#why do i keep trying just for this shit to keep happening

[bbokicidal]

Maybe Our Last .:. SKZ [L.FX]

Genre : Smut Pairing : Lee Felix x Fem!Reader Warnings : DUB-CON, Tentacle penetration I don't know HOW ELSE to word it!!, Hentai-esque themes, Monster Fucking (essentially), Throat fucking (kind of)

Kinktober Day 6 of 10 : Monster fucking w/ Felix Kinktober Masterlist

Word Count: 3.8K

I'm going to write a small snippet here because I need this to be clear; There is no sex between Felix and the reader; Changbin is the character who becomes the tentacle monster so technically he's fucking them both lol, and both Felix & the reader experience a sort of aphrodisiac which is why this is labeled as Dub-Con. If you don't like this type of shit just DON'T FUCKING READ IT LOL - also I've never written anything like this before so if it's bad... oh well.

You’d caught his eye the moment you walked into the party; The outfit, the style you’d worn your natural hair in, the dramatic makeup, the contacts, the thigh highs, the cute shoes – 

Felix had seen that character multiple times before; A beauty from one of his favorite animes in the world and now it was like she’d come right to life in front of his very eyes in the form of your Halloween costume. 

If he was honest, Felix wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his composure around you that night. You already made his heart race before, your demeanor was always so pleasant and kind towards him any time the two of you had bumped into each other or conversed as your friends spoke with each other, and now he knew you were about as big a nerd as he was; Which made you 10 times more attractive. As if you could get any more perfect.

Hell - He wasn’t even sure how he got you to sit down and talk to him on the couch like this; Your legs thrown over his lap, his hands resting respectfully atop them while the two of you chit-chatted as if you weren’t sitting in the middle of a massive college Halloween party. Biggest one that happened on campus, actually; Changbin just had that reputation going for him; Couldn’t let his people down this year, could he?

Music blared around the two of you, people dancing and singing, drinking ungodly concoctions of Rum and juice and edible glitter and making out against the walls; someone gagging just behind at the smell that was slowly flooding out of the downstairs restroom and towards the kitchen. Though, it felt as though none of it mattered as you were in your own little world with Felix.

“Yeah, I mean - her basic outfit is just so boring so I guess I tried to recreate the ascended version; I just think it’s cooler.”

“Definitely.” Call Felix a loser. He can’t keep himself from staring over at you in admiration, awe rushing through his veins the more you talk about what you thought of the show and what your opinions on different arcs were. His replies remain short and sweet - and you try your best to keep the conversation going, you do, but it’s hard to focus when he’s just so… pretty.

With a pink knitted sweater tucked into light wash jeans, he’d managed to secure a small pair of white wings to his back. He’d buttered up his look by applying glittering hairspray to the platinum locks that fell down over his shoulders and framed his face so well, a chunkier rose gold glitter overtaking the freckles on his cheeks. It seemed to complete the look for the cutest pixie you’d ever seen in your life; Not that you’d seen many.

“So you know the guy who lives here?” You question, tone soft. You’d heard of him before but you’d never talked to him personally; You’d really only been invited to the party because he was a friend of a friend. 

Felix’s lips part before he nods, a shy and polite smile overtaking his lips. “Ah - Yeah. Changbin’s a close friend of mine. He’s pretty cool, I guess.” His eyes darted over to peek at said friend, Changbin’s head popping into the restroom as his hand secured its hold on the doorframe. He looks as though he’s investigating something but Felix hasn’t a clue what, so instead of fretting about it he turns his attention back to you. “You don’t?” Felix quips before continuing. “I mean - you don’t know him?”

You blink a few times, offering a small shake of your head. “Oh, no. He’s a friend of my friend, Hyunjin. They’re practically attached at the hip and I see him around every so often but I don’t think I’ve ever had a full conversation with him before, you know?” You smile, giving a shrug. “We just don’t really run in the same friend group I guess. No big deal.”

The hand that had previously been resting against your shin - which was placed in Felix’s lap as you lounged back on the sofa in Changbin’s living room - moved to instead gently grasp at your knee. Felix giggles, “You should talk to him sometime. He’s genuinely one of the nicest guys I know. I get that his physique can be kind of intimidating but he’s really a nice guy. Maybe after the party we can –”

“Oh my God,” A girl shrieking from behind the sofa causes your body to jolt in surprise, your leg pulling off of Felix’s lap. He selfishly misses the contact immediately but lets his gaze pull from you to the young woman standing just over your shoulder. She’s turned away, her hand shaking as she points to the bathroom doorway. Changbin was gone, but where his hand had previously rested was now an oozing trail of green slime. Like something had slapped against the doorway and left a puddle that dripped down the polished wood. “Changbin?!” She cries, free hand pressing over her mouth. “Are you okay?!”

Hyunjin pushes past a few people to get to the girl, his hand resting against her arm as he glances between her horrified expression and the bathroom doorway. “What -?! What? What’s going on? Why are you yelling?” He stares down at her, the girl trembling under his touch. Her face had gone ghastly white, her joints blushed with blood that tried to push through to her extremities that had long lost all sense of warmth.

“Changbin,” She gasps out her friend’s name, her fingers shaking horribly as they dig into her cheek in terror. “He was trying to figure out what that awful smell was but I just – I saw him get pulled into the bathroom by something! I swear, it was like a monster - It was –”

The atmosphere turns horridly tense. The air thickens with dread as people begin to back away from the bathroom and some even turn to leave, wanting to get out of the house in case something horrible had happened. What if it was another person and Changbin had just been attacked? What if there was a serious sense of danger in the house now? And as you listen in, your chest feels heavy enough to cave in on you. You didn’t know Changbin well but that didn’t mean you didn’t care about him. He seemed like a genuine guy and right now you could only hope that this was some sick, cruel Halloween prank happening.

By the time you push yourself up off of the couch to even move into action Hyunjin is already in the bathroom doorway. His rushed demeanor comes to a sudden halt as he stops where the door cracks open, his gaze settled behind it and directed towards the shower. Everyone seems so quiet now, waiting impatiently for Hyunjin to give them some sort of update.

The only response they get for at least five seconds is the color draining from his face. His jaw clenched as he huffs out a breath before his body turns back to the living room and he pushes himself to leave the bathroom as quickly as possible.

He points, throwing his arm towards the front door that isn’t too far from where you stand. “Get out!” His voice leaves his throat in a scratching scream, begging for people to run from whatever it was he had seen in the bathroom only moments ago. “Get the fuck out!” He cries. “Run! Fucking run!”

People scatter; Dust settled on a shelf for decades now disturbed and dispersing into the once pure air. Footsteps are loud and heavy as some book it for the upstairs area, their shoes thumping heavy against the wooden steps. Most head for the front or back doors, Hyunjin’s hands pushing people to move into action as screams and cries fill the house and drown into the music still playing from the stereo speakers. 

The bathroom door slides open and what emerges makes your blood run cold.

That wasn’t Changbin.

That was a monster.

With eyes pure white and veins pulsing angrily in his throat, the Senior exited the bathroom not on his own two legs; Maybe not of his own free will. His head lulled as if he was no longer present, the parasite within him pushing him to exit and begin to attack. His upper half looked as if it had been melted and glued to the body of an octopus - if that octopus had biohazard green tentacles and slime oozing from every orifice. It pushed out of the corners of his mouth as his expression turned into a heavy scowl, his head tipping in the direction of the people scrambling for the front door - one of the tentacles reaching out in a quicker manner than expected. It had taken him so long to reveal himself that you were sure he was sluggish when it came to movement, but the tentacle seemed to snap out and wrap around the closest person’s waist.

Hyunjin gasped in horror as the wet surface slid and soaked his band tank, grabbing onto him tight and curling around him a few times to ensure he couldn’t escape from its hold. The tip of the tentacle smothered his cheek in goo and he visibly cringed, pulling his head back as far as he could while it rubbed against his face.

You hadn’t even realized your own body had become frozen in its place until Felix had reached for you, his fingers lacing with yours to pull you back to him. “Hey,” He yells over the noise, gently tugging on your arm, “We’ve gotta go!”

Your eyes drag to Felix before you nod, surely out of it by everything you were witnessing. This had to be some horrible nightmare - surely. Changbin wasn’t some scary tentacle monster and Hyunjin wasn’t getting smothered in goo and this house party was not just taken over by some… alien octopus parasite!

Felix moves to guide you as far from Changbin as he can get you, which isn’t very far unfortunately. His attempt is futile; The moment he rounds the couch it’s already too late. A tentacle had wound around your ankle and begun to lift already, refusing to let you go while suspending you mid-air. Felix, also refused to let you go.

He cried out as his hand was ripped from yours, watching you be lifted towards the ceiling as you screamed and begged for him to find a way to get you down. “Felix!” Your gasps were slashes to his heart, the knife twisting and digging into the muscle, ripping it apart. “Felix - Help me! Help me!”

Though he’s no better off. A third leg had wrapped over Felix’s chest, slime oozing from what looked to be the suction cups of the tentacle - only open and gaping as they sucked and clung to his sweater tight. Felix’s mouth opens though no sounds escape, his body only reacting as it knows how to when he’s this terrified. His hands come down on the tentacle and he hates how smooth it is, how slimy and wet it feels against his skin. “Let me go,” He gasps out, his head turning to look over towards Changbin’s upper half. Not that he’s really Changbin anymore. “Changbin-hyung! Let me go! Let me go, I’m your friend!”

Felix’s head snaps in your direction instead as he hears your voice letting out soft whines. The tentacle holding you up by your leg had tightened its grip and squirmed down towards your inner thigh, still wrapped up against you so snug that it made the soft fat beneath it bulge under your thigh highs. He didn’t even bother to take in the way your skirt had flipped upside down to reveal the pink panties underneath - He didn’t care. He was instead watching a separate tentacle rubbing against your face as if it were nuzzling you, smearing a pale green goo over your cheek and towards your mouth that made you spit in disgust. The tentacle pushes lower instead and wraps loose around your neck, your eyes darting down to watch as the suction cups open and release what looks like a sort of gas.

Your gasps are immediate, the sweet scent filling your body as you cried, “What the fuck is that?!”

Felix barely even registered that the tentacle wrapped over his chest had done the same, and when he did he was dumb enough to look down right into it. The scent was… nice. Pleasant. It made his body hum with a pleasant vibration that made him feel so warm and fuzzy. A feeling akin to being drunk for the first time - feeling a little out of it, a little loose. It felt immediate, too. 

His body slowly began to relax as the gas fogged around his head, the cups closing shortly after to let the air around your bodies clear. His eyes slowly pulled back to you, and though you were a bit hazy now, you were still there. 

The tentacle wrapped over your neck slithered down towards your chest, wrapping beneath the swell of your breasts tight so the fabric pulled taught against your curves - and the poor pixie across from you couldn’t stop himself from looking. He didn’t even feel guilty about it at the moment either. In any other circumstance he would’ve been too respectful and shy to even steal a quick glance but now, something about it felt so shameless. 

The tentacle slipped lower to give your body more support, leveling you out so you could essentially lay as though you were in bed instead of being hung upside down. How kind of it.

Felix swallows hard as his eyes trail over. He watches the tentacle holding onto your leg adjust itself so your thighs push apart for it and your body seems to naturally comply, your head tipping back as you allow the creature that was once Felix’s best friend to bend your body to its will. He finds himself whimpering when the tentacle pushes higher, the tip of the appendage wriggling and squirming over your skin until it tucked under your skirt and pried at your panties.

Your lips part in a sharp gasp, a heavy blush coating your cheeks at the realization that it’s trying to get at the most intimate of spaces on your body. The appendage curls tight around your panties before it begins to pull back, though when they refuse to move from your hips because of how snug they are - it opts to instead rip them right open. The fabric falls like nothing from your body before the tentacle moves back to work, your skirt ruffling against your hips and thighs as it pushes over your slit and curls the very tip around your clit in an effort to make you moan. And it works, of course.

Felix’s cock twitches in his jeans at the sight of you being touched like this. He knows it’s gross - knows it’s dirty and knows you’ll no doubt judge him for enjoying nasty Hentai like this (if you even live to see the next morning…) but he really can’t help it. He can’t help that he’s getting hard at the sight of you like this. It’s like a scene right out of a movie he’d watched recently - The tentacles, your stupid Halloween outfit…

“Felix…” Your soft call of his name makes him snap back into reality - which isn’t far from his fantasies right now. His hands tightened down on the tentacle wrapped over his chest as he felt something push between his own legs; An appendage separate from the others had slipped up his left leg and prodded at the bulge in his jeans, curling slowly around the outline of his half-hard cock while he whined. His lashes fluttered and he squirmed at the feeling, the friction more than enough to make him chub up just a little bit more. 

He curses, whimpering under his breath. “Fuck,” Felix gasps, biting down hard into his lip to stop any other sounds from escaping from his mouth.

His gaze darts back to you just in time to see the tentacle between your legs begin to squirm back. The cups along the inner section of the appendage open slowly and begin to once again ooz the slime that had slicked up your face and soaked into your costume’s top. It dripped over your inner thighs and as you sucked in a breath, the tip of the tentacle pushed carefully into your entrance. It eased it’s way in until it was nearly five inches deep - though this wasn’t quite like having sex with just.. Some guy. First of all - this was a monster; Second - the tentacle was thick. 

It felt as though it was attempting to split you right in half, wriggling deeper before finally pulling back and pushing into you once more.

“Oh my God,” Your voice leaves in a desperate hum. Felix watches in both shock and awe as your head falls back at the feeling of your pussy being filled to the brim; The little suction cups kissing at your walls every time it pushed into you further, the tip squirming against the entrance to your cervix and begging to be let in - to fill you until you would burst.

Felix’s head swirls as his gaze drops once more. He stares at the tentacle wriggling its way into his waistband, his mouth dropping open to let out a moan that makes him feel disgusting. He’s enjoying this and part of him loathes himself for it. “Shit,” He whines, the appendage wrapping around his cock when it slipped into his boxers and smothering his length in slick, sticky goo. It soaked through to the denim of his jeans and caused a heavy, damp stain that made him embarrassed and made him whine in protest. His hands curled into fists, reaching down with both to try and rid the appendage from his waistband before another - smaller and thin as a rope - wrapped tight around his wrists at lightning speed. He trembles as his arms are pulled above his head, no longer able to defend himself against the tentacle wrapping around his cock and making him twitch and writhe in pleasure. “Fuck – Fuck,” He cries, his toes curling in his sneakers at the ache that forms through his abdomen. “Fuck –!”

Your eyes finally press open as you hear Felix whining across from you, your gaze settling first on his flushed and desperate expression before falling to watch as the tentacle below wraps around his cock and coats him in goo. You can’t see anything but you know it’s a delicious sight.

Though, the appendage previously touching Felix seems to realize something of its own - It can’t fill Felix like it can with you, so it would have to find another way to inject its semen into the man.

“Shit,” Your whisper is barely audible as you peek up, watching the tentacle drag over Felix’s chest before coming up and prodding at his lips. He barely has time to react as it forces it’s way into his mouth, pushing at the back of his throat and making him choke on a whimper as goo drips down the corners of his mouth. His gaze meets yours before you watch as his eyes flick down between your legs, watching the tentacle between your thighs pump into you quicker than before. Your shaky, unstable moans meet Felix’s ears and he hates that the mix of seeing you getting fucked and having his mouth used at the same time are what makes him coat the inside of his jeans in cum that mixes with the goo left behind.

Your gasps become frantic as the tentacle pushes further into you, stretching you as much as it can before it suddenly stops, burying itself into your walls and pumping something out of the cups that had once again opened. You can feel it; It’s hot and heavy, thick, creamy. Holding a promise of your demise.

It’s the same moment that the tentacle buried in Felix’s throat seems to release the essence, Felix choking and gagging and closing his eyes in embarrassment as it fills his mouth full. The tentacle retracts as quickly as it came, black leaking from the corners of the pixie’s mouth as he swallows and spits at the same time - trying to figure out what it is and what to do in his post-sex haze.

The appendage between your thighs retracts and as exhaustion waves over you, so do the rest. Your body falls from the air and hits the ground with a heavy thud, Felix’s following only moments later. You land on your side, eyes glossy with tears of fear and pleasure as you look over at where Felix lay on his stomach to your right. His eyes are closed, though it’s not long before they slowly flutter open and attempt to meet your gaze. Felix’s hand slowly shifts from his side, coming to meet your own. His fingers curl into your palm as he sighs out, his body giving into the exhaustion and slumping against the hardwood - his cheek squished against the floor and his brain shutting off.

While you remain conscious a while longer, your eyes slowly move around to what you can see of the room. Hyunjin sits slumped against the wall, black ooze dripping down his chin and throat. His mouth had been filled the same as Felix, though while it happened a bit earlier on after he was grabbed, his body had already begun to turn. He was no longer present, his lower half bubbling and steaming and his legs gone, four appendages already present and squirming as the others began to form. 

Your eyes slowly dragged back to the blonde laying beside you, your thumb swiping over his knuckles in admiration. You take in the way his hair falls over his eyes, the way his lips part and the way the chunky rose gold glitter on his cheeks only adds to the charm of the deep brown freckles painting his skin. Part of you was… happy, that he’d fallen asleep before he’d seen what had happened to Hyunjin; What would happen to him now, too. Though as you lay in exhaustion and attempt to fight the sleep, as your brain clears itself of the fog and begins to be overrun by the slime that had entered your body and taken control of every functioning system left inside of you, and the fear settles into your chest; The realization that this would be the last time you would be human, the last time you would see Felix’s face. So you fight the sleep a little longer, just enough to try and memorize every detail of the man laying across from you before he becomes a monster, too. Your head pounds with the need to rest as your eyes finally drop closed, your body slumping and going loose as your future ahead of you lay unknown. But again, holding the promise of your demise.

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[evie-sturns]

stubborn - Matt Sturniolo

summary: you and matt get into an argument, which he just keeps dragging despite your best efforts to stop the fight. you find a creative way to get him to apologise..

contains: a petty argument, bratty!matt, sub!matt, teasing, dry humping.

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9:34pm

you and matt had been going at eachother for the past 10 minutes, it all started when you accidentally bumped into him while he was unpacking the dishwasher, causing him to hit his leg on the small dishwasher door.

"matt- literally why do you not fucking understand that accidents happen, its not like i body rocked you or some shit." i scoff, matt was just finding any excuse to argue with me.

"but it hurt! and it wouldn't of even happened if you were the one unpacking the dishes, makes me think 'bout how i do everything around this house." matt barks back, his voice raising in volume,

i take a step back, rubbing my face,

"we know thats not true, so dont claim some stupid shit like that." i mumble

"it is! all you do is lay on your ass and do nothing." matt says, his voice still loud.

"stop yelling, youre being ridiculous." i start, "im about to make dinner, and then clean our room, so i think that says something." i say.

"for once." he says with a snarky tone.

i feel my face heating up with pure frustration, "you know your being flat-out unfair, so stop it."

"im just saying the truth, and it hurts cause you know im right!" matt yells in my face,

"can you just go for a walk or to your room or something? im done with this and i want to make dinner."

"im not even hungry." matt mutters,

"okay? i need to make dinner anyway? so just go to your room please." i speak back, shaking my head slightly with disbelief about how stupid this argument was.

"youre such a bitch, always telling me what to do like youre my mom or somethin'." matt groans, running his long fingers over his flushed face.

"what the hell is your problem matt? seriously calm down!" i take a step back.

"my problem? my problem is that i cant even have a fight with my girlfriend without instantly being told what to do." matt says, getting more and more frustrated as he spoke.

"you're not even trying to stop this though? you want to keep arguing." i say softly, trying to deescalate the situation.

matt looks at me, his arms crossed over his chest, "maybe i want to argue,"

"i'm not fighting with you anymore, so you can try but its not gonna happen." i speak

matt groans in frustration, he was starting to deflate. "oh so you're done now? just finished?" he questioned.

oh my god, this kid just wouldn't let it go.

i grab matts wrist, tugging him down the hall.

"what are you doing this time." matt scoffs, resisting against my grip.

i pull him into our bedroom, slamming the door behind me as i shove matt backwards.

he stumbles backwards onto the bed, his eyes widening slightly as he stares up at me.

i crawl onto the mattress, my weight making the mattress dip slightly. i move closer to him, sitting right ontop of his lap.

"what- what are you doing?" he repeats, his voice slightly softer as he looks up at me through half lidded eyes.

"you don't want this?" i whisper, putting my weight fully down on his lap.

his cheeks flush a dark red, his adams apple bobbing up and down as he looks everywhere but my eyes.

"no- i- yes- i just mean that- i want this- yeah.." he rambles, his slender fingers.

"yeah, thought so." i speak softly, rutting my hips against his clothed crotch.

his eyes dart around the room,

"look at me," i say, grabbing his chin which is grazed with stubble.

his eyes meet mine, he looks so pathetic.

i gently press myself against him, dragging my fingers across his face gently.

by the second he's getting redder and redder,

"y/n.." matt mutters, his jaw clenching slightly.

"shhh.." i shush him, still straddling his lap.

"get off." he groans,

"why? because you don't want me to feel how hard you are right now? we both know its too late for that." i whisper

matts eyes widen,

"this isn't fair-" he starts,

"its not fair that you've been mean to me all day." i snap back,

"mmm- but you're being mean to me now!" he whines,

"tell me what you want then." i speak,

matt's cock throbs against the thick fabric of his jeans, increasingly becoming more uncomfortable.

"want you to touch me." he whispers, his hands reaching up and toying with the fabric of my shirt.

"say sorry first,"

matt groans, "but-"

"say you're sorry."

"sorry." matt whispers.

"look at me, and tell me you're sorry for being a dick." i tell him,

he rolls his eyes slightly before anwsering, "i'm sorry for being a dick.." he says, clearly humiliated as a small, damp, dark spot appears on his jeans.

"and say that youre the most annoying person to ever grace the earth!" i giggle,

"okay- pushing it now." he mutters,

---

wow i finished this thanks for the patience HAHAHA

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[rezitio]

⊹ | 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 ₙₛʄʷ

ft. Ohma Tokita, Raian Kure, Rama XIII, Kanoh Agito, Niko Tokita, Hatsumi Sen, Wakatsuki Takeshi, Muteba Gizenga

warnings: There's over 40+ links here they each have a description find your own warnings man 😔 they need login of an 18+ acc

━━━━━━━━━━

⊹ | Ohma Tokita

01. Sometimes strong men like him need their ego checked but a petite little minx two times smaller than them.

02. At times ohma just wants to feel you on his cock. Especially after a long day of fighting his thoughts, himself and Niko. You were his only light in the inside.

03. It can get real messy with Ohma, I mean really messy.

04. He'll hold you like this when it's all over. When he's done re-arranging your guts after hate-sex. No he doesn't hate you- he hates himself and you happened to be the nearest stress relief

05. Ohma never sleeps (at the right time), so he feels up your body while you have your wet sweet dreams

06. He doesn't want you to think of him like that. He knows what you go through, selling your body in the inside can't be easy. He knows you hate it, but when you offered, for free, God now he knows why people pay so much.

⊹ | Raian Kure

01. Raian making sure both your holes are filled

02. The whole clan knows Raian. The cousin your mother always compares your siblings with and the whole clan knows you. The girl who did not inherit one gene of kure family blood.

03. Raian was never taught how to say I love you or how what love was. He was taught give them no other choice, so he knocked you up knowing damn well he wasn't supposed to come inside.

04. Raian loves them virgins. How eager they are for dick

05. How hard he fucks after convincing you to slip off the condom.

06. Raian can be petty sometimes, leading you to an orgasm like this only to stop and bring up a passing comment

⊹ | Rama XIII

01. "Come on, close so soon? Keep going... please your king"

02. You know he has lots of women lined up for him but maybe,maybe tonight you can finally prove him you're worthy.

Maybe try again next time...

03. Rama absolutely adores his little maid.

⊹ | Gaolang Wongsawat

01. First time with Gaolang was supposed to be cute and pretty, but even a man like him can't think sweetly with a cunt as tight as yours

02. He knows its wrong. Fucking the princess? Your brother will kill him, but even the strongest soldiers fail with temptation

03. With him, sex isn't about orgasm it's about pleasure, the Intimacy

04. Koalang treating his princess well.

05. You don't know how you convinced him to give you a massage but God, did you have to have a fucking perfect body?

06. They call him the fastest boxer, because of how fast he is with his hands.

⊹ | Niko Tokita

01. This is Niko's way of warning you body to take his girth

02. Niko can't remembering the last time he's had pussy, but it seems like wver other day now, he's more than six inches dep in you.

03. Your dad's bestfriend visited while he was gone but not for him. (PLS I CAN IMAGINE HIM SAYING THE SAME EXACT WORDS.)

04. Doing shit like this will get you in trouble just like that.

⊹ | Kanoh Agito

01. He always gives you the opportunity to do whatever you want with him, these are his favs. one.

02. It's either your fucking Kanoh agito, or Fang of Mesturo

03. When ever he's fucking you, his tongue becomes his a weapon used to conquer that pussy.

04. ...

⊹ | Hatsumi Sen

01. I can imagine him fucking the Nogi group's secetary under her desk, and telling anyone passing by you left work early.

02. Seeing your ex again at your engagement party. You told him you hated him, how he made you feel, how you missed his touch and ran to the bathroom. That's where you two are now!

03. He's gotten in trouble with Nogi more times than he can remember, skipping fights and being inappropriate. He can't just resist his boss's cute 'innocent' daughter while she practically begging for his cock.

04. Bumping into your ex and having sex hasn't on your bingo card for the day.

05. He's fucking in love with eating your pussy.

06. Your dad's going to kill you if he find out, but he did tell you to keep him company while he takes this call so...

⊹ | Wakatsuki Takeshi

01. This is how Wakatsuki Takeshi, fucks.

02. You haven't seen each other in such a long time, first thing he made sure to do was rearrange your guts

03. Sometimes he would be hesitant, making you be on top and letting tou ride him. Just so he doesn't accidentally crush you with his weight or split you into half, but he always gets too... impatient

04. At times Takeshi rarely does anything, but the thickness and the heaviness of his dick never fails to make you cry out.

05. Lovely picnic on the grass turns into a fuck sesh mid argument

⊹ | Muteba Gizenga

01. What would you honestly do in that situation? A big tall man tells you to get on your knees for him after murdering your abusive boyfriend, he says he's been watching you, and he just beat you to it.

02. I know it in my heart when a nigga has a big dick. I'm never wrong.

03. I don't know this is just a very muteba position

Oh God.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Welcome back to another episode of "Birds incredibly niche aus that are almost definitely inspired off of some shit that happened to her"

On today's episode, I bring you; Disgruntled donations attendant Kakashi and "keeps bringing shit I can't fucking accept" Obito

(What is a donations attendant? Basically the person who works in the back rooms of good will who accepts donations from people who swing by with them. Lots of lifting heavy shit into boxes and moving furniture, lots of telling people "ma'am, that's a bunch of rusty nails. I can't accept that.")

Anyways.

Donations attendant Kakashi.... I think he works with Yamato and Shisui + Itachi are also there somewhere. (Team ro content...oughh...) Sarutobi is his shitty annoying boss

Kakashi is built like a stick and looks fucking anemic, so he's always getting people wary of handing him heavy things to lift, or offering to help— which is only actually helpful like 10% of the time and mildly patronizing the other 90%

Still, others can't help but worry

The actual point of this au is just Obito continuously coming by with things Kakashi can't actually accept and deriving way too much joy from making Kakashi explain why

He is pulling up with a truck bed loaded with just straight up rusty metal and going whatever do you mean owo ??? When Kakashi goes "Obito what the fuck."

He shows up with a mattress covered in suspicious red stains. They can't accept mattresses anyways, the stains are him going the extra mile.

Or he shows up when the store is closed just to drop bags of random crap and broken furniture on their back porch so Kakashi has to sort through it first thing in the morning.

^ on that note, multiple times Kakashi will reject whatever Obito brought in only for Obito to go "oh that's ok, I'll just bring it in again when you're gone, teehee <3"

Just this silent war between them with Obito continuously showing up with increasingly concerning things just to piss off Kakashi

It's incredibly unclear if they're actually friends or not. Yamato, Itachi and Shisui have a bet going on what the fuck their history and relationship is supposed to be. Shisui thinks they're friends, Yamato thinks they're enemies. Quietly, Itachi thinks they might be dating.

(The answer is all three and none of them at once)

I think Obito is actually taking unwanted trash from other Akatsuki members for this. He ran out of weird, useless, suspicious and / or dangerous shit to try and donate in that first month— he's been offering to take out the others trash since he ran out

Hidan especially is happy to give him things he doesn't want (most of it is blood stained. "Dont worry, Tobi" he says "the blood isnt mine!" "Oh yeah Kakashi will love this.")

Kakuzu asks if there's money involved in the disposal then gets disinterested when he learns there isn't

Konan once gives him a live bomb.

Itachi has yet to admit he knows Obito outside of work. (He is going out of his way to not be there when Obito comes by to bother Kakashi)

Uhhh something something then they angrily make out over the haunted dolls Obito brought in from Sasori (they weren't "haunted enough" for him to keep)

[shanastoryteller]

this is NOT a request for u to hurry finishing up the new chapter for siat (bc people who do that are ungrateful brats) but a genuine question. Do you feel even less drawn to it right now (spn brain aside) because of what JKR has done to English politics and the lives of trans women? Because I think it would be completely understandable if you felt this was ur final straw to not finish it but I would also get the opposite of it being ‘now there’s even more reason to finish it’ I think both viewpoints are valid and have their reasonings and this is really truly not in any way meant to be a “why isn’t there a new chapter yet!!:(((“ ask I’m just curious what HP fanfic writers (especially someone as well known as you) make of this as I keep seeing posts going around of the “if u still read/write HP fanfic you’re a terf too” variety and I just…disagree with that but also see where they come from (aka helping the fandom stay relevant. But even if we all quit reading and writing fanfic, HP would still be popular and imo the dent fanfic makes isn’t that big in the fandom bc locals still love HP and most people who now read fanfic hate JKR and wouldn’t actually read her books/buy merch)

Regardless of what you decide, know your Audience is behind you,100%. Hell, you dragged most of us (me included) back into Supernatural. I’m excited for the new chapter of tgp!! 💖💖

Thank you for all your words, whatever fandom they may come in (I.e I found you years ago because of your teen wolf fic specifically embers embers but stayed through so many fandoms and even read some I know nothing about) you are a beacon of light in this world and I treasure each of your works truly and with all my heart

thank you, this is a really sweet and nice way of asking, i'm so glad you enjoy my writing <3

but honestly: nah lol

jkr is shit and so are all of her opinions. the influence she has on government sucks and i personally think it's best to avoid giving her money, but i'm not pocketwatching other people

siat, which is a very popular hp fic, is 8 years old and has 2.8 million hits

in 2023 alone, 9.6 million people visited universal studios hollywood, the home of the wizarding world of harry potter

people should engage with media in whatever manner they feel most comfortable and sparks the most joy. but the idea that fanfic is a significant contributor to the cultural zeitgeist is just stupid

siat's on the to do list, i've just been infected with spn brainworms and wbt is also on the list but i feel more compelled to work on that one than siat just because huge chunks of it are already written so it seems a little silly to drag my feet as much as i have, plus at the time it had been a year since i posted the first chapter and i was like. ok come on let's go this is getting ridiculous

it's a goal to get back into a regular update cadence with siat. i'm not tired of it, i don't hate it, i still have an outline and know we're i'm going

it's partially that we're in sort of a tricky part to write, since it's about when a bunch of threads are about to come together and i don't want to fuck it up, and also that demands for updates honest to god really do kill my motivation to work on it. it's not punishment, i'm not trying to be a bitch, but i love the story and want to love sharing it with you, but being treated like a dispenser of fic, or like i owe people something and i'm somehow being selfish or inconsiderate by having fun writing what i want to write, really honestly just kills that. i don't want to write with that in the back of my head

people ask me about siat updates a lot. i don't post anything close to all of them. and if it was just "love the story can't wait to see what happens next!" that wouldn't be a problem, that's nice, i like that people are engaged and interested in what's to come

but a litany of "when will this update?" "is this abandoned?" "what about siat :(" "i don't care about x, why aren't you working on siat?" "you haven't updated siat in a while..." "why haven't you updated siat?" just makes me feel kinda bitter. which isn't a place i want to write from

it will be updated. i probably won't write the next chapter straight through and will alternate with tgp or wbt or whatever, but it's honestly just a mix of brainworms and having a lot of fun with these blorbos and wanting to have be in the right mindset while i write

[yallmakemyassitch]

C’mon, ENA! Smile!

Summary: Froggy helps out ENA find her spark after losing the motivation to work. As a good coworker, she wants to do the same thing for him

Word count: 1704

Tobi Talks: Hey guys, I know I've been dead as hell due to school and commissions, but I'm proud to announce that I'm now free. I graduate in two months, isn't that just neat?! Anyways, I've been obsessing over this game ever since it came out and it's a crime no tickle content is out there about these two goobers. Enjoy the read!

WARNING: The following contains spoilers for the beginning of Chapter 1 for Dream BBQ! Proceed with caution!

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Froggy was crouching idly over the cliff face, observing the blood red sea’s inhabitants peacefully kick their legs in the crimson water. He breathed in the iron filled air, disturbances had already cleared out of his head and entered the tranquility and peace he needed so much. In spite of that, Froggy was forced to hear the bellowing cry of another complaint, it made his eyebrows furrow. Here he was thinking her fussing was all over.

“Damn job! Why can’t the boss find his own way here!” ENA shouted, Meanie had her lime green megaphone over her agape maw.

She was shaking her fist in the air and yelling toward the ocean like it would answer back. His coworker never failed to confuse, why couldn’t he just have one shift without her going to disturb him?

He stood up from his position and crossed his arms. “ENA, just what are you doing?” His Japanese tongue exasperated his frustration at the woman.

“Trying- to get- his attention!” ENA was gasping for air on beat with her words, still jumping up and down in place like a lunatic.

“He can’t hear you from here. The island is too far!”

”Like hell he can’t! Hey, asshole! Get your lazy butt over to this rock right now or I’m gonna-“

Froggy jumped in to grab her by the shoulders, ceasing her exercise. “Don’t yell those sorta things! Otherwise, you might get us fired!” He muttered to her through panic, having to keep his grasp firm so she wouldn’t go jumping somewhere else.

Meanie thrashed him off with an annoyed growl. “Don’t touch me! I could care less about this stupid job!” As if he didn’t know that already.

“Calm down, ENA! We had a deal that you would get rid of the smoke!” He was getting really angry at this point.

The woman wiped out her megaphone from her absent neck. “I’m not doing shit!” She hissed. He was already feeling a headache come on. Froggy groaned and swiped the palm of his hands over his face, stretching it over the contours of his skull before the skin went snapping back into place.

That was it, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He sighed, knowing his route of potentially pleading with her to just do her damn job wasn’t going to work. He would have to appeal to her ambitious side, but what could give her the motivation?

“Hm…I don’t think I told you everything about our “work target”. He hummed, crossing his arms and wearing a rare, optimistic smile.

ENA scoffed, mimicking his crossed arms. He had gotten her attention, her poor attitude always failed to show her appeal to work.

“What is it?” She still sounded oh so uninterested.

“Ehh. C’mere. Here here. Over here.” He motioned with his large hand to step forward. She obeyed without starting a fight, closing the distance between the two as she approached. With her at his side, it would be much easier.

“Look at that island over there again.”

She turned to face the island, utterly oblivious to what was about to happen. In an instant, he was behind ENA and already slipping under her arms to her sides. She flinched at the foreign touch, just as she was going to turn and yell out at him, she had beaten herself to it. Meanie’s voice distorted itself from a rude shout to a staticy squeal of all things.

Thick, black fingers were dancing about the smooth sides to her trapezoidal prism of a torso. ENA’s voice had become an uncomprehensible jumble of words and likely, slurs as well.

“Wh-wh-wh-wh-what are you- AHA- DOHOING FROGGY!?”

”Fixing that attitude of yours! Besides, you were killing my mood…” He attacked her near the empty space of her shoulders, guessing that they were the closest thing to “underarms” that she might have had.

ENA’s arms flew up and thrashed in place, switching positions, making no effort to protect her body. Froggy found the sight amusing and a rare, determined smirk creeped onto his usually stoic face.

”Get a smile back on your face. A smile makes customers feel welcome.” He scribbled a hand over her hip and did the same to the smooth underside of her disembodied torso. Meanie began to giggle, it was gruff sounding like her voice, but oddly cute.

“Stahahap ithihit!” She cried, squirming and thrashing in place.

Froggy simply pulled her back to her position in front of him, he didn’t mind giving his coworker friend an attitude adjustment. “Plehehease!” He cocked an eyebrow, he never thought Meanie would ever say please, let alone beg. It was a polite enough request.

”You were polite this time, so I’ll stop for now. Are you going to continue having a bad attitude?” He asked.

ENA was hunched over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. After some moments, her gasps of air couldn’t be heard anymore. Froggy watched intently as the geometric woman slowly turned her head to glare at him.

Meanie was still there and the cheeks of her cream white skin had been dusted with a gentle pink. The sight of the blush surprised him, but not so much her response to his attack.

“S-screw you.”

Froggy silently stared at her for a few seconds and brought his arms out in front of him to crack his knuckles.

Her eyes went wide, “Oh no.” ENA whispered.

The area was filled with her giggling and laughter once more, Froggy noted that if it ever came to this again, he wouldn’t let up until she was back to normal completely.

”Ahahahaa Froggy, plehehease please stohohop!” Fingers were scribbling from her “underarms” to her hips all over again. Meanie reacted terribly when her ribs were targeted, he made it a mission to keep her mirthful until her happier persona came to be.

ENA cackled and cursed. The sensation of fingertips digging into the side of her floating torso made her smile wide and hysterical. A sigh escaped Froggy lips, already exhausted by the monotony of chasing ENA’s body where she danced in place.

“Stohohop plehehease! I’m gonna dihihie!” The switch from Meanie to Salesperson was apparent, the once gruff, womanly chortles transitioned to hearty, manly laughter. The sound of her manly voice made Froggy smile a bit, she was back to normal. Froggy let her go.

“O-oh geez…that was- quite the…treatment…” Salesperson was hunched over, gulping down generous amounts of air to refill her lungs. The japanese man gave her a supportive pat on the back, chuckling slightly.

’I had to, otherwise we’d never get anywhere.”

“Ah ha!” She enthused.” Well than I have to bless you for your business~”

He was only half listening, scratching the back of his head. “Don’t mention it, anyways, when are you gonna get rid of that smoke- eh, ENA?”

She was gone.

It was like she vanished in thin air. Just as he was going to call out her name to find her, he felt two hands gently squeeze his sides. He shrieked, jumping a foot into the air.

Froggy squirmed far away, ringing his arms tightly wrapped around his sides. His coworker was right behind him, with her head lowered, the shadow cast over her eyes made Salesperson look very mischievous.

”It seems I’m not the only one lacking in a lot of nerves, eh?” She teased, enjoying the sight of alarm written all over her friend’s face. He was embarrassed of being caught so off guard, along with that humiliating sound he made.

“W-what are you doing?!” He screamed at her, annoyed.

”Why, I’m merely gifting you my appreciation! You put me back in the mood to work and you seem to be struggling with the…same problem.” Her voice dropped to a sinister octave.

His heart dropped. No way. There was no way she was going to…

”What’s wrong, Froggy? Don’t tell me you’re ti-ck-lish too~?” The wiggle of her fingers with every syllable of the dreaded word filled him with a shocking amount of nervousness.

“E-ENA! Don’t try anything snea- KY!”

ENA lunged for Froggy, her showman laughter was his signal for him to duck. Luckily, his reflexes were reliable enough to spring him into action and dive out of the way. Unfortunately for him, he stumbled awkwardly over his feet and fell splat, face first. He groaned in pain, feeling his nose as he pushed his body up from the rocky ground. He felt around his nose to make sure it wasn’t broken, disheveled and distracted, this was her time to strike.

He jumped and shivered when two hands once again attached themselves to his upper torso. Her white hand dug its fingers into his ribs, while her red hand squeezed up and down the length of his plush side. Froggy shouted, it didn’t take long for giggles to escape from the man.

“Ehehenaha! Tomeru! Hahahaha!” His laughter was breathy and full of gasps, similar to how he coughed when breathing in the smoke. She wasn’t cruel enough to tickle him until he coughed. ENA merely snickered to herself, her position standing over him protected her from his swinging arms.

“Why all the ribbiting, Froggy? Is something particularly amusing right now?” She beamed at her own pun.

”Shut uhuhup!” He curled himself in the fetal position, still belting out ribbits and laughter. He clutched his stomach, but that didn’t stop ENA digging under his arms and into his underarms. A long flurry of pleas and tittering escaped from her coworker. Froggy noted to himself not to ever tickle Salesperson, Meanie, or ENA in general for the matter!

“Please! Lehehet me gohoho!”

ENA grinned, removing her hands and stepping away so he may recover. Froggy clutched his chest, barely able to keep himself up. Salesperson watched, satisfied, with her hands on her hips.

She was displaying the same amount of pride as if she had sold one of the company’s products to someone. “Had enough yet?” She simpered.

”Yes yes, that’s it. N-no more!” Froggy cried, still gasping for air. Lesson learned, ENA was much more ruthless than she appeared.

“Excellent! Now then-“ She grabbed the rim of her hat, striking a pose. “Where can we find that boss?”

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Fin~

[vaguely-concerned]

it's so interesting that gideon opens his heart so quickly and completely and irrevocably to twig, while regarding mishka -- a parallel little sister/kid figure with some worrying hag magic attached, who also is in a situation similar to and has overlapping trauma with his own; they both have the scars of manacles around their wrists and are exploited for some inborn capacity other people want to make use of -- with such measured distanced distrust. and any reason you want to imagine there makes so much sense! it could be it's just too much like his own situation and he can't go there without getting into contact with things in himself he'd rather not feel or remember. might be instinctive flinch-away from still dealing with what happened to twig (and then jabberwock party wipe horror on top of that as a further attachment anxiety booster -- he didn't see kremy die since he's the first to go, but he sure gets to hear the story afterwards), and not wanting to risk that pain again so soon. twig meeting him at a moment where he was ready to let someone into his fiercely guarded in-group, and mishka didn't? just plain differences in personal chemistry (again... mishka is a lot like him in a lot of ways. perhaps. too much for comfort from some angles)?

if his trauma brain has decided that NO I've got kremy under one wing and twigsy under the other and sorry kid I only have two fucking wings, nothing is ever going to take this from me again while I'm alive to fight for it (the way they took my dad and my home and all those years of my life)... biggest FAIR ENOUGH GID! AS YOU WERE GID YOU DO YOU GID!! in history honestly even if it is a bit unfair to mishka

[altocat]

FIRST SOLDIER EPISODE 2 CHAPTER 3

It's that time again! I'm so excited to be recapping the latest chapter for you guys. I'm sure we're going to get some really juicy stuff for this one. Let's not waste time and dive right in!

When we last left our heroes, Miniroth and Babygeal were still squabbling and having weird wish-fulfillment dreams, Alissa infodumped a lot about lore with Jenova and the Cetra, Miniroth became entranced at the idea of taking the sword "back", and the group arrived at a weird-ass temple. Also the sword may or may not be carrying a malevolent influence that directly comes from Jenova. And Alissa herself may also be Jenova in disguise, it's still unclear.

ANYWAY, the group finally sets out to explore the temple. Bachman notes how strange Seph is acting. Angeal himself is skeptical about the temple. But they proceed regardless.

Entering the temple, we see more purple orbs. This is the cavern temple of Hodono. Bachman talks about how there are five statues that watch over this area. Bachman is weirded out that he knows the lore of the area despite never being here before. Same thing happened with Alissa in the last chapter...

Bachman says this is a "hero's trial". Sephiroth doesn't care about heroics. He just wants the sword.

They find a monument inside the temple. Weird ancient markings. More purple visions like last chapter. Da-Chao name drop with the ghosts talking about how everything is burning outside. Bachman starts being able to READ the markings. It talks about the Five Swords of Igara and how they fought "the beast". Bachman claims he heard a voice in his head telling him what to say.

So the statues are the five swords of Igara. Alissa says that Bachman "has the land's favor". Angeal is very weirded out. Seph doesn't care lol still just wants sword.

We find cuts all over the walls. Sephiroth is sure it was from old man Masamune. Another vision. This one of Masamune forging the sword. He held something sparkly in his hand that he used to make it...

Sephiroth says that the sword didn't possess Masamune--he knew what it could do. And it has already decided that SEPHIROTH should be the one to wield it. Angeal says that this place is trying to trick them somehow. Everyone blows him off.

We come up to one of the five statues. The one who sealed the monster away in the statue was Baltai, a warrior of Igara. There's a lore dump on him (and the other warriors) but I'll save that for later as it doesn't have much to do with the present. So the deal is basically we're gonna fight all the monsters in all the statues lol lovely.

Monster defeated. If we defeat all the monsters, the inner door will open. And behind that...Masamune. Angeal says that something is REALLY REALLY OFF about this place but once again...blown off lol

I wander around in the dark for five minutes looking for the other statues. Statue 2. Another monster. Rinse and repeat I guess lol. Angeal keeps asking questions. Maybe the power of the statues is to PREVENT people from going inside the main chamber. Miniroth ignores him.

The last statue is of Da Chao himself. Bachman compares him to Miniroth. A hero among heroes.

Angeal pauses the group, suggesting they take a break to clear their heads. He thinks the group is acting really weird. Sephiroth doesn't want to stop since the sword is so close.

We see a flashback. It's when Angeal got assigned to Robio. He asked about Sephiroth but questions why Seph never came to the mission briefing. The rando tells him that Sephiroth is special and always gets the job done. Back to the present, Angeal relents and follows the group.

Finally reached the Da-Chao statue. More lore dumps. Sephiroth is WAY too into this shit, directly talking to the statue and challenging it lmao calm down bro.

Anyway, I complete all of the statues. A lot of lore but I wanted to get a move on here. The open seal leads to a winding stairway underground. Angeal stops the group AGAIN to say this is too dangerous. He starts questioning literally everything leading up to this. And he points out how obsessed Sephiroth has become. Alissa keeps telling Angeal to just "accept it". She's talking like it's a cult... And Sephiroth is going along with it.

Angeal pushes him down and tells him to get a hold of himself lmao But Sephiroth is adamant about getting that sword. He pushes Angeal too. So now the girls are fighting sighhhh.

Sephiroth said that Masamune made that sword for HIM. HE is the rightful owner. He doesn't find this impulse strange at all. They have to keep going.

We finally enter the main cavern where Masamune is waiting.

Angeal (who got left behind on the floor lol) notices the purple shit and tells them to get away. We see him having another weird vision of him and his parents at Costa del Sol. This is clearly not real--another wish fulfillment vision. He finally gets to treat his parents to luxury.

But Angeal KNOWS this isn't real. This is just a hallucination! It never happened!

Because...his father was dead. Oh fuck guys...

Angeal blames himself for the death of his dad because of the sword....I'M BAWLING ASDFGHFDS

He hears his parents calling him and a vision of Gillian tries to gaslight him about "rocking the boat". This is honestly really upsetting. Angeal tells her that she's NOT his mother. The vision turns into a monster, which he fights and breaks the illusion. Angeal promises to be true to his own sense of justice. LET'S GOOOO.

Anyway, Angeal recognizes that the purple shit isn't REAL He's got to do something!!!! He already knows that Sephiroth is probably experiencing these visions too. He runs after the group to save them!

Back in the cavern. Sephiroth collapses and starts having visions too. Oh shit it's when Team Glenn returned from Rhadore! Sephiroth is receiving a promotion! But Sephiroth is confused since the island sank and the mission was a failure. LOL I guess the President wants to cover that up. Team Glenn has a party in his cell but Sephiroth doesn't get why they're celebrating. Matt says they should do a mission in Wutai next.

A commanding officer steps in to detain them. Sephiroth won't get in trouble but they will. Glenn left the dog with Seph. Seph is sad to lose them. Weird...so then how did Glenn get Refu? Hm...

Sephiroth comes back to himself and approaches Masamune. But just as he reaches for it, purple shit everywhere. Masamune comes to life and says he will judge if Seph is worthy.

After a quick fight, Masamune says Seph is the one he's been looking for. He asks Sephiroth for his name. HE says Seph is worthy...but will the spirits? He says that it was their voices that commanded him to forge the blade.

Purple shit everywhere. Seph reaches for the sword but it vanishes! This is still part of Sephiroth's test.

A voice in the dark, calling to Sephiroth...it's Glenn's....

The chapter ends here! But there's bonus content of course like the other times.

Bachman's entry first. Sephiroth is distressed at hearing Glenn's voice. Bachman just recaps everything so far.

SEPHIROTH VISION TIME. IT'S HIM IN THE LAB WITH HOJO SADFGHFDSADFGFD HOJO IS FORCING HIM TO FIGHT MONSTERS BUT THEN FAKE-LUCRECIA STEPS IN AND TELLS HOJO TO STOP FORCING SEPH TO FIGHT! Seph protects her from the lab monster. This is so cheesy. She leads Seph out of the arena lmao And then patches him up in his cell. Seph tells her not to interrupt combat testing again--it's dangerous! But Lucrecia can't bear to see him get hurt! She wants to protect him. Lucrecia keeps telling Sephiroth to sleep and not worry about waking up. Sephiroth says that Lucrecia is the only person in the world who cares. He just wants to protect her.

Angeal next. It's the fucking funeral of his dad FUCKKKK The false-vision of his mom says that ANGEAL killed him! This really is his fault! All because of that sword. Angeal beats himself up. He keeps blaming himself. GUYSSSSSSS. But Angeal from the present wakes him out of his vision. He HAS to keep pressing forward! He won't yield to these visions!

And that's it! No Genesis. But we did get that Hojo cameo lol

[lilgarbitch]

Mindnumbing - Nick Folio

Pairing: Nick Folio x Reader

CW: smoking with Folio, marijuana and in depth details of smoking, anxiety from smoking, talks of panic attacks, slightly intoxicated decisions, dry humping, oral (f receiving), p in v (unprotected)

Word Count: 4.2k

Author’s Note: Honestly kinda proud of this one. I’ve been reading a lot of “smoking with folio” fics so this may or may not be self insert writing. originally wasn’t gonna make it smut but…who am i kidding i cant simply write fluff

Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @dontwantthemoney @badomensgoodomens @enemiestolovershoe @blade-dressed-in-red @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera @tosoundlessdarkistare @lacy1986 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @death-ofpeace-ofmind @fadingangelwisp @heyyoplayer @super-btstrash-posts @chey-h @bluehairpunklol @geminigirlfromfinland

“I just..I don’t know. I used to smoke a lot in my teen years, and then maybe I overdid it? All I know is that I had one panic attack while high and now even the thought brings me anxiety,” I said as I sat across from Folio on the patio outside my hotel room. 

We’ve just been shooting the shit, talking and joking about whatever since everyone else went to sleep not too long ago. Sleep didn’t come easy to me, so I was used to being the last one awake, and tonight, Folio seemed to just not be bothered to even try to sleep. I didn't know if he had started to suspect that I stayed up late and wanted to keep me company, or if he just didn’t want the night to end yet. All I know if I was thankful to not be sitting outside alone for the umpteenth time this tour. 

After a bit of talking, he brought up smoking weed, and why I seemed to always stray from the topic or ignore the invites from the guys when they wanted to go out for a late night sesh. 

“That’s a shame. I do hear that happening a lot, so I get it, but you know you can still hang out with us when we're smoking. No one’s gonna force you to hit anything if you don’t want to.”

“No, I get that. And I do appreciate the invites. It’s just.. the second hand smoke mixed with the loud environment can start overstimulating me.” He nods, an understanding look on his face mixed with eyes that I can see are deep in thought. 

“Are you just completely cut off from it now? Like the thought of ever trying again out the window?” I thought about it for a moment before answering.

”I wouldn’t say that. I do miss it. Especially how well it’d help me sleep. I just don’t know when I’m willing to give it a chance again. I’ll definitely need to be in a calming environment and not be pushed. But I also don’t want to be alone in case I do have a panic attack because it’ll just make it worse.” 

“I mean, we’re in what I’d consider a calming environment now,” he says, holding his arm out to the night sky above us, “And, not to pressure you into saying ‘yes’, but I do have a few pre-rolls in my bag for nights like this.” 

I could feel my heart starting to race slightly. I wish that one bad panic attack didn’t make the thought of trying so terrifying. I knew I could tell him ‘no’. Or ‘maybe another night’. But something about the consideration in his eyes, and how he was probably the only one who I’d trust to be in such a vulnerable position with, made me want to give it a try. 

“I could…be down…with trying. I just can’t promise that it’s a definitive ‘yes’. But if you want to smoke, I think I could handle being around it, especially because it’s quiet, we’re outside, and it’s just us.” He gave me what I could tell was his way of suppressing that cheesy grin he always has. 

He got up and opened the doors to the tiny patio, badly hiding his excitement, and I watched through the glass as he practically sprinted towards and out of the hotel door. He left it open a crack so he could get back in, and I just waited. After about five minutes, he came back, sauntering into the hotel room while trying his best to suppress a giggle. 

“I fucking tripped and knocked over so much shit trying to leave. I don’t know how I didn’t wake Jolly up,” he said once he closed the patio door behind him, his shoulders shaking with a scrunched face smile as he tried not to laugh too loud.

I covered my mouth trying to do the same, the image playing in my head of that scene. He sat back down in his chair and pulled out three joints and a lighter from his pocket, setting them on the tiny table in front of us. He was still laughing as I was trying to calm my breathing, pushing the thought of seeing him take a tumble in a dark quiet room. But just imagining the look he probably gave sleeping Jolly, making sure he didn’t wake him, had me bursting out laughing, causing him to turn to me and playfully shove my shoulder, shushing me while still laughing. 

After a few minutes, we finally managed to calm ourselves, the laughter subsiding to small giggles as he grabbed a joint and lit it. Thankfully, the boost in my mood from the laughter helped me regulate myself as he did so. It wasn’t like I was terrified to be around people smoking, or weed itself, it was just that it usually brought up the memories of being unable to sober myself up and panicking. It’d send me back into that mindset than I had no way of getting myself out of, or was willing to deal with on my own, so I just refused to allow myself to even heal from it. 

I watched as he took a hit from the joint and held it in the hand opposite from me as he blew the smoke in that direction, too. He got himself comfortable in the metal patio chair, letting the feeling of imminent comfort take over, and I tried doing the same. Seeing him take the simplest actions to not overwhelm me allowed me to work on relaxing next to him, pushing the thoughts of panic out of my mind and just enjoy the peace between us. 

As he smoked the joint, us continuing our endless rambling about anything and everything, I could slowly notice it taking effect. The already giggling boy getting even more giggly, laughing at the simplest things I said, making me laugh in return. As each moment passed, his energy rubbed off on me more and more, and I didn’t feel a moment of anxiety or panic, just amusement and peace. I was finally able to smell the absent scent of weed and not immediately get sent into my thoughts. It was refreshing to say the least. 

He finished the first joint pretty quickly, the wind around us causing the cherry to burn fast, so he put out the butt and turned to me to continue our chat like nothing happened. And besides his glazed, ochre eyes and extra goofiness, nothing really changed. 

After going on and on about the most random topics ranging from childhood stories or the best lunchmeat, a bit of time passed and he lit up the second joint. I could see that he made a tiny bit of a show doing it, kind of telling me that this was a good chance to join him if I wanted to, and for once, the small push didn’t fill me with dread. 

I watched as he took a small hit off of it; as the cherry glowed in the dark night, and the scent of the smoke blowing in my direction gave me a bit of nostalgia for the first time in a while. As he blew out the smoke and turned back to me, I looked at him for a moment before holding my hand out, signalling I wanted to take a hit. A glimmer of shock crossed his face, not one that showed he was shocked I’d give in, but almost like he didn’t expect to be the one to actually get me to try again. 

He crossed his arm over towards me, holding out the joint, and I took it between my index and thumb. I watched as the intense smelling smoke rose from the ash, knowing it was now or never or else I’d waste it. Bringing it up to my lips, I took the tiniest toke before handing it back. He watched me with a giddy look on his face as I inhaled and exhaled the smallest puff of smoke.

”Please don’t watch me, I might freak out.” I said with a small laugh. 

He quickly looked away from me and chuckled, taking another hit. I could see he was glancing at me from the side, making me giggle. 

“I just meant ‘don’t stare at me’, you freak,” I giggled out, making him turn back to me, chuckling. 

The conversation went a little slower as we waited for that tiny puff to hit, him being amazing with keeping my mind distracted but not jumping between different topics like we were before. Just smooth chatting as we both stared out into the dark sky and let the effects take over. After about two minutes, I finally felt it start to hit, and my first instinct was to take deep breaths.

Suddenly, I felt a hand gently grasp mine, causing me to glance over to see Folio looking at me with a lazed, calming smile. He gently brushed his thumb over my palm as he continued to talk, making me realize I had accidently started blocking out his words when trying to calm myself. I simply stared at him, focusing on his words leaving his lips and letting that take over the thoughts in my head. 

I took in the feeling of the soft grazing against my hand, the sight of his lips moving, and the way his soothing voice filled my ears. Before I knew it, I was taking another hit of the joint. It wasn’t until I handed it back, coughing, that we both realized what I did, causing him to bust out laughing, me following suit. 

With not smoking in so long, I was definitely as lightweight as I’ve ever been, so time began to both speed and slow at the same time. The second joint was long gone and we were just giggling and sharing random things on our phones. It started as me wanting to show him the social media of a band I randomly remembered and desperately wanted him to check out, and eventually led to both of us sharing memes back and forth. We sat there for way too long just giggling at our phones and each other, and soon I noticed a lot of time had passed. It was almost 3 in the morning and neither of us seemed to want the night to end yet. 

I glanced over to the lone joint left on the table. Taking a moment to gauge how stoned I was, I eventually turned to him and nudged his arm. He glanced at me with a waiting smile, expecting me to show him another shit post on Instagram, but I beckoned my head towards the table, him having to follow my eyes to see what I was talking about. 

“You want to smoke the last one?” He asked, sounding slightly shocked.

”Fuck it, why not?” He just shook his head with a laugh and picked it up. 

He went to put it between his lips to light it, but paused and turned to me. 

“Here, you light it. Let’s see if you remember how,” he teased as he handed the joint to me. I rolled my eyes and took it from him. 

“It’s only been a few years. Of course I remember how,” I said, grabbing the lighter from his hand and placing the joint between my lips. 

I cupped a hand around the end of it before holding the flame to it, inhaling slightly to make sure the tip was evenly lit. Once I saw it turn red, I pulled the lighter and my hand away and took a quick puff, making sure it wouldn’t canoe, then taking a bigger hit and passing it back to him. Once I turned back to face him, he was staring at me with a dazed look, making me laugh. 

“What’s that look for?” I ask, bringing him back to earth and getting him to take the joint from my hand. 

“I just…That was really hot,” He answered, making me laugh more. 

“What? Knowing how to light a jay?”

”I guess so. I don’t know. I guess I just wasn’t expecting you to do that so well and so…hot.” I playfully smacked his arm and he lightly chuckled to himself as he took a hit. 

“I can’t tell if you're insulting or complimenting me, so thank you and fuck you.”

Now that I was really smoking, it was fully hitting. And thankfully with Folio’s presence, there wasn’t a single moment of anxiety. We continued passing it back and forth and I just relaxed in the chair and let it take full effect. My body had that sweet buzz going through it and my thoughts were finally at a slow pace for once. After a few minutes, I turned to look at him after handing it back to him. 

He was staring out at the sky and the traffic passing by a few hundred feet from the hotel, his eyes shining in the moonlight and smoke drifting from his lips. And I just stared. Stared at the silhouette of him the stars created from behind. The way his arm flexed ever so slightly as he brought the joint to his lips. The way his cheeks caved in as he inhaled, and how sharp his jawline looked from my direction. 

And then that familiar feeling came back. The one I hadn't felt in a while, since it’s been a good bit since I’ve been high. The tightness in my lower stomach mixed with the relaxed buzz flowing through my body. The heat in my cheeks as my hormones got flipped on like a switch caused by the effects of the drug. My body felt like hot jelly and my mind was humming as I stared at him. 

It took him a minute, but he eventually sensed my stare and finally glanced my way. He held out his hand, passing the joint back to me, assuming I was just waiting for it, until his eyes landed on mine. They were probably insanely bloodshot and glazed over, but his entire body momentarily paused as we made eye contact.

I watched as his stoned mind overworked, taking in the emotion behind my eyes. After probably too long, I finally blinked and broke eye contact, glancing down at the almost fully ashed joint in his hand. I take it, the graze of our fingers sending a tingle through my body, and bring it to my lips. When my eyes land back on his, I see that he’s staring at my mouth, watching me inhale. As I do, he speaks up. 

“You know what I haven’t done in forever?” He says, me answering with a ‘huh’ as I exhale. 

“Shotgun.” 

It takes my brain a second to process his answer, and once it does, I glance down at the last of the joint in my hand and back up at him. And it must’ve either been the clouded ease of my mind or the insane heat in my stomach, but without a second thought, I sat up straighter and brought the joint back to my lips. Taking a deep puff, holding the smoke in my mouth, I turned to him and gently reached out to hold his cheek before bringing him closer to me. 

When our parted lips touched, I slowly exhaled the smoke into his, feeling him draw it in. He holds it for a moment as I feel his hand slide to my side, before blowing it through his nose and pressing his lips into mine with more eagerness. It doesn’t take long for the kiss to deepen and for him to tug me closer. 

I slip from my chair into his lap as he wraps both arms around my waist. I managed to set the burnt roach on the table as I moved before sliding my arms around his neck. The fuzziness in my head intensified as our lips moved with each other’s. The instant I felt his tongue slip into my mouth, a groan slipped from my lips, causing him to tug me closer, pulling my body flush to his. I could feel his growing bulge underneath me, my immediate reaction to start grinding against him. The whimper he let out into the kiss sent a fire through my body.

He slid his hands down to my hips, squeezing them tight and helping me rock them against his. We were panting against each other, small noises slipping from our lips as we seeked that desperate friction. I finally remembered where we were, and that if anyone else was outside, they could probably hear us, but as I went to pull away to tell him that we should probably move inside, he seemed to realize the same thing. 

Slipping a hand under my ass and another around my back, he held me as he stood up from the chair. I wrapped my legs around him so when he reached the patio door, he could use the hand across my back to slide it open and close it behind us once we entered. After walking us to the bed, he dropped me onto it before crawling over me, immediately reconnecting our lips. I missed this feeling so much. Nothing could compare to stoned sex, especially with someone like Folio. His toned body pressed against mine. His strong arms wrapped around me and the desperation he felt from being equally turned on. 

He moved his lips from mine to my neck, hungrily kissing and nipping at my skin as one of his hands slid down my body. He slipped it into my shorts with ease, a deep groan erupting from his lips as he felt how wet I was. He grazed his fingers through my folds, collecting my slick before focusing on my clit, rubbing mind numbing circles as he continued to attack the sensitive skin of my neck. 

He then pulled away, making me whine at the lack of friction and heat against my skin. He chuckled as he moved down my body, his hands slipping under my shirt and gently pulling it up to leave kisses against my stomach. Then, he glanced up at me as his fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts, me meeting his eyes and giving a weak but desperate nod. He slid my shorts and panties down slowly, pressing soft kisses to my hips and thighs until they were completely off. He slowly moved his hands back up my thighs before parting them and staring at me hungrily. Suddenly, he dove in, licking a stripe through my folds, groaning against me, causing vibrations to feel like they shook through my body. 

He didn’t ease into it, immediately working the most sensitive parts of me. He started by licking and gently sucking on my clit, getting me closer to the edge faster than ever, but once he felt my muscles starting to tense, he’d stop, trailing his lips back to my thighs and hips, letting me calm before starting again. Between the weightless buzz of my body and the fire in my nerves, I couldn’t think. So when I felt his fingers graze against me before sliding into me, I couldn’t hold back a gasp. 

“Oh fuck,” I groan out as he starts moving them, causing him to give me a soft, drawn out ‘shhhh’. 

I lift my head up and glance down at him to see a soft smirk on his lips, his eyes glossy and full of pride for how he was making me feel. He picks up speed and I throw my head back again, having to cover my mouth with my hand to keep quiet, arching my back at the overwhelming pleasure coursing through me. My eyes squeeze shut as the knot in my stomach builds, but when I feel his lips connect with my bundle of nerves once more, I was instantly thrown over the edge. 

Biting my tongue, a deep moan rumbled in my chest and my hips lifted from the mattress as waves of euphoria took over my body. He continued pumping his fingers, helping me ride it out. As he slowed his movements, he gently pressed his lips against my hips before finally pulling out of me, then moving back up my body. Our lips reconnected once he reached me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him close. Despite the pleasure I just felt, I was insatiable. I hook a leg around him, pressing my heel into him to bring his hips back to mine. The feeling of the bulged fabric of his shorts against my sensitive bare skin made me press into him more. The hunger in his kiss was unmatched, and I wanted nothing more than to give him the same pleasure he gave me.

I went to reach down between us and work on unbuttoning his shorts, but as my fingers made contact, he knocked my hand out of the way and started working on them himself, undoing his shorts with one hand as the other held him hovering over me. He let me help him slide them down as far as I could reach, him eagerly tossing them off before sitting back and doing the same with his shirt. Before I could even take in the sight in front of me, he was tugging my shirt over my head and staring down at me, taking me in. His hands trailed over my body before finally resting one on my hip and the other cupping one of my boobs.

“Fuck,” he starts, his eyes trailing over me, “You’re so fucking sexy.”

“Nick, please,” I whine, shifting my hips closer to his.

His eyes meet mine, a sinful yearning shining through them. Keeping our gazes locked, he reaches down and takes a hold of his cock, leaning his hips forward and gliding his tip through my slick folds before gently pressing into me. A gasp escapes me as I feel the stretch, followed by me letting out a shaky exhale when he finally bottoms out. 

Slowly, he starts moving his hips. I try to keep eye contact, but as he builds speed, the pleasure becomes too much. I have to close my eyes to prevent them from rolling back. My noises soon increase as his hunger and desperation take over.

He takes hold of my hips, lifting them and angling himself so he’d hit that extra sensitive spot inside me with each thrust. With how mind numbing his cock feels and my already slowed thoughts from the joint earlier, I had no control over my volume. I feel him slip an arm under my waist, keeping me angled perfectly for him as he leans forward and cups a hand over my mouth, softly shushing me.

“I know you feel good, baby, but these walls are so much thinner than you think,” he teases.

I try to look at him, my eyebrows furrowed in bliss, but as he stares down at me with those smug eyes and challenging smile all while fucking into me at the perfect pace, my eyes start rolling back and he has to clamp his hand over my mouth tighter to keep my sounds from amplifying. 

It doesn’t take long for that knot in my stomach to start again, getting tighter and tighter with each thrust. And I know he’s getting close too, letting out soft grunts and dropping his head to my shoulder as his thrusts start getting sloppier.

“Fuck. You’re squeezing me so tight. Come on, baby. Let me get another out of you,” he groans. 

Hearing his desperate, exasperated voice in my ear mixed with the feeling of his body against mine, I quickly came with a loud cry, my moan barely able to be muffled by his hand. As I came around him, my muscles tensing and squeezing him even more, he let out a strangled moan before sitting up.

Leaning back, he stared down at where our bodies connected as he panted and let out a few curses. Soon, he pulled out and began pumping himself, reaching his climax and spilling all over my stomach with his head thrown back and a deep groan rumbling his chest. 

We both stayed there for a minute, catching our breath and trying to get our heads working again. With my eyes still closed and my head against the pillow, I feel something slightly rough against my stomach, making me look down. He grabbed his shirt and started cleaning me the best he could, making me blush and chuckle softly. 

“You could’ve grabbed a towel,” I said, my voice a little raspy. 

“I could, but this was closer,” he replied before tossing the shirt on the ground and falling onto the bed next to me, “Plus, I have nothing against thinking of this every time I see that shirt.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed, making him chuckle, too. Even though I know I should clean up better and put clothes back on, I was worn out. I shifted and grabbed the blanket, slipping it out from underneath us and pulling it over me, snuggling into the bed.

I feel him shift next to me and then an arm wrapping around my waist and tugging me closer. 

“Hope you get some good sleep tonight,” he says in a gentle voice before pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. 

With my eyes too heavy to give him another glance, I just softly smile as I drift off to sleep.

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: Cussing, Medical descriptions, mentions of blood and injures, fluff

Part 32

A Charming Detour - Part 33

The room is brighter today. Sunlight cuts through the blinds in angled slats, laying stripes across Juice's bed and the pale blue hospital blanket pulled to his waist.

Machines still beep steadily, though there’s one less now — the ventilator’s presence looms, but today, it’s being disconnected.

You’re not in the room.

You’ve been pacing just outside the door, a paper cup of untouched coffee cooling in your hands.

Chibs is with you, leaned against the wall, arms folded, silent but grounding. You don’t ask why he hasn’t left your side. You already know. He’s seen this part before — the waking. The pain. The panic.

Inside, nurses prep Juice. The doctor explains what’s happening in that calm, clinical voice that somehow makes it all feel worse.

“You’ll feel pressure. You might gag. Just focus on breathing. We’ve got you.”

Juice’s eyelids flutter, and there’s a sluggish kind of awareness behind them. Heavy, drugged. Confused.

Then they start to pull the tube.

He thrashes.

His body bucks slightly, instinct fighting what his mind hasn’t yet caught up to. Hands strain weakly against the bedrails. A strangled noise escapes his throat — a wet, gasping sound, equal parts terror and pain. His chest convulses once, twice—

Then the tube slides out with a slick, wet sound.

He chokes.

Eyes wide. Watering. Mouth open, dragging in air like a man pulled from drowning. His breaths are harsh and ragged, rasping around a throat raw from silence. His whole body shudders as oxygen finally moves on its own again.

“Jesus Christ...” he gasps hoarsely, voice like gravel dragged over asphalt. “Where— where the hell— what happened—?”

The nurses try to calm him, one hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Ortiz, you’re at St. Thomas. You were on a ventilator. You’re okay. Just breathe, okay?”

He doesn’t hear them.

He’s already panicking.

“Babe?” he croaks, jerking his head weakly to either side, eyes darting around, bloodshot and frantic. “Where’s— where’s my wife? Where is she? Baby?!”

You don’t remember moving, but the next thing you know, you’re at his side. The coffee cup hits the floor and rolls away. You’re breathless. Trembling.

“Juan— I’m here. I’m right here.”

He turns his head toward the sound, eyes catching you. For a second, he freezes — like he’s not sure you’re real. Like his brain can’t accept it.

Then he chokes out something that might be a sob.

“Baby… oh my god… you—” He tries to sit up but can’t. The effort makes his whole body tremble.

You catch his hand and press it to your cheek. It’s cold and dry, the IV still taped to the back. His fingers twitch and grip yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, leaning closer, your forehead almost touching his. “You’re okay now.”

He nods — but tears are already sliding from the corners of his eyes. His voice is rough and breaking.

“They—they grabbed me, babe. Took me— I tried to fight but there were too many and I thought— I thought I wasn’t gonna see you again. I kept thinking about you, like— like maybe if I just held onto you in my head they wouldn’t win, y’know?” His words stumble over each other in a jumble of emotion, frantic and messy.

He’s trying to smile through it, through the pain and the fear and the raspy cough that keeps interrupting him.

“You look—God— you look— so fucking beautiful. You always do. Even when I’m half-dead and probably smell like shit.”

You laugh, watery and cracked, and press your lips to the back of his hand.

“I thought I lost you,” you whisper. “I saw them dragging you away. I couldn’t— I couldn’t stop them.”

Juice shakes his head slowly, still wheezing a little, but his grip on your hand is stronger now.

Juice’s chest rises and falls unevenly, each breath rasping as it climbs up from lungs still protesting the effort. The ventilator’s gone he looks exhausted, pale under the bruises, dried blood still clinging faintly to the stitches on his arm.

But his eyes haven’t left you once.

Juice is still mid-ramble — frantic, sincere, clumsy in that achingly Juice way.

“Did the guys—did they take care of you? I mean, you didn’t go home alone, right? You ate? I bet you didn’t eat. Baby, you have to eat. Wait—did anyone even tell you I was okay or did they just, like, ride off and leave you pacing the garage like some mob wife in a movie? Not that you’re a mob wife. You’re way prettier. Shit—did that sound creepy?” He pauses, barely a breath between words, and lets out a short, wheezy laugh. “I’ve been out for days and I’m still saying dumb shit.”

You shake your head slowly, your soft little smile breaking just slightly at the edges.

“I’m okay,” you say gently. “We… all came home.”

He exhales, lips parting like he wants to say something else—but hesitation flickers behind his eyes.

That insecure, unsure little twitch of his fingers over the sheets, the way his hand hovers midair before dropping back down like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to ask.

“I just—” His voice cracks a little. “I need to hold you. Is that okay? Or are you—shit, you’re probably scared. I look like Frankenstein’s baby brother. You don’t gotta—if it’s too much, I get it. I just—”

You stop him with a motion so gentle it’s like a ghost moving your hand finds his, and he immediately latches onto it, knuckles white with effort.

“I’m not scared of you,” you say softly. “I was only scared you wouldn’t wake up.”

He opens his mouth, but his lips tremble and close again. And that—that moment of silence from Juice—is maybe more telling than anything else he could’ve said.

You stand slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. Juice watches you like he can’t quite believe what you’re about to do, like maybe he’s hallucinating.

Your weight dips the mattress gently as you climb up, legs folding delicately beside his hip, your upper body draping carefully along the edge of the bed, hand tentatively on his chest.

He shifts with a wince to make space, one arm half-wrapped around your back despite the tangle of IV lines and bruised ribs. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, where his skin still smells faintly like antiseptic and blood and him underneath it all.

Juice exhales shakily.

His fingers, weak but desperate, trace small aimless patterns along your back—like he needs constant contact to remind himself you’re here.

“Baby…” His voice is barely audible now, breath warm against your hair. “God, I missed you. Everything hurt but that was the worst part. I didn’t know if I’d see you again.”

You press your lips to his collarbone and feel his pulse flutter.

“Me too,” you whisper.

He’s quiet for a long moment—until a nervous laugh breaks free.

“They’re gonna yell at us for this, huh? Me all tubed up and stitched together, you crawling into bed like a scene outta Grey’s Anatomy. I love it.” He chuckles, then groans as it pulls at his bruises. “Okay, laughing? Bad idea.”

You smile against his skin, letting the silence settle, letting his heartbeat thud beneath your ear.

But beneath the tenderness, his fingers still twitch now and then — not from pain, but from that nagging anxiety that always lives in him.

The room is wrapped in half-light — the dimmed glow of fluorescent bulbs and the shifting silver of passing headlights through the blinds. Machines hum a low mechanical lullaby beside the hospital bed, soft and constant, as if the world itself is holding its breath.

You’re curled into Juice’s side, your body finally surrendered to sleep for the first time since they took him.

Your face is tucked into his shoulder, one small hand resting just over the gauze taped to his ribs.

Your breathing is slow, even, the kind of sleep that only comes after fear has wrung every drop of strength from you.

And Juice — battered and bruised, tubes trailing from his arms, his head still aching — can’t stop looking at you.

His fingers twitch where they rest on the curve of your waist. Not from pain. From awe.

"Baby," he whispers, voice still raw and hoarse, “you’re really here…”

Your lashes don’t even flutter.

You're out cold.

And he swallows thickly because that alone breaks something in him. That you probably didn’t sleep until now.

Juice blinks up at the ceiling for a long moment, then lets his gaze drift back down to you — every inch of you like a balm to his beaten body.

His hand curls gently around your wrist, thumb brushing your pulse, as if he still needs to make sure you’re real.

“I don’t even know how I got this lucky.” His voice is a hush. “Like, what the hell were you doing with someone like me? You could’ve had normal. Safe. Some guy with a desk job and a Labrador, not—” his voice catches, “—not a guy who drags you into this world. Into this.”

Your breathing doesn’t change. You’re still somewhere deep inside dreams that don’t hurt. And he’s thankful for that. You shouldn’t have to carry the nightmares too.

“They hurt me, baby,” he says, more to himself than to you now. “But that wasn’t the worst part. It was thinkin’ I wouldn’t get back to you. That I’d die there on that floor and you’d never know how much I—”

He cuts off, biting his lower lip so hard it almost bleeds. The words sit on his tongue like a razor blade.

Instead, he tilts his head, pressing the lightest kiss to your temple — gentle, reverent, like he’s terrified to wake you.

“I love you—god—so fucking much babe” he whispers so soft it might not even reach your ears.

Your fingers twitch slightly in your sleep, brushing his side.

He stills completely, watching you with wide eyes, half-expecting you to wake up and call him out on the mess of his soul.

But you don’t.

You just snuggle closer, your body molded against his like you were meant to be there.

Juice exhales, his eyes glassy now.

He closes them for a moment, letting himself rest into the warmth of you — letting the fear go, piece by piece, like bleeding it out of his bones.

The room is still dim, the blinds half-drawn against the world outside. The machines keep their steady rhythm beside the hospital bed, a soft mechanical reminder— beat by beat, breath by breath.

You haven’t moved.

Curled into Juice like a second skin, your small frame fits perfectly against his side, your cheek resting just below his collarbone. His arm, bruised and hooked to IVs, is draped protectively around your waist, his thumb moving in slow, idle circles over your shirt — a nervous comfort, maybe for you… maybe for him.

His eyes haven’t left your face in over an hour.

He watches the rise and fall of your breath like a lifeline.

His face, usually animated and fidgety, is unusually still — soft in a way only the most vulnerable moments allow.

For the first time since the warehouse, there’s no fear of slipping into darkness.

Not while you’re here.

Not while you’re safe.

The door creaks open.

Boots scuff the linoleum, followed by a low murmur of voices. Jax enters first, followed by Chibs and Tig. The latter two glance at the bed and halt mid-step.

"Shit…" Tig breathes under his breath, gaze flicking from Juice’s wired-up body to your sleeping form.

Jax smiles faintly, eyes tired but soft. “Hey, man. Good to see you awake.”

Juice turns his head, careful not to disturb the IV in his arm. He looks dazed, but the second he sees them, his brows knit with something like relief.

"Aww, look at this little cuddle puddle,” Tig mutters with a half-smile.

“Didn’t think Juicy had it in him.”— not loud, but enough to make Juice flinch.

"Hey—shhh, shhh—" Juice whispers quickly, almost panicked. He tugs his arm tighter around you, his hand smoothing down your back.

“Don’t wake her, man—please.” His voice is cracked from the ventilator, but urgent. “She fell asleep. She must be exhausted.” He swallows, emotion knotting his throat.

The room stills. Chibs exchanges a long glance with Tig. Neither of them say anything. They don’t have to. They’d seen it too—the wreck of you after the warehouse, the way your hands didn’t shake when they should’ve, the way you stood in the blood like you'd forgotten how to breathe.

But Juice doesn’t know.

Not yet.

Juice looks over, blinking blearily, and then gestures with his chin toward the armchair in the corner. “Blanket. There. Can you—can someone grab it? She runs cold. Always forgets her jacket.”

Tig hesitates. For a second, he looks like he might say something smartass, something sharp to deflect the knot tightening in his chest.

But then he sees how Juice is looking at you.

Like you’re sacred, untouched, and his whole goddamn world.

So Tig just nods and steps forward, unfolding the thin blanket. Juice lifts his arm slightly — a wince in his jaw as he moves — and Tig drapes the blanket carefully over your back.

“Thanks, man,” Juice whispers, smoothing it out gently with fingers that tremble a little more than they should.

He leans down, presses a kiss to your temple again, murmuring something that sounds like “warm enough, baby?”

You don’t stir.

But you shift just the tiniest bit closer.

And Juice lets out a slow breath, like your body moving was the only answer he needed.

Chibs, still watching, crosses his arms, his usual smirk softened by something almost paternal.

“Yer lass is tougher than she looks, Juicy” he says quietly.

Juice nods, not catching the subtext. Just agreeing.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, looking down at you like you hung the damn stars. “But she shouldn’t have to be."

Juice carefully tucks the blanket up beneath your chin. “Don’t want you gettin’ sick, you've got enough to worry about already.”

Jax nods, jaw tight.

Chibs glances away, jaw working like he might say something — but doesn't.

Tig just stares.

They all remember the image of you with the crowbar. Blood across your face. Rage in your eyes. The screams.

But here you are now, tucked up in Juice’s arms like you’re made of porcelain and air.

Juice doesn’t know. Not yet.

And none of them have the heart to shatter the version of you he’s still clinging to. Not when he looks like that — like you’re the only thing keeping his broken body from falling apart all over again.

[st4rlight707]

Contact High

HAII this is my first time trying creative writing so i apolgize for the pacing i tried my best so pls be nice!!

Tags: College AU!, Caleb x fem!reader, comfort fic, possessive thoughts, drug use, swearing, smut!!

(also let me know if there are any other tags I should add!!) and the playlist is a lil something i put tg and listened to while writing!!

12:47 a.m. That’s what the clock reads when I finally look up from my phone. First night of spring break, and I’ve spent it bedrotting and doomscrolling instead of studying—fully aware exam season is lurking just around the corner.

I sigh, peeling myself off the bed, and wander downstairs for a glass of water. That’s when I saw him.

Through the kitchen window above the sink, out on the back patio deck, sits Caleb. A black hoodie pulled low over his head, his face dimly lit by the flicker of a lighter as he shields the flame from the late March breeze. A blunt rests between his lips.

My Caleb.

He’s smoking? Since when does he do that? Is this his first time?

He checks his phone absentmindedly, the glow illuminating the underside of his face. For a second, I just watch him; at least 3 minutes pass like that, with me watching him scroll through whatever has his attention on his phone, smoking like it’s just another night. All I can wonder is, how long has he been smoking? When did he start smoking? Who taught him how to roll a blunt? The thought of him smoking out girls at parties or in his dorm at the DAA creeps into my mind.

I forcefully slide the back patio door open, suddenly feeling enraged by my own thoughts. Caleb jumps a little, surprised by the noise, and sees me standing there. He gives me a look of a kid who just got caught doing something they aren't supposed to.

"Shit, Pipsqueak, you scared me," he says with a smile tugging at his lips, and sets the blunt down onto the ashtray in front of him. "Since when do you smoke?" I say, pulling his hood down and crossing my arms, the irritation in my voice undeniable. “Why are you mad?” Caleb asks, grabbing my wrist and pulling me into his lap. He smells like weed and cologne, his eyes red and his lids heavy from the high. "`You ask like I just committed a crime," answering my previous question. "I don’t do it that often, just… when my brain won’t shut up," he continues.

"So you're out here smoking alone? And what's keeping your mind racing this late anyway?" My eyes flicker to his phone; I can’t help but wonder if someone at school—a girl— is influencing my Caleb.

“Pipsqueak, relax,” he says, voice low. He seems to pick up on it immediately. He always does; Caleb could always just read me like that. He runs a hand slowly down my leg like he’s trying to calm whatever displeasing thoughts were buzzing under my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "Yeah, uh… guess I didn’t expect to get caught by you, of all people." He scratches his head a bit, clearly trying to play it off, but embarrassed from being caught red-handed. "So you are embarrassed." Unable to resist teasing him in a state like this. “A little." He says, tips of his ears visibly red, "I mean—you’re like the one person I didn’t wanna see me like this.”

A dull pang of guilt settles in my chest.

He didn’t say it in a way that was defensive or ashamed—just honest. Like he really cared what I thought. And for some reason, that hits me harder than I expect.

“Why won’t you try taking a hit? It’ll be fun,” he suggests, leaning in a little, eyes still low. “Let me show you how to let go for a second."

It wouldn't kill me to try it once, right? Plus, I'm with Caleb, and he wouldn't let anything bad happen to me.

Sensing I’m close to giving in, he grins just a bit wider. “There she is,” he murmurs, reaching for the blunt. He relights it, it had gone out sitting untouched in the ashtray—and brings it to my lips.

“Just breathe in slowly,” he says softly. “I got you.” The first inhale burns. I cough—hard. Caleb lets out a quiet laugh, clearly amused. “Damn, Pipsqueak,” He pats my back, his palm warm through the thin fabric of my shirt "I didn't think you'd hit it that hard" "Holy shit, do you get use to that?' I asked in between smaller coughs. Lungs still stinging from the smoke, his touch lingers, his hand gently rubbing in slow circles. Comforting. Casual. Except it’s not, not to me. "Eventually," He says

Goosebumps race down my spine as he takes the blunt back, fingers twisting the ends of my hair—almost absentminded. The closeness wouldn’t usually faze me, but it feels different now. Caleb takes another hit and turns his head away to not blow the smoke in my face.

Maybe it’s how his shoulders have filled out in the past year. Or maybe it’s Tara, my dormmate, constantly pestering me about how I need to catch a dick.

She was always saying things like, "How have you been living with a guy that hot and haven't jumped him in the laundry room already?" I always rolled my eyes, swore it wasn’t like that. But now?

Now he's sitting here with smoke curling out of his lips, his hoodie riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin and the faint line of his happy trail disappearing beneath his waistband, twisting my hair between his fingers like it’s a habit, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. And now I can’t stop noticing how his hand looks resting on my thigh—bigger, steady, and familiar, but not in the way it used to be.

I can feel my heart start to race after this realization, but I'll blame it on the THC entering my bloodstream before I acknowledge my attraction to my childhood best friend. “You’ve changed,” I mumble before I can stop myself.

Caleb raises a brow, exhaling smoke as he glances over at me. “That a good thing or a bad thing?” "I don't know," I admit, a bit too honestly. He gives me a look I can't quite decipher. "Tara's been getting to you, hasn't she?" My head shoots up to give him a look. “Shut up.” “I’m right, though,” he grins, all smug and a little too satisfied with himself. “She’s been planting ideas in that pretty head of yours.” His hand trails up from my back to massage my neck as he offers the blunt back to me.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I take it from him and confidently take another hit. He laughs softly, eyes still on me. “Look at you, getting high with me on the back porch like we’re in a coming-of-age movie.” I look away, trying to hide the blush that found its way to my face, but he can feel the heat creep up my neck anyway.

His fingers find the ends of my hair again, rolling a curl around his knuckle. This used to feel safe. Simple. But now... with his thigh pressed against mine and that look in his eyes...

I feel a heat start to build between my legs, and I shift awkwardly, squeezing them together in a weak attempt to ease the tension. Sitting in Caleb’s lap definitely isn’t helping physically or otherwise. He picks up on this, too. "Are you uncomfortable?" voice low but cautious, like he’s not sure if he should move or stay perfectly still.

“No,” I say, maybe too quickly. “just... adjusting.” He raises a brow “adjusting, huh?” “Don’t start,” I mumble, face flushed. He chuckles under his breath, teasing me. His hand settles lightly on my hips, fingers flexing just a little like he’s testing the waters.

“I mean if you wanna get up,” he says, quieter now. “You can.”

I don’t move. “You want me to?” I ask, in almost a whisper. His grip on my hips tightens just slightly—not enough to hold me there, but enough to say I don’t want you to. “No,” he says finally, voice rougher than before. “Not really.”

He takes another hit from the blunt—just a stub now—and something reckless stirs in me, probably fueled by my high or my jealousy issues. Or maybe it's the way I’m suddenly aching, clenching my thighs against the growing tension low in my belly.

Before I can even process it, I shift to straddle Caleb, now fully facing him, heart pounding in my throat. I can feel him—his clothed erection brushing perfectly against my core, sending a sharp wave of heat through me.

“Shit,” he mutters, his hand instinctively moving to my thighs. “What're you doing, Pipsqueak?” I don’t give an answer, I just reach for the blunt, and bring it to my lips. One long, slow inhale.

His eyes go wide, pupils blown and glossy. “Fuckk,” he breathes. And before he can say anything else, I cup his face in my hands, leaning in, and exhaling the smoke into his mouth, lips barely brushing. Caleb inhales the smoke like it’s second nature.

His hands slide higher, gripping my hips firmly, and he pulls me down against him—my whole body pulses at the contact, heart thudding so loud now I’m sure he can hear it.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice raspy from the smoke. “You have no idea what you're doing to me right now.” I bridge the gap between our lips and kiss him passionately, throwing my arms around his neck to pull us closer together. The blunt falls somewhere forgotten behind me as I grip his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered.

His lips are warm and a little dry from the blunt, and I can still taste the smoke on his lips. Caleb makes a soft sound in his throat, almost like a groan, and pulls me in tighter. His fingers dig into my hips, not hard, just enough to ground us both like he needs proof this is really happening. I feel the muscles in his thighs tense beneath me, feel the way his body presses up into mine.

The high makes everything feel softer but heavier. More intense. I can’t even tell if I’m breathing too fast or not at all.

His lips leave mine only to trail kisses along my jaw, then lower, stopping to whisper against my neck, “You’re driving me insane, Pipsqueak.”

Good.

If I could climb inside his skin, I would. I love that no one else gets to see this version of Caleb—the real him—the Caleb who laughs when I say something dumb, the Caleb who treats every bump and bruise like he’s my personal doctor. The one who lets me crawl into his bed after a nightmare and never says a word about it the next morning. The one that’s mine, even if neither of us has said it out loud..

Dragging him impossibly closer as I kiss him deeper, rougher, until our teeth bump and his breath shudders against my lips. His tongue slides against mine, and I groan into his.

I grind against him again, slowly, deliberately. Feeling just how hard he is, cock barely restrained by the thin fabric of his basketball shorts. Caleb's hands find their way under my shirt now, cupping my breast, and I arch into him shamelessly. His thumbs brush across my nipples a few times, now stiff under his fingers. I bite back a gasp, burying my face into his neck. The scent of smoke and skin feeling familiar and dizzying all at once.

“You feel so fucking good, baby” he mutters, voice rough and half-broken, and I can feel the tension in him—he’s holding himself back. His hands move down, gripping my ass, guiding me to rock against him again. Faster this time. Harder. “You don’t even know,” he says, the words thick with need.

I smile, just barely, drunk on power and weed and him. “Then show me.” He kisses me again, my hips rolling on instinct, chasing the friction that has my head spinning and my toes curling.

Neither of us says a word, but everything is loud—the sound of our breath, the low hum of music still leaking from his phone speaker, the rustle of fabric, the creak of the patio chair beneath us.

Every time his hips push up to meet mine, it gets harder to stay quiet. He drags my shirt higher, mouthing at my collarbone, then lower, lips grazing the top of my chest, leaving heat in his wake, he groans into my skin.

“You’re mine,” I whisper without meaning to.

Caleb pauses for just a second, breathing hard against my chest. “Yours,” he repeats, voice rough and low. “All fucking yours.”

My breath hitches, the words settling deep inside, and I kiss him again. ike I’m trying to brand the taste of him into my mouth. Our rhythm slips into something more desperate, more frantic. My hips grind down harder, slower, dragging out the friction that’s quickly unraveling me. His cock presses up, stiff and hot through his shorts, perfectly aligned against the ache between my thighs

Caleb’s hands slip beneath my ass, kneading the soft flesh, using his grip to control the movement—rolling his hips up to meet every grind of mine. I moan into his mouth before I can stop myself, and he swallows the sound like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“Fuck, Pipsqueak,” he breathes against my lips, voice wrecked and loving. “You’re so wet—I can feel you through everything.”

“You gonna come like this?” he whispers, lips brushing mine. “Right here, on my lap, just from grinding on me?”

I nod, barely managing the motion, my whole body trembling with how close I am. “Caleb—” I gasp, digging my fingers into his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor me.

“I got you,” he says, holding me tighter, pressing his forehead to mine again. “I’ve always got you.”

I roll my hips once more, and everything in me goes white-hot, crashing and clenching around nothing but need. I moan into his neck as the orgasm rolls over me, wracking my body with shivers and aftershocks.

Caleb holds me through it, never letting go, murmuring something against my temple—something I can’t quite hear over the pounding in my chest, but I feel it. Every word. Every touch.

When I finally come down, still trembling in his lap, he pulls me close, pressing a lazy kiss to my cheek. His hand strokes my back in slow, steady circles, grounding me again.

“You’re really not getting up now,” he says with a crooked grin, voice hoarse and smug.

And I don’t want to.

Not tonight. Not ever.

[deramin2]

One of the things I appreciated most about Critical Role Campaign 3 from a literary lens is that it confronted how one of the most challenging parts of all political fights is just deciding what precisely is wrong & what to do about it. Especially as a group. This is where most real movements fail.

The very reason that depicting this reality is annoying to so many viewers is why it needs to be shown in fiction with full honesty. The convention in modern Western literature is to continuously lie about this part & never show it because verbal confrontation makes people as uneasy as cringe does.

But that leaves us with a lack of fiction to help process how we can do this in our daily lives. Unfortunately, we don't get to magically come to a consensus behind the scenes. We have to actually talk to everyone from the loved to the loathed about what we want to happen. And they often don't agree!

In a real-world activist meeting, It's often considered rather gauche to start casting fireball at the other attendees until they're all dead & not your problem because you disagree about which action to address next. Also considered poor taste to keep casting charm person until everyone agrees.

Which means that you're going to have to use your words to persuade others what to do tomorrow, even when you 99% agree with each other. And you're going to have to tolerate the frustration of going around and around in circles restating your case. See 12 Angry Men.

But that's not sexy in a violence-obsessed culture. It's hard to make it look good in a trailer. It's complicated and slow and requires people to compromise as a group instead of asserting their dominant will over people. It reminds us of how messy political processes are even on the 1:1 level.

But it's also the only thing that actually works. Even in revolutions where violence got the ball rolling, that wasn't what actually repaired anything. It was people talking endlessly about how to redistribute power more fairly, & what specific task they were going to do the next day to achieve it.

If the only art we ever allow to be made is art that lies about that process, then we're never going to be equipped to do it. We're denying ourselves safer places to explore that process where real people don't die when we can't get our shit together. Evading things doesn't make them easier to do.

It took the Critical Role Founders 14 episodes to agree on the name Bells Hells, as they were joking that the indecision was a real problem they were having that was slowly becoming a marketing problem actually inhibiting the business. In reality "just pick something and do it" is very hard.

So given an actually hard moral + political choice at the center of the story with a bunch of characters who have different perspectives, I don't doubt that it was just as fast if not faster to just talk it out in game than it would have been to hide it in the group chat.

Pre-deciding what to do is also not improve. That's really just a "Critical Role SHOULD be scripted" argument. The core aesthetic & method of free improv is to not decide until you're in the moment. Just feel what's there instead of overthinking it to try & control it. That's the FUN & freeing part.

I loved all the character development that grew between the cracks of disagreeing & figuring out what that means about themselves and their relationship to the world & each other. It was so subtle & constant that it seemed still in the way a stream is. But the stream profoundly reshapes the land.

So I liked it. I liked seeing how the sausage is made instead of just the finished spectacle. Especially from a group of people who have had to successfully navigate that process every day for a decade in order to achieve the reward of making and controlling their own art while staying friends.

If we can't even handle negotiation in our media with our blorbos that we get to turn off & walk away from, how the hell are we going to handle city council meetings, protests, mutual aid groups, unions, or anything of boots-on-the-ground political value to fight the literal actual fascist takeover?

[fuji09]

Except that I don't. I'm not the op of this post. I'm not constantly making posts about this one thing Scott said. In fact, I don't talk on Scott much because I don't feel like getting called racist every time I say something y'all don't like. I don't even feel comfortable talking about good things Scott does because even then y'all have found something wrong with it. I've even agreed with y'all before on some points and I still got treated like I was shit talking Scott. I'm still flabbergasted on that one.

I do talk about other characters, I ask questions, I share my thoughts, I theorize why things happen or the possible answers to the questions left unanswered. And you know that because you have replied to a few posts I've made about Teen Wolf meta.

It isn't a contest on who said the worst thing. It doesn't matter how many times someone else has said something awful. You keep bringing up Stiles, Derek, and Peter in conversations about Scott. Comparing things other characters have said, even worse things, doesn't make what Scott said here any less worse.

Just because multiple people bring up this instance, doesn't mean I'm the one constantly complaining about something Scott said. Multiple people will continue to mention this instance because the show is constantly getting new viewers.

So jumping on anyone who brings this instance up and calling them racist or anti Scott isn't helping anyone out. Treating new viewers like they have been around the whole time, which happened to me when I first started the show a little over a year ago, makes people feel unable to even have discussions, which fandom is supposed to be for. Just because y'all have been around a lot longer, doesn't mean everyone else has too.

You see me defend newbies because I know how it feels to be jumped when new to the fandom. I almost gave up on making friends in this fandom because anytime I tried to have discussions, people got mad, insulted, blocked, and acted like I had some nerve trying to talk to them. I felt really unwelcome here until I met some amazing people. I've spoken to many people here who felt the same way.

You can't expect what you see as "old news" to be old news to people new to the fandom. For them everything is new. They are experiencing it for the first time and want to voice their thoughts. But you have no right to jump on new people and accuse them of being racist. That isn't going to make them join your way of thinking. All that will achieve is making newcomers feel unwelcome.

If you want people to see things the way you do, be nice and respectful. Ask them questions on why they feel how they do. Just talk to them and get to know the person.

I've experienced multiple people from your group be instantly condescending to me and only one or two actually be respectful when first speaking to me when I was a newbie. I've been insulted, treated like I was stupid, and accused of things I'm not by people who don't even know me.

So you may see me in multiple conversations about this one instance, but that isn't because I'm constantly complaining about what Scott said. It's because I'm either sharing my thoughts on the matter with newbies or I'm defending newbies because I know how they feel. I can empathize with them.

Oh and I have explained why Scott has said and done things, but since I'm not saying anything negative about Scott in those instances, y'all never comment on them because there's nothing for y'all to defend.

I have spoken on things other characters have done that I didn't like but y'all rarely comment on those either because there's nothing for y'all to defend.

I'm not going to swear any character can do no wrong, I'm not going to defend every single thing any character does. Because they all fuck up. And they all fuck up more than once. People are flawed, humans, werewolves, banshees, hunters, kitsune, werecoyotes, hellhounds, chimeras... All of them are flawed. And that's good. I don't want a perfect protagonist. That's not relatable at all.

"Then they had a reason"

[dingodad]

I actually like the new retcon, im just not sure how well its communicated that it IS a retcon, do most people even remember that jane and jake weren’t on the ship? Anyway im glad they aren’t just dropped from the cast by being left on earth c

Thoughts on the weird flashing images that show up when vriska uses her powers?

i'm having to get used to the fact that most readers do not actually know or remember anything about homestuck, and if i shouldn't let it bother me then i certainly don't think the comic should be bending itself over backwards to explain things to those readers. again, jasprose was IN the update, and the last time she was in the comic - which was only about a year and 100 pages ago - she was literally talking about hanging out with jane and jake. so, like, if people aren't keeping track of that i don't think it's the comic's fault

i briefly talked about some of the flashing images last night. the ones on the ship appear to be flowers, so i haven't got any "thoughts" per se beyond the fact that there seem to be hints pointing toward the new aliens having something to do with flowers? i don't know why that would manifest itself as flowers appearing when Vriska uses her powers, but after John's vision of the table and the cake and shit this comic obviously is not opposed to being avant-garde purely for crypticness' sake LOL

if you mean the images that appear within her portal, or the explosion that happens when she lands on Deltritus... the first example read immediately to me as images representing nothingness (anti-light); stuff that evokes missing textures, missing signal images on televisions, etc. the second example literally has the famous source engine missing texture in it, but it also has a bunch of other far less abstract stuff; floral patterns (a four leafed clover at least makes SENSE for Vriska), mathematical diagrams, photographs of unidentifiable subjects... if this is supposed to be cryptic hints at something, I'm far less prepared to interpret it LOL. we might just need a bigger sample size before I can meaningfully say anything about it, though it is obviously interesting how different the first set of images is from the second. like maybe the specific images are less to do with Vriska's powers generally, and have more to do with what she's currently doing with them? which would go some way toward explaining why it's just flowers when she flies past the ship

god. i know i said trying to figure out what was happening in 8r8k was like doing mattpat frame by frame ARG analysis type shit but the information has only got denser and denser since then hasn't it. is this cosmic punishment. are they torturing me

[jujutsukgojo]

Budding cherry blossoms

katsuki bakugou x reader

Summary: In three days, the man who spent your innocent years with will be executed. tw: grooming, kidnapping, inappropriate relationship NO SMUT a/n: this is inspired by Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, but not exact. Katsuki is not the 'Humbert' in this and there is a happy ending

On the television screen is a face you haven’t seen in years. How long has it been now? Eight or nine years? 

 The reporter explains how that face with a new name will be executed in three days. Flabbergasted, you get up from the couch and go to your library. In a section are several journals you’ve written through years of your life. You feel the spine over the older ones. The oldest is an old spiral yellow notebook written during your trip to this country and how you met the man who will die soon.

 Pressure builds behind your eyes as you pick every journal since then. You haven’t seen him in eight or nine years. Now, you are carrying notebooks, the story of your life, into your living room to read.

He’s going to die. 

You don’t remember much of your life before him. It is like life started when you met him. He was funny, kind, and wasn't awkward with you. Right off the bat, he was like an old friend. When you first met him, he was wobbling as he walked. You couldn't help but call him Uncle Waldo, the drunk goose from the Aristocats. Amazingly, he understood your reference and acted out the scene with you. The sun was setting, the air was light, and the Autumn breeze was gentle as he walked you away into the sunset. 

 Every page in the notebooks is filled with a rush of nostalgia. The reporter keeps going about how this person, your oldest friend, whom you traveled all over Japan with, is going to die. Suddenly, your home phone rings and flashes an old classmate's name. You pick it up and put him on speaker. “How ya doin’?”

 Katsuki’s voice has always been gruff and aggressive; it softens when he talks to you. Reading these diaries makes it all the more wrenching since he has always been kind. You take a deep breath. “I’m ok. You?”

“(Y/n).”

“Huh?”

“Where are you?” You blink several times. “I’m at home, Katsuki. Aren’t you on patrol?” The two of you graduated together despite you being a little younger than him. Uncle Waldo was furious when you told him you took the early assessment for U.A. rather than the school he suggested. If it weren’t for your sneaky ways, the false documents, and sloppy handwriting, you’d never have been able to graduate with Katsuki; especially since Uncle Waldo never denied your age. If he did, he’d have to pull all types of shit up. It was already bad when you put your hideout’s address down.  

You had walked into a place he couldn’t just snatch you out of. Either way, it was impressive that you got accepted early and then went again to try for the hero course’s test. Neither you nor Uncle Waldo could imagine that you got accepted into the hero course as well.

 He was pissed and it got worse when you got your license. 

“Yeah, but I’ll be off in an hour.”

“Anything can happen within the hour, Katsuki.” You keep feeling the journals. You sniffle. “Did you know it was him?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” There are millions of reasons why Katsuki, who has met Uncle Waldo, wouldn’t tell you that he is on death row. “I don’t know.” Pitiful.

 He isn’t the only classmate who met Uncle Waldo. It is different with him, though. Silent tears stream down your face. Your lip wobbles as you speak, “Remember when I first met Miss Mitsuki and Mr. Masaru?”

“You don’t have to call them that, (Y/n).” You can hear his heavy boots stomping as he walks. You sniffle, “I-I was so happy that someone wanted to be my friend. I thought I had gotten another one,” You wipe your eyes. “Someone that was my age, y’know?”

 Katsuki doesn’t say anything. “I want to thank you for that but don’t do that. Don’t lie to me.”

 His heavy boots stop. “I’m getting off early. I’m coming over.”

Half-assed, you reject, “No, no, I’m fine.”

“Don’t give a shit.” 

----------

Katsuki is on his way over and you still haven’t gotten up from your spot. If the door is locked, he can unlock it himself. In the open composition notebook, begins your time at U.A as a freshman during the warmer months. How often have you wondered where your relationship with your former classmates went wrong? Not nearly as much as the question of where your fondest person went. 

The paper is thin and worn from age and handling. The more you touch it, the more you see the images of your history. Meeting the man on the screen, bouncing from hotel to hotel then finally settling in a plain and modest house he probably stole, wearing frilly dresses and dancing to soft jazz with him or for him with graceful moves of ballet; entering U.A at a younger age than your peers then going back for the hero course test; the wars, all of the conflicts with villains and your classmates; everything from your youth to now as a pro hero and writer. 

Your foot taps against the wood floor and your finger goes to your mouth for you to bite. Thankfully, the reporter changes the subject. The heaviness begins to lift until another reporter goes back to the subject of him. The horned reporter sits at the desk and talks in a haughty and firm tone. He taps a thick pack of paper on the table. Every paper he holds in his green hands reads of the man you once knew. Listed are all of his crimes that go from his past to his capture. You bite your finger harder. Desperately, you want to defend him and refute these claims or at least reason them. Even during his time with you, for several years, you rationalize them. Because you can; the bond between you was special.

He was never violent as the news show him as. He got angry with you only a few times. They weren't significant or harmful. He scolded you but never hit you. The years together were joyous with a hint of confusion on your part. You didn't think anything of it. Now you are looking at his face on the screen and wondering where it went wrong. Why did he leave you? Nothing was the same when he left. He said he’d be back but never returned. A gaping, agonizing hole was left in your heart. Alone in the world you were never taught about was a brutal punishment. 

How could this have happened? How did you not know that your biggest adversaries, the League of Villains, had him in their ranks? Not just in their ranks, but an original member? The magic man himself, Mr. Compress.

All this time you never suspected it was Mr. Compress, a man of magic, who kidnapped both you and Katsuki in the Summer. Whereas Katsuki was compressed, you walked into the mist since they ensured that you were safe and that they’d help you clean up. At the time, you were doing the test of courage and were plagued by horrible stomach pains. Right there in the middle of the forest, you had your period for the first time. So, you went with them out of shame and embarrassment.

You chuckle as you remember how nice they had been and how Himiko cleaned you up and gave you a change of clothes. You were kept away from Katsuki at first, not seeing him chained to the chair until you were cleaned and changed. If you faced him before Himiko calmed you down, you wouldn’t be able to handle that. Especially since the front of your pants had a big red stain on them. Come to think of it, there were many times that you weren’t faced with the same challenges as others when it came to villains. 

 When you went home from being held at the League’s hideout with Katsuki, you found the man you spent your childhood with, angry. You hoped that it was an irrational reaction and misguided anger at your predicament rather than the truth. He straight up yelled that he was angry that you had your period. His anger fizzled out when he chose a beautiful sundress for you and a loose white button-up and sleek slacks for him to wear when you two hung out together. 

 It was a wonderful day with joy, laughter, and magic. It was so sweet that you can still remember what the air smelled like and how his cotton button-up felt between your fingers. You remember the flowers that decorated your dress and how creamy the ice cream you shared with him was. 

 It is a memory you think of with fondness and longing. Despite it all, time with him was simple from when you were around seven to eight years old to your teens. Remembering the ages have never mattered to you. What mattered was how adventurous and sweet your years with him were. Hell, he occupied so much of your mind, that you don’t really remember your life before him. And you didn’t care. That issue completely slipped your mind. 

 Now he is on death row and will be executed in a few days; possibly sooner, depending on how the judge or whoever feels. He was a part of the League the whole time. Katsuki knew and never said a word about it. Katsuki had met him before when he would visit U.A. It was only a handful of times. Maybe three in total? No wonder he was mad that you enrolled in U.A. You literally went into the lion’s den. 

 He’s going to die. The pressure behind your eyes emerges. A shuttered breath is taken in as you realize that he didn’t abandon you; he was taken and never meant to leave permanently. An ache of heartbreak caused by the disappointment of how dumb you are buds in your chest, right where the hole he left when he disappeared is. How could you doubt him?

 Wait, is this wrong? There have been many cases where you've worked, and you’ve told those people the same thing time and time again. How come you’re not accepting it? Why is it so hard to swallow and digest and understand? You’re a hypocrite and should smack yourself from judging others when they don’t take your advice. Then again, your situation is different than theirs. 

 You slide to the floor in front of your couch. You throw your head back. The back of it hits the soft sofa. He’s going to die. Who will look at the cherry blossoms with you? You haven’t been to see them blossom since he left. It isn’t right for you to. Not when he isn’t there to comment that they’re red and not pink like you see. With a smile on your trembling lips, you remember the debates you’d have with him and how he always encouraged you to never turn to the internet, always go to a book to see. You didn’t have access to the internet until high school and didn’t have a phone until you graduated. It didn’t feel right to have that. 

 The door’s lock sounds and heavy footsteps enter your home. The sounds of shuffling footsteps come closer to your living room where you sit. From around the corner, Katsuki emerges. He’s out of his hero costume and in a pair of baggy sweatpants and a skull-printed shirt. He crosses his arms and stares down at you with a soft expression. When he first met you, he glared and frowned. Now that he knows you, he hasn’t looked at you that way since. Especially when he met the villain known as Mr. Compress, who hid his identity and gained the one you gave him. 

 “What’re you reading?”

“My old diaries. It’s amazing. I just now noticed I document everything in my life. Imagine I die-”

“Not for a long time.”

“Yeah. Imagine I die and people publish all of this. That’d be cool, right? Just read it when I’m dead, okay?”

 He slumps on the cushion by your head. His eyes go to the TV. Katsuki taps his finger on his arm and decides to shut it off. The blond sucks on his teeth and side-eyes you. Once again, his face lacks a hard expression since he has grown since his angsty days. What was once baby fat chiseled away into something more defined, there is a thin smile line on the left side of his mouth, and his vibrant red eyes remain sharp.

 He wipes his hands on his pants and places one on top of your head. The heavy hand stays on you when he asks, “Are you okay?” Katsuki has never been one for affection. He doesn’t know what to do most of the time. However, he finds it with you in different ways. 

 “You’veasked me that already.”

“I know.”

 After a few beats of silence, you nod. The comfort of his warm hand reminds you of how he came to know the man you lived with for a long time. “Remember when you first met him? As Uncle Wally, at least.”

 He scoffs. “You want to talk about him, huh?”

“Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember. My mom saw him with you at school and wanted you to spend the night. She spent all night trying to pry a confession out of you. I knew something was off but I wasn’t sure. She knew right off the bat.”

 “There was nothing off. It was just a different situation. We were just living together; traveling and enjoying each other’s company. Friends, Katsuki.”

“You both had a different understanding of what friends are.” he cracks his neck. “His idea started to warp yours.”

 You ignore him. “I remember thinking that you were going to be my first friend other than him. Everyone in our class hates me-”

“No one hates you.”

“Pfft! You should’ve heard the girls. At the summer camp, I got into a fight with Mina because she did something with my plush toy. She hid it as a joke and I just wailed on her. All of them hated me after that.”

 “You were just a child, (Y/n).” Katsuki knew your true age when you told Mitsuki. His eyes were round as saucers. You got close to him after the abduction. Once he knew your age and met the man, he grew protective of you. The girls, the whole class, didn’t make fun of you much after that. Sometimes they did but Katsuki squashed it. 

 You shake your head. “Mrs. Mitsuki is a good one. She is so nice to me, and so is Mr. Masaru.”

 His hand rubs your head. “My pop is usually timid. When that fucker came to pick you up, that was the first and only time I have seen him lose his cool. The old woman was just as shocked as I was.” 

His father had shown complete rage against the one known as Mr. Compress. Mr. Masaru jumped on him and beat him so badly, it left permanent scarring. Because of the physical reaction, Mr. Masaru sweated a lot, and sparks flew with every hit. Seeing your dearest person attacked frightened and enraged you. 

“I was so mad at you. And Katsuki,” You turn your head to him. “I’m mad at you again. Why didn’t you tell me he was Mr. Compress?”

You have only seen that man with a mask on. From what you could tell, Mr. Compress’s voice and personality were flamboyant, something that was different from your dearest.

 “I won’t apologize for protecting you from that bastard. Not telling you was the best course of action.”

 You whip your head around. “No, it was not! He’s going to die because-”

“That’s another reason why I didn’t tell you. Right there! Right there, you are defending a murderer, a kidnapper, and a pedo-”

“Enough!” You turn to him completely. “Damn it, Bakugou! I’m just saying it’d been nicer to learn about who he was from you than the damn TV. And no, not your opinions of him, but that he was Mr. Compress!”

 You slump. “I thought he didn’t want me anymore. That he abandoned me. Katsuki,” you frown. “I had no one. I still don’t. You should’ve told me so I wouldn’t have felt that way.” It was awful. Who knows what you would’ve done if you knew? At least you would have had answers. 

 His hand moves from your head to your face. It cups it for a few seconds then pulls your cheek. “I don’t regret it. I am sorry for hurting you, honest to God, that was never my intention. What I did was to get you to let him go. Being away from him was safer."

 “Had U.A. not had the dorms, Katsuki, I would have been alone in that house. No money to pay bills, nothing. So, no, it’s not okay.”

“I never said it was. And if you believe I would leave you homeless means you don’t know me. Even back then, I would have made sure you had a home. Hell, my parents made up an extra room for you whenever you came over. You thought I’d let you go homeless? Tch, Eijrou would kill me if I did anyway.” 

 You shrug. “That’s my house, Katsuki. It’s bad enough that I lost it.” 

“Good riddance.”

You don’t bother to scold him. You just close your eyes and turn away, still reminiscing about what once was. 

“Hey, what color are cherry blossoms?”

“Pink, why?”

You smile to yourself. You won’t tell him why. At least not yet. Not when you think of all the times when you needed that answer. Walking hand in hand with Uncle Wally, looking at the magnificent beauty and arguing about the color. A single tear slips out. 

 “He’s dying, Katsuki. They’re gonna kill him.”

He doesn’t respond. Katsuki’s eyes remain on yours intently. The air is thick with tension and with dread reserved just for you. You shake your head and shrug. “It’s just as well. Maybe now I can date.” Your hand begins to shake. “Y’know, he said I wasn’t allowed to date. I did try once or twice in school.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Some random guy in general studies and Shouto.” Katsuki’s eyes bug out. “Icy Hot?! You chose that guy-”

You hold in your smile at his reaction. You interrupt him before he goes on too long. “We only went on a date. We didn’t do anything.”

 He huffs and crosses his arms. His foot taps to a rhythm on the floor. It is a little quirk of his that you noticed years ago. Kacchan’s foot is always tapping, just like he is playing the drums. He sucks on his teeth and growls. “So, Half n’ Half was your choice?”

 “Kacchan, I was mad at you around that time, remember? Your dad put him in a chokehold.”

“He’s not a guy; he is trash. My old man was taking out the trash.” He scoffs and takes his hand off your head. 

 You look down at the old notebooks. The paper is a little worn since they haven’t been touched in about a decade and were well loved then. Each line is scribbled in ink of different colors on the pages. The pens pressed hard on certain ones, showing the emotions you had. 

“It doesn’t mean much anyway. He rejected me so harshly.” If you remember right without reading your notebooks, Todoroki put his fingers to your lips when you went to kiss him. Back then, you viewed it as him pushing you away. No...no, that’s not what happened. He was gentle and concerned. His eyes were soft as was his touch. He wasn't being mean at all. Actually, he might not have even seen your time together as a date. Why didn't you remember all this right?

“(Y/n), he didn’t reject you like that. He was suspicious of your age. Him and Deku, after a while.” 

“What?” You face him fully. Midoriya is one of the people who kept his distance from you. It hurt a lot being at U.A. because you were a pariah. Except for Katsuki, no one liked you. It was comforting to know that someone in the world loved you. And he was at home.

“And Kirishima. Which is why he offered for you to stay at his place. His moms even made a spare room for you.” This is the first time you have heard of this. Kirishima did offer for you to spend the night, but you took it as him trying to flirt with you and you pushed him, asking how could he do such a thing without asking the man at home. 

Kacchan takes a deep breath. “Can I see?” He reaches for one of the notebooks, the blue composition one that was written around your first few days at U.A. 

 He grips the paper tighter. “I noticed how he held you when our parents came to visit. I thought you were immature and acted like a big baby. You even went so far as to wear those frilly dresses.”

 “I never did like them. He always picked out my clothes until high school,” you chuckle. “When I bought makeup and a bra for the first time, he flipped!”

Kacchan stares at you for the longest. You break the silence with a smile. “We went everywhere. I don’t think there is a place in Japan I haven’t seen.” Your smile drops when you see his frown. “The Summer camp was the first time I had been truly without him.” Your voice is low and trails off. “It was weird, y’know?”

 Kacchan takes a deep breath. “I think that was the day Icy Hot picked up that something might’ve been wrong. Him and roundface.”

“I don’t think so. Uraraka never mentioned it. No one did.”

“Shouto asked if that was a normal relationship-”

“What?”

“The way he hugged you! How he glared at every boy there and looked at you was off, (Y/n). What did he say, ‘beware of boys’? The way he held you was wrong. It was hard not to fucking notice.”

You went to school with these people for years and not a single one other than Kacchan, Kirishima, and Aizawa, showed any type of concern, or inkling of your fondness with the man on the screen. The man who is sentenced to death, the first in years. Everything Kacchan is telling you is brand new and must be false or misinterpreted. 

"He only said that because of an incident before we went to camp..." It wasn't just a boy he was worried about. One of the most humiliating moments of your life had to do with your teacher. 

 Whereas you liked Todoroki and had a feeling of attraction with a boy close to your age, Aizawa was different and that was brought up to Nezu. Being at the office with Eraser and Nezu was more humiliating than not being able to kiss your teacher. That was the time when the teacher and Nezu spoke with your friend and confronted him about your behavior. After that, Eraserhead made it known that he did not trust him. Not to his face, but with the principal. You sat at your desk, the only student in the room, when he asked if something was wrong. The rage you felt that day knew no bounds. 

“It’s not like anyone cared, Kacchan. Everyone hated that camp, especially me. No way were they thinking of me.” Why would they? There was nothing special about you. Back then, your world revolved around him. Nevertheless, it would’ve been nice to have someone else. “Besides, the only reason they saved me was because it was a kill-two-birds-with-one-stone thing.”

He runs his hand through this fluffy hair. “They wanted to save you. It wasn’t because of convenience, (Y/n). I wasn’t gonna leave you either.”

Your face is warm. “I don’t know how I didn’t piece it together, Katsuki. I know his voice and build. How could I not have figured out it was him?”

“You were in a stressful situation. Every time we turned around we were being attacked and the only time you came into contact was when he abducted you for the second time.”

“I was never abducted! I went willingly, Kastuki!” You jerk yourself away from his thick, warm hand. His eyes narrow. “You were a child both times. You were tricked, both times, (Y/n). We’ve talked about this.”

 You freeze. You hate this. And you hate him for not telling you that Waldo was Mr. Compress. 

Kacchan stares at you, knowing there is something on your mind. You gently tap his thigh. “He’s going to die, Katsuki. And I didn’t get to say goodbye.” Your person is about to die. After the war, you went home for just a second to see him, only to find a letter from him telling you he’s going to go away for a while and the house is yours in the meantime. He told you not to trash it or allow big parties since he’ll be back. On the paper written in calligraphy, he reinstated some rules that you still subconsciously live by. No internet or traceable phones, don’t visit your special places without him; keep to yourself, and never tell anyone about your wholesome, and loving connection. You’ve broken a few of these but have kept the majority. It wasn’t all completely strict. Some were kind of silly, like how to water his fern or wait to make a new dinner recipe so he wouldn’t miss it. 

 Even as an adult, you’ve held onto a lot of these. Waiting for him is a foolish notion that you abandoned after high school. After he left, you looked for him and then after a while, considered the possibility that he was dead. After all your time together, it was hard for you to think he’d just leave. 

 He’s dying. All this time, he was right there in front of you and you missed it. “What do I do, Kacchan?”

“Go to therapy. I’m serious.” He runs his hand through his hair again. He continues, “You wanna see him, don’t you?”

Your breath hitches. “Is that wrong of me?”

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

 Katsuki promised to stay on the other side of the door. Walking into the room where you will be separated by glass is nerve-wracking. What will he say? Did he abandon you or didn’t plan to get caught? Did he miss you?

You sit down on the blue chair in front of the glass. There is no reason for a phone since you will be able to hear him perfectly without it. The door on the other side of the glass sides opens, making a whirring noise. You close your eyes and gulp. 

“Oh my, look how you’ve grown!” Your eyes fly open once you hear the familiar voice. It’s so weird, such a tug on your mind and emotions. He looks a little different. There are some wrinkles around his eyes but nothing prominent. His hair is the same as well as his physique. Nothing has outwardly changed except for his eyes. They look darker than what you remember. In your head, they’re warm; not this cold and dark shade. 

“(Y/n), dearie, look at you! You…you still…look the same. You’ve grown some, but you haven’t aged a day.”

Why is your stomach churning? 

“Mister,” You start to say. His eyes widened to be as round as saucers. “ Mister? You haven’t called me that since I first met you. Precious, it’s me. Uncle Wally.”

“I remember.” You remember everything. He was, is, so dear to you. Now, there is something wrong. Is it Katsuki? Did he get to you?

He sighs in relief. “I’m so, so happy, my love. I’d inject myself if I’d lost you. I could never live.”

“But you have.”

“No, I’ve been surviving, hoping for the day when I would see you again. Then again…” His eyes study your face. “Do I deserve to see you? Years have passed, and you are still divinity. You’re a woman now.”

“Does that disappoint you?” Your heart speeds up. Does he hate you now and is just being friendly? He’s a villain, lying is his nature, right? “No, not at all. I just wish I went on that journey with you.”

You scoff. “You did, remember? When I was in the woods? I started my period right then when you found me. When Mr. Compress found me.”

After the Summer camp, you went home and told him what happened. He was proud and pampered you. It was a drastic difference in behavior than it was when you bought your first cupped bra and makeup.

“That was only the beginning, darling. Seeing you grow, now that is so special. And they took it away from us. God, that has to be the worst thing. I’ve missed you so much, darling.”

Your lip wobbles and your eyes water. His face lights up a little. “There goes that pouty lip of yours!” 

You chuckle. “Stop that.”

After a moment, he tilts his head. “I wanted to experience all your firsts with you. Watching you become a young lady, then the lady you are now, was the dearest wish of mine. Then it came to just see you. To smell you,” He presses his hand against the glass. Your hand twitches to do the same. “They took you away from me. They’re animals, baby, animals! I know you wanted to go to that school, but please, my darling, don’t become like them!”

You shake your head. “I’m not like them. I mainly write. I’m a part-time hero.” 

“You still write? Do you still write in journals like you did before?”

“I, um, haven’t written in a journal, but I’ve published a few things.” It’s your bread and butter. You’re more of an emergency hero or requested. Writing is your release and passion. You just happen to make money off of it. Not a gross amount, but with the addition of being a hero, you live comfortably. 

“When’s the last you’ve written in them?”

“I don’t know, late teens? Late teens, maybe?” 

“I’d love to read them. You were always such a eloquent writer.” He read your journals all the time. He’d praise you for your writing and descriptions. Particularly when you wrote how you felt. But that would change if how you felt was towards another person.

You shrug. “I don’t know. Besides, you may not have time to read them all.”

He raises an eyebrow and taps the table. “There are that many, huh?” You nod. “Yeah, when you left me, I wrote a lot.”

It was supposed to sting him. He ignores it. “Your style was always so smooth and deep. Enticing like a noir enchantress with the grandiose of a classic,” He rests his head on his hand. “And written from a poetic lover,” he whispers. "Grandiose. What is it?” 

You frown and think. “Means splendid, or magnificent, would be your word to describe it.”

“Splendid and magnificent, just like you.”

You sigh. “Why do you describe my writing like that? From a poetic lover?”

“You have a way with words, my dear. From the very moment I met you. You've always been lovely.”

Your hands tremble. Something is wrong, you can feel it. Right on the tip of your tongue, you have the word for it. This feeling has been there under the many layers laid in your history. Years ago, you asked him a question and he gave you an answer that was, to you at the time, innocent. Now, you ask him again. “What am I to you?”

“You’ve never been a ‘what’.” 

“Then, who? I’m old enough for you to speak frankly.”

“You’ve grown so much that I can now. You’ll understand. My beloved,” he touches the glass again. “You’re the love of my life. Always have been. It started as fondness, then when you grew into a young lady, I knew. If I hadn’t been caught, if we had a few more years, nothing could have stopped us. The world always tears at the innocent.” 

“Times up!”

Atsuhiro Sako looks around. He opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t get the chance as he is dragged away. Shakily, you get up, waddling to the door. A guard sees your struggle and helps you. She doesn’t say a word. All she does is rub her hand along your arm calmly.

Right as the door slides open, you spot Kacchan sweating and furious. His nostrils are flared, eyes ablaze, and growling, demanding for him to see Atsuhiro Sako, for a very obvious reason. Immediately, he stops once he finds you. 

“I’m ready to go.” 

Kacchan holds you up, walks out of the prison, and puts you in the car. He drives you home and makes sure you’re in bed. “I’m staying the night.” He leaves your door cracked. You hear him plop on the couch.

All the little things Atsuhiro Sako had done with you add up now. He never touched you in a sexual way, but it got closer and closer, now you can think about it. His touch was normal, so the alarms weren’t sounding. 

Everything that happened in those-what, fifteen minutes?-rush through your mind. Nothing is the same now. Once again, he has left you in a whirlwind. This is so wrong. This pain in your heart as you finally accept the vile relationship between you, and how dirty you feel. Not just because of that, but because you are also flattered. You know for a fact, that small part of you is that child speaking. As an adult, you are now aware, and can say, that the word that had come to your mind when you talked to him was: disgust.

Your innocence was long gone. It had been stripped away little by little since you met him. Everything you’ve been through is now humiliating. You tried to kiss Todoroki and Eraserhead. You threw a fit about your doll and attacked Mina during a temper tantrum since she played a joke about a doll he gave you. All of the little things are adding up. The scars run so deep that you still abide by some of his rules. You don’t have a computer. You type on a typewriter. You haven’t seen the cherry blossoms without him and you haven’t done a lot of things people your age normally do because you’ll be doing it without him. 

Your hand flies to your chest in an attempt to stop the ache, while the other rushes to cover your mouth. Not able to handle it for another second, you run down the hall, whimpering as you go. Next to the couch, Kacchan stands. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong or tease you. He’s been waiting for you like he’s always done. 

You run into his arms, crying about how it isn’t fair. Bawling your eyes out from the embarrassment and memories. You mourn that child who never stood a chance. Atsuhiro Sako never sexually touched you. But he was waiting to. He thought about hurting you for years and tried to justify himself with the excuse of ‘I waited for you to grow’. Hoping that he’d be blameless because of it. 

To be molded into an infantilized doll due to your youthful beauty is enough to have your knees buckle. Tricked into a fantastical world he created with your adventures and constant bouncing at motels, hotels, and inns; his version of ‘school’ and the magic tricks he always did never ceased to amaze you. Although, you never did notice his quirk. Never. Maybe if you did, you’d know he was Mr. Compress and would have been driven to destroy him like Shigaraki’s touch. 

Kacchan, even Kirishima, hell, Aizawa, tried to tell you. And that little fact hurts. 

“I want to die!” You sob in Kacchan’s chest. Young (Y/n) is crying inside you as the love and care for him slowly fade away. You want to hate yourself and your ignorance, but you are blameless. Which is another thing that hurts to accept. 

Katsuki doesn’t say anything. He only holds you tightly, letting you soak his shirt with tears and snot.

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

All around are beautiful flowers and trees. The branches stick up, and some curl down. It is a fantastic wonderland of cherry blossoms. The one important detail, other than their beauty, stands out. You see a small bud on the ground. Its petals are poking through even though it has fallen. Your fingers caress the silk. On your new phone, you Google what color cherry blossoms are. You smile at the results and secretly take the bud. You gently place the flower in your pocket. 

-

 The doors open once more. You enter the same room you had days prior. Tomorrow, he will be executed. 

“Beloved! A magical sight.” He sits down with an eager expression. He’s practically shaking with excitement. “A beauty, you are.”

“I just wanted to say something.”

“What is it?” 

You hold up the printed paper to the glass and bring up the bud that seems too pretty to be in front of him. “This is a cherry blossom, remember?”

He sighs dreamily and puts his head in his hand again. “Who would forget? That was a magical time.” His eyes narrow. “Where did you get it?”

“The place you think.”

“Without me?”

You nod. “What color do you think it is?”

“Red, darling. I told you that when we went. It was our place, dearie.” His voice deepens at the end. 

“Look at the paper,” He leans forward to the glass. “It says it’s pink. I got it from the internet and even asked people what color it was. It’s pink. You’re colorblind.”

 You stand up and leave the bud and paper in front of him. “That’s it.”

You turn to leave. He calls out to you. “Will you be there?”

“Yes.”

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

You fiddle with your new cell phone while you wait for Kacchan. The door of the hole-in-the-wall restaurant opens up with a bell. You hear his heavy footsteps before you see his imposing figure. He sits down in front of you with his usual frown softening. “You okay?”

You genuinely smile. “Yeah,” you clap your hands. “I ordered for you.”

“What?” he frowns again.

“I ordered their spicy challenge and in case you are a big baby, I got you mapo tofu.” You snort as you see the beginning of his demon face form. “You think I can’t handle it?!”

You put your hands up. “I’m just taking precautions.” He crosses his arms. “You watch. I can handle it, punk.”

The second the waiter came out with gloves on their hands and a mask, you knew it was Kacchan’s dish. They set it on his side of the table as well as the mild mapo tofu. The waiter turns to you. “I’ll be back with yours.”

Once they leave, you see Kacchan dig in, with no sign of him feeling the heat. Not a flush or a gasp, trembling, anything. How hot is it? You can smell it from across the table. This is bull. 

 You get yours and start to eat as well. Kacchan looks at you intently. “He’s going in a few minutes.”

“I know. I visited him yesterday.” Kacchan’s noodles drop from his chopsticks. They land on the peppered chicken next to it. “Why?”

“I wanted to tell him that he’s colorblind.” Kacchan scoffs. “Colorblind?”

“Mhm. He always told me that cherry blossoms were red. Made me seem that I was the one at fault. Finally, I went there and saw them again. I Googled it and asked around and I was right: they’re pink.”

He hasn’t taken another bite. “I told you that already. Why go to that thing?” 

You take a bite of your food, savoring the flavor. “I wanted to show him that I talked to others without his permission, and I did that at ‘our’ spot. Like I tainted it.” 

Kacchan chuckles and chews on his food. You add, “I also told him that I’d see his execution.”

 He nearly breaks his chopsticks. “What? Why?! It’s bad enough you visited him at all after everything he’s done to you.”

 “I’m not going. I know he’ll look for me and freak out when he doesn’t see me. He’ll panic that the one person he wanted isn’t there. And it'd be the last time I saw him; I told him that he was wrong. It’s not much, but it is something I did.”

 “So, this is a celebration? I’ll drink to that.”

“No. This is an average day. He doesn’t matter anymore. I'll remember this as an average day, and when he died, I was enjoying myself without thinking about him.”

He softly smiles. “You got it.”

You cross your arms as the owner takes a picture of Katsuki, who finished the challenge with no problem. He dramatically sighs. “And one of the sore loser.”

“Bastard…” The owner snaps a couple of shots of you frowning and Katsuki Bakugou smiling, which is a rarity. And not a single thought about what the meaning of the clock striking three meant.

-

 You were right. Atsuhiro Sako, AKA Mr. Compress, panicked when the clock struck 2:59 PM since you were nowhere in sight. Your name was a whimper, prayer, and a memory. You were freed at 3:00 PM. 

[anunkindncss]

LONG-ASS, BAT-SWINGIN’ PSA FROM YOUR FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD TRASH DAD (YES YOU MAY REBLOG ME):

i swear to the gods above and the internet demons below, if i have to see one more round of the same tired, petty, high school drama energy in the rpc i am going to start throwing metaphorical furniture. or a bat. maybe a literal bat. someone get me a bat.

we’re gonna talk about a few things i do not understand and am rapidly losing patience for in this little roleplay community of ours. sit down. hydrate. bring a snack. or don’t. i’m not your mom. but i am pissed.

1. BLOCKING PEOPLE BEFORE YOU EVEN KNOW THEM. what are you doing. no, seriously—what are you doing. look. blocking is valid. it’s important. it’s necessary in many cases. but if you are blocking people for… following you? reblogging your promo? writing the same muse? because “they gave me weird vibes” after doing absolutely nothing to you? i’ve got news: you’re not setting boundaries, you’re playing judge, jury, and executioner of vibes you made up in your head. you do not need to block someone just because they exist in the same space as you. curiosity is not a crime. following someone because you share muse interests is not a threat. no one’s out to steal your thunder. we’re all just feral writers clinging to shared hyperfixations like they’re life rafts.

2. THE GREAT REBLOG WAR OF 202X. i promise you, reblogging a post from the person you saw it from is not a personal attack. yes, i agree: try to reblog from the source when you can. it keeps things clean. it helps with credit. we love that. but if someone reblogs from the person who popped up on their dash? that’s not theft. that’s how this damn website works. you’re not losing notes. you’re not being disrespected. you’re seeing a feature function the way it was designed. if it truly matters to you, say it nicely in the post itself. don’t vaguepost. don’t softblock. don’t act like someone pissed on your fic just because they hit reblog from a mutual. some of you treat content circulation like a sacred ritual and lose your minds if the incense is lit out of order. breathe.

3. DNI LISTS THAT ARE LONGER THAN MY WILL TO LIVE. listen. i get it. truly. safety and boundaries are critical. you do not have to interact with everyone. you do not have to let everyone into your space. that’s not what this is about. this is about the weaponized, condescending, high-horse energy of DNI lists that start with “no minors” and end with “people who write canon characters with feelings i disagree with.” what happened to just… blacklisting tags? scrolling? having a spine and a filter? you don’t need to turn your blog into a digital moat. you can just curate your experience quietly. because let me tell you, no one is reading your DNI list like a legal document. they’re reading it and thinking, “damn, this person seems exhausting.”

4. SHITTING ON OTHER WRITERS FOR WRITING THE SAME MUSE DIFFERENTLY. you are not the official licensed owner of your muse. you are not the final word on interpretation. people write characters differently. that’s the beauty of it. that’s literally why roleplay is compelling. because it’s your take. your lens. your experience. if someone writes a softer version of your muse, or a darker one, or a more chaotic one—you can just… not follow them. you don’t need to snark in the tags. you don’t need to start drama in discords. and for the love of god, you don’t need to talk shit behind their back like we’re in some HBO drama. this is tumblr. it’s a hellsite for niche gremlin creativity and emotional trauma bonding. act like it.

IN CONCLUSION, BEFORE I GRAB THE BAT: this place could be so good. so freeing. so collaborative. As a matter of fact... it actually USED TO BE. but y’all keep trying to turn it into a gated community with HOA rules, secret vendettas, and self-appointed sheriff energy. let people exist. let them write. let them breathe. drink water. block quietly. tag your triggers. let go of the need to control every facet of your dash and your mutuals. and for the love of everything sacred and unholy, stop making people feel like they’re one wrong FC or meme reblog away from exile. we're here to write weird little stories and explore weird little feelings through the faces we like and the words we care about.

stop making that feel like a crime.

-Trash (overthepettyandunreasonablebullshit) Dad.