#*i know that this opera's got some problems*

[millermouth]

𝙭𝙤𝙭𝙤

Masterlist || Harry Castillo x Reader || Part II: RingGate

Summary: After a carefully crafted meeting over coffee, your public debut with Harry unfolds better than you ever expected. Each event slides effortlessly into the next as the plan is executed, performance convincing, and everything seems to fall into place exactly as you intended. And yet, you never could’ve predicted the effect it would have on you. || fake dating, tabloids, Gossip Girl AU, socialite!reader, richgirl!reader, kinda bratty!reader, NYC, reader is in her mid 20s, old money lifestyle, trust fund babies, age gap, rich people problems, reader has a last name for storytelling purposes, no y/n, alcohol consumption, implied drug use ||

You weren’t entirely sure why you’d called Harry back. 

Well, no, that was probably a lie. You knew exactly why. 

Harry Castillo made sense in a way no one else did. He was everything your parents meant when they spoke about a ‘good man’ to ‘settle you down’. He was sophisticated and predictably traditional, he came from a wealthy family, understood reputations and legacies, and didn’t have a scrap of dirt on him being seen at coke fueled yacht parties. Just nice tailored suits, understated luxury watches, and generous golf outings with potential investors.

But there was something else, too. Something that made him even better than all of that combined.

Harry was old enough to make anyone seeing you on his arm do a double take. Old enough to raise eyebrows. And you liked that. Hell, you loved it. Because while your mother would probably sing the praises of dating a nice, rich man with so much generational wealth he could bury you in it, the second she would see it was him, you could almost picture her face falling. 

The Castillo name always earned a reaction in your family. Some long standing rivalry between your father and his, some sort of stock market tension or power play. Your mother always made a face as if the name sounded spoiled on her tongue and your father always got a set in his jaw at the briefest mention of Castillo Investments. And though your families orbited each other for decades, running in the same circles and sharing the same tables, they never managed to sit comfortably side by side. 

So yes, Harry was perfect. 

Because if you had to play by their rules, you’d make sure it still felt like your own game.

He looked the part now, sitting across from you in his crisp button down and open tailored blazer, the espresso cup held delicately between two fingers. The drink had long gone cold, but he swirled what remained, mulling over something in his mind. You were halfway through your latte, bringing it to your lips for another slow sip. 

“So,” he said, voice low and thoughtful, “we’re agreed on hand holding?”

You nodded, watching him over the rim.

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “And…kissing?”

You set the mug down with a soft clink. “It’s supposed to look real, isn’t it?”

“Of course.”

“Real relationships don’t shy away from touch. I think a few public kisses are okay.”

He nodded back to you, “Just…you’ll have to let me know when you feel uncomfortable. If it gets to be too much.”

“Same to you. I don’t want to look like we’re in some rom-com soap opera.”

He leaned back in his chair, finally setting down the espresso cup with care. “I think you’ll find I’m quite good at moderation. But for clarity’s sake… what is off-limits?”

You considered for a moment, brushing a crumb from your napkin. “I mean… I guess the only rule I really care about is not humiliating each other. I seem to do that to myself enough as it is. So no divulging about us in interviews, no winks or jokes about the bedroom. If people ask, they can assume what they want. But we don’t talk about it.”

Harry nodded, his gaze steady. “Agreed. No innuendo, no details. Private things stay private.”

“Yes,” you agreed, your stomach doing a little flip at the thought.

“How long do you see us doing this for?” he asked.

You took a beat, thinking. “I only need eight weeks. By then, my family and I will be in the Hamptons hosting the annual Midsummer White Party—you know, everyone in white, garden tea, obligatory polo matches, and networking paraded around as philanthropy.”

Harry smiled, knowing. “Ah, yes. The crown jewel of performative generosity.”

You lifted your cup in mock salute. “Exactly. So if that works for you, we can bow out gracefully then.”

Harry nodded, “That should work. Camilla should be back by then and will most likely be attending. So the timing lines up.”

“Perfect,” you said, setting your cup down with a soft clink. “She can blend in with the party, and we can quietly let the news of a breakup make its rounds and...go on with our lives as if none of it happened.”

"Sounds very civil," he murmured, and then, eyes finding yours again as he sipped his espresso, “And when questions get asked about when we started dating?” he added.

You perked up. “Actually, I was thinking about that. I might have an idea.”

“Oh?”

You grinned. “The Met Gala. I’m already on the list, and so are you. I’m thinking, what if we made our public debut at the afterparty?”

“You and after parties, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, “It would be a good place to be seen together, and then if some civilian takes a photo of us cuddling in a booth, I think that would sell the thing perfectly. Rather than playing it up on the red carpet which might look more forced.”

“That’s next week, is that too soon for you?”

“Not at all. In fact–”

You reached across the table, gently taking his hand and adjusting the way he held his coffee cup. You tilted his fingers slightly, so that the emerald ring on his finger caught the light just right, gleaming against the white ceramic.

He gave you a curious look. “What are you doing?”

You brought your own latte closer, arranging your hand just so, both of you touching the handles of your mugs, your nails freshly painted and perfectly visible. You snapped a photo.

“This,” you said, opening Instagram, “is called a ‘soft launch,’ Harry,” 

“Soft launch?” he asked with an amused grin.

You didn’t look up. “It’s where you show just enough to make people wonder who you’re with, but not enough to confirm anything. You post it to stories and let the speculation do the work.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, clearly entertained. “You really have this down to a science.”

You tapped through the filters without much care. “You said you wanted a distraction, right? This is how you make a splash without stepping outside.”

He leaned forward slightly, studying the image on your screen. “No one will know that’s me.”

“That’s the point,” you said. “Gotta keep it mysterious at first.”

He watched you with something that might’ve been admiration, or at the very least amusement. “You’re not what I expected.”

You smiled, “Would’ve been quite boring if I was predictable. Besides, you don’t want calm. You need chaos, and it just so happens the chaos you’re looking for is dressed in Chanel.”

That earned a real laugh — not the polite kind, but a rich, unguarded one that curled warmly at the edges. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, and for a second it made your chest pull in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Alright then,” he said, lifting the last of his espresso in a little toast. “To soft launches.”

You touched your mug to his and took a sip, the two of you smiling at each other over the rims.

You were rather pleased with yourself as you sat down at the table marked with your family name. The tablescape was decadent with pink and white flowers, crisp linen pressed to perfection beneath the gleaming gold flatware and bone white china. Tiny menus rested at each place setting and were printed on thick, textured cardstock with  blush borders and embossed initials. Mimosas floated past in crystal clutches, delivered by white-gloved staff as the bridal shower brunch officially began beneath a silk-draped pergola on the Van der Woodsen terrace.

A harpist played delicately in the background, drowned only by the clinking of glasses and happy conversation around Serena. She was absolutely glowing in her white floor length gown and long white gloves, the essence of bridal straight from a magazine. 

But it wasn’t the atmosphere that had you feeling so content. No, the smile tugging at the corner of your lips was from the fact that you’d sent the bait and people were flocking to it. Your soft launch with Harry had gone perfectly. You went unnoticed in the coffee shop but public online, it was purposely vague and yet sparked obsession across Gossip Girl and your DMs. Your plan was working. And across the table, it made your mother’s glare taste even better.

“Honestly, you think you’d want to actually be on time given the circumstances.” she scoffed as she aggressively snapped her napkin across her lap. Her greying hair was scraped back into an uptight bun, silver Tiffany hoops glittering in her ears and a beautiful, fresh look to her makeup. She was the picture of nobility, even as she sat across burning daggers into you. 

And you too looked put together, good enough to pretend our weekend scandal never happened. A gauzy, floor length floral dress tickled your ankles, with woven wedges and golden teardrop earrings to accompany your understated look. But you could still feel the eyes, the whispers, the people around you looking over. 

You knew your headline wouldn’t die with a simple coffee date exposition. 

“I wasn’t even that late,” you muttered, sipping at the bubbly flute of champagne and orange juice. The look she gave you doesn’t go unnoticed, but it was cut off by another voice behind you.

“Did you really block my number again?”

You didn’t even have to turn to see who it was.

“Are men even allowed at these things?” you asked your mother flatly, ignoring the voice behind you.

Your mother exhaled, “Charles,” she said in greeting, though tired, “thank you for joining us. But yes…usually it is just the women who come to these.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see your brother with his hands gripping the back of your chair. Impeccably dressed, a crisp blue blazer and freshly cut hair. Of course, he also had a faint white dusting beneath his one nostril.

“How’re the donuts?” you smiled sweet as syrup, using your code for wipe your fucking nose, dumbass.

He clocked your meaning with a swipe to his nose with the back of his hand. “Delicious,” he murmured with a mocking smile, reaching for a glass of champagne like it was a handshake.

“But seriously,” he added as he flopped into the seat beside you, “are you mad at me or is this about your Girls Gone Wild debut?” 

“Can people please stop calling it that?” you whined into your hand, covering your face, “I especially don’t need to be hearing it out of my own brother’s mouth, Chuck.”

He shrugged, “Kind of iconic, sis,”

“Charles.” your mother hissed with a scowl.

“Where’s B?” you asked him, hoping to god for a change of subject.

Chuck didn’t look at you as his jaw tightened and he stared out onto the terrace.

“Busy, I think.” he finally said.

You narrowed your eyes, “Busy with what? I just talked to her last night. She’s supposed to be here too.”

He leaned back in his chair and downed the rest of his glass. “I didn’t ask. She said not to come over last night, so I didn’t.” His voice was casual, but you knew him too well, there was a crack in it, right under the surface.

You didn’t press, you rarely did. It was their thing, whatever strange, codependent gravity held them together all these years. You’d long since stopped trying to understand it, and it wasn’t worth messing into anymore, even if it was the strangest feeling in the world: having your brother and best friend dating, that is.

But before you could say anything else, you felt a shift in the air, could smell warm perfume and that glowing Serena energy that always preceded her like a weather front.

“There you are!” she beamed, sliding up behind your chair and throwing her arms over you. You stood automatically, turning into her embrace, your arms sliding around her waist in return. Her hair brushed your cheek, smelling clean and floral and always so impossibly soft, and for a moment it felt like being sixteen again, sneaking out of benefits and charity galas just to smoke in the park and talk about boys you’d never marry.

She squeezed you once more than necessary.

And then, right beside your ear, voice low and lilting, she said, “Harry?”

You pulled back, blinking. For a second, you forgot where you were. She was smiling tightly, eyes bright enough to register the glee beneath it all. Your pulse spiked.

She knew. You didn’t know how, but she knew. 

She gave a tiny nod, conspiratorial, and you mirrored it automatically, your body moving before your brain could catch up. 

She giggled, delighted, and pulled you back into her arms

“I won’t tell a soul until you’re ready!” she whispered like it was sacred, “I recognized the Darius ring immediately!”

Your stomach dropped. Because if she knew, if she could identify it from a vague, cropped, untagged post over morning coffee... then everyone else wasn’t far behind. You’d set the match and the fuse was lit.

It was only a few seconds that you held each other there, but as you let go of each other you realized your hands were clammy when you reached for your champagne glass. You’d wanted this, you’d pictured how it’d go, when people would finally figure it all out and the gossip would start. But it was another thing to see the knowing in Serena’s eyes. To realize it had worked.

And the nicest thing about her was that she never asked about your messes or pressed you to do better or change your ways. She had her own fallouts once, and you were each other’s favorite bad influence until she got help junior year and started using words like boundaries and healing. But even now—clean, radiant, engaged—she wasn’t sanctimonious. She never needed you to explain yourself.

She just watched, knew, kept secrets like a dragon keeping its jewels. And she didn’t miss much, least of all a man’s ring.

The following week, you arrived at the Gala with your nerves fluttering beneath a glittering, bespoke Gucci gown. As the car crept behind a long line of black SUVs outside the Met, you ran your hands over the hand-sewn jewels stitched across the fabric, trying to steady yourself. The fabric clung like a second skin, sheer and opalescent, dusted with crystals that caught every flicker of light. Soft tulle spilled from your hips in delicate, weightless layers, each one shifting like smoke when you moved. The bodice swept off your shoulders in an ethereal curve, barely there, as if the entire dress had been spun from stardust and breath.

Outside the windows, camera flashes strobed like lightning. Journalists, paparazzi, and red carpet interviewers stood pressed against barricades while celebrities floated past them, their stylists, managers, and handlers hovering just out of frame. Everything looked exactly as it always did every year, controlled and perfect and expected. But something about this time felt heavier, almost electric.

Maybe it was you, maybe it was the buzz of cameras flashing in your face while you were sober this time. Maybe it was the fact you and Harry were going public tonight. The thought of him made your stomach turn and flutter into your lungs. 

The moment your driver opened the door, everything shifted. The hum of the carpet swelled into a roar with the snaps of camera flashes and sharp cries of your name cutting through the night. From the left and the right, voices shouted, whistles pierced the air, all of it crashing toward you in a dizzying rush of flashbulbs and frenzy.

Typically, you just waltzed into these without so much commotion, just a pretty daughter of a major donor to the museum. But tonight there was no chance you’d sneak by with only one or two photos. At least this time your dress, though it clung to every curve, was full coverage. Elegant and thoughtfully styled and tailored to your body. Not like last Saturday when your nipples made headlines.

Your heels hit the carpet and you glided forward, plastering your best soft smile across your face, though the redness in your cheeks was hard to miss. You didn’t stand for photos, you kept moving, kept walking, because you thought your knees might give out if you didn’t. 

Just find your family, find your table and your family and just sit before you throw up.

And then, once mercifully inside the grand doorway, a softer, elegant buzz fell around the room and you let out a long breath. Crystal chandeliers glowed above long tables dressed in gold and white, set between marble statues and famous paintings. It was breathtaking, curated within an inch of its life.

You spotted your mother and father at a table across the room and began to move towards them, when you were suddenly stopped short. There, stepping directly into your path, was a woman with a sleek, dirty-blonde bob and an icy blue coat draped over her shoulders. Her sequined gown shimmered with an elegance that commanded a room without question.

“Anna-!” you blurted, “Ms–Ms. Wintour, how are you?”

She didn’t smile or even reply to your greeting. Her eyes were like sharp daggers through silk.

“Miss Montclair,” she said crisply, “You were removed from the guest list earlier this week due to recent…events.”

The words hit like a slap across the face. You almost wish she had slapped you instead.

Your mother’s words from last week rang through your mind as you stared into Anna’s cold, green eyes.

You can forget about your cover with Forbes. Vogue sure isn’t going to take you back.

And here was the truth, standing in your path— the editor and chief of Vogue herself telling you that you were no longer welcome. 

“I—what?”

“Your family is, of course, still welcome. I believe they’re in their seats right now. But you were struck from the official list.”

You didn’t even realize how tight your hands had curled until your fingernails pressed so hard into the palms of your hands you thought you might start bleeding. You glanced over her shoulder at your mother who was suddenly not looking at you at all.

So this was how it happened. Your first public appearance since the scandal, in front of every person who mattered, and you were going to be escorted out.

You felt your chest tighten—your throat caught, eyes already hot.

But then, there was a warm hand at the small of your back.

“Ah, Ms Wintour, thank you for finding my date.”

You turned, and there he was.

Flawless in all black Tom Ford, tie knotted perfectly and not a single hair out of place. He stood beside you, his chest emitting warmth as it brushed your shoulder, steady and calm as his eyes met Anna’s without blinking.

“Mr. Castillo–” Anna said, surprised.

“I’ll take her to her seat now, thank you,” he said calmly.

“You’re attending together?”

“Yes,” Harry said, “she’s my guest tonight.”

There was a long pause as Anna looked between the two of you, her eyes momentarily caught on the way his arm was around you.

“Very well,” she said with a nod, stepping back. And just like that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd of curated faces and brand sponsored gowns.

You stood frozen, watching her go.

You heard Harry’s voice, so gentle beside you, as it brought you back to the moment, “You okay?”

You took in a gulp of air, remembering yourself, and nodded. He didn’t say anything else before gently guiding you forward, hand staying at the small of your back, through the velvet ropes and into the glittering madness of the main hall.

“You look really nice tonight,” he whispered in your ear as you closed in on the table with your family. It was decorated with white orchids and gold place cards, and you could just make out your name when he stopped you. He turned you towards himself, his hand coming up to your upper arm, steady and gentle.

“Thanks,” you swallowed, but your voice felt so small. You weren’t sure all you were thanking for, but it was for everything, really. For saving you from social torment, for guiding you through the buzzing crowd when you could barely catch your breath. Maybe even for the compliment.

He smiled, just slightly, then lifted a hand to your chin. His thumb brushed softly against it before he glanced behind you. He nodded once, tight, toward your family before turning away and melting into the crowd.

You watched him for a long moment, already being stopped by some hedge fund heir in a pearl bespoke tux.

Sinking slowly into your seat, you could already feel your mother watching, your father’s eyes on the back of Harry’s head.

Both of them confused, and more than anything, furious.

“Care to explain what exactly that was?” your mother said tersely over the rim of her champagne flute.

The swell of the room came back to you as if you were stuck in a whirlwind and finally climbing back out. Around you, the long table buzzed with idle chatter as guests admired the floral arrangements, whispered about other guest’s attire, and traded gossip beneath the glow of crystal chandeliers.

“Can we do this later?” you managed to say, barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure you had it in you to explain everything in the midst of your near social exile.

Your mother opened her mouth to object, but your father cut in first. “She’s right. Later.” and then his deep, stern eyes were on you, “But I expect to hear about it.”

You gave a small nod, grateful for the reprieve, even if temporary, just as Blair slid gracefully into the seat beside you.

She looked like she’d walked out of a fashion editorial, or perhaps an old film—her deep plum gown cut sleek and sharp across her collarbones, the satin catching the light like still water. A band of silver sequins wrapped low around her hips, subtle but stunning, accentuating the drape of the fabric. Her hair was curled softly around her shoulders, her expression calm but knowing.

She didn’t say anything at first, simply reached for her water, took a slow sip, and then leaned in slightly toward you. “You looked incredible,” she murmured. “Even with the parental firing squad.”

You smiled, immediately at ease with your best friend beside you.

“I’m so glad you’re here, B.”

“Please. Like I’d miss this circus. Besides, half of these people are wearing Waldorf gowns, you think my mother would let me miss out on her chance to boast?”

You exhaled, shoulders lowering just slightly. Around you, the room went from a buzzing livewire to hushed tones and the scrape of chairs as everyone took their seats. With Blair beside you, you almost felt like you could face everything the night had in store.

And when all the glitz and glamor dissolved into a haze of flashbulbs and farewells, you found yourself grateful to slip away from the velvet ropes and instead, behind a nondescript steel door with music blaring from inside.

The speakeasy was low-lit and smoky, filled with only the right people. No flashing cameras or press agents. Just velvet booths, a marble bar backlit in soft amber, and a jazz band in the corner with a singer who looked like she was plucked straight from a 20’s Hollywood movie. You let your shoulders drop as the door swung closed behind you, the noise of the outside world sealed off completely.

“Oh god,” Blair muttered beside you, adjusting her diamond earrings. “I see Chuck.”

You rolled your eyes. “He wasn’t even at the gala.”

“Exactly,” she hissed, already backing away. “Classic Chuck, always ruining my night when it’s just about to get fun. I’ll find you later, okay?”

You nodded, amused, and made your way toward the bar.

You ordered your dirty gin martini—Ice cold. Like frostbite. I want my hand to hurt just holding it. The bartender smirked as he went to make it, his gaze lingering too long at your neckline. You stared back blankly until he finally turned away.

Your fingers skimmed your phone screen as you leaned into the bar, scrolling through the expected: red carpet recaps, Vogue slideshows, slow-motion video of someone’s Glambot from the night. You caught sight of yourself in a carousel of photos—you, for once, not for scandal, but for style. A quiet thrill settled in your chest.

Then came a voice, low and close.

“And how many martinis are we thinking for tonight?”

You didn’t have to turn. “You really do have a knack for sneaking up on me tonight, Harry.”

He settled in beside you, his presence tall and steady and gleaming at the edges—like some sleek, expensive car pulling up beside yours at a red light.

“Only one,” you murmured to answer him when he didn’t say anything. “Just enough to take the edge off.”

He lifted his own glass, ice clinking faintly. “Tequila.”

“Of course,” you said, “Can’t help but wonder what that says about you.”

“Dangerously misunderstood,” he replied, deadpan.

You smirked.

The bartender set your drink down with a soft clink, and Harry’s hand brushed your lower back as he gestured toward a booth across the room.

The leather was black and glossy beneath the dim gold light that bounced from the sconces along the wall. Harry slid in first, and you followed, settling beside him as his free arm draped behind you along the top of the loveseat. The heat of him was immediate as he moved in closer. He smelled like sandalwood and amber, sharp and expensive. You could feel the weight of his presence, could hear the shift of his jacket as he leaned in. He was close enough to count the gold flecks in his dark, endless brown eyes.

“Did you have a good night?” you asked, keeping your voice smooth even as your pulse ticked higher. You tried not to shift under the burn of his nearness, tried to ignore the way your skin prickled where his breath grazed your cheek.

He nodded, his thumb lightly circling your wrist as his hand drifted closer on the table, casual but intentional.

“You're a natural,” you added, tilting your head up at him, trying to make it look like flirty banter to any wandering eyes. God he was close.

He mirrored your tilt with a slow, knowing smile. “I saw the bartender looking at you.”

You glanced back toward the bar and caught it. The glint of a phone, half-concealed behind the ice bin. Filming.

“I think he’s recording us,” you whispered when you looked back up to Harry. You leaned in slightly, your voice like a secret.

“What do you say we get this show on the road?” he asked. 

You faced him full, heartbeat quickening. “Okay.” you said, softer now.

“Come closer,”

You set your glass down. Condensation kissed your fingertips as you brushed your hand along the front of his tuxedo jacket, pulling him toward you. The room seemed to fall away—replaced by shadows, low voices, and his warmth beside you.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?” he asked, and when you nodded, your throat too tight to speak, he added, “Let me know if it’s too much,” 

His breath fanned over your face, smelling like spearmint and alcohol and that oud wood cologne as his fingers trailed from your wrist to the bend of your elbow, cold from the glass of his drink. Goosebumps bloomed across your skin like reflex as he moved in closer—so close his nose nuzzled yours, then traced the high arc of your cheekbone, lingering at your temple before slowly sliding into your hairline, hidden from sight. His breath was warm, slow, steady.

You didn’t mean to grip his lapel so tightly. But your fingers curled anyway, holding him closer than maybe necessary, your knuckles brushing the silk pocket square as if searching for something to anchor you.

Your eyes fluttered shut and he hovered at your ear, close enough for the edge of his jaw to graze your skin.

And then, just when you thought he might pull back, he said: 

“Good job,” voice low, neither smug or insincere. You weren’t sure if he meant your touch, your composure, or the flush you could feel blooming high on your cheeks. Maybe all three.

You drew back slowly, your hand falling from his jacket as your eyes lifted to meet his. But not before they lingered for a second too long on his mouth. When you looked up again, his gaze was already there, steady and a little cheeky, the burned caramel of his eyes catching the soft light and holding your reflection inside them.

You offered him a smile, “Not bad for our first show, huh?”

He shifted slightly, his eyes flicking to the table just as your phone began to buzz beside your glass.

“You tell me,” he said, his voice lighter now, a smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

You picked up your phone, and for a moment, your smile threatened to widen. But you caught it quickly, schooling your expression into something more performative—eyes wide, just the right amount of shock, thumb frozen above the screen like you weren’t expecting exactly this.

Across your notifications, Gossip Girl was already doing what she did best.

“I am trying very hard not to look excited right now,” you whispered, keeping a hand over your mouth so no one could see your smile.

“Why, have I gotten you all twitterpated?” Harry said in your ear, reading the screen.

“Harry, it’s the twenty-first century, no one says that shit anymore,” you said, letting your smile break free as you dropped your hand to reach for your drink and took a sip. The alcohol was cooling against your burning skin, your parched throat, your heavy tongue. Everything felt so real suddenly, like it was snowballing further and further as you saw people around you reaching for their phones, reading their notifications, their eyes finding you in the corner of the room.

“So yes, I think we put on quite a show, don’t you?” Harry said, lifting his glass to his lips.

You leaned back just slightly, letting the confidence settle in your bones. “Close it out with a standing ovation?”

He laughed softly, then set his drink down and reached for you again, nodding. His hands found your waist and tugged you in, your shoulder bumping against his chest. Without another word, he pressed a single kiss to the high point of your cheekbone. Just a small, sweet, calculated gesture. The kind that would photograph beautifully under dim lights of the room.

“How’s that?” he asked in your ear.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“I was thinking of something a little more exciting, but I think that'll do.” you chuckled, voice low, eyes flitting to his lips before settling back on his eyes.

“Can’t give them everything they want,” he said, eyes twinkling.

You huffed in amusement, but then quietly asked, “Can I return the favor?”

His eyes flicked to yours, just a fraction of hesitation before he gave a subtle nod that was measured and careful, like everything he did.

You leaned in, pressing your lips to the edge of his jaw, where his five o’clock shadow covered his skin. It was brief and camera friendly, but still, the second your mouth met the warmth of his rough with scruffy face, your stomach gave a tight and fluttering twist.

“I’m starting to think you’re better at this than me, Castillo,” you murmured, your lips brushing just close enough to make sure he felt the words.

He smiled, soft and smug, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Montclair.”

note from the author: okay yes chuck is your brother and im pretending he doesn't have the last name Bass in this!! sorry bass lovers!! his dad sucked anyway!!

taglist: @ovaryacted, @boscogirlsworld, @or-was-it-just-a-dream, @marisemonteiroo, @obsessedwithjustaboutanything, @umadirectioner, @yslgreen, @blogwagenzmom, @ch0c01atech1p, @vickie5446, @silksepia, @maiamore, @avengersfan25, @indiegirlunited, @tofics, @magicxmiller, @stevie75, @littlcdarlin

[britneyshakespeare]

i can't believe how much this company apparently does not want my money

[zhelin-thames]

A Second Mystery Texter

Masterpost

Jason was sprawled on the couch in his safe house, phone in hand, casually texting Danny. Their conversations had become oddly entertaining for Jason, who enjoyed poking fun at the kid’s dramatic descriptions of ghostly chaos and the soap opera-worthy antics of this “Plasmius” guy.

Jason: So let me get this straight. This guy tried to clone you... and the clone ended up being a teenage girl who sees herself as your sister?

Danny: Yup. That’s Dani with an “i.” She’s great, though. Way less annoying than Plasmius.

Jason: Your life is so weird, kid. And this is coming from someone who’s been dunked in a Lazarus Pit.

Danny: Tell me about it. At least you don’t have to deal with green glowing homework.

Jason chuckled at Danny’s response, completely unaware that Tim had entered the room and was now leaning over his shoulder, curious about the smirk on Jason’s face.

“Who are you texting?” Tim asked, startling Jason.

Jason locked his phone and glared at his younger brother. “None of your business.”

“Come on,” Tim said, plopping down on the armrest. “You’re actually smiling. That’s rare. Who’s the unlucky person stuck dealing with you?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Just a kid who texted me by mistake. He’s dealing with some ghostly billionaire nonsense, and it’s hilarious.”

Tim’s interest was immediately piqued. “Ghostly billionaire nonsense? That doesn’t sound like your usual crowd. Let me see.”

Jason pulled his phone away. “No.”

Tim smirked. “Fine. I’ll figure it out myself.”

Jason sighed, knowing Tim wouldn’t let it go. Sure enough, an hour later, Tim’s phone buzzed with a new number.

Tim: Hi, is this Danny?

Danny squinted at the unfamiliar number.

Danny: Who’s asking?

Tim: I’m a friend of Jason’s. He mentioned your situation, and I got curious. I’m Tim.

Danny groaned. Great, another Bat-person.

Danny: Okay, hi, Tim. Why are you texting me?

Tim: I heard you’re dealing with some supernatural problems, and I wanted to help. Or at least get more details. Jason’s not exactly a reliable narrator.

Danny sighed, already regretting this.

Danny: Supernatural stuff is my thing. I’ve got it handled.

Tim: Sure, but you could always use a second opinion, right? I’m great with tech, research, and problem-solving. Plus, I’ve seen some weird stuff myself.

Danny hesitated. He wasn’t used to people offering help, and he didn’t know if he wanted another vigilante involved in his life.

Danny: Fine. What do you want to know?

Tim grinned as he began typing.

Over the next few days, Danny found himself juggling texts from both Jason and Tim. Jason was the sarcastic big-brother type, constantly making jokes about Danny’s weird life, while Tim bombarded him with questions about ghost science, ectoplasm, and portals.

One night, as Danny lay in bed, his phone buzzed again.

Tim: Quick question: Have you ever dealt with a ghost that manipulated tech?

Danny: Yeah. Why?

Tim: Just wondering. If one showed up in Gotham, what would you recommend?

Danny frowned, sitting up.

Danny: Wait. Is there a ghost in Gotham right now?

Jason: Tim, what the hell are you doing?

Tim: Expanding our resources. Danny’s clearly experienced.

Danny: Guys, what’s going on?!

Jason sighed, grabbing his phone.

Jason: Don’t worry, kid. If anything shows up here, we’ll handle it.

Danny: Yeah, no. If it’s ghost stuff, you call me. Don’t mess with things you don’t understand.

Tim: Good to know. Can I ask about your portal tech next?

Danny groaned. This was going to be a long friendship.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hey,

Do you still take Hannibal requests? If you do, could you please write a story, where Hannibal get‘s very jealous after a night out in the opera. The reader had finally met Franklyn, who is very interested in her ( because she‘s friends with Hannibal and part of the cheese folk).Hannibal is visibly angry when they are back in their opera seats… Could you also please end it with smut ( if you are comfortable with that).Thanks for considering!<3

A/n: Hey Hon thanks for the request i hope you like it!

Hannibal Lector x Reader: Jealousy, Jealousy

Warnings:smut, biting, kissing, penetration (p in v), fingering, possessive behaviour, public sex, unwanted flirting (from Franklin), fluff, happy ending, no use of y/n, female reader

Word count:2,9K

Hannibal is pissed. No scratch that. He’s seething. But you can’t see it. No one can. He’s just that good at hiding it. Even so, everyone has a breaking point. 

This was Hannibals.

Franklin had met you at the last opera you and Hannibal had gone to and from that moment it seemed he had grown some sort of infatuation with you. Hannibal always loathed his sessions with Franklin, his ever growing desire to be Hannibal’s friends making the doctor rather uncomfortable, but he never imagined it could get worse. Boy was he mistaken. It seemed like Franklin couldn’t utter a single sentence without mentioning your name. Hannibal watched him dance around the subject for days until he finally got to the point.

“You think you could give me her number?”

“I'm sorry?”

“Her number. I wanted to ask if she’d be free for some wine tasting but I don't know how to reach her. And then I thought you must have her number since you two seem close.”

“I don’t think she’d be interested.”

“Oh well maybe you could give me it anyway and i could ask-”

“I will not be giving you her number and that is final.”

An eerie silence took over the room. Hannibal watched Franklin open and close his mouth silently before settling back into his chair. It seemed clear to Hannibal that his patient had finally gotten the message.

 Once again he was wrong.

You were nursing a glass of wine that Hannibal had picked out for you as your eyes studied the opera house. Hannibal was next to you, his body mare inches from yours but not close enough to allow contact. You watched people come up to Hannibal in greeting before quickly going away.

“As always you’re quite the topic.”

“I don’t know what you mean dear.”

“Don’t be modest Hannibal. It's clear these people admire you. They may even wish to be you.”

You caught sight of a girl making flirtatious eyes to Hannibal and couldn’t help but smirk.

“Or maybe be with you. Either way they consider you appealing.”

Hannibal watched you as you spoke, his eyes never leaving your frame. It was intriguing how observant you could be and how unseeing you were at the same time. It didn’t matter how many women tried to impress him, his eyes always found themselves glued to you. You always had his full attention.

Always.

It was beginning to become a problem.

Hannibal had been so focused on looking at you that he hadn’t noticed someone new had approached. It was only when Hannibal heard the familiar voice that he realized you two had company. The doctor watched Franklin greet you with a kiss on your hand. The sight itself made Hannibal clench his hands into fists. He tried to remind himself he was in the middle of a very crowded place. A place filled with people who knew him. Seeing him throw a punch at a patient would ruin his career. Still he’d never felt an urge to knock someone out so much in his life.

You were always a kind person. Very well mannered and aware of your words. So it shouldn’t surprise Hannibal when you kept conversing with Franklin, occasionally even laughing at his terrible jokes. Hannibal zeroed in his attention on your lips. He observed the way they wrapped around the rim of the glass as you took a sip of your drink. The drink he’d picked for you because he knew you pallet better than anyone.

It had occurred to Hannibal a few months back that he was growing interested in you in a not so friendly way. But it was only when Franklin asked for your number that he realized how deeply he was falling for you. He wanted you for himself. And he would make that happen.

You were starting to get annoyed. Franklin was a nice guy but it was clear he didn’t know how to take no for an answer. You could see the way he was subtly, at least in his eyes, trying to flirt with you. It’s safe to say you weren’t interested. Not that he seemed to be getting that message. A noise rang out into the room telling you all the intermission was coming to an end.

“Well look at that, time just flies when you’re having fun huh?”

You gave Franklin a weak smile .

“We should be going, Franklin. Our seats are at the top so we have to climb a lot of stairs.”

“Oh okay.”

“Maybe we'll see you at the next opera?”

God you hopped not.

“Actually I was wondering if I could get your number.”

You froze, a concerned smile plastered to your face. Gosh he really didn’t let up did he? In a moment of pure panic at the thought of having to deal with Franklin calling at all hours of the night you grabbed onto Hannibal's arm. The doctor's focus moved to where your delicate hands were wrapped around his forearm. You looked up at him with pleading eyes before turning back to Franklin.

“Actually I’m already spoken for.”

“Oh wow I didn’t….realize.”

“Yes well we are very much together so…. Yeah.”

And uncomfortable silence covered the three of you. You tried to think of something to say. Anything to get you away from here. Before you had time to come up with something Hannibal spoke.

“Come on dear. If we don’t hurry we might miss something.”

You let out a relieved breath as Hannibal moved his hand to wrap around your waist, guiding you away from Franklin. You kept your eyes forward as the two of you walked. It was only when you were out of Franklin's view that you started laughing. You braced yourself on your thighs as you laughed.

“Oh gosh. That was just dreadful. He was so-“

“Annoying.”

“Incredibly annoying! Honestly Hannibal I don't know how you can deal with being in a room with him for an hour.”

“Didn’t seem like you were having such a hard time.”

You lifted your head to look at the doctor with a curious expression. He was looking down at you with a look you rarely ever saw, at least not directed towards you. Hannibal Lecter was annoyed. And at you no less. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You seemed to be enjoying talking to him. Laughing at his jokes. Making small talk.”

“It's called manners, Hannibal. As far as I know you value them quite a lot.”

Hannibal stalked over to you causing you to take a step back. Your back hit the wall, making you gasp. Hannibal hovered over you, his eyes boring into your soul.

“Hannibal what are you-“

“Did you enjoy his attention? Did you like the way he was looking at you? He was staring so hard I was surprised his eyes didn’t pop out of their sockets.”

“What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“Into me? Weren’t you the one who was just clinging onto my body like I was your savior?”

You’d never seen Hannibal like this. For the first time since you knew him he looked like an animal. His usually neat hair was slightly flopping over his face and the expert calm facade he always had seemed to have slipped. He looked like a predator and you were his prey. You lifted your hand so that you could touch his arm. He looked at your hand on his frame. It was as if your touch was burning him. He needed to feel you but he was afraid of what that would mean. You whispered his name causing him to face you. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your lips slightly parted as you breathed.

He hadn’t even realized he was boxing you into the wall with his body until he felt the heat that radiated from you. He couldn’t think straight with you so near him but he couldn’t bear to be far from you either. It was then that he realized just how much he craved you. He felt like a lion who’d been starved for days and had finally been given a piece of steak. 

He was going to devour you.

Without a second thought Hannibal shoved his lips against yours. Your body reacted immediately, hand moving to wrap around his neck as he deepened the kiss. Hannibal moved his hand to your leg, hitching it up. You gasped into his mouth as his fingers skimmed over your skin. He enjoyed the sounds you made as he pushed your underwear to the side. His fingers moved over your pussy and he couldn’t help but groan as he felt how wet you were. Your nails dug into his blazer as he inserted one of his digits into you. Your back rubbed against the wall as he continued to bully his fingers into your cunt. A moan slipped through your lips before you managed to cover your mouth, the realization that anyone could just walk by and see you finally becoming clear.

“Hannibal we-“

“Shhh I’m trying to enjoy the opera.”

You could hear the opera singer belting out a note from afar. The sound was dulled by the heavy doors but you could still make it out. Hannibal hummed the song as he continued to finger you. You were trying to keep as quiet as possible but he wasn’t making it easy on you. He knew exactly what to do to have you screaming out for him.

“Hannibal please, I'm so close.”

“Oh yeah? Think you deserve it?”

“Yes please. Please make me cum.”

“Even after flirting with Franklin in front of me?”

This little shit.

“Hannibal please…. I’m sorry.”

“Who do you belong to hum?”

“You.”

“Speak up dear, I can't hear you.”

“You Hannibal! I belong to you!”

“That's right. Go on then. Cum on my fingers.”

You hid your face in the crook of Hannibal's neck as a silent moan ripped through your body. He felt your teeth graze his collar bone through his shirt as your mouth opened in pleasure making him smirk. Your juices continued to coat his fingers as he attempted to help you through your high. Your body shook against him, your limbs spasming as you tried to regain control of your brain. You knew Hannibal's knowledge of the human body made him good at many things but you never stopped to contemplate the effect his expertise would have on a more sexual context.  

Once you’d come back down to earth you pushed your body off of Hannibals allowing you to look into his eyes. You continued to breathe heavily as you looked at him trying to figure out what would happen next. You hadn't expected him to lean down and kiss your lips but you welcomed the action. You warped your arms around his neck tugging him even closer to you. Hannibal's hands made their way to your hips squeezing lightly at your flesh. You bite into his bottom lip as his mouth moved away from yours. You couldn’t help the giggle that made its way out of your lips.

Hannibal grinned down at you, his thumb caressing your hip bone as he continued to observe you. Your hair was covering your face and your lips were swollen from kissing him. Hannibal didn’t look much better, his pupils were dilated and his heart was hammering in chest. You noticed the wild look in his eyes and in a sudden burst of confidence you decided to move your leg up against Hannibal's body. His eyes darted to your leg before moving back to your face. You bite into your lip, your fingers moving to tug at the small hairs on the back of Hannibal's head. You watched his brows furrow a bit at the action. “You gonna fuck me Doctor lector?”

“What makes you say that?”

“The look on your face.”

“And what look would that be?”

“The look of a man who is about to turn into an animal.”

Hannibal's expression faltered slightly at your comment. He wondered from a moment if you’d understand him if he told you what he was capable of. He wondered if your eyes would widen in fear or if they would simply spike up in curiosity. You placed your palm on his cheek causing him to focus on you once more.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m starved.”

Hannibal gave you a wolfish grin as his hand made its way to your ass. You gasped as he pushed your body up, legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. You steady yourself on his shoulders waiting to see what he would do. Hannibal tugged your dress up your legs allowing him to view your underwear. He moved his hand to his pants tugging at the zipper. You watched him in anticipation, eyes widening as he pulled his dick from its confines. You whined as he pushed your underwear to the side, positioning himself near your entrance. A gasp left your lips as he pushed into you. Your nails dug into his blazer. Hannibal braced one hand on the wall as he began to pistol into you.

Your moans filled his ears as he continued to brutally fuck into you. The sound of you combined with the sounds of the opera far away were like music to his ears. He wondered why he’d never thought of doing this before. You’d been to his home many times it wouldn’t have been hard to get you into his bed but he supposed this was nice too. He felt a rush move through his body at the thought of someone walking in on the two of you. He wished it would be Franklin, the need to show his patient that you belonged to him becoming overwhelming. His head moved to your neck, tongue moving against the soft skin before he sunk his teeth into you. Your walls clenched around him at the action causing him to let out a grunt.

“Hannibal-ah ugh ah shit- don’t stop.”

He was never going to stop. He’d feast on your body for as long as he could, in every way he knew how. He would never be satiated with the feeling of you. There was no going back now Hannibal would have to make you entirely his. 

He continues to nibble at your skin, desperately trying to mark you as much as he can. He wants to scare off any other suitors but he also enjoys the thought of you walking around covered in marks he’s given you. Mine, he thinks, this one is all mine. You're clenching around his dick like a vice which tells him you’re getting closer to your release. He wants you to beg for it, wants you to ask him to cum. It seems you can read his mind because without him even opening his mouth you’re already whining for him, telling him how good he feels and how much you want to cum on his dick. So he lets you but not before filling you to the brim with his seed. He wants you so full off him that his cum starts to seep out. He wants you to smell like him so everyone else knows who you belong to. 

You’re having a hard time getting your heart to calm down. Hannibals still holding onto your body, trying his best to keep you upright as his own legs threaten to buckle. Neither one of you speaks, opting to just share the space in silence for a moment. You hear muffled applause, the sound telling you that the opera has ended. You pull your dress down covering your body once again. Once you think you're decent your hands move to Hannibal now soft dick, stuffing it back in his pants for him. He doesn't move away from you as you straighten his tie or when you fix his hair for him. He lets you build his facade back up without any complaint. As you finish making sure he too is decent you place your hands on his chest.

“Can’t ruin your reputation, can we now Doctor Lecter?”

He smiles at you, his own hands moving to fix your messy hair. Then he moves to place a gentle kiss on your lips. It's a tender action which causes your heart to skip a beat. As the two of you share a loving kiss the doors of the opera open. People pile into the hall you and Hannibal are in, not one of them aware of what was happening a couple of minutes prior. You allow Hannibal to guide you into the crowd, his hand comfortably warping around your waist. You let your body curl into him.

“Let’s go home my dear. I’m dying for another meal.”

Something about the way he talks makes you think he isn’t talking about food.

[puppetwoman17]

I want to read more comics and fanfics about Cap/Billy being a respected member of the hero community.

But at the SAME TIME, I want to read something where his attempts to make friends is seen as too eager or boyish and he’s ostracized, so as he grows up he understands that he needs to dial it down. He begins backing off and letting people do their own thing. He doesn’t try to hang out with the younger hero teams, but makes it clear that he’s always there if they need him, because he’s a sweetie. He talks less with JL members, not significantly, but just so he’s not talking way more than he has to.

Everyone’s noticed. They are worried.

Billy grows up, gets reunited with his sister, connects more with his Whiz Radio coworkers, gets along with the Bromfields, meets and connects with other Fawcett heroes and finally gets his own apartment(with illegal means but shush I guarantee you someone else has done much worse). He’s getting his life together day by day and he’s more sure of himself.

Heavy on Fawcett heroes btw. They clock him being CC’s kid immediately. What do you mean the JL doesn’t like him? What’s their problem with our boy😡?

Little subtleties with other heroes… Because why is Cap not talking to me anymore? Why do I have to steer the conversation?

Did I do something wrong?

Did I fuck up?

Was I too mean?

He just wants to hang out. Isn’t that what being part of a team is?

He just wants to be friends like the rest of us are.

Cue young and older heroes alike trying their damn hardest to get Cap to join them for a game night or gossip session or joint mission where there doesn’t need to be a joint mission and Billy is just confuzzled.

He’s busy, sorry! (He’s cleaning up the radio station for a birthday party)

Something came up, you know how schedules can be. (Mary wants him to see his first opera. Billy is a yes man)

A friend of mine needs some help! Really sorry, I wish I could! (Ebenezer is about to die. He wants to watch the moment the light leaves his eyes. No, Mary, he doesn’t need therapy. No Freddy, he doesn’t need a hug right—fuck it, give him a hug)

Because even without knowing, the her community watched him grow up. And, like adult figures and parents in a child’s life, they miss the way things used to be. It confuses them, especially the younger heroes.

Oh, then an identity reveal happens and everything makes so much sense and they all feel so so so bad but Billy’s like “Hey, it’s no big deal! Everyone gets busy! And I’ve got lots of other friends to confide in!”

He says this with a smile on his face but it sounds like an insult. Now the JL and younger heroes are grappling with the fact that this whole time they’ve just been parental figures who miss when their kid was clingy🥺

…

…

…

LOL, TOO BAD. Freddy’s taking him to a game tonight. He’s got front row seats and extra cotton candy coupons! Suck on that!

[enwoso]

Could you write something with Grace Clinton? Maybe where she and reader have an argument and it takes talking about it with celine for grace to realise what started the argument maybe it was like lack of communication or something and Grace apologises big time for it

unsaid | grace clinton

masterlist

it was just something small. something so minor that in hindsight, grace wouldn't even be able to remember the exact words.

she'd come home late — again. you'd been waiting up for her, eager to just spend some time together after what felt like days of barely seeing her.

but as she finally walked through the door, kicking off her shoes and sighed like she was carrying the weight of the wold on her shoulder. you tried to greet her, tried to ask her about her day.

"not now." she mumbled, heading straight for the bedroom without so much as a second glance.

and that was it, the final straw.

"not now?" you echoed, standing up from the couch. "grace, it's never now with you recently."

grace paused mid-step, her shoulders tensing as she looked at you. "come on, don't start—"

"no, actually, i think i will start," you snapped, arms crossing. your lips turning into a deep scowl "because you clearly won't."

she turned around, exhaustion evident in her features but you would having that as an excuse, again. "i'm tired. i just—can this not wait?"

"tired?" you let out a harsh bitter laugh. "i get that you're busy, but you barely talk to me anymore. do you know the last time we had an actual conversation that wasn't just me asking how your day was and you grunting in response?"

grace exhaled sharply. "this is exactly why i didn't want to do this tonight."

"oh, 'm so sorry for inconveniencing you with my emotions, grace."

her jaw clenched, frustration rising to meet yours. "that not what i meant, and you know it."

"do i?" you shot back quickly. "because from where i'm standing, it kinda feels like you don't care."

that clearly struck a nerve. grace’s eyes darkened slightly, and she scoffed moving from one foot to the other. "that's ridiculous."

"is it?" grace didn't respond. she didn't even try to argue her case. instead she just stood there, looking at you like she didn't know what to say.

and that hurt more than anything.

"forget it," you muttered, shaking your head before turning away. "just—forget it. doesn't matter anyway.

grace let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. but she didn't follow you, she didn't try to fix it and that was the problem.

—

the next day, grace sat in the locker room, aggressively untying her boots like they'd personally offended her this morning.

celine, already changed and leaning back on the bench as she fidgeted with her fitness tracking from hand to hand. recognised graces' unusual tenseness, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "alright. whose pissed in your cereal?"

grace shot her a look that told all. "no one."

celine just snorted, not believing grace for even a second. "liar. you've got that face."

"what face?"

"the 'i had a fight with my girlfriend and now i'm brooding like the main character in a bad romance novel' face."

grace groaned, sometimes she hated how well the norwegian girl knew her and could read her like a book as she let her head drop back against the locker. "it was stupid."

celine hummed. "was it, though? or are you just saying that because you don't wanna admit you were wrong?"

grace scoffed. "i wasn't—" she stopped, catching the way celine just stared at her, unconvinced.

grace sighed. "fine. maybe i was a little wrong."

celine clapped dramatically. "wow! she admits it, folks! this is a historic moment!" grace rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips.

"what happened?" celine pressed, leaning in like this was her favorite soap opera.

grace hesitated. "i... i guess i've been distant. i've just had so much going on, and by the time i get home, i just don't have the energy to talk."

celine nodded. "alright, fair. but did you tell her that?" grace blinked, hard and wide. celine smirking "yeah, that's what i thought.”

"i didn't mean to shut her out," grace mumbled as she fidgeted with her own fitness tracker. "i just figured she knew i was busy."

"yeah, because girlfriends are totally mind-readers," celine deadpanned. "you don't get to just assume she knows what's going on in your head. communication, clinton. it's this crazy thing where you talk about your feelings instead of bottling them up until they explode into a full-blown argument."

grace groaned, covering her face. "i hate when you're right.”

"i know you do," celine said smugly. "but lucky for you, i always am."

grace sighed, pushing herself up. "i should probably fix this, huh?"

celine grinned. "now you're catching on!"

—

that evening, when grace walked into the apartment, she found you curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone. you didn't even look up when she entered.

that stung more than she expected, leaving an ache in her heart even though she knew she kind of deserved it.

she hesitated before walking over, sitting down beside you. you didn't move away, but you also didn't lean into her like you normally would. that was enough to make her heart ache just that little bit more.

she reached for your hand, gently intertwining her fingers with yours.

"i'm sorry," she said softly, her voice filled with genuine regret. "i should've talked to you. i should've let you in instead of pushing you away." you didn't pull away, but you stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue.

"i never meant to make you feel like you weren't important," she murmured. "you are. more than anything to me and i know i've been distant, but it's not because i don't care. i do. so much, more than i can even put into words."

you swallowed, finally looking at her. "then why didn't you just tell me?"

grace exhaled, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. "'cause i'm an idiot?" you gave her a look not giving anything away that she was fully forgiven, and she cracked a small, sheepish smile.

"because i get caught up in everything, and sometimes i forget that i don't have to handle it all alone," she corrected. "and that's not fair to you. i should've just talked to you instead of expecting you to just know what i was thinking."

you sighed, your frustration easing just a little. "i just missed you, grace."

she shifted closer, resting her forehead against yours. "i missed you too, so much." for a moment, you just stayed like that—breathing each other in, the tension melting away.

then grace whispered, "can i kiss you now? or do i have to endure more of celine's wisdom before i'm forgiven?" a laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, and grace grinned, nudging your nose with hers.

"you're an idiot," you murmured. "but i'm your idiot," she said, before finally closing the distance.

the kiss was slow, unhurried. it wasn't rushed or desperate, but rather, full of intention. grace kissed you like she was making up for every second she had spent away, like she was trying to tell you everything she hadn't been able to put into words.

her hands cupped your face, her thumbs brushing over your cheeks, grounding you in her touch. you melted into her, the warmth of her body seeping into yours, chasing away any lingering doubt.

when she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you.

"i love you," she whispered, her voice barely audible but carrying the weight of everything she felt.

you smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of her lips. "i love you too." and just like that, everything felt right again.

[orellazalonia]

Infected by the Chaos

Summary: Overtime, your questionable tendencies and unpredictable phrases have rubbed off onto your boyfriend. The team reacts by trying their best to un-corrupt the supersoldier. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: Thank you to @ozwriterchick for the idea. Enjoy and Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

There was a debriefing. The usual boring, long, and necessary meeting. Everyone sat around the conference table looking various degrees of irritated.

You were leaning back in your chair, chewing gum, spinning a pen between your fingers, and mentally ranking everyone’s haircuts from “tragic” to “god-tier.” (Sam had climbed two spots today.)

Steve was talking, bless him, but honestly, your brain had already turned into a screensaver.

“-and next time, we need tighter communication. Nat, cover the north entrance. Sam, recon from above. And you two,” He gestured at you and Bucky. “Try not to burn the entire building down next time.”

You opened your mouth, probably to say something deeply unhelpful and not at all relevant but then it happened.

Bucky got there first.

Deadpan, casual, and not even glancing up from his notepad, he muttered:

“I don’t control the fire. The fire controls me.”

The room went silent.

Sam slowly turned his head. “What.”

Nat blinked. “I’m sorry- Did Barnes just say that?”

Steve dropped his tablet. You were staring at him like he’d just told you he was pregnant with a spider-dog hybrid.

Bucky glanced up with a shrug. “What? It’s true.”

“No, no, no, back up.” You stood, pointing at him. “That’s my level of chaos. You don’t get to say things like that with a straight face. That’s my thing.”

“Pretty sure I’ve earned chaos privileges by now,” He said in an even tone, biting into an apple.

Nat coughed. “What else have you been saying lately?”

You whirled on Bucky. “You didn’t even flinch. You said it like a man who has absolutely Googled whether rats can legally vote.”

Bucky smirked. “I have due to our last date. They can’t yet.”

Sam slid down in his chair. “Oh god, there’s two of them now.”

Tony, who had joined the meeting late with a coffee and zero patience, looked between you and Bucky. “I always knew one of you was a bad influence. I just didn’t expect it to be her.”

“I resent that,” You said.

“I expected more from you, Barnes,” Tony replied.

Steve looked like he was having a mild stroke. “I spent a decade dragging him out of assassin mode and you…you-“ He pointed at you with all the drama of a soap opera actor. “You corrupted him.”

You crossed your arms. “Excuse me, I elevated him. You think he’d even know what a possum rave is without me?”

“Wait,” Bucky said, serious again. “That’s real?”

“Unfortunately,” Sam muttered.

Bucky turned to you. “Do you think we could-“

“No,” Steve and Sam said in unison.

Later that night, you and Bucky were sitting on the roof, feet dangling over the ledge, and watching the stars while splitting a packet of strawberry Pop-Tarts.

You nudged him with your shoulder. “You really said it, huh?”

He smirked. “It just came out.”

“And the fire controls you?”

He looked at you with something soft and proud in his eyes. “Maybe I’ve just been spending too much time with my favorite disaster.”

You grinned and leaned into his side. “Next step: getting you to name a pigeon.”

“Already done. His name’s Charles. He watched us fight three agents yesterday.”

You gasped. “You’re perfect.”

“I know,” Bucky said. “You trained me well.”

-

As time passed, Bucky was the problem now.

At first, the team found it endearing. The grumpy super soldier smiling at dumb jokes, randomly throwing out facts about duck mating rituals, or muttering “vibe check failed” after knocking someone out. In some strange way, it was charming. Odd, but charming.

But then he named a second pigeon. And that was the last straw.

“We need to intervene,” Natasha said, deadly serious with her arms folded as she stood at the head of the war room table.

“Why?” Bucky asked, mid-bite of a toaster strudel. “Charles Junior likes me.”

“Exactly,” Tony said, pointing dramatically. “The fact that you’re calling it Charles Junior is the problem.”

“I don’t see the issue,” You said from your seat next to Bucky, proudly wearing your ‘#1 Chaos Hero’ necklace again. “It’s genetic. Charles Prime had strong leader energy.”

Steve looked between you both like he was watching two people fall off a moral cliff in slow motion. “You used to be a soldier.”

“He is a soldier,” You said. “He just also knows five ways to make banana bread ”

Bucky nodded solemnly. “Just don’t over-mix the batter.”

Tony facepalmed. “Nope. This is a brain rot virus, and you’re patient zero.”

You smiled sweetly. “Thank you.”

“I wasn’t complimenting you.”

“Still taking it that way.”

Natasha, still painfully calm, pulled out a folder labeled “OPERATION: WINTER DETOX.”

“Oh no,” Bucky muttered.

“Yes,” She said. “We're deprogramming the chaos out of you. We're doing it for the safety of the building, and also the pigeons.”

-

During phase one, you were banned from interacting with Bucky for 48 hours. No comms. No breakfast together. No late-night feral cuddling where you told him shark facts until he passed out.

You broke the rule in 6 minutes.

Literally. You broke into the vent system and dropped into his room from the ceiling like some kind of gremlin god.

“Did you know octopuses have nine brains?”

Bucky looked up from his book, deadpan. “I do now.”

When Sam burst in to yell at you, he found Bucky trying to braid your hair while you explained the 36 reasons flamingos are both cursed and divine.

Sam left with his soul cracked in half.

Phase two didn’t end much better either. They tried re-soldiering him. Military documentaries. Physical training drills. A six-hour silent stare-off with Steve.

You showed up with a whiteboard that said “Today’s Mission: Turn Bucky Into a Lizard.”

Steve had to lock you out of the room and block your contact from Bucky’s phone for two hours.

By phase three, the team tried pairing Bucky with other Avengers. Nat. Rhodey. Bruce.

Each one ended up slightly more unhinged than when they started.

Bruce now exclusively drinks out of a cup shaped like a frog. Nat started saying “mood” unironically. Rhodey got a ferret and named it “Mini War Machine.”

“Do you see what you’ve done?” Steve begged one night as you and Bucky made soup in the communal kitchen while retelling an episode of River Monsters using only metaphors and curse words.

“I made the team fun,” You said, stabbing a ladle toward him.

Bucky beamed. “They laugh more now. And I haven’t threatened to murder anyone in two weeks.”

Tony nodded slowly. “He’s not wrong. Still terrifying, but now it’s… unpredictable terrifying.”

The breaking point came the next morning. Bucky walked into the briefing room wearing a shirt that said: “Emotionally Stable is a Strong Word”

You wore one that said: “I Know the Assignment. I Am Choosing to Ignore It.”

Steve stood then walked out muttering something about moving to Wakanda.

The team officially gave up trying to fix Bucky Barnes.

-

Later that night, Bucky was lying beside you, watching the stars again as the city hummed below.

“They really think I’m broken now,” He said.

You shrugged, twirling a glow stick between your fingers. “They just don’t know how to handle dual-wielding emotional repression and chaotic brilliance.”

He turned to you, smiling. “You really think it’s brilliance?”

You kissed his cheek. “Obviously. I don’t waste my time on mediocrity. Now help me build a pigeon obstacle course on the balcony.”

He nodded. “It’s what Charles Prime would’ve wanted.”

[ckret2]

Any headcanons surrounding Mabel and Dipper's parents? - 🦊

I'm gonna give you one but it's a big complicated one. Hold on while I line up a few canon facts first:

in TBOB, Bill says he worked with Maniacintosh to release a computer that induces mind control. The programmers who worked on the computer had a tendency to commit suicide.

Bill says it got recalled for eating a kid's finger, so presumably he stopped working with Maniacintosh. Bill does NOT say Maniacintosh went out of business.

A reliable way to keep Bill out of your brain is by listening to music he can't stand, like that Inkwell song that's a parody of It's A Small World

Synth music causes Bill physical pain—and apparently a pain he doesn't enjoy, because Mabel successfully uses it to disable him in Dreamscaperers and he lists it as one of his weaknesses in TBOB.

In Weirdmageddon we see Bill listening to dance music that sounds like it was made with synths, and he has no trouble with it.

Mabel likes 80s synth music a lot. It's the music style of Dream Boy High and she listens to a peppy 80s synth song during her week in Mabeland.

Also Ford's musical tastes were (accidentally) on the cutting edge of new wave music, since the timeline of Journal 3 (accidentally) implies Ford was a fan of the Eurhythmics before they had a hit.

Dipper plays at least two instruments (tuba on-screen, and out-of-show materials mention he took piano lessons before that), and Mabel composes a rock opera in a week.

Mabel & Dipper's dad worked in the tech industry in the 90s

Before the kids go off for the summer, Dipper hears his parents arguing about something he shouldn't have.

Now here's my unhinged conspiracy theory:

One of the ways Maniacintosh drove Bill away from the company was by taking a page out of Inkwell's book and creating music he couldn't stand. In their case, they didn't settle for just a song; they created an instrument pre-programmed with a database of sounds specifically calibrated to hurt Bill. It became the most popular synthesizer of the 80s. Popular music is a minefield for Bill for the next couple of decades; several genres are completely unlistenable. This is why he can listen to some synth-based music during Weirdmageddon; by the 2010s, that one synthesizer's finally waned in popularity enough that some synth music doesn't damage him. (This is also why he didn't object to Ford's love of the Eurhythmics—that was before Maniacintosh's synth saturated the music industry.)

The Pines family—at least the Mabel & Dipper branch of it—is very musically inclined. Plus: Mabel likes synth music, Ford likes synth music, I've decided liking synth music is a Pines genetic trait. Ergo, Mabel & Dipper's dad likes synth music. When he went into the tech industry, he went for the most musical tech company that helped birth the techiest music: the makers of the Maniacintosh synthesizer.

We don't know what Maniacintosh did during the decade or two after kicking Bill out. But if we wanna try to predict what their modern workplace culture is like, we know they got their start using a programming language that drove their programmers to suicide, so that's not a very promising starting point.

Dad Pines has been getting his mental health eroded for years from working at Maniacintosh. Probably less from working with eldritch code, and more from working for the managers hired by the managers hired by the managers who didn't see any problem with making their programmers work with eldritch code. (But, like, there's probably still a little bit of eldritch left in their code, ngl.) I'm imagining a very toxic workplace culture here.

Dipper overheard his parents arguing about Dad's job. Mom said that if Dad doesn't get out of that job there and his mental health keeps going downhill, she won't subject herself and the kids to that anymore. This scared the crap out of Dipper.

It scared the crap out of Dad, too. He's quit his job and found a new one, he's getting therapy, he and Mom are getting couple's therapy, the kids are getting therapy just in case and also because they fought a demon last summer (??? what the hell did Uncle Stan get them into), things are improving.

Bill's got his fingers in so many projects, it interests me to think about all the ripple effects he leaves on society—all the damage he's done five steps removed from his initial involvement, damage that he not only doesn't care about but also will never know about. Wherever he goes, his cruelty casts such a long shadow.

A few bonus parent headcanons:

Since dad is listening to the 70s/80s stations that play 80s synthpop when he's driving the kids around, that's also where Dipper picked up BABBA.

Mom is the source of Mabel's karaoke night music picks, particularly the rock ballads. But enough about music.

Both parents are in the tech industry (although Mom obviously didn't go into Maniacintosh).

Shermie stayed in New Jersey, and that's where Dad grew up. He crossed the country to go to college in California, which is where he met Mom.

Both of them push hard that education is the key to a good life. It was for them. This hasn't necessarily been great for their kids, one of whom has said he doesn't know who he is if he's not the smart guy and the other of whom is just as smart as her brother but not in ways that get reflected in a report card. Whoops!

Dad trusts Uncle Stan, because he grew up being told about how how Uncle Stanford is a big genius, first in the family to go to college, and Uncle Stanley was a big hush-hush family secret until he died tragically in Oregon—probably going to visit Stanford, everyone thinks—this happened when Dad was a pretty small kid—and Uncle Stan just sort of burnt out and gave up on his high academic ambitions after his brother died, and Shermie feels sorry for him so Dad feels sorry for him.

Mom doesn't trust Uncle Stan, because she's met him.

Dad was raised Jewish but isn't really emotionally connected to it; he drifted away in college. He visits family for holidays when he can (but it's hard, almost everybody is across the country in New Jersey and Uncle Stan is kind of a recluse and doesn't really practice either). Mabel and Dipper had their bat mitzvah and bar mitzvah, but mainly for the benefit of Shermie and the kids' grandma.

Mom was Raised Non Religious But Culturally Christian. This extends to Christmas and to sort of assuming that everyone does weddings & funerals & religion the same way until she's told otherwise. Before getting married the only thing she knew about Jewish weddings was smashing the glass. She really wanted to smash the glass.

Mom's the one who's watched Star Trek and read Lord of the Rings. She and Dipper have the most overlapping tastes. She'd probably play DD&MD if he asked, but roleplaying with your nerdy mom is just weird. Unlike roleplaying with your nerdy great-uncle, which is very cool.

They're a "photograph and videotape EVERYTHING" kind of family. They digitized the ancestral family scrapbooks and they make "Spring Break Vacation '09!!!" DVDs.

[izzywaldorf13]

𝐈 𝐊𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 (Chuck Bass x Reader)

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Being Nate Archibald‘s little sis has some advantages, for example being friends with Serena van der Woodsen and his current girlfriend (and, if you ask Nate‘s parents definitely his future wife) Blair Waldorf. But there are also some rules that come with it. And the most important one is: Don‘t mess with Chuck Bass - literally. Stay away from your older brother’s best friend—everyone knows that rule. But rules are meant to be broken, aren’t they?

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Chuck Bass x f!Archibald!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: English is not my first language - so if you see mistakes message me! Underage drinking but not much...

𝐏𝐒: This is my first fanfic here on Tumblr, so I’d love some feedback and let me know if I should write Part 2 💕

————————————————————————

With a last smile in the mirror I place my elegant black Venetian mask over my face, then I turn around to look at Blair. "Stunning, sweetie," she says with a smile, as she reaches for the strands of my curtain bangs smoothing them into place. Blair and I have always been best friends and since Serena‘s sudden disappearance (and her even more unexpected reappearance a few days ago) we got even closer, both left without getting any explanation. Three became two. Plus Blair‘s minions, even though I wouldn’t count them in as friends. I half-listen to Blair talking about the little hunt she has planned for my brother and I can’t bring myself to tell her that he actually seemed pretty distracted in the last couple days - especially since Serena came back. Ignoring problems. It‘s what we do best here on the Upper East Side, isn’t it? Instead I focus on my reflection in the mirror. I can’t deny that Blair did a great job choosing my dress. It hugs my body in all the right ways, not revealing too much, but enough to give something to fantasize about. Blair hugs me from behind, a wide smile on her beautiful face. "Ready Liz?" she asks and I can hear the excitement in her voice. "Ready B!" I answer and nod excitedly.

A glass of champagne in my hand, I linger at the edge of the room, feeling a little lost, while I watch all the pairs dance and talk. I see my brother, standing at the opposite side of the room, his mask is inspired by the Phantom of the Opera, the lights of the room mirroring in the silver of the mask. Shouldn’t he be looking out for Blair?

But before I can continue to marvel at what’s wrong, I feel a presence next to me, one that sends shivers down my spine. The scent of his cologne surrounds me, achingly familiar.

Chuck Bass, wearing the red mask of the Devil himself. Fitting, isn’t it? "Chuck,"I greet him with a thin smile. "Little Liz," he answers, and I don’t even have to look at him to know that his lips are curved up in that characteristic charming smile of his. "All alone?" he adds. "Not at all, I mean I have this charming glass of champagne to keep me company," I reply with a smirk.

"I‘m not entirely sure if Nate would like to see his little sister drinking alcohol when she‘s barely sixteen," Chuck states, looking down at me. His words almost make me roll my eyes. "Come on, you’re exaggerating - I‘m not even a year younger than you guys!" I answer, before I take another sip of the alcohol. "Just stating," Chuck mumbles nonchalantly.

The next words he says make my heart race more than they should. I can only pray that he doesn’t hear it, considering how close he is standing to me. "Don‘t tell your brother that I said it, but you look wonderful tonight, darling," he whispers, his voice soft like silk. "What, Chuck? You don’t have any other girls hanging on your every word? Are you really that desperate that you need to make moves on your best friend‘s sister?" I question, as I look at him.

Chuck laughs, which sends another shiver down my spine - I have no idea, how he’s even doing that. But at the same time I remember that this is Chuck Bass. He and his special talent to make women feel like queens, even just for one night and to get them right where he wants them - his bed.

My breath hitches when I suddenly feel his hand wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer. I want to protest, but at the same time I feel my body relaxing. What a traitor. "Oh Little Liz, I might be a player, but Nate would kill me if he saw me ruining his sweet, innocent sister. Even though I must admit, it’s rather tempting," he whispers into my ear.

My eyes dart around anxiously, searching for Nate. I don’t know who‘d be more screwed if Nate saw us. Chuck, obviously flirting with me even though I‘m clearly off limits? Or me, letting it happen without any resistance? The silver gleam of my brother‘s mask is nowhere to be seen in the chattering and dancing crowd of high society teens in the elegant room. I wonder if it’s just imagination or if the music got slightly louder over time.

A couple stumbles past us, deep in a kiss. The smell of alcohol around them makes me wrinkle my nose. "Disgusting" I mumble quietly. It’s meant more to myself, but of course Chuck heard it - which actually isn’t much of a surprise, considering how close he’s standing to me. A few centimeters more and we actually might kiss. And somehow the thought of his lips against mine doesn’t trigger aversion - more of an exciting sparkle.

I hear Chuck‘s quiet laughter in my ear, which pulls me back to reality, out of my thoughts. "You’re not much of a drinker, huh Liz?" he asks as he casually takes the champagne glass out of my hand, before he drinks a few sips of it. I want to protest, but I know there‘s no chance I‘ll get my glass back unless Chuck decides it. Instead I choose to answer his question. "No, I don’t drink often. Mostly because I don’t like the taste," I say.

Chuck smirks, I can see his elegant lips curving under his mask. "Oh come on… you can’t call yourself a real Upper East Sider rich kid if you never drunk yourself into absolute oblivion," he says laughing. I roll my eyes. "I‘m not you, Chuck. In case you forgot," I respond dryly.

Mockingly Chuck holds a hand over his heart as if I‘ve stabbed him there with my words. "Ouch, Lizzie. This is all that I am to you? A rich kid that likes to get drunk?" he asks, his voice filled with fake hurt.

"Actually you forgot 'junkie' and 'manwhore'" I add casually. Chuck, who has just taken a sip of my champagne, almost chokes on it from his sudden laughter. "Wow, wow, wow… since when do you use words like this?" he chuckles. "I‘m sixteen, Chuck, not ten," I mumble in annoyance. "I see that," he answers with a wink, his gaze drifting down my curves, as a smirk spreads across his face.

"Believe me, little Liz, I‘m not the only guy who has noticed that Nate‘s little sister has grown up… but I‘m the only one who can really appreciate it. Could make you feel better than all those other stupid upper class idiots," he adds, his smirk widening. Meanwhile, I casually grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and took a sip. Now it’s me who almost chokes on the champagne, coughing and trying not to spill it all over myself and my dress.

Chuck next to me, bursts into laughter. Of course, he has me exactly where he wants me - falling for his words. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks, a stark contrast to the white of my dress. I can only pray that my mask covers enough of my face so it’s not visible. But when I finally stop coughing and look up at Chuck, the grin on his face tells me without any doubt, that I must look like a tomato.

"Fuck you!" I call out, staring at him angrily. "Sorry, Little Liz, sorry," he says between fits of laughter. It’s clearly visible that he’s the opposite of sorry. A few of the people around us turn to look, watching with judgmental gazes through their masks. My cheeks burn even hotter, but finally Chuck decides that he’s laughed enough at my embarrassment. "So, Lizzie? Wanna go outside a bit? Nice view over NY at night, no judging eyes… besides, I could really go for a joint right now," Chuck asks, a small smirk still on his lips, while he extends his hand in my direction.

I glance around in the grand ballroom for a moment, watching all the couples gazing at each other lovingly and hearing their laughter. I don’t really feel like going outside, but I know that I‘ll be alone again if I refuse Chuck‘s request. And somehow, I don’t want to be standing all alone on the edge of the ball room anymore. So I simply nod, take Chuck‘s outstretched hand and follow him out of the door and up the stairs onto the rooftop of the building.

The cold night air sends shivers down my spine, but somehow it doesn’t seem to affect me. The only thing that lights up the rooftop are the full moon in the sky and the few stars shining around it. We search for a quiet corner, where I can see the cars deep down in the streets of the Upper East Side.

When I feel myself getting anxious, I take a step away from the edge - fear of highs in NY is kinda unpractical. I watch Chuck, who took off his mask already, as he lights his joint. He extends his hand to me, offering me to take a hit, but I shake my head.

"Suit yourself," he mumbles before he inhales it. Meanwhile I‘ve decided to take off my mask too. Why wait until midnight if we both know each other anyway? Besides it started to get uncomfortable anyway. When I glance back at Chuck, he‘s already staring at me and it might be imagination, but I swear he’s got an almost fascinated look in his eyes.

"You’re beautiful," he mumbles suddenly and if I didn’t know it better, I would’ve never imagined that this is Chuck Bass. The guy I’ve known my whole life. He would never ever call a girl 'beautiful'. 'Hot' or 'Sexy' maybe, but calling me beautiful goes in a completely und unexpected different direction.

I could blame his joint on it, but at the same time I‘m more than just sure that he hasn’t smoked enough of it to show serious effects. I know how he gets when he’s high and this is different. I don’t know how to answer him, so a strange silence settles between us, only broken by the sound of cars driving in the illuminated streets of NY and the chatting of the people, who are walking in said streets.

"I’m not trying to sweet-talk you, Liz. I mean every word," he adds into the quiet. I swallow. His words make my heart race faster than it should. Too fast. And it’s that moment in which I realize that I‘ve always got more than just friendly feelings for Chuck Bass. My brother‘s best friend. The guy who always was off limits to me.

"Fuck it,"I mumble and then I get on my tiptoes, close the distance between me and him by wrapping my arms around his neck, before press my lips against his. He doesn’t even strain when I pull him down on my level, but instead he drops his joint, leans into me and kisses me back. It’s not my first kiss, though it certainly feels like the first one that truly matters. Not just because Chuck absolutely knows what he’s doing (of course he does, otherwise he wouldn’t be Chuck Bass), but also because the butterflies in my stomach seem to fly around like crazy, while at the same time an unexpected calm spreads through me.

It’s a strange mix, a warm sensation deep inside of me, that I wouldn’t want to let that go ever again, not for any price in this world. This is more than just a simple boring kiss with some simple boring guy, it’s more of a moment, something like a core memory, that I‘ll never forget.

I feel his hands on my back, his fingers grazing over my hip gently, holding me close to him. The grip is confident, like I‘d expect it from Chuck. But at the same time it’s loose enough to let me go, whenever I feel like backing out. Which is actually the opposite of what I want.

Instead I press myself closer to him, deepening the kiss, while my heart feels like it’s about to explode. It‘s like everything is frozen in time, this is all I ever wanted and a few seconds ago I didn’t even know that.

But then out of nowhere a light flashes, breaking the magic of the scene abruptly. The warmth that the kiss triggered vanished with the dazzling light, that broke the darkness and also the comfortable, mysterious atmosphere, which almost seemed to protect Chuck and me.

Chuck and I stop kissing, freezing like deers caught in the headlight. While I need a few seconds to realize what just happened - I kissed my brother‘s best friend- Chuck immediately analyzes every little detail of the situation. It doesn’t take him long to understand what just happened. "Shit, that was the fucking flashlight of a camera," Chuck hisses.

Horrified I stare at him, knowing that his realization must be right. A single glance is enough to decide our next step. Immediately we both make our way to the stairs, we came up, the only way that leads up to the roof of the building. But what we see is disappointing. The staircase is empty, the cold metal only lit up by the moon’s glow.

Whoever took the photo is long gone, already back inside, blending in with the other masked rich kids at the party. Two thoughts keep lingering in my head, signaling like a blinking neon sign at a shady club. The first is a pounding question. Who the hell was it? The second one is an assumption, which makes me feel sick to my stomach. If those photos won’t end up on Gossip Girl‘s new post, then she must be insane to let a scandal like this slide.

𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝: Chuck Bass, caught red-handed—and red-lipped—with none other than Elizabeth Archibald. Oh Liz, breaking the rules never looked so good. But big brothers don’t like surprises… and something tells me the fallout will be delicious.

Xoxo, Gossip Girl 💋

[jamilynfx]

Do You Wanna Build a Snowman? (No, the fuck, I don't)

This is part 2 of this post 💖

Summary: Winter has come to New York and that means only two things: being cold and putting up with Wade's obsession with the movie Frozen.

Pairings: Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: sexual humor, mentions of oral sex, referenced drug use

Winter. 

A time for singing carols, decorating a Christmas tree and eating unhealthy amounts of gingerbread. For some, an ideal season for various, cold-oriented activities that include skiing, snowball fighting or drinking hot chocolate right after ice-skating on the overpriced ice-rinks in the city center. 

You hate it all passionately.

Well, maybe decorating a Christmas tree is somewhat enjoyable and worth looking forward to but other activities that require being outside during winter are a hard no for you. 

Which brings you to the problem you encounter every other time that the weather decides it’s high time to spawn tons of snow in the city, or, more accurately, a problem with Wade’s obsession over that godforsaken children’s movie.

“Do you wanna build a snooooowmaaan?! COME ON, LET’S GO AND PLAY.”

Logan growls for, what seems to be, the hundredth time in an hour. Al looks defeated and only Laura completely ignores Wade’s crazy bouncing and twirling in favor of cutting out a perfect circle out of the cookie dough.

“Shut the fuck up, bub. No one wants to build a snowman with you,” Logan grumbles lowly, getting the volume all the way up on the TV, since it’s difficult to hear anything through Wade’s singing. 

Laura makes a face. 

“Ouch, that was a bit harsh, even for you.” 

“Sorry if I’ve had enough of this performance that’s going on for two hours now!” he exclaims heatedly but without real irritation behind it. That’s his way of saying that Wade really got on his nerves and he’s almost reached his daily limit for Wade’s bullshit.

“It’s fine, Lo, don’t shout,” you say with love, cutting out your own shape in a dough, a crooked star with rough, uneven edges. Making cookies is something that you enjoy doing, mostly because it’s all done inside the house, not outside, where all hell breaks loose. “Why don’t you go by yourself, Wade?” 

He looks kinda cute with Elsa’s costume he’s thrown on his suit and a plastic tiara set atop a blond wig he’s stitched to his head but hearing the same song being performed over and over again starts to tug on your nerves, too, especially when you know Wade is completely serious in saying he wants to build a snowman.      

“Because it’s BOOOORING! I would ask Al, but, well, she can’t fucking see, can you imagine what the snowman would look like if I did that with her? A fucking carrot up his ass, that’s what would happen! And the only snow she likes ain’t the one outside, hot pups.”

Al, sitting beside Logan on the couch, sighs loudly and nudges Logan’s side with her elbow. 

“What’s on now?”

“Hot pups?” you question, raising your brows and smiling at Laura, who tries not to laugh.

“That’s new,” Logan comments on a nickname that Wade’s just made up, simultaneously switching between the channels. “A western, soap opera or reality…”

“Reality!” Both Al and Laura are unanimous on this one. Logan changes the channel to trash reality tv without any protest.

“Exactly, hot pups or baby girl, that’s basically the same thing. Anyway, I’m not asking Laura because she’s our guest and I for sure won’t ask peanut, don’t wanna end up with that claws up my ass today. Something else would be fine, tho.” Wade winks to Logan who only rolls his eyes, not once looking in Wade’s direction. “I was gonna ask you but you hate winter activities, besides that one time when you sucked my dick in the park after we went to a Jonas Brothers concert.”

You almost get a whiplash from the way your head turns to look at him, your cheeks immediately turning a deep shade of red. 

“Wade!”  

Althea looks visibly disgusted, Laura blinks a few times muttering damn under her breath and Logan stares at you with and you haven’t done that to me? look on his face. You stifle an urge to run to the bathroom and not come out for the rest of the evening, covering your face with your hands.

“Motherfucker, I wish I was deaf,” Al laments out loud with Wade’s sick laughter as her background before he starts do you wanna build a snowman all over again. 

“Someone has to go out and build that damn snowman with him, I can’t hear a fucking thing!” Logan shouts abuse, his patience running thin judging by the way his claws unsheathe in his left hand. 

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Laura suggests good-naturedly for you to only whine in surrender. That’s enough chaos for this evening.  

“No, I’ll go with him,” you sigh with exasperation and get up to go get dressed. “But you’re soooo going down on me after this, Wade!” 

As soon as the sentence leaves your mouth, Wade squeaks excitedly, running to get his brand-new Frozen mittens, which he managed to yank out of a little girl’s hands while you were at the thrift store last week. 

“You got it, baby girl!” he exclaims and high-fives Laura on his way out, not waiting for you to catch up. You can only hear his do you wanna build a snowman while he hurries down the stairs of your compound.

Al, Laura and Logan all seem to breathe out in relief, focusing all their attention on the TV show that’s currently on. 

Even Mary doesn’t perk up from Logan’s lap and you can’t help but feel a little bit betrayed. 

______________

You have to admit, it’s not all that bad.

Wade does everything in his power to make it enjoyable for you, despite the low temperature and cold wind that blows in your face every other minute. There’s a lot of snow outside which makes for a really long snowman-building session, turning Wade into a literal five year old, but he still manages to make you laugh multiple times. You can’t really be cross with him when he’s having such a good time and, after your initial reluctance, you find yourself having a great time, too. 

The snowman turns out really cute and quite big, three sizable balls of snow each atop of the other, now standing guard in front of the entrance to your building. Somewhere between creating the top ball and sticking branches into the snowman’s sides to imitate arms, Laura comes down and says goodbye, reminding you both how late it is and that you should probably wrap the whole thing up. 

Now, you’re so cold it’s difficult to think straight. Your hands are shaking, teeth clattering and you’re sure that your lips have the color of a ripe plum. 

“We’ve made one hell of a snowman together, baby girl.” 

Your body trembles involuntarily but you smile happily, once again inspecting your work. 

“Yeah, we did.”

Wade hugs you closely and kisses your forehead, then your blue lips. 

“Come on, hot pups, let’s get you back to the warmth.”

Thank god you don’t have to go far. As soon as you’re back in the apartment, you ditch your shoes and outside clothes, which makes you feel even colder than when you were outside. It’s quiet inside, which means that Al is probably already asleep. Wade is somewhere behind you when you find Logan already in bed, Mary snuggled in between his legs, your old man reading a book. 

“All done? How was it?” he asks, setting the book aside and immediately raising the covers for you to join him. 

“COLD! Fuck!” 

You jump on the bed, choosing the quickest way to find yourself in Logan’s warm arms. Mary definitely doesn’t approve, getting her little ass up and pattering towards Wade, who has just entered the room. 

“Fuckin’ A, that’s what our snowman is, peanut,” he says, taking Mary up into his arms, kissing her and then setting her back on the bed to undress properly. Logan gives him a foul look.  

“She’s freezing, you idiot,” he grumbles at Wade, then smiles at you encouragingly. “Come ‘ere, bub,” Logan spurs you on, opening his arms for you and offering his chest to be your private pillow. You gladly accept, letting your body tremble and your teeth clatter as much as they want to while snuggling up in Logan’s embrace, your cold arms finding their way onto his back, your head falling into place half on his shoulder and half on his chest, allowing you to glue the front of your cold body to his heated one. He weaves his fingers into your hair while his other palm comes to rest on your waist, pulling you as close as it’s physically possible. 

Wade follows quickly behind to lock you in between them. When glorious heat starts radiating from both of them, enveloping you on both sides, you sigh contentedly, kissing up Logan’s chest, then finding the best slot for your cheek and straight up fawning on Logan.  

“I still want that head, asshole,” you mumble already half-asleep, feeling Wade’s hands roam over your legs and belly when he’s aligning himself with your back, covering your body with his and slowly heating you up from behind, making you melt against him. He throws his arm over your body to reach Logan, who growls warningly. 

“One day, I’m biting it off, you fucker.”

“Yeah, do it, it’s gonna grow back anyway, Wolvie,” Wade says mockingly, then trails the kisses behind your ear. “I’ll wake you up with it, snookums. Deal?” he asks, his low tone is making you shiver but this time it’s not out of cold. 

You smile dreamily, pressing your butt into his hips.

“Deal.”

[creedslove]

JOEL'S EX WIFE WANTING HIM BACK - HEADCANONS ✨

No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: hi besties!!! Just a small little idea I got while I was watching some good old female rivalry soap opera drama over breakfast ❤️

Warnings: Sarah is a teen here ❤️

• when you got together with Joel, Sarah was already 12, her mom had been gone since she was a baby and though neither of them had any problems about talking about what happened, it wasn't a frequent subject, even if they treated it with naturally, they didn't like talking about it and it was completely understandable, after all, Joel had been abandoned with a weeks old baby and that baby had to grow up without her mother around

• so you always simply decided to pretend she never really existed in the first place, and technically, in your life, she never really did it, because from the moment you began dating Joel, he wasn't her ex-husband anymore, but instead, he was your boyfriend, and Sarah wasn't really her daughter, but your stepdaughter and you both had learned how to love and enjoy each other's company

• you were leading a happy life with the Millers, being part of their household and falling into the same routine as they did, as you spent longer at their place than at your own, until it didn't make any sense for you to keep paying rent, after all, you and Joel were very much together and in love and the natural course of your relationship would be of course, getting married or something like that

• you were happy with your little family, Sarah's issues regarding her mom seemed to be filled up pretty good by you once you joined the family, as she finally had someone she could talk to about boys and other girl stuff. She also really approved yours and Joel's relationship, always commenting on how happy you made her dad and how nice it was to have a more family like routine

• things were good and happy and you couldn't wish for anything more than that, you were as pleased as you could be, and you were pretty sure Joel was the man of your dreams, there was no way you could love someone as much as you loved him and so was the story of how the Millers became a very happy family

• and that was why it shocked the fourth of you - because Tommy was hella shocked as well - when Sarah's mom, Angela, decided to get in touch with Joel; she had found him on Facebook and messaged him, much to his shock, he'd done the same with Sarah, just like that, texting the daughter she'd abandoned as if she was just an old pal saying hello after losing touch for years

• at first, the two of them decided to ignore it, not sure how to act or how to even respond to it, but after a couple of days more in which Angela kept insisting on texting, more like begging Joel for a chance to talk, he decided to talk to his daughter and get to a conclusion together and after considering a lot together, they decided they would answer to her and see what she wanted

• and of course Angela sent quite a few sob sad texts saying how hard things were for her, how much she'd missed her family and mostly her daughter and how she regretted leaving. Joel wasn't quite convinced with that, quite the opposite, he was still bitter and angry at everything that went on, but he could tell Angela's words somehow messed up with Sarah's feelings, after all, she was a reject baby by her mom and at some level, she needed her approval in any way

• so Joel and Sarah agreed to meet up with Angela again, something small, at a coffee shop where they could all sit down and talk things through so they could see how things went between them, you'd also decided not to show up, it was such an intimate moment, you didn't belong in that scenario and you also had no reasons to be suspicious of Joel, you loved and trusted him and he trusted and loved you back, there was no reason to worry about anything at all

• you were genuinely happy to know Sarah had warmed up for her mom and the two of them hit off, having a lot in common and deciding to spend more time together, going on dinners, lunches and movie sessions together; it seemed Angela's presence was a benefit for them, and it was, you liked to see Sarah so happy about her return, it only became a problem when Angela started to show up more and more often at Joel's home

• it was your home too, and as much as you didn't want to be selfish or annoying, you had to admit it bothered you A LOT she was all the time around, at first she started with smaller things, such as visiting you all on Sunday afternoon, or bringing up a dessert, which of course, had to be Joel's favorite and kept gushing about the times they were still married; Angela was a pretty woman, you couldn't deny that, and the fact she seemed so willing to be nice and pleasant around her ex-husband

• and that imposition of her presence into your house and your family was beginning to bother you even more; suddenly, Sarah didn't want to go to the mall with you anymore, instead, she wanted to go with her mom. She didn't want to bake cookies with you anymore because your cookies had that sugar thing in the bottom so she liked her mom's better and as much as you tried understanding Sarah needed and had all the right to enjoy her mom's company and presence, it still hurt you, because you missed Sarah, and yet, it felt as if you weren't important to her anymore

• Seeing the shifts in your dynamics with Sarah, Joel tried to be understanding and even offered himself to talk to her, but you dismissed the idea, it was embarrassing enough you were feeling jealous, you didn't need Joel to get into the middle of that, but it still made you upset when Sarah decided to go to the movies with her mom to watch the newest Ghostbusters movie you two had agreed on going together

• and just as Angela stole Sarah from you, she was more than willing to steal Joel as well: she wanted him, he was even more handsome, his business became successful and he lived comfortably and now Sarah wasn't an annoying baby anymore, it was fun to be around her and she wanted her family back

• so to you, things started going sour when you decided to stop by Joel's business to bring him lunch; you'd prepared him a pretty good lunchbox and you were very excited to see his reaction, however, when you got to his small office, you found him and Angela eating a foot long sub, as it was kind of an inside joke between them from when they were young

"oh shit baby, I had no idea you'd bring me lunch, if I knew it..."

• Joel said wiping his mouth with a napkin as he had sauce on his beard like an idiotic child would and it made your blood boil, Angela simply smirked at you and you knew exactly what she was doing, your gut feeling was right all along, she was a filthy bitch

"it's fine Joel, it's just a sandwich, it's not like you're cheating"

• you didn't know exactly why you said that, it was the first time in your life you had ever said that towards Joel because it had never even crossed your mind there might be a possibility of it happening, but once you said those sour words, an awkward silence, a think tension in the room spread and you felt extremely uncomfortable to be there

"I'm sorry, you can give the lunchbox to Tommy in case he hasn't had lunch if you want, that way the food won't go to waste"

• you told Joel and turned to Angela, you didn't want to hide how much you didn't like the fact she snuck into his office to bring him lunch like a devoted wife

"you know, it's an odd choice to bring your ex-husband lunch instead of your daughter, I'm sure Sarah is starving right now..."

• in the evening, Joel felt very bad about what had happened, he hadn't done anything wrong, but at the same time it was wrong because even if it was just a sandwich, it wasn't about the sandwich but rather who had brought it to him, he knew it had hurt your feelings and he wanted to make it up to you, so he arrived home, using all his charms, his puppy eyes, his sweet talking and his soft neck kisses to convince you to go out with him; he was going to take you out for dinner: at a restaurant, not a bar for beer and burgers, but an actual meal

• you enjoyed your time with him, appreciating his effort to make something nice for you, so you grabbed a table, ordered meals and enjoyed each other's companies, as Joel held your hand and talked about his day, telling you how much he'd missed you and how gorgeous you were, dinner was going smoothly and what happened during lunch time had almost faded from your mind, when you heard someone clearing their throat

"oh hey... Enjoying some romantic dinner? That's a good place, right? Joel used to bring me here every so often, money was very short back then, but he always made an effort"

• Angela gave the two of you a bright smile, loving every single ounce of anger that clearly went through your face, what the fuck was that disgusting woman doing there? Why did she have to ruin your date night like that? It made your blood boiling, Joel immediately sensed the tension and tried coming up with something to say, but Angela just shrugged

"I came over just to grab myself some dinner, excuse me and enjoy your evening"

• she faked sympathy and blew Joel a kiss, knowing damn well the whole evening was already ruined for you, which made her pretty good about herself

• once you got home, you decided to have a heartfelt conversation with Joel, tell him every single thing that was bothering you, after all, communication had always been a big deal for you and it was important for you to open up and be straightforward about the matter, and he agreed with you, he said Angela was crossing the boundary and he assured you he was gonna talk to her

• so during the next few days, things were alright again between you and your sweet Joel; you were still very much in love and Sarah had been so busy with her tests at school, you didn't even hear of Angela's name and you'd be lying if you said you weren't happy about it, it was a relief she wasn't around and you even suggested Joel to make barbecue on Saturday, you'd have an extra shift but then you could enjoy the weekend with your family

• he gladly accepted it and you spent the rest of your week quite excited for it, you liked his barbecue, it was such a dad trait he had and you wanted to spend some time in bed with him too, once you arrived from work, you smiled as you saw Tommy's truck and you could smell the delicious scent of food, as you got off your own car, you went straight to the backyard, smiling from ear to ear

• but it didn't last long, your smile died when you spotted Angela; she was wearing a short summer dress and laughed happily at something Joel said, it must've been so funny because Sarah was laughing too. Angela was holding a bowl of egg salad and the moment she saw you, her own smile died, as if she was the one who had her day ruined by an intruder in her family, and not the other way around

• you frowned as Sarah sighed at seeing you, it didn't take a rocket science genius to see she was disappointed in seeing you there, as if you had got in the way between her mom and dad, you stared at Joel, your eyes filling up with angry tears as he immediately walked to you, holding you by the waist

"baby..."

"I'm going to the bathroom to wash my face and when I come back I don't wanna see this woman here, I've had enough, I don't care if she's your ex or Sarah's mom, she clearly wants to take my place and sometimes I feel like she has already..."

"don't say that, baby girl, that's not true"

"so get rid of her Joel"

• you left to the bathroom so you could freshen up and clear up your mind; hoping she would be gone by then, you didn't want to see her at all, so once you stepped into the kitchen, you were ready to start your weekend, with the exception of the scene before your eyes: Angela's lips on Joel's

• you felt as if you lost the ground from under your feet, and even if Joel shoved her away from him and began apologizing one hundred times, you'd had enough; Angela got what she wanted: you out of the way

• you ignored everything Joel said, as you blinked your tears and shook your head, leaving the house, the house that used to be your home, but now you weren't so sure; maybe all you did all that time was fill up the absence of Angela, and now, that Joel and Sarah had the original one, they didn't need you anymore

• that was only one out of many thoughts that crossed your mind, you didn't want to believe that, you loved Joel and Sarah and you wanted to continue thinking they also love you, but your heart was broken and Joel Miller was to blame 💔

____

[brucebocchi]

Spring 2025 anime, Pt. 1: Ongoing/returning anime and mixed bags

hey, this post is also available on my ko-fi, so please check it out and consider tipping/donating as this is a labor of love. all of my seasonal reviews and end-of-year rankings are on my ko-fi and under my anime reviews tag, mixed in with my occasional musings. thanks!

Holy shit, I actually got one of these out on time!

Spring was an absolute banger of a season for anime, and I wound up watching way more than I expected. Before I get into the absolute gold, though, let's start off with the familiar stuff as well as the stuff that was... not as great.

As always, OP linked in the show title.

Ikuzo!

Continuing & returning anime

​​The Apothecary Diaries, season 2, second cour

One of the decade’s best anime continued into the spring season in much the same way as it did in the second half of its debut season by rewarding keen eyes and revealing mysteries that had been mounting for weeks, if not months. The Apothecary Diaries’ ability to build momentum as it connects its disparate dots is unmatched, and once again the payoff is building at mach speed.

The seeds planted in the second season’s first cour, and even a couple from the first season, are bearing fruit, and some have even cross-pollinated in unexpected ways. The previous emperor’s crimes were laid out pretty starkly in the first half of this season, and he continues to haunt the narrative as it unfolds. This season can easily be summed up by the old card that “hurt people hurt people,” and his crimes are reverberating in the actions of his survivors. It doesn’t help that some of the older ones see him in Jinshi’s beautiful face (who knows what that could mean!), and the attack on him towards the end of the first cour is starting to look like part of a much grander machination.

Maomao, meanwhile, is closer to the gears of that machine than she realizes at first, and an inconvenient but surprisingly friendly kidnapping throws her right in the middle of it. Identity and playing a role are major throughlines of the second season, and more people than just Jinshi were hiding in plain sight in Maomao’s orbit. She’s always preferred keeping to herself, but simply intuiting the truth has never been enough to prevent it from blowing up in her face. Palace intrigue was never her game, but she’s far too close to too many parts of it for it to not be her problem for much longer.

The Apothecary Diaries has been a tough show to write about following its first cour, mostly because I don’t like spoiling stuff, but also because everything I’ve been saying since its debut has held true: The cast is tremendous, the setting is enthralling, and every last little detail matters in ways you can rarely predict. It’s a wonderful soap opera, period piece, and mystery series all in one, and it’s been appointment television for me for over a year and a half now. It’s been enough of a hit that it’s being represented at Universal Studios Japan now, and it deserves every last bit of its success.

It’s also apparent that the anime adaptation has just about caught up to what the manga has adapted up to this point. Guess I’m gonna have to just go ahead and read the novels now.

Go! Go! Loser Ranger, season 2

I was pretty let down by this series’ first season, in part because my patience with its absurdly sporadic pacing never felt like it was properly rewarded. I’d anticipated more episodes than we’d gotten in 2024’s spring season, and as a result I declared a year ago that I’d reserve judgment on Loser Ranger until its second season. I went in with an open mind and reasonable expectations, and I was let down all over again. This show is a goddamn mess.

Having passed the Ranger exams in his Hibiki Sakurama disguise, Fighter D is conscripted alongside Angel into the Green squadron, much to his consternation, under the watchful eye of the temperamental, sukeban-ish Kanon Hisui. Green Keeper’s forte is stealth, which D should be ecstatic about, but it’s gonna be that much harder for him to take out Red from over there. Hisui, along with her new underlings and mercurial informant Chidori, investigate a high school that seems to be the epicenter of a string of disappearances. Instead of the truth, however, they find themselves in a Groundhog’s Day situation, trapped in a loop of an endlessly-repeating day of high school. D has to try to find a way out without divulging his true identity.

Shit completely hits the fan after this arc, in terms of both plot events and how atrociously they are portrayed. It became clear midway through the season that the studio realized there wasn’t going to be a third, so they opted to rush through dozens of chapters’ worth of material in the span of just a few episodes. The problem with this is that what we ended up with was a series of world-shattering events happening in the span of just a few minutes at a time, with zero gravity given to anything going on. The real Hibiki is back. There are kaiju everywhere now. There’s a monster liberation movement and they’re stepping in on D’s territory by threatening to expose the Dragon Keepers. D’s identity is basically out in the open now and half of the cast is just cool with it. Major character deaths, massive twists, double-crosses, a complete upending of the world as we knew it, sure why not, throw it all on the pile. We gotta get to that big epic ending somehow.

Loser Ranger’s first season already had an infuriating pacing problem, and it’s made that much more flabbergasting that this whiplash-inducing string of events comes after we’d spent basically a season’s worth of consecutive episodes between a parking garage and a high school. Major characters are relegated to side plots while others pop up at the very end like “hey remember us? We’re here too.” I stopped bothering with trying to keep up or even follow the plot, because it was clear that the people slapping this shit together did too. Everything was piled on with the purpose of giving the show some semblance of a climactic ending, which was fine, but then it had the gall to keep the door open just a crack, if only to remind us that it’s based on an ongoing manga series. The only thing that hasn’t completely scared me off from someday picking up the source material is the knowledge (or hope, call it what you want) that no manga as incompetently slapped together as Loser Ranger’s second season would have ever been successful enough to warrant an anime adaptation.

I’m not fully letting the source material off the hook, though; I do take issue with the concept of an ostensible liberation movement acting as a Trojan horse threatening to wipe out humanity; that can be read in the worst possible faith as a disgusting analogue for real-world liberation movements trying to end actual atrocities in the present day. It doesn’t help either that our protagonist jumps in and goes “hey, I think BOTH sides are bad and crazy!” Maybe it’s not something the mangaka gave much real thought to, or hey, maybe this adaptation is just so incompetent it accidentally made it look much worse than it actually is. I’m at the point where I don’t really care to find out for myself anymore.

What a letdown. I was intrigued by Loser Ranger’s premise when it debuted last year, but if I’d known going in that it would be such a slog to actually watch, I’d have saved myself the nine hours I wasted on this show. At least the OP and ED are good again.

Wind Breaker, season 2

One of 2024’s more surprising shonen hits came back with a bang this spring season, picking up exactly where the debut season bafflingly left off. The boys are back in town, and it’s time to beat some ass.

Wind Breaker’s second season picks up with Haruka and the Bofurin boys infiltrating a rival gang’s hideout to rescue a classmate’s friend who’s been extorted. He’s kicking butt like normal, but something new is holding him back: He’s starting to get hung up on the idea of his allies getting hurt. Wind Breaker has largely been the story of Haruka learning to accept that he’s wanted and cared for unconditionally, and though he’s a far cry from the angry loner he was at the start of the serie, he’s still grappling with this acceptance just as much as he would any street tough. Helping him along his journey is a senpai who has mastered the art of self-actualization: Tasuku Tsubakino, one of the school’s vaunted Four Kings and an avid fan of makeup and cute, feminine clothing. Haruka, as you can imagine, is frequently flustered.

An early Tsubaki appearance in the first season piqued my interest, but here in the second they immediately became one of my favorite things about Wind Breaker (Tsubaki’s gender identity isn’t addressed head-on; they attend an all-boys school but use the very feminine “atashi” first-person pronoun, so rather than typecast I will refer to them with gender-neutral pronouns). They are an absolute delight of a character, and far from a slouch in a fistfight. Their own journey to self-acceptance, as depicted in this season’s masterful sixth episode, runs wonderfully parallel to Haruka learning to recover from his own ostracization, even if the latter doesn’t involve lipstick and heels. If Tsubaki can become their true self by loving what they see in the mirror, surely Haruka can become what he’s meant to be by simply accepting that the people around him actually want him there.

Another unfortunate parallel to Haruka, however, rears his head towards the end of the season in the form of what looks to be the Big Bad for the foreseeable future, Yamato Endo, an ex-Bofurin ronin of sorts who takes an interest in the first-year after fanning the flames of a massive street brawl in what looks an awful lot like Kabukicho. Endo left Bofurin to pursue his own self-interests, and he recommends Haruka do the same. Though Haruka’s commitment is tested, anyone who knows him by now knows that he’s never been the type to back down. Hell, he had to be dragged kicking and screaming away from like three other fights right before that. Once again, a season ends on a “welp, here’s the new bad guy” reveal, but this season’s ending feels more like an intriguing teaser than the debut just ending at the start of the next arc for some reason.

Pacing was already an issue in Wind Breaker’s first season, and the second takes a surprisingly leisurely pace for a while. And just like the first season, the back half of this season is monopolized by an arc that lasted probably an episode too long. While the fight animation is typically great, there was enough time spent outside of fisticuffs that I started doubting whether the show’s animation was as good as I remembered it. It doesn’t help that some crowd scenes are rendered in low-quality CGI just distracting enough to remind me that this is the same studio that botched the 3D effects in the otherwise eye-popping Elusive Samurai last year. Overall, though? Can’t complain. Everyone still looks adorable, especially when they get all blobby for gag purposes, and I was just happy to spend more time with my punchy boys.

Another uneven but eminently enjoyable season for Wind Breaker is in the bag, and I’ll wait around patiently for another. This season’s lesson? Dudes don’t always have to look like dudes in order to rock.

Mixed Bags

Catch Me at the Ballpark!

I recognize that if you’re reading this far into several thousands of words’ worth of anime reviews, you likely don’t care much for sports. Maybe you only care about sports through the lens of anime; there’s plenty of great series that revolve around basketball, volleyball, boxing, and the like. I happen to love baseball a whole lot, and I love anime a whole lot, but I’m yet to find a baseball anime that really caught my eye. I bounced off of last spring’s Oblivion Battery after just a couple episodes, partly because I’d already had too many other shows to write about, and I’m yet to find one that really grabs me.

I’m not happy to report that Catch Me at the Ballpark hasn’t broken that streak, but I did like that it took a more casual approach to sports anime, and in a way that reaffirms what I love about baseball. Most sports anime tends to focus on the drama and camaraderie innate to competition, but baseball is a slower-paced spectator sport. There’s a lot of downtime, and much of the act of attending a baseball game is secondary to the on-field product. It’s more of a picnic with a few thousand friends, and I love seeing that atmosphere cross cultures. In this regard (and unfortunately just in this regard), Catch Me at the Ballpark gets it. 

It’s an ensemble slice-of-life that largely eschews the on-field action and drama in favor of the goings-on around the stadium, spanning dozens of segments following the fans, vendors, stadium workers, reporters, WAGS, mascot, and yes, the players. The fictional Chiba MotorSuns are an historically futile club with a dedicated fanbase, one of whom being the dead-eyed young salaryman Kotaro Murata, who finds refuge at the ballpark after long days of fucking up and apologizing for it. His relaxation is tempered a bit when he orders a beer from one of the roaming vendors, the rowdy gyaru Ruriko, who takes the opportunity to push his buttons. We’re left assuming this is the start of some bog-standard romcom shit, but it turns out Ruriko is just excited that she managed to talk to a customer without blowing it.

Setting us up with a ballpark Nagatoro situation is not a great start to the series, but the focus fortunately hops around to various parts of the stadium from there, showing us the ecosystem of disparate elements that come together to bring us the experience of every baseball game. Catch Me is a lovely cross-section of all the little things going on to make the day-to-day of baseball what it is, and the ways they interact with one another: The security guards help a lost child to ensure her memories of the ballpark are good ones, Ruriko advises the stadium announcer on quirky calls, and the devastatingly attractive 40-something clubhouse cook makes sure a younger player feels included and is fed properly. Sun-Shiro, the adorably plump salamander mascot, not only engages the fans but helps out just about everyone in the park with written words of encouragement, professional pointers, and sick wrestling moves. A ballpark is ultimately a community, and Catch Me’s portrayal exhibited just enough charm to keep me watching.

Although not much of the show is dedicated to the on-field action, plenty of time is spent with the players, and the ones that get more focus are pretty darn likable. The aging veteran slugger Kojiro gets a lot of screen time as a hometown hero, as well as his wife who learns to love baseball through the adoration of the Chiba crowds. My favorite is easily Dennis Young, the beefy gaijin trying not to slum it in his exile overseas after flaming out in the American majors. He’s a Chicago native wearing #34 and an ex-Cub, so I have no choice but to stan. There’s a small running subplot surrounding his commitment to the team, but I don’t care about that nearly as much as I care about him peppering his inner monologue with over-enunciated English (a gag I will always love) and horribly pronouncing basic Japanese in an awful American accent. Hell yeah, get our asses.

The moribund MotorSuns are making a push for their first-ever playoff appearance in the background of all this, and the Chiba faithful are catching that baseball fever. In addition to Kojiro’s wife, we’re watching plenty of people get swept up in the hype of the suddenly ascendant team, including a middle-school musician finding community in the cheer section, a reporter whose assigned hit piece turns into fluff, and of course Ruriko herself, who began the season not knowing shit about the sport. There are life lessons to be learned from baseball, especially in the hopeless optimism and perseverance you learn from rooting for a historically middling team, and the playoff push towards the end of the season does a solid job of portraying this. Though it may sound insane from the outside, there is genuine community to be found in a futile fandom, and it makes the eventual successes feel that much more rapturous. Again, I would know, I’m a Cubs fan.

Here’s the part where I undermine all my poetic waxing about baseball: This show just plain isn’t very good. It looks like an equally-cheap anime from 15 years ago, the voice cast is largely wasted, and the pacing is often brutal. I liked Ruriko just fine, but every segment with her and Murata was like nails on a chalkboard; they have negative chemistry and he is the biggest drip imaginable. It’s a wonder that this is from the same studio that nailed Train to the End of the World a year ago. The most praise I can heap upon any one part of Catch Me at the Ballpark unfortunately damns the rest of it, by which I mean that the ED is easily the best part of the show. “Ballpark de Shake! Don’t Shake!” is a blast of a song, if standard anime fare (I’m a sucker for opening and ending themes performed by the show’s cast, especially when Fairouz Ai is involved), and the presentation is the most eye-catching thing in the whole series. The vendor girls’ dances in front of the foamy, bubbly beer background make economic use of a limited color palette and smear frames, bringing an irresistible amount of personality that the rest of the show was sorely lacking. It looks like it was animated in Flipnote in the best of ways. It’s a shame that nothing from the preceding 22 minutes could match this energy.

So no, this isn’t the best show, but I can’t help but be romantic about baseball. I firmly maintain that beer and baseball are two of mankind’s greatest creations, and I’m pretty high on anime as well, so it’s a shame that a melding of the three didn’t quite reach the potential it could have. I do still have a soft spot for this one, but much like Heineken, the Toronto Blue Jays, and Catch Me at the Ballpark, wonderful things can still be sadly mediocre.

Lazarus

By all accounts, this should’ve broken Adult Swim’s streak of original anime misfires. All of the right pieces were in place: The programming block’s run of Cowboy Bebop during its early days cemented the series’ legendary status among western anime fans, so running it back with a shiny new Shinichiro Watanabe original was a no brainer. MAPPA, the prestige anime studio, was tabbed to produce it, with Gainax and Trigger veterans among the animation directors. Contemporary jazz stalwart Kamasi Washington (best known for playing saxophone on Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly) joined electronic producers Floating Points and Bonobo for the soundtrack. Hell, they got John Wick director and former stuntman Chad Stahelski to supervise the action sequences! This had to be a slam dunk, right?

Welp.

In the not-too-distant future of 2052, three years after introducing a miracle painkiller and dropping off the face of the earth, Dr. Deniz Skinner resurfaces in a recording to confess that the drug has an unforeseen drawback: Everyone who took it will die three years after the first dose, and thanks to its popularity, humanity suddenly faces certain extinction. A mysterious woman assembles a suicide squad of sorts to track down Skinner and try to schmooze him for a cure, front and center being wisecracking prison escape artist Axel Gilberto. He and the rest of the crew of ne’er-do-wells, assigned the name Lazarus, have only 30 days to track down the reclusive doctor before the first dominoes start to fall, and they do so in an extremely roundabout way, hopping to abandoned labs, nightclubs, cult compounds, and oil rigs, en route to way too many dead ends.

Unfortunately, that synopsis makes Lazarus sound way more cohesive than it is in practice. This is Watanabe’s first show since the passing of frequent collaborator and scriptwriter Keiko Nobumoto, and her absence is groan-inducingly palpable. Lazarus exhibits some of the same freewheeling, episodic feel that helped make Bebop a classic, but at the expense of the actual overarching plot. We’re thrown to all corners of the earth for a new wacky adventure every week, but each one is a dead end on the quest to, apparently, save all of humanity in just a month. I cannot believe how much time this show wastes fucking around. If it weren’t for the “X days until extinction” card at the end of every episode, it’d be pretty easy to forget that this show is supposed to be a race against the clock.

Seriously, it doesn’t feel like anything actually happens in Lazarus, even though I saw stuff happen with my own eyes across 13 episodes. It seems to trade entirely in vibes, and while the vibes are lovely, it seems to be the only thing this show has going for it. Everyone is well-designed, the animation is gorgeous, the action scenes are (mostly) exceptionally choreographed, and the soundtrack is lovely, but all of it feels like it’s in service of precisely nothing. Watanabe’s never been for a lack of Something to Say, and he’s been open about the story’s conception being rooted in the opioid crisis in the US, but everything seems to be lip service with little if any actual thought put in. Little things peppered throughout like crypto traders being accurately portrayed as sleazy dirtbags, AI fanatics being in a literal cult, nods to the human cost of climate change, and the matter-of-fact inclusion of a trans character are all things designed to make a lefty sicko like me go “hell yeah” (and I did), and nothing more. I gave Lazarus the benefit of the doubt that maybe this was all headed somewhere, that all these dead ends and red herrings were placed intentionally to lead us to a sensible conclusion, and it turns out I gave it way too much credit. Every attempt at pathos and meaningful character beats falls flat because these characters do not fundamentally exist outside of their names and faces. I was completely stone-faced by the finale. Lazarus is a whole lot of beautiful nothing.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t mind that only the English dub was available each time a new episode dropped, but I wasn’t crazy about this dub in particular. I wasn’t immediately familiar with any of the names in the dub cast, but they had more anime chops than I’d initially realized. There’s a good amount of Oshi no Ko, My Hero Academia, and even the rebooted Urusei Yatsura in there. I also didn’t realize that Chris’ voice actress, Luci Christian, voices Nami in One Piece and Yukari in Azumanga Daioh. I owe you an apology, queen, I was not familiar with your game. None of this really matters, though, because the voice direction is no bueno. Everyone speaks in a disaffected, languid tone, like they were purposely directed to emulate the old Bebop dub. Combined with the laid-back pacing, the vibey soundtrack, and the weirdly staccato rhythm of the dialogue to match the animated lip flaps, the aural element of the English-dubbed version threatens to turn Lazarus into televised Ambien. The real shame of it is that the Japanese cast is exceptional (Mamoru Miyano, Maaya Uchida, Makoto Furukawa? Say less), but I have no desire to go back and sit through this nonsense again just to hear it.

If there is one area where I have to give Jason DeMarco credit as an anime producer, it’s that he frequently nails the musical aspects of the otherwise mediocre series he manifests (Mori Calliope in last year’s Suicide Squad Isekai notwithstanding). If you can’t get Yoko Kanno back for a spiritual follow-up to Cowboy Bebop, you can do several orders of magnitude worse than Kamasi Washington. But a jazz virtuoso isn’t enough to save Lazarus from the growing heap of disappointing crap bearing DeMarco’s name, and we can’t keep blaming it all on Zaslav. I praised last year’s Metallic Rouge by comparing it positively to Watanabe’s work before promptly ripping it to shreds for being an overwrought nothingburger of a series, and here I am 15 months later calling an actual Watanabe work the same thing. I think I would have enjoyed this show more if it flat-out sucked.

Maybe it’s on me for biting on another lousy Adult Swim original anime for the third year in a row. Bring me my Fell For It Again Award. I look forward to doing this again in 2026.

Mobile Suit Gundam GQuuuuuuX

I probably shouldn’t have tasked myself with reviewing this one. I’m the dreaded new-gen Gundam fan who’s only seen G-Witch. I promised myself I’d watch the old ‘79 series (or at least the compilation movies), but I followed a baker’s dozen series this season and work full time. So here I am, up shit creek with naught but a dunce cap, trying to write about a series that expects me to be intimately familiar with Universal Century canon.

Set in an alternate UC 0085 where Zeon won the One Year War thanks to Char Aznable finding the OG White Gundam first and then disappearing, GQuuuuuuX largely follows disaffected high schooler Amate, who stumbles upon a prototype Gundam (guess what it’s called!) in the middle of a Zeon hunt for Char’s suddenly-resurfaced Gundam, and commandeers it. You can probably guess that she’s a Newtype and thus able to pilot it perfectly, but this gets her caught up with a group of junkers who decide to use her talents and newfangled machinery in an illegal mech fighting ring. She befriends the guarded war refugee Nyaan and mysterious pilot Shuji, who seems to have a deep metaphysical connection with Char’s Gundam, and takes part in these battles alongside Shuji, while the very-much-alive (and now much handsomer) Challia Bull keeps a close eye on their team in his search for the Red Comet.

Sooooo, this one is kind of all over the place. There was plenty of classic Gundam stuff packed into here with the clear intention of making longtime fans point at the screen like Rick Dalton, so maybe it’s on me for going into this for the original story. I like Amate and Nyaan just fine, and there is a decent dynamic between them that threatens to complicate future proceedings when shit inevitably hits the fan (my condolences to everyone who got yuri-baited), but for a show ostensibly about them, GQuuuuuuX isn’t exactly about them. I was of the understanding that Gundam’s strength was always in its character writing and interpersonal drama, and while it doesn’t exactly go all “Wow! Cool robot!” on us instead, I get the feeling that this show isn’t about much more than Gundam itself.

I knew going in that I probably needed to know more about the UC, and I would’ve probably skipped it ordinarily, but GQuuuuuuX is a pretty special production: Sunrise teamed up with Hideaki Anno’s Studio Khara for this production, tapped Diebuster and FLCL director Kazuya Tsurumaki to run the show, grabbed Evangelion mech designer Ikuto Yamashita to design the new Gundams, and even had Anno himself contribute some scripts and a storyboard. Having Take, the character designer for the last three generations of Pokémon games, design the new characters didn’t hurt either (some of them straight up look like Pokémon characters, and in motion they almost looked like they were ripped right out of Gurren Lagann). This is a wealth of talent with a ton of obvious love for the Gundam franchise, and it shows: It looks and sounds terrific at nearly every turn (save for the overdesigned CGI mechs, which would look right at home in the Eva Rebuilds), and just about every part of this series that deals with legacy Gundam, particularly in flashbacks, looks ripped right out of the ‘79 series, right down to the pink-and-yellow explosions. With the exception of the suddenly silver-fox-y Challia Bull, the classic Zeon characters themselves look on-model from their original designs too, which is a wild departure from Take’s rounded, colorful designs.

This contrast is neat, and it goes a long way towards underscoring the talent and love that went into this production, but it also exemplifies my main issue with it: I think GQuuuuuuX has an identity crisis. I’d say it’s caught between the past and the present, but as it went further along it struck me that it’s so fixated on the past that the present suffered as a result. Why am I supposed to care about these teenagers when the show makes it clearer and clearer that it’s pretty much all about Char, Zeon, and the OYW? In what universe does the love triangle matter when Shuji barely qualifies as a character? The common criticism of G-Witch was that it would have benefited from a longer runtime, and while the 13 episodes GQuuuuuuX got is especially short for a Gundam series, I don’t know how much it would’ve helped for there to be more of it. No matter how much more focus the series could’ve given to Amate, Nyaan, or even Shuji, all roads led back to the UC. Getting a better feel for the new characters would’ve only made the bonkers climax feel even more jarring and further disconnected from them.

I don’t know if going into this as a Gundam casual makes my observations fairer or just worse-informed, but it felt to me what it was probably like to watch the last hour of Avengers Endgame having only seen a few MCU movies up to that point. I was hoping this would be an interesting on-ramp to the larger Gu​ndam canon, as some people insisted it would be, but I just felt left out a lot of the time. I didn’t want nor expect to be spoonfed a half-century’s worth of lore, but to the uninitiated, GQuuuuuuX’s over-the-top degree of fanservice largely feels masturbatory, like walking in on a circlejerk I wasn’t invited to. I’m sure this reads completely differently if you’re a UC stan, just as sure as I am that there’s an alternate dimension out there somewhere where I’m unambiguously gushing over this show. I can see this one being a huge inflection point for longtime fans.

Either way, I’m still probably gonna buy a GQuuuuuuX Gunpla when it comes out. Cool robot.

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 5

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: We’re going deeper and darker on this one, with an ending you might not expect...

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. TW: attempted sexual assault (not successful), violence, character death, drug use, and a twist.

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Part 5: Eminence Front

Your last conversation with your mother was on a Sunday morning, in hospice.

You sat at her bedside and held her hand. Chris and your father were downstairs in the hospital food court, ordering sandwiches. You hadn’t had much of an appetite for three days.

“I had your father call the whole family so they could watch the music video with you and Soldier Boy,” your mom said. She wore a proud, if weak smile. “He even recorded a few tapes of it. He sent one to your aunt, another to your cousins, and another to our friends Leah and Stan.”

“Pretty sure that’s illegal piracy, Mom,” you said with a laugh.

“I don’t care. You’re my daughter, and you’ve worked incredibly hard to get here,” she said. Her eyes misted over a bit in memory. “We’ve all worked hard.”

You stilled at that. You didn’t know what memories she had filtering through her head, but you were sure your perspective behind the lens was…different.

In your mind’s eye, you saw yourself at twelve years old. Chris had been pestering you all day, as big brothers were wont to do sometimes. With a slap on his arm, you’d screamed at him to leave you alone.

He didn’t speak to you for a whole month. He didn’t go to your piano recital or your choir concert, where you had the best solo. He didn’t talk to you until you touched him again, grabbing his arm, pleading with him.

"Please, whatever I did, I'm sorry. Just talk to me!"

He startled as if he’d woken up from a dream.

Your parents had shared a look, and they’d known then that their gamble had worked.

You remembered being sat down by your mother and told that they had spent their entire life’s savings to make you a hero. So you were going to spend the rest of your young life training to be one.

“We’re investing in your future, but we’re also investing in ours.”

You remembered sleepover invites rejected and summer plans canceled on your behalf. Your mother used her meager retirement fund to sign you up for vocal lessons from a former opera singer. Your high school football coach father drilled you to condition your body like an athlete.

You never had a moment that wasn’t scheduled. You were always exhausted, taking whatever “supplements” your parents gave you to keep you going. (Often it was Adderall, until it started giving you insomnia, among other delightful side effects.)

You were miserable. Then again, you’d be surprised by what you could get used to.

The end goal was always getting into Payback. It was where you’d garner the most fame and make the most money, and therefore, make the most returns on your parents’ investments.

So your father later took out a loan to get you some basic combat training from an ex-Vought employee. Your parents wanted you to be well-rounded and prepared for anything when you got onto the team—and it was always when.

If was not part of the story.

Any small commercials and modelling gigs you landed throughout middle school and high school helped pay for your family’s bills, and later for college, where you double majored in Vocal Performance and Marketing. You would learn how to become your own brand.

Through it all, you always remembered what your mom had said to you on the set of your first commercial. You were crying because the hours were long and you missed your friends, and even your brother.

“Come on, let’s wipe those tears. You don’t want to smudge your makeup,” she’d said. When you couldn’t be consoled, she guided you over to a quieter corner of the set. “Listen, sweetheart. Don’t let them see you upset. You'll get a reputation for being difficult to work with.”

“I don’t care! I don’t want to do this anymore,” you said, sniffling badly as you scrubbed at your eyes. Your mother sighed sharply.

“You’re just starting out. Of course there are going to be growing pains,” she said. “Showbusiness is a cutthroat world, and yes, you’re so young. Maybe too young.”

She wiped your face with gentler hands, then she laid them on your shoulders and made sure you met her eyes.

“But you’re going to be better prepared than most superheroes. You can literally read men. You know what’s in their hearts, and you can control them. As a woman in this world, do you know how damn powerful that is?” she said.

She squeezed your shoulders.

“That’s why you’ll be smarter than any of them, and you’ll only show the world what you want them to see.”

What you want them to see…

“We don’t have to talk about that right now,” you said at last.

Your mom nodded and stroked your hand. Her eyes fell closed in rest. She looked so small and frail in her bed.

“I’m so, so proud of you,” she said. “Always remember that.”

Your lower lip trembled, and your eyes stung. You couldn’t help but feel hollow. What was there to be proud of? You’d failed. All your hard work was meant to give your family a better life, not…this.

“You’re so beautiful and talented,” she continued. “And you’ll get your father out from under these medical bills I put on him, won’t you?”

Deep in your soul, a painful ache twinged.

You ignored it and nodded in agreement.

“I’ll take care of Dad, don’t worry.”

Your mother died the next morning. You wrote a statement about her passing to explain your absence to your fans. It went through Madelyn Stillwell and Arthur before they released the press release and even had it covered in Vought News. Then you spent the next week entrenched in funeral arrangements with your father and brother.

When you eventually returned to Vought Tower after the funeral, it felt like another part of you had chipped off.

Your room was filled with flowers and gifts from your fans, which managed to make you wide-eyed, and even tearfully touched. So this was the power of fame, then?

But there was one vase filled with beautiful scarlet roses. Attatched was a handwritten note:

Welcome home.

You thought you recognized the scrawl. A small smile graced your lips.

You gave into the desire to venture up to the penthouse floor, and knock on Ben’s door. He opened it himself. He was dressed down for once in the afternoon, in a normal sweater rolled up to his elbows and tucked into his slacks. Once he saw you, he was a little surprised.

You held up the note for his view. “Was this you?”

He smiled slightly, but he didn’t answer you. He just welcomed you inside. You followed him into the living room area and sat heavily on the couch. An album was playing on his record player. You recognized Sinatra’s smooth voice singing “My Way.”

“You want a drink?” Ben asked.

“Whiskey, neat,” you replied. He rose a brow, but he fulfilled your request.

While he was busy, you grabbed his forgotten half a blunt from the ashtray on the coffee table, and you lit up. You didn’t often partake in drugs because you didn’t like being out of your lucid mind. You preferred being in control.

Today was different. You needed a distraction. Maybe that was why you were here to begin with.

You accepted the glass he handed to you and took a generous sip, though you coughed at the burn on the way down. And you took a puff, the smoke irritating your throat even more. You practically coughed up half a lung, until he sat down beside you and reached out his hand. You passed the blunt back to him. You two traded off hits until it was more than halfway down to the roach, and he eventually put it out on the ashtray.

“My offer still stands, you know,” he said.

You turned to him. Even in your “enlightened” state, you could feel his intentions. The way he roamed your body with his eyes was unmistakable, but just then, you had a moment of clarity. You couldn’t be bothered to play this game, or hide your true thoughts for that matter. You smiled to yourself, and you stood.

Ben got up with you, trying to gauge your reaction.

“Thank you,” you said, “for finally showing me who you really are.”

His lips slowly pulled into a frown. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“My mom died,” you said. “I know you knew that, but you couldn’t even muster up a basic ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ or whatever the fuck.”

You even laughed through the spark of tears. You wiped at your face. “This place is exactly what I thought it would be.”

The man was silent while you finished the drink in one long gulp. You slammed the glass on his counter, and you left his apartment.

It wasn’t the first time Ben watched you walk away from him, but despite his outward stoicism, it was the first time he felt the sting of it.

You knew it would be difficult at Vought, but you were finding it more and more challenging to keep focused as the months went by.

On one mission, Ben threw a man out of a three-story apartment. He lived, by some miracle, but shattered almost every bone in his body.

On another, Black Noir choke-slammed an escaped convict so hard, her esophagus caved in. And it was a good day if the TNT Twins even zapped the right culprit.

You were increasingly wary of the collateral damage and violence you were being complicit in, just by being there. You had to keep reminding yourself of why you were here. You needed to take care of your father, who was still swimming in your mother’s medical bills and funeral costs. You needed to prove to yourself that you could do this, with or without Ben’s help.

Even so, a day you were called to a full team mission made you more anxious than excited.

It was a drug ring that the police had been trying to dismantle for nearly a decade: Los Reyes. They were the "kings of cocaine," and they were brutal in their retaliations, locked in a turf war with one of the Italian mafias. As Stan Edgar had explained, the police were grateful for any help that Payback could provide.

You guys were sent to a warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen. According to law enforcement intel, it was the base of the Reyes gang's operations.

Infiltrating it was the easy part. Countess blasted right through the front doors, revealing your entire team to the group of men huddled around entire tables and crates filled with product.

When a man aimed a gun at you, Ben threw his shield. It hit the man, who then crashed into a support beam and broke his back in half. Your eyes went wide in horror at seeing his lifeless ones. You gaped up at Ben.

“Was that really necessary?” you asked in alarm.

"Would you rather get shot?” he said coolly.

The others picked off a few men in the room, but the rest of the gang scattered into other rooms within the large building. Ben barked commands for who should go in which direction.

“Sirena, you’re with Swatto. Head east towards the alley and cut off any rats,” he commanded.

You wanted to take issue with being partnered with Swatto. You glanced over at him. After how you compelled him a few months ago, he still had a grudge against you as well. But you two knew better than to argue with Soldier Boy on a mission.

You and your partner ducked out the east side into the alley. Sure enough, you saw blood splatters on the wall from a handprint, and drips of blood leading down the concrete path. After sharing a nod, you and Swatto followed the line of blood.

You turned the corner into a dusty construction site, where a new skyscraper was only partially built. Some walls were up along with the foundation, but it was mostly dirt, bare concrete walls, and piles of brick.

When you turned a corner, you and Swatto stopped short as bullets rained your way.

“Oh, fuck!” Swatto shouted. He pulled out his gun and decided to fly above. You heard more shots and men screaming, and then, it was quiet. You cocked your own gun, though you hoped you didn’t have to use it. The problem with your powers was you needed to be close enough to touch someone to actually compel them, man or woman.

Your last resort was your actual siren song, a power you rarely used. Mainly because it was lethal to any man who heard it. For that reason, it had to be your in case of emergency break glass tactic.

So you crept around the corner to see what Swatto had done. You were surprised to find that he fought well. He managed to kill a few of them, but one large man was still alive. He was on his knees in the dirt with his hands folded behind his head.

“See? Ain’t so fuckin’ tough now, huh?” Swatto taunted. “Get ready to get fucked in the ass in jail, Paco.”

You grimaced in disgust. “All right, that’s enough. Just—”

Before you could realize what was happening, the man raised up from the ground and swept the gun from Swatto’s hands. It flew across the clearing and hit the wall, setting the gun off. A bullet ricocheted and grazed Swatto in the side. 

“Aw, fuck! I’m fucking hit!” he yelled in alarm. His wings expanded from his back, and he raised off the ground in flight. Your eyes widened.

“Where the hell are you going?” you shouted.

“I’m hit! I need a hospital!” His voice grew smaller as he flew away like a fucking coward.

It left you alone with a man twice your size. He seized you up with a smirk.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “You’re the new one, right?”

You raised your gun and fired, but you were too late. He evaded and grabbed the gun from your hands. You held your ground after the first punch, but the second and third made your legs shake. You were more durable than the average human, and you were well trained. Unfortunately, you didn’t have super strength like most of your teammates.

You blocked when you could and gave blows of your own, but this man was large enough that it didn’t slow him for long. He wore a sweatshirt with long sleeves, so you couldn’t easily compel him with a touch.

Okay, this warrants an emergency, you thought in alarm. When you opened your mouth to sing, he shot out a sharp blow to your throat. Maybe he thought you were going to scream for help, but it had its intended effect of choking you into silence.

He grabbed you and proceeded to beat you down, until you felt the sharp breaking of ribs and blood and dirt in your mouth. Every time you tried to slip away or get to your feet and escape, he knocked you back down. He was toying with you, and having fun with it too. You could sense his sick enjoyment.

But then, you felt his intentions shift. Darker, and more carnal. A more intense fear coiled in your stomach, rising up into your throat. A gasp got stuck there as you tried harder to crawl away.

He grabbed your ankle and dragged you back towards him. He took your wrists when you tried to claw at his eyes, or even just touch his face to try and enforce your power over his.

Just a scrap of skin. That’s all you need.

A whimper escaped you as you struggled, but you kneed him hard between the legs. That managed to stop him for a moment as he grunted and cursed. He got a hold of a meaty hand around your neck. Your eyes glowed in desperation.

Suddenly, the man’s weight lifted off you.

You panted for breath and raised yourself up on your elbow. You watched with wide eyes as Ben slammed your attacker’s face into the dirt until he couldn’t breathe. Ben glanced at you, taking in the sight of your bloody face and cut lip, your arm wrapped around your battered ribs.

His frown deepening in displeasure, he bent the man’s arm until it broke in at least two places. His howls of pain echoed into the night. Ben cut it off by twisting the man’s neck, until it released a loud crack.

He threw the body to the ground in disgust. He barely even wiped his gloves before he stood straighter. Then he went back to you.

“You all right?” he asked gruffly.

You stared up at him with tears shining in your eyes. You tried to answer, but it hurt your throat. It was also painful for you to move your body. You tasted blood in your mouth and knew it had dribbled down your chin.

With a rough exhale through his nose, Ben lowered down and slid his hands underneath your body. You cringed and cried out when he moved you, but you were grateful. You were embarrassed. And you were exhausted.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you folded your arms over your battered middle. You couldn't help but lay your head against his chest.

The rest of the team was waiting at the other end of the clearing, except for Swatto. Even Countess was quiet as she watched Ben carry you out of the construction site.

You spent a couple of days in the hospital. There you were surrounded by Vought security fielding off any journalists or tabloids, and you were accompanied by your dad and brother.

Chris especially was angry for you, not to mention worried, but you tried to hide your pain and reassure them that you would be okay. This was just par for the course when taking down the bad guys.

Yeah, that one sounded hollow, even to you.

You were grateful when you got out of the hospital and were sent back to the Tower. Even so, the doctor had you mostly on bedrest until your ribs healed up. You weren’t proud of it, but you wallowed in your embarrassment and a bit of self-pity while you watched a marathon of Cheers and ate from a box of assorted chocolates. You dug around for your favorites, but you kept getting the weird shitty filling ones.

“Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came,” sang the TV show theme song. “You wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same. You wanna be where everybody knows your name…” 

“Bullshit,” you muttered aloud. Such was your grouchiness that you had half a mind to change the channel. This godforsaken sitcom was too damn cheery, no matter how much you loved Ted Danson’s fine, rugged ass.

God. Maybe I do have a type.

That was when a knock at the door threatened to disrupt your solitude.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

You’d now recognize that smooth, deep voice anywhere. Sighing, you closed the box of chocolates and hid them under your pillow before you turned off the TV.

“Come in,” you said.

Ben stepped into your apartment and soon found you in your room. It was the first time he’d ever been in here, and he took a subtle look around. He wore his suit and tactical gear.

“Just come from a mission?” you asked.

He nodded and approached your bed. He smiled slightly.

“Eating your feelings in Whitman’s, huh?” he teased, tapping his nose. He could probably smell the chocolate.

You blushed and crossed your arms on reflex, but you grimaced when the motion made your ribs twinge sharply. You made a sound of discomfort and lowered your arms back to your sides. You shifted in the bed as slowly as you could. You’d been in this position for a while.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m peachy,” you groused. When you looked up at him though, you realized that he hadn't needed to come visit you. He was here of his own free will…and there was something you had yet to say to him. You sighed and met him with sincerity.

“Look…thank you, for saving me,” you said.

Ben inclined his head. He lowered down and sat beside you on the edge of your bed.

“You may not like how I run things here, but this is the way of it,” he said, holding your gaze. “This is the real fucking world. If you’re going to stay here, you need to get with that program, or this place is going to chew you up and spit you out.”

That fell between you two for a moment. The more you turned his words over in your mind, the more you realized that he was right, to a point. If you stayed, this was your life. You couldn’t keep handwringing. You had to be smarter.

“I’m sorry, I’m not looking very camera ready,” you said eventually. You meant it to be joking, but your voice was heavy. “I wouldn’t blame you for averting your eyes.”

You half expected him to make a joke about your black eye and torn lip. But to your surprise, Ben picked up your hand with a kind of gentleness. He raised the back of it up to his lips for a kiss. He gave you a reserved smile.

“Rest up,” he said.

He got up and strode out of your apartment. Not for the first time, he left you feeling unbalanced…and this time warm.

It took a few weeks for you to fully heal. You agreed to do an interview with Jason Carver, the anchor of Vought News. It was a bit intimidating being in yet another studio, and this was live.

The cameras aren’t there. This is just a stage like any other. You’re just…having a conversation, you coached yourself. You sat in an uncomfortable leather chair across from Jason at his desk.

When he got the green light from the producer, he kicked off the show by introducing you as his special guest.

“Can I just say, Sirena, we’re all very glad to see you’re all right,” he said, with a very convincing note of sincerity. Your abilities allowed you to read the truth.

Only show them what you want them to see.

You gave him a grateful smile.  

“Thanks, Jason. I appreciate that. It’s just…hazards of the job description, you know?” you said. “But I’m doing much better, and I’m very thankful that my team was there to support me.”

“Yes, the rest of Payback really stepped up to not only apprehend your attacker, but round up the entire Reyes gang. Is that right?” he said.

You nodded, reading the teleprompter. You were meant to go on a mini monologue about how great your team was, and how grateful you were to be a part of it. It was a script approved by Madelyn, and even Stan Edgar.

You paused, glancing over to where Arthur and Madelyn stood in the dark with the rest of the crew. They were both looking at you encouragingly, but expectant.

You took a steadying breath, and you decided to go a bit off-script.

“Well, actually, it was Soldier Boy who saved me,” you said. Jason’s brows rose at your shift in direction, but he reacted with all due interest.

“Really?” he prodded.

“Yes, he did,” you said. The memories of that night filtered through your mind with harrowing detail, including the way Ben stepped in and brutally handled that man. “He didn’t even hesitate. He just threw himself into the fray…and when it was over, he carried me to the hospital himself.”

That part wasn’t exactly true. He’d carried you over to a Vought-owned SUV, and the director of the camera crew drove you over to the hospital. You decided to gloss over that detail, and many others.

“Wow,” Jason said. He shook his head in wonder. “He truly lives up to the legend, doesn’t he?”

You smiled. “He’s more than that. Believe it or not, Soldier Boy was the first one to take me under his wing. He knew I was new to the city, so he guided me all over New York to see the sights like a tourist. Stuff I’m sure he’s seen millions of times, like Top of the Rock and Times Square. Oh, and he was also very gracious when my nephew came to visit. Got me some major brownie points for ‘Best Aunt in the World.’”

That earned you a congenial smile from your host. Your expression faded with a kind of weight in your heart.

“Ever since I got here, he’s been the one to tell it like it is, with that deep, authoritative voice of his,” you said, laughing a little when you tried to imitate Ben’s voice. It got you a laugh, even from those in the studio. “In a way, he’s the one who’s looked out for me the most. I’m very grateful for Soldier Boy, and of course for the rest of my team.”

When you finished, Jason nodded and clapped along with everyone else in the studio.

“Well, that’s just wonderful. Well said,” he said, and he looked straight into the camera with two fingers poised at his temple. “Soldier Boy, if you’re watching, we all appreciate you. And we salute you.”

Ben watched the clip from his living room with a small, incredulous smile on his face.

He wiped the remnants of white powder from his nose and sneezed. Blinking the bleariness out of his eyes, he refocused on the screen while you talked about him. He knew you had to be playing it up for Jason and the cameras, but you also seemed so sincere.

“He’s more than that.”

After the segment was over, he enjoyed the climax of his high while sitting back on his plush sofa. He tossed up an old baseball from his collection up towards the ceiling, this one signed by Babe Ruth. He caught it when gravity pulled it back down towards his face.

That was how Donna found him when she let herself into his apartment. She was out of her suit and wearing a little red dress, one of his old favorites. She graced him with a sultry smile.

“Busy?” she asked.

“Evidently,” he said.

She pouted, almost like a little girl. She went to him and curled herself under his arm and against his chest, draping a smooth thigh over his.

“I miss you,” she purred.

He smiled wryly and turned off the TV.

“Really now?” he drawled. “Because by my calculations it’s been…what, a few months since we’ve fucked?”

Donna paused, the smile slipping from her face.

“And I’m not counting that hand job a couple weeks back. That shit was pitiful, and a little chafing,” he said.

For the past few months, he’d been wracking his brain to remember what it was that had attracted him to this woman, besides the obvious outer packaging. He knew the difference now.

In the beginning, she idolized him. Worshipped him. Loved him. These days, she only came to him when she wanted something, and he had gotten bored. Bored of her.

As if sensing his shift, Donna moved her leg off his lap and sat up with a frown.

“Well, then let me fix it,” she said, as she slid a hand up his thigh. Suddenly she was all too willing to use those red-painted lips to service him. 

Ben couldn’t help but envision those lips as yours, a sinful red, while your mouth did sinful things. He’d gotten off more than once to the thought of it alone, ever since he shot that goddamn music video with you.

So he grabbed Donna’s wandering hand and looked at her coolly.

“Look, for whatever reason, I know you’re not happy,” he said, waving dismissively with his other hand. “Neither of us are. So let’s just stop wasting time.”

Her eyes widened. “What’re you saying?”

Ben’s brows furrowed. “Am I speaking fucking English? It’s time to call it quits, sweetheart.”

Donna’s jaw worked as she fought to keep herself under control. He had a feeling she’d be angry. She always was a little spitfire.

Her body was coiled like a spring when she withdrew her hand from his and got to her feet. She gave him an icy look.

“This isn’t going to last,” she claimed, with a prideful tilt of her chin. “In a month, a week, you’ll get tired of her. And you’ll remember that I’m the one who looks best by your side.”

Ben huffed in amusement before he laid back again. He continued to toss up his baseball.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he said dismissively. 

Donna let loose an aggravated breath, but she kept most of her reaction inside. She turned on her heel, prideful as ever, and left his apartment.

When her fingers landed on the doorknob, however, she turned back for just a moment. Silence greeted her.

It wasn’t until then that her tears finally bubbled over.

Days later, a knock on your door drew your attention out of pulling on some jeans. You were intending to go on a walk through the city, take some time to get out of the Tower and just be you for a change.

That had better not be Madelyn at the door again. She had chastised you for going off-script at the studio twice already. She made the point that she and Stan had gone over those talking points for weeks, and agreed that framing your rescue as a team effort would cover Swatto as well.

He was still laid up with a broken leg, long after the scrape of the bullet had healed. He was tight-lipped about how he’d broken said leg, but you’d heard from Tommy that he’d shattered it…somehow.

Arthur had smoothed things over about your adlib though. He pointed out that talking positively about Soldier Boy helped the whole team. He was the leader, after all.

So yeah, you hoped this visit wasn’t another passive aggressive dress down from the head of PR. You sighed and went over to get the door. You were thoroughly surprised to see Ben.

And a Ben that was wearing a regular suit, for that matter. He looked like he’d stepped out of a Hugo Boss catalogue, steeped in charcoal gray with a long black coat draped over his arm. Your mouth parted in soft shock, especially when he produced a single rose from behind his back.

You took it with tentative fingers and a blush rising hotly in your cheeks.

“Okay, what—”

“Let me take you out,” he said. “One night. You’ll get to see what it’s like to be with the most famous man in the world.”

What an opening line that was. You sensed he was in full Charm City mode, complete with a suave smile. Yours was more amused, even though you twisted the flower's soft petals lightly on your chin in contemplation.

After a few seconds to think, you gave him a patient look.

“Ben, nothing’s changed for me. I told you, I–”

“Countess and I are done, for real this time,” he said.

Once again, you were taken by surprise—mostly because he was telling the truth. You felt it.

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “When did this happen?”

“Recently,” he shrugged. “But like I said, it hasn’t been working for a while. It was a mutual thing.”

You weren’t so sure about that, but… 

This is what I wanted, you reminded yourself. In fact, it had been half what you’d hoped for when you went off-script. You just couldn’t believe it had worked this well, so soon. As much as you probably shouldn’t, part of you began to feel bad for manipulating him. For lying to him.

But it’ll be good for my career.

“…Okay,” you agreed, glancing down at your plain shirt and jeans. “Just give me some time to change.”

He raised a brow. “How much time?”

You gave him a slightly cheeky smile. “An hour, and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

He sighed, but he agreed.

“Just don’t keep me waiting all fucking day,” he said.

“Come on. What’s a little delayed gratification?” you teased. Then you gave him a more sincere smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Ben nodded, with some added charm in the look he gave you in return.

You slipped back into your apartment and shut the door. You paused there when a thought struck you.

Shit, now what am I going to wear?

AN: Did you see that one coming?

A lot of darker angst and drama in this one, sorry for that. But I think you may like what's coming up...

Next Time:

You slid your hand over his on the table. You felt him stiffen slightly, his body tensing up at your touch. You frowned when you saw the glint of wariness cross his face.

“I won’t compel you again, Ben. I promise,” you said. As long as you don’t give me a reason to.

Your hand traveled up his arm, soothing along his neck, your palm finally resting against his cheek. His green eyes stared into yours.

Soon enough, his wariness bled away into desire.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 6

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[wardensantoineandevka]

I won't get around to writing a properly developed post on it, but speaking generally and assuming broad good faith, I personally think the anachronism in Veilguard is fine. I know it's a deeply held bit of style for a lot of people, and many hold the directive about no anachronism as important to things feeling properly Dragon Age.

Personally, I never felt it THAT important. I roll my eyes at nitpicking about historically accurate costuming too, and I pause to wonder what IS "anachronism" in fantasy. I think a lot of the style of the games leaned so hard on it that, in some places, it was a substituting this rule in place of developing stronger individual style or voice. I love this series, but I don't feel like characters (notably once you got past core cast), locations, etc. always and consistently had a strong sense of voice, both in terms of diction but also in visual direction. I feel like even the music gets this a little bit, since Veilguard feels more musically interesting to me than many of the prior tracks because, I think, the soundtrack is allowed to feel a little less like vaguely European medieval heroic fantasy.

There's always been anachronism, but I think the strict reliance on adhering to a particular conception of what A Fantasy Story looks and sounds like really hampered, at least for me, the development of style identity. Veilguard's voice and style broke from that in a way that did feel successfully more specific and striking for the story and characters it's trying to dress. I think being released from this directive does—because there's no longer what we bring ourselves to the table from our familiarity with the genre and pattern recognition—however, magnify flaws in how Bioware always has treated the setting as just the backdrop against which these dramas play out. But that's outside the scope of my thoughts here. I'll just summarize that with: that's a consistent Bioware problem, and I don't think it's inherently wrong to approach worldbuilding as merely dressing the set for your story, though perhaps that isn't always the most successful approach here and I know many fans are very invested in the setting itself and its development, so that would put us all at cross purposes.

Don't get me wrong. There IS a place for that sort of directive, a rule against things that scan too modern. But then, I think for it to work, you have to have a very firm idea of your own voice, of your individual style and direction working with that directive, and frankly, I don't think Bioware EVER really had a super strong grasp of it here.

I do think the character design especially, character voice, and visual identity suffered SO much in many earlier instances because of this directive. Meanwhile, I think it's interesting and striking to have things like, for example, Neve clearly drawing from film noir and how that informs how I approach and think about her as a character and how appropriate it feels that Lucanis and Illario end on the stage of an opera house. I feel like being released from having to worry about anachronism has, for me, produced some of the strongest instances of style and voice in the series in a long time.

And I know a lot of people feel the OPPOSITE, which is a matter of personal experience and taste, but for my own, it always felt like the series was weighed down by a notion of needing to properly emulate The Genre. (We've all looked at the infamous browns and muds of Origins, a game I am fond of. This is why it looks and sounds like that, in my opinion.) This fear of being too anachronistic or too modern often left the series not really feeling, to me, like it's really had a firm sense or idea of what its style or voice was, of what made it sound or look like itself, because it was always afraid of being too modern while also feeling afraid to not look enough like a heroic epic fantasy.

I think getting rid of that and no longer fearing it has done a lot for developing a stronger voice with a look, sound, and feel for Veilguard that feels more specific and conveys story and character so much better and more confidently. Because, in the end, that's supposed to be what this is all in service of: conveying character and story. I feel like Veilguard, in being released from this restriction, has developed a stronger voice with which to do it.

[ronearoundblindly]

omg not me freaking out that i am part of the group that gets bait gifs! FRIENDS!!!!!!! i'm fine. i'm chill. don't leave me!

This took me a minute to figure out what I wanted Sir Dorksalot to have done that was sketchy enough to have him make this face...

Watch The Fish, Jake Jensen x reader headcanon wholeass fic in bullet format because my god this got long

Warnings for mentions of masturbation and porn, accidental then totally intentional voyeurism, awkward and oblivious!Jake--so just Jake, yeah?--and smutty implications...

🥹 roommates to lovers 😊

you rent a pretty large house maybe even with one or two others at first, but they move out

jake has to use it as a crashpad sometimes because he'll be away for so long at a time, but he pays rent and the entire electrical & internet bill no matter what

you keep a fish tank in the living room

after jake comes back from months in hiding abroad away, he gets so excited to be home and spend time with his niece that he hosts an after-game pizza party for her soccer team

someone practices headbutting the ball inside and nearly topples the tank

jake catches the whole thing with his broad arm-span and a decent amount of strength just in time when it wobbles the whole table beneath it. his heart nearly stopped, and he's so grateful the glass didn't break. thank god you weren't home.

however, you insist on moving the fish to your room instead once he tells you.

jake's a little sad to see them go. he pouts so much you decide to take pity on him, buying a web cam to mount beside the tank so jake can watch them whenever he wants. he loves to do voices for each one, personalities, soap-opera-like dramatic storylines, the works

as an aside you ask him if the sound can be turned off on the camera. jake says yeah but he mostly means he can turn it to mute on his computer.

which he does, for the record, but he has to remember to do it each time he pulls up the feed of da fishies. honestly, half the time he's wearing headphones and the other half you aren't home while he puts the Marauders (because there's just one fat one) onto his third monitor for background.

so he forgets that the sound is on and a thing he might need to avoid

weeks later, maybe months, jake finally removes his headphones after a very long stint of coding, completely unaware of what time it is and that you are home in your room

at first, jake is dead convinced that some porn ad has popped up in a window behind his work, something he would go apeshit about and ransomware bomb the shit out of whoever wrote such slippery spam

the fish are peaceful as ever, blooping away whilst jake frantically closes program after program trying to find the hot chick moaning on his desktop...until it's all closed and the buzzing remains though his tower's fan stopped...then the squelching noise starts

jake is frozen in place, looking away from the fish like they're the damn problem, but he doesn't cut the feed

he...he shouldn't

he should turn it off or just mute it like he promised

and he tries

he tries really hard, gang

it's the cursor's fault that it hits the command to send the audio to his bluetooth headphones instead of mute

and he sets the headphones down on the keyboard, gnawing on his bottom lip and watching his closed bedroom door in anticipation of...getting caught, maybe? he's not sure

he watches the fish putter around like it's no big deal

which it isn't, right?

you're human. he's human. humans have urges. they touch themselves--they touch each other, too--and there's no harm in that. if anything...jake encourages it, or he would...if you knew that he knew about this

the noises are so faint from the itty bitty speakers two feet from his face, but he doesn't pick them up, still debating what to do

because there's a big difference between what jake should do in this situation and what he wants to do

he mutes audio and then cuts off the livestream

at least, that's what he did the first time it happened

he knows he's a perv. jake can't help it.

it becomes a game of sorts. it's like practice recon for learning a target's routine. not that jake needs practice at the job he already fucking has but that's how his brain justifies laying on his own bed in the glow of the fish tank feed with his headphones turned way up

he knows your bed is on the other side of your room from when he moved the fish tank in

he knows what your underwear look like from the laundry room downstairs

he knows what you smell like from the shared bathroom and the products lining your shelf

he now knows there's a bottle of toy cleaner in one of your sink drawers

and he shouldn't but he absolutely touches himself listening to you, fists himself when you're fucking a toy he imagines six-shapes-to-Sunday, teases himself when all you're doing is breathing softly from across the whole house and he's cold and covered in cum by the end

to be fair, jake hates himself because of all this, but he is now mildly addicted

he doesn't even exit out of the livestream anymore. it just stays up on his monitor like a screensaver, but he doesn't realize that once he takes his headphones out of range, the audio transfers to his speakers again

so jake goes on a mission for a few days, and at some point while you are cleaning up your room, playing music, you find two pairs of jake's socks in your load of clean laundry and go to toss them in his room...where the same music you're listening to way down the hall is playing...in sync...

you're horrified and then embarrassed and then quickly realized it might mean nothing

you have to test if it means something

jake returns from his mission on complete autopilot

just so damn tired

throws down his duffle on top of some socks he doesn't remember leaving out and just hits the shower for a long, long time

he hasn't talked to you yet

he hasn't even seen you except your car is home and your door is shut

he goes about his business

the volume on his speakers isn't high but he hears you speaking and assumes you're on the phone

he pays it no mind. he is glad to be home, glad you're fine since he's just been in a part of the world where most people are not safe.

in a weird sort of way, he feels he's earned the mundane sort of comfort that comes from "the same ol'" of this house

he's wiped out, so he crawls into bed with his headphones immediately, hair barely toweled dry, not bothering with boxers because...why make more laundry?

and then the worst thing happens

there's a man's voice coming through his headphones, and jake scowls in frustration and rage

did you go and get a fucking boyfriend? in a couple of days? or goddamnit is this some tinder shit in his home right now?

but it only gets worse

he can hardly contain himself, what with the gagging sounds and this dude telling you to take it like the whore you are, and JAKE WILL LITERALLY BURN THIS PLACE DOWN

now his ass is putting on clothes

now his ass is ready to riot

the sex gets more and more degrading; spanking noises and even choking, but not in a seemingly consensual way, which is when jake rips his headphones off, storms down the hall and barrels straight through your bedroom door

where...you...aren't

no one is. no you. no man.

just your laptop sitting on your desk near the fish tank, playing the money shot of a porn video he was just listening to

get the fuck out. get out. get out. his brain screams, and he bolts

he makes it three feet before stopping short

you're standing at the top of the stairs, a bowl of ice cream in hand, licking the spoon unbelievably slowly with your whole tongue

you're fucked. you're fucked. you're fucked. his brain adds helpfully.

"hey, jakey," you say with a smile. "whatcha doing?"

A/N: this cat is officially my reaction to pretty much everything because...well...it's very accurate.

[Main Masterlist; Jake Jensen Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

THERE'S A SEQUEL!

[deadlyangelofpurity]

You know with how safe edgy Viv's shows I don't see why the setting is in Hell. I feel like Viv shot herself in the foot by doing this because it seems like Viv wants the praise of being considered edgy but she's too cowardly to follow through so we're trapped in this weird limbo where Viv wants to be edgy but is obviously putting on the brakes.

I think part of the problem Viv is quite immature.

Despite Viv being an adult, it is very evident in her writing style that she hasn't quite matured past the edgy teen phase and whilst her animation and drawing skills are good despite the questionable character designs, her writing is by far the weakest part of her skill set. It doesn't help Viv seems very impulsive and changes her mind on a whim and is willing to turn the story upside down at all costs as it's why Helluva Boss went from a dark comedy to Stolitz melodrama soap opera.

Not to mention Viv has amassed the wrong kind of audience for this show. Let's be honest with ourselves, despite Viv's show being rated adults, I am like 99% certain that at least a fairly large chunk of Viv's audience are teenagers and young adults at best who have been watching her since her channel got popular and most of these people primarily care about shipping and tend to be...immature and more volatile. I think that's partially why the writing is so juvenile because Viv is scared of alienating her audience. I think that's why she made Ozzie care for consent and Bee being concerned over people overindulging because Viv didn't want to make them unlikable at the cost of consistency. It's also probably why Lucifer's more evil pilot incarnation got changed into some wacky silly uwu depressed boy.

Viv seems to play favorites and she doesn't hide it. It's very obvious that when Viv favors a character, they become more likable almost instantly or at least she tries to make come off that way, though it's more noticeable with people like Stolas, Fizz and Lucifer. Compare their initial impressions in their debut episodes and you'll see a stark difference. I also think Viv is overall way too close to her fanbase because she takes ideas from them and she ain't subtle. Vaggie being a fallen angel was a fan theory that slipped into canon, Stolas and Blitzo meeting as kids was based off fan art and Hell, Chaggie wasn't even her idea(which probably explains how dull and unnecessary their relationship is) because a crew member made it and Viv being impulsive put it into canon despite Vaggie and Charlie acting more akin to best friends and honestly given how Vaggie's fallen angel backstory makes things so weird, I genuinely think she'd be better not existing in this series.

Honestly I'd at least respect Viv if she at least stuck with her guns here. Instead she's pretty much playing ping pong in terms of consistency because Viv's version of Hell is more or less Detroit but painted red.