#also couple all of this with being poor + having to work + a goddamn pandemic + not having family here

[dykekakashi]

i genuinely don't think most people understand how lonely immigrating to this fucking country is

[ereawrites]

Hey gurl✨ I’m in my wife era rn so maybe some Shisui and/or Tobirama husband/jealous husband hcs?🫣 I loooovee your writing and tbh your thoughts are my thoughts so no pressure😩 If you not feeling it feel free to ignore me babe🧚🏻‍♀️

YOU HAVE FED ME SO GOOD MISS GIRL! under the cut for length

shisui

this isn't too relevant but I have to include it. it's too cute. I definitely see shisui getting married pretty young, like early 20s. if he finds his person he's going for it. probably gets a lot of shit for it from his family, but he doesn't care

loooong honeymoon period. in part because they're still a young couple but also... shisui is just a really devoted husband. he loves the married life. insists on kissing her goodbye every morning, eating together every night, stuff like that

LOVES DECORATING THEIR HOUSE are u kidding me. let's say they get a kinda shitty place right after they get married, and put a tonne of work into doing it up. he gets so into painting, building the furniture, even starts up a little herb garden in their kitchen

finds so many ways to drop his wife into conversation lol. he's down bad even after the honeymoon period ends, so he wants to show her off. his FAV is when she swings by his workplace to bring him his 'forgotten' lunch. he turns around to the rest of the guys like. yeah. that's my WIFE. isn't she hot.

very much a believer in keeping the romance alive. he wants to keep making the effort with her until the day he dies. veryyyy good at remembering anniversaries, scheduling regular date nights, etc. always makes sure she has fresh flowers in the house

obviously it isn't all perfect though. especially while they're young (and presumably both still active, high-ranking shinobi) their schedules keep them apart a lot. and this hits shisui really hard tbh. he hates coming back to an empty home after a long mission, knowing he might not even see his wife before he has to leave again

work is probably where most of their arguments stem from, actually. I don't see it being a regular thing, but it's easy for resentment to build in those kinds of situations. shisui is very torn between his love for his village, and his love for his wife, and the fact he can't prioritise both. thankfully shisui is a good communicator so they make things work.

in terms of jealousy... I don't see it being a common thing. maybe before they get married he tends towards it a bit more, but once she's his wife, why would he worry? she's his entire world and he knows she loves him just as much

the only way I rly see him getting jealous at all is if they're going through a bit of a rough patch for the reasons mentioned above. maybe they haven't seen each other in weeks, and they both get back from a mission on the same day. and there's some kind of event/function that evening that they have to attend

so they barely have a chance to acknowledge each other, before they're pulled apart again by the crowd. so if shisui sees some random guy getting a little too close and flirty with her, he gets more annoyed than he'd like to admit

even then though.. he's not necessarily jealous as much as he is upset. like goddamn just let this poor man have his beloved wife to himself for a night. in this situation he's more likely to behave more rashly than usual, and he might just make some excuses and take her home lol. he gets a little bit pouty until she gives him some attention

overall, though, he's very chill. he trusts her implicitly, and expects the same from her. they need to have a very honest, respectful relationship if he's going to wife her up

god okay and in old age they're so cute together. I bet they have a bunch of kids (probably accidentally tbh lol) so then they end up with a whole squadron of grandchildren. he's that fun grandpa who sneaks them sweets when the parents aren't looking. all the grandbabies want to sleep over at their house. and they LOVE it.

to sum up: very good husband. very relaxed, communicates well, makes her feel loved every day. why did he have to die I want to throw myself off a bridge.

tobirama

first of all. good job to this woman. wrangling tobirama into marriage is not an easy job. he's so fucking ANNOYING. it probably takes him years to confess he even has feelings for her, let alone ask for her hand in marriage

but once he gets there. it's pretty cute. he doesn't really act very differently for the most part - he'd already decided his heart belonged to her well before they married, and wholly committed. so his behaviour doesn't change much, and there isn't much of a honeymoon period. sorry. he's like marriage is just a contractual agreement why would it change anything between us

he does make a few little indulgences though. he gets this smug little look every time he introduces her as his wife. he's actually just a lot more prone to 'showing her off' in general, and more likely to show some physical affection in public. for tobirama that's maybe a peck on the cheek lol. but it's progress

he's definitely a lot.... gentler?idk. with her once they're married as well. he makes an effort to be more patient and less snippy, and shows his appreciation for her in a lot of quiet little ways. for example, he'll be sure to leave work on time no matter how busy it is if he knows she's putting a lot of effort into dinner that night. or if she spends a second too long looking at a new dress in the store, he's buying it for her

on that note. tobirama is such a provider once they're married. he does have that traditional idea of providing for his wife. he'll probably ask her if she wants to become a stay at home wife tbh. if she says yes, he still expects her to get out in the community of course. he'd love if she did volunteering work, maybe at the hospital or with kids or something. but he's also equally happy for her to keep working. power couple vibes very strong

they have a nice, quiet little house away from the village where no one bothers then and they loooove it. especially tobirama, his wife and their home are his sanctuary. everyone else gtfo

other than that, not much is really different from before their marriage. they probably actually lead quite independent lives, to the point where people don't even know they're married until tobirama drops it into conversation a few months later. they're very private and lowkey.

unfortunately for her, tobirama's paranoia also persists. he's a bit delulu sometimes lol and she knows this going in. but it does inevitably cause some issues, especially if she's headstrong (which is definitely the type of woman he ends up with)

he trusts his wife more than anything. he would never doubt her for a second. but other men? the enemy. not to be trusted. they're all dogs. it drives him absolutely batshit crazy to watch them ogling her, or god forbid trying to flirt with her. which is actually kinda common bc they're such a lowkey couple, so people assume she's single

tobirama isn't one to make a scene per se, but this definitely leads to a few awkward situations in public, and she probably ends up embarrassed a few times. and there's 10000% arguments behind closed doors. I don't see either of them being good with this lol. he acts like she's his political enemy he's ridiculous

but because he loves her so much, and he actually really wants to put work into the longevity of their marriage, he'll come around. he's a lot softer and more willing to compromise when it comes to her. but she can't point that out because he's mortified

over time, he chills out a lot more. they're one of those couples that just get stronger and better with time. they grow a lot together, and although they probably continue to disagree a lot throughout their marriage, it's always in a way that leaves their relationship stronger. and he only gets softer for her. people (hashirama) even start to point out how devoted he is and he can't even deny it. cute

overall a kind of difficult husband, because he is an exceptionally difficult man, but my god he loves her so much. he would do anything to make her happy.

[cevansbrat0007]

Bad Days

Summary: Ari helps you get through a particularly bad day...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Insecure Reader, Ari Being A Menace, Discussions of Poor Body Image, Body Insecurities, Name Calling, Mentions of Disordered Eating, Clothed Male Nude Female (CMNF), Oral Sex (Fem Rec Implied), Ass Slapping, Spanking (mentioned), Pet Names, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“I don’t think I wanna do this.” You grumble as you walk into the living room. You lean down to hand your companion a glass of scotch, offering him a half smile when he gently takes it and places it on a nearby coffee table. “Seriously.”

Instead of responding, he simply pats his lap and waits. 

“Okay. How about we don’t need to do this?” You try again, hating how relaxed his big body seems while taking up way too much space on your couch. 

Ari shrugs then, catching his plump bottom lip between his perfect teeth and waits. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t demand. Doesn’t boss. He just waits.

For you.

“It’s stupid.” Your voice comes out softer now, more delicate. “And it’s not like it's gonna change anything.” 

Your Bounty Hunter cocks his head to the side, one tawny brow raised as he patiently waits for you to continue cycling through your list of objections. 

“I just have bad days sometimes.” Hot tears prick the backs of your eyes. But even though you’re quick to blink them away, you’re not quite fast enough. 

Ari studies you for a moment, his piercing blue eyes making your nipples pebble beneath the thin material of your silk robe. It made it hard to remember that you were technically in trouble. Which meant that was was about to happen could technically be construed as a punishment. 

“Then why don’t you be my good little Bird and have a seat, hm?” Your man’s deep voice comes out thick and rough. And while you have a feeling that he wants to make you obey, you know he also wants you to come to him on your own.

“Can the robe stay on, maybe?” You ask, your freshly polished toes digging into the short, plush carpet. “What if I get cold? Or–”

“You won’t.” He softly interjects, widening his jean-covered thighs just a little. Because although you didn’t know this, he’d already made a couple quick adjustments to the thermostat just in case. The last thing your man wanted to do was make you uncomfortable – at least not like that.

And then he holds out his hand for your robe. You stand there glaring at him, the two of you engaged in a silent battle of wills. He wins, of course. But only because you have nothing to throw at him. 

Except for your goddamned robe, which the smug bastard manages to catch midair. 

Ari tosses it to the other side of the couch before returning his attention to you. He’s pleased when you take a tentative step toward him, followed by another. And then another. The next thing you know, you’re slowly easing your nude body onto his lap…

And into his waiting arms. 

Immediately he wraps them around you, drawing you closer to his hard, muscled body. It never fails to make you feel soft and feminine – even when your mind was busy screaming at you that you were anything but. 

Today you felt dumpy, fat, and unattractive. 

But then here was this handsome man, holding onto you as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. It was enough to make you start crying all over again. Just like you had this earlier morning.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat as you work to speak.

“I gotta be honest with you, baby.” Ari murmurs after a few minutes, his warm lips skimming over your brow. “I didn’t like what I heard come outta that pretty mouth this morning. Especially didn’t like it when you called yourself a pig.”

“Why?” You choke out a wet laugh. “Would you rather I have compared myself to some other barnyard animal?”

You’re rewarded for your snark with a sharp slap to your left flank, which suddenly has you burying your face in the crook of his neck. 

Oops. Guess that wasn’t the response he was looking for.

“No.” He grunts as you feel his fingers dig into the tender flesh of your thighs. You had no doubt that you’d be sporting a delicious set of fresh bruises on your skin by tomorrow morning. 

“Oh.” Whimpering softly, you wrap your arms around his neck as you try to ignore the way his possessive, proprietary touch makes your body flare to life.    

“I wanna know why you felt the need to make the comment at all. Regardless of whether you knew I was listening or not.”

And there was the rub. You hadn’t expected him to come during your meltdown, let alone actually hear you berating yourself to the degree that you had been. Had you known you’d had an audience you would’ve at least had the sense to lock yourself in the bathroom or something, but instead you’d just had to cry your heart out in the middle of your bedroom floor. 

You must’ve looked so pathetic to him in that moment.

“Stop.” Ari commands, the single word spoken like a heated caress against your ear. “Whatever mean thought you’re thinkin’, I’m tellin’ you to knock it off right now.”

“H–how?” Your question comes out muffled thanks to the fact that your face is still hidden in his neck. 

“You have a tendency to tense up whenever you’re being unkind to yourself, sweet girl.” He replies with a shrug before forcing you to pull away from him so that he can look into your eyes. 

“I–I do?” No one had ever thought to share that with you before.

“Yep. Sure do.” He pinches your nipple as his gaze briefly drops to your bare cunt. “As your man, it’s my job to notice these things. Even when all I wanna do is bury my fingers knuckle-deep inside that tight little pussy until you’re drippin' and speaking in tongues, this shit comes first.”

Your hips jerk of their own volition when Ari reaches down to tenderly cup your sensitive core, massaging your damp flesh. Instantly you feel your slick honey coating his palm, making your cheeks heat. 

It didn’t help that you always seemed to end up naked around this man while he stayed fully clothed. In the past you’d only read about that kind of power dynamic. But these days you were beginning to enjoy it. 

“So tell me what has my woman being so hard on herself today? Be honest, now.” He presses as his fingers go trail their way along your belly, an action that has you immediately sucking in your stomach.

“Can we please turn off the lights?” You ask, feeling somehow both shy and stubborn at the same time. “At least some of them?”

“No.” He hisses back, not to be outdone. “You’re too beautiful not to look at, Bird. I might as well be a moth drawn to your flame, that’s how much hope there is for me these days.” 

“But I hate my belly. It’s so…soft.” You tell him, finally willing to admit defeat. “And I pulled all these sweaters out of storage today – from my thinspiration pile – and they fit even worse than they did then when I first bought them.”   

Your Bounty Hunter stares down at you for a moment, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Thinspiration?” 

“Yeah.” You hiccup, appreciating when he offers you a sip of his scotch, even when it makes you cough. “It’s like when you buy a shirt or a dress – or in my case a bunch of sweaters – that are too small for you so you can use them as inspiration to…you know…finally drop the weight.”

“Oh, Jesus H. Fucking Christ.” He snarls under his breath before taking a deep pull of his drink. “That’s what all this was about?”

Sheepishly you nod, as if finally realizing just how ridiculous you sounded. But at the time all of it had made perfect sense. “I figured it might help keep me from eating…too much.”

“Sweetheart…” His deep voice rumbles low in his chest as he polishes off what’s left of his scotch. “Fuck those sweaters, fuck the jeans, and whatever the fuck else is in that stupid fucking thinspiration box, or bag, or whatever. I mean it.”

One of Ari’s big hands reaches out to take hold of your chin, making it damn near impossible to look away from him. 

“You and me are gonna get rid of that box.”

“But, Beast –” 

“No.” His grip tightens ever so slightly. “That’s not good for you, baby. It never was. And I don’t ever want to hear you disrespecting yourself like that again. I really don’t. Broke my fucking heart.” Ari leans in to brush his mouth over yours, his free hand taking every advantage to stroke and caress its way along your body. “And it really pissed me the fuck off.”

“I’m sorry.” You mumble as fresh tears spill over onto your cheeks. “I–I’ll try to work on it.”

“These curves of yours are a gift from God, you hear me?” He muses as kisses away a tear. “Or the Devil himself. Depends on who you’re asking I suppose. There’s nothing I love more than watching those hips sway in one of your pretty sundresses, or seeing that luscious ass bounce every time I spank it.”

“You do seem to have a hard time keeping your hands to yourself, Sir.” You respond playfully through a watery grin. 

“Mmhm. The only thing better is when you’re busy holdin’ me hostage.” Ari flips your positions so that he’s on top of you know, effectively pinning you against the couch so that he can grind his denim-covered erection against your damp folds. “Keepin’ me trapped as your love slave while I work my ass off to satisfy that greedy pussy long until we both pass out”

“Hey…” You pout, shivering when he nips at your bottom lip. He tugs it into his mouth, sucking hard before releasing it with a soft pop. “I thought you liked the job.” You press your hands against either side of his bearded face, pulling him down for a proper kiss. 

“Oh, I love the job. Gorgeous girl. Great pay, benefits.” He nuzzles a path of hot, wet kisses along the column of your throat, loving how it makes you giggle. “All the pussy I can eat.”

“Wow.” You breathe, torn somewhere between lust and humor. 

“But in all seriousness, Bird, the only thing I ever want is to see you happy. Keeping that box, holding on to whatever the fuck that was supposed be…” You press a finger to his lips, pausing him mid-sentence.   

“I don’t want to just throw them away. I mean, they’ve still got the tags on them and everything. But there is a women’s shelter in the next county. Do you think maybe we could..?”

Ari nods once, giving you a warm smile as he does. Knowing that you’d managed to please him has a fresh wave of slickness coating your already slippery thighs.

“As long as you agree to let me keep you naked and stuffed full of my cock for the rest of the weekend, we can do whatever the fuck you want.” He hitches one of your legs over his shoulder, dragging his tongue along the soft skin of your calf. “And since you seemed to listen so well, I suggest you lay back and relax, because, baby…”

“We both just earned ourselves a treat.”

END

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[wordstome]

I am having a goddamn nightmare of a time writing the university au (mostly because I have a shit ton of work to do…for my university…lol) so have some headcanons about the most toxic couple you’ve ever met. mdni under the cut

They’re like the definition of a situationship. They’re dating in every aspect except by name

At first she does try to sleep with other guys like she did before König but that doesn’t last long, because nobody else is as good as him. She will never admit this outside of the bedroom

Meanwhile he literally calls her his girlfriend behind her back

She’s emotionally unavailable toxic, he’s obsessive and possessive toxic

König enjoys the pursuit and just thinks it’s normal for women to be difficult like this. I would say “poor König” but he has a bad habit of picking her up and carrying her places against her will so he’s not that poor

She likes to tell herself she has no attachment to him, but she loves the ego boost he gives her by acting like a lovestruck puppy and following her everywhere. She’s also secretly into him being controlling

She does have her moments of genuinely caring about him, though. She brought him lunch once and he looked at her like she hung the moon the whole day. Her excuse was that she just happened to get/make an extra portion, but she did, in fact, get him a portion on purpose

She basically lives with him after a certain point. Her roommates barely see her anymore since she only comes and goes from her old place to get things. He constantly threatens to change the locks on her, but they both know it’s an empty threat. He much prefers to punish her in sexy ways

She'll just be minding her own business talking to a classmate or perhaps flirting with someone when König will come up behind her and put his arms around her. If she was just talking to someone she'll pat his face before attempting to shoo him off. If she was flirting with someone, she wrenches him off her and storms off in a huff (whoever she was talking to has definitely fled from König's evil eye by that point)

They don't really fight, they just have spats because König is endlessly amused by her anger and she is unable to stay mad at him for long. The one time they had a real fight was nasty, and they didn't talk for days afterwards

She's usually quite a chill, go with the flow person (because if she allowed herself too much stress or anxiety at once it would destroy her), but König brings out the spitfire in her

In equal measure, König is a bit of the shy and quiet giant type, but she brings out the brat tamer in him. They alternate balancing each other out

It's kind of easy to look at them and go "why are they still doing this to themselves" but when they get along (i.e. he's behaving himself and she's not pretending not to know him) they're as functional as any other couple

This definitely goes without saying: the nastiest most bed-breaking sex. They fuck like they’re trying to murder each other

I know it's a pet peeve of many people when they say the reader is ooooo so small and delicate next to the cod men, and I tend to agree. However, unless you are also nearly seven feet tall and built like an olympic swimmer, I'm just gonna say you're smaller than König

That being said, he LOVES using his size against her. Picking her up, bending her over things, bending her in half (mating press, his beloved)

If he wants her to stay, she'll stay. He'll have one hand on her throat pinning her down, the other keeping her open to slam into her

This brat will look him dead in the eye and ask "is that all you've got?", which obviously makes him lose his mind in the best way

She definitely has more experience than he does, which actually works out in his favor: him getting better at fucking really just means he's getting better at fucking her

They're so goddamn nasty they've definitely fucked in semi-public places because she teased him to the point of madness and he popped a boner so hard it was painful

Oh, the dirty talk. König is such a gentleman outside of the bedroom, but the degradation that comes out of him while he's fucking her is toe-curling. A lot of "nobody else can fuck you like this" and "all you're good for is taking me in your tight little hole"

He growls??? I don't know if y'all have heard his voicelines in German but he snarls at her when he's trying to teach her a lesson and it turns her into putty

This post is dedicated to @kneelingshadowsalome, who is waiting for this fic so patiently and is my shining beacon of motivation at this point lol

[vide0-nasties]

Going to be rambling insanely about Ghost and probably what his feelings on the monarchy would be, coming from one deeply damaged povo to another.

Anyway, specifically around the time the parasite in chief in her idiot hat (thanks Eccleston lub u) died and passed said idiot hat on, I was seeing a lot of (fun and gentle-ribbing, mind you!) posts about Ghost getting razzed about the queen croaking and maybe him being sad about it or something - I don’t really remember bc I have shit for brains and I just latch onto what bits my adhd will allow.

SO. I really don’t think Bruv Innit gave two shits about Liz buying the farm, bc he grew up working class in a working class town to a drug addicted, drug peddling dad, and a fairly nondescript mom who likely didn’t have a way to get her and her kids out of that shit situation (per ‘09 MW lore and some presumption). I imagine dude was dragged around a shitload of council estates and his dad’s friends’ shitty crash pads, no stability whatsoever, where food insecurity was a big ass forever-looming deal, mom had no idea if her 20 year old vauxhall was going to make it another trip to her minimum wage part time job, and school was forever on the back burner bc when it came to school supplies/trips vs eating and keeping the lights on. You can guess which one won.

If we’re also going with him being about 35-40ish, he would’ve been 10-12ish or so around Diana’s divorce and then her death. So, here’s this starving, horrendously abused kid, with his starving, horrendously abused mother and little brother, drowning in a system that is pretty much just letting them sink to the bottom, nothing is being done about the evil sperm donor that ruins everything for them, and he’s obliterated constantly by TV coverage and tabloids and radio DJs talking about this goddamned family’s stupid fucking drama. Charles cheated, Diana left, her poor boys in their fancy private schools with their endless wealth and glowing skin and brand new clothes that don’t stink of consignment shops are sad.

Sorrows - sorrows, prayers. 🫶

It’s a story he’s seen countless times, the only difference is money and coverage. And, realistically, the women in the stories he knows aren’t killed in car wrecks, they’re killed by their infuriated husbands who think they’re owed something catching up. Maybe that’s why his mom doesn’t leave the cocksucker that trapped her, she could’ve ended up another council house Diana that no one gave a shit about.

He grows up, becomes a butcher’s apprentice, joins the army. Straightens his brother out, makes sure his mom is set up nice, finally beats the shit out of his dad. And all the while, there looms the most fucking pointless, parasitic family in England: living off taxes taken from the public, god knows how much land and how many castles, even owning all the fucking swans on the island.

Relics, vampires, leeches.

But, you know, twenty years down the road, he’s pushing 40, his services to the country are done in the dark, the family he tried so badly to save were brutally cut down anyway, and when he goes to Tesco, the price of a fifth of piss Smirnoff is insane, and he’s still got Soap swimming in his head mid-rant bc his mam’s fucking knee replacement appeal has been denied for the third time and she can’t even walk anymore, Gaz is moving for the second time in a year bc he just can’t afford to live close to his parents even on his salary, meanwhile there was a stretch where it looked like Philip was surviving solely by being pumped full of virgin blood and straight stem cells.

So, yeah, if anything he probably said cheers when the news broke and cracked a couple extra jokes that day.

“What d’you call one dead Windsor? A good start.”

Edit: This is picking up some traction. @50cal-fullauto-astarion is my CoD blog if you like my Call of Bullshit stuff, this is my main and I don’t really go into CoD here

[neuroticbookworm]

FRIENDS. FRIENDS.

Cooking Crush is undoubtedly one of the best shows airing at the moment.

Today's episode gave me so much life that I don't even know where to begin, but I'm gonna try my best to pull two (2) coherent thoughts out of my melting brain.

1. The Three Must-Eat-eers Conflict and Resolution:

Last episode had set up such a perfect conflict that's rarely handled well in any media: the bruised feelings of the single friend when the rest of the gang gets into committed romantic relationships. Most of the time this scenario shows up in media, one party will be framed as selfish and/or jealous. None of that nonsense here; Cooking Crush has always taken the friendship of its characters very seriously, especially Prem, Dynamite and Samsee. Samsee’s feelings were hurt not just because of his own fears of being abandoned by his friends, he was also (rightfully) mad that he ended up as the only friend who was kept out of the loop of knowing that his best friends had boyfriends now. But Prem and Dynamite did not intend to do this, and they were also right to set their own pace in making their relationship public, but it’s just that the string of accidental reveals happened in an order that made Samsee feel like a third-wheeler in his own home, twice over.

Cooking Crush treats its characters with a lot of kindness and empathy and it shows. Prem and Dy wanting to keep their relationships under wraps for the time being is valid. Samsee feeling hurt and lost, and opting out of the competition is valid. This episode begins with the drama of the cooking competition and works its comedy (thank you for the chuckles, wildly gesticulating White Man) and romance (my poor heart swooned all over my rib cage when Ten helped Prem into his chef clothes). And when the time came for the big reconciliation, the show does not sweep away Samee’s very hurt feelings just because Prem and Dy struggled without Samsee for most of the first round of cooking. He apologizes for ditching them and Dy was having none of it.

(Dy, my perfect child, oh how I love you with my entire heart)

Perfect resolution. and a well-earned, most adorable group hug to bookend it. I truly could not be more in love with this show. Or can I?

2. Miscommunication? Nah.

Well, this episode also featured the Annoying Asshole Chef dude who’s determined to pursue Prem even though it is very clear that Prem is not interested and would reject his advances, if only he stuck around long enough to actually get rejected and not run away from him like a goddamn coward. I was furious when he positioned himself as an actual option for Prem to Ten in this episode, and thoroughly enjoyed every moment Ten chose to call him out on his bullshit.

But y’all. The very inappropriate hug. The well-deserved punch to his stupid face. The storm-off. All of it had me very concerned that this is all barrelling towards a classic miscommunication moment.

BUT NO.

THE SHOW SAID THERE WILL BE NO STUPID MISCOMMUNICATION.

NOT IN THIS HOUSE.

My problem with the miscommunication trope is that it ultimately positions the couple we are supposed to be rooting for as a weak team. Honest communication and vulnerability in a new-ish relationship is not easy, and it takes a lot of courage to take that step to be the one to spell out the facts, and trust that the other person likes them well enough to keep an open ear, and believe them when they say a meddling cowardly asshole is trying to get in the way of their relationship. Ten’s bravery was perfectly contrasted with the sliminess of the Annoying Cowardly Chef (I refuse to learn his name, he is not worth my braincells).

Oh but Ten wasn’t done yet!

I absolutely adore how he moves the conversation away from that pesky little pest of a human towards something that matters more: his desire to make things official with Prem. The Annoying Asshole Chef was not the focus of the conversation, Ten and Prem are. And it all culminates in an incredible kiss and a camera swoop that already has a permanent little shrine in my silly little head.

TAKE MY HEART, COOKING CRUSH. TREAT IT WELL.

[papaver-decervicatus]

Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 4, Mus Urbanus

Fatal attraction is one thing but stuck on a stakeout, a certain little mouse decides to push her luck with the cat who's been chasing her... just how far is too far, and how much more can they take?

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Hahaha, remember how I said I was going to do shorter updates? Yeah well, I felt really bad for missing the previous week but I did have a lot of terrible IRL shit happen, so working through that was a priority. That being said, going back through all the amazing comments and everything everyone has written has been absolutely keeping me afloat! Thank you all so so so so so much, you will never know how much it all means to me.

There are a couple of Hannibal references in this part that, hopefully, will start to make sense by the last part of the story (which was, coincidentally, the first part written!) Not going to lie, I am just glad to publish this so I never have to think about this damned part again as I have been stuck on in for literal months. Also sorry if Soap's accent sucks, the only experience I have with anything remotely Scottish in the way of language tendency is my grandmother whose father was a Scottish immigrant and that's it.

Anyways, I hope you like agnst and interrogation scenes, because next week, König loses his faith in god and in mouse while tied to a chair! See you there!

❣️Cura ut Veleas ~ Caedis 🥀

PREV | Pt. 4 Mus Urbanus | 4.2k words | Mouse POV | NEXT

“Mouse?” A voice from in front of her calls out, but only after she deliberately drags her feet into the threshold of the neutral ground, alerting him of her presence. 

“Quiet as a.” She utters her usual response, stepping into the little flat in Buenos Aries, Argentina. She hears the smile as Soap sucks in a breath at her little joke. Her callback should be old by now, shouldn’t make him smile anymore, but he does anyway. He’s easy to get along with, something hard to come by in war. She crosses the minimal space between the two and takes stock of his little setup. 

For a mission, it’s luxurious. He’s sitting, in a chair might she add, with a scope poking barely out of an antique window on the 7th floor of an apartment building, looking into a busy market square. His arms rest on a table littered with little signs of life, a map of the area adorned with notes and coordinates in inexpensive ink, no less than 7 pens whose caps are chewed through (everyone’s got bad habits but this little sin of his drives poor Price up and down the goddamn wall), two disposable cups with sediment rings denoting how much instant coffee was drunk from them at a time before they returned to their places besides their drinker. Most notably, however, are two radios in a strange moment of near fornication– backs ripped open and wires crossed in an almost pornographic display of field ingenuity. 

Damn demolition specialists, she hears the echo of Gaz say in her head and she absentmindedly rubs the scabbed over cut on her left hand where the shrapnel of a certain someone’s frag grenade got her two weeks ago. She wants to be mad but-

“Hear any good ones, lately?” Soap turns to her, he’s disengaging from his post, changing his guard for her to take his spot, just as command ordered. He’s been in this little nest for about 6 hours and she can feel his desire to scuttle and tinker about radiating off of him. As he takes apart his gun, already aware and familiar that she refuses to use anyone’s but her own, his eyes shine to life. The color of sky blue permafrost, yet they radiate a certain lived-in warmth impossible to distance yourself from. Eyes almost like-

She bites her tongue at the thought. Bad time to be thinking about König… she mourns. But, speaking of the man.

“Yes, but it’s bad,” she offers, in fake warning as she sheds her outer jacket before moving to unhook the case that stands between her and the assembly of her gun. She knows the warning will only intrigue the poor pyrotechnic more. 

His smile is nothing short of sadistic as he raises an eyebrow.

“No, like, really bad,” she emphasizes, throwing a pleading look his way. His grin gets even more shit-eating-er if that sort of thing were even possible. “I mean it, MacTavish. Pass it along to your long-suffering Lieutenant, and you will be picking teeth out of your shit.” “I’m sure I’ve done worse to Ghost,” he supplies, rolling his shoulders. Yeah, I’m sure you have, she thinks but is much too self-preserving to say, especially aware that the Frankenstien’s monster of a radio he’s resurrected from two dead circuit boards is likely not secure enough to promise any real privacy. She would rather not alert Simon Riley that she’s become a dealer in his and Soap’s arm’s race of terrible jokes. He does not take prisoners, after all… 

“Alright, alright, just don’t tell him it’s from me,” she smiles, putting her hands up defensively in a quick jest. “Okay, play along with me now,” he nods along as he steps away from the perch and lets her take his spot at the table. 

“So, what's the difference between a piano, a fish, and a gluestick?”

“I know about two-thirds o’ this one.” 

Mouse trap baited. She smiles.

“Give it a go, then.” She wiggles in the chair, pressing her cheek to the crux of the sight and its metal holder. She sighs into the familiar feeling of control that settles into her bones as she hunches over.

“Can tuna piano but’cha can’t tuna fish?” He supplies, half teasing her already.

“Yep, but you’re forgetting something.” She sighs and goes to fiddle with the red-light optics extension, Command is confident enough in her abilities that she was specifically told to take it off for this one. She hears Soap whisper a quiet ‘oh shite’ behind her when he realizes he probably forgot to himself and she laughs a little. 

“What about the glue?”

Mouse trap set. Poor Soap, always getting himself into ambushes…

She smiles wide and hums remembering how excited her kitty-cat was to tell her this part. 

“See, I knew you’d get stuck on that one.” 

Mouse trap sprung. A moment of silence.

“Oh fuck me, that one is bad.” Soap chokes out a hearty laugh as he collects his discarded coffee cups from her side.

“No thanks,” she purrs as she finally sets herself into position. “Use it at your discretion, soldier.”

“Aye, that I will.” 

Soap goes to rummage through the kitchenette to her right and she takes the moment she lacks supervision to indulge herself. She does not move her sights to alert the man with her of the wandering of her eyes, instead, she scans windows and alleys without visual aid. The stale air threatens to choke her as she rakes over the golden-hued morning scene with desperate efficiency. 

After what feels like an eternity of stolen glances switching between her targeted area and anywhere he may be, she sees him. 

Technically, she has no way to know for certain that it’s König, she doesn’t have his usual wave or cheeky grin (affectionately referred to as a Cheshire Cat Smile in her own belabored heart) to alert her to his presence. That being considered, there is a masculine figure barely peeking out of a window into an alleyway who is just shy of 7 feet tall and his face is covered. Yeah, probably König. She smiles despite herself and her company. She wonders if he has radio access to her little hideout. 

(She remembers the seemingly endless weeks of his arrival to her perch. The early morning light hits the streets the same way it had hit the forest ground that day. Like a fairy tale prince, beseeching a princess on hand and knee, he would always somehow appear in her sights, nearly as though it was just meant to be! 

His form stands out tall and proud from its surroundings and she recounts every single reason he should not be here. By the third time their eyes caught she’d decided he was doing it on purpose, but she never let him get away with it without some acknowledgment on her side. She can only imagine that if she’s getting hunted for sport, her calling out his position will, at least temporarily, halt his advance. 

But by this rate, she’ll be in his mouth by the end of the year. 

His eyes are cold and bloodshot red. Painted tears lick their way down the hood she’s never seen him without, possibly a feeble attempt at impersonality? Maybe if he looks enough like a monster people will just trust their first assumption and leave him alone. But she’s never been one to judge a book by its cover…

“I see you, König.” She warns out to him. He stills among the foliage, bathed in sweet-honey-like warmth from the rising sun. He does not shy away from his imminent death on the business end of her rifle, of course not! Instead, he raises his chest proudly, seemingly aware that the loneliness in her yields to whatever greater magnetism the loneliness in him commands. He’s an enigma, it bothers her that of all the people to put the effort into finding her, it has to be him. Mostly she curses herself for promising him a next time all those encounters ago, if she’d known what sort of a game it would inspire in the predator stalking her like prey despite her flipping sniper rifle, she never would have said a thing. 

He may be in her scope, but he’s got her under a finer microscope to seek her out so faithfully. She wishes she got this sort of dizzying devotion from someone, anyone else. It is the third day this week he has found her.

What she expects to happen is what has happened for weeks now, 1) he hears her transmission, 2) he smiles at her as a predator smiles at pray, his eyes find hers and her hackles rise in utter terror, and 3) he hums to himself and turns away, self-satisfied enough to have won hide-and-seek for the time being.

That does not happen. 

Instead, König sits down, right where he is, and pulls out that monster of a knife he keeps strapped to himself. He throws it up and catches it without looking at it, instead his eyes are laser-focused on Mouse. This is, of course, despite the fact he should have no earthly idea where she is. He plays with his knife idly for what must be an hour, but she does not- no, can not- look away from him.

She remembers her trigger finger twitching with sinful power, she remembers choking back the insistence at killing another lonely person, devoid of their autonomy on a basic level when they signed up for a mercenary-issued ticket to hell.

She remembers hopelessness. She remembers refusal. She remembers the smile reaching his eyes when she played along with his joke. 

“Why don’t rats like cats?” Her radio labors out. 

She half forgot what his voice sounded like, surprisingly excitable and shrill for a man of his stature. Her brain stutters around the implication of the only words she’s heard him say to her since the fateful ravine that gained Mouse her own personal 6’10” shadow. 

She blinks a few times in surprise, genuinely pondering if her long hours hiking through the woods have made her susceptible to hallucination and general hysteria. She is not thinking when she timidly responds-

“Why?” 

“Because they are weapons of maus-destruction.” Konig replies like it’s not the stupidest thing she’s ever heard in her goddamn life. Perhaps it's pity at the memory of his discomfort around his comrades. Of the thought of the way he tries to make his body so small when around others (truly an impossible task he routinely fails.) Maybe it’s irrational fear, twofold and buried in her instinct to shoot despite the clear disadvantage on his behalf and her insistence that she does not do her damn job, or fear of the inhuman man in front of her stalking her through the woods. Or it could be discomfort, no one ever prepared her for dealing with whatever the fuck this is in basic training or field school. In the end, it doesn’t really matter what it is.

In the sparkling, decadent light of a sunrise, her heart hammers in her throat at the first joke he’d told her, in some strange and desperate attempt to fill the meters of silence between them.

She laughs. 

And he hears it.

And with his wide stance, his ghastly executioner’s hood in the place of a crown, and his knife back in its holster- his beautiful eyes seem to smile. Suddenly, his eyes look lived in, like someone has just put up new curtains in an abandoned house. His whole affect changes hinging on what was an irresponsible outburst on her behalf at best.

And for the first time, she does not fear a monster hunting her through the woods, silent and purposeful in his pursuit of prey. Instead, she wants to understand a man, whose eyes have lit up like a princess has just laughed when he kissed her hand.) 

Soap wanders back into her small perch with two cups of coffee and sets one down next to her. She takes a quick glance and hums with appreciation. He takes another sip out of his and she remembers that they’re supposed to share shift for about an hour before his rotation ends.

“You treat all your girls to coffee in the morning?” She quips.

“Only the pretty ones,” he returns with an effortless charisma and her breath catches.

Not because of Soap, but because in that alleyway, where she really shouldn’t be looking, she sees the uneasy rise of two massive shoulders and-

Oh my god, did König just… get jealous? 

The next idea she has is downright evil, really this is not the place or the time or any of that but-

Fuck it. She’s already flirting with the enemy, what more could this do? She’s already told the poor mountain of a man something dangerously adjacent to “God I really missed you when we didn’t talk to each other for three weeks like a horny teenager and by the way I love you desperately and think about you when I’ve got my hands down my pants,” and she probably imagined him tensing up, anyways. No harm, no foul. 

Maybe, it's dangerous, to wave a steak in front of a mountain lion, but what if she wants to get mauled?

“Hey Soap, what page are you on?” She says, putting her terrible plan into action. She sees him look up from his report, or more likely an idle sketch, on her periphery. 

“Ah, only the second chapter, did'ya move my bookmark?”

“Nope, the book’s in the leftmost pocket in my duffle.”

“Thank ya,” He says and moves from his spot to go fetch the book from it. She takes a quick sip of her coffee, delighted to realize he’s made it to her specifications as far as milk and sugar go, as he rummages around in her bag.

The impromptu book club started nearly eight months ago when Nova passed her copy of Emma by Jane Austen off to Gromsko to help him with his English. That turned into Mouse recommending the book Jane Eyre to Nova on the pure suspicion that she would hate it, which she did. Gromsko still needed to practice and enjoyed the spirited discussions so he joined the blossoming group with an English copy of The Doll by Aleksander Głowacki after he finished Jane Eyre. Never one to be left out, and surprisingly well-read when he wanted to be, Soap had pitched the idea of The Lord of the Flies (because to quote “Fucking Brits,” and he wanted to subject others to his high-school reading list.) If she remembered correctly, Farah and Reyes had also started sharing copies of books they enjoyed occasionally.

“Can’t believe it was Gromsko that put it in rotation.” Soap says, pulling out a well-worn copy of The Silence of the Lambs from the bag.

“He said he picked it up years ago in Polish thinking it was a cooking field guide.” She offers, as the man next to her idly thumbs through pages.

“Yer shitting me, yeah?”

She just shakes her head and smiles into her scope. Soap laughs and removes his homemade bookmark, a pencil sketch of a stake-out view somewhere in Mexico scribbled onto scrap paper. He keeps his thumb on the page and flips through to where hers is, much further along.

“Yer a right romantic, ain’cha Bonnie?” Soap laughs somewhere between the pages and somewhere behind her. “Hmm?” 

“This part, that’ya highlighted,” she hears a well-meaning sneer in his words. “The one you put the hearts by and everything…”

Mouse’s mouth tethers itself into a terse line and she attempts her best noncommittal shrug. 

Somewhere in her line of sight, a mountain shrugs himself chuckling lightly. She wonders what it would feel like, to lay on his broad, muscled chest as he laughs, how closely he would hold her, how she could rest entirely on top of his chest and not touch the ground beneath them and-

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She lies through her teeth. Soap’s laugh behind her is loud and proud. Suddenly, his casual sadism isn’t so amusing when turned around on her. 

“Do you think it's because I like to look at you and think about eating you up—“ he reads from the book, voice dripping in mock chivalry and breathless romanticism. “About how you would taste?"

She feels her cheeks and ears heat up as Soap loudly proclaims her funeral to all those who may care, and she doesn’t miss the way König leans a little too close to his radio as he goes about mocking her. His stance shifts as if he hangs on the very words like he’s found a secret buried deep in her subconscious. Technically, she has no way of knowing, but Mouse knows in her heart that König is smiling. At least someone is having fun. 

Once Soap comes down from his laughing fit he puts her bookmark back to its spot and talks at the back of her head. 

“With your pressed flower bookmark and everything. Oh, it would be sweet if he wasn’t Hannibal the Cannibal.” Soap hisses out. “I always figured you were…” he pauses searching for the right word, “adventurous from how Gromsko talks bout ya, but seriously cannibalism?”

If she’s not mistaken, König’s hand grips ever so slightly tighter on the radio attached to the best. Maybe the battle plan has to change, but she’s still got some ideas. 

Soap is completely oblivious to the electricity licking up the air between her perch and one man on the ground. He looks around frantically, seemingly desperate to find her, and look in her eyes. Mouse is a sniper, she really should hate the attention, but something fatalistic descends into her smile as she lets Soap continue his little outburst. 

“I swear. You and him, yer sure there’s nothing there? He’s even given you special field medicine lessons, no one gets treatment like that from Gromsko.”

“His name is Sobieslaw.” Notably, it is not a denial. Technically, everything that’s just been said is the truth. 

König’s shoulders rise. 

He looks right down her site. 

She smiles. 

Come and get me, kitty-cat. 

“See! That’s what I’m talking about. You’re the only person who calls him by his first name.”

“Because you never put in the effort to learn it.”

“That don’t mean a thing since I don’t have tits.” 

“You do, just not as good as mine.”

“Aye, off it. Gromsko is into you.” She can hear from the way Soap’s voice carries haphazardly around the room that he is pacing and talking with his hands. She doesn’t turn her back, gaze still fixated on the looming shadow in her sights. Soap continues, entirely unaware of the exact type of beast he is tempting. “He swaggers around you, never even bothers to fucking ask to pick up your boxes, he just does it. His voice gets all soft around ya, too, like he’s cooing at a goddamn pet animal or something. He nearly got into an actual pissing contest with Ghost the other day when he bitched about you beating him in poker. Face the facts, Bonnie, he wants you.” 

König’s eyes have focused with the ferocity of an apex predator and his chest labors out concentrated and sharp inhales and exhales. He resembles a recently sharpened knife, desperate for some carnage after a particular kind of attention. His body is crumpled in on itself not unlike a cat getting ready to pounce. His heels dig desperately into the cobblestones beneath his feet. His hand flicks out his beloved Glock field knife with all the reverence of a praying man.

In short, he looks every part like he does in immediate battle. He looks like he did the split second before he started sprinting for her in the snowy woods, the scene that occupies her lonely nights when she tries in complete vanity to recreate the feel of his hands cradling her sides.

Mouse should be scared of König.

Instead, she sees before her a scene of complete and hopeless adoration focused so intently on her alone that she should be afraid of. Realistically, she recognizes the clear and present danger of the moment. Is König upset at her? At Soap? At a potential adversarial suitor by way of Gromsko? She doesn’t quite know, but after a career of intentionally hiding like a coward, she basks infatuated by the calamitous captivation he exhibits.

He looks like he wants to maul something to death.

As keen as she is on getting him close enough to try to get over to her (and ideally, throw her under him,) in her infinite mercy, Mouse decides the teasing has gone on long enough.

“I like Gromsko just fine, but not like that.” Soap audibly scoffs and König’s entire form relaxes. Both men mutter something to themselves before an encore of gunfire breaks out. Mouse’s heart stutters to a stop when her radio comes in.

“Visual on Gaz, he’s hit!” Nova calls out, clearly alarmed. Soap grabs for the radio right next to Mouse and brings it to his face, holding onto a few loose wires as he does to ensure the amalgamation does not fall apart in his fingers.

“Where is he?”

“Two blocks from south from you, Gromsko is a click out.”

Soap looks at Mouse with his heart bobbing in his throat. The pain and worry on his face is palpable.

“Go.” She says. Soap looks around frantically at their supplies, seemingly taking a split second worth of inventory, making as many life-or-death decisions as he can in such little time.

“Soap, listen to me,” Mouse soothes. “I keep overwatch, you take my TAC vest and stabilize him until he can get a medic.”

“Mouse, I can’t just leave you-” “You can, and you will. Go.” She says with all the finality of a door slamming shut. Soap doesn’t look at her again as he gathers her supplies and nearly sprints downstairs. 

Soap leaves. Quickly. Quietly. He never looks back.

Her stomach settles into discomfort and she looks through the door he closed with the same sad nostalgia she looked through falling snow and monumentous trees. She can’t help but think she would not get the same priority in Gaz’s situation. Like some terrible premonition, she imagines bleeding out on the ground as Soap turns away, never once looking back.

Would König come for me? She ponders, before she smothers the paranoia-induced delusion with the memory of his large hands on her sides. She looks down at her shoelace, where she carved a cylindrical hole through his effigy to attach it. The birchwood mouse carving that sleeps at her right toe gives a silent reassurance: he never really left you, did he?

By the time she looks back into her scope, in between the all-too-familiar white noise of war that’s broken out around her, she sees a shadow dart out from the alleyway one down from where König is. The figure is cloaked in the specific type of military fatigue denoting his affiliation, one that is unluckily for him, kill on sight. It ducks behind the building to the right, where König is. It stalks out, lining itself up behind the hooded man, brandishing a drawn pistol.

König doesn’t have the time to react to the blood spray that litters across his back from the other man’s head once Mouse pulls the trigger on her gun, silently thankful (as awful as it is,) that Gaz getting hurt allowed her to take the shot without Soap inquiring into her actions. (But maybe it’s her fault in the first place that König was distracted enough to allow someone to get the drop on him…)

König looks back towards her and his head lulls to the side like a heavy flower bloom weighed down by morning dew. His eyes, somehow the softest she’s ever seen, are also carving a large chunk of her soul like a knife cuts through soft wood. When he lifts his hood to blow a kiss to her, she knows she will never get her traitorous heart back.

“Danke, mein Engel,” the radio on her table whispers in his voice.

“It’s only fair. I did owe you, after all.” She responds, all together unconcerned with whether or not he can hear her. She smiles, thankful she can see those bright eyes another day. 

When he turns away, she feels her entire heart walk away with him. With every step of his fleeting form, she feels less and less herself, as though someone had separated her shadow from where it meets her feet. Something has changed in the air between them, a sad resignation settles into her trigger finger when she releases it.

For the first time, she does not feel as though she wouldn’t run if he took her, but rather that some integral part of her is with him as he leaves. 

All is fair in love and war, but she’s not sure just how much longer she can stand to play cat and mouse.

taglist!

@kneelingshadowsalome @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar @berryjuicyy @haisebo @crowbird

And special thanks to @bucca2 and @ivymarquis for finally kicking my ass into gear to write this. Can't wait to read yall's WIPs!

[howaboutcastiel]

Two Steps Forward (Moon Boys)

[18+ content minors leave please]

Summary: A fun night with Jake ends up backfiring as Marc is triggered to front mid-coitus.

Content: Smut-ish, Angst, Fluff (the holy trinity). Handcuffs, impact play, getting triggered during sex, yelling and sad times. Reader is in an established relationship with moon boys.

Word count: 1.9k (aka the closest to a drabble you’ll ever see from me)

A/N: honestly this shouldn’t exist but now it does. Read it and weep. Also google cleared all of the formatting so UGH may be some mistakes.

“You’re going to stay still for me, right, baby?” You ran your knuckles along Jake’s bare chest, causing his breath to shudder.

“Yes.” He nodded, breathless. You could see him resisting the urge to pull against the cuffs, which were looped in each corner of the headboard.

“Yes…what?” You were straddling his waist, his boxers still on though he was painfully hard underneath. Jake had begged you to overpower him like this. He was so goddamn tired of having to use force to get what he wanted. That didn’t mean, though, that he was going to give into you without causing some trouble.

He knew what you wanted him to say, but he simply smiled at you, his mouth shut in a thin, cheeky line. You ground your hips into him, putting indirect friction on his poor, desperate cock. Jake let out a choked moan.

“I’m not touching you if you don’t cooperate.” You removed your hands from his chest, placing them on your thighs clearly in his line of sight. You were wearing a matching set of lacy lingerie, and you had no intention of taking anything off until you’d done at least a half-decent job of pulling him apart. “Yes what?”

“Yes ma’am.” He said through gritted teeth. This dynamic wasn’t entirely new to you, but Jake just kept insisting that you get rougher and rougher. He got off on being knocked down a peg, enjoying the pain and even pushing you to involve some danger. You struggled to keep up sometimes, but it was exhilarating to see him fall apart beneath you, so you obliged his requests.

“You gonna beg for me, baby? Gonna tell me what you want?” You ran a teasing finger along the fabric of his boxers, causing his cock to twitch underneath. On particularly energetic nights, Jake really liked to be a brat, forcing you to be more aggressive and truly humble him with everything you had. You could tell that tonight was one of those nights, by the familiar unhinged look in his eyes if nothing else.

“No, ma’am.” The self-assured smile wasn’t leaving his face. Jake had had a rough couple of days and he was desperate to use his violent, erratic compulsions for something that would be beneficial to him—like blowing off some steam with his devoted girlfriend. This was ironically enough the healthiest outlet that he could find.

“That doesn’t work too well, does it, baby? You know that’s not what I want to hear.” You grabbed his face in your hand, pinching his cheeks so that his lips pouted out, effectively getting rid of that cheeky grin. Fire flashed in his eyes at the intensity of your grip; if it was up to him, you’d be holding tight enough to leave a bruise.

“Here’s what you’re going to do for me. You’re going to be a good boy and tell me everything you want me to do to you, okay? I want you to be very specific, don’t leave anything out, and don’t forget to use your manners.” In your own head, you didn’t feel that you were that domineering, but the movement underneath Jake’s boxers was evidence enough that you’d gotten your point across.

“Oh, sweetheart,” his laugh was hoarse and patronizing despite his bondage and lack of leverage. He really wanted you to be as riled up as he was, and he wanted to push you into feeling all the meanness that he was asking you to unleash on him. “You know I don’t beg.”

It took a second for you to think of the right way to respond.

“Sweetheart, huh?” His eyes were brimming with satisfaction. As much as he wanted you to have control of him, he also wanted to make you take it. That’s what you were going to do.

“Someone needs a lesson in respect.” Your hand collided with his face with enough force to leave a red mark, but not much else. You knew that was what he wanted you to do—Jake had been very thorough in communicating his limits with you—but the contact shocked him nonetheless. You expected him to twitch again between your legs, but the response you got was far from your assumption.

The shock on his face was replaced by a distant stare. You thought for a split second that Jake might be on the verge of sub-space, but the tension in his body disproved that theory. He shut his eyes for a moment and you dove off of his waist, ready for him to utter his safeword. When they opened again, his eyes were filled with confusion and, to your surprise, fear.

“What the hell?” Marc mumbled as he tried to process where he was. He pulled harshly against the cuffs, hissing when he realized he was restrained by the metal.

“Marc—” You reached to cup his face in your hand, a sign that everything was okay. He cowered from your touch, panicked.

“Get away from me!” He planted his feet against the mattress, pushing himself against the headboard. There were tears in his eyes and he pulled against the cuffs again, though he knew the struggle was no use.

“Hey, it’s okay,” You tried to make your voice as calm as possible as your hand made contact with his skin. It was meant to be a comforting touch, but he jerked his head away to the best of his range of movement, a tear running down his cheek.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” He was trying to make his voice firm, but it wavered around a sob that ripped up from his chest. His whole face and neck flushed red, and he tried to curl up as much into a ball as was possible in his position.

Your mind was racing and you didn’t know what to do. A switch had never happened during sex before—or during foreplay, technically. The boys were pretty good at keeping that part separate, there wasn’t overlap that would bring another of them to the front. Though you were in a relationship with all three of them, sex was distinct with each one and there wasn’t usually a grey area for things like this to occur.

“I’m going to take the cuffs off, okay?” You spoke slowly. He didn’t meet your gaze or even acknowledge that he had heard your words. You tried not to move too suddenly as you leaned to grab the key from the side table. Careful not to touch his skin, you unlocked the pair of cuffs closest to you.

He didn’t say anything as he brought his hand to his chest. When the other pair was unlocked as well, he rubbed the angry skin absentmindedly. Tears continued to roll down his cheeks, though he wasn’t sobbing. His eyes were unfocused, staring right through the wall.

“Honey, I’m sorry.” You started shyly. You didn’t know what to do or what to say. Hell, you didn’t even know what had happened. Marc must have known about Jake’s more untraditional likes and dislikes in the bedroom, but he himself was much more vanilla. It must have been overwhelming to him.

“I didn’t realize you were close to the front. Do you need me to get you something, honey? Some water, or some lotion for your wrists?” He didn’t say anything. After an entire minute, he finally met your gaze. He wore a pathetic, confused, and dreadful look. He looked so small.

“Did you hit me?” His voice was tiny. It was dripping with betrayal as well as bewilderment. You couldn’t find your own voice to respond, and you had to swallow hard before your breath would even leave your chest.

“I, umm…” How would you explain this? You’d figured Jake had touched base with the boys, what with all the bruises you’d left on him previously after a night of fun. “Jake was back-talking me. It was part of our scene. I—I slapped him.”

Marc put his head in his hands, sucking in a deep and shaky breath. His wrists were raw from his fighting of the cuffs, as if he genuinely thought he was captive for the first moments after he came to the front. You felt guilt running through you, though you couldn’t have known this would happen.

“I’m so sorry.” He muttered into his palms. You moved closer to him, though you respected his earlier request not to touch him. His hands curled into fists and he tugged at his hair frustratedly. “I ruined your night.”

“Hey, no! You didn’t ruin anything.” You leaned to pull a throw blanket from the foot of your bed, offering it to him as he tried to steady his breath. “Is there something I can do to help? I must have given you a pretty good scare.”

He looked pained as another sob washed over him. It was unusual for you to see Marc so torn apart—especially when you didn’t exactly know what was wrong with him. His hands covered his face again as he curled into himself even tighter. He mumbled something you couldn’t understand.

“What’s that honey?”

He looked up at you, shame and dread mixed together on his face. Marc was embarrassed and, despite his understanding of the situation now, he was still scared. He swallowed a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, pondering if he should repeat himself. Finally he opened his mouth while avoiding your gaze.

“I thought you were my mom.”

An ice cold feeling shot up your spine, replaced quickly by nausea. Now you felt really guilty, and you abandoned your promise to keep your hands off of him. You wrapped your arms around his back, feeling him shake as another sob ripped through him.

“No, baby. You’re safe. You’re here with me.” The words fell from your mouth intuitively. Marc didn’t request a lot of nurturing, but you would be stupid to think that he didn’t require it. He tried to put on a brave face in his day-to-day life, but situations like this revealed to you just how much he was in need. “No one’s here but me and you. You’re safe.”

“It’s pathetic.” He sounded resigned, letting the sobs take over but not feeding into them. “I feel like a little kid.”

“It’s okay to feel like that. What’s important is that that little kid is safe. There’s no one here that wants to hurt him.” Marc didn’t like to talk about his past, but it tended to bring itself to the forefront of conversation at the most inopportune of times. He needed someone to do the talking for him.

You coaxed him into laying down, effectively making him the little spoon as you kept yourself pressed against his back. You could feel his body starting to calm down, the tension slowly being replaced with a desperate receptiveness to your touch.

“I’m sorry.” He said again through a more resigned sob. Marc felt guilty for making a scene in front of you. He hated to burden you with his brokenness.

“Please don’t apologize, okay? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

You held him for a long while, whispering affirmations of “you’re okay” and “you’re safe” for the first few minutes until the panic subsided. After that, the two of you laid in near-silence until his breathing returned to something near a normal rhythm.

[shadow4-1]

Heart Eyes (Love At First Sight AU/Imagine - Reader x Price) - Captain John Price Edition

We've all had that feeling when we see someone attractive. Of course it depends on the person. Some drool, others get shy or hot in the face. Our pupils dilate, but not enough to notice unless you're unnaturally observant. What if you could see it? What if it was obvious a person like-liked you on first glance?

(Trigger Warnings: SFW, Slight Body Horror, Mild Discomfort)

John had seen more things in his life than most people ever would.

He'd seen war, death, famine, but also hope and kindness. He'd seen love too. He'd seen how it sparked into existence, how it could fizzle out or burn into something more. He'd never actually experienced it for himself, never figured he would to be honest. He was getting older. Most people found their lifetime match in their twenties. He'd seen it happen too many times to count. He'd seen too many recruits or sergeants passing in halls, locking eyes, and never being the same after. Love could do terrible, wicked things to a person, twist them into knots with obsession. Or, if they were lucky, make them better for it. Love was not in the cards for Captain Price, he decided. And of course, just when he was deciding to get comfortable with his fate, love decided to kick him squarely in the chest.

He hadn't felt this weak in years. He doubled over, coughing, his heart beating so hard he felt as if it were going to burst. He went from standing to kneeling, to laying face down on the dingy linoleum floor. He could hear shouts, shoes squeaking, worried murmurs. It was as if his body was slowly giving out, all of his strength being used to keep his poor heart beating. He tried to right himself, tried to get his arms underneath him but it was no use. He wheezed, trying so desperately to suck in a well needed breath. He was having issues seeing as well. Everything was hazy and too far away save for the minute grout lines in the flooring. He spied a pair of white, beaten up tennis shoes in the corner of his eye. His voice wouldn't work, his ears were ringing. Was this it? Was this the way John Price was meant to go out? A goddamn heart attack in the middle of a veteran's hospital?

A couple male orderlies managed to hoist him up into a wheelchair. He felt like a drowning fish, sucking in air that burned all the way down. A doctor began yelling, nearly unintelligible, something about his heart rate. What a fuckin' genius, he could've told them that if he had the ability. His heart hurt, it burned, he clapped a weak hand over it. Why? What happened for him to feel this way all of a sudden? He'd only come to the hospital to visit a recovering team member. He'd been waiting for so long and then a nurse came out to greet him. She was going to take him to the room-

He looked up, finding her standing off to the side, watching the chaos slowly unfolding around her. She clutched onto her clipboard for dear life, tears welling in her eyes. She then glanced down at him. Her eyes met his. 

It was an immediate relief. 

He could suddenly breath again, his tight lungs expanded and he gasped. He grabbed onto the edge of the wheelchair, pushing, struggling against the orderly who was trying to read his pulse. The pressure surrounding his heart suddenly ceased, making his head spin with white stars in his vision. They danced around her face. He felt as if he'd been socked square in the jaw. He hadn't felt this kind of knock out since his first fight as a teenager. 

A light flashed across his eyes and he jerked back, putting his arms up defensively, his nerves finally coming back online. The doctor flinched back with a soft grumble. He made a comment about how John would be perfectly fine. He had apparently just suffered from a heart eye attack, something that no healthy person had ever died from. A heart eye attack? Heart eye? He looked around for a shiny surface. The only one he could find within reaching distance was the aluminum bar of the wheelchair. He forced his still blurry gaze down into it, spreading his upper and lower eyelids apart with shaky fingers. Sure enough, despite his instability, he noticed his pupils had shifted in size and shape. He huffed in discomfort. He'd witnessed the change in other people's eyes, but never expected to see it on himself. He watched in stunned silence as the heart shape of his pupil slowly melted back into its normal, circular shape. He blinked, once, then twice, his vision had retreated back to a perfect 20/20. He swallowed the excess saliva in his mouth and let out a shuddery sigh.

A heart eye attack? Him? But that would mean-who? The last person he'd looked at had been the nurse with a-

Slowly, he turned his head back in the direction of the woman. He let his gaze slowly ascend up from her dingy white shoes, across her scrub bottoms and up towards her belly. He steadied himself, then finally looked up at her face again. She was still watching him with a mix of emotions. His vision went blurry around the edges and yet focused in the center. It was as if his eyes had turned into one of his favorite scopes, blocking out everything else but the warm body of his target. He noticed every little thing about her in vivid detail, down to the individual flutter of her eyelashes. It was as if time had slowed, she'd become his world. And by God, she was gorgeous. He let himself get lost in the beauty that was her face…until reality blocked his view.

A black wall separated him from his new love. It took everything in his willpower to not stand up and swing on the person standing in front of him. A firm hand placed itself on his shoulder. His tunnel vision faded (as well as what he assumed to be the heart shape of his pupils) and he was greeted to the sight of his lieutenant. Simon didn't need to say a word, his grip was enough of a warning. John needed to choose his next actions very carefully or risk ruining whatever future might be in store for him. 

"M' alright." He breathed out, patting Simon's hand. "M' alright."

The doctor asked to check his vitals since he'd started to calm down. He let the doctor finish before shakily standing up from the wheelchair. John had never been one to walk around with his head down, but in this instance he found he had to. Looking at anyone's face felt too wrong, he quietly thanked whatever God out there for Simon's propensity to wear masks.

Despite the scene he'd just made, apparently all was well. The doctor asked the nurse to escort them to the hospital room as she had attempted to before. He refused to look at the nurse's face as she awkwardly greeted both him and Simon again, then led them down a long hallway filled with numbered doors. Door 1367, John MacTavish.

"You go on in." John huffed to Simon, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll b' in n' a minute."

Simon looked at him with his usual, emotionless expression. John could make out the disbelief in the gaze despite it. He gave his lieutenant a sharp nod, letting him know he was being serious. Simon entered the hospital room, closing the door behind him with a click.

John sucked in a breath, quietly hoping the nurse wouldn't be standing there. It would hurt more and yet so much less if she'd wise up and run off. Much to his chagrin, she was still there. 

"Look…m' sorry, for what happened back there." He cleared his throat. "I'll admit, 've never had this happen to me before."

"Never?" She asked incredulously. Despite his best efforts John had to look at her face again. Once more, he was lost in her eyes, the set of her cheekbones, her sweet, sweet lips. Even the slightest imperfections of her skin were stunningly unique, like the formation of clouds in the sky.

  "Never."

[vergess]

So a friend reblogging this interview tips post, which is a perfectly fine post with advice that is useful or whatever.

But I desperately need hiring managers to stop acting like the livelihood and continued survival of their interviewees is "playing the game." It's not a game; it has never been a game. It's people's survival. Our lives.

I understand that to management it's about showing team spirit. But to everyone else, management just said that I need to buy new clothes if I even want to be considered a meritorious applicant, regardless of my skills, experience and attitude.

Because every single thing I own is "ratty." That is to say, it is worn out, thread bared, and has stains/rips embroidered over. That's what being a poor person looks like.

"Oh just spend $20 on a shirt and pants."

I'm also fat. Button down shirts that won't be an Obscenity charge are $40. Pants are $60. I have 37 dollars to my name and I still have to buy medicine and shelter.

And remember: this expense is for the lottery chance that I may get hired. It is NOT an expectation presented AFTER an offer.

I get to pay for new clothes for russian roulette.

I should spend everything I have and more to buy one outfit for interviews and really, really hope that this time I get the job. Even though interviews are notoriously biased against fat people, POC, queer people, and women.

Management also just said I need to prove that I know about the company atmosphere from personal, unpaid, off the clock research above and beyond the application and interview process.

That I should self teach, BEFORE so much as an offer is made.

Meanwhile literally hundreds of my applications are thrown away on a weekly basis (I do about 15 applications a day most week days, and have been for multiple years now). The reasons for this are varied. Sometimes its because my name sounds too ethnic (I've had so many interviewers compliment me for not being Black which they thought based on my name). Sometimes they think I'm over qualified for every single job within 55 miles of me, as though having a college degree means I can photosynthesize instead of needing a home.

Often it's simply because companies lie all the time about whether they are actually hiring, posting dozens of fake job listings. That way they can tell their overworked and underpaid staff, "Oh, the reason you have 3 doubles a week is because of all those lazy unemployed assholes that don't want to work."

The fact that there is a "game" where the loser may become homeless or dead at all is deranged. The fact that the losing players all have to smile, and cheer, and cooingly tell the winners what a Good, Good Job they did is significantly more disgusting.

And let me be clear: the OP of that post is a hiring manager. That shit about "ratty clothes" is entirely under the hiring manager's opinion. There's no way to know what a given hiring manager thinks of your clothes, though if you're visibly poor, fat, or nonwhite chances are they would think you look unkempt in a full 3 piece suit with garters.

That shit about "show me you did independent unpaid labour to prove your loyalty to a company that isn't even hiring you yet" is ALSO under the manager's absolute judgment. You have NO way of knowing what stupid tidbits of information are the "right" ones to recite. You could memorize every piece of information that company has ever published and you STILL would not know which trivia is the Right Answer.

Same with the "ask me a question" shit.

There is no right answer. Interviews don't check for skills, abilities, experience, or even team cohesion.

They are vibe checks. They exist to give hiring managers a way to disqualify IMMENSELY qualified candidates over their own unexamined bigotries.

And btw? We have the science to prove it. It's called "implicit bias."

If you have an accent, are fat, aren't white, are visibly disabled or queer in any way, etc? Your inability to get a job is not because you "didn't play the game."

It's because the "game" was rigged to fuck you over from the start.

[amsgrey]

Hey,love your writting . Can you make Halstead sister imagine where Jay and Will find out she has a abusive boyfriend

I apologise for how long this took, University has been insanely busy (yay to education) and so essays take priority unfortunately. I also kind of think this sucks (oops) but I wrote it and I feel like it could be maybe interesting who knows. everyone be nice about how terrible this plot is lol.

synopsis: Your brothers are there for you in different ways.

warnings: strong language, bad writing and an even worse plot.

You and your partner had been rather strained lately. You hardly talked and life around your apartment was nothing like it used to be. Your relationship had become a never-ending cycle of guilt. Guilt for spending time away from them, for being late home from work. You had come home one evening to find your partner sitting in the lounge with a beer, looking irritable.

"Hey, babe," You called out when you entered, leaving your keys on the kitchen bench.

Your partner didn't acknowledge you, just taking a big swig of their beer. You frowned and walked over to them, taking a seat next to them and asking what was wrong. They didn't respond, just got to their feet and went into the kitchen. They downed the rest of the beer and threw the bottle into the bin. You flinched slightly when you heard the glass shatter.

You wrung your hands together, getting up and attempting to approach your partner. It was clear now that they were drunk, between pissed enough to make poor decisions and not pissed enough to slur and stumble around. They didn't seem all too pleased like they had a shitty day and you not being home until now had only aggravated it.

"How was your day?" You asked calmly, leaning on the bench and trying to stay calm.

"Shit."

You nodded, trying to come up with something to reply with. You and their relationship had been rocky for some time, communication had been non-existent and the closest you'd been to having a conversation was this moment right now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked after a moment of silence.

Your partner wheeled on you suddenly, "For Fucks sake!"

You took a step back in-volunteeringly.

"I'm so sick of you wanting to talk, all of the goddamn time!" They snapped, "Not everything is about you, okay? You come home late, expecting me to wait around for you and act like nothing is wrong?"

You stood there gaping at them, unable to come up with words.

"You are so selfish," Your partner scoffed, pushing past you out of the kitchen, they stopped at the bedroom door, "You know what? I'm done. Find somewhere else to sleep." They slammed the door behind you.

You stood in the kitchen gaping like an idiot, at a loss for words and unable to do anything. You were shocked out of your frozen state by your phone ringing, you forced yourself to take a deep breath and grabbed it off the coffee table.

Will's name flashed across the screen. You quickly answered it, knowing if you didn't he would just keep ringing.

"Hey, Will," You said, pressing your phone in between your shoulder as you rounded up your things in the living room.

"Hey, Squirt!" Will shouted down the phone, "Jay and I are at Molly's, come down!"

You sighed, "It's not a good time right now-"

"Uh uh!" Will tutted, you realized he was definitely a few beers passed sober, "Come on! Halstead sibling reunion."

You laughed, the three of you had hung out last weekend and Will had said the same thing. "You can't keep calling them reunions when we saw each other last week."

Will scoffed, "I don't care, I'm the oldest."

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your keys and throwing one last glance around the apartment before heading out the door.

"I'll be there in 10."

-

When you rocked up to Molly's you almost ran straight into Mouch and Trudy who were heading out. You stopped to say hi, getting caught up for a moment. That was until you hear Will shouting from the bar, he was seated next to Jay and a couple firefighters. All of them cheering at the TV hockey game. You excused yourself and made your way to the bar. You stopped opposite Stella, who was laughing at her husband's and your brothers' antics.

"Hey!" Stella grinned when she spotted you, grabbing a beer from the bar and popping the top to give to you. You thanked her, heading down the bar to wedge yourself between your elder brothers.

"So the Halstead reunion is really just a hockey game?" You asked, jabbing at Will's ribs. He swatted your hand away and mumbled something about the sport.

Jay was the first to realize something wasn't up, he could read everyone like a book, "Hey, you good?"

You took a deep breath, forcing a smile, "Yeah, yeah. Just needed a drink," You lifted your beer and jokingly clinked it with Jays. He wasn't too convinced and you couldn't much blame him. You had cried in the parking lot of your apartment before coming here, no doubt your eyes were still red-rimmed.

By the time the game was over, Will was completely wasted and you and Jay were forced to get him home. You had thrown his arm over your shoulders and held him upright as Jay tried to find the key. Will was swaying to silent music, almost taking you both down as he did so.

"You're so impossible," You mumbled trying to force Will to walk into his apartment. He was one of the most annoying drunk people, second only to Jay. At least drunk Will was easy to coerce in the right direction.

You dumped him on the couch, letting him fall into the cushions unceremoniously. Jay came and joined, the two of you sitting opposite Will and watching him complain about how his team lost the hockey game.

"So will you tell me what is wrong now?" Jay pressed, fixing you with a concerned big brother look.

You sighed, "I'm officially single."

Jay looked at you in shock, just the way he frowned made you tear up and confess everything. Jay was a good listener and always made you feel better, but there wasn't much he could say to remedy the situation.

"I just feel so guilty," You admitted, "If I had just been-"

"No," Will piped up from across the room, "Their bad temper is not your fault. Just stay here, they don't deserve you."

You smiled, "It's not that easy Will."

Jay pulled you into a side hug, "We'll make it easy, the Halstead siblings can get through this."

You laughed, "What like some inspirational speaker? Advice from my married brother and forever single brother?"

"Hey!" Will protested, hardly heard over you and Jay's laugh at his offended look.

Maybe this was for the best, you started to think. You had been barreling towards a breakup for weeks, walking around your own home was walking on eggshells. Maybe now you would have a little peace - at least after Will sobered up.

[splatsvilles-fashionista]

Splatoon 3: A quick guide to Gear Abilities - Part 1

 Splatoon 3 has been out for a couple of days now, and has brought in a lot of new fans, along with a ton of returning ones, but one thing everyone has in common, regardless of experience with the series, is that none of us have any goddamn gear now! Gear is very important, and can have a big impact on how you play your weapon, and how well you play it.

This guide is meant to be a quick reference point for what Abilities do and if they’re right for you. My intention here is to try and ease newer players, or even older players who aren’t sure what they want, into putting together gear sets with a sense of purpose and functionality.

Before we start, let’s go over some basics.

The golden rule, the one that takes priority over everything else, is to always use what you like the most. The suggestions I am going to make are written from the perspective of trying to be as optimal as possible, but I encourage you to ignore everything I’m about to say if doing so makes the game more fun for you. You don’t owe it to anyone to follow the meta, play what you want, how you want.

Most abilities are functionally identical to their counterparts in Splatoon 2. This means that if you can copy a setup that worked well for you in that game then there is very little reason to change it in this game.

All abilities have diminishing returns, meaning that the fewer points of an ability you have, the more each individual point is worth is worth. This means that pures, gear pieces that have one main and three subs of the same ability, while looking clean, are often redundant when worn together. Sometimes, three pures with the same ability barely give more benefits than a single one does!

I’m not going to go over the Main Slot-exclusive abilities in this post, as I intend to make a separate post for those later this week. Main-exclusive Abilities are generally very niche, with a couple of exceptions, like Last-Ditch Effort and Stealth Jump, both of which are generally regarded as some of the best abilities available in Ranked mode.

I’m also not going into great detail on Special Power Up, simply because that ability is so complex that no one is really sure how good it is, yet. That said, from what I know, it’s very good on Tacticooler (massively increasing the duration) and very bad on Tri-zooka (increased duration, which means nothing when you still only get the three shots) and Booyah Bomb (increased passive energy charge) in particular.

With that said, let’s start with...

The One-Point Wonders: Quick Super Jump, Ink Resistance Up, Sub Resistance Up, and Special Saver

These four abilities, Quick Super Jump, Ink Resistance Up, Sub Resistance Up and Special Saver, are all great to have one sub slot off. With only a single sub slot, Quick Super Jump increases the speed of Super Jumps by about .2 seconds, which will absolutely add up over the course of a match. Ink Resistance Up increases movement speed in enemy ink by a whooping 20%, and also increases the amount of time you can spend in enemy ink before you start taking damage by somewhere around a tenth of a second. Sub Resistance Up scales more or less the time as Bomb Defense Up DX did in Splatoon 2, which means that a single sub can ruin a lot of popular bomb combos that rely on hitting bomb splash damage. Finally, Special Saver reduces the amount of Special lost on death from 50% to 41%. You will very often see competitive players run one point each of the first three, and sometimes Sub Saver when they’re playing a weapon that really cares about the Special.

Having covered the general-purpose abilities, let’s start getting specific, beginning with:

The Dishonorable Mention: Sub Power Up

Sub Power Up has the misfortune of being the single worst ability in the game by a pretty significant margin. Its effects on most Sub Weapons are negligible, generally only increasing throw distance, and for the ones that get other effects the scaling tends to be incredibly poor. There is one notable exception, however. For Squid Beakons, the effect of Sub Power Up is increasing the Super Jump speed of people jumping to them, and the scaling is really good, with two subs actually translating to three Subs of Quick Super Jump. if you’re a Squid Beakon fanatic, consider giving this poor ability a home in your build.

The New Hotness: Intensify Action

Intensify Action is the other new ability, and it does three different things. It makes Squid Surges charge faster, reduces momentum lost from doing multiple Squid Rolls in a row, and reduces the accuracy penalty while firing in the air. The effects on Surge and Roll are nice, but it’s really that last thing we care about. That said, this effect actually doesn’t do anything on a lot of weapon types, as only Shooters, Blasters, Splatlings and Dualies have the air penalty, but on those weapons the scaling is absolutely fantastic, as a single sub reduces the penalty by 40%. The exception here are Blasters, who actually scale way worse by comparison. Regardless, it’s still a fantastic ability for Blasters, Ranged Blaster in particular. If you main any of the aforementioned weapon types, give this ability a shot! You won’t be disappointed.

The Old Favourite: Swim Speed Up

Doing exactly what it says on the tin, Swim Speed Up is one of the most consistently reliable abilities in the game. Aside from just being all-around good, Swim Speed Up is also very important in reducing the speed penalty from Ninja Squid and heavy weapons. For heavy weapons like the Hydra, Dynamo and Explosher, a paltry two sub slots is all you need to go from a trudging 90% swim speed to a blazing 102%. To offset Ninja Squid, on the other hand, you will need at least seven sub slots. As an additional note, light weapons, like Splattershot jr. and Tri-Slosher, get lessened effects from this ability, but their inherent movement speed bonus means they will always be faster than mid-weights and heavies, as long as they all have the same amount of ability points.

Sprinkle this ability into your gear to your liking. You can’t go wrong with Swim Speed.

For The Specialized: Run Speed Up

While similar in concept, Run Speed Up ends up being radically different from its swimming counterpart. Moving faster while on your two feet might seem like a no-brainer, but most weapons don’t actually spend that much time out of the ink for prolonged periods of time. And many of the weapons that do, like most Sloshers and Chargers, actually have pretty poor movement speed while firing, which means that Run Speed Up, which gives a percentage increase, benefits them very little.

So what wants Run Speed Up? Splatlings like it due to them spending a lot of time charging and even longer firing (Nautilus excluded, due to its charge hold and terrible innate strafe speed). Brellas also enjoy the spring in their step, due to the sheer amount of time they’ll spend holding up their shield. The new Stringers can also make use of it due their high innate strafe speed.

Simply put, think about how much time you spend actually firing on the move, and how well your weapon moves on the ground innately, and you should be able to figure out if you want this ability from there. Generally speaking, you’ll want a single pure at most.

Great Savings: Ink Saver (Main) and Ink Saver (Sub)

The Ink Savers, which reduce the cost of your Main Weapon’s fire and your Sub weapon, respectively, are pretty easy to explain. Simply put, Ink Saver (Main) should only be used on weapons that have a very high firing cost to begin with, like Dynamo Roller and Explosher. Most shooters and dualies can fire dozens if not more than a hundred times before running out of ink, and as such get incredibly little out of it reducing that cost. On weapons like that reducing the cost of your Sub weapon might be significantly more worthwhile, especially if you like using it in tandem with your Main weapon.

The most important thing when using these abilities on your gear is to make sure the amount you settle for has a purpose. Going back to the Explosher again, rather than just settle for whatever you, try to find an amount of Ink Saver (Main) that actually increases the amount of shots you get on a full tank by a comfortable amount, and leave it at that. When it comes to Ink Saver (Sub), instead try to find an amount where you feel like you can throw your bomb and have a comfortable amount of ink left in the tank to fight with. Experiment, and see what feels right for you.

As an aside, don’t use Ink Saver (Sub) if you have a utility Sub like Squid Beakon, Sprinkler or Ink Mine. It should be saved for Sub weapons that are used frequently and proactive.

Three Fantastic Slot Fillers: Ink Recovery Up, Special Charge Up, Quick Respawn

I call these abilities slot fillers, but don’t let that make you believe they are unimportant, because depending on your playstyle they might actually be the most important abilities in your entire arsenal.

Ink Recovery is probably the least exciting of these, and the one I have the least to say about. It’s an excellent ability, especially if you prefer to sneak around in your ink a lot, and if you do it’ll probably be more worthwhile than any of the Ink Savers.

Special Charge Up is an excellent choice if your playstyle revolves heavily around your Special. Special costs are by and large a lot more expensive in Splatoon 3 than they were in Splatoon 2, so whether you’re spamming Reef Slider or Tacticooler, consider sticking some of this in your build, and make sure to mix in some Special Saver to sweeten the deal.

Finally, Quick Respawn is a solid fallback plan for all occasions. It only shortens the respawn timer if you haven’t gotten a kill since the last time you died, but this doesn’t really diminish its usefulness all that much. We all have games where we’re not doing too hot, be it due to personal reasons or because we’re simply in a bad matchup, and Quick Respawn helps you get back in the game quicker. Additionally, Quick Respawn does not care about assists, so if you can still pitch in with bomb splash damage, tracking, or Tacticooler drinks, and still keep your shortened respawn.

All of these abilities are good in any amount, so fit in as much as you’d like in any mixture you’d like.

And that’s all regular abilities (except one) in Splatoon 3! I’ll be back later this week with a second part, going over the Main-exclusive abilities.

Thank you for your time, I hope this guide has been useful to you, and if you have questions, feel free to send them my way!

[phoneycam]

The brainrot is winning

I'm having a strong soulmates phase and seeing that my codywan obssesion isn't going anywhere either... Let's get creative.

Soulmates AU: Everyone has life point/years left and people can people can give their soulmate their own life points/years.

So imagine!

It's the middle of the first year in the war. The 212 is send to a random planet to protect the people from the separatist atack and as always, it all goes to shit. The information is incorrect, the comms don't work properly and as a result, they are being rapidly overwhelmed. They fight for several days waiting for backup but while they wait, the provision keep running lower and lower. It get's to the point where people from the planet start helping with local medicine and shelter for the injured because there is no other options. Obviusly is in one of these desperate moments that it happens.

Everyone is tired; they've been fighting for days with no chance of a break and when one is tired, they make mistakes more easily. Obi-wan and Cody are aware of that and they do the best they can to allow rotations in the front long enough to get a break to the poor troopers, but it's almost impossible when there is less and less with each day.

Cody is in the front shooting to any droid that dares to come near his sight, his general on the other side of the fild protecting the troops only recognizable for the blue flashes that came through the heavy cloud of dust that seems to never disapear in this goddamn planet. Maybe is the lack of sleep and rations, maybe is the hyperfocuss that comes everytime his in the battlefield, maybe to many explotions have made his hearing weaker, either way, somehow a droid gets past his comfort zone and the alarmed shout of one of his brothers is the only thing that makes him realize his mistake.

They manage to bring down the droid but not before Cody get's shot a couple of times. He doesn't even notice it until he tries to go back to his original position to continue and he fucking collapses.

Obi-wan, on the other side, is making the best he can to not loose more clones, destroy every droid that crosses his way and ignore the force exsaustion. It's after defiting a massive tank with aparent flawless effort only to end up tripping with air that he admits defeat and let Bones drag him to one of the shelters.

inside the shelter you can find multiple clones in diverse states of pain and injuries, a mix of medics and locals running around with bacta patches, bends and many types of plants based balms. Obi-wan tries his best not to flinch with every clone he passes by, getting more and more distressed with every wave of pain his man shoves his way unintetionally with the force. By the time they sat him on an empty suplly box, he is so overwhelmed he doesn't react to anything untl he recognizes the clone stationed on his side.

"Cody!" he shouts unwittingly of the people around.

The commander is lying on a pile of age-corroded blankets, surrounded by diverse bowls full of leafy concoctions, without his top armor and covered with different leaves in several places. When Obi-wan cruches next to him, he gets to smell all the different balms and oils from the leaves, but also, underneath it all, he can sense the pains and struggles exuding from this man, how breathing is getting more labored with every second, how dangerusly warm the skin feels.

How close to death he is.

Obi-wans heart aches. There are not the supplies needed for his type of injuries and he is too tired to do anything to help his commander, the force barely helping him stay knelt by his side and this is enough to make his vision blurry. Barely a month ago he had managed to gain enough trust from this man to get his name and now here he lies... Obi-wan shakes his head refusing to drop tears for someone who wasn't gone. And will not be gone. If there is something he is known for is being stubborn and if he says his commander will live another day, then he will. If he says he has enough force energy to help Cody, he will have it.

Nodding decided to himself, Obi-wan grabs carefully with both trembling hands Codys arm and brings it close to him. He is about to take a deep breath when a shocked gasp leaves him breathless instead.

Something happens for a second, it feels like a zap of energy crossing his boddy and then there is nothing.

Obi-wan stays there for a couple minutes breathing heavily. Slowly he turns Codys arm around. There, he sees a number in the upper arm and is suddenly reminded of one of the deepest mysteries of the force. A choked sob leaves him involuntarily when another zap crosses his body and synchronously the number that had almost becomed 0 goes up again.

He doesn't even think about it before handing year after year. He knows that him himself had at least a hundred years on his counter and althoug it had been a long time since he checked it, he didn't care.

He stops when the number gets to 45 years.

Obi-wan takes a deep breath and open his eyes slowly, he doesn't remember closing them but he doesn't really care because the first thing he sees is his commander sleeping peacefully. He smiles and hesitates before releasing the arm. He takes some of the bowls and after verifying with the forse for danger, he aplies some over the number to cover it.

He hopes no one notices before Cody. That thought reminds him that he is in a very public place at the moment and he look around suddenly aware of his surroundings. Everybody is too rushed and preoccupied to even notice the miracle that just happened. A little bit of shame invades him at the thought that someone would be watching him in this kind of situation.

"General!" A troopers call startles him in the direction of the shout. He sees Waxer struggling with the amount of people running in different directions to get to him and the scene of him almost tripping makes him smile involuntarily.

"Waxer, how can i help you?" He asks when the poor trooper is finally by his side.

"Reinforcements are on their way, sir! We've recived a transmission from General Skywalker to be attentive of his arrival" Waxer responds barely holding himself of jumping happily while various troopers on earange start cheering.

"That's a wonderful new, that's honestly... a kriffing relieve..." Obi-wan release a relieved sigh that overlays the collective gasp of the troopers and starts to get up. "I'll go help some more before Anakin arrives, I'm feeling better either way" He says making his way outside the shelter and unaware of the several gapping clones he's left behind.

It takes three days to stop the separatist. Cody wakes up on the second day and only entertains Bones with a couple of tests from his 'miraculous' recovery before shaking of the dried leaves with some help of the locals and getting inmediately on his blacks and then his armour. He doesn't realize the soft gasp from the person cleaning his arm and then whispering to his friends when Cody basically escapes to the bettlefield followed by a frustrated Bones that insists he needs to atleast eat a ration bar.

When general and commander find eachother, there is too much going on the battle field to have a conversation, so after seeing one another from the distance and sharing a nod of acknowledgment they go back to the task in hands.

By the time they get to the Negotiator on the end of the third day, exhaustion, grief and hunger are the only things on their brains. They had lost so many and even though they wanted to do anything more than to fall asleep on the spot, they still needed to keep going until everybody else was ok.

"General!" Or at least that was the idea before Helix started walking menasingly towards them. "Bones told me to take you to medbay the moment i see you"

Obi-wan grimaces before sighing resigned. He turns around to see Cody already smiling at him with pity and some baddly hidden humor.

"Don't you think you are safe either commander" Helix remeinded Cody of his conditional release. "Go get yourself clean before making presense on the medbay. I've already noticed your absense to the rest so there is not escaping."

"And why can't I-"

"Because Cody smells like he decided to wallow on a garden and that's an allergy magnet if I've ever seeing one, better get that out of the way quick. You on the other side, I can see you favoring your right side"

"..."

"..."

When Cody arrives to the fresher he is not surprissed to find other troopers already using them, it's normal after a battle, so he just gets out of his armour and blacks and just waits for his turn. He can hear some troopers chatting on the side that he tunes out while he starts inspecting everyone for injuries. Most of them are not heavily injured, some bad scratches here and there but nothing life threatening. He hums to himself when he sees the number on one of the troopers.

Clones had this unspoken rule of never mentioning the soulmate counter. Most of them didn't even get to the second digit and every battle only reduced that number to the inevitable day. Finding their soulmate wasn't even something they could look upon, with most of the time spend in battle or traveling, weirdly interacting with other individuals and the ankward situation that all the being a clone implies.

"All yours commander!" the call from one of his brothers exiting the fresher brings him back to reality and shaking himself out of that path of thoughts he goes to the fresher.

The unavoidable happens when he is getting himself back on a new pair of blacks.

He is thinking of his batchmate Bly, one of the only lucky ones to have found the impossible, in non other than his general. He remember the hysteric call he recived at an unholy hour not even two days after his departure. The memorie makes him smile fondly and unconsciously he goes to see his own number.

45 years.

...

..

.

Eh?

[adriannamunson]

Little Miss Perfect

Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: The Hawkins’ High School President, AKA, you, was paired with Eddie “the freak” Munson a couple a weeks ago. It is now a week before the deadline and your partner has not been helping at all.

A/n: My main account @eloisegrant is bugging out, so here is an Eddie story.

Warnings: tension, just a few swear words and fluff implied, Eddie is a simp and an Enemies to lovers trope.

Word count: 2.5 k

This was fucking unbelievable. You continuously chased after him after every school day, begging him for a couple hours to work on your project.

Some days he’d comply and do some work at school, but most days he’d make an excuse and go off to his hellfire club.

So you had enough, once the bell rang you prepared yourself and pushed down the goody two shoes in you. Trying to make sure you have every vulgar thing on your mind. Even though you were raised as a conservative girl you were not anything like what your parents perceived you to be.

Sure, you were the president of the school, constantly getting praise from your teachers and your peers. ‘Miss Perfect’, they would call you. But, that just wasn’t the case—

Because you were far from it.

I mean, your closest friends knew the true you, just not the whole community of Hawkins. It was kind of fun being the good girl that has never been caught.

You could not count the amount of boys you teased, flirted and toyed with throughout high school. However, one thing you never did was talk badly or mean to someone.

It just wasn’t in your DNA.

Oh but, if that someone was Eddie Munson, who had an incredibly uncooperative attitude, you were surely going to say something.

I mean he was a gorgeous sight to look at, pretty brown eyes, deep sultry dimples with a flurry of hair on top of his head and the confidence that he constantly emitted was hot as hell. Even enough to attract anybody.

You gotta admit, you did have a bit of a crush on the freak of Hawkins; but it just wouldn’t work out, you were Miss Perfect and he was… well gorgeous yet troubled.

Despite his looks, there are no limitations to how much a person could be a dick. And you were not going to be completing the project without his help.

So you followed Munson to the room him and his club posse scurry into, every day. You practically slam the poor door open, scaring Gareth, who was setting up their game. While also nearly causing Dustin to drop the bag of chips he was passing around.

“MUNSON!” Your voice was so displaced with the way you looked. Who in their right minds would expect the beauty wearing a pretty lilac skirt, long sleeved jumper and knee high white boots would just barge in like that.

Your cute fluffy hair wasn’t helping and honestly Eddie was in awe with the way you were approaching him. All fumed up and totally out of character. He stands up from

his makeshift throne to theatrically greet you “Why if it isn’t Miss Perfect-“

“Zip it, Munson.” You reach him, looking up to eye him down. He raises his hand playfully, as you point menacingly at him. “We have A WEEK to finish this goddamn project, WHICH BY THE WAY, If you fail, you won’t graduate!” You continued stepping towards him, causing him to back up until he was pressed against the wall.

Compared to Eddie, you were short. So as the Hellfire boys watched it all unfold, they passed each other the chips and murmured to one another. It was a fascinating sight to see their leader get intimidated by someone who looked like they would never hurt a thing.

“SO!” You stomped your boots in between his legs, making him instinctively spread them in shock. “…I suggest you come with me, we head back to my place… AND DO! THE FUCKING! PROJECT!” Your hand poked repetitively on his chest, pushing him onto the wall harder. Damn, if he wasn’t so eager to graduate, he’d ask you to do this on a daily basis, privately.

He could get used to this dominance you were exhibiting. The flush of your cheeks, the fumes escaping your ears and your vulgarity.

“Well, princess.” He grabs your hand gently and removes it from his chest, gaining the space to stand back up properly. “If you wanted me alone, you could’ve just asked.”

“Munson I swear-” You point your finger again, not in the mood for his pointless games. He grabs your finger again, carefully, before nodding while shushing you.

“I was just kidding…” You still had a death glare painted all over you delicate features, and Eddie was digging it. “Man, Miss Perfect has a very tasteful way of motivating me to study, doesn’t she boys?” He raises both arms and gains a collective laugh to erupt from the boys.

With a squinted and angry gaze back towards the boys, they shut up immediately.

He couldn’t help but notice you were still being serious once your deadpan gaze looked back up at him. “Alright, alright, don’t worry… No matter how hot that just was, I’ll ignore it. In the meantime, let’s go finish that darn project, hm?” Eddie scrunches his nose, before booping your nose with a verbal ‘boop’ escaping his lips.

You wanted to slap his pretty fucking face but you refrain. Also, did he just call you hot? Or something like that? Damn, you couldn’t think clearly.

All you could do was nod and head back out to the school grounds, while Eddie rushfully followed. Ordering the boys to continue the game without him, which caused uproar and excitement to ensue. They really wanted to lead the game, you thought to yourself.

The cold evening air hits you as you stood there by the school parking lot, waiting for Munson to appear. “I’m assuming we take my van?” You get broken out of your thoughts when gestures his keys infront of you, pointing to his va.

“See, you say van but that’s what I call a health hazard” You banter with him. The van was a bit rickety and old but it wasn’t as bad as you described. You just enjoyed teasing him quite a bit because you had to admit— snarkiness was kind of hot.

He groans, holding his hand over his chest to act like he was heart broken. “I’m offended, that is my baby.” He runs to the van, carefully caressing its side.

“You’re weird.” You try to hold down a smile from peeking through your lips as you open the passenger side, sliding onto your seat as Eddie does the same on the driver’s seat.

“Oh you love it.” He winks at you as he twists the key to the sputter of the van. “See? What I tell ya, my baby.” His fingers traced the steering wheel and it was fucking hard to ignore the way they moved.

The intricacies of his veins, the way his rings were wrapped around those fingers and even the way he was playfully massaging the steering wheel. He definitely knew what he was doing.

You just couldn’t help but think… What else could those fingers do? How nice would those hands be against your neck? Damn it, you gotta snap out of it.

“J-just drive.” You stuttered, facing forward as you adjusted your seatbelt. Eddie knew damn well you were looking at his hands and it was not just because you liked his rings. But, he simply ignores it for now, following your orders to drive to your house.

————>

Opening your front door was easy for you. But for Eddie, he felt so out of place. You lived in such a big and pristine house, it was wild that he had the opportunity to enter there. You notice his wide look at the sight of your house’s frontage and tap his shoulder.

“Munson, come on.” You open the door wider to let him in. He got distracted again with the pictures along the walls. Like each wall was dedicated to a child. You had three siblings and all of them have gone off to college, they had some pretty nice achievements.

But of course, nothing stood close to their star girl who had the best wall ever taking the entire length of the stairs.

Eddie got distracted by a picture of yours, you were about 8 probably. A pretty bow on top of your hair as curly strands framed your face. Your hands formed a v underneath your chin.

“Well looky here!” He stares at it, crossing his arms.

You blush and curse yourself internally, you had too many pictures here that you wish he would not see. “Oh god, I was just 8 so please don’t judge.” You stood next to him, practically pushing him up the stairs so he could not focus on the pictures and awards.

“Cute pictures… Little Miss Hawkins? Little Miss Photogenic? OOO Little Miss Congeniality! So freaking adorable.” His compliments, although embarrassing, were making you blush. You had reached halfway up the stairs before bumping into your mother.

“Oh, y/n, baby I didn’t hear you come in-” Your mom fixes herself as she spots you and… this boy she has not seen in her lifetime. The sight of Eddie was enough to cut her off, mid sentence.

Her eyes widen at the sight of Eddie, his hair, the devil on his shirt, the many dark accessories and his tattoos. You catch on that your mom was panicking, out of all the boys you could have brought home why did it have to be someone who looked like he could murder?

“Momma this is Eddie, he’s my project partner.” You step up from behind Eddie and adjust your messy hair that was due to pushing him up the stairs.

“Oh thank goodness…” She blurts out in relief. You furrow your brows at the fact that your mom had no filter whatsoever on the fact that she didn’t seem to like Eddie. On the other hand, Eddie didn’t care, he was used to freaking people out. So he just decides to play along.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Y/l/n. Your daughter tells me you make amazing cookies.” He extends his hand out which makes your mom hesitantly shake hands.

“Oh she does? You’re too kind and, yes I do.” Your mom smiles at the compliment and nods off to Eddie, before stepping down the steps to head to the door. “Well, I’m off to the supermarket. There are some juices and snacks in the fridge.”

And with that, she goes off. Opening and shutting the house door. You look up at Eddie, “cookies?” With a tilt in your head and a lift in your eyebrow, you question his sudden compliment.

“Hey, listen, I just tried to fit in.” He follows you up the stairs, watching every move you make. Your room was at the far end of the hallway. It was nice to have your siblings away because you get to pick whatever room you wanted. And so, you picked the corner room.

“Not too shabby, Miss Perfect.” He smiles upon entering your room, he closes the door behind him. It wasn't girly, It was just very organized. From the books on the shelf to your dresser, or to your bed. Again, he felt out of place.

You couldn’t help but notice his little nickname he gave you, “Why do you keep calling me that?” You spoke with your back turned as you fixed your desk to situated both of you.

“What? Oh you mean Miss Perfect?” He teases again, hands behind his back as he playfully skips to you.

With a quick turn, you eye him down and roll your eyes, “Yes.” The desk was finally set to sit two across from one another, so he takes a seat as you do the same.

It was by the window, so your face was being beautifully framed by the sunset’s rays. “Because… well…” He lingered on his words as you flipped through your notebook. Too focused to even realize Eddie’s lovestruck gaze on you.

The sun was certainly making sure he would fall for you. With the way you looked with the rays all over you. “I mean, just look at you.” He whispers, half praying you didn’t hear him, half praying that you did. And goddamn you did.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze to look at him. The orange hues of the sun reflected on his features too, and it was a sight to see. But you were still not engaging. Trying hard to hide the blush on your face.

Looking back down to your notebook you spoke, “Not much to look at, Munson.”

He wanted to grab a mirror and pinpoint every single beautiful thing that you had. From the way your hair was constantly, perfectly styled. Or your perfume. Or your smile. Or your eyes. Or your giggle that could spark anyone’s faltering heart back to life. Or even the way your eyes squint when you focus, just like right now.

“Are you kidding me? Have you seen yourself?” He was not going to let this down. He places the palms of his hand on the table, making you look at him. “I and everyone else in this shithole town have the honor to witness such an aphrodite, like you, Miss Perfect.”

There was no way you could control the smile that was forming across your face. And Eddie notices. “There! Right there! Look at that!” He forms a frame with his hands as he closes one eye. As if he was trying to capture a picture.

“I mean, Mona Lisa is fucking jealous right now. THE GREAT LEONARDO DA VINCI wishes you were his muse!” He flails his arms around, which was such an adorable sight for you that you just couldn’t help but giggle.

“And the angels sing in chorus as God tells tales about your beauty!” The dimples on his cheeks deepen as he explains himself. Practically putting on theatrics, as he does, with the way he spoke.

“Eddie please…” You try to cover your face, hiding the smile and redness across your cheeks. But he reaches over the desk and softly pulls your hand away.

“Miss Perfect, I call you Miss Perfect because that is what you are- Perfect.”

You guys locked eyes for about a minute, you never noticed how insanely long his lashes were before now, but having him this close was different.

He clears his throat to ease the tension. “So uh… Yeah…” His eyes blink erratically, as if he was trying to calm himself down. “Don’t question my nickname for you.” He awkwardly plops back into his seat, smiling a thin line.

He did not know what came over him to suddenly burst out with those feelings. But, it was just a trait he usually did. He just didn’t expect to do it to you. Now you probably think he was weird.

And don’t get him wrong, he was already known as a freak. But, he didn’t want you to think he was a creepy stalker or something like that.

“I certainly won’t.” You were left speechless at Eddie’s words and a bit breathless from the way he made you blush. Did he mean what he said? Or was he just sarcastic?

Anyway, you shake the situation away and he did the same. You flipped to the page of the project instructions and sighed loudly. “Alright, so… let’s start?”

~~~~

Part 2

[kisstytea]

KISS Oneshot: Satan’s sacrificial waterfall

Warnings: Blood, Reader has a uterus, a couple of the boys have no idea what’s going on, you get the idea

A/N: I made this as fluffy as I could I swear.

Paul

•Hims very confused at first

•why were you being so mean and then the sweetest thing ever all within the span of a minute?

•Eventually you had to explain it to him

•He felt kind of embarrassed 

•But he takes such good care of you 🥺

•He buys you chocolate, makes you food, gives you snuggles, AHHHH he’s so sweet!

•Was a bit confused on how tampons work

•”You shove a piece of cotton up your vagina?!”

Gene

•Honestly had no fucking idea what was going on

•Like srsly you had to show him diagrams and shit

•But he understood after that

•He buys you whatever you need and orders takeout from your favorite restaurant 

•Also gives you back scratches! (Idk if y’all have ever had a gentle back scratch but that shit is my love language)

•Kind of gives off vibes like, “Hey baby I’m in the pads aisle, what size pussy you got?”

Ace

•omfg this himbo

•He knew what was going on but had to call his older sister to figure out why you couldn’t just pee it out 😭 (my cousin genuinely asked me this once btw)

•He kept the bathroom STOCKED after that

•Also he spoils you all week with cuddles and flowers and treats and ahhh space ace really saved the week 🥰

•A little bit confused while shopping so at first he brought back a piece of styrofoam 

Peter

•He knows what’s up instantly lmfao

•Bought you pain killers and a heating pad

•He’ll lay on your tummy to help soothe cramps too 🤤

•All week he runs you nice warm baths and runs to the store for you, oml he’s so sweet

•Gives you kisses all over your face 🥺

•Your little catman literally does EVERYTHING for you. Like you don’t even have to move baby.

Vinnie

•Genuinely cries with you 

•He HATES seeing you in so much pain

•But like the rest of the dudes, he buys you what you need and just SHOWERS you in affection

•He’ll play you your favorite songs on guitar, like literally anything for you bby

•Omggg he treats your ass like ROYALTY

•Lanky little bbyboy is at your service 🥴

Eric C.

•Poor foxy was so scared when he heard you scream from the bathroom

•Hims so innocent and he didn’t know what was going on

•But he helps you through it after a bit of an explanation 

•He’ll get in the bath with you and wash your hair too, like he wants to help so much

•Hims just so sweet 🥹 

•BOUGHT ALL THE PADS JUST IN CASE

Eric S. 

•Also at your service the whole goddamn time

•When you first got it unexpectedly he didn’t need any sort of explanation and just changed the sheets of the bed

•He knows that you can’t control your bodily functions 

•Snuggles with you and will watch your favorite movie

•Also will make you the strangest foods you crave (I can’t be the only one that wants salt on watermelon while I’m bleeding out the wrong end, right??)

Tommy

•Hoe is mad at your uterus 

•It should not be hurting you for not being offered a child 😤

•So he gives you ALLLL the love

•Also confused while shopping for pads so he called you and asked if you wanted lemon or lime 

•Makes you soup 🍲 

•Also CUDDLES

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

It may have already been said somewhere and I just missed it, but how long was the partial custody for Megumi with the Zenins? I assumed it was once a month for a couple years, but I guess it also could’ve been every weekend (poor Megumi)

Maki remembered it as one weekend a month, but she was also like, six or seven when the Zenin still had partial custody, and whenever I have the memories come through that kind of haze of age, I always have them be kind of hit or miss in its accuracy. For example, Maki remembered Megumi as being five, but he was actually six when the arrangement started.

It started as one weekend per month at the beginning, which is how Maki remembers it--that was the number that the clan leadership brought to everyone else when they finally got Gojo to agree to partial custody, and the number that people bitched about and celebrated in turn whenever they were pissed that they only had him for a weekend a month or thrilled that they finally got some kind of time with him. If you ask Maki what the arrangement was, she would say it was one weekend per month.

In my mind, that's not an entirely accurate number. And it was mostly because the Zenin were constantly, constantly pushing their luck to get more time with him.

There was more than one time where they'd refuse to hand Megumi back over unless it was gojo personally come to retrieve him. Gojo was the only one who had the firepower to actually force them to give Megumi back--if he wasn't there and they wanted more time, then they'd just. Keep Megumi. And it wouldn't be until Gojo pulled himself away from his missions and showed up to personally pick him up that they'd suddenly cooperate again. If Gojo was out of contact or just too busy to get there--and the Zenin would ask their contacts in the higher ups to make sure he was--then they'd get a few extra days with him.

Which is another one of the reasons why Megumi's relationship with the adults suffered so badly during this time in his life. From his perspective, he was barely hanging on by a thread and struggling through each day with the Zenin, and he'd finally, finally get to the end of the weekend, and Naoya would come up and tell him that Gojo hadn't bothered to send anyone to pick him up and that they'd get to keep him all week. It would crush him every time.

But in reality, Nanami would be parked right outside of the Zenin compound, having arrived early to get him, pissed as hell and fuming on the phone through this endless phone tree of assistants trying to get Gojo on the line so that he could come back to get Megumi himself, because the Zenin wouldn't even so much as let him through the front door.

Back then, the trio were just young and easy to take advantage of and were honestly, really, desperately trying to make this somehow work. They had no idea how bad it was for Megumi on the Zenin compound and didn't want him to just. fucking hate this people that they assumed he'd build some kind of relationship with. They'd always downplay how fucking pissed they were at his family too, because they were trying to keep it together for the sake of the kid, who actually didn't want it together to begin with. So when they finally got him back, and Megumi asked why no one had come to get him, they'd never say "Your shithead bio family wouldn't goddamn give you back when we first showed up and Gojo had to threaten to rip Naobito's spine out his asshole so they'd let us take you home this time," it'd always be something like "You know, bud, your family really, really wanted to spend a little bit more time with you" or "Your family only wants Gojo to pick you up and Gojo was just really busy this time."

Eventually, Megumi stopped asking. He had already decided that they didn't care enough about him to come. He didn't need them to say it out loud.

In my mind, Megumi's pride is something that's always been very important to him. And I don't mean that he's prideful--it's that he knows what it's like to be kicked when he's down, but he won't give them the goddamn satisfaction of making him cry too. It's about maintaining dignity. He has no intimation about whether he can win every fight, but they won't get him to fucking beg for mercy when he loses it. Even when he was facing up against Sukuna, he never once begged for mercy or let him see him flinch.

In my mind, a lot of that was born during this time of Megumi's life. He was in a scenario where he was helpless and afraid. He asked for help, and he didn't get it, and that cut him deeper than anything the Zenin ever did to him. So he wasn't going to repeat mistakes. He wasn't going to ask for help that was. not. coming. So the Zenin keeping him past when custody was agreed to was another thing he just sort of started swallowing and not fighting on when it kept happening, which made the teen parenting trio think he didn't mind as much when it happened, which made them a little bit more lax when it came to the zenin overstepping. If megumi hated it there, he'd make more of a fuss when he had to stay longer, wouldn't he? He'd say something instead of just quietly getting in the car. And they were all so busy with missions that it was hard to die on the same hill every time pickup rolled around.

Like. Fuck. Gojo was staying up for a week straight by official design because he had so many missions that he legitimately didn't have time for sleep scheduled in it. This was the kind of mission load he got more and more whenever the Zenin's monthly visitation weekend rolled around, because the Zenin were pulling strings to keep him busy. Nanami showed up on time to do pickup, got turned away at the door, spent three hours on the phone trying to get someone to tell the Zenin to give him the fucking kid back, all while fielding hacked off phone calls from assistants trying to get his ass to go on his own missions. They had Tsumiki at home losing her goddamn mind because they promised her that her brother would be back today and he wasn't and they needed to figure out who was managing her while the trio were all off on their own jobs (because while they had somehow not died in a house fire when Toji left them on their own for months they all quickly learned that a seven year old really really should not be left on her own for a week), and forcing the Zenin to give Megumi back meant that they needed to make arrangements for him too. things slipped.

Like. I want to be clear, the teen parenting trio failed majorly around this time, but they failed because they were specifically set up to fail by adults who were dedicating all of their time to tearing them apart. There's this like, entire saga back then with how they were manipulated and how this got so bad that lives in my head that only comes in through as patchwork in the text of sea glass gardens itself. the audience only sees the effects and how bad it got, and in retrospect, it seems obvious that the Zenin never should have gotten any time alone with megumi, especially if they're pulling shit like refusing to give megumi back when their time with him is up.

But it's like this:

They each have twenty four hours in the day to use. Let's assume eight needs to be for sleep. That leaves sixteen hours in the day to fit in food, personal errands, missions, studies, hobbies, and taking care of Tsumiki and Megumi.

So the Zenin would say, great, make sure they have seventeen hours worth of missions on the day that they're meant to get Megumi.

Nanami wouldn't get quite the same treatment as Gojo. It would be more obvious with Nanami since he could never manage at the same level as Gojo, and he'd make sure that no one scheduled him for missions when he was supposed to be collecting Megumi.

But they would schedule him immediately before. And immediately after. And it's impossible to tell when missions end for certain, because it depends on how fast he finishes the fight. Now he's rushing to be there on time for Megumi. He can't just send Ijichi or Shoko--they're already refusing him half the time, they'll just laugh if they send a noncombatant to get Megumi--and there's already higher ups trying to divert his fucking car onto the next mission because he's late for that.

If they don't give him Megumi, that's hours of trying to get ahold of Gojo, because he accidentally destroys phones like they're made of soap bubbles, and it's fucking hard to figure out where he even is in the world in that moment. More likely than not, he's going to have to leave and come back tomorrow, where he has another fifteen-sixteen-seventeen hours worth of missions going on tomorrow. He already lost three hours to trying to get Megumi. With the seventeen hours worth of missions, that's twenty hours in his day gone, and he's got four hours to what--sleep? He hasn't even finished his commute yet, let alone getting food, showering, getting Tsumiki in order--

The Zenin giving him Megumi when he asks means he needs to get Megumi home. He needs to make sure there's groceries in the house. He needs to make sure that Megumi has his toothbrush and doesn't need any bandaids and drank enough water recently. Just chatting about Megumi's day with him represents resources--time, energy, mental space--that Nanami's on extremely short supply of.

Gojo, meanwhile, doesn't get seventeen hours worth of missions--he gets thirty hours worth of missions to cram into a twenty-four hour day. He's gojo satoru. he'll figure it out. And he gets that workload every single day in his week. There's a lot of curses, and only one him. They're desperate. There's a huge influx of curses, and a personnel crises, and if the ends don't meet then people die. He's the only special grade that even does missions anymore. People needs him to make it work, and he doesn't really need sleep anyway. He can handle the load, because he's gojo fucking satoru and can do what no one else can.

Getting the phone call that the Zenin refused to return Megumi again means he has to travel back from wherever the hell he is in the world, go to the Zenin compound, knock on the door, tell them to give him back his fucking kid, only for them to immediately return him with minimal grumbling when they were telling Nanami three hours ago that he'd need a tank and an army to so much get them to open the door. He's got a million and one things to do, and he knows that if he makes the trip all the way back to get Megumi, all he's going to be doing is walking him from the Zenin compound to the car. It takes the wind out of his sails. It feels like task that anyone could do even if they'll only technically cooperate for him, so it has this manufactured sense of being a waste of time.

It frayed their already thin nerves even farther, because Gojo started feeling like he has to do everything and Nanami felt frustrated with himself and Gojo because it's impossible when he does it but the Zenin comply as soon as Gojo flies back from the other side of the goddamn world just to do a custody pick up. And then all the other little things that are falling apart--like the fact that they need to get groceries, the fact that neither Megumi nor Tsumiki have done their homework for Monday and also they're out of toothpaste--build into a huge, exhausting burden when they'd normally be nonissues.

If Megumi's with the Zenin, he's in a secure location where they know he has food. They know that there's adults there making sure he's eating, sleeping, isn't running into traffic, etc. Fuck, the issue is that they're too attentive to him--they want to keep him and take care of him for even longer.

And Megumi doesn't seem to mind. He stopped asking them to pick him up on time weeks ago.

The Teen Parenting Trio were out of their minds with exhaustion, felt like everything was falling apart, and the fact that the Zenin kept violating the custody agreement just... almost seemed to solve more problems than it caused. If they fought it, it would mean endless hours of more work for them, when they were already too busy to even get proper sleep. If they just let them get in a few more days, then they knew Megumi was getting three square meals and had adult supervision. It means they don't have to pick up groceries, because they have enough for one kid but not too. It's less toothpaste they have to buy and less meals they have to prepare, and they were just so goddamn tired that they couldn't do that stuff to begin with.

The Zenin would sometimes get more than a weekend because they would bend over backwards to make the Teen Parenting Trio too overwhelmed to force them to give Megumi back after a weekend. On the weekends where they were set to get Megumi, they would just take all or most of their clan off the roster entirely and push their workload onto gojo and, to a much lesser extent, nanami. They would arrange circumstances to make them frustrated with each other and at each other's throats instead of showing a united front. They were a lot of very experienced, very manipulative adults putting 100% of their effort towards breaking a group of grieving teenagers, and they succeeded in a lot of ways.

Megumi just started shutting down after he didn't get help when he first asked, so the teen parenting trio didn't realize how bad it was for him there, but the visits that went long were always the worst for him. A part of him would always worry that they were never coming back. The Zenin would always tell him that they hadn't come because they didn't care about him or didn't want him because he had misbehaved, so he'd constantly feel like he was on the verge of losing tsumiki and being trapped there forever.

Megumi never, ever has admitted it to anyone, but he still has nightmares about being trapped in the Zenin compound without a way out, even with all the years buffering them. He doesn't want to tell Gojo or his sister. He hates that he's fifteen and still having nightmares of them. He always told himself that Gojo had kept his word and that there was nothing the Zenin could do to get past Gojo, so there was nothing they could do to force him back there.

This last week felt a lot like being trapped in one of those nightmares.

When Megumi was a kid, there were a few very rare times that Gojo let Zenin have him more than once a month. Which, again--in hindsight, he can't believe he ever did that. He hates himself for it sometimes. In the moment, though, it made sense. They'd always give him back to Nanami without a fight if Gojo caved and let them have him twice a month instead of once. It was less of a headache to give them a couple extra days in the month than fight them for a week about returning him on time. There were a few anniversaries and events that were important to the clan that they kicked up a huge fuss about getting Megumi for as well, and this was nominally supposed to improve clan relations. Fuck it, letting them have Megumi for the anniversary of whatever was the sort of compromise Yaga said they were supposed to be making.

For the most part, it was one weekend a month. That was the original agreement. that was what it was always supposed to be. But there were a few months that it was two or three times a month. There were a few times it was for a week instead of a weekend. And the Zenin were constantly fighting for more time.

I never set in stone a definitive amount of time that the arrangement went on. In my mind, it went on for around a year and a half before the Zenin overstepped and they had to go no contact, but I'm not married to it. It's nebulous.