#so I'm throwing it open to the masses

[slushycoookie]

You decide to throw a celebration...

Sukuna has raided a hundred villages.

He didn't think much of it, but you wanted to celebrate his achievements. After all, your tyrannical husband does deserve some praise.

It's why the hall is filled with guests, an endless amount of food and alcohol displayed on the table. Performers doing their best to keep the masses entertained. Sukuna let you control it all. Who was he to stop something for his honor?

His guests were merry, indulging in the endless entertainment the estate provided. Sukuna’s eyes watched while sipping sake. It was sweet. The taste still lingering on his tongue. He liked it. And so did you.

A servant poured you another cup. Before you could partake, his hand cupped the top.

“This is your fourth cup.”

“I'm aware.”

“Then you are aware of its strength in alcohol.”

“Yes…” Sukuna squints and you roll your eyes, “It’s a momentous occasion. I want to celebrate.”

“Celebrate another way.”

“No.”

He snatches his hand away, letting you win this round when you take a sip. You coddle your cup, smiling at the drink warming your entire body.

“I will not take care of you if you become inebriated.”

“I wasn’t asking you to.”

As the festivities continue, Sukuna's mind becomes clouded. His guard lowered. Everyone is seemingly enjoying themselves. When his eyes fall to you, you're close to his side. Quietly eating fruit in one hand and sipping on your drink in the other. This is your seventh cup. Sukuna is ready to threaten the servant into not giving you any more for the rest of the night.

You're awfully clingy when you’re drunk.

You've been feeding him fruit for almost twenty minutes, wiping any juices from his lips and tasting it with a giggle. Your kimono slowly opening when he noticed you undoing it due the increased temperature in your body. Your gentle hands sliding along his exposed pectorals for more contact. It doesn't help his swimming mind.

“Are you having a good time?”

Sukuna’s lips purse, “It’s tolerable.”

With your current state, that means he loves it. Your exclaim catches him off guard and you're moving up to his lap.

“Oh I'm elated that you’re enjoying yourself!”

“Wife-”

“Your hard efforts deserve to be rewarded.”

Sukuna doesn't stop the big, wet kiss that graces his cheek. He groans at the feel of your chest against his. Your warm breath fanning his neck as you nudge against it. He's holding on to your backside. His face filled with mild, soft annoyance.

“My husband…my strong, handsome husband.”

You went back to covering his face with kisses. Each more extravagant than the last. While Sukuna doesn't mind your kisses of affection, there are people around and no one should see the King of Curses in a vulnerable affair.

“Everyone leave!” Sukuna’s voice suddenly booms across the room. “The celebration is over. Get out of my sight.”

One of the servants interject, “M-My Lord, we must first clean the hall-”

“Now!”

The entire hall is empty in under a minute. Everyone leaving a bit of a mess behind, but that was an issue for his servants later. You’re lazily waving goodbye to everyone who came, saying to come back anytime as if they are welcome in his home.

“They could've stayed a little longer…”

You pout and Sukuna holds back everything he can not to kiss those perfect lips of yours.

“Your mind isn't coherent right now.”

“Neither is yours. Look at you!”

You cup his red face. Sukuna growls at your touch, but doesn't make an effort to move away.

“I still have clarity. You do not.”

“Sukuna…” You whine, dangling from his neck. He doesn't take his eyes off you as you swing from side to side. You're acting like a child. “Sukuna. Suuuuukuna.”

“Stop that.”

He huffs at your head turn of defiance. “I'm hot.”

“The alcohol will do that.”

“Cool me down?”

Sukuna sucks his teeth at you fluttering your eyelashes, “You've complained about my body heat for an eternity.”

“Not for an eternity…” His lips curl up at your adorable nudges along his chest. Eyes closed, just taking in the moment. You're about to sleep soon.

Sukuna scoops you up, cradling your body close to him as he walks to your bedroom. The whole time you're muttering at how hot he is, having a weak attempt of removing your clothes. His berating hardly has any bite as he loosens up your robes, leaving you in your undergarments before lying you down on the futon.

“This should be cooler.”

Your arms out stretch, “Join me.”

Who was he to defy his spouse?

Sukuna lies down beside you, your hand holding his when you lie on your side. Your eyes droop from the alcohol taking over.

“I love you.” Sukuna hums, not saying anything in response. “This is where you say it.”

“You know how I feel.”

Your yawn is low and quiet. “Do I?”

“Enough. Go to sleep.”

“I throw an entire celebration for you and you can’t say you love me back.” His eyes narrow as you rapidly blink, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. “I won’t do anything for you ever again.”

You roll over, away from his grasp. Sukuna’s nostrils flare at your mood swings. Somehow you are more intolerable when you are drunk.

He turns you back over and your cheeks are puffed up, eye closed so he won’t see more tears slipping away. But your wet face says enough.

“I love you as well. Don’t make me say again to prove it.”

He shakes his head at your gentle smile while wiping your tears.

The night was calm after that. In the morning, Sukuna woke to you groaning, holding your head in agony. But he doesn’t say anything and has the servants give you remedies to cure the hangover.

You’re definitely not getting drunk again.

A/N: Sukuna being annoyed at his drunk wife while indulging her. He loves her y'all.

[frombookstoretobookstore]

Request if you have time!!! Could u do an Abbott surgical tech reader ( surgical techs assist during surgery abs um going to school for it!!) where the comfort eachother have the pit fest accident maybe a lil spice!

Alright so I really tried my best to nail the surgical tech but but what do I know? I work with plants for a living! I hope you enjoy this and I'm so sorry it took me so long!

TW: Mention of mass casualty event, blood, medical inaccuracies, hint of spice at the end.

Masterlist

The Offer

Today has been hell. No, Y/n was positive not even hell was this bad.

Y/n had spent the first few minutes before the onslaught of the shooting victims running around and gathering supplies, doing her best to anticipate what they’d need downstairs. Her and her colleagues had started throwing everything they could into disaster bins.

She’d been pulled down to the ED floor shortly after, running around with supplies, responding to calls for chest tubes and intubation trays, and trying not to slip in the blood that continued to pool on the floor.

“Can someone stabilize for a flip?” She isn’t even sure who calls for it, just that she’s there to stabilize a neck as a doctor rolls the patient to check the exit wound of a bullet. She’s handing him an IO and a unit of O Neg before they can even ask.

“Always four steps ahead.” Abbot breathes, working quickly to get an IO in. “If needed, bone marrow transfusion is just as good as an IV.”

“Need a hand?” She hears Robby ask as she’s passing over a laryngoscope before Abbot can even hold his hand out.

“I’ve got two hands.” Abbot says a small smile forms on Y/n’s face as she’s passing over an endotracheal tube. She nods at him before taking off again to help someone calling for more tools.

A few minutes later, after having to catch herself on the nurses’ station as she slides, she hears Abbot calling that the patient she’d just assisted on, hadn’t made it.

She doesn’t even have time to think of the loss before she’s off running again, answering a call for another set of hands. She can feel the stress and exhaustion sitting in the base of her skull, her shift having ended hours ago, but she pushes it aside as she’s dodging and weaving around patients, doctors, and nurses.

This goes on for hours, something that feels like a lifetime. She’s running around, anticipating needs, and helping where she can.

Y/n can still feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins, a harsh counterpoint to the utter exhaustion in her bones. Her reflection in the mirror stares back at her, pale and drawn, her eyes shadowed by the ghosts of what she can’t unsee.

She’s fully determined to pull herself together, to not let the tragedies follow her home and into her dreams. She wanted the reprieve of being able to leave everything at the doors of the hospital, to not go through every moment that had happened today, every choice she’d made.

However, she isn’t so lucky today. After helping clear the ED of the remnants of the mass casualty, she’s sitting up on the roof, breathing in the fresh air like a lifeline.

She’s so in her head, she jumps slightly when Abbot sits down next to her, a juice box offered to her as he opens his own.

“Never in a million years did I think I’d see Dr. Jack Abbot drinking a juice box while sitting on the roof. Standing near the edge sure, but sitting here? Never.” He chuckles softly as she all but chugs the juice, the sugar helping her with her adrenaline come down. 

“I’d have brought you a sandwich, but Whitaker snatched the last one.” He’s looking out at the skyline, the silence between the comfortable. He knocks his knee against her when he notices her hands are still shaky.

“I know it’s literally the point of your job to be one step ahead of all of us, but down there, you were incredible. I’ve never seen someone so focused.” She nods slightly, a flat lipped smile on her face. He places his hand in hers, squeezing it slightly.

She inhales deeply, willing the night air to fix her, to calm her, to let her leave all of this behind when she leaves.

“I’ll be washing my hands every ten minutes for the next week.” She laughs slightly, squeezing Abbot’s hand back. 

“These things,” he says as he sighs, “stick with you longer than we feel it should. But down there, that isn’t normal.”

“A brief reprieve to witness the worst of humanity.” She says, a dark chuckle erupts from her chest.

“Yeah, something like that.” He laughs, understanding her need to be sarcastic after what they’d both witnessed.

“After something like this, what do you do? Not the processing part, but the decompressing after the initial event.” She’s letting her head fall on his shoulder as they keep looking out.

“A shower, a nice bottle of whiskey, listen to a few records.” She laughs at his nonchalance. He places a small kiss to the top of her head, their fingers intertwined. Neither thinks too hard about the intimacy, both are too busy relishing in the contact.

“Care to join?”

“What?!” She sputters, coughing slightly on her juice as she removes herself from Abbot to look at him, his eyes shining as he laughs. 

Abbot’s laughter fades as he leans back to look at her. “I was serious though. Sometimes, when the night gets too heavy, you need something to snap you out of it. Music works for me—helps me tune out the noise.”

She couldn’t help but smile faintly, “Never pictured you as the vinyl type,” she murmurs, teasing him.

He shrugs, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know, yet.”

“Yet?” She asks, raising an eyebrow while still letting herself relax, their hands still faintly brushing.

He chuckles, turning to face her fully. “Well, if you ever decide to take me up on that offer; whiskey, records, and maybe even a decent meal.”

“Does that offer extend to tonight? Wasn’t it supposed to be you day off? I don’t want to crash it.”

“I would love nothing more for you to crash my day off, or what’s left of it.” He laughs, their hands intertwining again.

She turns to look at him; his eyes appear sunken and fatigued, and his hair is disheveled, likely due to repeatedly running his hands through it. He smiles softly at her, and she finds comfort in his gaze, returning his smile.

She stands and offers her hand down to him. He smirks as he takes her hand and allows her to lead them inside to the elevator.

“I take it that’s a yes to my offer?” He asks, an eyebrow raised, and his arms crossed as they descend.

“Nah, figured I’d continue my existential crisis at home by myself.” She laughs, earning a soft chuckle from Abbot, his gaze still trained on her. “I’d do just about anything for a decent meal.”

He chuckles softly, letting his head rest against the elevator wall, his gaze still on her, on her lips.

“Anything?” He asks.

“Just about anything. Who knows. After a shower and a meal, I could be down.” She’s stepping towards him, a sultry smirk on her face. He inhales slightly as she enters his space.

“Depends on how good the meal is.” She winks, breezing past him to gather her things from the surgical floor. She turns to him before the elevator doors close. “That, and how willing you’d be to get on your knees and show me a good time.”

He closes his eyes with a groan, her laughter filtering in through the doors as they close. He smirks to himself when he exits the elevator, intent on showing her just how good of a time he can be.

-------------------

A/N: Requests are still open so feel free to send some in! As usual let me know what y'all think!

[another-random-fanfic-blog]

Fates Entwined

Warnings: 18+ , mentions of sexual assault, abuse, death

Summary: You rescues 8 hybrids that are about to die.

word count: 7099

Masterlist

Next Chapter

The shelter workers dragged the beaten, bloodied, and half-conscious hybrid to a cell room, throwing him on the floor in front of 7 other hybrids.

"This was the third time he was returned," sneered the worker with greasy slick-backed hair, "that means he gets put down tomorrow. If you 7 don't agree to be adopted separately, you'll be joining him."

The shelter worker walked out of the room, slamming and locking the door while whistling cheerfully as he walked away. Meanwhile, the other 7 hybrids crowded around their friend on the floor, Seonghwa carefully lifting his head to place in his lap.

"Sannie," Wooyoung cries out, holding San's hand.

"Sannie, what happened?" Hongjoong asks, rubbing Sans arm gently.

"It was a hybrid fighting ring," San cries, refusing to open his eyes, not that he could open both, considering one his right eye was swollen shut, "I couldn't kill the other hybrids like they wanted, I'm sorry."

"It’s ok, Sannie," Yunho replies calmly.

"It's not ok, now they're going to kill you with me." San sobs uncontrollably, barely able to get the next words out, "I don't want you to die too."

"It's ok, San," Seonghwa whispers while cradling the crying man's head, not letting anyone see the tears spill from his own eyes. "Everything will work out, you'll see. We'll be ok."

The 8 hybrids stayed huddled together for a few minutes before they move to their beds, which were nothing more than flimsy blankets filled with holes. Slowly, one by one, they each begin to fall asleep, the younger 4 crying themselves to sleep while they older 4 held in their tears, too on edge to let themselves fall asleep, they flinch at every sound coming through the facility. When they heard two sets of footstep coming towards their cage, Yeosang tightens his hold on Jongho and Wooyoung while Seonghwa held San, and Yunho cradle Mingi, Hongjoong moves to sit in front of everyone, trying to block them from the view of whoever was approaching, with his small body.

Two workers appear in front of the cage, the greasy haired employee named Mike, and the employee with yellow teeth, missing his front one, called Carl. They enjoyed spending their time harassing the hybrids in the shelter, but their favorite targets were the group of 8. Mike stood by the door smirking as he looked over the huddled hybrids.

“Up front now!” Mike demands. Causing all 8 to jump and slowly line up by the door, kneeling on the ground. “I have some good news, we found homes for all of you, except San, he dies in the morning, no exception, but if you agree, you all get to live.”

“Seonghwa gets to go to a nice breeding farm or a brothel, we will let you pick,” Carl laughs as he reads off a paper, meanwhile Seonghwa grips his thighs tightly, holding back tears. “Yeosang will be going to the brothel, Ming and Yunho will be working in the mines to test for gas build up, Wooyoung, Jongho, and Hongjoong will be sent to medical labs as test subjects for new medications or some shit like that.”

“You hear that Seonghwa,” Mike says leaning down in front of the hybrid, “you’re the only one that gets a choice, now say thank you master.”

Seonghwa bit his lip, wanting to yell out and curse the two men, but not trusting his voice as he thinks about how everyone's lives will be ruined. Hybrids were made by humans, then abused, and abandoned by humans. Out of all the different types, rabbit hybrids were on of the most unique and one of the saddest hybrid stories. Scientists, for whatever reason, decided to make it so both female and males could be impregnated. It was wasn’t easy to get a male hybrid pregnant, and the pregnancies were extraordinarily difficult, but humans decided to make a game of it. They hosted insemination parties, bringing mass groups of men to try their luck at who could impregnate the poor hybrids for a prize. Then the rabbits were left to suffer through their pregnancy alone, only to go through it all again, if they survived giving birth.

Mike opens the door, walking in smugly as he looked at the hybrids kneeling on the floor, knowing that they wouldn’t attack him no matter what he did. He walks up and down the row, looking at each hybrid closely, paying attention to their features. Stopping in front of Hongjoong, Mike kneels and grabs his face, roughly turning it to each side before pushing away from him and standing. Before Hongjoong could take another breath, Mike grabs him by the hair yanking him to his feet and pinning him to the cage wall. Wrapping his hand around Hongjoongs throat, he lifts Hongjoongs small body up in the air, enjoying the feeling of how Hongjoong struggled for air, trying to free himself.

“Maybe you won’t go to a lab,” Mike laughs, licking, kissing, and biting what he could reach of Hongjoongs neck, grinding his hips against the hybrids, as he got excited by Hongjoongs whimpers and choking noises. “I think I’m going to take you to one of those sex parties, you know, the ones where a hybrid takes over 60 men in one night. What I wouldn’t give to see your broken and useless body afterwards, I wonder how squirrels compare to rabbits.”

“PLEASE STOP!” Seonghwa yells from behind them, unable to watch or listen to anything more, especially when he sees Hongjoongs face turning purple from the lack of oxygen, his grip on Mikes arm starting to loosen as his body grows limp. “PLEASE!”

Mike whips around and stares at Seonghwa before throwing Hongjoong onto the ground, kicking him in the ribs as he coughs and gasps for air. Stomping towards Seonghwa, Mike grabs Seonghwa by his ears, dragging him out of the cage and letting Carl slam the door shut before anyone could react. Pulling Seonghwa into the empty cell across the hall, Mike chains him to the wall. Carl moves out of the hybrids way so they can watch what's about to happen.

“I figured, you’re going to be used for breeding no matter what, that’s all you bunnies are good for anyway,” Mike sneers unbuckling his pants, “so I may as well get a taste of what you have to offer. Isn’t that what you wanted when you asked me to stop? You wanted to take his place, you wanted to be treated like a true bunny right.”

Mike grabs Seonghwa’s shirt and rips it open, while Seonghwa cries, unable to get his arms free from the shackles, shackles that were installed in every cage just in case a hybrid got out of control. Seonghwa opens his eyes and watches as his friends try to break their door open, crying and begging for Mike to stop, with no luck.

Mike undoes his pants and pulls himself out walking closer to the bound man.

“If you bite me, they all die instantly,” Mike laughs, lining himself up with Seonghwa’s mouth, “and after, Carl will want to take you for a spin.”

Just before Mike could touch his tip to Seonghwa’s mouth, they hear a yell from down the hall.

“Mike, Carl, we have a meeting, get your asses in here now!” Yells the owner of the shelter, leaving no room for arguing.

“That man always knows how to ruin the fun,” Mike growls to Carl while he zips himself up, “throw the bunny back in his cell, and let’s go.”

Carl unshackles Seonghwa and throws him in the cell with the others before they disappear, leaving Seonghwa to grip his torn shirt around himself while the others hug him, all of them sobbing uncontrollably.

“Maybe…maybe,” Jongho cries, unable to get his words out between sobs, “maybe death won’t be all that bad.”

No one responds at this point, understanding his feelings as they all feel the same. If they died, no more pain, torture, sexual harassment, or anything else. However, they still didn’t want to die, not really. Laying down and curling around each other, they wait for the death sentence that was coming for them in the morning.

“Wake up! Line up, standing, hands out!” Mike barks at the hybrids, waking them from their fitful sleep.

Each hybrid slowly moves into a line, dread filling their bodies as their wrists and ankles are shackled together and muzzles put over their faces. Soon, they are led down the hall to the euthanasia room, some not able to stop the sobs that rip from their throats.

“You’re going last,” Mike whispers in Seonghwa’s ear and he grabs Seonghwa’s ass. “You’re going to watch as each one of them dies, then, you’re coming home with me. You’re too good looking to not be filled every day. I’m going to make sure you have no energy to leave my bed. I’m also going to have frequent parties, 5 dollars for whoever wants to have you. But first, you have to watch all of your friends die,” he finishes laughing before locking Seonghwa in the waiting cage with everyone else, but San, shackling all the hybrids to the wall. The other 6 hybrids quickly move Seonghwa behind them as best they could, as far away from Mike as possible before turning their attention to San who is being strapped to the table, tears pouring out of his eyes as the technicians insert the needle into his arm.

“I don’t want to die,” San cries, when his muzzle is removed, eyes squeezed close tightly as tears stream down his face, his body bordering hyperventilating. “I don’t want to die and I don’t want them to die.”

“Wait!”

------------------------------------------- a few minutes earlier ----------------------------------

“I will see you in 30 minutes to an hour,” You say, parking your car outside the hybrid shelter. “It’s not a problem, don’t worry about it, I’m happy to help.”

You hang up your phone as you cross the parking lot, entering the shelter and walking to the front desk, looking down the hall to see a group of 8 hybrids crying as they are led into a dark looking room.

“How can I help you?” Asks the secretary after the door closes.

“I’m here to pick up some hybrid medication; it should be under the name Mrs. Roe.” You respond, leaning on the counter, “what was wrong with them?” You ask nodding your head towards where they hybrids disappeared.

“They’re being euthanized-“

“What the fuck?!” You ask, interrupting the secretary.

“They are being euthanized, they refuse to be adopted separately and one has been returned three times when he was forcibly adopted out.”

“How do I stop it?”

“You pay $3,000 and sign this paperwork that I already filled out, all it needs is a signature at the yellow flags,” the secretary replies hurriedly shoving a stack of papers at you.

“You were prepared,” you comment as you hand over your debit card and start signing by the flags, berating yourself for not actually reading the contract you’re currently signing.

“I’ve been hoping someone would come for them for a long time so I was prepared just in case. I’ve always been prepared just in case,” she says handing you the receipt as you pull out your phone and call someone.

“No more talking, let’s go,” you reply, gesturing for her to walk as you finish the paperwork. “Kim, how close are you to 5823 Rosedale Lane?” You ask into the phone.

“Few minutes why?” The voice, Josh Kim, answers over the phone.

“I’m calling in a favor, get your ass here now, bring backup, go past the front desk take a left, door at the end of the hall,” you say, hanging up.

Once you sign the last box, of the papers, the secretary opens the door and yells “Wait!” looking up you see a hybrid strapped to the table, crying as a man begins to attach a syringe to the needle in the hybrids arm.

“This woman adopted all 8 of the hybrids, the paperwork is signed and she already paid,” the secretary states quickly thrusting the papers at the men in the room.

“It’s too late,” the man with the syringe scoffs, as he goes back to what he was doing.

“Let me make this clear,” you growl, stepping forward, staring the man down, “you remove that needle from my hybrids arm right the fuck now, or I do, and shove through your fucking throat!”

The man glares at you and throws the syringe back on the tray before pulling the needle out carelessly. Meanwhile, you keep eye contact with the jackass as you approach the table and begin to undo the restraints on the hybrids arms and legs, helping him up. You turn around and see the other 7 hybrids still held in the cage.

“Release them and then take all 8 of them to the reception area please,” you ask the receptionist.

She nods and begins undoing the restraints to the wall of the caged hybrids, ushering them out of the room when they are freed, before a greasy haired man grabs the bunny hybrid by the ears, yanking him back and wrapping his arm around the poor hybrids throat.

“Seonghwa!” Someone yells from behind you, but you aren't sure who, and you don’t care to find out at this moment, though you can guess it was the hybrid on the table since the others are muzzled. Your eyes are glued to this man and your hybrid, that he decided to put in a choke hold.

“Get them out of here,” you say to the receptionist, as calmly as possible, not allowing your anger to get the best of you.

Once you hear the door shut, you begin to speak again.

“How many hybrids have you killed since last May?” You ask, slowly walking around, making sure to keep tabs on everyone in the room while also watching that this greasy haired bastard doesn’t hurt your hybrid. “Did you know that it is illegal to euthanize a hybrid that wasn’t terminally ill for the past year? Any hybrids euthanized since then are considered a murder charge. They passed that law last May…That means, every hybrid you fuckers euthanized, will be counted as murder. So tell me…how many have you killed?”

You stand by a door on the opposite side of the room from which you came in, grabbing the handle and opening it, only to get hit with the unforgettable smell of death and decomposition. You turn on the light and see dozens upon dozens of hybrid bodies piled up in the room before pulling the door shut.

“I count over 40 bodies in there now, which means it’s at least going to be 40 counts of murder and well as 8 attempted murders, and the police should be here any minute.”

“Fuck off bitch,” the man missing a tooth exclaims, spitting towards your feet.

Just then the door opens and multiple police enter the room, demanding everyone to freeze and put their hands in the air. You walk over to Josh, who is staring down the man holding the bunny and show him the adoption papers in your hand, pointing at the bunny’s name.

“You’re Seonghwa?” The Josh asks the bunny, earning a small nod from him. “Let him go, sir, or do I need to add assault to your list of crimes?”

“Mike, just let that damn thing go,” one of the other men yell, earning a scoff from Mike, before he throws Seonghwa to the ground.

Police quickly move in and cuff Mike, before leading everyone out of the room. You nod your head at the door, hiding the decaying hybrids, alerting Josh to go look in the room. You hear him cuss before the door slams shut, and he appears in front of you.

“Unfortunately, this is still happening,” he says. “Thanks for calling. Hopefully, I wasn’t too late.”

“Not for these ones. Thanks for getting here quickly, or I may have shot that bastard,” you reply shaking his hand, “see you later Josh.”

Josh nods and walks out of the room calling in the need for evidence teams and the counties coroner’s office to remove the bodies, leaving you to look down at Seonghwa. You look back at the table that the other hybrid was strapped to and see the keys that you used to unshackle your hybrid with. Grabbing the keys, you approach the scared bunny, keeping your hands in his view the entire time.

“I’m going to take the muzzle and cuffs off, ok?” You say, getting a small nod in reply.

Carefully, you remove the muzzle from his head, reaching behind him to undo the buckles, letting it fall to the ground as you examine the bruises beginning to form from it being bound to tight. You make quick work of the cuffs on his wrists and ankles, looking at the bruises forming there, frowning at how marked up he is. When you begin to look up, you notice his torn shirt, small tears made in it so that the front could be tied close.

“Wanna get out of here, Seonghwa?” You ask standing and holding your hand out to him. He meekly nods and shakily takes your hand, standing unsteadily.

The two of you walk out to the reception area where you see your other 7 hybrids, 6 of them still chained together and muzzled, while the one who was strapped to the table was free and hugging the fox hybrid, clinging to the fox like his life depended on it. As you approach, all seven hybrids eyes turn to you, watching you carefully.

“I’m going to take the muzzles and cuffs off,” you say holding up the key and approaching the closest hybrid, who tenses when your hand gets close to him.

Seonghwa practically clings to you the entire time you are removing the restraints from your hybrids, you assume so he can make sure you don’t hurt any of them. You notice the same problems on them that you did on Seonghwa; they are all bruised from the restraints being too tight.

“See that red SUV out in the parking lot,” you say to what you assume is a squirrel hybrid, based on the ears and tail, “will all of you go wait by it? I will be right out.”

He nods, and they exit the building, looking back at you every few steps as they walk away. You turn and walk to the reception desk, seeing the secretary sitting there looking around nervously as the police remove file after file from the cabinet. Grabbing the medication on the counter and your remaining paperwork, you give her some advice.

“Try to cut a deal with the district attorney, say you will testify to anything you can if they want.”

With that, you turn and walk to your car. On the way you pull out your phone and text your friend Marco, saying ‘Meet me at my house ASAP, bring your kit.’

“I didn’t expect to adopt 8 hybrids today,” you say looking at the group huddled around your car, “this only seats 7, so you two will have to sit on someone's lap until we get home.”

They nod and climb in, the squirrel and fox being the two that sit on someone’s lap. You throw your car in drive and make your way home, silently. You’ve never been good with talking to people, you never know what to say, and honestly would much rather be alone than be around others. Now you have 8 lifetime commitments sitting in your car and it’s a little daunting.

You’re unsure what to say to them, and continue to rehearse your introduction in your head. When you were about 10 minutes away from your home, you stop at a house and park the car.

“I’ll be back, I just need to drop this off real quick,” you say, holding up the box that you picked up from the shelter.

The hybrids don’t respond, and you get out of the car, approaching the house. Knocking on the door, you wait for the older lady to answer.

“Y/n, how are you,” Mrs. Roe asks as she answers the door, “thank you so much for picking this up for me. The vet called and they said that the medicine should be back in by the time it needs refilled, so you won’t have to pick it up for me again.”

Mrs. Roe motions for you to come in, and as you enter her home, you see her hybrid laying on the couch wrapped in blankets and sleeping soundly.

“He’s having a pretty bad flare-up and it doesn’t help that the doctor didn’t inform me that his medication was on back order and wouldn’t be coming in this month, which is why I had to hurry and find a place that has the medication in stock.”

“Well, I’m always happy to help. And if you need anything to help him through this flare just ask,” you respond, setting the box on her kitchen counter, smiling as you watch her adjust the blankets surrounding her hybrid. You appreciated that she treated him as though he was no different than she was and did whatever she could to make him happy. When she walks back into the room, Mrs. Roe tries to hand you cash for the medicine.

“Oh, no, I don’t need that,” you say refusing the cash, “it wasn’t that much anyway.”

“Well, then at least take this,” she replies, turning away from you to pick up a freshly baked apple pie, which from previous experience, you know is to die for. “I have to thank you some way.”

“I will be more than happy to be paid back in food, you are an amazing cook and I will never turn down a meal.” You happily take the pie from her, noticing that the pan is still warm but not hot enough that you can’t hold it with your bare hands. “I really need to get going, but thank you for this.” You say as you begin to leave.

In the car

“What’s going to happen to us?” Mingi asks, clutching Yunho’s hand in a death grip.

“I don’t know, Mingi.” Hongjoong replies, staring at where you disappeared into the house.

“Whatever happens, we will be together,” Yeosang whispers, with a slight tremble of nervousness in his voice, his lisp becoming more pronounced due to his stress.

The car quiets once again as they watch you exit the house carrying something in your hands. You carefully open the door and sit down, realizing you have nowhere to put the pie with everyone in the car.

“I can hold it,” the fox hybrid whispers to you and you just smile handing him the food, saying a quiet thank you back to him.

Once you leave, it’s as quiet as it was before. You can feel the nervousness in the air and can’t think of what to do to break the tension, so you just stay quiet. It only takes 10 minutes to make it to your house, a giant home that looks as though it stretches as far as the eyes can see. As you pull in the driveway, you see Marco sitting on your front steps waiting for you.

“Welcome home,” you say to everyone, picking up all of the paperwork and files you got from the shelter, you turn to the fox and ask, “Can you carry that inside for me?”

“Yes,” he whispers.

You walk to the front steps, letting the hybrids get out at their own pace, understanding that this is probably overwhelming to them.

“Hey Marco, thanks for coming so quickly,” you say as you approach him.

“Y/n, what is so important that you had to call me on my day off,” he grunts in reply.

“I adopted 8 hybrids, they were about to be euthanized, and they are bruised from the restraints, one has other injuries, they also look pretty malnourished. I wanted you to look them over but figured it would be too stressful to suddenly show up at a doctor’s office.”

Digging through the stacks of paper you are holding you pull out their medical records and hand them to Marco to read through. As he begins reading, you turn around and see all eight hybrids standing behind you fidgeting and looking around the front yard.

“Let’s go in,” you say, sweeping your arm forward and leading them into the house. You watch as they remove their shoes and lead them to the living room. “Marco is a doctor, he’s going to give you a checkup and treat any injuries you may have. You can sit,” you motion to the couch and chairs, “I will be in the kitchen.”

“Wait!” Seonghwa yells, stopping you, “please don’t go. Please stay.”

“Ok,” you say, smiling and nodding before sitting on a chair, “I will stay here and read while you get a checkup, if at any time you are uncomfortable, you can ask to stop.”

While Marco examined them, you open the files, they were fairly sparse with very little information. The first up was Hongjoong.

Hongjoong – Squirrel hybrid

26 years old

Found wandering the streets, emaciated, angry

Personality issues, stubborn, clumsy, not good at anything – likely unadoptable

You look up and see the squirrel hybrid, he’s blonde with grey ears and tail, and he has perfect teeth from what you’ve seen so far, pillowy lips, and a sleek nose. He stood on guard watching every movement Marco made. Looking back down you flip the page to Seonghwa.

Seonghwa – Rabbit hybrid

27 years old

Found chained to a fence, starving and emaciated, abandoned by owners for refusing to participate in an insemination party, attacked everyone that tried to touch him.

Personality issues neurotically clean – likely unadoptable

Seonghwa was also a blonde with bright white ears, his hair was short with buzzed sides underneath. He had boba like eyes and high cheekbones, with a sharp nose

Yunho – Golden Retriever Hybrid

26 years old

Rescued with Mingi, both of them were neglected by their owner and starved on the regular, both also showed signs of abuse. – co-dependent, likely unadoptable

Yunho had golden ears and the gold on his tail was matted from neglect, his hair was a dark brown and he was smiling at the others, trying to cheer them up and make them feel more comfortable.

Yeosang – Doberman Hybrid

25 years old

Found chained in a junk yard with no shelter, sick with multiple broken bones, surrendered for not being able to ‘protect anything properly.’

Personality issues, too quiet, and shy – likely unadoptable

He had a mark on the side of his face, probably a birth mark that fit him well for some reason. His hair was dark reddish brown and he had delicate features.

San – Black Jaguar hybrid

25 years old

Returned three times, the first he complained about his owner not leaving him and Wooyoung alone and trying to touch them inappropriately without their permission, the second he was adopted alone and returned because he was too clingy and the owners wanted a guard hybrid, the third time he was returned by a hybrid fighting ring for refusing to fight the other hybrids. His personality is defective and he will be euthanized.

Personality issues, too clingy, scared of everything – unadoptable

San had cat like eyes that fit the hybrid that he was, and jet black hair. He was muscular, well built, which you wondered if it was from his hybrid genetics or hard work, or a mix of both.

Mingi – Chick hybrid

25 years old

Personality issues, clumsy, scared of his own shadow, co-dependent, - likely unadoptable

Mingi had eyes that made him look like an emoji, eyes that were wide and filled with almost a childlike fear. His hair was black, and he looked to be 6 feet tall.

Wooyoung – Fox hybrid

25 years old

Surrendered with San, shelter employees were told by San that the owner tried to touch them inappropriately multiple times.

Personality issues, too loud, clingy, and rambunctious. Talks back too much, owners will not like him – likely unadoptable

He had reddish orange hair with shaggy bangs, a prominent nose, and mischievous face, though also a face that looked sweet.

Jongho – Bear hybrid

24 years old

Origins unknown, was found passed out at the front of the shelter

Personality issues, standoffish, can be aggressive, becomes lazy in winter during typical bear hibernation time – likely unadoptable

He had dark brown hair, a cute round face, and small nose.

“All done,” Marco said removing his glove and putting it in the garbage bag you gave him earlier. “We can talk outside about the results now, or you could wait until the blood tests come back.”

“I’d like to know now if everyone is ok with you telling me,” you reply to Marco before turning to the hybrids, “knowing if anything is wrong will let me know what treatments you may need.”

“It’s ok, you can know,” Hongjoong whispers for the first time to you, while the others nod.

“Right, so,” Marco starts, looking at his notes to make sure he repeats everything correctly, “Everyone is malnourished and needs more food, all also have bruises and small cuts. The only ones that have major issues are Hongjoong and San, both have bruises and contusions, possible fractured ribs. San also has a swollen knee, I think it is a soft tissue injury, just keep an eye on it for now, here are some pain meds, and if his knee is too overworked, it could give out, maybe get a brace. Then there is Seonghwa who has eczema, potentially stress induced, it’s hard to tell right now, we will have to check up later. Best treatment now would be a corticosteroid ointment or we have pills, and injectable meds. Finally, there’s Yeosang, he has a lisp and hand tremor, these could be benign or they could be something more, again, could be stress induced, just keep an eye on it and let me know if it gets worse.  Now, what kind of meds do you want for Seonghwa?”

You watched the hybrids closely as the doctor mentioned each issue. They all flinched and curled in on themselves as if ashamed of the issues.

“Seonghwa,” you say getting the rabbits attention, watching him jump at the mention of his name, “what kind of treatment would you like to try?”

“I…I don’t…what?” He asks, looking at the others for help.

“This is your body, your health, you get to choose what type of treatment you would like to have, and if it works great, if it doesn’t we will move on to the next.”

“Um…oin…ointment please.”

“Ok, then we will start with that,” You confirm, looking at Marco, who nods in response.

“I will have it delivered tomorrow and let you know when the results come in,” he says, standing and walking to the door, bidding you goodbye before leaving.

You shut the door and wait in front of it, taking a deep breath before turning and walking to your hybrids.

“So…how about I show you where you will be staying?” You ask, watching them carefully. They all fidget, and Jongho slowly nods yes. “Perfect, follow me.” You say, leading them through the house, to the kitchen, “here is the kitchen, help yourself to any and all food that you want. Outside the kitchen, beyond the patio is a pool, if you’d like to swim, and this way is where your rooms are.” You say as you lead them to the steps, San following you the closest out of everyone, when his knee seemingly gives out and he falls, you were lucky that you watched him so closely because you were able to catch him before he fell. “It’s ok,” you say softly as you drag him to the step for him to sit on while he grips his knee and whimpers in pain. “I have your pain meds. Once we get you to your room, I’ll give them to you, then get you food, ok?” You ask, earning a small nod and whimper. You turn to the rest of the boys and ask, “Can one of you get an ice pack from the freezer and another help me carry him up the stairs?”

Yeosang races off to the kitchen while both Yunho and Mingi step forward to help carry San up the stairs. You walk behind them with your arms out, ready to brace them if they begin to fall, knowing that you will be going down with them if they fall. Once you reach the top of the stairs, Yeosang comes sprinting up the stairs with an ice-pack, and you usher everyone to the room across from the stairs.

“You can stay in this room,” you say, directing San to a bed, lifting his leg, and propping it up on a pillow before getting a towel to roll the ice pack in, then placing it over his knee. “I am in the room across the hall, diagonal to this. All of you can have your own room, and you get to choose any room you want. San, you don’t have to stay in this room if you don’t want to, you can look at the others, I just ask that you wait a day for your knee to recover before you start looking.” You pull out a pill and put it in his hand before getting a glass of water from the bathroom. “All of you are welcome to bathe, in hot water, if you’d like, and I will try to get some clean clothes for you. Tomorrow, or later, we can go clothes shopping and get you your necessary supplies. I’ll go get you some rice, then cook everyone dinner, ok.”

You stand and walk to the door before turning around.

“I would like all of you to choose your own room, everyone deserves to have their own space. However, if you want to sleepover in someone else’s room, that is fine with me, I don’t care, this is your home as well, and I want all of you to be comfortable, I will be making bulgogi, broccoli, and rice tonight.” With that you walk out and go to the kitchen to cook.

Hybrids

Once you walked out of the room, the hybrids turned to each other, Wooyoung scrambling onto the bed to cuddle with San, while the others sit down around him, Seonghwa crawling to San’s other side.

“She seems nice,” Seonghwa whispers, breaking the silence.

“What if she’s just acting that way and will do something later,” Mingi also whispers, while tugging on his hair, close to having a panic attack.

“Then we’ll deal with that later,” San replies, beginning to fade away, the stress, and pain meds making him tired. “We aren’t dead, she saved us, I’m scared, but I also, don’t want to ruin a potentially good thing.”

Before anyone can respond a knock comes from the door, the hybrids just stare but it doesn’t open, finally Yunho speaks up.

“Co-come in,” he says, trying to steady his voice.

The door opens and what looks like a chair and pile of clothes with legs walks in, setting everything down in the living room.

“Ok, so here are some clothes from my closet, Mingi and Yunho, I have oversized shirts that should fit, but my pants will be capris on you. Each bathroom has shampoo, conditioner, soaps, and towels, as well as toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, and hair brushes. San, here is a chair that can be set in your shower so you don’t have to stand on that leg. Also, there are scrubbies for your body in each bathroom. Oh, about dinner, I don’t have regular beef for the bulgogi, so it will be ground beef bulgogi and should be ready in about 45 minutes. So, why don’t you clean up and I can bring it up here, or we can work to carry San downstairs, I should have some crutches around here somewhere.” As you begin to leave, you stop again and turn back to them, “My name is Y/N, I adopted you, and I’m sure you don’t trust me yet, seeing what was about to happen and reading your files, I can only begin to imagine why you wouldn’t trust me. However, you are safe here, I will never knowingly hurt you, I swear I will protect you, and I hope, that one day, you will come to understand that I truly mean that…Ok, I will get going.”

With that, you walk out, leaving the clothes and everything in their room and hybrids stunned in silence behind you.

“Let’s, uh, let’s clean up,” Hongjoong says, standing and looking through the clothes on the chair, giving the biggest ones to Yunho and Mingi, while the others look through what’s on the pile. Suddenly, Seonghwa gasps as he reaches for a shirt, snatching it quickly and pulling something from the back of it, which seems to be stuck by static.

“Do you think she’d let me wear this?” He asks, holding up a feminine shirt, hope glimmering in his eyes with excitement at the prospect.

“Yes,” Jongho states, watching the elder hybrid. “I…I don’t trust her fully, that will…take time. But I believed her when she said she wouldn’t hurt us…I…believe her.” He finishes, blushing as everyone stares at him, knowing the bear hybrid is least likely to believe or trust anyone. “I’m going to go find a room and shower.” He yells as he runs out of the room, face bright red.

“I will set the chair in the shower,” Seonghwa says, as he smiles, watching where the bear ran out of the room. He jumps up and takes the chair, placing it in a giant shower stall before looking around and playing with the dual showerheads. Walking back into the room, he clears his throat. “I’m not shy, I know some of you are, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving San alone to shower. The shower can fit all of us and has two showerheads.” He begins before turning to San, “I would like to help you, I don’t even have to face you, I just need to know that you won’t fall, that you will be ok, th-“

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong interrupts.

“No, he’s my baby, they are all my responsibility and I failed each of them now San is hurt and I can’t let him be alone,” Seonghwa says almost panicking. 

“Hyung,” San begins to say.

“What if you fall, whatifyouslipandbreakthroughtheglassandbleedoutinthebathroom, what if-“

“HYUNG,” Yeosang yells holding Seonghwa’s face in his hands as he tries to calm the older down.

“I should have protected all of you, I’m the oldest,” Seonghwa cries out, falling to his knees, hugging himself.

“You did protect us, remember how you sacrificed yourself last night to save Joongie?” Yeosang asks, rocking Seonghwa side to side, “You saved us, you always saved us.”

“You can help me hyung,” San says, “I’m really tired and don’t want to be alone, I would be happy if you help me.”

Seonghwa looks over at San and nods, drying his eyes as he sniffles and tries to compose himself. Before he can say anything, there is a knock on the door, the hybrids saying come in at the same time. You pop your head in seeing Seonghwa and Yeosang on the floor and more than one hybrid crying.

“Is everything ok?” You ask watching their reactions.

“Yes,” Yunho replies, “we were just talking.”

“Ok…if you need anything just ask,” You say, nodding as you shut the door again, “oh, I brought San my old crutches to help with his knee…I’ll just…put them here.”

You place the crutches down then walk out again, not wanting to push the hybrids into talking or making them uncomfortable.

After a few moments, each hybrid stands up, taking their clothes to the shower to clean up, while Seonghwa helps a sleepy San into his shower, standing behind him with his back turned, while both relish the feeling of hot water and soap to scrub their bodies. Feeling the grime and oil come out of their hair as they clean. What feels like hours, but is really only 15 minutes, both hybrids are drying off and applying lotion to their skin before brushing their teeth and getting dressed, after a half an hour, they enter San’s bedroom to find 8 dinner trays, with complete meals covered in the room, all with names on each tray. San hobbles over to one chair and tray and lifts the lid, salivating at the smell of food, looking at Seonghwa with pleading eyes, begging to let him start eating. Seonghwa chuckles and nods, watching San devour his food, like he’s never eaten before. Soon, the others come trickle in, their stomachs growling as each goes to their trays. All of them notice that each tray has appropriate food based on their animal needs, San has the most protein, while Seonghwa has the most veggies. Meanwhile, Jongho and Hongjoong have a large side of berries and nuts.

Once everyone finishes, they are unable to keep their eyes open, all crawling into San’s bed and configuring themselves to all fit together in the king sized bed, passing out as soon as their eyes shut.

You waited two hours before heading upstairs, you knock quietly on the door, and open it after no answer, seeing all the hybrids asleep in the room makes you smile as you take multiple trips removing their food trays. Once the trays were cleaned and put away, you head to bed, exhaling as your head hits the pillow and you your eyes shut within seconds.

A few hours later, your eyes snap open, the feeling of being watched creeping over you. As fast as you can you jump up and spin around, seeing San standing there on his crutches, looking like he doesn’t know if he should run or stay.

“San,” you ask, rubbing your eyes, relaxing your posture, “is everything ok?”

“Um…yes,” he replies, “I…um…can I…may I…can I sleep with you tonight?” he quickly says, shutting his eyes so he doesn’t have to see your face.

“Of course,” you state, moving over and patting the bed next to you, watching as he stares in awe then hobbles over to share your sleep space.

He snuggles in carefully, a smile on his face, before he falls back asleep. You watch him for a minute then drift off as well. Maybe 8 hybrids won’t be so bad.

Next Chapter

[megtrns]

not to sound insane but i'm bedridden at the thought of being intimate with these giant bots — no, not interfacing (although that's also great), but rather the nervous brushing of fingers against servos, the firm press of skin against metal, the bend and curve of muscle to cradle the shape of their armors. 

fort max, who came to life in the crux of war and violence, wiping a stray eyelash from the corner of your eye, servos faintly trembling as they tentatively cross the space between your bodies. unsure and afraid of hurting you, he tries not to exert too much effort, constantly reminding himself that just because his mass was displaced doesn't mean he didn't have the strength to tear mechs apart with his bare hands. his optics, garnet red under the distant starlight, soften the moment you lean your cheek against his open palm; the skin under his touch, smooth and organic and alive with a warmth he didn't know existed. 

brainstorm running his digits playfully over your face — tickling your nose, your chin, your ear — causing you to giggle against the pillows as he conducts a thorough examination for the purpose of 'science', using it as an excuse to 'stimulate your nerves' and make you smile. here, face to face with him above the mattress, with laughter embracing your bodies like a weighted blanket, you let him gently trace his servos across your lips. the scientist, drunk on studying you. 

swerve letting you throw your arms around his neck — body melting against his chest plates, nose already buried at the crook of his neck cables to express your sympathies. you were one of the few people who see through the chink in his optimistic armor, always trying to cheer him up even before he even realized he needs the comfort. and how can he not feel better already, when you were looking up at him like he hung the stars for you? 

perceptor catching himself in awe of human irises and the myriad of colors they take after. he thinks it's beyond fascinating that, for some, the eyes reflect the color of their seas, cerulean blue dissolving against white foam. and other times even the forest, their strange and halcyon woodlands dense with emerald trees that sway with the wind. but most curious of all, he thinks, is the color of the earth : darker than rust yet radiant like the sun — a shade that doesn't naturally occur on his planet, swimming like liquid gold behind your eyes.

megatron, elusive and distant, anchored by the delicate weight of your fingers above his servos. when he saw your hand sliding across your lap from under the metal table — using the distraction caused by whirl in the middle of a crowded night at swerves — to move closer to his, megatron had thought about stopping you. he thought about retracting his hand to excuse himself back to his hab-suite. but the ex-warlord is tired and worn, powerless against the sight of your affections. so he let it happen — and it was fleeting, only a brush and barely a touch. yet it went straight to his spark like a jolt of electricity. just like that, under your fragile, tiny hands, the mighty has fallen. 

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

doesn't take a genius

you're stuck in a time loop and the only thing that keeps changing is ratio and his actions....3.1k w.count

a/n: full disclaimer, this is entirely based on a dream i had about ratio soooo i'm pretty much 103% certain this may end up feeling a bit ooc for our silly yet stoic dr. that and i have NOT sat down to do a good character study for him hnng ;n; regardless, i had to try and put it into words bc the images in my head wouldn't let me rest until i did orz

[no warnings to mention! just fluff (●'◡'●) also g.neutral reader!]

You sit outside the museum on a nearby bench. There's a crowd of people holding excitedly onto brochures, leaflets, and flyers all broadcasting the newly opening exhibition featuring a full model replica of a certain doctor-professor combo you know- although about 3 times his actual size. 

Despite the buzzing atmosphere of excitement- with a touch of giddy from those who find said scholar a nice piece of eye candy- you did not feel the same. Not anymore- anyway. 

Sitting with your back hunched over so your elbows rest on your legs, your hands cup your cheeks, and you stare out into the road of passing cars and pedestrians alike- all of which you recognize. 

Although this section of the museum is brand-new, and ‘never before seen’, so says one flyer, you have in fact already seen it. So many times. Not that anyone else knew. 

In fact, this is about the 84th time you’ve seen it. 

You’re stuck in this town that seems so mundane only filled with puzzled irritation on why the hell you’ve been stuck on the same day 84 damn times. You watch the little boy running ahead of his parents' trip on a brick not completely settled in the sidewalk- you stopped trying to catch him around loop 15. You listen to the echoes of an alley-cat fight that lasts approximately 20 seconds; you stopped attempting to separate or prevent that one after loop 4. 

The cyclist throwing a newspapers at a parked car- loop 24. The worker coming out of a nearby bakery to flip the closed sign to open only to get clipped in the shoulder by a reckless jogger- loop 32. The baby stroller left shamefully unattended long enough that starts rolling down the pavement towards you-

-you stick your leg out to stop the stroller and baby from getting too far. You probably won't stop doing that one- despite it being the 84th time of lecturing the guardian when they come to collect the stroller with its passenger. 

The same things happen as usual every loop and you huff as you wait for the very second on the clock when the staff member of the museum opens the door. Slipping outside to announce the opening of the new exhibit inside with clear instructions on how to get there and a firm reminder to mind your manners and remember that everyone in attendance is here to view it. 

As the crowd starts shuffling in, you let out another sigh before pushing yourself to your feet. Placing yourself among your fellow museum goers, you get ever closer to the entrance before you dig out your admission ticket you had purchased when you had the chance. With the familiar scan of the ticket and same professional greeting from the ticket window operator, you're on your way. 

You’ve been in every inch of this museum by now. Some loops you didn’t even go into the new section you had originally planned this whole excursion for. Instead, you made your way to the less populated and quieter sections you hadn’t been before.

Now though?

Well, it has been 84 times you’ve been inside. You could walk around blind if someone asked you to. 

Having nothing better to do, you stroll inside and siply follow the masses. Overhearing the same conversations and complains about the crowds- and seriously? It’s the debut of a new place with new things. What else would someone expect? An attendance of none other than them? Please. 

As you glance bored along the walls of new paintings and art pieces, you wonder if you should try turning around and wandering someone else again. But then, why would you? It would still all be the same no matter where you go. 

You’ve tried leaving the museum entirely before since nothing is quiet interesting anymore- but for some reason you just can’t bring yourself to. You can get as far as the exit, but something in you makes you stop and hesitate everytime only to bring you back in as if anything could be different. 

It never is. 

Well, maybe that isn’t the whole truth. 

There is one thing that changes almost every single loop. One variable that is never the same. 

That variable's name is Veritas Ratio. 

Being the special guest for the entire event, it isn’t a surprise that he’s present. In fact, his presence is the key factor in why you even decided to show up yourself. Ratio is someone you can look up to and admire- in more ways than one. With his intellect, he’s willing to teach and (although rare) learn pretty much any and everything he can. That coupled with his hobby of sculpting and consuming different arts, he really had no reason to turn down the entire event. 

He is your constant change in every loop. 

The way that Doctor Veritas Ratio interacts with you is the only change you get from your ever-nonchanging weekday. 

The first loop, it felt normal. He greets those he must, including you. Finding you in the crowd as you congratulate him on his contributions and praising him for going through with showing up. He speaks with your mundanely and when the sculpture is unveiled, he’s ushered away by camera flashes and notepads with waiting pens to document any and everything he says. He doesn’t see you again after that on the first loop. 

The second loop, you go through the motions of your day with intense deja-vu and find solace in his difference in approach. Finding you earlier in the day and striking conversation with your first, conveying his appreciation for coming- which you feel flush at since his praise is usually something you have to strive for. When you tell him about how you feel like you’ve lived today once before, he simply begins delving into the background of deja-vu and the subconscious. 

It’s interesting to listen to and entertaining to see him in scholar mode. 

By the 10th loop, you seek him out first freaking out- justifying of course. You’ve lived the same day to the letter 10 times! Locating him, you practically yank his arm out of place as you find a secluded place to tell him about your plight hoping he doesn’t drag you to a hospital to get your brain examined. He doesn’t. But he also tells you to calm yourself down and that it must be a coincidence. You don’t buy it as you frown and whine that he clearly doesn’t take you seriously. 

What kind of coincidence happens 10 times in a row? 

By loop 27, you try telling him about it again. By now you’d started losing your sense of reality and felt like you really were going crazy. On this loop, Ratio finds you first. Seeing your distress upon meeting you, he guided you swiftly away from the crowds and into a private room set up for him as a VIP where you once again expressed your woes and anxiety. This time he wasn’t quick to dismiss you but instead listened diligently. You don’t actually remember if he offered you any advice then or not. But it was 57 loops ago and they tend to blur together. 

Since then, it was all sorts of different occurrences. Meeting you first. Seeking him out. Having full conversations and advice. Telling stupid jokes he rebuttals with lazy flicks of his wrist. Seclusion from others. Surrounded by the crowds. Theres even times he hardly says anything, just occupies your space. And you still have no idea why he’s the outlier. 

You still don’t even know why you’re looping at all! 

As you venture further into the museum, you slip away from the crowd and go directly to the area in which the statue of Ratio himself rests until a large, pure white sheet. Hiding its stone carved glory until the hour to unveil it arrives. 

Technically, no one is supposed to be in this vicinity quite yet, but you know your way around the security by now. And it wasn’t like you were here to vandalize. 

Slipping past all the blind spots and guards posted on corners to keep the event going smooth, you make it to the exhibition’s main event area. The massive, covered statue stands in front of you. Raised on a podium about as wide as a dining table and as high as your shoulders.

It truly is a marvel at how big this thing actually is. 

Looking up at the white sheet, you sigh before you plant yourself on a bench across from it. Reading the plaque with the name of the sculpture in your head, you reread it out loud to yourself next. Not loud enough for anyone to catch wind that you’re in here, but enough to fill the silence for a single moment. 

“Mold of Idolatry.” You scan the words beneath it briefly. Just your average ‘about this piece’ spiels and how long it took to sculpt. You feel a tad guilty that you don’t really care about all the little details at this point. 

You’re not sure how long you sit there just staring at white sheets, golden plaques, and pristine floors. But it was long enough that when you zone back in, there’s a distant murmur or noise.

Of a crowd. 

“Ah damn,” you hiss. Getting up, you stretch before looking for a way to slip out and mold back into the crowd like you’ve been there the whole time and totally not technically trespassing without permission in a closed off area. 

A door to your right slams open and you screech. 

Slamming your hands over your mouth, you whip around and see none other than the man of the hour himself. Veritas Ratio. 

Dropping your hands harshly back down to your sides with a bit of an attitude, you twist around fully to look at him across the room. Maybe it was because your heart was in your throat, but you didn’t really notice the different look in his eyes this loop. 

“You scared the hell out of me!” You whisper aggressively in his direction. Ratio only squares his shoulders and marches towards you without a word. Feeling sweat gather on your nape, you take a step back and think about bolting. Before you can though, his long strides close the distance between you both in a blink. His momentum never stopping. 

Grabbing onto your arm, he starts pulling you along beside him. His grip around you wasn’t tough, or aggressive. It was firm but telling. 

“Come with me.” He leads, as he continues pulling you. Before you can ask where he’s taking you, he walks around his overly large, hidden duplicate of polished stone and stops behind it. With the large pedestal in which the statue stands, it casts a perfect shadow behind that can easily conceal two bodies. 

Ratio pushes your back against the raised piece and holds your shoulders to keep you in place. Even though his actions every loop have been different, this one felt exceptionally so. He hasn’t been this bold or unexpected with his actions before. 

“Ratio, what-” 

His hands from your shoulders slide up to rest delicately on either side of your neck. His thumbs brush along your jaw and threaten to pull down on your lip and open your mouth. His face comes closer; his nose barely touches yours. You squeal as he invades your space. 

“Quiet.” He tells you, making eye contact you can’t bring yourself to break. You feel your skin heating up and you wonder if he can feel it under his hands despite the gloves he wears over his palms. “I need to think.” 

“Think?” You barely get the word out from how quiet you say it, obeying his command easily. 

“Yes. Think.” He speaks in clipped words. Like he isn’t interested in carrying conversation right now. As if he’s pressed for time for a deadline only he knows about. 

“About what?” You still whisper, but your words aren’t nearly as broken this time. You catch him almost roll his eyes. You wonder if his thumb is close enough to your mouth after all so you can bite him. 

“What actions I need to take this time.” 

“What does that-” 

“I suspect, after all this trial and error, the direct approach is all I have left. From a certain point of view, it might seem a bit abrasive, but you’ll simply have to understand. Pardon me.” 

You want so desperately to utter another confused ‘what?’ as if he’s answered any of them so far in a way that didn’t make you more confused. You can’t though. Since his apparent abrasive approach was in the form of covering your mouth with his. 

Your breath halts and you wonder if you're breathing at all as his lips slot over yours. His eyes remain open, as do yours as he stares into you like an art piece. Examining your eyes and everything they have in them until your certain he can see right into your soul. 

His lips are warm. Smooth. Not at all chapped and you can smell a very faint hint of mint- like he put on chapstick not too long ago. Or maybe lip oil? Chapstick isn’t usually this glossy feeling. Or maybe… sticky is a better word. Whatever it was, it wasn’t unpleasant. 

You think maybe you got lost in your own head, because it’s like you blink and he wasn’t kissing you anymore. Instead, he was back away from your mouth, nose to nose with you, and tapping your neck with his fingertips. His blunt nails gently tapping against your skin in short and long patterns. 

.-.. --- ...- .

Your eyes blink like a camera shutter before your mouth moves again. 

“Uh-” you unconsciously lick your lips and taste the mint that was on his mouth. Definitely glossy. Much less chappy.

Ratio’s eye twitches. “Don’t do that.” 

“Huh?” Your brain isn’t fully caught up yet it seems. One of his hands moves from your neck to cover your mouth with his palm. The fabric of his glove and the warmth of his hand under it permeate your skin. With this other, he lifts a finger to his lips, hushing you as if you had a chance to speak at all this whole interaction. 

“If we leave, we’ll be seen.” You nod. “I wish to avoid that.” You half expect him to step away and abscond. Maybe even drag you out with him before the crowd comes in with all their hustle and bustle. He doesn’t do either.

Doctor Veritas Ratio keeps exceeding your assumptions. Stepping half a stride closer, his feet between yours, knees pressing against your body and his hand that had shushed you before moves once again. His arm supports his body on the area behind you that’s behind used to hold you up since your legs feel like they may have gone numb some time ago. He’s invading your space so intimately, you place your hands on his arm and chest to try to both steady yourself and also gauge where to put them at all. 

The hand on his chest quickly gets repositioned by the man himself, sliding it up to his neck until he's cupping his hand over yours, so your touch feels his racing pulse beneath his skin. Theres not a shiver or rack of gooseflesh on his body. But his blood is racing and despite the shadows, you wonder if the skin of his ears looks pinker than usual. 

“Ratio?” You call softly. He hums short. “What was that? This?” You look away from his eyes just for a second to look down to his toes then back up again as a means of gesturing to all of him. 

“The direct approach.” 

“Yeah,” you smile, breathing out a humoring air through your nose, “that doesn’t answer anything.” 

“Do you know morse code?” 

“You know I don’t.” 

“I’ll teach you.” He taps over your hand he keeps pushed against his pulse point in the same rhythms as before on your neck. 

.-.. --- ...- .

“Was that morse?” 

“Indeed.” 

“What does it spell?” 

“Would you like to guess?” 

“Will my answer be for a grade?” You’re proud of yourself for a moment for cracking a joke despite feeling lightheaded. His forehead drops onto yours and he takes a calming breath. His hair is soft and fluffy against your skin. His ears are pink. 

“It will not.” 

“Then, I’m not guessing.” 

“Stubborn.” He smiles though. Before he kisses you again. Veritas Ratio continues indulging in your lips despite the doors opening into the room and the crowd of event goers all compiling in. But he knows the two of you won’t be seen here.

He’s investigated this blind spot thoroughly. 

The sounds and actions of Ratio’s direct approach is drowned out, even as the sheet comes off his overly large stone copy. Even as the creator drones on about how the doctor himself could not be here due to last minute appointments he simply could not overbook. And it is where the two of you remain even after the crowd thins. 

“I think this loop is going to stick with me for a while,” you mutter to yourself, knowing he wouldn’t know what you mean. His thumb swipes under your lips, past the corner of your mouth and up to the apple of your cheek to hold it gently. “Number 85 is going to be a doozy,” you lament. Knowing that when you wake up in tomorrow's today, you’ll be a mess. 

“Tomorrow will be tomorrow.” He says. You just nod, thinking that he’s trying to once again reassure you like he has in previous loops. But you're too far jaded to the looping that’s haunted you to care for his words. You don’t deny or accept them, just let them wash over you. 

You close your eyes to take in the moment, not seeing the point in having a proper conversation about whatever this is since he’ll forget it when the day resets. 

Ratio soothes you. Rubbing your shoulders and spreading his warmth to you while he pulls you into his chest as he rests his chin against your crown. 

“Tomorrow will be tomorrow,” he promises once more. He slips out with you that evening, taking you home personally. You almost convince yourself to stay awake and watch as the clock hits midnight only to tick back to the same day instead of proceeding.

But it doesn't. The next day comes. You get to wake up the next morning.

Turns out, it doesn’t take a genius to confess one's admiration to another. 

Just a borrowed curio, a mundanite, and 83 loops of botched practice. 

a/n pt.2: imagine being such a loser you have to borrow a curio from your part-colleague doll lady's space station just to confess smdh

[revelboo]

I haven't actually read the canon content for lost light tbh, just fics. So I'm not sure his face place even works right cus I only ever see his mouth closed...

✨How ever✨ if it does open

I feel like Cyclonus could eat out reader the best. Top tier tongue game. Man being trilingual, a Cunni-linguist if you will.

I’m pretty sure it does open- and I headcanon him and TFA Blitzwing (maybe Brainstorm, too) having crazy venom-style glossas

🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Well. That’s not terrifying to wake up to. It’s typically around 300-400 max overnight

Scenario-glossa

Cyclonus x Reader x Tailgate

• “Do I even want to know what you two are giggling about?” Cyclonus growls, head lifting from his datapad. And you go red as Tailgate starts shaking with laughter to make his optics narrow. Deciding that no, he probably doesn’t want to know because it’s likely about him. Venting tiredly as you lean into the mass displaced minibot, hand over your mouth to keep from laughing and Tailgate flaps a hand at him.

• “Do the thing,” Tailgate demands, hooking an arm around you as you choke with laughter. And Cyclonus just stares at you both. “You know, my favorite thing,” Tailgate adds and Cyclonus growls, mouth opening and- holy crow. Your own mouth is falling open as you see his glossa for the first time. Oh. Ohhhhh. And you’re squirming against Tailgate.

• Feels the shift in your biofield where you’re leaning against him as Cyclonus curls his glossa slightly to make a loop with the tip. “Berth, please,” you say, staring and Tailgate cracks up as Cyclonus freezes and makes a low, rumbling noise. ‘Seconded,’ Tailgate adds, hooking an arm around you and dragging you so you’re sitting between his spread thighs. Hears Cyclonus clear his vents with a little huff, but he sets his datapad aside and stalks over. Rubbing his masked face against your neck as you start stripping, Tailgate rumbles. Wants to see how you look with Cyclonus’s glossa between your thighs, the sounds you make.

• Vaulting up with the two of you and mass shifting, he kneels between your spread thighs. Watching Tailgate’s wandering hands stroking over you. Knowing that the minibot just wants him to get you ready for his spike, but he’s been wondering how you’d taste. Knows how you feel wrapped around his spike, all slick heat. And before the end, he’ll be spike deep in both of you anyway taking turns with you.

• Flushing as Cyclonus stretches out between your thighs and drags that glossa against your inner thigh, looking up at you and his stare is almost predatory. And you’re grabbing his horns when he licks you, that thick glossa tunneling inside you as you throw your head back against Tailgate, hips bucking. Moaning a protest when Tailgate hooks his leg under yours one at a time to lift them over Cyclonus’s shoulders. Feel that thick glossa curling, thrusting inside you as he growls. “Your favorite thing, too, huh?” Tailgate whispers, masked cheek brushing yours as he watches, a servo brushing your bottom lip and you latch on to him with a whimper. Definitely your new favorite thing.

[nowoyas]

Trying to make sense of the Nanowrimo statement to the best of my abilities and fuck, man. It's hard.

It's hard because it seems to me that, first and foremost, the organization itself has forgotten the fucking point.

Nanowrimo was never about the words themselves. It was never about having fifty thousand marketable words to sell to publishing companies and then to the masses. It was a challenge, and it was hard, and it is hard, and it's supposed to be. The point is that it's hard. It's hard to sit down and carve out time and create a world and create characters and turn these things into a coherent plot with themes and emotional impact and an ending that's satisfying. It's hard to go back and make changes and edit those into something likable, something that feels worth reading. It's hard to find a beautifully-written scene in your document and have to make the decision that it's beautiful but it doesn't work in the broader context. It's fucking hard.

Writing and editing are skills. You build them and you hone them. Writing the way the challenge initially encouraged--don't listen to that voice in your head that's nitpicking every word on the page, put off the criticism for a later date, for now just let go and get your thoughts out--is even a different skill from writing in general. Some people don't particularly care about refining that skill to some end goal or another, and simply want to play. Some people sit down and try to improve and improve and improve because that is meaningful to them. Some are in a weird in-between where they don't really know what they want, and some have always liked the idea of writing and wanted a place to start. The challenge was a good place for this--sit down, put your butt in a chair, open a blank document, and by the end of the month, try to put fifty thousand words in that document.

How does it make you feel to try? Your wrists ache and you don't feel like any of the words were any good, but didn't you learn something about the process? Re-reading it, don't you think it sounds better if you swap these two sentences, if you replace this word, if you take out this comma? Maybe you didn't hit 50k words. Maybe you only wrote 10k. But isn't it cool, that you wrote ten thousand words? Doesn't it feel nice that you did something? We can try again. We can keep getting better, or just throwing ourselves into it for fun or whatever, and we can do it again and again.

I guess I don't completely know where I'm going with this post. If you've followed me or many tumblr users for any amount of time, you've probably already heard a thousand times about how generative AI hurts the environment so many of us have been so desperately trying to save, about how generative AI is again and again used to exploit big authors, little authors, up-and-coming authors, first time authors, people posting on Ao3 as a hobby, people self-publishing e-books on Amazon, traditionally published authors, and everyone in between. You've probably seen the statements from developers of these "tools", things like how being required to obtain permission for everything in the database used to train the language model would destroy the tool entirely. You've seen posts about new AI tools scraping Ao3 so they can make money off someone else's hobby and putting the legality of the site itself at risk. For an organization that used to dedicate itself to making writing more accessible for people and for creating a community of writers, Nanowrimo has spent the past several years systematically cracking that community to bits, and now, it's made an official statement claiming that the exploitation of writers in its community is okay, because otherwise, someone might find it too hard to complete a challenge that's meant to be hard to begin with.

I couldn't thank Nanowrimo enough for what it did for me when I started out. I don't know how to find community in the same way. But you can bet that I've deleted my account, and I'll be finding my own path forward without it. Thanks for the fucking memories, I guess.

[joonipertree]

part 2!

Pro-racer Mikey that needs to do photoshoots and commercials every once in a while because he's famous and has a pretty face

He's put into his tracksuit or into lavish clothes to pose for the masses and a lot of people realise that Mikey has a presence on the camera that's unshakeable

And so....they decide to have him model for a photoshoot with one of the biggest models of the industry. Which works!! It's fine

They're just pictures.

But then the model posts a selfie of Mikey and her. and she says nothing but puts a heart in the caption.

And the speculations run WILD

Comments upon comments of shipping them together, calling them a power couple.

And you sit there, stuck in a doom scroll as you see one tweet after the other. You stare at your boyfriend, black hair neatly kept and smile wide like it always was, and you see the pretty girl.

And within seconds, you feel stupid for feeling insecure because Mikey had literally spent all morning peppering you in kisses, it was IMPOSSIBLE to pry him off even though he had a shoot and Draken had to come haul his ass up and out the door.

The man had texted you complaining how the food was blegh and how he missed your face.

There's no reason to be jealous.

So you turned off your phone and when Mikey came home, exhausted but very happy to see you....you let him smother you in kisses.

And it's forgotten

Until an unofficial bonus picture was released, on the magazine's Instagram page.

Him and the model, her leaning down as he sits on a chair...his hand wrapped around her wrist while their faces are inches close to each other.

It took three seconds to switch your phone off, throw it away and break down sobbing with whatever rational thought you had leaving your head.

You didn't need to read the comments to know what they were saying. You didn't need to wait until your friend's message you to ask if you're okay, out of pity. You didn't need his friends to call you in defense of him. You didn't need him to realise what had happened.

It was all a PR stunt so why would he even need to apologize. It was just a picture. Two people who were attractive being in close proximity to each other, being ogled by millions...being perceived as perfect for each other. As 'pleasing to the eye'

Now, Mikey was filming a commercial when this happened. He'd been chatting with the co-star while the cameras rolled when he noticed Ken-chin whisper into his phone.

The man looked annoyed, ready to argue but going rigid before sighing.

With a whisper to the director, everything paused as Ken waved his phone and said it was for Mikey. That it was Emma.

There was immediate panic because there's no way it wouldn't be an emergency. And he was right, his eyes widened and body grew stiff in seconds hearing his sister berate him.

For being a bastard, for breaking your heart like that.

She demanded he fixed it and when he was about to ask what was going on.....Draken shoved another phone into Mikeys hand...the instagram page of the magazine opened.

Oh. Fuck no

"I'm leaving." Mikey yelled out, startling everyone in the room, his years of being a gang leader coming out.

"What do you mean---"

Draken blocked the director's view, hands behind his back as he went back into the position of the second in command.

"You heard him."

"He has a contract--"

"He doesn't give a fuck."

[lia-linny]

summary: Seungmin and yn's relationship faces major challenges when their differing visions for the future collide in their final year.

words: 3,9 k

genre: angst, break up, highschool au, ex's to lover's? kinda open ended

The morning calm of a Monday, when everyone wished it were still Sunday, hung over the school. The students' lack of enthusiasm was heightened by the fact that the new school year had just begun and everyone was longing back for the summer holidays.

In complete contrast to the sluggish mass of students who would be streaming through the hallways a few minutes later, yn entered the school building, her shoulders straight, her steps calm as always, early as usual. With her best friend, her notebook in hand and AirPods in her ears, she made her way to the classroom for her first lesson. After all, she had to make a good first impression on her new teacher! Instead of a nervous girl, a confident, intellectul woman had to sit in front of everyone in half an hour.

"Well, well. I thought I was the only one with a questionable sleep pattern." Seungmin's hair was tousled from the wind on his bike, which was now parked in front of the school. He clung to the coffee in his hand for support. But when he spotted yn, his gait automatically straightened and a loving grin crept onto his face.

Yn laughed softly as she tilted her head. "I'm afraid mine is non-existent."

"Nervous?" Seungmin put his arm around his girlfriend's shoulder and pulled her close. His body heat had a calming effect and made yn's body relax a little.

"As always," she shrugged, "it's fine..."

"Oh, please. You look like you spent the night memorizing the new teacher biographies and this year's curriculum."

"Well, some people prepare. Others hide their panic behind overpriced flat whites," she teased, nodding toward the coffee to go in Seungmin's hand.

"Touché. You know, I almost forgot how charming you can be when you try to outdo me." They grinned at each other, enjoying the affectionate tension between them.

"It's going to be an interesting school year." Seungmin laughed, because despite their long-standing competition, they had never hated each other for a second. The two found a strange peace in knowing that the other shared and understood their fears.

"Let's see who secures first place this year!" He grinned an honest laugh, one she rarely saw in others.

"Oh, come on, we both know that I'm always the best in class."

"So what? At least I can throw a baseball and don't break a window when I try to pitch." He laughed as her cheeks began to burn at the memory of her failed attempt to learn baseball.

"You're mean!" Her mouth twisted into a pout, which Seungmin kissed off her lips with a laugh. Their shoulders brushed lightly as they walked on to secure the best seats in the classroom. Even though normally no one challenged them for the front row. The class trickled in and took their favorite seats at their respective tables.

Right in the first period, which was mainly devoted to organization, the homeroom teacher reminded them that the class was now in its final year. Top grades were expected in order to be accepted into the desired university. Whether in sports, science, or languages, the battle for scholarships was now officially underway. And even though neither Yn nor Seungmin really had to worry about it, the future was still a sensitive topic in their lives and young love.

"I knew something about that morning was too peaceful." said Seungmin, as the teacher urged them all to give their best this year. The couple just smiled, but they knew that something was in the air between them. An uncertain future with different ideas. They didn't know how it would turn out, which was incredibly frustrating for students who always knew the answer.

Later that day, the light from the low sun shone through the windows of the school library, which the two of them had almost entirely to themselves. Seungmin sat sideways on a chair, twirling his pen between his fingers with boredom. Yn had meticulously sorted her materials, opened a notebook, and laid out highlighters in a straight line on the table in front of her. The tension of the silence between the two was broken only by the scratching of the pen in Yn's hand until Seungmin cleared his throat quietly.

"What are you doing?"His voice carried a certain disinterest, but his curiosity could not completely hide behind the façade.

"I..." she hesitated. That would open up a topic that they had carefully avoided until now. "I'm thinking about some ideas for my university application..."

A silence spread between them, because they both knew that their dreams couldn't be more different. Even before they started dating years ago, their goals had been clear. Seungmin wanted to become a professional baseball player in korea, play in front of people, celebrate victories with his team. Yn wanted to go to New York, study astrophysics, work at NASA. Thousands of miles and work related commitments would separate them.

But when they started seeing each other, there had been so much time left before they would realize their dreams. It had been so far in the future that it had been easy to push it out of their minds. But now it felt so threateningly close.

"Let me see." He leaned over her notebook. When their arms accidentally brushed against each other, the tension between them was almost palpable. Neither of them said anything, but something had changed between them. The room felt smaller than usual. He said nothing, as he so often did.

"Do you think... we'll talk about it sometime?" How we're going to manage it. With... thousands of miles between us."

He was silent. His grip on her hand tightened. But he said nothing. A soft sob escaped her and silent tears gathered in her eyes.

"I'm scared, Seungmin." It was a quiet plea for comfort and security that he couldn't give her, even though he wanted nothing more than to take away all her pain.

A quiet and stifled "Me too" escaped him and he pulled his girlfriend into a tight embrace. She pressed even closer to him. They both felt like two people trying to hold on to a sinking boat without being able to save it. Heavy raindrops tapped against the window. No kiss. No promise. Just the silence of two people who love each other but are slowly realizing that their worlds are moving in opposite directions.

~☆~

The sky was pink and orange as the two stepped through the school's double doors onto the large but empty playground. The rain clouds had disappeared. Yn checked the time on her cell phone while Seungmin casually slung his backpack over his shoulder.

"Can I walk you home?" The question was uncertain, hesitant, and formed a stark contrast to the otherwise confident and ironic Seungmin.

"Sure," she smiled sadly at him and his heart melted inside.

"Okay. But no annoying small talk." His sarcasm was back and she couldn't help but grin wider.

"Perfect. Talking is totally overrated anyway." Grinning, he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as they walked side by side. Both lost in their thoughts and yet somehow mentally together.

For the first time, the silence between them felt uncomfortable rather than pleasant, cold like the breeze rustling through the leaves and making yn shiver in her light T-shirt. Seungmin rolled his eyes but pulled his hoodie over his head to hand it to her. Surprised, she looked up at him with wide eyes. He huffed and repeatedly pressed the warm garment into her hand without looking at her. Hesitantly, she accepted his offer and smiled as she pulled the hoodie over her head, and with that, the oppressive mood between them vanished.

As a thank you for the hoodie, she nudged him in the side and then ran away from him, because Seungmin didn't just let her teasing go and chased the laughing and screaming yn to her house as punishment. Giggling and out of breath, she came to a stop in front of her door. Seungmin was right behind her.

"Thank you," she whispered sincerel but a bit out of breath.

"See you tomorrow." He pressed a gentle kiss on her lips that said more than the words he dared to say.

~☆~

Seungmin leaned against one of the walls in the corridor right next to his locker and watched YN eagerly talking to her physics teacher about her university application. Seungmin knew that the teacher supported YN wherever he could. After all, the school's prodigy shouldn't have to settle for anything less than perfect.

Seungmin snorted. Lately, his girlfriend had been even more immersed in her schoolwork than usual, and he was slowly losing his patience. His focus was now completely on his baseball carrier but he still managed to make time for her.

Yn spotted him and quickly said goodbye to her teacher. She approached him with a smile, but received only a short nod in response. She rummaged in her locker and pulled out a few things. Then she turned to him and gave Seungmin a quick kiss, which finally brought a small smile to his lips. He carefully wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Hey... are you free tomorrow? Cinema or something?"he asked quietly, but immediately noticed her hesitation and how her smile gently disappeared.

"I wanted to continue working on my essay... the deadline is coming up soon."

There was a brief silence. Then Seungmin pulled away from her. His bitter voice cut into her heart.

"Sure. Of course." He turned to leave.

"Hey, wait! Are you free after school today? Can you come over to my place for a bit...?" There was so much uncertainty in her words, because lately their relationship no longer felt like the ray of hope it once was. They were walking on eggshells, not knowing what little thing would spark the huge argument they both felt was inevitable.

"Okay." His words carried a sharp undertone, but she ignored it. Yn gave him a joyful smile that seemed only slightly forced, and so, after the school bell rang for the last time that day, they walked home hand in hand.

In her room, they snuggled together under the blanket and started watching one of their comfort movies. But neither the cozy blanket nor the heartwarming film managed to lighten the atmosphere. The topic hung unspoken in the room and seemed to weigh heavily on the both. The air between them had been crackling for weeks, and finally Seungmin blurted it out.

"Why are you acting like everything is normal, yn?"

She looked at him briefly, puzzled, and thought silently about what to say in response. "Because I don't know what else to do." It was nothing more than a whisper when the words escaped her mouth.

"You want to leave. I know that. You know that. We have to live with it!"

"It's not that simple... I don't want to lose you."

"But what if you can't have both?" Seungmin looked at her and there was a certain bitterness in his features. The words were harsh and hit exactly where he intended. A shiver ran through her and she bit her lip desperately.

"I thought... maybe we could... I don't know. Do you think we could make a long-distance relationship work?" It was more of a sob than a question.

In contrast to his hard and dismissive exterior, Seungmin was in complete chaos inside. He wanted to scream, cry, kiss his yn, and tell her that they could do anything, but he didn't.

"I don't know." He stood up with a stern expression. A mask on his face that showed no emotion. He left the room silently, it taking all his willpower not to turn around at Yn's quiet sobs. He didn't know why he did it. Maybe to protect himself from the pain, maybe because he was incredibly selfish, or maybe because he knew it was hopeless.

~☆~

The game was over, Stayville High had won. Confetti rained down and applause filled the air. The students in the stands went wild, Seungmin was surrounded by his friends and teammates, still in his sweaty jersey, racket in hand, grinning, but his gaze kept wandering searchingly through the crowd.

Outside the stadium, yn rushed along the path, bag slung over her shoulder, cell phone in hand. Twenty-seven missed calls and countless messages from Seungmin popped up on her lock screen. In her head, she remembered her last message to him, in which she had promised that she would make it in time."I'll be there soon."

But the spontaneous job interview that afternoon had thrown a spanner in the works. The email had made it crystal clear: either today or you can forget your dream.

"Ms. yln, unfortunately we can only offer you a scholarship interview today at 3:00 p.m. So if you are still interested, we recommend that you take advantage of the appointment, otherwise we can't do anything for you."

She had hesitated, after all, she had promised Seungmin. Then she had gone to the interview.

The big victory celebration was already in full swing. Music, cheering, fan chants. The team let themselves be celebrated, carried through the crowd and bathed in alcohol. Everyone cheered, except Seungmin. He stood a little apart and watched the whole scene without emotion. He wasn't in the mood to cheer and dance.

From his position, he was the first to see her and probably the only one who cared about her arrival at all. YN appeared breathless at the entrance to the stadium and stopped a few meters in front of him, panting. Their eyes met and the unfiltered and raw emotions that had built up in both of them over the last few months collided. They formed an impenetrable, solid wall between them.

"Seungmin... I..." Her voice broke.

"I guess saving your NASA career was more important." His cold voice drowned out the loud music around them.

"It was just... the conversation was last minute. I wanted to..." Yn stammered hastily, trying to explain, but Seungmin interrupted her.

"It's okay. I should get used to it."

"Don't say that."

"It's true. We pretend we can make it work, but... you already have one foot over there. In New York. In your new life."

"I... I love you, Seungmin." She trembled, but he had no mercy, because he knew she was just delaying the inevitable and that a clean break would be best for both of them. So he played the bad guy. Because he loved her.

"Sometimes that's not enough. It's better if we end this. We both have our own dreams."She looked at him in horror. He couldn't be serious, could he? There was so much left unsaid between them. So many emotions, so many thoughts in her head, but she said nothing. Maybe because she knew he was right. Maybe it was for the best.

Exhausted, she sank to her knees in front of him. Something as simple as standing suddenly seemed like an insurmountable task. In that moment, it was as if her whole world had collapsed, and yet she couldn't bring herself to keep fighting. She was at the end of her rope, and so was he.

She stared blankly into space and watched as the young man she loved turned away from her to hide his own tears. Seungmin walked away with his head held high until he disappeared into the locker room, until she could no longer see his breakdown.

~☆~

It was late. Too late to do anything but cry. Tomorrow morning, her plane would fly to New York. Several weeks ago, yn had received an email confirming her acceptance to her dream university. But despite her joy and bright future prospects, the last few weeks had felt so empty, as if there were a huge wound gaping in the middle of her heart.

Yn sat slumped on the soft carpet of her room. Her shoulders shook with every silent sob, while her hands clutched one of the hoodies he had given her. Seungmin. For years, she had known no everyday life without him, and now... he was just gone. At school, they had avoided each other, any painful eye contact. She missed him so terribly.

Sobbing, she buried her face in the soft fabric of the top. The familiar smell that had always comforted her was now almost unbearable.

The door to her room opened with a soft creak. She hadn't even noticed the gentle, familiar knock before.

"Hey, Yn-ie." Nayeon's voice was soft, like a warm scarf on a cold morning. Without saying much, she sat down next to her little sister and silently pulled her into her arms. For a while, no one said anything. Yn buried her face in Nayeon's shoulder as her tears stained the fabric of the sweater.

"I couldn't... I didn't want to..." Yn's voice broke, barely audible. "But I... I love him."

Nayeon sighed softly and stroked her back reassuringly. "I know, sweetie. I know." She was silent for a moment, letting yn cry. When the sobs gradually subsided, she continued softly.

"You know... sometimes love means putting yourself first. It's okay if that hurts. But you chose your dream, and no one can hold that against you." She rested her chin gently on yn's head. "You're brave. Much braver than most people will ever be." Yn wiped her wet cheeks.

"But I lost him forever... was it really the right thing to do?" A faint smile flitted across Nayeon's face, bittersweet.

"True love finds its way. Even if it doesn't seem like that right now." She gently broke free from the embrace so she could look yn in the eyes. "Sometimes you have to separate first so that both of you can grow. And if you're meant to be, you'll find each other again someday. But you can't give up on yourself for that."

Yn nodded hesitantly, tears still glistening in her eyes. "I didn't want it to end like this. I wanted to say so much more... at least say goodbye properly."

Nayeon gently took her hands in hers. "Then do that. Write him a letter. Tell him how you feel. No reproaches, no expectations. Just... be honest. So you can leave without destroying yourself."

Yn took a shaky breath. "Do you think that will help?"

Nayeon smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling gently. "Maybe not in the way you want it to but it will help lighten your heart." She leaned in and kissed yn on the forehead.

"And now... first, breathe. Then write him that letter. And then pack your things for New York. NASA won't wait." She winked slightly to lighten the mood a little. Despite everything, YN had to smile weakly. Nayeon stood up and gently pulled her up with her.

"And if you can't sleep, call me. I've got enough ice cream stashed in the freezer for the next three breakdowns and heartbreaks."

"Thanks, Unnie." Yn had to smile and hug her big sister tightly once more.

"Anytime, little one." And with one last encouraging smile, Nayeon left her alone to sort through her thoughts and feelings.

~☆~

The sun had long since set when Seungmin, completely exhausted, pushed open the door to his room. He carelessly threw his backpack into the corner and placed his racket and glove in their usual spot. His muscles burned, sweat clinging coldly to his skin, which he wanted to wash off as quickly as possible, but his body was just a shell in which his head had been unable to form a clear thought for weeks.

He pulled his training shirt off, threw it casually on the chair, and froze. A simple, cream-white envelope lay on his pillow. No name, no sender. Just the familiar handwriting on the front. "For you."

Seungmin swallowed hard. His heart skipped a beat. He knew immediately who had written it. yn. He slowly sat down on the bed and stared at the piece of paper in his trembling hands for several minutes. The world around him blurred. He heard the dull thumping of his heartbeat, as if someone had turned up the volume to the max.

Yesterday, she had flown to New York, and he hadn't said goodbye. His heart contracted at the thought of everything he had wanted to say, because he had decided to remain silent. Finally, he took a deep breath and ran his fingertips over the envelope, as if to make sure it was real. With trembling fingers, he carefully tore it open. A single sheet of fine stationery, covered with the handwriting he had seen dancing beside him during countless hours in the library. Slowly he began to read.

"Seungmin, there are things I could never say out loud. I wanted us to make it work. I wanted it so badly. But sometimes life has other plans. I will always love you. I will miss you. Maybe that's enough. Maybe not. But please don't forget me. Your dearest yn."

His hands began to shake. Tears ran silently down his cheeks, falling onto the paper, blurring some of the words. He closed his eyes as if that would block out the pain, but it didn't help. His heart contracted, aching so badly that he felt he couldn't breathe. Desperately, he clung to the piece of paper, but it couldn't give him what he wanted, because in the end they had to choose: their dreams or their relationship.

"I should have stopped you. I should have just taken you in my arms and told you that I couldn't do it without you. But I didn't. I was too cowardly to even try."

He sucked in his breath sharply and wiped his face hastily. The paper lay trembling in his lap.

Slowly, he reached for his phone. The screen lit up when he opened the messenger app and looked directly at her name, her profile picture, her last message. How many hours had he spent in recent months writing meaningless messages and never sending them? He typed again.

"I love you too. I will never forget you."His thumb hovered over the send button. Seconds stretched into eternity. Because somewhere he knew: these words would not change anything. So he deleted them. Letter by letter. Word by word.

~☆~

The camera followed Seungmin as he walked onto the pitcher's mound in his jersey. His movements were calm and focused, but one could see the tension in his shoulders.

The scoreboard flashed: Final round. Last pitch. He took a deep breath. The crowd was loud and restless. But in his head: silence.

He had made it this far. All that was left to win the Korean series championship was this one throw. Nervousness coursed through Seungmin. He had worked so hard for years for this moment, but could he really do it?

His gaze wandered through the crowd. So many people who would celebrate his victory in a few seconds and at the same time so many who would thank him for a careless mistake. Because now everything was in his hands.

But as he let his gaze wander and tried to block out the cheers of thousands of people, his eyes met hers. Yn was sitting in the third row, slightly hidden under a cap. But he recognized her even after all the years they had been apart. When their eyes met, she smiled that small, honest smile that had always grounded him, and a flutter went through Seungmin's stomach. His face lit up. No exaggerated grin, just a quiet, deep knowledge: she was here. And somehow it gave him hope and so much strength.

He took a run-up. His movement was clean, precise, and as the ball cut through the air, everything seemed to stand still for a moment. When the ball hited the catcher's hand perfectly and the word "strike" flashed up everywhere, cheers erupted from all corners of the stadium.

Seungmin stood still. Then he exhaled, deeply. A smile broke through, not just because of the throw. But because he knew that maybe, after all this time, there was still a chance for their love.

Sometimes we think love is a destination. But maybe it's more like a compass. And when two hearts drift apart, sooner or later they will find their way back to each other.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The housing crisis considered as an income crisis

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

A paradox: in 1970, everyday Americans found it relatively easy to afford a house, and the average American house cost 5.9x the average American income. In 2024, Americans find it nearly impossible to afford a house, and the average American house costs…5.9x the average American income.

Feels like a puzzler, right? Can it really be true that the average American house is as affordable to the average American earner as it was in 1970? It is true, as you can see from Blair Fix's latest open access research report, "The American Housing Crisis: A Theft, Not a Shortage":

https://economicsfromthetopdown.com/2024/10/23/the-american-housing-crisis-a-theft-not-a-shortage/

Fix also points out that is even more true of rents than it is of house prices. The ratio of rent to average income has actually fallen slightly since 1970. Rents are also, in some mathematical sense, "affordable."

Now, those of you who are well-versed in statistical card-palming will likely have a pretty good idea of the statistical artifact at the root of this paradox: the word "average." If you remember your seventh grade math, you'll recall that "average" has more than one meaning. Sure, there's the most common one: add several values together, then divide the total by the number of values you added. For example, a nonzero number of people have one or zero arms, so the average human has slightly fewer than two arms.

That average is called the "mean." The mean US wage is pretty robust: $73,242/year:

https://fred.stlouisfed.org/series/A792RC0Q052SBEA/1000

But the majority of Americans are not earning anything like $73k/year. Since the Reagan years, the number of Americans living in poverty and extreme poverty has climbed and climbed. And while their declining income sure drags down that average, it's dragged way, way, way up by another group of Americans – the ultra-rich.

You see, as Fix writes, back in the Reagan years, America initiated an experiment in redistribution. Reagan enacted policies that moved most of the nation's wealth from the great majority of working people to a tiny minority of people who ended up owning pretty much everything. Throw their income into the mix, and the average American's income is sufficient to finance the average American home, with plenty to spare.

In other words, this isn't an "average human has fewer than two arms" situation, it's more like a "Spiders Georg" situation. Spiders Georg is a Tumblr meme about a guy who eats 10,000 spiders every day and is thus single-handedly responsible for the (false) statistic that the average human eats two spiders a week:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spiders_Georg

The American rich – Reagan's progeny – are the Spiders Georg of house prices. By hoarding the great mass of American national wealth, they create a statistical mirage of affordable housing.

Now, that's interesting, but where Fix goes next with this is even more fascinating. If the average price of housing (relative to average income) has stayed fixed since 1970, then it follows that the price of housing isn't being driven up by a problem with supply. Rather, these numbers suggest that America has enough housing, it's just that (most) Americans don't have enough money.

If that's true – and I have a couple of quibbles, which I'll get to in a sec – then the most common prescription for solving American housing (building more of it) is somewhat beside the point. For Fix, using public funds to subsidize cheaper housing is like using public funds to pay for food stamps for working people whose wages are too low to keep them from starving. Sure, we should do that: no one should be without a home and no one should be hungry. But if working people can't afford shelter and food, then we have a wage problem, not a supply problem.

Fix – as ever – has a well-thought through, painstakingly documented "sources and methods" page to back up his conclusions:

https://economicsfromthetopdown.com/2024/10/23/the-american-housing-crisis-a-theft-not-a-shortage/#sources-and-methods

And while Fix acknowledges that reversing the mass transfer of wealth from working people to their bosses (and their bosses' idle offspring) is a big lift, he rightly wants to keep the question of wages (rather than housing supply) front and center in our debate about why so many of us are finding it hard to keep a a roof over our heads. We need progressive taxation, higher minimum wages, protection from medical and education debt, and hell, why not a job guarantee?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/25/canada-reads/#tcherneva

I love Fix's work, and this report is no exception. He does it all in his spare time. Some nice progressive think tank should give him a grant so he can do (a lot) more of it.

That all said, I do have a quibble with his conclusion about the adequacy of the American housing supply. In California, we have a shortage of 3-4 million homes, a number arrived at through the relatively robust method of adding up the number of California families that would like to have their own homes and subtracting the number of homes available near those families:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/California_housing_shortage

How to explain the discrepancy? One possibility is that the price of housing is artificially low, because more than 181,000 people are homeless here. Hundreds of thousands of more people are living in overcrowded housing, with multiple families inhabiting spaces intended for just one (or even a single person). If all of those people were competing for housing, the price might rise even higher.

Think of the people who have given up looking for work – because they're not in the workforce, wages go up. If they were competing in the labor market, wages would fall. Maybe all those people would prefer to have a job, but they're missing from the statistics.

That's one theory. Another is that we're getting tripped up on averages again here. California does have some towns with many vacancies, extra supply that is pushing down prices; it's also got many places with far more people who want to live there than there are homes for. It's possible that there's enough supply on average across the states, but – as we've seen – averages are deceptive.

Ultimately, I think both things can be true: we have a wage problem and we have (many, localized) supply problems. Both of these problems deserve our attention, and neither is acceptable in a civilized society.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/24/i-dream-of-gini/#mean-ole-mr-median

[exqorcism]

WEST SIDE ━ father charlie ׂ ׅ ✿ ⋆˚⊹

a/n. sum sub charlie for anon <3 as always, hope you enjoy ♡ // as always feedback is deeply appreciated !🗣️ warnings. nsfw content! sub!charlie x fem!dom!reader ‧begging ‧ slapping ‧ creampie ‧ unprotected piv ‧ blasphemy as always

"angel, i can't", charlie cried out, throwing his head back against the headrest. he looked a mess; his usually perfectly combed hair was all over the place, damp against his glistening forehead. his chest was moving rapidly with uneven breaths ⎯ muscles clenching every now and then as you run your hands over his chiselled shoulders. lips slightly parted, cries and incoherent mumbles leaving his mouth with every withdraw of your hips. and his eyes ⎯ wide, almost black in the church's dim lightning; pleading, staring back into your playful ones.

your smell was intoxicating ⎯ the bitter almond and cherry combination making his head spin. your hips moved against his slowly, the obscene sounds of your wetness sliding down his cock, along with your ragged breathing and charlie's moans filled the church, as you created a song of your own.

"oh, baby, but you wanted this", you cooed, running your hand over his cheek soothingly. he would never get over the way you rode him ⎯ how your hips moved with purpose, grinding against his own, pinning him to the chair so that he wouldn't try to move and control your rhythm. no, this time, you took it slowly ⎯ driving him insane, causing tears to brim in the corners of his pretty eyes.

"look at you", you teased, taking a hold of his necklace, fiddling with the glistening cross laying on the centre of his chest. "a man of god. letting me use him however i please. in the very chair he sits during his masses, to warn of the sins of the flesh", you sang, grinding your hips down onto his own, feeling him deep in your stomach. a soft breath left your chest as the chilly air hit your exposed skin, charlie's hands digging into your hips painfully.

"only for you, angel", he mumbled, throwing his head back, and you felt his cock twitch inside you. a grin made its way onto your face, your hips slamming against him.

"good boy. my good boy", you whispered softly, adoration filling your chest at the sight ⎯ father charlie, completely at your mercy, for once.

"yes, yes, yes", the priest chanted as you rolled your hips, sinking down on him again and again. the clenching of your cunt against his aching cock made charlie whimper lowly.

"'m so fucking close", deep groan left his chest ⎯ at which without hesitation, you slapped his cheek with force. gasp left his mouth, lower lip trembling, pleading eyes snapping open to look at you.

"watch your mouth", you spat, and before he could control himself, he was already coming deep inside of you. his whole body shook uncontrollably when his cum painted your walls, the sensation making you let out a surprised, shaky breath.

"oh god, 'm sorry, so sorry, angel⎯ fuck, yes", charlie groaned, wrapping his arms around you, his greedy lips pressing against your ear tightly. another harsh slap to his cheek, and he was a whimpering mess, begging you to stop. "a-angel, i can't", he practically melted into the chair, gasping for air, cock twitching inside of your velvety walls.

"you fucking wanted it. now take it", you arched your back, causing his dick to hit even deeper inside of you. with a strangled moan, you grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at you ⎯ gaze clouded with lust, sheer layer of sweat covering his body.

he looked divine.

"poor baby. open your mouth f'me". and charlie obeyed, tongue rolling out involuntarily ⎯ the feeling of your pussy clenching around his cock making his head spin. the moment your warm spit landed on his tongue, his eyes rolled back, and he swallowed audibly ⎯ already beginning to feel his second orgasm nearing. your lips ghosted over his own, breathless moans leaving his mouth as he pressed you flat against his chest.

"i'm your good boy. please, tell me i'm your good boy", he sniffled softly, and you smirked, rolling your hips on top of him teasingly.

"you are my good boy".

hoffmansgirl 2024.

nicholas chavez masterlist | request here .ᐟ

[rueclfer]

evergreen

𖤓 part vii. | series m.list | prev | part viii.

touya had been at camp for less than 24 hours and he could already feel himself cracking. you were insufferable, stubborn, and self righteous, but it doesn't take him long to remember that you always had been.

betweens silent sips of the beer bottle twirling between his fingers, he thinks back on the summer after his sixteenth birthday- which he concluded was the last good summer before things started getting bad.

this was the year that touya had forgotten to pack deodorant for one of japan's hottest summers within the last decade. knowing you, it didn't take much convincing for you to practically beg him to take your spare. you two spent the entire summer smelling like lilac and white tea.

touya distinctly remembered all the teasing from other campers that so obviously made its way under your skin. you've always been so easily irritable. he probably spent that entire summer warning you about getting a crinkled tan line right in between your eyebrows from all the scowling.

he almost audibly laughs to himself. compared to the look on your face when you two made eye contact earlier today, he half-way wished it was that scowl instead.

touya leans his head back and lets it hit the smooth wood of the cabin wall, bringing the opening of the bottle up to his lips. this wouldn't be the first night he'd be drinking with you on his mind.

"dude, get your fucking shoes off my bed." tomura tosses a pillow off of hawks' bed, hitting touya's shoulder.

he rolls his eyes and straightens his legs, letting his feet dangle off the side of the bed.

"loser." he mutters into the back of his hand as he swipes it across his lips.

"and if you throw up on my bed, i'm setting your cabin on fire." tomura downs the remainder of the contents in his red solo cup. "y/n in it and everything, you fuckers can die together."

touya rolls his eyes with a glint of a smirk on his lips. 

“always such a romantic, shigs. you’re more than welcome to burn with us.”

"shut up, I can't stand emo on emo crime, or flirting or whatever the fuck you guys are doing." hawks slurs, swivelling back and forth on the desk chair with his cheek pressed against the palm of his hand. "y/n is just another one of touya's victims, leave them out of this."

tomura drops his head into his lap, slapping a hand over his mouth to suppress a fit of drunken giggles. hawks look over at him with a wide grin.

"that wasn't even funny, shigs." he giggles. "shut up or else touya's gonna beat your ass."

"me?" he exclaims. "you're the one who said some stupid shit, not me. i'm gonna tell y/n and have them beat your ass." he says in between laughter.

touya's eyes flicker between the two bickering and laughing back and forth in their drunken daze. if he was a bit less intoxicated, he'd have more to say to his idiot friends and their antics.

maybe that was a cue for him to leave.

touya sits for a bit longer. it would be wise of him to sober up before stepping out into the open woods and making the trek back to his cabin- especially if he had to come to face you this late. is this feeling excitement or dread?

he taps on his phone screen. 12:37 AM.

he wonders if you were done packing. it's been almost three hours since curfew. what would you be doing now? making a summer bingo card? read a book? going through his things? plotting his demise? you were always a mass of type-a unpredictability.

the cabin door suddenly swings open, bringing the bickering to a halt and inviting in the warm summer night breeze.

while the breeze rolls in, the air sucks out of touya's lungs.

"what?" you sheepishly say, suddenly self conscious over the amount of eyes on you.

touya noticed the familiar old jacket slung over your shoulder. there was really no need for one on a warm summer night like this, but of course you had to grab it.

just in case!

your voice rings in his head.

"am i interrupting something?" you cock an eyebrow, eyeing the line of empty beer bottles lining the wall. "weren't you losers just saying something about missing me? what're you guys so quiet about?"

"you're late." hawks exclaims, breaking the wall of silence. "shots. now. you need to catch up." he reaches down from under the desk and pulls out a half empty handle of vodka.

"nah, put that shit away." tomura slides himself off of hawks' bed and stumbles onto his own beside touya "i wanna go to sleep."

"pull it together, crustbucket." you huff, taking his spot on hawks' bed across from the others. "you can handle a couple more shots."

you silently said your prayers. you and touya haven't seen each other since the bonfire, and he hadn't bothered stopping by the cabin before heading off to hawks and tomura's. you weren't sure if you were unintentionally-intentionally avoiding each other, or if things really are different now.

get a grip.

you silently curse to yourself, accepting the handle of vodka that you were sure had been passed around many of the other counselors that had stopped by earlier.

you squint your eyes shut in anticipation before tipping the bottle back, taking in a deep swig of the lukewarm alcohol.

you hold your breath through the burning sensation crawling down your throat. a beat passes. then two.

your eyes slowly open and catch touya's. he doesn't notice his lips curling into a smirk or his head nodding in approval as you pass the handle over to him.

you were grateful that in this weather, with this alcohol settling in your stomach, the heat prickling your cheeks and ears could pass off as nothing.

"where'd you learn how to do that?" he casually brings the spout up to his lips, the smirk never disappearing.

"you don't think i know how to drink?" you cock an eyebrow at him.

"can't i be impressed?" he playfully rolls his eyes. "you used to be such a wimp when it came to this stuff."

you don't reply, but instead press your lips together and avert your gaze down to your shoes.

if they were kids again, touya would take this as a success. you don't let him win often- or at all, really, but there's something bitter laced with your silence.

things feel different.

a/n: ok time to check in how r we feeling abt this fellas!!!! i rlly do writing shigs n hawks like this like i lowkey think they should all kissssss heh

tags:

@iluv-ace @bitchyfestivalbouquet @redr0sewrites @babylambdietcoke @bnhabadass @hanmastattoos @1ndee @starsryi @nesrynsblog @twoplayergaymers @suksatoru @ita606 @pookiebear16 @fictionalcharactersownmyheart @in-the-marina-trench @haruhi269 @itgetzweird08 @ilophilia @chimimon @emluvs-sugu @punishblue @whorror-complex @akumakitsune21 @maddie-rose-1 @ixeyi @commonmisery @ggriwm @exselily @kryscent @starrmage @vannyinthestars @burnishingbagels @soobhns @kaybug88 @lantsovheiress @0skullyard0 @albakugo @sleepyk0dyz

[average-mako-enjoyer]

crying screaming throwing up 1/3

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I just bitched about the lazy writing and world-building in Mass Effect, but I wouldn't love these games if they didn't have moments where everything was on point (or close to it): the writing, the animation, the voice acting, everything.

Here's one of my favorite scenes, it's very short and I bet you've never thought about it before, but it's so, so good, I'm obsessed with it and I have to scream.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure that the only time that Shepard really freaks out is after the Mars mission. It happens right on screen, we don't hear it from someone else, we don't have to headcanon it, we get to see Shepard not as a protagonist, not as a savior of the galaxy, not as a soldier, but as an actual human being, simply scared shitless.

I also love that it starts with Liara immediately realizing what's going on. You can see that she freaks out too, because Shepard is freaking out, and the camera lingers on her reaction as it shifts from fear to sadness to understanding. And then we finally get to see the condition of our favorite Virmire survivor, and it's just oof.

When we go back to Liara, she already knows what to do.

And then we finally get to see Shepard. All these erratic movements are completely out of character. Throughout the three games, we only see Shepard move with some sort of intention (yes, because it's a game, and it's supposed to be that way, but think beyond that; it's also Shepard's characteristic as a person), and there's no intention in this. Shepard is holding on to the examination table, trying to lean down or move forward, and that's because now, in this situation, he can do nothing. No amount of self-sacrifice, quick thinking, tactical advantage, or stupid badassery will help. There's someone on that table he clearly cares about, and he has no say in the matter.

And Liara knows it. She leans forward to look Shepard in the eye and draw his attention to herself. She starts soft and pleading:

And dude, Shepard's expression is everything. It's sad and scared and open... again, completely out of character.

And then we can watch Liara's expression change when she sees that Shepard heard her. Her tone is no longer soft, it becomes quite aggressive.

It is all very deliberate. And it works! Shepard is still terrified, but he furrows his eyebrows and his expression closes. Now he looks more like the Shepard we all know and love.

Another change of tactics, and oh my god. Say what you will about my girl Liara, she is a real MVP here. Notice how she goes soft again and just gives Shepard a suggestion. She knows the best way to snap him out of his panic and sense of sheer helplessness is to push him to start giving orders again.

And again, it works! This sounds and looks like our usual Shepard.

Oh, I love these animations. The change from something hard-assed and in control to something vulnerable... Whoever animated this, let me kiss you on the mouth, let's ride into the sunset. You're beautiful and I love you.

✨Gentle touches✨ Not like our usual Shep at all.

Now to part 2 because I have even more gifs

[dailyadventureprompts]

As much as I'm falling in love with Blades in the Dark, I'm still trying to what makes for an ideal setting for it, as I've had a few false starts bore hitting something that works with my current weird western.

Here's what I've figured out:

1) Systems of power rotten through with corruption and exploitation. The current order is a house of cards held up only by injustice, compromise, and brutality... and it responds with EVEN MORE BRUTALITY when it's threatened. People with power need to be desperate to hold onto it and so are more willing to take risks to hold onto it, which presents opportunities for the players (and other groups) to act when that deathgrip opens cracks in the facade.

2) A particular claustrophobia when it comes to the factions. everyone is in someone's pocket, owes a debt, or knows a guy. Can't swing a dead bluecoat without knocking against three different factions and at least two of them hate you. While this doesn't necessarily mean you need to have everything happening in one city things need to be close enough together that the crew is stepping on someone's toes no matter where they go. This keeps the crew playing the game of politics, trading favours for alliances while constantly risking the wrath of those higher than them.

3) Vice as societal lubricant. Just like the crew needs vice to unwind from their capers, the setting needs flow of vice to keep the wheels of power turning, no matter how greasy they get or who gets crushed underfoot. The masses need distraction, the elites need excess, the industries need fuel, and the strange need power. This gives the crew endless opportunities to find someone who's buying what they're selling, or piss someone off after their antics interrupt the flow of commerce.

4) Enough is NEVER enough. An organizing principle of any world using Blades as a system is that no one ever has enough of what they need, and so is driven to desperate action in order to get it. Even those on top of the pyramid lack the control they desire (see point 1), and everyone they squeeze to get it finds themselves grasping for something else too. NPCs who are rich in any one thing should be hungrily lacking in something else, be it material resources or ephemeral things like recognition or inner peace. When the debt comes due, the crew always owes more than they can pay off, meaning they must take further risks to try and stabilize, forcing them to bite off more then they can chew each time.

5) The Clock is Ticking. Whether or not they know it, every time the crew goes through the setup/mission/downtime cycle they're getting closer and closer to something big happening. One of the city's long standing tensions boils over into outright conflict, someone important dies and leaves a mess for others to clean up, something well and truly weird happens and it throws the system into chaos. Sometimes the party will kickstart this chain of events themselves, but it's always a good idea to have at least one in your back pocket, that way if they play things safe you can spring the unexpected on them and knock them out of their predictable pattern.

[ghoul-slime]

okay here's the actual prompt lmao:

dewther & a good ole closet quickie? maybe after a show, between chores, before mass . . . authors choice xx

Crow!!! Thank you for sending me this prompt all the way back in March and I'm SO sorry it took me forever to finish!

Aether/Dew, closet quickie, newly summoned Dewther being filthy and disgusting and obsessed with each other. 1,057 words.

Read here or on Ao3

They can’t keep their hands off each other. Not even a week since they’ve been summoned, and they’ve fucked so many times they’ve lost count.

So when Dew takes Aether’s hand and tugs him into one of the hallway storage closets on their way to band rehearsal, he doesn’t even consider saying no.

“We’re gonna be late,” Aether says with a breathy chuckle, sounding entirely unconcerned about the fact. He’s already hard in his pants when Dew tugs off his silver mask and sinks to his knees in front of him.

“Don’t care,” the water ghoul answers back, tucking a strand of long, blonde hair behind his ear and working to pull off the sash tied around Aether’s waist. He unfastens his uniform pants with deft fingers and makes a pleased little trill as they fall to the floor, revealing that the bigger ghoul hadn’t bothered with underwear since the last time they undressed each other that day.

Aether slips off his own mask just as Dew leans in and swallows him down into that deliciously warm, wet mouth. He tilts his head back against the wall of the closet as the little ghoul bobs his head, takes him all the way down his throat with a satisfied hum. He’s sure that Dew can taste himself on his cock too, unshowered and undoubtedly still covered with slick and lube from their activities less than a half-hour earlier.

He sucks Aether off unhurried, letting his hands wander across Aether’s thick thighs as he works. Once he’s satisfied he pulls off with a wet pop and gives the flushed, glistening head one last lick before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He stands up with a triumphant look on his face.

Dew tugs his own sash off, shimmies his pants down and lets them pool at his feet. Aether watches with rapt attention as he turns around and rucks the ends of his uniform tunic up around his waist and leans forward, bracing himself on the opposite wall with his hands. He arches his back and looks over his shoulder at Aether expectantly.

“C’mon and fuck me,” he says, with an impatient wiggle of his slim little hips.

They haven’t even known each other for more than a week, and already Aether knows that he’s never gonna be able to say no to this ghoul for the rest of his life. So he takes himself in one hand and lines up, sinking into Dew’s hot little body with absolutely no resistance - happy to give him everything he wants. 

“Oh, fuck yeah, just like that,” Dew throws his head back as Aether presses in and fills him up. He’s already so fucked open and wet that he doesn’t even need time to adjust to the stretch.

Even in the dim light of the closet Aether can see the way Dew’s body opens up for him. Like he was made for it. He slides all the way in and pulls back out nice and slow - just slow enough to admire the way his slick, pink rim grips his cock as he pulls out. He holds there for a moment, with the tip of his cock kissing Dew’s entrance. So pretty, Aether thinks to himself, watching as Dew’s empty hole flutters for him, desperate for him to finally press back in nice and deep. He squeezes bony hips and pushes forward until he’s pressed all the way inside, thighs flush with the back of Dew’s.

With a grunt, he picks up the pace, fucking in and out with deep, rapid fire strokes so strong they force the ghoul beneath him forward with a bounce each time. It doesn’t take long, not with a view like this, for Aether to feel his heavy balls drawing up tight. Dew can tell too, because he clenches around him on each stroke, pushing him closer to the edge. The smaller ghoul reaches between his legs and jacks himself off to Aether’s increasingly erratic thrusts, until they’re both panting and moaning together in the tight space of the closet.

“Gonna cum,” Aether warns, claws digging into the meat of Dew’s skinny little ass. Dew just answers with an encouraging nod, hand still working furiously between his own legs as he chases his own orgasm.

Aether buries himself deep when he cums, fingers and claws leaving marks on Dew’s bony hips as he pulls him back and holds him still while he finishes inside. It’s enough to set Dew off too, and he cums with a shout, spilling wet and dripping across his own fingers.

They stay locked together for a minute before Aether pulls out, admiring how wrecked Dew’s pretty little hole looks. He starts to pull his pants back up when he stops him with a hand on his wrist.

“Don’t put it away yet, I want to taste it,” Dew says, locking eyes with Aether and lowering himself to his knees again. Aether hisses as Dew wraps a hand around his still sensitive cock and brings it to his lips. The little ghoul opens up wide and gingerly takes his softening cock into his mouth. Blonde lashes flutter closed against flushed cheeks as he sucks, knowing well enough that if he really wanted to, he could suck Aether through the pain until he’s hard and ready to go again.

Instead he holds him in his mouth like that, savoring the taste of him on his tongue. He holds him inside like that until Aether starts to squirm, and then he releases him, gives his soft cock a few more delicate little kitten licks until he’s nice and clean. Satisfied, he pulls off and stands back up, grinning wildly at Aether's flushed face. 

Aether, still panting, dutifully reaches for Dew’s hand, still one wet and sticky with his own release, and licks each and every one of his long fingers clean in return.

When they finally make it to rehearsal, they’re nearly twenty minutes late. Aether attempts to apologize on their behalf, but Papa Terzo just waves them both off with a knowing smirk. As he takes his place next to Dew on the practice stage, the little ghoul flashes another fanged grin, and already Aether is thinking of all the things he plans to do to him as soon as they’re alone again.

[kruven]

1. apples and appeals

「 act one 」

「 go back to start? 」 — 「 go forward? 」

luffy likes to eat.

no, he loves to eat. food is tasty and this is perfect to for him. flavors are good. they burst in your mouth and overwhelm you with happiness. eating is the solution to the world's problems. eat and take a nap.

he likes to nap too. but he likes to eat more.

he doesn't like fruits much. or even vegetables if he is to be honest. and he is honest enough to share that fact with everyone.

but apples? they aren't too bad to him.

———––————––——–———–——–——–———

"shoo!" she yelps as she took an apple out from her basket to throw it on the growling dog in front of her. "dad.." she gulps as her hands trembled.

the dog was a small brown mangy mass. it snarled as it crept closer. she yelled as she threw one of her precious apples (the ones her grandma told her to buy from the market) at the dog. it did not land on the head. it landed near the paws of it. it bent to sniff at the object, momentarily bringing her relief.

the dog bared its teeth. (she doesn't think dogs like apples anyway, she is not stupid)

the dog lunged. she got scared and closed her eyes, forgetting the basket, she used her hands to cover her eyes. the basket fell to the ground, and the apples inside spilled everywhere.

thud

(that was not the sound of a bite. or even her screaming)

"ow.." it was a voice of a boy. she slowly opened her eyes and looked from the gaps of her fingers. "it bit me!" he huffed as the dog ran off in the alleyway near.

"but it's fine! i'm rubber so it's fine." he grinned as he looked at her. "what?" she muttered, confused and shaking.

"rubber!" he repeated in full confidence, and loudly. (he thought she didn't hear him) but that did not solve her confusion nor he decided to elaborate. she let it go.

"thanks.." she mutters as she bends down on her knees, collecting her apples in her basket.

one apple in the basket;

"are you new here?" he picked up the apple she first threw at the dog.

"no i'm visiting my grandma.." she bites the inside of her cheeks.

second apple in the basket;

she glances at him from the side. he looks like he wants to say something. he does not. she looks down at the basket and sighs picking up the third apple.

third apple in the basket;

"where's your grandma?"

"home."

"where?"

"here."

"is it close?"

"uh.. yeah.."

fourth apple in the basket;

"uhm thank you.. what's your name?" she looks at the boy in his eyes.

"luffy." he replies too quickly.

she bites the inside of her lips and tells him her own name. (she thinks his name sounds like a dog's name)

fifth apple in the basket;

"so—"

"urmm..."

they talk at the same time.

sixth apple in his hand;

"here." he shoves his hand to her, giving her the apple. she takes it and instead of putting it back to her basket she dusts it off with her sleeve. she gives it back to him.

"you can keep it. as a thank you." she smiles at him.

———––————––——–———–——–——–––––

luffy chomps on the apple given to him.

apples are nice. even if they were licked by a dog or thrown to dirt just before.

apples are good and they are red. just like his favorite color.

out of all the apples in his village, he likes this apple more.

a/n: man I sure do hope I won't cancel this again. last time I think I cancelled it in 2024? I saw on wattpad that someone msg me asking when I'm continuing the series today and it was asked in 2024 and I panicked and deleted it. ik there's grammer mistakes and idc