#yes I realize this is fairly old news now but if anyone out there was like 'should I check out the BFU audiobook?'

[wordybee]

I checked out the Buzzfeed Unsolved: Supernatural audiobook from my local library (support your local library). Highlights include:

Shane consistently calling it "this wretched audiobook"

When the segment on Vulture Mine's haunted glory hole comes up, Shane and (especially) Ryan are giggling over the audio. It's the only time where the audio isn't cleanly edited between the book and the ghoul boys' commentary.

The narrator talking back when the boys criticize the description of Bigfoot's smell.

[drdemonprince]

So, I (a trans guy) am kind of coming to terms with the fact that I might be more gay than bisexual after all. Where I live, the queer community is split pretty definitively between the "women, non binary and trans people" (or FLINTA*, if you're familiar with that horrible term) and the gay male community. While I have lots of problems with the former, it is kind of the community I am in, mostly because it has felt safe during my transition. It still feels safe, but not really comfortable. I want to feel like I am part of the gay male community, especially if I mostly want to date queer men in the future.

I am like, so scared of existing in any gay male spaces. When I tried being in them pre T, I felt like an imposter. When I travelled to the US a few years ago, the only place my then partner (also on T) and me were misgendered consistently was in gay bars (in a lot of famous "gay friendly" cities). All of this has left me with a sense of humiliation and not-belonging that gets reactivated every time I even think of stepping into one again, even if I am fairly certain I would not get this reaction now.

How do I get past the shame that is attached to my previous experiences and learn to actually enjoy myself there?

So, I believe that you have the order of operations wrong here. You don't get past shame and then go out to these gay spaces -- you go out to those gay spaces and then overcome (some) of your shame. And that shame may live with you forever in some form. You can still have a worthwhile life with it.

Go to the gay bars. There are many different kinds of them, all with wildly different energies and clientelle, and it is normal and boring and blase for trans guys to be at each and every single one of them.

One way that many newbies unwittingly screw up is by going to the most circuity, dance-y kinds of gay bars that tend to be filled with young, thin, rich, superficial people -- and then they mistake the meanness of that crowd for the meanness of all gays, or interpret the meanness as a sign they are not accepted by "the gay male community."

There is no singular gay male community. There are in fact a wide variety of subcultures with their own beauty standards, stylistic choices, interests, and norms. And there's a lot of cliquishness and mean girl behavior among people who have decided they are high rank in any particular small subculture, don't get me wrong. But you don't have to believe in any of it. They're just coping with their own history of marginalization and rejection by trying to become a new ruling class within their own tiny pond. You can laugh it off as the work of kind of sad, small thinking and just enjoy yourself and talk to people who are not assholes.

So, go to the leather bar. Go to a pup night. Go to an old-timers bar filled with gays over 60 (they will be nice to you and buy you drinks, I promise). Go to a gay bar that's casual and nerdy, with arcade machines and pub trivia. Go to a drag bar on a weekday night and meet some of the newer queens who are still trying to find their chops. And yes, go to the DJ sets and dance clubs all you like, but don't let what a few snatched bitchy 22-year-olds (or insecure former twink 42 year old real estate agents) get you feeling insecure. They're doing that shit because they are insecure.

Bring a friend. Talk to someone who seems nervous and alone on the side of the dance floor, too. Wear an outfit that will get some compliments. Nurse a drink at the bar and trawl grindr to see if anyone seems worth talking to. Join a dungeon or a gay running group. Attend a gay men's support group at your local lgbt center. Meet a ton of people and just get yourself out there, and quickly you will realize that your mind has wildly over dramatized how much you stand out or how much anybody cares.

Fat gays, disabled gays, older gays, Autistic gays, nerdy gays, poor gays, Black and brown gays, immigrant gays, they all feel like they do not belong and are not welcome too. Find them and be kind to them and hold onto them. Notice who is nice and warm with you, but also don't read into it too much if some people are just neutral. Eventually you will figure out what you like doing, which spaces you enjoy inhabiting, and who you want to be there with -- and then you'll have some fun.

[lunar-writes-things]

okay since bdubs is such a bold n outspoken person, i would like to request anything you can think of that would include flustered n stammering bdubs

maybe pair it with one of my favorite fic tropes, kissing practice? 👀 (entirely up to you tho :))

-✨

Making Moss Turn Red

Pairing: Bdoubleo100 x Reader

Summary: In which your attempts to get a single kiss from your crush successfully fail

Genre: ROMANCE, FLUFF

Extra notes: My friend wrote down a line in here and I didn't wanna delete it so I integrated it into the fic-,

Content warnings (If any): ALSO I WORTE A MAKE OUT SCENE IM NOT SORRY, Bdubs gets grabby ;)

WC: 1,656

You couldn't help it. 

You would think after knowing someone for so long it would drive off any feeling for them but even now as you watched him build you couldn't help but swoon for the man. 

Bdubs was pulling himself up to the place he needed, but all you could see is how his biceps flexed and how his back muscles looked through the sweat-soaked and see-through white shirt of his. You held his moss coat in your lap as you drooled over the man with a dopey grin on your face. 

"-n! Y/n!" Bdubs called and snapped you back to reality. The man had a smug grin on his face as he began to walk towards you "Enjoy the show?" 

You flushed a sweet pink as you let out a light laugh along with your retort "Of course! Why else would I be here if not for the show?"

Ah yes...

The only unfortunate part of your relationship with Bdubs other than your hidden feelings. 

The flirting that was supposed to be fake. 

It was never fake on your side and almost always had the man feeling even bolder than always when he saw you began to flush and stammer. 

However, this flirting was new... Very recent in fact only a few days old. 

About a week ago, after realizing your feelings for the man after years of pushing it back, You wanted to come up with a plan so you could make a move. 

But nothing had come to mind...

except for flirting.

And you think that much would be obvious but when it comes to Bdubs... nothing is obvious. 

The man took all your advances and Uno reversed them to you. You tell him he looks gorgeous with the moss coat? He tells you it would look better on you with nothing else on! 

Come on! How do you respond to something like that?! 

"Y/n," He cooed out and placed a gentle hand on your thigh which made you jolt out of your thoughts "You with me now?" 

"Yeah, Sorry," You said and smiled at him "Just tired I guess. Maybe I need to follow your sleep schedule." 

Bdubs laughed at you and patted your thigh gently. 

"Maybe you should! I'd be willing to free up some space in my bed so you can join me."

He gave you a smug look and you swatted him away, you're cooling face now rising with heat once again. 

"Oh stop playing around Bubs," You laugh and hop off of the wood you were sitting on "Anyway, what were you saying?" 

"Oh!" Bdubs grinned "I wanted to show you My pride and joy! Horse Mountain!" 

He stepped aside and revealed a giant man-made mountain that had a horse head carved into it. It was mossy where the mane was and had realistic cracks spanning the entire mountain. 

"It's beautiful!" You exclaimed, eyes shining in pure joy "Oh my void! It's so gorgeous!" 

You spun and took Bdubs up in your arms as you gushed about how beautiful the man-made mountain was. 

"I'm glad you like it!" Bdubs laughed as you spun him around "Come Here! I wanna show you something." 

You let the man out of your grip and followed his lead. He took you to a fairly hidden part of the mountain and when he knew the two of you were fully hidden from anyone and everyone's sight he pressed you against the wall with a soft smile and eyes.

"You're so pretty," He cooed out and it made you blush from how sincere it sounded 

Your breath caught in your chest when you finally registered the look in his eyes. It was... genuine. His big bright eyes were filled to the brim with sincerity, adoration, and Intense with an emotion you couldn't identify. 

It made you... nervous 

"I- uh-" You couldn't focus and what was making it worse is that he just put a warm hand on your hip and its making you malfunction 

"You uh?" He repeated, a cocky smile on his face 

You gulped and shivered as his hand lifted the smallest bit and his fingers dragged along your side in feather light touches. You did your best to not melt in his touches but to no avail. 

"Thank you," You finally managed to say, a small whimper to your voice as your face burned 

"You're welcome, Y/n." Bdubs grinned, probably at his victory of getting you so flustered 

"I- Uh-“ You start but can’t seem o get the words out

“you- Uh?” Bdubs has a small smile on his face, his eyes dancing with delight as he leans in closer and closer

”I have a crush on y- someone.” You blurt out, barely stopping yourself from saying ‘you’ 

when you looked at Bdubs he looked… empty. 

“Oh? Do you now?” he asked softly slowly stepping away 

“Yes and I want to practice kissing them with you,” You said and pulled him into your body “Would that be okay?” 

Bdubs’ face turned into the color of roses and he nodded slowly, eyes shining with more hope but still held disappointment. While you felt bad for lying to him, it was the only way you could do this. 

… Was it even a lie? 

You did like someone… You liked him. Void, did you want to kiss him too… 

but still seeing how sad he looked after you said you liked someone… it crushed your heart

”Do you want to practice right now?” He asked softly

”… Please?” You whisper

”Of course,” He replies in the same hushed tone “Come, let me lead.” 

He was gentle and slow, as if he would scare you off if he moved too fast. He gently cradled your face and he moved up to lean in 

“Are you sure?” He asked you, his voice was barely audible and his breath danced on your face but his eyes were focused on your lips and your facial expression 

“I have never been more sure in my life,” You said and leaned down 

Bdubs leaned up and met you in the middle

His lips were soft, and he tasted like mint. He moved slow and steady and what felt like forever in euphoria was only a few seconds. 

“Was that okay?” He breathed out, his hands holding your cheeks were shaking and you placed your hands on top of his to calm him down 

“It was perfect.” 

“OH MY VOID!” Gem screamed in excitement and shook you by your shoulders “YOU KISSED HIM?!” 

“Ye-es Pl-ea-se St-op Sha-king- meeeee-“ your words were barely audible as Pearl and Cleo freaked out with Gem

“This calls for a celebration!” Pearl said 

“Waitwaitwait-“ You said and rushed forward after Gem let you go “You guys never let me finish what I was saying.” 

The three girls looked at you expectantly and you sighed and finished your story. 

once you finished they stared at you in disbelief 

“so wait- let me get this straight,” Cleo stated “You told him you liked… SOMEONE and didn’t specify who and asked to practice kissing with him?” 

“…Yes?” You replied shrinking back 

There was a group sigh and it made you defend yourself “hey, it was a spur of the moment thing. I almost confessed to him but I backed out last minute and now I'm stuck here. Any ideas other than coming clean?” 

“wuss-“ Pearl coughed between her word playfully “But Seriously Y/n, not your smartest move. Truthfully I think the best way is to let it play out how you have it now. Maybe something will happen because of it?” 

“I’m not sure, But the longer this goes on…” Cleo trailed off and You got her gist

The longer this goes on, the longer you could be hurting not only yourself but bdubs. 

“I’ll figure it out,” You said desperately “I promise.” 

Everyday for the next two weeks were bliss

Bdubs insisted on meeting everyday so he could ‘teach��� you and you never once protested. 

Today, however, was different. Bdubs was touchy, hand on your hips or lower back. His eyes wandered multiple times. When he couldn’t take it any more he dragged you to where you two first kissed and smashed his lips into yours. 

It took you by surprise but you never fought it. 

instead, you melted into the kiss. Your hands diverging, one going up to tangle in his hair and the other gong down to rest on his heart, feeling the beat of his body pulse faster and faster. His hands… his hands dipped below your waist and behind you… 

No

You wanted control of this situation 

You turned and pushed him against the wall, protecting his head with your hand from the rock, and kissed him harder. He had let out a gasp when you turned him and his hands backed away from your body but the passionate kiss continued. 

When you both pulled away for a breath he looked into your eyes and you couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth. 

“I’m in love with you Bdubs. You enchant me in heart and soul and I want you to be mine. Please be mine.”  You pull him closer by the waist and cup his face “You’re the one I like and you’re the one I love. Let me be your partner please.” 

He looked shocked and blank before his face turned a deep red and he started stammering

”I- Uh- We- ye- well-“ This went on for a solid few seconds before he gathered himself and said “Yes. Please.  I have been in love with you since season 6. Please be mine Y/n.” 

“Always have been and always will be.” You promised and sealed it with a kiss

[umanari]

yan! sunday x reader - long walk home

summary: this isn't a one-shot, more of a scenario. reader here is sunday's spouse and is dealing with everything after what happened in the end of penacony.

c/w: sunday is stated to be controlling, manipulation, the whole yandere shebang. also using that one theory that sunday might become a stellaron hunter, but it's mostly implied here. feel free to tell me what tags are needed, because i am horrible with tags.

Sunday is missing. He had been missing ever since the Astral Express crew had beaten him.

You react to this with indifference, mostly. Of course, you put on a show in public- because you have to. Robin finds comfort in you, over some idea of shared grief- you wonder, once, where she had gotten the impression. But you wave it away. Robin cries into your shoulder, and you know better than to hurt her when she's down.

Everything remains the same. Sunday had not been the greatest love of your life- which he had always lamented. You were his love- so, in truth, you move on fairly quickly. But you don't seek anyone new- because there is no point, and the cameras watch your every move. So you settle. You stay in that suffocating mansion of his, and act like a grieving spouse. This role does not suit you, but you can just about make anything work for you nowadays.

Sunday hadn't been a terrible husband. Controlling, yes, possessive, too- but he was not particularly unkind. He loved you. As much love as the man can give, in any case. You had once come to the conclusion that he did love you, yes- but it was out of some desire of control. You had loved him once, perhaps. That love had been out of fear, though, you amend. Terrified. But you had grown used to him.

The new status quo for you is relatively simple. You attend interviews, and you lament- tearfully, of course- on what the wrongs your husband had committed. You say you miss him. It is not true, but you must make it seem that way.

This is your life. You prefer it, if for the calm silence broken up by the occasional interview or phone call.

And then Sunday appears again, and everything is thrown into disarray.

----

"Why are you back," you state. It is not a question. You do not look at him with any sort of affection. In fact, you seem close to rolling your eyes.

Sunday sighs. "I am allowed to visit my partner."

"Aren't you in jail," you respond instead, "well," you pause. "Supposed to be, in any case?"

Sunday waves you off. He does this normally, and you have grown used to it. When he does not respond, you take it as a yes.

"I was," he finally states. "But I have been.. shown an different path. One free from both Ena and Xipe."

"What does that have to do with me," you counter. You inch away from him. He looks different. You finally notice the little imperfections about his outfit, and wonder briefly why he hasn't gone into a rage about it yet.

Sunday does not notice your gaze. Rather, he does notice- but he pays it no heed.

"I would like for you to come with me."

You pause. You purse your lips.

"No," you reply. "No. Wouldn't it be best for you to shed any remnants of your old identity, if you really did escape from jail or whatnot?"

"You make sense," Sunday states. "I have always liked that about you. You are logical- but kind."

He walks closer. You slink away. His halo flutters, and you realize something. He will do this regardless. He has always done what he wants, regardless. He loves you, therefore, he needs to control you.

He is finally close enough to touch you. And your barrier cracks, and you shiver and you want to cry. You hate this man, you bitterly think, you hate him. He takes and he gives and in recompense for everything, you were his little stress toy.

"Come now," he croons out, fixing a strand of your hair, "we shall leave Penacony together. While the perfect dream did not work out, we will always have each other."

In a way, it is romantic. In another universe, perhaps. But here you shiver. You recoil. He only grabs you tighter, and it is here- it is here, when you finally do cry for something.

[crosbyism]

HELLO IM BACK (the sid should have gender affirming sex anon) bc i just realized the real and true reason for sid’s old jock. it looks like an infection hazard right?? THATS THE POINT. the constant dick checks needed to prevent a rash. having a glorified 15 step korean skin care routine for his dick and balls. demanding nate double check his junk.

i had a whole thing about sid fucking his way across the masculinity spectrum to tell u and i can’t express it rn :( i am slightly high i think sid starts out w some fairly stereotypical cishet ideas of masculinity and sex, thinking in the middle of the flyers era misgendering. assumes his visceral negative reaction to getting babygirled is as much the sub part as gender (also bc prob has a lot of cishet ideas about gender and penetration and power) then he gets baby boy-ed and it’s like iiiii can shooow uuuu the woooorld like i think he’s a switch (sex competition!) which imo is underexplored but idk maybe he was operating off the hind brain assumption that bc he was topping in a certain sitch he’s be in charge and gets baby boy-ed by a power bottom. or maybe he tries anal but decides penetration doesn’t get him the way a handjob does bc he wants to touch dicks! idk i think sex gets a lot more wet n wild when penetration isnt treated as “realer” than all other forms even if it can be fun! i am high and this is probably a more nuanced topic than i can express rn sorry :( i just was struck w inspiration about sid’s nasty jock and demanding his junk be looked at to see if other ppl thought he was getting a rash or not

sid gets wiggly when condescendingly called sport

ur so right re nate and the eroticization of the everyday via sid’s masculinity kink. also i think one time the sink breaks and sid’s hind brain is like I Know What To Do and it’s not until he’s standing in front of the sink wearing a white tank top jeans toolbelt and holding a hammer (for a sink???) w nate staring at him expectantly that sid realizes he got all his knowledge from porn and has no clue what to do when facing an actual sink

also i think nate can trick? sid into doing chores if he frames it as fulfilling sid’s being a middle aged man kink. home depot dad kink. babe bring home the bacon. hey handsome going hunting? (grocery shopping). hey stud gimme a ride? wow we should compare charcoal vs gas grill maintaince. man these burgers are so good u gotta show me the recipe

i’ve mostly talked about sid here but ur nate idea w him having his everyday in a box and sec in a box and sid exploding the boxes is soooooo good

ok bye im going to go eat peanut butter. wait no i have chocolate cake!!!!

BESTIE WELCOME BACK 😍🥰😘 lol i love u and feel free to come into my inbox high and craving chocolate cake anytime. im laughing and delighted

LMAOOO re: sid’s nasty jock being an excuse for regular junk inspections, im crying ur SO right bestie. sid keeps being like: oh nooo i have to get my junk inspected again :( and someone has to fondle it while talking about my cock and balls in excruciating detail :( oh nooo what if they have to take out a magnifying glass :( to check for an infection :( and then they’d have to KEEP talking to me regularly about by cock and balls. and inspect it. every day.

anyone else: sid why don’t you just get a new jock

sid: no :) can’t. ✨superstition✨

like it would be SO ON BRAND for him. im crying. and also rolling in this headcanon like a pig in filth (read: sid’s junk in his jock)

re: sid working his way up to it and discovering the delights and dynamics of queer sex as an underbaked youngling, u r cooking and now i’m thinking about, like. sid nervously for one of his first sort of hook ups working his way up to insisting on topping with a very effeminate gay dude (since he feels safe asking for it there) and the guy just blowing his mind going “mh honey you’re such a stud, you’re gonna come and fill me right up, aren’t you?” sid goes UH. yes. YES PLEASE. and the sex essentially starts the process of boiling the frog for him, bc the guy is like. clearly at least a a decade older, clearly handling the reigns, but he’s also luxuriating in getting a cock inside him, calls sid (“just, uh. don’t call me kid, please.”) a sport, a stud, a good boy, basically sort of caringly soft doms him (“oh you’re gonna blow your load soon, aren’t you, baby boy? inside me? it’s okay baby, your big cock feels so good, i want it.”) while also begging for a cock in his ass. by the time sid walks out of there his queer third eye is blown wide the fuck open and he starts sucking and fucking his way through pittsburgh, craving nothing less than the high of shrimp colour sexual encounters. figuring out the shape of his (masc kink) sexual preferences one ultra specific hookup at a time.

the thing is that as a rookie he’s small in hockey terms, but he’s still a big guy compared to the normal population. so it’s not exactly hard to start topping dudes. but i think he does the classic dom top thing a couple of times and it gets a little boring. he loves fucking jocks, albeit starts out fucking smaller guys than him. he’s ecstatic the first time a bearded guy bigger than him goes to his knees and praises how pretty his cock is between sucking him off. he loves being called baby boy. sometimes even likes being called “kid” (but only in a specific gay hookup way). over the years he grows to like and appreciate all sorts of little masc epithets (big guy, handsome, mister, and ultimately daddy). i’m with you re: absolutely a switch, although i think he works his way up to some stuff. he just always, regardless of dynamic, enjoys sex the most when it’s full of masculinisation kink. he loves to be a dude fucking dudes. any which way. he loves touching a dick

i’m laughing so much @ nate tricking him into doing chores via middle aged dad kink bc why are u SO right about this. this is real to me. once nate figures the masc kink thing out he is milking that cow cock day and night about it. “hey handsome going hunting? (grocery shopping)” and “wow we should compare charcoal vs gas grill maintaince” are going to live in my mind rent free forever now, thank u. i’m gonna wake up in the middle of the night two weeks from now thinking: “hunting (grocery shopping)”. and the fact that sid 100% gets off on it. thrives on being referred to like this. sid wants to be the mustachioed porno plumber so bad. nate lets him tinker and break the sink even more just for the kink of it before they break 3 hours and two rounds of sex later and finally call an actual plumber. it’s a good thing they’re millionaires that can afford to break their appliances even more before hiring a professional to fix it.

[lxcyed-matcha]

kevinsu fic - short

tags: mutual pining, angst

sorry, i'm not very good at this, please be respectful! they may be ooc and i am so sorry for that, please tell me if you think they are, thank you

Stargazing was a fun activity, but not when your friend next to you is so relaxed, meanwhile they only had a few thousand years til' the Final Herrscher arrives.

"Oh, relax.", Su laughed softly. "The Honkai hasn't appeared here yet. We can still delay Project STIGMA. Besides, you know the risks, right?"

Kevin nodded, mind lost and contemplating. Take your mind off Project STIGMA.. Another thing to think about..

He sometimes felt like the both of them were something more than friends. They had travelled the world for hundreds of years, after all. Their bond would be deeper, right?

Like.. less than lovers, more than friends?

He didn't want to think about it anymore. What else was there to contemplate about? Being attached to anyone would only hinder his progress in destroying the Honkai.

-

Su had fallen in love with Kevin in high school.

He brushed it off as just infatuation. Of course everyone loves Kevin, he thought, but even when he grew into adulthood, it still remained. Kevin was straight, after all. He wasn't going to force him to become what he wanted him to, but..

Oh, he wished he could have Kevin to himself.

That may happen in another universe, but not in this one. They have more to do.

The stars glow in the night sky of Greece. They had caught a meteor shower.

Sometimes he wondered what was in Kevin's mind at any moment. His friend looked so empty-minded, only laser-focused on that one purpose to destroy the Honkai. Can't they enjoy life for a little while? There was more to this. Witnessing the world grow is its own beauty.

However, he understood. Kevin had lost his will to live - he certainly would to if someone so important in his life died too.

--

Slowly, Kevin had started to realize that witnessing the world grow isn't too bad.

Feelings, similar to those he developed for MEI. Su was slowly becoming a new purpose to live, yes.

Over this past century, Honkai was growing at a fairly controllable pace. Herrschers had not appeared yet, although it was simply due to the slow advancement of technology. Maybe they could take a break from all the "fighting the Honkai" stuff- his friend was already doing that.

He had to stop thinking about these feelings. Defeating the Honkai was the reason why they were even alive and this would only distract him.

-

"If you are willing to defeat the Honkai no matter the cost, then.. I will stop you, no matter the cost."

It pained Su to utter these words. He never wanted REGULATOR to be activated, and he was sure that MEI truly never wanted it to be either.

But this.. was for humanity. Something greater than the both of them. There was no reason to be selfish right now when you are putting the world on the line.

He wouldn't allow lives to be lost if there was another chance.

In another universe, maybe they could find happiness. Maybe in this one, if the Honkai had never screwed everything up for them.

-

Kevin Kaslana had made it out of the thousand-year old jail of a bubble universe.

He had just learned many things.

Elysia's wish had been fulfilled. There was a Herrscher who managed to retain their humanity.

VALUKA failed.

Hua had lost a large portion of her MANTIS abilities.

And finally, he had lost his one true friend, who he had never realized his feelings for.

It was too late. There was nothing more to cling onto for him... other than the reason he was preserved.

Destroy the Honkai.

===

Not revised, most of my work on tumblr isn't. Please be respectful when criticizing! Thanks :]

[gabessquishytum]

so, look. i think we've all noticed that i am a chronic overthinker. and i sure have been thinking about the mechanics of a free use system. this is just going to be me rambling but like? strap in i guess?

so the thing is. it's in everyone's best interests that this not actually be an anonymous system, right. you need some accountability (and usage data for... however this is being funded. i'm personally assuming this is a government-funded program, which is hilarious to me, but anyway), so you need registration and some kind of system to verify and record accounts. which. depending on when this whole thing starts this... does open up the potential for a VERY funny and unsexy pre-fuck negotiation of "okay, here are the services i'm offering today. you want anal? alright, that's fine, just let me see your registration card... just have to write down your information... just a minute... okay, have at it!"

if you get more recent this is probably more of a chip card and mobile card reader thing. i'm definitely thinking people registered to be used have a collar they wear to show that they're available, so maybe that has a card reader? maybe it's more of a smartwatch thing?

but. let's be real. modern day? there's an app. there would 100% be an app. you could view anyone available to use nearby, you could filter for certain preferences, there would be some kind of "confirm fuck" button. there would be complaints about the app. there would be grumbling about the Good Old Days when people had to Actually Talk To Confirm A Fuck. is this funny to anyone else. i have no idea. but this is VERY funny to me.

anyway. please picture dream of the endless, deeply pissy about having to 1) get a phone 2) make an account 2)b get a fake identity so he can make an account 3) use an app. because hob keeps fantasizing about getting bent over a table at a pub (that he imagines looking suspiciously like the white horse circa 1389) in front of his friends and only realizing after, when he sits back down with his hole full of come, that it was dream fucking him.

-🐈‍⬛

Great news! This is hilarious and entirely appeals to my mindset today (I am a very tired little slut right now).

So back in the good old days, there were collars, right! They were colour coded to indicate a person's limits, you would exchange details (like you exchange insurance details after a car accident lol). Then you were good to go!

Now there's a database, an ID verification process and of course there's an app. Of course! And the app is annoying and laggy and occasionally crashes entirely but yes, it does keep people safe so it's fine. It just takes the magic out of the whole thing. Ah well.

Dream goes into the waking world with... limited knowledge about all of this. He has to ask Matthew for help and God that is humiliating for everyone involved. Matthew has to pretty much do the entire generic profile for Dream (he doesn’t see the point when he only wants to fuck Hob anyway! But Matthew makes this fake profile where Dream has a pseudonym and a list of interests so it looks legit), and they get it done eventually. Dream pops into the new inn, looks at his app, and there's Hob's profile! Signalling that he's free to use!

So Dream hits the 'fuck?' request, and Hob glances down at his phone... and hits the 'confirm fuck' button! Dream is literally at the end of his patience and he doesn't even have take the time to say hello to Hob before he yanks him out of his seat, bends him over the table, and ruthlessly fucks into him.

The conversation continues as though nothing is happening while Hob pants and whines and squirms. Dream nods politely to Hob’s friends, and they nod back at him. It's a fairly regular occurrence to see Hob like this so they aren't bothered. As long as he's safe and happy.

When Dream has finished and cum into the squeezing tightness of Hob’s hole, he pulls out and carefully rearranges his clothing. Hob is still splayed over the table with his legs spread as Dream pulls up a chair and casually joins the group. Their eyes meet over the table, and Hob clearly goes through 100 different emotions before moaning and coming completely untouched onto the floor. The mere knowledge that Dream has just used him - that it was Dream and he didn't even know - is more than enough to tip him over the edge.

So maybe the app isn't so bad after all.

[brucenorris007]

"Sonic 06: gameplay is shit, story is shit."

Okay, I somewhat disagree but don't see the need to expend energy toward-

*comparison between 06 and Forces is drawn*

My brain: heyguesswhatyou'rehyperfocusednow

I was going to do things today. . . but here we are.

Okay, up top and up front: 06 and Forces are both flawed, yes.

But they are flawed in fundamentally different ways, and Forces flaws are, quite frankly, far more glaring and demeritorious for a franchise like Sonic than 06. Anyone who, years from now, goes on to claim that "Uh, actually, Forces was peak." the way that some people are saying about 06 now will be just as, if not more, wrong. And I'll attribute such claims to declining media literacy.

BEFORE the youngsters in the fandom start throwing things at me, note that I said just as wrong. 06 wasn't ever as good as some of the mainline games prior or even spinoff titles after.

The difference is, most of 06's issues stem from the fact that it reads as pitiably unfinished.

The problems with Forces begin and end with the fact that it reads like self-insert fan fiction that had either zero beta readers or too many beta readers that were all given editing privileges. There's definitely a place in the world for that sort of creativity, but said place is not within a licensed game that people have to pay for; one that drastically affects the canon of the franchise and how the fans old and new perceive it and the characters within.

All right? Okay, let's get into details.

Let's address gameplay first, since I have less to say about that.

On this count, if nothing else, Forces barely edges out by being functional; granted, that's the end of it. I wouldn't go back to play it again, and the 'highlights' I can recall mostly felt like reskins of stages in the style of Colors but shortened, with boss fights reminiscent of daytime Unleashed. I imagine the primary draw for people is watching their customized 'sona jump and fly around whilst listening to dialogue from the main cast.

And this isn't really a substantive point, but the fact that receiving stuff like outfits like loot crates at the end of virtually every stage feels kind of manipulative and annoys me. If there's unlockable features, put some actual challenge between the player and the prize, like how you perform within the stage. Otherwise it's just another example of "shiny, novelty, tickle brain often, get player to play longer."

Setting that brief tangent aside since that's just a trend in games in general and not Sonic specific, moving on to 06's gameplay. And uh, yeah. The USP was, like the adventure games, supposed to be that you got three interconnected stories and three main characters each with unique play styles.

I suppose 06 showed us before anything else that Shadow really isn't as fast as Sonic, and as an idea, Silver's psychokinesis was cool. If the tracking in the Speed Up stages and the hit boxes in a handful of other areas had been ironed out, there's foundation for a fairly solid experience. Project 06 is basically proof that the base of the game had potential that wasn't realized, whether due to time constraints or other reasons.

As far as environs, the concept for Kingdom Valley showed off the most soul, I'd say, with Silver's future coming in close second. Character design for the Iblis fragments (not sure if that's the official name but I'm doing stream-of-consciousness here) and Mephiles I actually like a lot. I don't think there's anything objectively wrong with them and however you rate them will come down to preference.

Also, the model for Sonic is like. . . ridiculously good. He just looks like an older teenager; it fits with the widely accepted idea that he was 15 as of Adventure 2. Polish it a bit and that's just how he appears in my head when I write about him.

That said, there are only about six different environs that serve as stages, discounting the hub areas, and compared to Heroes' twelve stages, it just adds to that incomplete/rushed feeling.

That's about all I can say on the gameplay aspect. Functional yet non-stimulating technically wins out over some creativity yet patchy. They are games, after all.

Now then, the "story is shit" business.

Look, if you're going to criticize Sonic's story—which, yeah, his should be subjected to more scrutiny, being the titular character—then much of what you can say against it also applies to the first Adventure. Eggman wants to collect a thing (emeralds/Princess), Sonic wants him to not collect the thing (emeralds/Princess) because he's obviously planning to do evil stuff with the thing, Sonic manages to get the thing only for Eggman to snatch it out of his hands.

Multiple times.

Meaning Sonic spends most of the games on fetch quests that Eggman keeps one-upping him on until the penultimate fight.

And those are the beats. Of both stories. (For Sonic.)

And then at the end of both games, a monster you've fought in various forms (Chaos/Iblis) reappears to threaten the world on a scale that requires the seven chaos emeralds to combat.

Super Sonic. Rad soundtrack. Credits.

Granted, much like how Gamma's story was the strongest in Adventure, the quality of the three main story lines in 06 also vary in strength, with Shadow's taking first place.

My point is, in a franchise that is about characters, you don't grade every aspect of the story on the same scale. You weigh the grade of various aspects differently; and the point that gets graded most heavily is:

Character moments; which can encapsulate literal moments, arcs, development etc.

And for all its flaws, 06 has character moments, almost immediately, even. Sonic's first spoken line is "My, that's a pretty snazzy performance there!"

Which, after the tension of Eggman interrupting the festival and threatening Elise, cuts through the moment right away and, paired with the next several seconds, shows who Sonic is. He sees Eggman's robots aiming and waits until the last second to jump before going to town bashing up bots. Even as he carts Elise off amidst homing missiles and explosions, he's grinning the whole time.

Sonic does what he does because it's fun.

And his third spoken line, answering Elise's question of why he's helping, is: "No special reason."

Again, that's Sonic. Doesn't matter who it is, he helps people because he Does what's Cool. And as well as being fun, fighting off Eggman and his bots is Cool.

06, as Silver's introduction to the series, also does a decent job establishing his character of Temporal Bulldozer. He can be aimed, but his solution to problems first and foremost is usually smashing, and it's really tricky to change his mind once he's focused. He suffers from myopia arguably as bad or worse than Metal Sonic. Amy's the only one who momentarily gets him to pause and wonder if really does want to kill Sonic.

Which is a character moment for her. As in Adventure 2, Amy will happily break laws and go against who and whatever to help her friends; and as she did with Shadow, she's rather skilled at getting very hurt people to listen.

She's not unlike Silver in her willingness to do whatever it takes, really; since Temporal Bulldozer can and does traverse time on several occasions to make things right. And up until the last moment, it never occurs to him that anyone but he should bear the burden of saving the world. Blaze has to physically shove him aside so she can absorb Iblis herself.

Silver sees himself as a Hero with a responsibility toward the future just as much Sonic sees himself as just Some Guy.

Finally, Shadow. And man, there's a reason a lot of people say 06 was the last time a game featured Shadow written correctly.

It's me. I'm one of a lot of people.

Team Dark in general gets a fair bit of spotlight in 06. Rouge, an anti-heroine with perhaps the greatest self-interest after Eggman, promises Shadow that she'd stand with him even if the very world turned against him. Omega, who loathes taking orders and prioritizes his own freedom nearly as much as Sonic, takes on Rouge's assignment for him without question or complaint to wait out 200 years to help rescue Shadow.

And Shadow, in an in-game line during his first fight with Mephiles, reaffirms all the progress he made in his titular game that was wholly about discovering his identity: "Don't bother trying to deceive me. I know who I am!"

And, in contrast to the Shadow the franchise first introduced us to, the Shadow of Adventure 2 who was thoroughly convinced that his only remaining worth was his ability to keep his promise to Maria, the Shadow who was so resigned that he chose to plummet through the planet's atmosphere to his presumed death. . .

That Shadow is faced squarely with his fate of persecution, asked why he would bother fighting to protect. That Shadow declares that it the world turns on him, "I will fight as I always have."

He's grown such that he's now willing to fight against fate.

And that's pretty fucking cool.

On the other side, applying the same grading method to Forces, we find what I call (as of just now) character fauxments.

Remember how I talked about 06's introduction for Sonic? How he cuts through tensions, finds joy and fun in fighting bullies and bad guys?

The thing about that, which Forces doesn't seem to understand, is that if you lean too hard on the wisecracks and nonchalance, you end up with a character who reads as either obnoxious or totally tone-deaf. Sonic knows when to take things seriously, yet in Forces he's purportedly been tortured as well as locked up for half a year, Infinite's destroyed countless homes and killed who knows how many people, and yet when Sonic interrupts his fight with Silver. . .

I mean, if Sonic was written correct, you'd cut out a bunch of faff and change his line delivery. Show that he's frustrated by his time confined and absolutely raring to throw hands and get to business; because Sonic does understand when things have gotten real, and while rare, he does get angry. Something like:

"Since you like talking so much, mind sharing the source of your power? I can ask the easy way or the hard way. I've been cooped up a long time, so I'm hoping you pick the hard way."

It doesn't need to be the most original lines in the world, but Sonic's banter in the middle of a war shouldn't be long-winded, no matter how pretentious his opponent is (and damn, is Infinite pretentious. Like to the point that it's the most memorable part of the game.) If there's banter, it should be punchy and succinct; quick, like he is.

Instead, Forces Sonic's attitude is just kind of. . . incongruous with the stakes the game claims to have established. But then, since we don't get a truly convincing scene showing the rest of the cast being sad that he reportedly died, that's not too surprising.

Speaking of setting up stakes, here's an idea. Rather than cutting from Sonic laying battered in the middle of the city for a lazy six-month time skip established by text on the screen, make it clear that "Oh shit, things are different" via gameplay.

After Sonic falls, immediately transition into a level. Where you run from right to left to escape Eggman's fleet. Turns everything on its head, you can witness and navigate the destruction as it's happening and if you string together enough environs, you can even have the city burning in the distance or the skyline as you near the end of the stage and escape to relative safety.

Anyway.

And of course, the notorious character fauxment: Tails cowering in front of an offline Omega.

There's nothing I can say about this fauxment that hasn't been said already. It's not the first time in the series that Tails was portrayed as having regressed to a scared child, but it is the most egregious.

And. . . actually, that's about it, at least off the top of my head. Which might speak to how short the game is and how little screen time and action the main cast get aside from Sonic and the player character.

But it's enough to determine that Forces' story, or what stands in for it, is weaker than what 06 offered.

Again, I'm not here to rally a feral defense of 06 as a masterpiece, but its flaws are not on the level of Forces. The reason they're lumped together is the amount of disdain both games got on their release; though in the case of 06, the 2000's were just a weird time when hating things was somehow cooler than liking them, and since 06 wasn't up to par with Adventure 2 or Heroes, people picked an aspect of the game-most often how much the almost final fantasy style model for Elise didn't match up with the Mobian models (and yes, the final cutscene, but there's nothing new I can say about that either, and talking about it here is just an open invitation for someone to blow it out of proportion again) and dogpiled the hate on the game.

Sonic 06 feels unfinished owing to a lot of little and larger details. Knuckles' portrayal and having little to do in the story, poor optimization leading to nearly twenty second loading times, BLAZE BEING A GLOWING NEON MISSED OPPORTUNITY! (SEGA, I know I was literally twelve when the game was released, but my Phoenix headcanon works so well and makes her appearance in both Rush and 06 work! A retroactive fix would be so easy and we could get more adventures in her dimension!)

Even acknowledging all that, though, there were still attempts at creativity that just, for one reason or another, didn't pan out. There's significant potential here.

Forces is just. . . a mess. In every sense. And I understand how a mess can be attractive to a fandom, because a mess means you can take whatever you want from it and organize things however you choose.

But a mess that's sold as a finished game is not the same as a rushed title with visible untapped potential.

[lemony-snickers]

@butter--peanut ficti-gram for you!

to: @butter--peanut from: @wind-becomes-lightning message: Hello my love, I mean my rival, I am currently working through the first pages of the book you are writing and am in total awe of your work!! I want to send you this little sweet thing so you can relax a little for a minute with a good fic before you dive into rewrites again! I am very happy that I met you and that we have met in person so many times and hopefully many many more times until you leave forever! (;(). Sending you many hugs!! <3 characters/pairing: kakashi hatake/obito uchiha word count: 3,646 prompt: the smell of coffee

Obito Uchiha has always hated the smell of coffee.  Freshly roasted at a fancy kissaten or poured from a grody two-day-old carafe into a travel mug, he thinks it always smells like burnt piss.  No amount of sugar or milk or cream or flavoring could ever make it palatable, and Obito will never understand how anyone, under any circumstances, could ever find themselves so desperate for an infusion of caffeine they would resort to drinking it.

Admittedly, coffee might be a useful beverage to keep on deck in the event of poisoning, to make a person throw up.  Maybe.  He’d have to be really poisoned to consider it, and Obito sees no other reasonable purpose for the existence of such a foul liquid.

Normally, Obito is fairly adept at avoiding coffee in all its forms, but there is one occasion upon which he has little to no control over whether he’s subjected to it and that is whenever Kakashi Hatake texts him to say he’s on his way over.

It’s still relatively new, all the Kakashi stuff.  When Obito ran across his old classmate on a dating app, he’d only partially been serious when he swiped to match with him.  Mostly, Obito was curious.  He smirked when he saw Kakashi’s profile—pathetically sparse and with a picture that didn’t even show his entire face—because it was very clear Kakashi was looking specifically for hook-ups while Obito had spent hours agonizing over which photos to upload, how many of his own scars to show, and how to make an appropriately-but-not-too-seriously self-deprecating joke about them in his bio.

Online dating is a terribly complicated thing, it turns out, when half your body is marred by the mistakes of your past.

Obito had not expected to match with Kakashi in the slightest.  At best, he thought he might receive a message something along the lines of, “Fuck you, loser,” before he was blocked.

Instead, Kakashi invited him out for a drink and Obito—perhaps foolishly or at least with a dash of foolhardy optimism—said yes.

The alcohol helped soothe the awkward sting of their reunion.  They spent hours at the bar, ordering round after round, allowing the fuzziness of the booze to seep into their blood, their bones.  Cloud over all the terrible parts of their shared history they did not wish to relitigate or relive in any detail.  Their conversation remained light, easy.

Perfunctory shit only.

“How have you been?”

“Good, you?”

“All right.  What do you do for work now?”

“A little bit of everything, really. Whatever brings in enough to cover my rent.”

Kakashi cracked a grin at that and Obito turned his attention toward his beer to hide that he liked it.  There had always been something terribly magnetic about Kakashi.  Even as a kid, when they first entered school together, Obito always found himself drawn to him, desperately trying to escape his orbit with very little success.

It would take several years of distance and a decent amount of therapy for Obito to recognize the feelings of his adolescent self for what they were.  That all the jealousy and anger had been part and parcel to something else, something soft and unknowable, then.  Something he hadn’t been yet able to acknowledge or put voice to.

Obito didn’t realize he was interested in men for a long time after Kakashi was no longer part of his life.  Now, though?  It was painfully clear Obito measured every man he’d ever dated by the metric of his old schoolmate, and not one of them had ever passed muster.

So when Kakashi invited himself to Obito’s apartment after they split their bar tab, he acquiesced.  When he shoved Obito against the wall in the entryway and bruised a kiss against his mouth, Obito’s knees buckled.  When a hand shoved its way down the front of his jeans, Obito whined.

It was so easy to succumb to decades of longing.  To open the half-crushed box where he’d packed it all away and dust it off, return it to a shelf in the sunlight where he could stare at it.  Covet it.

Ignore everything else in the box except this one thing.

And now when Kakashi calls—err, texts, he never calls—Obito unlocks his front door and waits patiently for him to stride in and repeat it all again.

It’s rather infuriating if he gives himself any time to think it over.  That he allows Kakashi to wander in and out of his life like a wraith without expectation or explanation.  He comes and goes as he pleases and part of Obito hates himself for allowing it to continue.

The rest of him, though, sees it as a reward for all his patience.  For all the progress he has made since they last saw each other, broken and bruised and grieving.

Obito’s therapist tells him there might be too much history between them for any of this to work on a functional level.  But then, Obito has never really been all that functional.  At least now he has someone in his life who will touch him, make him feel good without also making him feel self-conscious of his body.

It’s complicated.  At least, that’s what he tells himself (and his therapist), so he doesn’t have to unpack the rest of the box.

But Obito knows deep down none of this is sustainable.  While he’s willing to take what he can, he’s also not a moron.  He’s willing to take what he can get and be satisfied with it; always has been.

What makes things infuriatingly more tenuous, though, is that Kakashi always smells like coffee.

Obito knows that’s probably a sign, but he refuses to read it.

It doesn’t matter what time of day or night he appears at Obito’s door, all hungry eyes and demanding touches, there is always this persistent burnt scent that lingers under everything else.  It’s pervasive.  Poisons the very air of Obito’s apartment as Kakashi swoops in without a word.

It clings to Kakashi’s clothes, his skin, his hair.  It’s on his tongue when it pushes its way into Obito’s mouth, staining itself onto his teeth.

Coffee.  Every time.  Everywhere.

And during the course of their liaisons, the scent transfers itself to Obito, sliding against his scalp and burrowing into the thick folds of his scarred skin.

The burnt piss smell lingers in his nostrils long after Kakashi departs, trailing in his wake like a vile stream, and Obito spends an inordinate amount of time in the bath afterward trying to scrub away the putrid scent and replace it with fruity-smelling body wash or the lavender oil his therapist tells him is good for promoting relaxation.

He doesn’t think he agrees, but it smells nice, so what the hell?

His therapist might also have something to say about Obito’s obsessive need to clean himself every time Kakashi leaves his apartment, but he doesn’t like to think about that much.  Each time, he convinces himself it is the smell and not their fraught and complicated history which demands another cycle of shampoo.  He dips his head beneath the surface of the water until his vision stings and blurs so he won’t imagine what his therapist’s frown looked like when he said as much during their last session.

Obito is a big boy who can make his own decisions, thank you very much.  He just wishes his potentially poor life choices didn’t come with a side of putrescent coffee bean stench.

After a brief On my way text message, Kakashi arrives this time with a soggy-looking bag of takeout and plops it on Obito’s kitchen counter.

“For me?” he asks teasingly, “You shouldn’t have.”

Kakashi rolls his eyes.  “It’s mine and you can’t have any,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.  Obito rakes his eye over Kakashi’s frame, taking in the lean, wiry muscle of it.  His posture is terrible, he looks like a shepherd’s hook the way his spine curves too much at the top.  As always, Obito’s gaze eventually finds the scar over Kakashi’s eye, traces it carefully.

Whenever he tries to touch it while their kissing or fucking, Kakashi pulls him away, tangles their fingers together or tugs his wrist down to the mattress and restrains his hand there, like it can’t be trusted not to wander.

He doesn’t like to acknowledge his scars any more than Obito likes to acknowledge his own, and Obito wonders if that is part of why they remain within one another’s terrible, destructive orbit.  Because neither of them needs to explain their scars to the other—they were together when they were earned.

Kakashi, for the first time since this all started months ago, looks unsure.  He stands in the liminal space between the kitchen and the living room, rocking slightly back and forth on the balls of his feet.  His energy is nervous.  Sizzling.  Like a crack of lightning splitting the night sky in half.

“Something on your mind?” Obito asks, trying not to let the panic he feels fluttering in his chest make its way into his voice.  It’s like there’s a hummingbird trapped in the cage of his ribs, frantic to escape.

Kakashi shakes his head.  “How, uh… how was your day?” he asks, and a grimace follows immediately, slicing its way across his face like the dull side of a kitchen knife.

Obito can’t help it, he tries not to laugh, but it takes only half a heartbeat for the raucous noise to skitter out of his chest, setting the hummingbird free as he guffaws.  Watching Kakashi try to be normal, try to treat their interaction as if it is casual and regular, is the funniest shit Obito has ever seen.

Kakashi rolls his eyes and takes two quick, purposeful steps forward.  It’s then the coffee scent slams full force into Obito, snaking its way up his nose and into his throat.  He gags a little and Kakashi halts his advance, pausing just as his knee would have brushed against Obito’s own where he sits on his ratty old couch.

“Something smell bad?” Kakashi asks, glancing over his shoulder at the takeout he deposited on the counter.

“Yeah,” Obito says, pinching his nose closed for dramatic effect, “you.”

Still, after all the years of knowing him, of provoking him—and then missing him—Obito experiences the same swift thrill whenever he catches Kakashi off guard.  And watching the confusion blossom over his features, first in the subtle downturn of his mouth at the edges and then in the wrinkles of his nose and crease of his brow, is a glorious, wonderful thing.

“Me?  I smell bad?”

Obito rises slowly from his seat, the good side of his face pitched up in a grin.  “You smell fucking terrible all the time.”

There’s that gorgeous, adorable confusion again.  Deepening.  Pulling Kakashi’s lip toward the infuriatingly beautiful mark on his chin, carving a ravine between his eyebrows.

Obito wishes he could take a photo, blow it up, and hang it on his wall.  He knows he’s probably picking a fight—knows it’s probably long overdue—but this moment is worth the risk of blowing up the very small good thing he’s managed to unpack from his past.

Of course, Kakashi does not handle discomfort well.  Obito doesn’t need a therapist to tell him that.  Kakashi is a man who thrives on control, and Obito’s revelation has clearly thrown him.  It doesn’t take long for lovely confusion to break apart, resettle itself against Kakashi’s features as something vicious.

“Fuck you, I didn’t come here to be insulted,” he says.

Obito’s grin widens.  “But you did come here to fuck me, though.”  He chuckles, and Kakashi spins on his heels.  Before he can snatch up his takeout and head back out into the hall, Obito grabs the bag first and holds it out of his reach.

An impressive feat, if Obito does say so himself, considering they’re close in height but Kakashi definitely has longer arms.  He’s always been built like a swimmer, lanky with a broad chest and narrow hips.

“Stop being such an asshole,” Kakashi says, grabbing for the bag and missing as Obito passes it to his other hand behind his back.

“Don’t be such a fragile little flower,” Obito chides, “take a little criticism for once in your life.”

Kakashi’s face hardens and he stops trying to reach for his food, which Obito knows probably means he’s gone too far, pushed some invisible button too hard.  Rather than acknowledge that; rather than walk himself back or apologize, he simply opens the bag of food in his hands, maintaining uncomfortably intense eye contact with Kakashi as he reaches in, grabs the first food-shaped thing he finds, and brings it to his mouth.

He gags when it hits his tongue, spits it half-chewed right back into the bag without any concern for the rest of its contents.

When he glares at Kakashi, nose wrinkling, pulling his facial scars in a way that tugs uncomfortably at the unmarred flesh of his face, Obito expects to see the same sharp and acerbic glare from a moment ago.

Instead, what he finds is mirth—light dancing in Kakashi’s dark eyes as his mouth splits into a smile, revealing his perfect teeth.  Obito knows his left canine is false, but it’s hard to tell since the rest of his smile is just as dazzlingly white.  And as Kakashi tilts his head back, the apple of his throat jumping wildly in time with his laughter, he wheezes out a high-pitched, “Serves you right!” and then keeps on laughing.

Obito supposes it does, to some extent.  But how was he supposed to know Kakashi Hatake, well-established hater of all things even remotely dessert-like, would be carrying coffee cake in his to-go bag?  Obito keeps sticking out his tongue, like exposure to the air will somehow cleanse the taste from his mouth.  He must look like a frog; a big dumb amphibian who snapped its tongue out only to realize it caught a stink bug.

He tosses the bag back onto the counter, content to have it as far from his person as possible.  “I thought you hated sweets.”

“I do,” Kakashi says, finally regaining some semblance of stoicism.  “It’s for my neighbor.”

Obito frowns.  “Since when have you been that social?”

Kakashi shrugs, but says nothing.  Typical.

They stand there, awkward and unmoving, for several long seconds.  Obito can feel sweat prickling at his nape, his temples.  He has no clue what he’s supposed to say, now.

Do you still get to fuck someone after you’ve told them they reek and then spit half-masticated baked goods back into their extremely kind bag of neighborly good will?

Probably not, which is disappointing.

Is he supposed to open the box, splay the contents across his floors so they can examine all the missing pieces?  Try to fit them back together?

Obito decides that isn’t something he’s ready to do.  That whatever exists between them, now, is still too new, too fragile, to bear the weight.  One day, maybe, it will be strong enough.  But not now.

Mercifully, Kakashi clears his throat, which clears the air enough for him to ask, “Why haven’t’ you ever said anything?”

“About what?” Obito asks, realizing a moment too late that he’s fucking dumb.

Kakashi knows, too, and infuses as much incredulity into his clarification as possible, each syllable dripping with a sickly-sweet undertone of are you fucking kidding.  “You said I smell, Obito.  All the time.  Why didn’t you tell me before?”

There’s no truly easy answer.  Because of course, Obito thinks Kakashi smells like burnt piss, but he doesn’t actually.  What he smells like is coffee, which is a perfectly reasonable thing to smell like, probably.

Assuming Kakashi drinks the stuff because if he doesn’t, then what the fuck?

“I hate the smell of coffee,” Obito says finally, after Kakashi reaches out and flicks him on the forehead for taking too long to answer.  He rubs at the spot where he’s sure the gesture has left a red smudge on his skin.  “You always smell like fucking coffee.”

Obito isn’t sure what he expects Kakashi’s response to be.  More incredulity, maybe.  Irritation.  Hands thrown up in the air and then a purposeful march out of his apartment.  An annoying dissertation on why coffee is wonderful and Obito is wrong.

Instead, Kakashi grins like a very smug cat, takes a step forward and presses his forehead to Obito’s, arms crossed over his chest like the smug, self-assured bastard he has (almost) always been.

Obito bristles, mostly because the move is unfamiliar.  For all Kakashi enjoys making people uncomfortable, he typically uses his words to do so.  The proximity of him, the coffee smell and the warmth of his skin and the faint tickle of his breath as he leans close to Obito’s ear are things typically reserved for the duration of their sex and that’s all.

Kakashi doesn’t like being close to people.  Obito understands why, respects the boundary for the most part.  He nearly topples backward trying to maintain any semblance of space between their bodies.

Then Kakashi rasps almost alluringly against his ear, “I own a fucking coffee shop, you dumbass.”

It occurs to Obito in that moment he has never bothered to ask where Kakashi works.  Their first meeting at that bar replays in his mind and he recalls Kakashi asking him what he did for a living, but Obito had gotten distracted by his momentary embarrassment and never returned the favor.

He groans loudly, leaning his forehead against Kakashi’s shoulder, which jostles as he chuckles at Obito’s expense.  Obito snorts, a short, half-hearted attempt at that self-deprecating humor he has so perfected over the years.  “Figures I’d fall for someone who smells like my least favorite thing.”

He pulls away, flustered and embarrassed.  The heat of his face is probably enough to warm that coffee cake like it’s fresh from the oven.  Obito wonders suddenly if the cake came from Kakashi’s shop.  Wonders where the shop is and what it’s like inside.

If they serve anything other than fucking coffee.

Kakashi’s fingers are rough against Obito’s jaw as he pulls him in for their first kiss of the day, but the kiss itself is gentle.  He doesn’t open his mouth, isn’t as greedy or demanding as usual.  And Obito relishes the temporary softening, the tender moment offered to him.  He clings to Kakashi’s shirt and tries to breathe as little as possible so the coffee stench won’t invade his nostrils.

Though, he must admit, at the moment, he cares a hell of a lot less than usual.  Because Kakashi’s kisses are delicate and coaxing, one hand skimming over Obito’s scars with a carefulness that makes his chest ache.

A carefulness he has never experienced before, not with anyone, and especially not with the man he knows deems himself responsible for their existence.

Obito pulls away first, finally in such desperate need of a full breath he can’t hold out any longer.  He doesn’t pull far, though, just enough to let his lungs expand without restriction.  And when his eyes meet Kakashi’s, the light in them is still there, less twinkling and steadier.

A porch light welcoming him home, peeling away the shadows to reveal safety and comfort.

“Let’s take a bath,” Kakashi says quietly, grinning.

Obito has the decency to laugh.  It’s a convenient enough sound, anyway, one which hopefully drowns out the erratic thudding his chest.  The hammer beat of a heart only now realizing Kakashi didn’t run away when Obito said he was falling, didn’t put up the cool partition Obito is so used to running up against every time he tries to open up, to be opened.

To drag the box out and bring its contents back into the light.

The tub is not large enough for two grown men.  Not really.  But they Tetris their limbs into the basin as well as they can, tangling together like brambles—perhaps just as prickly—and laughing at their own foolishness in unison.

“It’s smells like a department store in here.”

Obito splashes the scented water at Kakashi, who squints and spits.  “I need all the eucalyptus and lavender I can get my hands on to wash out your coffee shop’s stench.”

Kakashi leans back against the tub with a serene smile and closes his eyes.  “You should come visit sometime,” he offers and Obito knows it’s no small thing to be invited into Kakashi’s life even such a minor way.  He looks up to wink at Obito through the steam of the bathwater.  “Maybe not on roasting day, though.”

“You couldn’t pay me.”

His therapist will probably still tell Obito this is an unhealthy attachment at their next session.  But Obito thinks today is a step in the right direction, at least.  A limping movement toward the honesty that comes so hard to them both.

Maybe they can figure the rest out together, peel back all the layers and scars until they are raw and open to each other.  Until they can repair all the marks of their shared past, their fractured future.  Maybe.  Someday.

Obito likes the idea that his past and his future might yet be able to exist together.  That one day there won’t be any dusty boxes he has to carry around, regrets and secrets stuffed between tabs of moldy cardboard.  He likes the idea that maybe he and Kakashi can unpack together.  Build a bonfire afterward and burn away all the shit they no longer need to hold onto.

The smoke would smell better than coffee, at least.  And as long as Kakashi agrees to take a bath when he comes over, Obito thinks they just might be able to make this work.

[prettymonnica]

How?

It's Monnica here from @feminizationofm. Thank you for following along so far. ❤️. It's been an exciting time for Goddess Violet and I, as we venture into some unknown territory together, and tackle trying to make a few dollars from O/our real life very erotic and creative lifestyle.

We began the journey together about 6 years ago, but really began to apply into taking my masc persona and implementing a femme one about 5 years ago now. Obviously, stay tuned, because W/we both still have a lot of content that W/we are either editing from the past, or creating from new. We really appreciate the support. 💋

I think the biggest question I get asked personally is "How did you ever find a Feminatrix like Goddess Violet, and find yourself in such a wonderful relationship with Her?"

Like most males into sissy femdom, I too spent years looking to find someone who would understand me, and yes, would consider even becoming my Domme as well as life partner, best friend, and (coming soon) Female Led Relationship Leader and Wife.

What can I say, it certainly is not easy, but hopefully this advice can help you on your journey, because it is possible.

The way not to:. Well, sending rando pics of yourself to online Dommes begging them for attention is one. Paying a lot for things like keyholding, online domination, inbox suggestions, or engaging with professionals, may temporarily date the urge, but at the end of the day, has a very, very low success rate.

For every real life, natural, organically created Feminatrix, there are probably 10 thousand sissies, born with the desire to be with one.

I didn't win the lotto with Goddess Violet. But, I did actively pursue finding Her, and upon realizing She was my real life person, decided to stop doing what I had always done in my relationships, and covered my tracks and lied about having the deep desire to be a real life sissy.

About 5 years prior to meeting Goddess V, I was married to a fairly masculine female, and we had a (not quite) 2 year old son. We had a solid friendship, and good working marriage. She made a lot more than I did, but we made it work.

We weren't terribly intimate with each other, but again, it seemed like a strong platform for me. I thought it was just the way it was. Behind the scenes, I had several online personas going on, and I had a little bag of lingerie that I kept hidden away. I just sort of dealt with the sissy urge quietly, on my own, online mostly. I had quietly been cross dressing since puberty, but was an Alpha sort, a retired professional athlete, a multi sport playing, well built, competitive sort that worked running a medium sized business.

Nobody expected it, including her. While on a three week business trip, I came home excited, to get home, see my family, and I arrived home to my belongings on the front step, with my laptop open to several of the sites I looked at pictures, interacted with others, watched videos, and lived out sissy fantasies on my own.

She had discovered me, and, had begun divorce proceedings immediately. No quarter was given. No understanding was offered. To her, I had lied. I had cheated on her. It was over.

Here is where you need to listen, especially if you are presently hiding it from your partner. I lied. I had become a professional liar. Lying by omission, is still lying.

So, it was here that I began to tell any partner I was with that I was a cross dresser. Yes, to be honest, some could not manage it, but not all. But I just knew in my heart that I had been in hiding long enough, and, I wasn't going to be able to manage being in a relationship with anyone, if it wasn't on the table. That I wanted to wear panties, have sex in lingerie, and was submissive. That my dream partner was a Dominant female.

See, you can't find it, if you aren't honest about the fact that you are looking for it. I did spend times single over the next few years, prior to meeting my Goddess. I worked as a webcam girl, escort, online presence. I did experiment with males, obviously. But something inside me told me that I was actually just doing it to quash my internal feelings of wanting a Domme partner.

Out of a last ditch effort, I tried a local vanilla dating site. In my profile, I put that my likes were "Gin, Cheesecake, and Kinky Sex."

One day, a very sweet lady (Goddess V) reached out to me, and asked me about cheesecake. Lol.

But do you see that I had put it out there that I was an inner weirdo and let Her decide whether to interact or not.

She was not vanilla, and yes, was a reasonably assertive female on Her own, but really had a base working knowledge of what a Dominatrix really was. The ice had been pre broken, and She knew in advance, so it was a matter of telling Her what "it" was.

Now, I went into it to find my person and soul mate first, a kinky sexual partner second. I was lonely. Afraid. A bit lost.

She, went into it for the very same, and we fell deeply in love. We dated, with masc me. We got to know each other in real life, and wrote poems, and gave each other flowers. We laughed together, cried together, built a real thing together.

After three months, it was time to tell Her. To show it to Her, and no, there is no easy way to do this. There is also a lot of fear involved in confessing the entirety, and She would tell you that I did some of that wrong, trying to slowly bring Her up to speed on what the desire to be a sissy to a Domme looks like. There is no real blueprint to confess wanting to be spanked, chastized, dominated, humiliated, bound, and teased and tormented in the way a sissy really likes it.

But more than that, I am hopeful you will consider your approach. It's ok to be on a vanilla dating site and indicate you prefer Alpha females, or an assertive female, or a partner that wants to be in charge.

They are out there, and they are looking too. My Goddess had never really been with a partner that openly relented control, but She was still basically in control of the working parts of all of Her past relationships. They may not realize that they are looking for someone like you. They may not know that they have an inner Domme in them, that is trying to get out.

My point, and hopefully your takeaway, be very honest in what you are looking for, search first for a partner, friend, confidante, and second for a sexual freak, and you can find Her.

Once you do, be very honest, don't lie, don't hide, and don't go around Her. Women hate that stuff. Invest in Her instead of an online persona that will never pay off anyway. Give it all you have with an open heart.

Teach Her, explain what it is, why you want it. Tell Her everything about where it all began for you, and why it does it for you. Understand that you are likely several years ahead of Her in terms of what you know, and how it works, and be very patient as She learns. Give Her resources, love letters, links, and let Her learn as you both grow.

The key, is to go out there and find your person, and trust Her to want to be yours too. Don't try to win the lotto. Plant a seed, and tend it so that it can grow. ❤️

It's out there for all of us little sissies. Trust me. Good luck.

Feel free to leave questions or comments.

M.

[4straydogs]

ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA AND THE ONGOING STRUGGLE NOT TO KILL ANYONE

CHAPTER 7: A NEW WAY TO DIE

read on ao3

Atsushi is woken up early in the morning. This is normal when he stays with Ryuunosuke, the guy’s phone is never not going off. It used to be more of an issue, and would cause issues between them.

Atsushi’s ears are very sensitive and with Tiger hearing they pick up a lot they are not supposed to. In the beginning stages of his slow acclimation to the Akutagawa home, he would wake up in a strange place, think he was kidnapped, and lose his mind about it. He’d keep his eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep, listening in on every little sound to get a clue on his wherabouts.

The first thing he hears is always Ryuunosuke’s voice. This doesn’t reassure him of his continued freedom but only reinforces Atsushi’s belief in his kidnapping. 

“I see,” Ryuunosuke said in a hushed tone. “Bring his daughter to the base, then. If he feels so confident as to parade himself around with the senator’s child, he should know what it is like to fear for the well-being of his own.”

“Yes sir,” came the other voice. “And if she resists? How much force are we authorized to use?”

Ryuunosuke snorts, something he only does when he’s tired or drunk. This begins to grow the doubt in Atsushi’s brain, to remind him that he and Ryuunosuke had another sleepover instead of another blowout fight. “Well, if she turns out to be an ability user, all of it. Otherwise the same amount for any unruly civilian. Don’t act like you’ve never done something like this before, it makes you seem stupid.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.”

“You’re dismissed.”

“Yes sir,” the voice said. Atsushi heard the end tone of a phonecall.

The realization he was in Ryuunosuke’s bed of his own voilition came later. The realization that came first was that—  “There’s no way I’m letting you kidnap an innocent girl.”

Ryuunosuke was still in his nightclothes, staring wide eyes at Atsushi, who was on his hands and knees now on top of the bed, less sexy and more tense. A wild animal about to pounce. His claws began to grow in.

“Stop that. You’ll ruin my sheets,” Ryuunosuke drawled.

“Akutagawa,” Atsushi growled, saying nothing else.

They’d ended up fighting it out, but the girl went missing and her father wised up and followed the mafia’s demands fast enough that Atsushi hadn’t been able to stop it or save her. It was useless violence, wasted effort.

Now when Ryuunosuke rolls out of bed to take a phone call, Atsushi rolls away and tries to control his ability out of his ears. He doesn’t need to know. It helps no one. It only hurts. 

But his phone starts ringing as well. With a groan, he rolls back over, reaches to where his phone was charging on Ryuunosuke’s nightstand, and answers: “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Kyouka asks, urgently as she says everything.

“Um.” Kyouka’s old enough to know he’s sleeping with someone, right? He can say that? Should he though? What if she asks who, could she handle that information? Could he handle telling her?

He feels like he’s standing under freezing rain. Was starting a relationship of any sort with Ryuunosuke really the best idea? 

“You need to get over here now. There’s a zombie outbreak in Yokohama. Be careful.”

She hangs up.

Atsushi looks up at Ryuunosuke, who is still on his own call but staring at Atsushi, his jaw a bit dropped. Holy shit.

Atsushi’s jaw is also a bit low to the ground. “No way, really?” 

Akutagawa murmurs something and hangs up the phone. He nods solemnly. “Zombies.”

“Fuck.”

Atsushi has to wear his new clothes out because they were peeled off of him rather quickly last night and stayed fairly clean. His others are already in Ryuunosuke’s hamper, and Atsushi was half-convinced to just rewear them anyway to avoid getting questions from his coworkers but it turns out Ryuunosuke’s hamper is the grossest place on earth. Being covered in the rotting, life-giving fluids of other people probably has something to do with it. 

They get dressed and run out quickly. Atsushi elects not to stay for breakfast or even coffee, having snacks and caffeine in abundance at the office. He runs into Gin who is already on the floor at the front door and pulling on her shoes.

“I can’t fucking believe this town,” she complains, standing up and stomping her feet firmly until each foot is finally in the tight leather boot. Aesthetic over functionality, but she’s quick with her routine.

She waves behind her at Atsushi, who is himself still tying his laces. “See you soon, most likely.”

Yeah, probably. It already seems like one of those incidents. The kind that gets every organization in Yokohama involved. 

Ryuunosuke as an executive is just as important if not more so to the PM’s counter-zombie plan as Gin, but he will never skip a meal if he can help it, even if it is for the fate of the city. They have rice on already, because Atsushi always makes sure he has rice ready at all times in any house he’s staying at for the random cravings of his favorite food— the metabolism shit he’s got going on is no joke, without hijacking the Akutagawas’ rice cooker Atsushi could actually starve. Ryuunosuke wanders out of the kitchen to Atsushi right as Gin leaves. He nudges Atsushi’s back with his knee. “You don’t want your chazuke?”

It will be a cold day in hell before he says no to chazuke, but it must be snowing there today. “I have to go to work. You have to go to work. We can eat together later.”

“My life is not as promised as yours,” Ryuunosuke raises. Atsushi turns around so he can look Ryuunosuke in the eyes, as such a bold sentence deserves, but Ryuunosuke’s stare is unwavering. “Who knows? Maybe I will die, or maybe a zombie is the only thing that can kill you.”

This might be literal, but is more likely a test of Atsushi’s commitment to this thing they are doing. The answer is the same. “Don’t be so dramatic, that won’t happen. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Seems likely,” Ryuunosuke agrees, walking back to the kitchen. Atsushi watches him go, mostly to watch his bony ass, but also to laugh at the way he shakes his head and curses. “This city…”

Atsushi’s commute to the agency is likely fast enough that he still beats Gin’s time to her own job. He jumps across the roofs of buildings in a line of blue light, surprised that the very expensive clothes he wears don’t rip at his transformation, but instead just roll up as if they were made to give way to that kind of transformative force. His shoes still suffer, but those he wore were the cheap ones he always did. It didn’t matter so much. 

He perches over the ledge of a building, the one that he does his shopping in sometimes, the one that carries that brand of cereal Kyouka likes. He leans forwards, claws curling over the edge threatening an impossible fall. The sun has just barely started to seep over the harbor and so it can only cut thin trails across the street below. What Atsushi sees, peering down below him, is small writhing forms gathered together, shimmying against each other in vague directions. There are glinting metal cars stopped in the intersection with small forms as well, just starting to see the sun. The mass overtakes them in the time Atsushi has to blink and the screams reach him after.

He thinks, I could have saved them. He thinks, I am fast enough, there is no one but me fast enough.

 In the next breath he is at the office.

The windows and doors are boarded up so Atsushi enters through the roof. He walks down the stairs to the roof access and then out to the actual door of their office. He pushes the door open, not looking at anyone in particular, and sits on the couch. He’s not really in a desk kind of mood. 

“Fucking zombies,” Yosano is saying in her office. She walks out with Ranpo behind her and Poe behind him, the latter of them swaying dangerously. His eyes are wide and glittery and he keeps looking at his own body as if he doesn’t recognize it. 

“Mah, it’s a good thing I don’t have to. That would have been an issue,” Ranpo crinkles his nose in disgust as Yosano cackles, her hand at her stomach. “I can barely do so after he eats vegetables, I can’t imagine brains. Blech. Poe, if you ever become a zombie again, we’re going to have to break up.”

Atsushi hadn’t been aware they were together, but it makes sense. Poe looks sick beyond himself, ignoring Ranpo as he stumbles onto the couch with Atsushi. He raises his knees to his ears, his head bowing between them. 

Kunikida walks in similarly rattled. He’s stained in someone else’s carotid splatters, Atsushi knows by the smell. The angle the blood hit him was such that the person must have been maybe two feet in front of Kunikida when they got viciously mauled. This is the kind of thing that greatly upsets Atsushi, but could break Kunikida. 

Kenji walks in after, skipping with just a bit less heart than normal. That’s the kind of unfettered stability you learn to love about Kenji.

Kunikida walks like it’s a drill, heavy footsteps each punctuated by a military stiffness. His face is hard, but he does not meet anyone’s eyes, simply clings on to his notebook which he holds tightly clutched to his side. He has to walk past the couch to get to his desk and seems to be on that journey but stops right at the edge of the couch and turns to face the two taking refuge there.

Kunikida’s eyes beneath the glasses are too tinted in red. He hadn’t even bothered to wash the blood off his glasses or his face. He looks at Poe and opens his mouth to say something, but what it is seems to evaporate the moment he catches Atsushi in his periphery. His mouth, already open, drops a bit and his head suddenly jerks to better face him. “Atsushi, why the hell do you look good? What the hell?”

“I was gonna say!” Naomi jumps up from Tanizaki’s desk. “Like, hello?”

Atsushi looks down at himself and the way his sweater hugs his newly toned muscles. Eh. 

“Oh yeah,” Poe says, turning to face him. He’s a bit too close though, close enough that Atsushi can see the returning color of his cheeks contrasted against the black fabric of his turtleneck. It’s like staring at Atsushi’s tits is bringing him back to life. “I know this brand. I was planning to buy that top, but I don’t think it would look quite the same on me. Maybe Ranpo…”

Yosano flicks that thought away with a sharp turn of her hand. “Not a chance, Ranpo wears the cape for a reason.” 

“You don’t know that!” Ranpo insists, though they definitely do. “Poe, you should buy the pants at least. And Atsushi, keep letting your boyfriend pick out clothes for you. It’s good for morale.”

It does seem to be, because the rest of the chorus pops out of the woodworks and cubicles to ask: “Boyfriend?”

Kyouka in particular materializes directly in front of Atsushi and stares him down with intense black eyes. He feels in danger, or maybe like Ryuunosuke is. 

“Guys, people are dying,” Atsushi reminds them, weakly.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I got distracted by Atsushi looking decent for once.” Yosano shrugs. “I can cure zombies, and they seem to be staying in more or less one piece so they’re still intact for healing. They should be fine, but the sooner we act the better.”

Atsushi suddenly feels lighter and Kunikida looks the same. He can still save those people, he can still make up for his mistakes.

Poe looks a bit sick again. It seems like he was the zombie they tried it on, poor guy. He turns into a man-eating monster and the person around to comfort him when he wakes up is fucking Ranpo Edogawa. Tough luck all around. 

“The conference room is ready,” Haruno says from inside it, her head peaking out. “Come in. Oh wow, Atsushi—“

Dazai pops out too, and whistles appreciatively in interruption. It gets the point across.

“This is workplace harassment,” Atsushi says to his friend four years his senior. He walks into the room and sits down at a spot next to where Dazai usually does.

“Eh, probably,” Dazai considers seriously, like the thought of anyone caring about that sort of thing had never occurred to him. He looks down at himself in the distantly hollow way he sometimes does when the Port Mafia’s boss is brought up, then follows. 

It’s, like, the first real Agency mission Atsushi’s taken since he started hanging out with the Black Lizard squad… was it actually weeks ago? He hasn’t seen Tanizaki and the secretary squad outside of work in awhile, and to be honest maybe not Yosano or Ranpo either, and definitely not Kenji (for Kenji’s own safety, he’s pretty well integrated with Byakko now and it bodes ill for good meat), but he’s still been meeting up with Kunikida and Dazai for his weekly training sessions (separately, on different days) and when he’s not with the Akutagawas he still lives with Kyouka. 

It’s not that he doesn’t still show up for the 9-to-5 part of Agency work, or even the trips to local crime scenes during the week, but he doesn’t really hang around the dorms like he used to. The younger members of the Agency text in their group chat to make plans for movie nights and grocery trips, but Atsushi always somehow already has something with Gin or Dazai or Ryuunosuke. Sometimes he and Kyouka are staying home to watch a movie, or sometimes Atsushi’s so tired that all he wants to do is go home to his closet or even just to Ryuunosuke’s faux-tiger carpet and read one of Dazai’s books. He’s being sent on a lot of solo trips when he’s sent out of office, and on those he typically by some accident of fate sees any one of the Black Lizard squad, or one time even Kajii. Most times it’s easier to work together for the same end than fight a battle on two fronts. 

So, this job is rare. Not just because Atsushi is actually working with his co-workers, but because the whole Agency is involved. Because all of Yokohama is involved. 

“This man—“ Kunikida points with his stick at the whiteboard, where hung with a magnet is an eight-by-eleven photograph of a sickly old white man— “touched down in Yokohama between four and six hours ago. We do not know the true nature of his Ability, but it seems to be a ‘zombie’ type Ability. As Kenji and I discovered earlier when stuck in the train station—“ they had been coming home from a supervised visit to Kenji’s village— “All typical zombie-movie rules should apply.”

“I hit them in the head!” Kenji cheers. Atsushi imagines that Kenji is what zombie movie heroes want to be when they grow up. “That’s the best way to deal with vermin!”

Kunikida turns a bit green at the apparent reminder. Kunikida is what Atsushi imagines superheroes wish they were. Atsushi sometimes wishes he was as unshakably sure if his morals as to be Kunikida, but then he remembers all the problems that come with being Kunikida. Better to not.

“He also seems to be immune to the force of their bite in the same way he’s impervious to bullets, which again by movie rules is how the zombie ability travels,” Kunikida agrees. “Other agents that we believe should be able to withstand the bite are Atsushi, on account of your healing ability, and Dazai for obvious reasons.”

“Because he doesn’t have a brain!” Tanizaki jokes. Because this joke would have been better used on Kenji earlier, or even on himself, no one laughs. Instead, together, they mourn the killer opportunity for later, similar jokes. Tanizaki wilts. 

Dazai— for being such an asshole— is a surprisingly sensitive person. A classic ‘dish-it-but-can’t take it’ kind of person. He acts like the jokes and jabs fly right over his head, and for select people he does actually let them go, but horrible things seem to befall those who try to bully Dazai. It might be more accurate to say he is simply revenge-oriented. Tanizaki’s poorly thought out joke earned him the sense of an anvil hovering right above his head, and he seems to know it too, glancing nervously at a smoothly smiling ex-executive. 

“… Well, we don’t have any actual data on how the zombie ability interacts with either of yours, so still operate with reasonable caution,” Kunikida moves on smoothly. “We have determined that the Ability’s effects can be reversed in two ways. Firstly, we find the Ability User and have Dazai nullify the ability, preventing the spread in that way. Secondly, Doctor Yosano uses her ability on the afflicted, as seen earlier.”

Naomi stops in the notes she’s taking, pre-filling out the incident paperwork and insurance claims. “How does that work? Also, isn’t that kind of a lot?”

“It’s kinda a mortal injury, minus the fact they’re supposed to be undead,” Haruno muses. “I guess she, like, un-undeads them?”

“I’ll do what I can to save the people we find,” Yosano says, glaring around, obviously a bit miffed about the secretaries talking about her like a tool instead of a person. “Besides, it’s not like it’ll be pleasant for them.”

Atsushi grimaces as Dazai smirks. “No, I suppose not,” Dazai says.

Obviously, it would be best for Yosano to only have to use her Ability as few times as possible. Even without the insurmountability of the task of individually reversing the zombied Yokohamans as they themselves continue to infect others, Yosano is very particular about the use of her ability. For reasons that are none of Atsushi’s business but definitely have to do with her thing about the Port Mafia boss, she insists on putting people through extensive torture before healing them. It would be a hard ask to meticulously torture all of the zombies— Atsushi’s not quite sure their nerve endings even work well enough to appreciate it. 

Instead, their task is likely to corral all the zombies into a large clearing, cause some damage to them all— probably with low-power explosives, either Kajii’s or Kunikida’s, the former only likely because of the fact the Port Mafia is definitely already working on this case— and have Yosano use Thou Shalt Not Die then. Kenji is especially good for this because of his experience with herding animals, and Atsushi himself has predator-animal instincts that suit him to this task as well. They will probably coordinate in separate teams to accomplish the herding goal with Yosano waiting at one of the empty warehouses by the port, while Dazai works separately (probably with Ranpo’s help, but Atsushi doesn’t have a grasp on the relationship between the two of them) to find the original ability user. 

As Ranpo goes on to help Kunikida and the President explain exactly this, Atsushi sighs. Dazai, who is sitting to the right of him, rolls his chair over and nudges him with his elbow. Not to say anything, but to make Atsushi look at him.

There’s a self-satisfied look in Dazai’s eyes that doesn’t do anything to comfort Atsushi, even though Dazai’s smile is all warm pride. Whatever Dazai’s been training him for— the strategy, the deductive reasoning, the desensitization towards violence and murder, the manipulation and other social skills— he’s, if not there yet, pretty close to complete. 

It reminds him of the toast on the boat. The layers in it. To the Stray Dogs. Atsushi wonders if maybe he was the person then that he is now, he would have figured out what it was all about. 

Dazai himself is a black hole to most people, his intentions and machinations beyond comprehension. But as Atsushi was being made by him, learning him was inevitable. 

Whatever Dazai really is, Atsushi will know soon. Atsushi smiles back, and Dazai blinks twice quickly, like someone clapped their hands in front of his face. Like he didn’t expect that at all. 

The President clears his throat. At the front of the room, only Ranpo is looking at the two of them, Kunikida and the President ignoring them in a way that is scolding rather than allowing. Ranpo’s gaze, Atsushi can’t decipher. The President continues: “The herding team will split into two groups; Kenji and Kyouka; Tanizaki and Atsushi. Ranpo, Haruno, and Naomi will be directing you over a communications line from here at the Agency. Kunikida will go with Dazai to find the Ability user, again keeping a line with Ranpo. I will accompany Yosano to the herding destination.”

Atsushi looks at Kyouka first in brief bewilderment—he’s a little bummed and also surprised to not be working with his usual partner, but her and Kenji have been getting closer recently— and then meets Tanizaki’s eyes and nods. Though they don’t actually hang out often, they’re the closest in age to each other of the Agency members. They’re friends and they trust each other. They’re in this. 

 

Atsushi and Tanizaki are instructed to come in from the left flank. It is a lot farther away, but the distance is easily traversed by Atsushi’s ability. 

“Ah. Uh, I guess you’re carrying me?” Tanizaki shuffles awkwardly, the sleeves of his waist-tied hoodie swinging with the movement.

“I mean, do you have a better way?”

“No! I mean, I just… like can I choose how? Please?”

Atsushi does usually prefer to just potato-sack people, but he supposes everyone has the right to decide what is done to their bodies, so he shrugs. “How do you want me?”

“Don’t say it like that!” Tanizaki blushes. “And, uh, doggy style. Hands and knees, please.”

Atsushi’s face contorts into this wrinkled, appalled, jaw-dropped expression, but Tanizaki just shoos at Atsushi and in his shock he does as he’s told. He activated his ability, gets on his hands and knees, and allows Tanizaki to climb aboard before taking off. Jesus. And it’s not even nine.

They make it to their starting point, the widest edge of the ability’s projected range at this time, but need to wait until Kenji and Kyouka are ready to actually start. It needs to be simultaneous or else it cannot work at all. 

They stand on top of a building, watching the rumbling mass of people beneath them, and don’t look too hard at anything at all. 

Atsushi realizes he is alone except for the company of his peers. Tanizaki (next to him), Naomi (on comms), and Haruno (on comms) were senior to him in respect for time spent at the Agency, but of a similar enough age with him that the gap was easily bridged. This all to say that at Atsushi’s current position in the ADA, he has finally earned enough camaraderie and respect to shit talk about his seniors with impunity. “So… Ranpo and Poe are dating now?”

“Are they? I mean, how should I know, but Ranpo was being kind of a dick. Wasn’t he?” Tanizaki quickly takes the bait and runs with it. “Like, all love and respect to Ranpo. Always love and respect to Ranpo, but Poe was clearly going through it and Ranpo was just talking about his ass.”

“Wait, what? I missed that.”

“Really? It was when—“

“It was when he told Poe to buy the pants you have, ‘cause it’s apparently doing wonders. Borderline harassment probably, but whatever.” Naomi’s voice filters in over the comms. “Speaking of, who got those for you? C’mon, you can tell me.”

“Yeah, you can tell us,” Haruno says over the same line. “Pretty please?”

“Um. It’s kinda new,” Atsushi says like that’s even remotely the problem. “Besides, I don’t really know if we’re super dating. It’s kinda unclear. I don’t know what we’re calling it.”

“So a sugar daddy type?” Naomi guesses, but doesn’t wait for confirmation. “On this salary, I get it. Sometimes I wonder if a rich man will come and steal my brother away!”

“Never,” Tanizaki quickly affirms in that creepy way he always does. “Also we would share the money.”

“Oh, bet.”

“But, Atsushi,” Tanizaki turns to him with narrowed eyes, concerned like the actual living zombies could not seem to make them. “That kind of relationship can be really dangerous. I know you personally can have a certain amount of lenience towards your health, but you really have to consider your safety and emotional well-being.”

Atsushi blinks, head moving back in response to the abrupt force of this unexpected care. He figures it’s probably something that Tanizaki, as an overprotective older brother, has a lot of pre-formed strong opinions about. 

“Ah, he said no. Like, it’s not a sugar daddy thing. He actually called me a rescue animal, when I asked.”

“Oh, so you’re a furry?” Tanizaki gathered. “Huh. Guess that makes sense, not like you really have a choice in the matter.”

“What the hell is a furry?” Atsushi asks, but Haruno’s excited shriek over the comms promises to tell him.

“I’ll show you my fursona later though,” she says after a few minutes of dropping rapid-fire, horrifically enlightening information about just how much she likes cats. “I think something might be wrong with the Kyouka-Kenji group, cuz they haven’t checked in at all. Also, the zombies have learned how to climb.”

“What?” Atsushi asks, and then promptly feels a bite on his arm. Ah, shit.

[kirayaykimura]

Tiding Over

I don't think you need to read in every lifetime, but this is set in the same, vague universe. Quick primer in case it's not clear in the fic itself: Shirayuki and Obi remember past lives.

Back before it was a cliche, Obi had once made Shirayuki an offer: if they were both still single by the time she was 30, he would marry her. She’d died at 29. Obi had never offered again. 

This wasn’t to say that he stopped trying. There was the time he’d brought her a box of sweets tied with a red ribbon - a local custom that signified an intent to court. Just to make her life easier, he’d promised. He’d known about her thing with Zen and had completely respected it. The courting gesture was there to keep everyone away. If they thought he was serious about marrying her, the other nosy townsfolk might stop setting her up with their sons and nephews. If there was a mild, tiny sliver of hope that she might some day settle for him, no one could prove it. She’d told him to not bother with that sort of thing again; she could handle the matchmaking herself. He should save his coins for girls he actually liked. 

With the distressing privilege of hindsight, he realizes there is something of a pattern here. He tentatively offers up the in vogue gesture of romantic interest for the era - a carved wooden spoon, sticky rice around two red chopsticks, camping (because the Puritans loved being miserable) - and watches as she gently dismisses them. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

The only thing stopping him from bringing it up to apologize and making them both face this thing he’s had for her for centuries is the fact that he’s fairly certain she has never realized the offerings for what they are. That’s not the type of person she is. She’s direct and kind; she wouldn’t leave him dangling because it’s easier than rejecting him outright, nor would she play dumb.

This theory is all but confirmed when he walks in on her being hit on by some frat bro. He misses what the boy originally asks, but he hears Shirayuki say, “Sure, I’ll see if anyone else is free,” as he slips into the lab she’s practically lived in all semester. Apparently he isn’t the only one attempting to lure her away from work. 

Her back is turned to Obi and the boy next to her is completely focused on her, so neither of them notice they’re no longer alone. Which means Obi has the distinct pleasure of hearing the boy say, “I thought it could just be us,” and hearing Shirayuki reply, “Why?” 

The boy must have caught some movement out of the corner of his eye because, instead of answering, he turned to face Obi. 

“Hey,” Obi says with a jaunty wave. “Who’s your new friend, Miss?” 

Shirayuki whips around like she’s excited to see him, notebook forgotten on the work station, and he knows for a fact now that it will never get old watching her look happy to see him. She calls out his name in greeting, and he thinks about how no one has ever said his name quite so well because he’s allowed to be pathetic in his own mind. 

The frat bro says, “Oh,” and then leaves with barely a goodbye. 

“Okay,” Shirayuki says, visibly confused by the abrupt turn of events. “Are we still on for Friday?” 

The boy walks faster. 

“Friday?” Obi asks once he’s gone. 

“He said he wanted to get dinner, but he just left while we were making plans.” 

Obi stifles a laugh and says, “A dinner he wanted to do alone while you wanted to make a group thing?” 

Despite the emphasis on the word alone, it still takes her a moment to connect the dots. Once she does, her eyes widen slightly before the confusion settles back in. Again, she asks, “Why?” 

“Yes, why would a boy not have a crush on a beautiful young woman?” 

“I’m not young.” 

“And yet, you don’t look a day over 900.” 

She gives him a stern look that is rendered essentially useless by the way the corners of her lips tick upward. Instead of giving her a chance to fight him on how at least a third of the school’s population is deeply in love with her at the moment, he tosses her an apple that she just barely manages to catch. 

“Come on,” he says. “I’m dragging you away for Yuzuri’s art show.” 

“She asked us not to come to that.” 

“Which is exactly why we’re going.” 

She holds out for about three seconds before she says, “If you’re sure she won’t mind.” 

“She’ll love it. Now, come on. If we hurry, we can grab something to eat before we go.” 

Shirayuki glances down at the apple she did not ask for and holds it out to him. 

“That’s all yours. To tide you over. You didn’t eat lunch, right?” 

Shirayuki’s stomach growls in answer. 

“Thanks,” she says before taking a bite. 

This time, he doesn’t doubt her obliviousness to his courting gesture. The apple is wildly outdated, was popular on a completely different continent, and his presentation is slightly different than tradition dictates, but that’s okay. She doesn’t have to get it. If she doesn’t realize what he’s doing, he can keep using the gestures as a sort of pressure release for himself. He gets to love her quietly. And that’s enough.

[thatfragilecapricorn30]

chantilly lace

msr, humor & smut | explicit | 2k words | ao3 | tagging @today-in-fic

Mulder and Scully were late for work for the third day in a row. Their physical relationship was still fairly new and in the first few weeks, they had agreed: no sleepovers Sunday to Thursday. Well, Scully proposed it and Mulder acquiesced because he was just happy to be around her and would take what he could get. But then it became harder and harder for both of them to say goodbye each day they left the office and one of them kept coming up with an excuse to call or visit on a weeknight. So the old rule was nixed in favor of a new rule: work couldn’t be affected by their relationship and they needed to keep it under wraps. 

But it was so hard to resist her in the morning, sleep soft and naked and pressed against him. Mulder was just a man, right? And he didn’t hear Scully complaining about their morning romps. In fact, it was quite the opposite and she seemed more than satisfied. Well, unless “God, Mulder, don’t stop, yes, yes, yes” had another meaning he was not aware of.

Luckily no one noticed them entering the basement office after 9 am, but one day, Skinner was going to call down and realize his two least favorite agents weren’t in on time. They were still taking separate cars to the Hoover building, leaving a few minutes apart so they didn’t arrive at the same time. Mulder was trying to talk Scully out of that as well - it seemed ridiculous to waste the gas and he doubted anyone was paying that close attention to them. But he knew he was already on thin ice when Scully entered the office grumbling about Mulder making her twenty minutes late to work.

“Well, maybe if you wore some clothes to bed,” Mulder muttered under his breath.

Scully struck him with her patented stare, with one eyebrow quirked. “Excuse me?”

Mulder cleared his throat. “I mean, maybe if we both wore clothes to bed. Waking up naked next to you, also naked, is too great of a temptation in the morning.”

Scully looked pointedly at his crotch. “You think clothes are going to stop that?” she asked incredulously. 

“Hey!” Mulder exclaimed, offended on behalf of his penis. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Maybe we should go back to weekends only?” she suggested innocently, looking through the files on her desk.

“Nuh uh, no way,” Mulder emphasized. “If you recall, that didn’t work out so well the first time.”

He didn’t want to be a sap, but he would miss her too much if they returned to their original schedule. Sure, he saw her every day in the office, but it wasn’t not the same as hanging out after work, eating dinner, and going to bed together each night. 

“You get one more chance, Mulder,” Scully warned. “We need to be on time for work tomorrow.”

—

Mulder collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavy. “That was amazing,” he praised. 

Scully was sitting on the floor, one elbow on the bed, Cheshire grin on her face. He had no idea how she was so good at blow jobs, but he was a little nervous to ask. She had suggested it as a way to calm him down overnight and hopefully it would do the trick. 

Mulder tugged on her blouse, still somewhat out of it. “I can return the favor, you know,” he offered.

Scully shook her head, “I know you can, but then we’ll have to deal with that again, and we’ll never get any sleep.”

She was right - oral sex would just give him another hard-on that would need to be addressed. Better just to call it a night now.

After coming back to his senses, Mulder grabbed his boxers and sweatpants. “See,” he said to Scully, wiggling his eyebrows comically. “Two layers of clothes! We got this, Scully!”

She rolled her eyes and got up, grabbing her overnight bag on her way into the bathroom.

Mulder went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Frequent sex was making him dehydrated. He brought a glass back for Scully too, who was just finishing up her nighttime routine. She walked out of the bathroom and Mulder did a spit take.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

Scully had on a nightgown that had to be the ugliest thing Mulder had ever seen. It was very modest; the skirt fell all the way to her feet, sleeves to her wrist and a high collar that covered almost her entire neck. There were lacy frills everywhere and the monstrosity was a pink that clashed hideously with her hair.

Scully twirled around. “My grandma got it for me when I went to college. She was worried my ‘innocence’ would be ‘compromised,’” Scully added the air quotes, “and this would scare away any potential suitors.”

“And why do you still have it?”

“Well, it’s coming in handy tonight, isn’t it!”

Mulder smirked, “Wow, she really knew you’d be beating them off with a stick, huh.”

“Well, beating you off at least,” Scully joked.

Mulder laughed at the double entendre and got in bed. Scully went out to the living room and returned with pillows, which she placed in the middle of the bed.

“Scul-lee,” Mulder whined. “Is that really necessary?”

“There will be no hanky-panky the rest of the night,” Scully proclaimed. “Or morning,” she added.

“You don’t have to worry about anything happening while you’re in that get-up. I feel like I’m sleeping next to my great aunt Beatrice.”

“Good,” Scully said primly. She turned off the light and settled back into bed.

“Hey, Scully, when I said I liked Chantilly lace, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“Go to sleep, Mulder,” she admonished.

The pillows (and the dress) stopped Mulder and Scully from touching each other at all during the night. Mulder woke up rested and unaroused for once. Victory! He checked the time: it was a little before their alarms were set to go off so there was no way they would be late today. Scully was hidden behind all of the pillows, so he threw them on the floor so he could observe her sleeping. Her face was mushed into the pillow and her hair was a mess, but he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have her in bed with him. And not only in bed, but in his life too. 

Mulder took in the nightgown she was wearing. Man, that thing was ugly. And it showed practically no skin, so unsexy. He felt like a Victorian gentleman, getting excited about seeing a woman’s ankles. Though, Scully had nice, delicate ankles. And hands too. Actually, it was a little thrilling, how covered up she was. Mulder would have to unwrap her if he wanted to see what was underneath. What was she wearing underneath? Wait a second, he wasn’t supposed to be having these thoughts. He better wake up Scully to put a stop to this madness. Of course, Mulder couldn’t just do it normally. He had to kiss her, since that was all he was getting this morning. She was unresponsive at first, but then he could tell she was awake when her lips started moving under his. 

“Mmm, good morning,” she said sleepily.

“Good morning,” Mulder replied, moving to kiss her ear, then the tiny part of her neck that was exposed.

She smelled so good; it was going to be hard to stop. And Scully wasn’t helping matters, she hooked a leg around his waist to bring him closer. Mulder tried to keep his hips away from hers but it was useless. His hands began roaming her body covered by the nightgown, which was actually really soft. He could feel her puckered nipples under the fabric and it was tantalizing being able to feel her body but not truly have access to it. Mulder brought his hands to her ass, trying to feel what she was wearing. Plain cotton panties to go with the outfit? He couldn’t feel anything so maybe it was the sheer underwear she wore under tight skirts. Mulder tried pulling the bottom of her dress up so he could satisfy his curiosity, but it was too tight to push up in their position. She had to take the nightgown off anyway to get dressed, so he wasn’t in trouble yet.

“Mulder,” Scully gasped, breaking away from their kiss.

He pulled back a little. “We should stop, right?” he asked.

“No, don’t stop,” she responded, and turned over in his arms so she was on her stomach. She propped herself up on her knees and all of the blood in Mulder’s body rushed to a certain part of his anatomy.

He used both hands to ease the fabric up her legs, so curious as to what he would find. Which was nothing.

“Scully,” he groaned. She slept all night next to him in this prim and proper nightgown without any panties. Was she trying to kill him? He admired the creamy globes of her ass before bending over to leave a little love bite on one cheek. She jerked forward and then pushed back, clearly wanting more.

“I don’t think this is appropriate attire for a woman worried about ‘hanky panky’,” Mulder commented, using her words from last night. He took no time at all removing his pants and boxers. It appeared that the two layers didn’t really stop much in the end.

He lined himself up behind her, fingers gripping her hips, cock sliding along her folds. Jesus Christ, she was wet. He pushed the dress up higher, until it was just hanging off her shoulders, so he could caress her breasts. He pinched her right nipple and Scully whined.

“Mulder, please.”

“Shh, be patient, baby,” Mulder cooed. He was enjoying teasing her, but was starting to realize he couldn’t hold out much longer either.

He eased in slowly, trying to quell the instinct to thrust quick and fast. She felt so good and he didn’t want it to be over too fast. Plus, he owed her an orgasm.

Mulder started a steady place, feeling the pleasure start to build. He let his hands roam Scully’s body, enjoying her soft skin. He knew she wouldn’t be able to touch herself easily in this position, so he did it for her, fingers softly touching her clit in a way that he knew would drive her crazy. His feather-light touch was purposely getting her closer without pushing her over the edge.

“Mulder,” she whined again.

“What, baby?” he asked.

“More,” she begged.

He couldn’t deny her when she felt so good, was so good to him. He thrust harder and increased the pressure of his finger on her clit, so that he finally felt her tightening around his cock. He followed soon after and they both fell back on the bed, out of breath.

After a few moments, Scully sat up to pull the ugly nightdress all the way off and flung it over the side of the bed.

Mulder started laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. “I can’t believe the dress didn’t work. Scully, I promise I can be a gentleman.”

Scully snorted. “Mulder, did you hear me complaining? This is as much my fault as it is yours. We’re both to blame for our … vigorous physical relationship,” she said delicately.

She continued, “Plus we’re still in the honeymoon phase. Our relationship is still new; it will wear off.”

“Wear off?” Mulder asked, a little surprised by the thought. “Scully, I can assure you - nothing is wearing off. If this is the honeymoon phase now, what’s it going to be like when we’re actually married?”

“Married, Mulder?” Scully asked, her tone neutral. She turned on her side to look at him, her arm propping up her head.

Mulder felt his face turn beet red. “Shit, I’m sorry, Scully. I don’t even know your thoughts on that and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he started rambling to cover up his embarrassment. 

Scully leaned over to cup his cheek and then kiss him. “I get to pick out the ring,” she whispered when she pulled back, a smile forming on her face.

Mulder’s heart felt full and he was suddenly smiling so wide his mouth hurt. He pushed her back so that he could hover over her. The look of love on Scully’s face surely mirrored his own. He wanted to stare at her all day and know that there was someone that cared about him, loved him. But he also had a bone to pick with her. 

He used his weight to pin her to the bed. “You’re in trouble, though, for that stunt you pulled.”

She looked up at him questioningly.

“Not wearing any underwear? That was naughty, Scully.”

“What are you going to do about it, Mulder?” she challenged.

They were late for the fourth time that week.

[detective-and-dreamer]

4 for Lenora and Emory?

4. Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?

It would be easy to fall back on a couple of old standbys here, so let's look at something different...

Lenora, in her earliest days after moving to the Neath (and getting past the initial grief and horror), worked alongside the Constables when they asked for help because...well, it never occurred to her to further her career in any other way. I think she knew, somewhere deep down, what people with that kind of power were capable of doing to others, but it was never really driven home for her until she saw it for herself. Corruption, brutality...so few could be trusted to be decent people, and the best of them is long gone now. It was one of multiple things that changed her worldview and made her realize that she can do the most good for people by helping them directly instead of being a part of the overarching system. I still wouldn't call her politically minded, per se; she's not out there rallying people to any particular cause, and I'm sure at times she can still be as thoughtless as you might expect from someone who's lived a fairly privileged life. But when push comes to shove in-game, I will almost always have her take revolutionary aligned options over anything that benefits the current authorities. I think the only exception would be if it came down to something that endangered her own loved ones, and even then it would depend on the specific situation.

Anyway, she cut any official ties with them years ago and never looked back. She kept the dog, though, thank you very much, and stop asking to borrow him. I'm not sure how many people she's ever really discussed this with aside from her household and crew; probably not many, mostly because it just doesn't come up in conversation all that often.

Emory's is...himself? The night they became a monster-hunter, they looked at themselves in the mirror. Part of them was worried about what their loved ones would think of the changes - would they be frightened? Repulsed? But as he studied himself with new eyes, the most overwhelming feeling was that he had found something he never knew he had been missing.

He still thinks of himself as human, mostly, and doesn't want to turn entirely into any other sort of creature. It's just that these particular changes (which in my mind go a bit beyond just the peligin eyes and heightened senses - I'll go into that in another post) felt right to them. They like the way that they look and the things that they can do, even if it comes with inconveniences like really weird forms of sensory overload. Beyond the physical differences, it also expanded upon part of their existing worldview - the way that they hunt is tied into their spiritual beliefs, and this was the case even before they learned teratomancy. It's not entirely about the thrill, and it's definitely not about driving monsters to extinction or anything like that - just the opposite! It's about maintaining a sort of balance, the same way as hunting regular animals. And yes, those closest to him do know about his feelings on all of this. They're very happy for him, even if some of them do miss his old appearance at times; they would rather have him feel good about himself than please them. There was never really anything to worry about.

[awigglycultist]

The apocalypse, a classic scenario. Except what if it was also kinda slice of life like? Or at least if I were to actually make this into a series that's how I'd imagine it being. It's the last day of school and now suddenly a teacher and his daughters' summer are going to be spent hiding inside away from zombies... With his ex best friend/ex crush/ex enemy and that guy's current best friend.

Kaitlyn's and Carly's mom, Cameron, died when they were young (8 & 2 yrs old respectively at the time, now 16 & 10 when our story takes place) and soon after their birth father, Henry, went to jail. So they were put in care of their godfather, Matt. He makes a great dad for them. He's also high school English teacher.

Matt, Cameron and Damien were best friends in middle and high school. Until Damien's homophobic parents, his own internalized homophobia, and jealousy that Matt was accepted and love for who he was, got to him. He started to separate from them. Then he became friends bad people at the school, school bullies and stuff. Yeah, Matt and Damien didn't like each other in their last year at all. Damien ended up moving towns. Until recently when he moved back to his hometown. Now he's become friends with a bartender, Hailey, at one of the local bars. In fact she's his only friend. Now that it's so many years later he's done a ton of reflecting and knows what he did was wrong. He wants to apologize to Matt but doesn't actually have the guts to find him and say sorry. (I imagine he's actually nearly ran into him several but always runs into alley ways or hides behind trees or gets himself into a goofy scenario in order to hide).

Then the zombie apocalypse starts. It's not your typically zombie apocalypse, it's not power runs out and news stations are gone and they have to go scavenge for food. It's more like... Well honestly it's more like covid. And when Matt sees a random guy running for zombies and saves him, it's a little too late when he realizes just who that guy is, Damien. By coincidence Kaitlyn also saves Hailey. And now they're all stuck in a house a together. Yippee.

Kaitlyn would do and Matt would do anything for their family. And by that I ofc mean each other and Carly. Also Kaitlyn's best friend Willow. Kaitlyn doesn't really like anyone outside those 3, I mean she'll help people who really need help but she's not going to want to keep talking afterwards. Like "ok I saved your life? I'm not friend tho, you can go away now". Matt is kind to everyone, and tries to to see the best in everyone. Although he definitely doesn't see the best in Henry, in fact he absolutely hates that man, Henry is the only person that has made him break. Ofc he's also going to struggle a bit with Damien at first. Matt also tends to take all his negative emotions and... Pushes them down. Even though he tells others that's a bad thing to do. He's needs to be strong and no one else needs to see those, he's fine, he'll just cry at night. Damien doesn't like sharing his emotions either, drowns them out with alcohol. Damien is super cool and totally not a loser wet cat of man (yes he is).

Hailey is fun, fairly positive, funny and sarcastic. Damien's the only regular she doesn't mind, ofc they also became actual friends too. Willow is sweet, Kaitlyn's best friend and really the only one she ever hangs out with. Definitely tries to encourage Kaitlyn to do things out of her comfort, but would never force her to do anything. Willow's family got lucky with being on vacation right when the apocalypse started. But they have to come back eventually. In a way Willow is happy when she comes back, it feels better to see friend in person. Victor is another high school teacher, specifically math. He's not a well liked teacher, he's not like a total absolute piece of shit but he does kinda suck. Matt's always felt that if you chipped away long enough there Victor could be a really good person. Who knew a near death experience would be the cause to make him change?

[airiat]

writerly thumbprint challenge~

rules: look back on your work, both past and present, finished and unfinished. what are five (or more!) narrative elements, themes, topics or tropes that continuously pop up in your work?

tagged by the distinguished @mareenavee, tagging @banjotea @mongoose-bite @obsidianshadow & anyone else who sees this and is down--tag me!

in particular order: fate, trauma, romance, figurative language, kurt vonnegut(?)

fate

always, always always. it's all i write about. different shades, different depictions, but that's what it comes down to. i'm obsessed. i'm obsessed with the idea that the world could bend itself to bring people who need each other together. what that looks like, what that means, how it falls apart--that's what i live to write.

2. trauma

everyone has it. why would i not write about it? but maybe that's just the psychologist in me. usually, i keep the actual trauma in the past. i write the recovery. i tend to like to spin the most convoluted, fucked up situation i can possibly think of, then work my way back out of it. what would it take for this character to heal? that's what i write.

3. romance

maybe this is not so unique and too broad. i have this yearning to experience every single manifestation of love, but unless i somehow become immortal, that's impossible. it's even impossible to achieve in writing. so, i just write what's otherworldly and entirely unachievable.

lmnit is about two literal chosen ones falling in love; ap&nd is about two people loving each other for literal hundreds of years and shepherding in a new world together, which becomes folklore; awfw is about someone who was literally created to love this one specific person. i suppose northern sky is the mundane outlier, but that one's more just for me anyway.

maybe i'll eat my words somewhere down the line, but i cannot imagine ever writing anything other than romance.

4. figurative language

"who cares if the curtains are blue? that doesn't mean anything!"

yes, it does. for me, it does. well, maybe not the curtains, but most of everything else. i'm heavy, heavy, heavy on metaphor and symbolism. i've always been detail-oriented. it's fun to me to string together a collection of little, significant details to paint the big picture. i'm pointillism. everything has to serve a purpose, to mean something. maybe things are missed by a reader, sometimes. that's okay. maybe they'll get it in the next read, maybe it infiltrated the quiet, hidden part of their mind and they don't realize except to have a whole understanding. but maybe it's misinterpreted. that's okay, too. i account for that. i encourage that. you'll see what you want to see, and get out of it what you need to. i'm just painting my little dots on a canvas.

5. kurt vonnegut?

this one's a little murky to me. i read a few of his books in high school, which was a while ago. slaughterhouse five and cat's cradle were chiefly among them, but there may have been a third or even a fourth. i'd have to read them to be reminded, but i haven't done that yet except for slaughterhouse five. i was going through a time when i thought i had to read widely lauded authors to be taken seriously as a writer. now, i don't care. every single bit of writing has merit. but, then, i would say that i enjoy reading vonnegut. and i would say it just like that: vonnegut. baby, you were 15 years old. it's not that deep. anyway, i'll call him kurt vonnegut now and i'll say it with this gentle sort of affection like he's my grandfather, my predecessor, because i'm fairly certain--i feel it as flicker of kinship in something i hadn't read in ten years--that many of my more metaphysical concepts were born from his. without even realizing it. but i'll need to do a little more investigating on this one.