#but also if nobody likes it i might decide it's bad and never finish it which i also don't want ahsgdjhgf

[leofrith]

oh we are SO back (deep in the hyperfixation with my own fic)

[featherandferns]

orange juice (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | inspired by noah kahn's incredible music

content warning: mentions of drinking and drug use; mentions of abuse; mentions of bodily harm (vague, non-graphic); sexual content | feel free to message me with questions of detail if any of this concerns you before reading!

word count: 7.5k

blurb: in the most unlikely of settings, you and JJ reunite after five years apart in radio silence.

“You know, on my way here, I saw a dead rat.”

A cloud of cigarette smoke dispels into the air.

“It was funny, you know? Cause I felt bad that it was dead, even though it was a rat. I mean, I knew nobody was going to miss it, and that it didn’t have any rat family or friends which would mourn it or anything. But still…It looked like it had been hit by a car, and it was only small so it didn’t look very old, and it seemed so harmless lying there. It probably had a million and one diseases, but just laying there, it seemed harmless. And it felt weird to be sad about this thing dying which would have only maybe caused more damage if it had stayed alive – nibbling through electrical wires and all that.”

JJ takes another drag of his cigarette as he digests the anecdote.

“Anyway. This just made me think of that,” you quietly finish before sinking back into the silence.

“Did you just compare my dad’s funeral to a dead rat?”

You clear your throat. JJ watches in his peripheral as you look down at your feet and fidget your fingers.

“Shit, I guess I did.”

His eyes cut ahead the moment yours seem to flick up.

“Can’t believe that’s the first thing I’ve said to you in years.”

JJ inhales and exhales the nicotine of his cigarette. “Well, I can.”

That makes you laugh. Small and sheltered.

“I weren’t sure that you were going to come,” JJ tells you.

“Could say the same thing to you,” you reply.

Sighing, he drops the cigarette and crushes it under the heel of his boot. He probably should have worn smarter shoes. But then, why would he? Waste of money and space in his truck. Not like his dad was going to see them anyway.

“I only decided yesterday. Practically drove all night.” As if reminding himself of the sleep deprivation, JJ lets out a yawn.

“How is it, being back in Kildare?” you wonder.

JJ shrugs. “Weird. But also not weird at all. I guess I just feel old. I was driving through town and everything looks different.”

“I mean, it has been five years.”

“Jesus,” JJ chuckles, shaking his head. Had it really been that long?

He shoves his hands in his pant pockets and finally finds the nerve to take you in. His eyes scan over you like one might survey potential damage to a car after a close call. He never lets them go below your waist though. As if losing nerve, he flicks them back up to your head and meets your eyes.

“You look well.”

“Thanks. Right back at ya,” you smile.

With that smile – sweet and simple – JJ finds himself being hurled back through time to his teen years. The reminiscing of his youth and the memories that your presence stirs up feels like reflecting on a past life. Something that he almost had, and something that he didn’t exactly lose, but something that changed.

Everything had changed, really. The streets that he used to drive down with his friends, running away from security and darting to and from keggers and house parties, they all had new homes, new paint, new families. Old mom-and-pop shops were now trendy smoothie spots and hippie bars. Empty plots of land that were a good spot to share a joint had now been bought and developed into stylish holiday rentals. None of JJ’s family was left here, not even his cousin. None of his friends were here anymore either. Well, except for you. Is that what you were to him? A friend?

“It was a nice service,” you say.

“Was it?”

For someone like Luke Maybank, ‘nice’ is probably a generous term for a funeral service that’s void of cheery anecdotes and tender memories. It’s a shame that all the memories JJ held in high regard of his father – of the moments that they were bonded and close – often came with the overarching theme of alcohol or drugs. He wasn’t sure there was ever a genuine moment shared between the two. Whatever praise and pride he gathered from his dad was short lived and sparse. When his dad left the island on the boat he stole, JJ never heard from him again. And now he never would.

“Did they ask if you wanted to say anything?”

“What’s there to say? He was a guy and he died in a bender. Short and simple, I guess.”

You nod and go silent once more.

JJ knows that his answer evaded the politeness markers of small talk, but it was true. Luke Maybank was a human who lived on this earth with no mark to be left apart from those which he laid on his own child. The only way that he’d be remembered was in the nightmares that still sometimes have JJ waking up in cold sweats and reaching for the box of cigarettes by his bed.

“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have come,” you say.

“No, it’s not…” JJ shakes his head and offers you a smile, but he knows it looks unnatural. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling right now. Perhaps everything, if that’s even possible. “I’m glad you came. I’m just tired and…well, you know.”

The funeral of my father.

“Right. Of course.”

He watches you tuck your hair behind your ears and glance towards the graves. He remembers how you used to do that when you were both younger. It was funny to him: you’d go through the fuss of trying your hair back in one way or another, but you’d always leave out a couple of strands. “To frame my face” you’d tell him, and then you’d precede to spend the rest of the day tucking your hair behind your ears. He liked it though. When you’d be concentrating on something, like surfing or fixing something up or writing, you’d lean forward and they’d come lose and hang over your pretty features. He’d want to mess with them; tuck them behind your ears for you. Sometimes he did. He remembers when you’d be on top of him, kissing him senseless, and they’d come lose and tickle his face. Somehow it would make the whole thing more sensual, with his laughs and your giggles.

He feels his face flush as the memories of nights like those creep back into his head. He shouldn’t think of you like that, not after all this time. Not with how things turned out. And especially not at his father’s funeral.

JJ had come over to you once his father was safely tucked away in the ground, six feet under. You’d attended the service at the church, hiding near the back, and then the burial, and as everybody else departed to give JJ ‘a moment’ (whatever the hell that meant), he’d turned to find you stood near a bench, lost in thought.

“It was nice of you to come,” JJ thanks.

“I’m surprised none of the others are here.”

“They don’t know. I sort of kept it close to the chest,” JJ admits. “I’m actually impressed by the turnout.”

You go to laugh and JJ sees you stifle it. It helps him ease up, smile a real smile for a second, as wicked as that sounds.

“People have layers, I guess.”

“Not my dad.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

You meet his gaze again. Your eyes make it clear that you haven’t shed a tear and neither had JJ. He wasn’t sure if maybe that would come later, once the so-called shock had worn off. He doubted it though. And yet, there was a haze of sadness about him. Death is weird as a whole. The death of a parent like JJ’s, even weirder. Maybe it wasn’t just the funeral causing the sadness. Maybe it was you.

JJ makes a move to leave but before he can even shift his foot one whole step, you’re talking.

“Do you wanna come back to mine? We could catch up. I’m sure you’ve been doing all sorts since I last saw you. Maybe have a drink or two, for old times’ sake?”

“Oh, I don’t drink anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. A pause for thought, then, “well, I have orange juice.”

It’s a strange thing to offer in place of a bottle of beer or glass of wine. Most people would say a cup of coffee. But no - orange juice: that’s where your mind went. It makes JJ smile. It seems so on-par for you to offer him that.

“Okay. Sure. Orange juice sounds good.”

“Do you need a moment, before we leave?” you ask, glancing back over your shoulder to the gravesite of JJ’s deceased father.

The dirt atop of his plot is fresh and stark brown against the green grass. JJ stares a second. The groundkeeper is dusting some muck off the gravestone. The funeral director had offered him a fine granite with award winning chiselling, after recognising JJ from the articles of El Dorado and assuming some high-placed budget. JJ had opted for a simple thing though. Cheap and likely to be hard to read within half a decade. It’s what Luke deserved. Probably what he would have invested into JJ, if the roles were reversed.

“No, I don’t. We can go,” JJ says, voice vacant. He looks back to you. “I’ll drive.”

You don’t live in your childhood home anymore. The place that you’ve settled in is a small home in a sweet looking neighbourhood. In fact, it seems the only part of Kildare that feels familiar to JJ. The front garden is quaint but well kept, with trimmed grass and flower beds that clearly garner a lot of attention and care. The fence is in need of a lick of paint: the blue fading and peeling. A sticky note is attached to the door frame of the front door and it makes JJ smile. ‘Doorbell’s fucked – shout “ding dong” really loud’.

“This is a step up,” JJ says.

“Nice, right? My neighbour is a dick though. Always complaining that I leave my driveway light on in the middle of the night. As if I can even afford to that.”

JJ chuckles as he follows you inside. There’s an instant warm smell that hits him. JJ can’t seem to describe it in any other way than that it smells like you. The interior is safe and homely. The wallpaper and wooden floors pair nicely with the throw pillows and crystals and plants and flowers. Fairy lights are strung from end to end. A kitchen, open plan, feeds nicely into a sitting room. A dining table is tucked in the corner which seemingly functions more as a desk: books piled atop with sheets of paper strewn out. There’s a small corridor to the right and the walls are lined with framed pictures which JJ can’t make out from where he’s stood. He assumes it must lead to a bathroom and bedroom. It isn’t unlived in though. There’s a small pile of clothes which need ironing; they’re sat in a basket, next to the TV. Near the backdoor is an arts and crafts project of some kind strewn about on the floor in organised chaos, blocking the exit.

It's still early in the afternoon so you don’t bother flicking on a light, instead opting to soak in the last few hours of daylight before dusk. Kie used to compare you to a cat, basking in the sun and chasing the rays until there was none left to follow.

JJ closes the door behind him and leans against it.

“You can take your shoes off, if you want.”

“Alright,” he mumbles. He toes them off and kicks them to the side, amongst a pile of your own. He notices how there’s nobody else’s shoes there: just yours, and now his.

You pour out two glasses of orange juice and turn around, handing one to him. He takes it, lost in thought. It all feels surreal, stood here with you, after a five-year pause. When you go to the sofa to sit, he assumes he should follow. You sit on opposite ends. A part of him wonders why you haven’t stretched out your legs and dumped your feet in his lap. ‘These stink’, JJ jokes, poking your toes. You wiggle his fingers off. ‘Shut up, no they don’t.’ Force of habit: he always seems to get stuck on that past. Instead, you go to pull one of your legs up onto the sofa, and JJ flicks his eyes around the room another time. He sips his juice.

“So…” You start. “Any news?”

“Well, my dad died, so there’s that.”

You kick out your leg, aiming for his thigh. “Come on now. Be serious.”

“I am; you were at the funeral. Thought you might remember that,” JJ jokes.

Rolling your eyes mirthfully, you have a sip of your juice. The sun paints shapes on the coffee table, weaving through the thin curtains that line your window. It makes your skin glow, healthy and happy. He’s torn between staring at your face and remembering every detail of your features and avoiding you completely.

“When did you move in here? It’s nice.”

“About two years ago. Mom and dad are still at the old place. They’ve rented out my room though, for tourists and stuff.”

“That’s nice of them,” JJ snorts. “How’s your brother? Is he doing good?”

“He is. He’s at college actually. Graduates later this year.”

“The fuck? That’s so trippy,” JJ mumbles, almost to himself.

JJ can remember your brother as nothing more than a preteen, sulking around the house and begging for rides to soccer practice. Now he’s nearly got a whole ass degree. His eyes naturally fixate on the dining-table-come-desk in the corner.

“What do you do for work then?”

“I’m a teacher at Kildare high.”

Of course you are. JJ smiles, eyes still fixated on the table. It seems to prompt you to continue.

“It’s kinda weird sometimes cause some of the old farts still work there,” you say.

“Oh shit. Mr Rumble still there?” JJ asks, perking up a little, meeting your gaze.

You laugh. “Mr Rummel does still work there, yeah. Still likes to bring you up to me, actually.”

“Really? In what way?”

“Just likes to add the odd little ‘you remember when your boyfriend used to steal my stapler’ kinda things.”

JJ’s laugh is different this time. The word ‘boyfriend’ coming out of your mouth has his thoughts short circuiting. You glance down at your juice and swirl it around the cup.

“Anyway, it’s a pretty good gig. I like teaching, and I actually think I’m making a difference to some of these kids lives sometimes, which is sort of strange.”

“I bet you are. You were always good at helping people,” JJ tells you. Your smile turns soft.

“Thanks, JayJ.”

The nickname is like another sucker punch to the chest. JJ takes it like a champ. Washes it down with water; pretends there’s vodka in there somewhere.

“How are the others, then?” you ask. “How are they?”

“Good. Happy. John B and Sarah are expecting a kid soon.”

“Fuck off.”

“No joke,” JJ laughs. He leans back into the sofa, reclining in the soft throw pillows. It’s strange how easily relaxed he is in this new setting. “They’re debating between two names. Esmeralda or Eton.”

“No. Please God, tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish,” JJ snorts. “Not that I got much of a leg to stand on.”

“What do you mean?” you frown. You lean over and place your juice down on the coffee table.

“JJ? Kinda dumb name.” JJ has a sip of his own before mirroring your actions.

“Hardly. ‘John James’ is pretty proper sounding to me.”

“Meh.” JJ shrugs and props an arm up on the back of the sofa.

“What about Kie, and Pope?”

“Kie is on her environmentalist shit. Investing in rebuilding the coral and things. Pope is studying like crazy. Got a good job lined up too.”

“Only Pope would get a degree when he has literal gold in his savings,” you chuckle. “Didn’t you buy a shop too, or something?”

“A little surf shop with John B, yeah,” JJ nods, smiling proud. The surf shop is something that he would always take pride in. What felt like a pipedream was now his nine-to-five. “It’s doing real good, actually. We’re thinking about expanding.”

“Well, that’s good,” you say, nodding. The two of you lock eyes. Your smile holds steady. “I’m happy for you, JJ. Really.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you’re doing good, too.”

And now the polite small talk is over and the catch-up is done. It’s so bizarre seeing someone again after so long. So many things in life have passed – relationships, jobs, fights, conversations, achievements, ailments – but when you finally come to sum it up, it only takes ten minutes. Going through a heartbreak lasts for months, but then a year later and the relationship is summed up in a sentence or two. Time doesn’t only heal, but it also shrinks. It seems to have shrunk whatever used to exist between yourself and JJ too, as you both sit, searching for things to talk about which avoid the dark and ugly. Things which avoid the obvious.

“Do you think you’ll stick around in Kildare for a bit?”

“I don’t know. I ain't really thought about it,” JJ admits. “I weren't even sure if I was gonna go to the funeral.”

“Where are you staying tonight?” you wonder.

He laughs to himself and shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I have no idea. Probably just crash in my truck.”

“You’re loaded as fuck and you’re gonna crash in your truck?” you laugh. It isn’t mean when you say it. Just amused.  

“I don’t know. You don’t really get used to having money when you grew up without it. I still feel guilty buying a new pair of boots or something when my old ones ain't coming apart at the soles and shit.”

You nod. “That makes sense. Eminem had a similar thing.”

“Yeah, I’ve always thought me and Eminem were similar,” JJ deadpans.

It seems to strike well with you because you’re cracking up, laughing like he’s just told the best joke you’ve ever heard. He smiles. He always liked making you laugh. You have a horrendous laugh: truly awful. Cats in a bag being bashed against the wall-howling dog parade level of terrible. JJ loved it though. He used to tickle you just to hear it. Watching you now, head titled back, eyes shut and mouth agape, guffawing like a damn hyena…He feels like throwing up.

“Sorry, that…That was good,” you chuckle, wiping your eyes and catching your breath. “You were always good at making me laugh.”

“Fuck knows why,” JJ chuckles.

“Cause you’re funny,” you reply, as if its obvious. “You were always funny.”

It’s strange how the tone of the conversation rises and falls like a mountain range the longer the two of you sit on the sofa.

Your smile turns sombre, like when someone reminisces over a funny memory of their dead pet. Nice at first, amused, and then dampened with the reminder that those times have passed.

“It’s weird, to be honest. You’re so different now but you’re also still JJ.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. You glance around the room for a moment, as if you’d find the answer hidden in code on the spine of the books stacked on the windowsill. You look at him again. “Your face looks different.”

“It does?” JJ asks. He lifts a hand and strokes his jaw. He could do with a shave, he supposes. The vanity tries to bite through to ask how, but before he can, you’re talking again.

“You don’t drink,” you add, nodding to the orange juice still sat on the coffee table. “You’re quieter. Less…”

You seem to lose the words and so you gesture with your hands. Explosion.

“Calmer. Sadder, but not sad.”

“I can’t tell if these are good things or not,” JJ says, half-joking.

“You look at me different too.”

That makes him pause. He meets your eyes and holds your gaze, steady. The whole room shifts in a moment, from carefree catch-up to tense confrontation.

“Different?”

“Yeah. You look at me different.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” JJ mutters, going to reach for his drink.

“Yes, you do, JJ.”

Your smile is gone now. He can tell, catching it from his peripheral. Suddenly he doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to be in Kildare, doesn’t want to be in this house, in this room.

“You could at least acknowledge it, you know?”

“I don’t understand—”

“It’s actually more rude to not acknowledge it,” you snip.

“I’m not being rude, I’m just making conversation. You’re the one who’s got me on blast like you’re some God damn therapist,” JJ hits back, meeting your steely stare.

“You feel like you’re on blast?”

“I feel like I’m being observed, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Maybe you are. Maybe you are being observed, JJ,” you return, voice harsh and cutting like how a blade slices through paper. “Because it’s fucking weird having you back.”

“You’re the one that invited me here.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” you say.

JJ takes a breath and closes his eyes. The anger never went away, despite what you’ve just told him, he just got older. Got better at hiding it. Got enough money to try therapy. He takes another moment to breathe through it. Push it down his throat and back into his stomach and let it burn out in the acid.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly say. The venom is gone. “I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry.”

He isn’t sure why – can’t pinpoint a perfect reason behind it – but behind his eyelids, JJ feels tears swell. Feels his lips twitch like a child when they hit their funny bone. His next breath in is shaky.

“JJ?”

“Just…”

His voice cracks and he clears it, shaking his head. He wants to open his eyes but he’s scared he’ll start crying, and he’s not doing that, not right now, not today. It’s not even you. You’d seen him cry before. Held him through it and patched him up; made him smile after the sadness. But he refuses to cry today because he can’t give his dad that satisfaction, even if it’s not about him. Opening his eyes, no tears escape. He reaches for the juice and downs it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” he snaps. Then, softer, “please.”

You nod. There’s a quiet. Then, you move to stand and he closes his eyes again because it’s a struggle for you to stand. It’s a struggle. He rubs a hand over his mouth as if trying to shove the welling emotions back inside. There’s the sound of running water in the background as JJ tries to gather himself. The crack-crack-crack of a gas stove turning on and then the clink of metal on metal. You’ve put the kettle on, boiling water. There’s the tinker of porcelain mugs being taken off a stand. He seems to zone in on the peaceful sounds of you making coffee.

When you pour water into the mugs, he remembers the sound of your voice years back. ‘Did you know humans have the ability to hear the difference between hot and cold water being poured?’ ‘Why the fuck do you know that?’ ‘I don’t know. Just thought it was interesting.’

As the teaspoon repeatedly brushes against the inside of the cup as you stir in the instant coffee and milk, JJ finally feels all the emotions even out. As your footsteps make their way back over to him, you flick on the lamp by the front door. JJ opens his eyes to see you place a steaming cup of Joe in front of him on the coffee table. The mug is cute. It’s peach pink and says “I’m drinking tea instead of committing crimes” on the front in an innocent type-writer print.

“Cute mug.”

“Thanks. Thought of you.”

He silently laughs. You sit closer to him this time and your mug sits next to his. There’s no funny quote written across the paint. Then your hand is on his back, barely rubbing him, and it hits JJ that this is the first time you’ve touched him in five years.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so angry,” you tell him. “It ain’t my place to say any of that. Especially not today.”

“It’s true, though. That’s the kicker, ain’t it? That it’s true,” JJ replies.

He sighs and leans back, sitting upright once more. Your hand falls away and you clasp it in the other in your lap. He glances down and takes in your side profile. That stupid piece of hair has come lose again, fallen in your face. He distracts his twitching fingers by twisting one of his rings.

“I’m okay, you know,” you tell him. You look up and meet his eyes. Yours are damp with emotion, just like his were moments earlier. “I’m really okay.”

“You almost weren’t though.”

“Is that the problem? That I almost wasn’t?”

“It’s not the problem. You were never a problem.”

“I ain't mean it like that,” you tell him. You shake your head and JJ isn’t entirely sure why. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Am I the reason that you left Kildare?”

A bird calls outside and JJ seems to latch onto it like a lifeline. That question makes him feel stranded and scared. He wasn’t ready for it despite being fully prepared.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I…It ain't that simple.”

“Can you explain it to me, maybe?” you wonder. There’s no wrath to your tone anymore – no vendetta against him. There’s just curiosity and care, and this wonderful tenderness that JJ always associated with you from day one, when you offered him your cap to keep his hair off his face.

“I didn’t like the person I was in Kildare.”

“Okay,” you quietly say.

“I didn’t like how I acted. I didn’t like how reckless I was, and how I didn’t care who got hurt in the process.”

“Like me?”

JJ swallows. He doesn’t tear his eyes from yours though. “Yeah. Like you.”

“Okay,” you repeat, quieter still, nodding.

“After El Dorado, coming back here, everything felt tainted. I just…I needed to escape it. My dad and my past and…And you. I couldn’t face it. I felt like I’d caused some freak accident and had gotten away, and then I'd come back to face the aftermath and I just couldn’t stomach it. I just ran.”

You nod.

“I just ran,” he hears himself repeat. “And I’m not proud of it. Of any of it.”

“Okay.”

“And I wanted to fix things, but I didn’t know how. Every time I thought of coming back to Kildare, or picking up the phone, or going on Instagram and finding you…I just got so fucking scared, like a stupid shithead kid. I was so scared of becoming the guy I was again.”

And, again, you nod. When he doesn’t continue, you fill the space. “How long have you been sober?”

“The minute I left Kildare.”

“Fuck.”

“Cold turkey. It sucked ass. It still does. You don’t miss it any less. I miss the rage too, sometimes. I miss my dad sometimes, too. Miss him beating on me. How fucked up is that? That I miss him beating on me?”

You don’t seem to know what to say to that. You just look down at the coffee mugs and watch how the steam is slowly but surely going away.

“I am sorry. I know that ain't worth anything, but I am sorry.”

“It is worth something.” You clear your throat, voice coming out stronger when you say, “It’s worth everything.”

Your smile comes back, timid and tiny. You meet eyes for the millionth time that night.

“It feels like I’ve been ready for you to come back, for so long, and now you’re actually here and…I don’t even know where to start.” He watches your tongue dart out and wet your lips. “I wasn’t expecting you to look so good.”

“Disappointed?”

“Massively. I would have got my ass in the gym more if I knew it was a Goddamn competition.”

JJ smiles. “You were always a sore loser.”

“Says you,” you snort.

There’s another peak in the conversation after the long slug of the last dip. It’s so bizarre. So wonderfully bizarre.

“I’m proud of you, for getting sober. Do you feel better for it?”

“Depends.”

“Well, you look better for it,” you say.

“You’re drooling, I think,” JJ teases, reaching a finger out to prod your cheek.

Rolling your eyes, you mirthfully bat his hand away. “You’re hallucinating.”

“Well, withdrawal does crazy things,” he quips back.

You chuckle and shake your head. “I missed you like crazy.”

“I miss you too.”

Your lips part a little with that. Miss. You seem to hesitate to hold his gaze then, like it’s too intense. JJ feels as though he can see every emotion flash across your face in a second, like watching a car crash in slow motion. Surprise, shock, joy, anger, then sadness. It’s that sadness that hammers hard when you speak, voice weak.

“You left without saying anything, JJ. For five years. You just left me.”

“Don’t make it sound like that. Like I abandoned you.”

“But you did,” you whisper. The tears are back. You’ve both fallen from the top of the mountain. “You abandoned me.”

“You don’t get it,” JJ replies, voice suddenly thick.

“I was in it with you.”

“You didn’t see it,” JJ forces out. His tears are falling: they didn’t wait this time. “You didn’t see how it looked – how you looked. You looked so fucking fragile and tiny and small and your leg was so bent and twisted and black – it was black – and I thought you were already dead.”

Your breathing is shaky and broken. The two of you sit on your sofa in the sunset, eyes locked, tears streaming, chests heaving like you’ve run a marathon. The word ‘dead’ hangs in the air and haunts the room.

“I thought you were dead, and I thought it was because of me.”

“Do you hate me for it?”

“Why the fuck would I—”

“Because I didn’t die? Do you hate me for it?”

JJ blinks back his bewilderment. He physically shifts back in his seat, as if you just spat in his face. Horrified, he tells you, “Of course I don’t. Why would you even ask me that?”

“Because I’m still here, JJ. But you acted like I wasn’t for five years. You didn’t even come see me in the hospital. Didn’t sit with me in the ambulance. Hell, you can’t even look at my leg now! You think I didn’t notice? At the graveyard, and now. You think I can’t see it on your face?”

JJ whispers your name in a tearful plea. Stop.

“I’m still here, JJ. And I invited you back here, and I went to the funeral, because I wanted to see you.”

“To show me what I did?” JJ asks, harsher than needed.

You hold his gaze. “To show you I’m okay.”

He shakes his head, insistent. “It was my fault. If I hadn’t been drinking and if I’d been thinking straight, I would have never let you jump off the bike like that. It was fucking reckless and stupid and I would never, ever do it again. It was all my fault.”

“I don’t care who’s fault it was, JJ,” you whisper. Your hand reaches out and traces his cheek and jaw, and he can’t help but lean into your warm touch. There you sit, cradling his face as if he was the victim in this whole thing. It calms him almost immediately. “Nobody forced me on that bike. Nobody forced me to jump, not even you.”

“I shouldn’t have let you.”

“JJ,” you sigh.

He closes his eyes as you shift in your spot, and somehow you end up with your forehead pressed against his. He reaches out one of his hands for the other of yours that rests in your lap and he clenches it, tight. You’re both still crying but they’re silent tears now.

“I forgive you, JJ.”

He shakes his head whilst you nod.

“Yes, I do, I forgive you. I always have. You know why?”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

“Because you were dealt the shitest hand I’ve ever known and look who you are. You’re sober, and you're healthy, and you have loving friends and a steady income and a job which you love, and a boathouse, and so much of your life left. And you didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t kill me, JJ. You didn’t even lose me.”

“I don’t—”

“We’re more than our mistakes.”

When JJ opens his eyes, you pull back enough to let him meet your gaze. As if you know what he’s about to ask, you smile. That smile…JJ feels like he’s coming home.

“You’re more than your mistakes, JJ.”

The moment his lips slot against yours, tentative and hesitant, like a bird exploring new ground for the first time, he’s home. There’s hardly a moment of reluctance, of confusion and mismatch from the time passed, before you’re kissing him back. The softness of your lips against his and the brush of your tongue. The sigh in your voice and the tilt of your head. It’s so seamless and sweet and safe. JJ feels safe here, with you. He feels like all the shit doesn’t matter. He feels like sober might actually be synonymous with happiness, with you. When he lies you down on the sofa, JJ doesn’t want to leave this room, this house, or Kildare. He wants to stay here, worshipping you, breathing you in until you consume all of his senses, because after five years, nothing has made him feel as alive as this. As you.

Everything is a wonderful illusion of being rushed and well-paced all at once. He revels in the way your skin gives gently beneath the scrape of his teeth. When he sucks at your throat, the skin is so delicate, and this close to you JJ can smell nothing but your perfume. He wants to fucking drown in it.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he pants. You’re gasping too. Fingers sliding through his hair, down his sides, along his face.

“I missed you,” you whine.

And that phrase gets repeated over and over like a mantra or a prayer. He hears himself whispering it against your skin with every button he undoes on your blouse. Basks in the sound of your voice, older and mature but still you, as you say it whilst pushing his dress shirt off his shoulder.

There’s a stalling pause when his fingers finish tracing down your stomach to your pants. You seem to notice it. Your hand comes to his face and thumbs at his cheek. They’re still sticky from dried tears.

“JJ,” you whisper, coaxing his attention back to your face. You’re glowing. You’re happy, you’re healthy, and you’re here. “It’s okay.” Nodding, you repeat. “It’s okay.”

Then, he watches your own fingers land on the button of your pants, slowly undoing it. Then the other and the third until they’re lose. He watches you wriggle out of them, pulling them down, struggling somewhat from the tight position on the sofa. Watches the scars emerge, faint but clear, and how they grow and spread like ivy on the side of a house. They merge with the cellulite and stretch marks. With a random bruise you must’ve gotten from hitting your leg on the table the other day. They’re a part of you – plain and simple. At the knee, there’s the connection for your prosthetic right leg. Once your trousers are off, JJ finds himself reaching out to touch it. This thing that he was partly responsible for, this marvel of medicine, the reason you can walk. He loves it and hates it desperately all at once. Glancing back up to your face, you’re watching him just as carefully as he was watching you. But you’re smiling.

“You’re okay,” JJ finds himself saying quietly. Because you are. You’re here, laying almost bare before him, just like you had years before.

“It’s rude to make a girl wait, JJ,” you tease.

With that, JJ’s smile is blossoming back like the returning of spring flowers following a brutal winter. He leans forward and catches himself above you with his arms, kissing you like you’re all the oxygen in the world. Your left leg rubs at his calf, still covered by his trousers, and you giggle against his mouth.

“Fuck, I missed this,” you say. “I missed you.”

“How much?”

“So much,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What’d you miss?” JJ persists, kissing down your neck.

“Your mouth,” you say through a moan. His hands slip behind your back and unclasp your bra. You arch your back enough for him to tug it off.

“My mouth?” he wonders, breathing it against your skin. You’re practically writhing. JJ laughs. “What about my mouth?”

“Don’t be a jackass, JJ,” you mutter.

“You want my mouth?”

“Yes,” you quietly beg.

“You do?” he checks, kissing over your breast, sucking at your nipple. “Where do you want it?”

“You fucking know where,” you sigh, impatience shining through.

He grins at the sudden hitch of your moan as he softly nips at the sensitive skin around your nipple. Then he’s kissing down your stomach until finally his fingers hook into the sides of your panties. He slowly, tauntingly, pulls them down. You kick them off at the ankles, a clear act of frustration, and he bites back his laugh.

“What? Here?” JJ plants a kiss to your hipbone. “You want my mouth here? Or…”

Another kiss, to your pelvic bone.

“Here?”

“Fuck you, Maybank.”

“You wanna?”

“I swear to fucking God,” you huff, laughing through the annoyance.

With that, JJ settles himself between your legs and praises you like you deserve to be. The noises you make are downright evil, considering he can do nothing about it and has to hold it together. You taste so familiar on his tongue.

“Fucking missed you,” he groans against you.

When he sucks on your clit, your hands latch into his hair. Your back is arching and you’re gasping and panting and desperate, and JJ feels like a young God. Pulling back, he slips a finger into your hole and it welcomes him so easily. He cusses at how wet you are.

“Come on baby. Come on, I know you’re close.”

The tells of your body haven’t changed since the last time you two were in this position. The way your mouth hangs open in a silent moan when you fall over the edge is so surreal to see after five years apart. He feels you spasms around him and basks in the scratch of your nails against his scalp as you try to ground yourself. He hardly has time to suck his fingers clean before your pulling his mouth to yours and kissing him stupid.

“Fucking missed you,” you repeat against his mouth, making him laugh. “Nobody fucks me as good as you.”

“Jesus Christ, you can’t say shit like that,” JJ chuckles. “Won’t last.”

“Don’t care,” you say. “Only thing bigger than your ego is your dick.”

JJ can’t help but laugh at that. He loves your giggles in response. And then your hands are shoving at his trousers and the humour is gone, replaced with nothing but raw lust and desperation. There’s nothing performative about it, when the two of you hurry to strip his clothes away as soon as possible. He takes note to get his socks off. You’d always had a weird thing about it, sex in socks, and nothing was going to taint this night. Not after so long.

Being inside you…JJ missed it more than all the alcohol and weed in the world. Nothing compared to the feeling of you clenching around him. The vice of your leg hitched up and over his back as he grips into your thigh, mean and firm, perfecting the angle. The senseless, endless whines falling from your agape mouth, eyes closed tight, lost in the feeling of it. JJ wants nothing to be less than perfect for you, for this. Every stroke, every kiss, every clench of his fingers…it all has to be perfect. He knows when you’re close and he’s more than fucking relieved. It’s taking everything in him not to come. He needs you to fall over the edge first.

“Do the thing,” you whine. “Do the thing, John.”

With that, JJ remembers five years back, to late nights and later mornings spent rolling in bed with you. He bites into his lip, holding back his shit-eating grin as the memories flood back, and he leans forward to your ear. Gently taking the lobe within his teeth, he croons into the shell of your ear.

“That’s my good fucking girl.”

And finally, you fall apart, taking JJ with you like you always would.

When the high finally passes and the endorphins settle down, the two of you are laying on the sofa, only covered by a throw blanket JJ had dragged down from the back of the sofa. You’ve somehow shuffled so you’re laying mostly atop of him. His arms are locked around your damp stomach like a vice, nose nestled into your hair, just behind your ear, breathing you in with every inhale.

“Will you stay in Kildare, just for a short while? For me?”

JJ wants to laugh but he knows how wrong that would be in this moment. The humour doesn’t come from the question, but from the notion that he’d leave after finally having you back in his life, safe and happy, after five long years.

“Anything,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your hair. Anything for you.

-

“You look like shit by the way,” JJ says.

His hands are warm in his cargo pant pockets. Head tilted down and gaze steady, he sighs.

“Guess you didn’t have chance to clean up though, right?”

Shockingly, the gravestone says nothing back. Well, says nothing asides form Luke Maybank in barely legible font.

It still feels surreal, that his dad is gone. That they’d never remedy anything, or even attempt to fix their relationship. That JJ wouldn’t be able to face him and show him what he’d become. How he’d risen past it all and grown from the pain and the agony. That he’d taken the shitty hand that he was dealt and turned it into nothing but flushes and full houses. That he hadn’t grown into a petty criminal or a tax-evading lowlife, but a strong, good-willed, well-intentioned man. The thought, bittersweet at heart, makes him smile.

“I’m happy dad. I know you probably hate that, being dead and all, but I am.”

As if on cue, there’s the high pitch giggles from afar that catch JJ’s attention. He glances over to spot you and your wonderful mini-you, sitting on your shoulders, waving at him. He waves back, small and short, smiling.

“I’m glad you never met her,” JJ tells his dad, never tearing his eyes away from the pair of you. You ease her off your shoulders and take her hand, pointing to a small bed of daffodils. “I was so scared I’d be bad at this. I was so scared that I’d be like you.”

She’s so fragile as she picks a flower free from the bunch, holding it by the stem, up to you. You nod and presumably smile in approval.

“But I’ll never be like you. She’ll never know what it feels like to live in fear,” JJ states, firmly. He looks back down to the grave. “I’m not your mistakes, and I’m not mine.”

He lowers to a squat and wipes some of the dirt off the stone, revealing the dates. “Happy birthday, dad. You suck, and I hope you’re finally at peace.”

“Daddy, daddy…”

There’s an insistent tug at his jacket sleeve. JJ smiles and looks down at the best mistake he ever made. Mistake is a strong word. ‘Oops, I think is better’, you’d said when you first showed him the pregnancy test.

“What’s up, bub?”

“I found this flower. Can I give it to papa?”

JJ takes the daffodil and glances to the grave. A brief moment of anger passes over him like the breeze of winter. He doesn’t deserve this. He isn’t your papa. I’m glad he’s dead. But he closes his eyes and breathes. Your hand squeezing gently at his shoulder tells him you’re there. It helps ground him.

“Yeah, bub. I think that’d be nice,” he smiles, handing it back.

She giggles as she puts it on the grass just before the stone. Her laughter is brighter and louder still when JJ scoops her up as he stands, looping her around him until she’s a backpack.

“You wanna get ice cream?”

“Hell yeah,” you whoop.

“Hell yeah!” mini-you copies. JJ laughs.

“Alrighty, lets go.”

As the three of you make the small walk back to the car, you intertwine your fingers with JJ’s, holding his hand tight and secure. JJ takes one last glance back at the gravestone. It all began here, in a way, the re-introduction to a life he thought he’d lost. Perhaps the nicest thing JJ’s dad ever did, the kindest act he ever performed, was dying. Perhaps that was his way of paying him back for all the crap he gave.

“Hey.”

JJ glances down at you.

“You okay?”

He smiles. Then, he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

Everything is going to be okay.

[nsfwflint]

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs/Official Goodbye Post

Well this was clearly going to happen eventually after retirement but I think it's for the best that I finally step away from this blog.

First things first, I want to thank everyone who supported me throughout the years. I started this blog in the middle of 2020 and all of you who supported me helped me get through some tough times, including the death of a family member. For a while, this blog was tons of fun. Ideas and words were flowing onto pages and the creative spark was immensely satisfying. Seeing people enjoy my own niche but vanilla works helped me feel good about my writing.

Like I said, this blog was a lot of fun. Until it wasn't. The pressure to perform, the idea that each piece had to be better than the one before it, even if nobody expected that. The growing "meta" of the community with certain idols becoming "mainstream". While I never tried to focus too much on notes, it did quickly get demoralizing to see pieces I poured countless hours of work into get less notes than some random pieces just because the idol I chose was less popular. It wasn't even really about the notes, it was about wanting to feel like the work I put in was acknowledged. Even though I shouldn't have let it affect me, as someone who always struggled with acknowledgement of others, it was tough on me. Eventually it felt like more and more of a chore to write because why bother if I'm not going to be acknowledged for my effort anyway?

This combined with drama from other writers (since this is goodbye post I don't feel bad about airing the dirty laundry, Peach you're still a bitch whose fragile ego couldn't take the same trash talk you dished to countless other people) and the community shifting to younger and younger idols to the point that I felt massively uncomfortable just communicating with some of the other writers in this circle of the internet, killed the spark I had for this hobby.

So I decided to retire. I flirted with a comeback every once in awhile, tried to finish at least a few of the multitude of partial drafts I had started to varying degrees over the years. But despite all of these efforts, I found that my love for this community truly died. But I still held onto to whatever vague attachments I had to this blog and tried to transform it into a random space to geek about my various hobbies since this was the biggest platform I've ever achieved while also messaging the few writers I still talked to. But as more and more of those writers also disappeared, it's time for me to accept that it's time to say goodbye.

Over the past few months I've been taking big steps to get my life into a place I want it to be and I think a big part of that now also involves laying this blog to rest. It's not fair to you guys who are still here expecting some type of possible comeback, and it's not fair to me to hold onto these feelings that at this point can only be reduced to nostalgia. While my catalog might not be as long or extensive as some of the other writers in the community, I'm still pretty proud of the work I put out for the most part.

If by any chance anyone still even reads any of my works, don't worry. The blog itself isn't going anywhere, I'm not deleting it. It'll stay here for a good long time. It just won't be a place I visit anymore.

Even though most of the following people are now gone, I want to take this time to thank some of the most influential people behind my time on this blog.

First, huge thanks once again to the amazing @lockefanfic and @sinsatmidnight. I've said it a million times but you two were the whole reason I started writing in the first place. You helped me onto this amazing journey and I'll always appreciate you for it.

@ggidolsmuts, @cataboliac, @themanthemyththeverite, you guys were some of my best friends in this community and I appreciate everything you all did for me. I love you guys.

A special shoutout to @kingmaker-a, you were my biggest fan and you were a huge reason why I kept going for a while. My last couple of pieces are definitely out because of your support.

A giant thank you to the 9,500ish who were here over the years. While I never quite got to 10k followers or hit 1k notes, the fact that there's still so many of you here never ceased to amaze me, especially since I never expected to get 100 followers, let alone almost 100 times that. Truly amazing and you all hold a special place in my heart.

And finally, to quote a manga I enjoy, "if you liked my work I'm happy, and if you didn't, I'm sorry but I can't do shit about that."

I'll stay on for a little bit to answer any potential farewell asks but I don't know how long that will last.

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs and keep on rocking!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for “assuming someone’s tone” and leaving a TTRPG a few hours after joining? 🤡🎲

This happened a while ago but I’m still baffled by it. Basic gist of the situation is that I (18) joined a campaign my friend, Rye (18) , was starting. She added me to a group chat for planning purposes after giving me the basic spiel about the campaign.

For context, I’d been in a larger group chat with some of Rye’s friends before, one that Cole was also in. He kind of rubbed me the wrong way - he only really responded to his favorite people (and it was very obvious who his favorites were), he had some annoying but harmless texting behaviors… he was also needlessly rude to a friend of mine (they answered a question he had posed, he swore at them and said he wasn’t finished asking, they said they’d thought he was finished because of the punctuation, he said it would have been clear to anyone else who had read his texts that he wasn’t finished - it was a whole mess) and that type of behavior continued to the point where they left that group chat. I stayed, but I blocked Cole just because seeing his messages was irritating me, but I still wanted to talk to Rye and some other friends I was starting to make.

Fast forward about half a year, and I joined Rye’s group chat for the campaign, realizing that Cole is also in the group chat. I was immediately on guard, but I was willing to put the past bad vibes aside to be able to play with him. I unblocked him (I don’t think he ever knew I had blocked him in the first place, we didn’t have many one on one conversations before this) to be able to work with him better. I was the last to join the group chat and so went to read what others had been saying about their characters before making my own. The first red flag was that Cole described his character as a loner who never spoke to anybody and kept to themselves in the shadows (edgy, but whatever, I could live with it). I saw most other people had included what class they were going to play with their character descriptions, but Cole hadn’t, and because I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes/wanted to have a balanced party, I asked him what class he was playing. To which he responded, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

…Red flag number two. I took a second to cool off before I responded, and when I came back he and another player, Oliver, were talking about what I had said. Cole was saying, “Who said we all had to play different classes? That’s a dumb rule,” which infuriated me but I just responded with “Nobody said we HAD to, I just wanted to for my own enjoyment and to diversify the party. But you’re right, we can still have plenty of fun even if two characters are the same class.” I decided to just let it go, and that if I ended up playing the same class as him, he couldn’t really complain.

So I started creating a character concept, and while I was looking through my D&D materials, Cole was complaining to Oliver in the group chat about a certain collaborative aspect of character creation he was struggling with because his character wouldn’t know anything about anyone else (because they were such a loner. This is why solitary characters with no social connections don’t work for collaborative games!). I hopped in and suggested that maybe Cole could do the collaborative portion in a meta way instead of through his characters eyes; if anything, it might help with brainstorming. He responded, “I beg of you to read my character description. If you did you’d see my character wouldn’t be able to do this because they don’t talk to anybody.”

Huge red flag - number three. A) I had read his character description. B) I had just proposed a solution for his second sentence. We are not friends, and it baffles me to this day that he thought responding to me so passive aggressively was an appropriate way to talk to someone who’s pretty much a stranger. I pretty much realized that I couldn’t just take shit from him and I needed to stand up for myself, so I very politely told him, “Hey, please moderate your tone. You’re not speaking to me in a way that’s very nice.”

He said, and I quote, “That’s not my intended tone. Sorry. I guess I’ll just go.” ???? Red flag four? At this point I was pretty sure I didn’t even want to play with him, but that response was something I expected from a 12 year old, not a full adult, and I was so confused at this point. Oliver spoke up and said they were feeling uncomfortable, that it was probably just a misunderstanding and Cole hadn’t meant to be hostile, and that we were all in the group chat to just have a fun time and play a game together, so let’s all be nice to each other. That also made me angry, because there had been no point during the conversation where I had been anything but polite, and Cole had been rude to me multiple times. I still kept my text calm and told them that even if Cole hadn’t meant to be hostile, his words still came across as hurtful, and that’s all I was saying. I told them I was going to go work on my character, and assumed the conversation was over for now.

I left for maybe ten minutes, and when I came back, it was to a full page-length paragraph of text from Cole.

“i cant really take responsibility for your assumptions on my tone man. especially when i was just asking you to read my characters info thing and then providing the context anyway so you wouldnt have to go look for it. its not really fair of you to bite at me based off of what you assume my tone is without asking for clarification then still tell me it came off as hurtful when i and another person stated that the tone wasnt hostile. if my nonexistant tone is off it is because i am immensely overwhelmed due to several reasons, in which your assumptions of my tone did not help im too tired to try to think of whatever tone tags would fit here but please take responsibility for your assumptions instead of treating me like i was in the wrong for trying to clarify something to help you understand something”

That was the last straw for me. I didn’t even respond, I just straight-up left the group chat. I was genuinely at a loss after reading that, and I knew I would never be able to play with Cole, so I messaged Rye (who was asleep at the time) privately and apologized for leaving so abruptly, that I wouldn’t be able to play with someone who couldn’t respect me, and that I hoped she had a lot of fun with the campaign and wished her all the best.

She responded the next morning saying it was all good, but I can’t help wondering if I’m TA for “assuming” Cole’s tone and not “taking responsibility” or for leaving so soon after joining without really giving playing a chance.

[compact-turtle]

!!! Hi! I love all of your OCs, I just wanted to ask if you have any plans for Ivar part two? I *need* to know what happens! Also! How would the Ivar react if his darling found out he was the one who killed that other patient, and was horrified? Because even though they were awful, I feel like the darling wouldn't want them to be killed out right (and they might blame themselves for getting him killed?)

There are plans for Ivar Part 2 in the works! It'll probably come out after I finish all the 1k follower works. maybe in a couple weeks then? ------

-Regardless, of how he treated them, Darling would never want the other patient to be murdered! Even if the guy was complete scum, he still deserved to not have his life taken away.

-They'd feel an awful immense guilt if they ever found out that they were the cause for the death. They'd probably blame themselves for even feeling relief that they died in the moment.

-However Ivar is a D1 gas lighter and plays the long game. He knows to keep his cool and not make rash choices (usually). There was never any actual proof so how would anyone know he did it anyways....? It's just speculation that perhaps there may have been foul play. He'd also talk around Darling's extreme feelings of guilt and probably never admit to actually causing the death of the other patient.

"It's awful what happened to him but imagine if he actually did do some of those things he talked about? He wasn't afraid to talk to you like that at all. Imagine if he decided to go through with it." "Ivar, I mean.." "Also, what if he decided to focus on someone else who was less fortunate than you? You know, I'd always protect you and my boys would keep an eye out for you. But some other person might not be as lucky. Maybe it's for the best that he passed away peacefully in his sleep. "

-Ivar would also rely on his status as a selfless war hero who was tragically injured. Everyone in town loves him and feels immensely awed at his bravery. How could someone like Ivar do anything wrong?

-Also, Ivar would really want to make you feel guilty for even thinking he's capable of such a heinous act. He'd avoid you, not clean your house, or anything of the sort. Absolutely go no contact with you. No matter how much it pains him :(

-Don't worry though! He's always got to make sure you're safe so he'd watch you through the cameras he planted in the house.

-However, he'd make sure to show up at the hospital and sweeten up your co workers when you're not there. He'd buy them coffee and subtly hint at his interest in you.

-Eventually, everyone would start to press you to apologize to him and you'd probably begin to doubt yourself. Maybe Ivar isn't such a bad guy and you were just overreaction? I mean, nobody was there to see anything happen to the other patient anyways...

[lollytea]

Unfortunately due to TOH being cut short by Disney a lot of character arcs and more storyline could not be fully fleshed out and finished as Dana had to wrap up everybody’s story in just a few episodes

I'm fully aware that Disney's intervention is responsible for a lot of the plotlines getting suffocated. Which is why I don't think it's fair to go harassing crew members with "why didn't THIS happen??" and all that, because nobody really knows what they endured working on those final episodes and how much they had to cut and rewrite. But from things Dana has said, it was likely a very stressful and exhausting experience. So I don't like to make assumptions about the crew being incompetent. Nobody knows how the season WOULD have turned out if they had been granted full creative freedom and breathing room to develop it to their hearts content.

However, me not directing personal ire towards the crew doesn't mean that I think that the show is immune to criticism. Its flawed. It might not be entirely the crew's fault but that doesn't mean we can't talk about how it's flawed. If anything, I think acknowledging and dissecting its weaknesses is a good learning opportunity for what we should consider when creating our own stories.

Season 3 is a bit of a mess. There's good stuff. There's some less than good stuff. I think ultimately, as a story about Luz, King and Eda, it knocks it out of the park. When they were left with no other option, they decided to prioritize the writing of their three protagonists and I think that was the correct choice.

But I've been thinking about the three specials and how they stand on their own, quality wise, and honestly, there's valid criticism to be said that is completely unrelated to the shortening.

Bear in mind that the crew has known since Follies that the show was getting cut short and they needed to start wrapping up loose ends. So it's not like they started writing Thanks to Them believing it was the first of 20+ more episodes. They knew that they were going to be writing a 40 minute special. So the execution had to be tight, concise and satisfying, right?

Well...it was....weird. Definitely fun. Good for fan service. The main hook was the witch kids navigating the human world in their dorky witchy way. And initially, that was enough. But once the novelty of that wears off and we focus on the plot of the special, what do we have left?

Thanks to Them is very guilty of lore baiting. Dropping in stuff that they know damn well that they're never going to elaborate on, leaving the audience with a feeling of intrigue that is never going to be satiated.

I personally think that is just bad writing. They knew they didn't have a full season 3 and rather than rewrite the means of which the hexsquads finds answers, they still made the choice to drop in what are most likely vague ideas from the initial draft.

I think, if they had no intention of developing it in future specials, there was no point to that scene of Masha telling the Wittebane story. It was just...filler. To stretch out the running time. Which is....kind of precious. Only 40 minutes. If you're obsessive enough about lore, you already knew the story from the Hollow Mind paintings. That scene was for casual viewers. Which is useless, because there's no point in casual viewers learning about Evelyn and Caleb because it never went anywhere.

Also. I personally think that if there was any value to learning the Wittebane lore without making it plot relevant, it would be for the sake of character development. We wanted to know how the kids would react to this knowledge.

Well how did they react?

*Shrug* They seemed a little unnerved but they kinda forgot about it the second they got off the hayride.

So what was the point of all that? What was the point?

Is it because we wanted "Goodbye, Evelyn," to be more of gut punch?

Was it worth it? Was "Goodbye, Evelyn" worth it? We know fucking nothing about Evelyn.

I think the rebus was a stupid and lazy means for the kids to discover Titan's blood. You introduce this mysterious object that was hidden under the floorboards and then you just use it as a plot device.

When the kids uncover the rebus and find the secret code inside, the viewer is not thinking about how it can be used as a means to an end (finding blood) The viewer is thinking "what the fuck is that thing and how did it get there and how did Flapjack know it was there?"

Questions that will not be answered <333

ALL IM SAYING is that I'm sure the crew could have come up with another way for the kids to have a Titan's blood treasure hunt. Maybe they could have dug a little more into the history of Gravesfield and follow leads on weird things happening on this one spot in the graveyard (which turns out to be because there's magical energy there, revealed when Luz realizes she can use glyphs)

I just think that if you're gonna leave the mystery box a mystery, you shouldn't have included it.

And I know. Its subtle storytelling. There's elements of what could have been a far more complex story and they're leaving hints of it here and there.

Well the thing about that is I think the hints are very unsatisfying and weaken the episode's plot significantly.

Also I don't think they should get to just pick and choose what parts of the lore are subtle and what parts are ham-fisted.

YES we are going to be reminded like three times that Flapjack is being secretive and hiding things from Hunter.

NO we are never going to get a payoff for that because he gets shanked and dies first.

BUT!! BUT!! If you squint, its IMPLIED that Flapjack belonged to Evelyn and blah blah blah

You don't get to rub things in the audience face and then choose to be all subtle about it at the last minute. Pick one or the other.

Anyway....I think they could have written Thanks to Them as more of an intriguing and suspenseful horror mystery where they spend forty minutes gathering clues and everything finally clicks together at the very end. That's not what we got.

We got a very weak attempt on the Hexsquad's part to be little detectives, but like a minute of screen time was devoted to them dicking around in a library, a costume shop, and a zoo.

I don't think we can blame the shortening for this.

[cutecherrygirl]

Hyunjin x Felix : Naughty thoughts

Felix has always had a crush on Hyunjin. Now his crush is taken to the next level when he starts to imagine Hyunjins hands on him.

This is just for fun

Warnings: smut

Felix had been crushing on Hyunjin for forever now. Maybe not just a crush, though he would never admit that out loud.   

Stray kids were starting to gain popularity, and quickly. Which was great, but that also meant a lot of work. They were quite literally busy all the time. Which also meant a lot of stress. And sometimes you just must find Un conventual ways to deal with that stress. For Felix that meant a lot of jerking off. He had first read somewhere that it reduces stress and thought he could really use that. But sometimes he would imagine that it wasn’t his hand. He had never thought of anyone specific. 

He thought that it would be too creepy. Just tried to imagine another hand running down his body. Touching him just the right way. Just like he wanted. Though at some point, when he started to become too bored of the nobody, and his crush on Hyunjin became a little more than that. He would sometimes imagine it was Hyunjins hands. Those long elegant fingers of his, running up and down his body. Touching him. Pleasuring him. It made it even harder since they shared a room. 

He was just always there. Looking really good. And Felix couldn’t get him out of his head. He didn’t think that was bad. The fact that Hyunjin was occupying his mind 24 hours a day. 

  Felix was sitting starring out in nothing when Hyunjin called his name. Oh, what he would do to make him call his name like that all the time. Unfortunately, it wasn’t for the reason Felix would like. They had been recording all day, preparing for their new comeback. It was Felix´s turn to record again.   

“Felix?”  

“Right. Yeah. I'm sorry” Felix entered the recording booth a little embarrassed. His cheeks shining a light pink. He had been imagining what it would be like if Hyunjin was touching him the way he wanted so badly. His long fingers gliding so slightly over his abdominal area going downwards. With his head slightly clouded with naughty thoughts, he started rapping.   

The recording went perfect, and they finished early which meant they had the rest of the day to do whatever they so pleased. Felix decided to take a long warm shower, maybe even thinking about Hyunjin.   

When Felix stepped into the shower, water running down his naked body, it didn’t take him long to get back into his headspace imagining Hyunjins fingers all over him. His own hand going down from his neck to him shoulders to his stomach all the way down to his hardening member, imagining it as Hyunjins. He began to jerk himself off. Whimpering and biting his lip to not make too much noise.  

Felix took his time in the shower. When he got out of the shower and entered their shared room Hyunjin was sitting on his bed, seemingly waiting for Felix to return from the shower.   

“Hey... everything okay?”  

“Yeah just... come over here for a second” Hyunjin sounded tense. Maybe a little annoyed.   

Felix walked over to Hyunjin standing in front of him. Suddenly Hyunjin spoke up again.   

“I could hear you; you know... the walls here are thin.” Hyunjin looked up at him. His eyes looking different. There was something in them Felix couldn’t quite put a finger on it.   

“What do you mean?” Felix was now starting to blush again. He knew what he meant, but he didn’t want to believe it. He had to hear him say it. Maybe he had gone a little overboard with the moaning and whimpering in the shower. He might also have mentioned Hyunjins name a couple times. God please don’t tell me he heard me; Felix was praying in his head trying to look as innocent as possible on the outside.   

“You know what I mean...I heard you” He was smirking now. Now Felix could tell what he was seeing in his eyes. Lust. Desire.   

“I still don’t know what you mean” Felix was almost scared now. But also extremely excited. Hyunjin didn’t seem mad at him. If he had heard him then that meant that he had heard him calling his name. Moaning and whimpering after his touch. And he didn’t look like he minded it. He maybe even wanted to hear it again.   

“Felix...” Hyunjin said it with such a deep commanding and assertive voice, Felix had to bite his lip to hold back a whimper. He loved when Hyunjin called his name. Felix closed his eyes momentarily.   

Hyunjin used his hands to pull Felix closer. “You like it when I touch you?” He said with a teasing voice. “Yes” Felix said with a little too much air, making it sound like a moan. “God, I love hearing that sound” Hyunjin said under his breath, making Felix almost miss it. And if it wasn’t because the only thing in his mind right now was Hyunjin he definitely would have. He was so focused on any movement or sound he made. “Did you imagine my hands on you... Like this” Hyunjin put his hands on Felix and ran them up and down slowly. “...Yes” Another moan. This time Hyunjin closed his eyes, enjoying the sounds he got out of Felix.   

Felix couldn’t believe what was happening. Hyunjin was finally touching him.   

“Would you like me to touch you in other places?” Hyunjin said in a seductive but hesitant voice.   

“Yes please” Felix said a little too quickly. A little too needy. 

Hyunjin complied by gripping his pants edge pulling him even closer. Lifting his shirt and leaving small kisses on his abdomen while starting to undo his pants.  

Felix was in heaven. He had never felt better. This was really happening. Hyunjin was kissing him. Touching him. This wasn’t something he was imagining.   

Felix stepped out of his pants, standing now only in his underwear and his shirt. Hyunjin quickly removed his shirt, leaving Felix almost naked. Felix now looked down at Hyunjin with so much desire and lust in his eyes. “Fuck me” Felix moaned again. “Definitely” Hyunjin answered.   

Hyunjin carefully threw Felix down on his bed. Skillfully making out with him while simultaneously removing his underwear. Felix was now completely naked and flushed all over. His face red and his body hot. Hyunjin kept kissing him going down his neck to his chest and then his stomach. He looked up at Felix before taking him into his mouth. Felix had never experienced anything like what Hyunjin was doing before. He didn’t know what to expect, but he knew Hyunjin was good. More than good. It felt absolutely amazing. Felix looked down for a second to find Hyunjin already looking up at him through his lust filled gaze.   

After Hyunjin was done he came back up and kissed Felix again.   

Like for pt.2 😜

 

[jpitha]

Scientific Progress Goes Twang

"Why are we doing this again?" Del'rennian's tail flicked in worry.

"Because, if it works, it'll be really preem!" Rachel's voice was muffled under the machinery. Only her feet sticking out belied where she was in the room.

"Rach, that does not inspire the confidence you might think it does. I'm not a human, that doesn't work on me." Del's small hands were on her hips as she spoke with Rachel. Del'rennian grew up on a starbase that was equally populated with humans and K'laxi, so picking up their gestures and mannerisms was natural.

"Don't worry so much, Del. It's not like I'm modifying the main reactors. We'll be fine"

"No Rach, you're modifying one of the main batteries! You're messing with the weapons! I know how important weapons are to humans, you can't build anything without sticking a few exawatt lasers on it 'just in case.' I think your research telescopes have slug throwers on them even!"

Rachel slides out from under the weapons machinery. She's on a little board with wheels on it. Her face is smudged with... something. Del'rennian was pretty sure that human laser batteries didn't have oil, but maybe they did. "Del, this is the secondary battery, not the primary! I'm not an idiot."

Del's ears flicked. "That has not been determined with 100% certainty yet." Rach could hear the smile in her voice. She looked around the room. They were deep inside the battery, and were all alone. The lasers required only minimal maintenance and service after they were used. People would come once in a while to make sure everything was working, adjusting and collimating as necessary, but it's not like it needed a full time crew.

"Del'rennian, Rachel has explained to me what she is attempting, and I have given her provisional permission to install her modifications. Once we determine that nothing bad will happen, she will be allowed to test."

Del's ears rotated around, instinctively focusing on the source of the sound. Growing up on stations and starbases, Del knew that the AIs that humans put in charge of them were listening all the time, but she also knew that they mostly would wait for someone to query them before replying. It was a little unnerving when one decided to just jump in to a conversation. The AI that ran Reasonable Request was known to want to be a part of conversations and had a habit of butting in, but it was still odd. "You're telling me you're in on this nonsense, Request?"

"Yes Del'rennian. I think that Rachel's work could offer significant benefits to me in defense, as well as humanity as a whole. Ever since the convergence, we've had to increase our defences.

Del had to admit, Request had a point. Ever since the usurper Emperors Nick and Eastern did their little stunt to try and defeat Empress Raaden, things in human controlled space were much more... active than in decades previous. The influx of the Gren seemed to worry the K'laxi administrators more than she thought really was warranted, but they probably knew something she didn't.

Del sighed. She wasn't going to get anywhere with these two. A human designed AI was entirely too human to not go along with something that "seemed cool" when a human came up with the idea. "Fine. If you're okay with this Request, let's finish the install."

Two hours later, they were done. Del'rennian had to admit, it was more interesting that she thought it would be. She had never been that deep inside a laser battery, and it was - at the same time - much simpler and much more complicated than she expected. The actual laser part was incredibly simple. It was the power delivery that was complex. Rach's additions were made to assist with that.

As they put their tools away, Rach explained. "We've had wormhole generators for generations now and nobody has really done much with them. When the Others came over with their Flip drives, we were able to... er... borrow one and discover that while they concept was the same, the actual implementation was completely different! Theirs was more efficient, but ours was more accurate. Don't even get me started on the FlashWarp drives, I still have no idea how they work, and we've been warned against tinkering with them."

Without waiting to see what Del was going to say, she continued. "Anyway, it got me thinking. What if we used a wormhole generator to... boost the power delivery of the laser batteries! We could use a microscopic wormhole instead of superconductors and we'd be able to get a massive increase in power delivery in a much smaller package! With the generator that we installed, I should be able to increase the output of the laser by 3 or 4 times while making it smaller!"

Del'rennian's tail flicked. "Will it work?"

Rachel nodded. "Probably."

Request added. "Most likely."

Del crossed her hands over her ample chest. "So, when are we going to test it?"

Rachel looked around. "I don't see why we can't do it now. Request, what do you think?"

"I will query the commander."

They continued putting tools away for another three or four minutes when Request came back "The commander has approved a single firing of the secondary battery for testing purposes on my recommendation. She thinks it's 'a little strange' but I assured her that it was a routine test."

Del's fur bristles "Wait, you didn't ask the commander first?"

Rachel shrugs. "I asked Request. It's their body. I figured this was close to the same thing."

"But, you're messing with the weapons systems! What if the Gren attack?"

"We have the primary battery. Del, it'll be fine. Everything will work great. Request, please power up the battery for the test."

"Yes, Rachel. Powering up Secondary Battery."

While they watched, the laser battery powered on and warmed. Del felt rather than heard the emitter fold out of is storage blister on the side of the station. While she stood there, she heard a rising whine of capacitors charging and her fur began to stick out on it's own.

Wormhole generators are interesting things. They effectively punch a hole in space-time and allow things to pass between the two points instantaneously while the wormhole is open. For the majority of time that humans have used them, they have been used for spacecraft. Del couldn't remember a time when one was used in an atmosphere, or at least in a place that someone could hear them.

She had no idea that they made a noise.

When Reasonable Request fired the laser, the wormhole generator activated, punching a tiny hole in spacetime between the reactor and the laser. There was a noise that Del could only describe as a... twang.

Del'rennian and Rachel came to on the floor. Sirens were loud in her sensitive ears. As she sat up, her head pounded in protest. Rachel, who was closer to the laser, fared worse. Most of the hair on her head had flashed off, and she was unconscious on the floor.

"Request! Rachel is hurt!"

"Yes Del'rennian, I have already alerted the medical team. Quick Alert teams are on their way now, they'll be here in a few seconds. Are you hurt?"

"I don't know... I don't think so. My head hurts pretty badly though. Ugh, what happened."

"It appears that the secondary laser battery... linked away."

Del's eyes focused beyond Rachel. In the smoke and sparks of the room, she could see bare wires sticking out of the walls, mounting brackets sheared so cleanly as to shine like mirrors and a large empty space where the laser battery used to be.

As she marveled at what happened the Quick Alert team came in and rushed over to Rachel. They applied a heal pack to her and the Nanites within got to work. After a few seconds she groaned and tried to roll over. "No no, don't move yet. Let the Nanites do their work" One of the Alert team said as they touched Rachel's shoulder.

Del turned back to the door and saw Commander Hollister standing over her. "Del'rennian, kindly tell me what is going on here? I get a report of a wormhole generation inside my station and now my secondary laser battery is gone. What. Did. You. Do. "

Del stood up and shakily saluted. "I apologize Commander Hollister, Rachel was trying to... improve the performance of the laser batteries by installing a miniature wormhole generator." She intended to explain more, but that was as far as she got before she collapsed.

[traintrainingmontage]

Percy's "Obscure Antecedents"

Ended up having to repost this because of mobile tumblr nonsense, but.

Fun thought: Percy having "obscure antecedents" is really interesting because someone could have just ASKED him when he was built. I feel like Sir Topham Hatt must have done so when he was purchased. In which case, why would that information be concealed from the Thin Clergyman? What motivates Percy (and supposedly Sir Topham) to be cagey about his past?

Well, here are some seemingly unrelated facts:

-Percy has been shown to have some fear of the supernatural, which seems to be pretty uncommon for engines. He also never really seems to grow out of it.

-Percy is pretty accident-prone, and it's not always his fault.

-Sodor feels pretty supernatural in various ways, and given its relation to the Isle of Man, there could very well be fey/fairies or ghosts or both.

My personal headcanon is that Percy was built around the early 1910's, perhaps a year or two before Thomas (which makes sense given that he'd had a rebuild before being purchased by the NWR and brought to Sodor in 1926 or so). More importantly, however, I imagine that he was finished on April 30th, between the hours of 3 and 4 AM. (For our purposes, we'll say April 30th, 1913.)

That's right: Percy was finished on the witching hour of Walpergeis Night. A decent chunk of his misfortune comes from the fact that he's, unfortunately for him, "fey-touched" or otherwise supernaturally connected.

Thus, he can instinctively sense the supernatural, as in it sends shivers through his frames, but he can't see them, and that almost makes it worse: he knows something's there, but he can't see it or otherwise sense it. Plus, when you're close to the supernatural, the supernatural often knows it. I think poor Percy just gets messed with by Things Barely Beyond His Perception sometimes and yeah, that can be pretty stressful. Perhaps Percy's rebuild(s) and oddly chimera-like composition was the result of previous owners quietly trying to break him of this connection/curse(?) by replacing various parts and hoping that enough replacement would dispel the effect. (It didn't, of course, but it was worth a try.)

Of course, Sir Topham, being a good Christian gentleman, would not let ANY of this information slip to the Thin Clergyman. Even if what Percy says is true (and the Sudrian in him says it just might be, even if the Christian in him doesn't want to believe it), nobody can know, especially a man of the cloth. For one, it might lead to unsavory rumors like "the railway is haunted" or "fairies are around." For two, the last thing they need is an exorcism or other such activities happening on their railway, as that would only fuel point 1. So, Sir Topham decides that this information is better left unrecorded, and he'll just pass it along to his son privately when the railway changes hands.

("But Te! Wouldn't the engines count as iron? Wouldn't fey traditionally be unable to do anything to them?" Strictly speaking, it's hard to say. However, even if we go with the most generous interpretation, that being "all iron/steel is bad for fey," I am inclined to believe that at the date and time that Percy was completed, the supernatural forces were strong enough that it didn't matter. Perhaps Percy should count himself lucky; if a human were born under similar circumstances, the supernatural would likely have a much greater grasp upon them. By virtue of being a creature of fire and iron, he inherently resists the worst of it.)

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

One thing I deeply love about Henry’s character than it’s not often acknowledged in the fandom is how he’s unapologetically gay, and his journey to become unapologetically gay.

We know Henry has been aware of his sexuality since young, than unlike Alex, it wasn’t something he didn’t acknowledge/repress. Henry (quoting Casey) “was born awake”, had no queer awakening. We know it was not something he was proud of when he was younger, he believed it was “the most unforgivable thing about me.”

And yet, he spends his time learning queer history and reading queer literature. He spends the book in the closet, believing he will never come out, that maybe he shouldn’t come out. And he finished the book out, running a shelter for lgbt teens. Do you guys understand that? This is someone who went from being locked away and not even looking for the key to someone who decides enough is enough, and is tired of faking. He becomes some kind of icon for queer teenagers, someone they can look up to, someone who understands. Henry and Pez start a shelter, and they became the queer elders they once needed in their life.

Henry is proud of being gay. Henry doesn’t want to hide, Henry is incredibly passionate about his history and those who came before him, Henry will remember them, they won’t be forgotten, not if he’s here. This is someone who grew up on a homophobic environment (not necessarily because of homophobic parents, but monarchy isn’t exactly known for it’s acceptance and diversity), who felt bad about being gay for so long, who was made believe that being in the closet was good, that he couldn’t come out, than he shouldn’t, that it would be best for everybody if nobody knew. That he should be hidden away, that no one could know, it was shameful, unnatural. And on top of it all, being a prince means responsibility and the weight of a country on your shoulders, it means cameras following you around, having a whole nation judging what you’re wearing today. The hiding was constant, his defenses were always up. Could he tell this person? Could he be sure they wouldn’t leak it to the press?

Henry never experienced community. How could he, when he spent all his life either hiding or being hidden away? Yet he wants to. He longs for it so much. He reads about queer history and wonders how it must have been like, to be at the front of a protest, and know those behind are with you, are like you, and for once, look into the eyes of a police officer and not feel afraid. How it must have been like to go to a parade, would his throat feel tight, would he choke back tears? Or would he smile, feeling at peace? No idea, and it’s not like he could ever discover, right? The only thing he had always longed for the most, the feeling of community, of acceptance, is the thing most out of his reach there is. The one thing he cannot buy, cannot get.

He believed himself “a problem that deserved to stay hidden, never quite trusted myself or what I wanted”. Not only for his sexuality, for himself as a person, but being gay also played a role, of course it did. He never trusted what he wanted, why would he, when what he wants is shameful and forbidden. Being gay was never an option. First, being gay was unfathomable, something that made him different, shameful. Something his classmates joked and laughed about, about those people. Then, being gay was a thing brave, normal people were. The ones at the head of the protests, the ones marrying each other, the ones writing books, those were not princes. Even after learning his history, and that people like him have always been there, he’s still not allowed. Perhaps he would be, if only he had been born in another family, but he hasn’t, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Being gay was something brave people are, people who stand in the front, who aren’t afraid to look at hate in the eye, those who run away to be themselves, not caring the difficulties they might face on the way, those who hold hands and link arms and rest heads on each other’s shoulders, who found a community, who found people like them, and who aren’t letting go, who are protecting each other. And Henry, Henry was a coward. Would he be able to do that, to return home with a bloody nose and a broken arm, and still find the courage to wake up the next morning and know to have been in the right? To not regret it? Would Henry have accepted the fight, stood in the front of a revolution, or would he have hidden away, and watched from the sidelines?

Henry is proven wrong about being a coward, he’s brave, so brave, but he doesn’t see it.

Through the book, Henry begins to hope, to want to come out. Begins trusting himself, believing in himself. He stands up for himself, he won’t be locked away anymore, he will find a key, or he will make it himself.

Henry goes from someone hidden away to someone proud, unapologetic, and free.

Henry is unapologetically gay, and it took some time to get there, but he is, and he’s now helping other people on their journey to pride.

[wind-becomes-lightning]

Bye to Wind and Lightning

TLDR: I AM WHINY AND IM GOING TO MOVE BLOGS TO A SMALLER ONE WHERE NOBODY KNOWS ME. EITHER @kikuneesama FOR GENERAL STUFF OR @konohamaru-sensei FOR ANIME STUFF.

Did you know that in 2020 when the pandemic held us all in a chokehold I decided to reread One Piece and Bleach, but consciously decided not to touch Naruto, as if I knew that I'd be sucked in real bad if I read it again? I was right. In 2021, I randomly thought "No, I will read it now" and then I did and boom I talked about nothing else for that summer and to channel my thoughts I made this blog right here separate from my main and not as a sideblog. I wanted to start completely over at a different place.

I had a terrible summer in 2021, constant mental breakdown. I don't want to bore you with the details because you don't care, but just being back doing the stuff I loved when I was 16 was such a blessing. I was truly happy in the first months here, especially with the discord servers and the oc talk and the friends I made. My boyfriend commented on it all the time, that I looked so very happy. And I was! But these things never stay.

The problem with me is, I want community, I want to talk headcanons and to bitch about characters I don't like and promote ships I love and cry and laugh and hug all of you for liking the same things as me and at the same time I'm terrified of rejection, of people hating me, of people spreading lies behind my back. I guess school does traumatise you in some way.

I can't survive in a cutthroat fandom like this one, I take things too personally too quickly. I don't understand that if you, a normal person with your own wishes, likes a thing I don't like or dislike a thing I like it doesn't mean you automatically hate me. You are just a different person and that is ok! It's not you. It's me. NO I'm not just saying that. It really is me.

Did you know that when I started out here I didn't tag my stuff? Especially not my OC stuff (and I still rarely tag it). The fear that someone might find it, hate on it, send me hate, make fun of it etc, sits so deep that I rather have my work not be seen at all. Yet, I need the attention to keep going because without the reblogs and likes and asks I feel like an utter failure.

My boyfriend says I am not good with the public eye on me and he is probably right. I envy those of you who can stand their ground and be self confident in their arguments. I envy those who don't care what others say, who can block and move on, who don't get a knot in their stomach when someone they had nice interactions with unfollows. I shouldn't care, but I do.

On my first tumblr blog I never looked at my followers, I never got asks either or was deep in fandom or anything, but I reblogged my stuff and posted my thoughts and was feeling good. I love tumblr, its the best social media out there for a reason. Yet, with this one, I got so self conscious about my followers, about what I can and can't say. If my presence would offend or not etc etc.

I was kinda looking forward to 1000 Followers because it is an insane number, but now at 997 I'm throwing in the towel. Isn't that like giving up before the finish line? Maybe, but I'm so tired and I want to be unknown again. I want to be nobody again. I want the naruto fandom to move on and forget I was ever here.

So I'm leaving! Sorry, I guess! At least for a good while. I might be back to finish the requests still pending on this account and then disappear again, but I don't know if I'll ever permanently come back. If you by any chance really, really really care about my presence, you can find me under @kikuneesama as a general spam blog with all sorts of things and under @konohamaru-sensei for anime-only stuff. This is also where my Naruto posting will be moving.

If you are a moot I will follow you from Kikuneesama again.

Thanks, I guess, for over two years of hanging out. I'm sorry I am such a lame loser.

One thing is for sure: Though I am moving to a blog named after Konohamaru, Kakashi will always be my love.

tschüss und auf wiedersehen, ~Nisi

PS: I'll q this a couple of times so I'm sorry if you have to see it a few times in the next few days. I swear I'll be gone after that.

[shinakazami1]

Rhys AI au snippet nr 2 - Personal project

Jack used to love fast travel years ago and while he still found them as if not more useful, his body seemed to disagree. For whatever reason, it was his muscles that kept getting smitten by it. It didn't matter that he felt them already on the planet - he still could run errands quite well, and there was nothing a bit of healing couldn't fix. Too bad that didn't work on the nausea that kept lingering for a day.

He gave a finger gun and a wink to the secretary - whoever this one was, and walked into his office.

"Welcome back, handsome."

"Hiya Rhysie! Missed me?"

"Always, it's not like you carry me in your echo watch everywhere."

Jack bounced from one leg to the other, and then with a last swirl sat in his throne, to turn on the computer.

"Jack, you will have a meeting in two hou-"

"I know I know, cupcake, don't remind me. Dahl just wants to lose some men and piss me off. They are really taking that l in the name seriously."

"Because they're losers."

"Precisely! But there I got my morning coffee by lessening the bandit... number..."

"Hm? Is something wrong?"

Jack's brows furrowed.  As per usual, he first checked his echo device, to see if anyone tried to spy on him. He never thought it was likely for bandits to figure out how to multitask, and since they were all busy dying, they certainly wouldn't even think about doing something like that. It didn't mean, however, that someone else couldn't use that thinking and opportunity to their advantage.

Seeing the few gigabytes added to Rhys' files was not something he expected. He thought he encrypted and hid the guy's code well enough for nobody to even be able to tell he was even there but the number of gigabytes added from the past copy seemed just too suspicious.

"Rhysie, are you feeling any... Different?"

"Different in what way, sir?"

"Heavier."

After a moment of silence, Rhys sighed.

"I really don't think comments about weight are good for your image, sir. It can come as really-"

"No, as in yes, I know that but- I meant your files. Had anything happened to them? "

"Happened?"

"Yeah like, like uh, something was added. Your travel notes are never THAT heavy, even if they are boring."

"I try to get all the details out there and it's not my fault you need everything to be a dopamine rush experience. I like focusing on things that might be useful."

"That one Loader Bot corpse still hadn't come in handy, Rhysie."

"It has been as we updated their shields and weak spots."

"Yeah, it's pretty funny how their crotch was--wait, we are getting off the topic. And you're not panicking so, this means you know what the additional files are."

"You could always open them, sir."

"Yes, since I see it's your encriptions system but what is this supposed to be, kiddo? You working for someone else?"

"You know that's impossible. If I were to do that, I would just cease to exist. You made me this way."

Once the code breaker finished encrypting the files, Jack opened the folder and felt his brows furrow even further.

"Pictures."

"Yes."

"Of what."

"I... Would prefer for you not to open them. I'm going to count the sand grains on them when I'm bored."

"What's the password."

"Jack, you told me I can have my personal project."

"Personal doesn't mean secret. What is this, huh? Are you planning to sell these pictures somewhere? Maybe get some of my angles on Echo Net?"

"No... it's a stupid little project."

'And you would know that if you already opened it but you want to torment me', Rhys thought.  Yet, he decided Jack's blood pressure was already getting into grade 3  hypertension, so he wasn't going to make him angrier.

It was Jack's weird way to show trust but also, to assert dominance and Rhys never understood why humans wasted their energy on being a walking box for paradoxes.

"Sooooo... Cupcake, short and simple. What are these pictures."

"Of you. Sir."

Jack was really checking the boundaries of furrowing eyebrows.

"Rhysie, I was just joking about selling some pictures on Echo Net. Are you..."

"I do edit them, sir. Personal project."

For the first time since Jack Sat next to the desk, his facial muscles finally relaxed, letting the eyebrows rest. Something seemed to click in Jack's brain, letting him not feel in danger anymore.

"The new posters! My, you've been trying to get them out before my birthday to make me a present? Rhysie, you know I hate surprises! I despise them and I could in fact destroy you for one! You should remember it by now! Especially since I check the propaganda to seem most a-hole-like! "

"Yes, and you do a great job with it. A true antihero."

"A true anti-villain. Which is a hero."

"Of course, sir."

"Well then - show me the pictures, Rhys."

Rhys saw that the 'sweet' mode didn't lower Jack's pressure. He liked to shift in emotions so much to make people confused but Rhys was - well, rather embarrassed to say what the photos were actually about. He was happy to have at least had the project hidden for a few weeks, keeping the amount in control but for the past few weeks of Jack just killing bandits most of the time, he had enough time to spare on that.

He knew Jack would take a look somehow without him knowing one way or another. And with how little censor he had on himself, Rhys wasn't willing to risk getting back to the Nice Kid phase. Jack's poster acting was top notch - but the fake familiarity was a technique many fell for. Rhys fortunately couldn't.

But in the end, Jack got what he asked for, as usual.

"These... You've made my body, right sir? You remember that 3D model you've made?"

"Cupcake, I don't work, I commissioned someone to get your sweet ass there. Get to the point."

"You hadn't let me use it for a while now and I thought that I still like it. So, since it's in my programming, I... Just open the first picture, sir."

Jack didn't even let the mouse twitch for a moment. He wanted Rhys to open it, to commit to confessing to whatever bad thing he imagined but Rhys only found it stupid.

Unfortunately for him, though, the anxiety protocol, while a bit tamer than in the past, was still strong. And Rhys was really not looking forward to repeating the last time it got too high, especially since Jack made it this much better for this whole mission he has been on. And Rhys really didn't want to feel something so unbearable nearly all the time, again.

With the need to just get it over with, Rhys opened the newest file and waited for Jack's reaction.

There was a momentary spike in blood pressure but just a moment later, both it and the pulse lowered. The analysis of Jack's facial muscles made Rhys relax again, as the anger and frustration morphed into joy and laughter.

"Rhysie, I know I have been upgrading you with the generative processes but you still like the old photo manipulation ways but this, this is just hilarious! Are- oh my god all of them are like this?! How many edits have you made?"

At that moment, Rhys was very happy not to have a visible face, since he probably wouldn't be able to look at Jack for too long from the embarrassment he probably should feel.

"I... We have been going on these journeys together for a while now and I thought it would be...a nice thing. I have been browsing EchoNet and noticing that people like to take pictures like that. And I want to keep some memory of being on these trips with you."

The folder contained pictures of Jack, from different angles, mostly from the echo watch, and Rhys' body edited into such a level of precision, that it would be hard to tell they were edited at all.

"And the facial expressions..."

"I added them to the model, based on data I've gathered. It wasn't hard to edit the rig and get that to work."

"Wowie, Rhysie, but these..." Rhys let Jack gather his thoughts. "These need to be deleted."

"WHAT?"

"Yeah, nobody should know what you look like. Delete them, immediately."

"I...no! They are well encrypted, you have seen that! And without me, they can never open them. Nothing bad will happen, Jack. Nobody is going to try and steal me."

Jack was skimming through the pictures, seeing the model seem to look like it was holding the device to take the picture and ground himself more into the scene. Smiling, eating together, riding in cars and... just looking at a sunset together, backs facing the camera.

"I won't delete them, Jack. And I ask you not to delete them, either. I worked hard on these and I want to keep them. They will never go anywhere but just on the drive."

"Why would you want to keep a memory like that?"

Rhys felt it was a trap question with no good answer. Nothing he would have said would be able to exactly revert the process, but, he knew Jack wasn't exactly in patient moment for him to analyse each answer.

"I thought it would be nice to share these with you, to remind you I was there."

Rhys didn't expect Jack to leave the office without the echo watch. He rarely did that. If it was for the bathroom - even if he had one hidden in the office, or it was to cool down, it wasn't important.

If the pictures still stayed - they would stay there. And that was enough for Rhys.

Jack wanted him to develop a hobby and there it was.

Nothing bad could come out of it.

[thebottomfromhell]

We know the demons lost and in the context of courtship headcanon, what happened to their "marriage"? Like, who died first? The Upper Moons or their husbands? What are their last thoughts, especially for those left behind? Did that increase their hatred for hashiras/hunters in general? Were they just sad?! I hope you are well and don't overwhelm yourself, mainly because I saw that you updated a lot in the last few days, but every work of yours is a pleasure to read!

To be honest, I didn't want to add those details because depending on the reader's character it can change a lot. Like, a clumsy and reckless one could die because they lost track of time and got trapped under a shadow below the sun the same way a very capable one could die just because they had the bad luck of finding a Hashira when they were just chilling out.

I try to make PoV aproachable and and relatable, obviously keeping some traits that would benefit the relationship. Besides that, I like to let the reader project their idea.

Still, for it to be easy I can make a pointing of reader dying in or by canon events and what was more likely to happen. Demon male reader, of course. These ones stick to canon way too much, so you might end up disappointed.

Thank you pretty much, btw. I'm glad you enjoy what I write.

Warnings: Manga spoilers, Cannibalism, Character Death, Mentioned brutality, Reader's death, Angst.

Gyutaro:

You died before Gyutaro.

You were found by Uzui Tengen in the Enternaiment District Arc and beheaded at sight before you could react, just like Daki. Unlike her, you could not survive decapitation.

Gyutaro wasn't there, he was still inside Daki and isn't really aware of what it's happening at that state, so unless Daki calls him, he doesn't go out.

Uzui implied your death in the same statement he comfirmed he was great to Gyutaro after his speech of envy. Something in the line of "And no matter how many of you are, I will finish to kill all the demons here by daylight. As the most flamboyant Hashira, I will end my duty."

Gyutaro instantly knew, and it was the Ume situation all over again, so he went on rampage.

Uzui did die in this one, since Gyutaro started to tear him up even when he was down, even began eating him alive.

Watching this, Hinatsuru tried to help but also died.

Obanai decapitated Gyutaro from behind, comming up last second without the demon noticing as he was spreading Uzui's guts on the floor. Both Inosuke and Zenitsu still managed to defeat Daki.

Gyutaro started to curse everyone while dying, his last thought still being remembering his sister's name as he called her.

In between hell and heaven he hoped to find you in hell. He asked Ume before going with her in his back. "Do you think that Y/N will be there? Or thet he will still like me after I failed? Just a useless ugly freak?"

Ume comforts him instead of cry this time, projecting herself into the answer "Of course! Y/N is your husband and loves you! He will be mad if you ever think otherwise! I promise you he doesn't blame you for not being there! Nobody would!"

Gyokko:

You died before Gyokko.

Because he wanted to do art and would let his summounings do all the hard labor, he decided to bring you with him, to have a good time together between husbands in the Swordsmith Village Arc.

You got separated when you went to get more materials for his art, Kanroji Mitsuri found you first and decapitated you.

Because she and Gyokko never met, he didn't knew you died, so he even started conplaining of what was taking you so long when facing Muichiro.

Gyokko last thought about you were "You better be smart and scape before sunrise. At least you will remember me as the artist I am."

Hantengu Clones:

You died after the Clones.

Hantengu, Sekido and Aizetsu didn't want you there, and even if Urogi and Karaku did, the others convinced them that it was too dangerous since the village could be protected by a Hashira. There you were not taken to the Swordsman Village Arc.

When they began losing, your respective husband started to think desesperated that he wanted to see you again so badly. That is when Sekido forms Zohakuten.

Because they were being Zohakuten they didn't get to have any last thoughts about you.

Also, Zohakuten doesn't like you, no matter who you're husbands with. He is very protective towards the rest of Hantengu and you are glad he is barely formed because that kid is literally the personification of hatred. While he accepted that you are married, no matter what you do, he just doesn't like you.

You neither died with Muzan's death or got reckless with the slayers since you got used to having an Uppermoon protecting you.

Nakime:

You died after Nakime.

She kept you safe inside the castle, one of her main priorities was to make sure to keep you safe and for the Hashira to not find you in the Infinity Castle Arc.

While you found several slayers you had the territory you knew how it worked to your favor and used it to kill some and scape if things got hard.

Once she died the story got different, you knew she died the second the fortress no longer protected you.

Nakime last thoughts about you were "I'm sorry. And thank you. I wish I could tell him that."

You die at the hand of the slayers inside the castle, probaly by Murata's squad or Murata himself.

Akaza:

You died with Akaza.

He got scared for your safety, so he didn't take you to the Infinity Castle Arc. He was more worried for you than you were worried for him, which was funny and heartbreaking.

When Akaza discovers the origin of his constant fear of losing you, the second he gets back his memories, he was about to kill himself to be back with his beloved ones and repent.

Then Akaza remembers you are waiting for him. "Y/N! I can't go yet, Koyuki! I'm sorry, but my husbad-" she interrupt comforting him, telling him she is happy he found some happiness after everything. Koyuki also tells him she wants to meet you and that she'll wait for both of you.

He manages to scape the castle, the slayers and Muzan's control. He is threatened by your death, but fortunately Akaza finds you first.

You are scared, you feel him angry at both of you. "Akaza, what are you doing?!"

He doesn't get to explain anything, the second he puts his hands over you thinking "I love you so much, please don't die just yet!" both of you explode.

As a reward for his hard work, Kibutsuji Muzan kills you and Akaza at the same time.

Douma:

You died after Douma.

You had to cover his absence during the Infinity Castle Arc, so you stayed at his place while he was fighting even if he wanted you to go with him. You were confident he would come back just fine.

Douma still had attraction toward the canonical female characters, so he does confess his "love" towards Shinobu.

She still rejects him, and so he thinks about you, about the fact that you are waiting for him to go back.

"Well, what a pity. He will have to wait forever like an idiot! Shinobu-chan, you just made my consort an idiot!" He would say, but in the back of his mind he would think "I wish Y/N dies soon so we can be together."

You do die not lo long after, you desintegrate with Muzan's death and find Douma's head. "Oh, hi Y/N!"

Kokushibou:

You died after Kokushibou.

He wanted you out of the way, he didn't think you would be usefull in battle, so he left you back (oh,but he had no problems taking Kaigaku to the Infinity Castle Arc >:v)

This guy. Abandoned his wife. To chase. After. His. Brother.

This guy died out of shame and nothing about you convinced him to come back.

At least he had thoughts of you before leaving for good by his own will "Y/N.... you were good for me. Always so good. You deserve something better. Thank you for taking care of me."

You were still waiting for him when yo died, desintegrating after Muzan's death.

[magicalbats]

The new HSR patch has absolutely no business being this gut wrenchingly sad btw. 😭 I thought the last Penacony update was bad enough with Gallagher and Misha but somehow they’ve really cranked the suffering meter up another notch cnzmzxmxsn The tonal difference between this and Genshin is pretty interesting though, like I’m thinking about how much different the end result of Childe fighting the All-Devouring Narwhal could have been if it was that kind of story for example. There’s definitely good points to both and I do appreciate how visceral my reaction was but man … nobody is safe out here I guess. lol

In other news the last comm has been finished and sent off, so if they give me the go ahead to post it I should have it up sometime this evening. ♥️ And as for future plans I’ll be juggling my attention between a few different projects, including my Wise thoughts from a few weeks ago. Boy has me rubbing my tiny little fly hands together with devious intentions.

Also the account that usually posts what is in my opinion the best Kinktober prompts, because they don’t shy away from including the more controversial ones, ended up never putting one out for this year so I did some digging and found a different persons list that I could more or less vibe with. I think this one might be a bit more fujo centered since it doesn’t have femdom or anything else obviously fem leaning but I’m going to work with it. 😊 And since I’m now knee deep in Hoyoverse gacha hell I decided after a bit of flip flopping to include characters from all three games this time! So you’ll see Genshin, HSR and ZZZ make appearances this October!

I very strongly considered making my own list this time but I’d obviously make some extremely biased choices with specific characters in mind going into it, and I find it’s a lot more fun to take someone else’s prompts that includes stuff I may not have considered otherwise. It can make for some very interesting dynamics and scenarios imo. 😏

So anyway there’s my update for the month! lol I hope everyone is doing well and you’re all as excited about Kinktober as I am!

[silly-guy-123]

Mostly platonic but with a hint of romance if you squint

Anyway.

Badsansuary Day 4 - Compliments

Horror x Reader

(Also the rest of the Bad Sanses are here but they aren't the main focus)

“you look nice today,” Horror said.

The end.

JUST KIDDING!!!

It was surprisingly hot outside today, considering that it was winter. You weren't a fan of the heat when it went on for too long, but today you welcomed the change from freezing cold to somewhat warm.

You might even be able to go outside today without feeling like you're going to get frostbite.

But alas, you had nobody to spend the day with…

Actually. You did.

You almost forgot that you had friends, which was embarrassing.

Anyway, you got dressed in clothing appropriate for the weather. And you made sure to bring a jacket, just in case it got cold again.

One could never be too prepared.

Then you went outside, sending your friends a quick text that practically demanded they show up. But it was worded politely. You were so amazing at making things sound polite when you needed to.

Anyway. You had plans today.

A picnic!

You had been tracking the weather for several days in order to hopefully find a day warm enough for it.

You had prepared a bunch of snacks the day before.

So you were really hoping that your friends would show up.

You just had to wait.

Eventually your waiting payed off, because you could see the cracked skull of your best friend, Horror, along with your other skeleton friends, Dust, Killer, and Nightmare.

Yeah. All of your friends were skeletons. So what? They were better than everyone else. Even if they were a bunch of murderous hobos.

You had the picnic set up already. So there wasn't really a rush. You decided to have a bit of a conversation first.

“Can you believe how warm it is today?” You asked.

Nightmare just frowned. “Yes. I am, quite literally, seeing it with my own eyes.

“No need to be such a buzzkill!” You teased playfully, turning to the rest of the group. You opened your mouth to speak, but Dust interrupted you.

“don’t even start. we came here for a picnic, not a one hour rambling session,” he said grumpily, but there was a smile on his face.

Killer put his elbow on Dust's shoulder, leaning on him. “Awww, come on, you know, I think listening to them talk about the types of plants and their differences is fun. Why don't they tell us about it, hmm?”

“noooo!!” Dust said, pretending to be mortally wounded.

Horror just chuckled, “thanks for this, muffin. we all needed a break. you're the best.”

You tried to laugh it off, not used to being complimented so highly. “Haha! Anyway, let's eat, I guess.”

And so you all sat down for a picnic, and began to eat. Once the meal was finished, everyone appeared to be content.

“you made that? wow, thought ya bought it from a store or somethin’, ‘s really good.” Horror grabbed a second helping.

There was a chorus of agreement from everyone else except Nightmare, who preferred to just watch.

“Thank you everyone,” You said, trying to hide your embarrassment. You just liked to cook. You didn't need to be complimented for it.

Nightmare looked at his watch. “Oh. It's nearly 6pm. The sun will be going down soon.” He looked at you. “Hate to cut this short, but we must be going now.”

You understood. You just nodded, and went to pick everything up. Horror decided to help you, and you both went inside to put everything away.

“i meant what i said, muffin,” Horror said, “you really are the best.”

You began to blush, and decided to kick him out.

“Okayyyyyy, time to stop the unnecessary praise for something so simple! Bye bye!!! Stay safe everyone!!”

You said this after shoving Horror out of the house (you weren't actually shoving him, he only left because you seemed insistant) and waving at everyone before they left.

What a good day.

____________________

Horror belongs to Sour Apple Studios,

Dust belongs to Ask Dusttale

Killer belongs to Rahafwabas (I hope I didn't spell that wrong 😭)

Nightmare belongs to Jokublog

[jessicas-pi]

okay nobody asked but I'm doing it anyway, more Medieval AU Incorrect Quotes

Rex: Ahsoka told me that brown is just navy orange, and I have never been more disappointed with something I agree with.

---

Ezra: What goes up but never comes down? Caleb: The amount of stress you're bringing this family.

---

Barriss: Stressed. Korkie: Depressed. Merrin: Possessed. Chopper: Obsessed. Caleb: Well-dressed. Cal: Impressed. Ahsoka: Chicken breast. Everyone: ...What? Ahsoka: I just wanted to join in.

---

Ahsoka: We have a problem. Rex: No, YOU have a problem. I have a princess who keeps making them.

---

Barriss: You know, not every problem can be solved with a sword. Ahsoka: That's why I carry two swords.

---

Omega: I love you both, you're the best thing that's happened to me. Cal: We're the best thing that's ever happened to you? Omega: Yes! Merrin: I am starting to feel sorry for you.

---

Sabine: I think I might be in love with someone, but I’m worried about telling you who it is, because you’re not going to like it. Ursa: Just rip the bandage off. Sabine: It’s Ezra. Ursa: Put the bandage back on.

---

Ahsoka: You can de-escalate any situation by simply saying, 'Are we about to kiss?' Ahsoka: Doesn't work when your bodyguard catches you sneaking out your window tho :/

---

Ketsu: You seem familiar, have I threatened you before?

---

Ahsoka: I really like this whole ‘good guy, bad guy’ thing you guys have going on. Skira: It’s not an act, it’s just that I’m mean and Adenn isn’t.

---

Makheta: Rex is playing hard to get. Makheta: Little does he know, I'm a master at playing hard to get rid of.

---

Barriss: This is a mistake Ahsoka, enthusiastically: A mistake we're going to laugh about one day! Barriss: But not today Ahsoka, still enthusiastic: Oh, no. Today's going to be a mess

---

Cal: Goodnight moon. Cal: Goodnight tree. Cal: Goodnight ghosts only I can see.

---

Korkie: Can you please be serious, for five minutes? Ai-kel: My record is four but I think I can do it.

---

Caleb: So how was your day, kids? Ezra: We almost got surprise adopted! Caleb: What? Sabine: We almost got kidnapped. Caleb: Oh, okay. Caleb: WAIT WHAT?!

---

Ahsoka: My crush isn’t picking up on my hints. Rex: What hints have you given them? Ahsoka: Well, I think about him a lot. Ahsoka: And sometimes I even think about talking to him.

---

Merrin: When someone points at your black clothes and asks whose funeral it is, having a look around the room and saying 'I have not decided yet' is typically a good response.

---

Plo Koon: How many children do you have? Shaak Ti: Biologically, emotionally, or legally? Plo Koon: Fair question.

---

*At 3AM* Makheta: Why do we have different blood groups? Ahsoka: So mosquitoes can enjoy different flavors.

---

Caleb: Come on, I wasn’t that drunk last night. Zeb: You were flirting with Hera. Caleb: So what? She's my wife. Zeb: You asked her if she was single. Caleb: Zeb: And then you cried when she said she wasn't.

---

Omega: I’m going to defeat you with the power of friendship! ... And this knife I found.

---

Ezra: In my defense, I was left unsupervised. Hera: Wasn't Sabine with you? Sabine: In my defense, I was also left unsupervised.

---

Rex: Nothing in life is free. Makheta: Love is free. Korkie: Knowledge is free. Ahsoka: Friendship is free. Ai-kel: Everything's free if you don't pay for it. Everyone: ... Rex: That's illegal- Ahsoka: No, let him finish!

---

Ai-kel: When I first met you, I did not like you. Lux: I'm aware of that. Ai-kel: But then you and I had some time together. Lux: Uh-huh? Ai-kel: It did not get better.

---

Ahsoka: Am I in trouble? Rex: Take a guess. Ahsoka: No? Rex: Take another guess.