#Print Isn't Dead

[arthursfuckinghat]

Arthur Morgan 𑁦𐂂𑁦 The Saints Hotel

[kyouka-supremacy]

(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[born-to-lose]

Apparently I have a show tomorrow

[itzphynix]

Like any good fictional husband, I have a framed photo of my wife hanging on my wall.

[askshivanulegacy]

Ok, so ... you have that same position for fanart, right?

Do you buy fanart? Do you commission your favorite fandom pairing? Do you support the Patreon or Ko-fis of fanartists? Do you go to Artist Alleys at conventions and comic cons for art prints? Do you buy homemade plushies of fandom characters? Do you buy fandom clothing, jewelry, or costume pieces made by independent artists?

If you answered yes to any of these then fanfiction can and should also be sold.

Fanfiction is not different than any other fan craft. It is no more illegal than any other fan craft that almost everyone here is definitely supporting.

If fanartists can sell their works online or in person, if they can have tip jars for people to express appreciation, then so can fanauthors.

But if you're going to maintain the position that you can't offer tips to fanauthors and you can't let fanauthors sell printed copies of their own works, then STOP supporting all fanartists right now.

Stop going to conventions and buying prints. Stop buying homemade plushies. Stop buying homemade jewelry and clothing and costumes if it has anything to do with an existing IP.

Let Artist's Alley collapse.

Do you see how hypocritical this is?

You can either have both, or none at all. That fanfiction somehow deserves less support than other crafts directly leads to the impression that it's the lesser art form. A03's practices of denying support for authors contributes to this.

I'm not saying that A03 doesn't do good work, but it is NOT all sunshine and roses (they recently advocated for AI, btw). There are negative consequences ... like the fact that so many people visit A03 but you're all only out there reblogging pictures and not stories.

The fact that not one single fanfic advocate is pointing out this discrepancy between fanfic and fanart sends the message that writing is not real art. It's a continuation of the deep belief that fanfic and fanauthors don't deserve your support, your reblogs, your comments, or your sharing of their works because written words aren't as good as visual art. I wonder why fanfic authors are out there crying about not getting recognition?

This is part of why they don't.

Selling fanfic is not more dangerous than selling fanart. It's the same inherent risk. Why aren't any of you pointing it out? Why aren't any of you advocating for some kind of positive change that allows support of fanfiction, instead of stonewalling every single attempt to elevate fanfiction to the level of fanart, as it deserves?

This is a problem. The position that "no one can sell fanfic" (false), is not a good position, and it needs to be called out. More of you need to be saying, "wow, it's too bad that it's so hard to sell physical copies of my fanfic," not "thou shalt never sell fanfic ever."

If fanfiction can only exist if it's free, then fanart can only exist if it's free, and we know the latter just isn't true.

I'm all for keeping fanfic and fanart free for viewing and reading online. At no point should any of this ever be gatekept behind some paywall - I'm looking at you, Patreon artists with your fanart how-tos and nsfw fanart locked away behind pay schemes. But tip jars if you liked something? Yes. Physical copies that you can either order or buy in person? Yes. Commissions of something specific that isn't already made? Yes!

Is the environment perfect for selling fanfiction? No, of course not and I don't say that it is. But we should be trying to get there. At the very least, we should be TALKING ABOUT IT, not running scared because you "can't" (you CAN). You cannot answer to me that "it's illegal" if you support any other kind of fan craft.

THAT'S the real misinformation - that no one acknowledges authors should be able to sell their works too because it is not different.

Authors should be able to set up an Artist's Alley table and sell printed copies of their work. They should be able to have tip jars.

Btw, if you're an author who wants a tip jar, you can go create one RIGHT NOW - just link your A03 to an intermediate hub like tumblr or instagram. You can offer your bound copies there too, if that's something you want to do.

I am never not going to keep pointing this out. All I ever see is this one, stale tune and nobody trying to do better. And look, if you never support fan stuffs ever because it's "illegal" then all the power to you, and this essay isn't for you.

This essay is for the hypocrites who support visual art but not written words. I see you and I'm calling the bluff. I demand better for our writers, and I'm not afraid of saying so. Your position devalues fanfiction and puts authors at a disadvantage. It says "we'll pay artists because they deserve something for what they do, but you authors better keep cranking out those words for me." You should be working create better environments for writers.

STOP SELLING BOUND FANFICTION

I cannot blame them for pulling their works, in fact I'm proud of them for doing so. Fanfiction is a community of gifting. As authors we write fics and share our works for free. Fanfiction is a weird, fragile, liminal space that can crumble at any time. This fragility needs to be respected.

If you want fanfiction to be around for you to enjoy, then the rules need to be respected!

You can bind fics. You can gift bound fics. DO NOT SELL BOUND FICS!!

Or soon we won't have fanfiction anymore and the world will be much darker for it.

[roseband]

...

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - kidnapping, stalking, symptoms of depression, and obsessive behavior. reader's not doing great in this one and dick's doing worse.

Dick Grayson gets around.

Whatever you're thinking, it's not like that - except when it is. He's just the people person, the golden child, the performer. He's everything that Bruce pretends to be whenever he takes off the cowl and plays socialite. He remembers names, calls on birthdays, sends out Christmas cards the second snow hits the ground. He knows everyone, and he gets what he wants.

You get around... less.

Not that you don't show you face. No, someone committed to staying totally anonymous would never make it to one of a hundred annual galas held by Wayne Enterprises, stocked to bursting with reporters and celebrities and wealthy Gotham transplants, eager to make a good impression with local royalty. He spots you sticking close to the wall, moving between polite conversations, careful never to stay long enough to make a lasting impression. When you're not busy, your eyes dart from wall to wall, tracking waiters and taking stock of the exits. Every now and then, the light catches on a diamond ring you hadn't been wearing a second ago, a sapphire necklace too expensive to hang so sloppily from your neck.

You're transparent, if a bit out of place. Even pickpockets usually had the decency to skip charity events.

His course of action is swift, surgical. He corners you next to the bar, offers to buy you a drink. You counter, explain with a smile that you couldn't take a stranger's money. He adopts a new tactic - asks you to dance with one, instead. Another parry, now you're looking for your date. After fishing for a description, he mentions he might've seen them on the balcony. His scalpel run through your throat, you take his arm and let him lead you outside.

The routine is standard, practiced to the point of perfection. Find a corner away from the other guests, apologize for ending your night so early, then produce enough cash to pay half a year's worth of rent for Gotham's most expensive high-rise - just like he has a million times before with a thousand other petty thieves. Dead-eyed, you card through the bills slowly. Finally, you look to him.

"This isn't really my line of work."

Dick grins. "I can tell."

"Is there a closet we can use, or...?"

He blinks once, then twice. You stare at the money in your hands, eyes glassy and expression hollow. It doesn't take long to clear up the miscommunication. You leave with your stolen treasures and a well-earned tip, and Dick neglects to mention the incident in his status report later that night.

The next day, he seeks you out on instinct, tells himself it's no different than a follow-up for any other case. You are not a people person. You don't smile at strangers, or greet your neighbors by name, or let your eyes leave the sidewalk as you make your way through the rush-hour crowd, your pockets a little heavier with every step. Your apartment is a testament to your separation - no pictures, no creature comforts, no spare tooth brush left by the sink in case of overnight guests. There's only one cup in the entirety of your kitchen, a little black mug with white paw prints painted around the center. He leaves a second on your doorstep - this one decorated rim to base with blue jays.

You aren't from Gotham. That's clear enough, but it's cemented by the phone calls he overhears from your windowsill every Sunday morning, all reassurances to a faceless recipient that you're doing fine, that you have plenty of friends, that your stressful-but-rewarding corporate job is keeping you busy enough. You have younger siblings - a lot of younger siblings. He got to know them as he went through your phone, perched on the edge of your twin-sized mattress, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest in stolen glances. The most recent picture was taken more than two years ago, but he can't judge. He knows what it's like to be the trial run, the practice round, the disappointment. At least you have the self-awareness to keep your distance from the people you love, to make sure the only thing you can hurt is yourself. He's never been so strong.

And you do hurt yourself, don't you? He's seen the drawer of treasures you can't bring yourself to sell, the collection of unopened bills on your dining room table, the strung-together days you go without letting yourself so much as see another person. He knows why you want to be left alone, but even you can't go on like that, not forever. Everyone needs someone. No one can completely resist the urge to leave their mark on something else - anything else, even if they really ought to know better.

And you know that, too. You don't even scream when you wake up in Dick's bed, hands bound and body curled up against his chest. It could just be the lingering sedatives in your system, sure, but he'd like to think that you remember him, that you know you and him are two of a kind, birds of a feather. You ruin everything you touch, but maybe, you won't ruin him.

Maybe, just maybe, you won't ruin each other.

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt 5 of Danny is the 99th attempted clone Tim made of Kon. Danny's 7th birthday.

[Pt 4: here]

Danny has truly enjoyed his life with his new family. He still has no idea how he went from a full dead teenager dying again to a year old kryptonian clone baby, but he's not mad about it at all. He's treated like the most precious treasure here.

He's allowed to be himself in all of his "weirdness". He can use his powers freely and experiment with his gender expression without fear of being torn apart by mad scientists. All his special interests are respected and encouraged, too. And they take his physical AND mental health seriously.

It's great! He knows so many new people with a wide range of powers, and while he doesn't have access to his ghost powers at all, he still can ask about similar powers incase he starts developing them later or becomes a ghost again without anyone questioning it. He's just seen as a curious kid, and the metas in his life are happy to share.

He also knows his family would notice instantly if he died again. Uncle Duke and Uncle Jason would clock him by sight or touch alone, since they can see/sense his connection to ectoplasm, or Lazarus Pit Waters. The rest wouldn't take much longer to notice. The "Bat" portion of his family are glorified stalkers, but he can't say anything, he lived with them full time for a while, and the behaviors have rubbed off on him. The non-Bat portions of his family tease the Bat portion about it, in a fun way.

Danny used all of his childish power to get everyone to be nicer. No one wants the silent treatment from a bubbly toddler. Danny isn't sorry about the manipulation, his family is happier for it. He also teamed up with his dad to get everyone into therapy.

All that to say, he loves it here. He's loved by his new family in a way his original family never did. The difference is never more stark than on days like today. It's his birthday! He's turning 7! Sure, he's technically about 20 mentally, but he's physically and emotionally 7. His family doesn't know about his past life and think his mentally maturity is because of Tim fucking up, which makes Danny feel a little guilty, but not enough to come clean. Besides, neither he or his dad are treated poorly for Danny's weird behavior, and there hasn't been a reason to come clean.

Back to the birthday thing! Most of Danny's family are with him window shopping in one of the safer cities. He thinks it's Uncle Roy's city? Something about there being new stores Danny might like and being petty to Roy's not-dad? Danny's here for the petty. Mr. Queen seems like a douche any of the times he's seen or interacted with him.

"Hey, Danny?" Bernard calls slightly for his attention. Bernard is one of his dad's boyfriends. Yes, "one of". Danny is kind of proud the fact his dad has a healthy love life now. Tim is the definition of a disaster bisexual. It took Danny and his favourite uncles nearly a year to get Tim to realize he likes guys. But in a hilariously turn of events, Tim realized he liked Bernard before he realized he likes Kon. Danny's not sure how that happened. "Look over there. There's a cool looking skirt."

Danny looks where he's pointing and sees the coolest skirt. It's a high-low cut and mainly colourful space print with pretty black lace detailing. There's no way the one on display would fit Danny, but maybe they'd have one small enough inside?

He turns hopeful eyes to his amused dad. "Yes, we can go look. Just don't run off."

"Yay!" Danny cheers. His family starts heading towards the store's entrance when an explosion goes off nearby. He's suddenly in Bernard's arms. As the "normal" civilian, he's tasked to get Danny away from danger when things inevitably hit the fan.

When the smoke clears, he sees Ra's fucking Al Gul and a bunch of ninjas standing in front of their group. A ballsy move. Danny has overheard 2/3s the people here discussing how much they want to straight murder the guy. He's not really sure when it happened, but his family is convinced Ra's is the reason he's tied to ectoplasum. He's made no move to correct that notion, why should he? He absolutely hates the creep and doesn't hide it.

And despite Danny's clear hatred, the evil old man keeps trying to kidnap him. Danny thinks it started as a way to get back at Tim. To either scare Tim or train Danny into being his lap dog and fight his family or something. Danny's not really sure of the details of what the asshole's plan was. Whatever it was, it changed the moment he learned of Danny's connection to the "Lazarus Pit". Now he wants to turn Danny into the "perfect heir" and/or experiment on that connection. It's actually really scary. Just another reason for Danny to hate him.

"Hand over the boy." Ra's tries to intimate Bernard, who just sneers. He's a true Gothamite.

"Fuck off, Ra's!" Tim snarls, taking out 3 ninjas. Oracle will wipe any evidence of "The Waynes" fighting ninjas later, so Danny isn't too worried. Especially because the metas and least likely to be noticed sneak away and come back in their hero/vigilante costumes before any real fighting happens. They take over the fighting while the "civilians" start acting like civilians for the cameras to lighten Auntie Barbie's work load.

Cops are called because it'd be suspicious if they weren't, and the "civilians" are saved! Ooo!

Danny hugs Bernard, careful to not hug too tightly. "I hate him."

"I know, baby." Bernard rubs Danny's back.

Tim leans in close, kissing the top of Danny's head. "I'm sorry he ruined our day out, sweetheart."

Danny nods solemnly, "It's not your fault he's a creep. He needs so much help. Mentally."

Tim and Bernard chuckle. Bart zips over, dressed as a civilian again. "Hey! Why don't we head to the Tower? We can play in the gym and eat cake!"

"Power Tag?" Danny asks hopefully.

"Only if you keep your powers within reason." Tim says like he does every time Danny asks. "Within reason" means Danny and Kon aren't allowed to fly where no one can reach or lazer anyone or freeze people to the floor, Bart isn't allowed to go too fast, and no one is allowed to use too much superstrength. The amount of speed or strength changes as Danny gets older and if non-metas play. It's baby steps for him to learn combat safely. They still have a lot of with all the things they're allowed to do. Danny and Kon are allowed their flight and can freeze the floor to make people slip, Bart is allowed to vibrate himself through anything not living, and Cassie is allowed to use normal rope to lasso them.

It's even funner when Roy, with dummy arrows, and/or the different Bats join. They all twist and jump around the gym, causing effortless chaos. The game is significantly harder when the Bats join, but it's still super fun.

The things he learned during those games have saved his skin multiple times in Gotham. Powers or no powers.

"Just remember to take out your earrings. You don't want them to get caught or break." Bernard reminds him, carrying him towards a Zeta tube.

Danny gasps, "I almost forgot!"

He wiggles to be set down once they're through the zeta, a device he hates, but is used to after 4 years of using it. He takes off his dangily moon earrings and holds them out to Bernard.

"Can you hold onto them, Baba?" The term was suggested by Damian when Danny struggled to find a third distinct way to call someone dad. Tim is Dad, Kon is Pa, and Bernard is Baba. They all do their best to co-parent Danny, so he wanted them to know he appreciates all three of them for it.

"Of course," Bernard slips them into his pocket. Bernard never joins power tag, so Danny's earrings are safe with him.

"Thank you-" Danny is cut off by Kon sweeping him up in a hug and twirling them in several circles. Danny squealing in joy the whole time.

"I'm so sorry, honey!!" Kon stops his spinning and hugs Danny with enough force to break a normal kid's ribs. "That crusty moldy bisket always shows up at the worst times!"

"Is there ever a good time?" Bernard snarks, making Danny giggle.

"No, there is not!" Kon kisses Danny's forehead. Danny loves all the physical affection his parents are willing to give him. They hand it out like candy on Halloween, and it doesn't hurt like Jack and Maddie's affection did 4 of 5 times.

"Dad and Baba said we can play power tag! Do you think Dad or my Aunts or Uncles will play?" Danny vibrates in Kon's hold.

"I'm not sure about your Dad, he wasn't feeling well earlier, but I'm sure the rest will agree if you ask."

"Is Dad getting sick?" Danny asks. Tim is prone to getting sick because of his lack of spleen. He hopes his dad wasn't pretending to be fine while they were out.

"I'm not sure. We'll keep an eye on him, alright? And if we see any weird behavior, we'll make him lay down." Kon says lowly, so no one should be able to hear.

"Okay!" Danny whispers back, before wiggling out of his Pa's arms and declaring, "I'm going to ask people to play now!"

The rest of the day was fun! He got everyone, but Bernard, Tim, and Bruce, to play. It's absolute chaos. After the game, Danny opens presents. (Everyone apparently dropped their gifts off at the tower before they went out.) He now owns 5 new rocket/spaceship models, 3 tomes about the supernatural, 2 newly released books on astrophysics, a beautiful bright green dress, punny socks, a giant green ghost plushy, and the space skirt from the window! Uncle Jason apparently grabbed it after everyone was headed to the Tower. It's a little big, but it means he can wear it for longer! He puts it on over his shorts, the tail drags a little, and the shorts are the only reason it's staying up at all, but Danny loves it. He hugs everyone and thanks them with the biggest smile.

Alfred brings the nicest cake Danny has ever seen to the Tower. It's a work of art, Danny almost doesn't want to cut it. Almost. It's delicious. Alfred gave everyone permission to eat a slice before dinner.

The only problem when dinner is served is that Tim suddenly bolts for the nearest bathroom. Bernard is the only one allowed to go in, while the rest hover outside. They can hear him throw up. Everyone is really worried. After about 10 minutes, Bernard half carries an exhausted Tim out of the bathroom.

"I'm not sick." Is the first thing out of his mouth, which justifiably has people shouting in disbelief. Tim waves a calming hand at them. "No, really, I'm not sick. I was going to wait at least a few days to say something, but that plan is out the window. "

"Wait a few days-? Tim, what?" Uncle Jason has his worried angry voice out, and Danny usually hugs him when he hears it, but he's too busy staring at his dad. Something trying to click in his brain, but he's not quite sure what.

"I'm not sick or injured. I'm pregnant." The commotion is instant. It's mostly excited shouting. Danny glances at his Baba and Pa's faces. Bernard looks surprised but happy while Kon looks like he's about to pass out, a mix of fear and excitement on his face. So Danny isn't worried about them.

Danny trots up to a tired and slightly wary Tim. "I'm going to be a big brother?"

Tim slips out of Bernard's hold to kneel down to be eye level with Danny. He gives Danny a sad smile. "If all goes well, then yes. I want to keep them, but my body might try to reject them. I hope they make it. You'll be the best big brother."

Danny hugs his dad. "I hope so. I hope we get to meet them."

Kon and Bernard sit on the floor on either side of them. Excited vibes surrounding them.

"Oh!" Steph shouts, "That's why you've been asking us to cover most of your fieldwork this week! We all thought it was odd, but thought you were just planning something for Danny's birthday!"

Tim chuckles, "I was, but I was also trying to limit physical stress. This is going to be a difficult pregnancy, but I want it."

"... At least you got laid this time." Steph teases.

"Steph!!" Several people scold her about being inappropriate with "little ears" present. Danny ignores them. He instead, using flight and a touch of superstrength, pulls his Dad to his feet.

"Danny?" Tim curiously asks, but doesn't stop Danny from pulling him through the room and gently sitting him on the couch.

"What food made you throw up?"

"Danny, it's your birthday. Go have fun. You don't need to worry about me or the baby." Tim tries, but Danny is stubborn.

"It's dinnertime. Meaning the party should be ending anyways. So after dinner, we're going home and maybe watching a movie while I work on one of my new models. After that, it's bedtime." Danny sternly tells him, ignoring the rest of the family's giggles. "So what food was it?"

The rest of the day/night goes exactly how he plans. He crawls into his parents' bed for snuggles and falls asleep listening to Tim's heartbeat.

Tim is banned from field work for the entirety of his pregnancy, and he has to deal with everyone being extremely protective of him. He's only mildly annoyed by the behavior. He's more grateful for it than anything. The pregnancy is hell on him. It nearly killed him, and he almost lost the pregnancy several times, but he doesn't regret it one bit when he's holding his ridiculous blond child. So first, he had twins with heteropaternal superfecundation, but then they merged into one baby with tetragametic chimerism. Meaning this single baby is rare and odd in so many ways, but that sums up their family.

Danny is infatuated with his new sibling. Helping out and "babysitting" the baby any chance he gets. (No adult actually leaves the newborn alone with a 7 going on 8 year old. No matter how mature the almost 8 year old is.) He's determined to be the best big brother. He remembers what his Dad said when he was a baby. A Drake protects what they claim as their's viciously. And Danny plans to do just that.

Tim is so proud. Bernard and Kon are amused and exasperated when Danny wrecks anyone who is even a little mean about his sibling. They're all more scared (for him mostly) when he freezes and shatters the limbs of Ra's Al Gul whe the fucker gets too close to the baby. He's not dead, but he's not recovering from what was done.

The Joker gets a similar treatment when he shows up while Jason is babysitting Danny. Danny sees how scared Uncle Jason is of him.

He does get lectured by his grandpa, but Danny doesn't care what Bruce has to say. He also doesn't see the problem, didn't kill them. Uncle Jason gets it. He spoils the hell out of Danny

[whateveriwant]

Can you please do Task force 141 finding out they’re having quintuplets! I’d imagine that they wouldn’t plan to have that many….at least not all at once 🧍‍♀️

Ghost

When the technician points out the five distinct dots on the ultrasound, he immediately goes dead silent

I mean, he's always pretty quiet anyway, but this is like quiet quiet

He doesn't utter a single word for the rest of the appointment, nor on the ride back home for that matter

This has you more concerned than you care to admit because you know that, not that long ago, he didn't think he'd ever have (much less want) kids of his own some day

So now that he's learned he's about to have five? You can't imagine what's going through his mind right now

It isn't until you're walking through the front door that you're being stopped with a gentle hand tugging on your wrist

You turn to look at him and, without a word, he drops to his knees before you, rolling up the bottom of your shirt to expose your belly

He'll press the softest of kisses just beside your navel, before looking up at you with expressive eyes that convey the foremost thought in his head: Thank you

Soap

Nearly shits a brick the moment the words leave the technician's mouth

All the color swiftly drains from his face and he has to sit down before he keels over right in the middle of the office

It's not so much fear that has him going paper white but pure shock at hearing the unexpected (yet not unhappy) news

While you'd already discussed having a big family together one day, you didn't think you'd get it done in one fell swoop

However, maybe you should've seen it coming since you both come from families that have had multiples

The possibility of this happening was decently high, so in a way, you're not all that surprised by the revelation

Once he's composed himself and is a little less ghostly pale in the face, he's eagerly requesting the technician to print out an excessive number of copies of the ultrasound

Why? Well, he's gotta send them to everyone, of course! His family, your family, all the lads at work. Hell, maybe your neighbor Charlie would like one too. Better print several just in case

Gaz

"C– Come again?" He thinks he misheard the technician at first

However, even hearing it a second time, he has to stand up, round the bed, and get about an inch away from the monitor to confirm for himself

It's almost comical the way his eyes widen at the screen, darting around the black and white image like he can't comprehend what he's seeing

It'll take some coaxing to get him back in his seat, and as he does, you hear him mumbling to himself – something about nappies, never sleeping again, and *shudders* University

At some point, out of the corner of your eye, you see him messing with his hands

He's putting his palm in front of his own stomach then drawing it about a foot or two away, as if trying to visualize the size your belly is destined to grow

Even when you get back home, it's like reality hasn't fully hit him yet

It's not until you find him at 2am looking up double decker prams that you realize it's finally starting to sink in, and he's more than ready for the challenge ahead

Price

Seems awfully calm when the technician breaks the news to you two

Based on his reaction – a light smile and mere "Oh, that's wonderful" – you'd think he'd just been informed of the weather or something

To be honest, his reaction (or lack thereof) is a little disarming, but you don't comment on it until you're buckling up in the car, mentioning his seeming total lack of nerves about the future

He chuckles and jokes that he already has to look after three big kids at work. What's five little ones at home to compare?

Though you think you can see what he's getting at, his cool-headedness about it all still has you in a bit of a tizzy

Is he not even a little surprised by the news? After all, it's not every day that people fall pregnant with quintuplets

At your question, he smiles and leans to press a bristly kiss to the back of your hand. When he pulls back, he's smirking, giving you the smuggest look you've ever seen from a man

"Told you I've got strong swimmers, love"

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

*NSFW* How to train your pet Human pt. 3 (Yandere!Alien x GN!Reader)

CW: Dub-con, mild psychological distress, mind break, dead dove fic

Part 1, part 2

Kirtch slumped over his friend's standing chair, miserable and mopey.

A tall creature, taller than even Kirtch, sighed dramatically, sauntering around their depressed friend with a smaller horned being crawling behind them.

"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong." Kirtch whined pathetically in Jaudna's native tongue. Jaudna made a gurgling sound with the soft spot on their head, the closest human equivalent being someone rolling their eyes. They sprawled across their lounging seat, motioning for their pet to stay on his knees.

"I'll tell you exactly what you've done wrong. You pampered them too much."

"I punish them!"

"You punished them for their escape attempt. That was it. You've allowed your pet to test your authority in plenty of ways after that."

The man on his knees pleaded with his eyes to be let up, but stayed perfectly still, like he wasn't alive. Kirtch noted Jaudna's pet's demeanor with discomfort. That discomfort only lasted until he imagined (Reader) in that same position, looking up at him with their large dewy eyes, waiting so patiently to be held by him... his discomfort was replaced by jealousy.

"You don't understand, (Reader's) such a sweet little pet, and whenever they struggle they're so cute about it. I just can't understand why they aren't happy."

"Humans' minds are incredibly flawed. According to the few psychological texts I have gotten my claws on over the years, their memory is not set in stone like ours, it is fickle and easily manipulated. One of my books referenced a case in the nation called 'The United States of America' where nearly the entire country fell into panic over an imaginary evil, because a few doctors used a phoney science called 'hypnotism', a practice they believed could help recover forgotten memories, on a bunch of children, but accidentally implanted false memories of abuse, leaving the children traumatized, believing that they had been victims of a horrific occult."

Kirtch looked to his good friend nervously. "Are you implying I do something nefarious to my pet's mind?"

"No, I'm showcasing an example of how stupidly easy it should be to train your pet to love you." They tossed a book into Kirtch's hands, the cover printed with a photograph of a wild looking man, with fluffy hair and dark, hateful eyes. "Hypnotism isn't the only creative way humans have learned to reprogram each other."

Kirtch almost threw the book back, but saw Jaudna's unnamed pet still sitting so patiently for his master, and the pain in his body where his heart may have been throbbed again. "Thank you.. Jaudna."

(Reader) had waited for what they assumed to be well over an Earth day, alone in Kirtch's quarters, waiting for his return. The only company they received were the employees who brought their meals, speaking down at them in a language they didn't know, but could understand the disgust. It had been over a month since their fight with Kirtch. Every day since had been nothing but hell, feeling like their heart had been ripped out, they laid in their bed cage, only moving when necessary, allowing themselves to hide away inside their own mind.

The main door opened again, and (Reader) could hear Kirtch's long, graceful steps as he passed through the study and into the bedroom. "(Reader)? Are you still in bed?"

In an act of defiance, (Reader) kept their mouth shut, pulling the blanket tighter around their shoulders. But it was of little use, as Kirtch easily lifted their purposefully dead weighted body out of the bed.

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long, pet, but I had to see an old friend for advice." He carried (Reader) back to his desk, sitting them in his lap, fighting to hold them upright as they flopped about limply. "(Reader), please sit up so I can take off your shirt."

He began working on the wrists, the intricate metal cuffs with multiple buttons that almost acted like locks, and (Reader) subtly straightened their back to give him better access to the neck corset thing, thankful to finally have it off for a couple hours at least. (Reader) had grown to find it somewhat elegant the past few months, but it still was an incredible pain in the ass.

Feeling the air on their neck was bliss, and (Reader) immediately ran their fingers over their skin. (Reader) breathed a deep sigh, relaxing their body unintentionally. But almost as soon as their hands left their throat, a new collar was latched into place, a loud mechanism clicking as it tightened, stabbing the back of their neck with what felt like a fixed needle.

(Reader) cried out in pain, sprawling out their limbs on reflex, pushing themselves out of Kirtch's embrace and onto the floor, lying naked on their knees as they clawed at the collar, desperate to relieve the pain.

"What?? Why?" Their voice was barely audible through their sobs.

"I'm so sorry my pet, the pain will end soon, wait-" Kirtch pushed a button on what looked like a remote, and (Reader) could physically feel the rush of liquid enter their body, then the pain lightened, leaving (Reader) almost euphoric in it's absence.

"What is this? Why did you do this?" Betrayal laced their tone, and Kirtch looked almost on the verge of tears, but he stood still, refusing his urge to scoop up his little pet and beg for forgiveness.

"I know now that I didn't train you correctly, and for that I am sorry. I've given you too much leeway, and that is why you've been so unhappy." He took a ragged breath, thumbing the controller as he thought out his words. "I didn't want to do this, but I care about your happiness. This is for the best."

"So you put a shock collar on me?" (Reader) asked incredulously, spitting venom.

"No, nothing barbaric like that!" Kirtch looked hurt, flinching as he almost dropped onto his knees to comfort (Reader). "I just need to convince you that you're happy here with me, just as I did the first night you were here, to help you release your stress."

(Reader) remembered the shot he gave them, that first night when Kirtch used a toy to get them off, the hormones he artificially added to their body to make them feel pleasure, and then thought about the pain in the back of their neck. The color drained from their face. There were only two options; plead or double down.

"You can manipulate me all you like, I'll never be happy here." A tear escaped as (Reader) transformed their hurt into anger. "I deserve someone who will love me, not as a pet, but as an equal. Because I am a human fucking being. And we have partnerships. We don't jack off our pets, we do not love our pets like we love the people we have sex with, because that- that is not okay! Why did you.." (Reader) couldn't stop themselves from crying, looking up to try to at least slow the waterworks.

The silence between them was loud. (Reader) turned away, wiping away their snot with their bare arms.

"Pet, noun; a domestic or tamed animal kept for companionship or pleasure. Adjective; denoting a thing that one devotes special attention to or feels particularly strongly about." (Reader) looked up, horrified. "Your's may not be my first language, but I feel I had a pretty decent grasp on my understanding of what a pet is."

Kirtch placed a hand over his face to hide his expression.

"You'll be happier once this is all over. I promise."

"You son of a-!" (Reader) couldn't finish their sentence, more fluid passed into their spine, followed by an immediate sense of emptiness. Extreme anxiety flooded their body, causing severe stomach pain almost instantly. They collapsed, holding onto their midsection, their bare skin clammy. "What? Why?"

"No more talking back to me, pet." Kirtch kept his voice steady.

(Reader) cried out, rapidly becoming exhausted from heavy nothingness filling their body. "Please.. stop.."

Kirtch nodded, appearing relieved. He pushed another button, and the emptiness ebbed away, leaving (Reader) numb.

"I don't understand why you're doing this." (Reader) weakly grumbled, too tired to pick themselves up.

"Because I want you to be happy."

"I'll never be happy with you."

"Why?"

"Because! I deserve to be loved!"

"I love you-"

"Fucking liar." (Reader) snarled, knowing that this would cause them to be punished again, but needing to get in the last word. Kirtch looked so miserable, so crushed by (Reader's) words, but they felt vindicated by his pain. They needed to twist the knife deeper.

He smiled, so sadly, and grabbed a blanket, bending onto one knee as he covered his pet. "I love you, (Reader)."

Their heart clenched, and their face flushed. Immediately they searched his hands for the remote. "S-stop that."

"I love you."

Chemicals pumped into their neck, making (Reader) feverish and causing their thighs to ache. Their breath hitched, and tears of betrayal escaped. "I hate you."

"I know."

More pain gripped their throat, regret causing physical discomfort. "Why are you doing this?"

His smooth shelled fingers caressed their jaw, tenderly cradling (Reader's) face as though he needed them. Kirtch's touch sent shivers across (Reader's) skin, and they couldn't tell if it was because of the collar or their loneliness, but they wanted to pull him closer, make him touch them more.

"I will live for much longer than you. I will watch you grown old, and die. Even then, I will still love you. You are the most incredible creature I've ever met. I don't mind if you push me away, and slap at me. I just want you to be happy, at least most of the time." His head grew closer, his hardened face almost brushing (Reader's). "Let me make you happy."

'I need to fight back. Make him pay! I'm practically a slave! He bought me! I'll never see my family again because of him!'

(Reader) leaned forward, mind melting through their ears from the intense heat, and smashed their lips onto where his should have been.

All rational thoughts were drowned out by the intense need. They needed him, his love. (Reader) was aware of the sound of buttons clicking, but they couldn't stop, crawling onto Kirtch's body, feeling the edges of his joints scraping their back as his hands hungrily roamed their body, wanting to touch everything.

They would have felt ashamed, knowing how aroused they were, their exposed body touching Kirtch's stomach. Sweat was clinging to (Reader's) skin, and their eyes drooped stupidly. The only thing they could think of was relieving themselves, and wanting to see Kirtch relieved as well.

"Are you going to fuck me?" (Reader) whined between wet kisses, drunk on his touches.

"I will, if you want me to."

Their mood shifted, frustration beginning to surface again. "No. If you love me, wouldn't you want me?"

Kirtch sighed, fiddling with the remote behind (Reader's) back. "I do not have the same nervous system as humans do. We only engage in sexual acts for the purpose of procreation."

Shame shocked (Reader), sobering them up instantly. "Oh. I- I am so sorry." (Reader) moved to get off of Kirtch, but was held in place by the much stronger being.

"I will, to make you happy."

"No, I'm sorry! It won't make me happy knowing you aren't feeling good. I'm-I'm sorry, please let me go."

Kirtch pressed the button again, watching his pet's face darken and their mouth go from frightened to slack jawed. "Knowing you are feeling pleasure, from me, and only me, will bring me more joy than I can express." His cloak was ripped away, revealing his gorgeously colored exoskeleton. Kirtch gripped (Reader's) face tighter, forcing his blue tongue deep into their mouth, bursting with pride at the sounds (Reader) was making.

"What do you want me to do?" Kirtch asked, not intending on sounding like he was teasing them, but Kirtch craved the sound of their voice begging him.

"Please.." (Reader) swallowed their drool, feeling the hormones pumping into their brain, but too horny to care. "Please fuck me."

The spot on his pelvis where a human's genitals would be split open and a long, slimy cock revealed itself, growing behind (Reader's) back to a horrifying size. (Reader) only became aware of his erection when it fell forward, slapping against (Reader's) ass and lower back. In their intoxicated state, they turned back to look at what had suddenly touched them, and their eyes grew large in surprise. "Is that..? That's too big..."

Off balance and tipsy, (Reader) turned around, still sitting on Kirtch's abdomen, so that they were facing his exposed dick, and touched it experimentally. It was ridiculously huge, but because of the hormones being injected into (Reader's) neck, they were ravenous, using both hands to pump up and down on the shaft as they stuck the thin tipped head into their mouth, tasting Kirtch passionately. Kirtch was beyond elated, watching his precious pet so needy for him.

Kirtch picked (Reader) up, moaning at the popping sound as he pulled their mouth away from his body, seeing nothing but love in (Reader's) eyes as he spun them back to face him, and slowly began lowering (Reader) onto his naturally lubricated member. "Keep looking at me."

(Reader's) mind was hazy, and it felt like they were about to die, saliva and alien fluids leaking out their mouth and down their chin. Their internal voice had gone silent, the amount of tampering that had been done to their brain left (Reader) devoid of rational thought and intellect. "Yes sir." They barely got the words out as Kirtch entered their body, sliding into their needy little hole easily and without resistance, ramming himself in so their pelvis smacked into his shell with a wet plop, bringing (Reader) to a climax just from entering.

"Smile for me, pet." Kirtch cooed joyfully, loving how (Reader's) body spasmed, before slowly lifting them up, revealing the trail of their combined wetness stretching between their reproductive organs.

(Reader) smiled, reacting on autopilot as they rode out their orgasm, practically biting off their tongue when their sensitive body connected with Kirtch's again. "Ahhh, I already came! Stop!!" Their words cried for relief, however their voice and smile demanded more. It was too much, and (Reader) did want a break, but it also felt amazing, and that dirty little part of themselves that was desperate for love needed their body to be abused.

Kirtch bounced (Reader) on his cock, fucking them like a toy, regretting that he didn't have a camera rolling to capture just how adorable his pet was in his hands. "Look at how happy you are, pet! Don't you want to be this happy all the time? Don't you always want to be happy, with me?"

Kirtch greedily pushed the button again, peppering (Reader) with kisses as they came again, their sticky juices splattering on his stomach. The squelching sound of (Reader's) bruising body getting fucked by the hard as steel monster beneath them was music to Kirtch's ears. He had, embarrassingly, read the book his friend had lent him, and knew now how humans used pleasure to keep brainwashed people by their side. But it wasn't just pleasure, it was that feeling of connection. He had thought about what (Reader) had said, that humans don't jack off their pets, and that made sense, for animals that did not share the same level of intelligence as an adult human. What (Reader) needed, was to feel equal, to feel like they weren't just a pet, but a partner. So how would they feel, if Kirtch ejaculated so deep into their body they were still excreting his cum weeks later?

"I'm going to mark you as mine, (Reader)." It was a lie, his species did no such thing, but the look of unbridled joy on (Reader's) cross eyed face, the loopy smile that twitched as tears poured down to their chest, was a sight that made it worth lying.

"Are you cumming? Are you cumming in me?" (Reader) slurred, barely holding themselves upright in Kirtch's grasp.

"If you promise to be a good little pet." Kirtch could hold out for as long as needed. His species did not have sex for pleasure, so there was no sense of urgency when they needed to release. He could have continued going for hours, if he hadn't overdone it with the collar. (Reader) was on the verge of passing out.

"I promise! I promise to be a good pet! I promise!" (Reader) exclaimed, colliding their lips back onto Kirtch's as a string of hot sperm shot up into (Reader's) body, a fluid so thick it was practically glue, leaving (Reader) feeling physically full. Kirtch couldn't help but push the button again, seeing his pet overflow with adoration for him.

"I love you, (Reader), I really really do."

Kirtch whispered sweet nothing's into his pet's ear as they passed out, then carried them to his bed, tucking in their swollen body, not minding the mess. (Reader) really was the most beautiful and adorable little pet in the entire universe. He doubt that he would ever get another pet after (Reader) was gone. He sat on the floor, rubbing circles into their tear stained cheeks, smiling contently.

Of course, the next day Kirtch would have to use the collar, showing (Reader) how bad they truly felt inside when they refused to get out of bed, and while it was awful making them cry when they tried to refuse to eat, it was for the best. Kirtch knew it wouldn't take long for (Reader) to graduate from needing their collar, and that soon they would always be by his side, begging him to pick them up and play with them. It didn't matter whether (Reader) needed cuddles or needed to be filled with his seed, Kirtch would overuse that remote until they desired his touch all the time.

He didn't mind the glassy, doll like glaze to their eyes, the change in their speech, the way they began crying whenever it looked like Kirtch was unhappy, or how they stopped pushing him away. After months of flushing their system with artificial love, Kirtch knew that his pet was happy with him. And that was all that mattered.

[neigepomme]

Hi! Congrats on 500+ followers! If you're still doing drabbles, I'd love something with Caleb and Unconditional by Jaehyun 재현 has been giving me MAJOR Caleb vibes. For the prompt, maybe something where Caleb is absolutely whipped or obsessed? Over literally anything MC does?? Or maybe something where he just kisses everywhere on diff body parts bc "that's my sugar, I don't need no honey on the side" makes me SICK. Also, thank you for feeding the Loser Caleb agenda!! I owe u my life

˙ ✩°˖ ✈️ unconditional / caleb x reader

synopsis; caleb is hopelessly, utterly whipped for you to say the least. your very existence is something that should be admired, and he isn't shy when it comes to letting you know that.

🍎 pomme's notes — LIVE LAUGH LOVE JAEHYUN!! i miss you come back from the war jamal.. if anyone's interested in participating in my drabble event, the info is right here!

⋆ 800 words / fluff / fem reader / 2nd person

caleb always thought he was the luckiest man on earth. 

being able to be by your side, loving you — hell, you loving him back? he doesn't think it could ever get better, seeing as you're the closest thing to perfection in his mind.

so when you suggested to go on a formal date with him to a high end restaurant in skyhaven, he knew you'd look gorgeous, but holy shit.

dressed in a silk maxi dress that highlighted your body and left your face looking radiant — a dainty necklace with an apple charm he'd gifted you resting on your collarbone, you were the very definition of heaven sent.

your soft honey smell wafted through the room, and caleb could feel himself be drawn in like a bee to a flower — and lord, when you twirled to show him the entire look? lethal. absolutely devastatingly ethereal, knocked his breath right out of his lungs.

“so, how do i look?”

caleb felt like one of those old cartoon characters, his jaw almost dropping to the floor upon seeing how beautiful you looked. silently thanking whichever deity took their time crafting you, he takes hold of your hand and trails kisses up your arm, pulling a soft laugh out of you.

“like an angel. did i ever tell you how much i adore you?”

pulling him in by his collar, you leave a subtle lipstick print when you press your lips to his cheek. 

“mmh, you do so daily, loverboy.”

were you dead set on sending caleb to his grave early? it sure looked like it to him. he could feel his cheeks growing redder, and when you raised your hand to his cheek, attempting to wipe the mark you left on it, he took a step back.

“nuh-uh. that kiss is mine now — need everyone to know i belong with you, pretty girl. last i checked, it was illegal to look that good and be single, so this is just a preventative measure.”

you rolled your eyes at him playfully, smacking his chest before laughing again. did caleb mention he was the luckiest man ever? because he was. your laugh was the most delicate melody to his ears, and he'd do anything to hear it over and over again. 

“that was a lame pickup line, caleb. but if we're going by your logic, you'd be behind bars for being so handsome, too. i guess we'd be felons together, huh?”

yeah. dead set on sending him to the grave prematurely.

his cheeks were flushed, he'd be your lame boyfriend all of the damn time if it meant you kept him by your side, and god, you thought he was handsome? caleb was seeing the pearly gates of heaven already. who on this earth could ever compare to you — his one and only.

wrapping both hands around his bicep, you look up at him with those sweet eyes of yours, and he has to hold himself back from kissing you senseless. you could ask him to give you the moon, and he'd bring you the universe as a whole just to make you happy. for you, he'd break every law, give you every gift, and it wouldn't still be enough. you deserved everything, and caleb was determined to make sure you knew that his love was limitless — unconditional.

“shall we get going, boyfriend?”

he felt like an obedient dog every single time you spoke to him. sometimes, he thought that your existence was the undeniable proof of a higher being. otherwise, how could you have been this perfect? crafted by the hands of gods, your personality and physique so immaculate, it had caleb wanting to praise whoever was up in the sky.

the way you talked, the way you smiled, the way you breathed. he could find new reasons to worship your being for centuries to come and never have to repeat a reason twice.

just last week, he saw you pouting when you let him know that a girl was hitting on him, and he still couldn't wrap his head around how you could be upset. caleb only saw you, and nobody could take his gaze away from your figure. you were his, and the idea of possibly finding another? revolting. no one could take your place, no model, no ceo, absolutely nothing. the only way he'd take his eyes off you was in death, and he was not dying anytime soon — he had already made plans to stay by your side until the end of time.

“we shall, pretty lady. i would never dare dream about letting you down.”

scratch the praise — caleb had to figure out which god loved you so much and take its place. there is no way he's letting his #1 loverboy spot be taken.

🍎 pomme's final notes — CALEB LOVESICK LOSER AGENDA NEVER FAILS!! GRRAAAAAAAAAH

[shuenkio]

㊚ — 𝕳𝖆𝖏𝖎𝖒𝖆 | 성훈

Parring : Sunghoon X M!reader

Synopsis : With this brat attitude of yours he needs to discipline you, backbeing his good boy.

Genre : Smut. Cw : cursing, creampie, mlm, dirty talk etc

Non proof read English is not my first.

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

These past few days, Sunghoon has caught his boyfriend acting out of control lately, the fact that he made it worse for him to read, to understand him, even though you were already that stoic or should we be called tsundere. The taller ones never get angry easily but you just know how to press his right button harder and harder, till he couldn't bear it any longer, the consequences will never be good.

Once you were finally home from your task, Sunghoon was already there, folding his arms together while he was still in his slumber robe. You greet him lazily, not a single word comes out of your mouth, before walking past him and go fresh up by taking a water bottle in the fridge, gulping down your throat.

Sunghoon grits his teeth, jaw tighten however he needs to remain calm, a chance can still make his boyfriend change from this unusual attitude.

"Where have you been without opening your phone and texting your boyfriend hm? Are you fucking single?" Sunghoon's fire up, started the conversation with his bit of irritated.

You shrugged, did not give a damn to answer his question fully, honestly.

"you know me well, why should I tell you. I have to pick up groceries today" message your eyes with a roll, you unload all of the stuff and put it in place, under Sunghoon's pierce eagle eye with a burning flame about to burst. Yet Sunghoon knows too well about his lover, the answer that spits out of your lip, are not 100 the truths, because of your smell of alcohol.

The atmosphere remains dead silent, before it was broken by the sudden chuckle of Sunghoon. The burning flame started to rise from 100 to 1000, not only you're lying with something else, the matter of fact that this attitude of yours needs to be disciplined by him, until you're right again.

While minding your own business, Sunghoon's taller frame shadow hover you, his cold and calm presence that you always sense fade away, replaced by the heat and warmth that send a chill down to your spine.

"we need to fix this attitude of yours M/n, you've been a bad boy these days that driving me insane, I think I should fuck the brain out of you until you can't walk for a week, to know what's wrong with you, Isn't that right to you?" Sunghoon's warm breath brushing against your earlobe that causes goosebumps through your skin. Whispering a warning that you know you're fuck up already, there's no turning back or apologize.

///-///

Yours and his clothes are scattered on the floor, not even a single fabric to cover. With both of your wrists being hostage by Sunghoon's single massive palm, that left a red print on yours. Not to mention, your body is fully naked to his sight, exposing everything off. Your smaller length is hard rocking but didn't make your boyfriend impressed yet instead you catch him laughing.

"Oh puppy, fucking look at your dick and mine can you tell the difference? Holy shit" He said in a low roughly tone, smirked at the corner of his lip, a mischievous grin spread across his face as he enjoys the compared, size difference between you and him. Your smaller frame is the obvious answer. Sunghoon's cock alone is almost as big as your forearm that is hard throbbing flesh, twitching at the dirty words he had said out himself. A bead of precum already glistened at the swollen, mushroom-shaped tip, a testament to his heightened arousal.

You open your mouth to speak but none coming out, Sunghoon's fire aura is dangerously at the moment, if something slips out of your mouth mistakenly, surely he will be determined to make you can't walk for real.

Without any hesitation, the taller frame did not care to grab any lube, he paused to savor your beautiful body, the curve, the leaking of your dick, and the twitching arching hole of yours, for a split minutes as he slowly stroking his enormous length ready to breaking you into two.

The steady breathing was replaced by sharp hiss of pleasure, once he finally thrust in balls deep of his inhuman cock size into the hilt of your hole, driving the thick head of his cock past your tight rim in one hard, brutal stroke. The scorching heat and impossible tightness engulfed him like a vice as he hilted himself fully inside his lover, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, making you feel all of his cock.

"Hoy fuck M/n how can you be so tight than the last time I've fucked you ughh—" he roared, his eyes wild and feral as Sunghoon angled his hips to drive against that secret spot deep inside with every thrust, knowing he'd found it when you let out a choked cry, your body clenching down around him like a silken, scorching glove.

"Y'know what? Your behavior is unacceptable these past few days AHH— FUCK you dare to ignore me, shut me down, and act like an independent idiot! now you have the balls to lying to me? — Who tf went to groceries and come back, smelling like a fucking drunk person??" Sunghoon poured all his bottle emotion that was caused by you, by slamming his pelvic between your buttocks, relentlessly, harder than animals, as he determined to make you feel numb in the legs, to be filled until you pump full of his cum, that you'd be leaking for days and weeks, remember every inches of his veins throbbing gigantic cock, until you won't overdo your mistake again.

Knowing your wrong action, you can't help but cry in pain and pleasure, accept all of his punishment without pushing him away.

With another guttural, animalistic roar that seemed to shake the very walls of the room, he buried himself to the hilt one last time and exploded. As thick, tacky ropes of cum painted your inner walls. His cock jerked and pulsed as he emptied his heavy balls deep inside you for a whole minute straight without stopping, marking his territory, claiming his lover in the most primal way possible. With intense pleasure, Sunghoon's orgasm triggers click in you, as a tidal wave of cum, burst out, making you cum uncontrollably after him.

He breaks down on the top of you, both of them panting and trembling in the aftermath of their release. He nuzzled into your neck, pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses suddenly against your sweat-dampened skin as he fought to catch his breath. No one seems to care about the musky and sex scent that become the heavy smell in the room, yet only to fuel them even more turn on.

"All I want is good for both of us, and you. I never wanted to hurt you but you brought this to yourself. So don't do it again ok? I fucking crazy over you and you know damn well, be back as my m/n I used to know hm?" Sunghoon declares adoringly, holding you close as the last waves of his intense climax rolled through him.

"im--- sorry--- I'll be your good boy---sorry"

Funtalk : if I say I wrote this with 12 inches big of Sunghoon in mind, would you flinch? 🥰

An: anyway I'd love to hear comments from anyone, should I continue to be this frankly or meh? Or even worse (⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ᴥ⁠ ͡⁠°) ? Your thoughts matter pookie ⬇️

Ctto pics & dividers.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

ETA: I wrote up a guide on clues that a foraging book was written by AI here!

[Original Tweet source here.]

[RANT AHEAD]

Okay, yeah. This is a very, very, very bad idea. I understand that there is a certain flavor of techbro who has ABSOLUTELY zero problem with this because "AI is the future, bro", and we're supposed to be reading their articles on how to use AI for side hustles and all that.

I get that ID apps have played into people's tendency to want quick and easy answers to everything (I'm not totally opposed to apps, but please read about how an app does not a Master Naturalist make.) But nature identification is serious stuff, ESPECIALLY when you are trying to identify whether something is safe to eat, handle, etc. You have to be absolutely, completely, 100000% sure of your ID, and then you ALSO have to absolutely verify that it is safely handled and consumed by humans.

As a foraging instructor, I cannot emphasize this enough. My classes, which are intended for a general audience, are very heavy on identification skills for this very reason. I have had (a small subsection of) students complain that I wasn't just spending 2-3 hours listing off bunches of edible plants and fungi, and honestly? They can complain all they want. I am doing MY due diligence to make very sure that the people who take my classes are prepared to go out and start identifying species and then figure out their edibility or lack thereof.

Because it isn't enough to be able to say "Oh, that's a dandelion, and I think this might be an oyster mushroom." It's also not enough to say "Well, such-and-such app says this is Queen Anne's lace and not poison hemlock." You HAVE to have incredibly keen observational skills. You HAVE to be patient enough to take thorough observations and run them through multiple forms of verification (field guides, websites, apps, other foragers/naturalists) to make sure you have a rock-solid identification. And then you ALSO have to be willing to read through multiple sources (NOT just Wikipedia) to determine whether that species is safely consumed by humans, and if so if it needs to be prepared in a particular way or if there are inedible/toxic parts that need to be removed.

AND--this phenomenon of AI-generated crapola emphasizes the fact that in addition to all of the above, you HAVE to have critical thinking skills when it comes to assessing your sources. Just because something is printed on a page doesn't mean it's true. You need to look at the quality of the information being presented. You need to look at the author's sources. You need to compare what this person is saying to other books and resources out there, and make sure there's a consensus.

You also need to look at the author themselves and make absolutely sure they are a real person. Find their website. Find their bio. Find their social media. Find any other manners in which they interact with the world, ESPECIALLY outside of the internet. Contact them. Ask questions. Don't be a jerk about it, because we're just people, but do at least make sure that a book you're interested in buying is by a real person. I guarantee you those of us who are serious about teaching this stuff and who are internet-savvy are going to make it very easy to find who we are (within reason), what we're doing, and why.

Because the OP in that Tweet is absolutely right--people are going to get seriously ill or dead if they try using AI-generated field guides. We have such a wealth of information, both on paper/pixels and in the brains of active, experienced foragers, that we can easily learn from the mistakes of people in the past who got poisoned, and avoid their fate. But it does mean that you MUST have the will and ability to be impeccably thorough in your research--and when in doubt, throw it out.

My inbox is always open. I'm easier caught via email than here, but I will answer. You can always ask me stuff about foraging, about nature identification, etc. And if there's a foraging instructor/author/etc. with a website, chances are they're also going to be more than willing to answer questions. I am happy to direct you to online groups on Facebook and elsewhere where you have a whole slew of people to compare notes with. I want people's foraging to be SAFE and FUN. And AI-generated books aren't the way to make that happen.

[valiantothello]

I often see the sentiment of "Dick grayson has a temper/is a huge asshole" percolate across this fandom and I want to talk about a few panels people typically use to show this.

Here's one from his New Titans days:

"YOU SEE THAT? "PLAYBOY POWS PAPARAZZI!" I CAN SELL THIS ONE TO EVERY PAPER IN THE COUNTRY! "I THINK HE BROKE MY JAW!" "PRINT THAT PHOTO AND I'LL BREAK SOMETHING THAT WON'T HEAL!" "I'LL SUE YOU, GRAYSON! I GOT IT ON FILM! I GOT WITNESSES!"

New Titans #97

But most people like to omit the previous panel:

"KORY, DON'T! KORY! YOU KNOW I DON'T CARE FOR HER. I WASN'T PAYING ATTEN-- I MEAN, I DIDN'T KNOW I WAS SLEEPING WITH HER. I THOUGHT IT WAS YOU! OH, GOD--KORY, YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU. KORY!?!"

"MAN, IT WAS A GOOD THING WE WERE FOLLOWING HIM!" "'PLAYBOY SLEEPS WITH GIRL-FRIEND'S TWIN AND DOESN'T KNOW IT!'" "MAN, IF I HAD A GIRLFRIEND LIKE THAT, I'D NEVER NEED TO LOOK AT ANYONE ELSE."

New Titans #97

Is Dick, who is being mocked and goaded for his own rape, lashing out and showing his "temper"? Or is he showing a reasonable reaction to the horrific things that are happening to him?

Another example is the time Dick killed the joker:

"ALL THE DEATHS! ALL THE PAIN! WHEN IS ENOUGH ENOUGH, JOKER!?"

"AW... JEEZ.. I HIT JASON A LOT HARDER THAN THAT. HIS NAME WAS JASON, RIGHT? SHUUH- SHOULDA VIDEOED THIS. OOOOH."

People often forget about this guy:

"WHATEVER STOKES YOU UP, PRETTY BOY... WHATEVER FEEDS THAT YUMMY-TASTY HATE BUBBLIN' UP INSIDE YOU."

Joker: Last Laugh #6

This is a classic moment of Dick Grayson being brainwashed, mind-controlled etc. The character creeping on Dick is called Rancor - a white supremacist meta who has the ability to dramatically increase the anger/hatred someone is feeling. Yes, Dick was furious that the Joker "killed" Tim, but there was no guarantee Dick was out to kill the Joker.

"NO ONE HATES HIM MORE THAN ME. NO ONE WANTS HIM DEAD MORE THAN ME. BUT THIS ISN'T THE WAY. "I KNOW, BABS. GOD HELP ME, I KNOW."

Dick admits to Barbara that he knows that he shouldn't kill the Joker despite expressing clearly that he wants to. But immediately after, Dinah says this to Barbara:

"I TRIED TO STOP KIM... BUT HE SUCKER-PUNCHED ME AND TOOK MY BIKE. HE DID APOLOGIZE THOUGH... STALWART TO A FAULT, YOUR GUY."

This panel immediately picks up after the last one. Dick fights with Dinah off-panel and apologises for it. We also know that Rancor was following him the whole time. Its reasonable to assume that Dick was lashing out at Dinah because of his altered emotions via Rancor's mind-control. Is it really fair to assume that had Rancor not been there, Dick would've went through with killing the Joker? I don't think so.

Another infamous one is Dick's fight with Donna:

"ON TOP OF ALL THAT, KOLE'S DEAD, AND WHAT DID YOU DO WHILE ALL THIS WAS HAPPENING? WHAT MENACE WERE YOU FIGHTING? WHAT WAS DISTRACTING YOU FROM FOLLOWING UP ON RAVEN'S "PLEASE, DICK--DON'T SAY IT."

"DISAPPEARANCE OR MENTO'S INSANITY? YOUR HUSBAND NEEDED HELP WRITING SOME COLLEGE PAPER! THE WORLD GOES TO HELL IN A HANDCART BUT YOU STAY AT HOME HELPING SOMEONE WRITE A LOUSY STORY!"

"STOP IT, DICK... STOP IT!"

New teen titans Vol 2 #19

The panels before it:

"I'M NOT GOING TO LET YOU GIVE UP, DICK. KORY MAY BE MARRIED, BUT IT'S NOT THE END OF THE UNIVERSE. NOT FOR HER OR FOR YOU. AND I'M NOT GOING TO LET YOU TAKE OUT YOUR FRUSTRATIONS ON THE REST OF US. DO YOU HEAR WHAT I'M SAYING, DICK?"

"DONNA, YOUR MISTAKE IS YOU ASSUME I GIVE A DAMN ABOUT WHAT YOU'RE SAYING. I DON'T. MOVE ASIDE, PLEASE. I WANT TO GO OUT." "NO. I'M NOT DONE." "I SAID I DON'T CARE, NOW PLEASE... MOVE." "NO."

New teen titans Vol 2 #19

Notice how Dick repeatedly tells Donna to let it be. He clearly didn't want to discuss the Karras-Kory marriage because he was also being ACTIVELY BRAINWASHED in this moment and is canonically lashing out at his friends and girlfriend because of it. Donna refuses to leave Dick alone, even adding a defiant "No." after he asks.

After Dick snaps and starts yelling some very, very harsh truths at her, Donna starts to violently lash out at Dick.

Notably, Dick doesn't hit Donna back despite his altered mind state. Whilst I'm not villifying Donna for having this reaction at all, she wasn't in the right either. Despite Dick telling her to back off, she did not. Despite knowing Dick was volatile at that moment - the whole reason she wanted to have the talk- Donna still couldn't handle Dick's anger without responding with violence. As such, this isn't; a show of Dick "losing his temper" due to him actively fighting brainwashing, a particularly good representation of their friendship or a girlboss moment for Donna.

There are other moments I could point out that fandom uses to display Dick's "temper" or him being "an asshole" (🙄) and the more I see, the more I notice how out of context these moments are displayed to be.

There's something very disingenuous about deliberately posting panels of Dick acting a certain way with zero context which leads people to believe he is acting that way with no provocation - which is usually not the case- all in the name of giving him a "character flaw". If you can't find said flaw without the character being mind-controlled or literally out of their mind in grief, is it really a character flaw or just fanon?.

[cxvii666]

“nokia”

college au! denki kaminari + hanta sero x reader

“where's the function?" “—where the fuck the function?” “send the addy—” “where the fuck the function???”

wc: 3.7k

part of the hoe cakes - EP

...starting track

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

.....

"guess who just got that big cashmoneyyyyy!!!"

denki kaminari, to much surprise of those who don't know him so well, is an early riser.

that's not to say that the blonde's sleep schedule isn't completely out of wack, because it is. late nights that could barely be counted as nights, more like extremely early mornings, are not infrequent to him. most days he's up till 2am on his playstation, or playing minecraft on his laptop, or rewatching the same three movies.

but he's always up before 7am.

fuelled by nictotine, caffeine, (sometimes ketamine), and sheer willpower.

he enjoys getting up with the sun, the quiet of the house at dawn.

it's peaceful in a way nothing else is. he gets to attempt at quieting his mind. sometimes he's downstairs before bakugou goes on his morning run, so he makes the guy his favourite disgustingly green multivitamin shakes, and in return receives quiet instruction, general life advice, and insightful words of wisdom from the other blonde. because they are both calm in a way they're normally not.

hanta sero, on the other hand, is a master of the lay in. you won't see him before 2pm on a regular day, he'll be upstairs in his room, snoozing, snoring, drooling into his pillow, until either his stomach wakes him up and he leaves his dungeon of his own accord, in search of food or an energy drink, or, someone gets sent up to check on him, to make sure he's not dead or something like that.

on this particular morning, hanta had stumbled downstairs just after midday, slightly buzzing because he had finally bought the pair of sneakers he'd been eyeing up for the last week.

he flops onto the couch, a gangly pile of long limbs and messy brown hair, knocking denki on the leg accidentally-on-purpose. denki looks up briefly, over the top of his book, from where he's resting in the corner of the couch and acknowledges his friend with a nod.

"'bit early for you, ain't it," the blonde mumbles, the frame of his reading glasses slipping slightly as he turns the page.

"shaddup." is all he receives from hanta in return, who then takes a swig of his redbull like he's tryna give himself wings.

"dude, did you hear what i just said?" hanta yawns out, lazily kicking his feet up to rest on the blonde's shin, "the bag just got dropped in my bank account."

"what, you finally got that uber eats refund?" denki snorts, eyes still focused on the printed words on the page, he has to finish this chapter now, else he won't pick the book back up for another two weeks.

"don't be funny," hanta laments, thinking of the food that never got delivered, the money that was never returned, "and fuck uber, fuck the government." denki rolls his eyes at the rant he's already heard, "what do they get out of torturing underpaid students, huh? no loyalty in this game."

"what game?" denki replies, nearly at the end of the page.

"the game of life," he drawls back dryly. "you finish that chapter yet? i wanna go for a smoke."

"almost, the mc is pissing me off though, i don't know if i can finish this."

"what's the book?"

"pride and prejudice."

hanta whistles low and long, head tilted as he picks his phone back up to open depop. "damn," he mutters, thumb pausing over a blurry jpeg of a hoodie that definitely doesn’t justify the £85 price tag, "sorry, mister classic literature."

denki doesn't even glance up. he just hums, flipping another page with the careful indifference of someone pretending they’re not rereading the same paragraph for the third time.

they fall into silence — not heavy, just easy — filled only by the soft tap-tap-tap of hanta’s screen and the occasional creak of the old couch when one of them shifts. sunlight slants through the living room blinds, catching on dust motes and the curl of denki’s blonde hair as he leans deeper into the cushions, glasses slipping slightly down his nose.

hanta’s sprawled out beside him, legs stretched halfway off the couch, socked feet resting dangerously close to denki’s side. he’s locked in, zoned out, scrolling through overpriced streetwear resellers hawking one-of-one drops and faded zip-ups from some underground german brand he can’t even pronounce.

the quiet’s broken by the sharp snap of a book closing.

“you got funds for said smoke?” denki asks, voice dry, already reaching for his phone.

“i haven’t picked up yet,” hanta replies without looking up.

“that’s not what i asked.”

“you’re so annoying.”

“i was gonna text shinsou. he came back yesterday, i’m sure he’s got at least an eighth on him.”

hanta stretches, joints popping. “then yeah. tell him i’ll bank transfer.”

denki raises an eyebrow. “so you do have smoke money.”

hanta tosses his phone up, catches it against his chest. “what did i say earlier? the bag got dropped.”

a beat.

denki glances at his phone, brows lifting. “oh shit. it’s the 30th.”

“there he is,” hanta grins, already anticipating it. “and you know what that means—”

“we got paiddddd” denki sing-songs, jumping up just enough to do a half-assed shoulder shimmy.

hanta kills the moment immediately, as he always does, with a well-timed scoff and a raised brow. “we? bro, who’s this we you speak of?”

denki freezes mid-dance, blinking. “we… like, you and me?” he gestures between them helplessly. “that’s, like, basic grammar, i fear.”

“i mean,” hanta says, voice climbing mock-dramatically, “there is no ‘we’, okay? you don’t have to spend all your free time in that stupid stockroom. ‘sero can you come in today?’ ‘sero we need a full size range of xyz’ ‘sero can you take the bins out?’ ‘sero can you close the store tonight and then open the next morning’—NO. fuck that.”

denki snorts, trying and failing to hide the smirk pulling at his mouth.

hanta sees it and narrows his eyes. “unemployed bastard. shut the fuck up.”

“okay, okay, relax, bruh,” denki says, holding up both hands. “you know what?”

“…what?”

“we should go out tonight.”

“are you kidding? i thought we were locking in. don’t you have, like, five assignments due next—”

“no thoughts. only vibes.”

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

by 9pm they’re crammed around a too-small, sticky round table in a bar that smells like old wood and spilled citrus. the lighting’s low and uneven, all weird amber glows and exposed wires, and the music is some indie playlist that’s trying a little too hard to be ironic. something with a harmonica plays over the speakers, no one knows the words, but everyone knows the vibe: overpriced, under-cleaned, maybe cool in a way that’s embarrassing if you think about it too long.

denki’s halfway into his second tequila soda, slouched back against the booth with his knees knocking into hanta’s. his eyes are glassy, hair a little damp at the temples, grinning like someone just told him the funniest joke in the world and he’s still recovering.

hanta’s beside him, obviously crossfaded. talking too loud, gesturing too big with a joint in his hand, cheeks flushed pink from a cocktail that had way more liquor than mixer. he’s half on the seat and half off, manspreading shamelessly and knocking into denki every time he tries to make a point.

kiri’s on denki’s other side, balanced on a chair that definitely wasn’t made for his size, nursing a beer that’s already gone warm, launching into some dramatic story about how he “definitely tore something” at the gym last week.

“nah dude, i swear, i was just squatting and something snapped—”

“your common sense,” bakugou mutters from across the table, not looking up from the glass of whiskey he’s been babysitting for the past twenty minutes.

“fuck off, man,” kirishima laughs, clapping him hard on the shoulder, “just ‘cause i’m built different—”

“built stupid,” bakugou corrects, finally glancing up, eyes narrowed like he’s considering whether the redhead needs to be thrown out the window or just insulted more thoroughly.

shinsou’s wedged between bakugou and the wall, hoodie hood up, sipping something dark and bitter with the look of a man who’s about to start dissociating. he hasn't said much since they sat down, just making faces into his glass every time someone raises their voice — which is often.

denki points across the table suddenly, finger wobbling as he focuses on bakugou. “i’m just saying,” he slurs, “you’re, like, objectively the hottest out of all of us, and that’s so unfair because you’re also mean and rich.”

bakugou doesn’t even blink. just flips him off slowly, deliberately, like he’s done it so many times it’s lost all meaning.

“i think i’m the hottest,” hanta says, almost spilling his drink on his lap. “in a, like, mysterious way. like… the kinda hot that sneaks up on you.”

“you’re hot in a raccoon-at-3am kinda way,” shinsou mutters into his drink without missing a beat.

hanta pauses. considers. “thank you?”

kiri claps him on the back like he just won a prize. “you’ve got that haunted twink energy. it works for you.”

hanta makes a face like he’s been personally victimised. “okay wow, homophobic and accurate. you guys are on thin fuckin ice.”

they all laugh — loud and messy — drawing a few annoyed looks from the couple at the next table over. denki knocks his knee against hanta’s and hiccups once, eyes fluttering closed like the room’s starting to spin just slightly.

then he suddenly lurches forward, forehead thunking onto the sticky wood of the table as he groans, “can we go somewhere else? shinsou, your internship aged you like milk. i feel like we’re thirty-five. i wanna move. i wanna dance. i want fun.”

“then go,” shinsou says, without even lifting his head.

denki doesn’t even hesitate. he’s already got his phone out, dialing with shaking hands and tequila optimism. he holds the phone to his ear like it owes him money.

“this is gonna end badly,” hanta whispers to kirishima, grinning wide.

“denki, babe, what’s up?” mina answers on the second ring, her voice loud with bass and laughter and probably a little champagne.

“where are you? save me. i’m surrounded by clinically depressed men and i need a serotonin shot.”

“club downtown with the girls. music’s fire. drinks are pink. get your ass here.”

“we’re on our way.”

he hangs up like he just solved a crime and slaps his palm down on the table. “mina’s at the club. we’re going. sero, get up.”

“say less,” hanta says, already trying to climb over the bench with the grace of a baby giraffe.

“absolutely not,” bakugou growls, right as kiri fist-pumps with a too-loud, “hell yeah!”

shinsou sighs like he’s dying, then tips the rest of his drink back like it might bring him peace.

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

they leave the bar like a storm — noisy, uncoordinated, half-drunk and dramatic. denki’s leading the charge, coat flapping behind him like a cape as he marches toward the curb, phone in hand and eyes bright with mission.

“someone call a ride,” shinsou mutters, already regretting this.

“on it,” hanta announces, immediately opening instagram instead of uber. “wait, no, shit.”

“i’ll do it,” bakugou growls, snatching the phone out of hanta’s hand. “you idiots’ll end up the other side of the fuckin' country.”

“wow,” hanta says, mock-offended, “it’s giving control issues.”

“it’s giving i don’t want to die in a ditch tonight,” bakugou snaps.

kiri’s standing too close to the street, waving his arms. “is this legal if i flag one down like a taxi—”

“it’s a rideshare, bro!” denki yells, exasperated. “you don’t just... wave at random cars!”

“what if it’s the vibe though?”

the car arrives miraculously only five minutes later, a silver prius that has seen better days. they pile in like a jenga tower mid-collapse — kirishima practically sitting on shinsou, hanta in the middle seat with both elbows out like he owns the place, denki leaning his whole body across the row to yell something incoherent out the window. bakugou slams the door shut with unnecessary force and glares at the driver like sorry in advance.

the entire ride is chaos.

denki insists on playing music and ends up blasting a playlist called “feral thot energy.” hanta starts freestyle rapping over it, badly. kiri tries to harmonize. shinsou has his head against the window with the thousand-yard stare of a man who has made several mistakes in life.

“this is the kind of night where legends are born,” denki declares, arm draped around hanta’s shoulder like a drunk prom date.

“it’s the kind of night where someone gets kicked out of a club,” shinsou mutters.

“same difference.”

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

the club hits them like a wave — sound and sweat and heat and light. music thrums through the floor, vibrating up through their shoes, a pulsing beat that makes your ribs buzz. everything’s cast in blue and purple and gold strobe. bodies packed tight, the air thick with perfume, alcohol, and cheap fog machine mist.

mina spots them first — she’s glowing, standing on the low couch in a VIP booth like it’s a stage, waving her drink and grinning like she owns the place. she yells something they can’t hear and beckons them over.

they shove their way through the crowd, hands on shoulders, stumbling into strangers. hanta gets distracted by a girl in platform boots and nearly crashes into a server. kiri’s already hyping himself up, bouncing to the beat, dragging bakugou by the wrist with zero shame.

shinsou disappears into the dark like a shadow, muttering something about getting a drink and being “less near all of you.”

denki’s still laughing when he sees you.

his brain short-circuits. just flatlines for a second.

you’re across the room, leaning against the bar with a drink in hand, face lit up in electric violet from the LED strip beneath the counter. you’re laughing — at what, he doesn’t know — and you look good. criminally good. all done up and shining like you were dipped in starlight and eyeliner.

denki halts mid-step, grabbing hanta’s arm like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth.

"holy shit."

hanta blinks, following his gaze. he spots you instantly. his entire vibe shifts in half a second.

denki’s shoulders stiffen. hanta’s grin tilts, almost smug.

they don’t say a word — but the battle lines are drawn.

denki smooths his shirt down and straightens up, already plotting, because tonight just got way more interesting.

"bro," the brown eyed boy drawls, his normally nonchalant tone cracking, "you’re joking."

"i’m not. she’s here. she’s right fucking there."

they both just stand there for a beat, frozen in place like idiots in a teen movie.

"we knew this might happen," hanta says, knocking back a too-big sip of his drink like it’ll help. "she’s friends with mina. and mina lives here. and we are, unfortunately, also here."

denki groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. "okay but what do we do?"

"we don’t panic," hanta says, clearly starting to panic. "you like her. i like her. classic romcom setup. we wingman each other. bros helping bros."

"that never works."

"you’re right. but i’m already a teensy bit faded, so my judgment is impaired. let’s do it anyway."

they fist bump like absolute morons. it’s unspoken, the truce. the agreement. the absolute guaranteed disaster they’re about to unleash on themselves.

“denki,” hanta hisses suddenly as they're making their way over to the bar, grabbing his friend by the shoulder like he’s about to keep him from walking into traffic. “don’t do the eyebrow thing. it makes you look insane.”

denki freezes mid-step, brow raised just slightly, lips twitching in what was clearly meant to be a smolder but lands somewhere between drunken anime villain and confused raccoon. his bleached hair is slightly damp from the humidity of the club, strands clinging to his forehead, cheeks already pink with tequila and ego.

“what eyebrow thing?” he says innocently, blinking way too much.

“that thing where you raise one and try to smolder. you look like a drunk ferret.”

denki looks genuinely offended. “you’re so full of shit.”

“don’t fight me on this right now,” hanta says, standing tall, long limbs graceful in that lazy way only he can pull off — baggy jeans slung low, silver chain flashing under the neon. “focus. you’re acting like this is a final boss level. relax.”

before denki can retaliate, you spot them.

your grin is immediate — wide, familiar, a little sharp at the edges like you already know something they don’t. you’re leaning against the bar like you own the place, glass in hand, lips glossy, eyes flicking between the two of them like you’re trying to decide who to bully first.

“well, well, well,” you say, raising your drink. “look who crawled out of the sad boy table.”

“we got tired of being emotionally repressed,” denki replies with a grin, already sliding closer. his chain catches the light, and there’s a faint glitter on his cheek like he walked through a cloud of mina’s body spray.

“also the drinks here are pink. i couldn’t resist.”

“pink drinks do hit different,” you concede, tipping your glass to him.

hanta leans in on the other side of you, effortlessly cool, one elbow braced on the bar like he’s done this a hundred times before — because he has. he flashes a lazy smile. “so who’s your friend?”

you glance sideways, and the guy you’d been chatting with is already edging away like a guy smart enough to take a hint. “just someone mina introduced. he’s chill. not as entertaining as you two, apparently.”

they both beam at that — practically glowing.

and for a while, it’s good.

you talk, or more accurately, yell over the pounding bass. denki shoves a round of lemon drop shots into everyone’s hands like he’s on a mission from god. hanta makes a joke about astrology that makes you snort vodka soda through your nose. denki doubles over laughing and nearly chokes on a lime wedge.

you steal one of his fries when a plate of mystery bar food appears out of nowhere, and he acts like you’ve committed a felony. hanta dramatically narrates a fake backstory for the guy passed out in the booth across the room. it’s chaotic and stupid and loud and fun.

until it stops being that.

it’s little things, at first. denki cuts hanta off halfway through a story, correcting him on some inconsequential detail. hanta retaliates by one-upping him on a joke you weren’t really listening to. denki starts leaning a little too close to you. hanta starts rolling his eyes a little too obviously.

you feel it shift — the air getting tighter.

“you always do this,” hanta mutters later, after denki slides into the booth beside you uninvited, legs brushing yours casually like it’s nothing. “you get weird.”

“i’m not weird,” denki snaps, voice rising just enough to make it obvious that he is.

“you’re doing the thing.”

“what thing?”

“the thing where you pretend to wingman but then you cockblock.”

“you literally just told her i cried during Up.”

“because you did!” hanta says, throwing his arms up. “and it was sweet!”

“it was manipulative.”

“you need therapy.”

you stare at both of them, blinking in mild alarm. “are you guys okay?”

“we’re fine,” they say in unison. then glare at each other.

a beat passes. the silence is immediate and awkward.

“i’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you announce, already sliding out of the booth. it’s the emotional equivalent of pulling the fire alarm.

as soon as you’re gone, the mood collapses in on itself like a dying star.

“we’re idiots,” hanta says, rubbing his hand over his face.

“massive idiots,” denki agrees, eyes on the condensation sliding down his glass.

“she probably thinks we’re in love with each other.”

“we are. just not the sexy kind.”

they sit with that. the weight of it. the creeping shame of being two grown men emotionally combusting over a single girl in a bar with glittery walls and a sticky floor.

“you wanna go home?”

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

they stumble into hanta’s room just past midnight, extremely early by their standards, shoes half-kicked off in the doorway, smelling like tequila, sweat, weed, and mutual defeat. the walls glow dimly with the soft wash of purple LEDs, casting shadows over the usual mess — a hoodie draped on the desk chair, empty cans on the windowsill, a pair of skate shoes abandoned under the bed.

denki drops face-first onto the mattress with a dramatic groan. “we blew it.”

“royally,” hanta agrees, toeing off his sneakers and collapsing beside him. “like, worse than the Up thing.”

“i’m never gonna hear the end of the Up thing.”

“you cried so hard," hanta giggles out into the silence.

“don’t start again,” denki mumbles into the blanket. “we’re mourning.”

“mourning what? the shreds of our dignity?”

“that. and the fact that we probably scared her off forever.”

hanta snorts softly. “you think she’ll still come over saturday?”

“she said she would.” denki flips onto his back and stares at the ceiling like it has answers. “you invited her, remember? you were all—come hang, it’ll be chill, we’ll do frozen margaritas, good weed and bad movies.”

“yeah, and you added i’ll make nachos and accidentally seduce you with my helpless little golden retriever charm.”

“it’s not a bit. it’s my burden.”

they lapse into silence again, heads lolling toward each other on the bed, limbs splayed out like they’ve just returned from war.

“you think she’s into you?” hanta asks eventually, voice low, a little too casual to be real.

denki’s quiet for a beat. “i dunno. maybe?”

another pause.

“you?”

hanta lets out a long breath. “maybe.”

they don’t look at each other. they don’t need to. it’s not the first time they’ve liked the same person — just the first time it might actually matter.

“we suck,” denki says again, softer this time.

“at least we suck together.”

"that's so gay."

they fall asleep like that — fully clothed, limbs tangled, laughter still clinging to their skin like the glitter they’ll find in the morning.

...end of playback

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

prev track ▷ 93 'til infinity

next track ▷ black beatles

[arsenicjuice]

Grooming Habits of the 141

Capt. John Price

John's grooming habits are pretty basic. He's definitely a straight razor kinda guy for dealing with facial hair [bonus points for that heavenly aftershave he uses]

It goes without saying that he's something of a bear. And much like a bear, he's never seen much need in shaving/trimming very much of it. That isn't to say that he won't take the time to occasionally trim down those areas he deemed especially hairy, just that he's not making it a priority. [Of course, when he's in a committed relationship he's totally open to the idea of letting you wax the back hair.]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Where John's grooming regime is basic, Simon stands as his antithesis. This man has no regime. Not that he's unkempt, on the contrary, Simon just doesn't see a need for anything 'fancy'.

Walks into the commissary, grabs the first thing with 'soap' printed across the front and that's what hell be using for all his hygiene requirements for the next six months.

And don't even get me started on shaving. This man was blessed by the genetic gods [his words] what body hair he does have manifests as a fine smattering across his chest, tapering into a fine line that gathers generously between his legs. No he's never taken a razor to those sensitive regions, and no the topic is not open for discussion.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

This man, by far, has the most extensive grooming routines. Kyle Garrick takes hygiene, and by extension, his appearance very seriously. Johnny still gives him hell for the facial wipes he found in his pack last deployment.

Kyle sees no shame in taking pride in his appearance, and if you want quality, sometimes you're gonna have to spend a little more on quality products. [Did you hear? Simon's wallet just shivered]

For someone as clean shaven as Kyle, he's not big on shaving those sensitive areas, preferring a cursory trim here and there. Now, all bets are off if he has a bird coming over, Kyle makes sure to pull out all the stops, spending that extra five minutes shaping up that gorgeous dark trail of hair that teases the waistband of his boxers.

Let's just say you won't be dissapointed with the rest...

Johnny 'Soap' Mac Tavish

This man is better with his habits that Simon, but not by much. Every inch as burly and hairy as John, unless he's got a bonnie hen coming for a visit, Johnny is doing the bare minimum in landscaping.

Afterall, his haircare routine more than makes up for time spent lacking in other departments. Where Johnny is willing to scrimp on body washes, he'd be caught dead before he'd use bargain basement shampoo and conditioner [something an ex drilled into him]

He'll spend his extra minutes checking and rechecked his edges to make sure everything is shaped to his liking, and finish it up with an extra swipe of that slightly better than bargain deodorant. Never let it be said that he's not clean and good smelling.