#but letting him have a bit more meaningful progress

[problemswithbooks]

Nah kill Endeavor midway and introduce new hero to take his role as the hero with new relevant story as No 1 like happened with Hawks and last minute additions like Star Stripe. Because Endeavor remains the only morally bad hero who is an example of what hero should not do in personal life using his job as a cover as Stain warned. His treatment of Inasa, taking on petty cases to increase numbers and being dumber than Iida who cracked the pattern faster magnified his behaviour as a shoddy hero driven by envy and prejudice and personal desires and not enough to call it justice as the subjective praisevsays about his heroics by people who have a personal reason to believe he was good as a hero and not disbelive it even in face of proof. His atonement didn't actually have narrative significance in the end either. If he was pulled out of their story, already Deku then Shoto then self-effort from hidden strength from hope due to Shoto alone was enough. He couldn't give them any actual closure or help. Endeavor in short had little to no big role other than being the cause of this apocalypse from a single video because he took the No 1 spot by default despite being wrong for it. The effect of the video was more positive in the long run by freeing them and making their stories valid by Endeavor's televised confession than how bad Toga or Gentle's families had it from being associated while Shoto seem happier having shared with all. They are also valid for unconditionally loving their son instead of being conflicted by his crimes which is Endeavor's fault to them as Shoto's thoughts went. Overall Endeavor's role is simply as the abuser who prevents his victims from taking heat and criticism from his fans by confessing because they all push him including Hawks and it is possible because the hero association are dead and won't issue a cover up to protect their overall image. But this confession could still be exposed in other ways using new characters or existing information technology known with Garaki Kyuudai had Hori wanted while keeping Endeavor bad which would have resulted in a better catharsis than leaving him sticking on to his victims.

Ok so another long break down.

Nah kill Endeavor midway and introduce new hero to take his role as the hero with new relevant story as No 1 like happened with Hawks and last minute additions like Star Stripe. Because Endeavor remains the only morally bad hero who is an example of what hero should not do in personal life using his job as a cover as Stain warned.

Killing Enji this way only works if the story becomes fully about Hero corruption, which it just isn't. All of the Heroes which had questionable attitudes toward Heroics changed their ways, or besides Enji just weren't that bad to begin with. Even if we leave Enji as a truly bad guy, he's one out dozens we see who are all good, so it doesn't even help prove the corruption angle much. Could this work--sure, but it'd change the story and it's themes drastically from what Hori's intentions seem to be--at that point it's not even his story.

On top of that we get no evidence Enji is using his job as a Hero as cover. Nor did Stain ever say anything about Heroes using their job to hide actual crimes. I love the guy, but all he cared about was people being Heroes that weren't 100% selfless. On top of that he just didn't even seem to check the Heroes he hunted out first, since we have no evidence Tensei was anything other then a great Hero who cared a lot about saving people. Stain didn't know about Enji's abuse and just hated him because he wasn't All Might.

His treatment of Inasa, taking on petty cases to increase numbers and being dumber than Iida who cracked the pattern faster magnified his behaviour as a shoddy hero driven by envy and prejudice and personal desires and not enough to call it justice as the subjective praisevsays about his heroics by people who have a personal reason to believe he was good as a hero and not disbelive it even in face of proof.

But Enji did crack Stain's pattern--that's why he and Shoto we in the city at all that night. He tells Shoto about it when they leave for Hosu. Shoto even says he only picks Enji's agency because he's a great at his job and despite his hate for him at that point, it'd be stupid to turn down learning from one of the best in the industry.

Enji never shows prejudice in the manga. The spin off made him OOC so he could function as a side antagonist for the later arc in the story, but in the main story he never acts that way. No, he was never great to fans because having fans was never his reason for being a Hero and he didn't understand how important it was to inspire people until he became #1.

I assume what you mean by disbelieving proof, you're talking about Touya's video during the first War. Honestly, people not believing Touya makes perfect sense in context. Enji was never super popular, but when a villain who has killed multiple people and is currently responsible for a major terrorist attack effecting dozens cities suddenly releases a video saying "Hey, this guy trying to stop me from killing everyone is actually bad, trust me, and therefore you should hate everyone who has the same job." it is hard to believe. Plus, people did did believe it, they just were more concerned about Enji failing to stop a massive terrorist attack that probably resulted in hundreds of casualties and displaced thousands of people, then the fact he abused his family--something that in the moment is nothing compared to all the lives lost.

Endeavor in short had little to no big role other than being the cause of this apocalypse from a single video because he took the No 1 spot by default despite being wrong for it.

Enji didn't cause the apocalypse, Shigaraki and the LoV did. Sure, Touya's video didn't help, but because it came out after most of the major damage was done it didn't have as much effect as it could have had if it had been released right after Enji got the #1 spot. People would have been angry at the Heroes and Enji anyway because so many people died and the LoV wasn't captured.

The effect of the video was more positive in the long run by freeing them and making their stories valid by Endeavor's televised confession than how bad Toga or Gentle's families had it from being associated while Shoto seem happier having shared with all.

We don't actually see the family show any positive emotions toward the video. In fact we see them having to hide from the public because they're now blamed for Touya's murders. Shoto can't even go and be with his friends when Izuku walks into U.A, and instead has to hang back with Enji who, I assume had to go in a back way due to all of the hate they were getting because of Touya's video. Shoto might not be upset with his friends knowing, but he was never super quite about his abuse either, given he spilled the beans to Izuku as quick as possible during the sports festival. We don't see if the rest of the family feels similarly at all.

They are also valid for unconditionally loving their son instead of being conflicted by his crimes which is Endeavor's fault to them as Shoto's thoughts went.

But they don't see Touya's crimes as Dabi as 100% Enji's fault. Shoto tells him it was wrong of him to involve other people. Natsuo tells him to stop and that he's being an idiot big brother. Fuyumi just doesn't want him to kill their mom and dad. Even when Shoto thinks "he is me" that implies he does consider Touya's actions his own, since Shoto always held himself responsible for his own poor choices, like being rude to Inasa. Just because they still love Touya doesn't mean they don't hold him responsible for his actions. Enji is at fault, yes, but at the end of the day Touya still decided to murder random people to fulfill his own plans of revenge.

Overall Endeavor's role is simply as the abuser who prevents his victims from taking heat and criticism from his fans by confessing because they all push him including Hawks and it is possible because the hero association are dead and won't issue a cover up to protect their overall image.

The family isn't getting shit on by Enji's fans though, nor does Enji admitting the video is true suddenly make people 100% fine with the other Todoroki's. People didn't hate on the family because they saw them as lying about the abuse because they love Enji to much--they were mad because they view them as extensions of Touya, who killed their loved ones and destroyed their homes. They also don't have to push Enji to do the press conference or admit his abuse. They push him to stay a Hero and help them stop/save Touya. That's why even after he admits to the abuse, Shoto is still shunned.

We also have zero evidence to suggest the Hero Commission ever covered up the abuse. Especially since Shoto has no problem telling Izuku about it.

But this confession could still be exposed in other ways using new characters or existing information technology known with Garaki Kyuudai had Hori wanted while keeping Endeavor bad which would have resulted in a better catharsis than leaving him sticking on to his victims.

Again, this only works if you fundamentally change the story Hori is trying to tell. He wants Enji to change and be a better person. You can not agree with that choice, but if we're taking about stuff an author could have done better you have to try and stick to what they want the story to be. We still don't know 100% what Hori is trying to say because the ending hasn't come out yet, but so far Enji atoning seems to be a big part of the overall message of the story. If that is the case you have to try and find fixes that stick with that vision, otherwise you're just writing your own story, not just making editing suggestions to make the current work better.

#ask #todoroki enji #bnha spoilers #bnha #mha #endeavor #there are times I've said it might have been better to keep Enji an asshole #but that's more out of frustration then because I think it'd actually work #at least for the story Hori wants to tell #that's why my actual suggestions for genuine changes that could help revolve around keeping Enji as is #but letting him have a bit more meaningful progress #while keeping it small so he doesn't change to much #and can still play the same role #I do the same thing for the LoV #part of me does sort of just wish they'd die because of how poorly Hori wrote them #but that's clearly not the story he's trying to write #so my suggestions are generally tweaks that could have the message he wants to send with them work better #and not cause such divides in the fan base #and I'm sure they miss alot given I live in a totally different culture then Hori #so what i think doesn't work might make total sense in Japanese literature

[teatoptony]

e-42!Miles Morales headcanons (fluff) ㅡ

Okay, so, I've seen a lot of people headcanon that Miles is going to buy you anything and everything you even look at

but while that's fine because they're headcanons, let me remind you the boy is 16. He's not gonna be walking into Gucci and buying everything off the displays like a webtoon.

That being said, if he has a little extra cash he'll most likely spend it on you.

I'm talking little meaningful things though. Flowers, books, little trinkets that reminded him of you and such,

if your hobby needs supplies, he'll discreetly scan your stock when he's over and get you a refill of whatever you're low on.

He also cherishes whatever you gift to him and refuses to throw anything from you away.

Like once, you got the both of you matching shoes. They've been his favorite pair ever since.

And also dates.

Dates are a little rare between the two of you ngl, because 1) New York is literally Gotham atp, and 2) being the Prowler takes up a lot of time.

so you mostly hang out at each other's places as a substitute.

But when you do go out, Miles will plan everything down to a T

because let's face it, he tries to act cool but boy is nervous

You're the first person that isn't family he's actually opened up to. He doesn't want you to have a single bad experience with him.

But even if your dates go sideways, either one or both of you always find a way to make it better :)

At the start of your relationship, he's not too big on PDA.

but as it progresses, he starts getting more comfortable about stuff like holding hands or chaste kisses in public.

Once he's completely sure of himself and the two of you, he's always touching you in some way;

linking pinkies, holding hands, hand/arm around your waist, etc.

Never, I repeat never in front of Uncle Aaron though.

It's not that he's embarrassed of you or anything, but his uncle will definitely tease the living hell out of him

Speaking of Uncle Aaron, he likes you.

The first time he heard about you was a week or two after he taught Miles the Shoulder Touch™

Keep in mind, this is before Miles's dad passed away and all that,

so the boy was awkward.

When he tried it out on you, you couldn't help laughing, just a tiny bit.

Then he made the mistake of telling his uncle, who made it so much worse

"Can you please stop laughing? I'm being serious!"

"I'm sorry man–"

"No you're not 😒"

Back to physical affection, Miles is a sucker for any that you give him.

hugs, cuddles, kisses, you name it.

He will literally melt into your arms.

He'll try to deny it at first but it isn't fooling anyone, so at one point he just gives up the tough guy act when it's just the two of you.

Forehead/top of the head kisses? PLEASE PLEASE P L E A S E

he needs some soft affection.

He is down bad.

You get back hugs. all the time. extra when he's sleepy.

he will literally penguin walk you everywhere.

A lot of times he'll put his head on your chest and hear your heartbeat to remind himself you're still there and his. Especially when 'work' was hard.

Speaking of, he also told you he's the Prowler.

Of course, he tried to delay it as much as he could, but once the two of you were absolutely stable he felt wrong keeping it a secret.

Especially when he had to bail on plans for some inpromptu work thing and couldn't give you a reason why.

You'd kinda put two and two together at that point, but it was nice to hear him actually tell you.

After Miles comes clean though, his protective tendancies will double.

He isn't controlling or smothering, but he has some strong feelings against you walking in the streets alone after dark and such.

And they only get stronger after he tells you what he does. If something happened to you because you knew, he'd never forgive himslelf.

So he takes precautions. Whenever he drops by your place after work, he always changes first so that no one sees the Prowler frequent some random apartment.

he'll never let you anywhere near his job. You don't need to watch all that nasty shit.

and so on, so forth.

He's also a big whiner. He will drag his words out to the ends of the earth if he has to.

"Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa–"

"Miles, my paper's due in two days."

"Finish it tomorrow then. Necesito sostenerte, hermosa."

"...Fine."

Mrs. Morales also loves you. You're basically her daughter in law already.

Which is great!

Until she starts showing you the baby pictures.

"Miles had the cutest little face–"

"Má, please–"

She loves having you around and will let you stay the night whenever (as long as the door's cracked open).

You're invited to every single family event courtesy of Rio.

Miles will try to participate in anything you're interested in.

you like doing makeup? put some on him pls.

he'll also watch youtube tutorials to learn how to do it himself and do it for you.

which doesn't work too well the first few times, but now he's a natural!

his first time doing your eyeliner though:

"Miles, you've been at it for like 10 minutes. Let me see!"

"..."

"Is that– is that a wing?"

"..."

"🏃‍♂️🚶‍♂️"

"No, no, it's nice– it's so nice–"

Rio almost died laughing.

If you like to draw, he'll take you on grafitti dates !

But if you're nervous about that, then he'll just sit and draw with you or something.

don't look at his paper, he's drawing you and will be very flustered (he'll try to play it cool but blushing isn't rly something he can control)

so yea look at his paper

If you're part of a fandom, he'll study everything he can find on it so that he can understand what you're talking about.

He'll most likely like it too, and you guys could spend hours talking about it if you want.

but if he's not that into it, he'll just sit and listen contently to you talk about it with the stupidest smile on his face like :]

He has the softest spot for you even a blind person could see it.

He just loves you so much pls love him back

probably do a pt.2 soon

#anti writes spiderverse #across the spiderverse #miles morales #miles morales x reader #prowler miles #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales headcanons #miles morales fluff #miles morales x you #prowler miles x reader #prowler morales #prowler miles morales #miles 42 #e42 miles #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles

[weebiewrites]

Things in the Miraculous movie that were way better than the show

Everything

Ok but actually, adjustments made in the movie that vastly improved the show’s canon:

Marinette’s awkwardness being equally applied to everyone she interacts with. Having her reputation be that she is a walking disaster makes Adrien’s (and Alya’s) kindness to her more impactful. Also makes Chloe’s bullying more believable. IN GENERAL makes Marinette’s character more believable.

In the same realm, the entire school and world not revolving around how perfect and cool Adrien is fixes SO. MANY. THINGS. The only person at school who seems to care about his status is Chloe, which not only makes his overall character less annoying, but also adds to Chloe’s characterization.

Speaking of Chloe, making her an actual character and not a bitch who torments her classmates relentlessly for no reason? Like yeah she’s still a bitch and a bully but she has sense of decorum and won’t take it too far if her reputation is on the line.

Sabrina having agency? Hello??

The subtilization of Marinette’s crush on Adrien. Like, hello, she has a lot of shit going on! She doesn’t have time to be swooning over her classmate all day! Yet another thing that makes her more believable.

TIKKI AND PLAGG CHOOSING THEIR OWN HOLDERS. Fuck Fu. Kwamis are literal eldritch gods, why wouldn’t they have a bit of agency?

The entire sequence of Marinette saving Fu. A clever way to have Fu meet the holder while still having Tikki be the one who chooses. Also way better storytelling for him to not intentionally put himself in danger to find a holder, makes the whole thing more organic.

The addition of the rule that the Tikki and Plagg only awaken when there’s a miraculous-level threat. Gives actual purpose to the role of the Guardian, imo.

Unpopular opinion but Tikki’s personality change was great. Once again, literal eldritch God!

Not to harp on this, but once again, the kwamis still having some level of control and AGENCY even when their holders are transformed. Tikki being in Ladybug’s yo-yo and actually guiding her was cool af and WHY WOULDN’T SHE BE ABLE TO DO THAT???

Ladybug and Chat having more general abilities BUT not having their special abilities right away. The sequence where Chat caught the invisible bullet? Cool af. And Ladybug NOT having the reset button right away really raised the stakes and honestly just felt right. It was really rewarding and triumphant when she used it towards the end.

The earrings/ring glowing as a way to communicate when one of them is not transformed. Such a good and cool idea.

Adrien and Marinette frequently hanging out together in a group with Alya and Nino without it being weird!!! Jesus!! Let the kids be kids!!!!!

Gabriel Agreste being less of a piece of shit.

Chat Noir’s “You’re my sidekick!” To, “I’m your sidekick!” progression. Followed by Ladybug’s, “we’re partners!” Immaculate.

Marinette gaining confidence as Marinette from being Ladybug AND ALSO SPECIFICALLY from her partnership with Chat Noir. LET THE SUPERHERO CHILDREN HAVE A MEANINGFUL AND UPLIFTING PARTNERSHIP FFS

Speaking of, LADYNOIR HANGING OUT

LADYNOIR PLAYFIGHTING

Ladybug liking Chat romantically maybe before the 5th fucking season? Making Chat’s first confession less cringey bc she actually really likes him back and totally wants to kiss him? Being internally conflicted ab it?

Marinette confessing right after she gently lets Chat down for the first time, literally perfect angst set up

Adrien BEING ABLE TO STAND UP TO HIS FATHER. Fuck Sentiadrien.

Gabriel being capable of feeling human emotions

Identity reveal

#ml #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ml salt #miraculous movie

[melverie]

Sometimes I'm doing well, and then other times Lucifer's level 30 intimacy phone call in Nightbringer suddenly comes back to mind, and I am once again reminded how Lucifer is so utterly desperate to connect with Satan in any way. It doesn't even have to be meaningful; just having his brother despise him a tiny bit less than before would already be more than enough

And when they finally do make the tiniest, most insignficant amount of progress imaginable, Lucifer is so overjoyed about it that he ends up celebrating with a horn of Demonus......or two, maybe three... Might as well finish the bottle. Let's open another one! And another, and another, and another! We've got to celebrate tonight, after all! Hm? No, he isn't drunk MC, what a stupid question to even ask. Here, he'll drink some more just to prove it! Then after that--!

And all that because he and Satan managed to hold a conversation for a minute longer than usual

#hey so i originally got the levels mixed up. whoops #anyway #had to stop everything for an hour or two and just lie there thinking about satan & luci again #there's so much i want to talk about when it comes to the two of them bc their relationship is so fascinating #but most of the time when i try to write smth down it just comes out as “hnnngghhhh these two.....they're making me go insannnee” lol #also luci admitting in his lv25 call that satan is the only one he has problems with and that no matter what he tries nothing seems to work #broke my heart fr </3 #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #;mel's analyses

[witchy-scribblings]

are you still watching?

shinazugawa genya x reader

synopsis ➳ it might have been you who selected the movie currently playing on your tv, but as of right now it was the last thing you could focus on.

warnings ➳ characters are aged up, shy genya, dom reader, making out, dry humping, coming in pants, dirty talk, praise kink, lowercase, mdni!

wordcount ➳ 2.3k

[crossposted on ao3]

it might have been you who selected the movie currently playing on your tv, but as of right now it was the last thing you could focus on.

you knew this scene and its dialogue by heart now, the tension-filled first confession of mr. darcy towards elizabeth bennet was and would always be one of your favorite moments in cinematic history, but right now you could hardly care about any of it, unlike your lovely boyfriend, who was hanging on to every heated word that elizabeth dished back to the object of her unfortunate infatuation. and that was the problem.

he looked so damn good when he was focused on, well, anything, really.

it would be an understatement to say that you were utterly smitten with genya. despite his extremely rough exterior, he had never been anything if not kind and sweet towards you, even way before going steady. he had been an amazing friend back then (still is), if a little awkward with certain kinds of affection, and an equally outstanding boyfriend. despite still shying away from your love at times, which you actually just found all the more endearing, he never let you doubt his own feelings towards you, and showed that he cared in his own smaller but just as meaningful ways.

for example, letting you sit him through what could be your fiftieth (but his first) rewatch of pride and prejudice. he had agreed, not without making a face, and somehow ended up being more invested in the old drama than you.

you couldn’t keep from stealing quick glances at him even if you tried, but he just looked so good in his gray baggy t-shirt and red sleeping shorts. you loved that he didn’t feel stiff and nervous under your legs as they rested across his lap, and even had a big, warm hand rubbing up and down the expanse of your calf, warming up the skin and sending shivers through you, but he didn’t seem to notice. he didn’t because, against all odds, he was loving the wretched (you’d regret your own wording in the morning) movie and you wished he’d lay all of that undivided attention on you instead.

as much as you loved it whenever he got into something you enjoyed, you needed him in a different headspace right now.

to be fair, you had been dating genya for a relatively short amount of time, and he had made a lot of progress with processing your displays of affection (he didn’t nearly faint every time you kissed him anymore!), but you really wanted to take things a little bit further. even making out could prove a bit of a challenge, so you never really pushed because the last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable and, truthfully, you could reign in those needs, for heaven’s sake! you weren’t a horndog.

…not like you were currently drooling over your very oblivious boyfriend. not at all.

“genya…”

maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just ask .

“hmm? w’cha need, babe?” and you hesitated because how could you not? he was still watching the movie, although you could tell he was paying attention to you as well. how would he react if you just blurted it out? you were okay with rejection, but you didn’t want him to feel guilty for denying you and completely ruin the mood. would he faint, even? you really hoped not, because that would ruin the night for sure. but you couldn’t just backpedal now; it’d be weird and awkward to just say “nevermind” without a proper explanation.

“...can i get on top of you?” you were fearing the words had been too forward, but instead of overreacting, genya just spared a quick glance to your legs and threw a confused look your way.

“but you’re already on top of me, baby.”

god bless his dumb ass .

“no, no,” and you giggle, of course you do, feeling more relaxed after you were suddenly reminded that this was just your boyfriend; your idiot, lovely boyfriend. “i meant, can i sit on your lap?”

you could tell he was blushing now, but, to your surprise, that seemed to be the extent of his reaction to your request. outwardly, at least.

“uh… sure can, babe,” and you were baffled as much as pleased by the way genya had easily acceeded, but it only took you one second of curious consideration before you acted on your words and shuffled slowly to place yourself on top of him, with both legs straddling his thighs (you could tell he was way stiffer now) and pressing your chest snuggly against his. you peered into his wide eyes. “b-babe… the tv’s the other way…”

“i don’t wanna keep watching the movie right now, genya…”

oh.

your shy boyfriend looked too stunned to answer, so you waited patiently, letting your hands roam up and down his firm chest through the thin cotton, adoring the way you could feel his tiny shudders and hear the hitch of air in his throat. your fingers traveled further upwards, until they came to cradle his jaw in both hands; the skin felt warm and clammy to the touch. you made sure he didn’t miss the way your eyes flitted to his parted lips.

“is this okay?” you breathed against his lips, a silent plea. his body was so close, so warm and hard compared to yours, you could feel it despite having full layers of clothes in between. your thumbs ran circles on his reddened cheeks and your nose brushed against his from how close you were hovering towards him. you just needed the green light to close-

“yes, yes it’s so okay-,” you didn’t let him finish, couldn’t let him finish before your lips fell on his almost of their own volition, and his words merged into a moan that you gladly swallowed into your mouth. the kiss was gentle, experimental if only to gauge his every reaction and make sure he was comfortable with your advances.

so far, you knew he was.

you knew from the way his hands immediately flew to your hips to brace himself against your onslaught of affection, the way he shivered when you ran your tongue along his lower lips after every playful nibble, the way your mouth, pressed so insistently against his as the kiss grew in fervor, couldn’t contain the tiny, pleading whimpers coming from his throat.

at some point, you pulled away just enough to observe how he was faring and, boy, was it a sight to behold; genya, with his thin lips looked deliciously kiss-bruised and glossy with spit, his skin flushed all the way to his ears and possibly down to his chest, if you were to guess, and his unfocused eyes staring absently at you.

you weren’t any less than thrilled to have him so messed up from just some kissing.

“p-please…,” he murmurs, trying to chase after your lips like they’re his new vice, but you swiftly snake a hand into the unruly tresses of his mohawk and pull him back, maybe a little harder than you should have, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care when you are rewarded with a loud groan that goes straight to your cunt, right along with the messy babbling you’ve pathetically reduced his speech to. “please, baby, kiss me more. y’r lips so sweet ‘n warm, i need more, more please, i- ah!”

you can feel your pussy soaking through the thin material of your panties when you grind yourself on genya’s crotch, once, twice, steadily building a rhythm where with every push and pull of your hips you could feel his dick getting harder and growing bigger.

“i can feel you through your shorts, baby,” you moan, shamelessly, keeping that one hand at the back of his head while your free one went to soothe the tight grip he held on your hip, through your oversized sleeping shirt. “your cock feels so hot and hard against my pussy, genya…”

if he’s embarrassed by your vulgar choice of words, genya doesn’t show it, and you’re sure it’s because he’s already so far gone into the steady pleasure, into your addictive touch, that he couldn’t be embarrassed even if he tried to.

he’s so unbelievably horny at this point that everything you say only serves to make his dick twitch inside his briefs.

when you lift yourself up a little, he follows and he whines , and you can’t help the amused giggle because he’s so damn needy already, but you let it play in your favor by taking the chance to slide his shorts down to his mid thighs; before you settle back down, you make sure to ogle the mouth-watering print of his cock tenting the material of his underwear.

“i really, really need to grind on your big cock now, genya. can i?” you ask sweetly, watching him throw his head back against the top of the couch and close his eyes to escape your impish smile and lustful gaze before they make him come embarrassingly early.

“p-please… i want it, baby, i-”

“i think you can do better than that, baby boy,” you coo, and you wonder how much you should push without risking ruining everything you’ve built-up until now but, it seemed, genya found it much easier to tolerate your teasing when he was already in the mood.

“b-babe, please… i need you t’grind your p-pussy on my cock…” he was doing so well, barely even stuttering, and you decided to reward him with a sensual trail of wet kisses on the side of his neck, tense like a bowstring with the self-imposed effort not to thrust up against your core himself. “‘m so so so hard for you, baby… i’ll be such a good b-boy for you…”

“yes you will, baby,” you sigh contentedly and, with that, begin to roll your hips back and forth, swiveling in circles and alternating between fleeting rolls and harsh grinding. “you’re already such a good boy, genya, letting me make you feel so good for me. aren’t you feeling good?”

as if the death grip he held on your hips and the desperate need to match your pace weren’t answer enough, you gave him time to put his own words together, to piece them despite the mist in his brain that only let him whimper and groan and moan breathily and raggedly into your neck.

“y-yes, you feel so good, oh my god, so so good… please don’t stop, please, i’m-” 

“oh? are you close, genya?” and this time he does seem too embarrassed to answer, but you can tell by the trembling of his thighs against yours, the increasing volume of his voice and his clenching hands at your sides that it is, indeed, the case. 

your pussy flutters at the thought of your sweet, lovely and pathetic boyfriend creaming his pants just from some light dry humping, and you decide right then and there that he’s going to do. just. that. 

“n-no…” he finally denies, but it comes out so weak and unconvincing that he has to force himself to try again, “no, no i can’t… can’t cum like this, please-”

“you can, and you will, genya,” your voice is a gentle authority that leaves no room for debate, and he whines shamefully. desperately. “you’re going to be a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

“...y-yes, but-”

“and good boys make a mess when they’re told to, don’t they?” he’s so lost in your steady rhythm, trying so hard to fend off his impending orgasm that he can’t even come up with a reply. so you do it for him. “yes, they do. and since you are my dirty, little good boy, you’re going to come in your undies and-”

-and that’s exactly what he does. without warning, actually.

it is so sudden that you only know it happens because genya releases a strangled cry and a beautiful chorus of breathless “oh, oh, oh!” at about the same time you start to explicitly feel, through your sodden knickers, his throbbing prick soiling both of your crotches with his sticky seed, hips barely able to keep from chasing his relief with insistent jerks.

you find out later that night (because he tells you through mortifying embarrassment) that that had been the hardest he’d come to date. and you believe him, because it takes him a long time to ride out the euphoria, to settle back from the beautiful arch of his back into a boneless heap of post-orgasmic bliss, panting messily all the while, and you observe, feeling the mess between your thighs grow colder and stiffer as the seconds tick by, but you let him have his moment. he deserves it.

then, the post-nut clarity seems to hit and genya grimaces heavily, everything dawning on him at once; the mess, the shame, the relief, the utter adoration he holds for you because holy shit you really made him do that but he’s-

“s-sorry, oh my god-”

“nope, i’m not letting you apologize for that. you were so fucking hot, genya.” you relish on his flush, but let your tone soften with sincerity. “is everything all good, though? i really hope i didn’t go too far, baby…”

“no… you didn’t.” he seemed to struggle with finding the words, even more with finding your eyes, but you knew his words were honest. “that was actually really good…”

“i’m glad,” and you are, because despite the latent embarrassment, you can tell he enjoyed himself as much as you did. the living room is blanketed in comfortable silence, pride and prejudice still playing in the background, unattended, while you cuddled into his chest.

“but… y’know, there’s actually somethin’ wrong…” his words spike some unease inside of you, but when you look up to try and guess what could possibly be wrong, you’re met with a toothy quirk of his lips and wild-looking eyes that harbor a thrilling promise.

“you haven’t come yet, babe…”

#kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer #kny fanfic #kny x reader #kny x you #kny x y/n #kny smut #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer smut #shinazugawa genya #shinazugawa genya x reader #genya x reader #genya x you #genya x y/n #genya smut #shinazugawa genya smut

[justlemmeadoreyou]

can you do one where Mafia Harry (or any other au) takes care of her after she said her feet hurt from wearing heels all evening at the party, exchanges his footwear with her heels.

Love's Comfort

Word Count: ~500

Warnings: none, just pure fluff

(also, I imagined him as lhh)

masterlist | ask box(requests are open!)

The opulent ballroom was a swirl of elegance and extravagance. It was a night of glitz and glamour, and you had been Harry's date to the exclusive party. You were decked out in a stunning evening gown and a pair of sky-high heels that accentuated your beauty. As the night progressed, your feet began to ache from the hours spent in those ridiculously high heels.

You slowly whispered to Harry, "My feet are killing me in these heels, Harry."

Harry, who looked every bit the charismatic and enigmatic figure of the underground world, was quick to respond. "Let's take care of that, love."

With a nod and a sly smile, he led you to a quieter corner of the ballroom, away from prying eyes. You took a seat on a plush velvet chair, and Harry knelt down in front of you.

"Give me your feet," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You obediently extended your legs, and Harry gently removed the stiletto heels from your feet. As he held your heels in his hands, he gently massaged your ankles and feet, the tenderness of his touch sending a rush of warmth and adoration through your heart.

You couldn't help but let out a contented sigh as the pain started to ease away. "You're my knight in shining armor, Harry."

But Harry wasn't done yet. He stood up and removed his expensive leather shoes. You watched in surprise as he handed them to you.

"Here," he said, "Put these on. They're much more comfortable."

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the expensive shoes in your hand, and then at Harry's socked feet. "Harry, these are your shoes. What about your feet?"

Harry chuckled and shrugged. "I've survived worse, love. I want you to be comfortable."

With your feet now in the comfy shoes, you stood up and realized that you were nearly the same height as Harry. It was a small but meaningful gesture, one that made you feel so much cared for and cherished by him.

With a grateful and loving look, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you, Harry. You always take such good care of me."

He held you close, his arms wrapped around you "That's my job, love. I'll do anything to make you happy."

At the end of the night, as you left the party together, Harry took your hand and led you to the waiting car. The night had been a whirlwind of luxury and excitement, but what you cherished the most was the memory of Harry taking care of you.

As the night continued, you and Harry danced and mingled with the other partygoers, your feet thanking you for the reprieve from the heels. There was something incredibly romantic about being in the arms of a dangerous man who also had a soft, attentive side just for you.

Only you.

As you drove away from the grand event, you leaned your head on Harry's shoulder, your heart full of love for the man beside you. He had a way of making every moment special, and you knew that you were truly lucky to have him by your side.

>>>

any like, comment or reblog is much, much appreciated ❤️

here's my ko-fi if you feel generous

>>>

taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli @tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @babyiamperfectforyou @whoreonmondays @avalentina @kathb59

let me know if you want to be added or removed!

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles writing #harry edward styles #harrystyles #harry angst #harry fic #harry fluff #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles blurb #harry blurb #harry styles concept #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles masterlist #harry x reader #harry x yn #harry x you #harry x y/n #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst

[demonpiratehuntress]

better

Portgas D. Ace x F!Reader

summary - you think you don't do enough for the crew so you work harder and train harder to be better. Ace thinks you do plenty already, but supports your decision regardless.

warnings - none

a/n: i hope the person who requested this sees it, because me being a dumbass at 3am, i accidentally deleted the reply to the request. i also hope i got it right!

You could admit that you were not the most useful crewmember of the Whitebeard pirates. In fact, you felt completely useless, like you couldn't contribute anything meaningful or helpful. But you didn't want to be that way, you didn't want to be just a burden to them, even if Ace would constantly remind you that you're not a burden and you were helpful. To him, at least.

But you wanted to be helpful to the entire crew. In fights, you wanted to be able to hold your own without being told to go hide or go check on the injured. You wanted to be able to fight without having to depend on your boyfriend to come save you if you were faced with an opponent.

"(Name) are you even listening?" A deep chuckle met your ears, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You turned away from the shop window, smiling at Ace sheepishly, "I'm sorry, just...lost in thought." The way you said it and the way your smile didn't quite reach your ears alerted Ace to what you were thinking about.

"Hey," he took both your hands and brought you a little closer, "If it bothers you so much, I can always teach you a few things." He looked at the items you were eyeing from the shop and smirked. "Daggers, huh? Come on." He tugged you into the shop to help you choose a set.

-

After a very long few hours choosing a pair of pretty yet lethal daggers (Ace was the indecisive one), you both made your way back to the ship. You were staring at the sharp weapons in your hands, marveling at how dangerous they looked and feeling excited to finally learn to be at least a little bit effective.

"Okay let's start with some basic stances," he began, his hand reaching for your hip to position it. "Place one leg like this, and the other like this." He demonstrated his words, showing you how to stand and how to position your arms.

"Ace," you laughed a few minutes later, "I'm pretty sure my butt does not need to be in any specific position."

His beet-red face popped up in front of you, a coy smile on his lips, "Sorry babe, couldn't help myself."

He spent the rest of the afternoon teaching you basic combat moves and acting as your personal hype man, cheering excessively when you got something right just to boost your confidence. It was working, and you were grateful to have such a supportive and helpful boyfriend.

-

After a few more days of this, you were starting to get the hang of it. Your combat skills had drastically improved, and while you still hadn't managed to beat Ace, there was massive progress and you felt it.

But aside from combat, you also wanted to be more knowledgeable in other fields. Like first aid. In case of emergencies, you wanted to know how to deal with injuries and minor wounds that could be fixed right then and there. You didn't want to be an all-out doctor or medic, but you wanted to have at least a little medical knowledge.

So you took to medical books.

You read everything you could get your hands on, even staying up late at night to study. Sometimes you would even fall asleep at your desk, which is where Ace would find you in the morning. It worried him, but he also didn't want to stop you from learning.

"You should read it to me," he suggested one afternoon, while he was lying in bed with you after having to force you to stop when your eyes started to droop.

"Hmm?" You looked up at him sleepily, "Read what?"

"Those medical books you're reading," his warms hands rested on your stomach, putting you at ease. "You should talk to me about what you learn, it could help you remember."

You smiled when he offered to listen to you, "Are you sure you'll be able to keep up?"

He gasped dramatically, "What do you think I am? Stupid?"

"Yes," you teased.

He feigned offence, playfully scoffing, "I detest that."

"I'm kidding," you laughed, shifting so you could bury your face in his neck. "But thanks for the offer. I might just take you up on that."

And you did. Every time you were reading, Ace was with you whenever he could be. He sat and listened to you explain and discuss the human anatomy, how to dress certain injuries and what steps to take if there wasn't a medic around. He really didn't follow along, and he often fell asleep, but you appreciated the effort he was making to encourage you.

"Aceeeee!" You giggled and flicked his nose gently.

"Wha-?" He jerked awake, eyes flitting around the room before settling on you, and a lovestruck smile formed on his lips. "Oh, hey babe."

"You fell asleep again," you pouted, unable to stop your smile.

"I'm sorryyyyy," he apologised, leaning forward and kissing all over your face. It tickled, and the laughs he pulled from you made him smile. "Carry on, I'm listening now."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

#one piece #op #portgas d ace #ace x reader #ace x you #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x you

[matenr0u]

Oblivion, the Riku Keyblade: Translation

Oblivion/Bygone Memories

過ぎ去りし思い出Sugisarishi Omoide

Here’s my entry point for a bit of a deep dive into the ‘Riku Keyblade’. I have a few points jotted down about Oblivion, since it’s one of my favourite keyblades, but I’ll start with the name of it.

First it’s important to establish that despite being the Riku Keyblade, it’s actually symbolic of not just Riku alone but specifically Sora’s relationship with him. As the series progresses it gains a level of importance to other characters too, but being a Sora enjoyer I tend to regard Roxas and Xion like two little hamsters that escaped their pen and need to be stuffed back in, so I’m not sure if I’ll overly talk about them.

On to the name: I like the sound of the already established translation, ‘Passing Memories’, but I find ‘Passing’ is a word much too vague compared to ‘Bygone Memories’, so as a personal preference I’ll refer to it with my own interpretation unless someone more fluent in Japanese demonstrates another name that rolls more easily off the tongue.

Anyway, let’s get into the meat of this thing and how I reached this conclusion.

EN: Oblivion

JP: 過ぎ去りし思い出Sugisarishi Omoide

過ぎ去りし = Sugisarishi = Bygone/Long ago/Departed

思い出 = Omoide = Memory/Memories 

過ぎ = Too much/Passed/Past

去りし = Gone

Bygone Memories

Generally you can think of the meaning like, ‘a keyblade representing our shared memories of the distant past.’

Another interpretation more specific to the breakdown of their relationship could be, ‘our fond memories which have been left by the wayside.’

An example of how this phrase is typically used: 

過ぎ去りし日の思い出 

Memories of bygone days

I wonder if the keyblade’s name is a contraction of this phrase.

I don’t get the feeling that 過ぎ去りし思い出/Sugisarishi Omoide implies literally confused/forgotten memories as much as the EN name Oblivion does; moreso a nostalgic, or melancholy, reflection on good times between two people which occurred long ago.

I think both the EN and JP names can be interpreted to suit Sora and Riku’s connection to this Keyblade well, but there’s some nuance I’d like to get into.

忘却 Bokyaku is the term used in the JP name for Castle Oblivion — 忘却の城/Bokyaku no Shiro (Castle of Oblivion) — this word translates much more literally to Oblivion, a state of confusion or having forgot, than 過ぎ去りし/Sugisarishi, which is more like ‘long since passed/departed’. 

For this reason I get the idea that the keyblade was named Oblivion in EN because it sounds badass, still gets the point across, and goes well with Oathkeeper (which also has some liberties taken in the translation, presumably because that too sounds cooler to a western audience*).

There is a similar example within Kingdom Hearts’ usage of the word ‘memories’, too. In contrast to 記憶/kioku which is used for Memory’s Skyscraper — and sounds closer to, plainly, ‘one’s own memory/recollection’ —, the term 思い出/omoide usually denotes a memory or memories shared between people. It has a much more reminiscent tone of fond memories (or, perhaps, a particular memory?) shared with another, which fits well with the purpose of this keyblade and adds a bit of nuance that the EN name Oblivion lacks.

*You can also see this reflected in KHIII Oblivion’s default shotlock, named ‘Bladefury Eclipse’ in EN and ドーンエクリプス/Dawn Eclipse in JP. The JP name is much more meaningful to Sora and Riku and it’s a shame this was cast aside for cool points. ‘Dawn’ is written right there in kana, why didn’t they use it?

Meanwhile the shotlock ステラインセプション/Stellar Inception — which is shared with its sister keyblade Oathkeeper — remains identical in EN and JP.

I have Thoughts about the item required to obtain Oblivion in KHIII, known as Proof of Times Past in EN, but for now I’ll offer a simple translation.

EN: Proof of Times Past

JP: 過ぎ去りし証 Sugisarishi Akashi

Certificate of the Bygone

Or, ‘Evidence of Long Ago’

This one checks out, but some EN players seem confused about this certificate being called Times Past while the keyblade is called Oblivion. Hopefully my translation notes on the JP name shed some light on it.

And the item description:

EN: “A certificate awarded to those who have endured the most difficult trial of them all.”

JP: 「険しい戦いを制した者に贈られる証」

`Kewashii tatakai o seishita mono ni okurareru akashi'

“A certificate awarded to those who have overcome an insurmountable battle.”

Not much to add here either, but as a game dev myself I really enjoy the tiny gameplay detail of Sora literally being rewarded with Bygone Memories for pushing through ‘an extremely difficult conflict’— if you’re familiar with other Sora & Riku centric KH analyses, you can probably see where I’m going with this, so I’ll save that tangent for another day.

That about wraps up this part.

A final note for those who subscribe to the necklace theory: Bygone Memory — as in, a singular fond memory shared between two people long ago that may have since been cast aside, is an equally valid translation of the JP name.

This is just a fun little rant into the void, if I missed anything or made any mistakes, feel free to add on to it.

#kingdom hearts #soriku #sora #riku #kh analysis #seen some people twist themselves into a pretzel trying to attribute this kb to anyone BUT riku #so desperate to power wash away the gay #that they also scrub out whole aspects of their frendship #someone even suggested it’s about namine #sweet poetic irony

[sordidmusings]

Tender Love and Care - Hair Care (Buggy x amab!Reader

Art by ijessbest on Twitter (refusing new name still) I believe they also have a tumblr by the same name!

A/N: Sorry I took so long to post this and thank you for your patience! I had thought I put it up earlier but noticed that wasn't true while doing some organizing. The differences are pretty subtle but I hope they are meaningful for your immersion and help you feel seen! If there's something I can do better (I am cis fem so I'm sure there's much my experience has me missing about yours) please let me know! I'd like to help y'all get your escapism too 🤍

From the original a/n - "Ah yes, another 'taking care of Buggy's head' fic to take up space on the internet. Just gotta indulge in giving this man some tlc. Did I write four thousand words of simping for the cringefail pirate clown's hair? Yes. And I'd do it again >:p"

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: masculine leaning amab!reader (no pronouns or gendered titles), Lots of Feelings, yearning, possibly angst?, probably hurt/comfort?, waxing very poetic, Buggy being a prickly bitch who doesn't know how to receive affection, Buggy also being a delusional bitch who immediately latches on to that affection

afab!Version

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Touch the makeup and I’ll bite your fingers off!”

“I’m quaking.”

“...I’ll spit in your face.” His eyes narrowed while you blanched. “I’ve got damn good aim too so you better watch those big ol’ eyes.” Almost a compliment? Progress.

“To save us both from catastrophe, I’ll let you keep your grease-face,” you promised. After a few more seconds of giving you the stink eye (really, you should be taking notes because his form is exemplary), Buggy finally settled back into your hold. His stubble scratched lightly at your palms and you allowed your thumbs a scant few passes from his cheek bones to the back of his jaw. That was easy enough to play off as mindless movements while you examined him for the coming wash. Hopefully.  You were at least putting in the effort to keep the affection in your chest from blooming into a wide smile on your face, lest he begin spitting like a wet cat again.

After placing him down on your clothes chest, you began gathering together the things you’d need to clean him up. You had already prepared a large basin of steaming water before you had grabbed Buggy from Zoro for your night shift with him. If he had truly protested against you then you’d just have extra water to spoil yourself with for your nightly routine. What a loss. While you flitted around grabbing a cup, a pile of towels, and care products, Buggy took to commenting about whatever his eyes fell on around your room. Your half-assed replies did nothing to discourage his gentle roast of your safe space. He only shut up when you picked him back up and brought him over to the basin.

You were taken by surprise when you took off his bandana.  You had guessed that his hair was thick from the pieces that framed his face, but you hadn’t expected long locks to be wrapped up in there. They slipped and fell down like silk despite being in clear need of a wash, and you started to become a bit excited to see how they would come to shine under your care.

“What’s wrong with you? Never seen hair before?” There was a bit more bite to him all of a sudden and it hit you that he may be self-conscious from your staring.

“Never seen yours before, duh,” you teased. “You should wear your hair out as a power move against all the scrangly ass men in these waters.”

Buggy took a blank-faced moment to process your words. Probably weighing your sincerity against the backlog of insults he’s heard in his life. Unfortunately, one joking compliment never stood a chance.

“Whatever, just do your job.” His bitter tone made you keep your mouth shut and drop the topic. For now.

Seeing how he had a lot more hair than anticipated, you got up again to grab yet another towel so that you could use it as a cushion. Finally settled, you grabbed Buggy in one hand, the cup in the other, and got to work. You had laid a small board across the basin so you could rest Buggy on it instead of having to hold him up the whole time. You may have gotten strong in this life, but you were not masochistic enough to try holding him up throughout this process. You made sure to be extra gentle when you put him to rest on the back of his head, mindful that the hard plank wasn’t the most comfortable.

Wetting his hairline was taking longer than you thought. The soft noises from the pouring water hitting his scalp and trickling through his hair into the basin below felt loud in the stillness of the room. Everything had a languid air like you could breathe freely without thought or time to measure the passing of each exhale. Wanting to check in, you looked down from your task and into Buggy’s face. Despite all his past showboating, Buggy was having difficulty keeping his gaze anywhere near your face.  You decided to take pity on him in his discomfort but not too much. “So how’d you get your damn good aim?”

Silence.

You’re beginning to think that him looking at you like you’re stupid is his comfort zone.

“You know, that ‘damn good aim’ that makes my ‘big ol’ eyes’ easy targets?” you supplied.  At first, you thought he would roll his eyes and make more digs at you, but he finally caught you off guard.

“It’s a trade secret,” he said with a growing smile and a glint in his eyes. His face grew even more pleased when you smiled mischievously back at him.

“Clown trade?”

He hummed out an affirmative. You saturated the last of his hair at the front and sides and now needed to dunk the rest in the basin. The sheer amount of long blue locks that this pretty, pretty man had may cause it to overflow, but you supposed that’s just a workplace hazard when becoming a glamor clown’s hairdresser. You paused in lowering him to look around quite dramatically (squinty eyes, pursed lips, and all) before leaning slightly closer to stage whisper, “You can tell me; I ain’t no snitch.”

You barely caught the laugh that he choked short in order to keep up his serious facade. He let his eyes wander the room to double check your surveying and pretended to be in thought. He let out a heaving sigh and said, “Okay, okay, but you have to lean in close. Can’t have this getting out.”

Ever obliging, you turned your head and leaned until you felt his warm breath on your skin and the roundness of his nose tickling to top of your ear. You were thankful he couldn’t see the little shiver down your spine or the goosebumps spreading down your neck. He was thankful you couldn’t see him close his eyes to savor the scent of your aftershave. All was still for a few breaths too long.

“The secret?” you prompted, thinking he was waiting for your urging or that he was just trying to make you squirm. You didn’t see his eyes flutter open while he forced thoughts other than your closeness back into that head of his. Okay, he really needed to do something to reel himself back in and get some control of the situation.  Easier said than done when he’s only a head.

You felt as much as you heard him take a deliberate inhale… only for a loud raspberry to be blown right next to your ear.

Nearly dropping him in shock, you quickly pulled your head back and held him at arm’s length like a misbehaved puppy. Through his canting cackles, Buggy met your wide eyes with a proud grin. It didn’t even need the help of his makeup to split his face. Damn, you could stare at that forever. He had just the prettiest eyes you think you’d ever seen. The way they shifted color under the low lights and sparkled with his smile had you feeling entranced. It had the same commanding presence and addicting warmth as flames with their own swirling colors and sparking embers. You thought your poetic idioms for him would always center around the sea, especially for his blue-green eyes, but here we are.

The corner of his smile started to twitch downward under your stare until wild and cheerful laughter burst from your lips. They were the kind to shake your shoulders and scrunch your cheeks up into your eyes and he’s now certain that he has fucked right up. Buggy felt alarms blaring in his mind as he took in your joy and was certain he would make an absolute fool of himself in any and all ways possible to keep getting hits of it. Between your settling chuckles, you managed to say, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring that wisdom with me to my grave.”

Readjusting your grip, you moved forward and dunked the back of Buggy’s head fully into the water. He sighed out at the sensation, but he fully melted when one of your hands went to support the back of his skull and the other flowed through his tresses to make sure all of them were wet. You let yourself take your time, both to make sure you were thorough and to indulge yourself in the comfort of the moment. A tenderness spread through you when you saw that this was also indulging Buggy. His breath was slow and steady, and his eyes were resting closed to better focus on the sensations coming to him. You truly were a people pleaser at heart and seeing someone so bedraggled and affection-starved accept your care made your heart and head feel fuzzy.

You slowly leaned him more upright and used your other hand to wipe out some of the excess water. Buggy felt you shuffling around, and his eyes opened to see what you were up to. After you moved him to rest on the flat bottom of his neck on top of the softest towel that he’s felt in ages, he realized that you went through the trouble to try to make even that wooden board comfortable for his sake. He was starting to feel even more uncertain and out of his element.

Careful fingers carded through and spread out his hair behind him while an equally careful gaze watched over their work. After lathering your hands with a shampoo bar scented by vanilla and spices, you set to work giving him the scalp massage of a lifetime.

While focusing on doing the best job possible and maybe also the beautiful color of his hair was keeping you from thinking about anything else, Buggy had no such luxury. He had nothing to direct his nervous energy at - didn’t even have fingers to fidget with! - so he closed his eyes and tried to keep his face neutral. Everyone enjoys a good scalp massage or at least some kind of pampering so it wouldn’t have been weird for him to visibly enjoy it, but something watery and vulnerable was pressing at his throat under your tender care. His mind and body (well… head) were at odds. While his train of thought spun every which way only to be tethered back to the word ‘why’, his muscles melted until they were soft and pleasantly limp. Has his brow ever been so smooth? His jaw so loose? His lips so softly set? Oh God, you must have noticed the stubborn stiffness in his neck because your fingers abandoned his hair to firmly rub from the base of his skull to where he met the towel and that was truly his undoing.

With a rumbly hum, Buggy finally gave in to temptation and tied his mind to your movements. He let himself imagine affection there - imagine that this was special and just for him. You’ve never tended to anyone else like this. You offered because you simply had to know what his hair felt like. You just wanted to touch him. You wanted it much more than you ever wanted to touch anyone else. If he opened his eyes and looked up at yours, he would see them pouring with love, just like your hands were, and you would look sweetly down at him with your gorgeous eyes and handsome smile and say lovely things and you’d love him-

You’d love him.

Fuck.

You noticed Buggy suddenly flinch under your hands and you tensed up.

“Are you okay? Did I snag your hair?” You hadn’t felt anything tug but you supposed you could’ve missed it.

Buggy cleared his throat before stiffly responding, “No. Keep going.”

Something thick in his tone caught your attention and you looked to see his expression was tense instead of the blissed out one you had admired not too long ago. That won’t do. You went back to the tried and true pressure points on the scalp that you knew from experience eased anyone up. Checking his face again, you noticed it was more relaxed but still too guarded for your tastes. Deciding he must be getting antsy, you switched to working the shampoo down his hair after getting a touch more product on your hands. The time it took to get it properly sudsed and rinsed was calm, despite the fact that there was some undercurrent to the air that felt charged. Maybe it was just from seeing the talkative and bratty clown be so subdued. As you began spreading conditioner through his hair, you decided that it was time to engage him again.

“This bar is my favorite; nothing makes my hair softer,” you said. Already, his hair was relaxing to glide even more smoothly between your fingers. You weren’t ready to give the feeling up, so you spent the entire time that the conditioner was setting to run your fingers through his hair.

Buggy couldn’t do anything at the moment to judge your claim, but the smell alone made him understand why it was your favorite. It matched that of the shampoo bar, but the richer ingredients in the conditioner highlighted the comforting tones of the vanilla and the sensuality of warm spices and wood. He relished in it on every inhale, hoping to unravel and memorize its every undertone. Was that a touch of amber in there? A little pink peppercorn? Maybe some incense and oud at the base? Buggy suddenly felt ridiculous. He was never one to give much thought to fancy perfumes, yet here he was trying to dissect your scent like a sommelier tasting a new wine. 

You made quick work of rinsing his hair this final time and gently pushing and squeezing any excess water out. You set Buggy back on a towel, this time one that was spread on the floor. It was the one that you had just been sitting on. Buggy was embarrassed that he noticed and enjoyed the fact that he could still feel your body heat on it.

“How many of those things do you have?” Buggy scoffed as you pulled yet another towel over to dry his hair. You flicked his forehead in warning against further sass.

“You can never have too many. It’s something that you use daily and they come in handy during emergencies,” you explained.

“Oh yeah like what?”

“Well, I was thinking of situations like having to soak up a spill or blood, but the state of your hair definitely qualifies.”

The outburst was immediate.

“I KNEW YOU WERE MAKING FUN OF ME YOU DAMN LIAR! HOW DA-”

Good thing you were prepared for this and stuffed some of yet another towel into his screaming mouth. He bit down on it harshly and glared at you with all his might. Snarls and grumbles still made their way through the cloth, letting you know just how displeased he was. You were a little shocked to find that despite being gagged and despite just being a head that his glare still actually intimidated you. The time spent with the crew treating him like a harmless little pest had helped you forget that, when push came to shove, he could back up his talk with violence.

The brief glimpse of fear in your eyes gave him a twinge of satisfaction but mostly felt a lot more hollow than he’d expected. Wasn’t this what he wanted? 

When you reached back out to continue drying his hair, you were more tentative than he had ever seen you and his mood dropped even further. Even with your caution, the way that you moved the towel over his hair and gently squeezed more water out of it was filled with care. The whole thing felt very foreign to him. Buggy usually rubbed his towel through his hair chaotically like the more forceful he was the sooner he could get done with the bothersome task. You were working over him like any undue force would be an insult. Like he was something precious. That watery feeling started pressing on him again.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you started quietly. “I just meant to poke fun, not make you actually feel insulted.” After a few more soft pats with the towel, you slowly removed his makeshift gag. He took a moment to wiggle around his jaw and get the dry feeling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, well good job, dumbass,” he bit. You winced at the hurt in his tone. “Just finish up.”

You took a moment to recenter yourself while you grabbed your comb and brush. This was not how you wanted this to go. One wrong comment had sent this whole interaction spiraling and it made you sad. Sensitivity like that was usually built up from years of feeling the same hurts over and over again, and you didn’t ever want to be someone to aggravate an already festering wound, especially not on someone who you genuinely enjoyed. Not on someone who you were increasingly craving affection from. This needed to be fixed. Steeling yourself for the resistance you were about to meet, you began combing the ends of his hair and spoke, “The blue color is pretty.”

He ignored you. As expected.

“It was one of the first things I noticed about you.” He still wouldn’t even glance up at you. “Also how it brings out the color of your eyes.”

He snorted dismissively in a way that very clearly told you he wasn’t believing a word you said. Also expected. You’re just going to have to soldier on until this eventually worked… maybe worked… hopefully worked?

Just as in the rest of the process, you were slow and thorough when combing his hair. You murmured compliments to him about how soft it is; how thick and how beautiful. By the time that you had switched to using your brush, he was showing signs of being worn down by your flattery. His face was more relaxed and he let himself look around instead of trying to burn a hole through the floor. All you could focus on, though, was how downcast and tired his eyes looked.

“Alright, I’m all finished up,” you told him. “I’m going to put you in the hammock for a minute while I get ready for bed.”

After placing him in the middle of your bedding, you disappeared behind a dressing screen. The routine of bathing  yourself with a washcloth and bowl of soapy water eased you. Since you had taken so much time tending to Buggy, the last bowl of fresh water had become lukewarm. Despite this, the final wipe down had you feeling refreshed and ready to jump into bed. It was no soak in the tub, but still left you feeling much better after a long day of helping work around the ship.

You had set about your routine briskly so that you didn’t leave Buggy waiting too long. Little did you know, he didn’t mind the time of having nothing to do besides enjoy the soft blankets you curled up in every night. He was trying to soak it in before you inevitably put him back down on the floor. If the night had taught him anything, you’d at least put him on one of those fluffy towels instead of throwing him back in the bag like the others did.

You came over to him on the hammock and he admired how you looked, now clean and fresh. His eyes poured over your shirtless chest and the thin sleep pants moving around the shape of your legs. When you picked him back up, your face and body language were as placid as he had ever seen them and he was surprised at how content that made him feel. He readied himself to be moved away, left cold and forgotten, but he was astonished when you plopped yourself in your bedding instead with him still in your hands. The shock must have shown on his face because you chuckled at him and gave him a bright smile. Even with the bumpy road that the night had been, your smile made him soft and content. He was realizing with more and more resignation that your smile and laugh would let you get away with anything when it came to him.

“So no floor? Trying to bribe me with favors?” His voice was mostly back to that sarcastic lilt you’ve come to adore.

Content that he was feeling better, you answered, “Nah, just using you so I can have a teddy bear. Haven’t had a good one in ages.”

Making good on that promise, you made sure that he was securely nestled into your neck and shoulder. You used both of your arms to cradle him there and both hands to continue your worship of his hair. It was just barely damp and the coolness felt nice on your hands, especially in contrast to the cozy heat emanating from his head. His long eyelashes tickled at your neck every time he blinked, just like the light scruff on his jaw teased at the skin on your chest. His big nose felt cozy rested on your clavicle, and you had to resist the urge to reach down and trail your fingers on it. A giddy and victorious feeling flushed through you when you felt him close his eyes a final time and sink into your embrace.

Buggy should have known that he was doomed from the start. He was having a hell of a time trying not to moan at your fingers scratching and massaging his scalp, both during the hair care and now, when he was held in your arms. The feeling of being rested on your bare chest sent his heart racing. He couldn’t stop his little movements to nestle into you and get just that much more of your warmth and touch. If he thought that he loved the smell of you before, he was absolutely intoxicated now that he knew what it was like when it floated over the two of you while wrapped in body-warmed sheets.

He wanted to ask you why you were doing all of this, but he didn’t want to know the answer. Not right now. Right now he was going to let himself go back into that place in his head where you lo- cared about him. A place where each night he would crawl into bed with you and, no matter how the day went, you would be there to empty his mind of anything but the two of you. You’d greet him with a kiss or a laugh or an embrace and you would shine with so much joy because he’s next to you again. He’d know what your love felt like, how it felt to be under your hands, how your skin felt under his lips. All these daydreams swirling in his head started to make him sick with want, and he needed to know at least one of them. He couldn’t handle all of them staying forever in his mind.

The tiniest increase of pressure from his lips brought your attention to where they rested below your collarbone. The almost kiss was so heartbreakingly shaky and hesitant that you felt your eyes burn with the threat of tears. To reassure him, you dragged your cheek across his temple before turning to leave a deliberate kiss there. Buggy relished the contact, the satisfied sigh you let out afterward, and the gentle weight of your cheek as you snuggled back into him. Your reward came in the form of a grinning cheek pushing into you.

All his humor and posturing certainly caught your attention in the best way and even his explosive temper was something you couldn’t say turned you away. This gentleness, though, this uncertain and wounded place, had you bursting with affection and you were hoping to keep experiencing it. You’d meet it each time with steady affection until it turned into something he embodied with the same surety that he had in his beloved spotlight.

Both of you slipped more sweetly into dreams, curled up together as you were, and with more peace and ease than the years before had allowed. Neither of you would let the years to come be absent of this sweet treasure, either.

#buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #opla buggy x reader #buggy the clown #opla buggy #one piece #amab reader #male reader #opla #one piece live action #x reader

[whumpbby]

Love the idea of Lan Sizhui and Jiang Cheng becoming unexpected friends.

Like, say after the plot happened, Jin Ling is a young sect leader and he struggles with it.

Sizhui came back from his travels with WN and, being his caring and concerned self, noticed things were shaky, so he decided to keep an eye on the younger boy. (He couldn't imagine going through the same, ending up straddled with such responsibility without a chance to refuse... Being a sect leader was a harsh role).

He made sure to invite JL to night hunts whenever they happened to story close to the Jin borders. He started to write letters to Jin Ling, because he looked like he needed something to distract him. He even tried to convince Wei-qianbei to speak with his nephew during the sect conferences - it was a work in progress, but he had hope...

And then, during one night-hunt, he noticed they were trailed by someone. Not wanting to worry his companions, he set Jingyi to distract Jin Ling and slipped away quietly to...find himself face to face with Sandu Sengshou. More like - hand to face with Sandu Sengshou, who slapped a hang over Sizhui's mouth and backed him against a tree out of sight of the others.

"Shut up, or I'll break your legs." Jiang Sect Leader mouthed and Sizhui could only nod. He wasn't really afraid, but Jin Ling's uncle was a different beast when the boy wasn't present...okay, he was a bit afraid.

Turns out he shouldn't have to be. Jiang Cheng was just checking up on his nephew - the hunt was skirting the edges of Yunmeng. It was a bit embarrassing, sure, but Sizhui understood - times were hard for the Jin, a young sect leader was in danger. Even more so if the Jiang Sect Leader was seen hanging around him too often.

Sizhui understood. Sect leader let him go with an order to stay silent. Sizhui promised he won't tell.

He also promised something else.

"Jiang-zonghzu, I will keep him safe, you have my word."

Bravely and thoughtlessy, sure, but the words were out of his mouth and there was no taking them back. Sizhui felt his face flush when Jiang Cheng huffed at his daring. But then...

"I'll hold you to that, Lan Yuan."

And that was a beginning of the strange relationship where Sandu Sengshou trusted Lan Yuan with his nephew's safety on the nighthunts - the trust heavy with expectations. Sizhui preferred to think he was trusted - not threatened.

What followed was Jiang Cheng easing up on following their nighthunts. Meaningful looks whenever they came across each other during conferences or in the field. A few words exchanged here and there. Short messages that found Lan Sizhui from time to time, in few words advising him to visit Koi Tower if he happened to travel close - usually following some upheaval in the Jin sect that the young leader needed break from. Sizhui's friendship with Jin Ling blooming, their little group of four (including Jingyi and Zizhen) building a great relationship.

Sometimes it was Sizhui sending a short message to Lotus Pier, when his presence could only help so much and Jin Ling needed reassurance from his family instead.

In time these messages grew longer, inclosing more details, some stories. In time Jiang-zonghzu was asking about Sizhui's studies and accomplishments, and giving him gruff advice on how to deal issues arising when one was the first disciple ("I was my own first disciple for three years after the war, I know what I'm talking about, kid.")

It was...nice. Different. Sizhui wasn't even aware of how much he missed Zewu-Jun's presence in his life. He had his uncle and Wei-qianbei now, but Lan Xichen was such a big part of his life between his training and Huanguang-Jun's travels - he missed his support. He missed having someone who spoke with authority of experience to help him deal with his issues. And Jiang-zonghzu was nothing like Zewu-Jun, but he also wasn't not like him. He was straightforward and honest, even if he didn't couch his words in kindness. He had a varied knowledge he didn't hide. He trusted Lan Sizhui with his nephew - and didn't question Sizhui's decisions. If he thought they were stupid, he said so, but he didn't question the rationale behind them ("You're young, boy, not an idiot. Experience comes with doing, not listening. Just don't do stupid shit!").

He could understand how Jin Ling became who he was - hard-headed and stubborn, yes, but also fair and intelligent, and hard-working. The self-protecting habits didn't come from Lotus Pier, did they?

("He never had friends in the Koi Tower, I expect you and the Ouyang-brat to remedy that.")

Huh.

Wait.

"What about Lan Jingyi?"

"That one will be lucky to live to adulthood, with the way he's flapping his mouth. I have no expectations of him whatsoever."

#headcanon #mdzs #jiang cheng #lan sizhui

[asimplearchivist]

𝓢𝓹𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓓𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰

𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐗𝐗𝐕

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ you're down in the dumps about the disheartening lack of prospective romantic partners interested in initiating a long-term relationship with you. your ever-helpful coworker amy decides to give you (and a highly interested would-be suitor) a nudge in the right direction—just not in the way you might expect. pairing(s) ☽ steven grant/reader-centric | constellations!verse word count ☾ 4.8k a/n ☽ ⤏ my second entry for the moon knight bingo hosted by @juneknight and @spacecowboyhotch over at @moonknight-events. I will eventually crosspost this to the main fic for constellations on ao3 when it will best fit the chronological progression of the chapters. this takes place post-chapter ii. ⤏ this takes place right before chapter two while steven is preparing for his interview, so before he works up the nerve (courtesy of both his agreement with and coertion from marc) to ask you out. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS ENTRY ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT ENTRY [TBA] ☽

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into that, Amy. What was I even thinking?”

“You were thinking of living a little instead of hermiting away in your flat like you do every conceivable chance you get—you look absolutely stunning, by the way! Tell me how it went!”

You hunkered in on yourself, folding your arms around your torso and pursing your chapped lips. The humid, dusk breeze hurtling through the street tugged at the hem of your dress, the cardigan draped over your shoulders doing little to fend off the early autumn chill. You’d texted her while wrapping up business at the bistro a block over and had walked over to the coffeeshop to clear your head after the entire ordeal and to check in before heading home.

“Horribly,” you said flatly. “I took one of my few vacation days and was subjected to an hour-long lecture on the growing value of cryptocurrencies before being asked if I intended to give up my career once I found a spouse—like I’m just spending the money on uni for funsies.”

“...Oh.” Your coworker’s face creased with equal measure of shame and sympathy. “My flatmate told me he was a decent bloke, save for a couple of rocky breakups the last year or so—I had no idea he was a wanker to boot…and probably at fault for those situations to start with, since that’s the case—but I should have given it more thought before roping you into it. That explains a lot about what little I heard about him. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you sighed and leaned against the humming lamppost at your back, “you had no way of knowing how he’d be in person, and you were trying to help me step out of my comfort zone a bit. It was kind of nice to have an excuse to dress up and go out for a bit, if nothing else. He insisted on paying, too, even if it was an underhanded attempt to woo me…so no money was wasted on my part, at least. I was going to buy myself a pint of ice cream on the way home to distract myself from the crushing reality that no one worth the effort could ever find me attractive and want to pursue a meaningful, long-term relationship with me, but now I’m not so sure. I’m exhausted, and I couldn’t even get a word in edgewise for a solid twenty minutes—I just did a whole lot of nodding along and ‘mmhmm’ing.”

“Firstly, you should treat yourself—I’ll even pay for it since you were the one who had to tolerate all that shit, undoubtedly like an angel because I know you and you’re a painfully polite person—and secondly, I’m not going to unpack…all of that statement, but I am going to tell you right now that you are a prize who deserves the best treatment a girl could ask for and shouldn’t have to. You’re worth it, even if you don’t feel like it—don’t try to deny it, I’ve heard all those little self-deprecating comments you’ve made over the months—and I’m sure there’s someone out there just dying for you to grant him a chance at making you the happiest woman alive.”

“I’m sure—he’s liable to just walk around the corner at any moment.” You rolled your eyes, but your expression softened into one of gratitude when you spotted the conviction on the barista’s face. “...Thank you, it helps to hear that occasionally. Maybe one day I’ll believe it, too.”

“Of course. It’ll stick eventually.” Amy opened her arms to offer you a hug, and you accepted it gratefully. Cheek pressed on top of your head, she rubbed and patted your back in a few soothing sweeps before releasing you and stepping back while drawing the shop keys out of her apron with a grin and a lingering gaze toward the main plaza across the street corner. “...But I honestly think you’re a little more oblivious than I thought if you really haven’t noticed.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, brow furrowing as you fiddled with the thin leather strap of your crossbody resting across your chest. Had she changed topics without you realizing?

“It’s a wonder what a little…gentle prodding can do in the long run,” she continued idly, eyes glittering with mirth as she twirled the jangling keyring on her finger and returned her attention to you. “There’s a reason I talked you into all that—well, besides getting you out on the town for an evening, of course. I think primping yourself did you a lot of good—you’re glowing.”

You blinked and opened your mouth to question her further, but approaching footsteps captured your attention due to their familiar scuffling cadence. You turned and spotted Steven’s slumped silhouette emerging into the ambient, watery light casting a cone around the coffee shop’s entrance. He’d already spotted you, evidently, and his face lit up in an infectiously warm smile as you recognized him. You found yourself returning the gesture subconsciously.

“Hello, mate,” Amy chirped, waggling her fingers at him. “How’d the application process go today? Did you pass the assessment?”

“With flyin’ colors!” Steven crooned, his back unfurling as his shoulders pushed back and his chin raised. He came to a stop near you, hands tucked into his pockets as his chest pressed forward against his otherwise gargantuan jacket. “The lady who looked it over seemed shocked that I knew so much, but that just goes to show you—I told ‘em for months that this ol’ noggin’ of mine wasn’t empty!” He knocked his knuckle on his temple with a toothy grin.

“You’ve got a sponge for a brain, darlin’,” you told him with a chuckle, reaching out and squeezing his elbow affectionately. His eyes softened as he refocused on you, his smile smoothing into a closed-lipped one. “I think you could talk circles around all those stuffy professors at the university, honestly—half of them haven’t updated their sources since the nineties. And it’s not your fault that your old manager had her head crammed so far up her ass.”

“Yeah, well,” he responded, color building beneath the high arches of his cheeks and gilding his tawny skin with rose-gold even under the otherwise unflattering fluorescent bulb of the streetlight, “I just like to read, is all. And I haven’t had to deal with her, thankfully—different divisions and all that.”

You shook your head fondly. He certainly didn’t have to remind you of that fact—the countless hours he’d spent in the coffee shop and the bookstore with his aquiline nose buried in books were proof enough of that. “Did you get all the paperwork filled out? It didn’t give you any trouble?”

“Got it all sorted. I, uh—” He cast a furtive glance towards Amy. “—got help when I needed it.”

Ah. Marc likely had to help him fill in the gaps. You often wondered if Marc was the one that got him his job in the gift shop to start with, but…Steven didn’t talk very much about what he was able to remember from the tenuous times he fronted before he met you while Marc was trying to wrap up all of his personal affairs in attempt to flee from his problems.

Steven didn’t go out of his way to advertise their situation to others, as he and Marc were still trying to iron out all of the kinks with their living situation and attending therapy sessions, but you had the feeling that Amy sensed something was remiss with him because of how often she was around him in proximity to you. She hadn’t ever said anything besides the occasionally affectionate, “He’s a little odd, isn’t he?” but you were always able to distract her with a casual, “We’re all a bit strange.”

“That’s good.” Another breeze skated through the street, blowing over your exposed legs and causing you to shiver. You hunkered into your cardigan and glanced up at the pitch black sky. “I’d probably better hit the store and head home. I can hear a hot shower calling my name, and I intend to sleep in after that entire disaster.”

Steven perked up. “After all what, love?”

“Oh.” Heat crept into your cheeks. “I, uh…had a date. It didn’t go so well.”

He blinked, brows inclining upwards for a tick in a surprise that he wasn’t quite able to conceal. “I—oh. I-I didn’t realize. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was sort of last minute.” You cleared your throat. “The guy was an ignorant prick anyway. I was lucky I made it out of there with my intellect still intact.”

That managed to draw a chuckle from him, at least, but you couldn’t shake the way his eyes lingered on you, slowly traversing over your silhouette—you felt terribly vulnerable, laid bare under the gentle weight of his troubled umber gaze. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but you couldn’t quite read the expression on Steven’s face—an unusual occurrence, to be certain, as he was an open book to you most of the time—so you weren’t certain what to make of his reaction.

It didn’t help that you were terribly insecure about the situation to start with, given the fact that you would have much rather had Steven as your date instead.

With that desire, however, came an entire Pandora’s box of complicated emotions. Negative past experiences had left you extremely hesitant to initiate romantic connections of any kind. And, despite how much you trusted Steven, you had an extremely difficult time trying to shake off your doubts. The sliver of boldness in you wanted for nothing more than to grab the lapels of his wrinkled, oversized jacket and kiss him breathless to avoid the awkward song and dance of treading that tenuous line between friendship and romance when it came to people who had grown inextricably close as the pair of you had…but the overwhelming majority of your mentality, insecure and timid and wounded, would rather keep him at arm’s length to secure his platonic affection at the very least. If that was all you could ever have of him, you’d take it gladly—but the heart wants what it wants, and you longed for all of him, as selfish as you knew your feelings to be.

He was in a difficult place, trying to rediscover himself and having to reassess his entire worldview, and here you were pining for him like a teenager with a helpless crush on someone far beyond your league. Steven was everything you had ever wanted—so very smart and sweet and sincere—but who were you to think he’d ever be interested in you of all people? When he could have anybody he wanted, far more gorgeous and intelligent and better than you could even dream of being?

A needlessly poetic notion, perhaps, but…you always had been a romantic.

That is why you had never tried your (admittedly poor) luck. You liked Steven, more than anyone else whom you’d ever before met, but…he’d never made a move. He was naturally open with his affection with everyone, amiable to a fault at times, so you couldn’t assume that his behavior indicated any particular favor on your behalf.

Still…you couldn’t bear it to pull yourself away now. He’d become your best friend within a couple of weeks of meeting him, and he was the only one with whom you felt completely safe in this sprawling, suffocating cityscape. You knew without a doubt that you could rely on him for anything—he had proven himself reliable time and again over the last few months, dropping everything when you needed him. You’d give him everything you had in a heartbeat in return—including your heart, although he’d unwittingly taken possession of it long ago.

“I, ah…” Steven cleared his throat, placing his closed fist over his mouth while tipping his head down to look at you through his lashes, “...would you like me to walk you home, love? It’s awfully late for you to be goin’ to the mart by yourself.”

Although you and Steven had fallen into the habit of catching the bus together on the instances that he got stuck taking inventory before he’d gotten fired, given that you both closed up shop about the same time, that routine had fallen by the wayside. He still offered to almost every night, though, oftentimes texting you to check in around closing time (and he’d held you to a promise to let him know when you got home when you refused his offer). You missed your quiet, late night bus rides, honestly, but the last thing you wanted was to inconvenience him by having him make such a long round trip across London.

Tonight, though, with him standing there with those watery, sympathetic puppy-dog eyes, knowing that he understood poor dates better than most (nevermind the fact that he hadn’t mentioned going on any lately, now that you thought about it)…you couldn’t resist him even if you wanted to. Your self-esteem, already dangerously low, had suffered a severe toll tonight, and you needed Steven’s reassurance more than anything (even a scalding shower to scrub your woes away).

“That would be greatly appreciated, darlin’,” you said, smiling wearily. “There’s a store a block away from my apartment complex, so it’s not too far of a walk from the bus stop.”

Steven bobbed his head, and you turned to hug Amy, who patted your back. “Sorry again he turned out to be a wanker,” she said. “Maybe you’ll have better luck on the next one.”

You pulled back and raised a brow at her glittering eyes. “If there even is a ‘next one’,” you chuckled wryly. “I’m just about ready to give up at this point.”

“Bad luck’s bound to turn into good luck eventually,” she said, then turned with her keys. “I’ll see you Monday—have a good weekend.”

“You, too.” You readjusted your purse strap and glanced at Steven, tilting your head towards the other end of the sidewalk. “Shall we?”

“I think so.” He offered you his elbow, and you took it with a quiet sigh of relief. His frame offered a welcome reprieve of a blockade against the wind, and his warmth seeped even through the plethora of loose layers he favored wearing.

Mutual comfortable silence followed your stroll to the bus stop, and you leaned against his arm when you both settled on a bench near the back of the bus when it rumbled through. It didn’t take long for him to readjust in his seat and you straightened on reflex, embarrassed that you’d done it subconsciously without asking him for permission first.

“No, no, love,” he murmured, lifting his arm over your shoulders, “here. Figured this would be more comfortable for you. You’re still shiverin’.”

“Oh.” You bit the inside of your lip, fighting the flutter of your stomach. “Thank you.”

You accepted his embrace, resting your head upon the cradle of his shoulder and sinking into him. His fingers curled lightly around your arm, squeezing absently. You closed your eyes as the tension drained from your body, taking a deep breath, and—in so doing—drew in a lungful of his cologne.

He had no right to smell so damn good.

“What do you need at the mart?” he asked quietly. “So I can help you look.”

“Just some snacks,” you mumbled. “Ice cream, maybe. I have leftovers in the fridge I was going to reheat since he made a comment about what I ordered.”

Steven’s arm tightened around your shoulders. “...He what?”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter. He insisted on paying, so I guess he was just watching his budget.”

Steven scoffed, and it was one of the only times you’ve ever heard his tone slip into open disdain. “The gall.”

“It’s over now. I consider it a reward for wasting my time, at least.” You turned your head and tucked your nose under his jaw. “I don’t really want to think about it anymore, if that’s okay.”

“That’s perfectly all right,” he told you, tugging you closer. “Just let me know if he gives you any trouble, yeah?”

“Oh, I already have him blocked, don’t worry.” You let out a snort... “I don’t think he was particularly impressed, anyway.” …and a sigh. “Can’t really blame him.”

Steven sucked in a breath. “Now why would you go and say a silly thing like that, love?”

It had slipped out, honestly. You’d meant to internalize that lapse of self-deprecation, but you found it hard to conceal your thoughts around Steven. You had no answer for him, so you attempted a hamfisted effort to divert his attention. “I have enough food for you, too, if you’d like to stay. I figure you haven’t had much to eat this evening, and you can crash at my place since it’s so late.”

“...Do you want me to stay?” he asked softly. “So you won’t be alone?”

You laughed under your breath. “I don’t know how you do that. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re able to read minds, Steven Grant.”

“No telepathy to be had,” he said mildly, the pad of his thumb beginning to draw circles on your bicep over the chunky knit of your cardigan. “Just…I know how it feels.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be happy to stay, if you’ll have me.”

You wished you could kiss him. You wished you could get away from him before your heart ended up shattered once again by your own helplessness. “Always.”

The supermarket was just short of empty when you both shuffled in, rubbing your arms to wring the growing chill from your extremities. The pop music from a top-forty station gave the aisles a melancholic quality, and Steven trailed you with a basket as you picked up the handful of necessities that needed restocking. A cursory glance at him on the freezer aisle, tilting his head back and staring up at the fluorescent lights thoughtfully, prompted you to grab a pint of raspberry sorbet instead of your normal go-to flavor of ice cream. If he noticed the change from your usual purchase while the sleepy teenage cashier rang up the handful of groceries, Steven didn’t comment on it. You’d rarely seen him so pensive.

Your apartment was blissfully warm when you let yourself back in, locked the door behind you, and turned the television on. You took the paper sack from Steven (having insisted that he carry it even though it wasn’t that heavy) and tipped your head to the living room. “Make yourself at home. There’s more blankets in the coffee chest. I’m going to put these up and grab a quick shower.”

“You wanted a long one, yeah?” he prompted. “Don’t rush on my account. I know where everythin’ is. I can take care of myself, you know.”

You nodded and turned. You were too tired to quibble with him—you knew he didn’t mind you not playing the perfect host all the time. “Okay. Watch whatever you want. My kitchen’s yours.”

“All right.” His hand grasped your elbow. “I mean it: take your time.”

You flashed him a small, appreciative smile. “Yes, sir.”

You watched the color bloom under his cheeks with more than a little fondness. He wrestled the sack back out of your arms. “I know where all this goes,” he blurted. “Go on, then.”

Maybe it was a little selfish of you, but…letting him take care of you just this once wouldn’t hurt anything, right? You chuckled. “Okay, okay—I’m going.”

You retreated to your bedroom and shut the door. Your shoes came off first, then your cardigan and your dress. Everything else followed shortly thereafter—all of it was tossed into the hamper as you tread silently into the bathroom. Frissons broke out over your bare skin as you stepped onto the cold tile, reaching around the glass divider to start the water so it would warm up while you went ahead and started your bedtime routine.

You took Steven’s advice, although with no small amount of guilt at not entertaining him (in spite of the fact that he was a grown-ass man and could very well occupy himself, as he’d said). You hated being separated from him, even through two measly walls, but the urge to get that other man’s lascivious, if critical, gaze off of you as soon as possible was far stronger at the moment.

You stood under the steaming stream for a long time, listening to the music you’d selected to play from your phone. You washed your hair and body with a certain degree of clinicism, doggedly avoiding looking at yourself in the mirror lest your mood deteriorate even more. His skepticism over your ‘generous’ choice of entree shouldn’t have mattered—he’d ordered a meal that would have made bulking bodybuilders jealous—but the subtle comments he’d sprinkled throughout the meal had taken down the carefully constructed walls surrounding your appearance. You’d worked hard to repress your hangups, dammit, and all it took was one lousy date? When he was just an asshole and didn’t even deserve to get under your skin like that?

You growled under your breath and shut the shower off, ringing out your hair and swiping the extra moisture from your skin before stepping out to towel off. You finished up with your skin care routine and went back into your bedroom to put on your favorite sweatpants and t-shirt, topped with a baggy hoodie. When you reemerged into the living room, Steven was nowhere to be seen, but the opening titles of The Mummy were playing on repeat on the television with the case open on the TV stand.

You stepped into the kitchen, following your nose and ears, and found him standing over the stove reheating the leftover vegan shakshuka you’d experimented with the night before.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, lingering in the doorway and fiddling with the ends of your sleeves. “I was going to.”

“You’re dead on your feet, love,” Steven admonished you lightly, glancing over his shoulder with a small, lopsided grin. “I can handle it. Wouldn’t mind a drink, though.”

You wanted to point out the dark circles beneath his eyes and the fatigued slump of his shoulders, but you refrained in order to save his dignity. “Would you like some tea, or soda, or…?”

“A cuppa would be lovely.”

“Is chai okay?”

“Sounds perfect.”

You set the electric kettle on (bought just for him, as you preferred iced tea, but you’d never admit that to him because you knew he’d feel guilty about you spending money on him) and pulled the box of tea bags out of the pantry, as well as a pot of honey, for him to fix it how he preferred. You grabbed a mug from the cabinet, as well, and set it out for him. You opted for a bottle of water, pouring it over ice.

“Think it’s ready,” Steven said, and you grabbed a couple of plates for him to ladle portions of the dish onto. You grabbed some cutlery and napkins, as well as your glass, and followed him into the living room.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, setting down the plates on the coffee table before straightening. “Mind if I borrow the loo first?”

“Go ahead,” you told him, sinking down into the couch with a tired groan. He disappeared into the shadows of your room, and you rested your head against the cushion at your back as your eyes drifted shut.

You remained still, listening to the music coming from the TV and to Steven’s movements as he soon came back and stepped into the kitchen. Water poured, clinking of metal on porcelain, socks scuffing on flooring. The cushion next to you dipped and creaked under his weight, and his knuckle brushed your wrist. “Not hungry, love?”

“Just waiting on you.” Truthfully, you didn’t have very much desire to eat, but your stomach was protesting the insufficient sustenance of the salad you’d opted to order instead of the club sandwich with chips you’d wanted. You sat up and pulled the plate into your lap. The inviting smell certainly helped. “I hope it’s okay, I don’t know if it’s any good.”

“Anything you make is mana on earth, love,” Steven assured you. He grabbed the remote and started the movie before sipping his tea tentatively.

“There’s always room for failure,” you responded wryly, but bringing up a mouthful proved that your endeavor had been successful, thankfully. “Oh, thank God. I ended up snacking while I cooked last night and got full before I could try it. It’s okay.”

Steven tried it himself and hummed with pleasure. “It’s more than okay, love.”

“I’m glad.” You turned your attention to the screen and hunkered against the arm of the couch. “...Thank you for all this.”

You felt Steven’s gaze fix itself on your profile. “...You’re welcome.”

The night outside grew darker, and when the both of you finished eating, Steven bullied his way into taking the dishes and washing them while ordering you to stay put. You paused the film in the meantime, tugging the blanket off the back of the couch and curling up beneath it. He turned off the lights and took the other end when you offered it. Other than the occasional chuckle, neither of you spoke again until the credits began to roll. By then, you’d grown sleepy. Steven had anchored you into his side once again, resting his cheek on the crown of your head. You’d started to doze off when the rumble of his chest roused you.

“...You know you really shouldn’t say such cruel things about yourself, love. You looked extra gorgeous tonight.”

You swallowed, and in the safety of the apartment’s darkness you let your expression fall. “I know.”

“You really are somethin’ special.” His fingers drummed slowly against your arm. “I mean it. I’m honored to know you. And I want you to know that I’ll always be here for you.”

“You don’t know how much I appreciate that,” you murmured, even if that traitorous, if scarred, part of yourself denied his claim automatically. It wasn’t fair to him, but old habits die hard. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“It’s the least I could do,” he responded, “you know, as an apology on behalf of all men for that sorry wanker wasting your time.”

You laughed in the midst of a yawn. “It’ll be a story to tell on holidays, if nothing else.”

“Tired?” he asked.

“Yeah.” You pressed your face into his shirt. “You can take the bed if you want.”

“Now, you know how this debate will end.”

“I do. I still wanted to offer.”

“All right. I will need to shower first, though, if you don’t mind. I still smell like the cleaner they use in the museum.”

You sat up to give him space to stand. The smell of the museum suited him, but you didn’t exactly want to reveal that you’d been discreetly huffing his collar for the last hour. “I don’t. I have your spares in the same drawer.”

“Thank you.” Steven extricated his arm, but after a moment’s hesitation he placed a kiss on your temple. You looked up at him, shocked, and that seemed to be his intention, because despite the outlines of his face matching your flusteredness, he appeared deadly serious. “You mean more to me than you’ll ever know, poppet,” he whispered. “And you deserve all the happiness in the world, bad dates be damned.”

“I…” You swallowed roughly. “Th-thank you, darlin’.”

His mouth opened as though he’d intended to say more, but hesitation won out in the end. He shook his head and patted your knee before straightening to his feet. “Go ahead and go to bed, I’ll take everything with me in there. You need to sleep as much as you can.”

“All right,” you murmured, watching him go. He fidgeted with his hands all the way of his retreat into the bathroom. You couldn’t breathe until you heard the shower whine to a start. Your heart didn’t stop pounding against your ribs until after he exited, curls damp and pajamas draped over his lean form, told you good night, and shut your bedroom door behind him to give you privacy.

When you woke up the next morning and wandered into the kitchen for something to eat, Steven was waiting for you with two bowls of sorbet ready, and you decided then—much to the distress of your frightful heart—that you were in love.

#fisara's codices #moon knight #fanfiction #moonknightevents #moon knight fanfiction #reader insert #steven grant #steven grant/reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant/you #steven grant x you #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant fluff

[vampyrcigs]

May i request an Alucard hellsing x male reader please? anything would be perfect

Male Reader with Obsessed Alucard Headcanons

🦇 ‧₊˚⊹ Took me a bit since I was thinking of what to write-

🦇 ‧₊˚⊹ References to smut but none is actually there. A bit short, but whatever.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Whether you notice or not, Alucard is always observing you. Alucard has eyes on you constantly, you can barely get a moment alone without him listening in. It’s especially bad at night or when he’s on missions. The feeling of being watched will never cease no matter what, no matter how far apart either of you are.

One thing that most definitely won’t change is that, no matter what, you belong to this monster. As much as Alucard lets you run off and do your own thing in the morning, with him watching of course, at the end of the day you’re his. If he feels like something’s off, he’s at your side in a second, grinning over your shoulder as he peered at the cause of your unease. Whether he’s turned you or not, you’re already set as his territory, his.

Expect to never walk around with your neck clean. This man will never let you walk around with your neck untouched. He can’t help but drag his teeth down the side of your neck, grazing his sharp fangs over your soft neck. And…well now you have marks all over you neck. If he notices your marks fading, he’ll drag you somewhere private and do it all over again. And if that doesn’t leave him satisfied…well, at least you won’t have to walk around with marks on your neck…

He never truly imagined he’d be this way with anyone. In all his centuries of living, he never thought it would be truly possible for someone to devote themselves to a monster like him, at least not in a loving way. The fact that you’re a male doesn’t phase him, especially since he never expected to receive love in the first place. But, of course, this monster will take everything you give him and give it back just as much. All the love you give him, he’ll give you more. He adores you so much that he almost doesn’t want to turn you. Almost doesn’t want to take that innocence away. Almost. But you wouldn’t mind if he went through with it, right?

Alucard’s touchiness varies. He tries to keep his hands to himself…sometimes. His touches are romantic and meaningful, like those seen in old romance shows. Placing a kiss on your hand as if you’re a maiden or keeping an arm locked around your waist whenever you’re around. His touches are more romantic than sexual, showcasing his love to you in a very gentlemen like way. He’ll pull you into his arms just to place a kiss on each of your fingers. His larger hand around your waist serving as a reminder of how drastic his touches can change when you’re alone.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

🦇 ‧₊˚⊹ Fin. Hope it’s to your liking my dear anon. ♡

🦇 ‧₊˚⊹ Def not proofread but it’s fine. My bad if it’s ass. ♡

🦇 ‧₊˚⊹ A bit of inspo from this lovely person here

materialist…in progress || request status…open || introduction

#alucard hellsing #hellsing #hellsing ultimate #x reader #x male reader #alucard hellsing x male reader #alucard hellsing x reader #headcanon #hellsing alucard #hellsing headcanons #hellsing imagines #alucard #vampire #hellsing fandom #hellsing fanfiction #alucard x reader #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere x male reader #yandere x male darling #black reader #yandere scenarios #yandere alucard #im obssesed #alucard could blow my back out sideways frontways backwards upside down #i’d let him ruin me #i’d let him do unspeakable things to me #he could get it

[mauesartetc]

Thoughts on Helluva Boss 205 ("Unhappy Campers")

Wow, this... This one may actually be worse than Murder Family. That's impressive.

Is anyone else noticing a pattern of Helluva Boss episodes going absolutely nowhere? Each one ends without affecting the larger plot in any meaningful way. Season 1's structure was fairly episodic as well, but at least back then there was some sense of progression.

I usually include separate lists of pros and cons in these critiques, but in this case, I have so few compliments to give this thing it's not worth it. I tried my best to find more to like about this episode, but it gave me bupkis to work with. So I'll just present all my notes in chronological order.

Let's get this over with.

-Looks like the rehab facility where Barb used to live is located in Sloth (on account of the floating islands and all the pink in the environment), just like the hospital in this season's previous episode. We've never seen care centers in any other ring, so... Does Hell society's opinion of sick people dictate that they're just lazy? Some clarification on that might be nice.

-"She's got a job now. A life. Don't fuck it up by findin' her." Holy shit, the nurse is the most mature, sympathetic character in this entire episode. Tasing Blitzo in the butthole earns her bonus points in my book. Nurse Pussyface, you are way too good for this show.

-Why is Blitzo even trying to visit his sister if he's been kicked out of the facility several times and knows she hates him? What's the impetus? "Look, I know you hate my guts, but Dad's dead, and he named you in the will." Or maybe he had an experience that reminded him of her and figured he'd drop by to see how she was? Y'know, something.

-By the way, Helluva's animation is usually a highlight, but here there's not much to say about it. It wasn't especially memorable or ambitious; just kinda... passable. Even the climactic fight scene (which I'll get to later) didn't have much to write home about.

-How the hell didn't the client notice the holes in his boat before he rowed it out into deep water? Because I'm pretty sure it would leak when it was still in the shallow end of the lake, unless this is a unique real-life boating phenomenon I'm not aware of. Also, you'd think this guy was a bit too gung-ho to get out on the lake for someone who can't swim. Did someone have a gun to your head, dude?

Fun fact: Did y'all know I was on staff at a summer camp once? We had a pond, canoes, and a boathouse just like the camp in this episode. One thing we had that this camp apparently doesn't, however, is this important rule: No one gets in a canoe without a life jacket. EVER. But, well... We see later that the adults at this camp don't care much about safety, so I guess that's fair enough. (Though I'm curious how they manage to stay open, or what the client's loved ones have to say about his mysterious disappearance.)

-What did the client do to get sent to Hell after he died? Mrs. Mayberry murdered someone, so that's why she's here, but this kid seems pretty chill-? (And don't even try to explain this on Twitter, writers. If it's not in the story itself, it ain't canon.) I also can't help but notice that his design reflects the way he died, but every other sinner's appearance is just random. Consistency? Who needs it!

-Some unintentional hilarity for ya: Here's Millie's face after the client recounted his death.

And she holds this pose for the remainder of the scene. Was there NO direction on how to animate Millie here?! This is a grim situation and she's smiling?! I get that she's a demon, but damn that is cold. It's never been clearer that half her role in this story is just smiling and looking cute, to the point the animators don't know what else to do with her.

-Richard Horvitz's valley girl voice was kinda funny. I dug it. Not sure why Moxxie and Millie had to dress in drag for anything other than cheap laughs, though.

-I know Millie's hurtin' for more development, but this story's conflict would have made SO much more sense from a character standpoint if Moxxie were getting all the praise from the campers. Think about it: He's the one Blitzo always shits on and doesn't believe in. He's the one whose father doesn't love him. He's the one who never gets positive attention from anyone except his wife. Suddenly the conflict is much more compelling: Now that he has approval from these humans, maybe he doesn't need it from Blitzo anymore (not sure why he needed his approval in the first place, but whatever). Maybe he'd realize what he's been missing, and how shitty Blitzo's treatment has been in comparison. Could this be the breaking point that finally gets him to muster some self-respect and quit IMP? We'll never know, because the episode has miscalculated where the most interesting dilemma actually lies.

As far as we can tell, Millie's had zero reason to doubt herself, and we never see her being mistreated like Moxxie has.

Take these lines of dialogue: "And for once I feel like... Like I'm important! Like I'm somebody to be proud of!"

Wouldn't they fit so much better if they came out of Moxxie's mouth?

-I kinda liked how the lyrics of Millie's song were humble while Moxxie's lyrics were egotistical, showing that being down to earth will win you friends while being self-centered will turn people off. But is that really the kind of message we need in an adult show? It's a useful lesson for children, but after you hit the age of this series' target demographic, most people will have the social skills to know better than to pull what Moxxie did at the campfire.

-Speaking of Moxxie being super immature, why does he weep when a bunch of preteens ignores him? They're...They're kids, Mox. They aren't your peers. Literally who cares. This behavior makes no sense outside of (once again) cheap humor. I could understand being bummed out that you're not good with kids if you wanted to have your own someday, but even that doesn't warrant actual tears. And this makes him look like a massive hypocrite later on when he asks Millie why it matters what "these yokels" feel about her. I mean... You seemed to care a lot about how they saw you, Moxxie...

-Moxxie's excuse for why it's so hard for him to get information on the case is that everyone's too busy "swooning over" Millie. Here's a thought: Why doesn't Millie get the info? She's the one everyone likes, so it should be a snap, right? Well, once again, the characters get railroaded because the writers can't entertain any other plot ideas. And of course Moxxie ends up getting blamed for everything as if he's the only one who fucked up here.

-Why the hell would a summer camp show so much favoritism toward a single camper that they set up a friggin' concert for this camper and this camper only? Yeah yeah, "viral sensation" and everything, but 1) The news crew can wait another day or so for camp to end in order to conduct an interview (y'know, something that wouldn't require a huge-ass stage and pyrotechnics that'd cost the camp boatloads of money), and 2) The camp staff thinks Millie is a child. How fucking irresponsible can you get to lavish this much attention on a kid? Think it'll go to her head or something? Psssh nah. Also, you're telling me none of the other campers are the tiniest bit jealous? How do you think they feel, seeing this one kid get treated like a god while they're left in the dust?

Okay, plot-wise, the writers decided they wanted Millie to sing a song so she's occupied during the final showdown with the killer. Easy solution: Camp talent show. That way, the adults treat all the campers equally, and Millie gets her (more believable) moment in the spotlight.

-Oh hey, we finally see Asmodean crystals in action. And of course the first one we see is a butt plug.

SuCh a MAturE shOw, GUys! (Sorry, I'm still laughing my head off at that.)

So, a bit of backstory for those who aren't familiar: We first learned of Asmodean crystals in the Season 2 premiere, when Stolas opened the grimoire to reveal Norse runes on its pages. Someone on the internet was kind enough to translate:

Now here's the deal: Blitzo tells the lust demon to open the portal with his crystal (even threatening him at gunpoint), leading me to believe only non-imps could use Asmodean crystals and that's why he needed the grimoire to get to the human world.

But guess what happens later:

Blitzo's sister Barb, another imp, uses a crystal on her bracelet to open a portal back to Hell. So what exactly was the point of stealing the grimoire from Stolas??

BLITZO. YOU. DENSE. MOTHERFUCKER.

Okay, maybe I'll be generous and acknowledge that there might be another explanation, like Blitzo getting banned from using Asmodean crystals because he's misused them in the past. (Maybe there's a spell that causes the crystals to burn him every time he tries to hold one. Something of that nature.) But at this point I don't trust these writers to fill in their plot holes. Or plot portals, as the case may be.

-The portals themselves are kinda pretty, though. I can appreciate that they look different from the portals created by the grimoire.

-Moxxie calls Blitzo "sir" in this episode despite Blitzo telling him to use his first name in Truth Seekers. Moxxie then uses it in "Ozzie's" (if I remember correctly), but now he's back to "sir" for unexplained reasons-? Coupled with how their relationship has reverted back to square one with Blitzo learning nothing (as well as no one bringing up the agents or what they can do to stop them leaking the proof that demons exist), do the writers just want us to forget that episode or what?

-Blitzo chastises Moxxie for dragging the case out for a week, but it took him a week to track down Barb. This hypocrisy is never addressed.

-At the boathouse, Blitzo tells Moxxie he's looking for his sister, then kicks down the door, revealing Barb inside. Moxxie asks, "Do you know her?" "Do I know her? That's my sister, fuckface!" That's... oddly repetitive, writers. I get that Moxxie wouldn't immediately make the connection since Barb's disguised as a human, but there's a more graceful way to handle that in the dialogue. Something like, "Is this her?" "Oh, now you're on the ball!"

-In an earlier post I expressed concern that these writers wouldn't handle Barb's addiction well, and I'm somewhat relieved they didn't go into it. But I also predicted she'd amount to a genderbent Blitzo instead of having her own personality, and... well...

Overindulges in addictive substances? Check. Runs a business that requires travel to the human world? Check. Pottymouth? Check. Uses sexuality as leverage? Check.

It would've been nice to at least get a hint about what Blitzo did to make her hate him so much (and perhaps confronting that would make him rethink how he treats Moxxie-?), but I guess we'll have to find out when she comes back in seven episodes or so. Yaaaaay.

-Barb says she picked this particular human as her supplier because teenagers are easy to manipulate, but she really had no way to accomplish that other than flashing her panties at him? Assuming Barb and Blitzo are the same age, she's in her 30s, and... it's just a tad creepy and uncalled for, even if this kid's legal. That's a pretty big age (and power) gap regardless. This is one of those times when it looks a lot more predatory when you switch the genders, but, importantly, women can be predators too. Bad optics, y'all.

-The climactic fight scenes in prior episodes were snappy and exciting, but this one's pacing felt really sluggish. I get that the song in the background had a slower tempo than we're used to in these action scenes, but would it have been so hard to double-time the animation? Also, previous fight scenes were notable for their creative choreography, but Barb wrapped her tail around Moxxie twice in a row. Having trouble coming up with new fight moves, guys? Like damn, she's an acrobat. She could do so much more.

-In another edition of "characters being idiots because plot", Moxxie and Millie make out in front of everyone who thinks they're related. They couldn't have run off to somewhere more private?? Apparently no; this needed to happen so Millie's internet fame would be dashed... or, here's another option: Show how the internet popularity cycle is so damn short that everyone's already moved on to the next sensation. You could have made that funny if you actually put in some effort. Like... The faux-incest was just so unnecessary.

-Much like Murder Family, another unfunny ending where Moxxie's dreams are crushed. Blitzo gets his hopes up only to call him a "fuckin' disgrace". But remember, guys: He'S HArd oN hiM BEcauSE hE CAreS! (Fuck it, I think I'll just edit a supercut of every time Blitzo has berated Moxxie, pre- and post-Truth Seekers.)

Oh and look, Millie's glaring at Blitzo, which is totally the same as opening her mouth to tell him off like he deserves, right?

She'll take on a whole gang of mobsters out of love for Moxxie, but standing up to Blitzo? Whoa, that's a step too far. Y'know, because he's the writers' favorite and he shouldn't have to experience any complications from his behavior. Same old story as it's been for a season and a half.

This ending would've been a million times better if it left off on a cliffhanger. Maybe this could have been Moxxie's final breaking point. After Blitzo calls him a disgrace, Moxxie could take a deep breath and...

MOXXIE: (flatly) I quit.

Then he walks out of the room. Everyone looks after him, stunned. When he closes the door, the screen cuts to black and the credits roll.

Oh shit, what's going to happen next? How will Blitzo deal with this? How will it affect Moxxie and Millie's home life? What kind of new job will Moxxie find to keep food on the table? Will he ever come back to IMP, or will Blitzo find a replacement? I know these writers aren't too interested in serialization or any sense of continuity outside of the stupid romance subplot (or hell, inside it), but good god, it would give viewers some exciting possibilities to look forward to.

This episode had so much potential and followed through on none of it. "Unhappy Campers" turned out to be a more fitting title than expected, as that's exactly what I was while watching this.

(Also this show needs a continuity coordinator like yesterday.)

#helluva boss #helluva critical #critique #criticism #review #writing #long post

[bougiebutchbinch]

On Izzy Hands

Popping this on this blog too, just so it'll show up in the tags... My superior alternate suggestions for a S2 ending are under the cut. We all know I'm right.

Honesty Hour time. The reason we were all like 'I bet he's going to die' is because WHENEVER a character has a cool redemption arc OR a queer character comes out and experiences genuine queer joy for the first time in their life, their mortality rate goes up by 90%. But it was such a disappointment to be proven right.

I think we all expected better of the writing team. They've committed to doing genuinely new and interesting things with this story in the past, rather than just trotting out tired old tropes! But... not in this case.

People say they want more Zuko-esque redemption arcs, but we can't have that if every character who was A Bit Of A Dick at first gets killed off. And... c'mon. The whole arc of Izzy finding a family in the crew, and healing after being abused awfully for ages, and finding happiness, and openly embracing his queerness and disability.... then just randomly getting shot by a dude? Not even as a dramatic 'protecting someone' sacrifice? He just randomly got shot?? And we're all supposed to feel sad about that rather than just kinda let down?

Yeaaaaah, I do not think they achieved what they were going for.

I understand that a lot of that was because they had to shorten the series SO MUCH more than they wanted, but still.... it would have cost nothing to let Izzy just sail away with the rest of the crew as the Captain of the Revenge, while Ed and Stede retired!! It felt kinda like they were building towards that all season! Hell, that would've been a more meaningful progression for all of their characters.

We could still have had the scene where Izzy tells Ed he has family and that he's loved! We could've had a fake-out death where we had all the drama and expectation that he would die! Then in the last scene he comes out as the new captain to officiate Lucius and Pete's wedding!

We'd have Ed and Stede letting go of Blackbeard for good and building something new together on land - but we'd also have Izzy finally moving beyond the 'Blackbeard' persona he helped Ed create (and, arguably, did more for than Ed!). He'd be a captain who actually gives a shit about his crew, but who has learnt from Stede and Ed the importance of being a bit softer and gentler rather than brutally efficient 24/7. He evidently already admires Zheng (the face journey he goes on when she downs the big guy at Jackiez is ... it's sure something!) and I want a million more hours of them interacting. I bet they could be a super-funny duo. Plus, he could inevitably drag Stede and Ed back in next season! And get revenge on the prince who shot him!

It would've been perfect.But no, they had to kill him off because the OT3 potential was too strong, and bury a career pirate on land. Meh.

I'm tempted to watch the next season, if there is one, just for Olu/Jim/Archie/Zheng, but I can't say I care that much about the writing anymore. I won't be crying if the show does stop here, but I will be crying over everything that could have been!

#izzy hands #ofmd #our flag means death #ed teach #stede bonnet #ofmd meta #blackbonnet #steddyhands #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd spoilers #dizzy izzy #izcourse

[mangoisms]

i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)

━ chapter seven: you be the parachute | read chapter six

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.2k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

After making a hearty dinner — tomato soup and grilled cheese like he did when you were hurt — you change out of your work clothes into something you’re more willing to get dirtied and you advise Tim to do the same. 

You have a specific pair of jeans that have several paint stains on them, as well as one streak of dark clay that refuses to leave. The same goes for your shirt, though with less stains and more just ratty and old, something you don’t mind getting dirty. Tim does the same, changing into an older pair of jeans and an old t-shirt from his time in high school. Though the both of you need to don windbreakers for the biting winds and drizzles of rain, you shed them when you enter the class, hanging them up along with your belongings and pulling aprons over your clothes.

Hana, the one who oversees the class, waves at you. “I don’t think we’ll be getting many people, so just help yourselves. You know where everything is and what to do.”

You give her a thumbs up and lead Tim towards the back of the class. A few other people are here but they are already working on their own things, talking softly to each other, voices drowned out by the spin of the wheels.

His eyes take in the class curiously. Several wheels are near you, along with some modeling stands and other desks for glazing and painting. You go over to the shelving unit at the back, where in-progress projects are kept. 

You have a little figurine of a duck that you made for him that needs to be painted and fired again after that. You aren’t sure if you can do it without him suspecting who it’s for, though. It’s a joke gift, really, after talking to one of the science aides about the lethal geese that hang around the Reservoir at Robinson Park and the considerably calmer ducks. It’s a birthday gift, though you’ve been thinking you want to do something else in addition to it, something a little more meaningful. You just haven’t found out what yet.

“So?” you prompt.

“What are you going to do?” 

“Not sure, to be honest. But for you… I think just to be safe, we should start you off with the molding stuff.”

He narrows his eyes slightly at the wheel, then the molding table. 

You smile. “Or, let me guess, you want to try your hand at throwing?”

“It can’t be that hard,” he says. 

This is a not-so-familiar side to him but one you’ve noticed regardless. Tim can be a bit… arrogant. Or at least, come into things assuming he can do it without issue. This, you guess, is a byproduct of the rich boy upbringing, which makes sense. Truthfully, it is not so bad compared to some of the other breeds of rich boy in this city but still. 

“I know you were reading how-to guides while we had dinner —” he opens his mouth to protest but a raise of your brow silences him, a slightly sheepish look coming over his face “— but it really isn’t as easy as it may seem.”

“Well, I have you,” he says, which flusters you — the intended effect, you think, by the small, satisfied smile that tugs at his lips.

“Alright, fine,” you mumble. You don’t try to get him to just sit down and wait for you to collect things, spying the curious look in his eyes, so you let him shadow you as you collect everything you — he — needs to get started.

“I want to make a mug,” he tells you when you ask, since you need to wedge and weigh out the clay. 

“Alright —”

“For you,” he adds, and you jolt. 

“You don’t need to —”

He says your name softly, stopping you. You two are close, with him hovering right near your elbow, body heat palpable in the scant few inches between your bodies. 

“I know I don’t need to,” he says. “But I want to. When are you going to understand?”

“After you make me a wonky mug, maybe,” you say, lips twitching to fight off a grin, face heating again.

Tim smiles, too, the lightest you’ve seen him today, like a weight physically taken off his shoulders — for the most part. 

Your heart skips a beat and you look back at the clay, weighing out a chunk for a mug. 

At the wheel with a bowl of water, towels, and the clay, you walk him through everything. You pull up a stool on his right side, to give you control of the pedal and thus, the speed. You run through sealing the clay to the bat — the actual surface of the wheel that spins — then centering it. After you make a divot in the center with your thumbs, you are ready to push into it, to start creating the walls.

Well, he is ready. Under your watchful eye and careful instructions, of course. And inserted reminders about his stance. 

“Elbows on your thighs.”

“You didn’t do it like that,” he complains but does as you say, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this longer than you,” you remind him, grinning. “Okay, come on. We can start making the walls now. Use your index and middle finger to slowly push down.”

Your foot finds the pedal again, the wheel humming as you press it, making it spin once more. 

Tim, hands now covered with wet clay, hesitates.

Your foot eases off. “I promise you, this clay is more scared of you than you are of it.”

“I’m not scared,” he mutters, but you know him. Tim Drake is a perfectionist. There is little that escapes his sharp eyes. You would wager a guess that he doesn’t want to mess up. And how can you mess up if you just… don’t touch the clay anymore?

Yeah, you get it. 

“Think of our ancestors. We’ve been making pottery for thousands of years. They made mistakes, too. Those mistakes are treasured now, you know.”

“But I don’t want to make a mistake. This isn’t for future anthropologists and archaeologists,” he says, a little petulant. “It’s for you.”

Oh, wow.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You clear it. 

“Well, perfection is a false ideal, anyway. The nice thing about things like this is that it’s handmade and that it’s not perfect. So, here.”

You lean forward, inserting yourself into his space (for the sake of this clay, that’s it) and pressing your hands over his. Your hands are covered in wet clay by now but because it’s still wet, it’s not too unpleasant. His hand is warm, too, which is… not what you should be focusing on.

“Like this,” you say, folding your index and middle finger over his, tilting your head sharply to get a good look at the clay. Your foot finds the pedal again and the wheel hums, abiding by your wishes for more speed. 

You instruct his other hand to hold against the outside, to help shape it more. But he hesitates again, so you scoot further into his space, until your knee is pressed to his, your arms brushing, and you can place your left hand over his. 

“Sorry,” you mutter. “I know I’m in your space.”

“I don’t mind,” he says quietly, breath ghosting over your ear and you have to suppress a flinch at how close he is. Everything about it makes your pulse jump to unhealthy heights but you force yourself not to let it carry you away. Trembling hands won’t help anyone right now. 

“Alright,” you say, and together, you slowly, slowly pull the walls to dimension. Every motion flows into the next. Two fingers to lower the bottom inside with his left hand. Three on the outside from his right hand. Tim is pliant under your instruction, when ordinarily you might expect some pushback.  

But you can’t do everything.

“Three fingers inside, one thumb outside. Gotta keep going while I grab the sponge.”

He grunts quietly in acknowledgement, seeming to focus more now as he does as you say. Your hands are only away from each other for a short few seconds as you grab the sponge, lightly pressing it to the bottom, pulling excess water to prepare to pull up the walls even further. 

“Here,” you say, and he takes the sponge from you, holding it still against the bottom of the clay. “Good. Keep it there. We’re in the home stretch now.”

He lets out a slow breath. You can feel the exhale against your cheek and resist a wild shiver. His breath smells like spearmint, the gum he’d chewed on the drive here. 

You swallow, staring at his hands, which doesn’t really help your pounding heart, just cause… Tim has really nice hands. Long, slender fingers, surprisingly calloused but still soft, somehow. The knuckle of his left pinky is a tiny bit wonky and he says he accidentally broke it playing football with a friend when he was a teenager and it didn’t heal quite right. 

You should stop thinking about his hands. Too bad that’s kind of a thing with pottery.

“Four fingers inside. Keep your thumb out.”

He says your name. “Help me out a little.”

“You’re doing good.”

“But I can do better if you’re guiding me,” he says, a little beseeching, breath warm against your cheek in a way that has your heart skipping a beat.

Jesus. 

You think you might spontaneously combust. It’s not the weirdest thing to ever happen in Gotham. And no one could blame you, either. Frankly, you’d like for anyone to be in close quarters with Tim Drake when he asks you to do something for him and try to say no. Or retain full function of their brain. Impossible. 

“You’re doing good, way better than I did on my first try throwing a mug, but alright,” you mutter, sliding your left hand over his, forcing you once more into close proximity with him. His right hand holds the sponge as you instructed. 

With his left hand, four fingers press to the inside and a thumb on the outside, helping further lengthen the walls slowly. 

You feel the fingers of his left land part just a little, yours nearly slipping through the gaps, and you knock your knee against his. Doesn’t affect him, either, since, ignoring your earlier reminder, his elbows aren’t sitting there anymore. 

“Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t need to,” you grumble, face heating. 

You know what he’s thinking about. That stupid scene from that movie from the, like, eighties. You know the one — the one with the… weirdly sensual pottery scene. Hana told you all about it on your first day of class. That that wasn’t how things went and if anyone did want to do it, they could do it in the privacy of their own home. Not, you know, in class with all of you.

And, to be clear, that isn’t what is happening here, either. He knows better than that.

(You think.

Probably.)

“I’m sorry,” he says, in a tone that tells you he is not very sorry at all; it’s teasing, if anything, in a way that makes you want to catapult yourself across the classroom to get a little space between you. 

That is the unbearable part of this. 

You kind of want to shove your stools back, put your hands on his cheeks, and kiss him for, you don’t know, a really long time. Forever, maybe. Of course, that’s not biologically possible but it’d probably be a nice way to die and in Gotham, crime capital of the United States and of horrible, miserable deaths, that’s, like, gold, right?

 The thought shrivels something inside of you, reminding you sharply of what did happen today. That six people are dead. 

You shove the train of thought away immediately. Now isn’t the time to think about that and you don’t want to set him off, either. This is about him and you would hate for him to notice the shift and start comforting you.

It’s a two-way street, you know that, and it’s fine for you both to be equally comforted but thus far, you haven’t been able to do much for him. You want to, though. He seems to be handling everything that happened today worse than you, for reasons you aren’t sure of, and you want to be there for him. 

Luckily, it seems like he didn’t notice. 

“Have you seen it? Ghost?”

“No, and I am not interested in seeing it,” you say matter-of-factly. “I’d like to keep my experiences with pottery untainted, thank you very much.”

Tim laughs and the sound goes straight to your head. Literally. He’s still close to you, so you feel the warm exhale from his lips, spearmint tickling your nose and making you want to do inappropriate things. To him, preferably. 

Anddd you don’t need to be thinking of that right now. Okay. Alright. You’re chill. You’re cool. 

“Look,” you say. “We’re nearly there. Just a little bit more length…”

He focuses again, actually concentrating on lengthening the walls of the mug now. A minute passes before you nod and pull your hands back. He does the same. Your foot eases off the pedal. 

You grab a ruler, recalling the measurements you two had agreed upon, and measure the height of the walls and the width of the cup itself. It’s bigger than a normal mug, but since he insisted on it being a mug you didn’t have to baby, it’ll have to be high fired to get that durability, which will make the clay shrink. 

Tim waits as you work, seemingly bracing himself.

“Looks good,” you say, pulling it back and setting it to the side, sending him a small smile. It does look good. The walls need to be smoothed with a rib and there’s one part of the rim that looks… a little wonky but it’s not bad. Not bad at all.

When Tim scrutinizes it, reaching forward, you gently push his hands away. “It’s fine.”

“But —”

“It’s cute.”

“Not the word I’d use.”

“And supposed to be mine, so, I think I get the final call.”

“You know what you are?”

“The soon-to-be proud owner of this mug?”

He doesn’t expect that and you know he doesn’t expect that because he flushes, pink rising in his cheeks in a… decidedly tempting manner. 

But of course, Tim Drake is not one to let himself be overtaken so easily. 

“No,” he says slowly, leaning forward, into your space, holy hell, you think you might actually spontaneously combust now as he gets close enough for you to see the silver flecked in blue irises, thick dark lashes framing them, the sharp but not unpleasant scent of eucalyptus clouding your senses and, huh, you know, this isn’t very platonic of him, not very platonic at all but the thought of Tim Drake flirting with you is a laughable one —

And naturally, as you think that and promptly freak out internally because it unfortunately makes logical sense, you are an adult, you’ve never been in a relationship but people have flirted with you before, thank you very much — well… Tim takes advantage of your brief moment of shock. So, you don’t see his hand dip into the bowl of water, softening the clay on his fingers and then —

“You’re bossy,” he finishes, eyes twinkling in a way that tells you he doesn’t seem to actually mind and then you’re gasping, jerking away as he smears some of wet clay on your cheek, facade breaking as he grins, the force of it making his eyes crinkle.

“What are you?!” you hiss. “Twelve?!”

You would know. 

He laughs, of course, and you can’t truly be mad at him, no, not at all, even if it’s the kind of messing around that Hana would side-eye you for, but fortunately she has her back to you two, deep in conversation with the few pairs of people who came to class today. 

Absolutely no one is paying attention to you, so, you think it’s only fair that you return the favor and he lets you, well-aware of you dipping your hand back into the water and then smearing an even bigger streak over his cheek. (While you also ignore the feeling of the soft skin, warm to the touch, warmer than usual, his flush having not left quite yet.)

And the fact that he lets you, watching you with a gaze full of affection and a mischievous grin, has the rapidly-unspooling warmth in your chest become too much. Like you are a star about to go supernova. 

But with that comes relief. To see him back to himself, no longer looking so… haunted. You can’t tell the full extent of what you would do to protect it, to protect a small bit of happiness for him to have whenever he needs, but you think it’s a lot. Anything short of murder, maybe.

(Even that depended, though.)

“Here,” you say, shoving the rib into his hand. “Smooth it out. You’re on your own now.”

Tim doesn’t protest, still smiling faintly as he does as you say. You scrunch up the side of your face, feeling the clay on your cheek. 

He does an okay job — not the worst, anyhow — and then you guide him through taking it off the bat and centering it upside down for trimming the bottom. After doing so, you work on pulling the handle just using the molding stand; instead of waiting for it to dry, you apply a little bit of heat, then you apply it to the mug. 

“That’s it?” he asks, going to the sink to wash his hands. 

“That’s it,” you affirm, putting the mug in the shelving unit right beside it. “It needs to be fired once before you can glaze it. Then again after that. You can come in whenever, just tell them you were with me.”

“Are you going to work on anything?” 

You hum thoughtfully, glancing at the clock. You got here at seven and it’s about to be eight. The center doesn’t close until ten but if he has places to be…

“I was just wondering,” he adds, stepping away from the sink to let you take his place, drying his hands on a paper towel. Clay is still smeared on his cheek, grey standing out against the pale skin. “That way I can help. Or watch if you’re tired of my… amateur efforts. Either way. This is… nice.”

You soften considerably at that, glancing down at your hands, watching the clay fall away under the warm water and soap. After everything… you think you finally have an idea about what you want to do. 

“You can help me, then. Think I’d like to make a mug as well.”

Tim nods and tears another piece of paper towel, running it briefly under the water, presumably to clean the clay from his cheek. 

You finish washing your hands just as he finishes cleaning the clay off his cheek. Your hands will get dirty again but the clean feel is a nice break before you do. 

You dry your hands, then, still using the damp paper towel, attempt to clean the clay off your cheek. 

Tim snorts quietly. 

“Am I close?”

“No.”

“Aw.” 

He smiles and holds out a hand. You relinquish the paper towel to him and he dampens it under the water, then reaches up to press it to your cheek. 

You resist letting tension take hold of you as his eyes focus on your face. Like always, you are unused to the sharp attention he gives you but part of you is endeared, too, seeing him dedicate himself to the task. Tim doesn’t do things in halves. Only absolutes. It’s not great for your heart.

To distract yourself, your eyes stray to where his streak was once. The skin is clean, but this close, you spot a few leftover flakes of grey clay. 

“There,” Tim says, gently patting your cheek with the dry end of the paper towel.

“You’ve still got some,” you mumble, taking the paper towel from him and switching to a cleaner patch on the damp side, then gently dabbing his cheek. 

“Thanks,” he says, his eyes on your face, the look there making your heart pound out of rhythm. 

You pull back, not as gentle as he was about patting the spot dry — his cheeks are still warmer than usual; the thought of it being because of you is a dizzying one — then toss the towel. 

“Ready?” you ask, fixing your apron.

Tim clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck when you glance at him, his gaze elsewhere. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Right.”

You two spend another hour there throwing the mug. Tim is the one sitting adjacent to you this time, helping in the beginning but seeming to settle as you go on, apparently happy to just watch you do your thing. 

You… try to prod about any preferred glazes or designs, mostly by asking what he thinks would look good, and you get some useful bits of information that you’ll be able to use the next time you come here. Or, well, sometime after that. This mug requires a bit more work than usual. At least for what you have in mind for it. 

But it should be ready by the time July rolls around. 

The sun has set when you two step out. The rain isn’t coming down as hard as earlier but it’s still drizzling, making streets and sidewalks glisten under street lamps and traffic lights. 

In a considerably better mood than earlier, the two of you stop at O’Shaughnessy’s for a shake and fries, then return to Rose Oaks. You keep the food at your place while he heads up to change and you do the same. You check on the boys while you wait for him to return, finding Manny and Diego climbing into the little shelf on the side, while Sid dips in the saltwater pond.

You smile faintly and go back to the couch. On the coffee table, for once clear of schoolwork as you are officially caught up before finals, the bag of fries sits next to the drink carrier, holding two medium chocolate shakes.

Tim returns a few minutes later, letting himself in with the spare key he has, now dressed in sweats and a black t-shirt that stretches flatteringly over his shoulders. 

In the mood for something light and nostalgic, you switch on Ice Age, the two of you relaxing on the couch and eating your dessert. Sleepiness weighs down on you with more time that passes. 

Tim finishes his shake and fries after you, leaning forward to set them on the coffee table. When he sits back, he is closer to you, your arms pressed together. The warmth of his body and the faint scent of eucalyptus lulls you. It doesn’t help that you shut off the lights, the only light coming from the TV, showing the white snowscapes from the movie.

The sound of your name is a surprise but not unwelcome. Especially not from him and how he says it, syllables wrapped in a sleepy kind of warmth. He’s tired, too. You understand. Even if he may have been at his place for most of the day, it must’ve been emotionally draining to deal with everything else.

You lean your head on his shoulder, eyelids heavy with sleep. “Yeah, Timmy?”

His hand finds yours in your lap, slightly calloused fingers gliding against yours, a softer palm following. 

You feel his head lean against yours. “Thank you. For today.”

“Thank you for letting me do it for you.”

Tim squeezes your hand and you think he’ll pull back.

He doesn’t.

Instead, with some movement, you find the blanket thrown over the back of the couch now draped over your laps. 

With his hand in yours, the comforting scent of eucalyptus surrounding you in tandem with his body heat, you surrender too easily to the pull of sleep.

(Later, in the early morning when the sun hasn’t risen but is just about to break the horizon, you stir, not finding yourself in your bed like last time but instead held tightly in his arms, your legs tangled beneath the blanket which isn’t really necessary, with the body heat he emanates. In his sleep, Tim breathes slow and soft, warm exhales of air tickling the skin of your forehead as you two share a pillow. And too sleepy and warm to care, you burrow into his arms, which tighten around you in his sleep, close your eyes, and drift back to off to dreamland.

A few hours later, you’ll wake again, but alone this time, disappointment gnawing at you at the realization. 

At least until the bathroom door opens and Tim steps out, his hair mussed, pillow creases still on his cheek, and he bids you a sleepy smile and asks what you want for breakfast.

And this is when you will realize you are past the point of no return. But you don’t care that the chances of him returning your affections are so laughably low that it actually isn’t funny. You don’t care about any of that. You just care to keep him around. For as long as you possibly can.)

reblogs are appreciated!

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x y/n #tim drake x you #red robin x y/n #red robin x you #batfam x you #batfam x y/n #batfam x reader

[w1ldthoughts]

The Forgotten One Extra: Fool’s Gold

A/n: Don’t know if you all remember this series but @vanwritesfan-fiction had the brilliant idea for me to expand on it a bit. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Angst.

“Here are last month’s progress reports. We need to get all of this information together by next week and adjust the payroll.” Cleo sifts through the other sheets laying on the side of your desk, hoping to lighten your stack. The two of you had been up to your necks in paperwork, looking forward to another round of number crunching and maximizing the company’s revenue when it comes to placing bets.

“I do have to meet with accounting later and figure out our plus and minuses, see how much we can squeeze out before cashing in during the Kentucky Derby.”

This time of the year was always the most stressful being in your position. Director of operations means being the overseer of essentially every division. You felt like you were being pulled in a million different directions, constantly on the phone with partnering companies and making sure that everyone on staff was taken care of. It was the most overwhelming but fulfilling job you’d ever had. You just wished there was more time to sit and actually eat lunch.

“Ben is out sick today so I’m gonna go grab us some more coffee. Do you want your usual?” You asked Cleo on your way out the door, waiting for her to nod. Once you got your answer you headed down the hall, almost to the elevator when you heard hushed voices. You recognized them immediately. They were two women pretty fresh out of college working in marketing and sometimes they reminded you of yourself and Cleo when you first got to Churchill Downs. It made you smile.

“We need to submit this by tomorrow night so we can get to the meeting with y/n on Friday.” One of them said, messing with her phone.

The other one held the door for her and nodded in agreement. “Y/n’s cool and a nice boss but god I wish I was her. It would be so nice to not actually have to give a shit about your job when you’re fucking the owner of the company.”

“I know. I’m surprised she’s still as active as she is at work because I know for sure I would be at home enjoying my life as the trophy wife I am.” Her voice sounded so upbeat and excited when all her words did was cut down your confidence. Is that what your coworkers thought of you? A full-time live-in girlfriend and part-time Churchill Downs employee? Hearing that all the work you’d continuously put into your job and this company were reduced to a mere hobby made you sick. As soon as they were out of sight, you rushed down the stairs and didn’t even bother with the elevator.

Comments had been made like this about you before, you knew that. People always had something to say about mixing relationships with work, especially when you decide to date the boss so most of the time you let the comments roll off of you. But something about this made you feel…gross. Instead of being an inspiration to the women who worked alongside you, you were the poster child for nepotism. And the thought of that made your skin crawl. But of course, all of those thoughts had to be set aside at the end of your workday when you accompanied Jack to a Chief Executive dinner, where a bunch of business people gathered in their Sunday best, ate a lavish meal and somewhere along the way engaged in meaningful peer interactions.

The evening started off normal, other than the necklace you were wearing causing more irritation than usual. The room was stuffy and Jack was whisked away to talk to the executive officer of Delta Airlines about some deal with flights for this year’s Kentucky Derby. Even though you knew that Jack knew you should be involved in the conversation and would end up taking care of everything anyway, the interaction happened so fast that you found yourself sitting without him at your table when the first course of the evening was served. Just the sight of those stuffed mushrooms took away the little appetite you had left. Taking a sip of your wine, you subtly tried to scan the room to find him and see if you could catch the last part of the conversation, or at the very least, introduce yourself.

“Don’t worry. You get used to it.” The man sitting a few seats away said, breaking you out of your search. The whole situation made you feel like a child whose parent had forgotten to pick them up from school. “They just leave us here to fend for ourselves. At least the dessert options are usually good. Cheers to my fellow plus-one. We struck gold, didn’t we?” He raised his glass, making you grip yours even tighter as you held it in the air, downing your drink immediately after. You excused yourself from the table, finally spotting Jack surrounded by a group full of people who you recognized as sponsors for some of your biggest events, smiling and laughing without a care in the world and it felt like all of the air in the room had disappeared. Instead of heading to your boyfriend for comfort, you found yourself outside wondering if you could really do this for the rest of your life.

Could you?

“Baby? Did you hear what I just said?” Jack laughs, bringing you out of your daze. Rapidly blinking and coming back into yourself, you shook your head. Most of the night had been a blur and you didn’t even remember the drive home. Had he held your hand at all that night? Had you two even spoken to each other?

“Sorry, no I—I didn’t. What is it?”

He walked over to you, placing both thumbs on your temples, his hands were still a little cold from the walk into the house and it soothed your stress-induced headache. “Is everything ok? You seemed a little off tonight.”

“I’m good, just tired I think,” you tried to reassure him…and yourself. “Tell me what you said earlier.”

“Oh um, Ed invited us to his Chairman’s Club Gala. I think we’re really close to securing that partnership with them and it would be huge for us to have him and Delta Airlines on board.”

The light in his eyes and the excitement in his voice almost made you say yes. But then you remembered tonight and the incident from earlier in the day and—

“Jack I can’t. Maybe you should just go by yourself?”

“Y/n, I need you! We’re a team. And you know—”

“It looks better for you to be in a committed relationship? I get that. But I just, I can’t right now.” You let go of the hand you were holding, opting to cross your arms over your chest.“You don’t even realize what happened tonight do you?” You whisper.

Jack recognized the subtle shift in your energy.“I knew something was wrong.” He pauses, taking a breath. “What happened?”

“You left me. Treated me like some regular woman instead of someone who has a huge role at YOUR company. It would’ve been nice to meet Ed and get to talk to people instead of sitting at the table alone while you do your thing. You say we’re a team but it’s feeling like that’s only when it’s convenient for you.”

He leans against the counter next to you with a deep sigh. “Fuck, you’re right. I should’ve made sure you were with me but I just got way too ahead of myself and it was shitty. I’m sorry for that and at this Chairman’s Gala I will be better. I promise you.”

“Jackman, you're not hearing me. I don’t want to go. Seriously, I didn’t go to college majoring in how to be the perfect arm candy.” You were desperately trying to keep your voice from rising, but it was already happening.

“You are not arm candy, nobody said all that” he rolls his eyes.

“Actually they did!” You snap. “This morning, I heard people talking about me, about us. And shit they might be right. At the office I am in charge but out in the world where it really matters? I’m just someone on your arm and the shit’s embarrassing.”

“So being with me is embarrassing now? Got it y/n. Just because two nobodies at work said some dumb shit now you’re letting it affect you and affect our relationship?” He counters, clearly getting frustrated. “I’m telling you that this thing with Ed is really fucking important to me and you’re worried about everything else. This is business, sometimes we do shit we don’t wanna do and we make sacrifices. That’s a part of the damn job.”

“Actually? I clocked out of my ‘damn job’ hours ago. Right now, I’m trying to get my point across but we aren’t getting anywhere.”

“Because you’re not LISTENING to me.” He yells, the darkness to his tone immediately had you on the defense.

“I don’t have to! This isn’t about you right now and I know you’re shocked, but not everything is about you.

“It is so much more than just making teeny tiny sacrifices, Jack.” The tears were already threatening to escape. “I smile in pictures even though on the inside I’m fucking seething. I sit in rooms I wouldn’t even be allowed to breathe next to had it not been for my sex life. I make conversations with people who have been riding on their partner’s coattails since before I was born and I’ll be damned if I become one of those insensitive bitter plus ones who think the highlight of their life is to suck the martini off of their olives.”

“I’m not one of those people I—my parents would be so disappointed in who I’ve become. Shit I’M disappointed in who I’ve become. I don’t even know who I am right now. And you just want me to stand there, shake hands and smile for the fucking camera and go through the motions. It’s not as easy for me to fake it as it is for you.”

That definitely had his attention. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means you don’t get it Jack! You were born into this. You were literally born for this, every moment of your life has prepared you to be in this position. I’m constantly being thrown to the wolves and I have to do my best to catch up. All of this bending over backwards to fit in is hard. Especially when we are clearly not on the same page about well…anything it seems.”

Jack’s face drops at your confession. “So you—what do you want me to say? What can I do? Because I don’t want you to feel like you’re wasting your time.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I know this shit is…hard. And I admittedly haven’t been paying as much attention as I should have been and that’s my fault. But we still have each other. Right?”

Right?

“God I—I don’t know.” You sob.

He wraps you in his arms, holding you close. “Baby, we will figure it out. We just need to—”

You sighed deeply, struggling to keep it together, creating a bit of physical distance. “Oh my god Jack, there is no just. You don’t understand what it’s like and you never will. There is no simple fix and you’re not going to swoop in and make it all better. Not this time.”

“I don’t know if I can do this forever, I mean look at what it’s doing to us already. I basically just called you a spoiled brat, twice. You? The love of my fucking life. I don’t want to resent you, I don’t want to regret any part of being with you and here we are at each other’s throats over a fucking gala. We can’t keep going like this.” You looked at his shirt that was soaked with your tears but you couldn’t stop crying. Not when you were about to do this.

“I think we should—”

“No.” Jack stopped you, his eyes bloodshot red when you met his gaze. “We’re not doing that. Fuck no. I mean—please. Y/n please.”

His begging almost broke you and you’d never forget the look on his face as long as you lived. “I love you,” you began, “I love you so much. But if we are going to figure out how our lives, if our lives actually fit. We just need some time apart. To be sure that this is really what we want.”

“Please Jack, I need this.” You beg. “I’m so sorry.”

He nods his head slowly, leaving you with a simple kiss on the forehead.

“I know what I want. I want you.” He tells you with the utmost confidence. “And if that’s not enough, then maybe we aren’t meant for each other.”

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