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whumperooni · 4 years

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nesting, pt. ii

Pairing: Keigo x Sister!Reader

Tags/Warnings: tw incest, tw breeding kink, tw pregnant reader, tw dubcon, nursing, mention of breastfeeding (just a tiny bit), fingering, shame, praise, depression and self-deprecation, yan keigo

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: This is a reupload of an already answered request! I’m editing some of my longer ones and reposting them so I can organize my masterlist a bit easier! You can find the original one here

Part one is here

Ask box | Rules/Info Page | Inspo Tag | Ao3 | Masterlist

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You’re disgusting. You’re so ugly.

Tears roll down your cheeks as you look in the mirror and take in the sight of your bulging belly, your fattened breasts and thighs and puffy ankles. You’re so big now- swollen with your big brother’s clutch and softer than ever, bigger and squishier than you ever imagined you would become.

Pregnancy glow? What a load of crap.

Maybe that’s just reserved for people who haven’t been drenched in sin.

You swipe at your tears and you sniffle over the way your tank top struggles to fit. Keigo won’t let you wear anything loose anymore- he likes how big you are, he goes nuts over the visible evidence of the way he bred his little sister.

You just want to hide away from it all.

There’s the sound of a door opening and closing in the distance and you quickly try to scrub the tears from your eyes, wince as footsteps grow closer.

He’s home.

Multiple locks tumble loudly as Keigo undoes them and you hurriedly scramble to the nest, just barely get your bottom sat down before he strides in.

Keigo grins at you only for his face to falter and you flinch in worry whenever he takes a silent step closer.

He doesn’t like seeing you upset. He’s going to get mad, again, and you’re going to have to deal with some form of punishment.

Again.

(Keigo’s gotten a lot more volatile since he claimed you.

You miss your carefree, loving older brother who coddled you and made you feel safe)

“What’s with the tears, baby? You not happy to see me?”

Yes. No. He’s the only person you see anymore- it’s pathetic how you look forward to him coming home just so you’re not alone with your thoughts and worries.

You try to smile, but all you can do is cry- pathetic and upset and unable to keep up with the tears streaming down your cheeks. You sob and you whimper whenever Keigo sits himself behind you, let yourself be pulled like a weak doll against his chest as he wraps his wings around your trembling form.

“Hey, hey- what’s wrong? What’s got my mate so upset?”

His mate. Disgusting. You’re his little sister- not his mate.

Though, the eggs in your belly would say otherwise.

You weep even louder- hormonal, anguished, angry and depressed. The stroke of his hand to your hair does little to soothe you, but you still burrow against his chest in search of comfort, hate yourself as you do.

You don’t want to be like this. You want your older brother back and you just want to be normal again.

“Sis? Hey, come on- what’s wrong?”

He’s so gentle as he asks and, for a second, it’s almost like he’s your big brother again. It makes you weak and you sob more against him, curl your fingers into his shirt and shake.

“I- I’m fat and I’m- I’m ugly and I- I’m disgusting! I’m gross!”

Big tears stream down your cheeks and soak his shirt. You can’t bring yourself to care about any repercussions for your upset and all you can do is shake and weep against Keigo’s chest.

Over your tears, there’s the faintest noise from your big brother and you whimper as his arms tighten around you.

“Oh, baby...”

The murmur is so gentle, sweet. It makes it hurt worse, his tender tone, and it makes you even weaker, keeps you from wincing whenever he kisses your hair. You don’t resist when he tilts your head up and you don’t do anything more than cry and sniffle when he cups your face, looks at you so lovingly that it has you aching.

It’s like when he used to comfort you before- before when he was your big brother and not your captor, before when you were just his little sister and not his bred prisoner.

“Baby, you’re not ugly at all,” he murmurs, thumbing away your tears. “You’re so beautiful, so lovely.”

He couples the word with a soft smile and you cry harder, shake your head.

“I’m g-gross. I’m- I’m a blob!”

He huffs, but he doesn’t look angry or upset- at least from what you can see through your wet, blurry vision. His lips find your forehead and you sniffle again- louder and more pathetic, snotty from all of your dismay and bubbling distress.

“You’re gorgeous,” he insists, thumbs swiping away at more rolling tears. “You’re always gorgeous.”

“I’m not! I’m not!”

Your sobbing denial comes with harder crying, a flash of hurt going across Keigo’s face. Before he can say anything more, you burrow your face into his neck- pressing against him in a desperate sort of way that you haven’t done since he took you in his rut, made you into this pathetic wreck.

You’ll regret it later, probably. But right now? Right now you need some sort of comfort- even if it is from him.

His arms tighten around you even more and you tremble in his hold, don’t register the upset noise that leaves him or the way his wings wrap around you even more.

“Baby, baby...”

The murmured words that would have made you want to scream before only have you sniffling and pressing against him even more. Keigo’s lips press against your hair and his hands hold onto you tight, his lips move in quiet whispers that you can’t hear over your blubbering.

He lets you cry. There’s none of the punishment that you had feared- only comfort and sweetness, a gentle consolation that leaves you dizzy and overwhelmed.

“My mate, my sweet mate...you’re not- I promise you’re still beautiful. You’re so pretty, baby. So lovely. I love you. I love you so much. I love how you look.”

A hand slides down to your bulging stomach and you whine into the crook of his neck, shake your head. He shushes you, quietly, and tilts your head up with his other hand, presses a kiss to your forehead, both your cheeks.

You don’t pull away when his lips find yours- you just tremble and let it happen.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles against your lips. “You’re just growing, baby, and you’re doing it so well- I know our chicks are going to turn out so pretty like you.”

Pretty? Like you?

You’re not pretty. Keigo’s always been the pretty one- even before you got like this.

His hands smooth over your stomach and his lips press against yours again, mold in a sweet way that they haven’t quite done before. It’s so gentle compared to the hungry, greedy, possessive kisses he’s forced onto you before and you can’t help but shake, sniffle out more tears as you cling to him.

“Pretty mate,” he whispers. “Pretty girl.”

You want to deny him- you do. But the praise makes you whine instead and you shudder when his lips trail down to your jawline, smooth to your throat. Your head tilts back before you can help it and you squeeze your eyes shut- tears still slipping down your cheeks and strangled, soft noises leaving you.

You want to feel pretty. You want to feel wanted. Keigo is the only one who could want you like this; he’s the only one that would whisper praise against your skin while you’re so bloated and puffy eyed and upset.

Your big brother is the only person that could love you like this.

In fact, he’s the only person that loves you- even if it’s twisted and disgusting, perverted and sinful.

He’s the only person that’s ever going to love you.

A sob wracks through you at the realization and you let yourself be gently pushed onto your back, look up at your big brother through your wet lashes. He smiles at you- gently, sadly- and another sob leaves you, your hands reach up to him in a desperate way you’ll hate yourself for later on.

Keigo catches one of your hands and he brings it to his lips, kisses your fingers with a devotion that has your whole word quaking.

“I’ve never seen you look so gorgeous,” he murmurs, lips moving over the back of your hand and to your wrist. “You’re radiant.”

Radiant? No one has ever called you that. You’re not- you’re not. But...

“Ni- nii-san...”

The whine leaves you before you can think about holding it back and his eyes close, a soft groan leaves him. Keigo places another kiss to your wrist and then he lets your hand drop, leans down until he can nuzzle at your neck.

You don’t do more than whimper when he noses down to your breasts, shiver when his thumbs slowly smooth over your sensitive nipples. Keigo pulls your tank top down in a cautious sort of way that you’re absolutely not used to from him and you shudder from the consideration he’s gracing you with.

You squirm when you’re bared to him and squeeze your eyes shut in shame, bite your lip and stifle a whine when his hands cup your swollen breasts.

“They’ve gotten so big,” he sighs out- soft and happy. “Full of milk for our chicks.”

The way his tongue laves over your nipple is almost soothing and a horrible mewl leaves you whenever his lips latch onto it, gives a suck.

You’re so sensitive now- body wracked by your live-wire hormones and your overwhelmed emotions. It takes only a second for your breathing to turn stuttered and your fingers twitch against the padding of the nest, there’s an urge to curl your digits into his hair that you’re able to just barely resist.

“Could suck on these all day,” he mumbles- your nipple still in his mouth, his tongue jostling against it and making you squirm, making your breath hitch. “Love them, baby. I love them.”

“Nii-san...”

He groans, again, and he sucks your nipple, switches to the other to lay his attention on it as well.

It’s a betrayal to yourself how you arch up, but you’re already lost to it all- your hormones, your need to feel wanted, your desperation to forget for just a moment that you’re not what he’s saying but a disgusting mess instead.

He murmurs something but it’s lost against your flesh, lost underneath the whine that leaves you. Keigo oh so gently scrapes his teeth against your hardened peak and whimper leaves you as you feel a heat light down low.

You don’t fight it whenever his hand rubs over your stomach and sneaks down low. You don’t fight the way your legs part for him and you don’t fight the quiet, quiet moan that leaves you whenever he cups your mound. His finger hooks your panties to the side and slips through your slit. There’s a pause to his nursing, an upset whimper from you whenever his lips pull from your tit as he lifts his head. He looks down at you- surprise on his face, his expression blurred from your still teary gaze- and you whimper again when he blinks, whenever his eyes widen ever so slightly.

“You’re wet,” he breathes out, finger finding your clit and stroking it so your gasp. “Oh, baby...”

The way he says it is so- so- so happy. So pleased. So full of praise.

Your lashes flutter in some unwanted creep of joy and you turn your head away from him in shame, squeeze your eyes shut as your bottom lip wobbles and your heart pounds hard.

His finger works over you as he watches you in wonder and you whimper, squirm from his ministrations. Whenever Keigo slides a finger inside you, a whine slips from your lips and your back arches, your swollen belly brushes against his lean one.

Some part deep in the back of your mind screams over how unfair it is that he gets to stay toned and gorgeous while you’re forced to become a large, waddling blob. It’s something that doesn’t quite get to surface, though- not with the starry burst of heat that flames through you whenever his finger curls and brushes over your sweet spot to make you gasp and mewl.

“Fuck. Good girl, good mate. God, you look so pretty.”

Pretty. You’re not- you’re not-

You want to be pretty.

A sniffle leaves you and his lips find your nipple again, he begins to nurse your oh so tender tit. It’s needier, almost feverish but still careful and you can’t help the clench you give to his finger, you can’t help reaching up and curling your digits into his hair as he slides another inside you.

The room is starting to fill with sounds of your wavering, upset, overwhelmed, needy whimpers. The room is starting to fill with the wet shlick of his fingers and the soft, muffled groans that slip from him.

You gasp and whine his name whenever his thumb finds your clit and you tug on his hair without meaning to, press his face tighter against your breast. The way his fingers begin to pump in and out of your shamefully wet pussy has you trembling and you throw your head back as your hips try to move in a stuttered motion against his hand.

“That’s it,” he mutters- so encouraging as he laves his tongue over your nipple in between the words. “Such a sweet little sister- such a good girl.”

Little sister.

Tears spill down your cheeks with a renewed vigor but you’re not able to stop the way you chase after hazy pleasure, the desperate need to fall into something that will help you forget everything.

He ruts against your thigh and you shake your head when you feel him pull back to take his cock out, look up at him through your tears as he pulls down his zipper.

“The babies! You’ll hurt-”

You choke on the words before they can fully leave you- eyes going wide and a hand slapping over your mouth in disbelief.

You...when did you start to...when did you start to care about your big brother’s clutch growing inside of you? When did you start to care about the chicks that are distorting your body, bloating you with the sin of your big brother’s deeds?

Keigo stares down at you- golden eyes wide for a moment before they soften, before something loving fills his expression. You cry whenever his hand cups your wet cheek, fall apart even more as you try so hard to swim through all your mismatched, contrasting feelings.

“...look at you,” he murmurs, thumb caressing your cheekbone and smoothing away your tears. “Such a good mama.”

Mama. You’re- oh, god you are a mama.

A choked sob leaves you and you press your lips against his when he moves to kiss you, fumble your hands over his back and wings until you can curl your fingers tight into his hair once more. He shudders as you kiss him back and his hands press firmly against your cheeks, his breathing grows just a bit ragged whenever he rests his forehead against yours and look down at you with adoring eyes and flushed cheeks.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises. “I won’t hurt the chicks.”

How can you believe the words of someone that took you against your will? How can you believe the words of someone that’s kept you captive so long?

You can’t, but you want to- you want to believe, desperately, that your big brother is going to be good to you- that he’ll make his sins easier to deal with, that he’ll love you and care for you even in his crazed possession.

You’re giving into him, into the situation.

...but what else can you do?

You sniffle and Keigo kisses you again, noses against your cheek and then burrows his face into your neck.

“Won’t go inside,” he mumbles, hips canting and dripping cock rocking against your plush thigh. “Won’t hurt you. Won’t hurt our babies.”

The promises almost makes everything better.

You whine- so much softer than before- and your head moves in a weak, horrible nod. The compliance has your big brother shuddering against you and his lips find your nipple again, latch on as his hand moves back to your cunt, rubs against you and makes you arch.

“I love you, baby. I love you so much.”

You sniffle at the muffled words and you sniffle at your tears, the shameful pleasure building inside you, your weak and pathetic break that has you accepting all this instead of fighting like you should.

You sniffle, again, and nod as Keigo’s humping gets a little faster, squeeze your eyes shut tight as a tingle shoots through your breast, as your big brother gets the first taste of your milk.

“I- I love you too, nii-san...”

Keigo moans and you shudder as you rock your hips against his fingers, as you fall deeper into the twisted shambles that your life has become.

#tw incest #tw pregnant reader #tw breeding kink #tw dubcon #rooni's shit

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hopeless-deerie-fanfics · 4 years

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MC who’s panic response when in danger is to say kinky shit (eg: harder) and the brother’s reactions

Masterlist and requests info as well as the fandoms I write for is the pinned post on my page, so go check it out if you like this! Had some fun with the prompt because hey why not XP

WARNINGS: NSFW, SWEARING, KINKS, MINOR SPOILERS PRE EP.10, MAJOR SPOILERS for pre ep.20 for Belphie’s one, so avoid that one if you arent there yet. Lemme kno what you think and enjoy!

LUCIFER

- This poor man

- He thought he could handle the human exchange student

- Honestly so far things have been going quite well

- And then he gets angry and you step in between to stop him from hurting his brothers

- Part of him is impressed you even have the guts

- But he is Very Angry and you should move if you don’t want to get hurt

- He takes a step closer and grasps your neck, about to make a warning threat

- When suddenly you just scream at the top of your lungs, fear wide in your eyes

- “HARDER DADDY”

- *Lucifer.EXE has stopped working*

- You broke the poor man

- Gobsmacked is the only word to describe the expression on his face

- He’s so shocked that his anger dissipates and he turns back into his regular form

- At which point you collapse to your knees heavy breathing

- “fuck, fuck, um sorry, uh when I panic I just blurt out anything to try and throw people off and uh, well normally kinky stuff seems to work”

- Lucifer just blinks

- Then smirks

- “Come to my room later tonight, a punishment is in order for distracting me from disciplining my idiot brother”

- Your heart is pounding a mile a minute, face flushed, and from the look on Lucifer’s face he knows it

- Yeah good luck looking him in the eye for a while without immediately remembering and getting super flustered

- You did this to yourself hun

- When you do go to see him that night you expect something hot, but he just sits you down for a two hour long lecture on ‘appropriate use of language’

- Of course once he has drained all the excitement from you, just as he dismisses you, he runs a gloved finger across your jaw, tilting your face up to his, standing a little too close for comfort

- “What darling, were you expecting something else when you came here?”

- He’s smirking, and you’re melting under his gaze

- He knows what he’s doing and is relishing in your squirms

- Sadistic bastard

- (but you love it)

MAMMON (read lucifer’s first)

- By this point mammon has already sprinted off, half of him thanking his luck at getting away scot free, the other half completely bamboozled (and kinda turned on) at what you said to get Lucifer to stop

- Of course the moment he sees you again he’ll burst out laughing

- Now that his life isn’t in immediate danger he can process the humour and oh man

- You really said THAT

- To LUCIFER

- And LIVED

- Maybe he should try it next time he’s about to get strung up by his ankles

- Nah it wouldn’t be worth the punishment plus his brothers would make sure he would never live it down

- Would be hilarious though

- But seriously, he’s pissing himself laughing

- Internally though, he wants you to say that again, this time to him

- And if you do?

- Man oh man, he will melt into a pile of blushing spluttering mess

- “H-Hey ya, ya can’t just go around sayin’ that stuff!”

- *pause*

- (under breath) “say it again, but louder”

- “What was that mammon?”

- “I-I said I GOTTA TAKE A SHOWER” *slams door as he runs away*

- It won’t be long till he’s back beside you, honestly just use this method any time you want a 5 minute break

LEVIATHAN

- Oh he was PISSED

- You beat him at the *clearly RIGGED* quiz and he wasn’t having any of it

- How could some measly normie possibly begin to understand the complexities of ‘The Tale Of The Seven Lords’ when you had only watched it for the first time last week and hadn’t even read the hundreds of manga that feed into the backstory!? What about the Extended Cut!? The Holiday Special!? The Japan Only Release of the secret episode where Henry gets possessed by an ancient cheese spirit and trapped in the fridge realm and the Lord of Corruption has to go and rescue him in a daring feat only ever seen by 17 pairs of eyes in stop-motion clay!?

- Rage coursed through him, and now in his demon form he stepped closer, ready to strike

- At least that was until…

- *anime girl voice*

- “CHOKE ME WITH YOUR TAIL ONII-CHAN”

- …

- Cue silence

- You could hear a pin drop

- Levi is BEET RED

- Drops out of demon form and stares open mouthed, wide eyed at you

- Asmo’s the first one to let out a snicker

- Then Satan

- Then Mammon

- Levi’s panic response is ‘Retreat to the bathtub-bed’ so that’s what he does

- Because Hoooooo he’s suddenly got a bulge in his pants and he *DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT*

- HOW did this stupid normie human NAIL Ruri-Chan’s voice from that one tentacle hentai he watched, had they seen it!?!? Were they secretly an Otaku like him!? Were they real life Ruri-Chan dressed up in a human costume!?!?

- And how did they know one of his kinks-

- HOW IS HE SUPPOSED TO PROCESS THIS INFORMATION!?!?

- THAT IS NOT NORMIE BEHAVIOUR!!

- He will avoid you till the end of time until you go to him and explain and apologise

- But he will never see you in the same way again

- And if you two end up getting physical at any point in the future he will use this to your advantage

- Knowing what you like makes him feel more comfortable

- Poor baby needs reassurance though

- And you bet he’ll blush the whole time

SATAN (read Levi’s first)

- He was actually snickering at Lucifer’s expression when you said …*that*… to Levi, because he has never seen the eldest look so shocked and appalled

- Do it again human, keep going, drive Lucifer insane and let him watch

- He was shocked initially of course, but quickly morphed it into pleasant surprise

- And curiosity, if there’s one thing this man seeks out it’s knowledge

- And in this case, knowledge of just how many things he can get you to say in Lucifer’s presence to infuriate and/or horrify him

- He isn’t all that phased by what you said

- But he will tease you about it

- Only when Lucifer is around

- He likes watching the irritation in his eyes as you stutter over your words

- Or better yet when he Kabedons you to the wall and you yelp out an incoherently horny mish mash of words

- That is until one day he does this and your words ignite something in him other than his usual supressed anger boiling deep beneath the surface

- “M-MASTER MAKE ME BEG”

- Well, if you didn’t know what he was into... you do now

- His pupils immediately widen and there’s no missing it

- Something about the way he moves closer to you screams predator cornering prey

- He breathes and whispers softly against your neck

- “Say that again”

- You’re shell shocked

- “u-um.. m-master-“

- He nips at your earlobe he doesn’t care who’s watching

- Of course Mammon walks in and screams as he throws himself between the two of you shrieking incoherently

- But next time you’re alone, looking for a book in the library…

- …

- You and Satan may be a little, lets just say, preoccupied, with something other than books.

ASMODEUS

- Need I say anything here

- The only one who is 100% down with this straight off the bat

- Not even phased in the slightest

- “Oh, so that’s what you’re into huh~ hmmmm you have good taste” he practically purrs into your ear

- He’s running his hands over your hips, tracing your neck with his tongue

- The others have to tear him off of you but when they do he simply smiles and winks at you

- “You know where to find me if you want to play out your fantasies sweetie~!”

- If he catches you alone you know he will take that opportunity to do what ever it is you yelped out

- And of course he will pry to try and figure out more things you’re into

- Purposely make situations where you are more likely to blurt out yet another kink

- If you do go to him?

- Well, he’s the avatar of Lust for a reason

- And you will come to know just what that entails

- He will ensure you are completely satisfied, no leaving you all fired up and no place to go

- Good luck ever sleeping alone again

- Or ever sleeping again without him occupying your time and your bed first

- You will be busy every night, and will need to learn to avoid secluded closets and quiet rooms alone with him if you don’t want to get railed in public

- If there’s one thing Asmo appreciates, it’s Voyeurism

- And if you get caught, don’t think he’ll be stopping any time soon

- More likely than anything he’ll ask them to join if you’re comfortable with that

- But the pampering and aftercare he provides is second to none

- This man practically worships your body through sex

- If you didn’t know he was once an angel, well, you do now

BEELZEBUB

- Big beefy teddybear boi just wanted a midnight snack

- But he found a midnight snacc instead

- So he is shoulders deep in the fridge hunting for goods

- You come in to get a glass of water not noticing he is there

- So when he leans back, lapping up a full tub of custard pudding and swings the door of the fridge closed with a loud *thunk*

- You whip round in shock and your brain decides to betray you

- Or perhaps bless you, it really depends how you see it

- “WHY DONT YOU EAT ME OUT LIKE THAT”

- …

- Wide eyes

- Pupils dilated

- A new hunger is present and the avatar of Gluttony won’t stop till he’s satisfied

- He finished the pudding in a second flat and immediately made his way over to you, leaning close to your lips

- But he hesitates

- “Did you… mean that?”

- He asks

- He is hesitant but hopeful

- Clearly trying very hard to resist the urge to not ask permission and just dig in

- But he can see the blush on your face and tell that it was not something you meant to allow to slip out

- And come on, who could resist his big round eyes gazing down at you

- If you nod he’ll take it as enough of an answer

- I hope you don’t mind some public action because this boy is far too focused to cart you back to his room

- Up on the counter you go, legs spread, bottoms discarded

- If you’re wearing a skirt it is pushed up

- He licks up your thighs first before trying his meal

- This… well, you will be there a good while, he just can’t seem to get enough

- And once you have let him have a taste, the more he cannot have you, the more he will crave you till he’s begging you to let him try once again

- The only way he’s stopping is if somebody interrupts you, and it will take a couple tries to actually pull him away

- He’s a strong boy but he tries so hard to be gentle

- And if you’re embarrassed he’ll take you to his room and tuck you in, taking the couch out of fear of crushing you unless you insist that it is absolutely, 100% ok to share

- But if you do let him share…

- Don’t be surprised if you wake up to him trying you for breakfast

- It’ll be the only time he’s ever late to breakfast

- Eventually somebody will come and find you two and once again, it will take a few tries to pull him away

- But then he’ll give you a beaming smile like sunshine

- “You’re delicious, let’s go get some more breakfast, huh?”

- And lead you to the kitchen

- Diavolo forbid you can ever again look at a kitchen counter without getting turned on

BELPHEGOR ( SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 20)

- So, it’s not like it was a normal day to start with

- What with, ya kno

- Belphie breaking out from the attic

- And going ape shit

- And trying to kill you

- So of course, in what could have been your final moments, your last words, the thing they would read at your funeral or put on your gravestone

- Your brain really said ‘hm, how do I want to be remembered, as this very angry, vengeful demon stands over me ready to slaughter me?’

- “IF YOU’RE GUNNA FUCK ME OVER AT LEAST MAKE ME COME FIRST”

- …

- Belphie doesn’t know if it’s the rush of emotions or the heat of the moment or the fact that those are the worst last words that have ever been conceived by a living being

- But he just

- BURSTS out laughing

- Completely breaks

- He’s on the floor

- None of the brothers know what to do

- One minute he’s about to kill you, the next you say… *THAT* and then his reaction is to start rolling around on the floor, tears streaming down his face, uncontrollably laughing so hard that he’s clutching his sides in pain

- And what do you do?

- What do you say?

- “… wow I cant believe that worked”

- Absolute fits

- �� He can’t contain it

- He manages to supress his laughter for a short while once he finds out about Lilith’s connection to you

- But at this point he was already gunna keep you

- He can’t bring himself to kill anyone who would voluntarily go out with those words, it would be WAY more fun to spectate such a lunatic, not to mention the abject horror across Lucifer’s face is more than enough to sate his hunger for revenge for enough time to process and calm himself down

- But he’s not going to forget this, human

- You just wait

- …

- 3 days and you find out that he has teamed up with Mammon and made TSHIRTS

- TSHIRTS that say what could have been your last words

- Not only that, they’re selling them at Majolish and it’s a best seller

- And he’s rubbing it in your face

- Yeah

- You will never live this down

- At least he seems to be getting along with most of his brothers now

- Who knew you being a horny idiot with no verbal filter would be the thing that saved your life?

- Certainly not you

- All of Devildom knows what you said

- And you can bet Solomon bulk buys some t-shirts and sells them in the human world too

- He’ll wear one until Simeon manages to pry it off of him, saying it’s inappropriate to wear around Luke

- That won’t stop him from teasing you about it too though

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obsidiancorner · 3 years

Text

ObiYuki Bingo- Cyberpunk

Wherever You Go- Chapter 1

(Shout out to @ruleofexception for naming this thing that I have been struggling to name since my board came out and I saw what all was on it. )

Year: Ad Pacem-1103 (3119 AD)

"... They look human, making it nearly impossible to deduce who they are by physical traits alone. They have also studied our speech patterns.”

Shirayuki hangs her head in her hands, elbows propped on the very edge of her desk so she doesn’t skew or drop any pages of the research splayed out in front of her. Whoever leaked the info to the media signed their own death warrant. At a guess, they will simply vanish from existence under the silent vigilance of the approaching midnight hours.

“The specimen in custody converses fluently with the state officials interrogating it but it will not divulge any information regarding how long it has been here, what their objectives are, and, ultimately, what their interest is in Earth’s-”

Shirayuki slams her hand down on the button beside the small projector lens from her desk, hitting it too hard in frustration and her old desk groans in protest as the screen flickers out of existence, leaving her alone in the quiet solitude of her office. She resists the urge to pace by drumming her nails on the surface of her desk.

There’s always something going on. Nothing can be easy anymore. No break from one calamity to the next. The only guarantee is that some other shadow looms on the horizon. Why not an alien invasion? Sure. First it was a deadly plant they had to somehow make prosperous. Then it was a coup attempt that thankfully failed. Why not an alien invasion next. That’s way more interesting and potentially life threatening now that they’ve been found out.

With a heavy sigh, Shirayuki shuts off the newscast. She smacks the button on her console with more force than is strictly necessary and the screen before her shrinks into nothing as the shutter from the projector on the desk winks closed and the quiet whir of the computer dissipates. Obi will have something to say about that when they meet for lunch, Shirayuki thinks as she packs up to meet him at their favorite cafe.

-----------

Obi is late. He’s never late for food and he never skips a meal without a mandatory and likely classified reason. When the server approaches for the third time, Shirayuki orders him something just in case he shows up last-minute.

His food arrives but her lunch is ending. True fear creeps in with all the subtlety of a hurricane making landfall. The server, probably assuming she had been stood up for a lunch date, flashes her a pitied smile and packs the extra meal in a takeout box for her.

Shirayuki responds with what she hopes is a smile, though it feels like a grimace, before tucking Obi’s untouched meal under her arm.

She makes a quick stop at the lab to tell Garrack she doesn’t feel well and needs to take the afternoon off before heading home to stew in her worry in the comfort of her own home.

----------

“They can be found through infrared scanning,” Izana says as he taps his stack of intel reports on his desk to neaten the edges.

Obi drums his fingers on his leg. His nerves are fraying because nothing good can come of this. Aliens are among them and no government officials have been approached for permission to be here. It’s an aggressive and underhanded act from unnamed foes from heaven and stars only know where.

“What do you suggest we do? Makiri?”

Obi doesn’t flinch. Barely. It’s been a long time since he has heard such an aggressive level of annoyance from an employer. At least he isn’t the reason for it. Though his presence in this meeting leads him to believe he’s about to be a part of it whether he wants to or not, right along side Mitsuhide and Hisame who are likewise unfortunate enough to be sitting beside him.

“Your majesty, I believe it is for the best if we go ahead and authorize the military’s partnership with Cyberdyne Systems. We now have the technology to do it safely and we need a sharper edge if we are going to defend ourselves against such a threat.” Makiri is all business, matter-of-fact and unflinching in his appraisal of the situation and his assessment of an appropriate counter-measure.

Obi looks at Makiri. The fuck is Cyberdyne Systems? Makiri, despite it being his suggestion, whatever it is, looks uneasy at the thought. The conviction of his words no longer syncs with his facial expression so whatever it is must not be good news or an entirely safe plan. A sobering concept. Makiri is never anything but sure of himself.

“Do it. Get me the paperwork and you’ll have my signature the moment it lands on my desk,” Izana responds with a calm intensity that sends tendrils of dread shooting up his spine. He’s a master of revealing nothing. He would have made a good spy, had he not been born to rule a kingdom.

With a sharp nod, Makiri turns to leave and Obi seizes the opportunity to elbow Mitsuhide. “Cyberdyne Systems?”

Mitsuhide sighs, inaudible but obvious by the way his shoulders sag with the exhale. Sir always has been one for formality and decorum. Whispered concerns are not something that makes him happy during an already bad meeting on an already crap day.

“Obi. Mitsuhide. Hisame.”

“Your majesty,” they respond in practised unison acknowledgement of the highest commander of the Clarines military.

“You three will be the first to undergo the transformation under Cyberdyne’s medical staff. You are exemplary fighters and are the best suited for the transition. Report to the Cyberdyne Systems base in Oriold in two days. That will give you time to say any goodbyes you may feel necessary”

With that, Izana leaves the meeting room. No one in the room needs any other direction. The war council is adjourned and it is time to make their respective plans.

“What do you think he means by ‘transformation’ and ‘say goodbyes?’”

“I don’t know, Obi. But I’m going to go see Kiki and I suggest you go back to Lilias. Spend time with Shirayuki and Ryuu.”

----------

When Obi walks into their apartment late in the evening, he looks bones-deep exhausted. The weight of the world bowing his shoulders and hunching his back more than usual. He leaves his to-go box from lunch uneaten. Ryuu pulls himself out of his book, he notices the tension and excuses himself for bed. Shirayuki can’t quash the feeling that something is happening. Something she doesn’t know. Something big and likely awful.

When she stands in front of him, looking at him with pleading eyes- begging him to talk to her- he reaches out to hug her. He pulls her so close. Holds her so tight. And she knows. She knows. Their lives are about to change forever and nothing can stop it.

When he lets go, he pulls out his work-issued comm tablet and opens up his email. “I’m not supposed to show you this,” he says, as distant as the palm trees of Yuris when he hands her his tablet without looking at her.

“You will report to Cyberdyne Systems. Come fully hydrated. Drink no less than one gallon of water the day before your arrival. The medical staff will perform some preliminary bloodwork and a urine sample will be required. At which time you will be moved to surgery for implantations and modifications. After you recover, you will be paired with your handler, a person going through training to work with you in battle strategy as well as serve as your own specialized mechanic.

Makiri Arleon”

Obi sighs. “I have two days to say my goodbyes and report for duty.”

“What do they mean ‘handler’ and ‘implantations and modifications?’” She can’t believe what she is reading. This sounds suspiciously like mechanizing real people, a concept that had been rumored to be experimented with but has thus far been chalked up to nothing more than the newest wave of lingering conspiracy theories.

“This is how I lose my humanity, Miss,” he says with the saddest smile she’s ever seen and her heart shatters for him. “I’ve been one of the three men selected to be in the first round of cyber fighters to protect everyone from the aliens.”

She doesn’t know how to react at first. She feels as lost as he looks. But he needs her right now and he needs her as strong and ‘normal’ as ever though this is anything but. She settles with something safe. “Let’s get some sleep, if we can. We can wake up early tomorrow and take Ryuu on a hiking trip. He’d like that.”

“Yeah.” He gives her shoulder the slightest of squeezes as he walks into the bathroom.

When she hears the shower turn on, she seizes her opportunity and grabs her cell phone. She punches in a phone number that is way more familiar than she would ever like it to be. When the line connects and before he can say anything, she says, “I want to be his handler.”

The chuckle that fills the space is one of genuine amusement which is surprising but she won’t complain about it. She’ll take what she can get out of him, though nothing with him ever comes without it’s own price. Cost doesn’t matter this time. Whatever demands he makes, she’ll pull through on it.

“The handlers are in charge of keeping the mechas healthy and working with them on strategy, correct?” She will press him. She’s earned enough of his respect to throw some of her weight around. He knows damn good and well how useful she is and how reliably she can be that useful.

“You read the whole email,” he states. No question, just facts, and oh so very, very irritatingly Izana. But he confirms what she read anyway. “That is correct, yes,”

“Then let me be his.” She leaves no room for argument. She will fight him on this. It’s them or neither and she will make sure of it. Tanbarun would hide them without hesitation and all it would take is a call to Prince Raj.

“You know I could have him court martialed and jailed for feeding you classified information, right?” She doesn’t miss the gravity in his words.

She laughs, bitter and hollow. He could, in theory. But Obi is the best fighter Izana has in his arsenal and she is the best medic that doesn’t have other obligations preventing them from signing on. Whether he likes it or not, she is the best equipped to be Obi’s handler. “We both know you won’t do that.”

#obiyukibingo21 #cyberpunk

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skiller0dani · 4 years

Text

Ouch | Timothee Chalamet

M A S T E R L I S T

smut | college au requests info wanna be on a Timmy taglist? click here

“Why the hell did you take drama?” Caroline asks you, and you shrug. Honestly you just needed to fill your credit hours with another elective and it was either drama, or extensive art history. You’re not super interested in art history so you chose the first of the two options. “Seemed fun?” You shrug as you lay back on your dorm bed. You share the dorm with your best friend Caroline, you didn’t meet her until freshman year but you clicked right away. Ever since then you’ve requested to be housed together- you’d go insane without her. “Professor Keahey is a nightmare.” She snickers, pointing to the name of the professor on the course sheet. You groan, grabbing at the sheet- you should have taken art history. Almost nobody that has Keahey passes his damn class, he expects everyone in that class to act as well as Tom Hanks on their first goddamn day.

“He’s also a pervert.” She shrugs and you roll your eyes while inwardly screaming. There have been rumors of girls getting groped in that class, plus he’s constantly looking at their breasts and saying inappropriate things. “Is it too late to drop the class?” You ask and Caroline laughs as she ties her hair back into a ponytail. “Yeah idiot, the class starts in like 30 minutes.” She laughs and you check your watch before dragging yourself off the bed. You pull your bag over your shoulder before heading out the door. “Slap him if his hands start wandering!” Caroline shouts just as the door is closing. The last semester of your senior year is going to seriously suck if you have to deal with Keahey every single damn day.

You drag your feet into the classroom, and much to your dismay Keahey is already standing at the whiteboard, his huge beer belly pushing against his shirt- straining the buttons. He grins as you enter the room, his eyes ghosting down your body. You feel sick. You quickly find a seat in the very back, normally you sit towards the front of the room so you can see the professor and pay attention. This time you want to stay as far from the professor as you can, you just want to pass this class and be done with Keahey the Pervert. After a few minutes when the coarse starts, Keahey moves to close the door and it shuts with a loud echoing thud. Looking around you see most of the females in the class sitting in the last few rows like you are, and most of the males in the middle and front. Great. Apparently every girl had the same idea on how to dodge Keahey’s perverted stares but since every girl is in the back, he’s going to be looking back here constantly.

Keahey shuffles through some papers on his desk when the door is pushed open. Your eyes find a tall lean guy with curly dark hair and what looks like a cigarette in his hands. “You can’t smoke in here, and you’re late.” Keahey barks at him, but the guy holding the cigarette shrugs. He strolls into the classroom and towards the stairs, leading to the back. “Yeah and you should molest women but not all of us are perfect.” He says casually, and everyone’s eyes widen as the whole room begins whispering. Keahey’s face turns red and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment or anger. The guy tosses his cigarette on the tile floors before moving into the row you’re sitting. He sits all the way at the end, as far from you as he can. You recognize him from one of the frat houses, but you’ve never known his name.

Keahey continues as though nothing ever happened as he strolled in front of his desk. “We’re gonna launch right into it, fuckin’ books don’t know shit so we won’t be using those.” He grumbles and you hear a collective sigh of annoyance. This book on acting for beginners cost a few hundred dollars, and now we’re not even going to use it? The guy at the end of your row pulls out a tattered notebook and haphazardly opens it to an empty page before beginning to doodle with his pen. “You, Chalamet. Get down here.” Keahey snaps, his eyes focused on the boy sitting at the end of your row. He ignores Keahey and continues doodling, the figure on his paper beginning to look like one of those Mexican day of the dead masks. Keahey’s face puffs red again as his eyes shift to you, “you get your ass down here!” He snaps and you slowly rise on shaky legs. The guy doodling looks up at you as you pass behind him, and you can feel his eyes on you as you make your way down the stairs- towards Keahey.

When you’re standing in front of Keahey he turns to look at you, “first thing I’m gonna teach you fucks is how to show emotion through body language,” he starts and you begin to blush under all the eyes on you. Keahey grins down at you, his hand reaching up to land on your waist. “What emotion am I conveying with my body language?” He asks you as his face slides into a disgusting smirk. His hand stays planted firmly on your waist as he inches closer towards you. You resist the urge to pull away from him as you begin to tremble and when tears threaten to fall down your cheeks you feel a hand on your arm. When you turn your head, you see the boy who was drawing stood behind you. “You asked me to come down here, so here I fuckin’ am.” He says casually, his gaze remaining on Keahey. Keahey releases you and scowls at the boy in front of him, “you’re still an asshole Timothee.” Keahey snaps and the boy you figured is named Timothee simply shrugs.

The rest of the class passes by fairly quickly, and Keahey let you return to your seat after Timothee stepped in. You don’t know what to make of Timothee, he seems to already know Professor Keahey pretty well though. You place your book back in your bag when the class is dismissed and see Timothee reaching for another cigarette. “Thanks,” you stammer, drawing his attention to you. He says nothing as he lights his cigarette, “for saving me from Keahey.” You finish and Timothee nods. “Guys’ a fuckin’ sicko.” He says as he stands and you move to follow him but freeze when you see Keahey near his desk. You and Timothee are the last people in here and you do not want to be left alone with Keahey. “I can walk you out if you want.” Timothee offers and you smile, releasing a sigh as you nod. Timothee walks on the side closest to Keahey, and you see Keahey’s eyes snap to you as you near the door. “Y/L/N, stay back a sec will ya?” He says and you freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Actually Keahey we have plans we can’t miss.” Timothee says, sliding his hands in his pockets as he turns to face the professor. You stay quiet as Timothee subtly steps in front of you, his face casual but his body language defensive. “It’ll just take a sec, won’t be with your girl too long.” Keahey says with a sultry smile. You feel like vomiting, but your cheeks redden when he calls you Timothee’s girl. “I really don’t want you with her at all.” Timothee says, his voice tight. You feel tension rising in the air as Keahey and Timothee lock in a stare down. “U-Uh lets go Tim, we don’t want to miss our reservation.” You say with a shaky voice, stumbling over your words. Timothee takes a step back and leads you out of the room, making sure to stay between you and Keahey.

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding as soon as the classroom door shuts and you’re in the safety of the hallway. “You alright?” Timothee asks, pulling his cigarette away from his lips as he looks down at you. You swallow a lump in your throat as you nod, “yeah thanks.” You say softly. Timothee pushes his curls out of his face as he scratches his chin, “wanna come to a party at my frat house?” He asks casually and you look up at him surprised. You’re not an innocent little girl, you’ve been to a few parties but you’ve never been to a frat party. Plus you don’t even know this guy, although he did just save you from possible sexual harassment. Twice. “Sure.” You try to say as casually and nonchalant as you can. Timothee nods, “cool cool. See you in an hour.” He says before turning on his heel and you realize you don’t even know where his frat house is. “Where’s the party?” You call after him. “Just meet me here.” He responds without turning to look at you as he disappears around the corner.

“Which frat?” Caroline asks as you drop your bag on the floor. You turn to your closet, reaching inside to find something to wear. “Dunno, he just told me to meet him in the hallway.” You explain and Caroline squeals in excitement as she stands to help you find something to wear. “Name?” She asks and you reach forward to grab a black dress. “Timothee.” You tell her and when you don’t hear her respond, you realize it’s because she’s staring at you. “Chalamet?” Caroline clarifies and you nod slowly, what the hell is her problem? Her eyes widen as she instantly reaches over to grab one of her much tighter and shorter dresses. “You have no idea who he is do you? God you’re such a hermit!” Caroline sighs and you blink in confusion as she tosses the dress at you. “His father is Marc Chalamet! One of the most famous actors on the planet!” She says, her eyes wide and you still just look at her in confusion.

You begin to undress to slide the dress on as Caroline rushes around the room gathering makeup. “Basically Timothee is the son of some fucking Einstein of acting, and every girl on campus wants to fuck him.” She explains, and it’s obvious to you that Caroline is one of those girls. She zips up the back of the dress and pushes you to sit on the edge of your bed. You’re a bit curvier than Caroline so the dress sits higher on your thighs, and pushes your breasts out a bit more. “And he just invited you to a party, if you don’t fuck him tonight I’ll personally kick your ass myself.” Caroline snaps, tilting your chin up to begin applying makeup. She brushes on your makeup, and leaves your hair in it’s natural waves as it falls around your shoulders. “Mm yep you look pretty damn fuckable right now.” Caroline concludes, looking pleased with herself. You glance in the mirror and your eyes widen slightly, the makeup around your eyes make your eyes pop. The lipstick she rolled onto your lips make them look more plump, and the highlights bring out the best features of your face.

An hour later you’re standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall. You feel sexy, but also very uncomfortable because this is not how you normally dress. Not even for a party, tight dresses and sex proof makeup is definitely more Caroline’s thing. You hear a low whistle and when you turn your head you see Timothee with his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing the same thing he was during class, jeans with a white t-shirt, stripped button up and cardigan. You smile shyly, “did I overdress?” You ask, feeling nervous at his casual attire. Timothee shakes his head as he leads you out of the school, “nah you’ll fit right in. I just don’t give a fuck about how I look, I’m there to get shit faced.” He shrugs and you laugh lightly. The night air is cooler than you anticipated, but you figured with the alcohol that will soon be in your veins you’ll warm up quickly.

You hear booming music from a house sitting just beyond the edge of the campus. Cars line the streets and you see flashing lights from inside the 2 story house. “I’m surprised. Normally my dad is brought up at this point in the conversation.” He laughs, and while his face is lighthearted- his eyes aren’t. There’s a dark expression behind them, “I don’t know anything about your dad actually. My friend Caroline had to tell me who he is.” You admit and you see him smile. Tim throws the cigarette on the sidewalk and stomps it out, “why do you smoke cigarettes?” You ask and he laughs. His hands find their way back into his jean pockets, “does it smell like a normal cigarette?” He asks again and you inhale deeply. It doesn’t smell like a cigarette now that you think about it, “what is that?” You ask and he smiles as he kicks a rock along the sidewalk with his dirty sneakers. “Weed.” He answers and your eyes widen.

“You ever smoke weed?” He asks and you shake your head slowly, you never have but you’ve always been curious and wanted to try it just once. Timothee reaches into his pocket and pulls out another blunt with a mischievous smirk on his face. “No time like the present.” He mumbles as he lights it, and takes in a long drag. He hands it to you and you shakily bring it up to your lips before inhaling. You feel a burning in your lungs and you immediately start coughing and gasping. Timothee takes the blunt from you laughing as he places a hand on your back. When you stand up straight, your head feels fuzzy and you smile slowly. “Man it hit you already? You’re such a lightweight.” Timothee teases as you near the large house. Every color seems to be brighter, and the lights shine as brightly as the sun. You release a giggle as you look over at him, “I have never done this before!” You laugh gleefully and Timothee nods as he takes another hit. “Yeah, that’s obvious.” He smiles as you get closer to the house.

The music is booming as he pushes the door open and you see the entire living room filled with people. The lights are flashing colors as people grind and dance, and some are just sitting on the couches making out. You move to the kitchen to find a drink when Timothee places a hand on your arm. “Don’t drink, you’ll get cross faded. That shit fucks you up.” He warns, his lips brushing against your ear so you can hear him over the booming music. You turn towards the dancefloor, because fuck with this music playing there’s no way you can stay still. You nearly forget you even came here with Tim as you push your way through the people and start swaying to the music. You feel hands on your hips and when you turn to look over your shoulder, you see Timothee with the blunt hanging lazily from his lips. You lean back into his chest and grind against his hardening cock. His arms wind around you hips as his nose brushes against the shell of your ear. The smell of marijuana fills your senses, making your head feel fuzzier than it already is.

You feel his lips on your neck as the blunt drops to the ground once it’s finished. Your hands reach back to tangle in his curls as his hands hold your hips tightly. You’re normally not like this, like ever but right now you don’t care. You feel that heat beginning to build in your stomach and you want him bad. You turn around to face him and Timothee immediately presses his lips to yours. His hands slide down to your ass, pulling you into him harder. Your lips press and move together and slowly every other person in the room melts away. One night stands are something you’ve never participated in but tonight you are totally ready to rectify that as you take his hand and pull him towards a set of stairs. Your back hits the wall halfway up the stairs as Timothee grinds against you, his lips on yours again. The kiss is heated and passionate and the only thing in your mind is him. His hands everywhere on you, his lips on yours his tongue dominating yours. You moan against his lips as his hand slips underneath your dress and presses against your clit against your panties.

Your hand find his hard cock through his jeans and you grip him tightly, forcing a low growl from his mouth. Suddenly Timothee lifts you and tosses you over his shoulder, his hands gripping your thighs and rear as he hauls you up the stairs. You squeal in laughter, panting as your heart races in your chest. Your skin tingles and burns everywhere, you ache for his touch. He carries you into a bedroom and kicks the door shut behind him before tossing you on the bed. You bounce as you stare up at him, his lips slightly red from your lipstick and swollen from the kisses. He leans over you again in a second, his hands lifting yours above your head and pressing them into the mattress, pinning you in place. You whine as you lift your hips to grind against him and he smiles against your lips as his kisses trail to your neck. Everything feels desperate and rushed, like you’re going to die if you don’t touch him. You wriggle against his grip he has on your wrists, “please.” You whine, but you don’t know what you’re begging for.

Timothee’s hands leave your wrists as he reaches down to unzip your dress and yank it off your body. Your nipples are erect as they hit the cool air, the dress was so tight on you that you couldn’t fit into it if you wore a bra. Timothee hums lowly in satisfaction as his head dips to pull a nipple into his mouth. You cry out as your hand twists into his air, his teeth gently biting your bud. “Fuck,” you moan as one of his hands dips below the waistband of your panties and begins to rub harsh circles on your pulsing clit. Timothee kisses across the expanse of your chest as he takes the other nipple in his mouth, his fingers still working magic against your bundle of nerves. “God, fuck!” You cry out as your back arches up against him. He continues rubbing you harshly and you feel that heat bubbling inside your pelvis as you begin to squirm in pleasure. “Jesus Tim-” You moan as the coil in your stomach bursts and you gush into your underwear as you cum. Timothee pulls away from you, yanking his shirt off as you lay under him, panting as you come down from your high.

You reach up to quickly unbuckle his belt, and you’re so desperate for his cock that your fingers fumble with the buckle before you finally pull it through the loops of his jeans. Both of you are panting as you help him shove his jeans and underwear down, his cock springing free. You nearly drool at the sight of his tall, leaking cock and you lean down to take it in your mouth but Timothee pushes you back. He says nothing as he reaches into his jeans to pull out a condom and roll it on. “Fuck, get inside me.” You pant as you lay back and spread your legs wider for him to fit between them. Timothee leans over you and pushes into you, groaning as you stretch around him. “Jesus how long has it been for you? You’re fuckin’ tight as shit.” He moans before his lips press against your neck and collarbones. Honestly, it’s been a while since you’ve been with anyone. The last person you slept with was your ex-boyfriend and you broke up with him 2 years ago. Timothee gives you no time to adjust and begins to slam into you as soon as he bottoms out. You cry out loudly, your arms winding around his shoulders to drag your nails down his back.

Timothee pounds into you, panting and groaning against your skin as he bites hickeys into your neck. You continue to claw at his back as he hits places deep inside you, “please don’t stop, shit!” You moan, your voice a broken cry at the end as his thumb reaches down to roll over your clit. You try to catch his lips with yours, but he keeps his face buried in your neck as his arms rest on either side of your head. Sweat sticks his hair to his forehead as he slams into you, hitting your g-spot over and over again. Your legs wind tightly around his waist as you hold onto Timothee, biting down on his shoulder and crying out against his skin. You feel the pressure building in your body as the liquid heat runs through your veins. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” You moan as you feel the familiar burning in your core as he continues to slam into you. You can already tell that you’re going to be sore in the morning. “Don’t stop, don’t stop!” You cry out over and over again as your back arches and you cum so hard white spots explode behind your eyes. Timothee continues to pound into you until he comes in hot spurts into the condom. His forehead brushes against your shoulder as he stills, trying to catch his breath.

Eventually he rolls off you and throws the condom out before coming back to lay on his back next to you. The room grows quiet as you both sit and let your breathing steady. He reaches into a nightstand to bring out another blunt, “you’re an addict.” You tease breathless and Timothee does nothing but smile lazily with a shrug. You feel your eyes drooping as you relax into the mattress, “is it cool if I crash here?” You ask nervously as Tim reaches an arm up to rest behind his head. He nods, his own eyes looking droopy, “sure.” He mumbles and you release a nervous breath as you reach down to find your underwear. Once you pull your underwear back up your legs you lay down next to Timothee, and it doesn’t take long before sleep overtakes you.

When your eyes open the next morning the thing you notice first is how goddamn much your thighs ache. There’s a stinging pain through your core every time you move. You turn to look at where Timothee was but you don’t see him, and the room is vacant. On the nightstand next to you is a bottle of Advil and some water with a note. ‘I know you’re sore.’ You smile a little before popping two Advil in your mouth before slowly and gingerly moving to gather the rest of your clothes. You keep your dress up with your arms pressed to your chest, too lazy to reach back and zip your dress up. You hold your heels in your hands as you exit the room, and the entire house is silent. You creep down the stairs to see a girl sitting on the couch in nothing but a big t-shirt and a blunt hanging from her mouth. She glances at you as you come down the stairs but doesn’t say anything.

“Where’s Timothee?” You ask as she scrolls through her phone. “Went with Alice to see Keahey. She had a meeting with him today.” She says and you can’t stop the sting to your heart when you hear that. When you don’t say anything the other girl glances up at you and her face falls. “Shit, don’t tell me Tim pulled that Keahey stunt on you too?” She asks as tears push at the backs of your eyes. You bite the inside of your cheek, “I gotta go.” You say quickly as you push out of the frat house. You briskly walk back to your dorm, with tears flowing down your cheeks. Was he pretending to help with Keahey to fuck you? Was the entire time you guys spoke all about sex? True you didn’t know him long but was the entire thing just an act? Were you just another stupid girl who fell for his trap and let him in her pants? You hurry through the building, ignoring the stares from other people as you continue your walk of shame. When you finally push into your dorm, you’re relieved that Caroline isn’t there- you don’t feel like explaining it to her right now.

When it’s time for Keahey’s class again, you’re stood outside stalling. You know Timothee’s either in there already or will be coming to class soon. You decide that bumping into him in the hallway is better than facing him in a room full of people. You doubt he’ll say anything to you anyway, you hope though that he will. When you enter the classroom your eyes land on him instantly, sitting at the end of the same row a girl with long blonde hair is sitting at. He’s doodling in his notebook when the door shuts behind you and his eyes briefly glance up at you before moving back to his notebook. It’s like he looked right through you, like last night never happened. You bite the inside of your cheek as you push past him and to your spot in the back from yesterday. Timothee continues doodling the entire class and you can’t even focus on what that pervert Keahey is saying. Halfway through the lecture, Keahey travels up the steps towards you. “Stay after today.” He says sternly before turning back down the stairs and when you glance at Timothee, his focus is still on his notebook.

The lecture ends sooner than you would have liked but you don’t move, you need to meet with Keahey. You see Timothee pack up his things sluggishly when the girl with blonde hair smiles at him. “Thanks for going with me to my meeting with Keahey today.” She says and Timothee smiles with a small shrug. “Keahey’s a pervert.” He says casually as he begins down the stairs. You watch him slow his steps halfway down and turn to the girl who is hesitating to join him. “Want me to walk with you?” He asks as he looks at her and your heart shatters in your chest. It was all just some stupid stunt, he doesn’t care if Keahey does anything to you. He helped so you would let him fuck you. Timothee doesn’t give you a second glance as he walks out with who you assume to be Alice, “come down here Y/N.” Keahey says before Timothee exits the room. You stand to move towards Keahey, but Timothee doesn’t stop to see if you’ll be okay. He doesn’t glance back at you. He just keeps walking right out the door with Alice.

The tears flow down your cheeks, and you just can’t stop them.

***taglist*** @irishbish @90sthemedsunsets

#timothee chalamet smut #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #timmy chalamet #timothée chalamet imagine #timmy chalamet imagine #lil timmy tim #college #au #college au #college smut #frat boy #frat boy smut

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sugdenlovesdingle · 4 years

Text

Robron week 2020

Day 2: Criminal “I didn’t ask if it was legal, I asked if it could be done.”

Mob boss Aaron tries to get info on the new guy in town, AU.

We Meet Again (AO3)

---

“I want you to find out everything you can about Robert Sugden.” Aaron dropped a note on the desk in front of Ryan, his new computer expert.

“Uhm… like what? Facebook page? LinkedIn?”

Aaron frowned.

“No. I can find that myself. I need intel on him. I need to know where he is, where he’s been, who he’s with, who’s in his inner circle, who is he talking to. Arrest record, criminal record. Track his phone, his computer, I want to know everything. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yeah… but I’m.. not sure… that’s entirely legal.”

Aaron rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t ask if it was legal, I asked if it could be done.” he pointed out. “And do I look like I care about legal? Jesus, Matty where did you find this guy?!”

“He’s a mate, boss. He’s the best at what he does, I swear.”

“So you keep saying.” Aaron muttered under his breath. “Just get it done and let me know what you find.” He settled on. “And make it worth the trouble of hiring you. Both of you.”

He turned around to leave but Ryan stopped him with just one question.

“Who is this guy anyway?”

Aaron closed his eyes and rubbed the ring finger on his left hand with his thumb.

“Nobody. Just get me the info.”

A few days later both Matty and Ryan walked into Aaron’s office.

“Boss, we have an update on Robert Sugden.” Matty told him.

“It looks like he’s recently been released and is now putting together a crew for a heist of some sorts.” Ryan said and put his laptop on Aaron’s desk, turning it to face him. “We managed to get a camera inside his building and catch part of a briefing.” He pressed play and Aaron watched Robert pace around a room, through a window at first and then from inside the room.

“You should know by now that I don’t play fair. Never have, probably never will.” Robert said on the video to an older man Aaron didn’t know.

Just hearing Robert’s voice again and seeing him walk around sent shivers down his spine. He sounded confident and a little cocky, with that unique attitude that made him, him.

He hated himself for letting Robert affect him like that. Still.

“We think the man might be Frank Clayton, an associate he possibly met in prison. They served time in the same place at the same time.” Ryan’s voice snapped him back to reality.

Aaron nodded and resisted the urge to hit replay when the video ended.

“And we think this might be Priya Sharma.” Matty said excitedly, pointing at the back of a woman’s head in the background.

“Priya Sharma is in a French prison doing 12 years for fraud.” Aaron told them. “And what is with all these mights and maybes? I need facts. If I wanted guesses I wouldn’t have had to hire you two. And how did you get a camera in there anyway? Robert wouldn’t let some random guy into his office without thoroughly checking him out.”

Matty smiled.

“We paid a food delivery guy to go in and pretend to have an order for him.”

Aaron sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. There is no way Robert hadn’t seen right through that.

“Did anyone see you?”

“Absolutely not.” Matty insisted. “We were careful.”

“I’m sure you were. Go talk to Cain and set up some surveillance around the city. I need you two to lay low for a while.”

“Wait, there is more.” Ryan said, picking up his laptop from Aaron’s desk and opening a file. “Robert Jacob Sugden, born April 22 1986, in Emmerdale, Yorkshire. In and out of juvie and prison ever since he was 15. Most recent arrest six years ago for GBH with intent and a handful or fraud charges.”

“This is nothing new. One google search tells me the same thing.” Aaron commented. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“He wears a wedding ring but we can’t find any record of a wife, other than Chrissie White… but they divorced in 2015.”

Aaron nodded and thought about the piece of metal on a chain around his neck, hidden under his shirt.

“He’s been linked to various women, including Rebecca White, but there is no record of anything.”

“But we’ll keep looking. We got the girls to keep an eye on his office in town and people keeping their eyes open around the city. We’ll find his wife if she’s out there.”

“Right. Ok. That’ll do for now. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.” Aaron said, dismissing them. “Close the door on your way out.” He sat back in his chair and waited for them to leave before tugging the silver chain out from under his clothes. He turned the ring over between his fingers and tried to ignore the pang of hurt and sadness.

“Oi! Where do you think you’re going?!” Aaron heard Cain yell outside his office. “If you take one more step, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in you.”

That was Aaron’s cue to see what was happening. The last thing they needed was someone calling the police because Cain got a little too trigger happy. Again.

“Nobody is putting a bullet in anyone, what’s going on?” Aaron asked as he rushed out of his office.

“We have an intruder.” Cain announced, gun cocked and pointed at said intruder.

Aaron’s gaze followed the gun’s trajectory and he only just managed to suppress a gasp when he saw who it was pointed at.

“Hello Aaron.” Robert said sweetly “It’s been a while.”

“Could say that.” Aaron replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Your guys aren’t subtle. Have you lost your touch picking out a crew?”

"What makes you think this isn’t exactly what I wanted?”

“If you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was ask. I am still your husband after all.” Robert said with a smile.

Aaron sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. Behind him someone gasped.

“Are you, Robert?” Aaron demanded, walking into the office, gesturing for Robert to follow him. “Because I remember promising you forever and then you turning yourself in barely a year later.”

“I had to. Or they would’ve grabbed you too. And the business. And Seb would’ve gone into care.”

“You could’ve talked to me first! I didn’t even know they were that close!”

“I was protecting you.”

“I still did six weeks. Got 2 years in total.”

“I know. I pulled some strings to get you out. For the boy.” Robert looked around. “Where is he?”

“Not here. Do you think I’d take him with me to do business?”

“Is that what this is? Business?”

“You’re in my office, in my city. That makes it business.” Aaron told him.

“Fair enough.” Robert put his hands in his pockets. “Let’s talk business then. I want back in. I have a crew. I’m planning something big. We work together and the city is ours.”

“It’s already mine. I don’t need your help.”

“Clearly you do if your boys lead me straight to you.”

“Again with the assuming this isn’t exactly what I wanted.”

“I know you better than that.”

“Do you?”

“I do. And I also know you need a better crew. I have Priya Sharma and a bent cop who thinks he owns me.”

“Bullshit. I heard Priya got nicked in Paris last year.”

“She did. But I have my contacts and now she’s free and working for me.” Robert told him, a smug smile on his face.

“Good for you. But I don’t need your help. I’m doing fine without you. I have the Barton boys and Billy Fletcher.”

“Really?” Robert asked “You hate Billy Fletcher.”

“He’s useful. And you know what they say, keep you friends close, keep your enemies closer.”

Robert smiled.

“And where do I fit on that scale?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Aaron told him. “But like I said, I don’t need your help. I’ve got my crew and they’re doing fine.”

“Fine? Since when do you settle for fine?”

“I don’t settle for anything. I know my crew, I know I can trust them. They’re loyal to me and only me.”

“Really? Because the last I heard was that Ross Barton was playing happy families with the lesser White sister.”

Aaron shrugged.

“I don’t need him when I’ve got the others. And Cain.”

“Ah so you got to take over the family business from uncle Cain? I always thought your ambitions went further than that.”

“I had to start somewhere after you gave up everything we’d worked for!” Aaron snapped.

“I had to! For us! For our family! For the business! I got them off your back so Seb would at least grow up with one parent. Deep down I wanted you to get out of the business…”

“Really? First you want to work with me and then you say you want me to get out.” Aaron groaned in frustration. “Make up your mind, Robert.”

Robert smiled and stepped closer to Aaron.

“I have. A long time ago.”

“Oh no. We are not going there again.” Aaron took a step back. “This is strictly business.”

“Oh so we’re doing business now?”

“Well… it would be a shame not to pool our resources together… What are your plans?”

They sat down in the comfy chairs in Aaron’s office and talked business for a while. Robert revealed he did in fact meet Frank in prison and he was focusing on art forgery and money creativity as he called it.

“Frank can talk himself out of almost anything. He’s a proper old school con man. He’s definitely useful.”

“I bet. But I don’t know him so I don’t trust him. Especially not if we’re talking about taking on the Tates and the Whites.”

“You know and trust me. I’ll vouch for him.”

“I haven’t seen you in six years, Robert, I don’t know if I still know or trust you.”

“Ouch.”

Aaron shrugged.

“Drink?”

He busied himself pouring them both a drink and sat down again. It wasn’t long before both of their minds started to wander and they ended up reminiscing about the good times of their relationship, before it had all taken a turn for the worst.

“I can’t believe you’re still in this building.” Robert said, looking around the office. “We’ve had some fun here over the years.”

“Yeah.” Aaron agreed, remembering the stolen kisses and quickies in dark corners from the early days of their relationship, to long lunches spent in their own office with the blinds drawn later on.

Robert grinned and leaned forward, reaching out to touch Aaron’s knee.

“Remember that time after you had a fight with Cain about us running to France together, and you shoved me in here and had me over that desk without saying a word?” Robert’s hand moved further up Aaron’s leg. “That was… so hot. That kept me going while I was inside.”

Aaron shot up from his chair and started pacing. Anything to get away from those hands before he did something he shouldn’t. Something like throwing all caution to the wind and letting himself fall for Robert again, getting lost in him again.

He cleared his throat.

“We’re uhm.. hiding in plain sight here. On paper this is a cleaning company, financial advice business, and a day-care next door. Nobody suspects a thing with the kids around.”

Robert nodded and slowly sat back in his chair.

“Smart. You were always the smart one in this marriage.”

Aaron gave him a quick nervous smile.

“So uh… the Whites, how do we get rid of them?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“They’ll deal with themselves eventually. Little Lucky is a ticking time bomb. He took one of my runners while I was inside. A kid named Gerry.”

“Why?”

“Because he worked for me? I don’t know. Lachlan has more issues than either of us can imagine and Chrissie is too blind to see them.”

“Well let’s take him then.” Aaron suggested. “We’ll take him and deal with the rest of them in one go.”

“I really don’t care about them. I didn’t come here to talk about them.” Robert got up and crossed the room to stand in front of Aaron. “I came here to see my husband.”

Aaron swallowed thickly.

“It was never legal.” He said, thinking back to their afternoon up on the roof all those years ago.

“We couldn’t back then… but there’s nothing stopping us now.”

“I can’t, Robert. I just can’t… I have too much to do trying to keep everything going with the Whites on one side and Kim Tate breathing down my neck on the other… I just can’t.”

“Not now or not ever?”

“I don’t know… I… I need time.”

Robert leaned in and softly kissed Aaron’s cheek.

“That’s ok. I’ll wait. I’ve waited before, haven’t I?” he smiled and turned around to leave, stopping by the door. “If you change your mind, on the business or our marriage, you know where to find me.”

#robron #robron week #rw2020 #aaron dingle #robert sugden #robron fic #my writing

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bookenders · 5 years

Note

Hey girlie!! I was wondering if you would write a short prose piece on my url, tricksexual? I literally can't wait to see what you come up with, because everything that comes out of your fingertips is fantastic.

Happy Giving Thanks Day!

Life got a bit bananas, so apologies this is so late, @tricksexual. But it’s here! Happy New Year!

Title: “Double Twist”

Word Count: 1,423

CW: strong language, thighs, and lots of pining

And it was the twist, the jackknife hip flex, a cymbal crash of knees and elbows pulling her up and over, hitting hands strong on the bend, heaving out and around. Momentum cast her from the bar, back and back below ankle bend to bounce, grab, push and pull herself up, arms loose and strong, eyes locked ahead, breath heaving.

“Fuuuck,” Laney breathed, skate bag slung over her shoulder, her white figures dangling from her fingers.

Gabriel, her pairs partner for the past eleven years, socked her in the shoulder.

“Go talk to her.”

Laney scoffed. “You can’t just talk to people, Gabe.”

Her eyes never left the gymnast as she flung herself between the bars.

“That’s illegal,” she muttered as the woman launched into an impossibly twisting dismount, thighs straining with a cleanly stuck landing, arms poised overhead. “Jesus.”

“What,” Gabe said over her shoulder, “are you feeling inadequate? Out-classed? Out-flipped?” He spun around to stand in front of her, interrupting her staring. “Has she seen our triple twist?”

“No, and she never will.” Laney glared at him, implying a threat she was all to happy to follow through on, but Gabe just smirked.

He tossed a glance over his shoulder at the small gaggle of gymnasts on the other side of the gym, watched one demonstrate a move with her hands to the woman who just finished her routine.

“Name?”

“Allison,” Laney said. “Parallel bars and balance beam.”

“Hot.”

“For the love of God,” she cursed, and dragged Gabriel, now openly laughing at her blooming blush, out of the gym.

Neither of them stuck around long enough to see Allison watch them go.

Breathing heavy, legs shaking from her fifth double toe in a row (not under rotated this time, thank you very much), Laney dragged her hands across the back of her neck, rubbing her sore muscles. Off-ice training wasn’t her favorite, but it was necessary if she didn’t want to hurt herself more than the crash pads could protect her from. And if she wanted to nail her landings, but that was a given.

Halfway through her cool down routine, Laney looked up from her place on the floor to find Allison standing a few feet away, gym bag over her shoulder, one hand clutching the strap and the other shoved into the pocket of her sweatpants. A faded Carly Rae Jepsen concert tee covered the top of her sparkly purple leotard.

“Hey.”

Laney, flat on her back with her left thigh nearly flush to her chest, sputtered out a surprised, “oh, hi.”

Allison smiled. “You’re a figure skater, right?” She shifted her weight, leaning on her right foot, and Laney was staring at her thighs oh my God please pay attention.

“Um,” said Laney.

“That’s really cool.”

Brain finally catching up to what was going on, Laney switched legs and coughed. “Thanks. I mean,” she said, scrambling for something, anything to add to the conversation, “not as cool as bars, but we can’t all be super good at flips and stuff.”

Eloquent.

“From what I’ve seen of your workouts, you’re pretty good at flips and stuff, too.”

A group of absolutely ripped high-ponytailed ladies called Allison’s name. She looked down at Laney, still flat on the floor, sweaty and flushed, and smiled.

“I gotta go. See you later?”

“Sure,” Laney managed.

She had a perfect view as Allison walked away.

The next few days found Laney and Allison smiling and waving when they saw each other arrive at the gym.

It was hard for Allison to focus on her routine when at least three of her teammates made kissy faces at her whenever she mounted the balance beam. Not to mention the looks she got when they caught Laney looking from the open space where she and her pairs partner practiced their lifts. Jessica took it upon herself to elbow her every time Laney was at the leg press.

On Thursday, while Allison was going through her beam routine step by step, slow as she could manage, Laney and her partner arrived for their evening off-ice session with their coach. The moment Laney disappeared into the locker room, her partner jogged over.

“You’re the parallel bars girl, yeah?”

“You’re the figure skating boy,” she said.

“Gabe.”

“Allison.”

She jumped and twisted sideways into a handstand, letting her legs fall into a split, calm and collected. It’s not that she was trying to show off, but.

“Well, shit,” Gabe said.

“What’s up?” Her left hand floated up beside her hip, her right bearing the full weight of her body.

Gabe blinked and gathered himself with all the grace of a baby giraffe. “Uh, we’re at the rink tomorrow morning. At eight.”

Surprise wobbled Allison’s arm. She carefully lowered herself down, legs straight up, pressing her chest to the bar before swiveling to a sitting position.

“You should stop by,” he said, walking backwards toward the locker rooms. “If you’re free, and all.” Halfway across the gym he turned and called out, “I know someone who might be happy to see you.”

It only took a moment for one of Allison’s teammates to mime kissy faces at her intense blush. What she didn’t expect - but honestly, she really should have - was the enthusiastic shoulder punch retaliation from the frazzled gymnast, who was already thinking of which sweatpants to pair with tomorrow’s leotard.

When she walked down the hallway toward the rink, Allison wasn’t sure what she was expecting. Classical music, maybe, or something from a musical. Not Carly Rae.

They were in the middle of their routine, feet carving the ice, spinning dizzy in tandem before Gabe grabbed her arm and pulled her into a turn. He took her waist in his hands, she gripped his wrists, slid a leg down and back, and a twist, launching her into the air in a whirlwind before she hit down, dipping low, flinging her arms out to catch the wind and curl into the corner of the rink. Gabe matched her movements.

Allison could imagine the sequins, the flair of a skirt spiraling into a landing, the crash of metal on ice spraying snow at the stands. It didn’t take much.

It also didn’t take much to send Gabe tripping in a heap to the ground, blade catching on Laney’s and sending him tumbling, nearly taking her with him. They laughed, and Gabe flapped his arms, making a snow angel on his back in the center of the ice.

They both turned at the sound of excited clapping.

“That was amazing!” Allison called out into the cold.

Laney froze. Gabe threw a thumbs-up straight into the air.

“Thank you for your patronage,” he replied. “Laney, please greet our guest while I peel myself off the ice.”

“That was amazing,” Allison said again, quieter this time as Laney slid over to where she stood at the boards. “Is that your routine?”

“Program,” Laney said, the automatic correction slipping out before she could stop it. “Er, yeah. One of the two for this season. The longer one. It’s a, uh, work in progress.”

“He just threw you into the air. Like it was nothing.” Allison’s eyes dipped down to Laney’s skates before quickly flicking back up to her eyes.

Did she just—

“It took a lot of practice, believe me.”

“Rude,” Gabe yelled across the rink. He was skating slow figures in the far corner, black workout pants covered in snow.

Allison smiled and fiddled with the hem of her sweatshirt. “I like your music, too.”

“I know.”

Shit, wait.

“I mean, I saw your shirt.”

“Oh, yeah, I got it at one of her concerts. When she was in town for a show.”

“Give her your number,” Gabe yelled.

Both of them went ripe as tomatoes.

“Uh—”

“Well—”

“You first,” Laney said, resisting the urge to cover her face with her hands.

“I’ll let you get back to practice. But you should definitely teach me some of those tricks. I’ve always wanted to learn.” And she handed Laney a slip of paper with ten numbers and her name.

“Yeah. Definitely. Whenever you want.”

“Great. Cool.” She just stood there for a moment, before mumbling, “have a good practice, bye.”

And she was gone.

Gabe coasted up behind Laney, hands in his pockets.

“I’m so proud of you, you little disaster.”

Laney turned and pushed him backwards, sending him careening across the ice, laughing.

“If you drop me after all that I will murder you.”

Want more original fiction? Take a gander at my original writing tag and my short stories tag!

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asweetlovemessage-blog · 5 years

Text

a sweet and romantic love message | TAM RELAX

bacsiykhoa.com

- My Blog 8-10 phút

”

==>> A Sweet Love Message.

When it comes to Southern romance, it's no secret that choosing the right words is important. Crafting the perfect romantic message and expressing how much you care about someone may be difficult, but it can also be incredibly rewarding. If you need a dash of inspiration, explore these short love messages and quotes about love for a little help with telling your beloved just how much you care!

==>> a sweet and romantic love message.

==>> a sweet good night love message.

==>> a sweet i love you message.

How To Stop Procrastinating – 5 Tips For Overcoming Procrastination by Quincy Seale 7-9 phút

Some of the links in this post may be affiliate links. If make a purchase through these links, we receive a commission at no extra cost to you. Please see our disclosure for more info.

Do you want to know how to stop procrastinating? Well, for starters, you can stop reading this article right now and get back to work.procrastination

But since that’s probably not going to happen, let’s take a closer look at some strategies for overcoming procrastination. There is no single “best way” to overcome procrastination

Personally, I’ve come to embrace my procrastinating nature to a certain degree. When my to-do list gets too long, I simply start a new one. And you know what? Most of the time, the tasks I thought I had to do turned out to be not so important after all.

Sometimes, procrastination can be a sign that what we’re working on the wrong thing. It can also be a sign that maybe we need to step back, take a deep breath, and recharge before tackling the task again tomorrow.

Of course, sometimes procrastination is a product of laziness. If you have an exam to study for, a paper to write, if you have a presentation to make, or a boss/client to appease, then the work will have to get done, whether you start today or put it off until tomorrow. Only Do Work You’re Really Passionate About

Maybe you don’t have a procrastination problem as much as you have a work problem. If you find yourself procrastinating day in and day out, week after week, month after month, year after year, maybe you’re not doing what you’re meant to do. Maybe its time to get a new job, switch careers, or drop out of school and pursue your passion.

Of course, there’s also a good chance you’re faced with a painful, unpleasant task and you simply need to power through to get to where you want to be in life. If that’s the case, then read on (or better yet, stop reading now and go do what you need to do).

If there’s work you need to get done, here are some effective ways you can try overcoming procrastination: 1. The First 30 Minutes Of The Day Is Always For Work

Does this sound familiar: you start the work day/study session by telling yourself you’re “just going to check email/facebook/twitter/reddit for 5 minutes, then I’m going to get to work”. Before you know it, 5 minutes has dragged into 2 hours, and 2 hours has dragged into 4 hours, and you realize you’ve spent half your day sucked into a never-ending loop of checking email, social media, youtube, and your favorite viral news sites?

The first 30 minutes of your day/work day/study session should be spent doing work. If you need to check email or your social news sites, do it once you’ve established a good work groove and you’ll find it much easier to shut it off. Or better yet, block distractions out completely until you’re done.

Having trouble jumping into those first 30 minutes? Tell yourself that you’re just going to get 10 minutes of work done and if its just too painful, you’ll give yourself a break. That first 10 minutes is usually all you need to start getting focused. 2. Become More Self Aware

Procrastination usually comes in two forms. There’s:

Difficulty in starting a task Getting distracted while working on a task

They both follow a similar pattern of self rationalization.

You tell yourself “I really need to get started on this.” You feel stressed. You feel an urge to do something else, so you tell yourself “I’ll get started soon, but I can afford another 5 minutes doing this one other thing.”

Giving yourself this little reprieve relieves the stress temporarily and reinforces the neural pathways associated with procrastination, making it just a bit easier to fall victim to procrastination again, 5 minutes later.

Try this next time you find yourself facing this never-ending cycle. Next time you’re about to start a task and you feel a voice in your head telling you to “check your email, it might be important!”, or “I wonder if anyone commented on my Facebook status”, resist the urge. Tell yourself you’ll just resist it this one time.

You’ll find that the urge does pass once you acknowledge it for what it is – a sudden impulse driven by your reptilian brain. 3. Block Out Distractions

Did you know that willpower is a limited resource that can be depleted like any other form of energy? Much like going on a morning jog tires you out for your evening work out, the more energy you spend resisting temptation, the less energy you’ll have for resisting temptation later on. This has been confirmed by real studies.

What does this mean for someone trying to get rid of procrastination? It means that just knowing that Facebook or Reddit is one click away can make it more likely that you’ll get distracted and start procrastinating. While you might be able to resist the temptation during the first half of your work day, as you expend energy focusing, you’ll become more and more likely to give into temptation and start procrastinating.

To avoid this, use software like Rescuetime, StayFocusd or Freedom to block distracting websites, or block the internet out altogether. Not having to deal with the temptation of constant distractions will not only make it less likely that you’ll succumb to momentary temptation, but it will actually give you more energy to focus on your work and avoid procrastinating when you’re tired. 4. Embrace Imperfection

One of the reasons we procrastinate is to avoid having to make tough decisions and deal with a difficult task. If you’re trying to write the perfect paper, coming up with the perfect thesis can be so intimidating that you don’t even want to get started.

Instead of always aiming for perfection, start intimidating projects by just getting started. Can’t come up with a perfect first line for your essay? Just start writing anything that comes to mind on the topic. Can’t think of a topic? Just start writing down anything vaguely related to the subject matter.

The same can be applied to studying. Is the thought of reading that thick textbook too intimidating? Just start by reading the table of contents, or the first page. Too tired to take notes or really process the concepts? Just skim through what you need to get through and come back tomorrow to re-examine the material when you’re refreshed. Getting something done is better than doing nothing, and once you get started, you’ll often find you have more energy than you thought you did. 5. Make Yourself A Date

Human beings can be strange – if we’re meeting a friend, we’ll set a fixed time to do so, and we show up. Most of us would never make an appointment with a friend and simply avoid showing up for no reason. Yet when it comes to important tasks like going to the gym, or getting another chapter written for your novel, we’ll just set vague goals and feel perfectly comfortable pushing back our self-imposed deadlines.

Start scheduling your important tasks and showing up every time, no matter what. You wouldn’t bail on a meeting with a friend just because you feel a little tired, would you? So why do you do it with the gym? If you want to go to the gym 3 times a week, instead of just telling yourself you’ll go 3 times this wekk, pick 3 days and 3 times that you’re going to show up, and don’t miss those appointments no matter what. Here’s One Last Tip

Stop reading articles about how to overcome procrastination and just get to work! ”

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darkangeldesignstudio · 5 years

Text

Dark Horse

So, I know I promised to post the first chapter of Dark Horse on July 13th and that is still coming, but I decided that, since I have a prologue already written and edited by the lovely @sexykitty96, I would post it today as a little treat for everyone.

Here she is in all of her glory, but I’m not that nice, so I will not be telling you who the Reader will be paired with until the first chapter goes up.

But, if you go over to my AO3 page and read the story info.....

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Death, Attempted Rape, Strong Language, Mentions of Animal Abuse, and Eventual Smut and Fluff

**There will be some chapters/scenes that occur in the “Deep South” and since this is set in the late 1800s, there would usually be some really racist and downright hateful things going on in those areas (there was still little respect for African Americans, Natives, and women during this time period) but I will be censoring many of these things because I find them despicable and I do not want to condone these happenings within my writing. So, even though there will be some scenes where our heroes will be fighting the KKK, there will not be any racial slurs used. African Americans will be referred to as colored folk, colored people, or blacks (nothing more or less). Native Americans will be referred to as Indians, Natives, or by the tribe that they are a part of (nothing more or less). If you have a problem with this fic being “Historically Inaccurate” because of this then you might as well mosey on down the road. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

Setting: Post Civil War era USA. Marvel Cowboy AU.

Preface: Your home is attacked by the Hydra gang and you are rescued by Steve, Bucky, and their group. The government agency, known as Shield, wants them captured and Hydra wants them dead. With nowhere else to go, you join their ragtag group and set out on the adventure of a lifetime. Helping those less fortunate along the way, your small group grows and so does your affection for these two rough and tumble outlaws. When the chips are down, will you all be able to escape unscathed? Or will the boot drop and leave you heartbroken and alone again?

Thanks again to @sexykitty96 for being the best beta and friend a girl could ask for. Without your encouragement and friendship, I never would have been brave enough to write something like this.

Next Chapter

Prologue: Peace and Happiness

“Y/N!”

Your brother’s angry call and stomping boots called your attention from the food stores in the pantry. You peered round the doorframe to see what he was on about and had to cover your mouth to stop the guffaws of laughter from escaping.

John looked around the house, trying to pinpoint your location without moving too far from the doorway. When he turned his back to you, you noticed the reason for his ire. Covered head to toe in hay, he also had a faint hoof print on the seat of his pants. He didn’t have to search much longer as the sight made you snort loudly, unable to hold back your giggles.

“It’s not funny!” He scowled, face growing more red by the second. “That damned horse of yours is a menace.”

Getting yourself under control, you studied him seriously. “What did he do this time?”

“I thought the beast was sleeping, so I decided to feed him for you.” Knowing where this was going, you had to hide your smile with your hand again. “The bastard was faking, again! He waited until I was in the stall and kicked me into the hay trough.”

You smirked at your brother; he really was generous to a fault. No matter how often Bodaway tortured him with his pranks, John was always willing to help you out and tried his best to make friends with the naughty stallion.

“Thank you for trying to help.” You walked towards the door, donning your jacket to fend off the brisk evening air. As you passed, you placed your hand on his shoulder. “I’ll talk to him, but at this point, you are really just a glutton for punishment.”

His cheeks became flushed with embarrassment as you laughed your way out of the house and to the barn. You gave your brother a hard time, but it was all in good fun. John was the only family you had left after your father died. He took care of you and made no protests when you and Bodaway turned up on his farm with nowhere else to go.

The sun was just starting to descend, bathing you in golden light as you swung the door open. The interior of the barn was warm, keeping the horses and chickens safe for the impending winter weather.

You looked to the second stall down the way and spied the big black Arabian with his neck leaning over the stall door. His neighbor, a handsome bay Shire, was asleep in the back corner of his stall, tired from a day of cart pulling. You snuck past Duke’s stall with a commanding stride and a stern eye. If a horse could appear contrite, Boda was at least trying to fake it. His head hung low as he peeked up at you with mournful eyes.

“Don’t give me that look. I know you’re not sorry about what you did.” You crossed your arms when he pinned his ears at you, as if to say, “So, what if I’m not.”

“Why must you be so difficult?” You sighed, gripping the bridge of your nose and shaking your head at the mischievous brat in his stall. “At this point, its fortunate my brother won’t make me sell you. Not that anyone’s crazy enough to buy a menace like you, but still. Don’t. Push. Your. Luck.”

Boda snorted in derision, backing further into his stall. It was his way of inviting you inside to talk, but in reality he was just seeking a cuddle after being scolded. Even knowing all of this, you couldn’t resist going in to see your overgrown baby. Rolling your eyes, you stepped into the big black’s domain.

Looking up into the male’s dark eyes, you scowled at him. He held his head high above you, trying to seem intimidating, but you weren’t phased. The stallion wouldn‘t dare hurt you, no matter how dangerous he looked in that moment. There was only one thing in the world that he loved more than grain or treats, and that was you. Pointing at his muzzle, you narrowed your eyes at his haughty demeanor.

“Get down here.” When he rolled his eyes, you stomped your foot and growled. “Now, Bodaway.”

Pawing at the dirt floor of his stall, he lowered his head reluctantly, turning to look at the wall with a renewed interest in the wood grain there. You reached out, placing your palm between his black ears and gripping his long forelock. Pulling his face back towards you, you forced him to meet your eyes.

“You will stop this nonsense at once, Boda.” You scolded him like you would a child, pointing at him and waving your index finger in front of his face. “That means no more kicking, no more biting, and no more pranks. You will behave or no more sugar cubes for a month.”

His ears swiveled towards you, eyes widening with your threat, and he made a funny little nickering sound. Begging like a scolded dog.

You released his forelock, smoothing it back into place between his eyes. “Stop trying my patience and I won’t take away your treats. Deal?”

He nodded vigorously, snorting and grunting in affirmation. He would be a good boy, at least for a while. You grinned and gave his neck a rub. “That‘s my sweet boy. Now, get some sleep. We have work to do in the morning.”

With another swift pat, you exited the stall. Exiting the barn and closing the door behind you, you looked to the sky. A radiant, scarlet sky framed pastel colored clouds; it was breathtaking.

Looking back towards the house, you could see your brother through the windows, setting the table for supper. You smiled with happiness. John really does too much around here. Maybe tomorrow I could go out and hunt for a deer as thanks. Yeah, that would be perfect.

Entering the small house, you shed your coat and boots. Walking to the fireplace, you glanced back at the dinner table and your brother sitting in his chair. “Feels like a blizzard is coming in, so I locked up the barn.”

“Thanks, sis. How did the brat take his scolding?” You laughed as John grinned at you.

“About as well as he always does. I threatened to take away his sugar for a week, so he will behave for about that long.” You fed a few logs onto the fire and approached the table. Your brother’s laughter filled the small room.

“That’s better than nothing, I guess.” Pointing to your chair across from him, John urged you to sit and eat. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, especially if it snows. Best eat and get to bed.”

“Sure.” Taking your seat, you began to dig into your bowl of stew with vigor and your home fell into a peaceful silence.

Unbeknownst to you, that quiet would soon be shattered and your lives would change forevermore.

#Dark Horse #marvel mcu #reader fic #western au #cowboy au

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inqyre · 5 years

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Consult etiquette

July means new interns. Freshly minted MDs in crispy white coats disperse throughout the hospital. They pick up their list of five or ten or twenty patients, and proudly sign their names on the electronic medical record as the “responsible provider”. They are excited to type various orders in the computer, from q4 hr vitals, to rectal enemas, to daily renewal of restraints, because for the first time, they don’t need any body to co-sign them. With this infusion of positive energy, also comes a deluge of pages ringing on the waistline of everyone else. It seems like every patient under the care of an intern is getting consults to every specialty in the hospital. Of course I’m making overarching exaggerated statements, but it really seems that way.

A friend of mine, who is in the last weeks of her fellowship thus soon to be attending, recently has been getting bombarded with inappropriate pages for non-urgent consults in the middle of the night. Being a responsible and the sole representative of her specialty at night, she promptly calls back the numbers on the pages. She then finds discombobulated and clueless interns at the other end of the line, not able to tell her any useful information about the patient, instead merely asking her to “please come see them”. Why are they calling the consult? Because it is on the “to-do” check list next to their evening sign out. Why are they calling in the middle of the night? Because they have to get all the items on the list ticked off by the morning. Thanks to the diligent interns compulsively engaged in scut work, dozens of specialist residents and fellows are losing faith in humanity from fragmented sleep. Am I implicating the loathed and no-longer politically correct sense of hierarchy in medicine? Yes, and take solace that my friend, soon, as an attending, will not need to answer every consult page herself. But I can just as well bring out the justice-for-all principles of efficient resource utilization, teamwork, shared medical decision making, patient-center care... all the good stuff that is supposed to make hospital a happier safer place.

Whatever the labels I can slap on to justify my motivations, I feel an urge to spell out the previously implicit etiquettes on consults. Some of them are passed on to me from my senior residents when I was an intern. Some are told to me by specialists on the receiving end of my calls. Some are what I tell others when I became the specialist. Some are common sense. I will suggest that consult etiquette be a routine part of intern orientation. We have all been there, and there’s no need to keep making the same mistakes. My friend may be nice enough to still go see the patient after a vague consult request, but many will not, and may even harbor a negative image of the requester and care team, and write it up in a, god-forbid, safety report.

So how can you sound competent, efficient, caring, and convincing on your consult calls? How can you not only get your point across but also make the consultant merrily jump to their feet to come help take care of your patient?

Know the basic info of your patient At minimum, you should have the patient name, medical record number, age, gender, and location (floor and bed) ready when you pick up the phone. Location is particularly important because you want your consultant to be able to find the right patient. Know why your patient is in the hospital. What are they admitted for? How sick are they?

Have a good reason for the consult. Consultants work the best on solving well-defined, singular problems. They are not good at embarking on an exploratory intellectual journal with you. Formulate your consult into a short, simple question that is not “Can you come see them?” Instead ask, “What antibiotics is best to treat this multi-drug resistant infection?”, “Does this patient need dialysis?”, “Why is this patient thrombocytopenic?”, “How should I adjust the insulin pump?”, “What tests do I need to stage this cancer?”. If you are consulting a proceduralist, have a procedure in mind that you want them to do. The proceduralist may have their own opinions about the type and indication of the procedure to be performed, but they will gladly come assess the patient and determine for themselves. The most frustrating consult requests are to “help manage” common chronic conditions like hypertension, COPD, diabetes, and osteomyelitis. There isn’t really a yes/no question or a definitive answer the consultant can give for the patient, and the consultant is stuck with the patient for the rest of the hospitalization. They may enjoy billing for the two-line note on the patient every morning, but most of the time, they’d rather see the patient dropped of their long list.

Do you homework and give data to back up your reason for consult. If you ask a consultant to help you with a problem, they will frequently ask back what have you done toward finding a solution. Don’t ask general surgery to do an appendectomy on a patient with right lower quadrant pain without an ultrasound or CT scan to show enlarged appendix. Don’t ask hematology to work up anemia before you’ve ordered a smear. Worse yet, don’t call a consultant before you’ve personally laid eyes on the patient and done a thorough history and physical.

Make sure you are calling the correct specialty. With the way medicine is becoming, hyper-specialization in inevitable. So everyone has their turfs and boundaries. This has several implications. First, there might be multiple consult teams in a department. Don’t call the thyroid pager for diabetes, even though both are endocrinology. Don’t call the chronic pain pager for acute pain, even tough both are anesthesiology. Second, some body parts are shared between departments. Facial trauma may be split between plastics, oromaxillofacial, and ENT. Spine may be alternating between orthopedics and neurosurgery. Double check you are calling the department covering the body part that day. Third, know what your patient’s problem is and which specialty will treat that problem. The other day a woman came in vomiting blood and the emergency room resident reflexively called GI. It turns out she was throwing up blood because she was in DIC from a retained product one day after an unsuccessful abortion. A few routine history questions and blood tests would have clarified the source of her problem and gotten her to an OB several hours sooner. Calling the wrong consult can actually mean life and death.

Don’t consult a specialist for things you can do yourself. Associated with the hyper-specialization phenomenon is that physicians have become less and less confident about managing things outside of their silo across the board. This translates to generalists not being confident about anything at all. We forget the purpose of the grilling in med school and internship is to make us comfortable managing, or at least initiate the management of, the common ailments. You don’t need a cardiologist to treat hypertension, a pulmonologist to treat COPD exacerbation, a neurologist to work up a headache, or a psychiatrist to evaluate the patient’s decision-making capacity. I know we are all defensive and afraid that we might miss something. But why do we exist at all if our purpose is to make phone calls all day? Don’t call a consult for “help with diagnosis and management” until you have exhausted your own knowledge base. The consultants really have better things to do.

Don’t call non-urgent consults at night. What is urgent? Ask yourself, is the patient dying? Is the patient losing a limb? Is the patient going to deteriorate to the point of dying or losing a limb in the next 6 hours if not seeing by this specialist? If the answer is no, wait until the morning. Don’t send a page to “just get this patient on the list for tomorrow”. Teams change and there is no guarantee the groggy and irritated night consultant will pass the info onto the day consultant. Along the same line, all non-urgent consults should be paged between 8am and 3pm. No one wants to receive a new consult at 5pm, because it means staying late to see the patient, or burden the night team with unnecessary work that should have been done during the day. Also don’t send a page during the shift-change hours. It will increase the likelihood of your page bring lost and never returned.

For truly urgent consults, clearly communicate the need. The key to do this well is to know the trigger words for the specialty you are consulting. For neurosurgery, it might be things like “expanding subdural hematoma” or “new motor deficits”. For orthopedics, say “open fracture” or “degloving injury”. If you really need a cardiologist to come treat hypertension for you in the middle of the night, you might want to mention “acute ischemia from increased afterload”, “uncontrolled rhythm”, or “pending heart failure”. Usually “hemodynamic instability” grabs most people’s attention, but you may be asked what are you doing to stabilize the patient, and why are you not calling a code.

On an optimistic note, I’m going to reframe the scut work of calling consults into an exercise of interdisciplinary communication and learning opportunity to collectively generate the best plan for patient care. Responsible consult practices, we can make it happen.

#medicine #residency #hospital

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rockcandyshrike · 7 years

Text

Info on Chirrut and Baze from the Guardian of the Whills Book (Part 1/???)

Hey y’all so @senator-organa is the bestest person in the whole wide universe and she let me read an epub of the book and there’s SO MUCH GOOD STUFF I WANNA SHARE/POINT OUT. Spoilers ho below the cut!

Okay first, I am pleased as punch that some of the characters of Jedha in the Visual Dictionary show up and weren’t just interesting bits of world-building to never be touched upon again. They are Angber Trel, Silvanie Phest and Killi Gimm (the red-robed ones on the first page) who are Disciples of the Whills, and Kullbee Sperado, Beezer Fortuna, and Leevan Tenza (the ugliest motherfuckers ever on the second page) who work for Saw. Good on Greg Rucka for utilizing them.

LOOK AT THAT UGLY TWI’LEK

After the Empire came to Jedha and stripped the Temple of its artifacts and kicked everyone out, there are only a handful of Disciples left, and only two Guardians.

“Or, if you were to listen to Baze Malbus tell it, one blind Guardian and his long-suffering friend husband.”

Which makes me think there weren’t that many Guardians in the first place and they were likely outnumbered by Disciples.

We called it fandom, Chirrut panhandles not for credits, but to listen to the pulse of the city.

A Disciple comes to them for help with someone at the Temple who is (falsely) calling himself a Jedi in order to foment violence and Baze immediately wakes up from napping in a patch of sunlight to say, “No.”

What a man.

There’s an entire paragraph talking about how “No” is the “perfect embodiment of who Baze Malbus had become.” No to the Empire, no to the suffering of Jedha, no to the Force. (Greg Rucka you are already murdering me.)

Interestingly enough, the Disciple still refers to Baze as a Guardian, which he quickly denies by saying Chirrut is the only Guardian.

“Chirrut’s smile turned to a grin as he felt Baze jerk a thumb in his direction.”

They’re so married.

There’s a part where Baze turns on a faucet and has to wait for thirty seconds before it turns from rust red to black to “something approximating clear.” (Ye gads.)

Two good lines on how they feel about what the Empire’s done to Jedha

“It made Baze, who had nursed an anger all his own for so long, even angrier.”

“It just made Chirrut sad, and all the more determined to keep his faith in the Force and to find a way to ease the suffering of those around him.”

The sentence is a little inaccurate because there are several lines that clearly illustrate Chirrut is also angry as fuck, but he tries to hide it.

It also makes me think that maybe a little part of why Chirrut keeps his faith is to say “Fuck you” to the Empire which suppresses all faiths.

Chirrut’s sense of smell is ridiculously good and he can smell fear on everyone in Jedha, and even sometimes on himself.

“But never from Baze.” (Hmmmm, interpret that how you will)

He’s able to smell that the dude who’s trying to pass himself off as a Jedi is actually from Jedha and used to work in the kyber mines. (holy shit Chirrut has got one helluva super sniffer)

We called it again fandom! Chirrut is Force-sensitive, tho minorly so. He can sometimes high-tune his senses and feel people’s auras.

Baze is *twice* called “reassuring.”

Gay

Baze confirmed for walking armory; carries a shock-stick up his left sleeve. (He also carries around a pair of macrobinoculars in his belt.)

Baze confirmed for tea snob; most people like Tarine tea but Baze thinks it’s foul and only good for washing the taste of dust out of his mouth.

Baze confirmed (again) for being Extra™ as fuck; before he got his cannon he had an E-5 carbine he’d modified to be able to punch a hole *through* a stormtrooper.

And it “no longer [had] a stun setting. There was a time when this would have bothered him. He had been a younger man...”

;n;

Baze confirmed for giving best hugs; “he stepped in and wrapped his arms around her and lifted her in a hug that took her off her feet.”

Baze confirmed for BIG BUFF BOY.

He rips the tops off of a couple crates with his bare hands.

He also lifts one of these crates like it’s no big deal, when earlier the stormtroopers needed *gravhooks* to lift them.

His friend Denic is shook. “Her eyes widened for a moment at the display of strength.”

Much later he pushes aside a heavy metal panel door that survived being blown up and “It moved, grudgingly, and he leaned into it even harder, heard the metal grinding against the frame, against the sand, until it gave with a sudden snap of broken cable.”

Baze is also surprisingly quite in shape; he easily parkours a block without breaking a sweat.

Though when he does a superhero landing (totally impractical, they all do it) “he landed heavy and hard, felt the ground stab back at him, sending pain through his legs to his knees.”

THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD ROLL WHEN YOU LAND BAZE

The next line is intriguing tho, “There had been a time when such a jump wouldn’t have given him even the slightest discomfort.”

YEAH AND THAT’S WHY YOUR KNEES HURT NOW BAZE

Both of those points and Chirrut being -waves hands- yknow, Chirrut, are feeding my headcanon that the Guardians of the Whills were trained to be akin to supersoldiers in terms of abilities.

*coughcoughWinterSoldierAUcoughcough* (http://lionmettled.tumblr.com/post/157044874024/cindy-semi-reluctantly-presents-a-spiritassassin)

Also zawa-shimo canonically allows a person to do “near-supernatural” things. Baze may no longer be a Guardian, but that doesn’t erase the years, maybe decades, when he was.

Chirrut confirmed (again) for cheeky little shit; wisecracks a bunch, makes at least two blind jokes. Baze thinks he’s hilarious.

“Baze roared with laughter, loud enough that the crowded street took notice of them, including two helmeted and robed worshippers of the Central Isopter, who stepped curiously closer. Baze grinned big at them, showing his teeth, and they stopped, then stepped back...”

Baze. No.

I kept count. Chirrut makes Baze laugh 4 times and Baze makes Chirrut laugh 2 times.

They’re so fucking cute I love them so much.

Chirrut confirmed for saying ridiculous shit; ““There is a space between ‘next to impossible’ and ‘impossible.’” Chirrut smiled at something only he knew was there. “That is where we will fit.” “This guy, you believe this guy?” Denic said to Baze. “Yes,” Baze said.”

Chirrut confirmed for loving kids; he hears a child laugh and wants to laugh too (He’s such a sweetie).

Chirrut also had a friend he used to teach zawa-shimo (operative word being /had/).

CHIRRUT CONFIRMED FOR CONMAN AND BAZE HELPING HIM.

I won’t quote the one that most ppl have probably seen in the spiritassassin and associated tags about “my stick! I seem to have dropped it! -gropes around on the ground and holds up stormtroopers-” Instead, have this good bit (with a few things cut out for brevity)

“Where?” Chirrut asked. He sounded convincingly innocent. “There. In there.” She [indicated] the broken door. “Where?” Chirrut repeated. “Several people saw you forcing your way into the building. We were standing right here when you came out. In there, the building, there.” “This building?” Chirrut reached out with his left hand [to touch] the stonework. He managed to look surprised. “He gets confused.” Baze told the sergeant.

*I love them so much.*

Chirrut confirmed for being a goddamn nuisance; “In [Baze’s] experience, Chirrut could be a tremendously frustrating person when he chose to be, and often enough, even when he didn’t.”

Baze can read Chirrut so well he can tell Chirrut is going to fight some stormtroopers when he moves his hand by a *centimeter.*

This level of married and drift compatible I cannot deal with

LET’S TALK ABOUT BAZE’S GUN (no, not the one in his pants)

Baze’s cannon is not for personal use. His buddy Denic tells him this *twice.* It’s supposed to be mounted on a vehicle.

“He looked back into the crate...He looked at Denic. He grinned. “I like it,” he said.

BAZE. NO.

The smart targeting system doesn’t work well without the person being chipped or wearing power armor, but Baze still manages to use it later to take out almost the entirety of a landing bay. -shrug-

He can use it with one hand, which a person really shouldn’t be able to do since it’s supposed to be a vehicle-mounted weapon I just want to point that out again, but he’s Baze fucking Malbus he does what he wants (to keep Chirrut happy and safe and to kill Imperials)

The cannon was actually Imperial property they were going to use to slaughter Jedhans “for crowd control”, but Baze and Chirrut stole it when they jacked an Imperial supply speeder for the food and medicine it was carrying.

Denic is the one who helps Baze by making the body armor/coolant tank rig for him. Denic is a good bro. If you’ve ever wondered how it hooks up, it uses magnets (magnets, how do they work?)

And it’s capacity for 35,000 rounds has been jossed! In actuality, IT SHOOTS CLOSE TO *40,000 ROUNDS* BEFORE RELOADING.

I’M /HOWLING/

The next scene is great too. Baze walks into their home saying, “Honey, I’m hooooome” “Chirrut, I found a new gun.” Saw’s recruiters who’d been stalking them that day are drinking tea with Chirrut. He points his gun at them and Chirrut says, “Resist, please, the urge to use it.” *awkward pause filled in with audience laughter*

Okay it’s 2am I’m crashing I’ll write another thing later where I gush over Denic, my new pilot wife ;)

#spiritassassin #chirrut imwe #baze malbus #i love my gay asian space dads #guardian of the whills

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angelia-dark · 8 years

Text

A Gentle Hand Is All It Takes

I’ve finished my first commission from a commissioner who wishes to remain anonymous but has given me permission to post the work here.

The Request: Some Swapfellcest, but taking it easy and gentle from a hard week’s work.

Word Count: 2432

Link to my Commission Page for prices and general info.

Or Buy Me a Coffee

It was the most hellish of weeks, and Sans was sick to death of it by this point.

New interns at the labs meant more being put to waste than work getting done, his brother told him that Mettaton and Napstaton were being complete divas with upgrade requests, and the last job they both went on ended in a false lead which meant a huge pay dock for all their hard work.

And it was all one after the other with hardly any rest to even sleep, let alone enjoy time with his brother. It was enough to make him want to keel over or sleep at work, even though he absolutely couldn't. It wasn't just a matter of professionalism, but also pride. He had worked far too hard to let someone catch him slacking off.

But now...now he just wanted to REST.

Sans rolled his shoulders as he stepped into his house, wishing for nothing more than a hot bath and a long nap, hopefully enough to recharge his proverbial batteries and get rid of the stiffness in his bones. He was halfway up the stairs before getting the mental twinge that he was forgetting something, rubbing his temples before stepping into his bedroom.

It took him a moment to get the whole picture; dimmed lights, candles lit, and Papyrus kneeling up on the floor with a straight spine and arms stretched down in front of him so his knuckles brushed the floor. The position was one of discomfort and discipline, but the almost eased expression let Sans know Papyrus had been with this for at least an hour.

Sans stared at the display for several long moments before realizing that tonight was the start of their long three-day weekend, something they've been anticipating for what seemed like forever.

He was under no delusions; Papyrus had worked just as hard as he had for the past week, but had come home early to set up something special to kick off the weekend with.

….and for the life of him, Sans couldn't muster up enough joy in their usual fare to even be excited.

He was just.......tired.

It had been YEARS since he'd been this worn out, both physically and mentally, since before they had begun this new life of theirs.

And for the first time in those years...he was too tired to do ANYTHING.

Gods, he felt like shit; his brother was looking forward to spending time with him and all he could do was just......

….....just........

“...m'Lord?”

Sans jerked his head up, seeing Papyrus's posture slumping and expression swimming in concern. He tried to force a smile onto his face, but it just came off as a grimace that didn't fool anyone, least of all himself. He let his shoulders drop as he walked further into his bedroom and curled his arms around Papyrus, squeezing tightly.

Papyrus immediately hugged him back, disregarding formality for the comfort his brother obviously needed. He petted over Sans's skull, swaying in place to rock his brother into comfort. It seemed to be working when Sans relaxed against him, letting out a sigh that was teeming with stress. It was obvious now that Sans must've had a worse week than he had, and needed some tender, loving care.

He pressed a kiss to Sans's skull before quietly picking Sans up and carrying him to the bathroom. “You should have a hot shower,” he said, settling his brother down. “Take your time, alright?” He kissed Sans's skull again before heading out, giving Sans a gentle smile en route.

Sans sighed again as he turned the water on to the highest temperature he could muster before undoing his clothes and letting them drop onto the bathroom floor. He climbed into the shower and began rinsing off his bones, the heat seeping into his joints and soothing them somewhat as he finally allowed himself to relax.

He was honestly just happy Papyrus wasn't disappointed; if there was one straw that would have broken his back, it was that. Taking some unwinding time was just what he needed right now. He simmered in the hot water for a few unnecessary more minutes before turning the tap off and grabbing a towel to tab the water off.

As an afterthought, he curled the towel around his shoulders, reveling in the almost juvenile experience of being nearly engulfed in it like he did when he was younger. Papyrus, being as tall as he was, needed larger accommodating sizes and as an added bonus bought them extra plush. He enjoyed the softness for a moment before walking out of the bathroom and padding down the hall to his bedroom, feeling that he could probably muster up the strength for at least a decent romp.

Any greeting he had stuck in his mouth when he walked into his room.

In the time Sans had been in the shower, Papyrus had stripped the bed and changed out the sheets into the fine cotton ones and lit more candles for ambiance, and was in the process of arranging something on the bedside table. Papyrus looked up, giving Sans a smile before walking over and gently leading Sans to the bed.

“I know you've been stressed,” Papyrus said quietly. “I shouldn't have expected more right away.” He kissed Sans's skull, right above the smaller's scar, and gently aided him onto the bed face-down, petting over his Lord's scapulae gently. “Just relax, and let your servant pamper you.”

Sans couldn't find it in him to protest even a little; the cool sheets immediately soothed his still-hot bones, making him sink into the bed with a contented sigh. He closed his eye sockets, shifting slightly to get absolutely comfortable, and then waited for...whatever it was Papyrus decided was going to happen. How kind of Papyrus to do this for him, he thought to himself as he tried to smother down that one little twinge of guilt.

And he shouldn't feel guilty; strong as they both were, Papyrus was definitely the hardier of the two, and the eagerness on his face when Sans came home earlier only proved he still had plenty of drive to spare before a long, quiet rest.

He deserved some pampering, he rationalized to himself. He had worked himself ragged and nothing delighted him more than being touched and lavished upon by his brother, in only the way a servant could for his Lord. So he relaxed down and waited for whatever it was Papyrus was going to do.

He was nearly snapped out of his relaxation when Papyrus pressed his hands firmly into Sans's scapulae and back ribs through the towel, magic warming the spots pressed down pleasantly. The warmth was unexpected, but Sans quickly adjusted, feeling the space between bones loosen up and relax him further.

Papyrus's warmed hands pressed from the back of Sans's neck bones down to his pelvis until most of the initial tension was eased, and then gently lifted the towel from Sans's form and set it down elsewhere before turning to the bedside table. Sans peeked an eye socket open, seeing Papyrus pour out a bottle of something into a small glass bowl, a faint scent of sweet spice reaching his olfactory senses. He watched Papyrus dip his fingers into the bowl and coat them before turning back to Sans and resting his phalanges on the back of Sans's neck bones.

Sans nearly gasped uncouthly when the tingling sensation of oil dripping over his neck paired with the low-thrumming buzz of his brother's magic, sending sparks down his spine and ending at his tailbone. He sighed, forcing himself to settle back down when Papyrus's fingers began stroking and spreading the oil over his bones.

It was a curiously odd sensation; in the way Papyrus was using his magic as a resonance against his own, Sans could only theorize this to be the closest a Skeleton could get to 'skin-on-skin' contact, however thin it was. At the same time, Sans didn't think skin could compare to magic touching magic in such an intimate manner. He could feel Papyrus's pure essence through this manner of touch, almost count the beats in Papyrus's soul, and pick up on faint traces of his brother's emotions that pulsed through the magic.

Care, devotion, and attention to the little touches that were sure to make him feel good, was what Sans felt through the magic-to-magic contact with his brother. The smallest things that made the biggest difference in their relationship. It made him feel completely at ease and cared for despite being completely bare and at the mercy of his powerful brother.

Sans buried his face into his forearms, letting out barely-muffled sighs and moans as Papyrus's fingers moulded into the tense magic that strung his bones together, loosening them up and easing the pain accumulated over the week. Strong, gentle hands smoothed over his scapulae and spine, stroking down to his pelvis, every bone he touched getting warmer and warmer with each pass. The sensation was incredible, despite its gentleness that was so unlike what he was used to.

Perhaps this is what he needed, he thought quietly. A break from all that, just to change it up for a spell. It was....pleasant. He'd definitely want to do this more often.

Papyrus's hands tipped under his body and gently turned him around onto his back. He blinked at the sudden change in position, smiling up at his brother who smiled back down fondly as warm hands caressed at his rib cage.

“Are you feeling better, m'Lord?” Papyrus asked, keeping eyelight contact as his fingers pressed into the acromion areas of Sans's shoulders. Sans sighed, practically purring at the sensation.

“Immensely,” he replied. “You really know how to pamper your Lord.” Papyrus beamed, trailing one hand over Sans's sternum, down his spine, and sifting lightly around Sans's pelvis, the motion light and almost teasing. Sans sighed again, resisting the urge to arch his hips further into the touch; this was Papyrus's treat for him. He might as well see where it went.

Papyrus worked his fingers into the slowly-coalescing magic in Sans's pelvis, teasing at the forming magic until he was stroking a solid thick tendril-like appendage. His tongue dragged over his teeth as he stroked and squeezed lightly, his free hand tracing a rough phalange tip over Sans's jawline. “May I please you further, m'Lord?”

Sans hissed, leaning into Papyrus's hand. “You may,” he purred. Papyrus let out a soft growl, making quick work of his own clothing until he was bareboned save for his ever-present collar, crawling back onto the bed with Sans. His broad, scarred body glistened in the candlelight, emphasizing the cracks and scars that scattered along his bones, eyelights gleaming down in an accompanying glow.

Papyrus crawled closer, slinging one leg over Sans's hips until he was straddling his brother, pausing on standby to await further permission. Sans gave him a nod, growling softly as Papyrus's magic solidified in his pelvis and rubbed slowly against him. Papyrus ran his hands slowly over Sans's rib cage, licking his teeth with a loud purr as he sank down onto his brother's tendril, seating himself fully.

Sans flexed his hands into Papyrus's femurs, clenching tightly as his rib cage heaved slowly under Papyrus's hands. “C'mon,” he muttered, scraping his phalange tips into the rough, scarred bones. “Move.”

Papyrus licked his teeth. “As you wish, m'Lord,” he purred, moving his hips slowly. Sans dropped his head back, sighing heavily and squeezing Papyrus's femurs tightly as he reveled in the sensations. He made no move or command for it to go faster or more roughly; Papyrus was performing perfectly, keeping a pace that was slow but firm with enough tightness to make it worth the gentle pace.

His hands trailed up Papyrus's femurs to hold onto the younger's iliac crests, growling softly as he watched his brother above him. Papyrus was panting like a dog beast, ectoplasmic drool trailing down his mandible and all, his eyelights blazing with barely-concealed control over his own desire to perform more than he actually was.

His restraint was so admirable, Sans thought to himself. Resisting the urge to fuck and defile himself for his own desires and instead focus solely on Sans's calm pleasure...Sans would really have to reward him properly later. But for now, he was more than content to ride out the remainder of this slow and steady treat, and even more content with the gorgeous view his servant was providing.

Having his magic wound up from the massage gave him less lasting power than he normally would have, not that he minded. There was always later on this three-day weekend. He jerked his hips up to Papyrus's, reaching up and clenching his fingers into his brother's ribs to hold on tight as he came, groaning loudly as Papyrus continued to ride him. “Cum for me...!” he hissed, tugging on Papyrus's ribs hard. “Cum for me, cum for your Lord...!”

Papyrus's hand clasped into the headboard tightly, growling loudly as he obeyed, his magic growing hot around his Lord as he rode out his own orgasm. His growling subsided into deep, ragged breaths as he settled himself down and lifted himself off of Sans, shifting to kneel next to him quietly. Sans let out a heavy sigh before reaching up and taking hold of Papyrus's collar, pulling him down for a kiss.

“You've pleased your Lord,” he said, nuzzling Papyrus's skull before letting go of the collar. “Now Reset.”

Papyrus's posture slumped as he laid out on the bed next to Sans, scooping his smaller brother into his arms tightly. Sans leaned into the embrace, petting over Papyrus's rib cage tenderly, intent on keeping it as gentle as it began.

“....was it alright, Sans?” Papyrus asked after a few long moments. “...it was different than what we're used to, so I was...sort of winging it.”

Sans smiled, kissing his brother's clavicle. “It was perfect, Papyrus,” he said. “We'll have to incorporate that more often.” He blinked hard, feeling fatigue settle over him as his high finally wore down. “....after sleep. I could REALLY use some sleep.”

Papyrus nodded, letting go with one hand to summon back up the rest of the bedclothes from the floor with his magic, tugging the comforter around them snugly before settling down for some sleep. Sans closed his eye sockets and snuggled into his brother, the weight of the past week all but a distant memory as he finally allowed himself to sleep.

I hope you enjoy it, Anonymous, and thank you for your contribution!

#undertail #angelia-dark commissions #swapfell #swapfellcest #swapfell sans #swapfell papyrus #skeleton massage wtf

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flower-filled-dreams · 8 years

Text

Dreary Thoughts

Pairing: Abel x Cain (praxis is awkwarldy here lol)

WC: 1081

Notes: cain ur boyfriend doesnt like biting u shit

Abel was thinking again.

It...it was often he started thinking about stuff like this, about stuff happening in his life. He thought about saving the Tiberius’ fighter, thought about how Praxis wouldn’t help him find any info on Cain, thought about...well, his relationship with the fighter.

He couldn’t help but think about what happened to his previous fighters. He couldn’t help but hope to whatever god was out there that Cain was serious about loving him. No...of course Cain wasn’t serious. He got a new navigator every month. Cain couldn’t be serious, he couldn’t-!

And then, it struck him.

His previous navigators...did...they all do that with Cain? Did they all let him fuck them? Were they…

Were they all desperate as he was to sleep with someone?

No. Abel doubted that...he doubted that anyone was as desperate as him. He...indeed, was desperate, he was desperate to sleep with anyone, really, he just wanted to know what it was like-!

But, now he was regretting his decisions.

The nightmares of Cain betraying him and leaving him were only becoming more and more present, sometimes waking him from his sleep. When they did...Cain would (usually) be awake, ask what was wrong, and would awkwardly ask if he wanted to talk about it.

Abel would always smile at Cain’s efforts to be kinder. To be better.

Cain would often make Abel sleep with him, quite literally. Cain, despite how he acted, did tend to be a cuddler (after sex, of course). That was the other thing, though...did...Cain only care about Abel for sex? That seemed reasonable, actually...Cain always was up for sex, even if Abel was the one who wanted it…

Abel suddenly felt sad.

Abel suddenly wanted to get a new fighter, someone actually trustworthy…

Abel suddenly felt like leaving, going somewhere open, yet alone.

Then Cain walked in, sitting beside Abel and ruffling the blonde hair with the green strands in it. Cain pushed it to the side, kissing Abel’s forehead gently, eyebrows drawn together. Abel flinched a bit, getting up and putting on his smile. He...didn’t want to look weak, now did he?

“A-Ah, Cain!! I was just...leaving, actually…”

“Where?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“Abel….”

“I-I just have to shower, jeez!”

“I can tell you’re lying to me, Abel.”

Abel cursed Cain under his breath, looking away and shaking his head. He...couldn’t let Cain know. Couldn’t let Cain know that he actually was worried...worried about the fighter.

“Am not! You just are seeing things, you overgrown dog. Now, if you excuse me-”

“No.”

Abel let out a silent gasp, dropping onto the bed, Cain sitting on Abel’s hips to keep him down. Abel already knew thrashing about would make him more suspicious, so he stayed still, trying his best to look pissed instead of scared. He frowned, Cain looking at him with a neutral expression, studying Abel’s face.

“Hey! Get off, Cain!”

“...You usually get flustered about this.”

“I’m not in th- get off!”

Abel growled, shoving Cain off of him and getting up quickly, Cain looking...what, surprised? Oh god...he...nono, it wasn’t hurt!

Abel quickly left, whispering a sorry. Praxis walked in after, glaring at Cain, Cain glaring right back. He wasn’t in the mood for Praxis’ bullshit, but here eyepatch was, and by the look on his face...he wasn’t leaving. He let the door shut, leaning against the wall and sighing deeply.

“Get out of my sleeping quarters, eyepatch.”

“Actually, it’s your room and Abel’s quarters.”

“Shut it. Just get out.”

“What did you do?”

“I don’t know! He just fucking left, how the hell am I supposed to know?!”

“I knew he deserved a better fighter than you…”

“Shut up, fucking prick! I will drag you out myself if you don-”

“I know why he’s sad. Will you listen or not?”

“...Why the fuck would you help me?”

“He’s stuck with you. Might as well help you to understand him.”

Praxis was looking down at the pissed off Cain, who after an internal struggle, finally agreed. He nodded, still glaring at Praxis, who sat on the opposite side of Cain.

“Don’t think this makes us friends. I still hate you.”

“I don’t want to be a brute’s “friend”. We see how Abel is handling that.”

Praxis tossed what seemed like a paper notebook (Which, really, were pretty rare in those times) at Cain, sighing deeply. Cain caught it easily, flipping open a page, confused. Praxis could tell the wheels were trying to turn in Cain’s brain, and he decided to save Cain’s energy.

“It’s a journal or something. I...found it.”

“You stole it from him. He did mention missing something personal.”

“Shut up. He lost it, and I just...made sure it was his. Anyways, just listen. He writes a lot about you in there. Turns out your ‘little slut’ is starting to get cold feet about sex with you.”

Oh.

Now it made sense why Abel left quickly.

He...didn’t like quite a few things Cain did in bed, and in general. He could tell that by flipping through the journal.

“I helped you. I don’t expect you to owe me. I don’t want that.”

“Hey, Praxis.”

“Yes?”

“...Nothing. See you.”

Praxis huffed a sigh out, getting up and leaving. He then spotted Abel walking back, looking pretty gloomy. He resisted the urge to hug the navigator. He only whispered a “sorry” before he kept walking, Abel walking into the room, Cain getting up and hugging the blond boy. He felt the way Abel tensed, trying to back up.

“A-Ah, Cain...uhm, I-I still have to shower, so...sorry for snapping at you, I-I’m jus-”

“Don’t lie to me, Abel. If you don’t like how we have sex, then we’ll change it. If you don’t like it at all, we won’t do it. I’ll...suppress the urges around you, at least.”

“H-Huh…? N-No, no...it’s not that I...don’t want it! I-It’s just...u-uhm…”

“Don’t worry about sex with me. Just worry about doing your job, smartass.”

Cain grinned, Abel feeling a small smile worm it’s way on his face.

Sure, he was still worried about the other navigators Cain had...but that could wait for another day. Right now, he was snugged up to Cain, enjoying the other’s heartbeat and the almost calm silence between them.

Abel was hopelessly in love with Cain all over again.

#Addtext.docx #i love them!!#abel x cain #starfighter #shitty words #im alive!!

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sunbrights · 8 years

Text

fic: by the claw of dragon (2/7)

fandom: danganronpa characters/pairings: natsumi kuzuryuu, fuyuhiko kuzuryuu, peko pekoyama + 77th class ensemble, et al. kuzupeko. character tags will be updated on AO3 with plot-relevant characters as chapters are posted. rating: m summary: The Kuzuryuu Clan stands on the precipice of the greatest era of its history. Kuzuryuu Natsumi promises to be the strongest leader the clan has ever seen, the Overlord of the South born again. That Hopes’s Peak Academy would select her for it’s 77th class was assumed, not hoped for.

To the younger Kuzuryuu son, everything is as it’s meant to be.

One class turns into three, and then five. Natsumi still thinks she got the better end of the deal, but she has to hand it to Yukizome: the classes aren’t terrible. They’re still useless, but at least they aren’t boring.

One day Souda and Nanami push all the desks to the sides of the room so that they can set up a video game tournament, and the whole class gets riled up over some stupid game where cartoon characters fight each other. Natsumi lingers in the back with Peko, and watches Nanami wipe the floor with them round after round after round.

“Kuzuryuu-san.” She’s texting when Nanami turns around in her seat. When she looks up, Nanami has one of the controllers held out toward her. “Do you want to play this round?”

Souda mutters, “What, seriously? Her? But she’s—” and Natsumi throws him a glare that makes him choke on the rest of it.

“What? Are you boring yourselves already?” Nanami smiles when she snatches the controller from her hand. “Fine, fine. Give it here. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“So…. That means we need two more players.” Nanami looks up at the rest of the room. Natsumi focuses on selecting a character. She can’t decide between the pink blobby thing and the one that looks like a giant, ugly dragon. “Who else wants to play?”

The room meets her with silence.

Peko makes to step forward, but Natsumi pins her back to her place against the wall with a look. Having her be the only one to volunteer would be worse than no one volunteering at all.

She can feel Nanami looking at her.

“Well,” she says, “We could play one-on-one, but….”

“What the hell! You guys are holdin’ up the game!” Owari shoulders through the crowd and falls cross-legged onto the cushion next to Natsumi. “Gimme that, I’ll play again.”

“Then I shall play as well!” Sonia descends onto the last empty seat, and pushes her sleeves up to her elbows. “Be prepared, everyone— this game is about to ‘get lit’!”

Natsumi ends up picking the pink blob.

Owari decimates her.

“Bullshit!” she shouts, the fourth time Owari’s character flings hers off the screen. The rest of the class has crowded the TV to watch; someone in the back whistles as her blob flies into the distance and disappears. “That move is cheap and you know it!”

“It’s actually a pretty sophisticated technique,” Nanami says. Her fingers don’t break rhythm on the buttons as she talks; she’s ahead of all of them by at least three lives. “It’s difficult to control, but once you master it, it’s extremely powerful and reliable.”

“Shut up!”

“Hear that, Kuzuryuu? I’m a master.” Owari elbows into her space, and Natsumi elbows back. At this point she may as well be smashing her entire hand against all the buttons, for all the good they’re doing her. “Now c’mere so I can knock you out of this once and for all!”

“Shut up!”

“Do not feel bad, Kuzuryuu-san,” Sonia says. “I was eliminated ages ago. At the very least, you will get third place!”

“Shut up!”

It doesn’t last long at all. Her blob has barely respawned before it’s being flung again to the other side of the map, and all it takes is a few fumbled button presses for her last life to go down the drain.

Owari whoops. Natsumi throws her controller on the ground. The rest of the class leans away from the TV to wait for the round to finish; anyone versus Nanami is interesting to nobody.

“Aw, man.”

“What, were you seriously rooting for Natsumi?”

“I mean, kinda, yeah. She’s totally right about that move, it’s a frickin’ nightmare.”

“Can we kick this dumb-dumb out yet? I’m getting sick and tired of her always winning. She’s just pressing the same buttons over and over again!”

“She’s not winning, though.”

“Losing to Chiaki-chan basically is winning to the rest of us!”

“Let us play one more round. A ‘redemption round,’ if you will,” Sonia says, after Nanami has beaten Owari into a pulp, and the final tally screen is up to tell them how much worse they are in comparison. “Kuzuryuu-san and myself versus Nanami-san and Owari-san, for honor!”

Nanami starts to say something about rotating classmates and giving others fair turns, but Owari drowns her out. “You’re on!” she crows, and bullies her way over to swap seats with Sonia. “You and me, Nanami, let’s do this!”

Sonia settles into the seat next to Natsumi, and offers her discarded controller back. “What do you say, Kuzuryuu-san? Shall we teach them who is ‘boss’ and who is not? A true ‘Coming Back Special’!”

Natsumi rolls her eyes. “Jeez, if you’re gonna talk like that, you might as well not talk, Sonia-san.” She snatches the controller, and their classmates swoop in to crowd the TV again. “I just want to get this idiot to shut up.”

“Eat it, Kuzuryuu! You’re goin’ down!”

It goes about as well as any of them expected.

The irony of going to class on a daily basis is that now she has to do all her actual work on her own time. But the plan is simple enough, once she puts all the pieces together. It might be basic, but that’s only because she perfected the strategy years ago, and it hasn’t let her down since. She knows what she does, and she does it well.

She lays it out for Fuyuhiko the next time they talk, step by step.

“‘Novoselic’?” he echoes, when she’s finished. “Bullshit. That’s not a real place.”

“If things didn’t exist just because you didn’t know about them, then Aunt Miyū was a ghost until last year.“

“Will you give that a fucking rest already?”

“Look it up!”

“I am looking it up.”

She sits through watching him search for all the info she knows already. (She drums her nails against the body of her laptop when it takes too long. He snaps, “Cut it out,” and she starts tapping the microphone directly instead.) The fourth time he sighs like the computer is a personal imposition on him, she gives up.

“What’s your problem now?”

“I can’t find it on the goddamn map is the problem!”

Natsumi groans into her hands. “No, stupid, that’s the point.” The distance is such a massive pain in the ass; this would be so much easier if he were just here with her. “Whatever! Look it up on your own time. Just listen to me. The country is miniscule, okay? Like, beyond tiny. Most people don’t even know it exists, and most map makers just totally skip over it. But their military is loaded. Every single person learns how to use military-grade weapons as a regular part of school.”

She watches for his reaction, but he’s focused on another page on his computer. She reaches for the folder on the shelf above her head, the one with all her notes and printouts. He hasn’t interrupted her yet, and she doesn’t intend to give him the chance.

“Think about it. Who’s going to notice if there’s a few extra crates of handguns going through a place like that? If we had a waypoint for Europe, we can ship directly from there. Cut down on the trip for anything coming in or out. Man it with our own people.“

“And if there’s a monarchy to validate it,” Fuyuhiko finishes, “who’s going to think twice about it?” He must have switched back to the video chat, because he focuses again on the camera. “You think you got an in with the princess?”

“All politicians are the same,” Natsumi says. “Whether they’re a princess or some greasy local stooge. They all want the same things. They’re all afraid of the same things.” She leans back in her chair. “I can get her to say yes.”

“If you say so.” He squints down and to the right— at his desk, or maybe his phone— and then he says, “By the way. Niijima’s old lady’s in the hospital again.”

Natsumi hums. “How many times is that?”

“Three. He’s a fuckin’ mess, you should’ve seen him in here earlier. Couldn’t keep anything straight. I don’t think he’s slept in days.”

She can hear it in his voice. He’s fishing, trying to wheedle something out of her. It’s never worked; she doesn’t know why he still tries. “Spit it out already. What are you trying to say?”

He bristles. “I’m saying maybe it’s about time we take Niijima off that route. Let one of the other three take point. They can handle it.”

“What for? His mom isn’t the one making the drops, is she?”

“Shut up. I’m being serious,” he says. She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “He’s going to fuck it up for the rest of them if he goes. I was surprised he figured out how to tie his shoes this morning. If it’s not this drop, it’ll be another one.”

“I’m being serious too,” she snaps. “We’re not running a charity. He’s been slipping for months, he needs to start earning his keep. If he can’t do that, he’s gonna have to deal with the consequences.”

Fuyuhiko glares somewhere past the camera. He’s gritting his teeth when he says, “Fine.”

“If somebody fucks up, tell me.” Natsumi gathers her papers back together in a pile. “Until then, I’ve gotta focus on this.”

“Fine,” he says again, clipped. “I gotta go.”

The screen goes blank, and Natsumi doesn’t resist the urge this time.

As it turns out, Sonia’s schedule is easy to tap into. She usually eats lunch either in a huddle with some of the other girls in their class, or with Tanaka. It makes getting her alone annoying, but not impossible: Tanaka is always late to lunch (he insists on visiting his animals first, every single day) and Koizumi is the lynchpin of her little entourage. There are days when she goes somewhere else for lunch, and on those days the rest of them take ages to get their act together.

All Natsumi has to do is show up.

It’s a few minutes before lunch on a Tuesday, and Natsumi lets her tray clatter against the table where Sonia is reading. She doesn’t jump or flinch; she just looks up, one finger gently against the inner spine of her book to keep her place. “Sonia-san! Mind if me and Peko-chan sit here today?”

Natsumi’s already sitting by the time Sonia gets through saying, “No, not at all. There is plenty of room for the both of you.” Peko slides onto the bench next to her, and Sonia smiles up at her, too. “Good afternoon, Pekoyama-san.”

Peko only nods.

Sonia doesn’t seem bothered. She sets her book aside, picture perfect politeness. “I must admit, I am a little surprised,” she says. “I thought you and Pekoyama-san preferred to eat together just the two of you.”

Natsumi shrugs. “Yukizome-sensei says we should be ‘branching out.’” She manages half air-quotes, one handed. “So, we thought, why not, you know? Not all of you are completely terrible, I guess.”

“Well, I am honored to be the first,” Sonia says, and she really does seem it, chest puffed up and shoulders straight. “But I think you will find that everyone is very agreeable, if you give them a chance.”

Natsumi eats instead of answering. She tries not to let her curiosity get the better of her, but she can’t help it; she doesn’t actually know where Koizumi goes, on days like this. “Speaking of everyone,” she says, swallowing, “where the heck are they today? Don’t you normally eat with Koizumi-san and her little friends?”

“Ah. On Tuesdays and Thursdays Koizumi-san goes to the West building to eat lunch with a friend of hers in the Reserve Course. Sometimes the others are… delayed, in her absence.”

A friend in the Reserve Course. Peko looks at her, but Natsumi only bobs her head. “Ohhh, I get it. That’s how it is, huh.”

Sonia is quiet for a moment. She hasn’t started to eat yet, but she fidgets with her chopsticks. “Forgive me for saying so, Kuzuryuu-san, but I cannot help but notice… there is a certain amount of animosity between the two of you, is there not?”

Natsumi focuses on stirring her food. “With who, Koizumi-san? Pfft.” Her chopsticks clatter around the edges of her bowl. “That’s all in good fun, you know? We went to middle school together.”

“I see. With you and Pekoyama-san?”

“No,” Peko says. She doesn’t say anything else. Sonia looks at Natsumi instead.

“Me and Peko-chan didn’t go to the same school then,” Natsumi fills in. “We were home schooled for a while, but after that my parents decided to send me to a regular middle school.”

“Fascinating! I myself had never attended a quote normal unquote school before Hope’s Peak Academy.” Sonia doesn’t even attempt the air-quotes. “Did you find it difficult to acclimate to the change?”

Natsumi remembers the first day of middle school, how it had been the first time she could remember without Peko behind her left shoulder. Her teacher had been spineless, and the other girls in her class had gotten upset when he let her cut class and talk back without so much as a reprimand. None of them had known to watch their step or their mouths, not at first.

(She’d learned how to teach them the lesson on her own.)

“Nah,” she says. “It was a breeze.”

“Oh.” Sonia looks down at her tray. Natsumi slurps her lunch and lets her stew. “I must admit… I am having more difficulty acclimating than I anticipated, myself. There is so much I do not know already, and some days I feel I may never catch up. Perhaps if I had started in the school system earlier, I would not be having as much trouble as I am now.”

Natsumi doesn’t look at her. She eats, and thinks about how her middle school teacher, white faced and stammering. “You can tell yourself that if you want, but that’s not how it works,” she says. “You could’ve gone to preschool if you wanted and it would’ve been the same. Probably worse. You should be glad you started out here.”

“How so?”

“You’re a princess. Out there, that’s all you are.” She shrugs. “At least in here it’s the same for most of us. You don’t have to try so hard when everybody else is just as weird as you.”

“I see.” Sonia smiles. “I believe I understand. Thank you for the advice, Kuzuryuu-san. I wonder—”

Peko’s phone buzzes on the table. She lays her hand over it to quiet it, and it buzzes again. She pulls it into her lap instead. “Apologies. I did not mean to interrupt.”

“Oh, no, no need to worry, Pekoyama-san—”

Natsumi cranes her neck over to peer at the screen. “Who’s that?”

“Fuyuhiko-sama,” Peko answers. “Would you like to hear the message, young mistress?”

“Pass,” Natsumi says. She grins around her chopsticks. “He can text whatever he wants. I’m not his babysitter.”

Sonia pats her mouth between bites with a cloth napkin. Natsumi doesn’t even know where she found a cloth napkin. “Is that a member of your organization, Kuzuryuu-san?”

“My little brother.”

Sonia inhales sharply. Her napkin gets crushed in her fist. “Brother! I see.” She scans the dining hall: left, then right, then back over her shoulder. Then she leans in on both elbows, her voice low and expression intense. “Kuzuryuu-san. May I ask you a personal question?”

Natsumi chews. “I guess.”

“I have watched a great many television dramas that delve into the life and culture of the yakuza in modern day Japan. There is always a great struggle for power, rife with deceit and violence and betrayal. It is most dramatic!” She’s talking so fast Natsumi can barely keep up, and she’s leaning so far across the table her hair might fall in her food if she weren’t a princess. “Tell me, did you struggle within your family to achieve the position you have now?”

Natsumi has to screw her face up to keep from laughing. “I beat my brother at being born, I guess. And I usually beat him at pachinko, does that count?”

Sonia’s face falls. “I see.” She settles back in her seat, and pokes at the remaining rice in her bowl. “I know this is an improper thing to say, but… I must admit to some disappointment.”

“You shouldn’t watch trash like that,” Natsumi tells her. “I can guarantee I have at least five stories that are way better than anything else you’ve watched.”

“Really?!” Sonia grips the edge of the table with both hands. She nearly bounces in her seat. “Please do share! I would be fascinated to hear of your experiences, Kuzuryuu-san.”

Natsumi starts with the time she and Peko had been kidnapped and stranded in the mountains, and Sonia hangs on every word.

They eat together every Tuesday after that. It turns out to not be unbearable; Sonia is simultaneously everything Natsumi understands a princess to be, and everything she understands a princess to not be. She tells Natsumi about Novoselic’s labyrinthine traditions, and Natsumi tells her about the last fist fight that broke out in one of her family’s casinos.

It’s going well— which, Natsumi reminds herself, is all that matters.

Sonia leans across the gap between their desks one day, during afternoon homeroom. “Will you and Pekoyama-san be going to the dojo again after class today?”

“Probably! Peko-chan’s gotta get those reps in.” Natsumi tips her head back. “Right, Peko-chan?”

“Yes.”

“Why? You wanna come watch?”

“Well… yes and no,” Sonia says. “I have ‘reps’ of my own I must get in, actually. I have read that while most modern yakuza do not carry firearms on their person, many are still trained in their use, especially those in senior positions. Is that accurate to your experience, Kuzuryuu-san?”

“I know how to shoot,” Natsumi says.

(She’d gotten her first gun on her thirteenth birthday, a slim white revolver with gold plating around the chamber. Her father had taken her out to the compound’s practice range that same day; he’d knelt with her and shown her how to hold it, how to stand, how to bend her elbows just enough to absorb the force of the shot.

“Be patient, but don’t hesitate,” he’d said, big hands on both her shoulders. “When you have your target, take it.”

She’d screamed the first time she pulled the trigger. The gun had jumped in her hands, sudden and hot and violent, and her arms had ached all over afterwards, like she’d just spent an hour doing handstands. Her father had made her take the shot again, over and over, until she learned not to be afraid.)

“Excellent!” Sonia is delighted in a way only a princess can be, hands clasping instead of clapping. “I am afraid that since arriving in Japan I have been inexcusably lazy in practicing my marksmanship. I was hoping you might want to practice with me, Kuzuryuu-san.”

“You want to have a shootout,” Natsumi repeats. “With me?”

“‘Hells’ yes! It would be a fascinating comparison of our relative skillsets, do you not agree? Plus I believe it would be a— ‘bomb-ass’ good time!”

It’s been months since Natsumi practiced last, too. Students are allowed to bring whatever tools they consider necessary to furthering their talent, including personal weapons, but Natsumi had left her revolver at home when she left for school. (“There’s no need for her to carry another weapon when she already has one with her,” her father had said.)

“Okay,” she says, and Sonia’s face lights up. “But if I win, you never get to say ‘bomb-ass’ again.”

“And if I win, I may say ‘bomb-ass’ as many times as I like from now on without complaint. Agreed?”

Natsumi clasps her hand. “Done.”

When class lets out, they have to detour to the weapons cages; the school keeps practice weapons of all kinds in the dojo, but unlimited access is restricted only to students whose talents require the use of them. Any other students require approval

Sonia marches straight up to the supervisor without a single inch of guile or hesitation. “Hello. My name is Sonia Nevermind, and my associate is Kuzuryuu Natsumi.” She bends into a shallow, formal bow. “We would like to borrow two firearms for practice purposes, please.”

The supervisor is a skinny senior with glasses, a student volunteer. He references a small tablet behind his desk. “The Ultimate Yakuza—” Natsumi smiles at him from over Sonia’s shoulder. He can’t look at her for longer than a second or two. “And, uh, the Ultimate Princess.” He frowns. “Is markmanship really part of your curriculum?”

“We are young women poised to become proud and powerful leaders in our respective societies,” Sonia tells him, grave and, Natsumi thinks, entirely serious. “How would this not be part of our curriculum?”

“I— I mean, I guess, but the weapons are really intended for the athletes…”

Natsumi lays her palm flat on the counter. “Gee, Sonia-san, it almost sounds like this guy is trying to tell us what our talents are for,” she says. “But that can’t be right. I mean, they’re our talents, right?” She tilts her head at him. “What would he know about it?”

“Right.” His adam’s apple bobs uncomfortably. “No, right. You’re right.” The door to the cage buzzes, and Sonia swings it open with a smile. “Just, uh, keep them in the shooting range, and make sure to sign them back in when you’re finished.”

Natsumi had only seen the cage containing the swords, knives, and other bladed weapons before, because that’s the cage Peko has access to. The firearms cage is a veritable arsenal; Natsumi steps back to snap a picture with her phone to send to Rin later.

She chooses a sleek, lightweight pistol, the closest equivalent she can find to her revolver. Sonia chooses a massive bolt-action battle rifle. “An excellent choice, Kuzuryuu-san!” she says, when she slings the wide strap over her shoulder. “It is truly ‘adorbs af.’ Here, you must not forget these, either.” She hangs a pair of brightly-colored ear muffs around Natsumi’s neck. “Safety is of the utmost importance.”

They take their positions at the far end of the shooting range. They must look out of place, still in school uniforms; some of the other students give them sidelong glances. Natsumi glowers back until they look away.

Sonia pounds her rifle against the floor. “These are the rules, should you choose to accept: you take a shot, and I must duplicate it. Then I take a shot, and you must duplicate mine. We go back and forth until one of us fails or we both run out of bullets.”

Natsumi cocks her pistol. She lifts both arms, elbows bent just enough, and sends a bullet straight into the heart of the target. “Okay,” she says. “You’re on.”

“Excellent.” Sonia hefts the butt of her rifle against her shoulder, and barely takes a moment to steady the barrel. Her shot flies straight down the center, a perfect match. “Now! How about a true challenge, hm?”

They go back and forth, shot for shot. Sonia throws plastic rings into the air and shoots through them. Natsumi ricochets her bullet off of the broad side of a training dummy. None of it is at the level of the Ultimate students the guns were actually intended for, but for once that doesn’t matter.

Sonia drops to her belly for her final shot, the body of her rifle flush against her cheek. She aims high, and when she pulls the trigger the bullet bounces off the top edge of the target and shatters just one of the clay pigeon targets in storage behind it.

“That’s garbage!” Natsumi shouts. Other students around them glare. “That was all luck. No way that counts!”

“That is how we do in Novoselic, Kuzuryuu-san!” Sonia pumps her fist, her cheeks flushed. “Do you forfeit?”

Natsumi drops to the floor. “Hell no. What do I look like, huh?”

Her bullet finds its target. Sonia nearly explodes with delight when it does, which for her boils down to shouting “Amazing!” when the pigeon shatters.

“It looks like we are at a draw,” Sonia says, when Natsumi is back on her feet. She bows, her fist over her heart. “Excellent shooting, Kuzuryuu-san. You are a formidable opponent!”

Natsumi doesn’t bow in return. She rolls her eyes when Sonia isn’t looking, instead. “Yeah, yeah. You’re not bad either, I guess.”

They drop the guns back off together. (On the way they agree a draw means that Sonia can keep saying whatever she likes, and that Natsumi can keep complaining about it.) The skinny supervisor is still there, and his palms are sweating when Natsumi turns the pistol back over to him. The whole desk shudders when Sonia drops her rifle onto it.

“What do you think, Kuzuryuu-san?” Sonia asks, on the way back. “Shall we have celebratory ‘frozen yo’ in wake of our competition?”

“I need to wait for Peko-chan,” Natsumi answers. She’s missed enough of Peko’s training already. She doesn’t need to sway Sonia enough to miss the rest of it, and froyo makes her stomach hurt, anyway.

Sonia doesn’t seem offended. She only nods. “Yes. Of course. I shall leave you to it.” She dips into another, shallow bow. “Thank you for joining me, Kuzuryuu-san. It is always more enjoyable to practice with a partner. Perhaps we may practice again sometime?”

Natsumi could use the practice here and there, and she’s always liked target shooting besides. There’s no reason to say no. “Yeah, okay,” she says. “Why not?”

Sonia leaves, with a wave and a nearly literal spring in her step, and Natsumi slips back into the dojo. It’s mostly emptied out by now, save for Peko, still pacing through her forms. She must have started them as a cooldown, but Natsumi came in too late to follow them from the beginning. Peko is moving sure-footed and fast; Natsumi can’t read the transitions.

Natsumi sits by the lockers to wait. (The notification light of Peko’s phone blinks from underneath her pile of clothes.) She watches for long minutes, but she still can’t find a seam between anything.

“Hey,” she says eventually, only because there’s no one else in the room. “Peko?”

Peko doesn’t acknowledge her out loud, but her head does tilt in her direction. Her movements get longer and slower, until Natsumi recognizes the form in its final stage. (Gohon-me.)

Natsumi nods, and pulls out her phone to start tapping through her texts. Peko’s pace swings up back to normal.

There are times when Yukizome disappears, for up to an hour at a time. It’s never when it counts— she’s always on time for class or after-school review sessions— but sometimes during lunch, or breaks, or before the school day starts, someone will look for her and not be able to find her.

(Hanamura had insisted that she was out having clandestine meetings with some faculty member from the Reserve Course, and Mioda had shouted for a while about how she was definitely, definitely a secret agent.)

What’s important is that 1-B is empty sometimes during lunch, and that she and Peko can have free reign of it if they feel like it. It’s quiet, and private, and closer than either of their dorm rooms if they need to talk during the day without anyone else shoving their nose in.

Also, Sonia keeps wanting to eat with them any time they’re in the dining hall, and it’s starting to get inconvenient.

Peko brings lunch. They turn the chairs around so they can sit together at the same desk, and she sets places for the both of them. “Have you decided on a time to make our proposal?”

“No,” Natsumi says. “We’ve got a couple weeks. And I want to make sure we time it right.” There are two deadlines to think about: first, the deadline from the new contracts (of which there are now fourteen), and after that, the school’s practical exam. They’re close enough together that by the time the practical exam rolls around the deals will be finalized and polished, but recent enough for consideration. It’s a perfect arrangement.

She just has to get Sonia to say yes.

“We’re not going without a backup plan, either,” Natsumi goes on. “I’m not wasting a bunch of time doing damage control when she says no the first time.” She bends over the front of Yukizome’s desk and pops the drawer open. Yukizome had spent an entire class earlier in the week going over the practical exams: what to expect, how long they would have, where the judges were being selected from. It’d been the most bored Natsumi had been in weeks, but it also meant— “Here we go.” It’s buried under grading scales and flyers for student performances, but she finds it: one of the temporary student schedules for the exams.

The schedule is still rough, but this close to the exams it must be in its final stages. Natsumi’s is tentatively scheduled for day three; Sonia’s is for day five. “Hmm.” Natsumi drums her fingers against the desk. “Hey, Peko. What d’you think a practical exam for a princess is like?”

Peko turns in her seat to answer, but before she can, Natsumi’s phone buzzes in her pocket. A few seconds later, so does Peko’s.

fuyu-chan 12:33 niijima got picked up by the cops

fuyu-chan 12:33 not gonna say I fucking told you so but

fuyu-chan 12:33 I fucking told you so

Natsumi feels her stomach bottom out. The drops on that route had been going off without a hitch for months, even with all the things Fuyuhiko had said he was worried about. She types with one hand and tries not to crush the exam schedule in the other.

me 12:34 are you kidding me? why are we even wasting money on the cops over there???

me 12:34 what the FUCK happened

When she looks up, Peko is frowning down at her phone. “What?” Natsumi demands. “Did he tell you something about Niijima he didn’t tell me?”

“No,” Peko says, and dims her phone without responding to the message. “It’s— unrelated. What happened to Niijima-kun?”

“He’s a moron, that’s what happened to him.”

fuyu-chan 12:34 turns out everyone else on that route has been covering for him

fuyu-chan 12:34 on his own he’s a fucking mess

fuyu-chan 12:35 the cops aren’t going to look the other way when he’s got the goods hanging out of his goddamn coat pocket like an amateur

She doesn’t have time for this. She wants to throw her phone or scream or make the drive all the way back to the compound just so she can punch them all in the jaw.

“Natsumi.”

Koizumi is watching her from the doorway. She has a lunch box hugged against her chest, wrapped in cute pink cloth with a rabbit design on it.

Peko stands, but Natsumi holds her hand up. (Peko doesn’t need to be told to hang back, but there’s no harm in letting Koizumi draw her own conclusions.) “Hi, Koizumi-san.” She mimes checking her phone. Fuyuhiko’s message glows back up at her, unanswered. “Wow, you’re late today, huh? Better hurry. If you keep disappointing Satou-san like this, she’ll never put in a good word for you with the Reserve Course.”

“Cut it out. What are you doing in here?”

Natsumi pulls herself up to sit on the edge of Yukizome’s desk. “Me? I dunno.” She flares the exam schedule in front of her face again. “Maybe I wanted to go somewhere quiet for lunch. Maybe I wanted to soak in all the good class memories. Maybe I wanted to ask Yukizome-sensei something.” She stares at Koizumi over the edge of the page. “Who says it’s any of your business?”

“I’m not going to just ignore it when you’re obviously up to something,” Koizumi snaps back. She grabs at the schedule, and nearly twists it out of Natsumi’s grip. “These are our classmates. Is there seriously no one who’s off-limits to you?”

Natsumi slaps her hand away. Koizumi loses her grip on her lunch box, and it tumbles out of her arms; rice and cooked vegetables spill out when it cracks against the floor. The sound reverberates back out into the hall, but any students who care enough to peer inside turn their heads away when Natsumi glares back out at them.

The silence is thick. “So what if there isn’t?” Natsumi says, just for the satisfaction of snapping it in two. She slaps what’s left of the temporary schedule back on Yukizome’s desk and leans into Koizumi’s space. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Koizumi turns her face away first. The room is silent again when she crouches to gather her lunch back up. “You know,” she says finally, “I used to think that you’d changed. That something must have happened to make you this way.” She reties the knot, even with the fabric lopsided and stained, and glares. “Now I understand. You just became the person you always were, deep down.”

“Good,” Natsumi says. “It’s about time you figured it out. We’re not in middle school anymore, you know? Who knows what would’ve happened if you didn’t?” She leans forward, and sunlight from the windows throws her shadow in a sharp line across the floor. She drops the airy lilt of her voice. “Try it again. See what happens.”

Koizumi doesn’t say anything else. She takes her lunch and leaves— but she’s not quick enough to keep Natsumi from seeing the way her confidence withers, the way her eyes get big and the tips of her fingers turn white when she clutches the box back against her chest.

She thinks she walked out brave, but Koizumi always thinks she knows better than everyone else. She doesn’t know anything.

Natsumi leans back over to put the schedule back where she found it. “Peko.”

“Yes.”

“I changed my mind. We’re going to see Sonia tonight, after dinner. I’ve got what I need.”

“Yes, young mistress.”

Natsumi steps over what’s left of the mess of rice and vegetables on the floor, and taps out her response to Fuyuhiko.

me 12:42 send someone to get him. make whatever deal they want

me 12:42 i’ll handle him

#natsumi kuzuryuu #fuyuhiko kuzuryuu #peko pekoyama #kuzupeko #danganronpa #whew #sorry for the wait on this one #six chapters?? who said six chapters???#my outline??#my outline's not my real mom it can't tell me how to live my life #on the upside i have a buffer now #laughtrack dot wav #fic: by the claw of dragon #sunwrites

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wordsonapaige · 7 years

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shoshanay307-blog · 7 years

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