#so i don't often manage to condense much

[fandom-chic]

Please Please Please: Chapter 1

Summary: Y/N is only a child when she and Tommy Shelby meet. The two quickly become best friends as they grow up in Small Heath. As the years go by, Y/N and Tommy realize there may be more to their friendship than they originally thought.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Y/N

A/N: Hi everybody! This Peaky Blinders fic is a SLOW BURN ROMANCE and will start off quite fluffy! Let me know what you all think and if you would like to see more.

She knew exactly which day it was when she first met him. She wouldn't forget it for the rest of her life. It was the spring of 1898, and her family had just moved to Small Heath. Her father had grown up there, and she remembered hearing stories from his boyhood, calling it "Magical Small Heath." She was ecstatic to go to such a place. It sounded like a dream come true.

But she was mistaken.

The rancid smell of the town seeped into every aspect of life there. The colors were dreary, the weather was raw, and the people seemed indifferent to everything. To top it off, the house she called home had maybe four rooms in total: her bedroom, her parents' room, the kitchen, and the bathroom. It couldn’t even be compared to her family’s old home in the country. During her first month in Small Heath, she often found herself staring out of her shoebox-sized bedroom window, yearning for some semblance of familiarity.

"You can't stay in your room all day," her father would say, standing at the doorway.

"I can try," she would mutter back, tracing the condensation on the window pane.

"I bet you can," he muttered under his breath as he turned to leave. He stopped abruptly and looked back. "The least you can do is meet the neighborhood kids. Don't turn your nose up at everyone just yet." All she could manage was an eye roll before her father left her to her own devices. She continued to gaze out the window, imagining herself somewhere else amidst the gray roads of Small Heath.

As day turned into night, she felt herself starting to drift off. Her eyes fluttered as her chin rested in her hand. Just as darkness began to envelop her, she heard a loud bang. Her eyes shot open, expecting to see a bullet hole in her window. Instead, all she saw was a ball lying in the garden below. It hadn't been there before, but now it found its place in the grass. She focused her eyes on the ball for a moment, and that's when she saw him.

He couldn't have been much older than her, maybe eight or nine years old. He leaned down and picked up the ball, rolling it over in his fingers before looking up at her. His eyes were the most colorful thing she had seen in Small Heath, like a sea of warmth amidst the coldness. She couldn't help but smile at him, and he returned a small grin. Then, he jogged off into the streets of Small Heath. She knew she had to say hello.

Her father was pleased to find an empty room the following day as he walked by her doorway. She didn't know where to find the boy, but she knew she had to search for him. She scoured the streets until her stomach rumbled, indicating it was lunchtime. With a sigh of defeat, she made her way back home. As she approached the front steps, ready for lunch, she heard a noise that stopped her in her tracks.

"Oy!" she halted and turned back to see a familiar pair of blue eyes. It was him.

"Hello," she said, feeling a blush creeping onto her cheeks.

He held up the familiar-looking ball. "We need another player," he raised an eyebrow. "Wanna join?" All she could do was smile and nod. He returned her smile and motioned for her to follow him. She gladly obliged.

Walking by his side, they made their way down an alley. She couldn't help but notice how his clothes hung heavily on his thin limbs. If his shoes weren't so big, his pant legs might have dragged on the ground. His cheekbones seemed more pronounced than those of a child his age. She knew she couldn't be the only hungry child in Small Heath.

"I've never seen you before," he said, tracing the seams of the ball with his forefinger.

"My family is new to town," she said, feeling compelled to share more. He grunted in response as she started to hear the voices of other young boys.

"Then welcome to Small Heath. I'm Tommy," he paused, holding out his hand. It seemed unusual for such a young boy to introduce himself in such a mature way, but she sensed that he must not lead a typical life.

"Nice to meet you, Tommy. I'm Y/N," she hesitated before adding, "I hope we can be friends." His lips curved into a smile. She wished she could capture that moment in a photograph and live within it. This was the day she made her first best friend.

As the two children ventured farther down the road, Y/N finally distinguished voices. They approached closer until she could put a voice to a face. The voice that rose above all the others belonged to a boy who appeared a little rougher than the rest.

"It's my fucking turn," he said, emphasizing the final syllable of the curse word. Her eyes widened in surprise. In her seven years of life, she had never heard such language. She looked over at Tommy for a reaction, but all she saw was a smirk.

"Oy, Arthur, it doesn't matter," the angry boy turned toward Y/N and her new friend, "because it is Y/N's turn." Her eyebrows inched up slightly. She had never played baseball before. She always saw it as something boys did while girls played "house" off to the side.

"It is?" Y/N questioned.

"She's gonna mess up all the teams," Arthur moaned, waving an arm toward the five other boys behind him.

"Then we'll start a new game," Tommy said, sounding determined. She knew Tommy was younger than Arthur, but the older boy seemed to respect him.

"Fine," Arthur mumbled, "but she's on your team."

"Of course, brother," Tommy said. They were brothers. Even more unusual, she thought, as the two boys went to the pitcher's mound to discuss teams. Before she knew it, Y/N found herself holding a bat, waiting for a ball to come flying towards her.

"What do I do?" she whispered to Tommy, who stood a few paces behind her. He chuckled to himself.

"Hit it and run like hell," he replied. She nodded hesitantly before turning to face Arthur. He made eye contact with her and tossed the ball in her direction. Instinctively, she flinched away.

"Strike one!" yelled the catcher. She knew flinching like that was the wrong move. She looked over at Tommy, who masked his disappointment by gazing up at the sky. She knew she had to hit the ball. She raised the bat higher as another ball flew toward her. This time, she kept her eyes open as she took a swing.

"Strike two!" the boy yelled again. She could hear the grimace in his voice. Resigning herself to the idea that baseball may not be her game, she heard her name being whispered loudly. She turned her head to see Tommy.

"Hold the bat like this," he said, mimicking holding it horizontally in front of him. "Don't swing, just hold it out." She nodded and made eye contact with the pitcher. She was determined now. When the ball came hurtling in her direction again, she held out the bat. When she heard the light tap of the ball barely grazing the bat, she knew she wasn't out. She smiled to herself and then over at Tommy. He looked at her wide-eyed before yelling, "Run!"

She sprinted like lightning to first base, and before she knew it, she was safe. She had officially played baseball and had made her mark on the game. She felt victorious in her own way. As she basked in her moment of triumph, Tommy took his turn at the plate. Too caught up in her own accomplishment, she didn't hear the bat make contact with the ball. She also didn't look up in time to notice the ball whizzing right at her. It wasn't until the hard ball struck her gut that she realized Tommy had hit it. She clutched her middle, crumbled to the ground, and let out a scream. Rolling onto her side, she held herself in a fetal position, trying to find some comfort, but the pain was too intense. Tears began to stream down her face.

Between the sobs, she finally noticed Tommy kneeling beside her. "Are you okay?" he asked. No, she was not. He knew that, just as well as she did. The pain was one thing, but the embarrassment in front of her new friend was unbearable.

"I should go home," she mumbled, wiping away a tear.

"Are you sure you want—"

"Yes," she spat. With that, she forced herself up and trudged home. She refused to look back at the boy she had hoped would be her friend. How could he be friends with her now? With the crybaby who didn't know the first thing about a friendly neighborhood game of baseball? She lay face down on her bed as soon as she arrived home, vowing to remain there for the rest of her existence. This was her life now—a loner with no friends.

She couldn't have been there for more than ten minutes when she heard a knock at the door. She heard her mother open it and footsteps approaching her room.

"Y/N," her mother said as the door creaked open, "you have a guest." She rolled her head to see Tommy standing in her room.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, as her mother shut the door behind Tommy.

"I wanted to see if you were okay," he said, stepping further into the room. "Getting hit like that hurts."

"It did," she said. "It hurt like hell." She heard a chuckle from Tommy.

"I can imagine," he said, dropping onto the floor beside her bed. Y/N rolled over, staring at the ceiling as a beat passed.

"I understand if you don't want to play with me anymore. No one wants to play with a crybaby," she kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling, not wanting to see Tommy's rejection.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because," she felt her fingers tense with anxiety, "they ruin the games and then run home to their mommies. How can that be any fun?"

"You actually sound a lot like Arthur right now," she could hear the humor in Tommy's voice, but she didn't want to look at his face just yet. "Maybe we can play a different game then." This statement shocked her. Now she looked down at him to see him gazing up at her.

"You still want to play with me?" she asked, a glimmer of hope in her voice.

He smiled and sighed. "I don't know," he said, fiddling with his fingers and averting his gaze. "I guess I do."

The moment she gave him a small smile, Tommy knew he was forgiven.

"We can ride horses next time in the fields outside town," she felt her eyes widen at his suggestion.

"You have horses?" giddiness bubbled in her stomach.

"No," he smirked to himself, "but I know where we can find some."

That day, Y/N knew she had met her best friend. Tommy, though, knew he had met his soulmate.

Next chapter

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #cillian murphy #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby fluff #peaky blinder imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagines #cillian murphy imagine #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby fluff #cillian x y/n #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x reader

[darkcircles4lyfe]

This doesn't have anything to do with anything, but i had a talk with a friend a few days ago, about shonen biasis and the way this shapes our expectations, and mha came up so i remembered how so many people apply those biasis HEAVILY into the manga, to the point that they sound like they're looking for a different story.

And one of those things that it seemed to be MOST talked about is exactly bkdk's relationship.

I have seen many times people from the fandom (sometimes really angrily) point out how in most cases Katsuki seems to basically take up not one, but four roles in Izuku's life and this includes putting him in situations that people associate with the MC's love interest, and it is weird that, despite Izuku "having a girl" for people to make assumptions about, he seems to completely repulse any female character that could be the counter part to Izuku's.

And this made us wonder if Katsuki's placement in those roles and lack of interest was made specifically because the author precisely did not want the actions that both do for each other as romantic but a whole another thing entirely, as a subversion for the these classic tropes, as he did by making the conflict between Ochako and Himiko not a "rivals fighting for the affection of a boy" but something that is connected to the plot of these characters instead.

Oh you bet! I am always down to talk about this, because I think about it a lotttt.

This reminds me, recently I remembered a funny habit I used to have with books I read. Like, back in middle school. I used to start by flipping directly to the last page and reading the final sentence. Usually this did not spoil anything whatsoever, but sure enough, by the time I read through the whole book, that sentence would take on new meaning.

So I started musing about what it would be like if only I could do this with bnha, if everything was already out. It made me feel so nostalgic…

Will the last panel be something grand, or something small? Hopeful or sad? Distant? Intimate? A parting message to the reader? Will it look like almost nothing of consequence to the unknowing eye—yet burst with hard-hitting subtext?

Of course I wonder about all the twists and reveals that might be still ahead of us, but it’s kinda soothing to think about how the whole thing could be put to rest. Because then I realize I’m not worried.

For once, this is not because the story is following so many tropes so predictably that I know exactly, in so many words, how it will end. It’s more like the story is a close friend who I’ve gotten to know well enough that everything they do is so “them” it makes me smirk. I'm often marveling at how Horikoshi has managed to pull all this off. How is it that (at least here in the west) people who aren't really paying attention call it basic and cookie-cutter. Even a Japanese animator called it "classic," and this interview shows such obvious dissonance between Hori and the interviewer, just... wow. But it's so clear that bnha has broken just about every rule in the book at this point, so much so that I struggle to condense it into words. I'm like--*gestures broadly at everything*--why haven't more people picked up on it??

Yet we still get bombarded with people saying "it's a shonen, c'mon, we all know how this will end." Um. No you don't. I KNOW there has to be a bunch of people who are secretly frustrated by Kacchan taking up all the roles and getting all the moments. It's not even in a mysogynistic way, because Kacchan is the most anti-dudebro character imaginable. Bkdk's relationship isn't intended for them and they know it... and you know what, I'm starting to ramble. You've heard all this before. The thing I should really be focusing on in your ask is the part where you mentioned how you and your friend were speculating about bkdk ending up as "a whole other thing entirely" rather than simply romantic.

Well, fuck it, I've been biting my tongue, but now might as well be the time I talk about this. I got into a bit of a disagreement with someone over it once and then I shut up. Because it's very difficult to approach the subject without being lumped in with those people who see bkdk as "brotherly" (ew) or otherwise try to push some "crisis of male friendship" agenda, or at the very least without being accused of enabling people to make excuses against bkdk being canon ad infinitum. So let me be clear that I do NOT want bkdk to have an ambiguous or open ending. I want their complexity and importance to be acknowledged. I want them to use their words. I think we may have created a bit of a false dichotomy there.

I am aromantic, and to suggest romantic relationships are inherently the most important and intimate goes against every fiber of my being. I also reject the idea that cut-and-dry gay representation is more desirable just because it is more easily understood by the masses than aspec representation or representation of relationships "beyond" both romantic and platonic. We recognize how ridiculous it is for people to expect Izu*cha at this point, right? Well, the reason they're so confident anyway isn't just because of heteronormativity. It's also because of amatonormativity, the assumption that romantic attraction trumps all: no matter how much focus bkdk get, Izuku blushed at Ochako, so that automatically makes them more "important." THAT is the notion that I want to challenge most. More than anything, I want bkdk's relationship to be fully acknowledged because they have so much more going for them than just attraction.

You and your friend make an excellent point, that it would be very much in line with Horikoshi's taste and the patterns of his writing so far if he chose to subvert the shonen romance trope not just by giving it to two boys, but also by disregarding its premise entirely. It's unlikely he'd try to stuff them into such a copy-paste ending right at the end.

So maybe they won't get the blushy confession, the obligatory kiss, the wedding, the 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. That's fine, we shouldn't pretend those tired tropes are suddenly revolutionary just because they're gay. But don't be disappointed! Without them, we have more room for things that are actually personally meaningful to bkdk to stand out and receive the nuance they deserve: talking through their feelings openly, building each other up like no one else can, understanding each other like no one else can, smiling at each other, embracing, holding hands, rushing to the other in the hospital, being glued at the hip (or even closer), healing mutual trauma, putting each other first in all things. Maybe we'll also get confirmation on Ochako's side as she moves on from her crush on Izuku. You know what other shonen manga took this exact angle as a way of subverting tropes and presenting genuine complexity? Blue Flag! There are so many ways to do bkdk justice.

Even a kiss isn't out of the question, if the right opportunity comes along. A perfect example of what I'm talking about is Good Omens (major season 2 spoilers) because the kiss between Crowley and Aziraphale was not at all about canonizing them. It was an expression of pain and desperation that just made sense at that particular moment. Neil Gaiman was adamant that if it took that kiss to understand the context of their relationship, you really weren't paying attention. I respect the hell out of that.

Recently I was even daydreaming about bkdk getting something similar to the sort of uh, shall we say tasteful nudity, that togachako got, because of how Izuku appears in the vestige realm.

Ya know like not in an nsfw way but in like a "this is so deeply intimate and soft that I feel like I'm intruding" kind of way... yeah. Because it represents vulnerability and openness and acceptance of someone as they are. And I don't care if people call that bait. It's not. It's beautiful. It’s honest.

#asks #anon #lin answers #bnha manga #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudaku #bkdk #dekubaku #dkbk #aspec #queerplatonic

[melodymay-k1tty]

Hello...

Well, could you do a scenario where the S/O should take care of some drunk OC and they declare their love to her or something...? Well, actually that would be cool with a Fem!Reader, but do as you wish, it's your choice!🫠💕 Btw I would also admire if in Part 1 you could include Sabo and Corazon in particular, I would really like to see them in this situation lmao😵‍💫

SABO ★ CORAZON ★ SANJI ★ LAW: DECLARING HIS LOVE FOR S/O AFTER GETTING DRUNK.

A/N: Well, I'm new to this scenario thing, and I'm not that big a fan of requests, cuz I can't write about something if I don't feel it in my heart... But I think I can manage about it. So here it is. Thank you so much for all your love, care and support! 🤧🩷

Age Rating: +12

Content Warning: consumption of alcoholic drinks. kiss description. maybe a little angst.

Genres: fluffy. headcanons (scenario).

Characters: sabo x fem!reader. corazon x fem!reader. sanji x fem!reader. law x fem!reader.

Word Count: 2.2k

SABO (Being the user of Mera Mera no Mi🔥)

• You are a high-ranking officer in the Revolutionary Army, Sabo's right-hand. After a successful mission of the two of you in Dressrosa, he decided to invite you to drink something in a bar, which was located on an island nearby. You accepted.

• You're not a big fan of alcohol, but Sabo didn't know that. The blonde guy, on the other hand, was a big fan of alcoholic drinks, and used to consume it whenever he was successful in his missions (which is quite often).

• He sat at the counter bar after you two comes there, and you did the same. Sabo called for a waiter who came immediately. He placed his order, which was beer, and asked you to order yours.

“I'll have a non-alcoholic strawberry cocktail with condensed milk, please.” You talk while the waiter writes it down on his pad of paper.

“Alright, ma'am and sir. I will bring your order soon.” He speaks after withdrawing from there.

Sabo looked at you in a somewhat strange way. “You don’t drink alcohol?”

“No, I like sweet drinks more.” You speak while he stares at you seriously, but he soon opens a smile. “Cutie.” He smiles like a know-it-all.

You looked at him strangely, and he immediately retaliated. “I meant, you look like a cute little girl acting like that.” He makes fun of your face a little.

“Sabo...” You look at him with hate and you were ready to attack him. But the waiter interrupts them.

“Your order is almost ready. In the meantime, would you like to fill out this survey?” He asks while handing over a sheet with some questions.

“What is it about?” You ask. “Can't you read, little girl?” Sabo laughs and makes fun of your face some more. “It's a survey about couples, and here it also says that couples who respond will get a discount of up to 50% on the amount spent at the bar.” He says with his knowing smile.

“But we're not a cou...” Before you can finish your sentence, Sabo puts his hand over your mouth, preventing you from speaking. “Will we really get that discount?” He asks the waiter, with his usual smile.

“Of course, sir. Just complete the survey with your girlfriend, and you'll get 50% off. It's a data collection survey for an article that will be released on Valentine's Day, in the island's local newspaper.”

“I understand. I'll do it as soon as possible then.” Sabo speaks enthusiastically to the waiter who leaves. The blondie starts marking off some answers on the survey, like we're really dating.

You had already understood that Sabo was a cheapskate and didn't like to spend money on others. So you decided to just leave it down.

He finished marking the answers, and shortly after that, your drinks arrived.

You two started drinking, but Sabo got too carried away. He ordered more and more glasses of beer, one after another. Maybe he was thinking that 50% off could become 100%...

And when you least realized it, he was out of his mind. “Y/N, let's go home soon” he grumble drunkenly, collapsing on top of you.

His sleepy voice showed just how much alcohol had already knocked him out. You saw no option but to take him for home.

“Okay, just let me pay the bill first” Apparently, the account is left for you. But thinking on the bright side, at least a discount you would have.

Sabo couldn't even pay attention to what you said. You then placed him gently propped up in the chair, and got up to go pay the bill.

After that, you put him on your shoulders and left the bar with him.

“How heavy he is...” You complain while carrying he with difficulties.

He had a stupid smile on his face, he looked like a retard. You looked at him strangely.

“What it is?” You asked arching your eyebrow. Sabo acted strange after your question, he turned red and sparks started to come out of his logia body.

He smirks again, his cheeks getting redder.

“Y/N, I love you…” His stupid smile gave it all away. You were in shock and ended up letting go of him, letting him fall to the ground.

“AAUGH!” he lets out a groan of pain as he strokes his own head. “Hmph. Y/N, why are you so mean to me?” he says this as he gets up, and his drunken body begins to stagger.

“I'm sorry, Sabo...” You say as you help him up. “Y-you… Are you serious?” you widen your eyes.

“Y/N, I want to sleep with you today and always...” he closed his eyes and was about to fall asleep. You leaned against a bench, pulling Sabo with you, and make a phone call for Dragon, who went to get you and took you to your house.

You two went to your rooms, and you went to sleep thoughtfully.

The next day you woke up and went to the kitchen for breakfast, bumping into Sabo, who blushed violently when he saw you. But now, in an embarrassed way.

“H-hello, I-I'm sorry about what happened yesterday...” He speaks awkwardly. “It's okay, Sabo-kun...” You smile sweetly.

You two was in a compelling silent for a while. Until he decides to say something. “I think we need to talk… I need to clear something up.”

“Sure, what is it?” You looked fine on the outside, but on the inside, your heart was beating hard with fear of what he might say to you.

“Dragon told me everything. I know what I say to you in yesterday night, and about that... I need to tell you that it's really true.” Now he was staring at you. And again, sparks were shooting out of his body, his face was red and he was probably really fear of what you might say too.

“Sabo-kun...” You murmur.

“Okay, I understand that you might not feel the same about me. But I would like you to know that, although.” He says as him leave the kitchen, but you pull him by the arm.

“S-Sabo...” You look deep into his eyes, and he looks into yours. Your bright eyes never stopped looking at each other. “I love you too.” You said as you approached him. The blondie approached you too, shifting his gaze between your eyes and your lips.

He placed his big hand on your face, and kissed you passionately but calmly. Your lips glued to each other, were making your bodies approach too, and in a matter of moments, you and Sabo were glued and your kiss was getting even more intense and passionate.

“I am the happiest man in the world to know that, my little girl.” He speaks after parting with you, stroking your hair and smiling cutely at you. “But I love you more...”

Finally you could understand, that he didn't do the couple survey to get a discount, but because he loves you and, in fact, wanted you like his girlfriend.

CORAZON ♠️

• You were part of the Donquixote Pirates, led by the infamous Doflamingo. While you were still living in Spider Miles, the whole family was gathered at the table and having dinner, when you felt someone poke you under the table.

• You looked to the side, seeing Corazon's serene face disguise as he lit a cigarette. He had left a note on top of your thighs.

• You pocketed the note and politely left the table, getting Doflamingo's permission. You went to your room and read the note. On it was written “You said you wanted to get to know me better. We're going out to eat today, I know of a wonderful restaurant nearby. I hope you isn't full yet.” You opened a silly smile when you read the note, and ran to change your clothes, and soon to meet him discreetly outside. You climbed out your bedroom window and left, going to meet Corazon.

He was leaning against the wall outside the house. As always in silence, lighting his cigarette. When he realized you were there, he stared fixedly at you, and let his cigarette go out carelessly.

“Wh-what is?” You asked embarrassed as you crossed your legs because of your momentary shyness.

“Nothing” He answered coldly and walked away, and you followed him. You felt honored that you were the only person who knew Corazon could speak. It was like you were special.

You two finally arrived at the restaurant, beautifully decorated with artifacts of dragons and other ancient legends creatures. The food smelled divine.

“Hmm” You mutter at that delicious smell. “Maybe you really were right when you said this restaurant is wonderful, Corazon” You say smiling.

“You can be sure I don't make mistakes when it comes to food” He replied confidently and sat down at a table in the corner of the restaurant, with your company.

The waiter came to serve us with a menu in hand. “Good night, sir and ma'am. What will you want for today? Our menu is full of original and exclusive recipes only from here, but we also have traditional ones” He says as he places the menu on the table.

“I'll have the dragon meat in white sauce, with vegetables and all the extras. For a drink, I would like a red wine and a white wine” Corazon spoke without even thinking twice, making you speechless.

“Right, sir” The waiter takes your order. “And Ma'am, what will you want?” he asks you, while Corazon looks at you waiting for your answer.

“T-the same as him. But instead of wine, I would like a melon juice” You say with a little embarrassment, for not ordering something fancier.

“Alright, your order will arrive within 30 minutes” The waiter speaks after bowing and leaving.

You felt Corazon's heavy gaze on you. “What do you want to know about me?” He asks suspicious.

You were intimidated by his look, but you answered him. “I just wanted a friend. Sometimes I feel really lonely around here... And looking at Doffy's face really isn't one of the best hobbies” He looked convinced by your answer. "I understand. In that case, I'm sorry to tell you, but I can't be a friend.”

“N-no? Why?” You ask incredulously.

He gives a blank look and then lights his cigarette. “It's complicated to explain to you, but it's better that way. We can’t have any kind of bond.”

You give him a sad and downcast look. “I see, it's okay.”

And so, you talk about friendship ends there, until you two talk about the crew matters, and the food finally arrives.

“Hmm, wow! It smells delicious. I've never tasted dragon meat before. I thought they were extinct...” You say looking appetizingly at the food.

“Dragons are just hard to find, but they never went extinct” Corazon is as serious as ever as he begins to cut his meat and eat it. You could see a bright in his eyes as he tasted the meat, and the same happens to you.

After a few minutes, you realized that Corazon was acting strange. He'd started to get tipsy after drinking so many glasses of wine, and he'd even had a little whiskey too.

He got up abruptly, you ran to hold him when you saw that he had almost fallen to the ground. “C-corazon! Are you okay?" You ask worriedly as you hold in his shoulders.

His eyes were small and bloodshot, probably from the drunken effect of alcohol. “Y/N... I...” He tries to say something with difficulty.

“Please don't do that again!” You scold him. “You almost fell, you know how worried I was?” You ask angrily and as you look at him, you see that he is staring at you with twinkling eyes. He approached you slowly, when he finally pressed his lips to yours.

“Y/N, I… love you” He whispers after breaking away from the kiss. “But we can't be together, only for your own good” Tears start to fall from his eyes.

“W-what? What are you talking about, Cora-san?” you ask incredulously. “D-do you love me?” Your eyes widen. “And why are you saying that? We can not be together? What...?"

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds as the tears fall down his face. Until Corazon finally says something...

“I... I CAN'T!” He screams while crying. “I'm on a suicide mission, I'm going to die. I'm cheating on Doffy, Y/N” He keeps crying “I love you so much, and I don't know if you feel the same, but...”

“Ya, Corazon! I feel the same, I love you too!” You grab his shirt with your fingernails and speak with desperation.

Gently, he removes your hands from his shirt, and squeezes it affectionately. “I'm sorry, Y/N” He speaks with a look filled with sadness. “But I can't risk losing you or hurting you. We can't be together, and you can't get attached to me. Please… Just forget about it” He asks while stroking your chin with his thumb.

You start crying uncontrollably.

“I'm going to die... It's just a matter of time” He whispers sadly, which makes you cry even more, and hug him tightly, not wanting to leave him never ever.

He gently separates you from the embrace.

“But know that I will always love you, my sweet Y/N” Corazon finally smiles, a smile so big as the love you feel for him.

You will never accept your parting words.

SANJI 💐

(The rest I will continue later)

#one piece #anime #fanfic #fluffy #headcanon #revolutionary sabo #sabo #one piece sabo #sabo x reader #sabo x y/n #corazon x reader #donquixote corazon #corazon one piece #rosinante corazon #donquixote rosinante #one piece rosinante #rosinante x reader #op rosinante #one piece scenarios #angst

[farfromstrange]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do a Matt Murdock x reader one-shot?

If you aren't comfortable writing this, that's okay! Basically the reader in an abusive relationship with an older man and she meets Matt in a bar. They flirt over drinks and the reader goes back to his apartment with him in a lapse of judgment. The reader is enjoying herself, cracking jokes and pretending nothing is wrong. Because of Matt's extra sensory abilities he can tell there is something wrong with her though. She’s recently been injured and he can hear and smell some of her injuries.

She thinks he won't know she's injured because he is blind and they start making out at his place, but when he takes off her shirt he starts subtly checking her injuries. When he gets to her ribs he stops and questions the reader because he can feel that a few are broken. She insists it's nothing and tries to laugh it off and encourages him to keep making out with her. He tells her no because she’s hurt and she gets embarrassed and tries to leave. Matt can sense her panic and soothes her. He convinces her to stay and lie down so he can take care of her injuries and he comforts her as she cries and promises her boyfriend won't ever hurt her again.

Hello, lovely! I'm sorry it took so long for me to respond to this. Thank you so much for your request. Since this is a very sensitive subject, I tried my best to convey it in the right way, and thank God, I managed to finish it! I hope you're doing okay and that you like how I interpreted your request. Thank you again and take care of yourself <3

Narcissist | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Trying to catch a break from your abusive boyfriend, you find yourself seeking refuge and a drink at Josie's in the middle of the night. It's where you bump into Matt Murdock, a charming stranger with the promise of a night of fun. Little do you know that the seemingly normal stranger has a much better perception. After taking you home with him, it doesn't take him long to discover the dark nature of your need to escape.

Warnings: ANGST, description of domestic violence, abuse, description of injuries, kissing

Word Count: 7.5k

A/n: This request probably hits very close to home for some of you, so I want you to take care of yourselves and proceed with caution. There are resources for victims of abuse that you can turn to. I've found this page for victims of abuse that's available in 115 languages: Home « HotPeachPages International Don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it! Remember, this is a work of fiction and does not represent real life. Take care of yourselves <3

18+ MINORS DNI

The crowded bar around him is bustling with noise. The distinctive smell of cheap beer and vodka clouds his senses. The balls on the pool table keep clanging against the corners and sliding into the holes. Conversations start to overlap. 

Josie’s has always held a special meaning to Matt. As uncomfortable as it could sometimes get, especially on Friday nights like this one, the chaos makes him feel at peace. The noise inside cancels out the sound of injustice that reaches his ears from the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, and sometimes a break is all he needs. 

He finds himself nursing a drink at the bar, listening to the condensation of his beer bottle hit the wooden counter. Lost in thought, he only lifts his head when the door opens. The bell attached to the frame rings out softly, barely tuning out the sound of fun that has started to dominate the room. 

Matt hears the steady sound of your heartbeat first. The muscles in your body are tense, and while your breath sounds calm, there’s a certain edge to the way you move and order your drink only a few inches apart from him. He can hear the sound of your voice, the smile that is undoubtedly fake but makes Josie smile too - and she doesn’t smile often because the clientele simply doesn’t deserve her kindness. You, however, seem to strike a nerve with your attitude. 

He can’t deny that there is a light surrounding you, but that light is about to be consumed by darkness. He can’t explain why he gets the feeling that something might be wrong; he doesn’t know you. He doesn’t recognize the distinctive smell of your perfume or the unique rhythm of your heartbeat. You’re a stranger and yet his mind instantly starts to circle what lies underneath the person you pretend to be. You’re not fake, he would never suspect that. You try to be yourself, or the version of yourself you want to be, but there seems to be something that is holding you back, something that is dragging you down and keeping your soul in a knot. 

The many eyes he feels turning toward you and the uptick of a few male heartbeats in the bar tell him what he already suspected; you’re attractive, and your smile captivates people. From what he can hear in your voice, you must be a comfortable character to be with, and as you say something to Josie that makes her laugh and he hears your laugh, Matt’s attention is on your entirely now. He’s intrigued. 

His head is screaming for him to leave it be, to leave you be, but he can’t stop himself. When Matt Murdock has his mind set on something, he needs to have it, and at that moment, it is you he wants to get to know. He can’t deny it; as curious as he is about who’s hiding behind the almost painfully obvious mask you put on - to a man with his heightened senses, at least - he is also attracted to you. Judging alone by the way you carry yourself, the sweet sound of your voice, and the way your laugh resonates, he can’t help but feel drawn to you. It’s a mix between curiosity, attraction, and concern that motivates him to grab his beer bottle and approach the chair you’ve seated yourself on, sipping on your vodka martini alone. No olives, he heard you tell Josie. You told her that you hate olives. 

“Mind if I join you?” he asks. 

The moment your eyes fall on him, your heart skips a beat. Your jaw loosens as you eye him more carefully, your cheeks flushing, and the oxygen gets stuck in your lungs for a little too long. At least the attraction is mutual, he thinks, and your exhale carries a sense of determination. 

He holds his breath. Your eyes roam over him again, a different aura surrounding you now. “Sure,” you say, your voice almost hoarse, but he ignores it. 

Matt smiles, almost relieved, and sits down next to you. “Can I buy you another drink?” he asks. He knows yours is still full, but he can’t tell you that he can smell the liquor clinging to the glass, and how it always smells heavier when it’s full than when it isn’t. 

You frown, a cute little crinkle forming between your brows, and then you giggle. Your giggle is even sweeter than your laugh, and the blood rushes to your cheeks again. Your heart races. Though this time, your laugh is genuine. It sounds genuine, at least. He revels in it for a little too long.

“Um,” you begin, and your voice cracks as you try not to laugh. “I just got a drink. I’m usually not the glass-half-full type, but in this case, the glass is half-full. ‘Cause that’s the appropriate amount for a vodka martini.”

He chuckles. “I’m sorry,” he says and tips his glasses. “I should have thought about that question before I asked. I didn’t see… well, I can’t see.”

He listens to your heartbeat. There’s a moment of hesitation before you laugh, noticing he’s waiting for a reaction. You laugh and it’s genuine again. The concern he had before flies out of the window and what’s left at that moment is this feeling of pure awe when he imagines the kind of person that is sitting next to him, and that he managed to lighten some of your darkness with a joke he often uses. 

“So, you still have a drink and I know Josie well enough that I shouldn’t recommend her cheese fries. That means I don’t have much else to offer you except-” Matt extends his hand, “I’m Matthew. Matthew Murdock.”

He raises his hand and you lean back a little, swallowing and considering twice what to do with his introduction. He frowns. Your reaction seems odd, and he sees the darkness sparkling again. Slowly, he lowers his hand again and offers a comforting smile. 

“You don’t have to talk to me,” he says. “I didn’t mean to come off too strong. I just heard that you were alone, as weird as that sounds, and I thought you’d want some company because, uh, I’m also here alone.” He tips his beer bottle in her direction. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, just say the word and I’ll leave.”

You swallow again, eye him, then exhale. Your shoulders slack and you turn toward him, your attention not wavering. When he finally hears your name come out of your mouth with gentle shyness, he smiles brightly again. You even offer him your nickname and it relaxes him to know you’re not as uncomfortable as you had first seemed. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

You return the favor, “Pleasure’s all mine.”

“Just to check in,” he smirks, “Is your drink still full?”

He hears you giggle again and he joins in. “It’s half-empty,” you say. 

“Oh. Well, mine’s too.”

“Then maybe we should just keep drinking and you can buy me another one after that?” 

Matt smirks. You’re bolder than he thought. He sets the brim of his bottle to his lips and says, “Deal,” before taking a long swig. 

You do the same. 

At the beginning of the day, you would have never suspected you would end up in this position. If you’re being honest with yourself, it seemed like an impossibility before. You woke up to the same nagging feeling in your stomach. You woke up just to be torn down. But every person reaches their breaking point eventually. 

Over the past two years, your days have looked the same. Every morning, you’ve dreaded waking up the same way you’ve dreaded going to bed at night, knowing that hell would start again in the morning. It has become a downward spiral that has gotten out of control. 

Every morning, you have to wake up before sunrise to make breakfast or you know your first conversation of the day would be a fight. You have to pack lunch and you have to give a proper goodbye. You go to work, and you get a few hours of break, but every hour, after every meeting, you have to send a message to the one person you even dread getting back home to now. You have to account for your whereabouts, you can’t go out after work and you can’t have friends. You need to cook dinner or your night will end in more fighting and pain, and you would wake up in the morning twice as uncomfortable. Most of the time, you have to serve your body on a silver platter to finally make the night end, and if you as much as slip up once, you’re going to have to suffer the consequences because as a woman and girlfriend, it’s your job.

At first, you were blind. You met a nice guy, you went on a few dates and it seemed like a dream come true. You were happy. The quirks he started to show a few months into the relationship were red flags, but you were young and so in love with a man older and more experienced than you, you ignored the signs. You believed him because he’s always made sure to tell you he knows better. The things he asked of you, you did out of love, but the more time passed, the more you started realizing that you’d gotten yourself into quite a predicament. 

The red flags you hadn’t seen before are clear now, and you know that the life you’re living is no real way to live, but whenever you get a moment of clarity and want to leave, it’s the smallest display of affection that makes you fall right back into the trap. Your daily routine has become a standard. Your relationship feels like a job and it hurts, more often physically than mentally, but his words are scarring all the same. You’ve tried fighting back, but it has always ended badly for you. 

Tonight though, something snapped in you. You were frustrated and in a moment of strength (or weakness) you decided to leave. That’s how you ended up at Josie’s, a bar far away from the apartment you share with the man you fell in love with but hasn’t been the same ever since your relationship became official. You stormed out and you walked the dark streets until your feet hurt and you couldn’t wait for an unhealthy amount of liquor anymore. Your goal had been to get drunk.

Never in a million years would you have thought that someone like Matt would walk up to you, let alone offer you his company. If you came home that night and he found out, you know for a fact you would have died. Though as the clock keeps ticking and you keep talking with this stranger that is starting to feel less and less like a stranger, you don’t want to go home. The feeling of being listened to is alien yet comfortable, and you can’t help but feel drawn to him. He’s compassionate, he’s kind and he’s funny. He is the kind of man you thought your boyfriend was before he turned around and stabbed you in the back, and he’s kept you there ever since. 

Though when Matt turns his head to you, making sure you know you have his attention, there is a faint flicker of hope you had once thought dead hidden away deep inside, and it’s starting to show. Just for tonight, you decide, you shut the part of yourself off that you can’t even seem to understand. For tonight, you decide, you’re going to pretend everything’s fine and that you’re not stuck in a cycle made by the devil himself. You decide to have fun. And you haven’t had that kind of fun in a very long time. 

He’s a lawyer, he tells you. He’s his own boss, he works with his best friend and he only helps those who can’t help themselves. He prefers justice over money. He’s catholic. He’s everything your mother once told you to bring home, and while they like the man you’re with, they would hate him if they knew the truth. Most people would. It’s only human to hate a man like that, especially for the things he did and continues to do. You know you’re supposed to hate him, and deep down you do, but love is a fickle thing and you can’t help but need him, even after all he’s done to hurt you. And that, in your head, is fucked up enough to get another drink. 

You get so enthralled in another conversation that you almost fail to notice Josie’s glance from behind the bar. Her eyes carry a look of concern that have you wondering what you did wrong. That’s when it dawns on you.

You touch your cheek, noticing how some of the sweat from your forehead has started to dissolve your concealer. You’re not allowed to buy expensive makeup, so you settle for what seems the most natural, and it does little to cover bruises because you’re not allowed to go out most of the time anyway, and you’ve never had the most obvious bruises on your face before. Today, that is different. 

For a second, you’re relieved Matt can’t see the obvious blue discoloration of the skin around your eye, then you meet Josie’s eye and the panic settles in. You touch your cheek and flinch when you apply too much pressure to the fresh bruise, trying to hide the shivers that adorn your skin. 

Matt looks confused and at the same time concerned, reaching out to touch your back and ask, “Are you okay?” He calls your name and it’s the softest sound you’ve ever heard. 

You don’t deserve it, you think. You lied to him, you told him you were single and that you were simply at Josie’s for an after-work drink. You laughed with him and you allowed him to flirt with you. You don’t know what’s worse, the fact that you’ve lied to him or that you’re still lying to yourself by thinking any of this is okay. 

His hand brushes over a particularly sensitive spot just above your spine and you flinch. The sharp pain shoots straight down through the bone. It’s not his hand that lays on you now, it’s someone else’s. It’s the hand that bruised the skin. You know it’s not Matt’s fault, he doesn’t know what you’re hiding, but the anger inside your chest begins to bubble up. You’re agitated, and you know this is all on you. It can’t be on anyone else because you’ve put yourself in this position. 

You hastily scramble for your bag. 

“Where are you going?” Matt asks. “Did I say something wrong?”

You are quick to assure him, “No, not at all, I just… I gotta use the bathroom real quick. Excuse me.”

He follows you with his hearing alone, confused and concerned at the same time. Your steps retreat toward the women’s bathroom. The wood falls back into its hinges behind you. He can hear you placing your bag down on the sink and searching for something. The squishy sound of a tube of concealer fills his ears as you take out the sponge and apply some of it to your cheeks, rubbing the color into your skin. 

What you don’t know, he’s heard the hitch of your breath and the uptick of your heartbeat whenever a bittersweet lie has slipped past your lips. He could smell the fear radiating off your body. Whenever his hands brushed your skin, you grew uneasy but at the same time aroused by the simple action. You’re stuck in a weird middle space between attraction and anxiety and he’s starting to piece the puzzle together. 

When you flinched when he touched your back, he knew. He could feel the bone under your skin shift and the blood pooling in one particular spot. The nerves stretching over the muscle are inflamed, he noticed, and the fear that has suddenly spiked your heartbeat and prompted you to storm off into the bathroom set off the alarms in his head. 

Inside, you’re trying your hardest not to cry as you pat the concealer onto your skin. The bags under your eyes look so much heavier in the artificial lighting. The bruise is starting to sparkle a bright purple at the edges and the veins in the corner of your eyes are redder than usual. The vessels that burst only a couple of days ago still haven’t recovered. 

And your mind begins to reel; you wonder where you went wrong. Deep down, you know none of this was your fault, but as you look at yourself in the mirror and the ghastly picture on your right eye imprints in your brain, you begin to wonder if there was something you could have done better.

Usually, your days turn into a blur, but today remains a vivid picture in your mind. You once told yourself that if you stick to the rules set for you, you could be somewhat happy. Last night, you forgot to think. Your work day had been rough and when one of your colleagues asked if you wanted to grab a coffee with them, you were too exhausted to say no. A crowded café sounded better than the hell awaiting you at home. You lied and texted your boyfriend that your boss dropped another load of paperwork on your desk, and at first, it seemed like your lie worked. 

The people you work with are all around your age - some of them are even fresh out of college, and there is this guy, Louis, who’s simply a joy to be around. It was just a cup of coffee and a small stroll around New York, but when you came home and noticed you were still wearing your colleague’s jacket, there was not much that could hold the man you share a bed with back from unleashing his anger on you. 

You lost count of how many times you apologized. You didn’t cry, you simply let him have his way with you. As twisted as it may sound, you thought you deserved it. His hands and his words made you feel so incredibly small, you searched for the fault within you. You thought you did something wrong by accepting a friendly gesture, by doing something for yourself, and by being human. He’s always had a way of making you believe what he believes, but last night, he went too far. 

You’ve often been incapacitated by his punishment, but he left you completely humiliated, bloody, and bruised to sleep on the couch with bruises that still bothered your back from his outburst a week ago, and you found yourself crying yourself to sleep. It didn’t stop there. This morning, he barely paid attention to you, and for every word you said, he made sure to tear your pride down even further. By the time he left for work, you were late and crying and the kitchen was such a mess, he threatened to make you regret it if you didn’t clean up right this instant. So you stayed behind, you cleaned up, you put on the concealer that has become a shield from the prying eyes of the world, and you went to work. 

The last straw came when you arrived home long after him and he didn’t get the dinner he required. This time though, when he raised his hand and continuously beat down on the bruise around your eye, you didn’t lay down and cry. You waited until he was done and tucked into bed, grabbed your bag, and stormed out. What compelled you to make the decision, you aren’t sure, but it seemed to have been the right thing at the time. 

Though you know that if you decide to come back home in the morning, a black eye and a few broken ribs will be the least of your problems. 

You’re angry. You’re angry at him for making you doubt yourself and the life he’s forced you to abandon so many times before. You’re angry at him for taking your pride and turning you into someone too afraid to stand up for themselves. 

You make a decision, and it’s a decision you should have made a long time ago. 

Matt lifts his head when he hears you approach. There seems to be something different about the way you carry yourself. It’s an angry determination, a thirst for revenge, but at the same time, he can tell from the way you move and look at him that the attraction he has caught before has not once wavered. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” you ask him. 

He’s taken aback. The rational part of him screams that you’re in no state to make such a decision, but the rational part is also the concerned part and he knows that if he says no, you will find someone else to take you home and you probably won’t be as safe as he wants you to be. With him, at least, he knows you’re safe. 

So Matt makes a decision too. Unbeknownst to you though, he has a different motivation in mind when he says, “Let’s go back to my place.”

Your eyes light up and your lips curl into a smirk. “I’d love that.”

Your bold question inevitably leads you into a mouse trap. One second, you’re admiring Matt’s apartment in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen and the way the Billboard’s green color illuminates the brown furniture, the next you have discarded the coffee he made you and find yourself seated on his lap. 

He’s a good kisser. Not that you have much experience in that arena, but as soon as you decide to kiss him - because in your life, hardly any decisions are ever yours - you get lost in the soft feeling of his plump lips moving effortlessly against yours. It’s as if he studied how to kiss. 

His hands on his hips are gentle and steady, yet he keeps you pressed to him as if he’s scared of losing you. You tangle your hands in his hair. The brown locks feel like heaven under your fingertips and you sigh into his mouth. His tongue slips between your lips and he makes sure to taste every last inch he can reach. 

You can feel his cold fingertips on your bruised skin underneath your shirt, but you don’t mind. Maybe it’s because he can’t see that you’re not scared of his touch. 

When he calls your name softly and asks, “May I?” as he attempts to take your shirt off, you’re taken aback for a second. The way he asks leaves room for you to make a choice. With a soft smile, you nod and he slides your shirt off. 

Leaning back down, you capture his lips once more. He smells like rain and sandalwood. He reminds you of a beautiful day in fall, the sun shining down on the still-wet ground as the leaves sway in the wind. His calloused fingers send shivers down your spine, but his touch has never been gentler. 

You know what you’re doing is wrong, but the sin of his lips tastes sweeter than heaven, and if wanting him was such a bad thing, you would gladly go to hell. Matt is a stranger, yet he makes you feel more alive than anyone else ever has. He sets your body on fire with a single touch, his lips dancing to a choreography that is now etched into your brain. He holds you close, he keeps you safe, and the pleasure that ripples through you is a new sensation that makes you feel so alive - for a moment, you finally forget about everything else. You forget about your boyfriend, you forget about the bruises and you forget about the fear and the pain that seems to follow you everywhere you go. You don’t feel the need to hesitate; you just want him. 

You get so lost in the taste of him, you misjudge the placement of his hands as sexual intimacy. It’s only when he pushes you away ever so softly that you open your eyes, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, and lips swollen from his vicious attack on them with his teeth. You look at him, your eyebrows furrowed. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as you try to regain your breath. 

The green light reflects off his brown irises, his unfocused eyes carrying a sense of concern as they roam your face. He reaches out to touch your cheek, his other hand staying on your ribs. His thumb traces circles over the obvious bruise that adorns your right side, and he manages to find the bruise you’ve covered on your face with ease. Your mind is hazy and you can’t find it in yourself to question his actions. Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach and you watch him closely, the concern multiplying with each stroke of his fingers. 

His voice is soft yet hoarse when he speaks up. “What happened?” he asks. 

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“You’re hurt.”

Your heart starts beating faster. “It’s nothing. I’m okay. Let’s just keep going…” You lean back down to kiss him once more, but he stops you. 

“Sweetheart, your ribs are broken.”

At first, you wonder how he knows, but your curiosity is quickly replaced by the need to shield yourself. 

“I’m not going to take advantage of you while you’re injured. I need to know,” he says softly, “who hurt you?”

You pull away suddenly, climbing off his lap. You find your shirt on the floor and put it back on. Your heart races. His question runs circles around your head. Your hands shake as you get dressed again, and Matt whimpers softly at the loss of your warmth. 

He calls your name. Your silhouette is burning with fear and he is half-convinced that you might get a heart attack if your pulse doesn’t slow down. He knows he’s hit a nerve. The suspicion he’s had before becomes clearer, but he doesn’t want to assume something without hearing it from you first. Judging from your determination though, he needs to act fast or you will get yourself in danger as soon as he lets you out of the door. 

“This was a mistake,” you mutter under your breath, your voice quivering. 

You would be lying if you said this was the first time someone asked you this, but it wouldn’t be a lie to say that this is the first time someone has been genuine while asking, and it’s that part of his voice that breaks your heart and urges you to run. You made a mistake, you’ve meant what you said, but you’re not sure if Matt is the problem. If anything, spending time with him has proven to you that the mistake is sitting at home, waiting for you to come back and beat you into submission over and over again.

Matt cares and the fact that he does hurts so badly because now you realize how stupid you’ve been ogling for a love that has been built on violence and manipulation from the beginning. Your boyfriend has never loved you and he probably never will, and realizing that hurts even more than the fact that you’re about to push someone away who seems as if he just wants to help - and help is what you need, but God, do you hate admitting it. 

You should have known Matt wouldn’t let you go without a fight. 

He reaches out to catch your arm. “Wait,” he calls out for you softly. “Don’t go, please. I’m sorry, I just… I’m worried about you. I feel like you’re hiding something and I’m afraid that if I let you go now, you’re going to get seriously hurt. So please… please, talk to me.”

“You don’t even know me,” you snap, a pathetic attempt at keeping your heart safe from the vulnerability. “You don’t get to do this.”

“Someone’s hurting you.”

You swallow. The tears are threatening to fall. You’ve had a rough couple of days - no, you’ve had a rough two years and you’ve been waiting for a lifeline for so long, you eventually decided to give up. But there he is, Matt Murdock, holding out his hand for you to take. The lifeline is so close yet so far away, only because the fear that has seeped into your soul keeps you tied to the ground, unable to fight back. Oh, you want to fight back, but you’ve never learned how. You want to reach for the lifeline he’s throwing you, but you’re afraid of what it might mean. 

Matt tugs at your arm again. He says your name and you listen. The soft sound is about to snap the invisible string that keeps you detached from reality in two, and the tears are about ready to fall. 

“I know I don’t know you and I have no right to ask about your personal life, but I can tell that you’re scared. I can tell that you’re hurt. I won’t force you to stay, I’m not that kind of man, but I also don’t want you to leave. Just tell me, are you safe?”

You open your mouth, but the words won’t come out. 

“Are you okay?” he asks again. “If I let you go now, are you going to return to a home that is safe for you to stay in?”

So many questions and only one right answer. He doesn’t need to hear you say it to know what your answer is going to be. 

He lets go of your hand, albeit hesitantly. You don’t move. He expected you to run out, but instead, you stay. You stand there and don’t move. It’s as if your heart has made a decision that your mind is still arguing with, but he can tell that you’re not going to move. 

Once again, he calls your name. “Are you going to be okay?”

The invisible string snaps. “No,” you whisper.

Matt tilts his head. He doesn’t push you, he simply holds out his hand again. 

This is the first time in two years you say it out loud, but it sends the stone rolling down the hill and the tears start falling. “I think I need help…” You suck in a sharp breath, but it’s too late. The dam has already broken. 

He nods softly, opening his arms to you and you take the hug without hesitation. When was the last time someone has hugged you? You’re not sure. It’s been a while. You’ve been detached from the real world for so long, you almost forgot what it’s like to be human, to receive affection, to live your life the way you want it, and make your own decisions. You forgot what it’s like to breathe. 

Violent sobs wrack your body. You feel yourself shaking in his arms. His touch offers a sanctuary for you to release your anguish, and you do so plenty. The tears cascade down your cheeks, wetting your shirt and his. He only holds you tighter, making sure you don’t collapse. 

Every inch of your body is trembling. Fire spreads through your muscles, and the tension within them starts to dissipate. It slips off your shoulders and shatters to the floor like fragile glass. You realize that you’re just as fragile. Your foundation has taken so many hits, so many cracks, and you’ve tried everything to keep yourself upright. You developed methods of survival, but you’ve never truly lived. You’ve spent the past two years caged in, not even allowing yourself to cry because he considers it a sign of weakness. 

As Matt holds you close to him, the sickening feeling of loneliness is still there, but you no longer feel alone. You feel listened to. You feel comforted. It’s almost overwhelming. You find yourself unable to breathe while at the same time breathing better than ever before. Your body quivers again, and his grip tightens. You can feel his lips on your scalp, his fingers painting a pattern on your skin through your clothes. 

You’ve been scared and you’re still scared, but with Matt, it seems a little more bearable. There is something about him that just won’t let you go, but you mean that in all the best ways possible. 

As the waves of despair crash over you, you find solace in the warmth of his embrace. His steady presence and compassion create a haven amidst the chaos.

Gradually, the storm subsides, leaving behind a sense of catharsis. With tear-stained cheeks and a trembling voice, you gather the shattered fragments of your story, ready to share them with someone who truly listens, understands, and cares. You need help, you know that. You can run, but you can't escape on your own. And in Matt's unwavering gaze, you find the courage to speak your truth.

Silently, he guides you to his bed. He lays you down gently, encouraging you to take off your shirt. You’re not sure what the ointment he brings into the bedroom is made out of, but your tears make it impossible to speak. 

“This might sting,” he mutters. 

It wasn’t a lie. The scent alone stings in your nose, but as soon as the salve hits your skin, the cooling effect tunes out the pain of it all. You let out a trembling breath. 

“I’m sorry. You’re doing great. I’m almost done.”

He covers every last bruise you point out with the ointment. He cleans the concealer off your face and presses an ice pack against the bruised skin. He doesn’t speak. His ears are focused on the sound of your calming heartbeat and the comfort displayed in your body language. He listens to your breathing. He focuses on the signs that tell him that you’re alive and that you’re safe with him. He focuses on the feeling of your skin beneath his fingers, the jump of your pulse, and the way you reach out to hold his forearm as he pays close attention to the scrapes he finds on your arm. 

On his way up your body, he catches a single tear that has slipped your eye and started running down your neck. He strokes along the wet trail until he reaches your face. His thumb brushes over your cheek and he smiles, his brown eyes warm and focused. 

You look down at where he’s kneeling next to the bed, his hands still gentle, his touch never pressuring you into something you don’t want. You shiver. The ice around your heart has melted, leaving you behind naked and vulnerable, and your defenses are finally gone. 

He catches another tear. “Who did this to you?” he asks. 

You gather all of your strength to answer. “We’ve been together for two years,” you tell him. 

“So he’s your boyfriend?” There is a different sound to his voice now. 

You nod. 

“He did this to you?”

You nod again. 

“Regularly?”

“Yes,” you say. 

“Jesus Christ,” he curses under his breath, and you swear you saw him grab the cross necklace that is dangling off his neck. If he’s praying for self-control or your safety, you’re not sure. Maybe both. 

You take a deep breath, the weight of the past continuing to drag you down, and your boyfriend's voice loud and clear in your ear, threatening to hurt you. But not this time, you decide. You're stronger than that. In a short amount of time, you've seen how much better you deserve, and how much better you could have, and you want to learn how to breathe again. You want to make your own decisions. You don't want to be fueled by revenge or afraid to be hurt; you just want to live. That's all you've ever wanted. To live and to be in love, there has to be another way because what you've been shown up until now has been anything but genuine love. 

"It started small,” you begin, your voice still shaky, and the tears continuing to run, “insignificant things at first. He would get angry over the smallest mistakes or things that didn't go his way. But then it escalated... his anger, his violence. It became a pattern, a cycle that I couldn't break free from. He had these rules… I broke ‘em. I broke ‘em a lot, and whenever I screwed up, he would…” You swallow, the words too painful to utter. 

Matt understands. He knows what you want to say and he squeezes your hand, offering his support in the only way he knows how to. His touch is gentle, a kind of touch you’re not used to but want to get used to more than anything because it’s a touch like this that you’re craving. 

“None of this is your fault,” he says. His voice is gentle and affectionate toward you, but you don’t miss the unbridled rage hidden away inside. 

You don’t blame him. 

"I mean, I know. It's not like I don't know what abuse looks like, and I know it's wrong whenever I'm lucid, but then he looks at me and I just... I used to blame myself, and think I was the one who caused it. But deep down, I knew it was wrong. I just... didn't know how to escape,” you say. “So I played along because sometimes, he'd be the man I fell in love with and I wouldn't hate him as much, and he'd make me believe I needed him. He made me believe that serving him is all I'm good for, and I truly believed it. Sometimes, I still do. I feel so stupid now. God!" You sniffle, and the next sob breaks free from your throat.

He shushes you. “It’s still not your fault and it never was. Men like that… they thrive off of power and there is something seriously wrong with them, not with you. Please, believe me.”

“Then why didn’t I run?” 

The helpless sound of your voice breaks his heart. “He made you dependent on him. He forced you into submission. It’s co-dependency. It’s not your fault.”

The more he repeats the same four words, the further they settle in. They break through your mindset with a hammer, find a free spot in your mind, and manifest. 

"I understand, I really do," Matt says. "You deserve to be loved and understood, not used and abused. Leaving an abusive situation is never easy. But you took the first step today, acknowledging that you need help. That’s something you should be so incredibly proud of…”

You wipe your cheeks. “I just feel so empty,” you admit and he nods.

“Yeah, I get that.”

“And I’m scared I’ll go back to him. I don’t want to. Please, don’t let me go back to him.” 

Your arms reach out and he doesn’t hesitate to hold you close again. Rubbing your back as you sob, he whispers soothing sweet nothings into your ear. You cling to him, you cling to the lifeline he offers and he makes sure to keep your head above water this time. He won’t let you drown. 

“You’re not alone anymore,” and he says your name with the utmost conviction. “I’ve got you. We’ll find a way to keep you safe, okay? I promise.”

“I was so scared,” you sob. 

“I know.”

“I was so scared no one would believe me. I feel so foolish now.”

“I know, it’s okay. You did the right thing. Don’t blame yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says.

It’s not your fault.

You repeat the same four words over and over again, and they manifest even deeper. You need to believe them, you want to believe them. 

He continues to hold you until your sobs have subsided and you can breathe again, looking at him, and he smiles back at you. 

Wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you ask, “Matt?”

“Yes?”

“What do I do now?”

“I’ll keep you safe,” he says. 

“But how…”

“Trust me, I’ll find a way.”

You look into his eyes, and almost as if he can feel it, he comes closer. “You know, I’m not that good with trusting people,” you say, your voice soft and almost bordering on a whisper. 

Matt smiles and brings your hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle individually. It’s a simple display of affection that has your heart doing cartwheels. You feel warm inside. You haven’t felt so warm in a while. He’s found the key to a hidden part of you, a part you’ve been forced to bury, and he’s made it his mission to unlock it - and it worked. 

“I’m not that good with trusting people either,” he says, almost as vulnerable as you, “But I care about you and I want to help. I’m going to help. There’s always a way, and I’m a lawyer, I know people we can talk to to make this guy suffer for what he did to you. I promise to keep you safe, you can trust me on that, whatever it takes. I'm here for you. You've been through so much, and I want you to know that you're safe now."

You sniffle. "It's just... it's been a long time since someone cared enough to ask if I was okay. I didn't think anyone would believe me if I told them. This is so overwhelming, and it feels too good to be true." A sad smile spreads across your face. He reaches out to trace your features, gently trying to memorize every last crevice, painting a picture of you in his mind, and it's not just your soul that is so tragically beautiful. 

He smiles softly, keeping his hands on your face, a silent way of grounding you, of being close to you without pushing boundaries. He wants to be close to you, craves it, he wants to protect you and keep you safe - and he wants to make the man who hurt you so deeply to suffer. "I believe you," he says. "I want to help you heal. I want you to get the justice you deserve. You don't have to face this alone anymore. I know we don't know each other, but I would never leave you hanging, especially not in a situation like yours."

Fresh tears spring into your eyes as your sad smile turns almost grateful. You close your eyes and lean into his touch. "Thank you," you murmur. 

“Anytime,” he whispers back. “You deserve to be loved and cherished. You’re a good person.”

“I forgot what it feels like to be loved…”

Grabbing your hand, he squeezes it gently. “I know,” he says, “But you’re going to remember. I’ll help you remember if that’s what you want. ‘Cause you’re too good to be used like that.”

You chuckle, a tear sliding down your cheek. “That sounds nice, actually,” you admit. 

“Do you have anywhere to go to?”

You think for a moment; your family lives out of town and you don’t have any friends. You’re completely and utterly alone and the realization strikes you hard.

Matt hears the change in your heartbeat and his face softens further. “I take that as a no,” he says. 

You look away. You know you don’t want to go back, you can’t go back, he promised you wouldn’t have to go back, but you also have nowhere else to go. 

But then he is there and he grabs your face with both of his hands, underlining what he had actually meant to say. “You can stay here,” he says.

Do you want to stay with a stranger? You contemplate. You’ve asked him for help and you appreciate the way he makes you feel so secure, but there is this dark part of you that is afraid of what might happen if you do and suggest to not put up a fight and go back home. You need to choke out that dark part of you.

“You deserve better.”

And you hope you can remember that. 

“He can’t hurt you here, so I want you to stay with me. Just for tonight. Just until we’ve figured out a way to keep you safe permanently, okay?” 

The look in his eyes in genuine. “You mean that?” you ask. You’re not sure why you trust him so much, or why you don’t even consider questioning how he plans on protecting you because something tells you he knows what he’s talking about, and maybe that’s because he’s one of the most expressive men you’ve ever met. There is not a lie that could have slipped you. 

“I swear on my life,” Matt says. 

In desperate need for a break, for safety, for solace, you nod. “Okay,” you say.

He leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.” Though it is you who has to thank him.

Matt Murdock just saved your life and you don’t quite know how you could ever fully repay him for not giving up on you like most people in your life have ever since you were born, and for the first time, you truly believe that you don’t have to return to the same hell you just escaped from. He’s got you, you trust him on that, and as you lie in his bed that night, trying to fall asleep, a sense of safety settles in that finally reignites that glimmer of hope that had gotten lost on the long, rocky road to where you are now. 

#tw: domestic violence #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock angst #hurt/comfort #matt murdock x you #no y/n #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x gn!reader #request #matt murdock imagines #matt murdock fic #daredevil fic #matt murdock fluff #one shot #lizzi answers

[gettingfrilly]

Make it count, EddEddy Fanfic

This was supposed to be a short drabble but it got wildly out of hand. Curse my verbose nature. eddeddy, first kiss, underage drinking, rated T

"I was kind of hoping my first kiss would be enjoyable."

The steady creaking of the rusty chains next to him comes to a stop for the first time tonight, Eddy's feet planting in the dirt to cease the momentum of his swing. Edd glances over at him just as he hears the pop of the bottle neck being pulled from his lips, Eddy's brow furrowed as he looks back at him.

"What're ya on about, Dee?"

"I was just thinking," Edd starts, reaching to grab the bottle from Eddy's hand. What little condensation still clings to the brown glass has long since gone lukewarm, the liquid inside not fairing much better. Perhaps it's his own indulgence in said liquid that allows him to let his fingers linger on Eddy's a split second before he takes the bottle from him and finishes his thought. "Do you remember our creek cruise scam?"

Eddy grunts and scrunches his face, his typical reaction to a past failed scam being brought up. "Yeah, I remember."

"And do you remember when the Kankers boarded our 'ship?'"

Now Eddy's lips pucker in distaste, his typical reaction to the Kankers being mentioned. "Uh-huh."

"Well... that was when I received my first kiss. The first of several from Marie, actually." He sighs and upends the bottle, gulping his small swig down quickly to avoid actually tasting the drink as much as he can. The stale flavor still gets him, though, and he grimaces while sticking his tongue out through the gap in his teeth, not nearly as used to the taste of beer as Eddy is.

"I was reminded of it today when I was over at Ed's house. I overheard Sarah and Jimmy discussing their hopes and expectations for their own firsts." Edd continues. "I suppose it made me kind of sad. It's not something I get daydream about anymore."

And this is why he doesn't drink often. Well, other than the fact that it's illegal and immoral and he could get in huge trouble. Drinking doesn't make him lighter and bolder like Eddy, or jovial like Ed—it just makes him sad, in a dreary, pathetic kind of way. He's already the least fun of the trio, as far as he's concerned, and he's loath to further accentuate the difference between himself and his two friends. But Eddy always makes sharing a drink sound like such a good idea, same as how he manages to make everything sound like a good idea; plus there's Edd's own underhanded motivations involving lingering fingers and indirect kisses.

"That don't count." Eddy interrupts Edd's reverie in a firm voice.

"Pardon?"

"I said that don't count." Eddy takes the bottle back from him, taking his own swig. "A first kiss is something both people gotta be into. I don't count any of my Kanker kisses, and neither should you." There's a bitterness to Eddy's voice alongside the usual stubbornness, a can of worms Edd is unsure whether he wants to open or not.

"Ah... I suppose that's one way to look at it." It's the way he wants to look at it, at least. It's not the first time he's wished he could view the world a little more like Eddy, stubbornly holding onto the notion that things are going his way, or at least will be very soon, regardless of what's going on around him.

"It's the right way to look at it. So go ahead and daydream, Romeo."

Edd hums in response, then goes quiet, sitting with Eddy's surprising wisdom. Eventually he hears the old swing set start to creak again, Eddy's restless body gently swinging back and forward, only just barely lifting his feet off the ground. The old playground has made for a good night time haven in recent years, the only members of their group young enough to still have interest in the playground being Sarah and Jimmy. The new families who have started moving into the newly constructed homes this side of the lane are either still childless or have children far too young to wander into the playground alone at night. When all three of them are together for... delinquent activities, the junkyard still makes for a safer bet. When it's just the two of them, without Ed's rambunctiousness, the playground is the more convenient choice. It's also, Edd frequently likes to note, the less stinky choice, especially when considering the effects the hot summer sun has on the piles of refuse. It's much more pleasant here overall, with the illumination of the street lamps nearby and moving playground equipment to keep Eddy's body occupied.

It has been just the two of them more often, as well. Not that either of them are hanging out with Ed less; they're just hanging out with each other more, spending more nights than not decompressing together here on the swings, or on the merry-go-round, or the monkey bars, talking about school, family, friends, life. Sometimes recreational substances are involved, sometimes not—sometimes Edd partakes, sometimes he doesn't. He can't remember when exactly this started, but he knows how much he appreciates and has even started to somewhat depend on their private rendezvous. He can feel their friendship evolving into something too scary to name, a fragile in-between that could crumple in his touch if he's not careful. He can only hope Eddy feels it too.

"So, how's that daydreaming going?"

"Hm?" Edd swivels his head to look at Eddy, blinking owlishly at him, caught off guard by the sudden intrusion into his personal thoughts.

"Your smoochin' day dreams. You've been quiet for so long I figured that's what your big smart brain was up to." Eddy sends him a mischievous smirk. "Anything steamy happening up there?"

"Ah—" Curse his propensity to blush at the slightest provocation. "I don't see how that's any of your business, Eddy." He sputters.

"Prude. Come on." Eddy prods him with his (filthy, muddy, dirty) shoe, jostling his swing in the process. "Who you playin' tonsil hockey with up their? Anyone I know?" His leer and grin are downright vicious now, eyebrows bouncing so quickly Edd's surprised they don't take off in flight.

"No one! I was just thinking about how nice of a night it is. That's all, really." It's partially the truth, though he wasn't thinking about just this night in particular.

"Sure." Eddy draws the word out, unconvinced. "Well, if you won't tell me who, then what? You said you hoped it'd be enjoyable. So how ya enjoyin' it?"

Edd frowns at Eddy's uncharacteristic nosiness into this particular subject. "I really wasn't thinking about that, honest! But if it will sate your curiosity..." He sighs wistfully, looking up at the night sky. "I'd like my first kiss to be with someone I know well. Someone I'm already close to, who already understands the depths of me. Nothing rushed or awkward—just something new between two familiar souls, maybe sparking a nervous excitement. And, well, not to be shallow, but it wouldn't hurt if they were at least somewhat attractive." He tacks that on at the end, mumbling shyly as he kicks the dirt at his feet.

There's a beat of silence that leaves Edd feeling cold despite the warm summer evening air, fretting for a moment that he perhaps said too much—

"Gee, sounds familiar. Except, ya know, change the somewhat attractive part to extremely attractive and good looking and devilishly handsome."

Eddy's voice boasts the easy confidence alcohol usually brings him instead of the faux confidence he typically carries himself with. When Edd chances a glance at him, however, he finds that Eddy isn't even looking at him, face slightly turned away as he stares off into the treeline, thumbs dipping nervously in and out of the crevices of the chain links. Edd's grip on his own swing chains tightens, palms becoming slightly slicked with sweat.

"Well. Perhaps I am speaking of someone you know." He doesn't know where that came from, feeling as though his mind had been a blank canvas when the words suddenly left his mouth. Good lord, he's never drinking around Eddy again.

"Oh yeah?" Eddy perks up almost instantly, turning to face Edd again with another mischievous smirk. It's different this time, though, the razor sharp edges of his smile dulled and softened like wax under a gentle flame, leaving his mouth looking enticingly warm and pliable. His half lidded eyes make for a good match, the whole effect not unlike something fuzzy and fluffy lulling its prey into a false sense of security before the teeth and claws come out.

Good lord, he has got to drink with Eddy more often.

"Yes." Edd sounds a lot more breathless than he'd like to, his already present blush deepening in embarrassment. "Someone I'm rather close to at the moment, both figuratively and literally."

'Well, shit." Eddy laughs, placing the nearly empty beer bottle down on the ground next to the others before reaching over to grab one of the chains of Edd's swing, pulling him closer. "Kinda sounds like we want the same thing here. Yeah?" Eddy questions softly, seeking permission with thinly veiled nerves and desperation.

Edd answers him quickly with fervent nodding, eyelids falling to half mast as he subconsciously pokes his tongue out to lick suddenly dry feeling lips. "And you, Eddy? What would you like your first kiss to be like?"

"With someone who won't make fun of me if I ain't no good at it." He answers shockingly honestly in a rare show of vulnerability, causing Edd's heart to twist itself up and wring itself dry.

"I would never, Eddy."

"Good."

Eddy's free hand lands on Edd's shoulder, shifting along his sleeve until he can feel his thumb graze the side of his neck. It moves up from there, Eddy's fingers rising onto tensed tendons one by one until his thumb rests next to Edd's pink ear. The touch tickles, sending a shiver up his spine as he leans forward, eyes slipping shut when Eddy closes the distance between them.

It's dry, is the first thing Edd notes, used to the overenthusiastic wet smacks of the Kanker sisters. Dry and soft, no sticky cheap lipstick staining his skin and making him want to squirm. It's warm as well, the heat between them growing as their lips stay put instead of moving all over in feverish pecks, Eddy exhaling through his nose and further heating where they're conjoined. Then Eddy tilts his head, causing their lips to shift against each other in a way that pulls a small sound out of Edd's throat, shifting his own head in the opposite direction to get more of that belly-quivering friction.

It ends too soon, the two of them parting nervously with soft sighs, gazing at each other through their eyelashes as Edd chews his lip and Eddy squirms in his swing. After a moment, Eddy lets Edd go, taking his hand off his shoulder and releasing his chain. Edd catches a glimpse of imprints left by the chain on Eddy's palm where he gripped too tightly before looking away and at the ground, trying and failing to suppress the small smile spreading over his face.

"Well?" Eddy asks, voice back to being tinged with the faux confidence Edd is used to. "Enjoyable enough for you?"

"Mm..." Edd hums contentedly, shyly hiding his smile behind his hand. "Indeed. And you, Eddy?" he asks, glancing his way.

Eddy gives him one more smirk, side eyeing him before closing his eyes and shrugging his shoulders. "Eh."

"You—!" Edd tries to push Eddy, but just ends up making his own swing jerk to the side, arms too weak to budge Eddy's sturdy body. "You're a dog! Not a chivalrous bone in your body! I had hoped to believe that with this, at least, you would have the good graces to be somewhat of a gentleman, but it seems even now you can't resist the urge to be a jokester, a prankster, a kidder, and an all around—!"

Edd makes another attempt to push him and has the words stolen from him when Eddy grabs his wrist, laughing like a hyena without a shred of remorse. He uses his grip to pull Edd closer, flipping his arm over so he can press his lips against his wrist, hissing more laughter against his skin as Edd's breath catches in his tightening throat.

"I liked it, too, sockhead."

#eene #ed edd n eddy #eddeddy #gettingfrillywrites #I finished this up on my phone so prolly has typoes and misspellings

[nenynrawrites]

Comfortable ~ Steven Adler x Reader

Summary: Steven gets home from tour, and tells (and shows) you, what he's been up to

Wordcount: 1564 words

Warnings: Smut involving Steven being subby and being jerked off, gender neutral! reader, reader is the dom

A/N: This was written for @popcorn-adler2 , as both me and him went crazy over Steven, and especially this idea! This is my very first story on here, so feedback is appreciated!:D

,,Tadaa!''

,,What- Oh my god, Stevie!''

,,I look good, right?''

You were sitting on you two's bed, a book in hand, as Steven, after what felt like hours, emerged from the bathroom, a thick fog enveloping him, which subsided after a few seconds. Stepping closer to the bed, you might've, just might've, stare a little too long, eliciting a smirk from him. But hey, if you were his partner, you, too, would do it. He's a beauty after all!

,,According to you eyes, I do, so don't try and fight it!''

,,You wanna give me attitude over a scare?''

,,Pff, no, why would I?''

,,Good boy.''

He blushed, a strawberry red crawling over his face and parts of his neck and chest, which made it seem like the leftover condensation was boiling away from his body, the curly hair drying.

Picking up and putting on a new set of boxers, you dwelled in his sight, because to you, he's just such a beauty, but there were certain parts which you found the most cute...Especially his ass.

,,What'd you wanna watch?''

,,How about Police Academy?''

,,Sounds good!''

Putting the VHS into the player, Steven moved to sit in between his lover's legs, yourself sitting against the headboard, as your pre-occupied hands are now on his chest, moving to lightly scratch over his arms, before moving down to his waist, starting to tickle him (yes, he's ticklish!:D)

,,H-H-Hey! S-S-S-Stop!''

,,No, you look cute! Unless you overwhelm me, then I'll stop.''

,,B-Bet!''

Trying his best to wiggle out, he managed to get free of your grasp, pinning your hands to your sides, as he kneeled in front of you, one leg on each side, a sweet grin on his face.

,,I'll get you next time.''

,,Promise?''

,,Promise!''

Enclosing their lips in a sweet kiss, he moved to sit on your legs, his arms around your neck, whilst yours were on his hips, pulling him closer.

,,You know, we've got a film to watch...''

,,Fuck it, I wanna do this the whole duration of it...''

,,We can do that...''

It had been a bit since the pair had time with each other, let alone seen each other, and even with trying to sneak away or jus trying to get a quiet minute was deemed impossible. That's the only thing Steven and you hated about touring.

~ Lil flashback ~

,,You don't know how much I miss you...''

,,I know, I miss you, too...But there's only two days left, and I'm gonna pick you up from the airport, remember?''

,,Yeah...Speaking of come...Can we?''

,,Yes, we can.''

It it would've been for him, he would've taken you with onto the whole tour, but give your job and your pets, it wouldn't have worked out. Plus the stress of being in another city, another state, let alone another country in just mere days...He wouldn't want that stress for you. Though during the whole tour, he managed to have you flown out to a few big shows, letting you cheer him on from the side of the stage, and you could've sworn he played even stronger.

But that was the smallest downside: Physical contact was what he missed the most. What the both of you missed the most. The times you had been flown out weren't long enough, knowing that sometimes you already had gone back home, and that Steven would wake up to an empty bed.

Daily phone calls were a must, and whenever you two got a chance to talk alone without the boys barging in ('cause, lets be honest, they'd try to the second they knew), it often escalated to phone sex, and just...Welcomed a new idea into your sex life...And the amount of times you had thought Steven had been caught are unreal (every second, to be exact), but it was mostly a weird movement he made, making the sheets rustle, or the rings on the curtain rod rattle. Though once one of the boys, you supposed it to be Duff, made an off-handed comment about how he should ,,stop jerking off all the time.'' He later found out, that Duff was just talking in his sleep.

~ Flashback ends ~

,,You know, I really wanna watch the film...''

,,You don't wanna watch me?:0''

,,Of course I wanna watch you, baby! Sit down like before, alright? Just wanna be close to you...I love you.''

,,I love you, too, sweetheart.''

Sitting back down, Steven opted to lay his legs over yours, his hands over your thighs, and his head buried in your shoulder, as you gave him little kisses all over his face, and wherever you could reach.

~ Little time skip to about half an hour later~

Feeling like, and actually having, burst into tears, the scene just kept getting better and better, and the both you could've sworn, that at this point, none of you had had any air left, nor tears.

,,Jeez, fuck...Wait, stop the movie, I need a break...I don't think I have any air left...''

,,Me neither...''

The scene, which the film was stopped on, showed one of the cadets dressed up in a bath robe and bath cap, with a towel on his arm, peering into the women's shower from outside the building.

,,I hope you didn't do that...''

,,Did what?''

,,Watch other women like the guy there...''

,,I wouldn't dare! You're way more beautiful than all of them...And I made sure I took enough photos of you with me...'Cause the memory of your body wasn't enough, I had to see it...''

If this wasn't a declaration of love, you wouldn't know what it is.

Steven gave you his famous Popcorn smile, at which you couldn't help but look away in nervosity, at which he made you face him, by softly grabbing your chin, kissing you.

,,Stevie, baby, tell me what you did when I wasn't around...When we weren't calling...I wanna know everything...''

,,Everything?''

,,Everything...I'd love to see it, too...''

None of you were doing anything, just basking in the silence, observing every little feature of each other, and it got more beautiful by the second...There was a little scruff on Steven's face, from the last few day, his bangs grew longer, too, basically covering his baby blue eyes, but making it look magical, as he's still looking up at you through them, your eyes trailing down over his cute button nose to his mouth, with the softest lips you could think of.

,,Sometimes I'd just look at a picture of you, and just tease myself at most. Just...Trailing over it, maybe holding it, but I didn't dare move it, and-''

He took a sharp breath in, as your hand ghosted over his boxers, before moving under them, having played with the waistband. And oh, did it feel good to touch his dick, no matter how many times you've done it.

,,Go on, honey.''

,,And I- I just thought of all the things we've done, and that you've said on the phone, and- And- Fuck!''

His eyes flutter shut, as you had taken his cock out of his boxers, the slightly cold air giving him a rush through his entire body, as you slowly stroked it, barely putting pressure on it.

,,And?''

,,And I- I would suck my fingers, y-you know, spit into my hand and stroke it, thinking--Haaah--Thinking it was your hand.''

It had been a few minutes at this point, but for Steven, it felt like hours. The poor boy could never really get off, and sometimes he'd cum two, three times, if not more, just so he could feel satisfied, since it wasn't you who was doing it.

,,You're such a good boy, taking it so well...''

,,Your good boy...''

,,That's right...Want it faster? Or slower? Hm?''

,,Faster, please!''

Speeding up, you could see the first few little beads of pre-cum oozing out, making sure to use it as an extra lubricant.

,,Hnng, I think I'm gonna cum-''

,,Not yet, baby, only when I tell you to.''

,,Please, I- I n-need to!''

,,Be a good boy and I'll let you.''

Steven had thought, with all the time apart, that you would have a little mercy on him, but he knows how you can be. But he loves it, and wouldn't want it any other way.

,,You know how to...Just a little bit more...''

,,P-Please!''

The once fast speed changed to a lazy stroke, not daring to touch his tip, where he wanted and needed it the most. His face and parts of his chest had turned red, but you couldn't figure out, if it was from blushing, or just the overstimulation. His tongue was hanging out, and he was panting, his chest rising like crazy. His hands were all over, wanting to direct you how he wanted it, but he knew you would deny him to cum, so he just opted to grab at your thighs, probably leaving marks, with how hard he was gripping them.

,,That's my good boy...Come on, cum for me, you did so well...''

,,Thank you, thank you, thank you!''

One, two strokes more, and the ropes flew out, coating your hand, part of his thighs and his stomach, as you stroked him through it, kissing him softly, praising him.

,,Did so good, baby, looked so beautiful...Do you want to take a bath, or just stay a little bit longer?''

,,Wanna go again...''

,,Again?''

,,Yes!''

,,As you wish.''

#steven adler #steven adler x reader #steven adler smut #guns n roses #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses smut #nenynra's thoughts

[real-jane]

everything, everything

[steve rogers x female reader]

summary: steve and his partner are undercover on assignment, hiding out as husband and wife. the line between reality and fiction is too thin, and steve can't take much more.

warnings: steve is v dumb, pining/longing/etc, smut, canon level violence, smut, and also some smut is in it.

a/n: thank you to @sanguineterrain for the original prompt: "How about a Steve x reader who have to go undercover as a married couple and oh NO, they're pining for each other and don't know it! Whatever shall they do?! 😳😏"

enjoy!

--

He’s too stunned to move when the doorbell rings, so she slips between Steve and the counter with pink-stung lips and hastens to answer it. All the air in the room rushes out with her.

She’s not supposed to kiss me when nobody is around to see her do it.

Three weeks. It’s only been three agonizing weeks. When did the fiction bleed into reality? When did his hands start aching to reach for her? 

‘You get along so well already,’ Bucky had said, ‘it will be nice to be undercover with someone who doesn’t get on your nerves.’ Except… Steve has never had less clarity in his entire life, especially not now, after she kissed the daylights out of him.

The smoke detector is his only saving grace. The pancakes he got up early to make for breakfast are charred beyond recognition, and he throws open the window to let out the smoke… and whatever hot air is keeping his brain from actually processing.

“Everything okay, baby?” she calls from the front room. Steve clenches his jaw.

“Wouldn’t you know it–I burned breakfast,” he replies, in as chipper a tone as he can manage.

“That’s why my husband doesn’t go anywhere near the kitchen. I’m surprised you let him try, Betsy.” Ugh. Sharon. Her husband is on a permanent business trip to live with his other family, a fact that SHIELD had uncovered in the process of vetting the neighborhood. Wayne Carter is also a very good cook. Sharon Carter puts on a haughty face for a woman who hasn’t seen her husband in nine months. Betsy… the alias his partner wears like the Southern Belle she most certainly isn't… she hates Sharon, but she’s a good actress.

“Oh, Steve’s a wonderful cook! But I was distracting him.” 

His ‘wife’s’ little giggle is enough to make Steve snap the spatula in half. He stares at the bisected plastic in shock.

“Bex, what do you say I take you out for breakfast?” Steve rubs his jaw and gives up on the pan, which is entirely unsalvageable. “Mimosas and crepes, yeah?”

“Steven Rogers, you’re gonna spoil me rotten.”

“Impossible.” 

Steve can’t stop the panic rising in his chest. It isn’t supposed to be like this. She’s a fantastic agent, and that’s all. God–he wants to kiss her until she can’t pretend anymore. He needs to have the upper hand, to retain just one ounce of professionalism as Captain fucking America. People know who he is. He’s on assignment. They aren’t married for real. 

And yet.

Realization washes over him and he leans against the counter in despair. 

Every evening, when she bids him ‘goodnight’, he hopes that she skips past the first bedroom and finds her way to his. Cooking for her? His favorite part of every day. He’s googled so many recipes that the app suggests fancy breakfast food. He wears that one blue shirt as often as he can because she smiled the first time he did.

Coming ‘home’ is his only source of comfort, because she is always standing on the porch… waiting. Sometimes a neighbor is talking with her; she’s so kind that it has been easy ingratiating themselves into the neighborhood. Nine times out of ten, she’s got a glass of lemonade in hand, slick with condensation, waiting for him. It’s the weekends that are most torturous, when he has no reason to be out of her presence. Like this particular Saturday morning.

It’s very easy to forget why they’re there. They’re so close to uncovering the ring–she fills him in on the dirt she’s dug up while playing cards, or gardening, or just gossiping with the ladies each day. The women on this street tell her things that he’s struggled to weasel out of hardened criminals. Steve is fairly certain he’s going to burst into flames before they succeed in this assignment. He’s ashamed of himself. She doesn’t deserve some sicko fixating on her, especially not her partner. He’s a public figure, for Christ’s sake! He’s better than this.

Her hand presses against the small of his back. Steve starts and wheels on her. She bites back a smile at the sight of him, and raises a hand to his cheek. 

“You look like you’ve been sweeping the chimney,” she laughs.

He steps away, out of her grasp. “I’ll just get cleaned up, if you wanna go.”

“Oh. You really wanna go out for breakfast?” The surprise in her voice stabs him square in the chest.

“Why not?” he shrugs. “I destroyed the good pan anyway.”

“Are you okay?”

No. Absolutely not, under no circumstances. “What did Sharon want?” He still hasn’t looked her in the eye.

“She went through Zemo’s garbage,” she says, as if she’s impressed by Sharon’s gall. “She found like twenty packs of cold medicine.”

His head snaps up. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. She’s got the bags in her garage, she texted me a picture, too. Look.” She holds up her cell phone and sure enough, a black trash bag filled with boxes of off-brand medicine fills the screen. “This is what we’ve been waiting for, Steve.”

“Oh my god…” he can’t help but laugh in astonishment. “This is reason enough for a warrant.”

“I already sent Fury the photo. Can you believe it?”

He wants so badly to pull her into his arms and hold on for dear life. Because if they’ve truly uncovered the lynch pin of the whole organization, then their days playing house are numbered. Worse than loving her is the thought of no longer getting to pretend, and hang all his hopes on precious public displays of affection. You two look so in love, one of the neighbors had said during their welcome block party. Steve had his arm wrapped around her shoulders then, because being the facsimile of a married couple was still too new to know how to comfortably interact in a way that seemed real. She lets herself be kissed by him with a sweet smile on her face, now. Her fingers always entwine with his, especially when they’re over at someone else’s house. 

For one brief second, Steve considers how easy it would be to steal the bags from Sharon’s garage and destroy the evidence… but what would his partner think of him if she found out what he had done? Maybe that was the best way to push away these embarrassing feelings–push her away. Make them strangers, again.

“Steve–hey!” She snaps in front of his face. “What’s wrong with you?”

He shakes his head, but the heat which floods his cheeks is mortifying. “I slept weird. Not fully awake yet.”

She frowns. “Why don’t you go lay down? I’ll order breakfast in, and we can wait for Fury’s directive.”

“I don’t need to lay down,” he says quickly. “I’m fine.”

“You keep zoning out–”

“I said I’m fine, so I’m fine.”

“...why are you being like this?” She crosses her arms, leaning against the counter. “You’re pissy.”

“Can you just leave it alone?” he sighs.

“We’re in deep cover and you want me to ignore it? I’m gonna nag you until you communicate, Rogers–”

“You’re not entitled to every little thought in my head, alright?” Steve throws his hands up in the air. “This is a sham marriage, remember? Stop pushing me and accept that I don’t want to talk, I’m fine.”

She opens her mouth to press the matter, but thinks better of it. She looks away and nods, but she breathes in raggedly. “Well fuck me, I guess. Fuck my feelings. Crepes?” 

Steve’s heart plummets through the tile floor as she turns away to leave the kitchen. He lunges before he can stop himself and grasps her wrist, staying her exit. Words clog his throat. She waits with one eyebrow raised, but when he can’t make the apology come, she rips her hand from his. Steve is left with the horrible feeling that he has ruined everything good between them… the real rapport they’ve built sharing an assignment, and the fake one which allows her to touch him freely where anyone can see.

And kiss him where they can’t.

He waits for her on the front porch in blue, having scrubbed the pancake ash from his face. She emerges from the house in a sundress. The light pink one which always robs him of sanity. For a moment her face is stony, but then her expression lightens to exuberance and she waves–beyond Steve, to the passing neighbor on the sidewalk.

“Hi Joe!”

“Hiya, Rogerses! Where ya off to on this fine morning?” The old man braces himself on their little gate.

Five soft fingers curl around Steve’s elbow and he remembers that he’s supposed to be helplessly in love with this woman. Well… no acting required, he thinks with a wince. He covers her hand with his.

“Somebody destroyed breakfast,” Steve says, pointing his thumb at himself, “so he’s gonna treat his wife to some French cuisine.”

“Good on you, boy. Betsy deserves the best.”

“That she does,” Steve says, a hair too earnestly.

“Talking about me like I’m not even here!” She giggles. “Joe, do you still need Steve’s help moving that dresser?”

Steve tightens his hand over hers. They’ve talked time and again about how Joe is capable of stealing one’s entire day, and how frustrating it is when he’s trying to keep tabs on Joe’s neighbor to have a two-hour conversation about hydrangeas–

“If he’s offering!” Joe smiles expectantly at Steve, who bobs his head.

“I could do that for ya. How’s this afternoon?”

“You know where to find me!” Joe salutes and totters back down the street towards his small bungalow. 

Once they are seated inside Steve’s car, shielded by darkly tinted windows, he dares to study her. She ignores him, typing away on her phone. “What was that?” he asks lowly.

“You’ve been trying to find a reason to case his house,” she says, not looking up. “I got you an in.”

He clears his throat. “Right. Good idea.”

“You’re not the only influential Rogers in the neighborhood.”

Steve sighs. “‘M sorry–”

“It’s forgotten.” Her phone rings in her hand and she answers immediately. “Hello? No, unsubstantiated for now but Steve is going into Joe O’Leary’s later today while I pop over to Sharon’s. No, he’s just the only house we haven’t found a reason to go inside. It was Steve’s idea, actually.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. It absolutely was not, and if he’s honest with himself, he can’t quite figure out which part of this assignment he’s actually contributed to. She has all of the good ideas, she thinks of things he never would’ve dreamt of. 

“--Yeah. Zemo is hunting this weekend, apparently. We won’t. Nick–that was one time!” she huffs. “I have the scar. We won’t go to his house until you’ve got the warrant. Why does every man around me insist on being so damn stubborn? No–god, I forget you have us triangulated at all times. We’re headed out for breakfast. I burned the pancakes, so…” She glances at Steve and shakes her head. “No, I copy. We’ll stay put. I’ll tell him.”

She hangs up and her head falls back against the seat. “He wants us to stay in place, and wait until he gives the okay to check out Joe and Sharon’s.”

“We already told both of them we’re going out… won’t that look suspicious?”

“I dunno… drive to the gas station. I’ll buy you some shitty coffee. At least our car will have left the driveway.”

“I’m buyin’,” Steve says, starting the car. “Last time I checked, you’re not the one who charred the pancakes.”

“It was still my fault.”

“You can buy me a moon pie, for my trouble.”

“I’ll buy you a whole box.” He can’t help the way his mouth turns up at one side, and when he looks at her, she’s smiling sadly. “I don’t like it when we’re at odds.”

Steve shakes his head. “No.”

“Partners?” She holds out her hand, but before he takes it…

“Why’d you do it?” His voice is soft, pleading. She shrugs.

“I wanted to. Don’t you ever do things, just because you want to?”

“Um. No, I don’t have that luxury.”

“I forgot who I’m talking to.” Her chin dips bashfully. “Just forget it happened, okay? We kiss in front of other people all the time, it’s a habit.”

“...which you wanted to do.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t overanalyzed it. Like you are doing right now.” She wiggles her fingers and Steve laces his in. “Partners. Do you wanna tell me what was going on with you?”

“Well… I suppose I was thinking about all this being done. It’s, uh. Hard to tell sometimes what’s part of the cover, and–”

“What’s real,” she finishes. “Maybe the truth is somewhere in the middle. We don’t have to answer that today.”

“I like holding your hand,” he admits. “I–shit, sweetheart, I-I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Yeah. But I don’t have enough caffeine in me for that conversation,” he says, squeezing her hand.

“You can do it back, if you want. You keep looking at my lips. It’s okay if you want to, Steve.”

“I don’t want to ruin it,” he murmurs.

“Only way to do that is to shut me out.”

He studies her neatly manicured nails. “I want to. So bad.”

“But?”

“I don’t know. Can’t think straight as it is. What’s it gonna do to me–”

“Hush.” She holds their clasped hands to her lips. “It’s okay.”

“No–it isn’t.” He squeezes. “It’s unprofessional.”

“If you think I haven’t spent the last three weeks relishing the fact that I get to spend every evening watching trash tv with you, staring at your ass, and listening to you laugh… fuck professional, Steve. I didn’t mean for it to happen, okay? You caught me off guard with your sweetness. I knew I was in trouble the first time you kissed me.”

“But this is gonna end…”

“It doesn’t have to. I–” She stops to cup his cheek and brush her thumb over his jaw in reassurance. “I don’t wanna go a single day without kissing you. I don’t care if it started because we’re pretending.”

“It’s never been pretend for me,” he breathes. 

She moves first, because she knows that he can’t do it without real permission, where there’s no question why it’s happening. He moans against her mouth; it’s always felt like his lips were meant for hers, but with nobody watching… It's a gift. She is precious to him. He cradles her face to say as much, without putting voice to it. Kissing her this way strips him of all ceremony. He’s just a city boy with a crush on a beautiful girl, who kisses like a dream. It’s freeing. If anyone saw them making out in the driveway, what would it give away? Nothing which doesn’t show on his face every time he looks at her. Because Steve can’t pretend like she isn’t the center of his world. Not when he has permission to kiss her in private.

His tenuous control snaps.

She keens as his lips traverse her jaw to nip at the tender skin below her ear. “Been holding out on me, Rogers.” He sucks a mark, blooming a ruddy bruise on her throat. Then, he lavs that spot, pulling more heavenly sounds from her lips. “Fuck.”

“I think about that, too,” he whispers against her skin. “But I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“We wouldn’t be the first partners to do it.”

“Remember when we caught Bucky and Nat after Bulgaria?” Steve eases the strap of her dress off the curve of her shoulder.

“God,” she sighs, tugging on his hair so he’ll find her mouth again. She catches his bottom lip. “You wouldn’t look at me.”

He blinks at her through heavy eyelids. “I was thinking about you.”

“You wanna fuck me in a bunk on the quinjet?” she scoffs. Her fingers card through his hair.

“Anywhere. Have forever. Buck knows. ‘S why he suggested you for this.”

She smiles against his mouth. “Remind me to send him a thank you card.”

“Can I touch you?”

“In the driveway?” she gasps, even as she guides his hand towards the hem of her dress.

“Windows are too dark to see in.”

“You’re kinker than I thought–fuck.”

He traces the pads of his fingers over her soft skin. Steve bites his lip, watching her eyes flutter as his hand gets closer to touching her where he wants to, most. “Think I’m vanilla, agent?”

“That is your favorite ice cream flavor.”

Steve stops for a second and squeezes her thigh in affection. He presses a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. She chases her lips after his, and pauses just a breath from his face. They smile at each other, drunk on uncorked arousal. 

“Vanilla,” he whispers, tracing the hem of her panties, “is a complex flavor. Goes with everything. Chocolate. Cherries…” Steve dips his fingers beneath the silky fabric. She cants her hips to give him better access. He finds the little bud at her apex, worrying the bundle of nerves enough to make her moan.

“Exhibitionism,” she pants.

“In small quantities,” he chuckles. “Gimme your lips, sweets.”

She does so like a woman starved, but her head falls back as he sinks one finger into her heat. “Steven.”

“‘M here.”

“So good.” She rolls her hips to meet his hand. He thumbs her clit with every stroke. “Had a dream–mmph. You fingered me at a barbeque.”

“I’d do it. Under the table?”

“Mm. No. In the pool.”

“Our pool, sweetheart?” Steve works a second finger with the first easily. She’s drenched, she’s gorgeous. 

She nods. “Yeah. But I couldn’t make a face because everybody was around.”

“What, then?” Steve feels her squeezing him tight. She’s close. He’s never wanted anything more in his life than to make her come. He doesn’t care how much work it takes to clean the seat afterwards. He’ll do it with a smile, as long as she comes.

“You made me orgasm in front of the whole neighborhood. Then you got in the hot tub and you made me sit on your dick.”

“Were you keeping me hard?” He tugs the cups of her dress down with his free hand and bears her breasts. “Christ. You’re so beautiful.”

“Nobody knew, and the bubbles covered us,” she sighs. “Right there, right–oh fuck. What about you?”

Steve groans as her hand finds his straining dick over the top of his jeans. “I’m gonna bust my zipper the second you come.”

“Wanna feel you. Please.”

He nods his consent, but not before flickering his tongue against her nipple. She stays his hand by turning her nails into the skin at his wrist, and forces him to lean his seat back so she can unbutton his pants, but she doesn’t get very far–

The back window of the vehicle shatters. Steve throws himself over her, peering above her headrest. She groans.

“I was so close,” she wheezes. 

“Stay down, sweetheart.” Steve kisses her cheek and then throws the car into reverse, turning the wheel like a madman to dodge their attacker… Sharon. Standing on her front porch with a rifle. She raises the gun to take another shot, now that she has her sights on him. 

“Roll down your window, baby!” 

Steve doesn’t hesitate. His partner yanks the top of her dress up, lays half-way across his lap, and fires her own weapon (pulled from god-knows-where), catching their attacker in the shoulder. Sharon drops her rifle, but the gun discharges, destroying one of Steve’s tires with an explosive POP! The car drops heavily towards the front wheel well. Sharon staggers to retrieve her gun. After one more precise shot, she falls. Steve takes the gun from his partner when it is offered. She retrieves his pistol from the glove compartment, and they each get out of the car warily.

“Do you wanna trade?” Steve calls.

“You think I can’t shoot with your gun?” Her voice is sweet and teasing.

“I said no such thing. Is she dead?” They flank the unconscious woman… sure enough, she’s down for good, with one bullet right between the eyes. Steve exchanges a look of shock with his partner.

“Yes. Must’ve been desperate to risk taking us out like this. I’d say we found the rat,” she says. 

“I guess so.”

“She has the shittiest timing.” She grins at him, which makes Steve’s ears turn red. She retrieves her phone from the car and makes a call. 

Steve keeps his weapon at the ready. Several of the neighbors peer out their front windows in concern, but none are stupid enough to come out and investigate the ruckus. He attempts to stand between the body and the street, at least to obscure the pooling blood below Sharon’s head. 

It doesn't take ten minutes for a dozen black SUV’s to come squealing down the sleepy street. By the time they take over the block, Steve and his partner are leaning against his car, glancing at each other with small smiles. They’ve collected themselves somewhat; he made sure there was no visible sign that she’d been just moments from an orgasm when they were shot at (other than the hickey, which he hopes nobody notices), and they attempt to look concerned that their attacker wasn’t someone they expected. But it’s especially hard for Steve to be stoic, because he knows how it feels to touch her. He settles for looking smug. He is, but who’s to say why?

Bucky accompanies the agents who emerge from the trucks, as does Fury. “Cap. Agent.”

“Director,” she acknowledges. “Sergeant.” Bucky wrinkles his nose at her.

“Walk me through what happened.” She steps forward with Fury and walks him towards the body, while Bucky hangs back with Steve. Barnes leans over and whispers.

“Your fly’s undone.”

Steve sighs. “Shit. Why are you staring at my crotch, huh?” He fixes the aforementioned zipper as discreetly as possible.

“Old habits die hard.” Bucky folds his arms and leans against the car.

“What would Natasha say to that?”

“...you think she doesn’t stare at your crotch, punk?”

“You two are nightmares.” Steve can’t help but chuckle, despite himself. “Carter annoyed the hell outta me, but I didn’t think she was involved.”

“You trying to change the subject?”

“Not succeeding, apparently.” 

Just then, his partner looks up at him, gesturing towards him and then down the street, which is swarming with agents in black suits. 

“Cool it with the puppy dog eyes,” Bucky murmurs.

Steve glares at him. “Shut up. That’s just how my face looks.”

“Not when you look at me,” Bucky says, elbowing him in the side. “Did you tell her?”

Steve’s eyes dart away, and he can’t help but smile. He twists his mouth to keep from breaking out into a full smile.

“Thank God,” Bucky says.

“Rogers!” Fury waves him over. Steve strides towards the director with his hands in his pockets. “I think your partner is a little shell shocked. Why don’t you take her to the house? I’ll catch up with you in a bit. I think it’s going to take a few hours for us to do a preliminary search of Carter’s.”

Steve glances at his partner, who has her hands clasped at her waist, twisting her fingers. She indeed looks quite shocked, eyes wide and unblinking as she stares up at him. “Yes sir.”

“I’m glad you two didn’t do anything hasty and stayed put. This could’ve gone a whole lot worse.” 

Steve nods. He manages the world’s most convincing performance of concern, wrapping his arm around his partner’s shoulders. She leans into his side, letting him guide her across the street to the house with ‘Rogers’ painted on the mailbox. He doesn’t dare look at Bucky, nor does he want to risk saying anything until they’re safely concealed from the rest of the world. But the moment they’re inside, he presses her back against the front door. She smiles softly.

“Did that get your blood going?” she asks. “Getting shot at with your fingers inside me.”

He huffs. “Your mouth, I swear.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Do you want this?” He asks, working his knee between hers until she has to stand on her tip-toes. She nods breathlessly. “Out loud, or I stop.”

“I’ve heard you come,” she laughs. “In the shower. When you think you’re being quiet. I talk myself out of joining you every time, but I wanna see your face when you have an orgasm. I think you’ll be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Steve shivers. “Pretty, huh?” He lowers his mouth slowly to hers, but stops as she gasps. His hands find the globes of her ass, inching under the panties he’s going to destroy. He watches her eyes dilate with arousal. She smirks.

“You’re a pretty man, Rogers. ‘S why I married you.”

Steve gapes at her for just a minute. He shakes his head in disbelief, shrugging off the euphoria which rises in him at the thought of this woman truly being everything. Her fingers creep to his jaw.

“What?”

He sighs. “That’s all I want. To have this. All the time.”

“A wife, baby?”

“And babies, sweetheart.”

“You told Joe you wanted three… you were being serious.”

“I was.” His eyes flick back and forth to study her irises. They’re glassy. 

“You’d want that with… me?”

“How long have you known me?” He asks, kissing her forehead. 

Her hands wrap behind his head, stroking his nape. “That’s a big step. We’re not even together–”

“I’ve been telling anyone in a ten mile radius that you’re my wife for three straight weeks, and nothing has ever felt more right.” Steve levels his eyes with hers. “I want as much as you’re willing to give me.”

Her eyes crinkle as she smiles. “God. You take a girl’s breath away. I… I don’t know if I want kids, Steve–”

“But you want me.”

“Yes,” she sighs. 

“Then I don’t care. You can think about it.”

“What if the answer is ‘no’? Could you be content with only me?”

“Only–sweetheart. You are everything.” Steve kisses her eyelids as they shut in relief. “We could always have dogs.”

She laughs in surprise, and it’s his favorite sound in the whole world. “Why don’t we start from the beginning, and see where we end up?”

“Where’s that?” He noses her cheek. 

“Give each other orgasms for the first time. I mean, if I’m gonna think about having babies, don’t you think I should know how your dick feels?”

“You make a very good point,” he says with mock seriousness, tapping his chin. “In the spirit of investigation.”

“To make a truly informed decision.”

“Right… if we do this, we’re gonna have to tell Fury.”

She looks at him guiltily. “He… knows. I sorta forgot that the car is bugged.”

Steve freezes with wide eyes. “Shit.”

“...Yeah.”

“Well…”

“We have no reason to hide it, now.” She finds the hem of the shirt she likes so much and tickles her nails across his abdomen. “Besides, I gotta admit that I kinda found it, I dunno… hot? That people heard us.”

Steve locks the front door over her shoulder and walks backwards, tugging her towards the stairs. He spins her so her heels catch on the step, forcing her to sit down abruptly. Steve follows, latching his lips over hers hungrily. He probably should feel embarrassed, but how can he when this beautiful woman wants him? No man in his right mind would be ashamed of her. 

He rends the gusset of her panties. For such a talkative person, she sure has nothing to say when his fingers find her clit again. Just incoherent moans. Steve has three fingers inside her by the time she comes, walls fluttering around his thrusting hand. Her head falls back in ecstasy as she soaks his fingers. He wastes no time working his pants down enough to free his dick; her hands urge his shirt off so she can run the tips of her nails down his chest, flicking against his nipples and making him buck. She’s bringing kinks out in him he didn’t even know he had. 

She wraps one hand around him, making his head fall forward against her collar. He nips at her tendon in retaliation. She guides him until his dick is tucked between her folds, and rolls her hips to take him in. Steve obliges. He sinks into her fully, and groans.

“Fucking hell,” she breathes. 

“You’re tight, sweets.” He teases the seam of her lips with his tongue, inviting her to lose herself completely. She’s still sensitive from her first orgasm, shivering when he brushes her clit, so Steve stays still. Buried deep in the woman of his dreams.

“Was it like this, in your dream?” he asks, stroking her cheek softly. She smiles blissfully.

“No. This is better than anything my brain made up. You gotta move.”

“What if I didn’t? And I made you sit with my dick inside you all day long.” Steve shimmies her dress up her torso until she arches her back enough to let him pull it over her head. But he fists the fabric at her wrists, capturing her hands so she can’t touch him. She whines.

“Jesus. Who knew you were so controlling?” Her inner muscles contract and he huffs.

“If I thought I could control you for one second, you’d know it by now,” he says, rolling his hips. “But you’re the one who’s got me wrapped around your finger.”

“Yeah?” she gasps. “You’ve got me tied up.”

“You don’t need your hands to have me right where you want me, sweetheart, and you know it.”

She kisses him hard. “Fuck me. So I have bruises from these stairs.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He snaps his hips forward to do just that, and he’s in heaven. He’s got little experience compared to some of the agents he hears bragging about their trysts in the gym, but by god, he’s never fucked a woman like this. Especially not someone he loves. His knees burn from the carpet, and his boots attempt to slide off his bracing step–hell, his pants aren’t even to his knees, but he fucks her like a desperate man, because that’s what he is. He wants her to come again, more than anything. Hard. Who cares if he doesn’t, as long as she finds pleasure?

Her hands slip free of their restraints easily, and she grasps his back for dear life. He’ll feel the marks from her nails in the shower, he’s sure of it. Steve doesn’t realize his eyes are closed until she gasps. His eyes snap open–she’s arching up, chasing her release. He reaches between their bodies to find her clit and rolls it as he thrusts. It’s enough to send her over the edge. She cries out, and it’s all he can do not to come at the sight of her. But he thrusts through her orgasm until she’s whining with sensitivity. She grips his ass.

“Baby–please. It hurts.” 

Steve braces himself on his elbows and freezes, kissing her in apology. “Mmm. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You okay?” She nods, kissing him back slowly. 

“You need to come.”

“I’m okay.”

“No!” She protests. “I want you to. I have to see it. Please–pull out, I’ll help you.” 

The moment he rises up, she’s reaching for him… he can’t think with the way her fingers wrap around him, tugging him ever closer towards his own orgasm. He’s kneeling beside her on the stairs, watching her in rapt awe. She worships him, but she’s too gentle. He tightens her fingers with his to show her that she doesn’t need to be so careful with him. She’s a fast learner. She pumps him with as much care as he showed her, her eyes fixed to his face to catch every little expression of pleasure. When he’s close, he falls down onto his elbow, right at her side. She smiles, and he can’t help but smile back because god, he loves her. She’s everything. He’s never felt so good. He’s soaring. She coaxes him through his orgasm, painting her belly with his come. He turns his teeth into her shoulder to keep from bellowing, which makes her wince and laugh all at once. Then, he lets himself fall fully onto the stairs beside her, so they’re both staring up at the ceiling in awe. 

He laughs. 

“Yeah… you’re pretty, alright,” she breathes.

“I should’ve gotten you to bed.” He looks over at her. A faint sheen of sweat makes her glow like a goddess, and she shakes her head.

“I think this was as far as we were gonna make it.” She raises her hand to stroke his cheek but she’s shaking a little. Steve takes her hand and kisses it.

“What’s the verdict?” he whispers.

She giggles. “More research required.”

“Do you think the house is bugged?”

“...Not anymore.”

He can’t help but laugh at the innocent smile on her face. “Shit, sweets. You made me hungry. I could really go for those moon pies right about now.”

She beckons him to meet her in a kiss. “After that, baby? I’ll give you the whole moon.”

--

thanks for reading!

my masterlist - my marvel masterlist

#this is just filth honestly #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers oneshot

[nogacheloveka-blog]

The Bad Sanses somehow ended up in the Backrooms. №5

next 6 prev 4

This is the translation of the another post from Russian to English. I understand English, but it is very difficult for me to write in English, so I asked chat GPT to help me. I have corrected some parts, but there still may be mistakes.

Wow, this is probably the longest and most productive time for me. I don't force myself to do any of this at all. The plot just comes to me, and I am filled with happiness as I embody it. But I think I will still slow down the pace and post the plot development a little less often, so as not to feel bad when I don't feel like drawing.

I'm trying to experiment with the glow of the eyes. It seems to me that it turned out very ok =)

Error got a little carried away with knitting. But it killed two birds with one stone: he no longer needs to constantly tie Cross and Dust with threads, the effect now works without his participation. Thanks to the generosity of the Destroyer, Dust now has a cozy corner of personal safety under his hood.

The Bad Guys found a sewing kit at Kitty's place, so they were able to mend their clothes a little and not look like tramps (well, more than they do now). There were also a lot of sweets and other food in the kitchen, which now fills the inventory of Horror, Cross, and Killer. They managed to find out the properties of some food:

Almond Water Restores 15 HP and sanity. *you can never have too much

Greasy Marshmallow Restores -25 HP. *sometimes there is too much *makes your skin smooth and elastic *follow the recommendations

Fortunately, the recommendations were found in the notebook with some details:

I once saw how one idiot ate 50 of them on a bet and turned into a pile of marshmallow and fat. A terrible sight. Smelled like at Willy Wonka's factory. But wow, this thing is almost like chocolate when melted. Sometimes I'm ready to kill for such a treat. Recommendations: - Melt the marshmallow. - Do not melt more than 30 at a time. - The interval between marshmallow intakes is 40 minutes. - Cook it with Almond Water. - Make sure you are safe during use - its smell attracts dangerous entities.

This food looks dangerous, but they are not in a situation to turn up their noses. And the note about chocolate excited at least half of them.

As soon as Error finished making a knitted doll for Kitty, they all left her house. As the notes said, she moved them back to the halls of IKEA. From there, they found an exit to some underground corridors resembling catacombs. The air there was humid, and condensation had formed in some places.

The local architecture resembled a labyrinth with orange wallpaper and a smelly carpet. The corridors twisted haphazardly, and there were many more doors and stairs than they expected. Some of the doors had signs. Most of them said "Service Rooms", "Storage Rooms", and they found various things in them: cleaning supplies (Dust took some of them without any explanation), mops, knives (Killer took a couple, he didn't need any explanation), rusty muskets, wet gunpowder, bundles of wires, dolls, coins of different countries and denominations, boxes of rotten canned food.

There were also "Room 402", "13", "10". These doors led to living rooms, as if from hotels and inns, but some abandoned ones, with broken and rotten furniture. Nothing interesting.

Finally, the corridors became wider, branched out, and there were rooms with several passages, communications ran along the walls, in which, judging by the sound, water was flowing somewhere. They were both warm and extremely hot.

Finally, in one of the corridors where they decided to stop, Killer found a balloon, which he carried around like something funny. Around the corner, he found another one and a bunch of scattered confetti. There was also a disturbing graffiti on the wall. But the Bad Guys were no longer surprised by anything, having traveled for about a week and a half through constantly changing space. They stopped for a break in this remarkable place.

However, those who decided to flip through the notebook, Dust and Cross, were a little scared, distracting Nightmare from his conversation with the Destroyer with a flash of negativity.

Party people Very dangerous. Do not touch the balloons, poppers, and confetti. RUN WITHOUT LOOKING BACK. Do not let them corner you, and if you see signs of their presence, pray that they don't find you. Smart creatures, constantly hacking our databases and editing texts (be careful with "=)"). Recommendations: - Correct/delete pages created/edited by Partygoers - Run if you see or hear one of them. - Inform others, especially operatives [illegible], about any observations of 'party rooms'. Prohibitions: - Follow the balloons, party sounds, and confetti. - Make tactile contact with the Partygoers

They tried to calm down by the fact that the author of the notebook clearly sometimes exaggerated by calling things "lethally dangerous " and Error said that most things in this place work on them "not as they should have ". But in the main moments, the former owner of the notes was right, wasn't he?

Despite this, the short break went quite normally, no one bothered them.

Nightmare belongs to Jokublog Killer belongs to RahafWabas Dust belongs to Ask-DustTale Horror belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios Error belongs to CrayonQueen Cross belongs to JakeiArtwork

#bad sanses #cross sans #dust sans #error sans #horror sans #killer sans #nightmare sans #the backrooms #au #undertale au #bad guys in backrooms #bad sans gang #art

[xerith-42]

Hello, you were open to asks right ? Do you have any head cannons about Shad and the shadow knights or how the Nether can affect the beings living in it ?

Obligatory reminder that I'm going to make it a habit to rename Shad to Araphel in all my posts until I don't have to put this reminder here.

I already touched on a few of my Araphel specific headcanons before (though there will be more), and I've made quite a few posts about Shadow Knights. The Nether on the other hand--

So obviously MCD was made long before the ever important Nether Update, but I think we should incorporate that into our ideas of this series. I'm just saying that a Bastion would be even more absolutely terrifying if the mfs hunting you in there were vicious Shadow Knights with a taste for blood that hasn't been satiated in Irene knows how long.

Warped forests are the most relaxing biome of the Nether, the colors of it often being a relaxing presence for Shadow Knights. Basalts are the worst to navigate, and even if they're immortal, dragging yourself out of a pool of lava you got concussed falling into because you made a single misstep just sucks no matter what.

Also, Shadow Knights aren't the only creatures of the Nether. Obviously I want all the Nether creatures that are there to be there, though I'd take Enderman out of Warped Forests and make Piglins a sort of shadow variant that makes it clear they were a race that existed in the Nether before, but Araphel's influence spreads like a plague. I think Wither Skeletons totally fit the vibe, I could see them just being the reanimated and smashed together bones of those who have fallen in the Nether but weren't worthy of becoming a Shadow Knight.

I think that Shadow Knights are adapted to live in the Nether. They're designed to sustain constant heat that's mostly dry (so living in Southern Arizona), and not much else. This means that the cold has a much more severe impact on them, and they really don't do well when it gets humid, girls are not built to sweat it feels so weird on their fucked up skin.

And there's those Shadow Souls! Those are a thing Jess wrote into the series! I think they're like the lost souls of those who died in the Nether who want to find bodies so they can become Shadow Knights...? Hold on Imma check the wiki.

Okay I was close, they're Shadow Knights who lost their physical forms and seek out a new host which... How does a Shadow Knight lose their physical form? Great question! I'd like to know the answer too! The solution to this problem is that they're both of the definitions I put above. I think they're great and totally seem like something Araphel would enjoy watching the pitiful existence of.

Because that's all the Nether really is to him. Another part of his game with Irene. Another playing field, an empty worthless world full of life that is only good to kill, maim, or take as his own for those same purposes. The life of the Nether never had a chance to fight against Araphel. Once he was able to return to partial power there was nothing that could stop him from spreading his miserable influence to the rest of this wretched realm. It's not like it was doing anything good to begin with.

I think the being known as Araphel that currently lives in the Nether is removed from the physical body he once inhabited, instead just being the worst parts of his soul banished. When Irene banished him she, and I quote "Shattered his relic". The relic is tied to the divine warrior in a very direct way, so I'd like to think that when his relic shattered, so did Araphel's soul. The better parts of his soul managed to find one another, refine, and reincarnate. Eventually.

The soul that lives in the Nether is the embodiment of his hatred, his jealousy, his rage, his resentment, all of the worst parts of his being condensed into a single irradiated spectre that refuses to rest. It seeks out the other parts of its soul, he seeks to be whole again. If Araphel can reform his soul and get his hands on that relic, then it's all over for anyone who dared to stand in his way.

When he wasn't in this miserable state, Araphel was once a man worth loving. He was known as the destroyer, but those he destroyed were those who threatened his loved ones. He destroyed tyrants, those who would abuse their rule, those who would harm his friends, and he would show no mercy to any being foolish enough to even think of laying a hand on Irene.

He had a rather dry sense of humor, one that bounced off of Kul'zak's endless ramblings and Menphina's sarcasm very well. He often sat with them in their little meadow, lamenting his woes of missing Irene while she was off saving more lives that he couldn't care less about. Araphel was the first to become disillusioned with humanity entirely, the near immortality of the relic weighing him down constantly. It was only a few years after he got it that he came to the conclusion only other relic holders could understand him.

The only reason that changed was when he got a whiff of betrayal. When he realized that something was wrong with how long Kul'zak and Enki had been gone, how Menphina was suddenly nowhere to be found despite eagerly answering his requests to see one another before. It was then that he retreated to the forest by O'Khasis with a mortal woman who held similarities to him. He wanted their descendants to look as much like him as possible.

He got his wish.

#text post #minecraft diaries #aphblr #aphverse #mcd headcanons #shad the destroyer #irene the matron #the nether #shadow knights #divine warriors #ask answered #queued post

[gabaobab]

Felt compelled to let you know that your depiction of Peppino being. A bit of a mess. In terms of trying to crawl out of the miserable headspace he was in, trying to be kinder to himself, etc., it really spoke to a lot of people.

I don't know if you pulled all these heavy, overwhelming, and raw emotions from your own experiences, or if your mind is just that big, but it was almost comforting to see a lot of these really "ugly" feelings condensed into some incredibly personal-feeling sincere art.

Thank you for posting those, seriously, it's always a joy to see your takes on the funny pizza chef, and your comics in general are often surprisingly heavy and hard-hitting, but in a good way. Epic stuff.

Thank you soo much!!! I'm so glad I can manage to impact people with my stupid comics, I'd never thought I would be able to do it.

I am also scared not to be accurate or to offend people since I talk about pretty heavy topics (with PT character of all things too, what an idiot), but I try my best to stay tasteful, even though I like telling things in a raw manner.

So sidenote : I'm sorry if I offend or disturb anyone too much, it's really not my intention and I'm just trying to put things that are on my mind on paper.

That said, part of the stuff in the last comic is based on my own experiences dealing with my stupid brain (put to the extreme though, I am not a war vet fortunately), I mix them with cool war movies (the main inspiration is Born on the 4th of July) and I try to draw these in the same way I express myself. I don't really understand "how" I do it, but I'm glad I can only a little bit :]

Anyway thank you again for your compliments it's really nice of you and I'm happy I can reach you all in some way, I'm also really happy I found you all. Until the next one! (no sad comics anymore though hehe)

[disniq]

OK so I'm bad at watching TV but your Titans!Jason fic has me sort of curious about checking the show out. I'm mostly a comics!Jason fan (I coast on that knowledge to read your stuff) and I did read a wiki summary of his arc and wasn't super interested, but I think a real human with Jason opinions I tend to agree with might be a better indicator. So thoughts on picking up the show?

Hi there! Firstly, thank you very much! It’s always hugely flattering when someone who doesn’t watch Titans likes my Titans fics <3

Secondly, uh. Titans is not by any definition a *good* show.

It has so many issues. The casting is amazing, but the writing is choppy and inconsistent and the pacing is awful. They chose an interesting mix of characters, but their commitment to making everything as dark and edgy as possible back in 2018 makes it so that more often than not they're all deeply unlikable. Many of the concepts they introduce have absolutely fascinating wider implications but then the show fails to examine them in any meaningful way, and it often directly contradicts itself in ways that are incredibly frustrating!

It compels me though dot gif

But somehow, SOMEHOW, despite all that, or maybe because of it, they also managed to make an extremely compelling Jason!

Titans!Jason draws titbits from a whole bunch of different comic runs - he’s older when he meets Bruce ala Rebirth, his parents are the drug addict and the two-face grunt from post-crisis, some of the Scarecrow stuff in season 3 pays homage to the Arkham Knight and Injustice video games - but he’s very much his own character, you know? He’s also canonically ADHD, which I may have mentioned before but it really does define his character, even though the show never actually brings it up in relation to his issues or behaviour.

(It would also be remiss of me not to commend Curran Walters’ performance, because that kid put his whole heart into playing Jason for personal reasons and it shows! Even when the writing/executive choices were extremely questionable - looking at you, season 3 part 2 - he pulls it back enough for it to be watchable for me.)

ANYWAY, back to your actual question xD

Jason isn’t in all that many episodes anyways, so if you’re just interested in him specifically and you're not overly bothered about the plot, I'd recommend looking up season 3 episode 5 ("Lazarus"), which is the background ep for the build up to Red Hood and also the only 100% Jason focused episode. It's coincidentally my favourite episode, and if you watch the "previously on" section it'll cover all his major plot points in a handy dandy 45 minute window!!

And if you’re just here for the condensed angst, this fantastic video on youtube is four minutes long and really sums up the general feels Titans!Jason gives off!

I don't know if any of that is helpful, but thank you for letting me ramble about my special interest :D!

#titans (2018) #hbo titans #asked and answered

[adventuringblind]

Hi! I really liked your magical realism AU! Would it be possible for you to explain it a bit more? Like- how do levels work? Does it mean that the higher the level the more powerful the element you have is? Who is the most powerful member of the grid in your AU? Also, if you had a level/ability, what would it be?

Also also, you're a really good writer, just wanted to say 💗. Thank you for exploring some heavier topics in your writing and allowing readers to be a bit more vulnerable too!

There is like... so much here honestly. World building is my absolute favorite part of writing AU's because not one is the same! Obviously there are other magical realism AU's similar but this one is mine and I spent literal days figuring this out

In all honesty - you hit my sweet spot with this question. Below is my long ass rant about this AU along with an info dump. Gonna start creating tags for it since it's picking up more traction!

So I spent more time than I want to admit playing around with certain concepts. The rating system was a big one for me because it allows for abilities to manifest in different ways.

I started out calling it a 'scary rating' because I thought it was funny and now I head cannon they use it for fun. Rating is so... boring.

The scale is a 1-10 system. ! is the least powerful where 10 is the most. the most common are 4-7 simply because of how these energies manifest themselves.

The EU's (energy users) are more or less feared. I've deemed this as part of human evolution. It's not some kind of lab experiment gone wrong, just humans adapting to things in the environment.

That being said - Energies are more or less sentient. It's something I plan to explore in later fics. This comes into play a lot in Mend Me because I wrote an entire scene of energies either meshing or not.

In that fic, the protagonist is a level 10 meaning her energy is really high. People feel it because it's strong. Lando is a three (I think) and should not be able to be in the room with her but is able to manage because their energies meld together well.

One of the big things I stumbled across while building is that kind of dynamic. I tried explaining to a few people and it wasn't making sense so I had to rework it a few times. Here is the condensed explanation:

Energies are a natural thing and the next step in human evolution

They have their own personalities and often work with their human counter part versus working for them

Because normal humans fear the unknown and crave control, they came up with the identifying bands

All EU's are required to wear one

It shows their ability category (more on that later), their rating, and acts a suppressor band

Because EU's aren't allowed to be out without them on, the normal humans never adapted to the presence of energies and can't stomach being around anything 4 or higher. 1-3 still messes with them but not as severely.

Due to energies not being allowed to interact with each other and work together as intended, other EU's have to make a point to spend time together without their suppressor bands on in order to gain that familiarity

If you take it a step further you can even use it for different relationships. Pierre and Esteban for example might not work together well because their energies simply clash.

The rating system depends on a lot of different factors really! A level 1 who manipulates water might be able to make a bubbles and that's it. Where a level 10 could make a tsunami and then go for a mile run. A level 8 might be able to make that tsunami, but doing anything after would just be painful.

Now onto the fun part: Powers! I want to note that there are the main branches of powers, the actual power type, and then the sub categories of how that power might manifest. Bare with me here as this isn't all flushed out yet!

Also for references: EU's make up a little less then half the human population. I don't have the time to calculate what it would be in terms of the entire population for these statistics so don't be upset with me please T_T

Healers make up 3% of the EU population. Know by their white arm bands w/ black stripe in the middle (or the reverse Oreo technically speaking).

Witchers (healing but same name twice was driving me insane)

Alchemists

Energy Readers

Mind make up 8% of the EU population. Know by their light blue arm bands.

Telekenetic

Mind Reader

Mind control

Precognition

Illusion

Fazing

Illusion

Psychometry

Empath

Shifters make up 12% of the EU population. They have a bronze arm band but the shifter type is outlined on it (paw print, body, shape).

Animal

Partial

Body Mod

Inanimate (this one was for giggles really)

Sound makes up 11% of the EU population. Their arm bands are gold with vertical gray stripes.

Vocal Flux

Music

Language

Mimicry

Body makes up 15% of the EU population. Known by orange arm bands.

Speed

Strength

flying

Size Alteration

Agility

Druids makes up 9% of the EU population. Known by a Green armband w/ brown stripe in the middle

Animal communication

sentient creation

Plant communication (Lorax style)

Fabricators

Sensory makes up 17% of the EU population and have purple arm bands.

Sight

Smell

Hearing

Taste

Touch

Reapers make up 3% of the EU population. Know by their black arm bands w/ a white stripe in the middle (The real Oreo cookie).

death touch

dream walking

judges

channeling

Primary Elementals make up 12% of the EU population. They have gray armbands w/ a colored strip in the middle indicating element.

Water

Earth

Fire

Air

Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony. Then everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked

Secondary Elementals make up 10% of the EU population. Plain black arm bands because there are to many of them to pick a way to diversify!

Metal

Shadow

Weather

Electricity

Light

There's a ton of details about each of of these but that would require another post. For now, I'll finally answer the questions!

The most powerful in my own head is Carlos because I made him a shifter. A level 8 BEAR. Why? because I can. I like to experiment though so that's my own fantasy world. However, if you see a consistent stream of bear Carlos that's why.

If I personally had an ability I'd have to Say a Witcher (leave the name alone! Saying healer twice is weird to meeee!). The reason is wildly morbid...

Draw backs of being a Witcher (healer) is what I like to call a wound transfer. I - much to everyone's displeasure - have intrusive thoughts about hurting myself in incredibly morbid ways. Getting to heal one person and hurting myself in the process? Sounds like a win-win to me!

#Ren's.inbox #MagicalRealism #Ren's.thoughts #im sorry #not really #spent hours answering this T_T

[all-of-my-yesterdays]

Retold: Cross... Epic: Cross what did you do? Cross: What I had to do... My hand slipped, a oneshot fic below - 3571 words

Cross was sitting beside the door that led out of the prince's chamber. His back was against the wall, and a knee brought up so he could comfortably rest his arms on top of his leg. He allowed himself to smirk as his charge grimaced as he tried to stretch his aching limbs.

The training Cross was subjecting Epic to was difficult, and it often left the other one feeling stiff and bruised. But with each passing day, Epic became a little bit better at dodging and parrying attacks. He had yet to land a hit on Cross, but Cross would have been a terrible guardian if a novice like Epic could successfully land a hit on him.

The comfortable silence of the day winding down was shattered. A panic screech echoed off the corridor walls, causing the guardian to jump to his feet. Magic quickly condensed into a large red sword, and he took a defensive position standing between the door and his charge.

"What was that?!" Epic asked, as he twisted around so he was facing the door and his guardian.

"I don't know..."

There was a brief pause before the screaming continued.  The guardian did not have much time to decide what he was going to do. The scream came from a room close by, and the only rooms located in this area were various private chambers. The King's and Prince's room being the biggest target for any assassin. Whatever was happening, would likely result in harm to his charge if he was not careful.

"I'll go investigate. Stay here and bar the door… Sire." Cross replied, almost forgetting propriety.

"Woah, I'm not hiding here while you put yourself in danger."

"Sire, please..." Cross began, trying to figure out how to best convince his charge this was safer, after all only his life was disposable.

"I'll go with you!" Epic declared, as though Cross not planning to investigate a potentially dangerous situation where multiple assailants could be preparing the prince’s demise. "We've already established I'll be safer with you by my side."

Cross took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as his own words were being thrown back at his face.  He briefly thought about the pros and cons about allowing the prince to follow.  Being locked in the room would mean Epic could be stuck if the assailant managed to successfully overwhelm him, but it screamed idiotic to allow the other to follow him. But perhaps it was better that Epic come with him, after all, Epic would likely decide to follow him regardless.

"Fine, but you will stay close to me sire." The guardian conceded.

"Of course."

Slowly opening the door, Cross quickly surveyed the hallway. He saw that there were various servants anxiously whispering to each other, confusion clear on their faces. He deemed the immediate hallway as safe enough, despite everything. With a quick gesture, Epic diligently followed him as he opened the door. The closest of the guards that was on duty was a captain. The captain noticed the guardian and prince, and immediately stood at attention.

"Captain, are you aware of what's happening?" Epic asked, half shielded by Cross, who stood between him and the direction the chaos seemed to be coming from.

"NO SIRE, BUT I SENT PAPYRUS TO CHECK." The captain said.

A few moments later, Papyrus appeared, rushing towards them. "CAPTAIN!" He shouted, before freezing as he realized the prince and guardian were present.

"PAPYRUS! STOP GAWKING, TELL US, WHAT HAPPENED?" The captain demanded, drawing the startled guard's attention back to himself. Papyrus swallowed nervously, as he stared at Epic. "THE KING IS DEAD MY LORD...." The sudden movement prompted Cross to tense ready to strike if the other were to attack, but the tall skeleton fell to one knee with his body facing the prince. "LONG LIVE THE YOUNG KING."

Epic stared at the guard, feeling sweat begin to condense on his skull. His father couldn't be dead, he was in good health. It felt impossible to draw any breath and he could practically feel his soul beat in his throat. The pregnant silence was finally broken by Cross.

"Explain." Cross commanded.

"GUARDIAN, NO ONE KNOWS WHAT HAS HAPPENED YET. THE ROYAL HEALER, SCI, IS CURRENTLY IN THE KING'S CHAMBER" Papyrus reported. "THE KING HAD BEEN ENJOYING HIS EVENING TEA. HE FELL TO THE GROUND AND APPARENTLY STARTED TO SEIZE. HE...HE DIED BEFORE THE HEALER COULD HELP."

"THAT SOUNDS LIKE A STROKE." The captain said.

Epic's eye light was completely extinguished as Papyrus recounted what had happened. The prince and guardian had their suspicions.  The symptoms sounded like cyanide poisoning.  It was likely that a poison was slipped into the tea or pastries the King would like to indulge in. Neither would be certain which poison it was that killed the King, but Cross was willing to bet his blade that the smell of bitter almonds clung to the tea and treats. The scent of almonds could be easily ignored considering the King enjoyed a sweet fragrant tea and occasionally had toasted almond pastries.

Taking a deep breath, Epic gathered his thoughts. "Captain, may I have your name?" He asked.

"BLUE, YOUR MAJESTY."

"Blue, no one leaves the palace until I order. Compile a list of everyone who had access to the King and his food in the last day. I expect a report tomorrow morning. You both are dismissed." Epic ordered, his first order as King.

"OF COURSE, YOUR MAJESTY." Blue bowed before hurrying off to follow through with the order, Papyrus close behind to assist his captain.

Epic took a deep breath, before turning heel towards the King's chambers. He did his best to remain calm, but his hurried walk betrayed him compared to how calm Cross appear to be,. However his stoic appearance belied the racing frantic thoughts. Cross tried to recall who would have benefited from killing the King?  A few names came to mind, but he would need evidence to determine if they would have attempted to murder the King.  He would probably have a better idea of who would want the King dead, if they were able to determine what the killer was gaining.  After all, if the King was murdered, then what was stopping the killer from targeting the prince next? Since the King was likely poisoned, Cross planned on making sure Epic's food was even more strictly monitored.  It would not be surprising that the killer would attempt the same trick.  He would need to vet loyal food tasters and chefs. In the meantime, Cross would have to taste test all of Epic’s food until they were sure the food would not be tampered with.  The guardian was so caught up in his own thoughts he almost missed what his charge was saying to him.

"Cross, please, I think you would be able to protect me just as effectively from, perhaps, a few feet away… I doubt I'd be in anymore grave danger if you just took a step or two back."

Cross paused, realizing that he was crowding into Epic’s space. Part of him wanted to argue that Epic needed to be even more wary now considering there is probably a killer amongst them, but it was clear that tension and stress thrummed in the prince's marrow. Even if he did not want to move back, Cross was more than capable of protecting Epic from a foot or two away if it meant easing a tiny bit of the other's tension.

As Cross took a step back, Epic gave his guardian a small grateful smile when the other complied without complaint.  It was clear that Cross wanted to object, but the clench of his jaw showed that he restrained himself.  Normally the close proximity was welcomed, but Epic’s anxiety felt like it was strangling him.  The feeling of claustrophobia was only made worse by Cross’s natural insistence of being practically attached to him during any perceived threat.

When they had finally entered the King's chamber, they were greeted with a weeping yellow dinosaur monster standing in a corner of the room by the table.  The bed was surrounded by a few guards, while Sci and the King’s advisor, Gaster, spoke in hushed tones.  The King’s own guardian, Retold, face was hidden underneath his hood, as he stood by the head of the bed.  The older guardian almost blended into the background, it was as if he were a statute.

Epic cleared his throat, and everyone fell silent, all eyes directed at his presence.  Cross twitched, his hand clenching the hilt of his blade as he glared at everyone. There was too much attention on his charge, but there was nothing he could do about the collective shock the others were probably feeling upon seeing the young King.  Gaster was the first to recover.

“Sire… Your majesty.” He corrected, bowing to Epic.

“Gaster,” Epic greeted, eye light not leaving his father’s corpse. 

If he did not know what had occurred, he would have assumed that the other was just asleep.  But the lack of chest rising and falling, and the loud snoring, would have immediately alerted everyone to the fact that no life resided in the body. The only thing that kept the body from dusting was the continual magic pouring into it by the healer. If the servant girl had not been present, then there would not have been a body to preserve for investigation.

“Tell me, what happened.” He said, dragging his attention solely to Gaster.

“The former King felt weak during his tea and when he tried to stand to go to his bed, he fell to the ground and began to seize.” Gaster said. “So far we suspect a stroke.”

Neither Cross nor Epic commented on the fact that the story was almost identical to what Papyrus had reported.  They took note that there seemed to be consistency with the fact that the “illness” that befell the King was sudden and his health had rapidly deteriorated.

“Were there any witnesses?”

“Just the servant girl.” Gaster said, pointing to Alphys who looked even more panicked now that the royal advisor and young King briefly stared at her.

While Epic and Gaster continued to converse, Cross took the opportunity to inspect the King’s last meal. He expected to find a shattered teacup, perhaps food scattered on the floor, but the table had been completed cleared. There were no signs of broken teacups, puddles of cold tea or ruined food. His brow ridge narrowed, and he turned to the dinosaur monster.

“What happened to the King’s supper?” He growled, with a glare that caused even the most confident of monsters to falter with fear.

“T-they t-took it all a-away…” She whispered, terrified of the guardian’s legendary wrath against those who may harm their charges.

“They!? They who?” Cross demanded.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know! Please don’t kill me…” Alphys was quaking in fear, tears clouding her vision.

Cross blinked, she was shaking like a leaf and clearly terrified.  Considering she was the last person to see the king alive, it was not shocking.  Anyone would be suspicious of her, and there was no reason to assume she would not be accused of murder. In fact, she probably believed one of the two guardians in the room would likely be her executioner for a crime she did not commit.

“I won’t kill you, but I want the truth. Who took the King’s evening tea away?” Cross asked again, trying to be less intimidating this time.

“I d-don’t know… The K-king had finished his tea like usual b-but said he didn't feel right… W-when he attempted to stand, he f-fell, hit the table a-and pastries fell to the ground… I-it all happened so f-fast, and when I w-went to him I s-saw he was seizing." Alphys stuttered, looking at her feet as she tried to calm herself as she recounted the events. "I s-screamed for help, and t-then were soldiers trying t-to maneuver the K-king into his bed… At some point the r-royal healer was there t-trying to help… I guess s-someone else was told to c-clean everything up.” Her voice barely a whisper. “I d-did n-nothing wrong, p-please believe m-me.” She begged.

Cross gave a noncommittal hum. “What is your name?”

“A-Alphys, sir g-guardian… S-sir.”

Nodding, the guardian committed her name and face to his memory before returning to his charge’s side.  Epic and the royal advisors were now discussing funeral rites and the coronation.  Cross’s mismatched eye lights drifted towards the older guardian, who still remained perfectly still.  His soul hurt in a brief moment of sympathy knowing that the price of being a guardian was about to come due for the other.  All guardians knew the price of their failure, and they were prepared to face the payment, hopefully they each would face it with dignity.

The evening dragged on as arrangements were made, and the morning light had begun to filter in.  Everyone else had slowly filtered out of the former King’s chamber.  The only one who remained was the older Guardian.  He spent the whole night impassively observing the events unfold in front of him.  In fact, Epic had almost forgotten about Retold.  He knew Retold had always acted more like a shadow in comparison to his own guardian, quietly observing the world, but this was not normal for the other.

“Retold?” Epic asked, looking at the hooded guardian with concern, repeating his name a few times to get his attention.

Retold’s eye lights flickered as he came back to the present. Epic assumed he must have been in his head all night since it never took this long to get the other’s attention. He guessed it was probably caused by shock that kept Retold from reacting all night.  The guardian had been close with his father for as long as Epic remembered.  It should not be surprising that the other was reacting so differently. At least he appeared more alive than he had in the last few hours.

“Your majesty?” His voice flat, devoid of any emotion, shocking Epic.

The lack of any type of emotion made chills travel down Epic’s spine. While his father was alive, Retold had always had a hint of levity during tense moments like these. He always seemed to believe humor helped make the best of any situation. The stark difference between the monster before him and the monster from his memory made Epic uneasy, like something bad was going to happen.

“Retold, can you recall anything else?”

“I apologize your majesty, but I do not.”

The silence was deafening. Epic didn’t know what to think about Retold's hunched shoulders and averted eye lights. His body language was unlike anything the young King had seen from the older guardian. Everything about the other felt wrong.

Retold bowed as he spoke, “Forgive me, your majesty. I have failed my duty to protect your father.”

“Well, if it was a stroke, no one would be responsible for his death.” Epic attempted, but it just caused the two Guardians to give him a look of disbelief, knowing the young King had already concluded otherwise.  Epic raised his hands in mock appeasement. “Fine, based on the circumstances, it does seem to be murder… But there is no proof currently.”

 “I believe you or Cross will find proof at some point your majesty.” Retold attempted to encourage Epic, but the lack of affect left it falling flat.

Epic frowned, catching the fact that Retold did not include himself in the list of those who would discover proof of his father’s murder. Of everyone in the castle, he expected Retold to be the most anxious to begin investigation. The older guardian had always taken the attempted assassinations investigations seriously.  He would act as the King's judge and executioner after presenting his findings to the King.

“It almost sounds like you are not planning on helping us… You are going to help, aren’t you?”

“No, your majesty. My duty is over." The look of confusion prompted Retold to continue. "My life was forfeited the moment the King died.”

Epic immediately wanted to argue otherwise, but he knew that fact. Gaster had explained the duties of a guardian when he had finally been assigned one of his own.  However, he never really thought much about what that would mean in practice. It struck him, "until our deaths" always meant that the guardians would follow their charge's, even to their own death. He had just been willful ignorance of what the oath actually entailed.

Retold will dutifully follow his charge to the grave and Cross would dutifully follow him to his own grave.

“Yeah, no.” Epic blurted out.  The hooded skeleton and the monochromatic skeleton tilted their head.  Both were absolutely confused as to what Epic seemed to be objecting to. “No, I forbid you from killing yourself.”

The two guardians exchanged a look, before Retold took his hood off, revealing a small, appeasing smile.  It was the most the other has expressed all evening.

“As much as I appreciate the kindness you have extended me, your majesty, this is the way.” Retold said as gently as he could, talking to Epic as he did when he as a baby bones. “The way of the guardians cannot be overruled, even by a King...”

Epic would attempt to intervene, but Cross stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s late, sire. You have been up all night; you should go try and get some rest.”

Retold bowed for Epic for the final time, before he pulled his hood back over his head.  He was once again hidden behind the shadows the hood granted him.  Cross could tell Epic wanted to say something to him, but waited until they were out of the King’s chamber to shake the guardian off his shoulder.

“You are going to let him kill himself?!" Epic demanded. "You’re a guardian, you have to know of a way to convince him that this is ridiculous?”

“I am a guardian, so I know better than anyone what our duty is and what is expected of us. We all have a price we must pay sire… This is our price for failing our duty.” Cross softly murmured. “It is a price we all abide by, there are no exceptions.”

“Even you?”

“Yes sire, there are no exceptions.”

Cross watched as the distress flickered through Epic’s expression.  He could almost pin the exact moment when the other had truly felt the weight of the truth that all guardian’s lived by.  The exhaustion was clear in Epic’s stance, and the understanding that Cross would end his own life upon Epic’s own untimely death did not help.  Epic almost would have preferred to not have realized that Cross would loyally follow him in death, if it meant that Cross would die by his own hand.

“Go inside and rest sire, I’ll be back soon.” Cross said, as he ushered Epic back to his room.

“Where are you going?”

“I have a duty that I must attend to.”

Epic wanted to demand an explanation, but he could feel Cross's anguish, even as he desperately tried to hide it behind his stoic appearance. The young King was smart enough to at least infer the duty was linked to Retold.  He may not know what Cross needed to do with Retold, but it made sense there may be traditions unknown to him regarding how a guardian forfeits their life. Although, he would have to wait for Cross's return if he were to get actual answers to some of his new questions.

Cross returned to the King’s room; the other guardian remained where the pair had left him.  Although his face was obscured, the younger guardian knew he was being watched. With each step Cross took toward the Retold, the weight of what was about to transpire settled in his marrow.  His soul ached with regret, but this was the least he could do for his fellow guardian.

“Cross.” Retold said, acknowledging the other guardian, when he finally stood in front of him.

Cross said nothing, and swiftly dispatched his target.  The lack of resistance and the precision did nothing to prevent the splattering of magic being released.  Retold’s dark purple, almost black, magic splattered onto the white of his uniform.  It soaked into the walls and floors, sparking with streaks of violet energy that reeked of ozone.  The death would be seen as merciless but Cross tried his best to take comfort in the fact that Retold’s death was quick and painless.  At least it was better than having the older guardian kill himself.

Bending down, Cross moved to collect the hidden blade that Retold kept on his person. It was covered in dust and magic. He respectfully removed it and stored it in his inventory.  He would decide what to do later with the blade later, but the younger guardian briefly considered using the blade himself. It could be a way for him to honor his fellow guardian.  With the blade collected, there was nothing left for him to do but return to his king.

When Cross finally arrived back at Epic’s room, he found the young King pacing his room despite the exhaustion that the other would be experiencing.  Epic had too much anxious energy that prevented himself from changing into something more comfortable while he waited for Cross to return.  Although, he was so caught up in his own head it a few minutes before he realized that Cross had returned.  The sight of magic staining the white of Cross’ uniform had him freezing.

“Cross, what did you do?” Epic finally managed to ask, his voice hoarse in his distress.

“What I had to do.” Cross replied, not expanding on what he meant and refusing to look at Epic.

Epic should have realized that Cross's duty meant killing the guardian who failed his duty. Perhaps he was naive to want to believe it was something else, like formally dismissing Retold. The proof of what had transpired was in front of him, there was no reason for him to have asked. Epic belongs to yugogeer012 Cross belongs to jakei95 Retold belongs to me Blue belongs to AU community Sci belongs to TalkingSoup Papyrus, Gaster and Alphys belongs to Toby Fox

#delta's art #doodles #undertale #sans #epic sans #cross sans #xtale #epictale #guardian au #bruh and dude #brude #retold #retale sans #delta writes #mini comic #underswap sans #papyrus #ut papyrus #science sans #undertale au #utmv #utmv fanfic #utmv comic #angst #alphys #utmv au #political intrigue #crepic

[firespirited]

Managed to list the monster high stock and dolls. I'd been putting it off in the distant hope that i'd show improvement enough to warrant waiting. It's stupid I have plenty of projects kept and there will always be gunky bundles. Still my brain bought this and that for a reason and I had often had something specific planned, so a sense of, not quite obligation but when each doll head was in hand there were moments of "well this one only would require an hour or two to complete the vision" and "that one's so rare I'll never see that again while I have the right supplies".

Bratz spare clothes and project dolls tomorrow. Kiwi too. Not sure whether to split Barbie and other 1/6 from 1/7th Licca and Anthro. I have to keep the momentum and remember the relief. It's so SILLY having to go through the same mental blocks every time. I post in the hopes it'll make me cringe someday and maybe learn something.

If you're in the EU, you can still get the whole lot for $100 shipped (if it's not western eu it might be a bit more shipping) massive bargain for you and no ebay hassle for me.

Then new shelves/glass cupboards for the Rainbow High and possibly a few anthro hybrids. Now that the collection has more monsters and novis, they won't be out of place.

There's been an odd sense of loss of identity with not being able to customize but it's so much easier seeing how many people know how to reroot now and also letting myself enjoy being a collector (occasional restyler!) who doesn't have to do anything spectacular to enjoy a doll.

January pushed me out of my habits to learn some minor bead embroidery skills and I did some fun upcycling with clear plastic, silica beads and plastic ab rhinestones. It was a fun exercise in using unusual materials and reminded me that I love a challenge and the odd far more than a full pallette of high quality hair colours.

I have not made any progress on the recoding of the tutorials. I might be motivated if there's a section on the new doll collector site. Hard to get hyped/panicked enough: Tumblr's not ideal for the search engines but at least it's stable for now and people can ask questions directly on posts, spam's minimal, you build a rapport with other doll folks.

I do my walks, my exercises, and just have to hope that it's doing something. I can't build muscle like a normal person just have to measure in how many seconds before collapse or full body trembles. Patience is a virtue I've never had. The high pain shock collar built into my neck with a instant to 48h delay is having to do the work of keeping me on track lol.

On an unrelated tangeant, i really hope AI hype craps out soon. I hated the new 'predictive/most searched' google update, it basically broke the internet for me to not get the most accurate results for my searches.

I have zero interest in having a bot tell me what I really want to hear from some random blogger who happens to be into that subject or who sees a link between that subject and another. That's what this is for, to hear from other people not have their thoughts filtered through algorithms to give me an all sides version of the story. I don't want the review that's a condensed consensus matching the 80% of 2 star reviews I want to hear from the three dweebs who adore this film for entirely different reasons (the train schedule and effects are totally correct and it's the one vhs they used to watch with the neighbour and quote it as in jokes, it's also got great practical effects and it was filmed in a place that is now knocked down but used to be their workplace.) People make the internet interesting. I don't want the information without the superfluous personal ramblings attached. Give me the anecdote with the recipe, it's far less intrusive than the five adverts and I'll remember the recipe as the one that he found in a book about Greece and he's never been but he dreams about it sometimes.

#saf #Ramblings

[24maki]

approaching mayuyu's graduation, i will decide whether i will keep this account or not.

(it's not like i'm online that often anyways but)

he's the one that fully got me into Niji JP and to witness his announcement... made me really sad.

without him + other reasons, i don't think i want to keep this account. i will make a decision before then.

opinions of nijisanji under the cut.

he said not to send hate to ANYCOLOR Inc but this is my tumblr so i say the shit i want!

i've been into Nijisanji long before the EN branch existed, and by surviving off of translated clips of Niji JP, so I am fairly confident in my opinions of its development.

nijisanji as a whole was a place and the opportunity to become a vtuber without worrying what you SHOULD be. to make it easier for the talents to keep rolling in, there were branches so no one would be afraid of collabing + having a target audience.

nijisanji is literally a rainbow, with plenty of varieties.

but now, the branches have been condensed (KR & ID), and more focus is going into making "idol groups" such as ROFMAO, the EN branch, and maybe future Niji JP waves similar to Ranunculus.

while i do enjoy them and think they are smart moves in garnering audiences, there are times i had this feeling that the vtubers were being directed way too much, which was unlike nijisanji.

ex: ROFMAO skits, they have scripts and sometimes do activities on what management wants them to do.

what also pisses me off is the amount of merch they keep pumping out with the EN branch. are they expecting to make profit all the time? usually voicepacks and merchandise are announced in holidays and a few times between but— what the fuck is a half-anniversary? the shipping for the last goods haven't arrived yet, what the hell are you doing?!

mayuyu also mentioned leaving due to a project they proposed to him without a better alternative. i fucking hope they aren't forcing him to do something he doesn't want!

at this point i'm starting to lose hope in ANYCOLOR. you better not ruin precious people like Luca.

that's all. until another day i guess.

[the-corset-witch]

Obsidian.MD - 3 Vaults

As I've previously mentioned, I have split the melting pot of my Notion into 3-4 Vaults. These are my Book of Secrets, Dvalpersy, Gaming Vaults (Sims, Starbound).

Book of Secrets

This is the vault that I spend almost the most time in, besides the next one. I am currently having to tidy it up because the Notion Import was really messy. I am condensing the many pages that were built out of the Notion system of tables&databases creating pages upon pages into singular pages, or in some cases, just deleting them.

This is slowly creating a change in my Graph where it is becoming a bit more readable and easier to hover over the dots. It's also taking less stress off of the Local Graphs. Things I want to do include this:

Refine Notes Snippets from Past/2019-2023

Make Book pages uniform, scrape data from old posts to help compile clearer Book pages.

Expand Grimoire "leaves" so that branches can be built with connections to Books & other topics.

Templates! I want to go through all my journaling and look at the data I seem to most often focus on, and create Templates for each of these, and use Templater Plugin to automate the Note Placement based on Template Used.

But, I have managed to create and refine my Personal Timeline using the plugin April's Automatic Timelines. This plugin has made it very easy to create one massive giant timeline of all the major "plot points" of my life, and then to go in and also create smaller more nuanced timelines of relationships, patterns in jobs and such. It's easy to get lost in this plugin and in my own personal history. It was a bit wonky at first, but after fixing the Date Format, it worked fine!

Dvalpersy

This is where I may spend more time, to be honest, because this is my Writing Vault for the world I am building. There are far more plugins on this vault, it has its own custom 21-month Calendar with 723 Days, and April's Automatic Timelines also help keep all the events that add to the WorldBuilding Lore organized. I have some main folders, History & Lore, Population, World, and Writings.

I am currently emailing back and forth to figure out why the Longform plugin isn't formatting it's Index for me correctly, I really don't understand what's going on there, but all the other plugins I use seem to be working completely fine!

I use a lot of Canvases in this Vault, which is very neat, but some people chose to use Excalidraw. I've been thinking about it because aesthetically it looks rad as hell.

I have built a considerable amount of templates here that I will probably be borrowing from in order to help create templates for my BoS Vault.

Gaming Vaults

I used to use Notion to keep my Rules & Excel or Google to keep the data on my Sims, but I am attempting to do that in one app here with Obsidian. Granted, I haven't used it much for Sims. What I did end up using it for was Starbound.

It all started with creating my Captain's Page, and then each planet she visited began getting a page and small stories began to build, and soon it was almost like a strange wikipedia of her adventures. It has me wanting to completely scrub out my Starbound data and start fresh, because multiple characters/captains could each have a separate page and their adventures could almost never touch-- unless, by chance, they did find the same planet. And the Universe, that stays the same on your PC with Starbound, or so I read, so this actually has me quite fascinated with the capabilities.

The plugins on these tend to be really basic, and usually I lean on the ITS theme for these Vaults as well.

#obsidian.md #obsidian #mine #mad rambles