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mokulule · 3 months

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A Pinch of Salt - Part 4

First | Masterpost

The final part of the first installment of the Salt in the Bones series which is a project co-created with @clockwayswrites, you can see the other stuff written for it in the masterpost link above or go to the first part.

John looked at the kid, who just stepped inside the fucking binding circle. His mouth fell open in shock.

“What is wrong with you!?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was an exclamation, and John didn’t wait for any answer. “Of all the sodding, daft, goddamn tossers - what were you bloody thinking? No, you weren’t thinking. Otherwise you wouldn’t have fucking done that. You DO NOT go into the blasted circle!”

“Are you done?”

“Am I-“ John spluttered.

Are you done? He asked, as if John was the unreasonable one here! “Oh you’re right chuffed, aren’t you mate? Well, you cocked up, you’re about to be banished right alongside the storm, you little git!”

“Then stop the banishing or banish us both. It’s your choice.” Kid stood, back straight, jaw clenched stubbornly and a frown over those wide blue eyes. His hair and clothes whipped violently from the storm, but he didn’t care, just kept his eyes on John.

John raised his hands in frustration, words dying on his tongue. It would serve him right!

It would serve him right; he stepped into the bloody circle. It wasn’t John’s fault. Everything was going fine for once and maybe that should have been John’s warning. Whatever was up with the kid he apparently had a soft spot for ghosts - even after John had told him several times that the spirit was gone. It’d gone nova. No coming back. The end. It would continue it’s rampage until it burned out. It would hurt and destroy indiscriminately.

And yet he still-

It would serve him right to get sent to Hell alongside it. It wouldn’t even be the first time someone John worked with got sent to Hell for their trouble. John Constantine was bad luck for everyone around him. It happened.

But it was different when John held the reins of the spell that did it, when he had the choice to stop it.

Still John was at his wits end. If he stopped the banishing, the kid was still trapped in the circle with the spectral storm. If he broke the circle they were back at square one except they were in the center of the storm’s power and it was even angrier.

It was easier, safer, to just continue the banishing. Kid had made his stupid arse decision. John wasn’t a good person. He did what was necessary. Ends and means and all that.

But he was a bloody kid - a teenager - they were basically obligated to do stupid shit. Didn’t mean he deserved to get sent to Hell for it. John had seen and done a lot of shit, but when it came right down to it he didn’t want to add sending a kid to Hell.

John had seen enough dead kids to last him a lifetime.

“Oh bollocks.” John let his arms fall and cut the feed to the banishing spell, wincing slightly at the backlash. “You better have a plan kid.”

The kid had to have some sort of abilities with that aura, maybe all hope was not lost? The kid grimaced and John’s forced optimism crumbled like so much sand.

“I-“ the kid winced as something in the storm hit the back of his head. He rubbed the spot, and looked almost apologetic, “I figured I’d try talking to them.”

John stared.

And stared.

“Or-“ the kid backtracked, “just calm them down somehow?”

“You cannot ‘calm down’ a spectral storm!” John felt like a broken record on repeat. “It’s impossible.”

He threw up his hands and walked exactly three steps away counting his breaths all the while wracking his brain for a different solution. There weren’t any good ones. Heck it was a miracle the kid hadn’t already been torn to pieces being inside the circle.

“We’re dead,” he lamented dramatically.

“Half-dead.”

John’s head snapped around at the weird response.

“I mean,” the kid tried for a smile, “I’m the only one in the circle.”  John stared in despair. The kid’s sense of humor needed serious work.

“I’m not gonna leave you in the bloody circle, kid.”

Danny stood struck wide eyed at the admission. That was- He didn’t know how to deal with that. There was a pang in his chest. He felt too open, too vulnerable. He swallowed before finding his voice.

“Just let me try something, okay?”

Danny turned around to face the center of the storm, he instantly had to squeeze his eyes near shut, from all the dust. Instinctively he took a breath and coughed. Okay breathing not good. Too bad he was human right now.

He had to get closer, closer to that screaming grief. He might be human right now, but he was also a ghost and the anger from earlier was just a thin veneer on top of grief on top of a cry for help. He felt it in his core like scrabbling hands desperately looking for purchase.

He took a step forward, hands up to shield his face, pushing against the wind. Another step. Then another.

How was he gonna calm them down?

Danny didn’t know. He knew fighting. He’d even sometimes recently had luck with talking. But this? It was way beyond talking, until they were calm there would be no such thing. Danny didn’t know what to do. He could only press on and hope an idea came to him.

The grief was stronger the closer he got to the center, it tore into him. Tears trickled down his cheeks and turned into gunk from the dust. Something sharp cut into his bare arms. Danny frowned, kept his head down and pushed forward.

Another step and the grief sunk sharp claws into his core. He screamed clutching his chest and gasping for breath that would do nothing. But the claws were gone as soon as they’d come, retreated as if they’d touched fire.

“Are you alright kid?!”

Danny spared a quick glance back to Trenchcoat who stood all the way up to the edge of the circle, face white as if he’d seen a ghost. Danny couldn’t help smiling at that. Something that alarmed Trenchcoat even further.

“I’m breaking the circle.”

“Don’t,” Danny coughed clearing his throat.

Danny looked back up, squinting through the swirling dust. It may not be visible, but something had changed. There was still the anger and grief, but something else too. A sense of waiting. Waiting to see what Danny would do. They had tried tearing him, the trespasser, apart down to his core, but in doing so they had felt him. They had felt his intention to help and retreated.

Trenchcoat was wrong, there was still a sentience there. Danny found himself grinning in triumph.

But even better Danny had an idea. His core vibrated giddily in his chest. He was a bit sore, but otherwise none the worse for wear. He just needed to reach out and connect with the ghost, he felt sure he could calm them. He just he needed a distraction, he didn’t need Trenchcoat to realize he was the one doing anything ghostly. He wracked his brain, something that made noise, drew attention, was maybe a bit ridiculous, but didn’t take much of his attention from the real work-

That was it!

“Twinkle-“ his voice broke on the first word but gained strength as he continued- “twinkle little star,” Danny sang. He didn’t need to look back to see the incredulous look on Trenchcoat’s face.

He kept singing, he knew that song by heart. His mom used to sing it to him, back when she actually put him to bed. There was a stab of melancholy, but Danny clutched on to the positive aspect of the memory and reached out with his core, its hum getting stronger.

It’s okay, he told the ghost, help. Safe. Peace. Calm.

He took step by step further into the calming storm. And all the while he sung them a lullaby.

John stared.

Then he stared some more. He was doing a lot of staring today.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what he was hearing.

The kid was was singing a lullaby to the spectral storm. And that wasn’t even the most baffling thing. No, the kid was singing a lullaby to the spectral storm and it was bloody working.

The storm gradually calmed until suddenly it was gone. The silence was loud in the sudden emotional void. John staggered from the sudden lack of pressure. All that malice gone in an instant. All that was left was a gently cupped ball of light in the kids hands.

“There you are,” the kid said softly in a slightly scratchy voice.

John couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. It was impossible and yet here they were.

There was a flash of light and suddenly they stood in a house. Built brick by brick by two pairs of hands. Children ran through the rooms. They grew up. They had kids of their own, who had kids of their own. They lived and they loved and they were protected.

Then they were gone.

The door shut for the last time. The house was empty.

A large metal ball slammed through the walls, spreading dust and splintering the doorframe that had measured the growth of generations. It was torn down.

It had stood here, right in what would be the plaza.

The translucent shade of an old women, bent and bony from a life of hard work, hovered in front of the kid. She warbled sadly at him. John couldn’t understand anything but the deep sadness, but it seemed the kid did.

“It’s okay,” he said embracing the spirit, somehow managing to do so despite her definitely not being solid. “You’ve done your best, nobody could ask more of you.”

He paused and his voice softened further, “it’s time to let go.”

The old lady looked over at John and gave him a stern look that had him frozen in place. She was the type of grandma that would wack his fingers if she caught him going for the cookie jar. He wasn’t entirely sure what the look he got meant. Only that it felt like an admonishment.

She looked back on the kid and her features softened, smoothed and in the next moment she turned to mist in his arms, dispersing in the waning light coming from the overhead windows.

John couldn’t entirely believe what he’d just witnessed. Calling a spirit back once they’d gone nova, it was impossible. Unheard of. Banishment was how you dealt with spirits like that. It was a tried and tested method. Yet-

John shivered.

Death magic. It was the only explanation.

The kid reeked of it, to the point John had thought he was the ghost he was here to deal with. He’d thought he was some kind of creature, but he was just a kid. A kid with a very specific magical affinity who’d just done the impossible. He was filled with a sense of awe and dread he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He felt shaken. Like he’d stood right next to a bell who’d been rung to herald change.

John was no prophet, at most he’d get vague premonitions and he far preferred to be in the moment rather then dwell on the future or the past. He most definitely did not want to even contemplate this kid’s future. He swallowed.

Magic, in John’s experience, always came with a cost.

The kid promptly sat down on his butt. John had broken the circle and was running over before he even realized.

“You okay, kid?” He asked breathlessly.

The kid looked up, eyes a bit dazed as he blinked at John. John couldn’t really tell if his complexion was grey or it was just the dust covering every inch of him. Several places, particularly his hands, the dust was dark from blood where he’d been cut in the storm. He looked unfocused.

“How many occult detectives are you seeing?” He asked unable to hide the note of worry.

“Too many,” Kid said tiredly with a shake of his head that had cement dust falling all over. Then he looked back up and elaborated with a smirk, “one.”

John huffed a laugh. If he could joke he couldn’t be that bad off.

“How does burgers and fries sound?”

The kid now dusted off to the point where you could almost tell his hair was black rather than grey sunk his teeth into the burger with a pleased hum. He chewed and swallowed.

“This is almost as good as Nasty Burger.”

John paused fry halfway to his mouth. “That sounds disgusting.”

Kid laughed. “I forget how it sounds to outsiders. It used to be Tasty Burger way back when they first opened, but someone vandalized the sign and it kinda stuck.”

John hummed thoughtfully, he could appreciate the joke. Kid’s use of the phrase outsiders made it sound like he came from an insular town. Probably best for him if he stayed there.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Instantly the blue eyes narrowed on him in suspicion.

“What’s yours, Trenchcoat?” He challenged.

John huffed at the nickname and reached a hand across the table. “John Constantine.”

The kid looked suspiciously at the offered hand, then reached out and took it. “Nightingale.”

John nodded and shook his hand before letting go. Smart of him to give him a codename, he wasn’t apparently completely without sense. “Because of the singing.”

For a moment the kid looked confused to the point where John actually thought maybe he’d given him his real name.

“Singing? Ah-“ He blushed looking down and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “No, that just seemed like a good idea at the time.”

John shook his head, fuck it if he didn’t like the kid. He picked up his milkshake and raised it. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

“If it works…”

The kid, Nightingale, grinned ferally and raised his own shake to clink it against John’s.  “If it works.”

After filling up the near bottomless stomach of the teenager, they parted ways in an alley. John’s mind was already on his next case - people going missing in a forest in Germany that had a distinct this-is-not-just-a-GPS-dead-zone flavor to it - so he only absently noted the strange look on the kid’s face when he opened the portal. It was morning in Germany, he could start looking into things before calling the House for a proper sleep.

“Take care, kid.”

With those words he stepped into the portal and let it close behind him.

Danny was left looking at the portal. He shook his head, jaw tight. With real magic apparently portals were just easy. It didn’t do him any good to think about. He glanced around and when he found the alley just as empty as before he jumped into the air transforming as he went.

There were better things to think about, like the concept of an occult detective, he thought as he flew in the direction of Amity. It sounded like it could almost be an acceptable profession in his parents’ eyes.

And it probably didn’t require good high school grades either, he thought with a grimace as he remembered he had an essay due tomorrow.

Hope you enjoyed this story which explored how Danny and Constantine first met in this AU. Next step is letting it sit for a while, then do a thorough editing and putting it up on ao3 as a oneshot. (And then maybe talk to Clock about starting writing on the main story proper? We'll see). Comments are greatly appreciated :D

Another link to the masterpost if you wanna see the other bits of writing and/or subscribe to the series

#a pinch of salt #salt in the bones #danny and constantine #dysfunctional found family FTW #dp x dc

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sunderingstars · 2 months

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zayne x reader + expressing his emotions/feelings via his and reader's heartbeat? Since he's not *just* her doctor...🪐

♡ heartbeat (zayne x reader) ♡

what the stars reveal: no gender signifiers for reader, (but can be assumed fem based off the game’s mc), slight allusions to lore, poetic prose taken directly from my brain at 3am

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ thank you for the suggestion, anon !! i feel like this ask was made just for me because i use zayne’s heartbeats as a way to de-stress every day LOL. i got a little bit carried away so i hope more than a few paragraphs is fine :3

It had started as a joke. Some silly, off-the-cuff banter you didn’t even remember starting, much less continuing until the two of you sat face-to-face on the couch in his office. It didn’t really matter, in your mind, how it happened. All that mattered was the thrumming; the steady rhythm of a heart, his heart, resting warm and stable under layers of skin and fabric.

It didn’t occur to you to be embarrassed. Not when you could feel it against your fingertips, burning through the outer layers of Zayne’s frost-tipped skin, coming to rest against you like a flower, like some sort of fragile thing with petals of ice. If you could, you wished to hold it in your hands, softly, tenderly, in the vain hope it would never crack. A prayer, perhaps, to a god you couldn’t remember.

“What is your verdict, doctor?” the teasing lilt of the last word brought you back to yourself, to the man in front of you. Zayne looked at you, eyes sparkling in amusement.

You coughed lightly. “It’s… uh… normal.” You didn’t remove your hand. “But kind of weird.”

Zayne’s heart stuttered along with his chuckle. “Weird?”

“Yes, weird,” you repeated, letting the lull of his heart diffuse from your fingertips to your chest. “I feel like I’m going to fall asleep.”

A beat of silence. “Go ahead, then.”

You blinked. Part of you thought you must’ve heard wrong — perhaps his heartbeat was laced with some sort of hallucinogen — but when you looked back to him, to the soft upturn at the corners of his mouth, you realized he was serious.

“What?” you asked. “Just like that?”

Zayne raised his eyebrows. “Why not? Leading research suggests that eight to ten hours of sleep is best for optimal performance. And someone I know is falling behind in that regard.”

You considered it, humming. Then you leaned forward until the side of your head replaced your hand on his chest. From here, you could hear the tempo picking up pace directly in your ear.

“It’s even weirder now,” you said.

“Is it?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe it likes you.”

You smiled against his chest. “Maybe I like it, too. Maybe, even, I want to give it a big kiss on t—”

“Go to sleep.” His tone was faux-stern, the way he sounded when he wasn’t fully committed to deflecting something. You could have kept prying, you knew, just to see how far the heart metaphor would go, but you decided to give his actual heart a break.

“Fine,” you said. “But I hope it knows it belongs to a great doctor.”

Another stutter against your ear. “I’ll be sure to pass on the message.”

Content, you settle against him, not caring that you’re still half-sitting. It’s easy, then, to listen. To wash away. To hear the sounds of rising, falling, cresting like snowcapped mountains and falling stars, and feel as though you’re a falling star yourself, hopeless.

“I wonder if it loves me,” you murmur, half-conscious, half-hopeful, half-blurred.

The last thing you hear is the low timbre of Zayne’s voice, softer than you’ve ever heard it, sending you off into the dark.

“It does.”

💙 bonus hc 💙: zayne has different ways to check heartbeats depending on how close he is to someone. for his normal days on the job, he uses a stethoscope, but when it comes to those he gets close to, he’ll take it by wrist pulse or neck. when the two of you start dating, he becomes a fan of pretending he can only take your pulse if he’s resting his head against your chest, which usually leads to him falling asleep on you.

#⌞ ✎ sunder.writes ⌝#love & deepspace x reader #l&ds x reader #love & deepspace x you #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne fluff #love & deepspace #love and deepspace #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #zayne love and deepspace #love & deepspace zayne #zayne love & deepspace

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apocalypseyoshia · 6 months

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I love your work! And I wanted to ask if you could write about the reader asking Olrox to braid their hair because they want to match with him? That would be so cute.

Yessss fluff!!!!!

Olrox x male reader braiding hair

Female or she/ her identifying people please don’t interact reason why here

Olrox’s head was on your shoulder and he was talking about some book he had just read with you chiming in every once in a while,

as he was switching between talking about the book and ranting about his day, your hands find they’re way to his hair, playing with it, watching it fall between your fingers, slowly running your fingers through it, it was oddly calming.

“Love are you listening?”

“Mumm?”

You had been so spaced out, so much so that you started commenting less and less that you didn’t notice that you had completely stopped, He pull his head away from your shoulder for a minute

“You stoped talking are you alright?”

“Yeah it’s just your hair”

“Is it getting in your face? I didn’t have time to braid it”

“No! no it’s not that, it’s just really soft and it feels nice to run my hands through it” you blushed and looked away

Olrox smiled “would you like to braid it?”

“Can i?” you looked at him hopeful and excited

“Of course you can, but just don’t space out whilst you doing it. It felt weird not having your silly comment’s, as absurd as they are.”

Olrox had gotten off your lap and sat down on the floor so you can start braiding his hair

You tried your best not to pull to tightly and to make it look nice, Olrox saw how enjoyment you had gotten out of this one silly little braid and I decided to indulge you.

“you know you could add a ribbon with it”

Your head shot up like a puppy “really?”

“Yes, I remember my parents used to put pieces of each other’s hairs in The others Braids, and some people would even put ribbon in them and accessories. It’s kind of like a tradition different colored ribbons mean different things”

“And what if you put your partner’s hair in your braid?”

“well it’s sort of a marriage thing or to show that you’ve lost someone that can mean different things from person to person”

“can we do that?”

He smiled “of course, would you like me to do your braid?”

You had enthusiastically smiles and nodded your head yes without a second thought

Now you where both sitting on the ground as you where holding the Aztec’s braid so it wouldn’t fully unravel

“We need one that match complexion and has some meaning behind it”

“Why just one? We can probably do a mix, you pick one that reminds you of me and I pick one that reminds me of you”

Olrox looked at you softly “I like that idea”

you had picked out a purple ribbon as it was the color of royalty and richness spirituality. It can also represent creativity and individuality (and that matched with his complexion amazingly)

he had picked two colors red and Yellow. Yellow for it’s with happiness, positivity, and energy. It can symbolize joy and optimism. And red for its love, passion, courage, and strength.

“Why two?”

“Because i wanted to show my love for you twice as much”

“Wait what?! Really?! Can I pick another one!” Olrox chuckles

“I’m kidding. I just chose red because it symbolizes love, it’s only right that we choose two colors that remind us of one another and ourselves and our love” you laugh and pushed his shoulder “you were just screwing with me” “you make it so easy and entertaining my love” you huffed “let’s just do this alright”

You finish braiding his hair and he starts on yours and you rambled on and on as he braided your hair with the same three colors “is my hair even long enough for a braid? I mean your hair is really pretty and really long, now that I think about it I don’t think my parents ever let my hair get that long”

“why not?”

“I just had to look a certain way they said long hair was only for girls”

“well you’re not living with them anymore I could teach you how to properly take care of your hair and grow it out”

“You would do that for me?”

“Yes”

You could stop smiling it felt nice to be accepted and comfortable in your looks even if they were to grow out to the more feminine side, because who the hell could stop you as long as you feel comfortable in your own skin right.

After a few minutes he had realized olrox has been taking slightly longer than usual with a braid

“Are you alright back there?”

“yes I just want to add a little something” you hummed the many possibilities running through your head

“and we are done” he gotten up and stretched out send his hand to you to pick you up on the floor you took it and he led you to the mirror where are you finally got to see your bread next his

And you gasped your work was a little sloppy but what have you done with your braid was absolutely gorgeous

He how to put little golden charms in between the braid and ribbon

You you turned to olrox and hugged him

“it’s beautiful I love it” he hugged you back but when you had managed to pull away you had taken a good look at his braid The one you made for him

It was messy and you felt bad but olrox didn’t mind he was just happy that he had this moment with you “you’ll get better at it believe me I wasn’t any good my first time but I improved”

“can we do it sometime again i want to make it better”

“You will I have full faith in you” he kiss the top of your head

And that was that

(Also here’s what I think the braid’s would look like just add ribons with your imagination)

#castlevania nocturne #castlevania #castlevania olrox #gay #olrox x reader #olrox x male reader #castlevania x male reader #castlevania nocturn x male reader #Castlevania nocturne x reader

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therealhousewifeofharrystyles · 8 months

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Harry’s Home

Part II.

Read Part 1 Here!

Pairing/AU: Roommate!Harry // Roommate!Y/N

Word Count: ~ 8.7k words

⚠️ Content Warnings: Adult Language, Lots of Flirting, Pining, Sexual Desire, References to Body Weight (“Chubby” Reader), Mentions of Body-Type Biases, Fantasies of Rough Sex, Breeding Fantasies, ~Slow Burn~

My mom adores Harry (probably more than me, sometimes) and she’s confident that we’ll fall in love and get married within the next year or so. To Harry’s chagrin, his own mother seems to also be manifesting some sort of whirlwind romance to ignite within this cottage. Not to brag, but Anne Twist has already practically declared me as her daughter-in-law. She mirrors my mother’s doting of Harry, and I don’t mind it one bit. I’ve even heard Anne and Harry talking about me a few times during her brief visits to the states. Always pleasant things, thankfully.

One time, they were chatting in the kitchen while I’d just passed them to continue laundry in the room across the hall. I could hear every word—whilst I’m sure that Harry hoped to God I couldn’t hear any of it…but these walls are just so thin.

“‘Scuse me, guys…just gotta get these goin’.” I smiled, making my way down the hallway with Harry’s clothes hamper. Before I’d passed by, I made eye contact with Harry for a brief moment. My heart sank as if I was nervous all of a sudden. I didn’t know why, but things felt weird that day. Between Harry and I, I mean. Normally, I wouldn’t even bat an eye whilst giving the man a quick greeting in passing. I lived with him, he was the first and last person I’d see and speak to every day, so I was used to his presence being a constant in my life. But that afternoon, something just seemed off.

Maybe it had something to do with his mom visiting us—uh, I mean, him. Ugh, I’ve gotta quit making a habit out of grouping Harry and I together as a package deal. We’re not a couple. No matter how much his mom hugged and doted on me like I was her own daughter, the line was already drawn when we signed our lease.

That’s not to say that Anne has ever made me feel uncomfortable. Quite the contrary. It was strange how natural and familiar it felt to be around Harry’s mom. I suppose one thing that bothered me is that she’d tend to assume things about our relationship. And so the unavoidable reality of my roommate’s mother suspecting us to be more than just friends certainly made me a little uncomfortable. Actually, insecure would be a better word for it. I was insecure that I may have been too obvious in the way I care for Harry, and that I was stupid for even having thought he could feel anything similar towards me.

I teetered between optimism and self-pity constantly. Men could be so complicated. Nay. Harry could be so complicated. But that’s beside the point. The real issue was the growing tension in the air…the flickering flame left unattended, slowly eating away at both Harry and myself for far too long. And Anne, of all people, would be the first one to bring attention to it.

Once I’d made it to the laundry room, I popped open the washing machine and dumped out all of Harry’s dirty clothes. I was truly minding my own business, drifting off in my own little world; but then I was yanked out by Anne and Harry’s restless banter that echoed down the hall and disturbed my relaxed state of autopilot.

“Oh, you’re cheeky, Harry.” Anne hummed. Even though they couldn’t see me anymore, my ears still worked fine from where I was. I don’t think Harry’s mom really intended to be quiet anyway. “What?” Harry asked after sighing. “Oh, don’t act so shy, dear. I’ve seen the way you look at her.” As the last words exited her mouth, it was like a light switched on inside of her. She gasped and swatted at Harry’s shoulder—him instantly reacting with a, “What I do?!” Anne then scoffed, “Why didn’t you tell me the two of you finally got together?!” A kaleidoscope of butterflies danced around the soft curls that cascaded down my shoulders and traveled south to tickle my belly.

Harry looked at me…like that? In front of his own mother? So he wasn’t just a horny bastard…he was actually attract—

—“What on Earth are you talking about? Me ‘n her?!” Harry gestured towards the hallway. Anne pursed her lips and nodded. “Oi, tha’s ridiculous! Y/N and me?! Tha’s just…that’ll never happen…”

Oh, um…never mind.

“…‘Sides, mum, you’re mad if y’think I’d start somethin’ up' with my housemate. Just be makin’ things weird…She’s not even my type, anyway.”

I silently sighed out a breath and roughly dumped out the rest of Harry’s dirty clothes into the washer, a faint scowl adorning my face.

“Yeah, right. You can’t possibly expect me to believe any of that rubbish. I think you’re just afraid of getting hurt again.” I could tell by the sadness in her voice that she was frowning. “Oh, my poor baby boy. Don’t you think you should put yourself back out there, Lovie?”

“No, no. It’s not because I’m afraid, mum. I’m just…I’m too busy. Vol. 6 is working on an autumn collection, and I’m in charge of the ad design. I’ve got a lot on my plate, you know?”

To be fair, Harry was actually getting pretty busy at work. He’d told me about the new campaign he’d been working on and how it needed to be approved by corporate by October. That meant he had a couple weeks to complete it. I was excited for him, as he’d become the brand’s lead marketing strategist earlier this year, which had provided him with a lot of decision-making power in his department. Surprisingly, the promotion made him slightly more humble, but in-turn, he was also a bit crankier at home. I think it was because he was overworking himself, honestly.

Anne huffed and said, “Well, not everything in life has convenient timing, dear. Y/N could get scooped up tomorrow and you’d have completely blown it f’yourself!” The front door opened and it sounded to me that they’d slowly made it out onto the front porch. Harry kept the door open, as there was a slight chill in the air and I assumed he was also feeling a bit flushed at the time, so the breeze was welcomed. Since Harry didn’t shut the door, I was still able to listen to their conversation from the laundry room. Though, their voices became less intelligible due to the distance and the outdoor ambiance.

“Oi, mum! Please keep your voice down!” I found it funny how Harry was claiming he had nothing but platonic feelings for me—that he was too busy and we weren’t compatible in that way at all—yet, he sounded so desperate to ensure I wasn’t able to overhear their discussion. If he didn’t care about me romantically, why would he be so adamant about keeping Anne’s volume down? Why would he be so defensive about it? It’s not like he’d be lowballing if he were to go for me. I may not be perfect, but I don’t have to be a skinny little model with legs for days—my body has curves to die for, and no man has to worry that he’ll break me in half. My feelings are fragile, but I can take a good, hard fucking any day of the week. Hell, I’d take it every day of the week if it were up to me. And for his information—I have…it’s just been a while…

“She’s doin’ your laundry, for bloody sake!” That was true, I was doing his laundry. But that was only because Harry’s always insisted that I do it. Ever since this one time when we were sitting on the couch together, and I was falling asleep watching tv. Attempting to get more comfortable, I’d stretched my legs out towards him and laid back against a pillow and the couch arm. Luckily for me, Harry was nice enough that night to let me get away with using him as a leg rest without any complaints. I also remember him starting to doze off. Instead of pushing me out of the way and going up to bed, he squeezed himself to lay behind me and spooned me. He nuzzled his face into my hair and into my neck, and then rested his cheek against my shoulder. I then heard the rumble of his sleepy voice as he said, “Mmh…you smell…s’sweet…kinda like vanilla…I like tha’…wanna smell ya all the time…you should wash my clothes f’me so I can smell you on me wherever I go…”

At the time, as I laid there in a soft daze with Harry’s strong, inked arms wrapped around my middle, his stubble scratching my neck, and something firm rocking back and forth ever-so-gently against my ass…my heart soared at his words, and I couldn’t bear to deny him his request.

Later, standing alone with an alert mind sans sexy, tattooed, British rake pressed tightly against my plush body—I was no longer swooning. Harry was perfectly capable of using the same combination of detergent, softener, and scent beads that I use. If he desired my aroma so badly, the ingredients would’ve been all he needed. I guess he was in charge of cooking and the dishes, so there wasn’t really an imbalance of responsibilities. But, damn. What a doormat I'd been for going through with that. He may be insanely hot, but he’s still just as stinky as the rest of them. Sure, I’ve been more than happy to fold all his clean clothes for him, but only if they’re fresh out of the dryer and smell all light and powdery like Downy.

“No, no, we split the difference! She’s got the laundry, and I’ve got the, uh…kitchen. Cooking and all tha’.” Even though he was responding defensively, he was only digging himself a deeper hole in front of his mother. She saw right through all those excuses, explanations, etc. So did I. However, Anne was approaching her disbelief a lot differently than how I would’ve if it were me who he was blabbing all that nonsense to. Granted, I didn’t raise him from infancy, nor had I even known the man for very long. But the truth was that Harry’s never been great at confrontation—well, when he’s on the opposite end of it, at least. And so he tended to struggle with his words whenever someone caught him at a time when he wasn’t prepared.

“I know you’ve got feelings f’her, Gemma knows you do…hell, I bet Y/N even knows it! C’mon, Harry. You two are so cute!” Anne sounded absolutely delighted. I didn’t blame her, but I couldn’t share her same excitement.

Instead of stepping in and saving Harry from any further humiliation from his mother, I decided I’d just stay hidden and let him dig himself out on his own. He’s a grown man, he could fight his own battles. Besides, I was too busy doing his fucking laundry.

“I—Gemma’s a right nutcase, and you know tha’, mum!” Harry whispered.

“Oh, nonsense. Gem knows you even better than I do, Harry!”

I have to give credit to Anne for so shamelessly putting him on the spot like that. Typically, I was the one who tripped over the simplest of words and phrases. It’s just in my timid nature. But it was entertaining to hear someone else—someone who’s normally so haughty and snide—experiencing that kind of social mishap. Especially since that same person tended to use my weakness against me. Karma’s a bitch, huh, Harry?

“That pest—!” He seethed before Anne immediately cut him off.

“—Oi, hey! Be nice to your sister, Harry! You know, one day, when I’m all old and sickly…”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows.

“...You’ll want me to live with her! Keep up that attitude, boy, and you’ll be the one changing my diapers!”

Aw, what a Hallmark moment.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if Harry was white-knuckling the doorknob. I could picture it vividly—deep lines between his brows, nostrils flaring, his free hand held up to his bottom lip, whilst his sweet mother grinned ear to ear and pinched at his adorable, pink cheeks. “...Ooh, but Harry, lovie, it’s so exciting to think that once you and Y/N finally get together, I’ll have a second daughter! God, I just can’t wait for the wedding!” Anne squealed. Harry must’ve glared at his mother right then because I couldn’t hear him say anything. “Do you think you’ll have it here, or will we fly you back home? In that case, it’ll probably need to be a smaller ceremony, hm? ‘Could always have the ceremony in Holmes, and then close family can fly out for a reception here. I’ve heard of couples doing things of that sort…No matter—we’ll cross that road when we get to it.” She beamed with a quick laugh.

My cheeks hurt and I didn’t know why until I noticed I’d been fighting a smile. I felt childish. It was silly to consider all of that stuff even remotely possible—I mean, Harry and I being a couple. Thinking about us getting married…no, no…that could never happen. Just as he said.

“My grandchildren are going to be so beautiful!” Suddenly my fantastical mother-in-law sang from the front porch.

G-Grandchildren..? I’d almost dumped the entire jug of detergent into the washing machine at that one. Marriage was one thing. But giving birth to…m-m-multiple children?!

I didn’t have any intention to have a baby—let alone babies, plural. I might’ve not wanted children at all…well, maybe one…or I could just forget about the classic American Dream and get a cat instead. I had no clue. But now I was thinking about it.

More than just thinking about it, though. I was fantasizing.

My mind was locked on the specific scenario of Harry impregnating me. Marking me as his own. Sowing his seed deep inside my fertile cervix. Hot waves of liquid heat then soaked into the crotch of my panties. I guess my body was quite fond of that fantasy.

As the damp cotton between my generous thighs uncomfortably clung to my sensitive skin, I thought I’d might as well just add them to the wash. So I pushed them down my legs and stepped out of them before taking a moment to examine the evidence of my obnoxious downpour of arousal. I bit my lip at the sight of the large, sodden stain. How was that arrogant asshole able to do this kind of shit to me? He wasn’t even in the room!

I scoffed, shaking my head at the humiliating outcome of my sexual deprivation and desperation, and flung the soiled panties into the machine. Good thing I was wearing a dress where the skirt was long enough to cover my newly-bare ass and cunt. Well, provided I wouldn’t be standing at the even slightest off-angle. Lord, I was so grateful to have been out of sight as my body was bent over at the waist, reaching out for the fabric softener.

Whilst I kept on loading the washer, I was also daydreaming about my newest fantasy.

Maybe I wouldn’t mind bearing Harry’s children…one wouldn’t be so bad, would it? I wouldn’t be all that against weaning off my birth control and letting the inevitable happen. You know…once he’d pump all his hot cum inside me…He could give it to me every morning before work…after work…before bed…in the middle of the night…hell, if he called me on a lunch break asking if I could take another load, I know I wouldn’t be able to resist. Standing commando in the laundry room got me wondering what Harry would do if I just started walking around the house with tiny little shorts and dresses and rompers with nothing on underneath (except for a bra, probably. I’d need the support). I was grateful for my large, gap-less thighs at that moment as I could sense that more moisture was threatening to escape down my wobbly legs.

I was trying my best not to peek out from the laundry room to witness the scene unfolding for myself, but I stood still with my back pressed against the washing machine, Anne’s words repeating themselves over and over again in my head. Whether any of that dreamy nonsense was true…that Harry had romantic feelings for me…it just wasn’t realistic. I had to remind myself that it was just a bunch of harmless teasing. That Harry’s mom was exaggerating the truth for a laugh. Making up elaborate future plans to get his goat. Yeah, that’s all it was. I could understand why she’d push Harry into throwing one of his lil’ man-tantrums—he’s awfully adorable when he’s stuttering and all red in the face, having the hardest time letting it go.

Growing curious, and not being able to hear them as clearly anymore, I moved myself out from the laundry room and closer towards them at the entryway. I still kept myself somewhat hidden behind one of the large wooden columns situated between the hallway and the front door, near the kitchen’s island counter. I was right when I assumed they’d already made it outside onto the front porch. Anne was so close to actually leaving, but I guess Anne preferred to do a Minnesota goodbye that afternoon. She proceeded to gush about Harry’s non-existent future with me, adding more details for wedding planning. Meanwhile, Harry was trying to keep her mouth shut in the most patient and polite manner he’d deemed possible. He’d already stayed silent through the comments about providing his mother with grandchildren, but it seemed as though she wasn’t going to end the discussion any time soon. It was time to take more drastic measures. He knew better than to be disrespectful towards his mother, and he never intended to blatantly disrespect her in any way. Except, by this point, Harry was reaching the limit of his patience. If it meant he could keep his personal business from reaching curious ears, he’d be willing to suffer the consequences.

“ALRIGHT! I GET IT! SHHHHH!” Harry was desperate to get her out the door as soon as he could at that moment. He’d never act that way towards his mother, otherwise. Anne, however, was not in the mood to tolerate his behavior. It didn’t matter that Harry was a full-grown, 30-year-old man. A mother will always be a mother. She gasped at the way her son tried to silence her and lightly smacked his shoulder. I saw it coming from a mile away, and I wasn’t even technically there.

“Don’t you shush your mother, Harry Edward.” She tsk-tsked. “But—!” Before he could even defend himself, Anne cut him off. “—Enough! Zip it.” The snap of her fingers made my mind create a hilarious image of Harry standing there at 6-feet tall, but presenting as a tiny toddler on the verge of a tantrum. I had to muffle my giggle with my hand.

Then, I decided to sneak a quick glance from behind the column. From where I was, I could see Harry leant up against our opened front door, his arms crossed over his abdomen, one set of long, ringed digits pulling at his lips. “Oi, and quit picking your lips! She’ll never wanna kiss you if you’re all chapped ‘n bleedin’, lovie!”

“Oh, f’fuck’s sake!” He whisper-yelled. I heard him smack his palms down at his sides like some crabby 3 year-old having just been told to behave himself. Anne cracked up at her son’s childish display of whiny defiance. “Alright, well, I’ll head out now. Gotta give you two some alone time.” Harry’s mom hummed suggestively. I rolled my lips into my mouth and fought not to laugh out loud.

Then, I had a feeling that, to Harry, I must’ve seemed to be ‘minding my own business’ for a bit too long in the laundry room, and that I should’ve actually been finished with the chore by that time. Except I’d just been eavesdropping like a nosey-Nellie for their entire conversation. Mildly flustered, I bolted back to the laundry room, opened the dryer, and began to hastily pull all the warm towels and linens out from the front of the machine. I was pretty sure my breakaway was ‘smooth’ enough that they had no idea I was snooping. Well, I knew for sure that Harry didn’t…or at least that’s what I thought.

It was a good thing towels aren’t able to make much of a ruckus when they’re dropped into a plastic basket. I made sure to fuss around—emptying the lint trap, reorganizing the coat-rack, gathering stray hangers, and clicking the ‘start’ button on the washing machine. I was doing all of that just to make up an internal alibi of sorts for having been putzing for so long. Just in case.

In the midst of my rush to complete miscellaneous tasks, some of the dust from the lint trap puffed out into the air in front of my face as I was dumping it out, and I had to hold a knuckle to my nose in an effort to keep an incoming sneeze at bay. Eventually, the tickle died down and I could carry on dicking around and acting busy.

“That’s a wonderful plan, Mum. Be seein’ you.” Harry sighed.

“I LOVE YOU, BOTH!” Anne called out with a slight amplification, intending to also inform me of her departure. “Love you, too!” I responded, almost instantaneously, also at the exact same time as Harry. My voice ricocheted against the walls and I knew I’d been much too quick to speak. My hand immediately slapped over my mouth once the words left my lips. There was no way I could’ve convinced Harry anymore that I’d been genuinely oblivious of their back-and-forth, innocently occupied by a pile of towels for the past 5-10 minutes. If he didn’t already know that I was listening in on them, Harry definitely realized it then. But everything just proceeded as usual—Harry grumbling back at his mother, returning her affections with a huff.

“Um, also, could you let Gemma know that if she keeps running her mouth, she can bloody forget about her early-access to the autumn catalog? Cheers.”

The door closed after one final guffaw from Anne, and Harry hastily turned the lock before eventually releasing a frustrated breath into his hands. I decided it was a good time to get going with my chores.

A basket of warm washcloths, towels, and sheets was held between my plump hip and my soft hands. As I exited the laundry room, the heat radiating off the freshly-tossed cloth caused a flush of pink to wash over my skin. It was a nice contrast to the cool breeze that had entered through our front door. I made eye-contact with Harry who then let his hands drop from his face once he met my eyes looking through his fingers. Warmth radiated off of him like a space heater, his cheeks were flushed red, and it seemed as though he was burning up—unaffected by the bite of the autumn air.

Maybe he’d also been imagining the two of us making babies. Or maybe he was just mortified by the way his mother assumed our relationship to be more intimate than it truly was. It was possible that the idea of marrying me made him nauseous—and not just in an innocent, nervous way, either. Rather, he was disgusted by imagining such intimate things involving me.

Regardless, I found him adorable whenever he blushed like that. To me, his rare displays of bashfulness brought him back down to earth, and they reminded me of the fact that we were similarly human. Similarly sensitive. Similarly deep in our thoughts. I don’t know why he made a point out of telling Anne that I wasn’t “his type.” Obviously, he hadn’t had much lasting success with whoever fits into his “type,” so maybe he could use someone new for a change...

As I approached him, I gave him a kind smile and greeted him with a simple question.

“So, what’s for dinner?” I beamed at him sweetly.

Right as I was a meter or two away from him, I suddenly needed to sneeze again. That incessant tickle that tortures the nostrils and sinuses before raging out of the body—it came back to sabotage me in that moment. My previous attempt at holding it in was deemed absolutely useless, as this time it felt like the sneeze doubled in magnitude purely out of spite. My body was fighting against me. The universe was laughing, finding my indignity entertaining. I guess that’s what I get for eavesdropping, huh?

I sniffled a few times—my last efforts to prevent the inevitable. But I had failed. I sucked in a deep breath before “achoo”-ing into my elbow. It was a loud, high-pitched sneeze. If I hadn’t known it came from me, I would’ve assumed the television was turned on in the living room, playing a children’s cartoon. At least I didn’t shoot snot onto my pretty, ruffled sleeves. Or worse, failing to cover my nose and mouth and sneezing right onto Harry. Gotta look for the silver linings, you know?

Unfortunately, my sneeze miraculously sent the blushing boy, who felt so close to my level, back up to his normal self—reuniting him with his high-horse, his pedestal, his soapbox, his big head, and everything else that keeps him standing at a mile taller than me.

“Oh, my goodness…God bless you…” Harry bellowed, his hand pressed to his heart in mock-aghast. Though he was taunting me, I oddly didn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed. He paused and his lips formed the cruelest smirk before he continued, “…my sweet Bunny.” My thighs subconsciously squeezed together at him using his favorite pet-name he has for me. What I’d never let him know was how it was my favorite, too.

“Humph, thanks.” I sniffled, trying my best to pretend unfazed by the special nickname. His eyes finally drifted down my figure, and it seemed he was parched due to the way he was drinking me in through his pupils. Everything around me, especially Harry, seemed massive compared to my shrinking frame. Perspectives were changing drastically, and I was no longer safe from Harry’s sharp scrutiny. I was aware I’d been the one to place myself under his spotlight—that I had the ability to stay in my lane and keep my nose clean—but I was too weak. I craved his attention. I was starving for it—for every inch of me to be thoroughly inspected and explored by that smug son of a bitch whilst he just stood there and acted like he owned me.

I wanted him, and I wanted him bad.

My bottom-energy may seem readily accessible to Harry, but that’s only because he’s made it so easy for me to tempt him into his dominance. I just knew he was internally obsessing over how he’d further push me into submission. That’s one of the many reasons why being a sub is so liberating. I’m the motivation. I’m the star of the show. I’m the cum-dump. And God, I’d been wanting for so long to be all of those things and more for Harry. Only Harry.

As I continued walking in his direction, a washcloth accidentally fell onto the floor by his feet. “Ope, sorry…” I squeaked. I stepped up to him so that we were directly in front of one another. I dramatically dropped to a bend at my knees—spreading them widely apart in a bouncy crouch in order to retrieve the rogue towel, giving Harry a nice view of my cleavage as I stretched my arm downwards over my hiked-up skirt, intentionally pressing my breasts together with my straightened elbow. If only he was at a lower angle, then he could’ve seen a different set of drooling lips desperate for his cock…

Christ, alive—I am so glad I wasn’t ballsy enough to accidentally say that out loud.

His eyes followed my movements, but he stood in that same spot unwaveringly, not stepping away even a little bit. My confidence strengthened due to his intense fixation upon me. The basket I was holding at my waist was slightly tipping at the new angle whilst I was reaching for the washcloth. My gaze flickered down to the basket, then back up at Harry. Ambitiously provocative ideas and scenarios flooded my brain. I thought about what would happen if I were to dump the basket onto the floor on purpose just to provoke him. Perhaps he’d tease me for my clumsiness and help me. Or maybe he’d get pissy instead and leave me to my mess. My body reacted out of curiosity and desire before my brain had the chance to refute the idea. Well, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, right?

The towels had poured out onto the floor at Harry’s feet in a massive heap. Letting out a soft gasp, feigning shock, I set the basket aside and knelt all the way down to sit on my knees. I blinked my doll-like lashes back up at Harry, whose stare never left me, and I couldn’t distinguish what he was thinking, let alone feeling. His expression was set in a firm deadpan. He could’ve been on the verge of an outburst, but he also could’ve been plainly unimpressed by my foolish antics. The man was annoyingly skilled at masking when he wanted to be.

I swallowed thickly at the silence. On the inside, I was kicking and screaming with regret. Why did I think he was going to play with me?! Why, after hearing him explicitly tell his mother that he wasn’t interested in me, did I believe it would be a good idea to get on my knees in front of the man?! He obviously didn’t desire me! I was humiliated. Rather than scrambling back onto my feet like a fool, I thought it would be best if I were to just stay in character. Hoe hard or hoe home.

“Oh, no…I’m sorry, Harry.” I managed to peep out without my composure cracking. My voice was small and cute, but it still held enough power to it that I saw Harry’s jaw clench. It worked. I finally saw him narrow his eyes down at me with a tight jaw and flared nostrils. Sure, Sarah warned me that he had a hot temper, but she never told me how sexy he gets when his buttons are pressed. I’d witnessed it myself a few times before this, but my body perceived it differently as I was down on my knees.

My breathing became harsh, my cleavage rising and falling more noticeably as I anxiously awaited more of a reaction from the man before me. I realistically expected a snarky quip and an eyeroll. Inversely, his face gave the impression that he was frustrated and struggling to keep it together. I was confused as to why he hadn’t raised his voice at me yet. I expected him to be in more of a sensitive mood after his mother embarrassed him just a few minutes prior. I guess all that talk of marriage and babies didn’t have much of a negative effect on him after all. Harry stayed stoic, and his silent glare was locked onto me for a good minute. 60 seconds is dreadfully long when there’s nothing but steamy sexual-tension filling the room. My filthy mind had me imagine he was fighting his urge to throw me down prone onto the cold hardwood, lift my dress up over my ass, and spank me until I was begging him to fuck me. That was certainly my ideal outcome.

Logically speaking though, I could tell from the speckles of amber in his sage eyes that his emotions were in the red zone—he was angry. It wasn’t because of the mess. No.

Harry may be a himbo, but he’s not stupid. He knew what I was thinking, he knew why I was acting the way I was, and he definitely wasn’t going to let me get away with any of it.

He was hatching his own plan, and I was convinced a part of it was stretching this out for as long as he could physically restrain his primal instincts. It excited him to play this little game with me. How did I know? Because the bulge in his pants was almost at my exact eye-level, and I had no shame in looking right at it.

Why wouldn’t I? That was my doing. I deserved to observe my hard work from my delicate little point-of-view.

Feeling a bit more daring after successfully bothering Harry with my suggestive positioning on the floor beneath him, I pouted my bottom lip and grabbed onto the bottom hem of my skirt, dragging it up and down my juicy thighs tauntingly yet sheepishly. The goal was to tease him and guilt him at the same time as if to tip-toe around being blatantly naughty. The breathy moan I’d added on top of it all definitely did him in because I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped at the sound.

My gaze fell back down to the tightness in the front of his pants for just a second or so, and I couldn’t help the giggles that escaped me. Once the reality of the situation finally set in, I was unable to hide my true intentions.

There I was—on my knees, looking up at him, my tits pushed out, eyes rounded and glossed over, my angelic face adorned with a devil-woman’s lip-biting grin, and the rate at which I was collecting each piece of laundry was just too agonizingly slow to be a legitimate attempt at the task.

You know what…he could’ve pulled his cock out and fucked my throat right then and there. He could’ve pushed me down onto my back and flipped my skirt up before shoving himself deep inside my needy little cunt. He could’ve demanded me to sit pretty while he jerked off onto my sweet little face. He could have held me down and made me scream so loud that Anne would’ve heard me from her car, which was probably already 10 blocks away and counting at that point.

He had the ability to do whatever he wanted to me; I was physically and mentally incapable of resisting him. And yet, there I sat, my natural essence dripping down the backs of my thighs as Harry had me wrapped around his finger—and he didn’t do a single fucking thing to me.

And so I huffed, and I repeated what I’d asked him previously before I sneezed, and before he said the one word that tipped me into my subspace.

“Humph…What are we having for dinner?” I asked softly, my voice sultry, yet impatient, and I had my arms crossed over my chest to emphasize my defiance towards him.

Harry took a deep breath and reached out to me. He caressed the side of my face and jaw with his gentle hand. I leaned into his touch as I awaited his answer. I was literally in the palm of his hand—I mean, if he was holding bread crumbs, I’d be licking it all up without a second thought. I would take anything and everything from him. What had this asshole done to me?

I felt his thumb slide up from my chin to fondle my bottom lip. It grazed from side to side for a while before he pulled downwards, tugging my lip down and releasing it. The gesture caused me to keep my lips separated for him. Harry took advantage of the small opening by pushing the same digit through to make contact with my slick tongue, and I instinctually gaped my mouth wider to grant him more access to my drooling entrance. He tapped the pad of his thumb onto my tongue a few times and I moaned at the taste of him—at simply the salt of his skin. My lips wrapped around his thumb and I gently suckled. I can’t even imagine how much of a desperate slut I made myself look like as I slowly nursed on his thumb and hummed against its warm tip with my eyes lazily rolling back.

He just observed me in my catatonic bimbo state. He stood there and allowed me to put on that pathetic display on the floor at his feet for a few moments longer. I was sure he’d got just as much pleasure out of it as I did, as the sensual act taking place before him had forced a moan out of his throat.

He slowly pulled out of my drooling mouth and rubbed the wetness across my pink lips.

“D-Did you hear me?” I whispered breathlessly against Harry’s slippery thumb, my lashes fluttering up at him. “Yes, love. Of course I heard you...” He sighed. Then, he bent down to a crouch, lowering himself down to my height so he could speak directly to me. “...But…I don’t think it really matters what we have, hm…?” My brows furrowed in confusion which made him smile. Then he continued, “...You’ll take whatever I choose to give you, won’t you, Bun’...?”

His fingers raked through my hair lovingly as he said it. His voice was so soft yet the words so deafening at the same time. They pounded against my eardrums and almost knocked me on my ass when they left his lips.

I just nodded in reply, my eyes and my mouth glistening as rays of the afternoon glow beamed in from the front window and illuminated my irises. Harry’s mouth twitched as if he was fighting a smile. He never once took his eyes off of me. I had all of his attention, and it was addicting.

“...Mmh, sweet girl…never you doubt these ears of mine, either…I can assure you, I hear everything…”

I couldn’t stop the helpless whimper that came out of me. It was like he was speaking to me through code—telling me much more than what his words were able to reveal.

The sun was setting beyond the glass at our home’s entrance. The air around us was almost bitterly chilly. I typically preferred the cold, but it seemed to be much more noticeable at the time. Goosebumps covered my arms, my neck, and my bare knees. I was feeling exposed and naked regardless of my dainty dress providing modesty.

But I could still feel Harry’s hot breath warming the cooled tip of my nose. His closeness cloaked my bare shoulders with security. Even though the wooden floor was bruising me, I felt entirely protected by Harry’s touch. By his presence. By his expressive adoration of me. My heart pulsed so hard against my chest, yet Harry seemed so relaxed. So calm. So strong. I needed him. I could not continue this ridiculous charade of ignoring my natural instincts just so that I can protect my feelings from potential social betrayal. His eyes bore into mine so deeply, so intensely. It was like they held me there, silently commanding me to keep being good for him. I’ve always been such a good girl for him. His best girl.

Whatever he wanted, I knew at that very second that I’d obey each demand with a goddamn smile on my face. It didn’t matter what he desired to give me. Whatever it was, I would take it, no questions asked. I lived off of his affections, addicted to the attention he provided. Was he as intoxicated by this as I was? Was he holding back? Did he need me, too?

Before I could even stutter out a response, Harry rose back up to his feet—releasing me from his trance and his touch by curling a lock of my hair through his fingers and setting it bouncing free.

“...I’ll let you know when I’m ready for you, a’right?” He assured me kindly.

I confirmed my understanding with a subtle nod. My lips rubbed together and I swallowed the abundance of moisture that had threatened to drip down the sides of my mouth.

“Th-thank you.” I just about squeaked out.

With that, he smiled sweetly and backed away into the kitchen.

The next thing I knew, I was still sitting alone near the entryway, my fingers fiddling with the tag of one of the bedsheets from the pile. I was worried I’d made a puddle below me with my arousal, but my legs had been clenched too tightly for any of it to escape past my thighs. My knees were suddenly aching from the stiff support of the hardwood, and the clean linens—of which had been forgotten about since before I’d even taken them out of the dryer—were all cool and wrinkled. I shoved them all back into the basket as quickly as I could and hid in the laundry room until he called out to me that the food was ready.

Harry was right. I took whatever it was he made for us that night without a second thought. If he hadn’t already served me a plate, I probably would’ve eaten out of his bare hands. My brain had completely shut down for the rest of the evening. I remember I had to take care of the ache between my legs right after our meal, it was so unbearable.

That reminds me—didn’t he mention something about his ears?

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I typically get home from work before Harry does, and so my current state of rest and relaxation—coincidentally adjacent to the book I’m holding: My Year of Rest and Relaxation—is an occurrence Harry’s used to coming home to by now. I mean, not that he’s coming home to me. He’s just…coming home, and I also happen to be living here. Speaking of which, I’m situated in my bedroom. I've already slipped into my night clothes—thin, loose pajama pants and an oversized crop tee—laying my back against the cushioned headboard of my bed.

Suddenly, my ears perk up. The hum and vibration of the garage door opening and closing pulls my attention away from the novel I’d been engrossed in for the past hour towards my empty door frame. Less than a minute later, a door slams, physically startling me, and my posture straightens as if I’m expecting a scolding from an authority figure. I have no reason to react this way, really. It’s not like this is anything out of the ordinary.

Harry’s home.

That’s all. But judging by the door slams, I should prepare myself for the likelihood that Harry’s had a bad day (again). He’s been so overworked lately, but he doesn’t like to talk out his stressors in much detail or duration because it just riles him up more. More accurately, in his own words:

“I appreciate that you care, Bun’. I do…but it’s just too complicated…’s too much to get into right now. Think I’m just gon’ meditate, or whateva’.”

His therapist definitely had more to advise him beyond meditation, but I think that Harry just cherry-picked whatever was closest to what he’s accustomed to…and so he thinks that his isolation method is perfectly justified (as long as he calls it meditation). He’d never admit to that, though; and I’d never call him out on it either. I know better than to poke an angry bear.

Harry believes he can continue living and avoiding the inevitable, but I have a good feeling that he’ll take me up on my offer sometime soon. I just want to help him relax. Help him release some of that built-up tension. However, he prefers to hide himself away whilst simmering in a fuming silence until his primal instincts are numbed away.

I wished that I could be some sort of Black Widow to his Hulk—although the incredible sulk would be more like it…but he can’t stand being around anyone when he’s angry, not even me—nay—especially not me.

I can’t help but to feel somewhat unworthy. As if Harry isn’t comfortable enough with me to unpack all of his emotional baggage. Or maybe it’s not that I feel unworthy, per say, but rather that I’m sick and tired of waiting for him to make a fucking move on me already. I’ve been patient for so long. The least he can do is use me as his stress relief…in whatever way he needs to. Honestly, I’m not picky anymore. I’m dying for anything he can give me at this point.

We've had our arguments as I’ve mentioned. He'll seclude himself in his bedroom for an hour and eventually knock on my door once he’s cooled down to apologize. The vulnerability and innocence he shows me is quite sweet. I appreciate that side of him. And I understand that the man needs his space. It makes sense to me because whenever I’m upset, I’d prefer to be alone as well. So each time Harry taps his rings all melodically against my door after one of his little fits, I always acknowledge him warmly by opening the door and pulling him in for a hug. Emotional compatibility is one of our greatest strengths as…friends. I think he appreciates me in that way, too.

It’s become a thing with us now—ever since the day that I cried. I’ve never shared a closeness like this with another person until I moved in with Harry. We have this mutual understanding that home is a feeling, not a place. And honestly, I’ve internally accepted the fact that it wouldn’t have mattered where we would’ve lived—as long as I was with Harry, I’d be at home.

To me, Harry’s home.

One time, we brought this topic up…Harry likes to refer to it as the ‘kindness law’ or something like that. Harry began with, “Well, I jus’ wanna treat you the way I wanna be treated—w’kindness.” He sighed, plopping onto his back on his bed and resting his hands behind his head, looking at me. I stood at the foot of his bed with my hands on my hips. He not-so-subtly raked his eyes over my figure and smirked to himself.

“So, you’re gonna be nice to me now that I’m doing your laundry, Styles?”

He chuckled and scooted up the bed until he could rest his back against his headboard. “Mmm, tha’s right. I do have you doin’ my wash. Y’so good to me, Bunny...” I rolled my eyes and turned to walk out, but Harry quickly grabbed my hand in protest. “…Oy, where y’goin’?” I looked back at him over my shoulder and giggled. “What, Harry.” I asked with a bored voice, but a cheeky smile on my face to counteract it. “Wasn’t finisshhhhed-uh!”

I was typically the whiner, so I was immediately cringing at the sound of Harry’s attempt at my art. He playfully tugged on my arm until I clumsily toppled over face-down onto his bed, and he chose my giggle fit as the perfect time to continue his speech about…whatever it was he was talking about.

“Alright, now that the class is all here…let me continue…” He boasted confidently. I slowly calmed down and propped myself up onto my elbows next to his lap, my loose curls messed and my oversized, off-shoulder sweater disheveled enough that he now had an excellent view of what was beneath my sweater: my ample breasts and the plunging push-up bra holding them up.

I smiled and nodded my head, signaling for him to carry on. He cleared his throat and ran a hand awkwardly through his hair.

“So…” He hesitated, noticeably struggling to remember what he was saying previously. “Kindness?” I reminded him. “Yes, yes…kindness. Uh…well, uh…Home is where, um, where love’s made, or whateva’, yeah?”

I practically squealed and I added, “Ooh, yeah! Home is where we make all the love, huh, Harry?” Harry just blushed and shook his head. He was trying desperately not to stare at my chest as my lower half sunk down onto the floor and I held my hands and breasts against the edge of his bed whilst I wheezed with laughter. He spent the following 10 minutes with a pillow over his lap and he eventually asked me to leave because he was tired…

The only reason this had been remotely funny beyond our shared childish humor was because neither of us had anything going on in that department for ages. Actually, come to think of it, I don’t think we’ve ever discussed each other’s sex lives. But what I know for certain is that both of us have been extremely horny. It’s been dreadful. According to Mitch, Harry hasn’t had sex in at least a solid year and he can’t even remember who he last slept with.

Apparently, there’s just this vivid memory Harry has of not being able to stay hard, the other person complaining, and then everything suddenly stopped. Harry quickly grabbed all his clothes and just rushed straight out the door to drive back home to me. The only reason I can attest to this rumor of Mitch’s is that I remember when he came home that night. He reeked of cheap, floral body spray, his eyes were puffy as if he’d been sobbing the whole car ride home, and he burst through the door calling out for me. He apologized if he had woken me up, as it was a bit past midnight. However, I was still up watching reruns of The Nanny and nursing on a pint of ice cream when he came home, so I just laughed at him. He told me to pause the show and hurried to his bedroom to change his clothes. I silently thanked God he did because the second-hand perfume stench was stale and it made me a little nauseous. His natural scent is much more pleasant than whatever that girl was wearing. Not to mention a part of me died inside at the thought of Harry being close enough to another girl for that long to come home smelling so strongly of her.

Once he’d switched into new clothes—a fitted t-shirt and flannel pajama pants—he’d climbed up onto my bed and eventually squirmed his way into laying his head atop my thighs. My hand brushed through his soft curls that had loosened into waves by that time. I think he fell asleep in my lap after one episode. It felt so natural in the moment that I, myself, started to doze off. And so I turned the tv off and pulled the man’s lean body down onto the pillows so I could be the big spoon and I held him. We fell asleep like that.

The next morning, I woke up and he’d already left my bed. It hurt me to see he was gone. But I had no reason to take it personally. He’d just had a rough night and he needed some love. I was happy to have been the one to give it to him—even if it was just some innocent, virtually-platonic cuddling, and nothing more. A part of me still ached a little bit whenever I thought back to how Harry chose to release himself from my arms and abandon the cozy nest we’d unintentionally made together. Maybe that was just the lonely part of me feeling that way. I’m not gonna lie, it’s been a while since I’d been sexually intimate with someone as well. I’ve never brought anyone back to the house (neither has he), but Harry always notices when I get dressed up to go out and then come home late…and he knows I was with someone else because—similar to the way his scent had been overcome by a putrid cloak of trashy body spritz—my signature scent would also be significantly altered. It causes a stir in Harry. He knows how childish it is to huff and puff to himself in his bedroom as he waits for my arrival. He knows he shouldn’t be upset when the two of us aren’t romantically involved. And he knows I‘ll always come trudging my way back home…back to my own bedroom where I end up finishing the job for myself. Regardless of his understanding of the situation, Harry refuses to act upon it. Refuses to take initiative. And I have no fucking idea why.

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Part 3

Writer's Notes: Hi, everyone! Ok so there will be at least 2 more parts to this baby. Again, I'm sorry I suck at updating regularly. I have a job and stuff lol. Also I'm a compulsive perfectionist when it comes to my writing, and I'll re-read my work and edit it until it's a million pages long...but I hope y'all like what I post and that you wanna read more! Please like, reblog, follow, send me messages/requests/submissions/anons, and let me know if you wanna be on my taglist! And I appreciate any and all feedback you can give me. Truly. Thank you for reading. :) xoxo - Regan <3

@victoria-styles @daphnesutton @pishhhh20989

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jennay · 9 months

Text

Understood

Rory Culkin x Reader

An: Alright this was the one that won the poll. Let me know what you think or if you’d like anything written specifically. 💜

Word count: 1500

Master List

Rory clenched his jaw as he watched you chat with the bartender. He wasn't a jealous man by nature, but he couldn't stand the way the bartender casually touched your hand as if he had a claim on you.

He felt nauseous watching the scene unfold. Rory wondered what was going through your mind. Why didn't you pull away from his advances? Did you enjoy them? Did you not care about Rory's feelings? He tried to push these thoughts away, but they kept nagging him.

"Hey, don't make a scene," Your friend Bev whispered in his ear, nudging his arm. She could see the anger and hurt in his eyes, and she knew he was close to losing it.

Rory forced a smirk on his face, trying to act nonchalant. "I wasn't planning on it. She's a grown woman. She can do what she wants." He picked up his drink and gulped down the rest, feeling the alcohol burn his throat. "I'm gonna go find Kieran and Jazz." He got up from his seat and walked away, leaving Bev behind.

Bev shook her head sympathetically. You and Rory had a complicated relationship. Some days he was convinced you were his; others, he felt like you were toying with him.

You never had an official title, and though he didn't need that to be happy, he needed to know where you stood. What were you two, lovers, friends, or something in between?

When you came back to the table, you set down the shot glasses with a clink. A goofy smile was still on your face from your flirtatious interaction. "That guy is in the band that plays on Saturdays. My god, band guys are fucking sexy." You laughed.

Bev pushed her auburn hair behind her ears, giving you a look that screamed, you're an idiot. "For me?" She asked, picking up one of the shot glasses.

You nodded, grabbing yours as well. "I got five, but there's only two of us now? I guess we have extra." Your eyes scanned the busy bar, looking for Rory and the other two. You tried to act cool like you didn't care where they were or what they were doing. It's not like Rory was your boyfriend. You couldn't control what he did.

"He went to find Kieran," Bev says, reading your mind. "I think they're playing pool."

You nod your head. "He's been kinda weird."

Her thin brow raises, and an amused look plays on her face. "Well, as we all know, sleeping with your friends can complicate things."

You nearly choke on your drink, "You know about that?"

She nods, exhaling loudly, "I mean, I do now. I assumed since your interactions have changed, and you're the kinda idiot to do something like that and expect no consequences."

You rest your elbows on the table, leaning forward, you say, "I'm aware I have shitty judgment." You rest your face on your hands, "It was safe. At least I thought it was safe, but now we're going through this whole thing."

Bev laughs, "What did you think was going to happen? He's had feelings for you forever, and then you slept with him!"

"He has not!" You object.

She rolls her eyes, "Rory’s always been there for you. He listens to your problems, makes you laugh, and if you ever need him, he literally drops everything for you."

You shake your head, "But has he ever said that?"

She sighs, "He doesn't need to! You're in denial. You can't keep pretending nothing happened. You have to talk to him and sort this out."

You bite your lip, feeling torn and confused. "I don't know how to do that. I don't know what I want." You admit, looking down at your hands.

She reaches across the table and squeezes your hand gently, giving you a reassuring smile. "You want him. Trust me, you do. You just have to be honest with yourself and with him. Tell him how you feel, and see what happens." She says, her voice full of optimism and encouragement.

You look into her eyes and see their sincerity and hope, but worry still lingers at your core. You're afraid of taking risks, changing things, or losing him. "What if it's not like that, though? What if it turns out we suck in a relationship? I like how things are right now. Sex with no strings attached." You say, trying to justify your hesitation.

Bev shakes her head, not buying your excuse. "That's not true. You don't like how things are right now. Sex with no strings attached is not enough for you, I've known you for ten years, and you've always felt like shit over one-night stands." She says, looking at you with a knowing expression. “Plus, there are so many strings attached, so you can’t even say that!”

You sigh, feeling the truth of her words. You can't deny that you have feelings for Rory and care about him more than just a friend or a hookup. But you're scared of what that means.

She sees your hesitation and nudges you gently. "He's not going to reject you or hurt you. Talk to him, tell him how you feel, and see what happens.“ She repeats, hoping to convince you.

You get up from your seat and grab your coat, ready to face Rory and tell him the truth.

"Fine, I’ll do it, but not because you told me to.” You joke. “Thanks for the nudge, though.”

"Anytime." She says, smiling at you.

You walk towards the pool table, where Rory plays with Kieran and Jazz. You catch his eye and smile nervously. He smiles back and puts down his cue after taking his turn.

You walk up to him, attempting to be courageous. "Can we talk?" you ask him softly. "It'll just take a minute." You assure Kieran.

Rory nods and follows you outside.

You take a deep breath and look into his eyes.

"I have something to tell you…"

His curious eyes scan your face as you look around the area nervously. You know what you need to say but don't know how to say it.

"Are you ok?" He grabs your hand, giving it a tight squeeze reassuring you that you are safe to speak in front of him. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

“I know.” You whisper, sitting down at one of the metal chairs. “I’m sorry.”

He follows suit and pulls a chair up in front of you. “For?”

You softly sigh, “For not knowing what I want and dicking around with your emotions.”

Rory chuckles, not expecting you to use the words you did.

"It's not funny." You say, trying not to smile. "I'm so emotionally stunted. Why am I like this? I keep telling myself I'm ok with whatever is happening between you and me, but I'm not."

He looks into your eyes, searching for a sign of hope. “It’s not too late. You can still tell me what you want. You can still admit to yourself you want more out of this. You can still make a choice. A choice to be with me, to give us a chance, to see what happens.” He says, his voice is soft and sincere. He leans forward, grabbing both of your hands, "I need to hear you say what you want."

You nervously bite your lip, and after a few seconds, you say, "I want you."

You stand up, getting ready to walk away, psyching yourself out, waiting for rejection. Was it possible that Bev had just seen what she wanted to see, and now you were confessing feelings for someone who wasn’t going to respond how you wanted?

Rory stands and quickly stops you from going anywhere by grabbing your arm and pulling you back to him. He looks you in the eyes, a smile plastered on his face. “You can’t just walk away after saying that.” He lightly laughs, “I want you too.” He leans forward, and you wrap your arms around his neck, reaching up to kiss him, feeling the same love and desire as before.

"I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Rory hugs you tightly and rests his forehead on yours, looking into your eyes joyfully. “You don’t have to be sorry. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” He kisses your nose and hugs you tighter, not wanting to let go.

You grin wildly, feeling a new sense of connection and commitment, intimacy and trust.

Rory breaks the silence, “Wanna go to a different bar? I still have an urge to break the bartender's fingers.” He jokes.

“Maybe we should ditch the other three and go back to my apartment.” You flirtatiously say.

“I’d like that.” He says, pressing his lips to yours once more.

You knew you made the right choice, the best choice. This was meant to be. It was always supposed to be Rory.

#rory culkin x you #rory culkin x reader #rory culkin #rory culkin fanfic

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muzzleroars · 1 year

Note

I'm here to ask the important questions, What games do they like best? We all know in our hearts that V1 has 100% completed the Crash Bandicoot trilogy but what does Gabe and V2 enjoy?

GAMERS......................

hope it's ok i'm putting these two together bc i love that they came in right next to each other and we can talk gamers!!!! i BIG agree that v1 actually plays a lot of nonviolent games weirdly enough - it has an absolutely wild and hard to look at animal crossing island (all the robo villagers live there......the dream......) and has logged a disgusting amount of hours into like. fishing sims. it also definitely plays goofy shit like crash bandicoot and gex (like just weird 90s and 00s games), plus whatever genre of game things like catlateral damage are. so it has a WIDE pool it picks from, although it does play some fighting games to develop new and ridiculous strategies. v2 absolutely loves playing challenging games like dark souls to full optimization and it has an official gamer card. i absolutely agree that it's competitive about it, unfortunately v1 would be the best rival for it but it's just. complete garbage at any competitive game and it doesn't care to get better. basically all i can say about v2 is that it plays all the games that i can't bc i'm,,,i'm terrible at games!! gabriel is the hardest one to place imo, but i've always liked the idea of him playing strategy-based fighting games like fire emblem, because as an angel he's very wrapped up in his role of warrior and general. MINECRAFT THO....it's so funny to me bc i imagine he has very little creativity (again, angels are sort of rigid and don't have that divine spark the way humans do), but imagine him trying to build and make his own things ;A; it's actually really cute!! he can make a house,,,,it's not very good, like it's just a box, but he made it!! he created a minecraft!!!

#v2: wow that's dogsh-#v1: it's great babe :]#i do also like all of them like. playing pokemon together #v1 has all the most fucked up little freaks you've seen on its team #v2 has a perfect iv and ev trained competitive ready team #and gabriel has a very diverse team with move sets that cover every type weakness #he also has ridiculous shiny luck i think. god blessed #cake answers

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reachexceedinggrasp · 1 year

Note

It is really weird, as you say, that these sorts of characters (Beasts, grotesques, Byronic heroes, etc.) are so emotionally, aesthetically, narratively potent and draw on a rich literary history, yet they're such a contentious archetype, rarely done well now. I personally ascribe that to an obvious modern shift in the direction of storytelling cynicism (and I think you elsewhere have too, so don't mind me repeating your points back at you), but do you see a way out of it?

It's obviously an issue which goes beyond them (I mean even the central idea of redemption, or a complicated soul, is contentious), and so I imagine that the way out is effectively only possible if there are much more broader shifts in discourse. I think it's probably true that we might've peaked with cynicism now (absurdism seems to be more an idea that's being embraced - much as I don't like that, either, it's a gestural attempt at least).

But to circle back away from that, it's so funny how... if you're sincere and if you care and if you're trying hard, you can trip and fall into a complicated, Beastly character. And then they get mad about it.

Off anon because I figured I may as well hee hee.

It's definitely a weird moment in mass pop culture, because cynicism is so ingrained as the default that there's sometimes a lack of self-awareness about it from the writers who are responsible for the most mercilessly cynical takes. Of course, writing extruded movie product by marketing committee, as a lot of them are, is unlikely to produce different results, but I believe some of these people genuinely aren't cognizant of the worldviews they're putting across in these stories.

Romanticism has been deeply out of fashion for a long time and idealism is never in fashion, so it's not like cynicism itself is new as the dominant attitude, but it seems like that cynicism has become ever more juvenile and shallow. People steeped in it try to write optimism to play to the crowd (because generally people want a happy ending) and it comes off as the bleakest, most hopeless nihilism.

I think real idealism is challenging and the more complex the story becomes, the more challenging it is, so that you encounter more resistance writing idealistic narratives for adults, because it's so demanding when we see what it really looks like. It stops being crowd pleasing when uncompromising principles come up against the audience's desire for revenge, spectacle, machismo, etc. And because compassion and forgiveness have been relegated to media for children, people are wont to dismiss them as childish. Cynicism is still seen as cool and grown up and 'just being realistic' and fosters a vast wasteland of boring, lazy stories with characters you don't care about.

It is funny how people trip into Sad Murder Boys/Beasts/grotesques, but I think it sort of makes sense for the same reason they're such a rare character type despite being intensely impactful every time they happen, the same reason they're contentious: these are inherently romantic archetypes. So if you're trying to write passionately about this dark figure and you want him to be a complex character, so you give him pathos, and you want him to be powerful or intimidating because you're using him as a threat but still have big flaws so he can be defeated by the hero, and you want him to be charismatic to show why people would trust or follow him, and you want him to be attractive so you can have your incel message about male allure being dangerous... oops, you've accidentally created a romantic figure.

People accidentally writing tragic heroes when trying to write villains have already made something way more compelling than what they imagined, but then when they play up the pathos in attempt to emphasise free choice and create a tension where the audience sees a desire for healing from the character, a potential for change, they have inserted the most dynamic drama known to man. The hope this represents is so potent that it's going to alter the entire landscape of the narrative whether you want it to or not.

The possibility of redemption is a fundamentally idealistic concept and once we have our rogue romantic character breaking through stolid predictable archetypes and rigid storytelling, there's equal parts terror and intrigue on the part of the audience that they might be challenged with it. Redemption equals death is so popular because it defangs the challenge, it strips it of cost and consequence, allowing a veneer of optimism and admirable morality without needing to deal with what makes being ethical hard.

I think what we need more than anything else is more deliberate writing. People who actually want to tell a story and have something they want to say. No one is going to write anything legitimately challenging when they've been commissioned to make Captain Bland 11 and the story barely matters to anyone involved in production. It's uncool to care and there's a lack of respect for the audience, so the most you get is more 3edgy4me death and cynicism because these manchildren are convinced that's somehow still subversive despite paragon heroes who always say the day having been extinct for about fifty years.

You won't get brave choices out of the mainstream until someone with huge money decides they want to make them, because the entertainment industry has consolidated into the most risk-averse and cynical possible version of itself. Either something escapes containment and shows how profitable actually following through on romanticism can still be (you'd think this would have happened by now given how many chances have come up), or the current hierarchy crashes and burns and the field opens up to variety again.

#I am just babbling here idk if I said anything #but yes you are right I have talked a lot in the past about the climate of cynicism in storytelling we've been in for a long time now #and I think it's happened before but it's never been quite so all-encompassing #people respond to idealism extremely strongly but it has to be genuine you can't half-ass it #half-assed it is just bullshit or schmaltz and everyone sees that #it is very go big or go home you can't be a coward #but yeah there's a lot of the element of people writing these archetypes by accident because they have only one character who legit strives #and that's so much more emotionally engaging than the unchanging unchallenged protagonists we're saturated with

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haleigh-sloth · 2 years

Note

There seems to be a lot of hate regarding the young heroes lately and the fact they haven't completely sympathised with the villains yet. It's sad because the young heroes aren't entirely wrong but I do agree that they do need to sympathise more but that will happen. I think some tend to forget that BNHA is a shonen manga where fights are going to happen and misunderstandings and view points will clash. Are Shouto, Shouji and Uraraka etc. wrong for caring about innocent people? No. 1/2

I definitely don't think you're overreacting.

Also this ended up being quite long because I went on a tangent, so I'll put a cut at some point.

But yeah I've had to go out of my way to unfollow a lot of villain blogs who have taken it a step too far for my tastes. I'm in a weird spot in this debate, where I get their complaints about the kids' writing, but also am very very tired of said complaints at this point in the manga.

I have said this several times, but I had to do some serious soul searching last year when I was pissed off at every chapter that came out because I was expecting more villain validation right off the bat, expecting the kids to immediately switch gears after the war, and expecting the issues in the manga's hero society to be brought to the forefront to address. But since then, I have readjusted my reading and expectations for the characters and the manga as a whole. And ever since I did that I have been significantly less frustrated, less disappointed, and have found myself enjoying the manga as a whole a lot LOT more. That doesn't mean the flaws went away, it just means I have accepted some things as they are and have moved on from complaining about them.

The nonstop hate toward the hero kids seems to be less rooted in the slow build up of their sympathy for the villains, and more associated with the kids NOT being written to reflect on the system they benefit from, that the manga continues to portray as very broken. The system failing IS brought up over and over and over again! And yet, nothing ever comes of it. It's a flaw. It's frustrating.

So for me, after the Villain Hunt arc I pretty much accepted that "fixing the broken system" is simply not going to be in the forefront for the endgame of this manga.

Is it kind of wonky to have each of the villains voice complaints about the system, and yet the kids continue to never be written to think about it? Yes. It absolutely is. But is it something I'm going to continue to latch onto and wait for to suddenly fix itself within the manga? No, it is not.

I've no doubt that some sort of answer to the broken system will be given. I really don't see us getting absolutely nowhere with it by the end, but.....look at Deku vs. Lady N for example. Take that as a precedent for how the end game is going to play out, because it seems to be going that way. He found out that a pro hero was being ordered to murder people, and didn't really bat an eye at it, which imo is quite OOC of him--if that says anything about the handling of this issue. Instead--he offered hope and optimism, and she accepted it. Did it address what she said? NO! It absolutely did not. But...that's the answer we were given. And that answer hasn't been challenged, and at this point I don't expect it to be.

What annoys me about the kid hero hate is that, imo the wonky writing is not a reflection of the personalities and feelings of the characters, it's a reflection of the manga's inability to balance the final arc's challenges. I've touched on this already but I'm gonna dive into what I mean down below.

The kids ARE sympathetic. They ARE compassionate and they WILL reach that point of unconditional acceptance toward their villains. I mean, provided they follow the clearly foreshadowed trajectory of their arcs. That is who they are. But there are obstacles in the way before we get to that point. And if you look at the specifics of each character involved aside from Spinner, their arcs are written in such a way to where "fixing society" is just not the answer here:

First look at Shigaraki:

He thinks he killed his family because he wanted to. He washed away his guilt surrounding their deaths by just telling himself that it was meant to be because all he can do is destroy, and that he wanted them to die. He thinks he was born to destroy and ruin everything around him. Oh and did I mention he also thinks he purposefully murdered his family because he wanted to? Did I mention that he "thinks" that so that he could not feel guilty anymore? Did I mention that he doesn't feel guilty anymore because he wanted to kill his family and that because he thinks he was born to destroy and that it was all fate and completely inevitable? Did I mention that? Did I also mention that deep down he doesn't fucking believe any of those feelings toward his family, and instead is just left with a lot of guilt and self-hatred because despite knowing he didn't want his family to die, he still thinks their deaths were inevitable because of his existence? Did I mention that the "hatred" that keeps him prisoner to AFO possessing him cannot really be a hatred toward society, because that doesn't really make sense? I'll explain below. Yeah. So--I understand Tenko was failed by the system. I understand it ties back to All Might's legacy and how an entire society became way too dependent on heroes and decided not to help other people because "some hero will take care of it". I understand Shigaraki talks about the failing system a lot. But Shigaraki's biggest issue right now is him losing his agency, losing his entire existence to AFO. "His hatred toward society is keeping him prisoner!" Maybe, but that doesn't make sense. Because him hating society is entirely justified by experience. We're told his hatred keeps him prisoner, so therefore he needs to let go of his hatred to be free. But! Society failed him. Nothing can be undone about that. Izuku Midoriya cannot make a difference in the fact that Tenko was ignored and left for dead. So what exactly can Midoriya do for Shigaraki to help him break free? What hatred does he have to let go of? Well-- Shigaraki's hatred toward himself, for example, is something Midoriya can help with. And I mean, it's the ONLY thing he can help with when it comes to saving him--in the way the manga expects him to--saving by starting with his heart. Shigaraki lived his life believing so many lies about himself and it's going to take someone who sees him differently to shake that distorted thinking. Sorry but the League members who view him as a pathway to victorious destruction and who associate him with rage and misery (rage that keeps him prisoner) are not gonna be able to do that. So--that's like...the only sensical pathway for Midoriya to save him. And clearly things have not happened in order for him to DO that yet. So I mean, yeah we can be impatient, but like why hate Midoriya when his character hasn't been written to DO what he's gonna DO yet? The sympathy HAS to be there, it will get there. Reflection on society on the other hand, well, it seems like it can take the backseat for this part. And it looks like it will.

Next I'll do Touya:

I mean....this needs a lot less explaining. It's pretty simple. Touya latched onto Stain's ideology because he knows firsthand about fake heroes. He sees that even if someone doesn't know his past, someone has the right idea. However--we have learned a lot about Touya since his identity reveal. What is truly motivating him to fight? He wants his dad's eyes on him, his dad's attention, even if it's in the most negative of circumstances. On a much deeper and buried below the surface level, Touya wants his family back. Because what sent him into a suicidal rampage that lasted almost 10 years was feeling as if his family buried him in their past, and moved on. That was it for him. He was done, had no reason to live. But he was going to get what he wanted more than anything, even if it was excruciating for him in the process. He talks about society's failures a lot, and he's right, 100%. But....is fixing the system going to help him, personally? Like...say Shouto waves a magic wand and everything in the system gets fixed--is Touya suddenly okay? I mean...his character tells us no. Touya's personal issues pertaining to the Todorokis, while definitely a result of a society they live in, still isn't something that can be fixed on a macro scale. So my point here is that, yeah Touya talks about a broken system a lot. But even so, that's not the answer to Shouto saving him, nor is it the answer to Endeavor taking responsibility. It's just...more individualized than on a societal level.

Last, I'll do Toga:

Toga is a little less outspoken about her grievances about society. It takes up less of her dialogue. She started outwardly questioning the role of a hero after Twice was killed, however I suspect she always had some sort of similar belief that led her to liking Stain so much. But again, she talks about her personal experiences and how SHE was told to swallow who she is on the inside, and grin and bear it. The sheer fact that she was born with a slightly creepy quirk was enough for her to grow up being treated like garbage by her family, and she just internalized that her whole life. And as a result her quirk started reacting to her intense feelings (just like Touya and Shigaraki!) and boom, she snapped. She remembers the harsh words she was told growing up, and that's what makes her give up on being heard, and double down in her decision to remain a villain that will never intermingle with the heroes (tee hee, or so she thinks). But I mean, it's the same story with Toga. Her personal feelings toward herself (which are negative due to how she was raised) are her biggest obstacle, and what keep her fighting as a villain, convinced she'll never be understood or accepted. Ochacko can retort about society buttttt, I mean why?? Would that change anything for how Toga feels? I don't really see how.

My point in exploring those three is that, yeah, as much as the manga continues to say "god damn this society sucks ass and needs a fixin'", it sure as hell does not seem to care about making characters actually acknowledge it. I think to some extent, Midoriya will have to acknowledge how the system failed Tenko, because narratively--Midoriya is filling in the gap of what Tenko never got, a hero who showed up for him.

But looking at the cast of main characters and the situations they were all put in to face each other and reach an answer, "Don't worry! We'll fix society and its bullshit systems that reject people like you!" just does not look like it can possibly be the solution on an individual basis. I just don't see how?

So I mean--the kids are gonna do what they need to do. But I really don't expect a lot of large-scale reflection coming from them any time soon, not until like way closer to the end.

However, if the manga incorporates it into each fight successfully without ignoring the villains' personal issues, man--I certainly wouldn't complain. But I find that holding out hope for an even balance between the individual characters' issues and the issues presented into the world-building is going to lead me to being frustrated. So I've accepted that some things will more than likely be cut short.

#that being said even though i am tired of these complaints #i say i'm tired because i personally am not going to hang onto these complaints #if other people want to that's fine it's just not a debate or discussion i feel i can have because #i've basically just accepted what is essentially a drop the ball moment for horikoshi #so yeah #to each their own #bnha #bnha asks #anonymous #league of villains #bnha lov #boku no hero academia #shigaraki tomura #todoroki touya #toga himiko

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quietlydiabolic · 2 years

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“Too Close For Comfort” - BassRock oneshot fanfic

By: Jixie Fandom: Mega Man Classic BassRockWeek : September 7 - Distance Rating: G Word Count: 2827

Normally, waking up from a reboot was sort of refreshing, like after a much-needed nap. It cleared the RAM cache, reset network settings, finished software updates and patches, fixed minor peripheral issues.

This time? Was not normal. This was wrong. This was very, very wrong.

Mega Man didn't even feel bad, just not normal. Like every mechanical function was out of alignment…

…only it wasn't. In fact, all functions were in working order, optimal even. More than optimal.

The last thing he remembered was shouting, 'Get out of here, Masterson! We don't have time for this!' because he was juggling trying to stop his old nemesis the Obsidian Orders' latest plot while also protecting them from his new(er) nemesis Bass, and the hack wannabe hacker """Doctor""" Hedy Masterson was just one more human life in danger and one more annoying threat to squeeze into his already overbooked schedule.

Masterson was not consistent or enough of a threat to be considered a 'nemesis', but she was definitely the newest of the lot, and probably the most annoying. Mega Man cautiously opened one eye.

Ah.

Yep, that would definitely explain it.

They were on the floor of some industrial garage— or was it a warehouse?— and lying about three feet away was himself. Or at least, his body. Mega Man was decidedly not himself, which explained the wrongness he felt. Like a story out of some kind of bad 50's camp sci-fi schlock magazine, Rock's IC chip had been swapped. And if he was in Bass' body, that meant Bass was…

Hesitantly, Mega Man got to his knees and shook Bass. In his body. Heavens, this was creepy. So, so weird. And creepy.

Bass woke with a start and snarled, immediately jumping to his feet. "Copy Bot, you stupid error report! You're never— never!— to copy me, Wily's order, you worthless—" He paused. "—worthless—" Looked down. "—y-you—" Patted himself. "—buh— bug—"

Then he started screaming.

Mega Man covered his audio receptors and frowned. "Calm down, we need to figure out what happened and come up with a plan to fix it."

This had no effect, Bass was in absolute hysterics and continued to scream.

"Come on, it's okay! This is something Dr. Light can easily reverse." Well, Bass probably wouldn't want Dr. Light working on him. Fair. "Or Dr. Wily." But Mega Man definitely didn't want Wily anywhere near his IC chip, either. "Or… er, Dr. Cossack? Dr. Lalinde? Auto! Auto can fix this." Bass was still screaming. Mega Man grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a firm shake. "It. Can. Be. Reversed! Chill!"

When that didn't work, Mega Man gave up. They were already living some bad fictional nightmare. Why not try the power of the stereotypical healing slap? Desperate, he struck Bass across the face. (His own face. So weird.)

It worked.

Bass rubbed his cheek, and glared daggers at Mega Man. His eyes were red, ironically not unlike Copy Bot's, and Mega Man found himself wondering if his eyes were blue. (In Bass's body! So… weird…!)

"Like I was saying. We can get Auto to swap us back, we just need to—"

"*—kzzzzt—*" The sound of static interrupted him, and they both looked up at the wall-mounted speaker near the ceiling of the warehouse. Garage. Whatever. "Well well well! Look who's awake!"

"Masterson!" Mega Man shouted.

"Masterson!?" said Bass, at the same time.

"*kkkt* Oh ho ho ho!"

"Are you KIDDING me? That joker's behind this?" Bass was outraged, on top of his already over-the-top outrage. "That two-bit wannabe doesn't know the difference between a flat head or phillips screwdriver!"

"*zzkt* Hey now—"

"You better hope I don't find you, I'm gonna make you wish you were never born!" With that, Bass formed a cannon. Before Mega Man could stop him, he aimed at the speaker and shot it.

"Hey! Why'd you have to go and do that? We still need to get some information off her!"

"Yeah, like what?"

"Why she did this. How she did this. Where are we?"

"Don't care. Don't care. Dooooonnnnnnn't caaaaaaare. Listen pipsqueak—" Bass paused as he came to the sudden realization that he was in Mega Man's body and that Mega Man was in his body and for once the Light 'bot had a distinct two inch height advantage over him. (So weird.) "Uh. None of that crap matters, we're going to teleport out of here RIGHT NOW, and get Wily—"

"—Dr. Light—"

"No chance. Wily—"

"If you want your body back, there's no way we're going to Dr. Wily to get it done."

Bass fell into a battle stance. "We will if I beat you!"

"Beat me?" Mega Man groaned and facepalmed. "Bass, you can't even beat me when you're yourself, what makes you think you can when you're in my body?"

Apparently those were fighting words, because Bass started sprinting and shooting. Mega Man dodged most of the blasts, but discovered that the ones that landed didn't hurt quite as much as they usually did. He shot back defensively, and was taken by surprise by the rapid-fire mechanism of Bass's buster. Bass, for his part, winced when the tightly aimed cluster of plasma stung more than it should've.

Neither of their programming was calibrated for the other's hardware or mechanics, which dampened their fighting abilities. But at least they were on equal footing in that regard.

They quickly came to the same realization.

Their brief skirmish was disrupted when a Potton came flying in from behind some of the shelving in the garage (or was it a warehouse?). It swayed unevenly from the weight of a small camcorder set up, barely keeping itself airborne.

"As I was saying—" came Masterson's voice over the camcorder's little built-in speaker.

Without thinking, Mega Man blasted it out of the air.

He looked at Bass, who had stopped moving, an ugly scowl on his features. (Mega Man's features.) A scowl that deepened with each passing moment.

Mega Man was no push over. His solar power core was strong, his body tough, his armor resilient, his native weapon packed a punch. But Bass outclassed him in every way. He was bigger, faster, tougher, the added armor offered more protection, and the bassinium powered core was simply unmatched. His native cannon was less effective per shot, but the rapid-fire more than made up for that. By all means, Bass should have beat Mega Man soundly every time they came toe to toe.

And yet.

Sensing the freak out that was coming, Mega Man was quick to pivot. "I'm pretty sure Auto can handle this, like I said earlier. Is that a fair compromise? We go to Auto?"

Bass nodded slowly. "Yeah. Fine. Auto."

Then they stood there, in a decidedly awkward silence, as they both came to another realization.

Their teleporters had been disabled.

—

The warehouse— or garage or whatever it was— had been set up as a sort of home-brewed 'Fortress'. There didn't seem to be a quick way out, with shelving and partitions set up to guide them along. Small, annoying and mindless basic robots crawled out of every corner. It was almost quaint.

Almost.

They putzed around for a few minutes before growing disgusted.

"Forget this, let's just walk home."

Together Mega Man and Bass knocked over one of the shelves and found their way to the nearest external wall. Mega Man was a little surprised to find that Bass' cannon no longer had a charged shot function, but Bass wasted no time charging one with Mega Man's cannon.

"On three," he said, and then counted down.

They fired at the same time, Mega Man holding a steady stream of rapid-fire blasts to go with Bass's charged one. All of the plasma splattered against the wall, leaving a scorch mark and nothing else.

A new Potton arrived, although it didn't get as close.

"Hey! Hey!" Masterson cried over the speaker. "No fair, you're supposed to beat the levels!"

Bass aimed at the Potton, which flew back a little further.

"C'mon, you guys…"

There was a line of narrow ventilation windows, high up on the wall. Mega Man thought about it for a moment, then took a running leap, did a double-jump against the wall, and grabbed the lip of the windowsill. It was… kinda fun, actually, but he knew the double-jump mechanism was incompatible with his slide mechanism. Maybe it was worth switching? He contemplated this, decided against it, and started fooling with the window.

Bass' body was not that much larger than his, but there was no way those wide pauldrons were getting through that window, to say nothing of his stupid finned helmet. There was an easy way around all this: their armor and weapon recall. Mega Man tried to switch from armor to an alternative civilian outfit. He was highly alarmed when nothing happened.

"Hey, um… does your recall function work way different from mine?" He asked, doing his best to look down at Bass as he dangled from the windowsill. "Or can, uh, can you… not…?"

Bass sneered and crossed his arms, but didn't reply. Mega Man sighed and let go, dropping to the ground.

"…the helmet comes off," Bass eventually muttered, scuffing his foot.

After trying again, Mega Man decided that their recall really must work differently, and just took off his helmet manually. "Well this bites."

"You're telling me."

Even without the helmet on, the shoulder armor was still a deal breaker. He wasn't entirely sure how to get Bass up to the window, anyway. Maybe they could drag the downed shelf over, but that still probably wasn't high enough. They could right it, but would it hold his weight, or fall over?

…Besides, then Bass would be loose in his body and Mega Man would still be stuck here until help arrived, and who knew how much of a disaster that would turn out to be.

Bass sat down against the wall, and Mega Man sat next to him.

"So. What now?"

"I guess… we don't have much choice."

"Yes!" Masterson chortled and brought the Potton in closer. "The only way you can win your freedom is to work with each other! Fight your way through my evil Fortress of Evil… TOGETHER!"

"Shut UP! Hack!" Bass said, grabbing a discarded screw off the floor and chucking it. It was enough to throw the Potton off balance, and it spun wildly, nearly crashing before righting itself.

"Come on." Mega Man stood, brushing himself off before putting the helmet back on. "Might as well get this over with."

They got a little further along and discovered Masterson had gone so far as to reprogram 'Robot Masters' at the end of the corridor. Only they weren't Robot Masters, just slightly more complex robots than Mettools and their kin. The first one was a gardening robot, who cowered when they arrived, before straightening up and charging them with some kind of tree pruning saw. The tool was actually pretty terrifying looking, but Bass dispatched the robot with a single shot before it got anywhere even remotely close to them.

"Lame!" Bass complained. "You can't even give us a decent challenge!"

"I don't get it. Why are you doing this, anyway? You had us both powered off and at your mercy… if you wanted to destroy us, why not do it then?" Mega Man asked.

"Oh no no no no no," Masterson replied. "Oh, no, the last thing I want is for either of you to be destroyed!" She paused for a second, thinking it over. "Unlesssss… it was tragic, and angst-ridden, the death of one forcing the other to finally confront their true feelings, only to realize it's too late!"

"What."

"But… no. Too big of a risk. You see, my dears, I ship it." She sighed dreamily. "Enemies to lov-ahs, oh yes, that is my jam. Except you two never seem to get over that rivalry hump, so I thought, what if you had no choice?"

"What."

"If I removed the distance between you, forced you both to walk in each other's shoes! Then— then when you finally understand one another, when that ember of respect grows into a burning—"

The Potton exploded from a blast of charged plasma.

Bass blew on the business end of his (Mega Man's) cannon and shot him a dirty look. "I knew it!" he said, fuming. "I knew it! Why are all your fans COMPLETE PSYCHOS!?"

"MY fans? Are you serious? If she's saying what I think she's saying—"

"Oh, she's saying what you think she's saying."

"—then wouldn't that make her a fan of both of us? I've never had any problems with MY fans, so maybe the problem is your fans. Besides," Mega Man said before Bass could protest, "pretty much everyone on this planet is a fan of 'Mega Man', other than villains like Wily. 'My fans' include every kind of person you can imagine."

"You know what I mean. The serious Mega Man fans. The hardcore ones. They're all geeks, creeps, weirdos, and psychos. Or all of the above, like this loser!" He gestured emphatically at the ruined Potton, indicating Masterson. "The kind that would kidnap us and switch our IC chips! Who does that!?"

—

They actually didn't have much trouble tearing through the rest of the 'Fortress'. Masterson sent another Poton, but Mega Man and Bass simultaneously shot it out of the air, after which she seemed to have run out of them. They finally arrived at a massive garage door, which crumpled with just a little pushing from the two Robot Masters, at last freeing them from the… warehouse, as it turned out. Lacking the ability and resource for a monster machine 'boss fight' at the end of their journey, Masterson was waiting for them in a regular old bulldozer.

She came at them full speed, which was, in fact, not very fast at all. Quickly realizing the error of her ways, she bailed, rolling out of the moving vehicle and running as fast as her chubby cankles could carry her.

Mega Man chased after Masterson while Bass, dissatisfied by the lack of challenge in any of this, proceeded to blow up the poor bulldozer. Mega Man had to shift gears when Bass came charging after them, intent on getting his hands on the quote-unquote mad scientist.

And who knew what he'd do to the hapless human? Nothing good, that much was certain.

So Mega Man— in Bass' body— tackled Bass— in Mega Man's body— and they fought once again. Only this time it was less of a 'fight' and more like a couple angry, exhausted, kid robots whose programming was not calibrated for the hardware they were using and it was just. So. Weird.

"Ugh! You let her get away!" Bass cried in disgust. He shoved Mega Man away and clambered to his feet. "Screw it, let's go home."

They started walking, then Bass got a great idea and lit up.

"Or we can steal a car—"

"What? No!"

He flashed an evil grin. "People will think it's you! Their beloved Mega Man, wreaking havoc on the city! Maybe I shouldn't be too hasty, and hang onto this weak, shrimpy body of yours for a while."

"Okay, go ahead. Do it." Mega Man put his hands on his hips. "While you're at it, I'll be heading straight back to Skull Fortress and apologizing for being such a crummy son. I'll make sure to tell Wily how much I love him and that I know he's trying his best to be a good dad to me."

Bass' expression was unlike anything Mega Man had ever seen before, and utterly inscrutable. He took several deep, gulping breaths before breaking into a hideous snarl of disgust. "I'll KILL you."

For a moment it looked like they were going to fight again, but then Bass got a hold of himself.

"Fine! Where are we going!"

"Auto's repair shop."

"You better call your sister over when we get there. I don't think I trust him doing this unsupervised."

Mega Man shot him a questioning look. "I thought he's worked on you before, right?"

"Yeah, but… hmph. He's a big Mega Man fan too, and I always got some creepy vibes off him, yanno?"

"What, Auto? No… he just…" Mega Man drifted into silence. "Huh. No, you're right, he is a little, something. But I swear he's harmless!"

"He probably is, but honestly? I've had about enough of creeps poking around my insides today."

"Fair enough."

They walked in silence for a bit, then Bass slowed down a little and sidled up to Mega Man.

"Man do I look weird with blue eyes. Oh, I almost forgot." Then he punched him in the face.

"HEY! What was that about?"

"That's for slapping me earlier."

"You were hysterical! Caught in a feedback loop! Jerk—!"

They continued bickering the entire rest of the way.

#bassrockweek2022 #mega man fanfic #bassrock #mega man #bass megaman #crack #body swap #blueberry #cobra chicken #my fanfic #/I can't believe bass just called me out like that #/this one was a lot of fun to write #/it kept threatening to become a whole ass story

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