#you can really feel the pivot where they were like 'oh fuck we don't want her to be a VILLAIN villain what do we do'

[glacierbash]

thinking about that one post about "he's a girl to me" or whatever. and that has me thinking about heavensward so much. and also stormblood! kinda just ffxiv in general but I feel the later expansions have this issue less but ESPECIALLY like. estinien, aymeric, and zenos when compared to the actual women in the expansion. it feels to me like the women of the expansion are by and far overlooked by people for the sake of the men and that general "he's so girl to me" contributes to it. Like there ARE women right there you know. like there are very very very good women just a few feet to the left. you can talk about how girlie estinien is to you but like. ysayle is right there. you can talk about how babygirl zenos is but also. there's fordola. you know that right. like you can enjoy the women too. it's ok.

and ofc genuine actual transfem headcanons are SO fucking good. I love them so much. keep going. But like that post has said, when it's only men in the fandom being treated as "he's so girl" (AND NEVER WOMAN!!!! ALWAYS GIRL!!!!!) it gets really really fucking tiring.

i love estinien! I really like Zenos! I get it! And if they are your favorite characters and you want specifically content about them and to make content specifically about them that is FINE!! but also, holy shit is it exhausting when it's like 99% about them and not a single glimpse towards the women of the story. yeah ffxiv's writing has a huuuuuuge fucking issue with women. and also.

#i dunno it's hard to write something ranty like this without it feeling like #i'm bashing people for their faves. i'm not!!! #im just a really fucking tired lesbian who wants to see women get content #and not just the men of the media with the excuse 'he's so girlie to me' or WHATEVER!!!! #please for the love of god like. it almost feels like people are scared to hc characters as trans. #and if you don't want to who CARES but also come on. come on do it. your faves are trans now. enjoy. #anyways. sorry for the rant. bleh. #I'M JUST MAD WHEN THERE ARE SUPER WELL WRITTEN WOMEN 20 FEET TO THE LEFT WHO GET ENTIRELY IGNOREDDDDDD #ok. 'super well written' is sometimes an exaggeration. and fuck it i'll admit it. MY babygirl has her issues. #you can really feel the pivot where they were like 'oh fuck we don't want her to be a VILLAIN villain what do we do' #'we already had her evil cackle at ish/gard being assaulted and people dying. what now.' #and her death. i've screamed about it enough. #but my point stands she's still just as solid as the other characters. give her some love. #ok. that's all. rant over.

[aerodaltonimperial]

FRIENDS, ARE YOU READY? let's talk about.... julia and skye!

there is a TON of lore we've gotten with the house of black/mist in the past few months, and now we've seen what marks a fairly pivotal turn in all of this, but it all makes sense if you trace back what's been laid out so far. and while i will always moan about how much of the women's stories ends up shuffled into short backstage segments and social media updates, we're still getting it, and it's still here, and I JUST WANT TO SCREAM ABOUT IT BECAUSE IT'S SO GOOD? and it actually doesn't even start here: to trace this back, we've got to wind the year back to when julia misted anna jay, because that was our first piece of the puzzle. READY?

we don't have, really, a ton of hard data on the mist and what it does, aside from the very obvious thing of what it did to julia, but what we do have is the fact that julia is the primary person using it, which, for me, is a spectacularly fun nugget considering that her entire trajectory was so violently changed by it. (also i just love her holding the reins within the hob) so earlier in 2023, julia mists anna jay. it seemed, at the time, like an act of aggression, but if you look back at it now... it isn't.

julia and anna went back as friends. their promos (which were fucking fire) all drew on the fact that they used to be friends and now they hate what the other person became, and that's essentially what the feud boiled down to. we saw bits and pieces of the mist sticking to anna: the dark tear streaks, and her yelling in her promos about how it was "all julia's fault." but it didn't stick, and the feud ended where it did, with their match.

then you get to october, where julia mists both willow and skye. this one drew on the same dark streaky tear bits that the earlier attempt had, but we finally got to see how the mist reacted differently based on who the target was AND we finally got some solid descriptions about it. in one promo, willow specifically references the mist and talks about how she hates the feeling of it inside her, and this is telling on a lot of levels. first, willow was ALWAYS fighting it: she only ever had the one eye with the streaks, and her instinctive response was pretty much "i don't want this." but skye? skye's was different.

skye's went to both eyes. skye got meaner and edgier, but she was always very clear that she was there for willow. she was, essentially, fighting it for willow. but at the same time, her demeanor very quickly changed into something else, while willow's bounced back pretty fast. and skye was also clear about how she didn't intend to join up with julia at all. (blue mist in julia's face!)

then julia gave the promo where she said that willow and skye had rejected her "gift." and this is where it all starts to make sense. not because of the oh julia is so evil she thinks this is a gift, thing. julia isn't looking to be on the offensive with the mist: that's never been the way she's used it. julia has been looking for a partner.

this was why she started with anna! they were friends from before, and the target made sense. julia tried it, and it didn't work: anna wouldn't accept her, and in rejecting the mist, she rejected julia. so julia went wider with it. she hit willow, she hit skye, and she tried to hit kris during their first TBS title match. she's looking for the person who won't reject the mist - i.e. won't reject her. and for awhile, it looked like she was still going to come out empty.

until willow and kris became fairly solid, fairly consistent tag partners. and the dark streaks that skye had been sporting under her eyes for months - the sign that she was still fighting the mist - disappeared. she had them in the TBS three-way match; she has not had them in the past week and a half. now! this can go one of two ways: either she gave in and stopped fighting because the person she was trying to stay for (willow) found another tag partner, or she's faking that she stopped fighting in order to get close to julia and get a shot at the TBS title.

skye has done some fucking KILLER work with this, and so has julia. julia tweeted on her HONEYMOON the "she's in the clouds, heavy and dark" with a little picture that looked a lot like skye. skye took some AMAZING photos with julia's photographer friend where she's covered in black goo that are, quite frankly, fantastic. it seemed like skye was going to completely reject the mist - and julia - until she went after abadon and the team-up happened.

tonight? they went full THRALL with this thing. skye was wearing LEATHER. she looked up at julia like julia HUNG THE MOON. this is such a stark reversal of what we had seen up to this point, that coincidentally comes on the heels of willow and kris having a big tag match together. but i can't tell you which way the actual story is going to go, and honestly, i love that. did skye finally give in and embrace the mist... and julia? or is she faking this to get closer to julia, figure her out, and try to take her belt? THIS IS SOME FUCKING SOLID-ASS STORY WORK THAT'S ONE OF THE MEATIEST STORIES THE WOMEN'S DIVISION HAS SEEN FOR MONTHS.

i watch both skye and julia's social media pretty closely to see what they post, and i'm keeping a weather eye out after this. i expect skye will be ringside for julia's PPV match against abadon, though i suppose i could be wrong. but julia went right after skye after that loss tonight and pulled her up to drag her up the ramp with her, and that's huge! she went to skye before the belt. for julia, this is finally having the partner that she's been searching for. for skye? i'm not sure yet.

but they've put a lot of work and a lot of time into this story, and i hope they drag this out for awhile longer because i'm really invested in it. they were pretty much the only thing i watched tonight's episode for. just my girls!! i love the lore we're getting. i love how much they've obviously put their efforts into this, into making this a really solid, long-arching story line. julia, on her own, consistently does some of the best character work and has a real eye for the long game - and taking risks.

anyway!! i wanted to scream about them a little bit. i talk about my boys a lot, but my girls are doing such a fucking KILLER job with this, and i'm just so jazzed that it's come to such an already satisfying peak!!! and also, they are so sexy. it is so difficult for me. i am a weak-willed woman. i cannot be expected to behave normally with this. we need more fic immediately.

#julia hart #skye blue #I LOVE THEM I LOVE THEM I LOVE THEM!!!

[powderblueblood]

oh my god can we see ronnie in the HF&I universe but when she’s got a crush/dating someone? the dynamic of eddie ribbing on her would be TOO good

"i can't talk about it."

"ron--"

"no, i literally cannot talk about it."

"ronnie--"

"eddie!"

"it's okay!" eddie says, almost soothingly, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum of the hallway. "listen, all god's children. i liked a cheerleader too, once."

ronnie pivots in the middle of the hall, long limbs flailing like weaponry in a way that makes eddie fall back. fall back! chest all tight and cheeks all hot and standing there in a living entanglement of embarrassment.

"then again... my cheerleader," and by my cheerleader, this asshole means the brief, fleeting crush he had on one christine cunningham, "didn't almost definitely have..."

"that you know of, bitch!"

and suh-woop, ronnie takes back off down the hall with eddie hot on her tail in a jangle of chains and denim and shit.

running away from her feelings: it's a very real, physical affliction! especially when she's been marinating on a crush this long! this is no munson's hot girl of the week, this is no jeff's NPC hellfire spouse du jour, this shit is...

this shit is bright brown eyes and a big cresting wave of a bang and taut thighs and a yell that ricochets off waxed gym floors and blueberry bubble gum and petal perfume and such a total cliche and never in a million years and there's always a maybe, i like a fantasy as much as the next tabletop role playing game playing girl and...

goddammit, she'd been doing really well with keeping this shit under wraps!

before she knows exactly where her feet are carrying her, she's busting through the door of the newspaper room, dark save for the light of one green desk lamp.

"do not barrel in here when i'm holding a fucking x-acto knife," come the off-puttingly serene, cerebral tones of lacy doevski from the back left corner.

ronnie, heaving, slams the door behind her. what with being ten feet something tall, she can outrun munson pretty easily, but with lacy here? she's run straight into the jaws of something else.

"why aren't you at the pep rally?" ronnie gasps and hisses, the strangled tone apparently catching lacy's attention.

"excommunication, mostly," she says, blade glinting. god. i mean, ronnie knows they're friends and all, but it's moments like this that she really gets it. the whole doevski draw. "why are you hiding in here?"

then, from beyond the door in a way that makes ronnie's spine go rigid with annoyance, you've got fuckin' eddie bigmouth. knocknocknock!

"hey! ecker! you're not supposed to be innnn there, ecker, lacy said something about an x-acto knife and not wanting to be disturbed--"

ronnie glances to lacy, who just shrugs, a dumb little wistful little dumb little look on her stupid face. ugh. they're disgusting.

"unless this is like, some kind of girl thing, in which case--... no fair. lemme in-uhh."

"let him in," lacy says.

"i don't wannuuh," ronnie whinges.

"ron, if you don't let him in, he's gonna scratch at that door all afternoon and i'm not gonna meet this deadline and then i'm gonna have to use this teeeeny tiny little knife here to gut you both," all said with the casual airs of please and thank you. eddie's got his face smooshed up against the glass.

fuck.

ronnie yanks the door back open and her day one pain-in-the-ass stumbles through.

"hi!" eddie calls to lacy, momentarily distracted as he makes a beeline for her. thank god. "hi."

they do some horribly unsubtle couple-y bullshit where he sorta dances around her desk and she warns him not to come any closer but is smiling the whole time and ronnie flops down into fred benson's chair, wondering if this kind of horseshit would be appealing if it were her and--

"ronnie has a crush on a cheerleader."

the x-acto knife clatters to the desk. "what!"

"and i know which oooone!"

"eddie! fuck!"

"spill!"

"don't!"

"eddie..."

"she was spyin' on her under the bleachers--"

"munson!"

"--i mean, i think she almost had that floor routine down if you catch my drift--"

"--cut to the chase--" "--fuckin' shut! up!"

but before ronnie can up out of that chair and like, i don't know, knock eddie out or sit on him or something, lacy's wound around him like a snake. in-a-gadda-da-vida, this chick, she defies resistance. saying that, if the roles were reversed and it were ronnie and--

lacy's all, who is it and eddie's all giggling into her neck and it's disgusting.

but then he tells her, and her face falls.

"veronica ecker!" ronnie's friend lacy is a great scold-er. she's got a scold like you wouldn't fuckin' believe.

but ronnie wants to shrink into her skeleton. she wants her bones to turn to dust. poof, and nothing's left but a little baseball cap for these ungrateful bastards to remember her by. all 'cause she has what might be construed as conceptually a little romantic inkling for--

"tina burton?!"

ronnie sighs, dragging her hands over her face. "i realize this is morally unsound given your current social predicament, lace, but--"

in unison, the indefatigable duo of cornfed gomez and morticia over there go, "--the crabs, dude!" "you could do so much better, ronnie, you fool!"

#powder room talk #potatobeanpies #maisie this made me go BONKERS LMAOOOOO #AND YOU KNOW SHE'S BEEN INTO HER SINCE LIKE. KINDERGARTEN #they try to shove robin and ronnie together and theyre just commiserating about their long held fixations on OTHER GIRLS HAHAHA #hai brainrot #ronnie ecker vs the world #r. ecker by powder #e. munson by powder #l. doevski by powder #published by powder

[utilitycaster]

The Beaujester/Widojest stuff actually reminds me of why I almost wasn't on board with Fjord/Jester at first - I really don't like ships where it feels like one party has to wear down the other, and at first, I thought that was the vibe. So I get really stumped on why people are pushing for closure here. It reminds me of that wild d&d court case. Why would they needlessly burden their friend (Jester) with this information? What do fans think would happen after???

Hi anon,

You are 100% right in that I also think of that D&D Court Case (for those wondering, it's the one that starts here and basically, a couple is playing in a D&D game together and the DM some time ago confessed drunkenly to the player who is writing in that he has feelings for the player's girlfriend...and is now romancing her in-game as an NPC). Like, for real, keep that to yourself! It's so awkward and for what! Tell your therapist! Tell other friends outside this social circle! Do some weird art about it! Have weird feelings! But do not say that to the actual couple involved, holy fuck.

It would require someone with far more knowledge of fandom history to back up my hunch here, so I am presenting it as just a hunch, but it feels like there has been a very heavy drive in the past maybe five or six years towards, rather than "oh man, I wish this ship had happened instead, and here are my AUs and fics in which it did" to "here's why the story is BAD and UNRESOLVED and WRONG." And I don't quite know how it came to be, since internet forums have been around for quite some time, and maybe I'm just clueless because I have come relatively late to every social media ever and it was always like this and the volume has just increased. My personal theory is that people saw all those quirky letter writing campaigns of the 2000s and didn't realize that mailing potato chips or whatever to an NBC exec who was cutting the show because it wasn't getting enough viewers by metrics that were well behind current technology and who would see this and say "oh, shit, this has fans, maybe we can make money off it" is very different than writing hate mail to actual creators, but I could be totally wrong.

But anyway, it is pretty apparent that Uk'otoa was left unresolved! Travis actually had laid the groundwork in-character as Fjord (the bounty hunter hire for Sabian, telling Jester in 2x117 he wanted to deal with Uk'otoa before other things) to return, but it made sense for the show to end after Aeor. Meanwhile, it's not unresolved for someone to quietly nurse a crush, and I'd argue, actually, that both Beau and Caleb's feelings were largely resolved in show. Beau outright told Fjord that she'd had a crush on Jester, but her feelings for Yasha were deeper and more real (and in general this tracks with Beau's repeated self-sabotage when things felt too good to be true). And if you take off the Widojest shipping goggles, it's hard to see Caleb's actions following the party's return from Rumblecusp as anything but quietly admitting that this is not going to happen, as he pushes Jester to dance with Fjord and finally tells her about his past. The goal post of "resolved" secretly means "the preferred ship happens instead."

And then no one ever has an answer for what happens after. Does Beau break up with Yasha? Does the entire scene in Aeor with Essek in 141 - absolutely pivotal, despite coming so late, to Caleb's arc - just not happen, because you really cannot read that as anything but romantic? Does Jester break up with Fjord? How do we reconcile that Jester does not wish to live in Rexxentrum as a housewife, and does want to continue to see the world and be able to regularly spend lots of time in Nicodranas? Do Caleb or Beau make even the slightest concession to Jester's wants and needs, in this fantasy?

I guess I'll wrap this up with this thought: I think that Beau and Caleb's romantic feelings for Jester and how they deal with them are very well played by Marisha and Liam and are incredibly important - indeed, crucial - to understanding their respective character development. But that's the thing in the end. The romantic feelings are deeply important to the stories of Beau and Caleb. They are a footnote on the story of the Mighty Nein. And they are utterly irrelevant to the story of Jester.

#answered #Anonymous #cr discourse #i was actually pretty generous and one day i shall write the meta of why those stories are so important

[cococowboah]

Patreon removed a story of mine as a character in it suffered from SA instigated by her father.

Now, Patreon can do whatever it wants, that's their platform. But they specifically asked me to remove that part of the story if I wanted it to stay up.

I'm pissed, not because "oh no, I can't make money on it," no. Nobody was reading SPURRED, it wasn't an active project, and I'm not currently making money on ANY of my projects anyway. I don't care about that.

What I'm pissed about is how this might affect my future works if I ever do begin making a living from my work through Patreon. I'm not going to just change my characters stories because they deal with uncomfortable topics like SA. I'm an SA survivor, I write characters who are SA survivors. I'm not going to censor myself or my projects because a corporation says I need to if I want to benefit from their platform.

So, I don't really know what to do now. Pieces of Him is also going to deal with SA. I can't even consider putting it on Patreon now knowing I'm going to get a notice that I need to change pivotal moments of a character's backstory for the sake of a corporation wanting to maintain a squeaky clean image.

And before anyone asks, no, the story did not explicitly detail the SA itself. Insinuation was as far as I went. I wanted the reader to feel uncomfortable without feeling offended. I wanted the reader to feel uncomfortable because it's an uncomfortable fucking topic and it shouldn't be skirted around. If someone didn't like it they didn't need to read it.

I'm so sick of how censored the internet is getting. It's NOT for the sake of protecting SA survivors who may be triggered by certain details of a story. This is about making the internet nice and clean and proper for advertisers and investors. It's not about you. It's not about me. It's about money and it always will be.

If it were about protecting survivors, then they would acknowledge that engaging with media that explicitly deals with those subjects and characters overcoming the trauma surrounding SA can be cathartic for survivors if they choose to do so.

Again if you are uncomfortable with something then do. not. read. it. There is a detailed warning at the beginning of the story. It is the responsibility of the reader to gauge what they're okay with and not okay with. Not mine.

I just wanna take a moment to thank platforms like AO3, our literal final bastion for freedom of speech and creativity. SPURRED isn't a fan project so it doesn't really belong on AO3 but I'm thankful that we have one place on the internet where I know my work is never going to be removed or requested to be changed for any reason whatsoever. It's the one place where I can write without the anxiety of a corporate overlord looking over my shoulder and saying "Nope! Don't like this! Change it!"

Rant over, to sum it up, fuck censorship and, does anyone know of any good Patreon alternatives? I definitely can't use them for future projects knowing what I know now. It's only a matter of time before a guidelines update gets Pieces of Him axed for "Promoting Homosexuality and Infidelity" as well as Paul's past as an SA survivor.

#ao3 #archive of our own #censorship #fuck censorship #fuck patreon #i will not shut up about this #fuck corporate america #fuck corporations #suck my fucking dick #i love ao3 #I should be allowed to write what i fucking want to write

[chocobosdungeon2]

I wanna talk about the approach to the supernatural in Reservation Dogs.

I'd like to add as a disclaimer that I'm not yet familiar with most of Taika Waititi's other work. I know he has written about the supernatural before, but I haven't seen it firsthand so I don't know if what I'm about to say is unique to Rez Dogs or if its common throughout his work.

The show presents the supernatural and poses the question of whether or not it's "real" in the very first episode of the series with Big and his field of catfish (among other conspiracies). Big is often used as the POV character for these phenomena because he's presented as someone who readily accepts conspiracies, supernatural theories, and is known in his community as a Bigfoot-hunting wackjob. By doing this, the show makes the audience question if the things Big sees are real. At the same time, very "real" supernatural events happen to other characters, such as the Spirit who speaks to Bear. Some truth is shown to Big's beliefs in S1E5 Come and Get Your Love, where the Deer Lady is definitely shown to be real. This is all the Season 1 setup for the glorious romp that is S2E8 This is Where the Plot Thickens (which we'll come back to), where the line between reality and supernaturality is completely blurred, but there's a larger theme at play here I think. I would say Reservation Dogs likes to present reality-based solutions to supernatural problems, but without ever discounting those problems as "fake" or "just in your head." I feel like this is in contrast to a lot of media, which tends to do the Scooby Doo "There was a logical explanation the entire time!!!" thing. Not here.

The supernatural IS real

BUT it is always conquered by the mundane.

First, I want to pivot to Elora. There's a small scene in Stay Gold Cheesy Boy (S2E7) that illustrates what I mean really well. At the end of the previous episode (S2E6), Elora is shown sitting alone in her house. A house she is now the sole owner of. She begins to hear chanting coming from Mabel's bedroom, reminiscent of the elders who chanted as she was dying. Elora nervously investigates. The chanting gets louder as she approaches the bedroom, but it ends suddenly when she turns the light on. Elora turns the light off and walks back into the hallway, looking around her darkened house as if in a panic. There's muffled chanting and a growing soundwall that makes you feel claustrophobic, like something is coming towards you/her. The camera zooms in on her distraught face in the dark and then cuts to credits.

I don't know about the rest of ya'll, but that scared the shit out of me!!! I was like "oh fuck, what might happen to Elora???" This is Reservation Dogs! Shit can get DARK. She hasn't been in a great place mentally.

We don't see Elora at all for the beginning of Stay Gold Cheesy Boy. When Jackie goes to tell Bear and Willie Jack that Cheese was arrested, she says that Elora isn't answering her phone, spiking anxiety in the audience. You're made to wonder if she's okay.

But soon after the three of them find Elora at her house, plugged into headphones, painting the walls of her grandmother's bedroom, and there's relief. But that was quite the buildup to what turned out to be a paint job, right?

Elora is haunted by her grief, and as we saw in Mabel (S2E4), by the memories the house holds that she doesn't, by its history. Elora wanted to leave the Village, but now she's chained to it by this house she suddenly owns. I don't think the chanting and strange noises were just in Elora's head. She was being haunted. But she also didn't get attacked in the night by ghosts and the solution wasn't to hire an exorcist. When we're haunted by the past, the best thing we can do is look to the future. Elora was being haunted by the house's past so she took a step towards the house's (and her own) future. It's a very... reasonable reaction for a person to have. You can sense the urgency Elora felt to get this done after that harrowing night. What would you do if you felt like you couldn't handle living in a house with its history and memories? If you can't move, giving it a new coat of paint might be the next best thing.

Back to S2E8, this episode is a great example because it plays so much with the audience's sense of reality. A character with one of the strongest connections to the supernatural we've seen, Big, accidentally starts tripping on a huge dose of acid. He's soon followed by Kenny Boy. Complete side note, the juxtaposition of nervous and terrified Big's first time on acid, and chill Kenny Boy (hecking love Kirk Fox btw), who has probably done this a billion times, just vibing is hilarious. A lot of what Big sees can be assumed to be hallucinations, although in this show you can never be too sure. Deer Lady appears but is it really her or is it just his memory of her? Until they come upon the cultists. The Field of Catfish was a mystery presented at the start and built up a little every time Big would see or talk about it with no possible explanation. It turns out, the answer was weird cultists who fuck dead catfish. As wild as that is, it's still an answer grounded in reality so it brings your expectations back down a little bit. Then a bona-fide Supernatural Phenomenon shows up to save them. Not only is the Deer Lady confirmed to be SEEN by someone other than Big, but Kenny Boy KNOWS her, they've met before! So, there can no longer be any doubt in the audience's mind.

As a refresher, the Deer Lady is a supernatural woman with deer legs (as the name implies) who kills "bad" men (and men specifically). Figuring out what "bad" and "good" means is kind of what Big's arc is all about. She asks if Kenny Boy has been good and he replies, smiling, "No... but I've been trying real hard." Kenny Boy isn't someone Big would consider "good" in his very simplistic, child-like idea of it. Her affection toward Kenny Boy shows that being good isnt just saying No to drugs and following the law. Her targets are consistently womanizing rich men who have no regard for others or their environment. She does extend to outright criminals like murderers and robbers if the opportunity presents itself, but usually to protect or save someone. I don't think she likes to work in the open if she can avoid it. The Deer Lady is a supernatural phenomenon that punishes Bad Men. You can avoid getting killed by her by being a Good Man. By not flaunting excessive wealth, by not harming others, and by caring about people around you. The fundamentals of being a decent human being.

There's other examples of this throughout the show of course, but these are a couple that stood out to me. A kind of overlapping theme that I'd love to delve into is the reverence given to Weirdos who Just Say Shit. Junkies, homeless, random dudes in waiting rooms, etc. All spewing their strange ramblings to whoever will hear, but the show frames them as wise and worth listening to. I think I need to end this post before I get too off-topic, but I think it plays into this theme as well.

I've intentionally avoided speaking on the scenes of prayer, where there's a very obvious crossing between these boundaries. I think there's a lot to say about those scenes as well, but I am not Indigenous and I feel like I'd be trying to speak on cultural and spiritual practices I know nothing about. I already feel dangerously close to doing that. I really don't want to make assumptions about anyone's beliefs, so I've tried to stick to examining the screenwriting and how it conveys these themes. If anyone else is willing to add their input, I'd be thrilled to read it.

#reservation dogs #reservation dogs spoilers #rez dogs #analysis #reservation dogs analysis #screenwriting #ramblings #ive spent the last few days trying to figure out how to write this #i hope its coherent #long post #come and get your love #this is where the plot thickens #stay gold cheesy boy #mabel #deer lady

[mirror-to-the-past]

Hi. Boom. Here's long assorted sleep deprived thoughts I'm gonna be face palming at later about my current KH3 impressions.

Finished Olympus, Corona, now I'm on Toy Box.

PUNTING DONALD INTO ORBIT. And low key, Goofy, too. Like, on one hand, they're just Some Guys and also cartoon characters that make me giggle every cutscene they're in and they just try to lighten the mood or whatever. On the other hand, narratively, NOBODY is getting off Sora's case oh my god. Like, they've teased him before but it feels much more frequent and pointed this game towards the things Sora is insecure about. "Haha, you know Sora, our forgetful, stupid, careless, rash, powerless, weak, codependent idiot! We love him. <3" (exaggerated for comedy but they really don't stop with the punches and it's so uncalled for lol) And he either takes it or lightly goes "hey..." half the time. Donald keeps talking shit, Goofy just lets it happen and whenever there's actually disputes where Sora sasses back a 'lil then he steps in and it gives off vibes of "now don't make your mother angry." They're questionable guardian figures. Rehoming Sora to Supportive Dad Mickey Mouse real quick out of saltiness. That said, Goofy kind of laying a steadying hand on Sora on the Trinity Sled and when he was upset about Eugene's "death" in Corona is sweet.

The face of someone doing completely well who says "I can take it" twice in a row just to prove how well he's doing:

Bestie. You're fifteen years old and running around in a world where tripping acid on identity issues, amnesia, and listening to vague monologues from strange predatory darkness men is another Tuesday.

Sora keeps spacing out and giving thousand yard stares especially throughout this game, and when Ienzo told him "yeah, your heart's not entirely yours!" And Sora just stared blankly at the phone like "figures." I just laughed, lol. He's just constantly pivoting between being occupied by and amazed by the Wonder™ of the world/absorbed by the hype of meeting new people and the Horrors™ presented by the constant tumult of foreign emotions and memories running through his little head, clearly to such a degree that it's no surprise to be told that there's whole fuckin people within him. Teenage experience, honestly. Love coming of age narratives that are just crazy fucking magic bs manifesting in dissociation central. What a guy.

I was in tears laughing when Sora was hearing voices in Twilight Town and thought Hayner and co. were those same voices for a sec and very enthusiastically, as though to prove himself went: "See?? :DDD Voices!" SORA, HONEY.

In other news of AAA-

Way to the Dawn just fucking broke? Why was everyone so calm? Am I missing something? Riku's like "aha gives me an excuse to skill up and get a better one-" child, I am gripping you by the shoulders. This blade is manifested as an extension of your heart, they don't just BREAK. Should I be concerned about the integrity of your soul, brother?

THE SCENE WITH KAIRI AND LEA/AXEL WAS SO SWEET, I WANT MORE OF THEM. NEED MORE OF THEM, ACTUALLY. When Kairi was like ":3 hehe I'm gonna beat your ass in the ring," and when he started CRYING because he caught a glimpse of Xion in her. 😭 Her letter to Sora was so fucking sad I am heartbroken how she becomes more alienated from her friends as time goes on. She went from sending the letter as a waypoint in KH2, like "please come back, here I am" to "you know where I am, but I'm still here talking to myself anyway." I. 👏 NEED. 👏 CLOSURE. 👏 Preferably for Kairi with both Sora and Riku, but they'll probably do just Sora but I dunno I don't want to get my hopes up or down. I just... I dunno, even if things aren't necessarily the same with all of them, I'd just like there to be something affirming where they stand because like even though the care they have for each other is obviously there, you can see it with all three of them in KH1 and KH2 (drives me up the walls bonkers when Riku shielded her with his body and Sora caught her when they were flashbanged), it's also like that feeling of a dwindling group chat kind of scenario. "That's right, no more waiting for you to come back from your adventures..." Props to VA that line was delivered so laden with hollowness. I hold Kairi in hands. Devastated.

THE FOCUS ON SAVING ROXAS HAS ME EXCITED. THAT IS ALL. I WAS YELLING AT SCREEN FOR FOREVER LIKE "USE A REPLICA" and then Riku finally was like "🤔✨...Replica?" And I went and mentally hoisted him onto my shoulders for a little "hip hip hooray" because the dots are connecting with the characters, fellas. I might see at least one of my peoples, soon.

Riku's VA just sounds like he's given up for this game and it's killing me, lol. Voice direction just hasn't been in his favor so far.

Mickey Mouse and Riku bonding time in hell. Riku's like "wow, mouse dad, I feel less riddled with self doubt these days. It's pretty nice to feel like a go-getter, haha, wonder why tho?" And Mickey Mouse is like... "Well... 🏳️‍🌈...! :D" Riku goes: "🤔... 🏳️‍🌈👍." strength to protect what matters And then that's that. Back to reconnaissance mission for lost veteran. Cinematic perfection.

Sora is still a certified Disney princess, if anyone's curious. He got his dance number in for this game, and he had birds gently circle around him and land on his finger.

Marluxia: "Ah yes, we finally reunite." Sora: "who"

I still can't tell if anyone has debriefed Sora, Donald, and Goofy about what happened in Castle Oblivion yet in any way. I'm wondering why they're (writers) playing that particular plot line so close to their chest.

Adorable how well Sora and Rapunzel got along. While Sora is a friend to all and shit it's really sweet seeing how he still seems to have bonds where he personally clicks with some characters more than others. And all for good reasons- like matching with his traits. I imagine him, Rapunzel, Ariel, and Hercules get brunch at the Bistro now, and no one can take this from me. Also Hercules is such a Sora hypeman, cheering him on even when he's getting crushed by a building. He passes the vibe check 100%.

I manifested my gag attack concept from my BBS post halfway into being and I'm so happy about it, lol. Thank you Hercules from hit movie Hercules for swinging Sora around in a circle like a broadsword in your special attack. I think more people should use him as a broadsword for enrichment reasons.

THEY CUT OUT THE SNUGGLY DUCKLING FROM TANGLED. SO MUCH POTENTIAL HAS BEEN LOST FROM CANON. I WILL NEVER RECOVER.

"how do I get power of waking when it didn't work the normal way Hercules," "idk Sora maybe you've got to be in love like I am," "well shit. guess I should get me some of that love superpower. Oh btw how come happily married Mickey Mouse and my best friend Riku are the only dudes that have the power of waking I'm confused," "...idk Sora" "okay, bye herc" (can you see my sleep deprivation leaking yet, I'm connecting the dots though, I promise, trust my methods 🤣)

IT TOOK ME 7 TRIES TO CRACK A FUCKING EGG. Remy Ratatouille looks at me like a disappointed father

Weaponized amusement park ride powers are so badass actually. I love the teacups and wish I could inflict them on my enemies, too.

Sora now has GUN. "Shooting" Star, indeed.

Sora and Rapunzel splashing in da water. 💦🥰 So cute.

WHY DID THEY PUT THEIR WHOLE ASS INTO THE FAKE VIDEO GAME TRAILER IT LOOKED SO SICK. I was so confused though I saw the dude and was like... Riku?? Wtf you're HD, my guy! Wait, you've got heterochromia and are chasing after a girl, mistook you for someone else, my bad.

There is a dog on my gummi ship roof and he will stay there until I finish the game.

Twilight Town is gorgeous and I now know the answer for "if I could pick a video game place to live" that's not just Stardew or Pokemon or something.

"I can't computer so... do that." Me too, Sora. Helping him learn his phone by having him take a ton of pictures, though. I'd like to imagine he sends them to his buddies or is excited to show them later or something. That would be so <3

The Kingdom Hearts social media posts are so funny to me for some reason btw. You get surreal shit like Riku pain-posting "I wonder if I'm the reason Ansem looks the way he does :/" and. The sideway frown just sent me. No, I can't explain why. Just comedy gold. "Mfw when possession :/" "sometimes I think about when my friend was in a coma for a year :/" "y'know I wonder what my family felt when my home was overcome with darkness because of me. Did it hurt? Were they afraid? Well they're back now but I wonder that sometimes. :/"

Maleficent is me trying to track down Luxu and shake him for answers. I don't even care if it's bad she finds it, I need to know what's in the damn box.

Buzz Lightyear going "this plot sounds ridiculous and absurd. Of course you're acting like this is normal, pitiful JRPG character." Sora: ":'D"

GET IN THE ROBOT, SORA.

#kingdom hearts 3 first playthrough #kingdom hearts #kh3 #kh sora #sora

[androgynousblackbox]

The death of Eddie was fucking bullshit, an essay.

His death was a result of his noble sacrifice and it's supposed to be end of his character arch, from someone that "always run" to someone that stayed and fought to gain others more time.

Things is, the moment he chose to run from was when a sweet girl he just started talking to was suddenly killed in front of his eyes in a way in which he could literally do anything to avoid it even if he knew what was happening, which he didn't. He was there on his trailer in front of a fucking corpse and no way to explain to anyone that didn't do it.

Anyone would have run. Running was literally the only smart thing he could do to avoid prison, something it's very fucking clear would have happened because of the reputation of his and his father, plus the refusal of the police to believe anything they didn't personally saw. If he didn't run the blonde fucker would have found him much sooner and actually kill him.

Running is not for cowards. Sometimes that is the only thing you can do to garantee there will another day. But this show wants to use this pivotal moment to be "oh I am always running... I am a coward... I am no hero", and that is frankly fucking insulting to me as a viewer because it's so obvious they tried his death to mean something, to be about something, but the starting point make it seem like Eddie should feel bad for running away from people who were literally buying guns to kill him after a girl was murdered in front of his eyes.

Like, do you want that to be his final motivation, to be a hero and gain time, great, but don't put that kind of ending when that was the start of the story because those things don't match together.

Better would have been if he was on a situation where he made things actively worse by running away instead of just keeping himself alive. Make it so it was actual cowardice that put him in trouble instead of a supernatural being.

But we couldn't do that because then it could make Eddie unlikeable, but wait, we still want to kill someone, so we will just put this "redemption death" for a character that never really did anything wrong in the first place.

Like this was just so unnecesary, like filling out a quota to try to jerk out some tears at the last second as if we needed that? We already have a little girl we know and came to care about crying about how she is not ready to die, after confessing having suicidal ideation, going into a coma that not even El can bring her from, so why the fuck Eddie had to die?

When it was Barb, alright, makes sense, because we need to show how awful the new situation is. Bob at least gave Joyce an emotional arch. Billy at least tried to do something good after showing how much not good he does. But Eddie? Eddie did nothing and the message of his death gets all fucked up by the own story, simply to have someone to die because Max wasn't going to be, not for long.

It feels cheap and it makes no sense. He could have had something better and he didn't.

#stranger things 4 spoilers #st 4 vol 2

[dbphantom]

for the fic thing, numbers 4, 20, 33

Ah thank you!!

The fic writer questions post

I'm sorry in advance, this got really long, so I had to switch to desktop halfway through to format it so it wasn't just a big block of text 😅 Like... I'm sorry. Genuinely, I am really sorry.

4. What detail in [insert fic] are you really proud of?

I'm going to do Alkali [ffxv H2O AU] because it's the one I'm currently knee-deep in. I hope that's alright! Truth be told I'm proud of a ton of tiny details in that fic, but my favorite is the change in what fire represents as the fic goes on to parallel Ignis's feelings about himself and the others. It's one of my favorite little descriptions to 'hide' throughout while I'm writing because there's just so much you can do with it.

Fire is dangerous, but it can also represent safety and home. Also it looks beautiful and provides comfort, but if you get too close it will burn you. Something something masquerading as light and leaving only blackened ash something something. Lux Et Umbrae or whatever. Generic stuff. You know. It's enrichment for me though, so I have fun with it.

I think the point where his view on it begins to pivot for the better is after the diner scene with the TV when him and Noct have a chat at camp that night, because Noct is the light of my fucking life surprisingly good at saying awkwardly nice things. Like, okay, he's actually awful at it, but the sentiment is there. Also fire is actually really important in the backstory fic [hang on, I'm getting ahead of myself-] and there's a similar evolution in its meaning for Celor [Ignis's uncle] as well, though his development with it is a bit more straightforward and... Obvious? I guess XD

If you want something a bit more silly, I've hidden exactly 7 H2O: Just Add Water and 2 Aquamarine references in the parts I've written out so far. And 3 Ariel references in Ardyn's dialogue. Oh, you poor unfortunate soul...

20. If you wrote a prequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

CELOR. cough. I technically have one fully planned [chapters and all], the catch is I actually have to finish the current fic first and oh boy. This backstory fic is technically split into 2 parts. Celor B.B [before baby] and Celor A.B [after baby]. <- I wish I were kidding, but that's how it's split in my brain. It's a lot of years!

Before is the whole 'King Regis and his sluts the gang go on that funky little road trip during the war' thing, which basically establishes Celor as a character, the Scientias in relation to the royal family, and his relationships with the other OGs [Old Guys]. Basically, it goes into detail of what happened in Altissia that caused Weskham to get injured and how the other guys found out about Celor.

It also details the events of that one throwaway dlc? Like some dude showed up in Insomnia? Idk, it was so weird. U might not remember it [joking. Episode Ardyn, M.E 734]. Celor wasn't there for the main event, so he doesn't! He was off working with Drautos to evacuate civilians and stuff. Which kinda starts off their whole one-sided rivalry because Drautos sees some stuff and is like '🤔' about it. Celor is... well, to put it nicely, an oblivious idiot and doesn't even realize, so Titus is snooping around and everyone in the Citadel is like 'dude stop' except for the guy he's actually investigating. I also believe that Drautos has pretty much always been working with the empire. It's not specified when, but you don't become high commander of an army overnight [stares down Ravus]... Just kinda weird that he had time to pull that while also captaining the Kingsglaive, so I think he's always been allied with the Imperials. I digress.

After this attack is over the kids are all born (or cloned, lol) [basically... give it like 2 years and everyone exists] and we enter the A.B era where Celor proves just how bad of a parental figure he can be. For the record, I don't normally like killing off parents in fics too often but, well, Ignis doesn't have any mentioned in canon, so it feels weird to just have them suddenly exist in present-day... Celor is already toeing the line of being a full-fledged OC because there are TWO LINES in the audio story Parting Ways where Ignis's uncle speaks and then I did ALL OF THIS with him. 😮‍💨

Anyway, Ignis's parents' names are Julia Scientia and Harry [who married into House Scientia and took the name]. I named Julia for one of the OG mermaids in H2O, who likely had Rikki's power, and Harry for Rita's fiance in Mako Mermaids who ISN'T a total jerkface, thank you, Karl, you fuckboy- his sole existence made me distrust Karl MM so hard my first time through lol. Anyway, given their names you can probably guess their stories, but also they both die at the end. As parents do when you're discussing protagonist backstories [stares in Aulea].

Julia is the identical twin of Celor [yes, I'm implying he's transgender, do you think their parents named her Julia and him CELOR? Hell no, that's a transmasc name if I've ever picked one-] and Ignis takes after her, and therefore looks a lot like Celor (a lot of people confuse him as being Celor's son). That's why, in chapter 1 of Alkali, Ignis is standing there musing if the mermaid-looking daemon Noct killed in the arcade game would've looked like him. It's not explained why he thinks that in the text, but there you go. Reasons! Oh, also, Julia and Harry are killed by a mob for suspicion of housing a daemon after Julia is discovered, leaving their house burning to the ground and Celor returning with a 2 year old to... that... [seriously, the civilians in this universe are kind of hardcore and not in a good way...].

Celor takes Ignis back to the Citadel after a lot of [kinda superficial because pretty much everyone knows what happened] questioning and Regis (who is also actively mourning his fucking wife and raising a newborn) is like "whatcha got there, bud" and Celor's like "trauma" and Regis just nods and lets it happen. Not... not actually, but that's basically how it goes. Dude gets it. By god bahamut does he get it. Clarus is working overtime so hard to help them both learn how to be a dad. Anyway, you can imagine Celor's surprise when Ignis comes into his magic and it turns out to be temperature control. AKA this kid can now light stuff on fire whenever he wants. Even more bad when it's emotionally-tied. Celor and Cor, uh, put a lid on that ticking time bomb real quick. Just, fully shoved it in the shoe box and wrapped it in 7 layers of duct tape and buried it in the woods. It's not still ticking. IT'S NOT. [It is. :(]

To make things... a little more clear, Celor isn't a bad parent, he's doing his best, but also he's absent-minded and kinda paranoid about keeping the secret after what happened to his sister. Which, you know, a very valid reaction, but also causes him and Ignis to argue a lot over it, especially regarding Noct, especially after the whole Marilith thing. Celor actually argued against Ignis becoming Noct's advisor at all, but Clarus eventually pushed him into it because the kid's gotta live his life at some point, you know? [You might notice some parallels between Clarus and Gladio throughout, because they tend to be the voice of reason :V (most of the time lol)]. But yeah, after the whole Marilith thing, while Noct and Regis are in Tenebrae, Ignis and Celor get into a huge fight about who gets to know about the secret, Celor takes Ignis to the Lux Et Umbrae museum exhibit to make things up to his nerd of a nephew, and I get to loredump about Solheim and how merpeople came to be under Leviathan :) Of course the museum is a little... off... on the details given they view merpeople as a legend about variants of darkness daemons, but still. Shapeshifters show up on full moon nights to steal the bodies of your loved ones and make you one of them, blah, blah. Celor explains it better from what he knows, and Ignis learns about their connection to Leviathan.

Which, oops! Because this kid is pretty determined and he near immediately formulates a plan to summon Leviathan and bargain with her to become 'normal'. Hence the necklace. Which, yeah! Iggy's skull necklace is an important part of Alkali. I don't really bring up too often until they reach Altissia. See, the bargain ended up working... for about a month, until Leviathan intentionally meddled with the set rules to get what she wants (as you do when you're a jealous, vengeful god that also wants your other god friend to, you know, NOT nuke the entire planet). Because Ignis even bargained with her in the first place, and due to the rules she set, he basically gives up his half of the bargain to 'save' Noct's life (it was not actually in danger... parallels!) and still has to pay Leviathan back for her half. The necklace is his reminder of that. A literal chain around his neck. Anyway during this whole thing, oops, Drautos sees some stuff and is like '??????' and passes this info on over to Ardyn who is like '👀👀 interesting...' because, you know, he's an immortal bitch with memories from tons of people and also literally Ifrit. Who was there when Leviathan made merpeople because she was jealous. Jealous and vengeful. Not a good combo... But, yeah, Ardyn easily puts two-and-two together. So, when the Titan roadtrip caravan scene happens in Alkali, it should make a bit more sense. It didn't really NEED explaining, because it's Ardyn, but hey. I did. Bite me.

[And, YES, technically Leviathan was sleeping at this time, but it's more of a dream-state of her being summoned than actually her. I... didn't exactly want 7-8 year old Ignis summoning a literal, very miffed god in the middle of Insomnia's bay. If you know the first ever scene of the water dragon appearing in Mako Mermaids, it's something like that. Water and moonlight and rancid vibes. That's actually another plot point in Alkali, because when they're in Altissia Leviathan wants to wake up on her own terms, so she's trying to get Ignis to the Altar of the Tide Mother to wake her up permanently with his blood. Hey... it comes full circle... ... I should write an offshoot of this where it actually works and angst happens. Hmmm...]

Anyway, things happen after that pretty much as written in Alkali already, though this backstory fic would also cover the fall of Insomnia from Celor's perspective and his death :( It's funny because throughout this, Celor goes from loathing fire, seeing it as the brutal destructive force, to seeing it as hope and joy as seen through the eyes of kid Ignis learning his magic [contrast that to how Ignis views his own magic after training lol], and then after Ignis leaves Insomnia, fire goes back to being this awful uncaring force of nature that ends up getting Celor killed. Well, okay, it was mostly Drautos. But fire played a big part in it. And that's Celor's story. Pathetic merman uncle.

33. If you write chaptered fics, what’s your ideal chapter length to write? Is it different from your ideal chapter length to read?

Um, well. If the above showed you anything, I tend to write a lot... Sorry about that. I would say 20ish chapters is normally what I plan, but then everything goes off the rails. I intended for Alkali to be about 15 chapters, then it hit 20, then 30, now we're at 67 in planning and counting. Now if only I could actually write it all XD

And no, I love all kinds of fic!! One-shots, multi-chapters... So long as the premise is good, I'm here for it. I won't guarantee I remember to finish all the fics I start reading, but the chapter length has never held me back on starting them before. I just have a bad memory and never check my bookmarks :( Which I should do more often!!! Maybe I will do so tonight...

Anyway, thank you so much for letting me ramble about this! I really appreciate it, I'm always itching to talk about the stuff that lurks in my brain. 💙💙 I owe you one.

#ask #thank you!! #cruddy rambles #like. I am REALLY sorry this got so long. I got excited #H2O au #the keep reading break moves a paragraph down every time i edit this? huh? what kind of glitch...

[analiavs]

Harperverse: The Last Straw Smut Version

PCxKylarXWhitney

Don't know how to tag this... hopefully pwp squad can find it

Words: 1612

He couldn’t stand the sappiness of it so he pivoted. “Are we gonna fuck now?” She smiled.

“If y’all want. I was thinking I teach y’all how to fuck each other. Since you’ve both fucked me, there’s no real novelty there. And I’m not gonna lie, you two made some pretty pictures.” Immediately Kylar started whining, 

“Noo mistress, I just wanted to feel you tonight, only you-” He saw his chance to gain favor and interrupted. 

“I think it’s a great idea. If we wanna get along, then we should get to know each other.” He smiled, she smiled, and Kylar turned red.

“Mmm, baby I love the enthusiasm. Let’s all get naked and hop to it.” She dug in her bag and pulled out a giant lube bottle. She moved seductively while she stripped down, while Kylar just threw his clothes off.  He followed after them, stripping eagerly. Maybe he could use this to reclaim dominance, he was already hard. With the lube it would be no problem to just slide into Kylar. 

She came up to kiss him. The two of them made out, tongues thrusting against each other eagerly exploring. He got a few good gropes in before they broke the kiss. With Kylar practically shaking with jealousy she took the time to kiss him too. The virgin practically came in his pants. He stifled a laugh, watching how pathetic Kylar was he could never feel insecure. His slut parted from Kylar and sighed. She looked back at him.

“I wish I was taller, then I could hold you on my lap. Whit, just roll over onto your belly for now.” He obeyed, a little worried about where this was leading. He felt her straddle his back. His fears were all but confirmed when she felt him spreading his ass cheeks. 

“So cute.” She cooed. “If I had a strap… Anyway Kylar, cover your fingers in lube.” She sounded cheerier than usual, but he felt nervous. He didn’t know what to expect, he felt something wet probing back there. 

“Uh wait! Oh?” With the lube Kylar’s finger slid right in. It wasn’t particularly pleasurable or painful. When he did it with his slut she had made it seem like the best thing ever but right now it didn’t feel like much. Relieved or disappointed, he couldn’t resist taunting Kylar. 

“Is that the best you can do? You fucking suck at this!” He laughed while Kylar started thrusting his finger in and out.

“I’ll show you…” He heard Kylar muttering to himself. Even though it didn’t feel like much his ass still welcomed Kylar’s fingers in. He almost wanted to tell Kylar to shove his dick in, but he wasn’t about to get his ass torn apart. As Kylar added fingers his ass accepted them easily. He was almost disappointed his ass wasn’t as sensitive as his sluts, when he heard her start instructing Kylar.

“He’s a guy, you need to find his prostate. Give him euphoria.” She sounded even more enchanting than usual. Even though he couldn’t see her he shivered like she was whispering in his ear. He felt Kylar start moving his finger around in different directions. He tried to ignore the pleasurable heat building inside him. 

“Tonights all about the two of you forming the ultimate connection. If you guys succeed, next time the two of you can have my pussy together. If not we’ll need more lessons hehehe, but I think y’all will come to love pleasuring each other.” She was really harping on him and Kylar building a relationship. He rolled his eyes. As long as his slut knew who to come back to he didn’t mind sharing. A slut was a slut after all. That shouldn’t mean making nice with whoever else shared her bed. 

“It’s not my fault Kylar sucks at this! He needs to practice on ah!” Shit, Kylar had hit a spot that actually felt good. Kylar started honing in on that spot, stabbing it with his fingers. Which while pleasurable, was also immensely overstimulating. 

He couldn’t really speak, any noises sounded more like whines. Thankfully, his slut was paying attention.

“Kylar no! Be gentle like, rub his prostate. Keep being rough and he’ll get to go first. Add some more lube! Warm it up first.” She chided. Immediately Kylar pulled his fin. Hopefully processing her words. When he started back up he felt a lot more lube. Once again, his body readily accepted the fingers. However, instead of battering his prostate, Kylar rubbed it carefully. 

Now this was enjoyable. He tried to move his hips back against Kylar’s fingers to try and increase the stimulation. 

“Sorry Whitney, Kylar’s learning to give pleasure instead of just taking it today. You’ll have to tell him what you want. Though it would be hot to watch you dom the shit outta him, this lesson’s very important.” He could only imagine what the freak had put her through. If he contributed to the lesson, then he could imagine a reward in his future. 

“Uh a little firmer. Not faster though, ah maybe go up to three fingers. It feels good when you rub it, yeah just like that, keep going.” He stifled his moans. The longer Kylar stimulated that part of him, the greater his sensitivity as a whole. Of course his slut noticed this and encouraged him,

“Yes, bask in the pleasure. See how good you're making him feel Kylar? Focus on his body, his desires.” She started massaging his hips, relaxing him even further. Well he wasn’t losing his mind or anything, but this did feel really good. He could feel his dick pressing against the bed, he rubbed it against the blankets. 

“Are we ready for the next phase?” 

“Yes!” He heard Kylar shout and felt the fingers inside of him trembling. On his prostate, that felt sublime.

“Oh yes!” He moaned, stars dancing in his eyes.  Abruptly the fingers were pulled out of him. He tried to chase them. A gentle slap on his ass chek stopped him.

“Lube up Kylar.” She laughed. “Yeah just like that, make sure you use enough, it’s the good stuff so you won’t need to reapply. But if you cheap out, don’t hesitate to reapply if you need it.” It really was a fucking lesson. He whined, shaking his hips as much as he could.

“Hahaha… alright alright, let’s not keep Whitney waiting hmm. Like I told you, push in gentle like, don’t just shove it in. I’ll slap the shit out of you.” He was glad she was directing Kylar. His dick was much larger than the fingers. 

It hurt a little as Kylar pressed in. He tried to relax himself to make it easier. With his slut watching he didn’t have to worry about Kylar hurting him. Once the head of Kylar’s dick popped in, the rest of it slipped in without a problem. His slut really was an expert. He moaned when he felt Kylar’s thighs hit his. 

“Wow, you took him in so well.” She rubbed his hair, praising him some more. He felt her slip off his back. He grabbed a pillow to bury his face in not wanting Kylar to see the effect he was having on him. 

“See how he’s ready for you to move now. Start off slowly, let his pleasure decide your pace.” He half expected Kylar to start ravaging him like he had a vendetta. But he listened to his slut, thrusting out gently. He moaned into the pillow. He let Kylar do all the work, enjoying the gentle thrusts. Soon he wanted more, he pulled off the pillow. 

“A little harder, ahh yeah just like that.” He ordered, Kylar obeyed without a word. He put his head back in the pillow. It was nice having someone focusing all their attention on pleasuring him.  He could get used to this. Kylar’s dick was big enough to stimulate his prostate with any adjustments, and since it had built up he could feel something coiling in his belly. 

He tried to stop any drool from leaking out his mouth. The creaking of the mattress, the perfumed pillow, it was all too much. He pulled his face out of the pillow.

“Harder bitch!” He felt Kylar’s hands grip his waist before his thrusts suddenly went into overdrive. He squealed, plunging his face back into the pillow. Kylar was grunting behind him, fucking as hard as he could. He could feel sweat dripping everywhere. 

Even with his queen off to the side cooing praises and orders, in that moment nothing mattered. He just wanted to feel more pleasure. Despite Kylar’s death grip on his hips he still pushed back as much as he could. He was practically screaming into the pillow. He’d half expected Kylar to be useless with his dick, but it seemed he was well trained. 

Even in the pillow he was seeing stars. His legs started shaking and his toes curled. He tightened his grip on the pillow and shook as he came. Good thing he was already in bed, his whole body was tingling. Luckily, Kylar didn’t last much longer after that, collapsing on his back as he came himself. He felt Kylar kissing and licking his back. It was kind of gross, but after what they’d just done together… 

“Amazing you two, simply spectacular! My darling lovers. Rest, both of you. I’ll clean you up.” Their queen spoke up from the side. He was still reveling in the aftermath of his orgasm, so he barely registered her leaving the room. He felt a warm rag on his thighs, before sleep took him.

#harperverse

[hrwinter]

the emergency room fic snippet took me out hgjgjghfh

Kara's not sure if it's the recently waking up from anesthesia or if she really is witnessing the most gorgeous creature to ever grace this planet seated, cross-legged in the outpatient waiting room.

"Hi!" she finds herself sitting right next to the woman and practically shouting directly into her face.

Smooth, Danvers, she thinks. What can she say, she's always had game.

The woman stares back at Kara's suddenly very close proximity, doe eyed, irises round and the most tantalizing shade of sea foam green Kara's ever seen.

"Did you just—" Kara points inelegantly back at the door a nurse had just ushered her through, "have a surgery?"

The woman eyes her, a little wary, before replying.

"An endoscopy."

Kara gasps, reaching for the woman's hands (a little cold) and holding them in her overly warm ones. She rubs them together in an effort to bring heat into the stranger's fingers. The woman simply continues to stare, perplexed.

"Me too! Did yours go well? What are you in for?"

"You're very friendly," the woman states bluntly.

"Oh, sorry," Kara pulls her hands away. "I'm Kara."

"Lena," the woman says, still a little stiff but a small smile forming at the corner of her mouth.

Kara makes a conscientious effort to keep her hands in her lap like an overeager child as she waits for Lena to answer.

"And I have an ulcer, they think," Lena says, touching delicately at her stomach. "Too much coffee and working, not enough eating."

Kara winces. "Those are painful, right?"

Lena nods. "What about you?"

"I ate four mega sized bags of candy corn."

The face Lena pulls is one of total, abject disgust.

"Candy corn? Why?"

"It was a Halloween dare from my sister," Kara shrugs. "My stomach hasn't been the same since."

"I should think not."

Kara laughs at the woman's impeccable diction, like she could be one of those reading voice models. Or a librarian. A sexy librarian.

"Honestly right now I feel more woozy from the anesthesia."

"Me too," Lena agrees, staring down at her hands and flexing them open and closed. Such lovely hands. Big, Kara thinks.

She's not sure how long they both stare down at Lena's hands, Kara's elbow bent on Lena's armrest, holding her chin in her palm, before she thinks to add,

"Can you believe they warned us not to gamble? Or buy a car? Isn't that crazy?”

"Completely."

"Although," Kara adds with an unnoticed slur to her words, her voice sing song pitching up and down. “If I could buy any car right now, I'd totally buy one of those sports cars with the butterfly doors."

"Like a McLaren?"

"Sure."

"My friend Bruce has one. I think I've seen it in his garage."

"Damn, is he rich?"

“I’m rich too,” Lena holds out her hands as if she's dropping invisible dollar bills all over the waiting room floor.

“But I'm boring," she says with a slump of her shoulders. "I always use a town car. My driver's name is George."

"George," Kara echoes. "Why do guys always get to be so flashy? You should get yourself a sports car for, like, female empowerment and stuff."

"You're right," Lena agrees with an unsteady nod of her head. "It's not fair. Let’s go buy one.”

Kara swoons closer, heavily encroaching over the boundary between their two respective chairs. The space between them is nearly nonexistent. The anesthesia side effects are definitely feeling more present.

“I think you’re my soulmate," Kara says, entirely uncensored.

Lena locks eyes with her for one boundless moment before she shakes her head hard, like a puppy trying to shake out wet fur.

"No, you wouldn't like me if you knew me. I am so scary," Lena tells Kara with such sincere earnestness, head bowed towards her. "Like so scary. I’m a CEO."

"That's cool!" Kara cheers, and before she can stop herself she's holding Lena's hands again. "And there's no way you're scary. You’re so nice and soft," she rubs Lena's fingers.

Kara's not quite sure what happens next. Lena sort of pulls at her hands, an unspoken invitation, and Kara's already halfway out of her seat, and it just makes… sense for her to fully get into Lena's lap.

The waiting room chair is perfectly sized for the both of them. Lena's hands anchor Kara, squeezing at her backside. It's heaven.

"You smell good," Lena comments dreamily, leaning forward to inhale at Kara's neck. Then suddenly she jumps back, jostling Kara in her lap.

"Oh my god, I’m gay!"

Kara stares at her, hypnotized by the river of small blue veins at Lena's temple and forehead.

"Oh," she starts. "Did you just… realize?"

"Yes—" Lena half shouts, then, "I mean no, I just had to tell you. So, be careful."

Kara laughs, wrapping her arms around Lena's neck. She massages her fingers into Lena's shoulders, and Lena sighs, reluctantly relaxing by degrees. Kara smiles, goofy.

"With what? Your feelings? Anyways, I’m bi."

"Oh." Lena mirrors Kara's words. "Are you single?"

"Give me your number," Kara replies in lieu of an answer.

They both scramble for their phones, Kara reaching into her back pocket and Lena fishing into an expensive looking hand bag. Kara sits backs on Lena's thighs and proceeds to ignore several texts from her sister. And what should be a simple swap of phone numbers becomes an impromptu photo shoot with lots of giggling and vaguely inappropriate touching.

"What is going on here?"

Kara pivots in Lena's lap, recognizing the voice of her sister coming from the open doorway.

"Alex?"

Lena's head has snapped to the door, too, eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?" she says with a squeeze of Kara's hips.

Alex's eyebrow raises, challenging.

"Who are you?"

Kara might actually hear Lena growl then.

"Lena?" another voice joins them.

Alex swivels to look at a woman just over her shoulder, tall and stately with legs for days. She has curly brown hair and soft, bedroom eyes.

"Who are you?" Kara finds her own voice grumbling.

"Sam!" Lena glows.

Who is Sam?!

Sam's eyes rove over the pair of them, and she raises a hand to her mouth to cover a smile. Kara reluctantly extricates herself from Lena's lap, standing but keeping hold of her hand.

"Um, Kar," Alex says, eyebrows threading closer and closer together by the second. "We have to go, so maybe let go of the stranger's hand."

"She's not a stranger, this is Lena!" Kara announces. "And I want her to come with us."

Sam snorts.

"What? No, Kara, we're going home," Alex takes a step into the room, and Lena squeezes Kara's hand possessively. "You need to get some sleep and recover."

"You, too, Lena," Sam intones, still lingering in the doorway.

"No!" Lena practically shouts, standing too. "I feel fine. We’re going to buy a car, actually."

Alex's jaw drops open.

"No, honey," Sam steps toward the pair of them then.

"Honey?" Kara asks, back bowing.

"Down girl," Sam quips in her direction. "We’re just friends."

"No, I’m your boss," Lena snaps at Sam, pointing, but it's as threatening as a five year old making demands about bathtime. "I tell you what to do."

Kara giggles.

"See, I’m mean," Lena gloats to Kara.

"No."

"Oh my god," Alex pinches the bridge of her nose. "This is a fucking mess, we're leaving. Now."

Kara stands taller at the warning nature of Alex's tone, and what follows is an absolute spectacle. It involves Alex chasing Kara around the room, Sam laughing loudly, and Lena threatening her and the entire hospital staff. It ends with Alex rough housing Kara inside of her Tahoe with threats of 'you owe me for life' and 'I can't fucking believe you." But Kara doesn't hear any of it, asleep by the time Alex gets into the driver's seat.

---

The next day, Kara wakes up late. There's a gloomy dark space where her memory of the day before should be, but she can't worry about that now. Instead, she groggily makes her way outside of her room, in search of the delicious coffee smell emanating from the kitchen. Alex stands there at her island, a sentinel, as if she's been up all night and waiting for this moment.

"How are we feeling today?" she asks neutrally.

"Terrible," Kara pours herself a cup of coffee.

"So…" her sister trails off, drumming her fingers, and Kara gets the distinct impression she's not going to like what comes out of her mouth next.

"Remember when you mounted Lena Luthor in the waiting room?"

Kara gapes at her.

"What? No, I didn’t. And who?"

"Lena Luthor," her sister repeats. "You were full on in her lap."

"You're lying," Kara splays herself over the couch. "I don't—remember anything. And Lena Luthor? The tech mogul?"

Alex ignores her.

"I had to take away your phone, and then you threw up in the shower. You don't remember that?"

"I was under anesthesia. I can't be held accountable for my actions," Kara shoves a pillow over her face, hoping it will block out the sound of her sister's voice.

"You're telling me you don't remember this woman?"

There's a slap of paper on her coffee table. Kara moves the pillow away, cracking open one eye to gaze down at the cover of a Popular Mechanics magazine. It's graced by a woman with gorgeous black hair with eyes an endless emerald green. She looks familiar, but Kara's not going to let her sister pull her chain today.

"Stop messing with me, Alex, it's not funny."

Alex glares back at her. "You really don't remember."

Kara grumbles and places the pillow back over her face.

"Check your texts," Alex lobs Kara's phone, and it hits her square in the stomach.

"Ow!" she shouts, chucking the pillow at Alex who dodges it easily. She sips at her coffee smugly.

Kara unlocks her phone, eyebrows furrowing, and reads her last text.

"OH MY GOD!"

"When we came back to your apartment," Alex continues, enjoying herself too much. "You kept trying to make out with your fern plant. You kept calling it Lena."

"STOP!"

"You tried to eat a frozen pizza."

"SHUT UP!"

#supercorp #hr’s askhole #supergirl #Lena Luthor #Kara Danvers #ficlet #fanfic #loosely based on an experience I had with a fellow gay man in the post op waiting room

[palbabor-writes]

OK so please consider typical Shig/reader where theres unspoken mutual attraction and they're not quite together but it's Post-kamino Shig, like IMMEDIATE post-kamino where he's still processing and incredibly vulnerable from just losing his sensei. I've had this in my head for a while but IDK how it would go and I think you'd do it justice (just ignore this if u don't wanna i just needed to put it out there 😌)

ugh, i loved this idea. where do you find them lydia? they just live in your mind rent free and i want to go to there. gosh, thank you for the ask.

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, SMUT, NSFW/18+ only, mild angst, pivotal life moments, TW: drinking/drug use, masturbation, blow jobs, face fucking, spanking/mild pain play, vaginal fingering, cunniliginus, overstimulation, switching, dirty talk, loss of virginity (if you squint), dominance, vaginal sex     

Word Count: 11,800

Notes: oh man. so, if the word count didn’t give it away, this is plot, with a hefty dose of porn. in my mind, this is all part of the grieving process for shigaraki and he’s having a rough time coming to terms with what he’s needing to do. yeah, AFO supported him and enabled him to build a following, but he also hid all of the major pieces from him (i.e. the doctor & gigantomachia) so i can see him mourning for AFO as a teacher & as a psudo loved one, after all, at the end of that chapter he’s clutching those hands to him like he’ll fall apart without them. 

Edited by the lovely Lydia: @kugutsuu. she is the best and if you’re not reading her works, all I have to say is: YOU SHOULD BE. 

Mise en Place

/mē-ˌzäⁿ-ˈpläs/ noun or verb  a French culinary phrase which means "putting in place" or "everything in its place.”

This has got to be the strangest, hole in the wall, bar you’ve ever worked at. 

The patrons are touchy and most seem downright dangerous. The whole lot of them are more like mid level criminals than the usual haggard, overworked, regular, citizens you find in local watering holes.  Meanwhile, the gentleman who runs the day to day operations shares more similarities with a will o’ the wisp than a man, and the bar itself is smack dab in one of the seediest parts of town. 

The liquor selection, however, is top of the line. Some of the labels you haven’t seen outside of posh hotels or high class country clubs, and many of the older bottles are rarities. Honestly, there are so many of the high brow bottles that you’re not sure who to ask about the rail selection. There’s no real order to the place and it’s the most free reign you’ve ever been given with your mixology experiments. There’s not even a listing of drinks to go off of. But, if the disgruntled evening crowd is happy, then so is the upper management. All they ask is that you lock up before you leave.

No, nothing about this place makes sense. But, it does pay well and, right now, that’s the only thing you need to worry about.

There’s one other barkeep, a stogy man named Akio. He usually works the day shift, but late yesterday afternoon, he’d given you a call and asked if the two of you could swap for the duration of next week. At first, you’d balked, worried you’d need to schmooze with an unfamiliar bunch of regulars, who’d then decline to tip simply because you were new. But, Akio had sweetened the pot with the promise of $20,000 yen, so, you’d agreed. 

“It’s fairly quiet in the afternoon,” Akio reassured you. “It’s really just putting away shipment and serving the odd customer who happens to pass by. The only thing...well, I’m sure you’ve met him. You’ve been working there for over a month, no way you could miss him.” 

“Who?” you ask, twirling your spoon in your mid-morning coffee, curious, but not wanting to seem overly eager in your questioning. You like your night shift and you’re not wanting this to become a regular swap. You detest having to lug heavy boxes to and fro, pulling liquor and checking lot numbers, ick. Plus, if it really is that slow in the afternoons, it would only be a matter of time before Kurogiri would come after you with a duster and ask you to clean the upper shelves. Yeah, no, thanks. This would be a one week deal, ONLY.

“His name is Shigaraki. He’s, er, different. I suppose you’ll meet him soon, if you haven’t already.”

“Shigaraki? No, that name doesn’t ring a bell. Is he--”

“I have to go, my son is here. Thanks again for the swap and talk soon, (Y/N).”

The line clicks and you let your phone fall from your ear, clattering the metal and plastic along your kitchen table. Shigaraki, you think, taking a scalding sip of your coffee, no, that’s not a name you’ve heard before. Wonder what it is about him that has Akio so on edge. It’s not like him to give you, er, whatever that strange heads-up had been. Either way, it would take more than a vague descriptor like different, to spook you off. 

******

Akio was right, on all counts, about the haze of monotony that permeated the afternoon shift at the bar. 

Well, right on everything except a sighting of that elusive Shigaraki guy. No, the whole afternoon it’s just been you, Kurogiri, and one, rather sloshed old man, who you’ve long since cut off, and propped at the far end of the bartop. It’s been a dull, slow, day. Thank God you’d taken that extra cash from Akio, or this might not even turn out to be worth your while. 

You’re slipping another bottle of whiskey on the lower shelf when you hear a barstool scrape back. You turn at the sound, your head already lifted and a small, friendly, smile lingering on your lips. There’s a lanky guy, dressed all in black with a mop of wavy white hair, working himself onto the small seat. His head is lowered and he hasn’t bothered to look up at you, not yet, anyway. He looks, not really young, but you can’t tell and you’re not about to let some underaged kid worm his way in here. You’ve had enough of those punks sneaking in in the evening, thank you. 

“Gimme a shot of scotch,” the man says, his voice low, with a quiet rasp racing along the tone. It’s a strange timbre and it makes you pause, your eyes scanning those pearlescent strands of hair that are hiding his face from view.

“Hmph,” you snort, arching a brow at his attempts at concealment. He must be underage, who comes up to a barkeep with a ducked head and demands a scotch? 

“Let me give you a piece of advice, don’t come into a bar and immediately refuse to make eye contact with the bartender. We’re like animals at the zoo, we startle easily and don’t like surprises. And, with your face tucked like that, I can’t gauge your age. So, before I get you that unnamed and unbranded scotch, I’m gonna to need to see some ID.”

The man lifts his head at your preamble and you feel your breath catch at the raw annoyance that’s etched across his scarred and cracked face. His eyes are a rich red, closer to ruby and they latch onto yours, insistent and sharp. It’s a deeply intense stare and you can’t seem to pull yourself away, your brow furrowing at his sudden shift in demeanor. 

“I don’t have an ID,” he snaps, his lips lifting into a snarl, showing you the vivid whiteness of his teeth. 

You lick your lips and his gaze follows the motion, eyes lowering, freeing you from that uneasy imprisonment he’d abruptly ensnared you in.

Your heart is beating rapidly against your throat and you shake your head, refocusing your bewildering reaction to this guy's presence. “I-I haven’t heard that one before,” you say, taking a few steadying breaths and tossing a dirty glass in the dishwasher, looking for any task that will let you step away from this strange interaction. 

“You must be new,” he says, leaning back and hunching those dark shoulders. You watch him out of the corner of your eye and shut the dishwasher door, hitting the button to run a cycle. 

“Nope,” you correct him, pulling out two fresh glasses and lining them up on the bartop, reaching for the rail scotch. “I’ve worked here for over a month.”

“Never seen you before.”

“That makes two of us,” you reply, flipping the bottle up and filling both glasses with four counts of the dark liquor. You press one to him and lift the other for yourself. The man narrows his eyes at you and looks pointedly at the glass in your hands. 

“You supposed to drink on the clock?”

You laugh and he shifts back at the sound, his head bowing forward, another scowl lifting his lips. Realizing you must have made him uncomfortable, you step toward him and clumsily clink your glass against his, tilting your head at the surrealness of this whole conversation. “They don’t really care what I do. Come on, stranger who has no ID, bottoms up.”

He looks from you to the shot a few times before finally relenting and taking the vessel in a strange four fingered grip, his middle finger arched carefully away. Once you’re sure he’s actually going to toast with you, you sling your shot back, enjoying the sharp burn of the rich liquor. 

You’re about to ask your new drinking companion another question when you hear his chair scrape back. By the time you’re stepping toward him, he’s already pacing down a back hallway, blending into the darkness and disappearing from your sight.

“Um! You can’t...I don’t think you can go back there. And you gotta pay, dude! Hey--”

“He doesn’t need to pay.” 

You always hear Kurogiri before you see him and today is no exception. He’s standing at the entrance to the back of the bartop and he’s watching the path the strange young man took, his shifting face turned from you. You cock your head at his assertion and swiftly place your empty glass into the soapy water of the filled sink. He likely saw you take the shot, but you’re not about to leave evidence behind. 

“What do you mean?” You ask, watching as the wisp like man turns and steps toward you, his amber slits watchful. It’s like he’s sizing you up and you shift on your feet, uncomfortable at the frank, open, assessment.  

“He’s Tomura Shigaraki, and he owns this bar.”

******     

You’re off for the next two days and the wait, the silence, is abjectly harrowing. You can’t sit down, can’t relax, can’t focus. The one time you decide to get overly familiar, of fucking course, it would be with the owner. But no one has called, and no one has sent you any messages. The empty static of your job's reticence doesn’t alleviate your nerves. 

Who knows, they might want to act out the sick power play of having you show up for your shift, only be fired as soon as you darken the doorway.

The next afternoon, you take a familiar route to the bar, your feet tapping hollowly along the steps and alleyways that wind to the rusty entrance. You come in the front, blinking against the darkness, and lock the door behind you. Everything is quiet. But, in forty minutes, the open sign will switch on and you need to get your bar set up, plus slap on a little bit of makeup. You’re so lost in thought that you’re almost to the long bartop when you spot him.

It’s Tomura Shigaraki. He’s sitting at the same bar stool and his head turns as you approach, those unearthly red eyes lingering over you. It’s a different look, very, very removed from that harsh glare he’d given you the other day. He looks less hostile and more, well, curious. 

You give him a cursory nod and pad behind the high counter, taking the final glasses out of the dishwasher and removing the stoppers from all the open liquor bottles. He’s still watching you and you can feel his gaze as it bores into your back, your side, your front. You attempt to ignore him, but the constant threat of those insistent red eyes is beginning to frustrate you. Finally, once you’ve replaced the cash drawer, you lift your gaze to his. 

“What is it?” Your voice sounds waspish, but you don’t care.

“Nothing,” he replies, leaning forward and propping his chin on his palm, not breaking that unsettling leer. 

“So stop staring at me,” you bristle, unsure why your heart is starting to beat a rapid tattoo against your ribs. You don’t know this guy. Sure, he’s mysterious and almost handsome, in a dark horse kinda way, but there’s no reason for him to give you this odd staredown. You’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant this attention, well, besides drinking on the job, but he could just fire you for that, if it was so troublesome. Either way, he should either speak up, or knock it off. 

He smirks at your impudence and murmurs a raspy, “No,” back, his head tilting, waiting for your next move. 

“You’re a real charmer, you know that?” You scoff, crossing your arms and jutting your chin defiantly. 

“Whatever you say,” he breathes, that smile of his deepening, making his vermillion eyes shine. And, just like that, the two of you wander into a stilted game of give and take. 

For the first few days, he makes sure he’s there before you arrive for the last of your afternoon shifts, his dark back already perched over the bartop as you shut the door behind you. Then, when you transition back to the evening shifts, he’s there too, sitting at that familiar perch, his eyes always, always watching, observing. You continue to ignore him and he seems to relish your agitated silence, flashing you dark smirks and quiet laughs.

Finally, two weeks into this stagnated stalemate, you make a point to strike up a real conversation with him. He’s obviously taken aback by your first few questions, his eyes wide and jaw tense, but he plays along. 

Over time, the two of you carefully erect a haphazard friendship. And that chair of his? That center barstool? He used to not mind if another person was sitting in it when he arrived late, but recently that’s all changed. Now he guards it ferociously. Snapping and glaring at anyone who is stupid enough to drift into it. 

Along with the lingering looks and burgeoning, almost flirty, dialogue you’ve pushed him into, he’s also gotten very demanding of your attention. If you spend too much time talking with another customer, or with Kurogiri, he pouts and darkens until you return, his tense form losing that sharpness.  It's almost like he’s got a crush on you, but he’s not sure what to do with the newfound sensation, lost and confounded by your teases and grins. 

Most people, you notice, give him a wide berth, but not you. No, you like his keen wit and heated musings. He’s fascinating and you want to see more. And in his flustered confusion, he lets you lean in, blinking and wide eyed at your open, flagrant interest in him.

******   

As the weeks drift into summer, things start to change at the bar. 

There’s some atypical deposit of power that’s been bestowed upon the place. People you’ve never seen before, begin to frequent the premises, sharing videos and whispered conversations about that man, Chizome Akaguro, better known to the general public as the Hero Killer. 

Tomura flits between several, dark moods, clutching his newly injured shoulder and murmuring complaints about hero society, All Might and the Hero Killer. Apparently, there had been an altercation between the two of them and Tomura didn’t hide his ire, his agitation from you. No, he would vent to you, his voice gravel and ash as he snarled his rage.  

Then, as if things couldn’t get any stranger, one evening a young girl begins to hang around, pestering you for a soda and prattling on and on about blood. Another new guy slips in a few hours later, his skin marred by thick, ragged burns and staples. He’s quiet, rudely demanding a shot and nursing it in a corner, his bright blue eyes flashing as he stares vacantly out at the crowd by the well. 

A quiet man, called Spinner, asks you for a water, and you acquiesce, watching as his green hands wrap around the glass, downing the liquid in a quick gulp. Later, there’s a robust, loud, clearly confused guy, wearing a skin tight black bodysuit loitering by your bartop. He keeps entreating you for a drink, then tells you to buzz off seconds later. Exasperated, you plunk a whole bottle down beside his glass and continue on with your work, ignoring his chatter. 

Finally, a man in a white mask and a top hat rounds out the strange posse and the group gathers together, hovering around Tomura, asking questions and listening to his rasping answers. 

Thankfully, the rag-tag group leaves soon after closing, all of them shouldering their way back out into the night. You shake your head as the door closes behind them, gathering the collection of dirty glasses they left in their wake. Only Tomura remains, sipping meditatively on his drink, his red eyes foggy and unfocused. You know from experience that it’s not a good time to ask him questions, so you continue with your closing duties, keeping your eyes down.

Something is going on, that much is clear. But, unless you could worm the information out of Tomura, you’d likely never fully know all of the details. Part of you warns that it’s likely dangerous. Many of the people who haunt the bar are low level villains or brokers, not a winning combination if you’re wanting to stay out of the fray, and on the right side of the law. 

You finish wiping everything down and return to Tomura, asking him softly if you can wash his empty glass. His eyes lift to yours and the expression that greets you almost makes you want to reach out and cup his cheek. He looks tired, worn thin and so, so needy. You’ve never seen him like this. It almost feels like he’s showing you something he’s never revealed to anyone else, a vulnerability that only you can see. He’s giving you access to a quiet secret that can hang between the two of you, safe in the knowledge that he can trust you with it. That urge to stroke a finger down his roughed brow rises again, but you shove the impulse away, rattled by your sudden, visceral, reaction to him. 

To distract yourself, you snatch up his glass, and turn from the intensity of his stare, a slow prickle of gooseflesh trembling along your skin. As you run hot water and soap over the vessel, you feel your heart begin to pound and you chance another peek at Tomura’s quiet form. As usual, he’s watching you, but he looks unfocused again, that broken vulnerability tucked away. You want to ask him if he’s ok, but before you can croak the words out, he pushes his stool back and paces down the dark hallway, leaving you alone and bewildered. 

******

A few days later, you ask Kurogiri if you can sneak away for a minute, you need a break. The bar has been packed since nine and you could use a quick breather. It’s the first night Tomura hasn’t stopped by and his absence has bothered you. You missed his grumpy quips and his persistent glances. All this time, you’d thought it was just him that was catching any kind of feelings, but it looks like he’s somehow managed to nag his way into your psyche, too. 

You take the back stairs quietly and let yourself out onto the alleyway balcony, climbing the rickety fire escape to the rooftop. You’d found the access to the roof your second week and it’s still your favorite place in the whole bar. On a clear night, you can see all the way to downtown Tokyo. It’s always quiet this high up, tranquil and serene. You brace yourself against the concrete wall and watch the lights of the city glimmer, like distant jewels, in the darkness.

You pull a small joint from your pant pocket and flick your lighter on, setting the edge of the rolling paper alight and taking a slow drag. The inhale fills your lungs with a light pressure and you savor the feeling before blowing a thin line of smoke into the night. You get a few more hits in before you hear the fire escape stairs rattle, signaling that someone is coming your way. You debate dampening your roach, but you don’t want to waste it, so you tuck the smoldering paper in your other hand, maneuvering it out of sight. 

The white shine of his hair always gives him away. 

Tomura hops over the ledge and his eyes are already lifting, searching for yours as he stands. You arch an eyebrow at his tense stance and you can’t help your giddy smile. “Everything ok?” 

“Kurogiri said you were taking a break,” he replies, dipping his long fingers into his pockets and sauntering over to the patch of concrete you’re braced against. 

“Yeah,” you confirm, waiting until he’s closer to lift the joint back to your lips, taking a steadying pull and scooting over, so he can fit beside you on the wall. “It’s busy, and I’ve been slinging drinks all night. Just wanted to decompress for a bit.”

Tomura doesn’t reply, but he does slot himself close, the warmth of his broad shoulder radiating against yours. The two of you drift into a companionable silence, and the only sounds that greet you is the quiet hush of traffic below and your inhales and exhales of smoke. 

“You got another meeting?” you ask, crossing your arms and pressing minutely closer, enjoying the distant shiver Tomura gifts you. 

“No,” he murmurs, his voice low. You think that might be the end of the conversation but he continues a few seconds later, his head tilting toward yours, those red eyes scanning your upturned face. “They’re on a mission. I’m not able to participate. It will need to be like a SIM game. They are the pieces that I’ll move over the board, they’ll act to my battle plan.”

You turn to him, your eyes wide. “So, they’re just...pawns? Little NPC’s that don’t matter?”

Tomura laughs and his teeth gleam in the moonlight and distant shine of the neon lights. “Of course not. Do I look that heartless? No, they’re valuable players and if this goes right, we’ll be able to take on the next level with a decided edge.” 

You let that last comment hover, pausing to take another huff, your eyes lowered, brooding over his words. “So, you’re their vanguard leader?”

“Sure,” Tomura nods, “We can’t keep grinding each mission, hoping to pick up any XP these heroes happen to drop. We need to make waves of our own.”

“Oh? Like the Hero Killer?”

“No,” Tomura snarls, his arm tensing beside yours, a hand rising to scritch at his scarred neck agitatedly. “Nothing like him. We’re looking past him. He was too short sighted, so busy following his own code of justice that he didn’t notice he was breeding more heroes, not putting them down.”

“Hmm,” you sigh, thumping your head lightly against the concrete behind you. “That is true. But, you can’t deny he’s brought up some serious divisions. It’s funny, really. It makes me think of this little hero toy I had when I was younger. 

It was of an older hero, he prolly died long ago, but I loved that toy when I was a kid. Then, as I got older, it stopped mattering and one day, without me even realizing it, it lost its importance entirely. I wonder if hero society will ever shift to that. With the fractures that have been seen at UA and all over Japan, it could be a matter of time before real change starts to happen. Anyway, I wasn’t meaning to grill you on your, uh, projects. I was--”

“What toy?” 

His question nonpluses you and you cock your head, blinking up at his peripheral stare. “Um, I think it was of that fast hero, O’clock. It was my older brothers originally, but he passed it down to me. No idea where it is now. It likely got lost in a move or accidentally left behind.”

Tomura lifts his eyes from yours, his jaw clenching and a slow gulp echoing down his lean throat. You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple, fascinated by the movement. That urge to touch him is back and you have to clench your fingers into your palms to quiet it. 

You’re so distracted by your primal reaction to him, that you miss his question and he has to repeat it, his eyes slipping back to yours, the red dark. 

“What?” you ask, blinking against the acuteness of his gaze. 

“Can I take a hit of that?”

“Of what...oh.” You lift the half smoked joint and chuckle at yourself, pressing the smoldering paper toward him. “Sure. You had one before?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, carefully taking the white roach from you and raising it to his chapped lips.

“Go slow,” you warn as he begins to inhale, his eyes drifting to a half mast, concentrating.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he grumbles, pulling a tentative, but heavy, drag into his lungs.

“Fine,” you scoff playfully, “do what you want. But don’t blame me when you’re coughing up a lung.”

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t heed your advice and, seconds later, he’s clutching at his throat, dropping the joint onto the broken gravel and concrete as he heaves. Instinctively, you thump him on his back and run your palm soothingly over his lean shoulder blades, surprised by the corded muscle that greets you. For a relatively thin guy, he’s certainly packing some strength under that unassuming form of his. 

Tomura startles at your touch and he yanks himself away from you, his head ducked, eyes fastening onto yours, the irises accusatory and bright, burning with some underlying emotion that you’re too nervous to name right now. 

“Uh,” you begin, aghast that you’ve upset him, “m-my bad…”

But, he’s already leaving, his head firmly turned from you, clambering over the edge and back onto the fire escape, leaving you alone in the darkness. 

******                

After that night, you can’t slip him out of your mind. Even when you sleep, you can see those red eyes of his, gleaming and hungry. One evening, you’d even woken with your fingers firmly pressed to your throbbing clit, stumbling and gasping, shaking free of a dream of him. He’d felt so real, so in focus and you can’t catch your breath, fingers still rubbing a tight circle over your quivering bundle of nerves. You pant as you break yourself, sukling in the whites and reds that haze over your vision. Yeah, that crush of his definitely isn’t a one sided thing.

The next shift you work, he’s waiting for you, perched in his familiar seat, his shoulders curved and tight. You give him a glance, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. His hands are lowered, fiddling with something under the bartop. You begin to open your bar, trying to quiet your wandering thoughts, not wanting to perturb him again. You’re uncorking a red wine when he presses something across the mahogany wood of the bar, toward you.

It’s small, with dark colors and a tiny, familiar, upper half mask. You let the bottle of wine thud against the counter, abandoning the half opened bottle to move closer. It’s...it’s your-- No. It can’t be yours, but it is the same toy, the one you’d mentioned on the roof the other night. How did he?

You gulp and look up at him, your heart pulsing wildly against your ribs. For the first time, he looks away from you first, his white hair pillowing across his brow. His lips start to rise in an all too habitual scowl and his raspy voice lifts to your ears. “If you don’t want it,” he grouses, one hand pulling away from the offered toy, clearly flustered by your wondering gaze. Without thinking, you slip your fingertips over the top of his hand, prolonging the touch, sulking in the warmth of him. 

His fingers curl, some unconscious tremor racing along his digits. He almost yanks himself away, but then he stops, sighing as his eyes lift to yours. For a long moment, the two of you watch the other. You can hear his breathing speed up and you can almost smell the shift in the air. All it would take is one, tiny push to break that delicious tension. 

Tomura’s nostrils flare as you start to lean closer, your body curving toward his, fingers still pressing into his skin. Your tongue dips out, wetting your lower lip and pulling it into your mouth, sucking on the plush flesh. His eyelids have lowered and he’s mirroring your motions, his elbows assisting his lift, his face upturning, seeking, reaching.

With a bang, the front door is flung open and it breaks the spell that’s fallen over the two of you. Tomura leans away first, his eyes narrowed in agitation, sliding from your open face to the darkness of the entryway. You exhale a shaking breath and follow Tomura’s gaze. It’s that masked man, the one with the top hat and he’s already striding confidently forward, peppering Tomura with a series of questions. 

Snagging up his gift to you, you walk back to your bottle of wine. 

******    

You don’t have a chance to see Tomura again until he tells you, one evening, that the bar is going to be closed for the next few days. Then, over his shoulder, you spot the blonde boy, strapped and bound into a stiff chair and you blanch, stunned, too overwrought to give him more than a one word acknowledgement before stumbling back outside. In all of your talks, he’d never mentioned anything like this. That boy looked like a kid, barely past middle school, his eyes wild and defiant, but also so, so frightened. 

No, you think, pacing your apartment, it’s impossible to come to terms with this. You can’t stay there, can’t work there. It’s too dangerous, too close to a real criminal den for comfort. You have to look out for yourself, no matter your feelings for the man who’s wandering down some long, lost pathway, toward a future you can’t even comprehend, let alone see.

So, you hand in your written resignation. 

Kurogiri is behind the bar when you bring it in, and you’re hoping that the early morning conversation will spare you from having to see him. The wispy, purple hand of Kurogiri is just about to take your letter when Tomura barges down the hallway. His eyes immediately land on you and he steps forward, a dark look passing over his palled features. 

“Why?” he growls, fingers snatching the paper from Kurogiri and crumbling the parchment to bits, his quirk rendering your typed words to nothingness. 

“I don’t want to be a part of any kidnapping. It…” you pause, looking toward Kurogiri and, to your surprise, he nods to Tomura and moves away, leaving the two of you alone in the vacant bar. Tomura is still glaring at you, but he’s waiting for you to finish your thought, his jaw grinding quietly. 

“This doesn’t feel like you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Tomura scoffs, his chin jutting at the assertion. 

“This doesn’t change society. This is just some petty attempt to get back at the UA staff. It’s like...It’s like you’re asking for trouble to seek you out. You’re smarter than this. Besides, what are you going to do with him?” you smart, crossing your arms and balling your fingers into your fists. 

“What do you know about anything? That kid’s been oppressed by hero society, literally muzzled and bound--”

“As if you’re doing any better! He’s still muzzled and bound, Tomura! He’s just in a different location. This is insanity. Who put you up to doing--”

“That doesn’t matter. This conversation has nothing to do with that. You can’t leave,” Tomura snaps, his head lowering, soft white hair falling over his face. “Give it a few more days.”

“What? I can’t stay if the bar is raided and it’s prolly gonna be if you keep that kid. Besides, that’s not--”

“Just...just give me a few more days. I don’t want to beg you, I shouldn’t fucking need to beg you. It’s not an impossible request (Y/N). Just--”

“Fine,” you sigh, uncrossing your arms and watching him. He looks on edge, haggard and angry. Those emotions aren’t projected at you, you know that. Nevertheless, it doesn’t lessen the danger he’s asking you to stand with him in. But, you can give him a few days and you tell him so, trying to ignore the pattering of your heart when he looks at you and smiles.

******

Then, Kamino happens. 

You weren’t there, thank God. But he was, and now, no matter what he’d asked of you, no matter what he’d hoped for, everything shifts apart. Days linger into weeks and you’re trying your best to reason that he’d made it out in one piece. Surely, you would have heard something. The capture of the leader of the League of Villains would have been a morsel that the media would have wanted to crow about, especially after the loss of All Might. 

Late one evening, your phone rings. 

It’s an unknown, blacked out number, but something tells you to answer, so you pick it up. You almost gasp when you hear that familiar rasp and you listen to what he tells you. You can’t get over how brittle and cracked his voice sounds but you write down the address he gives you. He cloaks his true motivations with a lie. Apparently, he has your last paycheck. Like that even matters to you. Honestly, you’re just glad he’s safe and whole. But, he’s gone to all this effort to build a bridge back to him, so of course you’re going to go.

You check and double check the directions, carefully maneuvering and weaving through bus stops and back streets. Somehow, you make it and find yourself pressing open a dilapidated door and stepping into a small room. Only darkness greets you, even though the bright midday sun is shining outside. The place he’s brought you to is on a dock, on the outskirts of town, close to the salty edge of a bay. You can hear the mournful cries of a seagull as you close the door behind you, sealing yourself inside and blinking into the gloom.

It takes you a minute to catch sight of him.

He’s lingering along the edges but you can make out the glow of his eyes, red and fierce. He looks different. It’s only been a few weeks, but it looks like the weight of years has crushed him under its unfeeling grind in that short amount of time. No, Kamino has changed him, rendering him unhinged and dangerous, drifting along the peripheral of your vision. Still, you haven’t come here to witness him falling to bits at your feet. No, you’d come here with another, darker motive. 

Now, to work.

“What happened?” you ask, keeping your back firmly against the door. Watching him move closer, those red shoes of his glinting over the dark wooden floors.

“Sensei is...gone,” he replies, his voice hollow and faint. He’s mentioned his Sensei before and you’d heard the man’s strange voice echoing from that back television, like some distant, terrifying specter. But, you knew he was important to Tomura, more like a father than a teacher. However, you’d seen the news. You knew he was beaten to a pulp and captured, locked away and out of Tomura’s reach. Now, he can’t ask his Sensei for advice or support, not anymore. Even knowing what little you’ve gleaned about the strange man, Tomura must be devastated by his loss.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, genuine in your sympathy.

Tomura nods and fishes for something in the pocket of his trench coat, lifting a thin slip of paper out and showing it to you. “Here,” he sighs, still not meeting your eyes directly. 

“Oh,” you say, moving away from the door and taking a few steps toward him. “You really did ask me here for the check, huh?”

“What else did you want?” he grumbles, his voice regaining a small slice of that familiar rasping. The question lingers and you feel your pulse speed up, your palms itching at your sides. “Or, did you want to scold me again?” Tomura continues disgruntled, and you can see a grimace pass over his face.

“You deserved it,” you confirm, taking another step, only wavering when you’re a few feet from him. “You wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn't kidnapped that UA student. Now, the kid, and your Sensei are gone and you’re stuck here. Wherever here is”

“Look at you, quite the oracle aren’t you? So, you did come here to berate me.” Tomura snaps, dropping your pay stub to the dusty floor. 

“No,” you shake your head, not wanting this to spiral out of your control, not wanting him to simply shut you out, alone on that pier, left with all of your what ifs. “No, I didn’t come here to do that. I-I...it’s just that...well...that wasn’t you. That whole plan...it still doesn’t make sense”

“How the fuck would you know what is, or isn’t, me? You said that that morning, too. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now,” Tomura bristles, closing the distance and bowing up to you. You can feel the sheer heat of him radiating against your shirt and you shiver at the sensation. If you lift your hand you could touch him, you think distantly. He’s so close...He’s so... 

You gulp, trying to quell your rising emotions. “I guess, I don’t know then.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” you say, biting your lip.

“Fine,” he repeats, no doubt thinking that will be the end of it, but you’re not finished.

“You’re better than this you know,” you tell him, eyes searching for his, not relenting your glare until he finally meets you halfway, his red eyes flashing.

“Better than what? Better than you? A half baked woman, slumming her way from mid range bar, to mid range bar. Hoping you’ll catch the eye of the right person, someone who can pluck you from all the muck and grime that you lift that pretty little nose of yours at.”

“What?” you breathe, a snarl of your own etching across your face.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing. Fucking leading me on like that--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You thought I’d be your ticket out, or you could wager me later for a better piece, something stronger, someone that could do something for you.” Tomura is seething, his chest bumping against yours, the red of his eyes burning as he glowers at you. 

“Tomura- I don’t know what you’re talk--”

“Stop saying that. You stupid, or something? And stop saying my name like that. Like it fucking matters. You could have had anything, you know? But...but you took it all for granted. You had the world...and then it...it’s...it’s just gone.”

He’s not talking about you anymore. Even though he’s growling and spitting rage at you, he’s not talking about you. “Shigaraki,” you begin, trying to see some way to reason with him. To bring him back to you. 

“Don’t call me that,” he groans, his head dipping, almost resting against your shoulder. “I haven’t earned...that’s not me.” 

“Alright. What am I supposed to call you?” you whisper, overwhelmed and trying to resist that urge to pull him into your arms. You’ve never seen him like this, and you don’t know, you don’t…

“There you go again, acting like you care.” Tomura scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“I do care, you ass,” you bite, turning your head toward him and letting your voice fall beside his ear. He snarls at the assertion and presses impossibly closer, trying his best to put on a show of wavering strength, knowing you might still be bullied into backing down, into denying him. But it’s not working, no you’ve come this far and you don’t want to leave him, not like this. 

“I care,” you repeat, still murmuring next to his cheek, so near you can hear, and feel, his ragged breaths, hot against your skin.

“About what?” he grunts, moving his head from you, determined to not let you win.

“About, well, you.”

“Liar,” he spits, but his voice wavers, showing you a tiny, tiny sliver of hope.

“Am not,” you counter and watch as he leans back, those vermillion eyes searching for yours. One of his hands lifts and he ghosts the digits over the top of your shoulder, watching as you shift toward the distant touch, pulled to him, like a magnet.

“Such a liar,” he posits, fingers hovering beside your neck, twitching with want. 

“No, I’m not,” you gasp, your voice so faint, you’re worried he might not hear it. But he does and he dips his head toward you, inches from your face, lips already parted and waiting. 

“Prove it,” he challenges, his voice deepening, losing that sharpened edge at long last.

So, you shove him. 

You’re not sure why that’s your first, instinctive reaction, but it’s too late to question your motives and it sparks a crazed response from the man in front of you, snapping him out of his head and refocusing him. 

He fumbles backwards, caught off guard, his red shoes catching as he lumbers, trying to not fall. His eyes flash at you and he instantly rights himself, moving back to you. Through it all, you can hear yourself saying something. It sounds like it might have been another taunt, but you can’t focus, not when he’s pressing himself against you, his fingers finally, finally touching you. 

Tomura can’t seem to settle now that he’s gotten ahold of you, his fingers tracing over your neck, your shoulders, your face, your sides. He’s panting and gasping, his fevered exhales fanning over your prickling skin.

“Get off me,” you moan, batting at his wandering hands.

“No,” he sighs, cupping your jaw and dragging you to his shaking lips. His kiss is clumsy, almost childlike. He lifts and leans, pressing halting smacks against you, grunting when you twist from him, fighting his hold.

“You don’t deserve it,” you tell him, wanting to lance that boil that’s festering in his mind, knowing he needs the pain before he can handle the sweetness of the pleasure. The last thing he needs is love. No, not right now. Hopefully, there will be time for that later. But for now, he needs something raw and shattered, something that will let him see that it’s not impossible to pick up the pieces, that he can be whole again, he just needs to try.

He drags his rough lips over yours and you lower your fingers into his snowy hair, pulling him closer, demanding that he give you more. He gasps at the sudden shift and you slip your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his and yanking stammering moans from him. Your lips are slick now and you use the extra lubrication to slip down his neck, leaving him trembling above you. 

You dip into each and every scar, laving over all those old hurts until he’s snarling. You leave a bruising bite against his pulse and he snatches your face between his palms, dragging you back to his lips. 

“Stop squirming,” he complains, his forehead bumping against yours, trying to keep up with your rapid fire laps and sucks. 

“No,” you laugh, fingers lacing into the lapels of his trench coat and using the leverage to drag your breasts over his hardened pectorals. He grunts at the sensation, one arm wrapping around your lower back, pinning you to him. When he finally manages to work his way free of your frantic presses, he lowers his lips to your neck, mimicking the same path you’d taken with him, his teeth nipping and pulling until your humming, giving him a thin cry of encouragement that spurs him on. 

Tomura drags a canine over your pulse and you shiver, folding into his crumpled embrace. He’s almost having to hold you upright and he growls when you slip from his arms, annoyed you’re making this so fucking difficult. 

“I said, keep still,” he reminds you, heaving you back up, lean forearms bracing you to him. You smile and lace your arms around his neck, wanting his lips again. He allows the pull, loving the contrast of your plush skin against his. He’s a fast learner and this time, it’s his tongue taps and maneuvers for entrance, swallowing down your needy pants. His nose presses into your cheek and you cup at his jaw, stroking the warm skin until he slows his frantic pace, meeting you halfway, and lingering in your wet softness.

Then, just as he’s getting comfortable, you dig your teeth into his lower lip, pulling until you bleed out a little taste of copper. He snarls and shoves you away, lifting the side of his hand to his injured mouth. 

“What was that for?” He snaps, tapping his fingers against the wound, watching as they come back red. “The fuck is wrong with…” His ire stutters to a halt when he catches sight of you. 

You’ve already slipped your shirt over your head and now your fingers are twisting until you unclasp your bra, sliding the lace down your arms. The cool air makes your nipples tighten but you don’t attempt to cover yourself from him. Instead, you arch an eyebrow at his abashed expression and begin to unbutton your pants, your fingers teasingly lingering over the button and zipper, before lowering the denim down the curve of your hips. 

You don’t even hear him approach. No, you’re too distracted by your little show to notice him until you feel those warm fingers tracing over the newly bared swells of your skin. You lift your head and your eyes catch his, smiling at the hazy hunger that’s blazing out at you. His touch is tentative and you roll your eyes openly at him, lifting your own hands over his, pressing him until he’s digging those four digits into your sumptuous flesh. 

His thumb rubs over your pebbled nipple and you reward him with a low moan, your eyes slipping behind your heavy eyelids. He cups at your other breast and lifts the weight of you into his palm, openly marveling at the feel of you. Still, it’s not enough and if you’re going to get your point across, you need him to give you more than these lazy strokes. 

“Take off your jacket,” you tell him, stepping away from him, quaking minutely in the loss of his warmth. 

“What?” he asks, clearly too overwrought to hear you. So, you help him along. Your fingers snatch the shoulders of his trench and you yank it off him, tossing the fabric down to the gritty floors. Then, you shove at him again. He isn’t as taken aback this time and he rallies immediately, snatching at you and dragging you against him, making you gasp at the harsh sensation of his dark clothes against your bare front. 

“What do you want?” you ask him, licking your tongue along the underside of his jaw, listening to his shuddering breaths. “What do you want to do to me, Tomura? Come on, I know you’ve got some idea. Fucking show me. Don’t let me boss you around, unless that’s what you’re wanting today to be about. I can take those reigns from you. I’m better at this after all. Less...flustered,” you pause, sucking and nipping at his neck, enjoying the indecisive flex of his fingers on your upper arms.

He allows you one more bite and then he’s tossing you down, not caring where you land. Thankfully, you sprawl over his discarded jacket, the fabric sparing you from the neglected wooden floor. You’re trying to regain your bearings when you hear his belt clatter to the floor. You look up at him, watching as he flings that dark shirt away, showing you the lean muscles that you’ve wondered about for so long. God, for someone so lanky, he looks fucking good. 

Tomura smirks at your expression and swiftly yanks his pants and boxers away too, revealing something even more mouthwatering. Fuck, fuck, you think, an involuntary gasp leaving your lips. His cock is thick, pulsing and absolutely dripping with his precum. The tip is a lovely pink, curving toward that chiseled stomach of his and damn, you want to suck on it until he’s putty in your hands. 

As if he can read your mind, Tomura steps closer, giving himself a few tugs as he peers down on you, imperious and almost perfectly in control. “You want it?” He asks, trying to hide that sudden shift in his voice, wanting to show you that he understands what you’re expecting from him. You nod and bite your lip, looking up at him from feathery eyelashes. 

“Come here,” he requests, slowing those pulls and letting his precum slip from his fist to the floor, tempting you with those tiny droplets of arousal. Obediently, you rise to your knees, fingers tracing up his thighs, smiling at the light buckling he gives you, his calves twitching and shaking. 

You tease your way to the apex of his hips and pause, lingering along that dip of his stomach. “Can I taste you?” you question coquettishly and you adore the moan that falls from his lips. 

Taking that as a yes, you slowly lower your mouth to him, ghosting the tip of him over you. Rubbing him back and forth, painting that thick precum over your lips until they’re glistening. Tiring of this little game, his fingers dip into your hair and he grips you, hard. With one pull, he’s burying that velvet heat of his length past the ring of your lips and into the sweet cavern of your mouth. His cock swells and throbs as you lap ravenous at the hefty weight of him.

He’s salty and earthy and you let your tongue swirl over his slit, lapping into that leaking gap until he’s murmuring nonsense over you. He’s almost too big for you to take, so one of your hands lifts and wraps around his base, easing your sucks and ensuring that none of him is left out of this gift of mind numbing ecstasy you’re bestowing upon him. 

There are several veins, racing along the side of his cock and you tickle along each of them, pressing until you can feel the beat of his heart, frantic and fluttering. Soon, he begins to silently ask you for more, rutting his hips against your face, scraping himself along the back of your throat. When you heave around him he lets out a loud, elongated moan and digs in again, lingering until you’re nearly choking. 

You chance a peek up at him and are surprised to see him gazing right back, those red eyes of his clouded and muddled. His hand keeps an insistent pressure against the back of your head, demanding that you keep going. So, you pick up the pace, lapping and sucking, hollowing your cheeks until a thin line of your drool begins to trickle along your chin, dripping onto your knees.

“Can...can I…” he begins, fingers starting to tremble, his knees buckling. No, that’s not what you want from him. You shake free of his hand, letting him slip from your mouth, and he stammers and sputters at the loss, his eyes narrowed and dark, glaring at you with a raw frustration. 

“No,” you tell him, keeping one hand on him, stroking him, maintaining that steady pressure until he’s grunting, his hips instinctively canting into the tantalizing motion. “No, you don’t ask me for anything. Yeah, I can finish you off, if you need me to take control, but it’s not going to be on your terms. If you’re wanting something Tomura, you better fucking take it. Stop asking me for permission. I’m not-- mmph--”

He rips your hand off of his dick and his fingers curl beside your ears, forcing your mouth back, and impaling you on his length, immediately gagging you on his heady thrusts. You inhale sharply, your breath catching, failing as he keeps railing into you. More saliva slides out of your lips and you falter, a weak whimper echoing around him. 

“Mmm,” he growls, holding your face as he presses against the back of your throat loving the clenching and mewls you give him. “That feels fucking good, (Y/N). Taking all of my cock, ah- fucking choking on it. You’re so fucking greedy. Don’t worry, I’ll give you more. Let’s see, what would make this even better, oh, I know. Saw it in a porn once. Put your hands behind your back and don’t move them unless I tell you to.”

Immediately, you clasp your fingers together, letting them rest against your lower back. The suspension knocks you off kilter, but Tomura braces your head with his other hand, pinning you between his palms. His dick is still lancing in and out of your mouth, scraping against your tonsils, making you swallow and open, trying to push yourself past that oppressive gagging sensation.

“Ahhh, such a good girl, now spread your legs and lift up, just a little bit, yes- right there. Better keep those hands still,” he taunts, pulling his cock out until it hangs against your lower lip, glimmering with the sheen of your ministrations. Then, he dives back in, thrusting and grinding until his balls are papping against your soaking chin. Your legs tremble as you hold yourself up and you can feel your own arousal, slipping down your inner thighs, splattering onto that dark trench coat of his. 

You’re heaving under him, grunting and slobbering trying to not fucking choke on the girth that’s being pistoned into you. He’s gasping praise at you, his white head thrown back, and his lower abdomen is rippling, letting you know he’s so, so close to spilling down your abused throat. He bows over you as he cums, spewing thick ropes of his release into you. You gulp at him, determined to let every last drop slither down your waiting throat, longing to savor everything that he’s giving you. 

True to your promise, you keep your hands clasped and you nearly topple over when he tugs free of your lips. Tomura takes pity on your wilted form and lowers himself to his knees, wrapping one hand around you and tapping twice on your shaking digits, letting you know you can relax your grip. You fall forward, and he waits above you, watching you with a mounting fascination. Once you catch your breath, you look up at him, not caring that you’re still covered in a mix of tears, spit and his cum. He smirks at your dishevelment, pleased by your open display of your wanton lust for him. 

“See? It’s not hard to take what you want, to do what you want,” you pant, still trying to gulp down a few more rough intakes of air.

Tomura sucks his teeth at your bravado, but you notice he’s having a little bit of trouble steading his own breathing and his hands are twitching as they reach for you. You hum when he cups at your dips and curves, lingering over spots that make you moan for him. As he plucks at one of your puckered nipples his eyes lift to yours and he leans close, pressing a wet line of kisses against your collarbone.

“Lay back,” he rumbles, still sucking at the hollow of your throat. You do as he says, propping yourself on your elbows, curious and waiting. He’s slowed down now that he’s slaked that first brush of pent up aggression, but he’s still got a little more to burn. You can see it, lingering behind his vermillion eyes, gleaming under the carnal intrigue. 

His fingers, so dangerous and deadly, race down your sides, falling to the juncture of your legs and dipping into the slick that he finds. He parts your folds, bracing himself over you, his lips sucking bruises into your skin. The gossamer threads of your leaking cunt run down his fingers and onto his open palm and he groans into your neck, nuzzling his nose to your skin and inhaling, deeply. 

“Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice scraping, like sandpaper, hoarse and undone along your heated cheek. Ok, you think, arching as he dips one digit into you, you can let him have that one question, especially when your mind is fogging over like this, unable to think of anything but that ache that’s pounding through your core. You roll your hips again, urging that finger to slip further and he hisses as you pull him in, your walls trembling at the intrusion. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, lifting himself to look down at you, his eyes wide with an awed marvel. “You’re so…”

“Mmm, so what?” you ask, wanting him to keep talking to you, loving rasp of his tone as it tells you such sinful things.

“So soft and warm and...God...so wet,” he replies, adding another finger, watching as you whine for him, your lower lips parting and welcoming him. He pumps the digits, in and out, at a steady rate, waiting for each quiver and ripple, trying to feel his way along, wanting to please you. 

“Can--” he stops himself, flushing as your eyes open and snap to his, a rough displeasure written over your face. He tears his gaze from yours and scowls, letting his fingers press a rougher rhythm into you, sucking his teeth at his unspoken inexperience. 

“This feels good,” you reassure him, not wanting to completely leave him adrift, knowing that he does need a little piece of guidance, for this part, at least. “Why don’t you get a closer look?” 

Tomura looks back to you and nods before sliding down your body, lowering himself until he’s face to face with his prize. His mouth drops and he licks at his chapped lips, painting a few, warm, exhales against your sensitive folds. You squirm at the sensation and he grins, leaning closer, his free hand spreading you for his inspection. 

“Is this…” his voice trails off and you can feel him wandering his way to just the right spot. When he lifts the fleshy hood of your clit and thumbs the distended pearl you gasp and shiver, your head falling back against his jacket, thumping against the floor. 

He laughs and you can feel him getting ready to swipe at you again, his thumb already slippery and near, the heat of it radiating against that sensitive bundle. “You like that,” he crows, repeating the motion until you’re writhing. “But—” he ponders, moving so his lips are pressed against you, resting on those sopping folds, waiting for you to look up at him. Once your head lifts and your eyes meet his, he lowers his mouth, sliding his tongue over you. 

“Oh,” you whisper, your hands automatically lifting and curling into his hair, threading the white tendrils along your palms. His tongue is rough and bumpy as it glides along, pausing to lap at some of your arousal. He smacks his lips at the taste, savoring the flavor before voraciously pressing back into you for more. When he pauses his explorations to give your clit a soft suck, you can’t help but flail, your back bowing and thighs tightening around his head. 

Tomura grunts at the rough treatment, prying your legs apart but not letting up on that suction, pleased he’s found something that makes you tremble to pieces in his hands. He’s always liked working you up, so it makes sense that, in this instance, he’s no different. 

His long digits are scraping into you, dragging along your quivering walls and spreading your cunt apart, leaking your arousal all over his jacket and onto his chin. He’s not satisfied yet, you’re not satisfied yet, so he keeps going, listening and watching, catching on to what makes you cry out his name, learning and adapting at an alarming speed. 

“T-Tomura,” you keen, your hips lifting, grinding yourself against his face, begging him to not stop. You feel a smirk lift his lips and his tongue begins to circle and lick over your clit, maintaining a steady pressure. Meanwhile, his fingers have latched onto something delicate and spongy within your pussy, repeating an arched gesture, curling and uncurling as they stroke your budding flames higher. 

“So good…” you murmur, hardly able to form the words as you feel that all encompassing tingle race along your bloodstream. “You’re doing so f-fucking good.” 

In response, he begins to suckle on your clit, lightly tracing a canine over the pulsing bundle and that’s all that it takes. Your head dips back, pressing into the floor so hard that your neck arches with your back and your legs wrap around him, holding him to you as you quiver and shake under him. You can feel your heartbeat as you return to yourself, thumping a rapid beat over your breastbone and radiating out to your fingers and toes. 

Tomura, for his part, hadn’t stopped lapping at you, his tongue replacing his fingers as he pushes the wet appendage into you, soaking up each wave of your release. Even when you’d dropped your death grip, your legs and arms flopping away from him, boneless and shaking, he’d kept on. After a few minutes of this, his lips suddenly feel a little too ragged, the chapped skin scratching against your sensitive, overstimulated, flushed lower lips. You do your best to wriggle away, but he stills your movements, not quite finished. 

“Ah- that...it’s starting to hurt,” you grouse, pushing a hand against his bowed head. That declaration seems to get through and, finally placated, he gives you one last lick and lifts his head, his eyes glinting down on you, dark and mischievous. 

“I want to fuck you,” he tells you, wiping a hand across his mouth, dragging the last of your essence away. You tilt your head and grin up at him. “So fuck me,” you reply, spreading your legs again, making room for his trim hips.

“Not like this,” he qualifies, his eyes hooded as he runs a hand along your leg, enjoying your skin, warm and pliant under his palm.

“Then how?” you ask, a little bewildered by this shift in attitude. Tomura leans up, resting on his haunches, leering at your nakedness, another smirk lifting his lips, arching that scar.

“Stand up,” he instructs. 

You pull your legs away and slowly rise to your feet, waiting for him to do the same. Once the two of you are eye level again, he tugs you to him, his lips pulling and nipping at yours. You can’t help but melt into his persistent touch and when he feels you slacken against him, he starts to push you backwards. He walks you slowly, carefully, but once your back touches the cold wall, his caresses become rougher, more insistent. 

He’s lifting your chin and his teeth are doing more biting than nipping, pulling at your lips until you’re gasping and swollen. He begins to lift away and you protest the movement, but his hand presses into your chest, shoving you back to the wall. You freeze at the forceful treatment, your eyes opening and fastening onto his. Waiting for his next move.

Tomura’s regained that wild look, his eyes hardening, sharpening like ruby slips of flint as they linger over you. “Turn around and brace your hands against the wall,” he commands and, for an instant, you debate pushing back, challenging his order, but that’s not what you’re here for. No, you’d come here with one thought in mind. 

To see if you could show him what choices, what strong inner drive, wholly independent of his Sensei, he did have. 

You’d watched that kidnapping debacle and all you could think about was how much better, how much stronger he’d be if he could just get out from under the thumb of that man, that voice on the tv. Even with this informal exercise of your own, Tomura had taken to your carnal lessons like a fish to water. He had always been a natural born leader, someone who cultivated and demanded change, he just needs a chance to try. A chance to prove that he didn’t need to ask permission, to ask questions. No, he only needed to act and he could make his aspirations a reality. 

So, you turn, splaying your fingers against the wall and waiting for his next move, tilting your head, wanting to see him. He runs a calloused hand over the plush swell of your ass, kneading the skin and stepping closer. Once his hips are flush with your posterior, he ruts his newly re-hardened cock against you, his ever copious precum aiding his motion, letting him glide between your cheeks, easing into that cleft. You groan and press back, wordlessly asking for him to keep going. 

Suddenly, his palm smacks against your ass, stinging the flesh and sending a sharp crack around the barren room. “I said, push out more. How am I supposed to fuck you when you’re plastered to the wall like that?” Tomura questions, his voice deep and guttural. You brace your hands against the peeling wallpaper and jut your ass out, presenting yourself to him, quietly hoping he’ll reward you with another spank. Pleased, Tomura does just that, his other hand lifting and smarting against your other, neglected cheek, imprinting his mark on you, even if it’s only for a brief moment, and his fingers linger on the warmth he’s raised from your skin. 

“Good girl,” he groans, taking his cock in his hand and searching for that weeping entrance to your waiting pussy. You aid him as best as you can, arching your hips until he finally, finally slips into you. Tomura lets out a deep sigh as your cunt devours his cock, slicking him into the heat of your rippling channel. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, pressing until his hips are flush with your ass, grinding his bony hipbone into your supple softness.

He gives you a brief second to adjust before he bows his head over your shoulder, panting and grunting. “Hold on,” he gasps, slowly pulling his hips back and then ramming his straining cock back into you. You mewl at the sudden ferocity of his thrusts, your head dipping against the steady weight of the wall. 

He offers you no reprieve as he pounds into you, his teeth latching onto your skin, sucking and drooling, losing himself in you. His balls tap against your swelled ass and you moan when he traces one hand around you, his fingers seeking your clit and pinching at the nub. 

Your teeth begin to chatter, but he doesn’t let up, maintaining that mind numbing pace, pressing and grinding until you can’t fucking think straight. He’s completely untethered and he slakes out all of those pent up questions, feelings, hurts and wants against you. After a time, he begins to murmur things to you, finally sucking up his loose tongue and resting his chin on the mess he’s left on your skin.

He’s worried he can’t do it. 

He’s never been alone, not like this. 

Sure, he has the others, he has Kurogiri, but it’s not the fucking same. 

He needs to see this through. 

He wants to, he has to.

Where do you go, when there’s no one else to turn to?

It’s like a confessional, this rutting he’s doing and it’s bleeding all of those thoughts away, letting them pool against the front of his mind and then, pop, they shift away. 

Oh this helps, he thinks, loving how you’re fucking taking him, how much you fucking need him. He can’t let you go. He can’t, he won’t. You’re all he has left. After all this, he can’t lose anything else. No, you were right, he’s gotta start taking things, snatching up pieces until he becomes this unstoppable force, greater than his Sensei, greater than All Might, greater than all of them. Yes, yes, yes, when he has you like this, everything else feels so fucking simple. 

He’s slowing, his hips beginning to stutter and press erratically against you. There’s no need to worry about you cumming for him, not when you’ve already broken around him so many times in the last few minutes. No, the second he started panting all of those thoughts against you, you were lost, your cunt gripping him so tightly you were worried it might never let go. 

Finally, with one last thrust, Tomura grinds his hips against you, his cock swelling and pulsing as he spills himself into you. The sensation of his cum splashing against your walls hurtles you over that edge one last time and you almost collapse, your legs shaking so badly you can't support your own weight. The only thing that prevents you from falling is Tomura. His arms snake around your waist and he holds you to him, his forehead resting heavily against your shoulder, sticking to your skin. 

After a long beat, Tomura pulls himself out of you, grunting at the loss of your warmth and sinks to the floor, dragging you with him. Naked and gasping, the two of you cling to the other, waiting for the world to stop spinning as you come back to yourselves. Tomura recovers first, tugging you to his chest and wrapping himself around you, his chin perched on the familiar slope of your shoulder.

“You didn’t...you didn’t need to do this, but...” Tomura halts, his voice soft as his lips press rough kisses to your skin, silently saying what he really means, what you mean to him.

“That’s not true,” you counter, turning your head toward him. “You deserve to make a choice for yourself. You’re your own boss now. Now all you have to do is act like it. Don’t make those mistakes again. You call the shots, not your Sensei, not anyone else in the League, just you. You’ll have other choices soon, so don’t doubt yourself, it’s not like you.”

He huffs out a laugh and buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent as he licks at a rising bruise. “I don’t think you’ll like my next choice,” he rumbles, one hand drifting over your side and cupping the soft mound of your breast.

“That depends on what it is,” you smile, your eyes closing at the tempting touch.

“Mmm, do me a favor,” he begins, nipping at your earlobe. “Get on your knees and open your mouth. You looked so fucking pretty when you were sucking on my cock, I wanna see it, one more time.”

“What?” you question, absolutely incredulous, “again?”

“Do as I say (Y/N),” he replies, rubbing his rising length along your ass.

“God,” you gasp, bucking at the sensation, “what have I done? At this rate, I won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“You’ll like it,” Tomura promises, his voice dark, “I’ll make sure that you do.”

Notes: never have i ever liked that kidnapping bullshit. i guess it lets AFO face off with All Might, but for Tomura’s development? it makes no sense and he’s never done anything like that again, in canon. so, uh, yeah. booo kidnapping scheme. 

Tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @yixxes, @ghstmthr, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

#asks #answered asks #pal muses #on Tomura’s dick #and his trauma #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #tomura x y/n #tomura x you #tenko shimura #shimura tenko #reader insert

[floating-mid-air]

The Princess Of All Saiyans

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Masterlist

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Hey guys! Chapter nine is here. And this one is a fun one. As always, I hope you enjoy. And if you have any comments or questions regarding this fic, feel free to let me know.

Also if you've been following this story for a while, then you'd know how inconsistent I am when I post chapters of this story. Sometimes it takes me two weeks to write another chapter, and other times it takes me an entire month. So if you're interested in being notified whenever I post a new chapter, you can join my tag list here.

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Chapter 9

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Vegeta and Raditz land simultaneously, both Saiyans carefully observing their surroundings. All of the Dragon Balls have remained in place, but that provides very little relief. There isn't a trace of your presence, not a footprint, not even a stray hair. "Y/N!" Raditz shouts at the top of his lungs. This was a severe mistake on his part. For his own sake, Raditz better hope the Ginyu force hasn't heard all of his commotion.

Vegeta paces back and forth, his hands knotted through his hair. "Relax, Vegeta. She couldn't have gotten far." Despite Raditz's calm words, his tone gives him away completely. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out that he's just as anxious as Vegeta. 

Raditz's advice doesn't seem to calm down the prince even a little. In fact, he only seems to grow more distraught. "Raditz, you don't understand. I never disclosed the location of the Dragon Balls to her."

Raditz furrows his brows at the smaller Saiyan. "What the hell, Vegeta!" Never in his wildest dreams did Raditz ever imagine himself shouting at the prince. He didn't even notice that Gohan and Krillin had joined them. Hopefully, they've picked up bits and pieces of the conversation because neither Saiyan has the patience to deal with their idiocy at the moment. "Just--- What the fuck were you thinking?" Raditz doesn't understand. How can Vegeta go from ordering someone to stay glued to your side at all times to leaving you to fend for yourself on a foreign planet? It's only been a few weeks. How can he have gone through such a drastic change in such a short amount of time?

"If I knew the Ginyu Force was coming, do you think I would've left her alone!" Their bickering is doing nothing to help. In fact, it's probably making the situation worse.

"Alright. How about you both calm down." Krillin decides to jump in and play peacemaker. "Y/N seems more than capable of taking care of herself. We need to focus on the threat. We need to get this over with and summon the dragon before something bad happens."

Both Saiyans turn to the smaller earthling, glaring daggers at him. "Who gives a damn about immortality right now! You don't know the first thing about my sister! So don't stand there all high and mighty and act like you do." Krillin hit a nerve, but it wasn't just in Vegeta. 

The earthling wants to revive his friends, but there is something he doesn't understand about Raditz. You've been the faint speck of light in his otherwise shitty world, the only friend the Saiyan has ever had. Even though he stood with his brother, you're still a priority over the resurrection of a handful of puny earthlings. 

"Interesting to see where your priorities lie, Geta!" Your legs have been sticking out of your handcrafted shelter the entire time. It's funny to see what details people miss while they're in a state of panic. You lean forward, revealing yourself to the abnormal group. Now your entire body hangs off the mountain.

Four sets of eyes look up at you, all with varying responses present on their features. "Oh, thank god," Vegeta whispers, at an octave low enough only for him to hear. Raditz places a hand on his chest, sighing in relief as Vegeta's features contort in displeasure. "What did I tell you about pulling shit like this? Get your ass down here!"

You jump down, landing in front of the Dragon Balls. This ensures that you maintain a safe distance away from your brother just in case he decides to kill you. "Don't get your panties in a twist."

Vegeta's nostrils flare, complemented with his entire body shaking with rage. "You scared me half to death." You expected a lecture, but he's not even raising his voice. You may have freaked him out more than you originally intended.

Your lips curve upwards. "That sounds like a you problem, big brother." Something is particularly satisfying about throwing his own words in his face.

"I suppose I deserved that." His features soften. "I'm just relieved that you're alright."

Raditz walks over to you, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "Well, what did I do to deserve that scare?" 

"Collateral damage Raditz. Call it a happy accident."

"Enough of the chit-chat. Now let's---" Vegeta cuts himself off as you all lookup. You can sense the Ginyu Force, and they're heading straight for you. You grab Raditz, pulling him into the homemade cave. The others were facing the Dragon Balls. There would've been no time for them to get up here as well. Your higher altitude could be used to your advantage since you'll have the element of surprise. 

It's a bit cramped, but when you created the cave. You never expected to share the space with a Saiyan of Raditz's size. He takes up more space than you and Vegeta combined. You both watch the Ginyu Force land in front of a trembling Gohan, a frozen Krillin, and an aloof Vegeta. You really hope the Genius Force doesn't do those god-awful poses. You've already been traumatized enough for the week.

You decide to keep a close eye on Captain Ginyu, who is currently exchanging pleasantries with your brother. Well, as pleasant as it can get for two beings who are about to murder each other in cold blood. Followed by murmurings from various members of the Ginyu Force and Recoome's delayed laughter. "Just hand over the Dragon Balls, Vegeta. No need to make this any harder than it has to be." Vegeta's posture remains stiff. It's clear your brother isn't going to budge. Their little group is going to have to pry that orb from his dead body. "Come on, Vegeta, be a sport. We already have five." He gestures to the spheres behind him. That means Frieza will have five. Can you really trust those neanderthals to hold onto their Dragon Balls? No, you were raised to trust no one's capabilities but your own, not even Vegeta's. 

Jeice looks around, his green eyes scanning around the area. "Where's that gorgeous sister of yours, Vegeta?"

Vegeta glares at the red man. "Even if my sister was here. I doubt she'd be interested, Jeice. I mean, she never has been." Oh, your brother knows all about your history with the mutant Brench-seijin. He's overly flirty, and you reject him. It was a vicious never-ending cycle. If Vegeta had no self-control, he would've murdered him years ago for even looking in your direction. In his eyes, Jeice is unworthy of a woman of your status.

"Well, with Raditz out of the picture, there's no chance for Saiyan offspring. So I figured I'd shoot my shot." You cringe. You're not sure which idea is more repulsive, a relationship with Jeice or procreating with Raditz.

"Even if you were the last man in the universe. My sister wouldn't so much as glance in your direction." Vegeta and Jeice continue going back and forth as an idea pops in your head. This may be your only opportunity to get your hands on a Dragon Ball. You're only chance to put a fork in Frieza's plans for immortality. 

You silently climb out of the cave, dropping to the ground. The others can unmistakably see you, but they make no expressions alerting the Ginyu Force of your presence. You grab the closest orb before promptly flying back to the cave. Call this your insurance policy for when Krillin and Vegeta ultimately screw up. You escaped that entirely undetected. Is the term elite just thrown around loosely in the Frieza Force? Because that's what you're starting to think.

You hand the Dragon Ball to Raditz, directing your gaze back outside. "Those scouters of yours can't detect Dragon Balls, can they?" It was a rhetorical question. Vegeta knows they don't have that type of technology yet. You know how your brother thinks, and this is a faulty plan on his part. "Then you lose!" Vegeta pivots, launching the ball at an alarming speed. It would be a fatal blow to the head if it hit someone. 

Burter takes off, chasing after the orb. He flips in the air, catching the ball with ease. You swear, Vegeta can be such a dumbass sometimes. He knows Burter rivals you in speed. He may even be a bit faster than you.  

You shake your head, turning to Raditz, lowering your voice to a whisper. "Here's the plan. When I formulate a distraction, you're going to take the Dragon Ball and get the hell out of here. And Raditz, go hide the damn thing, somewhere no one will find it." He grins from ear to ear, causing you to glare at him. You know how this moron thinks by now. "And do not hide it with that Earth woman. That will just get her killed."

"What if that's my intention?"

"I don't think little brother Kakarot would be very pleased with you, but it's your call." You stand in silence for a moment, your piercing gaze lingering on the Saiyan. "Though, I can assure you. If Frieza gets his hands on that Dragon Ball. I'll kill you. In the most graphic and painful way, I can imagine." He gulps nervously, rapidly shaking his head in understanding. To Raditz, you're the only life form that can still sound menacing while whispering. 

You revert your vision back to the little gathering outside. And as you assumed, Krillin lost his Dragon Ball as well. Ginyu decides to take Vegeta for himself, which doesn't go over well with his team. They're acting like a bunch of children. It's almost comical. "Fine." The Captain sighs. "I'll take the Dragon Balls back to Lord Frieza. You all can sort this out amongst yourselves." They chant Ginyu's name a few times. They kinda remind you of a cult.

The four lower members of the Ginyu force move to stand in a circle. "So the winner gets Vegeta. And for second place---" Guldo is cut off by Recoome.

"The rest. Make the two runts a set. Together they'll be more equal to Vegeta." Oh, that can't be going over well with your brother. The fact that Recoome would declare that those two are his equals must be sending his blood pressure through the roof. 

They begin playing rock paper scissors. This must be how they decide their battles. It's like a game to them. Every single match ends in a draw. At this rate, you could be stuck up here forever. 

You doze off until you hear Recoome cheering. The endless match must have finally ceased. "Ya! I get Vegeta!" Fate can be an amusing thing sometimes. Vegeta must be ecstatic, getting to show the moron just how much stronger he is than those pathetic runts. 

"Of course, I'm stuck with the runts." Guldo wines. He's the last creature who should be referring to anyone as a runt. You could squash that little freak like a bug.

Ginyu approaches the Dragon Balls, picking them up with his telekinesis. He counts them before snapping his head toward the dumbest member of the Ginyu Force. "Recoome! There's only four here!"

Recoome scratches the back of his neck, that classic confused look on his face. "I'm sorry, Captain Ginyu. I thought I counted five."

Jeice turns to his superior. "I told you we shouldn't have trusted him with counting the Dragon Balls."

The Captain takes a deep breath, attempting to keep his composure. "It doesn't matter. I'll search for the missing Dragon Ball. It's probably with Y/N anyway." He takes off, heading in the direction of Frieza's ship. Well, that takes out your major concern. The others are child's play compared to Ginyu.

You pay minimum attention to Guldo's battle with Krillin and Gohan. You're more focused on finding an opening for a distraction. You begin to notice significant holes in their fight. Guldo will be in one area and then magically appear in another, and he's not teleporting. If he was, you would've been able to track his movements. Could the rumors about that green freak be true? Can he really pause time? They must be. That's the only feasible explanation. So under the assumption that Guldo can stop time, the earthlings don't even stand a chance. No matter what they do, that four-eyed freak will always remain one step ahead of them. 

You do, however, pick up on something. Guldo appears to hold his breath before every skip in time. That must be a limitation in his abilities to pause time. So if those two can somehow prevent him from holding his breath, they should be able to best him. You know what, scratch that. Those two probably haven't picked up on his abnormal behaviors.

Though, the earthlings do appear to have the advantage at the moment. And the rest of the Ginyu Force won't let Guldo forget it. They're heckling him so loud that you can hear them clearly from all the way up here. Guldo's kinda like the Raditz of the group, just a lot less respected. 

Guldo tosses the pair up into the air as a strange yellow light surrounds them. He's claiming it's a paralysis attack. That doesn't sound good for the earthlings. 

Krillin and Gohan struggle almost as if they were trapped in invisible bindings. As far as you can tell, they're immobile. If Guldo felt the need to resort to such dire tactics, he must think that he can't take out the pair any other way. So when the earthling and the half-breed combine their strength, they're mightier than Guldo. That's quite impressive considering how weak they were back on Earth.

"Now I'm gonna show you what happens when you embarrass me in front of the boys." You clench your fists, your nails digging into your palms, as you watch Guldo intently. As much as you hate to admit it, you're going to need those two runts. So if Guldo were to kill them, it would be very unfavorable. He uses another mind trick to pull a tree from the ground, using the bottom end as a makeshift spear. He points the weapon at the pair, taunting them. He's gonna impale them with a fucking stick. What a pathetic way to go.

You do wonder why Vegeta hasn't intervened yet. He's never played by their rules before. So what's stopping him now? Your brother may simply believe that Gohan and Krillin deserve to die. For not adhering to his warning regarding the weakest link of the Ginyu Force. It's not below Vegeta to be that petty. You can't blame him though, those two fools have no sense of self-control.

The slimy green creature's obnoxious cackling invades your ears. Honestly, Guldo's just pissing you off more than he was before.

Amidst the chaos, you jump out of the cave, flying a bit to distance yourself from suspicion. You shoot a purple beam at Guldo, efficiently decapitating him. Raditz seems to have gotten the message since he checked out with the Dragon Ball sometime during the commotion. He better hide that thing somewhere safe because his life depends on it.

"Did you really think I'd let a creature as pathetic as Guldo kill anything with a drop of Saiyan blood!" Your voice booms causing all eyes to land on you. You place a hand on your chest, fixating your gaze on the Ginyu Force. "I'm hurt that you didn't include me in your little game."

"Oh, our apologies Y/N." Jeice's thick accent invades your ears. "We should have assumed. Wherever Vegeta is, you're always somewhere nearby."

You swear you can hear faint grumbling. You just can't quite locate the source. Your eyes scan over the ground until you discover the origin of the sound. Long story short, it was Guldo's severed head. So his species can survive decapitation, good to know. "Defeated by a damn Saiyan. And the weaker one at that." You could run circles around that little freak. If you went head to head, he wouldn't even be considered a challenge. Guldo's giving himself far too much credit.

Vegeta chuckles darkly. "Well, don't worry." He strides over to the talking head. "You won't have to deal with that shame for long." Vegeta finishes the job, eliminating that embarrassment of the group of supposed elite warriors. 

The three remaining members complain about Guldo's demise, but it's not for the reason you may think. They're more upset about the impact his absence will have on their ridiculous pose. You wish you could say you were surprised, but you've known those idiots far too long to believe anything else.

The half-breed and earthling walk over to you, identical expressions of gratitude apparent on their faces. "We owe you one, Y/N." You roll your eyes at Krillin. It was a simple business decision. And it was nothing more than that. 

Gohan nods in agreement. "Ya, thanks." You cringe at his gratitude. Why are they thanking you? You killed Guldo for your own selfish reasons.

"Your lives had nothing to do with it." Well, at least Krillin's. If Guldo did kill the half-breed, it would've been an embarrassment to your entire race in hell. "I needed a distraction. I saw an opportunity."

"She's right, so pull yourselves together. Your lives are incredibly insignificant to us." Vegeta's lying. Your brother knows you need them. He's just far too prideful to admit it.

Burter turns to Jeice, morphing his hands to prepare for another excruciating match of rock paper scissors. "Alright, Jeice. Winner gets the Princess, and the loser gets stuck with the two runts."

Jeice shakes his head. "No, Y/N's all yours." He turns to you, his green eyes meeting your own. "I could never lay a hand on a lady as fine as the Princess." You suppress a gag, deciding to keep your mouth shut. If you were to respond, there's a good chance you could end up fighting both of them.

Burter furrows his brows at his comrade. "Are you sure?"

"Ya, go crazy, Burter." It's actually a reasonable match-up. You and Burter both have incredible speed. I guess you'll finally find out who's faster.

Now with Guldo out of the picture, it's Recoome's turn to fight Vegeta. He reminds you a bit of Nappa. Since he lacks any form of self-control. His punches at your brother are erratic. He even almost hits you, Krillin, and Gohan several times. If Recoome were to hit Krillin with that kind of force, there's no doubt in your mind that it would be a fatal blow.

"Don't go killin them all yourself!" Jeice is second in command to Ginyu, so his authority over Recoome makes sense. "I get the two runts, and Burter get's the Princess of the monkeys." One minute Jeice is flirting with you. The next, he's demeaning you. Talk about mixed signals.

You watch Recoome and Vegeta trade punches, and it's starting to lack any value of entertainment. Vegeta's covered in blood while Recoome's armor is chipped, and he's now missing tufts of hair.

You begin to grow impatient. This will be the first time you've been challenged in a while. "Yo, Burter! Let's just get this over with now. We'll make this battle a double feature." 

"Fine with me." The two of you distance yourselves from Recoome and Vegeta, commencing your battle as well.

Their gazes flicker back and forth between both battles. They were so enthralled in the action that neither Gohan nor Krillin noticed that Raditz had joined them. 

Gohan and Krillin stick to the sidelines. They're in no hurry to fight Jeice. Even though he's significantly smaller than Recoome and Burter, Krillin doesn't think Jeice's smaller size will give them any sort of advantage. 

"Raditz?" Jeice looks far from pleased. He's always been jealous of the Saiyan. Not for his strength, rather the envy stems from Raditz's luscious mane of hair. It took Jeice several years to grow his hair to an adequate length, while that fool was born with that full head of hair. Raditz meets his gaze, an arrogant smirk overtaking his features. As he waves at the green-eyed man mockingly. "But--- Y/N said you ran off!"

Mid-battle, you turn to Jeice. Without even looking, you still manage to keep up with Burter. "I'm a compulsive liar, Jeice! It's a nasty habit."

Jeice huffs, crossing his arms at the largest Saiyan. "Raditz is mine. I'm throwing him in with the two runts." A chuckle escapes your lips. He's underestimating what the three of them could accomplish together. Jeice is letting his own petty feelings cloud his judgment. How arrogant.

Krillin's brows furrow as his eyes linger on you. There's something that isn't quite adding up. He turns to Raditz and Gohan, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Hey, guys. I've been thinking about something. Remember back on Earth how Vegeta said that Saiyans get stronger after battle. Well, Vegeta's gotten stronger after several fights, but do you see Y/N? She's still able to effortlessly keep up. Even though she's barely lifted a finger. How is that possible?" The earthling's eyes widen as the gears begin to shift in his head. "Unless. Is she stronger---"

Raditz's hand covers Krillin's mouth, lowering his voice to a deadly whisper. "Silence, you earthling. Keep that big mouth of yours shut."

Krillin's teeth sink into his captor's hand, successfully freeing himself from the Saiyan's clutches. Several muffled phrases of obscenity escape Raditz's lips as he rapidly shakes his hand in an attempt to soothe the pain. "She is. Isn't she?" The look on Raditz's face told Krillin all he needed to know. "But you knew that already, and I bet you know why too. I wonder how Vegeta would feel about this?" His last sentence was clearly a passive-aggressive threat toward both you and Raditz. The earthling wouldn't be dumb enough to follow through with that threat, would he?

Raditz scowls at Krillin. How dare this pathetic little weasel attempt to threaten him. "Not a word to Vegeta. If you value your life. I'd stop talking now. Vegeta doesn't know, and it would be very unfavorable if he found out, for all of us." His tone shifts, his eyes flashing with vulnerability. "Something bad happened to us as children, and Vegeta still doesn't know about it." He returns to his menacing demeanor, your shared childhood trauma getting pushed to the back of his mind becoming yet again a distant memory. "So you will stop your absurd thoughts now. Or I can assure you. The second you resurrect your feeble friends, I will single-handedly slaughter them, and then you will follow." Krillin gulps, nodding in fear. He better pray Vegeta heard none of their conversations because he has a feeling Raditz will stick to his word.

Raditz thinks he knows all your secrets, but he's only aware of the tip of the iceberg. Below the surface lies pain and suffering the older Saiyan could never imagine from you. You keep these secrets to protect him, to protect Vegeta, and most importantly, to protect yourself. But if either of them were to find out the truth, your life as you know it would come crashing down. If they were to find out your greatest shame, your pride would be in shambles, and they would know the truth. You're just a weak Saiyan who's an embarrassment to her family name.

You're not exactly sure how much time has passed. You've completely blocked out the entirety of your surroundings, remaining focused on your battle with Burter. You can't joke around as you did back on Earth. There's no room for error today.

The two of you take turns beating the absolute hell out of each other. If you keep this up, there will be no end to this anytime soon. You shriek, spiking up your energy substantially. Burter's eyes bug out as his scouter explodes. Those pieces of junk are really no match to this energy-sensing technique. 

Even though you've blocked out your surroundings, you know the two of you have moved a significant distance away from the others. You could even be on the other side of the planet by now. In the back of your mind, you can't help but worry about your brother especially, now that you're so far away. Recoome may be an idiot, but he's a strong one. You have to remain focused. You can't help Vegeta if you don't help yourself first.

You begin to get the edge over Burter. Now he's attempting to block your attacks, but due to his large size, he's failing horribly. A couple more blows, and you'll finally be able to knock him down. You've taken down guys much larger than Burter, creatures who were triple his size. 

Over the years, you've learned to use your smaller size to your advantage. Making your opponent's sheer size more of a nuisance than a strength. Burter begins to struggle further. He's now barely able to keep up with you. "I'm the fastest being in the universe! How can one of you monkeys be faster than me?" You scowl at him, finding no humor in his statement as rage boils inside of you. 

Unknown to you, you and Burter aren't alone. Goku has been watching your battle in awe for quite some time now. He knows he should've left to find the others, but he just couldn't help it. He can't take his eyes off of you. This is the first time he's seen you fight, and you're much stronger than the Earthbound Saiyan believed.

Your fists clench as your entire body convulses in rage. It's not often you'll lose your temper like this. Goku swears that he saw your irises flash a shade of red. He rubs his eyes, glancing back at you. Your eyes have returned to normal. Maybe Goku is just seeing things. If you knew someone was watching, you would've kept your temper in check. 

Burter sends a blast of your energy your way. Which you dodge by teleporting behind him. You use all of your body weight to knock him down to the ground. You won't mock him like you typically do after defeating a foe. You won't take the chance of giving him an opening to strike back. In the palm of your hand, you create an orb of energy, disintegrating his head. Successfully, taking out your second member of the great Ginyu Force.

You fall to your knees, desperately gasping for air, before grabbing your side, wincing in excruciating pain. Damn, Burter must have nicked you good. You look to your side, noticing just how much blood has leaked through your armor. This is gonna be an issue, though you've fought through worse. You stand back up to check your body for any further damage. There seems to be no other physical damage to your form. Your armor is a bit ripped, though. 

"Wow! You're really strong." You gasp, moving your fist, aiming it at whoever is in front of you. They swiftly catch your fist, preventing you from attacking. Their grip is secure enough to stop you from escaping, yet at the same time pleasantly gentle.

You move your gaze upwards, finally gathering the courage to look them in the eye. Your brows furrow as Goku's dumb face enters your field of vision. "God, Kakarot! When the hell did you get here?" You shake yourself out of his grasp, taking a few steps back, putting some distance between you two.

"A while ago." He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "I got distracted by your fight." So he was observing you the whole time. Why does that make you feel incredibly self-conscious?

"Of course you did." You sigh, moving several strands of hair out of your face. Goku steps closer to you, bringing his hand to meet your forehead. It's so big that it takes up the entirety of your forehead and even the top of your head. "Kakarot. What the hell are you doing?"

"Just be quiet for a second." It's official. Goku has lost what was left of his mind. "So it is true. You guys are working together. And that Frieza guy is a much bigger deal than I thought." How does he know about all of that? And why is he still touching you?

You slap his arm, convincing him to remove his hand. "And why's that?"

"Because you're afraid of him."

Your face flushes. "I'm not scared of Frieza. I'm not afraid of anything." Your cross your arm, averting his gaze.

"Yes, you are." He pouts. "I saw it." Kakarot saw it? How the hell--- Did Kakarot acquire the ability to read thoughts? Is that even possible?

You decide to divert his mind from his accusations. Knowing Kakaort, that shouldn't be hard at all. "Since when can you read minds?"

He rubs his chin, lost deep in thought. "I don't know--- I just had a feeling."

"Well, let's go. And new rule." You bring your hand up, pointing your index finger at the buffoon. "Stay out of my thoughts!"

He holds up his hands in surrender, nodding. "Are we gonna go find that Captain Ginyu guy?"

"No. We have to go make sure that Recoome and Jeice haven't killed the others first. Don't bite off more than you can chew." Goku has this aura around him. You can tell he's gotten stronger. He just needs to learn how to get his priorities in order.

Okay. All you have to do is pin down someone's energy. There are at least four sources to choose from, so this should be fairly simple. You shut your eyes. This should help you concentrate adequately. 

"Ohh, what's that?"

Your head snaps toward Goku. "What?" You swear the man has an attention span equivalent of an insect.

He bends down, observing the ground intently. "It's like a green string."

"A green--- Kakarot! Don't!" But you were too late. He's already yanked the tripwire.

The ground concaves beneath you, causing you to lose your footing as the two of you fall down into the pit. You fall on top of Goku. Unintentionally straddling the Saiyan. And if you thought this situation couldn't get any more awkward, you'd be wrong. Goku's arms are wrapped securely around your waist, holding you in place. Your heart feels like it's beating out of your chest. And your face feels like it's been set aflame. As your eyes lock, your face only turns a deeper shade of crimson. "D-Don't touch me!" You're stuttering. What the hell is happening to you?

His brows furrow. "You're the one who fell on top of me!"

"It's not my fault." His classic pout spreads across his lips. "How was I supposed to know that the ground would collapse?" 

"W-Well, you're the reason we're in this mess!" You stand up, wanting to get as far away from Goku as possible. You don't like the way you feel around him. The only time your pulse should be racing like this is during combat.

"Well, it wouldn't be called a trap if you could see it!"

"I don't get why you're so mad. Can't we just fly out?"

You snicker as your lips curve upward. "Give it a shot, Kakarot." You know it won't work, but at least his failures will provide you with some quality entertainment. It would be a pretty pathetic trap if you could simply fly out. Goku flies up, slamming his head on the invisible barrier. You break out into a fit of laughter as he falls back down. Goku jumps back up, rubbing the back of his head. "Ouch. Did you know that would happen?" Your giggling dies down as Goku begins looking around the hole. "How did this place even get here? Is this Frieza's work?"

"No. It's definitely the work of the Namekians. Frieza wouldn't be able to formulate something so elaborate in the amount of time he's had. Besides that dictator never does any of his own dirty work."

"Well, let's just sit back and relax. I'm sure we'll be fine. Someone will have to find us eventually." He has such a laid-back attitude. Maybe another alien baby crash-landed on Earth. Because with every second that passes, you're finding it harder to believe that Goku has Saiyan ancestry. 

"Oh, ya, let's just relax." You mock him. "While the others are probably getting chopped up into little pieces by the remnants of the Ginyu Force as we speak!"

"Why are you always so negative?" Is he serious? Do you have to spell out why this is potentially a very dire situation? You'd think he would show more concern for his son.

Your hands meet the sides of your head. You're practically yanking your hair out at this point. To say you're frustrated would be an understatement. "God, why am I constantly getting trapped in enclosed spaces with your idiotic bloodline! First, it was your spawn, then it was your moronic brother, and now I'm stuck with you. And you're somehow the worst of them all!" Goku just stands in front of you like a statue with that goofy smile plastered on his face. "And stop smiling when I yell at you!" 

Being stuck down here with Kakarot will be the ultimate test of your willpower----

-

Will the others make it to Y/N and Goku in time? Or will Y/N kill Goku before they even get the chance? Find out in the next chapter of The Princess of All Saiyans!

#goku #goku x reader #saiyan reader #vegeta #vegeta's sister #dbz fanfiction #dbz x reader #dragon ball x reader #dragon ball z #The Princess of All Sayians

[oh-for-fic-sake]

April Teaser Collection!

Here is the  latest peek at my stuff sitting on my pc that will hopefully be finished over the next few weeks. I hope you find something that tickles your pickle. below the cut are The Stand In, It’s A Match, Deliverance, Mans False God, Gloria Regali.

But instead of being managing to be all sneaky and close the door hiding henry in your room like a naughty teen with her boyfriend Henry was up and awake.

"Aha! Gotcha! Who said you could sneak out of bed this morning baby? I was lonely with out you~" you screamed and just about jumped out of your skin as Henry wrapped himself around you from behind dragging you back into him, nuzzling into your neck pressing an open mouthed kiss to it. Your shout of surprize had silenced both of the women's chatter making them jump, even Kal came darting back in gruffing as he leapt up the stairs heckles and tail raised and growling on high alert. Fuck.

"now why cant i get a good morning like that?" Tee giggled crossing her arms at the both of you, your mother eyed you both with a knowing grin and hummed agreeing. Henry snapped his head up and gulped. Fuck. You and henry stood still for a few seconds far to shocked at being caught with your pants down so to speak. You shifted on your feet but henry held you still hands on your hips using you to shield his nude form from your guests he hadn't known were there.

"O-oh shit- err good morning ladies!" He said turning red his voice higher than usual as he shuffled backward taking you with him. As he tried saving his modesty, he didn't take the covers with him because- well he had thought it was only you on the bus!

"I err- shit i didn't see you there... Sorry about almost flashing you both like that..." he said with an uneven tone tip toeing back into the room, still holding you at his crotch hiding the once half hard- now softening cock.

"Good girl, where's your mother? Hmm? Your not supposed to be out and about alone are you?" Henry spoke slowly digging his fingers into the dense soft fur managing to find and hold the collar below the thick fur, then he leant down scooping up the lead what was still attached to her. Kal grunted and sat on the floor leaning his weight on henry's leg. Henry looked down and patted Kal scratching his ears chuckling. Kal's eyes still wide taking in the larger dog in front of him, it was comical Kal was used to being the biggest bear... but he was a good four to five inches shorted then this magnificent grey floofer.

"Kal, you okay there bud?... year she really is big isn't she, you best behave don't want her telling you off do you?" He spoke slowly calming both pups... and gosh did Kal look like a pup compared to her. Slowly both dogs leaned towards one another sniffing the air then with a happy yip Amii began licking kal... like a pup. Henry burst out laughing it was too sweet watching Amii sniff around his bear, whilst Kal sent his human a look clearly pleading for help as this new huge female smothered him with affection. But henry wasn't falling for it, Kal was wagging his tail just as excited to make a new freind.

Honestly henry was glad, akitas were fickle. They either liked you or they didn't. He got the feeling Kal would like this gentle giant for now he was a little awe struck over being smaller then something.

"Clark? Clark come and help me- I cant reach the milk! Its at the back again!" Martha said quietly you smiled. It took a lot of coaxing but you had indeed tried what Clark had explained as 'cow juice' and had developed a taste for it. So Martha had promised you milk every day if you liked. Which you did like. A lot. Clark pressed another kiss to you and walked off towards the milk refrigerators expecting you to follow.

You made to follow but a sweet scent hit you and you stopped mid step. It was wonderful and ripe, sweet and succulent. You pivoted and followed without much thought. Your feet found there way twisting around the display of 'leafy greens' to a bright colourful isle. You salivated at the smells. There were so many intoxicating scents you didn't know what to look at first.

You pressed a hand on a small net package full of strange green fuzzy balls. Kiwi's? You read and scrunched your face up at the peculiar name. Then plucked the bag up and held it to your nose sniffing. They smelled divine, like a type of food from home. Okriin a small soury sweet treat given to children on their birthing date. You sniffed again and almost cried. It was so similar but so different sweeter and fuller in the scent. You cautiously sniffed again and closed your eyes before tentativly prodding it with your tongue wanting to see if it tasted the same.

"y/n? Y/n?!- oh god there you are? What are you doing? You almost gave me a heart attack" Clark said racing towards you his mother behind him with the cart. He slid to a stop and blinked at you. As you scrunched up your nose.

"the texture of these are... Not very nice?" you said naively moving for the fruit again sticking your tongue out once more trying to discern if it was edible like this. Clark moved quickly gasping holding your hands that had the.. Kiwi's in it.

"no no.. No we- you don't eat them like that... You peel them and eat the inside, and we don't lick things in the shop okay?" he explained plucking the fruit from you and placed them in the cart, Martha chuckled into her chest she couldn't help it, you were extremely cute.

Kal proped himself up on his side and smiled sadly nodding. He knew. He knew the state they found you in was their fault. Thats why he was so adamant to look after you now to... make amends in a way. You'd proved you could barely survive on your own. But Kal was also angry; angry that you'd been abandoned, he had thought Bruce would atleast put something in place to look after you but he hadn't. Bruce hadn't helped you, he to busy saving his own skin and trying to fight him and the new regime. But he was more angry at himself you had been alone, with no means to protect yourself or really survive. And he should have known! He should have realised you were scared, that you would stay away from the new citizen system he put in place. That you'd fear being caught and killed like many of the others.

"I know, but we have her now... its going to be better now, we are going to right the wrongs love... we can give her the best life  look after her and nothing will ever hurt our little one again" his voice was strained his face in firm lines, hard and stone like. He truly was a god, carved in marble. Perfect. Diana nodded laying back curling herself around you. Kal drew a deep breath and shuffled closer winding his arms around his family, holding both his girls.

He chuckled when you grunted pouting in your sleep when he sandwiched you between Diana and himself. Trying to wriggle fee from the group hug.  But once again you settled after a few moments relaxing as you were now being warmed from both sides a small smile graced your face. Kal grinned and nuzzled the back of your head pressing chaste kisses to your bed ridden hair, he felt at peace having you here with him. And he meant what he said no one will ever touch his little babygirl.

"what wrong? Whats going on?" you spoke quietly trying not to stare at the clearly sick monarch. You didn't want to see it, you didn't want to think of the implications of the illness he was clearly suffering.

"nothing gets past you does it my girl?" your father spoke jovially trying to lighten the mood but failed miserably, his chuckles dying off fairly quickly and he heaved a sigh. Your uncle broke the silence and your fathers hand slid to yours under the table and squeezed your fingers tightly trying to reassure you.

"I have summoned you here to discuss something that... Is very serious and the outcome will change the lives of many people. This is something.. I wished I could hold off but I'm afraid I cannot firefly" you bit your lip and braced yourself. This was bad news you could tell. A part of you thought for a moment of marriage, your gut churned at the thought and you felt sick all of a sudden. Where you being married off as a pawn? It was likely, it still happened even in this day and age it was just covered up with fairytale romance... Story book meetings and courtships, when in reality you were told that your to marry and that was the end of it.

"Y/n you are royalty. You were born in to a royal blood line that has ruled over this kingdom for nearly four centuries... And now it is time for you to take your place within it and do your duty" your father stated in his 'work' voice for the time being he was not your father, he was a prince. Heir to the throne and head of your family. And you were to listen and obey.

"You want to give me duties as a working royal?" you said sitting straighter only quivering slightly. You dreaded this, the publicity the duty and responsibility that you'd managed to avoid so far. But you knew one day you would have to take your place.

"yes dear. We need you. Now" your father said urgently, but there was something off. Like he was holding back, fearfull in a sense and it was not like him.

"Of course i will. Father I'm no fool I understand what my position requires of me and i will serve my country. You need only ask and I will obey. I only ask that i be given time to sort things out with the university security and such would need to be increased if they are having a working royal on campus-"

"I'm afraid its not as simple as that we... Are asking you to put your studying off" your uncle interrupted you making you frown. What? You furrowed your brow and made to shake your head but paused. It made sense... If you were to come and take on duties then the media may go wild and cause an uproar... They could cause issues on campus

"How long for?" you asked trying your hardest not to frown at your father and uncle

"Indefinitely.." the king replied holding your gaze firmly. it was then you knew this was serious, more so then anything you’d experienced before.

#oh for fic sake teaser #oh for fic sake fic #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #clark kent x you #superman x you

[hellomynameisbisexual]

Here's a shortlist of those who realized that I — a cis woman who'd identified as heterosexual for decades of life — was in fact actually bi, long before I realized it myself recently: my sister, all my friends, my boyfriend, and the TikTok algorithm.

On TikTok, the relationship between user and algorithm is uniquely (even sometimes uncannily) intimate. An app which seemingly contains as many multitudes of life experiences and niche communities as there are people in the world, we all start in the lowest common denominator of TikTok. Straight TikTok (as it's popularly dubbed) initially bombards your For You Page with the silly pet videos and viral teen dances that folks who don't use TikTok like to condescendingly reduce it to.

Quickly, though, TikTok begins reading your soul like some sort of divine digital oracle, prying open layers of your being never before known to your own conscious mind. The more you use it, the more tailored its content becomes to your deepest specificities, to the point where you get stuff that's so relatable that it can feel like a personal attack (in the best way) or (more dangerously) even a harmful trigger from lifelong traumas.

For example: I don't know what dark magic (read: privacy violations) immediately clued TikTok into the fact that I was half-Brazilian, but within days of first using it, Straight TikTok gave way to at first Portuguese-speaking then broader Latin TikTok. Feeling oddly seen (being white-passing and mostly American-raised, my Brazilian identity isn't often validated), I was liberal with the likes, knowing that engagement was the surefire way to go deeper down this identity-affirming corner of the social app.

TikTok made lots of assumptions from there, throwing me right down the boundless, beautiful, and oddest multiplicities of Alt TikTok, a counter to Straight TikTok's milquetoast mainstreamness.

Home to a wide spectrum of marginalized groups, I was giving out likes on my FYP like Oprah, smashing that heart button on every type of video: from TikTokers with disabilities, Black and Indigenous creators, political activists, body-stigma-busting fat women, and every glittering shade of the LGBTQ cornucopia. The faves were genuine, but also a way to support and help offset what I knew about the discriminatory biases in TikTok's algorithm.

My diverse range of likes started to get more specific by the minute, though. I wasn't just on general Black TikTok anymore, but Alt Cottagecore Middle-Class Black Girl TikTok (an actual label one creator gave her page's vibes). Then it was Queer Latina Roller Skating Girl TikTok, Women With Non-Hyperactive ADHD TikTok, and then a double whammy of Women Loving Women (WLW) TikTok alternating between beautiful lesbian couples and baby bisexuals.

Looking back at my history of likes, the transition from queer “ally” to “salivating simp” is almost imperceptible.

There was no one precise "aha" moment. I started getting "put a finger down" challenges that wouldn't reveal what you were putting a finger down for until the end. Then, 9-fingers deep (winkwink), I'd be congratulated for being 100% bisexual. Somewhere along the path of getting served multiple WLW Disney cosplays in a single day and even dom lesbian KinkTok roleplay — or whatever the fuck Bisexual Pirate TikTok is — deductive reasoning kind of spoke for itself.

But I will never forget the one video that was such a heat-seeking missile of a targeted attack that I was moved to finally text it to my group chat of WLW friends with a, "Wait, am I bi?" To which the overwhelming consensus was, "Magic 8 Ball says, 'Highly Likely.'"

Serendipitously posted during Pride Month, the video shows a girl shaking her head at the caption above her head, calling out confused and/or closeted queers who say shit like, "I think everyone is a LITTLE bisexual," to the tune of "Closer" by The Chainsmokers. When the lyrics land on the word "you," she points straight at the screen — at me — her finger and inquisitive look piercing my hopelessly bisexual soul like Cupid's goddamn arrow.

Oh no, the voice inside my head said, I have just been mercilessly perceived.

As someone who had, in fact, done feminist studies at a tiny liberal arts college with a gender gap of about 70 percent women, I'd of course dabbled. I've always been quick to bring up the Kinsey scale, to champion a true spectrum of sexuality, and to even declare (on multiple occasions) that I was, "straight, but would totally fuck that girl!"

Oh no, the voice inside my head returned, I've literally just been using extra words to say I was bi.

After consulting the expertise of my WLW friend group (whose mere existence, in retrospect, also should've clued me in on the flashing neon pink, purple, and blue flag of my raging bisexuality), I ran to my boyfriend to inform him of the "news."

"Yeah, baby, I know. We all know," he said kindly.

"How?!" I demanded.

Well for one, he pointed out, every time we came across a video of a hot girl while scrolling TikTok together, I'd without fail watch the whole way through, often more than once, regardless of content. (Apparently, straight girls do not tend to do this?) For another, I always breathlessly pointed out when we'd pass by a woman I found beautiful, often finding a way to send a compliment her way. ("I'm just a flirt!" I used to rationalize with a hand wave, "Obvs, I'm not actually sexually attracted to them!") Then, I guess, there were the TED Talk-like rants I'd subject him to about the thinly veiled queer relationship in Adventure Time between Princess Bubblegum and Marcelyne the Vampire Queen — which the cowards at Cartoon Network forced creators to keep as subtext!

And, well, when you lay it all out like that...

But my TikTok-fueled bisexual awakening might actually speak less to the omnipotence of the app's algorithm, and more to how heteronormativity is truly one helluva drug.

Sure, TikTok bombarded me with the thirst traps of my exact type of domineering masc lady queers, who reduced me to a puddle of drool I could no longer deny. But I also recalled a pivotal moment in college when I briefly questioned my heterosexuality, only to have a lesbian friend roll her eyes and chastise me for being one of those straight girls who leads Actual Queer Women on. I figured she must know better. So I never pursued any of my lady crushes in college, which meant I never experimented much sexually, which made me conclude that I couldn't call myself bisexual if I'd never had actual sex with a woman. I also didn't really enjoy lesbian porn much, though the fact that I'd often find myself fixating on the woman during heterosexual porn should've clued me into that probably coming more from how mainstream lesbian porn is designed for straight men.

The ubiquity of heterormativity, even when unwittingly perpetrated by members of the queer community, is such an effective self-sustaining cycle. Aside from being met with queer-gating (something I've since learned bi folks often experience), I had a hard time identifying my attraction to women as genuine attraction, simply because it felt different to how I was attracted to men.

Heteronormativity is truly one helluva drug.

So much of women's sexuality — of my sexuality — can feel defined by that carnivorous kind of validation you get from men. I met no societal resistance in fully embodying and exploring my desire for men, either (which, to be clear, was and is insatiable slut levels of wanting that peen.) But in retrospect, I wonder how many men I slept with not because I was truly attracted to them, but because I got off on how much they wanted me.

My attraction to women comes with a different texture of eroticism. With women (and bare with a baby bi, here), the attraction feels more shared, more mutual, more tender rather than possessive. It's no less raw or hot or all-consuming, don't get me wrong. But for me at least, it comes more from a place of equality rather than just power play. I love the way women seem to see right through me, to know me, without us really needing to say a word.

I am still, as it turns out, a sexual submissive through-and-through, regardless of what gender my would-be partner is. But, ignorantly and unknowingly, I'd been limiting my concept of who could embody dominant sexual personas to cis men. But when TikTok sent me down that glorious rabbit hole of masc women (who know exactly what they're doing, btw), I realized my attraction was not to men, but a certain type of masculinity. It didn't matter which body or genitalia that presentation came with.

There is something about TikTok that feels particularly suited to these journeys of sexual self-discovery and, in the case of women loving women, I don't think it's just the prescient algorithm. The short-form video format lends itself to lightning bolt-like jolts of soul-bearing nakedness, with the POV camera angles bucking conventions of the male gaze, which entrenches the language of film and TV in heterosexual male desire.

In fairness to me, I'm far from the only one who missed their inner gay for a long time — only to have her pop out like a queer jack-in-the-box throughout a near year-long quarantine that led many of us to join TikTok. There was the baby bi mom, and scores of others who no longer had to publicly perform their heterosexuality during lockdown — only to realize that, hey, maybe I'm not heterosexual at all?

Flooded with video after video affirming my suspicions, reflecting my exact experiences as they happened to others, the change in my sexual identity was so normalized on TikTok that I didn't even feel like I needed to formally "come out." I thought this safe home I'd found to foster my baby bisexuality online would extend into the real world.

But I was in for a rude awakening.

Testing out my bisexuality on other platforms, casually referring to it on Twitter, posting pictures of myself decked out in a rainbow skate outfit (which I bought before realizing I was queer), I received nothing but unquestioning support and validation. Eventually, I realized I should probably let some members of my family know before they learned through one of these posts, though.

Daunted by the idea of trying to tell my Latina Catholic mother and Swiss Army veteran father (who's had a crass running joke about me being a "lesbian" ever since I first declared myself a feminist at age 12), I chose the sibling closest to me. Seeing as how gender studies was one of her majors in college too, I thought it was a shoo-in. I sent an off-handed, joke-y but serious, "btw I'm bi now!" text, believing that's all that would be needed to receive the same nonchalant acceptance I found online.

It was not.

I didn't receive a response for two days. Hurt and panicked by what was potentially my first mild experience of homophobia, I called them out. They responded by insisting we need to have a phone call for such "serious" conversations. As I calmly tried to express my hurt on said call, I was told my text had been enough to make this sibling worry about my mental wellbeing. They said I should be more understanding of why it'd be hard for them to (and I'm paraphrasing) "think you were one way for twenty-eight years" before having to contend with me deciding I was now "something else."

But I wasn't "something else," I tried to explain, voice shaking. I hadn't knowingly been deceiving or hiding this part of me. I'd simply discovered a more appropriate label. But it was like we were speaking different languages. Other family members were more accepting, thankfully. There are many ways I'm exceptionally lucky, my IRL environment as supportive as Baby Bi TikTok. Namely, I'm in a loving relationship with a man who never once mistook any of it as a threat, instead giving me all the space in the world to understand this new facet of my sexuality.

I don't have it all figured out yet. But at least when someone asks if I listen to Girl in Red on social media, I know to answer with a resounding, "Yes," even though I've never listened to a single one of her songs. And for now, that's enough.

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