “We’ll meet with him this Friday,” Hyunjin said, and you watched him walk into the kitchen, startling when he realized you were still awake. “Yeah, I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

You smirked, waiting until he hung up the phone before speaking. “It’s about time you get here.”

“I had some things to take care of,” Hyunjin replied, and he must’ve been ignorant to your foul mood as he walked over to spread your thighs, making himself comfortable between them. “You’re still all dressed up.”

“We need to talk,” you said, deciding that it was best to get straight to the point.

“Sweetheart, what’s your problem?” Hyunjin asked, and you frowned as he started messing with the knot on his tie.

“My problem is you, Hyunjin,” you snapped, furious that he was being so nonchalant.

“Me?” Hyunjin scoffed. “What the hell did I do wrong?”

“Really?” You rolled your eyes at how dense he was. “Can’t think of anything?”

“Is it because I’m home so late?” he asked. “You know I work late sometimes, baby.”

“Quit calling me that,” you growled. “I’m talking about the new club. You know I’m the best person to run it, but you keep sending me home like I’m a kid or something.”

Hyunjin smiled. “Is that all? You’re precious to me, baby,” Hyunjin whispered, kissing you like you were something delicate to be treasured.

“My father taught me how to use a knife when I was ten,” you hissed against the seam of his mouth, pulling back to glare at Hyunjin. “I’m not a flower.”

Hyunjin scowled, and you realized that you had said something to piss him off, swallowing hard when he grabbed your arm even while trying to keep on a mask of false bravado. “I just wanted to come home and make love to my wife,” he said, and you winced when the hold around your arm grew tighter. “No,” he continued, and all previous semblances of softness were gone. “You want to be fucked, isn’t that right?”

“I want to be treated with respect!” you protested, yelping in pain when he forced you up out of your chair only to spin you around and bend your entire upper half over the counter.

“Is that right?” he growled into your ear. “You want me to let you do whatever the hell you want?”

“I can protect myself,” you said. “I did it before I met you!”

“But you have me now, sweetheart,” Hyunjin cooed, and you shivered when he started sliding your skirt down your thighs. 

“I don’t need you to boss me around,” you insisted, even though it was quite obvious that Hyunjin had had enough of your attitude.

“Speak like that to me again,” he snarled, landing a sharp slap to the flesh of your ass. 

“What are you gonna do?” you challenged him. “Fuck the fight out of me? Act like the big bad mafia boss who orders everyone around?”

“Maybe I will,” he whispered, and your next words were wiped clean around a moan when two of his fingers immediately penetrated your tight cunt. “Not so mouthy now,” Hyunjin said, and you whimpered at his tone, legs shaking at the fast movements of his fingers against your delicate walls, grazing that sweet spot with every stroke. 

“This isn’t fair!” you whined, but Hyunjin only laughed in response, wrapping his free arm around your waist as he brought you back against his chest, curling his fingers just right as he flexed his wrist with talented motions. 

“You’ll cum once like this from my fingers,” he said. “And then once from my cock.”

“Is this your way of controlling me?” you asked, wincing when he abruptly removed his fingers and allowed you to tall back down against the counter.

“It’s my way of loving you,” Hyunjin said, and you could hear the raw emotion in his voice. “I just want you to be safe and happy, Y/N.”

“Hyunjin...” you tried, but there was no finishing a coherent sentence when his fingers were back on your clit, drawing harsh little circles with his thumb while three fingers stretched the walls of your still-tender pussy, pushing you closer to the edge while murmuring sweet nothings into the hair at the back of your neck.

“Feel good for me,” he said, and you choked around a stuttered exhale when your first orgasm of the night left you reeling from Hyunjin’s dramatic shift to something soft and decidedly un-mafia-like. 

“Baby,” you sighed, allowing your forehead to touch the cool surface of the counter to alleviate the sweat building there, groaning when Hyunjin slid down your panties and started working apart his well-pressed suit pants. 

“You can cum again for me, Y/N,” Hyunjin said, and despite the ache in your core, you spread your legs even wider for him when he started to push his cock between your gaping walls, replacing the spaces where his fingers had previously brought you to the edge. “So tight,” Hyunjin moaned, and his hands held firmly to your hips as he started pounding immediately, leaving you no time to adjust; although, you were already prepared for him because of the mess he had made from finger fucking you into oblivion. 

“Shit your cock is amazing,” you cried, tossing back your head against the fresh waves of pleasure, closing your eyes as you took everything he was giving you.

It almost felt like a peace offering, especially when your husband was more than inclined to take you over any available surface of your lavish home. 

“Yeah?” Hyunjin grunted, and you could practically feel his proud smirk as he gave you all his attention, working his cock at different angles and listening for your reactions: staccato moans and dramatic cries of his name. “Tell me when you’re close.”

“Soon,” you promised him, arching your back just a little more because it gave Hyunjin better leverage to hit your g-spot on every thrust. 

He took the hint, grinding his hips against your ass and working you over as only someone who had spent years learning your body could. “Do you need me to touch you?” he asked and you nodded fiercely, unable to resist the tears that started to fall when one hand returned to your throbbing clitoris, giving it some much-needed attention as the rest of you started to fall apart.

“I’m coming!” you cried, looking back over at your husband and nearly losing it at the sight of his concentrated expression. Sweat falling down the sides of his hairline, eyes focused on the place where he was pumping his cock inside of you, expression shadowed by the same lust and desire curling at the place where he was working you with his cock and fingers. “Hyunjin!” you shouted, losing every single last reserve of your inhibitions as you came for a second time, panting and desperate for him as he gave two deep thrusts before his cum joined your own.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, pulling his cock from your ruined cunt as you held on to the counter with whatever strength you had left since your legs almost felt numb from his prior ministrations. “I got you,” he said, reaching down to collect you into his arms, holding you close as he brought you both upstairs to your shared bedroom.

You sighed at the feeling of the satin sheets against your lower back, reminders of the extravagances that his mafia dealings could afford you both, reaching over to wrap an arm around Hyunjin’s waist to keep him close. “I know that you love me, baby,” you said, drawing his attention. “But I still want to work the club at night.”

“Y/N,” Hyunjin growled, and you savored the wild, animalistic look in his gaze that promised you both a very long night.

[mowulf]

You Gotta be Kitten Me

CH 2: It's only a flesh wound

A note on cat breeds, because I don’t feel like spending an absurd amount of time describing them. (Also only Spy would have any idea what the different breeds are because he’s fancy like that.) From largest to smallest:

Heavy - Blue maine coon. He’s the largest by weight and length and has the cat equivalent of resting bitch face.

Sniper - Savannah cat. He’s the tallest, but he’s lanky and not nearly as long as Heavy.

Demoman - You know those cats that are so black they’re basically walking black holes? Yeah, that’s him.

Spy - Tuxedo cat. Primarily black with white fingers, white chin, and a white triangle on this neck and chest. When he sits up straight he does, indeed, look like he’s wearing a tiny, furry suit.

Soldier - Siamese. He’s loud. He’s obnoxious. And he makes sure you know he’s there.

Scout - Egyptian Mau/DSH mix. Egyptian Maus are the fastest domestic cat breed, reaching up to 30 mph, and can leap absurdly high. While he’s got the build of a Mau, the DSH shows in his calico coat.

Pyro - Ruddy Abyssinian. They look vaguely burnt and, like Scout, are quite small. Yes, they wear a sock on their head. No, you won't be able to convince them to take it off.

-----

“Gentlemen, we have a situation,” Spy said as he looked around the room. The other cats stopped what they were doing and approached. No point delaying the conversation.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Scout said as he trotted over to shove Spy. “How come y’all get ta be so much bigger ‘n’ me? ‘S not fair.”

“That is beside the point, Scout.”

“That is exactly the point!”

”Scout.” Spy planted a paw on Scout’s head and pushed him away. Sniper got the hint and gently but firmly shooed Scout to the opposite side of the forming circle.

Demoman took a seat next to the awkward pair while Sniper attempted to figure out a way to gently pin Scout without accidentally crushing him and casually curled his tail around his paws. “It’s not all that bad,” he said casually. “We’re smaller, so we’ll be harder to hit. Pro’ly faster, too.”

Spy folded his ears and sighed deeply. “Really? Really? That’s what we’re going with? ‘It’s not so bad.’ Are you listening to yourself?”

Sniper flicked his tail and snapped, “Yeah, mate, we heard him just fine. What’s your problem?”

“My problem is a distinct lack of thumbs. Or did you forget?” The group fell silent as everyone examined their hands. Once he was satisfied that enough time had passed, Spy continued, “We didn’t just lose a few inches. Sniper is, at best, as long as his rifle, I can’t even hold a knife let alone stab anyone, and I’m reasonably certain the intelligence is twice Scout’s size.” He straightened up and settled a glare around the group. “We’re useless at best. Hell, Medic and Engineer would likely have an easier time in the next mission if we all just stayed at base. Especially if they have Heavy.”

A heavy silence descended on the circle. After a few moments Soldier stood up and yelled, “That’s still no excuse to not fight! We have claws! We have teeth! We’ll just have to fight them the old fashioned way!” His tail lashed as he spoke and at the end he reared back and swiped at the air.

Sniper was quick to shut that down by yelling, “That’s assuming we can even get close to anyone!” He puffed up and growled, high and deep. “We’re too small. We might catch someone off guard the first time, but then everyone will know to look out for us. Alone we stand no chance. As a group, we’re too obvious!”

“‘Sides, we need to get their intelligence back to base. Mission doesn’t end until someone has someone else’s briefcase,” Scout snapped, ready to jump up only to be pressed back into the floor when Sniper stepped on him.

“Those are the words of a coward! There are no cowards here! Or do I need to remind you maggots of that?” Soldier took a step forward, legs stiff and tail lashing in anger.

Sniper lowered his head and curled his lips in a snarl. “If you think I’m going to just throw myself into enemy fire with no hope of walking away, you’re a fool.” Scout squeaked as Sniper stepped on him to approach Soldier. Scout wanted nothing to do with the fight that was about to break out. While Sniper had the upper hand in terms of size, Soldier more than made up for that in crazy.

On the sidelines, the other mercs chimed in trying to break up the fight before it began, but no one was willing to actually get close. Even human, Soldier was not a force to be reckoned with. Once Sniper was no longer standing on him, Scout joined the rest in the safe zone.

Sniper and Soldier approached each other stiffly until there was only a few inches between them. Soldier’s tail continued to lash dramatically while Sniper’s only twitched at the end. For a long minute the pair simply glared and growled.

Soldier made the first move. Sniper flinched back when Soldier lunged forward, allowing the smaller cat to latch onto his neck and shoulder, back legs tearing at whatever they could reach. Sniper shrieked, swatted a couple times at Soldier, before running toward the nearest wall and throwing himself Soldier-first into it. Yelling broke out from everywhere, a combination of cat howls and human shock.

The impact didn’t knock Soldier loose and only seemed to make him more aggressive. The cat twisted and sank his claws deeper into Sniper’s shoulder while pulling with his teeth until he felt something give. Sniper responded by slamming into the wall three more times in quick succession, finally stunning Soldier enough to make him start to lose grip. That was all Sniper needed to finally stick his foot under Soldier and rip the other cat off.

He stumbled back a couple steps before lunging forward with a yell, only to be slammed into the ground by Medic. One hand grabbed the scruff of his neck and the other a fistful of loose skin near his rump and hauled him back, spitting and screaming. Engineer scooped Soldier before he could launch back at Sniper.

The two spit curses and profanities at each other until Demoman leapt between them and bellowed “SHUT UP!” Silence. “Soldier,” he turned to face, “this is not cowardice or abandonment. Think of it as a tactical retreat until we can figure out how to get the upper hand back.”

“That’s true,” Spy said. “We’re at a disadvantage. We need to figure something out.”

“But-” Soldier flinched when Demoman trotted up and bopped him on the nose. “We can’t-” Another bop. “Would you-” Bopbopbop Demoman stopped and hopped away when Engineer waved him off.

Once he was sure that Soldier had shut up, he turned his attention to Sniper. “And you!” Sniper bristled but remained silent. “If yer gonna fight, take it outside. You know th’ rules.”

More silence. Everyone waited tensely until Sniper finally sighed and Soldier relaxed. A collective sigh was released and the tension finally drained from the room.

“I’m going to need the medigun,” Medic announced. “I’ll be right back.” With that he released Sniper and left the room.

Soldier wriggled out of Engineer’s grip and the man made another grab for him but stopped when he saw the cats regather into the circle. Scout made a couple laps of the malformed circle, chirping in distress until Sniper finally dragged himself into their original spot, at which point he tucked himself firmly into the larger cat’s side. He made a few more distressed chirps as he eyed the mauled fur and flesh but was silenced when Sniper lay a paw across his back.

“Establishing communication should be our top priority,” Spy said once the circle had been properly reformed. “We can’t do much if Medic and Engineer can’t understand us.”

The other cats nodded and made various sounds of agreement only to fall silent when a deep voice rumbled, “Da.” Everyone turned to see an absolutely massive maine coon staring down at them. Even Pyro did a double take before scooting to the side to make space. There was a moment of reshuffling before Heavy finally took a spot and lay down, careful to tuck his lugs beneath him. “Doktor is dangerous. Keep distance and avoid his room.” He paused for a second, then added, “Avoid medbay, too. Anywhere he keeps birds.”

The circle gave another chorus of agreement. If Heavy was giving the warning, then extra caution needed to be used. Right as Spy was about to resume the conversation, Medic reentered, paused, and said, “Heavy?” Heavy looked up, flicked his tail, and then pointedly looked away. Sniper looked between the two before deciding they needed space. “I’ll be back,” he muttered before pushing himself to his feet and limping over to Medic.

Spy coughed to draw everyone’s attention. “As I said before, we’ll need to establish some form of communication. Does anyone have any suggestions?”

“What about morse code?” Soldier asked.

Spy hummed. “Not a bad idea, assuming either of them know any. I know a little, but not nearly enough.”

“Do you know enough to get food?” Scout whined, stretching and rolling onto his back dramatically. “I’m dyin’ over here!”

“Scout-”

“No! Shut up!” He hopped onto his feet and puffed. “I didn’t eat supper on account of I wasn’t feelin’ good, and we ain’t had breakfast. I can smell bacon an’ I’m starving!”

“Mmph! Mr hnng trr,” Pyro chirped, also jumping up and circling in place. Spy smacked his face and groaned, knowing that there was no hope of getting the impromptu meeting back on track. Not with Scout and Pryo now feeding each other’s energy. Best to get them both fed before they worked each other into a frenzy.

“What’d I miss?” Sniper asked as he returned to the circle.

“Somethin’ somethin’ marsh code an’ Spy’s gonna get us food,” Scout announced before anyone else could speak. Pyro hopped over, muffled chattering displaying their excitement over the prospect of finally getting to eat something. The rest of the mercs were eagerly discussing breakfast as Demoman took the lead toward the cafeteria.

Medic and Engineer watched as the cats all began filing out of the room. As Heavy passed, Medic leaned down to try and grab Heavy, only to jerk back when the cat whipped around and snapped at him. Heavy gave an angry huffed before ambling after the rest.

“Well,” Engineer said slowly, “That was… interesting.” He stood up from his spot on the floor and stretched. “What do you recon they’re up to now?”

Medic ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and hefted the end of the medigun off the floor where he’d set it after treating Sniper. “Don’t know. Don’t care. Keep an eye on them. I’m going to call Miss Pauling.”

“Good luck with that.”

Engineer trailed after the small army of cats while Medic heaved another sigh and made his way back to the medical bay. The medigun was easily put away and he took a moment to pet Archimedes before he left in search of the base phone. If he was lucky, Pauling would be free enough to swing by the base. She could wrangle everyone under control and figure out what to do next. Or at least give him some pointers on how to take care of cats. Then he’d have to run to town and get cat food.

Fun.

[crystalessenceswrites]

Rules

Anons are coming for me with the spicy Boba prompts. Boba Fett x fem!reader Rating: E (18+) Warnings: Boba. Explicit sexual content, dom/sub relationship, masturbation, spanking, degradation (use of slut), dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex. It’s just more filth y’all.  (Per usual let me know if I missed anything or if there is something you want to see warned for/tagged) (36) “Don’t touch me. Just watch.”

Boba did not leave you alone all that often. If he could send someone else away to deal with business, he did. If he absolutely had to travel off-world, he often brought you along and made a small vacation out of it, stopping off at some new planet you’d never been to so you could explore together before heading back home to Tatooine. This time however had been serious enough that he left you back at the palace with Fennec to manage things in his stead. It was not supposed to be long, a week at the most, a bearable separation. As much as you craved his presence and attention you told yourself you would be alright until he returned to you. He’d gone out of his way to fuck you senseless before he’d left, leaving you sated and sore but ultimately alone in your shared bed. It seemed to have done the trick, the first few days you were content with the lingering reminders of him on your skin, but as the days drug on you found the ache deep in your belly growing. You needed something to soothe the craving, but Boba was nowhere to be found.

As you found yourself alone in your bed at the end of the week you began to weigh the risks. Boba had a standing rule, you were not allowed to touch yourself without his express permission. “I’m the only one allowed to play with this pussy,” he’d said. When he was around the rule never lead to any issues. He was always happy to indulge you when you found yourself needy and wanting. Now however, you found yourself debating breaking one of Boba’s rules for the first time. You did not often push Boba on such things, you rather enjoyed his praise and rewards over his punishments, but in that moment, all you could think of was how much you needed him and all you had were your fingers.

As your fingers slip beneath your sleep shorts you tell yourself he’ll never have to know, there would be no way to tell after all. Maybe you would be extra good for him when he got back too, just to even things out. That sounds like a perfect plan as you sink one finger, then two into your aching pussy. With a sigh you lean back into the mountain of pillows and let the building pleasure wash over you.

“Look at this,” Boba’s voice is dark as it startles you out of your bliss, “seems you’ve forgotten the rules while I was gone, little one.”

Wide-eyed you freeze, caught in the gaze of his dark visor. “Boba, I-”

Shaking his head, he stalks over to the end of the bed. “No excuses. You broke the rules, and you know what that means.”

Oh you had fucked up.

“Strip,” he orders before turning away to shed his armor.

You jump out of bed, quick to obey. Maybe if you are good and take the punishment, he’ll have some mercy on you. It takes just moments to have your pajamas and underwear on the floor. You quietly wait for Boba to finish and give you further instructions.

He strips down to his black underclothes, carefully storing his armor and helmet away. Even in the low light you can see how dark his eyes are when he finally turns back to you. He drinks in your bare form, evidence of your disobedience shining between you legs. You shift under his gaze, nervous anticipation building for what’s to come.

He’s wordless as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, knees spread out. Patting his thigh, a small grin breaks across his face, “ass up, princess.”

You’re silent as you lay yourself across his lap, bottom lip held tight between your teeth. It had been quite some time since Boba had used this as punishment. He runs one hand over the soft flesh of your ass and squeezes, drawing a startled squeak from you.

“You know why you’re being punished, little one?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he prods.

“I touched myself without permission.”

He squeezes again, “that’s right. I’d say that earned you fifteen. You are going to count the for me. If you stop, we start over. Understood?”

“I understand.”

“Good,” he grins, running his hand over you one more time before he brings the flat of his palm down to the sensitive skin.

The spank stings but the pain in brief as he rubs at the spot moments after. Boba knows exactly how much you can take. Even when he’s punishing you, he’s beyond considerate.

“One.”

The second hit comes down on the other globe of your ass.

“Two.”

The next returns to the first spot, leaving a tingling heat behind, even after Boba soothes the skin.

“Three.”

The pattern continues, each sharp slap alternating across your ass as the heat blooms across your skin. It’s not long before you notice Boba’s own arousal poking into your side. You try to focus on that, hoping it means he’ll offer you some sense of relief before the night is over, instead of thinking about the growing stinging of your skin.

“Look at that, been such a good girl, taking your punishment so well,” his voice swells with pride as he massages your warm skin with both hands, “just one more, little one.”

You nod against his thigh, bracing for the last swat. It’s light, most likely a reward for behaving and not losing count.

“F-fifteen,” you whimper, trying to ignore the heat that has bloomed between your thighs at Boba’s touch.

“So, what did we learn, little one?” he asks, helping you back onto shaky legs.

“Not to touch myself without your permission.”

“Good. I really don’t want to have to go over this again.”

“It won’t happen again, Boba,” you promise, sticking your bottom lip out in a pout for good measure.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he rumbles, running one hand over the apple of your cheek, “it’s always more fun when you’re a good girl, isn’t it?”

You nod, leaning into his gentle touch.

Boba grins, pulling his hand away. He holds it out in front of you, expectant. “Spit.”

You quickly oblige him, letting your saliva coat his palm. He quickly frees himself, bringing his now slick hand to pump his thick cock. You’re nearly drooling at the sight, Boba spread out, face smug as he pleasures himself. Kneeling between his spread legs you reach up, hoping to take over, bring him to release in apology for your disobedience. He smacks your hand away, sharp eyes glaring down at you. “Don’t touch me,” he snarls, “you just watch.”

Lowering your hands to your lap you whimper. This was crueler than any other punishment he could inflict. Sitting at his feet, needy beyond belief as he fucks his hand.

“Boba,” you cry, “I’m sorry for breaking the rules. I promise I’ll be good.”

He grunts, eyes fixed on you as he continues to jerk himself off.

“Please let me touch you Boba. Let me make it up to you!” you beg, eyes following the frantic pumping of his member.

He arches one eyebrow at you but continues to say nothing.

“Please, I need you Boba. That’s why I touched myself, because I needed you so badly. Please let me touch you!”

“Such a needy little slut, aren’t you?” he groans, pulling his hand away.

You nod, frantic, “so needy for you, Boba.”

“Well, if you want it so bad then you can work for it.” Sliding back onto the bed, he lays out on his back. “Ride it.”

You waste no time, crawling over him till your core rests over his throbbing member. “Thank you, Boba,” you smile, gently placing a quick kiss to his lips.

“Go on, earn it, little one.” He leans back, arms crossed behind his head. This was all on you.

Taking him in one hand you are quick to take him into your heat, taking him in all at once. The burning stretch is a familiar pain. A long moan bubbles in your throat as his cock fills you to the brim.

“Such a needy slut for my cock,” Boba groans as you hold tight around him, “and yet your cunt is still so tight.”

Your pussy sings with the praise as you slowly raise your hips before slamming back down to the hilt. Boba grunts, eyes trained on you as you begin to find a rhythm, riding him with all you have, chasing both of your releases. Dirty praise falls from your lover’s lips, spurring you on as your legs begin to shake.

“Fucking made for my cock, isn’t that right, little one?”

“Y-yes, Boba. Yours,” you stutter, hands planted on his chest to keep you going.

“That’s right, my little slut.”

His words tighten the coil deep in your belly. Head thrown back in pleasure you can feel the edge fast approaching. “Boba!”

“What? You want to cum, slut? Do you want to cum all over my cock?”

“Yes!” you cry out, “please Boba!”

“Then cum, little one.” He plants his feet against the bed and pushes up, slamming his hips up into yours. White hot pleasure crashes over you as you unravel around him. Boba surges up, flipping you over onto your back. He continues to roughly thrust into you, chasing his own high as you ride out your own. He curses as his hips stutter, burying himself in your heat as he fills you.

Panting, he holds you to him as he softens inside of you. Your combined mess slowly seeping out of you. He brushes your now messy hair away from your face, the softer Boba slowly returning. “You with me, mesh’la?”

You nod, not trusting your voice as the bliss slowly recedes.

Satisfied, he slowly pulls away from you, leaving you fucked out and full, spread out across the bed. He returns moments later, a warm cloth to clean up the mess you both made between your thighs. You whimper as he brushes over your sensitive folds.  

“Can you turn over for me, cyare?”

It takes a moment to gather your bearings, but you eventually manage to turn onto your stomach for him. You hiss as he runs his hands over your tender ass.

“Just some bacta, cyare,” he soothes, spreading the cool cream across your skin.

“Thank you, Boba.” You’re quick to curl up against him as he slides you both under the covers.

“No need,” he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, “get some rest. We have lots of lost time to make up for tomorrow, little one.”

[ddarker-dreams]

False Recovery. Yan Risotto x Reader [COMM]

warnings: bodily injury mention, medication mention word count: 3.2k

Why can’t adrenaline just last forever?

It might not be your place to question evolution or human biology, not having the most knowledge in the field to reasonably voice your concerns. Sure, pain is necessary to identify where a body part might be hurt, but does it need to be this excruciating? A little pinch should suffice, why does your nervous system need to fuck you over like this? 

Complaining to yourself isn’t going to do any good, aside from the occasional nose exhale at your incredulous thoughts. That serves to make the pain worse, muted curses leaving your lips as a fresh wave of pain wracks over your body at any movement. A first aid kit sits in front of you, taunting your weakness. Your field requires being exposed to near death situations, and here you are, still unable to cope with physical pain. It’s not the worst part of today, that crown gem was stolen by passing out and needing to be carried back to base. You’ll never live that one down.

Should any of your teammates spot you, you cringe at the barrage of deprecating comments that’d be slewn your way. The last thing you need is to be demeaned for your lack of ability to endure pain, you’d feel half tempted to summon your Stand and silence them. Depending on who saw fit to disturb you, it might work out, but it’s still not worth all the trouble. All that matters to you now is getting this disinfected before it has time to fester, the marks against your chest making you frown deeply. 

It still remains a mystery as to how you received these peculiar wounds. It looks like knife marks against your chest, clean and expertly done. In your line of work, you can recognize a lot about a person from how they attack. Looking in the mirror at your tattered shirt, a few observations can be made. The lines don’t go deep, only far enough to draw blood and break into the first layer of your skin; avoiding any vital organs. It felt like the wound was coming from inside of you, before surfacing and puncturing your flesh.The assignment ended up in a battle against a Stand user, not one that dealt with knives or anything that could puncture you in this manner. So how did these wounds come to be? Lowering the sorry remains of your shirt back down, you fail to notice an imposing figure standing behind you until the last second.

“R-Risotto?” 

Piercing crimson eyes look at you, surrounded by black scleras. You despise how your voice squeaked at the sight of your intimidating boss, reminding yourself of Pesci more than a calm and collected assassin. His countenance remains stony as always, letting himself into the room and shutting the door behind him. Knowing Risotto, he’s piecing together the information before him and likely wondering why you haven’t tended to your wounds yet. Expressing to a fellow assassin that you’re squeamish when it comes to your own injuries is far too humiliating a fate, so your mind scrambles to offer an explanation.

“I was just about to disinfect myself from the injuries I received earlier.” You let out a forced laughing, hoping it’ll dissipate the uncomfortable atmosphere. He doesn’t so much as blink, staring down at you as if you suggested something idiotic. Or maybe he isn’t thinking anything of your incompetence, it’s impossible to tell with how stoic his face is. You gulp when he doesn’t make a motion to leave, instead walking towards the first aid kit that sits on the counter. Risotto opens it up, eyeing the content with familiarity, reaching for the antiseptic.

“Sit down and take your shirt off,” Risotto’s voice commands authority, low and straight to the point. “You’ll get an infection otherwise.” 

Can’t he have a shred more tact during this encounter? That might be too much to ask for from a renowned assassin, your cheeks flushing at the possible insinuation in his words. As one of the newer members of the hitman team, you feel strongly about proving yourself. Not to mention that you’re the only female member, an extra fact that weighs down upon you. You’re competent to have made it this far within the organization, and you want others to acknowledge this. Still, it’s not like you can wave him off, he is your boss. So what is there to do? 

Scratching your rapidly warming cheek, you make an attempt to weasel out of this situation. “I’m sure you have a lot on your plate already. I was just about to patch myself up, anyways.” 

Ignoring your pitiful string of excuses, Risotto picks up the antiseptic before motioning for you to sit down on the couch. From his lack of response you quickly deduce that this matter isn’t up for debate, and hang your head in surrender. While the details surrounding Risotto Nero are murky, you figure he’s had his fair share of run ins that led to injuries. You were going to likely need help with this anyways, so it’s best if one of the professionals handles it. A lot better than having to strike a deal with Melone, or Ghiaccio at least. Though you doubt anything you said to the latter would have helped.

Sitting down into the plush couch with a dramatic sigh, your trembling fingers go to the edge of your tattered shirt. The fight with the target shouldn’t have been so difficult, but the randomly appearing abrasions to your skin threw you off. Thinking it might have been a new ability that you didn’t know had ruined your plans, putting you on the defense rather than the offense. What a humiliating day this has been… you’ll treat yourself to a nice breakfast after a full night of sleep, or maybe even a new pair of pajamas. 

Risotto watches wordlessly as you reveal your chest, only left in ripped shorts and a bra. He doesn’t strike you as the lecherous type, not focusing on your exposed chest, and instead getting straight to work. You’re grateful at his professionalism, but still feeling flustered over everything. Dipping a fresh set of gauze into the antiseptic, the sterile scent hits your nose as soon as he opens the bottle. You lean back out of instinct when his hand approaches the flesh wound, inhaling sharply. Much to your surprise, he looks up to you to confirm that you’re alright. You nod your head, a mix of emotions hitting you all at once at the admittedly compassionate move. 

There’s no opportunity to linger on the unexpected kindness, as your confirmation makes him place the gauze against your tender skin. A hiss escapes from your lips, a fresh wave of pain hitting you all at once. The stinging is the worst part, only growing stronger as he works his way over the entire area. Your eyes squeeze shut in a meager attempt to alleviate the throbbing pain, fingers curling and nails digging into the skin of your palm. It’s over as soon as it began, Risotto now moving to wrap bandages around your upper torso. 

“You really didn’t have to do that,” you blurt out against your better judgement, internally cursing yourself for being too blunt. He pays you no mind, instead placing the medical equipment back into its place. “But… thank you.” 

“Keeping yourself in top condition is important in this line of work.” Risotto shuts the kit closed with a low click, placing it back into the cabinet of supplies. You take the time of silence to reflect on his words, silently agreeing. All you can do is hope he doesn’t think of you so dense that you would be incapable of taking care of yourself. There can be time to lament the semantics of his language earlier, your curiosity has now been piqued. It’s late into the night, everyone else having headed off long ago. Risotto’s duties are likely different than your own, maybe even involving paperwork or something similar, but you’ve been in this room for hours. Surely he could’ve been in the comforts of his own home by now.

“Is there anything I can help with?” you inquire with a tilt of the head, kicking your legs into the air and using the momentum to stand up. Risotto doesn’t ignore you, instead turning around and possibly considering your offer. While the thought of spending alone time with this intimidating and mysterious man isn’t high on your list of desires, it feels right to repay him somehow. He might not show it in the conventional ways, but you know that he looks out for you and everyone else. Offering advice when necessary, or even rebuking ideas that would’ve led to more casualties. He’s efficient and doesn’t mess around with niceties, and has undoubtedly earned your respect. 

He gives you a once over, motioning to the blood that begins to seep through the bandages. You look down at the pathetic sight, feeling like shrinking under his unblinking stare. Maybe he blinks at the same time as you? It’s the only logical explanation that comes to mind. Before you can theorize further, Risotto speaks up once more. You’ve never seen him this talkative with the others, not that you can blame him. Everyone else is questionable company at best, Melone at worst.

“You should focus on healing. Go home and get some rest.” 

Your strength declining at a rapid rate, you feel inclined to give in and slink off as he suggested. It doesn’t feel right with you to receive a favor without returning it in kind, so you test your luck one more time. “I don’t think a few scratches will be the end of me. It’s what, two in the morning? Surely I can be of some assistance, so you can get some sleep too.” 

This time, Risotto doesn’t humor your attempts, having already made up his mind. “It’s been a long day. Head home.” 

You don’t see the point in bothering him any further, fighting down a yawn. The thought of sleep does sound wonderful right about now, maybe even taking a day or two off. Waving goodbye to him for the night, you make your way out the door, feeling his eyes on your back with every step. 

-

The knife in your hand cuts through the orange peel with ease, shaving the skin off and leaving only the citrusy fruit inside. It’s a simple snack, but one that has your mouth watering nonetheless. Working up the energy to cook with all the fatigue pain killers brought has been a losing battle, and you don’t feel like getting food delivered again. So this fruit you found in your fridge will have to suffice for the time being. Following the lines of the orange, you take a section off and plop it into your mouth, juice bursting over your tongue. You’re grateful to your past self for thinking to buy more fruit, though it looks like another grocery trip is in order. Living on your own can be difficult at times, but there’s an appeal to it. The independence is nice, you think.

When you’re about ready to go for another bite, you hear your doorbell ring. Your mind starts to wonder who it could be, ranging from a delivery at the wrong house to your landlord. The latter does 

sound appealing, not when you’re cranky from being injured and on multiple medications to appease the pain that comes with it. Running across your apartment with the orange still in hand, you peak out the window, your jaw slacking at the sight. 

It’s… Risotto? 

Not wanting to keep him waiting in the sweltering heat of summer, you scurry to your door and open it. When he makes eye contact with you, you regret not having freshened yourself up more. Wearing your hair up and a tank top and shorts to fend off the oppressive heat, you must look more like a college student than a reliable member of Passione’s assassin team. You clear your throat, straightening your back out and pulling your shirt down. Hopefully there’s no orange juice on your face, that’d be embarrassing…

“Uh, hey,” you wince at how stupid and unsure of yourself you sound. What else is there for you to say? You don’t even want to know how he managed to find your address, for someone like him it was probably a walk in the park. “You can come in if you want. Need any water?” 

The fruit in your hand has earned his attention, but he doesn’t comment, instead deciding to accept your invitation and walk past you. You shut the door behind him, feeling too nervous to finish your snack, and remembering your offer to get him water. With a sigh of relief, you scamper off to your kitchen, setting down the orange and grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. The blast of cool air that hits you from opening your fridge helps you get a grip, your heartbeat increasing at the thought of Risotto being in your apartment. You’ll never understand him. 

He’s looking at a picture of you and a friend that’s hung on your wall, and you can’t help but laugh at the sight. Risotto looks a bit out of place in casual environments that aren’t shrouded in darkness and mystery, like a character plucked from a comic book and set into real life. Not that you’d ever have the guts to tell him this, seeing as you value having iron in your blood. He catches the bottle when you throw it to him with his free hand, turning his attention back to you. 

Risotto examines the bottle with interest, before taking a sip. “How are your injuries?”

So that’s what this is about. You give a halfhearted shrug. “I’ve had worse. I still don’t understand how a Stand relating to sound managed to scratch me like this though.” 

Truth be told, in the plentiful amount of time you’ve had to think while your wounds recover, the thought hasn’t left your head. When you finally finished the job and gave the target a search over, there was nothing on their person that resembled a knife that matched the marks on your chest. The moment during the fight is still blurry, all you remember is a hot pain, blood, and your torso feeling like it was being shredded. Just thinking about it makes you shiver. 

“Stand battles are always unpredictable.”

Maybe you’re imagining things, but he seems fast to want and move past the topic. Dismissing your concerns, something unidentifiable flashes over his face. It’s not like you don’t know that. As the phrase goes, dead men tell no tales. You’ll never be able to question the target on how they managed to land that hit, not when he’s a corpse. Your theories will have to satisfy for now. A scent of tomato grabs your attention, and you realize it’s coming from the bag Risotto’s holding. Before you weren’t paying much attention to it, now you recognize a restaurant’s logo on the bag. He raises it up, and places it on your kitchen counter top. 

“It’s some stuff I picked up on the way here. I’m not sure what you like, so feel free to throw out whatever you don’t want.” Risotto explains as if this were a regular occurrence, returning his attention back to you. You blink rapidly, wondering if this is all a side effect dream from all the painkillers. This is going far and beyond what a boss would need to do, treading into friend territory. Not that you mind, it just isn’t what you expected from someone of Risotto’s stature. The sweet gesture is much appreciation, your stomach all but growling at the thought of some savory food to chow down on. 

While not overflowing with money, you do well for yourself. It feels wrong to accept all this food without offering to pay for it. “Here, let me pay you back. This looks like a lot…” 

Multiple bowls of soup with condensation on the lids, a few various pasta dishes, some different kinds of bread, and a few scoops of chocolate gelato. Looking at the feast in front of you makes your eyes practically bulge out, this is enough for a celebration, not a single person! 

“Don’t bother.” He snuffs out your attempt at repaying him with a succinct phrase. You reach into the bag, settling on the first piece of bread that catches your attention, and nibbling on it. It’s still warm.

“I… I can’t thank you enough. Are you hungry? You should have some too.” 

Not that you’re surprised, but he shakes his head. With the next few days having meals covered in full, you feel an innate sense of relief. Planning and going through with meal plans has always been a nightmare, even if you like cooking. Too much preparation and thought has to go into it, especially anything with vegetables. The restaurant is one a few blocks away from your house, a higher end type of place you’ve walked by countless times. How much money does Risotto make, anyways? Why is he even bothering to go through all this effort for you? He’s a good leader, you know that much, but this feels like something else entirely. 

It may be the heat, or the lack of sleep, or the side effects from all the medication, but your mind starts running. The question is reminiscent of a schoolgirl giggling with her friends, wondering if so and so has a crush on her. Risotto has never made a serious move on you, not that you can think of. Unless this was him doing just that, and you’ve been oblivious all along. You admit that he’s physically attractive, and that you’ve found your short interactions with him pleasant.The thought of being in a relationship for now is off putting, so you push these thoughts away.

“I’ll be ready to accept jobs again by tomorrow.” You take another bite of your bread, wiping away some crumbs near your mouth. The unprecedented time off might negatively impact the others, and you couldn’t stand for that. A few flesh wounds won’t get in between you and your job, especially since they’re healing up fine. 

“It might not look bad, but if you overexert yourself, the wounds will open up more and require stitches,” he points out to you, causing you to frown. It makes sense, but twiddling your thumbs at home until it heals doesn’t feel like a viable option. Sensing your impatience, he speaks up again. “I’ll bring what you need until you heal properly.” 

Appearances aside, he’s stubborn. In every aspect of how Risotto carries himself, he demands respect. His words feel absolute, and you give yourself into his whims. It’s the same self-assured nature that gives you confidence when you don’t know what to do, a trait unique to him. From how the marks are already starting to scab over, you don’t think it’ll be an unreasonable amount of time off. Offering him a smile, you nod once in agreement.

“Alright, you got me. I won’t overdo it.” 

He almost looks amused, the corner of his lip tugging up. He looks content himself, for reasons unknown. 

“I wouldn’t let you, anyways.” 

[indiavolowetrust]

unexpected presents are best unwrapped.

part 1

part 2

part 3

4

I flinch as I feel the weight of Levi’s gaze on me, my body reacting before I can stop myself. Before my eyes can even register the minute movement. Again I avoid eye contact. Levi simply looms in the doorway, only his printed shirt and black sweatpants visible in my limited view. I resist the urge to look down at my feet, the old habit from my Catholic school days threatening to resurface. That familiar, downtrodden feeling threatening to swallow me whole. Then I do, anyway, because I am human and nothing more than a Catholic schoolgirl being punished for slightest of transgressions again. Because I am nothing more than crying, crumpled child against Sister Paola’s desk, my back a collage of scarlet and purple.

I’ve always hated that part about myself. 

Levi reaches for me, hand just coming into view, and --

“You really got it!” Levi exclaims, taking the boxed figure from my hands. I look up, blinking. Levi scrutinizes the boxed figure as if it were a prized treasure. “Where did you find this? I’ve never even seen this figure outside of DevilTube!”

“I -- I got it for your birthday,” I finally manage to say, forcing the words out. I quickly dash my anxiety away. “I didn’t have a chance to give it to you at the party.”

Levi smiles from ear to ear. The simple expression is genuine and inviting, filling me with a warmth that I didn’t know I was missing. Before I can react, Levi engulfs me with a hug, my face pressing into his chest from the height difference. It is literally suffocating, having the demon embrace me like this, but I welcome the sensation with open arms. All prior, irrational fears seem to melt away in familiarity of the gesture, all memories and nightmares about the Avatar of Envy dissipating into nothingness. This is the Levi I know. Overbearing, awkward, lovable Levi.

See? I tell myself, satisfied. There was nothing to worry about in the first place. It wasn’t anything to do with you.

“Can I come in?” I ask after he pulls away, the boxed figure miraculously uncrushed.

Just as I had expected, Levi had started up a game of Devil Kombat II: Return of the Devil Who Came From Another World and Now Must Fight for His Honor. Levi beats me at nearly every battle in the game, armed as he is with both game guides and internet research, but I don’t care. There is still that nagging feeling of wrongness in the back of mind, distracting me from the moment, and I quickly push it away. Because nothing is wrong now. Nothing was wrong. There is nothing else that matters at the moment but my friendship with Levi, accumulating points in the story mode of the game, and distracting him from whatever it is that currently plagues his mind. 

“You’re kind of a noob when it comes to this, huh?” Levi teases. His on-screen character executes five perfect punches and kicks in quick succession, driving my character to the edge of the screen. “Luckily, you’ve got veteran like me to show you the ropes.”

I frown, furrowing my brows in concentration. “I don’t think it can be really called that if you’re just beating up my character.”

Levi’s character finishes mine off with an ultimate attack, my own character’s health bars depleting far past zero, and the winning cutscene plays. Levi grins at me, clearly satisfied with his victory. I continue to frown. But his infectious mood gets the better of me, and soon I am fighting to keep a smile off my face. I put the controller down, letting my thumbs and wrists rest. My gaze instinctively flickers to the boxed figurine sitting on his display shelf.

“What did they end up getting you for your birthday?” I ask, my gaze drawing over his extension collection of figurines, posters, and games. “I didn’t -- I mean, I know you didn’t really want to be dragged out, so I didn’t bother asking.”

Levi nods towards a haphazard pile of what appears to be junk on his desk, a majority of its surface covered in school assignments, Akuzon delivery confirmations, and empty packages. “Not a lot,” he says. “Satan got me a light novel and Asmodeus gave me a bottle of extra perfume. I’m pretty sure Beel ate his present before he could give it to me.”

My thoughts immediately draw the image of Beel’s true form standing in front of the refrigerator, his labeled custard half-eaten. “That sounds like him.”

“And I’m pretty sure Lucifer only gave me an extension on my virtual courses,” Levi says, sighing. “Mammon didn’t even go out of his way to do anything. It was all kind of a bother.”

A bother.

A pang of bitterness strikes me at that, the words resonating harshly against my heart. I swallow the emotion, my throat thick and clotted. “But it must be nice having so many of them around,” I say. “It’s  nice having family.”

Levi huffs, turning his attention back to the game. “Not really. Even Diavolo thinks I’m some worthless otaku.”

“Still. I don’t really have anyone -- not anyone back in the human world, anyway. I doubt my family misses me very much.” I sigh, reaching for the throw blanket at the side of Levi’s bed. While Levi’s room is marginally warmer than the others -- probably because of his constantly running game consoles and computers -- it isn’t enough to stave off the chill against my bare back and shoulders. I wrap the blanket around myself, nuzzling into the fabric. “I think that’s why I’m attached to all of you, maybe,” I say, smiling. The thought of Mammon sprinting down the streets of the Devildom, one small human tucked under his arm, makes me smile. “Mammon and I definitely have something to tell you.”

Levi pauses. The automated attackers in the game begin to whittle down his character’s HP, but he does nothing to stop them. “What is it?”

I glance towards the boxed figurine on his shelf. “I think you know.”

Levi’s character dies in the game, the AI-controlled enemies performing their own victory cutscene. I can’t see his face from my position. I inch closer out of curiosity, attempting to peer over his shoulder. His mouth moves around words, forming around what should be the syllables, but his speech is barely audible. I nearly catch snippets of words at times, but they are spoken so softly that my mind jumps immediately to the next one, making little sense of his speech.

I place my hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention. “Levi?”

Levi presses a hand to his face. “It’s not fair,” he murmurs, the words now audible. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair. No one would want a creepy otaku like me. But why … ”

Levi?

The world spins. The throw blanket I had wrapped myself in flies elsewhere in the room. My back meets the cold wooden slats of the floor, my legs splayed out awkwardly before me. Hands pinning down my wrists. Levi’s form blocks the light of the TV screen, the only light source in the room, and I find myself just barely able to discern the silhouette of his form above me. His weight presses into my waist. Even without the presence of his demonic form, it is easy enough to recognize the threat. His golden eyes pierce the darkness above me, daring me to move. Daring me to even try and run.

My body screams at me to move. To shove off this predator on top of me, to run away, to scream for help -- but I can’t. I know better than that. To do so would be suicide. I do my best to level my gaze with him, willing my heart not to burst from my chest. Calming my breathing. Levi merely stares me down from his upper position, waiting for me, and I do my best to keep the fear away from my expression. Friend or not, Levi is still very much a demon. An apparently hungry one, at that.

The reminder is sobering.

“Levi.” I keep my tone steady. “What are you doing?”

His grip tightens on my wrists. “I know why you did it,” he says. “I know why you did it. People like him -- they’re lucky, aren’t they? Getting whatever they want, whenever they want. You wouldn’t want some creepy shut-in like me. No one would.”

I stare at him in confusion. “I -- I don’t understand.”

“Of course a normie like you wouldn’t.” His voice is brittle. “That’s why I have to do this. You’ve left me no other choice.”

I  watch with horror as the coral horns and serpentine tail of his true form burst from his body, his hands suddenly bearing claws as they hold me down. My blood runs cold. His serpentine tail wraps around the small of my back, lifting me from the ground. His clawed hands nearly dig into my flesh. I need to move. I need to force myself to move, and yet the fear keeps my body frozen in place. His golden eyes flicker in the darkness. It is only when he parts his mouth, revealing rows of sharp, long teeth, that I find the energy to try to fight back. I throw all semblance of peace to the wind, attempting to tear my wrists from his grip. Struggling within the confines of his pseudo-embrace.

I’m going to die here, I realize, eyes widening. I’m going to die, eaten by one of my only friends.

“Levi,” I beg, “please --”

“I’m sorry.”

part 5

[thecosmicsen]

22, bicth.

send me a number from 1-100 for a starter based on that song or  🎁  for shuffle    +   @shesin​

↳  fucking around with me is dangerous,  the lines are blurry now,  this isn't lust ·  tinashe

in true grisly apocalyptical fashion,  he observes how the blood red streaks mar her usually smooth canvas of skin and taint the vibrance of her pearly white enamels.  the metallic crimson stands out in a stark contrast to what she pulls herself off as.  refined.  polished.  impeccably groomed.  the untouchable.  but now he is reminded of the heart of her innate nature.  it embodies itself upon her in the form of dazzling patterns that trickle down the corners of her doused ruby lips and  falling off as seamless red droplets from the tapered ends of her canines.  is she smiling or stricken with another bout of grief that is about to come and seep in at full force to wreck havoc on her already trembling limbs  ?  he can’t tell just yet.  all he can do is merely observe from a situated distance,  marvelling at the irony of the entire situation.  how did he come to the point in life that he has to ask his twin brother,  that he had so cruelly stabbed,  to fetch a fresh body to ensure the survival of an increasingly unstable demonic entity  ?

what baffles him even more is the instinctive washing over of his own nature to serve and protect that grips his body in lock,  chaining his feet solely to the spot nearby her side to reassure the two of them that things will turn out okay.  the crease between his brows is elicited more from the presence of his twin brother’s erratic but stealthily hidden scheming.  Taesoo’s ever present gaze lingers on the back of his neck like an itch of a fly that one cannot seem to sway away enough.  he knows about Inés.  he knows I’m with her and willing to be flexible with my terms to make sure she gets through this.  he has all this information now and I don’t know what he is going to do with it.  he’s too calm as usual.  why did he leave so easily  ?

a ragged sigh that escapes between a bloody heaving pout catches Jaewoo’s attention.  flitting his vision back to the woman who still stands with natural command,  her posture visibly improved from her freshly plucked feast.  she doesn’t need to speak for him to understand what is going through her mind.  his lips downturn in a grimace as the invisible lines of fatigue etched on her face cause his heart to wring aches of sympathy for a creature that just unleashed frenzied savage destruction to a single vulnerable body.  she must have been starving.  no wonder.  

"  hi,  did you eat well  ?  ”  Jaewoo gently breaks the silence with the least provocative question to test the waters of a post-fed demon,  his overflowing concern filtering out any leftover confusion lilting his tone.  “  you got some blood on your teeth.  would you like me to help you clean it up  ?  ”  in all naturalness,  he hands over the power to her with the choice of whether she decides she will like him to help her clean up the drying ichor splayed on her limbs.  not that she needs any demonstration,  he scrutinises her reactions as he takes teeny tiny steps towards her which he hurries when she throws him a questioning look,  as if she is silently daring him to see what happens next if he acts hesitantly cautious in his movements towards her.

the air hang stills between the convoluting triangle of himself,  the devoured body and Inés.  although the reeking scent of torn open flesh causes his stomach to recoil from slight agitation the memories of his knife slipping between his brother’s ribs never seems to go away,  he has no wavering pauses when he reaches out to her hands gently.  her smeared palms transfer to his but he pays no mind to it as he is already used to being nothing but full of her bloody tears mattifying his clothes down.  he doesn’t mind it.  in fact,  he secretly is grateful for it so that hopefully she can notice that he is fine with sharing the instability of emotional turmoils with her and that he is nothing but a mirror to her in her moments of weakness.  you’re not weak,  you’re not alone,  I get like you too but even worse.  I can’t keep picking myself up right after but you can. 

when she doesn’t have a knee jerk reaction to shove him away this instance,  his tender touch increases in firmness only just enough to guide her to another of the little routines they have established together.  going to the bathroom usually entails a huge clean up of sorts,  primarily the deluge of crimson staining her cheeks from the emotions that ravage through her veins.  

“  you have so much blood on your face,  ”  he states,  his words nothing but soft spoken as he gazes at her with intense attentiveness,  his palms cupping her face.  it starts off with square one,  using a facecloth soaked in water to tenderly rub away at the cracking blood on her skin.  one palm steadies underneath her chin to ever so delicately guide her face around so he can dab away,  getting one morsel of blood cleaned off at a time.  this is all part of their established rhythm for the past few days where he carefully takes his time to wash her free of her smudged bloody shades that tarnish her cheeks.  each speck of smeared red is a testament to the emotional turmoil she has to endure which he had to helplessly witness the recoiling horror of having to see someone like Inés,  ever so self-assured in her own person,  to be battered down by the relentless swarm of the entire spectrum of emotions.  

it is a silent few moments,  nothing awkward but rather he feels intimately intertwined with her aching soul surfacing its tumultuous sharp descent of sentiments.  he meticulously dabs dabs dabs at her hollowed cheeks,  more of her ichor generously coating his fingers instead.  Inés opts for noiselessly staring at him if not fluttering her eyes shut to conceal the next threatening crash of unstable rickety emotions.  this time,  she keeps her eyes open at him,  her gaze steadfast and unblinking as he focuses on vanishing any reminders of her harrowing struggles that her heart has to trudge through.  in between mild brushing aways of the soiled facecloth,  he offers her small reassuring smiles in the moments their gazes do lock albeit an edge of fatigued empathy hardens the corners of his eyes.  I’m here for you,  we’ll get through this together.  I feel your pain too.  I don’t know how you’re still standing so strong.  I wouldn’t be able to survive something like this. 

now he feels a tinge of awkwardness flush his cheeks when he realises he needs to thoroughly brush his teeth.  attempting to camouflage his random embarrassment,  he pulls a slight grimace laced with mirth before gently murmuring,  “  do you think you could open your mouth for me please  ?  ”

it feels strange to do so but he thumbs a bare finger over her bottom lip,  silently asking for permission before taking his own initiative to tenderly tug her chin in between his fingers as another non-verbal cue to request permission.  to give her space to do so without feeling like he is overpowering her,  he breaks away between the arising pause of tension in order to grab her toothbrush and apply a generous coating of toothpaste.  when he turns back to her,  he is hit with the sight of how the thick oozing of blood fills up the tiny gaps between her enamels and the fierce need to protect and ensure her wellbeing grips him with force.

“  let’s rinse out first a little bit  ?  ”  he doesn’t know why he is asking for permission again when there is no other way to start cleaning her mouth.  filling up a cup of water,  he guides her by her arm over the sink so he can press the cool rim against her lips so she can begin to rinse her mouth clean.  when she finishes a few rapid swishing of the water,  she turns back to him expectantly,  a springing of tears to her eyes and his own soften.  I know,  I know.  you can’t explain your moods.  it comes from out of nowhere.  it’s okay.  it happens to me all the time too.

tucking behind a couple of stray hair strands away from her freshly cleansed face to avoid getting flecks of toothpaste on it,  he coaxes her to open her mouth wider with an encouraging grin,  abruptly transitioning into a tuneless hum as he starts brushing her teeth.  fixating to achieve nothing but a flawless finish,  he thoroughly brushes away at her teeth,  spending a little too long at her canines in awed fascination as his free hand remains gently cupped at her chin.  

five minutes later,  she is all freshly brushed and flossed but when he nears the end of wringing out the last bits of flesh between her teeth,  he is suddenly hyperaware of her blown out pupils following his every movement and his hands tremble slightly under her intense scrutiny.  he’s reluctant,  uncharacteristically shy,  to immediately meet her gaze so he draws out the last few moments for unnecessary extra flossing of her molars.  when he can no longer prolong the moment,  he looks up to meet her gaze and time seems to stop.  

blissfully unaware of their current situation and the context of the toothbrushing,  he is sucked into staring back at her hypnotic eyes,  the honeyed dark brown colour that means she is momentarily satisfied.  he doesn’t know how much time passes,  or whether such a concept even exists with a woman of her calibre,  he keeps staring back at her without much movement as she keeps staring back at him.  he realises that his hand is still cupping her chin although his hand holding her toothbrush is dropped far away from her mouth now.  yet he still holds her in his grasp whilst staring back,  a slight questioning behind his look as well as hers.  what are you thinking about right now  ?  how are you feeling in this moment  ?

he wants to say something but the words die on the tip of his tongue,  his brain halting him with a noiseless warning that he shouldn’t speak within this moment.  he remains questioning,  blinking his rounded eyes at her,  her toothbrush still tightly gripped in his other hand.  he desperately yearns to know how she feels.  does he need to go start making some tea now  ?

"  I’m here with you.  ”  the words spontaneously tumble out of his mouth since he feels a need to anchor them in the present tense and remind her himself that he is here for her.  removing his hand from her chin,  he rests on his chest earnestly instead.  “  I know you’re suffering a lot . . .  I feel it to with you.  but you will be fine.  we’ll get out of this together.  ”

the look she gives him mystifies him but she surprisingly rasps out a,  “  thank you.  ”  before spinning on her heel to walk away.

all that he is left behind with is the remnants of her blood staining his hands and soaked into the sleeves of his clothes.  he looks down at his bloody palms,  finding himself unwilling to completely wash himself straight away.  

is this how she feels too  ?

[sternenteile]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

tagged by:  @battleshell​  ;  we all care blue, u do, i do, we all do tagging:  holy shit my whole dash because exorbitantly long memes are the BEST. i aint even sarcastic when i say that, i love this kind of shit. u GOTTA do it.

my muse is:  canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO. [ he is in two fandoms, in fact. he is both a fan-favorite from super mario rpg, the very first in the line of mario rpgs we’ve gotten over the years, and a pretty popular smash bros. request. he even got a mii costume in 4 and a spirit in ultimate as a result of the love. he’s very beloved, to the point that i’d, even as a geno fan myself, deem him a bit overrated. why? b/c where is all the love for all the other smrpg characters!!! they are all good. i love them all. ]

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK. [ i mean ?? i’ve met and seen many people who have/had crushes on geno so ??????? but i don’t think it’s like. that. ghfskjhgsg??? ]

Is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK. [ oh yes, he is undeniably very strong, both in personality and in battle. he is often seen as the level-headed straight man of the party in smrpg (which, in the case of my geno, is... semi-applicable LMAO), a star spirit with unwavering bravery and confidence. his in-battle stats are also pretty crazy, favoring geno as a glass cannon and enemy sweeper. he is also the only character in the game to have a move that will insta-kill any enemy besides bosses. well, and exor. idk why exor, but there ya go. needless to say, pretty much everyone in the fandom agrees that geno is a powerful mfer. why wouldn’t a literal, living star be? ]

Are they underrated?  YES / NO / IDK. [ as i mentioned before, there is no shortage of him being underrated in the fanbase. i’d even say he’s a little overrated. some people treat smrpg as ‘that game with geno in it’ rather than everything else it has going for it. i love star boye as much as the next gal, but pls appreciate smrpg as a whole. it’s such a vibrant game with a colorful world of characters to love. ]

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO. [ he is actually, completely central to the plot. the subtitle of smrpg is legend of the seven stars, which directly relates to geno’s core mission: to find the seven star pieces and restore star road. the rest of the gang had different ambitions, but they all ended up banding together over geno’s objective. one could argue he mostly is the exposition-granter and could be replaced with anyone else, but i feel he’s irreplaceable. smrpg would be so different without him, like it or not. ]

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. [ i wouldn’t say he is the protagonist, obviously, as that is very much mario’s spot. that being said, he is a pretty obvious deuteragonist for smrpg, given how much the plot revolves around him. he’s relevant to mario, for sure, as well as peach, mallow, and bowser. he’s relevant to many characters beyond them. he represents the fight for everyone’s wishes to be able to come true. he’s, uh... very relevant rofl. ]

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO. [ the star spirits are somewhat known in the mario universe as entities capable of granting wishes, kinda like fabled gods with a tinge more evidence and reality to them. geno himself isn’t a known name, not like the seven star spirits of star haven, but his people are decently known. he, however, is not. ]

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. [ he is basically the epitome of ‘good’ until you overthink star society like i do lol. not all wishes can be granted, what constitutes as a ‘good wish’ is subjective, why some good wishes still can’t be granted anyway, etc. it puts him more towards neutral good with a dash of lawful and an undercurrent of chaotic, given his rebellion against his superiors. ]

How strictly do you follow canon?  —  i mean, it isn’t hard to be strict to mario canon when there isn’t that much of a foundation to work with anyway lol. it’s all rather simplistic until you get into the nitty gritty of it ??? that said, geno is built on a lot of headcanon. like, a lot a lot. star society and its rules for star spirits of his kind, his relationship with rosalina (a matronly figure), his relationship with the seven star spirits, the fleshing-out of his basic personality traits shown in smrpg, etc.? headcanon upon headcanon.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.  —  a star possessing the form of a children’s toy, like toy story but with more cosmic pew-pew. a chill and sassy guy still learning the ways of how earth (and other planets) work on a more intimate level, meaning there will be lots of adorkable moments as this curious one makes discoveries. sometimes attempts to innovate with what he learns to be ‘ahead of the curve’, leading to interesting results. (he likes to sip bubble tea, but replace the tapioca pearls with star bits. good result. mopping a counter-top because it would be ‘more efficient’? not-so-good result, got him lots of stares.) straight outta the 90′s, so be ready some of that rad 90′s slang and know-how from back in the day. (what do u mean they’re bringing back dunkaroos? that’d mean they stOPPED MAKING THEM?!?) very intrigued with new technology, became stuck to his smartphone upon discovering them, fell into the time-sink that is animal videos on youtube. he’s humble and likes to relax, have a good time, and relax w/ the squad. video games, netflix binges, the whole nine yards, he’s gotchu. he is a hell of a fighter and loves to fight, as well. help him push his abilities, and he’ll help you with yours.  likes being a little shit for fun, only to an extent (harmless moments of impishness, not serious, hurtful pranks). has a sense of humor that is easy to tickle, even with stupid dad jokes and classic puns. the brother-friend that will fire lasers at ur enemies for u. likes to play violin. cute. super cutie. v. tiny in his star form. almost five whole feet of sparkly, twinkly fun. likes super soakers.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).  —  despite intrigue to learn more about the world around him, there is only so much that he does know. societal norms are often beyond him, and there are just so, so many earth hobbies he is not aware of. without handing him a bone, it makes him a little more limited than someone who’s more savvy. he is prime slice-of-life material, but that may also make things rather dull in an rp without an extra twist to spice things up. (thankfully, his being a total SNOT sometimes helps with that.) in canon and strictly in canon, geno doesn’t really have much personality, something that this geno has plenty more fleshed out. a good chunk of fandom finds him to be incredibly boring and droll, to which i personally disagree, as there are little things in smrpg that hint towards him having more to explore.

What inspired you to rp your muse?  —  funnily enough, seeing smash bros. fandom railing on geno fans + hyping him up all at the same time made me revisit smrpg after having only played it as a teenager. i expected geno to be a boring slate of nothing like fandom often portrays him, but i found that i was terribly wrong. with a newfound perspective on him, noting little details that defied my expectations for this li’l guy, i decided to give him a geno whirl and see what kind of expansion i could do with his character. the amount of lore i came up with him and started wondering about piled on and on and on, and i realized that he had so much more potential than what nintendo and square properly tapped into. (some of it is also a matter of being timely, though, meaning later mario materials such as rosalina, star haven, etc.) i wanted to flex out that potential and see how much i could fill this little doll up with, and lo and behold, i rp him today with extensive amounts of development poured into him with love. to put it simply, there was so much untapped potential that i wanted to share with the world, to show geno the love and in-depth exploration that he deserved, to show that he was more than what he was given.

What keeps your inspiration going?  —  chattering about mario lore with pals, whether it relates to geno or not, reading, watching shows or videos that remind me of him, learning more about cosmology and the universe we live in (and boy, i’ve learned a lot of neat stuff!), revisiting my childhood (the 90′s) since it’s very geno-appropriate, drawing The Boye, literally anything to do with playing, watching, or doing ANYTHING with smrpg/paper mario 64/smg1&2, and probs a lot more. i’ve got a lot of fuel in me for this guy lol.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO / I SINCERELY HOPE I DO? [ on one hand, of course i hope that i do! on the other hand, i mean... nintendo and square don’t do jack for him, so i think almost anyone can do him more justice than they have, lbr. it’s... not hard... :’) ]

Do you frequently write headcanons?  YES / NO / SORT OF? [ ok i gotta just copy-paste what blue said in her response because my god, she nailed it: “you know when you have a concept and in your own mind you can see it clearly, without fuzziness or confusion, but you can’t seem to put it clearly into words without it turning into an essay because you need to connect all the other points that’s in the single concept you envisioned? yea.” basically, this but in spades, because i have a huge amount of headcanon and lore that i’ve either not gotten around to writing about yet or am purposefully staving off (wink wink). i have written a lot for him, though! it’s just... comparatively so little to what all i’ve thought up over-time. ]

Do you sometimes write drabbles?  YES / NO [ not! often! enough!!! ]

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO [ all i know is fine dining, breathing, and adorkable starman. ]

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO / SORT OF? [ funny enough, i’m pretty damn confident in my portrayal, albeit still very modest. i mean, i am at least confident that i give depth to a character that had so little, and i feel like geno is just... real. (not literally ofc i mean like, he FEELS realistic.) he’s got character perks, character flaws, strengths, weaknesses, personal issues, ongoing obstacles, relatable themes where appropriate, interests, knowledge (or lack thereof), daily routines... i could go on. if nothing else, i at least feel good about trying to make geno feel less like some exposition character and more like a person. considering he wants to achieve personhood that most of his kind never gets to find, it’s oddly poetic lmao. ]

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / NO. [ eehhhhh. i mean, i guess it’s fiiiIIINE, but i often feel like i lack a certain pizzazz, something that’ll keep people interested and intrigued with what i write, giving enough material for them to adequately bounce back. on the same token, i like to babble with my prose, so i often worry about going on and on and on way too much. stale, quantity over quality, substance-less writing is what i fuss over the most. ;; ]

Are you a sensitive person?  YES / NO. / SORTA. [ sensitive to empathy and other peoples’ emotions, yes. i’m an insanely empathetic person, and i have a lot of love to give. that said, with only few exceptions, i have a pretty iron-clad skin. sometimes, i daresay it’s to the point that i often misjudge what other people can take, and i feel i can end up being too harsh and forward. that being said, it is also a good thing at times. harsh or not, if i feel a certain way about something, i make that shit known and i make it known as loud as it necessarily should be. i don’t beat around the bush; rather, if i have a beef, i will make that beef known. consequently, if i have love to give, you damn well better be ready to swim in a pool of hearts and your favorite kind of cookie (if applicable). ]

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?  —  as long as it isn’t complaints with lack of substance/reasoning, yes! even if i may not always agree and may take things with a grain of salt, i am insanely receptive to criticism, even over the pickiest things. it’s something i’ve grown used to due to prior rp venues being particularly harsh. i will never throw a fit or act like a child if there is something i could do better with geno. in fact, there always will be! i’m not perfect, and i love to hear about ways i can improve and do better. it’s paramount in a hobby like this.

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?  —  LET’S-A FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?  —  sure, i’d love to know! it can make for some neat conversation!! c:

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?  —  that’s a’ight. i’m sure there are things about my geno that won’t resonate with everyone, especially given he’s a very sentimental character for old fogies like me lol. as long as there is no disrespect thrown this way, it’s all good. this stuff is subjective, after all.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?  —  oh, a lot of people really hate geno lol, but i’m guessing this means personal portrayal only. in such a case, i would be curious as to why, admittedly, but i acknowledge that i am not owed anyone’s reasoning. if they really, absolutely hate my geno, then it’s their prerogative, whether they want to give a reason why or not. again, it’s all good unless immaturity and disrespect rears its head. i won’t tolerate that and will ignore any such behavior.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?  —  sure, it happens to the best of us!

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?   —  i’d like to think that i am! i’ve often had people tell me that i’m very nice and mature, but of course, i have no right to say how i come off to other people. that is not in my territory to judge, only theirs. that being said, it’s not easy to upset me or anger me, and i’m more often willing to listen and pal around than not. i’m the living embodiment of (shrug). i am just (shrug).

[kolhearted-archived]

FOUR YEAR ANNIVERSARY STUFF

This wouldn’t be me if it had some sort of fancy banner, so you’re just gonna get my wall of text, lol. 

So when I decided to create a blog for Kol, I didn’t have any idea — ANY IDEA — what I was getting myself into. I was happily RPing in the Disney rpc with my Toy Story muse, and had amazing friends over there, lots of muse, and was really happy with where I was, RP-wise. 

But I’d just gotten back into The Originals, and had seen Kol’s comeback, and his story began to click for me. I needed that extra backstory — of seeing him, narratively, from the storyteller role and not just as an antagonist — to be able to really understand the potential of his character. We had a character who was introduced as a dark force, unpredictable, who was willing to get his hands dirty to achieve his goals. Originals fleshed out what he looks like from the other side of the story: his motivations, his relationship with his family, and what he is ultimately searching for. 

So I decided to make a Kol blog, but I was expecting it to be, like, not a big thing, you know? I was going to make him my “weekend blog” and I was going to have fun on him, but he wasn’t going to be my main muse. But as soon as I started digging into him, and realized how much room I had to grow and develop with a character who had SO MUCH untold story?? I fell really hard, and really fast. Soon, Kol was the only blog I was logging into. And faster than I realized it could happen, there were people who were responding to my version of him! I was being validated and galvanized to just keep going. 

I found this weird middle ground where I wasn’t apologizing for the horrific things Kol had done, but I wasn’t focusing on them, either. I was worried about making this blog because I don’t write viciousness that well. I don’t want a character who is in CONSTANT fight mode. I didn’t want every single interaction to be Kol hunting someone, Kol hurting someone. 

The last four years has been a series of ups and downs, character-wise. There have been things I’ve tried that have worked really well, and stayed with my portrayal of Kol! And there have been things that really needed to be brought back to the drawing board. Everything has been important and it’s definitely made me a stronger writer. 

I want to say THANK YOU to everyone who’s stuck it out, through huge changes on my blog, through me backing away from Kol for times when my inspiration was low, through personal ups and downs which played with my strength as a writer. The opportunities I have are because I have people willing to try things out with me. I appreciate you all so much. 

lots of thank you notes under the cut

@seesgood: I want to make this long but I’m going to try to make everyone’s short and sweet. Thank you for taking a chance on a really new blog and being down to figure out what a Caroline/Kol interaction should look like. Thank you for being my Grove sister and I wouldn’t be half the Kol I am without you. 

@herstolenson: Thank you so much for finding a way to work Matty into Kol’s life so flawlessly, and thank you for giving our muses the time they needed to figure out what they wanted from this dynamic. Thank you for always being there when I’m having a rough day and just need to whine, and thank you for making Matty <3

@outlawiism: Thank you for always following me no matter where my muse takes me. Thank you for being there almost from the very beginning of my indie career, and thank you so much for the genuine support I’ve always felt whenever I talk to you! Thank you for being the Glitter Queen™ and giving so many people reasons to smile. I am always so humbled to be your friend. 

@hauntedgilbert: Thank you for giving me the opportunity to explore the Kol/Jeremy dynamic the way I had so desperately wanted to! Thank you for talking me through Jeremy’s side of things so we could figure out what was happening in any situation. Thank you for always being down to make something crazy, just because it’d be fun. Thank you for all of the AUs and angst that you brought along the way!

@fiercerebekah: Thank you for being there from like the VERY beginning! Thank you for showing me what an “established” blog looks like, and the real fun that can come from sitting with a muse for an extended amount of time. Thank you for the shenanigans you’re always willing to offer up, and for always letting me know what Rebekah’s thoughts are about what Kol does.

@ladamedemartel: Thank you for bringing different aspects to a character who did not originally have that many layers. Thank you for introducing us all to Aurora and allowing us to interact with her! Thank you for always being so fun to talk to, to debate with, and to bounce ideas back and forth.

@hardcoreproved: Thank you for creating the bizarre and delightful ship that is Kol/Bubbles. Thanks for figuring out what that would look like with me, and the why and the how! Thank you for always being one of the single most patient partners, and always know that even when I’m elsewhere and just bobbin along, I see what you’re making with Bubbles and I’m just like “that’s my girl!!!”

@portectorisms: Thank you for bringing some consistency to my blog!! We’ve been following each other forever, and the times we interact are always so much FUN and honestly, I want to make it more of a thing. Whether we have one thread or one hundred, though: thank you so much for your constant encouragement and support. 

@grawpiish: Thank you for being so encouraging, and for reminding me how long it’s been that we’ve been in each other’s orbit! Thank you for writing an amazing character, creating depth where there wasn’t any in his canon. Thank you for giving me chances to practice my graphics skills, and thank you for reaching out again so we could reconnect!

@hiddensteel: Thank you SO MUCH for the moments I see you popping in to interact with my posts, to offer advice or support or encouragement. Thank you for writing with my smaller muses, even though I neglect them for so, so long. Thank you for writing an amazing Sansa and giving her the love she so deserves. 

@asundrop: Thank you for being one of the first people to really challenge how soft a character could be with Kol. Thank you for dealing with him with a more tender touch, for seeing the scars that are around him and what his potential really is. Thank you for being a rock and a pillar in my RP life, because you, Polli, are a constant for me. 

@anditsxsorrows: Thank you for crreating such a wonderful portrayal of Nik, and sharing it with us. Thank you for the sheer amount of time we’ve been in each other’s orbits, and the ups and downs, character wise, we’ve seen each other’s blogs through. Thank you for sticking with Nik so long and providing such a wonderful pathos to his character. You are an inspiration!

@predictableisnotbad: No matter how much time has passed since we’ve last spoken, you’re always so ready to jump back in and have fun. Thank you for your dedication to Alice, and the depth you’ve brought out in her. Thank you even more for being a constant source of support for me, even and especially when I feel like I don’t deserve it. You are a special and kind light and I am so grateful that you are around. 

@oliverqxeen: Thank you for your friendship, because it means way more to me than I can ever really say. Thank you for being a source of constancy and support when my anxiety gets bad, or when I back off because my nerves and my thoughts are telling me things that aren’t real. Thank you for always being funny, and for really giving so many people the permission to push against canon if it doesn’t make sense. Thank you for being such an amazing writer and a friend that I don’t deserve. 

@yovrstruely: Thank you for always being there, in one form or another! Thank you for always showing how much fun it can be to RP, and for always being true to your muses. Thank you for dancing back into my life, and for offering advice whenever I ask for it. You make the dash feel a little less like I’m yelling into a void sometimes!

@prlman: Thank you for not taking the fact that I know virtually and literally nothing about your muse as a reason why we shouldn’t interact. Thank you so much for sitting down with me and figuring out a way for our muses to meet, for their universes to collide and crossover, and for making Elio one of the very first baby vamps in Kol’s new sire line. I’ve gotten to know Elio a bit better over time — though I still haven’t read or watched his source material, oops — but you’ve provided so many opportunities for us over the years and I so desperately appreciate it. 

@relishingvampirism: Thank you for always supporting my blog. You like and comment on so many of my posts, and really make it feel like someone’s watching and gives a care. Honestly, I constantly feel like I don’t deserve it. You make me feel so seen and I appreciate it so damn much. I see it. 

@crimscnmalice: Thank you for every moment I’ve run to you to ask for help and you’ve been there. Thank you even more for the times when I didn’t need something and we were able to just talk about life, about our geography, about our characters and what it’s like to find yourself and your creative well in a muse. Thank you for everything you do for the RPC, and a little more selfishly, everything you’ve done for me. You are an amazing person and I am so grateful when you turn your attention to me. 

@zcldrizes: Thank you for your constant support, no matter what blog I’m on! Thank you for your enthusiastic encouragement with my portrayal, because getting that “stamp of approval” from a blog I admired so much felt like the sun was shining on me. Thank you for all you’ve done for the GOT RPC and the RPC in general. Every muse I’ve seen you pick up is done with such depth and care. Thank you for letting me be a small part of the world you’ve built for your muses. 

@tocxmply / @killthebxy: Thank you so. damn. much. And I can’t even begin to count the reasons why. Thank you for showing me just how far a crossover could handle going while still being IC with the brotp that is Kol and Jon. Thank you for humoring me on Becky ( but I want to talk more about Kol rn ) and everything you do. But beyond all of that, thank you so much for always being someone so willing and ready to be a source of positivity in the RPC. Your cloak of protection is something I will always remember. Your messages to people are always thoughtful and personal and I feel so humbled being in a place with someone as light and good as you. 

@atomiism: Thank you for giving me the opportunity to explore Kol as a sire. Thank you for your amazing Ray, and giving me even the littlest chance of writing with him, because as soon as we started plotting, I couldn’t contain my excitement. Thank you for the moments together that we’ve gotten, and please know that I cherish each and every reply we get done. 

@fire-hoes: Tagging you over here, but honestly this counts for any blog. Thank you for your enthusiastic support and encouragement you’ve offered me over the years. You made me feel like I was a part of something real and really special and I always felt so honored and grateful whenever we talked. Thank you for your support that spans muses for both of us, and always being up to trying something new. You are one of my true constants around here, and I am so, so, so, so grateful for you. 

@itsgclden: Thank you for all of the time you’ve put into Rapunzel, because every time I see your posts, I just get so excited and sit down and read. Thank you for being willing to find ways for Kol and Rapunzel to interact. Thank you for the light you spread on the dash. Thank you for caring so much about someone who is so special to me, because I always feel like they’re in good hands. Thank you for being a real-life Rapunzel and spreading light and happiness. 

@livevl: Thank you for encouraging me no matter what blogs we’re currently on. Thank you for always being one of the first people to remind me that there’s someone in my corner always, and that you like what I’m dong here. Thank you for being that special kind of person who reaches out and says a kind word, because there aren’t a lot of people who think to do that, and it really matters. You make it feel less isolating on here. You are so damn good, so damn special, and so damn talented. I always feel a great pressure of gratitude when I think that I have the support of someone as amazing as you. 

[jhsbrat]

stories that never were pt. 3

you love it when he gives you head, you hate it when he gives you headaches

genre: stories that never were pt. 3, fwb au

word count: 1,635

warnings: essentially just porn with slight angst at the end 

“Jung-kook,” you whine, dragging out the last syllable of his name petulantly. “Don’t make me beg!”

The boy lifts his head up from between your thighs, a small smile plastered across his face. “I wouldn’t exactly mind that, you know.”

You roll your eyes and slither your hand down to find purchase on his head, fingers tugging on his hair in encouragement. He gets the message and soon enough his tongue is back to licking at your core. 

Slamming your head down against your pillow, you release a groan and feel your legs tighten involuntarily around Jungkook’s head. He hums, but makes no move to find release from your confines. He picks up his hand from its clutch on your knee and slowly slides it up your inner thigh, pausing to squeeze at the meaty part before it meets your pelvis. He pinches, but releases the skin before you could let out your squeal of indignation. 

You’ve told him before that you hate it when he paws at you like that, withholding the fact that it reminds you too much of your former dance teacher pulling at the extra fat on your arms and frowning in disapproval. He had only looked up from his phone at you for a moment, eyes blinking and hand still absentmindedly gripping the flesh underneath your ass, right before the crevice of your legs. 

“Why? You’re soft. And warm. It feels nice.”

You let him have at it after that. 

“Fuck, oh fuck, I-“ your eyes squeeze shut and your back arches up off the bed, reacting to the boy’s ministrations below. He just spreads you wider, tugging at you until your legs were splayed open for him. Jungkook gives head like he eats his meals (see: very messy) but you were never one to complain, appreciating the way his enthusiasm lent itself to the tightly coiling heat in your belly. It made you hot knowing how into eating you out he would get, how you’d never have to ask for it because he wanted it just as much as you did. 

The wet of his mouth pulls away and you crack open an eye just in time to see him stick two fingers between his lips and swirl them around his tongue. His gaze locks on your own as he withdraws the fingers from his mouth with a ‘pop!’, disconcertingly loud in the quiet of his room, and brings them down to play by your entrance. 

“Is this okay?” He whispers into your ear, teeth catching on the lobe. You give a jerky nod, desperate, and it’s electrifying to know that even though this is probably the millionth time you’ve found yourself in Jungkook’s bed, he still treats it like it’s the very first. 

He bends his head back down and latches his lips over your clit at the same moment he decides to push his fingers into your entrance. A suck and a push, and you’re shuddering, it all too much at once. He doesn’t tease, moving fast, and you’re half grateful for it. The other half of you feels rabid, feral, scared of tipping off the cliff into the white-hot pleasure Jungkook’s tongue promises you. His lips release their hold for a moment, softly speaking into your pussy.

“Let go,” he coos, other hand reaching up to caress your belly, rubbing right over where the heat had begun to build since you first stepped foot into Jungkook’s room and saw him shirtless, fresh from the shower. “Look at me and let it go, baby.” 

Fighting against your every other instinct, you force your eyes open to look down at the boy between your legs. His gaze is hooded, soft eyelashes fluttering as he returns to sucking at your clit. You run a shaky hand through his freshly washed hair and he looks up at you, eyes dark. It scares you and thrills you all at the same time, and you can’t bring yourself to look away. Then he moves his tongue down to join his fingers within you and you feel something snap inside, vision going white.

Jungkook nurses you through it, hands only softly petting at the skin of your hips when you yank at his hair and squeeze your legs shut. The tremors shake you and he just kisses the flesh of your inner thigh until it's over, your shaky breath finally catching up to your lungs. He gives your center one last lick, your thighs clenching from the overstimulation, before picking his head up to kiss you, his tongue slithering in between your lips. Your mouth falls open and you groan at the taste of yourself. 

“You’re so conceited.”

You offer him a small shrug and give one last peck on his mouth before swinging your legs over the side of the bed to stand up. But before you could rise to your feet, you’re yanked back down onto the mattress. Head bouncing against the pillow, you exhale in surprise and blink to see Jungkook hovering above you. 

“Nuh-uh, we’re not doing that again. I’m hard as fuck and you’re going to take care of it.” He says before leaning down to bite ferociously at your neck in warning.

“I have work!” You whine and squirm under his hold, fingers coming up to twist savagely at his nipple in retaliation.  

“Funny how you think that doesn’t just turn me on more,” Jungkook rolls his hips down against you, the bulge in his boxers painfully evident. You pretend like there isn’t drool building in your mouth at the feeling.   

Splaying your limbs out, you assume a position not unlike a starfish. “Fine, but I’m not doing any work.”

“I expected nothing less,” Jungkook snorts, rising up to his knees for a moment to pull off his underwear, struggling with how skintight the briefs had become from the sweat of eating you out. You admire the way he looks in the afternoon light streaming through his window, marveling at the thought that you had only come over to pick up your leotard you were sure was left somewhere on his bedroom floor and will now end in you arriving at least twenty minutes late to the lesson you were supposed to be teaching. But then again, it seemed fitting, considering that’s essentially how this relationship had started.

He had slotted himself between your legs, spit-slicked cock beginning to push into you while you were lost in thought, and you weren’t expecting the way he dragged harshly against your insides. Neither of you were fooling anyone with the idea that saliva could be a sufficient replacement for lube. But you knew rough would get him off faster and lord knows you should have been out the door five minutes ago.  

“Shit,” he huffs, drawing back slowly only to slam into you all at once. “This is embarrassing.”     

“Mhmm?” You hum in question, playing with the baby hairs at his nape, trying to convince yourself not to get hot and bothered again because you simply don’t have the time. 

“You don’t even have to do anything and I’m already about to blow,” he groans, the vein in his neck strained. “Just a couple strokes and I’m ready to cum like a- oh fuck.” 

You clench around him at that moment, grinning and stretching up to bite at the tip of his nose. “Go on, then. Do it. Fill me up.” 

The boy above you whimpers into your ear and you know you’ve hit gold. “Yeah? You like that? The thought of emptying your balls into me and filling me up?”

Jungkook pants heavy against your neck, thrusting faster. You lick at the sweat dripping down his temple and go on. “I want it, you know. Wanna go teach this class with your cum plugging me up. Wanna think about you and only you, on the bus, in the studio. When I get back home and play with myself again, your cum dripping between my legs and only you on my mind.”

“Oh, fuck me.” He tenses, muscles pulled taut, and suddenly, you feel his climax inside you, splashing within. Jungkook continues to give shaky thrusts through it all, rocking softly against your body until it’s over and he’s fallen limp on top of you. 

“Fucking Christ, you’re disgusting,” he grunts, but makes no move to get off, content with catching his breath while crushing you under his weight. You squirm from beneath him until he rolls away, cock exiting from between your legs with a loud squelch. 

“Gross,” you mutter to yourself and stand up to stretch momentarily, like a cat in the sun. He watches you, chest still heaving, as you scurry around the room to collect your things. His hand reaches out to circle around your wrist when you pass by again, stopping your movements long enough for you to look down at the boy. 

“Y’know, there’s that old movie you like playing at the theater downtown. I was thinking-“

You cut him off before he could finish. “No. That wasn’t what we agreed on, remember? Just sex.”

He blinks rapidly, a soft blush dusting across his cheeks. “Right, yeah. Of course, sorry.” He reaches over onto the nightstand to grab a clean washcloth, wordlessly handing it over to you to clean up with. You look at it, then back at him, before tossing it back onto the nightstand without using it and bending over to shimmy your underwear up your legs. The cotton material meets your dripping center and becomes immediately becomes sticky, but you ignore it in favor of pulling on the rest of your clothes. 

You turn back to him, Jungkook’s mouth now agape, to give him a quick peck on the cheek before hurrying out the door. “See you later!” 

e/n: haha geddit? he’s eating a cookie in the header?

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Live a Little [Part 2] Small Talk [Billy Hargrove]

Tag List: @speedmetalqueen​

Something strange is happening in Hawkins; the earth is sour.

By the time you return home on Wednesday, Hopper is there. His shrill and revolting Blazer is parked in the grass next to the company truck your Pops got from his boss at the mill. This concerns you a little – your Pops works long hours, so he isn’t usually home until 4 – but other than missing curfew, you feel as if you’ve done nothing to warrant Hopper’s attention.

It’s not unusual to see him here; at your house, having a drink with your father. They do this on occasion, but since the mess with the Buyer’s family, you haven’t seen him much. Which is why you feel anxious as you step up onto the front porch and greet him – neither he or your Pops look to be in a good mood.

“Been waiting on ya, girl. I had to take off work for Jim here to come and have a look at the field,” your father snaps. He spits tobacco juice over the railing and gives Hopper a dirty look.

This does not go by unnoticed as Hopper gives him one back. “Don’t blame this on me, you old bastard. You called me, remember?”

You pucker a brow. What could they be talking about? “I stayed over for a little bit; the drama teacher asked me to help her set up the stage. What is this about?”

“I just have some questions for you about the pumpkin patch,” Hopper mentions. He gestures towards your father. “Clark says you were the first to notice them … rotting and shit.”

You snort – police work does not suit him. “Yeah, before I left for school on Monday.”

“Same thing is happening all over town,” Hopper states. “Mind showing me where you first saw it.”

Your father shakes his head. He mumbles under his breath, but doesn’t say no. Instead he spits over the railing again, and walks into the house with a huff. You understand why; the same question eludes you. Why does Hopper need you to show him?

The anxious feeling in your gut comes to life again, but regardless you lead Hopper off the porch and towards the field.

A few meters from the house you see the damaged patches. It smells awful, but you suck it up and trek on.

“Right over there is where I first noticed it. Pops set up a marker to remind himself so he could section off the bad from the good,” you explain. You point towards the metal post sticking out of the ground.

Hopper moves towards it, but you stay just outside of the border, so not to ruin your school shoes – Momma would have a cow. As he examines the husks of rotten fruit, you notice that the rate of decay seems to have increased since the last time you checked. Just about all of the plants are dead now; it’s a real mess. Bacteria from the earth slowly eats away at the fruit from the inside out, then webs on to the next patch, like a flesh eating virus.

“What do you think about all this? Seen anything like it before?”

You shrug to his question. “I have no earthly idea what happened to them; Pops is pissed though. He thinks someone is poisoning our field.” But who would do that to a bunch of pumpkins? Halloween is about the only season anyone would want one; there’s no money in it.

Hopper draws your attention with a snort. “Not this bullshit again. Every farmer in this damn town is putting blame on Merrill or Eugene; it’s more than that.”

“Then what do you believe is causing it? I thought at first the soil was too moist, but I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Maybe … hell I don’t know,” he answers. Sloshing back through the mud and the pumpkin innards, he stands beside you and lights a cigarette. “I got enough shit to worry about right now.”

Taking a drag, he sighs. “There ever been a time when you got mad at your Pops? But … all he did was try to protect you. Know what I’m trying to say? Like you thought he was being unfair when he wasn’t.”

You nearly laugh. He’s obviously got something on his mind, but with how prudent he is with his feelings, you doubt he will ever tell you.

“Only about a hundred times,” you confess. “I’ve even went as far as locking myself in my room for hours just to show him how pissed I was at him.”

You remember those times like it were yesterday; a gentle smile pulls at your lips. “But you know … once I calmed down a bit and thought it over, I realized that he was only trying to keep me safe. He was right to be scared; I could have been hurt. It made me so damn mad to be made out like a unpleasant child.”

“What did ya do? Take him on?”

You shake in disagreement. “I did nothing. He’s my father, and I love him. Be nothing like him, but always listen; that’s what he’d tell me.”

“Because you love him ––

Not sure if he means to say this out loud, you choose not to make a response. It doesn’t matter; Hopper will figure it out.

What concerns you is the state of the crops. If whatever is causing the ground to sour continues to spread, then nothing may ever grow on this land again. Who knows the course of action your father will take. He may even sell the farm.

Then what will you do? No farm means no second source of income if the symptoms should escalate.

“Looks like it might rain,” Says Hopper suddenly.

You glance up. Sure enough the sky is dull and gray.

--

Hopper should have been a soothsayer – his intuition is on the mark. The rain soaks you to the bone within minutes of stepping outside of the truck.

You can't stand that you know this word; soothsayer. Your brother is such a nerd, it’s hard to ignore the terms of Dungeons & Dragons when he prattles on day in and day out about them.

This little bit of information is just small talk; a distraction to keep your mind from focusing on the cool bite of the rain as it comes into contact with your skin. Horrible timing is what it is.

You throw a curse at your mother for putting you in this situation, and your brother for wanting to hang out with his friends on a dreary day such as this. It can’t be helped though. You doubt either of them knew it was going to rain.

Even so, it would not hurt the brat to meet you by the truck. Having to get out and jog across the parking lot of the arcade to fetch him made you want to scream. You cover your head the best you can, but the damage is all ready done.

Biting your tongue in annoyance, you make a dash for the door, but something catches your eye.

The frizzy haired girl is there. She stands under the awning so not to get wet. Your mind is full of questions, but honestly you doubt she even remembers you.

Passing by her with your head down, you enter the arcade and search for the brat. He’s not hard to find; he is near the Dig Dug machine with his friends. Reluctant as he is to leave – some jazz about beating a high score – you manage to bribe him with a promise to give Dungeons & Dragons a try. He agrees with a smile and follows you out.

As you step under the awning, the girl with the frizzy hair comes to mind again. She is still there. You notice that she doesn’t have her skateboard and wonder if she’s waiting for the rain to stop. Your brother goes to the truck without you.

“Do you maybe need a ride? The rain isn’t going to let up anytime soon.”

Her eyes move to you and widen a bit. “I can wait.”

Shy maybe. You aren’t sure. As an alternative, you offer her money for the payphone. She takes it with hesitancy, and goes inside to make her call. Minutes later, she returns and gives you back the extra change.

“Look … if you’re doing this to get points with Billy, then you’re going about it wrong,” she explains with a scowl. “He and I aren’t exactly close.”

You figure she means Goldie. Heat spreads to your face. “Consider it payback for the awkward first encounter we had.”

“You’re not the first; trust me. But you are the first girl he’s brought home that doesn’t fit his type.”

You knot your brows in confusion. “His type?”

She leans close. “You know … a slut.”

This almost makes you snort in laughter. You cover up your mouth to hide a smile. I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess.

Raising up your hand, you offer it to her. “I’m [Y/N] by the way.”

She nods her head. “I’m Max.”

Max? Not hard to remember.

A horn suddenly goes off across the parking lot and you shoot a glare at your brother as he urges you to hurry. He can be so impatient sometimes.

“It was nice meeting you Max. Don’t hesitate to ask if ever you need a ride.”

She nods again. “I’ll remember that.”

You wave and head back into the rain. This was embarrassing, but a least you don’t feel so much like an idiot now that you’ve introduced yourself to Max. You just hope this doesn’t get back to Billy. No telling how he’d take it.

Talk about awkward.

[theshinsun]

Hello again! Here I am sending more 😂 Do you mind doing character thing with Kasamatsu, Imayoshi, Wakamatsu and Otsubo? If it's too much, can you do with the first three? Thank you 💕

Hello again! ^^ (So sorry for the delay I was half done and then I got hit with homework and classes and didn’t have much time to do more analyses, but they’re done for the week now! I’m free!) 

I don’t mind at all! But if it’s alright with you, I probably will just do those first three, not just because it’ll be ridiculously long otherwise, but because I don’t really? think I have any strong specific feelings for Otsubo? Idk why, I like him I just didn’t connect that much with him I don’t think... but I’ll gladly talk about the others!

Kasamatsu

How I feel about this character

GOOD SENPAI. I love this guy so much and wish he got to interact with more of the cast, I really vibe with his character design (his eyes are just... damn, also SOCKS), and I love the relationship he has with his team. He’s ruthless but obviously cares about all of them working together well, and is just looking for the respect he’s due as captain. Boy puts up with so much bullshit from his team of chaotic flaky weirdos, someone needs to cut him a break.  

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Kise (KiKasa ftw, the character development Kise goes through because of Kasamatsu is excellent, and almost instantaneous after he joins the team [“I liked being Kise of Kaijo”]. it’s really easy to interpret his behavior toward Kasamatsu as a crush; there’s no denying they’ve got chemistry and work well together... and even tho Kise drives his senpai nuts, they obviously both care about each other a lot)

Aomine (I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. They have one [1] interaction in canon, but that one interaction sold it for me. Aomine showing deference to someone and calling them “senpai”, helping him up after he got knocked down which seems... pretty unusual for him at the time, I’m so down for these two being in a relationship, it’s such a different dynamic than I usually see with pairings featuring Aomine, and there seems to be some legit respect to build off of there)

Imayoshi (I blame Lysapadin’s fic The Long Game for this, the way these two play off each other there and also canonically is... hilarious, the flirting, the Banter, please give me more quality captain ships I have a need) 

Hyuuga (MORE QUALITY CAPTAIN SHIPS. I talked about them a little in my list for Hyuuga, but I just love the idea of both of these tough, exasperated captains getting to be vulnerable with each other)

and this one is a crossover but

Oikawa Tooru (maybe because he reminds me so much of Kise, and Kasamatsu so much like Iwaizumi, I feel like they’d have a similar dynamic, but it’d be interesting to see how, unlike Kise, a hardworking somewhat self-destructive person and a fellow third-year like Oikawa would get on with this guy.) 

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Hmmm.... I’m gonna have to say Imayoshi again, even tho they work together as a couple too. The way they interact is so good, whether it’s platonic or not, and I’d love to see more one-on-one interaction with them. It could just be because the way Lysapadin handles their respective personalities in multiple fics is so perfect, but if they’re not romantically involved I’d at least like to see them as snarky semi-begrudging basketball buddies. 

My unpopular opinion about this character

I don’t know? If I have one? Mostly bc I don’t really know what the fandom itself thinks about Kasamatsu, he didn’t get a lot of press even in KNB’s heyday. A random opinion/hc of him tho is he seems to be a bit of a pessimist. Whenever he’s commentating he’s just talking about how the team’s gonna lose, and even before his own game he seemed to just be thinking about how he lost before. Idk what else to give ya, just something I observed that I don’t really see talked about or portrayed for this guy.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

*deep inhale* MOOORE SCREEEENTIME. And not just as a commentator/attachment to Kaijo where Kise hogs the spotlight, give this guy some time to interact with other characters and flesh him out some more please! I know I’m a broken record but that’s the only thing I can think of to improve him.

Imayoshi

How I feel about this character

I didn’t used to have much opinion of this guy tbh, when I was new to KNB… but NOW, damn, I love him every time he appears. He’s hilarious, I love how sassy and clever he is, I love that he has an accent (tho it’s only pointed out in the manga), I love that he gets to have little tidbits, like that he’s bad at drawing but good at mind-reading, and how he wears slippers in a school environment and just goes around teasing everyone, whether they’re teammates or opponents. Love this guy. I love how extra he is and I’m living every time he’s on screen.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Aomine (ok I talked about this quite a bit already in my Aomine rant analysis, and I mostly blame Lysapadin’s A Firm Hand series, but I just can’t get enough of the idea of these two together… [also this comic ] Imayoshi taking Aomine in hand and knowing how to handle him when no one else does, and gradually warming up to him when he stops playing tough and finally shows his soft side. good shit)

Momoi (also probably bc of A Firm Hand, but I could see these two having a very interesting relationship. They’re both extremely smart, and good at understanding people, and I really like the idea of Imayoshi taking Momoi under his wing so she doesn’t have to suffer in silence and handle everything by herself. I feel like they’d be surprisingly sweet to each other, but lesbehonest, also a potentially terrifying power couple that I almost never see done)

Kasamatsu (again, just like above, a unique dynamic and a lovely rarepair that doesn’t get talked about enough. they didn’t get nearly enough time to play off each other in canon but what we did see was damn good) 

Hanamiya (ok so… I’m not immune to this ship. I’ve seen some art, a couple fics, and it doesn’t seem to be much of a thing anymore, but still, why the hell not. they’ve got history, they’re both smart slightly evil [or very evil] shits, and they’d be such a disaster of a couple that’s why I love them)

My non-romantic OTP for this character

If not Kasamatsu, then probably Susa. They only got a little time to bond in canon, but I do love their dynamic and how chill they seem to be with each other. They remind me of a team mom/dad duo (tho I couldn’t tell you which was which lol). I could probably be talked into shipping them romantically, but I also just like the way they get along as friends and teammates. 

My unpopular opinion about this character

This is more an argument I keep having with my sister… but I actually, genuinely like this guy’s design. She thinks he looks creepy and too evil and doesn’t like that his eyes are drawn closed, but esp in the manga, he looks really polished and I like that you can tell when he gets serious by whether you can see his eyes open. (or as I say to my roommate “oh shit he’s got eyes they’re in trouble”)

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I wish we got to see more of him just hanging with his team. Idk maybe I’m biased, but I feel like Touou in particular doesn’t get that much time devoted to, like, practice and normal everyday shit (maybe bc we got to see Kaijo twice and Shuutoku got a whole training camp plus some, but all we get of them is the hot springs scene and a very short scene at the beginning and end of the show imeanwhat) I would’ve liked to get to know this guy better and see more of how he runs his very strange individualized team, but that could just be me.  

Wakamatsu

How I feel about this character

My dude puts up with so much shit. I mean the first we see of him he’s getting kneed in the stomach by a certain dickish first-year, and he just always seems… so done with what’s going on around him. When he’s not yelling about it, which… mood, tbh. He’s relegated to little more than a background character in the anime, and only gets a liiiittle more development in the manga (as well as lots of really good faces), but tbh I’d love to see more of him. I’d love to know what he’s like as a captain and see more of how he gets along with the team; he’s the kind of hotheaded noisy player they make into the protagonist of other shows and I want to know more about him.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Momoi (k a couple of my friends @spaztictwitch and @hadenxcharm actually sold me on this one. It’s a really really rare pair, but now I can’t stop thinking about it and I really like the possibilities of them as a couple.)

Aomine (again I talked a little bit about this in my Aomine essay, but I’m a sucker for this kind of ship… the love/hate dynamic, I mean. that doesn’t get old does it. and yet I don’t think I’ve ever seen content for these guys together, maybe I should take it on myself)

Sakurai (hot-tempered senpai/captain and anxious apologetic mushroom, sign me tf up these two would be Hilarious as a pairing, oh my god. I love it)

Kiyoshi (k listen. LISTEN. yes all I’ve got is the fact that they’re both centers and they only interact, like, twice, but the idea popped into my head and I think I could actually totally see it. any takers?)

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Imayoshi. I don’t know if I’d ship them as a romantic pair (tho like with most things, if someone made a good case for them I’d consider it), but I do like their canonical interactions, like Imayoshi explaining the exceptions made for prodigies in sports (“do you know the golfer Tiger Woods? How about Shaq?”), and passing the proverbial hat to him when he retires as captain (“no worries, you’ll do fine!” like he’s reassuring a new parent or smth lmao). They’re good teammates even if Touou is not really about teamwork, and I like the mutual respect in how they seem to get along.

My unpopular opinion about this character

Not just a one-note guy who yells all the time. I mean, yes, he does yell and he’s got a short temper, but so does Kagami and people don’t portray him as a guy with only one emotion and that emotion is Anger. I mean… usually they don’t. Idk maybe it’s because most of his screentime involves him butting heads with Aomine, but he seems to get along with the rest of the team alright. He respects his seniors and the spirit of the team too, he’s just an all-around good guy that seems to get the short end of the stick a lot.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I have a MIGHTY NEED to see how this guy does as captain, I want to know how he does things differently than Imayoshi and how he handles all the bullshit the team throws now that it’s all gonna be landing on his shoulders. We only got a tiny scene at the end of the show demonstrating his policy about Aomine, and we barely saw him at all in the Last Game, is he doing okay?? Is he ruling Touou with an iron fist or getting into screaming matches with his kouhai? I need to Know.

Thanks so much for asking, I really appreciate the show of interest! <3 Sorry again about the delay!

[ddaenqu]

Responsibility

pairings: yandere student!yoongi x teacher!reader

themes: angst, yandere AU, teacherxstudent AU, highschool AU

tags: obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, toxic behavior/relationship, unhealthy behavior/relationship, age gap (not really, hes eighteen in here), threatening, mentions of suicide, suicide threats, slightly implied submissive yoongi, angst, slight fluff, taboo relationships (!!!), implications of abuse/domestic abuse

based off the prompt: “You make every day worth living.”

Being a teacher meant responsibility.

Responsibility, you remind yourself with a heavy sigh leaving your lips. The bitter cold nipping against your bare skin and your pajamas feeling heavy on your body, the fabric tickles your skin as the cold air roams against you.

Being a teacher meant being caring, you remind yourself. Your thumping heart was all you could hear, your ears failed to listen to the neighborhood dogs barking, or an odd shout from passing drunks.

Understand—your students. Your nails delve into the thick paint coated onto the wood of the door, holding it open wide enough for entry, but your feeble body blocking the entryway.

He whispers your name, clutching the hems of his shirt as his face shifts between pure agony and malice, he was still wearing his uniform. His hair is just as gray as you remembered it being the day he had dyed it, trudging into your class with an aloofness hanging around him as if he was drunk. Pulling out his chair from his desk, plopping himself down and giving you the widest gummy smile ever.

The tips of his hair are pressed flush against his forehead, he was sweating and breathing heavily. He ran, the thought ticks in your mind.

Being a teacher meant responsibility.

“Let me in, please,” he begged, his body is rigid under your collective gaze. He can feel the blunt dislike of your attention to him.

The tears falling down his face draw the fire out of your feelings, two sides battling against the odds and the evens. More falls and slides down his face, leaving tear marks.

At that moment, you know you shouldn’t have opened the door. You shouldn’t have gotten out of bed. You should’ve just let it be.

You let out a painful breath, forcing your freezing legs to move to the side and your body following sluggishly behind, your mind is still in a disarray by the time you see the gray-haired boy walk in. He lets out a sniffle and uses his yellow sweater to wipe at his face, his nose crinkles whenever he inhales.

Responsibility.

The idea has been ingrained into your head from all the morning and afternoon meetings, the tyrannical-like beings that often told you to take it, and the time you had stared at your degree. Responsibility came with knowledge, of course.

You were smart, you told yourself. Smart enough to know his tears weren’t real.

“I tried to get a hold of you before coming,” he states calmly, a few cracks here and there in his voice as he watches you come around the brown leather couch he was sitting on.

His gaze slices into your skin once you choose to sit on the opposing chair that sat across. You can feel him narrow his eyes in disdain, but when you look up at him, all you see is a worried look and puffy eyes staring at the floor.

His feet are moving around in tiny movements, you knew that habit. He was nervous.

You had gotten the messages he sent, only reading a few when your curiosity got the best of you. You only listened to the vibration of your phone as they went on and on, one after another, every minute and hour that passed. By the time you had checked his latest message, it was just a slur of words that weren’t even coherent for your eyes to unscramble. Your hands were shaking and clammy against the flimsy, plastic phone case by the time you had scrolled up to find that he was coming to your place, your safe place.

You didn’t have to let him know that you saw it, you could say no and deny it, and yet—you feel like he already does.

“Yes, I know—”

“Whatever I did, I’m sorry,” he cuts in unexpectedly, and his body is leaned forward slightly. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

The angry, hot tears begin to grace themselves down his face slowly, taunting you.

He leans forward and grasps his hair, tugging at them harshly as quiet sobs left his lips, the tears falling onto the ground. You try not to look, but your eyes pull themselves to his visible neck, the dark bruises littered about on the pale skin and the gray scars that resemble too much like a cigarette bud.

You heave out another sigh, more shaky than the last, your body feels uncomfortable. 

“Yoongi,” you call with a tense tone, filled with uncertainty on what you were supposed to do, “stop.”

He doesn’t stop. He tugs and tugs at his gray hair, a vibrant shine coating it. His crying never ceases and only increases in volume, and the floor—is a mess, a puddle of tears casting his own self-deprecating image back at him.

“I’m sorry,” he chants over and over.

Usually, you would take those two words and call it a day, arguing with a student about the importance of taking responsibility wasn’t worth it at their age, nothing really was. But now, you can’t take those words. You don’t want to. Don't want to hear them.

Those words bring back horrid memories, memories of when you were alone, inside the classroom with him, alone in detention with him, alone in your office having lunch with him, alone during the parent meeting with him, everything with him.

It’s all about him.

You were so caught up in your thoughts, not noticing the small strands of hair falling from his hand until he whimpered in complete pain. True pain.

Your body moves before your head, once again. Moving over to him and taking his flushed, yet cold hands into your own. Slender and smooth at your fingertips as your fingers dig into his skin to get a better grip, his reluctance to leave his hair alone was forcing your own hands to his head.

“Yoongi,” you call once again. “Stop it.”

The sharp edge—almost hostile— causes his head to shoot up from its position, his face so close to your own. His breath is hot and heavy when it hits your face, giving you goosebumps.

“I’m—sorry,” he mumbles quietly. 

Although his attention isn’t on your face, his dark and quivering eyes are solely focused on your hands wrapped around his wrist.

His mouth said nothing. His eyes told everything.

He’s always been quiet.

On the first day of school, he had his eyes on the floor, the work in front of him wasn’t present in his world. Whenever he was called he would just mutter something incoherent, a slight shake of his head and sit down. His lips were always pressed into a thin line whenever you tried to converse with him as a passing conversation, you even asked his other teachers to see if they had any trouble talking to him. And to your dismay, he was actually quite responsive in any other classes. Just not yours.

Immediately, you pulled your hands away, feeling his skin blistering your own. It’s almost like he could sense how uncomfortable you were, as his body leaned back, the space between you both increasing. His movements looked and felt stressed in your eyes, he stopped to think before moving farther back with furrowed eyebrows. His features then softened upon seeing you again.

You needed to stop this.

The way he looked at you with love and warmth wasn't normal.

You are the teacher and he is the student. 

This was the last straw—the last chance you could give this kid. You could handle the rumors he spilled from his own lips to surrounding students and teachers. You could handle the subtle hints he gave for a certain extra credit, you could handle the passive-aggressiveness he exerted whenever he saw something he didn’t like.

You can not handle him being in your own home.

“You need to stop this, Yoongi.”

His face falls.

“What do you mean—stop?” he utters in disbelief. His breathing is ragged within seconds and his eyes crinkle, more and more tears, eyes glossing over like glass. “Do you hate me now?”

You feel his hands grip the sides of your arm suddenly, your muscles jolting awake in fright, your skin feels numb under his touch as his nails dig, cutting into your flesh crescent moons. Your heart pounds against your chest as you watch him weep, his head sagged lower than ever.

This wasn’t your problem, you told yourself, keep telling yourself that. He was broken from the start, there’s only so much you could do for him. You were only a teacher for fuck's sake.

You couldn’t send him back to his house, with his “family” comforting him. However, you can’t let him stay on your own. That was against your morals as an adult and as a teacher.

“Yoongi,” you begin apprehensively and place your hand over his own that shook against your arms, a fragile being he was. “Look, do you have any place you can stay at?”

No answer.

“Friends? I can drive you to their place and you can—”

“I’ll kill myself.”

All thoughts and actions pause, the world goes quiet under your roof. The way his face doesn’t drop a single tear, his eyes still red and puffy with tear streaks now drying, but not a single ounce of sadness present in those dim circles.

“What did you just say?” your mouth shoots out with a shocked expression. “Don't say that, you don't mean it. Calm down.”

His bottom lip quivers. “I’ll do it,” he mumbles under his breath, “I’ll do it, I swear I will. I’ll go home and I—by tomorrow morning I will—”

“No,” you plead. “Just stop.”

It’s not your problem. It’s not your problem.

You’re only a teacher. This isn’t supposed to happen.

You weren't supposed to be the cause for a students death, you weren't supposed to be the cause for anything. 

Your insides crippled and twisted to the thought of him being on the news, your name showing up as a suspect of bullying or assault—or God knows what he will put.

“I can’t live knowing you hate me,” he says with a solemn tone and his hands find their way into your freezing hands, intertwining them. The lack of resistance you put makes him finally crack a small smile, one that vanished as soon as it appeared. “You make everyday worth living.”

Being a teacher meant responsibility.

Your students are your responsibility, right?

(feedback is greatly appreciated!)

[elmidol]

Hope you're well, my friend! Sending you love! I'm so curious about your writing process, would you mind telling us more about it?

Thank you~ I hope you're doing well too♡ Lots of love!

My writing process sometimes varies depending on the project. For certain ones I draw up an outline for the fic then create notes for character development and world building. A few fics I wing it entirely. Others I have a very basic idea of where I want them to end up but have very limited outlining.

In the cases of the fics with pretty limited to no outline, when I sit down to work on each chapter I do create plotpoints that I want to get through in the chapter. This allows me to know if I need to research anything or go back to reread previous chapters/scenes for consistency and because of foreshadowing I know I litter throughout. Once I have this done, I can generally guesstimate how long the chapter will be wordwise. I use this to help me decide which projects to work on since I have multiple ongoing pieces.

I brainstorm scenes in the shower or bath a LOT. The heat helps me to relax/gets my mind off any physical discomfort. Because of this I have a waterproof phone case and also use googledocs to create more notes and/or write out rough drafts of scenes. There are occasions where I listen to music for the same effect. Some songs are character-based and others revovle around the plot. I have personal playlists for some of my projects. For others I listen to songs that remind me of either Kylo or Hux mostly. (For my original, I have individual character playlists)

While writing I normally have snacks with me as well as water and either coffee or diet pepsi. Gotta keep hydrated! Then the caffeine helps with my headaches and the snacks ensure I eat /something/ because otherwise I can go a full day without realizing I haven't eaten.

Lately I try to get 500-1k words done per day. I used to be able to do 3-8k each day. This is why over the years there has been a drop in my update frequency. It's one of those things, though, where I have noticed that if I push myself to do that amount of writing the quality goes downhill. Occasionally I can do it naturally still. To me, though, quality over quantity is better. At times when I am stuck on a scene regarding how a character will react, I rewatch either clips or interviews with that character or character's actor. Study facial expressions and body language as best I can. Other times I have a few friends who are kind enough to look over the scene and let me throw various reactions I feel work at them. They help me find what best suits the scene. Then there are times when I am multitasking by writing while watching a TV show so I just zone into the show. Which at times ends my writing for the day, otherwise it gives me time to brainstorm then try out different things on the draft. There are some fics where I have two versions of a chapter that are vastly different from one another. I feel it's worth the extra time to flesh out a set of ideas to compare them instead of relying on mental renditions depending on the importance of the scene.

I can be a moody writer in that if a scene is very emotional, I get close to crying or get angry. In a very "don't interrupt me" sort of mindset. Moreso when it's a cope fic or something I have experienced or seen someone I care for go through.

For editing, I sometimes edit as I go. This is partly because I write out of order at times. Otherwise once the chapter is done I look it over for errors and inconsistencies. Sometimes I miss them. There are a few fics that I need to go back and edit them due to instances where I really did not edit. Plus human error of not catching a mistake no matter how many times you go over a document.

I think that's about it~

[hide-the-cutlery]

Ugh, I just erased a draft I started. So frustrating.

I guess it’s long sleeves for me for a while. Luckily, there’s a (Florida) cold front coming through tomorrow, so that should help a bit. (Prepare got the 60’s, my pussy friends!) I’ll get back to that momentarily.

Today, I had to go to court on a misdemeanor charge. I wasn’t feeling stressed or worried about it (a drastic deviation from my normal thoughts and behavior) — I thought I knew what was going to happen and what to expect, and was somehow relatively at ease about it. Everything was fine and going as I expected — until it wasn’t. I had decided I wanted an attorney, since it’s my right to at least meet with one, even though I know I’m guilty, but the public defender in the courtroom started talking and made me second-guess myself. He told all that were waiting that, aside from a few situations, all cases could be finalized today. This, of course, went against my decision to meet with an attorney (because, as I stated, it’s my right), and when I went to see if he could help me make gain some clarity, he asked me, point blank, “well did you do something wrong?” I admitted that, yes, I did do something wrong and asked him a couple more questions, which cleared up nothing. I felt like he was trying to get people to plead out so it was less work for him and his colleagues. Regardless, I should have known to drop the whole thing then, but I have a hard time making decisions/changing my mind on the spot, particularly when a lot of information is rapidly being thrown at me. I’m too tired to type it all out, but basically I could have had everything resolved today, except I reverted to my original, which turned out to be poor, decision at the last second. I had even completed the plea form and took it with me when the judge called my name. I had talked to an attorney that I got in touch with through the program a few weeks ago, and even though I couldn’t hire her, she was nice enough to give me an overview of what to expect about proceedings and let me ask a couple of quick questions. I thought she was pointing me in the direction of getting a public defender, so instead of entering a plea and getting sentenced today, I asked the judge for an attorney to be appointed to me, and even though I trusted the woman I spoke with, my gut was telling me to go the other way and decline representation. Turns out, I have too many assets to my name in the form of my car and don’t qualify for a public attorney, and I sure as shit aren’t hiring my own. So, now I still have to pay the fee for the public defender I’m not getting. I also got assigned a new court date in few weeks, and now have the luxury of this all dragging on for an extra month. The attorney I spoke with on the phone said there was an option to be sentenced to take some class related to the offense instead of probation/community service or a fine, which I guess I was hoping for, but forget trying to get that instead. I just want this all over with, and it could have been done today. All over today. But no. I had to get confused and unsure like I always do. I know it’s not the end of days, however, one thing is haunting me. The lawyer I spoke with in the courtroom said there was no way to know if me having an attorney would result in me being offered a different/better sentence OR one not as favorable. So, in all reality, I could get fucked over and get a worse deal than I would have gotten today. Fuck. I can’t be the only one who’s had things turn out like this, right? I was nervous and clueless and wanted to take advantage of my rights, even if my hypothetical defense attorney sat me down and said “look, kid, I don’t think I can get you anything better than what would have initially been offered.” It’s still my right to have them tell me that. But the potential for a harsher sentence for simply trying to exercise my rights? No, fuck that. That would be yet another all-to-common miscarriage of our criminal justice system. Live and learn, heh. The law cares (in “silly” offenses as this, anyway) about time & money. It doesn’t care about me; I’m just one of many.

I lost it in the parking lot. I just cracked. It was a matter of time before I lost control of the “I’m okay” persona I was projecting, and truthfully it’s remarkable I was able to keep it going for as long as I did. Looking back now, everything should be okay, unless I pissed off the judge, which I doubt — they probably see this happen all the time, but knowing how things tend to go for me, this will likely (but I sincerely hope not) result in some avoidable consequence, like my family finding out and throwing me out. Thankfully, a friend had surgery yesterday and invited me over so I could be in a safe place. Sadly, the self destruction had already begun.

What does all this have to do with hiding my arms? If you’re not an idiot, you already know. I am ashamed to admit I self harmed for the first time in probably years while I was having my meltdown this morning. The wound is superficial, but it’s still there. I started trying to split my skin open with a pair of small, sharp scissors I keep with me in my wallet. I ran the blades with pressure up and down across my flesh repeatedly, with minimal results. I even tried to snip little areas open, which barely worked either. I couldn’t draw blood. I really wanted to see some blood, perhaps as a punishment for getting myself arrested in the first place and then fucking up the arraignment. The pain itself didn’t bother me. The part of me that, on occasion, separates itself from my physical/mental autonomy (that seems to have no purpose other than to observe from an objective point of view outside myself and to harshly, ruthlessly criticize me, making me feel like a dullard, a loser, fake, dishonest, pathetic... it’s not a voice I “hear,” such as a hallucination, but something that feeds directly into my mind) was screaming: You’re such a fool. Self mutilation? Really? In your thirties? What the fuck is wrong with you? You attention whore. You can’t even make yourself bleed! Pathetic. The worst ridicule I received, hands down, was: If this is a cry for help or attention, no one cares, and now you’ve got a new scar to ever remind you and represent how desperate you are for someone to give a fuck about you. Again, you’re absolutely, embarrassingly pathetic.

After the scissors weren’t working, I decided to try something else, and found myself in a dollar store — one of the ones where everything is actually a dollar. That brought a little sunshine to my afternoon, and judging by how much candy I bought, tooth decay as well. I bought a mini sewing kit and tried to repeat the process with a safety pin and a needle instead of the scissors. No luck there, either, but the flesh is definitely split and looks like it’s bruised. I even thought about burning myself, but by the time the pins/needles didn’t work, the urge was passing. I’ve been hiding it, so I am not so sure how the third part of me (I don’t know why I call it the “third” part — it’s just what comes to me when I think of it/it shows itself, or maybe that’s what it wants to be known as for whatever reason, perhaps body, mind, and “the third”) is right to say it’s a cry for help and/or attention-seeking behavior, but even if it is “normal”, people don’t tend to do such stupid shit. Or maybe I’m trying to validate my mental illness, because sometimes I don’t think people see it for what it is. (I asked a woman to be my sponsor earlier this week and within 3ish minutes, she told me I seem confused when I talk and attributed it to my medications (and I think she only knew about the antidepressants). Needless to say, that didn’t work out.) How sad, though. How stupid. I am the queen of doing stupid shit, no matter my motives, and I shouldn’t have to mark myself up for people to see and know “that girl’s not right in the brain”.

Now I’m just regretting the scar that I’m sure will form. And for what? There wasn’t even more than a few minuscule droplets of blood that I squeezed out of the laceration. I guess if I was serious about harming myself and tried a little harder, my hand would have been painted red.