#You No Dey Look Face

[hildegardladyofbones]

One of the best things about Disco Elysium by far is that it does not fear ugly women. The world is full of ugly men, but ugly women are so hard to come by.

[swdgf]

certain qidian authors shld start a side hustle writing dnmei actually 🙂‍↕️

[mynameisbillandimaheadcase]

Tw

[squidd-pro-quo]

okay, i've had a moment to collect my feelings and,

this movie looks so unprofessional like...

blue light is being cast on her hair from the portal that is clearly not casting a blue light on the environment.

the creeper is backlit by a soft blue light, while this goober is clearly backlit by a harsh white light.

also, the whole thing is backlit! nobody has light on their face in this trailer!

even here, you can clearly see the light is behind everyone, but they are supposedly facing eachother!?

why does this look like this!? why even bother with live action actors when the whole movie is animated!? and don't even get me started on the animation.

there's nothing technically wrong with the models... but it all looks so "minceraft mobs if dey wur reel!!1!"

i swear i saw this same sheep render in, like 2015.

[katierosefun]

ooooo this one is so interesting djfjskd 17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

thank you for the ask!! | from these asks

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

god. the way i have this law school tcw au right now and it is. so highly specific to law school problems + also so highly specific to my law school's problems, i think (+ also my city's problems) that like. i might be one of the only people who would really appreciate it. i don't really work on it a whole ton because usually, after school, i tend to. just not want to think about law school if i can help it, but! who knows, maybe one day i'll get around to it.

[v6quewrlds]

❝ my little love, j. burrow. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: the afc championship game is around the corner. thankfully amara burrow is more than happy to make sure her daddy is ready to bring it home.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: a little game dey fic based on an anon request for good luck. might make this a series possibly bc i'm in love with this concept <333 ty anon for requesting!!

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: mostly fluff and an adorable toddler. joe's a little out of character but pls let me be a little delusional.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x wife!reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 4.5k.

The morning light painted the room a soft shade of gold as your eyes slowly opened to the sound of Joe's quiet footsteps. His honey-blonde hair was still damp from the shower, and you felt a pang of loss as his body heat retreated from your shared space. You watched him from the bed, his strong arms moving with the ease of routine as he pulled on his clothes. His Bengals hoodie hung from the chair, a silent reminder of the day ahead.

"You're leaving already?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

Joe looked up from tying his shoes, a warm smile playing on his lips. "Got to get to the stadium, babe." He walked over to the bed, planted a kiss on your forehead, and whispered, "Early morning practice before the game tonight."

You sat up, your heart racing as you realized the significance of the day. "It's AFC Championship day," you murmured softly, your lips pulling into a lazy smile. "Amara's going to be so disappointed she slept through your send-off."

Joe chuckled and leaned over to kiss you again, this time his lips lingered on yours. "It's okay. She'll probably be asleep for another few hours." He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "But I'd better get going." He turned to leave, but your hand shot out, grabbing his arm.

"Can I make you some breakfast?" you offered, pushing yourself up on your elbows. "Just something quick?"

He looked at you with affectionate amusement. "Nah, I've got it covered. You just rest up. Enjoy your day off, baby." With that, he stood up to his full height.

His blonde head turning to look at the door as it cracked open. Amara's curly hair appeared first, then her sleepy eyes peeked through the gap. She looked around the room, her gaze finally landing on her dad. "Daddy," she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joe's smile grew wider as he crouched down to scoop her up in his arms. "Hey, baby girl," he greeted. Amara giggled, her cheeks pink with the excitement of being woken by a surprise. She snuggled into his embrace, her small arms wrapping around his neck.

"Why are you leaving?" Amara asked sleepily, her voice muffled against Joe's chest.

"I've got a big game today remember, pumpkin?" Joe replied, his voice gentle. "But I'll be back after practice to get ready for the game with you and Mommy, okay?"

Amara nodded, her eyes half-closed as she drifted back to sleep in her father's arms. You watched them with a mix of love and amusement. "Looks like she's not going anywhere," you said with a chuckle. "Let's get her back to bed before she decides she wants to come to practice too."

Joe carefully laid Amara back on the bed, her curly hair fanning out around her on the pillow. He kissed her forehead before standing up. "Alright, I'll be back soon. You stay here with Mommy," he whispered.

You watched him go, feeling a mix of pride and a hint of sadness as he disappeared from the doorway. You knew this was his moment, and you were determined to make sure everything was perfect for him. After a few minutes of cuddling Amara back to sleep, you slipped back into your own slumber. The warmth of your daughter's body and the quiet whispers of the morning lulling you into a peaceful doze.

When you woke up, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, casting bright beams through the windows. Amara was playing quietly with the edge of the bedspread, her eyes glued to the side of your sleeping face. You kissed her forehead, "Good morning, sunshine," you murmured. "Daddy has his big game tonight, remember?"

Amara's eyes lit up, and she nodded vigorously. "I'm going to help him win," she announced.

You chuckled, "Well, you've got to get ready for the game too, baby girl. Let's go brush your teeth and get dressed." You picked up your daughter, who was now fully awake, and carried her to the bathroom. The smell of minty toothpaste filled the air as you bent over the sink, supporting Amara's little frame as she brushed her teeth herself. Afterward, you made your way back downstairs to find a surprise waiting for you: two plates of steaming pancakes with a side of cut and washed strawberries and a sticky note that read, "For my two favorite girls."

"Look what Daddy made us," you exclaimed, pointing to the breakfast spread.

Amara's eyes grew wide with excitement. "Can I have syrup?" she asked, her voice tinged with hope.

"Of course, you can, honey," you said, pouring a little pool of syrup onto your daughter's plate. "But not too much, okay?"

You sat down at the kitchen table, the pancakes steaming up the windows. You took a bite of yours, savoring the sweetness that Joe had managed to capture perfectly despite his rush. You could almost taste the love he'd put into it. As you ate, Amara chattered away, her excitement for the game contagious.

Once breakfast was done, it was time to get ready. You washed and detangled Amara's curls, applying a generous amount of coconut-scented conditioner. The scent filled the bathroom, mixing with the humidity from the hot water. Most days it was a struggle to get Amara to sit still for hair brushing, but today she was surprisingly patient as you worked through her curls. The TV played the pregame show in the background, with the sounds of commentators and cheers from distant crowds setting the atmosphere.

"Mommy, can I wear my special shirt today?" Amara asked, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Of course," you responded, referring to her tiny, custom-made rhinestone jersey that read 'Daddy's MVP' in glittering letters. It was a miniature version of Joe's home game attire, and Amara absolutely adored it. He had it made for her third birthday months in advance, and it had been a staple of her wardrobe during the football season.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as you continued working through the curls, your fingers moving with practiced ease. You couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over you. Despite the excitement of the day ahead, there was something so grounding about these quiet moments with your daughter.

As you worked, the jiggle of the doorbell echoed through the house. "Who's that?" You gasped dramatically, knowing full well that your husband had returned from practice.

"It's Daddy!" Amara shouted, jumping off the chair and sprinting towards the door.

You couldn't help but laugh as you followed her daughter, calling after her, "You know you can't just run off like that, young lady!" But the sound of Joe's laughter as he walked through the front door told you he didn't mind. When the two of you entered the living room, Joe was there, freshly showered and dressed in a casual outfit. His eyes lit up at the sight of you, and he scooped Amara up, twirling her around until she squealed with delight.

"Are you getting ready for the game?" Joe asked Amara as he set her back down, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Yes!" Amara exclaimed, bouncing in his arms. "Mommy's doing my hair right now." She pointed to the chair you decided to carry with you downstairs. You had learned the hard way that once her father was home, it would be hard to get Amara away from him.

Joe's eyes met yours, and you could see the warmth and love in them. "You're doing a great job," he said, planting a kiss on Amara's forehead. "Why don't you finish up with Mommy and then you can help me get ready?"

You nodded, "Let's get those curls looking perfect for the game." You sat back down with Amara on your lap, continuing the meticulous task of styling her hair. The sound of the TV grew louder as the commentators discussed the upcoming matchup. The excitement was palpable, and even you felt a thrill of anticipation.

While you worked your magic with Amara's hair, Joe took a seat on the couch, his eyes glued to the screen. His gaze would occasionally drift to the two of you, a soft smile playing on his lips. Despite the nerves that were surely bubbling beneath the surface, he looked relaxed and at peace. You knew that seeing his family happy brought him comfort, a nonverbal pep talk before the battle ahead.

As you patted her head to signal she was done, Amara looked up at you with wide eyes. "Done?" She asked, her voice filled with excitement. You nodded, and Joe hit the pause button on the TV. "So, Coach," Joe began, gaining Amara's attention as she skipped over to him. "You gonna help me watch film?"

Amara nodded excitedly, her head bobbing up and down as if she were at an interview. You watched them with a warm smile, the love in Joe's eyes for their daughter was something you never got tired of seeing. As Joe carried Amara upstairs to his office, you took a moment to appreciate the quiet house. You knew that once your in-laws arrived, the calmness would be replaced with the buzz of pregame energy.

Your phone vibrated with a text from Robin, Joe's mom. "Be there in 20!" it read. 

You hurried upstairs to finish your own makeup and hair. You had decided to go with a sleek bun, throwing on your 'Burrow' jersey and slipping on a pair of leggings just until Joe's parents arrived. As you applied a coat of mascara, you heard the doorbell ring.

Rushing downstairs, you threw open the door to find Robin and Jimmy standing there with arms full of Amara's favorite snacks and juice boxes. "We come bearing gifts," Jimmy said with a wink.

"Thanks," you said, taking the boxes from them and setting it on the kitchen counter. "Amara's upstairs with Joe, watching some last-minute game film."

Robin and Jimmy exchanged surprised glances. "On game day?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's new."

"Amara's the only one who can get him to break his routine," you said with a chuckle. "I'm married to the man and I'm not even allowed in there on game days. Forget the day of the AFC Championship."

Robin laughed as she set down her bag and looked around for somewhere to sit. "Well, she's definitely her daddy's little girl."

"You have no idea," you said, rolling your eyes playfully. "But it's cute. And honestly, it keeps her out of my hair so I can get ready in peace."

You all shared a laugh, the tension of the impending game momentarily forgotten in the warmth of your family dynamic. Jimmy leaned against the kitchen counter, his eyes gleaming with pride. "It's good to see him loosen up a bit. The game's going to be intense enough."

You nodded in agreement, your eyes flickering to the stairs where you could hear Joe's low voice explaining plays to Amara. "You guys grab whatever you want," you offered, gesturing to the fridge. "I'm just going to go get dressed properly."

In the bedroom, you were surprised by the sight of your daughter, now dressed in her rhinestone jersey and sitting cross-legged on your bed. She had her dad's playbook open in front of her, her little hands tracing over the diagrams with a serious expression.

"Where's your player, Coach?" You asked with a smile, stepping into the room.

Amara looked up at you with a grin that was all Joe. "He's getting ready," she replied, her eyes bright with excitement. You couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at your daughter's enthusiasm. You quickly changed into your own game day outfit, swapping your leggings for straight-leg jeans and low top Jordans that matched Joe’s cleats.

As you finished up your makeup, Joe emerged dressed to perfection in his game day outfit. He picked up Amara, who squealed with delight as she was swept into his arms. "What do you think, Coach?"

Amara studied him intently, her eyes roving over his outfit and the matching shoes. "You look like a winner, Daddy," she declared with the confidence of someone who had never seen him lose.

Joe chuckled, his eyes shining. "Thanks, Coach." He leaned over and kissed you. "You too, beautiful."

Your cheeks heated up with a mix of love and excitement. You had picked out the perfect outfit to match your daughter's jersey. The three of you made quite the trio: Joe in his tailored outfit, you in your jersey, and Amara in her mini-me version of Joe's game day look.

You made your way to the stadium, the energy in the air electric. Fans in black and orange jerseys lined the streets, their chants echoing off the buildings. The anticipation grew stronger as you approached Paycor Stadium, the towering structure a beacon of hope for a victory that would take the Bengals to the Super Bowl.

As you walked through the tunnel leading to the sidelines, you felt your heart pounding in your chest. This wasn't just any game; this was the AFC Championship. You held Amara's hand tightly, her eyes scanning the field as Joe went to join his team. The players warmed up, their movements an anxious show of power, each one focused on the task at hand.

Amara's grip grew tighter as she finally spotted her uncles, Joe's teammates, and friends, Ja'Marr and Tee. "Look, Mommy, there's Uncle Tee and Uncle Ja'Marr!" she squealed, pointing. You laughed and nodded, your eyes finding the two men who looked over and waved. They broke away from their warm-up routine to come say hello, their smiles wide as they approached the little girl in the sparkling 'Daddy' jersey.

"Look who we have here," Tee said, bending down to give Amara a high five. "Little Miss MVP herself."

Ja'Marr chuckled, ruffling her curls. "You ready to help us win today, Coach?"

"Yes!" Amara exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement.

"That's what I like to hear, Coach," Joe said, coming up behind his teammates, his eyes crinkling with pride as he looked at Amara. "You two keep the good vibes coming, okay?" He kissed you and Amara on the cheek.

"You got any tips for us, Coach?" Tee asked, playfully bumping fists with Amara.

Amara nodded solemnly. "You gotta catch the ball, Uncle Tee," she said, her arms resting on her hips. The spitting image of her father's mannerisms.

"Just me?" Tee feigned shock, his smile growing wider. "What about Ja'Marr?"

Amara giggled, her eyes shifting to the other player. "You too, Uncle Ja'Marr. You gotta run really fast!"

The two men laughed, their ease a testament to their years playing together. "We'll keep that in mind," Joe said, hoisting Amara up and spinning her around. She squealed with delight, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest, watching the love between your husband and daughter.

After a few more minutes of conversation with the teammates, Joe set Amara down and kissed her cheek. "I got to go, pumpkin. But I'll see you after the game, okay?"

"Good luck, Daddy!" Amara shouted as Joe jogged back to the field, her voice carrying over the noise of the growing crowd.

You took a deep breath, your eyes following your husband until he disappeared into the sea of players. Then you turned your attention to your daughter, who was now bouncing up and down with excitement. "Come on, let's get to our seats so we can watch Daddy play," you said, taking Amara's hand and leading her through the bustling corridors of the stadium.

The two of you made your way to the luxury suite reserved for the families of the Bengals' players. The walls were adorned with photos of past games and memorabilia, differing from the chaotic energy outside. The suite was filled with other families, their laughter and excitement creating an infectious buzz.

You and Amara found your seats, the plush couches offering a cozy spot to join Joe's parents. The view was breathtaking, the field stretching out before you like a green canvas waiting for history to be painted upon it. As you settled in, your phone buzzed with a text from your sister, asking if you had arrived and if you had seen Joe yet. You replied with a photo of Amara in her jersey, her cheeks rosy from the excitement, and a thumbs up.

The game kicked off, and the roar of the crowd filled the stadium. The players on the field were mere dots of color moving swiftly, their movements precise and powerful. Each play was met with cheers or gasps from the spectators, and even Amara, with her limited understanding of the sport, knew to clap when the crowd did. You held your breath every time Joe took the field, your heart racing in sync with the clock. The tension in the suite grew with every pass thrown, every tackle made.

Throughout the game, Amara remained glued to your side, her eyes rarely leaving the screens broadcasting the action. She munched on her snacks, sipped her juice, and whispered questions about the game that you did your best to answer. Despite the excitement, you noticed her daughter's eyelids growing heavy. The excitement of the day was taking its toll, and the warmth of the suite only added to her sleepiness.

As the fourth quarter approached, the game grew tense. The score was close, and every play could be the deciding factor. You held your breath, your heart in your throat. The other families in the suite mirrored your anxiety, your faces a mix of hope and fear. The air was thick with anticipation, the only sounds the occasional murmur of a prayer or a shout of encouragement for the players on the field.

Amara leaned heavily against you, her eyes drooping. You knew it was only a matter of time before your little girl succumbed to the call of slumber. You cuddled her closer, whispering reassurances that Joe and his team would pull through.

On the field, Joe played with a fiery determination that was palpable even from their lofty perch. Each pass thrown, each yard gained, brought them one step closer to victory. The clock ticked down, each second feeling like an eternity. With less than five minutes left, the Bengals were 2nd and goal, the crowd anxious with anticipation.

Amara's eyes fluttered closed, lulled by the steady rhythm of the game and the warmth of your embrace. You held her tightly, whispering words of encouragement to Joe through the glass, as if he could hear her. You watched as Joe took the final snap, his eyes scanning the field, his body poised and ready. The crowd held their breath as Joe threw a Hail Mary pass, the ball soaring through the air with practiced precision. It was caught by Joe's favorite target, Ja'Marr, in the end zone, sealing the Bengals' win.

The suite erupted in cheers, the sound deafening as confetti rained from the ceiling. Amara stirred in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. You felt a mix of relief and elation as the scoreboard flashed in victory. They were going to the Super Bowl. The final whistle blew, and the players on the field hugged and high-fived, their faces a blend of exhaustion and triumph.

You made your way down to the area outside of the locker rooms. Amara's head resting on your shoulder, sleeping peacefully. As Joe emerged from the lockers, his eyes searched the suite until they found your eyes. He waved, a grin stretching across his face. You felt a surge of love and pride as you returned the gesture, your voice lost in the mess of the crowd. The other players dispersed to their families, but Joe's gaze remained fixed on you. He made his way over, dodging well-wishers and reporters.

When he reached you, he leaned in to give you a kiss. "We're goin' to the Super Bowl, baby," he whispered, his voice hoarse from shouting on the field.

Your eyes shone with unshed tears. "I'm so proud of you," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

Joe's grin grew wider as he turned to Amara, whose eyes had snapped open at the sound of her father's voice. "Did you win, Daddy?" she asked, her sleepiness forgotten.

"We did, baby girl," Joe said, scooping her up in his arms. He held her close, the joy of the moment reflected in both their faces. "Couldn't have done it without your help, Coach."

Amara giggled, her tiny hands clapping together excitedly. "I'm proud of you, Daddy," she said, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Your heart swelled with love as you watched them, feeling the warmth of their bond.

As Joe started to transfer her back to you and walk towards the podium for his post-game press conference, Amara tugged on his arm. "Can I go with you?" she asked, her eyes hopeful.

You looked at Joe, a hint of uncertainty in your gaze. "It's okay," Joe assured you, setting Amara down. "Let's go, Coach." He took his daughter's hand, and she beamed up at him.

The press conference room was a whirlwind of flashing cameras and eager reporters. Joe sat down at the podium, and Amara climbed into his lap. She looked around at the unfamiliar faces with wide eyes, but she remained still and silent, as if she understood the gravity of the situation. You took a spot at the back of the room, your heart beating a little faster than normal. You knew your daughter was a little star, but you didn't want to steal the spotlight from your husband's moment of triumph.

As Joe fielded questions about the game-winning play and his thoughts on heading to the Super Bowl, Amara studied the microphones and notebooks with curiosity. Her tiny hand rested on her father's forearm, her thumb tracing patterns on the fabric of his shirt. The room was still but you could see the way Joe's gaze kept flickering down to your daughter, a silent reassurance passing between them.

When the questions shifted to Joe's family life and how they supported him, he didn't miss a beat. "They're everything," he said, his voice earnest. "My wife, she's my rock. And my little coach here," he leaned down to poke at Amara's tummy, "Keeps me on my toes." The room melted at the sight of the quarterback with his daughter, and a round of 'awes' echoed through the room.

Amara, sensing the shift in attention, straightened up, giggling as she looked around, a hint of shyness creeping into her expression. She was used to her father's games, but this was new, even for her. She leaned into Joe's side, her thumb returning to her favorite spot on his shirt.

You watched from the back, a proud smile on your face. Your heart swelled as Joe spoke about you, your bond, and your life together. It was a rare moment of vulnerability from your husband, who was usually so focused on the game.

One of the reporters leaned in. "And what does it mean to you, having your daughter here today, watching you play?"

Joe's eyes lit up as he looked down at Amara. "It's incredible. She's my biggest fan and my biggest motivation." He ruffled her hair, and she giggled, looking up at him adoringly. "I want her to know that she can do anything she sets her mind to, just like her mom and me."

The room was silent, the cameras capturing the tender moment. You felt a tear slide down your cheek, and you quickly brushed it away, not wanting to distract from Joe's moment. You knew he meant every word, your family's love and support were what kept him going through every game.

As the press conference came to a close, Joe hoisted Amara up in the air, her giggles filling the room. He turned to the reporters, his smile never faltering. "Alright, that's all I got today. I have to get this one back to her mother."

They made their way back through the crowd, Joe's hand on Amara's back, guiding her through the throng of people. You felt a mix of excitement and fatigue, your body still buzzing from the win. The ride home was a blur of congratulatory texts and calls from friends and family. Honks from passing cars and shouts of "Who Dey!" filled the streets as they drove through the city.

At the house, Robin and Jimmy had already set the table with a spread of Joe's favorite post-game meal: a hearty pasta dish and garlic bread, with a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket for later. "We figured you'd be too tired to cook," Robin said, giving you a warm smile.

"You guys are the best," you said, looking over at Amara wrapped in Joe's arms. The little girl yawned and leaned her head on his chest, already nodding off to sleep.

"Let's get her to bed," Joe suggested, his own energy waning. "Thank you so much for this, Mom, Dad. It means a lot."

You took Amara from Joe's arms, cradling her sleeping form against her chest. "No problem," Jimmy said, patting his son on the back. "We're gonna head off to bed. But you two enjoy the rest of the night."

You climbed the stairs, whispering sweet nothings to keep Amara calm as Joe trailed along, his arm slung over your shoulder. In her room, you carefully laid your daughter down on the bed, whispering a final goodnight. Amara's eyes remained closed, her breathing deep and even. Joe leaned over to kiss his daughter's forehead.

"You okay?" You asked, looking into his tired eyes as you finally made your way up to your room after eating and clearing the dishes.

Joe nodded, his smile a bit weary. "Just can't believe we're going to the Super Bowl," he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed. He stood up and took your hand, pulling you closer into his warm chest. "Thank you for being here, for supporting me through everything."

Your arms wrapped around his neck, heart swelling with love. "And I always will, baby," you said, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek. You felt the weight of the day's excitement slowly start to lift from your shoulders. The quiet of your room, the gentle hum of the city outside your windows, it was all you needed to feel at peace.

You changed into comfortable clothes, Joe slipping into a loose t-shirt and sweatpants while you donned your favorite oversized sweatshirt. You cradled Joe's head on your chest, fingers scratching at his scalp as he drifted in and out of sleep. His breathing grew deep and steady, the tension of the day slowly leaving his body.

[lizkreates]

Bone Deep

My full submission for @vashwood-anthology! I initially wanted to go the symbolic route but was like screw it, and went full on angel and demon mode because why not?

Redesigning their looks was so much fun! More art to come. I mashed the lore from all the Triguns and shook it around, enjoy.

(Script under the cut.)

PAGE 1

PANEL 1 Suspended in a tank is Vash's amputated left arm. Tiny wings sway in the fluid among the nodes and wires connected to it. WOLFWOOD (NARRATION): Before I even knew who you were

PANEL 2 Close up of the serum distilled in syringes connected to Wolfwood's arm who's strapped to the cross-shaped lab table. WOLFWOOD (NARRATION): … you became part of me.

PANEL 3 Extreme close up of Wolfwood's eye in pain. WOLFWOOD (NARRATION): I never wanted this …

PANEL 4 Big panel! Full-body shot of Wolfwood with a mix of angel and demon features, the demon ones more prominent. He sits up, hunched over, covering half his face. WOLFWOOD (NARRATION): … to be reborn this way.

PANEL 5 Silhouette of Wolfwood signing a contract in red ink. The red glinting off his glasses. Hopeland Orphanage abstracted in the background, looms over him. WOLFWOOD (NARRATION): Did I have a choice to survive? To protect the little bit of happiness that I cared for?

PAGE 2

PANEL 1 When Wolfwood and Vash first met - Wolfwood boards the bus after being found in the desert.

PANEL 2 An ominoius close-up of Wolfwood's clawed demon hand. WOLFWOOD (NARRATION): I've seen more than most in this nightmarish unforgiving world …

PANEL 3 Wolfwood looks up appearing normal, no claws, with a light blush as he sees Vash. WOLFWOOD (NARRATION): … But nothing could have prepared me for you.

PANEL 4 Obscured close up of Vash smiling.

PANEL 5 Post Rai-Dei the Blade scene redraw - Shoot scene. Wolfwood holds Vash's hand with Wolfwood's pistol to his own head. Wolfwood's demon appearance unveiled to Vash. WOLFWOOD (NARRATION): You told me I had a choice, when I thought there was no alternative. You saw right through my disguise, to the real me, or rather, the me I thought I was.

PANEL 6 A tight crop of Vash in his angel-ball-form, crying. WOLFWOOD (NARRATION): Then I saw you. I didn't know how to feel. Horror? Disgust? Empathy? Part of me understood you, but the other couldn't grapple with the unfathomable.

PANEL 7 Vash and Wolfwood posed in a tableau weapons raised. They're washed out in a gray, Vash's scars in red and Wolfwood's hand and feet are splattered with red blood. Vash's wings/angelic form fill the background and Wolfwood crouching in front. WOLFWOOD (NARRATION): We're not so different from one another. Not black, nor white, but shades of gray, stained with red. This life is not a kind one, and yet…

PAGE 3

PANEL 1 Wide shot of a rocky desert landscape. The outside is hot as hell, radiating from the surface around them. Vash shades them from the twin suns with his wings, as they frantically run toward shade. WOLFWOOD (NARRATION); …you showed me compassion when I didn't think I was worthy.

PANEL 2 Mid-shot of them running, Vash hunched with his hood up, Wolfwood beams, holding onto his hat. VASH: Over there! Ow, ow, hot, hot, hot! WOLFWOOD: Shade, thank the Lord!

PANEL 3 They hide under an overpass. Vash takes a swig from his canteen - still partially in his angel form , feathers on his cheeks, cooling down, red coat off. Wolfwood takes off this jacket, his white dress shirt open. WOLFWOOD: Hey needle-noggin, tell me something, what are ya doin' all this for?

PANEL 4 Vash gives Wolfwood the canteen. VASH: Like personally? WOLFWOOD: Nah, give me a big picture. What do you want out of this?

PANEL 5 Vash's expression softens. VASH: I suppose… I want a better tomorrow for everyone.

PANEL 6 Wolfwood blushes in surprise as he takes a swig from the canteen. VASH (OFF PANEL): That includes you, Wolfwood.

PANEL 7 Wolfwood's lowers the canteen, smiling. WOLFWOOD: It's that simple, huh? VASH: What, is something wrong with that? WOLFWOOD: No, no, I like it. It's good. VASH: Well, what about you?

PANEL 8 Extreme closeup of Wolfwood's eye looking down. WOLFWOOD: Honestly? My answer is no different.

PANEL 9 Wolfwood offers Vash the water back. WOLFWOOD: To tomorrow.

PANEL 10 Their hands overlap, Vash's over Wolfwood's. VASH: To tomorrow.

PAGE 4

PANEL 1: During the ark/the fall arc - a close up of their hands (to keep it vague.) Wolfwood pulls Vash up by the wrist. WOLFWOOD (NARRATION): You let me stay by your side, even when I strayed, I came back for you, the weight of tomorrow bearing down on me.

PANEL 2 Black panel. WOLFWOOD (NARRATION): I'm damned. In spite of everything I've done, I won't let my actions be in vain.

PANEL 3 They're on an elevated cliff platform at night, almost morning. Wolfwood has his wings out, ready to take off. WOLFWOOD (NARRATION): That's why…

PANEL 4 Wolfwood looks off into the distance, a smile tugging at his lips. WOLFWOOD: I need to go now. But before I do, I want you to know that despite this hellish life I was born into…

PANEL 5 Mid-shot of Vash, tears pricking his eyes. WOLFWOOD (OFF PANEL): …my time spent with you made it better.

PANEL 6 Big panel! Vash lunges into Wolfwood, clinging to him. Wings out, loose feathers swirl around them as they fall. (Angelina is on the ground with the Punisher.) WOLFWOOD (NARRATION): God, Vash, I never wanted to leave. You'll always be with me.

[hypewinter]

Hal bent down as the little girl approached him. Even then, he still managed to tower over her with how small she was.

"Hey there little lady," he said. "Anything I can help you with this fine evening?"

The little girl looked at him anxiously, fiddling with her hands. Ok so not a nervous fan. Hal immediately switched to serious mode, scanning the crowd for anyone who could be her parents. He didn't see anyone running up to the two of them or even so much as keeping a watchful eye from a distance.

"Is something the matter?" Hal questioned, making sure to keep his voice even and calm.

The girl continued fidgeting, her big blue eyes scanning from side to side. Finally she spoke. "You wiff da space po-eece yes? Not da am-ear-ree-ca one?"

Hal smiled at the girl. "Yes, I'm with the space police." Honestly that was oversimplifying the Corps a little but he had long since gotten to citizens calling him a space cop.

The girl offered up a small nervous smile of her own. "So you won't tell da gov-ment what I tell you wight?"

Hal was on high alert now. Just what was this little girl trying to tell him? "I won't tell. I promise," he said after a second.

The girl broke into a big smile at this. "Really? Dis way den." She started tugging Hal along and he began to follow.

"Where exactly are we going?" he asked.

"You see," was all she replied.

Hal was led down a couple different alleyways and was beginning to think he was walking into a trap when they reached an abandoned building. The girl dashed in and up the old rusted stairs, with Hal following closely behind her.

If this really is a trap, I'll never hear the end of it from Batman, he thought morbidly as he cleared the last step. Instead of finding himself facing an ambush however, he saw a boy curled up on an old mattress. The girl was already by his side as Hal approached.

"Don wowee Danny, I got help. Like I said I would," he caught the little girl whispering as he knelt down next to the boy. He had to have been older than the girl. Three years older maybe? Yet he was still so small. Hal took sight of his condition. He was in pain. That much was certain by his little face scrunched up in agony and his quiet moans. He was also sweating profusely. His raven black hair sticking to his forehead. Fever maybe?

Hal continued his observations as he scanned down the boy's body until he got to his stomach. The boy was clutching it and Hal could make out blood bleeding through from underneath. Oh no.

He quickly yet carefully removed the boy's arm to get a better look at the wound. The kid let out a groan as his arm was peeled away. Hal couldn't help but thank Oa for all his training that helped prevent him from letting out a gasp.

The boy's chest was covered in blood. Dark red mixed with flecks of green soaked through his shirt and there were bandages that had been amateurishly tied around the wound.

"How did this happen?" Hal asked, turning back to the girl. He did his best to keep his tone as gentle as possible.

Her smile was gone now, and her eyes welled up with tears. "He pwotected me," she said. "Dey wanted to huwrt us. Dey shot at us. Danny pwotected me."

Anger boiled within Hal. Who would shoot at these children? They were only little kids. If what the girl had said earlier was anything to go off of, the answer had something to do with the government. He would have to take care of that later though. For now, this boy needed medical attention.

"Let's get Danny to a hospital," Hal said resolutely, as he got up.

"No!" the little girl screeched. "No has-pee-tail. Too dan-er-us!"

"But he needs-" Hal started but then he met the girl's eyes. There was abject fear in them. As if going to the hospital would be a death sentence for both children. Where else were they supposed to go though? The boy- Danny needed medical attention stat. That much was certain.

Hal paused. There was one place. He sighed. Batman was going to kill him for this.

"Okay okay. No hospital. But what about space?"

"Space?" the girl repeated.

Hal nodded.

The little girl smiled. "Danny lobes space!"

"Well then. That's perfect."

Hal constructed a new bed for the boy, carefully easing him onto it before putting a protective dome around both children. The little girl giggled as he lifted them up. He then turned to the wall where he created a giant hammer to knock it down. Then they were off. Flying higher and higher, towards the atmosphere. As the Watchtower got closer in sight, Hal couldn't help but groan. Taking civilians to the Watchtower? Oh yeah, Batman was definitely going to kill him.

[ecc-poetry]

BALANCE THE PARTY

social justice barbarian Never met a nazi they wouldn't punch. Never met a cop they wouldn't call a nazi. Treats the soft animal of their body like a lance to the heart of a tyrant. Their anger is a gift from God– it transubstantiates.

social justice necromancer Reads her history. Says their names. Goes through cemeteries leaving flowers, grave-borrowing tactics. Coaxes the spirits from their beds to let them dance; we realize we have always been beautiful.

social justice rogue Unplucks the landlord's tapestries at night. She covers her face, she code-names, wipes the prints from her hand after shaking. She's a lot. A blade in the dark that daylight can't soften. She hums a mantra called mission; it's all the warning you'll get.

social justice bard Makes his sincerity a lute and plucks fingers raw upon it. Has brass knuckles on the inside of his throat. Knows what to say to soothe the scared guy sleeping rough, to make the officer laugh instead of shove.

social justice druid Gives you grace and space to grow. Makes a weird balm to calm your hurts. Turns into a panther once a day dispensing courage; turns into a dove once a day dispensing peace. Serves the world from the half-empty vessel in their heart.

social justice warlock Sold her soul to do DEI for a Fortune 500 company. Walks each day through thicketed razors, carving footholds in a hill of glass. The job takes its pint of blood so slowly, it is possible to believe she doesn't feel it.

social justice paladin Always knows the words. Is afraid of what will happen if they forget them. It's not an excuse, but it is sandpaper, truths nailed into the shoebeds. They're implacable from the outside. They can't believe I would love them without their fury.

social justice cleric The people tell her, "Your mouth ruined our movement. You suffer in silence all the time–what's one more?" She believes in a love whose demands cut friends and enemies alike. She cleanses, sad surgeon. She is martyred twice. From the ground where her tears fall, a perfect flower grows.

social justice warforged Has a fuckin' truck!!! He rolls up to mutual aid and the people rejoice at his truck. He is become a mover of things, a Christ-bearer: mattresses and gasoline, the girl who needs a ride across the state. She says bless you, bless your truck, and his heart swells. He never knew he could be so needed.

social justice giant crab Strength +1. Intelligence -5. She is a crab. She has 13 hit points and claws for hands– but she can breathe water and air. She knows what the surface looks like from underneath. She carries wisdom in her crab body that the arc of the universe will always bend to rediscover. Don't you get it? That we all have gifts to give?

-elisa chavez

[achromatophoric]

Pre-Weclair. Wednesday is in an otherwise empty classroom with, of all people…

Kent: 😳

Wednesday: *urgently* Yes. I want to see it.

Kent: *gestures questioningly*

Wednesday: And ah— touch it. If you are not opposed.

Kent: *nervously looks away*

Wednesday: *steps closer* Do not be shy. I am sure it is magni—

Enid: *bursts in* STOP!!

The two turn, startled. Kent steps quickly away from Wednesday, obviously embarrassed.

Wednesday: What is the meaning of this, Enid?

Enid: I— I’m trying to— What are you doing with Kent?!

Wednesday: *glances briefly to Kent* That is none of your business.

Kent: *nervous*

Enid: None of my business? But he— I thought we had— ARGH!

Wednesday: Enid. Speak plainly. What is this about?

Enid: What is this about? Ever since HE came back from his trip to sea, you’ve been all over him! Staring at him in class. Following him around.

Enid: *sniffles* Spending time with him, instead of with— with me.

Enid: *points* What does HE have that I DON’T?

Wednesday’s hesitant pause only stokes Enid’s growing turmoil.

Wednesday: He has ah— a certain attribute that you do not.

Enid: *crestfallen* An attribute?

Wednesday: Quite. It is something I have never seen before. Something that ignites a burning curiosity with me.

Kent: *uncomfortable*

Enid: B-But, maybe I can— I dunno— grow one? I read stories about special shifts, and—

Wednesday: Don’t be absurd. Such a thing cannot simply be grown.

Enid: *stares*

Enid: *wipes at eyes* God. I’m so stupid.

Wednesday: *reaches out* Enid, you are most certainly not stupid. It was— perhaps I should not have hidden this from you.

The seer looks to Kent in silent question and receives an awkward shrug in return.

Wednesday: Enid. *sighs* I apologize for causing you distress. I did not mean to leave you out.

Enid: *sniffles* Wh-What?

Wednesday: You are significant to me, and thus, I should have sought to include you in this experience.

Enid: 😳

Enid: Wh—WHAT?

Wednesday steps up to Enid, takes her hand, and tugs her over to an increasingly nervous Kent.

Enid: I’m not. This isn’t. Um.

Wednesday: *squeezes Enid’s hand* Don’t be afraid, Enid. I’ll be with you.

Enid: ☹️

Kent: 😬

Wednesday: Now then, Kent, if you would do us the honor.

Enid: *hides face*

Kent gulps, nods, inhales deeply in through in his nose and…

Kent: *opens mouth*

Wednesday: *admires*

Enid: 🫣

Enid: 😧

Enid: WHAT IN THE FLYING FLIP IS THAT!?!

The source of Enid’s disgusted horror and Wednesday’s utter fascination peeks out of Kent’s mouth, where a tongue would normally lay.

Wednesday: Cymothoa exigua. More commonly known as the tongue-eating louse. It is a parasitic marine isopod that, in the rarest of circumstances, will attach to a siren.

Kent: *blushing uncomfortably*

Enid: 😲

Enid: So you’re not— I mean, I thought you and Kent were, um…

Wednesday: *blinks once* Kent and I? That is ridiculous.

Enid: *embarrassed* I know, right? I can’t believe I thought… yup. Totes ridiculous.

Enid: Look, to make up for me being like, weird, how about we go burn something down?

Wednesday: Arson?

Enid: Yuppers! Nothing important though. *holds out hand*

Wednesday: *takes hand* I accept.

The two bid Kent farewell before heading off for their impromptu date quality roomie time.

Kent: 😩

Kent’s tongue-eating louse: *chitters*

Kent: Yuh, dey ahr gay ah guck.

[chuthulhu-reads]

[ID: Five panels from Trigun Maximum. The first shows Wolfwood's hand held up in front of Vash's startled face, two half-coins in Wolfwood's bloody palm. "Here," Wolfwood says, the speech bubble linking the first panel and the second, which is a close-up of one of the half-coins, the other just poking into the edge of the frame. The third panel is a tired-looking, blood-covered Wolfwood saying, "Ya see... Needle-noggin'? This is who I really am." Small side-text in one of the speech bubbles explains, "One of these is from Rai-Dei." The fourth panel is Vash looking down with a grim expression, saying nothing. The last panel shows the rows of kitchen supplies in the orphanage, including the salt and sugar jars, as Wolfwood says, "there's nothin' to say. Got it?" End ID.]

Vash is not surprised here, okay? He knew, he knew, this is just the first time they're acknowledging to each other something that they haven't been talking about, that they've both been pretending not to know. And I think it's a real gutpunch that Vash never picked up Rai-Dei's coin, that it's Wolfwood who's held onto it for all this time, because it's sort of a reminder: I'm a Gung-Ho Gun, and I'm a killer, and you know this. I've killed in front of you before. (I've killed for you before.) I think Wolfwood wants those painful reminders out there, and to leave it at that, as a last-ditch attempt at sparing Vash's feelings, because there's one more thing that they're both not talking about and pretending isn't true: Wolfwood is dying, and Wolfwood is going to die soon, and there's nothing either of them can do about it. So isn't it easier to pretend something new? That they've always been enemies, and they've never been friends, and Vash isn't about to lose someone he loves again? That Wolfwood deserves this, and to prove it, here's Vash's tokens of victory?

[https-alberich]

CW: Reader is almost assulted. Mentions of spreading rumours. Reader discretion is advised.

Notes: Guys I'm so excited to work on Kyle's fic. I might only stop at 3 OCs. Any more is too many.

Cheerleader yandere who takings her friends, looking at all the new lip gloss shades from her favourite makeup brand.

Cheerleader yandere who notices you getting cornered by some creep in one of the aisles.

Cheerleader yandere who storms right over, kicks the guy in the gut with her heel. 

“And look at this shade! Isn’t it pretty?” Cassie smiled. “Oh, Dei come here! I found the perfect one for you.” She quickly tugged on one of her friend’s arms and pulled her towards the swatching station, comparing assorted colours. “No. this one’s too dark...” She pursed her lips, deep in thought. A scuffle coming from one of the aisles snaps her out of her train of thought. Cassie balled her fists and shoved people out of the way, walking over to where you were trying to push off a man grabbing at you. He barely sees it coming when a heeled foot connects with stomach, making him double over in pain.

Cheerleader yandere who curses him out and reaches out to make sure you’re ok.

Cheerleader yandere who offers to walk you to where you need to go.

Cheerleader yandere who holds the umbrella over your head, ignoring the way her shoulder becomes wet by the rain.

“You sure you, ok?” Cassie asked you for the millionth time, looking over at you, the minute she saved you, she had been attached to your hip, her hand gripped yours, it was tight. Like she was trying to bruise you, mark you as hers. You had reassured her, telling her that you were fine, and that she really didn’t need to do this, but the woman insisted. Telling you that she was no longer in the mood for shopping. She needed to make sure her angel was safe. 

Cheerleader yandere who invites you to her table during lunch.

Cheerleader yandere who glares at anyone who speaks up about it.

Cheerleader yandere who will personally feed you herself.

Cassie giggled, holding a spoonful of rice up to your face. “Open up darling.” She cooed, green eyes carefully watching as you parted your lips and took the spoonful of rice in your mouth. It was good, not too salty, not too spicy either. A good ‘middle ground.’ Cassie giggled and brushed away some hair from your face. “There we go, angel. You’re so pretty you know.” She whispered, leaning in to kiss your cheek, leaving a clear pink sparkly glob of lip-gloss on your face. “My cute little angel…”

Cheerleader yandere who insists that you come to all her practise sessions.

Cheerleader yandere who will not hesitate to move around some of her friends if your eyes linger too long on them.

Cheerleader yandere who wants your eyes on her. And her only.

Cassie grins when you cheered for her, chapping your hands to the thump of the beat as the girls perform for you. Your eyes slid over each member, watching them dance in turn. But your eyes always landed back on Cassie. Just like you were supposed to. Like the good little angel, you are. You didn’t want a repeat of the Molly situation. Staring a little too long at the girl had Cassie whispering the worst rumours that could’ve possibly plagued the school. You caught her one time, whispering something into her friend’s ear. When she noticed you watching, her brilliant green eyes gleamed and her lips curled into a grin.

Cheerleader yandere who will socially ruin anyone’s life if they think about touching you.

Cheerleader yandere who wants to spoil her little angel.

Cheerleader yandere who wants to claim you as hers.

All hers.

Taglist: @mono273

[anime-fan-05]

Heiii, sono ancora io!

Mi è piaciuto un botto quello che hai scritto per la mia richiesta

Puoi fare degli headcanon del quartetto dei primi anni di Karasuno, Noya, Oikawa, Kuroo, Lev, Tendo, Goshiki e Tsumu con una fidanzata molto piccola (tipo 1,40 o 1,45)?

Grazie

Haikyuu!! ~With a short reader 1st part~

Manga/anime: Haikyuu!!

Warnings: nothing

(Y/N): your name

As usual, I divided the request into two parts: 2nd part is here.

Hinata S.

He feels so high when he's with you!

He always claims to have fallen in love with you since your first meeting: one day, while running (he was late for training with his team), he bumped into you, knocking you to the ground; then, he stopped to help you, but by mistake he said: "You're so tiny..."; he didn't mean to be mean, and he was about to apologize, but the words got stuck in his throat after hearing you mutter: "You're the one who's tall"; that day he arrived at training not only late, but also red as a tomato

Despite the first words he told you, he thinks your height is very cute and, above all, perfect for him, since you've the right height to fit in his arms: in fact, he loves to hug you, cuddle you, or just have your body against his in some way

He'll never tease you about your height and, if someone does so, he'll run up to them and yell at them to stop (like he did to defend Kiyoko from Terushima)

He loves picking you up, especially while you kiss; sometimes he also does so to greet you after you haven't seen each other for a long time: he picks you up and turns you around, then he kisses you

Kageyama T.

The first time he met you, he was struck by your cuteness: when he had to introduce himself to you, his voice was trembling and he almost mispronounced his name (he really wanted to bury himself out of embarrassment); furthermore, he was terribly blushing and felt as if he was about to fall to the ground

When you two go out together, he's very careful not to lose you in the crowd, especially if there are a lot of people: he stands next to you and always holds your hand, not without blushing, to guide you

Once he lost sight of you in a store and got very worried; he looked for you in every lane, he was desperate, until he heard the loudspeaker: "Mr. Kageyama Tobio, come to cashier 12. We've found your daughter."; he tried not to laugh all the way home

His favorite thing to do is rest his head on yours, as your height is perfect for him to lean over, while hugging you from behind (because otherwise you would see his face red)

If he sees you cheering for him during a game, he'll feel very excited; if you even wore his jersey, he would literally die of embarrassment (Tsukishima will never let him forget it) and work even harder

Tsukishima K.

Whenever he can, he teases you a lot: he never misses an opportunity to do so, either through his gestures (for example by resting his arm on your head as if it were an armrest), or with words ("Oh? Sorry, I didn't see you, you're too small.")

Furthermore, speaking of words, he comes up with every nickname having to do with short for you: "chibi" (small) or "chibi-chan", "my little one" (with great emphasis on little)...

However, if someone makes fun of you, he stands to his full height and glares at him: he's the only one who can tease you

If you wear his clothes, which are literally huge on you, he takes the opportunity to tease you about your height, but he only does it to prevent you from noticing his embarrassment; if you also puff out your cheeks or pout in irritation, he'll have to cover the lower part of his face with one of his hands to prevent you from seeing his deep blush

One thing that amuses him a lot is when you try to kiss him, but of course you can't do it if he doesn't lean down ("Oh? Are you too short to reach me, chibi-chan?" "Shut up and lean down so I can kiss you, dummy!")

Yamaguchi T.

If you play with his hands and compare them with your smaller ones, he'll melt and blush very heavily; nevertheless, he loves holding your hands, precisely because they're much smaller than his

When he sees you in his clothes, especially in his team jersey, he gets so embarrassed he has to put his hands in front of his face or hide it in other ways; the first time he saw you like that, he fainted for a few minutes and, after he recovered, he couldn't look at you for fear of becoming dazed looking at your cuteness

He'll also die of embarrassment if you grab him by the collar of his shirt or the tie to lower him to your height and kiss him

Although he's a really shy person, I think there are moments when he becomes more bold and courageous: one of those is if someone makes fun of you (really, he totally transforms into another person and yells at them you're perfect just the way you're)

Some are subtle moments where he playfully teases you, but he stops as soon as he notices you're offended or saddened; others happen when he spontaneously picks you up to help you reach overhead objects you can't reach on your own or when you kiss

Nishinoya Y.

Since he isn't the tallest, and sometimes he felt bad about it, he doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable or sad about your height: if you were ever unhappy due to that, he, unexpectedly serious, would take your hands in his, whispering softly to you you're perfect just the way you're

Instead, if he were the one who hurt you, he would literally kneel at your feet begging you for forgiveness

He loves when you see each other after a long time and you run towards him and jump on him, holding him like a koala; he always grabs and spins you around a couple of times, and then he kisses you

Since sometimes neither you nor he can reach objects too high up on the shelves, he lifts you up to get them; one day, he did a really stupid thing: he took you on his shoulders, but unfortunately he slipped and you both fell to the ground (obviously he broke your fall and you didn't hurt yourself)

One day, during the time out of a match during which he wasn't in perfect shape, he saw you in the stands cheering him on while wearing his jersey; from that moment on, in that match no ball touched the ground in Karasuno's field

Here we are: it's been exactly a year since my first post. I wanted to thank all my followers: thanks to all of you for following me, for reblogging, voting and commenting on my posts, thanks to you my account lives!

💮 Rules 💮 Masterlist 💮

[littlepadika]

Good Man

warnings: no outbreak daddy Joel, ddlg, fem little 🙇‍♀️ , discussion of age play, meanie shamers, bad words

notes: based on an angsty dream i had. i needed daddy comfort 😭 idk if anyone reads daddy joel anymore but i hope you likie ❤️ 💕

"And he wanted me to call him daddy!" Your friend, Steph, shrieked causing everyone at the table to laugh. Everyone except for you who had been enjoying the story up until this point. Now you chewed your lip.

"I hate that, honestly." Your other friend, Olivia, said. "It's gross. Like... it's just gross."

You feel your face heat up. You try to think of something to say some retort.

"It's these older men who get off on it." Steph agreed. "It's like why can't they date women their own age. They're creeps"

"I don't know guys it's kind of hot." Elise, sitting to your right, leans forward and wiggles her eyebrows. You feel a bit of relief.

"Ew!" Steph laughed.

"I mean- like sexually. Not like all the time. That's too weird for me." And the relief was gone

"What do you think?" Elise turns to you.

You feel your face grow hot. Your brain already felt fuzzy from worrying about what to say. None of them knew about Joel. They knew you were with someone older but the nature of your relationship was totally private.

"I think- I think it's fine. If that's what people like and they consent to it."

"So diplomatic." Olivia snickered. "We know you like them older."

You know it was said in fun but you felt your eyes sting with frustrated tears. You honestly didn't know where all this emotion was coming from. But it was almost like a rejection of you, even if they didn't know. If you ever thought you could confide in them now you know you can't.

"I mean... they're kinda taking advantage of you. Like you have to wonder...like it's one step away from a ped-" Steph crossed her arms.

"Steph!" Elise glared at her.

"Bathroom." You stood up and bolted as fast as you could. You hated that you cried from frustration. Like the moment you need to speak up your tears get in the way. You text Joel to come pick you up.

You know they are talking about you when you get back because they immediately stop talking and plaster on cheery smiles.

"Hey! Should we get another round." You can tell Steph feels bad for her words.

"That's okay i'm going to head home."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah we got carried away-obviously you aren't- you know-"

"It's fine." You looked away "I was feeling off anyways."

Joel pulls up a few minutes later. You just want to run into his arms and cry but you know your friends are still watching you leave.

"Just drive." You mumble as soon as the door is shut.

"Have fun?" Joel asks, squeezing your leg with his free hand.

And you instantly burst into tears before you can get your seatbelt on.

"Oh dear." He pulls into a parking space at the back of the lot. "What-what?" He cups your face in his big hands. "Petal talk to me..." His big brown eyes search your face, seeing the softness in your eyes and pouty bottom lip. "Oh baby..." He helps you scoot over into his lap and you cry into his neck. In his mind he's trying to think of anything that may be causing this but he just lets you cry.

"D-daddy..." You cry.

"I'm here, petal. I gotcha." He strokes your head. Inhaling his scent and feeling his big strong arms made you even more mad at what your friends said. Joel was not a bad man. He was your daddy there was no other way to sum up what he meant to you. Safety, protection, acceptance, strength... When you quieted down he peels your face off him and wipes your tears.

"Can you talk to daddy? Hmm? Can you find that big girl voice?"

You try to speak but it just comes out like a whimper.

"Aw I know... you can do it. Let's take a deep breath all the way... yeah... let that big girl voice come back to you..." you have to take your big girl breaths a couple of time before you finally speak.

"Dey-dey said" You sniffle "daddies are bad men."

"Your friends?" Joe felt his heart sink.

"Mhm dey said you were a- a- creep. And I was gross. But you aren't daddy!" You grip his shirt fiercly "You aren't!"

"I'm sorry you had to hear that baby." His heart just aches in his chest. "Some people are too small minded to imagine anythin' different than what they have. They don't understand it, petal."

"But why?"

"It's just how they live their life. Don't know nothin' else." He knows the feeling all too well. How many times has he had to endure awkward conversations about his relationship with you. He got on daddy sites secretly and always felt wrong doing it. But something changed once he started establishing a real relationship with you. Pure love. And so much more than he thought.

"I didn't tell them daddy but i wanted to. I wanted to tell dem you were a good man."

"It's okay baby." Joel smiled.

"No, daddy!" You insisted, cupping his face and looking very serious. "You are a good man."

"Th-Thank you, petal." Joel felt himself tear up a little at your sincerity. Because some days it didn't feel like it. You only got a taste of the hate in the world you had no idea. And Joel was doing his damndest to keep it from you. "You're a good girl. Such a good girl..."

It was so easy at home to just let go and be what each other needed. But the rest of the world wasn't ready for it.

"I don wanna be secret." You confess in a small voice, tears coming back anew but this time they felt different. "I don't wanna be..." you search for the word but couldn't come up with it.

"I know... we'll find a place where we can be ourselves. I swear to you, baby." Joel promises into your hair. He promised himself he would find more members of the community so you would find friendship and acceptance. So he would, too.

"I love you daddy."

"I love you too petal. Loud and proud." He kisses you gently.

~~~~~~~

ddlg masterlist

littlespace taglist:

@lafresamilk @mamacitapascal @prettypedros, @marstheplanet @takochansugoi  @oceanablue @iwishtobeastorm @dincrypt, @bac-1, @spacenerdpascal, @cranberrypills @punkerthanpascal @breezythesimp  @djarinsimp @mylittlesenaar @bbybunbun @phnyx @xwalltoast @dreadwolfxoxo @xwalltoast @mswarriorbabe80 @bearcina @lokigirlszendaya @pedroslilbitch @star-wars-fan-2005  @din-jarhead @hillgoth @m4ngoj3lly @crabbae @im-a-mcsimp-for-mchotties @girlofchaos @joelsflannel @xoxabs88xox @nicolethered @sergeant-major-ghost @pretty-girl-likes-tea @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @marchai

@Teddy2510

@phillygraves

[mickyschumacher]

NGL I LOVE UR WORK... ive been hopping thru ur m.list since the last hour.... its currently 1 am and i have an essay to finish before 8 am(im sure my prof will give me more time ik dey love me) anywasy i was wondering if u could do an enemies to lovers with Lewis((like really hated eachother)the reader could be a driver its oky don mind what she does) and then they were arguing abt sumting lewis says something thats completely out of the line and she starts crying in front him then he just kinda leaves her be, a few days later he would go on then apologize to her abt wat he said and then more fluff. (just ignore this if ur not into it or not takin a request at the moment. but im actually just hapi i kind of got the courage to ask u for a request also ur stories are soooo good i admire and envy u at the same time.)

𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐌𝐄  .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: as lewis's former teammate, there are lines that shouldn't be crossed. but a bad move from lewis puts him completely out of line.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: enemies to lovers trope!, poor humour, some fluff, in depth moment of an alternated 2021 wdc (apologies in advance), therefore ANGST, bad race jargon, horner and masi discussed :(, mention of intermittent explosive disorder, misogyny, allusion to racism (not from the reader ofc!), shitting on the fia for a bit, lewis kinda being a dick for probably an unfair reason lol, a proclamation of feelings from sir lewis himself

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: lewis hamilton x red bull!driver!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: you're too sweet to me! 🤧 i couldn't tell if you wanted this to be romantic but i went that way in the end! hope this was good! ♡︎ very very loosely based of swift's 'right where you left me'. but if you argued it wasn't, i would be inclined to agree. proof-read...ish?

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

No one ever truly understood your move to Red Bull. It was in 2019, far from when Max was practically living on pole, so Red Bull wasn't exactly a threat to Mercedes, your previous team. Toto had even put a three-year extension on the table several months before your contract came close to expiring.

Yet you had chosen to sign with the devil.

When the commentators, journalists, and fans took a closer look at your decision, the only thing they could all collectively agree on was that you had moved to Red Bull because of Lewis Hamilton. Because you both couldn't keep your differences aside and Lewis had finally struck your last nerve.

While you weren't quite sure about the last part, the first was true. You had Lewis had never ever exactly met eye-to-eye. Every F1 driver had a specific style of driving. You liked to call Lewis' the 'calm before the storm'. He raced with a composure and maturity that most drivers did not hold. He was particularly calculative and the everyone loved him.

You, on the other hand, had given yourself a new nickname along side 'Flash 13' because you did everything in a flash: you overtook ruthlessly and calculated, you pushed the car till it was undrivable, and you were decisive to the very nanosecond. But you had also garnered yourself the name 'IED', after the behavioural disorder.

In part this nickname was due to the misogyny you faced as the only current female driver in F1 but also due to the sheer anger that bursted out of you whenever you encountered Lewis.

The amount of warnings Toto had given the both of you was simply endless. He had even resorted to putting you two with the team therapist.

The source of your hatred for each other was as clear as day. You hated Lewis' arrogance because somehow it was even worse than Rosberg, Alonso, Räikkönen, and Verstappen. And Lewis hated you for your 'perspective'. You didn't know what he initially meant by that but you regretted asking him. He said you needed to be stronger to be in F1 and that you were far too soft-hearted. Right after you had gotten your first ever pole.

It was ridiculous, to say the least.

No F1 driver was soft-hearted. You were all, simply put, a bunch of dicks. Not literally, of course. Naturally, following that comment, Lewis had pissed you off. He hadn't even had a second to know you before even making that judgement. It was ironic as well, considering your nickname that labelled your anger.

After watching Lewis win several championship titles with you following multiple places behind and seeing you only get angrier with each other, you had decided to call it quits for Mercedes. If people were going to take your annoyance and frustrations with amusement, you were going to head to the angriest team of all and leave your former team fuming.

Two years later, in 2021, you had finally gotten the perfect opportunity.

You hadn't really a clue how exactly Red Bull had made the 2021 car so well that you were matching the speed of Mercedes' car but you didn't care. You were matching Lewis. And Christian Horner was a happy man. A sexist prick but a happy man nonetheless.

Pole was either Lewis' or yours. Either he was a Grand Prix winner or you were. It was a game of cat and mouse, always in a constant pursuit of each other. The same went from your team leaders, Toto and Christian, who practically had the race director, Masi, on speed dial.

And by Abu Dhabi, you were equally tied, locked at 369.5 points. It hadn't been easy after getting penalised for multiple incidents against Lewis, but you were here. Lewis was trying to get his eighth championship and you your first.

You weren't sure how this was going to end. Heck, no one could've predicted what happened that day. But all you knew was that you were not going down without a fight.

You secured pole in Abu Dhabi which had put the entirety of Mercedes and F1 on edge. After a discussion with your engineer and several strategists, you had opted for soft tyres to further your advantage over Lewis.

Despite all of that, it was Lewis who had led the first corner after those red lights had gone out. It was only by turn six did you even get a lead. But it was a moment too short as your former teammate regained his top position by going off into the damn run-off area of the track.

You didn't need to scream in annoyance. You couldn't hear Horner, but deep down you knew he had already called up Masi, demanding an investigation. Your engineer reported to you that the stewards had dismissed it. The gap between you and Lewis was getting bigger, the race was coming to and end, and you knew you needed a miracle towards the end of the race if you wanted to win.

And that miracle was called Nicholas Latifi. The poor guy had crashed into Mick and the safety car was out on the tracks. Thankfully, they were both okay, but the timing of it was simply impeccable.

You had pitted to get new soft tyres and Mercedes was on the fence about heading to the pit lane in fear of the race restarting. So Lewis didn't pit. Miracle 2.

You re-joined the track with five lapped cars in between you and Lewis. And soon enough, Race Control had given the dooming message: lapped cars were not allowed to overtake.

The taste in your mouth was bitter. You had cussed out Horner, asking why you were even seeing these lapped cars in front of you.

Then came Race Control again: only the five cars in between you and Lewis were allowed to overtake. Miracle 3.

But of course, F1 had a flair for the dramatics. Because you were fucking restarting. Putting you and Lewis on a tight show-down for the final lap.

The bad news? Lewis hadn't pitted yet.

The good news? You could overtake Lewis. Miracle 4.

And the headline? You won.

You fucking won.

You were F1's first female champion in history.

You made history... or, well, herstory?

Yes it was controversial. Yes it was dramatic. Yes, questionable decisions had been made.

But you won.

By the time you had gotten out of your car and finished with screaming and crying in pure happiness, you had finally caught a glimpse of Lewis.

A small part of you felt bad. You knew for a fact, that these decisions weren't 'human error' as the FIA would go on to claim the following year in Bahrain.

It was entertainment. It was business. It was money.

You had both worked so hard this year. But the fight between an F1 driver breaking the record for the most championship titles and the first possible female champion in F1 was too good to resist.

Things between you and Lewis after Abu Dhabi hadn't gotten worse. You just talked far less than you normally did. You barely argued with each other anymore. It was disconcerting to say the least. Especially now that you were struggling to match Max's pace, always coming second or third as per the instructions of your engineer. For a moment you thought, what was the point of winning if you weren't going to win again?

━━━━━━━━━━━

You were still determined. Beating your own teammate would be hard. But you weren't a stranger to the idea. You had spent years trying to beat Lewis while purposely being the support for him to win. They were two actions they didn't go together but it had happened.

That being said, the venture was proving to be more difficult than you anticipated. In fact, it had caused a full collision with Lewis in the first lap of the Qatar Grand Prix.

You were so focused on beating Max you hadn't taken a second to look around you.

"What the fuck was that?" Lewis' voice invaded the air as he barged into your driver's room, ridden with sweat and still in his racing gear.

"Look, I'm sorry okay. I didn't see you. It was my fault. End of story," You told him curtly, not really wanting talk to Lewis any further.

"Damn right, you didn't see me. You could've taken me or anyone out! Are you so fucking stuck up your ass that you couldn't see me?" Lewis asked incredulously.

You scoffed at his accusation. It was true. But you didn't like when the truth fell from his lips... especially not when they sounded like that.

"Lewis, drop it. No one got hurt. Let's just move on okay?" You queried, annoyance dripping from your voice.

"Why? Can't handle the truth, L/N?" He laughed gently, almost mocking you. "Right... you were always like that."

You snapped your head towards him, raising a sharp brow. "Excuse me?" You spat as if to say he was becoming dangerously close to crossing a line he did not want to cross.

Lewis folded his arms, shrugging nonchalantly. "What? You don't like the truth. It's simple. I told you that you need to be stronger because you're too soft-hearted. And you hated that. And now that I'm telling you that you're selfish, you obviously can't handle it."

"Oh my God, you are one to talk. Lewis, you are so blinded by your arrogance that you can't see anyone else win. That's why you can't accept that I won right?"

"Not Abu Dhabi, aga–"

"Yes, Lewis, Abu Dhabi again. You are so fucking sour about losing that even when the hate targeted me, you let it. You let them say that my win was due to race and gender. Me, Lewis, out of all people, me."

No matter your differences, you had stuck up for Lewis on many accounts when it came to the FIA, 'fans', and haters. But he wasn't there for you.

You could see dark expression fall onto Lewis' face. "That's not true, Y/N."

"Then what was it Lewis?" You flailed your hands in exasperation. "Because you sure as hell didn't come to my aid."

"Because you didn't deserve it!"

You blinked blankly, arms falling to your side. Your mind took a minute to process the words that had fallen from his lips in mere seconds.

Lewis' face dropped as realisation struck him. What the fuck did he just say? "Y/N, I–"

"Get out," You grumbled.

Lewis did a double-take on the fresh line of tears accumulating on your waterline. He took a step closer to you, hands reaching out. "No, no, no, Y/N, I–" But your words made him stop.

"Lewis, get the fuck out of here before I start screaming like the bitch everyone thinks I am."

You watched Lewis return his hands to the side, clenching his jaw tightly as he made way to the door of your room. He stopped briefly, hesitating to open the door, taking one last glance at you before leaving.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Four days.

You had pondered in deep thought for four days. And after 72 hours, one thing had become obvious to you.

Lewis wasn't with you or any of the other drivers. He was still in 2021, right where you had left him. Not a second had gone by for Lewis where he hadn't thought about Abu Dhabi.

What if he had just pushed for Bono and Toto to get him in that pit lane?

What if he had veered the car a little to the side and you didn't overtake him?

Lewis was still reliving the worst moment of his career and his life and everyone had moved on. Sure, every fan and commentator talked about it time to time. But it was something of the past.

To say you didn't deserve your championship title... you had heard it from several 'fans' and insignificant others. But to hear it from Lewis? It fucking killed you.

You cared about his opinion more than anyone in the world. And he knew that.

You would've never said anything as shitty as that to him or anyone for that matter.

You had worked your ass off to get to F1. Fuck, you had won F2 two fucking times because no one was willing to let a girl on their team... into a man's sport. Every driver worked hard to a certain degree. But you were a girl who didn't grow up with the means of driving yourself to your death every day. If everyone worked hard, you had worked ten times harder.

Everyone knew that you and Lewis had fought. And by the looks of it, they also knew it was far worse than your normal fights. You wouldn't look at him, you refused to speak to him, you spent minimal time in the same room, you had even paid your media fines in full to avoid everyone...

Max had even become some sort of bodyguard, telling Lewis to turn back around when he neared the Red Bull garage.

All of this protection, and yet, he had still found you in your favourite place. The one you both came to when you needed to become level-headed. The top stand of any empty Grand Prix, in this case the México Grand Prix, where the air felt a little bit cooler against your heated skin and you could think for even it was for just a second.

You sucked in a sharp breath, seeing Lewis in your periphery while you were firmly seated. He looked nervous, chewing on his bottom lip and taking cautious glances at you.

"Hey," Lewis greeted, making you raise a brow at his lame entrance.

You forced yourself to look at the rest of the empty seats in front of you. "Hey," You mumbled back, trying to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth.

An unsettling silence enveloped the both of you. You were sure Lewis was here to apologise. But you could also tell he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Not in a selfish way. But in the most guiltiest way possible.

You sighed. "How are you?" You asked gently, peeking out of the corner of your eye.

Lewis winced at your question. Leave it up to you to still be this kind after what he had said to you. "Sorry. I'm so so sorry," He rasped, voice raw with the pain that had been gnawing away at him ever since those god forbidden words had left his mouth.

You nodded slowly, taking another deep breath. "I know you're going to call me soft-hearted but what you said really fucking hurt, Lew," You jested with a brief smile.

Lewis grimaced at your poor humour, before his ears perked up at the old nickname you had given him when you first started getting on each other's nerves. "I know. I'm an idiot for saying something like that. Or that you're soft-hearted. You've worked so hard for all of this. You absolutely deserve everything and that win was only the first of many, I'm a hundred percent sure of it. Your Dutch shortie doesn't really know what's coming."

You gave him a tight-lipped smile after huffing in amusement at his diss towards Max. "Thank you," you told him earnestly. "Although, I am quite positive he is like almost ten centimetres taller than you. But, thanks anyways."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "Have you seen me? You don't think I give off tall energy?"

"You mean tall in insults?" You joked, grinning at the blank look on Lewis' face.

Lewis sighed. "I really am sorry. I didn't mean any of it. And by 'it', I mean all of the insults and fights. I was just disappointed in myself. Even more so that I didn't stand up for you. I'm so sorry."

You drew your eyebrows together, turning your body to face him. Confusion filled you. "Then why did you say it at all?"

"I–" Lewis blew out a small laugh. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Lewis, can you not see me dying here? Like a whole kitchen set of knives in my back?" You deadpanned.

Lewis rolled his eyes again. So dramatic.

He brought his hands together, staring at you briefly before looking at the empty stand. "Well, obviously, I heard of you before you joined Mercedes. I thought it was ridiculous that you had to get two F2 championships to get a seat, but anyways, I digress. Toto told me, he was considering you even though you had never been in the junior team.

And I remember just being so fucking jealous of you. Toto was consumed by you. He and Horner had been fighting for your seat for so long and now that they finally had an open seat, it was chaos. Toto won, obviously. And then we met each other in person for the first time and I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world."

You felt your heart begin to race and your skin heat at the sudden proclamation. "You... you what?"

Lewis smoothly glossed over the compliment. "And then we had our first quali together and you beat me. You got pole on your first race. So you were talented and beautiful. A crime, might I add.

And so when you came to tell me, you were so excited with all your talent and beauty, I was pissed. Because out of all things in the world, I had gotten an amazing competitor I was bound to feel for. I thought that by saying you were soft-hearted and all, it would get on your bad side and it would make me less attracted to you. It didn't. It got worse while it got easier to pretend to hate you."

You blinked blankly at him, cheeks aflame. Lewis Hamilton liked you. Your stupid teammate? The same one who's eighth championship you arguably took? "I'm sorry... hold up, we've been fighting for years because I'm a hot, talented, gifted, smart driver and you're a simp?"

Lewis squinted his brown eyes at you. "I did not include all those adjectives."

"I mean... that's basically what you said," You shrugged, flickering your eyes to the setting sun.

Where did all the damn cool air go? You wondered, pressing your hands to your flushed cheeks and feeling your soft palm absorb the molten lava known as your skin.

Lewis chuckled, picking up your flustered reaction quickly. He watched as you suddenly stood up. "Okay, well I'm... I'm going to meet Hugh and find a way to beat Max. See ya!"

Lewis paused, grabbing your wrist. "Wait? What? You aren't going comment about what I just said?"

You eyed his hold on your wrist: it was searing you. You turned to him, lowering your head to meet his gaze. You briefly looked down at his lips before looking back up. "I think I prefer hating you."

Lewis felt you press your lips on his cheek before walking past him. He watched your retreating figure, your kiss feeling heavy on his face, putting him right where you had left him: absolutely and utterly smitten.

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

What about showering with the mercs? Nothing dirty, like, at all. But like, washing the gross men’s hair while the bask in the most affection they’ve gotten since 5th grade. Maybe I just wanna see tough and gruff grown men turn into putty when given the smallest amount of care. Gn reader please!! And thank you!!

I love how you assume they got affection in 5th grade. What a very bold claim.

The Mercs taking a shower with Y/N (SFW)

Scout:

- Scout is a very restless person. He can never sit still for more than five seconds. It takes a lot of massages and rubbing soap on his body for him to finally stop shuffling his feet. Even then his attention is always caught by something mundane. Like a weird tile on the wall or the window high above near the ceiling where nobody could be a peeping tom.

- Your affections finally catch up to him. He relaxes a little more when you start to do his hair. He lays his entire head on you and lets you work at his scalp. You notice for some reason his dog-tags are still on him and ask him about it. He shrugs and goes “What if I die in the shower or some shit? Who knows. Maybe a frenchie will fuckshit out of nowhere and backstab me.”

- You can’t help but huff at his joke. It was an amused yet annoyed response to his nonsense. He smiles groggily as you begin washing his back. “Do you do this often?” “Do what?” You ask. “Join a group of mercenaries and then wash their backs.” He says. You scowl at him and shove the loofah in his mouth.

———————————————————————-

Soldier:

- Literal dog. Arches his spine and tilts his head back in bliss as you scratch his scalp. Sighs in relief as you release him of today’s pressure. Turns around against the wall to let you do his back. Raises any limb up when you need it. He enjoys being treated like a pampered animal. He’s like a big Labrador that loves water

- He begins doing you as well mid wash. Covering you in body wash and rubbing your back and tummy in circles. You know little to nothing of soldier’s past so it’s quite a pleasant surprise when you discover he’s good at this. Palming the knots out of your muscles and encouraging you to relax. It’s just enough pressure not to hurt you.

- He took his helmet into the wash.. unsurprising. Pyro and Spy have insecurities with their true face as well. He tilts his helmet upward and flicks it off. allowing it to fall to the floor. His grey eyes are so.. loving. There’s this adoring smile on his face. He makes you so weak you both have to sit down in the shower.

- “C’mere cutie.” Oh. oh shit.

————————————————————————-

Demoman:

- Motherfucker brings alcohol into the shower and lights candles. It’s going to be awkward trying to explain to the others why there’s traces of platonic/romantic intimacy (your pick) in the fucking showers.

- … Let alone why some of the candles look suspiciously like sticks of dynamite.

- “Eh, I ran out of candles and em’ too lazy to get me ass to the store. The rest are just Delayed-Dynamite I bought from mann co a year ago. Don’t worry, we have aroun’ an hour before dey explode!” God you hate him so much sometimes. But you trust his profession in explosive devices and decide to risk it. If all else fails you’ll both just respawn and you’ll beat the shit out of him. No biggie! (Also that dynamite sounds really unhelpful.. No wonder he never used it.)

- Falls asleep in the shower with you on his lap. Usually he snores but he’s dead quiet this time with a big smile on his face. He seems quite content with this. Although you’re the one who has to snuff out the dynamite in time.

——————————————————————————

Engineer:

- He obviously won’t show it, but he’s really timid and embarrassed about this. The moment you both get in, you’re squished against the wall by his massive tummy. Like actually suffocating. This particular shower is way too small for two people.

- “Sorry, pardner.” He says, so unsympathetically that he practically radiates it. In truth his shyness immediately faded when he realized he had the upper hand in the situation. He had a grin on his face as he watched you struggle to grab the soap. Jesus, even his manboobs were obstacles. You wondered how this guy didn’t just crush people on the battlefield by sitting on them.

- “See here, now..” He adjusts his mechanical hand, making sure it was still working — even under the water. He grabbed the soap and began soaping up a loofah. “Guess you’ll just have to watch me, instead. Huh?” He teased. His soft spoken voice made it sound more like he was teasing a small newborn puppy for falling on its back, though. Good luck trying to move around, let alone convince him you’ll wash him.

—————————————————————————-

Heavy:

- LITERALLY SUFFOCATES YOU TO DEATH LIKE ENGINEER BUT MORE PAINFUL

- You’re half wondering if you’re actually going to die from this or break the tile wall. Heavy just stares down at your poor body — that you SWEAR is being mangled right now. “Little teddy bear is too small for Heavy.” He grumbles, shoving his body into you to see your panicked squeaks.

- It doesn’t help that he’s actually incredibly muscular. All of that isn’t fat. It’s pure. fucking. bear. He moves back a bit after getting his fill of enjoyment and you touch his chest with your hands for the first time. Realizing it was rock solid. How did you not notice this before?

- His soft monster-like breathing was calming and evened out your own. It was like you were washing a sleeping dragon. You’re slightly disappointed he’s not a huge werewolf. But regardless, he was calm very often and you weren’t. This closeness and intense heat from the shower was making you sleepy.

—————————————————————————

Pyro:

- Literally refuses. good job trying to get them in. You have to be a SUPER trustworthy friend/partner of many years before you come to this point.

- Even then, after they take a shower they enjoy a nice hot bath to unwind. It’s incredibly relaxing to lay on their chubby belly and allow yourself to take in the heat. They like their bathes EXTREMELY hot by the way. Might as well be boiling themselves. Luckily it doesn’t seem to be killing you or causing third degree burns, so it’s not boiling.

- When you wash them, make sure to rub their belly. They’ll practically melt at the touch. Maybe even almost fall asleep. Don’t forget to slap their belly like a drum. Produces nice sound. You NEED to do this. This is a threat.

—————————————————————————

Sniper:

- Yes, this man does shower regularly. Dear god. You people are degenerates. He is NOT smelly stinky. Professionals have standards.

- Gets extremely touchy feely with you. As you trace his chest scars he flinches for a second but then sighs. You explore his body whilst soaping him up. Every little part of him is free for touching. On his back are many, many scars from spies that the respawn machine didn’t quite heal. You touch those sensitive areas to test the waters (pun intended.) and he nearly takes a huge chunk out of your shoulder by almost biting you.

- But feeling your comforting touch.. And your fingers carefully gliding over the sensitive areas, he trusts you to treat them well. You are so close to him you can practically feel his breath on your face and smell his pleasant aftershave. “Goood..” He growls. He drags his compliment and his voice makes you shiver. It’s like your ears are orgasming.

—————————————————————————

Medic:

- He is unbelievably stubborn at first, but the moment you try and respect his wishes and leave, he goes “WAIT.” Yeah, fucking figures. You get in the shower with him and he’s trying to be stoic and distant most of the time. He feels exposed and it’s making him feel conflicted. Medic is dominate, protective by nature due to his difficult past. He feels a need to be in control of this situation entirely.

- He gets grumpy when you insist on washing him and reverses the situation. Instead opting to take care of you instead. He’s no stranger to massages. (Please don’t ask him about the time he had to check people bare naked when he still had his medical license.) And he’s really experienced in knowing all the right places. Instructing you in an incredibly professional manner to turn around, lift an arm and whatnot.

- The moment he goes to your stomach, he says quietly “Did you know that all your intestines are moving around in there like a snake right now? Ohh.. I’d love to feel the texture of them.” He presses his hand on your lower half, sad that it isn’t possible without cutting you open. He hums contently as he feels around where your lungs and heart would be. Counting every single second you breathe in and out.

- For some reason you feel like you’re being examined and breathe deeper breaths on instinct. Which only furthers his pleasure. “I want to be close..” His voice is barely audible. You swear he’s whispering this repeatedly. “I want to be close, I want to be close.. I want to be close.” He wraps his arms around you, squeezing you to death like a plush doll. “I want to be close, I want to be close!” He’s beginning to sound a little frustrated. As if he wanted to be one with you in some way.

——————————————————————————

Spy:

- He’s so used to sexual favors that he mistakes this as some sort of sexual intimacy at first. Taken aback when he realizes it’s just casual affection. He’s not used to people loving him for merely existing. He always has to be in somebody’s pants or he feels useless to said person.

- Refuses to take his mask off. It’s sopping wet. You look at his pitiful state with love in your eyes. He scoffs at you “Oh look, somebody who doesn’t have to hide their identity because they don’t have literal mafias, big name criminals, and government officials tailing them.. How very wonderful.” He’ll take it off for the hair wash but you have to close your eyes while doing it, otherwise he threatens to cut you. (Hah. Bullshit. He won’t.)

- Very quiet most of the time. Little speak. His touch is delicate and focused, rubbing your back as you wash his big chest. For somebody who folds like a piece of paper on the battlefield against enemy pyros, he’s certainly strong compared to you.

- You feel something gently poke at your back. Freezing in place, you eye the sliver object behind you. Low and behold there’s spy’s butterfly knife. He can’t seem to get intimate without pulling that thing out and doing casual knife play with you. No matter who you are to him; he’ll twirl the knife behind you on your skin. So delicate that he doesn’t pierce your skin at all. He does this often as a game of trust. Eager to see if you’ll shrink away or not. In fear of what he truly is. Weapons will always be a part of him.