#prisoner in my own fucking body absolutely fucking disgusting

[slonechnik]

ahhh

[diarivie]

angsty?? coriolanus is LONELY (this is just a rewritten vs of my charlie fic from a while ago shh)

Coriolanus is alone, he doesn’t like to admit it, or say it out—in doing so he’s accepting what it is, and just how deep he’s gotten himself into such a situation. But, he craves just the presence of another person, that unmistakable feeling of pure content, the knowledge that you were lucky enough to sit with a friend, and experience them in all their mortal being.

He believes he must’ve done something absolutely horrid in his past life, he doesn’t think he deserves to live in the same timeline as you but not with you—he’s merely a bystander, he views you going to class, he sees you picking an apple from your bag, he sees and sees and sees, but he doesn’t interact, he’s a prisoner in his own body—only ever letting his eyes be the one part of him to become aware of your presence, it’s suffocating, it’s disgusting—the pure iron grip you have on his soul.

He shares a few classes with you, but he hides himself. It’s self sabotage at this point, there’s no doubt in his mind that it isn’t—he has every chance, every fucking chance to come up to you, to start up a conversation, but, he’s comforted by his own sadness and despair. He’s okay with it, he’s okay with it because it’s what he knows best.

It’s alright if it leaves his brain a bit more fumbled, his vision blurred when attempting to focus on a test—after-all, he rather be sad, and miserable than have to ever deal with any, any, amount of a rejection that may fall from your lips, or worse—love.

A miracle happens one day, he’s surely being dramatic, but you noticing him is a miracle and a burden all at once. You don’t comment on his clothes, or try to make fun of him in any hidden way, you’re just talking to him because you had noticed his satchel straps were undone.

it’s the smallest, most minuscule thing you could’ve picked up, it’s almost ludicrous. He’s not paying attention however, your lips are glossed up, you’re wearing some type of cherry red—it really doesn’t matter, but again it does. He’s losing himself in you, he’s being sucked in, like a constant vacuum of doom.

you’re still talking, and he’s a fool, he’s concluded he’s really just a fool, through and through, he only nods and sends a small, barely whispered thank you, and then he’s on his way. He sees why he’s alone now, even when given the chance he blows it, he screws up any hope of having a friend, even just a friend—he’s positive you’ll tell everybody you know how weird he is now, and he’ll be forced to stare at you again through the shell of a body he has.

So, yes, Coriolanus Snow is alone, and afraid, he’s nearly paralyzed from the fear that through his entire life he’ll live it by himself—he supposes maybe that’s just who he is, he’s meant to spectate, analyze, be in the background only observing. He’ll never have the luxury of anything more, and he’s too exhausted to try and change it, so, he’ll just look at you, and focus on every small thing you do, watching you waft through life, while he gets stuck behind.

@ diarivie 2023 , do not repost on any third party websites, or copy my works.

[explosionshark]

Also: it was lost on me as a teen viewer why Faith goes back at the end of 4x16. I kind of got it but it genuinely hit me in this recent rewatch like

FAITH wants to run, but she knows Buffy wouldn’t and so she has to go back because she’s BUFFY now and Buffy is better than Faith. Buffy is a good person. Buffy would never leave it as someone else’s problem. Faith refuses to run because she’s In Buffy and she refuses to make Buffy as bad & disgusting as her!! I’m blowing myself up!!

She goes into full on panic when Riley is trying to be like actual-intimate, not quickie intimate. And like part of that is ABSOLUTELY her trauma & the fact that people have been “kind” to her so often to take advantage of her. But she’s also freaking out because this guy is trying to take advantage of BUFFY. Faith is used to sleazeballs saying & doing whatever to get to her & she tells herself she’s fine with it. But like having to be on the receiving end of genuine intimacy & kindness (especially from someone she doesn’t know how to say the right thing for, ie telling Joyce she’ll visit & Willow she’ll protect her)?

Like her instinct is already to be nasty and keep people at bay ie Tara, but someone trying to make HER be vulnerable & melting down and then in turn freaking out bc this guy MUST be taking advantage of Buffy?

Bri she loves her so much. Bri I’m crying. Bri she goes to such ridiculous lengths in her Crazy Girl Arc in Sunnydale. on some level it’s because she needs Buffy to hate her as much as she hates herself. But there is no way her LA Sequel moment is not in some way influenced by feeling Buffy’s residual emotions when they swap back & going “oh yeah wow I’m literally so bad, I can’t be fixed I need to die” and then goes of the handle AGAIN and tries the same tactic on Angel who recognizes it immediately.z

I’m rambling but ugh oh my god. I need a minute. I can’t take this. I can’t take Faith doing the absolute most to try and push everyone away & make them hate her even more as herself! And then doing the inverse as Buffy both because Faith doesn’t want to feel alone AND because she doesn’t want to ruin Buffy the way she ruined herself?

Evil. Evil!

Yeah it's definitely really tragic and deeply interesting that faith's view of herself by that point is that she's SO fundamentally Bad that she needs the pretense of being someone else (and BUFFY specifically) to do good.

There's lots of good meta out there about faith's implied sexual trauma and how that intersects with her violation of riley. I think that definitely one of the most fucked up and sad parts of it is how it's literally riley saying he loves buffy that makes faith freak out. "who are you? what do you want with her?" the stutter in faith's voice, the breathlessness. it's sheer terror. and it's horrible. and it ends with faith, in buffy's body, beating her own face bloody, in tears, "you're digusting," she screams at her own face. "you're nothing."

and promptly runs off to LA to try to get herself killed.

god, the whole arc is just brutal and devastating and gorgeous. even faith's ultimate decision to turn herself in and go to prison is rooted in what she imagines buffy would want.

faith's arc of how can i make buffy like me -> how can i make buffy hate me -> how can i make buffy kill me -> how can i make buffy pay for not killing me -> how can she ever forgive me -> how can i help her is SO good. i wish we'd had so much more faith in s7. the parts we get are tantalizing but i could have done with an entire season of weird divorced reconciliation vibes and pining. alas.

[artistsfuneral]

nsft, lots of murderous thoughts, they were roommates, Jaskier being weird af, unconventional sugar baby Geralt but he hates Jaskier XD, Jaskier thinks Geralt is neat (holds up potatoes)

"Your existence haunts me."

3am on a Monday morning after a 36 hour shift at the hospital and Geralt is in all honesty contemplating to murder his roommate. It would take him all but a few calls to get rid of the body and he's pretty sure he'd do the world a favor by having Jaskier fucking Pankratz vanish from its service.

The eccentric young man that somehow wormed his way into Geralt's apartment and part of his life, hasn't been home all week, just for him to reappear at the worst time possible. At 3am. After a 36 hour shift.

Jaskier is on the toilet of all things, looking like he's been fucked throughout the whole week without a proper break or a shower that lasted longer than five minutes. He is wearing nothing but a glittery pink crop top with the word 'Daddy' badazzled on it and a tiny puke green top hat hair clip that looks like it was bought for 2006's Sylvester party. Geralt desperately wants to believe that it's not the same clothes Jaskier has left the house in, but knowing the billionaire everything is possible.

With no shame whatsoever Jaskier smiles at him like he's the sun, before taking a long sip from his bubble tea. It's fucking disgusting and Geralt wants nothing more than to kick it out of his hands and Jaskier out of his life.

"Geralt, love of my life! How are you? How was work? Did you save lots of lives today?"

"I despise the fact that you still breathe."

And that. That's the worst thing about it. Geralt can't remember saying a single nice thing to Jaskier and yet the other man is somehow infatuated with him. The younger one pouts at him, takes another long sips of his bubble tea and chews on the pearls. Before meeting Jaskier, Geralt would have never imagined anyone ever sitting on the toilet drinking, or eating for that matter. Jaskier is all kinds of fucked up while being completely unaware of it and Geralt suffers.

He wakes up every day knowing that this is his life now. That there's no way past puke green top hats and badazzled crop tops for him anymore. As much as he hates it, as much as he fantasies about burying Jaskier's cold body on a nice spring morning in the mountains, this is his life. And it's his own damn fault.

"Did you just come back from the hospital? I got here like 20 minutes ago. Good that you weren't here then, I would have definitely woken you up, bursting through the door while the tacos were bursting through me."

Geralt feels like he's about to cry. This is the man he owes his life to. This fucking disaster of a human being is the reason he's still walking around freely, his reputation unblemished and his family still alive. Needless to say he has spent many sleepless nights screaming into his pillow while cursing every single deity he can think of.

"Please go back to the hell hole you crawled out of."

Why is he even having this conversation? Why is he still standing in the doorway of the bathroom instead of just using the other one before crying himself to sleep? It has to be the lack of sleep, the terrible working hours, his growing insanity that keeps him from just leaving the conversation. Instead he bangs his head against the door frame, apologizing to the last of his braincells as Jaskier wipes his ass and flushes the toilet. Geralt doesn't look, because fuck no, he'd rather die, when Jaskier walks towards the shower, naked from his ribs down. As he pulls the hair clip out of his brown locks and rids himself of the ridiculously tiny crop top, Geralt wonders if a life in prison would have been the more merciful decision.

"Are you just going to stand there looking pretty, or are you going to join me, Ger-bear?"

"Absolutely not. You look like a walking STD."

"Don't be ridiculous, sweetheart. I was at Valdo's all week and barely got to leave the house until last night."

Geralt grunts, too tired to think of another sentence that describes how much he wants Jaskier to slip on a bar of soap and break his hip in the shower. He has admittedly no idea what Jaskier does when he's with Valdo Marx but he knows that the man is happily married and has never looked at Jaskier twice. Why the billionaire still looks as fucked out as he does, Geralt can't explain.

"I'll go drown myself," he says instead as he collects his towel and bathrobe from their hooks. The blow dryer should still be in the other bathroom with the tub, where he left it.

Jaskier is already under the spray of the shower head, so when he speaks the volume of his voice gets muffled by the falling water.

"I got you that new conditioner you saw the other day, it should be somewhere near the hypoallergenic bath bombs that go well with your skin."

Geralt hums in good humor, knowing that Jaskier can't hear him. The other man has long since made it a habit to buy everything Geralt might possibly want or need. And while a lot of the presents he gets are absolutely ridiculous, he doesn't say no to some of the fancier, horribly expensive, hair products Jaskier buys him. Of the very few things he can stand about himself, his hair might be on top of the list. Mostly because Eskel loved it.

More often than not he wonders what his family might think of him if they were able to see him living like this. He's glad they can't. Very, very much so. Still he wonders. Would they tell him to leave Jaskier the moment they meet him? Would he? Leaving Jaskier's grasp would mean leaving his realm of protection. The fucked up world in which a man that wears a puke green top hat hair clip has more power than a king.

Furthermore it would mean leaving behind the hospital, his friends and colleagues, the life he build himself around Jaskier's antics. He's not sure if he wants to let go of that just yet. Or ever, if Geralt is honest with himself.

As much as he is disgusted by 70% of the man's existence, there is another 30% left to complete the math. Those stupid 30% that are Jaskier being nice, quiet, attentive, charming and overall overwhelmingly good. Jaskier who let him live at his apartment rent free when he had nothing, Jaskier who bought him everything he could ever need and still showers him with presents almost every week. Jaskier who listened to whatever little part of his life he told him about, Jaskier who knew all of his colleagues by name, who had picked him up multiple times from the hospital when he was too exhausted to get home by himself, Jaskier who-

"I should have brought the toaster with me."

For some reason the younger man has decided to follow Geralt into the other bathroom and is now sitting on the ground, legs crossed, not dressed, dripping a puddle onto the tiles. He is staring at Geralt through his huge blue eyes and shoveling chips into his mouth like it's a normal thing to do on a Monday morning at 3.30.

[firelord-frowny]

yall i just read about THE WORSTTTT true crime case i have ever heard of oh my GOD oh my GOD!!!!!!!! trigger warning for murder and poop???????????

ok so. i had actually heard about the case several years ago when the boy's body still hadn't been found yet, but the boy's father was Very Suspicious, to the point where the boy's mom was sure he had something to do with his disappearance. the boy had ~vanished~ during a court-ordered visit to his father's house.

well, something today reminded me of the case, so i decided to give it a google and see if the boy's body was ever found and/or if the dad was ever charged with the crime.

the answer to both questions is yes. partial remains were found close to the father's house, and the father was arrested and charged and convicted.

so like.

the fact that a young boy was murdered by his own father is bad enough. it's horrifying. it's awful to even think about.

but the MOTIVE????

oh my god.

the MOTIVE!!!!!!!!!!

oh my GOD!!!!!

listen.

apparently.

the father killed him in a 'fit of rage' after the boy confronted him with pictures he found...

OF HIS DAD EATING SHIT IN A DIAPER??????

WHAT! THE! HELL!!!!!!

apparently the boy and his brother had found the pictures on the dad's laptop by accident some time prior??? And took pictures of it on their phones with the intention of using them as leverage against the dad in the ongoing custody battle between the dad and the mom??? which, considering that the fucking weirdo KILLED HIS OWN SON, i'd say that the boys had good reason to not want him to have custody of them!

just oh my goddddddddddddddddddddddd.

disgusting!!!

also, not that it fucking matters, but the article i read (or more like Skimmed Through With Conviction because i couldnt stomach letting my eyes linger on the words for any longer than absolutely necessary) wasn't super clear about whether the dad was eating shit "in a diaper" as in the shit is in a diaper and he's eating out of it like a plate, or if he's just eating shit in general while he's WEARING a diaper. but like. both options are somehow more disgusting than each other omfg so it doesnt even matterrrrrrr.

omfggg. i was gonna say 'can you imagine???' but no. PLEASE dont imagine!!!!

i hope he feels like a fucking nasty ass imbecile!!!

like, you're gonna go and murder your own child to try to avoid the world finding out that you're a diaper wearing, shit eating weirdo, only for the whole world to find out that you're a diaper wearing shit eating weirdo anyway! and not ONLY are you a diaper wearing shit eating weirdo, but you're a CHILD MURDERING diaper wearing shit eating weirdo!!!! disgusting!!!! sickening!!! demonic!!!!

omfg you shoulda just taken the fucking L and sat in the humiliation of having your gross kink outed to your friends and family instead of adding Child Murder to your list of disgusting things you've done!!!

like damn, people can forgive gross kinks as long as you're not hurting anybody and you're keeping it private. some people might even feel sorry for you if/when your gross kink gets outed without your consent!

but nobody forgives child murder! you fucking psychopath!!!

ew! ew! ew! ew! ew! ew! ew! ew! ew!

they probably have him under a false identity in prison omfg people probably think he's in for shooting a taxi driver or something bc you just knooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwww that the Child Murdere Who Eats Shit would not be well-liked in prison omfgggg.

i kinda sorta highkey hope he offs himself like he shoulda done in the first damn place if the thought of being outed as a shit eating weirdo was soooooooooooooooooooooooo unbearable to him.

like, don't murder your child just because YOU cant cope with your own fucking shame!

you coulda gone to therapy!

you coulda packed your shit up and skipped town and changed your name!

and as a last fucking resort you could have blown your own damn brains out in lieu of killing your son you SICK FUCK oh my god! oh my god! oh my god! im so disgusted! im so angry for the lil boy! and i hope the dad suffers every day for the rest of his life oh my goddddd. oh my GOD i hope he's miserable. i hope the shame and humiliation is neverending. if there's one thing more embarrassing than being a diaper wearing shit eater, it's being a diaper wearing shit eater who tried to keep it a secret by murdering his own child only to be found out anyway.

what a TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE reason to be murdered :( that poor boy.

[by-the-power-of-kuriboh]

Danzo is awful but is one of my favorite examples of body horror in the series. His reveal is right up there with Kabuto turning and showing his half grafted face. Imagine if Kishimoto teamed up with a horror author! He's already halfway there with anime filler being lifted straight from Lovecraft stories like the Color out of Space and the night gaunt in the Blood Prison movie.

Yes!! See also: Orochimaru's weird ass snake form, where he's simultaneously one being consisting of many snakes, which erupts from his previous body - or, you know. Just Orochimaru in general is so, so fucked up and I love every nasty, gross second of it.

And horror isn't even a central theme in the story! That's just some flavouring! Some parts of Naruto really read like a horror-enthusiast tried really hard not to write horror but instead some classic shonen adventure story. Which, I think, is a shame: we have all these absolutely amazing set ups for the genre of body horror specifically, but it never goes further than that. It's all a bit superficial - just a physical transformation, a power up even. It rarely, if ever, gets examined, or reflected on, and sometimes there's not even a proper reaction to it (how many times do you see a character being disgusted or horrified of these scenes?)

I personally would have loved to see a more in depth exploration of the trope that is already being used - how the manipulation of the body can come with unexpected side effects, where the line between "mine" and "other" is drawn in regard to your own (transplanted) body, any of that sort, you know?

But then again, that's not the goal of Naruto. It's a shonen adventure comedy manga intended for mostly children and young teenagers. And that's cool - if I wanted good horror, I'd have picked a different manga. But it does add a nice flavour to Naruto.

Anyways, sorry for the long post, I know you didn't really ask my opinion on this. Also, looks like I really need to watch the Blood Prison movie. Thank you for the ask!!

[rain-tumbling-through-a-vent]

I’m disgusted by my own body. I’ve been spiraling for THREE AND A HALF weeks now and I’ve forgotten to brush my teeth the whole time. I think I’ve got, like, 3 or four cavities. My parents also stopped paying my medical bills so every treatment I get comes out of my own pocket. I need wisdom teeth surgery too, I spent FIVE WHOLE YEARS in braces only to fuck my teeth up after I get them off. I suck so fucking much. I can’t stop scratching out holes in my face either. I started the week with nothing but small acne sores that’d go away in a week and now I’ve got three massive gashes on my face. That’s not even to mention the fact that I didn’t take a shower for THREE WHOLE WEEKS. I’m so fucking disgusting, why can’t I hyperfixate on being healthy or making myself beautiful? Oh yeah, MY MIND IS A PRISON THAT I CANNOT EVER ESCAPE. When I finished my shower yesterday, I pulled a hairball the size of both my fists put together off of my wet brush. I have curly hair so shedding in the shower is pretty normal, but that much hair? It’s too much! I’m scared to take a shower again and pulling enough hair out to create a bald spot. I already broke a whole lick of hair off right at my hairline so that it looks like I have the worst bangs ever. It also doesn’t help that my arms, back, and thighs are covered in scars from where I picked at sores. And when I say covered, I mean fuckin COVERED. I look like an ambidextrous heroine addict with really bad aim and a lying mother. And even on top of all of that, I’m a trans girl as well. So all of my failings only serve to compound the dysphoria that I feel at a base level every fucking day. I know that these behaviors are indicative of chronic anxiety and/or depression and/or adhd, but I’ve never been this bad. I’m borderline suicidal and incredibly lonely, I think I’m an extrovert with such terrible anxiety that it prevents me from refilling my energy. I think that the worst part of all of this is the fact that I have friends that want to talk to me, they just live far enough away to be too expensive to drive over for an afternoon. And I cannot properly put into words how much I HATE talking on the phone and texting. It’s too stressful trying to figure out how to get the time of a message across, and talking on the phone is just terrible. I had a long term partner of two and a half years until relatively recently. I initiated a break in the relationship because we were extremely co-dependent and had been driving apart for a few months anyways. Long story short, he ended up crossing my boundaries and being an asshole to my friends so I ended the relationship. He didn’t take it very well and now we aren’t in communication with each other anymore. The wild thing about it is we were unhealthily codependent, but I didn’t realize how much I needed him. I’ve been in a prolonged spiral ever since I pushed him away, just feeling absolutely empty and all at once overwhelmed. He was my purpose and I threw him away. All of that was pretty terrible, but almost nothing trumps my mostly fiscally supportive parents. My home life sucks and not just because I’m a fucking loser 20 year old that lives with her parents. There’s only one rule for them, one line I can’t cross, don’t be visibly trans at their house. I must note that I’m the eldest of four and all of my siblings hate me for causing my parent’s terrible mental health. They’re not wrong, but I was outed so I didn’t mean to. So one rule, you’re in the closet over here, okay that doesn’t sound so bad. Literally every conversation I have with either of them always ends up being about their feelings towards my transness. They seem to think I’ve been brainwashed by the trans agenda and am going to mutilate myself and immediately regret it. Every conversation ends like this, over and over again I’m constantly reminded that I’m an abomination or that I’m ruining my life. But here’s the real kicker, they continue to support me financially; even going so far as to offer to pay for college if I can ever get my shit together and get back over there. (1/?)

[alienjaded]

Bathing, baking, and saving my own life: Dreams of the future.

I took a bath yesterday and then continued to cry for twenty hours straight (and more, I'm still crying as I write this).

Does this mean I'm healing? Broken? Human? Not human anymore?

I don't even know anymore, dude. I haven't felt feelings so hard in so long, but I've just been laying here crying, working, not sleeping, drinking coffee and energy drinks, vaping, and crying. Crying, crying, crying. It's weird.

I don't bathe regularly. I don't move regularly, or eat regularly, or sleep like ... at all.

I just work. I work, I vape, I may or may not pass out from fatigue, I take impeccable care of my teeth because they are my last human strength, but let my hair tangle into dreadlocks, rinse, and repeat. I am a mother fucking mess.

But I bathed. I don't even know why. I really didn't feel like it. I was just in a state of derealization and dissociation, where thoughts were no longer the boss of me, and I just bathed almost of curiosity. Maybe I was subconsciously aware that I was crossing a threshold between passingly functional and alarmingly clinical if I did not force myself to take a bath right then ...

Bathing ... hurt. It felt really good. And that pleasure really hurt. It hurts to feel good, because I don't trust it.

Living hurts a lot right now. Every time that I am silent and alone with my thoughts - no media, no music, no conversations - all I can hear in my head is "ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch." I don't even know when that pain started, or how long I have been carrying it. I've grown so used to drowning it out and numbing myself entirely. But I'm feeling it finally, and it seems unending.

My husband and I are moving away from this God forsaken state that is way too sickeningly bloated with shitty history. I hate this town and I'm ready to leave, but I'm not excited. I hate being married to my husband. I hate living with him and being in the same room with him. I want to die when he looks at me.

Funny thing is, I don't actually hate him. I actually love him dearly. He is my family and my best friend, so although I feel absolutely nothing but pain when I am around him, I give him the spousal support and kindness that I feel my friend deserves. He deserves a teammate, kind words, and affirmation. I can only be his friend, but I try to be a good one ...

But my body writhes in agony around him, because it can't forget what he did to me. It sucks. My head and my heart forgive and want to move on, but my gut, my nervous system, my adrenal glands, my kidneys, they scream and shut down whenever they are in the same room. I am miserable.

There was a time when he was absolutely fucking awful to me. I tried to leave him, but he wouldn't let me. He would either hold himself hostage by cutting his arm with kitchen knives, punching himself in the face, or tearing handfuls of his hair out ... Or he would physically hold me prisoner. He would hold the door closed when I tried to open it, wrap me in a bear hug if I tried to run away, and lick my face (I am autistic and horribly disgusted by spit - even my own). These were the tamest methods he would use to stop me from leaving.

That period of time was the darkest of my life. And although he has seen a therapist, and things have changed, I have not been able to move. I've been physically frozen. I rarely leave my house - or bed, for that matter. I've dropped twenty pounds and three pant sizes from atrophy alone. I'm thinking about taking up smoking, just for the fresh air.

I'm free now, but in my body, I am still a prisoner. I think he broke me. As I mentioned, we've been moving. He hasn't lifted a finger to pack a box. I normally wait until he falls asleep to enjoy precious moments of alone time, when I can just be with myself. I recently spent those liminal hours packing. It took all of my will power to leave my bed and pack these boxes. They were, to me, my statement to the universe that I was ready and willing to "move." Truly move. To truly live, open to this next chapter.

The next fucking morning, my husband woke up and unpacked my fucking boxes. He did not repack the boxes, he just left the shit all over the floor. His reasoning was that he wanted to throw away everything in them, and that I did not pack them properly in the first place. I can't pack sugar with tea, apparently. FUCKING WHAT? Ugh, anyways.

Here's the fucking thing. Everything that he wanted to throw away was related to baking - the activity that I engage in when I am happiest. I never bake unless I am happy, and when I am happy, I bake all of the time. At one point, it was my dream to open a bakery; baking is the overflow of joy and light in my soul. This is exactly why I chose to pack that box. Isn't it just so fucking appropriate that he unpacked this specific box and left the shit all over the floor.

His reasoning was that we can just buy more baking ingredients when we get there. Apparently, it was a waste of time to pack the ingredients in the first place (clearly). Also, according to him, I used the wrong box I used a canvas box, when I should have used cardboard. It does not seem to matter that the sound of cardboard sets my level 2 ASD on edge, catalyzing almost instant sensory processing meltdowns. It's not like that exact detail, which I have shared many times with him, happens to be exactly why we have canvas boxes. Fuck, man.

Ultimately, I compromised, telling him that he could throw away only the expired ingredients ... This ended up being literally everything. Every item was expired, some by four to five years. We've been married for five years ...

The very last time that I made baked anything was for his birthday last year; the very last night that I felt any hope in my life. This particular night is what siphons my sleep and stabs me in every silent moment. This was the night that I silently packed my bag and tried to sneak away at 4 am; the night I got caught by him, and he almost took our lives in his manic delirious fit. The night that he cannot talk about or own up to when he asks me why I am too lazy to move, and why I seem to have given up on living. The night that I stopped baking and my soul died.

I absolutely hate my existence with him. I feel like I've been slowly killing myself, the long way around, with substance abuse and sleep deprivation. I know that if I were to just off myself, he would follow. But if I were to do it slowly, subtly, and outside of his radar, he might just be able to move on and be happy.

I'm basically already dead inside. I think I might still care about living, because I've learned to shut up and bite my tongue when we argue, because a part of me still feels primally afraid that one day he might just take both of our lives if he becomes unstable enough.

Anyways, I took a bath yesterday. I lit incense and played music, and just cried. I cried, because I remembered what bathing was like before I met my husband. What living was like before him. I stopped burning incense because he didn't like the smell. I stopped playing guitar and signing, because it triggered his insecurities. I stopped speaking and sharing my opinions with him, because his fragile fucking ego could not allow a single sentence that I said to make any remote sense.

I parted with every possible comfort that made my life beautiful, because he did not like them. And he would not let me leave to go be with them again. Every time that I tried, and managed to get away from his physical grasp because I was fast or sneaky enough, he would follow me to hotels, family members' homes, or other towns ... he would stand in front of my car when I tried to drive away, in front of the Ubers when I tried to Uber away. In front of me, every few steps, for miles, when I tried to walk away. I fought with every ounce of tenacity and determination, but he just beat me fucking down with his stubborness. I fought with all of my might; he was just stronger.

So, I gave up. I tried leaving in other ways. Mostly doing a fuck ton of drugs. I became infatuated with another man. I didn't allow myself to seduce this man the way that I continuously fantasized about doing, but I did allow myself to fantasize about doing it. Fantasizing about this stranger was better than doing drugs, for a period of time. And then it wasn't. I accidentally fell in love. After that, it got real for me. And when it got real, it got moral, and when it got moral, it became torturous.

So then I would just do drugs to not only escape my husband, but also to escape the fantasy of another man that emerged as a method of escaping my husband. Escaping to escape my escaping, I realized, was the most fucked up prison. But I just needed to escape. I needed to check out. I could not leave my house, so I tried to leave my body and mind. I needed to leave my feelings, so I could not feel the grating harshness of my husband's voice, the misery of his ego, his infuriating gaze, his terrifying mania, my ever present fear of him, my yearning for freedom, and my longing for someone else who represented life to me. It hurt. It all hurt so bad, so I just did whatever drug that I could.

When I was prescribed opiods, I popped them like candy. I don't even know how I survived that, and honestly, I don't think my soul did. I'm just a husk. I don't know if I will ever get myself back. I feel so dead inside. I want to say I got better. I stopped doing drugs. But I never stopped hurting. It hurts so much,

I hope that someday I'll see myself wearing a nice suit with good posture and combed hair, talking about something cool that I did to help people ... or even just to help myself. I hope that my future self someday speaks to my present self, about how strong, smart, sneaky, and strategic I was in saving my own life and escaping this absolute hell of a life, with all hearts intact. Including my husband's, but especially my own ... if I still have one, that is.

I think I really need to save my own life, assuming it isn't already over.

[bubbleteaimagines]

End Up Here

Porco Galliard Oneshot

Summary: How did you end up in your captors bed of all places, contemplating on staying?

Pairings: Porco Galliard x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, fingering, light spanking and hair pulling, creampie, unprotected sex (please wrap it every man is not porco)

how did this happen? you wonder, as his rough hands, calloused from war and stained with the blood of countless enemies, roam over your body.

how did i end up here? you think, while his lips, plump and puffy, lean down to capture your own. they taste sweet, a stark contrast from how he actually was.

he hated you, didn’t he? and you hated him. at least, that’s how it had been for months, with you locked up in a marley jail cell.

after the attack on liberio, you had been one of the survey corps members to miss the plane and ended up stuck in marley. after that, you were taken as a prisoner of war and left in the custody of the warriors, or what was left of them.

with zeke being gone, reiner, pieck and porco had been the ones to look after you, questioning you for information and such.

of course, with reiner’s mission to paradis you already knew him. in fact, you thought it was absolutely hilarious how hypocritical he sounded while asking you why exactly you guys had attacked marley.

“i could ask you the same thing, reiner,” you had spat coldly, thinking back to that day seven years ago.

that was the only time you had ever seen reiner flinch, your glare causing his head to throb.

admittedly, before all of this, before all of the mess and the lies and the betrayal, you and reiner had actually been close once upon a time.

there was a time that you had idolized reiner, wanting to be just like the older boy. you wanted to be strong, you wanted to protect those around you.

you looked up to reiner as someone that was good, and the thought disgusted you.

how could you have idolized someone who caused so much destruction? someone who started a war with innocent people?

as you kissed porco back, your hands going to run through his hair, you supposed you did end up like your idol after all.

a hypocrite.

of course, you hadn’t always been that way. in the beginning, you truly did hate porco.

you hated the way he stalked around, glaring at you like you were the devil itself. you hated the way he talked, spitting insults left and right. but most of all, you hated how he wore that damn armband proudly, as if it made him any better than you.

you were the same, and porco hated you for constantly pointing it out. he hated the way you were so stubborn, never giving information but always having something to say nevertheless.

he hated the way you smirked, knowing they’d never get anything out of you but death. and most of all, he just hated how annoying you were.

for months, the two of you went back and forth like the enemies you were. glaring each other down, providing insults instead of answers.

honestly, who would have thought that one day you’d be beneath him, whimpering from his touch and moaning out his name as he left sloppy kisses down your neck?

you sure didn’t.

you were supposed to hate him.

but all that changed in a blink of an eye.

you don’t quite remember what it was, but one day you found yourself hating porco a little less than the day before. actually, you did remember. it was the one day you had seen porco show any emotion other than hatred. the one day of the year he just couldn’t bring himself to hate anyone, not even you.

his brother’s birthday.

you had watched, partially amazed, as porco lit twenty-three candles for marcel. even when he was on duty, he couldn’t forget to honor him.

when you had asked porco about it, genuinely curious, he told you his story and it was then that you saw him become more...human.

was that what it was? was that what lured you into his bed, lured you into melting at the way his honey eyes stared at you?

no.

there had been more after that.

after that day, after seeing that porco was in fact capable of human emotions, you decided to test him. would he show you some sympathy if he heard your own story? would he still think of you as a devil if he knew you guys weren’t all that different?

he didn’t.

after you told him about your own brother, about how he had been killed that day shiganshina fell, something inside porco softened.

perhaps it was guilt. perhaps it was actually sympathy that drove him to understand, but he did.

he understood you then. why you joined the survey corps, why you idolized someone like reiner. why you had attacked marley.

he understood it all.

he understood that it was all for him, all for your brother.

and then he began to understand that you guys weren’t all that different after all.

he often curses himself for that. for him, that was the starting point of it all. if he had just turned his back away, if he had just rolled his eyes and told you that he didn’t care about your pathetic life story, that it still made you no less than a devil, then maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t be under him in that moment.

“porco...” a breathy moan left your lips as the boy teased you with his fingers, hovering right over your arousal just to torture you. he liked seeing you like this, an island devil flustered by him, begging him to please her any way he could. “please.”

“please what?” his smirk was cruel, tilting his head in mock confusion as if he didn’t already know what you wanted. “use your words babygirl.”

you groaned. you hated when he teased you, but you weren’t gonna get anything out of him any other way. “please just touch me already! i can’t take it anymore!”

your body was aching for him, months of pent up longing for him just begging to be released.

luckily, porco wasn’t that cruel.

not long after your request, he found himself obliging, quickly yanking off your soaked panties. a low groan escaped his throat as your sweet aroma filled the air, pussy gleaming in the moonlight.

“is this all for me babygirl?” he asks, taking a finger to rub against your wet folds.

a whimper leaves your lips at the sudden contact, your hips bucking up for more.

“y-yes,” you can barley contain your excitement as you nod eagerly, causing porco to smirk. “yes it’s all for you, pock.”

“good,” he looks satisfied and decides that you deserve some attention. gently, he spreads your legs and then those long fingers of his begin to sink into your tight cunt, filling you just how you liked it.

“fuck!” you threw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as porco began to move.

“don’t come yet,” he teases, knowing just how fast he can make you come undone.

you lift your head up to glare at him, but the sudden addition of another finger makes your anger quickly fade away.

“o-okay,” you’re a stuttering mess under him and porco loves it.

“that’s it,” he cooes, bringing a hand up to play with your nipples as he finger-fucks you. “you love my fingers, don’t you baby?”

if you were in any other position then maybe porco would get answers. but you were too occupied; too focused on the pleasure and the way he filled you beautifully to even get a word out.

“you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” porco accuses as he assaults that one sweet spot over and over again. he knows it— he can see it in the way your face is scrunching up and he can feel the way you’re clenching around him. so good, so tight, his cock begins to twitch in anticipation.

“i- yes,” you moan out weakly, your eyes beginning to roll back.

“good,” he smirks as he feels your body shaking. “cum for me, baby. let me taste that sweet pussy.”

to edge you on further — not like you needed it — porco bends down and immediately latches his mouth to your sensitive nub. he sucks sweetly on your pussy, eager for what’s to come as he pumps his fingers in and out of you viciously.

“porco,” you moan his name as the coil in your stomach begins to unravel. your legs shake, and pleasure clouds your every sense but that doesn’t mean porco is stopping. as you scream and moan out his name, desperately grabbing at his slicked-back hair, porco continues lapping at your pussy and pleasuring you until he feels satisfied.

once he is, he pulls away from your pussy and grins at the way you’re shaking underneath him, breathing heavily. honey-colored eyes lean over to meet your own and you can see they’re filled with absolute lust, your slick juices dribbling down his chin.

“on your knees,” he demands, no longer being able to take it. his cock is itching to be free, itching to be inside of you and porco feels like he’s about to burst.

“y-yes sir,” you nod slowly, your eyes still clouded over but you’ve got the right idea as you shakily turn over, turning your ass up and stuffing your face in the pillow.

“atta girl,” porco cooes with delight as your slick pussy gleams right in front of him, begging him to fill it with his cum.

“fuck,” he curses involuntarily as he moves to situate himself behind you. then, porco finally relieves himself from his pants and hisses as his cock springs free.

“you’re gonna take me so good baby,” he tells you, gently rubbing himself over your folds, just enough to tease you. “you ready?”

“yes,” you nod eagerly, wiggling your ass a little at him. this is the moment you’ve been waiting for all night— the opportunity to be stuffed with porco’s thick cock.

“good girl,” he praises you before finally settling himself at your entrance, reaching up to lighty smack your ass.

your hips buck a little at the sudden sting but then your body is completely relaxed as porco begins to push himself in, a moan leaving both of your lips.

“fuck!”

porco can’t believe how tight you are, even after his fingers. it feels like your pussy is sucking him in and he has to steady himself as he sinks in deeper.

“pock,” a whimper escapes your throat, your mouth dropping in an ‘o’ shape as he fills you deliciously. “fuck, baby— you feel so good.”

your pussy is throbbing, soft mewls leaving your lips as you involuntarily buck your hips for more. you can feel every moment from porco as he slides in until he’s buried at the hilt, stuffing you nice and full.

“haven’t even gotten started yet baby,” he grins, and then once he’s settled in he begins to pick up the pace.

porco was never a patient man, so it’s no surprise when he immediately starts to buck his hips into you, starting at a steady pace.

“fuck, pock,” his name is the only thing in your vocabulary as your eyes roll back again, a hazy smile on your face as porco fucks you just right. his strokes are deep, passionate, and he stretches you out in way that fills you with absolute pleasure.

“baby,” porco has a hard time controlling himself but he’s managing, playing with your bouncing tits and occasionally slapping your ass to distract himself. “you feel so good around me, you know what?”

“uhhh!” you gasp when he grabs your hair, forcing your back to arch even further and allowing him to go even deeper. fuck, this is just what he wanted, a smirk on his face as he watches your face become unintelligible.

“there we go,” porco chuckles as you begin to clench around him again. and god, if you don’t feel absolutely incredible. porco swears he’s in heaven right now, which is ironic because he’s fucking an island devil.

“that’s the spot, isn’t it?” he’s growing cockier by minute as he watches you begin to unfold underneath him.

gasps and moans reply to him instead of words, your hands going to grip anything you can find. subconsciously, porco begins to fuck you even faster and pulls your hair tighter.

“pock!”

he knows he’s got you on the ropes when you start explicitly moaning for him, begging for him to bring you to your release. your pussy is already dribbling with juices, the sheets beneath you stained but you want more. you want him and porco’s gonna give it to you.

“almost there sweetheart,” he promises, feeling himself on the verge of his own orgasm. and god, he can’t wait until he fills you up.

he knows that’s what you want, too, but he’s determined to get you there first. reaching down, porco rubs at your clit which only sends more pleasure rippling through you. he keeps his pace rough yet steady, abusing your g-spot over and over again before finally, you come undone.

a scream leaves your lips as you cream all over porco’s cock, arms and legs going limp. you see stars and porco has to physically hold you up. but he’s still fucking you though, still pleasuring you right up until the moment comes for his own release.

“fuck, y/n!”

your name falls from his lips like a prayer, porco screwing his eyes shut as he cums deep inside of your womb. and you can feel him— every inch of him as he stills and continues pumping you full of his cum, your pussy milking him until there’s nothing left.

“you’re the devil, baby,” porco says, out of breath as he slowly pulls out of you. there’s a trail of cum that dribbes down your leg as he does so, and porco smirks when he realizes he really did stuff you.

even then, you whine at the sudden loss, your pussy sore yet still aching for him.

you know you won’t be able to take another orgasm though, not like this. and so you settle for porco’s touch elsewhere, snuggling into him after he wipes you off and then holds you close to his chest.

“a devil you say?” you smile lazily, turning your body towards him to look him in his honey eyes.

“oh yes, the worst kind at that,” he smirks but you know he’s only joking. “using sex to lure me in.”

“how ironic, since i recall that it was you who wanted me in the first place,” you snort.

porco acts mocked surprised, but he knows its true. he’s the one that fell for you first, against all odds. and now...now he had you in his arms, resting comfortably but the future was still uncertain for you both.

“what will you...what will you do now?” he dares to ask, peering at you curiously. “will you go back to that island, or...?”

“i wasn’t aware i was allowed to leave,” you tell him honestly, looking down. gently though, porco raises your head up again.

“you know i wouldn’t keep you here against your will,” he says quietly, frowning. “if you wanna go back, i’ll...i’ll help you.”

it pains porco to say this and you can see it in his face. he doesn’t want you to go— but if going home was truly your desire then he’d make it happen.

“that’s the thing, though,” you tell him, slightly biting your lip. “i don’t...i don’t know if i do, not anymore.”

“what?” porco frowns. “b-but it’s...it’s your home, isn’t it? why wouldn’t you wanna go back? it’s not like you have any reason to stay.”

“i do now,” you say softly, looking at him through your lashes.

you wait a couple of seconds to get his reaction, and when you do, porco is undeniably shocked.

he can’t believe what he’s hearing. it’s almost too good to be true.

“you’d...you’d stay here, for me?” he asks incredulously, looking at you with wide eyes. “but why? you know we can’t— it’s forbidden for us to be together.”

“wouldn’t be the first time we broke the rules,” you chuckle softly, referencing your naked bodies and the fact that you weren’t even supposed to be out of your cell right now.

“that’s true,” porco muses, but he still continues. “you have your whole life back in paradis, though. staying in marley, staying with me, it’ll only bring you pain.”

it almost sounds like he’s trying to scare you away. like he wants you to go home, but you know that’s not the case. you know that all porco is saying is the truth. you were a prisoner in marley after all, you couldn’t be with him. but still...

“it’s better than being an entire ocean away from you,” you say, shaking your head. “waiting for you every night. wondering if i’ll ever see you again.”

“you know what this means, then? if you stay...” porco trails off.

“if i stay then i’m with you. one hundred percent, and we’ll find a way,” you promise him.

porco grins. “you’re always so stubborn,” he says affectionately, stroking your face. he remembers a time when he hated that about you, but now it’s one of his favorite traits. “i gotta say— having a secret rendezvous has always been on my goal-list.”

“oh,” you lightly punch his arm. “shut up. this is serious, pock.”

“i am,” he defends himself. “the war is over. the yeagerists are gone— i need something spicy in my life again.”

“god— you’re so stupid sometimes, you know that?” you giggle as porco grins, loving the way he can make you laugh.

“you’ve told me that on multiple occasions,” he says, “but i think this one just might be my favorite.”

“everything about this night is perfect,” you sigh, pressing your hand against his. “i never want it to end. especially not by going back to a jail cell.”

“hey...let’s just be grateful we ended up here,” porco says. “don’t think about tomorrow— just focus on the fact that we have tonight.”

“i think i can do that,” you smile softly. after all, how could you not?

you’re in the arms of the man that you fell for. comfortable and safe, even it’s only for a few hours.

it was strange, really, how the person you once hated the most became your reason to stay. but you supposed that destiny would always find a way, and if yours just so happened to be intertwined with porco’s then dammit you’d find a way, too.

[zhanyes]

Tianshan dating headcannons because i also love these two dumbasses too

Also dedicated to @el-mundo-real who requested tianshan headcannons 🖤

. . .

- Literally no one knows whether they’re dating or not. Not even themselves because they don’t talk about it

- Jian yi thinks they’re dating already and Zhengxi says they’re still getting there (somehow they’re both right) and they make a bet

- He tian likes staying over at Mo’s and he’s gotten pretty close to mama Mo

- Mama Mo teaches him how to knit !! He tried to knit a scarf for Mo but it came out a little messy and tangled. Mo still wears it anyway saying it’s a waste of yarn if not used (He’s actually really touched)

- He eats dinner there about 5 times a week and sleeps over thrice a week. He’s a permanent fixture in the house now, he has his own plate and mug, utensils, toothbrush, a spare key, and more than half of his closet migrated to Mo’s closet

- Sometimes Mo “accidentally” wears He tian’s sweaters and He tian dies a little bit every time

- Sometimes He tian deliberately wears Mo’s clothes and it’s always tighter and a bit shorter on his body so when he moves his arms the shirt rides up. Mo guanshan shouts at him to change and to stop contaminating his clothes but his ears are red anyway

- They bicker A LOT. Over the smallest things because He tian loves riling him up and Mo gets riled up too easily

He tian, for the 7th time in 5 minutes: “What does this thing do?”

Mo guanshan, losing his mind: “THAT’S A FUCKING MICROWAVE WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK IT DO?!”

- There are times when homicide is the best option

Mo Guanshan: “I acknowledge that I can be mean sometimes-”

He tian, in the bathtub: “Sometimes?”

Mo Guanshan: “Shut the fuck up. So I brought you a bath bomb as a peace offering.”

He tian: “That’s a fucking toaster.”

Mo guanshan: “Exactly. A bath bomb.”

- Contrary to what his actions say, Mo guanshan is actually relieved that He tian spends most of his time in their apartment. He tian never told him but he can see how lonely the other teenager is

- Mo guanshan tries to teach He tian chores because He tian knows nothing about cleaning or doing everyday things

Mo guanshan: “How the fuck do you not know how to wash dishes where the hell do you eat?!”

He tian, drinking milk straight out the carton: “Obviously on plates, Momo. I just throw them away after.”

Mo guanshan, sputtering: “WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU THROW OUT PLATES?!”

- The first and only recipe that He tian managed to cook successfully is instant noodles with boiled egg that’s not quite cooked enough. Sometimes he brings Mo noodles as breakfast in bed and he looks so proud of it Mo has a hard time saying that the noodles are overcooked and that noodles aren’t exactly breakfast food (he eats it anyway)

- Mo sometimes, only sometimes, brings He tian grocery shopping because he needs to learn how to buy food for himself. Somehow He tian always ends up in the miscellaneous section where he has a pack of ballpens he’ll never use, 2 journals he’ll also never use, a couple of scented candles, various dog clothes and leashes for the dog he doesn’t have, a couple’s mug, and a vase in his cart

- He tian stopped trying to barge into Mo guanshan’s bed and sleeps on the futon on the floor beside it. It’s not the most comfortable and he had a hard time sleeping on it at first but he likes being in Mo’s company even while sleeping

- Sometimes Mo would move in his sleep and leave his arm dangling on the side of the bed, He tian grabs it of course and Mo wakes up to sweaty palms. He still leaves it for a few moments before harshly slapping away He tian’s hand

- Mo’s hands aren’t smooth at all because of working all the time and practicing the guitar but He tian loves them all the same. He likes to feel the contrast in textures with his slightly smoother hands

- He tian has a thousand pictures of Mo guanshan sleeping in various angles and poses. He has his favorites framed and keeps it on his bedside table in his apartment so when he’s sleeping there he still feels like they’re sleeping together

- Mo guanshan has a few of He tian sleeping but he swears up and down that he'll never do anything as disgusting as that. He makes one of them his wallpaper.

- Sometimes when they don’t feel like sleeping yet they stay up talking and arguing about random things

Mo guanshan: “Why would aliens be in space? The ocean is definitely the way to go.”

He tian: “But why would they be in the ocean? They’ll drown.”

Mo guanshan: “They’re aliens maybe they have gills or some shit.”

He tian: “I’m telling you they’re not in the ocean, Mo.”

Mo guanshan: “And I’m telling you you’re wrong, bastard.”

- On rare days they would stay up talking about their pasts and about life in general, with the lights closed and the only source of light is the moonlights from the window

- One of these nights, Mo told He tian about what happened to his dad and their restaurant, why they’re in so much debt over it and He tian holds Mo’s hand tightly throughout

- He knew better than to say that he could pay for that debt so Mo doesn’t need to worry anymore (He still says it anyway and Mo blew a fuse) but he swore to help Mo through other means

- The next day he orders a whole carton of mangoes, apples and peaches in his apartment and learns how to peel properly through youtube and Zhengxi

- He goes to Mo’s part time job in the grocery and helps him peel fruits, Mo guanshan doesn’t mention anything when he notices the bandaids on the other’s hands but he does cook him beef stew for dinner

- As expected He tian’s presence brings more customers and the manager asks if he wants to work there permanently but he said he’s only working for Mo so the manager can give Mo a raise instead

- Once, Mo got sick so he missed his part time job for the day (He was supposed to give away flyers on the streets) and got extra pissy because He tian didn’t visit him and wouldn’t answer his phone 

- Apparently He tian took over his job for the day and he only finds out when he goes to the manager and the manager asks when his ‘boyfriend’ can come back to work again because the customers love him

- He tian almost never talks about himself but once he talked about the puppy who disappeared after he saves it and then found out that it’s still alive after all these years

- Mo keeps quiet about it the whole time he was talking and the next few days he takes time to knit a small dog plushie and leaves it on He tian’s futon

- He tian didn’t cry, he didn’t (he did), but he hugged Mo and whispered a sincere thank you. For once, Mo lets it happen

- Mo quickly regrets his decision when He tian names the plushie “Chicken sandwich”

- He tian brings Mo in a lot of not-dates (according to Mo) like arcades, ocean parks, festivals, and fairs because he didn’t get to go as a kid and he wants to experience it for the first time with Mo

- They get crazy competitive in every game. Every. Single. One. If it’s a co-op shooting game they would compete on who kills the most enemies, if it’s a harmless crane game it becomes a competition of who can get the most plushies

- They both each have a photobooth strip. Mo keeps his as a bookmarker in a journal, and He tian has his in the back of his phone.

- They go on a double not-date with Jian yi and Zhengxi and it ends up in almost getting chased by a police car at 2 am in pokemon onesies and holding a bag of chips 

- Sometimes Mo would visit his dad in prison and just rant to him about He tian

Mo guanshan: “The nerve of that guy to do something like that in front of a teacher urgh.”

Papa Mo: “Your boyfriend sounds like a fun guy, son. I want to meet him soon.”

Mo guanshan: “BO-BOYFRIEND?!”

Papa Mo: “Yes???”

Mo guanshan: “No??? That bastard isn’t my boyfriend??”

Papa Mo: “Are you sure about that?”

Mo guanshan: “...Yes?”

- Enter gay panique because he doesn’t actually know whether He tian is his boyfriend or not

- They don’t call each other boyfriends and they never talked about it so no??? But they’re also not just friends so maybe??? Do they go on dates?? Can grocery trips be considered dates??

- He rings up Jian yi and the blonde just laughed for 5 minutes straight without stopping and he wonders how he’s still breathing

Mo Guanshan, after hearing Jian yi laughing for 5 minutes: “Are you fucking done?”

Jian yi, trying to catch his breath: “Man this is some top-tier entertainment.”

Mo guanshan: “WELL?!”

Jian yi: “Look bro literally no one knows whether you’re dating, fucking, planning each other’s murder OR planning a murder together.”

Mo guanshan: “What if it’s all of the above?”

Jian yi: “Then congratulations…? Please don’t murder me?”

Mo guanshan: “Urgh you’re fucking useless I should have called Zhengxi.”

Jian yi: “Wait don’t, I don’t wanna lose the bet. How about this, there’s a festival upcoming for couples and families, if He tian asks you then you’re probably, maybe, dating?”

Mo guanshan: “That’s stupid. AND WHAT BET?!”

Jian yi: “Ah woops gotta water my dog.”

- Mo tells himself that it’s stupid and there’s no way he’s falling for that...but he feels disappointed anyway when He tian doesn’t ask him the following days

- He tian asks on the last day before the festival, but he asks mama Mo first and Mo guanshan second cuz he wants to celebrate with both of them. He confessed that he’s never actually went to a festival with a family before so he was trying to build up courage to ask

- Mo guanshan is an absolute goner after that

- On the day of the festival, they find Zhanyi there on a date but decide to leave them alone. While they were leaving Jian yi kept throwing Mo guanshan so much winks that Zhengxi thought he got something in his eye

- The festival was fun but Mo couldn’t take his eyes off how happy and content He tian looks

- Queue cliche fireworks scene but it’s He tian being amazed by the fireworks and Mo looking mesmerized at him thinking, “Ah, I want him to look at me like that.”

- The next day, he drags He tian to visit his dad in jail

Papa mo: “Oh this is a surprise, you’ve never brought someone before?”

He tian, trying to introduce himself: “Hello, sir. I’m He tian, Mo guanshan’s fri-”

Mo guanshan, cuts him off: “Boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend, dad.”

He tian:

[omenapologist-moved]

I believe negative social atttitudes towards different sexualities, genders, morality, paraphilias, and more are either the root cause of or contribute to some subsets of OCD.

This got longer than I expected. CW for talking about mental illness, detransitioning, and pedophilia. I don’t go into graphic detail about CSA, for what it’s worth, but I know some people will be upset regardless so I felt the need to add a disclaimer.

so, sexual orientation obsessive compulsive disorder or SO-OCD (formerly known as HOCD; homosexual obsessive compulsive disorder or just “gay ocd” but considering anyone of any sexuality can be affected by this SO-OCD makes more sense) in my opinion only exists as a product of a homophobic society. I do not think, for the most part, people would develop an obsessive fear about whether or not they are gay if it were accepted and a non-issue like how being straight is. as someone with OCD myself, it targets that which is important to us and doesn’t exist in a vacuum. 

At the start of my transition, I began developing obsessive thoughts surrounding my gender identity. What if I’m not actually trans? What if I’m wrong and I need to detransition? What if I’m just a fucked up and confused girl? and so on, even though I have always experienced acute physical dysphoria, feel a lot better about myself when I’m referred to with masculine language, and transitioning in general has made me happier and more comfortable in my body than ever before. That’s the nature of the illness. It distorts our cognition and hyperfixates on the uncertainty of things. There is no set-in-stone way to well and truly know your gender or sexuality, because these things are extremely fluid and personal and influenced by your environment, as is the case with social constructs.

Now, why would I be so troubled by this? If I am wrong and I decide to detransition, sure, I’ll have more body hair and a deeper voice and, come november, a flat chest, but all of these things have solutions, too. It isn’t the end of the world, or my life, if I detransition, but I most likely won’t! But the reason I was developing these obsessions is honestly pretty simple. At the time, I placed my own gender and transition at very, very high importance, someone I had previously been close to began detransitioning, and the fucking Youtube algorithm of all things began recommending me the vlogs of several detransitioned FTMTF people. But most pertinently, the pervasive attitude in most circles that detransitioning is the worst possible thing ever and is life-ending and you’re going to be ruined forever if you’re wrong about your gender. All of this created a cocktail of self-doubt in me. 

I’ve gotten a lot better, and fortunately those obsessions didn’t swing fully into a gender-focused OCD, but I know that isn’t the case for everyone, and I’m getting a little off topic here, anyway.

POCD, or pedophilia obsessive compulsive disorder, must be a living hell. POCD is the obsessive fear that you are or might become a pedophile. Here’s a pretty good source talking about POCD in better detail. I need to make it explicitly clear that people with POCD are not pedophiles.

I think in no small part those who struggle with this subset of OCD are made worse by society’s attitude towards pedophilia. That being, even if you never hurt a child ever, even if it remains only within the realm of your thoughts, a pedophile is the worst possible thing you can ever be, and if you even think about attraction to a minor you should be subject to an endless barrage of increasingly creative means of violence and execution. 

But here’s the thing. You can’t control having a paraphilia. You don’t get to just opt out of it, as convenient as that may be. I don’t believe we should condemn an entire swath of people, notably those who have done no harm, because they have a paraphilia they did not choose to have. This attitude hurts these people directly and absolutely does not help cut down on sex crimes against minors. Because rather than being able to pursue help, they hide it, and keep it to themselves, and it festers and worsens like an infected blister until eventually it pops, and the aftermath causes suffering for all.

And not only does this attitude hurt people with this paraphilia, not only does it not help in “protecting the children”, it hurts people who do not have the paraphilia; those with POCD. I’ve been in OCD forums and I have seen people struggling so fucking hard with the complete and utter self-loathing brought about by POCD, and what hurts even more is that more often than not they cannot talk about it in fear of losing their jobs, their families, their friends, and their livelihoods. Which, coincidentally is the exact same issue this attitude inflicts on those who are pedophiles. Isn’t it shocking that stigma doesn’t incentivize people to ask for help, nor does it make anything better? 

I am not saying we should ~normalize pedophilia~ or whatever, rather, we shouldn’t have this disgusting attitude towards them of “kill on sight!” and should instead try to figure out what helps these people without having minors hurt. All too often I see self-identified prison abolitionists and harm reductionists calling for the imprisonment or death of these people, and that shows me that you don’t actually want prisons to be abolished or to do the least amount of harm. You just want to be the wardens, the ones able to deal out the harm because you think yourself to be right and just. And that way of thinking simply is not in line with anarchism, and honestly, leftism in general. 

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 10)

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(Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @the-departed-potato, @jesuswasnotawhiteman, @idontknow296 , @beksib, @spythoschei, @geekwritersworld , @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7)

Warnings: adorable jerks.

As the sun finally came up (for what it felt like an eternity, a night with seven nights inside of it), you rubbed your eyes and greeted your teammates, who somehow were both already up and having breakfast.

“I was wondering when would you join us”, said Loki, covering his mouth with the manners of a Prince while eating a piece of something. “Barnes made dessert for breakfast”, pointed out more amazed than reproachful.

“Desert?”, you laughed. “A cake?”.

“Yes”, said Loki, very sure of himself, and Bucky rolled his eyes and chuckled, correcting him.

“It’s a pancake, Loki. It’s a normal breakfast in Midgard”.

“Actually, probably just in this country”, you added. “What do you normally have in Asgard?”. As you chattered, you started getting ready and fixing your hair, stealing a piece of pancake from Bucky’s plate. “Wow, I didn’t know you could cook. It’s actually great”, you said, tasting a mouthful.

“Well, as in Midgard’s nordic areas, back home it’s often fruit and bread, or porridge with dried fruits” he recalled distracted, and immediately interrupted himself with “are we not supposed to alert the rest of this?”.

“About Buck knowing how to cook? Yeah, I’m impressed, we should tell everyone”.

“I guess we should’ve told them yesterday, instead of going to sleep”, said Bucky, ignoring you. “Only God knows where that supersoldier is now”.

“I don’t, actually”.

“I didn’t mean... nevermind”, he sighed. “I'm calling Stark and let’s hope we don’t get too yelled at”.

You recalled yesterday’s events. You had so many dreams, you could barely remember being awake at all. First, the bearded man’s nightmare. Then, something about… the compound? Then, you remembered distinctly, Loki speaking Old Norse begging Thor about something. You remembered the phonetic of the words, but they were all gibberish now. Then, a last dream, something about buying rotten apples and being forced to eat them by Thanos. Your imagination surely was active on the nights.

Loki seemed paler than usual as he stared at you, without even blinking.

“What?”, you snapped him out of your head.

“You dreamt with me?”, he muttered, getting up and cleaning his plate with a snap.

"I also dreamt with Thanos".

“Don’t get too attached, I’ll be back to Asgard soon”, he promised, or alerted. Intentions unclear.

“I’m not attached”, you protested. You thought he’d smirk or be the smug idiot he usually was. He didn’t. Instead, he looked unsettled; disturbed even. “I didn’t dream with you on purpose, it was probably because of yesterday’s thing”.

“What thing?”, peeped in Bucky. “Oh no, did you two fuck?”.

“I didn’t let them die, big deal. I was just saving myself the amount of annoyance it would be to have Stank on my neck all week long if your blood was sort of in my hands”.

“Sounds like a lot of deflecting emotions to me, buddy”, said Bucky, and you chuckled.

“He’s just embarrassed he saw himself cry in one of my dreams from last night”, you mocked. He got up and you didn’t get to see his face, but presumed it would hold something near a death threat.

“You two have an intense bonding experience and decide to concentrate on it with more insults? You know, this is why you’re single”, added Bucky.

“It wasn’t a bonding experience”, you said, cutting-glass sharpness in your gaze.

“I’m not single”, corrected Loki at the same time, with an equally whetted voice.

Both Bucky and you looked at him with plate-wide eyes, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn’t. Neither of you asked, but surely shared a fair amount of desire to gossip about it. Oh, how much you wished to be able to tell Bucky about Loki re-reading Hamlet to reminisce about his beloved. But there was a line you wouldn’t cross in there; you knew where to stop.

“Mr. Stark”, you called through the earbud, “you there, sir?”.

“Painfully”, he answered. You connected the earbud to your phone and held it on speaker, so the rest of the team could join. “Tell me more about what I’m gonna yell at you three about”.

As you walked him through (almost) every event in the past twenty four hours, you could feel how his hands traveled all the way up to his face, and had to hold in a few sighs of disgust and utter hate towards… Well, you weren’t sure towards what, exactly.

“Are we grounded, dad?”, spat Loki with sarcasm.

“Listen, Rock Of Ages, if I could, I’d have you in a prison cell still to this day. Don’t push any buttons”.

“Come on, it’s been, what, nine years since he last fucked up something in here?” you defended him, not quite sure why. Loki grew nervous as Tony laughed obnoxiously at him.

“Sure. He didn’t keep fucking things up in here after that”.

“I can assure you I didn’t. How Odin manages his deals with Midgard does not concern me”, explained Loki, and you frowned at the mention of that name. Of course, Loki Odinson. That was where that name resonated from. Besides the Mythology. Though you weren't sure until where those stories were true or not; in there, Loki wasn't even Thor's brother.

“Going back to your current screw up, what happened to the civilians you frightened in the process? I imagine they didn’t realize about the new supersoldiers”.

“They should be extremely blind or idiotic to not have noticed, since the soldier jumped out of nine floors and survived”, answered Loki, looked at you up and down, and kept going “so, no. They have probably slept on it”.

“Wait, what?”.

“What?”.

“Nine floors? Pretty sure Capsicle and Barnes wouldn’t survive that either”.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”, you asked, concerned.

“I’m afraid so. Loki and Bucks won’t cut it, especially when we don’t know the number of new super-supersoldiers out there. And you’re coming back to the compound, directing the mission from the distance”.

“Are you kidding? I’m fine here. I’m all levels of mean, you said it yourself”.

“You’re too young and inexperienced in combat for these kinds of things, and they have special genetic advantages in their bodies, you know, the serum”, explained Tony as you rolled your eyes. But you understood exactly what he meant, and in fact, you agreed. “Do you understand?”.

“Yes; supersoldiers and Gods only”.

“Good kid. Now, Teleporting Popsicle, would you mind taking there with you the rest?”.

With an overly dramatic sigh, Loki vanished behind a party of green lights and reappeared in a matter of seconds in the same spot, holding carelessly Thor and Steve’s arms. Thor, for obvious reasons, was unfazed by the trip. Rogers, on the other hand, seemed about to throw up. There wasn’t anything balance would help with when your cells are reconfigurated inside and out in a fraction of a second. How the hell did he do all of that? You knew it was magic, but it still wouldn’t stop you from being absolutely astonished by it.

Loki arranged his hair behind his ears and locked eyes with you, followed by his typical smugly smile and a “thank you”, as if you were praising him in your thoughts. Oh, wait.

“I didn’t say anything”, you retorted, hoping to maintain at least a drop of pride left.

“You thought I was impressive”. You were going to correct him but realized that absolutely astonished was even worse.

“And since when do you offer gratitude?”.

“In case you wonder, yes, they’ve been like this the whole mission. You’ll get used to it”, said Bucky to Steve and Thor.

They started arranging their things and got updated as thoroughly as they could. Meanwhile, you stood exactly where you were the following ten minutes, absorbed in your own thoughts. Once you snapped out of them, Loki was still staring at you, standing in the same place too.

“What?”.

“I hate to break it to you, but…”.

“What?”.

“I’m your best option”.

“You’re my what?”.

“Your best option”.

“You’re not giving much context”.

“You’re going back to the compound. I figured you’d think about the mission or something about it for the past ten minutes you were zoned out, but apparently you only have room to think about how terrified you’re of that quinjet”.

Your palms got sweaty and a shiver ran through your spine by the only thought of remembering how heights felt under your feet, and how a simple machine wouldn’t stop you from landing on water and drowning, or crushing against a building and being burned to the bones until all you become is dust and…

“Hello? You’re spiraling again”, he snapped you back. “It’ll be just a blink. You won’t even notice”.

“Uh-uh. No, I’m not doing that. I’m waiting for whatever Tony sends to come and get me”.

“You’ll feel terrible”, he said, and he was right. For a moment, you considered accepting his offer. “And I’m the best”. His humble offer.

“I’m sure you are, but it’s not my best option”.

He sighed.

“Will you allow me to teleport you or not?”.

“Heavens, no”.

“Alright, you little stubborn human mortal”.

“Long nickname, you better come up with a shorter one”.

“Like what?”.

“I don’t know, something that bothers you. I’m not the one supposed to make your insults towards me”.

“Let me think”, he said, looking around the room. His gaze landed on the still unwashed plate of Bucky’s breakfast. “Pancake”.

“Not... that’s not an insult”.

“Why? They’re too sugary. They rot your teeth”.

“Yeah, but it’s not derogatory”.

“Fucking pancake”.

“It doesn’t cut it”.

“But what’s wrong with my pancake?”.

“It’s actually a pet name. You know, like the ones we said when we were in...”, but apparently that was all a distraction (of course, he was the God of Lies, after all), and when you were already thinking about how to explain to him why he shouldn’t call you pancake, he stood in front of you and held you by both sides of the arms, surrounding you almost completely, holding you still.

And just as he said, a blink later you were in the compound, perfectly fine. Peter and Tony greeted you as he pulled out and you stood there in shock. So, you really just needed some stabilization to not die in the intricate process of teleportation. Just before stepping away from you, he leaned over your shoulder and his whisper made your ear ticklish, saying “you’re welcome” with a grin. You didn’t look at him.

You started to gather all your stuff; papers, maps, laptops, and getting ready for the planning of the following steps of the mission as fast as you could, until you realized Loki was still there, and Tony and Peter were waiting for you. For what, you weren’t sure.

“Aren’t you going?”, you asked Loki.

“No, I’m staying, apparently”.

“Why?”.

“That’s what Stark was thinking, I don’t know”.

“Hey, Elsa, don’t read my mind, would you?”, snapped Tony. He was about to explain himself, but you kept talking to Loki, cutting his words.

“What’s wrong with you that you read everyone’s thoughts all the time? You know how unethical that is? It’s invasive”.

“You say that because you think slow”.

“Untrue, I’m actually a very fast thinker”.

“How would you know? You’ve never read anyone’s minds so, how could you possibly…?”.

You stopped dead on your tracks, and didn’t listen to what he was saying. That phrase. That exact phrase you dreamt with. The darkness. It was the exact same voice of the darkness, you remembered. It wasn’t darkness, it was his voice. Were you just imagining things? Too suggestionated? Definitely. How could you dream with something you’ve never heard before?

“Sorry to interrupt, you two seem to be having a long, unnecessary and avoidant conversation that could be resumed in three tiny words, as you did all mission long” interfered Tony, sick of listening to you two. Loki was observing you as heedful as he could; your thoughts had caught his attention. You couldn’t read his face. “So, I’m gonna cut it shortly”.

“What?”, you went back to reality. You needed to actively ignore Loki’s gaze on you to actually pay any mind to Tony’s words.

“The rest of the team has another mission, and both Peter and you are technically still kids…” and as soon as you opened your mouth to argue, he shut it “no, don’t interrupt me. You know I’m right. So, I can’t leave you two alone for the entire week”.

“Oh”, you understood. Peter’s innocent eyes shone at the idea. Yours, not so much. “So, Loki is our babysitter”.

“Yes”, said Loki, while Tony answered “No” at the same time.

"What about Happy?", asked Peter.

“I think we can manage perfectly on our own. Besides, what makes you think he’s more responsible than me?”.

“He’s an adult”.

“He’s seventeen in human years, and fucked a horse”.

“Wow, someone has been stalking my mythology”.

“If you two quarrel too much, Peter will tell me and I’ll be back with Clint Barton in charge of you three. So you better behave. Alright, I’m leaving”.

“Wait! What are the rules?”, asked Peter. You grabbed your face and Loki muttered what a damn nerd.

“Eh, don’t burn down the compound, I don’t know, kid”, said Tony getting inside his bright red suit.

“The bar is on the floor. Let’s play macarena”, you whispered.

[giorno-plays-piano]

No Mercy

Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x thief!Reader

Warnings: non-con, yandere, sex pollen, minor depiction of violence, threats, stalking, allusion to kidnapping, both Bakugo and reader are adults!

Words: 2388.

Summary: Obviously, you have chosen a wrong night to rob that electronics store.

P.S. Yay, this is my first BNHA story! 

By the way, there is absolutely no real science in this fic, please don’t bully me for it ahahahah

_________________________

Oh dear, it was getting worse.

That morning you had a feeling you better stay home tonight, but your rent wasn't going to pay itself, so you still went out to rob that ugly little electronics store you stumbled upon a few days ago. Now you were being chased by one of the most popular pros, Ground Zero, and saints, you really hoped to keep all your limbs attached to your body: the guy was mad.

Really, you weren't such a villain he had probably pictured you to be. Your job in the cafe wasn't paying well, but with no education whatsoever it was hard to find something else, especially since that big makeup store you finally got yourself in went bankrupt after a villain attack. Your dad wasn't the one to help you stay afloat either, so, with that odd Quirk of yours, there was just one thing left to do.

With a loud sound of something exploding to your right, you jumped in the narrow back alley on the left and prayed Bakugo to at least bring you to a police station instead of finishing you off here. Seriously, who he thought you were? Someone from the League of Villains, huh? You were miserable enough trying to evade his punches, and your knees were already trembling as you were reaching your limit.

Shit, now you'd have to use that embarrassing Quirk of yours and hope it will do something decent.

Despite your Quirk manifesting itself when you were 4 just like everybody else, you were so ashamed of it you did all you could to never bring it up or use it. How embarrassing was it to have an ability to produce animal secretion right out of your hands? One time you had literally sprayed skunk defensive secretion in the class, and after that you had been called a Stinky Girl for the rest of your school days. Damn, even remembering it now was making you ashamed of yourself.

Of course, your control over your Quirk was miserable. You struggled to predict which secretion it would produce, hoping it would be something distracting enough for a hero to let you go, but oh boy Ground Zero didn't seem like the type to be scared of skunk's spray.

Staring at the dead end, you were ready to laugh hysterically - that is, if you had any time left, but Bakugo had already grabbed you by the shoulder and yelled something offensive in your ear, ready to put you down to the ground. Well, it was now or never.

Within a second you took off your black glove you'd always worn on your missions and slapped hero's cheek, leaving an angry red mark on his pale skin. The next moment you were on the ground with a very, very mad Bakugo hovering over you with such expression as if he was going to murder you in cold blood right now.

Apparently, your Quirk was useless, after all. Preparing for the worst, you stared at him, wide-eyed and trembling like a leaf, your hands up defensively to prevent him from harming you. In the end, you didn’t even steal anything as Ground Zero stormed off in the store.

But he didn't hit you. Actually, he didn't do anything at all as you stared at him nervously. He just... stood there with a grimace on his face and did nothing at all.

Oh, was it something new? Did you Quirk finally prove itself useful for once? It was a damn miracle.

"What did you do to me, bitch?" He suddenly barked, and you saw his cheeks slowly getting red as if the temperature went up all of a sudden. "What the fuck is this?!"

Shit. Civet oil. Of course, you couldn't even make some decent quantity to make him repulsed, so now all you got was a completely opposite effect.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?"

Hiccupping, you got up just as he seemed to lean closer to you, so you ended up smashing your forehead against his, and both of your groaned. Although you fell back again, in a couple of seconds you were running for your life with Ground Zero being unusually slow somewhere behind you. Oh shit, now he was going to fuck and kill you. What a nice day you were having.

Struggling to keep running - you didn’t even understand at what part of the city you were now - you were getting out of breath, but you no longer heard Bakugo behind your back, and it was certainly calming. Did civet oil make him slow? You weren't sure what exact effects it had except for the most obvious one. Maybe you got lucky, for once. Maybe he'd let you go just this time, and you'd do your absolute best to find a decent job and stop robbing people. Well, you weren't even robbing regular people, just snobby store owners who'd get their money back with an insurance, anyway. You had never hurt anyone physically! Why treating you as if you were some dangerous criminal?

Whatever. Ground Zero was nowhere to be seen, so you simply landed on the ground in one of small filthy backyards in a shady part of the city. Oh boy, what a run. You thought the guy was literally ready to kill you.

The cold wall you leaned on didn't feel pleasant, but it was better than staying on your feet with your knees trembling and heart beating so fast as if you ran a marathon. Yeah, to think of it, you definitely could call it a marathon.

As you finally took off your mask and wiped your face with your palm, you heard a low growl somewhere to your left, "I'm gonna fucking break you, woman."

Shit.

Scrambling to your feet, you tried dodging him but you were no match to a real pro, especially someone as good at combat as Ground Zero: you ended beneath him within a second, painfully slammed to the ground as he cursed at you, pulling your hair. Apparently, this was the end of you. The civet oil only made the hero more enraged instead of distracting him.

"Ah! It hurts!" You whined at the hair pulling and heard a dangerous hiss above you.

"Do you think this doesn't fucking hurt?"

It was impossible not to feel his obvious arousal, his painfully hard cock pressing against your lower back as the hero suddenly sniffed your hair, then making some weird noises while trying to undo his pants. Nononono, you weren't having this, you'd gladly accompany the hero to the police station where they'd cuff you and put you in prison but not let Ground Zero have his way with you.

"Get off! GET OFF!"

Your attempts to throw him off were futile, and soon he was pulling down your own pants, "You did this to me, didn't you?! So be a good girl and maybe I won't fucking kill you."

You bit down on your lower lip, your hands bound together with his belt.

Huh, there was no other way.

______________

You came back home around 3 am completely exhausted, dirty and hurt, but it was still better than being thrown in prison after a long Interrogation in a police station. Ground Zero had finally taken some pity on you after all he'd done - oh it hurt, it hurt so bad in between your thighs because you hadn't been in relationship for long, but the hero was neither patient nor gentle with you. It was a miracle he actually let you go after this miserable incident somewhere in the outskirts of the city. Was he at least a little ashamed at what he did? Did he feel any remorse? Although it certainly didn't seem like, maybe he let you go because of it.

"Or he was just afraid to deliver me to police in such state," you chuckled grimly at yourself, grabbing first-aid kit and trying to do something with all these bruises and bites. You still had to take your 10-hour shift in the cafe today, and you could barely imagine how you were going to survive.

Of course, you only slept for a couple of hours before you had to get up: that morning you put so much makeup your boss would definitely scold you, but it was better than showing up with a face of a zombie. Of course, everyone managed to see how you winced while walking. Thank god you were able to convince them of your fall yesterday's evening: you actually only worked half a day as your boss took pity on you and let you go home.

Shit, it was time to put an end to your night adventures. You'd better find one more job and work a whole night long than live through this one more time, humiliated and hurt.

By the time you got home with a grocery bag in your hand, you felt like all you were going to do today was falling down on your bed and staring into the ceiling for hours. It still hurt. It was still embarrassing to remember what he did to you. You still wanted to slap him real hard and then yell at him at the top of your voice.

Funny enough, you actually had a chance to do all that since you found Ground Zero dressed as civilian sitting on your couch.

For a couple of seconds you froze on your place, unable to believe your eyes. What the hell was he doing here? What, yesterday's wasn't enough for this bastard, was it? Did he come to make you even more miserable?

Despite fear rising in your chest, it was soon replaced by fury mixed with disgust: who did he think he were to just break into your apartment like this? You might be a thief, but even you had the right to be delivered to police and then wait till the court decided upon your punishment. Nobody had given Ground Zero permission to rape you or follow you like some sick stalker!

"You live in some fucking hole." He grumbled as he saw you walking much slower than your usual pace, and you thought it was guilt you saw on his face for a mere second.

"Welcome to a fucking hole, then." You hissed at him in return and put your bag on the floor while taking your shoes off and wincing from pain. "If you came to finally take me to a police station, let me put food in the fridge, at least."

Not that you'd need it after your arrest, but the thought of leaving the grocery bag on the floor and let the food rot made you nauseated. You detested throwing away food with all your heart.

"Food? You call this food, huh?" He was already peeking inside the bag and scrunching his face at the sight of cheep noodles and gyoza.

"Yeah, we call it food here, rich boy." You let out a growl, mad at his attempts to make you feel humiliated even more than you already did.

He clearly didn't expect such treatment from someone whom he had taken advantage of so easily, and for several moment the man had a perplexed expression, unable to believe you were so brave despite the fact your knees were trembling. He probably thought it was a facade, but you didn't care. All this wouldn't end well for you, anyway.

"I'm not rich." He sent you a glare, and you felt like laughing in his face.

"If you don't have to steal to pay your rent, you're rich."

He grimaced but said nothing at all as you went to the kitchen, dragging the bag with you. You wondered if he felt sorry for you, but you didn't want his pity. Not from the one who did this to you. In fact, the only thing you wanted from him was leaving you alone.

Besides, you kept thinking why on Earth wasn't he dressed as a hero if he came explicitly to take you to a police station? Heroes like him loved showing off, you were sure. Why did he come like this? If he thought of repeating yesterday's night, you'd fucking stab him in the groin with a kitchen knife.

"So, how many heroes have you fucked like that?"

You felt a sudden urge to stab him right now and barely kept yourself away from a box where you kept cutlery. "I do three heroes a day and three villains at night," you growled at him, disgusted with his attitude, "what, didn't you feel it when you were raping me?"

Your reply took him aback, but he recovered quickly, "Who was raping you, silly woman? You did it to yourself!"

"Yeah, I've always dreamed of being taken by some sickening, primitive hero in a dirty alley, that's more than any girl could ask for."

Huh, apparently, cat got his tongue: Ground Zero stared at you, unable to believe your words. What, did he really think you loved being treated like this? Did he have any idea what making love was? Anything about normal, adequate relationship between a man and a woman? Maybe you weren't the most law-abiding woman in the city, but you were still a decent person, and the fact that Ground Zero expected you to manipulate him into raping you was repulsive.

"Listen, just hand me over to police already. What are you waiting for, Ground Zero?"

All the food was long put in the fridge and kitchen cabinets. Staring intensely at the man who shouldn't even be here, you crossed your arms over your chest, expecting him to drag you out of the house, but when he stepped closer to you it felt suffocating. Shit, the fear was coming back when you saw his expression darkened, his red pupils dilating when he grabbed your arm above the elbow and pulled you to him. Was he really going to do this to you?

You expected him to snap at you, but when he spoke he sounded strangely cold and collected.

"First, you will call me Bakugo from now on," he voice was dangerously low, "Second, I haven't come all the way here to bring to a fucking police station. You will come with me, do you understand?"

_______________

I didn’t put my regular taglist here since it was only made for Marvel fics, but please let me know if your want to be on my BNHA taglist, too!