#on a more sentimental note it's lovely hearing little bits and pieces

[toffee-and-tandoori]

just imagine being a young teen competing in karting series and being yelled at by THE michael schumacher

this was michael with his video camera after the race was over:

[cottonlemonade]

Beach Day

word count: 591 || avg. reading time: 2 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Hirugami x chubby!Reader

genre: suggestive

warnings: mdni, spoilers

request: medium blue lemonade with frozen berries for Hirugami || fluffy-spicy Beach Day with boyfriend Hirugami

As much as he despised when his sister’s boyfriend became all mushy around his girlfriend, Sachiro quickly understood the sentiment when he met you. There was nothing he wouldn’t do, no depths he wouldn’t stoop to, if it meant you’d give him a smile.

The sun was scorching hot but the well loved, slightly off-center parasol he buried deep in the sand kept you in the shade. In the glistening water kids played in the shallows under the watchful eyes of their parents and surfers tried their best to catch the next wave. Sandcastles were being build, seashells collected and beach hats chased, carried away by a cheerful breeze.

“I’m so glad we’re a couple.”, he said, stretching happily on the large blanket.

“Yeah? Why is that?”, you grinned and over the rim of your sunglasses gave him a questioning look.

“Because I don’t have to feel like a creep for staring at you in that bikini.”

“Is it not too revealing?”

“On the contrary.” He leaned closer to you, setting a little kiss on the shell of your ear before saying, “If it were up to me it could be even smaller.”

You blushed and wrapped the sheer beach kimono closer to your body. He pouted and sneakily brushed back the fabric to reveal your pudgy tummy and temptingly plush thigh.

“You know, now that I think about it… it does reveal quite a lot…”, he said slowly.

You raised a brow, quite familiar with this certain tone.

“I wouldn’t want you to burn. Let me reapply some lotion, princess.”

With pursed lips you made it a point to remove the kimono slowly, sliding it off your shoulder with a little extra sass, earning you a low whistle, which sent you both into a little laughing fit.

You lay on your stomach, crossing your legs and waited with your head resting on folded arms.

“Now this is just rudely in the way.”, Sachiro noted and pulled at the string on your back.

Worried you’d be exposed if you squirmed, you stayed put and opted for a playfully shocked, “Hey!”

“Just making sure, I’m not getting anything on your new piece, babe.” With that excused he climbed on top of you, his knees on either side of waist and leaned down to set a kiss on your shoulder.

He sighed contently as he rubbed a bit of lotion onto his palms, “I love summer.” His large hands began massaging your back, having you close your eyes in bliss.

“By the way, my brother asked if he can join us for dinner next week with his wife. Is that okay with you?”, he wondered as he worked.

“Oh yeah, of course! We haven’t seen them in ages. Is his leg doing better?”

You sucked in a breath when his fingers brushed the sides of your breasts as if on accident.

“Yeah, he’ll be able to play the next match no problem. He just wants to be cautious that’s why he sat the last one out. Although I do have to say that the Adlers have been doing well without him, too. And I fully intend to tell him that when we see him.” You could hear his mischievous smirk.

He all but grabbed your perfectly soft hips under the guise of applying more lotion, squeezing and… pressing himself further against you. You had been in this exact position last night in the hotel and nothing good could come of it in public.

“What is it, baby? You got so quiet.”, he teased.

art: @_Hemoon on Twitter

a/n: he is just so… thank you @ranscutedoll for the request, I hope you enjoyed it! 🌟

[berberriescorner]

How would rio and y/n react if marcus brings a girl home?

Okay, so my imagination ran wild with this one. It's a bit lengthy, but hopefully you’ll enjoy it nonetheless. I’m glad to finally have gotten a bit of a creative spark. Hopefully, I’m not rusty. Please excuse any grammatical errors. This isn't heavily edited and I went with the flow. It would be greatly appreciated if you all love, comment, and reblog. Please understand (I know some get tired of hearing it but it’s important) that writing fanfiction takes time and dedication. Then there is the fact that it’s free. Tapping the love button is cool, but it’s the reblogs that help writers. Try to keep that in mind 💓.

Word Count: 3,500+

Warnings: A bit of fluff, laughter, and a little *cough, a hefty piece of* spice.

The aroma of garlic wafted through your newly renovated kitchen. It had been an early Mother's Day present from Rio and the babies. Your husband swaggered into the kitchen fresh out of the shower. He watched you stir the pasta and smiled as you made a mental note aloud to add more cream cheese. The deep timbre of your husband's voice startled you.

“Stay put mama. I'll grab some for you,” he rasped, lips brushing the side of your neck. His hand left a gentle squeeze on your hip.

“Damn it, Chris. Baby, I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that. I should've known your stealthy, fine ass was nearby. The scent of your cologne and body wash should've given you away.”

He stepped back over to the stove adding cheese. You shivered as his fingers danced up your spine, curling around to the front of you. You hummed as his hand lightly cupped your throat. As if your body knew exactly what he wanted, you tilted your head, angling it so he could gain access. Rio’s lips trailed light kisses up your neck, across the jawline.

“Food smells good, darling. When we eatin’?”

You chuckled, slapping at his hand as his finger dipped into the alfredo sauce.

“Boy! Get your fingers out of my pan.”

“Damn, ma! I can't get a little taste. Come on, mama. Daddy’s hungry,” he groaned.

“That's on you. Shouldn't have skipped lunch.”

Rio kissed his teeth, swatting your bottom playfully.

“You know I was handling business, sweetheart. Don't start,” he teased.

“Let that have been me not eating. You would've jumped in my shit.”

His head shook in disagreement, “Mm no. I would've just brought you some food and insisted you eat.”

“Last time I brought you lunch it turned into an argument.”

“Cause you don't listen. You know you weren't supposed to be anywhere near that warehouse. It was a matter of safety. Where that's concerned, you'll always come first, mama.”

You couldn't help but smile and roll your eyes at the sweet sentiment.

“Whatever, bossy ass. We’ll eat once the oldest baby boy gets here.”

“That's right it's our weekend,” he perked up.

Though there were times Rio wished he could see his son every day. He knew that Marcus was both his and Rhea’s pride and joy. Rio was thankful that they had a healthy co-parenting relationship. Joint custody had always been smooth with Rhea. She'd never dream of ever keeping their son away from his father. He was grateful that they both managed to move on. They both found love again, remarried, and everyone seemed to get along just fine. Rio loved that you and Rhea found friendship in one another. Your kids adored Rhea just as much as Marcus did you.

“Oh, you thought I was making this fire-ass pasta for you? Nope, Zaddy this for my oldest baby boy,” you teased Rio playfully.

“That’s fine! So long as I get to choose my dessert,” he rasped, his eyes scanning over your body.

Your eyes met, both nibbling at your bottom lip. Just as you were about to dive deeper into the topic, Alexa announced someone was at the front door. You tapped your phone screen, turning on the ring doorbell’s mic.

“Rhea, stop acting like you don’t have a key. Bring your beautiful self into this house.”

You smiled as she giggled her way through the front door.

“We’re in the kitchen,” Rio called out.

“Boy! Stop all that yelling. You wake that baby up and it’s your ass.”

Your husband kissed his teeth, “last I checked this was our house,” he mumbled, walking over to Marcus and pulling him into a bear hug. “What’s up, man?”

Marcus answered his question, immediately following with, “Can I go check on the baby? Where’s everybody else?”

“Rudeness. Are you forgetting something,” Rhea questioned her eager teenager.

She chuckled as he looked at her in confusion as she continued, “Your bonus mama is burning in this kitchen. Probably for you. Did you say hello? Or maybe thank you? Where is her loving,” Rhea jokingly scolded her son.

“Sorry, ma. He replied shyly, hugging you tightly and kissing your cheek. “Thank you for cooking my favorite food.”

“It’s cool handsome,” you started, pinching his cheek. “The kids are in the theater room and the baby is down for the night, but go on up and steal a little sugar.”

Just as he was about to excuse himself, Rhea interrupted him, “Not so fast young man. You’re not slick. Don’t you want to share the news?”

“Mami,” Marcus whined.

“That’s okay, I'll tell them. Go on, scaredy cat.”

Marcus made his escape as Rhea turned back to you and Rio. She bypassed him, linking her arm with yours.

“Come, chica. I’ve got some chisme for you.”

Your husband, the big baby he is, groaned, “Nice to see you too, Rhea. Why am I not included?”

“Are you not in the room? You are included, fool,” Rhea teased.

“Chris, baby. I love you, but hush. I'm trying to see some.”

Both women laughed at him as he rolled his eyes and went silent.

“ Marcus sat down with us sometime last week. Said he wanted to invite his lady friend over for dinner. Our baby has a girlfriend, sis.”

The two of you stared at one another, several seconds passed. As if he was expecting it, Rio sighed, running his hand down his face as the two of you started squealing like school girls.”

“Mama, Rhea, the baby,” he reminded the both of you.

You both clapped a hand over your mouths, silently giggling.

“What's her name? Have you met her? The parents?”

“Baby, chill,” Rio chuckled.

You looked at him, studying him for a moment. Head tilted, you questioned, “You already knew. Didn't you?”

He smirked, “You already know the answer to that, mama. You know I stay ten steps ahead.”

“He told you first,” Rhea questioned.

“Listen, he asked for advice on girls a while back. I suspected then he had his eye on somebody. I played it cool. If you ask too many questions, he’ll shut down. We had the talk. About a week after that. Marcus told me he was talking to someone.”

“The talk,” you and Rhea said in unison. “Should we be worried about where this is going?”

“Ladies relax. It's better to have it early. Just to be on the safe side.”

“You gave him condoms. Didn't you,” Rhea snarked.

“Are you ready to be a grandmother? I mean I’d be the coldest abuelo out here, but let's try to prevent that from happening.”

“He brought her home for dinner the other day. She's so sweet and shy. Her name is Isabella, but she goes by Isa. He's got his papi’s taste. She's Afrolatina, a beautiful young lady!”

“Okay! I see my boy! He found him a woman who embodies two of the most important women in his life,” Rio praised with pride.

“The mom seems to be well-rounded. Surely we don't have anything to worry about,” Rhea insisted.

“The both of you were sweet and shy when I first met you. Need I say more? Then there's those stories your mom told me about your teenage years,” he smirked toward you.

“Sneak one damn boy through your window and you never live it down. Kiss my ass, Christoper,” you cackled, flipping him the bird.

Rio puckered his lips, bending down, laughing as you mugged his forehead.

“Sis! Your ass was hot back in the day, huh?”

“Chill on my wife. Tell me, how old were you when we had Marcus?”

Rhea kissed her teeth, “He got a response for everything, huh,” she asked you. “Anyway! He wants you all to meet her. Can he invite her over for dinner tomorrow?”

Rio smiled at you bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“I take it our answer is yes, mama?”

After a stressful Saturday afternoon, Rio stepped into the foyer of his home. His eyes drifted shut for a moment as he welcomed the delicious smell of lemon herbs, and the smell of your perfume wafted through the air. Sandals tapped across the wooden floor, Rio’s lashes fluttered open, dancing at the sight of you meeting him at the front door.

“Hey Papa,” you started, smile faltering. You could sense the heaviness of his day. “Long day, baby,” you questioned.

His head tilted to the side, an appreciative smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Rio’s hands cupped your side pulling you into a tight hug as he buried his head in your neck. Breathing you in again, his lips tickled the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“Shit was hectic, but I’m sure some kisses would make me feel better,” he whispered in a sultry tone.

Your hands brushed against his chest, as you tip-toed to reach his lips. He chuckled at your struggle to reach his lips, meeting you the rest of the way. Your lips danced together in soft, slow strokes. The sound of footsteps speeding down the steps interrupted the lip lock.

“Ma! Pops! You’re not going to be doing all that in front of Isa, are you? Why’s it so quiet around here?”

You giggled as Rio reared his head back. “I’m sorry son, I didn’t know you paid bills around here. Y’all be forgetting this my house…our house,” he corrected when you lightly cleared your throat.

“Your siblings can be a lot. We wanted to have time to focus on getting to know your girlfriend. I managed to arrange a night with Nana. They’ll be back tomorrow. She can meet everybody next time we have her over. Don’t worry, baby. Papi and I promise to be on our best behavior,” you teased Marcus.

“I ain’t promising nothin’. Listen, I’ll kiss my wife all I want, bro. Don’t be mad I’m the only one getting kisses around here,” he joked, giving Marcus a playful shove.”

“Pops, chill on me. Who said I ain’t got it like that?”

Rio cackled, dapping Marcus up. The laughter between the two stopped abruptly when they saw you standing straight-faced, head tilted, and arms crossed.

“I’m pretty sure I can speak for your mother when I say this. You better be acting accordingly with that young lady. Nothing short of being respectful is acceptable. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Your eyes landed on Rio, “Then I got you over here gassing him up.”

“My bad, mama. We’ll tighten up.”

“That’s what I thought,” you finished sauntering off to the kitchen.

 Rio turned back to Marcus and they both dapped each other up silently.

“It’s like that, son?”

“I learned from the best,” Marcus responded.

“My boy. Seriously though, not too much. Take things slowly. You have a lot of life to live. Don’t let thinking you're grown get you in trouble. You bring a baby home, and that’s ya ass. Papi can’t save you from the mama squad. If you can’t wait, do at least three things for me. Wrap it up, don’t do it in mine or your mom’s house, and don’t play with her feelings. You better plan on sticking around. Don’t be that guy, son. We’ve raised you better than that.”

“Yessir, I give you my word, pops.”

Rio embraced Marcus and gave his shoulders a firm squeeze as they pulled apart.

“You nervous,” Rio asked as the doorbell sounded.

“Just promise me you won’t let Ma pull out the photo albums.”

“Listen, I’m a man of many talents, but telling that woman not to do something almost always has the opposite effect. Ma listens when it counts,” he smirked, biting his lip.

“That’s information I honestly didn’t need to know, Dad.”

The first twenty minutes had been hilarious. You, Isa, and her mother all silently laughed at the way Isa’s father stumbled over his words while making introductions with Rio.

Apparently Marcus nor his girlfriend had taken the liberty of giving the poor man a heads up. He had suspected that he was going to assert himself as an overprotective father. One look at Marcus’ father and his bravado and puffed-out chest had deflated. Christopher wasn’t about to be checked by anyone and little did they know, neither were you. 

Dinner had gone by smoothly. The two of you succeeded in not embarrassing your son, as did her parents. Isa was a sweet, shy, and intelligent girl. You both loved her for Marcus. The teens had asked permission to have a movie night in the family theatre room. All parents agreed that it would be okay so long as it wasn’t unattended. You had even offered for Isa’s parents to join. Her father needed to finish up some work at home, and Rio along with Marcus, offered to drop her home in a few hours. 

As the parents you opted, to sit in the back row of home theatre seats to give them some sort of privacy. You didn’t want to crowd them too much. That and you knew with certainty that Rio was going to get handsy as soon as the lights dimmed. Twenty minutes of screen time had barely passed before his hand started a soft, tingling trail up your thigh. You allowed his fingers to make it inches away from the place he desired before swatting at him. His heated gaze met yours and the left corner of his mouth tilted up as he mouthed the word, “Why?”

Your head cocked to the side as you looked at him as if he were crazy. You sucked your teeth, pointing a finger in the direction of the kids. Rio wrapped his arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to whisper in your ear, “Oh you really thought I was cold. You know why I pulled this blanket out, mama.” He laughed as you rolled your eyes, shoving him away from you. 

“Do that again and I’m sitting in my own lounger,” you sassed.

“All this space and you want to sit by yourself. Don’t be like that, mama.”

You had glanced in the direction of the children to see if they had overheard, but froze as you saw their hands inching closer to one another. Your hand tapped the top of Rio’s repetitively to get him to look. The two of you shared a smile at the innocence of the situation. Marcus looked back as the two of you tried to focus your attention elsewhere. The teen shook his head as his hand shifted away some. The two of you kissed your teeth and the sound echoed off the theatre walls as Marcus shook his head and Isa giggled.

It felt as if you had ruined the moment, and Rio attempted to correct the situation. Clearing his throat he asked the room, “Anybody want chips? Popcorn? Something to drink?”

You caught on and joined in, “I could go for some ice water and we can share a snack babe. Let’s go round up some refreshments.”

The kids had started to decline, but the two of you left in a hurry.

Rio propped himself against the kitchen island with his hands clasped. You crept towards your husband smirking. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you asked, “How much time should we give them to be unsupervised?”

“That depends, mama. Are you trying to be a responsible parent or a laid-back one? Responsible would be in the realm of maybe five or ten minutes. Laidback–about twenty or so.”

Rio’s hands traveled the length of your back, down to your plush backside. With a gentle squeeze, he continued, “I’m leaning towards laidback, mama,” he rasped. “Maybe we can take that time alone to–connect ourselves.”

“You truly have a one-track mind. We are not about to do anything with a guest in the house. Do you know what teenagers can do in twenty or so minutes?”

“Mama, what’s the most that could happen?”

“Our last child happened in twenty minutes, Rio.”

“We were pressed for time, and I was down bad for you that night, mama.”

“You’re always down bad for me. Even at this moment, you are.”

“No lies told. If you know that, stop playing. C’mere, mama.”

Rio nibbled at your neck, even as you continued to protest, “Rio, seriously. We should head back soon.”

“C’mon, mama. Let that boy cook for a few minutes. I told him to take things slow and to never do anything like that under his mom’s or our roof.”

“Oh, and you think that’s gon’ stop him?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“This is coming from the man, that was giving me backshots under his grandmother’s roof last Christmas.”

“We’re married with a ton of children. Trust and believe, she knows you’re getting handed pipe left and right, mama.”

“You get on my damn nerves. Always got a response–.”

The sentence came to a halt as Rio’s hand slipped into the opening of your dress, tugging a nipple through the silk material of your bra.

“F-fuck, Rio, don’t.”

His lips hovered over yours. The minty freshness of his breath fanning across your bottom lip. He nipped at it before asking, “You really want me to stop, mama?”

“Pantry, now.”

With those two words, Rio picked you up, legs wrapping around his waist, as he carried you to the destination. The door softly clicked closed, as he pressed you against some of the shelving. Your lips collided, tongues stroking one another, battling for dominance. The hem of your dress shifted upward, bunching at your waist. Rio groaned as his tented dark wash jeans ground against your damp panties. A moan slipped from your lips and he shushed you.

“Gotta keep quiet baby,” he whispered as his lips moved to suck at your throat.

His lips continued to nip and suck at your flesh. His long muscular fingers tugged your panties to the side as two fingers massaged your folds before gliding in to slowly stretch you out. The delicious feeling turned you into a whimpering mess as your hips began to rock against his movements.

“Yeah, just like that, mama. Are you gonna be my good girl and come all over my fingers? Yeah, you are. Aren’t you?”

He leaned in, tucking into the side of your neck, and whispered, “Bite down on my shoulder if you need to, darling.”

One of your hands slipped under his shirt as your nails scratched at his skin. You leaned back and pleaded, “Choke me, Daddy. Keep me quiet.”

The minute his hand wrapped around your throat, Rio added a third finger, thrusting in quick, deep strokes. His lips pecked your lips as he groaned, “Come for me, mama. Make a mess all over my fingers.”

All you needed was one last stroke to send you over the edge, but everything came to a halt as you both heard footsteps coming toward the kitchen. The two of you broke apart, fixing your clothes at the speed of lightning. The moment the knob to the pantry door turned, Rio snatched it open, pulling it closed with a bag of chips and a case of soda under his arm.

Marcus eyed his father suspiciously before speaking, “Isa got thirsty and you two were taking forever. So I came to get her some fruit snacks and a soda.”

Rio handed him a soda and explained, “We were coming back. Your pops negotiated a little alone time for ya. Did anything interesting happen?”

Marcus blushed a bit and responded, “Pops, can’t we talk about this later? I don’t want to keep Isa waiting.”

“You right man. Here take this soda and I’ll bring the fruit snacks and the rest of the stuff. Ma and I will be right in. She had to take care of something right quick.”

“Alright, Pops. Thanks.”

Marcus made it a few steps out of the kitchen before ducking his head back around the corner. Rio had started to turn back toward the pantry as he spoke up, “Pops? Tell Ma she can come out of the pantry now. Next time aim for a place that doesn’t house the food we eat.”

“Yeah, okay, wiseass. You’ll understand when you get older and have your own meddlesome ass kids. Take your lady her beverage and mind your business. You just couldn’t let your daddy cook in peace. Could you son?”

You were mortified and could barely look your bonus son in the eye for days.

Tagging some of my lovelies:

@darqchilddaydreamz @4everbrookemarie @starrynite7114

@amorestevens @bisexuallyattractivebitch @1andonlytashae

@rio-reid-whoreee @lovedlover @astoldbychae @percosim

@ravennaortiz @sunshine-flower @novaniskye @alertyoulikeitsamber @realhotgurlshit @abcdestinyyyy @jannavaire

[roykleinberg]

Unpopular Tron opinion: Dyson is waaay less interesting in canon than the fandom makes him out to be. 🤷‍♂️

(I elaborated on this but changed my mind and cut three paragraphs lol)

tron confessional with moss

ohoh see now this is a Hot Take

and one that I don’t necessarily disagree with

I’ve said before and I’ll say again that I have gripes with Uprising, and unfortunately I think a good number of them come down to the fact that it’s an unfinished narrative. I really didn’t feel like the characters started to gel in an interesting way until post-Scars, and then the rug got pulled out from under us. so many plot threads and character development pieces never came to fruition — and I think that can definitely be felt with Dyson. it’s natural for any fandom to expand on characters well past their canon, especially in situations where things were cut and opportunities for canonical development were lost. I clearly have side character brainrot so I can’t really judge lol

but regarding Dyson specifically. hmm. yeahhhh. he seemed relatively one note in the show to me, honestly more so than Clu even — and there’s a sidebar discussion to be had there, because my tangential unpopular opinion is that I think Uprising took away from Clu as a character by having so many secondary villains. I liked the Argon antagonist trio a lot, but Dyson’s presence specifically removed some of the personal edge that made Clu’s whole deal interesting to me in the first place. by having Dyson be Tron’s bestie that turned on him and tortured him while Clu was kinda just. there. it squashed a lot of the tension between Tron and Clu, because I always felt like Tron’s repurposing was another deeply personal middle finger at Flynn — and foisting that process (or at least the start of it) off on Dyson just didn’t hit the same for me

and other than that there’s just never been anything super compelling about Dyson to me personally. or at least there’s nothing particularly unique about him? Cyrus also turned on Tron and whatever was wrong with him was way more interesting. Paige was a willing Occupation participant based on anti-ISO lies and was again more interesting to me. Dyson apparently just has a massive shift to fantasy racism after a single incident, and then proceeds to become an evil cop about it — without any of the nuance that Paige had

one other additional point that ties into this a bit but also my general why does everyone hate Flynn sentiments — it drives me up a wall that no one acknowledges that one of Flynn’s biggest dickhead moments, when he brushes Dyson off after the riot, comes entirely from a flashback from Dyson’s perspective. and based on his feelings and present day loyalties I don’t think we have any reason to believe he’s a reliable narrator, or that his memory of that interaction isn’t tainted by super obvious biases. Flynn clearly wasn’t perfect, but I’ve always side eyed that scene for being a little ooc based on who was recounting it

but like I said, I do wonder if a second season would’ve added more to Dyson, and I don’t suppose we’ll ever know :’) also please come back with your paragraphs I would always love to hear More Thoughts

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 30/11/2023

Sunday Morning

Season 4 Episode 1 Featured on: SECOND WIND ~ SiIvaGunner: King for Another Day Tournament Original Soundtrack VOL. 2

Ripped by wolfman1405, cazsu Performed by cazsu (Piano, Vocals), wolfman1405 (Guitar, Bass, Backing Vocals), Andrew Garrison (Tenor Saxophone), Tav Bartlett (Piano Solo)

And so, November comes to an end, with autumn officially over, and the holiday season just a day away. My 22nd birthday passed, the blog has been going without break in schedule for about half a year, and 2023 is almost coming to an end. I get a bit sentimental thinking about it, and felt it only fair to close the month out with a rip that sits close to me. Sunday Morning as featured in the King for Another Day tournament.

Y'know, for the first few years of my SiIva watching, it was really easily for me to filter things out based on my interests - I'm sure a lot of current SiIva viewers still operate this way. I adressed this back with Beautiful! ~ Curveball of Sean Kingston and waterwraith pokos, but there are simply so many moving pieces of the channel operating at once, that its easy to miss a lot of things along the way. And during Season 1, 2 and 3, SiIva's reverence for Kara's Flowers/Maroon 5 was part of that - I brushed it off as Chaze's silly gimmick and didn't really pay the rips themselves much mind. Yet part of what made the King for Another Day Tournament in Season 4 Episode 1 so special, was that this sort of self-selecting felt far harder to do - the tournament was a community event that asked ALL of us to participate, and part of that participation was to collectively listen to and appreciate all of the various demo tracks released by each participant. Despite their prevalence on SiIva, I had very little knowledge of Adam Levine and Maroon 5 - until suddenly, rips like Sunday Morning made me gutted that he was eliminated from the tournament so early.

And like, I get it - He never truly had a fighting chance specifically due to viewers like me. SiIvaGunner is a celebration of pop culture with a particular fascination and fixation on video game music, and the overlap between that nerdy audience and fans of 2002 Pop Rock album "Songs about Jane" by Maroon 5 realistically didn't have all too much overlap. But this arrangement was my first time ever hearing Sunday Morning, and it absolutely enamored me.

The jazzy feel of cazsu's piano playing and wolfman1405's bass are immediately gripping whilst also clearly establishing the song's tone as different from the original, punctuated to cazsu's vocal performance. I vividly remember just how much the performance spoke to me, specifically for how truly earnest it felt: it reminded me of Season 1 and the performances by Nick Oleksiak in rips like Everyday Goodbyes (SiIvaGunner Band Cover), and further reminded me of how much of a fan initiative SiIvaGunner truly is. The vocals are fantastic, but not in the sort of overproduced, perfectly-pitched studio mixed way that studio albums like Songs about Jane typically are - the vocals, when push comes to shove, feel like that of a human being, one who loves the song they're covering. That much appears to be evident, if nothing else: a commenter on the YouTube upload noted that the arrangement even takes elements from the song's original demo tapes.

Its hard for a rip made by wolfman1405 to ever disappoint, and his additions to the arrangement are unmistakeable. Yet its cazsu's performance that sells it all for me, paired with the context the arrangement slotted into - as part of the biggest SiIvaGunner event in its entire history, and as a celebration of everything the channel had accomplished in that time. It did really get me emotionally, and it was effectively the first in a set of dominoes that led to me becoming far more interested in music culture as a whole, outside of the comfortable little bubble I'd set up for myself within SiIvaGunner and VGM. Today, I'm running a blog entirely about all of the little nooks and crannies of the SiIvaGunner channel - ones I'm familiar with, ones I only discovered recently, and ones from submissions that I'd never even heard of.

Put simply, it was thanks in large part to King for Another Day tournament that I truly opened up in terms of my music tastes. And I owe so much of it to Sunday Morning, to Adam Levine, to Maroon 5 - and to caszu, wolfman1405, Andrew Garrison and Tav Bartlett.

Thank you.

[merakime]

Hi, I've been reading your work for a while and I think it's lovely. I'm a bit shy and embarrassed to make requests, but I really like your writting.

If it's not too much to ask, I could request Qanipalaat and his Operator!S/O giving each other gifts as a courtship, but being from different cultures, neither understand what each other's gifts mean, until suddenly it all clicks and they feel kind of silly that they didn't understand it before.

＃AS PER CUSTOM ! ft. qanipalaat

───── a / n: anon, oh my god …. ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) thank you so much !! i do not bite unless provoked i prommy … and this request is so so adorable i had to get to it FAST !! i hope i can do this justice … the cultural details i kept a little vague for your imagination, but i based qanipalaat’s side off of his promotion record mostly! ( the record is not a necessary read, but it might help understand a certain aspect better! )

no cw — word count: 742 — fluff !!

at first, you didn’t think too much of it. qanipalaat arrived at rhodes island with a bunch of gifts for everyone – charms and amulets, instruments and botanical specimens native to sami. you adored the instrument he had given you so excitedly, and decided to share with him some of your own culture. you can’t forget his expression when you handed him your gift – he looked a sort of starstruck.

his enthusiasm is almost contagious – he begins to bring in more gifts for everyone, and you are always overjoyed to give something back. his returns, to you, are even more anticipated – you wonder.. what has he got for you this time? you must prepare a gift yourself before he returns. you begin to dive deep into your research, trying to find more ways to convey your appreciation with your handicrafts! 

qanipalaat is fond of the little gifts you give him, he made space on a shelf to flaunt them! he doesn’t know exactly what they mean, but it’s the feeling that matters to him – he knows his culture is something deeply important to him, and he likes sharing this love with the people who helped his tribe. his culture, through his gifts, are pieces of him he entrusts to you – is it a similar sentiment to you? he wonders.

it becomes a little tradition of yours – though his gift-giving began to let up for the others overtime (after a certain box incident), for you he always had something when he came back from home. and you always make sure to make something for him, or bring something from back home.

one day he came back with a beautiful box – you braced yourself, the intricate carvings and linings making an unpleasant memory resurface.. but there was no smell coming from the box, other than a cold, fresh mist. a scent somewhat similar to qanipalaat himself, you noted. either way, you felt relief. 

“i brought you something!”, qanipalaat chimes, letting himself into your room.

a familiar tenderness washed over you with his voice. with time, it became one of your favorite things to hear. some kind of pavlov maneuver, you thought – that sentence alone, paired with his toothy grin and glimmering eyes, was more exciting than the gift itself. you missed him, truly.

behind your back, you squeeze the little craft you’ve made for him. 

“what is it?”, when you ask, it’s hard to keep your voice truly even. there’s that contagious excitement of his – it makes your throat waver. you find your eyes lingering on the intricate details of the box – you’ve never seen something like this, but you recognized the motifs and patterns in the carvings from other gifts he had given you.

the small box was sealed with a little plate of metal – he pushed it aside and opened the chest, and your mouth almost fell open with it. it looked like something much more valorous than all of his previous gifts. the amulet laid comfortably in a swab of fur, shiny silver sparkling in the light, looking freshly-faceted. 

you were smitten. you suppose that that was the final blow.

to everyone it was not a surprise when you two became official. the suspicion was already present – the reveal wasn’t particularly shocking. people were already used to your antics. that has its advantages – that means nothing much (in terms of treatment, at least) would change toward you two, so you could go about your routine in peace. your gift giving tradition persists.

though at one point, when you are revisiting your gifts – you notice something on the roof of the amulet box. you were so mesmerized by the silver glow that you didn’t notice the light inscription above said object – you recognized these letters, yes, it was sami script. you couldn’t read it, but now you were truly curious – why did you never ask what the gifts meant? silly you! in your excitement, it slipped your mind.. you begin to notice more details – there are some recurring words across the gifts. you have to ask him, now.

when you catch him again and you haul the question at him – that was the most flustered that you’ve seen qanipalaat. really, usually he was quick to bounce back, but your question had him entirely at loss. when he began to translate the words upon the gifts, many words of adoration, love and kind blessings, you feel like your face was lit aflame. you couldn’t respond when he looked back at you for a response, words stuck in your throat.

───── ending note: i hope you enjoyed this !! i tried my best in trying to make the experience a little more neutral on the readers part to allow more space to insert your own culture, i hope i succeeded ... ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ ) during production tumblr kept moving my "keep reading" tab and i almost ragequit twice but i powered through for qanipalaat.........

[akoiromanticstudent]

aesthetic coffee and bookshop.................. hangout

and the Historian continues to be absolutely lovely, as seen on our date yesterday a couple weeks before Valentine's Day [oops I forgot to finish this post], having met for the first time in person in three years, nothing dramatic happened as a result of the fact that I've graduated, no sudden or notable shift in our relationship. I thought I would detail said date anyway for record keeping and sentimentality, but it's worth noting he casually said we were soulmates so yanno ♥ haha

I arrived 45minutes early to his class that I'd play the Maple Leaf Rag for and knocked on his office door, and he invites me in [despite the fact that he's in the usual pre-class flurry of frantic preparation], and while in there I'm able to confirm that he's still got my insane Valentine's Day gift as well as my extremely secret April Fools Day gift [which I will reveal one day because it was an incredible undertaking but only after my next job is confirmed and I move out of the country lolololol]

and I didn't say the cool thing I wanted to say which was "I'll have you know, I've been waiting two years to say this to your face... hello [first name]" [as he had disallowed me from calling him by first name until it was certain that I would never return as a student] - I really wanted to say this but saying people's names to their faces is like pulling teeth and I never manage it

we had a lovely little chat but I pulled it short because I know he was scrambling for class and I'd better not let his social tendencies get in the way of his work as much as I love hearing him, and he strongly advised I check out the gallery/exhibition downstairs on famous women in popular music [it was indeed very cool ♥] before coming back up to get to the classroom to practice

we realized that I didn't have a way to get into the room early enough so he hands me his key card and says "by the way, you have to give that back" [hehe] and I just laugh but when he leaves I love looking at it [I've seen it before] and the fact that it has his profile picture from when he started teaching at this university, he was SO much younger, emphasizing a model-worthy facial structure with a very modest haircut [notably more hair than now]

I practice various ragtime for a bit and I time it so that he and early students walk in, I'm playing a slower, sweet rag called Weeping Willow to welcome them in, a delightful little piece that none of them have heard before. After this, he enthusiastically introduces me to the class as a pianist, piano teacher, twice music major alum, and a "friend" - the second time he introduced me this way (the first time was to his son - nothing terribly interesting is happening there, I just offered to potentially help his son get an internship or something with my company)

so later in the class I go ahead and play the Maple Leaf, demonstrating various musical, technical, harmonic, and structural aspects, directed by The Historian - and as every time I do this for him, he's delighted that I do this. And "I really particularly love this harmony" and his voice drops and says "Wait, here, stop, this chord, oh yes... Okay next one"... "Just go back and forth between those chords."

after class, I let every else talk to him before I engage him again and we chat like colleagues and buddies (and maybe, somewhat loosely, we are at least nearly peers--after all, I'm an educator as well, simply not classroom), about teaching and students and music, and we depart from the music building together out to our corresponding cars, chatting and laughing and exchanging snarky comments and casually loving compliments

He's SO so so lovely and we go out into the windy, freezing parking lot, and he takes great care to know what my car looks like (as well as get my phone number in case I get lost, as if he didn't already have it) before he goes to his car and I follow him out.

We arrive at the Super Aesthetic Bookshop and I'm sure we look like quite a suspicious pair, this 6'0 white-as-american-man-can-be geezer and 5'3 (reacted) woman, speaking in low hushed pretentious tones and sensible chuckles, standing awkwardly at the counter for several minutes as we slowly realize their coffee machine is broken, so we walk to another coffee shop in the complex with nearly the opposite aesthetic - clean, white, barren, youthful, and now he's the one that looks hilariously out of place, but I feel even weirder, surrounded by people my age and younger (mind you this place looks like it was AI generated from Instagram coffee posts), possibly even giving us looks for the way we interact (but hey! We're just friends, a pair of nerds, hanging out) before we carry our coffees back to the bookshop.

We make our way back to the sitting area-- and it's SO cozy-- he gestures to a few seating options: individual chairs? Or the couch... Which is definitely, definitely, a two-seater, and therefore by definition, a loveseat. Which I DEFINITELY choose, and he seems more than comfortable with, so we settle on this "couch" (fingers curling around our respective coffees for the warmth) - speaking pretentiously again with cute self-depreciating interjections (his eyes cast down bashfully or with secret humor), with a totally appropriate amount of space between us (I still don't know his touch), and somehow never ever getting uncomfortable (his hands are so big), never getting closer (lips curl into a smirk), but never getting further (he hums in agreement, he hums in disagreement, I always think he speaks so smoothly but in reality he stutters enough, in between very fluid phrases).

And we talk about teaching and reading and psychology and society and work and technology and music

He talked about a teaching dilemma, regarding these students, a "modern problem", and he worries that he's holding up expectations that students can no longer meet. Me, being a freaking nerd, don't think that these expectations are excessive, given the relative ease of the other classes in our degree, and I said, "well. I am, in some respects, old fashioned as well..."

Him: "this is why we're soulmates." He's grinning and I laugh with love and don't say anything specific at all to that, but it's definitely there.

We're soulmates.

And maybe that's okay that this means that we're just friends that sometimes come together and chat comfortably for many hours at a time.

[lab-trash]

Villian Arcane

This is the last chapter for a little bit, since it's the last one that I have completed. I have a really rough time writing on the weekends, so hopefully I'll be able to write more tomorrow.

Chapter List

Oliver didn’t share the fact that he knew where Marcus had been hiding out. 

Why should he? Marcus would’ve moved by now. Chase wouldn’t be there. It was fine. Oliver had no reason to turn over Marcus’s base. 

Oliver had a feeling the others were keeping something from him. That they knew something that he didn’t know. 

Normally he wouldn’t care that much, maybe he’d be a little bitter about it, but it felt more important this time. 

Maybe it was because of Marcus. He wanted to know as much as possible.

And in all honesty, when he overheard Kaz and Skylar talking, he didn’t know if it was on purpose or not. 

“Do you think Oliver might be easier on Chase if he knew?” Skylar asked. 

“Honestly, probably not. He’d probably be even worse on him, knowing how bad he’s been lately.”

Oh, fun, overhearing your supposed best friends talking about you like you’re a piece of trash. Lovely. 

“I hate to agree, but you’re probably right.”

“Plus, it’s not like there’s anything actually going on.”

“I disagree,” Skylar said, “I mean, you heard that radio transmission. There’s not nothing going on.”

Oliver fucking knew it. That was a bit upsetting, that they were just keeping this a secret from him. 

Sure, he did like Skylar, and he would be upset if they started dating, but he’d still want to know. 

“I just don’t think anyone should say anything about it unless we get him back.”

“Until we get him back, Kaz,” Skylar corrected sentimentally. Oliver couldn’t fight the urge to roll his eyes. “We’re getting him back. No matter how long it takes.”

“I know. I’m just afraid of losing him forever.”

“That won’t happen. Not right now at least.” Oliver heard two thuds that was probably Kaz punching Skylar in the arm, and Skylar punching back. “I’m serious though. You know Chase is coming back. I don’t think he’d let himself go without… y’know, saying it in person.”

“That’s sweet. And the annoying part is that you’re probably right. He’s such a sap.”

“It’s hard for him to get close with people. It makes sense that he’s so… sentimental about it.”

“I know,” Kaz said. He sounded happy about it. 

Oliver had enough. He wasn’t going to barge in on their conversation, so he just walked off. 

Fun fact about their entire apartment: It had a PA system. It was the same speaker system that set off their mission alert.

Bree’s voice rang out over it as Oliver was walking down the stairs. 

“Guys, new note, get down to Mission Command.” 

He heard Kaz and Skylar’s footsteps shuffle quickly, which made Oliver feel a bit annoyed since he wasn’t in too much of a rush. He supposed he should be, but it’s not like hearing from Marcus was very odd for him. 

They all went down in the hyperlift together, where the rest of their affiliates were; Bree, Davenport, Douglas and AJ. 

“What’s the new note say?” Kaz asked urgently, standing close to Bree. 

“‘I hear you’re missing your precious (former) leader. I don’t know why you keep looking for him, have I not been saying that you’ll get him back? (Seriously, have I not?) “And it’s not like you’ll find us anyway. Trust me, it’s impossible. I’m smarter than all of you combined. I could take another one of you away and you still wouldn’t be able to find us. “I don’t understand why you’re still trying. Just be patient.’”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Oliver exclaimed. 

“Yeah, agree with our current enemy,” Davenport muttered bitterly. 

“Like I’m known for being patient,” Kaz droned sarcastically. “Has Marcus never had friends? Does he just not understand… being attached to a person?” He asked, only half joking. 

“I mean, he liked his mom,” Douglas said with a shrug. “And he was pretty clingy at first. But I don’t think he ever had actual friends.”

“He hung out with Nico Alverez at school sometimes, but I don’t know if they were like… actually friends,” Bree added. 

“Where was this note?” Skylar asked.

“We found another place that he could be and had Bree go there.”

“Where was it?” Oliver asked as if he didn’t know.

“A base that Douglas used to share with Krane,” Bree said. 

“The last place they were was an old base of mine too,” Douglas commented. 

“Maybe that’s just where he’s staying,” AJ said with a shrug. “Going to different ones, maybe every day. How many bases did you have?” Douglas chuckled lightly.

“Several.”

“Do you remember where all of them are?” Bree asked. Douglas hesitated. 

“Yes,” He said, but it sounded a lot like a question. 

“So no,” Donald spoke up, earning a quick punch in the arm from his brother. 

“Well, get the coordinates for the ones you know the location of, and I’ll check them all,” Bree said. 

“I could probably get all of them, but it’ll take me a little longer,” Douglas said. 

“Start with the ones you know first,” Bree said. Douglas nodded as he began working again on the cyberdesk. 

“I wish we could get his location faster,” Kaz said with a sad look on his face. Skylar put her hand on Kaz’s shoulder and Oliver fought the need to grimace. 

“We all do,” Davenport said. “We’ll get him back.”

“That’s what he’s been saying,” Oliver muttered. 

In all honesty, Oliver definitely preferred life without Chase. He absolutely did not understand where everyone else was coming from when they talked about how they missed him. 

He really wasn’t looking forward to when he came back. 

He couldn’t just say that though. Everyone would hate him. 

That wouldn’t bode well for him. 

Oliver had mixed feelings about that, honestly. It’s not like they liked him anyway, and he was starting to not like them. But he still didn’t want to be on their bad side.

Not yet.

“Why can’t we track them actively?” Kaz asked, a bit uneasy seeming. 

“We can only track where a transmission came from, we can’t track the device itself,” Donald said. 

“Why not?” Kaz asked, “Didn’t you guys make the radio things?"

“Chase did,” Douglas said, “He’d know how, but we don’t.” Kaz sighed.

“Of course,” He muttered. “I guess we just wait until the next transmission.” Skylar shook her head.

“Have we had any luck finding Marcus directly? That was something you guys were working on, right?” She asked. Douglas sighed.

“I mean, I’ve been working on it, yeah, but no luck. Any identifying things I put in there must be long gone by now,” He said. “Giselle must’ve changed something, or maybe Marcus himself.”

“Marcus can change his own code and shit?” bree asked. 

“Yeah,” Douglas said, “If he automates it and then hooks himself up, then yeah. But he might’ve even found a way to do it wirelessly, since he’s got those supersmarts.” 

Oliver thought back to the base. There were wires everywhere, but that didn’t mean they connected to Marcus. 

“So that’s a dead end…” Skylar groaned. 

“Mostly, yeah,” Douglas said. Skylar scrubbed her hands over her face. 

Kaz sat down in a chair at the cyberdesk. He let his face squish against his fist. 

“What’s wrong?” Oliver asked, seeing the sadness in his eyes. Kaz moved his eyes to look at Oliver, filled now with anger instead of woe. 

He let out a hefty sigh before standing up and leaving through the hyprerlift. Bree followed. 

“Oliver, I know you don’t like Chase,” Skylar said, “But the rest of us do. You need to be more mindful of what you’re saying.” 

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” Skylar said. “Kaz is in a bad place right now. It’s not every day someone just disappears,” She said.

Douglas and Donald left the room, probably to avoid the drama.

“Kaz is unmedicated right now. Did you know that?” She asked. “His parents haven’t gotten him his medical information to give to a psychiatrist. Chase was his coping mechanism. Chase kept him happy, and kept him productive, and helped him relax. It wasn’t perfect, but it helped. Two years, Chase helped him so much. And now, he’s not eating. “He keeps forgetting to drink water, and he forgets to do anything that isn’t looking for Chase. It is the weirdest hyperfixation in the world, but it makes sense. And you saying stuff like that is basically the same as someone… I don’t know, lighting your comic books on fire. “That’s the closest I can think of,” She said. She paused. “Okay, no. It’s like if someone kidnapped me and kept taunting you about it. That is exactly what this is. Gain some sympathy, Oliver. We all know you hate Chase. But Chase tries for you, and we all try for you. It’s your turn now.”

And with that, she left. 

“She has a point,” AJ said, startling Oliver. He forgot he was there. He was sitting in a chair with his legs up on a cyberdesk like he usually did. 

“Damnit, man— why are you still here!” 

“Chase is my best friend,” AJ said, “The closest thing I’ve ever had to family. Your parents both left, you should know what it feels like to be alone.” He put his legs down, leaning forward, a fist on the table. “How did it feel when your dad went to England? That’s what I’d compare it to.”

AJ got up, opening one of the passage doors with his tablet, and walked through. 

Oliver’s sensitive to stuff like this. People he cared about talking to him like that. In that way that was like yelling, but wasn’t. That stern tone of voice. 

He’d start crying. He wouldn’t be able to stop. 

But he felt nothing right now. He didn’t care. 

Maybe it was because he knew Chase was okay. The yelling was empty. 

Not that his mom’s yelling matches had reason behind it. No valid reason, at least. 

Maybe Oliver’d matured, gotten over that trauma. 

Or maybe he stopped caring.

He pushed that thought away, taking a hefty breath before heading upstairs.

He attempted to enter the boys’ room, but it was locked. He didn’t even know the door could lock. He knocked quietly. 

The door opened quickly, Skylar behind it. 

“Skylar?” Oliver asked. 

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” Skylar said. “Kaz wants to be alone.”

“But you’re in there.”

“I don’t count,” Skylar bit. “I’m not human.” Oliver huffed a breath.

“Fine,” He said. 

“Your blanket is on the couch,” Skylar said before shutting the door. The lock clicked. 

Oliver slept surprisingly well that night.

[retrocontinuity]

!!! no pressure, but i would. Love to hear about your thoughts on gojou/nanami, or nanami in general

OH MY GOD I truly wasn't expecting someone to actually ask me My Thoughts on Nanami and Gojou. Well, you asked for this, literally.

tl;dr these tweets I already made:

Basically, I think too often analysis of Nanami focuses on just Haibara and Haibara's death, because, well, Haibara's apparition appears right before Nanami's death and that's obviously big and powerful and makes us very, very sad. But Haibara's ghost is a representation -- it shouldn't be taken too literally. He, and even his similarities to Yuji, are not the entirety of Nanami's experience with the jujutsu world. Nanami didn't quit being a jujutsu sorcerer until at least graduation, another (most likely) three years after Haibara passes. Then, four long years after graduation, Nanami returns to jujutsu, and who does he call? Not Yaga, who was the principal when he was in school, or any other administrator, or even a manager, or even another professional sorcerer like Kusakabe. No, he calls Gojou Satoru. He still has Gojou's number. By the time we meet him, when Gojou first introduces him to Yuji, he has been Gojou's coworker for (likely) four years. Nanami has known Gojou for over a decade, through the (barely) good and the (very) bad. He has known Gojou when they were students, he has known Gojou even when he himself was no longer in the jujutsu world, and he has known Gojou as a colleague. It is an incredible relationship that has happened entirely offscreen (EXCEPT FOR THE DELICIOUS HOKKAIDO BUSINESS TRIP IN THE LIGHT NOVEL) and in implied bits and pieces, and it sets my brain on fire.

Gojou and Nanami present facades. Gojou's is that of a silly, shallow man. He laughs about being distant relatives with Yuta after he, presumably, is forced to kill his one and only friend. I think more readers assume Nanami's facade (cranky, stoic former salaryman) is his real personality, but I would argue it's also a persona that he's consciously developed and ruthlessly enforced. If Gojou is "a textbook superficiality," then Nanami's entire character presentation is "textbook repression." He's actually a very empathetic, feeling, and passionate person, who is sentimental about things he loves and devastated by their passing. Note that he is instantly able to size up Yuji's faults and best traits, read into Mahito's motivations, and is always trying to do best by the people--mostly the students--who deserve to live out long and undisturbed lives. But he tries his best to minimize his ties to people around him, to make himself as wooden and unmoving as possible. He is so resolute in his own code of conduct that it's easy to understand why you may think he is actually stuffy. Even his jujutsu power is repression -- he gives himself specific constraints in how to express it, and it's when those constraints burst through that he becomes powerful.

Nanami and Gojou's interactions speak to people who have had to work and live with each other, and that fascinates me. Like, what if Nanami's particular personality quirks about work as a jujutsu sorcerer is not a general reaction to jujutsu in general, but specifically about his experience being one of the few people left who went to school, graduated, and now works with Gojou? We all know Nanami's infamous monologue about what makes an adulthood, that facing life-or-death situations isn't what makes you an adult, but rather the slow accumulations of little despairs. Obviously this applies to the jujutsu world in general but I think it also applies very specifically to Nanami's interactions with Gojou. Gojou is, quite literally, untouchable. His life is abnormal. He does not have little despairs. He only has very large ones. His despairs, by dint of being Six-Eyes Gojou Satoru, are life-or-death situations.

So, in response, Nanami has dedicated himself to being "small," not in the physical sense but in the emotional sense. He is 薄い -- thin (in the sense of a broth or ice you skate over), pale, light. His wants are small: to build a house, to read some books, "turning them page by page." He wants some money and he wants to retire peacefully. He has seen what happens to people like Gojou and Getou who want too much, who are ambitious with their desires, and he dreads their ending. Of course he believes what he says, that adulthood is a slow process of decay rather than an early grave. But don't you think he defines it that way, just a little, out of pettiness? It's not how Gojou or Getou would have defined it, and not how Haibara experienced his own life -- and that's the point.

I would argue that by the time JJK opens, Nanami knows who Gojou is as a person better than any other person. I would argue that Nanami knows Gojou better than even Getou, because he has seen what Gojou is like after Getou's death whereas Getou has not. Nanami was still in school when Gojou seeks out Fushiguro Megumi, and it's not impossible that Nanami knows Gojou's involvement with Megumi and the Zenins. Nanami had been back for many years in jujutsu society by the time Gojou had to kill Getou with his own hands. Nanami had to watch Gojou (not) mourn and scheme and plan out his little rebellions, literally plan to take apart their world by the very seams to vindicate his dead best friend. I'm not sure that's what Getou predicted, when he died, but Nanami had to be there, watching every second of it.

My personal headcanon is that Nanami is so emotionally unapproachable, and particularly so prickly in response to Gojou, because after Getou's departure and later Getou's death, he tried to reach out to Gojou, maybe romantically, maybe just platonically, and Gojou rebuffed him, utterly. My headcanon is that Gojou's rejection, in part, is what really makes Nanami leave for an ordinary existence, away from other jujutsu scholars. And I posit that part of the reason why he reacts so badly now to Gojou's teasing overtures is because Gojou is so annoying he knows Gojou doesn't mean them. Gojou doesn't want to be his friend (or his lover). Gojou doesn't want him, because Gojou doesn't want anyone, anymore. He's reminded of that every time Gojou teases him or pretends to impose on him or acts overly friendly. It is being rubbed into his face, year after year. The sting of it may be less fresh, but it never really goes away.

But I also don't think Gojou is a monster. I think Gojou knows he's incapable of giving Nanami solace, but he also can't help himself. Gojou knows he can't be Nanami's partner, but he also knows Nanami knows him the best, is able to "understand other people's pain," and he is drawn to that. He wants to find in Nanami what Nanami is hoping to give Yuji, some sort of validation and solace and rest and purpose. But I suspect, in a way, Gojou knows and preemptively regrets that he will sacrifice Nanami, directly or indirectly, at the altar of his mission to change the jujutsu world, which is, in a way, an altar to his first, last, and most terrible lost love. Getou got to Gojou first, and made Gojou into the kind of man that would have haunted Nanami -- if it weren't for the fact that you can't be haunted by a man who will outlive you.

In a symbolic sense, Getou and Haibara are linked because of Getou's final conversation with Haibara, where they represent the dying (literal or through corruption) of an idealism about how jujutsu sorcerers can help. Gojou and Nanami are linked because they both survive their partners' deaths and are forced to grapple with how to make use of their lives after tragedy. So here you have a man who represses himself, who tries not to reach out, who actively keeps himself in remove, and then you have another man -- Gojou -- who repels. You cannot physically -- or emotionally -- get near Gojou anymore. But you also have these deep ties that inextricably wrap them into each other's lives. They are not two halves of the whole, they are two awkward expressions of the same half, who have cut themselves off from the yearning for completion, who know intimately each other's wounds but are bound so tight in their stations that they cannot even reach each other to lick them. So, instead, they pretend to be two people who sometimes work with each other -- no, not even. They aren't even coworkers. They are two people who are merely in the same profession, who cross paths from time to time on a purely professional basis. How could you not ship that?

Sometimes I go back to the flashback episode where Nanami goes to the bakery and talks to the cashier. That girl, too, is a kind of apparition -- not of Haibara, but of Gojou's pain. When Nanami sees the curse on her shoulder, he thinks, god, but I am so tired. I should just leave it alone. Leave it alone, and it's not like anyone dies. That girl will live, even if she is in pain. (Just like Gojou will survive, even if he is in pain.) Why should I put myself out for her, when no one is out here to save me? I am nothing. The only person who will take care of me is me. (Gojou let Haibara die, and he will let me die.) No one will care if I'm gone. (Gojou will not care when I am gone.) When he says this out loud to her, the girl is lost, because he is not talking to her. He is talking past her, to Gojou. "This is too complicated for me," she says, laughing, and the spell is broken. He looks at her and realizes: she's not Gojou. Her problems are magnitudes smaller. If Nanami were to reach out, he could touch her.

He reaches out. He doesn't touch her. He destroys the curse. It is so small, so easy for him. It doesn't take anything from him at all. Maybe it makes him feel strong, for once. Like there is something in his control. That he can make a difference. Maybe he is thinking, totally subconsciously, that he is ready to take on again that Sisyphean task of clearing the burden from Gojou's shoulders. If he can ease the pain, however small, for one other person, why can't that other person be Gojou Satoru? So he picks up the phone. He dials Gojou's number. (What wouldn't I give to know how many times he has done that in the last four years! How I hope the answer is zero, because in his heart of hearts, Nanami wonders if Gojou would ever call him, and Gojou does not!) He asks to drop by the school, as if it has not been four years. As if this is a conversation they have all the time, and Gojou is expecting him. Over the phone, Gojou laughs at him. The rest, they might say, is history.

In the face of rejection, indifference, being taken for granted, and light-hearted mockery, knowing full well that he will be hurt over and over again, Nanami returns to Gojou. He doesn't respect Gojou, and I suspect that most of the time he doesn't even like Gojou, but puts his life and his body and his work in Gojou's hands. He goes back to Gojou and then stays there, until death does them part.

Seriously, who wouldn't ship that?

[musicarenagh]

Jennifer Tefft's "Love and War": A Stellar Serving of Indie-Rock Brilliance It's tough to nail down exactly what makes Jennifer Tefft's latest single, "Love and War," so magical. Seriously, folks, it's a barnstormer of indie rock energy that bounces from one emotional peak to another, all the while sketching a bright and complex portrait of the crazy dance between fire and calm in relationships. https://open.spotify.com/track/6VMcYIdh326Y4N9hfslxiy?si=142c8fef14704d74 We're still reeling from her impressive win as the 'Female Performer of the Year' at the New England Music Awards, and now she's gone and hurled this absolute gem our way. "Love and War" whiffs of the exciting new shades we can expect in her upcoming sixth album. This track has Tefft wading into the messy waters of love - showcasing a relationship that's teeming with passion but also burdened with the hefty weight of maintaining a long-distance affair. Worst bit? Her guy's a disaster at keeping in touch. Musically, this piece is a delicate blend of dreamy effortlessness and laser-focused craftsmanship. Those thunderous toms and searing strings weave a rich, broad canvas that is as pulse-pounding as it is emotionally exhausting. There's a real streak of energy buzzing about, lighting up the atmosphere and hooking you right into those gripping three-and-a-half minutes. And oh, can we talk about Tefft's vocals? Raw, genuine, just oozing authenticity - a real high-point transporting the narrative of the song right at ya. [caption id="attachment_51720" align="alignnone" width="1557"] Jennifer Tefft's "Love and War": A Stellar Serving of Indie-Rock Brilliance[/caption] Let's doff a hat for producer Munk Duane, who has spun this into an aural feast that has your ears pinned from the get-go. And Hans DeKline? Mastering this piece into a clear, crisp and powerful journey that neatly delivers Tefft's heartfelt sentiments. What's cool is that Jennifer shakes up her crew a little. We've got Chris Georgenes on the skins and Stephen Beccia grooving on the bass and backing vocals. Coupled with the rock-steady John Parrillo, they lighten up as the fresher and more energetic Jennifer Tefft & The Strange. This shift is evident in "Love and War," with a punchy, well-coordinated performance that keeps echoing in your head long after the final notes have faded. You know, on hearing "Love and War," you're swept into this fleeting universe, a lush mix of love's intoxicating sweetness savoured with the bitter scraps of hopeless chats. Despite its indie rock roots, there's a high-flying quality to the tune that rounds it to the masses. It's a sure-shot sign of Tefft's unyielding talent to engage, surprise, and keep pushing her own boundaries. So here's a cheer for Jennifer Tefft & The Strange, charting their own path through the choppy waves of indie rock like it's a walk in the park. Soaring above the ordinary, striding over the great divide between victory and disaster, their music resonates with a deep-seated yearning and the promise of epic tunes yet to come. For now, though, let's drown in "Love and War" – a stellar serving of indie-rock brilliance. But let's not forget: it's perfectly imperfect as it should be – just like the best love stories. Do you get me? Follow the group on Website, Facebook, Bandcamp, YouTube and Instagram.

[mayhemandtrouble]

Wedding Bells Chapter

Full story with detailed tags of Ao3

The ceremony was scheduled loosely for morning, when gentle rays would be scattered through the leaves of nearby trees. Rey could hear her friends in the courtyard, with Rose taking charge of decorating as though she were tending to a fleet of ships. It was sweet. Last night, after a few drinks, she’d asked Rey if she and Finn ought to come to Naboo. Rey hoped they would.

“Ben, you’re supposed to be leaving!” Rey laughed, coming back to the moment as she felt his strong arms around her from behind.

“In a minute.” Ben smiled, gently coaxing her towards the refresher.

“What’s that?” She nodded towards the thin box while he picked up her brush. She’d suspected he would want to tend her hair himself. It had become a private ritual between them, with Ben allowing himself to care for another and Rey allowed herself to be cared about.

“Open it.” He teased, gently running the brush over his lover’s brown silk hair. Coaxing out every tangle before Ben began to section off slender bits, starting at her crown and working down. 

“Oh… oh Ben.” Rey breathed out slowly as she caught sight of what lay inside the box. Three pieces, to be precise. A bracelet, done in bright, silver metal that seemed to shimmer in the light. Simple enough but with a winding floral vine and embedded pearls for the center of each flower. Beneath were two copies in miniature, omitting the pearls. One for her, one for each of the twins.

“You should have-” Rey tried to turn her head but Ben kept her looking straight in the mirror with gentle pressure of his hands.

“Stay still. Besides,” Ben kissed the back of her neck lightly. It felt like so long ago that he had done this through their connections, trying desperately to win her trust only to break her goodness. “A man gets to decorate his love.”

“Mmm, but you’ll be left out when we all wear them.” She teased, knowing that warm purr in his voice. Ben was happy. That knowledge alone warmed her from the inside out.

“Silly Flower.” Using his teeth, he yanked the sleeve of his right arm down a little. Displaying a matching, if darker toned, piece already on his wrist. Far broader, it lacked the trailing the vine and pearls while keeping the floral images - carved directly into a dark metal so that the lines shone like stars in the night. “I intend to keep you where I can see you, even when I can’t reach you.”

Foolish sentiment, he knew. But even if he had to stay within the walls of Varykino forever, Rey would have to step out. He would not allow their marriage to become a cage for her. It was a trinket to bind the family, and to help him remember why he’d stepped back from the abyss.

When Ben stepped out of their bedroom, it was after drying several sets of happy tears from Rey’s cheeks. No doubt, she would be trying to think of something to present him with in the coming days. That was simply how they were, and he was grateful for it. Once fully into the hall, he noted his Mother lingering in a nearby doorway and smirked.

“Waiting to make a last plea for her sanity? She won’t run fast in her condition.”

“Her sanity is long gone.” Leia snorted, striding over to her son. Between his style and her own, the man was dressed in accordance with his family station. A black tunic, made of a textured weave that drew the light across, with a cape attached at the shoulders in a matte black. More of the same fabric draped across his broad chest as a sash. Trousers in black linen, with a stripe of gun metal silver running down the outside of his legs. A nod to Han’s blood stripes, though Leia knew better than to reference it aloud. 

“Agreed.” His smirk grew, along with the smile lines around his eyes. Leia had spared no expense, where Rey would let her indulge, and one could read the significance of the day in how she dressed. The sides of her hair had been rolled into beautiful ropes of strands, with Grandmother’s silver hairpieces secured along the back of her head. At the base of her neck, the length was braided and curled around itself, interwoven with ribbon that was embroidered with precious metals. Catching the light subtly but beautifully.

“Stand still, or you’ll make me wrinkle your tunic. Rey won’t care, but I will.” Leia fussed, seeming to pull a wide black belt from nowhere and securing it around her son’s waist. Each movement confused him and sent the immense swathes of her draped gown fluttering. She had selected rose colors, with wide silver accents that gathered the material of her sleeves several inches below her wrists. Entirely impractical and entirely wonderful.

“Mother-”

“It’s tradition, Ben.” Hushing him with a scolding tone, Leia fastened the belt neatly under his sash. She took only a moment to step back to observe the effect before adding her finishing touch.

Ben looked down when he felt a slight tug at the belt. As his mother’s hands withdrew, with a quiet smile on her face, he stared at what she had left behind. His saber, not as it was when he presented it to her, but how it had been before his fall. She had repaired it, quietly and on her own, removing the crossguard and cleaning the metal where the vents had blown. Now it shone in the morning light and when his ungloved fingers traced it, all he felt was her warmth.

“It’s family tradition for me to outfit you with a sword for your wedding day.”

She spoke quickly and Ben smiled. If that was the story she wished to tell, it was a good one. It was true, technically speaking. He was her heir, the only descendent of the Royal House of Alderaan. And with the Rhindon Sword destroyed along with the planet, something else would have to suffice. Though it certainly didn’t have to be a lightsaber, lovingly restored to the last time he’d been strong with the Light.

“Thank you, Mother.” Ben stooped and kissed her forehead lightly, before he was shooed along so that Leia could help Rey with her veil.

“You look beautiful.” Leia couldn’t help a smile of motherly pride at Rey. She had opted for a dress that was relatively simple, by the current planet’s fashion standards. White satin, whose full skirt flowed in waves along her figure, angled with a shorter hem in the front to display a cream lining to the skirt. A neatly tailored bodice, and the entire thing was modestly accentuated with the pearls, gems and beadwork that they had removed from Padme’s veil. 

“I feel like I’m about to trip and ruin the dress.” Rey scrunched her face in self-deception. She wasn’t wearing heels, plain white flats and she rather felt her ankles were spilling out of them, but still. Rey wasn’t used to formal attire at the best of times.

“You won’t. And even if you do, I’ve learned that nothing gets ruined beyond repair.” The older woman chuckled, noting the newly acquired bracelet on Rey’s wrist. She’d had to arrange those for Ben, of course. It had been nothing short of wonderful to see him so particular about each detail of a gift for Rey. “Sit down, let’s get you finished.”

“Should I wear cosmetics?” Eying Leia’s face in the mirror as Rey sat before the vanity, her own features felt plain for the occasion. She rarely contemplated the pigments, but seeing Leia’s perfectly adorned face brought the question back to the surface. She hadn’t expected Leia to pause in unpacking the veil, looking over at Rey for a long moment before answering.

“Do you want to wear them?”

“Maybe… just a little, for today. I don’t have any so could I…” She hesitated. This was the sort of thing one learned with their parents, Rey supposed. If they wanted to use the powders and creams at all, and how to use them. Or with their friends as children and teens. It wasn’t supposed to be something you learned from your husband’s mother on your wedding day.

“Let’s see if you like it.” Leia smiled. It was only a brief walk back to her own room and Leia returned with a large, cream toned case. Upon opening it, Rey swore there were more colors inside than she was aware existed in the entire galaxy. Small pots of barely tinted liquid, tubes of brillant scarlets and sweet pinks, pans of varying sizes and tones - the purpose of each alluded her. 

With absolutely no concern as to if it delayed things, Leia took her time. Showing Rey as her Mother had once taught Leia, with the pair settling on a barely there shade of dusty pink for her lip. A little shimmer on Rey’s eyelids that Leia skillfully blended out and a hint of mascara. The effect was subtle, and Rey found she more enjoyed the time spent with Leia than the impact of the pigments. Sharing a warm smile with her mother-in-law in the reflective glass while Leia settled the veil into place.

Rey had decided to do nothing to damage the family heirloom of generational fabric - leaving the opaque white veil as it was, so that it covered her hair and draped down her back in soft waves, echoing the hem of her dress. What they had done instead was to remove much of the opulence, leaving a scattering of beads along the fabric and having them skillfully placed along the dress. Spread over a much larger surface, they created the impression of having stardust scattered along her clothing. 

“One last thing.” Leia watched Rey turn to admire herself in a long mirror, the moment bittersweet. The poor girl should have her own family here with her, Han would have loved to see this too. Hated ceremonies but loved a party and he’d have been so proud of Ben. Well, she simply had to do the role of four and Leia Organa was used to taking on a challenge.

“Hmmm?” Rey glanced over in confusion, particularly when her mentor produced a thin silver metal belt, presumably from her large sleeves.

“On Alderaan, the Royal Heir would wear a ceremonial sword during their wedding. You’re both my heirs, so I expect you both to look the part.” Leia’s firm words didn’t tolerate objections, her fingers fastening the belt into place just as she had for Ben. Inspecting Rey fastidiously before she clipped an unfamiliar saber hilt to Rey’s new accessory. It was comprised mostly of a metal with an oddly rose gold hue to it, with raised stripes of silver metal down the length and rings at either end. “There. It will serve you well.”

“Leia, this is yours.” Rey’s voice faltered, her fingertips tracing the cool metal reverently. “I can’t…”

“You most certainly can and you will. Better it goes with you than to sit around gathering dust. My fighting days are behind me and I never cared for the thing anyway.” Dismissing every objection Rey could possibly muster with a smile and a shake of her grey head. Music began to float in through the open windows, increasing Leia’s smile. “Let’s get moving, before Ben decides I’ve kidnapped you.”

As Leia took Rey’s arm, there was a sense of correctness to see her saber at Rey’s hip. She wouldn’t tell them the reason she had set it aside, a premonition that her son’s death would be tied to her own path as a Jedi. Everything that they had done to try and circumvent fate for Ben had only made things worse. It was time to trust.

Chewbacca could barely believe what he was witnessing. The smile on Ben’s face was shockingly gentle as he reached out for Rey’s hand. Drawing the bride from Leia’s side to his own, under a small awning that was positively laden with flowers. Rey hadn’t expressed much in the way of wants or preferences, but she’d asked for flowers. So Chewie personally decorated the stupid metal arch himself - only because he could easily reach the top, mind you.

Rey looked stupidly happy as well, gazing up at Ben. They exchanged vows that were similar to the ones Chewie had heard Han and Leia offer each other. The similarity hurt, thinking about how much Han wanted to be there for his son.

The smuggler turned General would plan their missions around making sure they were back in time to take care of Ben. And increasingly, Han simply didn’t go on them anymore - preferring to spend time with his son. It had broken him when Ben rejected them all, broken him in a way that Chewbacca didn’t know Han could be broken. 

They’d gone back out, trying to make believe like nothing was wrong. Like Han’s son simply didn’t exist, was dead, or would be coming back - whatever was easier to process in the moment. Leia buried herself into work with a fervor Chewie had never seen, watching in dismay as his family began to drift further apart.

And then there was that smile. That soft smile that crinkled the skin by Ben’s eyes as he looked down to Rey, promising her a softer forever than he himself had any right to. And despite it all, Chewie wanted to believe it. Hating himself for it, Chewbacca wanted to believe that Han Solo’s son could find a way to be happy in a quiet life with Rey and their children.

If anyone had asked Poe Dameron if he ever planned to raise a glass with Kylo Ren, he would have broken their jaw just for having the nerve. It was hard not to though, when the asshole looked so damn pleased just to stand next to Rey during their little afterparty. 

There were gifts, of course. One doesn’t come to these sorts of things without them, and Leia seemed to be making up for lost time in spoiling the couple - regardless of how many times Rey protested that they simply didn’t need all this. And Kylo had quietly set Rey up in a comfortable chair, bringing her the wrapped parcels one at a time. Poe had seen barghests and hounds with less pathetically obvious devotion. He’d have to stop teasing Finn about being wrapped around Rose’s little finger - Rey barely had time to notice her glass was getting low before Kylo filled it again.

“Not what you expected either?” Finn’s voice was low and to the side. 

“Still hate him.” Poe snorted, lifting his glass and emptying it in a quick swallow.

“Feeling’s mutual.” If anything, watching the domesticity made Finn more angry with the former Supreme Leader. If the leaders of the First Order were capable of such tenderness, where the hell had it been during Finn’s life - when he was only a few letters and numbers without a name. 

“She’s happy though.” Poe finally spoke, with a begrudging tone and Finn nodded. They didn’t have to like it. They didn’t like it. But for Rey’s sake, they had to support it. At least unless the brat returned to the Kylo Ren that they knew. 

If Rey heard the murmured conversation, she gave no sign of it. The wounds created by the First Order, and by Kylo Ren, were poorly healed and would take time to recover. Meanwhile, the growing children demanded Rey be uncharacteristically selfish. She had to take care of herself, to accept Ben’s doting and for once wasn’t hurrying to run ahead. His fingers sliding over her hair - the precious veil tucked aside for the next generation - felt warm as sunshine.

“Rose, is this…?” Rey couldn’t hold back a shameless giggle as she revealed the box hidden by colorful wrapping paper. The paper itself was wadded into a ball and tossed gently to the ground, where the porgs began to peck at it. Trilling as they bounced and waddled after it while it rolled again.

“Yup! The new mod kit we were talking about before you left. It’s technically for the newer models but I figured we could retrofit it to the Falcon. Plus, I met a guy during one of the last missions - this is one of the deluxe editions. We could use it to program the ship speakers to blast dance music, or lullabies.” Rose’s smile was as wide and infectious as her friend’s. 

Picking out a wedding gift for General Organa’s daughter-in-law and Kylo Ren’s bride had been difficult at first. Nothing seemed good enough for the former, and she kept coming up empty when thinking about the latter. Nothing that was usual seemed to quite fit the bill. Finn, a little surprisingly, was the one who reminded her that the gift was for Rey. After that, it was simple.

“Fantastic!”

Ben admired the way her green eyes lit up, how her smile seemed larger than life. Thinking about her working on the Falcon was strange, uncomfortable. He’d never escape from the damn ship. Sighing in resignation, he shook his head and exchanged the unwrapped parcel for another. Anything to make her happy, keep her laughing. Including biting a raw spot on his cheek to make sure he didn’t say anything that would start a fight and ruin the day for her.

“This one’s from me.” Finn spoke up, quickly crossing the floor with a grin. “Well, from all of us but I came up with the idea.”

“And you’re sure fast to take the credit, buddy.” Poe smirked openly, seemingly indifferent but also sliding in closer to see how she reacted.

The box itself was nondescript, once deprived of its celebratory wrapping and bows. A simple brown gift box, the sort you’d buy at any number of stores throughout the galaxy. Once Rey removed the lid, her lips curved into an amused smile.

“Sand?” Lifting the container, Rey held it up to the light. It was a lovely piece in and of itself, a clear crystal orb with veins of gold, silver and copper running through. Small enough to fit in the palm of her hand and completely sealed, it was filled with sand with just enough empty space that she could watch the grains tumble about.

“From Jakku. So you’ll always have a bit of home.” Her first friend rubbed the back of his neck, watching her eyes. Rey was either going to love this or hate it. Finn was fairly certain she’d love it, but still. It hadn’t exactly been easy to get on short notice but Poe could get his hands on anything with a proper fire under his ass.

“Oh…” Rey’s voice trailed off, cupping the orb with both hands now. Home, her first home. Where she last saw Mother and Father, where she’d been born and they’d protected her from Grandfather. With tears in her eyes, Rey looked up to the three of them. “Thank you… so much.”

“Thank you.”

Every head in the room turned to Ben when he spoke. Apart from his vows, Ben had been exceptionally quiet. Creepily so, to Rey’s three friends. Now, the only two words he’d spoken carried the weight of the world. Especially as he took the gift with such care, making sure to place it on a nearby mantle where it would be safe. 

He couldn’t say he particularly cared for the thing, but Ben well understood the desire for relics of one’s past. Brushing his thumb lightly over the crystal surface, he wondered briefly if her parents would have approved of him. He’d have courted her relentlessly no matter what, but it was oddly warming to think they might have. A pleasant thought to consider as Ben made his way back slowly, watching his newly appointed wife open yet another gift from Mother.

[finniestoncrane]

Omg those Yandere prompts give meeeee lifeeee! Please idk if your requests are closed or if I ask for too much but like… G1, N1 and W1 with Dano!Riddler maybe we can get some of that good Hero!Reader in there? Do what you want tho and take a break if you need! I’ll love anything you put out.

Conflict of Interest

Dano!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 600 if my requests were closed i'd still write whatever you wanted, even if i had no fingers i would type with my lil snoot u-u i like writing the hero stuff, actually! i thought it would be difficult but it's going ok so far lol also sad anon, please i hope this was enough of eddie being an obsessive little idiot for you but i can always do more to cheer you up 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: villain/hero dynamics

Crouching in the back of the warehouse on the docks, you held your breath, trying to inhale and exhale as silently as possible, dead set on not being caught. If you could just catch him by surprise, be the one who brings in The Riddler, you could secure your status as a vigilante to rival Batman, or seem worthy enough to work with him.

You wanted to impress him so badly, to feel like you were good enough to share a space with him, to do the kind of good work he did. Which is why you had gone after The Riddler yourself. A stupid mistake. Because from the moment he sensed that someone was paying attention to him, Edward Nashton had been starry-eyed and obsessed.

First, the greetings cards, then the romantic riddles left at the crime scenes. And now he was following you back. And while sure, that did come in handy when the person who is always there when you turn around is the one you’re trying to capture, it was still unnerving to have to be on edge. He was a determined, weird little guy, and despite your best efforts, you were cornered, lured into a trap of his making.

“Here, kitty, kitty.”

He was searching desperately for you, and you could hear the irritation in his voice. The patronising tone made your blood boil. He really thought this was a game. You wondered if it was possible that this was his plan. To aggravate you, get you emotionally wound up enough that you would be easy to take down. The months of horrendously creepy attempts at flirting made more sense in that context.

“I know you’re in here…Stop ignoring me! I can smell you in the air, that specific scent. What kind of vigilante makes sure to have a signature smell? One who is desperate to leave a trail for me to follow."

Having a bit of a temper tantrum, you could hear boxes being thrown around, crates getting kicked. A loud crash followed by a shriek and a moan. Sitting still, you resisted the urge to run and help. After all, this could have been part of the trap. A few feeble groans, a weak plea for help. You were supposed to be the hero, you couldn’t ignore a cry for help, regardless who it was from.

Stepping out from the hiding spot, you followed the sounds of shuffling to find him, The Riddler, pinned to the ground under a large wooden crate, his leg crushed under a piece of it.

“Ha! You are here!”

“Is now the time to gloat, Riddler?”

You lifted the crate, his eyes widening at your obvious strength, cheeks blushing as he smiled.

“My hero.”

There wasn’t a single note of sarcasm behind it. He really was obsessed.

“You got my note! You solved the riddle! You came here, to be mine. You’re so clever, much more clever than you look.”

“Is that supposed to woo me?”

“Well, I’m hardly going to spit out ridiculous sentiments like we’re in a romance novel. What do you want me to say? ‘You’re my whole world, my Goddess. You're more than divine, you’re celestial.’ That doesn’t fit my brand!”

“Is it how you feel though?”

“No! That’s silly. But…I do think you’re pretty. And you solved all my riddles. There’s a connection there somewhere, even if you can’t see it yet.”

“You can tell me all about it on the way to Arkham then.”

He got up willingly, giddy even, at the prospect of getting to be your passenger. So much so that your nerves were on edge as he clung to your arm, getting into the car and sitting patiently. Smiling at you as you drove. Eyes trailing down your body, fixated on your fingers when they gripped around the gear stick, licking his lips and inhaling sharply.

It wasn't pleasant, but at least he had come easily. In fact, it was suspiciously easy to capture him, and it couldn’t just be put down to his crush on you. Something was definitely wrong, and maybe the connection you shared with him was responsible for the warning signals shooting through your senses.

[lucytara]

Yeah I get wanting some variation in your writing and whatnot. Hmm.

Gold. "I defy you. I defy your god. The laws of the universe said my love was gone from me. I said watch me save her." Bumbleby.

Have fun!

it’s possible. that i went. a little overboard with this prompt. 

"I defy you. I defy your god. The laws of the universe said my love was gone from me. I said watch me save her."

All four candles are lit in the corners of the small room, wicks burning purple and melting black wax. Her offering sits in a dish at the feet of the small statue - an old, worn piece of paper, bent and torn around its edges - and she herself kneels in the center of the floor, her hands clasped.

“I’ve never done this,” she begins, “but my name is Yang Xiao Long, and I humbly request an audience.”

Nothing happens, though she isn’t sure what she would’ve expected even if it had; the flames flicker with her unsteady heartbeat, the blood in her ears crashing as if waves in a storm. For some reason it’s embarrassing, calling on a higher entity who decides to put you through to voicemail.

She tries again, and aims for theatrical exaggeration; maybe the gods like a bit of a show. If she’s making a fool of herself, she might as well do it brilliantly. “O, Great Goddess! I call upon thee - All-Knowing Ruler of the Dead, Empress of the Night, Most Holy Lady of Darkness, Reigning Queen of Entropy--”

“I think that’s probably enough,” a voice comes from in front of her, amusement evident beneath its tone. “What was that one in the middle? ‘Empress of the Night’? I might keep that.”

Her head whips up towards the sound, and a woman in a deep purple cloak is leaning against her own statue, arms crossed and watching her performance with a look that can only be described as shameless delight. Gorgeous black hair framing golden eyes, like the sky wrapping itself around stars; the statue doesn’t do her justice.

“Oh my God,” Yang says, sitting back on her heels. All the preparation and rehearsing she’d done isn’t enough to conquer the shock of a beautiful, unearthly woman appearing in front of her and--

“Yes, I get that a lot.”

--mercilessly mocking her.

“Well, Yang Xiao Long?” the woman continues. “Why have you called upon me?”

“How do you know my name?” Yang says stupidly.

“I’m a god,” the goddess replies, a smile pulling at a corner of her mouth. “I’m the all-knowing ruler of the dead or whatever. Also, you said your name when you summoned me.”

“Fuck,” Yang says, struggling to regain her composure and failing spectacularly. “I - yeah. Right. Okay. Is it rude to swear in front of gods? And what do I call you?”

“I’ll allow it,” the woman says. “And you can call me Blake.”

“Blake,” Yang repeats; her hands open and close like a nervous tick. The name is a heavy weight in her mouth, settling her into steadiness. “I’ve come to request guidance.”

“Guidance?” Blake repeats, and gently lifts the note from the offering dish, turning it carefully around her hands without opening it to read it - she doesn’t need to. Yang registers faint surprise in her expression; yes, she’d assumed the sentimentality would fetch a rather large price. “This is quite the payment.”

“It’s the last note I have from someone who loved me,” Yang says. “I figured it would be sufficient.”

Those bright, inquisitive eyes glance over to her, and now the playing field has been reversed: intrigue and curiosity outweigh Yang’s atrocious initial delivery.

“Stand, please,” Blake commands softly. “I want to get a good look at you.”

Obediently, Yang rises to her feet, and with an odd jolt realizes she’s a few inches taller than the goddess. It’s unexpected, and it seems to unnerve Blake for a moment, too. Or maybe that’s the candlelight, throwing shapes and colors, turning the room cavernous. Maybe Blake is shrinking and she’s growing. Maybe once she was so tall the entire world trembled beneath her feet.

“You already have power,” Blake says, circling her curiously, and now she’s seeing what isn’t visible, looking for handprints on her soul. “You have been claimed. Whom do you answer to?”

“I didn’t receive this power from a god,” Yang says quietly. “I’ve had it as long as I can remember.”

“That’s impossible,” Blake says, and her gaze is piercing into Yang’s heart; she sees its strength, but she sees its scars, too. And its emptiness. There is plenty of that.

“Touch me,” Yang says. “You’ll find no prior claim.”

“I don’t need to.” Blake takes another step closer to her, the way you’d inspect a painting in a museum. Hands at her sides, cautious of glass and rope. “I can see your aura. But it’s impossible.”

“I’m looking for something,” Yang says, and Blake glances up, briefly meeting her eyes. “I don’t know what it is. But I’ve been looking for something for what feels like my entire life.”

Quizzical, now. One by one the candles are burning down. The room is collapsing in on them, or perhaps that’s simply the god in front of her, looking like she’d dive into Yang’s veins and unravel her if it were permitted.

“Why me?” Blake asks finally. “You know what I’m the goddess of, don’t you?”

“You guard death,” Yang says, her voice impossibly gentle; dusk flows river-like from her mouth. There is a world Blake can almost see. “But you can’t guard death without also guarding life, right? I don’t know what I’m looking for, but whatever it is, I imagine you encompass it.”

“Poetic,” Blake responds, and waits further. “I would like the truth, please. Our time is running short.”

There’s no point in playing games with gods. “The truth is stupid,” Yang says bluntly, and the corner of Blake’s mouth tilts again.

“Try me.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Yang says, and Blake’s eyebrows raise in amusement. Bold, reckless, and absolutely pushing her luck to the furthest corners it can inhabit. “Accept me as yours, and when the time is right, I will tell you the truth.”

“Is the truth that powerful?” Blake says, curious despite herself.

The last candle flutters, throwing shadows from Yang’s eyelashes to her cheek. “I think it is.”

--

“Welcome back, Empress of the Night,” Ruby says upon her return to the Kingdom, giving her an exaggerated bow. “I hope you enjoyed your summon, My Lady of Perpetual Darkness.”

“What the hell was that about?” Weiss asks. “I haven’t even heard you crack a joke for, like, a millennia, and suddenly you’re the court jester?”

“She was amusing,” Blake says, shrugging. “Usually people are so timid and terrified. I felt like having some fun.”

“You?” Weiss says dubiously.

“Shut up, Weiss,” Ruby says. “You mustn’t speak that way to Our Patron Saint, Duchess of Death.”

“Now you’re not even trying.”

“Don’t you both have work to do?” Blake says, ending the interrogation before it can really begin. She’s not sure she’d have the answers for them, anyway.

--

Yang journeys east.

Find me again, Blake had said. The closer you get to my temple, the more I can see of you. She’d brushed aside Yang’s bangs, touched a single finger to her forehead. It felt like a teardrop, or a meteor shower. It felt like digging up a grave, or chiseling into stone. It felt like the last explosion. It felt like the first breath.

You are mine, Blake had said, and something about it had felt far too right.

She crosses from Sanus to Anima, spends days traversing forests and mountains, fending off bandits and monsters. Eyes flashing red and fire licking up her skin. Aura glowing golden before breaking. There is something wrong with the trees, she thinks; there is something wrong with the sky. Like I’m looking at them from the wrong side.

Nobody is there to answer her, and not for the first time, she wonders how she came to be so alone.

--

Blake watches Yang’s power unveil itself from above. Yang is hers, now, and though she can’t make house calls to the world below without a summon, she at least has instant access to her claims. There aren’t many of them, and Yang is different.

It reminds her of the God of Vengeance, almost - how he absorbs power before returning it, strike by vicious strike - but Yang’s is personal, sacrificial. She feels the pain before she can utilize it, and her anger is never cruel, her actions never misplaced. And she doesn’t complain.

Sometimes, Blake wishes she would: she can hear when she’s being talked to, even if she can’t respond. Every prayer, every curse, every devastation, every hope.

She waits for the sound of Yang’s voice, but it never comes.

--

There’s a small shrine in a village called Shion, which is still weeks out from the docks where she can potentially get a ferry to Menagerie, but the locals are kind, and honor her far too greatly for being touched by their ruling god. They direct her to their place of worship deep in the woods, and leave her without looking back. It’s a sacred thing, a bond between a god and their chosen, and law forbids them from watching her ceremony.

Yang pulls the candle from her pouch, lighting it at the foot of the shrine. She kneels down on the stone, worn with the imprints of a thousand prayers, and says, “Blake.”

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you again.” The voice comes almost immediately, as if its owner had been waiting to be beckoned.

It’s still a bit of a shock, though she’s much better prepared for it this time. “Hi,” Yang says, and stops there before she can fuck it up.

“Hi,” Blake says, and seems to be amused against her will. More guarded, less open. Yang can read the warning signs, but she’ll cut them off at the source.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it, getting to her feet. “If I waited too long to contact you, I mean. I’m...not familiar with this area.”

“Don’t worry,” Blake says, lowering her arms. “It’s only been a few weeks. I won’t smite you until at least a month.”

Yang laughs, and unexpectedly to the both of them, Blake goes deadly still. Her body language says Yang’s done something wrong, but her expression says she’s hearing music.

The candle is burning. The moment can turn itself over gently, if Yang knows how to guide it. She keeps her smile on, but makes it quiet. “You know, I didn’t expect the Goddess of Death to have a sense of humor.”

It seems to work. “I like to surprise people,” Blake says, and moves closer. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You never talk to me,” she says, pretending to be in control of something she clearly isn’t. “Why not?”

Only the forest speaks for a moment, branches creaking, leaves rustling. And then: “Do you want me to?” Yang asks.

“It’s...something people tend to do,” Blake says slowly. “But not you.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Yang says.

“It’s not a bother.” The words come out too quickly, tone too reassuring. Blake’s own want is what laces the conversation, rather than Yang’s uncertainty. That’s a new, dangerous line.

Yang takes a careful step forward, her eyes lowered to the ground as if in apology; they raise slowly, trailing over Blake’s form until meeting her gaze. Looking for lines she’s crossed, and should step back over; searching for lights that say go. Instead, she only finds an intense, hungry confusion - I want it without understanding what it is.

“You know,” she murmurs, “these statues - they never do you justice.”

And she lifts a hand to Blake’s cheek, hesitating over her skin - is that Blake’s catch of breath, or is it the wind? - before gently cupping it in her palm. She could lose an arm for this; touching a god without being explicitly asked is the greatest sin a mortal can commit, but Blake only stands there, unmoving, eyes wide and lips parted, the moon sitting in the hollow of her throat.

“Blake,” she whispers, and it can only be a god’s strength keeping her voice steady, “I’m never not thinking of you.”

The candle goes out.

--

Nobody is waiting for her when she returns. This is how gods give each other gifts - by saying, no, I see everything but I didn’t see you.

--

Yang starts talking to her, and changes her routes so that rather than taking the most direct path to Menagerie, she’s able to stop at some of the smaller shrines on the way. There are only two more, and she hasn’t called Blake since Shion. Yang hopes she’ll still come.

“Isn’t it strange,” Yang says, “how much easier it is to think about someone than to talk about them? I think about you differently than I can talk about you. I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

No response; not that she expects one. At this point, she assumes Blake’ll just kill her if she gets too annoying. Maybe a tree will fall on her, or she’ll do something embarrassing like trip over a rock and break her neck. “I can’t remember much about my life. I know there were people I loved, but I can’t see their faces. I must’ve traveled a lot; I don’t like sitting still. I don’t know how old I am, or even when my birthday is.” She’s never admitted this before; never admitted she came to lying on the ground, with only her name left ringing in her skull and a note in her pocket.

“I think you’re beautiful,” she tells the warm night air. “That’s what I was trying to say. Before. Blake, I think you’re beautiful.”

A star shoots across the sky, light trails leaving imprints against the swirling blue-purple-black of the galaxy, but it must be a coincidence.

--

Another shrine, another candle. This one burrowed into the side of a mountain, a dome of a room with a hand-woven rug for kneeling, several long benches behind. The statue sits against the far wall, centered.

“They’re getting better,” Yang says, getting to her feet. “This one, at least, gets your eyes right.”

“Hm,” Blake says, pressing her lips together. She moves to stand next to Yang rather than in front of her, and they both examine the statue together. “I suppose you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“Were the compliments too much?” Yang asks, impressed with how light her voice sounds. She nudges Blake’s elbow with her own. Oh, she’ll see how much distance she can cross. She’s already walked miles - she’ll swim oceans, too. “You said you wanted me to talk to you.”

“I didn’t say that,” Blake denies unconvincingly, and then pauses. “And in regards to your first question - I didn’t say that, either.”

Yang could tease her - so even gods like being called pretty, huh - or she could be brave, turn to Blake, take her face in both of her hands and lean in--

“Yang,” Blake says, and does step one of that plan by turning to her. “What do you want from me?”

Maybe the idea’s overwhelmed her to the degree that she can no longer see its risks - its potentially horrible, literally life-ending consequences - and that's what drives her to do it. Maybe it’s that Blake is looking at her like a poem; something beautiful, not to be understood by anyone but the artist who made her.

“What would you do if I kissed you?” Yang says, as if it were merely an interesting, hypothetical concept to explore and not the end of the world. “Is that possible, even if you wanted me to?”

This room is warm and close and silent. The clay is cracking where the floor meets the walls. A tunneled-through skylight is the only thing that keeps Blake from swallowing the place in shadows, instead coating them in an amber, dream-like glow. Like if you mixed the two of them together, you’d still be left with light.

“I think,” Blake murmurs, “we’re both going to have to find that out.”

Step two of her plan. Both of her hands cupping Blake’s cheeks. She’s strangely aware of her lifelines - do they mean anything to you, she wants to ask, does my life mean anything to you now and if it doesn’t, will my death - she leans in, their noses brushing, Blake’s breathing as if she needs to, Yang isn’t and she does; teach me about magic, teach me about memory, tell me how I knew you before I knew myself--

Blake kisses her, tired of her caution and hesitancy, lips parting and fists knotting around the fabric of her shirt. Yang expects them to crash together, like comets. She expects them to crumble and collapse under the impact, buried in the ruins of each other and suffocating. She expects them to decay there, reveling in their own destruction.

What she doesn’t expect is sunlight.

Her skin set aflame, Blake’s tongue in her mouth, hands traveling from her face to her lower back and pressing close - somewhere a rule is being written about the gods and desperation - Blake pulls away, gasps, her fingers begging for Yang’s heart.

“This power,” she says, mesmerized, staring at things only she can see, golden gossamer roots running up Yang’s veins. “Where did you get it?”

“I don’t know,” Yang breathes out, and kisses her one last time before the candle burns out. “But I swear I’ve never felt closer to finding out.”

--

Nobody attempts to stop her from barging through God’s door. Weiss and Ruby, Sun and Neptune; they all avert their eyes. I see everything, but I do not see you.

“What is she?” Blake asks, standing before them with her head bowed. “Please, God. I need to know.”

“If you weren’t already sure,” God says, “you wouldn’t be here.”

She hates it when they’re right.

--

Yang hits the docks; situated on the outskirts of a fishing village called Ito, and with constant transport to Menagerie, their shrine to Blake is the largest one yet.

“And this one?” Blake asks, before Yang has even begun to pray.

“How did you do that?” Yang says, staring up at her, startled. “Are we, like, super close now?”

“Shut up,” Blake says, but she’s smiling. She extends a hand, helping Yang to her feet. “Your soul calls me. You barely even have to light the candle, anymore.”

The sound of the ocean knocks on the door; the smell tackles the windows. Above, the seagulls are crying out, angry at all the fish they can’t have. Yang says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Blake says, and kisses her. Soft and chaste. Something so human and so immortal. “I missed you.”

“I’m your favorite, aren’t I?” Yang teases, her fingers catching Blake’s chin in her hands.

“No,” Blake says, and for the first time, smiles with her teeth. Oh, this is happiness. “I do this with everyone who requests my presence. I’m very popular.”

“I can imagine,” Yang says, brushing a thumb across her bottom lip. “So what else are you the god of?”

“You had a few of them right,” Blake says nonchalantly, settling against Yang’s body. She could be taller, if she wanted to be, but there’s so much beauty to see when looking up. “Night, and all things within it. Darkness, shadows. Death.”

“What else?” Yang says, watching her mouth shape every letter.

“Forgiveness, and justice,” Blake murmurs. Oh, there’s a fine print for this, and she’s violating every word. “Promises,” she continues. “Seduction.”

Hook, line - a heavy wave rattles the walls; oh, the sea, the sea! - Yang shudders against her mouth, salt sinking into her blood. Leaves her bouyant and floating, the earth bubbling up beneath her. Rising and rising and rising.

“Shockingly,” Yang says, letting Blake press kisses into the crook of her neck, “I don’t find that hard to believe.”

--

“God,” Blake finds herself standing before them once again, hands clasped and head bowed. She speaks formally in the presence of God, as is customary of respect. “Please, God. I am supposed to be guiding her, but I fear all I’ve done is lead her astray. I need to know where she came from, and where she is going.”

“Blake,” God says, and touches the top of her head with their hand, “she is close to your temple. Look at her, and tell me what you see.”

--

Menagerie is a busy, populated island, and Blake’s temple is the primary reason for that. Pilgrimages are made from around the world to pray at her shrine and leave offerings at her feet. Protect me from loss, help me navigate my grief, let me fulfill my promise.

Yang is none of those things. And when the keepers of the temple ask the reason for her journey, she says, “I am in love with her.”

“You have been touched,” one says, and bows to her upon entry. “You have as long as the goddess is willing to give you.”

The heavy doors close, but the room shimmers, firelight glittering over golden-accented walls. A large moon is carved into the marble floor, crossing over a sun. Before her is the largest, most intricately carved statue of Blake she’s ever seen, and it looks exactly like her.

Yang kneels.

“You know,” Blake says from behind her, “you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“No,” Yang says. “But it - it’s been a long journey. And I’m only here because of you.”

  Blake’s footsteps echo, her boots stopping at the north point of the sun. “How do you feel?”

It’s enough to make Yang smile. “I know you heard me,” she says pointedly, but her amusement is apparent. “You hear everything I say.”

“I thought I’d give you the chance to tell me yourself.”

For the last time, Yang rises to her feet. Blake’s eyes glitter, mischievous and playful. She looks as she always has, but clearer, somehow; defined and resolute. She carries the truth in the way she extends a hand, in the way she searches for Yang’s mouth. When they kiss, Yang swears she can see another world.

“I’ll tell you something better,” Yang says. “The truth.”

She leans down, bumps their foreheads together. Blake’s arms loop around her neck automatically. Oh, Yang thinks, if I were the god of anything, I’d want it to be habits.

“So what’s the truth?” Blake asks.

“The truth,” Yang says unshakably, “is that it was you. I woke up with no memory and a note, and somehow, I knew I had to find you. The only thing I’ve been searching for is you.”

It’s you, she says. It’s you. You. You.

--

“God,” Blake says, and this time God is ready for her.

“Blake Belladonna,” God says, and inclines their head. “Come. Show me what you have.”

In her hands is a small slip of paper, worn and ripped around the edges. “It is a note,” she says, and unfolds it gingerly. “It is a note, God, in my handwriting.”

“And what does it say?” they ask.

“Find me,” Blake recites, “and I promise I’ll bring you home.”

“Well,” God says whimsically, “you are the Goddess of Promises.”

--

Tears build in the corners of her eyes, shipwrecks gaining water. “Yang,” Blake whispers, and now that she is close, she can see everything. Meteors falling from their showers; the day the sun went out. “Yang. I’m sorry. I’m so, so--”

“Shh,” Yang murmurs, pressing her lips into Blake’s hair. “What are you apologizing for? I found you, and you brought me home.”

--

“Oh, this is exciting,” God says. “I so rarely get to come to Remnant on business.”

“God,” Yang says, and bows her head. The temple doors remain locked; Blake’s hand is clutched tightly in her own. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, Yang Xiao Long,” says God. “You fell in the last war, over five-hundred years ago. Do you remember this?”

“Yes,” she says. “I was trying to protect my sister.”

“And what happens when a god falls?”

“We forget them,” Blake says. “Their power is forfeit; they are erased from our memories, and our world.”

“It is not a law of justice, but a law of reality,” God says. “Or it was, previously. Only you did not forget immediately, Blake Belladonna. I did not know it was possible for two souls to be so intrinsically bound that they leave traces in the other, but you did not forget, just long enough to leave her a message. It took five hundred years for Yang to fall to earth, and when she awoke, she did not forget, either.

“Gods are made, and this means that what we are gods of can change,” they continue. “Blake, you were not previously the Goddess of Death. You became it because you believed that Yang had died, and no god had as strong a connection to loss as you. Your power became a beacon, just as it now will be a beacon for Remembrance.

“And you, Yang Xiao Long,” God says. “Goddess of the Sun, of Loyalty, of Sacrifice. You were many things. And now you are the Goddess of Rebirth.”

[aminiatureworld]

Injury II

Characters: Kaeya, Ningguang, Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 5,650

Warnings: Various injuries, blood, burns, minor villain death

Premise: Sometimes the pain of others can hurt even more than one’s own. In which the reader is injured.

Author’s Note: Okay so after the mind numbing fear of my computer almost dying and now maybe emitting a weird smell I’m five seconds away from pure panic. But the show much go on! Even if my word document keeps blacking out.

This is my first time writing for Ningguang! I hope I do my girl justice, she’s voiced by my fav VA, she’s a total powerhouse, I love her so much. 

I tried to make all of the injuries personal to each character in some way. Funny enough Zhongli’s was the hardest to figure out. I eventually settled upon the act of you being injured causing Zhongli’s personal angst, rather than the cause of the injury. I hope it came out well!

Kaeya

Kaeya didn’t often let himself fall into fear. Not since he’d been young did he feel that he could indulge in such a sentiment. True to his vision he’d frozen that part of himself, and now when panic seized him he could feel nothing but stone cold determination, and the need to continue forward without hesitation. Fear was hardly alien to him, he could conjure up the emotion all too well, but it had been dulled and replaced by cynicism and coldness. And occasionally guilt.

Looking back on it Kaeya wasn’t even sure why the two of you had strayed so close to Dragonspine, so close snowflakes were congregating in your hair.

You’d called him a winter fairy in jest at the time, wondering if he wasn’t truly the ruler of that mountain of frost. He’d laughed then, before threatening to take you away to his fairy court. “That would be quite an easy task.” You’d replied. “You’ve already captured my heart after all.”

The two of you were strolling on the rocks that lined the river which separated Dragonspine from the greater Monstadt area. Although adventurers usually roamed the area in the daytime it was now evening, and the lack of people certainly made up for the cold in Kaeya’s mind. He could only be his true self around you after all. Otherwise it was the charming and slick Cavalry Captain, a man who always knew what to say and never harbored any doubts in his mind. Not that he wasn’t still charming around you, he loved seeing you blush from his effusive praise, loved the way you buried your head in his shoulder if the flirting and the teasing ramped up enough. But there was a sincerity to his words that one couldn’t find normally in Kaeya, and he loved to show you bits and pieces of his soul, relieved to finally have someone to talk to.

“Watch your step.” You warned, grabbing onto Kaeya’s hand as he slid a little ways along a rock.

“Thank you darling, although I daresay I’m more worried about you. After all who’s the snow fairy here and who’s the wind sprite, liable to blow away at any moment?”

“So cheesy.” You mumbled, shaking your head, though Kaeya could’ve sworn your cheeks were slightly redder than they were a few moments ago. Laughing he wrapped his arm around your waist. You snuggled into his fur lined coat. “Cold.” You murmured, though you made no move to disconnect yourself. Kaeya smiled and brought his other hand around you in a soft embrace.

“Sorry my dearest, but you’re in love with an icicle.”

“Only terms of magic.” You shot back. “Otherwise you’re a nice warm fire. And don’t you forget that.”

The two of you headed a little ways down, closer to the river. A small group of frost flowers had made it to this side of the banks, and you were adamant on picking some. “They’re so beautiful!” You explained to Kaeya. “And incredibly strong, I can’t believe they managed to grow in that permafrost. They’re simply lovely.”

“Just be careful.” Kaeya commented, standing a little ways back. He didn’t like getting near the river, a river so cold it was always at nearly freezing at the bottom. Cold water and a vision of Cryo didn’t mix well.

“I’ll be fine.” You hopped to your feet, a bouquet of pale blue in your hand. You were smiling from your victory, face full of light and happiness.

It was an expression that changed swiftly as you lost your balance and plummeted into the freezing waters.

Immediately Kaeya leapt down from the rocks he was standing on, kneeling near where you were standing a moment ago. The river wasn’t very fast, bogged down by its width and how far it was away from the waterfalls in the warmer parts of Monstadt. Still it cut off very quickly, having barely the semblance of a beach before opening into a deep chasm, and anyone who fell in it would quickly fall into cold shock. Already your limbs had started seizing, and you were hyperventilating hard. Your arms felt like dead weight, and every second that passed your head dipped lower into the freezing water.

Kaeya gingerly put his hand out to make a platform of ice for him to stand on. Whatever happened he couldn’t fall in as well, it would mean the death of you two. Fear had reared its ugly head again and Kaeya twisted those feelings into action. No matter what he had to act fast and sure. Hesitation was fatal.

Plunging his hand into the water, sucking in a deep breath as the ice that still coated his palms and fingers made contact with the freezing river Kaeya hauled you up onto the icy platform. Taking off his coat he wrapped you up. Removing your gloves so the frozen water wouldn’t be in contact with your already freezing skin Kaeya cursed as he ran towards Springvale, the nearest place he could think of. He’d lugged you onto his back, and could feel the freezing water through his shirt. As he ran he kept up a stream of slightly shaky conversation, rattling off what little he knew of hypothermia.

“It’ll be alright darling, I promise it’ll be alright. You’re just going through shock right now, okay? You’ll be alright, I promise. Just stay awake a little while longer. I know you must be tired from all that excitement, but just stay awake a little longer, just a little longer and then you’ll be nice and warm, just stay awake right now okay?” His voice became more and more desperate as his fear started to tumble out of his grasp, but he kept moving. He wouldn’t lose control of himself now, not until you were safe.

Finally he arrived at Springvale and you’d been rushed to the village doctor. Kaeya was told to go and wait somewhere else, and preferably change out of his freezing cold shirt, but you’d grabbed his hand as he turned to leave and after that he refused to budge, instead borrowing a shirt from the village. He’d reimburse the people who let you two borrow their clothes later.

The entire process was a terrifying one, as you were slowly brought back to warmth. Kaeya took the opportunity to learn as much as he could, noting that you shouldn’t massage limbs back to warmth for fear of heart attack and – much to his chagrin he later joked when the situation was far enough in the past – alcohol was too much of a depressant on your system and could lead to death. All throughout he kept talking to you, even though there were times you didn’t seem to hear, times when he thought his heart would split in two.

Still it was evident you were going to survive and when you’d finally finished being warmed up Kaeya thought he could cry in relief, if only he’d been numbed from such an act for so many years. You’d run into some sort of rock in the water, and the long gash down the side of your leg was later determined by the doctor to reveal torn muscle. It’d take about a month and a half for you to recover. Kaeya thought he should’ve felt worse about it, but in the moment he felt nothing but relief, utter relief in the knowledge you were going to be fine. Utter relief that came with having almost lost you.

Kaeya had carried you back to Monstadt, much to your consternation. All the ways back you mumbled about how his penchant for drama seemed to have increased tenfold. Kaeya simply shook his head, not bothering to ask how you would’ve gotten back otherwise with your leg in the shape it was. Still it was a relief to both of you to see the city walls. Even more of a relief when you finally arrived home, safe and sound.

“I’m so glad you were there.” You confessed as Kaeya sat you down on the couch, propping up your leg and pulling a chair up next to you. “I don’t know what I would’ve done had I fallen and you weren’t there.”

“You probably wouldn’t have been there in the first place.” Kaeya remarked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. You brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned into it slightly, grateful for the contact between you two. It’d been hours but the panic that he’d felt still tugged at his consciousness, as if any moment you might slip away again and leave him panicked and alone.

“Were you afraid?” You asked.

“Of course I was afraid.” Kaeya’s reply came swift and sure. “I was terrified, terrified in a way that I haven’t been in years.” Kaeya’s eyes clouded over, as if reaching deep into his memories. He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles and then your palm. “I thought that you might die, and in that moment I was ready to curse the world all over again.”

“But I didn’t die.” You said solemnly.

“No, you didn’t.”

“And that’s because of you. Because you reacted quickly, because you had the magic with which to do so, and most of all because you never hesitated. And because of that I’m alive and well now. Injuries aside I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Kaeya knew you were right. You were alive. You weren’t going to go where he couldn’t follow. The fear coiling in his stomach began to subside. He’d been so afraid, yes, and in that fear he’d managed to find the strength and determination to save you. But now you were safe and he no longer needed to rely on that strength; he could give into his relief. Realizing this, realizing how frightened he’d been and how that was now part of a past he could move forward from, could truly forget, Kaeya could only marvel at his relief. Only then did the tears begin to fall.

 Ningguang

If there was one thing Ningguang wasn’t expecting out of today it was your leg collapsing and her winding up in the waiting room of the Liyue hospital, mind replaying the last week or so, wondering where she might’ve realized something was wrong.

It seemed like the kind of thing Keqing would make a joke about. Here Ningguang was, the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, the most powerful woman in the trade capital of Liyue; here she was, her world completely gone awry, completely shattered by your injury.

A stress fracture, the doctor had said. It was the kind of injury that developed slowly and came about after weeks instead of in moments. The initial strain was usually something mundane, a sprain, a bruise, maybe you’d walked on your foot for too long. But after sometimes weeks of ignoring pain and swelling your body couldn’t take it any longer. Ten weeks, that’s how long you would be laid up. And Ningguang couldn’t help but feel every one of those ten weeks was her fault.

She should’ve noticed it. That train of thought continued all throughout the process of you being treated at, and eventually discharged from, the hospital. You weren’t just one of the people she worked with daily, weren’t just her closest colleague. You were the person that Ningguang loved more than anything in this world. How could she possibly not have noticed the signs?

Ningguang found herself obsessively trying to connect the warning signs that must’ve been there. She knew that your foot had been aching for some time, but though she’d been vaguely concerned she’d said nothing other than a simple “be careful”. She’d never thought to check after you later, sure that it was nothing. Now she felt nothing but shame, both that of a personal and of a greater kind. How could she manage looking after all of Liyue if she couldn’t even look after you?

You noticed Ningguang’s silence as you two made your way out of the hospital and towards the apartment you shared. Although Ningguang was perhaps seen as a reticent individual you’d found her surprisingly open, always ready to discuss things that were of interest either to you or to her. She wasn’t the kind of person to walk along in silence; not when she was around those that she cared for, not unless she was thinking about something important, not unless…

Finally you two arrived home. You collapsed on the couch, tired and ready to either read or nap. Ningguang was preparing some tea and a various array of fruit, not that there was much food in the lavish apartment you two shared. Considering the workload between the both of you it was perhaps unsurprising that there was nothing much to eat. That would have to change, Ningguang noted; she’d make sure that you were recovering in the most comfortable way possible. It was the least she could do.

“Are you feeling well?” Ningguang asked, placing the food and tea on the table in your room. You nodded.

“I feel fine, although I’m not looking forward to the walk to the Qixing headquarters. I have to admit dear this might be the only time I’m a bit glad that I don’t have to make my way to the Jade Chamber every day.” Ningguang smiled at that, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She sat silently, sipping her tea slowly. Your expression clouded over. “Hey, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Oh it’s nothing my love.” Ningguang spoke up quickly, leaning over and kissing you on the cheek. “I’m just sorry to see you like this.”

“Well you can’t blame yourself. You know that, right?”

Ningguang found she couldn’t bring herself to lie to you. Your gaze, though soft, seemed to pierce right through all her excuses and all her bluffing. She sighed softly. Maybe it would be better to be upfront about it, clear and concise, how one should always be. At least then she could apologize properly.

“In truth I do blame myself. I can’t believe I was so neglectful of your health, so blind to your pain.” She shook her head, staring at the hand that was holding yours. A disconnected part of her thought of how well the two fit together, fingers intertwined softly, your palm warm and comforting.

“If you were blind to this then so was I.” You spoke softly but firmly, refusing to sugar coat your words. Ningguang admired you for it, even if she didn’t believe you, something painfully clear in the expression on her face. “You cannot blame yourself.” You continued, “I won’t let you. I don’t want you beating yourself up for something that neither of us predicted. If you feel the need to blame yourself for this you must also blame me; I was the one walking on the injury without paying enough attention.”

“But – ” Ningguang paused, realizing the truth behind your words, slouching slightly she sat in deep thought. “I… I realize there’s not a lot of logic behind my thinking.”

“Well feelings are hardly logical.” You pointed out, squeezing her hand. “And because they’re illogical they don’t go away quickly. But I at least want you to try and combat your guilt with what I’ve told you. Because just like you hate seeing me in this cast I hate seeing you in pain.”

Ningguang nodded, heart filled with a deep sense of love and tenderness. Leaning over to give you a kiss she smiled softly. You did too. For a moment you two basked in each other’s presence and happiness, before you smile turned mischievous.

“Although… I won’t object to a little pampering.” Ningguang chuckled, shaking her head. But her smile was real this time, and you wouldn’t ask for anything more.

“You’re lucky I love you so much.”

“I know I am.” You replied. “And you’re lucky I adore you.”

“I am.” Ningguang’s reply was just as sure, was full of quiet but strong emotion. She was lucky. And she would never take you or your love for granted. No matter what.

 Xiao

By the time he’d met you Xiao had long come to the conclusion that he’d never find it in him to like humans.

Humans were dirty, they were untrustworthy and full of darkness, they broke things without thinking about it, mangled their own people, their own families and friends and countrymen. Humans slaughtered one another without thinking of how it might stain them, and when they weren’t killing they were stealing and lying and ruining the land around them. How could he, a being designed solely to destroy the darkness in the world, ever find in himself the will or the ability to look past all that?

When he’d met you and had fallen in love in earnest this view had still changed ultimately very little. But even if you’d admitted that what he said was mostly true, you’d found that you still wanted him to learn to care at least a little bit about humanity. I mean you were ultimately one of them at your core. It didn’t feel right to prop yourself up as the one great exception, not when there were other people who were certainly like you in mind and in morality. Xiao silently disagreed with this analysis; to him there never was and never would be someone like you, in all of Teyvat. Still, he felt compelled to try, though  more for your sake than for his, and as the weeks had gone on he’d begun to look at humanity not with any sort of respect or hope but with a sort of begrudging curiosity, and an admittance that maybe, just maybe, there was a bit of that light you saw in it.

What a fool he’d been.

Although Xiao was aware of the growing threat of treasure hoarders across Liyue – so widespread that they’d even managed to eat away at the tranquil lands surrounding Jueyen Karst – he’d never considered them a serious threat. So when the two of you accidentally ran into a group of them while exploring some of the older Liyue ruins Xiao didn’t bother to do much more than wrap an arm around your waist, sure that even the most idiotic of treasure hoarders wouldn’t be so foolish as to pick a fight with either an adeptus or their beloved. You seemed unfazed at any rate, explaining that the two of you were simply passing by and had no desire to pick a fight; if they’d be so kind the two of you would be on your way.

Perhaps the treasure hoarders were well aware of the fact that you could report them to the Liyue Qixing. Perhaps they were simply in a bad mood. Either way your words apparently did nothing. Xiao was becoming tenser and tenser, feeling as if something catastrophic was about to happen. That moment came to pass when one of the treasure hoarders pulled out a knife and threw it, lodging itself with deadly accuracy into your torso.

At that point Xiao felt himself overcome with a supernatural sort of calm, a calm which raced to cover up the anguish and rage that was coursing through him, threatening to burn him from the inside out. He only paused to make sure you didn’t hit the ground hard, before summoning his spear. Ignoring the cries of the treasure hoarders he made quick work of disposing of them, for what was a measly human, a piece of trash, when compared to that which had slayed countless demons? A small part of him cried out against the act, pointing out the fact that every time he wielded his polearm to kill it might bring him closer to the precipice, the fact that you were hurt mattered more than revenge, the fact that he was going to regret killing in front of you. He ignored it. At that moment there was nothing in his mind, it was as empty and staid as a clear pool of water. The only ripple in it was the way you’d jolted back in surprised, and the way you’d let out a cry before crumpling.

Xiao didn’t look back to see the havoc he’d wreaked. Instead he ran to your side. Peeling off his gloves, worried that they might bring infection, he pressed his bare hands to your wound, desperately trying to staunch the blood that was spilling out, ignoring the shocks that jolted through his hands, the result of the dagger somehow being infused with electro. The feeling of blood, your blood, beneath his fingers was nauseating, and for a moment Xiao felt his head filling with static as the pure panic that he’d felt began to overcome the initial rush of adrenaline. Snapping out of it when you let out a groan of pain Xiao looked into your eyes. They were clouded, and for a moment the adeptus was afraid you might be on the verge of passing out – had you really lost so much blood? Holding you tightly, one hand never leaving your wound, Xiao summoned a burst of air. His thoughts were still too chaotic to be processed, there was only one thing connecting them all. Let them live. If there’s any justice in this world, please let them live.

Verr Goldet had grasped the situation as soon as she saw Xiao appear on the balcony, face contorted in fear. Taking you to her room, she’d instructed Xiao to get one of the doctors from Liyue while she and the resident apothecary took care of you. Xiao did the task without thinking, and once he’d arrived with the doctor he refused to leave your side. Xiao knew death better than most adepti, certainly more than most humans. It was cold and unfeeling, and had a nasty habit of leaping onto people when they least expected it. It didn’t matter to him that all three, Goldet, the apothecary, and the doctor, said that you would be fine; Xiao was going to be there the entire time.

Eventually you managed to rouse yourself from the pain induced stupor, and when you did you saw Xiao first, eyes wide with fear and relief, tears threatening to spill down his face.

In the end you’d been lucky. Although the dagger had ruptured your spleen Xiao had acted quickly enough to avert catastrophe. You were going to survive, though it’d be 12 weeks most likely until you were completely recovered. The moment of crisis having passed the two of you were finally given a moment alone.

“Are you alright?” Xiao immediately asked. You didn’t make a move to answer, instead cupping Xiao’s cheek before moving to take his hand. At that moment how Xiao remembered. Oh; the blood. Quickly moving away he ran to the nearest basin of water, scrubbing furiously. As the water turned red a faint smell of iron filled the air; it was the most disgusting thing Xiao had ever smelt, and he scrubbed even harder. You waited silently as he finished cleaning his hands and disposing of the water. Finally he came back to sit next to you, still hesitating a moment before placing his palm in yours.

“I… I don’t understand how you could ever like humans.” That was the first thing Xiao could think of. “They betrayed you. Without even blinking. That man, all those men and women, they would’ve ended your life without even thinking about it. They would’ve killed you and lived without ever having such a thing weigh on their conscience. Humans never think about the weight of their sins. They just keep committing atrocities.”

“And what about you, Xiao. Will their deaths weigh on you?”

“As much as all the others.” Xiao wished he could be matter of fact about it, but he found that trait of his had somehow disappeared. Instead an emotion washed over him, so unfamiliar and unexplainable it seemed to choke him. “Perhaps more.” He managed to get out, before beginning to cry in earnest.

You would’ve died. If he hadn’t been there you would’ve died. For you he gladly shouldered the weight of human life, would do so again and again if only to ensure your safety. And yet it was such a heavy weight, and no matter how many Xiao killed it wouldn’t heal you.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out. You shook your head.

“Xiao I always knew that you weren’t going to be able to see humans as I see them immediately. And I know that you have a relationship with death and killing that most humans, most beings, will never have. I’m not going to blame you, nor will I turn on you. I cannot pretend that what happened didn’t make me angry. In retrospect it made me incredibly angry. It’s also true that – had you not been there – I would’ve raised my own weapon in self-defense. But now I’m going to ask you for one thing, and one thing only.”

“What?”

“Help me recover. Help me recover and let me help you recover. If there’s one thing I don’t want to happen now it’s for you to turn away from me and from everyone else, to let yourself be consumed. I want you to have somewhere you can let your feelings exist, and I want somewhere I can feel happy and comfortable as myself. You make me feel that way, so even if it’s selfish I don’t want you to turn away. And I don’t want you to grieve for me. Injured as I may be I’m not dead.” There was a pause as you let yourself catch your breath, having gotten more and more excited as you went on. “I realize that’s more than one thing.” You concluded, a bit sheepish.

Xiao said nothing for a while before leaning towards you. “May I?” He whispered. You nodded and Xiao pressed his lips to yours. The kiss wasn’t one of fire or passion. It was different, defined within the parameters of fear and relief, there seemed to be a sort of desperation in it, yet it was surprisingly sedate. Pulling away Xiao buried his face in your neck, careful to make sure he wasn’t touching where you’d been stabbed.

“I will. I promise.” He whispered. You nodded, smiling softly. But Xiao couldn’t bring himself to smile, not just yet.

Xiao couldn’t understand humans. They were dirty and cruel and lived without fear of consequences. Their actions haunted him and he found them easier to hate than to understand. But for you he’d try, because to him there was one thing strong than all, strong than fear, stronger than mistrust, stronger than hatred.

And that was the love he held for you.

 Zhongli

If there was one thing Zhongli hadn’t been prepared for when it came to falling in love with humans it was their combination of fragility and utter ignorance to said fragility.

One of Zhongli’s favorite things to do was to simply sit and listen to you talk about your life. Humans fascinated Zhongli, it was one of the reasons he’d ultimately given up his place as Rex Lapis; inside him lived a desire to interact with humanity in a more intimate way, to know what made people behave as they did and to perhaps grow closer to them in the process.

But despite all that he still wasn’t ready for the utter fear he felt when listening to the stories of you getting hurt. You’d laughed off scrapes and bruises and fractures. The time you’d accidentally ripped off your nail was a painful yet funny anecdote, and the fact that you’d fractured your kneecap as a child was something you now looked back on with an odd sense of nostalgia.

Zhongli didn’t understand why these stories frightened him on such a visceral level. Such injuries were nothing to gods and adepti. Although the idea of a broken bone was certainly an irritation there was nothing more in it, and the kind of injuries that could easily kill humans would to Zhongli be the kind of thing that would be unpleasant for its novelty, not for its potential fatality.

He didn’t bring up these thoughts to you, feeling as if they’d somehow place an undue burden on you, or perhaps he was afraid you’d stop telling him about yourself. Still it lurked at the back of his mind, the fear of what might happen to you.

The fears that Zhongli harbored were proven in the most mundane, and thus most poignant, way. The two of you had been preparing a meal when suddenly you’d stumbled on an uneven part of the floor. Reaching your hands out to steady yourself your arm had landed flat on the hot stove, the stove which had been heating up for the past fifteen or so minutes. The scream that you let out sent a shock through Zhongli which shook him to his core. It rang through his ears incessantly, a terrifying reminder of how breakable humans were.

You’d immediately yanked your arm off from the stove but the sight that met both his and your eyes was a ghastly one. The skin on your arm was charred various colors, white blisters mixed with black flaky skin, all outlined in a terrible circle of red. You were shaking, and you face had turned a frightful ashen color. Springing into action Zhongli wracked his brain for all he could remember about burns. If the burn is serious enough go to the hospital. Never try to treat intense burns yourself as the burning has gone deeper than the initial layer of skin, raise your burn above your heart. Go to the hospital. Slinging your arm around his shoulder so that it was raised, whisper soft words of reassurance as you let out a shriek of pain, Zhongli half walked half carried you to the hospital, all while the same thought was running through his head.

How fragile humans are.

The doctors had insisted you stay overnight. Apparently the burn was bad enough to require surgery. Zhongli’s stomach had dropped as he was told that, but he managed to nod in response. Walking back home Zhongli felt all in a daze. He barely made it in the door before he collapsed, fear having seeped the energy out of him. The world pressed down on him, heavier than it’d ever been before. At least you’d be okay, he reminded himself. If he had anything to cling to at least he had that.

Zhongli was the first visitor to arrive at the hospital, having given Hu Tao the run of the funeral home as he spent as much time as possible with you. You were well enough, although a bit bogged down from the painkillers you’d been given. You’d once offhandedly commented that although magic infused medicine tended to be safer for the patient – more successful and less addictive – it was also more powerful; now Zhongli could see you weren’t kidding.

Your burn was wrapped up carefully, the doctors had managed to take the charred skin of, you’d explain, but now the burn had to be treated with the utmost care until the surgery later in the afternoon, infection was no joke.

“Well this’ll certainly be an interesting anecdote.” You let out half a laugh. “Not that I’m happy this happened, but at least this will shut up the next person who complains about how cardio was the most painful thing they’ve experienced.”

“I don’t know how you can be so cavalier about it.” Zhongli replied, tone soft and introspective. “It seems to terrifying to me, how easily humans are hurt.”

“Hey, I’ll be fine.” You assured him, voice soft but firm. “I understand how to adepti and archons and gods this might be terrifying. I’d be the first to admit we can’t really keep up with you in terms of pure healing and resistance to injury. But we’ve continued on this far haven’t we?” You smiled softly. “I promise I’m not about to die from something like a kitchen accident.”

“But what if next time it’s not your arm?” Zhongli replied. “What if it’s your neck or your chest? What if you cut yourself too deeply, what if your cut becomes infected. There are so many things I haven’t thought about until now, so many things that could hurt you. It frightens me terribly.”

“I’m very grateful that you’re worrying for me like this. But Zhongli?” You waited for his eyes to meet yours, smiling once more when he faced you. “You cannot be consumed by your anxiety. Believe me humans worry about these kinds of things. What if I tripped and fell and broke my neck, what if I scratched myself and developed and infection, what if I choked on an apple? These fears live with us, sometimes constantly, but we cannot let them consume us. As much as I’m flattered and glad you care for my wellbeing so much, I also don’t want you consumed by it, nor do I want to be treated like glass.”

“I cannot understand how you’re so resilient.” Zhongli replied after a short pause. You shrugged.

“We are because we must be.”

Zhongli knew in his heart that these fears he harbored weren’t going to go away. He knew that they were going to become more and more apparent through the month of your initial recovery, and through the longer period too as scar tissue formed and subsided.

Humans were indeed fragile. But if there was one thing stronger than said fragility it was their even greater determination to supersede it. Humans may be fragile in body, but they were stronger in spirit even than the gods.

That was something Zhongli wasn’t going to forget. Not for a very long time.

[miracleonice87]

Could you do 10 for Auston pls

thought the Matty Tkachuk blurb would be done first, but it needs a lil more tweaking. this one’s about 1,200 words. (I’ve given up on trying to write little shortie blurbs. just doesn’t do it for me, ya know.)

tw: mention of anxiety, depression/depressive episode — avoid if these things are triggering for you

I tried to scare you, scare you away / Showed you the door, you adored me anyway / When I was broken in pieces / You were my peace of mind (Unstable, Justin Bieber) - Auston Matthews

You knew from the moment you opened your eyes that morning that it was going to be one of those days. One of those unforeseen times where suddenly you were feeling everything at once and turned up to full blast, your mind racing as you overthought every little aspect of your life — things you had said to people, things others had said to you, things that needed to be done but that you simply couldn’t muster up the energy for. And the list rolled on.

When Auston hadn’t heard from you by the time he finished morning skate around noon, he knew what was happening. These days didn’t happen often, but when they did… they hit you hard.

And though admittedly he didn’t fully understand your anxiety, he understood one thing — that you needed him on these days more than on any other, even if you couldn’t verbalize that.

Mitch and Willy could see it on his face — the way he shook his head slowly with a tight-lipped expression in his stall as he slid into his shoes, subtly declining their offer to join them for lunch at one of their favorite spots. When Willy’s brow wrinkled in confusion for a moment, Auston simply said your name, though softly enough that no one else could hear. Mitch’s shoulders sagged as he dropped his head a bit, nodding slowly. Willy sighed in understanding before squeezing Auston’s shoulder.

“Go check on her,” Willy insisted. “For us, too. Make sure she’s gonna be okay.”

Auston nodded, grateful for his thoughtful friends as Mitchy echoed the same sentiments and made a mental note to ask Steph to check in on you before gametime. Within seconds, Auston was slipping out the door, jumping into his car, and heading for your condo.

He didn’t bother to text or call you to let you know he was on his way — instead, he used the spare key fob you’d given him and let himself into your lobby. Auston politely nodded at the familiar doorman and headed for the elevators, stepping into the first available and pressing your floor number, then pressing the “close door” button repeatedly, like some cross between a madman and a small child.

He needed to get to you, now. He probably would have run the stairs if you had been any lower than the twelfth floor.

At last, he reached your level, jogging to your door and offering only a brief courtesy knock before pushing his way inside, only to be met with silence. Not the sound of baking trays clanging against the counter as you made him his favorite chocolate chip cookies, or your voice as you sang along to your shared Spotify playlist. Not the smell of freshly brewed coffee or green tea that so often greeted him when he came by after practice. Not the sight of you typing away on your laptop or snuggled into the corner of the couch watching Love Island or Selling Sunset, beaming at him when he opened the door and patting the next cushion to invite him to take a seat next to you.

None of it. Just dim, sterile… silence.

He decided against calling your name and instead made a beeline for your bedroom. He was relieved to find you upright, standing in the doorway, freshly showered and in a pair of sweats and a well-loved Leafs tank top.

“Hey, beautiful,” Auston spoke softly, taking slow steps closer to you.

You offered a weak smile.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice meek. “I… had a bad morning.”

Auston nodded softly, now standing in front of you, towering over you. His big hands gently smoothed up and down your bare upper arms. “I kinda wondered,” he said, pressing a brief kiss to your forehead. “How you feelin’ now?”

You shrugged, crossing your arms across your torso.

“A little better, I guess,” you mused with a soft sniffle that broke Auston’s heart.

He nodded, tenderly curling some hair behind your ear.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked.

You nodded softly. “I guess so.”

Auston guided you to the edge of your bed and took a seat, while you stood between his knees, your feet between his, your faces now nearly at eye-level. His hands found your hips as you breathed a long, shuddering sigh.

“When I woke up this morning, I… I just felt like I couldn’t even breathe. For no real reason. Just had that weight on my chest that I fucking hate so much,” you told him, rubbing at your decolletage as though you could feel an actual dumbbell pressing down on your body.

Auston swallowed hard as he listened, wishing he could take away that faraway, pained look in your eyes.

“I never know when my mind’s gonna turn on me,” you said weakly, staring past him, through the glass door leading to your balcony. “That’s what I hate the most…”

Auston thought you had more to stay, but abruptly, your eyes snapped back to his, and you stuffed your hands into your pockets, suddenly taking a step backward, away from him.

“Y-you don’t need to worry about this… you have a game tonight,” you stuttered. “I just need to pull it together, I-”

“Don’t say that,” Auston pleaded, interrupting your thoughts and grasping your elbows, angling you so that you had no choice but to look into his dark, sincere eyes. “I’m here because I wanna be here. Because I need to make sure you’re okay. Because I love you, baby. You’re my girl. I’m always gonna check on you,” he told you, slinging his arms around your waist and holding you close.

“I wish you didn’t have to check on me… and-and worry about me,” you said, defeated.

Auston’s grip tightened, and he pulled you in by the hem of your tank top.

“But that’s what I’m here for, babe,” Auston insisted. “I want you to turn to me. To lean on me. Because I fucking adore you.”

You pursed your lips, silent. Auston continued.

“You might think trying to scare me is gonna work, but it’s not,” he said, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “We all have our bad days. You know better than anyone, I have my own. You don’t need to be some unattainably perfect person for me to love you. I love you because of who you are. I love you even when you don’t feel like you love yourself.”

You bit at the inside of your cheek and felt tears well in your eyes as you nodded slightly. You knew you’d be unable to muster an adequate response just then, so instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your chest against his as his hands slid to your back. He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt your tense muscles relax into the warmth of his embrace, your head fall to his shoulder. Neither of you said anything — nothing needed to be said — for quite a while.

Finally, you spoke quietly into his ear.

“You’re the only thing that brings me peace, Aus.”

Over your shoulder, he smiled.

“You are, too.”

Through everything you’ve been my rock / I think you’re the only thing I didn’t get wrong / How I know God was listening / Every night when I would pray / You’re an angel watchin’ over me / All I need

[bluecookies02]

Dabi x Reader- I Run To You /nsfw/

warnings: praise/degradation, sex oriented quirk?(meaning succubus-ish!Reader), choking, overstimulation, squirting, pinning/slightly obsessed reader.

The reader becomes a villain-->brief mentions of blood, mentions of Touya's "death".

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Maybe you're supposed to feel some sort of remorse when you see your childhood friend on the screen, blue flames hugging every corner of the building he's in, the poor glass shattering and melting as the reporters hurriedly fly around to catch every evidence and information they can.

You couldn't see much of his face, but the way he carried himself and the exact patterns of his scarred arm were enough for her. You only needed one glance.

It took a few months for you to wrap your head around it. Trying to push down the anger and grief by finding excuses for whatever he's doing. You became obsessed though, super fixated on every last trail of him you can find.

Years went by fast. Gaining the trust of other villains was fairly easy when you share the same hatred for the heroes. It brings you a sense of belonging and they listen. They listen and feel your anger, understand loss better than anyone else you tried to talk to before. You don't receive stupid condolences and bullshit like "it gets better" or "that's what faith had in store for you". You get raw emotion, telling you exactly what you yearned to hear, finally knowing that you're not crazy and that there are people who have enough braincells to see through the terrible facades the society has been smearing over everybody's eyes.

It's hard at first, watching blood and flesh rip through the air you breathe as your shoes leave red trails that follow your step...until they don't...they get mixed and lost and the footprints you once knew were yours look foreign, you don't know where you came from, you just know where you're headed.

You come back to your small apartment almost every night, writing down and scribbling each piece of information before it has the chance to be forgotten, intent on not letting a single detail slip.

You find it bizarre. You wanted to be a hero. For as long as your memory goes, you admired and glorified the kind and selfless faces you saw on TV, and in your own house.

He wanted to be a hero too? Even more than you. You're close, just a handful of months and you'd earn yourself a place. You know it.

Would he remember you?

Your pen breaks under the pressure of your palm, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You stack the notebooks neatly, locking your door before plopping on your pillow.

All of this for a boy...how silly of you...Would he be happy to have someone familiar next to him?

You feel lonely...You miss the comfort of the past and you wonder if he does too. Did he even like you back then? You dig for every memory of him smiling at you, gracing your hand while the two of you played the games on his computer.

Then your eyes wander to the pictures on your wall, collages of newspapers with his face on it. He aged like fine wine. Strong and handsome. His hands are something you can't look away from, his long fingers keeping you in a trance while you snuggle under your blanket, slipping your hand in your shorts. Just this time.

You bend your legs at your knees, head craned to look at the pictures on your walls, mouth loosely open. You take your time working your clit, imagining how he would do it. How he would take his time exploring you after not seeing you for so long.

Your ass bucks off the bed a little, humping against your fingers, almost dipping into your greedy pussy, ghosting over the slicked up hole and spreading the nice coat of the slimy wetness across your folds.

Would he be good at eating you out? Stretching his scarred jaw to fit his mouth over your cunt and lap at it, sticking his tongue out as far as it can go.

You stretch your shorts to fit your hand in, pressing two fingers on each side of the sensitive nub, using your other hand to flick at the exposed pearl. It almost burns from the pressure, too sensitive when it's not hidden under the thin layer.

What if he had his tongue pierced? Imagining the metal on you, swirling over every inch, digging into you as it bumps your clit. You can't make yourself wait anymore, pulling your shorts down and pressing your knees to your tummy. Like he's there in the room, giving him a perfect view of your dripping hole, untouched and clenching around nothing as you trail your finger across it.

You slip two of them in, too horny to drag it out anymore, you start pumping them in and out of your pussy, convulsing and shivering each time you hit that spot while you arch off the bed. Your other hand works your clit, chasing the trashing of your hips while your drenched cunt pools around your fingers, the sound making you high. It's wet and erotic, your palm slamming against your other hand, the rhythm on your clit rushed and messy, interrupting the pace you need.

You imagine his skilled fingers on you again, precisely circling your swollen nub as he stuffs you with his cock, his hot breath on your neck while his dyed hair tickles your face, wet kisses adoring your skin as he's about to stuff you full of his cum, press your legs to your stomach until they feel like they're gonna break. He'd try to go deeper than possible, holding your neck so that he can kiss you properly as your bodies rock the bed.

He'd cum first, seconds before you just to make sure that you milk every last drop as you cum and pulse around his shaft, your pussy gripping and sucking him in while he still balls deep inside you, groaning into your mouth.

The sensation of him shaking against you sends you over the edge, your breath being knocked out of you as your thighs flex and clench together, squeezing your hands and trapping them in place.

You're gasping for breath, eyes closing and ears buzzing from your high, light thrust against your clit coming to a stop as you slowly calm down.

Bliss washes over you as you lay there for a bit, chest rising and falling, your body completely relaxed.

You hope it'll all turn out to be worth it and joining the League would just be another step from many to go. Yet you still hope that your feelings were mutual back then. You experience loss too early in your teen years and a lot has changed since. But one thing was constant, you never stop loving someone even after they're gone, and Touya is the biggest proof of that.

You still had his books, pens, shirts and all of the notes the two of you passed around during dinners or classes...and you held onto them long before you found out he was still somewhere out there.

He was stoic and cold most of the time, his affections looked calculated, keeping you on the line throughout the whole friendship, not letting the two of you slip into a relationship. Pausing his flirting as soon as you seemed to get your hopes up.

If not a relationship, you want closure, and you want him, in any form you can have him.

_______________

Slowly you wake up to a pattern of knocks on your bedside table, not having the time to panic or get scared as you're slipping away from your dreams.

When you finally do see a tall white-haired man next to your bed, you raise your hands up in defense, heart skipping beats and toes curling as you back away to the headboard.

"Quiet a stalker aren't you?" Red eyes pierce through you, your quirk activating for a split second until he grabs a hold of your ankle with four fingers.

"You know what the fifth one does...so behave nicely, I'm not here to kill you" You look around the room, avoiding the uncomfortable gaze of the leader.

The shame of your interior upsetting you more than the initial fear of getting murdered.

"How did you get in?" Your locks are too good to be broken down, your alarm system expensive(but stolen) and working perfectly.

A purple portal flashes in the middle of the room. Well not so perfectly, you figure.

"I won't snitch on your obsession cause I couldn't care less, I want you in the League. Pack your shit or run." Your eyes are wide open, watching as the man slips into a portal and disappears, the purple mist still glowing in front of you.

You hurriedly grab a small suitcase, stuffing everything you know is important, already having some luggage packed in case you had to move fast for whatever reason. It comes in handy being organized.

You hide the newspapers you took off your walls, slipping them between your clothes and zipping the suitcase. First impression matters, so you risk wasting a bit of time to pick out an outfit, making yourself look presentable before you slip into a mellow cloud, dragging your stuff with you.

Your heart is pounding, blood rushing to the tips of your ears and the pads of your fingers, pulsing and warming you up.

The leader greets you again, grinning as he leads you to a room, telling you to make yourself at home.

"I wanted to give you a roommate, but that would be distracting" he teases, his teeth still showing as he closes the door behind you. The room is warm and surprisingly not messy at all. Yes, some things are carelessly tossed on the bed or draped over the chair but everything else is neat. You figure out fairly quickly that it was probably occasionally used.

You take your time to explore the room, piling up the stuff that wasn't yours in one corner of it. You unpack one of your suitcases and half of the other, cursing yourself for bringing the evidence of your little plan.

You don't know why you brought it, it seemed useless after you found out where you're going, but you guess it's for sentimental reasons. You didn't plan for it to happen so fast. But they were indeed a bit low on numbers after recent attacks so they must've gotten impatient and started seeking out more people.

You did do everything in your power to get noticed so you do want to take some credit. You smoothen out the sheets before you sit on the bed, thighs rubbing together from nervousness.

Is he on a mission?

How can you play it cool?

What's his favorite food now?

What are his interests?

Does anything make him particularly happy...maybe a hobby?

Should you try using your quirk to lure him in?

Does he know you exist?

Will he recognize you?

Would he remember you even after you tell him?

Maybe you shouldn't tell him.

You stop before you get too deep in your thoughts, deciding that you should make yourself comfortable. It's very likely that he's not there anyways, and he might not even show up soon, sitting there all alone is just making you more anxious.

You decide to leave the room, curious to meet other members that you heard in the hallways a few minutes ago. They were all headed to the same place, so you decided to go to what you figured was the living room.

The smell of alcohol got stronger, and the small giggles and banter got louder. You fixed your clothes one last time before opening the door, seeing the all too familiar faces in the room.

A blonde-haired girl ran to you, almost tumbling them both to the floor as she giggled excitedly.

"I was dying for more girls in this dump, they all stink" she whined, sniffing your shirt. She was grabbed by the collar by the boss, his pinkie up as the girl huffed.

_________________

So that's exactly how you met everyone, sitting on the bar as you silently wished the last member showed any desire in greeting you. He was sprawled out on the sofa in the far end of the room, a beer in hand and a cigarette in his mouth. You've never seen someone so unapproachable before, and it had to be him of all people.

Yet you didn't take it to heart. He was always like this...well minus the alcohol. New people didn't phase him, even more, he hated new. You're not worthy of his time until he deems you as so and you figure he never met "you" before.

But you do glance at him. The whole fucking night, chatting with others but always slipping and almost getting caught. They pointed it out but you just brushed it off as being curious to why he doesn't look like he's enjoying himself.

Even tho, you can practically feel his gaze on your back each time you turn away, feeling flustered you sip on your drink through the night, blushing when you catch him averting his gaze.

He is intrigued, to say the least. The way you move and talk is intoxicating, your voice feeling like something he had forgotten a long time ago. It reminds him of his past and it makes him fairly angry...but it brings some form of comfort he didn't feel in a while. He'll be selfish enough to indulge himself.

And he does. Months. Seeping into years.

________________

Missions are exhausting, so far you've been on more than you could bring yourself to count. On the run for weeks with little to no rest wasn't the luxurious lifestyle younger you dreamed about.

The comfort of the not so soft bed never felt more heavenly than now. A cheap motel wasn't your form of rest either, but you had to deal, hopping in for a not so relaxing shower with water that jumped from freezing to burning hot every second, tho it did an amazing job on easing the coil in your stomach.

Your quirk is taking a toll on you, control over it fading away as soon as you are laying clean and fresh on the bed. Too much...You were working too much and just teasing the victims never seemed to satiate your quirks' hunger. You second guess your path a lot, especially when you end up alone and exhausted, but you never think about quitting...as weird as that feels. It has its perks you guess...

Him being your partner wasn't one of them. He's practically eating you up, showing off in front of you but ignoring you all the same. You feel like crying from frustration, huffing to yourself before digging into your backpack and grabbing your small toy. It's been a few weeks since you could indulge yourself, the tension of your muscles painful.

Tears are almost freely rolling down your cheeks, your quirk making you feel dizzy as you slip the toy against your clit.

His voice is rough and quiet in your head, the conversations you had playing on repeat, searching for anything that you might've missed.

Every time you thought of one, it was followed by a memory of him pushing you away, smirking before going to do his own thing. He always had a smart mouth, flirting with you but making sure to step right off when he feels like he's dancing on that line.

You bit back equally though, returning the snarky comments and putting up a tough facade all while you tried to cling onto every thread of hope he threw your way.

He was almost sure he heard you though, his real name followed by a muffled cough as you tried your hardest to drown it with small talk. A moment of pure joy after you both made it out alive and safe made you let your guard down.

And when he called off the rest of the mission for the day out of nowhere, you were almost sure too.

But he isn't here now. He didn't follow you, and you're certainly all alone in this empty room. He'll come around...or he'll leave in the middle of the night. You wouldn't be able to blame him for either.

He's in the room right next to you, his fist wrapped tightly around his cock and his eyes squinted shut. He knows exactly who you remind him of, knows exactly what he felt as soon as you joined. You were always similar to her.

Awfully similar.

He knows.

It doesn't feel fair. Not to you or him. But he can't think. He can't focus and he can't stop himself from moaning out your name as his cock slicks up with pre-cum, his other going to his balls and squeezing them lightly.

He feels drunk, even though he didn't drink...well more than the usual amount... his body is burning like it's on fire...which isn't a foreign feeling to him. But it's different, the blood in his veins is warm, surging to the tips of his hands and toes as he fucks into his own fist. He's almost in a haze, fighting the urge to get up and slam your door open. If he runs away now, you'll be safer, maybe quit the League if he's lucky.

But he can't win, messily pulling his pants up and slipping on his shoes, grabbing your door handle in less than a blink as he tries to go back one last time. He has a primal need that pulls him towards you, even when he's not in the same room, it urges him to reach out and chase you, grip on the last straw of sanity and happiness that happens to be you.

Your toy buzzes faintly, sweat gracing your body while you so desperately try to cum. You're too sad and it doesn't help in reaching your high at all, but if you don't do it you feel like you might explode. He knows and he doesn't want you. You wasted your life away. You deserve it for being a creep.

He opens the door cautiously, feeling his cock pulse against the loose buckle. The lamp highlights your tear-stained cheeks and it's criminally hot, illegal even, making his toes curl.

You notice him immediately, dropping the toy on the mattress and using the sheet to cover as best as you can.

"I can't believe you" he whispers.

"Please..." you whine, drinking in the sight of him, wiping the tears with the back of your hand. To leave or to stay...any of the two.You know desire when you see it, praying that he came to quench it.

You're so desperate, craving him, letting go of your quirk and sending hormones to clash and bite against his skin.

You'll lie if you have to, say how you couldn't control it for a second more.

Nothing matters now when he's crawling up your naked body like a starved man, ripping the sheets away, digging his nails into your sides as he ravages your skin like it's the sweetest thing he's ever tasted.

And it probably is, the soft nibbles turning rough and hungry as you struggle to hold one, tangling your hands in his hair. You try to pull on it, yearning to kiss him and pour everything you feel against his lips, even if you're just a fuck, you need him to know that you never forgot him.

He doesn't budge, instead, he makes quick work of his pants, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

The room is too warm for you, the air too thick to breathe. You don't know if you want to stop and talk first....maybe you'll have the chance later?

"This is your fault" he huffs, slipping one hand to his boxers to ease the tension, gripping his cock tightly. He'll have to rush it, groaning when your legs subconsciously twitch and spread to let him fit in between.

"I feel like a fucking teenager" he argues, cupping your pussy and hunching over you.

He's missing a few steps, but seeing you so desperate and aching to cum urges him to help you out first.

"Since when did you start luring me in with your stupid quirk huh? Part of your little plan?" he questions, not letting you answer.

You're shaking your head, trying to mumble how you never tricked him into wanting you, not until this exact moment. But words are not your friend right now.

His eyes pierce through yours, beautiful blue swallowed up by the black of his pupils, half-lidded stare stripping you naked. Bare and vulnerable as your back arches, ghosting his fingers over the right spots and making you moan out a soft "Dabi".

It doesn't sound right on your tongue, and he sees the way it rolls off your lips, strained and dishonest.

His large hand wraps around your throat, holding you in place as he works the small bud, lowering his lips dangerously close, whispering across yours.

"Don't close your eyes." he demands.

It's in his arms reach, and everything is so close to making sense. If you look at him, he might start feeling like himself again. One of his fingers slowly dips inside your warmth, dragging the pad of it gently while he presses his thumb against your clit.

Your soft lips fit on his, your hands pulling him in by the back of his neck. He wants to make it slow and romantic, a nice reunion, yet he lets you slip your tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss.

He's not holding himself up anymore, his body's weight shifting onto you with each thrust of his finger, the clacking sound of your pussy urging him to move even faster, make you feel even better. He adds in another one, watching you mewl and relax.

"That's fucking right, you wanted it, you fucking planned this, you sick fuck" he muses, catching you off guard. There's something bittersweet in the fact that he'll never be able to leave every little aspect of his life behind.

Before you even try to mumble something out, his lips are slamming against yours, teeth clashing and pulling on your soft skin.

You clench around him, riding his fingers greedily and roaming your hands across his back, fisting and gripping at his shirt.

You can feel the blood on your tongue, hissing when he pulls out only to slap his palm over your clit, causing you to yelp and pull away from the kiss.

"Touya, listen-" He shakes his head, nails digging into the flesh of your ass.

"You little stalker...how much work did you do for this cock huh?" he presses against you for good measure, making you feel his hot length on your cunt.

"You have no fucking idea" you snarl, gaining some of the confidence back, wiggling from beneath him.

He kicks his shoes and boxers all the way off, getting on your bed and pulling you to him.

His shirt is thrown messily to the edge of the bed, his hands pressing on the small of your back so that you can tower over him, trapping him between your thighs as he leans against the headboard.

Your ass slides over his cock, your hips moving slowly while he trails your figure, gliding his warm fingers across your thighs and up to your breasts.

Both of his hands cup the soft mounds, eyes glued to yours as he sticks his tongue out of his mouth. Hypersensitive to every little touch, your body shivers as he takes gentle, almost there swipes across your nipple, moving his arms back to your sides while he slips the sensitive bud in his mouth.

He lowers his thumb to your clit, flicking it slowly while he nips at your tits, biting and sucking marks across the smooth skin. His cock hooks and prods at your hole each time you both sway against each other, teasing you until the knot in your belly becomes too tight, skin crawling with pleasure wherever his body meets yours. He can hear your breath hitching in your throat, grinning while he speeds up the work on your clit, patiently waiting for you to start arching into his hand. He's gonna make you feel so good...convince you that chasing after him was the best decision you made in your life. Make up for all the years you had to deal with everything on your own.

He can feel your pussy clenching around the tip of his cock, making him push up in one slow and deep motion, immediately feeling the spasms of your soft walls gripping tight around his length. You let out a shaky breath, riding out the first high that finally satiates your quirk if only for a bit, making you drop your weight on him.

"There we go...Feeling better?" the ground might swallow you up, but when his hips start to lazily buck into you, you get distracted...You didn't notice how full you are, every inch pushing and stretching perfectly. You realize his finger never really stopped, only slowed down while he built up the agonizing pace he's bouncing you on.

You know your quirk makes you needy, but it makes everyone even more so, the realization that he probably feels like 9 circles of hell causing your hips to move, meeting his thrusts more roughly.

His head moves back to the headboard, eyes glued to yours as you ride him, propping yourself on his shoulders.

He ignored the burn of his body, too intoxicated and keen on making you feel better to focus on his aching cock, getting drowned in pleasure now that he can experience everything clearly.

You're beautiful.... and he wants to break you, make you blabber his name as you cling to him like he's the only one that can make you feel good. And he's gonna make sure he is. He admires you for a moment, cheeks heating up while watches your tits bounce, your eyes averting under his stare.

Your world turns upside down, your head sinking into a soft pillow as your legs are pushed as far as they can go.

You're scared to look away now, his gaze never breaking when he starts plowing in and out of your cunt, slamming his cock all the way in with each thrust.

His feet dig into your mattress, making the cheap bed creak.

You don't know where to put your hands, switching from the sheets to your thighs.

"Dumb little whore...is this all it takes?" he moves lower to you, pressing your spit coated lips against his.

You manage to hook your arms around his neck, swinging your legs behind his back.

He's plowing too deep, his navel bumping against your clit. He can't make himself pull out at all anymore, stuck on humping inside your pussy, slamming and angling his cock until you cry out.

Panting and groaning against your lips, he manages to slip a few curses, hissing when he tries to stop himself from cumming. Your quirk is cruel.

His fingers tangle in your hair, holding you still as he bottoms out completely, feeling his cock throb and spill, your walls tightening up against his shaft as hot cum paints them white.

He's high and addicted, already fucking his cum deeper, making sure it goes into every little crease and pore it can reach. You slip your fingers to your clit, trying to get yourself off while he rocks both of you.

"You wanna cum? Wanna milk my cock again huh? Want me to knock you up?" He's stammering it out, words spilling from his mouth in a rush, feeling the burning of his sensitive head as he picks up the pace again, slapping your hands away.

He raises just a bit, pressing one of his large palms on your belly.

His other hand slips to your clit instead, circling and flicking it to make you reach your high before he fills you up again.

Your whining does nothing to slow him down, his motions too rough and almost painful, your cervix bruising up when he presses even harder on your tummy, making your hips buck off the bed.

"Want you to cum...want you to make a mess..." he urges, a low rumble in his throat.

You can only nod, grabbing both of your thighs and spreading them further for him, your pussy open and on display to him to watch as it hugs his cock, slick and dripping.

You have to close your eyes, too embarrassed as you feel the burning sensation surge through you, eyes watering from the pressure as you finally let go. Your whole body tenses up, a low scream slipping out of your mouth when clear liquid splashes over your thighs and stomach, leaking onto his cock.

"Fucking hell" is all you can hear before he stuffs you full again, this time dropping onto your chest as his knees and feet numb out, hot breath tickling your neck as he moans against your skin.

Your weak hands slump on his back, muscles relaxed and barely working.

Someone is supposed to say something...minutes passing by quickly.

Your tired voice fills the room, a soft "Touya..." reaching his ears as you trail off. You're not sure what you wanted to say, but he holds you a little tighter, heart beating faster at the sound of his name.

He kisses your cheek softly, snuggling into the crook of your neck. "Fucking creep".