#it took me a long time to write this

[fencesandfrogs]

therapy today was...weird.

we talked a bit about my progress with mom.

and then we talked about emdr, and the work i was doing with my anger. i'm trying to forgive myself for some of the ways i lashed out at myself. i'm struggling: i feel like i'm trying to work myself and work with everything. but hey, who says progress has to be in one direction at a time?

we also talked about last night.

i think i'm pretty self-aware. i can intellectually approach a lot of things.

the part who was out last night has a very specific understanding of things, one that's hard to argue with because it sounds reasonable. yes, things are complicated. yes, black and white thinking isn't going to help us.

but they only have a few memories. they don't have a good, whole understanding of what happened. they want to find a middle ground between unequal sides.

i can't get my head around it.

[inkskinned]

you have to be sexy but you have to be sexy in a way that's kind of bloody. you learn this early because you are wearing a ruffled skirt and the snow around your ankles kicks little sand particles against your calves. baby's first catcall. welcome to sexiness! welcome to the eyesore of your own body!

you have to be sexy like high heels. like sculpted eyebrows. like lean stomach and highly treated hair. you have to be sexy like youth is sexy, which means you have to be sexy like boxtox and plastic. a 30 year old can be sexy but she's not going to be bloody, and they like the bloodiness of it. a 30 year old is sexy when she is a whiskey glass and a wooden desk.

but you need to be sexy like an open mouth. you need to be sexy like a bitten apple. like plucked skin and white-knuckling the waxing kit.

so sex is a performance, not an enjoyment. for a while, you just assumed everyone else was also in on the joke - nobody actually likes sex that much, right? like, some men probably do, but why would you? it is like a gender - your gender is sexy. your gender is the performance of sex. you are thigh highs and garter belts. which, to be fair, do make you feel sexy.

part of what does make sex good is that you can tell that other people want you, which means the performance of sexiness is both bloody and wanted, which is good, which means you are winning at having a body. being wanted is the prize. being wanted is the thing you are searching for, not hope. you think you are looking for a soft grave in easy loam, but that is bloody but not sexy. to be sexy you must be bloody like a red open sign. bloody like a handprint. this will make you wanted.

any wanted or unwanted body is subject to supply and demand, which is to say that the more demand, the better you are valued. you must be highly demanded to be valued. this is stated in matter-of-fact by some men. sometimes it is a priest that says it, and sometimes it is a podcaster, and sometimes it is the 45th president of the united states of america.

(if you do not have any experience with being told your value, i want you to grab the nearest bird to you and i want you to crush it into a thin paste in your hand. spit into the center, and then hold your fingers closed tight around it for days and days, long after the rot has set in. feel bones itch inside of your fist. this is only a fraction of what it actually feels like, but it will suffice for a moment.)

good sex feels like you have earned their desperation. you have earned your own value. for a while you operated under the understanding that everyone knew about the power structure, even him. that their desire to take you - the violence of it - means that you must desire to be caught. little prince, guardian fox - you would rather have cut your own arm off. you liked the secret, cunning little voice you keep tucked into a box. you think you are fucking me. i am not even here right now. you are fucking what i conned you into perceiving. this is a painting, not a person. dominion over the body before all things.

so you bend your body like a wheat shaft and learn the steps so perfectly that it almost seems graceful. (if you do not have experience faking your own connection to your body and sexuality, cut each of your articles of clothing just a little bit incorrectly. pour fishbones into each of your meals. this way, you will experience the average noon on a tuesday.)

you have to be sexy like light spilled over a desk, but not desperate. not a noose. you can't be sexy like an electric guitar, you are the acoustic. you have to be on top of the bull but you can't have control over the animal.

okay, okay. the little rabbit of your heart went to sleep so long ago that winter has ravaged your concept of the human soul. there's something very-bad inside you, something that has taken over, a little fetid and rabid animal, angry and hurting and willing to bite first.

oh but even that's a pain that's sexy. open your mouth. be careful not to let the canines show.

[ohbo-ohno]

merry christmas @luminousbeings-crudematter, here's the ghoap x reader purge au! (a week and a half after you posted about it... im so sorry)

5.7k, mind the tags <3

cw: ROUGH NONCONSENUAL SEX in all caps, pwp, under-prepared/painful anal sex, some pretty intense fear stuff, people covered in blood and referenced violence (it's a purge au lol)

Your hands tremble where they’re tucked close to your chest, blood sticky and thick between each finger. You feel coated in it, like someone has taken a brush and gone over every inch of your skin, painted you in red.

It’s in your mouth. You can feel the warmth of it on your tongue, the taste of iron sickening. You tell yourself that maybe you bit your tongue, that it’s not really your ex Phil’s blood coating your teeth.

Your thin pajamas are hardly any protection against the chill of the night air, less so with how soaked they are. The stench of piss is heavy in the air, a mixture of yours and his, but you don’t have time to go back inside and change.

You’re running on pure instinct, an animal urge deep in your mind insisting you run. You’d always thought you’d have more of a flight instinct than fight. Despite how you feel now, how your legs itch to carry you as far away as possible, the cooling corpse left behind tells you the truth. 

You stumble into the wall, a wave of nausea knocking you off balance. There’s a trail of red left behind as you use one hand to balance yourself, the other held protectively over your heart. 

Your security system - cheap, but usually enough to let you sleep through the Purge - is completely destroyed. There’s no chance of it protecting you, and the bust in windows will let anyone on the streets see your vulnerability. You’ll never feel safe there, and you can’t shake the need to run.

There’s no chance of any of your neighbors helping you. There’s some neighborly camaraderie between your floor-mates, but that all disappears on Purge night. It’s every man for himself, every year, without fail. You know that. You even think the same as them, pretend no one else exists when that siren goes off every year. 

But now, shaking and terrified, you wish you could knock on a door and see it open. Hear the security system disengage and see a familiar face, beg for help and thank them on your knees.

It’s a nice fantasy. Reality is less kind, seeing you shake with a dawning chill as you manage to shoulder open the door to the stairwell, cringing when it slams behind you.

The cold cement is rough on your feet, and a distant part of yourself worries about slipping - your feet are slick with blood, and you can hear yourself leaving a trail of footsteps. You don’t try to slow down, holding tight to the metal railing and shuffling down the stairs.

You’re halfway down the first of four flights when the door on the next floor opens, a large figure stepping into the stairwell. Your stumble to a stop before you even register that you’re not alone anymore, and you’re backpedaling before you even fully realize.

He’s big, his face covered in a red skull mask. From your vantage point you can see his hair is shaved into a mohawk, and he’s shirtless with only a pair of gray sweatpants on.

He’s drenched in blood. Even more than you, and you feel like you’re drowning in it. If you’re painted in blood, someone took a bucket and dumped it on this man. You can hardly see any unmarked skin, and you wonder for a split-second if the skull was once white.

There’s an audible grin in his voice when he calls up to you. “Look’it you, bonnie thing. You tryin’ to run?” He steps to the side, leaving a wide open space for you to pass him to the next staircase. You’re frozen where you’re leant against the railing, hardly able to breathe. “C’mon, give it a shot.” 

You listen, scrabbling further back and all but throwing yourself up the stairs on all fours. You’re only the need to get away, an innate fear that tells you to get as far from the blood-soaked man as quickly as possible. You swear you hear him laugh as you launch yourself up the next flight, panting already.

There’s no safety found in going up though, as hardly two flights later you’re tugged to a stop by your instincts alone.

Standing above you, hardly six feet away and blocking the door he must’ve just come from, is another giant. This one fully clothed and with a white skull mask, somehow bigger and more intimidating than the man you can hear coming up the stairs behind you. You can’t see even an inch of skin, black gloves on his hands and mean black combat boots reaching nearly his knees.

There’s a moment, before the chase ends, where you contemplate jumping over the railing. There’s no going up, there’s no going back, and you can’t even begin to imagine what these two men want with you. The only thing that keeps you from throwing yourself over is the fear that you wouldn’t die on impact, that you’d be left injured and even more vulnerable to these men.

You’re not sure you could’ve tried that plan had you even wanted to, because the moment it forms fully in your mind a pair of thick arms wraps around you, and a heavy weight forces you to the ground.

You cry out at the sudden shove, palms scraped raw against the cement. The man behind you covers your body completely - his knees bracket yours, his hands rest on either side of your head, and there’s no part of the back of you that isn’t cloaked in him.

He doesn’t say anything as he ruts against you, the blood from his chest soaking through your tank top and making you cringe further away. You can’t stop the quiet stream of whimpers as you try to shrink into the stairs, try to get away from the beast behind you. He doesn’t care, only drops more of his weight onto you and pantomines fucking you.

You can feel the outline of his cock through his pants, as thin as the clothes both of you are wearing are. If you weren’t wearing your shorts, if he tugged the waistband of his pants down, he’d be inside of you.

The thought makes you tear up, makes you want to slam your head back and try to knee him in the balls, makes you want to fight.

But all your fight is gone. It died with Phil and your security system, and you’re left only with a weight in your bones that makes you wish you could sink through the floor. 

The hard plastic of the skull mask presses to the sensitive skin of your cheek, biting into the fat there. You can see the gleam of bright blue eyes in the sockets, the creases at the edges that tell you he’s smiling.

“You gonna fuck her here for the first time?” The white skull asks, voice deep enough that you hardly register the words. Your eyes are jerked to his form and it makes you shiver to see him sitting on the top of the staircase you’re pinned to, legs spread wide as he stares down at you with a cigarette between lips exposed by the tilted mask. You feel like a sacrifice, thrown to the stairs of a temple for a god.

“Can I?” The man over your shoulder pants, accent roughened from his own movements. You can’t tell if the wetness between your thighs is piss, blood, or an even worse option. You bite your tongue to hold back a whine, wince at the burst of iron in your mouth.

The man above you tilts his head, smoking blown into the air. “You fuck her here, you won’t get to go again on the roof. Don’t need you gettin’ spoiled.”

Your nails dig into the concrete, folding beneath the pressure as you shake beneath the red skulled man. He whines over you, like a petulant kid being told no for the first time, but goes still against you. That alone has you blinking open damp eyelashes, watching him from the corner of your eyes.

“Alright, I’ll wait,” he pants, chin resting on your soldier. “Give ye some time to get ready, huh lass? It’ll be easier for ye then. Just think about what we’ll do to ye, how good it’ll feel to get properly fucked, yeah?”

You sob when he grinds one final time against you, your hips pushed into the harsh edge of the stairs. 

He’s dragging you up after that, hardly letting either of you stand fully before shoving you up the stairs. You can’t catch your balance and let out a small cry as you fall back to your knees, mouth twisting in pain at the unforgiving surface against your naked knees.

You flinch when a gloved hand grasps your chin, tugging up until you’re forced to look towards the white skull above you.

You’ve landed between his feet, a boot on either side of your body, and if you’d moved forward even another half foot, you’d have face planted into his lap. 

Your heart skips a beat when you realize you’re making eye contact with him. The dark brown of his pupils blends almost seamlessly with what must be black paint smeared around his eye sockets, and the only reason you even realize you’re locked in a staring contest is the way the light reflects off the whites of his eyes.

You don’t have time to try and move away from him on your own (or, more accurately, to throw yourself backwards and pray you didn’t break something falling down the stairs) before a pair of bare hands are shoving you up from beneath the armpits, making you almost squeal as you jerk in the direction you’re forced.

“Up, c’mon,” red skull grunts, hands flitting from one part of your exposed skin to the next as he herds you upstairs. “Need to get inside ye, kitty, fuckin’ walk.”

You sob as you stumble up the stairs, the top of your foot scraping painfully against the concrete. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see White stand to follow you two, but you’re nearly sent sprawling again when Red only shoves you all the more harshly.

“Pl-please,” you manage to gasp, shoulder roughly bouncing off the wall. A glance up tells you you’re two full flights away from the rooftop. “Please, I don’t know what you want, b-but…” You can hardly talk around the sobs floating in your throat, choking you. “Please, please don’t hurt me.”

Red groans as he tugs you nearly off balance, the sound echoing off the walls and full of what you can only describe as hunger.

“Fuck, haven’t even gotten ye naked yet ‘n yer already beggin. Knew ye’d be perfect for us.”

You can hardly see through the tears in your eyes, the rest of the trip up to the roof all gray with streaks of red and black. You can’t focus enough to try and get away again, can’t get enough of your panic under control to fucking think.

The red skull catches you when you almost go careening over the rails, one broad hand catching you by the chest and gripping.

He groans, you flinch. “Fuck, cannae wait to get my mouth on these.” He pinches with his whole hand, your breast going sharp with pain on every fingertip. You whine, flinching further against his chest and trying to shrink away.

“Keep movin’, Soap.”

“Aye,” Red - Soap - pants, and you can practically hear the saliva gathered in his mouth when he swallows. “C’mon, kitty, only a little further.”

The blood on your hands has dried by the time White is shouldering open the door to the roof, your hands itching and the red flaking away every time your fingers twitch. The night air is a cold shock, just jarring enough to tug some reason back into your brain.

Soap doesn’t stop his herding until you’re far enough from the door for his partner to block it with an old metal chair, the back tucked under the door handle. You tuck your hands beneath your arms, shoulders curled in in an attempt to preserve warmth.

You wouldn’t have expected the night to be so cold. Half of the street is burning - flames painting the sky, giving you the exact opposite impression of the biting chill you feel. There are dozens of people in the streets, carrying guns and axes and chainsaws and all sorts of other weapons you can’t see. You feel bile rise in your throat when you realize the dark pools reflecting flames in the street are blood, not water.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Soap grumbles, and you don’t have any time to think before his mouth is pressed forcefully against yours, tongue shoving at your lips.

Your eyes are wide open, unlike his, and you make a shocked sound high in your throat at the sight of his maskless face. You can’t really see what he looks like with the way he’s pressed against you, but it’s a shock nonetheless.

You keep your lips pressed tightly together, no matter how much his tongue prods and tries to force its way into your mouth. You feel more than hear him laugh against you after a few long seconds, and one of his massive paws comes up to cradle your jaw pointer finger against your temple and thumb under your chin.

He stops trying to force himself between your lips after almost a minute, instead shifting to just… licking your lips. His tongue paints wide across your mouth, soaking you in his saliva. He’s almost scarily determined in the way he accosts you, his grip tight on your face as his other hand shifts to bruise your hip, covering what feels like the entire bottom-half of your face in his spit. You can’t help but grimace, trying to pull away from him, but he’s pressed too close.

“Can’t fuckin’ wait to be in ye,” he pants, breath warm and wet against your cheeks. “I know yer gonna squeeze me just right, bonnie, can tell already.”

“Please,” you say, voice weak. “Please, don’t, I don’t want you to-”

His groan is guttural. “Ye wanna know a secret, bonnie?” His voice is quiet between the two of you, bright blue eyes boring deep into yours when he pulls back. To your endless frustration, he’s handsome.

He leans close, whispering so low that you almost have to strain to hear hum. “That’s what makes you fun. Wouldnae be draggin’ you up here if ye wanted it, could get you any other night of the year for that. But it’s Purge night, lass… so you go ahead and fight as much as ye want, yeah? Just makes it more fun for me.”

You can’t help but sob at that, fat tears streaming down your face as he maneuvers you. You feel disconnected from your body as he forces you down to the ground, your soft belly left exposed when he pushes up your tank-top to cup one of your breasts, a whimper crawling out of your throat at the way the gravel presses into you.

You feel his breathing grow heavier as his hands move down to your shorts, shoving them off your hips and leaving them loose around your calves, completely disregarding your pitiful attempts at crawling away.

“Poor thing, been stuck in these the whole time? They fuckin’ reek, bonnie, no offense. That his piss or yours?”

You shake your head against the ground, face twisted up in acute humiliation. For some stupid reason you don’t want to even begin exploring, you find it necessary to whisper, “H-his.”

Soap hums, and you curse yourself inwardly when the humiliation is slightly alleviated.

“Get ‘em off her,” the white mask says, and you can’t help but jump at the sound of his voice. He’s sat on a large box only a few feet away, leaning back and relaxing, looking for all the world like he’s settled in for his favorite show. “Don’t want anythin’ of his touching her now.”

The sound Soap makes at that is animalistic, a snarl coming from deep in his chest that makes you flinch as he all but tears the shorts from your body. You wince at the wet splat of them landing several feet away.

You force your forehead into the gravel when your knees are forced wide, a rough hand and another pair of knees spreading you.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no…” you can’t help but beg, voice trembling. “Please- god, please don’t-”

“Fuck,” he moans over your shoulder. “Yeah, keep goin’, lass.”

You sob at the feeling of warm skin against your bared behind, his thick length slotting itself smoothly between the slightly spread lips of your pussy. Your eyes squeeze shut and it takes all your willpower not to keep begging.

He slides himself back and forth against you for a few long breaths, using online the slight slickness from a mixture of piss and blood to get some friction. But to your immense horror, it only takes a few moments for the sensual movement against your clit to have your body preparing itself.

The slight wetness at your hole might be a betrayal, but it’s not nearly enough to ease the way when he pushes inside of you with no warning.

You nearly scream, a high sound of pure panic and pain when it feels like you’re being split in two. Somewhere off in the distance, you hear someone laugh. Right above you, Soap groans.

He’s buried himself to the hilt inside you before the pain has had any time at all to fade, and he’s fucking into you hardly a second after that.

Every thrust forces a grunt from your throat, the entire weight of him slammed into your back each time his balls smack against your clit. Your face is twisted up in a grimace, your whole body racked with pain that your assaulter couldn’t care less about.

“Fuck, kitty. Yer squeezin’ me so good, such a good girl, shit-! Knew you’d be ti-tight as a vice, fuck, but didn’t know you’d be squeezin’ me so tight I can hardly move.”

Your whine is plaintive, his moan is filled with pleasure.

“Yer gettin’ so wet for me, bonnie. Ye like this, huh? Bet you like it just as much as I do, gettin’ thrown around and takin’ advantage of. That it, kitty? Ye like being forced?”

You sob and shake your head against the ground, crying all the more when sharp pebbles dig into your cheeks.

“Naw, I think ye do. Why else’d you be- fuck, squeezin’ me like that?” 

“Cause- because-” you try, but you can’t get the breath in to get more than a single word out.

“Huh? Cause- cause-?” Soap mocks, his voice pitching up to mimic you as he plants himself deep inside you, grinding his hips against the meat of your ass. “C’mon, kitty, tell me why. Go on.”

“Cause I want you to stop!” You cry, balled up fist slamming into the gravel. You can’t help but whine ow when the sharp rocks poke into your skin, and Soap’s laugh shakes your entire body.

“Good,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear. “Squirm all ye want, lass. I love it when you fight.”

You can do nothing but go limp beneath him as he begins fucking you again, his pace somehow faster and even more relentless. It’s a small mercy that there’s no fight left in you, that you can’t give him any more pleasure. 

It certainly doesn’t stop him, though. Despite the fact that you’re doing your best impression of a dead fish, Soap pants and moans against your shoulder like you’re the single best thing he’s ever slept with. His cock is painfully hard inside of you, and his pace never once slows.

He’s loud when he finally comes, the sound of his orgasm clear enough that you know he’s thrown his head back to the sky. You can only whimper as he rolls his hips against you, working the last spurts of cum out of his cock and into your unwilling body. 

“Fuck,” he sighs in your ear, sounding far more satisfied than he has any right to. “Good girl, kitty. You were perfect.”

You sniffle beneath him when he slowly pulls out, both of you groaning at the sensation. He gives you an almost perfunctory pat on the ass, and stands to walk away. You manage to open your eyes and focus just in time to see him slide to the ground in front of his partner, leaning against the wall.

“Yer turn,” he sighs. “Warmed her up good for you, Lt.”

Despite the hatred boiling in your gut, you can do nothing but lay limp on the ground and watch as his partner stands, cracking his neck and moving towards your prone form. 

You want to run, you want to fight, but you can only watch the executioner come closer and wait for the metaphorical axe to fall.

He crouches by your head first, grasping your chin and pulling up until your torso tries to follow to alleviate the tension. He stares deep into your eyes for a long moment, and you find that it’s impossible to even tell where his pupils are with no real lighting. You feel like you’re truly looking into the empty eye sockets of a skull, no man and no mercy to be found.

“You’ll call me Ghost when I fuck you,” he rumbles, thumb stroking over the scrapes on your cheek. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply hauls you up by the shoulder and turns you onto your back. 

He’s rough with your limbs as he shoves your legs together and up, his forearm banding across the backs of both of your knees and holding them to your chest. You whimper and wiggles as best you can, but the bruising blow against your thigh is enough to have you gasping and stilling.

“Don’t fight,” he warns, and you feel his gloved fingers running up the crack of you. “You’re hurtin’ enough as it is, and I’m not gonna help. You wanna make it worse too?”

You shake your head, unsure if he can even see you through your legs. He doesn’t respond, and hums when he swipes two fingers through the liquid gathered between your lips.

You whine when those fingers move further down, a fresh panic creeping in when he presses around your back hole.

“You should be glad Soap fucked you so good,” Ghost drawls. “He gave you all the lube you’re gonna get.”

You feel like an animal when you whine again, unsure of how to even begin trying to speak. You yelp when a thick finger slides into your hole, completely disregarding any resistance and forcing its way in until it’s buried to the knuckle. Your cries go ignored.

“Quit squirmin’,” Ghost scolds, pulling his finger out to smack your ass before shoving two back in. “You’re fine.”

You’re not, you’re terrified and hurting and upset, but none of those things matter when Ghost only coaxes more of your slick and Soap’s spend to your unused whole so there’s less resistance. 

The only blessing you have is the fact that you can’t see more than the outline of Ghost’s figure with the way he’s got you positioned. You try your best to close your eyes and float into disassociation, and while you can’t fully manage it, the fact that you can’t see his face - his mask - helps you distance yourself from what’s happening.

The moment you realize this is of course the moment it stops being true. 

He seems to decide you’re ready after scissoring three fingers inside of you, hefting himself up so that he looms more fully over you. You can only whine as you feel the movements of him unbuckling his belt, feel the weight of him slap against your slightly spread cheeks.

Fresh tears fall past your lashes as you stare up into the fathomless darkness that are Ghost’s eyes. There’s nothing there, just a cold empty skull prepared to ruin you.

You don’t even have the energy to beg.

The stretch of him inside your ass is five times worse than Soap was. There’s no natural lubrication, and nowhere near enough synthetic lube either. Your hole feels like it’s on fire, the stretch white hot as he gives you no mercy.

You’re not even fully sure what you’re babbling as he slowly sinks to the root, only aware of the pain and fear and panic sitting heavy in your heart. You fear you’ll choke on your tears, head jerking back and forth.

He sighs when he bottoms out, heavy barrel chest forcing your knees past your shoulders. Your hips strain, just another pain from the endless abuse.

“There,” he grunts, patting your thigh when you go limp from it all. “Stay nice and still now, just need a place to dump my cum.”

Upsettingly enough, that hurts. The idea that you could mean nothing to this man is somehow worse than the thought of him having some other twisted feelings for you, your hormone-addled mind deeply insulted. 

His thrusts are long and slow, each one pulling nearly completely out before slamming back in. The sound of your skin slapping together is embarrassingly sexual, and a distant part of you is aware enough to pray that no one nearby had heard your screams and cries.

Ghost is near silent as he fucks you, the opposite of Soap. You can only hear the occasional grunt when you squeeze him because he’s inches away from your face - you can even feel the occasional gusts of breath when his hips start working a little faster. 

There’s nothing you can do but lay limply beneath him and take it, just a vehicle for his pleasure. You almost manage to float away, to pretend none of this is happening or has ever happened, when his free hand moves from your thigh to the top of your cunt.

You nearly squeal when he rubs your clit, the smooth leath gliding over your slick bud. Your eyes fly wide open, back arching as much as you can with three hundred pounds of man holding you down. The loud laugh from several feet away only makes you writhe more.

“Make her squirt, Lt!” Soap shouts, his voice carefree.

“Shut it, Johnny,” Ghost grunts, voice roughened with pleasure. You don’t even have time to focus on the fact that he’s just told you Johnny’s name, far too preoccupied with the tidal wave of pleasure rushing towards you.

You have no idea why it happens. You’re never quick to come - almost every single partner of yours has complained about you taking so long to get off, it’s been an Issue in several relationships. 

So it makes absolutely no sense that after hardly a minute of rough circles against your clit, you’re clenching down on the cock in your ass and moaning loudly as your orgasm overtakes you.

The natural clench of your body only makes the pain worse, a sharp spike of it running up your cunt and making your moan shift into more pained sounds. Ghost only moans in tandem above you, his thrusts becoming slightly less even as he lets your orgasm coax out his own.

You sob when you feel his cum paint your insides.

Unlike Johnny, Ghost doesn’t pull out after he comes. He lets your legs fall limp on either side of him, just barely managing to catch them for you before you slam your ankles to the ground. He leans his torso over yours, elbows resting on either side of your shoulders while you do nothing but wait beneath him.

He’s sweat off some of the makeup. This close, you can see hints of pale skin in the sockets of the mask. There’s nothing to read in his eyes, but that flash of skin tells you he’s still a man.

You swallow, trying to work moisture back into your dry mouth, and whisper, “Will… will you let me go now?”

You know it’s more likely he’ll kill you. It’s what you can only imagine happened to all those bodies in the streets, what you know happens to tens of thousands of women every year. 

So it’s not a surprise when he doesn’t answer you verbally, instead covering your mouth with his palm and pinching your nose shut with his fingers. 

Your eyes flutter shut after a moment, lungs tightening already, and all you can hope is that suffocation is a quick death.

———————————————————————

You wake, gasping, in a dark room. 

You’re lurching forward before you’re even fully aware that you’re awake, coughing loudly and gasping when it feels like your throat is bleeding.

“Oh, poor thing,” you hear a familiar accented voice coo, and a moment later there’s a warm hand patting your back. “Yer alright, deep breaths.”

You jerk back from Soap - Johnny - as soon as your coughing is under control, scrambling back on your palms and staring at him with wide eyes. He only grins at you, looking for all the world like any other normal man in his sweater and sweatpants.

He got changed at some point - these pants are clean. He’s not wearing his mask either, and you’re struck dumb by how non threatening he manages to look.

He also changed your clothes - or Ghost did, maybe. You try to cover your chest with one hand, but there’s no hiding the fact that you’re completely naked. 

Johnny only laughs at your attempted modesty. “Been starin’ at them for hours, lass. Ye’ve got nothin’ to hide.”

That’s… horrifying, and does absolutely nothing to calm you down.

It’s then that Ghost rises from a chair, stepping forward and making you aware of his presence. “Calm down, Johnny. We don’t want her panickin’ this early.”

Soap fully pouts, tilting his head at you before glancing up at his partner. “I haven’t even done anythin’, Ghost. Was just sayin’ hi, tha’s all.”

Ghost snorts, gripping Johnny’s mohawk and tugging back until the other man sprawls back on his ass. “You know how you are, pup. Give your kitty some space.”

Johnny listens, crossing one leg beneath him and bending the other close to his chest, looking casual as can be. Meanwhile your heartbeat only gets faster, and you wince when you happen to lean too far one direction and feel a throbbing reminder of what these men did to you.

Ghost steps forward again, crouching just out of arm's reach. You realize he’s not wearing the same skull mask as before, but a balaclava with a printed skull pattern instead. His eye sockets are unpainted, and you’re shocked by how such little things make him look so much more human. 

“You can calm down. Long as you behave, nothin’ much worse’ll happen to you.”

You find yourself almost comically not-comforted by that, and can do nothing more than stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Where…” Your voice cracks, so you swallow and start again. “Where am I?”

It’s Johnny who speaks up. “Our place. We finally brought ye home with us, kitty.”

The world feels like it’s slowed around you, and your eyes drag from one kidnapper to the other. You have to swallow again to work any moisture into your bone-dry mouth.

“Is the Purge over?”

The creases at the corner of Ghost’s eyes are painfully obvious with how pale his skin is, and you shudder at the thought of him smiling.

“Been over for… what, five hours now? Somethin’ like that.”

You can’t fight the tremble in your voice now. “Then… then you have to let me go.”

Ghost’s head tilts, the creases get deeper. “Do I?”

You nod with as much conviction as you can - which is almost none. “You can’t keep me here. You’re breaking the law.”

Ghost leans closer on the balls of feet and you lean further back, your spine pressing into the wall behind you. “Are we now? And who do you think will stop us, pet?”

“The- the police. Someone will report me missing, they’ll come looking.”

“Oh? And you think they’ll come here?”

You nod as best you can, and jump when Ghost laughs. It’s low and quiet, only a few beats, but it’s like gasoline thrown on the small fire of panic in your mind.

“You have no idea where you even are, and you think they’ll find you? I hate to break it to you doll, but you’ll be lucky if they look for you for a week. You have any idea how many people go missin’ after the Purge?”

Your breath is quickening. “So that’s it? You’re just going to… going to keep me here, forever? What are you even going to do?”

His laugh is sharper, meaner this time. “We’re gonna do a whole lot more of what we did last night, pet. Keep you as a little cocksleeve, a pretty thing tucked in the basement just for our entertainment. Ain’t that right, Johnny?”

You manage to tear your eyes away to look at Soap and see that he’s nearly salivating, having inched closer and closer and shifted so he’s knelt behind Ghost. There’s a feral spark in his eyes that has every hair on your body standing straight up.

“Yeah, tha’s right. Don’t worry, lass, we’ll make sure yer never lonely. Might even stay the night with you, cuddle up in the winter. Bet ye could keep our cocks nice and toasty in the cold, huh? Gonna let us use ye as a little heater?”

“A heater, a mattress, a fleshlight… your future’s lookin’ bright, sweetheart,” Ghost drawls, mockery dripping heavily from the cruel words.

Your eyes dart back and forth between the two men and their predatory stares, your heart racing against your ribcage.

It’s not a conscious choice for you to launch yourself towards them, reaching out and clawing your sharp nails down Soap’s face with a feral scream that tears your throat to shreds. 

Even as Ghost throws you off and forces you to the ground, you vow to fight these men to the end. You’ll kill them both if you have to, leave them dead and wander however many miles it is back to your apartment.

Ghost only laughs when you shout this in his face, and you scream as you lunge forward, just managing to catch his masked chin between your teeth and bite.

With your fight instinct back in full force, you’re ready to make their lives hell.

[missingn000]

hey all! i wrote a what-if character study & action fic for if king fought sanji instead of zoro during the raid on onigashima. i'd really love if you gave it a read! thanks so much!

link

playlist

happy reading!

[misc-obeyme]

Lesson 37 spoilers below - it's screenshot heavy again because OH BOY we had a lot going on this time too. I took almost 100 screenshots lol. But don't worry, I narrowed it down... uh but there are still a lot so I apologize for that.

I do believe I said in my last post that if they were going to go full Dante, they would bury Lucifer in ice.

I only said that because I WAS NOT EXPECTING THEM TO GO FULL DANTE.

Now listen, it's been a long time since I've read the Divine Comedy, so there may be a lot more references that I am missing. I can tell you that the four circles or sections or whatever that Simeon named for us are from Dante. That right there is straight from Dante's Inferno, along with their names and who they're supposed to punish. I don't really feel like any of this has much relevance except that they used it as a backdrop and to create reasons for us to lose most of the people who came to help us as we went.

And truly the lore was fascinating in general, but there are a couple of specific pieces about this that made me go EXCUSE YOU.

It's the Celestial Realm again, guys. Cocytus is part of their domain. And the last area is for those who betrayed "him" as they so eloquently put it lol. Both Mammon and Lucifer are considered traitors in this regard, but I kind of suspect that if the rest of the bros made it to that level, they would've had a similar experience.

Anyway, I was pissed. I was like Diavolo in the hard lesson.

Right, so let's talk Mephistopheles. I'm not familiar enough with the legend of Faust or its variations to know if the way they described his special power is based on that. However, I highly suspect it is at least somewhat inspired by it. Considering making a deal with the devil is what that story is all about.

But aside from all that - I LOVE HIM OH NO.

WHAT. This guy... all this time I thought he was really stuck up. And like I kinda get it, considering how he was supposed to be Diavolo's right hand man and everything. But he's straight up saying that he underestimated them. He seems to have no problem saying yeah, turns out I was wrong and you guys impressed me. So don't go around giving up now. AND he says they learned it from Lucifer? Like... he gets them. He understands them. And I was not expecting that at all. He keeps surprising me and I'm loving it.

Welcome to my life, Mephi.

It's pointless to resist.

I'm telling you, this is just how it always goes.

BUT OH! I'm not gonna lie, this made me feel something. All the brothers usually say such nice things to me, but this guy is basically like ARE YOU STUPID? And I love it?!?!? Augh I'm sorry I didn't give you a chance before, sir.

Okay, now let's talk Solomon being the hot old grandpa that he is. I SWEAR every time he shows up lately it's been making me more insane about him.

WE SUMMONED HIM. We needed him in Cocytus and he wasn't there, so we straight up SUMMONED HIM. We couldn't do it without Mammon giving us his power 'cause our magic is weak, but STILL!?!?

I think Simeon referred to it as teleporting, but really it was the same as summoning him. I think the words were even the summoning spell words.

If this was actually me we were talking about, I would start doing it ALL THE TIME. Consider yourself on call, old man.

And then we got this excellent exchange:

Not only am I always here for big bro Mammon getting protective, but Solomon bringing it right back was also great.

Okay, now let's talk about Raphael and Simeon.

Do you think we're dealing with Michael disguised as Raphael again? For some reason I don't think so, but... at this point, it's like how do you tell? I'm going to talk about it with the assumption that it's actually Raphael and not Michael.

Simeon during this part gave me chills. Because when Raphael showed up and spoke the punishment or whatever and Luke was about to protest, Simeon silenced him. Simeon wouldn't let Luke protest because he knew that wouldn't be good for our baby boy. Simeon was prepared to take the fall instead. And he wasn't about to just let things stand.

I can't accept it. I swear, Simeon's character is far more complex than anyone gives him credit for. He doesn't get anywhere near the amount of appreciation he deserves. I HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT IT.

Right, but back to Raphael.

Baby. He's crying. He was just delivering the ultimatum, the decision about the brothers' punishment, and he was crying. I was so surprised, it was so soft and sad and I wanted to hug him. And look at Simeon's frown. AND THEN

EVEN LUCIFER. This man is chained up in some ice and he still sees how Raphael is struggling and feels sorry for him. (Like maybe he's been there before himself...)

This is why I think it really is Raphael. Because this feels like such a significant revelation of his character, I think it'd be a disservice to him if we found out later it wasn't him at all. So I'm hoping it's still him.

Now. Let's talk about Diavolo. I'm pretty sure this was in the hard lesson, so be aware of that!

He is so pissed. I don't think I've ever seen Diavolo quite like this. Worried, sometimes serious, but angry? Like to the point where he thinks he might lose control? I don't think that's happened, has it?

AND BARB. His reaction is so interesting! At first he has this look of surprise, but then LOOK AT THAT SMILE. Here's Dia being like, I need you to stop me, but you can't tell me that smile on Barb's face belongs to anyone who's going to stop anyone. He looks like he's looking forward to it. I love him so much it's stupid. (Also I think Barbatos is just as much of a menace as Solomon is, he's just better at hiding it. Where do you think Sol gets it from??)

And of course the lesson ended with Lucifer BREAKING THROUGH HIS CHAINS. Ugh another cliffhanger.

In general, I really loved the brotherly affection that was running amok in this chapter. They were annoying each other and protecting each other and sacrificing for each other and it was all amazing. They banded together because they care so much about Lucifer, there's no way they would leave him to his fate.

And once again, the Celestial Realm is to blame. I think it makes sense that they're doing this. Before, they said that the seven brothers assuming positions of power in the Devildom meant that the power balance between the Devildom and the Celestial Realm was out of whack. That's why they wanted the brothers back. But the brothers wouldn't come back.

And while the Celestial Realm threatened war, they didn't do that, either.

Do you think perhaps the Celestial Realm collaborated with the House of Lords to get Lucifer trapped in Cocytus? The House of Lords controlled the train where everything went down. The Celestial Realm controls Cocytus. They probably knew that Lucifer's brothers would try to rescue him and counted on them getting trapped in the ice, too.

But perhaps they weren't expecting any interference from Mephisto or Simeon. They had to be expecting MC, I would think. Maybe they underestimated MC because they're human? And maybe they thought Diavolo would just accept it? (If so they are duuuuumb lol.)

Okay just a couple more screenshots because they made me laugh.

PLEASE. I love their dynamic SO MUCH.

Hmm. Is that a threat, Barb? 'Cause uh... you can casually threaten me with that slight smile any time I MEAN yeah, you tell 'em.

I cackled about what do you mean "ahaha" like I can't believe Levi actually said that out loud lol.

Cheer up, Belphie. Let Asmo live the otome dream, won't you?

Okay, okay, I'm done. Overall, I quite enjoyed this chapter, but I'm still sensing more drama, probably until the end of the season, honestly.

You think Nightbringer will make an appearance before it's over? It's almost like I forgot this whole new app was made to tell a story about him. He's just been mostly MIA. UNLESS someone else has been him in disguise all along...

Nope. No. I refuse to get into theorizing, this post is already too long.

[fictionadventurer]

There's something about reading really great writing that's so relaxing. You can just sit back and let the words wash over you, knowing that you can trust the writer.

[sukuna-dees-nuts]

rizzless sukuna pt 3

FINALLY!! i've finished it. it's much longer than i planned but what're you gonna do?? lmao happy late late valentines day everyone! have a sukufushi date

@nessieartss you wanted me to tag you so here i am tagging you!

part 1 | part 2

---

Sukuna hasn't been able to stop thinking about his date. 

Yes, it's only been about two hours since he and Megumi have set up their date, but that doesn't mean that Sukuna can't be excited. He's never had a date before (if that wasn’t obvious by the way he totally fucked up his pickup line). It’s a mystery why Megumi had even agreed.

After the initial excitement had worn off, Sukuna found himself wondering if Megumi only said yes out of pity, even if he had been amused by Sukuna's fuck-up. 

But as soon as the thoughts came, he pushed them away because since when does Sukuna think about the consequences of his actions? He should be thinking about what the hell they're gonna do for this date. 

Sukuna had half the mind to ask Maki what they should do, whether she had any suggestions about what Megumi might like, but then he remembered the “advice” she'd given him earlier and a scowl came to his face. Even if it had worked, he refused to send her a text. 

“Hey, Sukuna!” 

The older boy looks up at the sound of his name, seeing Yuuji making his way over with a grin on his face. He doesn't allow Sukuna to speak before he nudges his brother with an elbow. “We should go to that new Boba place! Gojo told me that the Mango flavor is amazing—”

“No—”

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Yuuji pulls away, looking affronted. “You don't wanna spend time with your favorite brother?” He gives Sukuna his best puppy eyes, sticking out his bottom lip for added effect. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes and pushes Yuuji's face away from him. “Well if you'd let me finish my damn sentence,” he grunts. “Not today, I have plans.”

Yuuji snorts. “Plans? Doing what? Throwing rocks at police cars?” 

“None of your business,” the older boy replies with a sniff, keeping his face impassive. Yuuji opens his mouth but Sukuna already knows what he's going to ask. “And no you cannot come with.”

“What? Why not?” He pouts once again. 

“Because.” That's all Sukuna says. He pulls out his phone and checks his messages. His heart does a stupid little flip when he sees Megumi's name on a notification, letting Sukuna know that he's reached the spot where they're supposed to meet up. Sukuna responds to let him know that he's on his way. 

Putting his phone back into his pocket, he reaches out and ruffles Yuuji's hair, earning an annoyed grunt from his brother. “See ya later.”

Sukuna turns on his heel and heads in the direction of where Megumi is waiting, missing the intrigued look on his brother's face. 

The closer he gets, the faster his heart starts to beat and Sukuna runs a hand through his hair. Briefly, he stops himself before he rounds the corner just dust himself off and shake out his hands as if it might get rid of the anxiety that he’s feeling. Once again, he pushes his hair back and takes a deep breath. 

Rounding the corner, the corner of his mouth lifts up when he sees Megumi waiting patiently, scrolling through his phone. He looks up at the sound of footsteps and he immediately pockets his phone when he sees that it’s Sukuna. A small smile comes to his face.

“Hey,” Sukuna greets.

Megumi replies with a “hey” of his own. 

Silence stretches out between them and if it were anyone else, Sukuna would be inclined to laugh at just how fucking awkward it is. He really didn’t think this through.

Megumi doesn’t seem to mind however and asks, “So, where are we going?”

“How about that new Boba place?” Sukuna suggests. 

“Sure. Better to go with you than be dragged along by Gojo. He was late to class this morning because he was getting a drink there.” Megumi shakes his head and Sukuna huffs. 

The two of them turn to begin walking in the direction of the Boba shop which Sukuna realizes that he has no idea where it is. Hopefully Megumi knows where they’re going. The older boy would hate to make himself look like an even bigger fool by getting them lost. 

As they walk, the two of them make small talk and Sukuna finds it easier to keep up a conversation with Megumi than anyone that isn’t Yuuji; he feels his anxiety melting away by the minute. There’s still something nagging at him in the back of his mind that Megumi is only humoring him, but Sukuna ignores it, as he does with most of his internal turmoils. 

When they arrive at the shop, Megumi and Sukuna reach for the door handle simultaneously, their fingers brushing. Both pull away instantly, eyes wide as they meet each other's gaze. There's a pink blush dusting over Megumi’s cheekbones and Sukuna's brain short circuits at how cute he looks. The thought alone makes Sukuna's ears burn and he clears his throat, forcing himself to look away. 

They both hesitate only to reach for the door at the same time, again, both retracting their hands before they can touch again. This time, Sukuna does chuckle at how ridiculous they're being, trying his best to ignore how fucking adorable Megumi is with his cheeks red (and ignore how his fingers are still tingling after he and Megumi barely touched). He grabs the door handle to yank it open much harder than necessary. 

He gestures for Megumi to enter first and Megumi nods, stepping around Sukuna quickly to enter the shop. Sukuna shakes his head at himself, pressing his hand to his chest, willing his heart to slow the fuck down. He's on a date, not running a fucking marathon! 

Stepping up next to Megumi, Sukuna looks over the menu, briefly considers asking Yuuji to recommend a flavor, but immediately brushes that thought aside. He would not hear the end of it considering he just turned his brother down to come here. Now Sukuna is on a date with his little brother's best friend at the shop that Yuuji wanted to come to.

Megumi and Sukuna step up to the counter, and as Megumi gives the person at the register his drink order, Sukuna is already pulling out his wallet and card before the other boy can even think about paying. The second the barista gives the total, Sukuna is tapping his card on the terminal screen. When he glances over, Megumi looks unimpressed. 

“Hey, I asked you out first,” Sukuna points out as they find a table to wait at. “It's common courtesy that I pay.”

“Then I suppose I'll have to pay for next time,” Megumi hums, a smirk playing on his lips. 

Sukuna feels his heart flutter in his chest and he internally scowls at himself for such a stupid reaction; what is he? Some little school girl? 

Grow up, Sukuna, he scoffs at himself mentally. 

He hates that the idea of a second date gets him so excited. 

“Bold of you to assume you'd wanna go out with me again,” Sukuna responds with a quirk of his lips. 

Megumi arches an eyebrow, leaning forward. He rests his arms on the table. “Why wouldn't I?” 

Sukuna drums his fingers on the table, holding Megumi’s gaze. “Well for starters, I'm an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Megumi nods. 

“I'm also Yuuji's older brother.”

Again, Megumi nods. “Correct.”

“Gojo doesn't like me. Or rather, I don't like him.”

Megumi snorts. “Gojo enjoys having you at the school. He just thinks you're fun to tease.”

Sukuna pauses momentarily. “He's a terrible influence on Yuuji,” he grumbles. 

This time, Megumi laughs, tucking his face into the collar of his school uniform. The sound makes Sukuna's chest grow warm and he wants to hear that sound again. Who knew such a pretty sounding laugh could come from Megumi Fushiguro?

“That is very true,” Megumi sighs once he's finished laughing. 

Sukuna gets to his feet when their names are called for their drinks, and he’s thankful for the out to give himself a moment to take in a deep breath, to regulate himself before going back to the table. He slides Megumi’s drink across the table and watches as the younger boy easily stabs his straw through the top of his drink and takes a sip. For a second, Sukuna is so transfixed on watching Megumi’s Adam’s apple bob that he doesn’t register the fact that he’s being spoken to. 

“Huh?”

Megumi huffs in amusement. “I was asking why you asked me on a date.”

“Oh,” Sukuna breathes. He blinks and rubs the back of his neck. With his free hand, he takes his straw and stabs it into his own drink so that he can take a sip, stalling for more time to try and give an answer that wouldn’t sound stupid. “I don’t know.”

Perfect. Great answer you fucking loser, Sukuna  tells himself. 

“I, uh, well—” He stutters over his words, making himself look like an even bigger fool. The biggest fool in the Goddamn world. He’s reminding himself of Yuuji at this exact moment. “I’ve been thinking about it and, uh, ah fuck.” Finally he gives up and leans back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face. 

“I just wanted to and Maki told me to just do it,” Sukuna says, his words muffled by his palms. By now, the tips of his ears are red and he’s sure that his face is the same. Dropping his hands, he continues staring at the ceiling before looking back at his date. 

An amused smirk spreads over Megumi’s mouth and he snorts. “You asked Maki for advice?”

Sukuna takes a sip from his drink as his other hand runs through his hair (he needs to break this habit sooner than later). He scowls, more at himself than at Megumi as he says, “Listen, it’s not my proudest moment, but I’ve never done this before—”

“What?” Megumi gasps dramatically (or as dramatically as Megumi can be), interrupting Sukuna. “Date Man has never had a date before?”

“No,” Sukuna grunts, “and why do you keep calling me Date Man?”

Megumi simply shrugs in response. 

“If I'm Date man, that means you’re Raisin Boy,” the older boy decides with a firm nod. This earns an amused snort from Megumi who doesn't disagree. 

They go back to sitting in silence again, sipping their drinks. Thankfully, the other boy speaks up first.

“Are you as big of a movie buff as your brother?” Megumi asks.

Sukuna looks up. “Only by association,” he replies. “If he's not watching with his Junpei friend then he's forcing me to watch them.” A pause to take a sip of his drink. “Though, I do love a good horror movie; it's my favorite genre.” 

Perking up in his seat, Megumi leans forward a little. “What's your favorite horror movie?”

“'The Exorcist'. A classic.” Sukuna kisses his fingers. When his eyes land on Megumi again, the other boy has a look on his face that says he doesn't agree. Arching an eyebrow, Sukuna asks, “What?” 

Megumi gives a lame, one-shouldered shrug. “It's alright.”

Sukuna gapes at him, jaw dropping slightly and he blinks, shaking his head. “Alright? What do you mean ‘it's alright’?” 

“It's alright,” Megumi repeats while he mixes his drink. “I'll agree with you that it's a classic.”

There's a pause and Sukuna waits for him to continue, but he doesn't. Sukuna gestures for Megumi to continue. 

“I just think 'The Conjuring' is better.”

A loud laugh escapes from Sukuna's mouth and he claps a hand over his mouth. He clears his throat, glancing around to see if anyone noticed. Turning back to his date, he folds his arms and rests them on the table.

“You're just saying that,” Sukuna decides, eyeing Megumi over. “There's no way you think 'The Conjuring' is better.”

Megumi almost looks offended. “It is better. I prefer the first movie out of all of them, but I'm not too picky. Not to mention they're based on true stories and I'm a fan of nonfiction.”

“'The Exorcist' is based off of a true story,” Sukuna points out.

“Very loosely,” Megumi retorts. “Don't get me wrong, the actress who played the little girl—”

“Linda Blair—”

“—did a fantastic job, as did the actress who played her mother—”

“Ellen Burstyn,” Sukuna supplies helpfully.

Megumi smirks at him. “Not a big movie buff, huh?” he teases.

All Sukuna can do is shrug. “It's my favorite horror movie. I've done my research, alright?” 

Shaking his head, the other continues, “but with that being said, I think the plot of 'The Conjuring' is better. It's more suspenseful. Keeps you on your toes. Nothing terribly exciting happens in 'The Exorcist' until the last 20 minutes of the movie or so.” Seeing unimpressed look on Sukuna's face, Megumi asks, “When is the last time you saw 'The Conjuring'?”

Sukuna thinks for a moment. 

When is the last time he's seen that movie? Yuuji isn't much of a horror fan, and recently, Sukuna has been busy dealing with his stupid feelings and training that he had really watched any movies. 

“It's been a minute,” he finally says. 

The corner of Megumi’s mouth twitches up. “Maybe we should get together again and watch them back to back, you know, to see which one truly is better.”

The suggestion throws Sukuna through a loop and his brain stops thinking for a second. His heart skips a beat in his chest, his stomach twisting into knots and he wants to punch the table for getting so giddy. He can't stop the smile that comes to his face. 

“It's a date… Raisin Boy.”

[pepperyhoney]

COLLEGE END TERM EXAMS ARE KILLING MEEEE but

I saw someone saying that he is blaming himself for something that is not his fault completely because he always does (re: AM retirement), and that katsuki is showing how much he is a soft person at heart. And how he is not to blame for this. But i have a slightly different interpretation from this.

i think Katsuki was not a soft person. and I think that here was not a show of how much he loves to blame himself. it is stated again and again how much of him is brash and callous and arrogant, and like his mother and himself said, he is given too much praise and never really tasted rejection or failure—except from himself. and even then, he never dwells too much on it and just keep having the mindset of improving and one upping everyone including himself. the sigma grindset, if you will. Even though his outward theatrics shows how explosive he is and how he gets so agitated at many things, he has shown that he has more emotional control in battle than even Midoriya-I-Will-Go-Berserk-Over-My-Endangered-Lover-Izuku. like he even has to remind Izuku to not dwell on things lest it kills him.

Then he came back from the dead.

The death itself is a significant factor. "Can I still catch up to you?" as one of his last thoughts, was something he now consider his reality, his acceptance of himself and Izuku. He reframed the way he tasted failure and rejection of what he thinks the way he is - of how he perceived Midoriya and that what he rejects about him in the first place then came to reject him in return-into something that once again motivates him to win and to always have a goal, his newborn northern star.

When All Might retires, he blames himself because all might is the symbol of peace and people around the world now lost it and there's a new imbalance that he feels are a part of his responsibility. But truly, regardless of anything, all might will retire anyway due to his injury. It is not his fault. He just hates the feeling of "failing" to save himself, that he needed to be saved. He doesn't want to accept that.

Then we get a narrative of how quirk is viewed by the world, the sides of it, and the darkest part of it. Izuku is shown to be affected by this too, while relying on his own belief that stems from all might idealism (the vigilante era). But then his class shows how much that idealism is no longer sustainable, and repeating the same things aren't going to do anyone any good. Katsuki, despite the lack of narrated inner thoughts, is a part of crowd who instill it to izuku as well. Then he apologized. He knows that Izuku is this self sacrifical because of him. That he thinks he can't truly save anyone without giving a part of himself. Which circles back to how he accepted izuku as a rival and a partner. He now see him as he is and accept the part of it was his fault. Katsuki went on with life because he thinks that now Izuku can always change for the better, like he always do, and he will be there on his heels, to be with him and to accept his hand, and i quote, "for the rest of their lives".

When izuku has to give up OFA to try save Tenko, when he really showed how much he is willing to give up anything- even the greatest gift and his raison d'etre that is propelling him to this point along with Katsuki himself (because you know, izuku extend his hands to everyone and that starts with his extension to Katsuki), That is really what hits home to him. That they're so interwined with each other, that izuku has always been a hero to him as much as he is to Izuku, that the extended hand he swatted all those years ago, is the same hand that still give a part of himself away to tenko shimura in an attempt to save him. Izuku was always a hero because he will not hesitate to save anyone.

Now that he saw Izuku as a rival, and saw izuku as what he is, he truly sees how much saving is tied to the act of being saved, that everyone has to help each other to truly win, that to protect someone, you have to be willing to be protected to save yourself, too. Now, the hand he rejected all those years ago, the person he rejected again and again, is unable to save himself from fate, and the worse part, he can't protect him from fate and himself. He saw how much his actions truly meant, he saw how apology only grazed the surface wound of the consequence of a childhood ignorance. Now he truly understands that all he wanted was to protect Izuku; that it was all a misdirection of what he truly wants, to be a hero that protects people. that misdirection in turn bites him in form of losing his hero that saved him from himself. So, with tears of realization too late, "no... just what the hell did i do to you?".

the despair he feels is because he has so much respect for izuku and that bittersweet feeling of knowing that izuku choice is going to change everything, as well as knowing he has a part on it. He can't take back anything, and izuku has to live with it, and how does it truly feel to see the one you now saw as your equal, goal, northern star, to rise and dim because of you?

Katsuki was not a soft person. he is, now. Because he is saved by the people around him. Thats why his wish was to save izuku, too. He wishes there was another way, he wishes that the fate izuku has didnt have to enforce izuku's already self sacrificing beliefs. He wish that he is saved from the fate. He cries because he knows he is inseparable from it all-even if it wasn't truly his fault. He loves and respect him and knowing he is inseparable of what makes him love and respect him is making him realize the gravity of the situation. He changed so much from the brash and arrogant kid he was, that now instead of being angry and challenging at fate not going his way, he yearns for them to change so that the person he truly cares about is saved. His admittance and heartfelt confession is one hell of a leap and show how much he changed, and reducing it to him blaming himself for something not his fault is kinda redundant and insulting to his character development.

[osamusriceballs]

One week

Bokuto x fem reader

Warnings: NSFW

Words: ~ 1,7 k

About: Just Bokuto missing you so, so much. And kinda cumming too fast.

It's been a week.

Only one short week of you being apart.

You remember how you held Bokuto's face in your hands and told him that you'll miss him—and how he adorably pouted and told you that he'd miss you more and win this game for you and make you proud.

You had smiled and told him that you're always proud of him, and he had simply wrapped his arms tightly around you and kissed you goodbye.

It's been a week since that moment, and now you've been anxiously waiting for him to come back.

He did win the game. For you, baby, as he had proudly reassured you on the phone, telling you that he'll make sure to take the next flight to visit you—and you know he will come home any second.

A rustling noise of keys makes your ears perk up, and after a few moments that seem like forever, you finally see him.

Koutarou.

"Y/n!" His energetic voice echoes through your whole apartment, and you barely manage to get up before he already makes his way towards you and wraps his big arms around you.

"Baby, I missed you so much. So, so much." He emphasizes every word by pressing kisses against your cheeks, your lips—everywhere he could reach, his full lips feeling soft against your skin, just like you're used to remembering his touch.

"I've missed you too, Kou." You smile and press yourself closer to him, not leaving any distance between your bodies now. He instantly responds with his hands coming from your back to your hips, holding your body in a firm grip. You look up at him, noticing how intently he's suddenly looking at you. You squirm in his hold, a sudden feeling of want and need rushing through your body—oh, how you've missed his touch too during the past week. He seems to feel the same, his hands roaming around your body, wandering up on your shoulders, and resting on your ass cheeks finally, gently squeezing the soft flesh.

"Baby, can we... can we go to the bedroom, maybe?"

Your heart stops for a second, your body already tingling with slowly building anticipation. As much as you want to talk to him, you also want to be close to him- and, oh, how much you crave his touch now.

"Please." You tilt your face upwards and press your lips against his—in a deep and intense kiss, hoping to feel the same hunger from him, and he is quick to push his tongue into your mouth, turning the kiss into a messy tangle of tongues, lips molding against each other, and bodies pressing hardly against each other. His hands move from your ass to your thighs, and it only takes him one firm movement to grab them and wrap them around his waist. You grab his shoulders and bury your hand in his hair, enjoying the feeling of his soft fluffy hair, slightly pulling on the strands because you know the effect this has on him. He groans into the kiss, blindly stumbling in the direction of the bedroom, not paying too much focus on anything else besides you. You mentally bless his reflexes and strength for saving you both from falling when he stumbles against his bag that he had left on the ground, and he slightly pulls back to focus on the way, walking into your shared bedroom with a few hasty steps.

His grip on your thighs tightens when you rake your nails against his chest, feeling his muscles under the black shirt, your breathing pattern irregular when he finally reaches the bed and stops. An excited grin is displayed on his face when he turns to sit on the bed, the motion effectively placing you right on his lap. His hands leave their place on your thighs and wander under your shirt, feeling the warm skin of your stomach, grazing against your ribs, causing a whine to leave your lips while you involuntarily try to close your legs—a futile attempt when his thighs both rest between yours.

"Baby, I missed your body, missed touching you like this." He breathes out when he roams his hands against your bare skin, feeling you everywhere within his reach. "Kou, please touch me." You know that you sound whiny, that he is already touching you, but you just need more of him—you want to feel him everywhere.

"I am, I am, already touching you. What do you need, baby? I'll give it to you." One hand comes up from under your shirt and grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are full of love and affection, a dark need lingering behind these pure emotions. That's the Koutarou you've been missing for so long—

"Want to feel you. Want everything." You mumble, knowing that he will take care of you so good—he always does. And he immediately nods and leans back to pull his shirt over his head, effectively leaving his upper body bare—and god, the smooth sun-kissed skin covering his muscular body makes your cheeks burn and flush. You push against his shoulders, and he gets the hint and rests his back on the bed, waiting for you to join him. And you're quick to lean down, still sitting straight on his crotch that you feel hardening with every shift of your body, and you start to kiss down on his neck, making your way down to his collarbones and chest. "Baby—" his voice has turned darker, more needy, and he throws his head back into the pillow when you lick and bite the skin on your way to his prominent v-line and to his dark happy trail right above his boxers.

"Baby—" a loud whimper leaves his lips, and he suddenly bucks his hips almost to your face. You lift your head and look up at him, his chest heaving heavily, and he suddenly sits up and leans down to kiss you intensely.

"Wanna feel you, baby. Please let me." He gently grabs your arms, and now it's your turn to lay on your back, and he gently pulls your shirt up to expose your chest. Your hands fist the sheets underneath as he pushes your bra to the side, and his head instantly leans down to kiss the valley between your tits. "Kou—" a gasp leaves you at his eagerness when he leaves messy, wet kisses against your body, but his hands already fumble with your pants. Bokuto helps you shed yourself out of your pants, and your panties are quick to follow.

You barely register how he undresses himself; in the next second, he's already hovering over you again and gasping your name against your neck.

"Y/n—missed you so much, baby," his voice right next to your ear makes you shiver in anticipation and you know he won't make you wait any longer. You arch further into him and push your hips against his, until you feel his bulge against your stomach. He grinds against you, the hardness of his cock pressing against you, and you slowly bring your hands down his back to bring your hand between your bodies to his cock, but he is quick to stop you when he realizes what you're about to do. "Can I—put it in already? Wanna feel your warmth, wanna be buried in your pussy." A shiver runs down his body, and you nod with a breathy whine when he lines up at your entrance.

So full. Only the head of his cock nudged between your legs, and you already feel full. He slowly inches deeper, the stretch delicious and welcome, especially since you haven't seen him for quite some time, and your body is overwhelmed with sensations and feelings. "Kou—"

"It's okay, baby. It's okay. I'm here." He keeps eye contact as he pushes deeper, but you can see him struggling as well, with his breath shallow and fast and his face blissed out.

He moans loudly for you when you clench around him, the sound unrestricted and loud in the room, and you tug on his silvery-white strands as a response. His moan changes to a whimper, a cute needy sound coming from this big, beefy man, and he finally allows his hips to move, to feel your warmth and wetness. You know you're already dripping for him, making his cock wet, and the lubrication makes him easily glide in and out of you. The first few thrusts start steady and slow, but the whimpering sounds won't stop coming from his lips, a few beads of sweat running down his forehead while he slowly ruts his hips against yours. "Baby—I'm sorry—" he gasps and presses his head against your neck. "Can't fuck you- like I want to—'s too much, missed you too much—" his hips suddenly stutter, and his body tenses on top of yours, and you feel him cumming, the warmth filling you up and making you feel so good while he cums and cums, throaty moans escaping his lips along an incoherent mixture of your name and prayers.

His body finally goes limp above yours, his massive weight caging you underneath, and you gently rake your nails against his back and caress the smooth skin under your fingers.

You stay like that for a few seconds, only your rapid breaths filling the room, until he tenses and sits up a bit to look at your face.

"Baby—I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to cum so fast," another whimper leaves his lips when his softening cock slips from your pussy, and his cum starts leaking out from you. It's a lot. You felt him cumming before, and you know that he usually cums quite a lot- but the amount that's starting to leak from you now is insane.

"Kou—you came so much. All for me?" You ask and bring your hand to his cheek, only for him to lean into your touch. "All for you, baby. Haven't touched myself since I last saw you. Wanna give you everything, always."

He brings his lips down to yours and connects them in a deep kiss, his body slightly trembling from having just finished. He pulls back eventually with a look of sadness on his handsome face, and you know that he is disappointed in himself. "You didn't finish, baby. I want to make you feel good too." Your heart swells with affection at his words, and you smile at him with hearts in your eyes probably.

"It's fine. I'm feeling really good already."

"Y/n, baby." He smiles when he says your name and fully lifts his body, his prominent muscles on his chest and arms all showing when he leans back and looks down at you. "You know that I can give much more than that." He grins, the sweet playful grin that you love so much on him, and he leans down to kiss down on your body, his hands holding your waist and pressing you down to the sheets, and you know exactly what he's up to.

"Now, I'll make you feel really, really good, baby."

[not-poignant]

Here's some of it @bloodlessbhaalbabe - I don't know if I'm brilliant at it but I do have a lot of practice! :D All my art is under the username Ravenari, if anyone wants to search for more of it!

(I also have more in the 'my art' tag)

(This is all traditional art - coloured pencil / watercolour pencil / waterfast ink and some minor acrylic or watercolour touches on illustration board!)

[crystalflygeo]

Smut Alphabet ft Baizhu + fem!reader

cw/tags: mentions of various sexual acts, oral sex, praise kink, pet names, sensation play?? marking/biting, TEASING, itty bitty possessive/jealous behavior, I gave Baizhu a bunch of snake traits I'm sorry it's the monsterfucker in me //sighs.

notes: SOMETHING NON-ZHONGLI??? WOWOWOW Yes I simp Baizhu sue me, more will come hopefully. Lord this has been on the works since the other one it took SO LONG I just didn't know what to write vbhsdbjk. Again feel like I'm repeating myself 20 times hhhhhh also this man is v vanilla or at least it started like that but then it got progressively hornier and.... yeaaaahhhhh. Partially dedicated to @floraldresvi bc even tho she doesn't share some of these ideas she gave me quite a few and she is the cutest Baizhu simp so <3 ehe

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Baizhu is quite clingy and loving in the aftermath, sometimes rubbing and massaging special scented oils along your skin while peppering kisses, to relax the muscles and prevent cramps.

Sometimes though, your activities also take quite the toll on him... in such occasions he’s left exhausted, he'll simply pull you into an embrace and stay curled up and close to you as you both come down from the high and relax together.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His hands. How could he practice medicine without them after all? The fact that he can pull such wonderful sounds and reactions out of you with them is just sublime. Even if they're a little bony with slender fingers, there is so much he can do with them.

As for his favorite part of your body: all your soft curves. Thighs, tummy, breasts, hips. Who cares if you got some scars, stretch marks or some "rolls"? it's only natural, you're healthy and your body is beautiful no matter what. He loves running his hands along your hips, rubbing a thumb at your thigh when sitting together, or resting his head in your lap/tummy as you play with his hair.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s very careful and considerate to always use protection, after all it is not only safer but more convenient at that. Either that or just release on his own stomach, then quickly get rid of it. He’s actually not that into it, the whole marking and dripping his seed on you. In fact, he feels it’s kind of degrading or disrespectful to you, convinced you’re too good to be dirtied like that. If you're giving him head and he does come on your face, expect a flurry of embarrassed apologies as he scrambles to clean you off.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes seeing you wear his clothes, seeing you doze off at his bed or just hang round his place. There’s a little feeling of belonging there, a little possessiveness. That you’re really his just as he is yours, that you two are together. It’s rather domestic but it warms his heart. When you rub your eyes first thing in the morning, still naked and sporting yesterday’s marks on your skin, when you step in the kitchen for some morning tea wearing only one of his larger robes… it makes him want to pull you close and never let you go.

He also quite likes to… bite…

But you’ll never hear that from him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Truth be told... Baizhu has no real experience with this. He's tended to himself and had the occasional wet dreams and fantasies sure, but hands-on action... ehhh. If you're experienced, he'd love to let you take the reins for sure, and if you're both on the same boat, well... he'll gladly walk that path along with you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Baizhu likes propping you over any slightly elevated surface: countertop, desk, table... you name it. That way neither of you exerts themselves or is weighting on the other, and he quite enjoys having you on eye level like this, your silky legs surrounding him, your thighs at just the right height for him to rest his palms on them as you take off his glasses and he leans in for a kiss...

But oh, sometimes he also quite likes having you on top, seated on his lap rocking slowly with his hands on your hips, you own supported around his neck bringing you two impossibly closer, hot breaths and sweet moans mixing together.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s a tease, and often likes to poke fun or fluster you, but it’s all in good faith, last thing he’d want is to actually make you uncomfortable. He’s quite lighthearted, little smiles and breathless chuckles weaved in together with other sounds of pleasure. He means for you both to relax and enjoy the moment.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? Etc.)

If his gorgeous long hair or immaculate looks aren’t a clue already, yes, Baizhu takes very good care of his appearance. More often than not he wants to give off a sense of professionalism and good health, after all, as a doctor he’s got to set the example. His hands are rather soft and skin clean and shaven. Likewise, he simply keeps himself well trimmed down there. And yes, the drapes do match the curtains… (why would anyone ask or doubt that?)

I= Intimacy (How are they during the moment? Are they romantic?)

For him, this step of the relationship is certainly not to be taken lightly. When both of you finally decide to be intimate, he’ll make sure to treat you with the utmost care and love, focus on your movements, your voice, your reactions, kissing you tenderly. He is a passionate man, but that passion comes in slow waves, molten gazes, careful simmering touches. After all there’s no need to rush…

J = Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)

Baizhu doesn’t usually… indulge in things like this, already too worried with his mind thinking a million different things, body exhausted, always working, Changsheng always draped over him. The need to get off doesn’t linger and fester in him for too long. It’ll come, he’ll get slightly uncomfortable, then it'll leave. But in the lone relaxing moments he has, soaking in the bathtub, lying awake late at night in bed he can finally relieve some tension, thinking on your warm skin and wet kisses, letting out frail husky gasps and moans. And why should he be embarrassed? After all, it is a normal, natural and healthy thing.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

It’s hard to get him to admit it really, but he undoubtedly has a marking/biting kink. You see, the thing is, not only does he possess viperine eyes but also other certain traits as well: fangs, a forked tongue, an acute sense of smell, poor eyesight, bad regulation of body temperature, you name it! And if there’s something he likes it’s to sink those fangs on your skin like a mating mark. Don’t worry, he won’t actually hurt you of course, it’s just that marking you and leaving his claim feels immensely satisfying. He loves to admire them for days to come.

L= Location (Favorite places to do the do?)

Anywhere you two have a private quiet moment to yourselves, though nothing beats the intimacy of the bedroom. Particularly enjoys taking you apart at the pharmacy’s backroom, and if the situation arises when Changsheng and Qiqi are both busy he’ll pull you into his embrace for quite the ride. Slowly unraveling you on the bed by the candlelight, bending you over or perching you at the table, and even once he simply pressed and caged you against the wall and the rest was history…

M = Motivation (What turns them on? What gets them going?)

Your cute noises and reactions. To have you shivering under his touch, flushed red and whimpering, sporting his marks, telling him how good he’s making you feel, how much you love him. Please be vocal and praise him a little! There’s nothing he won’t do with a little begging from you. And he WILL make you beg, kissing your little clit ever so softly causing your hips to twitch, running his hands lightly over your breasts seeing the goosebumps rise and nipples pebble.

N = No (Anything they wouldn’t do?)

Baizhu doesn’t do well with degradation or harsh treatment, sure a quick desperate fuck here and there is doable, some spanking, but nothing really rough. Hard limits on anything inherently dangerous like knife play or choking, he simply wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt. He’s also really mindful and strict on things like proper preparation, hygiene, protection and aftercare. For as much as he likes to test limits and boundaries, he has the utmost respect and love for your body.

O= Oral (Do they like to give or receive? Are they skilled?)

Baizhu is all about the giving. He enjoys seeing you come apart on his skilled fingers and tongue, the sounds you make, the feeling of your soft thighs clamping on his hold. He takes his time, listening to the softest keens and moans that slip from your lips, taking in the pace of your heartbeat on his tongue to know exactly when to plunge the serpentine appendage inside you like he’s starved.

On the other hand, slick with precum before you even put your mouth to him, he is really sensitive and his pretty flushed cock will twitch wildly in your hand as you stroke him, tracing that small vein, lapping at the engorged head. As much as his head is spinning and low groans fall from his mouth, he’ll try very hard to maintain eye contact and keep track of your ministrations, the way your soft hands move and your lips stretch to accommodate him down to the hilt, cupping your cheek lovingly to wipe away a couple of tears, your eyelashes fluttering to meet his golden eyes.

P= Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

Definitely a slow and sensual lover, Baizhu prefers taking you apart bit by bit with loving and deliberate strokes. His life is already quite restless and chaotic, so he wants to make this as sweet and delicate as he can. He takes his time with his hands tracing every mark on your skin, pinching a little at your tummy and thighs, and rubbing gentle circles on your hips.

Q= Quickie (Their opinions on quickies? How often?)

A rare occurrence to say the least, but with his hectic schedule it’s bound to happen once in a while. They’re nice enough, every moment spent with you in his arms is precious, it’s just that he doesn’t like how short they are. A quick fuck in the backroom of the pharmacy between breaks not only has its risks but he actually often ends up feeling more riled up. Returning to his work slightly more distracted and aroused much to Changsheng’s frustration. He’d rather have long drawn-out sessions with you, slowly building up the heat.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

For all his vanilla sweet love, if there’s anything he likes in life is trying new things, and that philosophy extends to the bedroom. Without a doubt he would agree to indulge in things that interest either of you, anything to bring you more pleasure after all. Communication is key and who knows, you might discover some new fun ways to enjoy time together. That said there's not much of a risk factor with him, Baizhu always plays pretty safe even when you're doing things in a bit of an impromptu manner.

S= Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

His constitution is frail, that is no secret. Now, he’s genuinely a little self-conscious about it, afraid he’s not properly satisfying you or even upset and insulted if you coddle and fuss over him too much. Sometimes he’s tired, it’s late at night after a long day of seeing patients, he gives you lazy thrusts and quiet touches showing it’ll be a simple night, a settle down for the day. Usually, his body gives out after he comes once or twice, though if you still have one more round in you, well, he’ll gladly give you the reins for the rest of the night.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He definitely enjoys playing with your senses. A blindfold, a bit of bondage, the touch of a feather dragging along your skin, even some ice or hot wax from a scented candle, don’t worry, he’ll be very careful. It’s not so much that he’s kinky per se, he just loves to see you react. Arch your back and cry out. And there are definitely interesting concoctions out there, electro slime can be used to increase sensitivity, and a combination of flaming flower stamen extract with some oil can... well... he’ll let you discover that by yourself.

U= Unfair (How much do they like to tease?)

He is a tease through and through, both inside and outside of the bedroom. A silver-tongued devil he knows very well what words to use and when to obtain the reactions and effects he wants. Fond of inside jokes, bringing up things that will make you squeak while other are none the wiser. Whenever he gets a little jealous, you’ll notice he also gets touchier, placing a hand at your shoulder or hip or straight up giving you a peck or blurting some pet name.

You’ve lost count of how many times a night you’ll tell him to stop teasing. He just chuckles and apologizes but after a few minutes he’s back on the game.

V= Volume (Are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk?)

He will praise you and tease you non-stop, spouting compliments and whispering promises into your skin as he worships your body. If you manage to catch him off guard and turn the tables on him, he actually lets out the most wonderful noises. So endearing in their restraint with quiet hisses and whimpers, and so surprising in their rawness with deep groans and occasional growl.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Although he can identify some scents and physiological reactions better than most, Changsheng is the real menace. A few flicks of her tongue and she’ll know for sure if either of you are… ehem… wanting. She’ll tease, she may even be a little passive aggressive but she’s respectful and considerate enough to slither off somewhere and give you both (or just him) some “alone time”. She might not always keep her mouth shut to Gui however.

X= X-ray (What’s going on down there?)

Baizhu’s size is nothing to sneeze at no matter how much he scoffs (blushing a little) and calmly mentions he’s statistically rather average. The thing is this man is a grower. Once hard his cock is rather long but not all slender, with a curve upwards and a few visible veins that are even more sensitive than he already is. You love to see him twitch after every kitten lick, rub or puff of hot air, and the tip takes on that pretty, purplish hue when he's really really needy. Although he makes it out to be not a big deal, he can't help the smugness that fills his head when he lowers you down on him that first time and sees the way you gasp and flinch as you try to adjust.

Y= Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Average, if a little low technically? It’s not so much he craves the sex in itself but rather that intimacy, that connection. For him making love is just as much about the… well, love. He doesn’t just chase pleasure but he loves to see you come apart and have you drag him along. Never once has he thought he'd have such deep, pure love as the kind he has with you, so having you by his side, in his arms, under him, or sleeping peacefully curled up to his chest, completely at ease and comfortable in his presence, is a gift that he never takes for granted.

Z= Zzz (How quickly do they fall asleep?)

He’s a little insomniac, pulling few frequent all-nighters to work or rolling over restlessly under the sheets. Sex, however, is one of the few things able to wear him out well enough to fall asleep easily, especially if you’ve gone for a few rounds. Occasionally, he still won’t be able to fall asleep afterwards, but in most cases the warmth of your body will be enough to lull him into an at least somewhat restful state for a few hours.

[feelo-fick]

I WANT ENDLESS BLISS!!!

HALF-AWAKE, HALF-DEAD, HALF-LIFE CRISIS

ALL NATURAL POMEGRANATE PULP.

FERMENTED TO PERFECTION, SAVOUR YOUR SAVIOR.

Q: What's your favourite food? A: THE ALE THEY SERVE AT THE TAVERN!

other versions : )

[hxhhasmysoul]

i saw you mentioned that killua has an addictive personality. would u write more on that topic? i agree with you but i dont know how to articulate it for myself hah

I could point to the obvious thing, the chocrobos and sweets in general. Sugar is addictive in real life but like which all such substances some are more vulnerable to them than others. And Killua seems to have developed a chocolate habit.

But I think his tendency towards gambling is far more telling.

Killua loves rivalry, he loves competitions and he will try to gamify stuff he does with Gon. But at least in their competitions with each other Gon can work as a safety valve because he's also obsessive and self destructive and Killua's care for Gon would curb his risk addiction. That and the fact that with Gon they get into really life threatening situations and the self-preservation Killua's family forced into him, kicks in too.

But when the stakes are not life threatening, when it's money... Killua can't handle money. He loses all of their Heaven's Arena winnings on internet auctions. Then Bisky has to drag him away from the slot machines in Greed Island.

When there's no threat to his or Gon's safety, Killua has absolutely no breaks and because Gon leans on him for the planning and for knowledge about the world, considering Gon's much more sheltered childhood, Killua's on his own to control himself and he absolutely can't.

Maybe needing to provide for Alluka will also work as a decent safety valve for the gambling. Maybe he will be more careful with the money he needs for her.

But I don't think he sees that he has this problem. He's always been rich and capable to make quick and easy money. He's also capable of roughing it for a while, and Gon was too. But I doubt he'd want to put Alluka in that situation. Maybe being with her will make him realise he needs to work on this.

[inkskinned]

i both firmly believe that self-diagnosing saved my life and i think that the way tiktok and instagram have recently been spreading misinformation about mental illness/neurodivergence is incredibly harmful.

people who are looking for answers are already people who are in a vulnerable situation.

much of the misinformation appears logically sound; and is presented as definitive fact (prefaced with claims such as "research shows"). it's imperative we remember correlation does not prove causation. it is incredibly dangerous to make definitive statements like "if X happened in your childhood, you now Z as an adult." real scientists will almost always use may or other less-definitive terms. similarly, equating one behavior/experience with any single condition is also unsafe. many conditions have overlapping symptoms; and many people "mask" their key symptoms, even to themselves.

we cannot discern from a singular data point any conclusion. in official diagnosis, for a behavior/experience to be considered a symptom, it must significantly influence your life. many people enjoy an organized space. that is a preference. disrupting your daily life even at personal cost in order to prioritize organization is more likely a symptom.

again, a single data point is not an effective diagnostic tool. it is necessary and important work to catalogue and consider all unwanted/distressing behaviors in order to understand a complete picture of the person.

i will see creators in paid partnerships make generalized behavioral/emotional claims that apply to a large portion of a community, and then they will suggest that the "solution" to that behavior is through their paid partner/through their personal support. "follow for more psych tips/facts" is an incredibly evil marketing tactic. i very rarely see unpartnered/unbranded content on how to aid/comfort those behaviors and feelings.

much of the misinformation employs a subtle technique (called confirmation bias) of setting up a conclusion before "proving" the conclusion. "you know you have X when you experience A,B, and C." no person's experience of their conditions/behaviors will look exactly the same as another's. while knowing certain things might be a sign/symptom of a condition, it is irresponsible to consider it definitive.

confirmation bias is unfortunately extremely effective on tiktok specifically. the algorithm will notice that you interacted longer with the video that "proves" (through a singular video) that you "have" a condition. it will continue to feed you related videos that further confirm what you believe.

this is dangerous because we are, unfortunately, not good at knowing ourselves. i did not know it was unusual to vividly nightmare every night; i didn't consider it a symptom. i was similarly dismissive also of any other signs of my PTSD - i incorrectly assigned them to anxiety/adhd. on the small scale, this can mean a longer journey to healing. on the larger scale, it can mean people with extremely difficult situations are unable to get the help they need.

please, if you can, and you're looking to self-diagnose: be careful about what you assume about yourself. try to keep an honest journal of what you're thinking/feeling/doing for a few days.

do not go in with an assumption. try to keep an open mind. i think we all "suspect" we have something - but like i said, i completely missed my own PTSD symptoms, because i suspected the ADHD the most, and only "saw" those symptoms.

do your own research. if the tiktok says "research shows", google that research. figure out who paid for that research. do further research related to that study - has it ever been repeated? is it peer reviewed? do other researchers seem to accept it as conclusive?

if you feel you really resonate with the materials of one person's experience with a condition, find other examples. see if you relate to other creators who identify similarly.

and please - please do not stop once you come to a conclusion. i fully believe that the diagnostic process should be seen as a first step, not a destination. by knowing what you might be struggling with, you gain an incredibly powerful tool on how to gain peace with that condition.

if you feel yourself emotionally respond to a tiktok/etc that suggests something that might be true about yourself, i'm glad you had that experience. but it's also important to not relax into the "easy" answer. interrogate it. start googling what else that could mean; what ways you could work on healing that wound.

healing does not "belong" to any one condition. i want you to begin to look into healing no matter if you have "proven" you have a condition or not. it is never selfish to practice responsible self-care. even if you don't relate to having adhd, you are not harming me by using adhd-inspired study tips. it is not making my condition worse for you to seek peace by asking for more time on tests. even if it was - the fault would be with the system, not in your need of something the system makes inaccessible.

remind yourself that everything you experience is real. and because it is real, it is complicated. while things might be related - even sometimes clearly related - a stranger on the internet cannot make that discernment for you. you as a person deserve the work, attention, and care that goes into the process of unravelling the harm that has been done to you.

it makes me very, very upset to see how popular these videos have become, because they're so irresponsible. and they clearly are targeting a vulnerable group. for example, making generalized claims about children of unloving caretakers is targeting those who have experienced neglect. there is no way to use 30 second videos to correctly analyze what that neglect might have caused in your adult life. i'm sorry, but it's snake oil.

i know it is so powerful soothing to recognize that you aren't broken. that others exist like you out there. i want every person looking for answers to find their answer. i want you to feel seen and heard and understood. i want you to find your community.

i just want it to happen safely.

[tacogoats]

Unwell about the idea of Orin using Durge's face to keep the charade going of the Durge still being around, so Gortash doesn't get suspicious.

He does anyway because she didn't understand how real their relationship was - and she slips up. Often. He knew immediately when the Dark Urge became so, so very cold. Nothing like the warmth he has known for years now behind closed doors; because it isn't them.

She is good at fine details of the body; she gets every scar, every little blemish perfectly, but she can never truly imitate the person behind the Urge.

She couldn't have hoped to anyway, because she didn't know who they really were. Only Gortash could, because he is the first to ask.

It surprises her, and infuriates her, even! The mighty Dark Urge, debased into some lovesick puppy yearning after this little Lordling!

And the mistakes that follow are how Gortash learns the Dark Urge is gone.

[prince-liest]

I’m a sex-repulsed ace, and reading the latest chapter of 666 (as well as your analysis here on Tumblr) made me realize that I have been subconsciously thinking about MY OWN sexuality from an allo perspective? And that it has kinda been messing me up?? Like, ever since I learned that sexual attraction was actually a Thing and that it’s Important To People, I had been carrying around a fear of being deficient in some way and not being able to love to the same extent as allos. (1)

Even though I know logically that’s complete garbage and totally untrue, I felt left out of the loop because people seemed to care strongly about this thing I couldn’t even imagine. Whenever it looked like a relationship might happen I panicked for a reason that I couldn’t understand. But now I’m starting to realize that it’s because I was subconsciously terrified of an ‘ulterior motive’ behind the other person’s reasons for wanting to be with me. (2) That part of the reason they even cared was because of something I don’t experience. So thank you, because this realization just clicked into place while reading your work. The thing is, this way of thinking was just internalized in such a way that I didn’t even realize it was there until literally this week. And I think you’re right; one of the main reasons behind that is because I’ve always consumed media written from an allo perspective. (3) If ace/aros are shown at all, they’re depicted as “lacking” and their character development usually revolves around being “fixed” by the story. When I was ~10 years old my mom sometimes let me watch the Big Bang Theory with her (looking back, maybe not the best decision). Anyways, there was one episode deep into the series where Sheldon (who for the past nineish seasons was probably the closest thing to mainstream ace rep) has sex with his girlfriend for the first time. (4) Afterwards, he says something along the lines of “that was better than I thought it would be”, and it’s presented as a Very Good Thing and a big step in their relationship. I think a lifetime of stuff like that makes it very easy to internalize aphobia and feel like the lesser part of the relationship. Or to feel like the other partner is making a huge sacrifice to be with you. That got wayy too long, sorry. All that was just a lot of words to say that I appreciate you. Take care of yourself!(5)

The portrayal of asexuality that you see in media being almost exclusively as you described is very tedious to me because it presumes that something is inherently lacking in aro/aceness rather than that feeling of "lacking" being something that is induced by societal norms. Actually, one of the things that I find additionally alienating is that fandom spaces specifically have been getting better and better about ace characters - but got damn does fandom not jive with aromanticism. Like, a character doesn't want to fuck? That's becoming a liiiittle more fine, it's 2024, we stan consent. But not shipping someone romantically?? Not so easy, now.

I'm glad that my work has been something that resonated with you in this respect! Alastor cares a lot about his reputation as a demon but is pretty blatantly a person who could not possibly give less of a shit about being "wrong" for not being experiencing romantic or sexual attraction. The explanation Viv gave at one point for his own understanding of himself (that he thinks he's just "waiting for the right woman") actually stuck out to me a lot because it's a very "well, nothing is wrong with me for not feeling anything, it's the world that's failed to produce a suitable person" perspective.

But having that kind of confident perspective of your own rightness in the world is really not often portrayed in media, or even in fandom, which even ten years ago was still in the throes of standardizing "Oh, no! Me, gay? These feelings are so wrong!" style m/m content and is honestly not that far off from essentially that for aro/ace characters.

Anyway, all of that is to say that there's not yet much out there that doesn't frame allo/amatonormative values as the default that "even aro/ace people can (and should want to) achieve," and that it's really fun to write a fic that is unequivocally from the perspective of a character who is aroace and doesn't see it as even remotely a fault in himself. Does he have moments where he's a little confused and trying to process how things fit for him? Absolutely. But he just doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who thinks he owes romance to Vox of all people, hahaha. I've written him trying to conform to allo/amatonormativity more with Mimzy, because I think the social standards of their time could push him into it, but Vox? Absolutely not, he does not respect Vox enough for it to even enter his mind.

And then, on the other hand, writing it from an aroace perspective centers the way that romantic and sexual interest can feel like a betrayal of a good thing. With a character like Alastor, it frames romantic and sexual attraction the same alien way that we usually see aromanticism and asexuality framed as.

In the end, this is just one of a plethora of different experiences that aro/ace people can have, but it's one that I really wanted to see represented more, so I'm very happy to write it. I'm glad that you're enjoying it!