#you know the kind that's fragile and really easy to mess up

[multishipper-baby]

Also before I go to sleep, one more thought about the characters as animal people. Because If Onnie is a bunny and Jason is a snake... That has to be awkward.

[misswynters]

Jinx having a gf who’s touchy and affectionate

requested. @luc1dw0rld

Jinx’s hideout was always filled with chaos, half-finished inventions strewn across every surface, faint scorch marks on the walls, and the constant hum of machinery that never quite worked the way she wanted. But today, it felt different. Calmer, almost peaceful. It wasn’t because she’d finally decided to clean up the mess. She hadn’t. It was because of you.

You were sprawled out on her couch, an old, tattered thing she’d salvaged from a junkyard, but it felt like a throne whenever you were on it. Jinx sat cross-legged on the floor in front of you, tinkering with a grenade she’d been working on for days. Your legs dangled over the edge of the couch, and every so often, your foot brushed against her shoulder. Each touch, light as it was, sent a warmth through her that she didn’t know how to handle.

“Y’know, I think I’ve got this one right this time,” Jinx muttered, her tongue poking out as she focused on the tiny screws and wires in her hands. Her usual frenetic energy was dulled and her movements slower.

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” you said from above her. Your voice was soft, laced with the kind of unwavering confidence in her abilities that always made her stomach twist in unfamiliar ways.

She glanced up at you, her eyes wide and unguarded for a split second before she remembered herself and looked away. ���Pfft. Don’t go jinxin’ it, babe,” she said, forcing a smirk as she set the grenade down. But her voice lacked its usual sharp edge, softened by the way you were looking at her.

You slid off the couch and onto the floor beside her, your legs folding neatly under you. “Need help?” you asked, even though you both knew your technical skills couldn’t match hers. It didn’t matter. The question wasn’t really about the grenade.

Jinx tensed for a moment, her fingers twitching against her thighs. She wasn’t used to this. To someone just…being there. It was a different kind of tension, though. Not the kind that made her fingers itch for a trigger or her mind spiral into chaos. It was much softer.

“Nah, I’m good,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. But she didn’t move away when your hand rested lightly on her knee.

You smiled at her, that small, knowing smile that always made her feel like you could see straight through her defenses. “Alright,” you said, leaning back on your hands.

Jinx’s gaze flicked to your hand on her knee, then to your face. She could feel the weight of your affection in the smallest gestures. The way your fingers curled slightly, as if anchoring her in place. It was overwhelming and comforting all at once, a contradiction she couldn’t quite wrap her head around.

“You’re all…touchy, y’know that?” she said, trying for a teasing tone, but it came out softer than she intended.

“Does it bother you?” you asked, tilting your head.

Jinx hesitated, her fingers drumming against her leg in a rapid rhythm. “Nah. It’s just…weird. Not bad weird. Just…weird weird.”

You chuckled, the sound light and easy. “I’ll take weird weird.”

She watched as you leaned closer, your fingers brushing a stray strand of blue hair out of her face. The gesture was so gentle, so casual, it made her heart stutter. She wasn’t used to people touching her like this. As if she was something fragile, something worth handling with care.

“Why’re you always doing that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Doing what?”

“Touching me. Like…like that.”

You tilted your head, your expression soft but serious. “Because I love you, Jinx.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to do with them. Love wasn’t something she was good at. It was messy and complicated and full of things she didn’t understand. Whenever she was with you, her entire world felt simpler.

She looked away, her cheeks flushing a faint pink. “You’re such a sap,” she muttered, but there was no bite in her words.

“That means you like it,” you said, your voice teasing but warm.

She rolled her eyes, but the faint smile tugging at her lips gave her away. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”

You didn’t respond, just leaned closer until your forehead was resting against hers. Jinx froze, her breath catching in her throat. She could feel the heat of your skin, the steady rhythm of your breathing, and it was…nice.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice shaky but sincere. “Just…not used to this. Feels…weird.”

“Weird weird?”

“Yeah. But, like…good weird.”

You smiled, your hand slipping into hers. Her fingers twitched, hesitant at first, but then they tightened around yours. She didn’t say anything, but the way her grip lingered said more than words ever could. For a while, the two of you just sat there, her hand in yours, her forehead still pressed against yours. The chaos of the hideout faded into the background, replaced by a quiet that was rare for her. It wasn’t the kind of quiet that came with loneliness. It was the kind of quiet that felt safe. Jinx absolutely loved the time she would spend with you. You are her world.

banner. @anitalenia

[totallynotmina]

SAD BEAUTIFUL TRAGIC.

❝ kiss me, try to fix it. could you just try to listen? ❞

info. re6 leon 𝔁 fem reader. i wanna say reader is like helena's age maybe? it doesn't really matter. established relationship. very angsty with a bittersweet ending. leon's a mess ok but he swears he loves you. mentions of alcohol consumption/alcoholism. sfw, spare for a handful of somber, desperate kisses.

notes. i don't listen to taylor like i did when i was thirteen but this song is so ugh. reblogs & comments are always appreciated. <3

wc. 3.9k | ao3 link

You’d tried to fix him, as if stitching together the frayed edges of his soul could silence the storm inside him. But every attempt only left you more hollow, more desperate. His misery seeped into your home like an uninvited guest, a shadow that devoured the light, eroding the fragile moments you used to call happiness. Leon had become a ghost of the man you’d fallen for—present in body but distant, unreachable, and haunting in his silence.

The walls between you grew thicker with every passing day. Words, once tender and easy, had become brittle and sharp. No matter how far you reached, his touch always seemed just out of grasp, his warmth slipping further from your fingertips.

Your mother always said: never give more love than you receive. But she’d never prepared you for how impossible that would feel when the person you loved most was unraveling before your eyes. The weight of it all dragged you to new lows, a kind of emotional exhaustion that made your chest ache and your mind wonder when the dam would finally break—when you’d either stop loving him or lose yourself entirely.

The rain pattered insistently against the windows, the occasional rumble of thunder shaking the silence. When the front door clicked open, your heart jolted despite yourself. His heavy footsteps echoed in the stillness, as familiar as they were foreboding. You tried to focus on the book in your hands, but the words blurred, forgotten the second they hit your mind.

You didn’t need to look up to know. The way the air shifted, the subtle tension of his presence—it was Leon. You could already feel it, the simmering frustration he carried like a second skin.

Figures.

His keys clattered onto the console table, a metallic sound that cut through the quiet like an accusation. His bag followed with a dull thud, then the sigh—low, heavy, resigned. You looked up in time to catch the way his hair clung to his rain-soaked face, his boots kicked off haphazardly by the door.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes met yours, and you thought—hoped—he might smile. But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He couldn't even be bothered to spare you, his sweet girlfriend, a single glance.

“You’re home,” you murmured, stepping cautiously closer, your voice barely louder than the rain.

Leon hesitated, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came. The silence was a knife, sharp and cold, carving through the fragile hope you hadn’t yet managed to smother.

He flinched when you reached for his arm. That hurt most of all.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, his voice rough and distant, as if it was a chore.

“You didn’t,” you replied softly. “I couldn’t sleep. Not until I knew you were okay.”

His jaw tightened imperceptibly, baby blue eyes darting away in shame. Leon didn't want you to see how tired he looked, how the weight of his missions—or maybe the weight of everything—had stretched him thin.

"Is everything—"

"I'm fine." The words came too quickly, too curt. They were meant to end the conversation, but all they did was light a fresh spark of frustration in your chest. He brushed past you, his worn leather jacket hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

You picked it up with a quiet sigh, hanging it on the coat rack as if that small act of care might bridge the growing chasm between you. "You don't look fine," you said, keeping your tone gentle, almost cautious. Talking to your boyfriend shouldn't feel like tip-toeing around glass. Was it so wrong to be concerned about the man you loved so hopelessly?

Leon didn't answer. He collapsed onto the edge of couch, his elbows on his knees, calloused hands running through his semi-damp hair. His silence, albeit suffocating, spoke louder than words—another wall, another barrier he so intricately placed between the two of you.

"Leon," you tried again, siting beside him, voice trembling with the heavy load of everything you wanted to say. Trying to get a single, meaningful sentence out of Leon these days felt like pulling teeth. "Please, just talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about." His tone was clipped, but underneath the surface, you heard the slight crack, the exhaustion bleeding through the cracks. You could see it in the way Leon's eyes were half-lidded, the way he pinched the bridge of his nose, his fingers digging into his eyelids. The exasperated sigh he let out was the cherry on top.

You replied softly, equally as exhausted, "I'm not an idiot."

Finally, Leon snapped, like a rubber band pulled taut, "Why do you always have to push?" His tone was sharp enough to make you flinch—and you did. Regret flickered in his eyes almost instantly, but it wasn't enough to stop the sting. The slap had already been left on your poor cheek.

Why do you always have to push? His words repeat over and over again in your mind, like a broken record. 

That wasn't fair, you always gave Leon the space he deserved after his long, taxing missions, but tonight you were struggling to stay afloat. It wasn't fair to you, constantly playing nice even when he showed zero signs of changing any time soon. He had to realize that this wouldn't slide, not anymore.

And as much as it troubled your lovesick heart, if Leon wasn't willing to let you in, then he wasn't ready for a relationship. A healthy one, at least.

"Because I love you!" you cried, the words bursting out before you could stop them, raw and desperate. "Because I'm here, Leon, and I'm fucking trying, but you just won't let me in, no matter how hard I try. You just—" You stopped, swallowing thickly, trying to steady your cracking voice. "Y-You just keep shutting me out like I'm some stranger you couldn't give a damn about."

His shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him just as quickly as it had been triggered. Leon looked at you then, really looked, and for a moment, you thought he might finally say what you needed—no, deserved—to hear. But instead, he shook his head, sullen gaze falling to the carpeted floor.

"You don't get it." he said, barely above a whisper. "You couldn't."

Honestly, you'd prefer if Leon had kept his mouth shut. Not a single word of reassurance, or an I love you too, baby. The sickening, heavy weight of his cruel sentiment settled deep in your bones, nearly rattling you in place.

"That's not fair," you bit down on your bottom lip, a poor attempt at keeping your composure. "Maybe I don't understand everything you've been through, but I'm here for you because I love you," pathetic, so pathetic, "and I want to help. Why won't you let me? Why do you insist on wallowing in your own misery?"

Leon stood abruptly, his movements sharp, restless. "Because it's not that simple." Just the way he said that made you feel stupid. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Every time I leave, I don't know if I'll come back," he stared directly at you, burning holes into your own eyes, "And when I do, I'm not the same. I can't give you what you want. I don't know how."

Tears dewed your lash line, "Then learn," you pleaded, standing up and grabbing ahold of his hand. "If you love me, if you really care...then try. That's all I want." If only he knew how much it killed you to watch him fall apart while he kept you at an arm's length.

With a sharp sigh, he scowled, "I am trying," his tone was terse, cold. "Can't you see that? Can't you see how hard it is for me to come home and pretend everything's okay when it's really not?" Leon scoffed in disbelief. Fucking fantastic. After a barely surviving a demanding mission that sucked the soul out of him, now he was arguing with his girlfriend that didn't have the slightest idea of the things he witnessed.

The look of pure anguish on your pretty face tugged at Leon's heartstrings. The little pout, most of all. Poor you looked so shaken up, unable to utter a single word in response. "You deserve someone who can give you something better than this, baby." He freed his hand from your grasp, and brought it up to your cheek, his thumb stroking over the soft skin. You leaned into his touch instinctively.

But you still relented, "You don't get to decide that for me, Leon. You don't get to push me away because you think it's easier." Your hand clasped over his, moving it away from your cheek and back down to his side. His lips part.

“Is this about her?” you then asked, the bitterness oozing into your gentle tone before you could stop it.

As if his night couldn't get any worse...He knew exactly who you were talking about, and it made his blood boil.

Leon blinked, his brows furrowing. "What?"

Feigning ignorance. Classic. An insult to your intelligence, really.

“Ada.” You hated the salty way the name tasted on your tongue. “Is that why you’re like this? Because she’s still in your head? Or because you think I’ll never measure up to her?” 

You didn’t need Leon to answer that; the thought alone was enough to unravel you. Ada was everything you weren’t—dangerous, intoxicating, unattainable. She moved through the world like she owned it, all sharp smiles and quiet confidence, the kind of woman who left destruction in her wake but made you thank her for it anyway.

She didn’t ask for love; she demanded it, consumed it, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. How could you, with your soft edges and wide-open heart, ever hope to compare? You weren’t a storm—just the aftermath, picking up the pieces she’d shattered. If anything, you felt like some naïve, wide-eyed child who had no perception of the real world—you could never hold a candle to her.

Leon's face twisted, a flicker of anger lighting his tired eyes. "Don't even go there," he seethed, "This has nothing to do with her. This is about me, and my problems." Funny how he'd gotten so defensive all of a sudden.

"Isn't it, though?" you challenged, matching his tone. "Because it feels like I've been fighting ghosts since the moment we met. I don't— I don't even know if you're really here with me, or if part of you is still chasing after her."

You got him there. "That's not fair," Leon said, his voice low but icy. He wasn't outright denying anything, much to your dismay. Nausea churned in your stomach at the thought him truly still loving her. The fact that you couldn't even blame him either made it all the more painful.

"Fair?" you echoed, frustration coursing hotly through your veins. "No, you know what isn't fair, Leon? Loving someone who's too scared to let me in. Someone who would rather run far, far away from me than let their guard down." It was getting harder and harder to suppress your tears, and Leon noticed.

God, Leon felt so sick. How the fuck was he supposed to fix this now?

Before he got the chance to say something in response—as if he had anything to say—you continued your siege, "You don't get to keep doing this. You don't get to keep pushing me away and shutting me out and then expecting me to stay with open arms." And legs.

His lips parted, but whatever words he had to say succumbed to their death, strangling his throat, before they could even reach you. A single tear rolled down your cheek, finally slipping free.

"I can't do this right now." you whimpered, shaking your head in disbelief and backing away from him.

"Wait—" But you were already retreating towards your shared bedroom, the door clicking shut behind you, quiet but final. Leon stood frozen in the middle of the dimly lit living room, staring at the empty space where you had been pouring your heart just moments ago.

And you were gone. Out of sight, but the sound of your sobs and cries echoed throughout the small apartment.

Leon ran a shaky hand through his hair, letting out a shuddering breath. He felt deflated, even more drained and tired than he initially had when he first stepped through the front door. The storm outside raged on, thunder rumbling in the distance, but the silence that enveloped the place felt heavier. Suffocating.

His gaze drifted towards the kitchen, eyeing a specific cabinet. Leon knew he shouldn't—knew you hated it when he turned to the bottle instead of you—but the ache in his chest was unbearable.

He needed something, anything, to dull the edges of his agonizing guilt.

His hands still trembled as he poured a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the faint glow of the lamp. Leon stared at it for a long moment, trying to find the strength to resist—and he almost did, almost poured the poison down the drain.

But then, like always, he brought the glass up to his lips, and took a slow, deliberate sip, swallowing it down neat. The burn was familiar, grounding, but it did little to quell the thoughts racing through his mind. He'd never felt so pathetic, so miserable in his entire life.

You deserved better than this. Better than him.

"I've been fighting ghosts since the moment we met."

You were right. Damn it, you were right. Leon had been so caught up in his own head, caught in a quicksand of despair, that he didn't even realize he was doing exactly what he feared most—dragging you into his own mess. He was tearing you apart at the seams, stitch by stitch, without even realizing it.

That wasn't even the half of it, though. Ada. He hated that her name had come up, hated that she still lingered like a dark, looming shadow, haunting the spaces between you with a coy smile on her red lips. But the thing is, you weren't her. You weren't some fleeting, elusive dream. You were real, here, and you loved him despite all the reasons he thought you shouldn't.

The drink wasn't helping. If anything, it only heightened the feelings of remorse. With a frustrated sigh, Leon set the empty glass down with a thud, and scrubbed a calloused hand over his face. He decided doing some paperwork might do a better job at keeping his mind off things.

Fast forward an hour, and it in fact, had not helped him. Not even in the slightest. He groaned, slumping over his desk and burying his face in his hands, an air of weariness surrounding him like a thick, stormy cloud. Leon sat in the quiet, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him until he couldn't take it anymore. He stood up from his swivel chair, and head straight over to the sweetest girl he knew.

His steps were slow and prudent, as if each step towards the bedroom door was a battle in itself, a march to the guillotine. Leon hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob, before swallowing his pride and finally knocking softly.

"...It's me, baby." Who else would it be? He mentally chastised himself for sounding so pitiful. "Can I come in?"

There was a long beat of silence from your end. Leon almost thought you might not answer. He wouldn't be mad if you didn't. But then came your precious voice, muffled and tired. "The door's not locked."

Cautiously, Leon pushed it open, his heart was pounding in the confines of his chest—like he'd drunk an entire pot of coffee—as he stepped inside the bedroom. You were sitting on the floor cross-legged, back against the foot of your bed. Your arms were wrapped around your body, as if you were holding yourself together, afraid of collapsing like a house of cards caught in a gust of wind.

Christ, the sight nearly tore Leon apart; he couldn't even begin to imagine how you were feeling.

"Hey, sweet thing," he said softly, unsure of where to begin. He strode towards you, kneeling down to your level, and brought a hand up to stroke your tear-stained cheek. You grimaced. "I...I wanted to talk. Apologize."

You, however, didn't say anything in response, didn't lean into his touch like you always did. You even refused to meet his gaze, unsurprisingly. It hurt Leon nonetheless, but at least you weren't frantically kicking him out. He took that as permission to continue.

"I'm sorry," his voice was thick with remorse and shame, "For what I said earlier. For...everything, really. I didn't mean any of it."

"You didn't mean it, or you didn't mean to say it out loud." Ouch.

Leon winced, the words hitting him harder than he expected, like a bitch slap right across the face. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he pleaded, "Jesus, I could never. I was—" he stopped himself, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair. "I've been an ass. Taking all my shit out on you when you've done nothing but try to help me."

Finally, your bloodshot eyes meet his, sharp but wounded. "You think an apology fixes this? Think it erases the way you've been shutting me out, making me feel like I'm not enough for you?" you hissed bitterly, swatting his hand away from your face like an obnoxious mosquito. Leon swallowed thickly, backing up a bit.

"No, of course not," he shook his head. "I know it doesn't. I just...I just don't know how to do this."

"Do what?" you asked. "Let someone love you?"

"Yeah," Leon admitted, feeling like an open wound. "That. Letting someone in, it...it scares me, baby. I can't help it."

You stared at him for a long moment. He could see the war in your eyes—the hurt battling against the love you still hopelessly felt for him. "I don't need you to be perfect, Leon. I just need you to try. To meet me halfway." It was the least he could, wasn't it?

"I want to. I will. I just...I need you to know that I love you, even when I'm too much of a coward to show it. I love you. And I'm sorry for making you feel like that isn't true."

For a fraction of a second, Leon thought he'd won you over, mended your shattered heart, and that things would go back to normal, like when you first started seeing each other. However, that hope crumbled the moment you didn't kiss him back, his chapped lips lingering awkwardly over yours. He pulled away in shame.

"No, Leon." You wiped at your eyes, frustrated by the tears you couldn't hold back, streaming hotly down your cheeks. "You don't get to say you're sorry and just expect me to forget how much this has been hurting me." The lovelorn, sick part of you just wanted to accept his semi-sincere apology and move on with your life, but the more self-respecting half had overpowered that desire.

"You kiss me, try to fix it. But you never listen." you swallowed hard, taking a moment to gather your restless thoughts. "Don't tell me you're scared, or that you're broken, or whatever excuse you think I'm going to forgive this time. Because I know you're hurting, Leon. I know you've been through hell. But I'm here," your voice cracked, embarrassment crawling up your neck, "I always have been."

"Just please...stop making me feel so fucking stupid for staying. Like I'm wasting my time loving someone who doesn't even want to be loved."

Leon didn't even know what to say in response to that. His mouth dried uncomfortably, paralyzed by the impact of your desperate words. Again, like always, you were right. He didn't have a single thing to defend himself, because he really was in the wrong, trapped in a mire of hopelessness. It was oozing its dirty self into his relationship, tainting the one good thing he had in his godforsaken life.

So, he could only whisper, "You're right." His arms wrapped around your frame, caging you in effectively. You didn't protest against his embrace, making the most of the warmth and comfort it spread through your frigid bones. "I am so, so sorry," he mumbled, his hand cradling the back of your head, holding you close to his chest.

"I need you, sweetheart, more than I've needed anyone. You're the light of my fucking life, I just...I don't know how to be the man you deserve." Leon pressed desperate, frantic kisses against your forehead, then to your cheeks, tasting your salty tears on his lips.

"But I'll try, for you. I swear to God, I'll try." The crack in his voice was unmistakable. It tore you to shreds.

Against your better judgment, against all the hurt and anger that simmered beneath the surface, you pulled back a bit, enough to see the forlorn, crestfallen look that etched itself into Leon's jaded features, then to notice your tears that had stained his t-shirt. You bit the corner of your lip, a feeble attempt at suppressing your sobs, you then leaned in, lips capturing his in a kiss that was neither soft nor forgiving.

It was desperate, messy, and filled with everything the two of you couldn't say. All the love, the pain, the hope you somehow hadn't given up on yet. His tongue slipped past the crack of your lips, hands roughly gripping onto your thighs and coaxing you onto his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist. Teeth clicked against one another, noses bumping into the other's cheek, foreheads pressed tightly. His stubble scratched your soft skin deliciously.

"You're all I have left," Leon murmured breathlessly between kisses, his voice thick with a maelstrom of emotions, the rawness of his confession hanging heavily in the charged air. His hands smoothed up your figure, finding purchase in your hair as he pulled you closer; he thought you might vanish if he let go, even for a moment.

You melted against him, like butter, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, trying to tether yourself to this moment—to him. Leon's lips tasted of something bittersweet—maybe cinnamon—the kiss holding a desperation that bordered on aching, as if he was trying to pour every unspoken apology and feeling into it.

A single tear rolled down Leon's flushed cheeks as you pulled away for air, forehead resting against his. His breath was warm against your lips, a sign he was real and right next to you. That this wasn't some dream, but reality.

Probably not the time, nor the place, but Leon was so fucking pretty when he cried.

You brought your hand up, the soft pad of your thumb stroking it away. He leaned into your gentle touch like a kicked puppy, pressing a soft kiss against the tip of your thumb as it brushed over his bottom lip.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered, the words barely audible but so full of meaning it made your chest ache, "but I don't know how to let you go."

[neuvistar]

FRAGILE.

— featuring ┊neuvillette x fem!reader

— warnings / content warnings ┊all consensual. not proofread cuz i’m tired, he’s in his dragon form(?) in this one guys! tiny bit of oral (f!receiving), size k!nk if u squint, TIIINY bit of vaginal finger!ng, he has two here if ykwim, dirty talk, implied double penetration, overstimulation(?) perhaps, overall suggestive content. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

— a/n ┊daaadddyyyy’s home!! (satoru gojo omg) maryse is writing again giys! i hope this is fine, i’ll try my best 2 come back n start writing for hsr n jjk! i know i have a plan for poly jingren x reader so stay tuned for that! (hehe)

tags: @yanqingisim @hiraethsdesires

HUMANS SURE ARE FRAGILE.. neuvillettte thinks. he thinks it’s adorable just how easily enough you come whenever you both have.. alone time. he thinks it’s adorable just how quick you can come with simple intimate acts! like.. the help of his two fingers curling inside your drenched pussy. it’s embarrassing really.. it’s embarrassing how hard he gets from listening to your moans and cries of his name, palming himself through his pants while his fingers worked absolutely wonders on you.

“ah.. you came already.” he murmured against your ear, taking in the sounds of your low sighs and whimpers as your hands clutched onto his dragon horns for dear life, legs shaking one last time when he plunged his fingers into you once more.. immediately forcing another orgasm out of you. “what a mess.. you impress me everyday with how quick you can come from my fingers alone, love. do you really enjoy this that much?”

HUMANS SURE ARE FRAGILE.. neuvillette thinks. he’s afraid he’ll break you so easily just like glass, neuvillette’s touches and caresses are enough to put you in a daze, they’re.. just so gentle, they hold so much feeling in them, so much that you could almost feel his love. his caresses and touches.. even the slightest ones, carry so much emotion in them.. so much admiration, love for you and only you.

“easy there, take it easy.” he pressed a chaste kiss to your neck while he ran his fingers all over your skin as an attempt to calm you down as you rode him for the first time in his dragon form.. tears almost forming from your eyes as filthy whines left your lips, using his horns for support.. lowering yourself down.. and up. keeping a good rhythm and pace. the long haired male groaned at the sudden action, your hands on his horns weren’t easy to ignore that’s for sure. “easy, love.. easy. there.. that’s good,” he praised, pinching your nipple ever so gently. “good girl. take it easy, don’t force yourself.”

HUMANS SURE ARE FRAGILE.. neuvillette thinks. he thinks it’s cute how much your body shakes from his tongue, it was.. a sight to behold seeing just how wet you were. the more he ate you out, the more he wanted to pleasure you. he took his time, licking at all the right places while his oddly long tongue plunged itself in and out of you, gazing up to you with those puppy yet kind eyes of his. oh how easily he’s got your thighs pinned down, lapping down at your juices.. tongue curling itself inside of your soaking wet heat while your hands tighten it’s grip on his horns. “a—archons.. neuvi.. neuvi please!” your hands on his horns helped you push him down further into your pussy, bucking your hips against his mouth to feel more of his tongue against your juices

he loved it. neuvillette loves how easily you fall apart from his tongue alone, constant noises of slurping and soft groans filling the room as he tried other methods to pleasure you, his nails almost cutting through your skin from how tightly he was gripping onto your thighs.

HUMANS SURE ARE FRAGILE.. neuvillette thinks. you’re so fragile.. humans are. he thinks that one wrong move, he’ll break you in a millisecond. neuvillette holds you as if he was a little boy protecting a new toy he just got, like i said.. his touches and caresses are gentle.. afraid to hurt you even the slightest. he thinks it’s fascinating how fast your cunt sucks him in, clenching around one of his cocks while the other slowly but steadily rubs against your slit. he thinks it’s fascinating how much you squirm, as fragile as you are.. he really does try his best to go slowly for your sake, his huge cock rubbing against your insides like it’s nothing, going deeper and deeper the more he hears the breathy moans leaving your pretty lips.

“is this.. alright, my love? i’m not hurting you now, am i?” you almost couldn’t even hear him from how good it felt.. you nodded eagerly as a response.. you couldn’t speak no matter how hard you tried. every-time you did, you would end up focusing on the bulge that appeared on your belly instead. humans are fragile.. and interesting, he thinks he would put his hand over the bulge that always appeared on your stomach every single time he fucks you good, applying pressure and pressing his hand down over it.. feeling himself going in and out of you. neuvillette really does tries his best to go slow, savouring the moment as much as he can.. but his focus are always set on how much of a size difference you both have.. he wonders just how much more your body can take him, are humans really that fragile as others presume?

HUMANS SURE ARE FRAGILE.. neuvillette thinks. neuvillette thinks it’s cute how much your body shakes in his hold after fucking your brains out nonstop, he finds it absolutely surprising just how good you can take both of his cocks inside of you.. at the same time in the same hole. he thinks it’s fascinating how much a human can come in such short amount of time.. he finds it fascinating just how easily your juices coat his dick with white.. he finds it sexy how bloated your stomach can become whenever he fucks his cum back into your hole, the disgusting sounds of squelching was all that could ring through your ears.. overstimulating your body as he can’t get enough of you. rubbing your clit with his thumb while your inner thighs are covered in stickiness, but it’s still not enough for him.

“one m—more please, darling.. one more.. i need more of you.. archons..” his breath was heavy, he thinks it’s amazing that you could take two of his cocks at once, he just.. can’t seem to figure out how you do it! it’s so fascinating! with neuvillette pinning your knees down on each side of your head.. the pleasure becomes more and more intense. his two cocks bullying themselves more deeper into you, he just can’t get enough of it! your overstimulated body trembled in his touch, countless orgasms coming again and again.. sending electricity to the rest of your veins. your legs shivering when he came inside once more.. filling you up to the brim until it dripped down your sweet skin.

hmm.. maybe humans aren’t so fragile after all.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Angstober (day 16)

Pairing: Tfatws!Bucky x Shield!Reader

Prompt: No one else to turn to

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, fainting

Author’s note: I'm a little behind with the fics but I'm trying my best! Hope you enjoy :)

Angstober Masterlist

This is ironic, really.

Downright absurd. Laughable.

You’re just not in the position to laugh, or even crack the semblance of a smile. Your face feels stiff, evidently held together by a fragile patchwork of cuts and bruises that might split open at the slightest twitch. Not that you’d want to smile, even if you could.

You had assured Sam that you’d be fine to drive yourself back home after landing back on base about 25 minutes before. There actually had been a genuine belief that you’d be able to make it, so you told him all you needed was a hot shower to wash away all the blood and some rest, ignoring the wary looks of Sam as he watched you drive off.

Well, turns out it was a bad idea.

A terrible idea, considering the door you find yourself standing in front of right now. You don’t even know if he’s home. For all you know, he could be drowning whatever’s left of his sanity in some bar, down some street.

And even if he is here, he has every right to slam this door right back in your face. Perhaps after giving you the I told you so speech.

But in your defense, you really thought this mission would be simple. Sam and you both had thought so. It was supposed to be one of those in-and-out deals. But of course, it’s always those easy missions that turn ugly in a matter of seconds, spiraling into a slaughter that neither of you was ready for.

But hell, you even guessed Bucky saw that coming. Maybe that’s why he was so determined to join you two, but Sam and you declined immediately, insisting on sparing him the confrontation. After all, it was supposed to be a quick cleanup. Hydra remnants scattered like dust, nothing worth dragging Bucky back into that mess for.

So, Sam and you both figured he’d be better off staying behind, working with Torres on whatever else needed doing.

You’re glad you held back the comment about him hindering you on this mission by perhaps a disturbing memory or some shit. That wouldn’t have helped your current situation at all. And you did think it would have been a little harsh. Even for the bickering kind of relationship the two of you have.

Bucky wasn’t having any of that. He was ready to suit up and follow you into the fray, whether you wanted him there or not. Though, Sam and you took off before he could even strap on his gear. Simple, clean.

Predictably, that would definitely leave him in a foul mood. But to be real, grumpy isn’t new for Bucky. Actually, you only ever saw his expression soften when he was lost in thought, so lost he didn’t even notice you watching him. Or perhaps in that moment he really didn’t care.

Still, that irritable look seems to be his default setting. And, to be honest, perhaps he doesn’t even care enough to even be mad. You aren’t friends. Hell, you wouldn’t even call him an acquaintance.

You two are more like tolerated inconveniences for each other, sparse conversations always laced with sarcasm and banter. You doubt he sees you as anything other than a nuisance - someone always getting under his skin with your remarks.

So, you are well aware you really don’t have any business standing in front of his door, blood drying on your skin, looking like death warmed over.

But that’s the problem. You don’t have a choice. Because there is no way you’re making the 20 minutes to your apartment. You also won’t make it back to the base. Not to mention that driving in this state will not only endanger you, but rather the traffic around you. You're already feeling the blackness that tries to seep into your irises, pulling at your consciousness, threatening to drag you under, making you pass out before you’d even hit the halfway mark. And you don’t have anyone to blame but your stubborn self.

Bucky is your only option and you also start running out of time, the longer you linger outside his apartment, scared to knock. Terrified to do anything. You begin to sway on your feet. The longer you hesitate, the harder it gets to stay upright, and passing out on his doorstep for him to find you is perhaps even more embarrassing than this already is.

With trembling muscles, you try to lift your hand. Knocking on a door shouldn’t take this much effort, but it feels like it’s costing you everything. You’re burning energy you don’t have, and it’s starting to show.

Your hesitation seems to have been for nothing since there’s no answer after your knock. The only thing you hear is the blood rushing through your ears and your heartbeat loudly pounding against your ribcage, almost like a warning.

Another knock. It saps what little strength you have left. Your breathing grows heavier, more ragged, each inhale feeling like a sharp stab. There is a tightness in your chest that could be an indication something inside you might have torn, making it impossible to get in enough air.

The apartment behind the door is still silent.

You lean your forehead against the rough wood, the coolness grounding you for a moment. It’s as close to a third knock as you can manage. Your eyes slip closed for just a second too long.

“Barnes?” He surely wouldn’t be able to pick that up without his enhanced hearing. “It’s me.”

You’re not even sure what to say; not sure what you can say that will get him to open the door. But your thoughts are starting to slow, each one taking longer to form than the last. The blood loss is getting to you, causing every joint to feel like it’s rusting over.

“Are you home?” you murmur, a faint laugh caught in your throat at how stupid it sounds.

For a moment you think you hear something, perhaps a faint shuffle from the other side of the door. But your brain is swimming in exhaustion and pain, and it could easily be your mind playing tricks on you, teasing you with false hope. Maybe you didn’t even give him enough time to get to the door. You have no idea how long you’ve been standing here - standing might be too strong of a term by now.

Time is slippery in moments like these, hard to grasp, impossible to track.

A heavy and burning sigh falls from your lips, dragging your chest down with it. You push yourself off the door with a struggle that tears at your skin, shaking your head at your own stupidity. You’re not sure if your head even followed through with the movement.

You shouldn’t have believed for a second that he’d be around, or that he’d care if he was.

You attempt to step away, aiming for the staircase, but it seems your body isn’t in the mood to listen to any signal from your brain at all. Your foot catches on itself, and before you know it, you stumble, crashing into the wall beside his door with a loud thud. A pained groan forces its way out of you, the impact shooting excruciating vibrations through your body, curling into every nerve like they’re planning to stay. You press a hand to your side, movements not entirely your own, but it does nothing to soothe the ache.

You curse under your breath, or at least you think you do, eyes fluttering dangerously. You’re not sure how much longer your feet will carry you. Are you even still standing at all?

Muffled curses break through the rushing sound in your ears, blending into the tumultuous pulse of your own blood pounding in your head. They don’t seem to come from you though.

“Fucking hell, Y/n.”

All you can manage in response is another weak groan.

Before you can fully process what’s happening and where that frustrated voice came from, you feel strong arms wrap around you, lifting you effortlessly into the air. Insanely enough, a surge of exhilaration bubbles in your belly and you feel weightless for a moment, like you’re floating in some strange void that’s just barely tethering you to reality but still keeping a strong grasp on you.

The sensation is short-lived and you almost let out a whine. Not at all from the pain. You’re lowered onto something softer than you guessed the floor would feel like, cushions beneath your back. You try to wrap your head around how that could have happened.

That weight returns. The hands around you, however, don’t leave you. Your thoughts are sluggish and trying to focus on anything is an effort you’re not able to keep up with. Your vision is a spinning blur, dizzy head trying to make sense of your situation, but you can feel the tender press of the back of a hand on your forehead, checking for something you can’t quite grasp.

Blue. That’s the first thing your mind manages to hang on to. A vivid, piercing shade of blue. But it’s not just color. It’s wrapped up in something deeper. Emotions, swirling and twirling, so heavy it almost hurts to look at. The sight alone drags another groan out of you, low and pained.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. Just hold tight, you hear me? I got you.”

Wait.

You know that voice. Rough around the edges, always carrying a certain weight, but now laced with something you don’t recognize. Those eyes on you - the blue ones - you know those, too. Of course, you do. But there is something new, something like panic flooding them, you never thought you’d see in Bucky Barnes.

“Barnes?” The word barely falls from your lips, more of a croak than anything, but it’s enough. He was home. He heard you. He carried you inside.

There is something stirring inside of you, a warmth threading through the pain. Relief, maybe, or something close to it. You know Bucky and you have your problems sometimes but hell you never doubted him being the good man he is.

“Yes, it’s me,” he murmurs, so soft, you want to lay in it. Bathing in the gentleness of his voice, getting rid of the blood and pain your body holds. “Try not to talk, alright? There are some nasty bruises around your neck. You gotta go easy on your voice.”

You hum in response, the sound barely more than a soft but uncomfortable vibration in your throat. His words slide through your mind like shadows, half-formed and hard to grasp, but you understand enough.

There’s the sound of clattering around you, hurried shuffling of hands working beside you, perhaps on you, somewhere nearby. But instead of jarring you, it’s comforting, like white noise. It lulls you deeper into the fog.

Suddenly, his voice cuts through it all, sharp and urgent.

“Hey!”

It startles you. Your eyes snap open - you didn’t know they closed in the first place - body jerking from the force of his tone.

His face looms closer, those blue eyes boring into yours, pinning you down with an intensity you can’t ignore.

“I’m sorry, Y/n, but you have to keep your eyes open. You hear me?” His voice trembles in a way you never heard, and that - more than anything - forces your mind back to the surface, your eyes clearing just enough to make him out.

It’s disorienting, seeing Bucky like this. Surprising. He moves in a way that almost associates incoordination, a frantic energy surrounding him. There is something off about the way he handles himself, the way his hands fumble with supplies, clattering objects that should have stayed silent. It’s startling, unsettling even. Bucky Barnes is a man in control. Just not right now.

His hands return to your body, his touch firm and still tender, but there is a shakiness in them as his fingers skim over your torn-up skin.

He’s pressing gently where he can, wincing as if it’s him in pain every time you flinch. The fabric of your slightly torn suit sticks to your body, and he curses softly under his breath, grabbing a pair of scissors from somewhere beside him. With a few quick, jagged snips, he cuts away parts of the fabric of your suit to get a better view of your torso, revealing the bruises that litter your skin, darkening it in a sickening way.

He apologizes for every hiss, groan, and whimper you can’t suppress at the sharp sting that slices through the dull ache due to the antiseptic he uses on your skin.

His brow is furrowed deeply as he wipes the blood away with almost erratic strokes, trying to clean the area but moving a little too fast for his usual precision. The cloth is stained dark in no time, and he tosses it aside, reaching for gauze, fumbling with the tape as if he’s forgotten how to use it for a moment.

Every breath feels heavier as he continues to work on your wounds, pain pulsing with every fresh inhale.

Bucky’s eyes keep darting between your face and the wounds as if he’s checking not only for your injuries but for something else - for a sign that you’re still with him, still conscious, still breathing.

His hand moves back to your forehead, brushing some strands of hair aside with so much gentleness as he checks your temperature again. His face is tight, his jaw clenched.

It is odd, almost comforting in a way you haven’t expected. Bucky Barnes, always so composed, now seems to have trouble holding it together. And somehow, seeing him this unfiltered, this human, makes your earlier doubts vanish. Those persistent thoughts, that he wouldn’t care if you showed up on his doorstep battered and bleeding, that he’d turn away, turn you away, or doesn’t even open the door in the first place - they all but disappear.

He does care. More than you ever thought possible, more than you imagined he even knew how to. You can feel it in the way his hands linger on your skin, urgent yet careful, and in the way his curses are filled with so much apprehension and frustration.

The same Bucky you thought might not give a damn is now fighting some battle with himself as if his sheer will could hold you here.

And for some reason, that knowledge eases something inside you, delightfully loosening that knot of tension in your chest. Again, your body starts to feel like it’s floating, somewhere in the air but instead it’s sinking deeper into the cushions beneath you, slowly letting go. It’s not your body that’s floating this time, it’s your mind. As if it decided to detach itself from the pain, from the reality of your wounds and your situation, and simply drifted away. It’s weightless, flying through a space just beyond your reach. It’s almost surreal, like you’re suspended in air but you know, somehow, that you’re still lying on that couch.

And Bucky’s here.

His hands are on you. His voice is in your ears but none of it feels quite real anymore.

You don’t have it in you to fight it anymore. Your body is letting go, surrendering, and you can’t muster the strength to resist.

Bucky’s voice sounds closer, much more than you thought it had been, but it seems distant too. It’s rough, desperate; words coming out with a crack. He’s pleading with you, urging you to stay with him, to keep your eyes open.

But you can’t. You’re slipping. Still, you feel like smiling if your face would have allowed it.

Bucky is here. And although you stopped listening to his words, losing the sense of his presence, you know he will stay.

You’re in good hands.

🍁 October Writing Challenges Masterlist 🍁

[rebelspykatie]

Steve joins a fraternity because of his father, slots himself easily into the most prestigious fraternity on campus as a legacy. All the guys envy him, his father’s name following him, branding him as a top dog, even as a lowly freshman. The other pledges either resent him or suck up to him, hoping some of that Harrington charm will rub off on them. 

Steve’s done what’s expected of him his whole life, but college gives him that taste of freedom he’s longed for. When he starts dating Eddie, it’s like a breath of fresh air. Besides Robin, he’s the first person that really sees Steve. He’s not a Harrington, or King Steve, or a legacy pledge. He’s just Steve and it’s intoxicating. 

Expectations weigh heavily on Steve. He’s bound to disappoint. He’s used to being the prettiest person in the room, but not the smartest, and the future his father has laid out for him is outside of his capabilities. He’s never going to be a lawyer and take over his father’s firm. He’s never going to be as smart as his little brother Dustin. He’s never going to be anything besides a trophy husband at this rate, good at spending daddy’s money and looking good on social media. 

But Eddie makes him feel like he’s more. More than his father’s name, more than the notoriety he brings to his house. What’s not easy, is that Eddie is in a rival fraternity. Steve begged him not to go to the dark side, but Eddie couldn’t be swayed. The stuffy, prestigious nature of Steve’s house didn’t appeal to Eddie. No, he was drawn to the misfits, the house of slackers and party animals. He wanted to have fun, not make a name for himself. Steve wishes he had that freedom.

The rivalry gets between them, pranks wars gone wrong, comments on how they’re fraternizing with the enemy. Eddie’s better than Steve at ignoring it. It gets under his skin and festers. Eddie’s never on time, always partying with his brothers, late night dnd sessions that seem to be more important than their dates. When Eddie misses a function and leaves Steve standing there alone like an idiot, it’s the last straw and they part ways. 

It’s hard to avoid your ex when you’re on the same campus, just a few houses down from each other. But Steve gets over Eddie by getting under Tommy. He falls prey to his father’s expectations again and sees Tommy as the advantageous match he could be. They’re closer to equals, rich fathers and ambitions that get the best of them. 

It’s easy with Tommy in a different way, the way they both know deep down it’s a political match. They’re both gaining something from this. Tommy gets the hottest guy on campus on his arm, the future leader of their fraternity, and Steve gets to tell his father he’s not messing up his entire life dating a directionless, no-name loser from the worst fraternity on campus. Even if his father’s comments on Eddie make his blood boil, wanting to leap to Eddie's defense, even if he doesn’t deserve it after abandoning Steve. 

Steve’s never been made of the hard stuff like his father or Tommy, he’s always been brittle, too soft on the inside, too fragile to handle that kind of pressure long term. And it cracks, blows up in his face when Dustin wants to pledge and finds Tommy cheating on him with Carol. 

Dustin is less scared of their father, not the firstborn, never expected to take over the business, but he’s also inherently got more freedom because he’s known since he was a kid that he wanted to be a polymer engineer. That path is straightforward and one filled with accolades that impress, the kind of degree you can name drop at a business meeting and not be embarrassed about, because you know Dustin’s not destitute and broke. Dustin’s also never been good at the game their father plays. He’s honest and kind, even if he’s a sarcastic little shit. 

It shocks everyone when Dustin decides to rush Eddie’s fraternity. It’s become a home to misfits in the Greek system, the ones that don’t realy fit in anywhere else. Probably because they’re less worried about grades and more worried about their dnd campaigns and how many nerds they can collect under one roof. That should’ve been enough of a clue for Steve on where he’d land, but Steve is still blindsided by it. Mostly because it inadvertently brings Eddie back into his life. 

Suddenly he’s around every corner, teasing Steve about Dustin, asking more questions about their home life than he ever did while they were together, like there’s no bad blood between them and with a hint of understanding behind his eyes. He even checks in on Steve post Tommy fiasco. It tugs at something in his gut, tricks Steve into thinking Eddie still cares, that he didn’t abandon him because he found out how little Steve has to offer. That he didn’t get tired of Steve not being enough. 

Maybe Steve’s ready to give Eddie another chance. Maybe they deserve another chance at something real, especially when the universe keeps pulling them together. Steve wants something that’s his for once, something he built on his own, something that his father has no hand in. Eddie Munson might just be the very thing that saves Steve from himself. 

[ldrfanatic]

Slytherin Boys as 1989 Songs

+ bonus! the slytherin boys as romance tropes

I decided to shake this one up a bit and do all happy love songs

here's 1989 (tv ofc); which taylor swift album should i do next?

(mattheo riddle, draco malfoy, theo nott, lorenzo berkshire)

slytherin boys masterlist works

mattheo riddle as I Know Places

best lyric(s) - "let them say what they want we won't here it" + "love's a fragile little flame it could burn out" + "just grab my hand and don't ever drop it"

trope - enemies to lovers :)

mattheo w a crush - in love, mattheo is somewhere in the middle between being sappy and just straight up insulting you. not like calling you ugly or anything but like "damn i didn't know it was possible to mess up such an easy spell" like kind of teasing. he's one of those guys that will be mean at first and then be like playfully mean and then finally, will start being nice to you but only sometimes. he just thinks you're adorable when you're angry.

mattheo as a boyfriend - now as a boyfriend, mattheo still teases the hell out of you but god forbid literally anyone else does bc he'll kill them. like actually. also the pair of you go through a little bit of a rough patch during the war and he keeps telling you that you have to stay way from him but secretly, he's really happy that you never actually listen to him because he doesn't know what he would do without you. he just kind of ignores all the whispers and hogwarts becomes your guys' like safe little happy love bubble.

draco malfoy as Out of the Woods

best lyric(s) - "the rest of the world was black and white, but we were in screaming color" + "when you started crying baby i did too, when the sun came up i was looking at you" + "I walked out I said 'i'm setting you free' but the monsters turned out to be just trees"

trope - everyone can see it except for you

draco w a crush - I think draco would be the kind of guy that actively avoided his crush. like if you were sitting in the very front of transfigurations, he was sitting in the absolute furthers corner in the back. If you were going on the hogsmeade trip, he was begging his friends would leave him to simmer in his affections for you. he's just so nervous and so certain you'll dislike him that he'd rather not talk to you at all. when he finally does work up the courage, he's extremely happy and like eternally grateful that you'd give him a chance.

draco as a boyfriend - i do think though that draco is not always the best at communicating just because he always wants everything to be so perfect and he doesn't want there to be anything that he says that could make you resent him so he'd rather not say anything at all. obv, this doesn't work out well for him cause like... communicating w you is so essential. y'all get into arguments fairly regularly but you always end up making up because he's always just creating those demons in his head and it's almost never that serious.

theodore nott as Suburban Legends

best lyric(s) - "you were so magnetic it was almost obnoxious" + "when you hold me, it holds me together and you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever" + "you'd be more than a chapter in my old diaries with the pages ripped out"

trope - hopeless romantic

theo w a crush - I think with a crush theo would be the kind of guy that just simps like a mf. like you need someone to carry your books, he's there, why would you even try to carry them yourself? just let him take care of it. or like, when you're not feeling well and you might need to spend a few days in the hospital wing, while you're sleeping theo sneaks in and leaves the notes for the classes you missed as well as your favorite sweets and flowers. (one time when michael corner made you cry, he beat the snot out of him and then the next day left this huge teddy bear outside your door with the note "y/n, that douchebag sucks. -tn")

theo as a boyfriend - theo's simp nature carries over when he's a bf so he's super freaking caring. he does literally everything for you. he'll brush your hair when you get out of the shower if you ask. or if you're like me and you have like thicker ethnic hair, he'll ask you to show him how to do your hair so that he can do it for you. he's also one of those guys that's like casually dominant. like hand on your lower back in a crowd, opening your doors, reaching up and grabbing things from the top shelf for you. naturally protective in the sense of like he always wants to sleep closest to the door in case something happens and like is also always making sure you eat and get enough water.

lorenzo berkshire as "Slut!"

lyric(s) - "and if i'm gonna be drunk, i might as well be drunk in love" + "and i break down then he's pulling me in. in a world of boys he's a gentleman" + "got love struck went straight to my head"

trope - friends to lovers

enzo w a crush - enzo is the kind of guy who's not afraid to be in love. he actually loves it. he loves having someone to compliment and shower in gifts and win over. where mattheo would tease you, draco would avoid you, and theo would lose himself in you, enzo is the guy who would bring you inexplicable joy and make sure you knew that it was him that was bringing you joy. not to say that he wouldn't do sweet gestures and such but he's the sort of guy that will make you his best friend and then make you fall in love with him.

enzo as a boyfriend - because of this, you and enzo are like those like childhood friends turned lovers type of thing. he just knows you so well and the love between you two comes so easily. he makes it his personal mission to make you smile at least once a day. as your boyfriend, he's just really playful. things like pillow fights and tickle fights. he's also that boyfriend that will do all those little stupid tiktok trends with you but like really energetically and not just like half-assed bc if it's gonna make you smile, he's going all in.

---

4.25.24

wc 1k

taglist @moonlightreader649 @svt-dk97 @thatdammchickennugget @helendeath @fandom-life-12 @bouquetolegoflowers @maryvibess

[beifong-brainrot]

Tlok is so weird about abuse, particularly when their female charcters are abusive towards their male characters.

Like Eska's abuse by Bolin was played completely for comedy. Despite him being shown as clearly uncomfortable, and crying on multiple occasions.

This is especially upsetting because Bolin has been shown as being a rather vulnerable individual with trouble setting healthy boundaries and an aversion to saying 'no'. But even when he does actively express his discomfort and attempts to end the relationship, his autonomy is violated and he is literally forcefully engaged to Eska. And we are supposed to laugh.

He is shown to be so traumatised by the experience that he still actively panics when shown even a picture of Eska and is clearly very hurt that Mako didn't offer him more help in the situation. Which is honestly understandable.

Speaking of which, Mako and Korra's relationship in B2 was... troubled to say the least. Now, Korra had a lot on her plate and was rightfully stressed by the events happening. However, it seemed that she often took her stress out on Mako, getting into arguments with him and yelling at him.

She kicked his fucking desk across the room. While Mako may have upset her by going behind her back and ratting her out to Raiko, but this is no way to react. But we are supposed to be annoyed and angry with Mako, and we are meant to see Korra reacting so violently as justified. [While I don't like Mako's actions in B2 he didn't deserve this.]

This is not helped in the slightest after Lin enters the scene, and comments on thw mess, saying that he 'got off easy'. And she implies that she committed even more property damage after Tenzin broke up with her.

Ah, Lin. I think while Korra and Eska's actions toward Mako and Bolin have been called out sometimes, we tend to overlook how fucking horrifying what we're told about Lin's reaction to Tenzin breaking up with her is.

Because, if we think about this for a little, this is a scary situation. Lin is a very strong and physical person who has been shown to be quick to violence. Air Temple Island is Tenzin's home, and the home of multiple Air Acolytes, full of fragile artifacts that we are shown that he values tremendously and for which he feels personally responsible for.

Ans it's honestly hard to believe that Lin didn't know this about Tenzin, since they persumably have known each other for a while. I wouldn't be terribly surprised if she damaged the temple because she knew it would hurt him.

And it's understandable that this wasn't presented as a very morally wrong thing to do, since the 'crazy ex girlfriend' isn't an unpopular trope in comedy, but it is damaging. Since it plays women doing genuinely scary and upsetting things towards men for comedy, therefore making it more difficult to take such behaviour seriously.

But hey, I guess we can kinda pretend that Lin most likely damaging Air Temple Island with earthbending is comparable to egging someone's house or keying their car. So let's let that slide.

Oh yeah, she also abused her position as chief of police in order to try and get rid of a romantic rival.

Which is extremely fucked up, especially with how Lin presents herself as extremely professional and serious about her job, yet she apparently used it to terrorise a woman for 'stealing' her partner. What kind of bunny boiler shit is this.

And all of these scenes presenting Lin as a vengeful, borderline abusive ex to Tenzin are presented as comedic, further driving tlok's most likely unintentional message of normalising female on male abuse. It's not as in your face as Eska's abuse of Bolin, to the point that without the context of Eska and Korra's behaviour, I wouldn't really point Lin out, but with this context, you can't help but consider it.

Once is by chance. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is a pattern.

And I hate to make this argument, but if the genders were reversed in these situations?

If a boy were pressuring a young, emotionally vulnerable girl into marriage, treating her as his slave, manhandling her, getting angry when she speaks to a male friend?

If a young man were to scream at his girlfriend multiple times and go so far as to throw her desk across a room?

If a male policeman implied he caused severe property damage at his ex girlfriend's house after she broke up with him and if he tried to use his status to arrest her new partner? (you know, actually 40% of cops are- *gets shot*)

I feel like we'd have a completely different perspective.

While male on female abuse is still often stigmatised and overlooked, I still think that Eska, Korra and Lin's actions would be scrutinised more closely and reacted to more negatively if they were men. Concurrently, I think we would treat Bolin, Mako and Tenzin with more leniency and gave them more of the benefit of the doubt had they been women.

I want to think that this wasn't a message that was presented on purpose, but it's still one of my least favourite aspects of tlok and I genuinely dislike the part of the fandom that trivialises these actions by Korra, Lin and Eska.

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Between the Ropes… a Jey Uso x Rhea Ripley fic.

Chapter 6: Consequences

Rhea’s body trembled as she lay on her side, clutching her stomach. The room spun as she grabbed a swig of water from her Stanley cup, the sour taste of bile still fresh in her mouth, but the nausea wasn’t what scared her. She’d been here before, sick from the stress of too many matches, too many sleepless nights, too many… mistakes.

But this time, it was different. Could I be pregnant?

The thought struck her like a slap, and no matter how hard she tried to focus on something else, it came back, louder, more pressing. Whose would it be?

Her breath hitched as she thought of Matt—her husband. He was the steady one, her anchor when everything felt like it was slipping out of control. She could picture his smile, the way he would pull her close when she felt overwhelmed. If it’s his… maybe everything will be okay, she thought, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of her mind.

But then there was Jey. Her heart pounded harder just thinking about him. Jey, with his easy charm, his reckless smile that always seemed to promise trouble. The man she had fallen into when she needed to feel something, anything, other than the weight of her reality. But if the child was his… how could she live with that? How could she keep up the lie with Matt, knowing the truth?

She rolled onto her back, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her mind was a storm, swirling with regret, fear, guilt. She had gotten herself into this, hadn’t she? This tangled mess of feelings and deceit. What if it’s Jey’s? What will I tell Matt? Her eyes burned as she blinked back tears, her chest tightening with each heavy breath.

What if it’s Matt’s? Will I feel relieved? That thought felt foreign, distant. She didn’t know how to escape the suffocating weight of her decisions no matter who the father was.

The door creaked open, Rhea turned her weak body to look at the mini table and chair set in the room. Damian stepped into the room. “Hey,” his voice was soft, cautious. “Kayden messaged me. She wants to make a TikTok and grab drinks. You mind if I head out for a bit?”

Rhea managed a weak and brittle response. “Go ahead. I’m just gonna take a sleeping pill and crash. I… don’t really want to scroll on my phone or anything.”

Damian’s brow furrowed, his eyes lingering on her. He knew something was wrong—he always knew. She could feel his concern, his hesitation. But she couldn’t let him in, not now. If he pressed, she would break.

“I’m fine,” she added, her voice barely above a whisper once she realized Damian hadn’t move, “Really.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Okay. Just… call me if you need anything.”

She turned to watch him leave, her chest tightening again as the door closed behind him. The moment he was gone, her composure crumbled. She buried her face in her hands, choking back a sob. She didn’t want Damian to see her like this—didn’t want anyone to. She was supposed to be strong, supposed to be in control. But right now, she felt so small, so fragile, and so utterly alone.

What would Damian think if he knew? Would he judge her? No… Damian was too loyal. Too kind. But that only made it worse. He’d seen too much already, and she couldn’t afford to break down in front of him. Not when everything felt like it was hanging by a thread.

Damian moved through the hallway, each step echoing softly in the quiet of the house. His mind was on Rhea, but he pushed it aside as his feet carried him to Jey’s door. He knocked once, not bothering to wait before entering.

Jey was sitting on the bed, scrolling through his phone, but looked up when Damian walked in.

“I’m heading out with Kayden,” Damian said bluntly. “I’ll be gone for the night.”

Jey nodded, but there was something in his eyes—something that made Damian pause. He wanted to say more, to tell Jey to stop, to ask him what the hell he was thinking, playing with Rhea’s heart like this. But what would be the point? Jey was set in his ways, and Rhea… she was too deep now to pull herself out.

“Take care of her,” Damian said, his voice low but firm. It wasn’t a request. It was a warning.

Jey’s expression didn’t change, but Damian could see the faint flicker of something—guilt, maybe? It didn’t matter.

Damian walked out without waiting for a response, leaving Jey alone with the weight of his own choices.

—

An hour had passed since Damian left, and Rhea still hadn’t found peace. The nausea had subsided, but the lingering taste of vomit left her feeling disgusting. With a shaky breath, she pushed herself up, forcing her legs to carry her to the bathroom. She leaned over the sink, gripping the sides to steady herself, and squeezed a glob of toothpaste onto her brush. Each stroke felt mechanical, her mind blank as she focused on the simple task of cleaning herself up.

She rinsed her mouth, the fresh taste of mint washing away the bitter remnants of sickness, but it did nothing to ease the weight pressing on her chest. She reached for the mouthwash, swishing it around before spitting it out. Better, she thought, if only slightly. At least now she didn’t feel as if the remnants of her mistakes were clinging to her, even if they still haunted her mind.

Back in the bedroom, she glanced at the clock—9:57 PM. The night still stretched out before her, long and lonely. Her body ached for rest, but her mind refused to stop spinning, each thought more troubling than the last. She lay down again, pulling the blanket up to her chin, trying to force herself to relax.

For a brief moment, the quiet won. Her thoughts slowed, her breathing evened, and she slipped into a shallow sleep.

But then, she felt it—arms around her, strong and familiar. At first, she didn’t react, too tired to move. But the touch, the scent, it pulled her out of sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, and there he was.

Jey.

He didn’t say anything as he scooped her up into his arms. She barely had the strength to protest, her body still weak and her mind foggy. She watched as the room blurred around her, and in the next moment, she found herself in his room. The door clicked shut behind him, the lock sliding into place with a quiet finality.

Jey set her gently on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. There was something in his gaze, something unreadable—desire, yes, but something more. She couldn’t tell if it was concern or if it was the same emptiness she had seen before.

Without a word, he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Rhea’s breath caught in her throat as he moved toward her, his steps deliberate, his intentions clear. She knew what was coming—this was the rhythm they had fallen into for months now. But tonight, it felt different. He felt different.

As he stood before her, bare-chested, she tried to push down the knot of emotions that rose in her throat. She didn’t know what to say. What could she say? Every time they crossed this line, the distance between them seemed to grow wider, but neither of them ever talked about it.

Jey leaned down, his face inches from hers, his eyes dark and intense. He was ready, prepared for whatever this night would bring. And for a moment, Rhea wondered if she had the strength to keep doing this.

Rhea’s breath was shaky as she stared at Jey. His presence always overwhelmed her, but tonight, something was different. The words she’d been holding back sat heavy on her tongue, but she didn’t know if she had the courage to speak them. Her heart pounded, her hands trembling slightly as she looked into his eyes.

“Jey…” she began, her voice barely a whisper, but it was enough to make him pause, his expression softening as he waited for her to continue.

Her heart thudded louder in her chest, fear gripping her throat as she realized there was no turning back now. She swallowed hard, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “I want you to make love to me this time…”

Jey blinked, the words hanging in the air between them. For a moment, he didn’t move, couldn’t move, as if the weight of her request had knocked the air out of his lungs. Make love? That was never how things had been between them. They had always fallen into bed with the same hunger, the same urgency, but love? That wasn’t part of the equation.

His mind raced. This wasn’t what he expected, not from her. She had always been the one to keep things in check, to make sure their connection stayed physical, detached from emotion. But now, she was asking for something more. Something deeper. What does this mean?

Jey’s pulse quickened as he looked down at her, uncertainty flashing across his face. Was she falling for him? He had seen the signs, had noticed the way her eyes lingered on him a little longer, the way her touch softened sometimes, but he had pushed it aside. He didn’t let himself think about it.

And now, she was asking him to cross a line he wasn’t sure he could.

Rhea bit her lip, her chest tightening as the silence stretched between them. She had never felt this scared, this exposed. What if he says no? What if he laughs it off?She couldn’t read him, couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and the fear gnawed at her. But she had to say it. She couldn’t keep pretending like what they had was just physical. Not anymore.

Her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. “I… I don’t know how to explain it, Jey. I’m scared. Scared that if I don’t ask you this, I’ll regret it. Scared that… maybe you don’t feel the same.” She looked down, avoiding his gaze as her hands twisted the sheets beneath her.

Jey’s expression shifted the moment Rhea’s words left her mouth.

“What the hell are you saying, Rhea?” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to make her flinch. He stepped back from her, the closeness they had shared moments ago now replaced by a cold distance.

“I want you to make love to me,” she repeated softly, but the vulnerability in her voice only fueled his anger.

“Make love?” he scoffed, shaking his head as he paced in front of her, fists clenched tight. “You really think this is love? After everything?”

Rhea’s breath hitched, her heart racing as she watched his expression darken. She hadn’t expected this reaction—not like this. She knew it was a risk, but she thought he might at least try to understand. Instead, he was turning into someone she didn’t recognize.

“You want me to leave my wife?” he spat, venom lacing every word. “You want me to throw away my family for this—” he gestured angrily between them, “—for whatever the hell this is?”

“I never said that!” Rhea’s voice cracked, her pulse quickening as she tried to defend herself, but the fire in Jey’s eyes told her he wasn’t listening.

“No, but that’s what you mean, isn’t it? You want more from me than I can give! What do you think this is? Some fairytale where I just walk away from everything and we live happily ever after?”

Rhea shook her head, tears stinging her eyes as she struggled to hold her ground. “Jey, it’s not like that, I—”

“Bullshit!” he cut her off, his voice booming in the room. “You think I didn’t notice? You think I didn’t hear you last night?”

Rhea froze, her heart sinking as his words hit her. She knew exactly what he was talking about, and the guilt twisted inside her like a knife.

“Yeah,” he continued, his tone dripping with bitterness. “I heard you, Rhea. You said it. You said you loved me while we were fucking. What the hell was that about?”

Rhea’s mouth went dry, her hands trembling as she struggled to find her voice. “Jey, I—”

“What were you thinking?” Jey’s voice grew louder, his anger spiraling. “Were you trying to trap me? Trying to make me feel guilty so I’d what—leave my family? Abandon everything for you?”

“No!” Rhea cried out, the tears finally spilling over. “I wasn’t trying to trap you! I just… I couldn’t help it. I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Didn’t mean to?” Jey laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You don’t just accidentally say something like that, Rhea. Don’t try to play dumb.”

She wiped at her tears, her chest heaving as the argument spiraled out of control. “I don’t know why I said it! I wasn’t thinking, I was caught up in the moment—”

“That’s the problem!” Jey exploded, his voice booming in the room. “You weren’t thinking! You never think! You just act like this—like we can keep doing this without consequences. But there are consequences, Rhea! I’ve got a wife! I’ve got a family! And you think you can just say ‘I love you’ and everything’s going to be fine?”

Rhea’s heart shattered at his words. She had never felt more exposed, more hurt. “I didn’t mean to mess things up,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I just… I didn’t know how else to feel. I thought maybe you—”

“Maybe I what? Maybe I love you back?” Jey shot back, his tone icy. “Is that what you’re hoping for? That I’ll just say it too, and then what? What do you want from me, Rhea? Because I can’t be that guy for you.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, each one driving deeper into the wound. Rhea’s tears flowed freely now, her chest tight with the weight of everything she’d been holding in.

“I’m not asking you to leave your wife,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m not asking for anything, I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Jey shook his head, his anger still simmering. “You should’ve thought about that before you said what you said. Before you made this messy. Because now, it’s too late.”

He turned away from her, his shoulders tense, his breathing ragged. Rhea sat there, devastated, knowing that whatever they had just unraveled in the worst possible way.

The room felt like it was closing in on Rhea. The heat of the argument, the biting words, and Jey’s explosive anger were suffocating. She could barely catch her breath, but the sting of his accusations forced her to find her voice.

“Jey, you don’t get to just push me away like this!” she shouted, her anger rising through the haze of hurt. “You don’t get to treat me like I’m nothing because you’re scared of facing the truth!”

Jey’s face twisted in shock and fury. “Scared? I’m not scared, Rhea! I’m angry because you keep crossing lines that shouldn’t be crossed! I told you from the beginning what this was!”

“Yeah, and I listened,” Rhea fired back, her eyes flashing with defiance. “I listened to all of it. But you know what? I’m not some toy you can just play with and then throw away when it gets too complicated. I have feelings too!”

Jey’s fists clenched at his sides, his face flushed with rage. “Feelings? What about my feelings? You think you’re the only one who’s struggling here? I’ve got a family, a life outside of this mess, and you’re making it impossible!”

“I never asked you to change your life!” Rhea retorted, her voice rising with frustration. “I just wanted you to be honest with me. To stop pretending that what we had didn’t mean anything. I’ve been trying to make sense of everything, and all you do is push me away!”

Jey’s eyes widened with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Push you away? I’m not the one who’s been pushing, Rhea. You’ve been the one who’s been pushing for more—more than I can give, more than I ever promised.”

The argument reached a boiling point, and the air between them was charged with hostility. Rhea stood up, her body trembling as she faced Jey. “I’m done with this,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears streaming down her face. “I’m done with you treating me like I don’t matter. If you can’t handle this, then maybe it’s time you faced the real consequences of what you’ve done.”

Jey’s anger exploded. In a sudden, uncontrolled motion, he shoved Rhea. She stumbled back, her legs giving way as she fell to the floor, her eyes wide with shock and pain.

“Don’t you dare stand there and act like you’re the victim!” Jey roared, his face flushed with rage. “You brought this on yourself! You wanted more, you got it, and now you’re going to deal with it!”

Rhea gasped for breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to push herself up. The impact of the shove had left her disoriented, and the sight of Jey’s furious expression only made the situation worse. She felt a wave of disbelief and betrayal wash over her, her anger turning into something more primal—a raw, aching pain.

“Get out,” she managed to choke out, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Just… get out.”

Jey stood there, his chest heaving as he stared at her, the anger slowly giving way to something else—regret, perhaps, but it was too late. The damage was done, and the gulf between them had never seemed so wide.

He then moved quickly, grabbing his suitcase and phone charger from the corner of the room. His movements were frantic, a blur of motion as he packed his essentials without a second glance. His hair products, neatly arranged on the bathroom counter, were left untouched, a symbol of the chaotic state he was in.

He turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a deafening crash. The sound echoed in Rhea’s ears as she sat on the floor, her body shaking uncontrollably, the reality of what had just happened settling heavily on her shoulders.

She remained on the floor, her body shaking as she struggled to comprehend the events of the last few moments. The anger and pain swirled inside her, mingling with the empty space Jey had left behind. She had fought so hard to be heard, to be understood, and now she was left with the emptiness of his absence.

The room was silent, save for the ragged breaths she took as she tried to process everything. She was alone now, left with the shattered remnants of a relationship that had gone from passionate to poisonous in a matter of moments.

—

Jey adjusted his hoodie as he stood at the airport ticket counter, his face set in grim determination. The clerk’s voice was a dull hum as she processed his request, the sound of the busy airport barely registering in his mind.

“That will be $2,844.75 for the first-class seat, Mr. Fatu. This includes a round trip back to Portland on September 16th.”

Jey handed over his credit card without hesitation. The amount barely registered as he swiped his card, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. His thoughts were tangled in the chaos of the last few hours, each moment replaying in his mind with painful clarity.

After receiving his boarding pass, he made his way to the terminal. He pulled out his phone and texted his wife, the message brief but loaded with meaning: “Heading home. Should be there in about two and a half hours. Love you.”

Surprisingly, she responded almost immediately, her reply a small beacon of comfort in his turbulent state: “I’m up doing some late-night laundry. I’ll wait for you.”

The warmth of her response was a fleeting solace as he settled into his first-class seat. He ordered whiskey straight, the rich, sharp taste a temporary distraction from the storm inside his head.

As the plane began to taxi toward the runway, Jey stared out the window, the city lights below blurring together. The events of the evening replayed in his mind, each moment of anger and hurt, the confrontation with Rhea, and the final, painful push.

The whiskey burned in his throat, a harsh reminder of the choices he had made. The conflict between his professional life and personal relationships, the chaos of his emotions—it all swirled together, a potent mix of regret and unresolved tension.

Jey closed his eyes, trying to escape the mental cacophony. He tried to imagine what awaited him at home—his wife and kids, their faces full of warmth and familiarity. The thought was a sharp contrast to the storm he had left behind, and it made his chest tighten with a mix of guilt and sorrow.

The flight attendants walked down the aisle, their calm and professional demeanor a stark contrast to Jey’s inner turmoil. He watched them with a detached gaze, their routines seeming so distant from his current reality. When the plane finally took off, the sensation of lifting off the ground felt like a physical manifestation of escaping his problems, if only for a little while.

The cabin lights dimmed as the plane climbed higher, the city lights below fading into the darkness. Jey continued to sip his whiskey, the alcohol beginning to dull the sharp edges of his thoughts. He leaned back in his seat, trying to find some semblance of peace amidst the turbulence of his mind.

He thought about Rhea—her pain, her tears, the way she had looked at him with a mix of anger and hurt. The memory of her saying “I love you” the night before was particularly haunting. He knew that no matter what happened next, the damage was done. The guilt of hurting someone who had trusted him weighed heavily on him.

As the flight continued, Jey found himself staring blankly at the ceiling of the cabin, lost in his own thoughts. The steady hum of the engines and the rhythmic vibration of the plane became a kind of hypnotic backdrop to his brooding.

He pulled out his phone to connect to the WiFi and he scrolled through his messages, the mundane texts from his wife a stark reminder of the normalcy he was returning to. Each message was a thread connecting him to the life he had momentarily abandoned.

He sent her another message, his fingers moving slowly over the screen: “I can’t wait to see you and the kids. I’m sorry for the late-night flight.”

Her response came quickly: *“Don’t worry about it. We’re just glad you’re coming home.”*

Jey read her words and felt a pang of sadness mixed with gratitude. The simplicity of her response was a balm to his troubled soul, even if it couldn’t erase the mistakes he had made.

The plane continued its journey, and as Jey closed his eyes again, he hoped for a chance to make things right, to mend what had been broken. The future was uncertain, but for now, he had to focus on getting through this flight and facing whatever awaited him when he touched down in San Francisco.

That whatever being his family..

[hazelira]

𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕪𝕔𝕝𝕖

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The apartment was eerily quiet, the dim light from the streetlamps casting soft shadows across the living room. Heeseung sat on the edge of the couch, his hands running through his hair in frustration. His phone lay face down beside him, notifications from well-meaning friends who didn’t understand why he hadn’t moved on piling up, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He wasn’t ready, and he hated admitting that to himself. Every time he tried to move forward, it felt like his heart dragged him two steps back, tethered to a past that no longer existed.

It had been months since the breakup, but its weight still clung to him like a suffocating fog. He had tried to forget and fill the silence with meaningless distractions and brief interactions with people who could never make him feel the way you did. But no matter how hard he pushed or how much he told himself to let go, it didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t prepared to let you go. The love you once shared still burned deep inside him, even if he knew it wasn’t healthy.

Heeseung let out a long breath, his chest tight with the familiar ache of missing you. His mind circled endlessly, the same way it always did. “Round & round”, he'd thought bitterly. You pulled him in like a magnet—your laughter, the warmth of your touch, the way you used to look at him like he was the only one in the room. But that connection had always been fragile; no matter how close you seemed, something kept you distant. It was intoxicating, that push and pull. Heeseung knew he was trapped in a cycle, yearning for a depth that never came, stuck between wanting more and fearing the hurt that was always waiting.

And now, it was over. Or at least, it should be. But he was still there, staring at his phone, thinking about texting you.

The door to his heart wouldn’t open for anyone else, not even for the kind, patient girl who had recently come into his life. She was everything he knew he should want—gentle, understanding, and full of love to give. Yet every time she smiled at him, all Heeseung could think of was you. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake your grip on him or love someone else because he was still tangled up in the mess you’d left behind.

“If I’m being honest…” Heeseung whispered to the empty room, his voice thick with emotion, “I don’t even know if you ever really loved me.” He hated the way his heart clenched at the thought. You had said the words, of course, but the way you left so abruptly made him question everything. One moment, you were there, telling him you loved him, and the next, you were gone without a natural explanation. It felt like a lie like everything between you had been a performance. How could you say you loved him one day and walk away the next? It haunted him, gnawed at the edges of his sanity.

Heeseung clenched his fists, anger bubbling up inside him, but it quickly dissolved into exhaustion. He was so tired—tired of the mental loops, tired of justifying your actions to himself. He had spent too long blaming himself, bending backward to please people who only ever took advantage of his kindness. He thought about the times he’d let himself be the emotional punching bag who always tried to make things right even when it wasn’t his responsibility. All it had done was drain him, leaving him with toxic people who never valued him the way he deserved.

And yet, as much as he knew you had hurt him, he still missed you. He missed the good moments, even if they were fleeting and filled with pretense. The memories of the times you were happy together kept surfacing, reminding him of how easy it had been to pretend everything was fine. But now he knew—it wasn’t. He had been at his worst, letting you and others take pieces of him without giving anything in return.

But something inside him had shifted. The weight of it all was crushing, and he couldn’t keep doing this; he couldn’t keep letting himself be the one everyone took it out on. He was done giving second chances to people who didn’t deserve them and justifying their mistreatment. He had been too forgiving, too patient, for far too long.

Heeseung stood up, finally taking a deep breath as he stared at the door. For the first time in what felt like forever, he knew what he had to do. It wasn’t going to be easy—letting go of you, letting go of the toxic people who had filled his life with pain—but he was ready. Maybe he wasn’t fully healed yet, but he was tired of being stuck. He was tired of being last in line.

He picked up his phone, his fingers hovering over your contact. He thought one last time—one last time to close this chapter for good. Without a second glance, Heeseung deleted your number.

This time, he was choosing himself.

[merakiui]

I had a dream... even in my sleep I'm a slut.

Squid game au where you and Scaramouche are the last two players alive. You don't know what tomorrow's game will be, but only one of you can leave there alive.

Scara's a mess. You're an easy picking for someone like him. No matter what the game is, he can definitely beat you. He's older, smarter, and despite his small stature, he's much, much stronger than you.

Scaramouche is hungry.

He's guaranteed the win. All that money is his. He can pay off his debts, get that pesky doctor off his ass. He can purge the past, he can start life anew with enough money to grant him endless power. He'll be akin to a god!

This is what he's always wanted... isn't it?

Then why does he feel so... dissatisfied?

Scaramouche is starving.

He keeps bleeding through all the tissues pressed against his side in a makeshift bandage. No one knows he's injured. Especially not you. He could never let you see how fragile his imperfect body can truly be.

But the bleeding just won't stop, and the suit hanging on the door of the bathroom stall seems to be dancing to and fro in his blurry vision.

He thinks of you, waiting for him at the dining table for your last meal together. If he pretends hard enough, it's almost like he's getting ready for a date with the girl he won't admit he's obsessed with.

So he rips his track suit to shreds, pulling out as much of the stitching as he can. He'd kept the needle from the dalgona challenge, just in case, but never thought he'd need to use it like this. He bites his lip til blood runs down his chin, salty streams stain his doll-like face as he stitches the gaping wound shut.

A short nap on the cold tiles should quell his fever. You'll understand if he's just a little late to his date.

Scaramouche is famished.

When he finally arrives at the dinner table, he sits across from you. He'd never seen you all dressed up before. He deeply inhales your soothing sight, he drowns himself in your beauty, allowing it to wash away the memory of all the blood that stained the bathroom floor.

He doesn't talk much. It's never been his thing, and you've never minded. Maybe you even liked it. Why else would you cling to his side for the entirety of the games?

Scaramouche is ravenous.

He devours the steak in front of him. You're a bit hesitant, and he knows it's because your stomach churns at the sight of it. It's a sick game, really, he'll admit that. Making you kill each other and then feeding you a huge slab of meat? He has to persuade you to eat.

"You need it for tomorrow. If you don’t eat, you'll feel even sicker."

It almost sounded like he cared about you.

Even after he's done, his appetite isn't soothed, so he just sits and watches you struggle with the meal, playing with the steak knife to occupy his hands.

He's not as grateful as he thought he'd be when the organisers announce that he'll be allowed to keep it.

That night, Scaramouche approaches your bed. The knife is in his pocket. He'll make quick work of you. It will save him the time and effort of playing another game tomorrow, and it truly is the kinder option. After all, you hate these games. Why not save you from it all. It won't hurt. You'll be dead before you even realise you're in pain. He truly has a kind and benevolent soul, taking pity on you like this.

It's the right thing. It's what you need, and more importantly, what he wants. It's right.

Then why can't he do it?

You're not asleep. You feel him over you, a menacing aura consuming you. And then somehow, vanishes just as quickly as it appeared. The bed dips.

"Scara?"

He doesn't respond.

You sit up, looking at him. There's hardly any light in the room, but if you look hard enough, you'd swear his eyes were glowing.

"Scara? Are you okay?"

"No one else knows the name Kunikuzushi. You should thank me."

"Maybe I should just go back to calling you the hat guy."

Right. He slides the knife under your bed, the clinking sound lost under the chuckle he lets out. He forgot you were a snide little shit.

That night, the two of you talk. You talk and talk and talk, about anything and everything. He has a beautiful voice, you realise, and he tells you everything. He doesn't mind. His past will die with you tonight after all.

You tell him everything, and Scaramouche decides that you're the most tragically beautiful character he's ever read of. He loves you.

That knight you and the hat guy, Scaramouche, Kunikuzushi, tangle your legs and desperately fuck each other, swallowing each other's moans and whimpers as he kisses you senseless.

At one point, you manage to choke out, "Are you gonna fuck me til I'm too tired to fight back and then kill me?"

"Maybe I should."

Somehow, you're not scared.

That night when you're fast asleep, Scaramouche sits on the edge of the bed, watching you.

He's no longer hungry.

He kisses you, whispers an "I love you" that will never reach your ears and then fishes the knife from under your bed.

He goes back to the bathroom. The blood is gone. No matter. There will be more soon.

ANON, OMG.... SENDING YOU ALL MY LOVE AAAAAA!!!! SQUID GAME!SCARA IS MY BELOVED AND I CHERISH HIM!!! THIS ASK HAS ME CLAWING AT THE WALLS AND BITING MY FIST WOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

[mythosandthemorbid]

Alec Rambles

Oh my god, Law is just… perfect. I mean, first off, he’s got that soft-spoken, mysterious vibe that just draws me in every time. Like, he doesn’t need to be loud or flashy to have this powerful presence, you know? The way he prefers to keep to himself, spending his time outside at night under the stars, it’s like he’s one with the quiet of the world, and I love that about him. There’s something so raw and real about how he exists in his own little universe, away from the noise of everyone else.

And don’t even get me started on how he’s always surrounded by death and decay, like, that’s just… beautiful. His whole aesthetic with the bones, the plants, the way decay follows him everywhere. It’s like he’s got this poetic relationship with life and death. It’s like Law understands the world in a way nobody else does, embracing all the parts most people run from. It’s haunting and yet, so peaceful? The way he talks about death is almost comforting, and honestly, I feel like I could just listen to him talk about decay and bones forever.

I also love how complex he is. Like, yeah, he’s a loner and can be cold, but underneath that, there’s all this pain, and it’s so easy to see why he’s built up these walls. His childhood was awful—his parents basically treated him like some dirty secret! And that really messes with you, you know? It’s no wonder he craves isolation and prefers the night. But at the same time, you can tell that he feels things so deeply, and I think that’s what makes him so interesting. There’s a part of him that wants to connect, even if he doesn’t know how to do it right.

He’s just this beautiful contradiction—so capable of violence, but also filled with this almost fragile sadness. And he’s so gentle with plants and nature, but can snap in an instant if he feels threatened. I love that he’s flawed and messy because it makes him feel real, like, not some perfect fantasy but someone you could actually meet, someone you’d want to just be with. Like, I get him, you know?

And he’s got these ghostly antlers? How is that not the coolest thing ever? It just adds to his whole “otherworldly creature” vibe, like he’s not really part of this world, and that’s kind of hot in its own way, not gonna lie. His voice? I can hear it in my head, it’s all like soft and low, like a whisper in the dark. I really wish I could hear him while playing the game, you have no idea. I bet when he laughs, it’s the kind of sound you only hear when no one else is around, something only you get to hear.

I don’t care what anyone says about him being dangerous or messed up—he’s mine, and I just want to make him smile, make him feel like he’s worth more than the decay he surrounds himself with. Like, maybe if someone could just get close enough, show him he’s not alone, he wouldn’t feel so trapped in his own head. I’d love him no matter how broken or strange he thinks he is.

Law is just… everything.

[cornyonmains]

Something I really like about Only Friends is the characters are so complexly written and layered that I kind of wind up being an apologist or detractor for all of them at different points in time. I don't really have a black and white view of the characters, which is usually the only thing you have in BL.

Top's a fuckboy with substance abuse issues. But also, he seems like he genuinely wants connection, and I feel bad for him sometimes because it's so clear he wants Mew to be affectionate with him, and Mew just isn't.

Mew is controlling. A giant walking defense mechanism that can't connect will with people. But also, he's surrounded by people who don't have his best interests in mind, and as he's opening up, we're seeing that he's not some criminal mastermind. In fact, that's the mask. The real Mew is just some dumb college kid who's into a guy he's scared of being vulnerable with, because he's never caught feelings he couldn't control. It's so obvious someone messed Mew up REAL GOOD.

Boston is.... He's an objectively terribly human being. He's also a miserable human being though, a lot like Ray, and he places so much of his value on sex he doesn't know how to make meaningful bonds. It's clear he's nuts about Nick, that he wants to monopolize his affections and attentions, but he doesn't know how to translate that into something healthy. Like Mew, his relationship with sex is fucked, and at the core of an inability to bond. I actually think he's jealous of Mew because there's a parallel there, but whereas Boston is derided for his relationship with sex and inability to connect, Mew is praised. Boston is a shit human being, but he is to be pitied.

Ray's kind of a dick. He's self-centered, won't take no for an answer from Mew, he has substance abuse issues, and saying Sand wasn't his boyfriend because he's holding onto that hope for Mew was fucked. But he's also got major depressive disorder, his parents sound like real pieces of work, and Khao does such a great job of conveying his fragility you can really sense how close to just breaking apart he is. He fucks up, but you still want him to get to a better place.

Sand, oh dear god, this boy has my heart. He's not perfect. Yeah, he sells hooch, he smokes weed, he parties. But he's got flaws too. He works too much, his head's in the clouds, he's destined to wind up on a sexiest mugshots website, and he falls too hard, too fast. He lets himself get led around by the nose by Ray. Sand's the easiest character to like on this show. He's got a hustle, but he's also got 'dude I wouldn't be deeply uncomfortable to be in a room alone with' energy.

Nick's not completely guiltless with his relationship with Boston. I've got a soft spot for him because he's a sweet, quiet kid, and I have a habit of adopting introverts. But he's not like Mew, he knew his way around both dick and dicks from the start, and wasn't blind to who Boston was. He bugged the car. That was a little too extra. I still wanna buy him cheeseburgers and tell him these boys ain't shit though, because he's so miserably in love with Boston, and Boston might be up front with him, but he's still stringing him along, telling him what he wants to hear, and giving more when Nick expresses interest in seeing other people. Was recording Boston and Top some pure creep mode shit to do? Yes. But do I support him using the recording to put Boston in his place? Yeah, I do.

Cheum is another easy to like characters, but we don't get to see much of her, so aside from simply liking her dancing queen energy, I can't really make an assessment. I like that she's the only one in the group actually helping Mew with the project. Also, I laughed when she clocked Ray as most fuckable. Most queer woman would agree, and Jojo is out here making us feel attacked.

Anyways, in summation, I'm thinking of opening a GoFundMe to get therapy for fictional characters. I still can't believe we've got 7 more episodes of drams to get through.

[frostgears]

art project

"Oh, that? Art project I've been messing with."

The glass vat takes up most of her kitchen table, filled with uniform muddy brown fluid that reeks of organic solvents, something like nail polish.

"Um… what kind of art?"

"It's kind of a work in progress, okay?"

She says it's easier if she shows you. The vat is wrapped with a half-dozen turns of copper wire; she screws the bare ends into terminal blocks on a messy proto board, plugs cables from that into an antique PC, types a command on a grubby keyboard.

The muddy brown fluid vibrates. Waves cross its surface, forming interference peaks and troughs. Simple patterns grow more and more complex, and then the stuff climbs out of the vat entirely.

Cubes and pentaprisms and planar hexagons hang in the air above churning liquid. You move your head and some of it, seen edge on, disappears. You move back; there it is again. The chemical miasma of nail polish intensifies, and something else.

"That's… how? I've never seen anything like it. Some kind of ferrofluid?" you ask.

"Uh, sure, something like that."

She kills the program. Her hand creeps onto yours, squeezing it gently but firmly. She says, "Shall we go upstairs?"

—

It's been three weeks. The sex has been incredible, the two of you practically joined at the genitals whenever you're together.

You tell her, incredibly full, that if she ever manages to get more of that strap inside you, you'll probably pass out. The next day, she shows up hefting a bigger one, and proves you right.

You're spending more and more time at her place. It's fine. It's really fine. You have roommates, she doesn't. But you'd like to use her kitchen, surprise her with something that isn't cheap takeout, and you can't, because that vat is in the way.

You ask her if she can move it? She can't. She shrugs. "I don't really cook much, so…"

"I do."

"Yeah… I need the table, though."

You're miffed, but she makes it up to you, by going slow enough that night that you don't immediately pass out. That leaves plenty of time for screaming.

You sleep over. You wake up in the middle of the night to piss, and find her gone. From the bathroom, you see the flicker of LEDs in the kitchen down the hall, smell acetone and… something else. Dusty rooms in empty houses?

You leave her alone. You're too tired; you don't want to fuck this up; you don't know what you'd say anyway. You go back to sleep.

—

It's been two months. You can't get enough of each other. You've gotten used to takeout, and her pelvis-endangering sexual appetites haven't let up; if anyone you knew saw you bent into the positions she likes to dick you down you in, they'd be shocked at your flexibility.

Most of your stuff is at her place now. (Just not the kitchen utensils.) It's easier that way. Less back and forth, and you're here basically every night anyway, have been for weeks. You want to ask her about moving in.

She can be… grumpy, sometimes. You can put up with it, moving around her moods like water. God knows you've had enough practice in your life. She's in a mood tonight, but you have to ask soon, because your lease is up in a month.

You've stacked the deck as much as you can. Her favorite noodle place for dinner; her favorite perfume dabbed behind your ears; a tight, low-cut minidress for easy access; your lips painted a smeary black, so she can see where they've been later.

"I'm gonna go out for a bit," she tells you, before you can make your play.

You were ready for a lot of things, but not this. Improvise. You put on your best disappointed pout, tug your bodice down a little more.

"Wait, weren't we going to…"

"Later, okay? A friend just texted me that he's got something I need for," she waves to the kitchen.

"Can't he just drop it off?" you beg.

"Nah. Fragile. I'll be back," she says. The door clicks solidly behind her.

Well, shit. There goes your plan for the night. And your… you hadn't worked up to "girlfriends" yet, which is a mistake on your part, you know. But she's out the door.

You give it a few minutes. You can wait patiently.

—

You've talked yourself into giving it a few hours when you really start to fume.

What the fuck is that godawful vat that's so important to her? How is it somehow a higher priority than you? Fuck it, fuck her, she needs to get this the right way around. She's going to come back to a scene she won't forget in a hurry.

You stomp into the kitchen and face down the vat. The smell is. Wow. Okay. That's a lot. But if it was really deadly toxic, she wouldn't leave it out like this, right?

You're going to drink it, throw it back up, splash some around, tell her she needs to choose because she apparently can't have both.

You're going to drink it, throw it back up, you tell yourself, as you dip a mug in and hold your nose.

Your throat spasms the minute the stuff is in your mouth, forcing it down. It's inside you in seconds, the whole mug.

You're not going to throw it up. You… need more. You scoop more out, lift it to your lips. Swallow. Again. Again.

—

She does come home to a scene.

"Oh fuck no, you didn't drink it, did you. You did."

"I," you tell her. You burp up a bit. "Absolutely. Did. You can't have." It spills down your chin and drips on your dress. "Both. Okay?"

"Yeah, no, here's the thing, I was going to break up with you. Gods. What a mess." She drops a paper bag down on the little kitchen counter, sits next to you, puts her head in her hands. "I was almost finished with it."

"So was I," you drool. You're so full. You can't get the stuff back out of you, though. You tried. You tried so hard. The vat is empty and it's all in you. Your eyes flutter closed and open and half-closed again.

"Oh, no, not by a long shot, you're not. I'm not wasting another year."

You hear the crinkle of paper. She's opening the bag. She forces a small hard thing into your mouth. It cracks and electricity crawls down all your limbs at once.

"Guess I'm stuck with you," she says, as you sink back to the floor.

You feel cold metal on your skin. She's taken the coils off the vat, she's wrapping them around you. You hear the clatter of the keyboard.

And then your skin starts to roil. The muddy brown fluid is in you, it's oozing out of everywhere, it is you, you're light and heavy at once, and you flow, and you're moving in ways that flesh and bone aren't supposed to move, and it seems like it should hurt,

And then you hear the familiar velcro noise as she tightens the harness of her strap. You don't remember her cock being this big. What the fuck. There's no way she expects you to take that… is there?

She stands over you, shoves it into you. And your new flesh flows to take her. As best you can, anyway. Her thrusts pushes the last dissolving, infiltrated bits of you out of you, the last pain, and now you're just you, and you pass out.

And then you wake up. And she's got a cock smeared with you, and a… smile? on her face. Like you're not what she wanted, but maybe, just maybe, she can work with this. So she starts again.

Later, you realize: You're moved in. So that's good, right? You want to find her and tell her, but you can't get outside the copper circle, and you can't quite form words yet, after what she's done to your throat. Okay. You can wait. You live here now anyway. □

[jazzythursday]

Careless (667 words)

He’d gotten careless.

It was a simple mistake, but a careless one all the same. He’d gotten distracted, and the ratio of one chemical to another was just a bit not right, just enough to—

It was carelessness, is all it was. Stupid. Idiotic. He can’t afford to call himself a demolitions expert if he can’t even handle semi-compustables without fucking it all up.

He’s still staring at the remnants of the exploded vile in his hand, tiny rivulets of blood running from the bits of broken glass embedded in his skin. He’s never liked being hurt, he’s never liked blood. It makes him feel fragile, and a bit like the times he was a child getting rapped on the knuckles for not trying hard enough in lessons, even though he was trying so hard. He flexes his hand. It burns, but not much, not as much as it probably should, and he should really get something to clean up the mess, but he’s just staring, staring and staring and wondering why he hadn’t thought to measure twice, why he hadn’t—

Jesper finds him like that, hunched over his work table, staring.

He’s very gentle as he handles Wylan into a chair and cradles his arm, brow furrowed and lips pursed as he inspects his hurt hand to look over the injury. Wylan feels frozen, like he’s stuck somewhere he doesn’t know how to find his way back from. Bracing for some kind of punishment—from who, he isn’t sure. Berating himself for being stupid enough to make a mistake he knows he’s better than and caught between the past and the present, in some cold and numb place in the middle.

Jesper catches his eyes. “Well, it looks like you’ll get to keep all your fingers.”

It draws a rough laugh out of Wylan, and he feels himself start to thaw. “Is that your professional opinion, Jesper Fahey?”

“Yes, and that’s Medik Fahey to you. Sit tight, love, and if you’re a good patient, I’ll even throw in a prize.”

Wylan snorts, then winces, because being out of his head means he can properly feel how much his hand actually hurts, and he finds that it does. Ouch.

Jesper gets out a pair of tweezers and pulls out every piece of glass, cleaning the cuts and wrapping them until Wylan has a bandage that runs from his fingertips up halfway to his elbow.

Jesper drops a kiss into the palm of Wylan’s hand when he’s done, soft and infinitely sweet in ways that Wylan cannot begin to define, in ways until recently he did not know he could have.

“Thank you,” he says, meaning it.

Jesper shrugs one shoulder and tilts his head, “Anytime. Well—not any time, please don’t make a habit of demo-disasters, not that this was a disaster, but—you know what I mean—”

Wylan cuts off the ramble with a kiss, marvelling at the way it never fails to make Jesper release a short little swallowed gasp into his mouth as his hands immediately pull Wylan closer. “I know,” Wylan says. “Thanks.”

“Right,” Jesper says, a little breathless. “Right,” he says again, dropping a kiss to the top of Wylan’s head and then flashing the grin that Wylan knows he uses when he wants to be charming. “First things first, I did say you’d get a prize, and I have it on good authority from Nina that waffles make the best medicine. Feel up to getting out of here?”

Wylan let’s Jesper pull him up by his uninjured hand and lead him out of the warehouse and into town. He’ll have to clean up the mess he’s made of his workstation tomorrow, remake the whole batch of flash bombs. But for now, as Jesper fills the silence with easy conversation about what he’d missed at the Crow Cub, the reassuring weight of his arm wrapped around his shoulders, Wylan thinks it can wait.

Maybe he can afford to be a little careless about some things.

[yourbestpalpercy]

“Applicant 10,038…do you really think you’ll be able to escape? I watched over your tests, I saw how you cheated. You may be smart in some regards but you could barely beat some tests that weren’t even intended to be hard! What makes you think you’ll be able to escape?” Commander Tartar’s voice bellowed over the loudspeaker as 38 ran through the various, terrible chambers. Tartar sounded like it was currently enjoying 38’s struggle. She had just barely managed to crawl her way past the Villi and Belly Phases. She was here now though…at the Intestinal Phase, able to take a moment and catch her poor breath at last.

Her heart was absolutely racing. 38 could barely, just barely catch her breath as she sat against the wall, hand on her heart. 38’s hands shook. She had been almost caught one too many times in the Coccyx phase and almost killed too many times in the Villi and Belly Phase but- but here she was. All she needed to do was get out of this phase and maybe, just maybe, the exit was on the other side. What was her plan for getting back to Octo Valley? Honestly, she didn’t know. Her mind buzzed like a million, angry bees in a jar right now. A jar that was constantly being shaken again and again every minute or two. Sh-She would figure it out though!

38 finally took aim at the button and shot at it, seeing the door open to- …lasers. So..so.. so many lasers. 38 felt her heart sink immediately down to her toes. The lasers weren’t moving but with how many little gaps and places to mess up there were, 38 immediately felt that there was no way she was getting out of this place.

The loudspeaker crackled overhead once more, making 38 realize that it had never been turned off. A new voice spoke as 38 went back to the old checkpoint to see just how many attempts she had to get past this phase, “Tartar, if I could pipe up with my own idea for a moment…” Tartar didn’t respond but 38 heard a shuffling; no doubt it was from him moving in his chair to look at the second voice, “I could try to hunt down Applicant 38, maybe? I’m fairly good at platforming and getting around I’d say.”

Another shuffle; Tartar probably moving to face the microphone again, “Everest, no, you cannot go through and hunt down Applicant 10,038, I will not allow it. You’re far too fragile for how dangerous my security system is. It would be impossible for you to even get to the Intestinal Phase with how little platforming experience you have considering you’ve only done about 12 out of the 80 tests there are. I can’t have you getting hurt or sanitized, Polar Bear. I’d know better than anyone just how easy it is to harm a precious human like you. That’s not to mention the new tests that are being added with a whole new plethora of new kinds of challenges,” The new voice apparently was either named Everest or Polar Bear.

Admittedly, 38 thought the first name was fairly pretty which, if 38 was thinking of the right person, was very fitting. Polar Bear, however, was very dopey and didn’t match the assumed human’s beauty whatsoever. 38 remembered fighting her in one of the tests and she knew enough about her to know that Everest was Commander Tartar’s little saint that they adored like a 12,005 Polémon DX Deloxys Gold Star Holo Rarequeazea card (a card 38 actually had at home by the way). 38 could only roll her eyes as Commander Tartar proceeded to continue to act like Everest was a little fragile butterfly over the loudspeaker for everyone in the facility to hear.

“...Tartar…” Everest groaned (38 could tell that Everest was rolling her eyes too), “The loudspeaker is still on. Everyone can hear you,” A sharp screech shot through the speakers, causing 38 to squeal and cover her ears as best as she could to keep the noise out. The noise was accompanied very shortly after by, “I AM!? UH-! Everyone in the facility- please ignore that-! Just get Applicant 10,038! Do not let them escape! Btw,” Oh my Zapfish, he unironically said btw out loud, 38 almost died of cringe on the spot, “I highly doubt that Applicant 10,038 will be making it past the Intestinal Phase so, 1,869 and Elite, please make your way down to the Intestinal Phase. Oh, and 7, you go too. Get ready to collect Applicant 10,038 when she inevitably fails…” Tartar’s voice became much crueler as it spoke the final word. The loudspeaker shut up quickly after and 38 sat there for an extra second, her body still shaking from the noise.

38 didn’t even realize that she was still standing on the checkpoint, revealing she had 5 attempts. When she did though, she looked up at the status above the checkpoint and saw the 5 attempts she had. You’d expect relief to fill her, that was exactly what she needed right now to get past this segment hopefully. …But instead, 38’s eyes locked onto one of her other statuses.

Slightly sanitized.

That…that didn’t make any sense! When- 38 shook her head. She couldn’t waste time being stressed about being possibly sanitized. The checkpoint had to be broken, time had clearly worn down the checkpoint after all. That status condition had to be the result of someone else who nearly escaped.

38 stared ahead at the lasers before her and aimed her splattershot, beginning to shoot out light blue ink to coat the ground before her and the ground on the other side of the lasers. She turned into her octopus form to regain ink before continuing to coat more ground on the other side of the lasers.

All it took was a small, reckless brush up…

38 respawned back at the checkpoint, the door closed once more. Her ink was still on the ground and her total attempt count had been brought down to 4. Her status now read ‘Partly Sanitized’. 38 grew worried and noticed that up to her wrists and ankles had gone from her mocha skin to sickly, pale, puss-colored green skin. 38 let a shudder run down her back before she charged the door again and opened it with a single shot of her blue ink.

38 let out a determined huff and turned back into her octopus form, swerving through the ink and ducking under the first laser grid without harm this time. Admittedly though, she was very tempted to jump over the bottom laser. 38 popped back out of the ink and turned back to the first laser grid. That bottom laser looked like it was jumpable…right?

38 stared at the laser for a long time before shaking her head and focusing on the second laser grid which was just a singular laser pressed rather close to the ground. She could still swim under that, right? …Right? 38 stared at the laser for a while, longer than the first laser grid, before she shot a large puddle of ink out of her splattershot, making sure that both sides were coated. Again, she swerved through the ink and attempted to dart right under the laser.

Pain shot through her pain for just a second before she respawned, yet again at the checkpoint with the door closed yet again. 38 felt a defeated feeling rising up in her chest before she let out a rough huff and shot the button with blue ink and opened it once more. 38 didn’t even bother checking her status this time. A status that ominously read ‘Moderately Sanitized’. 38 didn’t even notice how her arms and legs, up to her knees and elbows were now that same, pale green that her ankles and wrists were before. One of her eyes were partially red and the ends of her lighter blue tentacles were now a much more visible lime green which had already started to fade into deep blue. 38’s body felt colder now as well.

38 transformed back into her octopus form and jumped over the first laser grid. One of 38’s tentacles got too close to the laser for comfort, nearly causing her to respawn a third time. When the second laser grid came up, 38 jumped over it this time and swerved into the wall. ‘Ouch!’ was the only thought that 38 heard as she emerged from the ink, holding her head weakly in her hands.

Whoops-!

38 stumbled back and fell backwards onto the second laser.

…38’s grip on her splattershot tightened to the extreme as she let out a rough hiss of pure anger. She threw her splattershot to the ground and kicked it at the door. The scraping and the collision noise filled 38’s ears. She looked up at her status again, noticing this time just how cold her body felt along with how green her skin now was. There were only a few, flick traces of her mocha colored skin and her status now read ‘Mostly Sanitized’. 38’s anger was replaced with a dread-filled, heavy, sickly feeling that swiftly started creating a large pit in her stomach.

38 couldn’t afford having any dumb mistakes anymore. She did not want to be a part of Commander Tartar’s mind controlled army. She did not want to share her cousin, Karaage’s, fate (or, as he insisted on being called now, Elite). 38 swam through the ink and quickly picked up her splattershot once more. She shot another spray of blue ink at the button and completely locked in.

38 swam under the first laser with ease, trying to ignore her newly strange thoughts that asked why she was doing this and why she was trying to run from Denewiah (thoughts she attempted to silence with ‘I’m trying to help it with improving its security system’). She jumped over the second laser just as easily. She was much more careful this time. 38 didn’t swerve through the ink and she didn’t slam her head into the wall this time.

She emerged from the ink quickly and took a moment to catch her breath. Immediately after, 38 took aim with her splattershot once more and coated the ground ahead of her and after the third laser grid with more of her light blue ink. If she could just get past this, she could hopefully make it out of this hellhole and back to her parents to tell them that she found her cousin, Karaage.

38 took a calming breath, deeply worried. The thoughts about Commander Tartar still flooded her mind before she leapt through the third grid. For a moment there, she worried she wouldn’t make it. She- she did though! She might actually get through here!

38 fired at the wall, creating a line of ink she could swim up. She slipped through the grate…and immediately was filled with even more dread as she saw the next lasers. ‘There’s more of them!? Are you SQUIDDING me!?’ Her arms dropped to her sides before she groaned sharply…and then heard the door downstairs open up. ‘Crap, he’s here! I gotta hurry up! Wait, why? Commander Tartar is my boss- SHUT UP!’ 38 spotted another checkpoint right in front of her and eagerly activated it. Looking up, 38 found that her status condition still read ‘Mostly Sanitized’. …Guess she really was that close to being sanitized. Her attempt count didn’t go up one either, leaving her at 1 attempt left still.

38 frowned at the sight and looked back at the grate downstairs. Two sanitized octolings in their octopus forms were rapidly shooting through the hallway. AH! 38 sprayed another line of ink in front of her and swam directly in between the first 2 moving lasers, just as they closed, almost causing her final death in the process. Of course those octolings wouldn’t be affected by the lasers, they were already sanitized!

38 then saw the second pair of moving lasers, having almost charged right into them while trying to escape the sanitized octolings. This set was only one laser, moving up and down slowly. A movement that filled 38 with dread just as she heard, echoing from behind, “There she is!” 38 looked back and saw only one familiar face, Karaage.

38 scrambled to fire at the second one and managed to duck under the laser before it came down on her. Karaage wouldn’t let her splat him that easily though, the best 38 could do was keep running.

And believe me, she did. Right now was probably the most focused 38 had ever been! Karaage wasn’t too far behind and every time he got close, he would attempt to grab 38 only to miss as she ducked under his hand and managed to place a kick directly into his stomach. Karaage screamed and fell back into the sanitized laser and was shot backwards by the force of it as well. There. That should hold him for…eh, a few extra seconds. 38 spun back to the final grid of lasers for this part.

There were two, moving up and down rather quickly.

38 felt that large pit form in her stomach once more, a pit made worse by Karaage’s laugh, “You know you won’t be able to get past that! You should just give up! You might end up not being blended if you do,” Karaage pulled himself up off the ground, still nursing his head a little.

38 stared at Karaage. His words sunk into 38’s skin worse than ever. She now stared at her own self. Karaage…was right. 38 knew she couldn’t get past this final laser. A final octoling sprang up from the grate leading back to the first floor. It wasn’t that second octoling Tartar named. She looked different, having blue eyes instead of the red, evil ones that 38 had seen on every sanitized octoling so far.

Karaage met her eyes before turning back to look at the new octoling, “Oh! Finally! About damn time, 7. Clam it all! You’re so clam slow!” Karaage hissed at the new octoling. A death glare formed on Karaage’s face. 38 had never seen it before.

“I’m no slower than you, shuckface! I was just pulled into a conversation randomly, so sorry for not showing up until now!” The octoling flipped him the bird, with an expression of pure hatred twisted across her face, her eyes burning with rage.

38 felt a spike of worry run through her just as she swung back to the lasers-

Everything instantly went black and the last thing 38 felt was a sharp, burning feeling that contrasted with how cold she felt at the same time. 38 had been too close to the laser…

She only heard one last thing; Karaage. “Damn you, 7! I missed my dumbass cousin running into that laser!” He sounded like he was growing increasingly more frustrated.

***

…38’s coldness got worse and worse. She felt dead, very, very dead.

“Good job, Elite,” That was Commander Tartar…

“Ah, you know I could do it. I shoved her face into the laser myself! I watched as she became sanitized in my own hands! You should’ve been there! It was exhilarating!” Elite. 38 didn’t even know his face, how did she know his name?

“Elite, shut up, she FELL into the laser, you’re the one who got pushed into the laser. Stop making up meaningless bullshrip.” 7. How did she…? 38 didn’t even know 7 either, but yet… she knew her name…

“You shut up! You weren’t even paying attention! How would you know what happened!?” Elite screamed at 7 suddenly and Denewiah let out a rough sigh before shoving them apart, “Enough fighting with 7, Elite, and stop making up lies. Even if she did fall into the laser and you were the idiot to get shoved, I’m still congratulating you two for even getting her back to the infirmary. …2…uh, where’s 1,869?” Commander Tartar asked just as 38 opened her eyes. She felt dopey… “Oh, she’s awake faster than most. Interesting.”

38 lifted her head only to set it back down immediately and decided to just look from where she currently was. She was in a bright room and was lying in a bed. To her left was 7 and to her right, much farther away of course, was Elite who seemed amused by her even waking up. And, just in front of her, was the android she had somehow managed to outsmart.

Its eyes narrowed a little at the sight of 38, tucking its hands behind its back, “Applicant 10,038, can you tell me what 9 + 10 is?” 38 stared at Commander Tartar and carefully sat up in her bed, “Uhm…21?”

Denewiah groaned, “You’re stupid. Great. Exactly what I needed right now,” Commander Tartar rubbed his temples before spinning around and starting to leave the room, “Whatever, you can be a guard, can’t be too hard. 7, Elite, show our newest recruit around the Kamabo Labs please…”

Elite looked at 7 with a disapproving look again and once Commander Tartar was far enough away, he said, “Yeah no. I’m not being stuck with either of you again,” Elite crossed his arms before approaching 38, a smirk coming onto his face. 38 couldn’t hide the worry coming onto her own face.

“Welcome to Commander Denewiah Tartarus’s army, Nakji…”