#sorry this is my one instance of salt from today

[leclerc-hs]

somebody else - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which you find yourself at cross ties with an ex! OR charles just really wants you back. warnings: 18+, smut under the cut!, angst!!!!!!!!!, not proofread word count: ~2.2k author's note: sorry if this is lame?? i was feeling really angsty the other night but then never finished it so i finished it just now. maybe I can continue this or maybe I'll leave it as a one-shot only!!! idk but let me know your thoughts :) xoxo ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE DARKENED CLOUDS swirl ominously above you, intermittently lit by flashes of distant lightning that paints fleeting patterns across the sky. The air is cool and charged with the scent of saltwater as you pull your knees into your chest. 

“Did you ever think we would end up here?” His voice mutters beside you, the waves crashing with a muted sorrow in the background, as if echoing the ache that burned in his chest.

The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and dampness, a bittersweet reminder of your shared moments now slipping away. You turned your head to look at him, tugging the corners of your lips upwards into a weak smile.

The burn in your throat made it hard to speak.

“Jamais.” Never.

“I thought we had more time,” You spoke, your voice fragile.

-

You sit nestled on the plush couch, your favorite book lying forgotten in your lap as you emerge yourself into the soft melodies playing in the background. Charles stands by the vintage record player, carefully selecting another vinyl, his movements graceful and deliberate in the dim glow of the room.

The music fills the space. A jazz tune, perhaps, with its smooth saxophone and rhythmic piano. He turns to you eventually, with a smile that practically melts your heart, before extending a hand towards you as an invitation to dance.

“Aren’t you concerned for your toes?” You joke, slipping the book off your lap and onto the couch.

“Concerned?” His lips tug into a small smirk. “You can break all of my toes, and I’d still want to dance with you.”

It doesn’t take much more convincing. A shy grin forms as your hand slips perfectly into his, fingers intertwining effortlessly.

Outside, the city hums softly with the quiet buzz of evening life, but within the cocoon of warmth and music, time seems to stand still. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He mutters as he presses gentle kisses onto your face, one arm wrapped around your waist tightly. “Toe breaking and all.”

Your head falls back as you release a laugh of pure joy. “Je t’aime.” I love you.

“Je t’aime, mon coeur.” My heart.

-

The mornings always held a special charm for him, especially those rare occasions when he found himself awake before you. It wasn’t a common occurrence, but when it did happen, he cherished it deeply. As he woke to the gentle light filtering through the curtains, he would often find himself captivated by the sight of you sleeping peacefully beside him, almost always cocooned into the side of his body.

There was always something so mesmerizing about watching you in those quiet moments of slumber. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair fell onto the pillow, and the soft expression on your face created a montage of serenity and beauty that he could never look away from.

He sometimes would just lay there, propped up on one elbow, just taking in every detail of you. The way your eyelashes fluttered silently, the slight curve of your lips, and the way you would sometimes reach out unconsciously, seeking his warmth even in sleep. It always filled him with need for you.

Today, for instance, was one of those mornings. Charles traced the pads of his fingertips softly along the collarbone that was peeking out of his t-shirt that you always stole from him. He didn’t mind though; it was practically yours.

You stirred awake gently, a smile pulling on your lips as you felt Charles hand trail down your torso and slipping under the t-shirt, his hands instantly trailing along the skin of your stomach.

His hands squeezed your sides gently, before pushing you flat onto your back, so he could slip in between your thighs, half his body pressed on top of you.

He peppered kisses to your neck, up to your cheeks, before meeting you at your lips where you awoke with a full-blown smile. 

“Needy this morning, hm?” Your voice was soft, still full of sleep as you felt him gently rut against your core. There wasn’t much fabric between you both, just his boxers and a pair of cotton panties.

“For you?” You could feel his grin against the crevice of your neck and collarbone where he places open-mouthed kisses, sucking gently. “Always.”

It didn’t take much longer before his cock was slipped inside of you. His boxers strewn somewhere along the bedroom floor that you both shared, and your panties pushed only to the side.

“Feel this, mon amour?” He groans softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin as you let your head fall back into the pillows completely. “It’s just for you.”

It starts out slow and lazy. Until you both just can’t take it anymore and he’s flipping you over, pulling you to your knees. 

“Arch your back for me.” He says, the pace of his hips unrelenting as his fingers grip the sides of your hips. “That’s it, mon amour.” 

You can’t help but moan, your knuckles turning white from the harsh grip you claim on the bedsheets. It’s sogood.

His hands find their way to your hair, fisting it tightly as he pulls you up so that your back is pressed to his chest.

“Please,” You beg, in need of a release.

“How bad do you want it?” He clicks his tongue, his fingers trailing along your neck, pressing gently into your soft skin. “C’mon, work for it.”

You begin feverishly rutting your hips, meeting him in the middle. It doesn’t take much longer before your both sent over the edge of your orgasms, collapsing on top of one another in the warm confines of the bed.

“I think we should stay here for the rest of the day.”

-

The tension in the air was palpable, thick with anger that seemed to swirl around the both of you like a storm. You both stood in the middle of the kitchen, a place that usually consists of shared laughter and comfort, now transformed into a battleground.

“How was I supposed to know that she would be there?” His voice was lethal, the veins in his neck protruding from the clench of his jaw.

You were in complete disarray as your fingers continuously ran through the roots of your hair. It’s as if he was listening but wasn’t really listening.

“It’s not about that!” You half-shout back, your voice dwindling towards the end. You were tired. So tired of this. “It’s the fact that you practically forgot I was even there!”

“You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pick fights over nothing.”

“So now it’s my fault that you practically spent the entire night talking to your ex-girlfriend as if I wasn’t in the room?”

You felt your temper wearing thin. All you needed was an apology. A sign that he didn’t mean to spend half the night talking to his ex-girlfriend.

“I hate when you do this.”

���I’m so done letting you hurt me like this every time we see her around.” You felt your voice crack. 

“So that’s it? You’re just giving up?” His voice was void of any emotion, but the heavy rise and fall of his chest gave way to just how much this was hurting him to hear.

-

“Can you just stay a little longer?” His voice was raw and full of emotion as he stared at you from the archway of the kitchen. You stood only a few feet away with swollen eyes from crying, and a single suitcase by your side.

You could slowly see the unwavering emotions form across Charles’ face as he stood, staring at you. Sadness, hurt, and anger.

You began to shake your head no, but Charles absolutely refused for that to be your response. He took a small step towards you, which had you immediately holding your hand up, begging for him to stop.

“Please,” Your voice shook. “Don’t make this harder.”

“I love you.” He emphasizes. He runs his hands through his hair like he’s in distraught. Because he is. How did it get to this point?

When you couldn’t even say the words back, was Charles’ final undoing. He knew you still did. But he neededto hear you say it. He knew it was selfish. Considering, this was all his doing. His actions.

“You keep hurting me every time we come across her.” You void your sentence of any emotion. Trying your best to hold it together, at least exteriorly. “I can’t be with you when it seems like you want her.”

“I only want you!” He can feel the panic forming in his chest as he sees you make your way to grab the handle of your suitcase.

“It’s too late.” 

-

It’s been seven months since then. Most would say that’s not much, but to Charles it felt like eternity. It would be a lie if you said it didn’t too. But still you moved on. Or at least tried to.

You and Charles regardless of the break-up we’re always still involved in some way. You both knew it was impossible to shut each other out completely. Especially when you both live in the same small city, have the same childhood friends, and live not even a mile away from each other.

So, when you arrive to one of your best friend’s birthday party, hand in hand with another man, you could imagine the burn of nerves that flood your stomach as you spot Charles across the room.

“Mon dieu!” Your friend erupts in a raised voice. “We finally get to meet Andrew!” She pushes the door open widely, allowing room for you and Andrew to step through the threshold.

A short silk dress adorns your body, the perfect shade of blue that embellishes your summer tan. You avoid looking in Charles’ direction as you gather your belongings onto a designated table, where everyone’s belongings also lie. 

You’ve been seeing Andrew for a few weeks, it’s all still relatively new. But he was sweet and caring, and so thoughtful.

You feel your cheeks redden in embarrassment as your friend announces Andrew as ‘your new boyfriend’ because he isn’t your boyfriend. But, you can’t find it in your heart to correct her.

It takes a mere thirty seconds for you to drop your belongings down onto the table, before you turn around to meet the eyes of Charles from across the room. 

It feels as if time has stood still as he sends you a small tug of his lips, unsure of how he should act. It’s not that you haven’t seen each other since the break-up, but he hasn’t ever seen you with another man.

You felt in a complete trance, unable to remove your eyes from Charles, until you feel a hand rest on the small of your back. Andrew.

You break eye contact almost instantly, turning your head to smile up at Andrew. He sends you a quick wink, before bringing his lips down to your ear. “Tu veux un verre?” Do you want a drink?

You nod, a soft smile pulled on your lips as you turn towards the direction of the kitchen, pulling Andrew’s hand in yours.

-

“Is it serious?” His smooth voice elicits a quiet shriek and jump as you hand wash the used wine glasses in the kitchen sink, an eruption of goosebumps forming across your skin.

“Excuse me?” You turn to him. Soapy water dripping from your fingertips before you wiped them with a hand towel nearby. 

“Is it serious?” He repeats, his voice unwavering as he steps closer that you need to crane your neck to look at him.

“I know what you said.” You could feel the anger begin to swirl in you like a storm. “What makes you think you deserve to know?”

For a tiny instant, you swore you saw the smirk on his face waver. But, it was so fast that he pulled it back up again.

“I miss you.” He whispers softly, his hand reaches to touch a strand of fallen hair from your face before he tucks it behind your ear.

“You’re not being fair.”

His face falls to a solemn look, letting only you see the actual hurt that he’s been feeling every day since you walked out that apartment door.

“I want you back, mon amour.” He states. “I’ll risk being unfair if it gives me any chance to get you back.”

Your heart was beating rapidly. It’s everything you’ve wanted to hear. But you can’t do this. Not again. Not to Andrew.

“Charles, please don’t do this. Not here.” 

“I know that you love me.” He states. “I know that you do, and you know that I love you. That I’m in love with you and always will be.” His words begin pouring out of him, like a waterfall. 

“We’re broken.” You shrug your shoulders. “We always were.”

You didn’t give him a chance to speak again before you pushed past the confines of his body and back into the living room where all of your friends and Andrew celebrate.

[goggles-mcgee]

Ashes of Rage: Act 1 - (Heart)Breaking News

Chapter 6 of the story for @miner249er

A03 Beginnning Last Chapter

Summary: It was supposed to be a nice day, a nice picnic, a nice distraction...but it didn't happen like that and Rose didn't know how to process it.

Notes: Hope you enjoy the read! Also, sorry for the late update but my job, idk if I told y'all, I got a new job! I work for my state's child support services division and can't really work on personal things while in the office so this did take some time.

Also like small disclosure, I did do research but I in no way think what I got was 100% so take the actions of the police with a grain of salt. ^u^

(Heart)Breaking News:

Confused. Betrayed. Angry. These were all words that described how Rose had been feeling lately and yet she pushed herself to attend the class picnic with Juleka. It hardly even compared to past picnics they had had in the past. The usual soft, pillow-y blanket was replaced by a blanket so thin that the still present morning dew that draped over the prickly blades of grass stabbed through the fabric easily and brought a chill to her legs and an itchiness that seemed never ending. It was irritating but Rose didn’t want to say anything and make Kim feel bad since he was the one to bring said blanket. Plus it would have most likely broken the tentative good mood everyone was in. She was doing her best to stay the happy-go-lucky Rose that everyone expected her to be but it was getting harder and harder to do so as the days went by. Even her appetite had been affected by her mood, she just simply wasn’t hungry which made her want to cry. She tried her best to eat because when she was sick she hadn’t gotten to eat a lot of food like she was able to do now but looking around at the food that laid on the blanket there just wasn’t anything that looked nor sounded good. 

The food from her memories of past picnics danced around her thoughts and mocked her. The food from those times had been homemade and filled her with such warmth and joy even if something hadn’t been the best tasting. But today everything was store bought, not that there was anything wrong with that! There was just something about everyone bringing something homemade to past picnics that made this one feel lacking. Rose simply couldn’t help the way her stomach clenched and mouth watered remembering the food from the past but it would quickly die when she remembered that was when Marinette had been part of the group. She always encouraged everyone to bring something homemade without even outright asking for it. It was like knowing that she herself would make something for the picnic and not just ask her parents to give her something, motivated everyone else to do the same. And the smile she had given to everyone when she saw what they brought seemed to make the sun shine brighter those days. Then things changed abruptly and Rose had questioned whether those smiles were real or an illusion as Lila had mused aloud about. It scared her to think someone could be so manipulative. Her views changed once more when she watched Nadja’s broadcast.

 The speculation that Marinette had…that she had died that night…hit particularly hard. All Rose could think about was every instance that the pig-tailed girl had been there for her and the rest of the class. She thought of all the laughs they shared and even tears. Marinette was always there and hearing the news was like a slap to the face. How could Rose ever think that Marinette was anything but genuine? How could the class think that? But then that would mean Lila had lied or just severely misunderstood something and everyone just believed it and turned on their friend. Rose couldn’t even remember the last thing she had ever said to Marinette but it was more than likely nothing nice since she had believed the girl to be a bully. That thought made her appetite really disappear and her stomach clench. She was sure everyone else was thinking similar things so really it would be cruel to expect homemade food at a time like this. The weather that had once been predicted to be sunny and cloud free was still sunny but a biting wind had plagued the day every now and then. So things looked well and good but it hid small disappointments all throughout.

 It reminded Rose of those true crime documentaries that Juleka loved to binge. The families tended to have a pattern in the one's she watched, where on the outside they seemed like the perfect family with the perfect life but behind closed doors they were anything but. It reminded her of the situation the class was in. Except most had well and truly believed in the perfection others perceived them to have. It would have been extremely ignorant of Rose to say she didn't notice how the rest of the school looked at her class in envy, because she did and she tried her best not to show how pleased that made her. She never wanted to come across as entitled or anything of the like, she knew their situation had been a rare one. Where everyone in class got along, with the exception of Chloe and Sabrina in the beginning, and their teacher was nice and kind. They had the picture perfect class. 

Until they didn’t. 

Oh they still acted like it was, Rose was mature enough to admit that, because everyone wanted that envy and that admiration their class was accustomed to. She recalled how Lila wanted to warn the other students in different classes about Marinette’s ‘true’ self but somehow Alya and Max had talked her out of it. She knew Lila hadn’t been happy about that so the girl group decided to take her out for lunch as what could only be described as a bribe the more Rose thought about it. It made her throat dry in guilt and shame. She hastily grabbed her cup of lemonade and took a big drink and nearly choked at the speed she did so. She managed to refrain from coughing and hoped no one noticed her little slip up. Thankfully it seemed like no one had so she took the time to look over at her friends. Alya and Nino were setting up her tablet as the police were going to be giving a statement on everything, Max and Alix were playing some kind of switch game together with Markov giving advice. Mylène, Ivan and Sabrina were snacking on the food and talking about something. Kim was laid out next to the blanket staring at his phone, and Juleka was listening to music in one ear.

It was then that Rose remembered she was also listening to music and it was like the realization broke the dam on her hearing and everything came alive around her. She did her best not to wince at the guitar solo that started off in a high pitch since she didn’t want Juleka to think she didn’t like the song. She did her best to be as nonchalant as possible as she took the earphone she had in out, she was more of a headphone person since earphones tended to hurt the inside of her ears if she wore them too long. Juleka knew that which is why she didn’t look upset when she noticed Rose taking out the earphone. “How’s your ear? The song wasn’t that long was it?” 

“Don’t worry Jules, the song was great. I’m just a little thirsty. I finished my lemonade so fast…” Rose lied and was grateful that Juleka seemed to buy it. 

“That’s a quick fix.” Juleka mumbled with a small smile as she stood up and went to get Rose a refill of lemonade. Rose tried her best not to think of how Marinette would bring the customized cups she made for everyone to a picnic. They were paper cups that she printed designs on and bought each one in bulk. It always made Rose feel special when she would get her pink and purple kittens printed cup with her name in a beautiful cursive old font. Today’s cups were plastic with their names written on them in permanent marker. It was still cursive, Juleka had wonderful cursive and did her very best to make it look nice so Rose felt bad about the disappointment that swelled in her every time she saw the cups. She did her best to not let it show when Juleka turned with a smile to give her her drink. 

“Thank you.” 

“No problem.”

The lemonade Juleka got her was the perfect blend of sour and sweet and yet she couldn’t enjoy it. Even though it was her favorite lemonade, one that Alix made sure to bring because her friend knew it was her favorite. Rose wanted to cry. But she couldn’t, not now, she felt like she didn’t deserve to. All of them, everyone here was trying to be as normal as possible in the light of their revelations. No one said it out loud but Rose was sure that they all came to the realization that they had made a big mistake. More than a big mistake but none of them knew how to voice it nor accept it nor move past it. They were stuck in some messed up limbo. Marinette was…dead. There was no other reality, a person they had been good friends with then broke that friendship was dead. Rose didn’t know if they all felt like her though, like they didn’t deserve to cry over Marinette being gone because they weren’t friends with the girl when she died. It was depressing. 

Worst of all no one could get a hold of Lila. Maybe she felt bad for the misunderstanding that drove the class, minus Nathaniel and Chloe, away from Marinette. Lila was so kind and thoughtful that Rose had no doubt that the girl was probably drowning herself in some kind of misplaced guilt and Rose’s heart broke more at the image her mind conjured of an alone Lila crying nonstop and apologizing to a photo of Marinette. Though, thinking of it, Lila probably only had a photo of their latest class picture that had Marinette in it. The thought was sad all the same and Rose wished once more that the class had been able to get ahold of Lila. She felt like the girl could have used a picnic like today to unwind and see how everyone supported her and were there for her. Even if the picnic felt off to Rose, maybe it would have been the thing that helped Lila feel better and come back to school. 

“What seems to be the matter Kim?” Max’s question got Rose and almost everyone’s attention. It was then that Rose realized just how quiet the usually boisterous boy had been all day. It made her somehow feel worse. 

Kim sighed loudly and rolled onto his back, “Ondine hasn’t been answering my texts, calls, ChatSnaps, Rapidgrams, basically anything and everything that I thought I could use to try and talk to her. She’s been mad for a while now and I don’t know why.” 

“Did you guys fight recently?” Rose asked. 

A sigh once again. “That seems to be the only time we talked but that was like two months ago! She said she wanted a break and wanted, no needed, time away from me.” 

“...Well, if she said she needs time, Kim. then…” Nino awkwardly pointed out. 

“But how much time? It’s been ages!” Kim whined and while a part of Rose felt sorry for him, another part felt for Ondine. Maybe it was like some weird female sense or something but Rose understood that when a girl says she needs time, she needs more than a few days. Kim had always been impatient but he clearly needed his friends’ comfort. 

“Well,” Juleka hedged, “how bad was the fight?” 

By the wince Kim gave, it was bad and all the girls in the group looked at each other. It seemed like they all came to a consensus because they all gave Kim sad looks. “Did you maybe misunderstand her? Did she really say she wanted a break or did she say you guys were broken up?” Alya asked carefully. 

“No! I mean, I don’t think she really meant broken up. I know we have been fighting and everything but Ondine and I always make up.” Even though he said that, Kim didn’t look too sure. 

“What were you guys fighting about anyways?” Alix asked lazily from where she laid out across the blanket. Rose wished the skater had been looking at her because she would have at least seen Rose’s glare to pipe down. She had done her absolute best not to ruin the peace, even when she hadn’t been paying all that much attention, then Alix went and ruined it! 

Wait. 

No.

No. Rose couldn’t think like that. They were all in this together so they had to stick together. She sent a silent apology towards Alix for her somewhat unkind thoughts. It did truly feel like they were only in this weird situation together. Rose had kind of thought that they would be getting some sympathy from the other classes or at the very least, Mme Mendeleiev’s seeing as Kim and Ondine were dating. Plus Marc was in that class and Nathaniel and him were friends, but that class had been sending them looks… Rose didn’t know why and she hoped it had nothing to do with Kim and Ondine’s fight, but a part of her felt like that had nothing to do with it. The rest of the school also sent them looks, but there were also the constant whispers that went on around them and were more than likely about them, but no one had come up to them to say anything. It felt like everyone was mad at them, but Rose couldn’t understand why. Though she knew it would come to a head one day, she dreaded that. 

“We were just fighting about-” Kim had started but abruptly stopped before Alya and Nino shushed him and waved everyone towards them. The volume of Alya’s tablet increased dramatically so they could all hear presumably the police statement that the reporter had been impatiently waiting for. They didn’t get to hear the introduction but that was fine, Alya had probably started screen-recording already. They all tried to catch a view of the live broadcast on the screen, it seemed like they were filming in front of City Hall. 

“...Before we get into the details we would like to warn that the details and evidence we bring forth is not for the faint-hearted. As everyone knows we have been investigating the destruction of the Agreste Mansion, and whether it was a planned attack or an akuma. We have ruled out the involvement of an akuma, but it was also not a planned attack.” Everyone could hear the deep breath the officer took. “Again, it was not a planned attack. We don’t know exactly what happened but with evidence we have gathered, we can make a pretty good guess.”

“We were working under the assumption that this was an attack on the Agreste family and thus were doing everything we possibly could to bring them justice. During our investigation, we happened upon the security cameras that had their footage backed up, thankfully. It was as we were reviewing the footage that we found…the disturbing truth. This will shock many and maybe many won’t believe us but we have provided some of the footage for this announcement and will be shared with the media.” Everyone waited with bated breaths. Rose felt like she had stopped breathing all together.

“Gabriel Agreste…Gabriel Agreste was Hawkmoth.” The officer stuttered out and by the roar of sound by all her friends and fellow park goers they hadn’t missed a word he said. 

“No…No he couldn’t…I know the dude was a dick and a half but there’s no way he was Hawkmoth.” Nino said in disbelief. 

“I know this is upsetting and … shocking but I promise you will get your proof afterward. Nathalie Sancoeur was his accomplice. She was Mayura.”

“I mean if Mister Agreste was Hawkmoth then that would kind of make sense.” Alix muttered. 

“And Adrien Agreste…”

“No. There’s no way my bro was involved! If that’s what he’s implying then we know it’s bogus!” Nino yelled out as he stood up and paced.

Rose silently agreed. There was no way Adrien could be involved, he was a shy boy but overall very nice. They never hung out one on one but he was always very kind to Rose and she had seen him try and talk some sense into Marinette in the beginning of the whole ‘Lila is a liar’ thing. She admired his determination to try and get Marinette to see reason and his unwavering faith in Lila. It was one of the many reasons why she thought they’d be a good couple. At least Lila could talk to Adrien and be around him without becoming a mess. She felt bad thinking that but it was the truth and it had been so frustrating that everyone of the girl group’s plan to make Adrienette happen crashed and burned because Marinette couldn’t do something. But Adrien always handled the situations with grace and a lot of patience so again, there was no way that Adrien knew or had anything to do with his father’s crimes. No way at all. 

“Adrien Agreste was Chat Noir. Before you cheer or sigh in relief, let me be frank. Chat Noir is now believed to have been a ruse to lure Ladybug into a false sense of security and give her trust to who she believed to be her partner.” 

The roar of denial and betrayal shook Rose and she couldn’t even be sure if she had joined in. It felt like she was in daze, in a haze, just completely adrift in what they were hearing. She both wanted to and didn’t want to listen anymore. She didn’t want to believe what she had heard but at the same time she felt a burning need to know everything.

“He lured her to the Agreste Mansion, it seems, in a false drop on Gabriel Agreste, who, as we said, was operating as Hawkmoth. The tables turned quickly and…” The officer’s eyes looked glossy but his face was red in what could only be, barely contained anger. “Ladybug’s earrings were taken. She was…she was struck by Chat Noir and taunted from the looks of it as we were not able to get audio from the security videos. Then…then something happened.”

He paused. “If any children are watching this I beg the parents to either turn it off or make sure the children do not hear.” 

For a city as noisy and chaotic as Paris tended to be, it seemed like everyone was quiet and holding their breath like Rose was. 

“What we believe happened, is that Ladybug, in a last ditch effort to save us all…sa-sacrificed herself in a way we can not explain. With a scream of rage the screen turned red and then nothing, but at the scene we found evidence of this sacrifice. A sizeable puddle of charred blood and pieces of burnt clothing. Furthermore, we now have an identification of Ladybug and it is with a reluctant and heavy heart that we share this with you all. But we have been given permission by her family to share.”

Rose tasted blood, she hadn’t even noticed she had been biting her lip in anticipation. 

“Ladybug was a child, a child who without hesitation protected us time and time again, up until her last moments. Her parents felt like it would disrespect everything he had done for us to not share her name. This girl was none other than our very own, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” 

Marinette…Dupain-Cheng.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

MARINETTE DUPAIN-CHENG!

Rose missed probably the rest of the announcement but the ending…the ending had her snapping back to focus so fast that if mental whiplash was a thing, she knew she would have it. 

“..And it seems like Gabriel had more help than previously thought. One guaranteed individual we know of is a minor so we will not be giving her name. With that being said, if anyone has any information of the whereabouts of Giada Rossi and her daughter, please contact us. Thank you.”

Rose was…everything at once yet numb somehow. She didn’t know how to react or if she even should react. But it seemed like someone did as she heard angry footsteps approaching their group, they were purposeful so there was no mistaking where they were heading. Rose turned to see who it was, partially hoping it was Lila to tell them it was a misunderstanding and she had an explanation that would somehow magically fix everything, but no, it was Ondine. Ondine and Mireille and Aurore and what looked to be all of Mendeleiev’s class plus a couple others from other classes. Rose distantly watched as Kim scrambled to get up and run towards Ondine with a teary smile on his face but something was wrong. Wrong, wrong , wrong. 

The resounding slap that came next confirmed her thoughts and with the way it snapped her out of said thoughts, you would think she had been the one who had been slapped. 

Everyone was still. All they could do was stand and stare at the sight of Kim’s cheek turning red from the harsh slap he had received from Ondine. Then it was like a dam burst and everyone started shouting at one another, some were even getting into the faces of those who had just arrived. It was awful and scary and Rose hated every second of it. Rose would bet things would have turned physical if it weren’t for Markov being present, it was well known he recorded whenever he felt like Max was in trouble. It had caused some issues with the school. Rose had never been more grateful for Markov’s presence than that moment as it provided a distraction for Rose to grab Juleka’s hand and run away. It was cowardly perhaps, maybe she should have stayed and defended Kim. Maybe she should have been a silent support for those trying to get answers from an angry Ondine and the rest of those who arrived with her. Maybe she should have asked why they were mad. 

There were so many ‘maybes’ that it was overwhelming and that was a big part of why she ran. Rose simply was overwhelmed and her brain felt fried with all the information they heard from the conference and the events that followed. She needed a safe space to digest it all and calm down. Luckily for her, the Liberty was parked close by and it was somewhere she wholeheartedly considered a safe space, plus she thought it would help Juleka, who’s rapid heartbeat she could feel beneath her fingers wrapped around the goth girl’s wrist. She only stopped her run once they were aboard and then she was finally able to stop and breathe. She had just caught her breath when she heard footsteps and noticed Luka making his way towards them. 

She sighed in relief at the sight of him, knowing he could provide comfort to Juleka and herself. She smiled at him but that smile quickly fell once she saw the look on his face. Luka was a chill guy through and through so it was pretty rare to see him mad. The boy marched towards them with purpose and it startled Rose so much that she instinctively took a step back. Then the yelling started and Rose couldn’t handle everything anymore. She felt bad for just letting Luka yell at Juleka but she could feel herself zoning out as she tended to do when she heard fighting. 

It was an old coping mechanism of hers.

At first the yelling was all she heard, then it dulled to an unpleasant buzzing. 

She hated the buzzing.

But she hated the sound of yelling and fighting more.

Her last coherent thought before she drifted too far was, ‘ Why was this happening? ’

Next Chapter

[gumjester]

SO THIS IS THE GRIPE WITH EPIC WINTER

I HAVE RESISTED IT! I HAVE RESISTED MY OWN RAGE! I HAVE SEEN PEOPLE TALK SALT ABOUT EPIC WINTER AND I AGREE WITH THEIR POINTS AND I DO NOT WISH 2 ADD NEEDLESSLY 2 THE DELUGE.

HOWEVER.

there is one thing!!!! i have not seen people discuss and it is the thing that pisses me off the most. i am NOTHING if not a keeper of Lore!!!! so here this is: my manifesto.

i feel like i am not making a bold claim when i say that in order for the moral and story of ever after high to function appropriately, destiny must not have any intrinsic, immovable influence over anyone's life. you can choose to follow your written destiny, of course! you can also choose not to follow your written destiny. i feel as if this is very much baby's first observation about ever after high. destiny is simply the societal expectation placed upon people to uphold the existing system, and if you do not follow it, you do not disappear forever in a wormhole. destiny is not the decider of your fate; you are. this is dare i say! the point of the show!

epic winter!!!!!! destroys this idea entirely!!!!! actually, you could make the case that dragon games does as well! but more on that in a second!

epic winter looks at daring, a boy living his life after the storybook of legends - the artefact that supposedly is the one thing that binds a person to their destiny - has been destroyed without him ever laying a finger on it, let alone signing it, and decides that today, he will fulfil his destiny! the one he wasnt even aware he fucking had, lending him absolutely no agency in this matter!! ...!!!?!?

SO RIDDLE ME THIS!!!! WHAT'S THE POINT THEN!!!!! what is the point of ANYTHING raven or the rebellion has done or anything they believe about writing your own story if destiny is, in truth, very concious and intentional and likes fate very much actually and will funnel ur sorry little ass into a story regardless? the workings of destiny were apparently not contained in the book, so raven's actions on legacy day meant nothing and seemingly did all her actions thereafter, just sweating herself 2 death in her little exercise in futility because you have no control actually :) fate exists and it can make you the evil queen whenever it wants! or the swan princess! or little miss muffet! just because destiny might not manifest in the way you expect does not mean that it is any less worth fighting against, and i find the idea that destiny is suddenly perfectly acceptable in this instance because daring ending up actually liking rosabella, objectionable, to say the LEAST.

and while we're here, a note on dragon games! i think it can be somewhat excused from this philosophical tangle because the whole instance of apple fulfilling HER initial destiny (getting poisoned by the apple) was completely intentional on faybelle and the evil queens part. they capitalised on her existing nature and pushed destiny upon her. as for the kiss well!!! that's what i consider the tip of the iceberg before epic winter plunges fully into the ice-cold depths of this arctic shitstorm. daring is not subject to the same circumstances as apple. the snow king has no idea who he is when he curses him, and rosabella does not know he will be the beast either when she first starts speaking to him!! its all so terribly, hauntingly organic. everyone is a pawn, orchestrated entirely by fate, and the original moral core of the show lies blugeoned in some dark corner, reduced to ruins by the all-consuming inevitability of destiny.

god . i hate epic winter`

[sno4wy]

Did you seriously drop that much money to try to make your awful ship more valid? Guess what? You didn't, hope you enjoyed wasting a ton of money. It doesn't matter how much money you pay, you and your lame friends will always be the only ones who prefer your fugly builder with Miguel. Just give it up and go jump off a bridge already.

Hey Anon, based on the three messages you sent me today, it seems that my sharing of my commission from Momodeary in the official Pathea Discord server really upset you. Your rage felt really familiar to me, and I thought about this a lot about why. I'm going to hazard a guess that you're lashing out at me more than usual because of the price aspect, especially for something that seems so frivolous. I get it -- I grew up in abject poverty, and I harbored a lot of rage about it both directly and indirectly for many years. It really sucks not having the money to do what you need, or even what you want, and it can feel like having salt rubbed into the wound when someone else shows off some pricey non-necessity that they got. Everyone deserves to get what brings them joy, as long as it isn't something that causes harm to others, and it sucks that capitalism/corporations/societal structure/etc make most people unable to attain that. I sincerely hope that things improve for you.

I'm fortunate now to do well enough for myself that I can afford a pricey commission like the one that I shared. I got the commission because I like Momodeary's art style, it's not a style that I see myself personally doing, and I'm making it up to myself now for all the things that I couldn't do in the past. I wouldn't be so presumptuous as to say it was to support the artist, as she has tons of clients and certainly didn't need my money, I'm really lucky to have been able to get a slot with her. If you have the means to do so and want to, I really suggest contacting her directly -- the worst thing she can say is no, but more likely is that she'll put you on an (admittedly long) waitlist. The point is, if you're upset about not being able to get a commission from her, don't write it off until you try. Worse comes to worst, she can't fit you in, but there are tons of skilled artists out there with similar styles that you can commission instead. It's ok though if you have your heart set on Momodeary, most artists are very accommodating as long as the client is understanding and willing to wait.

If your anger has to do with not being able to afford a commission from Momodeary, I'm really sorry about that. There are some ways that I can help, if not directly to get you a commission, but perhaps means to address the funds shortage issue. I managed to claw my way out of poverty, and in the process picked up more than a few ideas and tricks, however at the end of the day, there is no magical get rich quick scheme, and everything that you hear about how to find a job is sadly mostly true. For instance, a good resumé is an integral part to finding a job, and a big part of what makes a resumé good is proper formatting. Having gone from someone who sent out hundreds of resumés to someone who's had to review hundreds of resumés, I can tell you that so much of the time, it's a lot less about the contents of the resumé and more about its appearance. Countless qualified, heck, overqualified, people get turned down for positions because their resumés don't even get looked at. I'm happy to look over a resumé if you'd like, and of course I'd understand if you need to anonymize most of it before showing me. Please note that it is sadly the case that having a good resumé, or in many cases, all the correct qualifications, don't necessarily guarantee you a job. Connections are at least, if not more, important, so don't be shy about asking for help from friends and family in this aspect.

Finding and securing a job can be a long-term project though, so picking up some side hustles might be a good way to generate some income, especially as you can keep these side hustles after finding a job. A lot of people have even done so well with their side hustles that they were able to make them into their careers. I'm happy to make suggestions, but I'm afraid that my knowledge is chiefly confined to the US and my ideas may not be applicable or workable in other countries. I have found however that a fairly universal way to generate some income via a side hustle is through selling crocheted items. Crochet is very quick and easy to learn and master, and yarn is very cheap, especially if you get store brands like Joann's Big Twist. Red Heart Super Saver is also very cheap yarn that comes in a ton of colors. There are countless free patterns on the internet, and ones that aren't free tend to be pretty cheap, generally within the $5 range. It is totally legal to sell the stuff you make from purchased patterns; some patterns even explicitly state that this is the case. The best part about crochet is that you can do it while doing other stuff, like commuting to your job, watching a show, listening to music, etc. It's totally possible to churn out a ton of crochet animals (amigurumi) in one day. Dipping into fandom stuff by making characters from a certain franchise is a great way to sell crochet products. Another really cool thing is that there doesn't currently exist a way for crocheted items to be mass produced; while there are items that look crocheted, they're actually sewn together pieces and not true crochet. Machines can't currently make crocheted items. Buyers looking for real crochet products want something that only a human can make.

Online marketing tools are also pretty solid. Etsy is the way to go for handmade crafts, although they do take a pretty hefty fee (15%). You can try to cut down on that fee by listing on your own social media, in which case you'd still have to pay a 3-5% handling fee for payment processors, and it can be a pain trying to beat social media algorithms. If you're handy with TikTok, that's a great way to boost awareness of your brand, and you can use those same videos as Reels on Instagram and Facebook to get your accounts noticed faster.

If you're an artist, you could of course always try to go the commissions route, but I've found that this is a much harder uphill battle than trying to break into the scene marketing crochet goods. If you do decide to give crochet a shot, I really recommend investing in a quality hook -- Clover Armour is many crocheters' go-to. They are pricy, around $9 for a hook, but they last forever and they're super comfortable to use. You only need one to start -- I recommend the size G (4.0 mm) one, as that goes with the most common yarn weight for a lot of amigurumi. Big Twist and Red Heart Super Saver are also both Worsted weight yarn, for which you use a G hook. If this is something you really want to do but are really tight on funds, I'm happy to get one of those hooks for you, just tell me how to get it to you.

I have a lot of other ideas for possible side gigs, which all will require a lot of work, but will return income. However, I'd just be spitballing, so hit me up if you want to talk shop. You know where to find me. ;P

[everlastiingiimmortals]

What would push Jing Yuan over the edge and result in him succumbing to mara?

(I'm sorry Willow I've been thinking about jy angst today ashdkgfk)

Unprompted. Always accepting!

HI RENNI!!! THANK YOU FOR THIS QUESTION I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT NONSTOP

So, obviously this is within the context of my main verse, because Jing Yuan's existing Marastruck!AU is. well. an AU. And this is going to sound absolutely awful, but not even Yanqing dying would send him spiraling.

That is, unless he saw Yanqing brutally murdered with no chance to defend himself. The same goes with Dan Heng, too.

The thing about Jing Yuan is that he is both very accustomed to death and has a very intimate understanding of the costs of the Alliance's war, as well as his own position. Jing Yuan has seen all manner of horrors and atrocities; he grieves, yes, but death is not something that fazes him. Death on the battlefield, though it is a tragedy, is also an honor. A senseless and brutal murder is horrific and cruel. If that were to happen to his loved ones and he couldn't stop it? Yeah. I think that'd tip the scales enough for him to start spiraling. It'd specifically be the cruelty and unjustness of it, which is another factor in why I think Jing Yuan was so upset to see Jingliu, knowing what she'd done to Yingxing's husk before the immortal body became Blade.

Another thing that could send him over the edge would be pushing far beyond his physical limit, more than he did with Phantylia; it happened with Jingliu, it happened with Blade. He would sacrifice his sanity for the sake of the Luofu if he really had to.

I'm gonna take this opportunity now to say that I actually... hesitate to say that Jing Yuan is capable of becoming mara struck, actually. Or rather, I worry that he has done something to prevent or considerably delay its onset. There are multiple instances of this being foreshadowed, from Phantylia asking how long he can last, to Blade's comment about him "knowing the price better than any of us" (to be taken with a grain of salt because he's a very very unreliable narrator), to Bailu's character story noting that Jing Yuan is in top shape and has not had any indication of mara setting in, to other characters straight up implying that Jing Yuan should be mara-struck by now. Jing Yuan is also frequently associated or depicted with symbols of mara and the Arbor: the strange little yellow bird spirits shaped like ginkgo leaves around the Arbor (in his White Day art), and ginkgo leaves themselves especially in his trailer.

Jing Yuan has a lot of secrets and it's evident that there is a lot we still don't know about him. Honestly, we know practically nothing. I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out that he, too, had done something to try to prevent/delay the onset of mara, but it's not a theory I'm going to be expanding much on or establishing here just due to the sheer lack of information at my disposal.

@acr3ss-the-cosmos

[cleanwhiteroom-archived]

Hi, mate! Thanks to this account I now know that Cwr and Elementals had new works (if I can say that about September 2022). I read DCWT and I exploded in the street a few minutes ago after reading one of ur post about new texts. Can you help me to know in what order I need to read all the new stuff and where I can read/listen them? Is only Pacific Rim related or there is some other fandom and/or new original world?

@umbra-life HI SORRY hello! Yes! Welcome! I do need to update my pinned post one of these days - today is sadly not that day because it is 1am but rest assured I will be fixing it soon!

If you kept up with CWR’s work in Pacific Rim prior to 2015 or so, then you probably read Designations Congruent With Things, Out of Many Scattered Things, and the one shots such as Like The Twist of a Plot. If you’re looking for new CWR shenanigans in the Pacific Rim Universe since 2020 or so, the big New Addition is called Aftermath and it is gorgeous 🥹 You can download/read Aftermath on CWR’s blog here! If you want to reread everything in the Designations universe, I’d probably suggest just going in release order: DCWT, OOMST, Aftermath, and then the one-shots. The first three are all on CWR’s site for download, and I have a doc of the one-shots I saved in The Before Times here. As for audio- Elementals released a recording for DCWT Ch 20 and Ch21! No official word on whether we’ll get the rest, but their website does say audio for Aftermath is coming so fingies and toes are crossed 😇

The OTHER new stuff CWR has been/is currently releasing is all in the Stargate universe - before writing in Pacific Rim, CWR originally started a triptych of Stargate fics: Force Over Distance (complete), Mathèmatique (WiP) and Ad Noctum (WiP). In the last few years, CWR has begun to rewrite FoD, and rework/add on to Maths and AdNo. 🥹 Likewise, Elementals has also been releasing new audio for these updated/new chapters, available on their website - AND the newest update this weekend is Elementals is maybe now allowing us access to in-progress audio 😱 go look at their site for details. It’s ridic.

Figuring out the order to read the Triptych is both straightforward and complicated - you should read FoD first, and then can read Maths and AdNo in any order after that… but should someone reading FoD for the first time start with the original complete FoD first and then the new WiP version of FoD for instance? Or just jump straight to the new versions? I wish I knew for certain pal - my gut though says start with the new versions on CWR’s website and if you’re fascinated and want to take the time to compare to the OGs then I have copies of them in my google drive for your perusal! That’s just me though - Anyone else out there have an opinion on whether newcomers to CWR’s Stargate triptych should read the originals first or start afresh?

Tangentially related to the DCWT side of the ask……… This ask actually sent me down a bit of a rabbit hole. And that rabbit hole is ‘what order do all the chapters of CWR’s Pacific Rim tale ACTUALLY take place in?’ And while part of me worries that reading them in chronological order would fundamentally mess with CWR’s intent (why do I get fractal vibes from stories within stories, drilling down and expanding on smaller and smaller sections? I could be reading into things…) I couldn’t help myself. And turns out untangling their order is mostly sort-of possible so I maybe put that list together below for anyone brave enough to attempt it lmao. Take the order with a grain of salt as some of these like The Twist of a Plot could maybe take place later or sooner than I’ve put them but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I’m running this post so what can ya do ya know?

CWR’s Pacific Rim media in Chronological Order, for funsies and for insomnia:

Epistolary Empiricism & Science Charm (OOMST) - In Medias Res (One Shots) - Aftermath 2015 Ch5 & Ch11 - Kingmaker & Lady Stardust (OOMST) - first 1/4 of The Blue Guitar (OOMST) - Aftermath 2015 Ch21, Ch26, Ch31, Aftermath 2017 Ch4, Ch10, Ch17, Ch34, Ch40, Ch46 - the rest of The Blue Guitar & The Crystal Lake (OOMST) - Aftermath 2020 Ch8, Ch12, Ch19, Ch24, Ch29 - Geneva 2020 (OOMST) - Aftermath 2020 Ch33, Ch43 - Failing the Solo Trial & Things Exactly As They Are (OOMST).

(Pacific Rim Film)

DCWT Ch1-9 - Aftermath 2025 Ch2, DCWT Ch10, Read Receipt (One shots) - Aftermath 2025 Ch15, DCWT Ch11-22, Under Pressure(One Shots), DCWT Ch23, Double De-Clutch (One shots) - DCWT Ch 24 - Ch28, Aftermath 2025 Ch25 & Ch48, Like the Twist of a Plot (One Shots), Aftermath 2027 Ch23, Ch27, Ch30, Ch35, Ch38, Ch42, Ch45, Aftermath 2028 Ch3, CH7, Ch16, Ch22, Ch37, Ch41, Ch49, Aftermath 2030 Ch1, Ch6, Ch9, Ch14, Ch2, Ch28, Ch32, Ch39, Ch44, Aftermath 2035 Ch50

Will I ever take the time to read these in order? Only time will tell, but researching all day sure made it feel like I already did 🙃

[ramblrthebloghog]

Total Eclipse ‘Review’

Just like with Shadow Fall, I will be going through Reboot Archie’s ‘Total Eclipse’ arc to see if Ian is in the right regarding Shadow or if maybe he just isn’t great with him. While I’m primarily looking at Shadow, I’ll also be looking at other things that stood out that I found incompatible with game lore or with game characterizations. Not posting a page means I didn’t really find something worth bringing up or praising. I did read through The Great Chaos Caper since that arc comes between Shadow Fall and this one, and I can safely say it was pretty good aside from the quirks of handling Tikal and Chaos, and having to sit through Ian’s Deadpool Bean. But I’m not really interested in talking about that one critically.

I addressed Team Brand and GUN last time, but in short, my stance is that there’s no problem with them working for GUN as a team here, but it’s also not bad or wrong for Sega to reject it today. Shadow is off to a good start. Omega isn’t. I can see and understand the easy comedy, but like, scroll for a minute through something like Colors DS’ script. Omega does nothing there but speak factually in his robotic way, yet the situations and scenarios are still funny, like Orbot and Cubot panicking. The comedy is placed on them in that instance. Him muttering the way he does in this page could be argued as humanizing, but it’s anti-Omega in my book. What’s interesting is that a comedic panel later with Fixit describing his function achieved this pretty well. As I’ve gone through Shadow Fall and now this story, I realize I probably should’ve gone back and added from the start that this was going to be a criticism of Ian’s Omega as well. Sorry if this gets redundant. As for Snively… I don’t particularly care for Reboot Snively, because Preboot Snively was more interesting, and I know that Reboot Snively had to be different from previous incarnations, so it would be kinda silly to judge him for “not matching up to SatAM Snively” or something. So I guess we can mostly ignore him unless it’s in regards to another character that matters. 

Which comes up in the page after as he tries to order Shadow around. I appreciate Shadow’s response both to Snively and to the implication of needing Knuckles’ cooperation. Rouge is done pretty good. I can appreciate the meta humor of Omega destroying the Barrel of Doom, or the cool factor of seeing Shadow’s legs spin like Sonic’s running or Shadow zooming across water. The next few pages are all pretty good so far, actually. Knuckles is done well. Relic is one of my favorite Archie OCs, she’s a cute and lowkey addition and gives Knux someone to bounce off of.

The Omega and Fixit panels I was referring to earlier. This is good comedic Omega.

This page could go either way. Shadow would usually not have anyone sway him in his goal (as seen earlier in this very issue), but Rouge IS one of the few people who can wrangle him, I suppose. Even IDW works off of this logic during Chao Races and Badnik Bases. So it’s not bad per say, but walking a fine line on interpretation. Eclipse is also great in the next few pages. I enjoy how much he cares about the Dark Arms, and I chuckle at him calling Rouge and Omega “Shadow’s minions.” Great little imp. He once again is able to play some mind games on Shadow, but it’s excusable as part of his anti-Shadow repertoire, I suppose. 

Onto Issue 2, and there it is. The page starts off strong with a heartfelt plea from Eclipse, and then just goes down the drain as Shadow recites yet again that his reason for fighting is Gerald and Maria. That extra reference box down there really throws salt in the wound by adding “Shadow the Hedgehog”. Adding it in there is almost thoughtless, like either the writer/editor did not understand Shad05’s ending if they knew of it, or simply didn’t care because their perception of Shadow is strictly “Maria”.

Rouge and Knuckles begin to have a conversation about Knuckles’ being shackled to Angel Island and the Master Emerald, a hot topic amongst the fandom for years that persists even today. In our present 2023, Sonic Frontiers has come out, and the English script pushes the notion that Knuckles will be more open to taking breaks from his duty (the Japanese script doesn’t align with it, but that’s irrelevant to my larger point). This itself is in-line with the idea that Knuckles is envious of Sonic’s free adventurous lifestyle despite his commitment to his duty.

I’ve always considered Ian someone that understands Knuckles and does him well. And I’m not expecting this 2014 comic to be in line with the ideas from a game that came out 8 years later. But the arc right before this one referenced that Knuckles is a treasure hunter, although rather jokingly. Knuckles does want more for himself, but he answers to a higher calling. And this page isn’t treated as him coping, either. He’s portrayed as content. And don’t get me wrong, Knuckles doesn’t dislike his job or staying on his island. But to say he doesn’t want more is wrong.

I like Monster Form and all, but it’s just dumb to have Shadow try to use Chaos Control when he knows he can’t in Eclipse’s presence. And then they go out of their way to have Eclipse explain that “it wasn’t the new Black Comet”, but that was literally not in question.

This page from the second issue of Shadow Fall shows us everything we need to know. Shadow is made aware that it’s Eclipse’s doing and asks how, and Eclipse gives him an explanation. If this was about portraying this power to a potentially unfamiliar audience, which I doubt it was but whatever, then you could’ve simply had either one of them say a line about Shadow not being able to rely on his Chaos abilities when fighting Eclipse as he usually would, as opposed to him trying, failing, and getting punished for it. To be clear, I’m not mad about the optics of Shadow jobbing to Eclipse. I’m mad that this is the manner they chose to execute it, where Shadow is stupid instead of just overpowered, which I would’ve had no problem with because I liked their clash in Shadow Fall.

This page is mixed. On the one hand, the Master Emerald isn’t for just anyone to use. It’s not just a giant Chaos Emerald, contrary to popular belief. That’s why Sonic can’t actually go Super off of it. Sonic can’t use the Master Emerald, and Knuckles can’t use the Chaos Emeralds. That being said, this *kinda* feels like it’s in the realm of possibility, since it’s using Chaos Control. And there’s no denying the pure cool factor. So I wouldn’t be opposed to giving this idea another shot with modern, hands-on Sega. Though, Shadow’s Chaos Blast doesn’t line up with what it’s actually supposed to be like, but I guess we can say they were working off Chronicles or something and didn’t know better. This also establishes that Eclipse’s block can be overpowered if Shadow has a big source like that, which is neat confirmation to have.

Onto Issue 3. I don’t love the cocktease of this cover, because Eclipse doesn’t end up using the Master Emerald. I know it’s comic’s industry, but still, that would’ve been cool to see.

Shadow decides the Master Emerald needs to be moved. I enjoy that callous pragmatism from him and it’ll of course lead us to Shadow vs. Knuckles. I also enjoy that Shadow initially tries not to waste time fighting before he’s forced back into it. Beyond the earlier speed bumps, Shadow and Knuckles have mostly been pretty good. And Rouge as well, seen now.

Rouge has been great the whole time. And she’s not bad in IDW either, so it’s funny how that works out. Omega on the other hand… yeah. And while Knuckles and Shadow’s fight is nothing short of awesome, with Knuckles’ determination, sensing Shadow’s Chaos Snaps, and setting him off with a Sonic comment, Omega continues to be… yeah.

First Monster Form, now Dark Arms, and that’s on top of Chaos Control and anti-Shadow power. Eclipse is stacked and I’m here for it.

Anyway, Omega here is powered by a Chaos Drive. In the games, his power source isn’t revealed, which is pretty common for character robots like Metal Sonic or Gemerl. I would’ve preferred they kept it vague and just had Eclipse tear him up, because either way, Fixit was going to fix him. Omega debuted in Heroes, so having a Power Core might not have been out of place, but I assume he was given a Chaos Drive to match GUN’s other robots, which are all powered by Chaos Drives.

Onto Issue 4. This page is an ambitious one. Knuckles delves into his purpose, and Shadow says he can find a new one. And it’s ironic because Shadow isn’t consciously written like that in this take on Sonic. He’s written like his purpose is still Muhria’s wish and keeping her promise, as seen in this very arc, which means that this otherwise decent effort comes out hollow.

I think it’s safe to say this is just inaccurate fanfic, though I’m sure this was part of some bigger plan or something.

There was no need to use Tikal’s Prayer here. I get it was just trying to be cool or focus his energy or whatever but when Knuckles punched the Master Emerald in SA2, it didn’t need all that. I see the appeal of Shadow questioning if it was Chaos Control, but it’s ultimately kinda forced. That being said, the statement and apology he tells the Emerald itself is sweet.

A minor nitpick, but it’s annoying to see them reference ‘Sonic 3&K - the game’ as if Snively was a part of it. I get he was part of that adventure in this verse, but it’s just kinda disingenuous and tacked on. Otherwise, I’m glad Rouge comforted Knuckles here. 

Last thing I wanted to say, but I think the decision to shatter the Master Emerald was incredibly smart on Ian’s part. Nowadays he complains on the podcast about “getting him off the island” (because Knuckles palling around with Sonic is just top priority for his character and the story), but this was an excellent compromise that allowed him to travel and adventure around while maintaining his duty and purpose. A lot of times, when people say that Knuckles should ditch the Master Emerald and Angel Island, or he should just get someone to watch it for him, it makes me feel that these supposed fans don’t truly value Knuckles and just want him as a toy in the box. If that’s the case, so be it, but don’t pretend it’s a matter of critical discussion at that rate.

In regards to Shadow, this arc was slightly a step up, but as a whole, I think I enjoyed it a lot more and it overall had less “problems”, or at least, what I considered to be problems as listed here. I guess that’s obvious from the difference in lengths between this review and Shadow Fall’s.

[forever70301]

[I.M] 210228 InterFM897 TOKI CHIC RADIO

Take all translations with a pinch of salt as there may be inaccuracies! Translated based on the translator's Japanese translation.

They had an interview with #IM online. He was in the company's meeting room. Seoul was very cold that day. Toki Asako (the DJ) is a monbebe.

She was about to explain what does 'monbebe' means when IM answered it for her XD

Toki: Your Japanese pronunciation is really good IM: No… my Japanese is still not good, I'm sorry. Toki: No no. Was it difficult to sing in Japanese? IM: The pronunciation isn't difficult but to pronounce 'tsu' is difficult.

Toki: Is there anywhere you want to go and what you want to do when you come to Japan? IM: There's really a lot but first I want to have a concert, just walking around and going in restaurants that look delicious to eat. I really liked drinking beer after I finish work.

He also talks about how he thinks music can make people feel closer, even if they are far apart and people he doesn't know but through music, everyone can be close..

On the reason for naming the album 'DUALITY': the common thing between all 5 songs was duality so he decided on the word duality.

And he's like, one side is MONSTA X I.M, one side is solo artist I.M. It's all him.

The album production took about 1.5 years to 2 years.

There was a corner where they called it asking your bias questions where the DJ asks I.M questions.

DJ: Do you have a bias in MONSTA X? I.M: It changes from time to time so to be honest, I don't know DJ: What about today, in this instance? XD IM: Kihyun. Today my bias is Kihyun

DJ: Did you guys talked and something good happened? IM: It's because Kihyun is kind/gentle.

DJ: Please tell us if you have any recommended books IM: Tbh, I don't read books these days. DJ: What about movies? IM: Eternal Sunshine.

Apparently 'Happy to Die' was inspired by this.

IM: So if you want to understand the song on a deeper level, please watch the movie

DJ: Please tell us if you have any mindset that supports you on a daily basis IM: Live like flowing water DJ: What does that mean?

IM: Even if you live only doing what you love, time is still not enough so isn't it better to live being more truthful to yourself? DJ: That's so true.

DJ: Is there any message for Monbebes? IM: Words cannot express how much I really really miss you. I want to have a concert. I want to hear your voice. Please just wait a little bit more until the day we can meet while listening to this album.

I.M ended the interview saying, 'be careful not to catch a cold, see you.'

[bruxbea]

@ndostairlyrium tagged me once upon a time but I keep deleting the result because it feels more like Dragon Age than not...which is probably fine tbh: Snippets from Lark under the cut:

“Wouldn’t it be funny if we managed to scale all this just to find there’s actually a path up the opposite direction…? That can only happen to us so many times right?” "And if you had just loaned me your doublet, captain portal wizard wouldn't have slapped my boob by way of introduction. MANY things about today could have gone differently yet here we are~"

“I assume like most cases this can be solved with a combination of enthusiastic wiggling and just a dash of creative vaulting~“

“Not sure if it means anything but I’ve actually been sleeping *better* since being kidnapped by a space mollusk and being held at knifepoint by said Vampire so-“

“Wyll even with horns you’re still the most air-quotes “in the box” one of this group, just breathe and be glad you’re not climbing trees as a lemur. Sorry “Lemure”….wait, I think I’ve misunderstood something-”

“Sure, I may be a Druid but this entire lot can bite me running…” “If experience has taught me anything in life, it’s how to recognize when and where one should be polite. Auntie Ethel positively screams “behave in this house or I will kill you” so let’s just go with it for now. I’m also almost positive she’s a bog witch at minimum so take that with grain of salt…or a brick if you’re brave-”

“...I woke up one morning to discover what I thought to be a snake nailed unceremoniously to the door of the room across from me… The fear that crept up my spine was quickly overtaken by pain as I realized it was in fact the remnants of a tiefling’s tail- my tail…cruelly and brutally severed near the base to be affixed to the door by a sharp bit of metal jammed through its spade…any love I held for the Gate died that day, as well as my ability to sleep fitfully if alone…

“ He may be a little…catty…but I know all too well what it’s like to go multiple days at a time without eating. No one should have to suffer through that, regardless of origin. If it helps him stave off starvation then I see no problem. Even arseholes need to eat. Wait-“

“Harhar indeed, there’s what, seven of you lot all together but NOT ONE of you thought to mention ‘Lark darling, dearest wellness dealer and usually not combative songstress who keeps us all alive and fit, you’re currently only equipped with a stick of cured meats and doing Jack all in terms of damage, maybe back off a bit-“ I mean really! “Shadow Cursed Lands or no, it’s been a few days since we supped together and I don’t want Stari to have to bite through grime or whatever other “Thisobaldian horrors” might have accrued on my person since the last time I bathed-“ “I find it the very definition of rude that we take one afternoon to ourselves to become reaccustomed to city life, maybe enjoy the circus…see the ocean…only to wind up tits deep in raptors and disembodied clown bits…and they weren’t even the sexy kind…”

“Please let them have hot water, clean towels…and cake…I don’t know if I’ve ever had a cake that wasn’t second hand come to think of it…”

“Can we just…take a moment to appreciate how absolutely abysmal the chances of that working in our favor actually were…? Are we to say a prayer, possibly leave a coin…? Maybe we offer them Gale’s underthings, I’m not entirely sure what we should do in this instance truth be told-”

“To be perfectly honest? Not to give everything away Orin, but holding an innocent child at knife point is comparatively tame compared to some of the shet I’ve seen Lae’zel pull when threatened-”

“This outfit cost more coin than I possessed in the last two years combined…wearing it feels like I’m breaking the law somehow-”

[s1n1g4ng]

Discovered this hidden music treasure on the way to Manila as we descend from the cold mountain of Baguio. My cousin was playing this one and I was captivated by it. The past months had been a worship, but it was different from before. It was like I was trying so hard to making my voice heard and known. Making it beautiful, instead of just focusing on my worship to God.

This is a hidden music treasure, most likely a GEN Z wannabe like me who has heard much "mainstream" Christian music didn't notice the ongoing pending "worldly" culture in His Body arising.

As one of bro in Christ who is also a worship leader posted, I feel that he is trying to teach or tell the world that there is so much more to worshiping God through songs and music. For instance, the very basic of worship and prayer: REALIZING OUR NEED FOR GOD. It's taking a step out of a humble heart.

I look back to what it, WORSHIP AND PRAISE, means. TO WORSHIP is to revere as holy and mighty. I'm sorry, but I just felt that running through dictionary is just too cliche. Praise is adoration. It's lifting up JESUS as mighty.

Where do we start our worship and praise, asides from a humble heart?

Our acknowledgement of who Jesus Christ is in our lives. He is not just our Savior. He is LORD. The LORD OF ALL. Yes, my GOD could glorify Himself, without Him lifting up a finger on me to do it. He could use anyone or anything.

If HE could use a donkey to proclaim, to bring HIS MESSAGE, how much more us?

Let us remember that before going back to our Abba Father, Jesus met 5,000+ people and told His disciples the Great Commission:

Matthew 28:19-20

"Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

What's the difference from the music that I was listening to today is that I know that my Abba Father just wanted me to receive His Son, JESUS --

to listen and obey,

to rest and be refreshed and healed,

to be reminded and comforted,

to be secured, cherished and protected,

to be unburdened, carried, and lifted,

to be provided and sustained,

to be broken and strengthened, build up and mended,

to be inspired, guided and enlightened,

to be salted and empowered,

to be treasured and assured,

to be intimate again with HIM.

To BE LOVED.

I am refreshed and renewed,

Hidden in His Great LOVE that I cannot contain.

HE is keeping it flowing...

Washing us clean once again.

Starting anew in us once more.

I love you, Jesus.

Praise You!

Thank You!

Who is Jesus for you?

[icharchivist]

Do we know what's on the schedule for tomorrow's Fes?

here from the schedule i put together yesterday, Japan Standard Time and Central European Time (for my own personal ease to figure out the hours). Sorry i can't convert it easily to any other timezone, already doing this math killed my brain

idk much about the Q&A, Stella Magna and Night Party should be two concerts, Official Cast Stage Show usually is the summary of the events of this year with the cosplay cast, and then the Seiyuu Show should be the Seiyuu game and the rest of the announcements.

at least it was the schedule Granblue_En posted a few months ago, so i don't know if things have been changed around since, and the Schedule yesterday didn't match the one i had written down (the schedule i had noted down didn't account for a seiyuu stage show nor mobage announcement for instance) so i take that with a grain of salt.

i'll TRY to wake up for the Seiyuu Show but if you don't see me liveblog it, know that i've failed and i'll catch up at my awakening later on, like i did today.

🫡 good luck on our last livestream streak

[space-ninja-fashion-show]

I like getting to feel competent in this game

I less like when that competency comes from "this is a sortie and all three ppl get to the Rescue Target Holding Area before me and then proceed to just sit around outside the cell block while the kill counter ticks down bc none of them are willing to actually go and hack shit i guess"

We got very lucky that the hostage was in the first cell i checked bc i would Not have had the time to go open up the second one

Generally, I don't mind saving ppl's asses. However i do mind when they just sit around doing nothing waiting for someone else to complete the mission for them. Bonus that one of them kept dying somehow

[inkykeiji]

break my heart in two, but when it heals it beats for you

character: zenin naoya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaaah this is my lil submission for the sewer’s soulmate syndrome collab (and my first collab ever waaah!!!) it’s a curseless soulmate AU with the tiniest hint of the zenin’s being a prominent crime family. please please heed the warnings!! | title credit: back to you by selena gomez

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, incest (reader and naoya are half siblings), mentioned death of a family member (mother), naoya being his misogynistic self, excessive use of the word ‘Daddy’ to refer to their biological father, one (1) instance of physical abuse, size kink/size difference, mentioned relationship between a university student (reader) and their TA, infidelity, one (1) mention of Daddy being yakuza, age difference, spanking done by reader’s biological father, toxic relationships, minimal prep, rough sex, a hint of degradation

words: 9.5k

synopsis:

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the very moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

It’s a few days after his twenty-ninth birthday, the night you appear—unannounced, uninvited, and an absolute fucking mess—falling into his father’s arms the moment he opens the door, fingers curling in the material of his cashmere button up and tugging as powerful sobs rip through your entire body, violent tremors following.

It’s fucking disgusting, the way his father reacts. Naoya watches the entire thing unfold from the shadows of the living room, nose wrinkled in distaste, features twisted in aversion and saturated in abhorrence.

Because his father lets you cling to him like a child—a grown woman, gripping a seventy-one year old man like a sniveling little girl—as he manages to scoop you up into his arms, collapsing onto his favourite armchair with you in his lap, hushing you gently as he rocks you back and forth, large hands stroking your shuddering back as you nuzzle your puffy, snot-stained face into his chest, wailing out Daddy!

It’s the first time Naoya’s ever seen his father behave in such a way, revolt churning his stomach as he observes the quite frankly unfamiliar man in front of him. It makes him fucking sick to watch, acidic bile rising in his throat until it stings the back of his tongue, face souring as he swallows it back down.

And you can’t even manage to force words through your stuttering breathing and hiccupped little sobs, unable to explain the situation at all without being overwhelmed by another fresh wave of tears, crashing over your body as you fall back into the sanctuary of his father’s arms, face buried in his neck, now soiled with spit and salt water.

“Naoya,” his father calls, voice curt and stern and demanding, snapping Naoya’s gaze to his own in an instant. “A glass of water, please?”

Naoya scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck do I look like to you? The help?”

And Naoya’s no stranger to the level gaze his father fixes him with, has seen that same look etched into his father’s face more times than he can count, eyebrows pinched and mouth pressed in a firm, fine line, chest rising as he inhales slowly, calmly, deeply, then exhales through flared nostrils.

“You look like a good big brother who’s on his way to get his baby sister some water,”

Ah, right, that’s who you are—the bastard, Daddy’s little mistake, an ugly, irreversible stain on their family’s prestigious name.

“That bitch is not my sister,” he grumbles as he stomps from the room and towards the kitchen to fetch you a drink, huffing under his breath about being treated like a fucking woman, yet obeying his father’s orders nonetheless.

It turns out, Naoya learns, that your mother has passed away, leaving his poor bastard of a baby sister all alone in the world, with nowhere to go—and you’ve come here to ask for shelter and food, just until you get on your feet.

It’s fucking pathetic, as far as Naoya’s concerned, shaking his head in condescending disbelief with a cruel snort. It’s almost difficult to believe that you, undoubtedly the family disgrace; you, with your dirty blood and the dishonour you haul around everywhere with you, have the balls to come crawling to his father begging for support. You’re an adult, for Christ’s sake, and you should act like one, should be out scouring the earth for some equally pathetic man to serve like you ought to, like you would have, if you knew your place. Maybe then, Naoya would have a shred of respect for you.

Maybe.  

“How selfish. Daddy already pays for your tuition, why should he provide you with housing, too? Are you really that incompetent? Can’t do a thing for yourself, huh?”

Your head whips around to face him, almost as if you’re startled by his presence, by his voice addressing you directly, a sharp gasp falling from your lips the moment your eyes meet.

It’s the first time you’ve actually looked at him since you’ve arrived, the first time your gaze has connected with his, eyes bloodshot and gleaming as crystal tears stream down your cheeks, excess water clinging to spidery lashes, clumped together in spikes.

God, you’re beautiful.

It kicks him right in the motherfucking chest, hard enough that he stumbles back a few feet into the stone fireplace, a hand gripping the mantle for stability while his body caves in on itself. A spear of agony sears through his body, slicing clean through all of his vital organs as you choke out an apology punctuated with an honorific, head shaking in jerky little motions as your tongue struggles to form words to explain yourself.

And he’s never felt anything like it in his entire life, skin feeling as though it’s been set ablaze from the inside, thick black smoke filling is lungs as he wheezes on an inhale, strangled by it.

“Naoya,” his father snaps, eyes wide and scorching. “Leave.”

Each step away from the living room feels heavier than the last, as if his blood’s been replaced by lead, by rapidly drying concrete, rendering him incapable of lifting his feet from the floor, dragging them against the tile until it’s fucking painful, calves and thighs tingling as if the blood flow’s been entirely obstructed, muscles quivering and exhausted.

“It’s okay,” he can hear his father’s faint voice soothing you, each of your sniffles feeling like a sharp little thorn straight to his heart, each of your tiny I’m sorry’s carving out a vacant, phantom wound in his chest. “Shh, it’s alright, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you,”

“Pathetic,” Naoya spits to the empty hallway, though the word wavers, catching a little in his throat, letters scraping the gummy walls as he forces them from his mouth, leaving scalding little blisters in its wake.

It’s then that Naoya decides he hates you; standing motionless in the dark  hallway, feet inexplicably bolted to the floor and chest burning with some unknown emotion, a fire that blazes and rages, flares and thrashes, with each of your hitched little apologies, his teeth clenched together so tightly he’s surprised they don’t crack.

But it’s only after your sobs have calmed, father having reduced them to soft sniffles and half-hiccups through tender words and sweet affirmations, only after Naoya knows that you’ll be staying here for the night—that you’ll be safe—that he regains control over his limbs, that he rips his cement-filled feet from the floor and trudges towards his bedroom, scalding inferno dulled to simmering coals and faint flickering cinders.

He doesn’t think about it—isn’t going to think about it, refuses to waste his time or energy on such absurdity, refuses to allow his father’s preposterous decisions and ridiculous sentiments soak up space in his consciousness.

And he absolutely refuses to think about is the way your sudden presence punched a sharp gasp from his chest, the way he suddenly feels incomplete, like something’s missing, now that you aren’t within arms-reach, the way that he lost control over his entire body for the first time in his fucking life, in that hallway, just a few moments ago.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

His father—your father—falls in love with you almost immediately; having only met you briefly a few times before this, despite sending your mother multiple cheques every month for over twenty years.

It’s truly deplorable, positively sickening to watch the way his eyes light up when you come skipping into the living room after your afternoon university classes, dropping a fat, almost obscene kiss to Daddy’s cheek before plopping down on his lap as you chatter on about your day—about what you learned in lecture today, about the essay you got back (top of your class, of course), about your cute TA with the white hair and crystal eyes who always seems to conjure a bashful expression the moment you mention his name.

Naoya watches the entire thing unfold day after day, a deep sneer etched into his face, jaw clenched so hard it begins to ache, light eyes glaring daggers in your direction.

Something akin to jealousy, a creature with glowing emerald eyes and gnashing teeth and razor claws that slash and tear at the pit of his belly, roars and rattles the ribs that keep it caged within his chest, gnawing on the bones every time his—your—father makes you giggle, your eyes sparkling with adoration as you gaze at him; every time lithe fingers brush hair back from your face or a large palm settles on the crown of you head, petting you gently; every time you nuzzle into his neck, curling up comfortably—perfectly—in Daddy’s big, strong arms that keep you protected from all of the bad, from all of the evils of this world, from him, the big brother that loathes you.

It’s unsettling, almost sad in a sense, seeing his father fall from grace, observing the way you decay his persona so quickly, eating away at it like corrosive acid, rotting him from the inside out; the way he morphs from one of the most powerful and feared Yakuza bosses into soft, sticky, sweet putty in your hands the moment you appear; the way your presence shatters his tough, hard exterior and renders him gentle and tender—gentler and tenderer than he’s ever behaved with Naoya or any of his older brothers.

He can’t fucking stand to watch it, despises every single thing about it, positively detests the inexplicable, uncontrollable sensations that thrash and thunder inside of him, an unusual mixture of envy and melancholy, of wrath and desire, combined to create something toxic, something hazardous, something uncontainable that erodes his senses and mind, leaking into his bloodstream and poisoning his thoughts.

Because his gaze stays glued to you the moment you enter a room, like he’s bewitched by you, cursed by you the way his father has become, unable to rip his eyes from your form until you exit.

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

And the worst part, the worst part is that he hasn’t a clue why. He doesn’t know why he feels the way he does, why you evoke such strong emotions—emotions he’s never felt before, emotions he doesn’t have a name for—or why, suddenly, everything feels wrong, off, whenever you’re not around.

It’s fucking annoying. Those tiny, raised bumps on the inside of his wrist—shaped in the form of a zodiac constellation, a mark everyone is born with, a mark that supposedly hints at your soulmate—burn and tingle as he meditates on these notions, blunt nails scratching viciously at his skin.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

Daddy grants you permission to stay at the estate for as long as you’d like, because of course he does, a victim to the spell you’ve cast. He even gives you your own room, helps you pick out furniture and takes you shopping for new clothes. You promise to do your share around the house—pinky swear—and, to Naoya’s immense dissatisfaction, you don’t disappoint.

No. Instead, you excel.

Those pretty little words weren’t empty promises—you begin cooking all of the meals, taking on the task to do the dishes entirely by yourself, tending to the house and the garden outside, even going as far to aid the help in their daily cleaning routines, until Daddy tells you it isn’t necessary.

And you manage to capture almost everyone’s hearts through your deeds and duties, through your kind and compassionate nature, through your being attentive and, for the most part, obedient—but most important of all, being family oriented.

You do the laundry when it needs to be done. You keep the house spotless and the kitchen sparkling. You learn everyone’s favourite dishes and then dedicate hours upon hours to perfecting them.

Naoya observes you throughout it all, sharp eyes following your movements, watching as you expertly tend to everyone’s needs, almost as if you know what they’ll require before they do.

You’d be perfect wife material, if you weren’t his sister—he catches the thought as it drifts through his mind—a sentiment that’s almost involuntary, unthinking in nature— and strangles it with his bare hands, stomps on it until it’s nothing but dust.

Because what’s more infuriating than anything else is that you are a good woman, a perfect woman, a woman who—for the most part—understands her place and duty in the household; or, at least, you did, before Daddy began spoiling you rotten.

It earns you the nickname princess from your favourite nii-san, hissed through gritted teeth with narrowed eyes and scrunched up noses, drenched in condescension and sprinkled with artificial icing sugar—a nickname Daddy irritatingly and affectionately adopts, extracting all of the patronization Naoya had imbued it with and stuffing it full of love.

You aren’t invincible, though, no matter how precious you are, how sweet your voice becomes when you bat your eyelashes and fix a pout on your lips, how much Daddy is barely able to deny you.

Because Daddy’s incessant spoiling does eventually bite him in the ass, just like Naoya knew it would.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

“But Daddy,” you whine, wearing your prettiest pout and cutest puppy-dog eyes, lethal weapons that are nearly foolproof, your most cherished expressions that grant you almost everything you want. “It’ll just be for a little, I promise! Just a drink or two!”

“I said no—”

“But everyone’s going! Even my professors will be there; I’m expected to show up!” Voice rising in pitch, your arms cross over your chest as eyebrows knit deeply and a lip juts out further, looking about two seconds away from stomping your foot.

Naoya would be amused, really, to see a grown woman acting like a petulant fucking child over some inconsequential party being thrown by the department, if he didn’t feel like his heart was ripping itself to pieces with your teary expression and soft half-sniffles, with the knowledge that, if you attend, you’ll be with him.

“You have an exam tomorrow,” Daddy reminds you in a sigh, dipping his head to scrutinize you over the rim of his reading glasses. “Are they not all required to write the same exam as well?”

“Well, they are, but—”

“But they didn’t spend their study break out gallivanting with their TA, did they?”

Your eyes widen for a second, shocked by the words leaving your father’s mouth, but the expression is gone in an instant, morphed into incredulousness, eyes rolling as your tongue tuts in disbelief.

“Please, we were studying,”

The chuckle that escapes your father’s lips is anything but warm; it’s cruel and condescending, a sharp slap to the face, your bottom lip beginning to tremble as he snaps his book shut, the sound echoing throughout the living room.

“You must think me a real fool,” he’s almost snickering as he throws his glasses on the coffee table, grunting a little as he stands from his armchair and raises himself to his full height, towering over you. “Do you think Daddy’s stupid?”

“What? No, of course not—”  

“Then why are you lying to him?”

“I-I’m not—”

“And you’re doing it again?”

Head shaking in jerky, quivering movements, your lips open and close, emitting nothing more but little squeaks of breath as you try to backtrack, managing to stammer out an apology.

“It’s a little late for that,” your father’s saying sternly, a large hand curling around your bicep as he yanks you towards him, beginning to haul you down the hall. “Good girls do not lie to their fathers,”

Naoya sits tense and coiled in his father’s armchair, a symphony of your cries mingled with harsh slaps of Daddy’s calloused palm against your smooth skin carrying throughout the house, and he swallows thickly, past the lump that’s lodged itself in the column of his throat, past the bitter acid rising in his chest, past the irregular thumping of his heart against his ribs.

Because he doesn’t know why your wails and squeals of Daddy! M’sorry! Daddy! make his cock throb and his chest ache—ache with longing, with want and desire, with jealousy—doesn’t know why he finds himself fucking his fist to those memories that same night, mind fixated on the quick glance he had caught through the sliver of the open door when he couldn’t stand it anymore, when he had to sneak down the hallway just to make sure everything was alright, images of you thrown over father’s knees, bare ass spanked raw materializing in his head.

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he refuses to admit it. Maybe he just pretends he doesn’t, because he wishes he didn’t.

Still, you always get off fucking easy, as far as Naoya’s concerned. He’s never witnessed his father allow any woman to talk back to him with such horrid disrespect, to whine and plead and roll their eyes without a backhand so heavy, so hard it knocks them to the floor.

And yet, you receive a few measly spanks to your ass—a punishment that’s more embarrassing than anything else, terribly unfit for a grown woman—and get sent to your room for the rest of the night.  

“She truly is Daddy’s Little Girl,” his mother had snarled after one particular punishment, features curled up in an unattractive sneer.

Naoya can’t help but begrudgingly agree.

      ✰          ✰          ✰

“Oh, lighten up,” one of his brothers nudges his foot with the toe of his slipper before collapsing next to him one abnormally cold evening in early October, interrupting Naoya’s nightly routine of glaring at you, cuddled up into Daddy’s side as you watch a show. “Just because you aren’t Daddy’s favourite anymore doesn’t mean you have to skulk around looking like you just ate a whole lemon,”

“What’re you on about,” Naoya seethes through clenched teeth, glancing at his older brother through the corner of his eye.

“You know,” he responds airily with a knowing smirk, nodding his head in your direction. “She’s taken your place, huh? Or is that not what’s upsetting you?”

And that hurts—it hurts, because he used to be Daddy’s favourite, Daddy’s youngest—the baby—Daddy’s spoiled brat. He’s used to being the center of Daddy’s attention, used to being the object of his praise, used to being the golden child, the prized child, the destined son nurtured and conditioned to take over the Family Business once his father retires.

Light eyes roll back in his skull as he tsks in disapproval, shaking his head and clearing his throat to rid the tremble from his voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Mm, I think I know more than you believe,”

The words are spoken in a murmur, only loud enough for the two of them to hear, but Naoya’s gaze snaps back to his face immediately as he calls your name, gently pulling you from the hushed conversation you were having with Daddy, full of giggles and murmurs, nonchalantly asking, “When’s your birthday?”

No.

No, Naoya wants to hiss at his pathetic excuse of a brother, large hands curling into quivering fists, nails biting into the fleshy heels of his palms as teeth grit, forcefully swallowing back down the two letter refutation.

No-no-no-no-no, he doesn’t want to hear this. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t need to know, throat constricting as you inhale to speak, chirpily responding.

Blood turns to thick ice in his veins when he hears your birth date, when he realizes those raised little bumps he was born with on the inside of his wrist match your zodiac sign. Heavy dread, black and poisonous and akin to thick disappointment, sinks in his chest, latching onto the floor of his stomach and spreading quickly, sticky as it engulfs all of his surrounding organs, coating them in acidic pollution.

He’s up and out of his seat before his brother has even finished asking you his next question, stumbling out of the room on unsteady legs, nearly tripping over his own ankles in his haste to get away from you, to escape.

He doesn’t want to know what the bumps on your inner wrist are, tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care, that this is all bullshit anyway, century-old myths created by the dreamers and the sentimentalists. It isn’t like the prospect hadn’t already crossed his mind—drifting through a sick orgasmic haze after fucking his fist to the memory of you—the potential that you may be his ‘soulmate’, a cruel trick played on him by the gods. Except…

Except it isn’t real. It isn’t real. There’s no science backing it up, nothing to concretely prove that the zodiac constellation embedded in his skin has anything to do with his ‘soulmate’—or anyone else’s. It’s just a legend, an old wives tale made up for the romantics and nothing else.

In his alacrity to resist it, he turns fucking ruthless in his verbal assault, but nothing seems to deter you; it barely seems to phase you at all, carrying on your tasks or your cute little babbling as if he hadn’t just insulted you.

Because you’re incessant, almost desperate to gain his approval, continuing to treat him like a god—doing more for him than you do for anyone else, including Daddy—regardless of how many how many expletives and offensive sentiments he hurls at you.

And eventually, he goes a little too far.

    ✰          ✰          ✰ 

The night before Halloween is dark and dreary, thick grey clouds stuffed with rain that continuously drizzles over the estate, brutal winds whipping the tiny droplets against the windowpanes, tiny specks and splatters of water decorating the glass, rearranging themselves every time the wind throws another smattering of rain towards them.

You skip into the living room, full of bashful giggles and muted squeals as Daddy fawns over you, awestricken as he murmurs about how beautiful his princess looks.

His princess.  

Naoya’s not quite sure what you’re supposed to be, nor does he care, tearing his gaze from your scantily clad form before his brain can even register what the costume is, before blood can rush to his cock, before he can witness the shy little smile on your lips and the pretty way your eyes glitter as you twirl for Daddy.

No, the only thing Naoya cares about is the fact that the dress of your costume is way too short to be considered decent, fluffy petticoat barely covering your ass, fanning out to reveal the edges of dainty pink lace clinging to the supple flesh of your ass as you twist and turn.

And he hasn’t a clue what you’re chattering on about, isn’t listening, can’t hear anything over the roar of blood rushing in his ears as he stands from his seat and stomps towards you, strong, callous voice cutting off your excited babbling as he glowers expectantly at his father.

“Jesus Christ, Daddy, you aren’t actually going to let her go out in that, are you?”

“Why?” you ask before your father can respond, genuinely confused, head tilting cutely. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he repeats incredulously, thick eyelashes fluttering as he blinks several times, eyebrows raising and huffing out a sarcastic laugh in disbelief. “Are you joking?”

Your head shakes slowly, a frown beginning to materialize on your lips as your eyebrows knit.

“It’s entirely inappropriate,” he scoffs, enunciating his words slowly, like you’re stupid.

You stare up at him cautiously, bottom lip jutting out in a pout so deep your chin puckers. “But nii-san, it’s Halloween—”

“Oh? And what are you going as, a slut?”

A little strangled gasp of Naoya-nii! hitches in your throat, your entire expression crumpling at his disapproval, hands running over the costume in an almost protective manner, smoothing it down.

“N-No, I’m—”

“I don’t care,” he hisses. “There’s no way you’re leaving the house in that—go change. Now.”

The direct order surprises you, shock saturating your features before resentment begins to bleed through. Blinking hard, you force the tears from your eyes, expression hardening and shoulders rolling back, spine straightening.

“No.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“Is there something wrong with your hearing? I said no,”

That sharp, self-assured smile drops from his face in an instant, face screwing up from such defiance, such disrespect. “Excuse me?”

Shivers skitter up your spine, tiny spikes of ice chasing them, but you refuse to back down, even though your voice is beginning to quiver.

“Y-You’re not Daddy! You don’t get to tell me what to do, I don’t care if you’re older!”

And just like that, the sharp smile is back, stretched abnormally wide across his lips—like it had been cut, carved, into his handsome face—uncanny and inhuman as his eyes glint with malevolence, words flowing from his mouth slowly, calmly, almost serenely, as he prowls towards you.

“You’re right—I’m not Daddy, because I would never let a woman speak to me the way he allows you to speak to him, you ungrateful little brat,”

A large hand, decorated with chunky, glittering gold rings, cuts through the air, striking you across the cheek with such force you stumble backwards from the impact, nearly tripping over your own feet only to have Daddy wrap a strong arm around your waist, catching you with ease and pulling you to his chest.

And it’s intense, so intense it kicks the breath right from your chest, barreling up your throat where you choke on it as it tangles with a sharp yelp. Hands fly to clutch your cheek immediately, throbbing thorns of pain shooting through the side of your face.

Daddy’s yelling, but it all sounds muddled, muffled, like your deep underwater and he’s shouting from above the surface, despite the fact that you’re clinging to him, pressed up so tightly against his side you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his body.

Naoya-nii isn’t saying anything, hand dropped limply to his side, pretty gold adorning his fingers coated in gleaming crimson. He isn’t even looking at Daddy—no, his gorgeous light eyes are focused on you, on the sticky scarlet leaking from the wounds his rings left when they collided with your cheek and the glistening tears shielding your eyes.

And for once, he has nothing to say, no sarcastic remarks or cynical little comments, voice evaporating in his throat as his chest burns, scathed with regret, remorse, repentance—all unwarranted, undeserved, unnecessary. Because—because you earned that slap for being so fucking disrespectful; you needed it, were practically begging him to put you back in your place, back where you belong: below him, behind him, and never beside him.

Because no matter how cute you are, how sweet and precious and good, none of it permits you to speak to him in such a manner, to act as though you’re equal.

So why has this inexplicable agony taken root at his core? Why does he feel like his heart is mutilating itself, tearing itself to shreds, with each of your pitiful little whimpers? Why does he feel the overwhelming urge to make it better, to make your pretty tears and precious sobs stop?

Inevitable anger surges through his veins—furious at you, for eliciting such bothersome emotions; furious at himself, for being so weak, so vulnerable, and allowing such pathetic sentiments to take over, to rob him of his control, of his autonomy.

And despite everything, all of his rage and loathing and confusion, his hand buzzes from it, from the sensation of touching your soft skin for the very first time, even in such a brutal and malicious manner, and instantly, he craves more.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

You don’t speak to him after that. You stop making his favourite meals, stop asking him about his day and then uninvitedly reciting your own in that cute, excited chatter that is so distinctly you, stop doing all of those extra little chores—washing his clothes and changing his sheets and scrubbing his bathroom until it sparkles. You put an end to everything.

And he fucking misses it.

He shouldn’t, but he does.

It’s painful to admit, but he can’t ignore it, notices your lack of presence almost immediately, that gaping void spreading, growing, as it roars in protest, claiming more and more of his body every day, like some sort of inky disease that only your presence seems to calm, to cure.

It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks, because he can’t stop it, regardless of how hard he tries, an impossible ailment he can’t void himself of. It fucking sucks, because you’re eating him up, consuming his very soul, devouring him from the inside out without even sparing him a goddamn glance—and you don’t even know it.

And it’s getting exhausting, putting up this front all the time, fighting against the intense feelings you swirl around in his chest, in his cock, without a hope, without a chance in hell. Fighting for nothing, because he knows he’ll never win. Fighting for nothing, because he isn’t sure he wants to anymore.

They’re unruly, voracious and rabid, tearing up his chest, his lungs and his heart and his throat, with sharp piercing claws and becoming increasingly difficult to overlook, to disregard.

Still, he’s too stubborn, too proud, to give in, to give up, even though the thing living inside him grows stronger every day, even though he knows that one day, it will overpower him.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s windy—the estate quiet as the wind howls softly through the dense pines outside and ruffles them—the night it finally does, the night it takes over entirely, bursting through the barriers he keeps rebuilding and repairing around his soul and his sanity, writhing inside him when he hears soft sobs, muffled by the wood of your bedroom door, just past three in the morning.

It possesses him, like some sort of eternal spirit sinking deep into his bones and sewing itself into his soul, revoking his control over his body as a sudden, intense need to comfort you, to find out what’s wrong and make it all better, courses through his veins, entirely unaware of his actions as he pushes past the door and into your room.

“Naoya-nii?”

It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him, the first time you’ve even looked at him, since he struck you.

And he aches to apologize, I’m sorry’s and I shouldn’t have done that’s blistering his throat as they linger, just behind the back of his tongue.

But his pride outweighs them by a hair, despite how much his chest stings with the need to make things better, to make things right, for a reason unbeknownst to him. It’s just a sense—vague in meaning but strong in feeling—that longs for reconciliation, that’s desperate to rid your pretty face from the permanent scowl his presence etches into it.

That’s the first time he creeps into your room, the first time he loses his autonomy to the thing inside of him as he takes you into his arms and comforts you, the first time he allows you to cum from grinding on his cock.

Except it becomes a habit, an addiction, a nightly routine, cravings becoming stronger and stronger with each passing night. And for a brief span of time, it’s enough to appease the creature, the short nights spent with you in his arms, body trembling against his as you whimper out his name and his honorific, tangling on your tongue.

Because it feels right. It feels righter than anything in his life ever has, uncharacteristically gentle hands guiding your hips as they rock against his, soaked cunt gliding over the flannel of his pajama pants with ease as you huff out the prettiest little mewls into his neck.

It feels right only when he’s here with you, alone with you. Suddenly, it’s like everything makes sense again, like the world is in colour again, like the planet balanced again. He can no longer deny this feeling, this ache deep at the very pit of his soul that throbs and stings and burns mercilessly without your presence. You’re the only thing that can heal it, that can quell it, that can complete it.

So he gives in. It’s just for the nights, he promises himself, vows never to allow such sentiments to trickle into the daytime, to save it for when the sun sinks beneath the horizon, pledges never to permit these nightly escapades to advance from anything more than dry humping, nothing further than your cum on his fingers and your thighs stained with sticky cream.

But eventually, that isn’t enough, either.

And he was stupid to think it would be.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

The harsh slap of Testoni loafers against stone echoes out among the immaculately landscaped front yard, bouncing off thin tree trunks and being absorbed by tall, thick shrubs. Silver light, cast by the haloed moon hanging high in the clear navy sky, illuminates the garden, the foliage faded and washed out, painted by the moonbeams. Somewhere in the distance, the gentle trickle of water mingles with Naoya’s harsh breaths, cellphone gripped tightly in one fist as he paces back and forth like a rabid dog, small rocks popping under his feet.

It’s late. It’s too late—you were supposed to be home hours ago. Naoya’s tried calling—seven times, now, his phone buzzing in his palm to warn him of a low battery—but you haven’t picked up once. But that isn’t new, nor is it unusual; you rarely answer his calls while you’re out with Satoru.

So, really, this shouldn’t be cause for alarm. It shouldn’t.

Except he knows the man you’re out with, knows what you’re doing with him, and he can’t get it out of his fucking head, assaulted with fabricated images of you trapped under a large man with ivory hair and crystal eyes, back arching in ecstasy, his name leaving your lips in the prettiest gasps, in the way Naoya’s name leaves your lips during his habitual sneaking into your room in the middle of the night.

He’s terrified it’s going to drive him insane, eyes pricking and throat burning as his nose twitches with the threat of tears, eyelids shut so tightly his whole face scrunches up, tense and crumpled every time a new wave of contrived memories of you cumming all over that asshole’s cock crash over his mind.

Copper stings his tongue as sharp front teeth nibble at the raw cuticles surrounding his nailbed, face puckering at the taste and ripping his thumb, glistening with saliva, from his mouth.

This is pathetic, goddamn it! It shouldn’t even matter who you’re with and what you’re doing with them, shouldn’t be any of Naoya’s concern at all whether you’re safe or not, shouldn’t fucking hurt nearly as much as it does, a heavy ache that weighs on his chest more and more and more as each second ticks by, ribs caving in and splintering under the force, snapping into sharp spikes that puncture his lungs and make it painful to breathe.

“This is such a waste of fucking time, I don’t even—” he’s muttering to himself when you step out of Satoru’s car, his internal monologue beginning to leak from his head out his lips, your presence immediately cutting it off as his head snaps up, light eyes paler than normal, practically glowing in the moonlight.

A startled little whimper pries its way past your lips when you see him, stomping towards you with a heaving chest and a growl ripping from his throat.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he’s seething as a large hand seizes your arm, wrapping around your bicep and yanking, bring your face closer to his. “Huh? Do you know what fucking time it is?”

Frenzied eyes search your face, wild and erratic in their movements, sharply zeroing in on the tiny galaxies of swirling lilac and cobalt peppered with little pinpricks of scarlet that’ve been sucked into the flesh of your neck.

He chokes on something—a gasp or a snarl or a sob, maybe a mixture of all three, you aren’t entirely sure—pearly teeth gnashing together. “You’re a little slut,” he spits the word out like venom, harsh and biting as it whizzes past your cheek, slicing into your skin.

“That’s it, that’s all—that’s all you’re fucking good for,” his grip tightens with each word that flows from his mouth. “At least you’ve picked a rich man to sell your pussy to, at least you aren’t a total idiot, just like your mother, huh?”

“What is your problem?” little hands claw at the fingers latched around you, finally breaking free from him, ripping your limb from his grasp with such vigor you nearly fall on your ass, teetering backwards on unsteady feet. “You know, just because you can’t own up and face your feelings, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Isn’t my fault.”

“This?” he spits, face screwing up in scorn. “There is no this,”

“Oh my God,” eyes rolling, you shake your head, exhaling a dubious laugh. “Shut up. There’s no one here—you can be real with me, I’m not gonna tell anyone,” you snark, arms crossing over your chest as you level your gaze with him.

He glares back at you, sharp jaw rhythmically clenching and unclenching with the grinding of his molars, large hands balled into tight, trembling fists on either side of his body.

“You know there’s something here, between us, within us, even if you refuse to admit it,” you continue after a beat of silence, voice softening.

His whole form is beginning to quiver and he jerkily shakes his head, exhaling harshly. You think he may be crying, but in the faint moonlight it’s hard to be sure.

Holding your wrist up, you swallow thickly, glancing at those little bumps embedded in your skin, watching the tiny shadows that form when your arm twists. “I have your sign,” your voice is quiet as you look back at him, flashing the inside of your wrist to him. “And I know you have mine,”

A cynical smirk spreads across his lips, but it looks more like a grimace, like a flimsy mask desperately attempting to cover something else, tongue tutting in disbelief. “Yeah, and there’s millions of people in this world with any given sign. It’s all bullshit—it could be anyone,”

“It could be anyone,” you agree, nodding. “But it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do! I know you feel it too! Christ, why are you so—so adamant on denying this, even when it’s just the two of us? What’s the point?”

“You’re my fucking sister, that’s the point. This is inappropriate, it’s wrong,”

“If it’s so wrong, then why do you sneak into my bedroom every night? Why do you let me cum on your fingers? Why do you fuck my thighs?” your footsteps speed up, jogging a little to catch up to him. “Huh? Huh? No answer? Or do you know the answer, and you’re too afraid to say it?”

“I don’t know!” he explodes, whirling around on you and trapping you against the brick, palms laid flat against the wall. “Alright? I don’t fucking know why I do those things. They make me feel sick afterwards, but I…”

But I can’t stop.

But I need you.

But I love you.

Chests heave with harsh exhales that mingle and echo in the garden, your eyes studying his face intently, in a way that makes him feel naked, exposed, makes him want to turn and hide from you.

“I’m not asking—” you start, words catching in your throat and blinking hard to clear rapidly welling tears from your eyes. Your voice is softer, more fragile and weak, when you speak again. “You don’t have to marry me, for Christ’s sake. I just—I just want you to—I need to know you feel it too,”

“Why?” he hisses, acidic envy bubbling in his chest, beginning to erode his resolve, walls crumbling to rubble. “What is there to know? You already have him,”

“But I’d rather have you,” the words materialize on your tongue before you even know what you’re saying, earnest eyes boring into his.

“God, don’t—” eyelids shut tightly, lithe fingers tangling in blonde hair and tugging. “Don’t say shit like that,”

He can feel them, those three little words thrashing in his chest, desperate to claw up his throat and spill from his lips, but he grits his teeth and swallows them back down, letters lodging and forming a painful lump.

And you notice. You notice, because you’ve studied him extensively, have learned to read him—his mannerisms, expressions, behaviours—well.

And you’ve just found his weakness.

“Do you want to know what I think of when he fucks me?” you ask, eyes searching his face in an almost frenzied manner, breath accelerating as you quickly push the words from your lips, worried if you don’t speak fast enough, if you don’t vocalize these sentiments now, you’ll lose him again. “It’s you. It’s always you. I’ve tried—I’ve tried to think of someone else, of anyone else, but you just…you just won’t leave my brain! It’s like a—a sickness, or something. Like a chronic illness, and it’s only getting worse,”

A strangled growl rattles in his chest as he tears himself away from you, fists violently rubbing at his eyes.

He knows. He knows, because he’s tried the same thing, attempted to desperately forget you, to disintegrate the weird feelings you endlessly evoke in his chest by losing himself in women night after night, often multiple women at once, drowning himself in their moans and gasps and soft bodies to no avail.

“There’s no cure,”

He doesn’t even mean to say it, words slipping from his lips unconsciously as he gets tangled in his thoughts, flipping through the countless memories of faceless women of all shapes and sizes, faceless woman that somehow always mange to morph into you.

“No,” you respond, shaking your head. “There isn’t. But at least I’m trying!”

He spins around, gleaming eyes flashing, brimming with bewilderment, features falling in surprise for just a moment before they harden again, varnished in offense.

“What’re you talking about,” he seethes, eyebrows furrowing deeply as his eyes narrow into sharp slits, scrutinizing, analyzing, dissecting.

“I-I’d rather have you, yes, and he’ll—no one will ever compare, will ever even come close to how much I—” you cut yourself off, swallowing the thought, then clearing your throat and beginning again. “At least I’m trying to find someone, though. At least I’m trying to find just a shred of what I feel for you, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, alone and miserable,”

“Oh,” he laughs humorlessly, a callous little sound that viciously tears from his chest, that scrapes his throat and comes out strangled, full of incredulity. “You don’t think I’ve tried? You don’t think I’ve tried endlessly to forget you? To cleanse you from my mind? To move the fuck on from something that had never begun in the first place? You’ve imprinted yourself in the tissues of my fucking brain in a matter of months. It’s tiring. It’s hopeless,”

His voice breaks on the last word, some of the merciless heat fading from his features as he glares at you, eyes almost pleading for you to understand.

Because you’re the only one that can.

You’ve been in this together the entire time, right from the start, from the moment you walked through that front door.

And he’s been resisting it, fighting against it, against himself, all while the current only becomes stronger, only continues to grow in strength and size, and he’s motherfucking exhausted at this point, sick of battling some invisible force he was convinced didn’t even exist, sick of waging a war he will forever be destined to lose.

You’ve broken that wall, shattered it to dust, destroyed all of his weapons of defense and robbed him of his sovereignty, and now it’s all pouring form his mouth, an endless, uncontrollable stream of confessions, of thoughts and desires, of agony and misery.

“But it doesn’t even fucking matter, because I love you. I love you and I fucking hate you for it. And I’ve been trying, alright? I’ve tried not to, I’ve tried every single trick in the fucking book to stop it, to get over you, to forget you—and none of it has ever fucking worked, not even for a second. I don’t want you; I—I don’t want to be, but I’m in love with you,”

It looks as though your breathing has ceased, chest halting in its rapid movements, body gone still, static, stagnant. Your silence is deafening, has his ears ringing and his heart pounding, thrashing against his ribs as it aimlessly attempts to crawl through the cage, to present itself to you, bloody and beating and all yours. It’s all yours—take it, kill it, end its suffering.

“And there’s nothing—”

Surging forward, your lips crash into his, body following as it smacks against his own, effectively cutting him off. Naoya freezes, eyes wide and breathing stopped, entire body turned to ice, rigid and tense, but you are not deterred, arms winding around his neck as fingers thread through the gold and ink at the base of his skull.

“I love you, too,” you mumble into the kiss, refusing to break contact for even a second, lips brushing his as you speak. “I love you so much,”

The confession—an admission he already knew, deep down in his very bones, an admission he can no longer ignore, now that you’ve said it—snaps him out of his trance, and something switches, something breaks. Because then he’s kissing you back, tongue forcing its way through your lips to assault your own as calloused hands find purchase on your hips, squeezing your flesh hard enough that you yelp.

He chuckles against your lips, and then he’s pushing forward, forcing you to walk backwards, too fast for you to keep up, his legs longer than yours, body bigger than yours, stronger than yours.

Even with all of his shoving, you still aren’t moving quick enough for him, clumsy and stumbling over your own feet, whimpering hushed apologies into his mouth, a response to the growls that rumble in his chest each time you trip, your pitiful little sorry!’s consistently being cut off by his tongue.

Large hands hoist you up without breaking the kiss, mouth still attempting to devour you whole, to suck up your very soul, and your legs automatically wrap around his waist, latching onto him.

Either of your bedrooms are too far, and he can’t take it, he can’t wait—not with the way your fingers are tangling in his shirt and tugging, the way needy little whines are hitching in your throat, the way you’re squirming in his grasp, trying to grind against his half-hard cock.

You’re fucking desperate, but so is he, thigh whacking off the edge of the wooden coffee table as he blindly staggers towards the kitchen, tongue hungrily dragging against yours while he does so.

The cold marble stings your skin as he deposits you onto the nearest countertop, hips wedged between your thighs keeping them spread.

Little fingers immediately go for his belt, nonsensical whimpers sounding in the back of your throat as you fumble and struggle, hooking your fingers through his beltloops and pulling.

“Eager girl,” he chastises, a little breathless as nimble fingers find the soaked lace at the apex of your thighs, pushing it to the side. “Nii-san has to prep you first,”

“No,” you whine, pitched high and much too loud. “M’wet enough. Want you, want you now, nii-san, please, just give it to me, been waiting so long, please,”

The words are slurred together as they tumble from your lips, infused with a potent lust that casts a dense haze over your mind, rendering you capable of only focusing on what you need.

Light eyes dart up, holding yours through fanned lashes for a moment, as if they’re searching for any hesitancy, before his lips form the most genuine smile he’s ever given you.

“Yeah?” he huffs out, finally breaking your stare to watch his hands undo his belt, continuing to speak as he shoves his jeans down his thighs and frees his cock. “You think you can take it?”

“Yes, nii-san,” you nearly mewl, gazing at him with blown, glazed eyes and a cute pout. “Please, give it to me, I-I want it, please,”

His gaze finally flicks up, that sincere smile stretched wider across his face, a playful glint in his eye, voice void of any of its usual derision. “You want what? Hmm, baby? Come on, nii-san wants to hear you say it,”

A low whimper leaves your throat and you shift on the countertop, as if trying to wiggle closer to him. “Your cock, nii-san, want your cock, please-please-please, gimme-gimme-gimme,”

It sounds as though you’re close to tears, voice cracking and thick with desire, Naoya’s cock twitching in his palm in response to the sound, and, God, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that, absolutely adores it when you beg, thinks you sound so pretty when you’re pleading for him.

“You’re a greedy little girl, you know that?” he pants while he pushes in, a muffled yelp prying past your lips. “Shh, hush now, nii-san will give you what you need,”

The stretch is incredible, cute little cunt throbbing around his thick cock as it struggles to adjust to the sudden intrusion, feeling as though he’s going to tear you into two, leaving stinging micro-fissures in the delicate flesh.

Yet despite the burn, the ache that settles deep in your core, that feels like he’s splitting you in half, a satisfied moan leaves your lips, head falling forward and resting against his broad shoulder, fingers curling in the cotton that adorns his torso and pulling him closer, closer, closer.

Because, finally, you feel whole, more whole than you’ve ever felt in your entire life, satisfying an inexplicable desire buried at the crux of your very soul, something you didn’t even realize you were missing until you finally had it.

“S’not enough,” you mumble into him, nuzzling your face against him like a cat. “Need more, nii-san, need more,”

“You really are a selfish little fucking brat,” he grunts as fingers flex on your hips, tips digging into the pliant flesh and gripping, singeing his name into your skin in rapidly blossoming indigo and ultramarine.

“Nii-san was going to try and be nice,” the words, strained and husky, spill from plush lips as his hips begin to thrust, slow and hard, winding back as they draw the force to ram forward, slamming a cry from your chest as his cockhead pounds against your cervix. “But you’re too impatient for that, aren’t you?”

It’s a fucking lie; his self-control had been hanging by a thread, barely restraining the primal need to wildly buck into you, but you just snapped it, just tore the last of his treasured discipline to fucking shreds with nothing more than a few words.

The pace is ruthless, your head bouncing off the cabinets with each powerful snap of his hips, an endless stream of cries pouring from your lips, one hand curling around the edge of the counter as the other grips his shoulder, nails burying themselves in the hard muscle through the thin cotton of his shirt. Sharp bones carve a spot just for him, made for him, between your legs, into the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” he pants out, eyes so bright they’re practically glowing. “Mine.”

“Yours!” you gasp out, head nodding in sloppy little movements against his shoulder as you fall forward, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing. “Yours, yours, yours,”

Everything feels hazy, almost dreamlike in a sense, vision blurring over with a thick shield of tears that you can’t quite explain, his name and the honorific becoming muddled on your tongue, fusing into one as you wail it out, clinging to him in a way that’s almost possessive.

“Nii-san’s here,” he promises you, voice hoarse. “Nii-san’s yours, too,”

“Mine,” the arms thrown around his neck tighten, fingers tangling in soft gold and wrinkled cotton. “Mine, mine, mine—”

“Mine,” he echoes, hips never faltering even as you wind your body around his, large hands keeping your hips still as he fucks into you. “And only mine—”  

“Forever and ever and ever—”

“You belong to me, were made for me, put on this earth for me,”

Words of confirmation are escaping from your lips, you’re absolutely sure of it, can feel them vibrating up your throat as you speak them—but it’s so much, too much, all of the feelings swirling around in your chest, sending spikes of pleasure and thorns of pain shooting through your veins as they clash together. A sudden wooziness settles over you, brain fogging over as he becomes the only thing you can think of, the only thing you want to think of, nonsensical babbling still slipping from between parted lips in hitched puffs of breath.

“So full,” you nearly sob, one of Naoya’s hands tangling in the hair at the back of your skull and yanking, pulling your face from the sanctuary of his neck and exposing your expressions to his scrutinizing eyes, devouring the beautiful tears streaking your cheeks, the contorting of your features as pleasure washes over them. “M’so full, nii-san, it’s so much,”

“Yeah? Better than he could ever stuff you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you’re wailing out, affirmations falling from your lips with each brutal piston of his hips. “More, need more,”

Because it’s like an addiction, an innate need for more of him, for all of him, ravenous and unquenchable, that’s always existed within you, that his cock stretching you out, filling you up, has only just awakened.

His aura is positively intoxicating, overwhelming your senses and becoming all you can see, all you can hear, all you can smell, taste, touch. His taste lingers on your tongue, faint notes of minty pine and sharp nicotine dancing with your tastebuds; his touch brands itself into you, bruises and bitemarks carving his name into soft skin; his scent assaults you, envelops you, overpowers everything else as it wraps you in a shackled embrace of expensive aftershave and cedar wood.

A growl tears from his chest, so rough that it vibrates throughout his entire body, and his pace quickens, cock plunging into you and an incredible speed, dragging against that one spot that has you nearly screaming, that has your eyes rolling back and your little hole fluttering around him as a blistering fire sparks to life in the pit of your belly.

You can feel it, furling in on itself with each vicious rut of his hips, each relentless bang of his cockhead against your cervix, a concentrated ball of scathing heat pulsing, quaking in your stomach as it curls tighter and tighter and tighter with each plunge forward—until it bursts, a fiery explosion that buzzes through your veins as your cunt clenches, gushing on his cock as he praises you—yeah, that’s it, make a mess on nii-san—entire body coiling from the sheer strength.

“Tell me,” he keens almost desperately, voice pulling you from the clutches of post-orgasm unconsciousness, hips stuttering for a moment before he regains his finesse. “Tell me how badly you need it,”

And you don’t need to be told what, pleads pouring from your mouth in an instant, before your brain can even comprehend what you’re saying, an instinctual reaction to his command. “Need your cum, nii-san, need you to full me up, fill my tummy with it, stuff me full of it, need it so bad, nii-san, please gimme your cum, please, please,”

The words are all jumbled together, thick with tears and wet with saliva and imbued with delirium, quivering and breaking as your body trembles from overstimulation.

“Fuck,” he chokes on the curse, hips stilling, pressed flush against your ass as his cock throbs, filling you with spurt after spurt of thick cum, a broken whine catching in his throat as endless words spill from yours, peppered with the sweetest moans—yes, nii-san, thank you, nii-san, fill me up, fill my body with it, my brain with it, I need it, I need it.

And he does, pumps you full of so much that it begins leaking out from your abused little hole—still stuffed with him—and down his cock.

And it’s then—after he has filled you up, with your precious little cunt still pulsing around his length, whimpering out his honorific as you hold onto him, voice raw and wrecked and cracking with residual tears—then that Naoya’s sure you were meant for him, made for him, perfectly tailored to him; he knows you were, his very own gift from the gods.  

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Javier Peña x petite female reader size kink fic, Part 2

By popular demand, here’s Javier Peña’s size kink Part 2!

Part 1

Word Count: 2800+

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Javier Peña x “You” (petite cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: mature and vulgar language; a smattering of cop/suspect role play; some dom/sub elements and powerplay; SIZE KINK; praise kink (“good girl”); one instance of a ripped dress; vaginal fingering; oral sex/M receiving plus deepthroating/gagging but it’s not rough; oral sex/F receiving; protected P/V sex; Javier has a FILTHY mouth and he’s a little bit mean but then turns soft; some diminutive nicknames for Reader (“little lady”/”little girl”); Javier picking Reader up and carrying her; this is Part 2 of Javier talking dirty about his huge penis and how tiny you are (sorry/not sorry)

You kiss Javier deeply as he carries you down the hall, your legs wrapped tight around his waist. You’re dying to get him to take off his shirt, his jeans, to finish what he promised you. You wonder if you really will be able to fit all of him into your mouth. You’ve tried several times over the past few weeks, but you haven’t managed to take him all the way.

Javier tosses you onto his bed and before you can even lay back he’s reaching again to rip the rest of your buttons, more tiny pearl projectiles hitting the floor, the dress now torn all the way open. You don’t really care, the dress was inexpensive and it’ll be easy to replace, but you decide to throw it back in his face as part of your game.

You scowl up at him and set your jaw. “You owe me a new dress, Agent.”

Javier steps back, looking at you spread out on his bed as he rubs one big hand over his chin. His eyes scan you from your face down your body, drinking in the sight of your lacy bra and panties before trailing back up to meet your gaze. He looks like he’s trying to decide what to do with you, and it makes you want to rub your thighs together, quell the sudden ache and throbbing in your clit.

Javi suddenly leans down over you, crowding into your space as he braces himself above you. The scent of his cologne and most recent cigarette send your head reeling, desire spinning in your chest and making it hard to breathe. He squints at you and then murmurs low, his gravelly voice making more butterflies appear in your gut.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to demand things, little lady. I think you ought to be a bit nicer to me, and we’ll see what happens.” He dips his head low and nudges your chin up with his nose, laying kisses to your hot skin.

You gasp and keen, “I’ll be good.”

“Will you?” He keeps kissing you, down to your collarbone.

“Or are you going to be trouble?” ...down to your breasts.

“Because if you’re going to cause problems...” He kisses down your stomach and your hips.

“We can just stop right here,” He bites your mound gently through the lace of your panties.

“...and you can walk home in your ruined dress. And if you look like that? Like a little package of trouble? I bet some big, mean man will come and carry you off.”

You pant heavily and even though you know the threat is just part of the game, he’s got your heart racing. Javier is filthy and he’s playing you so well.

He licks at your clit through the lace. “Are you gonna cause me any trouble, little girl?”

You whisper, high and anxious, “No, I’ll be good for you. I promise.”

Javier leans back over you and kisses you tenderly. “I know you will. You’re always so good for me, trying to fit my cock into that pretty little mouth of yours. You try so hard, baby.”

You pout and nod at him with big eyes. “I’ll be good.”

Javier nods at you. “Good girl.”

He stands up and pulls you to a sitting position, then unzips his jeans to pull his erection out. You bite your lip and feel more slick settle into the crotch of your undies. Javier cups your chin and you open eagerly to lick around his head, wetting him as you bring your hands up to work the base of his cock. The sight of your petite hand barely wrapping all the way around gets you even wetter.

Javier leans into it, putting both hands on his hips and watching you intently as you work him from the tip as far down as you can, your eyes closed as you feel him heavy on your tongue, filling your whole mouth with his thickness. You savor the way his skin tastes, the little hint of salt and the smell of his detergent. His breathing gets heavier.

“That’s my good girl.” His voice is low and raspy. “God, your lips look so good wrapped around my cock. Can’t believe you can take me like this.”

You moan around him and flutter your eyes open to try to gaze up at him. He’s looking at you and clenching his jaw. Aroused. Intense. Focused only on you.

You tighten your lips around him, making your mouth look even smaller, like it’s some kind of effort to take him like this instead of your favorite thing to do. He puffs his chest at the sight of that and then cups your face, running his thumb over your cheek to feel his bulk under the skin.

“You’re so good at that, little girl. Look at how you're sucking me off with your wet little mouth. You want to try taking me down your throat? You can do it, can’t you… for me?”

You moan at that and suck a bit harder, fighting the urge to sneak your fingers down into your panties, to rub yourself raw from Javi’s torturous words. That’s off-limits in your game. You know that if you chase your own pleasure, he’ll delay serving it up to you on a platter. And what Javier gives you is always ten times better than what you can give yourself.

Instead, you grip the root of his dick a little harder and moan again, before you slurp off and smile up at him sweetly. “Yes, Javi. I want to try taking your huge cock down my throat. I can do it.”

“Good girl,” he growls and grabs your wrists, hauling you up against him as he pushes your tattered dress down and off your shoulders. “Strip.”

You curl your arm behind you and unclasp your bra, dropping it to the floor. Your panties follow, and Javier gives you an appraising look, followed by a long sigh. His voice drops another note lower and he gives you one of your favorite commands: “Now me.”

You bite your lip to stifle a grin, and reach up for Javier’s shirt buttons, flicking them open as rapidly as you can. You toss it on the bed, then unbutton his jeans, grazing his cock slowly with your hand. You push his jeans down, down, down his strong legs, sinking to your knees as they drop.

You look up at Javi with wide eyes, palms flattened on the front of his thighs, patiently waiting for him to lead you where he wants you. Javier gives you that look again, like he’s trying to decide exactly what to do with you, and it makes anticipation build up behind your navel like nothing else. His cock is level with your forehead, and you incline your chin up to take a long lick of the underside, watching it bob there in front of you.

Javier sucks in a sharp breath and you try it again, dragging your tongue from his soft sac to the frenulum, finishing with a flourish at the tip. You look up at him and you can almost feel your eyes sparkling with eagerness. Javier toes off his shoes and steps out of his jeans, then he tilts his head toward the soft armchair next to the dresser. You get up and follow him there.

Javier sits down in the chair, legs spread wide and you kneel again in front of your man. This is where you’re going to prove to yourself that you can do it. You can swallow him all the way down and nuzzle your nose into his soft curls. You want to take him apart and make him shatter with lust at the sight of you. You want to win at this game that you love to play with him.

You open wide and take him in as far as the back of your tongue. You’re determined. Last time you did this you made it down to the last inch before you couldn’t take any more. Today will be different. You revel in Javier’s filthy praises as you relax your jaw and try to pace your breathing along with the bobbing of your head.

“Fuck,” he spits out with a huff. “Look at you go, taking me so deep.” You feel him hit the top of your mouth, just behind the ridge where your hard palate ends and the soft palate begins. You pause for a moment, afraid of gagging. Nothing happens so you breathe in through your nose and push gently, feeling him slide back until the head of his cock hits your throat.

“Oh fuck!” Javier’s hands grip the sides of your face and you pause. His coarse curls are just out of reach, a few centimeters from your nose. You pull back slightly to exhale, twisting your tongue around the underside of his penis and then angling your head just right to slide back down over his length.

Javier lets you set the pace, his hands are just holding you, not pushing, although you wouldn’t mind him getting a little rougher. You remember your breathing and repeat the steps, sliding his head past your soft palate until it hits the back of your throat. You do an experimental swallow, feeling your throat muscles contract around him.

“Shit!” Javier pulls you off, then drags you up to his face to give you a messy kiss. His tongue feels swollen, licking frantically inside your mouth in a gesture of gratitude for doing this for him, doing this to him.

“You look so good sucking me off. You want to see what a good girl looks like?” Javier reaches to the dresser just beside him and grabs a little hand mirror. He holds it near his chest, angled so you can see yourself. Your eyes are bright with a few tears and your lips are puffy and glossy, saliva running down your chin. You look wrecked but you feel powerful.

“Watch yourself go down on me, gorgeous. Your little mouth looks so good when you swallow me down like that.”

“Yes, Javi.” You wink up at Javier and watch yourself in the mirror as his fat head slips past your lips.

You’ve never seen yourself like this, and the sight of your petite mouth cinched around Javier’s broad penis makes you moan. You watch yourself slide slowly down his length, determined to get your lips around him all the way to the root where it meets his body. You feel his tip hit the back of your throat again, and you swallow, then push gently past the last little bit of discomfort to find that your nose is buried deep in his pubic hair, your lower lip and chin touching his balls.

Javier throws his head back and lets out a low moan, and you can feel the vibration of it in your core. You close your eyes and just sit with the feeling, letting drool slip out of the sides of your mouth. You exhale and then swallow twice more, and when you pull off you taste the tang of Javi’s salty pre-cum at the tip.

You grin up at him. “I did it, now you have to make me come again.”

Javier opens his eyes and puts the mirror back on the dresser before fixing his deep brown eyes on yours.

“No.” He shakes his head, and you feel your eyebrows draw into a scowl.

Javier laughs at your distress. “You were such a good girl that I’m going to make you come two more times.”

You squeal and playfully swat his leg, and Javier reaches down to grab you under your arms. He hauls you up on his lap to straddle him, and pulls a condom off the dresser. When he’s covered he wraps his big hands around your hips and helps lift you onto his cock. You moan and sink down onto him, and a chill wracks your whole body, stiffening your nipples into buds and raising goosebumps on your shoulders.

You grip Javier’s shoulders and throw your head back in ecstasy. You let Javier guide your hips, rolling you up and down as his breathing quickens. From this angle he punches deep, hitting something over and over that half tickles and half hurts. You angle your hips so that he hits it deeper and you wail. Javier brings one broad thumb down to your clit and gyrates the pad of it over and over and over. The circular rubbing motions make you gush, and you feel electric knowing that he’s doing whatever he can to make you feel good.

Javier presses harder and your climax washes over you. He pulls his thumb away as you throb and squeeze around him. You bury your head in the crook of his neck and let him hold you close while your orgasm burns itself out. Your head spins.

“That’s my girl. Good girl.” Javier cups one hand around your ass and strokes your spine languidly with his other fingers. “You came so hard around me, I could feel you.”

He shifts underneath you, and then stands up without pulling out. You wrap your arms around his neck and let him carry you to the bed, his huge hands wrapped under your thighs for support. He lays you down on your back and you pull your knees up toward your chest, opening your legs wide. Javier leans down to kiss you and then starts thrusting into you hard. You lift your head to look down to where your bodies are joined, watching his dick spear into you over and over.

“You like that? You like seeing how small you look when I’ve got you spread open like this? How’s it feel to have a big man fucking you into the mattress?” He leans down again and starts biting kisses off from you, pulling your bottom lip into his mouth with gentle suction and the blunt edges of his front teeth.

“Yes, Javi. Yes, I love it. I’m your good girl.”

“You are my good girl. You’re my girl. Look at you taking my fat- fucking- cock in your tight little cunt.” He punctuates his words with harder thrusts. “You’re my cute- tiny- fucking girl. I love your sweet- little- pussy.”

His hips start to falter, the rhythm getting sloppier with each thrust. You know he’s getting close and you wrap your legs around his hips, then you tighten and clench your pelvic muscles around him. He gasps and falls over you, filling the condom as you feel his cock spasm inside you.

When he’s recovered he grabs the base of the condom and pulls out of you, tying it off and discarding it into the wastebasket next to the dresser. He kneels back over you and peppers your face and neck with kisses.

“You got one more in you, pretty girl?” Javier sucks a hot, wet kiss to the hollow of your throat and you moan, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“Yes, Javi. Will you eat me out?” You kiss him and nudge his nose with yours, making wide eyes at him. “Please?”

“Oh, fuck yes.” Javier sits down on the edge of the bed and lies back, smirking at you. “C’mere and get a mustache ride, little lady.”

You giggle and leap up to straddle his face, lowering your cunt to his mouth as he grasps both of your buttocks in his big hands. Javier starts to lick your slick folds with enthusiasm, flicking the stiffened tip of his tongue across your swollen bud. He shifts his hands to wrap up and over the tops of your thighs, pulling you closer to his face until your clit is grinding over his nose, his tongue buried deep in your channel.

“Oh fuck, Javi!” You don’t have anywhere to put your hands for leverage, so you cross your arms behind your head and try to stay upright. Javier works his lips and tongue harder, shaking his head side to side in a rapid rhythm to make his nose brush your clit. You feel your third climax building quickly. You worry for a moment that Javier is unable to breathe, but then he tips his chin up and sucks your sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips, and you go careening off the edge into bliss.

You shake and fall forward over the bedspread, fully exhausted from the inside out. You feel Javier slide out from between your legs and then he drapes his form over you, sucking kisses into your shoulder blade while his hand wanders down to your ass. He dips his fingers between your thighs and you feel him lazily stroke between your puffy folds.

“Was that good for you? Did you get what you needed?” Javier sucks on your earlobe and you can only groan your assent. You nod, hoping he can see from the back of your head that you’re happy and spent.

Javier leans to nuzzle the side of your neck and then squeezes your asscheek with his big hand. “That’s my good girl.”

--- Javier Peña character masterlist

JHFTM Main Masterlist

“Everything bagel” tag list: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme @eri16 @mandocrasis @pilothusband @bastillealmighty @eri16 @jitterbugs927 @babiiface95 @toomanystoriessolittletime @yespolkadotkitty @fisforfulcrum @prettylilhalforc @mswarriorbabe80 @littlemisspascal @wildemaven @coreychick @castleamc @coreychick @astoryisaloveaffair @fan-of-encouragement @nolanell

Plus some other troublemakers who seemed to like the first installment LOL: @kmorales1 @missredherring @sixshooter665 @axshadows @littlemissoblivious @taylorxargentina @oceanablue

[gar-trek]

please share what you have to say about food cubes!!

I was feeling a little apprehensive about releasing the TOS Food Document™ because it is so damn long…. But since you asked anon

DISCLAIMER:

This is focused solely on food as it appears in the original series. Whatever explanation of food synthesizer/replicator that may come in later series does to apply here. I am also not a Star Trek expert. I’m sure there is some super fan out there who knows everything there is to know about food in TOS, but that person is not me. This is just my thoughts as I’ve observed instances where food is shown or mentioned in TOS. If my thought process is flawed, or I make some claims that don’t really make sense, I am sorry. The food canon is very complicated and vague, so this is me just trying my best to make sense of it. I’d also like to mention I did not explicitly cover the meal scene in What Are Little Girls Made Of? Or the ice cream scene from And The Children Shall Lead, but I do make reference to them. I’m sure there are other food scenes I didn’t get to cover here, so if I’m missing a few pieces, I’m sorry.

Anyway… let’s get into it!

The original series, food, and other things that keep me up at night

I don’t care about continuity or plot holes in Star Trek: The Original Series, and if I did, I think the show would become rather unwatchable. It’s not about what happens to get us from plot point A to B, but more important that we do get there (ie, who cares how or why Spock’s brain has been removed from his body, it’s more important that we do get it back inside).

This being said, there is one aspect to TOS that baffles me to no end, and its something I just cannot overlook: the food. Food, the entire concept of it as it appears in TOS haunts me. Each time they show or mention food it makes less and less sense. It’s a never-ending nightmare and I spend every day trying to understand what goes on in the Enterprise Cafeteria. Today I would like to explore a couple food instances on TOS, and hopefully make a little sense of what is happening.

The first chilling incident: The Man Trap (S1E2) - Rand is a thief

In this episode, we see Yeoman Rand on her way to deliver Sulu his meal. She is carrying a tray of colored food cubes (which is what I will be referring to them as here, because there is no official name) and what we can assume to be some kind of alien variant of celery (earth celery with some red crap stuck on top). While waiting for the turbo lift, Rand eats one of the celery sticks intended for Sulu. My question is why. Like literally why does this happen. Sulu never mentions it (maybe he doesn’t notice). She never mentions it to him, which means we can assume she doesn’t want him to know. So why is Rand stealing food? Does she not get enough to eat? Is the limits for how much you get to eat on the Enterprise that strict you need to turn to thievery to get a proper meal? and if that the case, she’s shorting Sulu on his allotted food. In this same scene, we see Ensign Green (who is really a salt-sucking monster) make a grab for the tray as if he too is going to steal Sulu’d food. However, Rand slaps his hand away and asks “who do you think you are?”, a hypocritical statement considering Rand is also in the act of stealing food. So Rand, I must pose the same question to you. This scene has no resolution, so any interpretation is up to the viewer. Whether you think Rand's actions make her a girlboss or a thief, is up to you, however, one thing is undeniably true: Rand eats food off other people's plates.

Other food-related things of note in this episode is that Sulu sprinkles salt on the celery sticks. This means they are either bland or that's just his personal taste. Also, when Rand gives him his tray, he says “may the great bird of the galaxy bless your planet” and this has nothing really to do with food, I just thought it was kind of badass.

(Sulu’s food tray with 3 celery instead of 4 because Rand ate one)  

Incident two: Charlie X (S1E3) - synthetic meatloaf

In Charlie X, we see Captain Kirk make this comment in passing:

“Today on earth it is Thanksgiving, if the crew has to eat synthetic meatloaf I want it to look like turkey.”

This statement leaves us with a couple undeniable truths:

1. Meatloaf is a meal option on the Enterprise.

2. It is synthetic, meaning the meatloaf may not contain any meat at all.

3. It is not shaped like turkey, but it is possible to do so.

if the meatloaf served on the Enterprise is synthetic, then it very well could be made out of the same stuff the colored food cubes are made out of. Also, (and this is pure speculation so take it with a grain of salt) since we never hear anyone refer to the colored food cubes by name, they could literally be the “synthetic meatloaf” that Kirk is referring to here. In this case, the term synthetic meatloaf would not mean a synthetic version of the popular American dish meatloaf but instead loafs of synthetic meat. Since we do not know exactly what synthetic meat looks like, it very well could be brightly colored cubes.

In either case, Kirk is asking them to turn synthetic food from one shape to another. We understand this is possible through the food synthesizer, however, if all the food they eat on the Enterprise is synthetic anyway, then why did Kirk specifically mention synthetic meatloaf in the shape of turkey? would the turkey not instead be made out of synthetic turkey? why must the synthetic turkey be made specifically out of meatloaf? isn’t every single food that comes out of the food synthesizer made out of the same thing? It would have made more sense for Kirk to say “it's thanksgiving so can you made the food synthesizers produce turnkey?”. However, Kirk is like, a really cool guy, so it is possible that the meatloaf comment is just a fun joke. Either way, we know that synthetic meatloaf is a standard menu item on the enterprise, yet we have never seen anyone consume it.

Incident 3: The Corbomite Maneuver (S1E11) - Green leaves

In this episode, Kirk goes in for a physical, and Doctor McCoy reports that the captain is 2 pounds overweight. In response to this, the Doctor changes the captain's dietary card to help him lose a little wight (🙄). We later see the captain served a “dietary salad” in place of his usual meals. The existence of dietary salad is interesting for many reasons. Most importantly, we understand that dietary salad is somehow better for you than what is usually served on the Enterprise. It most likely has a lower caloric intake than say, colored food cubes. However, as discussed before, most if not all the food on the Enterprise is synthetic. If the food is created, and not naturally made, then one can assume its caloric value can be controlled. Would it not be possible to make a lower-calorie version of colored food cubes? one would assume that the cubes are made to have the perfect amount of nutrients to satisfy yet keep humans a healthy weight if they are in fact a form of synthetic man-made food. How would the captain overeat, if portions are pre-determined by dietary cards? Is Kirk somehow going rouge and consuming food that is not created by the food synthesizer (the captain's secret cookie stockpile??).

The existence of this salad also begs another question: is it synthetic as well, or are they growing fresh salad on the Enterprise? We do know that they are able to grow things on the ship, however, there has never been any discussion of growing crops specifically for consumption. If this is the case though, it may explain why we often see crew members eating celery sticks. Perhaps things like celery sticks and dietary salads are grown on the Enterprise, but all other food is synthetically created. In which case, who’s job is it to harvest food and prepare it for meals? Did Rand have to put that dietary salad together all on her own?

One more interesting point about the Salad: When Kirk first receives it, he asks

“what in the devil is this? Green leaves?”

which prompts Rand to explain that it’s a salad. It is very possible that Kirk genuinely has no idea what a salad is. He may have never had one, nor heard of the food in his entire life. Later we see him eat the salad with his hands, which further proves the point that captain kirk doesn't know what salad is. Why captain Kirk would somehow have no knowledge of salad is up to speculation.

Incident 4: The conscience of the king (S1E14) - Cry over spilled milk 

In this episode, Lieutenant Riley is served colored food cubes and a glass of what appears to be milk. There isn’t much of significance here, other than the fact we know it is possible to get a glass of milk with your meal on the Enterprise. Unlike Sulu, Riley doesn’t have any celery sticks but seems to have a larger serving of colored food cubes as compensation. We also learn that milk is served in a large glass, something that seems very impractical on a starship.

Riley proves my point moments later when he spills milk on a control panel and shatters the glass. This begs the question, who is going to clean that up?

Incident 5: Tomorrow is Yesterday (S1E20) - Chicken noodle soup

In this episode, the Enterprise accidentally beams a 60′s army man abroad their ship (for the second time). This random chad ensign asks the man if he’s hungry because he’s a troll I guess and he wanted to flex their cool future food machine. The army captain guy is like sure, I could go for some chicken soup right now (a very natural response to being beamed onto a spaceship for the first time). Chad ensign has like three cards in front of him, and I guess one of them just happens to be chicken soup because he puts it in the machine and the soup appears. Grant it, we never actually get to see the soup with out own eyes, but the army captain does seem to be pretty convinced that it is chicken soup just by the smell. This opens up a couple possibilities:

-The food synthesizer can make almost anything you want, and the card is maybe like a very broad category, like a dinner card, and when you put it in you can pick any dinner food you’d like.

or

-The food synthesizer can only make what is specific to each card, and the ensign just got extremely lucky and happened to have a card that was the exact food the army captain wanted.

More evidence, which we will go over later, points more towards the theory that one card is equal to one specific type of food. In this case, it is unclear how the synthesizer food cards are distributed, or how you get your pick of what food you would like. It is also more likely that options would be limited. This does make sense, however, it makes this scene very confusing, as, as I’ve pointed out, the ensign had a very limited number of cards, but exactly what the captain had asked for. Pure luck? what mind game was that Chad ensign trying to play with the poor man who was abducted from earth... we will never know.

One more very interesting thing is established here: The transporter room has a food synthesizer. Why this is is purely up to speculation. In my mind, having a food synthesizer in the transporter room would be like having a full kitchen where you park your car. Seems pretty useless, but maybe the guys in the transporter room requested easy access to snacks? Why the transporter room would get this special privilege is again, up to speculation.

Incident 6: Space Seed (S1E23) - Dinner with Khan

In Space Seed a special dinner is put together to welcome Khan onto the Enterprise. We see that they are being served colored food cubes and celery sticks. Doctor McCoy walks into the dining room and comments about how the display is “very impressive”. However, this seems like a very unusual comment considering we are shown the only food we have ever seen consumed on the Enterprise. What exactly makes this food “impressive” as compared to other celery sticks and colored food cubes? Is there some way to tell this particular food is better that we don’t know about, but is obvious to everyone on the Enterprise?

There is also a chance that Doctor McCoy is just very easily impressed with food, and upon seeing any food spread he is likely to comment in wonder. Note the way Scotty is looking at McCoy. His face is a mixture of confusion, judgment, and pity. Perhaps Scotty is thinking to himself “bruh, it’s literally just colored food cubes chill out man,”. There is no explanation as to why Scotty is giving McCoy such a look, so this very well could be the case. Even though it is a silly explanation, I don’t think it should be ruled out that one of McCoy’s personality traits is being overly excited about food of any kind.  

Incident 7: Journey to Babel (S2E10) Party food

Much like in Space Seed, in this episode, we get to see a meal put together for a special occasion. All the diplomates are getting down at a mixer where a spread of food has been provided. These snacks seem very similar to colored food cubes, however I do think they differ. They may be the same type of food, but different in some way. In which case colored food cubes is an overarching category of food, and here we see two different types. The smaller more brightly colored cubes can be put in drinks, though if this is what you are supposed to do with them, or just the preference of that one alien species I do not know. Though I must point out, we have seen colored food cubes served in brown sauce in What are Little Girls Made Of? (S1E8) so it is not completely unheard of to have your colored food cubes served soggy.

The other type of colored food cubes we see are a lot larger and more pair shaped (in reality, they probably were just skinned pairs dipped in food coloring, but for this essay, it’s important that we completely ignore the fact there is another life outside of Star Trek). Now to me, these are very interesting, because the dull color and apparent texture are a lit more similar to standard colored food cubes we have seen thus far. I would even go o far to say that this is the same exact food, just sans the cubed shape. So really, standard colored food cubes are just the cubed version of whatever this food is. This, again, is just speculation, but it does point us to the fact that colored food cubes are not naturally cubed (I’m going somewhere with this is promise)

Incident 8: The Trouble With Tribbles (S2E15) The trouble with Chicken sandwichs

Here we see Kirk attempting to order a chicken sandwich and coffee. What he gets instead is a plate full of tribbles,  hilarity ensues. I think this scene is interesting because we can add to our list of food items that are on the menu at the enterprise cafeteria: chicken sandwich. However, this is another food item we do not see. There is no way of knowing if the Enterprise's version of a chicken sandwich is what we would imagine a chicken sandwich to be. Much like the meatloaf and the soup, because we do not see it, there is no way of knowing if the food exists in the way that we as 21st-century people understand it. The events of TOS take place more than 200 years in our future, so to speculate that food could change a lot during that time isn’t a stretch. I don’t know, just some food for thought (lol)

Incident 9: By Any Other Name (S2E22) Living deliciously

In this episode, an alien taking the form of a human enjoys some colored food cubes. He makes a comment about how they are good they are while enthusiastically eating his food. This is a very important moment because it tells us that colored food cubes do taste good. In fact, they taste really good. Just before he eats, the alien comments on how humans could just take pills that give them all their nutrient needs and give up food completely (think the Jetsons cartoon). On the Enterprise, they do not eat just to live, but because they enjoy their food as well. This tells us that colored food cubes are at the very least, worth eating, and at the best, very delicious.

One more interesting thing: Spock is eating some kind of soup while everyone else enjoys colored food cubes. This could be a Vulcan preference, however, we know that Spock is vegetarian. This could be alluding to the fact that Colored Food Cubes are made out of meat.

Conclusion:

Yes, I asked a lot more questions than I answered. There are some things that make absolutely no sense to me, primarily, the food synthesizer and diet cards. Some evidence points to the fact that the food synthesizer can make practically anything (see Tomorrow is Yesterday, And the Children Shall Lead). However, one dietary card is equal to one specific food, which would mean they would have to produce a lot of these dietary cards if there is many meal options. How these cards are distributed, and what their limitations are, we do not know. And although we do not know the limits of what the food synthesizer can create, we do know these food have been served on the enterprise at least at one point:

-colored food cubes (variety)

-celery

-synthetic meatloaf

-synthetic turkey (Thanksgiving Special)

-Dietary Salad

-Milk

-Chicken Soup

-Chicken Sandwich

-Mystery Soup

-Ice cream (variety of flavors)

All of this food (except for maybe the dietary salad and celery) are synoptically created, so what they are actually made up of, I cannot say.

And finally, I would like to make a point about the colored food cubes. I think upon first inspection one would assume colored food cubes is a dish created specifically for space travel (think the food created for modern-day astronauts to consume in space). However, we learned that there is possibly a variety of colored food cube dishes. Since there is such a wide variety of food on the Enterprise, why would they also need to create a food specifically for space travel? I think that colored food cubes are actually a common dish, not intended specifically for space travel. Perhaps it was an alien food that got popular on earth, maybe it was a dish developed later in Earth's history by humans. I can only speculate, but I do think it is more than just boring space food. Everyone seems to have a preference for it, so I think it’s a dish you can eat over and over again and not get sick of. What colored food cubes taste like is completely up to speculation, but I would assume they are a savory food, considering we often see people enjoying them for their main meal.

I still have more to say, but for the sake of everyone, I’ll end it there. This was a lot of thought dumping, so if some of the things I said made no sense at all, I’m sorry. I’d love to hear some of your thoughts on TOS food! please share with me what you think colored food cubes would taste like :)

[bubblyhoney]

three times you interrupt george

warnings: none! my first fic with no language are you proud of me ;)

tags: georgenotfound x gn!reader

words: 1355

A/N: pretty much every fic i’ve posted has been written a minimum of an hour before i post it— my b. anyways george is soft and he makes me soft enjoy

requests/inbox status: open

-

The first time you barge in on George’s stream is about four months into your relationship. He is starting to get comfortable being his online persona around you, and suggests rather than get on your train at 1 am, you stay over. “Like a sleepover?” you ask and watch his cheeks start glowing pink.

Yes, exactly like a sleepover.

The sound of the bedroom door opening makes him pick up his water bottle and immediately turn off his camera and microphone, indistinguishable from the unannounced bathroom breaks he usually takes. Turning towards you slightly in his chair, an amused expression grows on his face. You’re barely awake, hovering in his doorway with a crinkled t-shirt and basketball shorts pulled on haphazardly in the dark on your way out of the bedroom. (You don’t sleep in pants. That’s for heathens.)

“Water,” you croak, arms stiff at your side and blinking wildly in the fluorescent lighting of his flat. He tries to hide his smirk and pads over to you, passing you his water bottle with a huff of a laugh. His hand drops to yours, grabbing and rubbing his thumb into your blanket-creased skin. You’re cold.

“I have extra blankets in the cupboard.” He doesn’t let go of your hand. You nod robotically, draining the nearingly lukewarm water through that straw and— he can almost see life return to your face. When you hand the empty bottle back to him, you’re licking your lips and squinting like you’re having a staring contest with the sun.

“I’m gonna go back to bed.” Your voice is thick with sleep, nasally like it always is in the morning. You lift to scratch a hand at your stomach and lean your head forward, bowing to George at an awkward angle. In a second he knows what you’re doing and grants you one (1) forehead kiss before you’re trundling off to the bedroom on legs that function like stilts.

“Sorry guys,” he sighs heavily when he’s back in his chair. “Took a minute long nap and I feel so refreshed.”

The second instance of interruption comes on a day when he’s too entranced in some bizarre Minecraft challenge (with his camera off, for focus reasons) to notice you.

You walk up the stairs, hand on the railing, and expect to find your boyfriend zonked out on the couch with six pillows behind his head and an eye mask. Instead, he’s at his desk, eye bags a lovely shade of violet, with rimrod posture, clicking furiously at his mouse. He’s silent when you pass him to drop your things off in the kitchen. Silent the whole time you go to the bathroom, and silent the whole time you’re making breakfast.

The distance between his flat and your own isn’t monumental, but it is enough to make you exhausted on the train ride over. (It doesn't take much, truthfully.) That’s why you book the tickets hilariously early in the morning and have a perfectly-timed nap. Still, you wake up from it ravenous. And George has a horrible habit of ordering take-away for every meal, so you grab a couple ingredients for breakfast at the mart you pass every couple of days you’re here.

Today it’s omelets and bruschetta toast. George jokes you’re related to Gordon Ramsey distantly for the amount of posh foods you cook; you say you just have taste. Half a dozen eggs, a few veggies, a bulb of garlic, and a loaf of bread is barely £15 at the mart down the road. The rest of the ingredients lie barely touched in his cabinets. You work quickly and have two plates filled with warm and delicious smelling food in the period it takes him to die one more time in Minecraft.

Wobbling two plates and a glass of orange juice on one arm, you approach the backside of his desk on careful and slow feet. When you set his plate and drink down next to him he catches you by the wrist and brings your forearm to his mouth, pressing a kiss there and looking up at you with those brown eyes.

“Thank you,” he mumbles against the sweetness of your skin and presses two more kisses to your wrist. He pulls away and takes a large sip from the orange juice before spam-clicking the shift button at a familiar green character. You leave his station with a smile, feeling warm.

“Y/N!” he calls, leaning back in his chair with a hand on his stomach. “C’mere. Please.”

“Bossy,” you mutter, but get up from your place on the couch and trot over to him with a huff.

“Tell Sapnap what you put in the omelet,” is all he says before passing you his headset and snaking an arm around your waist. You stumble towards him but manage to get the headphones on before Sapnap starts spewing about a breakfast burrito he ate last week that had jalapeños and onions in it. One thing you never thought you’d get to discuss with the man was your culinary prowess, but it seems today is the day of surprises— George helps you bake a batch of salted caramel brownies after finishing up work, too.

He doesn’t even catch anything on fire.

The third time you catch George working is right at the end of a Gang Beasts stream with Karl, Tina, and Corpse. He’s just finishing his last wave goodbye and ending the stream when you shudder through his front door with a small bag in your hand.

“Good news,” you announce through a grin. “My GNF candle came in.”

“Your what?” He laughs, closing the browser with a click and sleeping his monitor. You dig the item out and place it ceremoniously on the glass of his desk. His jaw drops.

“Isn’t that cool?” You ask excitedly, nearly bouncing on your feet.

“Oh my God.” He picks up the squat candle, lifting it to his nose to catch a sniff. Hm. Pine. “I wish I smelled like that.”

You just shrug and take it from him, darting into the kitchen to produce a lighter and light the wick quickly. You take a deep inhale when the flame sparks and stills.

“Yeah, that smells nothing like you. You smell more…” You trail off, lips pursed and eyebrows drawn in thought.

“Manly?” He quirks an eyebrow at you. You ponder that and just take another smell.

“More sweet. Much sweeter.”

“That’s cute,” he admits, getting up and disappearing into his bedroom.

“Are you gonna take a nap?” You set the candle down onto the countertop, making your way into his room like you own it. He’s at his closet, tugging off his sweatshirt.

“Yeah,” he answers, muffled by fabric, and finally gets the collar of the hoodie past his neck. “Care to join?” The hoodie goes into his laundry basket and he tugs the covers of his bed back, flashing you a look. You nod, flinging your shoes off and into the emptiness of his closet before crawling into the center of his bed and flopping down halfway onto him. He makes an unsatisfied noise and shuffles onto his stomach. Giggling, you roll into a sitting position and get yourself under the covers.

“Warm in here,” you mutter and get situated. His accompanying pillow is soft on your cheek when you twist onto your stomach and shove an arm underneath it. He just hums in agreement and stares at you. “Hold on.” You plant an elbow on the space between you two and manage to press a firm kiss on his cheek. Okay, perhaps two. If it’s three then George is colorblind.

“Thanks. I guess.”

“Anytime, darling,” is all you say before your eyes are closing and you’re breathing a sigh that deflates your chest.

A hand grapples up your arm, scrambling for your own. You just smile to yourself and offer your palm to him. He takes it wordlessly and squeezes twice before letting your tangle of fingers drop to the sheets.

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D let me know what you think in the comments!