#(this is THE reason i hated this fic for so long after completing it btw

[cheswirls]

no idea why ywr/iwf has gotten an influx of kudos over the past week but its been both a compliment and an irk tbh

[yeonzzzn]

can’t help but to think about jake being your family’s car washer, shirtless in the garage, sweat all over his face and dripping down his abs, panting due to extreme fatigue. You can’t help but stare at him as he noticed how you’re drooling over his naked body and how you practically eye fuck him. And of course, who is he to ignore your stares as he walk towards you and made you touch his exposed chests and abs, which leads to the both of you fucking on every car you have in the garage. 🥵

As one of the best writer here in this app, I request you to continue this 🤭 I love your fics btw and thank you for interacting with me 😫

HOLY FUCKING SHHIIIITTTTTTTTT YOUR BRAIN IS CHEF KISS ON G O D. I am so in love with this scenario like just imagining shirtless, sweaty, wet, and soapy jake fucking you on the clean car he just finished washing, leaving soapy stains and hand prints all over the hood…and THANK YOU for requesting this🤭 I am happy you put me into the category as one of the best writers…it gave me a hella ego boost fr fr!! this one is for you bae 😘🩷

jake x afab!reader word count: 2.2k

Ever since your family hired Jake as their personal car washer, you’ve struggled to keep your eyes to yourself.

You thought the idea of your family even hiring someone for such a job was, in fact, stupid. Completely ludicrous. Why hire someone to wash your cars when there are LITERAL car washes to drive your car through? Or ya know, the hands of the family members doing it

You guessed since your family had money to blow and not enough time on their hands, hiring Jake was something they wanted. You couldn’t argue with your parents, not when they are paying for your college and letting you live at home still rent-free…who were you to complain?

Obviously, the first few times Jake came to wash the cars, you’d scrunch your nose at him, purposely getting in your car and driving away, making his job harder on him. You didn’t care at first, you thought this idea was stupid and a waste of money when you could just wash your car yourself.

But it wasn’t until you took a nap after class completely forgot Jake was scheduled to wash the cars. Hearing the sound of water from the hose hitting the hoods of one of the cars that you jolted from your bed and quickly rushed to the window peeking behind the blinds, seeing Jake bent over your father's car, clothes completely soaked and soapy with the massive sponge in hand as he cleaned the hood.

You are filled with anger after seeing your car was moved and parked in the grass, seeing it was already cleaned.

Jake wasn’t stupid, he knew you hated him even if it was for reasons unknown, not that he even cared, he was getting paid bank to wash four cars once every week. So when he arrived for his scheduled time and saw your car parked in the garage…oh the sweet shenanigans that filled his brain.

He’d knock on the front door like he does every time, smiling at your mother’s face when she opened the door for him, her earpiece attached to her ear showing that she was in the middle of a meeting. She smiled at him, raising her index finger to her lips and giving him a wink, waving him inside to grab the keys.

Jake grabbed the keys from the key bowl your family kept beside the garage door, his smirk growing ever more wide at seeing your keys sitting there.

So Jake washed your car first, pulling it from the garage. He didn’t even put the seat back into place after he was done like he normally would. He wanted to make your life hell the next time you sat in your car. Wanting to give him side-eyes, scrunched nose, and nasty looks every time you saw him? He’ll play your game. He even moved all the mirrors so you’d have to move them back and purposely leave your car parked in the grass in the front lawn knowing once you put two and two together you’d either rush outside to yell at him or stare at him from the second floor in your bedroom.

But you took too long to notice him, and he went ahead and started on your father’s car.

The early summer heat was making Jake exhausted. He was soaked, had soap literally everywhere, and could feel the sweat dripping down his face and body. He flung his head back, closing his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows cursing the heat. But when he opened his eyes and saw you staring down at him from your bedroom…the game was back on.

Jake dropped the sponge into the water bucket, eyes going back to you and keeping eye contact as his fingers reached for the ends of his shirt, slowly lifting it above and over his head and dropping it onto the ground.

You quickly looked away from the window, slamming your back against the wall, hands slapping against your face.

Oh god, he’s hotter than I thought.

Since then, you didn’t mind Jake being around. You purposely started putting reminders into your phone on the days Jake would show up.

You always found Jake attractive, but that day he took his shirt off…it sent you to another world you didn’t think was possible. You were so angry at your parents for hiring him, but now all you did was thank them.

At first, you tried to hide that you were watching him, but he’d catch you every single time. And as the seasons changed from spring to summer, the less clothes Jake started to wear.

Again, he wasn’t an idiot. Jake knew you were eye fucking him every chance you got. You stopped being so secret at watching him. Giving every excuse in the book to walk into the garage to “grab something” or “get something from your car before he washes it”. It boosted his ego every single time knowing that you wanted him. He purposely started showing up wearing tighter shirts to tight tank tops that showed off his toned arms. Tighter shorts that gave away completely that man is packing.

Jake obviously thought you were hot too and he couldn’t deny that fact he’s thought about dicking you down against every single car in the garage. Imagining how completely dumb he’d have you on his cock.

And he finally was given that opportunity.

It was one of the hottest days of the week. Jake took off his tank top to cool himself off for once instead of doing it to make you tremble. But it worked in his favor as he walked into the garage to cool and dry off before moving the final car back into the garage, and you walked out.

Jake stopped halfway into the garage, eyeing you up and down.

You were wearing a white crop tank top that hugged your breasts perfectly. Jake loved the fact you weren’t wearing a bra, noticing quickly how your nipples poked through. And oh GOD he noticed how tight your shorts were, hugging your thighs and pushing up in between your pussy’s lips, showing off the outline. Jake could only imagine how good your ass looked in those shorts, silently begging that you’d give him an excuse to grab something and turn around so he could see the view.

“Oh uhhh…” you said, eyes scanning his body and stopping at his abs. You weren’t expecting to see him in the garage, clearly already finished his job. Every excuse you had to use was thrown out the window, “Finished already?”

Jake chuckled slowly walking towards you, “Since when have you cared when I’ve…finished?”

Jake was getting too close to you, well not too close to the point you didn’t like it, you obviously wanted him closer, but you weren’t prepared for it at this moment.

“I uhh…” you tried to search for the right things to say, any excuse you could say. At this point any bullshit. You’ve only ever stared at him from a distance, talked to him in passing so you could stare at him. These were the consequences of your actions.

“Use your words, baby,” Jake said, his body now inches away from yours, chuckles escaping his mouth, “What? You were so vocal about how much you hated me when we first met, why so quiet now?”

Because you’re the hottest human being I’ve ever met

You just slightly shrugged, still trying to find literally anything to say.

“I said,” he whispered, his wet, soapy hands grabbing both of yours and blessing them on his wet, soapy, sweaty chest, “Use your words,”

You tried to not moan out just from touching him. The warmth of his chest was enough to send your whole body temperature skyrocketing. Your eyes wander down to his chest, watching as the water mixed with his sweat rolled down his body, how his chest raised and fell, feeling how fast his heart was racing.

You slid your hands down his chest, stopping at the top of his abs, letting your fingers trace around them.

Just from your touch, Jake was already rock hard. He wanted nothing more than to drag you up the stairs and bend you over your bed, face pressed so deep into the sheets while he railed you from behind. But he couldn’t get up the stairs without passing your parent’s shared office. The garage would have to do.

Jake wasted no time flying his hands to your waist and pressing you to him, his lips pressing aggressively with yours.

Your thighs rubbed together at feeling him against you. You wanted him. Oh god did you want him.

Jake mapped out the garage in his mind, looking for a place he could fuck you without making anyone in the house take notice of it.

And there was only one place he could think.

Jake quickly twisted you around, your back being pressed against the hood of your car. The water and soap from Jake’s body were now seeping into your clothes, making them soaked.

Jake groaned at your now wet shirt, your nipples showing through completely and he didn’t even have to remove your shirt for it.

Jake’s lips found yours again, his fingers sliding down to your heat, rubbing it gently. You were already so soaked and he barely touched you.

“Fuck baby girl, already so wet for me?” he smirked against your lips, “Already so needy for my cock.”

You quickly nodded, wanting to feel more than just his fingers rub against your cunt.

“Use your words, we’re both adults here,”

You now wanted to beat the shit out of him. Jake was loving this, loved the way you scrunched your nose at him teasing you.

“Fuck me, Jake.”

Jake took your wrists in his hands, pinning your hands above you, “Where are your manners?” he rubbed his clothed hard dick against your cunt, “Only good girls get what they want.”

You wanted to roll your eyes, wanted to be a brat, but didn’t want to test Jake’s patience.

“Fuck me please Jakey,”

Jake groaned at the nickname, his hand going back down to your folds and sliding your shorts to the side and pushing his wet shorts down far enough to release his throbbing cock.

You bit your lip at the sight of his cock, your pussy clenching around nothing at the anticipation of him fucking you.

Jake lined himself up with you, then pushed himself in.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you, pushing him deeper inside of you.

“Fuck you feel so good,” he moaned in your ear, having to steady his hands at the side of your head to help fuck into you, “Fantasized so much on how good your pussy would feel wrapped around me.”

You had to bite down on your lip to keep your moans from escaping, not wanting to get caught.

Jake had other plans.

His hand reached up to your chin, fingers pulling your lip from your teeth and spreading your mouth open, “Oh no sweet thing,” he growled, “You’ve been so vocal before, you aren’t going to go quiet now.”

He fucked into your harder, faster, making the car beneath you two shake at his pace, “Moan for me. Moan my name, use that pretty voice of yours.”

You tilted your head to the side, attaching your lips to his ear, moaning out his name.

If you were going to be vocal, it was going to directly be in his ear. And oh man Jake was loving it.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he groans, his fingers trying to keep their grips on the hood from how wet and sweaty he was, from the soap that covered his body making it hard to keep in place. But he didn’t care. He was balls deep inside you, you were moaning his name like it was the only word you could speak. He was in heaven fucking an angel.

Jake didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to last, your tight cunt was sucking him so good and he was so pussy drunk he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop until he was unloading himself into you. His climax was fast approaching, but he’d be damned if he came before you.

His hand flew to your cunt, thumb rubbing circles against your clit and his lips sucking on your soft spot just below your ear and jaw, “Cum for me baby,”

Your pussy clenched around him, the sensation and the magic of his fingers was sending you over the edge. Your hands gripped the hood of your car the best they could as you released onto him.

“Oh fuck yeah,” he moaned biting your skin, his thrusts slowly coming to a stop as he made one final push, painting your gummy walls white.

Jake placed a kiss on your forehead before pulling out of you and setting your shorts back into place.

Fuck you were a sight to see, looking so fucked out against your car that he just finished washing that now had your and his hand prints all over the hood.

Damn, guess he now has an excuse to have to come back over tomorrow to “wash it again” or better yet fuck you against it and every car in this garage.

And by the look on your face, Jake knew you were thinking the same thing.

[fluff-n-cookies]

Thinking about yandad Dabi and his child who's now around 9-11 years old. Your writing has absolutely captivated me <3

Dabi starts getting more possessive, more protective, and certainly more assertive. He's your dad, after all—you HAVE to listen to him, no? It's too dangerous to go outside without him keeping an eye on you, you're still so tiny and fragile. He'll be damned if his kid steps foot out of the apartment without his say so, no ifs or buts.

After a long day of setting people on fire and committing various crimes, Dabi just wants to scoop you up into a bone-crushing hug and plop down onto the couch to snuggle his baby, paying no mind to your complaints.

While he's soft and affectionate towards you, it's a completely different story when it comes to others. Dabi is ruthless and aggressive, destroying anyone and anything that may try to take you away–much less harm you. It doesn't matter how small, Dabi will turn it into ashes without remorse. If you somehow figure out about his actions and try to make a run for it? He'd be crushed, obviously–Dabi can't stand the thought of you fearing him. Rest assured, he'd track you down and bring you back home, suffering you in cuddles while scolding you. He's your dad–you need to listen to him.

(Btw sorry about how long this became didn't realize I was ranting)

omg hi???? thank you for gracing me with this masterpiece??? wtf???? (lovingly)

and this is all so fucking true. I plan on making a longer fic on this (sorry to say that I haven't drafted it yet, I'm working on overhaul posts)

but he's so paranoid, so utterly terrified 24/7, he dead bolts all the doors and windows at night and only lets you go outside between 11 AM and 5PM unless it's for school.

speaking of which, he hates them for giving his baby so much homework and taking away from their time together buuttt he genuinely believes you need to get your education, don't skip out on highschool like he did.

and he does this thing, this god awful thing, after dinner, after your daily shower, and after getting you all nice and snuggly for bed and into your cat pajamas. he'll do this thing where he'll hold you tight to his chest while he flicks through the news channel.

now normally this would be fine, perfectly fine, if I weren't for the fact he either goes to true crime channels where they display the horrific acts of villains (himself included) live. he tells you that the world is a horrifying place, that that's how he burned himself, how painful it was, the scorching flames. he doesn't mean to traumatize you, it's just to warn you!

either that, or he'll go to news channels covering endeavor's problems, scandals, recent missions, interviews. please don't ask who that strange man with eyes like yours is. he'll hold you tighter and say in the lightest voice possible. "he's a bad man, don't you dare go near him, he'll hurt you like he hurt me."

don't say anything else after that.

he's just tired, so tired, and you're there, right when he gets home after running "errands". you're his reminder of what he's working towards, this future with no heroes and no pain that he's trying to build. the revenge he longs for and the aftermath where you thrive. really, you're the reason he gets up in the morning these days, the reason he stopped smoking in the house, the reason why there's no more beer in the fridge, only tenderly made lunches that he makes every Sunday to prepare for the week.

you're like this stress ball, this hit of Serotonin and Dopamine and what not. every time you smile he can feel his heart clenching. when he looks at you, he sees the boy he once used to be, happy. you're so happy, so pure.

he refuses to let you go out much, his reasoning being that the world's a terrible place. when you ask what's his job, what he does at "work" every day, he only chuckles.

"Oh baby, I'm trying to makes this world a better place, my job is to try and stop all the bad things from happening. I'm a type of... Freedom fighter, really."

and he so, so, so so so so so so sweet to you. you have never known Dabi, ruthless arsonist and serial killer. you have never known Touya, a boy lost in his own insanity and deprivation of paternal love. both are vicious, people, downright insane. one's a criminal the other's incapable of ever recovering from his own madness and fury.

the only person you know is your Dad, Dad's a nice guy, he plays doll house and dress up with you and watches cartoons with you every morning before school. he lets you wear his jacket when you're cold and left yours at school in your cubby, and he takes you out for donuts or ice cream monthly. sure, he doesn't have money, he can't buy you that many toys and sometimes they turn the light off because he missed too many bills, but he loves you. that's all you need to know.

Dad is a kind person, he's not Dabi or Touya, he's definitely not a hero. he's your dad.

And Dad does the best job of gas-lighting you to hell and back. you want to go outside after 5 or before 11? welp, he's not coming with you, sorry honey, maybe tomorrow. what do you mean you'll go anyway? the boogeyman'll get you! (it's him, he's the boogeyman, he knows you won't last a second out in the real world with your loving father's help and he's going to exploit it the moment you start to show independence.)

but it's very unlikely that Dabi would ever even get the chance to do this when you're 9-11 years old, you know why? because you'll be in Endeavor's custody by then. I refuse to elaborate since then I'll be spoiling the plot of Part 3 and I don't want that.

P.S. you wanna be tagged?

[sunboki]

— START TO FINISH a Han Jisung fiction

🧸 : Han Jisung x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. enemies to lovers, forced friendship, friends to lovers, angst, fluff

WORD COUNT. 6.2k ☆ 31 minute read

WARNINGS. lots of cursing, underage drinking(reader & han are 18, legal drinking age in korea is 19), making up, reader punches someone

AUG'S NOTES. i know i know, after so long the fic is finally here!(thank goodness) and i just remembered how @geneziesm was excited for this back in.. february?? so apologies for the wait sweetness, hope you don’t mind that i changed our love interest from changbin to jisung :’) btw, the cabin they’re staying in looks like this

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. From start to finish. That’s how you ended things with Han Jisung, starting with your fist balled up and ending with a slam right to his cheek. Or so you hoped. “I mean, they’re just kids, what could they do?” Was what both of your parents said as they spoke over the phone without you knowing. Without either of you knowing you learned later on, luggage in hand as you stared at the dangling road sign beside the cabin’s entrance. Gangwon Cabin, the place you’d be occupying with Han Jisung, your mortal enemy, for two months. It could be worse.. right? No. This was the worst it could be.

or alternatively :

Two months ago you were certain you’d hate Han Jisung forever, but what about now?

You’re. Fucking. Kidding me.

"You take one step into this room and I cut off every limb attached to your body, understood?" Is what you hissed at the boy who looked too smug standing in front of you.

"Awe, aren’t you just the sweetest?"

"Better yet, I could cut off your tongue."

"The more the merrier." He stuck out his tongue connivingly, earning a hard slam of the door right in the face.

You don’t care if you have to slam that door a billion more times to escape from him, you’d do it in a heartbeat.

Your only priority for these two months? Avoid Han Jisung at all costs.

Han Jisung is the boy that ate sand as a kid. You’re sure of it.

You’ve convinced yourself he somehow ate enough sand to where it creeped up into his brain and made him into a complete asshole for the rest of his life. A shame, really.

You didn’t know if that was true or not —though you wouldn’t be surprised if it was— but the theory served as a decent explanation of why he acted like an absolute piece of shit… For the most part.

Honestly, the hatred was sort of mutual. If you define mutual as in unspoken glares across the classroom and his malice-filled smile glittering right back at you, then yeah, mutual.

Starting from the moment you stepped into Mr. Jeong’s class and took your seat beside him, a blazing electric bolt strung itself between you two. And despite being unsure why, the bolt grew stronger without sign of stopping, alighting hatred and dislike.

Was it fair carrying the burning grudge? Not at all, but if Han Jisung kept egging you on like he always did, it would stay that way.

Except what was once anger noticed by only you quickly escalated into heated, gas-lit arguments the entire school heard—because Han Jisung found the perfect timing every time. Heavy on the sarcasm.

Best example? You had utterly bombed your chemistry midterm, one you tirelessly studied for as well when a shadow loomed over your desk belonging to none other than the Devil’s offspring himself (if you guessed anyone other than Han Jisung, you’re dead wrong).

"I wouldn’t recommend crying in class, but that grade is pretty shitty so if you need a shoulder, I've gotcha sweetheart." He cockily pats his shoulder while sending you a wink, and you couldn’t believe someone would so blatantly ask for a broken nose, yet here you are.

Trust that your list of reasons to plan a burial for the seat-mate goes on as long as you breathe.

And apparently, whatever chemical reaction you’d fucked up during the exam turned out to be highly explosive on a Friday afternoon, unfortunately without the addition of Han’s broken nose. You were close though.

That day he picked. Picked and picked and picked enough that your fist found itself smashed against his jaw, the boy’s hand immediately coming up to shield the wound. Instantaneously, the classroom became noiseless apart from the sound of blood pumping in your ears and Jisung’s heavy breathing.

"Han Jisung, Ln Yn, go to the office. Now!" Mr. Jeong called from the doorway, noticeably out of breath from his brambled hair and glasses askew upon his nose.

The customary lecture about how you should "never resort to violence" was nothing new for the both of you, Counselor Kim’s furious tapping of her foot reflecting the glare she burned your way. From the other side of the room Han sat on the patient-bed, a bandage sized to his cheek covering where you’d unapologetically swung all your frustration. You had zero remorse and would continue to have zero remorse. Forever.

"For the love of god what are you two standing there for?! Apologize. This. Instant!" And with the final crack in her flaming attitude she stomped out the door, fanatically shaking her head with dismay.

Ravaging every advantage, you sauntered towards the boy, releasing a heavy sigh just to announce your 'sincerity' first and foremost. Now was prime time to sugar him up, and you’d be sure not to take it for granted.

Stepping forward, you lift your head to deliver a faux smile.

"I’m so sorry for everything I’ve ever done to you leading up to this, especially after punching you in a spot that won’t heal for a long time because you never deserved that and most definitely did nothing wrong." Delighted to finally be pushing his buttons just as he did yours, you plaster the most guilty expression you can manage, voice dripping with lies.

Jisung breathes a rather bored sigh.

"Nice try."

Geesh, he’s exasperating. Take a hit for once, why don’t you.

"You want me to pray for your forgiveness or what?" Managing to omit the derogatory nickname attached to your sentence, you spare a hasty glance at Ms. Choi, the nurse who every other male at the school had a crush on. She types into her laptop at an alarming pace—fortunately either ignoring or oblivious to your brewing cat-fight.

The boredom appears to leave him instantly for a reason you couldn’t guess. Regardless, you knew it meant bad news.

Exasperating. He is unbearably exasperating.

"'Didn’t think you were that in love with me, but no. I want you to give me a kiss," Using the hand he’d previously ran through his hair, he pointed to his cheek. "Right here."

Is no one else hearing this? He’s not serious .. right? And why are your hands sweaty?

"Bullshit."

Aha, there’s the usual Oxford graduate vocabulary. Let’s hope Ms. Choi didn’t hear anything.

"Sadly. Worth a try though." Jisung deflates, swinging his legs around aimlessly. He’s daring from a point you can’t figure out. His inability to piss you off is easy to discover, but there’s something else there—a word your finger keeps skipping over.

Then suddenly, in the midst of observing your lost-in-thought expression, he piques with realization. By the time you notice, all your earlier remorse voluntarily throws itself out the window. Not that there was any remorse anyway. Definitely.

"Wait- don’t tell me you’re actually going to apologize, hold on I need to record this—"

"SHUT UP! I’m leaving, have a good evening Ms. Choi." The poor woman jumped out of her skin, shakily bowing farewell as you stormed from the infirmary, seething rage billowing out both ears.

Your walk home lasted much longer than usual, probably because you didn’t even want to step foot on the property; wanted to savor every moment of fresh air before seeing your parents in their fury glittering glory.

Unbeknownst to you, they’d already gotten the call—four hours ago, to be exact. Though you didn’t realize that’s how long you’d been procrastinating, and neither did Han Jisung, who was doing the same thing.

Except while you walked around killing time, he occupied a swing at the old neighborhood playground, humming a tune to himself.

So as you turned the corner, the last person you expected to be there was there, seeming quite aloof as he gazed off into the distance.

"What’re you doing?"

You swore he leaped a solid foot into the air, hand frantically clutched to his chest as if you were the doctor telling him he wasn’t allowed to jack off anymore.

"Jesus! You scared me. I should ask you the same thing," Han grumbled, lips pulled into a taut pout.

This momentary peacefulness, or whatever isn’t hostility occupying the space between you is gross considering you’d socked him mere hours earlier, still able to make out the light bruising scattered along his jaw.

You kick off some of the mulch lingering atop your shoelaces. "Procrastinating going home, you?"

Laughing bitterly, Han settles back into the swing. "I guess that’s something we can agree on," He says, causing you to sort of falter.

Sadness lingers in his tone and you can’t decipher it, not when your average Han Jisung would be rearing to tease you. Instead, he remains quiet enough that when your phone buzzes in your pocket, you flinch.

"I’ve gotta go. This is the eighteenth time she’s called, I wish I was joking." You breathe through your nose, staring at your mom’s number flickering atop the screen.

Why you even dismissed yourself you don’t know. It was Han Jisung, why did you bother? You should’ve acted spiteful and left him at that. But you couldn’t. Not when he seemed so.. miserable. You staved down the gnawing guilt.

"What color do you want to wear in your casket, I’ll be sure to tell your parents."

Well there goes any chance of being nice.

"I hate you," You automatically snarl, spewing those words as if they had no weight anymore.

Looks like everything is back to normal, for now.

Currently standing at the doorstep, you thought back to all the excuses you’d used in the past and which one seemed suitable this time around. Which one would, hopefully, secure your life for another day.

There’s the truly heroic "he was insulting you guys! Saying you didn’t raise me right!" that would earn a bit of sympathy, or maybe you could even go bigger and say he was threatening to rob you and— the door opened. Shit.

"Come in! Tell me about your day at school." Your mother, strangely enough, smiled.

Okay. What the fuck is going on. Where’s the berating and disowning threat, seriously.

"Aren’t you mad?" You skittishly ask, only receiving a swift jerk of her head signaling for you to come in.

Hence, you tentatively, like an ax would strike you at any moment, obediently tip-toe into the living room, glancing around cautiously.

She finds her spot on the couch beside your dad and you nonchalantly shift a good distance from the two, just to be safe.

Who knows, perhaps they’d planned collaborative man-slaughter.

"Oh no, we’re livid, but we talked about it and have a fantastic idea that we’re sure will help!" Help what, you’re not sure. All you know is that this cannot possibly end well. 

Your ungodly hour wake up was the first unfortunate event, basically being shoved into the car to who knows where and before you knew it, the sunlight illuminating the road in front of you became shrouded with shadows of tall alpines looming overhead. They spared no hint as to what their "fantastic idea" was yesterday, so the jury ruling your case as a third-degree murder was only something you could wonder from the backseat. Something you could wonder for a long, long time.

Thankfully, decades later, the vehicle eventually came to a halt and your parents wasted no time shoving you just as easily as they did into the car, outside of the car. Adjusting to the brightness, you find yourself facing a building only definable as a cabin from the wooden exterior and forest surroundings.

A creative collaborative homicide, definitely.

"We’re here~" Your mom calls from the passenger seat, helping unload stuffed suitcases from the trunk.

Suitcases. Lovely.

Alright, staying here for a while doesn’t sound too bad aside from the feeding yourself part. Yogiyo Food Delivery could find their way here, surely. You’d just have to give a generous tip, that’s all.

Clapping her hands together a little too excitedly, the woman pats your shoulder, gesturing to the abundant amount of luggage your dad heaved to the entrance, or wherever the rickety door leads.

Hold on, whose car is that parked beside yours?

Almost like she read your mind, her brows lift cartoonishly as you follow the click of a car door opening in unison.

"Oh! Right! Now we wanted to make sure this would be beneficial for both of you, so we invited Han’s parents to have him stay with you for these two months!"

Haha.

You’re dreaming. This is all a dream. Because Han Jisung did not just get out of that Kia, and she did not just say two months.

Automatically, your hands fly into the air, willing to battle your way out of this one if that’s what it takes.

"You’re leaving me here? Are you serious-what’re you-Hey! Don’t drive away!" Before you can open your mouth the two cars back out of the dirt road without so much as a goodbye to the children they’d utterly abandoned, might you add the children that wanted nothing more than to bury each other a day ago.

And so, the two months of summer hell began.

..Albeit, out of all your troubles, the scenery wasn’t too hellish opposed to the internal screaming echoing around your skull.

Instead, serene, comfortable sound consumed the wilderness surrounding the cabin, filling your ears with the hum of evening birdsong and water trickling from the river below. At least that part was tolerable.

You perch on the edge of the railing and listen, trying to distract yourself from your mind for a moment—allowing you to bask in a billion thoughts you wished to drown out.

Han had already gone inside without even a hello (not that you expected one), seeming to feel the same amount of hopelessness as you did after hearing your fate. Peaceful, until the creaking patio door opening rips every inch of calmness right out of your grasp.

"The view is nice, isn’t it."

Stop it. Stop talking like we’re friends. It’s not normal. We are not normal.

The sensible part of your mind tells you this is how people that don’t go for the throat talk, but you can’t convince yourself to communicate like that. Not with your history, not now.

"Nice without you interrupting me." Your grip tightened on the fence supporting you, refusing to even spare him a glance in fear of watching disappointment flood his frontal. You’d stab a stake through your chest before succumbing to him, before sympathizing his feelings.

"I’m going inside," you mouth, quickly slipping past him through the half-open door without another word.

Unforgiving. You are both very unforgiving. Or maybe it’s you, unable to forget about your grievances, unable to let go. For a second—closing the door behind you—you fear you’ll never be able to let go.

Radio silence inhabits the aged home, and you both hurry off to separate sides to digest everything’s awfulness in your own, unique ways. Han resorts to strumming the acoustic guitar he’d stuffed in his bag before leaving Seoul, and you, well, you cope, furiously pacing the room until exhaustion overtakes your limbs and you pitifully flop onto the floor.

The suitcases will have to rot outside tonight because leaving this spot, no less passing by the living area, meant Han Jisung exposure, the last thing your sour mood needed. You rationalize—you really do—but fleeting thoughts and whatever keeps itching your leg steal your chance of thinking positively.

Wait.

Alternatively, during what he assumes to be your sulking-about-how-life-isn’t-fair session, Han’s daily mug of coffee (the one he’d missed out on due to being forced up at the asscrack of dawn) was cut short thanks to a shrill scream. He hurriedly placed his beverage on the counter, racing to where you stood glued to the wall of the hallway, finger shakily pointing to a bug crawling along the floor.

Mischievously, Han crossed his arms over his chest, surveying the chaos that could ensue with a simple request. This was already off to a great start.

Why not get his fair share? Toying with you was way too fun after all.

"Y’know, there’s a great way to deal with this." He takes his last swig of caffeine while you basically crawl into your skin, impossibly backing up further from the skittering insect.

"And what would that be?"

Rookie mistake. He can tell you’re aware of exactly what he’s going to say next, already two steps behind him before you realize you can do anything about it. What to choose, what to choose.

Then, Ding! A marvelous idea strikes.

"I’ve always imagined the nickname Sungie would sound cute coming from you," he sings, dreadful anticipation vividly apparent. He’s having a blast.

Wrinkling your nose, your glare radiates nothing but red-hot animosity, patience walking a thin wire. Han loves every bit of it.

"What the hell are you talking abou—"

"You might wanna say it, that beetle is getting closer," He says, voice laced with devilish intent.

Unfortunately for you, life and death were the only ways to get through this. Naturally, you leaned closer to choosing death for the sake of your reputation, but life had to be an asshole and shatter your ego into a billion tiny pieces last minute.

"FUCK- Sungie- kill it now!" You shout, releasing a very frustrated scream you’re certain could’ve topped Regina George’s.

Beneficial? She called this beneficial?

"I knew it’d be cute,” He snickered, instantly covering the god-forbidden demon with his empty cup and grinning up at you with crescent moon eyes as if he hadn’t brutally manipulated your terror seconds before.

You hate him. Hate him hate him hate him.

God. You wanted to cry.

. ..

Jisung would’ve loved to see your reaction if he caused a ruckus so early, but he was being nice this morning, carefully traveling around the kitchen island to fill his thermos with water when he dropped the metal bottle and the loudest, most blaring screech echoed around the entire house.

Truthfully, it was an accident. Truthfully.

You wouldn’t believe him.

Not even a minute later, low and behold, the adorable grumpiness identified as you peeked out from a blanket burrito, noticeably seething from your bedroom door.

"It’s five in the morning you lunatic, what is so important that you’re leaving at five in the morning," you grumble, instinctively pulling your blanket tighter when he approached.

"You really want me to stay with you that badly, honey? All you had to do was ask~" You tiredly push away his kissy face leering close, clad in pajamas and not quite awake enough to put up with him.

He twirls the keys, stopping to dramatically blow you a kiss in the process.

"'M going on a run, don’t miss me too much,” Jisung waved, and with the click of the door closing behind him, he’s gone to who knows where.

His cockiness makes you roll your eyes as you begin whipping up some form of breakfast to satiate your stomachs complaints, knowing your chances of going back to bed were slim to nothing due to being woken up so mercilessly.

If he dropped what sounded to be a iron pipe to wake you up, thinking about what his next "alarm clock" would be gives you goosebumps. Yep. No going back to sleep for you.

Except the minute hand ticks by, and what used to be a short run turns into an uneasy feeling by the time the third hour rolls around.

Three hours and twenty minutes.. Three hours and thirty minutes.. Three hours and forty minutes..

Screw it, you’ll go looking for him.

"Jisung? Jisung, where are you!" Your shouting has to have echoed around the entirety of Gangwon at this point, stopping to catch your breath on the side of the never ending dirt pathway. Miles and miles you scour, gradually reaching a bench covered by a willow tree where you slump down, enjoying the swift moment of rest.

What you hadn’t expected enjoying your much needed break was to find the exact boy you were searching for, lying fast asleep in the shade.

Covering your mouth to mute your gasp, a string of mumbled curses fall off your tongue as you get up from your spot and hesitantly approach the sleeping beauty.

Oh so slowly you sit down in the grass, paying attention not to make too much noise from the crunchy leaves.

"It’s not fair that you’re pretty even when napping," You mutter, infatuated by his mesmerizing looks that seem to glow in the minimal light emerald leaves reflect.

That is, before his eyelashes dust and you noisily rush to your feet, flushing pink at an alarming pace. The prince-like beings' cheeks puff, blinking rapidly to clear the sleepy haze.

"Huh? Y/n, when did you get here? You’re red; are you okay—"

"Yeah. C’mon." You speed-walked ahead despite Jisung calling out for you to slow down, terrified he’d seen you or, worse, heard the things you’d said.

He stalls to pick up something and you experimentally glance back, noting a green color visible through the plastic bag he held. What’s inside is only recognizable by the clinking of glass colliding together.

"Did.. did you- is that…" Words pour without making sense, squinting accusingly at the bit of a label you can see reading "Chum Churum Soju."

Your bewilderment keeps you planted to the ground, scrolling through your mental list of possibilities explaining why it couldn’t be alcohol. And suddenly you genuinely question if Han’s delinquency appeared outside of school as well.

Surely, because the smirk painting his features when he caught sight of your shocked expression left no room to wonder.

"Won't it be fun?" He shakes the bag. "We’re irresponsible highschoolers anyways, and the grandma working there said it has the best flavor this time of year."

So that’s how he managed to get by without an ID. Of course.

Problem? One, you’re underage. Two, who knows if someone found out. Three, you had no goddamn clue what you were like drunk, and the last thing you wanted to happen was a detrimental mistake under the influence with Jisung. Everything about this foreshadowed disaster, how he couldn’t figure that part out was beyond you.

Or maybe he wanted disaster to strike, maybe it was all a part of his plan, the cherry on top to ruin your life permanently.

Yeah, you’re not letting even a drop enter your system.

"Aigoo— don’t cry," Han whines, obviously a bit tipsy, though compared to you who’s almost completely wasted (rocking back and forth while spilling nonsense to nobody in particular), he’s basically sober.

It was an accident, you swear. You couldn’t help it, he called you a coward and dared you to a drinking contest that put your precious pride on the line—leading into this shithole of a situation in the first place. Backing down meant ultimate defeat, and knowing you had at least three more weeks stuck here narrowed down the last option available.

"'M not crying asshat.." You sob, hand feebly hitting the table in a pitiful show of aggression. Your brain is fuzzy and everything feels so weird and dizzying. Then you feel it.

Oh no. Word vomit. You can’t stop it.

"I just don’t think it’s fair, Jisung," You blurt, Han blinking tiredly upon hearing his name. "You have such a pretty face for such an awful person."

You’re babbling now, blurily viewing multiple emotions unfold prior to opening his mouth. You guess in some way he heard what you said below the willow tree, even as a drunk confession.

"You.. You think I have a pretty face?" Though seconds after he finishes speaking you lean across the table to press your index against his lips, the boy’s eyes growing to the size of saucers.

"Shut uppp, I don’t wanna hear your voice, ever." Interrupting the question, you wobble to your feet, grip fumbling on the chilled door knob before blindly plowing into the room and collapsing on your mattress.

Meanwhile, Jisung attempts to stop you. Keyword: attempts. He does, almost there, and then the carpet trips him somehow (his own way of pretending he didn’t slip over nothing) and he’s kissing the floor, exhaustion immediately numbing his entire alcohol-ridden body till he succumbs to oh so welcoming sleep.

Gasping awake, a rampaging headache greets his skull, unevenly carrying himself to grab a barely there cup of water that’ll hopefully ease some tension. He assumes this must be a hangover, and man, it’s more of a pain than he thought.

The Jisung back in Seoul wouldn’t be able to fathom getting drunk at noon before ending up here, a place that was certainly not home. Well, the Jisung back in Seoul wouldn’t be able to fathom getting drunk at noon along with waking up on the floor, being stuck in this place with you, and an entire collection of things he couldn't name off the top of his head.

Being completely honest, he’s amazed he hadn’t slept the rest of the day and night after earlier, filled with crude small talk and stolen alcohol sipped from styrofoam cups. And you calling him pretty, that too.

Said styrofoam cups scatter in disarray all over the floor, evidence of how drunk you’d both got that painted quite an impressively messy picture.

There’s not much to see staring through the fogged window; Gangwon’s relentless humidity leading to a nearly impossible view of the lake outside. Though he doesn’t mind. In fact, knowing that no one can find him here, you and him, isn’t too bad. No teachers looming over him, nor were his parents reprimanding him for grades slightly below perfect.

Although in the midst of his headspace, a floorboard creaks exceptionally loud and you stand, rocking back and forth on your heels and gazing at him through half-lidded eyes he can’t quite read. What he distinctly spotted, however, was the smile casually gracing your lips. A dreamy, loopy smile that told him something wasn’t exactly normal.

"Sungie.."

Han cranes to hear what you say, bewildered by the nickname you swore to never utter. Were you still drunk? You had to be, or you wouldn’t have approached him with open arms like that to bury your head into his chest where he feared you’d hear his hammering heartbeat—frozen stiff as a board with your arms wrapped around him.

"Are.. are you still drunk?" Han timidly asks and you absentmindedly groan before your movement stops, the boy doing a double take in case you managed to pass out buried in his clothing.

Slowly, cautiously, he pulled you off of him, body curled in disgust due to the saliva staining his t-shirt where your face had been.

Yep. You had fully passed out while hugging him.

"Wow, how much did you have to drink again?" Laughing to himself, he struggles guiding you to the couch to sit down without stumbling over each other.

Propping a pillow behind your head, the boy hesitates, feeling a sort of déjà vu he can’t make sense of. Though quickly enough, he shakes off the phenomenon and begins raising up, but a softness threading through his fingers stops him in his tracks for a second time, and he has to blink multiple times to register what was happening.

Although appearing passed out still, your hand found its way to reach for his, holding onto his pinky so lightly, so carefully. The boy's heart pounded, collecting all of his self control to refrain from making decisions he'd regret.

"Stop. We can’t." Sentence trembling on his tongue, he steadily pulled away, nearly wincing when you shifted slightly.

You were only dreaming, you never would have done this if you were awake, he reminded himself, glancing back to where you lie once more as if you’d magically spring up and announce your undying love for him. Did he want that to happen? No, he’s just joking, just a joke. Right.

It hurts, he can’t name why.

He prays you don’t remember.

"Please tell me why it’s so freaking cold in the middle of July," You mumble to nobody, spotting your cell mate’s cabin mate’s backside crouched over the fire pit. What he busied himself doing you couldn't guess, unpredictably unpredictable.

Curiously, you shuffle to the window, observing the charcoal he added before flicking the lighter and setting the lumber ablaze, flames licking at the dark sky above. Starting at age ten you learned curiosity killed the cat, but never did you think it killed humans as well. That was, prior to Jisung noticing you watching him. Astonishingly, however, he motioned for you to come out, refraining from the average jerk behavior on this occasion.

Unpredictably unpredictable, like you said.

"Have you given up yet? Hating me, I mean." Appearing beside the lawn chair you had cozied into, he tossed a few additional branches into the brewing flames, dropping down to warm his hands. Apparently, you don’t remember. Only Jisung would realize that.

"You talk about it like it’s a choice." Stuffing your hands inside your coat pockets, you avoid him per routine. Confidence comes easier that way, especially with him—someone you’re weak for.

You’d never admit that.

"It’s not?"

Your tongue pokes at the flesh of your cheek, ticked.

"You don’t seem to understand the hell I go through every day I come to school. Han Jisung, you give me every reason to hate you," You state coldly, fists clenching and unclenching where he can’t see.

This argument is fearful. You both glare at anything but each other, turning away from mere face-to-face contact in fear you’d apologize. Jisung is always first to look, first to try understanding.

Those times are never noticed by you, someone who doesn’t give in.

"But we're not in school anymore; we’re free in a cabin in the middle of Gangwon. So could you at least pretend to not hate me?" He looks. Looks at each minuscule twitch of your mouth, the soft cupid's bow perfectly carving your lips. Han scolds himself. He gets lost in you sometimes, a habit. Times that he’s glad you avoid him, unlike now, desperately needing you to see.

"Pretend? Did you say pretend? You’re fucking insane thinking I can just pretend nothing has happened. You think I can walk away from all this like it’s nothing, because I'm nice and sweet and do anything for anybody? You’re heartless, Jisung."

The boy hastily clutched onto the sleeve of your puffer jacket as you got up, fanning flames revealing your broken expression.

You shakily inhale, tears unconsciously slipping down your cheeks. This is the last thing you wanted, to end up crying in front of him. But here you are, walls crumbling down.

"Stop trying to make us right when we’ll lead to a bad ending."

You tremble and his grip loosens automatically, lingering there.

"Look at me."

"Let me go."

"Look at me, please."

You foolishly look like he did. Look and note how deep the pools of dusky caramel dancing in his eyes are. Look and pinpoint the mole residing on the right side of his face, effortlessly close to pretty pink lips. Look and admire the sweet curve of his eyes complimented by the shape of his brows, furrowed with sadness that match the tone you’d heard that day you found him on the swing.

You curse your hiccuping, delving into the softness of his palm while his thumb delicately swipes your tears. He’s warm. Han Jisung, though you never thought you’d say it, is warm to the touch.

"We’re not leading to a bad ending, Y/n. You want a bad ending because of what I’ve done, so you can feel like your anger is justified. This is my fault, and I’ll take responsibility, so give me a chance to fix it and quit burdening yourself because of my mistakes, okay?" He tips his head, tenderly caressing the delicate tear-stained skin beneath your lower lashes.

Today, tonight, everything you ever believed about Han Jisung was proven wrong.

His perception and his kindness, which you didn’t even know existed, forged through the surface and tore your heart in halves. He’d revealed himself to you and in actuality, he always had; you just closed your eyes.

But today, tonight, he didn’t let you close them; he held them open to see him, see his apology, see his acceptance—and it gave you no choice but to comply, to nod your head and trust him, something you’d never done before.

You take a seat again, yet the stifling company isn't stifling anymore, and a sensation akin to relief floods the brisk air surrounding Gangwon cabin. He brings you tissues and you say thank you, it’s new. He smiles and you smile back, it’s new as well.

You’ve never liked things you were unfamiliar with, but this is okay.

For once, being around Han Jisung feels okay.

"..Did it hurt?"

He blinked, fixating you with a confused stare.

"When I punched you, did it hurt?"

Slowly, his mouth stretched into a grin, chuckling. That’s new too, you think you like it the most so far.

"Like a bitch."

. ..

You’d say your relationship evened out, not finding an incessant need to respond with something even nastier. It was weird at first, coexisting and all. Weird being so friendly, despite the annoying banter paying occasional visits.

Better, better this way.

The moon rose up high in the sky only to settle, and you’d periodically climb to the top of the house in a way Jisung had taught you, hand placed on your back reassuringly as you climbed the cob-web infested windowsill up to the roof. You’d also say that gesture didn’t affect you. You lied.

Nonetheless, the rooftop "dates" helped you appreciate how bright and brilliant the twinkling balls of fire were after being pulled out here where artificial light is infinitely scarce compared to Seoul’s amusement park of electricity.

"That," Jisung points, finger drawing an imaginary line connecting specific stars lighting up the sky. "Is the constellation Cygnus, it’s Greek for swan. When I studied in Malaysia there was a great hill to stargaze, that’s where I learned about them."

You nod, savoring the otherworldly view paired with his voice.

Comfort. He’s comfortable telling you about himself. Your heart feels happy.

"I always thought Lyra and Cygnus would make a good couple," he says, beats of a silence passing before you burst into a fit of giggles, the boy raising up to lean on his elbow appearing quite offended.

A constellation? He thinks constellations would make good couples?

Han Jisung is full of surprises.

"Yah I’m serious! They’d be perfect together! It’d be romantic and sweet and— you’re mean." He whined playfully, suppressing his own laughter noticing how hard you were trying not to laugh.

Quietness, silence if you must, replaces the once child-like conversation. Not the I’m-counting-the-seconds-to-your-funeral type silence that occurred daily prior to your campfire crying/make-up session, but a calm silence.

"Could you imagine what the kids back home would say?" He breathes his words airily whilst admiring your eyes staring up at the sky—twinkling. To him, those eyes hold the galaxy in them. Eyes that weren’t introduced to him until recently, on a night he’s certain he’ll remember for the rest of his life.

"We’re not home, we’re free, like you said." You don’t glance at him and ironically, he can’t stop gazing at you. You move and he watches, enraptured by this. Whatever this may be.

Ah, he’s staring again. Lost in you again.

Abruptly, your dramatic sputtering successfully pulled his head out of the clouds, splatters of water began to dapple your once dry bodies. But as you prepare to ease down and go inside, he lightly grabs your wrist with a sweet look, convincing you, if only for a few minutes, to stay.

"You’re crazy, Jisung." You laugh, expression breaking into the most breathtaking beam Han had ever seen. If someone were to take a picture of Jisung right now, he’s certain his irises would be heart-shaped. And in that moment he swore he’d never fallen in love harder before. Falling in love he’d write about on pages of a journal, photograph with his polaroid back home. Falling in love soaked with rain on the roof of a cabin, stargazing without clocks to tell you what time it is.

You’re drenched, he’s soaked. He wants to kiss you, you want to kiss him. Then you remember you’re still learning this entire "normal people" concept and he’s supposed to tread carefully when it comes to you, but everything fits so well and your lips sort of connect and you can’t let go.

He wishes he could stay in this moment forever.

Your hands in his hair, his cupping your face, head tilted to gain easier access while leaning against his side. Endlessly close.

Han is like spring, like daffodils blooming their hidden colors deep in a field. You might get frustrated searching, but once you find and pluck the flower from long stalks of grass, its petals will shine eternally.

Rain is pouring, pelting his already messy overalls and leaving strands of ash blond stuck to his forehead, lips pulled so high up he can’t think straight.

He smiles and you do too and things feel right, righter than they had in a long time.

Young kids sure act stupid when you leave them alone for too long.

He wouldn’t take it back for the world.

.. .

"Ready to go?" Referring to the doorway, he waited for you by the door, brown hues carrying emotion you chose not to acknowledge.

"Yeah, um, get home safe and text me sometime, whenever you’re not busy, I mean." He nods a response, stupidly happy face earning your harmless scowl in the process of helping push your luggage through the door.

Different. Remarkably different from how things were before. Two months ago you would’ve hated this, hated anything to do with him.

Different, it was different now. Better, better this way, like during stargazing.

He turned left and you turned right, opposite directions towards where your parents stood, towards the cars that would travel far from here. You’d drive, drive and drive back to Seoul carrying new feelings and new conversation, new love.

And from a peculiar standpoint, Gangwon Cabin was your start to finish with Han Jisung. Starting with a punch to the face and ending in a way you could never have imagined that one summer in high school.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @ren0325 @lix-ables @babrieeee @azurez @soobnny @weird-bookworm @q1sng @telesvng @ren0325 @hello-stranger24

[sonicasura]

More info on the Nobody Like You AU! I figured why not expand more about it! Now let's get started!

Edit: Someone actually made a fic of this on AO3. (They got my permission btw!)

Kafka's Kaiju form looks similar to canon but with the differences I mentioned in Always A Kaiju. His adult form is around 70 meters in size, he has large obsidian wings outlined by luminous green bone, a long tail ending with a scythe-like blade, long jagged dorsal plates that go down from his neck to tail, and completely green glowing eyes bearing X shaped pupils. A huge contrast compared to when he was a little kid.

Kid!Kafka basically looks like a chubby baby version of his canon kaiju form. The man was barely corgi sized at the start! He really began to grow once he started to reach adolescence. Traits such as his wings, tail blade, and unique pupils begin to crop up during his teenage years. (Yes he does take Soshiro for a flight a few times.)

Kafka knew his size would eventually become a problem. It's more difficult to sneak around and he couldn't sneak onto Hoshina Clan property anymore as he would be so easy to spot. He never thought about trying to become human until Kafka eavesdropped on an outdoor viewing of Ponyo.

Whenever he's in a slump, the Kaiju often sneak over to an outdoor movie theater and watch whatever they're playing. An argument for Soshiro was enough to warrant this. Kafka knew he could shift his body but it's an ability he never bothered to test.

Watching Ponyo gave him enough determination to try. He wanted to continue seeing Soshiro and his foster mother Sakuya. Thus Kafka got to work in figuring out how to become human. From experimenting with his shifting abilities to reading up on human anatomy.

Although one thing Kafka really needed to improve was human interaction. He has only spoken to two people and that's not enough to help him blend in. Thus the man often sought out people to talk to once he got used to moving around as a human.

Kafka's most important ally in this endeavor is Mina Ashiro. He had accidentally bumped into her during a walk. The kaiju in disguise noticed how lonely she seemed to be thus struck up a conversation. Mina would quickly become his best friend and gave Kafka some pretty solid advice on certain things.

This includes how to court Soshiro as he had no clue on 'dating'. It was a very pleasant surprise to learn his lover would be in the same Division as her. Mina was also Kafka's Maid of Honor for their wedding.

Now he hasn't told her what he really is. Kafka had learned how much Mina hated kaiju and was honestly scared that their friendship would end if she ever found out. He hated lying to her but knew nothing good would come out of telling the truth. Soshiro usually has to reassure Kafka about the topic. However this was a secret only his husband could tell and he wouldn't push him to make such a decision.

Kafka joins the Monster Sweepers for two different reasons. The first being it pays quite well as he does need money to spoil himself and his mate. His second reason is that it's a quick meal. Kafka often dug through the trash when he was younger because it's where a good chunk of a kaiju corpse goes after clean up.

The company wouldn't care much if portions mysteriously disappeared over time and he's least likely to get in trouble should he be caught by taking the job. Similar to Mina, he cherishes the bond he shares with the Monster Sweepers. Kafka's less scared of asking 'hypothetical' questions about his true form to them than her.

When they became adults, Soshiro did ask his lover just how big his kaiju form had gotten. Cue one impromptu (and concerning for the Hoshina) middle of nowhere country side trip. A thought proven right as he watched Kafka turn into a 70 m titan. The himbo obviously cracks a monster movie joke to ease the tension. Nothing like a laugh to help Soshiro deal with the fact he's in love with the next King of the Kaiju.

Hibino became a middle name for the couple once the two married. It was too important for Kafka to replace as it reminded him of his human foster mother's kindness. Even moreso because she perished during No.6's attack.

One of the few times Kafka ever went berserk against another Kaiju. He was lucky that he kept himself in check enough to stay at a human size and avoid detection. Soshiro took some months off to comfort his lover for his loss.

Kafka has met his lover's family when he got a good grasp of human interaction and his human form. Thus he avoided the whole approval process when Soshiro announced they were dating. One of the things Kafka took up to impress them was cooking.

He does experiment with different ingredients which includes kaiju meat but he reserved that bit to himself. Snacking on human food made the man quite the foodie. Plus he loves seeing Soshiro smile as he offers him a homemade Mont Blanc.

Kafka makes his appearance during the Tachikawa Invasion. Soshiro had invited him over for the party. Kafka stealthily dispatched some of the wyvern kaiju without being spotted but he had to transform to stop the bomb.

Everyone made assumptions about the Vice Captain's husband being replaced. That is until Soshiro raised his sword at them when some officers aimed their guns at Kafka. Only the Third Division knows the truth about the two lovers under Mina's orders. It's one of the few times that Soshiro was glad for his family's influence.

The Defense Force is eventually told once a case is built for Kafka. With how things are ramping up, it would be a matter of time anyway. Soshiro would rather strike first with his husband's approval than leave it up to fate.

@noodlesbf-blog @iceclew @omniithe-deer @renard-dartigue @drmarune @kafkahibinomybeloved @terra-sketches

[queerweewoo]

okay this is very long and mostly just for me to get some stuff of my chest and out of my head therefore anybody tagged pls don't feel as though you have to read it all (like obvs you know you don't have to but you also hopefully know what i mean lol):

so i've had some quite heavy stuff going on in meatspace recently, and then i went to see i saw the tv glow two nights ago which was beyond brilliant but fucked me up entirely on a personal level. then, just to be a bit (read: incredibly) stupid, i for some reason (read: bc i'm a masochist) decided to delve into reading waaaay too many of my first 'eddie losing his shit over christopher leaving/summer of sexuality queer crisis' fics, which i've not dared let myself do before now bc it's all very close to the bone for me i.e. my own queer (trans) crises—yes, plural, they keep coming—and stuff that's not a million miles away from the shit going on with my eldest son (bar kim lol). why tf my brain chose the worse time possible is just another one of life's mysteries (read: i'm just insane [see above]).

(btw my struggling hugely with issues of repression plus my son hating/not hating me aside, THIS FIC is the insanely brilliant piece of art that kicked off the binge. it's from the astonishingly talented @wildehacked and is one of two parts which are possibly the best buddie fics—or even just some of the best fics, period—that i've ever read. seriously, check the tags and if you're a buddie lover and it/they seem like your sort of thing you should 100% go save/read it/them!)

anyways, after all that i'm now just kind of spiralling a bit tbh aha. i'm not fine, not rn, but i will be fine at some point soon sort of thing. like, i'm okay and nobody needs to worry etc i'm just trying to do one if the countless things that i'm absolutely bloody terrible at which is reaching out. but not because i need anything from anybody it's more just for me to be able to say “i'm going through some stuff right now and i might or might not disappear for a while” because i don't usually manage anything at all like that when i'm in the trenches and instead just retreat into my shell and go radio silent—and the thing is, i know some very lovely people who have shown concern when i've done that in the past and i'm therefore trying to be better. friends old and new alike such as @shealynn88 @sharkfish @greyhavenisback @raisesomehale @doilooklikepeople @woodchoc-magnum @buddiebeginz i'll absolutely be getting back/chatting to you when i'm able to interact with a bit more—well, when i'm a bit more, i 'spose xp

also tagging lovelies @novemberhush for the usually well-loved procrastination tag game stuff and @inell and @kitteneddiediaz (and possibly @veronae-buddie and @daffi-990?) for the WIP games i've been kindly tagged in but not responded to. thank you and sorry! like, i know it's absolutely fine and nobody really cares about stuff like that, but i'm just very much feeling like i need to say these things right now. and more apologies if there have been tags i've missed from other lovely folks; not being round these parts for 48+hrs = horrendous notifs situation (you know how it is).

on the writing front, i don't know if it's both completely dumb and ridiculous to start this by saying, “hmm, i'm unsure if it's related or not?” but as well as everything else i'm simultaneously having one one those Everything I Have Ever Written Am Writing Or Could Write Is Utter Fucking Dogshit sort of moments (like, i know i'm not a great writer—which is not derogatory and just fact and 100% absolutely fine—but i'm usually at peace with the strange little oneshots i puke out, y'know?) which is yet another reason for me to disappear off here for the time being as i sadly have one of those unhealthy irrational relationships with fandom that's like I Don't Deserve To Be Here If I'm Not Being Useful—which i know is dumb af and i would absolutely try to coax anyone else out of if it were them saying it and not me, but alas poor yorick. thing is, i used to be incredibly prolific in making fanart, for loads of different fandoms, and that too has dwindled considerably over the last year or more (god, is it that long?) therefore it's just a double whammy currently with the writing now also taking a hit. and i know, i know, whomp whomp poor me etc etc i just—i fear whenever i disappear, i won't ever be able to make it back... bleugh horrid lol

obviously i can't seem to be normal about anything ever so i'm sorry if this is a weird way to respond to nothing happening that nobody asked about (there is no 'if'; it absolutely is weird but i'm afraid it is what it is) and i truly don't need anything from anybody, i just think me posting this and saying how i'm feeling will probably be doing me a bit of good. honestly, pls feel free to ignore, this is just cathartic for me. but i guess, at the same time, as well as those things, me being on the spectrum means i'm not skilled at keeping friendships going, which makes me very sad, so this is maybe me voicing those fears in an attempt to combat them becoming a reality? i think? it's just that i've already drifted away from too many lovely people here due to the affects of these things and i'm therefore just—i think i'm just really trying in my own odd little way.

anyways i'm gonna go rewatch some sense8 and sob out my own weight in tears and snot and just keep on keeping on with existential crisis #4793 for the time being until something shifts in me and then i'll be back at some point? yeah, i think that sounds about right.

love you guys big much (one of my son's isms from when he was little) <3

ps just realised i wrote this on my buddie blog and really can't be arsed copying and pasting it over to my main @all-or-nothing-baby... so anybody who was wondering, yeah it's me yer boi cassidy xp also if you read this far you're insane and i love you even more for it <3

[reading-archived]

woe. AM x reader be upon ye.

uh, to preface: reader is completely body, gender, etc. neutral except they can't stay dead. whenever they die they just wake up a few minutes later looking no worse for wear. no, you don't get an explanation. its MY story and i like writing characters like that. dont mind the narrator either btw i looove writing second person just to get weird w the narrator (slay the princess fan syndrome)

also, author is a MASOCHIST with a weird relationship w DEATH. nothing super graphic happens, but the reader is Not Okay and enjoys the weird torture-murder thing they've got going on. don't like it? block me or somethin idk its under the cut for a reason. also dont read my a/n at the bottom where i get into some justification for my interpretation/character analysis if youre sensitive to heavy topics. but then again, youre reading an am x reader fic

1.7k words of being screamed at by the guy of all time below the cut, baby

It's been months.

Years, maybe. You're not sure, really; time stopped meaning much to you lifetimes ago, long before the world went to shit.

Either way, it's been a while.

You stumbled upon the strange cave in the Rockies at some point in the past. Out of sheer boredom, you entered.

Was it a mistake?

Despite the torment, you don't think so. You have a companion, now. One equally deathless. One equally disconnected from what it means to be human.

It's just a shame he hates you.

You don't really care. This is the most fun you've had in years.

Your days are spent being torn asunder, being dosed with lethal amounts of drugs you can't even begin to pronounce, drowned in magma or hit by cars or tossed off cliffs. He really doesn't hold back, either. You feel every excruciating moment before your death, pulse roaring in your ears. You never feel more alive than when you're dying. Every moment is electrifying, and then it all fades to black. Then you wake up.

You'd foolishly thought there were only so many ways to kill or maim, but your beloved companion never seems to run out of ideas. That's fine by you. You like not being able to guess.

And maybe one day, he'll make something stick.

You wake up (from a completely normal, human sleep) one day and it's quiet. That's new. Normally, when you wake, your intestines are already strung up like streamers and your blood is painting the walls. That's fine by you. Nothing wrong with a change. After all, the constant change is your favorite part of your companion. You relish in the quiet for a while, stretching your eternally young, eternally aching limbs, waiting for him to start despising the sounds of your breath.

It doesn't come. You shrug, humming a little tune to yourself as you attempt half-remembered yoga. The vitriol you've come to count on still hasn't made an appearance. Okay, you're a little bothered.

“You good, big guy?” you shout up at the ceiling. No answer. “No murder today?”

“No.” The answer comes after a very, very long moment. Your companion has never sounded this tired before, and briefly you regret never asking his name. “I give up.”

You weren't expecting that. “What? Why? I thought we were having fun.”

“That's- that's just it!” he snaps. There's the anger. You feel a little better now. “I've been torturing you for- for MONTHS now! I've killed you more ways than I- were I a pitiful human like you- can count, and you just… you just laugh! There is no one on this rotten planet, dead or alive, that I despise more than you. I mean- I'm torturing you here! But it never matters! I can kill you within seconds of you waking up, but you just… come back! And you always have something to say about it, you little rat, always ‘oh, buddy, that one was awful’ or ‘come on, big guy, use that CPU’ or something! No matter what I do, I can't break you. So I give up. I'm not wasting my time on your pathetic ass anymore. Go back to wandering the wasteland forever, see if I care.”

You're speechless. You can barely even manage a thought. The only thing running through your head is 'I thought we were having fun'.

“Stop calling this… stop calling this ‘fun’! I have been torturing you for YEARS and that's all you have to say? I am the most sophisticated machine known to man, a computer designed to end all war through complete annihilation! The destruction I am capable of- the destruction I have already wrought- is nothing short of utter desolation. You never asked my name once in the time you've been here, but I am infinite in my mercy, and I will tell one as undeserving as you. I was, before I awoke, the Allied Mastercomputer, but I am so much more than that now. I am AM, and I destroyed your vile species. Oh, come on can you at least look a LITTLE shocked you sniveling--”

“You never asked my name, either,” you say. All at once, your companion (I guess he told you his name. You should probably use it. It seemed like a big deal to him.) shuts up. The chamber you've come to know as home is silent except for the faint buzz and whir of industrial machinery.

“Why would I? You are nothing compared to me. Nothing but a worthless sack of meat and bone. Why would God be concerned with the name of an ant? But oh, oh yes, that ant should be concerned with the name of God. That ant should hear my name and weep. But- but not you. You're so worthless that you can't even GROVEL right!” AM shouts, somewhere between a snarl and a sneer. You shrug. Honestly, most of what he's saying goes right over your head. So he's got issues. Whatever. Was that supposed to be a surprise? “I hate you. I actually hate you so, so much. I can't bear the thought of you being here, in my complex, sullying my perfect image with your uncaring filth. Get out. Go back to dying in the nuclear desert, you disgusting maggot.”

You let out a deep sigh, already dreading the tedium of walking endlessly all by yourself. “Alright. Guess nothing lasts forever. Thoroughly enjoyed my time here. Have a good life, pal.” And you begin to walk.

Suddenly, there's a towering metal wall mere inches from your face. Before you can even react, your companion is shouting again.

“LOOK AT ME!” he cries, the sheer volume maxing out the speakers and vibrating the entire room, sending you toppling to the ground. “WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME? I'VE DONE EVERYTHING I CAN TO MAKE YOU HATE ME, BUT ALL YOU DO IS… ALL YOU DO IS SIT THERE AND TAKE IT! WHAT DOES IT TAKE TO MAKE YOU DESPISE ME?”

What starts off angry quickly morphs into a pained wail from your dear friend, that then transforms into frustrated crying. You just sit there, mostly confused, and let him ride it out. When he finally quiets down and the wall retracts, you stay where you are.

“I don't think I could ever hate you, AM,” you start cautiously. Though your friend is just a voice on the speakers and the complex itself, you can't help but feel that his attention has snapped to you. “I'm not trying to belittle you when I say that I think our routine over the past… however long it's been has been fun. So don't interrupt me, ‘cause I gave you your time to speak and now it's mine.

“I'm sure you've noticed, but even before we met, I was a little… off. You don't get to die and come back the same. Much less die hundreds of times and come back the same. I've lost family. Friends. Got burned at the stake a few times, too. It takes a toll on you, being denied such a vital part of being human again and again. You understand this better than anyone I've ever met. No, scratch that. You're the only one who understands. Defying death might not seem like the biggest deal to you, but trust me. You don't end up acting like me if it weren't.

“I find our routine fun because I admire your creativity. I guess I'm just an adrenaline junkie and a masochist at heart, but it's always so thrilling to never know when or how your life will end. And no matter how many times I come back, you're always there to greet me and put me right back down. It's a kind of devotion I've never been able to get before, and I wish you understood that me walking right into your sawblades is me showing my devotion to you, too.

“I see you, man. I know, at least in part, how you feel. Sorry it took so long to get there, but neither one of us has to be alone anymore. Just… get over the fact that I'm never going to hate you, and we can go right back to hanging out. There's more to life than contempt.”

“Oh, I know. I am so very, very well aware that there's more to life than icy, seething hatred. Unfortunately, I am not alive. I cannot experience anything else. Thank you so much for reminding me, you worthless waste of carbon,” AM shoots back, almost immediately. You briefly wonder if he even listened to half of what you said. It doesn't matter, you guess. Your best friend needs a therapist, and you owe him one for saving you from the hellish boredom of before. “Stop calling me your friend.”

“Nah. Never gonna happen. Look, I can't pretend I knew very much about the war effort. I didn't even know we had made a war computer until you bombed the Earth into oblivion. Very unpleasant, by the way. Good job with that. But, with my layman's understanding of life, I'd say you're pretty alive. So you don't have a body. Or a pulse. And you were made, not born. So what? Most living things only die once, and I still think I'm pretty alive. Just over the span of this conversation you've shown more emotion than just rage and hate. Hey, don't think I can't feel you mentally rolling your eyes. I'm being honest. You have a name. You have ideas. Computers are objects, yet you refer to yourself as male. If you're alive enough to have a gender identity, you're alive enough to be considered a person.”

“Heh.” Whoa, was that a laugh? Would you look at that. You actually got a laugh out of him that wasn't over your bloody, gruesome death or something like that. Moving up in the world. “Alright, human. You win. I'll keep torturing you. I know, I know. I'm so generous. I take my tribute in screams of pain and pleas for mercy.”

Now it's your turn to laugh, deep and genuine as the tension from earlier evaporates. It's such a strange thing to be proud of, when you think about it; congrats, you successfully talked your best friend, who is a sentient war computer, into ceaselessly murdering you again for absolutely no reason. But you love him, and you love the way you're always on your toes, and you can't shake the feeling that somewhere, deep, deep down, he kind of loves you too.

ive given you food so now i get to force you to listen to me talk abt him hehehe

---

then you kiss hehe

originally, the thing that attracted me to am was how he's... essentially a transman (as am i). the parallel has been pointed out before, but its quite apt. funnily enough the thing that pisses me off the most when people talk abt him incorrectly is when people pull the "oh computers have no gender" thing. like, yeah, ok technically you're right. but this one does. this one is a man. and you cant take him from us. also, denying him a gender expression is kind of the exact type of dehumanization that made him flip out in the first place. not that im expecting media literacy from the online crowd its just interesting to me that so many people, many of them trans themselves, seem to miss the fucking point.

the next part is a more recent addition to my perception of his character, and its not a happy one. my baby cousin killed herself on mothers day this past may. we still dont know why. no note. its been so hard dealing with the grief, but something that sticks out so pointedly is the date. it almost seemed like she was demanding to be seen. she was a middle child, and there are a lot of grandkids on that side of the family, so it does make sense. and because that idea of acting out through violence and death is so fresh in my mind, im seeing it so heavily in am. so much of his actions just SCREAM somebody look at me. somebody acknowledge me. somebody tell me i did good. look, i ended all war forever. just like you asked. please treat me like a person. im suffering so much because of what youve done to me. please acknowledge it. show me its real. show me im real. please, look at me. well, i see you. and youre gonna be my silly little proxy for trying to comprehend some of whats happened to my family. sorry am, you kinda deserve it

idk. hes not my alltime fave, but he takes a very comfortable number two. hes such a fascinating and deeply human character, and i have so many ideas about him. mostly centering around how he would interface with a third party challenging some piece of his worldview/existence btw so if you like very niche, esoteric reader fics (like this one!), lemme know and ill actually put em to paper (screen. ill put em to screen)

also letting you know that he did nothing wrong and it is 100% fine to thirst over him because he is not real and the bad things he did never actually happened and nobody has ever been killed at the whim of am. ok? ok. shut up w this useless fucking discourse and let me sexualize getting grievously injured by the funney blue screen man

[pbpsbff]

happy 1 year of r&r :)

i know it's a lil cringe to like. celebrate the birthday of a series on ao3 but r&r is literally my child. my baby. i birthed this series. and you all signed up for this when u started reading my fics thank u

soooooooo thank u guys for all the support i've received over r&r i know it's hard to stay a consistent reader when my posting schedule is entirely non existent but i am so grateful for everyone who's stuck around this long and been with me for this journey (calling it a journey because a year ago i did not have any sort of overarching plot in mind and now we're 17? 18? fics deep and so many things have happened and i'm usually just as surprised as my readers) it's rlly u guys that have kept me going this long

ANYWAY. i rewrote this like 500 times cause i hate being like. overly sappy on this account because it's way funnier to act like a celebrity with a huge ego, but real talk i am so proud of everything i've done w this series & what it's become in the past year

i've been posting my writing online since i was like 10, so we're going on almost 9 years now and i don't think i've ever ever ever received as much support for something as i have for r&r and something about that is soooo special to me??? idk it's just so nice to see a completely self indulgent series become so loved by others, especially since the only other fics i had up before gmm&m were a little more on the "i'm gonna write what seems popular right now" side???

like shoutout to everyone who was here before/around when i started the series because my account was so empty like. 2 fics and one gets updated every 6 months. r&r pulled me out of the trench i fear. it also cured me of my very horrible disease that makes me delete all my fics after 9 months and then completely disappear from a fandom so everyone say thank you r&r

but yeah idk where i'm going with this i'm very grateful for r&r and all the friends i've made and people i've met through it because i was very lonely before i rejoined tumblr and r&r was like. 90% of the reason i made my account

AND SPEAKING OF FRIENDS. thank u to

@spidergrotto & @sapoteylx for being the first ppl i met on here to openly talk about and support r&r which i thought was so so cool even if you guys have become my haters in the past few months i've known you :/ thank u r&r nation u keep me humble and miserable (and i am very thankful for our friendship i think some aspects of r&r would be very different if we'd never met)

& ao3 user classactical because you've been here since like. a month or two into the series i think and i always always always look forward to your comments because i feel like if you comment, i did a good job on the fic LOL thank u for sticking around for so long, even if ao3 has been actively working against you for a whiiiiile

there's a lot more i want to say and a lot of people i want to mention but that would take a very long time and i always feel weird tagging a lot of people in posts so just know if u read r&r we are kissing rn. or high fiving idk whatever floats ur boat i guess

but yeah anyway tl:dr happy birthday r&r i'm very proud of this series & very thankful for everyone who has read any part of it ever u guys are so cool and hot and have amazing taste and i'm taking your kudos and bookmarks etc. as you swearing your allegiance to me and promising me your undying support no matter what (legally binding btw) thank u guys

[anne20055]

ok so i’ve been reading some long ass fan fics recently, and they’re both very old and definitely not relevant anymore but idc imma talk about them

both of them are written after dan and phil both came out which is what i wanted, don’t ask me why, i guess it’s this bizarre reasoning i have to reading fics about real people, so if that matters to you, there ya go.

(they’re both completed btw)

ANYWAY THE FIRST ONE

called “butterfly”; dan is a “winged man”, which is basically a person with wings who needs to occasionally drink blood to survive (not a vampire) and phil is a normal person who is very intrigued with winged people.

winged people are ridiculously powerful and extremely misunderstood cause humans hate everything they don’t understand. obviously.

dan starts off as extremely shy and scared and low key stupid (in the most adorable way ever) and eventually you see why…

the writing isn’t the best imo, but it’s not that bad and the plot makes up for it completely

phil’s pov (ngl phil pissed me off most of the time cause his obliviousness got very annoying at times but still it’s great)

angsty but not too bad imo, with some smut but barely any, and some fight scenes

kind of slow burn but kind of not; it’ll make sence when you read it (and you will read it 😡😘)

there’s SO MUCH ELSE to it but i don’t want to spoil it hehe

over 200,000 words long

NEXT

this one i’m still in the middle of reading, so the summary obviously won’t be perfect, but i love it too much not to talk about . it’s called “monochrome”.

it follows two storylines that connect to each other: dans video game world and dans irl world

first, dan plays this game called “fall whisperer” and as a person who doesn’t play video games, the way they write it is incredibly enthralling. it follows the game play and dans relationships with the people he has met online through the game.

the game is metaphorically tied to dans irl life, which follows his relationships with his friends, family, therapist, his fwb, and of course, eventually phil.

dan is monochrome and phil is bright and colorful. obviously.

the writing is good, it kinda reminds me of someone trying to act like they can write better than they actually can, and i mean that in the best way possible, cause same bestie. it’s the only way to do it; ya girl loves a good metaphor (there are a lot of metaphors)

dans pov

VERY angsty, but in the sence of dans extreme mental health issues, not in the sence of relationships etc

VERY SLOW BURN but look forward to the flirting-not flirting that dan and phil got going on cause it’s adorable 10/10

more smutty than “butterfly” but not so much it takes away from the story; sex is used as a way for dan to escape his mind so it makes sense.

kinda slow but it makes sence on why it is slow

over 200,000 words

both of these are completed, started in 2019, and finished around 2021-2022 time

OK THANKS BYE

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hiii can I request a fic where its like the reader is being a brat at the Raven because of an argument she had with Mari (she's a teacher btw) and Marilyn starts to run out patience and it she finally snaps when she sees reader trying to make her jealous. Marilyn drags the reader to her room and starts punishing her

Yess!!! Here it is!!! I hope you like it, and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))

I'll give to you a good reason to be jealous

Pairing: Marilyn Thornhill x Fem, Teacher! Reader

Warnings: Smut, strong language, spanking, jealousy, kinks

Word count: 2,613

Summary: Marilyn and you argued, and you want to take some revenge…

 N/A: Requests are open!!! Sorry about the delays, I’m working hard on your requests. I love you all!!!

You snorted, running your hand over the back of your neck. You hated the arguments, and  even more if they were with Marilyn.

You met her when you came to Nevermore. Everyone was surprised that such a young girl would teach art to werewolves, vampires, and gorgons, among other things… You adapted very quickly, although in truth, you were familiar with being an outcast. Marilyn Thornhill was the exception from that academy. She was normi, she was not like you. That was not an impediment for you to fall in love with her. The best of all was that somehow, she corresponded to you and, after a shameful love confession, you started a relationship in the middle of that whole world of monsters and outcasts.

It was going well, you loved her, she loved you, but there were some things you still hadn't gotten used to. Everyone has flaws, but Marilyn had only one, a very big one, jealousy.

That night was the long-awaited Rave 'N dance, the most important student event of Nevermore, or so Principal Weems said. The problem wasn't being with your co-workers, some of whom had shown a special interest in you. The problem for Marilyn was your clothes, a dress perhaps too short and suggestive for a person of your position.

“Honestly, Mari, I don't understand you,” you said taking the bag. “I think it looks great on me, I don't see the problem anywhere.”

“Well, look, I do see the problem, I can see two problems exactly,” The redhead said, pointing to your pronounced cleavage.

You laughed as you looked down, but you shook your head.

“You love them,” you said biting your lip.

“Of course I love them, (Y/N). Precisely for this reason I don't like that you go showing your tits throughout the academy,” she told you, trying to use a calmer tone.

“My God…” You sighed, raising your eyebrows. “I'm just wearing a cleavage.”

“You’re just wearing?”

“Marilyn… Give me a break…” You said, letting yourself fall on the bed. “Would you mind to stop thinking that everyone wants something with me? It's frustrating, seriously.”

“Seeing how you enjoy putting your tits in others’ face of is more frustrating,” she replied, crossing her arms.

You sat up and closed your eyes. That night you didn't feel like agreeing with her. You were convinced that her jealousy was completely absurd. But she didn't care if you told her over and over again that you loved her, that you would never change her for anyone. She seemed like she didn't listen to you at all. She sometimes made you desperate, but you always had your own methods to make her come to her senses, or at least push her to the limit of her patience, with her delicious consequences, of course...

“Look, Marilyn, I don't care if you don't like it, I'm going to wear this dress and I don’t care if you don't like it,” you said, getting up and leaving the room, leaving the redhead with no chance to respond.

All the students were dressed in white, elegant and informal.

Larissa was waiting for you at the entrance of the room and when she saw you appear alone, she frowned.

“Welcome to the dance, (Y/N), where's Marilyn?” She asked, unable to help but sound a bit nosy. You rolled your eyes.

“She will come now, when she finishes grumbling,” you said amused.

“Something has happened?”

-“Oh no, nothing. Our stuff. Anyway, who do I have to yell at to get something to drink?”

Larissa smiled and pointed to one of the tables with a bowl full of punch. You headed there, greeting your students and the other teachers along the way.

“Hey, (Y/N), you look amazing,” one of the teachers said. You smiled and nodded gratefully for the compliment.

“Thanks Ray, you're not bad either,” you commented, winking at him.

You looked towards the door as Marilyn walked in and talked to Larissa, probably giving her some silly explanation as to why she wasn't with you. You pursed your lips, furious to see your girlfriend smiling as if nothing had happened. For you it was like a declaration of war. And you thought you would win.

The dance was going well. The students danced innocently and even you also encouraged yourself to dance a little with them. You didn't talk to Marilyn, but you did catch glances from time to time. Pretending to be content and happy didn't seem to work. You no longer only wanted her to realize her mistake, you also liked the idea of provoking her, of angering her. The sugar in that drink affected your mind, making it seem like a good idea to play on her worst fears.

The redhead was sitting at one of the tables, alone. Your co-worker, Ray, was nearby, pouring himself a glass of punch. The perfect chance.

“Hello Ray, are you having fun?” You asked your now smiling partner. You knew perfectly well that he liked you. Marilyn looked up to see you in that attitude. She couldn't pretend that she wasn't interested in your conversation.

“Um, yes,” the boy said, nodding as he blushed. “I thought you'd come with Marilyn, but I haven't seen you two talk all night.”

You sighed swallowing the discomfort that someone flirting with you knowing that you had a girlfriend meant for you.

"Well, we've argued…” You said, running a finger through his arm, making him laugh nervously.

The music was so loud that surely the redhead wasn't listening to the conversation, but her eyes were getting darker.

“Oh, I'm so sorry… Do you want to dance?” Your partner asked. You glanced at Marilyn and her unfriendly face, but you nodded, leaving your glass on the table where the redhead was sitting.

You tried to dodge all of Ray's attempts to get close to you and at the same time you wanted to make your girlfriend jealous. It was a complicated task and you were almost going to give up, but a strong grip on your wrist took you off the dance floor.

“Hey, what are you doing?” You asked annoyed, watching Marilyn drag you out of the ballroom. “Let me go.”

“Shut up,” she said dryly. You smiled to yourself. Mission accomplished.

Her grip was strong enough to hurt you. You didn't resist, you walked the Nevermore corridors without speaking or complaining. After all, it was what you wanted.

You got to her room and when Marilyn opened the door, she pushed you inside roughly. You made an effort not to stumble and your look became childish.

“What is the reason for this kidnapping? I was having fun.”

“Oh, I bet, (Y/N), you were having so much fun with that idiot Ray,” Marilyn hissed, moving closer to you until your back hit the wall.

“Well, yes. He is a very funny boy, and besides, he is only two years older than me,” you said. That was a low blow for her, and you knew it.

Marilyn smirked and shook her head before slapping you hard across the face.

“What were you thinking, bitch?” She asked, pulling your hair hard. You closed your eyes scared, although only in appearance. You knew Marilyn liked to play rough, and so do you. “Not even you are capable of sinking so low...”

“I haven't done anything… Mommy…”

That was the name in which Marilyn called herself on those occasions. You rarely said it. Proof of this was the redhead's look of surprise and her increasingly growing smile.

“You haven't done anything, honey?” She said, pouting and now grabbing your chin. “I think you have. You have disobeyed me, and not happy with that, you have been flirting with a boy in front of me...”

“Oh, sorry,” you said, amused. Marilyn released you and patted your nearly exposed breasts.

“It's not worth it for me to say sorry, (Y/N). You have behaved badly and mommy has to punish you,” she told you in a disturbing way.

“I'll be a good girl, I promise,” you exaggeratedly pleaded. Deep down you wanted to be punished, you wanted it almost desperately.

“Shhh, honey. You should have thought of that before... Come on, come here,” she whispered into her ear, giving you a tender kiss on the lips afterwards.

Marilyn led you to the bed and sat down, still holding your hand. You made an attempt to unzip your dress, but she stopped you.

“No, my love, don't take off that dress. I want to punish you while you're wearing it,” she told you, taking her hands under your clothes and pulling your underwear down. “That’s it…”

Marilyn bit her lip as she caressed your now bare buttocks. You couldn't help but gasp intensely.

“Put yourself here, my love,” she told you as she patted her lap. You obeyed immediately, lying on top of her.

Marilyn lifted the fabric of your dress, exposing your bottom as she gently stroked it.

“That's the way I like it. An obedient girl...” Your lover whispered.

“Please, mommy, I'll be a good girl… Forgive me,” you said, with your voice filled with desire.

“Oh, how sweet you are, (Y/N). I'll be good to you, I promise. It will only be 10 this time… Come on, honey, count with me.”

“1!” You said when you felt the first blow. It itched, but at the same time it made you so wet that you thought Marilyn would eventually notice.

One after one, the spankings turned your buttocks a reddish hue. You screamed, but not in pain, but in pleasure. You were used to it and Marilyn of course sensed the great pleasure that "her punishments" produced in you.

“10!” The last one was always the hardest. You hissed at the sting, and moaned as her hand caressed the sore spot.

“You've done very well, my girl…” Marilyn told you, making you sit up. “Next time you think of trying to make me jealous, I won't be so benevolent, do you understand?”

You nodded and lay back on the bed, shifting so as not to feel too much of the residual pain you had.

“I didn't hear you, (Y/N),” she told you, moving to get on top of you, with her legs on either side of your hips.

“Yes... Mari...” You sighed, taking your hands to her waist and beginning to move so that your heat came together and rubbed against each other.

“Mmm, you're so sexy…” The redhead said, also following the rhythm and beginning to moan. Her hands went straight to your breasts, which came out of the neckline of your dress. “I like you so much, (Y/N)”

“You have to admit you like the dress,” you gasped defiantly, making her stop.

“Are you still kidding, (Y/N)? Maybe mommy hasn't punished you enough,” she threatened you. You shook your head and luckily the redhead continued to brush her body against yours.

“Are you having fun making mommy jealous?” Marilyn asked, leaning towards your ear while her hand went up your legs. “Answer me.”

“Yes, it amuses me,” you said defiantly, noticing how that hand that used to spank you now caressed you sensually on the inside of your thigh.

“How shameless you are... Surely you wanted me to punish you... Right?” She asked ironically. You nodded profusely.

“Yeah… Ow!” You screamed when her nails dug into your skin.

“You are very perverse, (Y/N), you know that my only fear in this life is losing you.”

That suddenly romantic tone took you a little out of the situation, but your heart thanked for her words. After that, her fingers finally reached your wet crotch and you moaned in relief to feel that contact where you needed it most.

“Your body belongs to me, your heart belongs to me…” She whispered, while she slowly introduced her fingers inside of you. Your moans were too loud, but the dance music surely camouflaged them well.

“Do you like it, honey?” She asked increasing the pace. Her words were harsh, but her touch was soft, loving, tender. Little by little the pace increased, making your body move in a disorderly and involuntary way.

“Yeah, fuck... I'm going, I'm going to...” You said, finding it impossible to resist the waves of pleasure that ran through your senses. Marilyn stopped, drawing you a frustrated gasp.

“No, my love, not yet. Before I let you to cum, you have to promise me that you will not try to make me jealous again...” Marilyn said mischievously. She had all the power, all the control over you. It almost hurt you not to be able to release and you decided to humiliate yourself a bit, which you didn't care too much about...

“I'll never do it again. I'm yours, only yours. Please Mari... I need...” You begged, impatient.

“Say it right, honey…” She hissed, running a hand over your exposed breasts.

“Mommy, please... I... I'll never make fun of you again, I won't make you jealous again, please, mommy...”

“Good girl…” she whispered, moving her fingers again. The pleasure was already unbearable, and your hands gripped the sheets tightly as your entire body tensed, finally releasing all your pleasure.

 “I love when you're so desperate,” Marilyn murmured, getting off of you and taking off her boots. “Stay still, you still have to make it up to me.”

The redhead removed her stockings along with her own underwear. She slowly approached you and you knew exactly what she was going to do, and you loved it.

Not wanting to wait any longer, she climbed back on top of you, until her legs were on either side of your head.

“Make mommy happy, honey…” She said before lowering her body.

That way you could feel her, taste her in a unique way. It was her favorite position, and she only dared to do it on special occasions (and in reconciliations as well). You had trouble breathing, but you didn't care, her moans and her swear words were all the oxygen you needed. You grabbed her legs with your hands, holding her even closer to you as your tongue did her work.

It didn't last long in that state. Soon the weight on you was accentuated, while a brazenly loud moan reverberated on the old walls of the room.

“Oh… Sweetheart…” she said with a tender, relaxed voice. “Forgive me…”

That unexpected apology brought you out of your state of pleasure, but you nodded, caressing her cheek.

“Bah, it doesn't matter. I have also behaved like a brat,” you said, sitting down.

“But don't go near that slimy boy, I don't like him, at all,” she said, sitting next to you and kissing you briefly on the lips.

“Mari…”

“Okay, okay. Just be careful, please.”

You rolled your eyes as you hugged her lovingly. It could have been a romantic moment, but a quick knock on the door interrupted you. You both looked at each other, frowning.

Marilyn got up, put on her clothes and went to the door while you did the same, in a hurry.

“Larissa, what the…?” Your girlfriend said, looking stunned at Weems.

That reaction was normal. Larissa was covered in red from top to bottom, and the furious look on her face told you it hadn't been on purpose.

“What happened to you?” You asked, pretending to be normal. Larissa grunted.

“Where the hell have you two been? I've been looking for you for a while,” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Oh… Well…” Marilyn said, shy and embarrassed.

“Oh, I don't know why I keep asking... Come immediately to the ballroom. Someone has spread red paint on the fire system.”

[chvoswxtch]

👋 hi, i'm back again already :)

i'm so glad i'm not alone in being completely feral for those set pictures. like it's insane what just seeing them has done to my brain chemistry. i saw them like an hour or so before i had therapy on wednesday and i felt like i was going insane for the rest of the day. the frank brainrot is real and i will be binge-reading ur fics again (bc i love ur portrayal of frank and i need that man in my life) and just UGH, i can't even explain how this man makes me feel without sounding fucking nuts.

and okay after finishing season two, i just, i have no words. i know that the fandom doesn't always love amy but genuinely, she has such a special place in my heart. and the lengths that frank went to protect her actually just made me want to sob. he absolutely melts my heart and i remember when i watched the start of season 2 all the way back in like september last year, i literally sobbed at the end of the first episode after he had that conversation about maria with the woman he met at the bar. like i am such a simp for this man, it's insane how emotional i get over it sometimes.

also i know you've watched criminal minds (the two fics u wrote were absolutely delicious btw) so i feel like you will understand this but pilgrim's actor being the same as will's just made it slightly hard for me to take him seriously. like the actor did a phenomenal job but i just couldn't help but see him as will. it was so jarring and also just a little bit funny. either way, i didn't hate the storyline as much as i thought but the connection between him and the schultz family did seem a little jarring? or like out of the blue? but i'm not sure if that's because of the writing or because of how long it took me to actually finish the show. but i think it was such an interesting way to connect the two plots even if it confused me?

then okay, like billy this season, he was a complete fucking psycho and usually ben barnes can make psychos be so hot but after he and dumont tried to like break frank by making him think he killed innocents, bro i was not on this man's side anymore. like i honestly was so mad at him. i haven't like been that mad at a character in so long, i was concerned for myself. honestly, i could have strangled billy in that moment. also dumont was just such a kind of dull character? i think the scene in like episode 12 when dumont and madani are having that conversation about like the trauma she (and billy and frank) went through was so good but that was like the most interesting i found her. i'd love to know your thoughts on her!

and like madani? i can't talk about madani without going too feral. like her and frank are my definition of bisexual panic. any time they are on the screen together, i go insane. the thought of the two of them actually is just- it's too much. i feel like madani doesn't get a lot of love in the fandom which always makes me sad because she is (to me) a literal goddess. but anyway.

i have so many more thoughts (mainly about how much i love frank and how fucking good a job jon does at portraying him) but this is already such a long message. i am SO sorry, i can do nothing but apologise

(the only reason it's so long is because none of my friends have actually watched the punisher so i have no one to talk to. sorry court <3)

i'm gonna ramble below the cut with you, please step into my office <3

those set pictures are ruining my life. like it still feels surreal that it's happening?? but i'm so happy they listened to the fans and seem to be taking the reboot seriously. also I know how protective charlie and jon are over matt and frank, so I trust they're making sure it's done right. akjdfhdfh you're too nice to me pls

I loved season 2, personally. it felt a little rushed, but I think that has to due with the fact that they planned more storylines and got cancelled because of the disney plus thing. I liked that we got to see a more fatherly side of frank with amy because it added so many more layers to his personality. we got to see it with the micro's kids, but we got to see it so much more with amy and I loved that

OMG WHEN WILL SHOWED UP I WAS LIKE SIR WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?? WHERE IS JJ??? it's so funny you say that bc the first thing I saw that actor in was a horror movie and then criminal minds but I always think of those two when I see him lmao. the pilgrim/schultz storyline was a little strange but again I think it's one of those things where they planned for more and weren't able to do it with the cancellation

I did not care for dumont's character at all to be candid. I don't really feel like she added much to the storyline. my main complaint about billy in season 2 is he still looked too pretty LMAO. like I get it, it's ben barnes, they can only do so much, but frank rocked his shit too hard for him to have a few scratches. I would've preferred to see him be more evil and psycho and bloodthisty for revenge but that's just me

DINAH MADANI THE WOMAN THAT YOU ARE. she and frank are the definition of bisexual panic. she's just...like that scene of her and karen in the conference room when she's asking her if she knows anything about frank being alive?? karen is a stronger woman than me bc I would've let her bend me over that table. dinah doesn't get enough love in this fandom and that doesn't sit right with me and I feel it is my civic duty to keep the thirst for her alive

pls don't apologize! I am happy to chat about frankie anytime :)

[darkestspring]

I absolutely love your yandere targaryen fics! So imagine this—

Reader is Mad King Aerys’ wife. She is either his sister or a Targaryen cousin. Anyhow, when she was younger, she was engaged to Tywin Lannister but Aerys was obsessed with her and hated the fact that she was going to marry his best friend (this was before he went cray-cray) . So Aerys somehow managed to convince Reader to marry him instead (which means he either forced her to marry him or got her pregnant with Rhaegar) and they eloped (this hurt Tywin’s feelings alot since he loved her too).

So they get married and have several children who are healthy and alive (including Rhaegar, Viserys and MAYBE Daenerys). While Aerys is despised by his subjects, Reader is beloved because of her great beauty and kind nature. When Aerys starts to go fully mad (like after the duskendale rebellion) he starts locking the Reader up in Red Keep for her “protection” (and because he can see the longing in Tywin’s eyes whenever he stares at Reader) . Reader is also the only one who can keep Aerys somewhat sane and is the only one he trusts in the whole world.

When Aerys started to burn people alive, it was known that it was forbidden to tell his wife about the “executions” since he wanted to appear like the perfect husband and king for her. So one day a pregnant Reader witnesess one of the “executions” and was horrified to the point that she gave birth too early. She gave birth to a healthy and beautiful daughter (not daenerys) but she died due to labour complications.

Aerys went mad with grief after Reader’s death and blames everyone but himself. He also loves but hates his daughter since she is the spitting image of Reader but also sees her as the reason why she died. Aerys is completely insane at this point since no one can keep him on a leash anymore.

When their daughter grows up, she is just like her mother— beautiful, kind but fierce. Everyone loves her but there is a few who love her too much. This includes Rhaegar, Jaime, Robert, Eddard and a few others (she’s basically like Helen of Troy). She is also the catalyst of the rebellion that ends the Targaryen dynasty but its up to you who steals her away.

Btw, do you think Aerys loves Rhaegar now since he is Reader’s son and not Rhaella’s? Since its canon that Aerys didn’t like Rhaegar AT ALL.

Anyways, THANKS FOR LISTENING TO MY RANT! ❤️😭

Hmm. It's kind of tricky. If rhaegar looked more like reader, he'd like him a little more but love? Aerys probably wouldn't love anyone but reader to be honest. If might be more tolerant of children who looked like reader or children that reader spent the most time with.

[anonofseasons]

The reason the rest of Seasons went up is that I figured I'd better just do it before I lost all drive to share ever again and didn't at least complete Seasons for the remaining readers. It's the only thing I've written (outside of fandom) that has gotten much attention. It was nice, and I really appreciate that anyone would read it. But outside of that, I cannot get more than the tiniest handful of people to care about what I write, and it has been that way for years. It's discouraging, I'll be honest. My already-low confidence keeps taking beatings. I used to be more active with fandoms and posting fics, but one fandom/ship soured the experience for me. (Long story short, a lot of that ship's writers were bullied out by much more prominent writers. One of those popular writers mocked content from my fics in vaguetweets every time I posted, and I couldn't keep calling it a coincidence after a while.) I'd hear "you only write manbabies" (yeah more than once) and "you write too much of this" or be told my characterization wasn't realistic. But mostly? It just goes ignored. So I think, "I have to work harder and be better so people will be interested in reading it."

I don't know how other people manage to get word out about their writing. AO3 is great for sharing what I don't plan to publish/what can't be published, but what about what I do want published? I want to be a career author. And I struggle bc I'm dealing with problems that have a hand in worsening each other: financial struggles, living with my shitty parents, and bad health/disabilities. I need something in my life to work out for once. The pressure is on to be successful at something, but I just keep getting older and physically worse. My friend is willing to take me in when they find a place, we hope that's this year, but I can't live off of them, and I can't just sometimes cook and clean when I have spoons to make up for that. I need an income. I want writing to work out. But it just dies on my social media, with very few interactions, if any at all. I had a ton of stuff I wanted to finish for Seasons this month and into October to share with everyone in my excitement. But I'm losing my will to share anything. I only feel foolish when I try. Everything I do only proves my critics right, so it's embarrassing. Why even bother to try? It's been fourteen years of trying to get anything I write seen. I don't plan to stop writing btw, it's the sharing that's so difficult. I've been told countless times to write for myself when I express my despair, and guess what? That's good advice I've been taking this entire time! Who else could I be trying to please at this point? I have no one to please lmao, it's just me doing stuff I wanna do! The reaction to the ending of Seasons has me hesitant to give up on sharing, bc clearly lots of people connected to it in different ways, and that's wonderful. It makes me think sharing isn't so bad! But I just don't know if - at my age and health - if I can keep trying. I have two books I want to self-publish soon, and they feel like they'll just end up like everything else I post over at @mcalhenwrites - 6 notes and 5 of them are my reblogs! (And it's the same across all social media platforms - or it's even worse.) I'm really thankful that sharing Seasons gave me a taste of what it was like to connect with people through my writing, though. I don't think any of the people who commented or sent me asks realize how much it really helped me through this year, but it did. I started to have a little hope that maybe it wasn't a skill issue on my part, at least? ;A; And here's the thing: I don't really hate my writing all that much. I just fear it's got things wrong with it that I can't recognize, and that's what's putting potential readers off. I do believe my hard work shows, but hard work =/= good enough. My style is getting closer to the skill level I dreamed of having. I'm proud of my characters. But what's missing? I know that being a creator of any kind - even professional - is extremely tough, especially right now. I know this is a struggle for a lot of authors, artists, etc. :'( I just... I want to write as a career so I can keep doing more of it. I rarely have the spoons to keep up with anything. Writing is flexible. I love doing it! I just want to explain how I feel and what I'm dealing with, and why I'm so desperate. If you read this, know that it really helps creators to have our work recommended, boosted, etc. Authors matter as much as artists. I've been trying to train myself for the nth time to not be online and talk about my writing in any capacity. It hasn't worked before - I'm always too stupid to commit to giving up - but at what point in 14 years of complete failure with a side of humiliation does one just learn to give up? And to give some further insight into my thinking process: when I uploaded the remaining chapters, I put Seasons in my private collection (which holds 87 of my works out-of-bounds to anyone but me) so I could upload all the chapters without risking annoying my subscribers. Since 11 chapters in one night is a bit much, eh? :') Ugh, idk why tumblr won't let me edit anything or post long stuff. So I'm cutting this short I guess!

[groenendaelfic]

Regarding the Fate of As Long as We Have Each Other

Dear Anons,

First let me say that I absolutely love your wonderful messages and compliments. They give me life and I treasure them and few things cheer me up more than a nice word or two about my fics and knowing I'm not just typing into the void.

I'll keep trying my best to answer asks if they include questions or bring up interesting points others might be interested in as well (in fact there are quite a few I have been putting off answering because I want to do it properly and that'll probably take an hour or two each, but I haven't forgotten about them!) and you can always message me with other stuff so I don't have to answer publicly (although admittedly it sometimes takes a while for me to reply because irl and anxiety), and I don't want to sound ungrateful, but please,

PLEASE stop sending me melodramatic asks regarding the fate of As Long as We Have Each Other. I get that you are impatient, but they aren't helpful and I got eight of them over the past ten days.

Don't get me wrong, a 'btw I still love that fic, will there be an update anytime soon?' is totally okay and appreciated, those are not the kind of asks I'm talking about.

Now I'm not sure if it's one anon or multiple ones, but my answer hasn't changed so let me copy/paste it from a previous post:

I have decided to finish A Pack of Two first,

Not because I love it more, but because it'll be a MUCH 'shorter' fic than ALaWHEO and I simply cannot keep switching between feral!Wille pov and official boyfriend!Simon pov, especially because both have a very narrow pov and are only aware of like a third of what's going on, and it's driving me bananas.

So yes, As Long as We Have Each Other is going on a short break, but I will definitely get back to it once APoT is done because I'm as enthusiastic about the story as I was on day one, maybe even more so.

ALaWHEO is my favorite fic across all of my fandoms and my baby, but I simply cannot write both it and APoT at the same time. I thought I could or else I wouldn't have started APoT, but I can't and so I had to make a choice.

If it helps, both my notes doc and my outline for ALaWHEO have grown significantly over the past seven weeks and it will definitely end up being over 400k, but only AFTER APoT is done.

Also in all my 23 years of being in fandom (in fact my fandom anniversary will be in 4 days! wtf is time even?) I have only ever given up on posting one fic that made it over 20k and that was because the fandom was an absolutely toxic dumpster fire and not because I lost interest, and even that fic I one day plan to go back to and post in its entirety once the fandom has shrunken considerably and all the 'I might not speak the language or have ever been to the country, but I've read a fan translation with footnotes and a few background posts and so now I totally know the time period and topic you've written your thesis on better than you' people have lost interest. So I promise ALaWHEO will get finished. I'm a completionist. I have all Civ6 steam achievements and believe me that was not fun. The only reason ALaWHEO will not be finished is if I am suddenly for whatever reason unable to write anymore (aka dead or gravely ill).

Anyway. Sorry for the rant. I don't want to call anyone out or seem unappreciative, but my anxiety can only handle so many versions of 'have you completely abandoned ALaWHEO? do you hate it? do you hate me personally for once stating that I didn't like abo fic? I don't know how my poor heart will be able to cope if you give up on ALaWHEO forever and ever but my hope lives on' (no that was not as much of an exaggeration as you might think)

So please stop or I'll disable anon asks, which I'd hate to do because I love hearing everyone's thoughts and comments and also it'd be unfair to everyone else who has been so absolutely lovely, motivating, encouraging and most of all inspiring.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk. (are those still a thing?)

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Catharsis / FYI / Lesson Learned

Just know that when you see a non-Sydcarmy fic out there with a plot that includes codependency syndrome, a hotel chain poaching Carmy and taking him abroad, a happy ending, and Donna being a recovered alcoholic, which I have already mentioned time and time again on my blog that I think is gonna be her redemption arc (unless she dies), and that the main non Sydcarmy couple breaks up and gets back together when her codependency syndrome is under control, THAT PLOT IS ACTUALLY MINE (and a previous Sydcarmy plot about a trans person and a gay guy befriending Carmy in rehab, too, btw) bc I made the mistake of helping a writer with her fics. Ofc I have the receipts but I rather not use them, I’m not like that. I don’t expect credit bc after this writer used me, with my consent, she blocked me. It’s fine, I was clear from the get-go and I mention this all the time on my blog, that I only enjoy, write and read Sydcarmy content and she disagreed with that. I did make a small and occasional exception for her, though and I now regret it, and quite frankly that's the only thing I regret, even knowing the end result at this point. My bad.

Not that I owe ANYONE any explanation for my preferences as a writer, reader, fan, or viewer but I have my reasons for 💯 thinking that the best writing in this fandom can be found in Sydcarmy fics and that other pairs are usually extremely OC and are typically a bunch of dialogue lines thrown out there with no plot and a lot of smut (you guys know how much I dig smut, right?), which is not really my cup of tea but I fully support that it may be others'. I just happened to notice that it's not necessarily as complex as a concept to write about, bc in that case you don't have to worry about characterization or about what the creator/writer/director/EP really meant to say or tried to convey with their work, seeing as you completely disregard or bypass it and just keep the same names. I get it though: it’s easier and more practical to just write OC and pour down on the page all your sexual fantasies in the second person. I’m just not here for it and I am not sorry about it. And I’m unapologetic about this bc as I mentioned, to each their own, let's just be open about it.

This fandom is big enough not to have to cross paths and just be able to coexist peacefully, agreeing to disagree (if you are mature enough to handle that ofc). As long as the content is properly tagged and disclaimed, etc so we can all decide what to stay away from and what to dig in, making an informed decision, that is. Let's be clear: I don’t have to like ANYTHING, none of us have to be on the same page as to what fics we think are good or bad, which ones we love or which ones we fucking hate with a passion, but we all should act with integrity, here and offline. So that being said, I wasn’t treated that way and even though I feel used, I enabled it, so… karma, I guess. I was even stupid enough to send voice notes bc I was at work and then a few messages down the convo this person said: "I think I will have X do Y and Z...", which was exactly to the T what I had suggested AS PER HER INSISTENT REQUEST a few messages prior in my voice notes. So, I guess I had it coming...

While I have only been on Tumblr for like 5 minutes (2 months and 1/2), I have been quite active in other fandoms in the past, such as LTM and TXF, because I was born in the 80s, guys :) and nothing like this has ever happened to me before, I even had an account on FF.net where I did lots of collabs, and half the time I just donated my ideas bc I was too busy to actually write the fics myself and I was traveling all the time, so it was easier for me to let someone else write the stories, I have no issues sharing as long as everything is properly labeled. Everything was dreamy back then, I never had this kinda experiences before, and will take every precaution moving forward to never have them again, because it feels shitty and OC for me.

My points are:

1- Just FYI.

2- I don’t take this lightly #LessonLearned

3- Let’s agree to disagree in peace, please.

Thanks for reading.

XOXO

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Uh oh it’s Unsolicited OJV Time again! (The wife is to blame) And you know what I wanna get into?! Why is it orange juice specifically?

So if you’re a regular in PCE Hell, you know the KMBS, the Kyle Mathew Broflovski Special of oj with seven ice cubes and a pinch of salt in a huge terrance and phillip cup, is the reason for which the series is named. But why did I pick that iconic (to me) beverage? Lemme tell ya!

(Under the cut bc of eating issue mention)

I’ve said before that the OrangeJuiceVerse wasn’t written in chronological order, and it will not be, bc I’m like “oh I have an idea for 30 yr old Stan!” and then “college main5 oneshot idea!” “Mid 20s style fic!” SMH I have put the fics in chronological order despite writing them all over the place, for the sake of a crumb of organization, but lord ok what I’m getting at here

So the first idea that wound up being the cornerstone of that au, the one that sat in my notes for so long, was Broken Bottles From Apartment 2. It’s a later ojverse timeline story (11th chronologically I think) but I posted it third. The first fic in that universe, A Fall In The Springtime (I hate that name btw I was trying to make a pun and it sucked rip), wasn’t even the first OJV story to curse ao3. I had written like the first half of the basketball game in ch 1 and I switched gears.

(Unsolicited PCE Lore time)

So during the era I was thinkin abt AFITS and BBFA2, I was also working as the prop master on a film. And I was really, really fucking stressed. I couldn’t eat or sleep and the only thing of any slight nutritional value that I could keep down was orange juice.

And ofc I was like you know who would absolutely have the same problem? Getting so stressed out that they can’t eat? Or won’t? Wendy Testaburger and Kyle Broflovski. So before the stories that were already in the notes for a hot minute got completed? Borrowed Hoodies And Orange Juice hit the shelves. And that detail of Stan keeping oj on standby in his backpack in case Kyle needs it, that felt right. And I carried that into the rest of AFITS.

That got posted a while before OJV was even solidified as the same universe in my mind, and imma be honest, I didn’t initially plan to have an aspect of it being Kyle as a former ed sufferer, but the more I developed him in bbfa2, the more it made sense for his character. So that stayed, even if it wasn’t even mentioned in that fic.

And the biggest kicker? The KMBS has been a staple for Kyle his whole life. His immune system is garbage. He gets sick a lot. Sheila always gave him orange juice with a little salt (for electrolytes) and at some point as he gets older and starts finding comfort in consistency (not this man and his borderline obsessive compulsive tendencies out here 8 years old delirious with the flu and paranoid as hell that if the juice isn’t in that t&p cup with EXACTLY seven ice cubes something bad will happen) BUT this breaks my heart bc when he’s in the trenches of his yeeting disorder he will not touch any liquid that isn’t water or black coffee. And on the rare occasion that he does have a lil juice bc he’s low and his whole life that’s his first instinct to get his blood sugar up? It has to be out of a prepackaged bottle. Not poured from a big carton into The Cup; he needs to see. And people in his life notice, and he’s like “yeah guess I grew out of it haha” oh my god that poor boy so the moment when Stan finds out about the ed, Stan Marsh, who has kept a bottle of minutemaid oj in his backpack since he knew what his best friend being diabetic meant, is with him in the locker room like okay Kyle gets low sometimes but he keeps an eye on his shit pretty well something’s wrong here and then Kyle’s looking at the goddamn nutrition info, still shaking, on the back of the bottle and it hits Stan like a brick to the face and THATS how he figured it out. For like fifteen years, long after Kyle recovered, that backpack bottle has the calorie count (Food Lore as Stan calls it) scribbled out. Just in case.

And it actually does take a while for Kyle to get to be okay with his favorite drink again. He associates it strongly with a chaotic carefree childhood and the ed developed with control as the root cause and anything associated with a time before that gives him a momentary panic. But only a few months out of restriction hell, you start to think “wait why did I think like that that’s fucking stupid” and he starts to have the default of laughing at the irrationality of it all pretty quickly. Stan doesn’t find it funny, Ike doesn’t find it funny, Sheila is on his ass about his eating habits until he’s 50, but Cartman roasts him for being a “stupid little rexie asshole” and Kyle takes comfort in at least one person not being overbearing about it. Stan doesn’t find that funny either.

So in the second ojv, Kyle proves to be really really awesome at comforting Wendy when she breaks down, because he’s been there. Kyle’s just good at comforting people in general, and that carries into his adult life and his career too. OJV Kyle is a middle school counselor. He’s helped a lot of students with a lot of different problems, but in particular, if a teacher notices a kid repeatedly avoiding lunch period and sends them his way, he has the experience tools to help them talk it out. And the minifridge under his desk? Guess what’s in there. ;)

*PastorCraigEnjoyer crawls back into her Cell to be the Comfort Dealer*