#you broke me with each panel

[lightning-girl]

saw somebody just say that at the end of Agatha all along billy is going to become the young avengers stray cat. bruh that was TOMMY stfu I'm literally gonna start fights I swear I hate this timeline

[cursedcola]

ALRIGHT EVERYONE!

Nobody asked - but I broke down the construction of Epel’s cardigan from the sleepwear card as best I was able (aka. Me zooming in on him and staring very intensely).

This is the pattern idea I’ve come up with and a few grid charts. This is not finished, but what I’m going forward with to make his coat this month. My goal is to be done by the end of June.

So. Looking close at his sleeves - the closest resemblance we’ll get in the crochet world is the honeycomb stitch for the argyle diamonds. My plan is to break his sleeve into fourths. Three large panels of honey comb for the diamonds, and two smaller panels of a curved half-double-crochet to create dividers. The cardigan is clearly oversized on him, and even if it’s because of his smaller stature - I want to be SWAMPED in this thing. So the cuffs need to be CHUNKY. I’ll be going in with either a ribbed stitch, or a back stitch of double crochet. When the time comes I’ll test both to see which looks better.

Now - we’ve got the granny squares.

Looking at my little dude - we can see that they’re not just the front panel. They’re going on the back as well. Since I can’t see behind him, I’m going to take creative liberty and make one large panel of honeycomb stitch to be a central strip on the back. The front panels and side panels are going to be made of jumbo cranny squares.

For those of y’all who don’t crochet - the average granny square is about 25x25 stitches. Except oversized cardis use 8 of these bad boys per front panel. So since Epel has only four on each side, that means those squares gotta be JUMBO.

Zooming in - we see that the patterns are more embroidered. They’ve got texture. Since we’re crocheting, the best way to achieve this is to do pixel crochet for the squares and then go over the designs with a basic embroider stitch. This can be any of your choosing - I’ve yet to pick but will note what I want when the time comes.

There are THREE types of squares on Epel’s coat. I’m just calling them blossom, diamond, and apple. Since there are only three, it would have been difficult to make an entire back with them without having two of a kind touching or diagonal from each other (this is personal preference. I hate how this looks) which is why I’ve decided to go for that middle panel of honeycomb stitch.

The rest of the cardigan seems simple enough. The collar and trim is likely a simple ribbing, and those look like classic farmhouse wooden buttons if I’ve ever seen them.

EDIT (5/6/25): So. Complete change of plan for the sleeves now that I’ve gotten some sleep and thought on it. There’s a cable-knit stitch in the crochet world that closely resembles knit cables. Also lattice stitch or Tunisian crochet can be used for the diamond pattern. So if you want simple/beginner then do the honeycomb with a twisted hdc. If you want advanced then mix the cable-stitch with lattice.

Now - let’s talk materials.

I’m going with acrylic for this. Would it be absolutely divine as wool or a nice, dense alpaca blend? Definitely. I bet that’s what Epel has since his family runs a farm.

I am broke so I’ll be going in with a medium - weight acrylic, hook size 6, and all the granny squares will be done with basic hdc. Although acrylic is a bit itchy - id any of y’all choose to do this? Soak that finished product in a fabric softener solution. It’s a few dollars and your project will lose that scratchy texture. Just don’t let it hang out in the bath too long or the fibers will loosen more than you’d like.

^^^^ This is my general eyeball for how I’ll be constructing this piece. There aren’t any measurements since I’ve get to get my yarn and do a gauge…also, I’m not too sure how oversized I want this. I want to be swamped but not weighed down so hmm…

-

I don’t know how many of y’all like to crochet or do fibre arts - but I fell in love with this coat the moment I saw it and knew it had to be mine. I’m the impatient sort, and already ordered my supplies despite telling myself to wait. Pixel crochet does take a hot minute, so I’m hoping for June but the finished product will likely be more around late-july or august. Just in time for fall and market living where I live!

I could go quicker - but uh, I work as a bridal tailor and Run my own small shop off this app. I spend most of my day sewing lol. It’s been a hot minute since I made something for me, but dang it Epel made it look so cute. I just have to.

No one’s asking, but I’ll be updating. I’m literally so excited and my package of supplies can’t get here quick enough

[edorazzi]

Page 42 of my Miraculous Mentor AU comic A Matter of Trust! In which Felix might have lost his magic, but everything he learned from balancing Misfortune could just pay off... ☯️✨

Also, I'm aware there's a slight layering issue with the text in the first panel - unfortunately my tablet broke this week so short of delaying the page there's nothing I can do right now! I hope it's not too distracting and I'll replace the image when I have it sorted! 💕

Index | Start | Prev | Next

Weekly updates each Sunday! You can also read ahead early on Patreon, and/or buy me a Ko-fi if you'd like to support my work (or help me afford a new tablet! ; w; )! 💖

[allisluv]

imagine finnick and reader having to comfort each other after the capitol made people watch them have sex😢 it would be so hard for them to feel comfortable enough to do it privately

disconnected.

pairing: finnick o'dair x fem!reader

content warnings: please note that while this work is not explicit it is very heavy! finn and reader are sold into prostitution together. while everything is consensual in terms of sex, they do not consent to being watched. this is pure angst hurt/comfort. crying, dissociation, self-deprecating thoughts, not edited. if there's anything else you think should be added, please let me know!

word count: 0.7k

The silence is deafening, like static in your ears, as the room slowly but surely begins to empty of people.

Finnick hovers on top of you, shielding your naked body from view. Every so often, he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek, a silent reminder that he’s sorry and that he’s there.

The door thuds closed behind the last Capitol man.

Finnick wraps a loose sheet around his bottom half and pads across the room, quickly sliding the lock into place, preventing any unwanted visitors from returning. His body feels like it’s made of lead as he rests his forehead against the wooden panel of the door and swallows around the rough lump in his throat.

You roll onto your side numbly and watch him from where you’re situated on the bed. Your hair is knotted and your body is slick with sweat. Everything feels like you’ve been thrown off-kilter and that feeling only worsens when you see Finnick’s thin frame rack with muffled sobs.

“Finnick.” Your voice cracks. He doesn’t move. You call out for him again, this time more firmly, but still gently. “Finn. Come here.”

Finnick hesitates, and you know his mind is bombarded with thousands upon thousands of badly intrusive thoughts. Eventually, he listens to you, and he brings himself back to the bed, the sheet still draped around him and tear stains on the apples of his cheeks.

He hovers by the edge of the bed, and you can see the signs of him clearly coming down from the dissosciative high that he so often falls into to protect himself when the two of you are forced into this scenario.

“Sit down with me?” You ask.

He nods once, but it’s disconnected, and you can tell he’s not fully back with you yet.

You’re not either, really.

Finnick’s movements are heavy and uncoordinated as he lies down next to you, flat on his back, as stiff as a board. You roll onto your side to face him but neither of you say anything. The only sound is the two of you breathing unevenly.

“Baby—”

“Don’t,” Finnick cuts you off, voice emotionless and full of dread. “Just don’t. Don’t call me that. Don’t give me your sympathy and act like everythings fine when it’s fucking not. Don’t…” He cuts himself off with a sob that makes your heart twist in your chest.

“You’re right,” You whisper, carefully moving your hand to tread your fingers through his hair in a way that you know keeps him tied to reality. “Its not fine. But its not your fault, either. You need to stop blaming yourself.”

“That’s easier said than done.” His voice is harsh, but you refuse to take it personally; you’ve had your own fair share of lashing out after this experience, and Finnick had been nothing but soft and gentle and caring.

It’s about time you return the favour.

His eyes flutter shut as you continue to run your fingers through his hair.

“I don’t blame you.” You whisper, knowing that he needs to hear the words from your mouth.

“You should.”

“I would never.”

“Why?” Finnick’s voice is quiet. “I’m just as bad as they are. I’m—”

“No.” Your voice is firm, broking no room for argument. “You are nothing like them, baby. Do you hear me? Nothing like them. It is not your fault what Snow makes us do.”

Tears trickle down his cheeks, and you want to kiss them away, to make it all better, but you don’t know how.

“Can I hold you?” You ask gently. You can see the gears in his heads working overtime. You know he feels like he does not deserve it, that he is tainted and bad and cruel, but that couldnt be further from the truth.

He’s Finn.

He’s your Finn.

He’s your bright, funny, kind-hearted, lovable Finnick and all you want to do is soothe him.

Eventually, his need for comfort outweighs his need to punish himself, and he nods.

You waste no time in bundling him up into your arms, and it’s like the floodgates open.

He sobs and sobs and sobs until there are no more tears left in his body.

You hold him and hold him and hold him until he falls asleep.

[clandestineloki]

miguel o'hara x shy crybaby housewife!reader (p3)

[based off of a request where a kind anon asked me 2 write one where he snapped at her, tweaked it a little bit so he's actually not mad at her but more concerned, it just came off in the wrong way]

tw: mentions of blood and wounds from shards, suggestive bit at the end

miguel whos just gotten out of the nice warm bath you made for him

having put on a tight white shirt and sweatpants, drying his hair when he hears a something breaking in the kitchen followed by a scream

he rushes to the kitchen where his dimensional jump watch is on the ground in pieces, debris all over

and you're kneeling over it, trying to pick up the bigger pieces

"shit!" he yells, kneeling down and surveying the damage. "get away from that!"

"i'm sorry!" you cry, clearly shaken. "i-it was on the table and i hit it with my elbow-"

"i know- please don't- just let me-" miguel tries to gently usher you away, but you shake your head.

"it's my fault," you cut him off. "i'll clean it up-"

"I SAID GET AWAY! THIS COULD EXPLODE SO LET ME FUCKING HANDLE IT, ALRIGHT?!"

it stuns you into complete silence, making you flinch away and lean against the kitchen counter.

miguel sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"sorry." miguel says bluntly without looking up. "just- fuck- the last time this happened it broke my nose so don't touch anything-"

he pieces the parts of the watch together, brows furrowing when he sees the tiny projector panel is missing. "what? where's the-"

shaky hands place two broken pieces of the projector panel in his hands

his brows furrow when he sees there are specks of blood on your palms

and he realizes you were trying to fix it on your own :((

he looks up and you're staring up at him with tears in your eyes, your bottom lip wobbling as your breathing quickens and the tears stream down your cheeks.

"i-i'm sorry," you whisper, and his heart shatters

"amor-"

before he can react you stand up and flee to the bathroom

"oh no," miguel leaves the watch pieces right there on the floor and follows you

he finds you at the sink

running your hands through warm water as you cry quietly

miguel feels immense guilt for yelling at you

he wraps his arms around you from behind as he looks at you in the mirror

"bebita," he whispers. "let me help you..."

you're still looking down, avoiding his gaze, and he sighs, pressing a kiss to your neck.

"bebita, i'm sorry," he mumbled. "i was scared you'd get hurt, i didn't mean to yell at you..."

you sniffle, turning off the tap. "i messed up."

"we all do," he whispers. "i messed up too, you didn't deserve that, you were just trying to help."

you shake your head, turning to face him and showing him your palms filled with cuts. "yeah, n' look what happened."

"you think too lowly of yourself, cariño," he lifts you up on the counter, taking the first aid kit from the drawer and fishing out the tweezers, some cotton and some rubbing alcohol.

he presses a kiss to your lips. "i'm not mad at you for this. i want you to know that. i had no right acting like a jackass."

you laugh softly through tears, and he smiles sadly, taking your left hand and looking for your injuries

the next few minutes are completely silent as miguel picks out the tiny shards from your palms

he kisses each palm when he's done, then pours some alcohol on a cotton ball.

"bebita, this might sting a bit. take a deep breath for me."

you start sobbing, and he looks up at you.

"bebita, i haven't even put the alcohol-"

"i'm sorry," you whimper, crying harder, and his heart breaks again.

"amor," he leans in, brushing stray hair away from your face and thumbing at your tears.

"you're very pretty even when you cry, but please don't be sad..."

miguel pulls you into a hug and you let it all out while he shushes you softly, kissing your hair and whispering words of love

patiently waiting for you to come back to him, wiping away your tears and sniffling, looking up at him with a tentative expression.

miguel smiles. "there she is," he mumbles, kissing you sweetly. "nobody's mad anymore, i know you meant well, you always do."

he kisses your nose. "i love you."

"love you too," you whisper, and he smiles.

"do you want to watch a movie with me while i clean you up?"

"mhm."

"your pick, amor. anything you want, anything-"

"can we watch top gun?"

"no."

"but you said it was my choice!"

"anything but that! you know i hate top gun!"

"we watch top gun or im not cooking paella for a month"

"BEBITA POR DIOS!"

you giggle and he sighs.

"fine. you're lucky you're the love of my life... and that i dont know how to cook my own paella."

"how about this?" miguel lifts you up in a princess carry.

"i'll watch top gun with you WITHOUT complaining if you promise to never let me yell at you like that again."

you look at him in confusion. "but-"

"promise me." he whispers.

"okay," you nuzzle into his neck. "i promise."

"good. and remind me to eat you out more often im forgetting how good you taste ;)"

"MIGUEL!!"

[icyowl]

You discover Dragon!Sylus

Pairing: Dragon!Sylus x reader

Request: none

A/N: not proofread. LADS is my current obsession, however I don't have the game so forgive me if it's not lore-accurate. Thank you for being so patient with me :). 2k.

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

He always knew you’d be his undoing, he just didn’t think it would be so literal. Perhaps it was one too many resonances, or maybe the depth of your bond had reached some sort of fever pitch.

It began with a headache. Nothing noticeable - given his line of work, headaches were too common - but devolved into a skull-wrenching migraine. Candlelight was too bright, the needle of the recordplayer was too loud, the continuous air conditioning couldn’t keep him cool, even the scratch of the softest silk dress shirt nagged at his irritability.

No hospital would see him, and no doctor could help him given his physiology. The only thing to do was wait it out in the dark cave of his bedroom and hope it didn’t kill him.

It looked like it well might.

The phone on his nightstand screamed, but he used one hand to keep his head from splitting open and used the other to reach for it anyways. He’d permitted only your calls - you soothed the gouge behind his eyes and eased the booms in his chest. Sylus was soothing you before you had a chance to speak.

“I’m alright,” he grimaced at the pain in his throat and the gruff in his voice, “just a cold.”

“Sylus, what’s going on with you? You’ve never asked me to stay away and you sound like you’re really sick.”

“I’m fine, sweetie, i’m sorry if it’s made you upset.”

You paused, gathering strength, then whispered, “did I do something wrong?”

“No. Fuck,” he flexed his jaw through a groan when his head throbbed, “never.”

The ache in his chest ignited, expanding and pressing against his ribs and biting into his sternum. Was the great leader really going to be done in by a heartattack?

“Sylus?!” You called. His voice had turned into something unrecognizable.

The truth was worse. His eyes were open but his vision was little more than vague swaths of browns, blacks, and reds. Fire singed his nerves until it was all he could do to keep from shouting. A slow heartbeat plugged his ears. His fist gripped the sheets, ripping it under his nails. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“It’s too late!”

“I need to go.” He swallowed though saliva was impossible to find. “I’ll call you when it passes, promise.”

A harsh crash berated your ears just before the line cut out. Keys were in your hand, shoes in your feet, and jacket forgotten even before the screen timed out.

—

Sylus’s estate loomed dark and massive even against the pitch of night. Whistling wind, thunder, and rain broke up the perfect quiet. Shivers broke out across your skin. Still, you paused. The burgundy front door was wide open, tilting back and forth amidst the occasional gust. Nothing else dared make itself known.

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

Luke:

GET OUT OF THERE NOW

You didn’t listen. You couldn’t. Worry strangled the survival instinct clawing around under your skin, allowing you the courage to ease the door wider. Sylus’s entryway looked mostly normal, with only the rug slightly off kilter and the lights out, save for the wood panel near the door sheered off its hinges, exposing the house’s raw flesh underneath. Wires were tangled, mangled, or missing. The few that remained crackled and arced.

Someone had destroyed the electrical box.

You crept farther into the lair. With each room, the carnage got worse. Furniture lay overturned, paintings were thrown on the floor, broken glass from vases, windows, and tables forced you to zigzag, even a marble statue the size of you had been thrown through a wall.

You braced yourself on the wall only to hiss and jerk back when a splinter dug into your palm.

A crack of lightning jerked your head up. Though fleeting, the new light let you grasp the details of your surroundings.

Blood.

Smearing the rich wood floor, spattering the walls and ceilings, dripping off a chair’s broken arm. Blood everywhere.

You swallowed the cry of his name. Speaking would only alert your presence to the enemy, perhaps distract Sylus, and kill the element of surprise you still had. The intruders hadn’t seen you yet, and the lack of bodies meant Sylus was still fighting them. He could take care of himself.

Another bright flash glinted off the wall of guns adjecent to you. Who would break in and leave the weapons alone?

Avoiding more glass, you hustled to the last remaining room: Sylus’s bedroom. Blood continued, as did damage to the walls. Something sinister skittered up your neck when the cuts in the wall arced in a ragged quintet. . . claw marks.

The thing in here with Sylus wasn’t a person, but a monster.

You ran to him room, restraint evaporating, throwing yourself through the doorway and crying his name. . .

“Stay back!” Someone yelled, freezing you. A moment later your mind caught up and whispered to you where a double-toned voice had roared. That was Sylus.

The bed was mostly intact, though the sheets laid on the floor in a shredded heap and the gossamer canopy had been ripped off the ceiling. Your heart wilted in your chest - he’d never yelled at you like that. A shift in the shadows on the far side of the bed drew your attention.

“Sorry, my love.” Sylus tried again, this time more normal. It still sounded like a ghost lived in his throat, but now it resembled your Sylus. “I don’t mean to scare you but. . . I need you to listen to me.”

“O-okay. I will, but. . . I want to help you. The wanderer-”

“There is no wanderer.”

“Then-”

“Yes. Everything you saw was me.”

Silence impregnated the space between you and the shadow on the other side of the bed. What could you say? What should you do? Sweat shimmered on your upper lip in the flash of a lightning strike and the canon shot of thunder made you flinch.

“It’s okay that you’re scared-”

“I’m not-”

“I can hear your heart, smell your cortisol-”

“What?” That was not one of Sylus’s abilities.

You could hear the heavy breath befor every sentence, “I know what’s happening - I’ll be fine. Go. I’ll call you when it’s over.”

“No!” You exclaimed. How could he send you away?

“No?”

“I know you’re hurt.” you said, spotting more red on the ceiling. Altogether, he’d bled enough for several men. “I want to help, if I can.”

“I don’t want you to fear me.” Then, he let out a bitter, half-broken moan. It turned your heart to thorns.

“I don’t. I love you.” You said, taking a step into the room.

Unbeknownst to you, the man zeroed in on the soundless tap of your foot on the floor. His eyes glowed. You were right there, close enough to get - to hunt - to catch - to take - Sylus held a clawed hand to his face. Her voice - focus on her voice. Hear how worried she is for you. “I do too, but. . . just. . . I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You think you might?”

“I don’t want to, but. . . I’m not certain I can help it right now.”

“Let’s just take a breath. We’ll work this out together.”

“I don’t know.”

“I know you’d do it for me-”

“I would.” He replied without a breath. Sylus imagined you transforming as he was: scared, pained, ashamed, but still oh so beautiful, adorned in the flesh of his species. Fuck, you had him there. He’d have a difficult time containing himself if he knew you were hiding something like this from him.

“So. . .” you pressed, “what can I do.”

“Just. . . I need a moment to think.” Sylus had you right there, willing to help him amongst a bloodbath and house full of carnage. . . he couldn’t survive if he messed up such a precarious moment.

Something beastial knocked against his cage. Damn, not now. Pain skyrocketed. The inside of his eyelids turned white. If he knew the snarl he let out, he’d hate himself for it, but he didn’t bother to hear anything through the ripple of scales under his tearing flesh. Tearing, bursting, surging, the match lit behind his eyes finally caught and exploded. He felt the bone erupting from his skull, brought a hand up to shield himself from your gaze, and shouted to try and stop you but it was too late.

The massive stony tail curled on the floor between you was the first thing you saw. His entire lower body had erupted in black plates and armor, pulsing with glowing fissures of red. Feet and hands were thick, clawed, and razor sharp, like a wanderer’s. His pale chest, neck, and chin was interrupted by jagged bolts of red that all led to a swirling ruby imbedded in his chest that seemed to breathe with him. Stone even framed his face. Spearing up from atop his head were the cause of his scream: a crown of two lethal, rocky antlers. Blood stained his hair and ran down his face from the fresh wounds.

People had always called Sylus a monster.

You’d just met his eyes when he slammed them shut and cried out - roared - again. The sound more than his appearance was what pushed you back, but not far enough to miss the grotesque push of his antlers further out of his skull. The transformation must have nicked an artery, because more blood dripped from his forehead and a small spray burst out, covering your shirt. He let out a final, quiet snarl as his pain settled, showing off four large canines that turned silver in the flashing light outside.

You both stared at the blood covering each other for a long time. Sylus held a clawed hand up to his face and used the other one to shuffle away from you.

“I was never supposed to let you see this. Forgive me.”

A reply was impossible, but, being the kind heart that was still so obvious, he took your silence as disgust. A new kind of discomfort showed on the part of his face you could still see.

“There’s keys on the kitchen counter. Take whatever you want. I won’t contact you again. It’ll be like I was never there-“

“Sylus,” you whispered, moving to sit on the ground. It stopped him dead. “It’s. . . okay. Who cares what you look like. I just. . . I’m worried. You’re clearly in a lot of pain and can’t seem to stop-“

Now it was your turn to gasp. You’d closed your fist, pulling at the cut and causing your own rush of blood down your arm. Sylus gave no warning that he’d been affected by the sight of your blood, but in a single second you’d been pounced on, taken down until your back pressed into the wood floor and Sylus was over you: leg between yours, tail hugging your ankle, one clawed hand pining your good wrist to the ground while the other held your wounded palm up for intense scrutiny. Sylus’s eyes didn’t look different, but you knew he wasn’t there when he brushed his nose up the major artery on your wrist, then licked the blood rushing to greet his warm lips.

The taste of your blood engorged his pupils, but you only caught sight of it for a moment before he slammed them shut and yanked your hand down to the floor.

He’d always been good with words, but now they were a desperate rush. “My deepest apology. I didn’t mean to. I saw you were hurt and I-“

“Sylus. Breathe.” You tried. He followed your command, and a little sanity returned to him. Your blood wasn’t the only thing he could hear anymore, and it finally seemed like the transformation had subsided. Pain faded to soreness.

Even with the weight and danger of his claws, he relented when you moved your good hand from the ground to wipe some blood drying on his cheek. He took a long inhale, closing his eyes and easing into your touch. Then, Sylus’s tail caressed your calf, a gentle, unconscious kiss on his part. It was warm and kind, just like the real kiss he’d given you the day before. Despite being covered in rough, sharp armor, he’d yet to even scratch you, and his eyes hadn’t changed - they still watched you for any hint at a need or wish. Only his exterior had changed. “You’re beautiful.” You breathed.

Sylus gasped under his breath. The very notion was incomprehensible. You? Calling him that? Now? He rushed out another quiet apology when his tail slithered around your waist and pulled it flush against his. You didn’t retreat, however. All he could find was a genuine, if not sheepish, smile gazing up at him. Sylus didn’t dare breathe when he felt your fingers touch at the plates on his neck, and he heart all but stopped when you thumbed at his lip, asking for permission.

How could he say no?

“You’re certain?” He asked. You nodded. So, he eased back his lips to let you touch the fangs there, slick and waiting. Sylus, try as he might, couldn’t stop the quaky shiver nor the bone-deep rumble when your fingertip stroked the steel-like enamel. Your eyes were so curious when you saw the glow of the gem in his chest. Fcking hell if he wasn’t in love before, he sure was now, if only because the innocent look in your gaze did something to the blood in his body. His evol was ready to explode. He hoped his voice sounded normal when you took your hand away and all he could say was: “do you know how fascinating you are?”

You watched him hold your wrist, careful to keep his claws off your skin, and kiss you there. “I don’t know about fascinating. . . but. . . when you can, can I get a bandaid?”

[trendywaifus]

SCREAMPIED !

— there seems to be a second serial killer who has their eyes on you. but it seems like they came for you for a different reason. will they be a failure like the last one was? ↳ INSPIRED BY SCARY MOVIE.

a/n — ngl i put more thought to this than the last one so think of this as the better sequel. it’s long btw.

part one

↳featuring ghost face! transfem! feixiao x fem! reader

GENRE — THRILLER, COMEDY, FORCED ROMANCE

WARNINGS — 2000’s COLLEGE AU, UNPROTECTED SEX, ORAL FIXIATION, CUNNINGLIUS, CREAMPIE, CURSING, TEASING, SLIGHT KNIFE PLAY, SIZE KINK, PENTRATION, VAGINAL PENETRATION, MIND DUMBFICATION, POSSESSIVE FEIXIAO

“ it seems like events are repeating theirselves once again as there’s been another murder, not one, but two this time, “ the blonde newsreporter stood in front of your college campus in the middle of the night as she emphasizes her words, “ that’s right folks you heard me, two murders happened right on this campus yesterday night involving a twenty–five old male, caelus and a twenty—four year old, dan heng. “

previously leaning back into the sofa, utterly bored out of your mind, you hastily scoot your butt to the edge of the cushion, jaw slacking in shock. “ oh my god? dan heng and caelus? what the fuck, why? how? “ you didn’t know the two very well but they were very popular around the college. caelus was an average jockey who was apart of the football team and dan heng was the quiet boy you’ll mostly see at the back of a classroom or in a library. the only reason why they was so popular is because they were seen with each other a lot—well it was mostly because of caelus following dan heng around like a puppy. they fit the stereotypical quiet boy and jock boy romance bullshit. it was cute as fuck but god it felt like you were a background character witnessing a yaoi manga in real time.

the news reporter walks around the half empty campus, looking for poor college students to interview. since it was halloween night, there was a good amount of people hanging around the campus in halloween costumes. “ i’m sorry, young man—i mean young lady, do you have a second?” the lady walks up to a person and the camera panels to a tall, grey-haired woman wearing a baggy tracksuit who strikes a strong sense of familiarity in you. her sun colored eyes glances between the camera and the news reporter in confusion. their voices blur in your ears as your pensive gaze lingers on the familiar woman currently on camera. your mind flashes back to last halloween where you fucked the shit out of a dumbass killer who broke into your house and looked just like her. “ am i genuinely tripping right now or is this who i think it is? “ you blink several times at the screen, “ is she at the same fucking campus i’m going to?! how in the fuck have i not seen her until conveniently now? bullshit. “

her soft voice rings through the mic, “ caelus was my brother and— “

you let out a string of curses, snatching the remote from the table and angrily changed the channel to some shitty slasher movie. “ she’s caelus’s sis? and a hot one at that. ugh, that makes so much sense because they look like twins. i knew she looked familiar when i unmasked her. i bet she’s the one who did it. maybe i should snitch—wait, since i knew about her and fucked her, would i get arrested for swallowing and letting her nut in me? what would i call that? guilty by fucking. .?”

actually. . .you changed your mind. if she does it again next halloween that’s when you’ll report her. yeeah. but then again, why would she even kill her own brother and his boyfriend? that’s some fucked up sibling beef. but you know one thing, she better not try and fuck with you again—

ring ring !

“ son of a. . .” you reach for your house phone on the table beside the sofa and bring the phone to your ear. “ hello? “ you hold your breath as you wait for the person the other line to speak.

“ . . .hi, (name)? “ your friend’s high-pitched voice, march, comes through the speaker. you let out the most heaviest sigh of relief.

“ good it’s you. march, question. .did you know that caelus had a sister? “ you inquire, leaning your body back into the soft cushion, idly watching the slasher chase his victim on tv.

“ umm, yeah? “ she replies back with a matter-of-fact tone. “ her name’s stelle, she’s apart of the girl’s varsity basketball team but you really only see her at the gym, track, and other athletic clubs. i think i have one core class with her but she’s really quiet and a little weird. let’s just say she’s the total opposite of caelus in terms of popularity and personality. which is sad ‘cus she’s such a hottie too. . “ well, stelle sure wasn’t the total opposite with you. “ by the way, you heard about caelus and dan heng right? i’m genuinely shocked that they got shanked! they were so good together—maybe the killer is a homophobe?”

“ march, don’t start. “ you groaned, running a lazy hand through your hair. march loves to gossip and gets wild with her speculations at times. though, they are pretty entertaining as the rumors she tells you about from being apart of the cheerleading team and photography club.

“ hear me out! last year there was multiple murders in our town but only two of them were students from our campus. the snazzy guy, aventurine who liked to make crazy bets to earn money and sunday, the student council and robin’s brother. “

“ um, so? “

march sighs, “ there was rumors that aventurine messed around with vertus ratio in y’know, that way so people were speculating that they had a thing. sunday was also caught with adventurine during— “

you cut her off, “ march, i don’t know if anyone told you this but like, half of the men here are into hot dogs. like, they’d definitely have a huge sausage party if all of them were to get together. so, the killer wouldn’t be homophobic if over half of the men at our college likes ding-a-lings. “

“ ughhh, these killings seem pretty targeted if you ask me. but i have to go, i need to go through my camera. i took some photos of cool costumes people was wearing. i’ll talk to you tomorrow bestie, bye~ “ she ends the call and you set the phone back down where it belongs.

you sit there in silence, spacing out. the whole situation is pretty weird and the fact that you were previously targeted counters march’s claims. to you, the killings were just random and unhinged like stelle. you just don’t know understand how someone goofy as her can possibly be responsible for the murders. who gives a shit though, you’ll just fuck stelle and pretend the whole thing is a porno if she comes back to try again.

ringgggg !

your shoulders slack in annoyance and you reach for the buzzing phone again. “ hello? it’s getting late, call me tomorrow—“

a muffled, raspy voice interrupts you, “ what’s your scary movie, doll face? “

you let out a sigh, not an ounce of fear invoked in your heart. you’re not scared this time from already experiencing this. “ oh, so you came back for more, stelle? i just saw you on the news. “ a snort leaves your smirking lips. “ are you actually going to kill me this time? “ the mysterious voice laughs with mirth, and somehow it sounds different from before.

“ this is not stelle. you scared her away, which i’m impressed about. but i’m not here to kill you baby, oh no, “ their voice lowers a pitch as they rasp, “ i was hoping to get my hands on your pretty ass, ‘been wanting you for a long time now. shoulda’ been me who got fucked instead of her. now to start things off, why not answer my question— “

“ oh, so i attracted another one. fuckin’ great. didn’t see that one coming. “ you say sarcastically, hanging up the phone right in that weirdo’s face. “ like damn, my pussy gotta be a magnet now if another one is stalking me. they gotta have some skype slasher group chat going on. .“ it hasn’t even been five minutes and the phone goes off again. you smack your lips, picking up the phone once more.

“ yo. “

“ hanging up on me is pretty rude, pup. i’m trying to be patient for you and i’m generally an impatient person.— “

you roll your eyes, “ choke on a dick, jackass. “

“ hehe, you’re going to be choking on mines by tonight— “

“ don’t care, bucko. just because i fucked your friend doesn’t mean shit. i’m not going to answer your question either. if you want your dick blown, have that dumbass hottie friend of yours to do it. bye. “

you slammed the house phone down and got up from the couch. “ i’m going to wash my ass, fuck this shit.“

forgotten about the shitty horror movie playing in the background, you left the living room and made your ways towards the stairs to take a shower. oh, no, hopefully the big bad killer won’t secretly follow you upstairs and get you while you’re taking a shower. you roll your eyes with a dry laugh at the thought. “ cover for me, “ you pat the large piano that you somehow stationed at the top of the stairs, “ if not, i’m ripping out your keys like they’re damn press-on fingernails, okay? “ the piano responds back with hurried high notes as it slightly trembles. you don’t even know why your father has a piano in the house, neither you or him can play for shit. you really only say that you have a piano to score the magneta—haired babe who’s into classical music. what was her favorite song again? dramatic epiphany?

“ atta girl. “

you take your shower without any disturbance. well, your soap kept “slipping” from your hand so you had to bend down a few times to get it. (un)fortunately a dick didn’t magically appear and stick itself in you. steam spills into your bedroom as you walk out of the misty bathroom with a tank top and shorts on, drying your hair with a towel wrapped around your shoulders. as you made your way back downstairs, you lazily thanked the piano. “ thanks. i guess i’ll have to play with you sometime as a reward. “

you ignore the cheery high notes hitting your ears as you walk down the steps.

and as soon as you stepped inside of the living room, the phone rings again. you angrily picked up the house phone for the third time within two hours. you drape the towel over your shoulder as you plop down on the sofa. “ this is the third fucking time you called my damn phone! “ you barked, pausing the cheesy horror film you forgot was on while taking a “quick”one hour shower, “ take a hike you fuckin’ bum! and don’t even bother asking me about what my damn favorite scary movie is because i don’t have one! there! stelle was somehow less annoying than you are! “

nothing but heavy breathing can be heard on the other line and if you listen closely, you can hear wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. “ fucck, “ the killer’s voice groans out, “ keep yelling, i’m almost finished. .mm. .“

“ you got to be fucking kidding me. “ you mutter irritably, face crunching up with disgust.

“ you sound so sexy when you’re upset, i love it. ‘that’s just how i want my girl to be. “ they continue to speak in a strained voice, “ and i’m jealous that you keep mentioning that girl when i’m here. by the end of this night, you’ll be expecting me instead around every halloween~ “

“ fuck off, loser! “ you snarl through gritted teeth, “ what i’m expecting from you is to stop calling my phone and leave. me. alone.”

“ no, because i’m already here~ “

on cue, they casually pop out into the doorway of your kitchen with their own phone near their masked head, dressed in the similar ghoulish outfit like last halloween. their statue seems a bit taller or just as tall as stelle’s. you shoot up from the couch, the towel that was once on your shoulder falls to your feet. you clutch the house phone, ready to use it as a weapon. “ what the fuck? how did you get in here? “

chuckling lowly, they lean into the doorway, crossing their arms in a relaxed manner. “ you have a habit of leaving your back door open, a bad habit for such a pretty girl like you who’s constantly home alone. though, i’m not complaining. it made things easier for me~ “ they purred.

“ yeah? w-well, come at me! this ain’t my first rodeo, creep! “

“ and it certainly won’t be your last, baby. “ they remarked smoothly, stepping into the living room. heat simmers in your belly. damn, had they not been some weirdo, you would’ve of just let them have it and keep your panties as a trophy.

“ try me! “ you chucked the phone at the unwanted guest and sprinted towards the dining room. you can easily just loop in the kitchen, tire them out, and head toward upstairs for the piano. “ oh i will baby, all nighhht! “ they run after you, quick on their feet. you dash through the dining room and into the kitchen, hauling over to the rectangular counter conveniently at the middle of the kitchen. they let out a amused laugh as they realized your plan.

“ really, pup? you can’t possibly think you’re going to outwit me with this boring trick. c’mon, you don’t have to make it harder for us, i swear i won’t hurt ya!”

you take a hurried step to the side, they do the same. “ fuck you! “ you grab an apple from the fruit bowl and threw it at the other end of the counter. they easily dodge it and seize the chance to dash towards your end. you took off running to the other end and it repeats for a few minutes. you can tell they were getting frustrated from the way they would curse and slam their fist onto the marble surface whenever they fail to outsmart your loops.

“ damnit girl, it’s starting to get hot under this thing! as much as i want to play ring around the rosy with you, i can hardly move with this on! just be a good girl and come over here so i bend you over this counter!“ they growled impatiently, mirroring every step you take. you move to the left, they move to the left. you move to the right, they move to the right. “ fuck no, stupid bitch! “

they click their tongue with a plan in mind. “ if that’s how you want to play it, “ they bait you by acting like they’re running to your end and as soon as you sprint halfway to the other side, they quickly slide over the counter. you let out a troubled scream as the triumphant killer throws their arms around you and yank you into their solid body. “ gotcha baby~—hey, watch your damn elbow! “ they narrowly dodge your elbow jabbing at their head.

“ l-lemme go! “ you cried out, kicking and thrashing in their tight hold.

“ nah, not when you made me work for it, girlie. now, stop struggling orr. .” you feel something sharp pressed against your neck. they chuckle darkly in your ear.

“ ugh! oh no, you have a knife against my neck, i guess i have to follow whatever you say or some shit. ” you grumble sarcastically in defeat, relaxing in her arms.

“ hehe, that’s my girl. at least you know how to play your part as the main girl well, hm? “ they turn you around and back you up against the counter. your opposer towers over you, trailing their knife gently along your jaw and tap it under your chin. a pleased hum leaves them as they shamelessly admire your features. “ wow, “ they awe breathlessly, the cool metal gradually runs down your neck, “ now that i’m up close and personal, you look like a fine piece of work, baby. fuck, i’m jealous stelle got to you first—which is why i killed her brother and his butt buddy. she was only suppose to scare you. ”

“ wh-what the fuck? who the hell are you? “

they rip off the ghostface mask and your eyes pop open like you seen a bunch of aliens walking around in the streets with thongs on. once again, you’re face to face with a familiar woman. long white tresses flutters down her shoulders, large, foxian ears spring out and stand tall as she looks down at you with her mischievous, piercing cerulean hues. how the hell did she get everything to fit into that mask?

“ f-feixiao? you’re that team captain from the woman’s varsity basketball team! “

feixiao smirks down at you, teeth baring. “ surprise~”she croons, her voice sounding much clearer and distinct. she’s popular amongst the girls in the college, a huge fuckgirl who you avoid like the plague. yeah, she’s the whole package but you find her a cocky tryhard who thinks she’s humble. “ it honestly could of been anyone but you. “

she juts out her bottom lip in a playful pout, ears slightly flattened. you know she’s pretending like the jester she is. “ what, you don’t like me? i did nothing to you. “

you cross your arms with a curled brow. “ that’s true. you did nothing to me but you did do something to a whole bunch of other girls. “ feixiao laughs, then licks her lips as her roughish gaze lowers at your exposed cleavage then back up into your eyes. she presses herself into you, bringing her lips to the shell of your ear. you feel something hard against your thigh. what’s up with women having dicks?

“ you don’t like that, pretty girl? i can always stop for you if you become my main girl. “ the white haired woman nibbles at your lobe and kisses at the spot right under your ear. you unfold your arms to grip the bulky edges of the counter behind you as she peppers damp kisses down the column of your neck. “ how many girls have you told that to? “ you bite your lip, holding back a groan.

“ jus’ you baby, promise. “ feixiao mutters against your skin, rocking her steady hips into yours. her knife trails down your cleavage and you stiffen. she chuckles at your jumpy reaction, and dips her head down to lap at the hardening bud through your tank top with her eager tongue. a short groan exits from your parted lips. feixiao cup the underside of your clothed breast and attach her hungry mouth to the bud. she suckles and firmly tugs until her spit ruins the fabric of your tank top.

“ damn, you know what. . “ feixiao carelessly tosses the knife on the counter behind you, abruptly pulls away, and releases your breast to lift up her inky hooded robe with one hand while the other fumble downward to unzip her ripped black jeans. your wandering gaze takes a glimpse of her abs, which tastefully protrude through the tight fabric of a black top underneath. damn. “ on your knees. “ she commands, desperation tainting her proud voice. you begrudgingly do so, waiting for feixiao to pull out her dick.

“ oh. .my god. “ you gawk as she finally frees herself. yeah, she’s definitely packing—a least two inches bigger than stelle. it’s slightly curved to the left, and girthy. you swallowed thickly. you see why the girls flock to her. feixiao smiles smugly at your big doe eyes, “ that’s the reaction i’ve been wanting to see,”considerate, gloved fingers gently push back the tousled locks from your eyes and into a ponytail. “ be my lady and you’d get to see this damn near every night, fuck every halloween. “

the tip of her cock playfully pokes at your lips. “ tempting, but no. i still don’t like you, feixiao. “

feixiao pouts before sighing with defeat despite not feeling discouraged by your answer. “ fine. i’m still not giving up, i bet you’ll change your mind by the time i’m done with you. now open up. “

you comply and feixiao momentarily release the hold from your hair to slowly slides herself in your moist mouth. only half of her is in and yet she feels heavy on your tongue. “ mmmh. . “ she sucks in a sharp breath, taking a brief moment to adjust. “ ‘gonna go slow, baby. “ feixiao groans, slowly rolling her hips into your mouth. your pillowy lips enclose around her shaft and your hands rest on her thighs. her fat cockhead graze the back of your throat before retreating away.

“ you look so pretty on your knees like this—damn, i might cream in your mouth right now from just looking at you. . “

your brows knit together. is she actually serious right now? there’s no way you got the biggest fuckgirl in your college, who also revealed herself to be a murder, saying shit like this. this has to be some sick halloween fantasy written by a horny bum with failing romance in their life.

feixiao slightly speeds up her moving hips, edging herself more down your throat as she thrusts. she tips her head back, becoming tipsy to the addicting warmth and wetness of your mouth. your spit coats her thick shaft, leaving behind a sheen. “ no gagging so far? hehe, you’re doing so well, pretty. .” feixiao moans out shamelessly, biting her bottom lip to the filthy, drawn out squelching noises producing from your stuffed mouth.

she grips your ponytail a little tighter, “ actually, i change my mind—fuck. .i might lose it if i go at this pace. breathe through your nose now, baby. i promise i’ll be quick! “

you rolled your eyes and nod your head, relaxing your jaw. she blurts out a cheery yes! then adjusts her footing. just like how feixiao wanted, she starts rutting into your mouth. you force out series of guttural sounds, but you don’t yield from her deep thrusts. your constricting walls swallow in her needy cock, earning strings of curses and groans. “ just what i-i thought, your throat feels amazing. i-i can only imagine what she feels like. . “ she moans, repeatedly snapping her sloppy hips into your mouth.

she? oh god, did feixiao really just refer to your pussy as a she? was this some sort of fuck girl slang?

beads of spit seep from the corners of your filled mouth and trickle down your chin like drool. your fingers slightly dig into her black pants as your gag reflex kicks in. feixiao pulls back just enough so her length lays heavy on your tongue, eagerly waiting to continue. “ i’m already half way there, hang in there.” she assures with unusual softness in her quivering voice, “ tap me once so i can keep going. “

and you do so, patting her thigh once. she starts again, shoving her cock back down your throat. your throat tightens on reflex and she whines, twitching. “ damn girl, now i’ll be almost there if you do that a—ohhhh. . “ feixiao grits her teeth, lolling her head down as you voluntarily close your walls around her. she feels stuck but stubbornly keeps thrusting, fucking your tight throat until she’s on the verge of cumming. “ th-the best—y-you’re the best. .sh-shit,”squeezing her eyes shut, sweat drips down to the tip of her nose,” i swear i wouldn’t n-need to talk and fuck any other girls if i had you. “ feixiao babbles, the cockiness in her voice is completely replaced with spiraling desperation.

the white–haired woman thrusts again and again, and stops suddenly as her fat, twitching cock fully squeezes through your throat. “ ‘gonna cum, b-baby. .” she holds your head still and thick, syrupy ropes shoots down your throat. heavy exhales escape from your nose while you swallow most of her load. “ good fuckin’ girl. . “ feixiao praises through a passionate whisper, and pulls away completely once you start to gag and choke. thank god for practicing your oral skills with your toothbrush routinely every morning and night or you would of left a colorful mess all over her dick. it’d be like one of those mainstream japanese shows where it shows the character vomiting. narudo z was it?

the bitter taste of her cum lingers on your tongue. it takes a minute for feixiao to stablize her breathing as she steadies herself on the counter. with a sigh, she stands upright and looks down at you with an easy smile. “ i’m not done with you yet. get up and gimme some sugar, yeah? “ she firmly pulls you up by the forearm, forcing you on your feet. feixiao hold your jaw between her thumb and index finger and maneuvers your head up at her. you cringe as her glowing ocean blue eyes bleed into yours. did they get brighter or some shit? you swear it wasn’t like that before.

she notices the squinty eyes and uncomfortable expression sitting on your face. “ what’s wrong, pup?”

“ it’s like i’m looking at a fucking blue glow stick in the dark. i see why people look the other way when they talk to you. “

feixiao pouts again, genuinely looking offended. “ okay, ouch? i can’t help the way my eyes are! i actually take pride in them. “

“ how unfortunate. imagine how awkward the sex would be if we do it missionary? if i can’t look you in the eyes while we fuck because of the risk of going blind, then that’s a hard pass for me. “ as if being a seasonal killer wasn’t already a hard pass.

“ haah? “ feixiao’s eyes go wide with surprise, “ don’t be like that! we can always work around that, i can have you on your stomach while i—“

“ i don’t want to hear it. just shut up and close your eyes before you kiss me. “

she grumps, complying with your demand. her disappointment almost instantaneously disappears by the soft caress of your perfect lips. feixiao’s tongue prod at the small opening between your lips and you allow her in with ease. a low moan resonates in her chest as the bitter taste of her seed in your mouth welcomes her senses. her tongue feverishly swirls around yours. she doesn’t care if the kiss is sloppy, she doesn’t care about her teeth occasionally clashing with yours—the only thing that’s on her mind right now is you, you, you.

once your chest start get to tight from the lack of oxygen, you lightly push feixiao away from your spit-coated lips by her biceps. even through the robe, you can feel the curled, firm muscle. string-like saliva stretch and dissipate between you and her. there’s carnal desire in her sky blue eyes as she peers down at you. “ my mouth and throst is feeling kinda dry right now, “ she whispers, gloved fingers unbuttoning your pajama shorts, “ how about you let me return the favor while i hyd–“

“ just eat me out. you already broken into my home and chased me and shit. “

feixiao laughs, sounding almost sheepish. “ i have no regrets doing it either, y’know. i also have no worries you’ll tell anyone too since that girl is still walking around scott free. “ well yeah, if you do tell, ‘pretty sure you’ll get fucking arrested too. she drops to her knees once she slides your shorts and ruined panties down to your ankles. the taller woman whistles with delight at the appetizing sight of your dripping pussy.

“ damn baby, did i get you this wet? “ her mouth salivates from watching your arousal slowly roll down your inner thigh.

“ no i just thought about killing myself. “

she raises a brow at you, spreading your legs out an inch wider. “ you dislike me so much that you’ll use that as your lie? “

“ yup. “

feixiao tsk, spreading your puffy folds with two fingers. “ my stubborn girl. even if i couldn’t get you to warm up to me so easily, at least she did. “ she laps up the trail and her eyes flutters at the delicious taste. without warning, she buries her face between your legs and give your bundle of nerves a spoiling amount of messy kisses. her tongue broadly licks at your soaked folds, collecting your sticky essence on her tongue. “ fuck.” you curse in a breathy voice, one of feixiao’s pierced fox ears twitch. she sloppily circles her tongue around your clit before sucking on it. feixiao sucks hard, causing your toes to curl.

feixiao grows hard again to the sounds of your labored breathing and shaky mewls. she drag her tongue to your fluttering entrance and acts as if she’s making out with you as her tongue teases your dripping hole. “ oh my god. . “ your hand flies down to grip her surprisingly soft locks. the thick tip of her tongue rushes a sloppy stripe back up your pussy. she kisses at the sweet spots that makes your knees visibly tremor. feixiao smiles smugly into your cunt, returning down to your drooling slit. she laps and obnoxiously slurps at the thick fluids dribbling out of you. her ministrations last for a few minutes until you become jumpy and sensitive.

“ best drink i had in a while, baby. mmhh. .” she mutters through hot breaths, sneaking a hand under her robe to stroke herself. she’s beyond excited—growing utterly impatient to fuck you dumb and reshape your insides into her home. no matter what insult you throw at her, how much you claim to dislike her; she’s not letting you go. you’re too good to let go. after all, she did kill for you. you droop your head to the side, a broken moan ripping itself from your raw throat as her tongue pushes inside. “ f-feixiao, fuckk—i. .” you stop yourself, swallowing back the words that’s threatening to spill from your glistening lips. feixiao lets out a strained sound similar to a moan and fists her cock until it’s angry red and swollen. you moan again at the vibration shooting through your heated body and fondle your breast with a clumsy palm. you pinch at the hardened nipple through your tank-top between slender fingers.

feixiao’s practically tongue fucking you, albeit hastily. your gummy walls squeeze her slimy muscle as you grind on her tongue. you’re becoming light-headed, hazy from the swelling pleasure clogging up your mind and body. “ feixiao, i-i want you—“ you blurt out impulsively. at this point, you just want to get fucked into oblivion, “ pl-please fuck me with your cock, your tongue i-isn’t enough. .”

she doesn’t waste a second to rip herself away from your pussy, not caring about the lower half of her face stained with your juices, and rushes up to her feet. she briefly steps back to remove the annoying robe from over her head and throws it aside on the floor. you finally get to see what she’s fully wearing under and it took every ounce of your being to not fall for her. a tight-fitted sleeveless turtneck top that shows off her athletic structure, sculpted milky arms, broad shoulders, fairly supple tits—shit! no matter what, you have to remind yourself that she’s a serial killer and a fuckgirl. she’s just a good fuck to finish off your eventful halloween night. “ anything you want, my pretty girl. jump. i’ll catch you.” you hurriedly step out of your shorts and undergarments pooling at your feet. with two hands clamped onto feixiao’s broad shoulders, you hop into her solid arms, wrapping your shaky legs around her waist. she secures you in her embrace, “ screw bending you over, i like this position better.” she comments, hoisting you up by the fat of your ass.

quickly, feixiao lines herself up with your throbbing pussy and guides you downward. you moan loudly as her girthy length fills up your empty pussy, stretching you out until you’re rubbing against her ripped jeans.“ nnghh. .s’tight, baby—damn, you’re so mine.” she growls possessively in your ear. you want to deny her but you can’t. the way she’s building up her momentum, jerking her hips sharply into your hole has you whimpering pathetically.

squuuish! slooosh! squuuish!

your slippery walls make it easier for her to go deeper and faster. you helplessly cling onto her for dear life, tangling your fingers into rivers of white tresses. it’s been a while since you been fucked good like this—the type of fuck that has you seeing constellations, drooling like a baby, and your mind made into someone’s home. “ m-more fei—fuck, moreeeee~” you babbled, bouncing on her fat cock without a care in the world. your slick smears the stiff fabric of her jeans and globs of it spill onto the tile floor. although strained, feixiao’s laugh rings through your ears. “ haha, fei? it looks like you’re g-giving into me~” she sing-songs, pounding your pussy with quick pistons of her ruthless hips.

feixiao’s curved shaft deliciously rub against your sweet spots, the swollen cockhead smack against your g-spot. you nearly scream as she rams right into it, “ yes! r-right there, pleasee, pleaseee! “ you’re sobbing, begging for a sweet release you’ve desperately been craving. she gives you a few lingering wet kisses on your hot cheek while she fucks you. “ you know i gotcha, my baby—hnngh. .! “

your pussy grips her cock like its afraid she’ll pull out and leave it empty. feixiao’s hips starts to stutter but she still keeps going on. you smash your lips against hers, kissing her sloppily and she gladly reciprocates back. your tongues twirl together, hot breaths combining into one.

“ mmph. . ! ❤︎ “

feixiao grinds her clumsy hips into the plush of your ass in a circular rotation, rubbing her twitching cock along your pulsating walls. a frothy ring forms near the base of her member that’s created by your slick and essence. you greedily suck on her tongue, tasting more of yourself. a guttural moan rumbles in her throat and she squeezes your ass. “ i never knew my girl was a freak. .” she breathes after you pulled away to moan.

“ mm, i-i’m not your girl. “ you slurred.

she chases after you and gently pull at your bottom with her fanged teeth. “ like hell you’re not. you already got me more in love, you think–mmh, after all of this i’d leave you alone? haha, no. shit. .i’m about to cum, sweetness. “

before you can say argue back, she thrusts hard into you one last time, forcibly provoking a surprised scream and an eye rolling orgasm from you. you and feixiao cum together in sync. “ t-take it all, baby~” she purrs, spurting her hot seed deep inside of you, painting your walls the color of her hair. you cling onto her, cumming violently on her dick. mixed, syrupy cum spills from your seeping hole and adds onto the growing puddle on the floor. foamy bubbles produce as she dumps the rest of her load into you. “ ‘full—i feel s’full, feixiao. . “ you whimper, shifting uncomfortably in her arms as a ball of hotness circulates in the pits of your stomach.

“ i know, pup. let’s stay like this for a little bit, i wanna hold my girl for a little while longer. “

you weakly smack your lips as she refers to you as her girl for the umpteenth time tonight.

“ wh-what did i tell you about—whatever makes you sleep better at night. .” you grumble, resting your chin on her broad shoulder while coming down from your high.

“ i’ll sleep even better now knowing that you’re mine~��� you deeply frown at the smile in her smug voice.

fuck, what have you done? not only did you fuck two serial killers, but you have one of them on your ass.

please don’t make a continuation of this, i actually don’t want to end up in some threesome next year. thanks dumbass.

[shaiyasstuff]

Request for youuuuuuu:

zayne's a librarian at your uni library. He sees your names in books he loves to read all the time (in those check out library slips). You two start leaving notes to each other between the pages (a post it here, another there, commenting on how this one line in the book spoke to you or him).

On the recommended tags in the bookshelves, you sometimes slip in a tag yourself (even though you're not an employee working in the library yourself), knowing zayne will end up finding it bc he's the only one who spends the most time looking for books and recommending books to people who spend the most time there.

I'll leave the ending up to you ;D just needed librarian!zayne cuz he's been stuck in my head for far too long

OHOHOHO I SEE YOU I SEE YOU! Lemme see what I can cook, librarian Zayne oh lord how did I never think of that? Sksksk here is, librarian zayne fluff dedicated fully for @blessdunrest

I finished this in record time omg you can tell how excited I was to write this. LOL hope you enjoy! And please tell me if i cooked :D

Was going to post this tomorrow but then I finished my other draft so I thought I’d give you double treats :))

It was supposed to be a normal day at the library for Zayne.

The late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the high windows, casting a warm, dappled glow across the wooden floor.

The scent of old paper and quiet settled around him like a familiar blanket. He had just finished shelving the last of the returned books—most left in disarray by hurried hands and careless minds.

He didn’t mind, not really.

There was something grounding in the ritual, in the quiet order of things finding their place again.

With a quiet sigh, he sank into the worn chair behind the desk, reaching for the thick, lined library slip book.

One by one, he flipped through the entries, scanning the familiar handwriting.

Natasha, Year 3 – Fundamentals of Molecular Science.

Ada, Year 2 – Cosmos Within, a sci-fi classic.

Then—

Y/N, Year 3 – The Sun and Her Flowers.

His hand stilled on the page.

Something in his chest tightened—not in alarm, but in surprise, a subtle ache blooming beneath his ribs.

That book.

It wasn’t just any poetry collection.

It was his book.

The one he’d carried in his bag long after he’d read it, pages dog-eared and underlined, ink smudged from restless nights.

It wasn’t something people around here cared about—too tender, too raw, too honest for most.

Especially not anyone in his year. No one ever borrowed it.

Until now.

His fingers brushed over your name. Familiar, yet distant.

You weren’t someone he spoke to much, not directly.

You were always there, though—in the same lectures, across the hallway, once in a quiet corner of the library with your headphones in and your eyes half-lost in the page.

But now, you held a part of him you didn’t know he’d shared.

And somehow, it felt like fate had just nudged him, ever so gently, across a line he hadn’t realized he’d been standing on.

He closed the slip book slowly.

And for the first time that day, the silence of the library didn’t feel so solitary.

—•

When you came to return the book the next day, Zayne was tucked behind the counter, half-lost in a page of scribbled notes and quiet thoughts.

The world outside was muted—just the soft hum of the air conditioner, the occasional creak of floorboards, the rustle of paper.

He liked it that way.

Predictable. Still.

Until your voice broke the stillness.

“Hey, I’d like to return this.”

He froze.

The pen in his hand paused mid-word, ink pooling slightly on the page.

Slowly, he looked up—and the moment his eyes met yours, something in him shifted.

It was subtle, a quiet unravelling.

As if time, that steady companion of his, had faltered.

You stood there, framed by the light pouring in from the glass panels behind you, The Sun and Her Flowers held gently in your hands.

There was a calmness to you, but your eyes—there was something in them he hadn’t seen before. Not just curiosity.

Not just politeness. But softness. A quiet depth, like a poem waiting to be read aloud.

And for the first time, he noticed you.

Really noticed you.

The way your hair caught the light, the way your fingers held the book like it meant something, like it had left traces on your heart too.

You weren’t just a name in a slip book anymore.

You weren’t just another student passing through the quiet halls of his routine.

You were real.

And radiant.

And standing in front of him holding the very thing that had once made him feel a little less alone.

He cleared his throat, but his voice felt like it had to pass through miles of thought before it could reach you.

“Was it… good?”

He didn’t mean the book.

Not really.

You giggled—a soft, melodic sound that made something stir in the quiet corners of his chest.

Then you gave a small nod, placed the book gently on the counter, and turned to leave without another word.

Zayne stood there, momentarily caught in place, lips parted slightly in awe.

Like he’d just witnessed a small miracle, something fleeting and beautiful that brushed past him before he could reach for it.

His fingers hesitated before closing around the book, still warm from your touch.

He didn’t mean to open it again.

He’d read it a dozen times before. Knew the verses like he knew the beat of his own pulse.

But now, with you lingering like sunlight after a storm, he found himself drawn to it—not for the words, but for the trace of you that might still linger between the pages.

As he lifted the cover, something fluttered out.

A small, folded note.

It landed softly on the counter, and with careful hands, he opened it.

‘I notice everything I do not have, and decide it is beautiful.’

A line from the book.

Yes.

But in your handwriting.

Zayne stared at it, breath caught in his throat.

The words weren’t addressed to anyone. Not signed. Not meant to be found.

And yet—

It felt like a secret.

A whisper of something unspoken.

Like a sliver of your soul had slipped into his hands.

His heart stirred with something quiet and inexplicable. Longing, maybe. Recognition.

The faint ache of possibility blooming in his chest.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just a quote.

It was a mirror.

And for the first time in a very long while, he felt seen.

—•

That night, Zayne didn’t sleep.

He lay in bed, the glow of the city lights casting quiet shadows on his ceiling, the note still echoing in his mind like a song he couldn’t forget.

Over and over, he replayed the moment you stood in front of him—the way your eyes lit up, the way your laughter lingered even after you left.

He thought of a hundred things he could say to you.

A hundred ways to start a conversation.

Maybe ask what part of the book moved you most.

Maybe tell you it moved him too.

But no matter how many versions he rehearsed in his head, something held him back.

It wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was something softer. A quiet reverence for the way it had all unfolded.

Because this felt like your thing. The book, the note, the brief but meaningful collision of your worlds. A fragile thread tied in silence and serendipity.

And he didn’t want to pull too hard and unravel it.

So he made a decision.

He reached for one of his favourite books—Letters to a Young Poet, the worn spine evidence of how often he’d returned to its pages.

With slow, deliberate care, he opened it to the passage that had once given him comfort on a lonely night and slipped his own note inside.

‘Perhaps somewhere, in the quiet, we’re already speaking the same language.’

No name. No explanation.

Just the possibility of being understood.

The next morning, he shelved it beneath his recommendations display, straightening the spine with a kind of quiet hope.

He lingered for a moment, fingers brushing the cover one last time, as if to will it toward you.

Then he stepped back, heart thrumming in his chest, and waited.

Because sometimes, love doesn’t begin with grand gestures.

Sometimes, it begins with a shared page.

He waited.

Each day, he kept an eye on the entrance from behind the counter, feigning focus on paperwork while his gaze flickered toward the door every time the bell above chimed.

The minutes ticked by in soft, library-quiet rhythm. Students came and went, laughter echoing faintly from the courtyard beyond.

The book remained untouched on the shelf, nestled between other titles that meant far less to him.

And then—

You appeared.

Just like that. As if you belonged in that moment.

Zayne’s breath caught in his throat.

You moved with quiet purpose, your gaze sweeping the shelves, fingertips trailing along spines as if reading by touch.

There was a crease in your brow, that same thoughtful expression he remembered from the other day. You were searching.

Maybe for something you couldn’t name.

Maybe for the exact book he’d left behind for you.

He didn’t move.

He just watched—heart pounding, chest tight with something he couldn’t quite name. Hope, maybe.

Or longing.

Or the fragile beauty of watching a possibility begin to unfold.

The way you walked, the way your hair caught the morning light—it all felt like a scene he would’ve once written down and tucked away for safekeeping.

And in that moment, watching you reach out toward the shelf where his secret waited, he didn’t need to speak.

Because some silences said everything.

And his, just then, was quietly pleading.

You reached for the book—his book—and he swore time held its breath.

Your fingers wrapped around the worn spine, and with a small, satisfied smile, you turned on your heel and made your way toward the front desk.

Toward him.

Zayne straightened instinctively, his heartbeat loud in his ears, though his expression remained composed—habitual restraint masking the storm beneath.

You placed the book gently on the counter, the very one he’d chosen for you, with the note nestled like a secret between its pages.

“I’d like to borrow this,” you said, your voice soft but sure.

He met your gaze and nodded, careful to keep his hands steady as he reached for the library slip book.

He scribbled your name beneath the title, signing off with the date.

It felt strange, somehow, how something so mundane could feel so momentous.

When he handed the book back to you, your fingers brushed his—just for a second—and it was like something sparked beneath his skin.

You smiled at him, small and genuine, a quiet thank-you in the curve of your lips.

And then, just like that, you turned and walked away.

He didn’t call out after you.

Didn’t ask if you’d find the note.

He only watched, the image of your retreating figure imprinting itself on some tender part of him.

And still, he hoped.

Because now, it was your turn to read.

And maybe—just maybe—you’d understand what he hadn’t been able to say aloud.

—•

You returned the book a few days later, the same gentle grace in your steps, the same soft air of quiet that always seemed to surround you.

But this time, there was something different—a faint smile tugging at your lips, one that wasn’t there the first time.

Something knowing.

You placed the book on the counter without a word, just a small nod in his direction, as if acknowledging something unspoken between you.

As always, you turned to leave.

And Zayne felt it—

That sudden ache of something slipping through his fingers.

The almost. The maybe. The not yet.

His heart, though carefully guarded, wilted slightly with the weight of that silence.

But then—

Something fluttered out from between the pages.

The note.

His own handwriting stared back at him first—his quiet offering. The line he had hoped would reach you.

But beneath it, written in a different hand—your hand—was something more.

‘Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart.’

A passage from the same book.

But this time, it wasn’t just a quote.

It was an answer.

Zayne stared at the words, the corners of the paper trembling slightly in his hands.

And then he smiled—

Small. Real. Disbelieving.

Because he understood.

You had read between the lines.

And you had answered in the only language he had trusted you to understand.

—•

It became a quiet ritual.

Every few days, Zayne would slip another book onto the recommendation shelf—never flashy, never obvious.

Just something thoughtful.

Something that meant something.

Between the pages, always the same—a note.

A single line, a question, a passage underlined just for you.

And somehow—without fail—you’d find it.

He never saw you take the books. Not once.

But they would vanish from the shelf by the end of the day, and a few days later, you’d return them with that same gentle smile and a new note waiting for him inside.

It was wordless magic, threaded between pages and ink.

A quiet conversation unfolding one borrowed book at a time.

He began to choose the titles more carefully.

Books that mirrored the seasons.

Books that carried pieces of him.

The ones he had clung to during sleepless nights.

The ones that had taught him to hope again.

And every time you responded, your words felt like echoes of something he had longed for but never dared to name.

It wasn’t a game.

It wasn’t even courtship.

It was something purer.

Something softer.

Like trust blooming in the silence between hearts.

He began to look forward to mornings—just to see if the book was gone.

Just to see your handwriting again. Just to know that somewhere out there, you were reading his words and choosing to answer with your own.

And in the quiet of the library, amid the soft turning of pages and the hush of footsteps, Zayne began to fall in love—with the mystery, the stillness, and the girl who spoke to him through stories.

Sometimes, you left little traces of yourself behind.

Not just in the notes you slipped into returned books, but in the soft, handwritten tags you began sliding beneath his recommendation shelf.

At first, they were small, almost shy—just a few words scrawled in the corner of an index card, barely noticeable unless someone was truly looking.

But Zayne noticed. Always.

“This one hurts in all the right ways.”

“Read if your soul is tired.”

And once—

“For Zayne.”

That one stayed with him the longest.

He found it tucked just beneath the worn copy of Norwegian Wood he had placed out that morning.

And the moment he saw those words—so simple, so personal—he felt the breath catch in his throat.

Like the air had grown too thick, like the space between you had suddenly narrowed into something unbearably intimate.

He never asked how you knew which books were from him.

He never had to.

Somehow, your heart always seemed to find what his had quietly left behind.

Those tags became a part of the shelf, a secret language only the two of you spoke.

And each one made his chest ache in the most tender, bittersweet way—because they weren’t just about the books anymore.

They were about understanding. About being seen.

And for someone like Zayne, who had always spoken best in silence and stories, it felt like falling in love without ever having to say the word.

And then—suddenly—you stopped.

No new checkouts. No returned books. No quiet notes tucked between the pages, no soft little tags beneath his shelf.

Just… silence.

A hollow kind that wrapped itself around Zayne’s chest and refused to let go.

He flipped through the library slip book again and again, hoping he’d missed something.

But your name—your name—hadn’t appeared in almost two weeks. And that absence, so small on paper, felt unbearable in reality.

Something wasn’t right.

The unease gnawed at him—restless and sharp.

You’d become a part of his world in ways he hadn’t realized until your presence slipped away like mist, and suddenly the quiet of the library felt colder, lonelier.

As though even the books missed you.

So he began looking.

Between classes, after closing hours—his gaze lingered at corners of the campus you might pass through, eyes searching, heart pulsing with quiet desperation.

And just when he thought he had imagined you into something too delicate for reality—

He found you.

Sitting beneath a tree in the far stretch of the campus field, where the sun filtered through the leaves and spilled golden light across the grass.

You were curled up with a book resting in your hands, its cover closed, your fingers still turning pages like you were searching for something within.

The expression on your face was distant, thoughtful, touched by something fragile.

Zayne hesitated, standing there for a moment, heart thudding like it was about to burst from the quiet he was about to shatter.

Then, for the first time, he stepped closer—not as the boy behind the counter, not as the name beneath your borrowed stories, but simply as himself.

And you looked up.

As if you knew he would come.

As if you’d been waiting.

“Took you long enough,” you said with a soft giggle, eyes warm as they met his.

Zayne stood there, breath caught, as you held the book out to him—its cover familiar yet unknown, as though it had always existed but waited for this moment to be seen.

“Here,” you murmured, placing it gently in his hands. “It’s for you.”

He looked down.

The title read: The Quiet Love I Found in the Library.

His fingers curled around the spine, the weight of the book grounding, reverent.

He said nothing—couldn’t.

But his eyes lifted to you, and in them was every note you had exchanged, every shared silence, every book passed between trembling hands and hopeful hearts.

The wind stirred the grass around you.

And in that quiet, unremarkable moment, everything changed.

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 23

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist] Content Warning: medical procedures; blood; mutual pining; jealousy: angst

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

You threw yourself into work like it could save you.

Every shift since the rooftop had blurred into the next—rounds, consults, trauma alerts, charting. You didn’t let yourself think for more than ten seconds at a time. There wasn’t room. Not for second-guessing, not for memory, and definitely not for Robby.

You didn’t avoid him exactly.

You just... didn't seek him out anymore.

Not in the way you used to, like muscle memory. Not with those quiet glances across the ER, not with that stupid internal pulse you pretended wasn’t real. It was easier now—he kept his distance, and so did you. Like some unspoken truce had been signed in that wind-lashed rooftop silence.

But the hurt still lived in your chest like broken glass.

And he still looked at you like you broke something he didn’t know how to fix.

You were between patients when you heard it—the low rumble of his voice from across the hallway. You didn't mean to look. But you did. Reflex, stupid and automatic.

Robby was looking at a chart, brows drawn together, his jaw tight as always. But beside him stood Collins, and the two of them were laughing at something on her screen. You couldn't hear what, but she leaned just a little too close. Her hand brushed his shoulder.

You turned away before your thoughts could spiral.

Fine. Whatever. You were over it.

You pivoted into Exam Room 2, finding your next patient—a good-looking guy in his mid-thirties, athletic build, T-shirt soaked in blood from a head wound. His smile was casual, easy, like none of this fazed him.

“Dr. Williams?” he asked, already smirking. “You’re not what I expected.”

You blinked. “Good or bad?”

“Definitely good.”

You gave a polite smile and moved toward the tray. “Let’s take care of that gash on your temple.”

He winced as you cleaned it. “Can’t believe I split it on a cabinet corner. I was rushing to get out of the house—should’ve slowed down.”

“Next time, maybe wear a helmet,” you offered, deadpan.

He laughed. “If it gets me back here with you, maybe I won’t.”

You didn’t react, at least not visibly. But from the corner of your eye, you caught movement through the small glass panel in the door.

Robby. Walking by. Slowing. Looking.

You didn’t meet his eyes.

The patient kept talking. “So, Doc… if I wanted to get this checked out over dinner instead, would that violate any ethical boundaries?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how head trauma follow-ups work,” you laughed.

“Shame,” he said. “Still—you can’t blame me for trying.”

You sutured him in silence after that. Focused. Professional.

But your stomach twisted, and you didn’t quite know why. ---------------------------------

You didn’t realize Robby was in the break room until you looked up from your cup of water, back to the wall. He didn’t speak. Neither did you. It was easier that way now—each of you occupied your own corner of the universe. Safer that way.

He watched you for a moment. “You’ve got a fan in Exam 2.”

You looked up slowly.

He shrugged like it didn’t matter, like it didn’t burn under his skin. “Guy with the head laceration. Seemed really... interested in you.”

“He was just being friendly.”

“Is that what that was?” His tone was sharp enough to cut through bone.

You set down your cup. “What are we doing here, Michael?”

He looked at you like you’d slapped him.

“You don’t want to talk,” you said. “You made that pretty clear. So don’t do this. Don’t watch me from across the room like you—”

“Like I what?” he snapped. “Like I still give a damn?”

Silence exploded between you.

Robby finally spoke. “You should go.”

You blinked. “What?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. “Guy’s clearly interested. And you’re single. No rules stopping you.”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission.”

“You don’t.” His voice was flat. “Have fun.”

You grabbed your water and left without looking back. ------------------------------------

You were charting in one of the quieter rooms. The ER had cooled down. The patients were thinning out. You told yourself the ache in your chest was exhaustion.

You didn’t expect to see Robby standing by the door, eyes locked on you.

But this time, you didn’t look away.

Neither did he.

He approached—slow, hesitant, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“Y/N.”

You hated how your name sounded on his lips. Like memory. Like something you might not get back.

“I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” he said quietly. “About... you dating someone.”

You said nothing.

“I was being an asshole.”

“That seems to be the theme lately,” you said.

His mouth tightened. “I’m trying.”

“Are you?” You looked up. “Because from here, it feels like you’re punishing me for something that I didn’t do.”

“I’m not punishing you.”

“Then what are you doing, Robby? Because one minute, you’re shutting me out and the next, you’re pissed that someone else notices me.”

His voice broke then. “I notice you.”

The words landed like a blow.

“I always have,” he said, softer. “And I didn’t know how to handle it. Especially now. Especially after... everything.”

You swallowed hard, eyes burning.

But before either of you could say more, the overhead speaker called a rapid response incoming.

You stood, grabbing your stethoscope, forcing steel into your spine. “I gotta go.”

You walked away before your hands could shake.

And behind you, Robby didn’t follow. Not yet.

[sorcerous-caress]

I'm so jealous of Daniil. Having only played the Haruspex route so far in both game, each time I'm invited to the Bachelor's place I turn green with envy at how he resides at an actual proper house with a real room and a real bed.

A real bed with a whole bedframe. A pillow with an actual pillowcase!! His bed even has sheets!

He has WINDOWS. His house is in a nice neighbourhood, and his roommate is a very attractive woman. There is actual furniture in his room. Not one hint of fungus growing on the walls or rust!

Can you imagine living there as your lair? Spending the whole game knowing you have a real house with a real bed to go back to at the end of each night? Seeing Eva's face every day before leaving to do quests?

Meanwhile, Artemy is stuck in this dumpster room of an abandoned factory. Cuddling with rats on his makeshift bed, held by nothing but a wooden panel, some boxes and a dream.

A pillow so yellow it has its own ecosystem where bugs established real estate. Is that even a pillow or is it some random rock Artemy found and chucked in there? Is it a stale loaf of bread?? Why is it hard looking?

But no, you don't even get to keep the rock roach pillow because in P2, they take it away.

Fuck you Artemy, you had it good for too long. No pillow now because what are you gonna do about it?. Fold your mattress instead to have a resemblance of a faux sense of protection under your most vital organ during the long hours of death rehearsal that you call sleep.

Somehow, they made the bed even more unstable looking. As if that thin panel in the middle could hold Artemy's weight without caving in. Oh, and apparently, I ran out of boxes to use for furniture because the bed and the table have to share custody of the same box.

We have downgraded into barrels now, as you can see :) No, I don't know what they used to contain inside.

Waking up every day to Sticky's snotty face telling me not to spit in the wind and nagging me about cleaning up the week-old human organs thrown around that are stinking up the place.

THERE IS MOLD GROWING ON MY WALLS. RUST FLAKES FALL FROM THE EXPOSED METAL PIPES DOWN INTO MY CEREAL EACH BREAKFAST.

This single wall holds so much mold and fungus that they started crossbreeding and evolved into new, never seen before types of bacteria. Satan's asscrack is more hygienic than whatever biohazard plagues of Egypt this slab of concrete contains.

I live in the gutters. My only neighbours are an illegal gang of minors with a hatred for furries and another illegal gang but of adults this time who sell me bullets way above the market price. A dangerous neighbourhood where you can't have shit because SOMEONE STOLE MY BULL.

The basement I reside in has no windows, the smell is pungent and fucking vile down here. There isn't even a space for a bathroom.

This is my kitchenette/bathroomette/showerette/cupboardette/surgery tools disinfection stationette/sinkette/watercoolerette/toilette/fridge.

also my buckets yk.

One bucket for the makeshift bathroom, another for holding important organs and loose guts during surgery, a third one as a cooking pot for making tasty meat grub soup and the final one for murky water after sweeping the floor.

What do I use to tell them apart? Oh nothing :) I just mix em up every now and then, oppsie daisy.

Oh and the floors are CONSTANTLY wet for some reason. Yeah sticky slipped and almost broke his neck the other day so watch your steps.

There is also this eerie room with literal garbage and broken furniture right next to the entrance. Don't worry about it, sometimes I hear someone crying and screaming for help when I'm trying to go to sleep but it's just the factory being silly lol.

Now this? This is where the M A G I C happens. This is where Artemy the Menkhu makes his famous herbal remedies and natural mixtures. This is where the Panacea for the infamous sand plague gets made!

In a rusty empty food can.

Falling into a bucket with shit stains.

MEDICINE BABBYYY. GET YOUR WEAK SOFT BONED ASS BACK TO THE CAPITAL BITCH, THIS IS HOW REAL MEN MAKE REAALLL MEDICINE!! RAWRRRRR🦅🦅💥💥

Meanwhile, dickovsky has the view of the cathedral and polyhedron just around the corner from where he resides. He has a backyard with a lake, and all I have is a swamp behind my basement. I trudge through the mud each night, collecting weeds and herbs to mix and trade so I and the two orphans who adopted themselves into my life don't go starving.

Not to mention the gaggles of herb brides loitering outside and giving me a false bad reputation.

That dandy douchbag has a pharmacy, a grocery, and a tailor right next door. The closest establishment to my shrekcore place of resident is a dingy basement bar with shady drinks and no bouncer to check for ID, I saw two kids in there once.

Pov: a qt3.14 surgeon says his dad isn't home and invites you over.

[arget-star]

That Old Familiar Lie

Sakura Haruka x F!Reader

Summary: After Sakura comes home from a tough fight, you wake up beside him and realize just how much you love him. Or, first time love confessions, lots of tears, and the good old waking up beside each other trope. (Sakura and reader are in their 20’s! He has graduated from Furin)

tags: fluff, mentions of knife wound but nothing graphic, mentions of blood, canon-typical injuries really, reader cries a lot, sakura cannot vocalize his feelings normally

a/n: ummmmm ch 169 made me fall in love with this series all over again and the look on his face in that panel is the cause of this. iykyk. title taken from the calendar, the energy (if this is you then woe is me) by matthew thiessen and the earthquakes

wc: 2.8k

You’re not sure what pulls you out of slumber. A strip of shifting sunlight filtering in through the gauzy curtains, maybe, or an unshakable urge to check in on Sakura. Last night’s fight was a rough one; he’d stumbled home early, blood-splattered and bruised, one suit sleeve torn. Vaguely, you recall dreaming about him and his dozens of small injuries. The details are hazy. Something about bleeding out on your couch while you fruitlessly applied pressure on the wound.

Slowly, you blink your eyes open, bleary gaze landing on Sakura’s still-sleeping form. Relief soothes the last rough edges of your nonsense dream. Good, you think. He needs his rest.

Sakura’s all loose curves in sleep—body slightly arched forward, left arm tucked underneath his head, legs bent at the knee. His right arm has migrated from also supporting his head to resting atop your waist. Black hair obscures his face, longer strands fluttering with each measured exhale from between parted lips.

The rest of your dream-induced worry fades as understanding sinks in: he’s alive and mostly in one piece.

A large white patch covers his right cheek. Smaller butterfly bandages mar his chin and nose. Your attention drifts down, following the slope of his shoulder, where a line of white peeks out from underneath the edge of his t-shirt sleeve.

While patching him up, he’d outline the broad strokes of last evening’s brawl. A group of men attending Pub Ougi’s show decided to prove they were still just as tough and rowdy as they’d been in high school. Bastards, Sakura had muttered as you cleaned his split knuckles. Thinkin’ they can impress people by actin’ shitty. Shoulda kicked ‘em out from the start.

A few rounds of beer did nothing to improve the situation, and by the time Roppo Ichiza finally stepped in to escort the former delinquents away, all hell broke loose. Nothing out of the ordinary, until one man pulled a knife. Not a small pocket knife, either, but the kind meant to cause serious harm.

You know Sakura’s line of work is dangerous. You know he’s fought tooth and nail his entire life. And you know he will handle whatever’s thrown his way. Yet sometimes, seeing the physical evidence of all he puts himself through makes your heart ache. What was he like, before the world told him he was wrong? Before he expected cruelty in place of kindness? How old was he when he was forced to place all his worth into his fists?

That casual heartlessness is something you’ll never understand. Loving Sakura is the easiest thing in the world.

Carefully, so as not to disturb him, you scoot closer, then wiggle your arm free from the weight of the blankets and his own limb. Sakura shifts, knees brushing yours, but doesn’t stir. You wait until he settles completely before reaching your hand up, fingertips tenderly sweeping soft strands of black hair off his forehead. A tiny cut reveals itself above his eyebrow.

The ache in your chest grows.

He’s so serene when he’s asleep. No tension creases his brow, no scowl curls his lips. It’s almost as if his body knows this is the only time he won’t have to fight for his existence. Your fingers still. Tears well unbidden along your lash line and you rapidly blink them away. This is far from the first time you’ve seen the injury-laden aftermath of a fight. Putting him back together has become a routine.

Perhaps your tears are a result of too many little things piling up—his casual nature about being injured, the soft, thoughtful way he looks at you when you’re applying antiseptic. The way his arm had curled around your waist before he drifted off, fingers twisting in the fabric of your shirt in silent gratitude.

Or, that little voice in your head whispers, in a plea to stay by his side.

You immediately push that voice aside. The very notion of breaking his heart by leaving is unthinkable. Despite your best efforts, a tear slips from the corner of your eye, dripping over the bridge of your nose and eventually into the hair at your temple. Mentally shaking yourself, you will the rest of the stupid tears away. The last thing Sakura needs right now is to wake up and find you crying.

So you force your fingers to resume their slow card through his hair. A few pieces refuse to lie flat, much like the two strands that perpetually stick up from his part. You hope he never loses those boyish casts to his features. It’s endearing, if a little heartbreaking, those final, clinging pieces of a lost childhood.

“I love you,” comes your soft whisper. Three words he most likely can’t hear in the land of the waking without turning a concerning shade of red. In his dreams, however, you hope his reaction is a bit less volatile.

Some minutes later, Sakura’s face scrunches. On instinct, your fingers still once more, allowing him time to register his surroundings as he rouses. A few heartbeats pass, and then his blue eye peels open, a piece of the post-dawn sky. “Good morning,” you say softly, lips twitching into a smile.

His cheeks, predictably, flush a delicate shade of pink, making the bandages stand out starkly in comparison. “Mornin’”, he returns, voice thick with sleep. “What’re ya doin’?”

The hand on your lower back has not moved, you note. His muscles remain loose, too, as if holding on to the last dregs of sleep. “Playing with your hair.” Honesty, when it comes to physical touch, is the best approach with him. Especially in regards to any physical features, such as his hair. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

His eyebrow twitches. Shock flickers like lightning across his expression. You begin retracting your hand, only for Sakura to make a noise of protest. “Ya don’t have to stop.” A pause. His blush darkens. “‘N quit worryin’. Didn’t wake me,” he assures without annoyance. Eye closing, he yawns, though you have a sneaking suspicion he’s faking it to hide the clear, desperate want for a loving touch so evident moments ago.

Normally, you’d almost laugh, but this time it just makes your throat tighten uncomfortably. You oblige with comment, idly twirling silken strands between your fingers. The faint scent of his shampoo wafts towards you. “How are you feeling?”

Both eyes open this time. You can just make out the glint of gold mostly obscured by white bangs, the sun bursting behind clouds. Before he can answer, a real yawn cuts him off—you can tell by the way his jaw cracks this time. “Fine.” Underneath the sheets, he stretches out his legs, uncurling his spine, then freezes, mouth pinching in a grimace. “….still sore.”

It strikes you with sudden clarity how incredibly lucky you are to see Sakura at his most vulnerable. More than that; to so utterly hold his trust that he no longer thinks twice about having you by his side. Emotion swells within you. “Fighting off drunkards in your sleep?” You tease, though your voice comes out slightly strained.

Sakura picks up on it. His hand tightens in your shirt, knuckles brushing against the notches along your spine. “What’s wrong?”

The intimacy in that question threatens to undo you. Even now, years removed from that emotionally scarred boy of fifteen, he often struggles with more in-depth conversations. Not from a lack of desire to have them; little experience coupled with the inability to articulate what he’s thinking without resorting to anger makes him easily frustrated. (In your heart, you understand the hurt little boy living inside his head expects a hostile reprimand for voicing his thoughts.)

Your bottom lip trembles. Panic makes him life his head, your hand dropping lifelessly onto the mattress between you. “Whuh—are you hurt? Why’re you cryin’?” Mistaking the cause, he quickly lifts his arm off your waist. Cool air rushes in, replacing his warmth, and now the tears spill.

Pushing yourself upright, you wipe frantically at your cheeks, tucking your knees up against your chest. “I-I’m sorry, Sakura,” you hiccup. “I was thinking about you, and the knife, and—” You sniffle, cutting yourself off. There’s more, of course, but it’s enough for him to deal with your sobs. Everything else can wait.

Sheets rustle as Sakura sits up as well, all traces of grogginess and lingering pain replaced with an earnest discomfort. You feel his eyes on you, sense his helplessness. “The knife?” He asks, like he barely remembers it himself. Like it’s of so little consequence, he can’t possibly imagine why that, of all things, would set you off.

Whatever it is, his question pulls a half laugh, half sob from your chest. He must think you’re going crazy; yet he scoots closer, hand alighting awkwardly on your shoulder. He’s trying. The small effort speaks volumes, your shoulders relaxing under his weight.

No one has ever cried over him—not like this, at least.

What does he even ay in this situation? He can’t fistfight whatever crazy thoughts are whirling around your head. “’M alright,” he eventually settles on, shrugging his right shoulder as if to prove it. “Hardly even stings.” (A lie; the bandages tug uncomfortably along the large scab on his bicep.)

Your body continues to shake. There’s no hint of that fond, exasperated smile you give him when you know he’s playing it cool. Sakura frowns; in his defense, it looked a hell of a lot worse than it felt. The image of your stricken face when he’d walked in, suit sleeve torn and stained red, flashes in his head. His frown deepens.

His thoughts feel sluggish—he’s in desperate need of another hour or so of sleep and a good, filling meal after. But your lack of response finally makes something click. Whatever’s causing this outburst is about more than just the knife wound.

Anything he can think to say or do feels woefully inadequate. With his free hand, he rubs the back of his neck, ignoring the discomfort radiating along his arm. What would you say? You make this shit look so easy. Cautiously, he pats your shoulder. “….I’m here. And…I’ll try bein’ more careful?” This last comes out like a question, his voice rising not because he’s lying, but because he’s unsure how to stem your flood of tears. Soothing people has never really been his strong suit.

Your breathing hitches. Peeling your head up, you stare at him, tears sticking to your bottom lashes. Sakura quickly averts his gaze, however, fingers dig into your shoulder in silent reassurance. It grounds you, oddly enough. With a rather loud sniff, you give him a watery smile.

“Promise?”

“Hah?” He fixes his attention on you, heterochromatic eyes flashing in the early morning sun. “If some bastard comes at me with a knife, I’ll try not to get hurt—” He stops. Shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts.

You watch those two strands of hair—one black, one white—at his part wobble with the motion. Your smile grows. Sakura clears his throat and starts over.

“I ain’t gonna stop runnin’ into fights. It’s my job, and I’m good at it. But I…I don’t like seein’ you upset, okay? So yeah, I promise I’ll try t’be more careful.”

Another tear slips down your cheek. Before you can rethink it, you lean forward, burying your head against his chest. A surprised noise escapes him and you imagine the confused look on his face. All that’s important right now, though, is the rapid beat of his heart underneath your ear and the knowledge that he understood what you didn’t say. You wrap your arms around him, willing yourself to calm down.

“Haruka,” you say, just as he’s slowly returning your embrace. He pauses. You hear him swallow.

“Yeah?”

After a deep inhale, you pull away enough to look at him directly. “…I know you do your best. I don’t care that you come home injured, so long as you come home.”

“Then—”

“It’s just hard seeing someone I love always hurt! I hate that for your entire life, you’ve had to fight!” You don’t mean to raise your voice. Sakura isn’t expecting it, either, blinking in the wake of your eruption. “S-sorry. I’ve never said anything because I don’t ever want to worry you.”

Sakura turns very, very still, an unreadable expression on his face. Red creeps up the tips of his ears, down along his throat, disappearing beneath his t-shirt. “Love?” He repeats carefully. Like he’s never said it before and only now can form the shape of it.

Someone loves him enough to cry when he gets hurt? How often do you sit on the worn couch, staring at the front door, wondering what state he’ll be in when he walks in? It’s almost too much for him to bear. He feels on the verge of tears himself.

Oh. You did say that part out loud, didn’t you? A slow nod as your own blotchy cheeks color a uniform pink.

“You—sayin’ that you—gah!” He pulls you into his chest, this time, resting his pointed chin atop your head. Distantly, you appreciate the fact he didn’t push you away so he could go hide while processing this little development. A tremor runs through him; you squeeze your arms ever so slightly. Just to let him know you’re not going anywhere.

He’ll never admit how grateful he is for the reminder.

“I’ve had to fight. It made me strong, ‘n now I can protect others who ain’t strong enough to do it themselves.” Sakura’s breathing heavily, pushing through the natural urge to run to instead offer you his heart on a silver platter. “I can keep you safe. So stop apologizin’ for feelin’ that way! ‘Cause I don’t wanna have anyone else patch me up, got it?”

In other words: I love you, too.

There’s no real outrage in his voice; it’s that old familiar defense mechanism roaring to life, ready to protect his tender heart should this all turn out to be some awful trick.

“Got it,” you reply through a sniffle. The uncurable ache taking root in your chest all morning finally subsides. It’s not gone altogether; a tiny piece of your worry and grief for the life he never had rests in a small corner of your heart, ready to bloom should you give it cause.

And that’s perfectly fine with you. You’ll never stop caring about those things, because you’ll never stop loving him. Tears slowed, you gradually disentangle yourself from his hold. Sakura releases you as well, and you think you detect a hint of relief in the way he leans back. There is only so much physical touch he can handle for a prolonged period of time.

You swipe at your cheeks, your nose. You should probably get up and wash your face, if only to allow him a moment’s peace from your emotions. That contemplative look he gets when rapidly sorting through his own thoughts is on his face.

“I mean it. I lo—”

He flinches, fisting the sheets in his hands, and you immediately bite back the words. Yikes; maybe you pushed him too far. You wait, patient, occasionally wiping away any straggling tears.

“I know you meant it,” he replies after some moments. “Jus’ not used to anyone sayin’ it.”

His throat works as he swallows. Now that you’ve calmed down, you wonder just what kind of memories you unintentionally dredged up. He’s never mentioned the tiny details of his life before Furin, and you’ve never asked. It doesn’t matter, anyway. You resist the urge to cup his cheeks.

Sakura used to long for someone like you. He’d pass by people on the street, hear them cheerfully profess their love to their kids, their partner, whoever was on the other end of their phone call. He always wondered how they could say stuff like that without thinking twice. It’s embarrassing, and never failed to make him want to crawl out of his skin, even while a piece of him wished he could be normal, like all those mushy people.

Now you’re here, and he flinches. And you just sit there, quiet, letting him work through all the bullshit he can’t quite shake, and he feels like he’s about to burst into a million pieces. A broken tightrope and a field of flowers flit across his mind’s eye. “Not mad ya did. Don’t know if I’ll get used to it, or when I’ll say the same. All I ask is….give me time.”

“Of course,” you breathe, nearly bursting into tears all over again. You want nothing more than to reach out for him, but he’s clearly reached his threshold for the time being. “I need to wash my face. After, I was thinking about pancakes for breakfast.”

“Yeah, sounds fine.” Amazing, how you can let him off the hook so simply. He releases his death grip on the sheets. On impulse—or possibly out of sheer human want—raises his arm and crosses the scant distance between you, thumb removing the last stubborn tear on your cheek.

As the heat of him seeps into you, you know with absolute certainty that you never need to hear him say those three words. He tells you in other, more important ways.

[bonus-links]

mandatory directors commentary ask because I’m absolutely obsessed with them <333 I just think it’s really cool seeing what you put into each update it’s so interesting :)

OKAY BUCKLE UP

a kind of important piece of context that's probably missing for this conversation wake and tetra have is that they were dating and broke up fairly recently. it felt awkward to shoehorn in a line about it but there u have it. anyway that's why wake feels the need to ask tetra to keep an eye on outset in the first place. like she'd actually say no.

did u know tetra has this image of the hero of time in her room on the ship? this worked out very well for me having that in frame hehe. it's also where the sun motif in the "we're cursed" panel comes from!

i like the idea that wearing big fancy earrings is a part of formal dress across all hylian cultures, and outset is no different! these particular ones wake is wearing are based on abalone shells which i think make really beautiful jewelry :-)

i just want to call attention to this relationship chart panel. wake doesn't even know that the first thing slate did was put a sword to wolf's neck. he doesn't know how right he is

this location is the top of ganondorf's tower. it's a little bit more of a symbolic image than a memory tho. fun fact, when you look at this location in noclip tetra is just standing there without her eyes loaded in. spooky stuff

okay, now onto the big one. the flood scene! this is in fact a vision Loft had of the original divine flood that created the Great Sea, and Loft is putting the pieces together. The one in the middle is actually wind waker's hyrule castle, not a temple like i've seen a few people guess. i had this really strong image in my head of the flood starting by pouring out of Hyrule Castle. does this make sense logistically, given the barrier we see around Hyrule Castle implies it was saved from the flood? maybe not, but I couldn't get the idea out of my head, so in the comic it goes

we don't ever seen WW's castle town in the game, so I actually used OOT's castle town as a reference. I just really needed a reference for this or else my head was gonna explode lol. that's also OOT's death mountain, which is mostly just there to show the spread of the flood.

this ending bit with the flood is kind of intended to be a continuation of the Farosh scene on the bridge. Loft is going to continue to have and be reminded of terrible visions of the future, and that anxiety he has around that isn't going to just go away. But I really wanted a scene where he acts on what Slate told him on the bridge— don't pity this place. He snaps himself out of it and chooses to join the party.

another note on that last panel lol, the person who's waving to him is Rose, the pig lady from the bonus comic!

alrighty I think that's all I got for now

[eufezco]

I CAN DO IT WITH A BROKEN HEART

bucky!winter soldier x fem!reader (kinda angst ig?) no use of y/n

based on the captain america: the winter soldier post credits scene because i loooooove it

omg this is my first time writing for something marvel related i hope you enjoy it, it's been so long since the last time i wrote anything so i'm sorry if it's kinda shitty 😭

He was looking at you and you were looking back at him.

Steve had refused to fight against him. He had dropped his shield from the ship and had surrendered to his old friend. You wished you could have done that so you would never have felt Bucky's hands around your throat trying to choke you to death nor his body over yours as his fists connected with your face once again.

But one of you had to fight him so that you two could get out of it alive, and if Steve didn't, you would.

Bucky's punches to Steve's face made you squirm in place as you tried to escape the beam that had fallen on you. If you didn't get out you feared that the beam would crush you or even worse, that Bucky would kill him. Steve was his mission after all and he was programmed to finish it.

You jumped on him when you managed to escape and freed Steve from the blows of his metal arm. Stay alive please you mumbled to your friend as he lay badly wounded, with one eye swollen shut and blood coming out of his nose. The last time you had seen him like that he was a small blond boy who had gotten into trouble in an alley with someone twice his size and you and Bucky had to come to his rescue. Now the trouble you had to save him from was Bucky himself and you were on your own.

Your whole body ached from fighting him and since beating him didn't work, you decided to try to make him see reason in another way. You called his name while you were trying to catch your breath, still with the sensation of his fingers closing around your throat. He looked at you full of rage while he tried to recompose from the hit that he had received from you. The name Bucky echoed in his head every time you repeated it, hurt him more than any kick or punch you gave him. The familiarity with that word made him feel sick in his stomach and more eager to fight you for making him feel that way.

You know me.

No, I don't!

Bucky, you've known me your whole life.

Shut up!

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. We were friends.

He held a defensive pose while his eyes glanced nervously all over the place and his chest rose and fell slowly as he tried to catch his breath. It was so familiar. Not only the name you kept repeating but also the way it sounded when you said it.

He was looking at you and you were looking back at him.

There was enough distance between the two of you so that you did not feel threatened by each other's presence. The Captain America Exhibit in Washington also had enough civilians to start another fight like the one on the ship.

He broke eye contact with you to look at the screen. He had seen your face somewhere on that big panel dedicated to who he was once. And there you were. When the text ended there was a sequence of pictures. He did not know who those men in the pictures were but he could see himself smiling with them.

But there you were. In the middle picture.

He was wearing his sergeant's uniform and you were wearing a dress. You could still remember his reaction when he saw you in that dress, how his eyes sparkled looking at you, how his lips curved into a smile every time you grabbed his hand and dragged him around the Stark Expo. Steve with his new camera captured the perfect moment. Bucky held you around the waist. Bucky was slightly leaning over you. Your faces were just inches apart but in the picture you both were laughing, you still heard the sound of his laughter every time you looked at the picture, as if it had not been almost seventy years since you last saw him. Your faces were just inches apart but there was no kiss.

And now there would never be a kiss.

How innocent you both looked in that picture. Neither of you knew how all your plans were going to be twisted, how only one of you two would be the one to remember that night. If someone had told you that night that Bucky was going to disappear from your life, you would have laughed in their face. If you had known you would have kissed him. You would have kissed Bucky until you were breathless, until you were tired of kissing each other if that was possible. But now you would never know because you both insisted on remaining friends until the end of the war not knowing that out of that war would come a much worse one.

The very hands you had trusted to hold you had tried to choke you to death. The same eyes that had gazed at you with such devotion had looked at you loaded with the strongest wrath in the world. The man you had loved the most did not recognize you and by the way he was looking at that panel with all his memories, he did not recognize himself either.

Bucky stared at the picture for a few seconds and then looked back at you. You were the same girl, only now with some bruises on your face, the marks of his fingers on your neck, and definitely not with the same smile as the girl in the picture. What had he done to you? What would the boy in that photo think about the person he had become?

You stood in place far from him. Since you had seen him you had not taken a single step forward. Neither the cap nor the long hair nor the jacket covering his metal arm could hide him from you. Not anymore. You went to the Captain America memorial looking for the comfort that the panel dedicated to Bucky brought you, he went there looking for answers. And you found each other.

[stxrrydreamss]

A piercing static buzz filled the air before Caleb’s voice broke through the chaos, heavy with an anger simmering just beneath the surface. Each word struck like a hammer, sharp and deliberate, revealing the tension that coiled within him, waiting to erupt.

“Where are you?”

He takes a moment to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he steadies himself. The air around him feels thick with tension, and he struggles to maintain a steady tone amidst the chaotic swirl of emotions coursing through him. Beads of sweat trickle down his forehead, and he clenches his fists, determined to project calmness despite the storm brewing inside.

“They took you. I shoulda been faster. I shoulda been there.”

There was a moment of quiet, heavy with anticipation, before the sharp clang of metal echoed through the room. Caleb struck something, sending it crashing against the wall. The impact reverberated, a reminder of the intensity simmering just beneath the surface.

“They don’t understand what they’ve done. They think this is just another mission. Another pawn to move. But you’re not a mission. You’re everything.”

The gentle, almost melodic hum of the aircrafts engine gradually intensifies, filling the air with a low, soothing vibration that resonates through the cramped metal confines. As the control panel lights shimmer to life, casting a warm glow across the cockpit, the vibrant sounds of whirring machinery and the rhythmic beeping of instruments blend together into a harmonious symphony, signaling that the journey is about to begin.

“I’m comin’ for you. I don’t care where they’re hidin’, how many locked doors or traps they’ve built around you. I will tear every one of them down.”

His voice drops in pitch, each word laced with unwavering determination and a steely edge. The intensity of his gaze matches the gravity in his tone, as if he is channeling all his conviction into this moment, reinforcing the promise behind his words.

“And when I find you… nothin’ will ever take you from me again.”

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

Plsss elaborate on ness

I’m going to assume it’s the part where I talked about Kaiser refusing to break up with anyone and Ness being the exception here…alright?

So let me just establish something first: I DO NOT SHIP, SUPPORT, NOR ENJOY KAINESS OR ANY SORT OF PHYSICALLY, MENTALLY, OR ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP. This will be a post through the eyes of a Kainess (and Kaisagi, for that matter) hater. Thank you for your cooperation and understanding.

To start off, I would just like to clear some misconceptions first. Kaiser and Ness do not care for each other genuinely. Kaiser is more obvious, as we are shown direct panels of him studying psychology in order to manipulate someone (Ch. 261), and Kaiser often treats Ness as a dog.

Ness, on the other hand, is more on the delusional side. He doesn’t actually realize that he is being used, and Ness’ so called “love” for Kaiser is only a result of the psychological manipulation that Kaiser has put him through so that Ness believes that Kaiser is his savior. It’s not affection, it’s abuse and gaslighting that no one deserves to go through.

I often see people pointing their grubby hands at the panel in chapter 243, when they are both in the shower. They say “look, Kaiser is smiling genuinely there, meaning that he cares about Ness!”, which is an extremely invalid and frankly bizarre assumption to make.

Assuming something from a panel from a manga, where everything is deliberately written and drawn, is a dangerous move. We don’t even know why Kaiser is smiling; it could be because he’s having fun, yes, but it can also be because he realizes that Ness has fully become his dog. We don’t know, and I think Nomura purposely left this vague, so I don’t think it’s fair to use this as evidence.

Now, onto the main course. I once said that Kaiser has attachment and abandonment issues, and I still stand by what I said. The attachment issues can be seen in his childhood ball, which is often seen dirty and constantly patched up. In the anime and official art, we see that Kaiser still keeps his old and beaten up soccer ball despite his currently wealthy life style, still emotionally attached to this ball despite his undesirable childhood. He is also unhealthily attached to soccer itself, as it brings him joy to crush other people’s lives. Joining Re Al aside, the reason he went to Blue Lock for the NEL was literally to crush Isagi because of Kaiser’s attachment to soccer.

His abandonment issues mainly stem from chapter 293. Kaiser had just told Ness to find a new king and that Ness wasn’t useful in his life anymore; and yet when Ness passed to Isagi, Kaiser screamed out Ness’ name in rage (the panel is hilarious btw). Kaiser’s actions contradicts his words to Ness, as the moment Ness (unintentionally) abandoned Kaiser, he was furious and frankly even a bit horrified, as his current state (as if 296) is nearly depressed.

As stated before, Kaiser doesn’t genuinely care for Ness; he cares about his talent. He got far too attached to Ness’ potential, and the moment he fumbled the bag and Ness (once again, unintentionally) abandoned him, Kaiser’s abandonment and attachment issues began to show. Kaiser’s words of breaking up with Ness in all those previous chapters was because of how emotionally constipated Kaiser is. He thinks that he doesn’t care about Ness as a whole instead of only not caring about Ness as a person. Due to this, he “broke up” with Ness due to his own miscalculations and emotional stupidity.

So basically, if it weren’t for the fact that Ness had potential, Kaiser would have discarded Ness a while ago.

[peterbscaprisweatpants]

my clients are down bad, your honour

[Image description: 2 screen caps show a full page then a half page of Venom (2018) #34. The first page shows a sequence of 4 panels with Eddie from the front, wearing only shorts, falling from a great height as the symbiote leaves his body. Each panel zooms in closer on Eddie, ending with an extreme close-up of his grimacing, crying face. The captions read:

Eddie: NO! DON'T LEAVE ME!

Symbiote: NO, EDDIE. YOU MUST LET GO. MUST LET IT TAKE YOU. I WILL FIND YOU, EDDIE. ALWAYS FIND YOU.

The second screen cap shows 3 panels of Eddie and the symbiote immediately upon being reunited. The symbiote envelopes Eddie's body, and, as they become Venom, we can see a smile from a close up on Eddie's mouth in profile, as well the Venom "logo" gleaming on their chest. The captions read:

Symbiote: KNULL! HE IS DISTRACTED IN THE WORLD ABOVE! FOUND YOU EDDIE!

Eddie: YOU... YOU BROKE FREE... YOU... FOUND ME....

Symbiote: ALWAYS. WE ARE TOGETHER AGAIN, EDDIE...

End image description.]