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theinternetisfulloftrash · 1 year

Note

Hey!!

Can I request “are you wearing my shirt?” with Dylan? Please and thank you!

Love you xx

You've waited a long time for this...

SO YES, I most certainly can! This sounds like fun :) MUCH LOVE!

Authors Note: Cliche? Maybe. But some lines are classic. Sue me. But like, don't? Litigation is expensive ;) p.s. smut... p.p.s. x female reader.

Prompt list HERE, but currently closed. This prompt is like a year old :/

Better on the Floor

Exhausted would be putting it mildly. You'd had a long week and the fact that it was only Wednesday wasn't helping. When you got home, you kicked out of your shoes, stretching out your aching toes as you stripped out of your stiflingly uncomfortable clothes, wandering your way slowly down the hall toward the bedroom. You peeled off your underwear and tossed them in the hamper before you padded into the bathroom to turn on the faucet of the bathtub. You watched the water pool in the palm of your hand, running out between the gaps of your fingers until it was just this side of scalding before you plugged the tub.

You stretched out like a cat in a sunbeam and then pulled open the drawer of the vanity to grab a bath bomb. You watched impatiently as the bath slowly filled before tossing the little ball of Epsom salt into the water, watching it fizz for a few moments before you followed after and slid into the water.

You could almost feel the muscles of your back sigh in relief as the warmth washed over them, drawing out at least some of the tension that had been locking them in place for days. You relaxed against the slope of the bath, letting your neck roll against the soft bath cushion for a few minutes. Enjoying the silence long enough to feel human again before you flicked the water from your hands and reached down to grab your phone from the bathmat.

Your discover playlist on Spotify was something you liked to try to fit in during the week because you always liked finding something new, and you hadn't had a chance yet this week. Now seemed as good a time as any. You tapped to play and then set your phone down on the edge of the bath. You weren't sure exactly how much time had passed before the music faded out to an incoming notification, but when you swiped to view the text, your fingers were wrinkled and pale from the soak.

Dylan: So... I'm outside... and I'm an idiot

You smiled and shook your head before your smile turned to more of a smirk. You sat up a bit in the bath, shaking the water off your other hand so you could reply.

You: Alright. I'm intrigued.

Dyan: I might have...maybe...possibly left my keys in my trailer

You: How'd you get home?

Dylan: Fob wasn't on my key ring after I had it detailed

Dylan: Come let me in? I feel like a creep lurking out here

You: One sec

This was exactly like him, and it only made you love him more. You smiled as you stepped out of the bath and quickly toweled dry with one that was a bit smaller than you'd like if you were going to the door, so you snatched his bundled t-shirt off the counter and pulled it on before you rushed to the front door and unlocked it.

"Hey," he said with a smile when you opened the door.

"Hey," you replied, reaching out your hand to take his. You pulled him inside and into a tight hug, standing up on the tips of your toes and locking your arms together around his neck.

He gently kicked the door closed behind him and locked the deadbolt before he fully hugged you back, squeezing you tight around the waist and sighing into the damp hair at the nape of your neck.

"Oh no... you were in the bath, weren't you?" He pulled back and cupped your cheek in his palm. "Sorry, baby."

"'S'okay..." you hummed, nuzzling into his touch, enjoying the warmth of his palm on your cheek.

"You must have been so cozy in there..." He admired you for a moment, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before his gaze roamed down over your body.

You smiled, blushing at his attention.

"You look pretty comfy now though..." he said softly, pausing for a moment before he continued. "Is that...are you wearing my shirt?"

"Mhm..." you hummed, swaying slightly in his arms.

His eyes continued roaming, his hands following the trail they blazed until they were toying with the hem of it that was skirting across your upper thighs.

The skimming touch of his fingertips on your skin lit it with goosebumps. "It looks better on me..." you lied.

"Maybe..." he chuckled softly, pulling his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before his eyes met yours again, "but it'd look even better on the floor."

Did it matter that it was a line if ever you'd heard one? Not even slightly. It still sent a filthy little shiver down your spine. It didn't help that he'd leaned in and was peppering the side of your throat with wet little kisses as he walked you backward until you were pressed to the wall of the entryway.

He kissed you hard, his hands pinning your shoulders to the wall before they slid down your body and pulled his shirt up over it. He tossed it on the floor and then leaned in again, his nose brushing against yours before he whispered in your ear.

"See?" he breathed, his lips wet on your skin. His fingertips ghosted along your skin until one palm settled on your chest, the other on your ass.

You didn't see a damn thing except for little stars, but he'd more than made his point. You punched out an abrupt panted breath at the feeling of his fingers pinching your nipple before he sealed his lips to yours and swallowed down the little moan he pulled from you.

He kissed you until you were breathless, and in the brief reprieve he offered—mouthing along your jawline and driving you wild with the little grazes of his teeth—you managed to draw in a ragged enough lung full of air to keep from passing out.

You were pretty sure you'd collapse if he wasn't holding you in place. His touch, his admiration of your body, it had you forgetting just how awful you'd been feeling just an hour ago. Turns out? A hot bath and a fine-ass man putting his hands all over you are the curealls for just about everything. Who knew.

"Missed you..." he hummed against the thin skin that covered your collarbone.

Your head fell back against the wall.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you..." he said before he kissed his way to the dip at the base of your throat. "Took a shower on my break..."

You looked down at him, at his hand that was clasped to your upper arm, those beautiful veins painting across the tendons that flexed at his grip. His dark hair smelled of his shampoo.

"Had me so riled up I had hide in there and beat off just so I could be seen in fucking public."

It made you immeasurably happy that he was still infatuated enough with you that he was capable of expressing the laughably pathetic self-control of a hormone-addled teen. Your cheeks flushed and a little chuckle shook your chest.

"I deserve that..." He smiled against your skin, before he pulled back from you, his eyes locking with yours. "But I mean..." his gaze flicked down your body before his hand that had been nestled into the dip of your waist slipped down between the two of you until he was cupping the warmth of your core in his hand. "Can you blame me?"

"Fuck."

Now he was the one chuckling, but it quickly faded, his expression shifting from sly to sultry when his fingers slipped inside of you.

You groaned, your head falling forward to his clothed shoulder. You gripped the fabric of his shirt, stretching out the neck enough to expose some skin for you to latch onto with a nipping little bite.

He winced, sucking in a quick breath before he distracted you from your mission to mark your territory with a curl of his fingers inside you.

"Oh— Shit!" you gasped, panting into the cotton of his shirt until it was damp with your desperate breaths.

"That feel good?" he asked, even though the way you were squeezing his fingers had to be answer enough.

You nodded against his chest before he used the curled index finger on his free hand to lift your chin.

"Good," he said before he leaned in and kissed you.

His soft lips felt incredible, the flavour mint on his breath mixed with the faintest hint of tobacco, the combination had become something uniquely 'him' to you. It made your head spin. So, when his tongue begged to be let in to play with yours, you were happy to oblige.

You let him work you over until you could feel that little buzz building up inside you, that tingling hint that—with just a little more effort, one more precise little motion—he'd have you cumming before he was even out of his shoes, and that hardly seemed acceptable.

Breaking your kiss, you pulled away from his chasing lips, knowing you must look absolutely wrecked, and then you gripped him through his pants.

He tossed his head back and practically growled at your touch, his fingers stilling for only a moment before his eyes met yours once more with a fierce, fiery need. He shoved your hand aside and ripped open the zipper of his jeans and shoved your hand into his boxers.

"That's what you do to me..." he said, rutting into your palm, matching his pace with his fingers inside you as he kicked out of his sneakers.

You grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off him, tossing it against the wall behind him. "Take those off..." you said, flicking your gaze down his body at his pants, flexing your wrist inside his boxers.

He stepped out of his jeans and socks and then pressed you against the wall once more, rubbing his thigh against the back of his arm to apply a bit more pressure to the hand that was driving you insane.

"You close?" he asked, nosing your jawline and breathing against your skin.

You nodded, pressing a kiss to the side of his throat before you spoke. "Yes..."

He pressed his thumb against your clit and you gasped his name into his hair when his lips fell to your chest.

Just when you thought he was going to shove you off the edge, you felt his fingers slip free from you before he slid down onto his knees in front of you. His warm brown eyes looking up at you, his soft lips parted just inches from your skin. This was criminal. This was attempted murder in the first degree.

When his tongue teased over you, the flutter of his eyelashes was almost enough to get you off. It looked like he was taking a hit of a designer drug...getting high off you.

He moaned against your skin and his hands pinned your hips to the wall, gripping the soft skin under them tight enough that it stung. That tiny hint of pain only made all of it better.

Your hands tangled into his hair, drawing him closer to you. You sighed out his name and half-formed expletives as his tongue teased you back to that precipice he'd had you teetering over minutes earlier.

He sealed his lips around the singing little bundle of nerves and flicked his tongue, his beard teasing the sensitive skin, before he let his lips fall open and he lapped along the slick of you he'd made slicker with his skilled mouth.

You were trembling now, your fingernails scraping along the back of his neck now, your legs weak with the effort of holding yourself up when all you wanted to do was fall apart.

"Come for me..." he breathed before he sealed his lips again.

Demand? Request? It hardly fucking mattered, because before you could classify it as either you were doing it. You were calling out, grasping his shoulders and trembling against his hold on your hips.

He pulled back from you, wiping his mouth into the palm of his hand before he stood in front of you once more. "Mmm...." he hummed before you watched him stroke his length with his wet hand. "Love the way you sound when you're cussing my name..."

Fuck. He'd only just made you come and you felt a new little ember spark to life inside you just waiting to be stoked. Insatiable was putting it lightly. When he kissed you this time, you could taste what he'd done to you—how he'd just driven you wild—and you needed to make him feel just as good.

You stepped apart enough to make more space for him between your legs and pulled him toward you. "Need you..." you whispered against his lips.

"Need me to what?" he replied, kissing along your jawline to your ear before he lapped against your throat and sealed his lips to suck a little mark into your skin.

You bucked your hips against him, feeling his length slide through the mess he'd made of you. "To fuck me..."

The way he responded to those words never got old. You held them in reserve, generally choosing to be a touch more subtle. He practically growled, his head snapping back, his dark eyes trained on yours when his grip on you tightened.

You gasped when he hefted you up in front of him, lining himself up with you, locking your thighs around his hips before he pinned you to the wall so he could free one of his hands enough to lock one of your wrists up in it just above your head. Then he drove into you in a slow, firm thrust.

"Dylan!" you cried out before he kissed you again, grinding you back against the wall before he began a more predictable, yet tantalizing rhythm.

A perfectly good couch in the living room just steps away really, a bed down the hall that was plush and waiting, and yet here you were fucking against the wall a step inside the front door like a couple of rabid animals.

When he fucked you like this he never retreated, in this position he just rocked his body into yours. The pressure it provided just where you wanted it most was unmatched. It was incredible and intense. It quickly reminded you why the couch and the bed should be neglected from time to time. Variety is the spice of life, right? And this particular variety was delicious.

"Fuck, baby..." he moaned, his hand slipping from yours, his fingers gliding through your hair until they were tangled into it and he tugged it just enough to make you wince. "So good... so fucking tight..."

"Shit!" He was driving you fucking wild. Sometimes you wish you could take just a tiny day trip into his mind to see if you made him feel as unhinged as he did you. Hardly seemed possible, but the way he looked buried inside you? You could be tempted to believe there was a chance his infatuation could rival your own.

Your body was trembling again and you felt that familiar tug inside you, that welcomed warmth building. Desire and need beginning to fold to bliss and euphoria. Was he with you? Was he ready?

The stutter of his hips, the faltering of that perfect rhythm, they were signs that he was on the edge of his own release. His breath grew ragged, and his jaw clenched with the effort it was clearly taking him to hold it back.

You didn't want him to wait, he was ready and so were you. You leaned forward and kissed him, clenching around him as the final roll of his hips had you coming undone around him.

The soft rumble of the groan he let out into your mouth when you felt him spill inside you made every sensation feel all the more intoxicating. Moments like this were almost unfathomable. How did you end up here? Lucky enough to have this man panting against your chest? It was absurd really. Absolutely batshit.

After a few moments of shared giggles and coming back to reality, he picked the shirt you'd been wearing off the floor and handed it to you to slip back on.

He appraised you as you tugged the hem down over your body.

"What?" you asked, smoothing the new tangles in your hair.

"Nothin'..." he said with a shrug, pulling on his boxers. "Just nice being right."

You narrowed your eyes. "About?"

"Definitely better on the floor."

#dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o'brien smut #dylan o'brien fanfiction #dylan o'brien x reader #my first attempt at prompts!#trashy writing #better on the floor fic #is this a tired trope?#I mean... maybe #but some lines are just... ✨hot✨#so... forgive me for a bit of recycling #first new thing in a while #ENOJYYYY #kinda threw... *a lot* at this one

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bones-of-a-rabbit · 1 year

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oooooo we love ourselves an angy boy,, especially one that is still 200% soft for one(1) persons (its u ur th persons)

#i just. i just like it w #when they defend n protec without even thinkin #they see someone make u upset and they r like #so you have chosen DEATH #idk i think it do b kinda endearing hjfhjhhkfd leave me and my unhealthy relationship tropes alone #royal au #royal eclipse #royal x servant au #fnaf au #fnaf eclipse x reader #betrothed au #angy boi #man i have so many ideas for these idiots someone smack me #doodles #sketches #bones of a rabbit au #also pls forgive how lazy i am lmao cries

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sonwar · 1 year

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in case anyone (me) needed to see them

#just finished reading Say It Just One Time by poisonivory which i had been putting off for almost a year #because break up/make up tropes make me especially sad and i’ve got delicate constitutions #but i finally got around to it and now i have a lot of emotions and i miss them #remember when they basically got married in the Fortress #cause i sure do #good times. simpler times.#bendis&taylor i will never forgive you and i will never forget #damian wayne #jonathan kent #robin #super boy #super sons #damijon #dc #comics #rowan misses his boys #<- super sons tag??? we’ll see

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paperpocalypse · 2 years

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case 254.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 1. There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader Word Count: 1,591 words Warnings: Swearing, violence

You are, by all accounts, married to your work.

And you are a loyal lover. The briefcase is your certificate, the bullets your vows. You keep them close wherever you go. Twenty-four years in the Commission is nothing to sneeze at, and you have never – not once – been unfaithful.

… Not in action, at least. Recent thoughts of retirement have begun tempting you to the point of an emotional affair.

(You’d get married, maybe. To a person, not a job. Live in a one-story home with a pond in the backyard and not too far from the nearest Walmart, adopt a little dog that you and your spouse spoil to bits. You’d die peacefully in your sleep instead of bleeding out in an alleyway somewhere.)

“Shit.”

Coughing, you spit and wipe your mouth with the cuff of your sleeve. Damn Arnie made you bite your own tongue.

“The police will be here any minute!” he yells through the walls, and something clatters to the ground. “You can’t make me go back!”

“I’m not making you go back, Arn,” you call back, exasperated. “I got an order to kill you.”

“Oh, fuck off!”

You chuckle and stumble back to your feet.

Arnold had been a loyal employee of the Temps Commission for twenty years. He specializes in 18th century weaponry, his kill count is in the hundreds, and he relies on cigarettes in the same way you rely on coffee. He is also a friend of yours – or the closest thing a Temps assassin can have to a friend – and that’s probably why the Board sent you to kill him.

They had given you two days. You had promised one.

It’s been three.

“You shouldn’t have tried to sell your briefcase to the military, Arnie!”

Arnie doesn’t reply. The squeal and slam of a door grates on your ears, and you swear aloud, rushing to the bathroom.

You break the door open and don’t hesitate to fire in quick succession, just barely missing a shoe slipping from the windowsill.

Clicking your tongue, you pause.

“Dammit.”

Something small and cylindrical is lobbed through the window, bouncing and rolling to a stop at your feet.

“Dammit!”

You book it out of the bathroom, rounding a corner and diving to the ground just as the grenade explodes. The floor shivers. You cover your ears and hold your breath.

If people had ignored the ruckus beforehand, they certainly can’t now.

Panting, you scrape yourself off the floor, reaching back to pull your Glock out and heading back to the bathroom. “Son of a bitch …”

Smoke and burst pipes and rubble are all that remains of the bathroom. Your heart drops to your stomach when you recognize the guts of your Commission briefcase among the rubble. This has got to be the second-worst fumble of your career; you should’ve thrown the briefcase out first and then run out. Your rifle is a lost cause too.

Shaking your head, you approach the gaping hole in the wall and slowly clamber down the side of the building. Arnold couldn’t have gotten far, not with a concussion and the bullet in his leg. Thank goodness. You don’t have as much stamina for high-speed chases as you used to.

The same moment that you land on a patch of broken bricks and dirt, the sound of a gunshot resonates behind you.

You immediately whip around, firing a shot into Case 254’s head before you can even register that his back had been facing you.

Arnold collapses, dead, onto the ground a few meters away from you. Your lips part. You quickly look back up and keep your gun poised.

A man points his rifle back at you.

“Got him before you did,” he tells you, voice low and gruff.

There’s a briefcase at his feet.

“Did the Board think I couldn’t handle this one?” you ask, aiming between the man’s eyes. You like the way he speaks, even though it pisses you off. He’s confident. “Or do they think I defected too?”

“Did you?” he challenges.

Not in ways they can punish. “If I did, Arnie wouldn’t have tried to blow me up with an MK3.”

“… Humph.”

Sirens are getting ever louder. The two of you lower your weapons; you’re no longer wary of this fellow assassin, but the glare he’s fixing you with makes you want to rile him up.

“Tell me your name, hotshot,” you say, walking over to Arnold and rummaging through his clothes.

He grunts sourly. “Why would I tell you anything?”

“To make conversation.” You find some loose change and a coupon for a tanning salon – alright – but what you’re really interested in is the copy of the briefcase’s blueprints. You pocket everything. “It stimulates the mind. I think you might need that in your old age.”

When you face the man fully again, he rolls his eyes.

Then he literally disappears into thin air.

You blink. The dots connect as quickly as the flaring lights of police cars shine around the corners of the building, and a frenzied laugh escapes your lips.

“What a gentleman.”

Guess the rumors were right – the Commission’s new darling, Five, is a genius as well as an asshole.

On the other side of the apartment complex, the detective tells officers to surround the building. You quickly put your gun away and take off before they reach the back.

“I heard someone running! Over here!”

You run until you reach a chain-link fence, locating a spot where the mesh had peeled away from the post and slipping through with gritted teeth. The air inside your mask weighs on your skin, hot and thick from your heavy breathing. Your feet already hurt. You should’ve invested in those gel insoles Arnold told you about before he decided to defect.

“Stop! This is the police!”

You hold back a groan. You’re getting too old for this shit.

But you keep going anyways. You keep running, turn a corner and cut through back alleys, knock out the few people you pass who are unlucky enough to be out at two in the morning. And for some reason, they keep pursuing you, getting closer and closer –

You hear something like a muffled pop of air. A hand grips your arm and drags you into an alley.

You scramble for your Glock, but as soon as your fingers brush its handle, it disappears. Five pushes you down behind a dumpster and shoves a hand up your mask to cover your mouth. It takes everything in you to keep from gagging when you land on a trash bag way too wet-sounding for your liking.

“Quiet.”

You huff, tearing his hand away. Your arm is pinned against his sternum, your head much too close to his. His breathing is quiet, measured, and slow.

(He’s used to this. Used to running, used to hiding, just like you.)

Five runs warm. You like it in the same way that you like the way he speaks.

Footsteps hurry past your hiding place, then fade into the distance.

After waiting about ten more minutes, you let your head knock back against the wall. “Shit.” You chuckle. “I owe you one, Mr. Five.”

Five doesn’t acknowledge your gratitude. Instead, he pushes himself away from you and drops your Glock into your lap, then grabs his briefcase and stands up. Though you resent the loss of heat, you join him with a more appropriate amount of space between the two of you.

“I’ll take you back to headquarters,” Five states, sounding as if his teeth are about to be pulled.

“Thank you kindly,” you reply. “It must be my lucky day, getting my hide saved and escorted by the Commission’s rising star.”

“I’m sure.” His tone is dry.

Sirens wail as you tell him your name.

“I know,” Five mutters, unclipping the briefcase. “You were mentioned in the kill order for your pal back there.”

Ah. You nod, smiling a bit tightly, and put your hands on the briefcase as well. “Of course.”

A flash, and you’re both back in 1955, the sun too bright and the air too stale. You feel the beginnings of a headache.

“Still hate time travel after twenty plus years,” you comment, letting go. “Did using your powers have the same effect?”

Five regards you silently, lips pursed. “Hard to recall,” he finally says, snapping the briefcase shut.

“The lab’s developing some meds for the side effects. Apparently, they’re doing trial runs soon.”

“That so.”

“Yes.” You squint up at HQ, brush off your suit, and exhale loudly. “Anyway, I better get going. See you later, Mr. Five.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Just Five is fine.”

“See you later, Five,” you emphasize with a grin. “Maybe we’ll be able to team up in the future.”

All he does is cast you an unimpressed glance before disappearing through one of his teleportation portal things.

You stare at the now empty space and sigh, putting your hands on your hips. Well, the apocalypse doesn’t exactly make one a good conversationalist. (Either that, or he finds you insufferable.)

As you stroll into the Commission building to turn in the briefcase blueprint and procure another briefcase, you think of your life so far. You think of your marriage to your work, of the sleepless honeymoon stage and the bitter taste of the past ten years. You think of that dark alley, of that moment of companionship, one-sided though it was.

And maybe you find yourself just a little more unfaithful.

#cliché tropes and prompts #source: bucky-plums-barnes #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy five #the umbrella academy #tua #five x reader #five imagine #tua fanfic #fanfic #reader insert #silververse #s3 coming out tomorrow babey !!#forgive me for the person i am about to become

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sidsinning · 1 year

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Is the couple from A Silent Voice technically bully x victim

Like I know he isn't anymore by the time they fall for each other

But technically wouldn't they fall under that category 🤔

#i ask this bc everyone hates b x v #but like....listen #they might be the only exception #bc they don't have the typical bully x victim traits that make the trope toxic #shes not like oh i love u even tho u beat me up #and hes completely out of the bully zone when he actually falls for her #and the forgiveness she gives him is super sincere and treated right #so #ill give the b x v trope 1 point #if they count LOL #sidrabbles #a silent voice

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pourablecat · 10 months

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Okay okay okay I have a mad little headcanon about Granny Weatherwax bear with me through these self-indulgent doodle explanations okay?

So it is a known fact that on any given day she wears enough pins in her hair to build a house.

This causes trouble in things like metal detectors (or fairy circles).

The underlying cause is (the length of) her beautiful unicorn-snaring mane. (See: Lords and Ladies)

So so so so. I headcanon that in the heat of their mid-makeover prank warfare in Maskerade, Nanny orchestrates events so it all gets snipped off. (Jealous, perhaps, of Ridcully?)

But obviously Granny would rock the look.

I am such a sucker for the style-changing haircut. (Plus, no more pins needed now! Except for stabbing purposes.)

#discworld #discworld fanart #gnu terry pratchett #ye gods forgive me this is so self-indulgent #so much drivel #but it's 12:30 am and I'm a bit tired #granny weatherwax #nanny ogg #obviously Roman Holiday was my formative experience with the haircut trope

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nipchipcookies · 5 months

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no bitches disease

Messy doodle of Ben with hanahaki disease cause it’s one of those fanfic tropes that me and my roommate joke about after I explained it to him lol

#bloons #btd6 #bloons td 6 #bloons tower defense #monke #btd6 benjamin #hanahaki disease #hanahaki #not my favourite ship trope to read #but drawing bloody flowers is fun #forgive me for drawing the most random of Bloons fanart

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havockingboo · 8 months

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I caved in to the oc x canon with this stupid idiot……..

#i look so silly right now BUT I COULDNT RESIST #i compared their heights ONCE and i was done for bro #and i’ve barely shared her character. BUT I THINK THEYD BE SO FUNNY #NOT DATING. BUT THEY DEF ACT LIKE EXES BWAHAHA #‘they’re the ‘you wanna kiss me so bad. it makes you look stupid’ meme #long tags #doodles #oc x canon #i’m too shy put proper tags forgive me #i just love big women with men that’ll break at her touch trope <3

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wexpyke · 2 years

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Arondir being a one-man army in The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power 1x06.

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arabian-batboy · 8 months

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What do you think of Clownhunter?

I REALLY like him, it was about time we got a character like him since his niche really fits well in Gotham's stories and I'm honestly surprised we haven't seen him be used much since Joker War ended beside making him work with Ghost-Maker and their interaction are nice and all, but honestly from what I have seen they're trying too hard to make them "Edgy Batman and Robin" and I don't like it.

I did enjoy the scene where Ghost-Maker locked him, Batman and Harley in a room though. Its a shame that when he was about to kill Harley, they made her give a corny half-assed apology filled with zero accountability that actually worked on him. Really wished when she said "if you want to kill me you can" that Bao would have went "okay!" and actually tried to kill her (Batman could have stopped it last second), but alas no one is allowed to harm or hold grudges against DC's ultimate cashcow, no matter how much she deserves it.

I also remember really wanting him to be Jason's sidekick when first reading "Batman Secret Files: Clownhunter" and seeing Jason after to train him and I still think think this would have been the perfect direction to take for both of their character since they have so many interesting parallels, but I mean look at current Jason.............he's too be busy being Batman's spare moody sidekick and using rubber bullets because Batman told him he's not allowed to use real bullets lol. He's just not enither cool nor capable enough to have a sidekick as awesome as Bao (now UTRH!Jason on the other hand, him and Clownhunter would have been the perfect duo)

I feel like we have already seen the same story a million time about a hurt character wanting to take revenge on those who did them wrong, but then they will immediately stop what they're doing and change their ways the moment Batman gives me that old same cringey speech, so just once I want Batman's words to not work on a kid who continues killing criminals and I'm really hoping Clownhunter will be that character.

#I never liked the trope where someone owns up to their crimes by saying you can kill me if you want #and the other person never actually goes with it #you can't convince me that everyone she has ever wronged will always choose to forgive her?#sorry I know you asked me about Boa but I really can't stand this cashcow #Bao Pham #clownhunter #Jason Todd

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snickerdoodlles · 1 year

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To be fair kidnapping Chay wasn't Vegas's fucking plan, Tawan is just insane. Agreed though I think Kim and Porsche are decent in-laws

I know it was left a little vague, but in canon, Tawan went off Vegas’s plan by accelerating it.

Vegas and Porsche make a plan to pick up Chay the next day so he can join the two of them on the run. while that itself wouldn’t be kidnapping, Vegas’s entire plan was to. y’know. frame Porsche as a sell-out and kill him and Chay to cover it up. kidnapping Chay and holding him hostage is still part of that plan, it was still going to happen—Tawan ruined it by kidnapping Chay before Vegas could.

also, even if it wasn’t, Tawan kidnapping Chay in the first place was to help Vegas. this doesn’t necessarily put that blame directly on Vegas, but who the fuck would blame Porsche if he were really fucking pissed at Vegas for it anyways? bros don’t kidnap other bros little brothers, not even tangentially >:(

but Porsche doesn’t hold it against Vegas! he might’ve let it go because of unusual circumstances and how he was short of options at the time, but Porsche overall has astronomical reserves for forgiveness. he quietly works through his feelings when he’s upset with people and usually comes out the other end having forgiven them—see Arthee, see Kinn, see Vegas, hell even see Khun! the only person he doesn’t forgive is Korn (who killed his father, kidnapped his mother, forced him into the mafia, and fucking more) (fuck Korn). getting back to my point—Porsche doesn’t hold grudges against people, and he most certainly is going to start with Kim.

Porsche just plain isn’t going to hate Kim for any of the mafia shit, or even anything that went down in Kim and Chay’s canon relationship. they’re dumdums in love, but Porsche will let them sort it out themselves (may I remind people that Porsche only punched Vegas once for KIDNAPPING AND TORTURING HIS FRIEND even while also giving him the chance to talk shit out with Pete—Chay might be more of a hot button than Pete, but Kim only hurt Chay’s feelings and ran away, Porsche is not so irrational). sorry nonny, I did not mean to go off on a rant here, but I despise this trope where Porsche hates on Kim because it:

a) completely disregards who he is in canon and massively distorts Porsche’s character into this irrational piece of shit hypocrite

b) overrules Chay’s feelings/choices/decisions just so the author can be mean to Kim

c) Porsche’s gaydar got replaced with a nongdar. the only person who adopts more little brothers than Porsche is Tankhun—Porsche 100% sees angry little bitch Kim and goes free brother! without stopping to ask permission

#kinnporsche #i swear I’m not mad or annoyed at you anon!#i just rly rly RLY hate this trope and thinking about it makes me rant-y 😅#anyways porsche adores kim I will beat this drum forever #and eventually write feral raccoon duo AU #EVENTUALLY #i deleted this part of the rant but the other facet I hate in this trope is that *grabs soapbox*#Chay doesn’t hate nor blame Kim for the mafia shit #but he’s absolutely pissed at EVERYONE ELSE for it #Porsche left him to join the mafia #Vegas embroils him into mafia plots #Kinn keeps Porsche in the mafia #Khun’s coping mechanisms seem callous and cruel at first glance #it’s going to take A LOT OF WORK for Chay to be okay with any of them #the only one he’s willing to forgive right away is Porsche and that’s only because he cares about Porsche more than anyone else in the world #but the mafia still puts a strain on their relationship #i have many feelings about Chay’s relationship with the mafia #maybe even as many as I have for Porsche & Kim

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