#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.

[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'.”

[remotewatch]

two pretty-ass friends, we besties 👯‍♀️

Jack Schlossberg x reader x reader(?) | 4.4k wc

minors don't perceive and begone

summary: we've all heard those dominatrix rumors!

cws: dual femdom, ffm threesome, verbal and physical degradation, bondage, petplay, vibrator shenanigans, thwarted phone sex, impact play, oral (f receiving), implied shoe sniffing, semipublic humiliation, Jack is a cringefail loser who can't hold a plank, sorry for party rocking,

an: on this blog, it’s Valentine’s Day when I say so! Thanks for your patience, and hope you all enjoy 💕

Many many thanks to @mystardustmelodyyy as always for being the editing voice of reason and encouragement <333333

“Oh, this is cute!” ‘Violet’, your partner in debauchery, drops her bags and takes in your room for the evening. It’s a bit smaller than what you’re used to when you see Jack, but the giant tub in the bathroom plans to make up for it. The delicate swan fixtures just barely prevent it from skewing tacky, despite taking up half the room.

“You think he misses the ocean?” you chuckle, measuring its length with your wingspan.

“Yeah, he’s probably trying to break up the ice as we speak.” She cranks the heat after you shed your winter layers in exchange for tonight’s outfits. Peach and powder blue don’t exactly scream Valentine’s Day, though Jack has never been much of a traditionalist as long as you’ve known him.

“Ten bucks says he didn’t shave.” Violet scrunches her nose opening a bottle of champagne and squeals when it nearly drenches her slip.

“Careful with that; we’ve only got ten of them. And deal. Are you hungry?”

“Starving. I’ll get us something. Do you think he’ll want anything?”

You both explode with laughter as she fills your flute. “Half a blueberry maybe? HA!”

Violet is just wrapping up her call with the front desk when your phone rings and sighs in mock exasperation when she sees Jack’s caller ID pop up.

“Watch, he’s probably going to ask us if we can bring another friend along.” It sounds plausible enough when you answer and are greeted with your host already sounding out of breath and sheepish.

“Hey, uh- I’m in traffic! It’ll be anywhere from like.. 10 to 90 minutes? You guys should probably go down to the restaurant, you know, kill some time.” 

“He’s ‘running late.’” you mouth to her, rolling your eyes in unison. 

“That is so like you! No respect for anyone’s time!” you sneer.

“I know, it  just backed up a few minutes ago…”

Violet nudges your elbow, pointing at a closed hall closet. If you tune out Jack’s train of excuses, you can just barely hear faint jostling coming from inside. She claps a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle as you cut him off.

“Well, if it’s really that bad, I guess we could do something on the phone; you have a partition in there, right?”

“Not really, but I can make it work.” His smile is so apparent over the phone; you can clearly picture him squirming in anticipation of being told off.

“EW, your poor Uber driver! I hope you’re tipping her enough, you asshole!”

“Fifty percent, just like you wanted, I promise!” 

“Cheap fucking bastard. Cheap and impatient! Can’t wait your little ten minutes-”

“Ten to Ninety.”

“Don’t fucking interrupt me! Focus on your second head, something you can actually handle.” Your shouting is the perfect cover for Violet to stalk closer to the closet. More thumps come from within, and you wonder if he’d take this lie all the way to orgasm if you let him. 

“Sorry, yeah. Focusing.” He wheezes. That empty-headed tinge is creeping into his voice already.

“And actually, if you’re going to keep us waiting, we might as well go home. This place is kind of small anyway.”

“No, no, no, don’t go home!” Jack begs, just as Violet swings open the closet door, sending him tumbling to the floor with rose petals falling out of his beanie.

“What the fuck?” you laugh. He scrambles to sweep them up, arms splaying clumsily as he swipes for the ones between your feet. 

“I wanted to make an entrance! It’s Valentine’s Day, I thought it would be sentimental!”

“You wanted to make a grand entrance and you’re wearing that?” 

Jack looks down at his sweats then backs up with an expression that screams ‘but it’s coming off soon anyway?’, like a kid determined to stay in pajamas under his church clothes.

“And didn’t you post a video in that same outfit yesterday?” Violet kicks a stray petal just out of reach. “How are you always so gross?” 

He’s momentarily forgotten as you try and determine how much his patchy five o'clock shadow counts towards your bet, until you hear him apologize under his breath. Using your real name.

“WHAT did you just call me?!” 

“Dahlia, Dahlia, my bad!” Jack flinches back when you grab his hood and practically drag him across the floor, dirty sneakers squeaking on the tile as he tries to get a grip.

“Yeah, no. You’re being crazy. Shower, NOW!”

💕💕💕💕💕

Violet perches opposite you on the rim of the gargantuan rounded tub as steam slowly fills the bathroom. 

“Oh, remind me to tell you about this thing I read,” she whispers before whipping her head towards the fogged-up shower. 

“Jack! You’re using soap, right?” There’s a severely guilty pause before he responds.

“Yes…”

“Show us!” It takes a minute, but he eventually peers around the edge of the door, clearly not sudsy enough for your partner.

“Nope! Get back in there!” She whips a spare loofah at him, then a mini body wash, and you're sinking down to stretch out along the bottom of the tub by the time she’s pressing a nail brush against his sternum.

“You know what this is for? Yeah? Prove it!” 

After a few more stern words, she hops back in so you can show her some other hotel options you’re perusing. 

“Yasuragi just isn’t the same at full capacity, but if we got the Ryokan it might work.”

“Isn’t it -5 in Sweden next week? I’m sick of freezing my ass off.”

“Yeah, but the hot spring is in-room.”

“Oh, fuck yeah, book it!”

When Jack exits the shower, his old clothes are nowhere to be seen, along with any full size towels. He glances around for a spare robe, only to be met with twin faux pouts.

“Bummer… I guess they didn’t replenish the linens.” 

Violet tosses him a hand towel before chiming in on her way out of the bathroom. “Yeah, but it’s like way better for the environment, you know?”

You continue murmuring in exaggerated agreement while Jack tries and fails to secure the towel around his waist after his best attempt to dry off. He barely even protests when you snatch it back, just lets out a surprised squeak.

“Pets don’t wear clothes. You’ll be fine.” He knows better than to cover his dick without permission, settling to clasp his hands behind his back as you swing the towel around nonchalantly.

“We got you something! No need to thank us.” Violet chirps, trotting back in clasping a thin dog collar, black velvet with a silver surfboard name tag. Jack bares his neck obediently while she fastens it, and you spot him trying not to smile.

“You’re such a lucky dog. I was going to grab one of those silly heart bandannas, but Violet put her foot down. She had a LOT of opinions at the Petco!”

“I think it looks classy!” Violet says, scratching him under his chin. Immediately, he’s slumping into her touch, dick twitching every time she hits a good spot.

“So!” You clip a matching leash to Jack’s collar and lead him into the living room. Violet trails behind with one of your suitcases. “I’m sure you’re wondering what we’re going to do tonight. But before we can get to all of that, we’ve got a few questions for you, okay?” 

A gentle push on his shoulder plops him down into a chair, and Violet is quick to swoop in with a pile of red velvet ribbon from the bag.

“It’s nothing crazy. You just answer as best you can, and we’ll decide if you’re lying or not.”  

She smiles sweetly before tugging on his left ankle until his hips are right on the edge of the seat. After spreading his thighs as wide as possible, she fixes him to the chair legs with matching bows on his knees and ankles. You take the other roll of ribbon and focus on his top half. 

“If you’re telling the truth…” You gently grasp one of his wrists and press a fingertip to your lips. “You get a kiss.” He flexes a bit after you secure it down, testing his wiggle room.

Slowly, you thread the ribbon around his chest, taking extra time to scratch at his pecs a little as you secure the bow. 

“If you lie to us…” your hand trails up his neck to cup his jaw fondly. Jack’s eyes slip closed just before you wind up and slap his cheek. “That won’t be tolerated.”

“And don’t even THINK about cumming! Are you seriously already leaking?” Violet giggles as his dick thumps against her knee. She swipes a fresh bead of precum off his tip and shoves it into his mouth. “Can you go one day without making a huge mess?”

He blinks at you both stupidly, trying to gauge if the game has already started. “I guess not?”

Tipping his head back, Violet presses a glossy kiss onto his jaw.“Absolutely not! Remember when you ruined my slippers? Because I specifically recall designating them as sniff don’t touch.” 

“I thought you said sniff and touch…” 

You take the opportunity to give his earlobe a swift flick before cupping his throat.  “Uh-huh. That’s because you were thinking with your dick. Typical! When did you lose your virginity?” Jack’s Adam's apple bobs under your palm.

 “I was sixteen-” 

SMACK! He groans as more precum drips onto the upholstery. 

“I meant nineteen!” 

SMACK!

“Stop lying!” You wonder if you should’ve left some rings on.

His gaze flits between you two, desperately searching for hints. “Six months ago!” 

“That’s right; you didn’t know anything before you met us.” His eyelids flutter under your barrage of kisses, all glassy and stupid as he struggles to speak.

“How tall are you?” Violet squints disapprovingly.

“6’3…” It’s barely more than murmurs now.

SMACK! Another dribble, this one with enough force to make it to the floor.

“6’1?” He’s already bracing for impact.

“Prove it.”

The chair creaks as Jack struggles against his restraints, even tipping it back precariously before glancing up in defeat.

“I said fucking prove it!” His thighs twitch reflexively, and you both erupt into giggles as he crashes sideways to the floor. 

“5’9!” he sputters as you crouch down slowly, earning a delicate kiss on the cheek. There’s no time to soak it up before Violet yanks the chair back upright, finger jabbing tiny crescent nail marks into his cheek.

“Why did you screenshot Dahlia’s story at 3 am last night?”

Jack’s eyes widen. “It was an accident-”  

SMACK! Violet’s slap knocks a gasp out of him.

“I swear-” 

SMACK! 

“I’m sorry! You just looked so beautiful…” his words slur together as he struggles to catch his breath.

“So you thought you’d get off without asking?” Jack winces when you dig your foot against the flesh of his stomach.

“God, you have NO discipline.”

This time, Violet relents a bit, sweeping his hair out of his face and dabbing the residual sweat off with a napkin. “Jack.. if you weren’t seeing us, how often would you masturbate?”

“All day every day.” He’s gone totally slack now, mumbling like you’re pulling the correct answers out more than he’s saying them. The corners of his mouth barely even twitch up when you both pepper him with kisses. 

💕💕💕💕💕

Once Jack is nice and dumbed down, he doesn’t flinch at any of the other activities you’ve planned for the evening. Hot wax slides down his chest like water, and he runs himself ragged playing fetch until you have to force some water down his throat. The only thing that gives him a bit of pause is you pulling out a spinner and polka dotted tarp.

“Twister?”

“Yeah. Work on your shoulder stamina for a change.”

“That's mean.” 

He’s getting way too lucid if he can think to complain.

“Are you gonna fucking cry?”

“Do you want me to cry?”

“Just get on the mat!”

You end up touching your toes and pushing your hips back against Jack’s face with Violet sprawled out beneath him on spinner duty, her free hand lazily jerking him off. His arms are starting to shake from planking so long, and he nearly falls flat when she brushes against him to spin again.

“We only just started! There’s no way you’re tired yet!” she laughs. “Left hand red.” Jack’s fingers stretch to find a dot within reach, only for you to pull him closer, burying his nose even deeper.

“No, that red!”

“I told you to actually try this time! I thought you were like, sooo flexible. Isn’t that what he said?” Violet flicks at his nipple, relishing the full body shudder it triggers.

“What kind of freak lies about something like that?” you scoff and push your ass further onto his face.  

“I’mmmph sorry! Please-” is all the warning you get before his arms give out and he crashes down on top of Violet, who’s quick to shove him off in disgust.

“I can’t believe you lost again, but you know what that means!” A quick yank under your slip and you’re stepping out of your thong. Jack is too preoccupied trying to glance at what it was covering before it’s shoved into his mouth.

“Maybe when your endurance improves you can graduate from being a laundry basket.”

Jack’s muffled whimpers of “I don’t wanna be a basket!” are interrupted by Violet pouncing on top of him. 

“Aren’t you tired of being a loser? Be honest with us.” It’s difficult to tell if she’s more laughing or grimacing at how easily he falls apart from a few strokes at his cock.

“No, I’mnota-”

“You aren’t tired? That’s so sad. Does it feel inherent to who you are as a person or something?” His tip weeps between her fingers, flushed crimson and gleaming under the lamplight.

“Oh, lay off him. It’s a holiday.” Jack gazes reverently up at you as you pull his head into your lap, even as you take care to tuck a stray fold of the thong back between his lips. 

“He’s drenching my fucking hand! I’m being nice!”

Despite the chaos going on below his waist, feeling Jack writhe under you and watching his eyes roll back as the fabric slightly dampens his moans is somehow deeply calming. You take the chance to wrap your legs a little tighter around his head, feeling that obscenely thick (now somewhat damp) mane of hair brush up against your clit while the sweat dripping down his temples dampens your inner thighs.

“I said don’t fucking cum!” Violet’s voice pulls you back to reality. He’s doing his best, but the effort of  trying not to bust has him panting like an actual dog. 

A sharp knock at the door spares him release and the subsequent punishment. Still, he’s pawing desperately at your leg to ground himself as you get up to answer it.

“Oh my god, finally! Took them long enough. Jack, get back in the closet!” Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Violet failing to lead him by his dick out of the living room, instead opting to haul him whining and limp onto the sofa.

Flinging the front door open, you’re greeted with two dapper hotel staff bearing your dinner for the evening. One cocks his head slightly for a view deeper into the suite while the other stares unblinking into your eyes; anything to avoid too long of a glance at your slip. “Room service, ma’am.”

“Bonsoir, gentlemen! You can set up on the coffee table. Don’t mind the dog!” 

They can’t help a glance or two at Jack, who is covering his dick with a silky heart shaped pillow, as they wheel the cart in and begin unpacking your meal: caesar salad, fries, and chocolate mousse.

“Would you like a third place setting?” One of the men pauses mid-fork placement and half-gestures toward your host.

“Oh, no thank you! He’s reducing.” Violet leans over to pinch his cheek. “Aren’t you, Jack?”

He manages a stiff nod.

“Don’t you dare stain that pillow!”  You hiss as she takes his wallet to tip the server.

💕💕💕💕💕

“What do they put in this dressing that makes it so good? I want to say oregano? Maybe the chef is just a miracle worker.” Violet squints at a forkful of salad, trying to analyze every inch of the spring mix. Your mind is occupied elsewhere.

“Okay, so if tivoli is still closed, we can just go straight from the spa to the ice hotel?” You can’t resist taking advantage of the slightest lull in the action to pop open your laptop and revisit some upcoming bookings.

“Can’t we wait and go when it’s warmer? We have a gap in the schedule in early April, right?”

“It’ll be gone by April. Are you really going to let that snowsuit rot in your closet?”

“Okay, fine, but if we go, I don’t want to hear you complaining about how many people are there after you shot down the igloo idea.”

“Eat your food,” you giggle, chucking a fry in her direction.

As dinner progresses, Jack slumps off the couch onto the floor beneath the coffee table and dozes off curled between the two of you. Whenever Violet pauses to think, her hand meanders down to scratch at his scalp. It’s such a peaceful scene that the two of you debate not waking him up at all,  backtracking once you point out that ‘he’ll be so stiff and make it our problem’.

“Jack, honey, wake up…it’s still Valentine's Day,” Violet coos. When he doesn’t move, she supplies a light kick to his stomach. “Get up!” 

That at least gets him to stir. “There you go, good dog.” 

Jack rubs his eyes sleepily while he takes in the hotel room before meeting your gaze.

“It’s still Valentine’s Day,” you remind him.

“Oh yeah!” His eyes light up. “For how long?”

“Two more hours. Now, go get the bath set up.” 

He stumbles a little getting up but steadies himself on another suitcase and practically skips off into the bathroom. 

“Just give me five! You two are gonna love this!” He chirps over his shoulder. Violet shrugs and refills your champagne glass before topping herself off. 

“That’s what I was going to tell you! Did you hear that new article in The Cut is supposedly Danielle?” 

“No! You’re kidding!”

Just as you’re getting into a good dish, the bathroom door swings open to reveal a dozen lit jasmine candles and a freshly drawn bubble bath brimming with rose petals in the suite’s oversized tub. Then there was Jack, still in his dog collar, looking adorably proud of his work, holding a fresh bottle of champagne. To make things even sweeter, you notice he’s arranged several of the vibrators you’d packed in a silver dish next to the tub. He can’t stop gawking when you take your slips off, and you indulge him for a split second, blowing a kiss before chucking it at him. 

“Stop staring, pervert!”

💕💕💕💕💕

“Isn’t it crazy that you don’t have a Valentine when you could just put your follower list on shuffle and have someone new every night?” Violet muses.

 She’s holding a silicone vibe’s blunt plane right under Jack’s tip while you lather up his chest with soap (he really did a TERRIBLE job showering earlier) as the candles steadily flicker down. It’s a romantic scene from the waist up- the bathtub is positively overflowing with apricot-scented bubbles-, but you can feel Jack’s fists clenched by his sides underwater. You’re not making it any easier on him, shoving your tits right in his face so you can talk down to him.. 

“If only your fans knew how rancid you smell most of the time. I bet they’d still do anything for you. But you don’t want that, right? They all idolize you too much.”

He slumps down more with each of Violet’s jabs, letting out a shaky ‘Yeahhh..’ as his head tips back, just as you snag another vibrator and submerge it under the foam. Jack doesn’t even notice until you’re rubbing it against his head. His eyebrows shoot up, and your lips automatically curl into a sadistic grin.

“You’re never told no in your life, then we come along, and you’re obsessed with us. God, are we the only ones who realize how GROSS you are?”

“You’re so mean!” He shudders in ecstasy, voice cracking. Violet leans in closer and gives you a knowing look before taking his chin between her thumb and forefinger. 

“You’d better not cum before we say so, especially not in here. Clogging the fucking filter up, and everyone will know it was you, because I’ll tell maintenance EXACTLY who to blame when they come knocking. Remember what happened in Miami?”

“…No?” He whines.

“You’re not going to cum, right? You wouldn’t do that to us.” You murmur against his ear, cranking up the voltage so you can put the vibrator on its max setting.

“No! I promise! I’d never- I’d never-no! Nono please!” Jack pleads with his body as it twitches in your arms. In between the roiling bubbles from the jets, you spot a few strings of cum swirling around as they float to the surface.

“Oh my god; what is wrong with you?!” Violet’s fingers twist around his neck to hoist him out of the water. The temperature difference has him swaying, but he stays hunched over enough for her to berate him properly.

“All we asked you to do tonight was one fucking thing! I thought you could handle that!”

You let out a sigh (not unrelated to the water working its magic) and shrug.

“He just can’t help himself… but I think we should keep him.”  

💕💕💕💕💕

Violet using the crop on Jack after he cums sans authorization has become something of a standard routine. While she “punishes” him on the sofa, you change into your pajamas- a flouncy butter-soft Dôen nightgown that was every bit worth the splurge- and cheerily hum along to your playlist for the second half of the evening as you do your skincare routine in the bathroom. The cartoonish cracks of impact and Jack’s yelps from the next room are a perfect compliment to your nighttime jazz.

Eventually, she enters the bathroom, all flushed cheeks and tousled hair, and promises you that ‘he’s very sorry and just missed us over the holidays’. You peek out to find him pressed against one of the corners of the living room, red lines rising on his back from Violet’s crop.

“Did you polish his nose up?”

“Oh yeah, but I might have missed a spot.” She giggles.

You plop down lotus style on the sofa and arch your finger to signal Jack over. While he obediently kneels at the foot of the sofa, you realize there’s a few spoonfuls of chocolate mousse left and delicately scoop up a little bump for him.

“Wanna try it?” 

Jack looks apprehensive at first, but slowly leans forward to accept the bite. His eyes slip closed as his tongue laves over the spoon, even relaxing enough to let out a sigh when you begin scratching under his collar.

“Such a good boy. Finish it for me?” 

He looks down at the bowl like it might explode on contact. “All of it?”

You take a spoonful out for yourself and nod, savoring the bittersweet taste. “Uh huh. If you clean it, I’ll let you eat me out.”

Before you can continue, Jack lurches forward and sticks his face straight in the crystal bowl. Your eyes linger, watching his tongue flatten and slip against its surface. When he comes up, there’s a little smear of mousse on his forehead from the rim that you treat yourself to licking off.

“You did so well for us.” You purr, stroking your thumb over his brows, gently tugging his head down. His quiet and docile demeanor is a far cry from the silly goose jerking off with a beanie full of rose petals at the beginning of the evening. Spreading his hands over your thighs, he whispers a meek little ‘Thank you’ before burying his face in your pussy. For all the jokes you’d made about stubble on his jawline, it feels electric brushing between your thighs. 

“You were so well-behaved tonight, and we didn’t go easy on you! Aw, baby. You’re so sweet. What a good dog. Did you have a nice Valentine’s Day?”

“Mmmmhhmmmm!” He’s all broad and frantic lapping like he’s scared you’ll take his meal away.

Your legs extend around Jack’s shoulders to link your feet together, hands in his hair as you rock him against you, encouraging him through his pussydrunk whimpering. 

“Good job baby, keep going. Just like that, no slacking- oh my god-” 

His hands cradle your hips, heat bleeding clear through the delicate fabric of your nightgown as you sprawl out and let the feeling of his nose brushing at your clit engulf you. The lines completely blur as he gets lost licking you through your orgasm; he mindlessly slurps at where you were sitting for a good minute after you get on your feet, only stopping when he feels you hook a finger under his collar.

💕💕💕💕💕

“Coral and algae exhibit a mutually beneficial relationship. Healthy coral are home to photosynthetic algae that provide the coral with energy necessary for its growth. In turn, corals provide their algae with shelter. Each cannot survive without the other.”

You’ve queued up a documentary about coral reefs by the time Violet returns from the bathroom to find Jack curled up in your lap in bed. He’s just on the edge of drifting off with your fingers threading through his hair.

“Come on, move it.” you whisper with a kiss to his forehead and banish him to the foot of the bed. Violet flops down next to you, snuggling into the down duvet and dimming the lights with a swift clap. 

“This place is growing on me.” 

“Ok, so back to Danielle. I can’t believe she published anything so soon after buying that AI Monet!”

“Oh my god, I know! That thing looked insane; there’s no way she actually saw it beforehand. And did you see she’s planning on putting another piece out next month?”

“We can only hope. Things have been so boring lately.”

Jack’s breath hitches from the foot of the bed, then settles back down into the rhythm of deeper sleep.

[slasherholic]

Disclaimer: This is a repost! I deleted then remade my blog (more on that here) and people have requested for me to repost some of my old fics as they have become unavailable due to my deletion. Enjoy :-)

Synopsis: You are Michael’s plaything. Tonight, he is toying with you in a very mean way: by trapping you in an abandoned building and hunting after you mercilessly.

The Shape is on the prowl–you are his prey. Run, and for the love of god, don’t get caught.

Alternatively: An entire flippin’ Halloween movie starring you as the final girl. Only when Michael catches you he’s going to fuck your brains out.

Contains: lots of gore n violence, lots of death, lots of Michael bullying the reader, eventual non-con

Note: this is an abandoned work :')

End of the Line | Michael Myers x Reader | Chapter One

You recall reading once about a woman who woke up in a morgue.

She’d been declared brain-dead, toe-tagged, and stuffed away into a cramped, dark, cold little space like a sardine in a tin can to rot until further notice. Perfectly suitable living arrangements if you’re an unfeeling corpse.

Not so much when you’re alive to recognize the walls pressing in around you. Not so much when you’re aware enough to feel the panic swelling in your gut.

You lie on your back in the swirling darkness and blink rapidly, your knees drawn into your chest, your neck and joints painfully stiff, your every heavy breath drawing a sour odor deep into your lungs, and your rationale tells you that the trunk of your car is not, in fact, a morgue; but it sure as hell feels like one.

The car goes over a bump, and one of the many grocery bags stealing your much-needed breathing room topples over on its side. What you think is a milk carton comes tumbling out to poke you in the ribs. You’re vaguely aware that you’re squishing the bread—or something else cushy—but your concern for it penetrates no deeper than “awareness.” Instead, you focus on your counting.

“Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty.”

Your words are fainter than a whisper, swept away by the purring of the engine. You absently stroke the fuzzy carpet lining on the sides of the trunk as you count—a distraction, to keep that creeping, suffocating panic that makes your hands tingle with cold-pin pricks from clawing its way back to your head again. Count, you remind yourself, whenever the tingling begins to spread up your limbs—count.

“Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty.” Another minute you’ve been along on this involuntary ride.

Bringing you to a total of thirty-two since Michael seized you off your front porch on your way to the door, dragging you back across the driveway like a pig to the slaughter, thrusting you down into the trunk, slamming the door, nearly taking your fingers off in the process.

The counting had been a last-ditch effort to try and screw your head back onto your shoulders before you lost it completely, and it seemed to be more or less working. Having a sense of time is a solace. The bigger picture of the puzzle is impossible to know with so much missing information, but you clutch at your tiny piece of it anyway, because without it you are blind, and with it, at least you know this is no trip down the street. Michael is taking you somewhere far away—and you suspect that when the trunk is popped, there will no longer be any rosy Illinois suburb to greet you.

You try your hardest not to think about that though; because the thoughts of what will happen after that will all come flooding back.

Here comes one now, wriggling like a parasite through your marrow: He’s done with me. He’s driving me somewhere to kill me and after that he’s gonna dump my body in some gutter.

Don’t let it in. Don’t let it in. If you do you will only start to cry again, and the tingling will sweep back up your body to crash like a wave over your head, and you will lock up like a corpse and breathe harder and faster until you are suffocating, or at least that’s what it feels like, so please please please, for the love of god, don’t let it in.

“One.” You start over and your voice is tight. You try your damnedest to ignore the pressure building in your sinuses.

The car goes into a smooth turn, and a can of something knocks against your hip. You haven’t even been jostled too much on the ride—Michael is a surprisingly competent driver. He takes the speed-bumps a little too fast, which accounts for most of the jostling. And sometimes he hits the brakes too hard. But it’s nothing that would get him pulled over, and you guess that’s the point. Slipping undetected through the background is what Michael does best.

Going over another speed bump, your head knocks against the side of the trunk, making you chomp down on your lip. A warm coppery taste floods your mouth. You sniffle and count harder.

“Ten, eleven, twelve…”

The car goes into a hard turn, like he’s cranked the steering-wheel all the way to one side, the momentum flattening you up against the trunk door.

“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen—” Frantic counting.

The car screeches to a stop. You forget how to breathe.

Then, it starts to reverse.

“Twenty.” You grab a handful of the nearest plastic bag because it is the only thing to hold onto.

“Twenty-two.” The car is still backing up, the tires crunching over what sounds like broken glass. The panic has numbed your fingers and is spreading up your chest, a hot-cold tingling sensation.

“Twenty five.” There is a shrill squealing of brakes as the car slows to a crawl—

—and you stop counting. Because the car has stopped moving.

Beneath you, the tickling of the engine cuts off.

Your heart was already sprinting in your chest but now it accelerates feverishly, ramping up to a blistering speed.

Outside you hear the drivers’ door squeal open. Then the crunch of boots over what sounds like glass as Michael steps out of the car.

Danger, says some dumb little instinct in the primitive core of your brain, danger is coming, fight, fight for your life. You call it your lizard-brain, and the lizard-brain is oblivious to the crushing reality of the situation which your rational-brain already knows: there will be no fight.

Whatever Michael’s goal is in doing this to you, be it fear or blood or most likely both, he is going to take it from you. Trying to stop him is like trying to stop the turn of the very earth beneath your feet, and the harsh truth of the matter is that you are once again pathetically at the mercy of a predator who has none.

The scrunching of his boots gets nearer—he’s walking around the side of the car, toward the trunk.

Don’t make it easy for him, insists the lizard-brain, refusing to go belly-up and die.

The handle of the trunk pops with a “click.”

Fight. Fight. Fight-fight-fight-fight—

It is dark outside the trunk. Michael is nothing more than a looming outline of black, just a shape, with broad shoulders and strong arms and eerie stillness bordering on unnatural.

One gape-mouthed look up at his familiar figure is all it takes to silence the chanting of your lizard-brain.

His thick arm shoots suddenly inside the trunk. Another dumb instinct seizes your body before his hands do: freeze.

Strong fingers snake around the front of your shirt. In one quick tug Michael sweeps you fluidly up and out of the trunk, your spine scraping against the metal lip on your way out. Your world flip-flops as you topple over the edge, tumbling into a free-fall for a split second, spilling to the ground.

Your head and back knock against a cold floor. Wheezing, you look fearfully up at the dark shape that is Michael, aware that you’re half-laying across his boots.

But you don’t move.

His hand comes reaching down again and it’s closer to your face this time so you scrunch your eyes shut tight. His fingers take up root in your hair and suddenly you’re being whisked across the floor like a burlap sack—but you don’t move. Where your shirt rides up across your lower back the broken glass scrapes against your skin like nails, and the tightness on your scalp is agony, and you clamp your jaw shut tight, whimpering through your teeth—but your fingers don’t shoot up to pry at his, your heels don’t dig into the floor to hinder his lugging.

You are dragged fifteen feet before Michael drops you. Your shoulders knock against the ground as his hand withdraws. Your scrunched-up eyes stay shut tight, tears now slipping out from beneath your lids. His heavy footfalls retreat again, crunching back toward the car.

You lay still in the exact spot where Michael dropped you in the dust and glass on the cold floor, still not knowing why he’s dragged you all the way out here (or even where here is,) but you do know one thing, and that is don’t you dare move a single inch.

Sure, your lizard-brain may still bark at you when your heart gets pounding, but it no longer has any desire to bite Michael back.

This new instinct—one that locks your joints and glues your limbs—is your law, and your law goes like this: Be limp. Be obedient. No matter how ugly it gets. Fighting only excites him, so don’t do that. And never, ever, ever run; only prey run, and you can’t be his prey. The moment that happens is the moment you lose your life.

So although your heart is beating nearly out of your chest, although the tears are coming freely now, you lay like a discarded toy on the ground and try not to cry too loudly while you wait for Michael to come back and play with you some more.

But because not knowing where he’ll pounce from next is far too gut-wrenching, you peek your eyes open a sliver to watch.

Michael’s shadowy figure stalks back around the car to the open drivers’ side door. He bends and dips down out of view, reaching for something within.

In the meantime you have the briefest of moments to study your new surroundings.

It is some sort of corridor, you realize, squinting. You can just make out both walls, lined with rows of what you think are lockers of a color you can’t make out—narrow, but not quite claustrophobic. And Michael appears to have backed your car right up into the building.

Tilting your chin toward your chest, glancing beneath the car, you catch a glimpse of the world outside, past what was, at one point, a pair of glass doors. Their metal frames lie on the ground now, shattered.

It’s not so dark out there, under the moonlit sky. You see a big, empty lot. Unlit street lamps. Faded parking spaces.

A lizard-brain thought arises which tells you to crawl beneath the car, dash out across the lot, and book it into the night before Michael returns. And at that your rational brain chuckles and procures images of Michael calmly and coolly getting right back into your car, putting pedal to metal, and running you down flatter than a pancake—and oh, he would, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

If he didn’t slit your throat then and there perhaps he’d haul your shattered body right back inside the building, right back to this very spot; and then you’d have to suffer through his torment with broken limbs and broken ribs and broken god-knows-what-else.

Michael’s boots crunch suddenly as he shifts his weight, startling you. Your eyes flit to him just in time to see him standing up from the car, shutting the door behind him.

Even in the dark—especially in the dark—Michael is a formidable sight to behold. The moonlight filtering through the open doorway bathes his figure in a silvery outline and cloaks the front of him in shadow. The flared collar of his coveralls juts proudly out around his neck at mismatched angles, and the resulting silhouette is regal and imposing in a wild, vicious, untamable sort of way.

It is the sort of sight which, were he safely behind a foot of glass, you would have paused to study in awe and admiration.

But a predator is far harder to appreciate when it’s stalking right towards you.

Michael advances—and you become a small defenseless animal, caught beneath the gaze of a monster. Shivering all over, you scour the blackness where his eyes should be for any glimpse of murderous intent—but in this dismal lighting Michael’s cold irises can’t be seen. Only felt.

He stops in front of the trunk and goes sill. Lurking there. Watching you come undone.

You gnaw your lower lip until it starts to bleed and blink away the tears as they come.

Half a minute passes before you notice the elephant in the room.

In Michael’s left hand he clutches something stark and white, eerily visible in the surrounding dimness. His mask.

But in his right, clutched as nonchalantly as if it were some harmless prop, silver moonlight dancing across its sharp edges, you eyeball the unmistakable curve of Michael’s favored murder weapon.

All seventeen deadly inches of it.

Your heart drops like a stone. Your mouth goes bone-dry.

The bite of that knife is more familiar to you than the kiss of a lover—you have the scars to prove it.

So fixed you are on that awful, awful knife that when Michael’s still silhouette at last jerks to life you flinch, uttering a little cry, positive that he is going to surge forward and seize you.

But he is only reaching up to put on his mask.

It occurs to you now that you have never actually seen Michael putting it on. You’ve seen the reverse plenty of times though, and there is no mystical transformation to be witnessed when the veil lifts away from his face, no change in his mannerisms, no difference in his stiff posture—Michael, for all intents and purposes, is the same dark, lurking, deadly force as before the mask came off.

But at least with it off he is still human; at least he still has a face, however barren; at least he still has eyes, however uncaring, however cold.

Now, as Michael pulls the mask down over his mess of dark hair, down over his eyes, over all his features, over everything that makes him readily identifiable as human, if you didn’t know better you might say that the person beneath the mask had been effectively hidden away.

But you do know better.

Nothing at all about Michael is being hidden. The empty mask does not conceal. It only reveals. It reveals Michael’s deepest nature better than his face ever could. The black voids in place of his eyes communicate his intentions more effectively than any of his stony glares ever could.

You know that Michael does not become The Shape when he disappears behind that mask, because he never stopped being The Shape in the first place.

It’s just that now, he cannot be mistaken for anything else.

Michael tugs the mask all the way down until it settles around his neck. Like clockwork comes his breathing—in to fill his lungs and broaden the silvery outline of his chest, out again.

The Shape is complete.

You shiver on the cold ground, staring, not moving.

The Shape towers above you, a dark monument—and you have never felt so incredibly small.

All your worst fears have been realized.

The shoddy line drawn in the sand that separated you from all those other victims has been kicked over, scattered to the wind.

You are prey. And Michael is going to hunt you.

His motionless form comes alive again, lunging. The chanting of your lizard-brain comes roaring back. Not fight fight fight, but simply,

Run.

No. No, you can’t. No, there is no running from him.

Run. Run or he’s going to kill you.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

He’s raising his knife—it’s over. Run. Please run.

And suddenly the thoughts searing through your mind are not lizard-brain thoughts but just your thoughts, ringing true and clear.

Michael drops to one knee and throws his full weight into the momentum of the thrust—the knife in his fist cuts an arch through the air, racing toward your sternum.

You throw yourself onto your side, out of its path. Pain shoots down your shoulder blade as you roll, the knife raking across your back, barely missing your ribs—if you had reacted a millisecond later you would be choking on your own blood right now.

Your laws fall to anarchy. You scramble backwards across the floor, cutting your hands on the shards of broken glass, pulling your legs beneath your body, shooting to your feet, nearly toppling from the momentum, regaining your balance in the very next step, and breaking into a blind sprint down the hallway, into the all-consuming wall of blackness, the terrible unknown.

[raccoonfallsharder]

recommended works ⊹˚₊⊹˚☕︎˚⊹₊˚⊹

these are the folks who have written or drawn something (specifically within the rocket raccoon fan community) that either murdered me, resurrected me, or both.

(i am always open to recs so if you wanna link me to your fave i will be so happy to check them out)

⊹˚₊⊹˚☕︎ fanfiction ☕︎˚⊹₊˚⊹

The All of You (ao3) i fuckin love this story so hard. i love the OC. i love the writing. i love the set up. i reread this probably every month or so and pine for more. it's so fuckin good. @lazarel-3000 is a double-threat (at least) who is also on my recced artist list, which means (obviously) they are a recced creator as well.

Butterfly Caught (tumblr) ☕︎ Butterfly Caught (ao3) [NEW ADDITION ~ 2025] this is my (current) favorite story by @shylyobscene, whose work you will find listed here three times - both of her current fics and as an overall creator because she's just one to watch. i suspect everything coming out of her blog is gonna be good shit. the writing is lovely, the relationship-building is believable, rocket is amazingly-characterized and layered, reader is super-interesting and relatable, and everything is hot. 10/10 can't wait for more and would also wait forever.

Casino Royale (ao3) this fic by @hibatasblog (see also: Entanglement, below) is so fucking delightful. petra quill is so hot i want to date her myself, and the tension between her and rocket is through the roof. loving the angst, loving the little ways that heartbreak seeps through every new paragraph, loving the mystery of trying to figure out what happened to petra and rocket to set them on their separate paths and now bring them back together. always waiting anxiously for the next chapter.

Entanglement (ao3) this fic by @hibatasblog has me rationing my consumption in a way i have not done in a long time. i'm like "i only read one chapter a week to pace myself, as a little treat for surviving another seven days." beautiful writing and intricate storytelling, the metaphors and analogies are so good i almost wish i was back in undergrad writing a thesis on it. (recently added to my "creators" list because honestly, everything they've put out since 2023 has been flawless).

Experiment: The Ravager Code (ao3) ☕︎ Experiment: The Ravager Code (tumblr) check out author @guardian-angel12 for character art and more ♡ girl gets scooped, experimented on by the high evolutionary, saved by ravagers, and finds her family. what more could you ask for? featuring a fantastic, fascinating OC and i am in love (i do need to catch up, though). the writing is beautiful, the emotional elements are so moving, ugh i love it.

Friends (tumblr) @nyxivy is making their way through the rocketober 2023 prompts and the first fic of the series is. so drool-worthy. i've probably read it fifty times since it came out. short and so hot i could die (much like rocket himself), and somehow incredibly sweet in just the span of a few paragraphs? i will continue coming back to this fic and look forward to more from them at every chance i get.

Get Up (tumblr) @caesarhamato22 is another person on my recced creator list because trying to find just one fic to call my "favorite" is a challenge (obviously i was unsuccessful because there are two on this list). anyway this is lovely and fluffy. i die.

Heatwaves (tumblr) oh my lord. this was written a while ago i never officially added it to the list and i should've. @mytheoristavenue writes a very sultry, steamy oneshot about you helping rocket fix the ship's climate control. i melt into my chair everytime i reread this one (which is often). so much of this lives rent-free in my head but THIS changed the course of my fantasies: Finally, he placed a paw against your cheek and whispered in close: "You're burnin' up, baby."

If Only For Tonight (tumblr) ☕︎ If Only For Tonight (ao3) [NEW ADDITION ~ 2025] another stunner by @shylyobscene. fast-burn, incredibly sexy, superb characterization and even better dirty talk. you will burn up in almost every chapter and yet - there is a plot and it does not suffer. both smut and story serve to really build our understanding of rocket, reader, their relationship and the world/universe around them. plus it takes place circa endgame and if there's one thing i hate, it's how endgame treated the guardians. i'm so looking forward to seeing how this amazinf author treats that.

last (friday) night (ao3) nsfw. trying to pick a "favorite" of @aliasrocket's work is like trying to choose a favorite incarnation of rocket (i cannot). guess who is also on my recced creators list.

more than seven (tumblr)second @caesarhamato22 fic on this list and another recced creator. this one is one of my favorite comfort fics (i mean it's still sexy as hell) that i come back to very often. like it's just so wonderful and sweet and perfect and atmospheric and vibes

Professor R Raccoon or How Rocket Got His Groove Back (ao3) [NEW ADDITION 2024] nsfw. the third @hibatasblog fic on this list. this author doesn't miss. ever imagine rocket raccoon wearing his dad-glasses in a perfect slice-of-life au smut fic? by which i mean wouldn’t it be nice if someone could just fuck rocket’s brains out till his glasses fall off and he doesn’t even have to worry about blowing up living planets or killing mad titans? enter petra quill once again. this is hot, highly-communicative smut complete with both consent & shredded silk stockings, and rocket just feeling good.

stars. (tumblr) ☕︎ stars. (ao3) sexual tension & some of the loveliest atmospheric writing i've ever consumed. another @aliasrocket fic that lives in my head.

THE ONE WHERE HE SAVES HER (tumblr) [NEW ADDITION ~ 2025] this one is my favorite, but @sweetaliencheeks has a whole series of these, so if you like this one you should definitely check out the rest! i don't know how i managed to miss this for so long since it was posted in 2023, but it's fucking glorious. rocket is so perfectly characterized here and the whole thing just melts my heart. would read 5k more times. feels comics-based to me?, no smut but adult/suggestive themes and cw for implied sexual slavery. an ending that makes my heart sing in all the best ways.

untitled drabble/oneshot (tumblr). @hyperjorts probably never meant for their random drabble (which they mistakenly tagged as a shitpost) to live rent-free in my head for months on end but here we are. you can skip (or not skip) the original ask they were reblogging and just focus on this wonderful little bit of fiction that SCREAMS "universe-killer rocket" to me. (and then has me sweating & panting at the end)

A Very Basic Instinct (tumblr) ☕︎ A Very Basic Instinct (ao3) nsfw. when i tell you this fic did things to me. it is probably one of the fics i reread most. like, all the time jkjk only semiregularly. check out the author @elegant-fleuret for other equally brainrot-inducing smut (also mentioned in my recced creators).

⊹˚₊⊹˚☕︎ art ☕︎˚⊹₊˚⊹

@angyc0rtoons the way they draw rocket is just. the most perfect embodiment of chaos. i WISH i could draw such animated expressions so fluidly and perfectly. and their color-choices make me want to cry in the best way. it's like i actually believe in the future again. make my brain go brrrr. (this one makes all my dopamine receptors light up) (also i will go to the grave grateful and sobbing over the time they illustrated my dumb hashtags)

@bathmob i wish. i could draw rocket. like this. the vibes are so good. the style. is perfect. i thank the universe whenever i see new art from them.

@glow-autumz is absolutely going to be a published comic artist some day and i will buy anything she works on ever. literally everything she creates has a story behind it, which i love. like, not only are her illustrations gorgeous (and like…often very hot) but every single one is (at least) a single-panel narrative. plus her OC is also cool as hell and i love her interpretations of rocket.

@happylittleshrub is a genius of the highest order. love watching all the different ways they render rocket, and i would sacrifice my LIFE for their baby rocket (raised by groot). protect them and their little rockets at all costs

@lazarel-3000 creates the most toe-curlingly delicious art i've seen in a long time. i am seduced by pretty much everything they create. even their rough drafts have me panting. (i also have a crush on their OC and as a bi-lady i look at their art and am often like oh shit this is a fuckin feast). as mentioned before, this artist is also the author of one of my favorite fics and is a recommended creator in general.

@projectanimation7 is an amazing artist in general but i am specifically posting to share this little snuggled-up rocket and groot. glorious, magical, cuddly. 10/10.

@rogertaylorswift i honestly don't know how this artist was not already on my rec list??? a staple and a god in the rocket fancommunity tbh. i can't pick one piece of theirs that i love more than the others. their album covers are beautiful, their meme redraws are hysterical, their one-frame comics are deeply-moving and lovely, and their longer comic arcs never fail to make me weep.

@uglly-rodent posts always make me want to pinch the babby raccoom's cheeks and/or cry.

⊹˚₊⊹˚☕︎ creators ☕︎˚⊹₊˚⊹

@aliasrocket writes such beautiful things it is impossible to pick a favorite (i got two of their fics in the fic section and it was difficult to narrow it down that far and even now, i'm not certain). their tumblr has the added advantage of a ton of drabbles, every single one of which is perfection.

@caesarhamato22 read everything. like everything. great smut but i am a sucker for the slice of life shit and it's so fuckin good here. i just wanna be a nail tech on knowhere/locked in a closet with rocket/have him steal my t-shirt/whatever. it's like all my most domestic desires got turned into little fanfiction dreams. so much wish fulfillment i could die

@elegant-fleuret has great fanfiction (more than just the one on my fic list - i just felt like i had to narrow it down and A Very Basic Instinct literally gives me a a fresh hit of dopamine every time i reread it, which is a lot). plus also art. double-threat.

@hibatasblog how have i not had hibata on here sooner? i mean, i know i had a bunch of their fics, but they continue to create amazing new things (and i can't put every single fic on here or it would be way too long). i just worked on the #kisskissBANGBANG challenge with them and every piece they posted was so lovely and amazing. they create steamy, meaningful, emotionally-charged fics that typically star rocket x petra fics (genderbent/fluid peter quill), sometimes with rocket x blackjack o'hare, petra x blackjack, and my personal favorite throuple ever: rocket x petra x blackjack. also occassionally they'll share some of their art, which is a gift to humanity. [NEW ADDITION ~ 2025]

@lazarel-3000 look. look. i cannot say this enough. please go check them out they are hope in a hopeless place. some of the sexiest art + one of my very favorite fanfictions + one of my very favorite OCs have come out of this flawless individual. (full disclosure they also did some nsfw art of my OC jolie and rocket that has me crying and dying and hyperventilating on a daily basis)

@love-for-faeries-go-burrrr has another one of my favorite OCs and i am always hungry for their little storylines whenever they post.

@mcsquared789 is working on a rewrite of the whole mcu, including stories of the parts we've never seen (widowmaker, for instance, is the history that the black widow movie references). it is a massive undertaking and an incredible project and while i've only read the smallest fraction of it so far, it was excellent and i hope to eventually get through the whole thing. [NEW ADDITION ~ 2025

@mrwolfhare is one of my favorite sources of gotg food-for-thought. just some of the most thoughtful explorations of the details of both the mcu and comic canon, excellent headcanons, beautiful screenshot sets, and really solid art. the drawtober art and ficlets have been highlights in my days this month and i'm told there may be a rad fanfiction on the horizon so keep your eyes on this! (rad fanfiction is here now! read Subject 880HR on ao3)

@raccoon-coded just. A+ gotg content, both original and reblogs. most recently i find myself coming back again and again to their review of various gotg novels (and adding a few to my tbr pile).

@shylyobscene is a fucken powerhouse of spicy rocket x reader content, with excellent characterizations and relationship-development, and engaging readers who are relatable and also interesting. i will keep my eye on everything that comes out of this blog. [NEW ADDITION ~ 2025]

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

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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@mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

@electrons2006

[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!

[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.