#like it's a genuine problem. i don't know when to stop

[justmenoworries]

Woooow, okay, lemme have a crack at this

You really said "I don't hate successor characters, BUT!" completely without a hint of irony. Under a piece of fan art celebrating a successor character

Acting like there's only one way to write a successor character and every different way to do it is "bad writing" when it's obviously just your personal preference

"The problem is that the successor characters never get humbled, never get challenged, never realize how little they actually know, never fall, never make mistakes and are held accountable for them [...]" Riri gets expelled from her school in the very first episode because they found out she's doing other students' projects for them to earn money. She also crashes in her neighborhood when her suit malfunctions and is ridiculed for that mess all the way home. Her entire struggle is wanting to build a suit that lives up to the one she made in Wakanda but being unable to because she lacks the funds and materials, so she has to build with literal scrap that she can also barely afford. But sure, tell me again how Riri never struggles, gets challenged or suffers no consequences for her actions

"[Being a succesor is] not about being better. It's about honouring a legacy while accepting that you're different." You mean like Riri? You mean like Riri "Ironheart" Williams? You mean exactly how Riri is written so far in her show? Like that?

"And for goodness sake, let's stop writing the characters in such a way that they are arrogant, entitled and get away with being jerks. That's not heroic." Nobody tell this person about Ironman, Star Lord, Black Widow, Black Panther, Spider-Man, Wolverine, Storm, Cyclops or Gamora, they might pop a blood vessel at all of these arrogant jerks who simultaneously manage to be heroes. Almost as if being a bit of a jerk or being arrogant doesn't automatically mean you can't ever do good. Almost like characters are written to be more than one thing at a time

"And write her as a natural person not a statement. She's not a blog." "Show Riri being kind, grateful, sweet, compassionate and loving. Let her live up to the "heart" part of her name just as much as the "iron" Umm, why can't this female character act kind and loving like a good girl should? How come she has opions and flaws, like a normal person? Smh, bad writing/s I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt here and assume you genuinely didn't realize how extremely misogynistic that sounds

iron fam we are so back 🌟

[renedvds]

selfless sacrifice . KANG DAE-HO

PAIRINGS: Kang Dae-Ho / PLAYER 388 x fem!reader

WARNINGS: death . squid-game-related violence . dae-ho lives past hide-and-seek . english isn't my first language, so i'm so sorry for any mistakes . maybe ooc? dae-ho and the reader were already in a relationship . mostly proofread but there might be mistakes .

AUTHOR'S NOTE: wtf was season 3

what if dae-ho survived the starry night? he has you, his support, but his injured ankle becomes a problem when he has to face the next game.

word count: ≈3.1k

"You okay?" You asked, shifting your gaze to your lover with concern. "Take a deep breath. Tell me if you need a break."

You swung Dae-Ho's arm around your shoulder and helped him make his way to the next game. With an injured leg, the chances of him surviving a game that requires physical activity were extremely low. All you could hope for was for the next game to be mentally challenging and not physically draining.

"I'm alright," he replied and forced a smile. Trying to push away his anxiety, he asked. "What do you think the next game will be?"

You chuckled, the sound coming out as strangled and breathless. As much as you wanted to be the one to protect him this time, it was hard to hide the strong anxiety. "I don't know. Maybe they'll make us play in pairs."

"Like what? Cards? Marbles?" He asked, a soft smile on his face, enjoying the small, genuine moment between you and him. "It's very unlikely, though. The last game was in teams."

"Hurry your asses up! There are people who actually care about the prize trying to make their way to the next game!" Player 100 shouted from behind you, giving Dae-Ho a slight push to make him go faster.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the usual idiocy coming from the man, "Don't worry about him."

You made your way up the stairs with Dae-Ho to the next game. Once you made it to the top, you leaned back against the wall to watch your breath and then checked on Dae-Ho's ankle.

"Hey! I'm supposed to be the one checking on you," he said, making you shift your gaze from his ankle to his face. He continued. "I don't want to drag you down in the next game. What if it's a free-for-all arena? I'm basically just extra weight."

His attempt at a joke didn't humor you. Instead, it fueled your irritation. "Stop talking about yourself like that. You're not extra weight, and I'm gonna carry you with me everywhere I go."

"You're so selfless," he commented. "Put yourself first once in a while. I wouldn't blame you if you choose to leave me behind, really."

Your conversation was interrupted by the loud creak of the doors opening. You instinctively wrapped a protective arm around Dae-Ho and walked forward to the next game, anxious with the uncertainty of survival.

Once the crowd dispersed around the platform, you look a long minute to inspect the arena. Your stomach revolted with a sense of nausea, anxiety, and adrenaline as your eyes landed on the thin bridge and the long fall down.

"Shit!" You cussed and looked at Dae-Ho. "Dae..."

You couldn't finish your sentence after your eyes found his hopeless gaze. His eyes, devoid of their usual spark, now held nothing but emptiness as they stared down at the cliff, then at the bridge, then at the dolls holding the rope, and then at you. His breath hitched in his throat, and soon enough, he was panicking.

"[Y/N]... [Y/N]," his voice cracked, his stutters blocking his throat. His trembling, sweaty hand found yours, desperately trying to cling onto you to soothe his anxiety. "I'm not— I... I'm not going to make—"

"Dae-Ho!" You shouted, trying to pull him away from his panic. "Don't you dare think that way. We don't even know what the game is!"

As if on cue, the speaker announced the rules and introduced the new game. It should've been obvious from the start, and yet you decided to cling onto the small glimmer of hope that this wasn't the actual game.

However, your hope shattered right after.

"Welcome to the fifth game," the robotic voice announced, devoid of any emotion or sympathy for the players. "The game you will be playing is Jump Rope."

Dae-Ho let out a soft "no..."

"You must cross the bridge as you jump over the rotating rope and get to the other side within twenty minutes. You may decide on the order amongst yourselves."

The voice dimmed and the players murmured amongst themselves. Dae-Ho stumbled backward and let go of your hand. You immediately turned around and watched as he slumped against the bench. You couldn't stand watching him suffer like this.

"Dae-Ho," you called, gently approaching the panicked man. He held his hands close to his ears to block out noise and kept his knees close to his chest, slowly rocking back and forth in despair.

The song began, blocking out your words with the loud chant of the dolls as they swung the rope.

"Knock, knock. Who's there? Your little friend. Come on in."

"Little friend, little friend. Turn around. Little friend, little friend. Touch the ground. Little friend, little friend. Touch your toe."

"Little friend, little friend. Now away you go."

Jun-Hee sat down next to Dae-Ho, cradling her baby in her arms. Gi-Hun glanced at him and then shifted his gaze to the former pregnant woman and her child.

"How's her ankle?" You asked, but once Jun-Hee lifted her pants and showed her violet bruise, you had to look away and bite the inside of your cheek in horror.

"The game will be over in twenty minutes," Gi-Hun spoke. "You can leave the baby until then and then pick it up afterward."

You were about to agree with player 456 until a masked guard interrupted. "All players must make it across the bridge within the time limit. Any player who fails to cross within the time limit will be eliminated."

"She has a baby! The baby is not a player!" You tried to reason, but another guard had pointed a gun at your head. Dae-Ho slowly placed his hand on your shoulder, and once you locked eyes, he begged with his gaze for you to stop it.

"Everyone here is a player," stated the guard, brushing off the inhumane treatment toward the newborn.

All you could do was give Jun-Hee an empathetic look and mentally wish the best for her. Your attention shifted to Dae-Ho again. Time was limited, the clock was ticking. He couldn't stay in the same place for twenty minutes without moving an inch.

"[Y/N], I'm not making it out alive..." he whispered, his voice cracked as his throat closed up. He could already feel his tears pool his eyes, threatening to spill like an endless cascade of sorrow. "I can't— I can't do it— You have to go and... and leave me here... I'm sorry, I'm a coward. I really am a coward..."

"No!" You shouted but softened your tone after he flinched. "Dae-Ho, I'm not leaving you!"

You wrapped your arms around him and he returned your embrace immediately. He continued, "I can barely limp with this leg. [Y/N], I don't wanna die yet..."

"Stop talking," you shushed him, fearing that if he said another word, you'd collapse and give in to your death. You didn't mind the disgusted stare from player 100 or Nam-Gyu's fight with Min-Su. All you wanted was to comfort your lover, who was far too deep into the idea of dying alone.

"I promised you that I'd get us both out of here," he began. You tried to shush him again, but his pained voice remained persistent. "You... You told me that you wanted to raise two cats... together... in a new house..."

You let out a choked sob and tried to distract yourself by watching Nam-Gyu desperately reach for Thanos' cross necklace. However, a second after he opened the cross, he stayed still. The rope knocked over his feet, and he fell to the endless cliff, welcomed by the harsh surface of the floor, coating the beautiful yellow flowers with crimson.

"Player 124, eliminated."

The speaker's voice was like a hammer constantly hitting your head. You let go of Dae-Ho right after hearing the elimination and placed your hand on his shoulders, shaking him to bring him back. "Wake up! We have to go! Now!"

"I said I can't go!" He shouted back.

Nevertheless, you offered your hand.

Dae-Ho looked at your hand and then at you. "[Y/N], this will not work..."

"Try it," you said. Finally, he accepted your hand and stood up. "Try to jump without my help."

Although you might've appeared to be confident in your decision, you tried to best to hide your anxiety and shaky voice from him. If you gave out the slightest bit of uncertainty, he might give up on trying.

After all, he is only trying to protect you. To save your life by letting go. He always wanted to die heroically.

Dae-Ho took a deep breath and steadied himself on his feet. As he prepared himself to try his first jump, you heard a slight commotion and turned your head around, watching Gi-Hun cross the narrow bridge with Jun-Hee's baby.

"I can't watch this!" You closed your eyes shut and turned to Dae-Ho, opening your eyes again to look at him.

The room erupted into cheers when Gi-Hun made it to the other side. You sighed in relief, feeling a new sense of hope. If Gi-Hun could do it with a baby in his arms, perhaps Dae-Ho could do it with an injured leg.

But he failed to land properly after his jump, his foot almost twisting as he fell to his knees. You helped him get up to try again - you were not leaving him behind.

However, every attempt turned futile. Players were already crossing the bridge, the timer had gone down twelve minutes, and you and Dae-Ho were still trying to find a way to cross.

"I can't do it," he stated. You couldn't hear any more hope in his voice - he'd already given up, devoid of his usual charming, cheerful encouragement. "[Y/N], you need to go. You can't wait for me and die. You can't die here!"

Always the kind-hearted soul he is, he was ready to stay behind while you crossed to the other side. The fall was long, survival chances were low, players were already being pushed off, and in the blink of an eye, you had only six minutes left to escape death.

With such a small amount of time, you turned to look at Dae-Ho for help - except he didn't, because he only gave you one option, and it was to leave him behind.

"I can't..." Your heart ached with unimaginable pain, the mere thought of leaving Dae-Ho threatened to slice your heart open. You didn't want to let go. You couldn't. He was all you had left in this survival game. Without him, who were you even living for? He was your last glimmer of hope, the thread that kept you from snapping.

He took a deep breath and cupped your face with his hands, trying to steady his breath to make himself look good for you. "H— Hey, hey, hey, listen. I'm scared too, okay? I really don't wanna die..."

His voice cracked. Despite his fear, despite the uncertainty, he wanted to be your encouragement and shield even during his last moments - all to protect you, all to finally be useful for once. "But if I don't get to dream of a tomorrow, I want you to live yours."

"What about those promises we made?! I don't know what to do— Nothing will be the same for me! I can't live without you!" You snapped, your tears rolling down your scrunched face, bubbles of saliva forming in your mouth as your throat closed up, unable to let you choke out any more words. "I can't do it! I'm going to fall! I don't want to do it!"

"Then live for yourself, not for me!" He wiped your tears as he let his own fall free, vulnerability showing with his voice. He softly pressed his forehead against yours and held your hands. "You can do it, okay? Look at me."

Your eyes finally met his. He forced a smile and gently wiped your tears with his thumb. You leaned into his touch, trying to savor every moment with him, knowing that this was the last time you'd feel his touch. Dae-Ho's hands slid around your body, trapping you in a protective embrace as he gently rocked you side to side.

His head rested on top of yours. He whispered, his voice weak and trembling, "You can do it."

Four minutes left on the clock, and many players still hadn't made it to the other side yet. The jumping rope swung in an endless loop of doom above the abyss. Dae-Ho kissed the crown of your head before letting of of you.

And that's when you knew your time with him was up.

"[Y/N]," Jun-Hee called. You turned your head to her and noticed she'd been watching you from a distance, her own eyes welling up with tears. "Go."

She wasn't going to be able to make it to the other side either.

Dae-Ho gave you a small tap on the shoulder, and you knew it was time. You approached the doll and fixed your gaze on the other side, trying to ignore the dangerous distance you had from the floor, and the way your legs trembled like jelly, and the way your vision blurred, and the sudden revolting nausea in your stomach, and your unfocused gaze, and your labored breathing, and the way your heartbeat echoed in your ears, and—

"Breathe," Dae-Ho said from behind you, his tone soft and gentle, trying not to scare you. "I know I can't give a lot of advice, but... just... don't look down, okay? Look forward. Pretend you're just jumping rope. The best way to cross is to block out any distractions."

You let out a weak hum to acknowledge his words and finally stepped forward. The rope swung again. You jumped in time, keeping your balance by only a little. Three minutes left on the clock.

On the other side, Gi-Hun shouted and screamed at the remaining players. He waved his hand and helped the ones closer to him to get to safety.

You advanced slowly with a steady balance. Your arms were spread out, your body slightly to the side, and you had your stronger leg in front of the other. "The best way to cross is to block out any distractions," you mentally tell yourself.

You blocked out that voice and labeled it as a distraction. The more you remembered Dae-Ho was on the other side, helpless, the more your motivation drained out. Two minutes and thirty seconds left. You were the second last player on the bridge.

Dae-Ho and Jun-Hee cheered for you on the other side, and their voices brought a small comfort in the moment of adrenaline. You jumped across the small opening in the bridge and reached the second part, earning loud cheers from your lover. One minute and fifty seconds left.

"Jump! Come on!!" Gi-Hun shouted and extended his hand. You stayed jumping in place to glance at the clock for a few seconds. One minute and twenty-five seconds.

You could do it. Player 333 was in front of you. He jumped forward a few times and ran towards the other side once the distance was narrow enough. He grabbed Gi-Hun's hand and reached safety.

Player 333, pass.

Just you and once minute left on the clock. Gi-Hun extended his hand again. "[Y/N]!! Come on!!"

Finally, you sprinted towards the other side and grabbed Gi-Hun's hand. You tripped on your step and fell to the floor. It took a moment to register what had happened until the speaker voice affirmed:

Player 067, pass.

"YES!! [Y/N]!!" Dae-Ho grinned from the other side. You stood up and approached the edge of the platform, but you kept a safe distance. All you wanted was to see Dae-Ho.

"I did it!!" You shouted, a joyful smile forming on your lips. "Dae-Ho, I did it!!"

Jun-Hee smiled at you and gave you a thumbs-up, to which you replied with a bigger smile and another thumbs-up. You were safe, you made it.

The moment of euphoria died down as the countdown began. In the blink of an eye, one minute turned into twenty seconds. Dae-Ho's and Jun-Hee's twenty seconds alive.

Your smile dropped and your heart clenched. You were so lost in the adrenaline of victory that you had forgotten that Dae-Ho was still on the other side, away from safety.

"Dae-Ho!!" You shouted. "Come! Try it! Do it, please!!"

Jun-Hee stepped up. Gi-Hun begged her to cross the bridge, but with only ten seconds left, she gave you and player 456 a sorrowful gaze and stepped off the platform. It happened so fast you barely got time to process.

Player 222, eliminated.

On the other side, Dae-Ho met your gaze, his own tears rolling down like a never-ending waterfall as he smiled softly at you, knowing he'd be gone soon, dying a heroic death. "[Y/N]! Thank you for everything!"

And in the next second, a bullet fired and the speaker announced.

Player 388, eliminated.

You dropped to your knees, your eyes fixated on Dae-Ho's lifeless body falling down the long cliff. His body hit the ground, the sound haunting your ears.

Some may call it selfless. Others will deem it as idiotic. But to you, his sacrifice meant everything. Because after all, Dae-Ho only wanted to protect you. After failing to protect other people in his life, other participants in the game, and other players in the rebellion, his sacrifice proved what his cowardly actions couldn't.

And you? You lost your lover. You lost your future with him. But you earned a promise.

If you couldn't live for Dae-Ho, you had to live for yourself. And deep down, you know that's what he wanted, too.

extra note: im so embarrassed of my writing this is probably so corny💔

@renedvds on tumblr . 2025/06/30 . do not repost or translate my work .

[kitkat5628]

I didn't do my homework well so I gotta ask: I mean... I absolutely adore DickBabs but what's the actual reason DC keeps "pushing" for it if it's so "disliked"?

DC acknowledges that DickKory is more popular, they know. And I... Really really doubt they're supposedly afraid/don't like making money😭🙏 If they were I guess many series that didn't sell well would have been longer than they ended up being, yk...

Is it really a bat and titans editorial problem? Because I know people blame the bat editorial but isn't it DC that makes the final decision? — Actually unsure about how all those editorial things work and are, never really looked up😔

Like genuinely ain't no way a ship that is apparently "hated/disliked by many" has been going on not for a decade, but almost 30 years. DC literally drops everything the moment it doesn't make money??😭 No way they're "pushing" it because of the BatFamily when they broke TimSteph up. No way they're "afraid of making money". No way it's because "they're bias about it"???? There have to be another reason.

Can't even say they're trying to "push" a new thing for a few years to see how it goes cause y'all, we're talking about 30 years. Not just, idk, five or six but thirty.

Something that wouldn't make them make money, after so much years, would still exist and they would be trying so hard to keep it up??

DickKory surely has more fans but if DickBabs had none it would have been gone yeeeeears ago, I think🤨 We comic fans that have been reading for years can argue that Tom Taylor run wasn't... The best. He did give us some nice content but it ain't the best of the best (Depends on your tastes too though!)... But it did get more new fans into Nightwing. Like, many, many new. And while we know that the couple doesn't really feel like themselves, new fans seems to have enjoyed it. So I can guess his run did get many more DickBabs shippers — and with Watters writing them even better there might be even more later in the future, if they do keep things up like this. Now that Tom Taylor's books sold a lot, there might be even more DickBabs? Not... sure how it works ahah;; — it'd make sense if they would be trying to "push" it but what about before?😭

Since Tom Taylor, if I'm not mistaking, wanted to get them married but DC stopped him, it means that the bat editorial doesn't have control over everything, obviously... Their decisions do need approval, we can't blame it all on them.

So again there has to be an actual reason that... Makes sense? Other than the "afraid of making money" or "bat editorial being possessive of Dick" or "DC wanting to push BatFamily".

↓↓ !!!READ BEFORE LEAVING A COMMENT!!! ↓↓

This blog is always open for discussions! However, it has to be civil, since it's all about fiction and there's absolutely no need to actually get heated up and start a fight over it. Discussion civil comments are very welcome, but if you're here just to be mean, please do leave.

Mean comments will pretty much be ignored, but if your comment starts: Insulting people, degrading the characters and/or the shippers of a ship, is xenophobic, is racist, contain misogyny and ableism or generally cross a line, it will indeed get deleted. Don't bring negativity here, thanks 🫡.

On a little side note, I'm tagging this as DickKory/Kory/Starfire because it's kinda about it too? But, if you believe it shouldn't, let me know in the comments and I'll make sure to remove the tag :).

[ruebossanova]

professor o'connell: the mini series - 14

college prof!billie x student!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: older!billie x younger!reader, slowslowslow burn, eventual smut, college life, hella tension, quiet/shy reader

masterlist

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

monday morning came quiet.

the kind of quiet that wasn't peaceful—just stretched thin, like a rubber band pulled too far. like if anyone breathed wrong, something would snap.

liora walked the hallway alone, coffee cooling in her hand, boots silent against the tile. she didn't want to be early, but she also couldn't stand her room. not with how her thoughts kept circling, rewinding, pausing on things unsaid.

she was halfway to the classroom when the door ahead opened and billie stepped out.

no sunglasses. no bag. just her and a file folder pressed to her chest like a shield.

liora's breath caught.

billie glanced up.

their eyes met.

she gave the smallest nod.

no smile.

no words.

just that single, careful gesture.

then she walked past.

her sleeve brushed liora's as she passed.

that was it.

liora didn't turn around.

she wanted to.

but she didn't.

"god," a voice behind her said, chipper and amused. "you two should have your own soundtrack."

liora blinked. turned.

nova stood with a paper cup in one hand and a bag of almonds in the other, grinning like she'd just caught the best scene on camera.

"what?" liora asked.

nova stepped closer, peeling the lid off her coffee. "the tension. the eye contact. the unspoken longing. it's like a sapphic pride & prejudice, except she teaches and you brood."

"i don't brood."

"you absolutely do."

liora sighed and kept walking.

nova followed, breezy.

"how's your secret professor fantasy going, by the way?"

"stop calling it that."

"so it's still alive, then."

liora glanced at her, unimpressed.

nova laughed, genuine. "sorry. i'll stop. maybe."

they reached the classroom door.

liora hesitated before going in.

nova leaned closer, voice soft. "she looked at you like she wanted to say something."

"she didn't."

"yeah," nova said. "and that's the problem, isn't it?"

class hadn't started yet.

nova leaned sideways in her chair, one leg tucked up, almond bag rustling in her lap.

"so," she said casually. "tell me why you're pretending she doesn't wreck you every time she breathes."

liora kept her gaze on her notebook.

"i'm not pretending."

"right," nova said, nodding like she was listening but absolutely not buying it. "you're just... incredibly stoic for no reason."

liora sighed. "drop it."

"nope."

"nova."

"look, i'm just saying," nova continued, popping an almond into her mouth, "she watches you like you're a live wire. like if she touches you, she'll burn. and not in a bad way."

liora glanced at her, sharp. "you don't know her."

"neither do you," nova said, raising an eyebrow. "not really. not yet."

liora didn't respond.

didn't have to.

her silence was loud enough.

nova leaned in, grin softening. "have you ever kissed someone who made you feel like that?"

liora shook her head. "have you?"

"once," nova said. "but she didn't flinch every time i got close."

liora looked away.

nova shifted tactics.

"come to the open mic this week," she said suddenly. "thursday. campus café. i'm doing a thing."

"a thing."

"a piece. it's funny, kinda sad, very gay."

liora hesitated.

nova tilted her head, watching her.

"c'mon. it's off the record. no professors. no weird power dynamics. just people."

"and bad coffee."

"and worse lighting," nova agreed, grinning. "but good company. i promise."

liora considered it.

then nodded once.

nova bumped her knee. "hell yeah."

and the way she smiled—easy, unforced, like none of this was life or death—made liora exhale, just a little.

but in the back of her mind, billie's silence lingered.

like a song she didn't know the lyrics to, but couldn't stop humming.

the rehearsal room smelled like old speakers and burnt coffee.

liora sat on the floor with her notebook open, legs crossed, pencil tapping against her knee. billie leaned against the far wall, arms folded, posture too casual to be comfortable.

everything about the space between them felt like a line someone had drawn too sharp.

"your second stanza's off-tempo," billie said, not looking up from her notes. "the phrasing pulls attention away from the core image."

liora's eyes narrowed. "which line?"

"'i loved her in lowercase.'"

liora stiffened. "you don't think that works?"

"i think it's trying too hard."

silence.

thick.

"it's honest," liora said finally.

"so is pain. doesn't mean it always belongs in the verse."

liora closed her notebook harder than necessary. "you said honesty mattered more than polish."

"i said it had to be both," billie replied, still too calm. "truth only lands if the frame can hold it."

liora stood slowly.

"what's this really about?"

billie looked up. their eyes locked.

"your line doesn't work."

"no," liora said. "i mean this. us. you—snapping at me like i'm just another draft you can fix."

billie's jaw tensed. her fingers curled against her sleeve.

liora took a step closer.

billie didn't move.

didn't flinch.

just watched her with that unreadable quiet.

"you think i'm trying too hard," liora said, voice low. "but you're not trying at all."

billie's gaze flickered.

something cracked there — not anger. something closer to want. or guilt.

maybe both.

then—

"we should stop for today," billie said. not a request.

liora didn't argue.

she just packed up slow.

and didn't look back.

but her chest felt like static the whole way out.

the café was half-lit and humming.

string lights tangled above the windows. soft jazz looped under the chatter. someone had pushed the chairs into a makeshift half-circle around the mic, and every table was covered in mismatched candles and crumpled napkins.

liora sat near the back, hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows, cup of cold tea forgotten beside her.

nova took the mic like she owned it.

no nerves. no script.

just swagger.

"hi," she said, grinning. "i'm nova. i write too much. flirt too loud. and i once fell in love with a girl who looked like a walking metaphor."

laughter.

liora smiled.

nova's voice turned theatrical. "she smelled like sarcasm and lavender, read books upside down, and never called anyone by their full name."

another laugh.

"i asked her once what she wanted," nova said, pacing a step. "she said, 'a piano that never goes out of tune, and a kiss that doesn't ask first.'"

soft murmurs now.

liora's arms crossed tighter.

"i wanted to write her a poem," nova said. "but she was one. all lowercase heartbreak and sideways glances. i don't think she ever noticed. or maybe she did, and she liked keeping the mystery."

a pause.

then nova's eyes — unmistakably — found hers.

"anyway," she added with a shrug, "it's fine. some people are just meant to be the song, not the singer."

applause.

loud.

nova bowed dramatically and handed off the mic.

she sat down near the front, sipping something dark and probably bitter.

liora's heart tapped against her ribs.

she didn't blush.

but she felt seen.

not in the way billie saw her — sharp and quiet.

this was different.

louder.

more public.

and it made her skin feel tight.

not bad.

just... itchy.

like the air had changed pressure.

and she wasn't sure what came next.

the mic crackled again. someone with a guitar was tuning up, murmuring about capo settings.

liora was still processing nova's words when the chair beside her shifted.

she turned.

billie.

jeans, leather jacket, hair damp from the mist outside.

she slid into the seat like it was the most natural thing in the world, then leaned back, legs casually crossed, arms resting on the chair's edges.

"you came," liora said, throat dry.

billie didn't look at her. just kept her eyes on the stage.

"open mic sounded interesting," she said. "i was curious."

liora raised an eyebrow. "you hate crowds."

billie's mouth tugged. "hate's a strong word."

"you used it last week. about brunch."

that got the smallest laugh.

then nova approached, holding two cups of something suspiciously green.

"look who decided to join the living," she said sweetly.

billie looked up.

"nova," she said, nodding once.

nova smiled, bright and toothy. "you staying for the closer?"

"if the vibe's good."

nova turned to liora, too casual. "this seat taken?"

liora hesitated — too long — and nova took the seat on her other side without waiting.

she leaned close, whispering, "your professor looks... unamused."

"she's not my—"

"sure she's not."

billie was watching them now.

expression blank.

but her hand gripped her armrest a little tighter.

nova leaned across liora slightly, gaze trained on billie. "hope we didn't make things awkward."

billie smiled, tight. "not at all."

liora stared at the table.

there was heat at her collarbone. a flicker of danger in the air.

like thunder thinking about starting.

"this song's for the girl in the third row," the guitarist announced on stage. "you know who you are."

nova grinned, turning her attention back forward.

billie didn't.

billie watched liora.

and liora felt it.

every glance.

every word unspoken.

every inch of space that suddenly wasn't enough.

nova peeled off after the final act, flashing a wink at liora and a polite, pointed smile at billie.

"later," she sang, grabbing her bag. "see you thursday, lowercase."

liora flushed.

billie watched her go, jaw tight.

they sat in silence for a beat.

then billie leaned closer.

close enough that liora could smell the faint trace of rain in her clothes.

"you're doing it on purpose now."

liora didn't move. "doing what?"

billie's voice dipped lower. "letting her flirt with you."

liora turned, slowly.

"you didn't seem interested in stopping it."

billie's mouth twitched. not quite a smile.

"that's not the point."

"what is the point?"

billie leaned back an inch, one hand curling over the back of liora's chair.

the contact wasn't touch.

but it was pressure.

"you're not mine," she said, steady. "but you feel like—"

she cut herself off.

liora waited.

then: "like what?"

billie's eyes flashed. "don't do that."

"what, ask for honesty?"

"push," billie corrected. "you push."

liora's voice stayed level, but her pulse didn't. "you pull away every time i get close."

"because i have to."

"no, you choose to."

they were too close.

too loud in a room full of murmurs.

billie's hand slipped a fraction down the back of the chair.

not touching.

still not touching.

but liora could feel the static.

billie's eyes softened, just barely.

"you think i don't want to?" she whispered. "you have no idea."

liora blinked.

then leaned in, her voice quiet and deadly.

"then show me."

billie froze.

one breath passed.

two.

and still—

she didn't move.

the parking lot was empty, mostly.

just two flickering overhead lights, and the soft sound of wind brushing the leaves along the sidewalk.

liora walked next to billie, quiet.

they didn't speak.

didn't need to.

their steps matched. billie's keys jingled faintly in her hand.

she stopped by a dark gray hatchback and clicked the lock.

the lights blinked.

still, she didn't get in.

she stood there, one hand on the door, back half-turned.

then—

"don't do that again," she said.

voice low.

rough.

liora tilted her head. "what?"

"with nova. with the mic. with the—" billie stopped herself. exhaled hard. "just don't."

liora stepped closer.

soft. deliberate.

"don't give me a reason to."

billie's fingers tightened around the handle.

"you don't play fair," she said.

"you don't play at all."

billie turned sharply.

their eyes locked.

the distance between them was small now.

invisible, almost.

liora's hand hovered — not quite reaching, not quite brave enough to touch her.

but billie's breath hitched.

they stood there.

close.

closer.

close enough that liora could see the different flecks of blue in billie's eyes. the way her jaw ticked. the tension in her throat.

billie didn't back away.

liora didn't move forward.

but their hands brushed.

once.

twice.

a third time.

billie's hand almost turned to hold.

almost.

but she didn't.

she just whispered, "i can't."

liora whispered back, "i know."

they didn't kiss.

not yet.

but the breath they shared in that moment — warm, close, not quite enough — was louder than any kiss could've been.

billie stepped back.

got in the car.

drove away.

and liora stood there, arms folded tight, breathing the silence she left behind.

⸻

tuesday smelled like overbrewed coffee and recycled air.

liora stood outside the creative arts office, one hand in her hoodie pocket, the other gripping a folded worksheet she didn't need. the hallway buzzed with too much fluorescent light and the echo of someone printing three floors up.

she hadn't meant to be there.

not exactly.

she could've emailed her question. waited until class.

but now she was standing in the exact spot where billie usually waited for her mail. and sure enough—

the door creaked open behind her.

liora didn't turn immediately.

but she felt the shift in the air.

soft leather boots. light footfall. the faintest brush of sandalwood.

billie.

they faced each other in the narrow hallway, three feet apart.

billie held a bundle of sealed manila envelopes. her jacket hung open over a navy sweater, and her hair was tied back in a loose braid that looked like it had survived two hours of second-guessing.

their eyes met.

billie nodded once.

brief.

polite.

liora nodded back.

no smile.

no hello.

no acknowledgement of the almost that had nearly happened two nights ago.

just... silence.

too formal.

too careful.

too much.

"wow," nova's voice broke the air like a thrown pebble into a still lake. "you could slice the tension in here with a retractable pen."

liora blinked. nova stepped in between them, holding a bag of chips and wearing a sweatshirt two sizes too big.

"professor eilish," nova said, nodding exaggeratedly. "always a pleasure."

billie gave her a tight smile. "jenkins."

nova turned to liora, dropped her voice: "you two fighting or is this just your natural vibe?"

"nova."

"just checking," she said sweetly. "because if someone looked at me the way she just did, i'd either cry or propose."

liora didn't look at billie.

she didn't need to.

she already knew billie was walking away.

quiet.

measured.

liora stared at the linoleum tile for a full ten seconds before nova crunched into her chips and said, "subtlety's overrated, you know."

the classroom felt colder than usual.

maybe it was the air conditioning.

maybe it was something else.

billie stood at the front with her laptop open and a marker in her hand, outlining next week's peer workshop schedule like her voice didn't tremble slightly when she said thursday.

liora sat second row, second seat, same as always.

nova was beside her, propped on one elbow, doodling a small galaxy in the margin of her syllabus.

"so," billie said, not looking at either of them, "you'll present a five-minute excerpt and give a short explanation of how your chosen song influenced the structure."

her tone was clipped. practiced. deliberate.

liora's pencil rested untouched beside her.

billie didn't glance her way.

not once.

nova leaned over, whispered, "someone's pretending last night didn't happen."

liora gave a tiny shake of her head. "drop it."

"oh no, i'm invested now."

liora didn't respond.

didn't need to.

the silence in her chest was loud enough.

billie turned toward the board. her handwriting was clean but slanted. the letters in "lyric logic" curved just like the ones on the post-it she'd once left inside liora's poetry book.

"the rest of today's yours," she said. "workshop quietly. or don't. just don't bother anyone else."

she sat on the edge of her desk. crossed one leg over the other.

didn't look up again.

liora stared at the blank page in front of her.

she didn't write a word.

but her pulse kept echoing.

like it was trying to remind her of something she hadn't decided yet.

the practice room felt smaller than it had last week.

billie sat cross-legged beside the upright piano, notebook open, sleeves pushed to her elbows. she looked tired—like she hadn't slept or had slept too much or hadn't decided which was worse.

liora sat opposite her, hunched over her own journal, pen cap in her mouth.

neither of them had said much since sitting down.

it was all logistics. key changes. rhyme pacing. where to place the pause in the third stanza.

but they were avoiding the center of it.

billie cleared her throat. "read the new one."

liora glanced up. "it's not finished."

"i don't care."

liora hesitated.

then flipped a page and read, voice low:

"you didn't kiss me but the air between us did. brushed my mouth like it missed me before it even met me."

billie's hand twitched on her notebook.

liora noticed.

said nothing.

but her voice was cooler when she added, "too honest?"

billie didn't answer right away.

then: "too close."

"same thing?"

billie closed her eyes for a moment, as if that would stop the room from feeling like it was spinning off-center.

liora pushed. "you keep pulling back."

"and you keep testing me."

"i just want to know why," liora said. "why you won't let it happen."

billie's jaw clenched.

her eyes opened, sharp and unblinking.

"because if i do—"

she stopped.

liora waited.

"—i won't stop."

those words landed like heat against bare skin.

liora didn't blink.

didn't move.

billie stood up slowly, hands shaking just slightly as she closed her notebook.

"that's enough for today."

liora stood too.

but didn't say goodbye.

she just let the space between them breathe for her.

the library's third floor smelled like dry paper and effort.

liora sat at one of the small round tables by the windows, notebook open, headphones in but not playing anything. she was mid-line—stuck on a transition—when someone dropped their bag loudly in the chair next to her.

nova.

"hey, lowercase."

liora glanced up, confused. "this isn't your floor."

"i'm diversifying," nova said, already pulling out a pen. "plus, i saw her coming in."

liora didn't have to ask who.

billie appeared five minutes later, dressed in a soft denim shirt and dark jeans, hair in a messy braid. she carried a small stack of folders and a coffee that looked like it had already lost its will to live.

she spotted them.

froze.

only for half a second.

then walked over.

"wasn't expecting company," she said evenly.

nova beamed. "we're productive."

liora gave a tiny shrug, noncommittal.

billie took the seat opposite them, opened her folder with more focus than necessary.

nova leaned over to liora and whispered—not quietly—"you smell like rain and tension."

liora coughed into her sleeve to hide a laugh.

billie didn't smile.

"we're supposed to be editing the final verse," she said, flipping to a marked page.

nova leaned in between them, practically in liora's lap. "mind if i listen?"

"you're not in this group," billie said.

"i'm observing. for science."

liora didn't stop her.

didn't shift.

nova grinned and read from the paper billie slid over. "oh wow. moody. seductive. very 'we almost kissed under the threat of emotional consequences.'"

billie exhaled slowly.

liora met her gaze across the table.

billie looked—

tired.

frustrated.

possessive.

but silent.

nova sat back, arms spread along the chair's edge, gaze bouncing between them like she was waiting for something to catch fire.

"you two write like you've already broken up," she said, light as air.

billie stood.

too fast.

"i'll email my notes."

she didn't wait for a reply.

just walked off.

nova watched her leave.

then turned to liora, mock-innocent. "was that too much?"

liora didn't answer.

but her pulse said yes.

and maybe.

and thank you.

all at once.

it was nearly midnight when liora passed the student union on her way back to her dorm.

she wasn't going to stop.

but something pulled at her — that odd instinct you only get when you know you're being thought about.

she turned into the building. walked past the vending machines and the empty lounge chairs and headed toward the mail slots.

hers was near the bottom.

she bent down, tired, annoyed at herself—

and found it.

a small folded sheet of notepad paper tucked inside her box. no envelope. no name. just clean handwriting she'd know anywhere.

billie's.

she pulled it out.

read:

"i was unfair. we can talk. or not. your call.

b"

four lines.

ten seconds of reading.

ten minutes of standing still.

liora leaned against the wall, rereading it again and again.

her phone stayed in her pocket.

she didn't text.

she didn't write back.

she didn't even crumple the paper.

she just folded it again, slid it into the back pocket of her jeans, and walked back into the night with her hands in her hoodie and her heart all sideways.

the stairwell between the english and music buildings always echoed.

worse in the morning. worst when it was quiet.

liora was coming up two steps at a time, late for her second class, earbuds in but volume low.

that's when she saw her.

billie.

coming down.

soft black coat, thick scarf, thermos in one hand.

liora's breath hitched, but she didn't slow.

they passed on the third landing.

close enough to touch.

close enough to feel the heat radiating off the space where their hands used to hover, their words used to hum.

billie didn't look up.

didn't say a word.

their shoulders brushed.

not hard.

not intentional.

but enough.

enough to send a rush through liora's spine that she wasn't ready for.

liora stopped two steps past her, turned slightly—

but billie kept walking.

no glance back.

no break in stride.

just the fading click of her boots against tile.

liora stood there, caught in the hollow that followed.

jaw tight.

eyes narrowed.

then she turned and climbed the last steps like she was running from something she hadn't let herself name yet.

class ended late.

the air outside smelled like spring trying too hard — warm patches between gusts of cold wind.

liora was halfway across the quad when nova jogged up beside her.

"okay," nova said, no greeting, no lead-in. "i need to know."

liora didn't look over. "know what."

nova matched her pace. "you're in love with her, aren't you."

liora's jaw tightened. "nova—"

"not judging," she said, hands raised like a peace offering. "i just need to confirm before i waste another afternoon playing third wheel to sexual tension and unresolved poetry metaphors."

liora didn't respond.

didn't slow.

didn't nod.

but her silence was telling enough.

nova whistled. "okay. let me rephrase."

they stopped at the edge of the courtyard. nova turned to face her, arms crossed.

"do you want her to be the one who says it first?"

liora met her eyes.

quiet.

unguarded.

and still didn't speak.

nova didn't smile.

didn't tease.

she just said, "figured."

then walked off, leaving liora standing in the middle of a hundred blooming trees and one very loud silence.

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

tags; @bxllxebxtch @st0nerlesb0 @dousleepanymore @mxmsuki @billiescation @angellvk @bilswifee

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 84 Legacy Posting

Oh boy, here we go dear void. Short entry this time (by my standards at least).

Editor's Notes: First Page: 対峙する二人... [taiji suru futari...] "The two face off..." Last Page: 想い乗せた一撃が届く... [omoi noseta ichigeki ga todoku...] "A decisive blow brimming with emotions reaches him..."

A Declaration

Go, Chihiro, go!

And here we have the ultimate rebuttal to Samura's stubborn insistence on solving everything by himself: Chihiro has a personal stake in all of this as the son of Rokuhira Kunishige. He doesn't have to bear the burden, but he's refusing Samrua's (misguided) kindness and taking everything on.

I do like the framing of all of this duty as the choice of the children involved. Usually there's a heavy tilt towards "children should be responsible for their parent's mistakes/burdens" or "children must choose their own paths", but Kagurabachi threads the needle and says "it's not that simple".

Chihiro chooses to honour his father's wishes. He understands very well the pain that he's taking on, and he's learning that his father isn't the infallible man he looked up to when he was younger, but he decides to do it anyway. Meanwhile, Hakuri decided to tear it all down- and it wasn't framed as him shirking his duty or atoning for his father's sins. It was the right thing to do. So far, Iori wanted to be like Samura and protect him. Her decision might change depending on how this fight turns out, but it's not going to be some heavy-handed message about how she's responsible for what he did.

It's always framed as a choice the kids are making based on what they know and believe. They aren't responsible for their parent's actions but choose to act based on the results of them. I love it. I'll admit my life experience makes me extremely skeptical of stories that try to say kids must fix the problems their parents caused- it's a strong bias I always have. So Kagurabachi framing things as kids consciously choosing to do what they can to make the world a better place is very satisfying. People are trying to say "no you don't need to, live your life" and they're saying "I want to help make the world a better place". Well, Hakuri was denied his chance, but it was a good thing in that case. Regardless, inter-generation cooperation is the way to go!

Echoes

The future is now, old man.

There's something to be said for how goddamn stubborn Samura is. It's beyond reason, right? Like holy shit you're blind not deaf, listen to all the people who care about you and want you to live instead of going on some suicidal atonement mission. Your freakin' daughter wants and needs you in her life! The little girl you promised your ex-wife you'd protect!

As a friend mentioned, Samura's mindset strongly echoes someone who's mentally ill. I'm pretty sure everyone's been down in the dumps once in their life- everything sucks, nothing's okay, and it never will be. But we get over it with some time and (ideally) support. Samura, though, is in the fucking depths. Anyone who's thought the world would genuinely be better off without them, that's him. The mind is a shitshow sometimes and it will tell some of us "hey, they love you, so stop being a burden and make their lives easier by offing yourself already". Which is a bunch of nonsense but it's compelling nonsense that feels right. Nothing really gets through that fog without treatment and a hell of a lot of persistence.

So while it's a bit annoying as a reader to see this guy dig in his heels and refuse the hope that everyone around him's trying to shove in his arms, I get it. He's guilty AF about the past and feels like he can't be redeemed- and that his presence is a burden on Iori. So if he dies and takes out the Sword Master with him then yay yippie everyone can be happy.

It's not that simple nor is that actually a good solution (which I talked a bit about last chapter). It's just the one that feels right to Samura so Chihiro will literally have to break Tobimune to stop this guy.

Which he... might have done this chapter? Maybe he just nicked or fractured it? It looks like Chihiro's will got through to Samura at least a little bit. Only breaking Tobimune in full will really stop Samura in full but maybe damaging it will give Iori and the Masumi an opening to be heard.

The Masumi!

I missed you guys too!

Not much to say other than I'm glad they're in this fight and that Ro pointed out the obvious: if Samura healed his own goddamn eyes, then the Masumi's ninja tactics wouldn't be much of a hindrance to him. But he wants to remain blind (symbolism!) and so he can't see what's really important. But Ro's got a more accurate measure of him now that one of his sunglass lenses is broken. Really nice touch in the art this chapter.

One MORE Thing, Jackieee

Is that Chihiro's "aura", as the kids say?

Samura trying to spare the kids is noble, yes. Gone over that a bunch. And Chihiro's rebuttal is basically an emphatic let us get hurt.

Parents often try to prevent their kids from experiencing the same problems in the same ways that they did- abuse, war, etc. They generally want their kids lives to be better than theirs were.

But.

If those parents who had rough lives don't get help and work on their own issues, they will just pass the trauma on in a different way. Like here: Samura tried to spare Iori, but he just reinforced her trauma of loved ones leaving/abandoning her. He needs ALL the fucking therapy and to give a massive apology to her- then commit to working on his issues.

Because as sympathetic as he is, as understandable as his actions and beliefs are at this point, they're still wrong. He's doing wrong by Iori, Inori's memory, Chihiro, Uruha, the Masumi, even Kunishige's memory at this point. What Chihiro's trying to get through to Samura here is, in my mind, the idea that it's better to live with the pain and stay with what you find hope in than give it all up and assume it'll improve other people's lives. Just fucking live, bro! Iori needs you even if you've got a mountain of grief that makes you want to die. She needs you as you are and who you can be, not who you think you are. Share that pain with her so she can understand and help you.

Obviously this isn't advocating for parents to treat their kids like therapists or act like emotional vampires (been there, it screws a kid up). But being open that you're not okay is okay. Letting Iori know you've got a bad past that you need to overcome is okay. Letting her find ways that she wants to help is okay. Share the past and prevent a warped future in truth. Because right now Samura's just sending Iori (and the other young people who care about him) down a different fucked up path than the one he was on instead of truly creating something better.

Okay... hoping for glimpses of Hakuri and Uruha and maybe even Azami next week, but not betting on it. Take care of yourself dear void- you deserve it.

[rekino2114]

Of all the girls in Danganronpa girls I think the most openly affectionate with her boyfriend would absolutely be Akane~

she doesn't give a damn about PDA in fact she found that she liked it and is very casual about giving and receiving love especially with giving it. So you can guess that in private she is an absolute cuddle bug, unfortunately in summer that's actually a detrement due to how hot it is and of course Akane doesn't care cause she wants to cuddle and doesn't even see the heat as a big deal due to the fact of growing up with air conditioning being non-existent in her poor environment in which her and her siblings grew up in.

Akane owari being clingy during summer

A/n:my first summer post......and I'm posting it on literally the last day of June, well better late than never and feel free to request more for summer

Akane is really clingy. She loves hugging you, kissing you, and literally clinging onto you whenever she can, in private and in public too, who cares if someone sees, in fact it's better that way cause then everyone knows you're together

You usually enjoy her clinginess sure her hugs are very tight and can last for many minutes, but it's just because she's very strong plus they feel nice and warm so it's not really a problem

The only time when that actually starts to bother you and becomes a bit of a problem is during summer cause akane is just as clingy and cuddly as she is at any other time of the year and she doesn't see a single problem with it

No matter how many degrees there are, she's still gonna hug you and demand cuddle like you're not sweating bullets already, not to say the constant affection is bad its just.....a lot to handle when you're already burning from the heat

What makes it even worse is that she still constantly works out and exercises, which makes her even more sweaty but she genuinely seems immune to it or the heat and will still ask to cuddle like nothing

However she does really like to eat ice cream or popsicles while cuddling and so she gives you the cold food as a thanks for agreeing to cuddle

If you complain about how hot it is and refuse her cuddles she'll lightly tease you for not being able to resist a bit of heat and will continue asking until you say yes

"Come on y/n you serious? A little bit of sun is gonna stop ya from cuddling with your girlfriend?"

"It's just really hot akane, I'm already so sweaty, I don't want to, I don't know why you want to cuddle with all this heat"

"Cause I really love you and wanna be close to you, come on please, it won't be for much"

".......fine, you're lucky I love you"

[charliegyrth]

What a Show-Off!

A Gay Gainer Story

“Damn it, Joshua. You're such a show-off.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he said with an annoying amount of innocence.

My boyfriend knew exactly what he was doing. Walking shirtless into the room. Casually leaning his muscular arm against the door frame. Tensing his torso so his abs were on full display. Biting his freaking lip, for Christ’s sake.

Don't get me wrong. Joshua was genuinely gorgeous, and I felt so lucky to be dating him. The problem was that he knew he was hot, and every once in a while, he'd start posing just to show off his best attributes. It was shameless. Hot but shameless.

I stood up, walked over, and kissed him. “Sure you don't, babe.”

When I stepped back, I noticed that his abs (while still visible) were slightly less defined. Yup, he'd definitely been flexing for my benefit.

Whatever. I shouldn't complain. I knew that he was still self-conscious about being between jobs. (That's one of the reasons he was in such better shape than me. More time to work out.) He didn't have a career like I did, so I shouldn't rob him of the satisfaction he got from flaunting his better assets.

Let him be a show-off if you wanted.

***

Joshua walked into the room in his snazzy, new baker’s outfit. The white fabric fit his muscular frame perfectly. His pecs in particular looked quite thick under the tight shirt.

He strutted in like a supermodel, then spun around so I’d get a 360 view of his work clothes. The pants accentuated his solid ass and long legs.

“Showing off again?” I asked, putting my book to the side.

“Course not. I'm just seeing how it fits.” He spun around again. He wasn't “seeing how it fits.” He was straight-up modelling for me. Shameless as always.

Good for him, though. He'd been unemployed for three long months (forcing me to take on a bunch of extra shifts to keep us afloat), but he'd finally gotten his dream job as assistant baker at Roskoe’s Bakery. His raw talent and culinary school training had earned him a spot at the best bakery in the city, and I couldn't be prouder.

“Fits perfectly,” I said. “You're gonna kill it tomorrow.”

That bit of encouragement meant a lot to him. He stopped posing and grinned like a little kid.

Then he sat next to me, his deep brown eyes studying my face. I guess he was trying to judge whether I was serious.

“You know you're amazing,” I said in total honesty. “And soon, the whole city will know that, too.”

***

Joshua grunted from the other room, loud enough for me to hear. Then, much quieter, he mumbled, “Fuck.” I heard that, too.

Something was wrong.

I hurried into the bedroom, finding Joshua standing shirtless in front of the mirror. His work pants were on, but his shirt was crumpled up in his hand.

Right away, I could see why. It didn't fit anymore. His pants barely did.

After three months in his new job, his lean body had been softened by fat. More fat than I'd realized. His wider hips strained against his pants, and his belly hung over his waistband. His entire middle was soft and wide, and his V-shape had sprouted love handles.

I thought he looked really cute. Everything about his sudden weight gain was cute.

Based on his horrified, hopeless expression, though, he didn't think so. I'm pretty sure he'd been aware of his expanding belly for a while now. His cocky moments of showing off had stopped about a month and a half ago. But I guess the extent of his gain hadn't really sunk in until today, when he'd officially outgrown his work shirt.

Not a problem, of course. I had a white XL shirt that he could wear before his boss got him a replacement outfit.

But first, I had to reassure him. I hated to see my baby look so disappointed in himself.

And I knew exactly what to say: “Showing off again?”

He looked up at me. He wasn't crying, but his eyes were puffy. “Huh?”

“I said...” I walked over and placed my hands on his squishy sides. “Showing off again?”

I kissed him.

“No. I was putting on my shirt and it wouldn't...”

I kissed him again. “Shut up, Joshua. We both know why you're shirtless. It's because you want to show me how big and hot you are. Well, message received.”

To show him I meant what I said, I kissed him once more and ran my fingers along his sides, sliding them through the new creases over his love handles, pinching at his softness.

I felt him relax under my touch. I guess he'd been sucking in a little, because his belly flowed outward even more.

He was speechless.

I pulled the shirt out of his hand and threw it onto the bed. “This is way too wrinkled for you to wear to work.” Then I fished out my XL shirt from the dresser and handed it to him. “Here. Wear this instead.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Freaking show-off,” I said as I left the room.

***

The house smelled like cinnamon and sugar. I didn't have much of a sweet tooth, but even I had to admit that it smelled amazing.

When I entered the kitchen, Joshua was digging through our lower cabinet, his fat ass raised high. He'd upgraded his wardrobe again, so his pants weren't too tight, but I could still see how big and soft his ass cheeks had gotten.

He didn't hear me coming.

I reached out and pinched his cheek, surprising him enough to bang his head against the cabinet.

“Babe!” he shouted as he rubbed his head and stood.

“What? You were showing off again. I couldn't help it.”

That made him smile. He spun around, giving me another view of this wide ass. That particular area had grown a lot in the last couple months, though it still had a long way to go to catch up to his belly.

Joshua was soft all over, but his belly was particularly noticeable, I think because it hung so low. A lot of guys his size had big, round beer guts. His was softer and droopier than most. When he was out in public, he pulled his pants over the bottom of his overhang to keep it in place. But back home, where comfort was more important than appearances, he let it flop out. I think that was my favorite part of his new body, though (like I said) his ass was catching up.

I wrapped my arms around him, but he pushed me away.

“Not now. The muffins are almost done.”

“Fine,” I mumbled. “Get me all riled up and then push me away. I see how it is.”

“Trust me. These’ll be worth it. I can't stop eating ’em.”

Clearly.

I took one last look at my beautiful boyfriend and left the kitchen.

***

“One second!” I shouted.

I opened the door and my sister Lizzy immediately hugged me. We hadn’t seen each other in months. Her husband Gerald hugged me, too. Less enthusiastically, of course.

As I let them inside, Lizzy sniffed loudly. “My God,” she said.

“I know. Every day is a new smell. You won’t believe all the stuff that Joshua’s been making.”

This particular smell was a mixture of coconut cream pie and banana nut muffins.

“Where is our little baker?” my sister asked, looking around the room as if he was hiding somewhere.

“In the kitchen. As always,” I answered.

“Hey!” Joshua shouted through the door. He could hear everything we were saying.

“What’s up, man?” Gerald shouted back. “We all miss you at the gym!”

“Miss you too!” he shouted back.

I couldn’t stop smiling. The way Lizzy called him a “little baker.” Gerald’s mention of the gym. They had no idea how much my boyfriend had changed since he started working at Roskoe’s.

I led them into the living room, where they sat together on the couch. They’d only been married since January, and they were very much in their honeymoon phase. He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned against his side. Cute couple.

Gerald asked me about my job. I didn’t really have a lot to say. Then Lizzy changed the subject back to their new dog (a topic she found a lot more interesting than Gerald, apparently). It was a nice, breezy conversation, until Joshua came in with a platter of his goodies.

The pie looked amazing, and the muffins looked even more so, but that’s not what Lizzy and Gerald were staring at. They were staring at Joshua’s wobbling belly hiding behind the platter. Or maybe they were staring at his new double chin. (He used to have stubble, but with his kitchen job, he had to stay clean-shaven, which made his face fat very obvious.) Or maybe they were staring at his moobs, which had grown so big so quickly that they still surprised me when I looked at him.

“That’s… um, a lot of food,” Gerald stammered.

“He’s just showing off again. Aren’t you, babe?” I helped him place everything on the table and then kissed his cheek. Like Lizzy and Gerald, we were in our honeymoon phase, too. More or less.

Joshua took my chair, so I slid onto his lap. Why not?

“Well,” he said. “Try one.”

Lizzy was too shocked at my fattened boyfriend to move. Gerald, his eyes still locked on Joshua, reached forward and grabbed a muffin. He took a bite and immediately moaned. “My God, man. This is incredible.” He took another bite. “No wonder you’re so…” He stopped himself.

Joshua’s belly jiggled under me. He was holding back a laugh. “So what, Gerald?”

Poor Gerald was a total deer in headlights.

“So… good at your job,” Lizzy answered for him.

Joshua and I exchanged a look. That’s usually how we communicated when it came to his weight gain. Through glances. We almost never talked about it outright. (I still didn’t know how much he weighed.)

“Thank you!” my boyfriend said. Then he turned to me. “Babe, hand me a muffin, please.”

I grabbed one for him while my sister took one for herself. Judging by her reaction, she liked the taste just as much as Gerald did. In the time it took Joshua to scarf his down, she had taken two slow, blissful bites.

“Another, please,” Joshua whispered to me. Loud enough for them to hear, of course.

I knew exactly what he was doing. He had turned into an extremely fast eater, but he always savored his owned baked goods. The only reason he was eating so fast now was because he knew Lizzy and Gerald were watching.

I grabbed him another muffin and he took a big, sloppy bite.

“Joshua,” I whispered into his ear. “Are you being a show-off again?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The crumbs raining down his chin was all the answer I needed.

Pretty soon, all twelve muffins were gone. Lizzy had one. Gerald had two (I think). And the rest went to Joshua. I’d never seen him eat so much in one sitting before.

I actually didn’t eat any muffins myself. I was too busy supplying them to Joshua and keeping the conversation going. Poor Lizzy could barely form words, while Gerald tried his best to divert his eyes away from my gorging boyfriend.

“So,” Joshua finally said, “who wants a slice of pie?”

***

I was fast asleep after a long day at work when I felt the bed move under me. That put an abrupt stop to my dream, but I still wasn’t awake enough to open my eyes. Then I felt something warm graze against the tip of my nose.

“What are you…?” I mumbled.

The warm, soft object oozed onto my face.

That definitely woke me up.

I opened my eyes to a face-full of hairy, hanging belly. Just a wall of flab right over me. It took a second for my sleepy brain to register what was happening. While I was lying in bed, Joshua had crawled over me, positioned himself on all fours, and started swinging his hanging gut over my face like a thick, flabby pendulum.

“Joshua!”

“Oh good. You’re awake.” He used that as an excuse to smother me with his belly, letting all the fat flop on top of me. Aside from the danger (I literally couldn’t breathe), it was the single hottest thing he’d ever done.

I licked his flab, just a little, and then grabbed his love handles to tell him that he needed to get off me.

He did. He rolled toward my side.

I gasped for air. “What the hell was that about?”

“Just showing off again,” he said, laughing. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

I’d be angry if he weren’t so damn adorable.

He was stretched out next to me, his stomach flowing onto the mattress between us, his moobs bunched together, one hand propped his head up while the other scratched his newest stretchmark. He was in that “Draw me like one of your French girls” position. So fucking beautiful.

After a year and a half of working at Roskoe’s, he’d become enormous. Bigger than I ever would’ve imagined. Bigger than literally anyone I’d ever met. His weight gain had started as an accidental side effect of working at a bakery, but it had gone way past that now.

He’d been actively trying to gain for months now. It started with his muffin pig-out when my sister was visiting, and his gorging sessions had only gotten more extreme since then. Joshua had always been obsessed with showing off, which was a dangerous attribute for a gainer. Now, he didn’t need to do anything to show off. All he needed was his continually growing body. At this size, Joshua was the center of attention wherever he went, which is what he’d wanted all along.

And I definitely wasn’t complaining. I couldn’t get enough of him, and the idea that he would keep going, keep getting bigger, well… That drove me wild.

“Babe, there’s a reason I woke you up,” he said. “I know you’re sleepy, but… are you in the mood for something?”

I leaned closer and slid my hand onto his fat, cellulite-slathered hip. A minute ago, I was asleep. Now I was wide awake, one part of me in particular. “I’m definitely in the mood.”

“Good. Because I thought of a new way to show off for you.”

“Yeah?” I squeezed his side roll.

“Look behind you.”

That wasn’t what I’d expected to hear. I twisted around and saw an enormous pile of donuts and muffins on the nightstand. There had to be at least thirty, and all of them were huge.

“All the day-olds from the bakery,” he said. “With your help, I’ll bet you I can finish them all tonight.”

It seemed impossible, even for Joshua. But in all our years together, I knew that when he wanted to show off, nothing could stop him.

The End.

Thanks so much for reading! You guys are awesome! You can find all my stories here. And I have a bunch of gainer ebooks on Amazon if you wanna check them out.

[muzzlemouths]

Do you have any drabbles/writing you haven't shared on Tumblr

homie i have more wips at any given time than i ever know what to do with. i have so many wips it's amazing my pc still functions.

nothing finished, I'm afraid. Whenever I finish a oneshot it gets posted immediately, lest I forget to post it at all.

do you want a crumb? i can offer you a crumb if nothing else. Here's something from the promised sequel to The Loveliness of Loving You that I've been feverishly chipping at:

[mvost]

people actually following this blog is lowkey suprising but also half of my art is here cuz I'm a prick that thinks everyone hates them and will doxx them and their family if they post sketches on main. should've expected that

[carlyraejepsans]

i was thinking about that ask i received the other day and how uncharacteristically upset the topic had made me when i usually just think "mh. gross!" and move on, and after mulling it over a while i realized it wasn't about the topic at all, it was the ask itself that freaked me out. i've mentioned sporadically before (for obvious reasons lol) that i used to be involved in fandom discourse when i was younger and that!! fucked me up quite a lot. between exacerbating my ocd and straight up getting cyber stalked (i almost feel guilty using that word, like i don't deserve it but. yeah that is 100% what happened to me), the topic is something I have very complex and personal opinions on but that i hate talking about in public because it still sets off my fight or flight response.

i know some people in the fandom are like "let me know if i ever rb someone who wrote/drew gross stuff" and that's entirely their choice and i respect it. but for the record, i am not one of these people. please, for the love of god, i am asking this genuinely do NOT come into my DMs about this, I don't want to know. assume I'm either living in blissful ignorance or my blacklist already covers me quite nicely & i wanna keep it that way. i vastly prefer the discomfort of stumbling into something unprepared and deciding what to do about it on my own, to the utter pit of dread i get whenever i open a message that starts with "hey just so you know-". i have blocked multiple people in the past over it. i WILL block more. be warned.

[note. this doesn't apply to people who have either hurt or behaved inappropriately with other members of the fandom, or spread bigotry and discrimination like racists and transphobes. please do let me know in those cases]

does this make sense? idk I'm kinda feverish you guys figure it out. I'm going to sleep.

[aeolianblues]

I'm not an extrovert. At all. In everyday life, I'm a yapper, sure, but I need someone to first assure me I am okay to yap, so I don't start conversations, even when I really want to join in sometimes! It's just the social anxiety acting up. God knows where from and why I lose a lot of my inhibitions when it comes to talking to people about music. I don't know where the confidence has suddenly sprung from. I've made a crazy amount of friends in musical circles, either just talking to people about common music or (since it is after all in music circles) talking to bands about their own music. I let out a sigh of relief any time an interaction goes well, because in truth it's going against my every instinct. I wish I could do that in everyday life

[cheriafreya]

I wanna keep playing Wuthering Waves to do sidequests and such but again, the fact that it's an open world game puts me off like I genuinely don't have the energy 😭

[depresseddepot]

does anyone have any writing advice about what to do/how to proceed when you keep re-outlining a plot because "wait that might be better"

[cursed-spirit-manipulation]

lot of ppl upset abt the lack of. Any Real Acknowledgement of Gojo dying and I'm not saying they're wrong but I did realize that I think that's pretty much just how JJK is. Like Riko died. Anyway. Kuroi maybe? We don't know. Haibara died. Ok. Geto died. Like that's a big part of the plot but Gojo doesn't tell the first years SHIT about him. They just know there's a weird monk fucking everything up (and that's fucking Kenjaku lmao). Nanako and Mimiko. Nanako and fucking Mimiko. Like I'm not saying this is... Okay I'm mad about Riko bc like. She's a big part of the reason Geto BECAME A MASS MURDERER I'd enjoy if he mourned her more. I JUST REMEBERED THAT YUKI DIED. And Choso. ANYWAY I don't think this is Terrible Storytelling bc it does feel indicative of the way Jujutsu Society treats sorcerers (and potentialy civilians) where you're just expected to fucking Move Along. And I think there might be something genuine in Gojo, being a part of that system, still feeling like what he wants is to fade away after he dies, arguably showing that in the end he is the same as everyone else, he's human, he's mortal. And that being both a genuine desire and warped coping mechanism, and the way that's hard to truly parse. But also it does kinda sucks when the characters seem to straight up Forget the ppl who died... Like. Sorry I just got so mad Abt Larue and Miguel and THEY DONT EVEN TALK ABOUT NANAKO AND MIMIKO? TBEY TALK ABOUU MISSING GETO BUT WE CANT GET A SINGLE FUCKING MENTION OF HIS GOD DAMN DAUGHTERS? anyway the treatment of death in JJK is a good Foundation for themes and emotional resonance but uhhh Gege kinda sucks at writing so it's. It's eh

[fukounaboy]

Ifeeltired

[deepseasmetro]

listen the fact is that a lot of poor people ARE bad with money. i have terrible impulse control around spending 5 dollars here and 10 dollars there and i know so many people around me who have this problem too. but its not "this persons bad with money, so theyre poor"; its "this persons poor, so theyre bad with money". i dont know when i'll be able to get a little treat or eat out or buy myself something that will make me happy again so i have to do it now. idon't know when i'll afford food again so i have to buy it now. i don't feel confident in the fact i'll ever have the cushioning to genuinely enjoy expendable income, so instead of saving and hoping (only to have my savings routinely wiped out for moving, or medical costs, or a car accident), i spend it now so i can enjoy life now.

i think if you see poor people ebegging constantly but two days ago saw them posting about a fancy coffee and a pastry, you need to stop viewing "spending a few dollars you maybe shouldnt" as something that requires the Punishment of "can't pay the fucking bills". some of us, just like, need to feel like we have some kind of normalcy in our lives because being poor fucking sucks