#puts this box around him when all the other metaphors are about demolishing boxes

[darkshrimpemotions]

Also just as an aside I hate when an obviously villainous character with a clear agenda counter to the protagonists' happiness says something and people just. Accept it as true despite all evidence to the contrary.

That is to say, I get why Stede buys it, but there's no reason whatsoever why we should put any stock in Ned Low's taunting about the act of his murder being what will make Stede a "real pirate."

Was he not a real pirate when he held two British naval officers hostage for days? How about when he bested Izzy (the first time)? Or when he infiltrated a French party boat, instigated a violent riot, and left everyone aboard to die? How about when he accompanied Ed and his crew on all their raids? Bested Izzy again in a duel (sorry to my poor little meow meow, but he did)?

How about when he violated the terms of his pardon? Faked his own death? Orchestrated the theft of valuable loot from Jackie, which would have gone off flawlessly without Ricky's interference? Escaped Zheng Yi Sao with her prisoners, several of her newest crew members, and her wheel in tow? Raided an adrift vessel? Led the capture of another vessel, without Ed this time? Freed himself during an attempted takeover of his own vessel and negotiated with fellow pirates for a peaceful end to the conflict and the surrender of their captain?

He did all of that in his own delightfully weird Stede way with his own delightfully weird Stede goals, and we're going to take Ned fucking Low's word for it that until he killed the bastard, he wasn't a real pirate?

If piracy is anything in this show, it's a multi-use metaphor. For freedom, for belonging, for masculinity, for queerness. In this instance it's pretty clear which thing it's a metaphor for: Ned is insinuating that killing him will make Stede a "real man."

And I get why Stede buys that. I do. But I do NOT get why I keep reading takes and metas that just accept that as truth and build whole readings of Stede's character on it when it so very clearly isn't true at all.

[patchies]

Shadows

Pairing: Dream x Reader x ???

Summary: An apocalyptic world where creatures of the night roam all around it. Searching for living beings to satisfy their hunger. Vicious creatures they are. It’s said that one person called upon their wrath in revenge. You awake in this place with another human being at your side. No memories whatsoever of the life you’ve had prior to coming here. In search of a way out, and your memories, you stumble upon multiple people with many personalities. Some can’t wait to meet you. If you take it the friendly or hostile way is up to you, but worry not... Nothing can hurt you. Or can it, now?

Warnings: depictions of gore

Word Count: 1.8+k

Author’s Note: This story is heavily inspired by a dream I had around two months ago and it pushed me into writing it. I haven’t ever thought that I would be writing and publishing a story. Let alone in English since it’s very far from my mother language, but I have to admit I like it way more. As I am pretty proud of it, I’ve decided why not just try? This story is not going to be updated very frequently as I hardly find time and motivation, but I have the whole story mostly planned out and I have plenty of ideas for it! There are 7 chapters written altogether as of now and I will try to update at least once a month. I’ve started writing longer chapters from the 6th and those will take longer to finish, but I sincerely hope you’ll enjoy it!

Wattpad link: here

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Chapter 1: The Awakening

Your eyes are met with complete darkness, unable to perceive your surroundings. The creepy, dusty and smoggy atmosphere isn't making you any less uneasy and confused either. Quite the contrary, actually. An unbelievable sickening feeling takes over your stomach and a great migraine is ever so present. Steering your thoughts to completely different places than they're supposed to. You feel the rapid thumping of your heart and panic floats in your head.

It takes you a few minutes until your dilated pupils get used to the blackness, but when they do, you're able to see the outlines of some demolished furniture. Upon fixating more on your surroundings, you distinctly spot the torn plain green wallpaper and empty broken picture frames hanged up on the wall. The tattered blinds covering the cracked windows tell you it's night and you seem to have gained consciousness in the middle of it.

Though, when you attempt to rethink through your day and previous whereabouts, you come up blank. Something like a heavy fog restrains your memories. A metaphorical lock put around it to secure them away from your conscious mind. As much as you try to concentrate on the past, you're left with nothing. It doesn't only leave you grasping for the forgotten past, but it makes you feel stranded and gasping of any, and very needed, recollection.

A sharp inhale of air makes your head rapidly turn in the direction of the sound and squint your eyes. You can hardly see the body of the person. The dark corner makes it difficult to focus, yet the figure still seems to take notice of you instantly, “Who are you…?”

Speaks up a very groggy voice and you can deduce their voice is coming from the shadows. Utterly hidden by the dark abyss. It sounds masculine, so you leave it at that, not taking too much interest in finding out any more information about the strange human. He seems to be in the same situation as you, but you still decide to be cautious around him. He's only a stranger to you, so you aren't going to blindly trust him. After all, stranger-danger is a rule, right?

You choose to stay guarded for now.

“Why does it matter to you?” You harshly reply. There really isn't anything to go off when it comes to his personality and intentions. As much as you'd like to be happy about seeing another human being, you don't know in what situation you are stuck in and you aren't the stupidest, neither the smartest, in the world. You'd rather stay cautious than die, “I'm surprised you have the audacity to speak to me even though you're obscuring your identity from me.”

“Well, if I tell you my name, will you tell me yours?” The stranger suggests, but you're inclined to not let him get through you.

“It doesn't matter to me. All I want is to get out and find whoever brought me here,” you simply say, “or search for my way home. That, doesn't have to involve you, nor your help.”

You turn your back to his voice, brushing him off with your words. Fixating your sight on the few boxes scattered throughout the room. You're sure he can feel your annoyance, but it's valid. He's making non-significant propositions, which is honestly irritable.

“I could help you. We could have each other's back.”

“What have I just said?” You inquire with an annoyed tint, “You have nothing of value to offer me, and you can't even step out of the shadows.”

With that said you slowly start to stand up from your position and look around for a possible exit. The floorboards creak under your weight as you step from foot to foot. The first thing that comes to your mind is to head straight for the windows for some unknown reason. Upon taking several steps to the blinds, you hear the stranger's footsteps echo. Your feet leisurely continue, but you're tempted to check behind you, therefore you do. Just in case he proves to have any malignant tendency.

There's still no silhouette of the other human, hence why you can't confirm what kind of a movement he's executed. With that done, you turn your head back and concentrate on the task at hand.

Once you get close enough to pull the blinds open, a loud screeching noise travelling throughout the whole street alerts both you and your companion. Blood pumps through your body at faster pace and you begin to be sceptical at heart upon hearing the scream of an unidentified creature.

“What the hell was that sound?” You can hear a slight waver in his voice. Presumably from not being able to decipher the inhuman noise from outside.

It didn't seem to scare you as much as it scared him. Although you did flinch back from the window, your guard has stayed high nonetheless the fright you experienced.

You shrug, but after realising he cannot possibly see you very well, you give him a response, “How am I supposed to know? Do you think I'm a witch?”

“Uh– yes and no?” After those words leave his mouth, your head turns to what you assume is his direction and give him a nasty glare. Offended thoughts swim in your head along with the throbbing pain of a headache.

A relatively loud scoff escapes your mouth and you fixate him with a harsh look.

You're sure he's going to die by either your hands, or he'll serve as sacrifice to the creature.

“You've chosen your destiny now, man.”

The scoff that leaves his mouth this time tells you that he's against the idea or he just plainly thinks you're joking. Either way, he's sold his soul by saying those words.

Cutting the conversation off, you finally get to glance outside the window, and you yell out a curse, which is enough to let the thing outside know of your existence. In the matter of seconds, it flies to your window and starts banging against it. It's long arms slam the panels with surprisingly little force. You fall back and try to scramble to your feet as quickly as you can. Can't go around risking your life even upon seeing the strength of the shadowy figure.

The man, who has chosen to stay anonymous up until now, decides against his better judgement to flee on his own to help you up. It doesn't show much strength, but the window already adores quite a few cracks, so you don't think it'll hold up for long.

“Just hurry up!”

As soon as you're stabilised and on both of your legs, you book it to the door. At first, the handle doesn't let you open them, but after a few sharp tugs it gives out and you fall to the floor again. You let out a curse once more, supporting your body on your forearms and stand up. The stranger only snickers behind you.

You stay silent and get your thoughts and clumsiness together.

“Here! We could hide in one of the other rooms!” He hurriedly tries to tug you to the direction he's talking about, but you don't budge. You can't take any risks when you don't know the house's layout and the person in front of you.

“I don't think it's a good idea,” you ponder over your thoughts, but after you hear glass being shattered, you run to another room and to the closest closet you can find. Completely disregarding the terrified look the man threw your way. You duck to the ground as hastily as you can and cover your mouth just in case. Soon wooden boards start creaking in the hallway and, even though you wished the man would be a sacrifice, you hope he's found a safe place and survives this monstrosity.

A rather loud groan is heard somewhat close to you and you peek through the small gap in the closet doors to see a rather disturbing view. One that you wish you haven't.

The creature has found a dead rat (rather beheaded the poor creature beforehand?) and is holding it to its bloody mouth now. Multiple sharp teeth sink over and over into the freshly killed animal, happily munching on the treat. It's turned sideways to you, so you can very clearly see all the contents of the rodent's body as it eats it. It's guts and blood spilling everywhere on the floor and on the demon itself.

You shudder, avert your eyes, and just look at your curled-up knees. ‘What in the name of hell have I just witnessed?’

It takes less than ten minutes to finish its fiesta and you can see the unidentified creature turn to smoke from your peripheral vision. It stays in that form and floats out of the room and you guess it leaves out the window it broke.

Silent tears start to fall down your eyes and you honestly aren't surprised. The whole encounter was traumatic to say the least. To you, it was as if you were the protagonist in a horror movie, being hunted down by some unknown force. Except this is real life that we're talking about. Your life is currently put at stake and you don't want to die so early. Be at the hands of the creature or some other mythical thing.

This won't be the worst thing to happen to you, Reader.  Or will it, now?

Was that demon chasing somebody before I yelled out?

It had seemed to be occupied by something else before you got startled by its presence on the little roof below the window. You can still remember the soulless holes for eyes staring in your direction vividly.

Was it me luring it to us? Could there be more people?

You sit there, contemplating the event that has just happened, for what seems to be forever. Blank stare put onto your hands as you cry and your body succumbs to total numbness. That is until the closet door creak open, forcing you to look up.

There stands a man of average height with messy brown hair. You notice just now how he exactly looks upon not having that much time to do so an hour (was it?) ago.

His eyes convey an emotion close to yours, which is utter fear and confusion. He silently offers you his hand and you gladly, albeit shakily, take it. He pulls you out the door and towards another room with a dusty and an almost broken bed, pulls you into his lap and tucks your head into his neck. Letting you quietly cry while he gently runs his hand across your back. You don't even care a stranger has you in his lap. He lets you cry until you have no more tears running down your cheeks.

Your guarded feelings towards the man begin to crack amidst the comfort you crave right now.

When you're done, you both can't get yourselves to break the silence. You’ve distanced yourself from him, but you both are too afraid to even utter a word and accidentally lure the creature back in. Although, he decides to break it with a small whisper and with an attempt of a comforting smile.

“Do you mind sharing your name with me now?”

[jujutsu-headcanons]

Yes to Yuji wrecking Mahito! Just so much yes my boy needs to avenge those wrongfully killed!

See I wanted Geto to be on my shit list (as I'm not normally a bad guy lover) but I swear he wore me down reading the manga. Plus he's just so pretty he makes my brain all static noises 😳 Not to mention that backstory between him and Gojo like YES give me all the drama I need buried drama 🤩

Totally agree on the Mai thing. See I wanted to hate Todo too bc of well him beating on Megumi but the moment him and Yuji were just like "Big Dumb Meat Heads" together I threw that out the window! Those two together are *chefs kiss* Absolutely stupendous I never get tired of them 👌👌👌

Mai on the other hand is just crawling more and more under my skin. Like why you gotta be like that gurl? You wanna go in the crusty corner with Mahito? Cuz you gotta crusty attitude that needs fixing like yesterday 😐

Literary brain tells me it wants more drama/character growth between Megumi and Toji. But my useless overly big heart wants to punch Toji and protect Megumi at all costs bc he just showed up on the screen like the kool aid man and burst right into my heart and I shan't forgive Megumi for that but now I will die for him so ¯\_( ツ)_/¯

But I'm not the only one who lowkey fantasizes about self inserty type day dreams??? Like every day all day I got my thoughts flowing into 500 different lil oneshots I'm too chicken to post anywhere bc I havent written anything in a while and I feel I'm rusty. But your idea! YOUR IDEA WOO BOI- I'm not even a Gojo fanatic (like I adore him but my heart dick thudded elsewhere RIP) but that scene you described of straddling him just to rip his blindfold off in the heat of an arguement that's clearly deadly to either party- Just to see him on the brink of tears fighting back every emotion to slate his composure to cocky/uncaring. Only to have it obviously failing, and the metaphorical reality around you both crumbling along with Gojo's emotional state- Oh God I would read that crap outta something like that. It fills me with the angst and I thrive on it daily *heavy breathing* You should think about posting more of your original content too! Self inserty or not bc that sounds down right brilliant on so many levels

💛anon

Bro I can't help but feel had for Gojo. That shit must have hurted. Like he looked so calm and collected when it all happened but was he really? His best friend potential lover went feral and murdered an entire village AND his family then he tried to kill his first years once and now AGAIN what is happening. Did you see the look on Gojo's face when Yaga told him he went rogue? That was a face of hurt and betrayal he couldn't even begin to understand at the young age of... What was it, 17? 18? He was practically a little itty bitty baby compared to now. I haven't read the prequel yet don't laugh at me but I've heard it hurts so much worse having to face Getou back then AND now. Stupid brain worms, stop fucking around.

I wanted to hate Todo too hut before he even turned good I couldn't. I have a thing for big buff boys who have zero brains and too much brawns I'm looking at you Metal Bat, Captain Ōbi I just wanna adopt/marry them because in all reality they're trying their best. I'm really glad Todo exists and has his big brother delusion because honestly I think that's something Yuji needs, especially in the current arc. Yuji needs as much support as he can get.

PFFFT CRUST CORNER I cannot with you omg they do need to sit on the time out chair for s bit and think about what they've done lmaooo

DID YOU CALL TOJI ZENIN- FUSHIGURO THE FUCKING KOOL AID MAN AHAHAHHHSH oh my god i hate this so fucking much or were you calling Megumi the koolaid man bc really each one is absurd n e wayz I dunno bro I rlly can't wait until Megs wakes up post Shibuya arc and actually has time to process what the fuck happened to him back then. I really want to know if he can connect the dots by himself and realize holy shit that was the source of my daddy issues right there in the flesh and how he reacts to him being a curse and all that. There's so many ways that can go too it's scary to think about.

Low key unrelated but I have a theory that Gojo can see everything from his little cube prison and knows what's going on. Its probably because of the six eyes, or because he's just fucking Gojo, or even because Geto seems kinda sadistic and would do something like that. But I can imagine him watching Megs and Toji fight and it absolutely destroying him. For starters, Gojo killed him .... Right? Wtf is he doing back? What? Second don't commit suicide in front of your kid oh my god Toji what (I'm probably just salty because of a past experience, but also, calm down Toji oh my god) and third I can see it hurting Gojo because in a way it feels like he's been trying to protect Megumi. Its obvious Gojo has this attachment to Megumi, and maybe it's because they've known each other so long, but I don't think Gojo is prepared to deal with the aftermath. Does he have to tell him, if Megs doesn't put the pieces together? Will he have to knock some sense into him to actually tell him? Because he DID try to tell Megs once before and he avoided it like the plague. Its also gotta hurt when you feel like someone's dad and you witness them have a bad interaction with their other dad.

Throw in his daughter being on the brink of death, his other son being emotionally demolished, his second year kids lost in the void and not even his void, his best friend locked him in a box, his other best friend exploded, etc. I think Gojo I pretty distraught even if he doesn't show it

Bro okay my brain is riddled with ideas like this and 90% of them are always angst. Idk where tf they come from half the time but they exist and I hate it. They're always self inserts too.

So I actually read this ask last night, but due to personal reasons I didn't reply to it now, and I actually started experimenting writing out this scenario. I had to stop when I wrote the line "Approximately one year after the first finger was consumed, Itadori Yūji was formally executed. At three minutes to midnight, Sukuna Ryomen was expelled from his body, destroying the vessel along with it. The executioner was none other than the teenager's teacher and mentor Gojo Satoru. When Y/N awoke to this news, they attacked on sight."

Oh god I made myself so sad with that line

And i do really want to post some of my fics, like I did with Nobara Meeting Sukuna For The First Time. However, I only posted that because it was short and simple lmao it was basically just a meme I didn't even run it though grammarly like I do with the headcanons.

I like sticking to the headcanons as of right now because I feel like grammar didn't exist when I make those. I can spell things wrong and leave off punctuation and word then like I'm a third grader just learning English and no one will laugh lmao. Fanfics kinda stress me out because i want them to be perfect. I also have a hard time with fight scenes and transitioning and it's s mess.

I REALLY want to write out my Guardian Angel! Junpei AU because I think it's so cute. Just the idea that this boy is assigned to fight against fate and the higher ups and keep Yuji alive despite him being an idiot and a target is cute to me. Like I just canon him being the plantonic equivalent of in love with this boy and he feels like he rlly owes it to Yuji for trying to save him it's the LEAST he can do. Plus I need the mental imagine if Junpei annoying reader-chan into finding Yuji because "they play a pivotal role in Yuji's future" just for the "pivotal role" to literally be playing therapist and just being there for him and being a medium between Junpei and Yuji because guardian angels aren't allowed to reveal themselves to the person they're guarding but also/// he might risk his wings being stripped just to talk to Yuji one more time////

Okay I'm going to stop now

But yea, maybe if I have time and create little mini works like Nobara Meeting Sukuna For the First Time I'll def post them! I'll work on casually making them longer and soon I'll be confident to posts longer ones. But until then I hope just the headcanons at alright ;-;

[misspandalily]

call me, beep me, if ya wanna reach me

Week 1 prompt: Missions, "let me hold your hands for a second", rivals or friends.

Response: Kim Possible AU (!!!), and also happy birthday Neji!

Read on: AO3 | FFN

He's the most infuriating, self-entitled, pompous, insensitive duckweed she's met since that freshman Sasuke Uchiha accidentally knocked her over while making out with Naruto and didn't apologise for it. To this day, she still throws them eyedaggers whenever they pass her in the hallways - and let it be known that Teen Superhero Tenten's projectiles always manage to hit their target.

Only this time, the collaborator isn't gay and certainly doesn't have the bad-boy aura of Sasuke - he looks like one of those Japanese dolls put out on display every New Year, with his smooth black hair, porcelain complexion and his stupid, stupid ever-present smirk.

Lee, her very competent crime-fighting partner, insists that this rival of theirs is the epitome of youth that everyone - especially her, being a young individual who isn't getting any younger - should aspire to be, so she really shouldn't aim to impale him like Vlad Tepes did to his captured prisoners every time their companies put them together to defeat the same villain.

And here's the thing: she and Lee are fine working together. Their track record is amazing! It's just that their agencies seem to be under the impression that she, Lee and Neji are bloody unstoppable.

Tch, yeah right. Every time Neji "I work alone" Hyuga joins in, they argue over whichever method should be used to defuse bombs, or how to throw a grappling hook onto the ledge of a building, or why C4 should be used to demolish a secret lair instead of the good old, tried-and-true petroleum smothered by fire. Certainly not teamwork-worthy enough for how much praise they get as a three-person unit. And really, who even cares if they've cracked down on some of the hugest villains in the 'biz when they can't stand the sight of each other in real life?

Team Guy and Hyuga Corps, apparently. And the entire world's media.

Okay, fine. Objectively, it makes perfect sense to team them up. Neji is the perfect complement to her long range, weapons-based attacks. He can block just about any manoeuvre and has amazing foresight to boot. And while they're busy securing mission grounds and planning out attack formations, Lee's usually the one who charges forth and offsets their overbearing need for meticulous planning by being so characteristically straightforward. It's usually him who manages to save the day in the most bizarre, out-of-the-box way possible.

But that aspect of their teamwork is where Tenten draws the metaphorical line. She is thoroughly and genuinely disheartened and disapproving of the notion of working with Neji Hyuga, whose agency is overly-reliant on the latest gadgets and are so, so pompous. She's an old school kind of girl who isn't afraid to mix and match with new-age technology, which is often the point of ire between her and Neji whenever they see each other (which, despite how many times she prays to Kami, is often).

At least they don't attend the same high school, because that would be the perfect recipe for a disaster. According to the research that Tenten 100% does not carry out by means of covert surveillance (she totally did stalk him, not that she'll ever admit that to Lee, but it was that one time!), Neji spends his days lounging around the posh gardens of Konoha's Academy for Gifted Individuals, moves to different classes in a private limousine because the campus is that huge, and drinks water out of golden goblets, or something. It's a stark contrast to the more...rustic environment of Konoha High but money doesn't buy happiness, so Tenten's absolutely sure that the amount of privilege that surrounds Neji is proportional to the internal conflict raging on in that tiny, tiny lump of coal that is his heart.

He should be, because just last week he actually stepped aside for her to defuse a bomb and delivered sound advice as she did it - it only took them ten seconds! And the other day Neji steadied her bleeding arm when she threw the grappling hook and carried her in his arms as they ascended the building. That's not all - the guy even let her pour petrol over Orochimaru's latest machine and set fire to it right after they jumped to safety on a helicopter.

What a prick.

Always holding open doors and spontaneously meeting her outside school gates when the day ends and escorting her home during the winter when it's cold and dark (although that took some time getting used to) and making sure she's uninjured and bandaging her when she is. Look, she didn't ask to be bandaged and she didn't ask for him to hold her hand up to administer first aid, never requested for him to make her blush, and he went ahead and did it anyway. None of those occurrences were pre-approved by Tenten so really, she shouldn't have been worried yesterday when he fell off a cliff during a mission.

Except she totally was. Lee was busy fighting off goons and she'd just received a lovely slice to her bicep when Neji was pushed by a thug the size of Mt Everest. It set off about a million triggers in her head - she recalled seeing red and throwing something at the guy's legs and trunk, and then she'd sprinted to the edge of the cliff and fired a grappling hook at the air just beside Neji, which he grabbed on to at the cable end and vaulted himself to safety with at the last second.

Tenten had started crying, and hugging and speaking gibberish - but that could easily be interpreted as concern.

.

Who was she kidding?

.

.

.

"You're early," Neji's leaning against his usual gate-area when she reaches the exit, a smile gracing the curve of his lips when she greets him. "And your arm is covered expertly, as per usual," he gets close to but doesn't touch the part of her right arm they both know is sliced through like butter and stitched up like a patchwork quilt. She consciously pulls at the edge of her jumper sleeve and shrugs.

"Yeah, I was discharged a few hours ago. Came to school to submit my assignment."

"The one on the physics of the Pyramids of Giza?"

"The very same," Tenten grins and taps at her temple lightly. "It took a few brain cells to pump out, but let's just say the aliens were involved."

They reach their usual bus stop - a crossroads between her small suburban home and Neji's castle - and take a seat. Tenten throws her bag down and slumps against the wall with an agonised groan. Neji's lips perform a funny little smirk and all too soon, she's plagued with the image of his body being flung off a cliff and her subsequent sobbing.

It's a topic they haven't broached since then, even though they've had a debriefing at HQ and silently helped bandage each other up afterwards. She's hoping they'll be able to come to a mutual understanding and psychic agreement like they usually do but as Neji has been as unpredictable as Lee is lately, Tenten's hopes aren't fulfilled.

"Thank you," his voice is barely louder than a mumble, "For saving my life."

Tenten feels something lodge in her throats and coughs a few times, drawing his attention. She tries not to blush at the intensity of his gaze but (probably) fails. "You would've done the same for me."

"I would have," he smiles kindly, "But I wasn't sure if you reciprocated until last night."

Good Kami, does she really come off as that horrible?

Tenten fingers the edge of her sleeve again and leans her head back against the wall of the bus stop. Then again, she had been swearing eternal rival-tude to Neji prior to last night's mission, only to do a complete 180-flip and save his arse the next day - so. That changes things. "I guess we don't always do what we think when the time calls for it. I mean I thought I hated your guts, but obviously I don't anymore and I really don't know when that even changed?" A bus that's probably Neji's route home pulls into the station but he doesn't get on. "I mean, in between saving the world and trying to submit that stupid assignment, I probably realised inwardly that there are other things to channel my hate into - and the fact that you stopped being a twat helped, like heaps." She finishes off her speech when Neji starts doing this strange, ear-splitting grin that makes her voice stop in its tracks and all of a sudden she feels like smashing her head through the glass.

"You mean," Neji says, grin still fixed firmly in place, "You like me now."

"No!" She flushes, crossing her hands before her for emphasis, "I just don't severely dislike you now - enough to save your life."

"Oh, okay," he turns back to watching buses departing and cars avoiding potholes, still beaming, "Well I don't severely dislike you either."

"Good," Tenten says with an air of finality, "Because if you did, that would be awkward."

"Anything for the missions," he smirks.

"Exactly my point," she agrees vehemently. "Can't save the world otherwise." It's her bus's turn to tumble into the station, prompting Tenten to jump to her feet a little faster than one would consider normal (but she isn't just a normal teen, so she considers this matter obsolete), and make a grab at her bag.

"Here, I'll help." Neji swipes up the bag after she makes a miserable attempt of trying to haul it up. "Your arm needs time to rest," he elaborates as she shoots him an affronted glare because how dare he assume she's not strong enough, and then holds his arm out for her to embark onto the bus.

Tenten decides not to look the gift horse in the mouth and boards, the fingers of her swinging arms brushing against Neji's outstretched hand lightly. "Um, thanks," she says as he plops down into the seat beside her, oddly close for the amount of space that's available for them, "You should probably let yourself rest too, near-death experience and all."

"I'm fine," he replies reassuringly, "An angel saved me."

Her heart suddenly performs a pirouette in her chest cavity, it's as disarming as it sounds, and she stares out of the window with her eyes popped open. By all means, Tenten is no stranger to receiving compliments, especially considering her line of work, but such things are essentially unheard of where Neji is concerned.

The logical thought-processes of her brain currently on autopilot, she reacts by pursing her lips into a smile and grinning up at him like an idiot. She feels the apples of her cheeks heating up to volcanic temperatures when Neji dips his head down and whispers something sounding exactly like, "When I met you, I thought you were Heaven on earth."

The fuses in her head wire back together, but in the wrong location, because, "And then I started talking."

Neji chuckles. "I could read the profanities off of your face. They were quite impressive."

"I'm glad. For a while I was worried you didn't get the memo." The corner of her mouth twitches before she turns her head back to the window, hiding her mortification from Neji's view. Had she just…flirted back? With Neji Hyuga? Without trying to strangle him?

There's a sudden bump in the road that sends them into the air for a microsecond, and then she feels his hand covering the top of her hand. Tenten's still wide-eyed at the window when she realises this. Should she move her hand away? He hasn't, yet - and she's assertive, damn it! A few days ago, the slightest skin contact with him would've sent him careening to the other side of the bus!

A pregnant pause ensues, during which her brain flat-wires again, and Neji apparently decides to nudge her palm around and rest his fingers in between hers. She tilts her head down slightly to look at their intertwined hands, tan patterned against a pale white, and pushes a rising sea of panic to the back of her mind. Her fingers curl forwards and find refuge on top of his knuckles.

It feels…nice.

[empty-altars]

So in order to work through writer’s block I’m making myself put my music on shuffle and write 10 drabbles for 10 songs. No skipping. This could go very badly tbh. But. This is the first one. The NSFW bit is under a cut. :)

1. Are You That Somebody - Aaliyah

Oh boy, see I'm trusting you with my heart, my soul

Zayn tugs at the edge of his beanie, pulling it further over his ears to ward against the early spring chill. Sneaking out was easier than he’d thought it would be and guilt still tugs at the edges of his stomach over it. He’s never openly defied his parents before. He hasn’t always been an easy kid, but he’s always toed the line before now.

Above his head the sodium bulb of the street lamp glows dull orange and plunges into darkness before flickering back to life. It’s dying, like everything else in this town. The slow cycling death seems an apt metaphor.

Two months ago Zayn’s main goal was to focus on his grades and get out. It’s something his parents have pushed him on forever and he hasn’t always been grateful for it, but his future is looming and uni is just around the corner. Escape from a dead end job and a grim day to day existence seems possible.

Two months ago Zayn met Liam Payne in a chip shop and his dedication to academic excellence started to unravel. He can’t help himself. All he wants is Liam’s hands on him, Liam’s voice in his ear, Liam’s attention wrapped around him like a blanket. He’s not failing or anything, but the dip in focus hasn’t gone unnoticed by his parents and he’s been barred from seeing Liam for the time being.

Hence, waiting under a dying street lamp around the corner in front of the sad little park he used to play in when he was younger. Nerves clench his stomach and Zayn stops himself from checking his phone. Liam will show. He’s never late.

Zayn hears Liam’s car before he sees it, motor knocking unhealthily under the hood. The fact that the poor thing is still driving around is a minor miracle, but Liam loves it like a child even though he really knows very little about cars. Liam pulls alongside Zayn in a rough idle and rolls down the window.

“Need a ride?” he asks with a quirked eyebrow and mischievous grin.

Zayn rolls his eyes and slides into the passenger seat. “You’re not cute,” he lies.

“I’m adorable,” Liam counters, pushing his full lower lip into a pout.

Zayn leans over and kisses him, nibbling lightly on his plush lower lip because it’s on display and he can’t help himself. Liam’s mouth is an invitation to sin and Zayn has spent far too many hours fixating on it. He forces himself to pull away rather than deepening the kiss because they’re still in the neighborhood and anyone could see them and rat Zayn out to his mom.

“Take me somewhere nice,” he demands imperiously.

Liam snorts. “Yeah, babe. Our options are wide open. You want the abandoned mill or the abandoned hospital? You know we’re not leaving the car anyway.”

“The mill,” Zayn replies quickly. The hospital gives him the creeps. It’s partially demolished and looks like the scene of a horror movie. Especially at night.

All they really need is a place to park behind that hides them from the road. Abandoned buildings just have fewer patrols than, say, a shopping center. The last thing Zayn needs is to be busted by the police and escorted home. He would be grounded till he’s forty.

Zayn rests his palm on Liam’s leg, hoping he’ll cover it with his own. He doesn’t, hands firmly at 10 and 2 like a proper old man. It’s kind of sweet how cautious he is, if mildly frustrating. Liam takes his eyes off the completely empty road for half a second to smile warmly over at Zayn.

“I missed you,” Liam murmurs.

“Me too,” Zayn confesses. “I hate not being able to see you.”

Liam pulls off the road into the lot surrounding the old mill. Gravel crunches under the tires as he slowly drives around to the back side. Broken, hollowed out windows glare down at them and Zayn suppresses a shiver. It’s not as creepy as the hospital, but it’s still pretty eery. The second Liam shifts the car into park, Zayn has his seatbelt off and is swinging over to straddle Liam’s lap.

“Hi,” Liam says with a grin, hands coming up to cradle Zayn’s hips.

“Hi,” Zayn replies somewhat breathlessly. 

Liam smells like body wash and feels warm and solid under him. His curls are slightly damp at the ends, like he took a shower before coming over. Zayn’s eyes glaze over momentarily at the mental image of a wet, naked Liam. He wants to feel how sleek his skin would be wet, wants to lick water off his abs, wants to choke on Liam’s dick while the shower pounds down around them. Zayn shifts slightly, hardening in his joggers.

Everything ceases to exist around him, his world narrowing to the beautiful boy in front of him. He’s self-aware enough to know that this is exactly the issue his parents have with their relationship, but he doesn’t care. If there’s a future for him it needs to include Liam Payne. Anything else would be unbearable.

“You look so good on my lap,” Liam murmurs against the sensitive skin of Zayn’s neck. His thumbs press firmly into the hollows of Zayn’s hip bones making him squirm.

Zayn rolls his hips with intent and Liam moans low in his throat. The thin fabric of their joggers is all that separates them and even that is too much at this point. He needs to feel Liam’s skin against his own, needs Liam’s warm hand wrapped around him. Luckily they both dressed for easy access and it requires very little effort to shove their waistbands down far enough.

“Oh my god,” Zayn whimpers as Liam loosely grips both their dicks in his large, capable hand.

“Hang on,” Liam says before pulling his hand away and leaning over to rummage in the glove box.

Zayn whines at the loss and presses closer, his dick sliding against Liam’s firm abs. He feels like a live wire, skin humming and tight over his bones. Liam sits back up with a tube of hand cream clutched in one fist and his pupils blown out and wild.

“I said to hang on,” Liam grits out.

Zayn replies by biting down on Liam’s lower lip before dipping his tongue teasingly into Liam’s mouth. Liam flicks open the hand cream and squeezes out a dollop. In retaliation, he doesn’t warm it up before wrapping his hand back around them both. Zayn hisses against his mouth and bucks forward into Liam’s grip.

The world narrows even further in scope, down to just the heat of Liam’s mouth and the slick slide of his hand and the firm press of his dick catching against Zayn’s own. It’s so good Zayn could cry. It’s always so good, like Liam is tuned to the same frequency, like he can read Zayn’s mind.

When he comes it feels like he shatters apart, held together only by Liam’s firm touch. He moans wetly against Liam’s mouth, less kissing and more sharing breath. Liam isn’t far behind and his face when he comes is like a religious experience, reverent and lost in pleasure.

They breathe in tandem for a moment, putting themselves back together. The rough knock of the engine and the asthmatic wheeze of the heater slowly filter back into Zayn’s awareness as his senses come back online. Liam nabs a stack of fast food napkins from the console and gently cleans them both up and tucks them away.

“Some day,” Liam says, voice still rough and throaty, “we’re going to have a giant bed and I’m going to lay you out and take my time.”

Zayn nuzzles his face into the curve of Liam’s neck and breathes in. “Tell me.”

“We’re going to have a house. Maybe in the country. With a giant yard.”

“And lots of dogs,” Zayn adds.

“Lots of dogs,” Liam agrees. “All the dogs we want. All rescues.”

“And you can have a recording studio and I’ll have an art studio and we’ll have a balcony we can have breakfast on.” Zayn presses soft kisses along Liam’s jaw in punctuation.

The weaving of their future isn’t new, but every time they do this it feels more solid, like they can will it into existence. It’s magic between them, Zayn’s sure of it. He’s never felt like this before and can’t imagine feeling this way again with anyone else. Everything about Liam feels like he was tailored just for Zayn.

In a moment they’ll have to go back. They have school in the morning and the longer Zayn is away the more he worries he’ll be found out. For the moment though, he pretends they have all the time in the world and nothing to do but lose themselves in each other.

[kaisawesome]

The Interview

Just something I’ve been writing in my spare time.  A fictitious interview between two unnamed characters, one who is a journalist who is trying to dissect the mind of an artist, and another who is a musician who lives on tour and doesn’t ever stop because his depression catches up to him when he doesn’t keep busy.   It’s not finished and I’m not sure what I’ll do with it.  Maybe turn it into a short film or something.

This is an excerpt from the middle of the interview. A is the artist and Q is the Journalist. The interview takes place in the artists house.  This part of the interview takes place in the kitchen.

Q: “What is it like when everything slows down and you can’t live in the moment anymore?”

A: “It’s like I’m alone in a dark room that I know is as big as a parking garage, but for some reason I can’t leave the corner of the garage.  Kinda like I’m chained to the concrete…. I know I should venture towards the center of the room, but I don’t because something is holding me back.

Q: Does it feel like someone or something is holding you back? Is it like you’ve lost energy because you’re always on the go?”

A: “No.  I wouldn’t say it’s a person or a thing…. It’s more of a feeling.  I know that I can’t move into the room, not because I’m incapable, but more because I know the room doesn’t want me to.  The room wants me to stay chained.”

Q: “Are the chains tight?”

A: “Oh yeah, they’re tight.  But it’s not enough to hurt, just enough to keep me uncomfortable.” Q: “Do you think the chains are a metaphor for your depression? Do you think that you could break free if you weren’t so unhappy? Could you maybe find a way to be happier?”

A: “The chains are definitely a metaphor for my depression, but I don’t think that I’ll break free.  It’s not as simple as being unhappy and happy… I’ve grown used to these chains.  They’re pressure that’s become a part of me.  They’re an extra stressor in the mix, but they aren’t the stressor that bothers me the most, they just add a familiarity to the feeling, and in some ways they bring me peace in the chaos…  I don’t think I’d ever be able to live without the weight of the chains, it’d just be too drastic of a change.”

Q:  “When you look back on your life, what is your favorite memory? Is it of your success as a musician?”

A: “I’m not sure that it’s a memory of my success…. I’m very thankful for it, and I love it that I have fans who love to listen to me and I love that I get to travel all over the country to all these amazing places to play my music… but my favorite memory is probably from a time long before all of that.”

Q: “Would you mind telling us what the memory is?”

A: “Yeah that’s fine, I’m just trying to make sure I remember it right.”

Time passes for a bit, the artist fiddles with a pack of cigarettes and the journalist places a lighter on the table.  The artist clearly is struggling to not pick up the lighter.

A: “I quit a while ago.”

Q: “Really? Why do you carry them around then?”

The artist seems embarrassed, but places the cigarettes on the table, noticeably gaining some more control

A: “I like to know that I have control I guess…. The fact is I could smoke this entire pack any time I wanted to.  I could demolish it in a rehearsal, or I could smoke it on the road, I could go out for a walk and finish it before I get home.  But I don’t.  I know that I don’t have to now, not like I used to.  I know that I’m fine without them…. I’ve had that pack for more than a year now and even though I tempt myself with it, I haven’t smoked them yet.”

Q: There’s something about that that amazes me.  I can’t quit, and I don’t think I’ll ever quit, I just don’t know what I’d do without them, they get me through the day…  

The journalist puts the lighter back in his pocket and looks at the artist

Q: “So how about that memory?”

A: “Ok let’s do this.”

He stops and puts his hand down on the table.  He slowly closes his eyes as if he’s reliving the memory in his head.

A: My favorite memory is of me in my first car.  It’s a chevy impala, my dad’s old one, but he doesn’t need it anymore because he has the company truck.  This is my first car.  We’re all out for a joy ride and I’m just enjoying the breeze while we go down main street.  We pass the first place I ever worked…. It’s some little grocery store on the corner and while I don’t think I ever enjoyed working there I still miss it some days.  Miss the people and the feelings I used to have there…  We’re all happy and we’re driving out of town.   I’m pretty sure we went to see a movie.”

Q: “Do you remember what movie it was?”

A: “I’m not really sure.  That wasn’t important, I just remember feeling so happy in the car.  I remember that for a moment nothing else mattered and I was with people I loved.  I was happy.”

There’s an awkward pause and the journalist knows he’s got a question.  He knows what the answer is even before he asks it.

Q: “Were you happy a lot back then?”

A: “No”

They both pause for a bit looking at each other.  The artist has caught on.  This interview is about more than reviewing his last tour.

Q: “Are you happy a lot now?”

A: “Not as much as I’d like to be.  I pretend to be for a lot of people.  I pretend to be happy for the fans, for my family, and for the fans… but honestly I don’t think I’m happy at all now.”

Q: “Is there something disappointing about that?”

A: “I’m not really sure anymore.  I think some part of me is settled into the feeling, disappointment that is… I think I thought that the spotlight, the money, the parties, the tours, and all the rest of it would fix me.  I think I thought that it would make me happy finally.”

Q: “What part of it all disappoints you the most?”

The artist pauses.  He looks away, out of the window of his kitchen.  There seems to be something in the distance he focuses on. He refuses to make eye contact.

A: “When I look back at myself and realize that I’m not as happy as I’ve always pretend to be.”

Q: “Does that make you angry?”

The artist looks down at the table.  Down at the cigarettes.  He picks up the pack and opens up the top.  There’s a cigarette missing from the box.  He pulls out the one next to the empty slot and sticks it in his mouth.  He pulls a match book out of the pocket of his shirt and lights a match on the table, then lights his cigarette.

A: “No, just disappointed…  Makes me wonder what it’s all worth.  Makes me wonder if I’ll ever be happy, or if it’ll just continue like this… Me pretending to be happy for all of you while I wish I could just be happy for me.  Happy because I want to be.”

The journalist picks up the  box of cigarettes and lights one for himself with his lighter.

Q: What do you think will make you finally happy?

A: I honestly don’t know anymore

The artist stands up and walks out of the kitchen and through a door leading outside.  The journalist remains seated and grabs his tape recorder off of the table.  He stops the recording and hits rewind.

That’s all I have for now, maybe I’ll post some more later.  Hope you enjoy it.

-Kai Utterback-

[kaiutterback-blog]

The Interview.

Just something I’ve been writing in my spare time.  A fictitious interview between two unnamed characters, one who is a journalist who is trying to dissect the mind of an artist, and another who is a musician who lives on tour and doesn’t ever stop because his depression catches up to him when he doesn’t keep busy.   It’s not finished and I’m not sure what I’ll do with it.  Maybe turn it into a short film or something.

This is an excerpt from the middle of the interview. A is the artist and Q is the Journalist. The interview takes place in the artists house.  This part of the interview takes place in the kitchen.

Q: “What is it like when everything slows down and you can’t live in the moment anymore?”

A: “It’s like I’m alone in a dark room that I know is as big as a parking garage, but for some reason I can’t leave the corner of the garage.  Kinda like I’m chained to the concrete.... I know I should venture towards the center of the room, but I don’t because something is holding me back.

Q: Does it feel like someone or something is holding you back? Is it like you’ve lost energy because you’re always on the go?”

A: “No.  I wouldn’t say it’s a person or a thing.... It’s more of a feeling.  I know that I can’t move into the room, not because I’m incapable, but more because I know the room doesn’t want me to.  The room wants me to stay chained.”

Q: “Are the chains tight?”

A: “Oh yeah, they’re tight.  But it’s not enough to hurt, just enough to keep me uncomfortable.” Q: “Do you think the chains are a metaphor for your depression? Do you think that you could break free if you weren’t so unhappy? Could you maybe find a way to be happier?”

A: “The chains are definitely a metaphor for my depression, but I don’t think that I’ll break free.  It’s not as simple as being unhappy and happy... I’ve grown used to these chains.  They’re pressure that’s become a part of me.  They’re an extra stressor in the mix, but they aren’t the stressor that bothers me the most, they just add a familiarity to the feeling, and in some ways they bring me peace in the chaos...  I don’t think I’d ever be able to live without the weight of the chains, it’d just be too drastic of a change.”

Q:  “When you look back on your life, what is your favorite memory? Is it of your success as a musician?”

A: “I’m not sure that it’s a memory of my success.... I’m very thankful for it, and I love it that I have fans who love to listen to me and I love that I get to travel all over the country to all these amazing places to play my music... but my favorite memory is probably from a time long before all of that.”

Q: “Would you mind telling us what the memory is?”

A: “Yeah that’s fine, I’m just trying to make sure I remember it right.”

Time passes for a bit, the artist fiddles with a pack of cigarettes and the journalist places a lighter on the table.  The artist clearly is struggling to not pick up the lighter. 

A: “I quit a while ago.” 

Q: “Really? Why do you carry them around then?”

The artist seems embarrassed, but places the cigarettes on the table, noticeably gaining some more control

A: “I like to know that I have control I guess.... The fact is I could smoke this entire pack any time I wanted to.  I could demolish it in a rehearsal, or I could smoke it on the road, I could go out for a walk and finish it before I get home.  But I don’t.  I know that I don’t have to now, not like I used to.  I know that I’m fine without them.... I’ve had that pack for more than a year now and even though I tempt myself with it, I haven’t smoked them yet.”

Q: There’s something about that that amazes me.  I can’t quit, and I don’t think I’ll ever quit, I just don’t know what I’d do without them, they get me through the day...  

The journalist puts the lighter back in his pocket and looks at the artist

Q: “So how about that memory?”

A: “Ok let’s do this.”

He stops and puts his hand down on the table.  He slowly closes his eyes as if he’s reliving the memory in his head.

A: My favorite memory is of me in my first car.  It’s a chevy impala, my dad’s old one, but he doesn’t need it anymore because he has the company truck.  This is my first car.  We’re all out for a joy ride and I’m just enjoying the breeze while we go down main street.  We pass the first place I ever worked.... It’s some little grocery store on the corner and while I don’t think I ever enjoyed working there I still miss it some days.  Miss the people and the feelings I used to have there...  We’re all happy and we’re driving out of town.   I’m pretty sure we went to see a movie.”

Q: “Do you remember what movie it was?”

A: “I’m not really sure.  That wasn’t important, I just remember feeling so happy in the car.  I remember that for a moment nothing else mattered and I was with people I loved.  I was happy.”

There’s an awkward pause and the journalist knows he’s got a question.  He knows what the answer is even before he asks it.

Q: “Were you happy a lot back then?”

A: “No”

They both pause for a bit looking at each other.  The artist has caught on.  This interview is about more than reviewing his last tour. 

Q: “Are you happy a lot now?”

A: “Not as much as I’d like to be.  I pretend to be for a lot of people.  I pretend to be happy for the fans, for my family, and for the fans... but honestly I don’t think I’m happy at all now.”

Q: “Is there something disappointing about that?” 

A: “I’m not really sure anymore.  I think some part of me is settled into the feeling, disappointment that is... I think I thought that the spotlight, the money, the parties, the tours, and all the rest of it would fix me.  I think I thought that it would make me happy finally.” 

Q: “What part of it all disappoints you the most?”

The artist pauses.  He looks away, out of the window of his kitchen.  There seems to be something in the distance he focuses on. He refuses to make eye contact.

A: “When I look back at myself and realize that I’m not as happy as I’ve always pretend to be.”

Q: “Does that make you angry?”

The artist looks down at the table.  Down at the cigarettes.  He picks up the pack and opens up the top.  There’s a cigarette missing from the box.  He pulls out the one next to the empty slot and sticks it in his mouth.  He pulls a match book out of the pocket of his shirt and lights a match on the table, then lights his cigarette.

A: “No, just disappointed...  Makes me wonder what it’s all worth.  Makes me wonder if I’ll ever be happy, or if it’ll just continue like this... Me pretending to be happy for all of you while I wish I could just be happy for me.  Happy because I want to be.”

The journalist picks up the  box of cigarettes and lights one for himself with his lighter.

Q: What do you think will make you finally happy?

A: I honestly don’t know anymore

The artist stands up and walks out of the kitchen and through a door leading outside.  The journalist remains seated and grabs his tape recorder off of the table.  He stops the recording and hits rewind. 

That’s all I have for now, maybe I’ll post some more later.  Hope you enjoy it.