#idk if this is a weird thing to do. but also I Do want to respond to stuff

[ggukivrse]

THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

warnings: swearing, they actually talk about their feelings :0, explicit sexual content, kissing, making out, hickeys, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (be smarter than them pls), a bit of banter, petnames (baby), they're really fucking cute in the end it makes me sick, let me know if i missed anything!

notes: idk if this counts as my first completed series buttt... i'm gonna act like it does. thank you so so much to all the love and support you guys have given me for the past two parts, i'm genuinely so beyond grateful for it all :<< hopefully, you guys enjoy this part too!!

ps. READ PART ONE HERE & PART TWO HERE!!

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

You open his chat window again like it’s muscle memory. Like your thumb don't know how to not betray you.

It’s not even about sending something. You’ve got no intention of doing that. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But the screen is always open, staring back at you with that last unread message you sent almost a week ago — a throwaway meme you found on your lunch break. No reply. Not even a reaction.

And it hadn’t felt like a big deal in the moment. You sent it like always, light and dumb and nothing. But then the nothing kept going. No little gray typing bubble. No 'lol.' No double text. No late night 'you up?' Just this wall of silence.

You would’ve rather gotten a dry reply. Hell, even a thumbs up. Anything to prove that he saw you.

But now it’s been long enough that sending something new would feel desperate. Like you’re chasing him. Like you’re asking for something you’re not even supposed to want.

You lock your phone and throw it face down on your bed.

Then pick it back up five seconds later.

Then toss it again, harder, as if that’ll prove something.

You wish you were mad. You think you are mad — at least a little. But it’s a tangled kind of anger. One that knots itself up with embarrassment and sharp, bitter shame. You want to scream at him, yeah. But also at yourself.

Why did you let this happen?

Why did you let him blur the lines and kiss you like that and touch you like he meant it?

You were supposed to be smarter than this.

You lie back across your bed with one arm flung over your eyes. It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. It was just sex. Just two nights. Two insanely good, dangerously close, way-too-connected nights. But still — technically just sex.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when he remembered your favourite sauce order without asking. Not when he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear while you ranted about work.

And especially not when he went cold the second things felt too good.

That’s what keeps twisting the knife. That shift in him. Like someone flipped a switch and rewrote the script. One minute, he was holding you like you mattered. The next, you were stepping out of his bathroom and into a stranger’s apartment.

You haven’t heard his voice since.

You bite the inside of your cheek and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push down that lump of feeling before it rises too high.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re overthinking it.

Maybe he’s just going through something. Maybe he didn’t mean to shut you out. Maybe he thought you didn’t want to hear from him. Or maybe he’s just a fucking coward who got scared when the stakes changed.

But then, why didn’t you reach out?

Why didn’t you ask if he was okay, or tell him he was being weird, or demand an explanation like you’re owed one?

Because you’re afraid.

Because you don’t want the truth if the truth is that he regrets all of it.

Because deep down, you know this isn’t just a friendship anymore, and pretending it is would break you worse than silence.

Your phone buzzes once on the comforter beside you.

You freeze. Then sit up fast, breath catching halfway in your throat.

Your eyes are already scanning the screen before your brain can fully catch up.

Kook 🍜: hi

One word. Just hi. Like the last seven days didn’t happen. Like your stomach hasn’t been in knots trying to make sense of his silence. Like he didn’t vanish without warning after folding you into his sheets and leaving you to figure out what the hell it meant.

Your breath leaves you in one uneven exhale.

You blink at the message, your body locked in this strange stillness. Your thumb hovers, frozen. Part of you is tempted to stare at it until it disappears. Ignore it. Let him feel what it’s like to be the one left hanging. But your hands betray you again — just like they always do with him.

You: Radio silence for a week and all I get is a fucking hi? Wtf Jungkook

It’s not even what you really want to say, but it’s the closest thing you can manage that doesn’t sound like I missed you so much it made me sick or please don’t do this again.

Three dots appear.

Your heart squeezes like it’s caught in someone’s fist. And then the dots vanish.

Then come back.

Then vanish again.

You mutter, “Fucking say something,” to no one. It comes out too small, too desperate. You shut your eyes tight for a second like you can wring the feeling out of yourself by force.

A minute or so passes before his reply finally sends.

Kook 🍜: sorry. can i talk to you today?

You reread it so many times the text starts to lose meaning. Can I talk to you today?

You feel sick.

There’s no way you don’t know what this is. The phrasing. The tone. He wants to talk? What the fuck else could that mean, if not that he’s about to cut things off? That he’s going to hand you some polite little speech about how you’re great, but this can’t happen again. That he wants to stay friends and he doesn’t want to confuse things any more than he already has.

Or worse — he thinks you guys are better off cutting contact all together.

You bite down hard on your thumb, suddenly on the verge of tears and furious at yourself for it. You should’ve never let it get here. You should’ve drawn the line before the second time. Before the car. Before the party.

You should’ve been more careful with your heart.

But you’re here now. So far past the line you can’t even see it anymore.

You open your keyboard, then close it again. You want to ask what he wants to talk about. You want to demand answers over text so you don’t have to see his face when he says the words. But you know you won’t get anything that way.

You: Where?

Kook 🍜: i can come to yours

You sit there for a second, just breathing. You feel like you’re bracing for a crash that’s already midair.

You: What time?

Kook 🍜: i can be there in an hour?

You don’t answer. Not right away. You’re too busy staring at your reflection in the dark screen, wondering why your face looks so calm when your body feels like it’s trying to collapse in on itself.

You: Okay

You put the phone down carefully, like it might go off again, or explode, and turn your gaze to the ceiling. Every minute after this is going to stretch like it’s mocking you.

You don’t know if you’re getting closure or clarity. You don’t even know which one would hurt more.

But you know you won't cancel.

Because if this is going to end — if he’s going to say it — it has to be to your face. You need to see it.

You need to know for sure.

Jungkook is fucked.

Like, actually, cosmically, irreversibly fucked.

He stares at the elevator doors like they’re the gates to hell, and his own reflection in the brushed metal does him no favours. He looks tense. Jaw tight, shoulders hunched up high like he’s trying to fold himself into a more manageable version. Someone chill. Someone who isn’t about to shit himself over the thought of seeing you.

He rolls his shoulders back, shakes out his hands. Useless. He’s already sweating through his hoodie.

Every nerve in his body feels like it’s tuned an octave too high. Like if someone so much as breathes in his direction right now, he’ll either snap or confess something humiliating.

He wipes his palms on his jeans again. That’s the fourth time since the lobby.

The worst part is, he knows how he got here. He knows exactly when it happened, too — the moment the line moved.

It was your laugh. The tired kind, all cracked at the edges after that hellish Friday you had. You were curled up in his passenger seat, half out of it, feet tucked under you, and you’d looked over at him with that soft, worn-down smile.

And it just… hit him.

The weight of it. Of you.

He wanted to reach over and touch your face. Not to tease. Not to start something. Just to feel your skin under his fingers like it was allowed now.

And the second that thought formed — clear and blinding and way too tender — it was over. Game fucking over.

Because it wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

You’re his best friend. Have been for years. He knows how you take your coffee, how you organise your playlists by mood, how you chew on the inside of your cheek when you're anxious. You’re not just some girl he hooked up with at a party. You’re you.

And now, he’s standing in an elevator on the way to your apartment, trying not to think about how badly he messed it all up.

He hadn’t meant to ghost you. Not really. It was just — after that night, after the way you looked at him, all warm and trusting — he panicked. Full-body, brain-scrambling, total system failure. He couldn’t even look at you without feeling like he was seconds from saying something stupid like "Don’t sleep with anyone else, please," or "I think I’m in love with you."

So instead, he shut down. Did the one thing he always swore he wouldn’t do with you — he pulled away. Got weird. Avoided it. Avoided you.

And now you’re pissed.

Rightfully so.

He deserved that text you sent. Probably worse. You could’ve ignored him completely and he wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. You texted back and he’s clinging onto that like a lifeline. Because it means there’s still time. Still a chance to fix it — if he doesn’t blow it again.

He presses the heel of his hand to his chest like that might steady the erratic rhythm of his heart.

What the fuck is he even going to say?

Sorry for being an emotionally constipated idiot?

Sorry I ghosted you because I realised I’m in love with you and it short-circuited my whole fucking personality?

Sorry I thought I could fuck you and still keep pretending like you don’t mean more to me than anyone else?

The elevator dings.

Jungkook flinches like it slapped him, then scrubs a hand through his hair, lets out a tight breath, and steps through the doors before he can change his mind.

He’s here.

Fuck. He’s actually here.

Jungkook looks like he didn’t sleep last night. Hair messy, clothes a little wrinkled, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before they dart away again. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid of what they’ll do if left unsupervised.

You tell yourself not to feel relieved. Not to let it show. He didn’t cancel. He showed up. That shouldn’t mean as much as it does. It really, really shouldn’t.

But still — there’s something in your chest that unclenches when you see him standing there, real and present. Even if he does look like he’s about to apologise for burning down your house or something.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You step back from the door to let him in. Dry. Wordless. The move is automatic, but your body feels stiff with it, like your own muscles are annoyed on your behalf.

He hesitates before stepping inside, like he thinks the floor might swallow him up. You don't offer a smile. Don't even look at him once the door’s closed behind him.

You cross your arms and lean back against the edge of the kitchen counter, watching him with a blank expression that’s only half-real. The other half is tightly coiled under your skin — anger, sure, but under that, all the feelings you’ve been pretending not to have.

He does a slow, uncertain glance around your apartment like something might’ve changed since the last time he was here. But it hasn’t. It’s still your place. Same plants, same overhead light humming softly, same faint scent of laundry detergent that clings to the air.

He stands there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It’s like he doesn’t know where to put his body.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Not around you. Jungkook’s always been comfortable here. The kind of comfortable that leaves shoes by the door without asking. The kind that opens your fridge like he owns a shelf. But right now, he looks like a stranger in someone else’s house.

You let the silence stretch out. You’re waiting for him to just speak, but he doesn’t

He doesn’t even try.

Eventually, your voice cuts through the air, a little too sharp. “Jungkook, you said you wanted to talk.”

His head snaps up like he forgot that was part of the deal. Like the fact that he came here at all already cost him everything he had in reserve.

“Yeah,” he says. His throat moves when he swallows. “I do.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to start, then closes it again. Shifts his stance. Rubs the back of his neck with one hand. You catch the way his eyes flick to the floor, then back to you, then away again.

You narrow your eyes. “Well?”

He breathes out a weak, almost bitter laugh and runs both hands down his thighs, like he’s physically trying to ground himself. “I don’t know how to do this,” he mutters.

You frown, arms still crossed tight across your chest. “What? Talk?”

You hate being like this towards him — you feel like a bitch. But it’s the only way that you can stop yourself from just spilling all of your thoughts and feelings to him.

“No, I—” He breaks off, jaw flexing. “No. I mean… say the right thing. Say any of it without sounding like an idiot.”

You blink, unimpressed. “So you came here without knowing what you were gonna say.”

He looks at you then. Fully. And for the first time since he walked in, you see the real wreckage behind his eyes. There’s nothing cool or casual about it. He’s unravelling in slow motion. Everything about him is quiet desperation wrapped in someone trying really hard not to fall apart.

“I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know what I wanted,” he says finally. “And then I figured it out, and that somehow made it worse.”

You stay silent.

He shifts closer, not by much — just a few inches. “I fucked up,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I did. I know I disappeared. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. I was just—” he stops, jaw tightening again. “I got scared.”

You scoff under your breath and look away.

“I’m serious,” he says, softer now. “It freaked me out. How fast it happened. How much it changed.”

You look back at him, jaw set. “What changed?”

He swallows again. Stiff. His voice cracks a little when he speaks next.

“You,” he says again. “How I feel about you. That changed.”

Your chest tightens.

You don’t react, not visibly. You keep your face still, unreadable, even though your brain is suddenly scrambling. You’ve been yanked in too many directions this past week. You’re not going to lean into hope just because he finally decided to speak.

So you say nothing. You just hold his gaze and wait.

Jungkook takes a breath, his shoulders rising with it, then falling in a slow, deliberate exhale. The nervousness is still there — but it’s settled into something quieter now.

“I kept trying to tell myself it didn’t mean anything,” he says. “That it was just— whatever. Two friends, getting carried away. We were drunk the first time, right? It was easy to lie to myself about that. Easy to say it didn’t have to go anywhere.”

His voice is calm, but there's tension underneath it.

“But the second time?” He pauses, tongue running along the inside of his cheek, eyes still locked on yours. “That wasn’t drunk. That wasn’t casual. That was me driving us across town just to make you feel better, because I can’t stand it when you’re not okay.”

You flinch — barely — but he sees it. You know he does.

“And then it was me kissing you like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. You think I didn’t notice how different that felt? I’ve never kissed you like that before. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between you.

You’re still standing by the counter, arms crossed, but now your grip has loosened. You hate how much this is getting to you, how badly you want to give in, how your chest aches just hearing him say the things you’d only let yourself think when the lights were off and your phone screen was dark.

Jungkook takes another step toward you.

“When I brought you back to mine that night… when you came out of the shower, and I saw you just standing there in my space, looking at me like I was safe…” His voice catches, but not in a way that makes him crumble — just enough to show the truth of it. “I freaked the fuck out.”

You blink at him, finally speaking. “Yeah. I noticed.”

He huffs out a breath that's almost a laugh, but not quite. “I didn’t mean to shut down. I didn’t even know what I was doing in the moment. I just— everything in me wanted to pull you close, and that’s when I realised I couldn’t keep doing this the way we were doing it. Not without losing my shit every time you left.”

Your throat feels tight, but you still ask, “So you decided to ghost me instead?”

That lands. His jaw flexes, and he nods once. “Yeah. I did. I thought if I gave it space, I could go back to being normal. Go back to just being your friend. But I couldn’t. I can’t.

“I don’t want to be just your friend anymore. Not because of the sex, not because it was good— which it was, but that’s not the point. It’s you. It’s always been you. I didn’t realise how much until I almost lost it completely.”

You swallow hard. Your arms are uncrossed now. Not folded in, not defensive — just hanging at your sides like you’re too stunned to remember what to do with them.

Jungkook steps in closer. Not touching you yet. But near enough that you can smell him — faint cologne, his laundry detergent, the scent you associate with your car windows fogging up.

“I missed you,” he says, and his voice turns softer. “Every day. And it scared the shit out of me, how badly I wanted to talk to you. Touch you. Just be around you. I wasn’t ready to admit it last week, and I was a coward for that. But I’m not running anymore.”

Silence again.

Except it doesn’t feel like the ones you’ve been drowning in for a week.

“I don’t know what you’re feeling,” he says, lower now, like the words might break if he’s too loud. “And I’m not assuming anything. But if you still want me around— really want me— just say the word. I’ll figure out the rest.”

You inhale slowly, try to even out your breathing, but your chest still feels like it’s barely holding together. Your heart’s doing that thing where it thuds too hard without speeding up.

You hate that you believe him. That you always would’ve. That no matter how angry you were, no matter how cold you tried to be when he walked in — you still wanted him to explain, to prove it wasn’t what your worst thoughts told you it was.

And now he has.

He’s standing in front of you with open hands, with the words you oh so desperately wanted to hear. And for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I hate you,” you say quietly.

It’s not true. Not even close. But it’s the first thing that leaves your mouth.

Jungkook huffs out a dry laugh, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding. “I figured.”

You shake your head once. “No. I mean it. I fucking hate you for this. For—” You break off, because your voice is shaking now. “For making me feel like I was crazy. For not even saying goodnight after… after everything.”

His face tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You could’ve just told me,” you go on. “You could’ve said it was too much. That it got weird. That you needed time. Anything. But you disappeared. And I had to sit here wondering if I made it all up."

You pause, pressing your lips together.

“And I— I missed you too, you know,” you add, quieter this time.

His mouth opens like he might speak, but no sound comes out at first. Instead, he closes the space between you by half, slow and steady, like he’s afraid of pushing too far.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you whisper, but your tone isn't mean. Not even close.

He laughs, soft and low. “Yeah. I know.

“You promise me you’re sure? Cause Jungkook, I will fucking cut off your dick if you pull this shit again.”

He smiles but doesn’t hesitate. “I promise. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You stare at him.

Long enough that the air between you stretches taut, thin as thread.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you but still doesn’t know if he’s allowed. His jaw flexes, his chest rising and falling in uneven swells. You can tell he’s waiting — for a sign, for a go-ahead, for you.

And even though part of you still wants to be mad, still wants to make him sweat just a little longer, the rest of you aches. For his mouth. For his hands. For the solid, grounding weight of him.

So you move.

You step into the last inch of space between you and grab the front of his hoodie. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a year, but you don’t give him a chance to say anything.

You kiss him.

Not out of impulse. Not for show. You kiss him because you need to. Because your chest feels like it’s going to split open if you don’t.

At first, it’s quiet. Just lips pressed to lips — careful, slow. There’s a pause between each pass of your mouth over his, like you’re both trying to remember how this started. How you even got here.

But then he sighs against you — not loud, not dramatic, just a sound full of relief — and it unravels something.

His hands lift, hesitating for only half a second before they settle on your waist, fingers curling tight. You press closer, and his lips part beneath yours. The angle shifts. Your nose bumps his cheek. It’s not perfect, but it’s real, and when your tongue brushes his, everything tilts.

The sweetness melts fast.

He makes a sound low in his throat and drags you in like the distance is unbearable. Your hands slide up into his hair, fingers threading through the strands at the base of his neck, and the way he reacts — the little shiver he tries to swallow — sends heat straight down your spine.

You kiss him harder.

His body crowds yours until your back meets the wall. Not rough, not rushed. Just firm. His chest presses to yours, and you can feel the way his heart races. How your own pulse kicks up to match it.

The kiss deepens, turns messy at the edges. His teeth catch your bottom lip and your breath stutters, but you don’t pull back. You tilt your chin, chasing more, and the next time he kisses you, it’s hungrier. One of his hands slips to the small of your back, palm dragging slow and warm beneath your shirt. The skin-to-skin contact makes your whole body twitch.

You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his hands tightening. His other arm slips around your waist completely, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly you’re not thinking anymore. You’re just feeling.

The tension that’s been bottling up between you two — the silence, the week of wondering, the ache of missing him so much it hurt — it all floods to the surface.

You fist your hands in his hoodie, yanking him impossibly closer. Your hips shift forward, just enough to brush him, and the sound he makes is sharp and involuntary, caught between a breath and a groan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely pulling back. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. “You’re driving me insane.”

You huff, lips brushing his. “That’s fair.”

Then he kisses you again. Rougher this time. Desperate in a way that makes your knees go soft.

He doesn’t stay at your mouth for long. His lips trail down — your jaw, your cheek, the shell of your ear. His breath is hot and uneven, and when he finds your neck, your whole body reacts. Your hands clutch at him, your back arches off the wall, and the soft sound that escapes your throat isn’t one you mean to make.

He feels it. Hears it. Answers it with a low, reverent sound that seems to vibrate straight through you.

His tongue traces the spot beneath your ear, slow and deliberate, and your eyes flutter shut.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breath catching sharp in your throat. You pull back for a second before lowering your mouth to his neck, right where the collar of his hoodie dips. He lets out a small sound, hands flexing on your waist, when your lips press there.

You start slow. You can feel his pulse under your tongue, the way his chest rises against yours, unsteady and warm. Then you part your lips and suck gently at the spot just below his jaw. His whole body stutters, hips jerking against yours before he can stop it.

Your fingers trail down his chest, tugging his hoodie collar aside for better access. His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted.

You do it again, this time with enough pressure to leave a mark, and the sound of your mouth working against his skin is lewd.

He groans. It’s low and rough and barely held back, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You feel him hardening now, undeniable through the fabric where he’s pressed against you.

“All mine?” you whisper, your lips brushing over the new mark you’ve left.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “All yours.”

His voice is breathless. Wrecked. And so damn certain it knocks something loose in your chest.

You pull back just enough to look at him — really look. His pupils are blown, his lips swollen, a flush climbing high on his cheeks. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like he would if you let him.

“I missed that mouth,” he mutters, hands gliding under your shirt again, palms broad and warm. “Missed everything.”

You kiss his throat in reply and drag your teeth across it until he swears under his breath.

His hips grind against you again, harder this time. You both feel it — the friction, the heat building between your bodies.

His arms shift beneath you and he lifts you clean off the ground in one smooth motion, hands strong under your thighs. A startled sound escapes your throat as your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, gripping him tight.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I want you so bad it’s actually stupid.”

You smile, drunk on the feel of him.

“Bedroom?” you murmur, tracing your lips over the new mark blooming against his skin.

He hums lowly, and shifts his grip on your thighs.

He carries you through the hallway and your lips never leave his skin for more than a second.

When he reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He steps inside and drops you onto the mattress in one fluid movement.

You barely get your bearings before he’s crawling over you, slotting his body between your legs, His mouth finds yours again, and you moan into it before you can stop yourself when his knee presses between your legs.

Your hips twitch, grinding down against the pressure, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through your chest as his mouth moves with yours. His hand slips under your shirt again, this time bolder, fingers spanning across your ribs and inching higher until his knuckles brush the curve of your breast.

You gasp softly, and he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Off.”

You sit up just enough to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head in one smooth pull, your hair mussed from the friction. He watches the fabric fall to the floor, then looks at you.

“You’re so fucking pretty," he breathes.

You roll your eyes automatically, even though your face is already burning. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he says, and his voice drops low. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His lips part and he kisses along your sternum — slow, wet presses of his mouth that trail up and then out, over the swell of one breast, then the other.

You inhale sharply when his mouth grazes the sensitive skin beside your nipple, and his eyes flick up at the sound, pupils blown. He kisses lower, then higher again, murmuring against your skin, “Can’t believe I went a week without this.”

The vibration of his voice right against your skin makes you arch, and he meets you halfway, grinding down slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what you’re chasing and wants to stretch it out just to watch you squirm.

Your hands curl into his shoulders, nails biting down just enough to make him grunt softly into your skin. He rolls his hips again, slow and heavy, and the pressure against your core has your breath catching in your throat.

“Koo,” you whine out.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips pink and wet, hair falling into his eyes. He grins, crooked and hot and deeply pleased with himself.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, and his voice is pure sin.

You glare, but your thighs shift open under him anyway.

“Please.”

He hums, satisfied, and starts working his way lower. Every kiss is wet and unhurried. Down your chest, across your stomach. His hands follow, smoothing over your ribs, down to your hips, dragging the waistband of your pants just slightly with them. His thumbs hook in the fabric, pausing right above your pelvis.

He looks up at you, smug and dark-eyed.

“Gonna let me take these off?”

He's so annoying you're gonna kill him. “Do I look like I’m stopping you?”

“No,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your navel, “but I like hearing you say it.”

You huff, fingers threading into his hair again. “Take them off, Kook.”

He eases them down slowly — too slowly — dragging the fabric down your legs while his mouth follows in a path of heat and pressure. He kisses your hipbone, your inner thigh, every patch of skin he uncovers like it’s something sacred. When your panties go next, he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat — more reverent than smug this time.

You’re already wet, already aching, and from the way his eyes flicker as he takes you in, he fucking knows it.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked. You missed me that much?”

You exhale hard, cheeks hot. “Shut up and do something about it.”

He grins again, slower this time. “Anything you want.”

His hands grip your thighs and spread them further apart, and before you can say another word, his mouth is on you.

The first swipe of his tongue is long, and delibirate. You jerk at the contact, a broken sound slipping from your lips, and he groans like he’s the one falling apart. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you in place, and does it again.

Every movement of his tongue is practiced and precise. He starts slow, almost gentle, licking through your folds with a kind of focus that makes your head spin. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, but he pushes them apart with ease, never breaking rhythm.

Your hands move to the back of his head, gripping tight. His tongue circles your clit once, then again, and the third time he sucks it between his lips. You try to stifle a moan, but it slips from your lips anyway.

He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your skin.

“Keep making those sounds, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Wanna hear every fucking thing I do to you.”

He movements turn faster, his mouth messy and hot and relentless. You’re already close, the build-up sharp and climbing, and he can feel it. One of his hands slips lower, spreading you open further with his thumb, and his tongue drags in tighter circles.

You’re writhing, panting, toes curling into the sheets. Your fingers tug at his hair, your spine arching off the bed.

“Fuck— Kook—” you gasp, head thrown back.

He groans again, the sound vibrating straight through your pussy. He doubles down, mouth moving faster, and when your hips start to stutter, erratic and desperate, he presses his hand over your stomach, grounding you.

“You’re gonna come for me?” he murmurs against you, mouth slick with you. “Gonna let me taste it?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak, your whole body wound tight and ready to snap.

He presses his mouth against you again, lips sucking against your clit, and the feeling has you squirming with pleasure.

“Kook—” your voice breaks open as you come hard against his mouth.

He moans, but his movements don't stop.

Your body arches helplessly, heels digging into the bed, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other still tangled in his hair as you ride out the wave. You’re gasping, blinking hard, your heart trying to punch through your ribs.

Only when your legs start to tremble uncontrollably does he finally pull back.

His lips are slick and swollen, jaw damp, hair messy from where you’ve been gripping it. And he looks wrecked — eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide, like just being between your thighs has undone something in him.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then drags his lips slowly up your inner thigh, leaving lazy kisses in his wake.

You’re still catching your breath, staring at the ceiling like your soul just left your body, when he plants a final kiss on the inside of your knee and murmurs, “Yeah. I’m never ghosting you again.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too blissed out to be mad. “You better not.”

“After that?” he says, crawling back up your body, slow and unhurried. “I’d be clinically insane.”

He settles over you again, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, then another between your breasts, then finally your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, and when he groans against your lips, it sends a fresh jolt of heat straight through you.

His body is flush against yours, his clothed cock thick and heavy where it presses against your thigh. You let your hands trail down his chest slowly to tug at the denim loops of his jeans.

"Want these off," you mumble against his lips.

He smiles and presses one last kiss to your mouth before he leans back onto his knees. His hands go to his belt, and you watch the way his fingers fumble for just a second.

He gets the buckle undone, then the zipper, the sound louder than it should be in your quiet bedroom. You watch as he shucks them down, boxers and all, and your breath catches slightly at the sight of him — flushed and hard and achingly ready.

“Better?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, breath shallow, and he’s already crawling back over you. The heat of him sinks into your skin as his body settles between your thighs, bare now.

Your legs part without hesitation.

His weight, the press of his chest to yours, the familiar scent of him wrapped in something raw and new — it all hits at once, and your whole body shivers.

He’s warm everywhere. The kind of warmth that soaks into your bones and makes you ache for more.

His hands slide along your arms until they find yours where they’re resting above your head. He threads his fingers through yours and presses them gently into the pillow, pinning you there. His eyes search yours, and you feel the first brush of him between your legs, just the tip, teasing the edge of you.

He doesn’t move yet. Just rests there, eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and thick, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

You don’t answer — not with words. You just tilt your hips up, welcoming him in with nothing but a look.

He pushes in slow — painfully slow — each inch dragging fire across your nerves as your body stretches to take him. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, your fingers clenching around his. When he’s fully buried inside you, he stills completely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel… unreal.”

You can’t speak — your body’s too full, too wrecked already — so you kiss him instead. Slow and sweet and a little desperate. Your hips rock up, seeking more.

He groans into your mouth, finally starting to move, and every thrust is so fucking deep. It’s not rushed or frantic. It’s him savouring you, like he wants to remember how this feels with every part of himself.

His hands stay tight around yours, anchoring you both to the bed, to each other.

The rhythm builds, a slow burn that spreads everywhere, and between kisses you catch the way he looks at you — like he’s seeing something he’s afraid to lose. Like there’s something he wants to say but can’t yet.

“You were supposed to beg,” you manage to murmur against his mouth, breathless. “Grovel a little.”

That crooked smile curls against your lips. “My bad, baby,” he murmurs. “You can make me beg next time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re gonna regret that.”

He shifts his hips, thrusting deeper, and your breath leaves you in a ragged gasp.

“You promise?”

The challenge in his voice is smug, but his eyes are dark and glassy, his control hanging by a thread. You whimper in response, thighs tightening around his waist, and he dips his head to your throat, dragging his lips along your pulse like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

He starts to move with more purpose now, making you feel every second of it. His cock grinds into that spot that makes your vision blur, and your whole body tenses, fingers squeezing his like a lifeline.

The moan you let out is shameless, high and wrecked, when he tilts his hips just right — again and again, like he’s carving his name into your body from the inside.

“Right there?” he murmurs, already knowing. His hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you — every reaction, every sound. “God, you’re so fucking wet. You always get like this for me?”

“Koo—” His name slips out broken, a warning and a plea wrapped in one.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours. His thrusts get rougher now, faster, the rhythm losing polish but gaining intensity. “Let me have you, baby. Come again for me.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your whole body winding tight. His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond, tongue tangling with yours, greedy and open and honest in all the ways his words still aren’t.

When he pulls back, he’s panting, “You feel like heaven, fuck.”

You can’t even process it — not now, not when his rhythm stutters and his hips slam harder, each thrust jolting a cry from your throat. Your legs are trembling, your grip bruising where it clings to him, and you can feel the knot in your stomach tighening.

“That’s it,” he groans, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, teeth catching on his skin as your orgasm crashes over you. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, and you cry out his name. His hand squeezes yours back, holding you through it.

Your walls grip him tight, and he groans loud against your skin, hips faltering. “Fuck— shit—”

He thrusts once more before spilling into you with a broken sound, voice rasping your name like a prayer.

His whole body shudders as he comes, arms locked tight around you like he needs you to stay exactly where you are — here, under him, around him, real. His forehead drops to your shoulder, damp curls brushing your skin as he exhales, long and shaky.

Neither of you move right away. The air between you is thick with heat and breath and a comforting silence.

Eventually though, he shifts just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone. Then another, softer.

His hand slides along your waist, fingertips brushing lazy patterns into your skin. You hum under your breath — not a word, just a sound — and he responds by kissing your shoulder again.

Your legs are still tangled together. His body still half-draped over yours. There’s a mess between your thighs and sweat clinging to your skin, and you should probably say something, anything — but there’s something sweet about the silence now. It’s soft. Unspoken. Peaceful, in a weirdly intimate way.

He shifts again, easing out of you with a quiet groan, and you wince a little at the loss.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, running a hand gently over your thigh like an apology.

“It’s fine,” you breathe, eyes closed, chest still rising and falling too fast.

He doesn’t go far. Just rolls to the side, still close enough that his leg stays pressed against yours, and reaches for the blanket to pull it up over you both. He tugs you into his chest like second nature, burying his nose in your hair, his hand stroking absently up and down your arm.

“You good?” he asks softly, lips brushing your temple.

“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “You?”

He pauses. Then he nods against your skin. “Yeah. More than.”

You lay there like that for a while, heartbeats evening out. He’s still drawing shapes on your skin — fingertips slow, mindless — and you smile to yourself, warmth blooming low in your stomach.

“So,” you murmur eventually, voice still hoarse. “What now? We high-five and call it a night?”

He huffs a laugh into your hair. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a high-five.”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “Cocky.”

“Confident,” he corrects, grinning. “But really—” He shifts a little so he can see your face, one hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “If we’re doing this, I wanna do it right.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Do what right?”

He raises an eyebrow, like it should be obvious. “Us.”

There’s a pause. You look at him, and he looks at you, and it’s terrifying and sweet all at once.

“I really like you,” he says, quieter this time. “And I’m not just saying that because I just got laid.” He cracks a small smile. “Though, to be fair, that was mind-blowing.”

You snort. “So humble.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your nose with his. “I’ll take you out. I’ll plan dumb dates. I’ll be obnoxiously charming and show up with flowers. I’ll be— like— a gentleman, or whatever.”

You give him a look. “You should’ve done all that before you fucked me.”

His grin spreads. “Yeah, well. Guess I got the order wrong. You gonna hold that against me?”

“Maybe,” you say, lips twitching.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, fingers brushing your cheek. “You’ll see. I’ll be so romantic it’ll make you want to punch me.”

“I already want to punch you.”

“And yet,” he says smugly, pulling you closer, “you’re still in my bed.”

“This is my bed, dumbass.”

He pauses. “Okay, fair. But I am naked in it. With you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face won’t go away. His arm tightens around your waist, and you let yourself relax into it — into him. For once, it doesn’t feel like something to second-guess.

He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

You tuck your face into his neck and sigh. “You better bring the good flowers. Like the ones that don’t die in two days.”

“Oh, so now you’re picky?”

“You said dates and flowers. I’m holding you to it.”

“Noted,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I’m gonna be so disgustingly good to you.”

You laugh softly into his skin.

And he just holds you tighter.

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

[cherie-doll]

Think about CoD guys getting knocked out on the battlefield and when they wake up, the medic they have a crush on is carrying them out of the field back to the chopper. Perhaps princess style

Does it make sense? No. Is it safe? Also no. But it is funny

bet you medic searched up and read "how to carry a girl: the most romantic methods" on wikihow and decided to use it on the battlefield

=͟͟͞♡ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

COD Men Getting Carried Princess Style

:‹ Last thing Price remembered doing was reporting his status over radio before hearing the panicked voices of Laswell and the others. He knew he was in good hands with his teammates but he didn't expect to see your face when he woke up. He also did not expect you to be carrying him, and he hadn't even realized until he was finally able to tear his eyes away from your face and see your arms and hands around his body. He doesn't know whether to thank or curse Laswell for sending you out to pick him up.

:‹ Simon waking up in a state of confusion. Because no one has been able to carry him with this much ease, especially not in this princess style. Usually he gets the rough treatment of getting thrown over a shoulder and that's it. But you're even careful to make sure he's not being rocked too hard while you're holding him. He's far too dazed to say or do anything much so he just lets it happen. Doesn't say or ask anything as you rush to treat him, knowing you'll be too focused. Won't talk or bring it up. ever. You're both taking this to the grave.

:‹ For Johnny it's heaven, just don't let the others see him getting carried out like this it'll wound his pride. He'll be bragging about it later like: "Oh you got treated by [medic]? Ha, well I got-" and he pauses there because suddenly his face has gone red and he doesn't know if it's worth sacrificing his pride and dignity just to rub it in someone else's face that he got carried by THE hot medic everyone likes so therefore he's winning in life but at what cost??

:‹ Kyle going "funny seeing you here" as if he had casually run into you at the grocery store and not in the middle of the battlefield. This guy is trying to flirt with you and have some casual conversation while you're trying to keep his wounds from gushing blood out. You don't know whether he's already losing his mind from the injuries he got or if he's trying to distract himself from the pain because this isn't like him. But maybe him being on the verge of going out again makes him say weird things. He won't remember this after medication.

:‹ Roach passing out thinking they're gonna forget him and accidentally leave him out here without receiving medical assistance until he wakes up and it's like an angel (you) has come to save him. He's impressed that you're not letting any obstacles stop you from running at a full sprint to the chopper with him in your arms. He's even going to bring it together by wrapping his arms around your neck to make sure he doesn't fall and staying still. Honestly, he liked it a little too much, so watch out or smth idk.

:‹ Alejandro getting a jump scare when he sees you carrying him. This was the last place he expected to see you. He absolutely hates getting any kind of coddling done, especially not in front of others. Even if you try telling him that no one even noticed you carrying him out like a knight protecting their princess because everyone else was busy fighting for their survival but he won't have any of it. Would demand you put him down right then and there in the bare dirt but you simply roll your eyes and ignore him.

:‹ Rodolfo being carried like the princess he is isn't a want it's a NEED. Had he been awake and conscious when you ran out to get him, he would have tried convincing you to leave him for his safety. He'd rather have waited for another teammate to reach him rather than you endanger yourself dodging bullets just to get to him. Even when he was knocked out did he look peaceful. He'd probably just be confused as to why you're carrying him but wouldn't protest or try to get out of your arms until you set him down.

:‹ Phillip knew he could always count on his Shadows to save his hide when shit happened. And he knew the attractive medic back at the base would be more than willing to treat him. He couldn't wait to see that face of yours when he got back, oh the things he'd tell you about his latest operation (the little information he could reveal). But he wasn't expecting to wake up so close to you, or at least not like this, when he's all battered, rugged and bruised. He can already picture his Shadows snickering if they ever saw him like this and he's really hoping they're busy with their tasks instead. It's strange to you how quiet he's gotten all of a sudden until you set him down and AFTER he ensures its only the two of you he starts trying to flirt as you roll your eyes at him.

:‹ Makarov didn't think anyone would come and get him out of the mess he had created. There was so much debris and chaos around him that even he had a difficult time thinking about how to get out of this one. Just as his vision started to blur and fade away, he saw you walking towards him. He hadn't actually expected to need you to do your job as medic and treat his wounds, much less be carried as he was told later on. He isn't annoyed not even in the slightest and if anything is sort of 'touched'? that you carried him from the battlefield all bloody to the helicopter. He might have gotten an idea and request you continue doing this, but no way are you doing that again, you swear you must've pulled a muscle or something.

:‹ Keegan is cursing himself as he lies bleeding and hurt in a building that could collapse at any moment for letting his mind wander for one second and get distracted. Of course his mind just HAD to betray him and think of you just because he noticed how unusually pretty the sky was. So is it a coincidence that he wakes up to find himself in your arms? You feel his intense stare but you don't allow yourself to look down. Even as he feels rumbling around him, pain numbing his senses, and the ear-splitting sounds of war, he doesn't let it distract him enough to tear his eyes away from you and the untainted sky that served as a backdrop.

:‹ König's secret fantasy is being treated like a princess. You look at him and think a guy like him wants to be feared and demands respect. Actually, no. The only person he'd want attention from all the time if you. Not in the "I'm important pay attention to me" type of way but in a soft, intimate way in which only you would care for him. So he wakes up to the delusion of thinking you're using all your strength to carry him and he looks at you like you're his savior when in reality it's two other men helping you by supporting his legs and back.

:‹ Horangi would barely be conscious and assume its one of his teammates that is carrying him. He dislikes getting picked up by anyone other than König (despite the fact König hates going so) so he starts moving until he hears your sharp voice which jerks him awake. He thinks he must be dreaming but he couldn't mistake your voice or face for anyone else. Lowkey is into it, curls up in your arms thinking he's small enough to fit even though he's not and you're struggling. He even attempts to lay his head on your shoulder until you throw him onto a stretcher.

:‹ Nikto grunts as he feels himself getting picked up, but instead of that rough manhandling he usually gets from a fellow teammate he feels efficient hands quickly wrap around him, yet they feel so tender too. The way those hands don't pull or drag his limbs carelessly, he knows it might be delusional getting his hopes up already imagining who it could be. He decides to open his eyes and expects to be disappointed if it isn't the person he expects. But he's quite delighted to see it is you. You don't take the time to look down at him because you're too busy trying to hurry and make it back in one piece with the man in your arms to notice his lazy smile as he closes his eyes, assured you'll take good care of him.

[kozykricket]

i think theres a lotta good points in the above posts ^ but id like to add some of my own two cents.

ive talked to friends about like, themes of Preservation in deltarune, and like... yea, i think something that undertale and deltarune will end up both confronting in their own ways is... yearning for the past. in undertale, asriel... admits that he really just wants to reset everything, and go back to how things were. he misses the old days with chara. and what do we see in deltarune? well, two families: the dreemurrs and holidays... who seemingly had a fun past together - one spoken of very fondly, at least. Tenna sure speaks of asriel, dess, and noelle fondly.

I think... the main motive / theme around everything going on with Dess and the Knight .. is about bringing back that lost past. Carol particularly seems... very nostalgic and very determined to preserve what is left of the past. I mean, shes shown to be a bit obsessive with the whole "getting paper snowflakes bronzed so as to not lose them" she keeps dess' stuff completely untouched. She doesn't want to move forward... but now things are different and also! asgore! seems to be involved in all this weird stuff, and he for sure misses the old days of a happy family life. he wants it back.

I think it all ties in well with the clear themes of escapism. Escaping from the rough experience of the present, to the idea of different events having taken place, leading to a different present. But... we can't go changing the past or yearning for how things couldve gone. We can only change the future, y'know? Embrace the new, be hopeful of a new future. Maybe there seems to be only one path forwards now, fundamentally a sad one, but… its not just about that One Sad Way Forward . its about what you can change about the path. How, yes, there IS perhaps only one way to go from here, only one ending.

idk, this is very unorganized, which is funny bc this is the second draft. but. I think deltarune as a whole might dive particularly deep into how... maybe we are "stuck with one way to go" as in, forward. but we can still change how we approach that way forward, and... as toby has said, theres something more important than reaching the end. We can make little changes, here and there, to make that one-way-forward into a better one. And, I think susie represents a bit of both past and future. she wants a better future, but she also... like anyone else, wants things to stick to the way they are. Shes certainly not an "upholder of the status quo" by any means, but i think she... wants the "status quo" of ch2 fun-times to be how things always are.

but most of all, just. Shoutouts to this post

if dess is the knight i hope we cant restore it back to normal but it still hangs around. noelle voice this is my freaky scary sibling and i love them. and meanwhile it's just floating ominously behind her.

[thiscatiscreepy]

And don't forget there's always good times ahead

[costello-xoxo]

'not proship not an anti but a secret third thing (dont care)' so ur proship. proship is the ideology of not caring bro

'not proship not an anti but fuck you if you like [thing]' so ur an anti. idk man it's not a grey area kind of thing.

proship, as much as some people like to say it is, is not a "community" or club. it's an ideology which holds its core beliefs as:

Don't harass people for their personal taste in fiction (primarily related to shipping and nsfw)

Be against censorship in fan spaces (i.e., the ao3 mindset of 'if it isn't actually harming any real life person against their will, it is fine').

Block people who post things you don't like / block tags you don't wanna see / tag ur stuff so others can do the same.

though people would like you to believe it means 'shipping illegal things' (a fictional ship can't be illegal because it isn't real, but we all know what you mean by this) or 'sexually harassing people who don't like your nsfw content' (no one should do this. Some people do, hiding behind 'proship' as if that makes it okay. It isn't okay, don't do that). But these aren't what proship ideology means. There is no one individual who represents proship, there's no club, no leader, just a bunch of people who have the same beliefs - and some bad actors who use the label incorrectly.

If you think fan work and other fiction shouldn't be censored, people shouldn't be harassed for their work, and fiction does not equal reality, you are proship. You don't have to use that label if you don't want to but... ideologically that's what you are.

If you believe in 'calling out' people for having certain kinks or making certain content, harassing instead of blocking and moving on, and/or that certain content is 'too far' and should be censored despite being fictional... you are an anti - or, simply, not proship.

It is nothing about personal preference. You can personally hate all nsfw and still be proship if you believe in anti-censorship and freedom for everyone to make the fictional works they want to make. There are certainly things I find icky but I simply block the tags for that content. I don't really label myself as proship as I don't see it as an identity, but I definitely subscribe to proship ideology.

Also, believing that fiction is not reality DOES NOT mean the same thing as 'fiction NEVER impacts reality'. Most people agree that fiction and reality are interlinked in many complex ways, but just as playing violent video games doesn't make you inherently violent, and watching horror movies doesn't make you a murderer, reading weird taboo fanfiction on the internet does not make you more or less likely to do bad things in real life.

I mean, I studied this sort of thing for my degree, for three years, so it would be insane to say fiction never impacts reality. It's just that fanfiction has very little impact compared to mainstream media, and the impact on the individual is not comparable to the impact of mainstream media to the wider societal hegemony. In fact, one could argue that since fanfiction often breaks many societal norms, in a Western heterosexist society at least, it is beneficial to the individual to consume such content in comparison to consuming mainstream media (e.g., blockbuster films). But whatever. I'm getting off topic.

Idk, if you like me and my content, you're probably proship. LOL!

[ifwebefriends]

Just got back from seeing Elio and AAAAAH IT WAS SO SWEET AND CUTE PLEASE GO SEE IT so I’m just gonna write down all the thoughts I can think of the movie with gradually decreasing coherence (spoilers below)

Honestly it’s so real that Elio in his time of grief got so deeply attached to something that brought him comfort in his darkest times, can relate

I was kinda expecting/dreading Glordon to turn on Elio due to a perceived betrayal due to the whole bargaining chip thing like “was I really your friend at all?” but I was really pleasantly surprised when they didn’t do that! They stayed friends the whole movie!

This is more of a me thing but despite the movie literally being in outer space, the scope of the movie felt smaller than I anticipated? I guess I kinda expected Elio and Glordon to like go on the run hopping from planet to planet and I would have liked to see that, but I’m not faulting the movie itself for it since the marketing wasn’t very good and the movie was really good for what it was

The horror bits! Oh my god. They were so weirdly good and just the right amount of scary for me. The scene where Olga follows clone Elio’s hair down the hall and into Elio’s room had my jaw ON THE FLOOR

LORD GRIGON!!!! - he is the one dad ever who went to therapy he was such a good character it took me COMPLETELY off guard when he ripped his armor off to hold his dying son like MY GASTS WERE FLABBBBEREDDDDDDD it felt the same as that one part in Bluey’s The Sign where Bandit ripped the sign out of the ground IT WAS SO SWEET IM DEAD

I LOVE how Olga wanted to be an astronaut and she did end up going to space in the end I love that for her

The movie kinda like gave me this weird existential feeling of like “are we alone in the universe” but like not in a bad way. I haven’t really thought much about like aliens before but I don’t know, I think this movie might have changed that for me

THE PART WHERE THE ALIENS MESSAGE WAS ON ALL THE SCREENS AAAAAAH I LOVED IT I DONT KNOW WHY BUT I LOVED IT SO MUCH

I really like the whole thing about like “needing” to go into the carapace to become bigger, stronger, scarier so you can participate in the adult’s world but in doing so you lose true connections with people because you can never show your vulnerable soft side again like it feels like an allegory for masking/unmasking it was kinda cool

ELIO AND GLORDON WERE FUCKING ADORABLE AND I LOVE THEM SO MUCH AND I JUST WANT TO LIKE GIVE THEM HOT CHOCOLATE AND BLANKETS IF ANYTHING HAPPENED TO THEM I WOULD BLOW UP THE WHOLE COMMUNIVERSE AND THEN MYSELF

Speaking of the communiverse the ambassadors were cool but like damn when it really came down to it they were kinda useless fr 🤣 (this isn’t a complaint I’m just taking the piss lmao I’m tired)

Oh yeah the universal manual was SO ANNOYED that no one wanted to know the meaning of life and he like sighed every time OMG THIS DIVA I SEE YOU

THE CLONE BODY HORROR WAS ACTUALLY INSANE like clone Elio CUTTING HIS FINGER OFF AND PUTTING IT BACK ON and clone Glordon GETTING FUCKING SHOT and then clone Elio MELTING IN THE ARMS OF THE GUARD IT WAS CRAZY I KINDA LOVED IT

Also it was kinda cool how chill the clones were about everything like clone Glordon was just like “yeah I’m getting put in a murder machine idgaf :)” and clone Elio was like “chat this has been fire but I’m gonna turn into plant fertilizer now byeee 👋”

Oh lord grigon finally snapping during the negotiation bc Elio was insulting him as a parent AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I’M LIKE THAT WAS A COOL DETAIL IN RETROSPECT

Also mad respect to Olga for going off on the Academy ppl like “naw it’s fucked that you let this shit happen to my nephew” YES QUEEN SLAY

I like how Elio like Legend of Zelda’d his way out of the prison cell idk that was just cool to me

“Ok, bye, I love you” AAAAAAAAAH RIJRFNRNRFRB I CANT WITH THAT

Yeah so like, overall, while not Pixar’s best movie, Elio was still a really damn good movie that was just fun and sweet and cute and warmed my cold little heart if you’re like autistic or queer or just like space or like Pixar movies you should really go see it in theaters if you can, we need more original movies like this oh my god

The visuals were also REALLY GOOD it was so pretty to look at

So yeah Elio good movie I saw it and you should too okay bye I love you

[liquidcrystalsky]

i saw someone say they never actually played a splatoon game and only watched two story modes. it felt a bit weird to me but i think there is something to think about.

most of all the story/lore/worldbuilding in-game is text and images and are basically identical if you read them on a wiki

The chat logs and sunken scrolls and alterna/dev logs, have nothing to do with whats going on. The gameplay, the things you do, don't inform what information you're given at all.

You unlock things either just with normal progression or as random collectables. In splatoon 1 and 2 the sunken scrolls corresponded to each level, but they didn't take advantage of that at all. Most sunken scrolls just were about whatever. They made it per area in splatoon 3. So it's even more detached from the gameplay.

The Dev Diaries and Acht's letters, are all unlocked in exactly the same way. Every single one, other than having to change what weapon you use, it's the same.

Shit, most of the god damn world-building, ISN'T EVEN IN THE GAME! It's on the websites, in artbooks, interviews (both in-universe and developers), soundtrack releases, whatever.

Other than the first two story modes, there are like Actual things which happen in the games which can't be summarized in a sentence (most of the story about Octo Canyon was in the "Squid Sister Stories." Not Even In The Game).

Octo Expansion has an amazing final sequence, which, is mostly cutscenes and you can just sorta watch on youtube. You don't need to know what happens in Girl Power station or any of the levels at all.

RotM had a Lot Of Shit Happen but... actually i think it did it the best for experiencing the story Through The Game (not by much). Though It sucks that the story has absolutely nothing to do with the gameplay and they often straight up contradict or just doesn't make sense. Oh yeah the whole fucking thing crashed and killed everyone. Don't ask why everything's in completely pristine condition.

Side Order sort of just cleared up all of the story points within the first 10 minutes of the game, right after the tutorial Marina just explains Everything and then that's just what happens for the rest of the game. There's no twist or any evolving story that isn't in the Dev Diaries which don't affect the Actual Game.

The thing i'd say you miss out the most on is small character moments, but there's also plenty of compilations and people pointing them out too. There's definitely a lot of things you'd miss, a lot of spectacle, and some emotions, but idk i feel like it's not too much in the grand scheme of things.

Splatoon has amazing world building, but kind of bad storytelling (i guess nintendo in general, i can see it a bit in botw/totk as well) and it kinda gives room for people to actually be genuine fans of the series, story and world, without even touching a game at all.

As much as I don't want to buy a switch 2 and all that, i really hope Raiders does this storytelling well.

I also have nothing against watching like longplays of the game or just like full game walkthrough or whatever. I call myself fans of games which i've only watched and not played. I'm saying you can totally be a fan with a really large amount of knowlege of splatoon without even doing that.

I have had this comparison of RotM to Outer Wilds in my head a lot and i'm gonna walk my dog then i'll write it out

[witheringwidgetwrites]

Hi☺️🌸 TW for this request: loneliness, angst, depression.

You are 100% allowed to not take this request and if you choose to do so, I would totally understand ❤️

Can we please get a series or even a one shot on how each of the Obey me! brothers (separately or together or maybe a mixture of both) would react to an mc that's just so use to not having any friends or anyone that particularly cares about what they're up to or what's on their mind/how they feel (on top of also being bullied)? An mc with a loneliness that runs so deep that that they end up constantly feeling abandoned and forgotten. For whom none of the friends that they've had in the past ever cared to maintain a relationship with them, which really aggravated their pre-existing rejection sensitive dysphoria (AuDHD). And this mc cares so much and put so much love into their relationships with others. This mc loves hard and was told throughout their life, that that was bad. And no matter what they do, people always end up leaving them or making them feel like they're not good enough - sometimes because of circumstances, sometimes because people (the friends) think they're "too much" or "weird", sometimes because they (the friends) genuinely just don't care. Because that's how insignificant MC is.

I want to read about an mc who gets surprised when (one of) the brothers decide to sit with them while they're doing something mundane, like homework or studying or colouring (idk i love colouring). And an mc who sleeps holding a pillow or with the pillow against their back, so that they can feel less alone. And can we see the brothers react to all of it? Why would they care about what MC is doing? Do they need something? Is something wrong?

Sorry, I know it's a lot and I really didn't mean to info/trauma dump on you🙏🏽 I just really want to read something that makes me feel seen and represented. Because I'm speaking from experience, unfortunately. And can we also make the mc gender neutral, if that's okay with you?

Even if you don't end up taking my request, thank you for taking the time to read it🙏🏽 I really appreciate it ❤️💖

Okay friend, I am picking one brother for this, and I picked Mammon! Unfortunately I so deeply understand this ask, as someone who has BPD. I desperately need soul crushing devotion and love in my life. Anyway.

So, how would Mammon react to a lonely MC?

I think at first, Mammon would brush off some habits of yours as weird-human-traits until he puts the pieces together. I think the first time it clicks, is the first time he REALLY eats lunch with you, of his own volition. He usually does, not JUST because he's your watchdog, but because ehe does enjoy it. And then, one afternoon he sits with you after not doing so for a few days, and the genuine surprise when you turn your head is a little baffling to him! Your smile lights up a little more than usual, and he notices the sparkle in your eyes. He knows by now that he's smitten, but today is the day he pieces together how lonely you seem.

From then on, he prods a little. Not gently, but gentle for him. Either way, whether you're forthcoming or not, he chooses to push a little more. More sleepovers, more time together, even if it's. most of your time. You'll be able to notice how his comments about humans seem to slip off his tongue more quietly for a while, and then they seemingly disappear almost all together. He does really notice and take these things to heart, especially for you. When you seem more isolated, or even when he's just busy, you'll find that the little crows seem to gather around you during lunch or homework time, and sometimes you'll get a little pebble!

[nohoperadio]

Today I had lunch with my mom at a café, which is a thing we traditionally do twice a month, and partway through the meal she asked me quite casually whether I was on HRT because I allegedly looked "a bit booby". I was not prepared for this question in the slightest. For one thing while I have experienced nonzero boob growth since going on Œ six months ago (damn, six months ago...) my feeling is that it's very subtle, certainly well within the range of what most people would attribute to weight fluctuation if they noticed at all? But okay I'm willing to accept I might be underestimating that due to whatever cognitive biases, this still seems like a leap!

For context I have never said anything about my gender to anybody irl and I hadn't been planning to at any point in the near future. I feel like my mom would not have guessed this without having already been primed by previous examples of me being weird about gender, she's seen me wearing nail polish and skirts before, albeit not in recent years. So sure, it's a less dramatic revelation than it might have been. She knows I'm bi which isn't really evidence of anything but idk. Possibly she noticed that I've started removing my arm hair this year, I don't have a good sense of how noticeable that is. Last year my trans man coworker was going through a lot of gender healthcare drama and I mined that for conversation fodder a lot, possibly she intuited a more than merely neighbourly interest in the topic (but she specifically initiated asking for updates a lot too)? I am still very surprised! Obviously it's kinda validating but jeez. I had been thinking as though the pace of when I let people know about this would be entirely in my control for a long time; it seems possibly this was naive?

Well anyway it felt pointless to deny it so I told her yes. My mom is 65 years old and I would say not super knowledgeable about trans topics but she's also extremely live-and-let-live by nature and I've never known her to be other than chill when this cluster of topics comes up, so I wasn't super worried, but you never know when it gets more personal right. She seemed pretty calm about it and in fact the conversation moved back to other stuff pretty quickly, almost disappointingly quickly. She asked a couple of questions about it but not many. She seemed more-than-usually pensive to me for a little bit afterwards and I got the sense she wanted to know more but didn't feel on safe ground wrt what questions to ask, and I probably could have encouraged her more about that, but I wasn't sure how to do that without moving us towards a deeper conversation than I was really ready for, so idk. Nothing about pronouns was mentioned which I was glad about because I still don't fully know what I feel about pronouns, beyond that I wish they weren't a thing. But for the most part it just felt like a normal lunch with my mom, which I guess in terms of the spread of possible outcomes for this kind of event is pretty positive.

Still though--weird!! I thought I had a secret. I only kind of have a secret it turns out. How bout that.

[jupiterpiss]

i keep seeing ex remmick which u eat up everytime but i’m wondering what the process of breaking up with him would be like

Thank youuuu 😝😝 I feel that a lot of this is kinda just me retelling some stuff.. maybe? Not really but it’s different ways he’ll be ruining your life that were mentioned before. This doesn’t have a ton of smut.. actually close to none lolz. This reads to be very.. aggressive on his end. It is supposed to be like that.. he’s a piece of shit sorry.

Honestly.. I think it would be a very complicated process.. because in my mind I think Remmick doesn’t necessarily ever think you two are ‘broken up’. Like yes.. you kicked him out and told him to fuck off and said this is over BUT LIKE you were just upset. People say means things all the time when they’re upset.

I truly don’t think he ever sees you as not satisfied.. cause he knowssss he’s satisfying you so like why are you acting mean and RUDE?? Not cool wtf. It’s kinda how he wouldn’t leave alone ANYONE IN THE JUKE JOINT even tho they told him to fuck off SEVERAL TIMES. He literally won’t take no for an answer, it’s not in his vocabulary so why should it be in yours.

So with that added pain of him not really seeing you as separated just ya know going through a mild disagreement.. which if he wants to call it that he shouldn’t be using the word mild. It’s farrr from it, like you two literally threaten each other, that’s not mild.

Threats of killing one another, threats of going to the police or family or vampire hunters. Everyone and anyone at this point. It’s bad. Wtv. Ahem.

Point is— it’s hard to leave someone who doesn’t see you as separated.

That’s also where the toxicity comes from, because at some point you become beyond annoyed with him. He won’t stop showing up, won’t stop threatening to eat your family, coming up with lies that he’ll change, that NO he isn’t mean.

You eventually meet your breaking point when you do try to move on, threaten to start sleeping with other people and he, I KIDD YOU NOT, yells about how you can’t be with anyone else cause uhhhh he’ll curse them to die from a terrible infection!

“Vampirism?”

“No.. worse. If you sleep around, every dick you touch will fall off.”

And he’s not kidding LMAOOO. Do I think he’ll have the ability to do that.. idk. I don’t actually know if vampires can actually possess people or anything.. but he does cause I said so. Not possess I guess but more so he makes them go crazy. Like actually crazy.

Remmick PLAGUES the minds of those you touch. Also.. he counts this as cheating on him. He’s not too fond of it, matter of fact it pisses him off really really bad but wtv. You’re just going through a weird phase.

Ya know those people who say ‘they know where home is’ when speaking about their cheating spouse? Yeah that’s fucking him. Except he also curses and scares off anyone you actually do. I don’t wanna go tooo in depth cause quite a few people asked for a second ex!Remmick post and one person asked for this exact scenario.. so more on that later. It’s gonna be part of the part 2 of that post.

Anyway.

Once your done with sleeping with other people cause CLEARLY that isn’t helping anyone (this proves his point right btw even tho it wasn’t on purpose on ur end.. he still sees you stopping as a means of you ‘leaving this phase’)

You decide that maybe packing up and moving would do good. Leaving your house, leaving your family, the town. Everything. Last day of packing tho he shows up and fucking flips his shit.

This is where I reallly wanna reel in the fact that toxic Remmick is extremely scary. Like really scary, you should probs not be trying to look for this man, type of scary. Cause he wrecks all your shit, tells you how are you going to leave when you have nothing??

“Fuck you! I’m done, we’re done— done! I’ve been done, I’m moving-“

He tuts, shaking his head slow, “and what exactly will you be leavin with? Got no furniture now, got no clothes, jewelry.. baby, you’re not prepared to go.”

And it’s like.. hello?? Yes I was but you literally lit all my shit on fire while happily jumping up and down. Hooting and hollering, happier than a fucking clam. He’s unwell. He saw all your stuff resting outside, heard you still shifting around stuff inside, packing the rest of what you got. You live far out.. so having shit stolen isn’t exactly on your mind but you thought ‘hey, just one more box and I’m done’ only to go outside to see a massive bonfire.

And who’s standing beside it with a box FILLED with matches? Remmick :))

He lights all your shit on fire, and if you have a car he slashes the tires. Lights it on fire too.. this is starting to sound actually really bad. Omg okay but HE DOES THIS OKAY. I’m not backing out, he destroys ur shit!!

Okay.. moving is a big no. And ya know what else is a big no.. ur friends. You see.. Remmick does some hunting and searching, he decides ya know what?! I’m gonna take this bitch’s friends. Yeahhh fuck you im making you a complete loner. So that’s what he does LMAOOOO he makes ur ass a bigger loser then him by quite literally taking out all of ur friends.

And he uses that hivemind like noooo one else. Forces them to try and convince you back together, that really he will change. That this is just a word phase ur going through, cold feet. Ya know.. but that’s okay! He’ll warm them up!! He completely takes away their personality, who they are. What they want, what made them.. them. Everything you loved, those imperfections, the characteristics.. mind you, these people are your home. A found family of some sort all built on the need to find connection outside of family. Outside of blood.

And that’s gone.

It freaks you out, rightfully so. Everyone is so.. bleak. A empty cast of what they use to be, pawns for his own destruction. Makes you wanna vomit and sob on the floor.

And you do. Really you do. You start to actually feel trapped, unable to really do anything.

Your friends keep saying, “just let us in! Let him in! I can see all his memories.. all his emotions. Everything. Honey, he really does love you.” And it would be a friend of urs that HATES men. Hello? Not the same person.

AND HE STILL WONT LEAVE GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE. Stillll thinks ur together and—

“ya know, this whole cat and mouse thing is really startin to get on my nerves, hun. Just- I don’t even know why you’re upset.”

He really doesn’t. Remmick doesn’t get why you won’t let him in, or why you keep claiming you broke up. You didn’t? He thinks he’s in the right, thinks all of this is for your own good cause.. you two are meant to be, mean to thrive together. Why would you give that up cause of one messy argument.

It wasn’t a messy argument and really he’s always been manipulative.

If he were to convince you to have make up sex he would try to baby trap you. I’m certain of it.. that or because I don’t think vampires can have babies, he would bite you. Just like in the fic. More on this later.. actually I’m thinking long and hard about this, you will be seeing it.

[goldensunset]

been trying to find a way to word this for a while but. in my opinion (aka this is just me rambling so don't fight me) a principle of really good writing is mastering the art of narrative threats, and what you actually want them to mean. if you put your characters in danger, you gotta ask yourself- do i want the audience to be merely curious, or actually afraid?

curious- it’s obvious that the storyteller is almost certainly not going to deliver on this threat. of course the main character in this children’s show will not die halfway through season one. of course they’re going to get that important thing back. the story wouldn’t work otherwise. so the question becomes not what, but how? is our hero going to successfully convince their enemy to change their mind? perhaps the shy side character is going to suddenly show a side of themselves they never have before and come up with a brilliant plan?

'fake' danger like this falls flat when the writer is trying so hard to legitimately get you scared but any observant viewer with an understanding of solid narrative structure knows a tragedy wouldn't work here. this type of situation is best executed as less like a threat and more like author and audience watching the scene together going oooh i can’t wait to see them get out of this somehow! like idk. it doesn't have to be about fear it can be about fun or tension or epicness! it's gonna be so cool to see them solve this puzzle and get out of this trap!

afraid- the storyteller very well could deliver on this threat! it would make perfect narrative sense for this important secondary character to die during this season finale, it would make it so much more fascinating to lose the thing everyone's hope was riding on here, it would be thematically fitting if these guys could never go home, etc. and the story as a whole has been serious enough- whether outright or implied- for a tragedy like this to fit in. so you get people going oh snap this could very well happen the danger is absolutely real.

imo it's best when you don't make it too obvious- it really could go one way or another. they might get out of that scrape fine but also if they didn't we can still imagine a working story. when the audience can foresee two different possible narrative directions and both are equally compelling and satisfying in their own way, and they therefore don't have a clue which way it could go? that's the good stuff. that's when the crazy anxiety and tension starts

(obvious disclaimer that you have free will etc etc you can do whatever you want in stories, including delivering on seemingly weak threats to catch the audience off guard. but that's shock factor. which is something different from what i mean by a threat, or rising tension. but you have to really really know what you’re doing if you go for that, otherwise it feels frustrating and unsatisfying

like from my own experience. if a character gets killed off at a weird time it's so offputting that i will be distracted just waiting for the part where they magically come back, just waiting for the story to make sense. and whether it comes or not, it's hard for me to pay anything that's actually happening at that point. unless what happens then is the story appropriately dealing with the emotional aftermath. so like if you don't give people time to prepare at least give them time to heal)

the reason i like say all this is that a well done threat is what's going to evoke the most emotion out of me. if a character is actively dying i am going to shed the most tears if i am willing to believe they will actually die and stay dead. or even if they do come back, that the writing is good enough for this event to still have material or psychological consequences for the foreseeable future. if all hope seems lost in a narratively appropriate moment i can feel the weight of everything on me just as much as the characters do. otherwise it's like hmmm so melodramatic but we all know where this is going nowhere so it feels cheap. i love serious emotions and danger but you have to use all that correctly or else it weakens itself!

[formula-fun]

please do tell the max yuki thesis I BEG

this whole thing was borne out of anatomy of a champion, max's docuseries from 2022 which goes into his relationships with his family and also features a lot of yontent (yuki content). honestly i opened it to check that the scene i was thinking of was still there but got sidetracked for like an hour. there were obstacles to my research. but anyway

so max and yuki are honestly kinda similar people and they tend to balance each other out a lot better than anyone gives them credit for! they both like to laugh, they have kinda crass childish senses of humor, and they spend a lot of time together doing media for red bull, often without their teammates. i think we were all blinded by yukierre when yuki first joined the team because their dynamic was so strong, but ever since pierre left it's been more and more often yuki max. it's fun and people like it: they both like roughhousing and swearing and playing around with weird cars, and it's just generally good tv.

in 2022 pierre was out of alphatauri, yuki was partnered with nyck de vries (remember nyck de vries?) and max was shooting anatomy of a champion. 2022 was also the year yuki was sent to mandatory anger management class, and aoac brings this up multiple times to 1. show how stupid all the drivers but particularly max think it is, 2. point out that max has gotten a similar reputation for being violently angry when all he really wants to do is drive, and 3. segue into the fact that jos has an extremely well documented bad temper and has acted violently toward many people throughout the course of his life, including his son.

you'd expect the scenes between yuki and max in this to be kinda fun and silly, and they sort of are? but there are also these weirdly heavy introspective moments where yuki is watching jos come out to greet max or max is staring unblinking into the middle distance while yuki talks about his anger management classes. and again i read into EVERYTHING but you can kind of see where the comparison is drawn, that there's a recognition between their two situations. they're both so similar to one another and so different to their shared reputations that it's a shock anyone got it so wrong

but yeah anyway

yuki is now in his 5th year at red bull. he's been in the family with max literally a few months less than daniel and max were in it together, which is wild. in a way he and max have had kind of similar journeys here: they both were welcomed in by an older teammate who they were extremely close with but who then left, and they've been eating the replacements alive ever since. they travel a lot together, they do a lot of media together (and sometimes it seems like they put max with yuki just to get him to crack a smile or two), and they've both grown and changed a lot since yuki joined in 2021. they've seen the team's most dominant era, and they've also seen it enter the tailspin that's brought us to where we are now. i think it's easy to see max as the one who's outlasted all his teammates, the only one who can survive in that environment, the golden boy etc etc but. yuki's been in the red bull family too, this entire time. he's seen all the same shit max has and he's dealt with the team's racism and control on top of it.

there's just something about it, idk. compels me

[npookie0]

luca as a fnaf security guard. -dj

Survive The Night

Your favourite accidental murderer ends up getting a scammy job after he lost a bet with his surfer buddies. How will the night go for poor Luca?

words [ 1165 ]

cws: idk luca being luca mixed in with fnaf, also some mentions of blood, guts and weirdly decay like reeking animatronics <3

Luca was standing in from of the pizzeria restaurant he was supposed to work a nightshift at. His surfer friends dropped him off and rode off into the night, shouting him a good luck. If only they knew that this man really did need some luck in his life.

"You've got this Luca, Feli said that she'd stream you a game when you come home. And besides these are just robots that you need to look at, no reason to panic." He said to himself and pulled out the keys to the building from his pocket.

Luca opened the door and was met with the smell of pizza. He smiled to himself. "Yeah, it's just a restaurant, nothing to be terrified of haha." He said happily as he entered the place and locked the door behind himself.

The owners told him to use a flashlight instead of turning on the lights during his work to use less battery. He thought that it was weird, but didn't ask any questions, maybe the owner was just crazy about paying electricity bills.

"Oh fuck, this looks sick!" He said once he was in front of the main stage, looking at the animal looking animatronics, a chicken holding a cupcake, a purple rabbit playing a guitar and a bear with microphone. "Man I have take pictures to show to the server guys later! They will go crazy once they see this!" He exclaimed and took out his phone, taking a picture of the animatronics on the stage.

Luca continued his walk around his new place of work, he saw the pirate cove, but seeing that midnight was approaching he had to go to the security guard office.

"Huh, it doesn't look half bad." He sat down in his chair and looked at the desk in front of him. "Oh? What's this?" He picked up a cassette and turned it around in his hands until he found a player for it and put it in.

"Hello? Hello, hello?" A voice came from the player, a man's voice, different from his employer's. He sounded exhausted. "Uhh, I wanted to record a message for you... to help you get settled in on your first night. Um, I actually worked in that office before you. I’m... finishing up my last week now, as a matter of fact, so... I know it can be a bit overwhelming, but I’m here to tell you: there’s nothing to worry about. Uh, you’ll do fine! So... let’s just focus on getting you through your first week. Okay?"

"Chill out dude, what bad can happen in old pizzeria?" Luca commented and pulled out his phone, he didn't pay much attention to the tape.

"So yeah, know that you have to close the doors when you see the animatronics 'cause they'll try to put you in a suit f they'll see you." This sudden warning of possible death caused Luca to jump up in his chair.

"What? What the fuck man?!" He looked at the player as it if was supposed to answer him, but instead of an explanation he got a 'good luck, goodnight!' and the recording was over.

"It has to be a joke... There's no way these robots will kill me." He said and turned on the camera, at first there was nothing weird until he looked at the stage. "One, two." He counted and was about to switch the camera but then.

"Wait a damn second! Two? Where's the Bonnie guy?" He looked over all the cameras until he found the robot walking through a corridor. A corridor to his office.

"Oh hell nah brother, ain't no way this thing is coming here." Luca got up and closed the door on his right side. "Ah yes, safe and sound." He was about to sit down again until he noticed that there was a battery percentage showing on one of the screens and it was falling rapidly. "No way man... Ughhh how am I supposed to keep those damn bots outside if I can't keep my doors closed?" He groaned and opened the doors again.

"Man this is bad!" He fell down on his seat and looked at the cameras again. The chicken was next to move from its place, he could hear it making sound on the kitchen camera that was broken for some reason. "Okay diva, eat up or something, just don't come here."

Luca continued sitting like that, checking the cameras all the time and closing the door when an animatronic was getting to close. One almost entered the office and Luca had a close meeting with it.

"Wait. Why did that fox reeked of decay? What the fuck man?" He was very confused and didn't know what was going on. Why would a child friendly restaurant's robot smell like that? "Okay Luca, don't think about it. Just do your job and go home... It's only... one hour left! Fuck yea-" He was ready to cheer until the room turned completely dark, all screens turned off and he had only his little flashlight as a light source.

"No. Fucking. Way." He ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck!" He shouted and paced around the room. "Fuck I'm out of power, fuck, fuck, fuck!" He kicked the chair.

Hor Hor

Luca turned around hearing a weird melody coming from behind him and he yelled. There was an animatronic behind him, only its eyes and mouth lit up by the lights inside it.

"Holy shit man, is it over? Haha, no, it's not. It can't be fucking over." While Luca was panicking over his sad fate, the animatronic made its way towards him and when it was ready to attack it suddenly backed away.

Luca looked at it in confusion and a mix of fear, but then suddenly the giant bear turned off.

"What the?" He stood up from the ground and walked around the robot. "It's not turned off tho? Like it's still on? Luca what the fuck are you trying to question here? It tried to kill you!"

He shook his head and grabbed his things, making his way out of the office. He has to get out of the place and go home.

Luca met another animatronic, a fox, it jumped on him, but mid air it froze and fell to the ground with a loud thud. It looked like an electricity shock went through it.

"Okayy, that's fucking weird."

The next two animatronics Luca met, met a similar fate, freezing and breaking down when they were supposed to attack Luca. He didn't actually pay much mind to it, running out of the restaurant and calling for his friends to pick him up.

Once he was home he send a long voice message to the server and sent pictures of the animatronic. He was obviously panicking and terrified.

He wanted to wait for a repones, but passed out.

<goreboy> [5:56] i Guess it's your Bad Luck that saved ya heh how Fortunate

meowww

i love this thing it's funny >w<

and yes i had to put ronin in SUE ME (don't </3)

love ya

Nathan <3

[batcavescolony]

Katniss is such an unreliable narrator. She says "Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me" girl you deliver strawberries to the Mayor, you hunt and trade for the district, when you fell at Prim being chosen someone caught you, when you went to Prim people parted for you, when you volunteered EVERYONE stopped. Idk how to tell you but I think you're a pillar of the community.

[egophiliac]

missed the mark by (looks at calendar) uhhh. hm. but I really wanted to do something for the 5th anniversary! happy five years to these idiots 🎉

[vintrage]

fire cannot kill a dragon BITCH