#like the moment i post this i hit the hay

[betweenblackberrybranches]

Huh? pre contract familiar au Sun and Moon? In cute aproachable forms? More likely than you think! Their real forms are not something a human would be able to comprehend. And thats very much not ideal if you are looking for a human to form a contract with.

#fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sundrop #moondrop #dca #daycare attendant #dcamv #?is that what we tag em with now? #just dont wanna annoy people who dont want dca aus #my art #familiar au #they cute #me fighting depression by drawing gnarly tree trunk #it works every time #well 'works' as in i actually enjoy creating something again #have fun with this one #anyways ill be sleeping now #like the moment i post this i hit the hay #is work tomorrow

[fizzyxcustard]

Desperation.

Requested by anon and @skeleton-on-wheels0

Taken from: "Imagine that you find out Thorin is in love with you. But you accuse him of only wanting you because you’re the only woman in the Company and he’s desperate. You deeply offend him."

Again, I’m going to post this as a drabble as it’s fairly short, and I won’t tag anyone. 

“I am in love with you,” Thorin said softly as he stood next to you in Beorn’s barn. The midnight moon shone upon his face, highlighting his silver blue eyes, making them sparkle like aquamarine stones. 

A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine at his revelation. Why on earth would Thorin ever feel something for you? Immediately your mind began rationalising his feelings, churning it all over in your mind. For a few seconds and you were silent. 

“And you do not feel the same?” Thorin asked sadly. “I knew it was best I keep my thoughts to myself.” 

“Thorin,” you whispered, placing your hand on his arm. “I…I know I’m the only woman in the Company and no doubt as a male, you’re going to have urges…”

“That is what you think?” he hissed. “You think this is all about me wanting to seduce you?” 

“Please, I didn’t mean it that way.” 

“Then how did you mean it? 

Something snapped within you, a sore pressure point that had been prodded many times over the years. A place where a deeply buried scar lay untouched, waiting for someone to inadvertently uncover it with their words. A flash of anger hit you full force in your head and chest. “You’re just desperate!” you shouted. 

With that, you turned around stormed away towards the back of the barn and slumped down on a bale of hay. Tears were falling down your cheeks now in quick procession which you rubbed away in frustration, only making your cheeks turn redder. 

Thorin sighed and grit his teeth, sensing that your words came from a place of pain. However, those words had also deeply pained him in return. Did you think so little of him? Trust so little? 

***

The next morning and the tension was still thick between you and Thorin. The whole of the Company, including Gandalf, all sat around a large table, drinking milk and eating honeycakes, specially made by the host himself.  However, Beorn announced gruffly that he had no more honeycakes for that morning’s meal, and you were the last person he was intending to serve. 

All the Dwarves, Bilbo and Gandalf looked on, their mouths full of food. Except Thorin. He was sat opposite you and immediately reached across to you and handed his cake to you. “Please, eat,” he said, offering you the cake and a sad smile. 

“I can’t take your breakfast,” you replied. 

“You can and you will,” Thorin said again, placing the cake on your plate. 

“Maybe we could split it?” 

Thorin didn’t respond, but instead kept his gaze locked on you as you broke the cake in half and then gave a portion back to him. 

***

After breakfast, you and Bilbo began filling the saddlebags of the ponies which Beorn was lending you. He had since made more honeycakes, enough to see all of you with food for a good couple of weeks. 

“May we have a moment, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked, suddenly appearing before you both. His eyes then moved to you, telling Bilbo that he wished to talk to you. 

“Oh, yes, sorry,” Bilbo said, flashing a nervous smile. 

“I wish to talk to you about last night. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way. That was never my intention to do so. But what I told you is the truth, and it has nothing at all to do with you being the only female in this Company. I am quite appalled that you think I would pursue you without any real feelings being involved.” 

Your gaze locked with his and you began to speak. “It was unfair of me to say what I did, and I’m sorry. Very few men have ever shown any interest in me in such a way, and then I become a member of your Company and find that you, the rightful king of your homeland, somehow has fallen in love with me. It reads like a pathetic joke. Maybe once we get to Erebor and you see more women again you may…”

“No,” Thorin insisted. “Why do you think so low of yourself? Who has broken you to the point that you cannot accept a declaration of love? I’d hoped you had begun to trust me by now. It is clear you don’t.” 

“I do trust you. Implicitly.”

“Obviously not. You cannot trust that my words are true, and that they come from my heart. I love you for everything that you are, for the woman you are. Not because of some lack of choice.” 

The sadness in his eyes was so clear to see and it made a lump rise in your throat. To keep doubting his love and pushing him away would be wrong of you. It was obvious that Thorin was speaking truth. 

#Thorin Oakenshield #Richard Armitage #Thorin x You #Thorin x Reader #Thorin x Fem!Reader #Thorin Oakenshield x You #Thorin Oakenshield x Reader #Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader #The Hobbit #Thorin Imagine #The Hobbit Imagine #Thorin Oakenshield Imagine #Drabble

[gay-dorito-dust]

Adam had never known someone to have unwavering patience like you had.

No question or inquiry Adam had was deemed too absurd nor too dumb for you to answer whilst also giving him the room for him to come up with his own verdicts based on his personal experiences.

However there was something that still eludes the seemingly perfect being and that happened to be the emotions he felt within your presence that only seemed to linger long after you were out of his sight; Which in due to his need to look out and protect you from practically everything he deemed a threat, was almost nigh impossible.

Adam wasn’t exactly certain what they meant in the grander scheme of things but in those moment where it’s just you and him, he couldn’t help but put all his focus on how you made him feel and it was confusing in the most beautiful way. You took up a majority of his thoughts that throughout the day Adam would wonder what you were doing, where you were and if you were okay, if you were with anyone and finally Adam would wonder if there was a slight possibility that you were thinking about him also.

Sure, it may sound childish of him to wish that you were, but to Adam it would only further prove that you may be fated to one another. The thought of that being the case brought a weird warm sensation that of which spread throughout his body as he rested his hand against his chest, while he looked down at it with the expression of a confused child; Adam was in dire need of your wisdom but unfortunately by the time he came to you for it, you were more then just about ready to hit the hay.

‘Y/n, I apologise for the intrusion but I have an serious matter I wish to discuss with you that can not wait, if you’ll be so kind as to hear me out.’ You sighed, really wanting nothing more then to go to sleep but but considering the look upon his handsome face, you made an exception. You sat on the edge of your bed, gesturing him to take a seat beside you, which Adam did post haste, remembering to leave some room between you both. ‘What’s up Adam, what did you want to discuss?’ You asked.

‘How do you know when you feel something so strongly for someone that they just take over your every thought and what is is called because I’ve been feeling this way for a while now and I’m at a loss as to what to make of it all.’ Adam says, looking at you expectedly like he always did; He was always one to value knowledge above all things, seeing as he was already quite powerful. Yet you couldn’t help but wonder whether or not you had something to do with these feelings he’s been feeling so strongly lately; Considering you were practically the only person he’s been within the company of, to the point where it has became a running gag amongst your friends that where’d you went, Adam wasn’t too far behind like a lost duckling.

‘What is it that you feel Adam, is it a good feeling or a bad feeling that you have about this person?’ You asked.

‘They’re on my mind as though my mind was built with the sole purpose of thinking of them and only them,’ Adam begins but as he does so, a smile stretched across his lips as a soft expression permeates his face. ‘From the light of the morning to nightfall, I’m wondering where they are, worried if they were in need of me but I just can’t hear them, can’t be there with them when they need me most, and mostly…I wonder if they think about me as much as I think about them because they are very special to me…so much so that I couldn’t fathom existing without them.’ Adam finishes before placing his hand over your own. ‘You are very special to me y/n. You’re the one I think about.’

Having already expected this being the case, you still were somehow taken aback but that was short lived compared to the overwhelming relief that your feelings weren’t as one sided as you assumed. You smiled softly at Adam before intertwining your fingers with his, grasping into him tightly, as though afraid of letting him go now that you got him. ‘You’re feeling love Adam.’ You explained. ‘And love is the most powerful, most important feeling you could ever feel because it comes in all forms, all of which are just as equally powerful as the last. It’s an all consuming feeling that can make one act upon irrational but sometimes acting upon that irrationality does one good but at the end of the day, love is a power that has yet to meet it’s match.’ You finalised, hoping to have gotten the point across clear enough for him to understand.

Adam made a face and sat in silence for a few minutes and once those minutes were up, the smile and soft expression came back as he once again looked at you as though he could see all of you. ‘Does this feeling mean that I am in love with you?’ He asks. ‘And do you feel the same way?’ He adds on almost hopefully that you couldn’t help but chuckle before leaning in to press an innocent kiss to his golden cheek. ‘Was that enough confirmation?’ You inquired as you watched Adam blink twice as he raised a hand to touch the cheek you just kissed.

‘It’s more then enough.’ He tells you. ‘Thank you.’

#adam warlock x reader #adam warlock x you #Adam warlock imagine #Adam warlock imagines #mcu x y/n #mcu imagine #mcu fic #mcu x reader #mcu imagines #mcu x you #marvel fic #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel x you #marvel imagines #marvel fanfic

[munsonology]

Sweet Plains

A Cowboy!Eddie short story

18+ only, MINORS DNI

CW: Fem!reader, f receiving oral, wind fucking, come tasting, little bit of daddy kink👀 not proof read

Summary: Eddie and Girlie are in the warm fields of the ranch doing morning chores when a different kind of heat creeps upon them.

My first contribution for @oneforthemunny’s summertime writing game.

Posting with 45 minutes left of my birthday!

I’m gonna count this as my first official fic I’ve ever posted on here! Enjoy whores!

Girlie laying in the ranch fields waiting for Eddie to finish morning chores. It’s humid, the air thick and warm like a sweater on a cold December night.

She found the dress in the trunk at the foot of their bed. Bought for wedding and nonrefundable, despite the bride running away on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle.

Eddie paused shoveling the pile of hay to take a gander at you. Your legs up in the air, those sweet thighs tempting him. He was just between them not even a few hours ago. The taste of your folds still fresh on his tongue.

“What’cha doing over there, girlie?” He asks.

You peer around your legs to see Eddie standing there with a hand on his hip. His heavy boot resting on the pitchfork. The buttons on his shirt had long come undone. From the distance you could see the black ink on his chest.

“Just waiting on you to finish, honey.”

“Mmm…Is that right?”

You mumble in agreement. A sigh leaves your mouth feeling a light breeze pass through. The cool wind caressed your skin. Your legs fell open, wide as the open pasture. Bare cunt exposed, you laid back with your arms behind your head.

The crotch of Eddie’s wranglers tightened. He loved seeing you so free, so relaxed. You were a completely different person outside of the city. Monday through Friday you ventured to the concrete jungle for work, battling your way to the cracking the glass ceiling, but out here…out here at the ranch you could just be. No pressure to be anything but yourself.

Eddie squinted his eyes to get a better view of your current position. Skirt of your tulle dress to your waist, legs spread wide, hips moving to a beat all their own.

Eddie took long strides over to stand in front of you. “Well that’s a picture I never seen before.”

You opened an eye to him crouched beside you now. “When the breeze hits just right…it feels so good Ed,” you moan.

He removes the glove on his hand with his teeth. You feel the coarse pads of his fingers spread your cunt open. His index finger rubs with your clit in slow circles.

“Is that so? Mind if I help you out a bit?”

“Do what you must, cowboy,” you sigh.

Eddie takes the hat off his head and covers your face with it. You hear the clinking of his belt buckle come undone. He wraps the belt around your wrists, fusing them together in the thick leather.

“You still with me me, baby?”

“Never left.”

The sound of him hocking a loogie into his hand sends tingles down to your cunt. She’s the greediest bitch you know.

Eddie’s spit feels warm on your folds. Trickling and wrapping around your clit, his two fingers rub you out. Your pubes tickle the skin on his arm as it grazes against you.

“D’ya like that girlie?” He whispers.

“S’good Eddie.”

He pushes three fingers inside you. He curls them slowly, right against your gspot.

“Fuck!”

“Is that what she needed, baby?”

“C’mon Eddie. Please—I can’t hold it. Can I come?”

“‘can I come?’” He mocks you.

At that moment you feel pull away from you. You whine loudly.

“You sound just like Shadow when I don’t give her an extra sugar cube,” he laughs.

“Don’t leave me hanging cowboy!” You plead.

“Don’t worry girlie, I’d never leave her without a special treat.”

You sense his body between your legs, spreading them further apart. His breath is right on your cunt. “I got her medicine right here.”

He takes a long swipe with his tongue up your folds. Your thighs clench around his head. Eddie’s ears and neck grow warm at the embrace. There’s nowhere he’d rather be more, not even on the back of a raging bull.

He kisses your clit then goes in, taking the little button between his lips. He sucks you down like the thickest milkshake.

“Jesus Christ almighty!” You squeal.

Eddie’s fingers slip right into your wet pussy. Four fingers fit easily. Your arms come up around to make a grab for his hair. With your wrists still tied, you grip what you can, pulling hard and tight with every move he makes. Eddie’s fingers bully your gspot relentlessly.

Slick oozes out of you, dripping down Eddie’s chin. “You gon’ come when I tell you to girlie?”

“Yes! I’ll do whatever you want!”

“Whatever I want, huh? Whatever Daddy says goes?”

“Yes Daddy!”

“Well c’mon then. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Mmmm, thank you—Fuck—Eddie!”

“That’s it baby,” he moans.

Eddie takes the hat off your face and slides it under you. The fabric of the hat brush against the sensitive skin under your ass.

With a wave of pleasure overtaking you, you come hard, spraying Eddie with your squirt. He angles the crown of his hat to capture your essence. Eddie’s shirt and the grass beneath you is soaked. He continues to work you, fingers pumping ferociously to milk you.

“That’s it, baby. Love when you water the grass,” he says with a smile.

He lifts the hat, tipping the brim to his lips. You watch him drink your come down, a small trickle dripping down his chin. Eddie wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

He leans over you to undo the buckle on the belt. He soothes your wrists, kissing them gently before kissing your lips. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer for a deeper kiss.

“Sweetest morning dew I ever tasted baby,” he says against your pout.

“Are you ready for seconds?”

#eddie munson/reader #eddie munson x female reader #fem reader #eddie munson fem!reader #munsonology’s eddieverse #eddie munson smut #smut #eddie smut #cowboy!eddie munson x reader #munsonology’s cowboy!eddie #cowboy!eddie and girlie #cowboy!eddie munson #summertime writing game #sweet plains

[melrodrigo]

Get Lucky - V.C.

vada cavell x fem!reader

summary: in which vada really wants to get lucky

Warnings: suggestive themes, vada just being vada

A/N: Hi! It’s my first time posting here on tumblr, and I haven’t written in YEARS, so I hope you’ll excuse the crappy writing. This was inspired by the song ‘get lucky’ by daft punk.

"You're not getting lucky tonight if that's what you think." You mutter as Vada litters your neck with little kisses.

You and Vada had been dating for just a little over a month, and you guys couldn’t keep your hands off each other for a second.

Any other day, you'd easily succumb and let her do whatever she wanted to you, but today you had gone out to a family dinner with ALL your distant relatives, and it had really drained the life out of you.

The moment you stepped into her house she had been all over you, clinging to you like if she let go you'd disappear.

Once you had settled in bed, ready to hit the hay, she had climbed over you and started giving you little pecks all over.

"Come on babe, just a quick one." She mumbled against your skin, moving up to the spot behind your ear that always made you turn into putty in her hands.

You let out a breathy sigh, and let her continue.

"Still a no." You whisper.

You could feel her groan against your skin and you let out a little chuckle. You grab her face and make her look at you, her hair falling over her face and yours.

"Why do you want it so bad today?" You questioned, smoothing over the crease in her eyes brows with your fingers.

She silenced you with a kiss, curling her fingers in your hair.

"I've just missed you so much. You were gone way too long." She mumbled against your lips, head turning away at the end of the sentence, like she was a bit embarrassed to admit it.

You pulled her into you again and kissed her, hard. You could feel her smile into your lips.

"Fine."

Vada pulled away quickly, eyes lighting up comically. A wide smile across her face.

"Really? I can?" She asked, biting her lip.

"Yeah baby." You confirmed, nodding your head a little.

Vada was on you again immediately, hands wasting no time to wander down to the waistband of your pjs.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good." She whispered, giving you a final quick peck on the lips before pulling away and sinking down.

Oh you had no doubt about that.

#vada cavell #jenna ortega #vada x reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #vada cavell x y/n #vada cavell x reader

[keep-calm-and-drink-caf]

“He was a Punk, She did Ballet Bharatanatyam”

A Hobie oneshot

The idea for this oneshot was based almost completely off of @hobiebrownismygod ‘s post here! <3

Pairing: Hobie Brown (Spider-Punk) x Indian!Reader who does Bharatanatyam

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Uses of Y/N, reader pushes herself past her limits a little bit?, reader’s just a teensy bit rude to Hobie at first, my ✨interesting✨ attempts at writing Hobie’s accent and slang

A/N: I wrote the reader to be Gayatri’s cousin because I thought it might be interesting to look through the perspective of someone who knows Pavitr from Gayatri’s side! And partly because I used to be in a similar situation - my younger cousin would always randomly call me and spill all the tea of whatever had happened in school :) (she still does haha. mwah i love you my little butterfly xx 🫶)

Originally intended for it to be romantic but it I think it could also be interpreted as platonic!

(he’s so gorgeous akdjsbcjdbcjcnd i love him sm <333)

——————

It was late.

Late enough that you should’ve been packing up and heading home, not inside an empty dance studio practising your steps till your feet ached and your legs felt like they were liquefying slowly.

You were trying to perfect the fast-paced jumps and footwork, pushing yourself ruthlessly despite being on the brink of exhaustion, and now your heels hurt from the force with which you were slamming them into the ground. The ghungroo bells that were strapped around your ankles jingled almost tauntingly as you kept going off-beat.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you sat down on one of the benches placed on the side, sliding your ghungroo bells off your ankles and stuffing them into the side pocket of your bag. You were about to gather the strength to get up and go home when you heard the door swinging open and your gaze darted toward the sudden creak.

“Oh, hey Y/N. What are you doing here?”

Pavitr stood in the doorway, looking completely soaked to the bone and struggling to open an umbrella.

Gayatri was your slightly younger cousin, so naturally you knew Pavitr quite well since she would call you and gush about every little thing he did that she found absolutely adorable. Initially you had been frosty and skeptical towards him and he found you downright terrifying, but over time he had managed to charm you with his sunshiny personality and deep affection and respect for Gayatri.

“Hi, Pav. I was trying to practise my bharatanatyam but I think I should call it a day,” You responded, stretching your sore legs out and squinting through the glass panels of the door. “Is it raining?”

“Yep, we got caught in it while-” He cut himself off with a yelp as the umbrella opened suddenly in his face and he instinctively moved it behind his shoulder. You heard a soft ‘mmph’ come from someone right behind him who he had accidentally hit with the sharp spikes of the opened umbrella edge.

You tilted your head to look behind Pav as the person who had been hit stepped forward into the light, his hands out to prevent any further attacks from the umbrella. He flashed a charming smile at you, the studio’s warm light glinting off his piercings.

There was something slightly… odd about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It wasn’t his large wicks that were, somehow, completely dry though he had clearly been with Pavitr in the rain, some drops still sliding off of his spiked vest. It wasn’t the small, silver-spiked red fabric sticking out of his pocket either that he tucked out of sight the moment he saw your eyes drift toward it.

His outline - if you could even call it that - appeared to be in constant motion, seemingly shifting and changing colours every few minutes. You blinked a few times, simply chalking it up to your tired brain playing tricks on you.

“Oi, watch where you’re pointin’ that thing, mate. Y’might jus’ take someone’s eye out.”

You raised your eyebrows as you heard the sharp cockney British accent.

“Yeh aadhmi British hai. Vah yahaan Mumbattan mein kya kar raha hai?” (This man is British. What’s he doing here in Mumbattan?) You asked in Hindi. You realised, the moment the words left your mouth in your mother-tongue, that you were being quite rude by talking in a language he probably didn’t know. His eyes darted toward you, studying you intently as if trying to understand what you were saying.

“Vah itna bura nahin hai, mujh par bharosa karte hain. Aur vah sirph… yaatra kar rahe hain.” (He’s not that bad, trust me. And he’s just… visiting.) Pavitr gave a sheepish chuckle, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through his rain-soaked hair. [I know that yaatra technically means travelling, but I can’t remember the Hindi word for ‘visit’ so if anyone could tell me how to say visiting instead I’d be very grateful!]

“‘Ello to you too,” He laughed it off, the smooth, rich sound filling the air. “My name’s ‘Obie. ‘Obie Brown. Nice to meet you.”

You assumed he was saying Hobie and gave him small smile, getting up to go over to them and shake his hand. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Hobie.”

Pavitr leaned forward to whisper quietly to you, his tone lightly teasing. “Hamne aapko kaanch ke darvaaze ke maadhyam se naachte hue dekha. Vah ghoorana bandh nahin kar saka.” (We saw you dancing through the glass door. He couldn’t stop staring.)

You felt your cheeks heat up slightly at his words and you scoffed, suppressing a smile tugging at your mouth. “Aur vah bilkul bhee daraavna nahin hai.” (And that’s not creepy at all.)

“Well, I was just about to head out,” You would’ve liked to properly get to know Hobie, but your vision was starting to swim in front of your eyes and his subtle flickering didn’t help.

“Careful. There’s a ‘ell of a lot o’ pleasure and pain out there.”

You blinked in surprise and glanced at Pavitr for an explanation, trying to understand what Hobie had just said but also not wanting to come off as rude.

“It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” Pavitr translated, snickering slightly at your confusion before your unamused eyebrow-raise shut him up.

“I have an umbrella. I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Besides, it’s just rain.” You took out your umbrella, looking through the glass into the rain. It was pouring quite heavily, but you’d just have to manage.

Pavitr got a gleam in his eye that told you he was plotting something. You narrowed your eyes with suspicion. “What are you thinking?”

“Ah, nothing, but we were headed that way anyway, for that padoka stall a little further on. We can come with you!” Pavitr gave you a grin and held his umbrella out in front of him, pretending to examine it critically. “The only problem is… my umbrella can only cover one person.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you realised what he was playing at. “Pav. Ab matchmake ka samay nahin hai,” (Now is not the time to matchmake) You hissed under your breath, giving him a death glare.

Pavitr simply ducked his head, giving you and Hobie a little wave as he moved to stand outside in the rain, the umbrella spread over his head. “Well, are you two coming or not?”

Hobie chuckled softly, turning to you. “Let’s go? I can walk in the rain if you want, I really don’t mind getting wet.”

“No, no, you can stay with me. Sorry if I was rude earlier.” You opened the umbrella more skilfully than Pavitr had done, angling it so it could shelter both of you as you stepped outside into the rain and followed Pavitr.

“Nah, you’re good. It’s nice ‘earin’ you and Pav talk Hindi, actually. How long ‘ave you been doin’… what’s it called?”

“Bharatanatyam.” You giggled softly at how Hobie’s eyebrows lifted at the word, his piercings sailing up along with them. “Quite a while. It’s almost like an Indian ballet, if ballet was more about fast-paced movement and quicker beats rather than grace and controlled technique.”

“S’different from what I’ve seen. More chaotic, but beautiful. Do y’always wear those jingly things around your ankles?”

“Ghungroo bells? Yeah, they just serve as something to accentuate the rhythm that we tap out with our feet so that the audience - and the dancers themselves - can hear it better.”

Hobie’s eyes - were they always that shiny…? - were on you as you talked, slightly wide as he took in what you were saying with the utmost attention. “Hey, lovebirds! The rain stopped, in case you didn’t notice. Y/N, you’re here.” Pavitr’s teasing voice cut through your thoughts, which were albeit a little foggy the moment you saw how pretty Hobie’s eyes were.

You put the umbrella down and, sure enough, the rain had almost entirely stopped, reduced to tiny droplets that drizzled pinpricks of water on the pavement. Well, that was Mumbattan weather for you. Pouring one second and sunshiny the next.

“I’m never making gajar ka halwa for you ever again if you don’t stop talking,” You warned as you heard Hobie chuckle slightly awkwardly at the nickname Pav had given you both.

“Nononono please— I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that!”

You rolled your eyes and closed the umbrella, glaring at him.

“Fine, fine, just stop giving me that look. You’ll get your gajar ka halwa.” You softened your expression into a smile as you turned to look at the man you had just met. “Bye, Hobie. It was really lovely meeting you. I’ll see you around?”

Hobie smiled at you, dipping his head in a nod of farewell. “Yep. See y’around.”

You keyed open the door to your house, closing it behind you only to be greeted by Gayatri lying sprawled on the couch. You were used to her visiting unannounced, and your mother absolutely adored her, so you’d often come home to see her waiting for you, with new stories - whether they were scandalous gossip from the modelling agency, a few texts or actions from Pavitr that had made her lose her mind with how adorable he was being, or just random shower-thoughts she’d have (not to be confused with the ‘deep philosophical ponderings’ she had at 3am in the morning that she felt the urgent need to share with you straight away)

You could smell the sharp tang of spices wafting out from under the closed kitchen door as your mother cooked.

“Pav told me everything,” Gayatri giggled before you even had a chance to properly say hi to her. You groaned and flopped down on the couch next to her, moving her legs to rest over your lap so she didn’t take up all the space. “Brilliant. What did he say?”

Gayatri smirked up at you. “You met his friend Hobie? The one who’s visiting?”

You considered reaching for the cushion a few inches away on the floor, wondering if you could take it and throw it at her before she could bat it away. “Yeah, I did.”

Gayatri made her eyebrows jump up and down teasingly. “Do you think he’s cute?”

“Gayatri—”

“Oh, come on! This is totally like a rom-com. He was a punk, she did ballet — but make it Indian!” She mimed clicking a camera, now fully laughing, her eyes scrunched up mischievously. “Wow, and the guy’s British too. Who’d have thought? I think he’s here for a few more days, in case you want me to ask Pav to set up a date—”

You reached for the cushion, snatching it up and holding the fluffy patterned corner as threateningly as you could.

“Chhoti behen?” (Little sister)

“Yeah?”

“You know I love you.”

“Yep.”

“But stop talking.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

——————

Gajar ka halwa is a carrot-based sweet dessert pudding made by placing grated carrots in a pot containing a specific amount of water, milk and sugar, cardamom and then cooking while stirring regularly.

A pakoda/pakora is a fritter originating from the Indian subcontinent. They are sold by street vendors and served in restaurants in South Asia. It consists of items, often vegetables such as potatoes and onions, coated in seasoned gram flour batter and deep fried.

‘Pleasure and pain’ is Cockney rhyming slang for rain. (At least I’m pretty sure it is because I saw another website saying it’s ‘ache and pain’ so I’m not really sure which one it is)

Ghungroo bells are anklets that consist of small metallic bells (going from 50 to more than 200 bells depending on factors like the expertise of the dancer and the desired amplitude of the bells) knotted together. Ghungroo bells are used in many Indian classical dances such as Bharatanatyam, Kuchipudi, Lavani, Odissi, Mohiniyattam, and Kathak.

I don’t do Bharatanatyam, so some of this might be wrong. Please lmk if anything is incorrect! <3

#aah this was so fun to write!! #across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv x reader #hobie brown #pavitr prabhakar #atsv hobie #atsv pavitr #spiderman india #spider man india #spider punk #spider punk x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie x reader #hobie brown x indian!reader #hobie brown x desi!reader #pavitr x gayatri #gayatri atsv #gayatri singh #mumbattan #hobie my beloved

[arabellavernierwrites]

hiiii i love your work so far and you have such an easy to read and chill writing style i love itttt

idk how to do requests lol but ok:

would you do a super fluffy spencer reid x reader during season 5 when he’d been shot in the knee (or maybe he’s injured in another way i don’t mind) but he’s having trouble showering bc it hurts and it’s difficult and the reader basically washes his hair for him? and idk if you want to extend it maybe they could cuddle up and watch a movie or something? idk i thought it was cute hehe

nothing nsfw just a lil angst and mostly fluff

thank you so much !! :)

wash day. s.r.

summary : after being shot in the knee , spencer had been struggling to take a shower. in a moment of desperation , he lets you help him.

word count : 1669

warnings : mentions of injury , mentions of pain , mentions of fighting unconsciousness , descriptions of self-loathing , suggestions to nudity (bath)

a/n : hi guys ! thank you so much for sending in another request , it really brightens my day knowing you guys want to read my writing , and like it enough to want to send requests ! so thank you for being so good to me and offering so much kindness. i want to thank @c-m-stuff for being supportive of literally everything i post , so go celebrate maya’s 100 followers for mood boards , promoting your own fics , and headcannons (ends july 10) ! and thank you so much to @kaitlynpcallmebeepme for sending me such sweet and encouraging words the other day , she has so much amazing works that you have to check out. i cannot thank you all enough for being so wonderful to me. my requests are still open , so please send more ! and thank you to all that send requests in ! hope you have an amazing incredible wonderful day. love you guys !

you returned from work to a fairly quiet household. not much of your usual setting was disrupted, aside from a few of spencer’s things lying around.

a few weeks ago, he had been shot in the knee, causing him to hang around at home a lot more than he typically would. partially because hotch told him off every time he spent even 5 minutes exerting more energy than he needed, and partially because he loved spending every second with you. even though it was something you were sure he wouldn’t ever admit, his heart swelled every time you looked after him.

aside from a few misplaced items, spencer was nowhere to be found. a cause for concern, you decided to check the bedroom to see if he had hit the hay early that day, only to be met with an empty bed.

you jumped as a loud clatter of metal rang out in the bathroom behind you, “spencer? are you alright, sweetheart?”

the shower timidly turned on, the water pattering off the tile below, muffling the sound of his voice, “i’m alright”.

spencer didn’t often lie, he didn’t have to. he knew that whatever fib he told wouldn’t stand a chance against his truthful tone. which is why you knew he wasn’t alright.

“can i come in?” you asked sweetly, placing your hand on the door knob.

“of course,” he muttered quietly, defeat evident in his voice.

you opened the bathroom door to spencer seated on the edge of the tub, his crutches fallen to the ground, his shirt drenched, and his hair partially wet. he looked up at you through his lashes, a hint of sadness and a plea for help swirled within his gaze.

“what happened?” you asked, sincerely, taking a seat next to him.

his lower lip threatened to quiver as his head turned to the floor, embarrassment not allowing him to meet your eyes, “i feel gross”.

you rubbed a hand up and down his back, the wet fabric clinging to his skin, “what do you mean?”

“my hair feels gross, my body feels gross,” he shook his head softly, “i just wanted to shower. but i can’t”.

“it’s difficult with the leg, isn’t it?” you questioned, he nodded his head.

“i tried earlier when you were at work, but this happened,” he pushed his hair off of his forehead, showing a small, red welt near his temple, “the movement is painful too”.

“my sweet thing,” you tutted, “did you clean it?”

he shook his head, the shame and frustration of not being able to care for himself returning. insecurity building with each day of failed attempts at getting clean. feeling uncomfortable, gross, and unattractive made his mind hazy with self-repulsion.

“it just hurts,” he whispered, “it’s too painful to do by myself”.

he thought back to the first time he tried to shower on his own. he bumped his knee while trying to take his clothes off. the pain was so excruciating he spent several minutes fighting unconsciousness, gripping the bathroom countertop to keep himself from collapsing on the floor, hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he breathed deeply. he spent the rest of the day in bed, his head buried into the pillow, desperate to dull the ache that seemed to consume his entire body.

“well, i’ll help,” you stood, turning to face spencer, “let’s get you a nice bath”.

you reached out, assisting him in getting up from the bathtub to sit on the lid of the toilet seat.

“is it alright if i undress you?” you asked, holding onto the bottom of his sopping shirt. he nodded, allowing you to take full control.

you gently peeled his shirt over his head, tossing it into the laundry basket next to you. his shoulders were hunched over, clearly experiencing some discomfort with being shirtless when he felt so self-conscious about his current, un-showered state.

you knelt down in front of him, helping unclip and remove the mechanical brace that had been keeping his leg at a slight angle. it was placed on the bathroom counter as you took your time removing all of his remaining clothing, needing to maneuver a few times to rid him of his pants and undergarments.

despite being as careful as possible, he was full of whines, groans, and pained whimpers.

“i need a second,” he quietly panted, discomfort firing off throughout his body.

when he was ready, you braced each other’s arms, taking your time as he struggled with his balance getting into the bath. wobbling, nervous, and gripping you tightly, spencer had finally been able to get in there for the first time in days.

“look at you,” you cheered, celebrating his victory as he failed to hide a smile, “i’m gonna have your back face the faucet”.

he grimaced as you helped lower him to sit in the tub, his pain evident in the white-knuckled grip he had on your hands.

“i’ll be back in just a second, okay?” you hurried into the kitchen, grabbing a cup from the cabinet, and a small towel from the hall closet.

you placed the cloth over his bandaged knee, being as cautious as you could to not touch it, “i don’t want this to get wet”.

spencer looked up at you with appreciation for your kind heart. his sweet brown eyes with his long lashes, you couldn’t help yourself from leaning in for a kiss.

“i love your hair,” you smiled, filling the cup with water from the running faucet behind spencer, “you have the softest boy hair ever”.

spencer chuckled, “what does that mean?”

you leaned him back slightly, pouring the contents of cup on his head, angling it to not get any water in his eyes, “i feel like guys always have really coarse hair. sure, it might be healthy, but it isn’t soft like girl hair”.

“you have much experience with guy hair?” he asked, humor evident in his tone.

“not necessarily,” you squeezed yourself a handful of shampoo, “girl hair on the other hand”.

spencer laughed, for the first time in days it wasn’t feigned or forced, “i know. you can’t keep your hands off penelope, emily, or jj when they visit”.

“part of girlhood, i guess,” you shrugged, “we spend our recesses in elementary school braiding each other’s hair, help each other curl our hair for middle school dances, and eventually completely fry it together in high school”.

“the only two people that touched my hair before you were my mom and that one guy at supercuts,” spencer closed his eyes as you emulsified the shampoo at his roots, massaging in the frothy suds.

“i kinda miss the elevated bowl cut,” you teased.

spencer groaned, trying hard not to roll his eyes, “i don’t”.

you rinsed his head clean of the soap.

“when you used to gel it back for work? super hot,” you reached for your pricey conditioner, an expense you liked treating yourself to every once in a while.

“when we watched all of those black and white films together,” he reminisced, “that was my homage to gregory peck. or at least my attempt at it”.

“it was cute,” you nodded, “i really liked the glasses with it too”.

you rubbed the conditioner together in your hands, fingering through his long locks to free them from any knots that may have tangled themselves together from the shampoo.

his body relaxed itself, no longer so tense from the awkwardness of trying to get into the bathtub.

you appreciated this moment of silence. just you and the man you love more than anything. something as simple as washing his hair being the highlight of your day, solely because it’s time spent with him. a simple conversation between the two of you enough to make your heart swell the way it did when you first met.

“we’re almost done,” you rinsed the remaining conditioner from his ends.

as the last cup of water rid his hair of any product, you prepared yourself to help him up.

“we did it!” you cheered squeezing out any excess water from his dripping hair.

the thought of getting him back on the floor safely was daunting. it was difficult before, but now everything was sopping too.

you were slow and careful, assisting him in getting back on his feet. you gripped him harder than necessary, worried he was gonna come crashing to the ground and split his knee back open. your brows furrowed in concentration, both of his feet coming to rest on the bath mat.

you grabbed a towel from the rack as he caught his breath, unable to hide the pain from his face.

gently, you dried him off, wrapping the cloth around his waist as you ordered him to sit back down on the lid of the toilet seat. he panted in victory, his first shower in nearly a week had been completed successfully, all thanks to you.

“you did a great job,” you grabbed the other towel, draping it over his head.

placing both hands down, you rubbed in circles. drying his hair fairly quickly, you tossed the towel off to this side, landing in a crumpled bunch at the bottom of the laundry basket.

spencer smiled up at you through the hair that hung in front of his face, “thank you”.

“of course,” you swept it out of his eyes, “let’s get you into some comfy clothes”.

as spencer sat on the edge of the bed in his plaid pants, you were planted cross-legged behind him, hair brush in hand. you took your time, tender strokes through his nearly shoulder-length hair. brushing and brushing again, he progressively slumped over, tiredness trying to take over.

“how about we call it a night?” you asked, turning him to lay down next to you.

“okay,” he answered quietly, pulling you into his arms as you turned off the bedside lamp, “thank you for your help today”.

you grinned, giving him a quick kiss, “anything for you”.

#criminal minds #criminal minds blurb #criminal minds drabble #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #kind spencer reid #loving spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid hurt #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid injure #spencer reid injury #injured spencer reid #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid hurt/ comfort

[supercalifragipopculturevomit]

More of Daniel Brühl on Just One Last Question with Frank Elstner:

Listen. I don't think it's an accident we haven't seen Daniel in many of the major chat shows like Fallon. Save for the press junkets that must be contractual for big Hollywood projects, he seems to be quite selective in the interview sessions he agrees to.

It tracks that he wouldn't do anything gimmicky like Thirst Tweets—can you imagine though?? this feral fandom would be the death of him—opting instead for a long and intimate format that focuses on his work, like DP/30. This one falls under that format but it's special. Apart from his Arte documentary, I've never seen him more relaxed and candid. For one, he's never talked about his family this much. Already posted about the time Dame Helen Mirren bit his neck, who can blame her really now gonna go over some other favorite moments...

The way his entire face lights up when the host tells him about the time he worked with Daniel's (late) father:

The adorable way his son thinks his father is a clown off to the circus:

The animated way he talks about his son:

...and the almost bashful way he adds this afterthought:

His mischievous reaction when the host asks about his wife's influence on raising their child:

The way he opens up about his perfectionism and other shortcomings:

The way he pushes through his nervousness when the host drops this bombshell on him. (I'm all for hard-hitting questions but I was definitely like: HOW DARE YOU, SIR??)

The really long pause he takes when the host asks him when he last apologized to someone:

I first heard this referenced in Conversation with Juan Gabriel Vásquez at the Hay Festival, but he never really mentioned which movies of his actually made it to the shelf, so I was happy he did here.

...and you better believe I hollered my answers like I was on a quiz show. And I would have taken home the prize money because I scored 3/3 with Good Bye, Lenin!, Rush, and Inglorious Basterds.

p.s. shame as it is that we'll never see him squirm reading Thirst Tweets, I'm hoping someone will convince him to do Hot Ones. The depth of Sean Evans' questions will honestly surprise him. Also holding out hope that he'll be on The Graham Norton Show someday.

#Daniel Brühl #Just One Last Question #Frank Elstner #interview #talk show #Netflix #2020 #Rush #niki lauda #good bye lenin #alex kerner #inglorious basterds #fredrick zoller #dakota fanning #the alienist #laszlo kreizler #my gifs #gifs

[birinboom]

Kirishima Comes Home To Reader Drunk Off His Ass

Kirishima Eijirou x GN Reader

Tags: Established relationships, alcohol consumption, pet names (Reader calls Kiri ‘honey’, Kiri calls Reader ‘babe’), fluff, spice 🌿 832 words

A/N: This drabble actually belongs to a Kiri x OC fic I’m working on. Not sure if I’ll ever manage to finish it enough to even post the first chapter so I rewrote this part to fit a GN Reader. If I left in any fem pronouns please let me know!

You were jerked out of your sleep when the front door slammed, then someone shushed it loudly.

Groaning at the rude awakening, you rolled over to check the time. Eijirou was finally home from his agency’s New Year’s celebration, and it sounded like he was drunk off his ass. Turning on the bedside lamp, you got up with a heavy sigh; when he got this drunk he usually needed help getting into bed. Thankfully you only had to deal with his drunk, stubborn ass once or twice a year.

You found him sitting on the floor by the entryway, trying - and failing - at pulling his shoes off. 

“Hey,” you mumbled, rubbing your face. 

Eijirou looked up at you with a bright, toothy smile. “Hiya!”

Crouching next to him, you pointed at his shoes. “Y’know it might work better if you untied them first.”

“Oh.”

“Do you need help?”

“Naw, I got this!”

He finally managed to get his shoes off and got to his feet, swaying. You eyed him suspiciously. “How much did you drink?”

“Jus’ a lil’ bit. About… thiiiis much!” he giggled, holding his thumb and index finger up about two millimeters apart.

You sighed again, looping an arm around his back. “You’re such a pain when you’re drunk.”

“Am not! At least I don’t get angerey, like Ba-*hic*-hakugou.”

“Mhm. Let’s get you to bed, honey.”

He shushed you. “We gotta be quiet, my partner’s prob’ly asleep.”

You couldn’t help but smile. This was the first time he had been drunk enough to not recognize you. “Is that so?”

“Yeah! They need their sleep, they work wa-hay too hard.” He let out another giggle. “They’re super-super-duper cute when they sleep. Have you ever met them?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, you should!”

When the two of you made it to the bedroom, Eijirou flopped down on the bed, then pointed at the oversized Red Riot shirt you were wearing. “Hey, that’s me!! I didn’t realize you were a fan!”

You had trouble hiding your smirk. “One might even say I’m your biggest fan.” 

“Oh, cool! It’s nice to meet ya.”

“Yeah, likewise.” You reached for his belt buckle but he pushed your hands away.

“Whoa, what are you doing?!”

“C’mon, Ei, I wanna go back to sleep. You’re gonna get too warm if you keep your jeans on.” 

You reached out again, but this time he grabbed onto your wrists, keeping them away from him. “I don’t want--”

“Ei, stop. That’s not what I’m trying to--”

“No! I’m sure you’re a very, v-very nice person, but I really love my partner!”

“Ei, I AM your partner.”

He blinked up at you for a moment, then his face split into a brilliant grin. “Oh hey, babe! When did you get here?”

 You had to fight not to laugh at his change of mood. If you did, he’d never agree to go to sleep. 

“I’ve been here all night,” you said.

“Really? D’you know who runs this place? ‘Cos the service here is terrible. One of the staaffff won’t stop hitting on me even though I keep saying no.”

You pulled your hands out of his grip and reached for his belt again. “How awful. Let’s get you to bed.”

“I’d love to, babe, but I think I’m a teensy bit too drunk for that.”

You finally managed to pull his pants off. Straddling him, you set to work on the buttons of his dress shirt. He sat up and kissed you sloppily, one hand at the back of your head, the other kneading your behind. The rank taste of old alcohol filled your mouth. 

“I thought you were too drunk for that,” you coughed when he finally let you breathe.

“Well… I can give it a try since you keep in-- insssh-- inshisishting.”

You pushed the dress shirt over his shoulders, leaving him in a white t-shirt. “I’d rather not. Just go to sleep already.”

“Only if you join me!” Wrapping strong arms around you, he let himself fall backwards with yet another giggle. He started pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses against your neck then abruptly stopped.

“Ei?” 

You were met with a soft snore. Sighing once more, you shuffled around in his tight grip to turn off the lights and pull the covers over the two of you. He really was the worst, most endearing drunk.     

When you got up the next morning, Eijirou was still fast asleep. As soon as you left the bed, he reached out for you. When he couldn’t find you, he instead grabbed your pillow, burrowing his face into it. You heard him mumbling something about a teapot battle. 

Checking up on him an hour later, a bottle of water and painkillers in hand, you found him with your pillow thrown over his face. He shifted the pillow a smidge, glancing up at you with blurry, red-rimmed eyes.

“Could you tell the sun to shut up?” he wheezed, voice gravelly. “‘S too loud for me.”

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! If you like, you can check out my other works here. Love, Birin 💖

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #kirishima #eijirou #eijiro #x reader #x you #gn reader #established relationships #tw: alcohol #fluff #spice #drabble #drabbles

[justmenoworries]

Okay, I'm about to say something very controversial.

I think the Terrans and the Maltos are kind of the weakest part of EarthSpark.

"What? But they're the main characters!"

Yeah, I know. That's the problem.

The main characters are this group of children who are, for the most part, not in the loop when it comes to the show's more interesting conflicts.

The Transformers fitting in on Earth, post-war tensions between Decepticons and Autobots, G.H.O.S.T. being corrupt, parts of humanity being suspicious of and/or downright hostile toward Cybertronians- all of those are things the Maltos are either only tangentially related to or stumble across accidentally.

And that makes sense!

The Terrans and the Maltos are literally children, they shouldn't have to deal with all of that. And the way the show makes clear how brutally the realities of war hit them once shit starts going down is absolutely heartbreaking and well-written.

Still, I can't help but find their story-arcs... kinda boring and repetitive.

Now, I'm aware EarthSpark wasn't really made for people my age. It was made for young children, kids who are just starting to become Transformers-fans and need or might need an introduction to this universe and its characters.

And its message about the power of love and family is a really important one to tell.

But part of me can't help but feel that the Transformers stuff kind of ends up falling by the wayside.

When I think of episodes I enjoyed, the ones that come to mind are always those where the Maltos either interact with Cybertronian characters or ones where the Maltos completely take a backseat, leaving the plot room to focus on the Cybertronians and their troubles ("Decoy", "House Rules", "Missed Connections", "Warzone").

While the episodes that focus more to entirely on the Terrans were often the ones I was least interested in ("Moo-ving In", "Friends and Family", "Bear Necessities"). That's not to say any of these episodes are bad, but like I said, they weren't particularly interesting.

At times it feels like the show itself is aware that the Maltos don't really contribute much and flips a switch to artificially boost their importance. Like in the finale where all the Cybertronians (and Terrans) just so happen to get incapacitated so that Mo and Robbie can save the day with their magical healing sleeves.

There is this constant tug-of-war between a heartwarming slice of life cartoon about family, coming-of-age and love and a dark space opera epos about the consequences and casualties of war, racism and genocide. And when these two clash it often doesn't work.

We'll spend one moment talking about how Megatron used to brutalize his troops and the next doing a comedic sequence where Bumblebee falls off his hay-chair and does a funny exclamation. One moment we're examining the unjust detainment of one faction while the other walks free, and then suddenly it's "Look! The funny mini-casette-bots are making craaazy mischief!"

We get hints that there's something more going on, we get hints that some characters deal with heavy stuff, but if those characters aren't the Terrans or the Malto kids or in any way related to them, hints is all we ever get until everything comes bursting out at once.

Just to make this clear, I am not saying that EarthSpark is a bad show overall or that I hate the show. But no piece of media is perfect and the reason I'm criticizing EarthSpark isn't because I want it to go down, it's because I want it to do better.

Back to the Maltos: If they were interesting enough characters, I wouldn't mind them being the protagonists at all. They have potential, I'll admit to that.

But once you get past the novelty of Transformers born on Earth and being bonded with humans, there's just not much to them.

They're not very deep as characters go and their personalities aren't strong enough to carry them just as they are. They're your standard bickering but loving kid siblings.

It doesn't help that they're not really allowed to be anything but a family unit, to the point of being quite literally a hive mind.

And yes, the show wants to send a message about being open with your emotions and family bonds. But after the umpteenth time a Malto-character started a monologue about how much they love their family and how much their family makes them strong and how they're confident they can get through anything with their family I was like

I hope they develop these characters further in season 2. I want to like them, but right now it's really not easy for me.

Those are just my two cents, feel free to give your own.

#tf earthspark #earthspark spoilers #transformers earthspark #Youtube #earthspark #tfe #earthspark critical

[charzard-lord]

Soothing Touch (Platonic!Avengers/Reader, implied Loki/Reader)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Fluff, comfort, language, slight pining

Pairings: Platonic!Avengers/Reader (with a focus on Bucky, Tony, and Natasha), implied Loki/Reader

Key: ☁️🧸🤝☂️

Summary: Whenever one of the Avengers is feeling down or in need of affection, they come to you for comfort. Everyone agrees that you have the most soothing touch. You will stroke their hair and sing/hum for them and it always helps them to relax. It has become a regular occurrence in the building, and sometimes, they will even fight over who gets to cuddle with you first. Loki is also quietly in love with you, but never acts on his feelings. 

A/N: Hello! Almost a month again with no new posts! I know, I’m terrible at keeping up with this blog. I just haven’t really been inspired lately, but hopefully I’ll be posting more frequently. I have a few other fics in the works but hey! This is my first Marvel fic! So that’s exciting! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this fluffy little piece and thank you as always for interacting with my fics! :)

Today has been long and gruelling for everyone. 

You and the rest of the team drag yourselves into the tower, exhausted from your most recent mission. Your enemies seemed more viscous than ever. You couldn’t wait to jump into your plush mattress and sleep for the next 15 hours. 

As soon as you enter the tower, everyone retires to their respective rooms, except for one. You notice that Bucky has stayed behind, throwing himself onto the living room sofa. Even though you’re tired, curiosity wins the battle, and you find yourself walking towards him. 

“Hey,” you say softly. Bucky grunts in response and you lower yourself into the seat next to him. A moment passes before you speak again. 

“Is everything alright?” you can sense that something is bothering him, but you don’t want to overstep your boundaries. You’ve gotten pretty close with everyone in the building, but Bucky is more reserved than the others. 

Instead of answering, he pulls you flush to his chest and wraps his arms around your back, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You’re surprised at first, but quickly melt into his touch, smiling fondly. You stroke his hair and hum quietly. 

This is not unusual for you. In fact, it’s become the norm around here. Whenever one of the Avengers is feeling down, they always come to you for comfort. Sometimes, they even fight over who gets to cuddle with you first. They all claim you have the most soothing touch, the kind that could ease any pain. 

You gladly comply every time, grateful that you’re able to offer your support. After all, they’re the people who took you in when you had nowhere else to go. You’ll do anything to return the favor. 

You stay like this for a long while before Bucky finally releases you, pressing a tender kiss between your brows. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against your own. You smile and close your eyes. 

“Any time,” you reply, before moving away and standing. 

“Well, I’m tired as fuck, so I’m gonna go hit the hay,” Bucky chuckles at your words. 

“Don’t let Steve hear you say that,” he replies, and you roll your eyes. 

“Whatever. Goodnight, Buck,” 

“Goodnight, angel,” 

With that, you retreat to your room and settle in for the night. 

***

The next few days pass rather uneventfully. You haven’t had any missions so you’ve mostly been taking time to yourself, either to train or just relax. Today, you’ve decided to sit down and sketch in the living room. You have one of your favorite playlists on in the background, bopping your head along to the music as you doodle. 

You hear the elevator doors open and look up to see that three of your teammates have returned from their most recent escapade. Something about a street robber. They didn’t think it serious enough to drag you along. Usually, they only brought you in for the really big missions. You were one of the team's most powerful assets and they wanted to save your skills for when they really needed them. 

“Hello! We have returned! How are you doing on this fine day?” Thor addresses you, beaming widely. You return the gesture and stand, turning off the music. You look behind him to see a very disgruntled Loki and a less than pleased Natasha. Something must’ve happened. 

“I’m doing alright. How about you guys? How did your mission go?” you say, eyeing Loki. He stares back and you can tell that something is weighing on his mind. 

“Boring. Just some kid, stealing people’s wallets. He was only 16,” Nat says, walking to the fridge and grabbing an energy drink. 

“Ah,” you reply, unsure what else to say. 

“Right, well, Thor and I have to meet with Tony to discuss some business. You mind keeping an eye on Mr. Tricks?” you stifle a laugh at Nat’s nickname for Loki. 

“Sure,” you nod, and the two walk off, leaving you alone with the God of Mischief. 

You stare at each other for a moment before you burst into laughter, causing him to regard you incredulously. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just-” you stifle another laugh as you look up at him. 

“Mr. Tricks?” you’re barely able to say it before you double over in a fit of giggles once more. 

“It’s not that funny,” he mutters, but there is a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” you smile fondly, gently taking his hand and leading him to sit on the couch next to you. 

It’s only been a little less than a year since the New York incident, so not many people fully trust him yet. He had been given a choice: either rot in a cell on Asgard, or help the Avengers as a form of community service to atone for his crimes. He chose the latter. 

Loki looks around for a moment, as if to make sure the two of you are truly alone, before leaning closer to you. 

“May I?” he asks, extending his arms. 

“You may,” you reply, and he envelops you in a warm embrace. 

He would never want anyone else to see him like this; he would be mortified. But you’re the one person he trusts in this whole compound, the only one who seems to see him for who he really is. He finds comfort in your touch, maybe a little too much comfort, but it’s comfort nonetheless. 

He buries his face in your shoulder and inhales deeply, trying to embed your scent into his memory. It’s not often that he gets to hold you like this. The only times he can, are when the two of you are completely alone, which doesn’t happen very often. 

It seems that everyone is always scrutinizing his every move, just waiting for him to make a mistake or do something that would allow them to lock him up forever. But now that he’s found you, he never wants to leave. Not that he’d ever admit that. 

“Hey, I have an idea,” you say, and Loki pulls away to look at your face. 

“And what’s that?” he asks, tenderly tucking a stray hair behind your ear. He revels in the way your cheeks flush at the simple action, wishing he could bottle up this moment and live in it forever. 

You move away from him, eliciting a perplexed look from the god. Readjusting yourself, you lay on the chaise at the end of the sofa and beckon him to come over. He just looks at you, an eyebrow raised in uncertainty, causing you to chuckle softly. 

“Come lay in my lap. I can stroke your hair and sing for you,” Loki can’t help the surprised squeak that escapes him, as a blush starts rising to his own cheeks. 

“What?” his voice comes out a pitch higher than normal, but you don’t comment on it. 

“I do this for the others all the time. They always say it helps them relax. C’mon,” you pat your lap and Loki can’t help the pang of jealousy he feels at your mention of the Avengers. He pushes it down, however, and manages to seat himself between your thighs, back pressed flush against your chest. 

He closes his eyes and forces himself to relax as you begin running your delicate fingers through his long black hair. You hum softly, a beautiful melody that he recognizes but can’t quite place his finger on, and continue to lull him into a sweet slumber. 

You can feel Loki’s presence getting heavier, his body relaxing more and more as he lets his full weight rest on you. A fond smile grows on your face. It makes you happy to know that he trusts you so completely. He has always been so guarded. It’s good that he finally feels safe with someone, and you’re infinitely grateful that that someone is you. 

His breathing becomes deeper and you take this time to admire his sharp features. The curve of his jaw, the shape of his nose, the color of his lips. Everything about him is… bewitching. He is a god, after all, so you shouldn’t really be surprised, but his beauty still manages to take your breath away. When you first met him, you found it to be intimidating. But after getting to know him, you realized that he is just another lost soul looking to be found. 

Just when you think Loki has finally relaxed fully, a crowd of voices can be heard getting closer. He quickly jumps up, removing himself from your lap and sitting as far away as possible. You giggle, causing him to shoot you a look, just as the rest of your teammates come around the corner. 

Tony calls your name and you turn your attention to him. 

“How was babysitting duty? Did ‘Mr. Tricks’ give you any trouble?” he asks, smirking as he watches Loki’s flustered reaction. 

“Do not call me by that ridiculous nickname, you despicable cretin” he spits, standing and clenching his fists in anger. 

“It was fine, Tony. No problems at all,” you say with a smile, hoping to diffuse some of the tension. 

“Great! Now that that’s all settled, I need your magic touch,” he says, making his way over to you. 

Loki steps in front of him, glaring fiercely. 

“Is there a problem, ‘Mr. Tricks’?” Tony says, clearly just trying to get on the gods' nerves at this point. 

Loki stares him down for a moment longer, before you reach out and place a gentle hand on his arm. He looks down, first at your hand, then over to you. He searches your face and something in his expression softens. He sighs, and steps aside, allowing Tony to pass through. With one last glance back at you, he briskly exits the room. 

“I don’t know how you do that, but damn, is it effective,” Nat says, walking past Tony and crawling into your lap. 

“Hey! I called first dibs!” Tony protests, but Nat doesn’t budge. 

“First come, first serve,” she says simply, cuddling up closer to you. Tony looks to you for help, but you simply shrug your shoulders and begin stroking Nat’s hair, humming a new tune. 

“C’mon! That’s not fair!” Tony whines, but you shush him. 

“Be quiet. You’ll get your turn,” you smile teasingly at him. He keeps pouting silently, attempting to throw puppy eyes your way. 

“Nuh-uh, not gonna work,” you say, turning your attention back to Natasha, who is already starting to fall asleep. A fond smile worms its way onto your features as you continue to run your fingers through her hair. 

Eventually, she succumbs to her exhaustion, snoring softly. You let her rest for a few minutes. Then, you gently shake her. 

“Nat,” you whisper, “it’s time to get up,” 

She groans and buries her face into your stomach. You laugh. 

“Nat, I’m serious. Other people are waiting their turn,” she just grumbles something incoherent and wraps her arms around your waist. 

“Okay, I’m not waiting any longer,” Tony says, marching over and pulling out his phone. He types something in and before you can ask what he’s doing, AC/DC starts blasting throughout the tower. 

Nat sighs before removing herself from your lap. She places a gentle kiss to your forehead as thanks, then turns to glare at Tony. He holds up his hands in defense as Nat grabs his phone and shuts off the music. She throws the device down onto the coffee table and drops herself into a chair next to Steve. 

“Someone’s moody,” he mutters, turning his attention back to you with a smile. 

“If you’re gonna be an asshole, I’ll let somebody else go first,” you warn, but Tony just shrugs it off, crawling onto the couch and laying his head against your chest. You shake your head, rolling your eyes as you begin the same treatment you gave Loki and Nat. 

This continues until everyone has gotten a turn cuddling with you. By the time you finish, you’re exhausted and in desperate need of sleep. 

“Thank you, again,” Nat says, and everyone makes noises of agreement. You smile and regard them all with fondness. 

“Any time,” you say, and everyone retreats to bed. 

#avengers x reader #marvel x reader #tony stark x reader #bucky barnes x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #loki laufesyon x reader #thor odinson x reader #steve rogers x reader #fluff #comfort #marvel fluff #avengers fluff #fanfiction #reader insert #original work

[sednonamoris]

arsonist’s lullaby

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: With Sean dead and the Confederate gold nowhere to be found, the Braithwaites learn exactly why boys are off-limits.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/gore, canonical character death, arson/fiery deaths, angst, kidnapping, toxic loyaltyyyyy

Word count: 2,777

A/N: Emerging from my absence to post this chapter and fade back into the ether ✌️

Series masterlist • AO3

—

In the end, it’s a perfectly ordinary day when things come to a head.

Midsummer sun has beat down all day, only just now mellowing to a deep orange, early evening glow. Standing halfway up the path to camp on guard duty, nothing remarkable has happened at all, except maybe the number of deerflies you’ve had to fend off. Like the heat alone isn’t enough.

Micah and Sean and Bill rode into town on business earlier. Sean jabbered something about meeting up with Arthur and that Gray sheriff, but he was insistent on keeping the rest a mystery. High profile stuff, you know. Not for old-timers like you to worry about. You just rolled your eyes and sent him on his way.

Other than that, it’s been awfully quiet— Even after Karen and Bill and Lenny and Arthur hit Valentine’s bank the other week. If you were a more suspicious person you might call it too quiet, but it’s been nice to have a bit of a break. You and John have hardly spent a moment apart. Camp chores go quicker together, you tell everyone, but it hardly takes a genius to see you’re more attached at the hip than ever. Moving sacks of cornmeal and haying horses and chopping wood doesn’t usually result in the lovestruck looks stuck on your faces, after all.

Arthur, too, has enjoyed the down time. If he isn’t sharing a cup of morning coffee with his wife then he’s reading storybooks to his surrogate son, complete with ridiculous voices. He puts on a deep, gruff baritone for the bad guys, then pitches higher for a hero that sounds suspiciously like Jack. It’s sweet. The mantle of secondhand fatherhood fits snugly across his broad shoulders, and you can’t help but feel that if anyone ever deserved a second chance at all this, it’s him.

John’s been watching them with the strangest mix of joy and wistfulness and regret and shame. It’s always gone in a blink. You never quite know what to say.

But there’s no time to ruminate further when a slow, steady, thumping lope comes within earshot. You almost miss it, lost in thought.

“Who goes there?”

You’re not sure why you bother asking; the footfalls are too heavy to be anyone but Bill on Brown Jack. When they come into view there’s a tense set to Bill’s shoulders and unease in the whites of Brown Jack’s eyes. You see something slung behind the saddle, unmoving.

A body.

You only register it as Sean when he slows to a stop beside you.

It’s jarring to see the lively young Irishman so horribly, deathly still. His clothes are stained with blood and singed from bullets, but the gaping hole in his head is what turns your stomach and raises your hackles as well as the hairs on the back of your neck. Pulpy brains. Shards of skull. A once-bright eye bulged, crooked and unseeing. A damn good headshot.

Who would be gunning for him? you think. But really, after all the trouble you’ve been stirring down here, who wouldn’t? It’s only been a matter of weeks since you and the boys stole those horses. Less since he and Arthur burned the tobacco fields.

You look up at Bill after a long moment.

“Wanna tell me how the fuck you got the kid killed?” you say, voice low. Simmering. Seething in the summer heat.

Bill’s expression is caught between guilt and resentment. “It was them Gray boys.”

“Them Gray boys?”

“They were waitin’ for us! Arthur… well, he reckons they figured us out. Talked to that Braithwaite woman, I mean.”

“Where is he? Alive?”

“He and Micah ain’t far behind. Don’t expect they’ll be comin’ together.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just shake your head and try to think past the blood pounding through your eardrums. Ringing in your skull. “We gotta bury him.”

“I know,” he snaps.

Where would Sean want to be buried? With a view of the water? In the shade of the trees? Certainly not alone, but there’s little choice there. “We gotta— He deserves someplace decent.”

“I know.” Softer, this time. “...There’s a quiet spot up the other side of the path.”

You nod. “Don’t let the girls see.”

—

The air is thick and stagnant even as the afternoon fades into evening. You’ve always hated digging graves, and this heat only makes it worse. Cicadas hum. Flies buzz. Bill picked a good spot out of the dying sun, but sweat still pours down both of your faces and necks, soaking through your shirts. Salt stings your eyes and the tip of your tongue.

Once the hole is deep enough, Bill does his best to arrange whatever’s left of Sean with some dignity; arms crossed, a coin over his intact eye. It’s still a sorry sight. You take the pistol from his holster to give to Karen and let its dead weight rest in your belt while you and Bill get to burying. When the work is done, he stutters a few insufficient words over a yet-unmarked grave. He looks to you, then, and you fish your flask off your belt and take a strong swig before pouring a generous amount over the freshly turned earth.

“Cheers, brother,” says a hollow voice that sounds like yours. “Save us a seat.”

You don’t bother saying where.

—

Karen hits you when you tell her. A full arm swing. Open-palmed. Then again when you hand her the pistol.

You let her.

Feels like the least you can do.

—

The evening passes in a haze of numb grief. You don’t know what to do with yourself, so you hide, only emerging from your tent when you hear raised voices outside Dutch’s.

“Where’s my goddamn son?” Abigail demands. “They took him, didn’t they? They took my son!”

And Jesus if this day couldn’t get worse. Your eyes scan the camp, like you’d be able to spot little Jack where his mother couldn’t. The sick feeling that’s been festering in your stomach since Sean’s burial twists and writhes and weighs you down like lead. Everyone knows missing is about as good as dead these days, but you don’t dare say that to Abigail.

“Where is my son, Dutch Van der Linde?!”

More and more begin to crowd around the commotion. The girls lay consoling hands on Abigail’s shoulders that quake with anger and fear. Arthur’s face is grim and drawn beside her. John’s is shadowed behind them, torn between guilt and anger. Hosea pushes past the throng to lay blame on the Braithwaites— at least, he says Kieran saw some boys what looked like Braithwaites not far from camp earlier. After what happened in town today, you have to admit it makes sense. Both families have you figured out, and they’re out for their pound of flesh.

As if Sean wasn’t enough already.

“We will find Jack, we will bring him back to you, and we will kill any fool that had the temerity to touch one hair on that boy’s head,” Dutch vows in answer to Abigail’s frantic questioning. “Right now.”

And he turns on his heel and makes toward The Count to do just that. Everyone follows. Bill calls out asking about extra guns that are accepted readily. Micah and Kieran are ordered to protect the camp while you’re all away. Weapons drawn, eyes blazing, you mount your horses and make off into the night.

This is the warpath. The beating hooves and rushing blood. Moonshine canters steadily beneath you, keeping stride with Old Boy and Arthur’s mount on either side. It’s been a long time since the whole gang has ridden out like this, chomping at the bit for a bloodletting.

“I swear, I’ll kill everyone there!” John snarls. He’s settled into his anger now, quicker on its draw than his pistol.

“Easy, Marston,” Arthur says. His voice is low and dangerous like how he warns off strangers. Not family. Not John. “You don’t check your shots, Jack’ll end up dead too.”

“Don’t tell me to take it easy! That’s my—” but John chokes on the word before he can get it out.

Son, he was going to say. That’s his son.

But Jack is as much Arthur’s as he is John’s anymore, and right now neither one can stand it. You can’t bear to look at the fear nor the anger nor the burning blame in either of their eyes.

—

The oaks that line the path to Braithwaite Manor are always imposing, but here in the dusky nighttime you swear you can feel their ancient eyes watching. Bloody roots gorged on bloodstained grounds; twisted, gnarled branches grasping for a Heaven they’ll never reach. There are few stars that shine through the scattered clouds in the early night sky, but you wish upon every one that Jack is safe, and you vow that no one will make it out of here alive if he isn’t.

Everyone dismounts at the gate. Beside you John and Arthur are tense. Mouths set, trigger fingers twitching, eyes aflame with a primal sort of anger and fear that can only come from losing a child. Dutch, too, is furious. The fact that anyone would touch one of his own is normally enough to have him ranting, almost frothing at the mouth, but he must sense that Arthur and John need him calm.

Calmer than them, anyhow.

Ahead, the manor house is lit with a warm orange glow from its pillared porch. The moon casts strange light across the shadowy night, flickering in and out of cloud cover. There is only the sound of gravel beneath your boots and anticipation.

“Get down here now, you inbred trash!” Dutch bellows at the first sight of the Braithwaite boys.

“What the hell do you want?” they call back, like they don’t know.

John makes to aim his gun and you brush against his shoulder as a comfort and a warning. He snarls but doesn’t shoot. Not yet.

Dutch continues, “We’ve come for the boy. You must’ve known we would.”

Arthur is little better off, glaring holes in the heads of every Braithwaite son and cousin and uncle and friend that emerges from the looming house. There’s more of them by the minute. You feel everyone tense around you. Their guns aren’t lifted - not yet - but all it will take is a sign from Dutch.

Not yet.

“That is a young boy. That is not the way you do things. Hand him over.”

“Get the hell off our land!”

Not yet.

Dutch’s eyes darken in challenge. He doesn’t so much as turn his head toward any of you, but the shift in energy is electric. The whole world holds its breath.

“If you ain’t gonna be civilized about this…”

Now.

All at once everyone opens fire. It’s a symphony of gunfire, bullets screaming by from every direction. You pull John behind a crate just as one grazes his ear. He snarls out a curse while you kill the man on the balcony who shot at him. The body tumbles over the railing and stains the steps red with blood and brains.

Dutch calls out marching orders, but through the din he’s nearly impossible to hear. John heads inside. You follow suit. The manor doors swing wide open like the unhinged jaw of a snake, welcoming you into the belly of the beast.

“Jack!”

“Where are you, kid?”

“Jack!”

His name echoes off expensive oak floors and through lofted ceilings. You tear through the lower floor like someone possessed, ripping open mahogany chests and finely stained china cabinets and the couch cushions of richly-rugged sitting rooms. Anywhere a little boy might fit. Then plenty of places he wouldn’t just for good measure.

Somewhere in the rush you lose John. Over the gurgling rasp of a Braithwaite son’s last breath you hear him shout something from upstairs. You make to run up the winding staircase but stop dead in your tracks when you see Catherine Braithwaite being kicked down them.

Dutch sneers, his lip curled with generational distaste for a man who preaches against revenge. She’s sobbing, spewing vitriol with every shaky breath. All her sons are dead now. You can see it in the gape of her burnt ash mouth. In the flames that lick the polished wood floors from their dropped torches. In the fire reflected back in Dutch’s eyes.

—

Jack isn’t there. Catherine Braithwaite uses her last breaths to gloat that he’s been sold to a man in the city.

Sold.

You watch Dutch let her go, then watch still as she runs screaming into the flames. The house collapses over a shrieking phantom of the Deep South with a groan and a sigh. By the color of the flames it’ll burn for hours yet.

The trees stare as you leave, gorged on blood and ash.

—

Dawn comes blood red and brutal, streaking through the sky with its first light warning. Dutch, John, Hosea, and Arthur are all gathered around the camp table to discuss your next moves. Whatever those are, though, you can’t imagine. John didn’t sleep a wink last night, just staring at tent canvas and stewing in blame. He looks awful. Everyone does.

You’re sat next to Abigail by the campfire. She says nothing, but the hunch of her shoulders and the blue-hot flame of her eyes tells you there’s nothing to be said. Her boy is gone. Missing.

You brought her a bowl of porridge for breakfast, but neither of you is up for eating much. She stares into the fire while it sits untouched in her lap. You push your oats around with the spoon and pretend not to eavesdrop.

Of course Marston’s scared rotten, Arthur says in hushed tones. I am too. We killed all them people— for what? For nothin’. There ain’t no gold here.

For living, Dutch corrects him, and you can’t help but think it’s a shame that not all of you got to that part. The living. Sean is dead and gone forever. For all you know, Jack might be too.

But all of that is put immediately to rest when Lenny walks into camp with two Pinkerton agents at gunpoint.

Milton and Ross, they call themselves, swaggering through the whole of camp like you’re not all outlaws and thieves. Killers. Everyone stands as they pass, slowly circling in like vultures to the promise of violence.

The matching felt bowler hats on their heads can’t hide the pockmarks on Milton’s face nor the smug, bristling mustache on Ross’. The government is surely paying a pretty penny for your capture if the fineness of their clothes is anything to go by. Their shoes are shined and polished. You can’t help but notice the way the red Rhodes clay oozes up beneath the soles and paints them muddy.

“This thing? It’s done,” Milton announces when he makes his way to Dutch.

Dutch barely bothers to turn and face him. He doesn’t stand. Everyone else slowly, slowly creeps closer. One step at a time. All coming together. Vultures. Violence.

Things like this are never just done.

Never.

Milton calls Dutch a lot of things. A shepherd of lost souls. A messiah. Sarcasm drips from the syllables, and you wonder how he might react if you told him Dutch was the only god to answer a single one of your prayers. Even Swanson lost touch with Christ long ago. Now when he falters he begs Dutch Van der Linde for forgiveness. All of you do.

“I’m nothing but a seeker, Mr. Milton,” Dutch finally says.

Milton’s eyes narrow. There's a faint expression you can’t quite place on his face when he replies, “You ain’t much of anything more than a killer, Mr. Van der Linde.”

He offers freedom, then. Three days to run and hide and live like civilized human beings in exchange for Dutch. It’s almost laughable.

Dutch steps forward and every gun in camp cocks. Agent Milton seems suddenly to remember how very much outnumbered and outgunned he is.

“I think your new friend should leave, Dutch,” Ms. Grimshaw says.

Milton calls it a mistake, calls you all fools, but the only foolish mistake you can see is letting them live.

—

John and Arthur leave together after all that. They make for a place called Shady Belle and promise Abigail it’s close to the city where her son is being held. A good spot to camp while everyone does what they can to bring that little boy home.

Looking at Karen, miserable and bleary-eyed drunk, you can’t help but think it’s awfully far from Sean’s grave.

#john marston x reader #rdr x reader #rdr2 x reader #ghost story #fran writes #ch. 25

[rachey899]

Home

A Luke the size shifter G/t short story, a cute little fluff story featuring Luke just being himself at home around his family, plus we get a first look at his super adorable little sister Ivy! Thanks for the awesome suggestion @8-bitlurking, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Approx. 2.8k words

Home

Luke walked slowly down the long gravel drive toward his home, it had been a long day at school, and he was ready to flop on his bed and play some video games.

Luke’s Father, David, meanwhile, was shovelling hay in the field behind his family’s home, he looked up from his work for a moment, wiping sweat from his brow when he saw his son Luke meandering down the drive, he gave him a wave and a tired smile.

“Hey Luke! Wanna help your old man out?”

It had taken some great adjusting for their family since Luke’s unique abilities showed up when he was six years old, almost ten years ago now.

David was immensely proud of his son and the man he was growing up to be, any other teenager might use their abilities for petty or even malicious reasons, but Luke remained humble and never used his power to intentionally hurt anyone, in fact he tried not to use them on purpose at all.

When Luke was at home however, he was free to be himself, his family never made him feel like a freak in fact on days like today, his gifts came in handy when helping out with chores.

“Sure Dad, what’d ya need?” Luke dumped his bag beside the wooden fence post and ducked under it, stepping into the field beside his father. Since hitting puberty Luke had proven to be a tall lad, at his normal height anyway he stood a few inches taller than his father, an impressive six foot five.

“This is taking me hours to shovel, do you reckon you could help me lift it all over to the stables?”

Luke nodded and eyed the large pile of hay that had been stored in the shed, his father had been shovelling small amounts into a wheelbarrow and wheeling it over to the stable across the field, only being able to move small amounts at a time.

Their truck was having issues and currently at the mechanic, so this task which was usually a simple one had become much more difficult.

Luke stepped backwards a couple of feet until he was a safe distance away from his father before closing his eyes and focussing.

Concentrating on the tight pulse in his skin, he urged himself to grow into his giant height, a staggering sixty-five feet, that should make things a little easier. Opening his eyes again, he looked down at his father who was smiling up at him. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing things from such a vastly different perspective, but at least at home he didn’t have to worry about scaring anyone or keeping his gifts a secret.

David felt the ground quake beneath him from the dropping weight of his massive son as he kneeled down before him, and watched in amazement as Luke nudged the whole pile he had been working on into the palm of one hand. He’d seen him things like this before, but it was equally impressive every time.

Once the pile was loaded into his hand, Luke then offered his other hand to his father palm up and flat on the ground, asking permission to pick him up. Luke knew his father could easily follow him over to the stables on his own but even being used to being this size around his family, he still felt uneasy having them around his feet when one foot was easily bigger than their family care.

He would never risk the safety of those he cared about most, no matter how comfortable he felt around them.

“Thanks son.” David said, jumping onto the teenager’s hand with no hesitation at all before promptly sitting down, he was fully aware of the natural sway and motion of a giant hand, he didn’t want to have to keep fighting for his balance.

With all aboard, Luke slowly stood up and walked what was to him only a few steps over to the stables, the horses whinnied from within, undoubtedly feeling his arrival through the floorboards.

“How was school?” David asked casually sitting cross legged and looking skyward at his son’s magnified face from the palm of his hand.

Luke shrugged slowly, trying his best not to jostle his father around too much from the casual movement.

“It was fine, Matt was away, I think he’s got the flu or something.”

Luke lowered his hand to the ground, letting his father step off first before dumping the hay at the entryway of the stables. David nodded walking over to the hay pile to start moving it into the individual stalls with a rusty pitchfork.

“You should invite him over for dinner, your mother’s making a vegetable soup as we speak, it would be good for him as well, lord knows that boy doesn’t get anything green to eat at home.”

Luke sat down in front of the stable, idly pinching small amounts of the dried grass between his thumb and finger, thinking over his father’s words.

“Yeah, I guess I could.” Luke loved his friend, but he wasn’t sure he could deal with Matt’s high energy today; however, maybe sick Matt would be more subdued, he would think it over.

“He knows, doesn’t he?” David said casually, he continued to move the hay into different stalls not looking up at his son who still hadn’t shrunk back down yet.

“What?” Luke dropped the grass he had been playing idly with and his eyes shot up to stare into his fathers broad back.

“Matt knows about your abilities.” David reiterated, he dusted off his hands and crossed them over his wide chest before meeting his son’s large pale blue eyes.

“Wha- No, why do you think-?” Luke floundered for a good lie but let’s face it, he wasn’t very good at lying, he was honestly surprised with himself for keeping it from his family for a few weeks already.

“Matt hasn’t been round here in a few weeks; you’ve been acting funny when we bring him up, and Ivy read your journal.” He listed each on his fingers while Luke had dropped his mouth open in shock.

“So, it was either Matt knew about your secret, or you’re in love with him.” David smirked at the shocked expression on Luke’s face and shrugged like it was no big deal.

“Now shrink down already, I told you I needed your help and your big ass hands wont fit in the stables.” David gathered another fork of hay as Luke shrunk behind him.

“Ivy read my journal!?” Luke shouted once he was back at his regular size, still processing the revelation his father had dumped on him, his little sister had been snooping in his room, she had read about his most private thoughts and then blabbed them all to his parents!

Luke’s face was so red with embarrassment he thought he might be able to fry eggs on his cheeks.

“Yeah, sorry bud, she said she found it, and it was full of sappy stuff about Matt and how you wanted to tell him about your secret. Your mother and I have already spoken to her about the privacy issue, so it’s been dealt with.” David had finished spreading the hay in one of the stables when he turned around to find Luke right there in his face, cheeks red with embarrassment and disbelief.

“Dad!” Luke groaned in frustration; he couldn’t believe his ears.

“So, you did tell him then?” David continued unphased, grabbing a brush to start brushing down Mayfair’s golden coat, their blue ribboned, prized horse three years running.

Luke ran a hand through his short curly brown hair, threatening to pull it all out in annoyance. Luke closed his eyes taking a deep breath, he would deal with Ivy later, grabbing a handful of oats to feed to Mayfair he nodded his head in answer to his father’s question.

“Yes, Matt knows, but I didn’t tell him, he kinda found out…” His words faded into a mumble; he knew that his parents wouldn’t be too upset about Matt knowing his secret, but more so in the way he had found out.

“And how exactly did he find out Luke?” David’s voice was stern, and he knew he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear.

“After that big test, I kinda… grew. I made it to the forest though, no one saw me I swear, but um, Matt kinda followed me, so… Yeah.”

His father sighed and Luke waited with bated breath for the lecture to come.

“You don’t need me to tell you how dangerous that could have been, you and I both know how badly that could have gone.” David sighed again, closing his eyes to think. Over all the years Luke had gained a fair amount of control over his ability but he still wasn’t in complete control, his emotions always seemed to get the better of him.

“Maybe we need to do some more practice this weekend yeah? You need to stay in control of this Luke, it’s too dangerous for yourself and others if you continue to shift uncontrollably.”

Luke nodded in quiet agreement, their practice usually consisted of shifting all day until complete exhaustion and practicing calming techniques.

“I’m sorry Dad, I am trying.” Luke hung his head, absently petting Mayfair’s snout.

David pulled his son into a hug. “I know bud, it’s okay.” After pulling away from their embrace they both headed for the house, walking through the field in mostly silence until David spoke up again.

“So has Matt been, okay? Ya know, since finding out?”

Luke smiled widely then, thinking back over his friend’s dramatic reaction and constant wild chatter about being a superhero.

“Yeah, he’s cool with it.” Luke answered casually and thought to himself that Matt was more than cool with it.

“And you’re not in love with him?” He was actually going to kill Ivy.

“No Dad, I’m not in love with Matt.” Luke face palmed as they approached the back door, kicking off their boots before entering the house.

“Hey, just checking, your mum and I will love you and support you no matter what, we are very modern.” He said with his hands up in defence.

Luke groaned and rolled his eyes, why were parents so embarrassing.

“Damnit.” Luke heard his mother curse from the kitchen, he and his father eyed each other before heading into the kitchen to see his Mother peering through the gap between the kitchen bench and the oven. Her hand was reaching for something in the gap, her arm only going as far as her forearm before getting stuck.

“What have you lost honey?” David was at her side immediately helping her gently pull her hand back out again.

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s my ring, I took it off to do the dishes and I must have bumped it, it fell down there.” Karly looked so guilty and so upset, David rubbed her back soothingly telling her it was okay, they’d just pull the oven out to get behind it, no problems. Luke had a simpler idea.

“It’s okay Mum, I’ve got this.” His parents turned to him to find that he was already shrinking and heading right toward the gap like it was no big deal.

Carefully stepping around his father’s socked feet he approached the space between the bench and the oven, it was a thin gap and even being so small he had to turn on his side and sidestep through. Quickly he realized just how often this space got cleaned which was definitely never, his clothes quickly were coated in oven grease and dust, but he persevered.

As he approached the wall, he could see a gold ring with small sapphires dotting the surface in an intricate pattern. He picked up the admittedly heavy chunk of metal and pulled it over his head until it sunk down to his shoulders like an extremely thick and awkward necklace before making his way back towards the light of the kitchen.

Finally stepping out from the gap, he pulled the ring over his head once more and held it up in triumph.

“Got it!” He shouted with a wide grin across his freckled features.

His mother knelt down in front of him with a soft smile, she laid out her hand for him to step onto, instead Luke approached her ring finger and pushed the ring until it fit snugly where it should have been all along, only then he stepped lightly onto her palm to be lifted up to her face.

“Luke you are precious, thank you.” She held him to her cheek in an appreciative hug before letting him off on the kitchen bench, where he proceeded to grow back to his normal height, legs swinging off the side of the cool white surface.

“No problem at all, though I might recommend cleaning back there, it’s gross.” He indicated to his grotty clothes; his mother scrunched up her nose taking in his appearance.

“Go take a shower and get changed, dinner will be ready in an hour.” She agreed.

Luke nodded and headed for the front door right as it opened to reveal a dishevelled looking twelve-year-old girl, her brown hair was coming loose out of her two long plaits, her face was covered in dirt and her knees exposed to reveal bruises. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for young Ivy though, she was a risk taker and if she didn’t come home from school dirty then she didn’t have an awesome day.

“Hey Ivy.” Luke said calmly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall to peer down at her.

“Luke!” She shouted in excitement, a wide smile revealing two missing front teeth, she made to hug him, but he held a hand up to stop her, his expression serious.

“Got something you wanna tell me?” He asked carefully, the colour drained from her face, and she gulped audibly.

“Oh shoot!” She cursed before diving between her brothers’ legs and bolting down the hall to her bedroom.

Luke was hot on her tail, as quick as she could she slammed her bedroom door behind her and sat in front of it as he pushed on the door to be let in. The banging on the door went silent and Ivy let out a deep breath of relief, he must have given up already.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy.” Came a voice from beside her, she shrieked upon seeing Luke’s six-and-a-half-inch form beside her, he must have shrunk to get under the door, she stood quickly and jumped onto her bed, hiding under the covers.

Luke meanwhile grew once more back to his standard height and approached the bed sitting down beside the lump under the covers.

“Come on Ivy, I know you read my journal, I’m not mad, I just want a hug.”

Slowly she peeked out from under the covers to see a soft expression on her brother’s face coaxing her out gently, she relented and pushed back the covers. Quick as a flash Luke wrapped his arms around her pulling her into his lap and holding her tightly, she hadn’t noticed before how dirty he was, but Luke hadn’t forgotten.

Upon inhaling the scent coming from him she gagged and writhed to be let go but his arms held firm.

“Uh ah, no you don’t.” He chided.

“God Luke, you smell like a toilet, get off of me! What is this stuff!?” She screeched, the guck had smeared onto her clothes, through her hair and on her face, she wanted to be sick.

“Nope! This is what you get for snooping through my things!” He held her more tightly and smeared more of the guck into her clothes.

“Ahhhhh.” She screamed for help, but none came, only an overbearing brother who smelt like a skunk and unfortunately proved to be a lot stronger than she was.

“Okay, okay! I promise I won’t go through your stuff again! Get off of me, I’m gonna be sick!” She cried.

The pressure around her eased and Luke let her go, she flopped back on her bed panting and gagging dramatically, glaring daggers at her brother who only smirked mischievously at her.

“Pinky promise?” He held out his pinkie finger to her, it was also covered in guck, and she gulped before grasping the greasy finger with her own, quickly making a pinkie promise before snatching her finger back like it had been burnt. “So gross!”

Luke laughed, ruffling his little sister’s knotty hair before leaving the room and heading for his own little granny flat beside their family home to take a shower and change his clothes, he really did smell like a toilet.

He sighed in contentment as he entered his own space, his little sister irritated him, and his parents were becoming more and more embarrassing, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world, he felt like he could really be himself at home.

There was no one to hide from, no one to judge him or treat him like a circus freak, he could just simply be Luke, size shifter and all.

#gt #giant #gianttiny #tiny #g/t #giant/tiny #gtfluff #size shifter #lukeandmatt #LukeandIvy #size difference

[alluraaaa]

decided to expand on the tags of my other post and talk about how shiro should have gotten a healing arc instead of the clone plot. here’s how i would’ve done it (under the cut because it got Long):

at the end of season two shiro uses his and zarkon's mutual connection to the black lion to kick absolute ass. however, shiro ends up stuck in the astral plane

he doesn’t know that though. he’s just in a starlit void with no prosthetic arm and is like “0_0 where am i”

“fancy types call it the astral plane,” a guy says. shiro turns to look at this guy and it really is just some guy. like he's just in jeans and shit, looks like he's about to go grab coffee before running errands

and shiro's like “????? what??? where’s zarkon?”

the guy explains that the astral plane is the halfway point between life and death. it’s where spirits go to move on before fully embracing the afterlife. zarkon is fully dead, thanks to shiro. and shiro himself is here because he has a chance to take a second and relax before making a decision. he can either come back to the land of the living, or he can fully move on and join the afterlife

as shiro's processing this the guy is like “y’know kid, you're young, you gotta lotta life ahead of you. your team and your family would love to see you again. but after what you've been through, i don't blame you for wanting to call it quits early. i mean, you did it, you beat the bad guy, and the others are able to keep going without you, you pushed ‘em in the right direction. you can... hit the hay, as it were. but don't let me tell you what to do. it's your choice, son.”

shiro's like “that's a big decision. i can't just… pick one so easily.” because yeah, he loves being a paladin and of course wants to see his loved ones again, but god. he's so tired. knowing that the team will be able to continue without him fills him with relief and the sudden desire to rest

the guy says, “i get it. we can wait, you can think. we don't gotta talk.” so they both sit there and think, watching the stars of the astral plane twinkle around them.

shiro takes a moment, then asks, “are you dead?” the guy says, “yeah. died a few years back.” he doesn’t elaborate and shiro doesn’t press. instead he asks, “did you have a choice?”

guy says, “nah. you’re lucky as hell. wish i coulda stayed. but… i know that everything is working out without me, y’know?”

shiro’s like “i get it. i really wanna go back but… i also wanna take a break. i mean, we all die, right? everyone i wanna see… we’ll all end up dead together in the end, right?”

guy: “yeah. and when you’re on the other side, you can watch over ‘em.”

shiro: “am i selfish for wanting that? i mean, i can still help, i can save the universe, but part of me just wants to roll over and die.”

the guy chuckles. “boy, you’re not selfish for wanting a break. you’ve been fighting like hell for years, even before the space nonsense. it’s okay to want somethin’ that’s just for you. and if you help you, you’re still helping the universe, y’know? we’re all in this together.”

shiro doesn’t say anything, and the two of them fall into silence again

for the first time in years, there’s no rush. when he was a student, he was working hard towards good grades and graduation. when he was at the garrison, he was working hard towards teaching and reaching the stars. in space, he was working hard to just survive. and then with voltron, he had the entire universe on his shoulders. he was the leader, he had to be ready for anything.

but here, he wasn’t ready for here. and it’s turning out… okay? he has time to make a decision, and he isn’t being rushed, there doesn’t seem to be a deadline.

he wishes so bad that he had this more often when he was alive: time to breathe

but he’s still alive, isn’t he? he’s half alive, able to go back out there. if he can get through this war, he can be alive with his friends, his family, and they can all breathe together.

“i want to live,” he says.

the guy smiles, and stands. “i figured you would. you don’t seem like the type to sit and watch. here.” and he reaches out a hand to help shiro stand.

shiro takes it, and rises to his feet. “i, uh, never got your name.”

“ryou kogane,” the guy says, and shiro now knows why he felt so familiar. “i’ve been watching you since you met my boy, and i’m so happy he’s had someone like you there for him when i couldn’t be. thank you.”

and shiro’s about to burst into tears, so he pulls ryou into a hug. ryou hugs back, laughing.

“tell him i love him. and that he’s doing great, because he is. i couldn’t be more proud of that kid. he’s just like his momma.”

“i will. and thank you, for everything.”

“of course, son. now go, you got a life to live. i’ll see you when you’re done.”

and so shiro goes. when he comes back to the land of the living, he’s in the black lion. it’s because of her that he was able to come back, she was his tether to life. and he learns this in the calm purring in his mind.

he puts his hand on the dashboard and whispers, “thank you. it’s good to be back.”

meanwhile, in the castle, allura feels something’s off. she’s been trying to get closer to the black lion as it’s replacement paladin, and it would normally excite her to feel something shift in their bond from all the way in the dining hall, so far from the hangers. it would, but she’s more worried about what’s happening. when she suddenly stands up and starts to leave for the hangers, the others follow her

in the hanger, they all stand in front of the black lion, watching allura. something in her doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to interrupt.

it clicks when the black lion bows and lowers its jaw, opening the ramp for shiro to come down the plank.

he looks different. his arm is gone, his hair is all white, and he’s calm.

keith reacts first, sprinting at his brother with a shout of his name, diving into a tight bear hug.

the others follow not far behind. it’s a happy, tearful reunion at the feet of the black lion.

shiro has moments alone with all of them after that, telling them how proud he is of them for keeping up the fight without him. of how they’ve all grown into better fighters and, more importantly: better people.

but keith is the only one who learns about what shiro did in the astral plane, and who he was with. shiro relays everything his dad said, and hugs keith when he breaks into tears

in the future, he and allura lead voltron side by side. they take turns as the black paladin, giving each other well needed breaks from the fight because neither of them would step down completely

when it’s shiro’s turn to fight, he wonders how. he doesn’t have his prosthetic, so no weapon. (“so… you’re unarmed?” lance asks.)

the answer comes when allura gives him the black bayard. he activates it, and it replaces his old prosthetic. proof of his connection to his lion. he beams.

and farther in the future, when they’re all safe at home on earth, shiro gets his wish: he’s with his loved ones, happily married to adam and surrounded by the kids more or less adopted as his own years ago. they’re all safe, all here, and they’re all breathing

#hiiiiii. i’m so normal about him #he wants to be a paladin!!!! #txt #shiro #fuck it. tagging as #fic #mine #because this took a while to write #keith&shiro #allura&shiro #<- because broganes is so so important to me but so is shiro being allura’s big brother #rewrite #<- because i’m gonna make more posts later hashtag autism

[irisbleufic]

So, I spent the last 5 days of sitting around with this serious arm injury rereading the very first epic fic series I ever wrote. Although the posting dates on the below chapters are all 18 November 2013, the reality is that these were originally posted as individual stories on LiveJournal throughout the entirety of 2004 and into the spring of 2005. Those were my junior and senior years of college. This series was the last thing I relocated from LJ to AO3, and I was too exhausted to do a proper comb-through for typos and minor formatting issues.

Well, that state of things is no more. I cleaned up all of the editorial issues during this week’s rewatch-the-film-and-reread-my-fic binge. I also changed the names of a few of the chapters (they’re really stories strung together), although not drastically. The chapter called “Clippings” used to be called “Business,” “Spiral” used to be called “You Must Listen to Me Now,” and “Closer to Fine” used to be called “The Middle of Things.”

I had an ask a few days ago along the lines of: What the hell is Toy Soldiers, anyway? On the surface, it’s a 1991 action movie/teen drama. It stars a young Sean Astin and Wil Wheaton as Billy Tepper and Joey Trotta, the central protagonists among the cast of younger characters. At the time I saw it in early 2004, I had only ever seen Sean Astin in The Lord of the Rings. And, incredibly, I didn’t even know who Wil Wheaton was.

That might be one reason I was able to take this film to heart so earnestly (i.e. I completely lacked knowledge of Wesley Crusher, Wheaton’s Star Trek character from around that time who it was traditional to mock, although I still don’t get why). However, the primary reason this film wrecked the back end of my 2004 spring break was that I had watched The Celluloid Closet for the first time only days before watching Toy Soldiers.

I challenge any queer person to watch this documentary (about the Hays Code and the horrible fate met by queer-coded and queer characters in cinema) and this under-appreciated action film back to back and come out of it without feeling devastated and furious about what happens to Billy and Joey. Especially to Joey. And now, in an era of rampant school shootings and hostage situations, Toy Soldiers hits with even more gravity than it did in the 1990s and early 2000s.

These boys are where it started for me. Every every horrific canon media ending that has ever made me furious, every hundreds-of-thousands-of-words long fix-it series I’ve written in the past 19 years, can be traced back to this moment. This string of stories was what I wrote before I ever wrote the likes of Crown of Thorns (Good Omens), Anthology (Pacific Rim), and Delicate, Dangerous, Obsessed (Gotham). Hell, one of my instrumental original characters in CoT appeared for the first time at the end of Book of Hours before I ever thought to use her in a Good Omens context.

This story has meant the world to me even though the fandom around it at the time of writing, and even now, was never more than about 20 people. Most of those people are still with me, the dearest friends I could ever hope to have 💙

*

Chapter Index for The Series / Book of Hours by irisbleufic

1. Stereotypical (2013-11-18)

2. Persuasion (2013-11-18)

3. Taste Testing (2013-11-18)

4. Leaving a Mark (2013-11-18)

5. Trick or Treat (2013-11-18)

6. Omerta (2013-11-18)

7. Translation (2013-11-18)

8. Sketches (2013-11-18)

9. Falling (2013-11-18)

10. Caught (2013-11-18)

11. What It Takes (2013-11-18)

12. Noteworthy (2013-11-18)

13. These Shadows Have Offended (2013-11-18)

14. Love Never Did Run Smooth (2013-11-18)

15. Within Reason (2013-11-18)

16. Composure (2013-11-18)

17. Clippings (2013-11-18)

18. Without End (2013-11-18)

19. Prologue: Every Hour (2013-11-18)

20. Book of Hours: Part 1 (2013-11-18)

21. Book of Hours: Part 2 (2013-11-18)

22. Flashback: Spiral (2013-11-18)

23. Flashback: Silver (2013-11-18)

24. The Orchids (2013-11-18)

25. Closer to Fine (2013-11-18)

#toy soldiers #fanfiction #wil wheaton #sean astin #good omens #pacific rim #gotham #fandom history #meta #billy tepper x joey trotta

[mynonclicheblog]

After seeing the first 5 minutes, it's VERY clear that both Ben & Devi's actions post-boink are very much (virtually 100%) being driven by fear and insecurity. They both feel awkward that it wasn't some epic fairytale First Time (because that happens sooooo often to teenagers in the real world, right?) and they're overthinking each others' behavior to the point that it's clouding their judgement.

I'd like to talk about them both, but I'm going to focus mainly on Ben since he appears to be our little troublemaker this season (compare w/ Devi's season 2) - and also, I think I have a better idea where his emotional/romantic development arc is going this season. To start off:

I'm sorry to the dxtons who tried to relay this scene in the most disparaging and anti-ben way possible, but this is the face of a boy who WANTS to talk. A boy who was surprised and excited when Devi turned towards him because he really really likes her and it seems like she's actually initiating communication- for real this time! All he's ever wanted was for them to talk candidly about their feelings!

...But then, like a teenage dum-dum (who is still nursing the wounds from two years ago), he hits the panic button. I, uh- I should probably hit the hay.

This swallows up the crumb of hope Devi was clinging to that maybe, just maybe, the whole thing wasn't as bad as she'd thought - and as we see in her following scene with Elfab, sure enough, she has been drowning in fear that she didn't measure up.

Girl... no he wasn't 😂 you were embarrassed for you, and Ben was embarrassed for Ben! [John McEnroe voice] That's how this works!

But it's just a great example of my very first point: that all of their thoughts, actions, and perceptions are based in insecurity right now. Fortunately for Devi, she has two supportive besties who know both her and Ben, who are here to talk and help her work through what to do next.

But as Ben tells Dwight Howard... he doesn't have any friends. So he resorts to a complete stranger.

I want to quickly point out the parallels between Ben & Devi's dialogue here (Devi in the last section and Ben in this one). They are both thinking about themselves. They're worried/making the assumption that the other person thought they... ehm... performed badly, and now they are confiding in other people rather than clearing it up with each other (because they're idiots [affectionate]).

Devi makes a great first step by inviting Ben out for coffee, and can I just say how PROUD I AM OF HER? Like, yes, love! Open up that avenue of communication! Talk it out! There's nothing to be afraid of!

But across the valley, Ben tells Dwight Howard that after having sex, Devi "didn't say anything, she just got up and sprinted out"... but that's not really what happened, is it? Ben fumbled the ball when he offered to call her an Uber, and Devi took that as her cue to leave. We (and Dwight) are listening to Ben's inaccurate retelling of events, skewed by the post-boink anxiety he's been stewing in. This boy who was once delighted that Devi turned over in bed to talk, has since repressed the mortifying moment that followed wherein he blew her off. Now all he remembers is her darting out the door.

In accordance with spoilers, it looks like Devi's Starbucks text comes through while Ben is still talking with Mr. Howard - and since Ben provided him with a misleading picture of how things went down, Dwight is going to tell him that Devi doesn't really love him. That she's just going to hurt him again. That he deserves someone who brings out the good in him. (All of this coming from a man who doesn't know Ben, has never even met Devi, and has no insight whatsoever into the relationship he's advising.)

Unfortunately for Devi (& us), this is Ben's biggest fear, so he listens. He takes the easy road yet again and pursues the less scary option... but she's still not Devi.

I truly believe that in the first few episodes when Ben talks to Devi, he is doing nothing more than basically parroting what others have told him. Why? Because those words will justify his urge to continue retreating to safety; they will enable him to avoid confronting his biggest emotional truth, something he's been running from for two years. As much as he obviously, clearly WANTS to give into his feelings for Devi, he's still afraid. And even though she's the one who hurt him, he still thinks she is incredible (which she is!!!), and that he couldn't possibly live up to what she deserves. There's so much to unpack here and I think this is a great way to make the events of season 2 a relevant topic again without being contrived.

Similar to Devi in seasons 2 & 3, I think Ben's arc is going to be about gaining the self-worth to stand on his own rather than passively agreeing to what others think he should do (i.e. Dwight and Margot).

The back half of the season will be Ben not only overcoming his greatest fear by talking with Devi and learning how deeply and genuinely she wants him this time around, but in doing so, he's going to become more confident in his relationship with her and learn to make his own decisions regarding it. He will learn that he can trust his own instincts again, no longer paralyzed by heartbreak or feelings of inferiority. He can trust Devi with his heart now. She's all in.

#we'll see how accurate this ends up being... i could be totally wrong bc this show loves to surprise. but that's my read so far #god i remember being stressed bc someone was like 'yeah ben tells her to take an uber home so that he can go to bed. and then he blew off- #-their starbucks date because she put a period in her text' or something like that jfdajsdnqwnefg like... Y'ALL... the clownery #benvi #ben x devi #never have i ever #nhie spoilers #ben gross #analysis post #for the record i am both a ben AND a devi apologist. what about it