#so bringing this blog back is like fifty fifty

[suhsweet]

perv!mingyu ⟡ kmg

wc: 731 | pair: perv!mingyu x afab!reader | genre: roommates au, 18+ (minors go away) | tags: mingyu is PERVERTED, panty stealing, dirty thoughts, mingyu spies on the reader

summary: when your roommate mingyu is a filthy, dirty pervert obsessed with you

authors note: maybe i'm a freak, but i literally thought that mingyu uploaded a pic of himself sniffing either socks or underwear. this is a really short drabble. wrote this in an hour. i might write more about perv!mingyu :) i told y'all that this blog is really self-indulgent...

Mingyu can’t remember exactly when his obsession with you began. One day, you were his roommate. The next, you were the star of all his fantasies. He’s had plenty of roommates before you, but you were different.

Maybe it's the fact that he knows what you sound like when you’re touching yourself. He knows you only do it when you’re the only one at home, where you can freely vocalize your pleasure without being embarrassed by anyone listening in. Except, that is exactly what Mingyu does.

If he tells you that he’ll be back from the gym by eight pm, he’s actually home at 7 and listening to you use your fingers to pleasure yourself. He tells you that he’s going to be at work until six, and comes home at five-fifty to hear the tail end of your orgasm.

Most of Mingyu’s nights are spent leaning against the wall your rooms share, pathetically fisting his swollen cock in his palms. His head would be pressed against the wall, his ears straining to find your moans. If he’s bold enough, he’s right outside your door with his dick out, where it’s significantly easier to hear you.

Right after you cum, he loudly opens and closes the front door to the apartment, hollering, “I’m home!”

He listens to you stumble around your room before you peek your head out. With your hair a mess, and eyes wide, Mingyu finds your flustered state so cute. He prevents a smug smirk from appearing when you innocently ask him how his day was.

He’s well aware that it would take only three strides of his long legs to reach your room. He’s also certain you didn’t have enough time to wipe your fingers clean of your essence. The idea that while you’re smiling innocently at him, behind the door your fingers are coated in your cum drives him insane. It takes everything in him not to burst into your room, take your hand in his, lick your fingers clean, and then make another mess of your pussy.

Mingyu’s perverted habits have been ongoing for several months. Mingyu was too far gone to feel any sense of guilt at this point. Not when you didn’t have to know. Not when he stole a pair of your panties from your laundry hamper while you were out with your friends.

He tries to use it sparingly to preserve your scent. He pulls it out on the occasions where he is so horny that his imagination cannot satiate his needs. It’s erotic, Mingyu thinks, that he’s using your panties while jerking himself off without your knowing.

He’s flat on his back, in the centre of his bed with the sheets pushed to his ankles. His room is plunged into darkness aside from the bedside lamp that illuminates his filthy act of perversion with a warm glow. He has his eyes closed whilst imagining the sight of you seated on his lips. He imagines his nose is buried in your delicious pussy, not the fabric of your underwear. His free hand grips his cock fiercely.

His mind presents him the image of you gripping his dark locks, your hips rotating as you grind into his mouth. His tongue is expertly drawing circles around your clit, the pressure of it so perfect that he brings to you an orgasm that is so shattering that you threaten to fall off of him. His arms would lock around your thighs like a vice. His eyes would look up at you, telling you everything that his occupied mouth can’t. His puppy eyes would be imploring, begging for more. His gaze would track your every movement, every rise and fall of your chest, every ‘o’ your mouth forms, every time your eyes clench shut when he sucks on your pussy.

And when you’re finished with his mouth, you’d come off of him, and clean up the mess you made by licking your release off of his lips. You two would make out as a result, messy and slick with saliva and cum.

While his imagination goes wild thanks to your used panties, Mingyu struggles to keep in the pitiful whine that threatens to leave his throat. He doesn’t want to wake you up. You’re obliviously sleeping on the other side of the wall, unaware that your pervert roommate is thinking such depraved thoughts about you.

[llflorence]

Can I convince you to fall for me?

Sequel to Did you just -- kiss me? (Human AU, RatedE)

Inspired by this art by @gahellhimself-blog

“Oh, pshh!” Maggie says as she begins her second mimosa. The fine lines around her mouth have cracked as the face mask dries. “He’s not going to judge your sexual prowess on a little chipped tooth.”

Aziraphale glances around at the stylists. They’re all watching where he and Maggie sit, side by side in the massage chairs with their feet in roiling tubs of hot, soapy water. He just knows he’s being judged.

“It’s not so little anymore,” he complains, quiet enough so only they two can hear. “If you hadn’t talked me into eating that toffee —“

Maggie’s natural falsetto voice gets even higher as she lifts the bottom of Aziraphale’s flute toward his face. “Puh-lease. It’s hardly noticeable. It’s like the dimples on your ass, or the ski-jump nose.”

Aziraphale pushes her hand away and immediately takes offense. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

She laughs. The ladies in the chairs to their right look disapprovingly down long noses. “I only meant that it’s cute!”

Before Aziraphale can protest, Maggie downs the rest of her drink. She leans over, conspiratorially like. “It’s not like he’s going to know you can’t afford the dentist because you have no insurance and can barely make rent without help from your mother. Unless, of course, you tell him.”

Maggie is the nicest, kindest, most generous person Aziraphale knows, which is why she’s his best friend. Still, alcohol does tend to make her brutally honest.

She pats his hand and lifts the glass back to his mouth. If this wasn’t their annual pampering girls' day, he’d have refused. As it is, it’s New Year's Eve morning, and he’s way out of sorts. Maybe she has the right idea.

He finishes the mimosa in two gulps and forces himself to withstand the bittersweet fizzing in his nose and on his tongue. If he’d listened to Muriel and postponed this date until after the holidays, he wouldn’t be so miserable.

Well. He’d be less miserable.

Aziraphale lets Maggie pour him another glass from the chilled carafe in the cooler by her side. By the way things are going, he’s going to need it to make it through her advice for this evening.

“Now. You’ve already hired the Uber, right?” Her pretty, plump cheeks are quite pink.

“Yes,” he sighs. “But I can’t even pay for this spa treatment. I don’t know how I’m going to pay down the credit cards —“

“Think of it this way,” she interrupts, swirling her glass and staring off into the distance. The windows are dripping with condensation, obscuring the view of the street. “If you drive Ruby, you’ll be obligated to go take her home, won’t you? This way your handsome devil will have to drive you to his place.”

Aziraphale hasn’t told her about the text messages. He’s certain that Anthony has it in the stars to bring Aziraphale home. The man just doesn’t know what to expect.

(He thinks of Ruby where she’s parked on the street outside his apartment. Two-hundred-and-forty-thousand miles and the Subaru hasn’t failed him yet.)

“Yeah,” he grumps. “And when we get there and I drop my trousers, and all I have to offer is soft-serve ice cream —“

Maggie laughs again. A good-sized splash of orange juice and champagne spills on her sweater. “At our age, that’s the least of our worries!”

Aziraphale is pretty sure she’s never had to deal with a limp dick her entire life.

“This coming from a fifty-one-year-old lesbian whose pleasure button is on the outside .”

This time, the whole row of massage chair inhabitants turns to look at them, from both sides. Aziraphale quickly hides his face in his drink.

Maggie, however, doesn’t get the hint. Her volume is way past annoying, heading for indecent. “Maybe you fifty-one-and-a-half-year-old gays should try using your fingers. Or, better yet, your mouth .”

Mimosa sprays all over Aziraphale’s lap, soiling his clean pants and dribbling down his chin. At least he hasn’t choked this time.

Felicia, his stylist, brings him a towel. There’s a mischievous glint in her eye. “About ten minutes left on the timer. You two need anything?”

Maggie needs nothing, of course. “But Aziraphale is going to need his chest waxed. I’m paying.”

“Aziraphale most certainly does not need his chest waxed!” he says, horrified. Felicia shares a wink with Maggie, and he groans at their sudden partnership.

“Come on!” Maggie pleads. She swishes her feet in the bath and bats her long eyelashes. “Don’t you think you shouldn’t leave anything to chance? Second time around and all?”

His stylist’s eyebrows rise as she lifts and checks under his mud mask. “Got a date, have we?”

Aziraphale closes his eyes and wishes he were anywhere else.

“It’s so romantic,” Maggie coos, and he knows she’s about to tell the whole tale. He inhales deeply and beats her to it.

“A friend of mine and I reconnected after fifteen years. I’m attending as his guest at a New Year’s Eve party tonight.”

Felicia knows Aziraphale almost as well as Maggie, seeing as he subscribes to therapy via hair and skin care. She eyes him head to foot and runs her tongue along the inside of her mouth. “Keep the hairy chest,” she nods. “Run some of that conditioner I gave you last time through it. You’ll thank me. So will he.”

Aziraphale takes her advice as he stands in the shower under what can only be called a ‘stream.’ It’s more like a slow drizzle; he’s called the landlord three times about the clogged shower head. And the busted lightbulb inside the fridge. And the window that’s stuck open in the kitchen. It’s getting to the point where he’s just going to fix things himself. That is, if he knew how.

He waits as long as he can, until goosebumps form on his arms and he’s procrastinated enough. He’s about as clean as he can be, and he’s done everything possible to make himself presentable. Nothing he can do about the tooth, of course.

Aziraphale shaves and dresses and paces in the kitchen as he waits for his ride. The new cufflinks from Muriel look out of place with his not-so-new shirt and suit coat. But at least he’s not wearing something rented; he could never live with himself if he did that.

He smooths out his tie and glances at the phone lying on the kitchen counter. There have been no text messages all day from him. Aziraphale knows it’s because he’s busy. Today was the day Anthony was scheduled to finish up on that very personal business he mentioned last week. And that was none of Aziraphale’s business.

The phone lights up, vibrating as a call comes through. It’s Muriel, and he considers not answering it. They’re probably ringing with more advice. As if he’s not already horribly embarrassed about the whole thing.

“Hey, Dad,” they say, bright and cheery as usual. “Just calling to wish you good luck.”

Aziraphale tries to smile so that it will show up in his voice. “Thanks, Dear. It’s really going to be f –”

“If it’s like, really bad, remember you can call me and I’ll pick you up. Just like you always offered for me.”

It’s going to be a long, long night, he thinks.

The Uber driver sends him a text from the street, and Aziraphale says goodbye to his offspring. He collects his long wool coat, hat, and mittens, and almost forgets the scarf as he pulls the door shut. It gets stuck in the door as he climbs inside, but Aziraphale doesn’t realize it. He’s too busy trying to make his hands stop shaking long enough to send a text.

To Anthony J. Crowley.

On my way! 

It’s a short drive through the busy part of downtown. Traffic is horrendous, and Aziraphale watches the time as his ride is forced to slow down to allow revelers to cross the streets. At this rate, he’ll be fifteen to twenty minutes late. Not the first impression he wishes to make, especially if Anthony relates punctuality to sex.

Sex is all Aziraphale can think about. In a matter of days, he’s become obsessed. He worries about how he smells, how he’ll taste, whether he should eat or be eaten. It ramps him up so high that he can’t focus on everyday things, like remembering to turn the dryer on after throwing wet clothes in. Or bringing the garbage and the recycling out to the cans.

So when the car pulls up to a swanky hotel, all lit up like a Christmas tree, he’s adjusting his dick inside the new underwear he bought himself as a gift. He makes the mistake of feeling the tip for wetness, which, of course, is right there. And, god, he hopes it isn’t leaking through to make a dark spot on the front of his trousers.

He pays and thanks the driver, opening the door to find the end of his scarf coated with brown, sandy slush. It’s dripping like mad as he lifts it off the ground, as he tries to close the car door and not step in the salty, puddled mess next to the curb.

The night has already begun with a failure, as he slips on the sidewalk and loses his balance. He closes his eyes as he sees very clearly what is about to happen. He’s going to land on his ass and ruin his night.

But the fall doesn’t happen. Instead, he is rescued. He is rescued by a tall, dark, devastatingly handsome man dressed in a familiar Santa cap. Gold-brown eyes twinkle down at him, and Aziraphale feels his breath catch in his throat. 

“Oh!” he manages, shocked and thrilled and a hundred other emotions all at once. Anthony has both hands firmly under Aziraphale’s elbows. And he’s smiling.

He’s smiling.

“See,” he begins, voice six shades of seductive as he steadies Aziraphale on his feet. “I thought maybe I could eventually convince you to fall for me, but this is ridiculous.”

Read on AO3

[minniesmutt]

☾ ━━━━━━ 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐨𝐫 𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: HAN X READER ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: VAMPIRE!HAN, HUMAN!READER, SOMNOPHILIA, CONSENT JEWELRY, IMPLIED FREE USE, UNPROTECTED SEX, NO PREP, SMUT W/ LITTLE PLOT, ☾ ━━━ WC: 1k ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     Jisung loved his girlfriend with all his undead heart. He just didn’t like their sleep schedules. His was pretty unavoidable. Yeah, he could walk in the sun, but night was when he was most active. And it’s not like he needed sleep to get his energy back like humans. That’s what blood was for. 

     So while he was up all night doing whatever, his pretty girlfriend was fast asleep. It had started taking a toll on their sex life. He didn’t want to complain much to her. He was centuries old, and he knew humans couldn’t go for hours nor did they often have the drive supernatural beings did. He only said something when she brought it up.

     “Do you know the last time we had sex?” Y/n asked randomly

     “Fifty-four days ago. I don’t know the hour and minutes to but—”

     “Were you counting the days?”

     “Yes…?”

     “And you didn’t bring it up to me at all?”

     “I wanted to after the first week but I didn't want you to think I was that needy.”

     Y/n sighed and walked over to her boyfriend, cupping his cheeks, “Ji, sweetie. I’ve told you my sex drive is high. You can always talk to me if you need me. I didn’t realize how long it had been.”

     “Everytime I want to though your… it’s going to sound dumb.”

     “No it won’t. What is it?” Y/n asked 

     “Everytime i’m in the mood you're always asleep and I don’t want to wake you because I know you need sleep.”

     “Then,” Y/n tried coming up with a solution. She knew it was hard with their occult difference.

     “See. There’s not really —“

     “Just fuck me when im asleep.”

     “Huh?!”

     He couldn’t deny he had thought about it a few times. Just pull back the covers and slip into her. Something about how pretty she looked when she was peacefully sleeping did something to his brain. 

     “Fuck me when—“

     “I heard you the first time, baby. But, are you sure? I don’t want to take advantage of you like that. Because if I fuck you, I’m going to want to bite you.”

     “You always want to bite me.”

     “I always want to fuck you.”

     “You can fuck me whenever you want.”

     “What if you’re not in the mood?”

     “What if we have a code word or something? Something for me to tell you, ‘I’m not in the mood today’ or ‘I’m in the mood today’? Would that help you?”

     “Yes. A lot,”

     The couple sat on the bed and brainstormed some ideas. Searching the internet a bit for ideas as well. Finally the settled on a piece of his jewelry. A necklace, easy floor him to spot since the camper may not always pay attention when he was focused on something and her neck was something his eyes always focused on. 

     He found an old necklace of his he had completely forgotten about. Nice enough that it could go with anything she wore. Y/n took the necklace from him and pecked his lips. She didn’t put the necklace on yet. She waited till she was getting ready for bed. She finished her skin care and clasped the necklace around her neck, making sure it was visible over her sleep shirt. 

     Jisung had zero clue. Forgetting a little about it and focusing on a track he was working on. He got pulled out when she kissed his cheek, “I’m going to bed,” Y/n told him, smiling a bit 

     “Have a good night,” Jisung said as he turned and pecked her lips. He saw the necklace but didn’t think much, again already having forgotten about the conversation a bit. It wasn’t until a few hours later he suddenly remembered. He froze at his computer, Eyes darting to the clock in the corner. Two twenty-nine in the morning. He didn’t know when she said goodnight to him so he didn’t know if she was asleep or not. His eyes needed a break anyways so he got up and walked down the hall to their bedroom. 

     “Baby,” he called a couple of times, no responses. He walked in, double checked and was wearing the necklace, and checked her  pulse. Both her pulse and her breathing were even and slow. She was asleep. 

     His cock sprung up at the thought of acting on things he’d thought about for so long. He walked over and pulled back the covers. He didn’t catch much of what she was wearing to bed at the time but boy was he happy to find his girlfriend in just one of her large t-shirts and nothing else. Making it easy for him. 

     “Fucking hell baby,” Jisung groaned then turned her onto her back. 

     The vampire put her thighs over his easily. He pulled down his shorts and boxers enough to get his dick out. He could see her folds glistening. He really wondered how long she was waiting in anticipation for him. 

     He pressed his tip into her slowly. Watching her to make sure she didn't wake up. Slowly pushing in further when she didn’t wake. He let himself get used to it. Feeling like he could cum from just the thrill of the action alone. He gave himself a minute then pulled back and thrusted into her. 

     His pace started slow. Careful to not wake her up but his pace picked when he realized she was sound asleep. Grabbing her thighs and pushing them up towards her chest. He pushed deeper into her, cock twitching inside her. 

     He tried keeping his voice down. Trying to swallow his groans as best he could. Gripping her thighs tightly as he frantically thrusted in and out of her. The thrill of what he was doing catching up to him and coming out inside her. Filling up her womb and burying himself into her. Grunting as he rode out his high. 

     Jisung took a moment to regain his clarity and pulled out. Amazed she managed to sleep through it. He grabbed a warm washcloth from their bathroom and cleaned her up. Kissing her neck before sinking his fangs into her. Drinking her neck, hands holding hips. 

     He pulled his fangs out of her neck and laid down beside her. Pulling the blanket over them and holding her close. Whispering an ‘I love you’ into the back of her head

☾ ━━━━━━ KINKTOBER M. LIST     M.LIST    TIP JAR

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[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

“even i’m not into that shit”

❤︎ synopsis — the sleep token members being fucking morons and fucking around

pairing: sleep token members x gn!reader (can be platonic or romantic)

theme: crack ✦

a/n: I’M BACK !!!! hopefully i don’t disappear for like a good fifty years after this. this is my third set of stupid ass headcanons. i pulled my shitty humor out of my ass for this one, enjoy !!! (the original ask got swallowed by my dumbass because i accidentally posted the unfinished fic 💀 this is dedicated to my bestie @dead-end-fanfiction)

cw: i think the title speaks for itself

▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆

➵ vessel

i just know this man is the most unhygienic motherfucker to ever exist

more specifically with his teeth. he cannot brush his teeth to save his life

like ??? this all powerful, dark deity, has the most stinky ass breath that if anyone dares to even breath it in, they’d disintegrate on the spot

like what the fuck vessel, you’re better than this

i love vessel but he just does weird shit sometimes

he sleeps butt ass naked

and one time you accidentally walked in on him while he was literally stripping to get ready for bed

he stood there like an npc while you were freaking out

“…. what’s wrong—“ “what’s wrong is that YOU’RE BUTT ASS NAKED IN FRONT OF ME—“

vessel is easily fascinated by human things. i mean - he was once human, so he likes to keep in touch every now and then.

however, out of all of the human things he had to have an obsession with.

… it was rubber ducks

this isn’t even explainable— how do you explain this all-powerful sleep entity to be obsessed with rubber ducks

he literally has a whole room dedicated to his collection of anything rubber duck related. give him a gift that has something to do with ducks and he’s making out with you on the spot

that’s not a joke, he did that with you before

➵ ii

this motherfucker is on his last limb and he’s being held together by paper clips

ii’s not even the leader but he cannot catch a break to save his life

he’s the only one that knows how to cook

one time he left ivy and the vesselettes in the kitchen by themselves. came back to house fires and high pitched screaming that definitely was not from the ladies

ii makes bomb ass banana cream pie though

ik for a fact this man does NOT keep his room clean

you once walked into his room to ask him a favor and there were like - a million drumsticks everywhere on the floor while he sat in the center of it

how does one possess that many drumsticks???

“dude what the f— clean your room!” “it gives me inner peace, y/n. go away.”

ii’s scared of the jollibee mascot

he once went out with his buddies to get some of that fast food. that giant red and yellow fuckass bee then came out of nowhere and spooked the shit out of ii

he then socked the guy in the face so hard the dude wearing the costume had a bloody nose

ii quickly fled the scene to not get arrested

after that he’s had a fear of fast food mascots in general, it’s kinda funny.

don’t bring ii near the jack in the box mascot though, he’s got some trauma from what he’s seen on twitter

➵ iii

zesty ahh mf

plays his bass like he’s fingering someone’s asshole like 🤨 whatcha doin’ iii ??

the type of man to set like fifty million alarms but never wakes up to any of them

however he wakes up everyone else in the process

it gets annoying hearing the “by the seaside” ringtone every morning at 6am. so one day you came into his room and poured ice cold water on him to wake him up

iii didn’t wake up from that btw, you thought it was dead

“…. bro wtf wake up—“

thankfully he wasn’t

biggest kpop stan

he’s a boy group stan and his favorite group is ateez

constantly blasting guerilla too

also i feel like iii owns a tumblr blog too

he’d be out here posting some shih like “pov you’re locked in a room w him for twenty four hours and you have to tickle his balls wyd” 💀

he probably posts also moodboards or some shi and tags them like an actual tumblr blogger

#it took my ahh fifty hours to make this plz repost it

stalks his fans on twitter

gets scared by said fans on twitter

“wdym they wanna get me pregnant”

breaks his bass every four hours during practice and vessel chews his ahh out every time

but it’s funny because you’re always there to help him

➵ ivy

he likes to act like he’s tough shit but ivy is a huge nerd

literally the definition of “magical in bed” except the magic is him explaining the gaming system of magic the gathering

hot asf but has no bitches frfr

also the definition of loser trapped in a hottie’s body

i’d like to believe that ivy has a crunchy ipad kid cough

and i mean CRUNCHY. bro will start choking on his saliva and start coughing like a dying seal

it’s quite hilarious, but also concerning at the same time

the first time you heard him cough like that, you were like 😟

“AEUGH- HEUGH— BEUHSHAK-“ “ivy—“

that pretty sums up the entire interaction

this bitch looks like he ate glue as a kid

more specifically glitter glue. the pink kind.

idk that sounds like ivy

he gets literal death coffee in the morning too btw

no ice. no sugar. straight shots of espresso.

eight shots, btw.

the coffee looks blacker than the black hole.

iii tried some of his coffee one time and spat it all in your face. ivy watched with his hell coffee in hand as you beat the shit out of iii

yeah, safe to say ivy was banned from having that kind of coffee for a while

so yeah. that pretty much sums up the kind of person ivy is

[soprawrites]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Midnight Kiss ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Shinji Hirako x reader

CW: sfw, sort of suggestive toward the end, established relationship, gender-neutral reader, fluff

WC: 1,399

Notes: I hope everyone has had a wonderful holiday season so far! 😊 Even though it was kind of later in the year, I'm glad that I started this blog and I look forward to writing more in the coming year! I wanted to close out 2024 with a little something special, so, Happy New Year! 🎉 Divider credit: @thecutestgrotto

A chill breeze nips at your skin causing you to shiver slightly as you sit outside a grand room in the Eighth Division barracks. Captain Kyōraku was hosting a party to ring in the new year as it’s just around the corner; well, more like in less than fifty minutes. As much as you had been enjoying the party and partaking in the festivities with everyone that had gathered, you had needed to take a moment to yourself and get away from all of the high-spirited noise and chatter of the crowd. So here you are, sitting outside on the edge of the walkway in the frigid weather and taking in the beautiful view of the night sky as it creeps closer to midnight.

You let out a deep breath, watching as it puffs into a cloud of white before it disperses into the air. You can still hear the muffled noises of those inside, a sudden cheer sounding from behind you as everyone gets louder. You smile softly to yourself, wondering what had happened for the cheering to start, glad by the fact that everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves; it had been a long year after all.

You can’t dwell on the thought much longer as you hear footsteps drawing closer behind you. Before you can turn to check who it could be, a certain blonde’s drawling voice calls out to you. “What’re ya doin’ out here all by yerself, doll?”

Turning your head, you see him just as he comes up by your side, squatting down to sit next to you, his captain’s haori fanning out behind him. He gives you a curious look, an eyebrow arched, and a slight tilt of his head with a light smile on his lips. 

“I just needed to step out for a minute. Get a breath of fresh air, you know?” You respond, looking over at the garden in front of you. A few snowflakes lightly fall from the sky, dusting the land in front of you in a thin layer of white.

“Sure, but it’s freezin’ out here!” Shinji rubs his hands up and down his upper arms as he shivers in his seat next to you. You shiver a bit now too, almost as if being reminded of the freezing temperature suddenly made you more cold. It hadn’t felt this frigid when you first sat down.

“Yeah, it is… but, it’s still kind of refreshing and nice!” You exclaim as you watch your breath puff out again in front of you, sniffling a bit. He doesn’t look all too convinced, side-eyeing you as he blows into his hands to warm them up.

“I don’t know about that…”

You laugh lightly at his response and when muffled voices clamor behind you inside, you both glance to see what happened. It seemed everyone had started up another drinking game and were having fun. You meet eyes with Shinji, a smile on both of your faces, before breaking out into chuckles.

Sniffing again, you look back over to the view in front of you, looking up to the sky to watch the glimmering moon peek in between the clouds as they sprinkle a few snowflakes here and there. Copying what Shinji did just a moment ago, you bring your hands in front of you to blow warmth into them as you feel the chill of the air seep into you.

Shinji’s honey irises focus on you while you’re distracted by the sight in front you before he starts to shuffle. Curious by the movement at your side, you look back over to him and see he’s pulled one arm out of his captain’s haori and is now draping half of it over your shoulders, scooting closer to you so that your sides are now touching. The warmth from the added layer and his body heat do wonders to quell the cold you feel, and you press into him more.

“Thanks.” You whisper softly with an appreciative smile, holding his hand gently. He responds in kind with a smile of his own, interlocking your fingers. 

“It wasn’t just fer ya! Yer helpin’ me keep warm too!” He closes his eyes and turns his head off to the side. A breath of laughter escapes your lips and you lean your head onto his shoulder.

“Right.”

At the weight of your head on his shoulder, he rests his lightly against yours. The two of you sit in silence, the only sound being the distant uproar of voices as people celebrate the end of the year. You should probably head back inside now, times drawing closer and closer to midnight, but the serene view in front of you and the surrounding warmth you share with Shinji compels you to stay. You want to bask in the intimate moment for as long as you can. However, you can’t help but worry that Shinji wants to go back inside and enjoy the festivities with the others.

“Don’t you want to head back in?” You question, voice breaking the tranquil silence the two of you share.

“Nah, I’d rather stay out here. Yer right, it is nice.” He says quietly, running his thumb across your knuckle. “Besides,” His head shifts as he looks down at you, a sly smirk stretching on his lips and revealing his pearly whites in an expression that you know oh so well and makes your heart skip a beat. “Ya know, yer supposed to kiss someone at midnight.” He purrs, a playful glimmer in his eye.

“Oh, is that so?” There’s a toying tone to your voice as you pretend to act naive. “If that’s the case then there isn’t anyone else you’d rather kiss?” You tilt your head innocently, looking up at him.

“C’mon, who else would I rather kiss than my darlin’ that’s sittin’ right here…” he trails off, leaning a bit closer to you, brown eyes flicking to your lips. Distantly, you can hear everyone get louder as they start to count down.

“If you want to so bad, then I guess I’ll oblige…” you lean closer too, your lips now just a hair’s width apart. You feel like you’re in a world of your own as time slows down, the loud cheering from everyone inside growing quieter and quieter in your mind as they count down to the final seconds.

When the clock strikes midnight, your lips seal together in a warm kiss. It’s a short but sweet kiss as you part, intending on exchanging your greetings with him but Shinji has other plans apparently. He crashes his lips to yours again in a much more heated manner, hand cupping the side of your face, cold from the freezing air outside, but you don’t mind. He pulls you into him, deepening the kiss and you melt into him, the warmth spreading through your chest. You can’t help but let out a quiet moan as his tongue presses against yours and that’s when he finally parts from you.

Shinji rests his forehead against yours as you both pant to try to catch your breath. He chuckles, his breath fanning across you. “How ‘bout we ditch this party?” 

You’re still in a daze from the kiss. “And go where?”

“My place, or yours. Either’s fine since I don’t think a lot of people are gonna be ‘round anyway.” His cunning smirk is back and that helps you shake out of your daze as you realize what he’s suggesting.

You lean around to peek behind you, seeing the shadows of everyone inside through the screen paneling as they celebrate. Based on what you can see, you don’t think you’ll be missed that much. “Ok, let’s go to yours.”

Shinji’s smirk widens before he stands up quickly, pulling his haori back on. “Alright, let’s go then!” The cold starts to nip at you once more now that his body heat is gone, so you follow and stand up quickly too. He takes hold of your hand and starts heading in the direction of his place. You glance up at the night sky one last time, noticing that that moon is now at its highest peak, unobscured by clouds and glowing radiantly.

“Hey, Shinji?”

“Hmm?”

“Happy New Year.”

Shinji turns to you, the ends of his hair swaying with the movement, a soft smile on his face. “Happy New Year, darlin'.”

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

This or That Gothic Edition Snippet 22- Secret Cellar

Inspired by my answers for this post by @blackrosesandwhump!  

Whumpee crept down through the cellar of the ancient house. It was at least a hundred years old, and the lichen grew on the stone walls in thick patches. It was in the middle of Carnival, and Whumpee’s friend had dared them to explore the cellar and bring back a bottle of wine as proof. Whumpee gulped and shuddered as a chill rushed through them. After what seemed like forever, they reached the bottom of the cellar. There was a small bit of wall that jutted out oddly. Whumpee paid it no mind, until they heard the muffled sound of chains rattling and a strange jingling.

Whumpee froze. They grabbed an old, dusty bottle from the wine rack. Amontillado. Sure, whatever. It didn’t matter what kind of wine it was, as long as it was, in fact, wine. Whumpee was ready to race back up when they heard it.

“LET ME OUT! FOR THE LOVE OF-”

Whumpee turned. Was someone… in there? Whumpee cautiously approached the patch of wall.

“Hello?” Whumpee asked.

“HELLO?”

Dear gosh. Someone was in there.

“S-stay there,” Whumpee said, then realized how stupid that sounded, “I-I’m going to get you out!”

“OH, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!”

Whumpee looked around for something they could use. Old mason’s tools lay at the foot of the wall, long since abandoned. Whumpee saw it then. A sledgehammer, very old but still in good condition. Whumpee lifted it, slamming it into the wall.

It took quite a few tries but the masonry eventually crumbled.

“Okay, let’s get you out of-”

Whumpee felt a scream die in their throat.

Skeletal remains lay in the crypt, bound in chains and wearing a jester’s hat with little bells on the ends. Whumpee stumbled back, breathing coming in quick and ragged. They turned, running up and out of the cellar.

“WAIT! WAIT! DON’T LEAVE ME! YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME! IT’S BEEN SO LONG! PLEASE!”

It had been fifty years since the crypt had been disturbed. The mason responsible would never be found. In pace requiescat!

...

As you've probably guessed, this was a fanmade sequel to Edgar Allan Poe's The Cask of Amontillado. Great piece of gothic horror, still scares me from time to time! I hope you enjoyed it!

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[stillness-in-green]

Project Update/Survey of Interest: The AFO Retcon Essay

Having cleared out the inbox, I thought I'd let everyone know where I am on one of the big projects I've been alluding to for a long while now, the big meta post/essay arguing that the possession plot (and therefore AFO as primary endgame villain) is, in so many words, a big stupid retcon. That essay is - for reasons I'll get into shortly - on the brink of a major change in focus, so I'd also like to gauge how much interest people have in its potential new form. Because it would be another huge one, make no mistake.

(Hit the jump.)

So, I recently started dabbling with a new word processor program and thought I'd try learning the ropes with the retcon essay; I then spent the better part of two weeks combing through chatlogs and my blog archive trying to compile all the evidence I'd want to consider to make that argument. Two nights ago, I looked at the list I had - almost fifty bullet points! - and had the horribly demoralizing realization that...

...You guys, I just don't think I believe it anymore.

Now, that's not to say I've come around on the possession plot, because I definitely haven't! Rather, my trust in Horikoshi as a writer has been so badly eroded by the state of the writing in the endgame that I no longer think even the earlier material is reliable evidence for where the story was going.

To pick the most prominent example, I always regarded AFO telling Best Jeanist at Kamino that his quirk "wouldn't suit Tomura" as one of my strongest pieces of evidence that the possession plot had not been in the cards at that time. After all, who in hell cares what quirks would or would not suit Tomura if AFO's plan, as stated in Chapter 380, was that he would wholly subsume Tomura's will?

Now, however - and Chapter 380 is a big part of this, too! - I look back on that moment and just think, wearily, "Was that ever true, or was Horikoshi just lying to us already, and the only difference between then and now is that back then the lies could hold for hundreds of chapters, whereas now they're revealed within a matter of pages?"

A chat friend letting me vent suggested that perhaps the line was just intended to foreshadow Shigaraki getting All For One (and therefore all the quirks held within it) and Horikoshi just didn't think through all the implications AFO's phrasing had on how that plot was going to go. That may be true, and it's a more generous read than I could muster at the time, but the end result is the same: If I can't trust that the writing was ever an accurate reflection of the characters and their intentions, I can't in good faith construct an argument relying on that writing.

What I think I can do, however, if people are interested, is broaden the overall thrust to something much bigger than just AFO.

I'm currently toying with the idea of a treatise-in-four-parts about the problems in the endgame. Each part would cover one major branch of related issues - they might need to be broken down into sub-parts themselves, if they run long enough! The whole thing would likely be much longer and more involved than my chapter posts; think something more like the PLF mass arrest essay. Following are my current ideas for how those four parts would fall out, as well as some example talking points for each:

Part 1: Shigaraki and the PLF. Would cover Shigaraki as a villain and what he and the forces he'd amassed circa the end of My Villain Academia stood to bring to the endgame, both ideologically and tactically. Would also cover where they actually wound up and some considerations as to why.           Example Subpoints: Demanding accountability from Hero Society rather than just focusing blame on singular evils; Shigaraki as representative of all previous Villains; the MLA's shift in portrayal between MVA and the endgame; the ludicrous string of nerfs Toga was subjected to; whether the MLA was only ever intended to be a mass of numbers to whittle down the equally massive numbers of the Heroes or whether they were reduced to that after poor reader reception.

Part 2: All For One's Impact. Would focus on the sharp drop in moral complexity AFO both suffered himself compared to his pre-Tartarus characterization and inflicted on the endgame both himself and with the caliber of minions he brought to the story.           Example Subpoints: AFO's inconsistent characterization; the moral reductiveness of the Demon Lord as endgame Villain; AFO and Yoichi's personal history; Vestige mechanics; the impact of AFO's inconsistency on Ujiko's portrayal; the Sekoto Peak Problem; the characterization and handling of the Tartarus escapees.

Part 3: Team Hero Is The Fucking Worst. Would focus on the multitudinous problems with the presentation and methodologies of the Heroes in the endgame. Might be two parts if it gets long enough that I decide to split it up into, like, one part on the adults/Pro Heroes and one on the kids or something.           Example Subpoints: The story's bad faith attempts to portray agents of government authority as scrappy, determined underdogs; why it's impossible to believe that the current heroic cast will be able to enact a satisfying resolution to all the structural problems the story has raised; That Stupid Fucking Mech Fight; the constant refusal to let consequences stick to the Heroes; the way the story both undercuts and oversells Deku as a protagonist, and the impact that has on the broader narrative; One For All and more Vestige Mechanics; The Problem of Hawks; the hospital riot; the Todoroki family's inaction.

Part 4: Other Issues. A catch-all area for anything else I trip over that doesn't fit in any of the categories above, or problems of a more meta-narrative sort.           Very Preliminary Example Subpoints: The lazy portrayal of civilian characters; meta-narrative examples of the unreliability of BNHA's late-stage writing, from simple errors overlooked in the highly demanding grind of Shonen Jump serialization to the much more damning abuse of the reader's expectations of the comic medium; idk probably lots of other stuff, I Have Many Problems.

That said, I now have to ask, how interested are you all in a project like that? A fair amount of it would be recycled from my chapter posts, but obviously it would cover stuff I never got to in those, and would be able to be written with more hindsight (especially if it's written mostly or entirely after the series ends!), as opposed to the constant problem of reacting to the story week-to-week.

I basically stopped writing the chapter posts for reasons of incessant negativity, and obviously, this would be more of that, but I mind the negativity a lot less when it's A) able to be more comprehensive and focused than meandering and piecemeal and B) in the form of a large project I can work on as I have the energy for it rather than a brand new project every single week. And, as I trust stuff like MVA In Memoriam and On Heteromorphobia make clear, I do like the idea of putting together a good, comprehensive, easy-to-reference tract on all those problems, as opposed to just letting my issues remain scattered across multiple years of chapter thoughts and bnha critical tags!

That said, it's a big project, and I do vent about these issues pretty constantly with chat and irl friends, so if there's not much interest from followers here, I would not find it hard to just let the whole thing go and turn my eyes to less intimidating fare instead.

(Current other projects include the usual roster of BNHA fic, another mid-length meta piece in the mode of the BNHA vs. Helck comparison from a while back, this time on Mamoru Hosoda's Belle, and a horrible temptation to try and write something thoughtful and even-handed about demons in Frieren: Beyond Journey's End to combat the reductive-ass takes on both sides of the argument I've been seeing all over the internet since its anime started. Also, every week I go without seeing a single damn MachtxGluck fanfic on AO3 is a week I get closer to trying to figure out a way into writing it myself.)

Do let me know! Also, feel free to chip in with anything you'd like to see me specifically talk about in an endgame analysis!

[peachsayshi]

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

minors & ageless blogs dni

tags: au; kishibe x female reader; cam girl! reader;  retired hit man! kishibe; mentions of killing and blood; age gap (reader in late twenties - kishibe is fifty); daddy kink; masturbation

I’m thinking about...

retired hit man kishibe who officially paid off his debts after making a career out of such a dangerous job. he was barely a man when he slit the throat of his first victim, but none of that matters now when he has the blood of so many on his hands. he’s relieved that he no longer has to think about crimson stains or begging screams. he happily moved into his new apartment, even though it’s much smaller than his old bachelor pad. he has enough money to retire at fifty and adopted the stray kitten that hangs around his street. every night he goes to sleep with his head feeling light thinking that maybe, just maybe, he’s finally earned some peace.

retired hit man kishibe is in a dry spell. he is resisting falling back into old habits even though it was so much easier to slip his dick inside one pussy after another without thinking about it. a series of endless hook ups with faces and names blurring into one another - he justified this behavior due to his unlawful line of work and knew that a putting down roots was unrealistic. he didn’t have these excuses anymore, and promised himself that he is going to start changing for the better. he just needed to find a new way to relieve his urges.

retired hit man kishibe never gave technology much thought until he resorted to watching porn online. he is particrularly obsessed with your content.  you only ever revealed yourself from the mouth down but he loved the sound of pretty voice and admired your body covered in such scant clothing. the way you teasingly modeled off your outfits drove him wild, while your fingers played with the the only signature item you wore which was a tiny pink choker that had a little heart dangling in center.

retired hit man kishibe blows extra cash just to have a private session with you once a month. he loves watching you fuck yourself, loves the way you spread your wet lips in front of the camera while whining that it’s all for him. the tip of his cock leaks with cum when you start stripping for him, seductively laughing while asking: “like what you see, old man?”.  he starts enjoying the fact that you taunt him for being almost two decades older than you, and grows fond of the silly pet name you’ve given him. Then there was the time where the conversation got so heated, kishibe wound up watching you bounce on a pink dildo as you moaned “daddy” over and over again. He came so hard that night, his vision went white.

retired hit man kishibe sees you unlocking the door to your apartment. you live right across from him and he recognizes the uniform you’re wearing - a short brown skirt with a fitted black shirt tucked inside. He pinpointed the outfit, and immediately knew that you worked as a waitress at the bakery across the street. he doesn’t stop himself from checking you out, immediately acknowledging how attractive you are. despite what his personal life revealed, kishibe still can’t bring himself to approach a woman much younger than him. instead he greets you with a polite hello, and you give him a pretty smile that makes his brain light up. there was something about you he finds oddly familiar. he just can’t place it yet...

retired hit man kishibe eventually becomes the “helpful” neighbor. he carries your heavy groceries up the stairs when he sees you struggling. he always offers to fix the leaky pipe in your kitchen sink. he keeps your packages safe whenever the mailman drops it off to the wrong door. he gives you leftover foods on special holidays to make sure you have something to eat. eventually you offer to return the favor by promising to pet sit for his cat which he happily accepts. 

sometimes he forgets that his life wasn’t always like this. 

sometimes he forgets that most people only ever looked at him with fear in their eyes.

retired hit man kishibe spent the earlier part of his evening revisiting old connections. he hates that these people think they can lure him back into his past life by throwing numbers at his face. it was all about the money for them, but that’s exactly what put him in this terrible predicament in the first place. he stops by your apartment to pick up taro, but as you open the door he feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. you are holding taro in your arms, wearing an oversized hoodie with fitted boy shorts and a pink choker that he instantly recognizes.

retired hit man kishibe thinks it’s a coincidence - but you prove him wrong only two hours later when he sees you on the screen of his laptop with your hoodie discarded on the floor. you’re wearing the skimpiest tank top that barley fits, one hand slipped underneath to tweak your hard nipple while the other was hidden under the thin fabric of your shorts. he watches you with dumbstruck eyes as you whimper how close you are to your orgasm.

for the first time since he’s known you, retired hit man kishibe considers if it’s worth crossing the line that he’s drawn. 

[holylulusworld]

More than a feeling

Summary: Dean recalls his time with you.

Character: Dean Winchester

Warnings: angst, Dean’s self-loathing, mentions of loss of loved ones, sadness, written in Dean’s pov

Written for @deanwanddamons​ Rock SPN Flash Fan Fic Challenge! Round 3. My song was More than a feeling (Boston) Lyrics are taken from the song.

Words: 500 (including lyrics)

I jolt up on the bed, panting and wheezing. I haven’t had a nightmare for what feels like ages. Most of the time I can suppress the memories of hell. 

What I can’t suppress are the faces of all the people I lost over the years. Including the one, I’m yearning to see again.

My life went down the drain the moment I was born. At least, that’s what I like to tell myself. The truth is that I’m the master of my fate. After my father’s death, I chose to follow the path leading to hell.

I groan as the hangover from last night catches up with my head. I swing my legs out of the bed, hissing as my feet hit the cold ground.

It gets colder again. I can feel it in my old bones.

Who would’ve thought I will grow old, and grey? But I did. Well, not old…old. Just old. 

I’m fifty now, and I slowly feel every battle I ever fought in my bones.

I get up from the bed to look out of the window. It’s been a while since I left the old house I bought after Sam decided to retire. He told me to do the same after the last hunt almost killed me.   

It’s raining again. The weather mirrors my mood. 

I dreamed of you again, and it hurt like hell.

“Music always helps,” I grumble, and cough a little when I do. I switch the radio on, and of course, the station is playing our song…

I looked out this morning and the sun was gone

 Turned on some music to start my day

 I lost myself in a familiar song

 I closed my eyes and I slipped away

Awesome. Now I feel even worse as I remember the way we sang along to the song. And how we made love in the backseat of my car. Baby. The only remnant of my former life.

“It's more than a feeling, (More than a feeling), When I hear that old song they used to play …” I sing along one last time.

Maybe it was for the best to let you go. Maybe not. Who knows?

Life always found a way to fuck me over. If not, I found a way to mess things up. 

I sigh and turn off the radio. 

The song still plays in my mind. I shake my head, hoping to just forget about you, and the past.

Easier said than done.

I decide to go for a ride to clear my mind.

I wanted to go for a ride and here I’m standing in front of your door.

You’re the missing piece I’ve lost so long ago, and I pray it’s not too late. 

I look for the song on my phone and pump up the volume. 

Boston is playing as I lift my fist to knock at your door.

I breathe in, hoping it’s more than a feeling bringing me back to your door...

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags  

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[only-lonely-stars]

Friendship and Fauna

Oneshot – (FFN) (AO3)

Written for the 2023 @ninjago-calendar project, for the month of October! Check out the future calendars on their blog. (Click here for their post about the 2023 Calendar, including the artwork which goes along with this oneshot.)

Summary:

On a cool autumn day, Sensei Garmadon takes the Ninja team (plus Nya) out on a nature walk. Hijinks and various lessons ensue. Post-season 2, pre-season 3.

It was a cool autumn day when Sensei Garmadon gathered the Ninja together. Under the aspens, golden with the turning of the seasons, he called them together in the courtyard of the Monastery of Spinjitzu and spoke to the group.

“Well, Ninja. I’m sure you’re all curious as to why I’ve called you here.”

The Ninja looked at each other in confusion. Jay shrugged. “No idea, Sensei.”

Garmadon smiled. “Look around you. It’s autumn!” He gestured at a great aspen tree, whose branches bent over the monastery wall and was shedding leaves one by one onto the cobblestones. “The leaves are turning gold. The wind is clean, the sky is clear.” He grinned at the teenagers standing before him. “Have any of you been out in nature recently?”

The Ninja looked around conspicuously– Kai whistled a ditty, Nya crossed her arms, and Zane simply smiled. No one said a word.

Garmadon chuckled and shook his head. “I thought so. Bundle up! We are going on a walk, and if I can, I will teach you a new lesson. It’s about time you had some more training.”

~✧~✧~✧~

After a relatively short time, the six were assembled again in suitably warm clothes. Zane in particular seemed to be enjoying the chance to wear a sweater vest with his favorite pink button-up shirt. Kai seemed happy enough to bundle up, even though he boasted to anyone who would hear about how he couldn’t possibly be cold– he was the Red Ninja, he controlled fire! He didn’t get cold.

As the group waited for Sensei Garmadon to return, Jay and Cole both tugged at a black scarf that Jay had been wearing previously. The tussle continued until Cole let go, allowing the scarf to fall and Jay to fall back on the ground. He yelped, rubbing his rear and wincing. “Hey, Cole! That was mean!”

Cole laughed, casually picking up the scarf and draping it around his neck. “Whoops. Get your own scarf!”

“I told you, I lost it! One of the kids probably stole it,” Jay sulked, crossing his arms pettily. “It was my favorite shade of blue, too.”

“Oh yeah? Why would someone want to steal your scarf this early in the year?” Cole laughed. “Maybe you just put it somewhere and forgot about it, like your gloves last year.”

“Oh, sure, keep on bringing up the past! When I get my hands on you–”

“Come on! What are you boys arguing about now?” Nya asked, coming up behind Cole and elbowing him. “It’s time to go.”

“Oh, Nya, I–” Jay stammered, blinking a few times as he stared up at her. “Is… is that my scarf?”

Nya looked down in surprise. “Is it? I found it in a box in the coat closet.”

“Uh… yeah! That’s cool!” He grinned. “You look good in it– you should keep it!”

“Uh…” She looked down at it. “Thanks? If it’s yours, you can have it back…”

“No, seriously!” Jay got up, brushing himself off. “Keep it!”

Cole grinned, slinging an arm around Jay’s shoulders. “Okay, motor mouth. Let’s just get going. Sensei wants to teach us something.”

As the three approached the rest of the group, they spotted Sensei Garmadon, Kai, and Lloyd having a heated discussion.

Kai sighed, shaking his head in dismay. “Lloyd, are you really going to wear just that?”

“What?” Lloyd looked at Kai, tucking his flannel shirt around himself defensively. “I’m warm enough!”

“Come on, Lloyd. It’s fifty degrees out there! You need more layers than that.”

“Kai, I’m fine.”

“Garmadon said–”

“I’m fine!”

Sensei Garmadon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in mild frustration. “Son, Kai is right. You will be cold if you just wear a flannel.”

“We’re going to be walking. I’ll be too hot if I wear a jacket.”

“A thin jacket can be tied around your waist, if need be.” Garmadon took a white coat off a nearby rack, offering it to his son. “How about this one?”

“Uh, no. That’s Zane’s.”

“Don’t you boys all share clothes?”

“No? Zane’s like, six inches taller than me. It won’t fit.”

Garmadon sighed, setting it down. “Fine. How about a sweatshirt of yours?”

“I don’t own any.”

“None?” He looked at the other Ninja. “Did none of you make sure Lloyd has some sort of layer?”

The other five shared a look, quiet until Cole spoke for the group. “We thought he had one, Sensei.”

Garmadon sighed heavily, shaking his head in disappointment. “I see none of you were taught to dress for the weather.”

Lloyd sighed. “Dad, can we just go? Really, I’ll be fine.”

“Fine. We will go, with you dressed as inadequately as you are.” Garmadon fixed his son with a stern look. “And no complaining.”

Lloyd grinned and saluted. “You got it, Dad! No complaining.”

~✧~✧~✧~

With all else equal, it was a beautiful day for a walk. The birds were singing their autumn songs. The trees sported their fiery hues, withdrawing their strength for the long winter ahead. Best of all, the seasons hadn’t quite turned to the point of the brisk, chilling winds of the boreal north. Mid-autumn was in full swing, and all of creation proclaimed their beauty.

Under the light of such a bright day, the team of seven began their walk into the forest. Jay and Nya held each other’s hand, swinging them back and forth with every step. Cole was nestled comfortably inside his thick hoodie, enjoying its fluffy lining and cozying into his black scarf. At the back of the group, Zane held his dendrology guide in one hand and his ornithology reference in the other, checking them for various species as he noticed them. At the front of the group, Kai and Lloyd walked just behind Garmadon, jostling each other good-naturedly. Together they made for an interesting sight, but there was not another soul on the trail to witness.

After they had walked a short distance, Garmadon stopped the group and gestured at the path before them, which forked left and right “May I have your attention, please?”

The six teenagers stopped and looked at him, pausing in their conversations. Cole cleared his throat. “What’s the problem, boss?”

“There is no problem.” Garmadon gestured to the fork. “Which way would you like to go?”

The ninja turned to look at each other, each of them shrugging in turn. “Where do they go?”

“Well, that’s a good question to start with.” Garmadon gestured to the sign at the trailhead. “Left, and we go into the thicker tree cover. Right, and we go along the ridge toward the creekside. Which looks more promising?”

Cole turned to the rest of the group, one eyebrow raised. “What do you say we go right? We should go see the creek.”

“What about the walk back?” Nya frowned. “But it does sound pretty… I guess we should take a look.”

“And get tired on the way back?” Jay shook his head. “Nuh-uh. No way. I say we should go left.”

“Sure, let’s go left.” Kai grinned. “That way I can set all the fires I want!”

“Oh yeah? In your dreams, Kai!”

“What’s that, firefly? I can’t hear you!”

“It’s lightning bug, you jerk!” Jay let go of Nya’s hand, stepping toward Kai. “Lightning! Bug!”

“Firefly.” He crossed his arms defiantly. “Fire. Fly.”

“Lightning bug!”

“Firefly!”

“Argh!” Jay balled his hands into fists. “C’mere! I’m gonna get you!”

“Catch me if you can!” Kai laughed, running toward the left path. “Firefly!”

“I will!” Jay ran after him, prompting Kai to run along the path. “Get back here!”

“Wh– Jay, Kai!” Nya called out. When they didn’t respond, she sighed. “What now?”

“Uh… maybe we should go after them,” Lloyd suggested. “They might get lost.”

Sensei Garmadon chuckled. “They will be fine. These two paths converge. We will meet up with them later; they may run along if they like.”

“I dunno, Sensei. I think I should follow them,” Nya mumbled. “They might get hurt.”

“Be my guest, Nya, but do not feel obligated.” Garmadon gestured to the left path. “If you wish, follow them. I believe the rest of us will take the right path.”

“Okay, sure.” She smiled at Garmadon and tied Jay’s scarf a little more tightly around her neck. “I guess I’ll see you guys later!”

Lloyd waved as she started jogging down the trail. “Bye, Nya!”

After the three had disappeared from view, Cole chuckled. “Well, that narrows down the group. Are we going right, then?”

“Yes, I believe we are.” Garmadon shook his head in amusement. “Shall we?”

~✧~✧~✧~

After a short while, the group (sans Kai, Jay, and Nya) stopped a large clearing. A slope led up to a grassy area, ringed by tall trees. Aspens, birches and maples towered over the clearing, and a layer of yellow leaves covered the forest floor as the maples’ red foliage clung for just a little longer. From somewhere nearby, the sound of trickling creekwater filled the silence, and the occasional rustling from squirrels and deer kept the Ninja from thinking they were truly alone. Through it all, a cool breeze blew, and Lloyd shivered.

Cole glanced at the younger boy, snickering quietly. "You okay there, bud? You look cold."

"I'm fine." Lloyd crossed his arms, smiling at Cole. "Not cold!"

"You sure?”

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Lloyd grinned, shivering a little more. "Honestly."

"Uh-huh." Cole smiled, putting an arm around his shoulders. “I think you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying!” Lloyd protested, though he didn’t fight Cole’s hug. “It’s just chilly out.”

“Yeah, I know.” Cole ruffled his hair. “Tell you what. Take my hoodie.”

“What? But then you’ll be cold!” Lloyd shook his head. “I won’t take it.”

“You sure? I’m too warm, really. You see me?” Cole gestured to himself. “I’ve got enough insulation on my own, bud.”

“I– but…” Lloyd hesitated. “I guess I’m a little cold.”

“There ya go! That’s enough for me.” Cole let him go, tugging off his hoodie in one smooth motion. “Let’s get you bundled up.” Lloyd hesitated, but Cole handed it to him insistently. “Put it on.”

“I… okay.” Lloyd sighed, clumsily putting it on. He took a moment to find the arms and neck, but when he finally got it straight, it slipped on easily. The garment was at least two sizes too large for him, and it hung from his lanky frame with loose material in just about every area. Even so, it was still warm, and he smiled as he wrapped it a little more tightly around himself. “Thanks, Cole.”

“Hey, no problem.” Cole grinned, ruffling his hair again. “Sensei, do we need to keep going?”

“No, wait.” Zane held up a hand. “Be quiet.”

The rest looked at him expectantly. Lloyd briefly scanned the canopy. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No, look. There’s a hawk above us.” Zane smiled, slowly pointing up.

Sure enough, in one of the birches above him, a dark shape rested. A bird of prey, not small of stature, sat on a branch bereft of leaves. Its sharp beak, honed for predation, gave it a characeristic silhouette against the sky. It watched them, tracking their movements with its bright yellow eyes. 

After a moment, the bird’s eyes rested on Zane, and he watched in silence. Zane returned the gesture, taking in the brown and tan bands of color across its wings and tail.

“It’s a mountain hawk-eagle,” Garmadon commented quietly. “Good catch, Zane.”

“I didn’t know Nisaetus nipalensis was common to this area,” Zane muttered. “Birds this size aren’t often found at such a low elevation.”

“That’s true. This specimen must have a reason for being here, hawks are not common fauna in our region.” Garmadon glanced at the others with a smile. “Do you see what Zane has found, simply by paying attention?”

Cole shrugged. “It’s a cool bird. What’s special about it?”

“It’s a rarity here, Cole, to see this species. That is what is special. Of course, Zane has always been good with birds.” Garmadon looked to his son. “Lloyd, what can you learn from this encounter?”

Lloyd frowned. “That you know a lot about birds?”

“Aha, yes. That is true. I spent several years studying birds in great detail after my apprenticeship to Chen ended. What else?”

“That Zane knows about birds too?”

“Yes, but did you not already know that? Zane is knowledgeable about many things, birds are no exception. You’re not seeing something.”

“I… don’t know.” Lloyd shook his head. “Something important, I’m guessing.”

“Something about the forest we are in, and the animals within it.” His father smiled, glancing up at the hawk. “Lloyd, to find a bird of prey this size in this forest means that this forest is healthy. Animal life is abundant here. Just like the tracks and traces we are seeing, or the deer, this hawk-eagle is proof that small animal life is also thriving. If it weren’t abundant, this bird would have nothing to eat.” Garmadon gestured at the forest around them. “All life in this forest interacts with all other life. They foster each other’s growth and success, sometimes dying in the process. We are the same.”

“I don’t know, Sensei. Isn’t that kind of a stretch?” Cole crossed his arms. “We’re not animals. The forest doesn’t need ninja.”

“Of course not. It needs people. Whether you’re a ninja or not, you can cut down a tree or hunt an animal. You can learn from the animals and derive what you need from them, just the same as this bird.” 

“Sensei,” Zane interjected quietly. “Look.”

Garmadon turned. The hawk, having spotted Zane, was shifting on its branch. It flapped its wings, clearly restless.

“What is it doing?” Zane asked, gaze fixed on the bird. “I do not recall my falcon behaving in such a way.”

“Maybe it is trying to get more comfortable… I do not know.”

“I think… it wants to fly down here, Sensei.”

“Maybe it does.” Garmadon smiled. “Why don’t you let it perch on your arm?”

Zane smiled, reaching out his arm. The bird seemed to register the change, ruffling its feathers. “Hello, my feathered friend. Would you like to come down here?”

Surely enough, the bird extended its wings and flapped– once, twice. It hopped to the edge of the branch, prompting Zane to smile a little wider. Then, in a flash, it spread its wings and swooped down, coming to land on his arm.

Lloyd laughed. “Wait, that’s it?”

“Apparently.” Zane chuckled softly, carefully reaching out to the bird with his free hand. It examined his hand, turning its head slightly. “Hello, friend. Nice to meet you.”

The bird nodded slightly, clicking its beak together a few times. It eyed the group, and when it saw Garmadon, it chirped.

Garmadon laughed. “Hello to you too. What do you have to say?”

The bird chirped again, looking at Zane next. It hopped along his arm, re-adjusting its purchase on his arm with its sharp talons. When he did not flinch, it chirped again.

Zane smiled, gently stroking the feathers on its back. “Do you find this amenable, my friend? You are an interesting creature.”

Lloyd and Cole shared a glance, both snickering. Cole cleared his throat before speaking. “Uh, tin can? Are you sure he can understand you?”

“I don’t suppose why he shouldn’t.” Zane looked at Cole, his expression completely serious. “Do you think he does not understand me?”

“Uh, I dunno man. He’s a bird. He doesn’t speak Ninjargon.”

“Yet he does not seem to misunderstand my body language.” Zane cracked a smile. “He knows we mean no harm. Would you like to say hello?”

“I’m good, thanks.” Cole elbowed Lloyd gently. “Do you want to say hi to the bird?”

“Ha, I’m good. Thanks.” Lloyd grinned. “This one’s all yours, Zane.”

“As you wish.” Zane chuckled, glancing at the peaceful bird resting on his arm. “Thank you for your visit.” When the bird chirred, he stroked its feathers again, noting how it shifted. “You may continue your hunting, friend. May you be successful.”

The bird chirred again, watching him carefully. After a long moment of staring, it spread its wings, readying for takeoff. Then, in a flash, it kicked off his arm, pushing it down as it took flight.

The group watched as the hawk ascended, rapidly propelling itself toward the top of the forest canopy. Zane waved. After a minute, it was completely obscured from view.

Cole laughed. “Kai and Jay are never gonna believe this.”

~✧~✧~✧~

“Whaaaaat!? We missed a cool bird?” Jay whined.

“Jay, it’s fine.” Kai shook his head dismissively. “You know Zane befriends every animal he sees.”

“Yeah, but this was a rare bird! And we missed it!”

“Yes, I know that,” Kai hissed.

“Knock it off, you two,” Nya interjected with a sign. “You really don’t know how to behave.”

“Hey, we know just fine, thank you very much! Besides, don’t you remember that I was the one who taught you?” Kai grinned at his sister, elbowing her in the ribs. “Respect your elders.”

“Hey, Sensei’s my elder, not you.” Nya grinned at Garmadon. “Not trying to call you old.”

Garmadon laughed. “Please, I’m well aware that I am old. What was it again? One thousand, two hundred and forty-three years this past April?”

Cole laughed. “Wow, gramps. You’re still counting?”

“When you get to my age, it would be a shame to stop.” Garmadon smiled at Lloyd, who grinned back. “After all, being around you Ninja makes any man feel young again.”

“Aw, yeah? We make you feel young?” Jay preened. “So we must be the best Ninja ever! Totally super cool!”

Kai laughed, grabbing Jay in a headlock. “Not you, zaptrap!”

“Hey, lemme go Kai!” Jay protested, pushing against Kai’s arms as Kai pressed his knuckles into Jay’s hair and gave him a noogie. “Get off of me!”

“Not until you say uncle!”

“Ow! Never!”

As the two wrestled, Zane sighed and shook his head in amusement. “Some things do not change…”

“Of course not. Youth is the same as it has always been.” Garmadon turned to Zane, smiling. “Perhaps it is time to end the lesson. What have you learned during this walk?”

“Well, plenty about the native flora and fauna, to begin.” Zane glanced down at his guidebook. “I suppose I could have learned that from a book, but nothing replaces the experience of discovery.”

“Certainly. What else?”

“Oh, oh, oh!” Jay cried out, successfully pulling himself out of Kai’s grip– complete with messy hair that stuck out every which way. “That the forest is really cool!”

“Yes, that too. What else?”

“The creek was pretty nice, as far as creeks go.” Cole shrugged. “It’s cool to see that this forest has predators in it still.”

“Yeah, so far people haven’t screwed it up that badly,” Nya added. “No matter what they try.”

“It was cold,” Lloyd mumbled, pulling Cole’s hoodie closer against himself.

“Yes, we will have to take you shopping.” Garmadon smiled, putting an arm around Lloyd’s shoulders. “There you have it, Ninja. A successful nature walk, and a few small lessons that were not too overbearing. You’re free to go now, if you want.”

“Well, sure.” Kai shrugged. “But this place is kind of cool… it would be a shame to just leave.”

“So let’s stick around! I brought food!” Nya gestured at her car. “It’s all in the trunk.”

“Oh, score! Picnic!” Cole cheered. “You’re the best, Nya!”

Nya blushed faintly, smiling at the compliment. “Thanks. Let’s get to it!”

With all decisions made, the Ninja made for their vehicles. The cool wind still blew, the trees’ falling leaves rustled, and all the forest kept its autumn vigil. 

Later that afternoon, a few snowflakes began to fall. As the Ninja joked and laughed over their meal, a faint cry of a hawk was heard from within the forest. Soon, the coming year would bring much hardship– a returning enemy, a new army, and the loss of a friend– but it would not be without its joys. Until then, the six friends and their teachers enjoyed their short-term peace and bliss.

[sugoi-and-spice]

1, 18, 22, and 23 <— for the writers asks :)

The Writer Ask Game! (Gahh, these are so fun! ^_^)

1. the last sentence you wrote

Ah, this is a little sneak peak of the next chapter actually. ^_^

Instead, Iguchi just shoved him back onto the bed, then stormed back over to his own, muttering about what a spoiled asshole he was all the way over.

18. if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic.

I started to write a chapter where MC, Shigaraki, and Iguchi go to a climbing/bouldering gym, but ultimately scrapped it. I still like the concept though, so I'll probably bring it back in some form or another in the sequel, though without this particular version of banter, since this takes place when MC and Shigaraki are still trying to deny their feelings for each other. xD

Little more than a paragraph, but I have a feeling y'all won't complain.

“I thought we were already rock-climbing,” Shigaraki said as she knelt down in front of him to adjust the harness around his waist.

“Nah, that was bouldering.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Besides the harness?” she chuckled, then nodded towards one of the walls they were actually going to climb, which was at least three times the height of the tallest wall they’d covered in the other section of the gym.

“Huh,” he acknowledged with a twitch of his mouth.

That actually looked kind of fun.

She secured the last strap and then tapped Shigaraki on his outer thigh for his attention, “Alright, is that too tight?”

He just smirked down at her, “I don’t know. Maybe you should give it a feel and check.”

“You realize I’m in prime nut-tapping position right now, right?” she deadpanned, “Might not want to piss me off.”

Oh, he was painfully aware of her position right now. About fifty different scenarios of her sucking his dick right now had cycled through his head just in the time since she asked that question.

22. do you every worry about public reaction to what you're writing? how do you get past that?

Hmmm, not much. Not anymore at least. When I first started this blog I was a bit worried about potential harassment since I do write dark and problematic content. But I've really only received one or two mean comments/anon messages in the, what, 2 years I've been posting this content? And I just deleted them.

Haha that being said, I think I'm actually a little nervous about whether or not people will like this next chapter. It's pretty much entirely Shigaraki and Iguchi backstory and it also weaves in a lot of really personal viewpoints and experiences with mental illness, so I do hope I do that representation justice.

23. pick three keywords that describe your writing

Ooooh, I'd say angsty and problematic, but also, ultimately healing.

I really love exploring toxic relationships and complicated dynamics in my fics, and particularly I really like to examine how characters can grow from and out of those dynamics and become better people. I love to write growth and character arcs.

...now, would it probably be a bit more moral if I didn't also write these fics as love stories? If Play Nice was a cautionary tale and I wrote about how MC is able to get away from Shigaraki and move on with her life? Haha, yeah probably.

But where's the fun in that?

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

to ashes, moral compass

Clint Barton x F!Reader

To Ashes, Chapter Thirty

Chapter Summary: clint's back, but can you forgive him for taking off in the first place?

Warnings: angst.

Word Count: 2,446

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prologue - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30

Days Since the Decimation: Two Years, Two Hundred and Fifty-One Days

“‘Happy birthday’?” you repeated incredulously, ignoring the pain throbbing in your knuckles. “Are you ser—give me back my gun!”

“Okay,” Clint nodded, his free hand pressed to his jaw. A sense of grim, childish satisfaction rose in your chest as you noticed the red welt rising on his cheek between his fingers. “I deserved that.”

“Give me back my gun, Barton.”

His expression shifted, a familiar twist of exasperation at your words marred by an ever so slight wariness at your tone. He held up his hands in surrender, the gun hanging loosely against his palm, the trigger guard hooked on his thumb. “Y/N, I’m so—”

“Oh, I really don’t want to hear it,” you said bluntly, waving a dismissive hand as you turned on your heel and headed back towards the front door. You heard him say your name again, heard the gentle creak of the floorboards as he made move to follow you. You threw up a hand irritably and a shield expanded in the bedroom’s doorway, trapping him in there.

You were tempted to just leave, to walk right out of the apartment. The shield would last at least halfway down the stairs… But you heard him say your name again, and you couldn’t bring yourself to cross the threshold. Instead, you rolled your eyes to the ceiling and collected the bag you’d left at the door and moved to the kitchen.

Clint watched you impotently, your gun now tucked into his belt. You forced yourself to ignore the weight of him, the feel of his eyes on you. It was like you could almost feel the heat of his body against your back as you tugged an icepack out from under the haphazardly stacked microwave meals in the freezer. Taking a seat carefully at the kitchen table, you couldn’t help but wince as the ribs you’d bruised the night before complained at the movement.

Still, you refused to press the ice to your side in front of him, and you tucked the icepack over your burning knuckles instead.

After a few tense moments you sighed, releasing the shield with another wave of your uninjured hand.

Clint hesitated, not moving from the other room. His gaze swept over you in what ironically could have been considered concern, the shadows under his eyes even more prominent than the last time you’d seen him. Despite your anger, you found yourself wondering if he’d been sleeping. He’d lost weight again, just enough to add to the hollowness around his eyes. The bruise on his jaw only added to the picture his face painted.

“You’re hurt.”

His tone was soft, genuine, and you swallowed.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, even as your breath hitched with pain as you straightened in your seat. “And I’m pretty sure you didn’t come all this way just to check in on me.”

He ducked his head.

“Why are you here, Barton?”

Clint approached the table slowly. “Y/N, I know you’re angry, but I—”

“‘Angry’?” you scoffed, almost incredulous. You shook your head, forcing yourself on to your feet. Abandoning the icepack despite the throbbing in your hand, you moved past him as quickly as your ribs would allow. “You know what, I can’t do this.”

Clint opened his mouth to speak but you gave him little chance, slamming the bedroom door behind you.

You cross the room, sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the pillow by the headboard. Pulling it against your face, you let loose a frustrated scream into the fabric. You collapsed back onto the mattress, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

***

You woke in darkness, only realizing after a moment that you’d even fallen asleep. Lights from the street outside reached through the slender window to your left to leave long fingers of orange glow over the carpet. You sat up, rubbing sleep out of your eyes to find the time on your charging phone. A little after two a.m.

It took your mind a few moments to dredge back up the emotions you’d fallen asleep with, and you set your gaze on the closed door. Dim light lay beneath it, and you watched that little strip of light as you let the turmoil of your emotions roil through your stomach.

Was he even still here?

Still the shock of seeing him again… you’d resigned yourself to solitude over the last months. You hadn’t… the last thing you’d thought to be a possibility was that he would find you.

That light under the door remained unchanging.

You stood slowly, swallowing, your ribs still aching. You took a breath, discharging the energy you felt building with your nerves, the force of it pushing the bed a foot or so away from you, the sound of it muffled by the carpet lining the floor. The energy lit the room in that familiar blue glow for a moment before it dissipated.

Exhaling, you ran a hand through your hair before you finally made the decision to leave the room. And face him again.

The creak of the bedroom announced you, and you found the main room of the apartment as you’d left it, lit only by the weak overhead light of the kitchenette and the standing lamp beside the sofa.

Clint was standing in the kitchenette, his back to you, and the warm, rich scent of coffee teased your nose. He looked up over his shoulder as soon as he heard the noise, the shadows under his eyes grimmer in the low light. “Hey.”

His voice was gruff, worn from lack of sleep. He’d shed his jacket, the lines of his back hinted by his shirt, and you paused as he turned to face you. Your eyes fell to his arm, the once unmarked skin now covered in lines of black, tracing out shapes too complex to recognize through tired eyes from your current distance.

“Nice ink.”

Clint looked down at him arm as though he’d almost forgotten the tattoo was there. He glanced behind him, picking up the coffee he’d just poured and held it out to you in an offer. You nodded, and he turned to collect the milk from the fridge.

You sat carefully at the tiny kitchen table – a formica-style table built for four – your good hand pressed to your side. Clint joined you after a few moments, setting the mug of steaming caffeine down in front of you. Unable to find another clean mug, he’d brought the remaining coffee over in the pot for himself.

In the light, you could now see the damage to your knuckles, and you studied them too-carefully, avoiding his eye. There was a light patchwork of bruises over them, but underneath the ache, nothing actually felt broken.

“What happened to your ribs?” Clint asked quietly, taking the seat to your right. His knee bumped against the leg of the table, making your coffee dance in its cup.

You shrugged a shoulder non-committedly, still focusing on your hand. “I didn’t stick the landing.”

“You should…” he started. He cleared his throat. “I can tape it for you. It might help.”

You met his eye finally, holding his gaze for a few long moments before relenting and sliding the bag you’d brought home across the tabletop towards him.

Inside were supplies you’d picked up, including strapping tape and fresh bandages. You lifted your shirt hesitantly, revealing the purple bruises blemishing your side. Clint frowned slightly as he took them in, but didn’t comment as he pulled out a length of tape and tore it off with his teeth.

You spoke, if only to distract yourself from the feeling of his fingertips smoothing the tape down along your skin, pulling it taut gently. “How’d you find me?”

A touch of a smile curved one corner of Clint’s lips; his eyes focused on your side. “News reports of the Ronin making trouble places I wasn’t. Seemed like a good place to start.”

“And the rest?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Good old fashioned spy work.”

You nodded, your eyes on the ceiling. Of course, he knew how to find you. He’d been the one to teach you how to hide.

“‘Happy birthday’? Seriously?”

“I thought it’d break the ice,” he shrugged a shoulder, touching a careful hand to his tender jaw. “Not my jaw. I forgot what a wallop you had on you.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to apologize for that…” you told him, flexing the fingers of your injured hand. “Especially since my birthday was two weeks ago.”

Clint coughed a chuckle, grimacing apologetically. “Points for effort?”

“They wouldn’t make a dint in the deficit you’re running here, Barton.”

Your tone came out sharper than you’d strictly intended; a spark of the fury at his abandonment still burning inside you. Your eyes fell to the tattoo again, still surprised to see it marking his skin. The sound of another strip of tape tearing, and his warm fingers against your side again.

“So… are we just not going to talk about the tattoo?” you asked. You lifted the coffee mug, enjoying the warmth on your hands and in your chest as you took a sip. “That’s a lot of ink, Barton… it had to have hurt, right?”

Clint swallowed; his eyes still fixed almost pointedly on your ribs. His expression twitched apologetically as he pulled up the tape where it had laid crooked before he lay it flat against your side again. You suppressed a shiver.

“Clint?” you said when he didn’t respond, your brow furrowing as slow realization dawned on you. “Did you… you, you wanted it to hurt, didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer, but you took his silence as confirmation. He’d wanted to… to punish himself? To feel something?

He pressed the final piece of tape into place carefully, frowning apologetically as you hissed slightly as it pulled at your ribs. You lowered your shirt back into place, pressing your lips together for a moment before you broached another question. The only real question you had for him.

“Why are you here, Clint?”

The man in front of you remained quiet for a long moment, as though weighing the words before he chose them. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost hoarse, barely more than a whisper. You could have almost been convinced that he hadn’t spoken at all. “You’re still looking out for me.”

A crease formed between your brows, but you didn’t speak. You could feel the warring blend of sympathy and anger bubbling in your stomach, burning in your chest, your throat.

“I’m a piece of shit, Y/N.” he said, his choice in words surprising you. Still, you didn’t blink, studying his expression. What did it say about you that even with how royally pissed off you were at him right now, it felt good to see his face?

“I shouldn’t have done what I did… I shouldn’t’ve let myself…” he sighed, his hands wringing together in his lap as a kind of anchoring gesture. “I shouldn’t have let what happened happen, Y/N. I—”

You scoffed, pushing your seat backward. It screeched against the hardwood as you stood up, holding up your hands.

“Are you serious, Clint?” you asked incredulously. “Are you—Do you seriously think I’m mad because you fucked me and didn’t call me afterwards?” Clint flinched at the word ‘fucked’. “I’m not some moony-eyed teenager after prom night, Barton. You left me. That’s what I’m pissed about!”

“I know, I—”

“No, you don’t know!” you shouted. All the anger you’d been holding back ignited inside you. Sparks of frustrated psychokinetic energy danced along your fingers, and you squeezed your fists closed to quash them. You paced furiously, running a hand through your hair. “We’re supposed to be partners, Barton! We’re supposed to look out for each other! We’re supposed to keep each other safe and you left me behind and I had no way of knowing you were okay! Do you have any idea—”

“Y/N—”

“You seriously thought I was sitting around pining after you like some kind of… some kind of starry-eyed… it wasn’t even that—” you found yourself stumbling over your words before you could say it wasn’t that good, your mind flaring with the memory of the growl of his voice, the heat of his breath on the underside of your jaw and the way his hands had clutch so possessively at your flesh as you…

Heat rose in your face, and you shook your head, gaze raised to the ceiling. “What was all that you said in Russia, huh? You said you needed me, Clint, and I—”

“I do need you.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him again. He was still sitting with his hands clasped together, but now he met your eye, staring up at you from under his brows. There was an earnestness in his gaze that made all the fury inside you dissipate, and you froze in place.

“I can’t… I can’t keep making myself believe I can do this alone, Y/N.” he told you quietly. “I tried, and I… there’s something inside me, Y/N, that I can’t pull myself back from. Something that wants to watch the world burn and that part of me doesn’t care who gets caught in the crossfire… I can’t…” he sighed, running a hand over his face slowly. “There’s something about you, Y/N, that makes me… stay myself. At least, it helps me hold myself back. I’m not going to stop what I’m doing, I can’t. The people I hurt when I’m working with you, they’re getting what they deserve. But you… you point me in the right direction. Even when you weren’t there, I swear, I could hear you in my head, telling me when I’d done enough, and…”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, teeth digging into the inside of your lower lip.

“I need that,” he said softly. “It’s selfish and it’s caustic, and it’s… but you stayed out here. You’re still watching my back, trying to help me out, and I…”

“I get it,” you told him, and Clint looked up at you again. There were the beginnings of tears in his eyes, and you nodded to your left, avoiding meeting his eye. “You can take the couch.”

You turned, coffee forgotten and a shiver between your shoulder blades. The tape on your side kept your back straight, and you touched a hand to your ribs.

“Y/N.”

He said your voice again just as you made it to the bedroom door.

“Thank you.”

.

.

.

.

tags: @trekkingaroundasgard @lovely-dreamer19 @wittyforachange @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @capitalnineteen @youclickedthislink @s0ftness @castieltrash1 @drakelover78 @queenoftheunderdark @lol-you-thought @akumune @xxboesefrauxx @enna-core @hearmyharmony @katsies @youralphawolf72 @maenji @rhymesmenagerie @gwianasky @melaclintbartoncorner @loki-is-loved @whovianayesha @bradfordbantams @alice-the-nerd @fanofallthefics @ace-fandom-dumbass @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @twsssmlmaa @earth-pig-fish @meeksmusic83 @hallothankmas @justanothermagicalsara @janineb86 @darsynia @rhymesmenagerie @thatwelshbi @lauraashley93

[play-rough]

i checked blogs at eight and promptly zonked out without warning til now 12:45. like, didnt even put down my phone.

so that got me thinking. what if dazai sometimes just falls asleep when hes really tired? mostly during mornings. and its VERY rare, because sleep evades him badly. its like only ever when he wakes up baby. but chuuya will have woken up with him, gone to make food, come back, and baby is just out.

this sometimes happens when he has to do paperwork, but those are fifty fifty chance of him actually being asleep. sometimes, you gotta check.

this might not be in character but i’m eepy wanna talk about the baby

— 🕸️

Absolutely! He does just go until he collapses from exhaustion sometimes, and that leads to Chuuya finding him asleep curled up over paperwork, but headspace is when Dazai catches up on sleep the most! He naps a lot, and it’s common for Chuuya to get the baby up from naptime, take him out to the living room and come back to Dazai zonked out on the couch before he can bring the sippy cup of juice 😭

[cake-by-thepound]

OMG I told myself i would come here and leave a lil msg even if you might not see… what a nice surprise to see you posted things! Richonne really bringing everyone back 😭😭 Havent been on tumblr in fifty leven years but all the towl posts on twitter made me want to check what‘s going on here. And I thought of you cause you and your blog was such a big part of my viewing experience. Loved coming on here and see what everybody had to say after an ep. And I wanted to remember all those good feelings cause tbh it got annoying on the bird app real quick lol. Got to enjoy all the content for about 3sec before all the real life shippers came back with a force. I genuinely forgot that‘s a thing. And when they brought the Tony/Fitz comparaisons I was like yeah i’m out. I’m not touching that one 😂 Anyway I just really came to say that i always loved your blog and the space it provided for richonners and I‘m absolutely delighted to see you here 😘

🤭 I love this so much! I kinda had the same experience and just happened to check my blog because of the premiere, and I was shocked to find an ask waiting for me. The power of Richonne! 🤌🏾

I totally agree with you about Twitter. It’s too public! Too many people with too many opinions. I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed the bubble you can essentially shroud yourself in on Tumblr until I needed it and it was gone. 😂

Anyway, I’m very happy our faves are back and so are we! I always said we’re here for a good time, not a long time, but it really is nice for it to be good again!

[thatiranianphantom]

I don't usually slide into the ask box of people that I strongly disagree with. It's usually utterly pointless and I usually adhere to a strict "live and let live" policy...but your RD takes are just so deeply unsettling that I am making an exception.

Claiming that RD is softcore porn now is just...not true.

This is not even remotely softcore porn. This is barely erotic. And I think your assertion that the show feels like a masturbatory fantasy from the writers has a lot more to do with the fact that you're personally unhappy with the show's direction than the show itself. It's a bad faith reading on the show, steeped in pearl clutching, Hayes Code romancing, nonsense.

Takes like yours, whether they mean to or not, are begging for the Hayes Code to come back. Begging. "Oh, TV shows should only show good morals and whenever they show something morally ambiguous, it should be clear where the moral failings are".

That's a big part of the Hayes Code. And I, for one, reject that ideology with every fiber of my being. TV shows do not need to be parables. They are under no obligation to preach good morals to their audiences. Their purpose is to express ideas!

And Riverdale is doing a bang up job, if I do say so myself (even if I personally feel it could have gone further with a lot of its plots). It's meta-commentary on Americana, film, and television is unmatched. Its refusal to be any one thing is both brave and fascinating. The show has remained true to its vision despite pissing off much of its audience, which is rare in a landscape of shameless pandering for views. God bless Riverdale for that.

(Speaking only of the show itself here, not its marketing.)

But back to the main point. You claim no one will want to hire the Riverdale writers after this and that you think they should go to prison. That's...honestly a deeply conservative mindset and you're not alone in thinking that, but you are highly visible. So, I bring my thoughts to your ask box.

I implore you to look beyond the surface of the media you consume and to recognize that our reactions to stories have a lot more to do with our own feelings than the stories themselves unless we specifically step away from ourselves for analysis. And hey, there's nothing wrong with having opinions on your own blog, so feel free to dismiss me as a little hater. <3

I apologize that this has gotten so long and if I sounded nasty. I am just so deeply disturbed by the prevalence of purity culture in fandom these days. It starts with "think of the children!" and "No kink at pride!" and ends with the eradication of anyone who doesn't fit into the conservative ideal for culture. I'm not saying that you want that, per se, but be careful because those that do want that think similarly.

Thanks.

Okay.....first of all, and I mean this genuinely, kudos to putting your name behind this. This doesn't happen often, so a true fist bump to you.

How generous of you to come here and offer unsolicited and incredibly condescending pseudo-intellectual commentary on what I am allowed to post on my blog. Very generous. But hey, I'm high profile! Lil' ol' me! Look Ma, I made it!

Now we gotta get in the weeds here. Yeah, I am not going to take back or apologize for how softcore-y this show has been this season. I stand behind the statements I made about how creepy it is to watch a grown man's masturbatory fantasy play out on screen. In the last episode alone, they have sexualized pedophilia and grooming (with a teacher student fantasy) and children playing a board game.

See the thing is, it would be purity culture to suggest a woman CAN'T have sex or be sexually attracted to someone. We spent 6 years with Betty as someone who liked sex, and that was fine! We even spent s5 with Betty who used sex as a bandaid. That wasn't healthy, but she was an adult woman having sex. It was fine. Fifties Betty has sex as her ENTIRE character. There is nothing else to 50s Betty. She's horny. She wants to have sex. She wants to have sex so much that she's actively predatory. That's it. And having one and only one character motivation kinda flies in the face of the whole "feminism" thing the show is trying to project, don't it?

Hey, I'll give you that the show THINKS it is making a feminist statement. I'll give you that the show's writers probably THINK they are fixing racism, sexism and homophobia in one fell swoop. But they aren't. Quite the contrary, they are actively furthering those issues while thinking they're doing an amazing job. They degrade women while touting themselves as feminists. They made their only Latina family mob members while touting themselves champions of POC stories. They view themselves as LGBT representation while one character decides another's sexuality and their agency in coming out is stripped from them.

Adding to that, it's fine if you disagree with me. I speak only for myself, and the block button is easy to find. It's all good. I'm not offended that you disagree with me, but to suggest Riverdale is scathing, witty meta-commentary? RIVERDALE????? I don't think I'm the one who doesn't know what this show is, anon. This show is a vehicle to leer on the hot cast members, and more recently, to act out some personal ~aesthetic* writer fantasies. It has never and will never be what you proclaimed it to be:

"meta-commentary on Americana, film, and television is unmatched. Its refusal to be any one thing is both brave and fascinating. The show has remained true to its vision despite pissing off much of its audience, which is rare in a landscape of shameless pandering for views. God bless Riverdale for that."

I'm...a little stunned that you think it is. But nonetheless, I stand behind the statement that writers whose misogyny comes out LOUDLY in their writing, who have stripped this show of anything interesting, recognizable or interesting, and whose relationship with the fans on social media is disturbing at best, will not be prime targets for new shows.

Again, I do genuinely commend you for putting your name behind your thoughts. I have no issue with you disagreeing with me, or the majority of the fandom in general. I have no ill will to you. But yes, I believe this season of the show is disturbing, misogynistic and creepily sexual. It's a statement I stand by, and while you're under no obligation to agree, I hope you're able to find the block button next time.

[rosepais]

 BLOG BABY

I was 9 years old when I wrote my first blog titled “The first time I ate a samosa”. It was for a competition in school, and we were asked to submit our entries.

I was so proud of what I wrote, so much that I kept reading my own many times. I do that now too and I appreciate my own writing and I am my own critic as well.  

The writing was about 2 pages long. It had description about the Samosa, the taste, the texture, my family and about me closing my eyes and looking up to the sky for the very first bite. Before submitting it to the school, I thought I should let my mom know. I showed it to her.

My blogs have always been around Humor genre. I tend to hide the actual painful experience of the situation behind humor. It works! I smile at my own situation. I laugh at my own jokes. This little writing was behind a sad story, which I somehow managed to convert it into a funny experience.

We were poor. Not poor as in being homeless poor, but poor like, we need to save money for your marriage so there is no money to buy a Samosa kind of poor. Fair point, considering that in 16 years we were to have around 10 lakhs worth of money from not eating Samosa’s. It was a good excuse to deny me money for the food stall event in school. This was back in the 1990’s where having a junk food stall at your school was a big thing. It was first of its kind for a 4th grader like me.

The menu was not out yet, but the instructions given was to bring money to eat from the various stalls that are open. The proceeds of which would go to charity. Come to think of it, most of such events, the proceeds go to charity. Don’t we have enough money by now to eliminate poverty? Just asking… for a friend.

Anyhow, after many days of begging my mother to give me 50 rupees, which involved a lot of lectures about how to save money, why attending the charity event was not important and about “You are 9 now, it is time you show some maturity”, I finally had the money to eat the bare minimum. I finally was able to walk into the gates of my school with a sense of “ok! I now possess in my bag a huge amount of FIFTY RUPEES, and no one will know I am poor”, kind of feeling. I do not know the actual word for that feeling. State syllabus, synonyms did not help either.

We all know how much worth that money was in those days. If you do not know, I am sorry you were born too late. No, seriously, I am feeling sorry for you.

For most of us kids born in the 70’s or 80’s, the joy of finding a 5 paise coin on a muddy road while walking back from school and running to a yellow fritters or gooseberry vendor, eating that before we reach home and clearing evidence of salt and chilly powder from our hands and lips was equivalent to your current joy of having 1M followers or views. Maybe more joy because that was real joy.

Yes dearies, 5 paise was a thing.

The event began. I ate my first ever samosa. It was tasty, maybe because I have never had one before. I admired its shape, it’s texture and relished every bite until I licked my fingers clean. I did not have more money to buy another, because there were few more stalls to visit.

Many months later I would be writing a small comprehension as it was called those days, about my experience of eating a Samosa and now to think of it, who knew many years later, I would be writing a blog about the blog I wrote about that day! Sorry if you must read that again, I am confused myself.  

Anyhow, going back to my 1st submission to my mother. If you remember, I handed over the writing to my mother? Today as I recollect, that was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. Because my blog journey ended even before it began. Wondering why? You see, not everyone has the maturity to handle humor. My mother took offence of my remarks about poverty. I remember writing about how she refused to give me any money and about how I cursed my stars for being born in a poor family. She took so much offense that she shredded that paper right there in front of my eyes and the submission never went to the school.

With that ended my writing dream, until 14 years later I rekindled my passion for writing and swore I will never do 1st submissions to mom again.

Irony of this entire story is later part of my blogging life, my mother happened to be my best critic, and best marketing agent. She would mass forward my writings to all her friends and talk to them with pride about it. Funny. Poor woman does not remember ripping apart my Samosa paper, but it is fine. I forgive her. I would not have won anyways. Apparently, I was the only one who had not tasted a Samosa before so my writing would not make headlines.

29 years later, today, I remembered my writing, and I took to my laptop to write.

The reason I am writing this today, is because of a huge discovery that has made me so elevated with joy, speechless and so much to say at the same time.

While I was clearing my son’s bag of lead powder, shredded sheets of paper and dirt, I discovered few papers stashed away in a book.

I opened them to read and there were around 5 to 6 pages of some writing. The topics are: 

-          The second Bruce Lee

-          The Glitch games.

-          The football boys

-          And few more untitled writings which I am yet to read.

He is 9. 

Thanks for reading. 

This blog post is part of the blog challenge ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla.