#my boss has a brain full of rocks I will not

[blackhairedjjun]

second chance encounters

pairing: choi yeonjun x gn!reader | genre / tropes: slight fluff, acquaintances to ???, university -> working adult au, nostalgia & slice of life vibes | word count: 3.6k | warnings: alcohol, some profanity, work-related burnout

summary: it's been a year since you graduated from university, and it always seemed like life had different plans for you and for the resident dance crew heartthrob, choi yeonjun. that is, until you run into him by chance after work.

author's notes: hello! this is one part of a fic idea that has been stirring in my brain for the LONGEST time - i wanted a very slice of life fic about adult life and growing up, and for the longest time i tried over and over to write it. but it was hard especially since it involved such personal feelings and experiences and i wanted to capture it just right. but i managed to get this part out, and once i'm less busy i want to try writing a part 2 too. so here it is, i hope you enjoy!

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It was nearly midnight when you were finally let go from overtime duties at your job. You walked out of your building and, exhausted from staying up for so long, you plopped down on the curb in front of the entrance. At this hour you should try to get a cab home, but you wanted a moment to rest and regain your bearings first.

Despite the late hour, it wasn’t too dark outside; the streetlamps illuminated the sidewalks, and plenty of other office buildings still had windows with the lights on. Next to your building, a 24-hour convenience store was flooded in fluorescent lighting. Maybe you were lucky to have gotten out before midnight when plenty of others were still staying up. But with your eyelids drooping and your whole body feeling heavier than a slab of rock, calling yourself “lucky” felt like a stretch.

You spent the next few moments letting your attention drift, your eyes fluttering shut. You could still see the spreadsheets swimming in front of your vision, and you could still hear your boss’s voice urging you to keep up with the pace. “We won’t go easy on you just because you’re a junior. In fact, you should be working harder if you want to prove yourself.” 

Work harder... prove myself... The words were in your mind constantly, even when your body protested.

Your eyes snapped open for a moment and you spotted a tall man in a hoodie exiting the convenience store, plastic bag in hand, headed for a nearby parked car. Perhaps it was just your fatigue making you see things, but he looked familiar.

He turned his head in your direction and your eyes met. You watched his own eyes widen in recognition.

“Uh, excuse me一” he approached you, scratching his head, “did you perhaps go to...?”

He mentioned your university’s name.

You blinked and studied his face.

Of course. 

You had spoken to him only a handful of times before, but you still recognized the former captain of your university’s dance crew. Everyone at your major had known him.

“Choi Yeonjun...?”

一

Three years earlier

You swished around the beer in your plastic cup, watching the party scene unfold in front of you. The music blared from someone’s speakers, competing with the loud voices of your fellow university students shouting and laughing over each other, and tipsy students nearly stumbled into one another as they tried to reach the cooler for more drinks. All the while you leaned against the far wall of the common room, taking small sips of your beer, glancing around now and then for a sign of your roommate.

Still nowhere.

She’s probably playing a drinking game with one of her friends, you thought, or in another room making out with that guy from the dance crew. You sighed and drained the last of your beer, but made no move to refill it. The room was full of people you didn’t know or barely knew, their faces vaguely familiar from some common classes you shared with them, and you didn’t have the courage to talk to them. None of them paid you any notice either, instead staying close by the friends they already knew.

You had hoped that your roommate would at least be polite and introduce you to some friends you could stay with, but she had left your side as soon as you both entered the party. You sighed.

Just them a tall man in a baseball cap blocked your view.

He was clearly drunk, from the way his face was flushed red, and blinked a few times at you. You recognized him as a classmate from your literature elective, though you couldn’t remember his name.

“Do I... know you?” he slurred, blinking again. A small spark of hope rose in your chest.

“Yeah, we’re actually一”

He threw his head back and started laughing, nearly dropping the beer bottle he was holding. You tried to speak but he only laughed more. “Ah, what am I saying... who are you... hah...”

Your heart sank.

“Hey, you’re bother 一 you’re bothering them... that’s not nice...”

Another man appeared at your classmate’s side, nudging him. You could he that he was also tipsy from his pink-tinted cheeks and the way he stumbled over his words, but he seemed to have enough sense to stop his friend. He too looked familiar, but you weren’t not sure from where.

“I’m not boooothering,” your drunk classmate whined.

“Heh, okay you’re not... let’s just hang somewhere else...”

He squeezed his drunk friend’s shoulder, which seemed to divert his attention; he turned around to leave the room. The man then turned to look at you and you swore that he was properly looking, not just staring with his eyes glazed over from the alcohol.

“Hi...” He let out a little giggle. Cute. 

“Um... hi?”

“Sorry ‘bout that... we won’t bother you... have fun.”

“It’s okay...”

He stood there for a few moments, smiling at you. It was just a lopsided smile from tipsiness, but you couldn’t help the flutter you felt in your chest.

Then, as if awakened out of nowhere, he snapped to his senses. He waved at you, letting out a shy “bye!”, then turned around to follow his friend. You watched his back as he nearly stumbled over the couch and disappeared into a room at the side, and for the first time that night, you smiled.

It took a few moments, but you finally remembered why that man was so familiar: He was a prodigy member of the dance crew, the one that had won countless competitions against other dance crews from different universities. He was only a sophomore and already he was turning heads. Of all the members of that award-winning roster, he was said to be the best one.

His name, you recalled, was Choi Yeonjun.

一

You sat in the passenger seat of Yeonjun’s car with your hands folded on your lap. A jazz-pop playlist was playing from the car stereo, and you glanced over at your driver, who was humming along and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. His posture was relaxed and he steered with one hand. As the song reached its final chorus, he broke out into full song, singing with such passion that his eyes and nose scrunched up.

Maybe it was a bad idea to accept a car ride from someone you barely knew, but it was certainly a better option than remaining seated and half-asleep on the curb in front of your office building. Besides, you had heard nothing but good things about Yeonjun during your stay in university. You had been classmates with a few dance crew members and they always spoke of him with a tone of admiration.

The song came to an end just as the car stopped at a red light. At this hour, there were hardly any cars on the intersection. Yeonjun turned towards you and smiled.

“I haven’t seen you in ages,” he said.

“Me too.” You fought your tiredness to manage a smile.

“It’s so good to see a familiar face. I just moved here a few weeks ago.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head at you and licked his lips, thinking of what to say. “I actually got back from visiting my parents... I had to pick up some of my stuff there to move to my new studio. Then I ended up having dinner with them, walking around, catching up, and well... I was hoping to be home by ten.” 

Your tired smile turned genuine at his story. “That sounds really nice, though. I visited my parents last month, so I get what you mean.”

“Mm, I miss them already.” The traffic light turned green and Yeonjun turned to face the road again; the car cruised past the buildings of the business district, the lights in some of their windows still on. “Hey, how long have you lived here?”

“Less than a year ago, I guess? Pretty much right after graduation. I got a good job offer so I moved here so that the commute would be a bit easier.”

“Yeah, that makes sense... hold on, the building I found you at...”

“Uh-huh?”

“You work at StarOne?”

You sighed. When you had first gotten the job offer, everyone around you had oohed and aahed, throwing compliments and congratulations your way 一 you had gotten a job at one of the biggest, most prestigious companies in the country. You had blushed and beamed at them and replied with Thank you and Oh my god, I’m so excited too. But it hadn’t even been a year since then, and now all you knew were hours of overtime and unhappy clients, rush projects and evaluations where your boss and his boss peeled back your pride layer by layer. You’re doing good, but we didn’t hire you for ‘good’, they would say. We’ve got dozens of other junior officers and even more applicants standing outside our doors, clamoring for the job that you have.

You took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the canned responses you had developed when asked about your job: Yes, I work at StarOne. The pay is fine. The hours are pretty long, I guess. It’s challenging. But at least I work at a good company.

But instead the car reached another red light and Yeonjun turned to look at you and his eyes softened, as if he had seen the exasperation you so often hid. “Oh... overtime?”

You nodded.

“Ah, sorry. You’re probably too tired to talk about work, huh?”

You nodded again.

He blushed and turned away for a moment. Then he reached to the passenger seat behind him, picked up a thick dark blue blanket, and handed it to you. “Ah, my bad, I shouldn’t have asked... Do you want to rest for a bit? You can sleep for the rest of the ride if you want. Don’t worry, the blanket’s clean.”

Your memory stirred and brought forth a moment three years ago, when you had first run into Yeonjun at a party. In your mind you saw the way he had squeezed your old classmate’s shoulder, keeping him from bothering you too much, and the way he had looked at you right after. You remembered feeling seen, as if he regarded you as an old friend.

The way Yeonjun looked at you now, blanket in hand, felt exactly the same.

“Oh... you didn’t have to.”

“Keep it in case you get sleepy.”

You took the blanket from him, his fingertips brushing yours as he handed it over, and unfolded it on your lap. When you looked back at him you couldn’t help the small smile forming on your lips.

“Thank you.”

He made sure to drive a little more slowly after that, but you could still hear him softly humming along to the songs on his playlist. The sound of his voice wrapped around you even more comfortably than the blanket. 

You closed your eyes to let your mind wander. Sleep didn’t come to you, but new thoughts did 一 thoughts of Yeonjun and what you had known about him from university. Though you had barely spoken to him, your social circles did overlap somewhat; you had been classmates with a few dance crew members, and a few of his friends had been in the same major as you. Every time his name was brought up, it was always in a positive light, whether it was him helping out a new dance recruit or inspiring the rest of the dance crew to work harder. Not once had you heard anyone speak ill of him.

Now you understood why.

一

Two years earlier

You watched the rain from the entrance of the campus arts building, its extended roof keeping you and several other students dry. Today the downpour was much better compared to previous days 一 you could actually see ahead of you, for one 一 but it was still bad enough that the endless drumming of the rain on rooftops filled your ears, and the pathway leading out of the building was a blur.

Still, you had a class in ten minutes and Professor Im had not made any announcement of cancellation. The sciences building was a short walk away but you needed all the time you could to get there and dry yourself off. Sighing, you fished your umbrella out of your bag and silently thanked your past self for remembering to pack it this time. With the push of a button (good thing you got one of those automatic ones) the umbrella opened, you held it up, and you hugged your bag more closely around your body to keep it dry. Here you go.

You had barely taken two steps out of the building when someone bumped against your side. Your umbrella shook, causing a few rain droplets to land on your head, but you barely felt them. Not while you were too busy staring in horror at the student who had bumped into you and was now running through the rain, not caring that they were getting soaked to the bone.

“HEY!”

You chased after them, your umbrella swaying as you ran through the pathway, shouting at the student to wait. You were no match for their pace 一 you could see that they had long legs 一 but they finally heard your shouts, slowed down, and turned to look at you.

Oh. Choi Yeonjun.

His hair was wet, with his bangs clinging to his forehead, and his hoodie was so drenched that it had turned from light grey to dark. He was still panting from his sprint and the dampness on his face was a mixture of rainfall and sweat.

You felt your face grow hot. Somehow offering to share an umbrella with someone you kind of knew was more embarrassing than doing it with a total stranger. But you were already here anyway and it seemed rude not to say anything.

“Uh, we can... share...”

You held the umbrella up above your head to accommodate his height and he laughed.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “I’m headed to the gym for dance practice, it might be too far.”

“It’s okay! I’ll take you!”

That was a lie. The gym was in the opposite direction from the science building. But you had perfect attendance in class so far, so you figured that one late mark wasn’t too much of a cost.

Yeonjun giggled and took the umbrella from you. His hands were soft as they brushed against yours. Your whole body felt warm despite the chill from the rain. “I’ll hold it for us then,” he said.

You smiled and moved closer to him. “Thank you.”

“Nah, I should be thanking you. Coach would’ve embarrassed me in front of the whole team for being late. And I told the new members last week not to be late! I would’ve looked like a dummy in front of them.”

He laughed again and you couldn’t help but laugh too. His walking pace was brisk but you didn’t mind, keeping up with him and listening to him talk about his dance practice. A whole other world within the university campus seemed to open up in front of you, one of competitions and prizes and prestige and a lot of blood, sweat, and tears. Yet there was an unmistakable gleam in Yeonjun’s eyes as he talked about the team’s new routine and the higher challenge level for it.

“We’ve only got a week left so we really can’t waste any time,” he said. “So... thank you. This helps a lot, really.”

The two of you were standing in front of the gym entrance. The rain had died down to a drizzle, and he lowered your umbrella. The walk from the arts building had felt like both an eternity and a moment.

You took the umbrella from him and his hands lingered on the handle before he let go.

“See you around,” he said. “Good luck with class.”

“Yeah, see you... good luck with practice.”

Yeonjun turned and sprinted into the gym, and you headed back to find the path to the science building. Not a single worry about being late bothered you, and you couldn’t help yourself from smiling.

一

Yeonjun’s GPS led him to a boxy apartment building. It was painted completely white, reflecting the light of a nearby streetlamp, which gave it a sterile glow. He pursed his lips; not the most homey place to live, he mused, but at least it looked well-kept.

He turned to you and found you asleep in the passenger seat, his blanked draped over your shoulders. Your chest rose and fell ever so slightly from your breaths, and your expression was completely calm. There was no trace of the undertones of stress he’d sensed when he had approached you; whatever worries you had about your job seemed to disappear in your dreams. 

Yeonjun lifted a hand to tap your shoulder awake, but he hesitated. A wave of relief overcame him, and for a moment he couldn’t help but admire your serene expression as you slept. You looked so... content. Had he ever seen you look that way? While he had crossed paths with you only a few times, you had always looked as if something was on your mind. He could still see it all in his memories: the loneliness in your posture when he approached you at the party, the nervousness in your eyes when you had offered your umbrella to him. He wondered what worries were always plaguing you, and if anything could be done to keep them away.

At least he had returned the favor for the umbrella incident, he thought. And it only took him two years.

His hand was still hovering over your shoulder when you awoke. You blinked a few times to chase the sleepiness away before turning your head to look at him. A small smile spread across your face and Yeonjun felt a flutter stirring in his chest.

“Are we home...?” Your voice was still hoarse with sleep.

“Just got here.” He smiled. “I can walk you to your door...”

“Mm, okay...”

Your apartment door wasn’t far up, only on the third floor. You had his blanket draped around you like a scarf, and Yeonjun carried your bag for you. He set it down beside your door, its black paint finish contrasting with the white walls, and waited for you to unlock it.

It was only when you pushed the door open that you noticed his blanket around your shoulders. You tugged it off and handed it to him.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot一”

“Keep it.” Then, feeling a little bold, he continued: “You can give it to me the next time we see each other.”

“Next time...?”

His smile faltered. Did you not want to see him again? Was he being too forward? Did he overestimate how much you remembered him? Why did he feel so keen on seeing you again in the first place?

“You don’t 一 you don’t have to.” He reached a hand to take the blanket. “Sorry, I was, I was just...”

But you regained your senses from your nap and beamed at him. The sight of it sent another fluttering feeling through Yeonjun’s chest.

“No, I mean... I was just surprised that you’d want to catch up, that’s all.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I... um. I do want to catch up with you, Yeonjun.”

“Great! Oh shit一” He clasped his hands over his mouth. His voice had come out a little too loud. “I mean, let’s work something out. I can give you my number...”

一

You had been lying in bed for fifteen minutes and you were still awake. You should be trying to sleep for another day of overtime tomorrow, but all you could think about was your drive home with Yeonjun.

You reached for your phone on your nightstand and looked at his contact for the fourth or fifth time since you’d shut the door behind you. He had saved his contact name as “jjunie” with a little fox next to it, and the sight of it made you chuckle.

Did this really happen? You thought of the few times you had run into each other, seemingly at random: his cute little “bye” as he clutched a beer, or his damp hair sticking to his forehead as he held onto your umbrella. His life felt tangential to yours, always passing by you, but never with you. And yet you were holding on to your phone with his number in it and an offer to see each other again.

You laughed again and set the phone down on the bed, on top of the blanket that he had lent you, and rolled to your side. It didn’t matter now, you mused. Old memories gave way to newer ones: his smile as he opened the passenger side of his car for you, his humming to a jazz tune as he waited at the intersection, his soft hands placing the blanket in yours. 

No matter how things had been back then, they were different now. Yeonjun would stick around in your life for a little while. You might even have a friend, and the thought consoled you as you finally drifted off to sleep.

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt x you #yeonjun x you #choi yeonjun x reader #kpop x reader #txt imagines #kpop imagines #yeonjun imagines #txt fluff #yeonjun fluff #tomorrow x together imagines #txt fic #txt fanfic #yeonjun fanfic #bhj: violet's works

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

I’m so sorry for this guys but

AITA for telling someone their horse was masturbating?

Basically does what it says on the tin. For those of you who don’t know horses can masturbate. It’s most common in male horses under the age of three who have not had their testicles removed and who are confined to a stall or small pen and get really bored. They typically grow out of the behaviour once they’re older or given more freedom. Some owners try to train them to stop it from happening but most just ignore it because it’s better than other boredom behaviours like cribbing and wind-sucking (both are SFW to Google btw).

Anyway, I’m a groom and stable hand, mid-twenties now but been working at my job since I was fifteen (part-time then, now full-time). The stable I work at boards horses and gives lessons but also offers training for young horses, so we get a lot of OTTB here – that is “off-the-track Thoroughbreds”, so ex-racing horses that people typically buy cheap and then retrain to be show jumpers or dressage horses or whatever. One such horse is Bert, who is the horse in question in this situation.

Bert has excellent bloodlines but he sucked as a racing horse so he was sold OTT. The man who bought him, I’ll just call him John, knows nothing about horses – he’s a total beginner in every way, has never ridden and pays other people (including me) to take care of Bert, but claims to be an expert in everything equine because Bert cost him so much money (I don’t know the actual amount but he’s in the section of the stable where the $20,000 Warmbloods are boarded so I’m assuming around that amount which is a lot yes but also not the most expensive horse we’ve had here).

Anyway the actual story – I’m at work cleaning out stalls when John walks past, he completely ignores me as he always does so I do the same and get back to work. A few minutes later he goes sprinting back in the opposite direction which I thought was weird but whatever, I kept mucking, until I heard him shouting for help. I went out into the aisle and he’s there shouting at another groom and demanding to know the emergency vets number (it was a weekday morning btw, so he didn’t need the emergency vet, he just needed the regular vet but that’s meaningless anyway). I went over to see what was happening and he tells me his horse (Bert) is ‘acting weird’ and needs a vet immediately, so I offer to go see Bert for myself and then call the vet if necessary.

So basically yeah Bert was masturbating. Had an erection, was rocking about rubbing it on his tummy, and did NOT want anyone going in his stall or touching him. John points at Bert and says something like “see, he’s sick!” and then tells me Bert tried to attack him when he entered the stall and I just, I dunno, I cough and say that Bert is fine and just wants some privacy right now, figuring that the obvious erection might be a giveaway as to what’s happening? But John turned to me and blurts out word for word “are you an actual retard” and then starts cursing at me and telling me I know nothing and Bert needs a vet etc and so on. I kind of blanked on everything else he said after he called me a retard to be honest because WTF? I don’t really know what went on in my brain in the next few seconds but I ended up shouting – yes, shouting, extremely loudly, it fucking echoed in the stable – “he doesn’t need a vet because HE’S JUST MASTURBATING” in John’s face and then walking back to the stall I’d been mucking.

As I got back to the stall I heard laughter from a couple of aisles over. Apparently my co-workers and some riders who were there had all heard me shout and found it hilarious, and that made me laugh too because it was so freaking ridiculous. I honestly kind of forgot the entire encounter afterwards because we had a horse who actually needed a vet a little while later and yeah, John and Bert just slipped my mind.

I didn’t remember until that afternoon when my boss came to see me and said he’d had a complaint from John who wanted me fired. I did not get fired but I did get ‘warned’ (just a formality, my boss didn’t actually punish me but wanted me to act like I had been if John questioned me later, which he never did). John complained that I’d treated him like an idiot, spoken down to him, and “acted above my position” (those were the exact words he used) causing people to laugh at him. I explained the entire situation to my boss, who also laughed, and that was that, nothing else ever came of it aside from my co-workers telling the story of me shouting HE’S MASTURBATING so loudly it scared a pony into jumping so suddenly that it farted to everyone they possibly could.

Since then John has ignored me even more than before which I honestly consider a blessing, and I would leave this situation thinking I’m NTA except that one of my co-workers brought their boyfriend to the stable recently and when they introduced us the boyfriend said something like ‘oh right, you’re the asshole who talks down to people who don’t know everything about horses’ and yeah. My co-worker was blindsided by that as well and we basically both said you don’t have to know everything about horses to know what an erection means, but since then I’ve been wondering if I am TA in this situation? Like, clearly there were better ways to tell John what his horse was doing, but he called me a retard and also I get paid to take care of horses not to teach the birds and the bees to fifty year olds so I don’t know. I’ll let Tumblr decide.

So, AITA for telling John his horse was masturbating?

Additional info: I'm on a rota with other stable hands so I sometimes groom Bert, muck his stall, attend to his vet/farrier appointments, give him worming paste, etc and so on. I am not his trainer and have no input into when he gets to leave his stall. I've mentioned to my boss a couple of times that he boredom stims and should be in a paddock with other young horses, but John refuses to agree to that for reasons I don't know. My boss has since spoken to Bert's trainer who is now trying to convince John to let Bert have more time outdoors.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #slur cw

[retrobutterflies]

Velvet Kisses | e.m.

Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: Your shitty job has you turning to your almost-boyfriend for help, making both of you admit the full extent of your feelings.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Slight Angst, Major Fluff, Semi-Established Relationship, A creepy man but nothing happens

A/N: This is my brain vomit.

There were few jobs in Hawkins that were desirable. Last year you worked at the 5 & 10 and your boss didn't understand that you couldn't work shifts before 3pm because of school so he fired you for showing up late to shifts you explicitly stated you couldn't work. Over the summer you were a camp counselor and had dealt with enough crying kids and kickballs to the face last you a lifetime. And your job at the minimart lasted all of three days before the former employee who you were replacing had come back begging for their job.

But working at the gas station had to be one of the better jobs you've had. It required little brain power, the most taxing job being wresting with the cash register that seemed like it was a hundred years old. Your boss was a kind man, paying you generously and forcing his son to drive you home at the end of your night shifts. And he even let you leave early if it was a particularly slow day.

That being said, you had never encountered so many walks of life as you had at your evening night shifts at Hawkins Oil. Young kids trying to see if you'd let them buy beer, raiding the snack aisle, and asking you strange probing questions like 'Have you ever been to Skull Rock?' Older patrons frequenting the back freezers and packs of cigarette lining the wall behind you. Some people asked for strangely specific amounts of gas to be put on their pumps and others counted their change down to the last cent as if you were planning on jipping them a nickel.

The worst, however, was the creepy men whose eyes lit up at a young girl working the night shifts. They would lean in close enough so you could smell the tobacco on their breath as they asked for a lighter or gum or whatever was behind the counter so you had to interact with them. And they would purposely brush your hand as they paid, making sure to ask you questions as you hurried through the sale as if it would prolong the conversation.

Your boss made sure to never have you working alone. Either him or his son would accompany you, staring down any strange man that tried anything. It was the reason you felt safe enough to work there. And you had never had any problems until today.

"I just need to leave ten minutes early. I'll do all the inventory and clean up. All you have to do is lock up once your shift is over." The owner's son Mikey was hard to say no to. His green eyes and swooping hair made him a complete sight for sore eyes and his continuous begging throughout the day about how important this date was tonight and how he couldn't be late or he'd never find true love made you acquiesce faster than you'd like to admit. And you wanted him to be happy you just didn't want to finish your shift alone.

"All the inventory?" you questioned as if you hadn't already made up your mind. His eyes lit up as he shook his head up and down.

"All of it. And you can leave ten minutes early on Monday," he added. You smiled. You were already going to say yes but you weren't going to argue with leaving early.

"Okay, fine. But you better fall in love," you said as he jumped up, scrambling to finish the inventory count so he could leave in twenty minutes.

"I'll tell this story at our wedding," he said, his grin highlighting his sharp cheekbones. You let out a laugh.

Twenty minutes came and went and soon enough Mikey was zipping out of there, his "See you next week!" fading until all you heard was the muted buzzing of the overhead fluorescent lights. You busied yourself with doodling on the discarded receipts, pen swirling in random patterns as you waited for the minutes to tick by. The ringing of the bell on the door had your eyes flickering up as a man wandered in. You didn't think much of it at first, continuing your aimless drawing as he meandered to the back freezer. But then he made his way up to the counter, making you jump as you noticed his proximity.

"That all?" you asked, straightening up as he placed the coke can on the counter.

"A pack of reds, too," he said after a moments hesitation. You nodded, turning behind you to grab the pack of Marlboro cigarettes. When you turned back, you couldn't help but notice the uncomfortable way his eyes lingered on you.

"That'll be $3.81." He nodded, pulled a five from his wallet, and slid it over the counter.

"You can keep the change," he said. You nodded, averting your eyes down to the cash register as you loaded in the bill. When he didn't leave, you glanced up at him feeling an uneasy prickling in the back of your neck at his stare.

"Do you need anything else, sir?" you asked. Maybe he was just tired. It was late and the sun had long set now, the only light illuminating the parking lot coming from the store.

"What time do you guys close?" he asked. It was an innocent question. Many people had asked you before and you didn't bat an eye. But there was something about this time, about him asking with his oddly piercing gaze that made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Ten." It was quiet for a moment, neither of you saying anything else before he nodded, gave you a smile, and headed out the door. You watched him walk into the parking lot. He turned around halfway, eyes staring back at you. He smiled, again, and you felt your gut twist more. Then he walked to his car.

You waited with bated breath, waited for him to start the ignition and pull out of the lot. But the seconds ticked by and he wasn't leaving. You counted to sixty, then sixty again. Still the car sat motionless, shrouded in the darkness of the corner of the parking lot that the storefront didn't illuminate. Why wasn't he leaving? Why was he just sitting there?

You looked up at the clock, watching the big hand tick to ten o'clock on the dot. A sudden rush of dread flushed through you. Mikey had been your ride. In his excitement, neither of you remembered that he was supposed to drive you home. Your home which sat on the other side of town. Even if you wanted to walk it would take you nearly an hour. And looking at the car quiet and unmoving in the empty parking lot made the idea of walking a fool's mission.

You hopped up quickly, heading to the door to flip the lock. Even closer up you couldn't see the driver's seat of the car. If you hadn't watched the man get into it you would've believed it was abandoned.

"Shit," you muttered.

You walked back to the counter, grabbing for the phone as your eyes kept glancing back at the car as if it was finally going to leave. You called your house phone close to seven times. You knew your parents were staying with your grandparents but your good for nothing sister was supposed to be home. She wasn't even supposed to have plans tonight so why wasn't she answering.

You felt near hysterical as the phone went unanswered for the eighth time. You slammed the phone down, sending every curse under the sun to your lousy useless car-wrecking sister who was the whole reason you didn't have a car in the first place.

The car was still there and you still didn't have any way to get home. But like hell were you sleeping in this place. You gnawed on your lip, weighing your options before his face popped into your head.

Eddie Munson. You squeezed your eyes shut, wracking your brain to try and remember the combination of numbers of his landline. You had called him two days ago. It was written on a pink post-it note taped on your mirror. You stared at it every time you did your makeup. Grabbing the pen, you flipped over an un-doodled receipt and quickly wrote down the numbers you remembered. Four . . . nine . . . three . . . Come on.

You and Eddie had started seeing each other maybe three weeks ago. You weren't exclusive and you had only gone on a handful of dates but you did call each other often. You knew his number was somewhere in your brain you just had to pry it out.

Minutes passed by and your hope was dwindling exponentially until like a light bulb the number appeared in your brain. You quickly scribbled it down before you forgot and picked up the phone, punching the numbers in.

The phone rang and you nervously tapped the pen in your hand on the counter as you waited for him to pick up.

"Hello?" You had never been happier to hear his gruff rumbly voice.

"Eddie!" you breathed, smile over taking your face. You heard movement on the other end before he responded.

"Hi Sweetheart. I was wondering if you'd call," he commented. You could hear the smile in his voice, imagining him leaning onto his counter, phone pressed to his cheek.

"I was gonna, when I got home. But I'm still at work," you said. He let out a hum.

"Still working? Did you miss me that much?" he let out a soft chuckle. You would've laughed if you weren't so on edge.

"You wish," you replied, a smile working it way onto your lips. Just the sound of Eddie's voice had your anxious nerves settling a bit. "Um, are you doing anything right now?"

"Burning some Spaghettio's. Was gonna play a little guitar but," he cleared his throat as if he was suddenly nervous. You heard movement again, "Was kinda waiting for your call. Didn't wanna miss it."

The thought of Eddie loitering around the kitchen, eyes watching the land line waiting for your call had your stomach doing somersaults. You had had a crush on Eddie for the better part of a year, hopelessly pining from a distance as your social groups were miles a part. He was always so vibrant and engaging and it was hard to miss him around school. His big brown eyes, wild hair, and general disregard for societal standards had you roped in immediately but the thought of him liking you was still a foreign concept.

When he had admitted that he had been crushing on you for years before you finally started talking because of a group project, you nearly called him out on what you thought was a blatant lie. And he was adamant that the minute he saw you, sparkling eyes and witty tongue, he was sold. But your relationship was still new, unlabelled and fresh that you struggled with what was appropriate to say or do. Was it too early to be calling him every night? Could you admit you missed him when he was away?

Sometimes, however, Eddie would say something so indulgently sweet that it took your breath away for a minute and had you bursting at the seems with affection.

"Eddie," you knew your eyes were rounding, bottom lip pushing out as you felt your chest squeeze in adoration, "That was really cute. I was looking forward to calling you all day." Your admission had him humming contentedly, his wide smile so evident in his tone.

"Yeah? I kinda wish I could've called you yesterday but duty calls or whatever bullshit," he sighed, referring to his band practice that seemed to go into the late hours of the night despite Gareth's mother's disproval.

"It's okay. I know you're a busy man," you said, tracing the side of the phone as you pictured Eddie's smile.

"Not too busy for you," he let out a sheepish laugh before adding, "You could probably convince me to cancel any plan I had. Just to see you."

You felt your heart flutter.

"Stop being cute. You're distracting me. I need to ask a favor," you said.

"Ask away. The answer is already yes," he replied, voice rumbling happily over the static. He was going to make you pass away.

"Do you think you could pick me up from work? My sister isn't answering," you admitted, voice growing softer. Your eyes flickered back to the parking lot, watching the car that still sat motionless.

"I thought that Mikey kid was your ride?" he asked. If he picked up on your unease he didn't comment on it.

"He was. We kinda forgot and he left early for a date," you explained. He hummed again and you heard movement and the jangling of keys making your stomach uncoil.

"You know, I could be your ride home from now on. So you don't have to rely on loverboy," his tone was slightly sharper as he referenced your coworker.

"He's usually reliable. He got caught up in the excitement–"

"And ditched you," he interjected, huffing at his annoyance.

"He didn't mean to. I'm not mad at him," you reassured.

"Right, no, s'okay. He works tomorrow though, right?"

"Eddie," you warned but he let out a laugh.

"I'm only kidding. Partially. I'm on my way, though, so hang tight, okay? I'll be there in like ten minutes max."

You let out a breath, nodding though he couldn't see you. When you said your goodbyes you tried to visualize what Eddie was doing to distract yourself from the foreboding silence of the empty store; door swinging shut, car beeping, keys ratting, ignition starting.

True to his word, not even seven minutes later Eddie's truck was peeling into the parking lot. You had never been so happy to see his wonky rusted old truck. You hopped up, grabbing your bag and hurrying to the door. The keys jangled loudly as you locked up behind you. As you turned around, you were distracted from Eddie's wide smile as the lights from that godforsaken car suddenly turned on. You froze, watching the red car pull out, pause, and then drive out of the parking lot.

You knew he had been waiting for you. Waiting to see when you were leaving, how you were getting home, but to see it be proven made you feel a little lightheaded. Your eyes met Eddie's as he glanced over his shoulder at the retreating headlights in the distance.

"Who was that? Not that sorry punk Mikey," Eddie asked as you hopped into the passenger seat, dropping your bag to your feet.

"No, he–" you took a sudden shuttering breath that had Eddie's mood dropping significantly, "He was a customer. And he was being weird and he's been sitting in his car for the past half hour probably waiting for me to leave."

You had never seen Eddie this angry. His joking tone before about being mad at Mikey suddenly transforming into hot anger at the idea that he had left you alone for some creep to stalk you like you were his prey.

"I'm picking you up from now on, okay? You tell that son of a bitch if he does anything other than grovel at your feet for forgiveness I'm paying him a visit," he seethed, hand flexing so his rings glinted in the muted lighting.

You turned in your seat to face him, cheek resting against the headrest as you gazed up at him. His eyes were hard, jaw clenched tight and brows furrowed. You reached out a hand to cup his cheek, thumb stroking the high of his cheekbone until his face relaxed. He turned to meet your eyes, his own softening at the look you were giving him.

"I'm okay. I have a baseball bat tucked under the counter as a last minute resort," you assured, voice soft and melodic as he leaned into your palm. His hand reached out to grab your free one, linking your fingers together and squeezing.

"I don't like you being scared," he admitted.

"My fear turns to rage pretty quickly under pressure," you hoped some humor would lighten the mood and he managed to crack a small smile at your comment.

"You'll call me if you ever need anything, right?"

"Of course," you said. His eyes trailed from your abused your bottom lip from worrying it between your teeth to the tension set in your jaw.

His free hand moved up to caress yours, holding it tighter to his cheek as his other softly stroked your palm.

"I'll never let anything bad happen to you, you know that, right?" he said, eyes burning into yours, tone soft but firm. You felt a swell of emotion in your chest. You nodded but he seemed adamant to continue, like you didn't grasp the seriousness of his words.

"I don't care if it's a paper cut or a spider or if the president himself was bothering you, I'll handle it. You call me and I'm there," he pressed, leaning in closer so you could smell his smoky cologne.

You nodded again but your throat suddenly felt tight and your eyes were prickling with moisture. He clocked the tears instantly and he was leaning in, lips pressing to your forehead, hand moving to the back of your neck, weaving his fingers into the hair at the base of your head. He massaged it gently, lips trailing kisses down your temple, to your cheeks, on your nose, and finally to your lips. You didn't realize tears had fallen until he was swiping them away with his thumb.

Your free hand clenched the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as he pressed soft, comforting, sweet kisses on your face. His hand scratched your head, fingertips swirling in hypnotic circles until he was pulling back and stroking the hair out of your face. His lips found yours again, pillowy soft and warm as if they were forcing you to relax. The tension slowly eased from your body until your head felt light and your mind gooey.

All at once you wanted to say those three sacred words. You wanted to spill all of your feelings and emotions and tell him you loved him until the sun came up. You wanted to drown in him, kiss him until you didn't know your own name anymore. And you wanted him to know you were completely and utterly sold on him. He had ruined anyone else for you.

"You wanna come to mine?" he asked, his voice close to a whisper, breath fanning over your face as you wilted at the loss of his lips. You nodded, still unsure if you could form proper words, your head spinning with thoughts of him kissing you over and over again.

The drive was quick, his right hand sandwiched between both of yours as you watched the trees whir past the window. He gave you a few sideways glances, feeling his anger at your air headed coworker swirling in his stomach. But every brush of you fingers over his tense knuckles had him deflating until he was solely focused on you and your perfume and your pretty glassy eyes.

You had been in Eddie's room multiple times but most of them were to work on that school project. Only one other time had you been here after you had both admitted your feelings. And suddenly stepping into the muted lighting, eyes trailing over the myriad of band posters, piles of records and cassettes, a mountain of laundry, and his messy unmade bed had a wave of nervousness washing over you. Eddie sheepishly pulled his comforter up, haphazardly pushing a few shirts and a few books to the ground, clearing the space.

"You want a change of clothes?" he asked, pausing his movements to look at you. You blinked at him, bag already discarded by the door and nodded. You probably looked great in the polo shirt and plain jeans that your boss had you and Mikey wear for "professionalism" even though it was a gas station.

You could tell the Metallica shirt he had handed you was old because it was soft and well-worn, a few holes decorating the collar. You pulled it over your head, the material caressing your sides. You pulled on the boxers after, an unused pair he said bought in the wrong size and left to reside in the bottom of his drawer. You timidly pushed out the bathroom door, glancing down the dark hallway to where Eddie's uncle was snoring loudly on the couch before heading back to Eddie's room.

Only the bedside lamp was on now casting sleepy shadows around the room. Eddie was resting against the headboard of his bed, legs laid out, his own sleep shirt adorning his torso, rings discarded on the bedside table. His eyes found your form as you shut the door behind you, trailing up and down your clothes, his clothes, draped over your body. He had never seen anyone look so good in a T-shirt before and frankly he didn't think he ever would again. You were otherworldly to him.

Hesitantly, you crawled onto the bed, mattress dipping under your knees as you got closer. His arms instantly encircled around you, pulling you flush against him giving you no time to hesitate. You melted into him, his scent overwhelming you and his warmth fighting back the chill of the room. He pulled the duvet over the both of you, shuffling you down until you were laying before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

"I was talking to Steve," he said breaking the silence, his voice rumbling into your neck making tingles run up your spine. Your arms wrapped around his torso, cheek pressing against his forehead, eyes fluttering shut as you waited for him to continue.

"He likes to give dating advice. Mostly unsolicited," he murmured, the vibrations tickling your skin. His hand trailed up your side until it found the side of your love handle peaking out from your shirt. His fingers grazed it, swirling around the velvety skin making you squirm slightly at the tickling sensation. You felt his grin.

"It's mostly all crap. All of his experience is from his shitty douchebag days. Probably why he goes on such shit dates." He pressed a kiss to your throat, his other arm tightening around your back to pull you impossibly closer. You felt your mind go gooey again at his affection.

"He did say though that," he paused and you felt him take a steadying breath, "if I waited any longer to ask you to be my girlfriend that you'd think I didn't like you anymore."

It took you a moment to move the thoughts around in your molasses mind before you processed his words.

"Which is ridiculous because even Dustin Henderson has known I've been in love with you for years," he added, fingers dipping under your shirt to draw shapes on the ridges of your ribs.

"What?" you whispered, eyes opening. His movements paused as if he himself just realized what he said. You felt him tense, hand pressing flat against your side as he let out a sigh. You pulled away from him slightly. You could tell the instant the rejection settled in his mind, his body growing tenser as he pulled back to meet your eyes. His eyes were dark, filled with hurt and worry. He tried to pull back more but your tight grip prevented him.

"You love me?" He was quiet for a moment, eyes flickering between both of yours weighing his options. You shuffled closer, grabbing his hand and placing it on your waist again, a silent command to keep drawing shapes. He softened, shifting closer as he shoved his insecurities to the back of his mind.

"If," he started, brown eyes flickering around your face, gaging every micro expression to make sure you weren't uncomfortable with his words, "If it doesn't scare you away, then yes."

He leaned in closer, breath fanning over your face, minty and cool. "If it does, then I have no idea what you're talking about." His hand squeezed your side making you let out a laugh, squirming again as a smile overtook your face. He stopped, eyes hooded as he gazed at you and your pretty smile and your warm eyes.

"Can you say it?" your voice was small, smile loosening until you were staring at him with big, vulnerable eyes. He knew then that you weren't scared. You weren't dismayed by his feelings. By the glint in your doe eyes and the way you melted at his affection, he knew you felt the same way.

"You need to answer my question first," he decided. Your brows pulled together slightly as you tried to remember what he was referring to. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your pouted lips as if he couldn't help himself. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

You felt your face flush and your pulse spike. You nodded, pressing closer hoping he would kiss you again.

"With words, baby," he insisted, hovering his lips over yours, hand moving up to stroke the swell of your cheek.

"Yes," you breathed, feeling like you might never stop blushing.

He finally leaned in and pressed a searing kiss to your lips.

"I love you," he said, hand stroking your hair back so he could kiss you deeply again and again and again, repeating the phrase between kisses like he couldn't get tired of saying it.

"I love you, too," you managed to say before he was covering your lips again, greedy for your attention.

You felt dizzy at the intensity, love drunk on Eddie and his velvet kisses and sugary words. You didn't care that it had only been three weeks and that an English project that you both barely managed to get a C on had been the catalyst. You had loved Eddie for a year and he had loved you for more and you'd be damned if you waited any longer to tell him you loved him over and over and over again.

Link to my masterlist :)

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson x y/n

[yggdrasilhypno]

Come here to gamble your days away, huh?

Not to say that I can blame ya much, seems like about everyone comes in here hoping to score big on somethin’.

Lucky day for you though, I’ve been needing a new volunteer for our newest attraction.

You see, ol’ hoss upstairs has been wanting new games out on the floor. You know, to get the ol’ folks all riled up.

They want the new fancy shmancy stuff, meanwhile we’re a bit more old fashioned.

We like our classics.

And what’s more classic than a good game of cards?

Though, we run things a bit differently here, of course.

Instead of the simple blackjacks or pokers, we prefer the game we dub “Eyeball.”

Never heard of it? It’s easy, I’ll show ya.

All you gotta do is keep your eyes on the cards in front of you and bet on the one in my hand, that’s all it is to it.

Sounds like a magic trick, huh? Kinda is, I gotta admit.

But, whatever gets people through the doors, you know?

So then, let’s start easy. Heck, I’ll give ya a freebie round, just to learn.

Four cards here on the table.

Simple ones too.

We got an Ace of Spades, Ace of Clubs, Ace of Hearts, and Ace of Diamonds.

All you gotta do is watch this Ace of Clubs for me, gotcha?

Keep those eyes on the card, because now it’s going in my deck.

All four cards bein’ shifted around in my hands, keeping those pretty eyes on my Ace of Clubs.

Just keep those eyes on me here, darlin’.

Each card moving around blurrin’ just a bit more in your eyes.

It gets hard to keep track of after a while anyways.

Maybe it’s best if you sit still and really focus on your card.

After all, you gotta win, right?

You want that big payout.

And so, those eyes are just glued to the card, shiftin’ all round now.

And, boom. Here we are.

Four cards on the table. All flipped over.

Which one’s that Ace of Clubs, darlin?

Hard to remember? Come on, you can throw out a guess for me.

Tell you what, guess right and you get some chips, on me.

Just don’t tell my ol’ boss about this, you hear?

Alright, go right on ahead and choose.

Hey hey, you got it right.

Feels amazing when you get it right on the money, huh?

Like you’ve been rocked with endless euphoria under the warmest of suns?

Yeah, that’s the hit of a gambler, alright.

Tell you what, I’ll give you another round here.

But, I throw in the full deck, just so that you get all my rules. Deal?

Good to hear, partner. Let’s hit this one on the head then.

You’ll be looking for this exact Ace of Hearts.

Got your eyes glued on tight onto it?

Keep those eyes on it now.

We don’t want you losing any money now, do we?

Of course, your brain could think about that right now, but it’s too caught up focusing on my cards shuffling and shifting around in my hands.

It’s way easier to worry about which card is gonna make you a winner here, you know.

Keep those eyes on it as my hands go faster and that Ace of Hearts gets thrown around more and more.

My careful hands, seemingly teasing you with the way I’m pulling and pushing the card around in front of you, almost giving away the answer.

Right before i stop, just like that brain of yours.

Right in its tracks.

And I set the cards all down.

And we wait now.

Tell me what card’s yours, hotshot.

Hard to tell, ain’t it?

You know what? I’m a nice guy, we’ll just slide this one as a win for me and you can keep enjoying that nice feeling of nothin’ in your head.

Don’t worry, I’ll just take a few chips here and there while you keep watchin’ the pretty cards a-movin’.

After all, it’s a way better feeling knowing those chips are going right back to the hands that keep shuffling that ol’ brain around, right?

Exactly.

Speaking of that brain, I’m guessing you can hear the casino slowing down around us, huh?

The roulette wheel spinnin, much like that brain o’ yours going around and around, each thought being spun outta control with each game.

Maybe you can hear the slots spinning round and round too, seemingly mixing up your thoughts one by one.

The pretty coins coming out of the machine, shiny and distracting as that pure metal creates that cha-ching you can’t help but love.

Those sounds all creating that perfect atmosphere for a jackpot.

Ah, you felt that? Very good.

Whenever people hear jackpot, they get all antsy.

They can’t help but get excited and overjoyed for obvious reasons.

That payout coupled with all the flashing lights and pleasure that comes with is euphoric.

That’s why whenever I say jackpot, I like to put an emphasis on it.

To really get you to understand how lucky you are.

How lucky you are to be at my table.

How lucky you are for me to handle your chips here.

How lucky you are to be doing so well right now.

You’re on a hot streak, after all.

So keep watching the cards in my hand, shuffling your brain all around.

Scrambling your mind as only I can.

Looking for the cards I tell you to.

Already forgot your card? No problem at all, darlin’.

Just keep those eyes on the cards and no doubt you’ll find one you like.

You do want the jackpot, right?

You wanna win that big burst of pleasure?

Then all you gotta do is give me aaaaall those chips of yours.

Every one of your thoughts, in every one of those chips.

No need to think anymore when you have nothing to think about, right?

Then you can get back to being happy n’ hollow, just the way you should be.

After all, having all those chips is so stressful.

So many numbers and things to keep up with.

It’s better when my words are tellin’ ya what cards you need and what thoughts you think.

It’s better when you’re just watching the cards shuffle your brain all around, like a twister of bliss.

It’s better when you don’t have a single thing to worry about.

It’s better when you’re all out of chips, darlin’.

So why don’t we make a wager then?

All in for the jackpot. What do you say?

That’s what I like to hear.

So then, let’s see if you can find the Ace of Spades here.

Keep your eyes on the card and keep your mind off the game.

All those noises in the background just letting you go deeper into this state of pure bliss.

All you want is that jackpot.

That explosion of euphoria and pleasure.

And you’ll get it soon enough.

Just find me the Ace of Spades when I…

Stop.

And put down one card on the table.

Wanna tell me what it is, darlin’?

Right-o, Ace of Spades.

Jackpot.

Ride it out, feel that high hit your brain and let aaaaaall those thoughts go away.

All those chips go to me.

All your thoughts are mine.

And finally, that mind is all on me right now.

So then, wanna play a few more rounds?

#hypnosis #hypnok1nk #brainwashing #hypnodomme #hypnosub #hypnotized #mind control #brainless #covert hypnosis #casino series

[bigfatbimbo]

Friday anon here-

Ugh! The implications of sub Vox in his canon time period are so delicious! It’s totally taboo, it would ruin him if it got out, so much shame and confusion and insecurity! He’d fight against it so hard but still somehow end up on his knees

He always thought he was such a strong man and now he’s trying to convince himself he doesn’t like it because that’s not how things are supposed to be! The man is supposed to take charge and he’s the man, isn’t he? This whole thing feels topsy turvy but it keeps happening and he keeps ending up breathless by the end of the night

It might be less maddening if you didn’t act so normal during the day but it’s business as usual, so professional that he could almost be convinced that it didn’t happen. But it did happen and it keeps happening and he’s in too deep now

What would people think if they knew?

The way I would so write an entire fic about this. But alas, i’m tired so take my fried up brain crumbs. Ugh but this with that assistant boss au you were talking about especially hits me.

But the level of insecurity that comes with every night is actually unimaginable. The way that you’re running the show isn’t right. He’s the man, and quite literally the man of the office as well. But you’re just so hard to resist when you speak to him as if you’re totally untouchable.

The embarrassment comes before, then he finds it impossible to keep while you work your magic, but the shame seeps in after you leave. He should feel weak, and he does. But you do your job and act as if it doesn’t even happen, so it’s undeniable that on a certain level he was still your boss. Just only in specific settings, he supposed.

He tried to justify it in his head; I mean, he’s keeping his worker happy, right? But he knew that was bullshit, before said worker was stroking his dick until he almost cried, he never was one to care about his employees needs.

You were so put together about the whole thing, absolutely rocking his world and then acting like it didn’t mean anything. It did mean something to Vox. It was so unconventional, and absolutely alarming when compared to the gender norms of the ‘man’ in a relationship.

So yes, he’d put up a fight, try to be domineering, but at a certain point it felt like he was just putting up a fight for the sake of putting up a fight. Not to win.

Because under your hands, he looses every ounce of power he has. He’s never felt anything like it, being a man of his status, he’s never not been given control or respect. But now he finds he’s craving your touch, your mean words, your—and here’s the worst part—validation. Shouldn’t you, his assistant, be craving his?

But your sessions never leave him competent enough to say anything. Whether it be after hours at work, in the supply closet in the office, or maybe a late night visit on a weekend. Your words had a habit of evoking an annoying amount of emotion out of him. When you’re too mean, which you are, he’s had to stop himself from crying. But when you’re uncharacteristically nice… well he has the same problem.

Other than immature fits of anger, he’s always had a particularly firm grasp on his emotions. But just as this grasp loosened around you, so swirled every illusion he’s ever had about the ‘right’ way for man and women to act, and not that he’s so concerned with morals, but boss and employee, as well.

And the thing is, he’s a very highly respected man around the office, so if it gets out that your fucking and how your fucking, he’s absolutely ruined. His reputation, the fear he evoked, all gone. He’d be a fucking joke. But that doesn’t stop him from begging for you every night.

Anyways, now I really wanna do a full fic with this like this idea has a hold over me oh my god. God, if you send me anons and asks about this idea tonight, i’ll start believing in you 🙌🙌

#well maybe not #anyways #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #vox x reader #dom reader

[zanykingmentality]

do you want to be with somebody like me | leon kennedy x reader

SUMMARY: you've lost your friend at the bar. TAGS: alcohol, profanity / explicit language, first meetings, some humor, meet-cute, unresolved romantic tension, hints at depression LENGTH: 3.6k

[AO3]

Someone is singing awful karaoke. Bye, bye, Miss American Pie, he’s singing, way off-tempo, and he doesn’t know any of the rest of the words, even though every few lines he insists he has the song memorized. Your friend is off somewhere, doing something—you thought she was getting another drink, but when you’d followed her through the crowd she was nowhere to be found. 

So now you’re camped at the bar, running your fingers over the sticky wood of the bartop, unsure if you should get another drink or keep looking. You decide the best course of action is to stay in one place, so your friend can find you, and hope she didn’t also think the same thing. 

The bartender in front of you’s got his lips twisted into a frown. He’s watching the guy on the tiny stage at the front of the room, belting notes that are nowhere near the real ones. You imagine this is his favorite song, and he’s livid to hear such a blasphemous rendition of it. The crowd is going wild. You—well, you would also be going wild, if you could find your slippery friend, because at your core you love deeply terrible things. Instead, you turn to watch while still leaning on your elbows over the bar, taking up space that people are clamoring to get into. Because you’re a nuisance like that. 

A man sits at the bar next to you, and he runs a hand down his face. He’s nursing something on the rocks, in one of those nice glasses you always see mafia bosses drinking from on TV. It looks like crystal, even though it can’t be, because this isn’t one of those upscale bars that would shell out for nice glasses. He glances over at you and your eyes meet. On a whim, you mouth along to the song, This will be the day that I die. 

The line repeats, and he mouths it back. 

The guy on stage is falling over the mic, tripping over the friends crowded around him. It’s probably his birthday. He’s probably drunk out of his mind and hoping to get lucky tonight. You scan the crowd for your friend and can’t find her, again. 

The guy in front of you follows your gaze and puts a fist to his mouth. He leans toward you. 

“You a fan of this kind of stuff?” he asks you. 

“No,” you answer immediately. You press your fingers to your mouth, wiping away the hint of a smile that had been there. God. You love bad singing. 

You do not, however, love losing your friend in a karaoke bar full of drunk twenty-somethings with no impulse control. As a sort-of drunk twenty-something yourself, you’re all too familiar with the way your brains will latch onto anything. Your friend can handle herself, sure, but can you? 

“Looking for someone?” the guy asks again. 

“Yeah,” you say, and you have to lean in to be heard over the horrendous singing. How fucking long is this song? “My friend. You seen her?” 

“Probably not,” he says. “I’ve been right here.” 

“She’s like this tall, and she’s wearing all blue. Dark hair. You haven’t seen her?” 

“No,” the guy says, “but I’ll help you look, if you want.” 

You’ve half a mind to slam your head against the bartop, but you do not do that—in part because getting kicked out would greatly lower your chances of finding your friend, and would otherwise be totally humiliating. Nice of this guy to offer to help—in your experience, most guys would implore you to stay here. Which is a slippery slope to come back home with me, a guy you don’t know at all, and you are not really interested in getting murdered tonight. Point being that—at least this guy is asking to help. At least that’s something new. 

“That’s okay,” you say, because as much as you may want to, you do not believe the best in people. 

The guy gets up from his seat. It is immediately filled behind him. 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “Might be easier to find her from my vantage point.” 

…He is taller than you, you suppose. You scowl, but you don’t really mean it. 

“Okay,” you say. “Thanks.” 

The guy stretches a hand out to you. “I’m Leon.” 

You give him your name in return with a shake. Like you’re business partners, not two random people meeting in a club. 

The two of you push through the crowd. The guy on the stage is finally wrapping up his butchered version of “American Pie,” which you are exceptionally excited for. No act can top his, you think. You will forever be in search of something as terrible as his pitchy, off-tune rendition of a classic song. Leon cranes his neck, looking for your friend, and you’re forced to watch the muscles in his chest contract and expand as he breathes. Must he wear a shirt so tight? Goddamn. Not that you’re checking him out or anything. 

He leans down to breathe into your ear, “I don’t see her.” 

You try, very hard, not to shiver. Weird. 

Like, you can admit to yourself that he’s attractive, even in the dim lighting. You have eyes. But you also don’t know him, which means you should very much be on your guard. You keep reminding yourself of that, and yet… 

There’s this look in his eye that makes you want to believe in him. You hate that. You hate when people are good, and nice, and kind—it’s so much harder to find people like that. They make you want. They make you hope. 

“Damn,” you say. The two of you make your way to the back wall. You almost get swept away by the crowd as they part for the end of the song, and the guy on the stage is bowing and screaming something about college football. Someone shoves into your space, and Leon holds his arm out in front of you to push them away. 

“Oh, wait,” Leon says, and he squints into the opposite corner of the bar. “Is that her?” 

You stand on your tiptoes to peer over the crowd, but you can barely see. You make out a flash of blue in the corner booth, and you say, “Maybe?” 

Leon leans down, and you repeat yourself. He’s very close. 

You can not be falling in love with strangers again. 

The crowd does not move for the two of you, but someone else gets up on stage—they’re singing a Kelly Clarkson song, and you wish them luck for all the belting parts. You and Leon shove through to the opposite corner of the room, where—lo and behold—your friend is leaning toward some guy sitting in the booth next to her, a guy you think you recognize, vaguely, from somewhere. 

“Elsie!” You grip your friend’s shoulder in a vice-like grip. She whirls around to look at you, and says your name with a brilliant smile. 

“Hey!” She puts her hand over yours and turns back to the guy in front of you. “You remember Daniel!” 

No, you do not remember Daniel. 

“Oh, yeah,” Daniel says. “We met at the racquet club.” 

You do not go to the fucking racquet club. Who do you look like? Someone who can afford membership to the racquet club? 

“The time I brought you with me,” your friend tries to remind you, nudging your side. You feel like you’re going insane. You have never been to the racquet club. 

“I remember seeing you guys and thinking I had to talk to you,” Daniel says, staring at your friend. She avoids his gaze. 

“Who’s that?” Elsie asks, nodding at Leon. 

“Oh.” You turn back to Leon. “Thanks for helping me, Leon.” 

He nods, his eyes never straying from Elsie and Daniel. Like he’s sizing them up or something. Assessing threat levels. Elsie pulls your arm, forcing your head down next to hers, and whisper-yells way too loud in your ear, “He’s hot.” 

You know. 

Elsie scoots over on the booth and pats the now-open seat next to her. “Leon, why don’t you sit?” 

“Elsie,” you hiss. She meets your gaze with fake-innocence. Leon looks at you, then Elsie and Daniel, then you again, like he’s confused. He swallows; you watch the movement of his throat. The music is too loud, and the singing is just mediocre—not bad enough to be good. And it’s too hot. The press of bodies and sweat and alcohol closes in around you. 

If Leon sits, there will be no space in the booth for you. At the other table, this really old guy in full safari gear sits and stares at the floor. You don’t think he’s moved in hours, maybe years. Daniel has an unreadable expression on his face. Lights dance across your faces. A spike of irritation at your friend stabs through your stomach. 

“No, thanks,” Leon says. You look at him sidelong. He’s looking at you. 

Elsie frowns for a moment, then decides, “We need more drinks!” She hauls Daniel to his feet. To you, she says, “Hey, so you’ll be okay on your own, yeah?” 

You look between her and Daniel. “No, not really,” you say. 

“I’ll meet back up with you outside later,” Elsie says. “Let’s go!” 

“Wait—” you start to say, but she and Daniel have disappeared into the crowd. The Kelly Clarkson song is over, and the DJ’s put on some weird EDM abomination you can’t imagine anyone dancing, drinking, or talking to. 

You look at Leon again, and he cocks his head. 

“Sorry about that,” you say. “I guess I’ll just… head outside.” 

“Want company?” he asks. At first, you don’t hear him, so you get on tiptoe to get closer to his mouth. He repeats himself. 

“Sure,” you say. Because why not. You can only stomach so much betrayal in one day, the dramatic in you decrees. Why not. 

Leon follows you out through the entrance, onto the balcony. The bar is situated on the second floor—the first floor, coincidentally, is dedicated to some other bar that you’ve never heard of. To be fair, you hadn’t heard of this one before either, before Elsie had called this afternoon and told you she needs to get drunk and make out with a stranger tonight. You suppose this is not an uncommon feeling for her, if the amount of times she’s complained to you about her experiences with men are anything to go on. 

You rest your elbows on the railing of the balcony. It’s made of black metal; in the dark, it looks like there’s nothing under you. Leon stands next to you, mirroring your stance. 

It’s not that high up at all, but the cool night breeze paired with the near-midnight sky makes you feel like you’re a speck in a much larger city than this, like you’re just one of many people escaping to a balcony from a crowded room. Through the open door, you hear the music shift abruptly to “Mamma Mia” by ABBA. You watch Leon nod along to the beat, and sudden affection thrums under your skin. That small movement is enough, you think, to get a read on him. 

Because at first glance, Leon looks like someone you’d be scared of. He’s got a permanent scowl and furrowed eyebrows and a chiseled jaw, which is already a recipe for intimidation. It’s hard to tell if the reason your heart is pounding is because of fear or attraction. So the image of him—this handsome, dangerous stranger—bopping along to ABBA’s Swedish pop is so terribly cute that you can’t help but love him. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Huh?” 

“You’re staring.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Your eyes trace the curve of his jaw before you pointedly look away. 

“What?”

You should say something. Shouldn’t you? Make friendly conversation. He’s keeping you company, after all, when you would otherwise be staring at the sky feeling sorry for yourself. 

“Tell me about you, Leon,” you say. 

“There’s nothing interesting.” 

You hum in acknowledgement. “Wow. So secretive.” 

“There’s just not much to say about me.” 

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.” 

Leon scowls. He looks like a pouting puppy. 

So, rather than prying further, you start talking. It’s not something you have a lot of experience with, just rambling without end. You talk about a clue in the New York Times crossword that you hated. You tell him about how you met Elsie, and how you have never belonged anywhere, not once. About the time in college when you stayed up all night to watch the sunrise and how maybe that’s why you keep living. 

He looks at you when you say that, a strange understanding in his eyes. Like someone who’s seen the sunrise for the first time and gets it now, too. You want to squish his cheeks between your palms. 

“You,” he says, “have a lot of thoughts.” 

“Don’t you?” 

“I guess.” 

You wonder what goes on behind those eyes. What kinds of things does Leon think about? What does he do for fun? You’re so curious, but you can’t ask—he’s drawn a line, and as much as you want to, you can’t cross it. 

“You’re shivering,” Leon says. 

Huh. You are.

Leon’s jacket falls around your shoulders before you can insist you don’t need it. Once you have it, you don’t want to let it go. It’s a nice damn jacket, with fur lining and big pockets. You hold it close around yourself. 

“Thanks,” you say. Guilt pricks at you—now he’ll be cold.

Like he can read your mind, Leon says, “I run warm.”

This, somehow, is surprising to you. But also, it’s not. You suppose you hadn’t thought about it—not that you’d had time to. You’d only met him thirty minutes ago. 

“So, Leon,” you say, “what brings you to the bar tonight?” 

“A drink,” he says simply. 

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “You know, that’s a surprisingly rare answer.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. Most people I know go out to party, or to get laid.” 

“Oh. Well.” He doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. You wouldn’t either, if you were him. Maybe you shouldn’t have said it. You suppose the people you know are the worst kinds of bar-goers. The kind who never know where to stop. A beat later, he says, “Is that why you’re here?” 

You forgot that you count as people too. “No,” you say. “I was here playing wingman for Elsie. My friend. Supposedly.” 

“Supposedly,” he echoes. 

You watch him, then, the way his lips are set together and his jaw isn’t clenched, per se, but hardened, the lines of it stark. The way his gaze darts to you when he notices you staring, then quickly away. He’s sizing you up still. Trying to figure you out. There’s an insurmountable wall of unfamiliarity that neither of you seem properly equipped to traverse. 

“I wasn’t very good at it,” you say. “Playing wingman. If that wasn’t obvious.” 

“It was pretty obvious,” Leon says. “So you’re anti-social, and you like crosswords. What else?” 

Your face feels warm, right up to the tips of your ears. You chalk this up to the extra blood flowing to the parts that need desperately to stay warm, even though it’s not that cold out. He says it all huskily, like he’s confiding a secret in you. Like you are his hidden-away gem. He’s got big hands, you notice. 

There’s not much else to say, you suppose, but you search anyway. You tell him about the things you like, the little doodles at the corners of your planner, the keychains dangling from your bag. The places you’ve lived. He listens like he’s never heard anything more interesting, hooded eyes and the beginnings of a smile pulling at his lips. 

He doesn’t seem the type to smile often. You’re not sure what you did to make it happen, but you want to do it again. You want to see a real smile. 

“You have a nice voice,” he says suddenly. You flush. Is he trying to make you explode? Spontaneous combustion isn’t off the table here. 

“You do too,” you say, unsteady. 

He laughs at that—you think. It’s barely there, a quick exhale and a rumble in his chest you can’t really hear. “I didn’t think I did.” 

“Well, you do,” you say, and because you are an embarrassment to your family name, you add, “Plus, you’re attractive.” 

Leon’s eyes widen minutely. He opens his mouth to say something. Nothing comes out. 

“Sorry.”

“No,” he manages. “That’s okay.” He presses a palm over the bottom half of his face, obscuring his mouth, fingers splayed across his cheek. He’s flustered. He’s flustered. What the fuck did you do to him? You broke him. 

You grip the railing of the balcony and try not to feel so many types of ways. 

“I’m, uh,” Leon starts again, then stops. He swallows, and you watch the hunted-animal movement of his throat. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Oh,” you say. He’s glad? Okay. That’s new. You clasp your hands, let go, re-clasp them. You think about his big hands. What do you say to that? “Well. I’m glad.”

Leon seems to be satisfied with this answer. He tilts his head back and looks up to the sky, the starless expanse above saturated with light pollution. His chest expands with a deep breath in. You’re tempted to press your palm to the center of his chest, just to feel the movement. God, how dare he be attractive.

“I haven’t been relaxed like this in a long time,” he says. You shiver. “What, still cold?” 

“No,” you reply, “your jacket is really warm.” 

“Would be warmer if you used the sleeves.” 

“Oh, you got jokes, huh?” 

“And if I do?” 

You blink at him. “If you do?” 

“What are you gonna do about it?” 

This, somehow, delights you. He’s got jokes. You’ve got banter. It’s the closest you’ve felt to another person in a long time. You think of Elsie, probably sucking face in the bar proper, and you’re reminded that it’s okay not to want that—to want this, instead, learned easiness—or something like that. Maybe you’re just being hypocritical. After all, you don’t really know Leon. 

But that’s okay too, isn’t it? 

You’re not really making sense. 

“Not much for me to do about that,” you say. 

“You could laugh.” 

You let out a half-hearted, obviously fake laugh. 

“Ouch.” 

“Oh, did that hurt?” 

“So much. I’m wounded.” 

“Get better jokes, then. I’m waiting.” 

Leon’s face scrunches up in thought, like he’s shuffling through joke ideas in his head and not liking any of them. “You can’t put me on the spot like that.” 

“Mm. Sounds like an excuse.” 

“Hey.” 

You’re about to say something else—something you hadn’t thought through, as always, but that you hope was funny enough—when Elsie stumbles out of the bar. Her heels clang against the metal of the balcony. You and Leon both turn to look: her lipstick’s smeared across her mouth and her eyeliner is smudged. 

“Didn’t go well?” you ask. 

She greets you with a cheeky grin, at odds with the state of her. “It was fucking fantastic,” she says. “I’ll never see him again.” 

“Let’s hope not,” you quip. “Daniel's a good kisser? He goes to the fucking racquet club.” 

“It’s a perfectly nice place to hang out.” 

You make a face. 

“I’m being serious. And anyway, I didn’t kiss Daniel.” 

Elsie wobbles over to stand next to you at the railing. Leon tenses minutely. 

“Who then?” you ask. 

“I don’t know. Some guy. Don’t remember his name.” 

“Sure. Fair enough,” you say. Elsie leans her head on your shoulder. “Think it’s time we go home.”  

“Ugh. I don’t want to.” 

“And yet, you came out here anyway.” You wind your arm around Elsie, who is a disaster in very different ways than you, but you’re all she’s got and vice versa. Leon’s jacket shifts around you, and you clutch it to you with your other hand. “We should get going.” 

“Fiiine,” Elsie whines. 

You release her and shrug Leon’s jacket off. Immediately, your arms erupt in gooseflesh, missing its warmth. It takes all of your willpower to hold it out to him. “Thanks for keeping me company, Leon.” 

“Sure,” he says. He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and flips it open. “You got a pen?” 

“For what?” You pat down your nonexistent pockets. You do not have a pen. 

“Oh, found one.” He scribbles something on the back of a receipt, then takes his jacket from you. You blink and he’s swinging it back over your shoulders. Elsie retches behind you. 

“What—” 

“Keep it,” Leon says, “until we see each other again.” 

“Huh—” 

He takes the receipt and gently pushes it into the chest pocket of the jacket. “Get home safe.” 

“Leon—” He’s already left, retreating back into the bar with a little skip in his step. 

How rude of him to keep interrupting you. You wind your arms through the sleeves and are immensely, all-consumingly grateful. 

“Home,” Elsie says. 

“Geez, you’re so impatient.” 

When you get home, you tuck Elsie into your bed and lay out a blanket on the couch for yourself. It’s then that you take the receipt out from the pocket of Leon’s jacket. It’s all crumpled up, and from a few months ago—a purchase of ABBA vinyls. This makes you smile. 

On the other side, Leon’s scribbled his number, his name, and a Call me in cursive. Cursive. You’re obsessed. 

You fall asleep, clutching the receipt in your fist, “American Pie” echoing in your head. 

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil #leon s kennedy #roma's writing #leon is so cute.... he's like an angry cat #re4 leon

[inkformyblood]

chance encounter (CWFKB2023) #2

Modern AU. Bloodsoaked kiss fill @codywanfirstkissbingo

There’s a man covered in blood sitting at the edge of Cody’s bar. 

He’s pretty enough that the blood doesn’t detract from it, somehow enhancing the bright flash of his eyes as he twists to stare at the door he’s just trudged in from. Cody follows his gaze, settling his elbow on the door to peer down at the trail of footprints that the man’s left in his wake — Cody could line up his footsteps with a ruler, each perfectly placed to try and minimise the damage , and he’s seen habitual drunks who’d run for a bar with less efficacy than this man has — and he catches the man’s eye as he straightens up. 

“I’ll pay extra for the cleaning,” the man says. His mouth twists like he wants to say more and he’s found it tastes bitter, hitting his palate like a pick-axe. “But am I able to order?”

“You hurt?” Cody asks instead, gesturing to the man’s, well, everything. It’s impossible to distinguish his natural hair colour beneath the blood, and every blink on one side grows longer with the sticky slide over the previous finger-smudged space to try and clear it. His clothes haven’t fared much better, a simple button-up destined for a long soak in some peroxide if not an immediate sentencing to the bin and a tight pair of jeans that will make Cody’s brain light up in all the wrong places if he thinks about them too long, blood splatter and all. 

The slow grin that dawns over the man’s face could only be described as wicked, enough to convince a priest to tear off his collar and renounce his crusade if only for a second glance, and Cody isn’t particularly adept at denying himself small pleasures anymore. Nearly dying would do that to a man. The stranger peels his hand off of the bar, his fingerprints embossed in the wood in deep red marks, and Cody’s starting to reach for a rag before what he’s seeing catches up to him. The man’s teeth are pointed, his tongue a flash of pink amongst deep red as he licks over the expanse of his palm, culminating the motion by removing the prosthetic fangs with a wet slick. He sets them next to the soak of his fingerprints. “All entirely fake. A prank I interrupted I believe or it may have been intended for me all along. But now I am soaked to the bone, already sticky and that is only going to get worse, and I’m in desperate need of a drink.”

“We’ve got a small bathroom round the back.” Cody’s mouth moves without his brain’s input, cogs that had already stuck on the intensity of the man’s gaze as he had licked over his palm — that hadn’t been a fascination Cody thought he had possessed but now he can think of nothing else — grinding to a further halt at the thought of the man undressed in the cramped confines of a shower, soap clinging to his shoulders, the soft plane of his belly, lower. “You could wash up there.” 

”You won’t get in trouble?” The man asks softly, leaning closer to Cody like they’re in a confessional, his voice so gentle that Cody flushes from the dichotomy of it all. “No trade secrets I should stay away from, overbearing bosses, jealous exes?”

“Why would my exes be jealous?” Cody asks before he can stop himself, rocking back on his heels to pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to force his headache with nothing more than the pressure and a fervent prayer.

The man chuckles, ducking his head to make an attempt at hiding his grin behind the back of his hand. The pale swipe over his palm is briefly visible and Cody’s stomach twists, his head swimming with how much he’s craving something he’s only just learned is possible.

“They’d be jealous because I’m getting to talk to you and they’re not.”

Cody grumbles something unintelligible at the man, refusing to look at him directly. He hadn’t had much of a religious lean in his childhood, the house packed too full for anything else to seep in through the cracks. But he had dutifully sat through the parade of speakers from every faith while he’d been at school and sang the hymns like he was supposed to but it hadn’t meant anything special, it just was; the same way got the second pick of the chairs around the tv and he always chose the low armchair that would tip over if he leant back too far, the same way he got third pick of the sweets whenever his family all piled into the car for a trip and sixth choice of where they got takeaway from on the rare nights they could order. It had always been there, braided into his swearing and the way he structured his breaks around the holidays just like he would for the school breaks. But he must have done something right, somewhere, somehow, because this man, blood-stained and smiling like there’s never been anything wrong with the world, is in his bar. 

He holds out the rag, a clean one, uncurling it from his fingers as he does so. There’s an indented line cut into the hollow of his knuckles, thanks to his own actions, and the man murmurs out his thanks as he stands, taking the rag from Cody. He roughly scrubs it over his eyes, revealing patchy pale skin littered with freckles and glitter in equal measures. The glitter is red, clinging to the natural hollows of the man’s face, the furrow of his brow and the corners of his eyes. 

“Bathroom’s just through the door marked ‘Staff Only’, take a left and it’s the second door on your right. Ignore the skeleton in the closet. His name is Lewis.”

“And your name, my most beloved bartender?” 

“Cody.”

“Cody,” the man repeats, lingering over the scant few syllables like he’s savouring them, swirling wine round in a glass as if that would make it taste any better. Closer now, he smells sweet, the fake blood beginning to dry tacky and stick around his joints, a rusting puppet too stubborn to lie down and let the world spin to nothing around him. “That is a lovely name. I’m Obi-Wan.”

He holds out his hand — blank line on his palm, a gold ring on his thumb, and Cody was already halfway in love without Obi-Wan ever saying a word — and Cody takes it. Obi-Wan tugs Cody forward, the edge of the bar catching on the rough curve of his hip, and kisses his cheek, sweet and sticky and smelling of artifical strawberries. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Cody manages, smoke spiralling from his ears as his overworked brain kicks up another gear, dust torn free from pathways he hasn’t touched in years. “You can have that drink when you’re back out.”

“You’re a treasure, Cody, truly. What would I do without you?”

“You’d be sticky and thirsty in someone else’s bar.” Cody squeezes Obi-Wan’s hand before he lets him go. “Now, go. I’m not going anywhere.” 

#codywan #cwfkb2023 #cwfkb #codywan first kiss bingo #codywan first kiss bingo 2023 #star wars #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #my writing #fanfic

[dairy-farmer]

Sexy Videos Informer Au? owo?

Consider this! Nightwing? NOT in space. Cannon is what cannon does, but now with Extra Nightwing Action(tm)! Jason and him bond. Nearly die! Get beat to hell and back. Nearly die HARDER. But Do Not!

They ARE laid up in the hospital though. Bruce is playing the "it's all my faaaaault" game. More focused on beating people up then investigating serious crimes. Not good.

Enter stage: Literally Next Door! Timmy! *polite applause*

He has a shameful, shameful hobby! No it's not THAT. (Yet.) You see, on the internet? There are, and I should warn you to brace yourself, perverts and NERDS! Gasps, pearls clutched, questions asked of parliament! I know, I know. I too, was shocked. SHOCKED I say! But it's true.

And our dear Tim? Largely unsupervised.

He stumbled upon... Interesting(tm) internet communities. One of which was the "Capies". Individuals with Hero-sonas.

Yes it is EXACTLY as problematic as it sounds. People have accidentally gotten shot. No, it has not stopped them. And yes, it routinely gives the JLA a raging headache. Luckily, most of the costumes aren't very good.

MOST of them.

Tim Drake is NOT a mediocre child who settles for "good enough". HIS Hero-Sona, Magpie, wears MILITARY-grade reinforced clothing! It's styled of Batman's get up. He feels Really Cool when he wears it.

But... thing it? He only every wore it around the house. He's not a REAL hero. Not like his Robins. But? He IS pretty sneaky! And with a few additions? He bets he can help? Just a little.

"A little" he says.

He blows five smuggling rings wide open. And so begins Bruce's ongoing stress migraine. The very fast child with DANGEROUS information, who's clearly been spying on MOB BOSSES and ROUGES, that he can't catch! Not him. Not Robin, once he recovers. Not even Nightwing!

YEARS pass. And he's only getting FASTER. Bruce is starting to legitimately consider Dick's offer to have the Speedsters grab him. Magpie may not be Bat trained, but he's clearly an Ally, and they NEED to talk.

Meanwhile? Tim found out for a lot of Capies, it's a sex thing. Not a cosplay thing. He... learned some stuff about himself.

Decided to document himself, learning about himself. For, you know, when he's a good enough hacker he won't INSTANTLY get caught the second his costume shows up on the internet. Frickin Oracle.

His first videos are kinda clumsy. Good angles, obviously, but he didn't know WHAT to do with himself. Was embarrassed to spread his legs that wide. But then he figured it out. Got his toys.

Probes to reach reeeeal deep and plugs that pop wetly in and out. Dildos he learned how to work into himself. How to rock his hips in a way that felt so, so good. How not to be embarrassed. Let himself moan and gasp, whimper and whine as loud as he wanted.

Learned how many little vibrating eggs would FIT. Pushed in, one after another, til he was all gushy and full to the brim. Learned how many times he could gush. He even got a sybian!

He kept his videos all on a flash drive. On him, obviously, so they'd be safe.

Until they WEREN'T safe. Batman came out of NO WHERE. They struggle. Batman goes to pin him! And? Tim sacrifices his jacket to escape. It's only when he's home and ready to unwind that horror sets in. The flash drive was in his chest pocket.

Batman has his sex tapes.

And he more the just has them. He is actively WATCHING them. Watching as Tim works himself over. As his poor little hole is stretched and fucked. Made sloppy, twitching, and wet. Denied the real thing at every turn.

Watchs him play with his little chest. Stroke along his body, as he admits to- And Bruce brain screeches to a halt. Watching as Tim desperately rides a toy he's dubbed "Batman". Listening to him gasp and whine. Catching EVERY "Br-" that cuts to a "Bat", as Magpie catches himself.

Magpie knows who he is.

Wants him. BADLY. And was not planning on revealing it. These videos have yet to be edited. More then one sort of thrill runs through Bruce at the thought. He wonders what sorts of incriminating information Magpie forgot to remove, from the background of his videos? He'll have to watch them to know.

It's hardly a hardship, he muses, watching Magpie twitch and gasp through an orgasm. He can already spot no less then three different identifiable routes of investigation in the background. With every one he spots, he's narrowing down his suspect pool.

And Tim? Seriously considering BURNING his costume. No one can knooooow. He... he should skip town. Leave the country! Become a HERMIT! Oh god, Batman know he masturbates to him!!! His life is OVER. There's no coming back from thi-! *casual knock on a window*

Is that Batman on his balcony?

Huh. It is.

PANIC.

He doesn't even make to the door. Bruce is full on Victorious Shark grinning and Tim should NOT find that hot, since he's OBVIOUSLY about to die here.

He doesn't die. He ends up naked, pinned to his own bed, fucked deep and slow on the biggest cock he's ever taken in his LIFE, as Bruce casually explains what's GOING to happen. Tim WILL being joining them. WILL be receiving training. WILL be accompanying to several upcoming galas, dress nicely, and then he's GOING to be fucking Tim through the mattress.

No more running. Understood?

Tim is pretty sure he can TASTE the dick in him. Would agree to pretty much anything to make Bruce move faster. To make him stop TEASING. Yep. Anything you say. First born? All yours.

Bruce? Fucks him UNCONSCIOUS. Stays nice and deep, to keep himself warm and keep Tim full. Goes full marathon until he gets Tim to agree to join Team Bat and pretty much anything else he can think off. You know, like a cheater. Because Tim, as he quickly learns, will agree to pretty much ANYTHING when Bruce is pounding him.

-🐼

😍😍😍😍😍 tim making little sex tapes and bruce getting ahold of them!!!😍😍

#answered asks #asks #anonymous

[aihoshiino]

Can you tell us more about what you think of real Nino vs script Nino? I think it's so interesting that you said Nino's timidity might be an act (or a choice) on her part... I find her so so interesting, in the sense that (at least in the script) she considered Ai as someone who took away things that were "hers". And that included fans and interestingly, Takamine's attention. (cough lesbian cough) But then that to me at least doesn't really fits into what the actual Nino said (ie normal jealousy vs thinking so highly of Ai but also resented her...?) Nino definitely has a lot of pent up emotions, and unresolved feelings, I think.

Script Nino (& Script Takamine to an extent) both definitely feel like caricatured, exaggerated versions of the girls as they were back during the movie's time period, so while the details are blown up and hyper-saturated for Movie Drama and should be taken with a grain of salt, the emotional broad strokes are probably true enough. We sort of get a tongue-in-cheek nod to this idea with Takamine being all omg was i really like that no way!!! and then immediately codeswitching and barking orders at Nino who just goes along without protest LOL

Seeing that interaction repeated with the real Nino and Takamine feels like a soft confirmation that their dynamic was more-or-less what was see in the movie though probably without as much overt hostility. Takamine definitely gives me the energy of a person who means well but has a really 'my way or the highway' approach to things which manifests in her being bossy and controlling and Nino is comparatively more of a passive person, both in the sense that she prefers to keep her head down and not rock the boat and that she's passive aggressive, the type to just stew in all her negative feelings rather than voice them or do anything productive with them. 45510 lays her feelings out in a little more detail, where she seems to have some self awareness about her behaviour but surrenders to it regardless, recognising Ai's talent and charisma even as she hates her for it. So she was already sitting on a bunch of really complicated feelings even before Ai died.

There's also the complicating factor that, like you said — I do genuinely think and have for a long time that Nino probably has some sexuality hangups that she has not started working through and is probably pretty deeply closeted. 45510 is where this initially jumped out at me - her going on and on about Ai's beauty, her "complex feelings" when Ai dismisses the idea of her being in a relationship that are left suspiciously vague, her possessiveness... Hell, even the hostility she displays towards Ai; it's an unfortunate reality that a lot of closeted women will excuse away or express their attraction to other women as dislike and hostility to try and ""explain"" the nature of their supposed fixation. Nino is this to a T for me.

So imagine all this already cooking your brain and then the woman You Definitely Hate And Are Not In Love With gets brutally murdered and you suddenly have to try and untangle and unfuck those feelings all on your own, dealing with the guilt of how you treated her and knowing that you'll now never be able to make up for or take any of it back while going through the process of grieving for her and scrabbling to keep your career afloat in her absence and your boss has just vanished... no wonder went full Toxic Lesbianism about it all.

#oshi no ko #onk spoilers #b komachi #oshi no posting

[coffeelovesdramasalatte]

LITA Ep 3 Rewatch Thoughts Pt. 2

Part 1 here!

Ok I am HERE for this encouragement - I love that Phayu is always supportive of Rain's academic talents

Apparently Rain is not immune to Phayu's pout either. Good, a relationship should be built on equality

pls observe this cutie omfg no wonder Phayu can't take his eyes off him

i genuinely feel like this shot did something to my brain chemistry. i kid you not one of my main goals in life is to have someone do this to me (by which I mean I want to be in Rain's position). I would also ignore homework and all my responsibilities if someone looked at and held me like that pls

P'Aon so true, Boss WAS smiling like an idiot (in love)

Poor Rain, these were famous last words :( (I too have uttered them many a time until I realized I am not a nap-taker)

ETHEREAL

Is this a rock cover of flight of the bumblebee playing in the background??? POOR RAIN HE STAYED UP ALL NIGHT TO DO THIS :((((

Ok but this is actually a very important lesson that I'm glad they included. It's true that Rain finished the work on time, but he also should have ensured he got enough sleep and made it to the presentation on time. He's still in his first year so he has a lot of time to grow. The actual important line is this one below.

It was a harsh way of phrasing it, but it's true. Setbacks are a very normal part of life and everyone makes "mistakes" (missing deadlines, not being able to finish a project, etc). I put that in quotes because sometimes, these things are at no fault of the person. It is possible to put 100% of your effort into finishing something and not get it done (which, aside from Rain's poor time management, he actually did put in a lot of effort to this project). Failing at something even after putting in a lot of hard work sucks, but being able to pick up after that and still work hard is what makes a person successful. I related extra hard to this scene because I failed a class in my major during my first year of college even though all I did was study, and it put me back a full year bc it's only offered certain semesters and was required to move forward in the degree. I took it again the following year and was smarter about how I studied and even still, I almost failed again. But I liked my major enough to keep at it and somehow still managed to graduate on time and now I'm in grad school, so... (that was an unnecessary story but to reiterate, failure is normal and ok)

AWW look at him putting on a facade for his friends... I think it's interesting that he doesn't confide in Sky here

but instead flies to the garage... Even I questioned this

P'Saifah is a good bro, calling Phayu immediately to come comfort his in-law. Phayu is good here too, immediately grabbing his things to come running

I think I speak for all of us when I say watching Phayu ride in the heavy rain was nerve-wracking bc we were expecting an accident or something

OK this scene. THIS SCENE. Utterly perfect in every way, from the moment concerned Phayu walks through the door to see a drenched, teary Rain waiting for him. Something blue-yellow is going on here too methinks

There's something so incredibly intimate about the way Phayu crouches down to Rain's level, and then beckons him into his arms. His words too are so gentle, and he just holds Rain as he cries.

As opposed to many other sweet scenes, this sequence + the one after Rain comes out of the bathroom is actually the one that makes me most jealous of PhayuRain. There is nothing more valuable than having someone you can fall apart into and trust that they'll hold the pieces of you together. And honestly, in the grand scheme of things Rain didn't mess up horribly - it feels monumental to him bc it's probably the first time he's missed a deadline. It's important that Phayu still treats the situation with the gravity of something more serious, bc it shows how much he cares. And after Rain has calmed down, he advises him on how to do better next time without sugarcoating, but also sharing that he experienced similar things during his days as a student.

I'mma need Rain to zip it bc he looks perfect, as usual

I really like the framing in this scene where he's looking into the mirror and then introspecting "why did I put up a front with other people and then cry in front of him? idk but I'm thankful" - he's reflecting mentally and physically!!!

Can't believe a drama is out here giving important life lessons but I'm here for it. I also like that Phayu shows a bit of vulnerability by sharing that he got criticized too, and that Rain will be able to recover from it.

HEADPAT x 2

This is another set of shots that altered my brain chemistry. Who taught them to look at each other like this, hm? Rain looks so vulnerable and Phayu might as well be cradling Rain's soul in his hands ft. headpat

The way Rain tilts his head up? Exquisite

I'd also feel very motivated if I was in Rain's place. Phayu actually makes another few interesting points here - he says what's done is done, and then tells Rain to not dwell on it and take care of himself. Interestingly enough (story time pt 2 you can skip if you want). I watched this scene very soon after I missed a paper submission deadline for a conference. It's not the biggest deal, especially because my professor knew it was a big ask to finish an entire research project in the timeline he gave me and he wasn't even remotely upset about it (long story short I only had 2 weeks notice to flesh out the idea, get the data, analyze the data, and write the research paper - but you can't really control how long things take you when you do research bc the point is that it hasn't been done before). So even though no one reprimanded me, I still felt really upset bc I had made up my mind that I was going to do this impossible task and couldn't. To hear Phayu's reminder that I can be upset but I shouldn't spend too long being sad to the point I neglect to take care of myself was honestly nice. It also helped to put things into perspective that yes, I couldn't submit to this particular conference, but there are so many that happen all the time so it's not like the research is wasted - just pull yourself together and try for the next one. Anyways, I'm done treating y'all like my personal diary now <3

Yay, Rain feels comforted and finally smiles! It's like seeing the sun after a storm (literally) AND something yellow-blue is happening here

Post-credits garage brothers content!! This exchange is hilarious bc P'Saifah goes 'ah [Rain] is in the palm of your hand' as Rain's leaving, but then the show makes it literal bc Phayu's holding a picture of Rain in his palm via the phone screen, which also signifies to the viewer that Phayu is also in the palm of Rain's hand. Again, we love relationships built on equality hehe

I love that they let us see the moment Phayu decided to pursue Rain (he's looking at the picture of Rain on his phone for the first time - though I do question why the senior just randomly sent him a photo of Rain? Like at this point Phayu is an alumni of the frat so why just send an isolated photo of a freshman to him?? we'll never know I guess)

And that's episode 3! If you made it this far, I hope at least some of this was entertaining! Have a lovely day or night, whenever you're reading this <3 See you in the next one!!

#love in the air #lita #lita the series #bossnoeul #phayurain #payurain #lita rewatch thoughts

[thelaundrybitch]

The Gingerbread House Competition

Hello My Turtle Doves 😍

I hope you're ready.

Because it's time to build some gingerbread houses.

and this was a collaboration with @post-apocalyptic-daydream you can find her portion HERE

Look out, I threw another OC at you 👀🐢💚

18+ content - for mature audiences only!

Reblogs only, please!

The Gingerbread House Competition

Prologue:

It all started with J.

With his makeshift gingerbread house he was building using graham crackers and vanilla frosting.

Sitting at the table in the kitchen, constructing and decorating to his heart's content.

You enter the kitchen with his brothers

A stack of pizzas in hand

*Heckling commences*

Hearing their teasing remarks, you make a decision.

"Maybe everyone should build a gingerbread house. The winner gets to choose their Christmas gift from me this year," you tell them.

All five boys exchange glances and nod with huge smiles.

"Well, if THAT'S the case…" J says, "I'm due for an upgrade," he tells you with a wink.

SO…

Each of the brothers does their research and plans out their design

And the results are phenomenal!

Well…

Almost.

Don

We all know our resident genius is a perfectionist with his projects

Methodical

Architectural

Mathematical

He draws out full-blown blueprints

And concocts the perfect gingerbread house-building material.

This bitch is structurally sound.

Could withstand an earthquake test.

This gingerbread house would put Taipei 101 to shame.

Steps back and assesses his current project.

Isn't satisfied with his results.

Has an idea that would blow the other houses out of the water for sure.

But it's gonna mean some slight disassembly and reconstruction.

And a buttload of icing.

Sighs and mutters, "Maximum effort" under his breath.

A few pots of coffee and two batches of iced snickerdoodles later…

He's wired lights to the inside of his little house for added flair

He clicks the lights on and stands back.

Totally worth it.

Raph

Big hands

Small crumbly gingerbread walls

Icing that's stickier than tacky glue

LOTS of swear words

Every single one in the book to be precise.

This poor man is struggling.

He chucks his second attempt at a "Stupid-assed house" across the room when the roof caves in for the fourth time.

He knows it's time to take a short break

Decides to work on his project in his woodworking shop

And that's where inspiration hits.

Suddenly he's in the kitchen

Rolling long sticks of Gingerbread and baking them.

Goes to Don and asks about the best combination of confectioners sugar and egg whites for the ultimate hold

Raph is Don's favorite, so he shares 😂

Thanks Don

Goes back to work

Starts with an open floor plan

Builds miniature furniture using candies and other snack foods.

Then he builds the house around his miniatures

And he builds a mother-fluffing log cabin

Like a boss

Shrubbery

Santa Claus

There's a rocking chair on the porch and everything

"Are those… candy… glass… WINDOWS?"

Red gives you a quick wink

*Peers in the little windows*

"Raph! Is that a fireplace inside?!"

"You know it is, baby," he smirks

Mike

Alright.

They challenged the wrong dude.

"Chef Angelo"

Mr. Kiss the Cook, himself

Fucking Mike

Has been blessed by the culinary Gods

And this culinary genius has DWARFED everyone else's creations

It's as tall as he is when it's sitting on the floor.

Towers

Gables

A working chimney

There's no beating this

Especially because not only does it look good…

But it tastes good

It's the Amaury Guichon of Gingerbread houses

"Mike! This is amazing! It looks absolutely incredible!"

*Winks*

"Looks aren't everything baby, once you have a taste, you'll be begging for more…"

*Gets smacked upside the head by Red*

J

Now

I know what you're thinking

Baby boy was caught in the kitchen with crackers and frosting

But don't forget

He is the perfect specimen

Brains for days

Artistically Inclined

Unbelievably competitive

Comes out with a fucking CASTLE.

It's taller than he is

And that's saying something

He's 7'4

It's equal parts gorgeous and unique

Looks like a culinary impossibility

Realistic trees

Hanging towers

A drawbridge

"How'd you get lights in the windows? I don't see any wires…"

"Oh. No lights. The whole thing was built on top of a mirror. The rays of light are refracted by candy glass in the peaks of the towers," he says like it's general knowledge.

*Crickets*

J just shrugs

Leo

Totally looks like a 5-year-old built it.

Imagine one of those "nailed it" memes

*Insert Leo's gingerbread house here*

Leaning

Drowned in frosting

Looks like it needs a “condemned” sign posted on it

And he was so proud

Until he saw the rest of his brothers’ creations

“Is there actually any gingerbread under there?”

“I think you used too much spray foam insulation…”

Chortles

Snickers

Cackling

“Well, shows how ignorant you all are,” Leo says with his arms crossed.

“It’s a Picasso piece, you uncultured swines,” he announces

All the guys bust out laughing while Leo pouts and sticks his tongue out at them

Like a 5-year-old

Splinter

Decides to jump in on the fun

And leaves them all gawking

Building a traditional dojo

That looks like something right out of feudal Japan

"Dad wins," says Basilio, at his first glance as he walks into the lair.

"Thank you, son. But I'm not actually part of the competition. I made mine for fun," he says, giving you a quick wink.

"Actually, these are all amazing. Can I take one to the hotel? I'd love to display one at the front desk," he tells his brothers.

The guys agree, and Basilio walks around to choose his winner.

"What happened here?" He teases his twin.

"It's modern art," Leo tells him in mock pride.

"Mine wouldn't have come out much better," Basilio whispers, placing his hand on Leo's shoulder.

"J! I'm taking yours," he announces.

"He only picked yours because you're the youngest," teases Mike.

"Favoritism," scoffs Raph.

"He doesn't want you to feel inferior," adds Don.

"I'd pick J's, too," says Leo.

*Cue everyone throwing a piece of gingerbread house at Leo*

Epilogue

You make your choice

Leo wins

By default

Because his is the worst and his brothers are relentless in their teasing

He requests a date with you.

It's a few days after the Gingerbread Disaster

(Click that link to find out) ⬆️

You show up early for the date

Finding him in the kitchen

*Gasp*

"Leo?! Did you make all these?"

Insert bashful Leo

*Swoon*

Ok back to the story

"Yeah…"

"They're fantastic! Why didn't you build these?"

"They're my tea houses. I didn't think they'd qualify…"

"Tea houses?" You ask him

He picks one up and places the mini house on a mug.

"OhmygoodnessSoCUTE" you whisper through gritted teeth.

*Chuckles*

He grabs your hand and walks you to the table where he has all the supplies to decorate gingerbread people.

"Is that what I think it is?" You ask.

Leo smiles at you.

"That's not funny, Leo."

"Don't worry," he giggles. I made a brand new batch of Gingerbread for these."

He pulls a chair out for you, and you start selecting materials for your Gingerbreadians

Leo comes over with a cup of black tea - mini house included

"You know, I would've definitely named you the winner with these… " You confess, smiling at the tiny house.

Leo closes in on you, a smile playing at his lips

"You know what would be really good with this tea right now?" He asks.

You shoot him a questioning look

"A candy cane," he says with a wink.

If you enjoyed it, Please reblog for others to enjoy🤩💕

Enjoying my work? Find my Master List HERE

~Tags~

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#thelaundrybitch #post apocalyptic daydream #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt au #tmnt bayverse #tmnt headcanons #tmnt hcs #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt raph x reader #tmnt raphael x reader #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt donatello x reader #tmnt mikey x reader #tmnt michelangelo x reader #tmnt OC J x reader #tmnt Christmas fic 2022 #tmnt aged up

[ellivenollivander]

Okay, love, I’m almost on the Leander train. Give me some of your softest HCs about him. I loved your alphabet about him and I need more. 💛

Thank you so much for giving me a chance to talk about my #1 legacy boy, you know how much I love him. I hope you fall in love with him, too. Special thanks to @imagrindylow for being my emotional support and letting me bounce some ideas off of you. Love our shared Leander Prewett brain. Also thank you @skittish1807 for just, putting up with us honestly. I found the template I used for these to help guide me right here!

Leander Prewett Headcanons

How do they feel about people shorter/taller than them? He is like, annoyingly, tall and he loves to playfully tease his friends and s/o about this fact relentlessly. Like, if he has something they want he’ll dangle it above their head knowing they can’t reach it. 

What are they like on social media? (What’s their username, profile pic, etc.) He’s boring, his handle would truly just be leanderprewett. Profile picture would either be a candid photo his friend or s/o took of him.

Their sexuality? Everyone in the wizarding world is bi, sorry I don’t make the rules ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ However, if that wasn’t the case he would tragically be very straight.

Preferred weather? Blue skies & sunshine. He gets cabin fever very easily and hates being cooped up inside for too long.

What’s their sleeping schedule? He stays up way too late and loves to sleep in when he can. Lazy mornings are his favorite.

Favorite music? Rock, Pop Rock, Indie. He also has a soft spot for classical music and Jazz with his upbringing and family life. Oh, this song reminds me of him very very much.

How’s their cooking? I answered this a bit in my sfw alphabet, but he enjoys cooking. Specifically recipes he grew up with, made by his Mom.

It’s movie night, what movie do they pick? He’s a sucker for romcoms. and if his s/o wants to have a full self care face mask junk food movie night he’s all in. However, he’s also the guy who doesn’t shut up when watching a movie, full of commentary. “Did you know that actor didn’t even want to play this part?” “Gods that CGI is terrible”  “That coffee cup is clearly empty”

How would they hold up in a pillow war? He wouldn’t hold back, and there’s been legendary pillow wars in the Gryffindor dorms. Garreth has been the victim of more than a few smacks across his head from Leanders pillow.

What’s their sleeping position? CONTORTIONIST. LONG GANGLY LIMBS EVERYWHERE.

Who do they go to for comfort? When he was a kid, his grandpa. Then as he grows up, Garreth (they’re besties) and his s/o. It takes him a while to feel comfortable doing so, though and usually the other person notices something is bothering him before he speaks up. They usually have to be the ones to coax him into talking.

Something small that they enjoy?His moms home cooked meals, long walks by the black lake. Riding his broom. A good book.

How do they feel about physical contact by others? Eh. He’s alright with a hug now and again. When it comes to his s/o he’s anti PDA. He does love when his Mom gives him a cheek or forehead smooch.  What is enough to bring them to tears? Failure. In any form. He’s hypersensitive to it as his greatest fear in life is being perceived as a disappointment to his family. (See also: His boggart would be his father).

Biggest pet peeve?Serious pet peeve of his: people who are just willfully ignorant and unwavering in their belief systems. Less serious pet peeve: just… impolite behaviors. Chewing with your mouth open, not saying please/thank you, etc etc etc.

How well do they take care of themselves? Very very well and he prides himself on it. He’s a very clean, well put together person and he always smells good. (@imagrindylow and I even picked out a cologne we think he’d smell like - BOSS Infinite) 

What’s something they like that may be surprising to others?He enjoys the mundane. He finds joy and peace in a very calm, domestic life. He wants the 9-5 office job. He wants to be successful if only to appease his parents and provide for his family. But he wants an easy going, office job that keeps him safe and brings him home to his family every single night.

Do they consider others family? Oh yes. When he has children, all of his close friends will absolutely be considered Aunts and Uncles to them. He absolutely believes family goes beyond blood. Though, those titles and feelings don’t come easily for him and those select few would have to be tried and true friends to him, and the people he cares about. 

Any bad habits that they have? I answered this one a bit, in this post but really just crippling insecurity, overworking himself and jealousy. What’s their idea of a perfect vacation? Anywhere that would give him ample time to spend with and bond with those close to him. Quidditch World Cup with his brothers. Weekend at the lake with his partner and children. In the modern world he’d absolutely be an Amusement Park Dad or think a cross country road trip would be a great bonding experience. (He’s wrong. Everyone cries at least once.) 

Do they get lost easily? Will they ask for directions if they are? He would not get lost easily, the man is over prepared for everything. If he did find himself lost, he would not hesitate to find a local and ask for help. Especially if he had his s/o or children along. (CAN YOU TELL HE’S A FAMILY MAN?)

How well do they accept advice?It depends not only on how close he is with the person giving him advice but also the level of respect he has for them. If he respects the person immensely, he will absolutely accept their advice with gratitude.

How much do they swear?Often, just not loudly. He’ll curse under his breath during an exam or while he’s playing quidditch or summoners court but he’s not one to be dropping f bombs in casual conversation. He’s polite.

How do they take advice given to them?Feeding off of how well they take advice, he would absolutely act on it if he accepted it. Putting his trust in their guidance.

Do they like being in pictures?He doesn’t love having his picture taken alone, but he’ll never say no to capturing memories with people he loves. His desk at work would be absolutely littered in photos of his s/o and children and family.

Is there anything they’re bad at?Emotional regulation lmao boys got a temper.

What’s their morning schedule?As much as he loves to sleep in, he does have a morning routine that if he doesn’t get to complete it’ll put him in a funk for the rest of the day. So he does make sure he gets up with enough time to get it done. He makes his bed (literally every single day), showers, grooms himself (shaving, cologne, etc), he takes his time in getting ready for the day. Not to look good, but to feel good.

Any past injuries? He broke his leg after falling off his broom when he and his brothers were goofing off, when he was a kid. 

Something that disgusts them Runny eggs and the smell of incense (it gives him a headache, which is why he drops divination the second he’s able). 

#leander prewett #leander prewett hc #if you want to know what leander smells like click the link do it click it #i have a million thoughts about this man but getting them out of the prewett vault in my brain is A TASK AND A HALF #i love him your honor :) #ALSO LISTEN TO THE SONG.

[justanotherblonde]

it's sasodei week 2024!

i have precisely one thing to contribute, but ffs it's not done yet grr!! maybe we can blame my dog... she demanded i come play with her no less than nine times (i kept track) as i wrote this post (she does this by shouting at me then humping my leg to show me who's boss, sometimes pulling on my sweater sleeve with her sharp li'l teefs, beagles, man, i tell ya...) 🐶

anyway!! here's a TEASER of my Day 3 Band/Rockstar/Idol AU story ahhhhh!!! it's not even titled yet!!!!! i don't even really know what the tags will be! and i haven't had time to make a header image!! 😫

but this i know, oh this i know:

Sasori is first chair cello of the Sunagakure Philharmonic

He has a dirty little secret hobby: listening to metal (among other genres that are definitely not classical)

One of the bands he listens to is called C4

Guess who's the lead singer???

Yes, you guessed it, it's Deidara, singer/song-writer, perhaps much more...

In this AU, everybody lives!! Well... okay fine, Sasori's parents still didn't make it, i'm sorry

But that means two important things: Third Kazekage is alive! And there are a LOT of Uchiha running around.

There's more, a lot more, but you'll have to wait until i steal more minutes and hours from my dog and my work! but i'll give it to ya, come hell or high water! or wildfires, earthquakes, debilitating PM 2.5 ratings, or uh... dare i say... another pandemic??? FEAR NOT!

if you want to wait for the full thing to drop to read, i've left the teaser excerpt below the cut.

a million thanks to @sasodeiweek for hosting this event and encouraging us SasoDei creators to flex our creative muscles! loving all the contributions so far!

and without further ado...

Rehearsal ran circles round Sasori’s ears. The music followed him always, all hours.

Chapter 1

Rehearsal ran circles round Sasori’s ears. The music followed him always, all hours.

The fine, agile fingers of his left hand twitched; his right hand swayed side to side, marking the strokes of his bow. Eyes half-closed, his feet kept time on the pavement as he walked. It was Haydn this week, Cello Concerto No. 1 in C major. A weighty yet familiar responsibility for Sasori, first chair cello of the Sunagakure Philharmonic.

He sighed. Rehearsal had wrapped half an hour ago. He was on his way home, and tomorrow was a rest day. He didn’t need to torture himself like this. 

The headphones around his neck were a comforting weight, as friendly and intimate as the straps of his cello case on his shoulders. He flipped them over his ears and dug in his coat pocket for his phone. Scrolling through the saved playlists on his music app, he skipped all of the classical “homework” and went straight for his guilty pleasures: dance-pop, glam-rock, musicals… and heavy metal. 

No one at work knew about his low, low tastes.

Well, the Third had known. 

Sasori gritted his teeth, biting back unbidden memories. Now he definitely needed to blast his brain clean with some noise. 

Something heavy.

Something loud.

Something to transport him far away from the sand-scraped streets of Sunagakure.

His thumb landed on the album he was looking for.

Art is an EXPLOSION by C4. Track 1: “Light It Up.”

From that first haunting guitar chord, the tension Sasori held in his chest and face dispersed. He rode that twisting whine down, down… someplace dark and cool, far beneath the earth. As the barreling drums built to a crescendo, he held his breath—wait for it!—

A million years, through timeless stone I’m damned to walk this path alone This darkness, all I’ve ever known…

The lead singer had a deep, melodic voice. He molded each word of the verse carefully, tenderly, as if he were embarking on a ballad… then WHAM!

Cymbals crashed; the roaring chorus caught the last two notes of an electrifying riff like a surfer hopping a wave:

Light it up! Hey, light it up! Strike a match and light it up! My fuse is short, ’m ready to blow, Crush the ceiling down to the floor!

Not in a million years would Sasori admit out loud to anyone that he listened to C4, especially not now that the public were actually aware of their existence. The metal band had catapulted to fame last year with their single “Burn Down All the Discos,” but Sasori had been listening to them well before that. Three years ago, his music app had recommended him a track from Art is an EXPLOSION—C4’s debut album—based on his eclectic streaming history. 

If the first song Sasori had heard by C4 had been anything but “Artist,” he’d probably never have given them a chance: their usual sound was, on the surface, sloppy, and most of the lyrics were childish boasts. “Look at me!” their vocalist seemed to say in every song. 

But “Artist” was different. It was, inexplicably, an up-tempo perversion of Vivaldi’s Winter Largo in F Minor, lamenting how hard it was to live for art’s sake when the world ran on money and heroic virtue. Listeners without classical training would be unable to appreciate or likely even identify the subtleties of what had been done with the classical score, but the first time he heard it, Sasori had been riveted. Vivaldi’s rhythmic harpsichord had been replaced with a softly tapped snare drum; a mournful electric guitar carried the melody when it wasn’t sung. 

Curiosity piqued, Sasori had investigated the rest of the album, and found similar nods to classical music throughout the tracks, much harder to notice than the adapted Vivaldi, drowned as they were in a thunderstorm of electric guitar and percussion. C4 were more than just a metal band: they experimented with typical traits of the genre and also drew from pop rock, classical music, even musical theatre to create a sound unlike anything Sasori had ever heard. They broke all the rules and they did it with glee.

One day—a rest day—home alone and bored, Sasori had looked up the band online. It surprised him to learn that the lead singer had been only sixteen when the band was formed. That powerful voice certainly didn’t sound like it belonged to a teenager. But the band’s website was light on biographical information, and Sasori hadn’t felt like digging deeper. An overwhelming amount of fan sites and social media accounts had sprung up since “Burn Down All the Discos” and C4’s world tour. Bored as he was that day, Sasori wasn’t about to use his precious free time to obsess over some flash-in-the-pan rock band, especially one fronted by a kid.

And yet, he still listened to them.

“Artist” often competed for the position of most frequently-played song on his app, but only when he was feeling particularly moody. 

It crossed his mind that he ought to check if C4 had come out with anything new lately—the app usually sent a message when artists he’d followed released new music. Pausing to wait for a traffic light, he dug for his phone again.

Lo and behold, a new album had dropped not three days ago.

Beauty of a Moment, it was called. The cover art featured the Venus de Milo... mid-explosion.

Sasori chuckled under his breath. “He really does fancy himself an artist, doesn’t he…” 

What a fool. Popular music was not art. Rock music was not art. It came and went, but the classics stayed. For centuries. Forever.

It was the one thing Sasori and the Third had always agreed on, despite all of their differences. 

Speaking of which… 

...

#sasodeiweek2024 #justanotherblonde #sasori #deidara #sasodei #deisaso #sasodeiweek #music AU #band AU #idol AU #rockstar AU

[lunathebee]

[11:02]

Ok guess what I'm back with another sad sopping stuff and it's still about Steven, can I call this a drabble?

Y/n is Steven's lover, and she struggles with making friends at work. When she thought she was doing a good job, reality hits her in the face.

It was a Saturday morning and Y/n had forgotten about an important meeting, her brain tricking her into thinking it was a normal day, and by the time she realized it, it was too late.

But the thing that made Y/N sad wasn't her boss being mad; it was her co-worker.

"You aren't in the meeting this morning?" A woman in a beige pencil skirt said, holding a cup of coffee in her hand. She seems surprised when Y/n is having a breakdown over the meeting.

"I- I don't know, I DO know there would be a meeting, somehow I- I forgot?!"

"Well, you should tell the boss" The woman said before leaving to get back to her seat, pretending to be busy with the paperwork.

Y/N has no choice but to also take a seat and quickly type an apology message to her boss. After hitting the send button, she doesn't have the energy or motivation to finish the work anymore.

===

"Love! You're home early" Steven said when Y/N walked through the front door, but his joy quickly turned to concern when he noticed she had been crying."Did something happen?..."  

Y/n doesn't say anything back; she just slowly sits down and holds her knees close to her chest before starting to cry loudly. This of course makes Steven's worries skyrocket, and he quickly rushes to her side to see what's wrong.

"Love, hey hey why are you crying?" The British man held onto Y/n's hand, the warmth from his hand making her calm down a bit, but not enough to stop her from crying.

"Do..Do you think people hate me Steven?"

"What? No, who would hate you?"

Y/n wiped her tears with the jacket's sleeve; it already had a big wet patch now. "My coworkers, whom I have known for more than three years. Do you think they hate me?"

Y/n doesn't wait for Steven to answer; she continues to speak. "Today I have an important meeting, and... it was my fault; I forgot about it somehow, but it was a two-hour meeting, and no one texts me, or calls me, or whatever... they don't even notice I wasn't there."

Steven's heart clenched at Y/n's words. His lover is like the sun; she is warm-hearted and always trying her best. Steven never failed to notice her presence; how could he? And yet here she is, talking about herself like she's just a dull piece of rock or a puddle of mud.

"Oh...love-"

"I WORKED WITH HER, I ATE LUNCH WITH HER, I CHATTED WITH HER; I have done everything, I thought she was my friend! ..." Y/n suddenly feels angry and frustrated; she doesn't realize her voice is so loud Steven was taken back.

"And not just her, NOBODY noticed I wasn't at the meeting; all the co-workers... STUPID, this workplace is a goddamn PAIN" She threw her suitcase across the room; it made a loud slam when hitting the floor before sliding under the table.

Steven cringed at the sound before turning his attention back to Y/n, her face full of dry and wet tears, her eyes puffy and red, not to mention her nose too.

"Love, I know you have tried your best, and if someone can't realize that, it's their fault, not yours" Steven stopped for a moment to look at Y/n's reaction, making sure she was listening to him. "There are still people who are worth your love and kindness, people that you can trust to be friends with"

Y/n bites her lips to stop herself from crying, and she lets Steven hug her afterwards, listening to him rant about fun Egyptian facts before dozing off to sleep in his embrace.

"Take some rest, darling. I love you" Steven brushed off the strain of hair on Y/N's face before giving her a small kiss, admiring the subtle smile on her face.

#whew okay #steven grant x reader #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x you #steven grant my beloved #moon knight imagine #moon knight x reader #drabble #the moon boys #the moon boys x reader #moon knight drabble

[blackjackkent]

OK, beginning what I sincerely hope is the last bit of exploration before we can finally go into Baldur's Gate proper: *trumpet fanfare* the basement of that one blacksmith we ran into.

I legitimately don't know if there's anything important down here but I'm being thorough damn it. My liveblogging integrity is important to me.

There's a waterfall, which automatically makes it more interesting than my basement.

There are several deep gnomes milling around in a room up ahead, one of whom speaks up as Hector and Co approach:

"The boss is expecting you - hasn't forgotten what you did for him at Moonrise."

Yo, what?? This is Wulbren's hideout?

The room is a workshop area, full of blacksmithing tools and scattered pieces of scrap metal. Several of the gnomes say vague things about Steel Watch parts when spoken to, leading me to believe Wulbren may be trying to reverse-engineer the automatons currently protecting the city.

Nickels, one of Wulbren's buddies from Moonrise, is here and not enjoying himself:

"It's stopped - but it'll happen again. It keeps happening! The shivering-shaking-quaking! Don't you feel it?"

"Yes!" Hector agrees, eager for information. "It keeps happening - what is it?"

But Nickels has no info to offer. "There's something underneath the city - inside the rock! But when I ask the stone why it shakes, it only screams." His face twists and his voice turns to a pained whimper. "I want to go home..."

Poor guy. :( Hector didn't actually have context the way we did for what was causing the quakes, so I think this might be the first moment where he puts two and two together and connects this to the Wall Meat from Moonrise and knows for certain that the Absolute is what is causing the quakes. Very bad news.

On a lighter note, the lady we saved from being poisoned in the Underdark is here! Nice to see she got reunited with her friends. All she says, though, is that we'll catch up later and that we should go see Wulbren.

So let's go do that!

Hector's opinion on Wulbren at this point is decidedly middling - he seemed OK in Moonrise, then was a dick at Last Light, and then tried to smooth things over again later on because he realized Hector could be useful to him. So Hector is treading carefully here.

"Good to see you. Wasn't sure you'd make it to the city. Regretting it yet?"

Wulbren always speaks in a very clipped-off tone, matter-of-fact, every syllable flat with determination. But there's a note of anger under it now, and frustration. "I spent a lot of time thinking of worst-case scenarios while I was locked in that cell you plucked me out of at Moonrise," he goes on. "I didn't imagine anything as bad as this. The Gondians have handed Enver Gortash the means to bring about the end of liberty in Baldur's Gate. And the citizens have rolled out the red carpet for their new tyrant!"

His voice lifts angrily. "Resistance fighters are few and far between - my Ironhands, what's left of the Harpers, and you." He raises an eyebrow questioningly at Hector. "I hope."

Hector debates trying to explain all the elements of the situation that Wulbren has no idea of - the Absolute, the Elder Brain, the trio of Chosen (now down to two)... but then thinks better of it. Perhaps it's better if Wulbren thinks this is only a fight for the fate of the city, and not for the minds of its inhabitants. "Gortash is a dead man," he says instead, matching his matter-of-fact tone to the gnome's. "I have reasons of my own for taking him down."

Wulbren's jaw sets and he nods, satisfied. "As long as our objective is the same," he says harshly, "the reason doesn't matter to me. We have a common enemy." He stabs out a finger in Hector's direction. "But neither of us gets what we want until we deal with our biggest obstacle."

It's like watching the fuse run down on a powder keg. As if even thinking of the struggle ahead incenses him, Wulbren suddenly explodes with anger, his words coming faster now, almost tripping over each other. "The Steel Watch! They're a threat to you, me, and every man woman and child in the city. They act all civilized - servants of the people - but they only serve one man. When he becomes Grand Duke, it'll only get worse. Laws will change, freedoms will vanish, and soon you'll be accursed and sentenced before you've even committed a crime!"

Hector listens impassively as the other man rages. He has not yet encountered one of these Steel Watch automatons, but everything Wulbren is saying reflects his own worries based on what he's heard so far. Extremely powerful mechanical weapons under the control of an incredibly dangerous man who is poised to get more powerful than ever and is carrying a juggernaut of destruction behind him.

"And the fucking Gondians are to blame for all of it!" Wulbren finishes with a snarl.

Hector blinks. Well, that part of Wulbren's tirade is a little out of left field. He knows Wulbren's antagonism towards this other clan of gnomes - that he considers them responsible for the Ironhand's fall from grace - but thus far he has heard nothing to indicate a connection to Gortash beyond the fact that Wulbren hates both of them.

"Why put the blame on the Gondians?" he asks curiously.

"They invented the Steel Watchers," Wulbren hisses. "And they're building an army of them. They've always been happy to provide their technology to despots in exchange for a stipend and the freedom to work in peace. They would have licked Sarevok's boots, given the chance, and now they'll kiss Gortash's ring while the city screams."

Weren't you the one who said *your* ancestors worked with Sarevok? Hector thinks dryly, though he doesn't speak this thought aloud.

Wulbren, unheeding of any potential hypocrisy he might be indulging in, continues, "I had a plan to put a stop to them. But the way things are now, if we stick our heads above ground, the Watchers are on us like flies on shit."

This is all very useful intelligence, regardless of Hector's personal feelings on Wulbren. And no matter how... intense... the gnome is about his own vendettas, he's right about one thing - he and Hector have a common enemy. And Hector needs allies.

"Maybe I can help," he says carefully.

"I'm sure you can," Wulbren says at once. "You just need a little assistance, and I can provide it. The Gondians are ingenious. But we're more than equal to them. There's nothing they can build that the Ironhands can't tear down." He rubs his hands together eagerly. "I've built something unique just for that purpose. A runepowder bomb - first of its kind. Fifty wizards high on the Weave couldn't summon this kind of firepower."

"Get the bomb inside the Gondian facility and... boom. Problem solved."

A long silence. Hector shifts uncomfortably. He does not like what Wulbren is describing at all. First of all - he has immediate skepticism of any philosophy that takes more pride in destroying than creating. But more to the point, Wulbren is talking about tasking him with setting off a bomb of unprecedented power in a major manufacturing facility in the middle of a city center. And he wants all the gnomes inside that facility to die.

"Maybe the Gondians are victims, not oppressors," he points out, deliberately placid against Wulbren's anger. He does not consider Wulbren's outlook at all unbiased here, and he considers Gortash fully capable of using unwilling labor in his plots.

"The Gondians picked their side the minute they took orders from Gortash," Wulbren says coldly. "If they had any courage, they'd have refused him and died like heroes, spitting in his face. Now they'll die like the dogs they are."

Hector feels a strange prickling up the back of his spine as he is reminded, abruptly, of the uncompromising rage of He Who Was, back in the shadowlands. He remembers the raised spirit of Madeline, whose crime was rooted in fear of the overwhelming power steamrolling through her life - and who Hector allowed the possibility of forgiveness, out there in the darkness.

Wulbren is no creature of the Shadowfell, but this is the same question, Hector is sure of it. Some of those people could be lost in a terrible situation not of their own making. And he will not kill them so brutally without knowing more of the situation than Wulbren's limited perspective. "I'll make contact with the Gondians," he says firmly. "Maybe they'll see reason."

Wulbren scowls. "Fine. You want to try flapping your gums in the belly of the beast, be my guest. But their idea of diplomacy is a steel fist shoved where the sun don't shine. So take the bomb - just in case I'm right and you're wrong."

Hector nods. "Fine," he says. "I'll take it - but I'll only use it as a last resort." He fully intends not to use it - but Wulbren will be pacified, for now at least, by his taking it.

"As long as you see sense, I don't care when you see it," Wulbren says coolly, handing the device over. "The foundry is in the Lower City, down by the docks. Beautiful building, belching smoke into the sky day and night. Getting inside won't be easy, but when you do, place the bomb at the heart of the facility and get yourself back to street level." His lip curls with a sort of violent glee. "The streets will be clear of Watchers in no time!"

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #i think i'm coming to the conclusion that i don't like wulbren very much :P #and so is hector

[curious-sootball]

Assorted OxDeadlands headcanons because this campaign lives in my brain rent-free:

Nate has been doing the "bumbling old fool" act since he's been able to look old enough for that - say, since his late forties or early fifties: he thought it was a lazy way of achieving things when he initially learned it from his fellow workers, but ended up changing his mind pretty quickly.

Young Nate pretty firmly believed in the value of hard work and humility - to a fault; he had a few very rough patches when he just arrived in America and was taken advantage of by his bosses (who were all too glad to hire a guy willing to do twice the work for half the credit seemingly without realising). As he would say later to Delacy, "It was a formative experience for me!".

I really like the idea that Nate absorbed a small encyclopedia's worth of knowledge about supernatural creatures of the Weird West solely for the purpose of steering clear from them as efficiently as possible - he can hold his own in a regular fight, but supernatural fight is a whole different can of worms (mostly inspired by @/melsrainpod including Johnny telling everyone that vampire tumbleweeds are a thing as Nate's in-character freakout in a fic, I loved that detail so much. Also, did you know Tumblebleeds aren't the only creatures pretending to be mundane things in Deadlands lore? There's a creature called Bloodwire, it looks like a living barbed wire and hunts by pretending to be part of ranch fences. Weird West is fucking terrifying)

Speaking of the original Deadlands lore - I think that OxDeadlands have a more matter-of-fact attitude towards the fact that supernatural things exist and affect people: the original Deadlands have both Texas Rangers and Men In Black Dusters keeping up the idea that supernatural stuff is just superstition and folk tales in everyone's minds (spoilers - it doesn't work too well). Isn't much on its own, but helps with the supernatural legislation headcanons that I have. (Imo being able to call a supernatural creature what it is really helps with writing and issuing laws about them). Not all states have the same legislation around the supernatural creatures and enforce it the same way.

Garnet always gets an uneasy feeling around large quantities of ghost rock - not quite the full body pins and needles of being in The Hunting Grounds, but close. After the finale, so do Edie, Silas and Delacy (and Nate, but he got that way after coming back as a Harrowed - as opposed to others, who were properly touched by the arcane after entering The Hunting Grounds), but to a lesser degree.

Edie knows how to bind books(that's how she maintains/expands her copy of the monster encyclopedia... read Reading is more fun(when you can draw on the margins) its so good) and later taught Delacy how to do that.

He and Bison Billy actually compiled and made a custom version of a song collection book for Edie as a birthday present; Bison Billy called in a favour from his friend, who runs a printing workshop, to print that collection without censoring the raunchier songs. (Don't worry, the workshop didn't get in trouble with the local law - that wasn't the first or the most NSFW thing they printed, they have this figured out)

Silas and Edie were really touched when Victoria made them packed lunches; they still think about it bitterly from time to time. (In a very guarded, filled with internalised guilt "if I hadn't let my guard down around that person, maybe the fallout of them betraying all of us wouldn't have been this horrible" kind of way)

One evening, a few months after the finale events, Silas, Edie and Garnet had a talk about the whole situation, because they all felt understandably uneasy about ending up as potential new Horsemen recruits (that sounds like a thing that would make someone rethink at least some of their life choices). Silas was mostly upset at the Horse afterimage and the implication that he had enough in common with Ben Bellows to end up as the new War Horseman. Garnet mused about Victoria getting desperately lonely - not in a defending way, in a "that line of thinking was not a product of a sound mind" way. Edie was still mad at Victoria for weaponising her memories of her brother against her and Garnet, and didn't say much.

Speaking of Victoria... you know how the Rider of the white horse (Conquest and later Pestilence) is depicted with a bow and crown? Victoria gets a flaming sword and a crown in the finale, but the bow is never mentioned (probably because pulling out a bow inside a house while riding a big gravity-defying horse is a bit ridiculous mental image, and that would've kind of killed the vibe of fighting a Horsewoman of the Apocalypse). Does it even exist in this universe? Because if it does and unsealed Conquest doesn't have it on hands, that has very interesting implications: given that IRL Pestilence replaced Conquest in the Horsemen lineup - was that a hint for the players to thoroughly search Daisy's office?

Continuing on with the weaponry/items descriptions for the Horsemen - these five either had them swapped around from the start or there's a story reason for their respective items: Victoria wields a flaming sword in the finale - usually the rider depicted with the sword is War. Either the sword originally belonged to Victoria, or she took it for herself after breaking the seals (as a sort of retribution for delaying the Apocalypse) Also, Andy mentioned that Johnny cut the fight short when they shot Victoria with the Coup - that implies that she could've wielded another weapon(s) later in the fight.

Hildegard and M.T. Boudreau also seemingly swapped symbols: Judge's main weapon is a pair of guns with sickles mounted on them - a very clear reaper imagery - but there is also at least one pair of scales (on the Justice statue) and probably more in the rest of the courthouse. Famine is traditionally depicted with a pair of scales, but they're never mentioned around Hildegard. One could argue that hell that is coming with the rider in this case is corporate hell.

I headcanon that the Red Hand gang bit of Victoria's backstory was mostly true - that's the name The Horsemen picked for themselves to stand out a little less among the outlaws of the Weird West, and that's how they operated for a while (assuming they needed "normal" human corporeal forms to get onto the mortal plane).

Speaking of "normal" humans: it seems like the closer the chosen avatar was to a regular human, the better respective riders adjusted to the mortal plane. Victoria obviously takes the cake,but there is also a clear pattern with the others - Bellows is pretty convincing as a regular terrible person, DuCrow runs a crooked, Poxwalker-filled sanatorium and is both a Mad Scientist and a Poison Woman, Hildegard is a cutthroat CEO and gets visibly monstrous once she gets shot, and M.T. Boudreau is a Hangin' Judge, a very prominently undead creature, and is notably the most unhinged of the five.

The Horsemen kept in touch via mail after sealing Conquest's powers and going their separate ways.

Daisy DuCrow used to be the Red Hand gang's doctor back before The Incident (technically, she still is one) - she's both the most informed about the topic out of the five and genuinely curious about how well the avatars hold up.

Daisy and Hildegard used to team up pretty often before The Incident - they still do, but less actively: Daisy sometimes helps raze some of Hilda's competitors' crops to the ground with blights, Hilda sends people to Daisy's sanatorium(as clients, potential new hires and future fodder for the regeneration machine).

Bellows has a reputation for(among other things) just straight up refusing to die - which isn't entirely baseless: he has supernatural healing and a tendency to get carried away in a fight or in a challenge once he's angry enough. (I think it is specifically healing - powerful, but it can be overwhelmed. Harrowed don't pass out from pain, and only get immobilised if you behead them - which would imply that if Bellows was a Harrowed before the finale, he would have to have been playing dead from the moment Nate shot him onwards: through Garnet taking his ring and the townsfolk stripping his corpse. This guy canonically has an ego the size of a small town, I don't think he would've been able to convincingly play dead through all of that)

Speaking of poorly picked challenges: one of his bodyguards figured out that Bellows wasn't human after he won a drinking game against one of the contestants - a big, burly blacksmith who could bend a horseshoe with his bare hands - and shown barely a trace of that next morning, to blacksmith's utter bewilderment and bartender's disappointment.

Despite his temper, M.T. Boudreau is very good at keeping secrets: Victoria would've figured out that other four don't really want to go through with the original plan a lot sooner if it wasn't for him.

Also, M. T. is supernaturally hangry during both episodes of his arc (because Garnet set a sentenced man free), that's why he's so highstrung. He really hadn't taken being an undead as well as he thinks he had.

#oxventure deadlands #oxventure deadlands headcanons #extensive assorted theorising on how OxDeadlands world works