#summer that this guy worked with. despite applying several times to work with him and now having met and interviewed with him

[fappellmoan]

yeah ok so this girl from my school is going to the fucking oscars. and presenting. like ok!

[lordkingsmith]

Eugene Skullovitch canon and non canon kids

-stares at his sheer List of close friendships, implied romances, romances, and everything in between- I think Skull vies with Tommy for sheer amounts. Tommy or Billy, but definitely up there. At the very least I can say this is because he’s a reoccurring character over several seasons and movies and not because they were trying to force a hetero romance so nobody noticed the actor was gay. Skull’s naturally flirtatious demeanor and huge presence in the show is certainly to blame for this. So. I’m more than likely missing some, but -shrugs- I am doing My Best lol.

Canon kids:

Unknown mother;

Spike Skullovitch. Like Minh the other parent isn’t known or needed, so Spike never got her named. It’s led to a lot of ideas of who the mom is, au’s where he’s a putty hybrid, and just a whole lot of fun. But let’s focus on canon. Spike is the teenaged son of a now very famous and very rich Eugene Skullovitch. He spent the summer with his “uncle” Bulk. He’s got a massive crush on Mia and he wants to be a samurai and he’s always eager to help the power rangers. And can I just say I love this guy? He’s a cinnamon role. He’s a sweetie. He’s a baby doll and must be protected at all costs. He’s the sweetest of the confirmed canon kids we know of so far (I AM looking at Coinless!Adam’s unnamed son, yes I am. Child I wish we’d seen you before you died. I’d love to know your name) unfortunately the descendants don’t seem to get a lot of personality as a general rule, and even Spike’s a little light on personality. He’s got enough to make him stand out from his dad. But, I can’t help but adore him lol. Sir who are you and who’s your mom? Second bit doesn’t matter but I’d love to know you better.

Non canon oc and alternate reality kids and grandkids:

for the sake of not wanting to sound repetitive, not every universe will have Spike, just ones that make sense/would be interesting for him.

Kimberly Hart;

Stormy Hart, aged seventeen. Her parents are separated. Despite the rocky start with Eugene being Kim’s rebound, they got together again after the Candace Incident. Kim progressed on Eugene’s terms, and they had a kiddo right as they were applying for colleges. It was a bit difficult and they made it work, but when Stormy was seven they finally had to separate, though they’re not on bad terms. Stormy is Spike’s half sister, and has her own band. Has anxiety and depression. Doesn’t spend time with brother or Bulk, at least as much as she should. Mostly for her appearance. Got extremely jealous of Spike over the power rangers thing though! She generally lives with her mom, not her dad, hence why she doesn’t spend time with Spike. She loves her goofy half brother but she’s at the age where her image is important to her. She doesn’t have any colors associated with her.

Katherine Hillard;

I thought his mild attempts at flirting were cute. They got together after Turbo’s movie. Kat realized she was never going to replace Kim for Tommy, and broke up with him. She got with Skull after a few months and some very creative ways to ask her out. They have two sons. The oldest is Squire Hillard. Aged 17. He’s average height and kind of a brilliant himbo. He lets his reputation cover him like a mask, but he’s pretty devious when he’s properly motivated. A little bit of a tail chaser. He keeps striking out, but that never stopped him. While he is a power ranger (pink), he’s having fun running a podcast questioning who the power rangers are. This cover is so good not even Kat’s figured out he’s pink turbo ranger. Looks like a surfer bro. Prefers it that way. Half brother of Spike Skullovitch. Has had to save his half brother three times so far. Barely gets along with his dad, county Sheriff Eugene Skullovitch, but they’re trying. He’s closer to Kat and like her is a professional diver. He wants to get into the Olympics. His general outfit could best be described as “someone from the peppermint forest in candyland decided to become a pirate”. He actually has a rap sheet. He’s got middle child syndrome and you can usually find him with his friends, the other Turbo rangers, or with Bulk, or egging grandmas house with Devon. He’s giving Eugene a bald spot is what he’s doing. Spike does his best, but they really don’t see eye to eye. Squire likes his big brother, there’s just a bit of frustration with him.

Devon Skullovitch, aged eleven. Unlike Squire he’s not blond and looks more like Eugene and Spike. Bulk calls him the baby buddy, and it annoys him so so much. Loves video games and fixing cars. Can eat his weight in lasagna. Not associated with any color. Knows his brother is up to something, unsure what. Often getting babysit by half brother. Is known to egg his grandmothers house. A lot. It’s a problem.

Billy Cranston;

After being best friends as kids, then not, then sort of friends, then maybe more...they have two kids. Charlie Cranston, aged twenty two, and Oscar "Skid" Cranston, aged twenty. Charlie and Oscar are both via a science experiment, where Billy combined his and Eugene's genetic codes in a randomizer, to see if anything would happen that was viable as a sperm and egg equivalent. Yes, he got permission for this from Eugene. He sold the patent, and lives happily with his and Eugene's kids. Charlie is a blue solar ranger. She has been since she was seventeen. Billy didn't know at first and when he found out....he grounded her for not telling him. Then came back thirty minutes later, apologized, ungrounded her, and told her to be careful. Eugene doesn't get it as much but he's trying, he really is. He worries more than Billy, though Billy does often find himself staring up at the stars on late nights with tea in his hand, knots in his stomach and hoping he sees his daughter for Christmas. It's different, somehow, when they're in space and not in town.

Oscar is friends with a Bulkmeier, of course. He's the family "problem child", in a general sense. The prankster, and he's super smart. He is mild enough nobody really thinks he's as smartass and clever as he is. His entire motivation is cause as much chaos as possible. He used to prank his sister once a month until she left, and he's the one who let slip she's a power ranger because she was thrown through a building in front of him. She didn't know he knew, and he's been apologizing since via no more pranks, and gifts. so many gifts. Her favorite foods, updates on her favorite bands, jewelry she'd like. He doesn't have to but he feels bad. This was the closest they ever got to the family splintering. Trini, Zack, and Jason do their best to help the three deal with Charlie in space. Oscar works as a janitor, isn't really interested in dealing with school or anything. He likes doing his hobbies while having a stable job.

variation; they get together when he helps Skull with his newborn son. Spike takes care of his little siblings, and helped Oscar get his nickname and his current job. Billy is eternally caring to his adopted kid, and does the best he can by Spike.

variation 2; Charlie becomes Charlie from A Team. This time, Billy DOES ground her. she never hears the end of it

Farkas Bulkmeier;

Absolutely nobody was surprised when they got together. Eugene became a teen dad and Bulk didn't even think twice. He could fit boyfriend in one arm and baby in the other and he often did in the early days when sleeping with the two. For comfort and sense of protection. Skull was his best friend, and everything he'd ever want in a partner. They didn't bother with a ceremonial wedding, it was just going to get the paperwork signed and then having a big party celebrating with their friends. They have Spike, of course, and adopted one more. Between Spike and Amy, they're good. Sharkie offered to be a surrogate, and Billy offered a way to mix their genetics, but after a long talk with each other and them, it was just Spike and Amy.

Amy and Spike are the same age, with a four month difference. Spike's more emotionally mature than his sister, but Amy's more cunning and less naive than Spike. Currently both eighteen. She's jaded in a lot of ways and makes sure her brother doesn't have to be. Spike has had to ask her not to threaten any partners he might get with, because he can handle himself. She's had to occassionaly ask this goes both ways. Amy is considering being a mechanic, or a roadie for Skull or Spike. She likes feeling useful, she likes puzzles and chess and general challenges. Cannot cook to save her life, but she's a whiz at baking. She's better at math than anyone else in her family. But english is the bane of her existence. Is not associated with a color.

Tommy Oliver;

Tommy invited Skull to a carnival. After first being asked if Skull was a rebound-with a fast follow up to make sure Tommy wasn't taking him to something run entirely by putties-and then asking if he was sure sure Goldar and Skorpina wouldn't be there-Tommy decided he was going to make this a date. and the best one of Skull's life. The effort to help this guy have a proper, healthy, fair love life, meant it more or less accidentally lead to falling in love and while not marriage, they do live together. They have Spike, an adopted daughter Eliza, and a son together named Hunter. Rita thought it'd "bury the hatchet" and had the forethought to let them know she'd decided her first act of being nice would be something that would benefit them. Has not in fact, buried any negative feelings but the effort did mean something. Tommy's straight up told all three of his kids they're not allowed to go to Briarwood. Just in case.

Eliza "Lizzie" Oliver is 21, and wants to be a reporter. Thinks Tommy's worries are a little extreme when they directly affect his kids' lives, but she humors him even as an adult, because she loves him and wants to see him happy. A little selfish, but very smart. Good at picking up on subtext and helps explain things that go over her brothers' heads when she's with them. Tommy's too because he might be smart, but the man is kinda dumb. Not very organized, but somehow always has what she needs in her giant purse. Very resourceful, knows how to pick locks, and is capable of two types of martial arts.

Hunter Oliver-Skullovitch is 16. He's just trying to get through highschool guys, please let him get through highschool. He's been kidnapped twice, and he really just wants to be left alone. More of a punk than Tommy gets, but Tommy and Skull are supportive of his tastes and choices in life. Unfortunately everybody wants a piece of this kid, and while he's not associated with any color (by sheer force of will), this is not from lack of attempts. Hunter's just very very good at making himself too much of a nuisance to be worth taking. Like his siblings he knows two types of martial arts, can pick locks, knows how to get into vents, knows four ways to get out of ropes and other bindings, and can say "help me I've been kidnapped" in twelve languages. as well as "fire!" and "that's not a human!". He loves monster movies, because the monsters actually seem to pose a challenge. He and Tommy do have an understanding, and Tommy and Skull are both happy to let Hunter have a choice in becoming a ranger. He won't get forced into it, if he does he will do this fully with his eyes open and knowing what he's getting into. He will become a black ranger, when he's around 20, and it will be his choice.

Jason Lee Scott;

They were paired up for a school assignment a little after Tommy was reformed and saved from Rita. It was annoying, especially with Skull being so cagey and Bulk straight up threatening him if he went to the Skullovitch residence or business. When Jason dared, he realized why. And had to get saved from Mrs Skullovitch flirting with him. Which earned Skull a lot of verbal abuse as he pulled Jason far away from the house.

While he found our later she was drunk and had mistaken him for someone older, it was still rather panic inducing. Also embarrassing for the Skullovitch brothers and Bulk. He had to stop Stan apologizing on behalf of her, and understood Bulk’s anger. Jason felt the need to make it up to Skull, and they went from antagonizing each other to friends to semi-secretly dating each other. Everyone knew except Skull’s family. Jason didn’t even know what made him angrier; the fact Skull felt he had to protect Jason, or the fact that he lived in Tommy’s house whenever Tommy’s parents didn’t live there, and Skull’s parents didn’t seem to notice. They have one adopted daughter. Skull’s a guidance counselor at their old high school, and Jason is a karate instructor. Rebecca Scott is actually Stan’s, but Stan died and his girlfriend died in a car crash caused by monster activity, and the newborn was the only survivor. Eugene would have adopted her with or without Jason there. Luckily Jason was there, and Jason fell in instalove with the baby. She was very small and he loved her.

Jason and Skull got married to make it easier for Jason to formally adopt Rebecca, in case something happened and because everyone felt distancing her and Skull from the Skullovitch legacy was the best idea, and this could be accomplished by taking Jason's last name. He was only too happy to do this. He was disinherited by his dad, but it doesn't matter. The guy lost out on getting to know a great kid. Rebecca’s blind from the car accident, and has a dog and a cane to help her around. She’s 15, and nothing stops her. She’s got a lot of caution, but very little outright fear. The power rangers will protect the civilians, and her skills and disability aids help keep her safe as well. She loves to read, and has read every braille book in the library twice. She’s aware her dads are power rangers, and most of her extended family. They’re not going to let anything happen to her. And she’s going to make sure nothing happens to them. Rebecca is opinionated with a very strong sense of right and wrong. She’s actually rather blunt, but tries to be nice about it. She knows her mind and she knows how to direct people, but she hates being in a confrontation. Not associated with a color, but it’d probably be red or bronze if she were.

Trini Kwan;

He kept asking her out until she agreed to go out with him. And actually had a nice time. So she humored him again, and again, it was nice. They weren't seeing seeing each other though, and both of them had their kids around the same time. Skull had Spike, and Trini had Minh, and they liked each other fine and loved each other's kids. They had one more, together. August Kwan. He's thirteen, and a complete introverted social butterfly. He loves showing off and gushing about his interests but he hates dealing with too many people for too long. He's really into piano, like Skull. A composer for video game music sounds like a really fun profession, so maybe when he's older he'll work towards that. But he's thirteen, he's got time. He has a stuffed animal he's been attached to since he was two, is half convinced stuffed animal is sentient, and carries it around in his hoodie or backpack. He's not ready to let it go, and Trini fully understands, supports, and gets this. When he's ready, Banjo the seal plushy, will be put beside her own childhood doll Ticklesneezer. Skull's following along with the gentle parenting; he's a bit out of his depth but he appreciates and loves that their kids are being actively supported. He's working on it, and so far the kids aren't traumatized, so something must be working.

Rito Revulto;

Eugene managed to get him and Bulk out of being turned into chimpanzees by a (justifiably) pissed off Rito by convincing him of a role reversal; Bulk and Skull be the maids, Rito and Goldar act as Bulk and Skull. But this means Goldar and Rito have to commit to the things Bulk and Skull were doing. In this case, junior officers. It is a very weird set up, but Rito likes a challenge, he and Goldar decide it's fair, and the power rangers, Vile, Zordon and Alpha and Rita and Zedd are completely confused, but Rito tends to commit to whatever he sets his mind to, and Goldar has a very specific moral code he lives by and this falls in line with it. Vile occasionally tries to cause the comedy duo to go back on their word so he can get his tool-I mean son-back, but the rangers do step in enough to help them. As does Stone, Ernie, and the others.

Eugene and Rito bond over highly shitty parents and realizing they're very similar. They're both people pleasers whose trauma responses is sarcastic quips and being class clown types. Rito turned Eugene's parents into a couple of dogs, and while he contemplated doing the same to Stan, he simply made sure Stan got a big break in the music scene. He couldn't convince Eugene to leave earth at first, until Eugene got left behind by Bulk. There was really nothing left for him on earth, so Eugene took him up on it. They're pirates, and have their own ship, and their son Elio is the apple of their eye. Elio is 26. He's cunning, fast talking, fast thinking, fast acting and has very little fear. He's as courageous as Skull and Rito try to pretend they are. He's bold, and wicked, but he's a man of his word. He has a devil's lock coloring in his hair. Stark black hair and stark white in streaks has gotten him an affectionate nickname of Skunk, but when he likes someone he asks they call him Elio. He listens to his parents and is completely loyal to them, but not out of fear. They're genuinely good at being leaders of their group, and sort of seen as the father figures of most of the crew. Elio follows his dads because he genuinely loves working for them. He did have a splash of rebelliousness in his teens though. He learned the violin, not the piano. When not pirating, they live on Mirinoi with Bulk. He's been to earth a few times, and loves fucking with JJ Oliver, it's hilarious. Not associated with a color, but he'd happily get to know a certain shade of Green.

Does Bulk especially like the lifestyle choice for his best buddy, best buddy's partner and best buddy's kid? no. Can he deny this is the happiest he's ever seen Skull? also no. He is literally living out a childhood fantasy, and thriving. Billy, however, is this close to losing it and throwing all three in a prison on Aquitar. Skull's not even sure if this is from jealousy or being a power ranger. Or the fact Elio's flirting with every ranger close to his age as a battle tactic. Some more seriously than the others.

a tangential au is where Vile kills his parents and forces Elio to work for him. He did offer him as a valid vessel to Specter, but it didn’t work. This version he does get with JJ, who went undercover on the ship to figure out what exactly happened. They manage to get Elio and the crew out of Vile's clutches safely. Elio goes from being like Rito to a lot more like comic!Skull. Divatox is partly responsible for what happens, having gotten tired of the competition.

Adam Park;

Eugene doesn't believe in himself, but Adam does, did, and always has. They started dating after Adam encouraged him to play the piano in the talent show. Adam loves his music, and they're both encouraging of each other. Aisha is a surrogate for their son, Lukas. Given how close she was to Adam, it was only natural in her mind to offer. She loves him, loves he's found happiness, and when they decided they wanted kids she wanted to help that happiness grow. Lukas Park's 17, plays piano, and volunteers at the animal shelter. Adam's a doctor and while Lukas respects and likes this, he'd rather be a veterinarian. Or, like Skull, a professional classical pianist. They support Lukas with whatever he wants to do or be, and he loves the fact he's not being pressured. Skull once sat him down with a list of every job he's ever done (the list was actually more like an entire manila folder bursting out the sides, it was frankly impressive), a ranking system and how much each profession made. Everything from a cop to a detective to an undercover agent for the government to a waiter at a bar to a judge at a pet show to rockstar to pianist-it was comprehensive and a little overwhelming, but at the end of each profession Skull said if it was what he wanted, he'd be proud. At the end it left Lukas fairly calm and certain no matter what choice he made, it'd be the right choice for him, and his dads would support him in this. not associated with a color

Aisha Campbell;

She asked him out and he thought it was a joke. It wasn't. They found they actually challenge each other in interesting ways. She also hates his mom and her parents love him, so that helped a lot. They've got a daughter, Kensie Campbell. Aged 15. Excitable by nature, is in the drama club. Has a near perfect memory, uses this for shenanigans, mostly when sassing her many many honorary aunts and uncles or annoying villains and monsters. Eugene is so, so proud. Aisha sometimes worries the know it all attitude is going to get her in trouble. However, nothing's happened-yet-and Kensie does seem to slowly be learning how to read the room. She plays piano to help her think. Her favorite is moonlight sonata. It partially annoys Skull, but his favorite composer is Bach, so it's more of a principle thing. Kensie is a soccer player, and has a very close best friend. Skull's getting the "what to in case you're kidnapped by a monster with your best friend" speech ready, just in case a group of crime fighting teenagers with attitude show up. not associated with a color

Zack Taylor;

Zack's always tried to give Bulk and Skull the benefit of the doubt and never felt any true antagonistic feelings to them. Annoyance sure, but he doesn't hate them. Eugene took a while to warm up to Zack though, because nice doesn't mean trustworthy, and the two eventually started dating when Eugene realized no, Zack really is just that sweet. They run an ice cream parlor together and have two adopted kids. Achibald "Archie" Taylor and Marigold "Mari" Taylor.

Archie was adopted in his teens, and while this means he doesn't get to have as much time growing up with Zack and Skull as his dads, he's got the rest of his life with them as his parents, and that's the best thing he's ever heard. He was adopted out of the foster care system at thirteen, and is nineteen. He loves botany and magic tricks. Being a stage magician or professional botanist would be really really cool. He doesn't play piano or dance but he loves watching Zack and loves listening to Eugene practice at night. Is unsure what he wants to do with his life, but inheriting the ice cream parlor would be nice, if the botany or the stage magician thing doesn't work out. is not associated with a color.

Mari was adopted last year. She's fourteen and getting used to living with her brother and her dads. They're kinda weird, but she likes them. It is weird going to a new school in a new town, with a new last name. She doesn't really know what she likes, she's still figuring it out, but she knows she likes it here and that's good enough. She does miss her old friends and home a little, but she is making new friends. Zack and Eugene give her space and understanding, and Archie's been great with advice and settling in. not associated with a color.

Sharkie;

They got together after Bulk left earth, but Sharkie did always prefer Bulk over Skull. They separated, but they're still friends. They have a son, Felix, aged 17, and he's seriously considering dropping out and going on a cross country road trip to find himself. He doesn't know what he wants or who he is. He's a lot like his parents, but he's not sure if that was just trying to make them happy or if he genuinely likes these things. They tried by him, he knows this. He's not even half bad. He just doesn't know if he's supposed to be having a midlife crisis at 17. Will be solar green ranger, and realize he enjoys country-rock (the kind of country rock that talks about murders, curses and being a gunslinger in a loveless land or people randomly turning into crows), has a knack for learning new languages, and likes ballet. He's been in ballet since he was four but so was Sharkie so the confirmation he likes it is nice. Also learns he likes playing piano, genuinely. Also nice. He comes home quite happy and a lot more settled into himself, and Skull and Sharkie are proud of him.

Tasha;

It was a complete accident, and they both feel really weird about it. But they kept the kid. Tuskin "Tusk" Skullovitch is lead singer in a punk band, and a bit of a bully at school. He's brilliant but finds it difficult to apply himself in anything he doesn't find an interest in. He loves puns, and loves confusing people. He likes studying rocks because rock music. It takes people a second. He's been smacked more than once over this, but doesn't mind. Bit clever, bit bored, bit of a troublemaker, bit of a pain in his parent's necks. Eugene does love his kid but wow, he's a little bit of a snot. Eugene's forced him into being a lifeguard over the summer to just-try and get this kid some sort of friendship with someone so he can have an attitude adjustment.

Marleau Eskin;

Surprisingly not the worst. He got her to be less of a bitch in an incident were they were taken together by a monster, and he actually lost his temper and snapped at her. When she tried to deflect by getting him to back down with a challenge (which to be fair normally worked), he raised an eyebrow, took a breath, and let loose. To say she had to do some soul searching after the extremely thorough roast would be putting it mildly. She stopped being as much of a mean girl, and he asked her out to prom. More as a dare, but she said yes. One thing led to another and while they don't talk anymore, they do have joint custody of their son Rusty Eskin. Marleau is the mayor of Angel Grove, Skull is a mechanic. It's kind of a whiplash every other month to go from mayor manor to an apartment over a carshop, but Rusty doesn't mind very much. Marleau's learned to be a lot nicer over the years, and she's a much milder version of herself to her son. Rusty on his part likes being at the carshop almost more than the manor, but it's less to do with Marleau and more to do with he hates the reputation he gets with "the mayor's son" and much prefers getting his hands dirty on a car with his dad. He likes problem solving, and fixing things. He likes shop class and he built his own motorcycle for one of the classes. He got his license and he's promised both parents he'll be careful. And he has been. He's also orange turbo ranger. This suits him more than fine.

Candice/Zelya;

Candice told him the truth about who she was, and to put it mildly, he was hurt. He had to put his foot down and tell her he needed to think about it. He really needed to think about what he was going to be doing, and what they were going to be. She waited, and he came back. And was accepting of it, mainly because she'd bit the bullet and been honest. However he had ground rules. She couldn't lie to him, if they had a kid (because things happen) the kid was going to be co-parented and if she wanted to raise future kids as an Eltaran fine but either they spent time on earth or Skull lived with them, or they did the best they could on earth. She was just grateful he was willing to try. Bulk eventually forgave her, when she went against her commander and stopped being the Bronze Guardian for the sake of her relationship with Skull. She fought in the Eltaran War against the Eltarans. While she was captured with the intent of re-educating, she was rescued by Jason and Billy.

They have a daughter, and Spike. Their daughter is Zephyr Skullovitch. she's sixteen, and she and Spike do get taught Eltaran tradition, as much as possible, on earth. Zephyr's got the Z name as she resembles Zelya more in a lot more ways. Spike's got more human dna here, but his sister's blue as a blueberry. Zephyr is best described as 'prickly' or 'grumpy' and the only person who gets her to smile is her brother. The pink ranger tries, but keeps striking out. Zelya wants to be an interdimensional diplomat, and travel universe to universe and see everything. She wants to see everything, know everything, experience everything. Intense, bull headed, one track minded, and has an almost destructive lack of self worth and imposter syndrome. almost. She might not believe in herself but her brother and her parents do. And the pink ranger chick. possibly. Zephyr is not associated with a color.

Matthew Cook;

Matt dives head first into the villain persona, and is happily doing so. He's thriving. Until he's forced into an ultimatum; save Bulk and Skull from certain death by the hands of Goldar, or vanquish the Solar Rangers. Against his better judgment, he saves Bulk and Skull. Skull, unfortunately for timing wise, had said he'd kiss whoever saved their lives minutes before Matt saved them. He's a man of his word, but he also punched him in the mouth immediately after. Matt's confused as hell. So instead of chasing after Kim, begins chasing after Skull because what was THAT. This leads to a very weird redemption arc because Matt has realized 2 things; he likes being kissed by Skull and he does not want Skull mad at him anymore. Cut to fifteen years later; they've got a kid of their own and no actual idea how they got there really. But, they're happy, don't hate each other's guts, their kid's thriving, it's all good. The entire empire of evil absolutely hates them though and Matt somehow managed to get himself on the shit list of Thor. As long as he doesn't go out while it's thunderstorming he should be fine.

Their son is ten, his name is Jude Cook. Jude is one of the weirdly luckiest kids alive. He's survived an insane amount of attempts on his life, falls, kidnappings, and things he should otherwise not survive. His parents have stopped asking how. Loki helped give them a son, which is partly why Thor's pissed, so they've at this point accepted demigod baby is just gonna do what a demigod baby do. It's probably for the best. Spike's his older brother, and is training with Loki to be some sort of spirit of shapeshifting mischief. They both love causing mild trouble. Like Skull, Jude's got a fear of flying which makes things a little interesting. Skull's got his sons and his partner on a very very strict promise; if the shenanigans could cause an enemy of something power, walk away. Walk far away. Neptune exists. We don't want to get on the bad side of Neptune.

in a tangential version, Billy coparents with the two, and studies demigod ten year old, and deals with the Norse gods being in his business. At the very least nobody's been sucked into Ares' prison jar, so that's good.

*Bonus Poly of Billy Cranston, Matt Cook, and Eugene Skullovitch has all above children mentioned. They live in a large house, Eugene's a famous rockstar and restaurant chain owner, and they actually use every room in said house. In this version they met via Matt asking the only person he knew with experience in bdsm for some help with his newly realized kinks; Skull's payment was pizza nights and then Billy got dragged in because he was certain Matt was abusing Skull, but realized it was fine, actually. And fun.

Au Grandchildren:

Prince Olympius;

Eugene and Bulk got dragged to hell, once, and found a little child demon who needed protection as much as they themselves did. The two survived long enough in the dimension with the kid to be rescued by Olympius and Spike. Olympius and Spike, though having known each other when they were younger, reconnected over this. Olympius named the kid Petrichor, and he was later given the nickname Pepper by the mystic red ranger Nick. Pepper is a fifteen year old power ranger, though he got his morpher when he was thirteen. His team is a team of nonhumans who all have unusual rare colors, with the exception of their sixth ranger, Deena, who is a human and a white ranger. Although Pepper is a demon that water can hurt, he is an aquaphile. He loves the ocean, he loves water planets, he loves the rain, and one day wants to study marine biology. Chipper, smart, but generally as easy going as Spike is. He is the crown prince, but knows he’s only in the position because he was adopted into it, and tries very hard to be a good prince. Be diplomatic, be strategic, have all the answers. One day he’s going to be depended on, and he needs to perfect it now. Olympius has cautioned him that even he hasn’t figured it all out, so Pepper’s going to be fine in that eventuality. Just so long as he tries, and he does. Pepper is the indigo ranger.

Mia Watanabe;

So that summer was…eventful. Skull got a grandson and a daughter in law in one fell swoop. He also moved to Panorama City because daughter in law was also a pink ranger and no, he’s not stupid. Rangers should stick to their cities with their teams. Plus Ji was making a stink and they found it easier to just smooth ruffled feathers than deal with him. Spike and Mia have one daughter. Ai Skullovitch lives with Skull while Mia and Spike are at school. She’s eight years old, and Skull loves her. Spike and Mia also dote on their daughter. The kid happens to be taste blind like Mia and feeding her and having her help in the kitchen’s always eventful. While Ji doesn’t spend much time with Ai he does give her presents and training. Neither Mia nor Spike want Ai to be a power ranger. At least. Not a Samurai Ranger, so things from Ji tend to get screened to make sure training and gifts are appropriate. Skull kinda likes being a grandpa.

Lauren Shiba;

Spike and Lauren literally had to go into hiding, and are currently holed up under assumed names with their kid. The little cabin property on the edge of a small tourist ski town in Idaho never came in so much handy for Skull. He was able to help them, and they and the four year old are riding this out up there till the drama dies down. Lauren and Spike got very good at training together, and got very close. However life got in the way for a while. Lauren had taken some time from everything to do some soul searching and finding herself, and Spike was doing a music tour. Mica is not an accident, but he's not approved of at all by Ji and the rest. Skull, however, loves him, and loves his son, and is trying to help them so the kid doesn't have to live his entire life in hiding. Mica's got brown hair, but otherwise looks a lot like Skull and Spike, which is a good thing. "Sam" and "Isabelle" are making the best of it, and are planning on homeschool if things don't change soon. Or chancing moving to Angel Grove. Skull just wants them to be happy and safe, and at least he's not alone in that.

[palbabor-writes]

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, student/teacher sex, tw.dubcon, tw.sub/dom dynamics, brat taming, fingering, masturbation, a table is pretty roughed up in this, so pls hold a brief moment of silence for it    

Words: 12,857

“So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands.

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin.

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Notes: the title was selected because it’s got the word cum in it. ahhh, the things that crack me up. anyhow. 

this is part of the BNHA Degeneracy server’s 9 to 5 collaboration! i had a ton of fun participating in this and thank you guys for making this so freaking awesome! special shoutout & thanks to @albinoburrito​ & @kugutsuu​ for their beta edits! this was a departure from what i usually write about and i appreciate all of your notes and help!  

Practicum prac·ti·cum /ˈpraktəkəm/ noun a practical section of a course of study

It’s your senior year, they said. Live a little, they advised. Stop and take a breather, you’re practically home free! Take some easier classes. Focus on what’s in front of you, it’ll be over before you know it! On and on and on. 

Spring semester is almost here. You’ve applied for graduation, the cap and gown ordered, and you have a shiny class ring sitting on your pinky. It’s in the bag. Just breeze through four more classes and you’re out. Well, it would be an easy shot, if you hadn’t put off this one class. 

It always popped up, so it’s not like you could plead ignorance. Your advisor warned you, each quarterly meeting, that you needed to get it out of the way. Take it seriously, he cautioned, clacking out his notes, typing down that you’d failed to heed his sage advice, again. If you wait too long, you’re not going to get the professor that you want.

That was the other problem. You’re a procrastination superstar. If there was some kinda award for putting off assignments, you’d have won it ten times over. You liked the heart pounding race to the deadline, the sleepy boasts that you’d tackled the project within hours of its due date. 

It’s a stupid habit. Every semester you promise yourself that you’ll do better. You won’t wait, you’ll tackle things one assignment at a time and turn them before the hard cut off at 11:59 pm. Who the fuck did you think you were kidding? Certainly not your friends, or your advisor. He could read you like a book. Hell, he’d even sent warnings. 

‘Don’t forget about the deadline for senior registration!’

‘You don’t want to be on a waitlist. You especially don’t want to take one of the harder professors. These are freshman level classes, they’re designed to flunk undergrads. Don’t forget (Y/N), chew them up and spit them out tactics are employed.’ 

But you had. You’d set an alarm on your phone, then neglected to give it a title, so you’d only chuckled and smacked the chirping into silence that morning, snoozing the all important deadline away. 

Fuck. 

Most of the classes for biology are wait-listed. No, scratch that, all the classes for Intro to Genetic Biology are wait-listed. You opt into the waitlist for all of them, just in case, and a week later your phone alerts you that one has an open seat. Actually, it has several open seats, too many open seats to be natural. However, you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so for now, you’re enrolled in BIO 1208: Principles of Cell and Organismal Physiology - For Non-Science majors. 

Perfect.

Yeah, no. You’d looked up the professor, since the whole open seat thing was still giving you the heebie-jeebies, and your heart dropped. You’ve heard of him, most of the student body has. His classes are notoriously small. Not because the university limited them, or planned for smaller class sizes. No, his classes are tiny because he is infamous for failing students. 

Most, when they realize they’re scheduled for his bio classes, frantically drop, taking the withdrawal and praying for better luck next semester. Others, brave souls who think they can come out unscathed, attempt to grit their teeth and push through. But, by midterms, they’re war torn and haggard, shaking their heads and praying for a ‘C’, at best. Fewer still, pass.

This pedagogy isn’t a sign of good teaching; quite the opposite, in fact. You don’t want your student body failing. Yet, year after year, Professor Tomura Shigaraki keeps teaching the same Intro to Bio class. It boggles the mind, but you’ve never had to worry about it. Well, until now. 

When you’d received the notification that you’re enrolled in the B section and spied the name Shigaraki under the professor listing, you’d scarfed down your suddenly flavorless lunch and dashed up the steps to the student advising hall, praying there was some way you could wiggle your way out of this growing disaster.

“I’m pretty sure I told you to take it earlier and to take it in the fall when there are more freshman level classes available. I swear I said that to you. And, AND, I even sent you emails, several times if my sent inbox is to be believed, to NOT forget when senior registration ends.” 

Your advisor is peeved. You don’t blame him. He’s right, this is your fault, but there’s gotta be some kinda loophole. Something, fuck, anything, that can pull you from this mess. 

“I know, I know! I’m so sorry. You’re right. But, I mean, can’t I just hold off for another week? See if the waitlist clears?”

The man that you’ve known for four years, that’s seen you progress from freshman to senior, steeples his long fingers and purses his lips, likely debating on a tactful scolding, or a firm rebuttal. He takes a deep breath and you can’t help but sink into the soft cushioning of the chair, your nose wrinkled and brow furrowed, mentally preparing yourself for the worst.

“Do you know how many students we require to take BIO 1208?”

“No,” you gulp, nibbling on your lower lip nervously. 

“Over 7,000. Do you want to hear the statistics that would need to shake out in your favor for you to miraculously avoid taking this specific class? Nothing is going to open for you, it is this class, or no class.”

You sigh, and your advisor nods, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Well then, I suggest you brush up on your study skills. Find a classmate that you can compare notes with, join a study group, go to the student union and ask for a tutor. I would hate to see you back here for the summer semester. You’re scheduled to walk the stage this spring and you’ve worked hard for this, so don’t fuck it up, okay?”

You’ve attended this university for four years, but the first day of term always gives you the jitters. It doesn’t matter that you know your way around, or that you know ten professors by name, and bump into several friends on the way to your next building, you’re always buried in your phone, checking and double checking the next class’ room number. 

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

In your defense, it’s your first time stepping foot in the Graduate & Research building and the whole concrete block is a fucking maze. There must be a basement because the numbers don’t match up with the floors and they seem to jumble further every time you round a corner. Like what the hell? How can this next room be GR 3.03.05 when this is clearly only the second floor and GR 2.03.11 was right down that other hallway?

Exasperated, you lean against the nearest wall and tug your phone out again. Shit. Class started ten minutes ago. 

Part of you wants to call it a day, end the search here and try again on Wednesday. Maybe take a few extra minutes to scout out the building next time and have some idea of where you’re going before the start of class. 

Ugh, why is this so stressful? 

It’s the first day of classes. Surely Professor Shigaraki won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late; besides, if you’re lost, others must be too. 

You tuck your phone back into your pocket and resume the hunt. Two hallway turns later, you find your mark.

Your hand pauses beside the heavy wood, and you take a steadying breath. Again, why are you so nervous? Just go in and take a seat, it’s easy, stop freaking out over nothing. 

The door groans open, hinges protesting the sharp push, and you stumble into a darkened room. The low glow of the projector doesn’t help your blurry vision. Ah, shit, it’s one of those older rooms, so it’s built like a bad movie theater. Oh well, better get to a seat before he spots you. 

Swiftly, you make your way toward the raised steps of the aisle and the second row of chairs, plopping into the first one you reach that’s empty. You’re too busy fiddling with the zipper of your backpack to notice that the speaker has stopped his rasping preamble, but as you pull your laptop out the ominous weight of that heavy silence hits you and you toss a hooded stare toward the front of the lecture hall. 

Immediately, your eyes land on the professor’s and you feel a low shiver shake up your spine. 

He’s watching you. 

The gleam of the overhead projector makes his red eyes flash, and he openly scowls at your gaping expression, his lips curling into a dark sneer.

“Well, thank you for joining us, Miss…?”

He’s waiting for your response and you squeak out your last name, mindlessly rubbing your moistening palms against your thin skirt. 

“Ah, Ms. (L/N). Now that you’ve graced the class with your belated presence, may I continue?”

“Uh,” you gasp out, your mouth dry, tongue sticking to your teeth, “I’m sorry. I got–”

“I didn’t ask for an explanation, or in your case, an excuse. Or are you now attempting to disrupt this class purposefully?”

“Wha– I-I’m–” your words stumble to a halt, voice failing under the intense glare that he’s giving you. “No,” you finish lamely, ducking your head, nails digging into your sweaty palms. 

“Thank you. Do me a favor, stay after class.” His voice is gravel, threatening and low. You don’t like the edge in his tone. It makes your skin prickle and your knees knock. He sounds like the kind of guy that you don’t want to run into in a dark alleyway, or a classroom, for that matter. Even so, it’s not your fault, and despite your feelings of unease, you can’t tamp down your need to protest his unreasonableness. 

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

“If I need to repeat my insistence for silence, I’ll make things easier on both of us and fail you now.”

Stunned and fuming, you bite your tongue and lean back into your chair, crossing your arms and blinking back mounting tears of frustration. Great, just great. It’s the first fucking day of class and it looks like you’re already on his shit list. And for what? For being late on fucking syllabus day! What an ass. 

You look over at him as you defiantly finish setting up your computer, hoping each pull of a zipper or screen reboot will grate under his stuck up skin. He’s not inordinately tall, or old. In fact, he looks like he might only be in early 30s. He has long white hair that’s pulled back into a low ponytail and, from what you can make out in the dim lighting, some kinda skin condition on his forehead. That, or he’s prematurely wrinkled, and let’s be honest, if he’s gone through life with that big of a stick up his ass, he deserves each and every pull on that mottled skin of his. 

You linger in your seat when class is over, lips pulled into a thin line and legs crossed. Finally, when the last student has left the room, professor Shigaraki flips a switch beside his elevated podium, filling the lecture hall with a sharp, fluorescent light. He pauses by his raised computer system and clicks off the overhead projector, blanketing the massive room in an uncomfortable silence. 

“Since you missed the part of class where I go over the syllabus, I’ll give you a brief rundown. Under no circumstances will I tolerate tardiness. If you do it once more I’ll mark you absent and three absences knock you down a full letter grade.”

Glumly, you cross your arms and peer up at him, finally able to get a good look at his face. Your first observation was correct. His skin is sharper around his forehead, but his wavy white hair does a pretty decent job of covering up the imperfections. He has two scars: one nicks across his right eye and the other splits down his rough lips, parting the skin and granting him an even more foreboding appearance than his already gruff demeanor does. He’s dressed in a dark pair of jeans and he’s wearing a low slung v neck shirt. It’s a brilliant red and it brings out that otherworldly glint of his red eyes. Shit, you think bitterly, while he’s not conventionally handsome, he’s not exactly hard on the eyes either. 

You shake your head against these unproductive musings and curtly snap out a clipped, ok.

“What was that?” Shigaraki scoffs, tilting his head at your sullen figure. “Speak up.”

“I said,” you bristle, eyes narrowing and chin lifting, “Okay, I apologize for interrupting your lecture, it won’t happen again. But, in my defense, if I’m allowed to do that in this class, I’ve never been in this building before, and it’s not like–”

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then you’ve had four years to figure out the layout of this university. The excuse of ‘being lost,’ isn’t an option for you. You know the buildings and you’re fully capable of turning up early to sort out the rooms.”

You let out a long sigh and look away, mumbling vague protests. This guy is ridiculous. You’re not a science major and it’s not your job to know the ins and outs of each building. How fucking stupid. Who does he think he–

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

You bite your lip and look back at him but he’s moved in that distracted moment, silently stepping down from his raised platform and is now leaning over the first row of chairs, looming over you. You can’t help your sudden flinch as you sink further into your chair, away from him.

“If you’re gonna complain, Ms. (L/N), I’d much rather hear it. Don’t you think It’s rude for you to mutter under your breath about me? You don’t see me doing that to you.”

“Fine,” you blurt out, turning away from his insistent, and all too close, gaze. “I was saying that I’m not a science major. I get that I’m a senior, but you can’t seriously expect me to know every nook and cranny of this campus.”

“No, but I can ask for you to be a little more thoughtful. I put time and effort into my lessons and I won’t have you undermining them by bouncing in here with those legs and that flouncy little skirt.”

You’re about to counter his little haughty speech on politeness when you finally process that final comment he’d breathed out. Flabbergasted, you raise your head back to his, but he’s already moving away, snatching up his shoulder bag and waving you a curt goodbye as he presses open the squeaky door. “Next class is at 10 am sharp, so be on time Ms. (L/N).”

You’re still slumped in your seat when the door glides shut again, your eyes wide and jaw no doubt comically unhinged. 

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

Obviously, for the next class, you’re early. You’re so early that you’re the first one in the lecture hall. You select a seat toward the back and fiddle with your computer, checking your messages, adjusting your brightness, replying to old emails, anything to keep your head down and attention occupied. 

The door opens and, despite your best efforts, your head flies up, expectant and tense, ready to meet those red eyes of his head on, to show him you’re here and he better… oh. It’s not him. It’s two chattering freshmen. One of them gives you a quick smile, but they both quickly take their seats, a few rows over, and continue their soft conversation, leaving you to fall back onto your earlier distraction tactics. You twiddle with your phone and shoot off a few texts, change your wallpaper, accidentally close an app you meant to leave open, and then the lecture hall door reopens.

He steps in slowly, completely ignoring you and the other scattered students, opting to sort out a few papers and set up his login on the school computer. The minutes tick by and you can’t seem to jerk your eyes away from him, suddenly fascinated by his languid movements. He looks more relaxed than he did on Monday, looser and fluid, completely in his element. True to his word, at ten am on the dot he begins class. 

Professor Shigaraki has an interesting voice. It’s low, calculated, bordering on a rasp. It’s one of those tones that makes you want to lean forward and listen up, even though he’s only discussing cellular biology. Which isn’t exactly the sexiest topic for that shockingly dulcet timbre of his. 

Wait. Sexy? 

Your pen falters against your notebook, and your eyes drift up to his frame. He’s switched the lights off again and the shine of the overhead projector is the only illumination in the hall. His white hair gleams in the dim lighting and his long hands animatedly illustrate his points, elegant fingers opening and closing, gesticulating about the intricate nature of the human genome. You’re so focused on watching his movements that your elbow partner has to push the slip of paper onto your collapsible desktop. You blink at the sheet, your pen nearly clattering from your hand, and you twist to peer at the unfamiliar student beside you. 

“It’s the attendance sheet and, um, I think you’re the last one,” they whisper, careful to lean away after they finish their explanation, not wanting to draw professor Shigaraki’s ire. You maneuver the paper under your pen and scribble down your name, biting your lip and silently berating yourself for your poor selection in seating. Great, now you’ll have to take the paper down to him after class. What if he talks with you again? Shit. 

At 11:25, class ends. You collect your things and plod down the steps, the attendance sheet clutched between your fingers. He’s just snapping the projector light off when you reach his podium. 

“I, uhh, have the attendance. You want me to just leave it here, or…”

“I’ll take it,” his hand is extended toward you and those red eyes are fixed on you now. It’s not the same disgruntled stare he’d given you on Monday. No, this look is a little more curious. Again, you’re taken aback by your reaction to him. He’s not even saying anything, just patiently waiting for you to deposit the sheet into his open palm, but there’s something about him that’s making your heart race. 

Maybe it’s those eyes of his. 

They are an unusual color and they have a strange intensity to them. Right as they narrow, the vermillion shining under the sharp lights; you press the paper to him and he pulls it from you, studying the names that are listed. 

You want to say something. Maybe toss him a quick, friendly, goodbye. Or apologize for the other day? Ugh. What can you even say? ‘Gosh, so glad I was on time today! All that fascinating information about the genetic code! So glad to be here!’ No, that sounds stupid and a little patronizing. Besides, why do you want to talk with him at all? He’s an ass, remember?

“Did you need something?”

His question snaps you out of your stupor and you numbly shake your head at him, already lowering your gaze, but his exhaled chuckle makes you pause, your fingers curling around your backpack straps.  

“I know I upset you the other day, but I appreciate you taking the effort to correct your mistake.” 

“Oh,” you breathe, your eyes finding their way back to his. “Yeah, well, like you said, I’m a senior. Gotta take responsibility for myself someday.”

“Ah,” he smirks, that long scar on his lip quirking upward. “Seems like you’ve got some determination after all. You might be more interesting than I gave you credit for.”

“God,” you scoff, popping out a hip and crossing your arms at the bemused leer on his face. “Just come right out and say you think I’m a bad student, why don’t you?”

“Don’t worry,” he amends, tucking the attendance sheet into his shoulder bag and snapping the clasps closed. “There’s plenty of time for you to end up right back at square one with me.”

He’s already halfway out the door by the time you right yourself from the shock of his last comment and you follow him, a string of low curses falling from your lips. 

The spring semester always flies by, and before you realize it, a full month has bled away. You’ve kept that same seat in Shigaraki’s class and at the end of each session you head down to his little platform, attendance sheet outstretched. Each day of class has a different ebb and flow. Sometimes he chats with you and it’s gotten easier to talk with him, both of your eyes holding and lingering, lips raised into calculating smiles. Sometimes it almost feels like he’s flirting with you. Other days he only spares you a curt nod, his white hair curtaining his expression from your curious gaze. You’re not bothered by these silences, not when you’ve got your secret weapon. 

The days that you like best, the ones that you plan, sorting through your closet until you’ve found the perfect choice, are the days when you wear one of your skirts. You’d even gone on some skirt shopping sprees as of late. On those days he doesn’t just make some sort of fleeting eye contact with you, no, on those days he stares. 

At first, you’d tested out your theory, staggering your outfits, careful to not screw up your suspicions with a hasty miscalculation, but as they say, the third time’s the charm. How did he expect you not to notice? He never bothers to hide those sharp ogles and recently you’ve made a point of dramatically gathering your things when you wear these cute little ensembles, bopping down the steps so his eyes have to work to follow the line of your hips and the long paths of your bare legs. One rainy afternoon you’d worn over the knee stockings, that came to an abrupt halt over the plush skin of your upper thigh, under your mini skirt and he’d practically leapt over the podium to grab the sheet from you, his eyes hooded and dark, almost wild.

“Test, on Friday,” he warns, eyes finally rising to meet your bemused expression. “Don’t stay out too late tonight.”

“What makes you say that?” you ask, brushing at a rogue fold in your skirt, luring him back to your legs. 

He scoffs at you, that jagged scar arching into a smirk. “Humph. You’re dressed up. Most of the students just wear the sweats, or pjs, and call it a day.” 

“I like to put a little effort in all that I do,” you retort, grinning up at his vermillion stare. 

“Yes, so I’ve noticed. You certainly look the part…and you’re keeping up with the workload of this course.”

“Ahhh,” you crow, clapping your hands excitedly. “Are you saying I might get an ‘A’ in this class? Be the first time someone’s done that in a while, from what I’ve heard around campus.”

Shigaraki sneers and tuts out an inaudible reply, leaning a little closer to you, making you inadvertently fall back a step. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Awe,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m doing ok on all the quizzes and the classwork.”

“So far,” he taunts, his pearlescent hair falling over his broad shoulder.

“Tch. Don’t be like that. I’ve been studying.”

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

“Oh?” you smile, raising your chin. “What else should I be doing, professor?”

“We’ll know that after Friday, won’t we?”

God. 

You’d felt so confident when you’d turned in your test and that stupid, horrible, sexy little quirk of his lip scar that he sends you, when you’d handed him your papers, carries you on some strange, half aroused cloud all weekend. Maybe, just maybe, this class won’t be so bad after all.

The tests are handed back the following Friday, passed from row to row so everyone can fish out their papers and marked Scantrons. Yours, since you still occupy that final seat on the back row, is the last. Biting back a grin, you flip it over, so ready to see that A, that grade that you worked so fucking hard for, that… wait.

The gross flash of red across the top of your paper leaves you reeling, your breath catching against the back of your throat. It’s not a terrible grade, well, it wouldn’t be, but there are only three tests in this class, so it’s going to plummet you down to a B. One more fuck up will leave you with a C, or worse, an automatic failing grade. 

No. No, no, no, no. 

You can’t afford a bad grade, you honestly can’t even let yourself slip to a B. Your fucking cap and gown have just come in and with them that cord that you can wear around your neck at graduation. The one that marks you as honors cum laude. Fuck. You’re already pulling one B, in one of your other classes, because you’ve been focusing so much time and effort on this one. Another B will strip that cord from you, leaving you barren, with a less than ideal GPA. 

God fucking damn it.

You glare up at Shigaraki, who’s busy taking the rest of the class through a review of genetic mutations, but you can’t hear him anymore, too incensed, too overwhelmed to even care about what he’s saying. The test crumples under your fingertips, the paper shaking in your hands, and you seethe, your teeth biting your lower lip to pieces. 

It’s not fair. You’d paid attention. You’ve taken all the notes. Read all the chapters. Drilled and studied till your eyes had drooped, heavy with exhaustion. You’ve done it all right. Plus, he’d been so fucking flirty, so open with you. You’ve never chatted with a professor this way, never gone out of your way to wear clothes they like, that make them watch you, their eyes hungry pinpricks as you walk to them, mindful of the luscious sway of your hips. 

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

Before your elbow classmate can leave, you ask for them to hand in the attendance sheet. You barely hear their response, too busy slamming your laptop into your backpack. As you storm past the podium, you can feel his eyes on you. The distant sensation of his gaze makes your flesh prickle, but you ignore your involuntary reaction and shove your way out the door. 

“(Y/N), you can’t switch classes this late. It’s almost midterms. Besides, I don’t think anything has opened up and if you’re going to drop it, you’ve gotta get the signature of the professor,” your advisor tells you, blinking at your stony expression over his thick glasses. “I don’t get it. Why do you want to drop it? Your grades are alright and it’s just one test. You can always try–”

“Gimme the paperwork.”

Shigaraki’s office is on the top floor of the research building, tucked away down another winding and weaving hallway that once again requires your careful inspection to navigate. When you finally hit the right set of doors, you slowly make your way forward, counting the numbers up as you pass. His door is wide open, a yawning cavern that’s filled with the distant light of a lamp. You brush a hand down your skirt, smoothing away any wrinkles and steadying your nerves. 

You’d tossed on the skirt this morning, before you’d gotten the grade, and you hadn’t thought to go home and change, too consumed by that simmering rage bubbling within you. And now, like this fucking class, this skirt felt like a mistake, something stupid and vapid that you wished you had time to change out of. He’d told you he liked your attire, liked that you put effort into your outfits. At the time, you’d been so thrilled and excited that he’d complimented you, but now you wish you were confronting him in baggy jeans or lazy sweats, anything that would turn that avid gaze of his away from you. 

Lost in thought, you waver beside his open door, nibbling on your lips and tugging at your clothes. It’s now or never. No point in putting it off. What’s the worst that can happen? What can he do now? Or, a darker side of you whispers, what do you want him to do to you? What? That’s a stupid thought, you scold yourself, lifting a hand to the wall and rapping against the beige paint, announcing your presence. 

When the sound fades away, swallowed up by the empty and darkened hallway, you poke your head around the corner, searching for him. His head is tilted quizzically, and he blinks twice when he spots you, that all too familiar smirk lifting his lips. 

“Ah, Ms. (L/N), what can I do for you?”

His voice is softer than usual and your name sounds like honey, his tone resting on the syllables and consonants for a beat, almost as if he’s savoring their lift, their sound. You can’t help but swallow heavily at his appraisal. Suddenly this may be a terrible idea. 

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N). 

“I-I need you to sign this withdrawal paperwork,” you finally reply, digging in your bag and tugging out the thin leaflet, holding it out to him. He’s silent after your demand, meditatively threading his fingers and peering up at you, his red eyes bright. 

“Step inside and shut the door behind you,” he instructs, his gaze never falling from yours. Despite the simplicity of his request, you can’t help but bristle at his imperious tone. Why does he always have to sound like that? Like he’s seconds away from taking control of the situation, or of you? He’s always one stupid step ahead, and no doubt he’s going to try and talk you down. Or, he’ll sign it and say that he always knew you were a screw up, someone who only did things halfway, who could never match up to his lofty expectations. Humph, the sooner you’re outta here and out of his class, the better. So, you obey, closing the door and petulantly flopping into the unsteady chair that sits in front of his low desk. 

He maintains that uneasy quiet, his red eyes whisking over your disgruntled face, waiting, watching. Unable to take this strange standoff, you push the university paperwork toward him, sliding it as close as you dare to his bent elbows. “I would like to withdraw from your class,” you repeat, lips setting into a thin line. 

“Why?” he asks, cocking his head so his loose white hair falls a little further down his rough brow. 

“Something came up.”

“Hmm, I can try to work with a new schedule, if it’s your job, or home life,” he counters, eyes narrowing as he sharpens his observations of your brittle expression. 

“It’s not that,” you smart, crossing your arms. Great, he’s going to make this difficult. 

“Then I suggest you tell me what’s on your mind,” Shigaraki replies, mirroring your movements and leaning back in his chair. 

“I don’t think this class is working out for me.”

He exhales a soft laugh at your lie, and you watch that tiny mole at the edge of his chin lift in his quiet mirth. “This is a freshman level course and you’re a senior. You’re in my class because it’s likely the last pre-rec that you need to take before you graduate.”

“Um, yeah. But–”

“And now, you’re wanting to drop it because of one poor grade.”

You grind your teeth and fix him with a stark glower. “I–”

“There will be two other tests. If you read your syllabus, you’d know this.”

“I read the syllabus. Your tests are worth a stupid amount of points and it only takes one of them to tank my grade.”

“Frankly, you did better than most of the class. You only need to work on practical application. I said that the written portion would be a major component of the exam. I also provided you with a review and a rubric. So I’m not sure–”

“Your grade drops me to a ‘B’, and that ‘B’ pulls me from the honors list. And… well… I thought that…”

“Oh? What did you think?” he presses, his voice suddenly dropping to that lower octave it had drifted into when he said your last name. 

“I thought I’d get a better grade,” you spit out, turning your head and biting at your lip again. 

“Why?” he counters simply. His obtuseness is making your blood boil.

“What do you mean, why?” It takes all of your will to not slip a ‘jackass’ into that question. 

“It’s not a hard thing to answer. I graded you fairly and according to my rubric. Why exactly do you feel you merit a different grade than the one you earned?”

You fall into a frustrated silence. You can hear your heart pounding against your ribs and you want to scream at him, to leap over his desk and shake him until his teeth fucking rattle. Your shoulders are rising and lowering disjointedly and his vermillion eyes are honed in on your face, shifting over your pinched expression with a distant interest. You can feel tears pricking at your eyes and you hastily rub a fist over them, brushing away any rogue drops of moisture.

“How can you ask me that? You think I didn’t notice you staring at my legs? Or that you always had something to say to me when I was wearing a skirt? What was I supposed to think, huh? I fucking thought shit like that was gonna help, ok? God, I’m so stupid. I can’t… fuck.” 

Shigaraki arches forward when you finish, a deep sigh leaching through his parted lips. His teeth snap together when you look up at him, your eyes gaining back some of that earlier defiance, and he gives you a quick grin, clearly pleased by your shift in attitude and pushes your paper aside, fixing you with a dark look. “Here’s a thought, since you feel you’re so different, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you a chance to make up the score.”

“I don’t care about the score anymore. I wanna drop your class,” you snap, but it’s a halfhearted barb. Something has changed in his demeanor. He’s dropped the concerned professor act and is leaning so close you can hear his steady intakes of air. He’s only a few inches away; if you want, you could touch him.

“I doubt you want to attend a class in the summer. Besides, they won’t let you walk if you haven’t finished your freshman level courses. And you can’t tell me you don’t want to graduate, to earn that cord that lets you into the honor cum laude. So stop pouting and hear me out. I think you’ll like what I have in mind.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever like anything about you,” your voice is sharper than you mean it to be, but the challenge makes Shigaraki smile. As it crosses his cracked lips, it pulls that scar up and it makes those eyes of his glow. He looks like the cat that’s got the cream and you’re not sure how to respond, so you cross your legs and wait for him to make the next move. 

“You sure about that? Well, I’ll have to change your tune then, won’t I? But that can wait, lemme tell you what my requirements are. I’ve got a copy of the textbook in here. I’ll have you review some of the major concepts, you’ll read the passages aloud so I’m sure you’re on the right track, you’ll hand the book back to me, and then I’ll verbally quiz you over the material. If you answer them correctly, I’ll bump you to an ‘A’ on your test.”

You have to actively work to keep your mouth closed. “So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands. 

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin. 

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Your eyes boggle and you have to clench your thighs tighter, your stomach churning, you feel light-headed and you can feel your core fluttering with your sudden arousal. “Wh-what did you just say?”

“Stop gaping at me like that, you’ll make me blush. Now come on.”

Your jaw snaps closed and you shake your head, trying to clear your mind from your whirling emotions. He takes this reaction as a surrender and stands, stepping toward a marred table that rests a little ways away from his desk. He licks his thumb pad and flips through a few pages before finally settling on an appealing section. Once he places it on the table, he twists back to you and crooks a finger your way. “Come here,” he orders, his voice deep and languid. Obediently, you rise on unsteady feet, hands tugging at the length of your skirt, careful to keep it pressed down as you walk toward him. 

He makes space for you to stand in front of the book and shifts back, one hand resting on the table, propping him close to your bent figure. You look up at him, but he only nods his head toward the table, a wicked smile curling the corners of his lips. Blink a few times but finally, the words clear and you can see the block of text that’s in front of you. It’s passages on DNA encodes and RNA proteins, hefty stuff, things that you had to make flash cards for. This isn’t going to be easy. If anything, he’s picked some of the harder concepts, the ones that take steady knowledge in the foundations. Flustered, you look back to him, but he’s moved. He’s leaning against the wide window beside the table, a dark mark against the glass.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, a laugh bubbling in his tone.

“There’s no way…” you stammer, shaking your head at him. 

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

“I should ask what kinda curve, but knowing you, it’s likely gonna be something terrible.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he rumbles, stepping away from the window and leaning close to your stiff form. “It just takes an open mind and some enthusiasm on your part.”

“Enthusiasm?” you question, trying your best to withstand his closeness. You can feel the heat radiating off of his broad shoulder and if you tilt a little nearer, you could graze against him, or feel his breath on your skin. 

“You’re right,” he amends, his forearm contacting your side. You startle at the touch, a gasp falling from your lips, but you don’t pull away and you can’t stop staring up at him, your eyes wide. “Obedience is a better word. From here on out, whatever I tell you to do, I expect you to obey it, although it’s not exactly, ah, school approved.”

“You want me to suck you off or something?” you sneer, hoping to stumble him off his guard, even if it’s only for an instant. Too bad he’s always one step ahead. 

“Don’t be vulgar. Think outside of the box, (Y/N). Do you think I’m going to go for something so short sighted when I could have you bending to my will? Obeying every little demand that I make? I’d much rather see if that skin of yours tastes as good as it looks, then simply have you on your knees. No, I want you to fucking scream for me while I stuff you full of my cock. But first, you need to put in some work. You should know that by now.”

Oxygen is suddenly very hard to come by and you can feel your mind hazing over as you stammer up at him, your mind flitting from word to word disjointedly. Shigaraki grants you a wolfish grin, and he dips his lips beside your ear, whispering over those tiny hairs that rest against your tender skin. “I’ll make this part easy. Nod and I’ll give you the first set of instructions.” 

What did he say? Nod? What happens when you nod? Fuck, why are you letting him do this? Is your grade really worth it? Are you that desperate that… that… 

Shigaraki is whispering other promises over you as you war with yourself, speaking his words gently, slowly, his breath hot as it fans over your neck. It’s like you’ve fallen under some kinda spell and before you realize it, your traitorous head is bobbing up and down, letting him know you want him to keep going.

“Perfect,” he sighs, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear, jerking a shiver from you. “Now, lean forward and put your hands against the table.” 

You do as he says, but he’s not satisfied with your positioning, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and yanking you forward, jutting your ass out and pressing your chest down, maneuvering you until your nose is right above the pages of the textbook. “There we go,” he rasps, pulling away so he can admire your splayed form. “Hmm, your legs are too close together. Spread them.” Knees trembling, you obey, gasping when he runs a palm against the curve of your thighs.

“You’ve got such nice legs (Y/N), so let’s put them on display, shall we?” His fingers search against the top of your skirt and they still when he reaches his prize: the zipper. When he pulls it down, you let out a sharp squeak of protestation but he silences you with a swift pinch to your side. 

“Now, now, don’t be like that. You nodded, remember? Besides, you could have left when I told you I’d give you a curve but you couldn’t help yourself could you? You want me to keep going and to do that, I need you to take this skirt off. No, don’t move. I’ll get rid of it for you. Why don’t you focus on the task at hand, hmm? Aren’t you supposed to be reading for me?”

You arch away from his fingers and he chuckles at your impudence, one large hand hooking under your chin and pulling you toward his face. His red eyes blaze as they find yours, the dark pupils threatening to swallow up that deep vermillion. “Let’s start with the second paragraph. If you do well, I might grant you a reprieve.” 

Jerking your face from his grip, you twist back to the text, trying, and failing, to ignore his inquisitive fingers, unable to resist sighing as he works one up your inner thigh. He pauses when no words fall from your lips and you grumble out a few low curses before acquiescing to his silent demand. 

“The flow of genetic information in cells from DNA to mRNA to protein is described by the Central Dogma, which states that genes specify the sequence of mRNAs, which specify the sequence of proteins. The decoding of one molecule… the… the… molecule… by spec-specific…”

He’s slipped your skirt down over the swell of your ass, but he’s taking his time, flexing out the front of the material and dipping his fingers over the bump of your lower stomach, kneading into the delicate flesh that’s stretched out for him. You can’t help the twitch of your spine and you involuntarily wiggle, palms slipping forward, dragging you further along the tabletop. Shigaraki chuckles above you, running his rough lips over the back of your neck.

“You’re so sensitive. I’ve barely touched you.” 

He circles his hands back to your skirt and edges it along, lowering it sharply on one side and then giving the same treatment to the other. You’re doing your best to keep up with your stammering readings, but it’s difficult when he keeps sighing and running his long nails across your newly bared skin. Finally, he works the skirt down and it thumps against your bare ankles; the fabric tickling your skin. 

Meanwhile, his other fingers skitter against the elastic band of your rapidly dampening panties. Once he hooks the lace under his hand, he yanks them along your legs, trailing them sinfully slowly, ensuring that they glide down the billow of your thighs. His teeth nip at your ear when you stumble to a halt in your recitation and your hands tense over the grains of wood beneath them, your nails pinching into your palms. “If you stop, I stop,” he warns, his head bumping against yours, his sharp nose pressing against your pulse.

“You’re not exactly making this easy,” you grumble, doing your best to ignore his renewed pets and strokes. 

“Stop complaining,” he smirks, leaning away from your head to peer at your newly exposed flesh. “You better pay attention to what you’re reading or you’re not going to pass the questions I’ll be asking you.”

“Yeah, yeah, ow!” you squawk, whipping your head around to glare up at him. He fucking pinched you again! This time, he’d slipped his hand between your spread legs and tweaked your inner thigh, painfully. 

“Read,” he repeats, running those guilty fingers upward, lingering beside the heat of your cunt, careful to not get too close. When you start on the next sentence, one of his hands tugs up the fabric of your shirt, snaking upward until he’s thumbing against the wire of your bra. Once again, you falter to a halt and exhale a wavering breath. 

Goddamn it. This review is no review. You’ll be lucky if you can even recall what a cell is if he keeps this up. You hear his ominous intake of air and quickly resume your recitation, mumbling something about RNA and mRNA differences. 

Wait. Didn’t you just…  

“Looks like you’re having trouble listening to me. I told you to read aloud, not to repeat the same passages over and over.”

“Hey, at least I’ll have a firm grasp on those. You should ask me something about that s-section… ah–”

The hand that was resting under the cup of your bra has made its way underneath the lightly padded material, and his thumb and index fingers have trapped your peaked nipple between them. As soon as your snarky comment left your mouth, he’d twisted the bud, squeezing it until it throbbed. 

“Pay attention,” he commands, shoving your bra upward, freeing the globes of your breasts and cupping both of his broad hands under them. Your abused nipple stings and the mixture of sharp pain and jarring arousal goes right through you, stoking that coil that pulsed within your core, and sending a tacky flush of your essence down your spread thighs.

The next few words are a struggle. The text keeps blurring and your breaths are coming in fast and heavy. Shigaraki is still feeling you up, keeping his lips close to your ears, rasping sharp commands to you and dealing out lightning fast rounds of pinches and squeezes each time you falter. 

“I–I can’t… I don’t even know what I’m reading anymore,” you bemoan, your hips pressing against the edge of the table, legs trembling as you attempt to keep them apart. He’s deliberately ignoring your throbbing clit and a desperate edge is creeping into your voice. 

“Are you always this whiny? Fine. I’ll give you a moment to read without any distractions.”

Thank God.

True to his word, he slips away from your back and you’re left shivering against his sudden absence. Despite your quaking, you’re determined to make the most of this chance and you quickly read out the paragraphs that are on the second page. As you ramble down to the last bit of text, you realize you can’t hear him anymore and when you finish the last sentence; you start to really wonder where he’s drifted off to. A tense silence follows your completion of the material and you arch up on the tips of your toes, jutting your ass out and stretching the stiffened muscles of your lower back. 

“Didn’t say you could stop reading, and judging from all of your complaints, I don’t think you got some of those earlier concepts, so I’d suggest doing a quick review,” he taunts, the sudden rasp of his voice startling a low gasp from your lips. 

He’s close; somewhere behind you and to the left from the sound of it. You try to twist around, your chest lifting from the table, and when he notices, his hands return, creating a rough pressure against your neck as he forces your body back down. His weight plasters you to the surface, scraping your partially exposed stomach and tender breasts over the nicked wood. Shigaraki is merciless in his swift correction, his breath puffing out angrily behind you. “Didn’t say you could move, either.”

Stunned, you freeze. Your arms are arched awkwardly, but he keeps his weight against you, flattening your breasts and forcing your back to arch into an awkward bend. Fuck, you think, how are you supposed to stay like this? Your legs are already aching and if he shifts away again, he’s likely going to expect you to maintain this absurd pose.  

“Yes,” he groans, his voice catching against the word, “Good girl. Now, stay just like that.”

Damn it.

“Go on, read the first part again,” he instructs. 

“The entire genetic content of a cell is known as its genome and the study of genomes is gen-genomics. In eukaryotic cells, but… but not in p-prokaryotes, DNA forms a complex with histone proteins… with histone proteins… sub-substance… of…”

His teeth have latched onto your neck, and he’s sucking bruises into your tender skin. He’s still pinning you to the table, but his hands are widening their explorations. He’s started dragging a fingernail across the puffy folds of your cunt, teasing against the dripping and swollen flesh, chuckling when you buck against his hold. 

“You always seem to lose it when you get to cellular modulations.”  

“I–I–It’s not… I can’t help that you keep…” you whimper, your fingers curling under your palms, head shaking back and forth. You can’t think. He’s not being fucking fair, and you can’t even string your goddamn words together. Shit. “Y-you’re not being fair,” you accuse, falling on the only thing that keeps running through your mind, your splayed feet shifting uncomfortably under you.

“Not fair? Not once did I say fairness would come into this arrangement,” he lifts himself off of your back and leans beside you, one arm planted beside your crooked elbow. His fingers trace over the curve of your ass, cupping at the thickest part of you and squeezing. 

“But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get a little satisfaction out of this arrangement. I bet you look good when you cum. And you’ve been working so hard to get my attention these last few months. So careful to do what I tell you. Looking at me with those big eyes of yours, all wide eyed every time I catch you looking at me. And don’t even get me started on your lips. You’re lucky I didn’t fucking bend you over after class, especially when you started wearing all of those cute little skirts for me. Ahhh, don’t moan like that, I won’t be able to help myself if you do. Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?” 

Without warning, he slips his longest digit into your cunt, groaning loudly when he’s sucked into your welcoming heat. Your pussy, hungry for any kind of scrap, ripples around his intrusion, clamping and pulling, desperate for more. 

“Fuck,” he groans, his weight falling against your shoulder. “You’re soaking.” His elegant digit pushes deeper and you roll your hips under him, urging him closer, sighing when he sinks to the last knuckle. As he pulls his finger back, he adds another, swiftly v-ing the two before curving them together as they slip back out, dragging a steady line of pleasure from your quivering cunt. Shigaraki whispers another round of awed praise against your ear, his voice dark and breathless. 

A third digit is added on another trip out, and it creates a ragged sensation within you. It’s close to what you like, but he’s stretching you too far and it’s starting to hurt. He either needs to speed up, or give you a little more pressure. If you can hump your clit against the edge of the table, maybe it’ll give you the friction that you need. When you mindlessly buck your hips, your thighs threatening to lose that spread, he stops, holding his fingers inside you, laughing as you agitatedly try to shift him back into his earlier rhythm.

“So eager. I’d say you’re ready for my questions.”

“W-what?” you gasp, wholly focused on making him restart the push and pull of his fingers inside you. 

“I’ll start you off with something easy. What’s the cell membrane?”

“W-what? The cell… ah–” 

“Answer me. Now,” he grunts, leaning forward, re-steadying you as his fingers pull outward, dragging against your sensitive folds and schlicking through your arousal lewdly, loudly. You moan and your eyes roll back, completely ignoring his demand as you fall into the haze of pleasure that comes after his movements. 

His free hand travels up your neck and he tangles his fingers into the tendrils of your hair, yanking and jerking at the strands, demanding your attention.  

“I said, answer me.”

“Shigaraki–I–fuck. I can’t even… ugh… think right now!”

“Do you want the grade, or not?” he questions, his voice tense. “Answer correctly and I’ll give you what you want.” 

“I–I don’t think I can,” you whine, pressing your hips back as he thrusts his fingers forward again, curving them upward, searching for the spongy pad of nerves that rest against the front of your pelvis. 

“Oh? What happened to wanting that A? What about your graduation? You gonna let me fuck up your entire college career? I can do it, you know. I’ve done it to so many simpering freshmen. I fail kids left and right and you’re no different, (Y/N). 

The university lets me ahh–there it is! God, you’re so fucking wet. 

Where was I? The university can’t say no to me; they let me do what I want. I bring in too much money, too many tempting grants, and that’s all they really care about. So what’s it gonna be? Let me see that you can answer this basic crap and I’ll pass you. Or would you like for me to tie you down and force it outta you another way?”

He’s picked up the pace of his fingers as he rambles over you and a swift press against that newly discovered spot inside you has you falling to pieces in his hands, popping up onto your tiptoes and rutting yourself against the surface of the table. “O-ok, God, ok! Just–fucking repeat the goddamn question,” you pant, head slumping forward, forcing his fingers to tighten against your hair to hold you upright. 

“What is the cell membrane?” 

You wince your eyes closed, trying to rack your brain to focus on something other than the heavy pressure of the three fingers that are teasing their way across your dribbling pussy. He’s moving his presses with a lackadaisical, inconsistent rhythm now and it’s hard to fucking think. You can’t tell if his next thrust will be hard, or soft, or so rough that it’s bordering on that bittersweet line of pain. 

You shake your head, doing your best to ignore the mounting pressure that he’s building inside you and the ache of your neck and legs. Finally, after another sharp tap against that secret bunch of nerves at the front of your cunt, you latch onto a vague remembrance. 

“It… it’s a double layer of–of phospholipids that make a boundary between the cell and t-the surrounding… ugh… it controls the passage of materials.”

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

He’s unrelenting in his domineering treatment, twisting and frigging his fingers each time your breath hitches, and your arousal is leaking down your legs, making your skin stick and pull. It’s too much, you can’t! How can he even ask this? Words are falling from your lips incoherently, and all too soon you’re gasping out his name rather than reciting the answer. 

“Cellular–oh, fuck, Shi–Shigaraki–Please, keep–don’t stop! S-Shigaraki, God that… feels… ah–keep going!”

He ignores your request and pulls his fingers away, robbing you of that sweet pressure that he’s so carefully mounted within you. 

“I’ll count that one as incorrect. Your ‘A’ is swiftly becoming an ‘A’ minus, (Y/N)” he snarls, his teeth gritted, hands falling to the swell of your hips, wet fingers digging into your soft skin. 

“What? No! You didn’t give me enough… e-enough time! How can���can you expect me to answer that qui-quickly!”

“Let’s try another.” 

It hurts. That ache that he’s drawn out of you is starting to sting and throb and he’s being such a dick about it! You twist and grind under him, and he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“I don’t–” you protest weakly, your legs trembling and chest heaving under his weight.  

“Do you want this? Wouldn’t you like to pass this class? To graduate with honors?” he growls, leaning closer, his hands braced against you, his fingers no doubt leaving bruises on the supple crest of your hips. 

“You’re such an ass! Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then answer another question. What’s diffusion?”

“D-diffu-diffusion is the process by which molecules move from an a-area of… of… fuck- of high concentration, to low concentration. Shigaraki!”

“I should count that as another miss, but you got the major concept correct.” He removes his fingers from your waist and yanks your ass toward him, keeping your overeager hips away from the fleeting relief of the sturdy table. “Pop your legs together,” he commands, one hand wrapping around your arched throat, squeezing until you obey. His other hand drops to that thatch of curls that rest between your quivering thighs and he gathers up your gossamer strands, rubbing against your clit for one hazy instant, sending a flash of spots across your vision.

“Mmm, now that’s a pretty sight. Good girl, don’t move,” he reminds you and you want to scream at him. Right before you can spit some frustrated vitriol out, he’s releasing your neck, his hands dropping from your skin and letting you fall back to the uneven surface below. Just before your chin contacts the wood, his hand is back in your hair, tugging you upward, holding you a few inches above the table. The sharp pain makes your scalp tingle and you unconsciously rut against the tempting heat that’s now plastered to your ass. He’s hard. You can feel the stiff bulge of his cock straining against the front of his dark jeans, pressing into the cleft of your posterior. 

“T-that’ can’t be comfortable,” you pant, twisting your head so you can look up at him from the curve of your shoulder.

“Oh? You worried about my cock?” he asks, his red eyes flashing down at you challengingly. You don’t bother giving him a verbal response, opting instead to grind your ass up, catching against the jut of his length, earning yourself a low groan. His lips curl when you repeat the motion and you realize you love watching that smug face of his drift into a look of tense pleasure. It makes his scar on his lip flush and those red eyes of his fall to a lazy half mast. He spies your arched brow and pleased grin and pushes himself off of you, leaving you alone and open on the table.   

“Keep pushing your luck. I’m more than happy to drop you back to a B.”

“What?” you scoff, teeth clinking together as you clench your jaw. “I didn’t move!”

“No, but you’re trying to take control of this and we can’t have that can we?” Shigaraki sneers. “Now, how shall I punish you?”

“P-punish me?” you stammer, a chill racing down your spine. 

“Ah, I know. This’ll really piss you off,” he twists from your strained gaze and walks back toward his desk. What? What the fuck does he mean? You can’t see him from this angle, not with the way your legs are stretched and back is lowered, but it doesn’t stop you from trying, your chin lifting upwards as you do your best to keep him in focus. 

Ugh. It’s no use. He’s slipped past your field of vision. 

Hearing is likely your best bet, so you shift your forehead back to the table and listen, straining your ears to pick up any morsel. Something opens and closes and you catch the sound of the wheels of his chair as they shift, squeaking across the floor, and the groaning of the springs when his weight is applied to the cheap leather. 

Okay, so he’s in his chair. Is he just gonna look at you? That’s not… wait… 

There’s a faint clicking sound. 

It’s both familiar and unfamiliar to your ears, but once the teeth slide over the last pull, you realize. It’s a zipper. 

Oh fuck. Is he going to jerk himself off? With a gasp, your head whips back around. He’s still positioned himself away from you, and you can only just make out the sounds that are accompanying the undoubted rise and fall of his fist. All you can see is a tiny sliver of his body, but you catch sight of the coiling muscles on his neck and you notice that his head is dipped forward, pearl white hair settling across the cut of his collarbone. The one red eye that meets yours is blazing and hungry, it makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up.  

God, he’s staring at you, watching you, getting himself off as you’re half naked and bent over a desk in his office, fully subjugating yourself to his whims and fancies for the sake of your grade. 

Damn it, (Y/N). This should not be a fucking turn on. You should be disgusted, but the flush of slick that drips down your thigh says otherwise. 

He lets out a choked moan, picking up the pace of his hand, letting you hear the click and slip of his palm as it strokes up and down his cock. A shiver echoes up your spine and your hips seem to have a mind of their own, grinding your clenched thighs over the dip of the table, easing the clenching pulsations that your cunt is shuddering through you.

“Look at you, so desperate for my touch that you’re humping the fucking table. Such a dirty girl, and so disobedient. You’ve only answered a few of my questions correctly and yet your slutty little mouth and body keep pushing at me. Making me put you in your place. Let me ask you something, why should I go out of my way to fix your grade when you can’t even prove to me you understand the simplest concepts? 

Ah, here’s a thought. What if I told you I’ll wave the other requirements; no more readings, no more quizzes, but I won’t let you cum? What if I just get myself off? You’re putting on a such a good show for me! Why should I bother with seeing that you’re satisfied when that table seems to do the job for you? Sound good? Or would you like for me to come back over there and make you cum?”

“I–I don’t… I don’t want…” You can’t get the words out, your tongue feels leaden between your lips and you can’t think of anything but the steady itch that’s spreading from your clit. 

“Speak up,” Shigaraki demands, slowing his jerking fingers. The chair he’s sitting in groans as he leans forward, and his eyes wide as they take in the delicious sight that’s propped before him. “You don’t want to cum? Is that it? You’d like for me to get myself off and leave you there?”

“No!” you cry out, your fingers digging into the scuffed wood of the table. “I-I want you to make me cum.”

There’s a sharp clatter and you jump at the abrupt noise. It must be the chair you think, your heart pounding against your chest, waiting for Shigaraki’s next move. He only lets a few seconds drift by before he presses himself back to you. He leans his broad chest over your back, the front of his legs pushing against the back of yours. His exposed length is wedged firmly against the cleft of your ass and its tempting hardness makes you squirm under him, but he’s propelling you forward, pinning you against the rough wood, and you can only flail uselessly under his control. His lips skim over your neck and he bites into your skin, sucking and licking bruises as he inches closer to your pulse.  

You say his name pitifully, wantonly, and he lets out a shaky gasp. Something about your tone has shifted something within him and you can feel his cock swelling, dripping a rope of wet pre-cum down your shaking leg. 

He leans away, removing his sticky hardness from your ass. “Seems your priorities have shifted. You’re a little preoccupied right now, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice gravel scraping against your overwhelmed senses. You let out a weak moan and he snaps into action, his fingers pushing under your flattened stomach and tugging against the fabric that he finds. He yanks you upward, pulling your shirt up as he goes. His palms dip under your half lifted bra, and he cups at your breasts, massaging the rounded bulbs and plucking at your peaked nipples. Your head lolls back, and he sucks at your earlobe again, his breath warm and rasping as it passes by. 

“Hold still,” he commands. 

It’s not an easy position, this stretched upward arch that he’s forced you into, but it’s worth it when you feel his cock pushing between your tensed legs. He doesn’t thrust into you, opting to run his weeping tip against your slippery folds, pressing until his bulbous head is twitching against your pulsing clit. 

Goddamn it, you think as he stills, his lips smacking open-mouthed kisses over your shoulder, it’s not enough. You wiggle your hips back and forth and he abruptly exerts a firm pressure against your windpipe, leaving you sputtering and gasping. “What’s wrong? Not happy with this? Do you think you deserve something more? Do you think you’ve earned that?” He shoves you back against the surface of the table, his broad chest following the plane of your back, trapping you under his heavy form. 

You’d replied, you know you must have, but you can’t hear yourself anymore, your attention attuned to the warm length that’s pressed against your shuddering folds. You’d likely thrown in a please for good measure because Shigaraki rewards you with a quick peck to your shivering neck and his thumb, swirling it around your clit, creating a cresting ache that leaves you mumbling incoherently, a thin line of drool slipping from your parted lips. As he keeps that faint osculation up, your fingernails scrape over the wood of the table, your feet lifting you onto your toes, curving your back, and shoving your leaking pussy into his open palm. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Shigaraki says, a breathy desperation lingering around the edges of his rasping voice. “But it’s just not enough, right?” 

You nod, licking up some of the excess saliva that’s built under your heavy tongue and crane your head back at him. His eyes are the first thing you see. They’re wild, ravenous and glinting with a roughness that makes you whisper out a soft whine. Fuck. It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to want him this badly. Goddamn it. Now that he’s caught your gaze, he won’t let you look away, and he presses himself closer, his cock twitching and warm, the tip rubbing back and forth, keeping time with his circling thumb.

“You gonna fuck me, or not?” you finally ask, unsticking your lips and smirking up at his hardened face. 

“Tch. Don’t rush me,” he grumbles, removing his hand and teasing cock from your cunt, watching as your body convulses under him, your pussy quivering against the excess stimulation that he’s wrought over you. Your thighs burn, aching to break free from his control, to rub against that throb, that tingling that keeps shuddering outward.

“One more question,” he tells you, lifting his dripping thumb to his lips and sucking off the traces of your arousal. The sight of him licking his pink tongue over his gleaming knuckles almost makes you lose your balance, your arms shaking precariously under you. 

“A-another? Come on,” you pout, your eyes following the curve of his wicked lips, watching as his scar quirks upward, amused by your useless defiance. 

“Make you a deal, answer it correctly and I’ll give you my cock. Sound fair?”

“Ugh, whatever, just hurry up,” you snap, so impatient and turned on that you can hardly think. 

The tip of his cock presses against your sopping entrance, pushing forward just enough to part your dripping folds but stopping before he clears that first, tight ring of flesh. The promise of his dribbling tip makes you lose any semblance of self-control. You thrash under him, but he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“No! Don’t stop! Come on Sh-Shigaraki–Don’t be such a fucking–ah–” 

“Do you want this? Do you want my cock?” he growls, leaning over you, his fingers squeezing down, no doubt leaving bruises in the supple crest of your hips. 

“Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

“They… they’re n-nitrogenous base… fuck… base that pair… that pair with guanine during D-DNA replication… I–please, please, Shigaraki! Fuck me! I want your cock! Fuck me, fuck me!”

Thankfully, he either takes pity on you, or can’t control himself anymore, his hips surging forward, gliding his thick length into your cunt and snarling at the mind numbing heat that waits for him. He keeps driving upward until he bottoms out, sharp hipbones grinding against the plushness of your ass. 

He’s not gentle with you, no he’s animalistic and raw, his thrusts papping into you with a terrifying strength. You would have liked something slower, something that lets you enjoy each imperfection and dip that raced along his cock, but this, oh, this is an exception because this is perfect. It’s not what you want, but it is what you need. 

The heavy fullness that he’s stuffing you with leaves you breathless, but you somehow manage to gasp out a string of nonsensical praises each time he drives back into you, overwrought by his roughness. 

This coupling isn’t kind, isn’t right, and is not healthy, for either of you. No, not with the way he’s using your shivering body, distracted with slacking that euphoric thrum that’s making his cock pulse and swell inside you.

But fuck it feels good and you can’t help but tremble with delight. These intoxicating thrusts of his ram him up against something that’s buried deep inside you, and each time he hits it another star of bright pleasure races through you. The familiar coiling of release is steadily mounting with each rapid fire rut he gives you and if he could just, ah, there’s something that’s… no, fuck, it’s, it’s not going to work. It feels good, but it’s missing one vital ingredient, one thing that he’s neglected to pay attention to, to notice. 

Your clit needs to be tweaked and rolled, and right now it’s pulsing away against the table, beating a sad tattoo into the grainy wood. Oh well, you think, head fuzzy, lost in the euphoria of his powerful cants, grinding your ass into his hips as he digs into another teeth chattering thrust. He’ll likely finish soon, and you’ll probably need to get yourself off later. It’s not something new, and it’s not like he’s going to care enough to focus on that, on you. This whole thing has been about control, so there’s likely no room for your own pleasure.

“What’s wrong,” he gasps out, his fingers lifting from your hips to curl beside your turned head. 

“What? N-nothing–I–” you pant, eyes rolling back as he hits that spongy patch of nerves again. 

“Tch. Hold on,” he interrupts, his voice rasping and breathy. He pulls himself out of you with a grunt and yanks you upward, hauling you onto the tabletop and flipping you on your back, bending your stiffened legs and bracing your knees against his lean forearms. 

He holds you apart, spreading you open with his powerful hands. You can see him properly now, and the sight makes your breath catch against the back of your throat. Fuck, he looks good. 

His long white hair is draped across his bare shoulders and his eyes are blazing pits of hunger, devouring the sight of you with those red irises. His jaw is clenched, and he glares down at you from his imperious height, his nostrils flaring as he drags in a quick intake of air. To your shock, he gives you a little time to acclimate to this new position, opting to languidly step forward, letting his slippery cock head press and tease at the dip of your opening. But right when you think he’ll move again, he stops, his eyes roving over the lines of your face. 

His sudden stillness makes you peer quizzically up at him and you scoot closer, your feet lifting from the table. The movement snaps him out of his stupor and he grabs your ankles, roughly pinning you back down.

“Keep still,” he snarls through clenched teeth, that scar of his lifting. 

You nod mutely and he rewards your unquestioning obedience with another powerful thrust, sinking his swollen cock back into your waiting cunt. He lets out a sharp groan and grabs at your hips, jerking you forward, already drifting back into that all-consuming rhythm he’d started earlier. His ruts are a little slower from this angle but, in no time at all, that familiar ache pools in your core, stoking and building at an alarming rate. The driving force of his hips soon has you blinking back spots and distant stars, and this time he adds the all important pressure of his thumb, circling the finger pad over your clit and dragging a broken moan from your quivering lips. 

“So that’s what you needed. You close?” he grits out, his lips set in a curled scowl. He’s lost some of that early control, his hips stuttering as they connect with yours, his power lessening, cooling, as he looks for your release. 

“I–I think–oh fuck, do that again. Yes! Just–ah!”

He angles your hips upward and gives your clit another quick oscillation, pressing down until you’re gasping. “There you go. That felt good. You’re getting tighter,” he laughs, looming over you, shoving your heaving chest downward as he jerks your hips into him, forcing your body to do most of the motion, making your shoulder blades scrape across the uneven wood. “Cum for me. Fucking cum on my cock, (Y/N). Cum and I’ll give you your A, I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.”

Your spine arches as you break around him, your cunt greedily pulling him deeper, slipping him past the barrier of your tender cervix and earning you a weak shout of praise from Shigaraki. Seconds later, he’s pulsing and twitching against your walls, the warm pooling of his cum filling you up and spilling down your spread thighs. 

His head drops to your shoulder and the rough skin of his forehead sticks to your sweat dampened flesh. For a long moment you’re both still, each of you struggling to catch your breath, luxuriating in the tingling sensation of release. 

“I fucking hate you, you know,” you gasp out, your arms circling his back, fingertips etching vague patterns over his neck and shoulders. 

“Ha,” he snorts, “I’ll have to remember that. Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll pay you back for that little remark next time.”

“Oh? Next time?” you chuckle, moaning as he twists out of your hold and pulls his softening length out of you. 

“I’ll fail you on every assignment if you try to keep away,” he threatens, his eyes falling to the gaping mess that he’s left behind. You cross your legs, denying him the satisfaction of leering at your dripping pussy. 

“Fine. But next time, fuck me on something softer than a damn table.”

tags: @spicy-skull​, @xwildskullx​, @yixxes​, @ghstmthr​, @rekoii​, @diaouranask​, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love​, @libiraki​ <--- i’m coming for you. you’re gonna have to read for this, lady. so, uh, i’m officially noneconing you here. 

notes: you made it! this thing is a monster & i’m so sorry i can never stfu

[1kook]

youtube & use lube

part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!

summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.  warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3  word count: 8.7k  

notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .

let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him. 

And then winter comes. 

Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years. 

What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household. 

As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).

But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute. 

He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”

You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets. 

Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick. 

He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house. 

You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable. 

He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold. 

“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him. 

With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional. 

“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”

You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”

Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”

“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.” 

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before. 

You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again. 

He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty. 

So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house. 

His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.

There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions. 

You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever. 

Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through. 

He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times. 

So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner. 

You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong. 

Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor 

You blink. 

Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!

Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?

You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago. 

Oh, so this was new. 

You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on. 

Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again. 

He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy. 

Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning. 

You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest. 

It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you. 

It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck. 

“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss. 

His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?” 

A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck. 

You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest. 

Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck. 

The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds. 

Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy. 

You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side. 

But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?” 

He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again. 

You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip. 

Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”

You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”

“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers. 

Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct. 

He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip. 

You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt. 

“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery. 

You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again. 

The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him. 

You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored. 

He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately. 

“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth. 

You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“

Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again. 

Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“

You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate. 

You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear. 

The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”

“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum. 

Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad. 

So you do. 

You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.” 

You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm. 

Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes. 

You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth. 

There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet. 

“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves. 

“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that. 

You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t. 

As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him. 

But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully. 

You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”

He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed. 

By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight. 

In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off. 

“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”

A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly. 

It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you. 

“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face. 

You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch. 

His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble. 

The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?” 

He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls. 

He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy. 

He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully. 

When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip. 

Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite. 

“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely. 

You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why. 

Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now. 

He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)

Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“

Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months. 

Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—” 

“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”

He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions. 

Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing. 

Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss. 

Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn. 

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”

It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat. 

“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”

Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss. 

You release him.

“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty. 

You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off. 

One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up. 

Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good. 

You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. 

His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading. 

But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds. 

Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it. 

“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan. 

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...” 

“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick. 

He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you. 

Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”

Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.

That’s when it hits you. 

“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his. 

He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”

You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.” 

Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks. 

You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”

Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt. 

Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips. 

But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,”  you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.” 

He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin. 

He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”

Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“

You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm. 

You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you. 

Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success. 

You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself. 

Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell. 

“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle. 

“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”

You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”

“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out. 

There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart. 

 To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death. 

“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying. 

It fits perfectly. 

epilogue

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[princessofgayskull]

Hi sunflower, what's your thoughts on T Swift's Betty being a catradora song???

Me, taking a break from spop to focus on my mental health and setting better boundaries:

Me, reading this ask:

This ask woke me up from like a deep, sleeping beauty type slumber, not joking. I don’t get asked to talk about Taylor Swift often, despite being a fan of hers since I was nine years old (I’m 22 now *wink*) and we are about to find out why. But I pride myself on taking any fiction piece of media I interact with and connecting it somehow to Taylor Swift. I can do so to varying degrees of success (usually depends on the ships and romance of the world) but there are so many songs of Taylor’s that have just fit Catradora so well for me, both in and out of canon. 

Some of my favorite examples: out of the woods (AND IT KEPT ME UP AT NIGHT WHEN NOELLE SAID THIS WAS HER TAYLOR SWIFT SONG FOR CATRADORA LIKE GAH CASUAL TS LISTENERS WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND) bad blood, lwymd, don’t blame, dancing with our hands tied, the archer, breathe, you’re not sorry, the way I loved you, forever & always, should’ve said no, safe & sound- I could go on.

But I won’t because I wanna stay on topic and talk about betty. Now I have a number of songs from the folklore/evermore series that are for me catradora songs (we’ll get to that in a minute) but this one is… challenging. Because I could be like “yes, because [insert casual reason here]” or “no, because [insert casual reason here]” but I can’t because Taylor feeds her children well and there’s several aspects of this song I feel like should be considered.

This biggest one to be considered, for me, is the love triangle aspect. Folklore features at length the betty/james/Augustine love triangle, each of them having one main song on the album from their POV. Betty's is cardigan, augustine’s is august, and james’ is betty. (also I’m going to throw out the gender component for a second; I know taylor says that Betty is about a guy’s apology and I totally vibe with her reasons why she wanted to write a song about a boy apologizing BECAUSE HOW GREAT WOULD THAT BE?) The love triangle makes the application of Catradora iffy at best. Because it’s like, who would be who? I am going to go out on a limb and assume that you’re seeing Catra as James? I think that personality wise, Adora as Betty and Catra as James is not a stone’s throw away from fitting actually really well. Adora’s canon journey is one of coming to realize “I know what I want and I know that it’s okay to want it” and a big part of Catra’s arc is her being like “Well shit… there goes my plans. Kind of feeling like a dumbass rn” especially in s4/s5. 

(That s4/s5 distinction is important; I’ll show why in a second) 

But for me, there’s no augustine. Or one that’s obvious anyway. I never imagined that either Catra or Adora dated or even had any inclinations with anyone else during the five season run- that’s just my personal opinion, people are completely welcome to feel free to disagree. I don’t think Catra acted even out of distraction with Scorpia or DT, and I think Adora was so focused on being She Ra that when she wasn’t thinking about failing/abandoning Catra when she alloted time to do so, she was thinking about the crushing weight of her responsibilities. So you know, not that much time to get back out there. So I rule out what causes James to apologize in the first place- cheating.

Side note about James cheating- I’m pretty sure Taylor confirmed this, in the long pond studio sessions doc, when she’s telling Jack Antonoff (MY BOY JACK) and Aaron Dessner ( GRAMMY AWARD WINNING KING) that James “was a fool!” And James did sleep with Augustine as confirmed in august, but cardigan makes it seem like he was definitely dating Betty before the summer. Maybe Taylor took inspiration from friends and they “were on break.” I also believe that the kiss in the Heart is the first kiss, that Catra and Adora were never ‘together’ together before Adora found the sword and defected (again, that’s just an opinion, but Adora just looks so wonderfully gobsmacked), so…

We can rule out cheating, and I think we can accomplish this and still reserve the essential meaning of the song of “I did something wrong, I see that now, I apologize for doing it, and I still love you” by widening the lens of what the “did something wrong” was (or “did something bad” you know *wink*). In that wider lens really you could fit either Catra or Adora into the song, but I’m still going to assume Catra is the James in this scenario based on how much of her redemption arc is formed around her refusal to say sorry and then eventually doing so. Of course there is no standing your porchlight but rather standing while wrestling a bunch of murderous clones…. Hmm….

But there are some stupid friends! I wholeheartedly believe Catra is James because of the dissing of Betty’s friends. That’s what Catra does to Bow, Glimmer and the rebellion et al., for most of the show and by the end of s4 she has no friends for Adora to even mock (terrible and cruel of me, I know, but it’s true). Also I know people are like “he called her friends stupid and then expected betty to take him back?” but I scream sing the line “WILL YOU KISS ME ON THE PORCH IN FRONT OF ALL YOUR STUPID FRIENDS?” every time. It brings me serotonin. 

Along those lines we can ask “Who’s Inez?” in this situation. When I think gossip no one from the show really comes to mind, well, expect for Double Trouble. But Double Trouble doesn’t ever speak to Adora about Catra. This happens vice-versa, and in Betty, James reveals that Inez told Betty he cheated on her. 

I want to say something controversial… Glimmer comes to mind when I think “who’s the Inez?” And this is based off of two things: 1) Inez’s closeness to Betty, and 2) Inez drags James out to dry, rightfully so. And when I think of that I think of Glimmer screaming “Do one good thing in your life!” directly in Catra’s face. James gives Inez a bad wrap in Betty. Not cool James. 

Of course there’s the pivotal, “would you tell me to go fuck myself?/ or lead me to the garden?” To me this a fun way of showing there’s vulnerability to what James is doing, so automatically I’m led to is the scene where Catra asks Adora to stay, or each time in s5 when Catra risks, basically an identity crisis to let Adora in how she really feels, but there’s always the potential that Adora could spurn her by not returning her feelings or rejecting her outright. 

I think the best argument that can be made for “is betty a catradora song” can really be encapsulated by the lyric(s): “the worst thing that I ever did is what I did to you” and “the only thing I wanna do is make it up to you.” That is what about the song SCREAMS Catra to me. And yeah, it could be argued that Adora hurt Catra pretty brutally (Shadow Weaver makes that point EVEN THOUGH SHE HAD NO RIGHT TO) that she messed up by abandoning Catra- but Adora feels guilt for... literally breathing. Adora is the quintessential embodiment of “pick your battles, no that’s too many battles, put some back,” but Catra picked one battle first and foremost (yes, she had a few others but this was the one) and that was Adora. Everything that motivated her was surrounded around a narrative of surpassing Adora for a multitude of reasons, and because of that she pretty much hurts Adora every chance she gets after Promise. Adora is really Catra’s first casualty, it makes sense that she has to be her first apology. And I think that after being vibed checked back to back by DT and Glimmer and realizing “oh hey fuck, I’m still in love with her” and then almost dying just to not die because Adora saves her, I think much of Catra’s motivation shifts to “how to do I get Adora to want to stay?” 

That’s my logic for how Betty could be a catradora song in canon. Now not all of my Taylor associations are with canon catradora, many of them do belong to uws catradora, because it’s a lot easier to apply the more modern details of Taylor’s songs to a modern au. The song Breathe is big that way. (it’s in Upper West Side, it’s the song Adora listens to and cries to after that first ride, I just never mentioned that it was taylor because my conditioned reaction to bringing up taylor is to have my head bit off with someone’s semi incorrect and slightly sexist opinion that I never, ever ask for) And this ask got me thinking about what it would look like if I applied not Catradora to Betty, but Betty to Catradora. What would it look like if Catra skateboarded and wore black lipstick, Adora wore a cardigan and they had homeroom together until Catra really messed up? What would it look like if they were seventeen when they admitted their feelings for each other instead of 21? What would it look like if they spent a summer fighting but dreaming of each other? What would their love story look like if Catra and Adora were in that town where Taylor envisioned this “same event that affected three people in different ways?”

I think it’d look something like this. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31141973/chapters/76952048

what do you guys think?

quick but INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT thank you to @gimme-tea-bitch for helping me with this, being my beta, and listening to me talk about folklore/evermore.

[shrinkyclinksfest]

That's a wrap!

Thank you all so much for another successful run of Shrinkyclinks Fest! Altogether the works add up to 150K words of new Shrinkyclinks content and six new artworks! We want to thank all our wonderful writers, artists, promoters, promoters, readers, and supporters. We will see you all next year!

Without further ado, the Masterlist:

Title: Nazi Punks Fuck Off [Shrinkyclinks AU] Creator: bleedxblack Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): digital art Rating: G Prompt #: 22 Warnings: N/A Summary: Local punk Steve Rogers goes to see his hardcore vocalist boyfriend, Bucky, perform with his band, Widow. Friend and guitarist Natasha took the first photo of them after the band had finished their set. Steve took the following photo himself while he watched his friends and lover play on stage.

Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33271081

Title: Steve has hot guy problems Creator: HeyBoy Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): digital art Rating: T Prompt #: 33 Warnings: N/A Summary: For the ShrinkyClinks Fest prompt: Meet-cute at the gym! Smol Steve is determined to work on his cardio and fitness. He reluctantly goes to the gym, feeling intimidated but ready to spit fire at anyone who so much as looks at him twice. He is going to get a good workout, damnit. Ignore the clunkheads. Ignore the gym rats. Ignore the super hot guy with long hair and stormy eyes who always seems to be using the equipment near Steve. That wasn't so bad! Now we can shower and go home. Wait, hot guy is also in the shower and… he's singing. WAIT hot guy just exited the shower and now he knows that I know he was singing!.

Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33271468

Title: asthma attacks, fire escapes, and chai Creator: beemotionpicture Medium: fic Rating: gen Wordcount: 6,657 Prompt #: 9 Warnings: none Summary: It happens because of his asthma of all things.

As soon as he feels short of breath he starts rooting through his messenger bag for his inhaler. Steve has a moment to think aha!and then fuck,before he’s losing his grip on the thing and it’s skidding across the pavement and into an alleyway.

He freezes when he realizes he’s not alone.

Steve hears a muffled sound coming from behind the dumpster, but that’s not what makes him look; no, it’s the metallic scent in the air which, with a creeping feeling of dread, he hopes isn’t blood. He looks. It’s blood.

And there’s a man sitting right in a puddle of it, leaning heavily against the brick wall and clutching his side with a metal hand.

How Steve finds an injured Bucky, nurses him back to health, and takes down a HYDRA agent while he’s at it. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33272239

Title: Highway Ghost Creator: Neonbat  Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 15820 Prompt #: 31 Warnings: Usual WS Bucky warnings Summary: Steve hated long drives, it was too easy to zone out, especially when you’re full of cook-out food and good times. Having someone fall out of nowhere right in front of his car wasn’t exactly something he’d ever consider a possibility. He had enough excitement already from his job as an ER Nurse. Except, where most people would have been laid out on the asphalt, the man dressed in black got up without a scratch and insisted medical care wasn’t needed. The fuck was his life?  Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33283738

Title: He "Accidently" Picked A Hot Roommate Creator: rufferto Medium: digital art Rating: G Prompt #: 48 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve needs a roommate. He thinks he will never find one but then he meets Winter Soldier Bucky who needs a place to stay while he recovers. Steve offers him the room immediately and it turns out Bucky is a great roommate. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33279370

Title: special delivery Creator: @glim / glim Medium: fic Rating: Teen + Wordcount: ~6,000 words Prompt #: 30 Warnings: n/a Summary: Written for shrinkyclinksfest, Prompt #30: Steve Rogers has always been prone to sickness, but summer colds are the absolute worst. What he wants is a huge bowl of chicken noodle soup and some ice cream. What he gets is a food delivery guy who’s so built and hot Steve chokes on his tongue. That’s why he keeps ordering long after he’s recovered and how he finally gets Bucky Barnes into his apartment and his bed. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33343828

Title: When the Pool Closes Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy  Fic Rating: T Wordcount : 1858 Prompt #: 36 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve just wants to enjoy a day out in the sun by himself. That’s not too much to ask. Except it is, apparently. With such fair skin, sunscreen is a must, and there’s no way he can reach his entire back. He’s just going to have to find someone to help him apply it, and if the guy is ripped… Well, it’s not Steve’s fault that he’s got good taste. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33341596

Title: To the Future and the Past Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy  Fic Rating: T Wordcount : 1465 Prompt #: 40 Warnings: Major character death Summary: Maybe a funeral isn’t the right time to admit to a gay love story, but Bucky doesn’t care. That’s what Steve wanted, and Bucky’s never been able to say no to the love of his life. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33358726

Title: A Shot Across The Bow Creator: Author: Becassine Artist: Call_me_kayyyyy  Art Rating: G Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 18382 Prompt #: 52 Warnings: Blood/Injury, Implied/Reference Abuse, Reference Slave Trade Summary: Bucky Barnes is a Pirate Captain, and one accustomed to getting his own way. When fate drops Steve Rogers in his path one lonely evening in Tortuga, his life is forever turned upside down. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33265450/chapters/82597747

Title: Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet Creator: Girl_Back_There Medium: Fic Rating: Mature Wordcount: 6214 Prompt #: 45 Warnings: Some Homophobic Language, Instances of Sexual Harassment against women Summary:Bucky doesn’t know how his mother managed to Jedi mind trick him into dropping off Becca at summer camp this year, but she somehow did it. Despite his grumpiness at the unreasonable hour in which he was wrenched from his nice and cozy bed, Bucky is glad for this time with his little sister. Becca spends their time talking about the activities she got to do last summer that she hopes will be back again this year, all of which was organized by Steve Rogers. After she came home from Camp Marvel last year, all Becca could talk about was Steve Rogers, one of the counselors for her team, The Howlies. Steve Rogers was an amazing artist. Steve Rogers participates in all of the competitions despite his asthma, scoliosis, heart arrhythmia, and various other medical issues. Steve Rogers totally drinks his respect women juice. Bucky would be worried about his sister may be developing a crush on this Steve guy, but after meeting him, Bucky is more preoccupied with the crush he's developing on Steve. So preoccupied in fact, he ends up signing on to be a camp counselor for the summer. Link to work:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33339220

Title:  The Way To A Man’s Heart Creator: Author: HaniTrash Artist: Kocuria_visuals  Art Rating: T Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 11852 Prompt #: 53 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve Rogers, skinny Brooklynite, is a college student who makes old recipes and posts videos of them on tiktok. When Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier and Avenger, sees one, he's instantly hooked and becomes Steve's biggest fan. What follows next is a story of food, flirting, and a very unlikely pairing. But much like Steve’s unusual recipes, what shouldn’t work often does… Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33312223/chapters/82722664#workskin

Title: Maybe A Muse Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): fic Rating: M Wordcount: 2871 Prompt #: 28 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary:  When Bucky Barnes needs extra money, he’s appalled that his best friends think he should become a model for the art department on campus. Shy, nerdy, and socially awkward, he’s not sure that’s something he feels comfortable doing. Still, he needs money, and he likes the idea of becoming someone’s muse. The problem is he had no idea two things would happen. First, one of the students in the class is exactly his type; second, he has to model nude. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33393928

Title: Be My Breath Creator: Goosenik and clarkestetler Medium: Fic Rating: Teen and Up Wordcount: 44,575 Prompt #: 48 Warnings: N/A Summary: For the Shrinkyclinks Fest 2021 prompt: Steve needs a roommate. He thinks he will never find one but then he meets Winter Soldier Bucky who needs a place to stay while he recovers. Steve offers him the room immediately and it turns out Bucky is a great roommate.

Basically: Bucky moves in with Steve after he escapes from Hydra, and Steve begins the long process of helping Bucky remember how to be human again. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33275848/chapters/82626394

Title: Tap-Tap Into Your Heart Creator: huntress79​ Medium: Fic Rating: T Wordcount: 5k Prompt #: 6 Warnings: none, except for one blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mention of animal death  Summary: When HYDRA finally fell, the Soldier was lost, in more than one meaning. And for the next several months, he, more or less, drifted from one former safehouse to the other, always avoiding to stay too long in one place. Until he comes to Brooklyn - and finds a new purpose, again in more than one meaning… Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33416524

Title: I'd be selfish but never with you Creator: Lacunalady on Ao3 Medium: Fic Rating: E Wordcount: 20k Prompt #: 32 Warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Prompted with: "Arranged marriage AU. Steve is a prince and Bucky is a newly crowned king of the neighboring country having conquered/overtaken the last ruler. In order to keep the peace between their countries, Steve's father decides for them to wed. Steve is reluctant for several reasons but mainly because he wants to marry for love and the fact that Bucky has a reputation for being exceedingly ruthless in battle (aka the winter solider)" by Bangyababy on Tumblr! Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33424936

Title: Just Peachy Creator: Erosanderis Fic Rating: N/A Wordcount : 1266 Prompt #: 34 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve Rogers was not looking forward to meeting his soulmate. Ever since the day he was born, he had the worst possible words on his forearm. So of course he would meet them at work. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33412060

Title: Knocking Boots with Sugar Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy  Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 4095 Prompt #: 29 Warnings: N/A Summary: In between summers at college, Steve Rogers wants a new adventure beyond his lonely life in Brooklyn. He ends up in West Texas working on a dude ranch where Bucky Barnes is a long-time employee. When Bucky offers to buy Steve a drink, they end up drunk on tequila and making out in public. For the rest of the summer, they're inseparable. As the summer draws to a close, Steve realizes he doesn't want to leave. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33499603

[pricklerick]

Okay, let’s talk about Beth.

I think the fandom tends to forget how fucking young she is.

Beth got pregnant with Summer when she was seventeen. Canonically, Summer is seventeen. That means Beth can’t be more than 35 in the pilot. At the risk of sounding like an old fart: dude, she’s just a baby. 

Let’s see what we can infer from this information. 

Did you guys know that the prerequisites for veterinary school and medical school are pretty much identical? Basically, it’s four years of undergraduate biology and chemistry, with maybe some math and physics thrown in for fun.

With this in mind, ti’s likely that Beth still planned to go to medical school after she had Summer. We know that Summer is Beth’s favorite child (Morty’s Mindblowers). On top of that, there’s evidence to support that Beth had a pretty big hand in raising baby Summer, while Jerry may have had more of an influence on Morty. Remember this little exchange in Raising Gazorpazorp?

Morty: What do I do if it cries?

Beth: Then you put it down and let it cry itself out.

Jerry: Yeah, right, we tried that technique on Summer, and she's gonna end up stripping, isn't she? Yes, she is. She's gonna strip for attention because she was denied it.

Beth: Stop filling it with your own insecurity! You're gonna turn it into Morty -- uh, mm -- more  -- more of you!

This suggests that Beth kept baby Summer at hime during the day while Jerry worked. It’s easy to imagine Beth taking night classes as the local university, studying like mad to keep a competitive GPA, and justifying her indifference to Summer as “good parenting.”

Beth has Morty when she’s about twenty. This falls a little into headcnon territory, but I think that Beth was a year ahead if her peers academically and probably started college at seventeen. Based on this headcanon, I’m going to say she’s a junior in when Morty is born. 

I think the show makes it pretty obvious that Morty is a mistake. If you really want to get dark, I kind of like the idea of Jerry sabotaging Beth’s birth control in order to get her pregnant because he’s resentful fo her desire for a career in medicine. He sees it as abandonment or some shit, and he also can’t handle the ego-blow of his wife being a doctor. But that’s just a personal theory. Regardless, I think it’s clear that Beth Smith didn’t want to be saddled with another kid.

She probably didn’t want to be saddled with the first. 

Making it through medical school with a toddler is a fucking challenge. Making it through medical school with a toddler and a baby, with a husband who is nebulously supportive at best; well, Beth is a smart woman. She knows an impossibility when she sees one.

Beth is twenty years old, and her dreams have been shattered by her husband and children. I’m sure Jerry makes her feel pretty guilty about how much their family would sacrifice if she continued to pursue her goal of being a surgeon.

Four years, Beth, and the five more years of residency! And you’re talking about fellowship after that! The kids would be teenagers! And how are we going to pay the bills??

Beth settles on vet school for several reasons. First of all - and you better believe she tells Jerry this - what the hell is she going to do with a bachelor’s degree in biology? Teach high school? Even Jerry knows that’s off the table.

But Beth’s already got the prerequisites for acceptance into vet school. Unlike medicine, there’s no residency required to practice as a vet, just four years of graduate study. Some of that is clinical rotations, a much better schedule for balancing family life and academics. Beth tells herself that being a vet is the same as being a doctor; after all, humans are just primates. Besides, there are less than one tenth as many vet schools as there are med schools in the United Staes - it’s just as competitive, more competitive, vein, to become a vet than it is to become a doctor. Sure, she’ll take a pay cut, but she’ll rack up considerably less debt in the process. 

Beth convinces herself that it will all balance out in the end.

She’s a competitive student with a stellar GPA. At barely 22 years old, Beth is accepted into one of the top veterinary promos in the nations, no problem. Jerry pretends to be proud. They don’t even have to move far from Muskegon, but Jerry takes a lower paying position that allows him to take care of the kids while Beth attends class. 

Summer is five years old and startlingly independent. Already, she despises her father. Jerry tells himself that he’s always wanted a son anyway. Morty is young and impressionable, and Beth is never around. 

“It’s just you and me, buddy!”

Beth finishes school in four years. She’s 26, Summer is nine, and Morty is five. She takes a job in a clinic, and for a while, things are okay.

But when she turns 29, something inside Beth snaps. Her twenties are gone. Here she is, mindlessly writing antibiotic orders and spaying cats. Summer is a preteen, Morty is whatever he is. Jerry got a promotion at work, despite his useless civics degree? And Beth?

Beth is bored. 

She briefly entertains the idea of returning to medical school, but dismisses it instantly. Her classmates would be so much younger. They’d find out about her background as a vet and they’d laugh at her. Jerry would whine incessantly. It feels too much like starting over.

So, again, Beth settles for the next best thing.

“I’ve applied for a residency program,” she tells Jerry one evening over a glass of wine.

Three years, she promises. Three years, and then I’m done for good. Equine Surgery, she gushes to Jerry. It’s prestigious, the highest paying specialty in veterinary medicine!

“We’ll have to move!” Jerry protests. Beth justifies it by saying that the salary for horse surgeons is highest in the northeast.

It’s surgery, she tells herself. It’s what you’ve always wanted to do. Horses are big mammals, just like humans are big mammals.

They move to Washington. Jerry takes yet another pay cut. Beth is 30. Summer is 13. Morty is nine.

Washington State’s equine surgery residency is tough. Beth is challenged. She wakes int he wee hours of the morning and falls into bed, exhausted, in the wee hours of the night. 

And for the first time in years, Beth feels alive.

Rick shows up on the doorstep on Morty’s thirteenth birthday. It’s a day of dual-celebration. Morty is finally a teenager, and Beth is finally finished with school.

Beth already feels like she’s in mourning. She’s 33, and she’s at the peak of her career  (you’ll never be smarter than you are in this moment, her favorite mentor had reminded her the day before boards). She starts a job and the horse hospital next week. She’s signed a contract, already received her hefty sign-on bonus.

Then Dad shows up, and all of Beth’s accomplishments fall hollow from her lips. 

She thought he was dead, for christssake.

She introduces Rick to her family: Jerry, her loser husband (cringe, cringe, cringe); Summer, basic teenage bitch (does poorly in school because the would rather be popular than smart); Morty, the fuckup with some learning disability that Beth had never bothered to pay attention to (the real reason that I never lived up to the potential you saw in me, Dad).

It’s enough to drive any woman to drink.

I don’t think I’m too far off the mark here. Beth is so tetchy and self-conscious about her job because she’s relatively new at it - remember the “we’re losing him!” scene in the pilot? She’s incredibly resentful fo Jerry, for all of the reasons. Summer is her favorite child because Beth spent more time with Summer when she was a baby, and she is independent and self motivated - traits that Beth values. She regards Morty with vague disdain, to the point that she hardly remembers his existence, because she was absent for the majority of his childhood. Beth view Morty as “Jerry’s child,” and Summer as hers.

(Quick headcanon that Beth thinks of Morty as looking like Jerry, which just adds to her aversion, when actually, he looks a lot like young Rick. Beth has no way of knowing this, though, because there are no photos of kid Rick Sanchez).

I don’t mean for this post to sound sympathetic toward Jerry, because I’m really not. He’s a hot mess, too. I just wanted to flesh out Beth a little bit, and maybe justify Rick’s choice to clone her. Beth is young; she still has a whole life to live, and she never got the chance to be the woman she wanted to be, or the mom that her kids deserved. 

Rick chose to give her the opportunity to succeed at both.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Shut Him Up ~ R.C.

A/n: Listen give me ANY excuse to write Randall and I will

Request: “...Hamish duke or Randall x human male reader we’re one of the Wolfe’s get hurt and the reader is like the care taker of the group and he’s rambling because the guy he likes got hurt and ( which ever wolf you choose because I love them both) to shut him up kisses him because he’s also crushing on the reader and the rest of them are like “ so that’s how you shut him up”...”

Word Count: 1700+

MASTERLIST

"You idiot!" Hamish groaned, his shoulders sagging. "Now Y/n is going to be all over our asses when we get back. You realize that right?"

"Not if you don't tell him," Randall shot back immediately. He hissed at the pain in his shoulder. "It's fine. I'll be completely healed in a few seconds then we can get it cleaned and if no one says anything when we get back, Y/n won't- AH!" He screamed, his hand shooting out to hold his shoulder and his eyes widening. When he pulled his hand away again, it was covered in just as much blood as before.

The group was silent for a long time. But the bleeding didn't stop and when Randall swayed, Jack jumped in to put Randall's good arm around Jack's shoulders. "Let's get him to Y/n. He's not healing, and Y/n has been studying since all that stuff with Hamish went down." Lilith groaned, but it was light. Even Y/n's wrath was less important than making sure Randall didn't die.

The entire trek back to the Den was spent with everyone trying to come up with what to say to Y/n that would get him to freak out the least. But then, halfway there, Randall's knees gave in and Jack had to pick him up completely. Even between the three of them it was becoming more and more obvious that there was absolutely nothing anyone could come up with that would satiate Y/n's worry at seeing Randall pale, bleeding, nearly unconscious and not healing. And that was absolutely fact for two simple reasons.

One: Y/n was like the group mom. He made sure they were all eating and getting sleep and that they put aside time needed to study and shower and wash clothes and do their normal responsibilities like work and Randall's RA stuff in between all the hunting and killing and dealing with a bunch of magicians who seemed hell bent on destroying the world at the drop of a hat or the smallest inconvenience. He had spent so much time taking care of the pack that it was practically ingrained into his DNA to care about all of them. So even hearing about them getting hurt usually set off a rant from Y/n about taking care of themselves and how they needed to be more careful - ESPECIALLY since the whole knife incident with Hamish.

Two: Y/n was in love with Randall. He had only gotten involved in this whole drama, despite being human, because he had flirted with Randall time and time again, but Randall wasn't down for anything serious because Y/n was human and had enough to worry about without supernatural shit bothering him. Y/n was hyper aware of Randall though and as things got really weird and shady, Y/n went poking around. Now they were all here, and better off for it.

Lilith opened the door and called out for Y/n, who came scrambling into the room at the panic in Lilith's voice. He froze when he saw Randall, his eyes widening and his face draining of color. "What the fuck happened?" He demanded rather harshly, looking at the other wolves as if accusing them. He always got like this when it came to Randall. He was always worried about them, but there was a new level reached when Randall got hurt that made him all the more intolerable.

They all loved him of course but things were going to go wrong - why didn't he get that?

"I don't know," Hamish offered, feeling a little guilty. Of all the group, he probably understood Y/n the most. Jack and Alyssa were often at odds and it messed with their relationship. Y/n and Randall... Well, despite all the idiocy on Randall's part, they reminded Hamish a lot of how he and Cassidy used to be. "I'm sorry he just got- there was this witch, and she had a whip-"

"On the couch," Y/n ordered. Hamish obeyed, laying Randall on the couch. Immediately his blood started soaking into the sofa. Jack sucked in a breath. "Tell me what happened Hamish. I need to know so I can figure out how to treat it."

Hamish ran a hand through his hair. "Uh- well, the whip. It only barely scratched the rest of us, but it was about to take Alyssa out. And she's kind of cool sometimes so we were trying to make sure we didn't die and we heal a lot faster than she does so I guess he thought it would be fine. But... it got him really really bad and then it didn't heal. Halfway here his legs gave out. I don't know if he's going into shock or it's the blood loss or... poisoning? I don't know?"

Y/n had taken the time that Hamish talked, looking at the flesh around the cut. He went into full doctor mode, not allowing his emotions to cloud his judgement. "I'll be right back." He ran out of the room and the other three wolves were left to watch Randall begin to bleed out. It was becoming clear that whatever it was, it was moving fast, and Randall... he was about to die.

A hush of horror fell across the room as they all genuinely thought their friend was about to die right in front of them while they were helpless to do anything. Then like some kind of angel sent straight from heaven, Y/n swooped in with a bowl full of blue-purple liquid. He stood over Randall and poured it into the cut, making sure the whole cut was filled and covered in the liquid in the bowl. They all stood with baited breath, worried that Y/n had gotten it wrong or, worse, they were just too late.

Then Randall began healing.

"You're amazing Y/n," Jack sighed, shaking his head as he grinned.

Y/n wasn't amused though. The relief that had wiped all minds of the talking to Y/n had planned faded away as a stern man whose eyes were full of anger turned to the three wolves. "You fucking idiots. Just so you know, wolf's bane. The bitch with the whip coated it in wolf's bane. You're lucky that I noticed the way it look on his skin or he'd have died from magical poisoning. Which means she KNEW she was dealing with wolves." He held out the bowl he was holding, which still was half full of the liquid. "Make sure to get each and every cut you guys have. They might be small, but they'll suck away your strength slowly and never heal until you treat them. If you miss any-"

"What's all that talking about?" Randall groaned. The group looked over to see him sitting up, looking around. "What?"

"You idiot!" Y/n whacked Randall's shoulder, causing the newly awakened wolf to complain out loud about how it hurt. He didn't give the boy the time of day though. "I was just saying that your cut you dismissed? It was done by wolf's bane. I'll make more antidote if needed, so don't feel shy to use it up. If the cuts don't go away completely, put some more on. Symptoms include exhaustion, feeling like your body is really heavy, zoning out, and can get worse and lead to struggling to move or talk." He whipped around to glare at Randall. "Now, you." He reached over, dipping his fingers into the liquid. "Where did you get cut?" Randall took off his shirt, showing his scraped up back and arms. He was far, far more marked up than the others, which is probably why he had such a severe reaction. Y/n began to apply the liquid to all his wounds, but the action didn't stop him from going off. "You know who would have been absolutely unaffected by this shit? Alyssa," he began. He'd already been going on so long that the others in the room were tired. "She would have gotten a little cut and it would have been fine-"

"Y/n please," Randall sighed. "You tell me the same thing every time. I get it, you don't want us to get hurt-"

Y/n shot to his feet. "You came back DYING, Randall!"

"And you fixed me!" Randall shouted back, standing as well. "I'm fine! That's the thing about teamwork. None of us alone are good - we have to stick together!"

"And what if you're attacked when I'm in class across campus, or across the country back at my parents' house? What happens then Randall?" Y/n demanded, getting in Randall's face.

Randall scoffed. "Well you wouldn't do that unless it was for summer vacation, and we already all agreed to stay nearby since everything is hitting the fan."

It was Y/n's turn to scoff. "You know I gave up a lot of shit so I could be here to keep your ass alive?"

"I didn't ask you to do that!" Randall shot at Y/n.

"You didn't have to!" Y/n threw back. They both went quiet, breathing hard as they looked at each other. "Goddamnit Randall, you didn't have to." He closed his eyes, raising his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "But you know what? Jack's been learning lots from me, and even more from the Order. He's read the books. If I'm really so annoying then please, let me just see myself out I wouldn't want to-"

Randall suddenly snapped, rushing forward. He grabbed Y/n's face, crashing their lips together. The room was dead silent, even after the two parted. "I'm sorry," Randall whispered. "I just... I'm going to get hurt Y/n. You can't get mad at me every time."

Y/n was quiet. "I-" For the first time since they'd ever seen Y/n, his voice was soft. "I wasn't angry." He didn't ramble or rant like usual. He didn't go off in deep explanation that set off a long conversation. There was no heart to heart and crying and confessing. For the first time, Y/n stood there with all his walls down, eyes glued to Randall, and he let the silence speak for all the things he had never said.

Before Randall could say anything, the other three wolves still in the room made themselves remembered as Lilith teasingly noticed, "So that’s how you shut him up.”

Y/n threw a pillow at her, but she wasn't going to be silenced easily. For a change, Y/n was though, and that was all they got from him. For now... At least Randall had a secret weapon for the next time Y/n went off on him.

-

Male reader tags: @sheepfather​

[chilling-in-the-dark]

The Batboys Growing Up as Yandere’s Part 5: Damian Wayne

This is a yandere story; it mentions elements of obsession, possessiveness, death, murder, and kidnapping. If any of this is triggering for you, I understand, and you don’t have to read it.

As always, feedback is welcomed.

Tim had moved out by the time Bruce found out about Damian; in fact, Tim had left as soon as his girlfriend returned his affections.

When Damian Wayne was still Damian Al Ghul, he’d always been told that caring too much for anyone was a weakness, that it would get him killed. So, he couldn’t understand why his father, the great Batman held on so tightly to his wife. Damian doubted that the woman whom he refused to call a Wayne, because that right should have been reserved for his mother, could even defend herself properly. Damian would have killed her in the early days if he thought he could have gotten away with it.

Though Mrs. Wayne’s patience and constant care slowly wore down his walls, and then he started to envy his father. Yet at the same time, Damian didn’t think he deserved someone; he was a demon who’d killed people. Yet, at the same time, he craved love, Damian yearned for soft touches and sweet smiles.

It was the summer before his freshman year of high school when he’d made a dumb mistake, one his mother would have killed him for, and when the villain he’d been fighting used it to their advantage, he’d barely managed to get away with his life.

It had surprised you to find Robin bleeding out on your fire escape. Against your better judgment, you took him inside and tended to his wounds as best you could, glad your mother was rarely home since her and your stepfather’s messy divorce, you think after six of them she’d learn to cope better.

Damian woke several hours later to find an angel leaning over him; for half a second, he wondered if he’d died. Damian corrected himself; if he died, he certainly wasn’t going to meet an angel. Also, he probably wouldn’t feel like he’d just been given the beating of a lifetime.

“Oh, thank god your alive,” you spoke, relief flooding your voice. You’d done your best to stop the bleeding, but a lot of his wounds looked like they needed stitches, something you weren’t capable of.

Once Damian came to as much as his blood loss would let him, he felt his face, relieved to find his angel had left the mask in place. Robin didn’t speak much until Batman arrived, but then as he was carried out by his father, you could have sworn you heard, “Thank you,” fall faintly from the boy’s lips.

You didn’t know it, but you’d come to regret the night you’d saved a Robin from certain death.

It wasn’t a month later your mother came into your bedroom, demanding to know why you had a letter from Gotham Academy. “So, help me, you better not have applied I told you we can’t afford this and don’t you dare bring up scholarships, those don’t cover uniforms or books.” She’d spent the better part of an hour yelling, not letting you get a word in edgewise, so you couldn’t tell her that you hadn’t applied. Finally, she thrust the envelope onto your dresser and left.

You knew it was probably a scam, but you opened the envelope anyway, only to find a letter about being awarded a full Martha Wayne Foundation scholarship, it supposedly covered every expense necessary to attend. You decided that you’d look up the school’s number and call them in the morning. At worst, you’d end up embarrassed, but if this letter was real, you might have a shot at a future.

It had taken more strength then Damian thought he possessed, to keep him from killing your mother, as he watched the live feed from the security camera he’d installed in your bedroom. Damian had only put them in there because he wanted to keep you safe, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself; he wanted to see how his beloved was doing.

He’d been happy to see you on the first day of school. Actually, he’d gotten to see you before class even started. Your bike tires being several years older than you, had finally given out, and of course, it had started raining of all things.

You’d been cautious when the town car came to a stop beside you, even more so when you saw the back window rolled down to reveal Damian Wayne, but the boy had somehow managed to get you into the car with him. While he’d been rough around the edges, Damian had managed to come off as sweet and charming. It hadn’t been hard something about your presence soothed him, made it easy to let out emotions he usually kept bottled up.

He’d spent the day by your side, and for the first time in a long time, Damian felt at peace; in his eyes, you truly were an angel sent down to save his soul. Damian was convinced that meeting you was fate, that some higher being was giving him a chance, someone to love and that maybe if he did it right and kept you safe, it might make up for his sins.

You were sixteen when Damian had finally asked you out, you’d been happy, how could you not be, your crush liked you back, You’d gushed on the phone to your friends for hours afterword, they were dumbfounded that you hadn’t realized how in love with you the boy was, “He calls you Beloved for peat’s sake, of course, he’s in love with you.”

To you, this was a new relationship, but to Damian, it had been formalizing what he already knew to be true. You were his, and that class ring on your finger would prove it until a wedding ring could take its place.

That time would come on your graduation day when Damian had just finished his valedictorian speech when he knelt in front of you and pulled out a small black box. You knew what was in it before he’d even had a chance to open it and reveal his family’s heirloom engagement ring. Mrs. Wayne must have given it to him.

You’d cried happy tears as he put the ring on your finger, once that was done Damian leaned in to kiss you while ignoring the clicking of cameras. Despite what many think, Damian loved PDA because it let the entire world know whose protection you were under. You wanted the wedding to wait until after college, much to Damian’s dismay, but he’d begrudgingly accepted your choice. Though to Damian’s satisfaction, the wedding came a lot sooner than you’d planned.

You’d been attending Gotham university for a few months now and had been loving it, that is until you spent longer then you’d planned in the library. You knew Damian would want you to call him so he could come and get you, but you knew he was on patrol, and while you didn’t like the idea of walking in Gotham after dark, you’d walked home at night before and never had an issue.

Tonight though, a mugger had pulled you into a dark alley and pointed a gun at your face demanding all your valuables. You’d relented giving the man everything you had on you, but you’d forgotten to give him your ring. You loved the ring, and it was a Wayne family heirloom, but you knew it wasn’t worth your life, so when the man slapped you and demanded you give it up. You instantly started working the ring off your finger.

Just as you’d slipped it from your hand, Robin showed up and started whaling on the guy. You’d never seen Damian so vicious before, but he’d refrained from killing the man in your presence, not wanting you to see death. An angel should never have to see such darkness, no that was reserved for a demon like him, so Damian slipped a tracker on the unconscious man and took you to the manor. Once he’d managed to calm you down enough to sleep, he’d go back out and finish the job.

Damian had used the incident to convince you to marry him sooner, playing up how short life could be and asking you what the point in waiting was. The next day the two of you applied for a marriage license, and during New Jersey’s mandatory three-day waiting period Alfred and the other Wayne wives planned and organized the whole wedding. It was a small and intimate affair, but lovely none the less, everything had been perfect.

Until the next day, that is, when you woke up and found yourself in a locked room, you definitely hadn’t gone to sleep in. Damian was also noticeably absent. Your heart was in your throat, had you been kidnaped, if so how did they get into Wayne manor and why didn’t Damian wake up, your husband was a light sleeper.

There was no way anyone could have taken you without waking him up even if, by some improbability, you hadn’t woken up yourself. You’d never felt so relieved as you did when Damian walked through the door breakfast tray in his hands. Maybe this was some sort of staycation to make up for not being able to go on a honeymoon.

“Dami, why is the door locked?” You asked anyways, not expecting the answer that you were going to get.

“To make sure you can’t leave the safety of this room beloved,” He said, and your blood froze because Damian’s tone made it sound as if he believed it was completely normal to lock his wife in a room. You tried to explain to him how messed up that was, but he ignored your arguments. Your husband wasn’t the man you thought he was.

You weren’t dumb enough to think you could take Damian in a fight, so you waited until he left for patrol to start looking for an exit. All that got you was a bruised shoulder because, apparently, the window was freaking bulletproof glass.

You’d decided that tactic was useless because all it got you was Damian fussing over you, and right now, the last thing you wanted was your kidnaper anywhere near you. So, you stopped eating and made it clear to him that you weren’t going to unless he let you go. Part of you still loved him, so it broke your heart to see such a proud man beg, but no matter how much he cried and pleaded, you held firm.

You kept it up for about a week before you woke up tied to the bed, Damian making it clear that if you weren’t going to eat willingly, he’d force-feed you, after all, he’d vowed to keep you safe, even if it was from yourself.

Tags

@yanderepeterparker​

@idkmanicantenglish​

@prettyafghan

Grow up as only

@neon-phosphorecsent​

@foggyturtleknightangel​

[chiefladylightyay]

Dragons of Vytal World Building note 3

Hopefully this will be the last world building notes post for a while so I can actually write something concrete for the au. Finally have a name for the thing!

Part Two located here

The Branwen-Rose-Xiao Long Family

Taiyang Xiao Long, charmed the pants off of his team, father of Ruby Rose and Yang Xiao Long. Contester for Dadliest Catch(tm) and Pungeon Master(tm). Teacher at Signal Preporatory Academy.

Raven Branwen-Xiao Long, got her pants charmed off by Tai, mother of Yang. Left the family for a little while due to untreated postpartum depression, returned in the nick of time to save Yang and Ruby from a wandering Grimm. Low key huntress, takes no shit from anyone. Currently MIA.

Summer Rose-Xiao Long, got her pants charmed off by Tai, mother of Ruby. Keeper of the Silver Eyes(tm) and Winner of the Super Mom(TM) award, slayer of Grimm and baker of cookies. Went on a dangerous solo mission and almost died, spends her time being a stay at home mom and occasionally teaching at Signal.

Qrow Branwen, got his pants charmed off by Tai, uncle of Ruby and Yang. Winner of the coveted Coolest Dude(tm) and Best Uncle(tm) awards, hobbies include turning into a bird and charming the pants off any gay and bisexual man he can get his hands on. Conquests include Specialist Clover Ebi and General James Ironwood. His semblance is the same as Raven's. No bad luck this time around, no sir. Had too much to drink once, never again.

Ruby Rose-Xiao Long, daughter of Summer and Tai. Keeper of the Silver Eyes(tm) and winner of the Cookie Nomster(tm) award. Dead set on becoming a huntress, despite all the terrible stories told by the adults in her family. Age 15 years and 10 months when she stops that famous criminal from robbing a random dust shop. Geekiest weapons nerd that ever geeked over a weapon. Has yet to suffer the gay mojo, but she will. Oh, yes, she will. Trans.

Yang Branwen-Xiao Long, daughter of Raven and Tai, punchiest blonde this side of the galaxy and junior Pungeon Master(tm). Hobbies include punching things, flirting with both guys and gals (succeeding too) hanging out at dive bars and riding a mean motorcycle. Has a masters degree in history. Age 16.

The von Schnee Family

Nicholas von Schnee, founder of the family line, got ennobled for saving the Kaiser once. Frame for the Arma Gigas. Long since dead and buried.

Wilhelm von Schnee, father of Willow von Schnee, grandfather of Winter, Weiss and Whitley. Founder of the Schnee Dust Company, think Scrooge McDuck, lived long enough to see the birth of all his grandchildren.

Edelweiss von Schnee, wife of Wilhelm and mother of Willow von Schnee, grandmother of Winter, Weiss and Whitley. Died in child birth.

Willow von Schnee, wife of Doctor Jacques von Schnee, mother of Winter, Weiss and Whitley von Schnee. Retired huntress, member of the Convention of Twelve. Spends most of her time at home, making sure her children are well cared for.

Doctor Jacques von Schnee, doctor of robotics, business and finance. Brother of Doctor Arthur Watts. Hired by Wilhelm to replace the workforce in the dust mines and refineries with robots. Hated by the working class for this feat. Husband of Willow von Schnee, father of Winter, Weiss and Whitley. Member of the Convention of Twelve, spends most of his time at the company hq. Still makes sure to spend time with his family.

Winter von Schnee, eldest child, has no desire to inherit and so passed the mantle of heiress off to Weiss. Combat Instructor at Atlas Academy and one of the primary advisors for the headmaster. Has a harsh but sisterly love towards her siblings because she wants them to be safe. Wants something more out of life, but does not know what. Age 22.

Wiess von Schnee, middle child and heiress to the family fortune and the SDC. Famous around the world for her singing career, currently set to attend Beacon Academy to become a huntress. Very, very, very much a lesbian. Currently dating Penny Polendina, a fact she has somehow managed to keep hidden from the rest of the world. Has a masters degree in finance and business. Age 17 and change.

Whitley von Schnee, youngest and softest child. Very loved by his family, famous around the world for his music, specifically his piano pieces. Very fond of crepes, and heaven help you if you take them from him. Currently working on his doctorate. Age 14 and change.

Klein Sieben, head of household staff at the Schnee manor. Literally studied up his family fortune, but has no actual results (a bunch of Almost Doctorates are useless to an employer) from this. Had to turn to his old friend Willow to get himself a job. Much loved by the family and the rest of the staff.

The Belladonna Family

Shere Belladonna, the Red Maws operative who assassinated the Heir Presumptive of the Atlo-Mantelian Empire, thus sparking the Great War. Died unmourned in prison due to the horrific deaths in the war he caused. Very much a black mark in the family line.

Warchief Ghira Belladonna, father of Blake, ruler of Zion. A good man, spent his youth fighting for Faunus Rights. With the direction the White Fang has taken in recent years he's currently working on damage control.

Kali Belladonna, mother of Blake, like Ghira she spent her youth fighting for Faunus Rights, but her pregnancy put a firm stop to that. Spends her time advising the Fang on less violent methods, with mixed results, and teaching at Zion Preporatory Academy.

Blake Belladonna, daughter of Ghira and Kali, fighting for Faunus Rights is in her blood. Spent her youth fantasizing about being the Next Big Thing(tm) in the Good Fight(tm). Almost went off gallivanting with Adam Taurus, but a firm taking in hand by her parents scrapped that plan. Blake is very bitter about this fact. Intends to attend Beacon, just to get away from her parents whom she sees as too controlling. Age 16. She/Her nonbinary.

The Polendina Family

Doctor Pietro Polendina, father of Penny Polendina, and doctor of robotics and applied systems engineering. Due to an accident in his youth he's unable to father children. The same accident also left him paraplegic. Don't let the chair fool you, he's completely capable of laying the smackdown on anyone who threatens or bullies his daughter. Member of the Convention of Twelve, spends most of his time with Penny or building new military hardware for the Atlo-Mantelian government.

Penny Polendina, daughter of Pietro. Very cute, very curious and very gay, her free time is spent mostly with either her father or with Weiss. The first artifical human, her original purpose was to be the first of several, but the costs involved has left her as an only child. Sees Winter and Whitley as her siblings, much to their delight. Age 16 and change.

[spark-translations]

Translation: Winter 7th Play [Hotel Compass] Ch. 10

Translation under the cut! Please note that all play character names are not confirmed and will be changed if they are proven to be different by official sources.

Owari: “Stay safe and take care.”

Owari: “Tsuzuki, how many reservations for today?”

Tsuzuki: “Zero.”

Owari: “And how many people are applying for the job?”

Tsuzuki: “Zero.”

Owari: “The future looks bleak. It’s better if you start trying to find a new job.”

Tsuzuki: “You’ve given me the job of manager, and I’ll fulfill it until the end.”

Izumi: (Azuma-san and Guy-san are completely accustomed to their hotel staff roles.)

Izumi: (They’re very elegant, and the way they present themselves shows how long-established the hotel is.)

Minami: “Blub blub...”

Tsuzuki: “Minami-sama!?”

Owari: “Please stop drowning in your bowl of soup.”

Minami: “Please let me die. It’s the end for me.”

Owari: “Please leave dying for after you have this head chef’s special corn soup.”

Owari: “This morning’s soup is made using corn straight from the farm in Hokkaido—”

Minami: “It tastes pre-packaged...”

Owari: “It’s popular for its nostalgic taste.”

Tsuzuki: “Owner, this is from the front desk.”

Owari: “Higashikawa. What is it?”

Higashikawa: “It’s just that there’s a slightly eccentric guest...”

Owari: “I’ll go immediately. Tsuzuki, would you change Minami-sama’s soup for him?”

Tsuzuki: “Of course.” Izumi: (Tasuku-san’s comical acting is really lively. And Azuma-san and Guy-san, who are on the receiving side of it, too—)

Izumi: (You can tell it’s different from Summer Troupe and it’s Winter Troupe’s own comedy from the very beginning.)

Kitami: “.......”

Higashikawa: “I’m truly sorry, but today we will not be accepting guests without a reservation—”

Owari: “Welcome. Will you only be staying for one night?”

Kitami: “...Yes.”

Owari: “Please write down your information here.”

Higashikawa: “...Owner.”

Owari: “Higashikawa, please guide Kitami-sama to Room 301.”

Higashikawa: “Is this really alright?”

Owari: “Hotel Compass cannot choose our guests.”

Higashikawa: “We should at least ask him to take off the mask...”

Owari: “Hotel Compass cannot choose our guests. We can’t afford to do that.”

Higashikawa: “...Understood.”

Izumi: (Homare-san also suits a hotel staff role. His movements are elegant and deliberate.

Izumi: (Tsumugi-san has a difficult role since you can’t see his face, but you can see the mysteriousness and dark internal feelings seeping out of him. As expected of him.)

Nishi: “Uh—”

Owari: “Welcome.”

Nishi: “I’m Nishi, with a reservation?”

Owari: “Alright, Nishi-sama. Please wait a moment. ...Nishi-sama, Nishi-sama...”

Tsuzuki: “Owner, should I?”

Owari: “Didn’t we have zero reservations?”

Tsuzuki: “It should have been... I’m very sorry, but when did you—”

Nishi: “The eleventh of February, 2100.”

Owari: “21... Uh, is it this year?”

Nishi: “It’s 2100.”

Tsuzuki: “Owner—”

Owari: “Here it is, Nishi-sama. I’ll guide you to your room.”

Tsuzuki: “...Hah.”

Izumi: (Hisoka-san completely matches his carefree eccentric character.)

Owari: “Please enjoy your stay.”

Nishi: “...Tonight, —will disappear from the hotel, huh.”

Owari: “Eh? Did you say somethin just now?”

Nishi: “No, it’s nothing.”

Owari: “Excuse me.”

Owari: “...Someone will disappear from the hotel?”

Tsuzuki: “Minami-sama! Please stop trying to crush yourself to death by jamming yourself between the elevator doors!”

Owari: “This time it’s being crushed to death...”

Tsuzuki: “Minami-sama, the elevator cannot operate if you remain like this.”

Minami: “Don’t stop me!”

Owari: “We’ll bring coffee now. Tsuzuki.”

Tsuzuki: “Yes.”

Owari: “How about having a small break on that sofa?”

Minami: “......”

Tsuzuki: “Minami-sama, I’ve brought coffee.”

Owari: “Excuse my bluntness, but why do you wish to die, Minami-sama...?”

Minami: “You know, don’t you. I’m a novelist. But I do not have any ideas. I cannot even write a single letter. It’s the end for me.”

Owari: “But you don’t need to die... How about taking a break from work?”

Tsuzuki: “Or changing your work environment.”

Minami: “To me, writing is the same as living. If I cannot write, I have no reason to live.”

Owari: “But how about leaving dying to after you have finished your coffee?”

Minami: “...You’re right. I might as well drink it.”

Owari: “Then excuse us.”

Owari: “If someone was to disappear from this hotel, it would without a doubt be Minami-sama.”

Tsuzuki: “Hah?”

Owari: “If someone dies at the hotel, no one will come here anymore. We will have to stop this.”

Tsuzuki: “Yes.” Izumi: (Everyone’s always really serious, so that brings laughter.)

Izumi: (It’s funny, but you can still see the worries and troubles that each character has, and that makes them seem more human.)

Izumi: (It’s something that requires the delicate acting of Winter Troupe.)

Owari: “Higashikawa, you again. What is it this time?”

Higashikawa: “Room 302 is in trouble! Please help!”

Owari: “Uwah!”

Tsuzuki: “It’s all completely wet...”

Owari: “Nishi-sama! Are you alright!?”

Nishi: “I’m sorry, I didn’t think this would happen... The facility was so old and I didn’t know how to use anything...”

Owari: “...I’m sorry for the lack of explanation.”

Owari: “Where’s Maeda from housekeeping?”

Tsuzuki: “Out for personal reasons.”

Owari: “...I’ll leave it to you, Tsuzuki.”

Tsuzuki: “...Alright.”

Owari: “Nishi-sama, I’ll prepare another room for you. This way.”

Higashikawa: “—Owner, may I have a word?”

Owari: “What is it?”

HIgashikawa: “It’s about Nishi-sama, but isn’t he a little suspicious... The way he stands reminds me of someone of the same profession.”

Higashikawa: “I think he may be a spy from another hotel.”

Owari: “Why would you spy on us?”

Higashikawa: “Well, that’s... true.”

Minami: “Hello... cough cough, no, I’m in critical condition... No, for several more days, no for two weeks, I might not be able to hold a pen.”

Minami: “No, you don’t need to worry. You don’t need to come here. It’s fine. I will definitely send it. I promise.”

Minami: “What!? You’re w-watching? Where are you always watching from...”

Kitami: “......”

Minami: “N-no way... no... you were there all this time...? I can’t do this anymore! It really is the end!”

Owari: “Minami-sama! Stop crushing yourself beneath the sofa!”

Minami: “I can’t anymore! The reaper is right there.”

Owari: “Reaper...?”

Minami: “That man is my manager, Kuroda. I’m sure he came to deliver me my ultimatum and was watching for all this time...!”

Owari: “That man... Do you mean that guest?”

Minami: “There’s no doubt about it. Kuroda will use any means necessary to get his hands on a manuscript.”

Minami: “He’s snuck into my apartment by climbing the walls before, and he’s also disguised himself as a member of a parcel delivery service to force himself in!”

Owari: “I, I see...”

Minami: “It’s the end for me! Let me die!”

Owari: “P-please wait! We will make sure Kuroda-sama and Minami-sama do not meet.”

Izumi: (Owari implicitly observes Kitami for Minami...)

Owari: “So Kitami-sama is wearing the mask so Minami-sama cannot see his face...?”

Kitami: “......”

Owari: “Even so, what is Kitami-sama doing, wandering about aimlessly in the hotel.”

Owari: “I thought he may be searching for Minami-sama, but he’s circling the staff entrance and exit too much for that...”

Higashikawa: “Owner, perfect timing.”

Owari: “Did something happen?”

Higashikawa: “There’s no doubt about it. Nishi-sama is a spy. He had made his way behind the front desk.”

Owari: “Behind the front desk?”

Tsuzuki: “And we were planning to hear what he has to say...”

Owari: “I’ll listen with you.”

Tsuzuki: “Please do.”

Owari: “Sorry for keeping you waiting.”

Nishi: “No... I’m sorry. Going behind the front desk without permission...”

Owari: “Why do such a thing?”

Nishi: “...I’m actually working at a hotel too.”

Nishi: “Ah, but don’t misunderstand me. It’s a future hotel, so we’re not competing with you in any way shape or form.”

Owari: “Hah...”

Nishi: “I learned about the history of this hotel and wanted to stay a night.”

Nishi: “And when I actually came, I wanted to work as I usually do...”

Owari: “If that’s the case, we are recruiting right now—”

Tsuzuki: “Owner...”

Nishi: “If I could apply, that would be wonderful... But I can only stay until tomorrow.”

Owari: “I see...”

Nishi: “I will not trouble you any further, so will you let me stay as planned?”

Owari: “I don’t mind...”

Nishi: “Thank you!”

Tsuzuki: “Owner, are you fine with this?”

Owari: “Well, isn’t it alright?”

Minami: “...A future hotel worker? This is... an idea...!”

Owari: “Oi, is Minami-sama alright? He’s been stuck to the table for a while now, but isn’t he trying to swallow a pen?”

Tsuzuki: “No way...”

Owari: “Minami-sama, are you alright?”

Minami: “Yes... good... I can write... Mm? What is it?”

Owari: “Ah, would you like something?”

Minami: “Coffee, please.” Owari: “Certainly. Tsuzuki.”

Tsuzuki: “I’ll bring it immediately.”

Minami: “I can write. My will to live is welling up inside of me. I can still write novels!”

Owari: “I’m glad to hear that.”

Minami: “Ah, oi, Kuroda!”

Kitami: “....?”

Minami: “I’ve finished the plot, and now—”

Minami: “Mm?”

Minami: “Hello, is this Kuroda? I’ve finished the plot and I wanted you to see, eh? You’re at my house?”

Minami: “Weren’t you in the hotel— No, it’s nothing. Alright. I’ll mail you soon.”

Minami: “Ah, it’s fine. No problem at all. This will be my best work!”

Owari: “So Kitami-sama had nothing to do with Minami-sama...”

Owari: “Fu... We’re finally able to take a breather.”

Tsuzuki: “There was a lot today, too.”

Owari: “There’s so much trouble despite the number of guests. We always have guests that come with special circumstances.” Tsuzuki: “This hotel must be the place that those who have lost their way end up at last.”

Owari: “Those who have lost their way, huh. I, the owner, am lost too.”

Owari: “I’ve fought hard to keep the hotel that has been here since my grandfather’s time, but it’s ended up like this.”

Owari: “After working at the expense of not spending time with my wife and kids, the hotel’s still suffering, and my wife and kids left me. I’m sure the hotel’s history will end with my generation.”

Owari: “I should just quit, but I don’t have the courage to do so. It’s a pitiful story.”

Owari: “Well, we may just go bankrupt once our management fails, and I won’t have to think about it.”

Tsuzuki: “There are many people that need this hotel. In fact, Minami-sama recovered here. We will not go bankrupt.”

Owari: “I hope so.”

Police: “.....”

Owari: “Welcome.”

Police: “I’m from the police. I have something to ask you.”

Higashikawa: “Eh?”

Police: “Have you seen a man like this?”

Police: “His name is Hatori Ryo, he’s wanted as a suspected murderer. A man similar to him was seen around here recently.”

Owari: “A murderer, huh... I feel like I’ve seen him before, but maybe not... With a beard like this, I’m sure I’d be able to tell instantly...”

Police: “His appearance may have slightly changed. If you have any suspicions, please contact us.”

Owari: “Understood.”

Higashikawa: “The most suspicious person is obviously Kitami-sama.”

Owari: “Suspecting him just because we’ve never seen his face is a bit... ah.”

Higashikawa: “Did something happen?”

Owari: “Well, I just remembered how Nishi-sama said someone would disappear from the hotel today.”

Higashikawa: “Eeeeeeh!? What is that!? A murder prediction!?”

Owari: “No way...”

Tsuzuki: “What’s the matter?”

Higashikawa: “We’re in big trouble, Tsuzuki-san! There may be a murderer around here!”

Higashikawa: “And someone might die in this hotel...!”

Tsuzuki: “Murderer...”

Owari: “You’re overthinking it.”

Higashikawa: “Let’s check what Kitami-sama looks like! If not, I won’t be able to sleep at night!”

Owari: “But...”

Higashikawa: “If we tell him the police told us to do so, he’ll let us!”

Owari: “And what will you do if he is the murderer?”

Higashikawa: “In that case, I’ll leave it to you, Tsuzuki-san!”

Kitami: “.......”

Higashikawa: “Kitami-sama!”

Owari: “Oi, Higashikawa.”

Kitami: “—”

Higashikawa: “I’m terribly sorry about this, but we had a tip from the police, and, uhm, would it be possible for you to take your mask off—”

Kitami: “—!”

Tsuzuki: “Wait.”

Higashikawa: “Tsuzuki-san, it’s necessary for us to check—”

Tsuzuki: “There’s no reason to do so. I am the wanted murderer.”

Owari: “Eh?”

Higashikawa: “Eeeeeh!?”

Tsuzuki: “I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll turn myself into the police now.”

Owari: “No way.. Is this true...?”

Kitami: “...I finally met you. Hatori-san.”

Owari: “Eh?”

Tsuzuki: “You are—”

Kitami: “I am the son of Shitai, the person you killed.”

Tsuzuki: “I see the resemblance.”

Higashikawa: “A-are you here for revenge!?”

Owari: “Tsuzuki, you need to escape.”

Kitami: “No. I just wanted to thank Hatori-san...”

Owari: “Thank?”

Kitami: “My father, Shitai, was an absolutely despicable person.” Kitami: “Constantly blackmailing and committing fraud, being violent towards his family - he was a person that should have been killed.”

Kitami: “When I heard that my father had died, I was so relieved. I thought I had finally been released from hell.”

Tsuzuki: “There is no such thing as a human that should be killed. If you call him despicable, then I am the same, for trying to run from my sins.”

Kitami: “Even so, I was saved by you.”

Tsuzuki: “—”

Kitami: “Even if it was just one word, I wanted to thank you, Hatori-san.” Kitami: “I learned about this hotel from a friend who happened to stay here, and I wore this mask to make sure no trace remained of my being here.”

Kitami: “I ended up inconveniencing you...”

Tsuzuki: “No, getting found out was just a matter of time. I can’t keep on running away. It’s time to give up.”

Tsuzuki: “And I’m glad I met you.”

Owari: “Are you really going to turn yourself in?”

Tsuzuki: “Yes. Sorry for all the inconvenience I’ve caused you.”

Owari: “Well... why murder?” Tsuzuki: “It’s a stupid reason. I was an idiot.”

Tsuzuki: “I couldn’t work because I was taking care of my parents, and Shitai scammed me while I needed money and stole all of my assets.”

Tsuzuki: “We got into a fight because I wanted a least a little of my money back, and... I escaped, but I couldn’t even be there when my parents passed.”

Owari: “I see...”

Tsuzuki: “...At first, I only chose this quiet hotel to hide myself away from the public eye.” Tsuzuki: “But once I met you, owner, and many different guests, I found myself wanting to work at this hotel forever...”

Tsuzuki: “An unworthy dream for someone like me...”

Owari: “Those who have lost their way will find this hotel, and will recover here.”

Owari: “You were a great help. Once you’ve finished atoning from your sins, I’d like you to come back.”

Tsuzuki: “—Thank you.”

Izumi: (With Owari watching over him, Tsuzuki sets off, leaving the hotel behind him...)

Tsuzuki: “...I’m off.” Izumi: (Ah, Guy-san ad libbed. The line is dripping with his feelings towards atonement and Owari.)

Owari: “Take care.”

Izumi: (A kind expression... The warm feelings of “I’ll be waiting here forever” and the sense of softly pushing his back is what comes across to me.)

Minami: “Thanks for taking care of me for such a long time.”

Owari: “Thank you for your stay.”

Minami: “Next time, I’ll come for a leisurely vacation.”

Owari: “We’ll be waiting. Take care and stay safe.”

Owari: “Thank you for your stay.” Nishi: “No, thank you for everything.”

Owari: “Stay safe and take care.”

Nishi: “See you later, great great grandpa.”

Owari: “Eh...?”

Higashikawa: “Come to think of it, Nishi-sama does resemble you, owner.”

Owari: “—No way. ..Right?”

Owari: “Yes, this is Hotel Compass. A reservation? Of course.”

Izumi: (Both the leaving guests and Owari both have relieved expressions on their faces. The acting makes you look forward to a bright future...)

Izumi: (It makes you want to come back, it makes you feel like it’s alright to come back... almost like a ‘home’.)

Izumi: (This is the Hotel Compass Azuma-san created. A warm place, just like Azuma-san.)

Tsumugi: Thank you so much!

Hisoka: Thanks.

Tasuku: Thank you so much.

Homare: Thank you! You over there, thank you!

Guy: Thank you very much. ...Yukishiro.

Azuma: Mhm.

Azuma: Thank you for your stay at Hotel Compass. —Take care and stay safe.

Tsumugi: It’s a party, but are you all fine with doing it at Guy-san’s bar?

Tsumugi: Won’t Guy-san not be able to relax and have a drink—

Guy: No, I’m actually more relaxed here. It’s fine.

Azuma: Guy, is this glass fine?

Guy: Ah.

Tasuku: Actually why is Azuma-san behind the counter?

Azuma: It’d be difficult to serve everyone if it were just Guy.

Izumi: What about the other employee—

Hisoka: Zzz....

Tasku: Sleeping on the job, isn’t he.

Guy: Can you leave the first glass to me?

Izumi: ? Then, we’ll leave it to you.

Guy: Here you go.

Guy: It’s a cocktail that’s just been added to the menu. Vodka and curacao, along with Zafran citrus juice.

Homare: What a pretty color.

Tsumugi: Have you chosen a name for it?

Guy: “Journey”. It’s an original cocktail... I’m thinking of making it the name of the bar as well.

Izumi: You’ve finally decided on a name!

Tasuku: “Journey”, huh. It’s a nice name.

Homare: Is there an origin?

Guy: In the journey called life, there are difficult things and sad things - when you feel down, or tired, this bar can be a resting place you can casually stop by...

Guy: I want it to be an oasis like Zafra.

Izumi: Oasis... I see.

Guy: And one more thing.

Guy: After hearing Otomiya’s words and seeing Yukishiro face his past, I looked back to see if I had forgotten anything important in my past.

Guy: And what I had found was the existence of my father.

Guy: If my father, who I had parted ways with when I was very young, was in Veludo Way... I’d like to wait in this store until the time we can meet again.

Guy: To my father, I may just be a forgotten thing of the past... 

Azuma: That’s not true.

Tsumugi: I’m sure you’ll be able to reunite.

Homare: We must popularize this store in order to do so.

Azuma: Then let’s have a toast. To the success of this show and the prosperity of this bar— Cheers!

Guy: Cheers.

[th3atr3phant0m]

Math Cadets [Chapter One]

Being the son of world-renowned Professor Membrane meant a lot of things. It meant a slightly strange family dynamic, it meant weird, new technology and experiments coming in and out of the house constantly, it meant pressure from the world, and, as Dib had learned several years ago, it meant attending one of the most elite schools in their area. Astra Academy- the school district that Dib had been part of ever since childhood- was the local STEM school that focused the majority of its education system around science and mathematics while still focusing on the engineering and technology aspects of education far more than typical schools did. Considering what fantastic work they did in the areas of mathematics and science, Professor Membrane enlisted both of his children in the curriculum as soon as they were old enough to attend.

Dib supposed that, had he attended any other school, he would be universally hated by his peers. He came from a more wealthy and powerful family than the majority of his fellow students did and had some obsessions that he knew wouldn’t be considered normal at a school that wasn’t specifically for students like he was. His obsession with the paranormal and with aliens, in general, was fairly weird at his school as it was and that was taking into consideration the fact that several others attending his school also believed in those things. He was also shockingly good at his schoolwork in a way that was, at Astra Academy, impressive, but would likely just be irritating at any “normal” school system- especially when considering what he did with his abilities. 

Astra Academy had high expectations for its students and always had since they first opened. Students could crack under the pressure of regular public schools, so, needless to say, that wasn’t any different at Astra- not when the expectations were frequently even higher there. Good grades in Astra meant amazingly high chances of getting scholarships and being recognized by and accepted into the best schools in the world. Several students who made fantastic discoveries at their school even ended up being able to take part in conferences held by real scientists and people working in whatever field it was that they had made breakthroughs in. Students made discoveries about the scientific world at their school rather than just learning about them and those who did were immediately highly regarded by local universities. Overall, the better you did in Astra Academy, the better you did in life and the more likely it was that the rest of your life would be far easier than the average person’s. Considering the fact that the majority of parents who sent their child there did so with that in mind, most of his peers’ parents were, well, hardasses and not particularly forgiving or understanding when they struggled with school. It was a lot of pressure weighing on the majority of them- and that was just where their grades and such were concerned.

As much as Dib felt for the people who attended school alongside him and were struggling immensely- both in school and mentally because of school- he had never been the most… empathetic person ever. In fact, he saw his peers struggling around him and immediately thought about how he could twist the situation to benefit himself.

He… felt a little guilty about that.

Dib tried not to let the guilt get to him, though. It wasn’t like he was exchanging doing people’s homework, tutoring them, and feeding them test answers for money or drugs, so he gave himself a little slack. The only thing that he was receiving in exchange was assistance in his paranormal research and avoiding harassment from his fellow students. He tutored or blatantly gave others answers to homework in exchange for their respect and help on his journeys. Despite it being a somewhat seedy business, he was good at it and a lot of people either needed or wanted his help. The little business that Dib had set up for himself long ago had only grown over the years and had put him on a bit of a pedestal in his school (now that DIb thought about it, he was almost certain that the majority of his peers would hate him, were they not afraid of openly doing so… oops).

No matter, though. What did matter was the fact that he was absolutely thriving in school and that that helped him succeed in his studies that took place outside of school as well as spreading the word of his research along the way. Dib was doing wonderfully at school and he was happy with where he was. Life was reasonably stable, even with the strangeness of STEM school in mind, and that allowed him to clearly see his bright future as a revered paranormal investigator. He had almost no obstacles in the way of his future and the security of his day-to-day life made everything easy and predictable.

That was, at least, until Zim arrived at their school.

Despite their school being incredibly diverse considering their area, Zim was the only kid in the entire school with pale green skin, no nose, and no ears. He was the only one of them with that particular, strange vernacular that he used. He was the only student who was very clearly inhuman in every way, yet no one saw it aside from Dib and his younger sister.

A combination of disinterest and being far too laser-focused on their studies in school made the for the perfect cocktail of willful delusion and ignorance. Dib may have been surrounded by plenty of smart kids, but he was surrounded by just as many idiots. The morons and geniuses alike were completely overlooking the fact that Zim was clearly not of their world.

The moment Zim walked into Dib’s chemical engineering classroom and introduced himself as “Zim; the normal human” Dib knew he was an alien- how could he not? As he heard the strange introduction, his gaze scanned across the room at his fellow students, but the majority of them were either focusing on their work and getting a head start on their class in some way or were just completely ignoring him in favour of chatting or daydreaming. None of the other students seemed as deeply disturbed and shocked at the presence of Zim- all too preoccupied or disinterested to care.

Seriously?

Dib was mildly disgusted and surprised that none of the others seemed to take any notice, though he supposed, considering he was one of the only ones in the class who was interested in aliens, it shouldn’t have been too shocking.

Even if his peers didn’t notice what Zim was right away, Dib wouldn’t let that distract him or change his mind. He knew he was right and, with his intellect, the power of the student body, and the assistance of technology all on his side, he would be able to finally succeed in what he had wanted for the longest time. Dib would be able to prove that aliens were real!

When Mrs. Summers told Zim to take a seat anywhere in the class, Dib called him over to his own table- he didn’t have a consistent lab partner like most of the others did, anyways. At the very least, this would give him the opportunity to carefully watch and research Zim- maybe even get into his head a little bit and intimidate him (Dib was thankful that he had taken that psychology class last year).

“Hello, fellow worm-baby,” Zim flashed Dib a grin, bearing his strange, off-coloured, zipper-like teeth.

Dib just narrowed his eyes at Zim for a moment before glancing to the people seated at the lab table behind them. He gestured at Zim somewhat dramatically, “Are you guys not seeing this?”

The two of them just shrugged and returned to their work.

“What is there to see? I am just a normal, disgusting human like you are.”

Dib turned his attention back towards Zim, leaning in towards him and pushing against the chair to raise himself up slightly, hoping that it would come off as intimidating (did the kind of psychology that they covered in class last year apply to aliens as well?).

“They may not notice what you are, Zim,” Dib glared threateningly, “But I have no problem seeing through your disguise, Space Boy.”

Zim returned the glare, “Whatever are you talking about, Stinky?”

“You may have them fooled for now, but there is no way in hell I am going to let it stay that way for long. I will be your worst nightmare. Don’t get too confident in your position here on Earth.”

“We’ll see about that, Earth Trash.”

“They all will, once I’m through with you.”

Keep reading here.

Beautiful cover art done by @crazy-buckets​!

[starrybethany]

Matthew Tkachuk . 1 . Outrunning Karma

Word count: 3K

Song: Outrunning Karma by Alec Benjamin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4vD2S5vQMM

Today marks one month since I began working at this school. One month of teaching at a public school for the first time- one month of dealing with some of the best and worst kids I have ever met or taught.

“... but let me tell you guys, no matter what your previous English teachers might have told you, colors don’t always have to have symbolism. It could just be the author wanting you to visualize the object or situation more,” I explain, leaning back on my desk.

Despite this being a required sophomore English class, all of the kids look engaged and interested in the material. I’m not one to brag, but some of my previous students have told me that I’m the best teacher they’ve ever had because I talk and create activities that peak the students interest so that they want to learn the lesson.

I never tell them it’s because I spend hours scrolling through Pinterest, considering if each student would like each activity.

The bell rings signaling the end of the day and I glance over at the clock in surprise. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in whatever I’m teaching I don’t even notice the time passing me by. “Okay, well have a good night, everyone! There’s no homework tonight.”

I watch them leave the classroom, getting up to sit behind my desk and grade some homework and exercises I made the students do. I’m reading one of the essays about the book they read over the summer when the sound of heels clicking on the floor make me look up.

Anna Turner and I met in college. We had the same major, secondary education, but different minors because she teaches math and I teach English. When she found out that I was quitting my job at the all-girls Catholic school I used to teach at- for reasons I’d rather forget about- she begged me to apply at the public high school that she teaches at. As you can see, I got the job and decided to take it.

“How’s it going?” She asks, leaning over my desk.

“Good. I don’t have any students that have a grade lower than a C.” I do a fist pump in the air and she laughs at my antics.

“That’s good. So, Mr. Wright wants you in his office right now,” she tells me.

My eyes widen in surprise. At my last school, whenever you got called to the office you knew something bad was going to happen. I was only there once and for the reason that I was called in there for, I quit.

“Did I do something wrong?” I question.

“No, no you didn’t,” she reassures me. “Just go.”

So I follow her orders, making my way through the hallways with “hellos” to my students on my way to the small office at the back of the school. I knock on the door before opening it, immediately thrown off by the dim lighting in the usually well-lit office.

I’m startled by the sight of someone who is not Principal Wright behind his desk. Instead, it’s an attractive man who appears to be my age or maybe even younger. It’s obvious that his borderline-blonde-borderline-brown hair is naturally curly but he has it cut into a way that he can control it.

His eyes are a gentle mix of blue and green- it’s hard to tell what it actually is. His mouth parts, revealing a gap in between his top two front teeth which makes me swoon at the boyish vibe that he gives off.

When a smirk covers his face I snap out of my daydream about our seven kids, realizing that I’m probably drooling all over the floor at how hot this guy is.

“Oh, sorry, um, I’m supposed to be meeting with Principal Wright,” I stutter through, cursing myself for the lack of confidence.

“No, you’re not.”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion and nervousness rushes through me, both because of the confusion this situation is bringing and the fact that such a good-looking guy is staring at me right now. “I’m sorry?”

“Come sit down, Y/N.”

I’m immediately thrown off by the fact that this guy knows my name. How does he know me yet I don’t know him?

“Um, I’d rather not,” I deny as politely as I can, taking a step back. My back touches something and I freeze, my blood running cold. I turn around slowly to find a tall, looming man behind me. He smiles at me but it’s obvious by the gesture that I need to do whatever this stranger is telling me.

So I turn around, ignoring the fact that the smirk on this stranger’s face has grown, and reluctantly sit in one of the arm chairs in front of Mr. Wright’s desk. Or this guy’s desk, who knows anymore?

“How was class today?” He inquires.

I give him an odd expression, unsure of his intentions. I don’t know him and the fact that I’m pressured to talk to him in such a weird setting makes me unsettled. It’s also weird that he would pressure me into talking to him just to ask me about the students. That can’t be the only thing that he wants to know from this conversation, but I don’t know what else he wants to know.

“Good,” I answer simply, not positive of what to say or how much to give away.

“So, let me introduce myself. My name is Matthew, this school and I have a deal and since you’re going to stick around for a while, it’s time to inform you of, uh, what’s going on,” he begins. I grow more and more anxious with every word. “We provide protection to this school, since you know it’s not in the safest area of the city, and in return the school allows us to use the facilities and resources for our, um, how do I say this, activities.”

I raise my eyebrows in question to the ‘activities’ part but quickly shove them back down. By the way that he phrases it, the situation isn’t anything good, none the less legal, so it’s best to know as little as possible.

But really, the school allows this to occur on campus? With kids around? What if the kids see someone getting murdered or using cocaine, will the school pay for their therapy bills or can it afford court bills if they get taken to court?

“Now that you’re a part of the crew-”But I’m not-”You might have to do some things in order to keep your protection.”

From the way he says it, I know it’s not just protection from muggers or rapists on the outside. Now, it includes him and whatever gang or mafia or mob he’s a part of.

“Like what?” I find myself asking.

He grins at me, showing me that gap again. This time, it doesn’t make me swoon. Instead it makes my heart beat ten times faster. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, sweetheart.”

He stares at me and I stare back at him. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what he wants me to say. I’m afraid to say anything in fear of saying the wrong thing- one wrong thing and I could get my head blown off. And I know if I open my mouth I just might start crying.

“Any questions?”

I shake my head silently.

“Okay. We’ll call you when you’re needed then. Or maybe stop by your apartment, depending on the time,” he responds, playing with one of Principal Wright’s pens. “Milan, show her out.”

The big man from earlier guides me back into the hallway all the while I can feel Matthew’s eyes on me. I take deep breaths to steady my breathing and it’s like I’m just going through the motions, packing up my stuff and driving back to my apartment.

My apartment. They know where I live. And I bet if I packed up and moved, they would figure out my address then, too. The mafia never lets you go once it gets its hold on you.

Troy: FaceTime?

I’ve never rejected a FaceTime call from my boyfriend. These days, those calls are too far and few between and I miss him more than I can put into words. It’s only been a year since he was transferred to Toronto but comparing that one year that he’s been away to the two and a half years that he’s been by my side, I can easily pick which one I prefer more.

Y/N: Not feeling well tonight, sorry.

I make my dinner, ignoring my phone vibrating beside me with an incoming text. I check it as I begin to eat.

Troy: What’s wrong?

I don’t respond to his text. It’s not like I can tell him the truth, that the mafia owns my work and threatened me. He would tell me to go to the police but it’s not that easy, Matthew probably has tons of people in his pocket, including the ones whose job it is to enforce the law.

I clean up my dinner, sitting down at the kitchen counter to grade an exercise I made the students write about an interesting thing they found out about their home city of Calgary.

The city of Calgary is run by a mafia called the ‘Calgary Flames.’ They’ve been around since 1972 and have had several leaders over the years, previously Mark Giordano and currently Matthew Tkachuk. You can recognize a mafia member by a tattoo all of the members have to get, which is a C with flames shooting out from it on the inside of their left ankle. They are famous for crimes like drug trafficking, money laundering, corruption of public officials, murder, and kidnapping just to name a few.

It feels like all of the air has been sucked out of me. This can’t be about the same person I met earlier, right? Sure, they share the same name and that Matthew does seem to be a part of something sketchy, but that’s just a coincidence. The Matthew that I’ve met and that I’ll have to be interacting with for who knows how long can’t be a part of something so- so vile.

I can’t imagine anyone doing any of those things listed. Those are all horrendous crimes and to do those around kids would make those people awful human beings. Well, there’s only one way I can tell if this is the same Matthew or not.

I need to see his ankle.

~

It’s a while before I see him again. The next time I see him I’m scanning through the pile of copies in my hands, frustrated by the fact that the copy machine didn’t staple the papers automatically once again.

“Hey Ms. Y/LN, was there any homework for the weekend?” The familiar voice of one of my students asks.

I lift my head to make eye contact, my blood running cold and I freeze in my place as my eyes meet Matthew’s. He’s standing next to Tanner, a student in my eighth hour, who asked the question, and it’s clear that he interrupted a conversation he was having with the older man to ask the question.

I know Matthew does business here but I didn’t expect him to actually communicate with the students. That seems like a boundary that he would know better than to cross, but I guess if he’s in the mafia he doesn’t know any boundaries.

“Um, I just wanted you guys to read chapters eight and nine of your novels for Monday,” I answer, crossing my arms protectively over my chest.

I watch the blonde’s eyes flicker down to watch the movement.

“Okay. See you Monday.” The sophomore shuts the locker, giving a lazy wave to the mafia leader before heading down the hall.

It’s like I’m stuck in place. I know I should move, I know I should avoid as much contact with Matthew as possible, but for some reason my feet won’t listen to my brain’s screaming.

He nods at me in greeting. “How are you doing today, Y/N?”

“Good,” I shift on my feet. I know I have to confirm whether he’s actually a mafia leader or not. If he’s not, he’s just some shady guy doing shady business at my place of work. If he is- well, I don’t even want to think about that.

The plan formulates in my head and I go to move forward, purposefully tripping over my feet and landing on the floor with a ‘thud’, all of the papers in my arms scattering throughout the hallway.

Just as I expected, as any person with an inch of compassion in their heart would do, he bends down on the ground to help me pick up the papers. I watch carefully as I pick up the sheets, eyes connected to his left ankle.

And there it is.

The student described it well in the writing, but it’s much more intricate and detailed up close. It’s a nice design, I’ll give him that, but knowing the terrifying meaning behind the symbol sends shivers up my spine.

All of my fears and worries are confirmed. The city’s mafia leader is standing in front of me, reaching out and expecting me to take his hand so he can lift me off of the ground. He wants me to touch his hands- hands he’s probably used to kill people with before.

He’s talking to me but it feels like I’m underwater. I can’t hear what he’s saying, all I can listen to is the thud of my heart and the static that my brain is creating with trying to think of a logical thought or reaction to this situation.

“Y/N?”

My body turns on it’s fight-or-flight instinct, and as I usually do, I decide to listen to the flight part. I take the papers out of his hand, being careful to not touch him, and mumble a, “Gotta go.”

I take off down the hall before he can react, reaching my classroom and practically slamming the door shut behind me.

Breathe, think.

“What happened to you?” Someone inquires.

My eyes snap up from the tile floor to see Anna sitting at a student desk. I know it’s not fair, but I can’t help but blame her. She’s probably known about the mafia’s involvement here all along and yet, she told me to get a job here. And she’s the one who sent me down to the office to meet Matthew.

I’ve been avoiding her for the past week, always making sure that I’m talking to a student or too busy to chat with her whenever I see her. I feel disrespected and hurt that she would put me in a situation like this.

I thought we were better friends than that.

I narrow my eyes at her, knowing that if I say anything it won’t be that nice.

She sighs. It takes everything in me to not sock her in the mouth because of that sigh.

“Listen, Y/N, I know you’ve met Matt now and-””How could you ever do this to me?” I snap, interrupting her.

“It’s deeper than you think-””Of course it is, he’s in the fucking mafia, Anna!” I can’t help but yell. “I want you out. I want you out of my classroom and out of my life.”

I can see the hurt burn in her eyes at my words but I no longer care. If she doesn’t care about me enough that she’s willing to risk my safety and well-being, I don’t want to continue a relationship with her.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” I yank the door open for effect. “Get out. Now.”

She drags her feet as she leaves, like she thinks that I’ll end up changing my mind and suddenly decide that what she did was okay. I won’t.

~

“Hey,” Troy greets me as I answer his FaceTime call.

“Hi. I miss you,” I grin sadly, wanting nothing more than to be in my loving boyfriend’s arms right now. Having a long distance relationship is one of the hardest things that I’ve ever done.

“I miss you too. I wish we could’ve FaceTimed the other day,” he states, bringing up the fact that I left him on read when all he wanted to do was talk to me.

I sigh. “I wasn’t in the mood, Troy. And I’m not in the mood to talk about it today, either.”

He nods. “I can respect that. So… day…?”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. Even though we are separated by three thousand miles and are in two completely different provinces, our calls usually have great connection with problems only if it’s raining outside. And judging from the clear skies in both of our backgrounds, that’s not a problem.

“What? Sorry the connection cut out,” I respond, deciding that it must be the wifi or something.

“I said… your…”

“Ask it again,” I request.

“How… today?”

I bite my lip out of frustration. After the rough day that I’ve had today and the unknown that’s coming tomorrow, poor connection when I’m just trying to rant and catch up with my boyfriend is the last thing that I want.

“The connection is just not working, Troy, I can’t hear you,” I admit.

“... not… fault!” His voice raises and the screen freezes, one frame replacing the other every couple of seconds.

“I don’t know why you’re yelling now.”

“Because…” The sound completely cuts out. Exhaustion hits me, from finding out that Matthew is in the mafia, to yelling at Anna, to getting into this argument with Troy. All I want to do is sleep and become refreshed for tomorrow.

“Troy, I’m getting tired, I’m going to head off to bed. Hopefully this connection will be better tomorrow.” I hang up the phone before he can say anything, knowing that I won’t be able to hear it anyways.

I know one thing. And that’s that I’m not ready for what’s coming tomorrow.

[essie-essex]

anybody here remember night blogging??

You know thinking back on how I would do things differently, I would probably have gone to another school for college. I had assumed that you were required to write a thesis at every school to graduate, and at my school we had I.S. (Independent Study), which was kind of a final 100 page paper + project that we had to do our senior year, in addition to taking classes. But my school offered me the most money, and everyone I talked to said that it was a good school. I remember my English teacher being surprised that I got in. I wasn’t the best student, but during my senior year I started to be more engaged and pay attention in class. I think part of it was that my family (me and my mom lol) hosted a Japanese exchange student that year. She stayed for 10 months and I loved having someone at the house to do things with, and I think having her around really helped me out a lot with feeling less lonely. So, my grades improved (with the exception of math, I actually did a lot worse in math than usual despite studying every night for hours because my teacher was horrible, but that’s another story...) and for the most part I did a lot better academically. Also, I started running, lost weight, and felt generally better about myself (I thought that finally after all those years of depression, things were finally getting better, and I was stronger, and blah blah blah).

When I was accepted by a university, I was so excited, especially since my advisor told me I wouldn’t get into college (because of that awful math class--like honestly that year would have been so much better if I had had any of the other math teachers who could actually teach, and I came to my advisor meeting thinking that I was doing so much better with my grades than usual, like I literally had A’s in everything except for math, in which I had an F, and I thought she would ask me about what was happening in math and offer help, like seriously who sees a bunch of A’s and one F and thinks “this student clearly isn’t applying herself” and not “clearly this student needs some help with this one subject,” but no she said “I just don’t know what to do with you. At this rate, you’re not going to get into college.” And I just remember being so upset especially since I went in there without any emotional armor like I would have put up if I actually had really bad grades and was expecting to hear about it, but right that’s another story, so anyway... )

My problems started after I got back from Japan. Before that, while I did still have my moments of depression, especially when dealing with my boyfriend who had his own share of mood problems which tended to be a bit more high key than mine, it was a lot better than it was in high school. I loved my major, I had friends who actually appreciated my presence, and, for the first time in my life, I felt hopeful about the future. I remember when I was taking the bus back to my city after visiting my boyfriend and one of my friends, and I realized that for the first time I just felt like a normal person. I didn’t feel like some weird defective mistake that clearly didn’t belong in this world.

Then I went to Japan. And I fucking loved it, which is why I was so sad to leave. I’m usually a really quiet person, and in order to be outgoing I have to completely turn off my filter, which, I realize, can make me sort of obnoxious. It worked for me at first. I made several friends in different groups so I could have different options and be able to go out with friends more often.

My school only allowed us to study abroad for one semester. So, I had 4 months to do everything I wanted to do there. Like I’m not an energetic person at all, but basically I told myself “I’ll sleep when I’m back in the US, but right now I’m in fucking Japan and I need to do everything.” But basically everyone else was staying for the entire school year, so they weren’t in a rush to do and see things like I was. My no filter self helped me make friends, so I would have different groups to go out and do things with (like I changed my personality so much that when I told one of my dorm mates that I liked to play videogames, she said that I didn’t “seem like the type” who would do that. Like she was genuinely surprised.) Public transportation and the safety of Japan made it easier for me to be more independent than I was in the US. My college was in a small town, so while I was more independent there than at home (where if I so much as opened the front door, my mom would come rushing downstairs wondering where I was going/what I was doing/why was I going outside) I was still basically confined to one or two streets in the area. In Japan, I could just get on the train and go. Plus when you’re a foreigner you sometimes get random people talking to you on the streets and can even meet new people since you stand out. I went out to clubs at least once every weekend, and sometimes even twice (the advantage of having more than one group of friends). I didn’t sleep too much and always wanted to be out doing things since I just didn’t have a lot of time. I met guys, went out on dates and everything, had cultural experiences, and I mostly just didn’t care about any danger because I was in Japan and I basically had no plan after that and had done the one thing I really wanted to do (which was travel to Japan). The attitude was also brought on by me not giving much of shit about my studies because I was so angry and disappointed for not getting a placement in a program in which basically everyone who applied would get accepted. It was especially annoying because it allowed me to get experience in participant-observation while volunteering at a place that interested me, but most people who did the program were just doing it for fun, like there were a lot of various sciencey majors plus at least one math major, and I was just really disappointed. Luckily this attitude I adopted didn’t affect my grades too much, since most of the classes were pretty easy.

So, getting back to the point of all of this, I realize that the real problem was my shitty attitude, and I should have made the most out of my four months and then come back to “the real world,” as my mother put it, and be the same person I was before. Unfortunately, that’s not what happened. I have never been popular before, and having so many people not see my weird defective self was so exhilarating to me. For once I wasn’t the weird quiet girl. For once I could be independent. But then I was back to the small college town, and I wanted to go out and do things, I wanted to go to parties on the weekends. But my friends would mostly stay in and watch movies on the weekends. Like we went to the occasional party or did the usual hang out together and drink thing, but it wasn’t the same. I couldn’t be the same person I had been for the previous four months, and I didn’t take it well.

I had never had the kind of depression where I had brain fog. While I was still depressed in middle and high school, I could still do things like read books or write song lyrics. But brain fog made it impossible for me to get anything done. Like I could read a page and not know anything about what I read. I’d be stuck reading the same sentences over and over. When I hung out with my friends, I could muster up some energy, since I would cling to anything that brought me even a bit of joy, but mostly I just did nothing. I had this tiny room at the back of the house (we were a volunteer house and went to the local animal shelter every week) and I never even unpacked my clothes. Everything was in bags or boxes or in a clothing pile somewhere. I would have dreams of being back in Japan and wake up so disappointed. It was especially upsetting to think about all the people I knew in Japan, since they still were there. I tried checking in on people to see how they were doing, but--as is usual--they didn’t miss me nearly as much as I missed them. And I felt the same way about my friends at college too. I was back to just being tolerated instead of wanted. I always let them have their way and yielded to their decisions and just tried to keep my group of friends but I think a good number of them stopped liking me.

ANYWAY, getting to the point. I got on meds over the summer and felt kind of better. I didn’t having nearly as much brain fog. I was ready to do my IS and graduate, and then things went downhill again. My friends used to automatically include me in things, but now I always had to check in with them to see if they were doing anything. I started my IS, joined a local Pagan group to do my research, and started reading books to use as sources. My IS advisor was my favorite professor, but when I told her that I was having trouble doing everything because of my depression, she said “but you took care of that, right?” Like the meds I was on were supposed to fix everything. I just straight up never went back to her office. I stopped going to classes. I purposely avoided meal times and went to get food at times when most people were in classes. I stopped everything.

I feel like if I had gone to a different school, I might have been able to power through the year and finish my classes. Maybe. Or maybe not. I don’t know. This school truly felt like it was the best option though. They offered me the most money, and I was able to visit and write an essay while I was there to get an even better scholarship. I remember when I was offered a merit scholarship for the first time (for one of the schools I didn’t choose to go to) and I called my dad and told him they were offering me some money. He just thought it would be a few hundred dollars maybe, but when I told him $11,000 he was so surprised and was speechless. Like there was just silence for a few seconds for him to process it. The school I went to offered me $14,000 a year, and the scholarship I applied for and went there to write the essay for, brought the amount up to $18,000 (Sadly, this didn’t even cover half of the yearly tuition). It seemed like the best choice, even if they didn’t offer Japanese, I figured I could still learn on my own, and I didn’t realize that their IS program was so unique. If I had gone to any of the other schools, especially one of the bigger ones, I wonder if I would have made more friends. There would have been much more to do there. And all I would have to do was take classes and not be horribly stressed out by IS. Even if I was depressed toward the end of it, all I had to do was pass. Like even though I got good grades for the first two years, I would just need to pass the classes in the last two years to graduate. I got really off topic here I know. This is mostly just a stream of consciousness thing to get my thoughts out. And putting it here has probably stopped me from going into the kind of depressive rant that I usually go into when I write about my life.

Anyways, I’m not editing this or anything. I meant to write this while letting the Sims 4 load since it takes a while with the 938347283333 mods I have, but I forgot to actually start it, whoops!

tl;dr started writing this post meaning to talk about my college and senior IS, ended up having one of those sitcom clip episodes but in writing.

Also fuck my senior year high school math teacher, holy shit she was horrible at teaching

[digitalworldbound]

miyako and hikari (platonic) for 133?

Number 133: “Slushies aren’t just for kids. Fuck society!”

Characters: Miyako & Hikari. Finally, one of my 02 babies! This is set while the girls are maybe around 15 and 16.

I wrote this in first person as Hikari, just to give it a more casual, carefree feel! I hope you enjoy these teenager-y, summer vibes. The ending kind of sucks, but please ignore it. (Minor swearing) 

Send me a prompt! 

As a certified teenager, it’s safe to assume that I love summer. Why wouldn’t I? It’s the time of the year when you can pretty much do whatever you like. Summer is the grand time where the months-long prep and countdown for family vacations actually come in fruition.

But there’s danger that lurks during summer. It’s the trap of monotony where sleeping late, waking up at noon, watching endless TV, and playing video games for hours become a routine. Well, not if you are friends with Miyako.

Despite chatting with friends into the wee hours of the morning, the girl is an early riser. She’s the “get up and go” type, only grabbing a banana for breakfast as she sprints out the front door. Afterall, an object in motion in stays in motion.

It was the first Saturday of summer vacation when she barged into my room, a flurry of purple hair and lipgloss. “Hika!” she screeched. Miyako was one of the only people that called me by a nickname, and never failed to abuse this privilege. “What are you still doing in bed? If you want to go scope out hot guys on the beach with me, you have to get up. We’re burning daylight!”

I didn’t even have to glance at the clock to know that it was inhumanly early. The coffee machine in the kitchen was silent, and the sound of my brother snoring permeated the apartment. Somehow, I managed to pull myself away from the warmth of a slept-in comforter, yawning all the while. Before my feet hit the floor, Miyako was rummaging through my wardrobe, clicking her tongue in disapproval at my large collection of borrowed basketball t-shirts. “Hmm, where do all these come from, I wonder?” she asked pointedly. She laughed airily, flashing me a wink.

“Ha, ha, Miya, very funny. You know me and him are just friends,” I offered, attempting to stretch the sleep out of my joints. She shook her head in disapproval, purple ponytail swinging behind her.

A note about Miyako: she fancies herself a matchmaker, and believed I was her perfect target.

For years, she has tried everything to pair me up with my best friend. A few summers ago, she locked us both in the hall closet, smushing us between the extra linens and a scratchy, wool blanket. Takeru and I are pretty close, so we weren’t particularly bothered by our close proximity. We might have been able to enjoy our time together had Miyako not forgotten about us. It wasn’t until my brother came home from soccer practice that someone heard our desperate pleas for freedom. Ever since then, she has stayed out of it.

With a hum of approval, she tossed a sundress in my direction.  I barely had time to catch the flimsy, yellow fabric before she barked out another order. “Go to the bathroom and put that on, we need to hurry.”

Another note about Miyako: Never argue with her when she gets in one of her Moods.

My socked feet padded their way silently to the bathroom, pausing only to check the time displayed in the hall: 7:45 in the morning. Changing quickly, I slipped the sundress over last season’s bathing suit, adjusting the straps as the material settled around my hips. Miyako, being a full year older than me, had taken puberty gracefully, filling out gradually and evenly. My body, it seemed, had other plans. The hips seemed to be its first priority, leaving the top of my dress little to fill itself out.

I made my way back towards my room, careful to avoid any creaky floorboards. Miyako sat atop my bed, flicking through a stray magazine. She hadn’t noticed my arrival, and I took my few extra moments of silence to study her.

This past semester, she had shot up several inches, giving her legs the slender look of a model. Her cut-off shorts only emphasized this fact. Her Hawaiian-esque button down should have been tacky, but she left the buttons undone, showing off her camisole underneath. A bathing suit top poked out from underneath it, accentuated her new curves. Compared to her, I felt like a little girl playing dress up.

While I struggled to coax the tangles out of my horrendous bedhead, Miyako gave me the rundown of the day. “Okay, so I was thinking we hit up Starbucks first. They have some new fruity lemonade that I’ve been dying to try, and I’m also kind of hungry.” As if to punctuate her statement, my own stomach growled, and I grinned sheepishly up at her. “Make that two of us,” I laughed.

She rambled on about sunbathing and beach volleyball, the metallic jingle of her bracelets accentuating every point. Miyako talked with her hands, making gestures large and small as if it would help the listener understand her better. Spoiler alert: it never did, but it was fun to watch all the same.

My hair finally tamed, I applied some light concealer, desperate to rid myself of the dark circles clinging underneath my eyes. “You know,” her jingling stops, “You really don’t need any makeup, Hika.”

I only snort in response; taking compliments has never been my forte. Grabbing my purse and phone, I slipped on a pair of sandals. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Let’s rock and roll!”

-

As one could expect on the first weekend of summer vacation, Odaiba beach was cluttered with people. For mile it seemed the white sand was obscured by sunburnt bodies and an array of towels, but that was understandable.

The passing heat wave had been brutal. One could not go outside without sunscreen, lest risk getting sun poisoning. Within minutes, Miyako sucked her lemonade dry, settling on chewing the left-over ice. “Oh!” she squealed, bits of ice flinging about. “An empty spot, just over there!”

Years of running away from evil Digimon  looked like practice as we narrowly dodged the ample bodies of beach-goers. Arms linked together; our feet kicked up sand behind us as we ran. Just as we were about to secure our small area, a blue beach towel obscured the white sand.

I was panting too hard to notice Miyako’s eyes light up or the stranger’s shadow obscure the sun’s rays.

“Hey, guys! What are you two doing here?” a familiar voice asked, humor lifting at the end of his question. My breathing stopped mid-pant, silently cursing whatever deity that would listen. Once my heartbeat was under control, I managed to stand up straight. Raising a singular eyebrow, I challenged our guest. “Well, Takeru, the last time I checked, this beach is open to the public.”

His blonde hair reflected the sunshine, a soft, golden glow haloing around him. As if I needed any more reason to fall in love with him. He laughed in good nature, smiling a boyish, toothy grin.

“You took our spot.” Miyako pointed out, arms crossed over her chest. Wrinkles formed between her brows, her effort to look more menacing. A pair of heart-shaped sunglasses shielded her hazel eyes, and I almost giggled at the thought of her trying to look domineering while wearing something so innocent.

“Who says we all can’t share?” he countered; blues eyes illuminated by mischief. Never one to back down from a challenge, Miyako stood her ground, “I don’t think so.”

Anxiety clenched at my stomach. As of late, being in a close proximity to Takeru made me nervous, especially when he was shirtless with little rivets of water trailing their way down his abs. He was no longer the cute little eight-year-old that sat with me by the campfire. Years of basketball practice had solidified his athletic figure, and two summers ago, his growth spurt had him towering over his own brother. Seeing him in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks did not help my flushed state.

“It’ll be fine, Miyako. We can just squish our towel beside his.”  Rolling her eyes, she begrudgingly pulled out her Hello Kitty! themed towel, spreading it haphazardly on the ground. “Let’s just get in the water. That’s where all of the cute guys are, anyway.”

Takeru, for his part, pretended not to notice the hostility in her voice. He was as used to her moodiness as I was. Standing there awkwardly, he only made the move to leave as we began to strip down to our bikinis. “I should probably go find Ken and Daisuke. I’ll catch you both later,” he stammered, eyes intently focused on the granules of sand that had clung themselves to his hands.

Looking at each other, Miyako and I burst into a fit of giggles. She had a twinkle in her eyes as she wiggled her eyebrows in my direction. “No, absolutely not.” I deadpan, knowing exactly where this was about to go.

Her glossed bottom lip poked out, her attempt at a puppy-dog look. In my opinion, she looked more like a Kardashian, and when I told her exactly this, the lip was sucked right back in.

Though it was still pretty early, the sun was high in the sky. My cheeks were warm, and my shoulders had turned a light shade of pink. “We need to put some sunscreen on before we fry.”

“Nah, I’m good. I need to work on my tan anyway.” Miyako’s high-waisted bikini bottoms and halter bathing suit top suited her figure, the cornflower blue color complimenting the slight tan she had already developed. She raised an eyebrow at my pink one-piece, but I just shrugged. Shopping for a skimpy bathing suits had never been one of my priorities.

Neither of us felt comfortable oogling guys when our friends were here and apt to make fun of us, so the though of swimming was abandoned. I smeared sunblock on any bit exposed skin, using the technique a toddler would when icing a cake: all hands on deck.  

The pair of us sprawled out, Miyako’s body covering most of the cartoon cat. My pale legs claimed Takeru’s towel as my own. His blonde hair had disappeared in the throngs of beachgoers, and considering that he wasn’t the sunbathing type, I figured he wouldn’t complain.  

Rays of sunshine encapsulated me, and the muscles in my shoulders slowly unwound. Eyes closed, I only half-listened to surrounding conversation. A child begged his mother for ice cream while some teenaged girl made her move. A nearby volleyball game was in full swing, both teams shouting at one another. The summer air was stagnant, smelling of sunscreen, sweat, and salt.

We laid around, soaking in the sunshine and the freedom that came with summer vacation. Those last few weeks of school had been stressful. Between taking pictures for the school paper and studying for any upcoming exams, I had been ready to lose my mind. Takeru had also been acting strange, flip-flopping between avoiding me at all costs or never letting me out of his sight. It had all be so intense that I was grateful for Miyako’s distraction, even if it meant waking up at the ass-crack of dawn.

“Psst.” I whispered. I rolled onto my side, doing my best to ignore the way iced coffee moved around in my belly. In our haste to get to the overcrowded seaside, we had forgone any breakfast, hoping that caffeine would be enough to fuel us throughout the day. The rumble in my stomach proved otherwise.

Miyako groaned, peeking at me through her ridiculously long lashes. Note to self: interrogate her about the brand of mascara she uses.

“Psst, Miyako.” She ignored me once again, opting to rotate like a rotisserie chicken.

“Ugh, fine, I’ll go find food on my own.” I stood up, dusting invisible debris off of my legs. Sure enough, I had my friend’s full attention. Anything that involved eating always got her going. In a flurry of purple hair and sand, she was up on her feet, eyes searching for the nearest snack source. A laugh bubbled out of my throat. Miyako tended to do all things with a theatrical flair, making even the most mundane tasks enjoyable.

Once, in middle school, we were both sentenced to lunch duty. Our job was simple: serve food to our peers. Dishing out food was easy; just ladle the mystery meat on a plate and voila! You were finished. It would have been simple enough, had we not had to wear hairnets and white smocks that made us look more like a middle-aged lunch lady than we ever wanted to. Miyako was never the type to wallow in self-pity. She ignored the looks of sympathy other girls gave us and found pleasure in the odd slurp sound the food made when hitting the trays. Soon, it became a competition of who could create the best squelch, testing out different flinging techniques until we were satisfied. By then end of lunch period, our smocks were littered with oil stain, and our cheeks were sore from smiling.

Miyako channeled her inner lunch lady food-flinging abilities as she practically pushed innocent bystanders out of her way. God help those who stood between Miyako and, well, whatever it was that she wanted. Her ponytail navigated through the crowd, giving me no choice but to follow. Her legs lead us to a slushie cart, manned by a woman who was all smiles and sticky syrup. It might not have been solid food, but I wouldn’t deny myself a sugar high.

A small line had already formed, several children tugging on their parents’ sleeves. My bathing suit clung to my skin uncomfortably. I tried to shift in place, but the air was thick with heat. Aside from seeing my childhood crush half-naked, waking up early hadn’t been the best idea. The sun was high in the sky, my morning shadow disappearing.

The line moved quickly, and before long, the pair of us stood at the front, pondering our choices. Finger resting on her lip in faux-concentration, Miyako made a show of deciding on a flavor “Could I have a mix of wild cherry and blue raspberry, please?”  

“Why pretend to chose when you get the same thing every time?” As a woman of few pleasures, I found a great joy in calling Miyako out. Her flush of embarrassment was a rare sight.  Turning towards the employee, I order the first flavor to have ‘strawberry’ in its name.

A few minutes later, we found ourselves walking along the shoreline. The waves lapped at our bare feet and we slurped on our slushies, rambling on about anything that came to mind.

“You know,” I said, disrupting the natural lull of conversation, “The last time I drank a slushie like this was before I even met you.”

By now, Miyako’s slushie had melted into a dark purple, the last remnants of red dye staining her lips. “But slushies are, like, a summer staple. What’s up with that?”

I twirled my straw around, savoring the last bits of pink ice that had collected on the bottom of my cup. “Well, my brother would probably make fun of me. He already gives me a hard-enough time about my ice cream addiction; he says sweet things are for children.” Switching voices, I lowered my pitch and curled my arms, much like an ape would at the zoo. In a horrible attempt at mocking my brother, I continued, “ ‘Hikari, sweets bad, protein good. Eat more meat.’”

I took a few more steps before I realized she was no longer beside me. Turning around, I barely had time to register the shocked look on her features before she cried out: “Slushies are not just for kids! Fuck him!” Apparently, my friend took summer treats very seriously. 

If her passionate outburst hadn’t of attracted attention, her colorful language sure did. Quickly, I grabbed her arm, hastily pulling her towards our belongings. Embarrassment colored my cheeks as I attempted to dodge the gazes of judgmental bystanders. “Miyako, you can’t just say things like that,” I whispered to her, clenched teeth giving my tone a pinched quality.

“C’mon,” I thrusted her towel into her arms, “let’s get out of here before we get kicked out.”

Pulling on her shorts, she cast me a sideways glance. “I’m sorry, Hika, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Sighing, I held both of her hands between mine. “You said what you did because you care about me, and I can’t fault you for that.” I gathered up the rest of my own belongings before continuing. “Besides, you forgot to feed me today. I’m thinking we get some McDonald’s. Your treat?”

She laughed, hands now busying themselves with her shirt. “Isn’t McDonald’s for kids?”

Tossing my purse over my shoulder, I turned around and winked. “Fuck society.”

[hobohumanitarian6]

This is a long post so please be warned!!! I need to get some things off my chest....

⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING POSSIBLE⚠️

Feedback to this post is open-ended. You cannot offend me and will not be blocked.

⭐ So here's the thing: one of my late grandmother's friends just posted that her 29 year old son died in his sleep with seemingly no explanation. This really shook me I guess. For one, I used to hang out with this kid during the summers a lot. My specific memories are very vague, but deep in my consciousness I know that I have called him friend in the past. For another, many things lately have been prompting me to ask the difficult questions ie

Why in the fuck am I here?

What's the meaning of it all?

When is my life going to get better?

How do I prepare myself for better things?

Am I blocking me or is something else blocking me?

What am I doing wrong that the universe doesn't think I'm ready for a new chapter?

Am I really with the right person?

What about the afterlife?

Am I going to be silenced or speak out?

What if I can't do some of things I want/dreamed of?

What is going to satisfy me if my future doesn't go as planned?

⭐ I've been doing quite a bit of soul searching through all of this, established the framework of the person I want to be and

BAM! 🧱 💥 🏃🏻‍♀️

Straight into a fucking. Brick. Wall.

⭐ I am in one of the worst continental states in the US (by even statistic) and before all of the shutdown and pandemic began, I had plans to be relocated with my new job, a place to call home & reunited with family by June 1st. Clearly that didn't happen....

⭐ I am spending $900 a month for a 250 ft² motel room just so I am not out on the streets.

Homelessness. Can we talk about that for a second? People getting arrested for being out past curfew because they don't have a place to go, put in jail because they're in the way, not tested or treated for the virus because they generally have no insurance, giving people loads of food stamps so the emergency assistance funding is broke-

600 dollars of groceries is a lot if you have a fridge, freezer, microwave, oven, toaster, etc not if you have to buy your food from overpriced convenience stores and gas stations and fresh food from grocery stores that 70% of the price is for the packaging it comes with!!

Soup kitchens closing because they don't want to risk contamination. Who's feeding those without a hot meal? Do they realize malnourishment is the quickest way to get sick with any pathogen!?

Shelters closed because of overpopulation. Domestic violence homes turning battered women and children away because there's too scarce of resources and funding. Yet people care about big corporations going bankrupt? Please tell me what the difference is between a goddamn human fucking life and a couple lawsuits because you didn't know how to prepare for an ever-changing economy.

Thank the universe i am sheltered with minimal resources to take care of myself and I have a steady job due to an enormous company's "chance on a down-in-the-dumps contractor." This job I have held steadily for a year despite chronic health issues has been the best thing to happen to me by far in a long time. I am definitely not by any means complaining about my job or that I even have life necessities right now. Several million don't have that.

⭐ The problem with this state is there are no resources for a person who's struggling to make an honest living. I lost my apartment two years ago because I had to take a medical leave of absence at my job then, got behind on rent and was evicted without a chance to catch up. The power was cut three nights before I had to leave, and I owe a deposit on the electric company to get any type of service back in my name. The realty company who owns the apartment complex will not allow a payment plan without a fraction of the principle paid down, so therefore I cannot apply for private or realty housing and I have been on the waiting list for federal housing assistance for 3 years without a single word. I also had my bank card stolen with my ID when I was trying to catch a bus to work a few weeks after that so whoever it was made small purchases that my bank applied interest and late charges to so that is also standing in debt. Thank universe my current employer allows direct deposit to a savings account at a bad credit institution or I'd be royally fucked.

⭐ Before I made the hard decision to doll out almost a G a month just for a room, I tried sleeping in my pickup. I even took the effort to pallet it for a platform bed & make benches to live in free campgrounds, cemeteries, truck stops, boonie dead ends, and behind abandoned buildings. I had a 12V converter that I connected to a rice cooker and made a tin can stove to grill small portions of meat on a single-egg mini skillet. I kept getting chased off by rangers, cops, annoying people trying to do crack and not get their lives better, and eventually violently detained for "suspicious activity" - I was thrown on the ground, put in handcuffs, patted down by a male officer with no female present, searched my vehicle without consent & written a citation: this was 2 am, I had a campsite reservation, I was clearly sleeping & my vehicle was current. The officers did not give me their name or numbers so I could not make a report.

⭐ I have chronic health issues - hip dysplasia & hyper mobility (not severe enough to be EDS), anemia, rexhia (NOT PRO ANYTHING), pre diabetes, H.S, BPD, PTSD, endometriosis & chronic migraines. I have filed time and time and time again for medical assistance but have always been denied. Every time I try to see a doctor, they claim I have this-or-that infection caused by this-or-that disorder, sent to an overpriced pharmacy with illness-irritating antibiotics that just keep me in an unending cycle of flares and barely-managable pain. Do not let anyone privileged or wealthy confuse you - you are not treated the same if you don't have coverage. Sorry to say but it is indeed a fact.

⭐ With this job I work 40-50 hours a week, eat as healthy as I can on a dime sized budget, and cover all my expenses. Yet I cannot move forward in this state on to better things. I want so badly to have a family, to go to college, etc but I cannot do this with living month to month someplace that isn't even my own.

⭐ The emotional affect this has had on me is tremendous. I am embarrassed of my situation, and never allow any guests in fear they'd judge me. I never take any photographs, which is heartbreaking because it has been one of my long-time hobbies. I am extremely guarded and I lie about small details to protect myself. I have severe trust issues and I always hold a dagger at my waist because I have to assume any minute you'll pull out a Glock.

⭐ Naturally I am an empath and this has brought me more compassion and understanding than I ever thought possible. The police brutality against people of color and racism in socio-economic programs truly breaks my heart because as a white female and all the struggles and discrimination I've endured, I can only begin to understand it's 1000x harder for people of color especially. I stand behind your protests 100%. I beseech you, go fight for what you deserve! I will be begging higher powers for your protection indefinitely!

⭐ I have gained a new perspective on non-profit organizations and volunteer work. Some are truly amazing and their stories move people to tears; others are truly wicked stealing from the poor, embezzling cash flow for their own vanities. Please please please research the charity you are interested in thoroughly before getting involved. Volunteer work will always be appreciated- and will teach you many invaluable lessons. If you help these organizations and need help yourself: respect yourself, hold yourself high, and ask for the assistance. They will generally be more inclined to help. If you are turned away, try not to be bitter. Administrators only do as they see fit.

⭐ That's another thing - bitterness. This has been the most vile and roughest character default I've ever had to battle with myself. When you've been through the shit and you can't see the sewer (sts) it's so easy to stay in the dumps. It's so easy to feel entitled because you've clawed your way to the top. It's easy to feel angry with everyone because it's you vs the system. It's so fucking easy to give up completely and stop trying and just lay down and die. It's easy to step in front of a two ton bus, oncoming freight train, taking the entire package of extra strength Excedrin not because you have a migraine, but just not to feel a thing, go completely numb for one single second. It's easy to go down to the head shop and get a nickel bag of weed to chill and get a 5$ pizza and forget you have responsibilities.

IT'S SO FUCKING TOUGH MAN

⭐ Growing up strictly religious, I tend to shy away from Christianity or other "preachy religion" now. I hate having Jesus shoved down my throat at a service before a hot meal on a Tuesday night and the "speaker" automatically assuming I need to stop smoking crack and going to jail and get my life back on track and God will bless me when I'm in the 46% who has never been to county and hold a job while trying to get back on my feet.

ADDICTION IS NOT POVERTY GUYS

I still support people who go to church and speak in tongues if that satisfies them. I still support people who are strictly vegetarian and make a pilgrimage to the mecca if that satisfies them. I still support people who have 7 two week long feasts a year for something that happened 4000 years ago if that satisfies them. I still support people who believe in baptisms for the dead and not drinking coffee if that satisfies them. I still support people who call Jesus the Nazarene and believe that Lucifer the Dark Lord will prevail if that satisfies them. I still support people who call down the power of the moon into their plant babies and give thanks to the triple goddess if that satisfies them. I support religion or practices of all kinds.

I believe I was meant to be tolerant and be good to others. That this life will give back what you put in. That there is a higher power that governs all and it is up to you to determine just what that is to you. Not to tell people what is wrong with their lives just based on your personal story.

⭐ During this pandemic, I have done a lot of soul searching. Journaling, listening to podcasts, listening to seminars on values I'd never know existed, trying to discover who I am. This journey has included empathy training, reiki, yoga, somatic movement, feldenkrais methods, and astral meditation. I just have a list of these questions I'd like answered or given suggestions to:

What do you believe is the meaning of life? Is there any philosophers, speakers, teachers, theologians, writers, musicians etc that can help answer this?

What is your definition of religion in it's rawest form?

Do you know of any resources I may not have thought of?

Is there any criticism you can give good or bad?

Am I focused on one thing and neglecting another?

Do you have any further opinions on the topics listed above?

Do you have a suggestion of the next right step?

Do you have ideas on how I can help with the aforementioned problems?

How do I stop feeling like I'm wasting my time?

How do I find contentment in everything should I die tomorrow?

What is your opinion of the afterlife?

How do you find happiness in the midst of bullshit?

What did a friend/relative/mentor tell you when you were going through an existential crisis?

Have you felt trapped too? Due to the covid or otherwise?

Any curse words, songs, books, movies, etc of use?

🌸🌸I sincerely appreciate any feedback 🌸🌸