#this is probably far too long form for tumblr

[groxglitch]

Contact

Pain.

Every synapse and nerve ending in 621’s broken body burned. The sudden Coral surge was overwhelming. It felt like his brain itself was buzzing, his head spinning. Every sensor feed from his stricken AC was more noise than actual data. The last time he’d experienced this much misery in one place was his initial augmentation; unlike that time, he no longer had a larynx with which to scream. Everything was red. Outside, inside, even if he closed his eyes all he could see was that flashing, jittering, intense red. At the outer vestiges of his mind he could hear a voice; soft, feminine, surprised and curious, though he was far from capable of making out what was being said. He clung to the margins, fading in and out as his AC was thrashed around the interior of the Watchpoint. He was fairly sure he had faded in and out of consciousness a few times now. And what was that voice? He was no stranger to hearing voices - usually the med cocktail took care of them - but this was different somehow, more alien and external than a voice in his head had any right to be.  Even in his dazed state, he could pick out angular changes in orientation, hear thrusters firing. Accelerometer data confirmed the changes, when his twice-fried brain could actually understand the signals. Was he doing that? Even his instincts had their limits.

“Raven.”

There was that voice again. At least she sounded soothing. Was this it? Was this the parting hallucinations of a brain that had figured out it was going to die? Something seethed  deep inside him. This was not how it was supposed to end. He had not come this far to die in some Coral-filled hole in the ground. His AC systems read off a full readiness report he could barely even comprehend. He did make out “operator vitals stable”, so he probably wasn’t dying. Not unless the Coral in his brain decided to cook off, anyway. He also noted he had absolutely no outbound signal. He struggled to un-slump himself within the fluid of his control pod.

“Raven, you need to wake up. There’s a PCA craft on direct approach, it’s jamming our signal.”

Suddenly his mind snapped awake. Combat. The noise had died off and he could make heads or tails of what was happening, albeit with some difficulty. His AC was standing on the roof of the Watchpoint. How? He could figure that out later. There was a hostile incoming. If he didn’t get it together now he wouldn’t live to worry about getting out of the Watchpoint, or the voice in his head that was evidently not a dying hallucination. He was still struggling to function, though; his movements were sluggish and he was struggling to process his machine’s full bandwidth of data. Frankly it was amazing he was doing as well as he was given he should, by all rights, be dead.

“I’ll synchronize with your brainwaves and support you as best I can. Get ready.”

Synchronize with- what? 621 struggled to make sense of the statement, but it wasn’t like he had time to worry about it anyway. At the very least, his datastream had cleaned up, and his AC was moving better, though it felt almost as if it were moving of his own accord. Wait, is this voice doing that? Who the hell even is this? Radar tracked a large AC screaming down to the Watchpoint at high speed. It swung around and drifted to a stop opposite his position on the roof, a large biped with what looked to be an EVA extension pack on the backside.

“Scans indicate it’s an autonomous PCA interceptor, designation Balteus. Be careful.”

The machine physically reached up and dragged down a sizable MRLS rack, locking in for a salvo. 621 already registered the hostile lock tone. This is gonna suck.

“Main system: reactivating combat mode. Move, Raven!”

He didn’t need to hear the suggestion twice. He lunged his AC forward with a booster-augmented kick, dipping low to the right to drag the missile volley towards him before suddenly juking left, sending most of the flight slamming into the ground behind him as he loosed a volley of his own from the plasma launchers on his shoulders. They detonated against Balteus, a shimmering off-teal field shielding the body of the machine from damage. Of course it has a pulse shield. Fucking PCA. He staggered discharges from the laser rifle in either arm as Balteus started to move, bolts rippling across the shield as the autocannons on the support ring returned fire in kind. Damage reports were fed directly to his consciousness as stray shells splintered off armor plating. Balteus came to a brief halt, and 621 reflexively fired his machine’s lateral thrusters, just barely clearing a cannon shell screaming past his left shoulder. He took the chance to loose another plasma volley, slowing down the rhythm on his rifles to give the poor guns a chance to cool, thermal warnings whining in his head. Not like he needed them; he could feel the rain sizzling off the barrels. No pulse weapons on hand. The only way I’m getting through that thing’s shield is with brute force. He tracked Balteus’s orbit, keeping pressure on with his lasers as it came to a halt, gaining altitude over him. The lock tone buzzed in his head. Perfect. He fired off the transit thrusters on his AC at full power, scraping low again to drag the missiles clear before streaking up underneath Balteus. It started to evade but it moved too late, as 621 brought his AC’s foot up in a rocket-powered flip kick. Sensors registered the shield protecting Balteus drop, and 621 carried his momentum through, bringing his weapons to bear as gravity reclaimed his machine. This time his weapons struck true, plasma fields and laser beams finding purchase against Balteus’s reinforced hide. It started to move again, putting distance between itself and its target as more autocannon fire raked 621’s armored hide.

“Thermal spike, Raven, get clear!”

The voice called it out before he even registered it, but sure enough, gouts of flame built at either side of Balteus’ support frame. The machine came screaming forward, lashing a gouge of superheated fire across the roof. 621 barely jumped his machine clear of the sweep, firing off a wall of plasma bolts as he engaged retro-thrusters and put some space between them. Balteus came forward for another sweep, which he evaded only by slamming down to the ground. He dashed forward underneath Balteus, barely managing to keep his machine standing as he pivoted around to bring weapons to bear once more. The damned thing’s shield was already back up.

“Keep fighting Raven, we can do this.”

Gotta kick it again, it’s the only way. Back to square one. Focus. He kept skidding backwards away from Balteus, throwing in erratic changes in vector to throw off its aim with the autocannons. He shifted into a hard left at the edge of the Watchpoint, tracking as Balteus followed his movements along the edge and repositioned accordingly. It initiated a staggered set of dashes forward, firing off another cannon shell in the middle, before launching into another flurry of flame blade strikes. 621 struggled to keep his machine ahead of the assault, thermal sensors spiking well past the redzone as flames licked at his machine. Finally, however, Balteus slowed down. It’s energy was, for a short window, spent. There’s my window. Once again, 621 fired his transit thrusters and slammed feet first into Balteus with as much weight and force as his spritely machine could muster. Its shield flickered out and 621 proceeded to hammer it with as much firepower as he could muster at any one time, driving his weapons as hard as they could go. Balteus tried to regain it’s stability under his barrage, and he fired up the thrusters again, this time sending it drifting across the roof with a shoulder tackle. He kicked off high, continuing his barrage until the weapons forcibly quit fire.  Flames poured from Balteus as it struggled to get itself under control. Flames billowed from several open blasts across the hull. Its thrusters gave out, and the machine tried to catch itself on its feet, swaying before buckling and dropping to its knees. It reached up and tried to drag its missile racks down for a final, spiteful salvo. However, in the midst of them sliding into place, several detonated in the rack, leading to a chain reaction that blew the entire craft to pieces. “Sympathetic detonation confirmed in enemy magazines; enemy craft destroyed. Well done.”

621 found himself huffing inside his control pod. Even if he hadn’t physically moved much at all, pushing an AC to its limits right after brushing shoulders with death takes a lot out of you. He took a second to collect himself. “Mind explaining to me who - or what - the hell you are, exactly?” He asked. Things weren’t adding up. Sure, a voice in his head could just be a hallucination, but his hallucinations never actively helped him drive an AC before. Short wave radio comms would pick up in his skull as well, but that PCA unit was very much jamming comms so that’s out, and there is zero chance of somebody copiloting an AC remotely over radio. “I am Ayre - a Rubiconian. We made Contact when you were subsumed in the Coral flow below. The surge of Coral throughout your machine allowed me a measure of direct control, and I was able to override the autopilot and extract you. The residual Coral in your machine is already fading, however… I am symbiotically bound to your implants.” Finally, a name to the voice- Ayre. It wasn’t just another mental side effect of his implants going haywire. Arguably, it was worse; he’d picked up a stray. How? Since when were there people in Coral? It was a mineral, a fancy sparky rock in the ground. It could do a lot of things, to be sure, but since the fuck when was Coral alive? “I understand that this is probably a lot to take in all at once. I tried reaching out to you before, but I… I guess you were still too far gone then to even understand me. Or maybe I hadn’t worked out how to communicate in a way you could understand.” “Well. Thank you for dragging me out of that pit, at the very least.” He said. “So, you’re in my head?” “Yes, specifically your cerebral implants. The Coral throughout your central nervous system acts as a resonator and allows me to exist within your brain, functionally as an extra brainwave.” “Well that’s grand.” 621 lamented. “As if I wasn’t enough of a wreck as-is. I’m going to guess you can rifle through my memories and the rest of my brain at a whim?” “That is correct, yes. At a surface level, that’s how I worked out your name, and worked out how to best coordinate with you in combat.” “Do me a favor then, don’t go poking around places you don’t belong. There’s places in my brain even I don’t touch anymore.” He chided. “I… will keep that in mind, Raven.” Ayre agreed. “Something you should keep in mind yourself: look up.”

In the gaps between clouds, as the storm overhead began to part, 621 could see the bare sky. Streaked through in red, churning as crimson lightning raged within. It traced clear back to the horizon, to the northern coast, where smoke and debris were only just beginning to settle. “That Coral surge you were caught up in was but a drop in the greater tide… and only a small taste of what is to come in Rubicon’s future.” “Fuck.” 621 found himself at a loss for words. How much Coral did we just release? What kind of well was that cork holding closed? “Raven, you need rest. Both you and your AC are in rough shape. I’ll re-establish communications with Handler Walter.”

621 looked to the-now smoking remains of Balteus. Maybe the PCA had a good reason for trying to keep the Watchpoint sealed.

#armored core 6 #armored core vi #fanfiction #this is probably far too long form for tumblr #i'm gonna do the whole fucking game sooner or later #still trying to figure out how to do raven as a standoffish asshole #ive done far too much concepting of them being heroic #hoist by my own petard #also tumblr is fucking the formatting #i can't fix it #ive tried

[smuthospital]

⭐️Degrees of lewdly: Eden⭐️

Premise: You're a spooky place youtube explorer, and you get lost in a big scary forest! Eden voorhees lol. Reader is fem. Enjoy!

Art by Minagami

Re-upload because tumblr took it down last time.

Content Warning: Non-con, kidnapping, tummy bulge, blood, Eden is Jason, Voorhees

Miners DNI

You've never really gone hiking before and it's proven itself to be a lot more difficult than you originally thought it would be. You like to explore places you've never been, spooky places. more for the thrill. you started filming it and posting your videos on youtube. You usually take some friends along, but all of your friends decided to be little babies this time since the place you're exploring is extra creepy this time. It's a large forest 20 miles away from your city. You borrowed your mom's car to get here. you always tell them you're at a friend's house because they'd kill you if they ever found out you're putting yourself in possibly harmful situations. This forest is known for creepy sightings, disappearances, ghosts, and lots of other things your viewers would love to watch. You've been to abandoned hospitals, cemeteries, tunnels, all that good stuff. You don't think you'll actually see anything, but you brought a can of pepper spray just in case.

The wind howls, making the trees dance above you. The shapes that were once branches in the day have turned into long gangly fingers that desperately reach for you and the bushes now house entities with red eyes and fangs that you imagine want to tear you to pieces! "Wow, guys. This might just be the scariest one yet, haha. There's probably some sort of scp in here with me haha!" You try to keep yourself company by talking to your soon-to-be viewers when you post this, but it's really just to keep you calm.

"I'm a bit lost. The trail kinda disappeared somewhere around here, I think. there's just so much long grass and it's more of a footpath than an actual trail." you complain as you try to spot any familiar landmarks. It's almost impossible. It might be easier in the day for sure, but the night masks everything. You step over decayed logs and large roots, feeling worry set in. What if you're really lost!? Your thoughts come to an abrupt stop when you hear a strange sound not too far from where you're standing. Your blood freezes as you feel a cold sweat coming on. Maybe...maybe it's a person? And maybe they can help you?..or..a monster!? No, (Y/n), this is no time to be silly! That could be a person willing to help you before you get yourself completely lost!

Little did you know you were already a mile deep, walking in the wrong direction.

“I heard a sound. It could be someone who could help me get back on track.” You whisper. You turn off your video camera's flash light and carefully make your way to where you heard the sound, being careful not to step on anything that could alert whatever it is of your presence. You don’t want to startle it, just in case it's an animal willing to protect its territory from invaders like yourself. The sound came from below you. There's a rocky slope leading down to a river. You get down on your knees and peer between the long grass. You can't make out much in the dim moonlight... until you spot a giant of a man dragging a sack through the shallow water. His size alone sends shivers down your spine. Even from where you're crouching, you could tell he would dwarf you the way a cat would to a mouse. You examine him a bit more.The sack is stained in a dark colour that is seeping through the fabric and into the water. You don't dare move a muscle or even breathe. You can't believe your eyes. This can't be real. Are you in a horror movie?

You make sure he disappears behind the tree line with the mysterious sack before letting out a breath. You didn't want to accidentally alert him of your presence in any shape or form. He was probably just a hunter. Yeah, he could have helped you, but he also could have added you to the wet sack and you were not risking that.

You stand up and turn around, ready to get as far away from here as possible, only to bump your nose into a tree. The collision causes you to drop your camera. That's strange. You don't remember walking around a tree to look over the cliff. You rub your nose in annoyance. Wait a minute... This tree didn't have rough bark like the rest of them...Your brain blanks out. You've been in denial this entire time, your brain working extra hard to rationalize what's happening. Before you is a large torso. You can't even see their shoulders from how close you're standing, just a wide, firm chest. You crane your neck up and it takes you a good three seconds before your brain registers that you're looking at the man from before..and he's wearing a mask!

He looks down at you with a focused gaze. You let out a short scream and try to run away, but being within arm's reach of the giant makes it too easy for him to simply reach out and grab the back of your top. He lifts you off your feet with one arm and brings you to his eye level. He cocks his head to the side, observing you slowly. He looks down at the camera you dropped and places his large boot on it, pressing down and crushing it. You start to hyperventilate. He's gonna chop you up and wear your skin, he's gonna keep you in a dark hole and shout "It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again!" You thrash in his iron grip, pushing at his large hand and sobbing untellable pleas for mercy, but your begging falls on deaf ears. "I-I'm sorry. I-I'll leave, I promise! Please let me go! I-I didn't mean to bother you, I'm sorry!" You cry. Your little struggle seems to have made your shirt ride up a bit, showcasing your supple flesh to his thirsty eyes. His eyes laser focus on your bare skin.

To your confusion, his hand reaches to caress your skin, feeling the smooth texture before slowly moving up. You wiggle more, scared of where this is going. His hand soon finds your breast and cups it before giving it a squeeze. He shudders. His breathing becomes heavier as he continues to mess with your body, his thumb rolling over your nipple. All you can do is whimper and wiggle in his hold. his hand begins sliding down and you scream. You suddenly remember you brought a can of pepper spray, whipping it out of your back pocket and pointing it at his face. Then as you were about to press down and unleash the fire juice, it was gone. In his hand that was previously molesting you lies the remains of your poor pepper spray, crushed and bubbling pathetically. He was so fast you hadn't even realized he snatched it. You just stare at him in horror. To your surprise, he's not even mad, too preoccupied with the need to explore your privates. You hold his wrist and look into his eyes. He looks back into yours as if telling you to stop. You hesitantly let go, and he nods as if to tell you that you've made the right decision. His hand cups your pussy through your jeans, pressing in a bit at the entrance. He seems eager.

He lifts you higher and uncomfortably sets you on his shoulder, his hand on your ass to keep you in place. You don't even bother struggling. You'll wait for an opportunity. If this man wanted you dead, you'd be dead. You don't want to provoke him. From your spot on his shoulder, You notice that he's got a hunting rifle strapped to his back along with a machete. He has an assortment of things attached to his hips among them being a hunting knife and bullet pocket. You shiver. One more off-putting thing that's just about forcing bile up your throat is that he's also covered in a dark wet liquid. You haven't noticed till now, but you haven't been breathing so his smell has now come to your attention. He smells strongly of iron. To that, you're not very surprised.

He starts marching down the hill you were previously watching him from. You have no idea how you saw him disappear through the treeline and he still managed to sneak up on you. He picks up the large stained sack where he left it in favor of locating his little spying mouse. It smells awful, the meaty smell assaulting your senses every second. It's been 15 minutes and an opportunity to escape has not shown itself. This is it. This is how you die. Your body will never be found. Maybe in a few years in a shallow grave by some hiker if you're lucky. This inhuman mass of muscle is going to cut you up and eat you. Maybe even skip cutting you up. He could probably eat you whole as pre-workout. He lifts his leg to step over a large log, his grip on your ass slightly loosening just enough for you to catch him off guard and slip off his shoulder. You grunt as you fall into the dirt and leaves behind him. You scramble up before the giant can scoop you up. You run in a random direction. You just needed to get away from him, getting out of the forest was a problem for later. You didn't even think about how fast he'd be. How could someone be so big and fast!? He took off after you and suddenly, he was on your ass. You've never felt such a primal fear as he chased you like a hungry animal.

A large hand grabs your shoulder and rips you backwards. You fall on your back and stare up at the man now on his knees in front of you, his body completely casting a shadow before yours. He gets down on his hands, caging you too the ground, his body inches above yours. You stare into the holes of his mask and into his rabid eyes. He leans in by your neck. You stop breathing once again, you think your heart stopped. You feel something large and hard pressing roughly into your crotch. You hear him take a deep breath and smell you..."Smells nice." His voice is deep and rough, but it sounds like he rarely uses it. You scream and begin to cry again, not being able to take it anymore. You fight him with all your might. He grabs your wrists with one hand. You hear him chuckle a bit before his hand comes up to cup your check. He suddenly squeezes it and twists your face around to get a better look at your features. He grinds his hips against yours, teasing you of what's to come. He roughly releases your face, before standing to his full height and dragging you up with him. He tosses you back over his shoulder, this time with an almost bone-crushing grip. “Name.” His tone is commanding. When you fail to answer right away, his fingers press into the area on your crotch. Threatening to rip right through. “(Y/n)! My name is (Y/n)!” He hums in response.

Hot tears run down your cheeks as he walks back over to where he left his murder mystery sack. He navigates through the forest as he knows it like the back of his hand until he comes upon a clearing where his home stands. A lonely wooden cabin. He drops the gooey meat bag on the ground. You cringe at the wet sound it makes on impact. You peer over at the sack to see a human hand flop out. Before you could react, he slams his hand over your mouth painfully. "Shut up." He waits for you to nod before removing his hand. He opens his front door and steps inside. It smells musty, like old wood and man smell. Not bad, but not amazing either. He walks up his stairs and sets you on a very large bed. You take a deep breath in, your stomach sore from being jabbed by his shoulder for the entirety of the long walk.

He doesn't let you get comfortable though. His hands are on you in an instant, grabbing your clothes and ripping them to shreds like tissue paper, you're naked before you could even hold any of your clothes together. Hungry eyes leer over you through his mask. You feel his hot breath fan you through the bottom of his mask. "S-stop it, please! Don't hurt me!" You beg. As if to mock your plea, his rough hand grips your plush thigh a little too close to your cunt and squeezes it tightly before shoving it against your chest, making room for himself between them.

He releases you for a moment, only to unzip his uncomfortably tight pants. You shut your eyes and look away, only to feel the soul-crushing weight of his cock slam against your lower stomach. You writhe underneath him, small sobs and hiccups coming from your mouth every few seconds. He pauses for a moment but ultimately decides to continue. You peer up between your wet palms and see him rubbing the tree trunk between his thighs while looking down at your pathetic form.

"W-wait! I-I'm not rea-" He grabs your thighs and forces you closer to him and lines his cock up with your entrance, he slides it up and down your folds, causing you to shudder. He doesn't care if you're ready or not. You shut your eyes as he presses forth. You scream in pain. It won't go in. You're too tight, he's too big and you're dry. The tip can't even get through. You whimper in pain. It burns. You need moisture. He lifts his mask a bit and you get a peek of his jaw. It's noticeably sharp and covered in stubble. You feel his saliva plap against your poor dry cunt before he puts his mask back into place. He tries to enter you again. You yelp. He gets a bit through before he can't anymore. He sighs. He was trying to be gentle. He didn't want to break you so quickly...

He grips your thighs tightly. You feel his nails dig in. You barely have time to register the pain before you feel like you're being ripped in two. He's forcing his way in. You immediately let out a scream and begin spazzing. He just continues until he reaches his base, more than snug against your insides. Drool leaks past the corner of your lip as you stare off into space. He breathes heavily and stares at the bulge he created in your lower stomach. He brushes his hand over it and watches as you whimper and twitch. He pulls his hips back and watches it disappear before ramming himself in again and seeing it jab through your insides. He chuckles.

You lay there, unable to do anything but feel what he's doing to you. You lift your arm and place it on his lower stomach, hoping to stop him that way. You feel his rock-hard abs through his shirt and push. "You're...adorable...fuck.. you're tight." He groans before he slams himself deep inside and you clench around him. He hisses and struggles to pull out halfway, your insides trying to pull him back in. He slams in again and presses himself as deeply as he can, firmly hugging your cervix with his cock. Your eyes cross as he thrusts in and out, keeping a proper pace. Moans spill from your lips along with jumbled-up words he can't make out, all of which sound like music to his ears.

He leans over you, forcing himself snugly against you again, his mask right next to your cheek. He groans as he feels you twitch around him. "Feel..so good... was worried you'd rip... you're only bleeding a little." You can hear the smug grin in his tone.

It feels so good. You're so ashamed, feeling good when you're being raped by a maniac. You clench your tear-filled eyes as he pounds into your aching cunt. The knot in your lower stomach bursts as you cum. He moans as you tighten around him. He stills for a second, just enjoying how you feel before he pounds into you like a feral beast. You're surprised your pelvis is holding up. He grips your waist tight and grunts as he empties his balls deep inside you. You can almost feel yourself getting pregnant. You feel too full. Your stomach bloats with cum. You feel hot and fuzzy. Your pussy is so very sore and your legs are numb. He pants above you. "I've been thinking of getting myself a little wife like you." He says as he slowly pulls his still throbbing cock out with a wet 'pop'. "You're a pretty little thing and you take my cock well. Be grateful I'm letting you live as my cock sleeve." He stands up, towering over your crumpled body once again. "My name is Eden. Your duties from now on are cooking, cleaning, mending my clothes and taking my seed. Do not make me repeat these orders. Object and I won't hesitate to remind you of your place. I was gentle this time." His giant cock is still dripping your juices. You can't stop looking at it. Ge takes notice and climbs over you before grabbing your head and forcing you close to his groin. "I see you love cock. Lick it clean then like a good wife. go on."

You look up at him and hesitate a bit too long. You see anger flash in his eyes and you quickly envelop his tip in your mouth. He groans as you lick your mixed juices off, going as deep as you can without choking. He moans and grabs the back of your head. He stares down at you with such intensity that you can feel him burning holes into you. You suddenly feel your throat being invaded and your nose pressing into his pubic hair, nose pressing into his crotch. He moves you back and forth, face fucking you. You struggle to breathe properly through your nose. You let out muffled whimpers and cries, sending vibrations through his cock. He grunts in pleasure before you feel a load of hot thick liquid being shot into your mouth and down your throat. You're so tired. He slowly pulls his cock back and laughs at your exhausted state. Your head flops back onto the bed, your jaw and lips so incredibly sore and raw feeling. "Good girl." He says before your sight fades to black. You explored a bit too much.

#lemon #non con #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #dead dove do not eat #slashers #noncon x reader #obsessive love #degrees of lewdity #eden the hunter

[astercontrol]

If KOSA passes

Or if any other form of censorship (there are many in the works!) ever succeeds at stepping in to impede our ability to communicate online:

We have to make plans.

Now, I dunno who'll even see this post. The few followers I have are TRON fans (who despite the fantasy we live in, tend to have realistically dismal views IRL about Disney and the various corporate uses of software).

And this fandom, on average, is pretty tech-savvy. It's where I've encountered the most people under 20 years old who actually know how to use a desktop or laptop computer.

So, if there's any hope for what I'm thinking about, this is prolly a good place to start with it.

(As with all my posts, I encourage reblogging and containment-breaching.)

(Gifs are clips from TRON 1982, mainly the "deleted love scene," from the DVD extras.)

Anyway.

Current society has moved online communication much too far onto major social media sites for my comfort. Whoever you communicate with over the internet, chances are you do it through a service owned by a big company: Tumblr, Twitter, Discord, Telegram, Facebook, whatever. Even TikTok (shudder).

These sites, despite their many flaws, can provide experiences that are valuable and hard to get otherwise. And once all your friends are on one site, you can't just leave and stay in touch with them all, not unless they all go the same place. It's easy to see why it's hard to abandon any social media platform.

But a backup plan is important. Because, as we've seen over and over, social media sites can't be relied on. They change their policies suddenly, without good reason-- and are inconsistent, even discriminatory, about enforcing those policies.

If they're funded by ads, the advertisers are their main customers, and your posts are the product. Their goal is that the posts most valuable to the advertisers get seen by people the advertisers consider desirable customers.

Helping you communicate-- making your posts get seen by the people you want to communicate with-- is optional to them.

Not to mention that the whole business model of an ad-funded website is generally unsustainable. Many of these sites are operating at a loss, relying on shareholders in a fragile bubble, doomed to fail soon just from lack of real profit.

And the more restrictions --like KOSA-- that the law puts on freedom of online speech, the likelier they are to go down or just become unusable. Every rule a site is required to follow is another strain on its resources, and most of them are already failing badly at even enforcing their own self-imposed rules.

If we want any control over our continued ability to stay in touch with our online friends-- we need to have a backup plan. Maybe it'll be simple at first, a bare-bones system we cobble together-- but it's gotta be something that will work. For a while at least.

There are lots of really good posts about ways to build your own website, using a service like Neocities. I VERY MUCH recommend learning this skill-- learning to make websites of the very simplest, most stable, glitch-resistant type, made of html pages-- which you can upload to a host while you store backups on your home computer. If you value the writing and art that you put online, this is probably the safest you can keep it.

But that's for making your own creative work public.

As for communicating with others-- for example, receiving and answering other people's comments on your work-- that gets more complex. I personally haven't found it worthwhile to troubleshoot the problems that come with having a system that allows visitors to comment publicly on my website.

But what we do still have-- and likely will for a long time-- is email.

Those of us who came of age before social media's current hold... well, we might take this for granted. Email was the first form of online contact we ever encountered… and thus it can seem to us like the most ordinary, the most boring.

But in the current world, it is a rare and precious thing to find a method of communicating that doesn't require everyone in the chat to be signed on with the same corporation.

Email is, as of now, still perfectly legal-- as much as social media companies have been trying to herd the populace away from it. I'm sure there are other ways to share thoughts online that are not bound by laws. But I am not going to go into that here.

Email service is provided by law-abiding companies, which will comply with subpoenas if law enforcement thinks you are emailing about doing illegal things. So, email is not a surefire way to be safe, if laws become dystopian enough to threaten your freedom to talk about your own life and identity.

But it's safer than posting on a public social media page.

For now.

Email is beautifully decentralized. You can get an email address many different ways-- some reliant on a company like Gmail, others hosted on your own domain. And different people, with all different types of email addresses, hosted in all different ways-- can all communicate together by the same method.

Of course any of these people, individually, can lose their email address for some reason or other, and have to get a new one. But as long as they still know the email addresses of their contacts, they can reconnect and recover from that loss. The structure of a group linked by email is reliant not on a single company-- but on the group itself, the friends you can actually count on.

This is why I am trying to promote the idea of forming email lists, as a backup plan to give people a way to stay in touch as mainstream social media sites prove to be unsustainable.

I'm envisioning a simple system of sending emails to several addresses at once, and making each reply visible to everyone in the chat by using "reply all" (or, if desired, editing the To field to reply to only some).

If enough people get used to using email in this way, it could fill most of the needs met by any other group chat or forum …without depending on a centralized social media company that's taking dystopian measures to try and make the business profitable.

So here are some thoughts about how I personally imagine it could work.

(Feel free to comment and bring up any thoughts I haven't addressed, or suggestions to customize how specific groups could set it up. This is meant as more of a starting point for brainstorming than a catch-all solution.)

As I see it, here are the basics of what you and your friends would each need to start out:

An email address. Any kind, hosted anywhere. You should use a dedicated email account just for this group, one that you do NOT use for other communication. Being in this group will result in things you don't want happening to your main email address-- like getting a TON of email, one for every post and reply. Or someone could get your email address that you really don't want any contact with. Use a burner email account (one that you can easily replace) and change it if needed.

The knowledge of how to "REPLY ALL" in your email. This will be necessary in order to add a comment that everyone in the group can see.

The knowledge of how to EDIT THE "TO" FIELD in your email, and remove addresses from the list of all recipients. This will be necessary if you want to CHANGE WHICH PEOPLE in the group can see your comment.

The knowledge of how to FILTER WORDS in your email. This will be necessary if a topic comes up that you don't want to see any mentions of.

The knowledge of how to BLOCK PEOPLE in your email. This will be very important. If someone joins this email group who you do not want to interact with, it will be up to you to BLOCK them so that you do NOT see their messages. (If they are bad enough to evade the block with multiple burner accounts, that's what you have a burner account for. Change it, and share the new one only with those you trust not to give it to them.)

Every person in the group will be effectively a "moderator" of the group, able to remove people from it by cutting their email addresses out of the "To" field. Members will all have equal "moderator" privileges, each able to tailor the group to their own needs.

This means the group may naturally split, over time, into other groups, each one removing some people and adding others. Some will overlap, some won't. This is good! This is, in my opinion, what online interaction SHOULD be like! There should be MANY groups like this!

In this way, we can keep online discussion alive, no matter WHAT happens to any of the social media websites.

If the dystopia got bad enough to shut down email, we could even continue with postal mail and photocopies, like they did in the days of print-zine fanfiction.

If it looks like the dystopia is gonna come for postal mail too, we'll use the connection we have to preserve whatever contacts we can with people who live near us.

Not saying it's GONNA get that bad. But these steps of preparation are good no matter exactly what kind of bad stuff happens.

As long as some organized form of communication still exists, we'll have a place where it's at least a little safer to be your true self…

to plan events and meetups…

and maybe even activities a little too risque to make the final cut of a 1982 Disney movie.

They're trying to censor us. We want a Free System. So we're gonna fight back.

For the Users. Not the corporations.

Peace out, programs. <3

#tron #tronblr #tron 1982 #userworldproblems #diy punk #censorship #kosa #internet literacy #email #solutions

[gimmethatagustd]

what the fire gave us (1) | jjk

You were born with a Gift that the world wanted to turn into a weapon. All Jungkook wanted to do was show you that you could find love, even in the dark.

🔥 pairing: shadow elemental!jungkook x water elemental!(f)reader

🔥 rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | dystopian | supernatural | friends to lovers | angst | smut | fluff

🔥 part of a spring offering collab

🔥 wc/date: 9.7k | june 2023

🔥 warnings: major character death (doesn't occur until part 2 but i'm being nice by warning you now; not jk or reader), minor character death, referenced past murder, smut (doesn't occur until part 2), unrequited love (not between reader & jk), reference to human experimentation (nothing is described in detail), persecution of supernatural people, mentions past war, blood, injuries/violence, they all definitely have ptsd, jungkook is a precious baby boy but he'll also kick your ass, JESSI !!!!!! JESSI STANS RISE UP !! JESSI IS THE COMEDIC RELIEF !!! (at least, i find her funny)

🔥 notes: PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THE WARNINGS. there is heavy angst, particularly in part 2. i hope that you enjoy this story, even with its cuts and bruises. think of it as stranger things meets avatar the last airbender 😂

🔥 more notes: i was supposed to finish this fic in may lmfao but y'all should know by now that there's no point in trusting me to do what i'm supposed to do. i'm sorry but i will probably never change 😭 ANYWAY. this fic is gonna be over 20k, so i decided to upload it in two parts in an attempt to maintain my sanity cuz this website is trash about handling long posts. i'm almost done with part 2, so it should be uploaded within a week (i swear to GOD i mean it). also, if you follow me on AO3 you'll see that i'm posting this fic in multiple chapters. that's cuz i like the formatting of AO3 chapters better than tumblr. the formatting fits the story better, too.

🔥 main masterlist / part two

🔥 what was jai listening to? cyberpunk - ateez

moodboard credit: @btscontentenjoyer

3 MONTHS

Lookout duty is hard on you. When it’s your turn to camp out on the roof and watch for potential threats, you complain that staying awake all night is hard. Most of the other runaways are night owls, but you aren’t. You need your beauty sleep, you joke. You can’t get comfortable on the roof, even if there’s a flat landing with pillows and blankets to keep you warm. 

These are a few of your excuses, but you can’t bring yourself to tell the others the truth: you are scared. 

It’s close to midnight when you hear the creak of the trapdoor opening. The likelihood of it being anyone other than the group of Gifted runaways you live with is low, but you can’t trust that the impossible wouldn’t happen. You’ve seen the impossible happen far too often.  

Hopping down from the old milk crate you’d been sitting on, you crouch behind a giant bean bag with your bow and arrow ready. The harness you wear strapped around your torso holds your spare arrows. It digs hard enough into your shoulder that you form blisters if you don’t wear a thick enough shirt. 

The fluffy pink hair poking out of the trapdoor makes you sigh in relief. 

“Hey, kid,” the pink-haired man whispers. 

He gently closes the trapdoor and walks with a hunched back toward you, careful not to expose too much of his body beyond the roof’s railing. The abandoned warehouse you live in is on the city's outskirts, with nothing for miles but empty concrete parking lots and overgrown plots of land. 

Still, you never know who might be out there. Although the Red Pins have only inflicted pain from within their research facilities, all the runaway Gifteds know that the government employs more than one type of evil to hunt them down. 

You try not to think about them, those scientists in long white coats that fall to their thighs and blood-red nametags pinned to their labels with names you often see painted on the walls of your nightmares. Lately, the frequency of the nightmares has lessened. It doesn’t feel like it, though, when you often wake in the middle of the night to your friends screaming in their sleep while they suffer through their own trauma. You wish the knowledge that the pain of being government lab rats is something you all share could be comforting. But, instead, it only makes you hurt more.  

“Yoongi,” you huff, returning to your perch on the milk crate. Now your hands are all sweaty. “You should be sleeping.” 

“Hi, Yoongi; nice to see you too! Thanks for coming to hang out with me!” Yoongi mocks your voice, clearly stating what he thinks you should have said. “Oh, no problem, Y/N. I just wanted to see how you were doing and hang out with my favorite kiddo.” 

You scrunch your nose at kiddo. 

“I’m not a kid.” 

Yoongi leans over to rub his knuckles into your head. “Nah, you definitely are.” 

Despite the lack of lighting outside, Yoongi practically glows. That’s always how it is with fire elementals. It’s like they absorb all the light and let it buzz inside them. Like fireflies, you’d once told Yoongi. He hadn’t found it cute to be compared to a bug. 

“If I’m a firefly, then you’re a fucking fish,” he’d teased. You’d promptly summoned water from a nearby puddle to throw in his face. 

For as long as you can remember, that’s how it has been between the two of you: fire and water. A push and pull. So different that you need each other to be whole. 

You watch Yoongi get comfortable in the bean bag, his skinny limbs spreading like a starfish and his eyes lifting to the sky. In quiet moments like this, you would give anything to hold him. And not out of fear like you had when the scary men came to take you away from your parents. And not out of anger like you had to when you stopped him from blowing up the research facility they’d held you in. 

No, you want to hold him and for it to be gentle, soft, and peaceful. 

Like now, when the world is silent except for the crickets calling to each other in the weeds and the rustle of wind in the trees. 

But he thinks you’re just a kid. 

You’re not that much younger than him. But, if you put in the effort to look at your relationship objectively, you’d see that Yoongi’s paternal nature comes out with you and the other runaway Gifteds. He cares for you as an older brother would. 

It’s not enough for you, though. It will never be enough.  

“Is everyone else asleep?” You rest your elbows on your knees and hold your chin in your hand. When you speak, you look out at the empty field. 

“Hobi sneezed and blasted a hole through the bathroom wall,” Yoongi says with a low chuckle. “So me and Joon found some supplies to patch it up the best we could. I think they’re all asleep now, though.” 

“How is it Hobi’s the one breaking shit and Namjoon’s fixing it?” You press your hand against your mouth to muffle the ugly snort bursting from you. There’s very little to find funny in this life, so you cherish how your chest burns with fond warmth. 

“The world’s all backwards.” Yoongi’s gummy smile lights up the night and tears into your heart. 

The two of you fall silent once again. Moving slowly, you reach out to hook your pinky finger with Yoongi’s, a small smile forming when you feel his pinky wrap tightly around yours. 

“Where are we gonna go, Yoong?” 

He watches you with eyes heavy with sleep, determined to stay up with you even though he doesn’t need to. Initially, you thought it was because he wanted to keep you company. Now, you often wonder if it’s because Yoongi is afraid to sleep, too. He never speaks about his experience at the Labs; the other runaways have learned the hard way not to ask. Singed eyebrows don’t look good on anyone. 

“I don’t know.” 

You already knew this would be the answer, but it scares you anyway. Yoongi always knows everything. 

Yoongi lets go of your hand to sit up in the bean bag. 

“Hey, kid,” he whispers. He gently presses his palm to your jaw, cupping your face. You hope he doesn’t hear your breath hitch in your throat. “As long as we’re together, you don’t gotta worry about anything, okay?” 

You stare at him for a long time, searching the bags under his eyes and the worry lines on his forehead. 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

3 MONTHS, 1 WEEK

There’s a stream that cuts through the overgrown fields behind the warehouse. It’s man-made, flowing from a sewer tunnel beneath the cracked parking lot - and likely from somewhere else, perhaps connected to a lake beyond the woods at the property's edge. The separation between industrialization and the natural world of the unknown hurts your heart. You’d never felt longing until you found yourself inside a cage of cinderblock walls and concrete floors. 

A rope of water whips across your face, drawing you from your thoughts of the woods. It’s muddy and makes your skin and clothes smell sour. 

Though the air is still crisp and bites at the tip of your nose, spring came early this year. It takes minimal effort for Namjoon to draw more water from the soiled stream as it’s not frozen over like it should be. With a flick of his wrist, another rope of water hits you, this time across your chest. 

“Aghh!” 

“Pay attention.” 

You lift your arm in enough time to block his next assault. The liquid rope freezes in the air before shattering into a thousand glimmering pieces, scattering jagged ice across the pale yellow grass. 

“I’m tired of this, Grandpa.” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes at the pop culture reference; you’re pleased he understood. Posed to speak, mouth already opening, he barely gets a sound out before another voice bellows across the field. 

“WELL, THAT’S TOO DAMN BAD!” 

Hoseok isn’t afraid to be loud. He smiles, all teeth and pink tongue, and throws his head back as he cackles. Everywhere he goes, he carries the smell of spring with him - cherry blossoms and morning dew that makes newly-grown pieces of grass stick wet against ankles. 

You close your eyes and let spring overpower the sour smell of sewer water Namjoon has thrown at you for the past hour. It lets you forget how your skin aches with welts and bruises. 

As Hoseok bounds toward you and Namjoon, a dark tornado spins beside him. When he gets closer, you can see Hoseok occasionally blowing a small gust of air toward the tornado. It appears to be made of smoke, a gradient of grays and blacks. 

“Look at this,” your friend announces with a mischievous grin. “Me and JK learned a new trick.” 

With a quick snap of Hoseok’s fingers, you and Namjoon watch in patient silence as the tornado begins to slow its speed. Almost gently, the smoke curls tighter and tighter until the darkness turns into a solid mass. 

Jungkook stumbles a few times as he attempts to get his footing. His limbs continue to propel his body into a small spin. 

Hoseok quickly reaches out to grab the younger man. Secure hands squeeze his shoulders, and then it’s only Jungkook’s head lolling about. 

“Cool, right?” Jungkook’s voice is gruff, but his lips curl into a weak smile. 

Namjoon lets out a long sigh. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

Although Namjoon is right, Jungkook does look like the effort of his little party trick took a toll on his body; you can’t help but match his smile. Especially when his eyes flick toward yours. You told his gaze for half a second before Jungkook quickly looks away. His cheeks flush pink, but you’re sure it’s from the exertion of all that spinning. 

“I think it’s really cool,” you praise the two while elbowing Namjoon in the ribs. With a grumble, your sparring partner returns to his previous stance a few feet away. 

“We should go again. Just for a little while longer.” 

Every muscle in your body feels stiff when you turn away from Hoseok and Jungkook. 

“I hurt all over, Joonie.” 

“Let her rest!” Hoseok adds to your whining. “All we ever do is practice fighting.” 

“Sparring.” 

Hoseok waves a dismissive hand at the younger man. “Whatever you want to call it. I find it to be fri-” 

You stifle a laugh by pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as Hoseok is tackled to the ground by Jungkook. The two men roll around, all arms and legs, kicking up dead grass and dirt. A lot of howling and teasing laughter rings through the open air. 

It isn’t until Jungkook is launched into the sky by a gust of wind you know comes from Hoseok, and lands roughly on his back, that the playful fight ceases. How Jungkook lands knocks all the air out of his chest, but he laughs once his lungs start working again. 

“Ridiculous, all of you.” Hoseok brushes grass from his clothes. It’s futile; they’re dirty and ragged anyway. Try as you and Namjoon might to use your Gifts to clean the clothes; water does little when there’s no soap. 

“I let you win,” Jungkook teases.

Still, he stands a bit further from Hoseok than he had previously. Not far enough for anyone to notice, aside from you. You notice although you don’t mean to. It’s hard not to when Jungkook keeps stealing glances, only to look away when you try to return his gaze. 

“You did not.” 

“Did, too.” His insistence makes you giggle. 

“And how did that work out for you? Hmm? How does your back feel? I know you landed on that rock.” 

“I-It, it doesn’t hurt.” Jungkook glances your way. His cheeks are still pink. “Would take more than that to hurt me.” 

“Jungkook is impossible to beat.” 

You startle at the gentle voice, spinning on your heels to see Yoongi approaching the group. He’s got a leather satchel strapped across his chest and resting at his hip. It bulges with what you assume are plants and fruits scavenged from the woods. 

“Boy Scouts” is what Yoongi offered when you asked how he knew so much about surviving in nature. It was peculiar; nothing about Yoongi seemed like the type. He’s tougher, more steel than wood or earth. A bulletproof shield, you think. Broad and strong. 

“Impossible?” 

Your question is meant to be a tease, but Yoongi’s face remains stoic. Such a severe look only reveals itself when he assumes his position as your misfit group’s leader. It would be extremely attractive if it didn’t scare you.   

“How can you fight shadows?” Yoongi deadpans. He stares into your eyes long enough to make your face feel hot, but you don’t look away. 

“I…” 

Yoongi hums at your lack of an answer. Suddenly, you feel unbelievably small. 

“It’s not impossible,” Jungkook whispers. His head hangs low, long bangs hiding his face. The rest of his hair is tied into a bun at the nape of his neck. “I’m just as beatable as you, hyung.” 

Something about Yoongi’s expression softens at the honorific. Formalities died long ago, along with many other traditions that once made Korea what it was. So many things died during the war - tangible and cultural - lives and ways of being. Now, the Republic is something you know your friends no longer recognize. Although it is not your home country, your heart aches for what it once was - something you will never have the privilege to experience because you arrived during the Restoration of the Republic - a fallacy of an era since the country was never restored to how it was. 

That may be best. It is easier to mourn the loss of something you never knew.

In moments like this, you feel terribly inadequate - when you speak with broken Korean or struggle to understand the foreign politics behind why Gifteds are hunted, no matter how many times Namjoon patiently attempts to teach you. All you know is that, at least here, to be Gifted is not a death sentence, per se. Other countries’ governments have been far less lenient with their mutant population. 

You’re simply seen as a science experiment to be tested on, poked and prodded, pushed until you’re driven mad, and then warped into whatever shape the government has the need for. 

“You have no match,” Yoongi smiles softly at Jungkook with a shake of his head. “I do.” 

Holding out his hand, a small flame appears in the center of Yoongi’s palm. It floats just above the skin, though he isn’t burned. You’ve seen Yoongi summon fire a million times from the heat of the air around him, and he never ceases to amaze you.

With a nod in Namjoon’s direction, Yoongi waits for a small rope of dirty water to splash against his hand. Namjoon is much kinder in his attack against Yoongi, only summoning enough water to extinguish the flame. 

“Water will always win against me,” Yoongi admits. This time, he holds your gaze when he speaks. “It is my match.” 

You feel something stir in your belly that migrates up your chest until it eventually threatens to suffocate you, nearly getting lodged in your throat. 

“You would do well to continue sparring with Namjoon,” he says after a moment before turning to Hoseok and Jungkook, who have otherwise been silent. 

It’s an order, even if Yoongi is gentle with his words. 

With a sigh, you turn back to Namjoon. It’s difficult to stamp down the heat Yoongi always manages to trigger inside of you. You would compare him to fire even if it didn’t already run in his veins. 

Drawing from the murky stream, you weave a ball of water between your palms.

“Let’s go again.” 

While you spar with Namjoon, Yoongi leads Hoseok and Jungkook to the other end of the field.

You and Namjoon spar as though you are dancing. It’s a push and pull, your rhythms falling into harmony, even when one of you performs a surprise attack or a new move that hasn’t been practiced before. Perhaps it is because you both fight with water. There is a fluidity to it that the others don’t possess. 

Occasionally, your eyes stray to where Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jungkook have begun to spar. The three men do not dance. Instead, they are a fury of elements intertwining in chaos. The wind snuffs fire, Yoongi and Hoseok blasting each other incessantly. Shadows allow Jungkook to disappear before being hit by an attack, only to reappear right behind his opponent to go in for the kill. 

And it would be a kill if this was real. You know Jungkook keeps a rather terrifying knife strapped to his thigh. You all carry weapons, though you don’t really need them. Even Jungkook, with a Gift that’s misunderstood and exceptionally rare, is never found without his weapon. 

Out of all the Gifteds you’ve met on your way to safety, you have never encountered another who can manipulate shadows. So, there is truth to Yoongi’s statement. 

Jungkook is terrifying, even with the wide, starry eyes he always seems to stare at you with. He’s quiet and shy, typically sticking to Hoseok. You assume it’s likely because you found the two of them together. Both were kept in the same room at the research facility in Busan. As unassuming as Jungkook may be, you’ve seen him manipulate shadows to wrap around a Red Pin’s neck. Those shadows twisted and tightened until the man crumpled. 

You didn’t need to have the Gift of blood manipulation to know when his heart stopped. 

It was one of the scariest moments of your life, even beyond the suffering you’d endured having lived in the research facilities since you were a teen. Before then, you’d never seen someone die. Even when Yoongi and Namjoon helped you escape, they shielded you from the worst of it. It wasn’t until the three of you came upon the newest facility that such horrors were unleashed. 

Jungkook hates himself for it. You know he does; you typically make your bed beside his, and he cries in his sleep. Self-defense protects the body in the moment, but harms the mind and heart long-term. 

You probably would have done the same. 

For as tragic as his story is - or what little you know of it - Jungkook has an undeniably beautiful soul. Those horrors have yet to turn him cruel or his heart black. Even when he spars, you can tell that he’s being gentle. He holds back and doesn’t reach his full potential out of fear of hurting others, you’re sure. You can see it in how he bounces on the balls of his feet to keep his movements light and how his back muscles ripple beneath his shirt as it clings to his skin. A bead of sweat runs along his neck, over the vein that bulges from his exerting effort. 

Something prickles under your skin. When you look up, it’s into those wide eyes full of galaxies you’ll never understand, are somehow okay with not understanding if it means you can continue to gaze upon them. 

A small smile pulls the corners of Jungkook’s mouth up. His expression is short-lived, though, quickly falling as a bright orange flame licks at his ankles. 

“Don’t let my words get to your head, Jeon,” Yoongi teases. “Impossible to beat, but easy to hurt.” 

This time, you catch Yoongi’s eye. You duck your head when he winks at you, just in time to block another blast of water from Namjoon. 

“Why is everyone so off today?” Namjoon grumbles to himself. You haven’t managed to successfully hit him even once. 

“I’m tired,” you whine again, dropping a ball of water to the ground. Dead grass quickly soaks it up once it splashes. “We should check on Jessi.” 

Your group's sixth and final member is tucked away in the corner of the warehouse on the top floor. It’s dark up there, though Yoongi’s everlasting fire, paired with the windows Jessi managed to open, gives enough light for her to work. 

She has black grease smudged on her left cheek and across her forehead. Her long, thick hair is tied back into a ponytail, though strands have fallen out to frame her face. When you step closer, you hear her muttering, but you can’t make out what she’s saying. It’s not for you. She speaks, facing the black box placed in front of where she kneels on the floor. The floor can’t feel good on her knees with its bits of broken concrete and dirt. Everything hurts in this life; it hardly matters as long as you’re here and not there. 

“This piece of shit,” Jessi hisses, running her hands across her face. It smears more grease onto her skin, but she doesn’t care. 

“Not working?” 

“Beep beep boop beeping all over the fucking place, then static. White noise and shit. Like it’s telling me to fuck off even though I’m the one fixing it.” 

You hum, crouching down to stare at the box. It’s an old radio meant to transport messages back and forth. Perhaps left behind by the military after it had occupied this land while it bulldozed the vigilantes seeking to save Gifteds from the fate you all ended up sharing anyway. 

Jessi tweaks a few exposed wires. Every time they spark, you flinch. Mini white lightning, it’s deadly for anyone but Jessi. She grumbles and continues her work with deft fingers calloused from toiling away at the stupid thing for months. 

“I’m normally so fucking good at this, I swear to God.” 

Frustration colors her tone, even if her expression and cursing didn’t already give her feelings away. 

You don’t doubt her, though, and you tell her as much. Still, you know firsthand that it sucks when your powers don’t work how you want them to. As a technopath, fixing the radio should be easy work for her.

“There must be something wrong with it… Maybe the Red Pins did something to it?” 

You don’t know anything about technology. Even with the phone you’d stolen off one of the Red Pins, all you’d gotten to do was look at TikTok and try to find out where your parents were before Yoongi made you destroy the device. The government had ways to track you. Technology was as much your friend as a stranger on the street. 

With a sigh, Jessi leans back until she’s sitting flat on the grimy floor. 

“Maybe? Fuck if I know. I think I’m getting close, though. I’m getting some frequency when I concentrate really hard, but I wanna fix it so it’ll work even without me.” 

Your friend whispers the end of her statement. It goes without saying; each one of you knows the fragility of life on the run. 

“Thank you for working so hard.” Even in the dim lighting, you can see her watery eyes shine. It hurts your heart, but all you can offer is a light squeeze of her shoulder. 

Jessi shrugs. “It’s as much for me as it is for you.” 

You watch her stand and brush the dirt from her butt, her joints cracking from sitting down too long. When you first joined this mutant crew, you would have followed behind Jessi to comfort her. But, after months of running and fighting, you’ve learned that sometimes solitude is the best healing method. 

4 MONTHS, 2 DAYS

“What makes you think you’re ready? That any of us are ready?” 

Yoongi watches you with catlike eyes from where he sits at the kitchen table. The chairs circled around the battered wooden table are mismatched and in varying stages of deterioration from being abandoned for so long. The one Yoongi sits in is metal, and he leans on its two back legs, his right foot pressed to the floor to keep himself steady and his arms crossed against his chest. 

Although Yoongi isn’t raising his voice - he never does - you still feel like you’re being scolded. 

“I know we are,” you challenge him. Your voice is steady even as your fingers tremble. To stop them from shaking, you squeeze your hands into a fist, nails biting at the skin of your palms. 

You should sit down, but holding your energy in is hard. Instead, you pace the kitchen while Yoongi’s cat eyes and Jessi’s wide ones follow you. You feel like a lion looping its cage, the desire to run restricted and confined. 

“How?” 

“We can’t stay here, Yoong! We can’t. I can’t.” 

The front legs of Yoongi’s chair slam into the concrete floor. He allows the momentum to pull him forward, landing his elbows on the table’s surface. 

Looking at Yoongi hurts. You can tell from his face that the next thing he says won’t be pleasant. His lips are pressed into a fine line that curves downward slightly. It’s cute how he can pull off a straight-lipped frown, but not when it’s directed at you. 

It’s been at least an hour of back and forth between the three of you. Jessi tapped out a long time ago, resolved to watch the tennis match of an argument between you and Yoongi rather than exert energy on a fight she isn’t committed to. Yoongi and Jessi have the final say in all group decisions as the group's elders. It’s another reminder of how you think Yoongi sees you as someone to take care of rather than an equal. 

“Have you ever killed someone before, Y/N?” 

You pause your pacing to stand in front of the table. Yoongi is an exceptional cook, managing to create delicious meals out of what little you all have to work with from the forest. But now, at this moment, you feel like you’re going to be sick from the food churning in your stomach. 

“No.”  

“No,” Yoongi repeats. He speaks slowly, like he’s mulling your answer over, letting it twist around his tongue until he’s satisfied enough with its taste to swallow it down. 

Leaning forward, Yoongi presses his palms against the table’s surface. He spreads his fingers and stares at them. The two of you seem to trace over the scars that line his skin, little nicks, and slices that healed light pink or blazing white. You’ve never seen Yoongi naked, but you have seen a good expanse of his body when you’ve used your Gift to help the others get clean. From what you’ve seen, you know Yoongi’s entire body is littered with battle scars. 

“I have,” he admits what you already knew, and the gravelly sound of his voice makes you shudder. “Jungkook has.” 

You wince at the mention of the younger man, but Yoongi doesn’t give you a chance to speak. 

“Do you want to ask him what it’s like to squeeze the life out of another man? He may have done it with shadows, but I guarantee he still felt it in his hands.” 

Yoongi lifts his eyes to yours when the first tear rolls down your cheek. Concern wrinkles his forehead. 

“Yoongi,” you start, but the pink-haired man shakes his head. 

“I don’t mean to upset you, kiddo.” The pet name twists your gut tighter with frustration - even though Yoongi’s voice is filled with gentle adoration when he calls out to you. “But I’ll be damned if I let us walk into that forest without knowing where we’re going or whose claws we’re running into. The Gifted Commune is, at best, a rumor. At worst - a trap.”

You want to tell him that falling for a rumor or getting caught by the government is better than sitting in a concrete cage. The prospect of finding a community of other Gifted runaways who have managed to create a society safe from the evils you’ve grown up with means more to you than the fear of the unknown. 

There’s no use, though. Jessi is nodding along to Yoongi’s words; the blank expression she wears when she’s upset already masks her face.

“I will not put you in a situation where you must kill or be killed, Y/N. I won’t fucking do it.” Yoongi clears his throat suddenly, and he looks away from you. You’re unsure, but think he might be blinking back unshed tears.

You’re still pissed, but now your anger is mixed quite prettily with debilitating guilt. You’ve never seen Yoongi cry, and you realize with a sinking feeling that you really don’t want to. 

“It’s too fucking risky,” Jessi finally speaks. She presses her fingers against her forehead, massaging it slowly as she, too, looks for words. “The radio is almost fixed; I can feel that it’s close. Then we will have a clearer line of communication with the Commune. It doesn’t guarantee anything, obviously, but it’s better than going in without fucking knowing anything.” 

There’s nothing else to say. Yoongi doesn’t look at you or Jessi, instead staring at something in the opposite corner of the room.

Jessi gives you what you think is a smile laced with pity - or at least an apology. 

How can everyone be so content to stay in the warehouse? You’re a bunch of sitting ducks, hiding out in the same location for months, practically waiting for the government to send their agents to either corral you into laboratories again or exterminate you. You don’t understand how becoming a moving target is a bad thing. 

But, ultimately, you don’t understand why Yoongi can’t just trust you. 

With a frustrated huff, you twist around to hurry out of the kitchen. As you cross the threshold, Namjoon appears in the doorway. 

“Oh, I need to ask you-” 

You don’t mean to shove Namjoon with your shoulder as hard as you do, but you don’t have the patience to comply with whatever he expects you to do for him. Probably more sparring and training. 

On the one hand, sharing your identity as a water elemental with someone else in the group is an affirming experience. On the other, it’s infuriating because Namjoon sees your potential and pushes you toward it - even when you fight against him. 

Namjoon sputters something, and you hear Jessi convince him to drop it. Whatever else they have to say is lost on you; you’re no longer interested in entertaining the conversations of the “leaders” of the group. Part of you wants to find Hoseok or Jungkook to force them to commiserate with you, but something about dumping your sludge of emotions onto them feels wrong. 

So you do what you’ve always done best: you repress. 

It isn’t until a few hours later when you’re lounging on your makeshift bed with the only tattered book you kept from your facility (Fahrenheit 451, how fitting), that you give yourself over to the gnawing need to interact with other humans. 

Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet, items that you can’t make out pressed against his chest. 

“Will you cut my hair for me, noona?” 

The out-of-use honorific flusters you, making your face burn under Jungkook’s attentive gaze. 

“You don’t have to be so formal with me,” you insist, embarrassment ravaging your twisted stomach and fluttering chest. Something about the attention Jungkook gives you makes you feel nervous and giddy. 

“It’s not very formal, really. It’s… respectful? I just… You are, it means,” Jungkook lets out a huff. He blows his bangs out of his face as his cheeks turn pink. “You are special to me.” 

You duck your head, shocked by Jungkook’s honesty. It warms you in a way you’re not sure you understand, letting the feeling sit inside your chest rather than exploring it any further. 

“Where I come from, we don’t have words like that.” 

Jungkook gives you a shrug. Neither of you mentions that in Korea, those words don’t really exist anymore, either. 

“But, okay,” you relent softly. 

Jungkook stands beside the mess of blankets that make up your bed, holding a pair of scissors and electric clippers Jessi enhanced to operate on their own. Jungkook nicked them from a Red Pin on their way out of the research facility he’d grown up in. Hairstyling tools didn’t seem high on your list of items to steal, but they’d come in handy. Like now, with Jungkook’s bangs falling entirely into his eyes and his hair sweeping across his shoulders. 

The pout Jungkook wears lessens slightly. He holds out the tools with an expectant look on his face. It’s cute how his bottom lip juts out, pink and chapped from nervously chewing on it. You’d overheard Namjoon scolding him for something earlier that morning before you went outside to patrol the grounds with Hoseok and Jessi.

Taking the items from Jungkook, you lead him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. The lights sputter briefly before they fully brighten the small room. Jessi was excited to learn that her Gift extended to electricity as a whole, not just that within technology like computers and radios. With all your Gifts combined, the warehouse is liveable, almost comfortable. 

Jungkook sits on the closed lid of the toilet, making you tower over him. He parts his legs slightly so you can stand between them as you run your fingers through his hair. 

You spread your fingers and sweep his bangs up, exposing his forehead. It opens up his face more and makes him look older. Jungkook is handsome; there’s no denying that. You’re sure in another life, he could have been a regular college kid with a sweet girlfriend and a bright future. 

“What would you like me to do?” 

“Hmm?” Jungkook hums with his eyes closed, and his head tilted back slightly. 

You don’t miss how he leans into your touch, completely pliable in your hands, as you massage his scalp and continue to play with his hair. It’s thick and soft, even without the proper haircare products to maintain the health of the follicles. 

“How do you want me to cut it, silly?” 

You reach for the hairbrush you keep tucked away in the bathroom cabinet. It takes a few more moments of silence while you brush out Jungkook’s waves before he finally speaks. 

“Short. Cut it all off, please? It’s too hard to take care of now, and it gets in my face.” 

“Don’t get mad at me if it comes out bad.” 

Jungkook lets out a frustrated sound. “You always do a great job. You gave Yoongi hyung an undercut. It looks so good!” 

At the mention of Yoongi, you feel your heart drop. Somehow you know Jungkook is here to make you feel better even if he hasn’t said anything about the argument, and he’s the one seeking your help, not the other way around. He’s a distraction - one you wonder if Yoongi sent himself. 

It isn’t that Yoongi won’t apologize; you just never give him a chance to before you run off to lick your wounds on your own. 

It’s the healing quality of solitude, you think as you prepare to cut Jungkook’s hair. However, this time, you’re not alone. 

You can’t help but smile when Jungkook starts singing a song of his own creation as chunks of his hair fall to the floor. His song drowns out the static that buzzes in your brain like the fuzziness Jessi’s broken radio emits when anyone but her fiddles with it. 

“This way,” you speak softly, not wanting to disrupt his singing as you press your fingertips against his jaw and under his chin to lift his face toward you. Your finger presses against the little mole just below Jungkook’s bottom lip. The angle gives you a better view of your work so far. 

A small smile flickers on Jungkook’s face as though he’s trying to keep it down, but the corners of his mouth won’t listen to him. 

“It feels nice. We don’t touch.”

You hum and nod your head, but Jungkook’s eyes are still closed. It’s true; kind touches are rare. Hoseok is really the only one who gives out hugs. Everything is tough all the time. There’s little room for gentleness, even amongst friends. 

So you understand when Jungkook’s smile wins out, and he finally surrenders to the happiness your light touches along his jaw bring him. 

4 MONTHS, 5 DAYS

It takes Yoongi three days to apologize. 

Perhaps you should have apologized first, but you struggle to see how you could have done anything that warrants an apology. Yes, you feel bad for upsetting Yoongi, but his attitude toward you lately has rubbed you the wrong way. 

During the three days it takes him to apologize to you, he seems to do his best to avoid you. 

On the days you’re assigned to go on patrol with Yoongi, Jungkook accompanies you instead. You don’t mind having Jungkook by your side, you discover, even though you’re upset that Yoongi is behaving so childishly. 

Neither Jungkook nor Yoongi talks much, but you learn that their silence feels different. Whereas Yoongi’s silence stems from feeling confident and content with not needing to fill the air with incessant babbling, Jungkook’s silence is awkward and heavy. He fiddles with the loose strings of his shirt, his reddened cuticles, and everything else. You don’t mind the awkwardness, though. It’s nice to comb through the woods with someone as powerful as Jungkook; you know there’s nothing to fear with him around. 

The only weapon Jungkook carries is the knife strapped to his thigh. You, on the other hand, stay heavily armed. Your fingers tighten around your bow. When you twist your torso, the harness that holds your arrows digs into your shoulder. You also have a knife, though you are honestly afraid of close combat. A gun would be even better, but ammo is difficult to come by. It’s easier to collect your arrows after you’ve shot them, although you haven’t needed to yet. Since finding refuge at the warehouse, no one has discovered your group. 

Apparently, all your friends are willing to keep testing fate. You aren’t interested in pushing your luck. Jungkook doesn’t comment on the group’s plans for moving forward - or lack thereof. Something tells you that he’ll do whatever Yoongi and Jessi tell him to do. 

Still, going on patrol with Jungkook does a decent job of preventing your thoughts from straying toward your argument with Yoongi. Your hands brushed together a few times as you walked side by side, and you could practically feel Jungkook’s brain shortcircuit from the contact. 

Part of you thinks he has a crush on you, but the more logical part of you knows he’s probably shy. The kid has gone through a lot in life. Not everything is always about you; you try to remind yourself. Yoongi doesn’t even want you. Why would Jungkook?

On the third day, bright doe eyes don’t greet you at the edge of the woods, just as the sun is kissing the sky for the first time. Instead, sharp cat eyes hold your gaze when you lightly jog over. 

“Good morning, kiddo.” 

Yoongi wears dark shorts with tattered edges cut from a pair of old jeans and a plain t-shirt the color of the forest in spring. It’s not warm enough to wear what he’s wearing, but fire elementals run hot like you run cold. 

“Hi,” you say, voice a bit stunted as you hold your jacket tighter to your body. 

You’ve foregone your bow and arrows today; you may or may not have snapped your bow in a fit of frustration that may or may not have anything to do with Yoongi ignoring you at dinner the night before. A knife and your Gift will have to do, but you feel it is enough. Namjoon insists on learning how to use your Gifts and weapons in tandem. For double the defense, or so he says. 

Carrying a knife seems ridiculous when you know how to choke someone with their own spit without touching them. 

Once you’re within arm’s reach, Yoongi offers his hand to you. He holds it as though he’s going in for a handshake. Yellow-orange fire licks at his palm and swirls in tendrils around his fingers and wrist. 

After a few seconds of silence, he makes a slight grunting sound and wiggles his fingers, beckoning you. 

It’s impossible not to cave. A prickly feeling tingles down your arm, beginning somewhere in your chest and eventually settling in your fingertips. A tiny hurricane of water stolen from the moisture in the air circles around your hand just as the fire does Yoongi’s. 

He lets out a pleased sound when your palms glide across each other. You hook your thumbs together, using the momentum to spin your hands around until your fingers are interlaced and pressed into your palms. You both squeeze your hands once, twice, three times in a heartbeat before pulling away. By the end, the fire and water have disappeared. 

When you meet Yoongi’s eyes, the warmth of the fire in his palm has transferred to his gaze. There is an apology in how you release each other’s hands. The handshake holds secret words of friendship and reassurance between you. 

The two of you stand in silence for a bit until Yoongi tilts his head in the direction of the woods. You nod in response and follow Yoongi along one of the many patrol paths your group has established. 

There’s never anything in the woods besides small animals like squirrels and rabbits, but everyone feels better knowing there is a consistent patrol of the area, just in case. 

“So,” When you look at Yoongi, his lips twist into a light smirk you absolutely do not like. “You and Jungkook.” 

“Me and Jungkook what?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “Just seems like you two been hanging out a lot.” 

“Yeah, because you were fucking ignoring me all week.” 

His smirk drops into a stern frown, but Yoongi continues following the path. He walks slightly ahead of you with his hands clasped behind his back. It feels like he’s taking a leisurely stroll through a garden rather than going on patrol in the woods for government assassins. 

“It was immature and irresponsible of me, and I’m sorry for that.” 

Forgiving Yoongi is too easy. It’s the way the morning sun shines through the canopy of trees above you, casting streaks of light against his fading pink hair. The way he carries himself with confidence is gentle and comforting rather than arrogant or misplaced. It’s how he looks at you; you know he would do anything for you.

“It’s okay,” you finally concede. You scramble a bit to fall in line with Yoongi again. “I was being dramatic.” 

“Life is one big drama, isn’t it?” Yoongi muses with a chuckle. It’s a question he doesn’t expect an answer to, which is good, considering you’ve got something else buzzing around in your head. 

Well, fuck it. You’re just gonna say it.  

Heart pounding, you eventually find it in you to say, “I still think you’re wrong.” 

After a moment, Yoongi hums in acknowledgment of your admission but doesn’t offer anything else. It’s better than nothing, so you tell yourself to be content with all that he offers. 

“Anyway…” You don’t want to drop the subject, but Yoongi’s question is nagging in the back of your brain now - a nagging question you now have a gnawing desire to know the meaning behind. “Me and Jungkook can hang out without it meaning-” 

Before you can finish your statement, Yoongi slaps his hand against your mouth. The calluses on his palms are rough against your chapped lips, and his skin is sweaty. His free arm comes around to the front of your chest near your collarbones. He draws you against his chest so tightly you can’t move. 

“Don’t talk.” His breath is hot against your face, and his voice is almost indiscernible. 

You give a tiny nod before locking your body completely still. You hold your breath, straining to hear what Yoongi might hear or see what he might see. There’s nothing, just the usual sound of life in the woods - birds chirping, small animals scurrying in the brush. You don’t see anything either. 

You can only focus on the frantic pounding of your heart and the calm beat of Yoongi’s against your back. How he can be so relaxed when he thinks there might be danger in the woods that you can’t even see is unreal.

Slowly, Yoongi takes a step back away from you. He holds a finger to his lips and silently mouths for you to stay where you are. Everything inside you screams to disobey as you watch Yoongi disappear further into the woods, the thick trees swallowing him whole. 

But you don’t. You stay put, fear rooting you to the ground even though your body desperately wants to follow. 

What lies beyond the thicket of trees? What is dangerous enough that Yoongi wants you to stay put but not so dangerous that he believes he can take it on alone? 

Just when your resolve is about to crumble, something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. Barely breathing, you turn your head to watch a dark spot glide across the forest floor. It’s two-dimensional, not an object but a presence creeping along the ground.

Suddenly, the spot grows. It spreads, turning its shape from a flat, uneven circle to a thing with tendrils sticking out of it, each new tendril moving independently. You gasp when one of the tendrils creeps up your leg. Despite being two-dimensional, you can feel the darkness. It’s firm and cold, like a snake slithering up your body. 

Every inch of you trembles as the strange darkness slowly spreads across your body. You squeeze your eyes and hold your breath. Perhaps this is the thing that Yoongi saw, a phantom stalking the trees. But now you’re left behind to be absorbed into its darkness, eaten alive. 

You’re startled when the cold disappears; instead, strong arms pull you against a firm chest. Warmth envelopes you, and when you open your eyes, you see familiar ones looking back at you.

“I got you,” Jungkook murmurs. He has you tucked under his chin, and he tilts his head down when he speaks to you. You shiver as his lips lightly brush against your forehead. 

“Where did you-”  

“Shhh.” 

Jungkook’s heart isn’t steady like Yoongi’s had been. On the contrary, it’s beating rather furiously. You can hear him attempting to regulate his emotions, taking in mindful breaths and exhaling in a way that tickles your skin.

You don’t know how long you stand there pulled against Jungkook’s chest. After a while, your breathing matches his until you fall into a gentle rhythm that makes you sleepy. The adrenaline is making you crash, your body hardly strong enough to hold yourself up after panicking so severely - still panicking. Luckily, when you lean into Jungkook, his hold on you tightens. 

In another situation, pressing your fronts together would have flooded your body with heat. You can feel all of Jungkook like this, from the bulging muscles of his chest to his thigh pressed slightly between your legs from how he holds you up. But fear of the unknown and Jungkook’s clearly distressed state prevent those other thoughts from materializing. 

Jungkook’s body doesn’t relax until Yoongi appears around the corner of a large tree. He keeps his arms wrapped around you, and for a second, Yoongi looks around at the clearing you're in as though he can’t see you. 

It isn’t until Jungkook lets go of you that recognition flashes in Yoongi’s eyes. 

“There you are,” Yoongi murmurs to the two of you. He looks like he rolled around on the ground, little pieces of leaves and sticks caught in his hair and stuck to his clothes. His left knee is bleeding from a few superficial scrapes. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” 

Yoongi looks at Jungkook before he answers your question, which irritates you. “I tripped when I rushed in, but it was nothing. Just a large fox I heard making noise back there.” 

A fox is likely the largest animal in the woods, with no bears or wolves in the area. Still, you don’t trust Yoongi. You can pick up on the charred smell coming off of him. He smells like a barbecue, which means only one thing… 

“Have you been practicing turning yourself invisible?” 

Jungkook ducks his head down but no longer has long bangs to hide his face. It takes a second for your brain to process Yoongi’s question - and the change in the topic - but Jungkook is already answering him by the time you figure it out. 

“It’s not really invisibility,” he says softly. “It’s more like… an illusion.”

Yoongi hums and motions for the two of you to start walking. You’re returning to the warehouse, you realize, even though you only just started the patrol route. 

“Yeah, I can… adjust the lighting, I guess? To make it seem like you can’t see me. Or, us, this time.” 

Jungkook gives you a small smile when you whip around to look at him.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook repeats. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth and wiggles it like he has more to say but doesn’t want to let it out just yet. 

The three of you walk in silence until you reach the warehouse. When Yoongi walks ahead of you, you can tell he’s limping, even as he does his best to walk normally. 

“He’s okay.” 

Jungkook stands beside you in the field behind the warehouse, watching Yoongi reach the backdoor. 

“He’s bleeding.” 

Jungkook’s ears are pink when he responds, “He’ll be okay.”

“He’s lying to us.” 

Jungkook absentmindedly runs his fingers along his bottom lip. It droops as he speaks through a pout. “Maybe. But I trust him, even if he is.” 

It’s a strange thing to trust someone who is lying. 

All you can do is nod. All you can do is accept that the people around you are doing what’s right because, aside from them, there is no one and nothing you can trust in the world. 

As you approach the warehouse, Jungkook curls his fingers around your wrist to stop you. He watches you with the same wide-eyed look he gives everyone, though something about this time feels different. His expression is more open and vulnerable. He looks at you like he’s waiting for you to hurt him. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he apologizes softly. 

“But you didn’t?” 

Your eyebrows crease your forehead, trying to recall what you may have done to make Jungkook feel like you feared him. Sure, his sudden appearance in the woods was startling, but he’d brought you a feeling of comfort and safety - not fear. 

Jungkook doesn’t correct you. Instead, he lets go of your wrist as shame warms his cheeks, but he doesn’t look away from you. The timidness is still there. You can see it in how he chews on his bottom lip. Still, his eyes take on a more guarded, hardened expression for a split second, and then… 

He’s gone. 

“What the fuck?” You mutter to yourself. 

Now that you’ve seen the darkness before, your eyes quickly notice the spot on the ground that creeps and grows into odd shapes, slinking along the grass before taking form up your legs, curling around your arms. 

It’s Jungkook. You knew it in the woods, somewhere deep down. Your fear for Yoongi’s safety - and your own - prevented you from processing the situation. But now, as the darkness envelopes you again, you know what to expect when you close your eyes and open them to see Jungkook’s broad chest as he crushes you against him. 

“You never showed me before.” 

Maybe it’s weird that you’re still clinging to each other, but Jungkook is warm and solid, and his heartbeat guides yours into a slower rhythm. 

“That’s because it’s creepy.” 

“Well, I think it’s cool. Even though, yeah, you kinda scared the shit outta me.” 

Jungkook lets out an embarrassed whine and squeezes you tighter. You knew he could command shadows but hadn’t realized he could become one or move within them. Sure, the tornado trick he’d done a few times with Hoseok had been cool, but you’d always thought he was merely swirling the darkness around himself. You hadn’t realized he was the darkness. 

Honestly, it made him all the more terrifying and equally as endearing. 

“I just had this… feeling something bad was happening…” Jungkook whispers into your hair. “I needed to check.”

“Good thing it was only a fox.”

Jungkook nods in agreement; you know he believes it more than you do. 

“I’m just happy you’re safe.” You can feel his cheek press against the top of your head for a moment before he finally releases you. 

There’s a feeling there as Jungkook leads you to the warehouse. He laces his fingers with yours, and you can’t help but hear Yoongi’s question on a loop in your head. 

You and Jungkook? 

4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS

“What if they think we’re the feds and feed us false information?” 

“We’re too stupid to be the feds. It would be obvious.”

“I don’t know… we all escaped the government, so they must be pretty stupid.” 

“What if they’re the feds?” 

“Shit, I never thought about that.”

“They’re not the fucking feds.” 

“How do you know that?!” 

“Can all of you please just shut the fuck up?” 

The six of you crowd around the radio on the kitchen table. Jessi shows you how to operate it, which flip to switch to activate the microphone, and how to adjust the volume. You’re all muted for now. When Hoseok goes to flip the switch, Jessi smacks his hand out of the way. 

“Listen to me,” she says sternly, turning in her seat to get a good look at all of you. “No one talks.” 

“But-” 

“No one talks.” 

Five heads nod at her command, including Yoongi, which feels very satisfying to you for some reason. 

Details of the Gifted Commune somewhere beyond the woods traveled by word of mouth. Coordinates and radio frequencies were exchanged in hushed tones between the Gifteds who dared dream of a life beyond the Labs. You’re sad to admit that you were never one of those Gifteds. It wasn’t until Yoongi helped you escape that you even realized escaping was an option, so brainwashed into thinking the Labs were all you had. You were in a new country, stumbling through an unfamiliar language, taken from your family. Sure, you’d learned enough to get by over time - but missing your adolescent years made you feel hopeless. 

Jessi is the only one who had communicated with the Commune leaders in the past when she and another Gifted managed to break into a control room in the Labs she came from. 

That’s why she’s the one to speak into the radio that you find operates much like a long-distance walkie-talkie. You’re glad it’s not you. She introduces herself, her whereabouts, and her credentials with an even voice you know you could never replicate. 

Despite the distrust you’re all afraid of, Jessi’s previous connection to the Commune makes it easy for her to request to speak to the Commune leader, a healer named Kim Taehyung. 

Sitting with your fingers gripping the edge of the table so tightly your knuckles are beginning to ache, you lean forward as though you can get closer to the gentle voice that floats from the radio’s speakers. 

Taehyung doesn’t sound anything like you’d imagined, though you aren’t sure what you were expecting, to be honest. Maybe someone with a rougher voice made harsh by the trials of life as a fugitive of the Republic. Instead, he’s soft as he asks Jessi how many there are of you and what your coordinates are. This man, already larger than life even though none of you knows what he looks like, is patient as he gives Jessi instructions on how to reach the Commune. 

“I can assure you,” Taehyung speaks, and you don’t know what he’s about to say, but you find yourself already believing him, “You will be safe here. It won’t be a short trip.” That makes your gut twist, but you focus on his following words. “But there are abandoned shelters along the route to find refuge in. The nights get terribly cold.” 

Namjoon scribbles some notes down on a worn piece of paper. It’s been written on and erased to add more notes over the months you’ve been at the warehouse since there are only a few pieces of paper between the six of you. There’s a small hole in the middle of the page where someone erased too hard - or too many times, you suppose. 

“Thank you, Taehyung-ssi.” 

The line is quiet for a moment. Jessi’s gaze shoots up to glare at Jungkook’s interruption, but Taehyung speaks before she can chastise the younger man. 

“Anything for my dongsaeng,” the man on the other side of the radio states. 

You don’t know him, so there is no way to tell if the subtle lilt to his voice indicates affection, but it seems like it as the two men use polite terms no one ever uses anymore. It’s old-fashioned and reminiscent of a time lost to all of you. 

Jessi steers the conversation back to planning the group’s journey to the Commune. Excitement makes you jittery as you skip out of the kitchen, the men - aside from Yoongi - following after you. The boring stuff is what follows, and you’re all content to let the leaders discuss that stuff. 

“Do you think we’ll be able to do it?” Hoseok clasps his hands together, occasionally squeezing them. When he speaks, he keeps his eyes on the closed kitchen door. 

Namjoon shrugs at the same time you respond, “We have to.” 

PART ONE - PART TWO

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#jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #a spring offering collab #wtfgu

[merrycrisis-if]

So I just want to say that I'm definitely not a suspicious person sending you a suspicious link - suspicious people wouldn't say that outright, right? I just tried to send an ask, hit the character limit, then tried to send a message, and uh, hit the character limit again. Haha. Anyway, here's what Qiu has done to me: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1hcQ_-WQ635cSrgWtEWX1gz7Xv9GbzopT_A5MpvRZA64/edit?usp=sharing

THIS MESSAGE IS THE BOMB!!! I love that you created a google doc just to gush about / psychoanalyse Qiu because of Tumblr asks's character limit, that's so hilarious and amazing!!

OK, now to reply to the message :D

[Re: Qiu] ...They're NOT EVEN AN ADULT YET. It's easy to say "just give up on the only structure you've known all your life because it's toxic" but reality is not always kind; even ignoring any kind of emotional support (which we unfortunately don't really get to see one way or another. Maybe Qiu would have been better off just running off and taking a leap of faith and relying on MC but it's not wrong to feel that the unknown is far more terrifying than the known and there was no way for them to know that choosing MC would have been better. The love of her parents - in whatever form, whether or not it's actually love, is what Qiu has known for most of their life - is a constant as long as they meet expectations.

Exactly, this!! Like, we first meet Qiu when they're still very much finding themselves / figuring out what they want in life. It's definitely a 'coming-of-age' story for them — as much as it is for MC. So their relationship with MC takes place at a point where, like you mentioned, they are still a teen(!) and their parents' expectations and (conditional) love is all that they know. It's never easy to distinguish between what one's own desires, dreams etc. are, and what's simply fed to us by society, by the people we trust/care about (in Qiu's case, it's their parents).

So I think one of the greatest joys of writing Qiu (and their relationship with MC) is acknowledging the imperfection, the growth, and their initial failure to 'do right' by each other back in high school (and the potential to re-visit that and make different choices the second time around).

There are probably bits of “it would be entirely way too selfish of me to ask MC to give up on their opportunity and stay”, among other things, but I’d like to think that feelings of “I don’t deserve to ask this of MC” are also there... Asking or hoping for Qiu to ask them to stay - I get it, I really do, but there’s also a part of me that feels like god DAMN if that isn’t fair, putting the choice on Qiu... Just as Qiu could have stood up for MC, could have shouted their love for MC from the rooftops, could have asked MC to stay; MC could have CHOSEN to stay, could have CHOSEN to prioritize their relationship with Qiu. Could have written emails, snail mail, video calls, flew back for visits, could have given long distance a shot. Maybe it was just the wrong time, wrong place. Maybe back then, neither of them could have made those choices, said those things.

And you bring this up beautifully here, where I think I was really interested in portraying MC's hurt (from MC's perspective) regarding the way Qiu never fought for them, even when they were so ready to throw it all away for Qiu — but then also slowly unpeel the layers of Qiu's perspective as well, i.e. that MC expected grand gestures from Qiu, but truth is, reality was tugging them in opposite directions, and perhaps Qiu did fail to jump off a cliff the way MC wanted them to, but they both failed to try to figure out a more mundane, less grandiose way of keeping in touch, staying in each other's lives etc.

MC back then had been seeing things in a very 'black and white', 'you do or you die' kind of way (as most 'first love' stories go), but I think now that they've had years to mature / grow, there's space for both MC and Qiu to appreciate the nuances of what had happened between them, how things fell apart etc. and acknowledge that in some ways, they were each incapable of doing the things they needed from each other, but nobody was truly at fault.

Again, thanks for the lovely message <3

#interactive fiction #merry crisis #if #asks #qiu

[rosesloveletters]

What Lies at the End of A Rainbow.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Fem. Reader

Word Count: 1,668

Warnings: sexual content / smut

Summary: The sight of Reader wearing Wonka's clothes gets him all hot and bothered.

Author's Note: I finally wrote a smut piece that's shorter than 6k!! this one might seem a little ooc, but what can I say? He's been alone in that factory for so long and he has needs lmaooo enjoy~

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

It was mid-morning when Willy Wonka was getting dressed for another day of work inside his chocolate factory and had come out of the bathroom to fetch something, though now he could not remember what; it had completely slipped his mind the moment he saw you moving about in the living area wearing nothing but one of his stark white undershirts. 

It took a lot to get him hot under the collar, that was for certain, but the sight of you wearing his clothes gave him an instant erection.

He felt like a hormonal teenager, his body buzzing like it was full of bees akin to the ones living inside of his three-course dinner chewing gum gizmo. His ears were burning and were most assuredly tinged with red and hot to the touch; had he been able to see himself he would have probably crumbled with embarrassment over pitching a tent in his trousers the second he laid eyes on you, but as it turned out, he didn’t give that a second thought because the sight of you held far too much of his attention.  His pupils were dilated, almost swallowing up the ribbons of caramel swimming inside his ocean blue irises. 

His lips parted, but for once was he completely speechless. Not until your eyes met was he able to form words.

“Gorgeous…” you heard him whisper under his breath.

Just one word murmured in that decadent cadence was enough to make your spine tingle and your lips twitch. The velvet tone of voice he used with you sent warmth straight to your core which ached and pulsed with need as your eyes raked over his half-dressed form. 

Wearing only his khaki trousers and white undershirt, Willy Wonka was only half the tastefully dressed chocolatier he normally was, but he was all yours. 

Several moves later and you were both on the couch, Wonka in a sitting position with his legs spread and you on top, straddling his lap with purpose. Your tender kisses had him all worked up, his marshmallow-soft lips parted to allow your tongue to delve in and taste the cherry-sweetness of his mouth. 

The taste of him always gave you a sugar high. 

Your delicate fingers tangled in his wild curls and he groaned deliciously as his eyes rolled back and his hips jolted up into you. You had never seen him this needy for your touch or your body; every graze of skin or kiss to his lips made his stiff cock throb. 

You shimmied backward on his lap just enough for you to unbutton his trousers and pull down his zipper while he produced a condom seemingly out of thin air. He tore open the packet, pulled out his cock and rolled the condom onto his shaft. Giving himself a few firm strokes, his head dropped back against the couch and his eyelids fluttered in bliss. 

He was ready for you almost immediately and the speed with which he did things made your head spin, but you could not wait to sink onto him and let him fill you up. 

His lips crashed onto yours like a tidal wave of tongue and teeth, unwilling to let you stop to take a breath as he entered you abruptly and set a deliberate, steady pace. 

His large, warm hands rested on your hips and guided you as you glided up and down on him. 

Willy watched you with the hint of a smirk on his face as he shamelessly made love to you in the openness of his living room. 

This peculiar behavior made you wonder what had gotten into him, but then again you did not care, so long as he kept thrusting into you like it was the only thing left that mattered. Your heightened sensitivity and the force of his thrusts made moans waterfall from your lips like melted chocolate. You had a distant thought of awareness that you were soaking the crotch of his trousers with your wetness, but neither you nor Wonka were going to stop what you were doing just to reposition.

The wet squelches coming from your core each time his hard cock slid into you sounded obscene, but not as much as the look on his face as he neared release. 

His hands slid up underneath the shirt you were wearing and cupped your full breasts, pinching your hard nipples and rolling them gently between his thumbs and index fingers. You mewled and arched your body against his; this reaction pleased him and you could have sworn you heard a faint chuckle fall from his lips. 

He sat up a little straighter, angling his hips to reach your sweet spot at the height of every thrust. 

Your head was swimming with dizzying sensation and you barely registered the feeling of his lips on your neck as he nibbled and sucked on your supple skin. He was giving you all that he had to give and with you cradling him against you as you rolled your hips onto him, you felt the familiar tension of an impending orgasm beginning to build inside you. 

“Oh…Willy…” you moaned his name breathlessly and he thrusted harder, “Willy, I’m gonna—”

He let you say no more; his lips slanted over yours as one of his hands retreated from your chest to rub your clit with his fingers, massaging your sensitive bud to the best of his ability in this position. He knew from pleasant, extensive experience that his hands worked like magic on your body and he could coax you into a mind-bending, earth-shattering orgasm with just a flick of the wrist and the right amount of pressure. 

Your lips parted and you emitted a long, low moan as your body erupted with pleasure and the heat of an orgasm flooded your senses. You were rendered silent as your climax took hold and your core throbbed with each crashing wave and milked Wonka’s cock for his own release, which he was steadily approaching with every thrust. 

His pace faltered and his hips twitched. He was on the brink and could feel a shudder travel down his spine as his balls tightened; the next thing he knew, he was spending himself inside the condom. 

You let yourself linger in the afterglow with him, the warmth spreading between your two bodies reminding you that moments of perfection like these was what lied at the end of a rainbow. 

Your mind was honeyed liquid gold and his eyes which were glued to your face reminded you of the planet, with its trailing echoes of land amidst the deep, out-stretched arms of oceans; it made sense to think of him that way, after all, because he was your entire world. 

Your fingers gently carded themselves through his mess of curls. You seriously doubted he would mind you messing up his hair, considering he had never tried too hard to keep it styled most days anyway. There were far more important things on Willy Wonka’s mind, now including whom he considered the love of his life. 

He wiped his sweat-slick brow with the back of his hand as you shifted your weight and climbed off him, his free hand outstretched to give you support. 

He removed the condom and tied it off, then carefully tucked himself away and redid his trousers before standing up to throw it away. 

You made your way to the bathroom to clean yourself up and Willy met you there, his arms wrapping around you from behind. He gave your cheek a tender kiss and he hummed in your ear, a pleased little sound of appreciation for letting him take what he had so desperately craved from you. 

“I would stay, my dear,” he sounded apologetic now as he spoke to you, “but time waits for no man. Shall I expect you downstairs a little later, then?”

Time waited for no one, not even Willy Wonka. 

You nodded in affirmation, “of course, darling. I will see you soon. Shall I bring you some lunch?”

“I would appreciate it very much if you did.”

“Then, I will.”

Willy petted your hair in response and soon he let go of you altogether so that he could finish getting ready for the day. 

He made certain that he was presentable and that no one would suspect a thing.

He ended up changing his trousers because the lingering stain of your juices was still damp and, albeit barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking, lovemaking was a very private aspect of his personal life and Willy intended to keep it that way. He would not subject any outsiders to even the idea that he had an active sex life; the very thought made him cringe. 

Wonka emerged from your living quarters only once he was fully dressed and deemed himself well-kempt enough to be seen. 

You stayed behind and tidied up the living space, not that there was ever much of a mess. 

Despite Wonka’s unusual schedule and the disorderly chaos of his Inventing Room, his living area was always kept neat, with everything in its rightful place. 

As quickly as the interaction had occurred was it over with and you were still puzzling over what had come over your beloved chocolatier that made him so susceptible to the desire for physical intimacy. 

Perhaps the reason would make itself known, but if you had to bet, Willy was not going to be forthcoming about what had gotten him so hot and bothered. 

He was a man constantly changing, taken by whims here and there, wherever the wind blew him. 

He made up his own mind about things and if one was not swift enough to follow him, it was best to keep in mind that there would be no explanation. 

It was one of the things that made you love him so fiercely.

He answered to no one. 

You thought that made it even more special when he chose to answer only to you.  

#willy wonka #willy wonka and the chocolate factory #willy wonka 1971 #wilder!wonka #willy wonka x reader #willy wonka x you #willy wonka imagine #willy wonka and the chocolate factory imagine #gene wilder #biblio :: 📖

[lucyheartfiliqx]

His home

Ship: Natsu Dragneel x Lucy Heartfilia

Summary: Natsu finds out that Lucy’s gone on a date, and he doesn’t quite know how to feel about it.

This is the first time I’ve written anything for Tumblr, I hope anyone who sees this enjoys it! :)

_________________________________________________

“Damn, I’m stuffed. This new fire roast of yours is so good, Mira.”

“It really doesn’t take much Natsu. You literally just set the thing on fire.”

“You set them on fire so well thouuuggghhhh.”

It was the early evening, and Natsu and Happy had just come back from a job. It wasn’t difficult, all they had to do was protect a merchant and his wears as he travelled from one town to the next. The money they’d made, which wasn’t much anyway, went straight into Natsu and Happy’s meal. They didn’t regret it one bit.

He wiped his face with his sleeve and stood up. “Right, we’re off to Lucy’s. See you later!”

“Oh no you can’t Natsu, she’s busy right now.”

He turned around to look her, “doing what? Is she out on a job? She went alone?”

“No, no she’s…. on a date!”

Natsu’s eyes became saucers. Mira cupped her hands over her mouth, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

“A date you say? How dare she not tell me…” Erza muttered, who could hear the conversation from where she sat nearby.

“Juvia thinks we should stalk!”

“Gray thinks so too.”

“Guys… no.” Came Wendy’s voice from a little further away.

“Oh, Lucy’s going to have me dead by morning. I can’t tell you much about it, but…”

Natsu had stopped listening, the cogs in his brain slowly trying to process this new, shocking information. Hit feet carried him to a bench in the corner of the guild. He slumped down and placed his chin on the table, eyes still wide. Happy followed him over, “hey, you good?”

“…I don’t know.”

The sun had completely set by the time Natsu forced himself up and out of the guild. He began to wander home with Happy slightly lagging behind. He sped up a little every so often to see if Natsu looked like he was in a talking mood, but he never seemed to be. His eyes were trained on the pavement and his feet kept catching on it, not bothering to pick them up properly as he walked.

“…You okay buddy?” He eventually asked, catching up enough to reach Natsu’s shoulder.

He didn’t respond at first. “I’m fine,” he muttered eventually, “just tired. I wanna go home.”

“Why don’t we go to Lucy’s?” He chirped, “we always go to Lucy’s.”

“She’s busy.”

“She won’t be by now, she’s probably back.”

“Let’s just go home, Happy.”

The conversation was decidedly ended on Natsu’s end after that. He picked up his speed and said no more, leaving Happy behind again.

Conversation remained few and far between after they’d returned home. The two of them hadn’t been there in a long time after getting into the habit of staying at Lucy’s every night, so it had accumulated a layer of dust on most surfaces and thick cobwebs had formed on the ceilings and on the corners of some of the furniture.

This, on top of the mess that they’d already left it in, made it look more like a garden shed than a home. To Natsu, in spite of how long he’d lived there, it didn’t feel like home anymore.

Without speaking, he batted his hammock in an attempt to rid it of some dust and clambered up onto it. He turned on his side and faced the wall, bringing his legs up to his stomach as he curled up under the scraggly blanket. Happy understood the message and went to lay on his little bed on the other side of the room, not bothering to try talking anymore.

Instead of going to sleep, he looked up to the collection of requests he’d made above him. His eyes fell on the job at the Evelue mansion that he’d labelled as ‘the first job I ever did with Lucy!’ He smiled a little and looked over some more. Though unlabelled, he could remember every single detail, everything himself, Happy and Lucy had done during the jobs they’d been on as a three.

Though many were unpleasant at best and she’d moan sometimes, Lucy tried to make the best out of bad situations. They always ended up being worthwhile, and more than just for the money. His smile grew as he recounted the memories, but the happiness was temporary and quickly replaced by a dull ache in his chest

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. He wanted Lucy to be happy, yes, but not with some random guy. Not with some random guy that didn’t know her like he did. They don’t know what she likes, what she doesn’t like. What she reads when she’s happy or when she’s upset, that she will try and reserve at least one evening a week to getting better at baking. That she likes her apartment to be clean and orderly or it stresses her out, that she sticks her tongue out a little in an act of concentration when she’s writing. That she likes to be hugged from behind to keep warm when she’s too tired to be embarrassed by it.

No.

He had to see her. The thought of her with someone else left a hole so deep in his soul that it hurt. He didn’t know what the rollercoaster of emotions Lucy made him feel meant half the time, but he knew this one.

-

It’d reached half past midnight. Lucy had just finished getting changed and was getting ready for bed when she heard the regular tap on her window. She smiled, rolled her eyes and walked over. She was met with Natsu, his lips forming a thin line, but no Happy. Not thinking much of it, she opened the window and he hopped in, landing quietly on the floor in a more cat-like manner than a human one.

“Where have you been?” She asked, grabbing her dressing gown to cover herself up a little, “it’s so late, I thought you’d decided to stay at the guild.”

“I went back to my house.”

“Oh, really? Why? Did you miss it?”

He looked down at the floor and moved slowly towards the sofa in the middle of the room. He sat down and stayed uncharacteristically quiet.

“Are you alright?” She asked, tilting her head and also walking over to the sofa and sitting down.

He didn’t respond for a while. Eventually, he said, “how was your date?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You know about that?”

“Mira told me. She told quite a few people, actually.”

“Oh, figures. Typical Mira.”

“So?” He pushed, “did you enjoy it?”

She pondered on his question. “It was alright at first, but by the end I knew we wouldn’t click. None of my jokes hit home and he did an awful lot of talking about himself.”

Natsu’s brows raised. “So you’re not going to meet with him anymore?”

“Probably not,” she answered, “there’s no point in putting effort into something that won’t ever work.”

“…Why didn’t you tell me about it? That you were going?” He asked. For a split second, he looked genuinely hurt.

She sighed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell anyone until it was over. I only told Mira so that somebody would know where I was in case there was an emergency. I would have done, just not beforehand.”

She sighed again, deeper this time, and put her head in her hands.

“Clearly I’m just destined for a life of being alone.”

“…But you’re not alone.” Natsu murmured quietly, not looking up.

She sat up and turned to him but he didn’t meet her eyes.

“You have us,” he continued, “you have… me.”

He looked up at her, his eyes swimming with something she couldn’t quite work out.

She took a moment to respond, somewhat shocked by his words, a light pink tinging her cheeks.

“I-I know.”

“Are you sure you know?”

She smiled and leant her head back against the sofa. “Yeah I do. We’ll always be together, right?”

He nodded with a smile. Lucy figured that he didn’t mean what he’d said in the way that a small part of her heart wanted him to, but it still made her happy regardless.

“I can’t say I plan on going on anymore dates anytime soon.”

“Good.” He whispered under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Come on,” he began to clamber into her bed, “bedtime now. It’s late.”

“You’re not sleeping in my bed!” She moaned, pulling at his clothes with the strength her tired body could muster.

He didn’t move a muscle and looked at her, “are we really gonna play this game again?”

She rolled her eyes, reluctantly accepting defeat. She took her dressing gown off and climbed in after him.

“What was that guy’s name?” Natsu asked after a couple minutes of silence.”

“Why?” She asked.

“So I can set him on fire.”

“Oh for god’s sake.”

“Kidding, kidding. Sort of.”

It wasn’t long until she was fast asleep. Natsu stayed on his side of the bed until he could hear her breathing slow and deepen. Slowly, he crept onto Lucy’s side and slid one arm over her waist. He then waited for a bit to make sure he hadn’t woken her up and began the harder of the two. He cautiously slid his other arm under her neck. Still asleep, she felt the movement and received it, sinking into his bicep. He then snuggled up to and sank into her, fitting his knees into the little nook hers had made.

And there he stayed, listening to the rhythmic sounds of her breathing. In, out, in, out. He was warmer here. Calmer. More at peace. He didn’t like his old shack. He wanted to be at Lucy’s house. With Lucy. Not long after, sleep succumbed to him too.

Right where he belonged.

#nalu #nalu fairytail #fairy tail nalu #pro nalu #nalu fanfiction #ft nalu #fairy tail #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel

[alphajocklover]

Unmoved

**beta read by my friend J-bro. Had to post on mobile cause tumblr was being weird. Hope it still looks good**

For the 11th time in his life, Maxwell Hawthorn was moving.

It was his senior year of highschool, shortly after Maxwell’s 18th birthday, and once again Maxwell was moving. The Hawthorns, which consisted of Maxwell, his parents, and his younger brother Chase, were a military family, Maxwell's father being a low level General. Even for military families, the Hawthorns moved a lot. Where most military families moved every two to four years, the Hawthorns moved almost annually, much to Maxwell's frustration. Since he was 5 years old he had moved nearly every year, each time moving to a different state and a different school with a different house. When he was younger Maxwell had been a friendly, adventurous kid who easily made friends, but after making friends just to lose them over and over again Maxwell had formed an anti-social, almost jaded personality. He never got close to anyone anymore, almost always keeping to himself. He kept his room almost completely bare, since he knew he’d probably need to move eventually, and avoided connections. Even his hobbies, mainly sketching and writing, were done alone. Until recently Maxwell had been resigned to the fact that he would probably not make any meaningful friendships till college. But there was something different about this move. He wasn’t just moving, he was moving back.

Willistown was where Maxwell had spent his final 2 years of middle school, and despite only having stayed there 2 years it was the place Maxwell had been most reluctant to leave. It had been before highschool started, so his spirit hadn’t been completely crushed yet, and unlike many of his other schools he had actually been able to make friends. Hell, he had been almost popular. He had actually connected with people and gotten out of his shell. Maxwell had been crushed when he had to leave. He tried to keep in touch with his friends, but he hadn’t heard from Leon or Marigold, his two best friends from Willistown Middle school but he hadn’t heard from either of them in years. Leon had been like a brother to Maxwell, one who shared his love of art and his social awkwardness, well Marigold had been his first crush and girlfriend (though, as it was a middle school relationship, all they did was hold hands). Despite losing touch, Maxwell hoped his old friends would make the final year of highschool more bearable, or maybe even enjoyable.

As Maxwell entered his second class at Willistown high he was worried he had been too hopeful. So far no one had recognized him, or even seemed to remember him. It had probably been too much to expect everyone to welcome him warmly or act like he was an old friend. It had been 3 years after all, and he didn’t remember everyone either. Still he was starting to worry that maybe he had gotten his hopes up too high. Homeroom had been boring as hell, and the school seemed pretty obsessed with sports. The upcoming football season for the Willistown Wolves was all anyone could talk about. Still he hoped he could find someone who remembered him.

“Max?”

Maxwell looked up from his sketchbook to see a truly impressive sight. The jock in front of him was over 6 feet tall, with long dark black hair and piercing sapphire blue eyes. He had a sharp jawline, a charming smile, and bulging muscles that were hidden by his letterman jacket. Maxwell could immediately tell that this was the big man on campus, the stereotypical golden boy, the prom king. This was-

“Leon?” Maxwell realized in shock, almost dropping his sketchbook

“Hell yeah bro! It’s been years dude, how the fuck are you?” The large jock said as he took Maxwell into a bro-hug that Maxwell, in his shock, responded to in kind. “The hell are you doing here man, I haven’t seen you in years!”

“I, I moved back. Today's my first day. I tried to tell you but I guess you changed your phone number or something.” Maxwell sheepishly said “Leon, what… happened to you?” Maxwell asked in shock

Leon cockily flexed one of his biceps, letting it strain the fabric of his jacket “Hehe, yeah, I guess I have changed over the years. Joined the football team in freshman year. Turned out I was a natural athlete.” Leon said. “But look at you man, you haven’t changed a bit. Still got your head stuck in your sketchbook and shit.” Leon said with a deep, slightly dull chuckle.

Maxwell was in shock. The nervous, artistic kid he had been best friends with had been replaced by a huge, cocky, arrogant jock. He didn’t expect Leon to be the same guy he was 3 years ago, but he hadn’t expected him to change that much. He was unrecognizable, and looked like he’d probably have more in common with the jocks who usually made Maxwell’s life hell than he would with Maxwell.

“Bro, we need to hang out after school sometime. Catch up and shit. I got football practice afterschool today but we can meet up after that.” Leon said with a charming smile, playfully punching Maxwell’s shoulder in a way that really hurt. Maxwell scowled at the punch, but held his tongue. This was Leon. He had been his best friend. Even if he was a dumb jock now, Maxwell had to give him a chance.

“Uh, sure. I’ll see you then…” Maxwell said quietly. Leon grinned a charming grin and strut over to his own desk.

Art class had been… interesting. Maxwell had spent most of the class watching Leon chat with his fellow jocks, thinking about how much his old friend had changed. It was clear that 3 years hadn’t just changed Leon physically, but mentally as well. Leon seemed to have lost all interest in art, and was only taking art for an easy A. As Maxwell made his way to the cafeteria for lunch he wondered how his friend had changed so much. 3 years was a long time, but it still seemed like a drastic change in personality. Maxwell was so lost in thought he almost walked straight into… one of the most attractive girls he ever met. Long blonde hair, beautiful green eyes, pouty red lips, d cup tits and a juicy ass, she looked like she had walked right out of a teenage boy's wet dream. Maxwell was so flustered he nearly didn’t recognize her

“Oh my god, Marigold?” Maxwell asked in shock. The blonde in front of him gave a haughty sneer as she looked over Maxwell. Thoroughly unimpressed “Uh, it’s Marie. And who exactly are you?” Maxwell, shocked by her entitled tone, looked at her in shock for a moment. Before he could answer another familiar voice interrupted

“Marie, babe! There you are.” Leon said, strutting over to the blonde without acknowledging Maxwell. He grabbed her by the hips, his manly fingers sinking into her juicy ass, and kissed her deeply and dominantly. Marie almost moaned into the kiss, a submissive, lust filled look coming over her

“Hey baby…” she said, slightly breathless as, after what seemed like forever, the kiss ended. Leon grinned cockily, and finally noticed the shocked Maxwell

“Oh hey Max! Didn’t see you there bro!” Leon said with a charming grin as he put his arm around Maries waist

“Max?” Marie asked, sudden recognition shining in her eyes. She grinned, a happy unrestrained grin that made her look completely different from before and reminded Maxwell of the nerdy girl he had dated “Oh my god, it’s been years! What are you doing here Max?” She asked kindly

Leon answered before Maxwell could “Max just moved back babe! We’re going to be spending senior year with him!” He said excitedly.

“It’s Maxwell.” Maxwell corrected, his voice slightly shy. “And… yeah, I’m spending my senior year as a Willistown Wolf.” Marie lit up at this.

“That's totally awesome Max! I mean, Maxwell.” The blonde said perkily

“You too Marigold. Or should I say Marie?” Maxwell asked, a questioning look on his face. Marie blushed slightly, as if being reminded of an embarrassing old memory

“Yeah. I decided to start going by Marie about 2 years back. Marigold was a little… frumpy, you know?” She said with a bashful smile. Maxwell nodded in agreement, even though he didn’t really agree. What was wrong with Marigold? He always thought that name was pretty. He changed the subject, not wanting to make things more awkward than they already were.

“... So… Since I’m new here, and I don’t have many friends… would you guys mind if I sat with you?” Maxwell asked. Leon and Marie’s faces fell almost in unison, and an awkward feeling came over the trio. Leon was the first to speak.

“Uh, sorry bro. The people we hang out with these days can be kind of… picky, about who sits with them. You gotta prove yourself to them before they let you in. Marie and I have a reputation and shit now and…”

Maxwell didn’t need to hear anymore. Each word was like a dagger to his heart. He tried to keep his emotions in check as he answered, but failed to stop the crack in his voice. “Oh. It’s ok. I understand. I’ll just… go.” Maxwell said, turning and running off, tears rolling down his face as he did. He could hear Leon and Marie yelling for him, but he didn’t stop till he got to the bathroom.

Maxwell's first day as a senior officially sucked. Not only had he been rejected by his two former best friends, but everyone in the cafeteria had seen him running away from them crying. Rumors about what was going on between the two most popular people and school and the geeky new kid were already circling, and none of them showed Maxwell in a good light. Some people said he was a stalker who had been confronted by the couple, others said he was a pervert who had propositioned them. He heard one rumor that he was an old ex, which was technically true but not the reason he had run away. The details changed but the general consensus was that Maxwell was a loser who had deserved whatever he got. His social life was dead in the water.

As soon as Maxwell got home he headed up to his bedroom without a word to his family and went to sleep. The day had been exhausting and he had lost all hope that this year was going to be any better than the one before. He needed to just… be unconscious for a while. By the time Maxwell woke up it was late at night, if the night sky he could see through his bedroom window was any clue. Maxwell sighed. He couldn’t believe how fucked everything had gotten. His eyes locked on a particularly bright star. Without thinking, Maxwell made a wish “... I wish I had never moved away from Willistown…” As he spoke the star got brighter and brighter…

And in a flash, everything was different.

Maxwell woke up slowly, his eyes not yet open. Something was… different. His head felt funny, his body felt heavy, but what was really bothering Maxwell was… the warm feeling surrounding his cock. Maxwell’s eyes slowly opened at first, but shot open as he took in the sight in front of him. Sleeping soundly next to him, completely naked, with her pussy surrounding his cock, was Marie. In shock Maxwell tried to pull out, moving backwards, but found a shiver of pleasure go through him as he felt something inside his ass rub against his sweet spot. Did someone have a cock in his ass? Before Maxwell could panic he felt the muscular arm of whoever was inside him reach over his side and grab at one of his pecs as that someone also kissed his neck. The man spoke, his familiar voice sending shivers of pleasure down Maxwell’s spine.

“Hey babe. You ok? You seem tense.” Leon said, his voice so sensual and erotic that Maxwell almost moaned. He answered without thinking, his voice deeper than he remembered

“Yeah, I’m ok. Just excited for today. First day of senior year only happens once. I mean, hopefully.” Maxwell said, before he and Leon both let out an identical dumb chuckle.

What was happening?! Why was Maxwell having sex with Leon and Marie? As Maxwell internally panicked, memories suddenly flooded his mind.

Maxwell, or Max as most people called him, never moved away after middle school. He went into highschool with his best bro Leon and his girlfriend Marigold by his side. Maxwell’s friendly, adventurous personality made him just as popular in highschool as he had been in middle school, but it was when he and Leon joined the football team together that their popularity really took off. Leon’s story, about joining the football team and turning out to be a natural athlete, was true, but now it included Max joining the team right alongside him. Leon was the quarterback, and Max was his left tackle. Together they were the perfect team. As they got more and more into football their bodies changed, packing on muscle, they became even more popular. It didn’t take long until Max and Leon were the two most popular jocks in school. Marigold had gone through a similar glow up and was the school's head cheerleader. By the end of sophomore year the three ruled the school, and Max was the king.

It had been halfway through junior year that Max got together with Leon. He and Marigold had been dating for years now, and they had long come to the agreement that Max’s massive cock couldn’t be handled by one person. Leon, Max’s best bro, seemed like the only rational choice and quickly proved to be a natural cock sucker. Soon the three were a power throuple, and now, at the start of their senior year, they were ready to take on the world.

Max smirked as he remembered this, and looked down at his new body. Bulging muscles, gigantic pecs and biceps, an 8 pack of abs and a footlong cock that was currently fucking his girlfriend. He looked around his room, seeing his weight set, his football gear, his football trophies, and his multiple naked sketches of Leon and Marigold. Slowly Marigold came too, kisses Max deeply as Leon teasingly kissed his neck

“Are you ready for senior year?” Marigold asked.

Max smirked, looking at his partners “... fuck yeah I am.” High in the sky, invisible in the daylight, a supernova blazed, another wish having been granted.

#nerd to jock #jock tf #jock transformation #jockification #supernova tf #muscle growth tf #reality change #retcon

[manicrouge]

Champagne Problems

[ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴍᴀᴄᴛᴀᴠɪꜱʜ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

[ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ]: 07/02/24

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: Reminiscing about the past always leaves a bitter taste in Johnny's mouth. Especially when those memories include you.

[ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ]: 5,814

[ᴛᴡ]: hurt and absolutely ZERO COMFORT!!! Mentions/ implications of alcoholism, angst, implied family issues, suggestive content.

[ᴀ/ɴ]: Pain, suffering and agony. You are welcome.

THIS IS A REPOST !! I've had few issues with shadowbans and have moved accounts a few times (tumblr thought I was a bot). Also I would like to have all my work in one place rather than spread across other blogs to avoid confusion !!

ENJOY !!

Please do not post my work to any other platforms, thank you.

He finds it difficult to stomach as he looks out of the window on a train. 

The return from deployment is always bittersweet. In particular, knowing he can return back to his hometown for a short while before having to eventually go back to the base.

But, all of that disappears as he’s sitting on the train, looking out the window as rain bats against it. His eyes can hardly make anything out, it’s far too dark for his eyes to make it much further than the outline of a mountain in the distance. His arms aching and he’s unsure how long he’s been looking out of it. He’s quite sure the sleeve of his jacket is completely soaked from the condensation dripping down the window, pooling on the window sill his elbow is resting on. Still, nothing changes his position, not even the shifts of the cart as it storms along the tracks. 

In his chest, he feels his heart murmur at the thought of getting closer to home.

It’s been a while. 

The silence on the train is unnerving as he turns his eyes away from the window for a moment. Across the aisle from him, there’s another traveller. His head is pressed firmly against the back of the chair as quiet snores escape his open mouth. As he focuses on him, he notes a glistening trail on his chin and grimaces, turning his eyes away from the man, directing his gaze back to the window.

Trains during the night-time are always strange, he was familiar with them when he first joined the army. Travelling to and from always seemed worse during the day, so, he'd opted to stay at the base for an extra day, leaving in the dead of night to catch the last train available home. There was no reason to leave during the day because at night, he knew he could sleep away all the worries, arriving home well rested. 

But then something changed.

After another op, he returned to his schedule of sitting on the train at night, looking down at the sketchbook resting against the table in front of him. Holding a pencil in his hand, he busied himself with a sketch of a familiar face. There were the remains of a mistake engraved into the paper, odd rolls of the rubber sitting on the bend of his notepad as he readied the eraser in his hand in preparation for another.

His tired eyes were heavy as he observed the features of the man on the page, a small grin forming on his face as he thought about the reaction from the man when he saw him again. He’d probably only nod his head at his attempts of drawing him, noting that the details of his mask were a little janky, but that wouldn’t matter; the eyes were perfect. But Johnny knew he would still lie to him because being sincere was not one of his lieutenants specialities. 

‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ 

Setting the pencil down, he raised his head to see you standing in front of him. You smiled at him with a small glass in your hand, holding the seat opposite to him to keep yourself steady. ‘It’s just cause there’s no one else here and my phone died,’ you explained, ‘I won’t make a peep, I promise,’ you added. 

With a short nod, he motions towards the chair opposite to him, moving the pencil tin above his notepad so you had some space to place down your belongings. ‘Aye,’ he says, ‘be my guest, bonnie.’ 

So, you took a seat, placing your backpack on the chair beside you, setting your glass down. He observed the colour of the liquid, the colours faint as the bubbles raise from the bottom of the small glass, dispersing at the top. He recalled how odd he thought it was when he had first seen the funny little drink on the table, only knowing the train-line to serve water and the occasional cup of tea.

‘Champagne,’ you answered, following his eyes to the glass, ‘thought I’d treat myself.' 

‘What’s the special occasion?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow, picking his pencil back up, resuming his portrait of the moody lieutenant. The train creaked at the cart turned slightly, and he caught your hand steading the drink. ‘Ye get a promotion?’ 

Looking at you again, he noted how you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip. Your eyes fell to the aisle and your chest rose as you took a deep breath. There was something about your apprehension that troubled him, the way your flushed cheeks paled left him wounded for a short while before he realised that he had no clue why he was thinking in such a manner.

It was her eyes, he reminisces while keeping his eyes trained on the window beyond the cart.

It's a bitter pill to swallow, the memories of you still wrapping around his mind as a kids train set does a families Christmas tree during the holidays. Looping round and round and round until it's put into a box. The season in his mind has lasted longer than the measly length of the month of December, spanning years (it seemed). It's torture, yet, despite it being so cruel, he dreads the arrival of the day where he finally has the courage to box you up and shove you to the back of his mind because that would be when he could begin to forget you.

Even after all the years that have passed, he finds his mouth moves as he recalls your response to his question when you had sat opposite to him on the train.

‘Moving out, actually.'

It was just as well everything happened for you on that day, you moved out the day he got the train home. Had anything been different, neither of you would have crossed paths and while agonising, he looks at the stars in the nights sky with an air of gratitude.

You admitted after a while, your eyes falling back onto him as you heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Been stuck in a shitty situation for a while, been sitting around waiting for a chance to get out of it and tonight just so happens to be the night that everything fell back into place.’

Your words haunted him during the night, appearing like a phantom in his dreams, calling out to him. The glint of gratitude in his eyes wavers.

Your words are soft as you spoke and he likened the look you gave him to one of the valleys he had witnessed when he had taken the day train home after his first deployment. A valley with a river right below it in the midst of shrubbery and trees. The water was blue, he could see it when he looked at her. The reflection of the sun reflecting off of the surface, mirroring the rocky trails of the mountains. The sight of such had left him breathless, just as you did when you took a deep breath, reaching out for her glass, bringing it to you mouth. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be telling a stranger my problems,’ you mumbled. 

‘It’s nae an issue, lass,’ he responded, ‘happy to hear y’ got outta whatever was making ye so miserable,’ he confessed, ‘and Scotland, eh? Pretty place if y’ ask me,’ he said with a short laugh. You laughed with him before taking another sip from your drink.

He watched as you did so, noting the glint in her eyes as you moved your eyes away from him to his notebook. Pulling the glass away from your mouth, you placed it down with a hum, swallowing the last of the drink in your mouth, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. It's a charming sight, clumsy and amusing.

‘You’re good at drawing,’ you noted, pointing at the drawing, ‘is he a character of yours?’ you asked, motioning to the drawing of the man with the skull face. A short chuckle passed his lips as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. 

‘Guess ye could call him that,’ he said, 'someone I know, actually ,' he confessed.

Your brows furrowed, wrinkles forming on your forehead as your eyes grew wide. Your hand ghosted the glass, wetting your fingers with the condensation dripping down the outside as you looked at him with glossy eyes. Fingerprints marked the glass as you forced your hand away.

'I'm so so sorry- I didn't mean it as an insult it's just-'

'Keep the heid, lass,' laughed the man.

You stared at him.

'Relax,' he said, noting the confusion on your face. Your tensed muscles softened as your picked up the glass off of the table, taking a big gulp, finishing the last of the contents in it. He frowns when he notices you shaking. You thought you had done so much wrong with a single observation. 'you weren't to know.'

'Does he really wear that mask?' you whispered as though Simon was right behind you, and had he been, Johnny could say with his heart that he wouldn't have been surprised; the damn man appeared out of nowhere all the time.

'Yeah,' he said.

'Is it part of his job?'

Your intrigue was adorable.

'No, he just prefers to hide his face,' he explained, 'suppose it makes work easier,' he said, nodding to himself. Despite his time knowing Simon, he never did know why he covered his face. Of course, it kept the human version of the man from the man who committed countless atrocities in the name of justice, yet, the point you brought up left him thinking for a short moment.

'You work together?' you asked, 'what do you do for work?'

'Part of the military,' he told you frankly, 'he's my lieutenant,' he added, although, he didn't care to tell you much more as he looked at the you with a furrowed brow, not wanting to leave you with enough time to respond to his confession, 'what about you, lass?'

'I write,' you said, 'I got a remote position at a publishing company, that's whats given me the money to move out.'

'I enjoy writin' from time to time,' he responded, 'not that good at it though, prefer drawing,' he uttered.

You were though, he didn't even bothers to think of your response because, truthfully, your humbleness in terms of your own talent was wounding to his own love for writing. As he would with advertisements, inwardly, he skips by all the small talk in his mind. It's cruel the way the mind works; memory was a burden to hold, yet as entertaining as a late night TV show which was to only be watched in secrecy.

'What's your name?' you asked, picking up another cup of champagne. He watched as you did so, lifting his own cup that you had gotten for him when you had excused yourself to the bathroom.

He kept his distaste of the beverage to himself, besides, it was free.

'Johnny,' he answered, ' and y'urself, bonnie?'

You answer accordingly, stating your name with a smile. Repeating your name, he finds it rolls off his tongue well and the longer he observes you, the more a conclusion dawned upon him.

'Suits ye well,' he complimented with a wink.

Rubbing his face with his hand, his breath fogs against the window of the train and he turns his head away, absentmindedly wiping down the window with the sleeve of his puffer jacket. In the meantime, he busies himself looking at the empty seat opposite to him.

In the blink of an eye, you're there, sitting across from him.

'When do you get off?' he asked.

'Last stop,' you answered, 'staying at a hotel for a few days before my place is ready... was eager to leave,' you said. As soon as the words passed your lips, he felt compelled to be a gentleman. That, alongside taking into account the trouble that could have occurred if you did walk to the hotel alone, besides, the least he could have done for you buying him a drink and keeping him company was help you find you way to your hotel.

'We can share a cab if ye want,' he offered, 'put my mind at ease, wanna make sure you get there safe, besides, far too cold for ye to be walkin', bonnie,' he said, biting the inside of his mouth as he awaited your refusal, only, you nodded your head and smiled.

'I'd appreciate that, Johnny.'

His memories blur for a while after that, and his cheeks flushed red as he recalls how you looked at him before you got out of the cab. Glancing at the same hand that paid the fare only far enough to go to your hotel he curses as he watches the memory of him getting out of the taxi to chase after you.

You waited for him at the entrance in hope he'd have a change of heart, and he recalls how delighted you were when he walked through the door and caught you standing there, waiting for him.

Truthfully, he knew he was in deep shit when he felt the way you wrapped around him, the way you called his name, and how pretty you looked underneath him. Even after years, it was difficult to escape the thought of your first night together. Perhaps it was the entire being strangers thing that made the sex much more enthralling than any other one night stand he had had, or maybe it was just you.

Shoulda never let her have me number, he thought to himself.

It was difficult to deny that there were only ever terrible times. Resentment bubbles and it turns the fondest of moments to the worse; there was something there for him to miss when he thinks fondly of you. Fondness makes forgetting a hell of a lot harder, at least it does for him, anyway.

He hardly even thinks about Graves anymore and he resents him.

He resents you too.

But whenever he thinks of you, he thinks of your laughter. And then the guilt seeps in and he curses himself for ever thinking so lowly of you in the first place. How fucking dare he do something so terrible. You deserve it, though, for all the shit you put him through: the bruised heart thats still bandaged up, the sleepless nights as he waited for you to come home, the drunken phone calls he would get while on an op.

All of it.

Then there was everything else: the moments you shared together, the sound of your laughter which would seemingly travel down the halls of your apartment and wake him whenever you spent the night together, the sight of you in his shirt while cooking breakfast in the morning and your excitement when you finally persuaded him to dance with you.

The last one was particularly difficult to forget. His fondness will never let him let it go, he's convinced.

In the depths of the night, you danced together. He acknowledged the look on your face as he held you in your arms, the laughter as he spun you around in a circle, pulling you away just for you to end right back in his arms. He'd never let you wonder too far, scared that if he lost grip of your hand, you would have disappeared forever.

It became a routine and he recalls all the times he had held you in his arms while dancing to a song by Sinatra or Aretha Franklin and all the times he saw you smile. All of those happy moments moulded into one, while only a few stuck out.

During that night in particular, he couldn't look away from your eyes.

Whenever he looked at you, he was started by the glint of colours in your eyes, reflective of the colourful lights you had decorated your Christmas tree with. Rather, instead of decorating the tree, the lights in your eyes worked well in decorating the brambles you called eyelashes as you looked up at him. Every time you blinked, he found the same glossy sheen he had seen that night on the train. Every blink seemed to edge you closer to tears, as though your eyelashes were antagonising your poor eyes constantly.

Then he smelt the liquor on you breath and was reminded of the underlining truth of everything.

You were always emotional whenever you had something to drink. It couldn't have been helped, it was simply who you were, and he was going to resent you for something you couldn't have helped.

'Yer oot yer face,' he mumbled, speaking softly to you as you swayed with one another to the low hum of music from your vinyl player. Neither of you noticed how the song skipped, far too busy with one another to notice such a flaw.

'English, MacTavish,' you answered, your tone gruff as you recalled the story he had told you about the man with the skull mask and the city soaked in blood. He chuckled, pulling you closer, resting his head against your shoulder, looking at you. You turned your head to the side to look at him too.

'You're drunk,' he said quietly.

'I only had a glass,' you answered abruptly. You tensed in his arms when you responded to him and he felt his head sink further down until it sat, burning in the acid of his stomach. 'I had it while I was making dinner; the sauce had some of it in,' you explained, turning in his arms so your chests were pressed against each others. placing your hand against his face. You looked worried in that moment, observing his features. 'You're not mad at me, are you?'

Placing his hand over yours, he sighed, 'nae, bonnie, just don't want ye to hurt y'urself,' he explained, pulling your hand from off of his face, planting a kiss atop of it, moving his other hand from the small of your back to hold your waist. 'Love you too much for ye to do that,' he said, letting go of your hand to place his fingers beneath your chin, forcing your head up so you were looking at him. 'Y'know that.'

'I do,' you weakly answered.

The only bastard 'I do' he ever got from your lips. It was laughable really as he looks back on that night, how the pair of you had been so close in your home, dancing together as though you were an elderly couple celebrating your 40th wedding anniversary together.

Think I'll live that long?

Probably not.

Had anyone from 141 been there to witness how he fell to pieces with you in his arms, they very well would have laughed until they were blue in the face. And the longer he looks out the window out on the Scottish countryside, he concludes he too would laugh at that man dancing with you for being such a smitten fool.

'Good,' he hummed, pressing a kiss against your lips. The were chapped, dry, but he didn't care. Instead, he deepened the kiss as the pair of you stumbled backwards, muffled laughter escaping you as you loosely wrapped your arms around his neck while he kept the pair of you from falling.

Moments of happiness seemed so common in the beginning.

The night trains shifted to day trains again.

He'd hit the ground running after returning from an op, only showering because he didn't want you to smell the remnants of war which stained him and his skin. Nothing kept him from seeing you, not even his distaste for the day train.

All of it meant that he could get home sooner; he recalled the sinking feeling in his chest whenever the trains were delayed by a measly twenty minutes. Love made him a different man, he realised, a man who enjoyed the day train and the man who loathed the night train.

'I thought you weren't going to be home for another couple of days,' you said, opening the door to see Johnny standing there with a bag on his arm. Dropping it, he pulled you into a tight hug, resting his hand against the back of your head as he swayed you from side to side. 'Did you get the day train for me?' you asked.

Pulling away, he caught sight of the smile creeping onto you face as he nodded his head slowly, 'didn't wanna wait longer than I had to,' he answered, 'saw a photo of ye in me wallet an' knew I needed to be here with you sooner,' he added, pressing a kiss onto your lips as your cheeks flushed red.

'You have a picture of me in your wallet?' you quietly asked when he pulled away for you. He smiled.

'Of course I do, bonnie,' he responded as though such was an obvious fact, 'need to see that face of yours every day, ye like medicine to me.'

'Really?'

'Aye, lass.'

Everything moved so quickly and it wasn't long before you were well acquainted with his mam.

Meeting his mother was the confirmation he needed to say that he wanted to marry you. No one else in the world mattered when he saw how you and his sisters bonded, and while sitting alone on the train, he clenched a his fist at the emptiness of the palm of his hand while imagining the light weight of the ring his mother had placed in the palm of his hand while he stood in the kitchen helping her prepare the Christmas dinner. It had been over two years since the pair of you had started dating when she did so, working well to convince him that the timing meant that something else in the universe had willed it to happen.

'Mam?' he asked, looking down at the ring in his hand.

The band was quaint, golden as an green gem stared him in the eyes as he squinted, holding it up to the yellow light of the kitchen. The elderly woman in front of him chuckled, patting his shoulder as she walked past him to open the oven.

'Well, she's the one, ain't she?' she said, speaking into the heat of the oven as she grabbed the tray of duck-fat potatoes with a stained tea towel.

'Ye think?'

'Gonnae no’ dae that!' exclaimed his mother.

'Don't do what?' he scoffed.

'Act surprised,' she scolded, 'it's in ye eyes, son,' she chuckled. 'Yer nana told me to give ye the ring when I thought ye'd found the right one,' she confessed, 'and with your father gone, 'ave got no reason to wear it, but she has,' she uttered, looking from out of the kitchen into the living room.

His eyes followed hers and he watched as you sat with his youngest sister. The pair of you chatted away, though his stomach twisted at the sight of you holding a glass in your hand.

'She's a good girl, Johnny.'

'Aye, mam, I know.'

'So, marry her.'

With his mam's words echoing in his mind, the memories always came to the one that caused all the air in his lungs to escape.

Nothing wants to stay whenever he thinks of that, and he's sure if he was wounded, all his blood would leave him in a second in order to stay out of the cycle in his head that always brings him back to this one thought.

He supposes, in hindsight, it was terribly foolish what he had done. His ignorance to pressing issues was immature and irresponsible, only, they were easy to ignore when he had his mothers ring in his pocket. But he noticed, years down the line, how you had dropped his hand when the pair of you had been dancing, all to go and get another drink because the glass in your hand was running dry.

The party was one you both had planned, only, you had done so to celebrate a win himself and the boys had had during their time away, and he had invited everyone with the intent of proposing to the love of his life.

In the moment, he had been so crushed. He recalls how his mouth was dry, the dull ache in his cut knee as he awkwardly remained kneeled as you stood and stared. The speech he had prepared disappeared when you turned your back on him and rushed away, leaving his ego bleeding as everyone looked at him in horror.

'I just... I don't know why you would do it,' you mumbled when you heard him walk through the door into the kitchen away from the guests.

He was silent as he looked at you, traces of a storm in his eyes as he fought off the urge to cry. His chest hurt as he looked at you with a glass in your hand, and he couldn't do anything but stand there and watch as you drank from it. 'I told you, Johnny, I fucking warned you and-'

'I thought ye would've had a change of heart, love-'

'Well I haven't!' you angrily snapped, slamming your glass down onto the counter, glaring at him. 'What, did you think just because I'd have a ring on my finger all of our fuckin' issues are going to disappear? You're a smart man, Johnny, stop trying to play the role of the fool. It doesn't suit you and it never will.'

You were just as embarrassed as he was. He curses himself while sitting on the train, thinking back to your flushed cheeks and teary eyes. It wasn't only because of the booze that time, it was because of him too.

'I- I'm trying, John, can't you see that?' you croaked, 'I'm trying but I can't be everything you want. I don't wanna get married... at least not yet.'

'Ye don't love me,' he blurted.

You snapped your head up, furrowing your brows as you looked at him with wide eyes. 'Is that serious what you think?' you shakily asked, disbelief etched into your features. 'So what? You think all the fuckin' nights I've spent worried that you're not gonna come home when you're away working were for-'

'All the fuckin' nights you spent with a bottle in your hand too, eh?' he quickly cut you off, retorting in a manner that had left you breathless, draining all the colour out of your face. 'Don't pull that card on me, bonnie, don't you fuckin' dare do it 'cause I worry more about you and your drinkin' habit than I do my own life when I'm out on the field- tell me how you think that's fair!'

You stared at him, your eyes drifting to the empty glass abandoned on the counter. It was unfair for him to pull that card, he was aware enough in the moment to understand it, but he was so utterly devastated that he chose to stand his ground. An apology wouldn't have mean anything even if he had said it.

'If ye loved me... you'd stop goin' to the bottle every time ye have an issue,' he bleakly said, 'but am not even sure if you would pick me over the drink anymore, bonnie.'

'How would me saying yes to you fix any of that?'

He stayed silent.

Reflection allows him to find that he only ever proposed out of love. He was aware of your issues, noting it was never always smooth sailing from either of you, but he supposes he just wanted to have proof that at least once, you would pick him rather than the liquor.

But he was stupid for ever thinking you were more than your champagne problems.

'Getting married would only complicate things between us, John. You know that,' you said after a while of silence, 'and clearly, we don't listen to each other... I'm sorry I embarrassed you today, and I'm sorry I keep causing you to worry- I'm sorry for being such a burden to you but you don't make it easy for me,' you uttered, rubbing your face with your hands, wiping away the tears that fell down your scarlet cheeks.

There was nothing else for him to say to you, and he's ashamed at the very fact that, in the moment you needed him the most, he walked out of that room and left you there crying, alone.

As the train turns on the tracks again, he ponders what would have been different if he had stayed there with you, only, he finds his mind drifting to the words on a page which confirms exactly why he was thinking.

He was only prolonging the inevitable.

As he turns to the final page in his notebook, he finds it difficult to breath as he retrieves the piece of paper he had pushed to the back of it, unfolding it. Pressing his hand against it, he leaves it to sit on top of the page marked with splashes of the drink you had spilled, unable to find the strength as he stares down at the words scrawled on the page.

A crude reminder of what became of his engagement.

'Johnny,

In time, I hope you'll forget about all my problems and find someone who you deserve. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused and I'm sorry for not being ready for you.

Give your mums ring to someone who deserves it and put the special ladies picture in your wallet instead of mine. For the sake of yourself and me.

I love you, Johnny, nearly too much, and while you will see my absence as cruel, know I see it as necessary and that's the issue; we never have seen eye to eye on a lot of things.

We're not ready for each other, I know you think it but you're too scared to say it, so I'll bite the bullet and say it for you. We're not ready for each other, Johnny.

Love shouldn't be a tug-of-war, and I grow tired for you watching as you always try and pull me to you. Besides, I heard your mother after you left the room, she said I was fucked in the head for not agreeing to your proposal and it leaves me wondering what type of person you've made your family believe I am.

I'm sorry I couldn't be everything you wanted, but know that everything I'm doing: leaving, writing this letter, not saying goodbye to you in person, is for you. You always said you hated goodbyes; they were the hardest part of your career, and I can't promise that I wouldn't run back into your arms the second you'd open your mouth and beg me not to go.

But I'm prolonging the inevitable by staying with you.

I'm making you miserable with my problems and that is not what I want you to do. You have a life, and you had a life before we met on that train.

All I ever did was make you worry and I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want you to worry about me, I just want you to move on and love and be loved. I'm going to work on myself and I'm going to get better because I know that that is what you want, and in truth, it's what I want too.

I love you and I fear I always will, but I can't have you, and I'm punishing you and myself by staying here.'

He turns his head away from the letter, looking back to the window at the small dots through the foggy water as he utters the last part of the letter under his breath. 'One day, we may meet again, perhaps the stars will align and you'll see me on a nighttime train back to your home town. And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

A breathy laugh escapes him, repeating 'And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

How appalling it would be when you realised that you leaving only resulted in the reversal of roles. At least, he likes to think he would have the strength to refuse you if he's to ever see you again.

When he turns away from the window, relieving himself of the pain of remembering all that has gone wrong in his life, he takes the letter from off of his notepad, folding it along the worn edges, pushing it back in a small slip at the back of the notepad.

Shrugging off his jacket, he put it on the seat beside him with a hard sigh, turning his attention back to the notepad in front of him. The nights long and his journey proceeds to drag his feet and he's unsure if he even wants to be back home or if he should have just stayed in the base until Price needed him next. But it's Christmas and he couldn't have left his family because of his own sorrow about something that happened years ago.

He just misses you more in the holidays, but he supposes that's okay as long as he doesn't let the phantom you left him with ruin everything. So, he picks up the pencil and pursues what he was doing the night you two met, only this time, there's a ghost sitting opposite to him, not the living thing that greeted him many moons ago.

His ignorance to the world around him keeps him from hearing the footsteps storming up the aisle after the train stops at a station. Even when the voice of a woman announcing the last stop enters his ears, he doesn't lift his head. All the noise culminates into a twisting storm, similar to how he imagines the billowing smoke exuding from a chimney on a winter night swirls in the wind. It's deplorable and he grunts as he attempts to chase the flurry of emotions away.

His efforts result in even more tension at the front of his mind as he looks into the eyes of the drawing he's sketching, realising just whose eyes he had depicted in the midst of his worry. Even after all the time has passed, he's impressed by the fact that he still remembers your features so well.

Always so difficult to forget, he supposes his contemplation proves such.

Then he hears it.

The very thing that works to break him free.

A quaint shaky breath.

A shadow covers his bulky frame, light peering from either side of the mass standing on the aisle holding onto the seat opposite him. Lifting his head, his lungs rattle in his chest as he realises the eyes he had been sketching in his notepad are right before him in human form, staring right back at him.

'Johnny?'

#cod #call of duty #soap x y/n #soap x you #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap x reader #angst #cod x reader #cod x you #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish

[sunarinss]

IYNTBM, BMTM || S.GOJO

A/N: So i haven’t written on tumblr (or written anything of substance) for years but the one thing i can hopefully still convey is angst about my sad little loverboys, so hopefully somebody who reads this enjoys me picking at gojos little fucked up brain … cont at the end

inspired by ‘I don’t smoke’ -Mitski

The bed was always cold when you woke up.

No matter how many layers covered you as you slept, each time he would creep away when the sun-rays coated the land in their golden haze, he would steal the warmth out of your bed.

Satoru Gojo was a taker.

He was a thief in the night as he stole into your room, the way he stole the warmth cultivated by the two of you whilst you slept in your bed, the way he sucked your heart out of your chest and hid it behind saccharine kisses. Pressed against you in the darkest hours of the night he felt so real, his hands on your body, his lips on your neck, his arms around your waist, he felt so real and vivid, so corporal in the darkness of your room but in the daylight he was so far removed from yourself that you had rush to the nearest bathroom and gaze at the memories of him that littered your skin.

You had to force yourself sometimes to recall when he wasn’t like this.

When he was the same boy you knew in highschool, carefree, young, unbothered. He was brash and boastful and his laughter was truely carefree. When he used to dangle things above your head and throw himself over your shoulders like a cat begging for attention, days when he would beat you at the arcade and jokingly flaunt his prizes in front of you only for them to end up in your arms before you reached the school under the guise of them being “too heavy for him”.

Those who knew him were subjected to arrogant remarks, vain declarations and overdramatic charm, to others he was playful, unserious, without an anchoring belief but tucked into your room, tangled between your sheets as his mouth kissed trails below your waistline, you knew he believed in something. You knew because how could he infuse such reverence into his touches? how could he be so well versed in the worship he showed to your form if he wasn’t devoted to something?

But the devotion he gave you through his nimble fingers and hallowed touch was never meant for you, it was only the spillage of what crossed over from the daylight, the extra overflow from the hours when the sun stood high in the sky and he was ‘The Honoured One’. It was fine, something you had made peace with long ago when your skin was unmarred by the passing of time, in the light he belonged to the world, a god amongst men for them to revere but when the moon greeted the stars and he crawled to you to find his escape, you were his until the moonlight faded and your skin could no longer feel the heat pour though his body entwined with yours.

You were his but he was never yours.

From the moment he stole into your covers all those years ago, after Suguru had severed their bond like a loose thread, you had let him into your room, let him undress you like a deer being skinned, let him steal your kisses and strip you of your breath. Perhaps that was where you first went wrong, letting him burrow his way into you and imprint himself into your soul and mind, letting him run to you for an escape from himself and draw immeasurable distance from you when the sun lit up the sky.

Even now as his warm arms wrapped around your waist, as his breaths became steady and slowed, even now as his eyes fluttered shut as his head rested on your chest and he angled his body onto yours, even as his body heat soaked into your bones and his breaths warmed your skin, slowly you reach for the extra blanket on the side of your bed and spread it over the both of you, he would probably overheat with it on but you didn’t give that much thought as you settled into your pillows, it was the only time you allowed yourself to be selfish, after all:

The bed was always cold when you woke up.

© to @/cafekitsune for the beautiful dividers

A/N cont: Ahhhh i love pouty, loving Toru but i’m also such a freak that i psycho analyse this man whenever i get the chance, love picking at his fucked up little brain and his past relationships (romantic or otherwise) and the effects that’d have on him and how he treats his new and current relationships.

#kinda hate this ngl #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu sorcerer #gojo satoru drabble #Satoru gojo drabble #Satoru gojo x reader smut

[askagamedev]

You often talk about budget in your answers, so I was curious about something. Is it possible for the company to run out of budget before devs could complete the game as they initially planned, so that they have to wrap up all the pending storylines as best as they can even if incomplete? Talking specifically about massive story driven games with a lot of important characters having long storylines such as The Witcher 3, Final Fantasy 7 Rebirth, the Mass Effect series, etc.

It has certainly happened in the past, though not necessarily specifically the narrative part of the game. Many games are pushed to launch without development being as far as they want it to be due to reasons like hitting their budgetary limit and needing to recoup some of the investment. Our estimates are only estimates after all, sometimes we run into unforeseen problems and things take longer than expected. We can't stop paying the developers when we hit snags like that, so certain features end up more costly than others, which eats into the budget that was earmarked for other stuff instead. Most games in this situation have a lot of other launch issues too for the same reason - when you're pushed out the door to make the deadline due to running out of budget, things that should have been fixed are often not.

When World of Warcraft launched in 2004, there were several entire world zones that were incomplete and (mostly) locked off from players. Some players were able to sneak in through various exploits and take screenshots of those areas. Most notable were that the zones were primarily unpopulated by anything - no mobs, no quests, empty towns and buildings, just environment geometry that had been built out. This accompanied other incomplete bits of the game like quests that still had XML code in them. It would take years before players would finally see the incomplete-at-launch zones in some form or other.

Cyberpunk 2077 famously launched after multiple delays with numerous bugs and weird issues. Notably, the dev team also completely cut the multiplayer mode of the game that they had been building in order to consolidate resources to ship the single player game. The game came in super hot and had a huge number of launch issues that were eventually (mostly) ironed out, but the multiplayer mode was never resurrected.

The most famous example of this is probably Knights of the Old Republic 2. The publisher famously moved the deadline up and Obsidian scrapped the in-development ending since they didn't have the time to finish it. Instead, the story was wrapped up super quickly to ship the game. Notably, the partially-finished original ending was left on the disc and modders eventually discovered (and later restored) it.

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#production schedule #game budgets #the business of video games #launch problems #how things work

[rose-riot-johnson]

Well my Tumblr Peeps😃When I woke up earlier this week on a Monday morning, I decided to write another Choso smut fanfic pertaining his hunger, when the reader 1st wakes up in the morning🍳🥞😁👍

*This fanfic may contain 1 or more long paragraphs😅

🩸🥞Breakfast In Bed🥞🩸(Choso x Female Reader)

Genres: Smut (and sex) and possible fluff (Warning +18⚠️: Sexual Contact) including, Boob play, nipple sucking, pussy eating, hickies, thigh touching, kissing and sucking, pussy play, cock stroking and sucking, deep throating, vaginal penetration, Grinding), Hair gripping, Praise Kink, and Language)

When you were first waking up, you felt your boyfriend, Choso laying on you (underneath the blankets), as he happily looked into your eyes and he cooed, "Morning, (Female Reader Name)... Did you sleep well last night, my princess?", then proceeded to peck kiss your lips. You replied, "Morning, my love... I slept amazing, because of you, handsome... What about you, Choso? Did you have a good nights sleep, my koala bear?", before you cupped his left side of his facial cheeks. You then started petting his head.

Choso replied back, "Ofcourse I did, sweetness...", then complained, "It's just that... Well... I'm just hungry and I would like to fill us up...". After his complaint, you then asked, "Well if you're so hungry, then why are you, so comfortable laying on top of me then?". You giggled and said, "You know you need to get up, if you want me to cook breakfast for you.", as you kissed his left side of his facial cheeks. Choso then laughed, as he explained, "You misunderstood... That's not the type of hungry I'm talking about, miss... If I wanted food I wouldn't be complaining about being hungry... I would have asked nicely for it instead of what I said...", as you just realized he just sneakily took your bra off of you, as he began to grope your boobs, as he greedily eyed at where is groping. At that moment you knew what he meant.

While Choso was groping your tits, he used his thumbs to tease up your nipples and said, " You seemed to realize what I meant, so far... However, what I'm about to do will only be the beginning...", as he proceeded to start sucking on your right nipple. You began blush from his seemingly neverending sucking on your right nipple. Once he finished sucking on your right nipple, he switched to your left nipple, to ensure both of your nipples get the same treatment. After he finished sucking on both of your nipples, he madesure both of your boobs are hickied up, as he proceeded to kiss allover your neck to only put a hicky (or more) on your neck.

The next thing Choso did was kiss and suck on your left inner thigh to the point where he will leave hickies on it and he did the same with the right thigh. He then took the blanket(s) off himself and you, exposing both your naked body and his. You began to realize that he must have took your underwear off, probably not too long before you woke up. He knows any form of touching, especially kissing and sucking on your thighs teases you right up, which is why he's doing so.

Choso puts both of his hands on your thighs and even massages all over your thighs, then moves his hands to grope your ass. He then moves one of his hands to finger your entrance and the other hand to play with your clit. While Choso was playing with your pussy, he smirks, as he notices that you covered your mouth to prevent yourself from moaning, as he cooed teasingly, "Oh... I see you've been overstimulated, so far, my cupcake... Don't think I didn't notice you're trying to cover your mouth, so I don't hear you moan for me... This only proves it more...", as he moves the hand you're covering your mouth with on th bed, then uses both of his hands to restrain both of your hands to just incase you try to cover your mouth with the other hand, then he continued, "Besides... I'm not done eating yet, honey buns...".

Choso eyed at your pussy greedily, as he licking your pussy. Clit and pussy lips. He was swirling his tongue inside of your pussy for a couple minutes, then he focused his attention back to your clit, licking your whole clit, then sucking on your clit, while swirling his tongue at the pearl of your pussy, because he knows that's the most sensitive arwa of your pussy, especially when he licks the pearl, while sucking on your clit. He then glared his eyes at your face, as you pleaded, "Choso... Fuck... Make my pussy cum... Please... I'm feeling sensitive there...", as your pleads for him to make you cum was definitely music to his ears and proves his point about the fact that he overstimulated you. A couple more minutes went by, as you finally came inside of his mouth.

Choso had you sit you sit up, as he petted your head, as he praised, "You have such nice boobs, nice thighs, nice pussy, and nice everything... You also made me feel I did an amazing job eating you like this...", then gently gripped your hair and continued, "Now it's time for me to start feeding you, my lovely girlfriend... You gotta have your feeding time, too...". You were stroking his cock for about a minute, then you put his cock inside of your mouth, as you began to suck on it. He quietly groaned while you were sucking on his cock, as he's really enjoying the feel of you touching his cock in general, especially when you have his cock inside your mouth (and your saliva on his cock). He decided to open his eyes to glance at the sight of his cock inside of your mouth, as he cooed, "You look so pretty in general... Especially when you have my cock in that pretty mouth of yours, however I think you're holding back on your appetite when it comes to eating your breakfast that I'm trying to feed you... So, here... Have some more, my strawberry shortcake...", as he nicely, pushed your head to let you get the feel of deep throating his cock, while still, gently gripping your hair. He really has been enjoying the sensation of you deep throating his cock, even when you ended up drooling allover his cock, as he groaned, "That's it, (Female Reader Name)... That's how you suck on my cock... There's no need to hold back on your meal... Either way, you're doing amazing with how you handled my cock, sweetheart...", before cumming inside of your mouth and inside of your throat.

Once you finished eating his cum, you were about to get out of bed, as Choso gently gripped your shoulders and said, "Just because I came inside of your mouth, it doesn't mean I'm done filling you yet, my strawberry crepe... I'm still hard and you're not full yet... Shall we continue, my princess?", as he moved his hands from your shoulders to your hands, to hold your hands, so gently.

You turned yourself around to look into his eyes, as Choso gently, cupped your face with his left hand and said, "You know what to do, sexy...", while he gropes your ass with his right hand. The both you then got into a heated kiss, as your were grinding against his cock and grinds himself against your pussy. The next thing you did was got on your hands and knees to position yourself on the bed, as he got behind you on the bed (on his knees), then gently smacks your ass, while inserting his cock inside your pussy, before he positions his hands on your hips and using his thumbs to rub your ass cheeks. When he first started thrusting himself inside of your pussy, he started out slowly, making sure he's not hurting you, which you assured him he's not and you notion him out of encouragement to go faster, as he proceeded to thrust faster.

As Choso kept thrusting faster inside you, the more his cock kept on pounding your sensitive spot that's inside of your pussy, the tighter he gripped on to your hips, while he's hoping he wasn't too rough on you. Moans have filled the room, however the more he thrusts himself inside of you, not only he gets faster and more rough (and gripping on your hips), the moans that were filling the room changed to whimpers that ended up filling the room, as he's getting closer to filling himself inside you from your pussy tightens and warms up around his cock. You then whimper, "Fuck, Choso! My pussy feels warm around your cock! Your cock feels, so amazing!". In a whimpering tone he replied, "Well, your warm, pussy, tighten around my cock... Which it feels amazing to me, too! Fuck! I'm about to make you full soon!", before he empties himself completely inside of you.

After Choso finished emptying his cum inside of your pussy, he gently took his cock out of your pussy and let you lay on the bed. Ofcourse he will turn you on your back, because you might feel more comfortable that way and he wanted to look at your face. He then cooed, "Since your sore pussy all full of my cum, I will actually cook you some breakfast, since you letted me do, so much with you. You deserve some breakfast for how sweet you are to me and... I love you, (Female Reader Name)...", as he kissed your lips. You replied, "I love you too, Choso and you're always sweet to me, sexy...", before he happily winked at you, as he the proceeded to go to the kitchen to cook actual breakfast food for you to have in bed...

🥞🩸The End 🩸🥞

I hope you enjoyed this Choso smut fanfic, my Tumblr Peeps🥞😁👍It took me atleast a couple days to complete this particular Choso fanfic, however I figured I'd work on this fanfic differently than I did with atleast most of fanfics I've written, if not all of the fanfics I've written😃👍Anyways, I may sound irrelevant for the next sentence or so, it's just I think I may have admitted in either 1 of the fanfics or a different post (or both) about Yuta Okkotsu being 1 of my favorite Jujutsu Kaisen characters. I do like alot of the characters including Yuji Itadori and Megumi Fushiguro (who are couple of my favorite characters from Jujutsu Kaisen), which Yuta is 1 of my favorite Jujutsu Kaisen characters, which I haven't decided on the #1 favorite Jujutsu Kaisen character at the time😅 So, I should have seen signs about this pertaining Choso. It's a little more known as of late that I've been a fan of his for a while, however recently he has been becoming officially my #1 favorite character for Jujutsu Kaisen longer than I realized to be honest (I mean if he's your favorite also, then he's our favorite😁👍), which he's also 1 of my favorite anime characters as well (if he's 1 of your favorite anime characters then he's 1 of our favorite anime characters, as well😃👍), just as much (I may sound off topic) Roronoa Zoro and Eijiro Kirishima (Red Riot) (our favorite if both are couple of your favorite anime characters also)😃👍Since I just also realized I've written a long conclusion for this Choso, I will just say I hope you have fun reading this fanfic, as much as I had fun writing it, my Tumblr Peeps🥞🩸😁👍

#fanfic written by rose riot johnson #rose riot writings #rose riot johnson #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso kamo #choso smut #thinking of choso #choso craze #jjk choso #choso x reader #choso #kamo choso #choso x y/n #choso x you #choso x female reader #choso jjk #possible fluff

[tillyalf427]

Verlaine+Rimbaud x reader nsfw headcannons 18+

Notes : so I read through literally every verlaine and rimbaud x reader on here AGAIN last night and there's not nearly enough out there so uhhh...here have this 😂

Please read the warnings, I'm not 100% sure how tagging works on Tumblr anymore so read at your own discretion, most warnings are only brief but I thought I'd include them anyway!

Warnings: nsfw, bondage, choking, soft dom Verlaine, oral sex, praise kink, hickeys, fingering, riding, vaginal sex, sadism, edging, oral fixation, blowjobs, threesome, female terms used for reader

- Okay but soft dom Verlaine who loves the thought of the amount of control he has over both himself and the reader.

- So like when he's asked to choke them he loves how much control and precision is needed to use the right amount of pressure and not take things too far

It reminds him of his job as that also requires precise skills.

- Or when he ties you up with ropes criss-crossing over your skin, the process of tugging you to your knees by the ropes wound around your arms sends a jolt of electricity through his skin

- Let him hold onto your arms where they're bound behind your back whilst he fucks you and he'll go absolutely feral.

- Isn't a fan of gags because he wants to hear you and hear how much you're enjoying it, how else would he know when he's doing a good job?

- He needs validation!! Whether it's in the form of you moaning, or the garbled words that escape your mouth, he doesn't mind

- Potential praise kink anyone?

- Please he needs all the love in the world, tell him he's your good boy

- His favourite place to leave marks is probably your neck, he loves it when you can't hide them underneath your clothes, call him possessive if you must

- Likes to bite across your collar bones because he thinks they're pretty

- Isn't all that confident with eating you out or stretching you open because he's always afraid of hurting you

- But if you want him to he's more than happy to let you ride his face

- And fucking yourself onto his fingers drives him absolutely wild

- It gives him the little ego boost he needs to start scissoring his fingers, eventually slipping a third finger inside you before continuing where he left off

- Most the time he would be fairly quiet however, most often he would let out small grunts and quiet moans in between heavy breaths

-And sadist Rimbaud who loves nothing more than to tease and torture you until you're begging him to do anything.

- This man eats pussy like it's his job

- He'll happily spend hours edging you with both his tongue and his fingers, stretching you open slowly with a lazy smile.

- Pull his hair a little and he will lose it

- Rimbaud with an oral fixation anyone?

- Anyway

- His favourite place to leave marks is your thighs and hips, he loves to see the red marks blooming on your inner thighs and seeing the way his hand marks wrap around your hips.

-He probably has pretty long fingers which he uses to his advantage to tease and finger you

-Loves to watch you riding him, seeing the way your thighs tremble from the effort and the pleasure

- Every now and then he rolls his hips up as well just to see you gasp and tremble

- Try not to flinch when his cold fingers trail across your skin otherwise he'd take full advantage and finger you when his hands are freezing cold, watching you arch away from the strange sensation as your warmth surrounded his fingers.

- He would always end up flushed so pretty, pale skin warming up to a bright blush that travelled down his neck.

- His hair contrasts against it so nicely, falling around you and tickling with every movement.

And the pair of them together? Well...good luck 🤣

- Verlaine would hold you down against his chest whilst Rimbaud went to town with his tongue against your pussy

- Not only that but he would 100% use his ability, increasing the pressure of gravity on you until you could barely even wriggle.

- Both would make it their life's mission to cover you in marks, hickeys, bite marks, everything

- Nothing riles either of them up more than seeing finger shaped marks pressed into your hips when you're getting changed or when there's a mark too high on your neck for you to hide.

- Picture Verlaine tying Rimbaud's hands to the headboard, teasing him until you get home before encouraging you to sink down on Rimbaud's dick, riding him as he fell apart beneath you.

- Verlaine would tease Rimbaud's mouth, pressing his dick down his throat as you bounced on his cock.

- Or Rimbaud ordering Verlaine to fuck you whilst he sits and watches, cock in his hand and praises rolling off his tongue.

- Unless Verlaine happens to come without permission then he'll stand up, fingers tangling in Verlaine's hair to tilt his head back, whispering in his ear with a harsh bite to the skin there.

- He forces Verlaine to eat you out with his own release still dripping out of you.

- Fucking after a mission when you're all wine-drunk and tipsy, making everything sloppy and messy from the lack of coordination between the three of you.

-wet kisses and it's just generally fairly messy as you all tangle together

- And if for whatever reason you have a mission where you have to seduce the target, you may not be able to walk once the three of you get home.

- They both get jealous, irritation itching beneath their skin despite the knowledge that it was only for a mission.

- The sex that night would be rough, all harsh movements, biting and firm hands holding you in place however, once they were done with you, the softness would return.

- Between them they'd help you get cleaned up, running a bath for you and helping to wash the sweat and grime off your body, fingers tangling in damp hair as one of them rubbed shampoo in before taking the shower head to rinse the bubbles out.

- Then once you were dried you'd quickly be bundled up in their arms back in bed, soft words and kisses being passed around

- And if you happen to not be in the mood one day? No worries they'll work it out amongst themselves, giving you the option to watch if you're up for it.

- And quite frankly it's intriguing to watch the dynamic between the two of them on their own just as much as it is to be between the two of them.

- Seeing the way Verlaine submits fully to Rimbaud sends a shock of pleasure through you and uncovers the urge to have Verlaine in that position yourself

- Or seeing how Verlaine pressed Rimbauds legs up against his chest whilst fucking into him filled you with the perfect ideas on how to tease him to completion in the future.

- Overall, the pair of them are probably pretty good to you in bed, they both have strong personalities and motivations so there would likely be occasional times when they clash with each other

- But if they do just tie them both to the headboard with vibrators against their dicks and tease them for hours on end 😉

#rimbaud #rimbaud bsd #rimlaine #arthur rimbaud x paul verlaine #rimbaud x verlaine #paul verlaine #bsd verlaine #verlaine x rimbaud #verlaine x reader #paul verlaine bsd #paul verlaine x reader #arthur rimbaud #rimbaud x reader #arthur rimbaud x reader #bsd x reader #bsd randou #randou #bsd headcanons #writing #my work #bsd rimbaud #bsd rimlaine #verlaine bsd

[wrengrif]

Are we ready? It's Time...

For more GOOD OMENS WILD META.

I have been chewing on this one for awhile. Like, really ruminating on it. Probably because it's so far-reaching. For me, for others. It's a matter of the Journey From The Final Fifteen.

I will openly admit it, when I first came off the Final Fifteen, sometime in August/September (yeah, I was so worried about Season 2 I didn't watch it for a month after it came out and I realized I was right to do so.). I was, and still am, heartbroken. I was angry, despairing and wondering what the point of an ending like that was. I was angry at Neil Gaiman, I was angry at all the creators behind Good Omens. I was angry at Aziraphale, first, and then after about five minutes, I was angry at Crowley too.

Note, I was never mad at David Tennant or Michael Sheen. I respected their acting choices so much in the Final Fifteen. It was beautiful. It ripped my soul out through my chest. They are both brilliant. I know everyone has their favorite GO counterparts - they are mine.

Then a funny thing happened. A few weeks passed. I started fumbling around Good Omens Tumblr again. I'd been a big contributor during Detroit: Become Human (of which I am still a HUGE FAN, god I love that game.), and until Good Omens 2 came out, I was on the side of Good Omens fandom. Reading, mostly, but at the time I was very deep into my Wangxian fixation (haaaaah, I say, like I have ever left it. My dream AU is Aziraphale and Crowley in the Sunshot Campaign, causing trouble with Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian.). That changed after Final Fifteen. Now I was hurt, I was looking for comfort. I was looking for my fellow fans.

Clearly, I found you, you gorgeous bastards (saying nothing about your moms, unless you want me to). I started to read more meta, started having my own thoughts and carefully posting them. Reading fanfiction, and ... becoming less angry. Stepping back, to really look at the story. I was swallowing content like Aziraphale swallowed ox ribs. In the midst of this, I realized this wasn't The End of Good Omens, but merely the second part of a Trilogy. I'm a writer, I know what the second part of a trilogy is. It's where your heart breaks, it's the cliffhanger episode. I stopped being mad, and started loving the craft. I started to actually look at the scenes instead of just watching.

With that, I started to realize I had been missing so much. I realized I had been wrong, about a lot of things. My perspectives, and thoughts changed. Aziraphale wasn't at fault, he was a victim of the situation as much as Crowley was. Crowley left the bookshop, but he never left Aziraphale. He waited. He's still waiting. As more time passed, the more my thoughts evolved. Changed, formed anew, and I felt better for it. I decided to be hopeful about the whole thing. Yes, it was bad now, but there were enough signs and easter eggs to say this wasn't the ending we were going to get.

I healed, in short. I forgave. I'm waiting for our next chapter, because I know this story isn't done, not by a long shot. I'm waiting to see how our heroes will cope.

Rather like, I think, Aziraphale and Crowley will. The initial pain is going to fade, the anger, the feeling of rejection (whereas they will some day realize neither one of them were in fact, rejected.). The longing is going to kick in. They're going to miss one another more than they will ever be angry. There's going to be moments of grace, of forgiveness, partnered with sadness. What I think we forget, sometimes, is that Aziraphale and Crowley are 6000 years old. They've fought before. They'll fight again. With the fullness of time though, they'll come back to one another. They'll talk again.

Right now though, they've had time. Time to hopefully process (I really, really hope Aziraphale has had SOME time to process), time let the anger fade a little. Maybe not enough time - some of us here still need time - but enough to let them wonder ... is it really over? Maybe to realize, no. No it's not.

Time doesn't heal all wounds, but time does allow you to find equilibrium. I hope time will do the same for our angel and our demon. I know time helped me. I hope time will help us all.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #david tennant #michael sheen #neil gaiman #good omens meta #good omens fandom #time is on our side

[douglysium]

Episode 12 TMP Quick Thoughts

Housekeeping and Prologue

Hello, this is Douglysium and you might not know me as that guy who wrote over 100 pages of analysis on the Eye (which can be read on Tumblr here (https://douglysium.tumblr.com/post/735599414228484097/the-relationships-between-the-dread-powers-the) or Google Docs here (The Relationships Between the Dread Powers: The Eye- Knowledge is Fear and Ignorance is Bliss)) or as that guy who wrote an article on the Extinction (which can be read on Tumblr here(https://douglysium.tumblr.com/post/717929126195003392/what-would-avatars-of-the-extinction-be-like-a) and Google Docs here(​What would Avatars of the Extinction be like?: A TMA Speculation)). Suffice to say I might be a bit of a TMA fan. Also, spoilers for TMP up until episode 10. You can read my ramblings on the last episode here (Episode 11 TMP Quick Thoughts).

However, Protocol offers a very unique opportunity and experience for me because I didn’t actually get into TMA until after it was over and I binged all of it. So this is my first time experiencing something even remotely similar to what the original TMA fans probably experienced when waiting for each episode week by week and slowly having to put everything together with the limited information they had. So I decided to throw my hat into the ring since this might be my only chance to do something similar. However, I’m working on some longer form TMA content so I can’t spend as much time on these articles giving a bunch of super detailed thoughts. I will try to keep these short and that inevitably might mean some could have questions about why I think or predict certain things and in those cases I would probably recommend you read at least some of the two articles I mentioned above to get a better idea of where I’m coming from. This also means I won’t be giving you a play-by-play of every single thing that happens in the episode so I encourage you to listen to or read them yourselves and feel free to comment if you feel something is important.

These reviews are probably going to end up focusing mostly on the Entities and their manifestations as they are what I have thought about the most and spent the most time interpreting and there’s been a lot of… interesting theories floating around about how the Entities are manifesting that I want to go over.

Finally, I’m just going to say it right now, spoiler warning for all of The Magnus Archives. I know that Jon and co said one could start with Protocol and be fine, and while that’s probably true, media like this tends to be made in conversation with or take into consideration what came before it in the irl chronology in order to connect them. While I’m sure you could skip The Magnus Archives, I don't really see the point of skipping over it when we are already getting characters from TMA showing up in TMP in Protocol. So to me it’s pretty clear that if we want to understand the full picture of TMP and all the things it is trying to say then we can’t just try to pretend TMA doesn’t exist or scrub it away. Just because you could understand what’s happening without the context in broad strokes doesn’t mean you're getting all the nuances.

These articles are meant to be quick and short so sorry if there’s typos and if I don’t address every possible question or possibility. I don’t want to repeat myself too much in this series outside of the prologue so be sure to skim some of my other articles.

Episode 12 “Getting Off”

I think this episode is definitely one of the more straightforward Protocol episodes we have gotten so far, so hopefully this Quick Thoughts won’t br too long (but knowing me I probably just jinxed it).

We take in the scene through a CCTV in the breakroom of the OIAR at night. The transcripts clarify that Celia is very tired and searching through the cupboards for something and it is quickly made apparent that she is looking for tea and, since the break room has run out, Sam gives Celia a teabag from a secret stash that he apparently has. Sam then asks Celia out on a date and while she is busy at the moment she does show that she is willing to go out with Sam on “Saturday, 6? under the clock at Leicester Square. That work? We’ll go for dinner- well, breakfast- you know what I mean.” Once again, we see that the OIAR jobs appear to be very exhausting and have odd work hours. I also wonder what Celia’s end goal is. Does she genuinely like Sam or does she see him as means to an end. Is Celia here to help Sam and co or is she here to harm them?

As Celia leaves, Alice walks in and proceeds to make fun of Sam for clearly being extremely nervous as he asked out Celia. Alice says “(normal again) You know it’s rude to have absolutely no game? Christ, all these years and you still ask people out like a baby foal learning to tapdance.” A reference to the fact that she and Sam dated at some point, and how Sam probably acted very similarly when trying to ask her out. Sam does point out “Look it worked didn’t it?” which seems like it could be a sort of double meaning. Sam’s nervous approach got Celia to agree to a date but also Alice presumably agreed to go out with him in the past too.

Sam apologizes to Alice for dragging her to the ruins of the Institute only to fund nothing… well nothing Sam and Alice know about since something escaped the Institute. Sam says he’s done with Magnus stuff and Alice responds with “So you’re telling me that if I had a case full of emails with the title “Magnus Institute re: Samama Khalid – Massive Conspiracy” you wouldn’t be tempted?” to which Sam says no before asking “You don’t, though. Do you? That was just, like, a joke. Right?” Alice then says “Come on, for now let’s just focus on getting you as jaded and apathetic as possible.” Considering that Alice does appear to be pretty jaded about listening to the cases and piecing them together this could be related to her point about ignoring the talkers and not getting caught up in thinking too much about what’s happening. 

NORRIS starts expositing the next case

“Claim Review: EL-56920 

Policy Holder: Soho Jack’s Ltd. 

Policy Number: 548651-656 

Policy Type: Employers’ Liability 

Site Address: Soho Jack’s, 9 Carlisle St, London W1D 3BK 

Affected Employee: Ms. Jordan Bennett 

Date of Incident: 9 March 2024 

Incident Location: On site. 

Documentation: Crime Report – Submitted 

Medical Practitioner Report – Submitted 

Incident Book Entry – Submitted First Aider’s Report – Submitted 

Supervisor’s incident Report - Submitted 

HSE communications - Submitted 

Health-And-Safety policies - Submitted 

Employment Contract - Submitted 

Claim Valuation: £1,560,000 Assessment 

Conclusion: Claim Denied Reason: Fraudulent claim (see incident description and police report)”

This, along with some information Jordan mentions later, means Jordan is suing Soho Jack’s Ltd. They go on to say that their lawyer has advised them to cooperate with Soho Jack’s insurance claim as a show of good faith, even if they’re planning on “suing your asses to kingdom-come.” They start recounting an event that occurred on the company’s property and apologize for their terrible handwriting (which we later learn is probably because Mr. Bonzo bit off one of their hands).

They go over how they started working at Jack’s in the spring of 2021 after they had finished Flair Academy. After struggling to find a job they managed to get an interview and then job at the aforementioned Jack’s. The club seems to have a good reputation as Jordan refers to it as “the Soho Gentleman’s club.” The company’s building “...has dances on the bottom two floors with VIP suites for hire above with a dedicated bouncer keeping them separate. Really, it’s just a quieter box with a private bar, some comfy chairs and the option of private dancers.” Despite this being “THE” Soho Gentleman’s club Jordan says “It’s always booked up with swank dickheads trying to show off, but Stags are the worst: they’re cheap, they’re loud, they drink too much, tip too little and only ever hire one dance for the groom. Plus there’s always some “nice guy” that won’t shut up about exploitation without even bothering to stop staring.” 

Jordan begins to explain how the party the specific party that led to them wanting to sue Jack’s. They state that this specific party’s lot was not the worst and were “Just a bunch of heavyset, middle-aged lads with names like Ozzer, or Rozzer or whatever. ” and notes that “The groom was fine, acted embarrassed even though he was obviously keen and they were easily pleased. ”

“They started giving the groom gifts. Same old tat as always, cufflinks, poo gags, all the standard stuff. Then the groom spotted the last one on the table, this cheap yellow and purple kids lunch box. It looked old and shoddy and no one admitted to bringing it but the groom just squealed with glee and carefully opened it before pulling out a bunch old souvenir merch. Pencils, postcards, keyrings, all sorts of crap, all the same yellow and purple and last of all a cracked CD case. When they saw it the whole bunch gave this big laughing cheer.” I have talked about how I think Mr. Bonzo is probably tied to The Stranger if we view him through the lens of Smirke’s 14. I will retread some of those reasons later but right now I want to point out that no one admitted to bringing the Bonzo CD. It could simply be that it’s a prank and someone happened to grab an artifact or something tied to Bonzo, and maybe someone from the OIAR even planted it there, but it could also be connected to the idea of The Stranger and the fear of the unknown because it could be that no one actually knows who got that CD.

We also know that The Stranger is no… stranger to dropping off or delivering strange artifacts in order to feed on the fear of people interacting with unknown /mysterious objects. Breekon and Hope’s delivery service are a good example of this (strangers that show up and drop off never before seen or uncanny objects and artifacts).

“I could see which way the wind was turning and sure enough the bestman came over and asked if he could play it. The cover had this awful comic sans title: “Mr. Bonzo’s On His Way” and I wasn't exactly thrilled by this.” Jordan explains that “Mr. Bonzo was way before my time and from what I had seen online he had always looked pretty messed up. But hey, it was their night, if they wanted to spend it on some cringy nostalgia trip, who was I to say no?” Which could mean that Jordan doesn’t know a lot about Mr. Bonzo, and lack of familiarity with something is one of the things that we know entities like The Stranger love to prey on.

“This kind of thing happened often enough that we kept a battered old CD Player in the back that we could patch into the room's speakers, just in case. So, I ducked back there, put it on, turned the volume down as low as I could get away with, and prayed it wasn’t too obnoxious. Immediately the cheering children’s voices blared out the speakers accompanied by bouncy tubas loud enough to drown out the rest of the club’s music. It was awful but I could hear the lads stamping the floor in rhythm and as the kids started singing the men were singing along: “Mr. Bonzo’s on his way, he wants to stay, he wants to play! Mr. Bonzo’s on his way, he wants to stay, he wants to play!” If you want to listen to the song Jordan is referring to it is actually available on Youtube: Mr Bonzo (from 'The Magnus Protocol'). Maybe you can put yourself in the shoes of an annoyed Jordan or ecstatic old man at the club.

Jordan clearly finds the song annoying and after waiting a minute, in order to avoid being a “total killjoy,” they decide to turn off the song before “ Derek came down from the office to “have a word.” I assume Jordan meant Derek would complain about the music. However, when Jordan turns the CD player off it “...just grew louder, rattling the glassware in the bar: “Mr. Bonzo’s on his way, he wants to stay, he wants to play!” I even yanked the cables from the speakers, but it just kept getting louder.” Obviously, something supernatural is going on but Jordan reasonably assumes that the player just broke and begins to reach for their walkie talkie in order to call for some tech support. However, as they do so they are interrupted by a massive crash coming from another part of the room followed by a cheer. Jordan gets ready to reprimand the party goers for whatever mess they might have made but instead sees Mr. Bonzo. “It was hunched in the doorway, a bulbous figure with a purple hat that cast crazed shadows in all directions thanks to the club’s lighting effects. Then it doffed its hat and pushed itself into the room, foam catching on the doorframe with a squeak that set my teeth on edge. Its massive bulbous google-eyes seemed to roam all over the room before settling on the groom and it was almost as if the huge toothy grin grew wider when it saw him.” We know that Gwen delivered a name and address to Bonzo and in the previous episode Lena even tells Gwen “I’m sure you’ve already worked that out. But just in case you haven’t, keep an eye on the case loads over the next few days. It should become abundantly clear.” Implying that this could be the case Lena was alluding to or that the groom (or someone else in the room) is Bonzo’s target (but it’s almost definitely the groom).

Everyone in the room assumes the appearance of Bonzo is some sort of gift or prank and “The rugby boys were tripping over themselves to get in and hug it, laughing and pushing the groom to the front and so I figured at that point it was a prank. Again, none of them took credit for it and there was a moment of genuine hesitation, until one of them yelled out “It's ya lapdance, Baz!” and they all fell about laughing.” Jordan is furious that a coworker named Joey presumably let Bonzo in and the idea that Joey might have bailed on Jordan again by “ducking out for a smoke.” But as Jordan moves forward they notice something- “I began to stride over, readying for the inevitable complaints then hesitated as I saw something far more unnerving than the ugly costume that was capering with the groom in the middle of the group. There was a pair of heavy boots on their side, poking just inside the still open doorway. Joey’s boots, and they weren't moving. Just then the google eyes looked turned to me, and a puffy finger raised cheekily to its mouth.” So Joey was killed by Bonzo and all the while “the men had all started chanting “Bonzo! Bonzo! Bonzo”, stamping their feet and banging the tables in a circle around the pair in the center…” and the music kept getting louder. So loud that it began to sound distorted from the strain the song was putting on the speakers.

Out of all the Entities the Slaughter seems to have a pretty strong connection to music but The Stranger also has a strong precedent for music. For example, The Calliope in TMA is an artifact tied to The Stranger. In MAG 024 (Strange Music) it is mentioned that the instrument has "Be still, for there is strange music" carved into the cover of the keyboard. While The Slaughter’s connection to music is probably due to an association between rhythm and war (think the marching of an army or the phrase “drums of war”) as well as the fear of “violent” music, The Stranger’s connection to music seems to come from the idea of either strange unknown sounds or a song / sound that sounds really uncanny. It is noted by Jordan that Mr. Bonzo’s song grows louder and more distorted overtime which would mean that the song is becoming more and more incomprehensible as it would slowly change into a song with lyrics you couldn’t understand or identify as easily. It could also be that the song sounds uncanny in the sense that it is familiar in some ways but something is off about it.

Jordan tries to call for help on his walkie talkie but can only hear Mr. Bonzo’s theme blaring out of its tiny speaker. Jordan tries to warn everyone and get out but no one can hear him over the music. Bonzo takes the groom and begins to “dance” with him by spinning around faster and faster until Bonzo decides to rip his arms off and even as this act of gorey brutality took place the other party goers present continued to laugh and laugh until Jordan’s scream caused them to realize this wasn’t some sort of prank. Almost everyone begins to yell in terror but some yelled in rage and proceeded to attack Bonzo: “A few of the bigger guys picked up chairs or bottles and began to beat and slash at the thing. It didn’t seem to notice, its bulbous, bloodshot, eyes staying fixed on the groom’s body as it raised it overhead.” Bonzo then proceeds to continue pulverizing the body by smashing it against the ground over and over.

“For a split second, all was still but the music just pounded on, barely recognizable now over the distortion from the smoking speakers as those voices, no longer childlike, still chanted the words “He’s here to stay… He wants to play…”” “Then Mr. Bonzo turned towards us with its head bowed almost reverentially and everybody went silent. Slowly, awfully slowly, it raised its head, titling it coquettishly to one side. Then the seams across its face split revealing its gaping maw filled with even larger, sharper teeth.” Jordan admits that they don’t remember much about what happened after that but “I dream about it most nights. In the dream it digs through all those men to get to me, grabbing fistfuls of them and throwing them to smash against the wall. The strobe fires as its hands plunge into the pile of us and each flash shows a little less flesh between me and it, between me and all those teeth… finally everyone else is gone. I raise my arm to protect myself and it gently but inexorably lifts it into its mouth, smiles and bites… None of us was left whole but I was the luckiest. All I lost was a hand, it wasn’t even my dominant one.” The biting was set up previously in episode 10 when the transcripts mention “Gwen holds out the envelope and Mr Bonzo snatches it into his mouth, audibly chewing it. His teeth are not soft.”

Jordan says that they “told the investigators everything I know, doctors too. I don't know why nobody outside the room heard or saw anything, why the cameras weren't working, why it let me live. But I do know why there weren't any bodies. All I actually want is my hand back so I can tend bar but that isn’t going to happen is it? So I’ll have to settle for the next best thing and sue you for everything I can get, because I don’t know what happened that night but it was in your venue and no one came to help. Not Derek, not another doorman, no one. So yeah, you’d better have one hell of a settlement waiting for me, or I'll see you in court.”

While you could make an argument for themes of Entities like The Desolation, Flesh, Hunt, etc. I’m still going to primarily argue for Bonzo being tied to The Stranger or a similar Entity due to what we see in his previous appearances. For the sake of clarity, if there is any debate about what The Stranger embodies in MAG 200 it is stated “And as they learned to know their friends and kin, so too did they learn to fear the unknown figure, the coming of the stranger” and in MAG 092 (Nothing Beside Remains) Jonah tells Jon “We thrive on ceaseless watching, on knowing too much. What we face is the hidden, the uncanny, and the unknown.” while in MAG 111 (Family Business) Jon says “The Stranger is the unknown. The uncanny.” and Gerard doesn’t correct him.

However, a lot of Mr. Bonzo’s behaviours in previous episodes resembles The Stranger (and The Stranger has violently attacked or killed people in the past). Mr. Bonzo is also described as being a clown. Something we know The Stranger has a precedent for manifesting as, probably due to both the idea of the uncanny valley being achieved with a costume or makeup and the idea of a traveling circus full of strangers you don’t know from out of town in addition to a clown costume acting as a disguise that can obscure whoever is wearing it. Not to mention that Mr. Bonzo is described as a suit, which could very easily connect to an Entity like The Stranger. Firstly, The Stranger tends to have a big emphasis on wearing things like skins and suits. Additionally, Gwen mentions in episode 11 “That… abomination wasn’t a costume. That was skin. It was sagging, it was sweaty!” and we know The Stranger has a tendency for wearing skin, skinning things (such as with taxidermy), etc. as a form of disguise, in order to hide itself, or to metaphorically rob something of their identity.

This also applies to costumes in general since usually wearing costumes or disguises can actually obscure who is wearing them and thus their true identity is unknown. There’s also the fact that costumes themselves can easily fall into the uncanny valley. Ever since Five Nights at Freddy’s became popular there’s been an uptick in horror media focusing on how creepy and uncanny things like animatronic suits can be. Not that Mr. Bonzo is an animatronic but it is a suit. Also, Bonzo apparently has hard teeth and having solid teeth on a suit could look uncanny.

The surprise gift and sudden appearance of Bonzo that others assume is some sort of surprise or prank could also tie into The Stranger and the idea of something mysteriously appearing or not being expected. Bonzo was originally made to prank celebrities. As Nigel explains in episode 10 that his produce ““inviting a famous person on, someone really serious, and we tell them we’re going to have them do a segment with a popular children’s entertainer. Now, obviously these folks won’t have any idea about what kids are actually watching, so we could come up with the most horrendous thing, claim kids loved it and see how long it took for the guest to realize that they were the joke. That they’d been “berried”” and “The problem with a surprise prank is that doing it on Saturday night primetime means pretty soon everyone knows about it, and the guests knew it was coming. A couple even requested it. So the prank part of it sort of died, and he just became an SOS mascot. One of my many tormentors in the dungeon. By the end we’d even retired Mr. Six, and it was all Bonzo.” Once again, a focus on surprise and I think it’s interesting that Bonzo loses his punch the more people know about and understand him. Bonzo is a character that thrived specifically on the guests not knowing who he was and did. So a potential relationship with the unknown again.”

In episode 10 Nigel says to Gwen ““Try not to stare. He doesn’t like it when people stare.” Which could relate to The Stranger. While all the Entities are connected, overlap, and need each other for a ritual bringing them into the world to work, with even seemingly opposing Entities bleeding into each other or having overlapping fears, The Stranger can often have an antagonistic relationship with The Eye and forms of being known. The Stranger tends to thrive off the fear of being unknown so staring at something aligned with The Stranger might make it react negatively. In MAG 092 (Nothing Beside Remains) Jonah tells Jon “We thrive on ceaseless watching, on knowing too much. What we face is the hidden, the uncanny, and the unknown.” In MAG 165 (Revolutions) Not-Sasha says this in regards to The Eye’s Post-Change world “Do you know how it feels? To be – anonymous? And yet known! To have all the sweetest dread I can create tainted by the relentless gaze of that damned Eye. I’ve suffered enough.” So if my theory that Bonzo is tied to something like The Stranger is correct, that could explain a potentially negative reaction to being looked at for too long since aspects of The Stranger often don’t like it when people try to figure out what they are. This could ring extra true if it does turn out that the OIAR is somehow connected to The Eye.

Bonzo’s eating and biting could potentially be linked to The Stranger’s tendency for odd uncanny behavior, like that time Breekon / Hope ate a butterfly. The fact that this monster looks like Bonzo could also be related to the idea of the uncanny, since he would resemble Bonzo but behave and look a bit off. Also, it seems hard to tell if Bonzo is a costume or a monster resembling a costume which makes it harder to know what he is for sure, and The Stranger loves playing up mystery (think how we never know which character is Breekon and which character is Hope from Breekon and Hope in TMA, and Jon describes one of them as “one half of Breekon and Hope”). Also, Bonzo can only say his name which means you never really know what he’s saying or talking about.

Bonzo killing everyone in the room but leaving someone alive is not a completely unheard of idea. The Entities in general often seem to leave witnesses if in doing so more fear is generated and we see creatures like the Not-Them kill and replace people while ensuring that at least one person remembers what the original persona actually looked like even if no one else does. The reason for this is because if the Not-Them’s disguise was perfect and changed every bit of memory and evidence then there wouldn’t be anyone to be afraid of the idea that someone they know has been replaced by a stranger.

Jordan mentions “I don't know why nobody outside the room heard or saw anything, why the cameras weren't working, why it let me live. But I do know why there weren't any bodies.” which emphasizes his confusion about what’s happening. While confusion is often tied to The Spiral, in this case it stems from a bunch of unknown factors and variables, like why there were no other witnesses and why the cameras weren’t working.” As far as there being no witnesses and the cameras failing to work, the Entities are known for usually being on the downlow and not common knowledge but Entities like The Stranger tend to thrive off the fear of mystery and have a precedent for things like mysterious disappearances or hiding people / things. The Calliope I mentioned earlier mysteriously disappeared from the Institute’s archives at some point in TMA and in MAG 092 (Nothing Beside Remains) Jonah tells Jon “We thrive on ceaseless watching, on knowing too much. What we face is the hidden, the uncanny, and the unknown.” Jonah specifically mentions that The Stranger has a connection to “the hidden” among other things. In MAG 102 (Nesting Instinct) Jonah even says that The Stranger essentially hid Jon from him when saying “I was doing everything in my power to locate you. Everyone was working on finding the ritual site.” and “[Irritated] I am sorry, John, that my powers have not yet reached the level of omniscience.” Jordan does say that they know why there weren’t any bodies which implies that Mr. Bonzo probably ate them.

Jordan having trouble remembering exactly what happened actually does have a precedent with The Stranger since the Entity does have connections to memory loss or a loss of identity. In MAG 165 (Revolutions) we see Not-Sasha watch over a Domain that takes the form of a merry-go-round with people fighting over faces. People with no faces must fight over the faces of others to rip them off and regain some sense of identity. When they lose their face it is said “And soon enough they will forget they ever even had one, rest assured; it’s best to step the dance and keep your face secured as much as you are able. Just. Keep. Running.” Jon and co also face memory loss when they interrupt The Stranger’ ritual in TMA and forget who they are and what they are doing for a period of time.

Some other Entities this statement parallels are that of The Slaughter (with sudden brutal and gory violence), The Flesh (via bodily disfigurement by way of losing a hand, Bonzo being described as releasing “some vile mixture of putrid water, rotten foam and rancid meat.” when cut at some point, and Bonzo biting into people), The End (a lot of people brutally die), The Corruption (from the aforementioned vile mixture pouring out of Bonzo), and even The Eye (with the strange and horrifying dreams Jordan is forced to relive over and over resembling how people who give Jon live statements are forced to relive said moments in the form of nightmares over and over). Like always, I have to at least touch on the fact that The Eye doesn’t seem to just be the fear of being watched but also being a witness to something you don’t want to see. Jon can force people to recount and relive terrible moments, Jonah can force information into the heads of people like Melanie and Martin, and in MAG 200 The Eye is stated to have been born from the fear of one’s own eyes showing them too much.

All this being said, I still think the OIAR is somehow connected to The Eye. There’s the cases being like statements but also the fact that they supply sensitive information (such as names and locations) to things like Mr. Bonzo. People like Jonah could almost always know one’s location thanks to their Eye powers and The Eye is connected to the fear of someone / something knowing too much about you (such as knowing where and who you are). I wonder why Bonzo was sent to kill this particular groom when he was just partying? Did the groom know something or overstep some line or was the groom just some sort of offering to appease Mr. Bonzo? How was this person’s name and address obtained? Was it just mundane tracking or something closer to Jonah’s clairvoyance? Nigel acted like he was doing the OIAR a favor so right now it seems like this was a target decided by the OIAR and not necessarily Nigel. Unless you want to argue that the “favor” is aiding in keeping Bonzo pacified, under wraps, or something potentially more mutually beneficial. I wonder if Jordan’s dreams are somehow connected to being directly involved in a case or facing an External of the OIAR? It could also simply be that Jordan is traumatized.

We cut to Gwen and the transcripts say she “is sat at her desk, stunned by what she has just heard.” and she only says “Jesus Christ…” I wonder if this is because the case is unusually brutal or gorey when compared to most others or if she realized there’s a connection between the letter she delivered and what happens in this case. Considering what Lena said it's very possible that some of the cases the OIAR gets are connected to the activity of their own Externals (such as Mr. Bonzo).

ALICE CONT. 

“Gwen? Hello?”

GWEN 

“(dazed) What?”

Getting sucked into a statement like this and statements having a negative impact on one’s mental state are both things we have seen in TMA. Jon had a hard time stopping once he started a statement and at one point Jon expresses worry that Martin was listening to a bunch of statements for Peter Lukas and his plan in regards to The Extinction. Although, it could be that Gwen is merely shocked.

Gwen explains that she met one of the Externals but Alice seems to think Gwen is just referring to some annoying assholes as opposed to any supernatural monsters that takes the form of beloved childhood characters.

Gwen seems to finally wonder the question that I’ve been wondering for a while now:

GWEN 

“What do you think we’re actually doing, here at the O.I.A.R.?” 

ALICE 

“Apart from mortgaging our mental health for a wage packet?” 

GWEN 

“We’ve both been here long enough to know this place. We’re not doing good. We’re not just sifting random data. There’s something wrong here.”

ALICE 

“What are you getting at?”

GWEN 

“You never wonder what the point is? Who benefits from all this awfulness?”

ALICE 

“I don’t wonder. I know.”

GWEN 

(sitting up) “What? Really?”

ALICE 

“(portentous) Oh yeah. I’ve known for a while. What we’re doing here, it’s all part of a grand plan to satisfy one of the most unspeakable evils known to mankind... “

Gwen’s on the edge of her seat. 

ALICE 

“(almost a whisper) …the UK government.”

In TMA the point of the Institute sifting through statements and stuff was twofold. Firstly, to feed The Eye but also to set up the lynchpin for The Eye’s ritual with the position of the Archivist. I wonder if something similar is going on here but I can’t say since while you could argue that being an Externals Liaison is like the Archivist and shares the role as being a “living chronicle of fear” (especially since Lena remarked that Gwen should show fear via screaming because Externals tend to like that) Gwen had to blackmail her way into that position. I have no idea who was the Externals Liaison before her or if there are other Liaisons, if there even was one(s) before / with Gwen at all. Also, unlike the Institute, the OIAR is explicitly connected to the government and is meant to respond to things (not just watch). So it’s very likely that the OIAR has a role that is different from just “The Mass Ritual / Institute 2.0.” They could still be gathering fear related to the statements and being observed like the Institute in TMA though. However, even the Institute still wanted the Archival staff to do a good job following up statements and stuff. Jon tries to reorganize the Archives after Gertrude purposefully left them disorganized and Tim corrects Jon about some errors he made when reading some statements. The OIAR doesn’t really seem to care how well or poorly their workers categorize the cases and I don’t know if anyone checks.

Alice’s joke about the greatest evil known to mankind being the UK government feels like foreshadowing considering that the OIAR, and by extension all the Externals like Bonzo, are connected to the government.

Alice’s comment “Apart from mortgaging our mental health for a wage packet?” references how stressful this job seems to be.

Conclusion

Yeah, idk. This was a very simple episode overall and it mostly just seemed like it was following up Lena’s point about paying attention to the caseload.

Okay, hold on, before I end this I figured I should actually try to look at the voices in the computer system a bit more closely, since quite frankly, like with the alchemy symbols, I’ve admittedly been neglecting them and not focusing on them as much as I should have. This is because I actually couldn’t tell if there was any kind of correlation between the voices and the kinds of cases they read but a video by Maddie’s Maxis called “This Channel's First Video - The Magnus Protocol Analysis and Theories” (which you can view here This Channel's First Video - The Magnus Protocol Analysis and Theories) hypothesizes that there is actually a correlation. As we all know two of the computer voices sound like Martin and Jon and Maddie argues that the kinds of statements the voices read correspond to something that had to do with the character. For example, in theory NORRIS (Martin’s voice) tends to have statements relating to self-loathing and loneliness. I don’t know what they are feeding Maddie but Maddie is potentially cooking here. So I decided to glance over at some of the statements and see if there are any patterns.

I’m going to start with the theme that seems the most concrete in my opinion. The cases that NORRIS (Martin’s voice) reads seem to often be tied to themes of isolation, losing loved ones, or feeling abandoned. I should make it clear that while I know Martin in TMA is connected to The Lonely I am not saying all the cases NORRIS reads are connected to The Lonely. The mere presence of feeling alone or isolated doesn’t automatically make a statement Lonely related in the same way someone dying, getting attacked, or something taking place at night or in darkness automatically means End, Slaughter, or Dark respectively. Also, it’s important to remember that every Entity, even seemingly opposing ones, have overlap, shared fears, commonalities, etc..

But let’s look at the cases to see if this pattern is really there. The case NORRIS covers in episode 1 involves the Anglerfish, or something resembling it, killing and replacing their romantic partner. Harriet even says “And that voice I have loved for twenty years answered: “Some of him.”” So loss of a loved one.

In episode 3 NORRIS covers a case in which Dr. Samuel seems to feel immense guilt and sorrow about the death of Maddie. Once again, the loss of a close loved one.

In episode 8 NORRIS goes over a report Terrance submits about the effects of brutal liminalism. While no one dies or is replaced in the actual events of the case, Terrance does mention “originally took my role as a night janitor at Forton following a protracted divorce which cost me the majority of my friendships.” So while their partner isn’t dead they did lose a loved one, and if you read my thoughts on that episode you know that I actually think the case has a lot of similarities with The Lonely. The fog, the vaguely familiar but impossible to understand gibberish, people with repeating features, being isolated in a dark void, etc.. Even if you disagree that it’s The Lonely there is still a connection to themes of losing someone close and being alone.

If there was an episode to disprove this theory it would probably be episode 12 since it’s just Bonzo murdering a room full of people. Jordan does say “I don't know why nobody outside the room heard or saw anything” and earlier in the case they mention that they believed their coworker by the name of Joey the doorman might have ditched him again but this definitely feels a bit more like a stretch. Jordan does seem to blame the establishment for what happened and this is because from the perspective of Jordan no one came to help despite how obvious and loud the commotion was. Which could maybe tie into the idea of being abandoned or left alone but this is definitely pushin it and it’s clear that our understanding of what kinds of cases each voice reads might expand as the series goes on.

Maddie argues that CHESTER (Jonathon’s voice) seems to usually cover cases related directly to the Magnus Institute. Which is generally true, CHESTER covers the cases of RedCanary spelunking in the Institute’s ruins in episode 1, and the gambling dice being submitted to the Institute in episode 9 for example. But CHESTER also covers the case about Tom wanting to watch Voyeur in episode 5, the case regarding Hilltop Center in episode 7, Gordon’s encounter with the tattoos and Ink5 during construction in episode 11. It’s very possible that these are just related to the Institute in ways we don’t understand yet, for example some of the characters that appear could be members of the Institute or something, but in my opinion this definitely throws a wrench into some things.

CHESTER seems to have a stronger case for a theme of curiosity and a desire to know in general as opposed to just the Magnus Institute. RedCanary investigates the archives out of curiosity, Tom really wants to see the Voyeur movie for their blog, the narrator explains that they experimented with the gambling dice to figure out how they worked, and Gordon keeps talking about how they “just need to see it. I need to know what’s in the water.” As I’ve mentioned previously, The Eye also has a major emphasis on a desire to know and understand something even if it comes at the cost of yourself and / or other people. Hilltop Center still seems like a bit of an outlier here but while Dianne isn’t spelunking through ruins or anything she does mention that she was looking for people to help her work at the center. Which, while a bit of a stretch, could fit with a theme of curiosity or desire to know in the case of Chester. Or at least the idea of something being searched for as a theme at least. 

If you wanted to argue that CHESTER actually related to things being looked for you could say that the case about the gambling dice revolves around the narrator giving the Institute artifacts, and they even say “So yeah, I tell you all about them, how I got them, all that crap and you just… You take them away, right? You accept them? Good. I think. I’m pretty sure that’s how it works. It’s how it worked for me, at least. Put them in whatever vault you like, bury them, drop them in the ocean, for all I care. All that matters is that they’re yours now.” So you could say that the Institute was looking for artifacts. You could also argue that the narrator was looking for people to roll the dice, looking for good luck, or started making their way towards Gary when they found him.

AUGUSTUS has a voice I am not familiar with (and we will get to the popular theory in a moment). I can only recall AUGUSTUS voicing one case, I might be forgetting one or something, so I don’t have a lot to go on. AUGUSTUS could be covering really old statements, as Sam notes the one in episode 4 is from the 18th century, or statements revolving around others climbing their way to their top and doing whatever it takes to do so. It’s kind of unclear until I can see some more AUGUSTUS statements.

There’s also some obvious character associations with this theory. Martin, someone connected to The Lonely, has statements reflecting some kind of isolation or abandonment, Jon, the Archivist with a strong tie to The Eye and someone who was strung along while trying to solve Jonah’s plan and learn the truth about the Entities, has statements involving extreme curiosity or people looking for things, and Jonah, someone who is really old and ruthless (so ruthless that they made the world a fear hellscape in an attempt to avoid death), has had a statement taking place in the 18th century involving someone giving a blood sacrifice to play violin super well.

There’s a popular theory going around that the three voices in the computers are actually Jonathon, Martin, and Jonah, and this definitely seems like one of the more credible theories floating around the community to a degree. AUGUSTUS’ unfamiliar voice could be the voice of Jonah’s original body. Jon, Martin, and Jonah were all in the panopticon when the Change ended which could be the event that got them tied to the computers. It could also have to do with being the pupil of the Eye somehow. Jonah and Jon were both the Eye’s pupil at some point and Jon got his position by killing Jonah to take his spot. It’s possible something weird happened like Martin was about to become the Eye’s pupil after removing Jon from the position, giving them this common link, but I can’t say for sure.

Maddie also points out another big thing to remember in the video. I have mentioned that Annabelle seems generally right about what happens to the Entities’ various Monsters and Avatars after the Entities get pulled into the next universe. Monsters, like potentially the Anglerfish, presumably get sucked into the new universe since they are part of the Entities. Other people may or may not get sucked into the universe depending on how attached they were to the Entity. It’s also possible that they will always just be left behind. However, Annabelle also mentions that it’s possible the Entities will take the aspects of a person that are connected to or are a part of the Entity. So, it’s possible that the parts of Jon, Martin, and Jonah in the computer are not them in their entirety but merely specific aspects of their personality or being. It could literally just be their voices taken by one or more Entities for all we know.

We also know that some Entities, like The End, seem capable of making copies or “memories” of people after / when they die. In MAG 154 (Bloody Mary) Eric states “I know that I’m not really Eric; I’m just a memory someone wrote down. It hurts, most of the time. I don’t like it.” So one could argue that the voices in the computers are not the fully sentient original versions of Jon, Martin, and Jonah but “memories” or copies created by one or more Entities. This could also explain why the third voice might be Jonah even though Jonah potentially died before the Entities jumped universes. This voice could simply be The Eye’s metaphorical recollection of Jonah or Jonah wasn’t completely dead when the Entities switched universes. This also means that the voices in the computers could be more malicious than we first assume if there’s a chance they are in actuality not Jon, Martin, and Jonah or are in truth aspects of The Eye or bits of their personalities trying to achieve a specific goal.

As I’ve mentioned previously, the cases the voices read out don’t seem to be completely random. The second Sam is about to give up his search for the Magnus Institute CHESTER spits out a case that is perfect for reigniting his curiosity with the addition of a new clue, and when Celia takes the job the first case she gets is about Hilltop Center (which could relate to Celia’s questions about multiversal and time travel). I still can’t say if the CHESTER or any other of the computers are trying to help Sam or use him for more nefarious purposes.

I’m not super confident about this being the patterns the computers follow at the moment because frankly there isn’t a lot of cases to go off of, and I need to see more AUGUSTUS. It’s also possible that the cases are more variable or context dependant. What the voices read could depend on the person at the computer, for example: it’s possible CHESTER reads a bunch of cases connected to the Institute because that’s what Sam was most interested in. There are also some cases we don’t have enough context behind yet, for example the mysterious figure in the Hilltop Road case could be connected to something like the Institute in some way, or that some of the voices focus on certain Externals Liaisons, people, etc..

If you want another TMAGP theory video to watch here’s one by Pinkelotje: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MX51EHLy7BQ&ab_channel=pinkelotje.

#tmagp #tma #the magnus protocol #the magnus archives #theory

[thottyimagines]

Heyy, i really love ur akatsuki headcanons, like every one of them is so believable lmaoo.

Could u do akatsuki headcanons where their s/o asks them to hold their peepee while they pee? I swear there was one exact ask on tumblr but it cant find it

Thanks and i hope its not a weird question but they r weirdos anyways so

Thank you!

I've gotten a variation of this ask several times which is telling me the people (or just one tenacious anon) really want to know, so...god, here goes nothing:

Pein is...weirdly complicated, given the real body in the basement/paths for his bidding situation, but I'd say the only way he'd allow it is if it's absolutely necessary because his actual bod is too weak to even help himself. I imagine he just diapers the poor thing and gives Konan the honor of cleaning him up, though, so he doesn't really need an s/o to aid in that venture.

Konan, should she have one for her s/o to hold, would be kind of confused by the request, but not put off. I don't think she'd really get it, but sure, knock yourself out, s/o.

Itachi would get flustered and embarrassed, should his s/o ask to do the holding for him. He'd reassure them that he is more than capable of performing his own bathroom duties, from ablutions to urination, and their concern is...well, kind, if unwarranted. He'd probably wonder if his s/o is noticing his deteriorating eyesight and then frets that he can no longer aim, and everyone has felt too awkward to tell him. He starts using the bathroom with his Sharingan always on and the door locked tight so he can make sure he cleans up properly.

Kisame would probably be amused and go for it. He'd somehow find a way to be flirtatious and horny about it, but hey, his s/o was the one to be a freak and ask in the first place so as far as he's concerned it's all fair game.

Hidan would only accept if he could be flirtatious and horny about it. He'd probably just assume his s/o developed a piss kink or something, I'll be real with you.

Kakuzu initially shuts that down with a firm "no." If his s/o is persistent, he'd relent, but he'd be annoyed and brusque about it. If their finger gets caught in the zipper when he's done, well, that'll show them to stop impeding his business.

Deidara gets very embarrassed and flustered, like Itachi, but in a weirdly flattered, excited way. He's young and horny and will gleefully embrace any opportunity to have someone touching his dick, even for something as mundane as him peeing.

Sasori probably didn't give his puppet twink bod any genitalia, as he needs to neither pee nor fuck in this form. He'd be sure to let his s/o know that.

Tobi would get embarrassed and deflect and probably accuse his s/o of being a pervert (fair), but forgive them because they're just too cute. They're still not giving the assist, though. He's self-conscious about how it looks soft.

Zetsu also doesn't seem to have the anatomy required for this scenario, given he's running around in the buff all day long and no one has ever commented about his bits hanging out and about.

#naruto #Naruto imagines #Naruto headcanons #akatsuki #akatsuki headcanons #akatsuki imagines #pein #konan #itachi #kisame #hidan #kakuzu #deidara #sasori #tobi #zetsu