#the missing times are because they're missing them too

[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!!

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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

[morgannalefey]

These aren't quite the same because I don't have a lot of things (we moved a lot when I was a kid) that survived. With my parents i have memories.

My mother taught me how she made several dishes, but my favorite is her sage and onion dressing for thanksgiving. I will always insist on making it as long as I am able because it brings her to me. Every time I make it, I hear her voice telling me "Listen, that's what it needs to sound like, don't put any more milk in" or "Here, can you smell that? That's how it needs to smell before you bake it." I lost her 23 years ago.

My father taught me how to drive, and one thing he did was took me to a giant parking lot on a super icy day and had me do spin outs and fishtails until I was confident that I could identify what they felt like and could safely get myself out of them. I think about him doing this every time the weather turns icy in our area. Daddy is also on the window sill next to me right now, he was cremated and I have his remains my brother has Mom. When Daddy was ill the final time I was distressed because I was on the outs with my brother (because of how he'd treated our father) and worried that Daddy wouldn't be happy being separate from her when he was gone. He said not to worry because she was always with him, and her ashes being with my brother was good. Daddy passed ten minutes after I cast my primary ballot for Obama the first time. He'd have been massively please to know Obama won.

When I stayed at my maternal grandparents house as a child I always had to sleep in one of Grampa's white under shirts (he was the sort of man who always wore a white tee shirt under his plaid button down shirts). When he died, I took one of his plaid shirts and one of his white undershirts just to keep in my closet. They're still there 15 years later.

I loved my great grandmother. So much. She loved me. When we were at her place, she and I were inseparable. I was just barely forming memories when I lost her. I was inconsolable in a way only a 5 year old can be sometimes. My mother inherited a lot of her christmas ornaments. When I started my own household, and I got my spouse, I told my mother that we'd decided to buy one ornament a year so eventually all our ornaments would be special (we now have 36 years of ornaments on our tree), and she said she knew it was time to pass great gramma's ornaments on to me. So now I have three precious old ornaments on my tree each year. One was a fuchsia ball and it fell and broke, but I gathered up the pieces and glued them to the outside of a clear glass ball of the same size and then sealed it. So I still have it.

These things build up over the years and as I type this I'm crying because I still miss all of them so much. The wounds remain but they get sealed up and don't hurt so much when things like this come along to remind you. I'm crying but I'm feeling very loved, too. I am 60 years old this year.

I saw this post on tiktok and as soon as I opened the comments I started sobbing

[rcmclachlan]

tease tidbit tuesday

Tagged by @firehose118, @devirnis, and @ambernotember. Thanks, y'all 😘

Here's some more from the s3 alternate meeting au I'm working on.

+

Buck squints, because, "Wait, don't I know you?"

The guy, who looks like he competes in Steinstossen on the weekends, gives Buck a familiar smile—the same one he gave Buck a few years ago.

A four-alarm grease fire had consumed half an apartment building after someone supposedly tried to put it out by throwing a pot of water on it, and at least four stations showed up to beat it into submission. This guy had been climbing down one of the ladders with what must have been twenty kids on his back, and as he passed the window of the room Buck was in the middle of clearing, he smiled and waved at Buck through the glass like it was just another day at the beach.

"Hey, Buckley! How's the leg treating you, man? We were gonna send you flowers, but your buddy Chimney said you were a real weirdo so we sent that big box of whack-ass candy instead."

Amongst the explosion of flowers and wreathes and cards he'd gotten from people whose names he didn't know, there'd been a big box full of the strangest candy he'd ever seen: lollipops with ants frozen in the center, mints that tasted like roadkill, Carolina Reaper cotton candy, mac and cheese gummies, and chocolates shaped like dicks. He, Chim, Eddie, and Hen had laughed themselves to tears trying all of them one afternoon. Even Bobby couldn't deny the cactus candy was interesting.

Tied to one of the chocolate dicks—"cocklates," Chim cackled—had been a short note.

The bacon and cheddar cricket crunchies will get you back on your feet in no time. Get well soon! — Station 217

Buck bursts out laughing. "'Whack-ass' is right. Hey, Meyers, it's been ages. I-I didn't realize all of you were LAFD."

"Oh shit," one of them—a woman with broad shoulders and the most incredible mop of spiral curls he's ever seen—gasps. "You're the bomb guy! The one the engine fell on! I heard you were caught down the pier when the tsunami hit, too. I can't believe you're even walking around after all that. Don't even tell me you're back to work already."

"Y-Yeah," Buck says, eyes glued to a patch of the table top where the sealant is chipping away. "It's been an, uh, interesting year."

Tommy nudges one of his teammates further down the booth and then steps back so Buck can slide in. It takes every ounce of energy to actually do it, because even though he knows this woman means well, it feels like she's standing before a jury of his peers and listing all the reasons why he shouldn't don his turnouts again.

In all honesty, he should just call Chase and tell him to withdraw the suit wholesale. If a complete stranger thinks Buck shouldn't be back, then Bobby's definitely never going to budge on it. Eddie's never going to return his calls. Hen's never going to look him in the eye again. The days of daring Chimney to try a bacon and cheddar cricket are over. The 118's bay doors will never open to let him in again.

Thankfully, the din of the bar is so loud that no one can hear him sniffle as he glances toward the bar. Maybe they're hiring.

"Dude," one of the others chimes in. "I heard you were suing the department. I didn't know you could even do that. Maybe I can sue Cap for banning Mittens from the station, because that's just cruel and unusual. She gets lonely when I'm on shift."

"You bring your fucking snake to the hangar one more time, Nico, and I'll garrote you with it," the curly-haired woman snaps, then turns interested eyes on Buck. "But, are you? Taking the department to court, I mean."

Before Buck can excuse himself to the bathroom where he can have a good cry and then drown himself in a toilet, Tommy slides into the booth next to him.

"Actually, Jacinda, I can answer that one: none of your damn business," Tommy says sunnily. Without missing a beat, he reaches across the table to smack the guy with the snake upside the head when he opens his mouth. "Besides, I've got a better question: what's the deal with your kid, Benowitz? Did he finally ask what's-her-name to prom or what?"

Benowitz sighs, takes a long-suffering sip of his beer, and begins what sounds like a new chapter in an ongoing saga of his son Steven, who's been working on the world's greatest-slash-worst promposal for the last two months with no end in sight. Apparently trained doves are involved, and so is spcaLA.

Swallowing hard around the burr in his throat, Buck nudges Tommy's foot in gratitude.

Tommy nods at whatever Benowitz is saying, then nudges back.

+

No pressure tags: everyone who tagged me, plus @screamlet, @setmeatopthepyre, @beanarie, @geddyqueer, @freneticfloetry, @apollabarnes, @station18908, and @leashybebes

[howitcouldgoes]

for all my ragatha haters out there

I am not one of them

I love Ragatha - in fact I'm a firm believer if you hate Ragatha.. you kind of have to hate Jax too. I can understand where potential confusion might come from since despite this episode focusing more on Ragatha's past compared to Jax's we do get to hear most of it through Jax's perspective. Which leads me to believe personally ep. 6 will be the opposite. Jax's backstory and how Ragatha will react to that information.

But still, Ragatha is one of the most human characters out of the whole cast(tied with Gangle) to me personally. She feels the need to be happy and positive NOT BECAUSE she's trying to manipulate anyone - but because she doesn't want anyone to focus on the negative and abstract. That's her method of keeping herself and everyone else sane. Almost blind encouragement and a positive attitude things will turn out okay - because what else is there?

She seems the closest to Kinger whose whole mentality is "The worst thing you could do in this world is make someone feels unloved or unwanted." and to hold onto memories and connections because they're all we have.

And then you have her mother - who is her only memory. She grew up with someone who made her feel like shit, unloved and unwanted - Ragatha confesses this when she literally says "And my mother... I doubt she misses me."

No Ragatha is not perfect, but she was forced to be in her childhood and early adult life.

I genuinely don't believe she's trying to manipulate anyone - and especially not intentionally.

Ragatha's positive attitude towards Pomni and her friendliness is because she sees herself in the jester - in Ep. 2 Ragatha confides in Kinger about this on the candy truck, seeing how horrible of a day Pomni had when she first got here and compared it to her negative reaction when she first arrived too. She's not trying to steal her from Jax or force her to be happy all the time - the only reason she retaliates with something like that is because she believes Jax is trying to turn Pomni bad - and the last thing she or anyone needs is a second Jax.

So her jealously in Ep. 5 when Jax is growing close to her - IN THE MATTER OF A FEW MINUTES BTW - when Ragatha has tried for four episodes now to befriend her is killing her.

Hence why she's so relatable. Ragatha's inability to get angry without consequences(most likely from her mother), raised to be happy and perfect, humbling herself quickly by calling herself just a farm girl - is why people now think she's tricking everyone - but that's just it. She is just a girl, and by the sound of her and how Ep. 5 ended - she grew up with absolutely no friends.

It brings us back to that question we all had at some point in our lives: "Why does no one like me?" "Why does no one want to be friends with me?" "Is it me?" "Am I the problem?"

Ragatha watches Pomni, the girl she wanted to befriend so badly not out of pity or a selfish desire but because she thought Pomni was lonely just like her - walk away with Jax. And then watches Zooble and Gangle walk off with Kinger mindlessly following because he doesn't care and we see her standing all alone.

And there she debates: Does she want to keep pestering Jax and Pomni? Like a bother? Like she finds him annoying but here she is anyway chasing after him..

or does she follow the trio that didn't even realize she got left behind?

I love this little Raggedy Anne look-alike because I see so much of myself in her. She just wants to be good and yet that overly positive attitude and friendliest over the years is growing tired and annoying and the only person willing to tell her that isn't even Jax. Not directly anyway. With no one to tell her what to do - how to improve - what can be done differently - Ragatha can only keep asking herself those same questions and keep trying with the same approach.

Jax may be my favorite character - but I just don't agree with his view on Ragatha. I think she's a delight.

But if you deadass just hate Ragatha because she's annoying to you, or boring, then okay idc disregard the above-

btw i know ive been spamming so much tadc this might be my last post temporarily but i wanna make a few things clear for ppl who shockingly hate my girl

[nofilterwaterfilter]

also on the voice thing, we all know kris is one of the most autism coded characters to ever exist, but i really do love everything that both routes of chapter four when taken in conjunction told us about kris, being nonverbal, and how that's not painted as a bad thing?

it's pretty common i've seen for silent protagonists to be headcanoned as nonverbal autistic, but i think this is the first time i've seen it be explicitly canon, and also have it be pretty intrinsic to the narrative?

and like no, kris isn't entirely nonverbal, they do speak occasionally. but deltarune in general, and particularly ch4, paints a very strong picture of someone who (at least when they have control over their own voice) does not use words as their primary method of communication

like you can start with quiet people piss me off, or the fact that music is such an important avenue of self expression for them (made all the worse when they're not in control). noelle in ch1 asks if kris is okay when the player asks her the same background/lore questions we can ask everyone, because kris talking this much pings immediately as wrong to her. then there's everything we know about kris as a kid, and how yeah they had a bit of a mean sense of humor, but also pranks and fucking with people was a very good way for them to get attention without having to talk at all

noelle's story of the ferris wheel if you listen to all her and susie's dialogue in dess' room sticks out to me for this, and i really do love that anecdote. noelle mentions she and kris were pushed into riding the ferris wheel together as kids, she didn't really want to be there. and kris didn't say anything the whole time, for the first half they were just looking out the window. but then they decided to jump up and down and shake the entire capsule, and that's when they turned to noelle and smiled. susie goes "is that good or bad?" in response to that story and noelle says she doesn't know, but it's one of the things that gets kris' attention! and whether you believe that they were doing it to freak noelle out or because they also thought this was dumb and wanted to make it more fun for both of them (noelle isn't sure which it was either), that is how they communicate!

and when they do use words. this is the bit that makes me most emotional - noelle in weird route describes kris' voice as deadpan and mumbly. they don't like being loud, they don't talk very often, and they really struggle with inflection. all things that are normally criticisms when directed at autistic people, they're stuff autism moms use to justify their "i know my real child is in there somewhere" bullshit. but when noelle hears it again from soulless kris for the first time since the soul stuff started, she starts crying over how much she's missed hearing them talk. the soul (as we know from a variety of susie and noelle conversations) is louder, more charismatic, more confident and articulate, and it's not kris. so all those traits that are normally things autistic people get told to be more, are explicitly condemned by the narrative

and that's what makes kris being largely nonverbal such an excellent additional dimension to their story. because everything the soul does, at least in the normal routes, pretty much aligns with how people are expected to behave? kris under our control has a great social life, has friends, is likeable, isn't weird and hard to understand. and a crueler person, the kind autistic people have to deal with far too often, would say "well it's good we gave them a voice, they're not using theirs anyway"

but that's what makes it evil! it doesn't matter if kris is the kind of autistic that everyone hates, if there are things about them that don't fit in with society but that they either can't or don't want to change. their life and their voice, as infrequently heard as it is, is still theirs. and they deserve the freedom to use it however they want to

[destinysbounty]

I think I wouldn't mind Zane's NPC-ification quite as much as I do, if it didn't feel like they were also retconning the fact that he was ever a person to begin with.

Like, sure, I totally understand. Dragons Rising has a huge ensemble cast, and the RGB trio + new ninja are the clear focus. And I don't mind that! Everyone who does get proper narrative attention is written so wonderfully and I adore what we have. But...sometimes it feels like they're just kinda divvying up everything that makes Zane who he is and giving it to everyone else, and never even briefly acknowledging Zane's ties to those traits.

Remember when Zane used to have prophetic dreams foretelling future events? Me neither. Hey Lloyd, how are your visions coming along?

Or, y'know how one of Zane's most integral plot lines, character details, and motifs is his struggles with memory and identity? Remember that time he got amnesia and was then both manipulated and magically corrupted into being a villain? Nah that never happened, anyway check out what Jay is up to now

Or, does anyone recall how Zane is a canonically really good cook with pies so delicious they made Jay cry on screen? No that's Arin's thing, actually

Heck, we even have our quota of ~Silly Robot Beep Boop Bop~ jokes fulfilled by Lobbo!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not hating on any of the other characters for having these traits. Nor am I arguing that Zane should have a singular monopoly on these types of storylines. But when they take traits that have for so long been primarily associated with Zane, like cooking and visions and amnesia, and share them with someone else without even briefly acknowledging Zane's prior involvement...idk. It just feels like they're trying to repackage all the things that make Zane interesting while still writing him out of the narrative. It feels like they're going "whaat? Zane, have personality outside of being a generic robot character?? That never happened!" Like they're just trying to have their nindroid and kill him too.

And I mean, to some extent I can understand their hesitation. It's the same reason the Mr. E/Echo reveal got scrapped in s8 - theres just way too much going on right now, and the narrative load required to explain somwthing this complicated during a reboot/sequel would just bog down an already very complicated story. Zane has a very convoluted backstory that, for new fans dropping in to the sequel series for the first time, may be difficult to explain. How do you recap Zane's history with amnesia in a neat an tidy way for the next gen story, when there's already so much going on?

Like i said, i get that. But they could at least make, like, brief blink-and-youll-miss-it allusions, yknow? Like how they played the Ice Emperor theme during Zane's existential crisis during drs1, or when Zane told Zanth not to follow dancing birds in drs3. Tasteful, subtle, doesn't require much insider knowledge and newer fans could easily interpret it as a noodle incident comment without losing out on their comprehension.

Maybe after Jay gets eliminated from the Tournament, Zane offers to go after him saying, "I've lost myself once or twice before. If anyone understands what he's going through, it's me." And if you want to preserve the plot unobstructed, maybe you can have it so that either Zane fails to get through to Jay or Jay is gone without a trace before he can get to him. Maybe there's a brief scene of Zane making a pie to try and cheer Sora up, but she can't eat it because it reminds her too much of Arin. Or maybe Lloyd has a panic attack over his visions and Zane is the one to offer him the advice about not fighting the vision and letting it come naturally.

Don't you see how easy that is? You would change literally nothing about the story at large, and you're not detracting from the main plotlines or character arcs that are quite validly dominating this series. But you're also throwing a bone to the people who actually like Zane. Like???? I'm not even asking for much here, man :/

Idk. Maybe I'm just bitter and need to touch grass, who's to say

[mona-risms]

Also in way less wholesome thoughts about Rumi, I think she has a insane breeding kink.

I don’t even think she would know it until she slept with someone. But I feel like that would send her into a feral frenzy.

Like, all that shame and guilt her whole life from being a demon, and all the other repressed emotions she had to bottle up would explode if she was fucking someone and they told her they wanted to have kids with her.

I feel like for irony sake that may just turn her into a succubus. A simple fuck would turn into a day long feral mating marathon.

Like it would probably work it’s way through the whole living space, starting in the bedroom, for an hour or two until the bed is completely ruined, tears from claws, a broken bed frame, stained with sweat, squirt, and seed.

Moving on to the couch eventually that would get much of the same treatment.

Pressed against those big windows, juices seeping down the glass.

On the kitchen table with claw marks in the wood from Rumi.

Using the cabinets to keep her standing as you rail her eventually pulling them off the walls.

But neither of you care.

It’s not pretty sex.

You’re both flushed, scratchs, bite marks, squirt, seed, spit, and sweating all over. Ran ragged like you just ran a triathlon.

Rumis hole looks like a glazed donut from how much seed has been put in and spilled out of her at all angles.

By the time you are halfway through moans have just devolved into her shrieking from overstim.

But she just can’t stop herself. And you don’t wanna stop either.

People are calling phones… Rumis missing a interview rn.

Eventually the girls just find you both passed out in the middle of the apartment covered in all the fluids that could possibly come from sex passed out from exhaustion.

Sincerely

Tsaritsa Pyro Archon Anon

I have a breeding kink too there we go we're Perfectly compatible! And this is obviously why me and Rumi should be married!!!!

But fr shit would go CRAZY HELLO 😭😭😭😭😭 I mean tbf a demon's gotta have their sustenance somehow 😜😜😜😜 JOKING JOKING maybe not joking shhh you're out here doing my job for me fr though actuallg LMFAOOAAO

Her bedroom must be so fucking wrecked before you two migrate to the balcony, a mix of fluids everywhere as she finally lets out the loudest fucking noises instead of her biting it down and restraining them, and then to the shared living space. Like Zoey and Mira are both out for promotional material they'd probably have to do individually, so they left much earlier and now the penthouse is empty as hell, save for the two of you

NOTHING survives in the shared space though you're right in this—EVERY surface is thoroughly defiled and utilised. Should Rumi care? Yes. Would she care under different circumstances? Definitely yes. But right now the only thing in her mind is making sure she drains you dry, everything else blurs away from the sheer intensity of your coupling

If you're using an ejaculating strap then ugh FUCK yes it makes no difference to her as long as she feels full and thoroughly bred. If anything? She'd probably want you to get the strap with the most capacity. But is it a good idea, if you have a working dick and could Potentially get her pregnant? No, probably not, but the way you fucked her and never let go, the way you were so achingly sincere in the way you'd Want to have kids with Her. Even despite the whole half-demon thing, the main insecurity she's had for her entire life? She'll take the risk for once either way, after avoiding risks on herself for so long

Mira and Zoey most likely got contacted by Bobby in a panic bc "WHERE IS SHE??????" so they come back home.....and SCREAM at the state because JESUS FUCKING CHRIST??????? SORRY didn't REALISE they needed HAZMAT SUITS????????????? You probably get woken up and honestly good luck trying to explain why the Fuck there's so much damage and. Fluids. EVERYWHERE. They're never letting either of you live this down, ESPECIALLY Rumi considering she caused most of the extreme damage (thanks demon heritage!!!!) and how she's stained and dripping nonstop 😭

If you even dare try to explain what happened to Bobby the poor guy might faint. But it's okay it's why they're paying him the 3% right.....though he might need to be compensated via 4% GAHAHAHAHA

[3wisellamas]

Tenna the Lightner

So I just did a replay of chapter 3, finding all the little things I missed the first time (like Tenna's Pipis Room embarrassingly enough), but there's a thread I've noticed throughout this whole playthrough:  Tenna is one WEIRD Darkner.  Like, weirder than most.  I'd even go as far as to suggest he might not even fully be a Darkner at all, at least not in his own mind.

Something to note is that while a lot of Darkners seem to know their own histories, and to be at least aware of the Light World and their object forms, it's not until TV World that we really see how deep that knowledge goes.  King tells us how he was betrayed by the Lightners and of his desire for revenge, but doesn't say much about them beyond that -- as if he's only aware of Lightners as a concept, unknowable gods whose presence can no longer be felt.  Queen, also, explicitly sees Lightners solely as their search history, and as a computer she doesn't really...interpret those searches correctly, to say the least.  Even Spamton and the other Addisons, whose entire existence revolves around advertising specifically to Lightners, don't seem to be too aware of them beyond their job.

But Tenna.  Oh boy.  Tenna LIVES more in the Light World than the Dark World.  Let's begin with the biggest piece of evidence:  This image.

This stopped me in my tracks when I first played chapter 3, because of how out of place it is.  Even with TV Worlders in general being slightly more aware of Kris and the rest of the Dreemurr family than other Darkners, this image and Tenna's accompanying comment stand out as the first time ANY Darkner has proven they can perceive the Light World directly.  Spamton had a blue sky and a sun painted in his shop, things that don't exist at all in the Dark World, but not an actual photo like this.  How in the world did Tenna even get this picture of himself, I wonder?  Did he have a Shuttah snap it while someone was carrying a mirror nearby?  However it happened, the important part is TENNA CAN SEE THE LIGHT WORLD.  And in particular, HE CAN SHOW IMAGES OF IT TO OTHER DARKNERS.  Note that, at the beginning of all three boards, he shows (or has Mike show) photos including blue skies and sun, more than likely where Spamton got his own idea of "Heaven" to paint.

More rambling under the cut; I'm just getting warmed up here.

There's also the fact that, while other Darkners will acknowledge their Light World forms and even where they're located -- Queen straight-up saying she's a computer, Pippins mentioning they've been lost in the couch, that one Zapper that knew he was from Catti's house, Lancer and Rouxls hopping into your inventory as playing cards -- Tenna is also the first Darkner to identify and talk about his Light World form as if it's his own body, right down to saying he'd join in adventures if he wasn't plugged into the wall and that he'd look better with a tan -- his LIGHT WORLD form specifically would look better with one, that is.  He also isn't just limited to knowing about and identifying as his Light World form, either, if he really switched on that music video himself after you give him to Mettaton -- aside from...whatever was going on with Spamton and that glitch egg Noelle encountered in her game, we haven't seen any evidence at all that other Darkners are able to take any physical action on their own, outside of the Dark World. If Tenna can change his own channels, which would necessate physically turning his own dial, and possibly even use this ability to communicate with Lightners in some sapient way as I've seen LOTS of fanartists suggest, it's an ability unique to him!

There's also another moment where he shows more extensive knowledge of the Light World than any other Darkner we've yet encountered, one I think is even more damning:

If you get S-rank on either board and access the special dressing room, Ramb reveals to you that Tenna reprogrammed the video games he has you play himself, using an existing video game as a base.  It looks like that wasn't all he was able to do with this skill, though -- while the above effort is clearly unfinished given that you can easily glitch it out with the camera, it's still scarily accurate for someone who's stuck plugged into the wall in the living room, and stuck as a Darkner unable to explore the Dreemurr house on his own.  Again, I wonder how he got this knowledge -- did Kris share their house layout with Tenna at some point?  Did Shuttah snap photos of the rest of the house?  Did Tenna, as my friend suggested, send a bunch of Pippins on an expedition to roll across the floor into the kitchen?  Regardless of how he got the knowledge from his limited vantage point, Tenna knows his own house very well, in a surprising amount of detail at that, and he specifically reprogrammed a game to be able to explore it himself.

I think that's the key to my theory:  Tenna wants to know about and explore the house he inhabits, and not the Dark World created from it.  Hell, he barely has ANYTHING to do with his own Dark World -- at certain points in the chapter, a Shuttah will describe what things were like before Tenna came, and what lies beyond his studio.  At one point they describe a "great wilderness" that's clearly supposed to be the kitchen -- "frozen waste" (the refrigerator), "watery basin" (the sink), and "metal desert" (stove or oven), as well as the "purple cliffs" that are definitely supposed to be either the couch or stairs.  At another point towards the end they mention others who left for "the far land", and that a "legend old hermit" knows the way; as far as I can tell at this point, this has to be referring to the toys and books Toriel took from home to her classroom, with fellow teacher Gerson possibly being the hermit?  

But all of this is outside of Tenna's studio, where he's in control -- literally, the guy can and does do whatever the heck he wants in there, laws of physics be damned.  The STUDIO is TV World, but it lies within a much, much larger Dark World taking up the rest of the Dreemurr house.  A Dark World Tenna clearly wants absolutely nothing to do with, and why would he?  He's not in control.  The Darkners there don't cater to his whims, aren't bound to his contracts.  He's built his own world, whose entire purpose is to be whatever he wants it to be...

And he builds it to resemble the Light World.  Or, to encapsulate his family's Light World.

Literally everything in Tenna's studio is a memory of the Dreemurr family, HIS family.  The cowboy shows Asgore used to enjoy, he has a set for that.  The cooking shows Toriel used to watch, and the kids used to make fun of, he has a set for that.  All of his prizes, from the floral cowboy shower curtains to the chocolate candy to the sink fur traps to the talker-backer(?) are geared toward an individual member of the family, save for two -- the Ralsei plush (either for Ralsei, assuming Tenna thinks he's a relative, or for us, the player, as others have pointed out), and the family car (which Tenna admits he drives every day himself if you visit his bonus room!  In other words, HE INCLUDED A PRIZE MEANT FOR HIMSELF AS A MEMBER OF THE DREEMURR FAMILY).  And it also extends to his memories of the Holidays as well with Dess' music video channel, and even a song she herself enjoyed and shared with her younger sister.

(Yes, Raise Up Your Bat is a real song in-universe.  And Tenna must've enjoyed it himself too, if he kept it around!)

All of this is not just a cry for his family's attention, to go back to watching him, but to be included in their lives beyond that.  His fondest memory is of being watched by everyone during the holidays, with an area just outside the walls of his studio even modeled after that, with snow and Christmas trees scaled up to Tenna-size.  But, more importantly, I feel like he enjoyed being a part of the family in those moments, not just being watched by them.  He watched his family shrink from that point, until no one tuned in anymore, and he doesn't seem to be aware of where they all went -- Tenna's shocked when Kris tells him Asriel went away to college, like he didn't even notice the kid who'd enjoyed video games with Tenna grew up.  He suggests Asgore return to watch the cowboy show he liked, and DESS return as well, as if he's unaware of what happened with her (Maybe.  Tenna does backpedal a bit on that one -- I'm guessing he HAD to have at least seen the news reports of her disappearance.)  Notably, he doesn't actually mention Toriel's and Asgore's divorce, only them arguing, claiming it's a normal thing for couples to do -- COUPLES, as in still together, not former partners.  In general, for someone so obsessed with his family's attention, he either pays very little attention to them in turn, or he's locked out of the loop, and given he frequently asks Kris about specific people I'm guessing it's actually the latter.  Tenna is not aloof, he's driven by loneliness and desperately WANTS to know about his favorite viewers!  He misses them dearly, in more ways than just as an audience, and that might be a big motivation for why he modeled his game after the house, a subconcious desire to escape from his own reality and find out for himself.

We also have someone we can look at for another side to this:  Ramb.  The guy's a Plugboy explicitly stated to be from Cyber World, even fondly recounting his own memories of Queen, Swatch, and Spamton.  But while he now lives in TV World, he doesn't belong there -- that one Pippins mentions that, despite themself being from Card Kingdom they didn't turn to stone because they fit in with the other inhabitants, but Ramb never did, and so he became a statue in the end.  Like Tenna, Ramb also has a very close attachment to Kris, someone who played with him as a toy and broke him out of his normal role -- I feel like this makes him a nice foil for Tenna, who might also feel as though he doesn't belong, as attached to the Light World as he is.  Tenna breaks a LOT of the rules Ralsei sets forth for Darkners like himself, even if he still wants to fulfill his purpose of entertaining the Lightners above all else.  He's understandably devastated by the idea that he's due to be thrown away, for being old and obsolete -- and rather than accepting it as Ralsei suggests, the idea that he's gotten old breaks Tenna completely and he does what he can to ENSURE he won't be tossed onto the curb.  He captures Toriel and is willing to hand her over to the Knight, and also captures and tortures Kris and Susie for even suggesting that they're tired of playing his games.  And most interestingly, with them trapped in prize balls, he takes it upon himself to play the game for them -- Tenna gladly becomes Player 1, something Ralsei has to be FORCED into, stating it's something he's not supposed to be!  I also find it interesting that, despite not even having a chair for himself nor even a reason to be there (having an in-game avatar to give hints instead), Tenna absolutely insists on joining the Fun Gang for the video game rounds, with his absences to take calls only being temporary, rushing back in to rejoin afterward.  It could be Tenna wanting to keep an eye on them, making sure they don't try to leave and/or see their reaction to the games he created, but more than that, I get the feeling he just wants to be included, since these are the moments he gets especially chatty and friendly and un-host-like, letting his antennae down so to speak, like he's just playing video games with his friends and/or sibling!  

There's also a couple very subtle hints that, like Ramb, Tenna doesn't really feel like he belongs in TV World, at least not anymore, and his desperation to maintain control of his former employees during the latter part of the chapter could partially stem from that.  His shame over keeping a Pipis being one, and the other...well.  It seems pretty benign to a Lightner, but from a Darkner's point of view Tenna playing a "TV Statue" in the Suziezilla game has to give one pause:

Finally, there's the specific, loaded words Tenna uses in Castle Town for being given to another Lightner to enjoy:  "Adopt."  "Forever home."

Tenna doesn't just want new viewers, he wants a new FAMILY.  And specifically, he doesn't want a Darkner family, he wants to become part of another LIGHTNER family!  Because he saw himself as a Dreemurr, until Toriel wanted to get rid of him.  A lot of people like to point out Tenna's mental health issues coming from being a child of divorce, but I'd say there's a little child abandonment and social isolation going on in that TV head of his too.  Maybe that's why he and Susie get along so well, given her own implied neglect, and is one of many reasons why Tenna so urgently wants to impress Kris, another non-goat monster welcomed into the family.  

In a lot of ways, Tenna turns the formula established in the first two chapters of Deltarune on its head.  In those, we had a main boss character, a cruel ruler whose presence dominates their particular Dark World and whose plans involve destroying or expanding into the Light World.  And then, a secret boss hidden somewhere in the chapter, requiring effort to find / battle but always with certain themes behind them:  Freedom.  Reaching beyond the Dark World's confines into "Heaven."  If you look at Tenna, he's the latter type of boss rather than the former:  He cruelly rules his studio, sure, but it's just a small part of the larger Dark World, his sphere of influence basically limited to those he suckers into signing his contracts.  He isn't even the final boss for his chapter, with the Knight taking that role.  He has zero ambitions at all for the Light World, but he knows of it far more extensively than other Darkners, with its entertainment literally beamed into his antennae at all times, and in his own way Tenna yearns to reach out to it in turn, to gain his freedom from obsolescence.  To break the rules, and be more than just an old, obsolete Darkner.

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Curtis Everett

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend is a patient in the ICU where you work and he plays at your heartstrings.

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used.

Warnings: Abusive ex, Hospital setting. Please let me know if I missed any.

Previous

Tech Tuesday Masterlist

Chase had woken up and seen you. Whether he remembers you or not is another story. Right now he's still too weak to do much but lay there and go in and out of sleep with the all the machinery he's hooked up to. But he knows you're there, and that scares you.

Part of you knows you'll be okay. He doesn't hold sway over you anymore. You're not the naive girl you were when you first got together, thinking he was the bad boy with a good heart. That he only treated you badly in public to keep his reputation. That the sweetness he treated you with in private was proof he really cared about you.

You know better now.

You also know that men can be better than Chase. Well, you think they can. You know Curtis is, right? Or are you still just hoping he is?

You message Curtis saying you're not up for gaming tonight. He's quick to tell you that's okay and doesn't question why. Yet more evidence that Curtis is better than Chase. Chase questioned everything you did and made you feel like what you wanted was always less important than what he wanted. Curtis trusts you. More importantly, he respects you. He knows if you wanted to talk about it you would. It's not indifference, it's trust and respect. Right?

Okay, maybe Chase does still have some sway over you.

Curtis isn't gaming tonight. He's got too much nervous energy to sit still. Instead he ends up cleaning his entire apartment. He wants to be near his computer in case you need to talk. The frustration at not being able to just step in, and not being able to pull the plug on the machinery keeping Chase alive, is let out, bit by bit as he scrubs every inch of his place.

He has to hold back. He needs to prove to you that he can be trusted to simply have your back. He wants to protect you, but he must acknowledge and respect that you are strong in your own right. That you can fight your own battles. More importantly, that your boundaries are not stomped on.

Then he thinks of something. It's not much, but hopefully it'll help. Especially if he asks permission first.

That's odd, you think as you see the notification from Curtis. Usually he waits for me to say something.

Snowpiercer85: Can't sleep. Gonna go for a drive. Want me to bring you anything?

You feel yourself wanting to cry. He's offering help without forcing you to accept. And you know if you turned down the offer, he wouldn't make you feel guilty about it. He's not the type to hold that against you.

HeartMonitor3000: Will you let me pay you back? Snow: Sure.

Heart: You know that cafe, Mad Hatter's Tea? They have the most delectable red velvet macarons. Snow: How many do you want? Heart: I'll take what you can get me. They're open late for the college kids but they might be low on stock. Snow: I'll let you know when I've got the macarons. Heart: Thank you, Curtis. I really needed this.

You really could use the comfort food. The cafe is nowhere near your apartment and, even on your days off, you're either too tired or too busy to go there. You probably could've chosen something closer to the hospital for him to drive but, looking over at Chase's bed, you know you can use all the help you can get. And maybe, just maybe, letting Curtis help wasn't such a bad idea.

Curtis tells you he's arrived and you tell your boss you're taking your break. Curtis might be expecting just to drop off the cookies, but, hopefully, he won't mind talking with you for a bit.

He's out of his car by the time you get to the parking lot. He greets you with a smile, holding out a box with the Mad Hatter's Tea logo on it.

"Got their last batch," he informs you. He's not going to mention that he got a deal on them because he doesn't want you thinking about the price, about paying him back. His heart wrenches when he sees you. You look so tired, especially when you got close and finally let your shoulders relax.

You open the box and let out a little squeal at how many there are. "Did you try any?" you ask him. He shakes his head and you give a playful pout. "That's no good! You gotta try one, they're delicious!"

Curtis smiles and takes the one you offer him. His eyes widen as he eats it.

"I told you! Delicious!"

The rest of your break was spent talking and laughing with Curtis as you share stories and cookies. By the time you have to go back to work, you're feeling so much better that you give Curtis a big hug as thanks. You don't feel how his heart races at having you so close, but you do feel how firmly he holds you.

Back at the nurses' station, Vanessa tells you Chase woke up enough to write to her about if he wants or needs anything. He wrote your name.

Tagging @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @peaches1958; @peyton-warren @ronearoundblindly; @stellar-solar-flare; @thiquefunlover63

[sexisbetteronthemoon]

What are their arguments like and who (if either) tends to pick fights more often? Does Lance make Keith sleep on the couch?

they're petty as hell and they fight for fun.

it's Lance who pretends to take offense at the most random things to get the ball rolling bc he's better at improv and Keith is either very awkward when he tries to start a fight, or he accidentally pushes them into a real fight.

it also helps Lance a lot with his little unreasonable neuroticisms. it's like an exercise in which they reassure each other how much they care.

Lance helps Keith distinguish their play fights from real fights by saying, very seriously, “I'm angry at you, Keith.”

that's how Keith knows shit just got real.

Lance knows when Keith is actually mad bc he goes quiet and refuses to look at him.

Keith gets off on how ridiculous Lance is. he enjoys the fight bc he loves challenges, and especially "making up" with Lance. he loves working for "forgiveness" because it's a game to see how fast he can make Lance smile. it's a personal victory when he gets Lance laughing and smacking at him in annoyance for winning.

Keith is aware that sometimes Lance gets a little insecure. and he knows simply telling Lance he loves him won't make it all dandy. so if Lance wants to berate him for seemingly looking at someone else or not immediately kissing him first thing in the morning, he's going to play along.

anything to make Lance happy.

the only times Keith ends up on the couch is when Lance is too annoyed by losing to admit defeat. he tells Keith to sleep on the couch and then shows up two hours later, bodily collapsing upon him to snuggle with him because he missed him. Keith always bursts out laughing when he does this, and sometimes they end up making out. one of them usually ends up on the floor when Kosmo joins them on the couch.

somehow, it's almost always Keith.

when they fight for real, it's nothing like their play fights. there's no tirades, no yelling, not even any screaming.

Lance's voice will lower, and his expression will be dead serious like he's back in the war looking through the scope of his rifle.

on the other hand, Keith will just not interact. his body language changes. he tenses up, especially at the shoulders, and widens his stance, like he's getting ready to receive a physical blow. he withdraws into himself and he avoids talking to Lance. he dodges any attempts and he walks away until Lance finally waits until he's in the bathroom (on the toilet, specifically bc if he's in the shower, he's capable of walking out and leaving a trail of water and soap) and then walks in, closing the door behind him.

“we're talking,” Lance will say firmly while Keith sits on the toilet and sighs heavily bc he forgot to lock the bathroom door again. (this is not the first time and it will not be the last.) he doesn't appreciate being cornered, but it's the only way Keith will actually talk to Lance and not run away.

even when they fight for real, Lance will not kick Keith out of bed. they might still be angry, but they have been thru too much to go to sleep without each other. they might start off facing away from each other, but eventually, they will migrate, either purposely or in sleep, toward the other.

sometimes, it's Keith who shuffles over and wraps an arm around Lance from behind, fingers threading with Lance's.

sometimes, it's Lance who scoots back until their backs are pressed together. and he reaches behind himself to wrap and arm around Keith. it's uncomfortable, and Keith knows this. and he eventually sighs and turns over to wrap an arm around Lance.

they never reject each other. Lance has received too much rejection from Keith to take it well, and Keith still has abandonment issues from the trauma of losing so many people.

sometimes, they both reach out and hold hands from opposite sides of the bed.

they never talk in these moments unless it's to apologize or to whisper, “I still love you. Do you still love me?”

And the other will say, “Of course I do, but sometimes you piss me off. Still, I'd rather you be here to piss me off, than be gone.”

in the mornings tho, the sun's rays will spill through the blinds, and one will wake to see their partner dappled in sunlight. and it's kind of hard to stay mad after that.

they wait until the other wakes, and then they'll talk, quietly and calmly, until it's either solved or they promise to work on the issue more.

[artytaeh]

MATTHEO RIDDLE as a father is a menace. you bet that man will be tempted to wake his baby in the middle of the night, just because he misses playing with them. he knows that sleep is important, and mattheo knows that those endless sleepless nights ought to be avenged now that sleep is a promise; at the same time, damn, he wants to play too.

if there's a pool at home, mattheo slowly creeps behind his kid, making the tananana of that shark's scary theme, setting the mood to have his kid screaming and giggling as they swim away from mattheo.

also, loves babbling back. this man does NOT baby talk with his kid; mattheo 100% has full-on serious conversations with his kid, which receive gibberish in response.

mattheo haaaaates when his kid goes for nap time. it's like punishment on both sides; while the baby is held in his wife's arms, they sadly wave goodbye to mattheo as they're taken to be lulled to sleep. if possible, mattheo joins forces with his kid to skip naptime to transform it to playtime instead.

from a doomed boy who thought that he should never have kids, mattheo loves being a dad.

[rookamell]

So. Mind Ossuary. Walk with me.

I think Lucanis started coming out of there on his own before Weisshaupt. I think that the coffee date + saving Treviso + time spent with Rook and the others all made him start opening up a little bit. Relaxing a little bit. Of course there's not harmony with Spite, and he's still keeping himself awake with coffee BUT '[he] can still work' which is important. Lucanis connects a lot of his self worth with how good he is at his job. It's why it's so important to him and why he's so confident. He's a good assassin, he's a professional, everything else (Spite, Illario, Caterina, his mental state) doesn't really matter as long as he's good at killing things, which is part of the reason why him and Spite can work together and make a deal in the Ossuary.

I also think that's why him and Spite disagree once they're out of the Ossuary. Lucanis is free and Spite is not. Lucanis is letting himself talk to Rook and the others. Lucanis is letting himself cook for people. Lucanis is flirting a little bit.

But Spite is still in the Ossuary. Trying to get out.

I just don't think Lucanis is doing that on purpose. He's compartmentalizing. Spite is the 'bad' parts of himself (in brackets above).

Then. Weisshaupt.

He misses. Before, even though he's now a completely different person with a demon inside him and a year of physical and psychological torture under his belt, even though he's (probably, because he's not stupid, just in denial) been betrayed by his cousin, he could still kill things.

Then he misses Ghilan'nain.

And I think that it definitely hits harder with a romanced Rook, but I'll come back to that in a second.

He missed. It was the one thing he still had.

I think that's when he locks himself (and Spite) up in the mental Ossuary for real. Deliberately. And the reason I say that before that he wasn't doing it on ourpose imo is because of 1.) that banter with Davrin, and 2.) the specific locks that are in the mind ossuary.

1.) the banter with Davrin where he asks Lucanis how he survived and Lucanis basically tells him he shut down. Of course he could still be doing it at the time of the banter, but to me it sounds like someone describing a past action i.e. his time in the Lighthouse with the others has allowed him to move past this survival mode he put himself in, at least slightly.

2.) Neve and Harding. He didn't know Neve and Harding as of being taken to the Ossuary the first time, so it makes sense that they're 'newer additions'. To me them being there reads as they're people who he trusts to make sure the others don't get hurt because of them, and also people Rook trusts to tell them he's out of line, should something bad ever happen. (I think it was @/corvus-frugilegus I was talking with that said it would make more sense to have Teia there as a lock, and I actually really like that, but with what we were given, I think this explanation makes sense). They're also people he and Rook have in common, and people he feels guilty about ? Question mark?

Anyway all that to say I think he shuts down again after Weisshaupt.

Which is also incidentally when his flirting with Rook completely stops.

So the second time you can flirt with him is in coffee with crows, and honestly? He's receptive. He's very receptive. Anyone who says differently is huffing something tbh. I would go as far as to say he's flirting more than Rook is. The chemistry is so fucking insane too I love that scene at Cafe Pietra.

Which is very at odds with the first time you can 'flirt' with him in the Lighthouse, when you tell him you don't want to leave him alone with a demon, and he kicks everyone out of the dining room. It makes sense, because he's still in survival mode and his grandmother just died.

After that Cafe Pietra scene the game is fairly empty of Lucanis moments tho (which is a writing issue sorry. He just doesnt have content and it's lazy) until the Treviso/Minrathous choice.

After that is the scene where Spite is trying to get through the mirror, so Spite is definitely still stuck in the Ossuary, which makes sense, since Lucanis doesn't trust him and is trying to stay awake still.

BUT.

Why after this specific choice? Yes, it makes sense that we need to start getting clues as to what is going on and all the companions' quests continue to the next stage, but just listen to my hc real quick.

I think he relaxed slightly. I think this is when the 'Rook lock' he had on his mind prison disappeared. He can't imagine Rook doing anything other than helping him, and he relaxed, and it gave Spite just a slight opening to try and get out. Which doesn't work obviously.

But then Weisshaupt happens, and Lucanis shuts down completely. Actually, after Weisshaupt it's blow after blow. It makes sense that he's trying not to respond to flirts, and it makes sense that he tries to shut everyone out. I think there should have been more scenes. But that's beside the point.

Idk I was going somewhere with this but I can't remember where. Oops. Anyway. He shuts down post-Weisshaupt and that's why he suddenly isn't flirting anymore. Because I have to do something to try and fill in the gaps left by the writers.

[bigmoon-is-bigwife]

It's sad how TR!Ros has no sense of self and no confidence in her actions. Lately anytime she does something and Aimsey teases her about how maybe that was silly and irrational Ros almost always immediately backs down and often times apologizes and promises to change. Aimsey never tells Ros that they wanted her to change, just pointing out how what Ros did doesn't makes sense to them. All they wanted was an explanation but Ros immediately defaults to assuming she's in the wrong and is being scolded. It happened today when Aimsey asked Ros about her conversation with Water and Ros said they agreed to be civil after Ros had already killed Water. When Aimsey asked what drove Ros to kill Water, Ros explained that she wanted to stand up for herself and Aimsey but at the same time is immediately apologizing and saying that she knows she keeps doing the wrong thing and she's trying. Aimsey has told Ros repeatedly that they love her for who she is and that they want to know the parts of her that she keeps trying hide but Ros is still trying to mold herself into what she thinks Aimsey wants her to be.

Ros is a person who revolves around others. She places all her worth into what she can do for people so she shapes herself into being what she thinks they want or need. This has always been apparent from the start but she used to have more people to revolve around that balanced her out. She was the architect for the kingdom, she was Clown's apprentice and she was Aimsey's friend. Those were her three defining identities. Now the kingdom is gone and she is only Aimsey's friend. Her entire existence revolves around being Aimsey's friend. She has thrown out all of her wants and feelings because none of them matter to her. All that matters to Ros is what Aimsey thinks and wants. Aimsey suggests to Ros that they think she should make a new castle for Yellow so Ros does because it was Aimsey who said so. Ros completely misses the point that Aimsey suggested Ros do that for herself because Ros will do anything she assumes Aimsey wants. If Aimsey mentions wanting or needing anything, Ros drops everything to do it for them because she feels that is her only purpose. Ros doesn't seem to think she's allowed to do things just for herself anymore so when she kills Water for insulting her she convinces herself it was somehow for Aimsey too. Aimsey called Ros out on that and says they wish people would stop projecting their feelings onto them and acting out on their behalf. Aimsey does not like that Ros is doing any of this. They want Ros to be her own person and do things because she wants to.

Ros idolizes Aimsey as this paragon of good no matter how many times Aimsey states that they're not and that they are haunted by the blood on their hands. Ros does not trust her own thoughts or feelings and if any of them ever contradict with Aimsey's, she tends to assume that she is just bad and wrong. The only times she doesn't is when Aimsey tries to tell Ros that they have done bad things but Ros refuses to acknowledge that Aimsey is capable of any fault. In Ros's mind, Aimsey literally cannot do anything wrong and that actually everything is probably Ros's fault. Aimsey actively tries to discourage this thought process but has yet to get very far because Ros has this deep rooted belief that Aimsey is Pure Good and if they are not, then by comparison Ros must by way worse anyway.

Ros has convinced herself that she needs Aimsey and she cannot stand up for herself without them. Aimsey seems to have realized how bad this has gotten and seems to be trying to break that and show Ros that it isn't true. Last week Aimsey had to essentially trick Ros into speaking alone with Pangi about their problems with each other. Ros felt betrayed that Aimsey wasn't there to back her up and that she needs them to express herself but Aimsey told her that it simply isn't true and that Ros actually vocalizes her feelings better without them there. Ros has convinced herself that she is dependent on Aimsey and I think Aimsey is uncomfortable with that.

It's been such a gradual descent of Ros throwing away her entire sense of self to fulfill this role of Aimsey's friend because she is terrified of losing them and has no one else. No one wants this, least of all Aimsey. Any confidence Ros had in herself is gone. She doesn't trust herself to do anything good but she does trust Aimsey so she'll just be Aimsey's Friend and nothing else. She never does anything for herself. Every single thing she does is for Aimsey. That's not good, it's just sad.

[cloudbends]

So. skip and loafer chapter 72 thoughts. lives were changed.

it's something i say endlessly, but what truly works so beautifully about shima and mitsumi's dynamic is that, first and foremost, its constituted on both of their genuine admiration and appreciation of each other as people, and as forces in each others' lives that make them strive to better themselves and become worthy of the other. i think their last interaction in this chapter encapsulates this perfectly on both ends.

shima, since the beginning of this manga, prominently never initiates physical touch. he simply doesn't do it with anyone other than mitsumi, and then when he very rarely does, it's in incredibly significant moments. given both of his social status that he sorely hates, and our newfound knowledge of his relationship with his mother, characterized by trauma of abuse, it makes sense - his wariness of physical touch crystallizes his wariness of showing vulnerability and exposing his true self to others. the first to come to mind is in chapter 11, when he grabs mitsumi's hand - it's a similarly sudden gesture that symbolizes shima's rare vocalisation of his feelings for her:

Considering these two moments are 60 chapters apart, it's incredible to see just how much both of them have grown. how shima's beautiful character arc culminates in fulfilling himself and letting his emotions out after bottling them for the vast majority of his life, and how coming to terms with his past and re-finding his passion allows him to come to terms with his feelings and act on them - because he finally feels like a whole enough person, worthy of the person he admires and loves. Shima had to have gone through his arc - open himself up on stage and gain some sort of closure from his mother, allowing to "be a kid again" as he ought to be instead of forcing himself to adopt the facade of maturity, in order to, for once, he acts on a whim - to show his genuine appreciation for mitsumi which he's only been able to internally ruminate over.

I think the significance of this gesture for mitsumi cannot be understated either. It's been established many times over that just as shima struggles with wanting to catch up to mitsumi, mitsumi has had similar feelings of inadequacy in comparison (see: "i always knew it was too much for me"), and it's been apparent that she's been somewhat walking on eggshells ever since their breakup. while of course mitsumi has self esteem and it's one of her great qualities, she is also significantly characterized by insecurities - thinking she wants to be important to shima one day, thinking, after the breakup, "of course this amazing person was never within reach for someone like me". which might make one insane given how absolutely important she is to shima. this is why she purposely chooses to shy away form approaching him at first, regardless of how mesmerised she's been by his performance - he's surrounded by people which, she assumes, are more important than her - and so she settles for staying in the back, but wishes to tell him how genuinely great he was. so in this sense, mitsumi is posited in a similar position to the one shima has been - they're both constantly struggling to become worthy of the person they admire. shima, having been so emotionally paralysed to the point he couldn't convey his feelings to mitsumi properly, probably fed into her subconscious feelings of his being out of her reach.

That's why that moment is so incredibly cathartic for both of their character arcs. shima, having finally come to terms with both his feelings and his past, is finally taking his turn to externalise his feelings like mitsumi did before, while mitsumi finally gains the appreciation and recognition she's been subconsciously missing. finally, they (hopefully) realize their outmost importance to one another - shima caught up to mitsumi not just in having fulfilled himself or (at least in his own eyes, as we all know he always was) being worthy of mitsumi, but also in voicing his feelings for her. and i'm so proud of him !!! the writing being so careful and nuanced around it just, yet again, shows the masterful understanding of human relationships in skip and loafer. i love these two so much

[thebroccolination]

THEORY TIME WITH DETECTIVE KEY!!!

Okay, so. Potential spoilers for "The Ex-Morning," so proceed with caution, oui?

We're finding out in episode seven why Tam left, so!

TIME TO SPECULATE BEFORE WE GET TOLD!!!

First things first, they've got the same outfits in these two scenes:

So it's the same day, just different times of day. I'm gonna guess that since Phi sounds like he's on the verge of crying when he says, "I know why you left me that day," the top image is the scene where he and Tam finally talk about it. He certainly looks the appropriate level of distressed and traumatized.

The bottom image is likely later that same day, and Phi's clearly come to terms with whatever it is, enough that he's not angry with Tam. The whole vibe of that kiss seems fairly composed, so I imagine they're on more even footing by then.

And I mean, even in the top image, Phi's crying, but he's also hugging Tam pretty tightly while Tam strokes his hair, so….

Obviously there's no excusing how he left, but I've been banking on the reason being a mix of external and internal from the beginning.

'Cos here's the thing: I'm pretty sure there was some kind of threat behind it.

The series literally began with Phi and Tam investigating illegal activity as students with Phi talking on camera about how this local drug business could be connected to a member of government. They made this video for a competition, so I doubt their footage was ever made public, but they did get multiple people arrested, so it probably made the news news. The actual news.

And in the trailer, we have Phi saying, "Sorry for putting you through all this."

That, to me, seems like he could be apologizing in general: if he hadn't blown up at Tae, Tam wouldn't have come back, and maybe if they hadn't been so clumsy about their first major investigation together, whatever theoretically happened to make Tam leave wouldn't have happened, either.

I think Yong knows, and I think Paul found out through him.

And I think Paul told Phi.

I actually suspected Tam wouldn't be the one to tell Phi in the end. It seems like he's struggled with open communication all along, but also:

If the reason he left was that the award that landed Phi his job also endangered them, I can see Tam not wanting to tell Phi that it was technically his own fault in the midst of Phi trying to rebuild his career - a career he only got because he broke down crying during an interview after Tam broke up with him.

Then I can see why he's reluctant to tell Phi. If it's also Phi's fault, he doesn't want to kick him when he's down.

Like, "Okay, so not only was your career breakthrough ruined by my leaving, I'm also going to ruin one of your happiest memories by telling you the thing we won an award for also ended up fucking up everything."

It's also super possible that if this theory is true, then Tam doesn't blame Phi at all. After all, they were a team, and Tam did the research side of things. He might entirely blame himself.

Anyway, I think that's what that scene with Paul is: telling Phi the reason why Tam left because it's urgent enough that Paul feels okay with going over Tam's head.

Like, Yong definitely knows. There's this shot of a flashback scene from the behind-the-scenes special of Tam going in to talk to Yong, and he's

Same outfit from the flashback that starts episode 3 in which Phi gets the interview he'll fall apart doing because of Tam's breakup text.

Interestingly, we also get these flashback shots of Yong presumably back when he and Gaogie were dating/engaged:

So we might find out some stuff about him too.

Still many missing pieces, but I'm delighted with this week's episode. Went in a total curveball that made me go, "Ooooh," as a writer because it's not the direction I would have gone, but it's also really good. I would've been a little sad if they only got together at the very end, and I like that Phi took that leap of faith.

Time to rewatch again byeeee!

[darkbluekies]

Edit: ill tell you tomorrow so that I dont ruin it for someone that wants to guess

bold will be the yandere.

YANDERE 1:

"You're late."

"I apologize. I did not mean to stay so late. I didn't want to, but it's impolite to leave in the middle of it. My head started pounding by the third speaker. I mean, honestly, why do we need meetings? Everyone is doing their own thing anyways. But I'm sorry I kept you waiting. I did, however, stopped by the store on the way home and I got you some ice cream and lemonade."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I thought we could put on some movie or something and bundle up on the couch. Just let me go take a shower first, I feel like if I touch something I'll dirty it down ... so don't touch me yet. I'll be back soon. Wait for me."

"What kind of ice cream did you buy? And what lemonade?"

"Eager, are we? I got you vanilla ice cream and normal lemon lemonade. That's why it's called lemon-ade. Because it's lemon and it's ade."

"I knew that, but there are pink lemonade and such that aren't just lemon."

"They're not as good."

"Why couldn't you have bought something more fun than vanilla?"

"What's wrong with vanilla? You're awfully sulky tonight. Are you feeling alright? Did you miss me so badly that you're coming up with arguments to keep me from going to the shower? Sorry, darling, but I don't entertain that."

YANDERE 2

"You're late."

"I'm sorry! I promise I did try to hurry, but they never stop talking! You haven't met them, but they're like pattering-machines. Always talking about this and that. My cheeks hurts from all the smiling ... it wasn't a good kind of smiling. Not like when I'm with you."

"But did you enjoy yourself?"

"I did! Kind of. They're nice but ... I was thinking about you all the time. Maybe that's why I was smiling. In that case, it was the good kind of smiling. Oh, and I actually got something for you too! I thought that it would be a waste to get you coffee because it'd either get cold or the ice would melt, so I got you this! It's a very good pastry."

"I can already tell what flavor it is."

"Am I that predictable?"

"You are, but it's nothing wrong with that."

"Oh ... okay! If you say so. Anyways, try it now! I want to see what you think! Oh, and maybe we can watch a movie or something?"

"You fall asleep before the first character is introduced every time and then I have to explain the entire plot to you when you wake up."

"So? I'd rather have you tell me the film than watch it. You're such a good storyteller, I love to hear you speak! Much more than the so-called friends I was with today. I'll just take a shower, change into my pyjamas and be right with you, okay? I want to hug you as soon as I come back."