#this is so long i apologize in advance

[iilmunchkiin]

Just saw an absolutely amazing post that convinced me that Ceroba would be the one who confesses first.

(op turned turned off reblogs unfortunately so I'm making this post (┬┬﹏┬┬)) ("Just put the link to the post here-" No, you absolute buffoon, they turned it off for a reason and I'm going to respect that) (also potential rambling?? again??) (future LM here, yep there is alot of rambling. this was supposed to be a character analysis but I accidentally made a fic halfway LMAOAOAOAOAOA )

god I'm a sucker for slow burn and angst (duh, you all know that) I used to think that Starlo wouldn't be able to take it anymore and finally get the balls to confess to her, he goes up to her and it'll be the usual cheesy but wholesome moment with him nervously laughing, Ceroba getting surprised so she turns away while brushing off some hair that got on her face, Starlo sheepishly rubbing the back of his head and stuttering to get the words out. It'll all be planned of course he's a gentleman, he's just so stupidly nice and understanding that if Ceroba just flat out tells him "I don't wanna be in a romantic relationship with you" I just know he's going to smile and tell her it's okay and he'd still be there for her and it won't affect their friendship at all and he's going to stay by her side de jashdkahsd sorry the brainworms are doing the thing again.

Of course the idea of Ceroba confessing first also came into my mind, her realizing she's in love with Starlo but now has to fight the guilt thinking that she's "betraying/cheating on Chujin" made the little angsty gremlin in me giggle but I just preferred it would be Starlo who breaks the ice just for shittles and giggles (I like seeing him get all blushy and shy HIHIHIHIH). Also adding the fact that Ceroba DID consider getting together with him but she brushes it off cuz she thinks he's still too immature. (Yes I am aware Ceroba acknowledges Starlo growing up in True Pacifist but I didn't give it that much thought I was in delulu land)

But then I saw the post and ho h my god oh my goddddddd.....

I was a fool

Starlo is aware of what Ceroba has gone through and as her childhood best friend he would respect her and not risk overwhelming her with a confession cuz OF COURSE HE WOULDNT, and if he DID consider confessing it would be YEARS after the whole "Clover-sacrificing-themselves-for-the-futue-of-monsterkind" ordeal but he would have probably fallen out of love at this point and it would go

⭐: "OH YEAH btw I had a crush on you when we were kids" 🦊: "HUH"

(not dismissing the chance he could still be in love with her despite that I mean he's dedicated and loyal and so damn devoted to her it makes sense, it was just had a funny thought giggles)

But then after reading the post, it reopened the idea of Ceroba confessing first and... oh my god it was glorious. It would start small, thinking he looked nice one day, subconsciously gazing at him and adoring him at the distance as he talks his usual nonsense at the saloon with the feisty 5, wanting to hang out with him a little more than usual, until it slowly builds up over time. She starts noticing the little things about him, his wide smile, the sound of his voice and the laughter he makes when he does his usual shenanigans with her in post-pacifist where things are starting to get brighter as they heal together, she would call him an idiot but god he would just smile at her again and the little dimples on the sides of his face would make her melt without knowing and she swears she felt her face get warm but brushes it off, thinking it's nothing. But that's where the snowball keeps getting bigger, she would see him talking to the folk again at the saloon and wish it was her he was laughing with, she'll quickly snap out of it, shake her head a little and think about how weird it was for her to have thought about that. She'd find herself beaming when he calls her name and feel so stupid for doing so, "Why am I so happy all of a sudden? He says my name all the time..."

And the snowball finally crashes when they have one of those talks, y'know the ones where you usually have at 3 am with your friends? Just talking about life in general, talking about the future, what are each of them scared of, what they feel and what they think about things, just being so vulnerable and open with each other. They've had their fair share of these talks but today was different. He looked absolutely stunning, despite being mentally exhausted he still looked divine, the way his eyes droop when his expression softens, the slow rise and fall of his chest when he sighs, his wide glistening smile turning into a small and soft curl on his lips. She can't help herself but make subtle touches and discreetly brush her shoulder against his as they lean towards the railings of the balcony, fighting the urge to just reach out and figure out small ways to make contact with him. She gazes at him the entire time, analyzing him, noticing all the little changes he makes, why can't she look away? She can't, she tried, so many times but it still ends up with her looking at him again trying to burn the image of him in her mind, wanting to leave it there forever. When the talk comes to a close, he turns to her and offers a hug, she accepts it and the moment he melts into her arms, she feels a sudden warmth on her chest and it instantly scatters around her entire body, enveloping her. They share each other's warmth, she slowly buries her face onto his shoulder, cherishing this small moment with him as they hold each other tight in each other's embrace. She's closing her eyes, inhaling his scent, it feels like she's in a dream, she doesn't want this moment to end, she doesn't wanna wake up just yet but.... They break a part, he gives her his goodbyes. As she goes home she lays in bed, face up, staring at the ceiling as she recalls everything that happened to her, putting pieces of the puzzle together as she finally comes to terms with herself and gets hit with the realization. It all comes crashing down to her, her eyes widen and she lets out an audible groan. She lays in silence for a moment, feeling absolute agony for being so stupid, she peaks through her fingers and looks back up the ceiling again, "Fuck..."

I haven't even dabbled with what goes on in her head after she accepts this fact, the sudden guilt consuming her, feeling like she betrayed Chujin, the person she loved with her entire soul only to fall for another. She hates it. And if she confesses she's going to be a wreck and Starlo just instantly goes to comfort her, telling her it's okay, she doesn't have to force herself to confess to h- No. She wants this, she's absolutely in love, he may have fallen first but she fell even harder, but with so much conflict in her mind, wanting to hold his hand without the weight on her shoulders pulling her back. The entire time they're together, Starlo finds the time to console her, comfort her, feeling horrible for making him stay up late just for her but he says he doesn't mind and he himself wants this, feeling absolutely honored to have her in her arms and that she trusts him so much that she's just so open and vulnerable and he's being so kind and patient to her I hate them I HATE THEM I FFUCKING HATE THUEJN R F FUCK FUCKF FFIFUUCJCC N I HATE THEMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

thE SLOW BURN IS SO SLOW BUT KEEP UP AND SET THE KITCHEN IN FLAMES PLEASE RAUGHHH

SAVE ME STAROBA W AS SAV VE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TL;DR: uhhhh read a post and it convinced me that Ceroba slowly falls in love with Starlo over time without realizing it and when she finally does she feels really guilty cuz it feels like she's betraying Chujin, the slow burning is burning and the angst is scrumptious. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. /j

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 281

ill be honest w yall i dont remember most of hs2 or the epilogues and i will not be rereading to refresh my memory but i DID read today's upd8 specifically because i saw my guy and you know what

callin this one a win for the sollux enjoyers

[valdotpng]

[bittybeanie]

oh boy! time to post a new fic! I can't believe it's been *checks calendar* ....oh. uh. oops. ignore that! it's the fourth and final installment of (this) aspec reigen series, complete with a lite™ version of a couple different kinks and finally getting to touch the peen! this one's real long, folks, clocking in at about 9,500 words, so you might wanna get a nice beverage and settle in.

content notes: thigh riding, themes of consent, drunk almost sex, a discussion about the drunk almost sex in the following scene, praise kink, a very loose (literally) definition of bondage, and so so many pet names. minors please don't interact!

also on ao3!

It takes more than a couple tries for you to get settled on the bed. You’re too close, then too far, and Reigen can’t get comfy, and your hand keeps sliding out from under you, and he can’t decide how he wants your leg angled, and there’s too many clothes, then all at once so few clothes that it feels like too much at once and you hastily agree to put your shirts back on, not wanting to break the already fragile layer of quiet hope.

Finally, finally, everything is perfect.

Awkward, stilted, and a little tense, and you’re not sure how long your leg will let you keep it just barely raised like this before it cramps up, but he’s here, embarrassed but steadfast, breath coming out in shivery gasps, hovering over your thigh, one hair fisted in the back of your hair. If he tips over, there’s no way you’re not going with.

Perfect.

His thighs shake as he holds himself up, deciding which direction he wants to move. You reach for the small of his back to steady him. "Does this count as keeping my hands out of the way?" He nods, so you test the waters by sliding your other hand up his thigh.

"As long you don’t- just no direct touching. Close to is fine, just not… well." He moves a hand back and forth across where he’s hovering over your thigh.

“Keep off the goods. Gotcha."

"The goods? Awful. You're awful, I swear."

You slide your hand up, just barely skimming your fingernails over his hip when you catch the hem of his shirt, and his cock twitches in his boxers.

"The goods don't seem to agree."

"Oi." Despite his protests, the laughter loosens him, and he relaxes enough to lean back into your knee. “Fine, fine, just stop saying goods.”

“Alright.” He raises an eyebrow. You lift both hands in surrender. “I promise! I will never again use ‘the goods’ to refer to your perfect, gorgeous, suckable-”

“I get it! I get it.” He grabs onto your shoulder - maybe in an effort to distract you, or maybe just to keep his balance - as he shifts closer. You can practically feel the heat radiating from his ears. “Here, actually, can you-? Hm.” He presses a hand against the inside of your other leg, thumb digging in as he gives a shove. He slides a knee into the newly free space between your legs, leaning forward to get a better angle. Your hands settle back on his waist.

“Better?”

“Much.” He lets out a little hum as he pushes his hips forward, and you have to stamp down a whimper at the feeling, his dick heavy and warm even through fabric.

“Didn’t mean to just push like that, though. Sorry.”

“S’okay. I’ll survive a little manhandling, as a treat.” You hit the last “t” sound with a click of your tongue, and he falls into your neck with a laugh. You trace patterns on his hips as he moves, tracking the motion as you press your fingers into his skin. “God, how do you get your hips to move that smooth? It’s sorta mesmerizing.”

“Hm? Oh, I don’t know, I’m just- I wasn’t thinking about it. S’just what f- ha, feels good.” His breath fans out across your collarbone, warm and fast.

“Yeah? You like using my thigh, baby? No thoughts other than what feels good? Your own personal toy to get yourself off against?”

“Oi.” His hips stutter once before he falls back into a slower rhythm. His fingers dig into your shoulder as he pulls you closer.

“Too much?”

“That’s not how I think of you.”

You can’t help but laugh, a light chuckle coming out in a breath against his hair. “I know, ‘Taka, I know.” You slide your hands under his shirt, over his stomach and up to his collarbone. “But would it really be so bad to belong to you?”

“I- fuck.” There’s a moment of worry when he shoves you away, but then he’s scrambling for the hem of his shirt and pulling.

“Are you sure?” It’s a formality, uttered even as you’re already reaching to help slide the fabric over his elbows, but it’s one you can’t even imagine going without.

“Very.” He lifts himself off of you to push his boxers down, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he shimmies them all the way off. The mattress shifts and pitches him over, and you hurry to grab his arm.

He crawls back over to straddle your thigh, the tip of his cock tapping lightly against your side before he leans back onto his ankles.

“Do I need to get-?” You chuck his shirt into infinity and gesture vaguely to the bedside drawer. He’s technically never told you that he started keeping lube in there, but he hasn’t made much effort to keep the secret either.

He shakes his head. “I’m close. Won’t matter.”

He tries to go back to rutting against you, anchoring his hands on your waist to tilt his hips this way and that, but something about the new angle is off, and he can’t get any good contact.

“Oh no, now horrible, your dick is just so hard it won’t stay down on its own.”

He clicks his tongue at you as he scoots to sit closer, flush making its way from his ears to the edges of his cheeks.

“That gorgeous curve probably isn’t helping, either. In this case, anyway. Be an absolute treat to have inside me, though.” You press your thumbs in just above his knees, encouraging him to spread his legs more, and he jumps with a squeak, hands flying to grab yours. “Sorry, sorry, di-”

“No, it’s-” He pulls your hands together, just in front of his stomach, and the tip of his cock brushes against you. For a moment, you think he’s going to pull down, but he guides your hands back to his hips, pressing them into his skin as he rolls his hips. “Here.”

He gives up and puts his hand flat over his dick, pinning it down against your leg. He lifts himself to adjust the angle, just his tip dragging along your skin until he bumps into your hip, precum rolling out in a thin line over your thigh. When he pulls back, he grinds down insistently, coating his length and covering what isn’t already marked of your thigh so he can slide more easily. After a few impatient jolts of his hips, he settles back into a rhythm, smooth and fluid, and lets up on the pressure of his hand. He slings his other arm over your shoulder to pull you closer, and he falls forward to bury his face in your neck, whining into your collarbone.

He wasn’t lying when he said he was close, because it only takes a few drags of his cock against you for him to seize up, body tensing before going boneless, cum rolling over his hand and onto your hip as he slumps against you in a mess of pants and sighs. You slide your hands up his back to support his full weight, pressing kisses to his hair as he catches his breath.

“Just… gimme a second, I can cl- get you- god, my legs.” He rolls off of you with none of his usual grace, limbs falling everywhere at once, lightly smacking your arm as he goes limp.

You laugh and push his hair back from his face. You don’t bother to untangle your legs from his, accepting your fate of needing a shower later in exchange for getting to lean down to kiss his cheek.

“Eh, let it dry.”

“I’m starting to think you like it more than tolerate it.”

“If you haven’t gotten the hint by now that I want you to absolutely cov-”

He gives you a shove, rolling his hand so there’s no real force behind it, but you seize the chance to topple with a dramatic moan, one hand falling theatrically across your forehead as your eyes flutter closed. 

“Oh, stop it.” He crawls over and props himself up on his elbows. You can feel his breath fanning over your collarbone, stilted like he’s trying not to laugh. You crack one eye open, breaking into giggles when you see his forced serious expression, eyebrows pinched together and one cheek sucked into his mouth to keep the smile off his face. He breaks at your laughter, breathing out through his nose and pressing his forehead to yours. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Oh, you could take me anywhere, handsome.” You waggle your eyebrows suggestively, and he rolls onto his back with an exasperated groan. You laugh again and sit up, pulling a blanket over him so you can settle in without accidentally brushing somewhere he’d rather you didn’t.

“Hey, Arataka?”

“I love you, too.”

“That, too.” You chuckle. “But I have a real question this time.”

“Oh.” He turns his head. “Sure.”

“After you… when you took my hands earlier, were you…?” The fleeting moment of contact between him and your hands floats through your mind. You can’t help but wonder what he was thinking in the moment he hesitated, but it feels weirdly invasive to ask so bluntly. “Sorry, never mind, this is a weird line of thought.”

You lay down beside him, craning your neck to rest your head on his shoulder. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together as his thumb smooths up your wrist.

“Do you mean…” He takes a steadying breath, grip tightening almost imperceptibly. “Do you mean after the clothes came off?”

You nod. For a moment, he stills, not even breathing.

“I was… I wanted so badly to let you touch me. I thought if I didn’t have to say it, if I could just… imply, then I could get around it, but,” he sighs heavily, and he sounds tired when he continues, “I panicked.”

You’re both quiet, long enough that you startle even yourself when you finally break the silence.

“It’s not a bad idea.”

“...Panicking?”

“No, angel. Implying.” He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “Maybe you just have to imply for a little longer.”

“I’m not following.”

“What if you left your hand on top of mine? That way it’s like- it’s the same as when you do it, but it sort of, hm, bridges the gap? All the sexy, none of the surprise.”

For a long moment, you’re not sure if he’s quiet because he’s thinking or because he’s falling asleep.

He hums, shoulder rolling under your head, and he pulls you tighter against his side.

+

"Okay." You shift nervously, tucking your foot underneath yourself, then deciding against it and unfolding your legs. "Walk me through the zones again."

"I'm not a city planning map." He rolls his eyes, but he takes your hand. You’re not sure which one of you the gesture is supposed to comfort.

You shift back onto your knees.

"Here up, anything goes." He points at the middle of his chest. "But try to stay- so more like, well, from maybe..." He gestures to his collarbone and wags his finger up and down. "Here to here, really."

When he looks back at you, you can tell he's waiting for something. You settle for a small nod.

"Right. A-and then, here to here," he points from his chest to just above his hip, "Hands are fine. Doing... whatever." He steadies himself with another deep breath and rushes through the rest. "Legs, stay still, and anything... direct we'll do the- on the- yeah, got it, that's all."

You let him sit for a moment to make sure there's nothing he forgot. His grip on your hand tightens, and you swear he moves to pull you closer, but he must decide against it at the last second.

"Whose hand is going on top again? Sorry, we've swapped it so many times I can't remember if we decided."

"Oh. Right. Um." He hovers his right hand over his left, then swaps them, then swaps them again. “Yours under mine.”

“Got it.” You reach for him, letting him pull your hand up to his collar. "And you know you can tell me to stop at any time?"

"You tell me that every time."

"It's important every time."

He swallows thickly and traces a circle on the back of your hand with his thumb. "Yeah. I know."

You shift to pull your legs off to the side, then cross them again, then sit back up on your knees. Gently taking the collar of his shirt in your hands, you trail one thumb along the edge of the fabric until you reach the top button. "And can I do this, or would you like to?"

He nods before realizing there were two options in your question, then points at you, then at your hands, then flashes you a thumbs up. "Yeah. Go ahead."

"Well, now hold on, I have manners. I'm not going straight for the goods." He laughs and shimmies to sit up straighter, letting his legs straighten out in front of him. "How about the pants later?"

"Uh, right, that's, I didn't think about that. I mean it would make sense that you're going to be- I mean it's not like-"

"Arataka."

"Yeah." He swallows.

"I'm not going to be offended if you’d like to take off your own pants."

He pauses, staring down at his knee. Eventually, he shakes his head. "I want you to do it."

"And your-?"

"Just do it at the same time."

"Got it." You take a steadying breath of your own. "I won't stay there, but is it okay if I straddle you for a little bit? I wa-"

His hands are pulling at your waist before you can get your legs properly unfolded, and you almost tumble over him. He laughs an apology as you move on top of him, hovering over his legs to avoid making any real contact.

You brush his bangs back from his face, following through with the motion until your fingers tangle in the shorter strands of hair at the back of his head. He tilts to follow your hand, craning his neck to keep you from pulling.

"Ready?"

He nods slightly.

"I’d like a verbal yes for this one, lovely."

He swallows. You watch his Adam's apple bob.

"Yeah, yes.” He nods again. His hand jerks, taking yours with it, and he awkwardly lets your hand fall into his lap. You do your best not to move. “I trust you."

You drag your gaze back up to his face, searching for any last signs of reluctance. A bead of sweat trails down his temple, and you’re certain if you put your hand to his cheek you’d worry he had a fever. Sure enough, when you slide your fingers along his jaw, he’s hot to the touch, and the tips of his ears are turning brighter shades of red by the second.

He clears his throat, pushing his jaw into your palm. “Are you gonna-?”

“In a minute.” You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip. “I’m savoring.”

He scoffs at that, the same scoff he uses when he sees somebody do something stupid in public, and you take the opportunity to catch him by surprise, surging forward to push him down onto the bed. His hands go to your shoulders on instinct but he pulls them back almost immediately, hovering awkwardly in the space between you. Using your grip on his chin, you angle his head so you can lean down and kiss him without knocking your noses together.

Once you’re sure you can support yourself without falling on him, you allow your free hand to trail down, tracing down the muscles in his neck, across his collarbone and back, finally settling on the first button of his shirt. It takes a little effort to get it undone with just one hand, but you manage it, and you allow yourself to dip down as you settle into a rhythm, lips ghosting along Reigen’s skin as you uncover more of it.

He’s shivering, hand shaking where it hovers over yours on the last button of his shirt. When you slide your hand back up along his side, his hand falls back to the bed, pulling at a wrinkle in the sheets.

You kiss along his jaw, savoring the feeling every time his breath catches in his throat under your lips. Your hand trails down along his side, wrapping around him to hold his waist when he arches up into the press of your thumb. He hums, eyelids fluttering, and you dare to slide your hand down, ever so slightly, thumb brushing over his waistband and back onto bare skin.

He grabs for you, grasp tight around your wrist, almost painful before he slowly relaxes and drags your hand back up toward his chest. You push yourself off him, swinging your leg to kneel beside him.

“Here, let’s try this.” You guide him to sit up. Once he’s situated against the headboard, you settle in by his thigh, your knee pressing gently into his hip. One hand traces circles and patterns as you trail down to his stomach. “Still good?”

He hums, but he scrambles for your wrist again, holding on tighter and tighter the closer you get to the button on his pants.

“You’re allowed to change your mind, y’know. I can let you do it.”

“That’s not- mm.” He relaxes his death grip on your arm but keeps his thumb hooked around it. After a few tries to let go completely, his head tips forward into your shoulder. “I thought I would… I’m sorry.”

You shake your head and slowly pull away. “Nothing to apologize for.” You cup his face with both hands and gently turn him, but he doesn’t hold your gaze for long. 

“Do you want to keep going? Should I…?”

He opens his mouth, but says nothing. His expression is pinched, tight with something you’re not sure how to label. His fingers press together, thumb and index, thumb and middle, thumb and ring, thumb and pinky, over and over as you lean back, nodding softly.

“Stay in bed?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You swear he flinches, and you clear your throat. “Or move to the couch and watch something?”

“Couch.” He nods once, stiff and harsh, and swallows thickly. “Thanks.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, and slides out of bed, starting to button his shirt back up as he wanders into the other room.

You keep nodding as if in a trance, and you follow him out. 

+

Despite the now faint memory of some friend of a friend forcefully inviting you, there's not a single soul at the party you recognize. With the exception of a few people dancing by the kitchen, closer to the speakers, everyone has settled for taking a seat and awkwardly bobbing their head. You’ve repeated the same three lines of small talk more times than you can count, it's just cold enough that you've had the chills the whole time while still managing to feel overwhelmingly stifled, and the music is so awful you wonder how somebody hasn’t tried to change it yet. But there's alcohol, the good stuff that somebody is clearly very particular about, and lots of it. You can't remember how much you've had, and that fact is enough to tell you it was probably too much, but it doesn't stop you from taking whatever the host is passing out when they wander through.

You think Reigen might be the only person doing worse than you. He looks... woozy. His face is flushed and his eyes are lidded like he might throw up, pass out, or both at any moment. At one point he took a tumble when he tried to sit down, graciously ignored by everyone else, and you had to throw your arm around his waist to keep him from sliding down the front of the couch again. He's leaning on you for support every time he moves, and if there were anything left in his can you’re sure he would be spilling it on you right now.

He's restless at the best of times, you know this, but even through the fog you can tell something is off. Not wrong exactly, but he keeps giving you this sideways glance, digging his fingers into your thigh to steady himself and then yanking his hand away, knocking his head into your shoulder and muttering something you haven't been able to make out.

He laughs - way too loudly at something you're not sure was supposed to be funny - and stands abruptly. Your hand around his waist falls limp on the couch, and he sways without the support.

"I'm going to the re- the ba- I gotta piss."

Nobody but you pays him any attention. He takes a wobbly step forward, knocking his foot into the leg of the coffee table, but he doesn't seem fazed. His knees bend at a weird angle as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, then he straightens back up and whirls around to face you. The momentum sends him tumbling back down, and you manage to catch him before his nose smashes into your jaw.

"I guess you better help me there."

"Yeah." Your voice crackles from dehydration. You have to clear your throat and try again to get a recognizable sound to come out. "Alright." You do a quick mental scan of your legs to make sure they'll support you before you motion for him to get up so you can stand. He does, grabbing your wrist and pulling with the conviction of somebody who does not need help walking.

The gears in your head start to turn.

He drags you along, glancing over his shoulder as he rounds the corner into the hallway, only stumbling once when he has to screech to a halt and back up to yank a door open. He pushes you inside, pulling the door closed behind him after he follows you in.

It's pitch black, and you're not sure if the overwhelming lemon smell is coming from Reigen or something in the room. You reach out to find him, but your fingers brush against something cold and smooth instead, and it's not until it tilts and hits you in the head that you realize it's probably a handle for something. Reigen's hand whacks into your arm and he holds on tight, fingers digging into your shoulder as he pulls you forward.

"I don't think that was the right door."

"Hm? Oh, sure." You can feel the air beside you moving until eventually his other hand finds your face, one finger dragging across your cheek until it hits your nose. "No, I- yeah, I know."

"Then wh-"

He pushes, hard and sudden. You fight to keep your balance as you adjust to the weird backwards lean you find yourself in. Reigen hisses as he pulls his fingers out from between you and the wall.

"Dumb, that was so dumb. Sorry." He fumbles for your waist to guide you backwards, and you feel his hips press against you when he reaches past your head to lean on the wall.

Everything clicks together all at once.

Your hands fly to where his waist should be. Once you find him, you're not sure if you want to shove him away or pull him in closer.

"You're super drunk. I don't know if-"

"Tha's the point." The hand on your face slides around until his thumb catches your bottom lip. He sways, like talking about it has made him remember how much he's had to drink. When he leans against you, he's heavier than normal, like he can’t support his weight anymore. "Liquid courage."

"I’m drunk." 

"Mm. Shit." He pulls away, just barely, and he nods. "Do you mind?"

Your mouth drops open uselessly. All your thoughts feel like static, indecipherable noise screaming for you to do something, if only you could figure out what. He's squirming now, like it hurts to stay still. You realize he's whimpering at the same time you realize he's grinding his hips against your leg.

“M’fine.”

He lets out a sigh of relief and drops his hands as he shuffles around. You take the chance to stand back up. When you finally bump into each other again, he wraps his arms around you and squeezes, his breathing coming out in pants against your chest.  He hooks one leg around yours, tapping his foot against your heel to bring your leg forward. You make a strangled humming sound when he grinds against your thigh.

"Hey, where's your hand?"

"My...?" You suddenly remember you have hands. You allow yourself a moment of silence for all the time you could have been holding onto him before you push one hand forward. It smacks into what you think is his stomach. "Sorry. Here."

"S'kay. Stay put." You keep your hand pressed against him as he leans backward. You're not sure when he stopped holding onto you, but one of his hands is suddenly over yours, and a loud zip cuts through the sound of you both breathing. He slides his hand down, dragging yours with it. Your fingers glide along his skin, smooth and soft, until you brush against a patch of hair.

A sobering panic cuts through you.

He must realize what he's doing at the same time you do, because you both freeze. His grip tightens. He guides your hand away from him slowly, stopping when he makes contact with your side.

"Stay... stay put."

He turns and scrambles for the door. Something falls beside you when he misses the doorknob, then you're squinting as light floods in from the hallway. You can make out the silhouette of him sprinting into the room diagonal from where you're standing, and then there's the unmistakable sound of vomiting.

Your place is only two blocks away - no more than a ten minute walk.

You call a cab service.

+

It smells like coffee.

When you try to sit up, the room spins. You end up in a sort of half sit, half lean as you grab onto the side of the mattress, willing everything to stay still. You take stock of the things that are clear enough to look at, slowly making sense of what happened once you got home.

You're laying on top of the covers, still in your clothes from last night. One shoe is in the doorway, and the other is nowhere in sight, probably somewhere closer to the entrance. The coffee smell, growing more enticing by the second, is a good sign Reigen's in the kitchen.

You slide onto the floor beside your bed, not trusting yourself to stand up without falling just yet, to rummage for more comfortable clothes. Once you manage to get changed, you stand up slowly, and make your way to the kitchen.

Reigen must have grabbed a set of pajamas at some point last night, though you can't remember when. His back is turned to you; he's lazily stirring something on the stove. Two steaming cups of coffee sit on the counter beside him. Before you can decide whether you want to say something and risk startling him, he seems to sense you standing there, and he turns around with a weak smile.

"Hey."

"Morning?" It's both a greeting and a question, because you have no idea what time it is.

"Yeah." He lets out a breathy chuckle. "How, um, how you feeling?"

Your head is throbbing so bad your teeth hurt, your legs and back are sore, and you have a looming sense of guilt.

"I think I should be asking you that."

"I'm fine, really." He clicks off the fire and reaches for a bowl. "I told you, I felt basically back to normal after I- well, um, you know. Thanks again, by the way, for car- for carrying me."

You nod softly, feeling a little useless as he hands you what looks and smells like a very delicious soup.

"Reigen, I am so-" "I didn't mean-"

He reaches for a second bowl. "You first." When you start to shake your head, he rolls his wrist in a "go on" motion. "Please. I'm not actually sure how to say mine yet."

"Right." You swallow thickly, fidgeting with your spoon. Deep in thought, you miss Reigen slipping past you. He clears his throat and gestures to the seat across from him. You slide into the chair. Your spoon clanks against the bowl as you set it down. "I, um. Shit, I'm so sorry."

He seems surprised, a spoonful of soup halfway to his lips.

"What for?"

"Wh-" You blink. "Every... thing? I- I know sorry doesn't even cover it, but I-"

"Whoa, hey, okay." He shakes his hand in front of him. "Never mind, I'll go first, because I think you got the wrong idea and I'm not gonna let you apologize for anything that happened."

"But you trusted me, and I-"

"And I still do. That's- that was the whole- look, I-" He sighs. His spoon clanks as he sets it down, abandoned in favor of wringing his hands together. "I set you up."

"You-?"

"I didn't mean to! I thought- It was stupid, and I should have just told you what I was trying to do, I know , but I- I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, and I thought if I could speed up the process, then- I mean, there's only so many times you can put up with almost getting to- if I could- ugh, sorry, hang on."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. You swear your headache is reacting sympathetically, because pain shoots between your temples, dull but persistent. He goes to retrieve the coffees from the kitchen, just cool enough to drink, and you down some as soon as he hands you a mug.

"You've been so patient, and I know you would never do anything I didn't want, but I... I keep overthinking it. And I thought it would be the perfect excuse to... to not have to think about it at all. I mean that's- that's just what people do at parties, right, and- I mean, it was... ugh." He sits back down, his posture unnaturally rigid. He chooses his next words carefully, pausing between words as if he’s testing out different sentences in his head. "I trusted you… to not take it further than I was comfortable with… more than I trusted myself to… not panic over nothing. So, I- I saw the chance and I..." He gestures weakly, hand falling back to the table with a soft thump.

"Liquid courage."

He takes a sip of his coffee and slumps forward, holding his chin with one hand.

"You... got drunk on purpose?"

"Not originally, but, uh."

You nod slowly. Your stomach grumbles, and you realize you haven't actually eaten any of your soup. You take a reluctant spoonful, chewing slowly as you take everything in.

"When you froze up, it- I realized how little I had thought it through. I- it wasn't fair to you. You didn't do anything to- I never should have put you in that position in the first place."

"I... would have appreciated a warning, yeah."

"Sorry." He runs his hand through his hair and leaves it against the back of his neck. "I'm really sorry."

"Apology accepted." Reigen relaxes into his chair. As he stretches his legs out, one of his feet bumps against your ankle, and you laugh softly. "I'm still sorry, too. I should have asked more questions. And I didn't... I think I noticed something was wrong but I didn’t realize it was that frustrating for you. Before, I mean. I never wanted to make you feel like you had to do something like that."

"It's exclusively a me problem, I promise. I thought something would have worked by now. I don't... I don't really know what’s getting in the way." He shakes his head, breathing out sharply through his nose.

“I mean, literally speaking, your hands.” You laugh and take another sip of your coffee. He tilts his head. “Because, you know, y-you always grab my hand before I-?” He stares, unblinking. “Sorry, too soon to joke, probably,” you mutter into your cup, taking another sip just to have something to do.

When he moves again, it’s with a jerky start, sitting up and leaning forward. “My hands.”

“Yeah, I-”

“No, my hands.” He throws his elbows onto the table. The bowls clatter and his coffee sloshes; his chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. His wrists come together in front of you, palms up and fingers curled loosely, as he stares, silent, waiting for a glimpse of recognition to cross your face. It takes a moment, but when he finds it, he grins. “My hands.”

“If you want to stop-”

“Saying so has always been enough.”

You stand, leaning to match his eye level. You consider him, searching for hesitation, but you find none.

You take his hand, and you start pulling.

+

“This is… mine?” An old black tie lays across Reigen’s palms, the ends hanging loosely over his thighs.

“Yeah, you left it here. A while ago, I guess.” You shrug. “You never really liked it, though, plus you’re here all the time anyway, so I didn’t get around to giving it back, and it’s just been here ever since.”

As you slide the drawer closed, he catches a glimpse of an old t-shirt he left on his first night in your place, folded neatly in the back corner, under a small collection of his dress socks. 

There are signs of him everywhere, really, if he looks. His toothbrush in your bathroom, a blanket he bought you for your birthday draped over the back of the couch, his favorite sweater of yours hanging on the handle of the closet, never out of service long enough to make it in with the rest of your clothes.

He’s struck with the realization it’s not just in your things, your home, but in you, the way you gesture with an extra dramatic flourish that wasn’t there before, the unwavering, tight smile that settles on your face when you talk to clients, the softness in your voice when you welcome the kids into the office, quietly clearing a table for them to do homework on, the flashes of movement in the kitchen as you dash back and forth whenever you make recipes he taught you - favorites from when things were harder and uncertain and cooking was his escape, before even the hardest parts of his life were laced with joy.

He’s wearing off on you.

He’s known it for a while, but he’s never put it all together like this, never seen it all so neatly represented in a single black tie, satin and unassuming and full of possibility. You kick your abandoned shoe out of the way, pushing the door shut with a soft click that startles him just enough to draw his attention.

“Still okay?”

He wonders how you’ve worn off on him, which parts of him weren’t there before that he doesn’t notice, can’t notice.

“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m ready.”

He smooths his thumb over the fabric, watching it wrinkle and crease where he applies pressure. It slides across his palms, dragging slowly as you wrap one end around your hand, until he’s left with empty air, hands outstretched between you.

He feels light.

You take his hands in yours, turning them in toward each other, and start to lay the tie across his wrists.

“Oh, wait!” You pull back right away, and he holds up one finger. “Not- we should take my shirt off first.”

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me!” You laugh and settle back onto your knees. “Yes, okay, let’s- yeah.”

Reigen stops halfway up. The fabric stays bunched when he lets go, and he pulls your hands to the exposed patch of skin. He can feel the tie, still wrapped around your palm, pressing against his side, cold and smooth, and he swallows thickly. As you drag your hands up, it slides up with you, and a shiver wracks through him when you finally pull the shirt off his arms.

He cups your face, pulling you into a kiss, fingers coming to press at the back of your neck to keep you against him as he topples backward. You catch yourself on one hand, the end of the tie flipping to rest over his shoulder as you climb to straddle him. He’s insistent, both hands tangling in your hair, little sighs and puffs of breath against your mouth as he refuses to pull away for air.

You press a kiss to his cheek to soothe the loss when you lean back. He drapes his arms over your shoulders, locking his fingers together behind your head.

“We could stay like this? My hands are… close-ish together.”

“I can’t see behind me to tie it, but,” you pull his hands around your head, “I’m sure we can figure it out after that.”

He nods. You turn his hands back toward each other and his fingers curl, knuckles pressing together as he relaxes. You drape the tie around his wrists, trying a few different ways of looping it but not finding anything you’re satisfied with.

“Sorry. I just wanna make sure you can get out if you need.”

“It’s alright. I like the attention.”

You freeze, a wobbly grin taking shape as your face heats up.

“‘Taka, I’m supposed to be the composed one!”

“I’m just trying to be honest!” He flexes his wrists, pressing his knuckles together to crack them.

“Don’t worry,” you press both ends of the tie between his hands and motion for him to hold them still, “I like giving you attention.” You fold the middle of the tie over to make two loops and start twisting them in on themselves. “And I wanna hear about it as much as you can bear.”

“You seem plenty composed to me.” He pinches his thumb between two fingers and squeezes.

“Quick recovery. I learned from the best.” You wink and put your fingers through the loops. “Here, hands in here.”

He flattens his hands to squeeze them through, stopping to let you shimmy the tie the rest of the way over. You hold the ends of the tie and give a quick tug before tying them together.

“There, it’ll have to do.” You slip a finger in each loop, making sure there’s enough room to be comfortable without him being able to slip out without meaning to. “It’s a little loose, so don’t pull too hard, okay?”

“Sure.” He folds his elbows down, letting his hands come to rest on his chest. He jerks one hand up toward his hair, pulling his other hand with it, and the tie snaps taut. He has the courtesy to look sheepish. “I’ll try.”

You roll your eyes, smile still wide.

“Hands above your head, please.”

“Hm?”

“I’d like to get at your neck.” You press up on his elbows, and he unfolds his arms. “Those were in the way.”

“O-oh. Right.”

You lean down, tilting his chin up with one hand, and press a kiss to his throat, savoring the way it moves as he swallows. You trail down until you reach his stomach, dragging your tongue along his skin on the way back up. He exhales sharply, breath moving your hair as you get closer to his face. He forces out a laugh, and he rolls one shoulder.

You glance up. The tie is already starting to come loose, untwisting in the middle, but his hands are clasped together, the tie held in place between his wrists, fingers over the ends.

You kiss him, quick and breathless, and slip your fingers under his waistband. When his breath hitches, you smooth your thumb along the bone there, a reassurance you won’t move yet. You can feel him tense under you, pressing up into your touch, then slowly settling back onto the mattress.

You’re both reluctant to acknowledge the fact that you have to get off of him to take his pants off. You do your best to shimmy them under you, and he lifts his hips to help, but you need both hands to make sure his boxers stay on for now, and you want to make sure he can move his legs, so eventually, begrudgingly, you climb off him.

He takes the opportunity to stretch, his back arching off the bed as you throw his pants off somewhere to worry about later.

“Ooh, pretty. Think you can do that for me again?” You press a thumb to the inside of his thigh, at the edge of where his boxer leg has ridden up, and he jumps, hips rolling against your touch.

“Trickery.” He squirms, a whine that refuses to come out shining through in his voice. “Not fair.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get plenty more chances.” You trail your fingers up his thigh, along the “v” of the bone, up his stomach. He shivers when you trail back down, your fingers catching on the waistband of his boxers to drag it over his skin before letting go, settling your hand lightly over the bulge in the fabric. It’s slightly damp against your skin, and Reigen chokes back a moan when you press down. 

You pull, grinding your palm down on his cock as the waistband moves until you can see the base of it, then you slide back up, tracing the outline of him with your fingers. When he whimpers, you’re too slow to hide your grin, and he glares halfheartedly.

“Having fun down there?”

“Oh, lots, thanks.” You slip your thumb below the elastic. “Seems like you are, too.”

“Hm.”

“Sorry, what was that?” You lift your hand with mock alarm, and he scrambles to reach for you, slowly lowering his arms to his chest when he sees your smile.

“Yes.”

“So, just to make sure, you are having fun?” It’s just as sarcastic as it is serious, and he seems to take it in equal measures, because he scoffs at the same time he nods. Both hands are on his hips now, both thumbs in his waistband, and you pull up gently to get him to lift his hips.

“Good boy.”

You’re not sure you would have felt it if you weren’t holding him, but he definitely shudders, trembling where your fingers press into his skin.

“Arataka.”

“Hmm?” He sounds breathless, and his chest heaves with effort, the rest of him as still as he can keep it.

“Should I keep calling you a good boy?”

“Um. If you want.” He jerks his hips up, and you take the hint to slide his boxers off, keeping an eye on his face as you do. You climb between his legs and lean over him, wrapping your hand slowly around his cock, firmly but gently, your thumb over the tip.

He squeaks, and he tenses, but he doesn’t reach for your hands.

“You’re doing so well, ‘Taka.” He swallows, and he shifts his hands, twisting the tie so he can lay his arms closer to his hair. “Such a good boy for me.” Precum oozes out of his slit, and you feel it roll down your hand.

“Mhm.” You lean back on your heels. “How about this? You tell me what feels good, and every time you do,” you pull your thumb down, spreading the precum along his length, “I’ll let you know just how much I appreciate it. Sound good?”

He nods, and you stop moving.

“Can I hear you say it?”

“Yes,” he breathes, pressing his wrists together, “yes, sounds good.”

“Good job.” When you lean to kiss him, grip tightening to keep his dick down against his stomach, his knuckles brush over your hair. “So perfect.”

You start slow, focusing more on touching every inch of him then keeping any sort of rhythm. When you trail up the vein on the underside, he shivers, and he gasps when you squeeze the base, and his hips jerk up when you pass over his slit, one leg coming up to press his ankle against your side. It’s not until you slip your other hand around him, though, arm passing through the space created by the bend of his knee to settle on his outer thigh, that he says anything.

“Fuck, that, more of that. P-please.”

“This hand?” You press your fingers into his thigh. He presses back.

“Yeah. I need… just, hold onto me.”

“Okay. Yeah, of course, sweetheart.” You scoot closer to wrap your hand tighter around his leg, spreading your legs to slip your knee underneath him. Once he relaxes, the full weight of his leg on yours, you press a kiss to his knee. “Good boy.”

“Shit,” he laughs, squirming closer to you. “S’not close enough.”

“Let me try something, then.” You slide backwards, reluctantly letting his leg fall to the bed, and you shimmy onto your stomach. When you pull his leg over your shoulder, he immediately hooks his ankle into your back and lets out a breathy moan. The pressure makes it a little harder to reach back around his thigh, but he relaxes into it easier, and the view is incredible. “There you go, perfect.”

You start up a little faster this time, twisting your wrist as you move up and down, and he bucks up into your hand. You risk a kiss to his thigh and his hands fly to your hair, the ends of the tie flowing down against your cheek.

“Sorry, too much?”

“Not enough.” His voice is scratchy now, and he gives a little tug once he gets a hold of you. “Can you, don’t put it- but, closer?”

“You want me here instead?” You press a kiss to the underside of his cock, flipping the loose ends of the tie out of the way to lay across his hip.

“Y-yes. Yes, fuck.”

“Gladly.” Between words, you pepper kisses along his shaft, following the trail of your hand up and down. “Thank you for letting me do this for you. You look so beautiful like this, feeling so good.”

He starts to make a noise of protest, but it quickly shifts into a stifled groan when you press a kiss to his tip, just barely letting your tongue drag across his slit as you pull away.

He whines and bucks his hips to follow you, and you can’t help but let an incredulous laugh slip out. “Alright, love, I’m gonna give you a choice, okay?”

He swallows thickly, then nods.

“Option one, you can tell me exactly how you want me to make you come. If you want my hand or my mouth or to go faster or slower or anything at all you just have to say the word. But I won’t do anything you don’t tell me, so you’ll have to say exactly what you want.”

His breathing is ragged, and he twitches in your grasp. “And option two?”

You grin and lean over him, propping yourself up on one hand. “I do whatever makes you the loudest, and if you stop making those pretty noises for me, I stop.” He seems to flinch at that, and you brush his hair back. “Just for a little while.”

He takes a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed, and he pulls his arms in and down to drape one across his forehead. The tie was never really secure in the first place, but after quite a bit of pulling and flailing, it’s fully undone by now, nothing but luck and stubborn determination holding the loops in place around Reigen’s wrists.

“Both options, of course, come with all sorts of praise and admiration.” You slip a finger under the fabric and give a light tug. He lifts his hands to let the tie slide free.

When he opens his eyes, a shudder running down his spine, he sees you absent-mindedly tying the tie around your neck, uneven and loose, hanging down between you to brush against his stomach. He’s sure you just needed somewhere to put it, something to do with your hands, but it flips a strangely possessive switch somewhere inside him. Not because he’s seeing you in his clothes - he’s had the privilege of that many times before - but because you’ve taken the thing that was supposed to restrain his ability to fuck up the situation, taken something he left safe for you to keep track of without even realizing he’d done it, taken the symbol of his presence in your space and your time and your life, and you’ve put it on without a second thought. He thinks of his misguided reasoning that got you into this situation, that he trusts you with him more than he trusts himself, and he knows what he wants.

For once, words are failing him, which just makes the choice even easier.

“Second one.”

Your eyebrows raise a little, like you’re surprised at his answer, and he almost takes it all back, but then you’re grinning and leaning down to cup his jaw, kissing him like he’s giving you the only air you could ever breathe, and he moans into your mouth.

You lean away just enough to pull in a gasp of air, fingers sliding to tangle into the base of his hair.

“Just like that, gorgeous.”

He laughs, sucking in a shaky breath as you wrap your hand around him again. It pinches into a sort of strained whimper as he starts to quiet himself and thinks better of it, and you start moving.

“That’s it, good boy, just let me take care of everything.”

For all he got into his head before, breaking the seal of touching him seems to have removed any last bits of hesitation, because he relaxes into your touch almost immediately. Your experimenting earlier left you with a good idea of what will get the best noises out of him, and he doesn’t hold back. You’re silently thankful, not only because you get to hear him, but also because you’re not sure you could have followed through on your threat of stopping. And if he’s exaggerating for your sake, all clipped moans and raspy mumbling and bucking hips, well, you’re not going to complain.

After a particularly tight stroke up his cock and a brush of teeth up the inside of his thigh, he pulls one arm over his mouth, pushing it against his lips with his other hand. You’re still deciding if that counts as muffling his sounds enough to slow down when he bites his wrist and yelps, a loud, desperate, frantic noise that seizes what little of your attention isn’t already on him. His head tips back as he struggles to prop himself up on one elbow, hand flipping to clamp down over his mouth, and you can see the bite mark, lines pressed into the pale skin just below the jut of bone where palm meets wrist. It takes you a minute to realize he’s saying something, your brain struggling to piece his noises together into words.

“Can I have your hand?” You hum, scrambling to extract your hand from his leg. “I just- I need,” he opens and closes his hands, “something.” When you hold your hand up blindly toward him, he takes it quickly and holds on tight, fingers lacing together with yours. He gives a few tugs, and you hurry to sit up.

“Please, I need- I can’t take it anymore.” He looks frantic, eyebrows pinched together and his chest heaving with ragged, shaky breaths. His hips buck wildly, quick and shallow into your curled fingers. You realize you’ve forgotten to keep moving as you were watching him, and you quickly correct your mistake, reveling in the shiver that racks through him as your thumb swipes over his tip.

He’s begging now, your name falling out in pieces between gasps and cries; he’s still tugging at your hand like you can’t get close enough, pressing his lips to your jaw like he can’t quite remember how to leave kisses there. He pitches his hips up and presses against you, knees coming together to press into your sides, pinning your hand against your torso as he lets out a final shuddering whimper.

He comes across your fingers, his whole body tense as he holds himself up, back arched and head rolled to the side. He moves to wrap his arms around you, forgetting that his elbow is supporting him, and he pulls you down with him as he falls the short distance to the mattress.

You do your best to roll off him without letting go of him during the aftershocks, but you’re not exactly paying attention to where you’re still holding, and he yelps again from the overstimulation. You yank your hand away with half an apology, smoothing your hand up his side as you lift yourself up on your other arm.

“Nono, wait, don’t-” He scrambles to grab you wherever he can, and you intercept him before he can smack you across the face.

“It’s okay, ‘Taka, s’okay. I’m not going anywhere. I just didn’t wanna crush you. Let’s sit up so you can get some water, alright? All that noise can really make your throat sore, I know.” You slip your hands under him, one at the small of his back and one between his shoulders, gently lifting him toward the headboard. “That’s it. You’re okay. I gotcha.”

Once he’s upright, a glass of water in two shaky hands, you lean over the side of the bed to fumble for a washcloth. When he doesn’t slow down on his own, you start to reach for the glass, but he pulls away for a big gulp of air before you can.

“How you feelin’?”

He doesn’t answer right away, leaving you to fidget with the cloth, slowly reaching for his thigh. He lets his eyes slide closed as you start to wipe him off, smoothing an apologetic thumb over his hip when he hisses from the sensitivity. You wipe your hand on a mostly clean corner before you chuck it in the general direction of the hamper, silently relieved when it makes it in.

“I think I died.” His hands are still shaking as he goes to set the glass on your nightstand, and you gingerly take it from him, lifting yourself up to set it on the far corner where neither of you can accidentally knock it off later. “I understand you now.”

“You didn’t die, I promise.” You allow yourself a smirk and pull a blanket up from the end of the bed. “That’s high praise, though.”

“You’re high praise.”

“You’re the one that liked it so much.”

He rolls his eyes, too tired to argue. As you pull yourself up the bed to sit beside him, he leans over, one hand sliding behind you to rest on your hip. Now that he doesn’t have the distraction of everything else, you can tell he’s starting to think, because his ears are tinting pink and he’s fidgeting with a string on the edge of the blanket.

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t happy to oblige.”

You scoop his hand into yours, leaving the blanket’s seams to live another day, and examine the bite mark on his wrist.

“I can’t believe I did that.” He scoffs, shaking his head a little as you turn his arm over. “The hell was I thinking?”

“Obviously you weren’t, which is both the point and very hot, so hush.” He turns away stubbornly, but he looks pleased. “You could probably say a spirit did it. Biting seems like an evil ghost thing to do, right?”

“With clearly human teeth?”

“Maybe it… stole them?”

He laughs, pulling away from your grip to get comfortable against your side. Just as you start to drift off, soothed by the sound of his breathing slowing and his weight settling on you as he relaxes, you feel his fingers walking down your hip, making their way to your thigh. You crack one eye open, and he looks away with obviously fake innocence.

“Where you going with that hand, darling?”

He smiles, bright and daring, as his fingers dig in. “Your turn?”

You consider it. You’re not quite capable of fully ignoring how turned on seeing him like this has made you. There’s a bit of nervous energy, buzzing over what’s left of your hangover, excitement, the joy that bubbles up in your chest at seeing him smiling at you like that, everything coming together in an overwhelming, swirling feeling of wanting whatever he will give you. But there’s something else, a calm undercurrent to it all, coating the emotion in quiet and directing it all back to a single point, solid and unwavering and right .

More than anything, you are content.

He sees your expression and laughs, must know what you’re going to say the moment you decide, because he mouths the words along with you as he pulls his hand back up to your hip.

“Maybe next time.”

[tetzoro]

the day the earth stood still is the day i felt your presence leave it, and then every day after that.

[hoshiina]

pairing: akatsuki hyoga x gn!reader (no prns)

request: is this how you request something? ive been using tumblr for just a couple of days and im not used to anything ...i hope this is okay!

could i request a hyoga x gn reader? where reader is kind of blunt and direct with the things they say and end up confessing to hyoga while training with him out of an accident; like they say "this is why i like you!" and then they get really embarrassed about it, however, they dont deny anything and wait for hyoga's response.

if the term handsome could be used to describe reader i would really appreciate it. have a nice day!!! i absolutely fell in love with how you write this man

warnings: it’s very short, hyoga is sweet again, reader is referred to as handsome

While you were never one to beat around the bush— you didn’t really see a point in it— even you would admit that this was not how you planned to share your feelings with him.

It was truly like any other day, you were forcing him to train with you and through all his complaints of how he wished to train alone and how he wished you would leave him alone, he would always help you. His excuse was always that he had to make sure you weren’t going to hold him back when we have to fight, but you knew he was worried about you and the rest of the village deep down and wished for more people who were capable of fighting. However harsh his words may be, his actions always spoke louder than his words. He was strict and hard when you were sparring, but when he was demonstrating better form for certain moves, he was surprisingly gentle.

It was very obvious that he respected you very much, even if he would never say so ever.

So while others wondered why such a handsome individual as yourself, with so many people eager to get a chance to talk to you, would be so invested in talking to Hyoga of all people, it was because you knew he was not as cold and ruthless as everyone thought he was. Deep inside you were aware he cared for many, even if not everyone.

Today he went on again about how your form was very unproper and how you had blind spots everywhere, putting yourself in complete danger depending on the situation. This was not out of the ordinary, but today you were a little curious how he’d respond if you teased him a little.

“You’re quite sweet aren’t you, Hyoga,” you said.

Immediately, he paused and frowned a little.

“How could you possibly have come to that conclusion?” he asked, scoldingly.

“You may not think so, but it’s rather obvious that you do care,” you said.

“I think you’re rather delusional if anything. I’m just worried you’re not going to last minutes against any modern weapon. As of now I do not wish to imagine what’d happen if you’re against a gun of any sort,” he said, rambling on about potential dangers that you would be utterly unprepared for and it only put a smile to your face. You truly didn’t mean to say it out loud, but this was exactly why you loved him— he cares a lot.

“This is why I like you,” you said, before you could stop the words from spilling out. You were going to make something up and deny the fact, until you saw how caught off guard Hyoga looked. You had never seen him look like that ever.

So instead you stopped and looked at him, absolutely nervous, but serious. After what seemed like forever, he finally said something.

“I don’t understand, why do you like me?” he asked, confused what prompted that statement.

“Oh, because you care,” you said. “You’re sweet.”

His eyes widened and a slight smile, hardly visible, but definitely there, appeared on his face. Never in his life would he have thought you could tell his harsh words came from a place of genuine care. However, he could tell that you had slightly the wrong idea, so he had to make it clear.

“I only care about you,” he said.

[thistledropkick]

It's been a while since I posted a long translation, so here's an article I translated a while back from Number Magazine. This article is about a year old, but it really changed the way I thought about both Hiromu and Desperado when I read it, and I think it's even more relevant now than when it was written.

The article and the accompanying photography are both by Masashi Hara - please go check out the original article even if you can't read Japanese, as the accompanying photography adds a lot.

Also, please don't repost this translation elsewhere. If you'd like to quote an excerpt, please link back to this source and credit me as the translator, and please also make sure to credit the original author and link back to the original article.

Will Takahashi Hiromu and El Desperado surpass the “Liger Era?” The true reason “NJPW’s Top 2 Juniors” fought in Freedoms

8/18/2023 - article and photography by Masashi Hara 原壮史

New Japan Pro Wrestling’s Takahashi Hiromu and El Desperado have taken every opportunity to fervently collide, from battles for the IWGP Junior Heavyweight Championship to the Best of the Super Junior finals. They are both representatives of the current New Japan Junior division.

On August 11, these two men participated in the battle at Pro Wrestling FREEDOMS in the Yokohama Budoukan. They both fought in a ring marked with the phrase “The Bacchanal of the Free” rather than a New Japan ring, against opponents who were not New Japan pro wrestlers. In doing so, they revealed a difference in the paths they each have walked.

In order to surpass “The era Liger built”

Takahashi Hiromu formed a tag team with Takaiwa Tatsuhito. Dragon Libre and Katori Takahiro of the ‘doms Junior division stood in opposition.

The impetus of this match was a “love call” from Libre to Takahashi. Takahashi attended a Freedoms show at Shibaken 1st Ring, to confirm for himself what Libre had said on the radio and SNS many times.

“I know my own worth. That’s why it’s still too early for you to wrestle me,” Takahashi said.

On January 5th, 2020, Takahashi was Jushin Thunder Liger’s opponent in Liger’s retirement match. Liger teamed with Sano Naoki, and Takahashi with Ryu Lee, each forming a tag team together with their wrestling career’s greatest rival.

In the match, Takahashi usurped Liger’s position, achieving a 3 count with TIME BOMB. After returning from a long-term absence due to a neck injury, the “Red-haired Time Bomb” had, one day earlier, defeated Will Ospreay to take back the IWGP Junior Heavyweight belt, and now read Liger his last rights as the symbol of the division.

Those two days were a manifest expression of Takahashi’s love and devotion to the Junior Heavyweight division. After those two matches from the new “Face of the Junior division,” one could believe that even though “Liger cannot be surpassed,” “that man will build a new era of the Junior division that will surpass it.”

Three and a half years have passed since then. After another serious injury, a torn pectoralis major, Takahashi has acquired the IWGP Junior Heavyweight belt three times since 2020, including when he regained it from Ospreay, and has won the BOSJ three times in a row. No one can complain about his many achievements, and he clearly continues to sit at the top of the Junior division.

In the Shinkiba ring, Takahashi continued to speak to Libre.

“What reason do I have to fight you? Depending on your answer, I might say NO.”

Libre replied,

“I must defeat you, to show you that the ‘doms Junior division has leveled up.”

(next page - Tokyo Dome main event is… Takahashi Hiromu’s “magnificent dream”)

After he wins a title match, or to close a big event, Takahashi shouts,

“More, more more more more more! Everyone, let’s have more fun!”

In order to face the crowd and say the words, “Everyone, have more fun,” he must find and face opponents who have the same level of skill as himself. For that reason, Takahashi accepted Libre’s “love call.”

Tokyo Dome main event is… Takahashi Hiromu’s “magnificent dream"

Takahashi has stated his dream many times.

“To hold the IWGP Junior heavyweight belt, and the IWGP Heavyweight belt”

But this isn’t all. His dream continues further.

“To have the match broadcast on TV during Golden Time” [note from me: this is similar to “prime time” in American English, and refers to the time between 7 and 10 pm when TV viewership is the highest]

“To fight for the IWGP Junior Heavyweight belt as the main event at the Tokyo Dome”

This dream cannot become reality without a suitable opponent. And thus, if Takahashi doesn’t excite not only the New Japan Pro Wrestling’s junior division but the entire pro wrestling world, it cannot happen. 1990 was not the golden age of only New Japan’s Junior Division. And creating an era that will surpass the era that Liger built, the era of the Super J Cup that included wrestlers such as Hayabusa, Great Sasuke, Wild Pegasus (Chris Benoit), and Black Tiger (Eddie Guerero), is a dream that can’t be achieved by one person alone.

Therefore Takahashi, for the sake of leveling up the Junior wrestlers in other promotions, did not say no to Libre’s request.

The match against Libre and Katori in Yokohama, one could truly feel the distance between Takahashi at the pinnacle of the Juniors.

Libre repeatedly absorbed Takahashi’s heavy strikes while constantly yelling “Come on!” And with one chop, Takahashi made it felt that his wrestling was on a higher level.

Ultimately, Takahashi finished the match not with a TIME BOMB but with a Dynamite Plunger. And after the match, he gifted Katori with another fierce chop, enthusiastically displaying the “difference” between the two of them.

“I don’t feel like I was even in a match. What do you mean “Come on!” You come on.”

After the IWGP Junior Champion once again starkly showed the difference in status between himself and Libre, Takahashi told the Freedoms president Sasaki Takashi, who had worked hard to make Libre’s dream come true, the conditions required for a rematch.

(next page - “The man who was too late” El Desperado’s awakening”)

“If you’re not a Champion, (a Freedoms junior singles match) is out of the question. I think that’s the bare minimum. I’m not disrespecting you but, I have my pride as the IWGP Junior champion, and my pride as a New Japan wrestler.”

And he added one more thing.

“Please keep mentioning the name Takahashi Hiromu again and again from now on.”

In order for Takahashi to create more fun, other wrestlers must rise to the same level as him, and fight on the same stage. If wrestlers like Libre and Katori are able to close the gulf they were forced to acknowledge on that day and once again stand against Takahashi in the ring, that means that “dream is growing close to becoming a reality” and it would be proof that “the era that Liger built” is close to being surpassed.

The Man who was too late - El Desperado’s Awakening

Of course, the energy within the New Japan Junior division is indispensable for the industry as a whole.

In Liger’s retirement match, Takahashi’s rival was Lee. When discussing “rivals coming together as a tag team,” Desperado’s name was not  even mentioned.

“My quality as a wrestler took too long. Really, I just wasn’t able to get there. I was too late.”

That was what Desperado said at the end of 2021, at the end of year press conference addressing the Tokyo Dome show, about the champion Takahashi.

“I won’t make that mistake again. At last year’s BOSJ, Hiromu said ‘Let’s show them our era,” but, I’ll show you my future. To take hold of my own future, I’ll win, and I’ll open my own future.”

Desperado was victorious in that match.

“In order to make my dream come true, Desperado, I want to fight you. I always want you in front of me,” Takahashi said, after his loss.

If Liger’s retirement match happened now, the man standing next to Takahashi would be Desperado. But because those two did not team up, the different paths that they would go on to walk became clearer.

(next page - That guy, he fuckin loves deathmatch)

Desperado, who now stands shoulder to shoulder with Takahashi, once again formed a tag team with “Charisma of Deathmatch” Kasai Jun, this time fighting against Takeda Masashi and Yamashita Rina.

Desperado was thrown into a thumbtack board, was slapped in the face after having had thumbtacks shoved into his mouth, his mask was torn and his head cut with scissors, and he was slammed into the aluminum can board that he himself brought to the ring …… In other words, he freely enjoyed deathmatch to the fullest. But of course he also gave as good as he got, breaking a steel chair over the head of the “Deathmatch Amazoness” Rina, and cleverly countering Takeda’s attempt to use a fork board against him, as he faced off against some of the best deathmatch fighters in the world.

He sent forth a Loco Mono and Pinche Loco combo with Kasai, watched a Pearl Harbor Splash from a “special seat” and thoroughly enjoyed his time tagging with Kasai in a fun and super stimulating match, which ended with Kasai pinning Takeda for the victory. After the match, Takeda said of the rogue luchador, “Desperado… He’s fun. He fuckin loves deathmatch.”

All that is to say, Desperado is a person who pursues what he himself likes, and who takes action for his own enjoyment, and that is his what makes him so charming.

Truly, if you watch someone enjoying himself to the fullest, you will also feel enjoyment as a viewer. In addition to this, because Desperado truly loves what he’s doing, the respect in his heart is conveyed to the audience, and the quality of his matches naturally follows from and reflects that deep respect.

For Takahashi, it’s “Let’s all have more fun.” For Desperado, it’s “I’ll have fun.” However, Desperado’s matches make the audience have fun too. Despite being a rogue, he is more conscientious than anyone, and this mysterious balance allows him to mobilize those around him, form connections to others, and forge a path unique to himself.

Takahashi Hiromu and El Desperado have traveled different paths, but at key points, those paths have overlapped. They are truly eternal rivals.

Surprisingly, the connection between these two men once again pulled them together as they both attended “The Bacchanal of the Free” and the fans were able to savor an experience of utmost “fun.”

[thelaurenshippen]

this is a genuine question not at all meant as a rude gotcha, but I feel like I've seen lots of people cite the relatively low barrier of entry as a huge advantage of podcasts as a medium, "if you have access to decent audio tech you can make a podcast" etc etc. So where does the need to sell a script come in? Is it a financial thing, and IP thing, something else?

this doesn't read like a rude gotcha at all, it's a really good question! there is a much lower barrier to entry when it comes to podcasts compared to tv, film, theater, etc. (though not as low as writing a book if we're talking about hard resources - you can technically write a book with just a laptop and a dream and then self publish! though as a writer who has written a lot of scripts and four books (3 published) writing a book is a much bigger psychological burden imo lol).

the need to sell a script, for me, is entirely a financial thing. if I had the money to produce podcasts at the level I want to entirely independently, I would! I know how to do it! but, unfortunately, I really only have the funds to produce something like @breakerwhiskey - a single narrator daily podcast that I make entirely on my own.

and that show is actually a great example of just how low the barrier is: I actually record the whole thing on a CB radio I got off of ebay for 30 bucks, my editing software is $50/month (I do a lot of editing, so this is an expense that isn't just for that show) and there are no hosting costs for it. the only thing it truly costs me is time and effort.

not every show I want to make is single narrator. a lot of the shows I've made involve large casts, full sound design, other writers, studio recording, scoring, and sometimes full cast albums (my first show, The Bright Sessions had all of those). I've worked on shows that have had budgets of 100 dollars and worked on shows that cost nearly half a million dollars. if anyone is curious about the nitty gritty of budgets, I made a huge amount of public, free resources about making audio drama earlier this year that has example budgets in these ranges!

back in the beginning of my career, I asked actors to work for free or sound designers to work for a tiny fee, because I was doing it all for free and we were all starting out. I don't like doing that anymore. so even if I'm making a show with only a few actors and a single sound designer...well, if you want an experienced sound designer and to pay everyone fairly (which I do!), it's going to cost you at least a few thousand dollars. when you're already writing something for free, it can be hard to justify spending that kind of money. I've sound designed in the past - and will be doing so again in the near future for another indie show of mine - but I'm not very good at it. that's usually the biggest expense that I want to have covered by an outside budget.

but if I'm being really honest, I want to be paid to write! while I do a lot of things - direct, produce, act, consult, etc. - writing is my main love and I want it to be the majority of my income. I'm really fortunate to be a full-time creative and I still do a lot of work independently for no money, but when I have a show that would be too expensive to produce on my own, ideally I want someone else footing the bill and paying me to write the scripts.

I love that audio fiction has the low barrier to entry it does, because I think hobbyists are incredible - it is a beautiful and generous thing to provide your labor freely to something creative and then share it with the world - but the barrier to being a professional audio drama writer is certainly higher. I'm very lucky to already be there, but, as every creative will tell you, even after you've had several successes and established yourself in the field, it can still be hard to make a living!

anyway, I hope this answers your question! I love talking about this stuff, so if anyone else is curious about this kind of thing, please ask away.

[iroissleepdeprived]

Hi

[green-tea-lemonade]

Rest

[loststarphounix]

imagine... little red riding hood souda x big bad wolf tanaka-

instead of kazuichi going to see his grandma like the original story — he's visiting his sick friend, hajime, who he wants to surprise with a fresh batch of muffins that he baked himself! and then during his journey, he comes across the big bad wolf himself :0

this is super open-ended because i have little creativity atm-

(i saw art on pixiv about this and i just thought to tell you about it xD)

I hope we already know the drill! Long post ahead let’s go!

Let’s see:

Kazuichi lives in a cottage that’s attached to a smithy semi on the outskirts of the village. He mainly does commission work, primarily metalworking, but he does has a knack for toy making and secretly bakes but only shares with his friends. He hasn’t heard from Hajime in a while and after hearing from Nagito that he’s sick, decides to take him a basket of day old bake goods and go visit him.

Unfortunately, Hajime likes his privacy and as such, he lives in the middle of Jobberwock Forest, a dark, dense wood that stretches nearly 2/3 of the largest island in the cluster. Most spots in the forest that are perpetual night, where the Sun barely peeks through the dense foliage. Basically, it’s scary as hell. But Hajime is Kazuichi’s best friend - his soul brother - and he’s ill. He’ll venture into the deep, dark, evil embodiment of all things sinister forest to get to him.

So he gets ready, with his basket of muffins, apples and some leftover medicine from when he got food poisoning, as well as a book so his friend isn’t bored (he borrowed it but found his dull lol) and of course, his trusty outside wrench and pocket knife. He puts on his vibrant yellow hood, locks his home up and sets out for the wood. He’s SUPER careful to stay on the trail - like he’s habitually looking down and behind him to make sure he’s in the middle of the safe path. The woods always seem to change everyday, Sonia loves to say that it has a mind of its own which does nothing to sooth his frazzle nerves.

He’s been walking since the late morning and thinks about taking a rest, when he hears a twig snapping. The sound it so loud it makes him jump. He turns to where he thinks it originated from, but another loud sound is coming from behind him and he whips around to see two red eyes staring at him in the shadows. Gripped in panic, Kazuichi turns tail and runs, leaving the safety of the path. Our bumbling boy is booking it - somehow not tripping on upturn roots until finally he’s in a clearing a few miles southwest of his friend’s home.

He’s so exhausted that he collapses onto the nearest stump, unaware of the hulking figure behind him. The basket wobbles a bit on the ground, but it doesn’t topple over so he breathlessly calls that a win.

“Good day.” A voice says behind him and it makes Kazuichi jump like a startled cat. He snatches his knife as he moves.

He whips around and sees, possibly the hottest guy he’s ever seen. Tall, Kazuichi has to tilt his head up slightly to look him in the eye, with pale skin and dual red and grey eyes. And wearing all black clothing aside from a purple cloth wrapped around his neck. The guy even had a scar over the grey one. Hot, but most definitely a thief.

“I-I don’t have any money!” He says, hoping the other will let him go, but the other only tilts his head.

“Apologies, I did not mean to frighten you, mortal. I rarely see one of your denizens venture this far into the dark wood.”

Kazuichi can only blink. Ok…maybe he wasn’t a thief. More likely a nutcase. Pity, dude was kinda hot.

“uh…yeah. I got spooked by a giant animal and ran.” Looking around the are, he realized in growing horror that nothing looked familiar. He doesn’t even seem to notice that the guy is staring at him intently, eyes zeroing in on him sucking his bottom lip between sharp teeth before speaking. Or the way his eyes trailed down the length of his body in interest.

“You are greatly fortunate this day, Persephone. I was reared in these very lands and can navigate you to the more safer paths.”

He didn’t really understand all of that, but the stranger seemed to want to help him and despite his suspicions, he was lost. Maybe he could trust the weirdo, just this one time.

“Really? And you won’t…like do anything bad? To ,e?” He squeaked, hand gripping his knife.

But the stranger merely shakes his head. “Not at all. I, the great Gundham Tanaka, ensures your safety through these dark wood,”

“Gundham.” Kazuichi silently mouthed, eyebrows furrowed. Tale and creepy had such a weird ass name. But he’s gonna help him out so he may as well put it aside for now.

Shaking his head, he places his knife carefully back in his basket and bends down to retrieve it. Again, he somehow misses the look Gundham gives his bent form and the slight peek of tongue running across his bottom lip. The man is damn near salivating lol

“My name’s Kazuichi’s by the way. It’s nice to meet you.” The pink haired man flashed a nervous smile, which the other returned with more ease and a bit something that makes Kazuichi’s stomach flip.

“I believe I am the more fortuitous between the two of us.”

They begin backtracking through the woods and as they do, Gundham gently starts to ask Kazuichi questions - what does he do, where does he live, does he live alone. Simple questions. Nothing untowards or suspicious about them.

And Kazuichi answers each one truthfully, not really mindful of his answers because the forest is much darker than it was when he had started and having the other by his side eases him. He also asks Gundham a bit about himself as a distraction, but the man deflects; only reiterating that he grew up in the Jobberwock Forest, that he has lived there all his life and that he’ll keep Kazuichi safe.

Finally, they are in more familiar territory and the path unfurls before them. Tears of relief well in Kazuichi’s eyes. He’s so happy he could kiss the dirt road. Just before he can kneel down and actually do it however, Gundham pinches the sleeve of neon yellow hood to get his attention.

“You had mentioned your comrade has fallen to a malignant force, correct?”

“Huh? Oh yeah! Hajime’s sick.” He almost forgot his friend for a moment what with his fear of the forest and this mysterious man. “I should hurry to his house before it gets dark.” Being out here at night was so much scarier than being out in the daylight.

“Fret not, you will ensursedly arrive at your destination before the dying light of the sun. I merely asked, for do you see these fauna?”

Gundham pointed to a patch of flowers. They were small, with white petals and tall, thin stalks that bent towards a shaft of sunlight. Kazuichi’s eyebrows furrowed, but he gave a slight nod.

“These are medicinal plants.” The man informed, giving the other a charming smile. “They can assist in curing your friend. Merely steep in a concoction of tea and he shall be remedied!”

Kazuichi stared at the flowers, eye wide with disbelief. “Seriously?! But they’re all over the place!”

“This glade is their preferred choice for germination. You should collect them before you go.”

“Right!” Kazuichi took a step closer to the flowers but stopped, peaking over his shoulder to look back at Gundham with an awkward smile. “Hey, thanks again for helping me back on the path. I’m sure I took you away from something important-“

But Gundham merely waved his hand, dismissing the notion. “Do not fret, it was far more important to ensure your safe return. Sadly, I do have some business to conclude, and must leave you here. I can assume you know the way to your companion’s domicile from here?”

“Yeah everything looks a lot familiar now. I should get to Hajime’s hut in a half hour or so.” Kazuichi nodded, giving one last smile in gratitude before setting off to pick a few of the plants. He calls out one last time. “Thanks again man. I really owe you!”

As the mechanic bent down, Gundham retreated into the shadows, his eyes ensuring the other was too engrossed picking flowers, before he transformed into his wolf form and raced through the forest. He knew the quickest way to Hajime’s home, and in his quadrupedal form, he made it there in just under ten minutes. Barely skidding to a halt, he just had enough time to change back before Hajime opens his door.

He only looks a little pale, but he’s standing up straight and his breathing wasn’t labored. Excellent, this soothes his fretting mind somewhat.

“Singularity! I require a boon.”

“Hello to you too, Gundham.” Hajime chuckles, inviting the other in. “It must be important- you rarely ask me for anything.”

Crossing the threshold, Gundham wasted no time retelling his encounter with the most entrancing creature he has ever met, going on about his aura and mystical powers for surely he could not be a mere mortal if Gundham, Overlord of Ice and Ruler of these Woods, is so successfully ensnared. And through it all Hajime listens, a little bemused, but actively listening to his rants.

“I’ve been meaning to have Kazuichi meet you, but you usually keep to yourself.”

“My boon is thus: depart from your realm so that I may have succeeded in completing our courtship! In return, I shall assist you in your own quest for romantic endeavors.”

Hajime blinks, stunned. “Hold on. You want me to leave my house, just so you can make a move on my best friend?”

Well, when put like it sounds unsavory. Gundham fiddles with his scarf, a hot flush spreading down his neck.

“And I don’t need help in my love life thanks,” he said sardonically. How about this: I give you my home for the night - only tonight! - and whatever happens, happens. But you owe me by helping around my property and hunting. Whatever he brings in his basket that he made are mine. And you stay away from my bedroom.” The last sentence was said with such severity that if he were a lesser demon, Gundham would quiver.

Instead he chuckles, a low, dark sound that would seem threatening to anyone outside their friendship, but was really one of agreement.

“Very well mortal! I accept your bargain.”

Hajime takes entirely too long in Gundham’s opinion to pack an overnight bag, but he departs and Gundham prepares for the mechanics arrival. He already ensured Hajime’s personal abode was sealed (Hajime locked it) and that Kazuichi would not be suspicious of the changes dwellings (Hajime wrote a note explaining). Now he only had little left to disguise his aura and appearance. The borrowing of Hajime’s night shirt and pants and pulling the shades down in the guest room shall do the trick.

And now, with infinite patience, he awaits his prey.

[surreal-duck]

between my laptop battery blowing up and probably being due for a new drawing tablet that isnt a nearly decade old model with nib replacements running out i fear i wont be able to doodle much for quite some time

will probably take out the old sketchbook at best and sudoku books at worst but even so. the agony has come to claim me once more

[clawsextended]

on a note to all: my plotting style is something i like to call i have adhd and if i see you on the dash and have an idea chances are i’ll im you about it. i’m an anxious little dude who isn’t always active in a broad scope, and it’s always been my nature to reach out to people. that doesn’t make me even remotely anxious. not even remotely expected to answer me — i totally get it, sometimes you don’t feel the vibe — but a general psa about how i work. i come from the dinosaur era where the only way to communicate with one another on any level was to directly talk to them and frankly i don’t even know how else you’re ever supposed to plot with a person otherwise. like… how do you write if you never talk????

[simplyender]

You have a way of finding sympathetic/kind of pathetic antagonists that are clearly neurodivergent and if given the chance, would totally be better people but never really got that chance

Fern and Hordak and Spot

[Identify my Blorbos!] (putting this at the top bc I made a really long post lol)

Anyway,

[Incorrect buzzer]

You were pretty close there till you said all of these guys would totally be better people but never were given the chance, especially when you said spto Gideon Graves. My man was SO down to do evil. At his best he's harmless and pathetic. But the dude still is pretty pro-doing-terrible-things, even if its not to Scott and Ramona in specific. Could he improve? Sure! But I'm of the belief that anyone can. It sucks that he wasn't treated nicely as a teenager but like. Dude, get help. You clearly can afford it. You just don't want it/don't think you need it.

Gideon actively chose to become the CEO of G-man records and he chose to use his vast power to make a girls life a living hell purely because he felt ENTITLED to her and her love. That's fucked up!!!! Hes' a sick shit in all versions and I truly do love him for that. He and Julie really are bitch x bastard! <3

Fern and Spot both are interesting ones, as they're both cases of "they made their own choices", only, the Finn part of Fern was doing something good (reviving Prismo), he just didn't know that meant he'd become the Finnsword, and the Emissary from Beyond is....Complicated.

Spot, however...

....Look, we can theorize as much as we want about his hypothetical past and what drove him to do it (bc I doubt anybody that works at Alchemax is fully stable), but before all this shit happened to him, he CHOSE to work at Alchemax, which was a morally dubious decision at BEST. I don't think he had bad intention in the slightest however, it's just that Spot....Seems to have a bad habit of not really caring about anything else that's going on around him as long as he's getting what he wants. Negligent is the word (Funny, considering that's what he accuses Spider-Man of being). Also nobody made him go back for the dark matter, and he could have evacuated like everybody else*

Either way, both Fern and Spots actions definitely come from a place of desperation and severe emotional distress. And they're both guys that really lost their entire lives due to something out of their control**, and just weere driven to go....Way too far. They also actively decided to be bad guys because villainy provided them with the validation they needed. Hopefully Spot won't get killed off in the end like Fern did. Haha!

Hordak is definitely what you described though, because we were literally SHOWN that through the existence of Wrong Hordak! He's from a cult and heavily indocrinated with horrible beliefs that he deeply internalized, especially because of his relationship with his disability and the way Horde Prime viewed him for it. This is also seen through Entrapta, who....Yes, helped him do evil thing too. But they were adorable. And ultimately, it was her that helped him realize his worth as a person and take the step towards good (although that was a personhood thing, not a redemption arc, lol). But through proper support, Wrong Hordak was able to grow and develop in a way that Hordak just wasn't given the opportunity to, so....Yeah.

Hordak never got the chance, and Fern kept getting screwed over by the universe and his own low self esteem. But Spot made his own choices in life. He is absolutely the most selfish person out of the three.

And also. Is, yknow, the most experienced in life/an adult. (I already talked about Gideon who is the worst but like I said he doesn't even come close). Yes what happened to him was horrible, yes he didn't deserve so much mistreatment for it, but still. The chain of events started because of his own decisions until it spiralled out of his control, from where he doubled down for a variety of reasons indicating that he really needs the intervention of a trained mental health professional.

I think I went way off course here.

Sorry. Haha.

* Yes it's likely that he felt like he had to go back and save the remains of his work, might have something to do with Olivia stealing all the credit for the collider and his desperate need to be recognized. Still a bad idea though.

** Spot may have done the physical aspects of his life going to shit to himself but I'm not blaming him for the way other people treat him for what is now out of his control. It's not like he asked to be what he is, or to be mocked and lose his livelihood for it.

You get a 1.3/4 because the description is correct up to a point but it entirely fits Hordak.

SO close!

[tetzoro]

gooooood morning and happy fridayayay ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و !! <- me cheering you guys on because we have made it through another week !! that’s amazing hehe let’s start this weekend off right ! remember to drink lots of water + be extra gentle with yourselves !! 🤍💫

[spyderschaos]

Just finished chap 2 of gold-silk: origins but I want my friend to read it before I post it incase smth doesn’t make sense and to spell check and shit but it’s almost 11pm so I have to wait till tomorrow