#and he’s just given the short end of the stick constantly

[sentient-stove]

Leo was the MC of Heroes of Olympus and you can fight me on that

But Jaso— no shut up thanks. Sorry, just because we opened to his POV doesn’t mean he’s the one in charge or of the most importance.

Percy— nah nah nah that boy had his five books to himself and is basically Riordanverse jesus, sit back down.

Leo’s story intersects and is often a direct parallel with every other characters’ throughout the series, he has the most narrative points and chapters, has a POV in every single book except SON, and owns/is a catalyst for the majority of the lines in the prophecy. He built that damn warship essentially solo and was constantly isolated from the rest of the seven despite them all supposedly being on equal footing.

Gaea didn’t try to kill the other seven’s parents, Hera didn’t watch them as children despite her literally claiming Jason as a champion. Just Leo.

#was this because I saw a fanart of all the Riordanverse mcs and Leo wasn’t there #…maybe #and I could probably go on for hours about Leo and Percy bring narrative foils to each other #but I won’t #leo valdez #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #hoo #pjo #it just makes me mad because Leo cares so much about the people he’s around #and he’s just given the short end of the stick constantly #probably why I write about him so much tbh it’s like rick forgot Leo was the mc

[lovecatsys]

Bobby needs a consistent love interest I'm very serious about this.

#he needs a husband #im sad that he and christian are no longer together even if they were a bit boring at first #but the iceman infinity comic has shown us that they dont have to br #also i really dont want it to be romeo. im glad that they explained why romeo ghosted him but. #he was technically bobbys first love even if it was in a weird timeline shenanigan and i dont like the idea of his first boyfriend #coming back to be his boyfriend again when hes aged up #x men #bobby drake #im not saying it should be warren but it should be warren. #although i havent read x-corp yet and i heard warren is not so great now #im gonna be mad abt that though warren has so much potential as a character and hes constantly just being given the short end of the stick

[prettiestlovergirl]

SWEET

tw: MDNI; fem!reader; slytherin! reader; oral (f. receiving); hickeys; kitchen quickie; slightly sub! mattheo riddle; french! mattheo riddle.

concept: an afternoon of baking ends in you covered in a mess your boyfriend, mattheo riddle, is more than willing to help you clean up.

a/n: one of my lovely lovely anons helped me come up with this idea hehe. inspired by me, accidentally covering myself in edible glitter when baking. some idea credit to bratetteprincess who just recently did a latina! reader baking w/luke castellan fic! enjoy, my lovelies! 𓆩♡𓆪

everybody in your house knew that sunday mornings were for your baking.

after two years of begging and pleading with all of your professors, you were given permission to use the kitchens one day a week in order to bake to your hearts desire.

you always liked to experiment with new things. various dyes that stained your hands different shades, new flavors that made your hair smell for days, edible flowers that made you gag.

today, though, you might have gotten just a teensy tiny bit carried away with your current experiment: edible glitter.

you'd been desperately craving carrot cupcakes but after you'd made and decorated them, they just looked so... boring. after glancing around the blissfully empty kitchen, you spotted it: the silver edible glitter just begging to be used.

you pressed the pump once over the baking tray, watching happily as a cloud of glitter flew out and created a glittery sheen over the cream cheese frosting.

long story short, 15 minutes later your cupcakes were perfect and you were absolutely covered in edible glitter.

you'd been in the middle of sliding your pretty pink apron off when your boyfriend, mattheo, came in to bother check up on you. mattheo was practically fucking addicted to you.

he couldn't stand not being around you for more than an hour, and when he was with you? his hands were all over you, constantly touching, grabbing, rubbing, or squeezing some part of your body. not that you really minded, you were just as obsessed with him.

"wow, ma douce (my sweet), did an arts and crafts shop throw up on you?" he asked, his usual teasing smirk on lips as he wrapped his arm around you. he nuzzled his face into your neck, not caring about the glitter transferring to his clothes. "what are you even doing with glitter? thought you were baking." he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"it's edible glitter. my cupcakes looked so boring n i ran out of those carrot n bunny sprinkles i love so... i tried something new." you shrugged, sticking your lower lip out in a pout as you set your glitter covered apron down on the counter.

"edible, huh?" mattheo asked, eyes now locked on the shimmering skin above your collarbone. "mhm." you nodded, not paying much attention to your boyfriend as you attempted to try and clean up your mess.

you paused your actions as he leaned down and took a nice, long lick up from your collarbone to your jaw. you let out a soft gasp while he groaned instantly at the sugar taste, admiring how your skin shined now with both the glitter and his saliva.

"mattheo..." you breathed, your voice a soft whine as he drew his tongue back down. "mattheo, i have to clean up, it's part of my deal with the professors." you whined, trying to move from his grip that only seemed to tighten as you shifted.

he thrived on the sounds of your pretty little whimpers, already getting drunk on the one little taste he had of you. he'd never been so down bad for anyone before, but with you? he couldn't help but want to touch you, taste you, 24/7.

"we are cleaning up, ma douce (my sweet). 'm helping you clean up all this glitter first, you got a big clump right there." he murmured, pressing his lips to the skin and sucking harshly on it, drawing another whimper from your lips.

he sucked on the skin, drawing moan after moan out of you until he could see the beginnings of a pretty purple bruise. "there we go, all gone." he hummed, his hands finding their way up to your chest and squeezing your boobs gently.

you mewled softly as he squeezed, biting your lower lip as he kissed and sucked purple marks all over your neck. you squeezed your thighs together tightly, feeling the wetness pool in your panties.

normally, you'd be upset with the number of hickeys he left, but the way his lips moved in sync with his hands made you a little distracted.

he moved away from your neck, now kissing and swiping his tongue over the skin down your arms. he left the occasional bite mark as he moved, your fingers now digging into his scalp as your breathing got heavy.

"mm, mattheo, now you've got some glitter on you." you pouted, dipping your own head down to lick up the newly transferred glitter. you traced your name on his neck with your tongue, leaving your own series of hickeys on his neck.

"fuck." he groaned, hands still massaging your boobs over your clothes while you suck his neck and paint it varying shades of purple and green.

"you should use this glitter more often." he murmured, to which you simply nodded instantly. you grazed your teeth over his pulse point, giggling softly as he let out his own soft whine. "y'know, i think you've got some more glitter down further. hop up on the counter, yeah? want to check it out." he grunted.

you pushed the cooling rack holding your sparkly cupcakes to the side before lifting yourself up onto the counter. "really want to make sure we get it all off." mattheo hummed, lifting your ass up a bit and dragging your shorts and panties down your legs.

he knelt down before you, pressing a few soft kisses up both of your legs before being face to face with your drooling cunt. "ma douce, douce ange (my sweet, sweet angel)" he crooned, taking a long lick through your puffy folds and watching as your toes curled in pleasure.

"fuck, it's even sweeter than the glitter." he groaned, dipping his tongue right back into your pussy. your head lolled back, teeth trapping your lower lip roughly while your hand gripped the back of his head.

he pinched your clit between his teeth and his tongue before rubbing his tongue back and forth rapidly. he relished in the way your back arched and your moans got louder and louder.

you thanked god for the soundproofed kitchens as you bucked your hips against his face. "mattheo, fuck, mattheo!" you whimpered, his name sounding like heaven from your lips.

his tongue continued to work your sensitive clit as you moaned for more, begged for him to move faster. "god, fuck yes, fuck!" you whined, gripping at his curls tightly while he continued to flick his tongue against your puffy bundle of nerves.

"shit, fuck, mattheo, 'm gonna- fuck!" you moaned, nearly collapsing back on the counter as you came roughly on his tongue and chin. he licked and lapped at your pussy, going until he got every single drop and your legs were quivering from the overstimulation.

he let you catch your breath before eventually helping you back up. you got redressed and together, you picked up the kitchen and got your cupcakes onto your pretty little platter.

later that afternoon, you and mattheo snuggled up together on the couch in the common room, chatting away about whatever nonsense you felt like chatting about.

when your friends came in, their eyes widened in confusion at the sight of you: you were both still coated in glitter with hickeys all over your necks, and you even had bite marks on your arms.

"jesus, did you get into a fight with a sparkly vampire?"

ᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵉʳ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵇʸ @ᵐᵘʳᵘᶠᶠⁱⁿ

#☆lola writes ! #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo smut #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x you #slytherin boys

[gremlingottoosilly]

lmao I fell 4’10 anon, I’m 4’11 and some tall people are genuinely scary to me cause I’m just “huh???”

I feel you! I'm like 5' and I just got back to college...I legit forget that tall people exist! I spend 3 weeks at home surrounded by my short family...fuck you mean I have to look up at people?? I can only imagine Konig going home from deployment and forgetting that short people exist. He spent the last two months around people well above 6', and even though height isn't a requirement in the mercenary forces, even his female colleagues are all rather tall. Que Konig returning home and not bending his neck low enough, surprised that there isn't anyone in his line of sight...and his short darling getting frustrated because he is not even looking down at her!! He is straight up not looking at all!! He only notices you when you already let go of a frustrated sigh and start punching his guts. You're the only one who can punch him like this and live - given that, actually, you're too weak to bring him pain even if you try with all your might. Konig finds you simply adorable - and he loves to tease you, of course. Poor thing, you're actually getting the shortest end of the stick here...with your boyfriend constantly picking you up and literally putting you on the highest places in the house - he literally bought and installed a few tall shelves that have nothing but some plushies and meaningless things that can be thrown away when he wants to make you feel tall - or when you two fight and he wants to remind you how much you depend on him. He is an asshole, yes - but he is your asshole, need he remind you? Poor, dumb thing, you really have no idea what you're doing to him - he would give you the whole world if you'd ask but, instead, you want him to respect you?? Really? When he is more than a feet taller than you?

#cod #konig x reader #konig #cod x reader

[courtforshort15]

All I Feel is You

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem Reader

Word Count: 10,700

Summary: The story of how Matt Murdock falls in love with you, as told through the five senses

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of sex and oral sex

Written for this post by @dorothleah

Seriously guys, this was supposed to be short🤣🤣

Masterlist

1. Touch

The fabrics you tend to wear are warm and inviting and almost begging to be touched. Every single thread is soft and calming, more so than what Matt is accustomed to finding on friends and the general public, and it's become a much welcomed change. He's noticed that you very rarely wear cotton, instead sticking to silk and satin and cashmere, and though you’ve only been at the firm a scant few weeks, he is addicted and can’t help but want to run his fingers up and down the fabric, dying to know how it would feel underneath his fingertips. 

He’s felt silk and satin and cashmere before, often preferring those materials on his own skin, but he’s never felt them on you, and it somehow still changes the way he gravitates towards them. The thought is arousing and enticing in a way he would have never thought possible. 

The fabric slides over your skin as you move, and Matt finds the sound almost distracting, wishing it was his fingers that were sliding over you instead. When you wear dresses, the material sways around your legs as you walk by him, and it takes everything in Matt to not pull you close and slide your dress up, just so that he can test if the clothing you wear is as soft as the inside of your thighs.

His fingers twitch at his sides whenever you move past him, ruthlessly pushing all indecent thoughts away and out of his head. He knows that if he were ever to touch you like the way he's hungered for weeks, he'd never be able to stop. 

Matt very nearly loses all semblance of control the first time you grab his hand and place it around the crook of your elbow, silk blouse pressed between his flesh and yours. 

Typically Foggy is the one to lead him, perhaps even Karen, because leading a visually impaired individual is a skill, and it requires a certain level of finesse and anticipation of the other’s needs. You’ve been hesitant, he’s aware, to guide him, though not because you don’t want to help him; it’s because you’re afraid you’ll mess up, you admit, and he outwardly laughs in your face. 

You flush, smacking his chest, and tell him you’re nervous you’ll forget to remind him of a step up or down, nervous you’ll walk him right into something or someone. He finds it adorable, especially given the fact that he has better coordination and direction than you ever will.

He’s not ready to tell you that yet, though the secret is constantly brimming at his lips, ready to spill at any given moment, regardless of the consequences.

But one day Foggy has a late meeting with a client across town, and Karen has left early for a date, and it’s just you left in the office with him. The long work day ends with a quiet sigh, the office pleasantly peaceful as the last few hours of work tamper off, and Matt startles when you kindly offer to help walk him home. It’s later than you’re usually at the office, and Matt briefly wonders if you’ve stayed because he had needed to finish things and wasn’t able to leave at a decent time.

Matt strives for a healthier life-work-vigilante balance, has worked for it since things ended with Fisk a little over a year ago, but he’s still a work in progress. He’s addicted to his work, both the work that sees the light of day and the work that doesn’t, and he still sometimes forgets that it impacts others, too, despite the constant drilling of these details into his mind by Foggy and Karen.

“It’s really not necessary,” he tells you with a laugh after the offer spills from your lips, packing his things up and putting his suit jacket back on, sliding his arms through the sleeves. The weather is still decently temperate, the warmth of summer still desperately clinging to New York City, but he can already feel the way the air outside has started cooling down now that the sun has almost finished its descent below the skyscrapers that surround the neighborhood. “I know my way around Hell’s Kitchen well enough. I’ll be okay.” 

And the words are true enough, with or without his senses. He’s a New York City boy, through and through, and he knows these streets and city blocks like the back of his hand.

You pick up your purse, pushing the strap over one shoulder, before turning back to him. The sound of your hair and the smell of the shampoo still clinging to each strand stirs a sense of want and yearning, one he so desperately wants to satisfy. 

“What if it makes me feel better?”

Matt shakes his head, smirking, the look on his face something Foggy would probably label as the typical Matt Murdock charm. The ticking of the clock echoes through the office, and though he can't read the time, the dull sounds of the New York City streets outside the window tells him it's later than he thought it was.

“And what if the idea of you going out of your way at night just to walk me home makes me feel worse?” He’s teasing, of course, though there’s some level of truth to it. He hates the idea of you walking alone at night, knowing far too well the danger that seems to always lurk in the alleyways, knowing far too well that even he can’t be everywhere at once, should something happen to you.

The words that leave his mouth seem to temporarily quiet you, but Matt’s not shocked when the silence ends after only a moment or two. You're usually quick with a rebuttal, your mind always sifting through sentences and body language, and Matt waits in amusement as you work to find the right reply for the situation. 

“It’s hardly night,” you finally respond, decidedly shoving the concern aside easily. “It’s only 7. There’s still a little light out.”

Matt may not be able to see the way his face lights up or darkens with certain expressions, but he knows he’s giving you the driest look possible. “You’d still be going far out of your way. Don’t you live in the opposite direction?”

He hears you scoff, though the sound is more amused than anything. “I can walk you home and take a cab back to my place.”

“You should take a cab back to your place regardless of where you are at this time at night,” he counters, stepping completely out of his office and into the lobby of their space, briefcase in one hand, cane in the other. “But I promise I’m fine on my own. It’s only a few blocks.”

“Humor me.” 

It’s a last ditch effort, he’s well aware, if the helpless sigh you let out is anything to go by. You’re waiting for him by the front door, and Matt, despite his protests, wants nothing more than to walk through it with you and bring you home with him.

“Fine,” he says with another sly grin, and he hears the way you exhale in relief. “But only because I’m not going to pass up a few extra minutes with you when you’ve so graciously offered them.”

The words settle between the two of you, and Matt can feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks as vividly as if he was pressed up against you. Your heart skips briefly, and the sound reverberates in his head. He laughs internally in pure satisfaction when you gulp.

“Fine,” you repeat the word back to him, voice slightly higher than it had been a few moments ago, and Matt can’t help but still be secretly pleased with the reaction you’ve given him. “Are you ready then?”

He gestures towards the exit. “Whenever you are.”

“Good,” you say, turning to open the door, but before you can step through it, you pause. Matt tilts his head at you curiously, wordlessly questioning the silence and the way you've hesitated. 

“So…this is an awkward question, and I don’t know how to do it delicately, so I’ll just dive in. At what point–”

Matt cuts you off, suddenly knowing where this was going. This time he's unable to hold back a laugh. “You want to know when you should offer your arm.”

There’s not a moment of hesitation on your end when you answer. “Yeah, pretty much.”

The grin on his face widens, and Matt wonders if it’s possible to ever frown when you’re around. “I can make my way to the elevator just fine,” he says with a brief shrug of his shoulders, unsnapping his cane as he takes a few steps forward. “But having help after that is always appreciated.”

“Got it,” you reply with a quick nod. You turn back to the door, finally opening it up, and step back so that he has room to walk through. “After you, Matt.”

He resists the urge to brush past you as closely as he possibly can, and instead places a careful distance between your body and his. It's almost excruciating, this self-imposed separation, but he pushes the feeling down.

He doesn't need your assistance with this particular task, but he'll be damned if he doesn't take full advantage.

It’s not long before the elevator is dropping you down at the lowest level, and the doors slide open with a quiet ding. He follows your lead, taking a step outside and into the fresh air of the building lobby, and waits patiently for you to reach for him.

Your hand is trembling as it stretches out to grab his, Matt notes curiously, but it’s steady by the time it pulls him slightly forward. Soft fingers settle on the skin of his wrist, and he adjusts his body so that he’s grasping the crook of your elbow as you step further in.

Matt’s stood intoxicatingly close to you before. He's felt the heat of your body close to his as you pass him files, or when you sit next to him at lunch. He’s felt the length of your hair brush his arm lightly as you reach for something that is on the other side of him, felt the way your breath fans over his face when you lean in to whisper something in his ear while at court. It drives him crazy, these little moments of feeling you, always burning and aching for more. 

But through all of that, nothing has prepared him for the feeling of silk that encases your upper arm and the way it feels against your skin resting underneath it. He’s sure he’s gone to heaven, or whatever sort of heaven is possible for a man like him, and he knows then and there that he needs to feel the way your skin will slide against the silk of his own sheets.

You feel far too wonderful him in that moment, wrapped in the soft material the way that you are, and Matt relishes the way your sensitive skin is an equal match to his, knowing he’ll never have to wonder or worry about rough, scratchy fabric rubbing against him if you can help it. It’s exhilarating, this idea that you’ll always be soft and ready for him.

He’s going to have you, one day. You may not know it yet, but there will be a day when he has you spread out and waiting underneath him, and he’ll tell you that it was this moment that was the tipping point for him.

It's hard to focus as you walk him home, saying your goodbyes at his doorstep when a cab pulls up, and he knows his hand will feel empty and bereft until it has the chance to settle on you once more. It’s like he was always meant to hold you, always meant to touch you, and he’ll wait patiently for you to come to the same realization.

*

2. Hearing

Matt has long since learned to drown out noises that aren’t necessary to the tasks at hand. His ears always pick up everything going on around him, relying on them more often than not for obvious reasons, but he’s mastered the art of tuning things out if they are not currently relevant to what he is working on. It’s a skill Stick had taught him, and it is perhaps the best thing that man had ever done for him, encouraging him to focus in the moment while forever remaining vigilant.

The same cannot be said for you.

He's not exactly sure when the others pick up on the way you need things to be softer, but he notices the first time you flinch as the front door slams shut by mistake. 

A potential client, rejected by their team due to several, incessant lies that pour from his mouth in the thirty minutes they meet with him, storms out of the office in annoyance. He mutters angrily to himself as he leaves, and yanks the door behind him, the sound of it echoing throughout the office. 

The sound was expected by Matt, having already anticipated the way it would reverberate throughout their space due to the heaviness and speed of the door headed towards the frame, but with his senses trained towards you, as they so often are, he doesn't miss the way you flinch and cover your ears.

Harsh and loud noises are triggering for you, it seems, and it’s something he can fully sympathize with, unfortunately. He finds it concerning, if not a little intriguing, this flash of vulnerability you display.

Your voice is gentle as it floats out around the office, rarely rising above a certain decibel, almost encouraging those around you to keep things quiet as well. It's impacted the way he, Foggy and Karen listen and speak to each other, making an effort not to shout things through offices, but rather get up and find the person they’re talking to. The transition happens almost over night, and he can sense the way your body relaxes the longer you are employed with them, trusting the team to use voices that aren’t louder than they really need to be.

Over the course of the months you spend settling into their team, you're frequently invited to happy hour at Josie's. It’s easy for him to pick up on the way you love joining the team, having told them you hadn’t felt like New York was home until you accepted their offer of employment, and it warms him. Your cheeks flush with the buzz of alcohol, your posture relaxes, and your speech becomes less poised, less polished. And every time you join them, without fail, you have soft, silicone plugs nestled in your ears while you're seated at the table.

Tonight you’re seated next to him, something that Matt had carefully orchestrated while you were placing a drink order at the bar, adjusting himself so that the only open seat would be next to him. He tries not to give himself away, but he can’t help but lean into you as far as he can without making it extremely obvious how much he wants to be pressed against you at all times.

He inhales sharply when you abruptly twist your body so that you’re angled towards him in a way that suggests he might not be alone in this need that runs viciously through him.

Matt does his best to focus in on the story you’re telling, your arms gesturing wildly as you regale the group with a funny anecdote about your younger brother. Your voice, despite the loudness of the bar, is still gentle in its cadence, and Matt has long since determined that no other voice will ever captivate him the way yours does.

When you’re done, you take a long sip of your drink, the liquid sliding down your throat, and Matt longs to wrap his hand around the column of your neck just to feel it, while maybe tilting your head back to kiss you in the process. 

Before Matt has the chance to ask you a follow-up question about your brother, curious to know more about the life you’ve led before moving to New York, Foggy jumps in with a question of his own, shouting over the noise of the bar.

"I've never asked before, but why do you wear ear plugs when we come here?"

You freeze next to him, and for a brief second Matt wants to shove his friend off of his bar stool. It’s a question he’s always had, though he thinks he already knows the answer, but he hates the way you’ve been put on the spot. He opens his mouth to tell you that you don’t need to answer, but you reply anyway, cutting him off.

"I, uh…I can get overwhelmed with loud noises," you explain quietly, fidgeting with the napkin still resting in your lap, placed there to wipe salt and grease off of your fingers as you munch on the french fries the group had ordered. "Sometimes it just gets to be too much. I can't focus on what's going on in front of me because everything else is just too loud. The ear plugs drown some things out."

Foggy tilts his head in curiosity, and Matt throws him a look of warning, wordlessly asking him to tread carefully, unwilling to let anything upset you. It had surprised him, initially, his reaction to the thought of you being uncomfortable, but now he knows and no longer questions the fact that he’d gladly rake his body over flaming coals if it meant you were always safe and happy and settled in whatever environment you found yourself in.

Foggy hasn’t caught on to his feelings just yet, but Karen has, and he can practically feel the amused side-eye she’s shooting him.

He rests a hand on your knee gently, intending to only leave it there for a second, but your hand suddenly reaches down and grabs it, easily interlacing your fingers with his. Matt tracks the way your cheeks flush, the way your heartbeat stutters for a split second, and is unable to stop the way his face splits open in a smile.

"Can you hear us okay, then? When you have them in?" Foggy questions, continuing on with the topic, completely oblivious to the body language of the people around him. 

You let out a quiet laugh. "You're sitting close enough that it's not really an issue. But I am decent at reading lips, so that usually helps, too."

“Gotcha,” Foggy says with an easy smile. “Let me know if there’s ever anything we can do to help make you more comfortable."

The conversation about your ear plugs ends there, Matt steering them gently towards another topic to help lead the focus off of something he can tell you're slightly self-conscious about, and he's rewarded by another squeeze of his hand. 

After that evening, the group still goes to Josie's fairly often, but they begin taking turns hosting happy hour at their own individual apartments. It becomes a frequent habit, ordering take out and staying in rather than going out, and Matt easily admits to himself that the quieter get-togethers are easier on his own ears, too. 

The lack of the sharp noises and drunken chatter of a bar also gives him the ability to focus on your heartbeat just that much easier, jumping whenever he gently brushes his fingers over yours when handing you another drink or carton of fried rice, and that alone makes the slight change worth it. 

Matt is committed at this point, intimately aware of what his presence does to you, and while he’d wait forever, he’s desperate to hear every single moan, gasp, or sigh he can draw out of you with his body pressed against yours.

"I never did thank you," you say quietly one evening, helping toss the beer bottles in his recycling bin. Foggy and Karen left ten minutes ago, claiming the need to prep a few more things before trial tomorrow, though Matt knows they had strategically left him alone with you on purpose.

Sometimes he thinks his friends are trying to get back at him for the years of chaos and tears he’s caused them.

"Thank me for what?" He asks, throwing some of the leftover Chinese into his fridge. He packs up a small bag of leftover white rice and vegetables for you to take, knowing without verbal confirmation that the slight blandness is something you'll enjoy and appreciate. He enjoys it, too, strong flavors sometimes too much for him, but he would rather you have it.

"You're the one who started encouraging us to spend time as a smaller group at someone's place, rather than going out," you say, voice floating through his apartment. He may not yet have told you about his own senses, but for some reason you've picked up on the way he can always hear you, no matter how soft or loud you are. "And I just really appreciate it. Going out isn't a big deal, but this is still a nice change sometimes."

Matt steps out of his kitchen to where you've picked up your purse from his table and stands directly in front of you, close enough to reach out and touch. He notices the way your breathing catches, as it always does when he stands near, and for whatever reason, tonight he feels emboldened to fully lean into it.

He reaches out to run a gentle finger down your cheekbone, and you sigh and seem to lean into it instinctively. It's all the encouragement he needs to continue. "I've found that I'd do just about anything to make sure you're comfortable," he says, enjoying the way your skin heats, and he takes another step forward, hand now fully cupping the side of your face. "Whatever you need from me to help that, I'll do it."

You pause for a moment, apparently weighing something in your mind, and he feels the moment you've made some sort of decision. He stands still when you take a tiny step towards him, the heat of you downright scalding, and he waits with bated breath for you to say something. 

"You don't need to do anything, Matt," you whisper quietly, taking his other hand in yours. "But thank you all the same. Truly."

Months of him needing you near more than he needs to breathe, months of him needing to put you first before all other things in his life, causes him to close the distance, unable and unwilling to spend one more second of not knowing what your mouth feels like underneath his.

Your lips are warm and soft as he presses against them, and he keeps the kiss gentle. Your hands reach up to wrap themselves in his shirt, and Matt knows he'll spend the rest of his life wanting to hear nothing else but that quiet sigh that leaves your mouth as it parts for his.

*

3. Taste

Matt grew up in perhaps one of the most unique melting pots in the world. 

New York City is an explosive mixture of cultures and ethnicities and races, and he’s been exposed to all the wonderful things that come with the mixture of so many people living in his city - the different music, the different languages, the different dreams and ideals. 

But the one thing that never fails to disappoint and sadden him about it is the fact that all the different foods of the world, so easily within his grasp, can be extremely overwhelming to his sense of taste. It’s a sense of irony that he doesn’t appreciate.

Over the years, he’s learned to cook with minimal spices and flavors, almost desperate to avoid making his taste buds go haywire, but though everything he makes is nourishing and edible, it doesn’t necessarily make them…good. Matt has a relatively bland diet, sticking to foods and flavors that are subtle, and the repetition is boring. 

But then…you come along.

It’s like an explosion, the flavors you bring with you in your lunches and snacks every day. Matt’s mouth salivates over the meals you bring in, knowing without tasting them that nothing you make will overwhelm his taste buds. It’s never anything fancy, he admits. But you’ve tossed ingredients and spices together in a way that he would have never thought to mix, and it suddenly sets him on a renewed journey of finding new things he can’t wait to try.

Rich and savory spices and herbs spill out of your small backpack as you load them in the fridge every day, and the way the scents sometimes stick to your skin makes him want to take you home and never take his tongue off of you.

…which, he feels that way one hundred percent of the time anyway, the taste of your skin divine by itself, but these moments bring out his hunger for you even more. He's had his tongue on you now, had it in you, and he'd gladly spend the rest of his time here on Earth tasting nothing but the salt on every single inch of your body that you'll let him touch.

He's only made love to you once, but Matt can no longer imagine his life without your taste in his mouth.

It's a rainy Friday night in Hell's Kitchen when you manage to drag him to one of your favorite restaurants, though the word drag is used lightly. He's eager and selfish enough to take every spare second you'll give him, but even he can admit that some cases at work require late evenings. There's an everlasting desire to press his lips to yours, if only to draw out every sound he now knows you can make, so he follows you anyway, despite the heavy workload resting on the secondhand desk that's situated in his office. 

The streets of New York City are wet and miserable, but you pull him happily with you, and he has no control over the heart that has decided your hand is a better home and keeper than his own chest.

Before you even round the corner with him half a step behind, he knows instinctively what restaurant you’re taking him to without a word being spoken. It's a few blocks outside of Hell's Kitchen, so he's never really walked by this restaurant before, but now, just a few hundred feet from him, it calls to him, a delicious mixture of spices and herbs and sugars rolling across his tongue that are satisfying without being overwhelming.

He takes his time on your arm, enjoying the way you sway and swerve in between other pedestrians, simply because it gives him an excuse to hold onto you that much tighter. And by the time he holds the door open for you to step inside, Matt's mouth is almost drooling in want and hunger.

It's not long before food is being placed in front of you both, and he wastes not a single second before diving in. He knew before he even entered the restaurant that he was about to eat one of the most fantastic meals of his life, outside of the classic bacon and eggs and pancakes his father used to make him every Saturday morning while he watched cartoons. 

The same explosion of flavors that he had smelled from outside is there, foods that are bold but still somehow subtle, and he swears he's never tasted a combination of ingredients and sauces and spices that fit so well with his palette. 

Add in the fact that the restaurant uses natural products to clean their dishes and wash their vegetables, rather than burning chemicals that scald both his nose and tongue, and it makes him feel like he never wants to eat anywhere else again.

He also never wants to eat or discover new things with anyone else but you again, but that's a conversation for another time. 

"This is one of my favorite places to come to," you say lightly with a soft smile on your lips, and Matt hmms in agreement, because it has suddenly managed to become one of his favorites, too. "I found it a few months back. It’s relatively new, I think. It just has so many options to choose from that fit with the sorts of things I like."

Matt lifts his fork to his mouth, eyes briefly shutting in contentment, a swirl of rich, savory flavors that settle enticingly on his tongue. He savors it before he swallows.

He can track down every ingredient used for this specific dish. The vegetables are the same ones Monica Smith sells in her small market on 42nd, the chicken from the butcher on 57th. Most of these ingredients are sold fresh and locally, sources that Matt often trusts with his own meals that he cooks himself, and there's nothing more comforting than tasting Hell’s Kitchen, than tasting home on his tongue.

"Do you come here often, then?" He asks once he places his fork down and takes a sip of his drink. 

Your mouth twists into a smirk. "You've already got me, Matthew. No need to use a pick up line.”

A startled laugh escapes his throat, and the sound echoes throughout the quiet restaurant. "That's not how I meant it."

"Felt like you were putting the moves on me like we were some sort of dive bar," you tease. You blow on the spoonful of soup you're about to wrap your mouth around to eat, and Matt can't help but think of the way your mouth had been wrapped around him not too long ago.

"No need to put the moves on you when I've apparently already got you, sweetheart," he fires back with a grin. "Though I'd be very interested in discussing that particular fact later. In detail."

A quiet laugh trickles over to him. "That can probably be arranged."

"Good," is all he says. He takes another bite, and you mirror him, finally placing the spoon in your mouth. Matt lets out a quiet moan, both at the taste of the food in his mouth and the taste that's now resting on your tongue, eager to pull you to him and share it with you by way of placing his mouth greedily on yours.

"But to answer your question, I do," you tell him once you swallow, and Matt simultaneously attempts to push the arousal away temporarily (he fails), and smiles at the way your voice sounds wistful and happy. He hopes the sound can be contributed to his company just as much as the food in front of you. "It's hard for me to find places that I like."

He tilts his head to the side. "Any specific reason why?"

You shrug, and Matt's attention lazily drifts to the sound the silk makes as it slides over your shoulders. He's had you in his bed now, and the sound of silk and your skin gliding against each other will forever be etched into his memory. 

"Too many places just use ingredients that don't…taste right to me," you answer easily. "Too much salt. Too much grease. Too much everything, really. This place is more gentle, more thoughtful with how they prepare things, I think. Things just feel more natural here."

Matt has to bite back a smile because you just…get it.

He hasn't said a word to you about his senses, not yet at least, but somehow everything about you just fits with him, like you're two pieces of a puzzle, meant to connect and stay connected, revealing an image that only the two of you can see and feel.

"I understand what you mean by that," he says softly, reaching out to grasp your hand in his before he pulls away to grab his beer. "Have you always been that way? Sensitive to different foods? I've noticed the types of things you bring in for lunch; seems to be a common thread."

He feels the way your hand halts on its way to your mouth, and the pause sets him briefly on edge, the sound of your heartbeat stuttering for just a quick second. Opening his mouth, Matt means to ask what's wrong, but you answer before he can do so.

"Yeah, I've always been like this. I, uh…I'm on the spectrum," you tell him before shoving the bite of your salad in your mouth. Matt's mouth drops a fraction of an inch, honestly having not suspected the response. But it makes him pause, because all of a sudden it clicks that he has observed traits that seem to be consistent with what he knows about the diagnosis. 

Sensitivity to sound. Sensitivity to certain fabrics. Sensitivity to taste. He hadn't caught on before, but now it just…makes sense.

You continue. "I'm a fairly mild case, honestly, but certain tastes and textures of food are just overwhelming sometimes, or they don't feel right in my mouth. It's hard to explain."

His focus quickly shifts to the way you adjust in your seat, as if nervous about his reaction, and he finds himself intensely disliking the thought of you regretting your admission in any way.

"You could try to explain, if you're comfortable with it," he suggests softly, reaching out to gently grasp and squeeze your hand again before he pulls back, needing you to know that anything you divulge is safe with him. He hopes that when he's ready to divulge a secret of his own, you'll sit and really hear him, the way he's always needed someone to hear him, the way he's always needed someone to hear him and still love him.

"Whatever you have to say, I want to listen."

Taking a deep breath, you place your fork on your plate, though Matt doesn't necessarily take it as a sign that you're uncomfortable with the topic, to which he is grateful, but rather something that indicates you're planning in your head what you want to say.

When you finally answer, Matt is utterly powerless to do nothing but give you every single cell of attention that resides in his body.

"I'm not necessarily shy about it, I'm actually pretty open about it, but I guess there's not much to say," you begin, sounding less hesitant than you had sounded just seconds before. "It's pretty common for people on the spectrum to be picky eaters, and that's always been the case for me. But even if it's common, it doesn't mean it's necessarily well understood why, and no two people and their reactions are the same. For some reason, it tends to be more prevalent in women, which makes it even more difficult to track or explain because there isn't a ton of research on women who are autistic. Most studies focus on men."

He hmms in the back of his throat, tilting his head to the side in consideration. "I guess I hadn't really thought about that."

"Most people don't," you say after another bite, and he frowns lightly at the tone of nonchalance in your voice, because even though you sound unaffected, he can hear the quiet waver that suggests that there's a part that ever so slightly bothers you at people's general lack of acknowledgment of the matter. He vows to learn every single thing you're able to teach him, vows to read every single book, published article, or internet post he can find. "Long story short, my sense of taste tends to be limited in terms of what I can tolerate, you know?"

Matts quiet for a moment before he responds. "Oddly enough, I can understand that," he says with a small smile, raising his glass to take another sip of his drink. 

"I figured you would," you reply with a light shrug, the movement stirring the air around you, making the scent of you carry over to him enticingly. He opens his mouth ever so slightly to catch the taste on his tongue. "You tend to order pretty simple things when we all go out. You stick to the same foods and drinks for the most part."

A smirk replaces the grin on his face. "You've been paying attention to me? What am I supposed to do with that information, I wonder?"

He can feel the way your face flushes, and he imagines the color that is blooming rapidly across your cheeks. He vaguely remembers the color red, and he wonders if your skin is vibrant and bold right now, or if the hue is soft and sweet.

"Am I wrong, though?" You ask, neatly avoiding his own questions. "You prefer things that are subtle, things that taste smooth, as opposed to things that taste sharp or in your face, I guess? Do you know what I mean by that?"

"I do. Things that are easy rather than bold," he says with a quick nod. "I can't do bitter or spicy or sour."

Your face splits into a grin. "Exactly. Certain flavors are nice, but they can't be overwhelming or I just kinda…start to shut down. I don't tend to like new things. I'm perfectly happy sticking to the things I know I like."

Matt leans back in his seat as he places his napkin on the table in front of him. He waits until you swallow before speaking again, diving in for the kill, knowing exactly what sort of reaction he's hoping to get from you.

"I'm typically the same way," he says with a smirk. "Though, based on the other night, I'd have to say that my new favorite taste is you."

Your skin flares to life again as you take in a sharp breath, and the smile on his mouth is wide with borderline glee and satisfaction when you give him just the response he had been looking for.

He practically pats himself on the back for a job well done, but is unprepared for your response.

"Well," you say slowly, voice quiet and wavering for just a split second before it strengthens, "if that's the way you feel, then maybe we could go back to your place and you can have me for dessert."

It's Matt's turn to be momentarily speechless, and while blood had rushed to your cheeks at his comment, his own blood heads straight to his cock at yours, and at the thought of having his mouth on you again makes him go absolutely feral.

When he regains his ability to speak, he flags down the waiter he can hear at the table next to him, and asks for the check with a speed he's never managed to achieve, despite his years of snapping at the heels of every violent and manipulative criminal in Hell's Kitchen.

Your soft laugh continues to echo in his ear as he practically drags you to his apartment. 

*

4. Scent 

You miss two or three days of work a month due to what you’ve described as chronic migraines, and the whole office cringes in sympathy whenever you call out. Matt is no stranger to headaches, having had his head bashed in too many times to count, and he knows he’s caused several headaches of his own for Foggy and Karen, the direct result of them being friends with a man who is always finding himself in some sort of trouble.

But migraines, he’s heard, are a whole different ball game, and it saddens him to think of you in so much pain.

When you first started working for their firm, the team used to come to your home and bring you case files and notes at your request, as you were always eager to prove that you were a valuable member of their team, despite the illness that randomly knocked you on your ass for sometimes 24 to 48 hours. They all trust you to complete your work, usually staying late and working weekends to make up for lost time, and for months he humored you, if for no other reason than to have an excuse to show up on your doorstep and check up on you.

Now, though…it’s different.

He ignores your request to bring the files over, and is instead armed with decaffeinated coffee, green tea, peppermint tea, anything and everything he’s researched that is recommended to help ease you out of a migraine and prevent future ones. He’s not sure how much of it all works, but he’s willing and desperate to lessen your pain, even if only for a few minutes.

You’d gifted him with a key just a few weeks ago, shortly after he had told you he loved you for the first time. Unlike most things in his life, being with you is effortless and calm. The transition from friendship to this was seamless, the pair of you somehow knowing this was something meant to last, so he lets himself quietly into your apartment without a second thought. 

The air conditioning is cranked up and blasting as it always is when a migraine sets in, something about heat being a trigger for you, and he doesn’t need to see to know that all the blinds are shut, cutting out all of the natural light and the warmth that would have hit his skin through the windows.

You’re in your bedroom, your heartbeat too rapid for his liking, so he sets the items he’s brought over onto your counter, removes his shoes and suit jacket, and makes his way towards you. You don’t say anything when he settles in behind you, just grabs his arm and pulls it around you, and within a few moments, you’re dead asleep. It’s as if you had been waiting on him before you could fully relax, trusting him to watch over you in your moments of vulnerability.

It’s hours later, well into the evening, when you finally stir again, your body stretching before sinking further into his. Matt had drifted off to sleep beside you for a bit, but had already been awake for an hour before your eyes fluttered open, grateful that your heart rate had decreased and your breathing settled into something more peaceful. The way your body physically reacts to any sort of stress, whether it be sickness or an impending deadline, never fails to put him on edge, ready to leap into the fray of whatever has the potential to cause you harm.

“You’re still here?” Your voice is groggy with sleep, though it’s not as tight with pain as it normally is when you’re in the throes of a migraine, so Matt finds himself relieved that the worst of it may have passed.

“I didn’t want to leave,” he whispers in your ear, tightening the arm resting around your waist. “I don’t have to go out for another few hours or so.”

“What time is it?”

“Just after 7,” he said, placing a kiss to the top of your head from where it’s almost tucked under his chin. “I got here around 3, after the meeting with that new client.”

“And you stayed the whole time?” The words are quiet, but they still sound slightly incredulous. “Matt…you had so much to do today.”

“Nothing more important than making sure you’re okay,” Matt responds easily, slotting his legs up behind yours, pressing the entire length of his body against you. You’d called early this morning while he had been on his way to work, claiming that an awful migraine had started up last night, and he had rushed through his day as quickly as possible. “Are you feeling better?”

You make a non-committal noise. “Maybe a little. I think my meds kicked in this afternoon.”

Matt hums quietly in your ear. “Have you considered a new brand? They don’t seem to be helping much. You still get them pretty frequently.”

Shifting in his hold, you suddenly turn to face him, and Matt adjusts by rolling slightly on to his back, allowing you to curl up against his side and lay your head on his chest. Matt uses the opportunity to brush a kiss against your forehead, the heat of your skin against his always welcome. He had long since removed his pants and shirt, having taken them off before he decided to nap with you, and the way you snuggle closer reminds him that you like being skin to skin just as much as he does.

“They help as much as they can,” you say with a subtle shrug. “It’s hard when something triggers it.”

Matt stills the hand that had naturally risen up to brush lightly against your back. “What triggered it?”

“The lady that came in yesterday afternoon.”

He furrows his brow, searching back through his memory. “Mrs. Henderson?” He feels you nod against his chest, still shuddering and inching impossibly closer. “What about her?”

“It was her perfume.”

“Her perfume triggered the migraine?” You nod again, and Matt frowns mildly as he starts piecing some things together. 

It clicks. “Are you migraines…scent triggered?”

You sigh against him, throwing a leg over his, further settling yourself against him, and Matt tightens his arm. Your eyes flutter shut as you speak. “Yeah, usually. Being around strong scented things can be awful.” 

Matt’s not sure why he hadn’t recognized it before, now that he thinks back on it. The way your apartment always smells clean, but not in a way that smells like a solution of pure chemicals. It always smells more natural, made up of subtle scents that are warm rather than piercing. Your detergent is in similar fashion, and the shampoo you use on your hair is soft and almost indistinct to anyone who doesn't have a nose like his. No candles. No air fresheners. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t noticed it, given the fact that he has always used similar products at his own place that are equally kind to his nose.

“How come I didn’t know this?” Matt questions curiously. He should have known, uniquely prepared and understanding of yet another sensory factor that he has in common with you. But unlike your own unique sensitivity, Matt has found a way to block out most scents, especially the more unpleasant ones that come with living in New York City. 

“Didn’t seem important.”

“Didn’t seem–? It’s super important, if it means there’s something that causes you this much pain,” he argues quietly, resuming the movement of his hand running up and down your back. You arch into the touch. “I might not be able to help all of the time, but I might be able to help with this.”

Matt knows you know exactly what he’s talking about, having told you his biggest secret not long into the relationship. You take a sudden deep breath.

“I guess I didn’t think of it that way,” you admit quietly. “It didn’t really occur to me, that this might be something you could maybe…help with.”

“We’ll figure it out, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear, shifting his head to kiss your cheek. “Whatever I can do to help, just like I said before.”

You nod sleepily into his chest, the conversation having apparently worn you out already, and Matt huffs a laugh when your eyes close again and don't reopen.

It doesn’t take long to develop a routine from there on out. Matt’s able to pick up on a scent headed up the elevator that he knows will bother you, long before the client even enters the office of Nelson, Murdock & Page, and he takes great care in either encouraging you to work from home the rest of the day, or hoarding you in his own office, the quiet and unassuming scent of your shampoo and detergent an everlasting sense of peace to his own sensitive nose.

It’s only been a few months, but he has every intention of permanently blending your scent with his.

*

5.  Sight

You prefer muted lights over fluorescent ones.

It doesn’t take long for Matt to notice that the lights in your apartment are warm and relaxing, a strong contrast to the lights he can hear in other various settings. It’s no surprise to him, not really, when he pairs this detail with all the other sensitivities you have. And while the low lights are a benefit to your eyes, Matt considers them a benefit to his hearing.

He’s never mentioned it, but even though he can’t see the harsh lights of a courtroom or police station, he can hear them, and the buzzing noise isn’t always pleasant. He can block most things out, but the constant thrumming does wear on his nerves sometimes, a sharp sound that blazes across his skin before settling in his ears.

He appreciates coming home to you, for more reasons than he could ever possibly count, knowing that the only lights you’ve brought with you when you moved in are soft and warm and blessedly quiet.

Matt knows your eyes are sensitive, that you wear sunglasses whenever you’re outside, regardless of sun or rain or snow, and the lenses that perch on your nose have a special blue-light filter to help take away the strain of staring at a computer screen for too long. He split the cost of having custom sized curtains throughout the apartment to drown out some of the light, and he’s heard you explain to Foggy and Karen the reason the backlight on your phone is so muted.

This isn't something he can necessarily relate to, the one sense of five he is lacking and will never regain. He remembers what it was like to see, colors and faces and neighborhoods rich and vibrant, but light had never caused him actual pain.

He will forever live his life in the dark, even while you remain the bright and pulsing star he will never stop orbiting around.

Over the course of the past year and a half, Matt has spent time tracking the similarities he has with you. All the sensitivities that match up, and it's brought so much comfort to his life that he doesn't know how to articulate it. You've begun building a life together that is soft and soothing for you both. 

He's not surprised that the topic of his own sight has taken so long to be brought up. Calm and simple conversations have sprouted up here and there, and he's always known that you'd haven't avoided the topic, but rather simply made it clear that while losing his sight has continued to be a large part of his story, it is not necessarily the one that is most important to you.

You have always understood that he is more than his blindness, even before his big reveal. And when the topic finally surfaces, it carries both more and less weight than it has anytime before. 

"Matt," you begin quietly, settled in his arms after he absolutely wrecked your world with his fingers, his tongue, and his cock. He's wrapped himself around you from behind, one of his favorite ways to ensure that you're here with him, that you're safe, that you're his. "Can I ask a question?"

He makes a sound in the back of his throat quietly, indicating that yes, you can ask him anything. He has stripped down every barrier that keeps you from him, both his walls and yours, and there is nothing he'll deny you. 

You must pick up the unspoken words he's given you in a language only the two of you understand, so you proceed. "If this sounds insensitive, please tell me. I don't want to upset you, I'm just curious."

Beyond interested now, Matt rolls you in his arms until you're facing him. Your breath gently rolls over him as he pushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "What is it, sweetheart?"

Taking a deep breath, your mouth parts in response. "Do you…ever wish you could still see?"

The question makes him pause in a way he hasn't quite stilled before. He's been asked the same question hundreds of times over the decades of his life since the accident, and the answer has always been the same. In an effort to tell people he's happy with where his life is at, in an effort to make people not pity him by him thinking a part of his life is missing, he has always responded with a quick, no, I'm fine. I've gotten used to it.

And while he is fine, the reasoning goes far beneath what he hands out for others to know. Matt may struggle with believing he is worthy of being loved and adored, but one thing he is sure of is that he doesn't owe anyone his story, and that very few deserve to hear it. 

He told Karen once that he wished he could see the sky one more time in a rare moment of opening up, though he admits that he had mostly done so to earn her trust in a display of offering a vulnerability. He had hoped it would inspire an admission of her own, something to help guide him towards the next clue to the puzzle in her case, but he had been unsuccessful.

But that was neither here nor there.

The question falling from the lips he'd gladly spend every second pressed against is quiet, less probing than others who have asked, and he knows this is yet one more thing he's unable to keep from you. 

Actually, the word is no longer unable, but rather unwilling, because there's not a single piece of himself that he wants to keep hidden from you. You own him, body, heart, and soul, and months ago that acceptance of ownership came with the realization that he has no desire to be anything but open and free beneath your fingertips.

A soft hand runs up his torso and settles over his heart, a quiet yet intentional moment of comfort, and you speak before he gets a chance to reply. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

He shakes his head. "No, it's not that. I'm just thinking."

"Take your time, love," is all you say, and the term of endearment never fails to knock him off his feet. You are his love, but he is also yours.

With a subtle clearing of his throat, he opens his mouth to answer, not an ounce of hesitation, though the words at first seem disjointed because he's not quite sure how to say what he wants to say. 

"I…yes and no," he starts softly in your ear. "There...are certain things I wish I could see at least once, or at least one more time, but for the most part, no. I don't necessarily wish that."

Sheets rustle as you push a thigh between his to press even closer. "Is it because you just have accepted it? That there's nothing you can do about it, so no use thinking about it?"

"In some ways, sure," he tells you, pointer finger drawing lazy circles on your hip. "But I was angry about it for a long time. Angry that my vision was taken from me because I tried to help someone. I felt like I had been punished by a god who only ever saw the devil in me, rather than the good I had tried to do, even as a kid. But that anger shifted the older I got, and rather than blame God, I blamed the rest of the world for all the injustices, feeling like I was doomed to do nothing but hear them. And it made me furious that everyone else had the ability to actually see these horrible things happening, and yet they did nothing."

"So…you let the devil out," you murmur against his chest, already familiar with this part of the story, having heard the explanation of what had made him snap, the final straw that broke the camel's back. 

"Yes," he whispers back, knowing you held no blame or disgust associated with the sentence you had just let out. "I let the devil out."

Once upon a time he had begged Foggy to understand why he had chosen this particular path, asking him to forgive him for doing what he had thought necessary to save that little girl. He had repeated the process with Karen some time after that, but the results had been even worse the second time, the lie in their friendship and failed relationship a chasm between the two of them.

But with you…there had been no begging involved. No praying at your feet that you would understand it, understand him. The shock had been there, true, when he finally revealed himself all those months ago, laying all his cards on the table, yours to do with what you wished.

A silence had echoed between you, one that had felt like years but had only actually lasted a split second, before you picked up all the cards he had given you, tucked them in your chest for safe keeping, and responded with endless amounts of love and affection. You'd taken his hand just as easily as you'd taken his heart, told him you trusted him to do what he thought was right, and that there was not a single piece of him that you did not want and adore.

"And now? How do you feel about it now? About not being able to see?"

"I talked about this once with Maggie," he replies, recalling the conversation he'd had with her years ago underneath the church. "This idea of looking back on the past and trying to figure out if the life we led was on the right path or not. I told her about all the anger I had felt, all the hurt and betrayal. It took me a long time to realize that maybe God thought sight was unnecessary to do what needed to be done, and that I needed to go through the things I did in order to become Daredevil."

"And has that helped you? Thinking about it that way?"

"Yes," he says without hesitation, without pause. "If getting back my sight meant losing everything else, losing all the things that have helped me to help others, then it wouldn't be worth it."

"That makes sense," you whisper quietly against his chest. Your hair rubs against his skin, and Matt sighs at the contact. "You're Daredevil. Daredevil is Matt Murdock. There's no separating the two, because you're both. You wouldn't be your full self if you couldn't do what you can do."

He pulls you tighter against him. "Yes, I....that's exactly it," he says with a rush of breath that slides over your hair and skin. "I couldn't…be me without it. So, no. I don't wish I could see, not if it meant giving this up."

"And you don't feel the need to see." 

Matt can't help but love the way it's a statement, and not a question. 

"I don't," he says simply. "I've lived the vast majority of my life without sight, and I can live the rest without it, too. I have Foggy. I have Karen. I have our practice. And I have you. My life is complete the way it is."

Fingers trail up his chest, up his neck, and settle on his cheek. Matt instinctively leans his head into the touch, relishing the way you always manage to provide love and affection without saying a word. 

He's not necessarily sensitive to the topic anymore, and certainly never could be with you, this wonderful person in his life who has filled him with warmth, a steady flame licking at his heart and spreading outwards, always finding every crack and crevice to stitch together and make whole. 

He'll never be able to fully articulate the way he's never felt like home with anyone else but you, never be able to fully articulate the way you've righted the axis of his life that has not felt safe or secure since his father died.

All he can do is try. 

Try to explain just how you've pulled him in like a moth to the flame, but never once tried to burn him.

"My eyes haven't worked since I was 9, but you manage to help me see, sweetheart. In a way no one else has been able to before, " he says, and the words cause your breathing to hitch. He continues without much pause. "You describe things to me without me asking. I can hear and feel everything so much, but there's always going to be things I can't pick up on, and you've filled that void for me."

Your hand twitches, curling into itself on his chest, and he doesn't waste a single second reaching up to flatten it against his heart again. "Matt." Your voice is thick with an emotion mimicking both surprise and reverence, and your heartbeat has sped up considerably. 

Bending his neck lightly, he brushes his lips across your forehead. "You just naturally tell me about things going on around me, as if you had been doing it your whole life. I thought it was cute before you knew what I was capable of picking up on, but you haven't stopped. You still describe colors and facial expressions and funny signs you see when we're outside. You still tell me all about these things you notice, as if you want to make sure I don't miss a single thing, and I love you for it."

Seemingly stunned into silence, you lay cradled up against him, heart racing and skin flushed and warm. Winding his hand in your hair, Matt pulls your head back, and waits until he knows for sure your eyes have rested on his face. His smile is soft, as is the skin of your cheek when he moves his hand to stroke a thumb down your cheek, picking up a stray tear that rolled down. 

He tilts his head down to kiss you, but before he can move an inch, you're pulling his mouth down towards yours with a hand of your own wrapped around the back of his neck.

He pulls away after a brief moment before he gently rolls you onto your back, parting your thighs so that he can lay between them, anxious to be pressed against you, pressed in you, in every way he can. You moan as his weight settles on top of you, though it changes to a quiet gasp when his cock slides inside, your cunt still wet from where he had finished inside you not an hour before. 

He's pretty sure you're nothing but wet when you're around him, something that never fails to arouse a sharp sense of satisfaction that he makes your body react that way. It makes it easy to take you whenever he wants, your body ready for his with his name and a murmured yes on your lips. 

Matt captures your mouth again with a soft kiss, and when he pulls away, even as his hips rock languidly against yours, he can't help but whisper the words that have unconsciously circled in his head for months now.

"Out of everything out there, out of everything you've told me or described to me, if I could see only one thing in the world, it would be your face when you say I do."

And with that, he laces his fingers with yours as he presses your hand into the mattress next to your head, lightly tracing over the engagement ring he had slid on to your ring finger not too long ago.

It seems that every one of your sensory sensitivities matches his in some way or another, and he can’t help but be thrilled, be calmed by it. The idea of spending the rest of his life side by side with someone he not only loves and adores and cherishes more than his own life, but someone who appreciates and understands the way that the world is just too much sometimes, someone who has helped him find peace in a way he had never thought possible, has forever changed this path that his life has always been on.

Your mouth parts in a sigh underneath his, and he spends the rest of the night using all four senses to drive you both to the edge over and over again, aware that he'll never need his sight to see how perfectly, how flawlessly you were made for him.

#daredevil #matt murdock #human disaster matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x fem reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #reader insert

[midnightstargazer]

In OotP, when Regulus is first mentioned, this is how he's introduced:

"He was younger than me," said Sirius, "and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded."

The juxtaposition of those two things - younger and a better son - stands out because the Blacks are such an old-fashioned family. Sirius and Regulus seem like a typical "heir and a spare" situation, so for the spare to be a "better son" than the heir is a big deal.

In DH, when Harry visits the top floor of Grimmauld Place, one thing he notices is that Sirius had the larger bedroom. To me, this suggests that, at least when they were young children, their parents showed more favoritism to Sirius. He was, after all, the oldest and the heir. Given that Bellatrix and Walburga didn't have quiet, passive temperaments either, I doubt his personality would be seen as a problem until he ended up in Gryffindor, befriending the wrong people and rejecting everything the family stood for.

Regulus's more dutiful and obedient attitude was no doubt something they appreciated once Sirius really started rebelling, and it's easy to imagine them pitting their sons against each other: look at your brother, he's in the right house, he's rarely ever in detention, he's got friends we approve of - why can't you be like him? But still, they didn't disown Sirius until he ran away at sixteen. This suggests to me that any favoritism towards Regulus was, at least at first, an attempt to bring Sirius back into line and get him to behave the way they expected.

Even after Sirius ran away, they kept his room exactly as it was. Even if everything on the walls was attached with a permanent sticking charm, it shouldn't have been too difficult to cover it up. Furniture and personal items could certainly be gotten rid of. The fact that the room was still pretty much untouched tells me they kept holding out hope he might come back.

However, I do think that things would have changed for Regulus after Sirius was Sorted into Gryffindor and after he ran away. In both cases, there would have been more pressure on him to live up to the family's expectations. The impression we're given of Regulus in the books is of someone who didn't really think for himself and was very proud of his conformity. It seems reasonable to me that that would have come from growing up with an older brother who constantly defied their parents and, as a result, had lost their favoritism. And knowing, of course, that their love for him was just as conditional.

(That's not me saying he was forced into anything. I actually don't think Orion and Walburga would have forced either of their sons to join the Death Eaters. But I do think Regulus felt he had something to prove, was taught basically the same ideology at home, and was therefore easier to radicalize. And I think that feeling of having something to prove probably came, at least in part, from watching Sirius go from favorite son and heir to scapegoat to disowned.)

Both brothers, I think, ended up living very different lives than their family would've chosen for them. They would've been expected to marry pure-blood women and have kids, to support the blood purist ideology but not actually risk their lives for it, and either to live off their inherited wealth or to work in relatively safe, prestigious careers. So, in different ways, they both fell short.

I do think there was definitely a scapegoat and golden child dynamic, but I think it's a bit more complicated than that: changing favoritism through the years as it became more and more obvious that Sirius wouldn't fall into line with the family expectations, first to pit them against each other and then to cut Sirius off and replace him with Regulus.

#Sirius Black #Regulus Black #Black brothers #Sirius and Regulus #Marauders Era #Harry Potter

[usedtobecooler]

Tom being insecure about his dick and his ‘performance’ in bed so reader reassures him? 🥺

you’re onto something here anon

Pairing | Tom Grant x Fem!Reader

Warnings | sexual content (18+ minors dni), insecurity, mentions of penis size and sexual performance, piv sex, unprotected sex, praise kink.

A/N | anon was pretty valid here with this request because i truly to believe tom probably would have some sort of insecurity and trauma when it comes to sex given the state of his relationship with ruth. this is pretty short but i didn’t word count lmao.

“i know i’m not that great, but things with ruth weren’t perfect. we constantly made excuses to not have sex or we’d get there and i just… couldn’t get it up. or she would disappear off with some excuse not to. maybe that should’ve been the first thing that told me something was off with us, you know?” tom’s voice is quiet, kind of shaky as he rattles off why what just happened, happened. you’re holding his hand firmly, pad of your thumb running over his own soothingly so he knows you’re listening and genuinely caring.

it hadn’t been the first time tom had issues with staying hard — you didn’t take it to heart, he clearly was so interested in you and wanted to please you. he’d eat you out until his jaw ached, fuck you with his fingers until you were crying. so the issue wasn’t that he didn’t fancy you enough, it was that he had his own shit going on. he got in his own head, and you know that his relationship with ruth was the cause of it. you tried not to blame her, they were young and didn’t know any better about what love was, but she really had done a number on him.

when you did have ‘actual’ sex it was alright. it wasn’t anything to write home about, but tom really did try and he always made sure you got off first. there was no in between with him though — he either shot his load in two minutes or he was still going an hour later. you’d told him time and time again that you didn’t care, you liked him for who he was and you’d figure out the sex stuff later. it was true — but sometimes not being able to please him took a toll, even though you knew it wasn’t because of anything you were doing.

“sometimes i —,” he stops himself, huffing out a sigh of frustration. he’s not good with feelings, every time he ever opened up it ended in an argument. he was always to blame for caring too much or worrying and causing a scene. he still struggled to communicate, but it would come with time, “sometimes i think maybe — fuck sake, maybe i’m not big enough or something.”

you furrow your brows, making a noise of protest, but saying nothing. tom had no reason to be worried about the size of his dick, sure it wasn’t massive. but he was easily six inches hard, thick enough that he was a stretch to take, uncut and just perfect. in your eyes, at least. and your opinion was the only one that mattered, at least for right now, right?

“tom, you don’t need to explain yourself,” your own voice matches his own, quiet and intimate, and you snuggle up closer to him, climbing into his lap and resting there, “and you don’t need to be concerned about the size of your dick. you’re bigger than anyone else i’ve ever been with. you’re the first guy who’s ever made me come, and you always make sure i’m taken care of even if you don’t get off. stop feeling like you have to apologise or make excuses for it. i really fucking like you, i wouldn’t stick around if i didn’t or if the sex stuff bothered me.”

he exhales in relief, like your words have reassured him. maybe he was overreacting, worrying over nothing. he just didn’t want to lose you like he had ruth — you had a good thing going, and he didn’t want to fuck it up. he’d never felt this way before, and he knew he had trauma to work through, but he also knew that you were the only thing keeping him grounded and he needed for you to stick around and love on him the way he deserved.

“can you relax a little for me now, hmm?” you ask gently, rocking your hips down into his and eliciting a breathy little moan in return, his naked cock kicking up in interest, “try and shut your brain off, just for a moment. i want to make you feel good. finish what we started earlier, yeah?”

it doesn’t take long for him to get fully hard, the feeling of your still wet pussy running along his shaft enough to do it. you silently pray that he’s not going to lose it by getting in his own head again, as you grip his cock by the base and sink down onto it, walls spasming as you adjust to his size once more.

“fuck, you’re so — shit,” tom groans, head thumping off the headboard as you rock against him, taking your time and sinking up and down on his cock almost at a lazy pace, relishing in the sweet little moans and whimpers escaping his lips. you’re determined to make him come, but you don’t want to rush it.

“feel good?” you ask and he nods, big hands engulfing your hips and following your movements. his eyes clench shut, like he’s trying to focus, but you know from previous experiences that he’s about to think too hard and get in his own head, “hey, no. watch me, okay? watch where you’re sinking into me.”

tom opens his eyes, almost unwillingly, yet he does as he’s told. you grip his chin, guiding his head so that his eyes are locked on where his cock is being engulfed by your soaked cunt — up, down, up, down. he watches almost in a trance, the way you’re leaking and making a mess for him. you moan when the tip of his cock hits your spongey spot, loud and unfiltered, you need for him to know how good he can make you feel.

you continue on at the same pace until your thighs are shaking and your knees are aching. you know you’re getting somewhere, though, because tom’s fingers are gripping your thighs just that bit tighter and he’s flushed so red, all the way from his cheeks to his bare chest. he’s moaning, too, breathy little whimpers that make your pussy clench.

“that’s it,” you gasp, a shock jolting through you when tom starts to rock his hips under you, fuck up into you from below just ever so slightly, his composure clearly starting to fade, “you feel so good, love when you fuck me like this, tom.”

tom moans at your words, eyes darting up to find you staring right back at him. you know he needs this, needs for you to tell him how good he’s being and how nice his cock feels. needs that reassurance that you’re enjoying it and what he’s doing is right. you wind your fingers tight in his hair for leverage, a renewed vigour overtaking you — the urge to make him come overwhelming.

you’re forehead to forehead now as you bounce, cunt so soaked that the sounds of tom fucking you echo through the room, the wet schlick enough to knock you dizzy with want, your moans uncontrollable and piercing the air, “love your cock, babe. never had a better fuck, i promise,”

that’s what does it for him. has his grip on your hips go painfully tight, has him shoving you down onto his cock as he comes. you can’t help the satisfied smirk that overcomes your features as you watch his eyes roll into the back of his head, the prettiest moans falling from his raw lips, knowing you were the cause of it.

you swallow the last of his moans when you close the short distance and kiss him, soft and gentle as not to startle him as he comes down. he’s the one to deepen the kiss, licks into your mouth and elicits a shocked little whine from you in return. you kiss until his cock goes completely soft, slipping out of you and you know you need to get up before you make a mess of the clean sheets.

“thank you, thank you,” tom mumbles his sweet praises into your skin as he kisses your neck and shoulder blade, making your heart swell.

he finds another way to say thank you later, when you’re fresh out of the shower and he eats you out like a man starved.

#tom grant x reader #tom grant smut #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #my fanfic #mine #x reader

[jokeroutsubs]

Bojan on the cover of Astro Suzy, special summer edition of Suzy Magazine, focusing on astrology and spirituality. Scans and ENG Translation by: @kurooscoffee Cover Title:

Bojan Cvjetičanin: "We have a duty to change things for the better"

Article title:

We are driven by our love of life

WITH JOKER OUT, WE HAVE WITNESSED A MENTAL LEAP AND A SOCIAL PHENOMENON THAT WE HAVE LONGED FOR. THE BOYS GIVE HOPE THAT YOUNG PEOPLE ARE CONNECTING INTO A STRONG COMMUNITY THAT CARES ABOUT THE FUTURE, EVEN THOUGH PREVIOUS GENERATIONS HAVE LEFT THEM IN RUINS. IN A FLOOD OF STARLETS AND ARTIFICIALLY CREATED ONLINE INFLUENCERS, WE GOT ROLE MODELS WHO DON'T OFFER DISCOUNT CODES, BUT IMPORTANT MUSICAL MESSAGES ABOUT VALUES. IN THE MIDDLE OF A SLOVENIAN AND EUROPEAN TOUR, THE LEAD SINGER AND VISUAL OF THE BAND SHARED WITH US WHAT HE'S THINKING ABOUT, WHAT CAUSES HE'S STANDING BEHIND, AND WHY IT'S BENEFICIAL TO DEEPEN YOUR SPIRITUAL KNOWLEDGE. What are you thinking about as representatives of the new wave, the new generation? What is your attitude towards the dynamics in society, climate change, pervasive social networks, in short, everything that weighs on modern man? On the one hand, we ourselves are involved in all the processes that actively and continuously prolong the problems you are talking about. On the other hand, we are deeply aware of them and we are afraid of what is coming. It seems to me that in our generation the desire for change is very strong. There is a universal language of youth that has come together on the basis of feeling obliged and able to change things for the better. The song New Wave is about just that. We are ready to celebrate this common strength because we are encouraged by the idea that we are not alone. At the same time, we know that we are compelled to do something because someone before us has seriously 'fucked up'.

In your hit song 'Novi Val' (New Wave), already the very first verse has you wonder where to go from here. Do you know the answer?

If we want to do anything other than burn the horizon, the only way is towards community, away from egocentrism, with an onlook towards common good.

Let's stick to the anthem of the generation of love, as you named your peers and loyal supporters. The phrase 'We were born yesterday and everything is already our fault' is powerful and worrying. You have been given a pitiful lagecy by your ancestors. How do you defend yourself from taking a role of a victim and instead get actively involved in creating a brighter future?

Great question! It would be hard to change anything for the better if we put on the victim's cloak. The fact that in recent years it has become clear that there is a rebellion by people who have had enough is already a cause for optimism. When you put yourself in the role of the one who carries a scepter as a synonym of the leader of change, you move away from being a victim. And each one of us in this community carries it. In reality, we are taking the position that society is currently a victim and it is our task to defend it.

How?

We all contribute in our own way. The role of musicians is to connect people with positive messages. So by constantly reminding people about friendship, love and other social components that can be tapped into through music. In Slovenia, we have a lot of organisations that are trying to change the situation for the better in many different ways. It does not require much to at least educate oneself about what these organisations are doing. I have the feeling that many people would like to get involved and help. At the end of grammar school and at college, we were encouraged to find out about collective organisations. It was clear to them that many people would want to join of their own initiative once they knew what they stood for. I know many former classmates who are very active members and supporters of various movements. Even if we minimise our own negative energy on social networks, it is a big step towards a good state of society, and of mind.

(picture 1: Family Cvjetićanin knows how to stick together)

You seem to care about a world that is increasingly drowning in chaos. You have become idols, not only of young people, but also of their parents. Is this a burden of responsibility or does it encourage you do even more activism?

It's a great feeling when the little ones take you for an idol. As a teenager, it was also inspiring to be surrounded by the music of Big Foot Mama and Siddharta. It gave me a message in a language that I could not compare with anything else. But our creativity does not depend on what people think of us or how they perceive us. But it is a great honour to know that you are one of those who encourage someone. Many people are listening, but not hearing. Joker Out is made up of five individuals who, in real life, when the cameras and the spotlights are off, are just normal guys. We went through all the processes of growing up on the streets, socialising and playing. We went through the process of going to school, and we were not problematic adolescents. Even today, our most extreme departure from an ideal is what 99% of young people do. To party sometimes. We are not outlaws by nature.

Your work is a beacon of light, a source of hope and strength. Many have done it before you, especially the Beatles. A lot has changed since their era, much of it unfortunately for the worse. How do you keep optimistic? Why is it worth the effort?

Every musician in history who has sung about ending war and living for love has failed miserably. I believe that at least those people who follow the messenger are convinced of peace and love. If every musician encourages someone to to do so, it's a hefty amount of opponents of hate. We are driven forward by love for life.

Writing texts is a responsible job, and you are baring your soul at the same time. Where is the line, to what lengths are you willing to go to protect the most vulnerable part of yourself?

I have never consciously inhibited the process of looking inside myself. But I feel that with age and experience I understand more and more what can lead me to a deeper state of mind. In the beginning I didn't dare to dig into myself. Today I have no problem in fully exposing my feelings, because they are, after all, states that happen of their own accord - and it is impossible to force them

(picture 2: The boys of Joker Out became even closer)

No Slovenian artist has enjoyed such a fierce international success as Joker Out. Concerts in iconic European clubs are literally sold out in hours, even minutes. How do you accept fame? Is it a blessing or is there also a bit of fear?

There are certainly Slovenian musicians with international experience. Maybe not at our age, but that doesn't take away from their importance. We have achieved a very nice success here in terms of listeners, we have honed our skills and we have grown with the band as a collective. We have grasped who and what we are as a whole. We are a group of people who make music purely because we really enjoy it. Whatever feelings our music-making evokes, it all comes from us in the most sincere way, Fortunately, our music is liked by a larger crowd and we have managed to transmit our unforced joy, happiness, joy across national borders. There is no better catalyst for such a breakthrough than Eurovision, we chose the moment to participate wisely. It paid off as a successful project, because for a good band it doesn't matter which part of the world it comes from. It's important to be heard - and we were heard by a lot of people. The only thing that has changed so far is that the bonds between us have strengthened. Suddenly we have been forced to talk about emotions and experiences that we did not have before. There has been a lot of filtering of unfamiliar feelings. The desire to create increased a thousandfold for all five of us.

Are you aware of the role that the public attributes to you, to act as a beacon of light in a crowd of frustrated, bitter people?

No. I would hardly say that I can understand that. Every time I hear something like that, it strikes me that it is saying too much. I really cannot think of myself in such a strong context.

You are giving yourself away. You are constantly on the road, interviews, concerts, promotional tours. It's exhausting. How do you recover? What calms you down, fills you with grace?

It's true that we give a lot of ourselves. But we get so much more in return. Nothing calms me more than coming home and being close to my family. And of course the company of Kris, Jan, Jure and Nace. The people we were with friends before this euphoria, have stayed with us, this team surround us with a lot of love.

(picture 3: He's noticing, that young people are connecting into a strong community that cares about the future)

As a front-man and lyricist, you are even more exposed. You've crossed the magical 200 thousand followers on Instagram, which is a mega number, but also a mega stressful situation. Most young people who find themselves in such a situation turn to intoxicating substances. Can you consciously stop and say that you need time for yourself?

The only thing that made me a bit anxious was the sudden exposure to such a large audience'on social media. This brings with it unimaginable dimensions of human imagination, including malice. Imaginary stories emerge in which people literally compete to see who can come up with something more bizarre. This stress got to me at the beginning, because I felt that I had to defend myself in front of the public. In the end, I realised that I didn't need to convince anyone and that it was enough to know the truth. With the help of colleagues who have similar experiences, I have calmed down. As for the substances, I have a natural protection against those, because I am an incorrigible hypochonder. I dare not take an aspirin unless it is really urgent. Above all, I know when to stop.

You come from a close-knit, loving family. That is certainly a solid foundation on which to build your personality. What is their view of everything that happens to you?

They are very proud! Of all my achievements and of me for being able to pull off a music career combined with the academic milestone of graduating. My parents and my grandmother are definitely my biggest supporters. They accompany me on my journey with warnings, but they are more about eating regularly, to not get a stomach ache, to consume enough water and to get enough sleep. I have been chronically lacking the latter in the last few weeks.

What is your relationship to astrology, esotericism, in short, something that is intangible but can be felt?

Superstition is the one I use the most. For Eurovision I had a special pair of underpants and I was haunted by the feeling that if I didn't wear them, everything would go to hell. Jan's mum gave me a lace clover, which I didn't dare leave in Ljubljana. I asked the stylist to sew it on my outfit as a precaution. I got a clay horseshoe from a little girl, and it went with me to Liverpool. It will seem strange to some, but I believe in energies and ghosts.

How do you strengthen your spiritual side?

Not very well. I wish I had managed to acquire more spiritual knowledge in the last year. For example, basic meditation techniques and the laws of yoga, because I am definitely not physically active enough. The feeling of being 90 years old eats up most of my spirit. My back hurts all the time. The best thing I do for inner growth is to read books. Not enough, but I'm going to get better. A little less phone scrolling and more self-reflection, that'll do the job! Author: Tomaž Mihelič, PHOTO: VITA OREHEK

Scans and translation by: @kurooscoffee (jokeroutsubs) DO NOT REPOST!

#Joker out #bojan cvjetićanin #bojan cvjeticanin #a sociologist rambling about sociological issues... this interview was so much fun to translate #but also challenging!! #i hope I did it justice #Bojan is SO well spoken in Slovenian <3 #and anyway people who have been following us saw the stuff like Bojan/JO doing these random acts of kindness that'd almost stay unnoticed #because JO never mention them - but the people who they made happy posted about it on their websites and social media so we learnt about it #they're also doing another charity concert next week in Ljubljana for a kid with a unique illness that requires very expensive treatment #there were also reports of Bojan donating to charity before he was even (that) famous #so yeah he's not just bullshitting but really stands behind what he says #he's a good bean

[lol-jackles]

I understand producers wanting a no risk lead and Jared earned that credibility and reputation. I don’t disagree with everything you said about Jared.

But I’m still surprised that Jensen didn’t earn the same reputation being co-lead and surprised he has not been given the opportunity to lead or co- lead again on another show. He seemed to have built a strong reputation with directors and producers and execs in the industry so shouldn’t he be on that same short list? I just don’t get what jensen is missing that jared or max theriot, Tom Ellis or Justin Hartley seems to have. What is that “x” factor?

The work he did on Smallville, Spn, Big Sky and The Boys, why didn’t that earn him points to have studio execs ensure he stays employed and part of a show?

Even in an industry that 97% are unemployed, Jensen seems to be a standout actor that gets constantly overlooked. Why?

Jensen was going to be a lead in Greg Bertlanti's unnamed project, but then Zaslav happened. But you ask a very good question on why the networks' bean counters don't have him on a Short List.

First, my wild guess is while Jensen's scene stealing talent improves the episode he's in, it's not the same as having screen presence to create a story, which is a must for lead actors to carry a show. For example, Jared's two-minute screentime in "The End" was not scene stealing, he became Lucifer for the sake of the story and left a memorable impact on the viewers' impression.

Think of every time spin-offs were created to capitalize on the scene stealers’ popularity, only for the scene stealers “special-ness” to evaporate into the ether when they have to carry the show by themselves.  Rebel Wilson had her own tv show called Super Fun Night. but it failed because fans expected to see the whacky side kick persona, but instead got a Rebel Wilson playing a normal woman who is sometimes socially awkward.

Second, Jensen has a bit of a branding problem.  If an actor doesn't understand what their brand is, then how do you expect casting directors to see it as well?  

Actors make the mistake of trying to please every customer by changing who they are and not understanding that getting hired starts with choosing a brand for themselves and sticking to it.  Say you own an Italian restaurant and I come in and say, “Oh, gosh! You know what? I want Mexican food.” And then you say, Okay, we’re cooking Mexican food now.”   This is what a lot of actors do.

I used to joke that Jensen was like an active from the show The Dollhouse. Actives are neutral human husks until they're downloaded a personality to carry out a specific mission.  You don't know what the true nature of an active unless you're willing to watch several episodes to look for clue crumbs to their innate personalities.  

I tell young aspiring actors on how to discover their brand by pretending to write a profile for an online dating site.  People usually don't write descriptive sentences but use adjectives: funny, athletic, intense, quirky, great smile, etc.  To help them along, ask their trusted friends and family members to make a list of 5 qualities that pop into their heads.  Then use the impression that appear over and over again because now you know that is you, your essence.

Too many times actors wait for an agent or manager to show up and tell them who they are. Or they ask me, “what do you think I am?". Actors have to decide for themselves and figure out their acting “singularity”  -- that exclusive combination of attitudes and behaviors that make them an original even when they're typecasted. Some people describe Jensen as a version of Dean-lite, but that doesn't make Jensen an original then.

Third, Jensen is not a natural born-leader. Most of us aren't, but like acting, you can constantly work on the craft. Leaders are supposed to protect their team, but Jensen was still soft-bashing Jessica Alba twenty years later. I don't care if Jessicca was a bitch, a real man is not supposed to betray a woman’s confidence. He can still talk about the difficulties of working with Jessica while respecting the position she was in and up against. In contrast, Jared immediately defended his female co-stars when it was popular to dunk of them: the Olsen twins, Paris Hilton, and Snookie.

#jensen ackles

[tbgblr2]

Dire Circumstances

This post comes as a bit of a break from my current cruise storyline as it's been a special request from a friend of mine who is very much into werewolves, and has just had some very good news, so I promised I would push this ahead as a celebration.

There were 8 of you he fucked that night 9 or so months ago. 7 of your pack sisters and you. Only one pregnancy had taken – damn the poor genetics of Were creatures – so of course you were the centre of attention as the little gift he gave you grew inside. 41 weeks now of no shifting, being stuck in human form, watching your belly balloon out to this distended lump you can’t help but hold as another contraction wracks you from the inside.

You’re doing as tradition dictates – when it comes time to give birth you travel to the wilderness to become one with nature. You’re well aware of the process of giving birth - you’ve blended into human society for years as a midwife. You’ve seen – and helped – countless human babies into the world. But Were babies were different. Typically bigger for starters – though pregnancies for Were folk were so rare you had only seen 2 in your entire life.

Thankfully your species live a long time by human standards and have an innate ability to heal their wounds. But you still feel pain, and as the muscles cramping around your midsection finally relent you swear under your breath at the fact that Were creatures can’t use traditional human pain relief methods.

You’re the pack midwife but you’re joined by your mother on this journey as someone suitable to guide you through the trials of birthing. 2 of your pack sisters are along to provide support. And him. ‘Four-large-paws’ as he was christened by the pack many years ago – or his more traditional human name – Jack. This man was a hulking mass of a creature in both his human and wolf forms. Even transformed to a wolf as he is now, he was shoulder height with you. He certainly wore the dire wolf shape with pride.

He was our pack alpha. Our protector. Father of our spawn. Lets be honest - big wolf had a big dick which felt really good 9 months ago. Now his big baby had resulted in your monstrous bump sticking out in front, and the child you carried was wanting to get out and it fucking hurts.

You’d shed your clothes a long time ago. Even though you were outside in the breeze you were simply too hot. There’s a blanket on the floor you were resting on as you groan out loud both hands pressed tight into your belly as the next contraction picks up. They felt like they were on top of each other. The transition stage the humans called it. For humans it lasts a mercifully short time. You didn’t have the god of mercy on your side as you enter the second hour of non stop relentless muscle pain.

“How is she doing?” Jack asked, shifting from his wolf form to human, and as a result, as naked as you were. He’d just returned from another patrol on the outskirts of the camp, wanting to be actively doing something rather than sit and watch, feeling powerless.

“9 centimetres” replied your mother. “She’s almost there. I remember this stage with her. You want to give up but your body keeps constantly reminding you that you have a job to do.” You manage a nod in between your groans. It was a great honour to birth for the pack but why did it have to hurt so damned much.

You suddenly gasp as a splash of water escapes between your legs. Your waters had broken. Another step towards the end. The problem was that the cushion that the waters had once given you had also disappeared, and now you felt the baby within you grind relentlessly into your pelvis.

You have a moment of doubt wondering if your hips could even manage to birth this baby – you had an ultrasound last week which suggested it could be up to 12 pounds by human standards. Normally that would be cause for alarm and even suggestions that a natural birth would not be possible, but Werewolf babies were always born big and your species was able to cope, your hips separating, your ligaments loosening to accommodate the much larger infant within the birth canal.

You throw your head back and howl – as best as you could do with the vocal cords of a human, it was much easier as a wolf – as your hand reaches down between your legs, your fingers reaching in past wet folds of skin as you press into your vagina feeling for signs of the baby. You once felt the bag expanding out, thinking the baby was just behind it, but now you couldn’t feel anything.

You roll over and grunt as you push yourself up off the ground, the 3 other ladies jumping in to help you up. With their help you scramble to your feet between contractions and plod over to a tree, leaning against it as the next one picks up.

The liquids are still dripping slow drops from between your legs, so you stand with a wide stance, trying your hardest to keep it dropping on the floor rather than running down your leg and causing you an irritation – you had enough things going on to keep you annoyed with your body right now.

You breathe in deep, soothing breaths as you had told mothers to be countless times before and you couldn’t help but smile as you realize that whilst it's working a little, it feels like a whistle in a hurricane for the amount of difference it really makes to the pain you experience.

“Can I help pull it out?” Jack asked. He was certainly a good carer for the pack, but when he felt powerless, he reverted to type – overcoming something with physical power rather than logic.

“No child.” your mother responded. Normally the pack alpha would not be allowed to be responded to in such a submissive manner, but as your mother counted as a pack elder, she had more leeway than most – after all she had seen Jack grow from a pup herself before the death of the previous Alpha, where Jack had succeeded to leadership in a trial of combat amongst his peers. “A woman must face this trial alone. Mother Gaia would not permit the Were children to be cut out of their mother like the humans. The mother must bear the children as our ancestors did many generations ago.”

“Believe me, it fucking sucks!” you scream as you squat down lower using the tree for support as you let out an involuntary push.

“You’re close, push when your body tells you to” your mother jumps in, realising that you are close to losing all control and your body taking over.

“Never mind it telling me, it’s shouting at me” you gasp as you bear down again, fingers pressing tight into the bark of the tree, trying to do anything to help relieve some of the pain and frustration you were feeling.

The naked dire wolf turned human walked towards you and showing care and affection, he pressed his body against you, large hands covering yours on the tree. He took one and placed it on your belly, felling the muscles within tense and contract as you took the opportunity to yell in pain. His other hand held you up and kept you from buckling at the knees now that your bracing against the tree had been lost.

Oddly it helped you cope. You felt his grizzled bearded face press against your neck as you pressed your body back into his, his muscled frame providing you an anchor to focus on. Still the seemingly relentless pain ached your insides, and the scant moments of relief as you actively pushed seemed to provide less and less comfort as you felt yourself fill up inside, your labia bulging as the baby worked its way down your canal and rested just inside your opening.

You guided the hand that was enveloping yours from your belly down to between your legs, and you seperated your lips. You felt it then, skin within the fullness between your legs. You wrapped your whole hand around one of Jack’s fingers and pressed it into you so he could feel it too.

“Your… our baby” you gasped. You felt him hold you tighter.

His rough, calloused finger gave you an idea. You snaked your hips as best you could until it rested against your clit. The electric sensation as you felt him press against the engorged nub sent you shivering, but it helped take your mind off the sensations coursing through your body. He gladly picked up the pace, his finger pressing and jiggling the nub as you gasped – unsure if this was a by-product of the contraction or if he had managed to make you cum with only a few moments of attention.

The sensation was soon lost though as the need to push overcame you. You dug your feet into the ground and pressed your body back into Jack as if to provide a counter pressure to the downward force your body was exerting. The 2 wolf sisters who travelled with you almost shouted in unison “I can see it” as your lips finally parted by themselves and allowed the first glimpse of the baby you bring into the world.

“Good job my spark” you mother used her pet name for you to try and keep you motivated. Your pack name was “Thunder Shower Lightning” to signify that you were born in the middle of a terrible storm, your own mind thinking if your mother had it any worse than you giving birth in the middle of a rainstorm – at least the water would have been cooling you feel, as the heat of the exertion you are doing continues to fill your body.

5 more pushes happened, 3 contractions, you feeling like they were almost on top of each other with no time to rest before the next update was given from group watching you. “Thats not a head” shrieked one of the 2 Were sisters. You knew this of course. You were aware from the ultrasound you did on yourself that the baby was breech. It didn’t change anything, you still had to push it out. The baby, a son you knew, though you were forbidden from announcing it to the pack, was frank breech – he was essentially folded in half within your womb and this feet were up next to his head. You knew it was going to be tough and had been mentally trying to prepare yourself all week for the test your body was going to be put under.

“You knew?” your mother asked you. You manage a nod as you push once more. You squat down further – at least as much as Jack’s enormous frame will let you sink low – and scream.

The child is massive. Its buttocks and legs combined easily wider than the head. You felt a searing pain in your crotch. “She’s torn” one of the two Were sisters announced, blood evident now on the ground. Nothing for it now though, you’re stuck this way until you push the baby out, so you grit your teeth and scream through the pain. You hoped that the tear would at least allow for easier passage of the baby, but no such luck, you still had to push hard, almost as if the angle of the baby had his feet bracing itself against your insides.

The next push you feel the baby release further. “We have a boy” announced the other Were sister, the babys genitals exposed between his tucked-up legs. You’re certain that Jack held you tight all over again.

You tugged your arm forward screaming “let me go” as Jack released you and you fell forward onto your knees, yelling in pain as another push forced yet more of the baby out. You had birthed your son to his chest, and you felt exhaustion closing in with the amount of effort you needed.

“Shall I pull” Jack announced.

“No!” came a chorus from the 3 other women who were in the process of moving around.

You placed your hands on the floor and leaned forward to a hands and knees position as you pressed your butt down closer to the floor, opening the width between your legs trying to give as much room as possible for the combined width of the babys chest, shoulders and legs. With a triumphant scream the blood and vernix covered mass slipped out from between your legs, leaving you panting, gasping for air.

Jack reacted first from all 4 of the people in attendance and he held the body of his son reverently between your legs. Your mother was checking for the cord to ensure that there was no risk to the child. You continued to gasp, big heaving pants sending your breasts and belly quaking back and forth.

“Almost there” your mother advised you. That’s when you realised that you still had to birth the head. The part that traditionally takes the longest, the biggest stretch. Your body’s next contraction a reminder that there was also no way to prevent it from happening.

You had a moment of panic. None of the 4 birth attendants had ever dealt with a breech before. You were the only one who knew what to do. Your mother had only had 1 child – you – and you were born traditionally head first.

“Take the…” you managed to start the sentence before you were cut short by the scream of a contraction. “support the weight as I push” you finally gasped as you steeled yourself for the next contraction. The baby was lifted so he was perpendicular to it’s direction of movement, Jacks long fingers cradling the entire body.

“Someone get their fingers in and press my lips, give the head as much room to pass.” you managed. You felt smaller, more delicate fingers, no idea who's, slip into you and then searing pain as they stretched the tear further apart. You howled out loud, certain you were almost going to black out from the pain, but you held your breath and pushed with the contraction.

You held your breath and pushed. The pain made your head swim, but Jack’s voice rang out and pierced through the fog. “Here he comes, keep on going.”

The head pushing through your lips caused the tear to open further, blood free flowing down your legs, your voice caught in a silent scream, your throat raw due to the amount of yelling you had been doing. You feel the mass push through your legs. Each fraction of an inch was excruciating, but finally, with a sense of relief you didn’t think was possible, the head passed through your opening and into Jack’s hands, the umbilical cord pulsing as the baby takes its first breath, a shrill cry escaping its lungs.

Your wobbling arms couldn’t hold you up anymore as you planted face first into the ground, panting and sobbing. Your ass and crotch were poked in the air as your mother clamped and bit through the cord, symbolic of the cycle of nature.

You rolled over and stared at the group of 5 now, the size of the baby in Jack’s hands twice the size of any newborn you had ever seen birthed by a human. The tear between your legs was already starting to heal now it hadn’t been stretched in a few moments, the pain reducing to a dull ache. Jack passed the baby to you as he latched to your breast.

“We need to think of a name for our son.” Jack spoke. “Something to symbolise the day.”

You grinned. “There is no way I’m calling my firstborn Bloodsoaked Crotchripper.”

Jack looked crestfallen. “How did you know I was thinking that. OK a veto. I need to go back to the drawing board.”

#fpreg #birth kink #birth #pregnancy #labor kink #werewolves

[breannasfluff]

Ok since you posted wing whump prompts

How does each of the Chain react to be being grounded? Which ones would stretch the definition of "ok to fly"?

Ohohohoh buckle up, because this question hit all the creative buttons!

Time – Swallow Tailed Kite

The worry gets turned up to 150%. If Time is grounded it means he can’t keep an eye out for the whole flock. Half the fight of getting Time to heal is to keep him from working himself into a panic. He’s the glue that holds them all together so the group dotes on him if he’s hurt. They also put up with a lot of cuddle piles because he’s happiest in the middle of one. The social birds don’t mind, but it goes against the instincts of the loners.

Twilight – Harris’s Hawk

He’s pretty average, if only because Time will back up any orders from Hyrule on healing. As Twilight views Time as above him in dominance, he’ll put up with it. If someone else is hurt he’ll share food to make them feel better. Wild automatically puts some aside for Twilight if someone else is hurt. When Twilight is hurt, Wild give him extra food. Four will gift one of his precious bugs to Twilight. The poor rancher accepts, but he really doesn’t want to eat it.

Four – European Bee-eater

He’s going to go stir crazy, and then he’s going to keep going. Four is energetic, talkative, and a long-distance flier. Combine all that into a package that needs to rest on the ground and…yeah, it’s not going to be pretty. The group all take turns trying to keep him distracted in some way. He’s constantly getting up and wandering away from where he’s supposed to stay. He will lie to Hyrule with a straight face that his wing is perfectly fine, no matter what state it’s actually in. Time has seriously considered tying him to a tree at one point.

Legend – Flame Bowerbird

He doesn’t mind. He loves flying; they all do, but he’s not a migratory bird at all. He’s gone on a lot of journeys, but at his heart he’d be happy tending apple trees and settling in one spot. That said, Legend has an image to keep up so he’d complain just for the sake of it.

Hyrule – Brown Thrasher

As the healer of the group, he doesn’t get the luxury of acting out like the others. He knows how important it is to heal and nags at the others about it. He’s probably closer to Wind, but without the sunny disposition. Legend, and later Wild, preen his wings a lot when he’s grounded to make him feel better. He’ll stick to his trio a lot more than usual and is quieter than normal. If he says he’s good to fly, the group believes him.

Sky – Magnificent Frigatebird

He’ll wait out a major injury, but he’s going to be in the air before anyone wants him to. Sky’s wings are big and awkward on the ground. He’s got to hold them up if he wants to walk long distances and he’s going to be royally pissed at the end of it. While he tries not to take his temper out on the flock, some of those solitary tendencies come through and he can snappy or start flying before he should. Good luck getting him to land again.

Wind – Tropicbird

He’s pretty good-natured about it. He’ll try to weasel and bribe his way into the air sooner, but he isn’t going to outright disobey an order to stay grounded. Wind will stretch the definition of “grounded” to do short glides and hop up and down from things. Probably the most happy-go-lucky when injured. If the others are hurt, he’s good at lightening the mood.

Warriors – Ferruginous Hawk

Grouchy, but he understands the importance of waiting to heal up before fighting further. Surprisingly, he gets a little clingy with Time when he’s stuck on the ground for a long time. Everyone else better stay the heck out of his way, though. While some of them might screech and snap at each other for show, Warriors will back it up with action. Anytime he's hurt, the group immediately dump him on Time. Secretly, Time doesn’t mind because Warriors tends to stick to the outskirts unless he’s battle planning for the Chain.

Wild – Taiwan Blue Magpie

Given his background (which will be in a future story) Wild and wing injuries do NOT go well together. While Four drives the flock up the wall, at least he’s bearable to a degree. Wild turns into a screeching mess and good luck touching his wings to help. He’s driven Hyrule to tears, then felt guilty, and the whole situation amps up higher. He’s got a bad habit of injuring himself further trying to escape the flock. It usually culminates in a spectacular meltdown and more than one of the boys needing to restrain him so Hyrule can check the injury. This doesn’t go over well with anyone. Wild feels awful about it when he’s more put together, but they all know it’s going to happen again. It’s going to take a long time to build enough trust to get past some of those instinct responses.

#lu wing bois #lu wing au #lu wild #lu time #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu sky #lu wind #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu four #asks #headcanon

[nanamin-nah-nanamine]

hi hi hi !! this is for the matchup post ^^

my personality type is INTP, im bisexual, im a virgo, i’m around 5’4 or 5’5, im a little thicker, but most of the weight is around my hips and thighs, i’m quite thinner around my waist, im optimistic most times, i crack jokes a lot and kinda talk a lot when im comfortable around people, im really calm most of the time and i sleep a lot . . i know two languages (English n spanish) and im learning a few others !! i read a lot, i love love love gardening, i also love buying jewelry, (specifically bracelets and rings) and finding different ways to do my makeup !! i kinda have an rbf it’s saur bad 😕 despite coming off standoffish to others, i cry a lot and i tend to be a liiiiiiiiiittle dramatic when im upset or sick 💔💔

I don’t know why but my brain immediately went to one man and one man ONLY😩

I will match you up with with…..🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

Gojo Satoru りょういきてんかい 😩🤞🏾🔵👄🔵

I’m sorry but I gotta say it 🗣️GOJO LIKE EM THICK AND DRAMATIC

I SAID WHAT I SAID👹

ahem, anyways ☺️

I mean this in the nicest way possible but I feel like you and Satoru are two halves of the same dumbass😭

But I also feel like he needs someone calm and to be his peace. He puts up a happy facade a lot of the time especially around his students and other peers. When he gets home at the end of the day it’s you he’s looking forward to seeing.

He’s one of the few true cuddle bugs in the bunch so prepare to have a 6’3”/190cm leech on you at all given times🥰🫶🏾

He loves to talk about how short you are ever if you’re a completely average height😭 he’s the type to put things on the top shelf and watch you struggle to get them.

He’s gonna tease you for your jewelry collecting but he’s the main one funding it so FAWCK him😭

If he sees any seeds or plants while he’s traveling he will legally—and illegally—bring them back to you, so you guys have one very diverse garden.

I feel like he will really enjoy having a bilingual partner, and y’all are gonna have a bilingual ass household. He’s gonna have all the cute language learning books but his lil bitch ass is also good at everything

So he’s definitely going to be fluent in no time🙄

I can not stress enough how much this man is always touching you😭 you would think he was made of Velcro the way he is constantly on you. Like on god if you want personal time you’re gonna have to beat him off with a stick and he’s just gonna dull about it.

The minute he comes into the house infinity is dropped for his mandatory cuddle time😠

Activities together include…

•bakery hopping around Tokyo

•trips to different countries

•lots of cuddles and naps cause of his migraines

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk x y/n #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader

[tyrantisterror]

Woah, that’s pretty heavy, dude. I’ve never seen anyone analyze the series that way, but now that you brought those themes up, they seem pretty damn obvious. Can you elaborate on this interpretation of the shorts and the series? As well as each version’s respective symbolism? How do you think the main cast gaining new colors at the end of the original, only to lose them for the new series factors in to this interpretation. What do Roy and Lesley represent?

Each of the original shorts puts the three main puppets in the role of students and has a different teacher force a "lesson" upon them.

In Creativity, the teacher keeps telling the students how great creativity is, while constantly shutting down their attempts to actually express their own thoughts and feelings, whether it be by questioning the purpose of her arbitrary rules for what they should do or by making artistic choices she doesn't approve of - "Green is not a creative color" isn't just a funny joke, but the whole point of the short and how education often fails when trying to teach art. Because schools put so much emphasis on "objective" evaluations of student progress, they often fail to truly teach inherently subjective subjects like art and creative writing - you can't let people express themselves freely if you have to force them to fit a super strict rubric. "Be creative, but only use the colors I allow you to, only do the activities I've assigned, only think the way I think" is inherently contradictory advice, and by the end of the short the students are so frustrated that they express their creativity in a way that gets them banned from doing it ever again - "let's all agree to never be creative again" is where the short ends.

In Time, the teacher tries to explain the concept of time in an inherently over-simplified and often borderline inaccurate and nonsensical way, to the increasing frustration of the students. The teacher specifically puts a big emphasis on 1. being punctual and 2. believing that the past was generically shitty but it's done so we don't have to worry about it, and the future will be great so don't worry about it. All of these "lessons" are designed to make the students think about time only in the sense of it being a rule they have to obey - a schedule to stick to. When the students actually ask insightful questions about time - "Is time even real? Does anyone know?" - the teacher gets angry and punishes them by forcing them to contemplate their own mortality, all to reinforce the idea that time is just an arbitrary set of rules they have to obey or else.

In Love, the yellow puppet is given lots of empty platitudes about how great love and compassion is and how he should value them, only to then have a bunch of arbitrary rules about how and when one should love heaped on him once he agrees that love is important, with the rules eventually saying his love should be to some nebulous authority figure - "Our king" in the cult imagery of the episode is very much a stand-in for authority in general. We're shown how education can make even the most wholesome-sounding of lessons twisted for a purpose of controlling and manipulating students, forcing them to believe in things that aren't real for the benefit of a select few.

I feel I don't need to explain the Computer episode to anyone who's been in a public school's computer class in the 90's/early 2000's, it kind of explains itself. But a huge problem in education to this day is the persistent belief that you can make students teach themselves by throwing shitty yet expensive "cutting edge" education programs at them - it's what 90% of school budget increases go into because it makes the politicians who buy them look like they care without actually putting any work into understanding what education really needs.

The nutrition episode makes fun of how goddamn mercurial nutrition education has been over the last few decades - one minute eggs are good for you, then you're having too much of them, then you need more of them again, it's fucking madness - and how ultimately all nutrition education does is give you so much anxiety about the foods you pick for yourself that you just buy whatever's advertised for you the flashiest, even if it's really bad for you (like canned meat from one of your few remaining friends).

In the final episode of the original shorts, the Red Guy, having escaped his teachers, finds himself in the dreary adult world, and despite everything actually pines for the simpler days of being a student. He decides to look into the nature of his education, and sees not only how shitty and half-baked a system it is, but also the true root of it: that it wasn't made for the benefit of students, but for the parents who made those kids and want them indoctrinated so they behave better. That's what Roy represents - the parent who doesn't really care about their child learning anything useful beyond "obey the people in charge."

As for the show being about the horrors of the mundane adult world, well, I think that's pretty obvious. One episode is literally about getting jobs. Another is about confronting your own eventual death. They're not subtle about it. And hell, it builds off the finale of the original shorts - Red Guy already transitioned from childhood to adulthood, it's only fitting his pals came with him.

[traitor-boyfriend]

boys’ primary social media & internet forums of choice:

cartman -- 4chan. self-explanatory. his favorite boards are /cm/, /pol/, but is also partial to /toy/ and /gif/. /Lgbt/ lurker firmly of the position that traps aren't gay.

kenny -- youtube. watches a lot of fail compilations, conspiracy theories, and doomsday preppers. occasionally he plays three hour long sigma male motivation and philosophy videos on the nature of evil in the background while huffing computer duster.

stan -- snapchat. the guy that makes a bunch of annoying black background 2 am “anyone up” snaps all the time and then is upset when no one is. Mostly watches others' stories and does not post incredibly often but is easily tricked into sending shirtless pics to girls from school despite better judgement then minorly freaks out when notified a screenshot was taken (for the purpose of light mockery at the girls' slumber parties) to Kyle who chides him for his low self-esteem.

kyle -- reddit. super annoying about it too. is a mod for 2-3 midsize subs where everyone hates him because he takes it far too seriously and is constantly making pinned posts reminding everyone of sub rules. always making snarky comments like “not sure why i’m being downvoted...” that are then in turn downvoted. Bitches to Stan about mod drama who gives it the good ol college try pretending he cares about the power struggle between him and mod u/PoohDonkey420

butters -- split between Pinterest and TikTok. likes a lot of paper craft and seasonal decorating ideas on Pinterest and then makes videos of his attempts to recreate them on TikTok; becomes a minor celebrity subject to many conspiratorial YouTube documentaries about his living situation given how often Stephen interrupts a video to yell at him that butters is not tech savvy enough to cut out in their entirety.

craig -- also 4chan. almost exclusively sticks to /co/ and /mu/ but likes to pop-in to /lgbt/ to remind everyone on board (see: Cartman) that traps are indeed gay.

clyde -- twitter. Gets no engagement whatsoever but is posting all day every day. Is always direct messaging chicks with onlyfans links in bio to see if he can sweet talk them into nudes for free. Never does. cries to Craig about it who then calls him pathetic.

tolkien -- instagram. gym thirst traps and pictures of expensive family vacations. Super into grindset posting about no days off and aspirational graphics, power of positive thinking type shit. falls victim to the charms of hot women hawking tummy tea.

jimmy -- also reddit. master of fake-post-as-creative-writing-exercise posting. Frequents r/TIFU and r/jokes, then cross-posts his r/jokes post into r/standupcomedy to ask “is this anything?” and receives maybe two comments, three if it’s a good day. is the “you sir win the internet have my upvote” guy.

tweek -- tiktok, but it's a love-hate relationship. the never-ending stream of short videos is the perfect time-wasting relaxation pit due to his severe ADHD but induces extreme paranoia about what exactly the algorithm *does*. never posts, just favorites funny and/or cute videos to show craig later; Craig laughs at maybe every fifth one.

[justafewsmallsteps]

Hero Inuyasha falls in love with villain kagome au

Modern/superhero au

Oh boy. This was fun and so challenging, mostly because I can’t imagine Kagome being a villain in any world! It’s short and vague, but I enjoyed it. Hope you do too!

When she fired another shot at him, it barely missed his shoulder but the energy burned through his clothes. He hissed as the magic seared his skin.

That was a first.

For a second even she seemed startled, but when he glared at her she quickly turned around and attempted to flee. While she wasn’t really a fighter, she had enough tricks up her sleeve to keep him away.

“Not today!” Inuyasha growled, chasing after her. There was enough distance that she might get away, but he was faster and stronger.

It’d been six months of trying to follow her trail, and he felt himself getting so close. She must have felt it too, because her last attacks were getting sloppy; desperate.

In their earlier encounters, she’d never tried to do more than pin him down so she could escape. As he began closing in she was forced to resort to other methods, breaking out powers she hadn’t before. He knew she could erect temporary barriers and could fire arrows made of energy. Then there was her getaway. Given enough time, she could open a portal in the ground and somehow disappear. It was how she slipped away every single time. Even his high-powered nose couldn’t detect her once she went through it.

Tonight was going to be different. After months of learning how she operated, he was good at reading her and adapting. He was going to catch her and figure out who the hell she was and put an end to her thievery.

“Stay away!” she yelled, jumping down a building and into an alley.

“Like hell I will!” He leapt right after her. He wasn’t going to give her enough time to escape this time!

She landed and quickly threw up a barrier to try and trap him in the corner of the alley. Inuyasha predicted the move, and managed to bounce off the ground before the barrier fully closed in. He could hear her heart racing.

“That’s not going to work on me this time.”

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Her face lit up as she magically formed her bow and arrow. It glowed bright, aimed at him.

He scoffed, continuing to feel the sting of where her arrow had nicked him. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Sorry,” she seemed to whisper before letting her arrow fly. Then another. And another.

Before he could react, Inuyasha found himself pinned to the barrier, three energy arrows tacking him down by his clothes. She’d done it a few times before.

Goddamit. She was going to get away again.

But for some reason, he could smell tears.

She rushed to his side and sniffled. “Does it hurt?”

He looked over and saw that her glistening eyes were focused on the burn on his shoulder. Inuyasha flinched as her finger swept over the spot. The affected area was increasing. Shit. He hoped it would wear off the way her other powers did.

“Sorry,” she apologized again, and it came across sincerely.

This was so weird. He hated her. She was a thief! She’d managed to evade him for months, and now she was so close and he was just stuck. And she was crying over him? What was happening?

Some part of his mind alerted him that he’s being pinned to her barrier. Her temporary barrier, and if he waited just a little longer he just might catch her if she was foolish enough to stick around and be this close. Surely, she must have known that.

But if she was being careless, he should take advantage.

“What are you doing?” He asked in an effort to stall her.

“I couldn’t go without checking. I—I’ve never hit you before.”

And she was right. He knew that. In fact, it drove him crazy. She clearly had the ability to do serious damage, yet this entire time she’d only ever played cat and mouse, constantly fleeing from his grasp.

“Why do you care about what happens to me?”

She seemed taken aback. “B-because,” she sputtered. “You’re a good person…” Her gray-blue eyes gazed at him from behind her mask with something like admiration.

Inuyasha was so confused.

“I can heal it,” she whispered conspiratorially. “It should wear off, but it’ll take at least twenty-four hours before then. I could heal it now, if you want.”

Even the scrape burned, and it was getting worse by the minute. God, she really could just obliterate him if she wanted.

“Do what you want.” He wanted to ask her why. Why did she care about him? Why would she want to heal him? Why not kill him? Why steal? Why any of it.

Instead he watched in dumbstruck awe as she removed the mask on her face and he saw her for the first time.

Oh. She was pretty. Not just pretty; strikingly beautiful.

“This is going to be awkward, but it’s the only way I know to heal damage from my powers.”

“Wh—!” His face exploded into a blush as she put her lips over the burn. His whole body went aflame. Oh my god, what the fuck was happening? This was seriously intimate. Absolutely inappropriate ideas flashed in his mind and he felt his embarrassment burn the tips of his ears.

But the burn on his shoulder gently cooled, and he was left with an effervescent feeling thrumming in his veins.

“I’ve got to go,” she said in a quiet rush as she pulled away.

He caught that her cheeks were pink.

Her hands motioned to create the portal. After a few seconds, a hole appeared in the ground. She jumped up—

And just at that moment, the barrier flickered away.

“Wait!” Inuyasha leapt up, heart pounding, and grabbed her wrist. Her eyes went wide.

But he can’t stop it. The portal doesn’t just open; it sucks them both in with a flash of blinding blue light.

#inukag #inuyasha #kagome higurashi #modern au #superhero au #jelly fic #jelly chats #long post #justafewsmallsteps

[picapicamagpie]

Sing Marine Life!

I’ll deal with you at the end.

As promised, here’s the follow up post including the marine animals! We don’t see many in the film, so I’ve broken it down by each species.

Squid

I love these guys. They don’t do much, but they look cool. The most notable thing about them is their bioluminescence, which is indeed a trait some real squid have, though not to this degree. Based off their size, bioluminescence, and spotted patterns, I believe these are firefly squid. The bioluminescence is very inaccurate in Sing, but it’s probably exaggerated for dramatic effect and it’s totally fair because the scenes they’re in look amazing. In real life, only the spots on the squid light up and they are only blue, I don’t believe they can change the colour.

Something worth pointing out is that the anatomy of the squid in Sing is completely wrong. And I mean royally messed up. Squid have a mouth that is more like a beak, no lips, certainly no teeth, and it’s located in the middle of the tentacles. The eyes are also further down the body, basically on the tentacles too. What Illumination has done is use the mantle as the squid’s face, when that’s actually their body. It’s the equivalent of putting Buster’s face on his torso. Soooooo something happened to the Sing squid to completely rearrange their bodies and essentially swap the locations of their head and body. Wild.

Shrimp

This is fairly accurate because some crustaceans can survive on regular air for a short time and don’t need to be constantly submerged. Like the squid, these guys have been given a more mammalian body type and can even wear clothes. I don’t know the specific species of shrimp because my God, they all looked the same to me. There’s also this concept art crab who is just chilling about on land. He’d either be dead in a few hours or Sing crabs can now live on land. But I won’t explore it much as it’s not something that’s actually appeared in the films so it’s not canon.

Whale

He doesn’t appear very much, but he’s there. We don’t see enough of him to determine his species but he wears a neat hat. I have nothing else to say about him. Why is Buster in the sky

Fish

Again, super brief appearance and oh my God this screenshot was so hard to get?! I had to load up the film and grab it myself because no one cares about these fish at all. It’s too blurry to tell what species they are, and again, not much to say on them.

Walrus

I have beef with this walrus because his design interrupted the old, more realistic style of Sing. He really cemented the feeling to me that Sing 2 is no longer using the “rules” set by Sing 1. I remember first seeing him and thinking how odd and out of place he looked. While I thought he was a funny character, his design just bothered me so much, something about him felt so off. The sheer audacity of this man to walk on two feet and basically look like a big ape. Generally, Sing was quite realistic with its body types. Ok except the squids. Although technically four legged, walruses and seals have flippers and such a unique way of moving that I really kinda expected Sing to stick to this, or at least make them more hunched over or do something to make them a bit more real, instead of the weird “walrus head on gorilla body” design we got.

To start with, walruses are insanely heavy and huge. A male gets up to 12ft long. To put it into perspective, a walrus standing up would be roughly the same height as an elephant. Mason really should be as tall as Meena but he’s like, 2 Busters.

Real life walruses could never stand on their rear flippers because of their sheer size, and because flippers are not legs. They’re too large and heavy for their adapted limbs to support. That’s why they do that weird flopping about thing that walruses and seals do. So it’s not a case of just making them stand on two legs like every other animal. However now that I’ve looked at him a bit more, Mason is a lot smaller than he “should” be, which makes me think maybe Sing walruses evolved quite differently. They’re much smaller, lighter, and thus able to stand. Maybe also their rear flippers never reached the stage of being super short and small, and are some sort of weird leg/flipper middle stage rather than just being flippers.

Ok Mason, you’re not as bad as I thought you were. But I still don’t like your design.

Also according to the Wiki there’s seals in some advert somewhere but I can’t find it. I’d love to see if they are designed the same as Mason so please if anyone can find it, let me know!

Here’s the canon “rules” I can gather for aquatic animals:

🐳 Honestly there aren’t any

🐳 ok ok, they generally only wear accessories rather than proper clothes but some do also wear full outfits (shrimp)

🐳 They still need water to survive and it hints that there’s an aquatic biome for them to live and work in, with regular cities having waterways as a method of transportation for them. I like this idea and hope it’s explored more

🐳 Bioluminescence can do whatever you want it to do as long as it looks nice, but it’s still limited to animals who have it in real life (which is basically just some fish and invertebrates)

🐳 Some, like the whales and fish, are essentially just the same as real life ones. Others, like squid and shrimp, are more mammalian now. Somewhere, evolution went wild and completely changed the body design of squid completely, reversing their heads and torsos

🐳 Walruses are smaller than they are in real life, and now able to support their bodies on two… flippers? They are much, much more humanoid now and are incredibly different to their real life counterparts

My main take away from this is that mammalian body types have become the norm in the Sing universe. Take (almost) any real animal, make it sort of humanoid, and it’ll belong in Sing. I reckon it’s some kind of convergent evolution thing where animals end up looking similar.

#this one is LONG #if you made it to the end I’m proud of you #note: I do not really hate Mason I just like hyperbole humour #and he’s just further evidence that Sing animals can do whatever the heck you want them to #sing #sing 2016 #sing 2021 #Buster moon #sing 2 #sing movie #sing buster #sing Mason #sing headcanons #sing ash #sing johnny #sing mike #sing meena #sing meme #clay calloway