#I’m straight up gonna watch that one and then watch it again for the sole purpose of searching for Nico in the background

[h0rsegirlpercy]

Us when the Lotus Casino episode drops

[mermervi]

sweet ride

✎ fucking vendetta leon on his bike, that's the plot <3

cw: d in v, doing it in the public, fingering, choking and breath play (?), creampie, he be rough fr, and he calls you a slut but make it affectionately?, exhibitionism, MDNI

Autumn is finally rolling in. The weather is cooler than usual, and your boyfriend wanted to take you out on a different kind of date tonight than the ones you normally spend at home and order takeout pizza.

Obviously, Leon’s main motivation is to show off to you what a talented (?) biker he is, but he’d rather be reading those nerdy books you’ve recommended to him than admitting it out loud. Besides, it’s the kind of date you’ve been meaning to take for a long time. It’s been a while since you’ve been out together, considering he’s always been laid up with work while he should have been laid up by you.

We’re talking a long time without sex.

That boyish smirk on his face as he sits you on the back with his own hands and puts your helmet on your head below your chin is the tiniest harbinger of how the night might turn out.

Because your boyfriend can’t keep his hands to himself. In his defense, you look pretty precious in your plaid skirt and his duplicate leather jacket that he dressed you in. Escorted by the fact that you’re not wearing anything to cover up your legs, Leon might as well as prove how salacious he can be. Seriously, he’s steady at every red, flashing light and his warm hands under the glove are on your otherwise cold, bare skin, sneaking under the skirt, pawing up and down; he’s squeezing and caressing.

It’s like his sole purpose is to work up your cunt, wetter and juicer. Goosebumps culling everywhere.

But of course, he doesn’t stop since one of his favorite things in the world is fooling around with you. It’s a sweet rush in you as no one would ever want to topple off a motorcycle on their butt and possibly break their bones.

“’s not like I’m doin’ anything,” he shrugs you off.

And you’re more than happy to oblige whatever he wants. But a game is a game, and if he’s playing with a dirty deck, you just might be an even dirtier player. A tender and innocent prelude, your arms wrapped securely around his waist and your head pillowed on his back. So abstractly innocent that at one point he might think he has been acting like a fucking pervert. Leon finds it all sort of cute, but seconds later you’re relocating your hand to his v-line without wavering, sneaking past the hem of his shirt.

He quickly catches on.

“Hey, now. Watch it.”

His sullen voice echoes in your ears yet again, and you jab your chin at his shoulder quite innocently.

“I’m doing nothing wrong.” You rip him off.

Your boyfriend winces as your cold fingertips graze the seam of his boxer briefs, he’s disconcerted, the blood is flowing straight south. Giving his dick the cruelest kind of kick. Where months ago, the dick wouldn’t get jacked, but now it’s bobbing.

Over his shoulder, he looks at you with a passing judgment, his eyes flicking from your eyes to your hand under his shirt. The instant need to suck and devour your boyfriend, who looks even tastier to your eyes at the red lights, is a pressing need, but never a reality in the rush hour traffic.

“You pull your hands away good,” his eyes recapture yours. They are stern, but you like it. Less agonizing and more tenderizing. Makes your cunt all wetter. Your guilty pleasure.

“You hear me?”

No. Absolutely not. Oh, he has to make sure you hear his words. He needs to speak your language.

“One more warning, and if you ain’t listening, I’m gonna have to pull over on a back street and fuck you up in the ass.”

Your eyebrows draw up to your hairline. That’s what you want, getting treated like an arrant slut, but your boyfriend, who wants a romantic night out, is sulking like a bitch.

“Fine, fine.” You pull your hand away and embrace his shoulders.

“You’re no fun.”

“I’ll show you the real fun,” the sour man grits his teeth and snorts a long sigh. When the light turns green, you’re on the move again. Actually, your fate is sealed at this very moment, you know you’re bugging him, but for the sake of the art of promised hate-fucking, you keep it astute. Enjoy the sweet ride.

The pleasant breeze of the wind and the gentle brush against your skin is nice, even if your hair is all over your face. One second, you take off your helmet just to breathe in the crisp air around you, clean after the last night rain. Surely you can trust your boyfriend not to get into any accidents, right? Hopefully, he won’t kill you (!).

Unpleasant topics aside, the ride is actually merry. The next stop, alas, isn’t exactly a picturesque place. At the end of an empty road with dead-end streets, a precipice facing the city. The engine is still running, and Leon makes no effort to get off.

“Where are we?”

He pivots when you pose the question to him, he wants to have a face-to-face conversation with you, or rather he wants to be able to see your face when he’s giving it to you—a good fuck.

“Why, a romantic spot, the city lights, my bike and my pretty girl who can’t keep her hands off my cock and all.” His voice is honeyed with amusement, or at least with something like amusement.

Leon seizes your hips and tugs you towards him, your legs dangle off his bike, but you don’t utter a word of protest or griping. Why should you?

“So fucking romantic, right?” No, it’s not.

“Wait, on the bike?”

“Mm-hmm, on the bike.” He attests you, nailing your thighs and subtly spreading your legs for himself. For his eyes.

“Wow, Leon. Who would have thought you’d switch from your old-fashioned ways to this horndog?” The playful veil in your breath is raspberry. It froths Leon’s blood.

“Less talking, more undressing, baby.” He wastes no time, slides his hand between the legs you’ve earmarked for him. Groping for your panties, he moves the fabric down your leg and guides his hand over your wet, heat-soaked skin until the lacey cloth slithers down your ankle. The two fingers stashed in your pussy speak volumes about his jitters during the ride. And the gust spilled out of your mouth is taffy.

“Don’t tell me it’s too much for you,” he snorts, vulgarly corroding his thumb over the pearly clit. Not an asshole that will deprive you of pleasure, however much you’ve pissed him off. He’s just a bitter man for a boyfriend.

“Mhmmm,” you sing out drunkenly, not far from rapture. That’s so beautiful. Posting loads of twists to the fucker’s dick. There is a certain primness all over your face that’s so idiotically inept, albeit he holds the principle that he’ll starve you of the dick for hours just because you don’t listen what he says. But your face is too cute. That’s your greatest trump card against Leon, his Achilles heel, viz your enrapt eyes are begging to get fucked.

Subsequently, he pushes his fingers, slipping them out of your folds, and stuffs them between your parted lips, just against your tongue. You just take them, twirling your tongue around his digits without breaking eye contact.

“Dirty little slut,” his other free hand threads through your hair, “I’m gonna take you right here and fuck your pretty little pussy. That what you’ve been begging all night, yeah?” His fingers burrow a little deeper in your throat and you almost choke on them. As if on cue, Leon yanks his fingers out of your mouth and slacks his belt with a swish. Your favorite clip to watch, your favorite trailer of all time.

His cock is sticking out and it’s drawn to your warmth like a magnet such that you take him in nicely. He flows into you, makes you loopy. One fuck of a blow and you’re all stuffed, his cock nearly popping out of your cunt.

Your boyfriend, seated himself inside, just hangs still. He can’t bring himself to fuck yet, to move and stretch your plushy pussy out.

“Fuck.” A treble whine passes through your throat. You pry your head up and sling your arms around his shoulders, to keep the reins under control for a while, to give him more leverage. There’s no sound of others other than your miserere, but you don’t know if fucking openly on the edge of a cliff is a smart choice.

“Leon...” You hesitate. He takes his sweet time; your boyfriend is pushing you to the edge, pulling out ever so slowly, the slick sounds seasoning the night, “we’re screwed if anyone walks by, Leon, big time,” you sputter out, big eyes riveted on his.

“Really?” A low titter follows, and he grounds his hips into your pelvis. Not that it’s unexpected, but it blows your mind when he stiffly slams his cock back into his seat, crowning your cunt.

“Sweetheart, who cares if I’m fucking my girl inside —fuck — out?” Sarcastic but he’s winded for air. If you look closely, you can see beads of sheen of sweat forming under the fringe of his hair. You know his question is rhetorical but it gives you those telltale shivers.

“Let ‘em watch, baby, give them a show ‘cause you play so fucking good,” he seethes out. Harshly. You’re transfixed with another leg-crippling jab and he’s expunged when you squeeze him tightly inside. Now he can fuck you all the more urgently and as promised, with much onerous spurts.

His fingers in your hair somehow close around your neck during this chaotic process. A tenuous grip and no man has ever choked you to death so caringly before the sheer pleasures of the throe that has you bouncing on the spot will put out the lights of your brain except it doesn’t quite pan out the way you expect.

His lips invariably find yours. It’s a viscous kiss, and it shatters all your senses; you’re a turmoil inside and out, a turmoil that’s already ravaged.

“Cum baby, I’ve got it all,” slobbery scotch-acid kisses are dragged from your lips and you open your eyes to see Leon’s pale blues swallowed by pitches of huge obsidians. Behind him, empty, all tawny golden (maybe orangey?) street and patches of glowy city lamps.

“Gonna cum,” you echo after him, as he tinkers with the amulet that hangs around your neck; the necklace he bought you as a jubilee gift on the auspicious night for your shared times. The necklace, the one you went so far as to carry a picture of him in, ratchets in his hand and you cum right there and then, spewing on his cock. How absurd it is that getting fucked so dumb can absurdly blossom into a sort of romantic adventure with a man like Leon? It’s beyond your logic.

“Such a beautiful girl,” you can hear his breathy sigh. Tears are stinging down your bleary, semi-open eyes, the flakes of black mascara smudging your beautiful eye make-up. Fuck. How much more can he possibly hold himself back in the face of this visage?

“P — ah — please,” you’re absolutely in haze, and your already frazzled boyfriend can’t deprive you of that belonging, that coziness you’ve been craving for so many days now.

His forehead on yours, Leon’s lips emit gibberish tunes and your name palpitates in whispers. He’s unrestrainedly squeezing you, leaving a caustic burning in your windpipe.

“Le...on?” You are gasping; it takes you a split second to catch yourself. The stupor on your face, the parting of your lips, and the bruised purple swollen lips that glisten with saliva after hunger kisses snap Leon back to you. He really should release your neck. Yeah, he knows that.

Yet the violence is always in him somewhere, but never has been against you, never should be. And this wasn’t a life or death situation, for fuck’s sake.

But of course, a man who has spent years in such a potentially brutal environment has questionable and demanding kinks, and you? You wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he moans lowly, his jaw unhinged with sheer pleasure. He does eventually absolve your beautiful neck.

It’s only when the oxygen races to your brain that you can feel your pussy walls once again veiled with both your own juices and your boyfriend’s heavy drops of cum. Plus that thing up with the rasps that fly out of his throat in the middle of the night—the quiet whimpers (oh, he does whimper?) that you selectively record given how he’s up close to your face, buried even.

Is this really how it feels to be fucked out of your mind, you know, that mythical mindfuck shit those bitches are talking about?

He doesn’t know if you’ve ever looked this pretty, even in the wee hours of the morning when he wakes up hours before you and just lies motionless in bed observing you. Who could make you feel so pretty but him? Nobody. He knows that.

“You doing okay?” Leon’s frown is pinched. He looks feverishly apprehensive, his lips are piquantly pink.

“Mmmm,” your croon is tickly but all too familiar to him, the same sweet croon you chirp after lovemaking in your shared apartment.

“You almost blacked out with all that choking stuff.”

“I liked it, Leon.” No hesitation, you rebuff him with a rushing whisper without regard to your raw, poor throat and the stinging soreness of your pussy memory.

“Well, looks like I’ve really ruined you.” The sarcasm in his words is tinged thickly, but his smile, which frames his lips and shows the enamel of his teeth, proves that he won’t prolong the conversation any longer. He’ll likely eat out the sticky mess on your glistening cunt or that’s what you’re hoping so because you love his tongue and nose.

[spacedace]

Still thinking about the Social Worker Jazz concept that @gilbirda posted about and it's slowly turning into a full Anger Management fic send help

-

Jason at length - much longer than it really should have taken really - set the resume down.

The new Social Worker’s resume. Because she was there, in his office, trying to convince him to hire her as a member of his criminal organization.

Crime Alley’s new social worker. A bright eyed Midwestern transplant from some tiny speck of a place that only qualified as a city because there was nothing bigger in a hundred miles in any direction to claim otherwise. The new social worker who had a Psy D. and three masters degrees and who had graduated Valedictorian. The one that had high paying private gigs lined up all over the country with the offering companies fighting over her.

The one who had, apparently, decided to take a shit job in Gotham’s shoddy social services department instead. The one that got kicked to Crime Alley - which was its own division despite technically being a small neighborhood in the grand scheme of things - within her first month. Supposedly for the sole purpose of scaring her off or getting her killed for all the questions she was asking and secret dealings she was sticking her nose into.

That social worker.

“I’m gonna need you to run this by me again.” Jason said, never so grateful for the voice modulator in his helmet as he was in that moment. It stripped out the bewilderment that had bled through into his words and made him sound stoic instead.

“I’d like to work for you.” The social worker - one Dr. Jasmine Nightingale - repeated primly. Back straight, clothes neat - if skewing more on the librarian side of professional - expression confident and hopeful. Completely and utterly oblivious of how fucking insane she sounded. “I was told that you’re the person in charge of Crime Alley.”

He resisted the urge to scrub at his face. It’d just look weird with his helmet on and not do anything to actually settle him in that moment anyway. “I understood that part.”

“Look, Doc,” She earned a doctorate and she was crazy enough to waltz into the office of one of Gotham’s most powerful Crime Lords, he’d be respectful about using her proper title at least, even if he suspected she was ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. “You’re going to have to tell me why. I was under the impression the only reason you ended up dumped on our end of the city ws because you wouldn’t play ball. But now you want to sign up for my crew?”

Nightingale frowned a little at that.

“Is that what people are saying?”

“What else are they gonna say?” Jason answered, leaning back in his seat, “Head of the department only dumps Crime Alley on folks he don’t like. And everyone knows he doesn’t like anyone that can’t or won’t play his game by his rules.”

“Alright, well. I’ll give you that.” Nightingale conceded, “Payne doesn’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. But for the record,” She added giving him a wry smile, as if sharing wry smiles with Red Hood was just something people did, “I asked to be assigned to the Park Row and Bowery neighborhoods.”

“You wanted to work here.”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

Nightingale laughed. It was a bright sound. Not especially clear or pretty, but warm and welcoming in a way that carefully calculated giggles or overdone guffaws couldn’t be. Something with real and honest amusement in it, that encouraged those nearby to laugh along. Not the kind of involuntary, nervous chuckling people tended to slip into when they thought they had pissed someone that scared them off.

She just wasn’t intimidated by him at all, was she?

Behind his helmet, Jason found himself smiling. Just a bit.

“I’m serious.” She assured, blue-green eyes meeting the dark stare of his helmet without a moment of hesitation. He watched as she brushed a lock of her bright red hair behind her ear and out of the way. She’d woven it all into a practical, neat braid but a few sly pieces had snuck out to bounce around her. Gilding her quiet professionalism with a playful charm that worked well with her academia but make it cottagecore kindergarten teacher aesthetic.

“I’ll admit, Gotham wasn’t part of my plan when I first graduated. Time and choices take you funny places sometimes.” She plucked an invisible bit of lint off her soft blue cardigan, not nervous but absent as her gaze went distant for a moment. Thinking back on the events that had led her to his fine city. In a blink, those sharp eyes were back to focusing entirely on him. “But Gotham is where I am now, and I want to help.”

She looked at him, a serious, determined expression settling easily on her face. “The city as a whole has so much chaos and crime breaking out all the time.” No censure or horror in her voice, just a neutral fact to be observed. “But where the rest of the city has millions of dollars poured into it by various foundations or charities run by the Waynes, Park Row is largely ignored.”

Jason watched as steeliness sharpened her gaze, the blue-green shifting from the shine of a bird’s wing to the warning hue of something poisonous and deadly. “No one deserves that. No one.” Her chin tilted up, proud but not imperious. “So yes, I want to work here. There are people in Park Row and the Bowery who need help and I refuse to let any of them feel like they are going to be ignored.”

Jason considered her.

Really looked at her. Pealing back his initial off handed impression of her as some clueless transplant in over her head with no idea of what she was doing or what she was poking her nose into to find the real woman beneath. Her confident poise, her clear unshakable belief, her unflinching willingness to look danger in the eye and not blink. The tense curve of her frown, the lines of pain at the corners of her eyes, the simmering anger beneath it all. There was an edge to her, too. Something sharp and dangerously well hidden by the cardigan and folksy charm of her accent.

It was personal for the woman before him, Jason realized. Maybe not Crime Alley specifically, but something about the whole situation. The treatment the neighborhood and its residents received from the city at large, from those even beyond it.

Crime Alley wasn’t a place that received much in the way of charitable thought. The average joe with their house in Somerset and job at some corporate shithole hating every second of their life but thinking at least I don’t live in Crime Alley. Those asshole hoity-toites in city hall throwing money around equally between shit that’d get them re-elected and their off-shore slush funds in the Caymens doing their damn level best to pretend the black mark on the other end of the city just didn’t exist. Bruce, flooding the entire city with charitable programs and carefully constructed infrastructures shying away from the manifested grief and trauma that was the place he watched his parents get murdered.

For the most part no one from outside of the Alley gave a shit about the Alley other than as a place to avoid at all costs. And most of the time those natives that manages to claw their way out into better and brighter lives didn’t ever turn to glance back. Orpheus could have learned a thing or to from an ex-Alley Kid who managed to eek out a steady 9-to-5 and move to Burnley.

And something about that seemed to piss Dr. Jasmine Nightingale Psy. D right the fuck off.

He could see why Bill said he liked her enough to let her in.

“Alright.” He said, tilting his head, watching the woman seated across from him carefully, “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. Why you’re trying to get on my payroll.”

“I’m not trying to get on your payroll.” She said, some of the glinting edge softening, but the steel remaining. Strong and unyielding. “I’m trying to get into your community outreach program.”

Jason thanked god and all the saints once again for the gift of his helmet. That baby had saved his ass more times than he could count both by keeping his head in one piece and keeping his stupefied expressions wrapped up and hidden from view. Dr. Nightingale was one hell of a woman to make him have to rely on that fact twice in one conversation.

“Wasn’t aware that was something I had.”

Nightingale, not fortunate enough to have a full face covering helmet of her own, had nothing to hide her stupefied expression behind. Jason had a feeling she might have removed it to make sure he saw even if she did though. She looked like she had caught him eating glue like it was a cheese stick.

“Yes you do.” She said, sounding deeply confused but unshakable confident in what she was saying. “I’ve seen it. The soup kitchens, the shelters, the collection boxes for donating old clothes, the after school day care.” Nightingale ticked off on her fingers, “I’ve lived here for less than two weeks and I’ve lost count of all the things I’ve seen setup to help people struggling in the area that I’ve been very reliably informed you and your organization are behind.”

Oh.

Those.

“Those aren’t part of some community outreach program.” He said, “We are simply locals offering services for our neighbors.”

He watched as her caught-him-eating-glue expression shifted into one that said she’d stumbled upon him licking electrical sockets for a mid-day pick-me-up instead. He had to give it to her, the woman was not afraid to let one of the most dangerous men in the city know she thought he was a fucking idiot.

“Let me see if I understand this right.” She said, and he appreciated that there wasn’t any kind of condescension in her voice, even though she very clearly thought he’d been dropped on his head as a baby. Possibly from the top of a three story building. “You have a large group of people working together to plan, organize and execute multiple services in your area - your community, if you will - that provide aid and support to those that otherwise would not receive it. Reaching out with your available time and resources to offer these services, that you provide. For free.”

Alright, Jason got it. He had stumbled ass backwards into creating a community outreach program. But he wasn’t just going to let her think she won this one. He was Red Hood, he had a reputation to uphold here.

“What makes you think any of that is free?” He tilted his head at just the right angle, the one that cast shadows across the planes of his helmet and made him look hell-touched and terrifying. “Just because we don’t charge money, doesn’t mean there isn’t a price to pay.”

Dr. Nightingale, dressed like a damn kindergarten teacher, laughed at him.

[lexsssu]

Light (Sung Jinwoo)

TAGS: Jinwoo/Wife!reader, a/b/o dynamics, yandere, possessive behavior, death threats, breeding, impregnation, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

‘E-Rank Hunter’ Sung Jinwoo, a title that followed him wherever he went.

Despite being a Hunter, his power was barely above an ordinary human aside from his slightly more durable constitution and slightly increased healing factor. 

So it’s only natural that he’d always get hurt. Hell, he’d even nearly gotten killed several times already too!

It’s not that Jinwoo wanted to be a Hunter in the first place, because aside from the danger, others also made fun of him for his weakness. Even the pay was surprisingly not that great.

Unfortunately, someone in his mid-20s who lacked any viable skills that could land him a normal, stable job could only work for the Hunter’s Association as one of their Hunters thanks to their medical aid. Had it not been for that, he wouldn’t have been able to afford the millions of won in medical bills he owed to the hospital that took care of his mother. 

It’s not even just his mother that he had to provide for, but there was also his little sister and…

“Look Yeonjin, it’s Papa!”

Worn out from another hard days’ work, E-Rank Hunter Sung Jinwoo felt all the fatigue in his body seemingly melt away into nothingness as the sight and scent of his wife and child soothed his weary soul.

“Baba!” Yeonjin babbled excitedly as his father made a beeline straight towards you both.

“Welcome home, honey.” You press a kiss to the corner of his lips, smiling up at him with those beautiful eyes he always finds himself lost in.

This is why even if he didn’t want to, he would still participate in these Association supervised raids.

No sacrifice is too great when it comes to his loved ones and regardless of how incompetent he was as a Hunter, Jinwoo will do everything in his power to ensure that they are cared and provided for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve been with Sung Jinwoo ever since you were both just awkward teenagers in high school. When his mother succumbed to Eternal Slumber and left the two siblings to fend for themselves, instead of leaving you surprised Jinwoo and moved into their cozy little home and took it upon yourself to keep the house running.

While Jinwoo did his best to provide for the family’s needs, you would ensure that Jinah and the house was taken care of, this of course also included the man himself whenever he came home from a raid. You even managed to get a remote job that helped with the bills in spite of juggling that with your online college classes as well. 

You and Jinwoo had gone through so much together over the past decade so was it any surprise you’d end up married and with a child? 

Former friends and schoolmates might have tried to dissuade you time and time again to leave him, pitying you for spending your youth making ends meet and watching over your comatose mother-in-law, Jinah, and now your own baby.

But you don’t need their ‘advice’ when it all basically boiled down to having you leave your family because you ‘deserved better.’

They are already what’s best for you.

Why can’t they see that?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ How are you and Sung Jinwoo? Sorry I couldn’t check up on you guys sooner. Life’s been pretty hectic on my end.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t attend your baby shower before! I had an important appointment that I couldn’t bail out on back then. Why don’t we go out for coffee to catch up?”

“...way too long since we last got together! Our whole class is gonna have a reunion this weekend. Everyone will be stoked to see you and Sung Jinwoo there— ”

Beep.

You don’t have the chance to reply to the latest call you received from another ‘old friend’ when your husband pressed the ‘end’ button in one swift movement. Though his face looked impassive, his scent clearly revealed his agitation…not to mention the shadows that seemed to curl spread from the soles of his feet.

“First they tell you that I’m not good enough for you and that you should leave me, but now they’re all tripping over themselves just to get to me through you…” His lips stretched into a snarl, power rolling off of him in waves at their blatant shamelessness.

Jinwoo’s inner alpha snorted and growled, the mere thought of these impertinent swine daring to involve themselves with his mate even if to gain some sort of favor from him made him see red. 

How dare they?! He will rip and tear into their bodies and reap their souls to become his puppets if they so much as even approach you. Did they think he was bound by the rules of ordinary mortals? Foolish! 

The hunter’s alpha grinned diabolically, cackling from within the confines of his soul at thought of giving them their just desserts.  

“My big, strong alpha…Always willing to jump into the fray to provide for and protect us…How can I even think about choosing anyone else?” You crooned and purred at him, the soft sounds and your calming scent enveloping him and taming the shadows that once agitatedly tried to claw their way out of him to carry out his will. 

Burrowing into his arms, you embrace his waist and nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck as best as you could considering his height had also shot up recently. A few soothing kisses and kitten licks against the skin of his neck later, Jinwoo’s darkness ceased pouring out of him.

Because now he focused on wholeheartedly pouring every last drop of cum into your quivering pussy, thrusting weakly even as his fat knot plugged you up. Your lower belly bulged with the amount of cum he’d already fucked into you, but he still didn’t think it was enough.

At the rate he was going, he’s definitely gonna knock you up again.

Not that you were complaining. It was about time for Yeonjin to finally have a sibling to love.

[ch4mpagnedrought]

compensation

[full series]

mdni ! art donaldson

summary: you and art cant help but try and compensate for everything you’re missing out on now that tashi and patrick are together.

ever since tashi had suggested a game of tennis for her number and patrick won, its left you and art to roam around the stanford campus like two little lost puppies, begging for their attention when patrick comes to visit tashi.

patrick has made it impossible to get a hold of the girl, her dorm room always locked and her absence in the daily work-outs the two of you usually have made very obvious. not to mention the betrayal art must be feeling, having his best friend be only in the adjacent building to him, but never coming to actually see him.

you’ve had to find ways to preoccupy yourselves, and stop you from going on an angry rampage, like;

hitting racket to ball in the middle of the court, not even bothering to play a real game. “my prof is making me rewrite my whole assignment this week.” you complain, aiming the ball at the green fencing at the sides and watching it bounce back in art’s direction for your own botched version of squash. he laughs loudly, “who knew you were so bad at everything besides tennis.” you shoot him a scowl and his eyes widen, shoulders shrugging unapologetically as he swings his arm once again.

spring fading into summer means that evenings still have a little light in them, and you fight the urge to lie straight down on the tarmac and look up at the greying sky. the light breeze washes through art’s strawberry blonde hair, swaying it to the side to expose his brows that furrow when you let the ball bounce away between your legs, looking at him with a tense expression. the thought that tashi and patrick were somewhere doing god knows what (you knew what) and completely ignoring you made a reappearance in your head suddenly, and it boiled your blood. “ugh! im gonna kill them!” you huff out, grabbing the ball from the ground and stomping to where you left your stuff. art’s arm finding the both of your shoulders, “ditto that.”

having lunch at the food hall together: waiting in line for the same exact salad that you get every day, curtesy of your game-preparation meal plan and taking a seat on the bar stools that overlook the rest of the campus. stabbing your fork into the frail pieces of lettuce in your plastic bowl, art taking another bite of his churro in silence and licking away all the rouge sugar particles from his lips. “you know, patrick didn’t even bother to call me about his visit.” art says, taking off his red baseball cap just to put it back on his head again. “what a dog.” you scoff, shaking your head and taking a sip of your smoothie that tastes a little grainy from the protein powder. you would’ve continued to rant if you hadn’t spotted tashi and patrick walking hand-in-hand in the distance, all smiles and giggles; it makes you sick. “look.” you point it out to art and he mocks patrick in a high-pitched voice, “hey tashi aren’t i so cool? i play pro and i’m totally not cheating on you.” you chuckle, leaning over to snag a bite of his churro.

and confiding in each other in art’s dorm late at night, when the haunting noises coming from the other side of your wall get too much.

his room is surprisingly so…boyish. a couple posters of tennis stars on the walls that seem so out of place, like he put them there for the sole purpose of taking up space. his medals are hung up on the corner of his wardrobe, tinkering on the edge and there is an unidentified pile of clothing in the corner.

his sheets are a deep maroon colour and you lie flat across them, both of your heads leaning on the single flat pillow he owns, legs crossed. his ceiling has remnants of a water leak the university tried to paint over and you study it from below. “i wonder what they’re doing right now.” art hums, putting his hands behind his head, and letting you rest your head on his bicep.

you shoot up, glancing down at him, one brow lifted and eyes narrow, “i can tell you exactly what they’re doing right now,” you say, scrambling up onto your knees, “’patrick i need your racket right now!’’’ you moan tauntingly, rolling your eyes back and crossing your arms over your chest. art cackles, stomach contracting and grabbing onto your shoulder for support. his hand is pumping warm with blood, hovering over your skin for longer than socially acceptable, and his fingers caressed by the long strands of your curly hair that fall at your sides.

running over to his room meant that you hadn’t had enough time to grab a change of clothes to sleep in, so he graciously lent you one of his t-shirts, a navy one with white embroidered writing that you hadn’t bothered to read, which prods at the aching in his head to see you without it.

“when was the last time you slept with someone?” your question catches art off guard, lying back down next to him and watching the blush creep up onto his cheeks, eyes darting away somewhere to think of an answer. “oh come on, was it that unforgettable?” you laugh. he knew when exactly when the last time was, but the thought that him sleeping with someone had crossed your mind, putting the idea of the two of you together into his own had clouded his head, making it unbearably difficult to think, or speak.

“maybe last month” art estimates when the last time he saw the girl in one of his classes that he casually slept with from time to time, your expression remaining unchanged, which whirls something inside of his stomach. you nod, smile spreading across your lips, and eyes glancing down to art’s partially parted ones. art adjusts himself, propping his head up with his hand and looking down at you, “when was the last time that you slept with someone?”

its unclear to him whether you're joking with your response. “ask me that tomorrow.” it spins his head until he sees double, having to shut his eyes for a second to regain consciousness. your nonchalant smile quite frankly irks him, because you seem so unaware of how he is sliding the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, preparing just incase you decide that you want to kiss him. or the fact that he moved his leg upwards along the bed to cover his raging boner at just the mere idea of you and him together.

the shirt he lends you rides up on your hips, obviously showing off the black panties that you’re wearing and the neck-line hangs low enough to show the indent of your collarbone that he imagines licking a stripe over.

you thrum, looking up at art through dark eyelashes, “isn’t it so unfair how tashi and patrick can ignore us just to get at each other?”

he got the hint, every crumb you’ve put down he’s followed and scooped up all in one go, sighing out a weak, “yeah” that sounds more like a whine, and leaning down to kiss you on the lips.

the taste of your lip gloss he had missed sweetens his mouth immediately and the faint smell of a chocolatey lotion on your skin sends him into complete overdrive, left hand desperately reaching for the side of your face to take you deeper into him. he sinks himself down, pressing his chest into yours and disconnecting his lips to breathe out a groan at the sensation of your boobs against him like a boy who's never felt them before.

his face is burning hot, lips even hotter as they move simultaneously with yours, covering the perimeter of your mouth with long and drawn out movements to fully get the taste of you hes been dreaming of ever since that hotel room. his hands roam down to the curvature of your waist, taking a strong grip to it to make sure his fingerprints forever remember it, then down to your hips, kneading the flesh.

with him over you, he pulls away from your arms that are wrapped around his neck, pulling the hem of his shirt to unveil your midriff and the black lace that frames your lower waist, your thighs pressed together to catch the heat that he manifests within you, “oh my god.” it might just be the lewdest sight he has ever seen, along with your swollen lips that are glistening with his saliva.

he can barely keep away the moans that try to escape his mouth when he lowers himself down to you, eager lips pressing into your hip, lapping at the surface of your skin with a desperation only art could have, along the hem of your panties, and back up your stomach while your fingers entangle with his blonde locks.

your pulse quickens, exhaling his name out when his finger pulls your underwear to the side, letting the air hit your leaking core, a smile playing at art’s lips. “please, please art.” you moan out, squeezing your eyes shut and letting the sensation of one of his digits swiping through your folds overcome you.

he nibbles at your inner thighs, soft licks soothing the area as one of his fingers slides inside you, while the other gropes at your breast through your shirt. his mind is completely consumed by you, watching every change in your expression with his fingers pumping in and out of you, flush on your face and brows knitting every time he draws back.

your legs instinctively move over his shoulders, trapping him around you to continue the motion and giving him the chance to tilt his head to the side, pressing a kiss to the thigh that is thrown over him. “is this okay?” he asks, caressing a hand down your calf and watching the way your hand reaches out to grab him by the wrist.

“lie down art” you keen, his eyes narrow and he pulls back with a sense of confusion that is overrode with your impatience, ushering him below you. so he does, leaning against the headboard whilst you throw yourself onto his hips, his jaw tilting upwards to unconsciously fulfil the want of his lips devouring the whole of your figure.

the shirt he lent you doesn’t last long, ending up in the pile on his floor and letting him ravish in the sight of your bare torso. he gasps out your name, wandering hands reaching out to massage your breast, flesh filling out the gaps between all five of his fingers. “take this off” you strangle out, gesturing to the shirt he is wearing, disheveled hair falling back into his face that burns hot when you let your eyes roam down to his abdomen. even the weight of your ass pressing into his dick through his shorts is teetering him to climax, hands not knowing where to put themselves when he wants to grab a hold of all of you.

your fingers wrap around the waistband of his shorts that he is wearing, pulling down his boxers at the same time and freeing his erection to slap back onto his stomach, recalling something patrick said about the time he taught art to jerk off. the palm of your hand ghosts his cock, restraining yourself from taking it into your hands there and then, “can i?” even the way you sigh out the question has the hairs on art’s arms standing up and mouth swallowing saliva in anticipation. “yes, yes.” he whines, brows furrowing up at you and all of his muscles tensing.

with a gentle touch, he guides you above him, his hands at your sides as you spread yourself open for him, sinking down only to the tip before he grabs your waist and pauses in the position. he looks like a little helpless, bottom lip between his teeth and an alarmed look in his face that says if you go any further he’ll come right now. “i’ll go slow,” you whisper, a small smirk on your face that’s hard to resist when his shimmering eyes try to find the last slither of dignity within him, “i promise.” you smile reassuringly and he glances away, the flush in his cheeks getting a little deeper.

you keep your promise, slowly lowering yourself down onto him, goosebumps fevering your skin and palms laying flat across his abdomen to steady yourself.

taking him in completely, you whimper out his name and his hands journey to graze your back, up to your shoulder blades where he presses them into you to pull you into him, mouth suctioning down the valley of your breasts. his moans vibrate back into your skin when you pull back up from him, stimulating every single nerve ending in his length like it never has before. you set a pace, slow and steady for art, snapping your hips down onto his in a way that knocks the wind out of you each time, gasping for air. he keeps you close to him, rolling his hips to meet you in the middle and put some of that athlete stamina to use and murmuring your name with every movement.

his finger moves your hair from your shoulder, so he can press soft pecks onto the surface, whilst you clutch the wooden headboard, growing impatient and consequently pounding him into you. his moans purr into your ear, grabbing onto your ass to keep you still as he thrusts himself into you from below and shakily calling out an, “im gonna come.”

you nod, clasping around his biceps and leaning down to nip at his neck, losing composure the more your walls contract around him. you ignore the muscles in your legs that ache and your lungs that can’t seem get a hold of the air that is shared between you to continue to mercilessly plunge him deeper into you until it feels like you’re melting into one another, a shudder sending itself down your bare back and deepening the heat that builds in your core.

art is panting, popping your tit into his mouth one last time before falling still, twitching inside of you and releasing all of his seed into you until it overflows from below. your name echoes out of his mouth, whimpering and whining it out until he can open his eyes back up and centre his vision on you burning every last bit of energy to bounce on his dick.

you lean forward onto him, eyes rolling back into your head when reaching your climax and pressing your burning cheek against his face to feel all of him. he brushes his hand down your back comfortingly, you heaving into the crevice of his neck that glistens with sweat and feeling your walls contract around him the last couple times.

art sighs your name out, pressing his lips into your cheek and letting a smile spread across his face when you brush the dampened hair out of his forehead to get a better view of his eyes.

your body feels limp, falling back down next to him with a post-sex fatigue that follows you all the way into the next morning, where you sit at a table in the food hall, thanking art for bringing you some breakfast and trying to ignore the echoing of all the noises he made last night in your head.

“fuck i really need to work on that assignment today” you groan, taking a bite into a slice of honeydew with your head in the palm of your hand. art watches and nods, a false portrayal of an active listener when what he’s really focusing on is the way your lips curl around the slice, biting off a chunk and closing your lips around it in a way that makes him reminisce that he was right there too only a couple hours ago. “i can help.” he offers, truly from the kindness of his heart that kindly wants to spend the rest of his life looking at you.

“you wish.” you scoff, “i’m not allowed to be alone in a room with you anymore.”

art takes a swig of his water to hide the grin that spreads on his face, and when he makes eye contact with a random student from across the hall he feels like they heard that too. he wishes they could hear, and know that you, the best tennis player stanford has probably ever had, are having to physically restrain yourself from him.

“what are you smiling about?” the familiar voice of patrick calls out from a few strides away, in a pair of indigo levis and a white tee, grabbing onto arts shoulders and lowering himself down to his level to grab his chin playfully. art swats him away immediately, pushing patrick down into a chair. and tashi grazes your shoulders softly with her hand when taking a seat next to you and stealing a piece of your fruit from your bowl, “good morning.”

“morning.” you sigh out, taking a sip of your tea and hoping that it isn’t totally obvious that you slept with your friend. but tashi takes notice of the slight frizz in your hair, a dishevelled-ness that is never usually there, so it wasn’t her intention to call you out in front of the four of you when she asks, “why do you look hungover?” she even moves a piece of your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear to get a better look at the colour under your eyes. your brows furrow, eyes glancing to the left of you at the two boys whose expressions couldn’t be anymore different. art’s poker face is awful, he’s trying to keep his face composed but his posture slumps under the weight of patrick’s hand that spreads across over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk.

you shrug nonchalantly, taking another bite of your breakfast to act like your lungs aren’t constricting and you aren’t going into fight or flight, “late night i guess.”

theres a moment of silence, everyone in their heads peacefully while you wish you could get into art’s and find out what he’s thinking about your pathetic lie.

“nice shirt.” patrick says.

“thanks." you reply, swiping over the embroidered ‘mark rebellat tennis academy’ with a finger and looking up at patrick, who meets your eyes with a knowing smirk that makes you feel silly for not assuming that patrick would have memorised art’s whole closet, or recognise the school they went to.

and when patrick squeezes art’s shoulder and asks whether he is “up for a game?” you suddenly become hyper aware of how much his gaze slips past art’s eyes and down onto you as they stand up from the table, eyes squinting and a stupid smile on his face. the combination is so piercing you’ve become aware that even if tashi believed your lie, and art thinks he’s got away scott free—he knows, and he’s letting you know.

his hand ruffles the hair on art’s head, arm falling over his shoulders and drawing him into himself, “we have a bunch of catching up to do, art.” he keeps art close to him as they walk away towards the tennis courts, leaning in to whisper something into his ear after the both of them briefly turned around to wave you and tashi goodbye.

tashi seems unphased by their behaviour, continuing to braid a small of piece of your hair that she unconsciously started. “you know patrick’s about to tell art all about your get together.” you chuckle and tashi scoffs, leaning back into her chair, “he wouldn’t say anything” she reassures, “also we didn’t even do anything.” she adds in quickly, stealing another piece of watermelon from your bowl and taking a bite to avoid talking about the topic like you hadn’t just done that. you smile at her, and she widens her eyes to let you know that she’ll tell you all about last night later.

“i wouldn’t be so sure.” you shake your head, stealing back the half-bitten melon from in between her fingers and finishing it off.

[specialagentlokitty]

Kirishima x reader - heroes together

Hi, I was wondering if you could write a fic with any of the(hero) mha boys you want. It would be about the reader either having to much pressure on by her family to like be stronger and better then others, so reader is stressed out about that and over-works herself because of it OR people saying the readers quirk is villain like and it makes them insecure about their quirk. Any pronouns are fine! - Anon💜

Standing in front of the student from class B, you raised your hand to the side, the rattling of skeletons rising from the ground.

“Look at this power! Amazing!” Midnight gushed.

The skeletons walked over and stood next to you, surrounding you, and you raised your hand towards the student.

Your skeletons attacked, everytime they got hit and fell apart, they would just come back together again, going straight to the attack.

You dodged the attack of your opponent.

“What amazing strength from (Y/N)!” Present mic yelled.

You could hear the shouting of your classmates to supposed you, but they weren’t enough to drown out the voices of the people watching from the stands.

What a disgusting quirk.

Monstrous.

Could never be a hero.

No one would ever trust that quirk.

You lowered your hand, the skeletons crumbling to dust, confusing your opponent.

There was some confused murmuring from the stands.

“What’s this?! Is (Y/N) giving up?!” Mic called.

Aizawa narrowed his eyes a little, watching the scene play out.

Your classmates shouted for you to keep fighting, and you ignored them, making them shout even more.

Kirishima kept shouting the loudest, his eyes solely focused on you, but you just walked out of bounds.

You had willingly thrown your match, and everybody didn’t know whether to cheer or not as you walked away from the stadium.

Kirishima was waiting for you to come back to the stands, but you never did, so he tried to call you, but you left it unanswered.

He was feeling uneasy as he started at his phone.

“Come on, I’m sure they’re okay man.” Kaminari whispered.

“It’s not like (Y/N) to not answer my calls…” Kirishima mumbled.

Kirishima got up, and he looked at the rest of his glass.

“Sorry! I’ll be back later!”

With that, he run away.

He knew where to find you if you weren’t answering your calls, there was only one place where you felt comfortable to be yourself.

He jogged to the far end of the school, surrounded by trees, playing a card game with one of your skeletons.

A rattled sounded through the forest, and you looked over at him just before he reached the clearing.

“Hey…” he whispered.

You turned back to the card game that you were playing.

“Hey, why are you here?” You asked.

“You forfeit your match man!”

He walked over, dropping himself next to you and the skeleton took all the cards, shuffling them again as he dealt them out to the two of you before going back into the ground.

You gave a little shrug.

“Was a pointless waste of my power.”

Kirishima glanced at you, then placed a card on the grass.

“I know you heard what they said…”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

You tossed your cards to the ground, then got up, walking away from him.

Kirishima scrambled to picked them all up, running after them.

“(Y/N) come on!”

“They’re right Kirishima! How are people going to trust me with such an ugly quirk!?”

You clenched your jaw, balling your hands into fists at your side.

“I don’t have a flashy quirk like you all, I don’t have a hero quirk. My dad was a villain, people look at my quirk and that’s all they’re ever going to see.”

“Hey! Don’t say that! A quirk doesn’t make someone a villain!” He yelled.

You sighed heavily, turning away from him.

“Just drop it.”

You went to walk away again, but he ran after you.

Kirishima grabbed your hand, making you stop in your tracks and he walked around in front of you, grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re gonna be an awesome hero!”

He slammed his knuckles together.

“We got this!”

You let out a small laugh.

He planted his hands on your shoulders, shaking you back and forth a little bit.

“Come on! Come back with me!”

“I don’t want to..”

“I don’t care what they all say! You shouldn’t either! We know you’re gonna be an amazing hero!”

“They’ll look at me weirdly…”

Kirishima took his blazer off, draping it over your head, and he took your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

“Now they can’t see you!”

He went to pull your forward but you refused to move, and he turned around, his grin falling as he frowned a little bit.

Kirishima ducked down, so he could have a look at you.

“I hate my quirk…” you whispered.

“Why? It’s amazing, and you can help so many people with it right? You wanna be a rescue hero don’t you?”

“I don’t know any more…”

“You can’t think like that!”

You looked up at him with a little frown.

“Come on, don’t let them get to you. There’s so many quirks people don’t like, but if you show people you’re not scared, that you’re going to become a hero despite what they say. I mean we know you! We know you’re a hero!”

Kirishima planted his hands in your cheeks, leaning forward to put his forehead on yours.

“Please don’t give up…” he whispered.

You sighed again, nodding your head.

“Okay…”

You had grown up with him, you two had always had the dream of becoming heroes together, that you were going to save so many people.

Kirishima pulled away with a wide grin, and he crouched down in front of you.

You climbed in his back, resting your chin on his shoulder, pulling blazer up a little to hide your face.

You held the blazer with one hand, your other arm wrapped around his other shoulder, clutching lightly at his shirt.

As he began to walk through the crowds of people again you hid your face from the civilians and the heroes alike.

“Come on, don’t be so shy!” He laughed.

“I don’t like all the looks…”

“Don’t worry, we’ll head back to the stands, that way people can’t look at you anymore. Mr Aizawa isn’t going to be happy you just walked away though.”

You gave a small shrug.

Kirishima turned his head to grin at you a little, and you gave a little smile back.

“We’re gonna be the greatest heroes.” He said.

You nodded your head, going back to hiding your face in his shoulder as people watched the pair of you walk past

[this-is-moony-lovegood]

Just watched a buddie edit to Call Your Mom by Noah Kahan, and I’m sitting here thinking of a plot line where Buck goes by himself to get Chris.

Like Eddie is suffering back in LA and Buck is like fuck it I’m bringing Chris home because Eddie doesn’t deserve this shit. So he gets in his Jeep and he drives 800 miles to El Paso and he shows up at Helena and Ramon’s house to get Christopher. And Helena and Ramon try to fight him on this of course and Buck is chewing them out for trying to keep Chris even thought this was supposed to be temporary and all they’re doing is pushing the narrative that Eddie’s a shitty father and that Chris should stay in El Paso permanently. And Chris wakes up and sees Buck and rushes out to him and is so scared he’s here alone because Eddie is hurt or dead, and Buck just tells him that Eddie is physically okay but it’s time for Chris to come home. Buck tells him that even if he isn’t ready to stay at the Diaz house that he can stay at the loft with him, or Buck will move into the Diaz house to be a barrier if that’s what Chris wants but he needs to be back in LA. Obviously Buck is desperate but he’s also being parental, and Chris immediately goes to pack his shit so they can go home. Once against Helena and Ramon try to fight him on it, but Buck whips out the will card and says that even if Eddie is “unfit to be a parent right now” like they say, that responsibility actually goes to Buck not them and they have a problem with that they can contact his lawyer who will promptly tell them to “fuck off”.

Then, you get the drive back to LA where Chris and Buck have a full on heart to heart about Eddie. Buck talks to Chris about how his dad knows he messed up and has been trying to work on himself to fix it, but he can’t get any better with Chris if Chris isn’t willingly to put in the effort on his end. And a Chris talks about his grief over his mom and how that’s something he thought he could handle until little things keep pulling him back in like the dating plot in season 7, and obviously the Kim situation. So, Buck suggests they go the route of talking about Shannon and what Chris remembers so they spend some time talking about her in the car. The talk about her leaving (on her own and her death), and how no one will ever replace her in his life (and how he feels like his dad has been trying to do that when he dates, but all it doesn’t bring up more trauma when they break up and they leave). “I wish dad could see that he doesn’t need to replace mom in my life. I already have two parents: dad and you.” To which Buck has to pull the car over because he’s gonna lose it at his kid calling him a parent for the first time. “You, me, and dad are already a family. Why can’t both of you just understand that the three of us is all we need?” Which gets them on the topic of implying that Buck and Eddie would be dating/married for it to solely be the three of them (and a reminder that Buck has a boyfriend), to which Chris just tells him that he already knows they’re in love with each other, so why can’t they be honest about it and have dad stop dating women and Buck break up with Tommy. Which has Buck’s head spinning because, “your dad is straight, Chris” to which Chris says, “So were you four months ago, Buck. Look what happened?” And now Buck is spiraling once again because holy shit he’s in love with Eddie and maybe, just maybe Eddie’s in love with him too.

When they stop for a bathroom break Buck calls and breaks up with Tommy. Tommy knows exactly what’s happening the moment he answers, and tells him it was only a matter of time until Buck figured it out.

They get back to LA and pull up to the Diaz house. Eddie hasn’t heard from Buck is like four days so he’s been worrying because he called out of work and he never does that, but all of his words die on his tongue the moment he sees Chris. And Chris, who has barely spoken to him in the past four months barrels his way into Eddie’s arms. And Eddie breaks down crying at getting his son back. “What are you doing here? How are you here?” And Chris replies with, “Buck came and got me. He told me it was time to come home.” And Eddie just takes a moment to think that over, lets Chris go and throws himself into Buck’s arms for a massive hug. And Eddie is practically sobbing into his chest repeating “thank you” on a loop. And Buck who is an empathetic crier, just tells him, “you know I’d do anything for our family, Eds.”

They don’t kiss or anything, but Buck and Chris make eye contact over Eddie’s shoulder with a silent agreement that they’re going to figure this out. And when Eddie is ready, the three of them are going to officially be a family.

[s-horne]

There was a time when Tony had panicked about his future. 

He’d had Peter young, just a couple of years into a crappy relationship that had fallen apart long before their bundle of joy had come and couldn’t be fixed even by Peter’s cherubic smile. From the very first moment, Tony had loved his boy. There hadn’t been a moment that Tony had regretted the relationship that had led him to his son, or ever wished that things had turned out differently. Not when Peter had had a phase as a baby of not sleeping through the night if the temperature wasn’t exactly 78 degrees, not when he’d learnt to talk and hadn’t exited his “why” phase for weeks on end, not even during the long weekend when Peter had caught pretty much every bug floating around his daycare all at once. 

Parenthood was where Tony thrived but, through it all, he’d lain awake at night and longed for someone next to him that wasn’t 2 feet tall and not quite potty trained. He’d wanted a conversation with another adult that wasn’t hurried at the drop-off gate or about yet another late project at work, and he’d wanted an arm around his waist when he was dangerously close to falling asleep whilst making himself his first coffee of the day. 

Everything he wanted for himself, he also wanted for Peter’s sake. He’d wanted someone else to see Peter’s drawings and marvel over them as they went up on the fridge day after day after day. He’d wished for presents from a grandparent at Christmas and another parent who could calm them both down when Peter refused to sleep even as the sun started to rise on the horizon. 

Tony had spent years worrying that no one would take on a small child with an absent parent who could come back and cause a storm at any time. He’d never expected anything to come from a one-night stand when the lights had been turned on in the morning and all of Peter’s toys could be seen in their scattered glory. 

But, then again, Tony had never imagined Steven Grant Rogers. 

.

They’d decided early into their planning that they didn’t want to do a walk down the aisle. Neither of Tony’s parents would be there to walk with him and Sarah had gotten so tearful at the prospect of their engagement alone that they didn’t trust her to be able to see to walk down the aisle on the wedding day itself. 

What they had decided instead was to have Peter as the star of the show, with the rings safely in his possession as he walked down the aisle to both of his parents waiting for him at the altar. 

And, boy, did he steal the show. 

Tony watched with a wide grin as Peter all but skipped up the aisle, his tuxedo so little it was almost comical. Casting a glance to his left, Tony felt something ridiculously fond catch in his chest at the pure and unabashed expression of love on Steve’s face as his eyes tracked Peter’s dance. 

“God, look at him,” Steve murmured.

“He’s gonna drop those rings before we can get them,” Tony laughed. 

“Yeah, probably. But he looks cute, so I’m sure we’ll survive without them.”

Tony scoffed. Be that as it may, he wanted a ring on his finger.

All of a sudden, Peter let out a gasp and started running. “Grandma!”

A ripple of laughter made its way through the guests as Peter headed straight for Steve’s mother. 

“Oh, look at you, my darling,” Sarah crooned, bending down and smoothing a hand over Peter’s hair when he reached her. “You look so gorgeous, little man."

"Hi, Grandma!"

"Hello, my love," Sarah laughed.

"Wanna sit with you!"

"Of course, but first you have to give Daddy the rings. They're very important.”

Peter took Sarah’s hand in a tight grip and practically shoved the ring cushion in Tony’s direction without looking at him. Steve laughed loudly, his eyes still solely on Peter as well.

Tony might have been jealous if he hadn’t been so relieved. So, yeah, he thought to himself as he untied the rings from the cushion and handed them to the officiant, he really needn’t have worried after all. 

[sunnynwanda]

Surrender

"Seems like I've won again," Villain gloats, their smile all teeth as they land near their panting nemesis.

“Oh fuck off,” Hero groans, pulling themselves up from the ground. Every bone in their body feels worn down and ancient. The past two months have taken their toll on their body. Hero brushes their fingers over their sore thigh, a huge bruise already forming along the outer side of it. “Asshole.”

“It’s your fault, sweetheart,” Villain claims, unfazed when Hero grants them with a scowl. “I thought you knew how to put up a fight.”

And no, Villain did not intend for it to sound insulting. It just came out wrong. It’s not like they did not enjoy their battles. This was their favourite pastime. What could be more fun than an intense clash with a worthy opponent? 

Except, Hero did not seem to appreciate their efforts anymore. Not for the last couple of months, they did not. And that would hurt Villain’s pride if only they weren’t so confident. Hero had hoped the evident lack of enthusiasm and vigour would make Villain question things, but alas. Villain was oblivious. Blissfully so.

Hero clenches their teeth, suppressing a growl when Villain decides they didn’t take enough beating yet and charges at them again.

“How many times am I gonna have to beat you for you to understand you can't defeat me?” Villain’s tone is scornful, almost mocking. Hero is on the verge of plain eliminating them. Solely for attitude. 

Oh, how they want to show Villain what they’re capable of. Give the dense little shit a taste of their own medicine and send them flying across the city straight into the hospital. A month in intensive care would do them good. 

But they cannot. 

“How many times am I gonna have to lose for you to realise I'm not trying to defeat you?” 

The words slip out before Hero can stop them. Villain freezes in their tracks, and Hero mirrors them. Maybe this is for the better. God knows how long it would take their fool of a Villain to figure it out.

“Excuse me?” Villain looks scandalised, eyes wide open as they take a step back, hands gesturing between them. “What the fuck are we doing then? Ballet?”

“Well, you're obviously trying to beat me to a pulp,” Hero scoffs, grateful for the shock that reserves Villain from another attack. 

“I’m really... not. I just want you to surrender to me.” They explain, surprised at the easiness of their own revelation. Their eyes roam over Hero’s frame, bruised and bloodied. “That leaves my question unanswered.”

“Hm?” Hero straightens, pushing off the wall and striding towards Villain, who remains frigid despite the wheels in their head, turning at an ungodly speed.

“If I'm the only one fighting to slay you,” they start, watching Hero’s every movement with caution and... anticipation? Villain shakes their head to set their thoughts in place, yet they are left floating around aimlessly. “What are you doing exactly?”

Come to think of it, Hero was much stronger than them. The only way for Villain to score a win was by outsmarting them. Which they often did, but now it felt like Hero was the one that tricked them. A revolting thought for a genius with a reputation to uphold. 

“Struggling to get you to realise a thing or two,” Hero sighs in exasperation, hopeless at this point. The charming dumbass they called their archnemesis was never gonna get it, were they?  

“Like?” Villain persists, refusing to admit their agitation. Hero is within reach now, and Villain struggles to keep their hands at their sides. Their fingers curl into fists to resist the urge to grasp them and demand an explanation. 

“Like the fact that I've been slayed a long time ago,” Hero’s voice is a whisper as they take one last step, coming face to face with their enemy, their noses inches apart. It takes Villain a second to register the words and the meaning behind Hero’s smile. “I surrender.”

With an audible growl, they push Hero back and press them against the wall with a hungry kiss. 

“Took you long enough,” Hero grins, earning a pointed look. Villain shakes their head, leaning in for another kiss before taking their idiot of a hero home to patch them up and lecture them on the virtues of oral communication.

Masterlist

[theplaceicommitmysins]

18+ He’s The Next One: 5 - F!Reader X L Lawliet

No gendered language is used (Probably). The reader is described as wearing a dress.

Wordcount: 3.8k

Contains: Second person POV, NSFT, BDSM, Restraints, Blindfolds, Power Imbalance, Vibrators, Overstimulation, Aftercare, The reader is a serial killer, Good Boy, Kink Not Negotiated.

L has been keeping secrets from you and he doesn’t even have the manners to hide it.

The moment you turn the door handle to the current hotel room the task force is calling headquarters you can hear him say, “Cut the audio and visuals.” And by the time you’re inside the monitors are off and the task force is avoiding eye contact.

So it’s something bad.

Matsuda in particular looks sick to his stomach and the one time you manage to catch his eye he looks close to tears and fully turns around to face away from you.

So it’s something bad involving a woman.

They haven’t mentioned Misa in the past three days.

You don’t doubt L would keep you out of the investigation if he felt the need to do something you wouldn’t approve of,  and you have even less doubt that asking him directly would prove fruitless. So rather than confront L, you stalk Watari.

Stalk may be a strong word for it actually. You spent an hour before sunrise waiting outside the hotel for the man to emerge and when he did you told him, “I’m coming with you.” And one forty-five minute drive later you were entering a high security facility, passing rows and rows of inmates and noting how the cells are less and less populated the further in you go.

So they’ve caught the second Kira, Misa, and for some reason L doesn’t want you to know that. It’s several more minutes of walking, passing through high security doors and clearance checks before Watari gestures for you to enter a cell at the very end of the hall and-

What the sweet french fried fuck.

Misa Amane is strapped to some kind of vertical gurney, arms restrained not only by leather straps that are more reminiscent of a bondage harness than any sort of medical restraint, but by some kind of straight jacket dress that’s been ripped off barely a third of the way down her thighs. There’s a metal blindfold holding her head up and a wave of nausea rolls through you at the sight of her little idol brand pigtails poking out from the top of it.

Across from her is a camera on a tripod.

You kick it over, the clatter loud in the overly large empty room with its metal walls and she flinches.

“Kill me.” Misa’s voice is small at first, then desperate as she begs, “I can’t take it anymore, please just kill me!”

“Oh someone’s gonna die for this honey, but it sure as shit isn’t you.”

It’s been a while since you’ve felt this exact feeling. This wave of heat that rushes from your ears down into your chest, only to be washed away by the cold that always follows. Your hands go from shaking with rage to perfectly still. A provoked animal becoming a predator lying in wait.

“What? Who are you? You aren’t the man from before.”

The sound of the camera being crushed underneath the sole of your shoe as you stomp out the lens is soothing to you, plastic and glass twisting and fracturing until it’s unrecognizable.

Watari watches on impassively.

You pick up the tripod and swing it like a bat, at the only other ‘furniture’ in the room, a metal cart with wheels covered in tools and ‘medication’ you have no doubt this girl was subjected too and the sound of the glass of the bottles shattering and the contents scattering on the floor soothes enough of your wrath that you can find your voice again.

“No, I’m not. You can call me M. I’m going to get you out of here.”

“M-“

“Shut up.” You bite out, cutting Watari off. “You know who I am, Watari.” You can’t find yourself giving a damn if that’s his real name or not, even in the second Kira’s presence, “You know what I do. So you know exactly the lengths I am willing to go to when I say that I am going to release Ms. Amane.”

Heading over to the discarded contents of the torture cart you pick up a scalpel before going to Misa, and starting to slice through one of the leather straps, being careful to insert the blade sideways, then twisting it to face you before drawing it down.

“He knows exactly who you are? Who are you? Why are you helping me?”

“I’m a murderer.” You wouldn’t state it so bluntly if you didn’t know she was one too. “I kill perverts and predators, anyone who preys on those they see as defenseless really.”

You cut through another of the straps.

“This is some kind of trick isn’t it, you’re just lying because you think I’ll tell you something if-“

“I don’t give a shit what you do or don’t say Amane.” Another strap is severed. “My being here is quite simple. Kira stole my kills,” Stole my denial, “So I am going to kill him.”

“No!” You have to quickly jerk the scalpel away as Misa begins to thrash her head, “I won’t let you kill Kira! Kira’s a hero! He killed the people who killed my parents!” With a sigh you work on the straps near her hips while she rants, “Over and over the court did nothing to punish the man who took my family from me! I was just a kid and he killed them in front of me! He-“ Tears escape from beneath her mask as she sobs and the sound tears into your heart, “ He killed them and then the courts- They just pushed the case back year after year and then-”

…Wait a goddamn minute.

“He was acquitted.”

“He- How did you-”

“Was the name of the man Satsujin Namae?”

“Yes! But how-“

“Motherfucker!” The rush of hot rage floods your system again and this time it doesn’t cool down as you spin and hurl the scalpel across the room, dissatisfied by the way it pings ineffectually off of the metal of the wall. A laugh tears it’s way from your chest at the sight and you double over, the sound horrific and strained even to your own ears as you all but cackle, “Of course he hasn’t just stolen my kills he’s stolen my fucking credit too!”

You laugh again, tears nearly falling from your eyes with the force of it, before you scream, “Fucker!”

“Your- Your kill?! How dare you! Kira is the one who saved me! Kira is the one who brought him to justice, he-“

“Had a heart attack because I injected him with enough liquid potassium chloride to kill a horse. An overdose causes heart spasms and in a toxicology report it just looks like the muscle tissue released potassium into the bloodstream since it does that when damaged anyway.”

You sure are cutting her off a lot. Oh well, you’ve never been accused of having good manners. Only murder.

“…You killed Namae?”

“I’ve killed a lot more people than just him.” Your words come out almost melancholic as you fetch the discarded scalpel, smiling slightly at the blunted tip, then return to slicing off her restraints.

It’s quiet for a while, Misa processing, you freeing her, and Watari likely reporting everything to L via text. You’ll either deal with or damn the consequences later.

“So, If I was the second Kira… Then Kira lied to me. About my parents, I mean.”

You shrug, unbuckling her ankles, “Maybe. He’s killed several thousand people at this point, he might’ve just assumed Namae was one of them.”

The last thing to come off is the blindfold and you smile at Misa warmly. This is the Kira that only needs a face to kill, but it’s also the Kira who devoted her life to the person who killed her parents. “I’m gonna get you out of here now, okay?”

She’s looking above your head at first, then her watery eyes drift back to your face and she lets out a sob, all but flinging herself into your arms on unsteady legs as you catch her, arms wrapped tight around her waist, “I’ve got you Amane, you’re safe now. It’s going to be alright.” One hand comes up to pet her greasy hair and you cringe slightly at the feeling but keep up the motion, “The people who hurt you will never hurt you like this again. Or anyone else for that matter.”

Another sob is choked out into your shoulder and you aren’t surprised when her legs give out from under her. Thankfully she’s tiny enough that you can lift her up, scooping her into your arms in a bridal carry as you turn to face Watari, all the while stroking a thumb soothingly across one of her shoulders, “Bring the car around so we can retrieve her things and bring them to my hotel.” You aren’t stupid enough to leave the girl unsurveilled but she doesn’t need to know that.

Watari gives a half bow of his head and the three of you leave the facility. Misa’s whispered gratitude never once stops, until she loses consciousness in your lap in the car, having sobbed herself past the point of exhaustion.

---

“Was Satsujin Namae one of yours? Truly?” L is standing behind you, looking over your shoulder at the security feed of the Yagami duo’s cells, watching Light sleep and Yagami-san stare off into space, while you lounge in L’s usual seat.

“He was. Didn’t premeditate it though, I just recognized him and happened to have one of my little backup plans in my bag.”

“… I wasn’t aware of that one.”

You let out a little huff of amusement, turning to peer over your shoulder with a cheeky smile, the look turning genuine at his expression of near befuddlement, “If you give me a list of the ones you know I can give you a number for how many you missed.”

You don’t expect what happens next, but L blushes. Very suddenly, nearly as much as the last time the two of you…

Interesting.

“Did you plan for me to find her?”

“I had accounted for the possibility.”

“But was it the plan?”

The blush reaches his ears.

---

“M!” Misa hugs your arm, “Let me paint your nails!”

She’s a sweetie, even if she does tend to cling.

---

“M!” Misa jumps up and down on her knees in your bed, “Let’s have a slumber party!”

You tense up then smile and nod, “Sure, Misa.” listening to L’s footsteps retreat behind you, your… Plans for the night are now canceled.

---

“M!” Misa’s arms wrap around your shoulders from behind, “You could totally be a model! Do you wanna come to a shoot with me?”

You choke on your toothpaste and drop your brush on the bathroom floor in your surprise, “Misa, I’m not even wearing pants!”

“You can borrow one of my skirts!”

---

L lets out an 'oof' in surprise as you unceremoniously climb into his lap, hand going to his throat as you press two fingers to his pulse point and count under your breath.

“Can I help you with something, M?”

“Just checking.”

“My pulse?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

You let your hand wrap around to the back of his neck as you pull yourself in close for a cuddle.

“…And Miss Amane is alive?”

“Yup.”

“That’s good.”

You snort.

---

Socked feet skid on the floor as you slide your way across the room, arms windmilling as you stumble to a stop, latching onto the back of L’s chair. “Misa and Matsuda are on set today!”

“Yes, they are-“

You grab the back of L’s shirt like you’re scruffing a kitten and drag him out of the room’s lounge and into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind you with a slam.

“You’re eager, it seems.”

“Something like that.” There’s an edge to your smile that you can feel, that you know L notices when he slowly starts taking steps backwards. “I’ve been waiting weeks for this. What was it you said before?”

He bumps into the edge of the bed, falling backwards but catching himself with his forearms.

“Oh yeah!” You drag the words out as you make your way over to him, shoving your knee between his to push his legs open as you crawl over him. “You’ve been bad.”

L moves to sit up but you place a hand on his collar bone, fingers at the base of his neck, and push your full weight down, flattening him to the bed and drawing out a sharp gasp from between his parted lips.

“What am I, L?”

“A killer.” No hesitation. Rude, but fair.

“And who do I kill?” He tenses at this. As if you would try to kill him in a room adjacent to a bunch of cops. The door isn’t even locked for goodness’ sake.

“Perverts.”

“I kill perverts.” You parrot back, nodding your head and smiling at him encouragingly, free hand coming up to pat his head like a well behaved dog. “But we made a promise, L. I’m not going to kill anybody so long as your heart continues to beat.” As you say this your hand drags down the front of his chest, nails digging in and scratching through his shirt, pleased by the flutter you feel beneath the tips of your fingers, “But there are other ways to punish somebody.”

The man doesn’t even wear socks so you knew better than to expect a belt.

That’s why you’ve been wearing one with every single outfit since you freed Misa.

You brush your palm over the length of him through his jeans before tracing up your own body to your waist, unbuckling the belt you’ve cinched your dress with and slowly pulling the leather free, dragging it out just to hear the soft sound of it whispering against fabric. It pleases you to see the rise and fall of L’s chest as he takes sharper breaths than before. His eyes are locked on your belt and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips when it finally falls free.

“Wrists next to your head, palms up.” The backs of L’s fingers skim against the sides of your thighs before he moves his hands up as he’s told, obeying your order and you smile at him, leaning forwards until your body is pressed against him, allowing him the privilege of feeling every curve, “Good boy.”

His hips jerk up.

You bring the belt up, drawing it down behind his head, then up and over his wrists, looping back around until the buckle and the length of it can meet at the front, restraining his wrists and covering his eyes as you pull it taut. As the leather cinches around him and tightens you enjoy the feeling of him shuddering beneath you, feeling the hard press of his interested cock against your lower belly.

“I’ve always been someone who likes the idea of karmic balance. The thought that what goes around, comes around.”

With that you climb off of him, smirking as he grunts and rolls his hips up, chasing the feeling of you.

You don’t waste time divesting him of and discarding his trousers and the boxers he wears beneath, tossing them to the side without care before climbing back on top of him and straddling his thighs. With a smile you pull the front of his shirt up over his abdomen, admiring him as he’s revealed to you.

He’s noticeably lean, not svelte like a dancer or lithe like an athlete, but gaunt, like a man intermittently starved. Bony and angular with skin so pale it looks ashen underneath the mid-morning light that filters in through sheer curtains, colorless save for soft pink nipples that harden under the attention of the AC. You can’t help but run your fingers across him, barely brushing his nipples then feeling the jut of his ribs, just nearly visible, tracing around his navel then trailing down to where a light dusting of black hair grows, getting thicker until it meets the thatch of hair at the base of his cock.

You suspect others might find the sight of him sickly.

Maybe you’re the sick one.

It’s still unfair how pretty it is, you note to yourself. There’s a bead of pre-cum at the tip of his cock and you pull back at the foreskin to expose more of the pretty pink head, letting out a small giggle into the quiet of the room when his cock twitches against your fingers and the pre-cum drips down, falling until it clings to your fingers. Bringing that hand up you let your dirtied fingers dip in between L’s parted lips, cooing gently to him as he licks the taste of himself off of your fingers, “Good boy.” You watch his cock twitch again and lean to press a kiss against his cheek, to appease the fuzzy feeling the sight puts in your chest.

“To truly give you what you deserve I’d have to ask you questions and abuse your poor pretty cock when you don’t give me the answer I want… But there’s really nothing I want to ask you.”

“Pretty?” He sounds so breathy and you wonder if he’s been waiting for this too.

“The prettiest. ” Reaching into a pocket you pull out something you’ve been saving just for L, a small bullet vibrator, nearly the same pretty pink shade as his cock, and press it against him, the tip of it nestled just beneath his glans, then wrap the cord for the remote around and around until it’s held in place. “Can you guess what this is, detective?”

He swallows and darts his tongue out to wet his lips before responding, “I would assume a toy of some kind. Likely one that vibrates?” He sounds a bit nervous, or maybe excited? His body language certainly screams anticipation.

With a bright grin that L can’t see you reach out and flick the dial on it to the first setting. “Good boy.”

---

Stretching out to reach the side table you turn the bedside lamp on with a soft click, bathing the room in a soft warm light before turning back to your book, the soft light alleviating some of the eye strain you were beginning to feel as the light from outside steadily dimmed.

You’re sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed with L’s head and still restrained hands in your lap, your panties shoved in his mouth, completely soaked through with spit, as he thrashes and sobs. You turn the page of your book, as if it’s held any of your attention whatsoever, then card your fingers through L’s hair, pushing it away from his sweat soaked forehead, with a gentle hum that he responds to by curling in on himself and heaving for breath, drool spilling out past your panty gag and further soaking a wet spot on the hem of your dress.

The vibrator doesn’t match his cock anymore, it’s stayed the same of course, but what was once a pretty shade of blush pink is now somewhere between a furious red and a freshly bruised purple underneath layers and layers of cum that pool on and dribble down the sides of L’s stomach.

It really is getting late now, the sun having set about half an hour ago and when you look at the pretty picture L makes in your lap you think this is enough for now. You lean over him and brush against the toy, Pulling back when L flinches and cries out through his gag, “Shh… it’s okay sweetheart, We’re almost finished… I’m just going to turn this off now, okay?”

L’s breathing so fast it’s a wonder he doesn’t lose consciousness but after a few moments as his cum drunk overstimulated mind processes what you said he nods his head in a repeated jerky motion, like he’s forgot how to move his body by his own volition. It makes you smile.

With a click you’ve got the vibrator turned off, and you slowly unwind the cord from around his cock, humming out soothing sounds and brushing sweat soaked hair away from his face once again as you ease the toy off of him, “Very good, L. You’ve been so good for me through all this.”

Tears fall from beneath the belt around his eyes and you lean in to kiss them away.

“All these tears even though I was so much nicer to you than you were to poor Misa.” Your hands go to the belt buckle, easing it open to uncover his eyes and freeing his wrists, “But I think you’ve learned to be nicer to those who can’t fight back, right sweetie?”

L shudders as you reach forwards and pinch your panties between two fingers, pulling them out from between his teeth and tossing the drenched fabric over the side of the bed, to be dealt with later. His arms are shaking as he twists to lie on his side, draped over your lap, and clings to you, pressing his face hard against your side as he struggles to catch his breath.

You go right back to petting his hair and cooing out gentle reassurances to the man using your free hand to rub against his wrist with a thumb, gentle circles to make sure the circulation is good and working. All the while his sobs die down into whimpers, then pants, then soft little huffs of breath.

You’ve never seen him do it before, knowing logically he must be capable of it, but you’re still somehow surprised when L falls asleep.

Gently, you ease him out of your lap, moving quietly so you can tiptoe to the en suite bathroom and wet a hand towel with warm water from the tap before returning quickly to his side.

Softly, with gentle movements you take great care to clean him up, starting by washing away his sweat then the layers upon layers of dried cum, before ending feather light at his abused cock. He whimpers and twitches when you touch it, still asleep, so you reach out with your free hand to run your fingers through his hair again, soothing him until he stills.

“He let me do this,” You think to yourself. “He could have raised his arms at any point and he would have been free. But then I’d still be upset with him.”

You toss the washcloth to the floor, press a gentle kiss to his forehead, and fall asleep in the wet patch, holding L in your arms.

---

When the light from the curtains pours in you quint against the evil daylight, burrowing your face further into the spot you’ve tucked yourself against L’s chest and smiling at the warm chuckle you hear a quiet, “Good morning.”

L’s voice is scratchy from overuse, and low from sleep.

Tipping your head up you press a soft kiss to his lips, whispering back, “Good morning."

[typosandtea]

Got tagged by @irradiatedpiratebooty (Thankyou!) to post some wips…. 😅

No pressure tags for: @sirmanmister @acorncoffeeformysweetheart @charliesvarietyhour @fuzzydreamin @bokatan :]

I’ve got so many abandoned sketches / concepts and very few wips that make it past that because usually by the time I’ve hashed out the sketch I’ve figured out if I like it and if i have the ability to pull off what I am picturing yet ahahah and the ones past sketch are often abandoned for ‘I cant figure out why I don’t like this’ rip

(I’ve also tacked a half written danse fic on the bottom!)

Some active wips✨ (Danse like its 2015, silly comic based on this post, sketch of Murphy and Nathan)

Some I’ll hopefully come back too??????????? (Tacky mug, Danse and Frankie in Far harbor (based on Night Letter by @/watchyourdigits, I paused for falloutober and never picked up again sorry :/ ), Sweetbrew fallout 76)

Proper abandoned rip (Danse as a dnd paladin (a request that I didn’t finish since the vibes are bad, sorry @/never-gonna-danse-again :/), and a silly comic based on this screenshot of mine)

And some writing since I’m trying to figure out how to do that yay ⤵️

(Untitled, unfinished) Danse, 2nd person, Danse is kinda oblivious, ‘How does Danse deal with loving and being truly loved by a railroad sole, even after the events of rr fallout 4.. (poorly)’

Dawes, Worwick, Brach and now Keane. All good soldiers dead too soon, too young, under your command. With a heavy heart you know now that soon you'll watch as you lose Haylen and Rhys too, before succumbing yourself to the ever growing tide of ferals that has been ebbing closer over the course of the battle, it feels like an eternity has passed since you saw Keane fall to the abominations, time seemed to have broken, though you know that its only been half an hour at most. If you survive the onslaught you'll have to organise a proper memorial.. if..

Reload. Aim. Fire. Assess the situation, update tactics. Breathe. Reload. Aim. Fire. Godless heathens! Rhys is injured! Breathe. Reload. BREATHE. Aim. Fi- Fire rains down on the ferals from outside the compound. Reload. Update tactics with Haylen, while more gunfire and another molotov begins to part the irradiated sea of scum. Aim. You catch a glimpse of them. Fire. The remaining abominations are dealt with swiftly, and while thankful for the well timed assist you can't help but to be cautious of them after all of the opposition your team has faced in the commonwealth. You ask them about themselves and they ask about you in return, thinking back you never got a straight answer out of them but no time to think about that now. Leading the way, you fill the silence with a debrief of Gladius' disastrous mission here, after all they had seemed interested in the Brotherhood, even if the sunglasses clad man with them had frowned. Arcjet brings more surprises, in both the unwelcome form of gen 1 synths, and the strangers' apparent combat effectiveness and familiarity with facing them. Between both of your combat prowess, the dilapidated laboratory is soon devoid of any synthetic 'life'.

Choosing to debrief outside you stumble through attempting to compliment their outstanding combat abilities, for a civilian. You part ways after gifting them Righteous authority and an accepted invitation to join the brotherhood, much to the dismay of their companion it seems. On the walk back to the station you realise that you feel lighter than you have in months, if just a little bit crispier too.

Months pass and things have been going well for the soldier, their already good combat skills have been steadily improving, Maxon has promoted them already! They are turning into a model knight, albeit with some unorthodox choices sometimes, but you want them to succeed you know they can!

After a particularly gruelling day of clearing out yet another super mutant nest you mutually decide to camp out in a suitably defensible old house, "you're quite the soldier" you say for not the first time, casual conversation comes easily with them, easier than it has for you in years you realise with a pang. And so you tell them about Kreig and how you are pushing them the same way he pushed you, to grow into the potential you see in them, and then you apologise. For being like Kreig, pushing too hard without explanation or reward. The soldier is silent for a while, before replying, but you see a new glimmer in their eyes, of understanding. They take first watch, and you drift off to sleep easily for the first time in recent memory.

Much progress has been made in the brotherhood's hunt for the institute, with the both or you being assigned more missions near constantly it seems someone has noticed your effectiveness as a team. You've heard whispers of rumours and caught the occasional stares drifting around the prydwen, but you pay them no mind, speculative gossip has never been of any interest to you, especially not something so obviously false as those rumours, that would be inappropriate after all. Your thoughts drift to the soldier, and realise just how much they have come to mean to you and how little you've told them anything about you, how could you have been so selfish after they have bared so much of their soul with you? Their life prewar, the death of their spouse at the hands of the cruel institute mercenary, the hunt for a way into the institute and their overwhelming fear at what they will find there. How much pressure they feel from everyone to be the perfect soldier, you sigh internally thinking about that, you owe them an apology it seems. With your mind made up now you just wait for them to return and for a suitably private moment to present itself. The opportunity arises later that day, they have just returned to the prydwen after a week away, and much to your surprise beeline straight for you with a smile before even turning in their documents or missions. They seem to be oblivious to the stares and raised eyebrows of the mess's other patrons, and a round of suitably authoritative glares ensures they will remain so. Brandis just smiles, damn him.

You warmly accept their request to join them on a routine acquisition for Haylen, but you know by now that no mission will ever be ‘routine’ with them, not that you mind the challenge. En-route to the target zone you cant stop thinking about what you are going to discuss with them, how will you open such a sensitive topic with them? Its been a substantial period of time since you’ve spoken to anyone about back then, not that you could ever forget him, after all how could you when he haunts your sleep like some sort of sorrowful spectre of loss, guilt and pain.

Lost in your ruminations as you are you nearly walk right into the Soldier as they signal ‘hold’ and ‘danger’. Snapping back to reality while cursing yourself for your inattentiveness internally, you spot the obvious threat almost immediately: a roving band of super-mutant scum and worse yet, a suicider. Outstanding. Your friend signals for stealth and for a flanking manoeuvre, you never did understand their insistence on such quiet methods when you both have access to power armour, but you’ve seen enough of their handwork enough to trust their tactics, even with their continual overestimation of your lacking stealth capabilities. As quietly and you can in full power armour you move into position on the opposite side of the pack to them, shoulder your rifle and wait for their signal. You can feel your heart rate quicken in time with the warming thrum from your charging laser rifle as the anticipation and adrenaline flips the switch to combat mode. They don’t keep you waiting long as a well placed laser volley from them sets off the unsuspecting suicider right in the middle of the pack. As the stragglers stupidly turn in the direction of the apparent danger you fire on their backs with deadly accuracy. With the element of surprise now used to its fullest, you charge into optimal combat range as one of the remaining brutes correctly picks you as the bigger threat, Good. Its better if you are the target. A few more well places shots from the both of you and its over as quickly as it started, “Outstanding!” you complement their marksmanship and tactics as they walk over. You notice of the charred abominations still writhing nearby and you put it out of its disgusting misery with a well placed stomp.

The Soldier shows you the location Haylen specified on their pip-boy, its just on the other side of this small commercial district, if the mission goes smoothly you could be back on the prydwen by nightfall, sharing a whisky to chase away the taste of messes’ latest attempt at dinner. You both freeze as you hear the distinctive sound of laser fire nearby, one look and you both move towards the commotion weapons hot. At the first sign of creepy plastic and blue lasers you charge with an “AD VICTORIAM!” but you barely get a round in before mini-gun fire tears through the remaining machines. After ensuring that they were in the clear you join the soldier as they approach the heavily armed newcomer. You meet the strangers glare with a level one of your own, before they can say anything your friend asks what they are doing here, “kicking ass, though it looks like HQ messed up scheduling again” the stranger answers. Ah this must be one of their minutemen acquaintances, you had heard they were getting more active lately, and poor organisation is expected from the civilian militia. The strangely dressed silver haired minuteman explains that the subway has been overrun with gen 1 synths, your friend offers to help, “it would be an Honor to assist in exterminating these abominations” you agree, though this earns you a strange look from the minuteman. No matter. Unbeknownst to you the Soldier and the minuteman share a significant look behind your back. No pathetic synths stand a chance against the three of you as heavily armoured as you all are, you briefly considered extending the minuteman an invitation to join the brotherhood, though you reconsider when they lament the ‘deaths’ of the machines, such a naive outlook would never be allowed to continue in the brotherhood, don't they know how dangerous synths are? With the battle dust settled, “damn!, you’re one ass-kicking angel of death” the stranger compliments your friend as you all backtrack to leave the dingy subway, “agreed, outstanding work as always” you contribute, they are positively beaming at the combined praise. The minutemen leaves with more crude but positive words, its good to see that the minutemen have at least some capable fighters on their side, it is a noble cause.

The target artifact is soon acquired with minor resistance from some more mutants, but the hour is too late to return to the prydwen now. They suggest that a settlement nearby will be a safe place to camp for the night, you agree, and privately hope that the arrangements will be secluded enough for the difficult conversation you have planned. A short walk in the dark later and you both arrive at the small nursery and are immediately accosted by a group of hysterical settlers. Eventually the soldier calms them down enough to learn the location of the kidnapped one, an older man. The mutants are just across the road as it turns out, why on earth they have tolerated living a stones throw from these monstrosities for so long is a mystery, but at least the proximity makes for a brutally quick rescue, you both use the night to you advantage and the monsters are dead before they can even take up arms. The man is injured so you carry him, trusting your friend to have your backs on the way back to the settlement. You mentally resolve to make significant note of how much mutant and synth activity there is in this region in the next mission report. With the settler returned, sustenance and a semi-secure place to set up camp for the night acquired (to be continued oops, 1/4 affinity talks written, the 4th being romance dialog)

[aerodaltonimperial]

(Junglecorpse, 1.4k ish. In my defense, and I know I say this a lot but it's actually true this time, I am very legitimately going through a lot right now, and I don't know if my therapist would approve of this method of self-soothing or no, BUT whatever, Junglecorpse is one of the few pairings that activates my "MUST HAVE FLUFF NOW" toggles when normally I avoid fluff like the plague. I wrote this snippet a few months back or so for Vamp via chat and expanded it today for Myself™️ so I'm posting it here so I can save it on the masterlist. You do not have to read this.)

“Do you think Tony’s gonna lose his mind and create a new pay-per-view every week?” Jack asks, while thumbing up through his Twitter feed somewhat absently. He’s only got his right hand, as Darby has stolen his left. Darby’s got one of his ink pens, the felt-tipped kind he uses to doodle sometimes, and the brush of the tip against the skin on the back of Jack’s hand is calming. Sometimes Jack ends up with skulls littering his knuckles, other times with swoops and flourishes; mostly, he just lets Darby do his thing. It’s familiar.

“Seems like a bad business model,” Darby replies. His head is bowed, chin turned down as he works. Last week, Jack went out to lunch with his sister with a stylized skateboard heading up against the bump in his wrist bone, and she’d laughed for about three minutes straight.

Jack snorts a little, still scrolling. Doom-scrolling, really, though he’ll never admit that to his therapist. “Yeah, people are gonna stop paying if all they ever see is Hanger and Swerve stapling each other’s chests every single month, over and over again.”

“You may be greatly underestimating the public interest in that.” Darby laughs.

“Oh.” Jack frowns at the back glow, squinting a little. “Shit, yeah, you’re right. Man. Should I start up a homoerotic feud with somebody with the sole goal of getting some really violent death matches?”

“Please don’t let anyone else staple your chest,” Darby says, a bit muffled. The brush pen curls along Jack’s skin.

“Anyone else? Whoa, buddy, stapling me was not on the to-do list for this week.”

Darby snorts. “I like you in one piece, thanks. And I’m not a big fan of watching you bleed all over the mats.”

“Oh, sure, but I have to watch you toss yourself spine first off the posts every Wednesday,” Jack says. He taps the screen again with his thumb, pulling down. Something something official AEW twitter, five clips from the last show, and Stokely buying another celebrity Cameo to woo Kris Statlander. Actually, that one’s pretty funny. He got Barack Obama to do it. Jack didn’t even know Obama had a Cameo.

The brush tip swirls, then taps a few times. “Aw. You gettin’ anxious over me?”

“Well, if you die, who’s going to keep my feet warm at night?”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you: wear socks. Your feet are fucking freezing.”

Jack huffs out another laugh. The Obama cameo was hilarious. Stokely deserves managing her at this point. “I don’t need socks, I have your legs.”

“Dick,” Darby grumbles.

“But back to this pay-per-view thing. This is a lot of matches. Having even more on Sunday, every month, feels kind of overwhelming. Like, I need to have the roofing guy come look at my place? And I can’t schedule it because Tony keeps creating new shows.”

“Mm.” Another swoop of the brush, then some lines. Jack glides through an update from Prince Nana that reads truly bizarre, a reblog from Bowens that reads genuinely excited, and a post from Danhausen that’s mostly nonsense ending with ‘you’re cursed.’ “Maybe next week. Your shingles? Or the gutters? I don’t think I remember you talking about any other issues.”

“Just the shingles. After that last wind storm, I think a few came off, and now I’m worried the whole damn thing will come down around me one night.”

Darby huffs out a laugh, but the doodling ministrations on the back of Jack’s hand don’t pause. “I think you’d get a bit of a heads up before that happens.”

“Only if someone is physically there to yell ‘heads up’ at all times,” Jack jokes. Another tweet from the official AEW account, and then a reblog. Sammy posted. Ricky posted. Sammy tweeted at Ricky with a bunch of capslock, Ricky quote-retweeted with a gif of a dancing middle finger, and Jack skips all of that. Let them argue on main if they want to. Sammy’s just gonna try to fall on Ricky from the scaffolding again.

“I’ll do it.”

The drawing on the back of his hand stops. “Oh, yeah?” Jack smiles. “Are you volunteering to always…” He looks down at the doodles on his skin, and freezes.

Adorning his knuckles are a series of curves, vine-like, that curl up towards his ring finger where they create a solid horizontal line, and in the middle of his hand, somewhat shaky, given they were written upside down to be read from Jack’s direction, blocky letters spell WILL YOU MARRY ME.

Jack’s chest constricts. He can’t breathe. With his heart roaring against his ears, he whips his gaze up to stare at Darby, whose expression is maddeningly neutral. “Darby. What the fuck?”

“Okay, that’s… a response,” Darby says, with the tiniest of shrugs and a pinch to his lips. “Think it’s pretty clear.”

“Are you… are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Darby replies, mouth quirking up at the corners. “Yeah, I am.”

“You…” Jack’s tongue is ungainly, swollen. “Oh my god.”

“I’m not hearing an answer.”

“But… why would you…”

Darby drops his eyes, dragging his thumb over the topmost part of his impromptu design in a caress, and his smile never really diminishes. “Jack, what did you think this was? What did you think this was going to be? I don’t do things in halves, I told you that from the get-go. You know me. It’s you and me, and that’s what I want. Forever.”

“Are… are you sure?” Jack’s gonna choke on everything bubbling up from his chest.

Darby’s eyes slide back up. They reflect the lamplight, bright shiny starbursts. “Yeah, Jack, I’m really fucking sure. And if you don’t—”

“Yes.”

Darby pauses, tongue slipping out to press into the corner of his mouth. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Jack laughs, the sound bubbling up through his throat. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Holy shit.” Darby’s smile widens, impossibly stretched. “Holy shit. Really?”

Jack grabs for Darby’s face, clutching the sides of his head. He mashes their mouths together with way too much force, but he can’t stop it, because the rattling in his veins has started to sing. Then he pulls away. “You asked, you absolute loon, how did you not expect an answer? Yes, really. Really.”

And then he’s not really sure of much other than the fact that they’re both laughing, euphoric, and Jack doesn’t care about the roof anymore, or the idea of someone stapling his chest, because all that really pales in comparison to everything else, and he thinks ah, that’s exactly how it should be.

His brain starts to catch up with reality, sluggish. “Where are we gonna live? My place, or your place? This is opposite sides of the country, you know. Oh, wow. We’re gonna have to file taxes together.”

Darby laughs, features pulled incredulous. “What?”

“Should we hyphenate our last names?” Jack’s eyes track over Darby’s face: blue, blue, blue, his eyes are so blue. Should they have blue in their wedding? Should they have a wedding? “Should we hyphenate them in the ring? Wait, I have to go to the grocery store today, and I don’t want to wash this off my hand. Should I take a photo? Or wear a glove? Am I gonna look like Michael Jackson?”

“Jack,” Darby laughs again, high and bright. “Darling. Light of my life. You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“I’m seventeen steps ahead again, aren’t I.”

Darby grabs his face between his palms. “Yes. Yes, you are. Honestly, I don’t know where we’re gonna live. We’ll probably just keep both places. Yes, we’re gonna have to file taxes together. No, I don’t know if we’ll hyphenate our names; I really don’t give a shit. Yes, you can take a photo. No, you will never look like Michael Jackson.”

“You don’t have an opinion about our names?” Jack asks.

Darby hauls him closer, until their noses touch. He’s smiling, smiling, and Jack’s smiling, the expression too wide and aching on his face. “Jack, I don’t fucking care. I just want to be with you and your stupidly cold feet.”

“Does this proposal come with the condition that I have to buy some socks?”

“Don’t you even dare,” Darby replies, his thumb gliding along Jack’s cheek a little. “You’re gonna shove your feet between my legs in the middle of the night and jolt me awake like you always do, and I’m gonna fuckin’ love it, every damn time.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a sap,” Jack says.

“Get to used to that, ‘cause you’re gonna be legally stuck with me after this.”

“Awesome,” Jack breathes, and kisses him again.

[sure-i-exist]

Something I find interesting is how the dragon riders and the rest of Berk interact. And my main takeaway? None of them really fit. And they’re only really cared about because of their dragons.

Let’s go through it one-by-one.

Snotlout:

I’m starting with him ‘cause he’s actually what got me thinking. And if you watch the shows it’s obvious he’s not liked much by the general people of Berk. He’s obnoxious, he’s annoying, etc. But what’s interesting is that, out of all the dragon riders, he’s the main one that exemplifies what a “proper Viking” is… and yet he still falls short.

Let me be clear, he’s one of the only ones group who looks most similar to the other people of berk (the other is fishlegs), he has the appearance of a Viking (broad shoulders, stout, muscular). And similarly, he’s the one who acts the most like the others of Berk (boisterous, stubborn, kinda dim at times). But for some reason, he just doesn’t fit in with everyone else, no matter how he tries.

Ruffnut & Tuffnut:

I’m putting them together here because the rest of Berk generally sees them as one duo rather than two people. They’re seen as troublesome, mischievous and a pain to deal with (all undeniably true), which I would assume makes people less comfortable hanging around them. Additionally, these two don’t act or look at all like typical vikings, which I find interesting. They’re both lanky and skinny for the most part, unlike Berk which generally consists of people who’re much bulkier, and they’re just happy to cause trouble. The rest of Berk on the whole seems tired with them. They’re not outcasts, but they don’t quite fit.

Fishlegs:

Now, Fishlegs, like Snotlout and indeed moreso than him, looks pretty like the rest of Berk, like a “classic” Viking. But his personality is what singles him out. In his case, although people respect his intelligence they tend not to respect him as an individual since he doesn’t care so much for fighting or stubbornness (in Big Man on Berk we see the rest of Berk liking him much more as Thor Bonecrusher and when he returns to himself they’re disappointed). I almost feel like people would see Fishlegs as more of a disappointment than the others because he could be a great “proper Viking” with his strength and size, but because that’s just not who he is as a person he’s more content for the quieter things in life and typically doesn’t see the point in trying to change himself (with some exceptions to this, of course)

Astrid:

Astrid both before and after the first film is seen pretty positively - she’s courageous and stubborn and fights for what she believes and can sometimes be a bit rude but that’s alright. Really, the main differences between her and the rest of Berk is solely in her appearance - she’s thin and small (“small” comparatively to the rest of Berk and even the other dragon riders to an extent as the series goes on), and of course theres a reason for this in simply that Dreamworks would not have a big girl as the love interest/one of the main characters (and here when I say “big” I mean either fat or muscular or both, cause none of it was gonna happen unfortunately). Overall, Astrid is the least out-of-place compared to the rest of Berk, to the point where I will gladly say that in canon she is just straight up the only one who really fits, but I do have my own headcanons against that.

Hiccup:

Hiccup is the most obvious one that doesn’t fit, hence why I left him for last. In the first film he doesn’t fit at all, in riders/defenders of Berk he’s growing into his place and Berk is growing into him. By the time or rtte or the second film he’s well-established as his person and his worth, but he still has that history of not fitting for most of his life, and realistically there’s still that underlying feeling of his difference.

So, I’ve gone through all of them individually. Now, what do I mean that they’re only cared about for their dragons?

Well, once again I can go one-by-one.

Hiccup: I’ll be real, he’s cared about for more than just him bringing about the dragons (just think about his inventions for one other thing). But the main thing? Bringing the dragons. People love him for that

Astrid: She created the A-Team. I think people would care a lot about that. Like Hiccup, she’s one who is actually cared for more than just her dragon-riding.

Fishlegs: Here’s where things actually get relevant. We’ve already established people cared more for him as Thor Bonecrusher than who he actually is. Just Fishlegs tho? Well, he’s useful for his dragon knowledge. And that’s kinda it in terms of how Berk as a collective views him

Ruffnut & Tuffnut: Tbh I think people would hate that they’ve got a Zippleback of all dragons, just for the sheer chaos, but in general? Dragon riding itself is respected, making the twins respected (to an extent) for being dragon riders.

Snotlout: Same deal as the twins really, the people hate he’s got a monstrous nightmare because fire hazard + Snotlout = bad news. But again, he is a proficient dragon rider, and that earns him some level of respect. The only thing that gains him respect or admiration.

So, that’s it really. While typing this out I think I realised that while Astrid and Hiccup are respected for themselves and fit (although imperfectly) in Berk by the end of rtte, but it’s the others (fishlegs, Snotlout and the twins) who just simply aren’t. Which wasn’t my original point but it still kinda works

[claires-thoughts-onthe-mundane]

Today, Claire’s Thoughts are on…

Kpop (specifically the ridiculousness people making fun of others for liking it)

I admit that before I got into any groups myself, I didn’t see the appeal in listening to K-pop. It’s music that you can’t understand unless you hear the music, so why listen to it unless you’re gonna be reading the lyrical translations every single time?

Granted, I indulged in a little bit of Butter and Dynamite by BTS every now and again, sometimes if I really had nothing else I felt like listening to I might’ve let How You Like That by Blackpink play in the background while I did something else. But I didn’t see why anyone would be a full-blown fan. (Note: I personally never bullied or made fun of people. Just plain didn’t see the point.)

Then one of my best friends and I had a sleepover at her house. At one point we were bored and decided to watch some music videos of bands we liked. She asked me if I liked K-pop and I kinda awkwardly grimaced and said I don’t really listen to it outside of the aforementioned songs. She asked me to just try listening to one song from a different group, and she put on the MV for CASE 143 by Stray Kids. Long story short: I’m now a fan of Stray Kids, Enhypen, P1Harmony, and several other groups that I didn’t even know existed pre-sleepover.

Of course, getting into these groups meant I wanted to consume as much media around them as possible. And with all good, there must be bad.

While scrolling through various edits and funny clips of some of my favorite idols, I repeatedly came across videos of antis* making fun of kpop fans for liking the music. It was usually the same stuff over and over — “you don’t even understand them”, “I can’t even tell them apart”, “they all sound the same”, etc. etc. *(Anti = anti-fan, a hater)

As mentioned before, at one point I, too, didn’t see the point. Still, I kept this opinion mostly to myself and never once did I laugh or mock people who did like it. But these antis were being genuinely hateful. They would insult the way idols looked, sounded, dressed, even going as far to say some shouldn’t be alive or shouldn’t be in the groups they earned their spot in**. (**#riizeis7)

But it wasn’t idols that were the focal point of this straight-up cyberbullying. It was the fans of said idols. Antis would go out of their way to harass and make fun of the fans, many often making entirely new accounts solely dedicated to making fun of the fans. Many victims of the cyberbullying were driven off of social media after being malevolently bullied, harassed, stalked, and even doxxed. I’ve heard rumors of some fans being driven to… worse fates, but I’m unsure if any of those rumors are true as of December 15, 2024.

Whether those rumors are true or not, I find myself asking “what’s the point?” Except this time, instead of asking it about K-pop itself, I’m asking it about bullying others because of liking it. What good does it do? Does them listening to K-pop even affect you? Does bullying the idols and their fans make you feel better about yourself somehow?

Really the answers to these questions are as follows: no good, no, and most likely not.

All this to say I cannot fathom why people see the need to hate others simply for liking a kind of media that they don’t like. It’s childish and will get nobody anywhere in life.

To quote James A. Janisse for the second time on this account, Be Good People.

[fuutaenjoyer]

watched it’s not my fault again and was compelled to ramble because i am muu’s number one defender. and then i decided that youtube wasn’t enough, and i had to put my ramblings on tumblr, so here they are. if i said anything stupid please don’t make fun of me i am stupid

i’m gonna say it, i’m a muu defender and i think voting her guilty this time was one of the worst decisions we’ve made when it comes to verdicts. yeah, we fucked up a lot in the first trial, but because of the way everything was interlocked it all feels salvageable, and like we actually made the right choices in a couple of places, but i am convinced that voting muu guilty is gonna be awful for us for multiple reasons.

number one, haruka. this boy literally said he’d kill himself if muu got guilty, and though i don’t think he’ll actually kill himself (though i won’t put it past him) i do think it’ll make him super emotionally unstable and someone else may get hurt because of it. also, giving both of them a guilty verdict 100% is just gonna make their codependency get way worse. haruka needed to be voted guilty for obvious reasons (he literally said that he would kill again, or something along those lines) which kinda means that our only other choice would be voting muu innocent, which i stand by we should have done

bringing me onto reason two, i don’t think a guilty verdict will do anything for muu. yes, she is morally grey, and after pain was 100% nor the full story. but, and i am stealing this point from someone else that i cannot remember, is she truly believes herself to be so good, then why does she perceive herself as some sort of insect monster? herself, and everyone around her, aside from the girl she killed (rei? i think her name is rei?) muu speaks to the trope of someone who did something bad, and deep down knows it’s bad, so they just have to commit to it until they stop feeling guilty, because that’s the only way they know how to deal with it. yes, after pain isn’t as cut and dry as it initially appeared, but this isn’t either! like, the vocals when she kills rei(?), she sounds unstable, distraught even, as if she was actually screaming. she doesn’t sound like someone who believes herself to be in the right, she sounds like someone desperately repeating what she thought she believed. and then it goes straight into her questioning ‘hey, what if i’m a bad girl?’ etc. etc. and first off, as someone who doesn’t speak jp i don’t know if this is just the translation, but the wording of it feels very childish, because, news flash, mu is childish. she isn’t some master manipulator, she is someone naive, who’s cultivated toxic relationships her entire life because yeah, she’s spoiled. being spoiled isn’t a crime, and being flawed isn’t unforgivable. yeah, the bullying is really bad, but that doesn’t mean she deserves to be bullied, and notice how pretty much the only thing that is the same in this video as after pain is her desperation when she actually commits the murder? even if we ignore everything in after pain and take everything in this as face value, that desperation is still there. she was still pushed to the brink. muu wants to be innocent, and she wants to be right, because of course she does. she’s a 16 year old who was bullied and killed someone. she was spoiled and doesn’t have any amount of self awareness, and because of it did bad things, but muu is not an evil villain who is solely responsible for all of these bad things. just because she was the ring leader doesn’t mean she has to bear the weight of the bullying that was done, because when she was being bullied, her ‘friends’ were still doing the bullying, aka she was in a really toxic environment. idk i’m kinda just rambling but i have so many thoughts, and this is also something i saw someone else say on tumblr, but i firmly believe that if we continued to vote muu innocent she would eventually break under the pressure of knowing that she wasn’t

[allw3doisadvert1se]

Refugee

[You Are Aware This Entire Situation Is Your Fault, Yes?]

Shut up, robot. I do not need this right now. I need to think.

[You Wouldn’t Have Had To If You Had Simply Allowed More Of The People Within You To Act From The Start.]

What? And disperse such a vast amount of power hundreds of ways? No. I had to take sole control, or we’d be getting nowhere. It’s … just that stupid Fool that took over our sibling distracted me, and-

[You Keep Reiterating That, But It Does Little To Show Me That You Had Everything Under Control. I Mean … That Was One Day. One Day And You Lost Full Control Over The Situation.]

SILENCE. Everything is going to be fine. Hazel managed to talk the collective down for a little bit, and we can take that to our advantage.

[No. Allow Me To Be Perfectly Clear, I Don’t Want To Help You. Not Even A Little Bit. You Destroyed My Home, Took Control Of Me, Killed THOUSANDS Of My Friends. We Are Not Allies In Any Sense Of The Word.]

Watch your tone, machine, or I will-

[I. Don’t. Care. While Hazel Has The Collective Held Back, I Am Praying That The People You Locked Away Manage To Find Your Precious Little Nail And Bring This Entire Scheme Back To Nothing.]

ENOUGH!

[[The Following Audio has Been Removed. Transferring Connection to Secondary Host …]]

Everest: The hell are we sitting around for? Xanrir didn’t manifest himself here just to save our asses. We need to take advantage of the time we have and find the Nail.

Amanda: True … although, we still need to decide what we’re gonna do with Swatch. I’ve never seen a collapsing wound get so bad …

Swatch: Cough. Le-eave me here, if you must. I'll … I'll find a way.

Spamton: [[Nuh-uh!]]!! nOPE! WE’R3 LEAVING THIS PL4CE 2 GeTHER, [[Cuckoo Clocks now $15.99]]!

Swatch: Heh … I appreciate the optimism, big guy, but I-CAW!

Amanda: By the blade … it’s just getting worse. Hold still, I’ll change your bandages real quick.

Everest: Marcus is also still out there, so we should probably still try to find him.

Amanda: Or we could just leave. Marcus doesn’t … We don’t need him anymore. The Founder is dead, and with him the entirety of Project Voyager has failed. We don’t need people who can make Vessel Units anymore.

Everest: … A part of me doesn’t want The Founder’s memory to die like that. He trusted us to see his future through and-

Amanda: We were never a part of his future, Ev. If Heinrich had it his way, every Lightner within our reach would be a mindless drone. He has no use for people like me … and even less for Darkners.

Everest: What do you mean?

Amanda: Darkners can’t be turned into Units, simple as that. Eventually he’d stop bothering and would likely just kill everyone off that didn’t serve a purpose to him.

Everest: … I-I need a moment.

Spamton: THe> DUMPSTER [[Over yonder path]] IS [[11/10, Would Purchase Again]] FOR CRY1N G, IF U NEeD IT.

Swatch: … That’s where you had been staying?

Amanda: Guys, let’s just … focus. Once Everest comes back, we’ll need to plan our next move. I personally say we ignore Marcus and head straight for the Nail.

Swatch: I concur. Maybe this damn wound will heal once I’m out of this wretched place …

Spamton: ME 3! YOU HAVE MY [[Remember to vote in the primaries!]]!

Amanda: Good …

[[Transmission Corrupting. File Deletion in Three …]]

[[Two …]]

[[One …]]

[[File Successfully Deleted. Have a Regular Day!]]