LIKE.. - Blog Posts
This is a kinda old comic I made a while ago, but I still wanted to share! Sanji is so pathetic he is a walking disaster I love him so much…
(Also ignore the fact he wouldn’t realistically be worried about smoking, we all know his lungs are decaying and he doesn’t actually care)
Can be seen as any ship!! Not gonna say who I was thinking of when making it but if you know me you can probably guess lol
I've consumed such an incredible amount of Hobbit content the past few months that now that I'm reading the actual book I feel like I'm reading fanfic
there are reasons why a body stays in motion
summary: you work too hard—kita knows it the second he meets you. he’s not expecting you to take him up on his offer. you don’t either, until you end up on his farm.
tags: shinsuke kita x reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, smut (oral, reader receiving), afab reader (no pronouns used, terms for body parts used("clit")), reader is a first responder, kita is a mother hen wc: 4.7k
the farmer’s market is quiet. mostly because it hasn’t opened yet.
you walk between stalls as the owners of them set up, smiling softly at those who greet you. it’s still a little dark out—the grass under your feet still a little dewy without a sun to warm it. if you were anyone else, you might still be in bed.
but you never made it to bed. in fact, you’ve been up for more hours than you care to count. that much is obvious by the way you sway slightly on your feet in front of Hanaka’s tomatoes.
“hey, you,” she murmurs, affectionate and maternal—reaching beneath the wood top to grab the coffee she’s brought you, as is your weekly tradition. “long night?”
“mm,” you hum around the plastic lid, tipping your head back. the coffee is a little bitter and a little grainy, but it doesn’t matter. truthfully, you’ve been up for so long that things are starting to lose their taste. in this case, that might be for the best. “on call. the phone just kept ringing.”
she nods, sympathy apparent on her face, and you know she understands. Hanaka is retired now—blissfully so, she says—but when you met, she was your coworker. she’d adopted you as some sort of pseudo-child, teaching you and looking out for you. it was a loss when she left, but you were happy she finally was getting to rest. when you found out she’d reserved a stall at the market, you made the effort to be there. even if it meant losing out on your rest.
“silly of you to come straight here,” she admonishes you sweetly, in the way that only she can. it makes you smile.
“and let the coffee get cold? never.”
she rolls her eyes, turning to busy herself with stacking deep green cucumbers into weaved baskets. you let your eyes roam the spread in front of you, reaching to brush a fingertip over the waxy skin of a tomato. your stomach growls—abrupt, and loud.
Hanaka snorts, shaking her head as she calibrates the scale. “head down the row,” she says, pointing in front of her without looking, “there’s a stand that does rice.”
you feel a bit like a zombie as you move among the crowd—still mostly vendors, until you can smell someone cooking. your feet bring you to a halt in front of a grey-haired man, shaping neat triangles of rice around what appears to be pickled cabbage and bean curd. your mouth waters.
"we're not quite open yet—oh." he pauses when he looks up at you, concern immediate and all over his face, "you need to sit down, darlin'?"
it makes you laugh. "is it that bad?"
he smiles at you, directing the man to his left to bring you a folding chair. you thank him, plopping unceremoniously into the seat. when you look up, there's an expertly assembled onigiri in your face.
"ah." it's warm in your fingers and you fight the urge to unhinge your jaw and shove the entire thing in your mouth. "thank you...?"
"Kita," he says, and his smile is kind in a way that feels a little disarming this early in the morning, "don't mention it. can't have you passin' out in front of my stall—s'bad for business."
you chuckle around a mouth full of rice—and holy shit, is it good. you try to tell him that, but to stop eating does not feel like an option. it makes him laugh.
"glad to hear it. can't take credit for the recipe—but the rice is from me."
"you're a farmer?"
"mm. have been for more than a few years now. just started comin' to the market though."
you nod, shoving the last of the onigiri in your mouth and greatly suppressing the urge to lick the stray bits of grain off your fingers.
he goes back to work, packing and shaping in a way that feels casual, but you have a hunch that the motions are some that he's practiced greatly. your lack of sleep emboldens you to let your eyes wander—his hands are calloused and careful, and it's obvious what he does just by the look of them. corded muscle flexes under sun tanned forearms as he shapes each onigiri with great focus, and you find yourself fascinated by the repetition.
"y'think you're closer to livin' now?"
you look up and find his eyes already on you, mirth all over his face. you grin, caught, warmth spreading up your neck.
"think so. what do i owe you?"
"nothin'," he waves you off, brown eyes crinkling. "just go take a nap."
you smile—warmed by his generosity. you get up and leave of rough estimate of coins on top of his register anyway. "see you later then, Kita."
.
..
later comes quicker than you thought. the very next week, as it turns out. you're a little more rested when you see him again, and it's the first thing he notices.
"y'look like you slept." he says by way of a greeting, handing you another perfectly formed onigiri—this time with pickled plum and what you suspect is salmon. it falls apart decadently in your mouth, the flavors complimentary and not overpowering against the rice. it's good.
"i did," you tell him around a mouth full, "wasn't on call last night."
he smiles, gentle around his eyes, as he watches you. "work?"
you nod. "social work—kids, mostly."
he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the counter. he considers you for a moment before he speaks again.
"so not sleepin' is normal for ya."
you shrug, avoiding his gaze. it's a little too early in the day to feel chastised by a man you only just met last week, even if he is admittedly a little handsome and insists on feeding you. he sighs, reaching for a stray piece of register paper.
"you like ducks?"
"like, the bird?" you look up at him, eyebrows arched in confusion. "yeah, i suppose i do."
he smiles down at the paper, scribbling a few lines down on it and handing it to you. "have a few babies that just hatched in the paddies. come by and see 'em if you ever feel like y'need a rest."
he waves you off, turning back to his work, and leaves you a little shellshocked as you look down at the paper. it has an address on it—for what you assume is his farm. you fold it neatly and push it down into the pocket of your jeans with the mental reminder of taking it out before you wash them. you shake your head, smiling to yourself as you turn and head back down the lane, dodging a few folks that are entering the market. you have a few hours before work—just enough time to knock out on the couch.
.
..
a few weeks later, you find yourself bouncing down a rocky lane, rice paddies on either side of the thin road. you figure you have to be in the right place, but feel a little nervous until you arrive to a little cabin at the end of the gravel, the numbers on your paper painted neatly on the side of the mailbox.
it's late—probably too late to be stopping by unannounced—but Kita didn't give you a phone number, and the day had been long. the thought of baby ducks and looking at anything that wasn't the blue light of your laptop felt like a lifeline.
he's leaning against the doorframe as you shut the car door behind you. you smile when you see him—maybe sneaking a little peak at the way his white t-shirt stretches around the biceps he has crossed over his chest. he doesn't say anything until you clear the porch steps.
"y'alright?" he asks quietly. it's a little startling—you're always careful not to let the effects of the day show. you feel exposed in front of him, and it has you shifting on your feet.
"i believe i was promised baby ducks."
the corners of his eyes crinkle and you find yourself genuinely charmed. he doesn't acknowledge your lack of an answer, and you're grateful for it.
"sit," he says, gesturing to a wooden rocker on the porch, "i'll grab 'em."
you do as he says, leaning back and taking in the view. the sun simmers a deep red on the horizon, bathing everything in it's hue. the paddies stretch on for what feels like miles. the house itself feels like an island—the one lane road it's only connection to life beyond it.
the rocker creaks as you push your toe against the porch, swaying gently back and forth. it's quiet, save for the chirp of the cicadas and the occasional bloat of a bullfrog. you jump when you feel something furry rub against your shin.
you look down and are greeted by an orange cat with the most round cheeks you've ever seen. old and a little ratty, it chirps at you, headbutting your leg.
"hello there," you smile, bending forward to scratch behind it's ears. "where'd you come from?"
"that's Barn Cat," Kita says, trudging up the wooden steps. "he hangs out in the fields."
you chuckle, looking up at him. "his name is Barn Cat?
"yup," his grin is contagious. you let your eyes roam around him, looking for the ducks he was supposed to get. they stop on the pouch he's created out of his shirt—widening as you hear several little quacks come from inside of it.
"hold out yer hands," he says, standing in front of you now. you do as your told, and a few seconds later, there's a teeny tiny baby in your palms.
"oh my god," you breathe, not quite able to wrap your brain around how something can be so small, "oh my god."
Kita chuckles, smiling when you look up at him. something about it brings you back to this moment—you're suddenly very aware that you've interrupted this man's evening and ordered him around at his own house.
"i'm sorry for showing up like this," you say quietly, running a fingertip over the downy-soft little body that's now nestled in your lap.
"no need. i'm glad yer here."
you can feel that the smile you give him doesn't quite reach your eyes, and you know that he notices.
"long day?"
you hum, watching the tiny duck tail twitch in its sleep. suddenly feeling a little envious of the rest it's able to get, and how simple its life will be. wake up, swim around, eat bugs, go to sleep. it won't ever think about anyone else. its little conscious will always be clear.
"yeah," you murmur. "it was."
he moves to sit down in the rocker next to you, smiling at the little duck that has taken up all of your attention. when you look up, his eyes are gentle and unwavering from yours. you're certain he's looking too deeply, but you know there's nothing you can do.
"i should get going," you say, mostly to convince yourself that it is true. Kita's mouth turns downward for only a moment, and then that soft smile is back again.
"give me yer phone," he murmurs, extending a hand toward you. you shrug, pulling it out and handing it to him. he types something quick and hands it back to you, Shinsuke Kita and a phone number on the screen.
"meant it when i said you can come by anytime," he tells you, hand lingering still in your space. "call me if ya need anything."
.
..
you get to texting, after that. it's funny—he's a man of few typed words, so you learn about his days through pictures. a criminally early shot of the rice paddies. the baby ducks that look bigger each day. Barn Cat sprawled out in the sun on the porch. dinner there, too—filleted tuna and rice under a waning sun. sometimes he calls, when your schedule allows it. the low timbre of his voice through the speaker frequently (and embarrassingly) lulls you to sleep. you have a hunch that he does it on purpose.
you've showed up at the farm enough times now that you're unable to use the excuse of the ducks anymore, especially now that they're bigger and far less cuddly, but neither of you acknowledge it. he starts showing you around. walks across narrow paths in the fields become excuses to bring you inside—into his home. the cabin is quaint and cozy, and decorated in a way that surprises you. pictures cover the walls—some of Kita as an adult, but mostly of Kita as a child, which makes him bashful and you smile. you stop at one of him as a chubby toddler, sitting in the lap of a woman he's clearly the spitting image of.
"that's gram," he says quietly, behind you. "this is her place. i moved out here when she got sick, and then i just..."
"stayed," you whisper, tracing the edge of the frame with your fingertip. he hums, closer to you now.
"didn't feel right t'leave."
you think it's admirable, but you don't want to embarrass him, so you keep it you yourself. he leads you down the hall, pointing out rooms as he goes—bathroom (you can't hide your surprise at the massive clawfoot tub in the center of it. he just shrugs, continuing down the hall—flushed up to his neck. it makes you smile.), guest room ("mostly unoccupied," he says, and you wonder if it was intentional). his bedroom is slightly larger than the guest room and considerably less decorated, but still tastefully so—the bed is large and looks temptingly soft, and the dresser adjacent to it is an antique, heavy and well-loved. you both linger in the doorway, coated in warm lamp light and shoulders brushing, not talking much and still saying a lot between you.
"you hungry?" he asks, voice a little gruff. you shrug, following him into the kitchen. you take a seat at the bar stool on the other side of the counter, watching him work.
he doesn't ask what you want and truthfully, you know he doesn't need to. there hasn't been a time yet that you haven't liked something Kita's made you. he moves with the same fluidity and grace he does at the market—he prepares your food with the same care, too. you watch him blatantly, this time. his brow furrows a little as he plates it. it's cute—it makes you ache.
you're expecting it to be good, but this is really good—unagi over rice, soft and chewy when it hits your tongue. you groan audibly, savoring each bite. Kita grins at you across the counter.
"good?" he asks, even though he doesn't need to.
you nod emphatically, not bothering to pause long enough to answer him.
"good." he looks awfully proud of himself. that ache twists in your chest again. "don't make it too often. glad ya like it."
it's quiet between you as you eat—you try to leave a few extra for him because he was nice enough to make you something so luxurious, but it's hard to stop yourself.
you linger in the cabin for the next hour or so, finding every reason to stay until you can't anymore.
"y'know," Kita mutters, looking a little shy, "yer welcome to stay in that guest bedroom. s'not like anyone else uses it."
he goes red immediately and it makes you smile. you fight yourself hard to keep from teasing him.
"i have to work early tomorrow," for the first time, that fact feels disappointing. "but i'd be happy to next time."
the smile he gives you leaves you a little breathless. "be careful gettin' home."
.
..
next time comes sooner than you thought it would.
the weekend comes and you shoot him a text, asking him what he's doing tonight. his reply comes immediately—whatever you're doing. come over—i'll cook.
you sit outside to watch the sunset after dinner. it goes down past the hills, extinguishing the light like the flame of a candle. you kick your feet out over the rail in front of you. the cicadas sing from their perches in the trees and the paddies look like an undulating, dark sea from where you sit. the only light is the dim bulb above your head, and the stars don’t pay it any mind. bright and shining, you can’t remember a time that you’ve seen so many.
“do you ever get lonely?”
he’s watching you—you can feel your skin warm where his gaze lingers, but you keep yours in front of you. Kita’s been the picture of hospitality, sweet in the way he’s shown care to you—but he’s seldom talked about himself. you feel vulnerable, toeing the line. he’s silent for a moment, and then it stretches on long enough that you start to regret asking.
“s’hard to, out here with all of this noise.” he says it lightheartedly, but you wonder if he’s deflecting. you have your answer a moment later when he says, quieter, “at night, mostly. y’notice when yer the only person for miles.”
you hum, picking at a splinter in the wooden arm of your chair. you feel the same, somehow. though you have trouble understanding how you can feel lonely being around as many people as you are. you tell him as much.
“they don’t really see you though, right?” he asks, but it’s rhetorical. “you help ‘em but it’s one sided. they remember what y'did but they don’t know who you are.”
it never fails to rattle you, his ability to see right through you. your face heats. “that’s the way it should be.”
“sure,” he says, smiling softly. “but it weighs on ya.”
you tuck your knees under your chin and close your eyes—frustrated, knowing that he's right and still wanting to fight him on it. you jump when his knuckles brush against your own.
"i didn't mean to upset ya, darlin'."
"you didn't," you murmur, shaking your head and willing your limbs to relax, "you're right. i just wish you weren't."
he smiles and keeps the back of his hand pressed to yours. it's a sonic interruption to the silence—you're so aware of the warmth of his skin that you feel it in your eardrums. you wonder if he can, too.
it's a while before you speak again—to bid him goodnight, even if you don't want to.
"goodnight, darlin'." his voice is low and soft, nearly a whisper over the cry of cicadas. you still hear it like he screamed it. "extra quilts're in the closet."
it makes you smile, how he can't help but make sure you're comfortable. it would be easy to mistake it for something else—something more.
"goodnight, Kita."
.
..
you get in the car and drive on muscle memory alone. eyes burning, you dial the number you now know by heart.
"hey darlin'," Kita's voice comes through the speaker like a warm blanket. it helps to settle you.
"hi," you croak, immediately wishing you'd taken a minute to get it together before you called him.
there's a pause. "you been cryin'?"
"only a little." you don't see a point in lying to him. "you around?"
"yeah, i'm here—where are you? i'll come get ya, don't want ya drivin' out here upset—"
you let out a wet laugh, shaking your head. "i'm alright, Kita. i'm already halfway there. i just wanted to let you know i'd be over."
there's another pause, and you can hear the way he's fighting with himself on the other end of the line.
"alright," he says finally, "be careful."
he's waiting on the porch steps when you pull up to the cabin. you're barely out of the car before he's pulling you into his chest. new tears threaten to spill over into the fabric of his shirt. you can feel the way he softens himself to hold you—like you'll shatter in his arms if he's not careful.
"c'mon," he whispers into your hair, "let's go in."
he takes your coat (and your shoes, and your bag) before he's pulling you closer again—keeping you tucked under his arm like something will swoop down and snatch you up if he's not careful. you'd laugh if you weren't soaking in every second of his affection like a sponge.
"can i run a bath for ya?" he asks, reaching to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. the callouses on his fingers brush the curve of it and it makes you shiver. you nod.
he only leaves you for a few moments before he's back, corralling you down the hall and into the bathroom. there's a pile of comfy sweats folded and set on the toilet, and a fluffy towel hanging on the hook.
"holler if ya need anything."
you smile at him, a little more genuine this time, and he leaves you to it. you strip the clothes from your body slowly, hoping that if you do it right, the day will come off with it. you sink down into the warmth of the water and sigh. your eyes start to burn again as you lean your head back on the rim of the tub, this time just at Kita's kindness. you feel guilty for relying on it.
you feel guilty knowing you've been keeping what's in your heart hidden from him.
you use his soap, knowing you'll smell like him—knowing it won't be enough to satiate the longing you feel, but doing it anyway. you're not sure when it started—if it hadn't been there all along—but it's been tearing up your insides for months. he makes it worse with the way he cares for you. it's almost cruel.
you drag yourself out of the tub eventually, drying off in record time just to be swallowed by his clothes , soft and warm and smelling of him. you brush your hair out in the mirror and tie it up on top of your head. you feel a little more like a person now.
Kita's up and hovering at the end of the hallway as soon as you open the bathroom door. you manage a little laugh this time—mostly content and only a little guilty, letting him mother hen over you. you close the distance between you, looping your arms around his middle. you feel him relax, just a little bit.
"you need to talk about it?" he asks, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you closer. you shake your head. "alright. come lay down."
he penguin walks you down the hall, grinning when you laugh. he moves right past the guest bedroom and into his.
he arranges you on the bed to his liking—cocooned in blankets and reclined against his pillows. he lays down next to you, on top of the comforter. respectful of your space, even if you wish he wasn't.
"thanks for taking care of me," you whisper, turning your head to look at him. "sorry for turning up like this."
his eyebrows knit together like he's never heard a more wrong thing in his life. "i'll have ya any way you turn up."
you blink at him, feeling like you've short circuited. you huff out a laugh, closing your eyes. "how unfair."
"mm?"
you open your eyes and feel stuck, pinned to the bed underneath his stare. there aren't many other options than to spill your guts onto his sheets.
"you make it hard not to love you, Kita."
he freezes, eyes locked on yours. your stomach ties and unties itself, but you can't look away.
it's another agonizing moment before either of you even breathes, and then you blink, and he's hovering over top of you, hands planted on either side of your head.
"say it again."
"i love you." it feels like the easiest thing you've ever said.
"tell me i've got it wrong," he rasps, leaning in to nose along your cheek.
"you don't."
your hand fists around the material of his shirt and you yank him down to your waiting mouth. it feels exactly the way you knew it would—warm and soft, not unlike the feeling you get every time you walk through his door. it’s gentle and unhurried, and you know he knows no other way. you let him break you apart slowly.
he pulls away from your lips, only to press soft kisses to your cheeks, your chin, your brow bone. his mouth brushes against your temple and to your horror, you let out the world’s most pitiful little moan.
his eyes go wide as he looks down at you, flushed and breathing hard beneath him. your fingers still tangled in his shirt, he closes his own around them and brings them to his lips. he keeps his eyes on you when presses them to the sensitive skin of the inside of your wrist.
you feel no control of your reaction—your eyes flutter closed as the rest of you shudders underneath him. it’s so little and it’s almost too much. you know he’s figured you out when you’re able to meet his gaze again—deep brown filled with as much adoration as they are hunger.
“tell me what you need, darlin’.”
"your mouth," you whimper, feeling hot.
"where?" his smile turns a little wicked, still pressed to your skin.
"everywhere."
if you were overwhelmed before, it would pale in comparison to this—his kisses turn hard and heavy, soft lips sucking harsh bruises into your skin. you keen and whine underneath him, writhing both toward and away from his searching mouth. he doesn't take his sweatshirt off of you—he just pushes it up to kiss every inch of skin it exposes. he only pauses to check in with you, only stopping for a second to ask half of a question you'd already started answering before he'd asked it.
he cradles your waist in strong, wide hands and bends down to lap at your navel, nipping sensitive flesh, tongue slipping inside the dip of your belly button.
your hips buck violently, whimpering into the crook of your elbow while you reach down to card your fingers through silver strands. you feel yourself making a mess of his sweatpants.
"please, Kita," you hiccup, nearly slurred in his onslaught. he hums against your skin and you feel it in your belly.
"s'alright sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing gentler kisses between your hipbones, taking the elastic of the sweatpants down with them. "i got ya."
he reduces you to something less than human with the hot slide of his mouth against the inside of your thighs, licking and sucking his way up to where you need him the most and then back down, too far away. it takes a wholly unreasonable amount of begging to get him there, and to get him to stay.
"please, please i just need—oh," your spine bows off the bed and then pulls taut at the feeling of his tongue sliding slowly through your wet heat. he lets out a groan at the taste of you, and you watch through hooded eyes as he grinds his hips into the mattress.
one hand keeps a steeled grip in his hair, and the other one sneaks under his sweatshirt to pull at your nipples. it's sensory overload—the feeling of the pebbled flesh under your fingers and the way Kita suckles gently on your clit has you squealing. he opens his mouth, panting and tongue lolled out, encouraging you to ride it. you don't need to be asked twice.
every snap of your hips against his face pulls a weak moan from him, and a louder one from you. everything is wet and hot and your thighs shake around his head with every drag of your achy clit across his tongue.
"Kita," you whimper, feeling the warmth start to spread, "gonna cum—i'm—"
it damn near melts you into the mattress. every muscle in your body contracts and then releases, leaving you immobile under his tongue. he holds your thighs apart, sucking on your clit while you shake and cry under him. it doesn't stop—every brush of his tongue pulls another dizzying contraction from deep inside you. he only relents when he's licked up every last drop of you.
he kisses his way back up your body and you feel like you're on fire. when he presses his lips to yours again, finally, it douses it. you only smolder underneath him now.
forehead pressed to his, you can't help but let out a little giggle. he grins, his pretty mouth pulled up in the corners, and presses another round of kisses to your jaw.
"i love you," you sigh, pulling him closer. he hums.
"i love you," he nips at the point of your chin, "and you're callin' out sick tomorrow."
there's nothing in your heart that wants to argue with him.
it’s kinda silly how like people who like the same characters … like the same characters from other series
As if they haven't done enough
Leave my babies alone god dammit!
But seriously haven't they done enough, the leaks, if true(probably are), only show lazy writing, producing a lazy finale.
Mischaracterizing almost all of the characters, an unnecessary SA plot line (especially since they most likely won't adress it), trying to convince me that some scenes happened when they didn't.
if one of the two ships or even both are not endgame, where do we go form here? Like no romance? I wouldn't mind it, but that means that all of those ship related scenes in the past seasons meant nothing? ( just like robby's scene about him being no. 2 always and how he hates it, will probably mean nothing,sorry I just can't get over how bad that was. )
Sorry if this doesn't make sense I am just writing what I feel.
[image description: a ten page comic starring saiki kusuo from the disastrous life of saiki k and anya forger from spy x family.
1: a shot of the both of them walking. They are talking with telepathy.
2: anya, telepathically: do all telepaths have pink hair?
saiki, telepathically: no
anya: oh… are you a spy?! (Next to this thought is a drawing of loid forger)
saiki: no.
anya: an assassin?! (next to this thought is a drawing of yor forger)
saiki: hey, aren’t these your parents?
anya hesitates to answer.
3: saiki: I… am a normal high school student.
anya: what?! how?! You have telepathy! your life has to be exciting!
saiki: I prefer when it’s not. I don’t like telling people that I’m an esper.
4: anya think about this for a moment, before going wide eyed.
anya: does that mean you have to kill me?!
saiki: what? no?
5: saiki: why would I have to kill you.
anya: because i know about your telepathy?
saiki: watch other cartoons
anya, looking shocked: How- it’s not from a cartoon. (She is thinking of a cartoon, where someone says “you found out my secret! Die!”)
saiki: you’re replaying the episode in your head right now.
6: saiki: it seems like a better show than cyborg ciderman no. 2 at least.
anya: cyborg ciderman?
saiki: don’t watch that either.
anya: if you don’t like telling people about it (his telepathy)… do some people already know?
7: saiki thinks of his mom, aiura, toritsuka, and akechi.
saiki: a couple classmates, my family. some found out on their own.
Anya: how did it go?
8: saiki: maybe a little too well. they never stop bugging me now.
anya: really?
saiki: really.
anya looks shocked, then says: I haven’t told anyone.
saiki: you don’t have to
anya: i know, but…
9: a shot of both of them walking, this time in silence.
10: saiki: hey, if you haven’t told anyone, did you make your psychic limiters yourself?
anya: what are psychic limiters?
saiki: the cones one your head?
anya: heh. ive fooled you. These are just hair pins!
saiki: why do they look like that.
anya: I don’t know
End ID]
psiprise encounter
Do you think there in the same universe?
Mfs who want feral Mic have just listened to Smile HD one too many times. Im mfs.
BNHA: This Time Around
[A Semi-CloudNight Oneshot]
“Aaahhh! It feels so good to unwind like this,” Fukukado Emi, best known as the Laughing Hero: Ms. Joke, laughs in relief as she leans forward against the bar countertop, a mug of whiskey in hand. She’s dressed in her civilian outfit, which consists of high waist blue skinny jeans and a light yellow crop top tee shirt with a bold white stripe stretching across her chest. Her mint green hair is held back in a low ponytail, and black slip-on sneakers adorn her feet; her outfit accented by a black choker around her neck and three beaded bracelets coating her right wrist.
Joining her at their favorite bar is Tatsuma Ryuko (Ryukyu), Takeyama Yuu (Mt. Lady), and Kayama Nemuri (Midnight). Nemuri’s rosy red lips tilt upwards into a sly smile, and she raises her glass of red wine to her lips. Unlike Fukukado, Nemuri is dressed to impress, with her beautiful dark blue dress fading to a vibrant pink as it travels down towards the helm of her dress, perfectly matching her light complexion. Black three inch heels adorn her feet, and her deep indigo hair is held over her head in a messy bun, staked into place by a black pin that distinctly resembles a fox tail.
Nemuri pushes up her crimson red glasses, still smiling. “Me too,” she agrees happily. “My agency has been so busy lately with all the League of Villain madness. It feels great to just be in the moment every now and again.”
Sitting on Fukukado’s other side, directly across from Nemuri, Takeyama stares down at her small glass of champagne, her eyebrows knitted together in exhaustion. The Giant Hero, like Ms. Joke, is dressed in casual clothing, wearing short blue jean shorts with a simple orange tank top and a single star-shaped golden necklace around her neck. Her long, wavy blond hair is tied back in a ponytail, which spirals down to her midback in beautiful platinum waves.
“I knew starting my own agency was going to be hard, but I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Takeyama confesses, exhaustion lacing her tone. “Like, I can’t effectively take down any villains because my size destroys so much property, and I hate that my fans only seem to like me because they want me to step on them! It’s so weird! People are weird and gross!” She drops her head onto the table and groans mutely into the polished wood. “And here I thought the big city would be different from home.”
Tatsuma places a gentle hand on Takeyama’s back and pats it reassuringly. Like Nemuri, Tatsuma is dressed for the occasion in a simple yet elegant violet dress with a chain of pearls around her neck and diamond earrings in her ear. It is no surprise Ryukyu would wear such beautiful jewelry, though given her status as a dragon, Nemuri wasn’t surprised. “Don’t worry, Takeyama. We all start off rough, but guaranteed your agency will become amazing,” the Dragon Hero encourages the blond heroine gently, and Takeyama’s shoulders only slightly relax.
Fukukado taps her chin, her dark green eyes thoughtful. “Come to think of it, aren’t you and Kamui Woods, like, a thing now? I heard his agency is successful, maybe you can talk to him about it,” she says, and Takeyama reaches across the table with frantic shushing gestures.
“Don’t say that outloud! We want to keep our relationship private! The last thing we need is the media crawling up our asses about it,” she snarls at the Laughing Hero, and Fukukado raises her hands in surrender.
“Oops! My bad!” Fukukado yelps and frantically checks around her in case anyone was listening in. Nemuri and Tatsuma make eye contact from across the table and snicker to themselves.
“Kamui Woods is a very dependable man, though,” Tatsuma adds. “I’m proud of you.”
Takeyama buries her face in her hands. “Can’t we talk about anything else?” she whines.
Fukukado’s smile returns full force, and a shit-eating grin splits across her face. “But why though? Everyone loves hearing about a good romance!” She cups her hands to her cheeks and swoons giddily. “Like, just the other day, I ran into Eraserhead at a coffee shop! It was so amazing, like something out of a romance novel!”
Nemuri’s cerulean eyes widen slightly. “Oh yeah, he told me about that. Didn’t he leave the second he saw you?” she asks.
Fukukado’s cheeks flush red, and she chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, he did. Something about not wanting to deal with my energy or whatever. But that just makes it so much more exciting! I mean, look at him, all dark and mysterious and broody~!”
“Not to mention a total hobo who forgets to shower half the time,” Nemuri adds. The other heroines at the table chuckle.
“AND he’s the only one who I haven’t gotten to laugh yet!” Fukukado goes on, ignoring Nemuri’s remark. “One of these days, I’ll get him to laugh! If not, at least smile! Yeah, that would be amazing.”
“Why not use your Quirk?” Tatsuma asks.
Fukukado shakes her head adamantly. “He erases Quirks, remember? Besides, I don’t just wanna make him laugh! I want to really make him laugh, you know? Something authentic. Using my Quirk would just be dishonest and mean.”
Nemuri shrugs her shoulders, though a part of her is secretly relieved. She’s known Eraserhead since high school, and knowing him, the main reason he wouldn’t want to try dating Fukukado would be because he doesn’t want to be influenced by her Quirk. Then again, this is Eraserhead they’re talking about. After what happened in high school, he probably wouldn’t give her a chance either way. He has trouble enough making friends, let alone dating. The cruel reality of hero work scarred him, and the mere thought of it hurts her heart. Fear guides him, and Nemuri desperately wishes she could do something to help.
“What about you, Midnight?” Nemuri perks up, and finds the eyes of the other heroines glued on her. Fukukado leans forward eagerly, her dark green eyes sparkling like diamonds. “Do you have anyone you’re with right now? With your gorgeous looks and bedazzling personality, I’ll bet yes!”
Tatsuma casts Fukukado a significant look. “Ms. Joke, your bi is showing,” she comments, startling a laugh out of Takeyama.
Nemuri glances down at her wine glass and slowly sways it around in her grasp, watching the dark red liquid roll within its transparent chamber. Her smile becomes wistful. “I’ve had flings, but serious relationships? Nope. I haven’t had any in years. Probably not since high school,” she replies honestly.
Takeyama lifts her head, blinking at the R-Rated Hero in surprise. “What? There’s no way. Your entire aesthetic is about intimacy! Especially the sexy kind,” she gapes, and Nemuri chuckles at her reaction.
“It’s true. I haven’t had a proper boyfriend since my third year in high school, and to be honest…” Nemuri’s smile becomes bitter, and she chuckles in spite of her hypocrisy. “I don’t think I’ll ever date again. Hurts too much.”
Fukukado grimaces slightly. “Oof, was he really that bad?” she asks, and Nemuri immediately shakes her head.
“No, no. In fact, he was amazing. He was the sweetest, funniest, most loyal person I’d ever met. He cared about everyone unconditionally, and he would always go out of his way to help people. Hell, this one time, he found a kitten stuck in the rain and brought it with him to school,” she reminisces, smiling at the memory of him. Even now she can clearly see his broad, glowing smile, and the image sparks an old pain in her heart. “He was my everything. Even though we wanted different things out of life– with him wanting to start an agency with his other friends, and me wanting to start the Midnight Agency– we still promised we’d be together. That we’d make it work.”
Fukukado’s brows are drawing together in concern, now, and acid rises in Nemuri’s chest at the realization in her eyes. “Wait, you’re talking about him in the past tense,” she says. “What… happened?”
Nemuri’s smile falls completely, and she utters a deep sigh. “The worst,” she responds. “About fifteen years ago, we were alerted to a villain attack in Tasomiya Ward, a giant monster with the ability to stockpile power.” Tatsuma and Fukukado’s eyes widen nearly simultaneously, no doubt recognizing the event, but Takeyama blinks at Nemuri in confusion; she’s too new to the career to know.
Her voice shudders, but still, Nemuri goes on, “All of us were there. Me, Eraserhead, Present Mic, and… him. We did everything in our power to stop the monster, but it was too big. We couldn’t do anything. I was evacuating everyone out of the area while he, Present Mic, and Eraserhead went to go stop the villain. Civilians got hurt; there’s no way to protect everyone. But he…”
The image washes over her, stealing away all her breath in an instant. She can smell the salty rain clouds, she can feel the slick pavement beneath her boots, the uncomfortable way debris clings to her sweaty skin. Above all else, she remembers rounding the corner just in time to see a cloud explode to life over a class of kindergarteners and their teacher, leaving them protected but him exposed. Their eyes made contact, and before Nemuri could do anything, before she could call out his name or take a step forward, a giant chunk of debris was upon him, and she was helpless to watch it swallow him whole.
The scene barely lasted for more than a few seconds, but she can still see it. The sickening crunch resonating through the air as his skull cracks open, the violent spray of blood from his head… She suddenly wants to throw up her wine and crumble into a ball. Old insecurities she thought she’d abandoned were suddenly creeping up the back of her mind, whispering terribly in her ears.
“Your quirk is useless. It couldn’t protect anyone, especially not your loved ones.”
“It’s because you’re so useless he’s dead.”
“Why are you even a hero?”
“Midnight?”
Nemuri snaps out of the memory and finds the other heroines looking at her in worry. She quickly realizes she’d dropped her wine glass to cover her face, and while thankfully the glass didn’t break, the wine was splattered all over the table top. It looks exactly like his blood.
“Midnight,” Tatsuma reaches out to her and gently takes her hands, leading them away from her face and gripping them tightly. Nemuri clings onto the contact, desperately wishing her hands were someone else’s. “Are you okay? Do you need a moment?”
Nemuri shakes her head slowly and slips her hands out of Tatsuma’s reach. She hates it when people look at her with those worried eyes. “It affected all of us,” Nemuri goes on. “Obviously, it hurt me. I lost my boyfriend and the guy I wanted to… but Present Mic and Eraserhead lost their best friend. Their brother.”
Fukukado shakes her head, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh, Midnight, I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to open an old wound,” she whispers in horror, and Nemuri shakes her head again, this time with more resolve.
“It’s fine, really. It gave me a horrible wake up call, that above all else, we are heroes. Whether we want to acknowledge it or not. Every day we go out there and put our lives on the line. We could live, we could die, but what matters most is protecting others.” She glances down at the wine spilled all over the table, and her own reflection stares back at her with wary acceptance. She sighs, long and tired. “Watching him die made me realize how easily life can be lost, how tragedy can strike in an instant. That’s why I want to embrace my youth for as long as I can, so I can live enough for both of us.” Her reflection’s lips quirk upward into a trying smile. “That way, when I die, when I can finally see him again, I can tell him about all my adventures with pride.”
Nemuri looks up and finds herself staring into the wet faces of the other heroes. Tatsuma, Fukukado, and Takeyama are all staring at their senior hero with wide, tearful eyes, and Nemuri likes to think in this moment, they felt more respect for the seasoned heroine.
Nemuri smiles back at them and wipes the tears from her eyes. “Remember that, you three,” she tells them. “Go forward knowing nothing– not even love– is certain, but don’t let it scare you. The world is scary, dangerous, and even cruel, but what’s most important is cherishing the people in our lives.” She raises her wine glass and what remains of the wine sloshes around in its glassy imprisonment. “To living.”
Fukukado, Tatsuma, and Takeyama look between themselves. One by one, they lift their drinks to the sky, each glass a different shape containing a different drink. “To living,” they echo, and tap their glasses together with Nemuri’s. The R-Rated Hero smiles truly, her heart swelling with pride.
Nemuri drives home alone that night.
Of course, the four heroines stayed at that bar for hours, laughing and drinking together once the shock of Nemuri’s lost-love bombshell faded away. As their senior, Nemuri only drank a few sips of her wine every now and again (although the gruesome memories made her want to get wasted out of her mind), and she allowed the other heroes to have their fun and get as wasted as they want. Takeyama and Fukukado were joking around, having a blast singing old pop culture songs together, occasionally getting Tatsuma to join in whenever the Dragon Hero got over her shyness.
Eventually, Nemuri dragged the three drunken heroines back into her car (thankful they all decided to take Nemuri’s car there and back), and she drove all the ladies home, making sure they had all their possessions with them before leaving. Once she dropped them all off at their houses and made small talk with any partners they had waiting for them, she decided to gather her wits and go home herself. Today was a long day, and she was surprised to find herself emotionally exhausted so soon.
The bar is a fifteen minute drive from her house, but as soon as she leaves her car and strides up the driveway, she pulls open the front door and steps inside her dark home. Despite it’s nice size, being a two story house with multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, only Nemuri lives in it, though she’s not completely alone.
“Meow!” Nemuri looks down, and her heart lifts slightly as her tabby orange cat comes bounding over to her, high in energy despite his age. Nemuri kneels down to collect him in her arms, and she cradles the cat like a baby.
“Hello, Sushi-baby,” she coos at him as she kicks the front door shut and locks it behind her. “How are you doing? Were you keeping the house safe from big bad strangers while I was gone?”
Sushi meows in response and nuzzles her bust.
The house is big and empty now, but one day, Nemuri hopes she’ll marry and settle down, maybe start a family all her own. It won’t be for a while, and honestly, Nemuri is scared to start dating out of fear of herself or her partner dying, but she decided a long time ago to live by her words so she bought the house regardless. She’s getting older now, and at thirty-two, she knows she doesn’t have much time left. At the very least, Oboro would want her to be happy, even if her happiness isn’t with him. She just hopes she can find someone accepting of her tastes and interests, like he did.
Nemuri enters her living room and sits back in her recliner, pulling out her phone to amuse herself. Sushi immediately adjusts himself in her lap and kneads her legs with his paws, turning around in a circle before plopping down into a comfortable loaf. Nemuri scratches him behind the ears with a faint smile.
“We’ll be okay,” she says, more so to herself than to the cat.
Sushi’s lazy purring is her only response.
Nemuri leans back into her chair and sighs. Tomorrow will be a new day.
my fear is getting marked as using AI for a writing assignment in school, when in reality I read the dictionary out of boredom in 2nd grade and the thesaurus in 7th (twice)
Autistics who use precise language are getting TORN APART in ao3 comment sections over suspicions of being AI. “No human being talks like this.” Man, autistics have been getting compared to robots about as long as robots have existed, fuck you very much!!
Since y'all liked my last post so much, here, have another Noir ramble:
I have four (4) different Noir's in my head. They are as follows:
Spider-Man Peter Benjamin Parker (2009 comic):
he is shorter than all of them, he is but a child. He is very angry at the world and will stab you if you do anything slightly evil. Please do not hurt him any more than he already has been hurt. (He has been hurt a lot) In May Parker's words:
Leave that boy!
Spider-Man Peter Parker (2020 comic/Spider-Geddon):
So technically he is still an extension of the 2009 comic, but. The universe is really different, and Noir has an entirely different personality. So my headcanon is that this is a different noir- easily seen by the different pallet, going from just sepia to full monochrome. He is my least favorite, but mostly because he is the most mentally stable (imo). He's the private eye, he fights gods on the weekends, and (this gets the most points) he has a cat. He also (artistically) is the most creature, which is a massive win for all Spider-Noir fans.
Spider-Man Noir Peter Parker (Shattered Dimensions):
I'm going to be completely honest, I have not played Shattered Dimensions. But I've watched a bunch of playthroughs, and I have to admit, this Noir has the best fit out of all of them. I know, I know, hot take. But have you seen that spider-symbol on the back of his jacket? And that turtleneck? Also he is so fruity (/pos). Like, he goes "time for some razzle-dazzle" and "You read my mind, sister" and calls Hammerhead "Mister." Idk, he's just so endearing. Also he gets his own spidersense?
And finally, the most well-know goober of them all:
Spider-Noir Peter Benjamin Parker (ITSV/ATSV)
Old old man. When people combine all of them, there's age discourse, but I like to think this is a completley seperate variant (see: getting bitten by a radioactive spider, being a private eye) and also he is much older. Up to you how much. Father of Peni Parker, definitely going to accidentally adopt his younger selves. Doesn't mean hes not also very pathetic sad depressed emo man (/pos).
it's 1:48AM and I accidentally let out the weirdest laugh at that last thing
gotta add another noir variant to the gang
i made this one some time ago but i like him a lot so i think i should post it in here too
I-
i broke into ur brain just to call u out in this quiz (but in a soft way). how does it feel to be loved by u?
Chat I gotta confess something..
I Selfship heavy with Igor from the 2008 film.. I love him so much. I’m obsessed with the movie and it’s one of my biggest hyperfixations.. I’m his number one fan and lover, I heart you Igor
(Also.. genuinely because I’ve NEVER MET another person to self ship themselves with him.. I’m non-sharing.. 🤤)
Guys please i was so giggly about this
Call me moses the way im burning these bushes
i’m sorry but with pat and pran constantly going “we need to talk” in eps as early as 1 and 2 when they were supposed to be “rivals” should’ve told me that they were gonna have the healthiest fucking relationship out there when they started dating
Jsjsisjsisjsis I just want to know the reason why you are so underrated 😩🥺 LIKE SJSHSKS YOUR WRITING IS SO PERFECT I preach it ngl 😾❤️
Gonna give you all the love and support I have for you 😭😭✨✨✨
I love you and your writing style!! It’s so detailed and serene to me while I read it 😌
DUDDDDEEE YOURE MAKING ME BLUSH STOPPPP🥰🥰🥰
Thank you so much for the kind words! Really, I never expected even this much support when I started, so to get comments from such nice people is like a dream come true right now🥺💜 I’m so happy you like what I write and how I write, and I look forward to writing more now that I’ve seen this comment😚 thank you💜💜
Hey i rlly liked your Reborn series and i wanna asl is it too late to be added to the taglist? You're writting is rlly good i wanna read more of ur work so ill be going thru ur masterlist hehe
Heccc no my dude, I’ll totally add u to the list! Not even kidding, I’m super excited to jump back into writing now that it’s Christmas break😌😌
Ps: new chapter IS coming out on Christmas y’all!! Let’s hope writing chapters for reborn is like riding a bike😬
*not a request* I JUST READ YOUR GAROU FLUFFS AND OH MY GOD THEY ARE SO GOOD!!!!! YOU'RE SO TALENTED!!! I LOVE YOUR WORK 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕
Akxbskncksnw thank you so much!! I’m so glad u like them🥺💜
Ngl I’m at that point of being a *writer* where all I can do is look back at my old work and c r i n g e🥴
I just finished lajall 5 if reborn and I friking love it🤩😍 how can someone wrote THIS GOOD🤯🤩😍
Ah shit thank you🥺🥺
Talk about a boost of confidence like damn☺️☺️
I’m glad you like it so much, and honestly I can’t stop thinking about how I should add more to the plot and stuff👀👀 hmmmmm, maybe...
sorry to send 2 asks in 1 day but im reading thru all of ur drabble things and GOD your writing is so ELEGANT ....... idk how to describe it but reading it is like the same as floating through clouds ... like that makes no sense but it's genuinely like the best shit I have ever read ........... how the FUCK do you do that ...
PLEASE my guy i am only one man i am not wired to take this many compliments :(( but seriously that's really kind of you, sometimes i get a little embarrassed or feel like i'm being way too pretentious with the way i write so it's comforting to know people connect with it! i've been chugging along since i was,,, i think twelve? so almost nine years now? so it really does mean a lot :)
The emotion, the drama, I mean-. this is way too unnecessarily hilarous to me.
anyone know why there's some ginger kid on the wing of the plane im in lol should i be concerned
on love being a twisted curse (and other such nonsense)
i watched one (1) video on how to draw hands that changed my life forever. like. i can suddenly draw hands again
these were all drawn without reference btw. i can just. Understand Hands now (for the most part, im sure theres definitely inaccuracies). im a little baffled