#you can't just SAY THINGS LIKE THAT AND EXPECT!! NORMALCY!!

[ironkissedmage]

Ohhh I am going to be SO normal about Buck and Eddie this season (lying, deranged, foaming at the mouth)

[tojisun]

Poor poor hockey! Simon :(

he lost and now the only thing to make him feel better is a good bj

this made me twitch so here u are my love !!!

!! comfort/smut - minors dni; hockey au; praises (in a tender way and but also in a kink way); D/s-ish; some semblance of plot ig // 2.4k words (LMAO)

the horn blows, marking the end of the game and, with that, the end of spec gru’s season.

it was heartbreaking to watch the way the boys' bodies slump, their loss descending onto them like heavy rain. the arena shakes, screams from the opposing team's fans piercing your ears, but you can't blame them, really—they won on home ice, against the leviathan of the league. it is a tremendous win for them, and a devastating loss for your side.

you feel your hand getting squeezed and you turn, looking at johnny's fiancee, seeing the way her own face is crumpled in her sadness.

"i guess that's that, huh?" she says, comforting, her voice a quiet whisper that was almost devoured by the loud cheers.

sometimes you forget that she's an athlete too; that she feels things a lot more intense than you do because she understands the grapple. the desperation. the way how everything you give and everything you put out is, at the end, not enough.

you sniffle, holding her hand tighter.

"i'm so proud of 'em," you say wetly, unable to compartmentalize your grief.

she laughs, the sound of it so empty of any humour but not any less kind.

“i am too.”

you both turn your gazes back to the rink and watch the teams shake hands with each other, the players finally amiable like they hadn’t just been tussling on ice, all sparked by the sharp tension that buzzed throughout their play.

you watch as simon takes a lap, patting the backs of his team members with his lips pursed, but otherwise he is put together. and yet here you are, shaking, lips wobbling, nose twitching because you are trying your best not to cry. it isn’t like you were the one who lost so you wonder why your heart twinges with so much pain; why is it that you are the one holding back the tears?

simon turns to the crowd, roving his eyes past bodies, until they finally lock on you. his lips twitch into a smile; you give him what you hope is a big one—the type of smile that will let him know how in awe you are of him, win or not.

they skate away and you all shuffle out, preparing for the flight back home.

.

it was expected for the players to fly back home together—a semblance of normalcy even amidst the staggering defeat. it was their last attempt at showing sportsmanship; at showing the hounding media that despite the abrupt end of their season, they remained close-knit. 

simon understands it, of course. it was a media play, one that contends with the politics of the league, but it was difficult to act impartially, especially when they were making their way back, empty-handed, from the home ice of the team that had defeated them. it was difficult to not show the turmoil in their hearts, but they all managed to hold their heads up high during the exit and that was that.

they didn’t talk about it much, avoiding that last game as best as they could until the briefing, but hunger thrums in their jowls—no one was satisfied with being the second best. 

the promise of a better next season hung above them, but it is still so unreachable.

simon feels angrier than usual, unable to stop himself from taking this loss personally. like what costed them their win were only his shortcomings; like this defeat was his sole failure because he did promise to lead his team on ice, with price unable to stand as their official captain during the games. he had promised to score the most, after all, and had promised to keep the opposing puck out of price’s net, but he failed in both and, well, here they are.

back home, anguished. defeated.

he–

simon's phone rings, a quiet trill that echoes in the empty locker room. 

he shoots awake from the swirl of his thoughts, sluggish as he pulls it out of his bag. he expected it to be laswell or keller, or maybe their coach, but simon feels his world tilt when he sees your name flashing on his screen. and just like that, like he wasn’t even drowning in his self-doubt and self-hatred, simon feels like he can breathe again. 

he feels lighter, his anguish seeping out of his pores, leaving him with nothing but his flesh and his heart and his love. 

simon picks up the call, hears your voice, then he is up and running back home. 

.

there is a sense of urgency in the way he finds you, his cold body folding into the warm touch of your own. you gasped out his name, surprised at how fast you have him back in your arms after a whole season of flying and leaving and pursuing his chance at the cup—

“i’m home, petal,” simon murmurs, his voice deep and beautiful and longing, and you giggle, your eyes watering, before you nuzzle into his chest.

he breathes you in, the faint smell of ozone and rain and something distinctly flowery fills his nose, and somehow this is what grounds him, his blood spiking as desire and need fill him up instead.

and it trickles into him like wafting smoke—soft, gentle, cascading like a warm kiss. it is still intense, hungry, but it is tender. quiet. like everything about simon’s buzzed energy had transformed into this careful folding. the anger, the desperation, all of it snuffed out for a vulnerable moment.

“baby,” you begin, voice muffled from where your head is still pressed on his chest. “love, you did so well.”

he shakes, his words failing him now. 

you pull back just enough and he sees the glazed look in your eyes as you stare up at him, your lips curled in your smile. “i’m so proud of you, si.” 

his heart stutters inside the cages of his ribs, jumping, before it lodges itself in his throat. 

you giggle at his wordless tremors and press close again, your body melting onto his again, before you tip your head back to his chest but this time, instead of a nuzzle, you greet his beating heart with a kiss. one that is so light he barely feels it from his shirt, but simon feels so shaken. 

he feels so raw. 

you are holding him like he is the best thing in this world. like all his bulk and his size and his anger is still worth this softness.

“i need you,” he croaks out, unable to stop the way his feelings bloat and rage in the pit of his stomach. 

“you have all of me,” you reply, breathless, your eyes still blown open, wide and full of wonder. then they shift, turning sharper, gaining edge; still careful, coaxing, but overwhelming. “tell me, my love. tell me how you need me.”

“fuck,” simon rasps out, feeling like he’s running out of air. his fingers twitch, digging deep into your skin, feeling it mould under his touch.

he’s missed this, alright. he’s—

“mouth,” he finally manages to bite out. “wan’ feel your mouth, love.”

“okay,” you croon, kissing his pec again. “sit f’me?”

simon doesn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed about the way he falls to his ass on the plush mattress, bouncing a little bit because of the force, before he spreads his legs open, so, so desperate. 

you have your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, canines dimpling the flesh, and simon feels like he is burning from the inside; doused with the fires of need, spark untamable, licking up, up, up.

“come on, firelily,” he rumbles, needy. “c’mere an’ kiss me.”

you huff, fond, and fall to your knees, scooting close to him. 

it was silent as you fumble with his sweats, tugging at the drawstring and grumbling when the hem gets snugged on his hips. simon chuckles, pushing your hair out of your face before he juts up just enough to give you room to slide his sweats and his boxers down.

the cool air makes him tremble and you murmur something. it was so faint that he doesn’t get to catch what it was, but his curiosity sizzles at the sight of you licking your palm, shyly with how you refuse to meet his eyes. he almost teases you, his cheeks round with giddiness, but then you wrapped your fist around his half-chub, and his sanity is razed. 

simon hisses, eyes fluttering close at the warm curl of pleasure.

jesus. he’s missed the feeling of this; your hand is softer, more supple, around his cock. it was so different from when it was his own fist rubbing himself, beating at his angrily flushed cock with desperation only for his peak to tip over mutedly, and not enough to truly satiate his hunger.

but this? fuck. 

simon doesn’t even realize he’s whimpering, his head thrown back at the curious pace of your hand, not really jerking him off but mapping along his veins almost in quiet awe. 

“‘m not gon’ last long if you–” he gasps at a particular twist. “if you keep doing that.”

“oh, no we can’t have that,” you tease, chuckling, and simon’s reply builds on the tip of his tongue, cheeky, but then you’re already moving, your back folding, your breath hitting his sensitive head.

his thighs tense in his anticipation, his stomach locking. you flit your eyes up at him, pupils blown wide in your own ragged need, before he jerks at the feeling of your tongue pressing on the underside of his cock, licking up, and teasing his leaking slit.

simon moans, guttural, his voice caught on the back of his throat. he drops his hands to his sides, fisting at the sheets as you keep licking, teasing his slit and tracing his veins, lapping at his cock so messily. 

if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re inexperienced; all sloppy and curious, like you’re attempting things you’ve probably seen in porn, but then you close the ring of your mouth around the bulbed head, suckling like it’s a goddamn loli, while your hands drop to squeeze his balls, and simon’s gone. 

“shit-!” he gasps out, battling air like he’s back on ice. 

he bucks his hips forward, unable to help himself, and only stops at the warbled sound of your surprise.

“fuck,” he hisses, hand coming up to swipe the hair from your sweaty face. “i’m sorry, darlin’. didn’t mean t’force it down. s’just that y’r so good.”

he keeps petting your cheek, overtaken by his desires and no longer able to stop the string of words trickling from his heart. “missed you lots, swee’art. missed you so much—take me deeper?”

your cheeks hollow as you hum, so obedient for him.

“yeah, jus’ like that,” simon trills, his chest rising as he breathes in deeply. his stomach flexes at the feeling of you swallowing more of him, taking his thickness past your gummy cheeks and into the wet vice of your throat. “shit, baby. christ. y’feel so fuckin’ good ‘round me. so perfect an’ wet.” he giggles, drunken in his bliss. “such a messy baby y’are. so sloppy. y’wanted my cock that much, din’ya? so hungry f’r it.”

there’s a wet slurp when he hits the deepest you could allow him, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. you choke, your body lurching in protest, but simon is at the throes of his pleasure and his rational thoughts are devoured by his gluttonous need, and simon knows it is wrong to ask but—

“hold it in? can you do that f’r me, love?” he croons, his voice curling in his euphoria.

he knows this is playing dirty; to use your weakness—the deep rumble of his voice and the gentle beckoning—to make you weak, malleable. to make you just as desperate for him because he knows all you want to do is to be good for him even when it has you straining, your eyes filling up with tears. he knows it is wrong, but he can’t help it. he wants you this way.

and you want him like this too—his desires sharpening, shaping him to be mean and dangerous. his thickness fills you up, pressing at the roof of your mouth and trapping your tongue underneath the weight of his flesh. your larynx is stretched out, stuffed, but simon is looking at you so adoringly, his own ecstasy so dizzying, so addicting.

you nod, sniffling, finally replying to his question because you want him to feel good. because you want him to lose his restraints when it comes to you.

because you want him to use you until he’s truly relaxed, his body exhausted with something beyond his heartbreak. with something beyond his loss.

simon’s lips wobble like he knows what it is you are thinking of. 

he fucks your throat that way, gentle and sometimes slipping into something so mean it makes you squirm on your knees, the muted throb of your strained legs finally turning into staticky numbness, but you don’t complain, your jaw relaxed as you let simon use you.

he growls out his praises, his words chewed on in his peaking euphoria—nose flaring, cheeks flushed red—or lilting as he teases you—pulling his cock out enough that all that is left is the head, and you whine because you want him in, please simon. wan’ more please—

“gonna cum, sweetheart. gonna cum—fuck!—gonna—”

simon throws his head back, a blinding white filling his eyes and his ears ringing. his body trembles at the intensity of his orgasm, immense pleasure overtaking every synapses in his body until all that he feels is the feverish wrap of your mouth on him.

he flicks his eyes down, panting, and twitches at the sight you make—jaw slack, eyes faraway, skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat. 

you look, fuck, you look angelic like this.

simon cups your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your teary eye. you focus back to him slowly, blinking owlishly. 

“shh,” he croons, gentle. “i’ve got you, darlin’. i’ve got you.”

a whine builds from the back of your throat and simon hums, responding to your wordless babble, trying to ease you back down from the fog. he continues to hold you even amidst his oversensitivity, waiting so patiently so he can take care of you now.

yeah, he thinks to himself as he continues to return your unblinking stare. i’m glad to be back home. 

hope this was good :'33 once again pls dont judge me for my blatant self-indulgence hhHHHHH oki oki mwah!!

[cosmal]

okay tasm!peter parker thought!!! he’s obsessed with touching your face. like, when you’re talking about something he’ll just randomly grab your face and smoosh your cheeks. he’ll boop or kiss your nose at random times. most importantly, when he’s kissing you he’ll be holding your face, his big hands on your cheeks guiding your head so he can kiss you better. omg

doughnuts

summary you're really excited about doughnuts. peter really wants to kiss you.

content tasm!peterparker x fem!afab!reader

note this is my first time writing for tasm!peter please forgive me if it sucks.

For the first time in a while, you come home after work with enough excitement to light up the entire flat.

Peter's sitting up in his bed reading when you find him. All things soft with rumpled hair, his clothes even worse, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. You're not sure if he really needs them anymore, but he likes to wear them to keep an ounce of normalcy.

"Hi," you chirp when he notices you. He dog-ears his book and puts it down almost immediately. You beam.

"Hi, baby," he seems just as happy to see you as you do him. Though, there's a buzz to you that Pete lacks. You think if you got home twenty minutes later he would've been napping.

You move across his room while pushing your work skirt down your legs. Peter's heart skips when it looks like you might trip and he tries to keep his eyes off your soft thighs. You rifle through his draws to find one of his shirts to wear, unbuttoning your own blouse in the process.

"How was your day?" you ask, holding up a shirt to your nose. You choose it because it smells more like your boyfriend than the others.

Peter crumples his face, trying not to laugh. "It was good. Didn't do much - you?"

You say something while pulling the shirt over your face that Pete can't discern. You all but jump into his lap when you reach him. Hooking your thighs over his lap until you're face to face.

He allows you to get comfy, pushing your knees into his side while he sits up, hands finding their place on your hips. "Hello," he says again, much quieter now that you're in his space. You look adorable in his shirt and your work tights.

"Did you hear me?" you ask, basically pulsing with giddy energy. You push your fingers under the hem of his shirt and he short-circuits for a moment.

He blinks. "You had your face in your shirt."

"Right," you giggle, a girlish sound that Peter wants seared in his brain, "I said, you know the food truck around the block?"

"You'll have to be more specific," he says, squeezing at your hips.

"The one that shut down."

"Oh, right. The Jam Van," he laughs knowingly. You'd moped for almost a month when they closed. You were inconsolable.

"Yeah," you grin, poking his chest, "yeah, they reopened!"

You're smiling so hard Peter worries that you'll get stuck like that. With your eyebrows raised and your cheeks appled. He thinks he needs to hold your face like right now.

He lets his hands leave your hips and raises them to hold your cheeks. Your skin is warm under his touch like he expected. "That's great, baby."

You ignore his hands. "Right? It's amazing."

Peter pushes your cheeks together until your lips pout outwards. He thinks you look extremely cute. Even worse when you try to frown and it just looks like a smooshed mess. He wants to laugh but you look peeved.

"Pete," you try to say. It comes out all mumbled.

"Yeah?" he says, distracted by your puffy face.

You pull your face from his hands and struggle a bit. Holding his arms to his chest you say, "Are you even listening to me?"

"The Jam Van," he says nodding. Smarmy.

"Right," you say, still mildly upset, "they're open right now if you wanna..."

"You wanna go get doughnuts?" he asks with his arms still pinned to his body. His hands wriggle to touch you.

"Can we?" you ask, eyes wide with hope. Peter wishes he had his camera with him.

"Can I kiss you first?" he grins boyishly. You wish you had a better resolve. He's awfully pretty and you really want doughnuts.

You let his arms go, huffing like kissing him is a difficult task. "If you really want." You have to hold back a laugh.

He reaches his hands back up to your cheeks and gives them another squeeze, "Of course, I want to."

You let him guide your face down to meet his lips, huffing into his mouth once they meet. You go lax in his lap when he presses firmer, spreading his fingers over your warming cheeks. He tilts your face upwards so he has better access to slip his tongue in your mouth. You whine when he has you exactly where he wants. Putty in his hold, holding you close by your soft cheeks.

You pull away from his lips, blinking away the dizziness. "Pete," you say panting.

Peter licks his lips, "Yeah?"

You push your face into his neck to hide the way he so obviously makes you feel, holding onto his sleep shirt for dear life. You try to even out your breathing and fail.

"You okay, love?" he asks. There's a hint of smartassery you don't miss. He's awful.

"Yeah," you say a tad breathlessly. "Yeah."

He kisses your shoulder and you shudder. His ego swells tenfold. "You sure?"

You take a moment to compose yourself, hating yourself for being so pliable. You sit back to look him in the eye. "So," you say with a confidence you lack, "Jam Van?"

Peter laughs and catches your face again. You like it much more than the first time. "That felt like coercion ."

"You asked to kiss me!" you say bewildered, pushing at his chest with not enough force than you feel is deserved.

"You tricked me," he laughs with you, letting you paw at his chest. It's quite adorable, really.

"Whatever," you say with more heat than you mean, a smile tugging at your red lips. You untangle yourself from his lap and stand to walk away. "I'll get my own jam doughnuts."

Peter smacks your ass before you can get away and you gasp. "Peter Parker!"

"You can't go out like that."

"I'll do what I like!" you call from the other end of the hallway.

Peter chases you around the flat until he gets you in his arms. The doughnuts wait for a few more hours.

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Hello, hope you are having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request a BAU Team/maybe a little Spencer x Male x assassin

Who now works for the BAU, they are really good at stealth and undercover as if it's breathing air, they want a semblance of normalcy using the skills they were taught for good, but they can't hide, they can't run forever their past will haunt them come for them when they least expect it. (Note: reader has scars/ reader has a crush on Spencer but is afraid of how he would react if Spencer knew the real them) Prompt: to hell and back

This request is over a year old surely, im so sorry!

This a rare one folks, it's over 1k words lol. I hope you like it! I really enjoyed writing it!

Warnings: blood, injuries, scars, stabbing, reader stabs someone, use of the word paranoid/paranoia, a few curse words, reader doesn't even get their dinner :(

They only ever saw you with long sleeves. They knew a rough outline of your previous life, no details. You signed a contract to keep the details of your previous life quiet. Only Strauss knew. You had worked as an assassin for the government for five long years, training rigorously before that for two. When leaving that life, you were given a new identity, (Y/N) (L/N). 

It had taken it’s toll, sometimes your knees creaked, your wrist seized up, sometimes old wounds hurt. But ultimately, when needed, you moved silently. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to hide forever, that eventually your past would catch up to you. And so, you were hesitant to try to get close with your team. You liked them (perhaps liked one member a little too much), and you knew they liked you. But you knew first hand that traitors could come from within.

You weren’t sure when, exactly, you developed a ‘crush’ (which was a word you refused to admit outloud) on Spencer. But soon enough the sight of him was enough for butterflies to swarm your stomach and your breath to hitch. You had never regretted your previous decision to take your original line of work, until those butterflies appeared. You knew it would never happen. That you and him could never be a thing. Because he was pure, and you were… tainted. You had done unimaginable things that would make any sane person run in the opposite direction. 

Not only would he run for hills if he found out what you had done, but then there were the scars. You had been injured more than once during your line of duty. They weren’t exactly something you were fond of. So, you wore long sleeves, trousers. Never short sleeves, never shorts. Not even outside of work when you were out and about. The only time you ever did was when you were at home.

It is possible to say that, over the years at the BAU, the paranoia lessened. You were no longer convinced that every unfamiliar agent was someone from your past looking for revenge. That was your biggest mistake. 

You had seen a new face around the bullpen, you had been with the BAU three years now, without incident. And you knew that new recruits had been hired recently. So, you thought nothing of it.

A few weeks went by without incident, just proving that everything was fine. You were just being paranoid. 

Until one night, you realised it wasn’t paranoia. You were walking back from the chinese takeout around the corner from your apartment when you were pulled back and down an alleyway. He managed to stab you before you got hold of the knife, twisting his grip and stabbing him. You glared at him, twisting the knife before removing it. You repeated the motion once more before throwing the knife into the dumpster just to your right and shoving the ‘agent’ to the ground. 

Food forgotten, you took a breath. You couldn’t go back to your apartment, it was clear they knew where you lived, they had been following you for some time. You ground your teeth, increasing the pressure you placed on your stab wound. Spencer. He lived close by. And with the thought, you set off. 

It took you about ten minutes of staggering in the rain and scared looks for strangers before you reached his block. You stumbled up the stairs, pausing when you reached Spencer’s door and knocked loudly. 

Please be in, please be in. 

The door swung open.

“What the fuck?” Spencer asked, staring at you wide eyed.

You clutched your hand against your stomach tighter, “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” And with that, collapsed. 

You came to a few minutes later, now sprawled out on Spencer’s couch. “You need to go to the hospital.” Spencer said, pressing a handful of gauze against your wound. 

You shake your head, forcing yourself to sit up against your elbows. “No.” You choked out, wincing again. 

“(Y/N), you’ve been stabbed-”

“I’m fine.” You muttered, “No hospitals.” 

He watched you for a few seconds. “I’m calling Hotch.” He said, dialling before you could argue. 

You groaned, forcing yourself to sit up properly. “Spence-” You’re not quite sure when you started calling him Spence. It just came naturally after a while.

The entirety of the team was there within ten minutes. When Spencer opened the door, they immediately sensed something was wrong. 

“(Y/N)’s been stabbed.” He rushes the words out and immediately heads back to the couch. Only to find you forcing yourself upright.

You needed to leave. They were going to find out, everything was going to be revealed. Not only would that break the contract you signed for Strauss, but it would put them in danger. It would put Spencer in danger. 

“You need to lay back down.” Hotch said as Spencer helped (forced) you back down.

“I’m fine.” You grumbled. 

“We need to cut the shirt away, we need to make sure there’s no other injuries and it’s soaked through.” Rossi chimed, handing a pair of scissors to Spencer. 

“No, Spencer-”

Morgan gently pushed you back down. “Will you just let us help you?” 

You sighed, feeling the cold air bite at your skin as your shirt was cut away. The team collectively gasped at your scars, the red of your blood only emphasising the white of the scars that covered your body. 

You distantly heard Prentiss on the phone with 911. This wasn’t exactly going to plan. You turned to look at Hotch, “You need to tell Strauss.” You said firmly. “Strauss needs to know- ow.” You gave a soft hiss as Morgan took over holding the gauze to the wound.

“I need- I need a second.” Spencer mumbled, standing up and making his way to the bathroom. Presumably to wash his hands. At least, that’s what you would do. Ah shit, there was going to be blood everywhere.

“Did I get blood on the couch?” You asked, craning your neck and attempting to twist your body to check.

“Can you just sit still?” Morgan huffed. 

JJ watches Spencer leave with a concerned gaze before following him into the bathroom. “Spence, you need to breathe. He’s going to be okay.” JJ said softly, giving him a small smile. Spencer nodded, taking a deep breath. 

“You’re right.” Spencer said, raking a hand over his face. “At the very least he’s stubborn.”

“Exactly.” She said, “He’s going to be okay.”

“He’s covered in scars, JJ.” Spencer whispered quietly. “What happened to him?”

“I don’t know.” She said, “Let’s worry about that later, okay? Let’s focus on helping him now. Everything else can wait.”

“I like him.”

“I know Spence.”

“I really like him.”

"I know you do." JJ smiled, squeezing his arm slightly. "Come on, let's go check on him - make sure Morgan's not trying to kill him."

Spencer gave a quiet laugh, following JJ back to the lounge.

"Will you just sit still?" Morgan huffed.

"You're so bossy." You muttered under your breath, blinking slowly.

"You're literally bleeding, shut up and accept the help." Morgan resorted. You huffed in response, but stopped trying to get up, once again.

"Paramedics are one minute out." Prentiss updated after thanking the dispatcher.

You blinked, the adrenaline slowly wearing off, accompanied by the familiar blood-loss tiredness. You shifted your eyes, focusing on Spencer as the world around you blurred before going dark.

[fluffydice]

There’s something so hilarious about Aren being a punk and Kusuo being obsessed with normalcy. Like, Aren’s whole life was spent in a world where uniqueness is an expectation whereas Kusuo would have a genuine meltdown if he were to express himself (depending on his development, obviously). Like:

"You don’t think about ever just…letting yourself dress the way you want?" Kuboyasu asked. "No, never. Why?" Kusuo replied, frowning slightly. The guy shrugged. “Dunno. Is it really all that important?” "Of course it is. There are certain styles of clothing that people associate with different groups. I'm considered a homebody, so wearing comfortable clothes makes sense," Kusuo explained. "Anything deviation from this expectation might attract attention." He could feel himself starting to puff up with pride—he'd had this all figured out since his fifth year. "'S not always a bad thing. Look: say you were to dress up like a punk or something—" "I can't," Kusuo interrupted tightly, nerves slowly creeping through his chest at the thought. "Okay, okay. But imagine that you did, yeah?" At Kusuo’s nod, the other splayed out a hand toward him invitingly. "What’s the worst that would happen?" "Someone would kill me." "Okay then!" Kuboyasu said loudly, snapping his head to the horizon so he didn’t have to look at Kusuo. 'Holy fucking shit, dude, I’ve never met a guy who needed to pop a fucking Xanax more.' Outwardly, he said, "I think you're very normal, Saiki." Kusuo felt himself start to preen again. "Thank you."

[bsdawgz]

「 ✦ You Keep Me Under Your Spell...✦ 」 Bungo Stray Dogs, Port Mafia: Michizō Tachihara

a/n: i can't get enough of him! tysm for all the support ♡ so happy to be a part of this lil tachihara cult, i love interacting w/ all of you and reading all the tachihara thirst in my inbox!! >> read part one and part two

content warning: f!reader. MDNI! sum mean language (tachihara and reader briefly say some hurtful shit at each other/cuss at each other), risky sex (no condom - wrap it up y'all), car sex ;)

summary: maybe he is the jealous type, after all.

The minute you arrive, you feel eyes on you.

Glowering, amber eyes, glaring at you from the corner of the room. You're at a birthday party, a mutual of you and Tachihara's from back when you two were still high schoolers, just two punks skipping school and committing petty crime. Since those days, you've gone on to a life of normalcy, Tachihara's moved up to the Port Mafia, and that was that.

He's in his usual ensemble – a plain grey shirt and black jeans. Out of the corner of your eye, you can make out the scowl on his face as he watches you, the disdain on his lips as you enter the room. You're wearing something he's never seen you in before – but it's not your outfit that catches his attention; rather, it's the strange accessory you have on. That is, the man whose arm is wrapped around your waist, who, for some godforsaken reason, seems to believe he has some right to touch you so intimately.

It’s not like Tachihara has some claim on you, either.

The both of you decided to just be friends and it was him who initiated that conversation in the first place. And yet, his gaze is scorching you as you walk to fix yourself a drink, and the minute you find yourself alone, he's following you out the door.

You're standing outside on the patio when you feel Tachihara's hand grab your wrist, then you hear his rough voice behind you. "You shouldn't be with that asshole, he's a piece of shit," he mutters, and his voice comes out angrier than he expects, surprising the both of you. "Trust me, he's in Port, too. That motherfucker can't do a goddamn thing right."

Annoyed, you snatch your wrist away and roll your eyes. "It's not that serious, trust me," you interrupt him, shuffling through your bag for your lighter and a pack of cigarettes. "Besides, who are you to tell me who I can and can't spend my time with?" you mumble.

He winces, then looks away shamefully, biting his lip at a loss for words. You have a point – he has no right to tell you what to do. Still, there's no hiding the hurt that's in his eyes. Then, he huffs frustratedly, grabbing the pack of cigarettes out of your hand and lighting his own. "You know what, you're so fuckin' stubborn."

"What's that supposed to mean?" you hiss, clearly pissed off. "Now, you're just making shit up –"

"– I mean, why do you need him?" he blurts out. "My dick not good enough for you?"

"You know what, Michi?" you scoff, completely thrown off by what he just said. "I can't believe you just said that. Honestly, fuck you. I know you're seeing other girls, too – I fucking know it."

"Huh?"

There's a look of bewilderment on his face, but you press on. "Who the fuck is Teruko? I saw her name on your phone the last time we were fucking. You're fucking other girls. Don't even fucking lie to me –"

"You idiot, that's my...” he sighs, resigning, then shakes his head in disbelief. You feel strong arms scoop you into a tender embrace, then feel yourself melt against the heat of his body as he holds your head firmly against his chest. “God, you’re an idiot..." he murmurs, running his fingers through your hair. "She's just a brat co-worker... and why were you snooping through my phone?"

He's warm, so warm. You wrap your arms around his waist, feeling tears welling up in your eyes, and smush your face against his shirt, hoping they don't stain. "You're so goddamn clingy," he mutters teasingly, stroking your hair. "Have you always been this way?"

"You're... one to talk," you protest, sniffling as you push him away lightly, "Hounding me because I... showed up with someone else..."

You hear him snicker, then his fingers are lacing through yours. "Oh yeah? Then let me make it up to you. Come here."

. . .

You recognize the vehicle immediately – it's the same one that you arrived in. He unlocks it easily with his metal manipulation, then the next thing you know Tachihara is backing you inside of it, kissing your lips like he's insatiable, his mouth traversing your neck and collarbone while his fingers recklessly tangle through your hair. It's nothing but the sound of gasps as your mouths meet frantically, exchanging spit as you swirl your tongues together. You latch your arms around his neck as he struggles to adjust the angle of the driver's seat with his spare hand, his other hand firmly gripping your waist as you crawl over him to straddle him. Then, "Ow, fuck!" you hear him grumble as you topple over him, kneeing him between the legs, and he snickers as the car honks when your ass bumps against the steering wheel.

His fingers make quick work of your shirt, and he carelessly tosses it to the backseat, but you curse at yourself for wearing pants instead of a skirt. He pulls back with a cheeky grin as you clumsily shimmy out of your clothes, struggling to undress yourself in the cramped car. "Just a fuckin' minute," you mutter irritably, rolling your eyes at him as he undoes his own belt smugly. Then, the next minute, you're on top of him again, his hands fitted to your waist, eyeing your body up and down.

"You're beautiful," he says. Beautiful – oh. The way he says it, he makes it sound so simple and plain – like it's something so obvious, something that he's always seen in you. Beautiful is a much different word than hot or sexy, and you know certainly the difference. You definitely felt it the last few times he's said it, when his arms have lingered around your waist a little too long, fingers grasping your skin ever so slightly. It was the whole reason you felt so damn spited after you saw someone else's name in his phone in the first place.

You feel your cheeks warming up, then you feel Tachihara capture your chin, bringing you to gaze into his glowing amber eyes, hot with desire. "You're not even gonna look at me?" he asks in a low hum, stroking a fire inside of you as you peer into his eyes. There's a mischievous grin on his face as he reads your expression, which has now become embarrassed. "You had so much to say earlier..."

"You're so goddamn annoying," you mumble, pushing him away weakly. Then, his lips are on yours again. Slow, sensual kisses that become quickly become fervent and desperate; he lifts you up, then you feel him reach for himself, easing the blunt head inside of you – and, oh.

God.

You'll never get used to the feeling of Tachihara's dick, and the way that it stretches you out so perfectly. You whimper as you sink down on his length. He smirks up at you, watching the way your eyelashes flutter at him as you feel him fill you up completely. You're gorgeous at this angle, looking like a doll sitting on top of him. You throb as you feel him grasp your hips tightly, then you drag your nails across his shoulders, making him groan.

Then, you start moving – muscles tensing in your legs as you lift your weight from him, then take him inch by inch until you're bouncing on top of him. He bites his lip and leans back to admire the view. "Fuck," he pants, then he throws his head back and exposes the pale, slender column of his neck, his calloused hands grabbing at you recklessly. "You look so hot when you ride me. God, fuck..."

– and you can just hear the sheer satisfaction in his voice as he grins up at the sight of you. While you look great in every position, cowgirl has to be one of his favorites. Something about having your tits shoved in his face just does it for him.

You're moaning filthily in his ear as he grabs your breasts, tweaking your nipples until you're crying out for him. Yeah, that's right – say his name, he thinks cockily as he grips you tightly. Forget about that asshole you came with. It should have been him who accompanied you here, not that dirty prick.

"God... I love fucking you," he says with a wild look in his eye, panting heavily. "Hell, what were you even doin' with that loser? Tryna' make me jealous or somethin'?" he hisses, skimming his teeth against a sensitive spot on your chest that makes you tug just a little tighter on his hair. "Hah, well it worked..." he groans, slamming your hips down against his harder and rougher. You stutter out his name, digging your nails into his shoulders as he takes control from you. "Don't look at anyone else besides me from now on. You're fucking mine."

There's not an ounce of lightheartedness in his voice, and when you meet his gaze, all you find is fierce amber eyes peering at you, waiting for you to claim him back. So, you kiss him – kiss him with all the ferocity that you can, weaving your fingers through his hair as you mold your body against his form, as you shove your waist firmly against his and feel him meet you deep inside. "Only if you're mine, too," you whisper softly, planting kisses along the freckles on his jawline. "Then, I'm yours, idiot. Who else's?"

There's a short pause – no words between you, nothing but your hearts beating fast. You're both silent, holding your breath.

Then, he cusses under his breath. "You know what? Fuck this. I need you. But not in his shitty car –

You're coming home with me."

© BSDAWGZ 2024. Do not steal or repost ANY of my works! That’s plagiarism, and it’s mean. :(( Beautiful dividers by @ v6que~!

[getghosteddd]

One of the things that the drama did was reveal an incredibly important part of hyyh vmon's dynamic that has always been there but I just didn't get before.

We know that Tae looks up to Joon as an older brother figure that he can rely on, and that Joon takes this responsibility very seriously despite being so young himself. What used to confuse me before was that Tae's safety was his responsibility, but Joon never stopped him from doing those illegal activities. In fact, he would join him.

In every one of the hyyh pairings, there's a give and take.

Jihope is made of two liars and one is in the hospital room pretending to be well and the other is there pretending to be sick but among the white walls and hallucinations and fainting and pills they give each other something solid to hold on to, a tether to reality.

Yoonkook is a cycle of addictive self-destruction born from the co-dependency of someone who latches on too obsessively and needs hurt to feel alive, and someone who cries guilt but can't help but hold on to the one person he can hurt again and again but won't disappear no matter how hard he tries.

So what did Joon get from vmon? What was the take part of this give heavy dynamic? I honestly can't believe I didn't see it before.

"Do you know what I hate most about myself? I get used to things, whatever that is. I give up and don't even fight on- no... I don't even want to fight."

Joon who is only 16 but is the breadwinner of his family, who works and works and works to support all the people who rely on him, whose worth is determined by his reliability and even temper and maturity in every situation. The first to forgive, the hardest to anger, doesn't even complain when he locks away the box that contains all his potential and dreams for people who suck him dry and give nothing back.

"I see you pouring out your anger and I get vicarious pleasure. After that, I grill you not to do that and even rationalise to myself that I'm right. That's who I am. I'm a despicable coward - so who am I to console others!? How could I understand other people!?"

I forget sometimes that Tae is older than Jungkook when he represents the clinging to youth aspect so well. He's loud, he's brash and angry and kind and rough and empathetic and raw around the edges in all the ways a child is allowed to be. Joon doesn't get that, he's not allowed that. So he lives through Tae, lets him pour out all the emotion and the thoughts he doesn't let himself say.

That scene at the container after it was set on fire breaks me because it represents this so well. He was almost murdered and he stands there silently while Tae yells at Jin all the things he doesn't let himself feel enough to say. It's like Tae is talking for him in that moment, straight from his heart, and that's what he gets from it. That night only one of them watched his home go up in flames at the hands of people he holds not an ounce of power to, knowing that they expected him to burn along with it. There are three people there in the aftermath and it is only him that doesn't cry. That just smiles and thanks Jin for the warning and tells them to go to bed.

I want to scream. How did Dogeun end up being the character I felt the most physical hurt for. How is his apparent normalcy the most tragic thing in a show littered with suicide and murder and mental illness. Agh.

[sinswithpleasure]

Corrupt Practices

—-------—

For @chunksworld and @gangplanksorenji

Been a while since I've written a facefuck and I don't think this is up to par. Releasing it anyway because if I don't put something out I never will.

—-------—

The last thing you'd expected when entering your office in the middle of your year-end party was Kim Jungeun.

"Hey, partner."

The soft, deep voice startles you at first, but you'd know that greeting anywhere. You can't resist your smile when you turn around to greet her. She's hidden behind your door as usual, just as always when she sneaks into one of your many bases in operation.

"Partner."

You wonder about stepping up security to your office—no one's supposed to be here right now—but you know all too well about Jungeun's skill in evading detection. It's not going to matter any more, anyway. 

"I've missed you." 

When your arms wrap against Jungeun's lithe frame, you take in a deep breath of her scent, the fresh floral perfume that she always wears. You recall it as one of her own creations—learnt in her spare time as an undercover perfumer back in France, and she's used it ever since. She has on a long red dress this time—it hugs her figure so nicely, definitely tailor made.

"Still the same perfume, Agent?"

"Always, partner."

When she releases you from the hug, you smile at each other meaningfully, until she breaks the moment. 

"I see you still have your love for shit-coloured suits."

"Hey, fuck you, Jungeun. These are nice!" You scoff and roll your eyes in faux ire, just to humor her. It's an attempt to fake some sense of normalcy before you start talking shop, but the authenticity of the moment, ironically, can never be fake. 

"Sure, sure, whatever you say." Jungeun's soft grin matches the one on your face, and she pulls you in by the lapel, just to admire your attire. "You look well put together, that's all that matters."

You trail behind her as she takes a stroll around your office. You're in a mansion deep in the country, far away from the bright lights of the city, and this is the first time Jungeun's set foot into this new location.

"Oh, the record player from Spain's still here. And so are these books." Jungeun grins. "The one I bought you back in LA is still here."

“Yep, they are. I’d never throw away anything you give me.”

Jungeun is careful not to touch anything. She can't leave any trace of her presence. 

The dim light of the moon shining through the oriel windows lands across Jungeun's skin. You stay out of the light, content on watching her explore your office. 

"Ah, you and your scented candles. Different from your last office back in Milan."

"Of course they're different. I didn't even get to grab that one before you came." You chuckle, then pretend to shake your fist in anger. "I liked that one."

"I'll buy it for you next time we meet, okay?" Jungeun steps over to pull you into the light, and she rests herself against your desk. "For now… just kiss me."

You don't stop her when she draws closer, and neither does she stop you. Your lips land softly against hers, and both of you melt into a deep kiss. When you break for air, Jungeun chases your lips again, and both of you share soft pecks against each other's lips, just content to finally have some private time with each other. 

In another life, this could've been normal. In another life, this could've been a daily happening. However, not this life. Never in this life. 

The truth is this: you're number one on Interpol's Most Wanted, and Jungeun's the agent assigned on your case permanently. You're too far deep to leave the underworld, and she's too high up to ever quit pursuing justice. The both of you together shouldn't have worked out, and yet here you are, deeply in love with each other, stealing moments like these in between Interpol sting operations and shady underworld dealings. 

"What's the situation, Jungeun?"

"Interpol's coming. They're here to get everyone in one fell swoop tonight."

None of this surprises you any more. You've expected it—a mole in your operation must've leaked plans out, but you're not surprised. After all, it's not as if you don't have one in Interpol in Jungeun, and here you are, with her clung to you as your lover, in this dim office. It's a problem, but not for right now.

"How much longer before it happens?" You sigh, and give Jungeun a kiss on her forehead as appreciation for the news. Your turncoat agent hugs you tightly, just to enjoy your warmth around her.

"An hour. You have to leave before then."  

"What about you?" You can't help but wonder about Jungeun—you don't get to know about her days often. You wish you could, but…

"Back to chasing you across the globe, I guess, waiting until we meet again." Jungeun gives you a soft peck on your lips. "I'll be fine. I always am."

"In that case, let's not waste this time, mm? We're both here right now."

Jungeun picks up on your meaning almost immediately. There isn't much time, but she'll make it work with you. 

"Don't you need to inform your people?"

"Yeah, let me send this text… and done." You throw your phone aside, and you pull Jungeun against you for another deep kiss. This time, you let lust creep into the kiss, and soon enough, Jungeun has her tongue against yours, and she's pulling your suit jacket off, just as you're fondling her clothed chest. Her hands roam across your back when your jacket falls off, and she moans when you grab her ass and knead it. Jungeun pulls you closer to her, and when you shift to leave kisses down her lips to her neck, she gasps in pleasure and anticipation. You take the time to run your hands along her figure, almost as if to burn the memory of her against your palms. 

"We can't have sex today."

"Why not?" You temporarily halt your actions to give her a peck on her lips while you wait for her answer. 

"I'm ovulating today—I can't get pregnant right now, even though I'm so fucking wet and needing you to fuck a baby into me."

"Oh my God, fuck, Jungeun, you can't just say things like that!" Your cock twitches in your pants, and you can't help but rub your own bulge.

"It's the truth, baby. I wish I could just let you fuck me raw like that, let you impregnate me and father our child, but… fuck…" Jungeun replaces your hand with hers. She begins to work at your belt, and you groan when she undoes your zipper and fondles you over your boxers. Both of you share another torrid kiss, and you feel her hand slide beneath the waistband. When she pulls your hard cock out, you can't help but twitch in her hand as she strokes your length. 

"Fuck…" 

"If only we had more time…" Jungeun kisses you once more, and she reaches behind her back. You hear the telltale sign of a zipper being undone, and you watch as Jungeun pulls the strap of her dress over her head and pulls the cloth down. You feast your eyes upon her bra-clad breasts, and you keep watching as she undoes the clasp and pulls the garment off her, leaving her topless right in front of you. Her breasts are just as pretty as you remembered—brown nipples, taut with arousal, atop her petite, beautiful chest. Jungeun leads your hand to her body, and you softly knead her flesh, which draws a sigh of pleasure from her. The glow of the moonlight across her skin bathes her in an almost otherworldly glow, and you can't help but admire the goddess that is Kim Jungeun as you touch her. 

"You know what I'm going to do when this whole op is over?" Jungeun's question is broken up with soft sighs.

"What?"

"I'm going to go to my quarters after a nice shower, and I'm going to fuck myseld with my dildo. I'm going to ride it pretending I'm riding your cock." Jungeun grabs your cock once again, and she strokes it as she speaks. "I'm going to moan your name as I ride that cock, and I'm going to think of you breeding me, fucking a baby into me. I'm going to squirt all over it, and I'm not going to stop until I can't squirt anymore."

When Jungeun finishes her sentence, you crash your lips against hers in desperation and lust. You want nothing more than to fuck her, ruin her, and you tell her as such—searing words of lust whispered against her skin. 

"You still can, you know?" Jungeun's soft whisper against your lips gets you to stop kissing her for a moment, and she giggles. "I have other holes you can fuck."

You watch as your love sinks down to her knees. She still strokes your cock, dripping with pre-cum, and you shakily exhale when you feel her hot breath brush over your tip. Jungeun looks up at you, and you stare right into her eyes as her tongue glides over your tip to collect your essence. She licks you along your length right after, leaving soft kisses around the crown. 

"Fuck my mouth just like how you want to fuck my pussy. Use me, make me choke on that cock, make me swallow every last drop of cum you can shoot down my throat. Fuck me until you cum, baby."

Jungeun wastes no time—she wraps her lips around your shaft, and she begins to bob her head along your length, drawing soft curses out of you. Bit by bit, she takes more and more of you, and you can't help but groan when your tip hits the back of her throat. 

"Oh my God, fuck…!"

Jungeun's hands reach behind you to grab your ass. She pulls herself back, and she pushes you towards her as she takes you again. You take her cue this time—your hands grip her head, and you begin to thrust into her mouth, pulling out halfway, then thrusting back in again. Jungeun has no gag reflex—you know that fact very intimately, and you take full advantage of that. With every thrust, thick tendrils of spit coat your cock and drip down below to Jungeun's chest, and you can't help but swear at how good your love's mouth and throat feel. The sounds that Jungeun produces echoes around your office, and when you pull yourself out of her mouth, you nearly cum at the sight of the girl beneath you. Tears run down her face, her makeup ruined, and strings of her drool still cling to your shaft. You grab your cock and rub it all over Jungeun's face, and she actively welcomes it—softly moaning as you mess up her face even more. Her hands are kept busy—even as you were using her throat like you would her cunt, she'd kneaded and squeezed her own breasts for pleasure, and right now, she has her long red dress pulled up haphazardly to give herself access. She keeps one hand on her breasts, and the other reaches between her legs, where you can hear her fingers thrusting deep into her dripping cunt. No panties in sight—you twitch at the thought of her not having worn any.

"Fuck, baby, fuck, I feel so good, oh God, fuck~!"

Somewhere deep in you, a primal aggression rises—Jungeun's fucking herself, fingers deep in her pussy that you're meant to be fucking. Without warning, you shove your cock back into Jungeun's mouth, and you force her to choke on your cock. You don't even make it halfway out of her mouth before you're thrusting back in, your balls slapping against her chin and sending her spit splattering below. 

The sounds of Jungeun's throat taking your pounding drives you closer and closer to release. You look down to admire your love having her face fucked while she masturbates. The girl looks up at you, and she has completely surrendered herself to the fucking—her eyes are glossed over, the haze of pleasure too much for her, and you watch her shudder as she releases choked moans, and then you hear the telltale hiss, see the hard spray of her juices. Jungeun's a messy girl—she doesn't stop fingering herself, and her squirt sprays all over her thighs. Between her knees, a puddle of her juices grows bigger and messier. 

"Oh, fuck, I'm—!"

It is with that sight that you explode in Jungeun's mouth and throat. She manages to take two thick shots before you pull out to cum all over her face and chest. Shot after shot of hot semen rains upon Jungeun and dots her skin with white, and you nearly lose your balance as you shudder in pleasure with your release. 

When your orgasm subsides, both you and Jungeun move with urgency built off habit. You dress and clean the area while she cleans herself up, and both of you work like a well-oiled machine—ten minutes left to spare, and the clock resets, counting down until the next moment you get to see Jungeun again. 

Cleanup never takes too long—Jungeun's out in five, and you're done as well. You turn to pull the lever to your secret exit, but Jungeun stops you. 

"I'm going to miss you." This is the part that you hate, just as she does.

"And so will I."

You share a soft kiss with her, and both of you turn away from each other to run. The secret door closes behind you, and you leave, you can't help but run with a smile across your face. 

Until we meet again.

[unspeakable-imagination]

Hey pookie bear 🐻, would you mind dropping a nsfw and a sfw alphabet headcanon for our Wolverine?? Also I wanted to tell you that all the love and support you are getting is because you deserve it and because your work is amazing!!! I really hope that you are also enjoying support and love you are getting from all your fellow x-men simps ( I think this should be the fandoms name lol) 🩵🩵🩵💛🩵🩵🩵

Logan Howlett SFW Alphabet

Oh my goodness ofc pookie. I'll post the nsfw one later but for now, enjoy

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

If your not in a relationship, good luck. Logan has the hardest time showing affection towards anyone because of how scared he is to love them. If you, by some type of gods given grace, have ended up in a relationship with him, it's like the flip of a switch. Constant PDA, hands of your hips, you back your shoulders, slung around you in any way he can to show that you're his. Maybe not so much as kisses unless he's jealous. If he's seen another man looking at you, talking to you, or if he thinks thag you're even in their thoughts, he's going to rub their nose in the fact you're with HIM, not them. Kissing you, pulling you onto his lap while he sits, and even taking his time to occasionally run his hand up and down your sides.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Logan would probably form a friendship with you through training Jr fighting in a ring. The most tell-tail sign that he considers you a friend is if he's offering you a drink or favors. Need that picked up from town while he's out? He's on it. Can't lift that specific thing? Consider it done. He won't say anything about it. He just kinda does it. He tried nit to expect anything in return.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Absolutely, especially in a relationship. On the couch, on a bed during movie night. If he's really feeling it, he'll even wrap an arm around scott.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

The idea of a domestic lifestyle terrifies Logan since any time he's tried it, it's ended in the death of a lived one. He truly does crave having a good sense of normalcy, but at this point he probably sees himself as to messed up to have it. Logan would cook for you but cleaning is something he won't touch with a ten foot pole.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Logan would usually rather die than break up with the person he loved, but if he's fallen out of his attachment (which usually doesn't happen) then he would likely be the kind of person to move out and say "Hey, sorry I can't do this anymore."

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

As mentioned before, Logan isn't really feeling like he deserves any time of long-lasting relationship. He really does want it though. To be able to achieve it would take atleast a couple of years, realistically a 6 mo- a year to even realize he's into you like that.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Logan is really abrasive and isn't the kind of person tnag would really be gently. He usually says it how it is or how he really feels. If you really get on his nerves he gets snappy and doesn't always think his words through. Actually, he never does. If your in a relationship, he'd try to take that into consideration, but you'll have to ask and warn him first.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Hugs take time, and I don't think I can stress it enough. And once you reach a point that he'd even enjoy hugs, he'd still be shocked. You could grab him and hug him and he'd just stand there awkwardly for like 5 seconds before even putting an arm around you and hugging you back.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Logan will probably never want to say it, because that makes it real, and if he really loves you then he thinks you'll die. He tends to Rey and show it through tou actions, but you you have a stable relationship that you explain you need thoes verbal affirmations, he's on it.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Logan gets jealous if someone even looks at you wrong, or if someone has what he wants. He gets salty if he doesn't have it, or flaunts it if he does.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

This man loves to kiss his partners and even familial people on their forheads. He's got a kid.? Kiss them on the forehead. He's got a wife? Forged kisses every morning. He's got a best friend? A little iffy.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Logan doesn't want to admit the soft spot he has for children, especially his own if 2017 means anything. They do have to kinds work their way in, but once they worm their way into his heart he's as good as a babysitter. He might gwt a little stressed, though.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Logan loves having coffee, Cigars, or even a whiskey on the rocks on a balcony in the forest. Alone or with a partner, he doesn't really mind all that much.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Logan has a hard time going to sleep and staying asleep, but will cuddle you like his life depends on it, taking care to place his hands in a way that he wouldn't stab you if a nightmare were to occur.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

I think that his past and trauma would kinda be drip-fed to any friends, but in a relationship, anythingbtaht bothers him he will vent about, usually with a drink and a smoke. He will ramble, holding you close and using you as a calming agent while he tells you about his day.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

It's very dependant, so situational. This could go wither way. He could blow up or he could be begging to have a good talk, but ultimately, he does end up having a lower tolerance. He could be patient for a bit, but after that it's like a bomb timer.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Logan remebers EVERYTHING down to that one time you liked the way that that one blade of grass waved in the wind on may 14th 20xx.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He loves to flaunt the story of how you two got together and met or a first date. Catching you is usually his favorite memories.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Logan cannot stand the idea of you being in danger for him, but he'll willingly put himself in a position to be atomized, vaporized, castrated, or killed just to see you safe and smiling.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Depends on the kind of tasks. He doesn't like most housework but if you need the help, he's usually there. He likes to bring you breakfast in bed on any important day.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Logan is disgusted by the fact that gets a tendency to look down on some of the people that he loves. He starts treating them like their children, and like they can't care for themselves because. If they can... then is he really needed? Dude has the most isecure attachment style known to man.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He knows he's hot and that's that. Otherwise he doesn't care.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He probably would feel a little incomplete even with you, it would always linger in his mind if it's the right choice and if it will turn out okay, but you definetly help fill the hole.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He totally picks his nose every once in awhile and wipes it on his pants but only like once a month max. Very rate and never around somebody.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Can't stand someone who doesn't like forests. He can't stand cities and even more so, he can't stand living in a city or crowded areas for to long. If you want to stay in the city, it's a deal breaker.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Aside from his nightmares, if he's not sleeping with a partner, he will cuddle his pillows. He also drools and snores and starfishes.

[hiraya-rawr]

— their roles in a modern zombie apocalypse .

synopsis !! you meet them in an apocalypse, here's what they're like (hcs)

characters !! diluc, itto, alhaitham, zhongli, xiao

contains !! gn reader. some violent descriptions? anything you expect in a zombie apocalypse + lots of team dynamics!

+ + +

DILUC

The one who saves you from a risky situation. I'm taking about being surrounded and all of a sudden, he jumps in and knocks them all out.

always in the front lines

weapon of choice is a large bat (eventually, he'll wrap barbed wires around it or nails just for extra measure). brutal fighting style, hits them head-first

definitely wears a leather jacket, or something equally dark and large. i don't make the rules.

despite being extremely strict and protective with the group, he's actually extremely reckless when it comes to saving others- like, he'll run back into a hoard just to save someone that almost seems hopeless

gets scolded by kaeya and zhongli for doing things by himself.

ITTO

The disaster-prone guy who (for some reason) survived after all this time. You meet him in the middle of a supply run with his own teammates, Shinobu and his gang. He was making so much noise that you all had to run away together from a hoard.

Imagine stealth missions and all of a sudden, he sneezes really loudly or steps on a branch

you often get chased by zombies when you're with him, it doesn't help that he screams at them while being chased, catching the attention of more undeads.

like diluc, he also holds a pretty heavy bat, or anything just as big.

he makes up for being disaster-prone by also being very good at defending his partners

often gets into arguments with his other teammates, especially the leaders. he prefers being free and going around on his own, not knowing how stupid it is (but he's been handling himself pretty well so far)

ALHAITHAM

The one who gives you books to read. No one prioritizes entertainment on a supply-run, so seeing his mini-book collection in your hideout was honestly impressive.

he's strategist who keeps track of all supplies. He's the one who plans all the supply-trips you guys go out for, usually leading them himself. He hates Itto for putting his team in danger but brought him into your gang anyway.

it makes sense because he memorizes the map of streets like the back of his hand. he also keeps track of which roads are blocked or highly infested.

holds nightly meetings with the other leaders, discussing the next plan of action to ensure everyone's safety

on a softer note, he still tries to collect books when he can during the supply runs (you often have to move, but if you ever find a place you can stay for a little while longer, he can gather quite the collection)

everyone likes to borrow a book or two from him, since any other form of entertainment is down

some people find it odd that he still studies. he even reads academic books. it's not like he can ever get a professional position with the state of the world anyway? he says it's just because he likes it (and perhaps, for a sense of normalcy in his life)

if you ever bump into him late into the night when you can't sleep, he'll offer you a book to read (or perhaps, if you're lucky, even read you a book)

ZHONGLI

The businessman you leeched off of to survive since day 1. You were just walking the streets when the apocalypse happened and for some reason, while everyone was panicking and getting bitten, he was skillfully fighting the growing hoard and helping people evacuate the streets. You ended up being one of the survivors following him.

The gentleman who doesn't seem like he could survive in the apocalypse but is actually really, really good at it

I mean, he still wears a business casual outfit with the sleeves rolled up! how can he possibly survive?

but not only is he skilled with all sorts of weapons (which is incredibly suspicious for a mere salaryman) but he's great at hand to hand combat with zombies too

gains everyone's respect real quick with both his fighting skills and his ability to manage a small community in the apocalypse

XIAO

The unexpected source of comfort on nights when you question if living in this type of world is still worth it.

zhongli's right-hand man and honestly, the only reason why everyone underestimated zhongli at first was because xiao usually fought for him instead.

little guy tears apart at zombies before they could even approach anyone from your group

like diluc, he always gets scolded by his teammates for doing everything on his own

on nights when you feel alone, xiao is often on the rooftop of your building, keeping watch without being asked to

you once told him that you could take his shift of keeping watch so he won't have to stay late so much, only for him to rudely refuse. you used to think it was because he thought you were incompetent, but xiao just generally wants to keep watch as his duty.

you figured it would be lonely. so with the books you borrowed from alhaitham, you'd read by his side on the rooftop, occassionally keeping watch of any growing hoards

CHILDE

The sus guy from another group of survivors you keep bumping into.

If destiny were a thing, it would be him with how much you keep accidentally running into each other in the most ridiculous of situations.

at first, you thought he was a pretty nice guy. he's just like any other survivor trying to find supplies and apparently, he has a little brother back at camp!

he tells you he was picking up Teucer from school when all this happened.

then you got chased by zombies and childe– archons bless his soul, he loved the thrill of it and fought them off like a madman.

that's when you realize his entire group is full of sus people, equally crazed as him, and often causing trouble for other survivor groups.

you try to avoid him as much as possible but again, it's like destiny.

note !! i think this is the first I've written something for itto? not sure but it feels new. and this took way too long to write mainly because i keep messing up the writing style 😭

ko-fi || character m.list

[purge-samauwu]

I👏🏾NEED👏🏾MORE👏🏾LAIOS X SENSHI👏🏾CONTENT!!!!

It's not fair😫😫

They'd be so perfect bro. The autism duo who understand each other. Out of everyone who Laios is shipped with he's the only one that has never looked at him like he was subhuman! (I love the cast but they be making my boy feel lonely sometimes) the only thing close to that that Senshi does is give him the fluoride stare but that's just how he is most of the time so it isn't personal. (I'm looking at you chilchuck with your 16,000 stank faces)

And you can't even deny, out of all of the possible combinations, Senshi is the only one with a 0% chance of saying a single ableist thing to Laios. Partly because he knows the struggle but also because he doesn't operate on society's expectation of normalcy. He doesn't feel like how people talk, walk, and/or act should be dictated by the norms other individuals set and thinks it's foolish to think of people as inhuman simply for something like a difference in behavior.

NOW ONTO THE SHIT THAT MAKES THEM ALIKE IN WAYS I EAT FOR BREAKFAST.

Laios as well as senshi confirmed geek over the monsters and the different ways to prepare them. So if Senshi ever wanted to initiate anything romantic-like he'd woo Laios with that good monster food. But realistically if they ever had crushes on each other neither would really know because they themself's wouldn't even really sus it out.

So Chilchuck would be in the room looking at them and with his 75 years of experience(joke) he'd say some shit like: kiss already😑 while lazily and haphazardly sharpening one of his lil daggers. And then once it clicked it would be "mind activation" for both of them. Then they'd start the awkward mating ritual. This of course being painful to look at for Marcille, runs away everytime she even thinks they're going to interact.

Said mating ritual involves: talking about anything that comes to either of their mind with each other until they're throats get so dry they can't physically speak anymore(I got autism and I'm very comfortable with one my friends so this actually happened)

Doing the complete opposite and being able to sit in complete and utter silence while still looking like they're communicating (they on that telepathy shit)

Understanding immediately when one or the other isn't up for something or if they don't feel like talking to the others but don't know how to voice it.

Imagine other people in the dungeon look at the two and think they're acquaintances because of how nonchalant they talk to each other only for one of them to do some the most romantic shit out of nowhere then go back to being chill.

The looks of bewilderment would be insane.

(Genuinely I don't think I'm that good of voicing my opinion of characters and ships so if you can help me reword parts that feel weird to you feel free to comment because I wrote this while having a random spark of inspiration at the dead of night.)

[infamousbrad]

Alex Garland's Civil War is my perfect movie. I'm not sure who else's, though.

There's a thing I've said about lots of art: if you have to read the artist's statement to get the point, the artist's statement is the art. I read multiple interviews with Garland, went in prepared for the movie he was trying to make, and I loved it, a lot. I don't know if I can say that I enjoyed it, because it's super-emotional, especially super-tense. But I'm very very glad I saw it, and if somebody invited me to go with them, I'd probably watch it again, and I may well buy the blu-ray when it comes out. That being said? I'm not sure who else, other than a few weirdos like me and a few academic cinephiles this movie is for.

Remember the movie Pleasantville, if you even saw it? The trailer mislead a lot of people into expecting a jokey comedy about how dumb "Return to Normalcy" era sitcoms were, and nearly everybody who went in with those expectations hated Pleasantville, because what they got was a deep philosophical meditation on how you can't actually solve a social problem without losing your innocence, and loss of innocence, no matter how necessary, hurts. So almost nobody loved Pleasantville but a few people like me, who wanted it injected straight into our veins.

So let me lay this straight out before you buy your ticket to Civil War:

First of all, at no point in Garland's Civil War do they tell you the politics of any of the three sides in the near-future second American Civil War. Nor are you expected to figure them out. The war started four or five years before the first scene of the movie, and none of the people in this movie are still interested in debating why the war. There are three sides, and while there are people who say that the Western Forces are Democrats and the Florida Alliance are Republicans and the Federal Army are Trumpist, they are reading their own prejudices into way too few background clues and ignoring the other background clues that contradict that theory.

I know that every American who sees this movie is watching to find out which army is "on my side," which one they're supposed to be rooting for, and that is not a movie that Alex Garland wanted to make. You are supposed to be rooting for the war to just be over and elections to resume. Because that's what every civilian and every soldier wants, and nearly all the unlawful combatants. And also ...

This is not a war movie. If you want the (somehow, to you anyway) relaxing catharsis of cheering while lots of military hardware gets used? You are going to hate Civil War because this movie is, to borrow an older metaphor, Tomorrowland to your Mad Max: Glory Road. Garland made this movie to shame you particularly if you like war movies. The total amount of combat footage in this movie probably doesn't reach 20 minutes, and our main viewpoint character for the final battle sequence is a traumatized civilian.

One last thing I can say before diving behind a spoiler warning, though: it is an amazing technical movie, this thing should win all the technical Oscars next year. In particular, the principal photography is the best I've ever seen and the way it mixes (and sometimes un-mixes!) the separate audio tracks perfectly manipulates the tension level. And all four lead actors put their whole selves into these parts and held nothing back.

So what is this movie if it's not a political movie or a war movie? I can't tell you that without diving at least partway into spoiler territory, so ...

Alex Garland wants to prove two things in this movie:

Life in a failed state sucks ass. Yes, even if you're nowhere near the combat zone. And ...

War correspondents and combat photographers themselves wonder if what they're doing is making any difference, but they're heroes for trying.

The journalists themselves can't point to a single time what they do prevented or stopped a war, and they very much wonder if they're just adrenaline-addicted glory-hogs. But even not even knowing if what they're doing will ever save a single life, they are absolute fucking heroes. They put themselves at insane risk because this is the only thing that they know how to do and if it has any chance of saving lives, of preventing or stopping war, it has to be tried.

Our main cast are four journalists: an elderly war correspondent, a middle aged war correspondent, a middle aged combat photographer, and a (too) young combat photographer on a mission:

They start in Federally occupied NYC, reporting on anti-regime protests and terrorist attacks. They've heard rumors about the actual war. Right now the front line is a three-way battle for control of Charleston, South Carolina. They've heard that the Westerners and the Floridians are going to fight each other to the death as soon as they push the Federals out of the Carolinas, and then on July 4th, just a week away or so, the likely winners, the Westerners, are nearly certain to seize the capitol. They think the 5 year war is almost over, and are trying to figure out how to cover the end. This is, like, literally the whole of the first two scenes.

The old guy wants to cover the battle of Charleston "for whatever is left of the New York Times" and then retire. The three younger journalists have an even crazier idea: skip the battle of Charleston and use the last remaining highway into/out of DC to outrun the Western Forces and cover the fall of the White House.

So the overwhelming majority of the movie is a several day, many hundred mile road trip in an armored car marked PRESS. This involves driving west to Pittsburgh and then back east to Charleston, to get around the combat zone, which results in the real main part of the movie:

The road trip is intended to show you how much the combination of anarchy, localized paranoia, and fear of looters is driving various levels of savagery far from the war zone, which the reporters and photographers keep stopping to document.

It ends with the race to keep up with the Western forces so they can cover the fall of the White House, which is the only long combat scene in the movie, and it is incredibly intense, and very loud and scary, and nobody except maybe the kid photographer covers themselves in glory.

And every scene of it tells the same didactic message, told in about a dozen different ways: when the war is over, whether or not you were "on the right side" is going to matter a lot less than the horror you lived through, and wartime journalists put themselves through hell to try to prove that to you before it's too late.

[marie-m-art]

A recurring feature that I like in Neil Gaiman's and Terry Pratchett's stories is the mundane and ordinary juxtaposed and blended with the extraordinary and fantastical.

There's a lot of humour derived from this, but it got me wondering if the concept also works as a theme under the surface of the humour, so I'll explore that idea a bit here with examples from Good Omens and Discworld.

First a look at the humour side, because it's fun, and so that people know what I'm referring to:

-In the opening sequence of Good Omens S1E1: an angel and a demon (fantastical beings) are conversing like ordinary people, using idioms like "Well that went down like a lead balloon", against a setting of biblical proportions.

-The Archangels' meeting in S2E6 discussing first the Second Coming ("Nah!"), and then next on the agenda is the cleaning roster.

-The visuals of heaven and hell in general - it's the subversion of expectations on what these places "should" look and function like - offices, clipboards, contracts, bureaucracy. This is humour and seems like theme/motif at the same time; the visual cues say a lot about heaven and hell and their role in this story.

-Death from the Discworld books owns an umbrella stand and a hairbrush, likes kitty cats, and rides a white horse named Binky.

-In Small Gods, the Great God Om is incarnated as a tortoise:

And it came to pass that in that time the Great God Om spake unto Brutha, the Chosen One:

'Psst!'

Next, looking at the concept's thematic or metaphorical potential.

The following excerpt gets me thinking about how people put outsized importance on mundane things, and about normalcy bias kicking in when a narrow mind is confronted with extraordinary events.

From Good Omens book (about RP Tyler):

It is a high and lonely destiny to be Chairman of the Lower Tadfield Residents' Association.

[…]

Your car is on fire.

No. Tyler just couldn't bring himself to say it. I mean, the man had to know that, didn't he? He was sitting in the middle of it. Possibly it was some kind of practical joke.

Next, a scene that makes me think about retreating into the mundane to cope, after being confronted with an extraordinary event.

From Good Omens S2E6:

Nina: Oh, God, I should've been open half an hour ago.

Maggie: How can you think about that after all this??

Nina: People need coffee, I sell coffee, it's my coffee shop.

And next, thinking about how the minutiae of the everyday distracts us from paying enough attention to big world issues (a bit of normalcy bias again too). 

From Good Omens book (when the horsepersons of the apocalypse arrive at the airbase):

No one stopped the four as they purposefully made their way into one of the long, low buildings under the forest of radio masts. No one paid any attention to them. Perhaps they saw nothing at all. Perhaps they saw what their minds were instructed to see, because the human brain is not equipped to see War, Famine, Pollution, and Death when they don't want to be seen, and has got so good at it that it often manages not to see them even when they abound on every side.

Next, two excerpts from Discworld books. At first I was thinking along the lines of needing to focus on the everyday because we can't spend all our time focusing on big existential stuff, or, how we take the wonders of nature for granted because of busy lives; but then I realized, I think it's actually a clever inversion of what we consider to be ordinary - that just being alive, against all odds, in the vast universe, is actually quite extraordinary.

From Small Gods:

And one of [the brain's] functions is to make the miraculous seem ordinary and turn the unusual into the usual.

Because if this was not the case, then human beings, faced with the daily wondrousness of everything, would go around wearing big stupid grins […] And no one would do much work.

Gods don't like people not doing much work. People who aren't busy all the time might start to think.

Part of the brain exists to stop this happening. It is very efficient. It can make people experience boredom in the middle of marvels.

[more going on in the above than just the subject of the post, but I'm narrowing the focus here]

From Hogfather:

THERE IS A PLACE WHERE TWO GALAXIES HAVE BEEN COLLIDING FOR A MILLION YEARS, said Death, apropos of nothing. DON'T TRY TO TELL ME THAT'S RIGHT.

"Yes, but people don't think about that," said Susan. Somewhere there was a bed …

CORRECT. STARS EXPLODE, WORLDS COLLIDE, THERE'S HARDLY ANYWHERE IN THE UNIVERSE WHERE HUMANS CAN LIVE WITHOUT BEING FROZEN OR FRIED, AND YET YOU BELIEVE THAT A … A BED IS A NORMAL THING. IT IS THE MOST AMAZING TALENT.

And a quote from Terry Pratchett himself, inverting ordinary/extraordinary (the whole video is great, by the way):

Within the story of evolution is a story far more interesting than any in the Bible. It teaches us amazing things: that stars are not important - there is nothing interesting about stars. Street lamps are very important, because they're so rare. As far as we know there's only a few million of them in the universe. And they were built by monkeys! Who came up with philosophy, and gods.

He also mentioned here that his impression after reading the Old Testament was: "If this is all true, then we are in the hands of a madman!" Off topic again, but relevant to some of what went into Good Omens I think.

Not sure if I've proved anything here, and that wasn't the goal, but it was fun to find some quotes for my brain to play around with!

[ddarker-dreams]

HngnGNhnngn thinking about. scarlet ribbons and how unused the members of bucciarati's gang are to being doted on. or just cared for in the slightest really. all of them have experienced being cast aside at some point or another. that's why your kindness shines through like blinding rays, engulfing them with warmth that makes them realize just how cold they've been all along.

for giorno, it's reminding him that he doesn't have to be the infallible don of passione around you. giorno giovanna wears so many masks that he sometimes forgets his true face — if such a fabled countenance exists any longer. he always needs to be three steps ahead of both his allies and his enemies. this habit would exhaust anyone else, yet he's so used to it by now, that the weariness is mistaken for normalcy. you maneuver past the cracks in his façade and remind him that a person still exists behind the innumerable walls he's built up. without your reminders, it's likely he would forget. it takes time and diligence on your part. however, piece by piece, he'll reveal to you a more vulnerable self than he's never shown anyone else. in the dead of night, he'll quietly admit his fears. you don't need to present him any solutions, you just need to listen, hearing him out and withholding judgment. the resulting lightness where heavy pressure once oppressed his chest amazes him. you amaze him. you become his lifeline as much as he's been yours.

for fugo, it's simply engaging in his interests. his enthusiasm for learning never disappeared. he's been shut down in the past, his ability to quickly grasp the most complex subjects at a young age earned no shortage of envy from his older peers. due to this, they never cared to engage him in conversation on academics. consequently, his mind is buzzing with things to say that he figured no one would ever care to hear. when you don't just inquire what book he's reading, but really dig in with some specific questions, he can barely contain his excitement. you might not understand astrophysics or quantum mechanics but the way he lights up at your genuine investment is beyond endearing. by the time he finishes his explanation, he'll flush, murmuring an apology for getting carried away on something you likely could care less about. you adamantly refute this claim. he's at a loss. especially now, as you scoot next to him, pointing to some term he briefly mentioned and asking if he wouldn't mind expanding on it further. he has to bite down on his lower lip to stop the toothy grin that threatens to overwhelm his features.

for bruno, it's asking if he's been remembering to take care of himself. whether or not he answers in truth is subject to chance, since he doesn't want to worry you. still, if he brushes off your concern, guilt travels through his system like a poison and is expelled only when he confesses that he can't remember the last time he slept for more than five hours. your worry transcends anything he expected. you don't just give him a sorrowful glance and murmur how unfortunate that is, no, you act. advocating for his well-being when he's always considered it a second-rate concern. you're beside yourself, flitting to and fro, making the necessary arrangements for him to properly relax. he offers the slightest resistance just to relish in the guilty pleasure of how indignant you get for his sake. it's adorable, you're adorable, and if his heart was anymore full with love, it might burst. he scoops you up once you've finished lecturing him for not attending to his health and insists you'll be his personal remedy.

(nara, mista and abba under the cut)

for narancia, it's enjoying a homecooked meal. the poor boy grew up food insecure. even now that he has a job and livable income, he still mostly sustains himself off restaurant leftovers and takeout. when you make a point of asking what he's had to eat so far that day and he responds with something like a bag of chips or a slice of cold pizza, he doesn't understand your aghast expression. from his perspective, that's a solid diet, considering he used to rummage through trashcans for scraps. when you're still in your roommate era with fugo, you go against his wishes and start inviting narancia over often. you've become acquainted with some folk willing to share the produce their gardening hobby yields. narancia is in pure awe at the sight of freshly squeezed orange juice and waffles made from scratch on the first morning you had him over for breakfast. gobbles it down despite fugo chastising his poor manners. narancia becomes a regular at your doorstep after that point, pitching in to help with groceries. you teach him how to make some staples and he eagerly soaks in the knowledge. he thinks you're an absolute beauty with your little apron, shining and radiant.

for mista, it's just being down to vibe. he's a chill dude with a curious mind. the other guys tend to groan when mista introduces his wild hypotheticals or strange questions, so when you reciprocate his enthusiasm, he knows he's found his soulmate. wants to propose to you right then and there. it goes both ways, too. you could chat for hours about the most inane things and he'd find it absolutely riveting. time flies by unnoticed when the two of you get together. the sun will be high in the sky when he asks you about aliens and it'll be night when you ask him which animal he thinks is the most catholic. it's no exaggeration to say you're his best friend. whenever he calls you, he does that thing where he twists the phone cord with his finger. he's smitten and he has no complaints. mista couldn't get tired of you if he tried, you both just gel together perfectly.

for abbacchio, it's showing up at his dingy apartment uninvited and breathing life into the desolate space. he doesn't even remember giving you a key. regardless, here you are, chastising him for his empty fridge and swearing that you'll shrivel up and die if he doesn't go grocery shopping with you. he rolls his eyes, calls you dramatic, yet concedes anyway. he always does if you're the one insisting. you're not exactly rolling in cash but you purchase little trinkets that make his home, well, a home. a framed picture of the two of you by the bay. a candle for the kitchen windowsill that has a scent you know he's partial to. matching frog mugs that he swears he finds unsightly (he doesn't). a welcome mat, an ornate mirror found at a thrift shop, this pink blanket that feels as soft as a cloud. abbacchio's particularly fond of that last one, since it smells like you. what used to be four walls with a roof is now this vibrant space that screams you at every corner. he might grumble about your unsolicited redecorating but he wouldn't have it any other way.

[aihoshiino]

Hey there! Love your analyses of Ai and ao3 fanfics! They're so good and you always bring interesting points to the table! I want to know your thoughts on something (it's possible that I sent this ask a while back but I have a feeling it never came through lol, my Tumblr/Internet be broken sometimes): In chapter 140 (not 100% canon, but I think the brought up subjects still resonate), page 5, Hikaru says that the student should come to the teacher, while Ai says don't just invite a man to your house. Do you think this has a link with their traumas? It also makes me wonder why exactly Ai would say something like that. Could it have a link with Ayumi's boyfriend (="man") that ogled her? I would like to know your thoughts on how this boyfriend would've affected Ai, her image on men or just relationships/sex in general. Would it even have a big impact on those factors? Thank you for your thoughts!

Thank you so much! 💜 Looking at my inbox I do think Tumblr just ate it the first time you sent this….. Functional webbed site……………..

Honestly it's so hard to know what to make of those HikaAi movie scenes in general but especially off the back of Hikaru being like "fake and gay lol" about it. The characterization feels additive and consistent with the real Ai and Hikaru but at least one of these scenes was written by an author who had literally never met them. And while they do communicate things to us about their respective baggage, it's complicated by the fact that this is in-universe fiction written by an in-universe author. So it's like - is this characterization Aka Akasaka is trying to communicate to us or characterization Yoriko Kichijouji is trying to communicate to the audience of 15 Year Lie? Both? It's a mess!

THAT SAID, Hikaru's "fake and gay lol" is explicitly challenged and undermined by the narrative and the whole point of the confrontation is slapping him with the fact that (among other things), he doesn't understand Ai half as well as he thinks he does. With that in mind and given that it doesn't directly contradict anything else we know about the real Ai, we can probably treat it as true enough for the purposes of using it as jumping off points for discussion.

I don't think Kamiki's line is super important on its own as its really just the setup for Ai's response - so the talk as a whole is really more about communicating things about Ai to us, through Hikaru's POV. And I think strictly in this context, Ai's line there is less to do with her mom and her experience growing up in Ayumi's house (I actually got the impression that the movie barely touched on that stuff? but I could be wrong) and more about her like… responding to other people's expectations without necessarily fully understanding them. I do think the specific way she phrases it is probably parroting something Ayumi may have said to her though - similarly to the way she calls her past self a 'nasty brat' in the Da Vinci interview which was just like… so pointed and unkind I can only assume it was something Ayumi called her in the past that just burrowed its way into her brain forever like that shit does.

Overall, it's part of a much broader pattern of behaviour on Ai's part of, as I've described it to friends, performing normalcy to the point of abnormality. She imitates the end of the "normal behaviour" process tree without understanding or following any of the steps that get there. I can't believe I'm reaching for this reference lol but I was rewatching a bunch of CJ the X vids last week and in their essay about Cat Valentine from the show Victorious, they describe some of the (certainly accidental) neurodivergent coding in Cat's character in a way that really pinged me as also speaking to the way Ai is also (much more intentionally) coded:

"[…] There's a big difference between following social procedure naturally and Attempting To Behave As One Might Act. […] She mimics convention, while fundamentally misinterpreting what part of convention is important in the first place."

That's really the cornerstone to a lot of Ai's behaviour - the combo of her social isolation and her neurodivergence means that she does not have the same frame of reference that most other people absorb from their peers and families as they grow up. So instead she just sort of… looks at the people around her, figures out what successful social interactions look like from the outside, and tries to replicate that to varying degrees of success.

Her argument with Nino is probably my favourite example of this - Nino is all but screaming at her to have a normal fucking human being conversation with her and Ai just sits there like ^_^ Nooooo don't be insecure your so sexy aha. no wonder nino wanted to kill her with a brick HGSJSSKS. And like - from an outsider perspective, you can see exactly why this happens! This is basically Ai short-circuiting because none of her usual scripted responses are resolving this situation. She defaults to the fawning response because she doesn't know what else to do, even though it should be clear it's making the issue worse.

It would be sooooo easy to just make this a one sided instance of Nino being cruel to her but it's really just the inevitable and unavoidable conclusion of Ai's instincts towards avoidance and fear of vulnerability. And it's not Ai's FAULT she's like that. it's learned behaviour. she is the way she is because allowing herself to be sincere and vulnerable only ever gets her hurt, but it still hurts her and the people around her as a result (like with Kamiki).

oh my god i'm like 5k words in and i haven't even touched the question you directly asked LSKDJKSSK. I MEAN, I ASSUME AT THIS POINT PEOPLE SEND ME ASKS LIKE THIS KNOWING THE RISKS OF GETTING AN ESSAY IN RETURN…

ANYWAY, I definitely think Ai's experiences growing up in Ayumi's house (incl. ayumi's pedo boyfriend lmao) were a huge part of why she ends up with such an utterly fucked concept of love and relationships. When I see people talking about this aspect of her character, I feel like it gets downplayed because the series itself is more about her life as an idol but her childhood is the literal foundation of everything that follows - Ai becomes an idol because she wants to know how to love people and be loved in return and the reason she's never experienced that is because of how Ayumi raised her and how she failed to protect Ai from and properly respond to Ai's narrow brush with that type of victimization.

It's hard to really say exactly how this specific incident impacted her with how little we know about how all that went down, but I definitely think it was part of a pretty consistent pattern in her childhood of having failed/toxic relationships modeled for her - there was All That with Ayumi's boyfriend but we also know that Ai's biodad was not in a relationship with Ayumi at the time Ai was growing up and that she saw him pretty infrequently. It's not hard for me to imagine that Ai's kind of wishywashy confusion as to wtf marriage even is expressed in 45510 is the result of seeing dogshit relationship after dogshit relationship fall apart in her formative years. And I definitely think The Incident (& Ayumi's reaction to it - she herself admits her behavior escalated as a result) probably planted the seed in Ai's brain of her being like… more aware of sex than she should have been at the age she was?

In fact, ironically, Hikaru's line about 'giving your body to body to receive love' was actually how I've always interpreted Ai - pretty much the entire time I've been brainrotted about her, my interpretation has always been that Hikaru was not her first boyfriend or sexual partner and that she had probably run through a couple of extremely fast burning short term relationships before they met.that escalated to physical intimacy very quick and burned out just as fast.

I don't necessarily have a ton of capital-E Evidence for this other than a line or two in the series and also just Vibes. Not only can abuse and neglect in childhood lead to premature sexual behaviour in teens (as a sort of attention/intimacy seeking mechanism) but Akane specifically pegs Ai as having obvious emotional imbalances typical of a person who engages in this kind of early sexual behaviour, but then notes that it settled down after she turned 15 and notes 'did she meet someone nice?', implicitly tying her improvement in behaviour to Kamiki - but then of course, that means her destructive behaviour can't have been the result of sleeping with him. In addition, the TL that was available for the manga when I was getting back into the series had Ai refer to Kamiki as an ex during their phonecall, implying she had more than one.

This is one of those things where like… if you are normal about this character it probably doesn't really matter but unfortunately for everyone else i'm insane ;SKFLSNMSLSMKA So stuff like this is really interesting for me to dig into. One of the things I find really fascinating about Ai that mostly exists in subtext and idk how intentional it even was on Akasaka's part is this sense of internalized shame and even disgust she has directed at her own body and sexuality. She calls herself 'dirty' and 'impure', and her final words to Ryosuke are her more or less apologizing to him for that - and idk, I think that aspect of her character (and OnK's ongoing refutations that Ai being 'dirty' in this way is in any way something she should have been rebuked or punished for) is that much more interesting if all that is the case vs the more straightforward and "pure" (for lack of a better word) version of events where she met Hikaru and they fell in love and had sex… if that makes sense.

Honestly Ai's relationship with like, sex and intimacy and sex in the context of a loving relationship being healing and reclaiming for her is one of those things I have so much fun writing in the context of RP and stuff but if I continued rambling about it here I would go on all day lol and this post is already so long. IN ANOTHER ASK, PERHAPS……..

[letstevengrantsleep]

Part Six

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Eddie Munson x reader slow burn

part summary: Jake tries to get you back, and everything comes to a head for him and Eddie

word count: 1,406

warnings: arguments, fights, using 'whore' and 'bitch' as insults, punching (reader is only witness to this), ANGST, horrid relationship dynamics, lots of anger and outbursts

a/n: Here it is! The crescendo. We'll be staying a little drab for a chapter after this and then we're on the slow up and up I promise. This chapter is heavy, and I apologise for that. But we need to hit the bottom to be able to climb back up, right? Please, please let me know if I missed any warnings that you think should be on this chapter.

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A week has passed since meeting Rob in the shop, and life has once more settled into a monotonous rhythm. You're back at your own home, having left Steve's behind in favour of familiarity and some alone time. Each morning, you drag yourself out of bed, the weight of routine pressing down hard.

Work has been a blur. You move through tasks mechanically, you mind often drifting. Conversations with customers feel distant, their words barely registering as the hours tick by slowly, each one blending into the next.

Evenings are the hardest. Coming home to an empty apartment, feeling like a ghost in your own home as you move through the motions of cooking, eating, and cleaning without ever really being present. The silence is deafening, a stark contrast to the lively conversations you are used to having with customers, with Steve. With Eddie and Rob.

Throughout the week, you find yourself calling Rob more often than you expected to. His calm voice is a balm for your frayed nerves, and your conversations, though brief, provide a sense of normalcy. Rob is understanding and patient, never pushing you to talk about more than you are willing to, or comfortable with. Yet, every call leaves you with a pang of guilt. You can't shake the feeling that you are somehow betraying someone.

Eddie. You bump into him one night at the grocery store, which only adds to your inner turmoil. You watch as his eyes light up when he sees you, and for a moment the weight on your shoulders lifts. You chat about mundane things, but the warmth of his gaze makes you feel safe, like you can finally breathe. As you part ways, Eddie gives you a reassuring smile, and you feel a flicker of something deep in your gut.

Their dynamics are so different. With Rob there's a sense of stability and calm, a promise of a fresh start. With Eddie, there's a deep connection, something that makes you feel understood and protected.

It makes you feel like a zombie, all of it, just fulfilling tasks and existing in routine. The spark that Eddie ignited that night at the party seems to flicker, overshadowed by the shadows following you.

-

You heart sinks into the pit of your stomach as you climb the last few stairs to your apartment and come face to face with your door, ajar. You take a moment, hesitating, before pushing it open further and stepping inside, pulse quickening.

There, sat on your couch with tear stained cheeks, is Jake. His eyes are red and puffy as he looks up at you, practically trembling as he whimpers your name.

"I just had to see you."

You take a step back, eyes instinctively flicking over to the landline on the other side of the room. "Jake, you shouldn't be here. How did you..-" you frown, confused as to how he got into your home.

He stands, movements slow and deliberate. "Your spare key," he dangles it in front of his face, saying your name. "Please, just hear me out. I know I messed up, but I can change. I love you, I can't live without you."

Your heart aches with a horrid mixture of fear and pity, "Jake, please don't... it's over. You hit me. I can't see past that."

You watch as his expression hardens, stepping back as he takes a step forwards. "No. You don't understand. We can fix this. We were good together. Remember?"

You shake your head, eyes flicking to the phone again, "No. No Jake I can't do this."

His desperation turns to anger. "You're just saying that because of him aren't you?"

'What?" You ask, genuinely confused. "Do you mean Eddie? Jake we didn't even know each other before that night."

Jake's face twists with rage. "You're such a whore, you know that?" He spits his words out, taking another step towards you. "After everything we've been through, you're going to leave me so you can fuck around with some freak?"

"Jake I think you need to leave."

"No." He shakes his head, lunging forwards to grip at your arm with a bruising grip. "You're not going anywhere until we sort this out."

You struggle to break free, heart pounding in your chest. "Let go of me, Jake!"

In a desperate bid for freedom, you manage to twist out of his grasp and run for the hallway. You fumble with the phone, dialing the only number you can think of with fumbling fingers. Just as you press the call button, Jake knocks the phone out of your hand. You watch, paralysed, as Jake becomes more volatile, screaming at you with flailing arms as he paces back and forth.

You try and make some distance between the two of you as he shouts threats and accusations at you, mind racing with fear. You glance at the phone on the floor, a trickle of relief running over you as you hear a faint voice on the other end of the line.

Hello? You there?

Jake’s rage is palpable. “You’re not going anywhere until we sort this out!”

Your fear spikes, honestly it feels like you're done for. Seconds feel like hours as Jake’s shouting grows louder, his words blending into a terrifying roar. The walls seem to close in on you, and it feels like you can barely breathe. You keep your eyes on the door, praying for Eddie to arrive.

Finally, you hear the roar of Eddie’s van pulling up outside. Relief washing over you as Eddie comes crashing through the door, his eyes blazing with fury.

"Get away from her, Jake." Eddie growls, stepping between you and Jake.

"You think you're some kind of hero, don't you? Coming in here, acting like you're saving her?"

Eddie's voice stays steady, but his anger is palpable. "I'm here because she needs help."

Jake laughs bitterly. "Help? That's what you call it?" He takes a step towards you, glaring with red hot anger between you and Eddie. "Or is it just an excuse to get close to her?"

Your heart pounds as you watch the confrontation escalate. "Jake stop it, this isn't about Eddie."

Jake ignores you, his focus entirely on Eddie. "Admit it, freak. You've been waiting for this. You think you can just take her from me?"

Eddie scoffs, taking a step closer to Jake. "She's not some fucking object to be taken, Jake. She's her own person and she deserves way better than you."

Jake's face twists once more, the rage radiating off him. "You're sleeping with her, aren't you? That's what this is all about. You've been together behind my back!"

He's clearly not thinking straight, saying things that don't make sense. "Jake, you know that's not true."

"Don't fucking lie to me, bitch, I know what's going on."

Eddie’s patience snaps. “You don’t know anything, Jake. You lost her because of what you did, not because of me.”

Jake lunges forward, but Eddie is ready for it. He blocks Jake’s advance, pushing him back with a force that left no room for argument. “Get out, Jake. Now.”

Jake’s lunges again, but this time Eddie doesn't hold back. With a swift, powerful punch, Eddie’s fist connects with Jake’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward. The sound of the impact echoes through the room, and for a moment, everything is still.

Jake clutches his jaw, his eyes wide with shock and pain. “You’ll regret that, Munson,” he spits, his voice filled with venom.

Eddie stands his ground, eyes blazing with fury. "No. No I don't think I will, Jake." Eddie steps forward, "you ever come here again, or lay a fucking finger on her again, and I will make sure you end up with more than a busted face."

Jake's bravado falters and you watch with wide eyes as he takes a step back, realising he's outmatched. "This isn't over." He points a finger in Eddie's face, but the fight is gone from him.

You watch with bated breath as Jake retreats out of your door, head hung low and fists balled at his side.

Eddie turns to face you, expression slowly softening as his breathing slows too, "are you okay?" he rushes to your side, hands finding a home on either side of your face as his eyes frantically run over your face.

Your bottom lip begins to quiver, tears welling up in your eyes.

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