#also: this is probably not worded as clearly as it could be

[astars-things]

Can you write a fic where Lando and Hughes sister!reader are at the lake house with the brothers and Quinn invites this girl and she’s like all over lando and flirting with him and lando is like completely oblivious to the fact that she’s hardcore flirting with him until you start giving him the silent treatment and it ends in a big fight.

Also, sorry if your name is Abby it was the first name that popped into my head

1.2K Words

You knew when someone was using you to get to your brothers, it happened more times than you would like to admit, but when a girl was using your brother Quinn to get to your boyfriend Lando, it was a different story. Ever since you were introduced to her, you had a gut feeling about her, but couldn't figure it out.  

"Hey y/n/n, when is Lando getting here? Abby wants to know," Quinn asked, popping his head into the kitchen where you were cutting up some fruit, you and Lando had travelled here separately, as Lando needed to go to MTC for a fitting. "Umm, let me check", you muttered, pulling out your phone to check Landos' life 360 location. This whole thing felt weird. Ever since Jack asked you last night if Lando was coming to the lake house, Abby has been constantly around you and constantly bringing Lando into every conversation. 

 You opened Life360, the little circle with Lando’s face moving along the road "He is about 20 minutes away", you said, trying your hardest not to let out an eye roll. Quinn grinned and ducked back out, probably off to tell her. Again. You tried to act like it didn't bother you because you just wanted to be a good little sister, but the feeling in your stomach wasn't going away anytime soon. 

You noticed Abby and Quinn outside, cuddled together on the couch, which meant you got a couple of minutes with your boyfriend alone. When Lando finally arrived, you met him on the porch. His grin was wide and dimpled, arms open as he swept you into a hug that lifted you off your feet.

"There’s my girl," he murmured into your hair, kissing the top of your head. For a moment, you let yourself melt into him, breathing in the comfort of his hoodie and the way his hands found your waist like second nature. You both walked into the house so Lando could put his stuff away, as you walked through the house, you could hear her annoying voice "Quinny can you introduce me" 

"Give him a minute to settle in, then sure I can introduce you" Quinn said oblivious to the fact that his situationship is clearly crushing on Lando, you rolled your eyes before making your way downstairs again, Lando had dropped his arm from around your waist to go say his to the boys "Yo Lando this is my girl Abby, Abby this is Lando Y/ns' boyfriend" Quinn said casually,  completely unaware of the storm brewing behind your calm expression. Lando, being a gentleman, smiled and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you." 

Abby, unfortunately, ignored his hand entirely and went in for a hug, a full-body, two-arms-around-his-neck kind of hug. You blinked. "OMG, finally! I've heard so much about you," she gushed, practically melting into him. "You’re even cuter in person." 

You couldn’t believe it. The audacity of this girl to be all over your boyfriend while standing next to your brother. And Lando, God bless his sweet, oblivious soul, just laughed awkwardly, gently pulling away and glancing around, clearly uncomfortable but not quite sure what to do.

You caught Jack’s eye across the room. He raised a brow like, Are you seeing this? You gave him the slightest nod, then turned on your heel and headed for the kitchen. If you stayed any longer, you were going to say something that would get you in serious trouble with Quinn. The group had made there way out to the lake, while you stood in the kitchen doing some breathing exercises.  

Once you were calm enough you went out and rejoined the group. You were sitting on the dock with Jack, you both had this twin thing were you could communicate just using your eyes which was good for the fact that Abby and Quinn were around you right now, "So y/n how long have you and Lando been together" Abby asked putting on a fake sweet tone "Just over 3 years" you muttered. You looked over at Jack who was looking at you then at abby then back to you asking silently "should we drown her". 

You giggled a little and laid your head on Jacks shoulder "Tempting," you whispered under your breath, only loud enough for him to hear. Abby didn’t seem to notice. Or care. She was still smiling that plastic smile, twisting a piece of her hair around her finger like she was in a rom-com from 2006. "It must be hard though," she said, blinking wide innocent eyes. "Dating someone so popular." 

You looked at her trying to understand why she was saying this infront of her situationship and also your twin brother "I mean, with all the fans and girls throwing themselves at him," she continued casually. "Do you ever, like… worry that he’s cheated on you or something?" You blinked at her, contemplating whether or not to drown her in the lake and make it look like an accident. "Hey Abby" Quinn called out which made abby get up and follow, both Jack and you look at each other with shock written all over your faces 

By the time game night rolled around you thought that maybe Abby would back off picking quinn as her partner but oh how you were wrong "Can I be your partner, Lando?" she asked sweetly, resting a hand on his arm. "You’re like, the best at games. I want to win!" That was it. You didn’t say anything. Not a single word. You just turned around and walked straight out of the living room, down the hall, and into the guest room you were sharing with Lando. 

soon after Lando walked into the room "babe whats going on" He cooed making his way towards you. You let out a sharp breath. "Are you seriously asking me that? You didn’t notice the way Abby’s been all over you since you got here?" Lando blinked, confused. "She's just being friendly no?" Lando questioned 

"Friendly? the fact that she’s been all over you since the second you arrived! She hugged you like she’s known you for years, had the audacity to ask if I ever worry about you cheating on me. And she asked you to be your partner for game night while quinn was right there" You let out so over the fact that this random girl has been all over your boyfriend while being somewhat in a relationship with your brother. His mouth opened, then shut again, realization slowly dawning in his eyes.  

"You’re right. I should’ve shut it down. I should’ve noticed. I just I hate drama. And I guess I was trying so hard not to be rude, I forgot who I should’ve been protecting." Lando said his voice full of guilt. You blinked fast, trying to make the tears away. You hated crying during arguments. Lando stepped closer, slower this time, until he was right in front of you.

"I love you," he said softly. You hesitated, then finally let him pull you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly, like he was afraid you might disappear. "You want to hide away in here and just cuddle?" Lando questioned, already knowing your answer, you nodded your head. You both jumped into bed, wrapping your limbs around each other.

please reblog and like 🫶

[flamingpudding]

Can you write a fic about this if you can

https://www.tumblr.com/hello-eden/759003690226024449/is-it-a-enemy-or-a-child?source=share

Thanks for the ask, I will try! But first...

Link and credits to the original op: Prompt by @hello-eden

Now onwards! :D Hope you will enjoy....

-----------

Damian stared. There before him was no longer his Grandfather but a boy some years younger than him. He glanced over at his elder brothers. Richard was already on the coms reporting back. Drake was on his wrist computer typing away about something while muttering. He glanced back at the boy, suddenly realising that what he thought was his resemblance to his father could also be resemblance to his grandfather.

The boy before him, probably around the age six, had dark black hair with a white prominent sideburns, similar but far more prominent then Todds white forehead streak. The boy's eyes were not just the simple green Damian had been familiar with but one of the boy's eyes was red, heterochromia. Something Damian hadn't been aware his grandfather apparently had. All his life he had never seen his grandfather like this. The youngest that man had ever appeared had been 60, though Damian was acutely aware that his grandfather was far older than that.

But right now, there sat a six years old boy, his grandfathers ropes, oversized and barely hanging to the boy's shoulders, in the middle of the aftermath of one of his grandfathers plans backfiring. The boy glared at them eyes narrowed as he clutched the robes around himself, Damian noticed the shift in the boy's eyes, red and green wandering around but keeping them in his field of view. He noted how his shoulders tensed before they turned back onto them. It was clear his grandfather did not retain his memories.

"Hey there buddy." Richard, the one who probably had the best handle on small children among them stepped forward and Damian watched how his de-aged grandfather took a step back growling. Damian blinked, that was not what he had expected from his usually dignified grandfather, but then again, he was de-aged and a child.

"Where is mom?"

There was a pause among everyone and they could practically feel the drop in the air of reality hitting hard. With how old his grandfather truly was, there was no way his great-grandmother was still alive. Damian's head turned to look at his eldest brother, his eyebrow arched his masks on his face moving according to that. The silent question of 'now what?' Passed on towards Richard before he turned back.

"Some things happened, and we are here to help. You don't need to be scared of of, in fact it would be create if you could help us better understand-" He watched how his brother tried to gently explain the situation to his grandfather, a sense of strangeness filled Damian watching that seen but he snapped out of it as the boy cut Richard off with a small growl.

"Mom would never leave me. The only reason he would is if something happened to Ellie!" They stared and the conviction the boy spoke these words with, yet they all caught it the brave front the boy was putting on. The slight barely audible stutter, the wet sheen to his eyes as he stared back at them. It tucked at all their hearts. And Damian could accept it right now, this wasn't his grandfather Ra's Al Ghul, but a small boy lost and confused.

While Damian came to terms with the situation Tim caught on to something else. The boy before them asked about his mother, but then used the pronounce 'he', while Tim hadn't expected it that clearly indicated that Ras mother wasn't a simple female that might have died long ago. He had noted the use of a different pronounce that 'regularly' associated with the term mother.

Despite the show of hostility Tim crouched onto eye level of the boy. "Could you tell us your name, and age?" He tried to ask gently, the way he had seen Dick interact with children before. "We could help you find your mom then or maybe Ellie, if you tell us who they are?"

Tim ignored the looks his siblings were sending him and burning into the back of his head. It didn't matter if that was a small lie, they needed to calm the boy down and confirm information. While there likely was no doubt that this was Ra's, they still needed to confirm it, the de-aging happened to quickly before their eyes there was no guarantee that they really could completely trust what they saw.

Though judging by the glare the boy was now giving him, that had a lot of similarities of how Damian tented to glare at them at times. Tim could say there was no changes that, that wasn't Ra's. Still they had to proceed logically just to be on the safer side, in case this wasn't just a villain plan backfiring but a part of a bigger absurd plan, to appeal to their consciousness with the use of a innocent looking child.

The boy on the other and stiffened more, eyes darting towards each of them, then around the area before coming back to stay on Tim. In a way the teen hoped to see some sort of recognition. But instead he saw contemplation, the gears turning in the small boy's head as red and green eyes wandered over them once more.

"Dan."

Was the court answer they got after several minutes. Dick blinked under his mask glancing back at his siblings before at the child again. "What was that Buddy?" He kept his tone friendly and calm, anything to make the child feel safe at the moment, even if that child was Ra's Al Ghul.

"Dan, that's my name." The child version of Ra's, Dan spoke again eyes on them as the boy clutched the oversized robes around him tighter. Not speaking up more.

"Dan?" Dick heard Damian murmur, it was the least to say it confused them all but then again, Ra's was very old originally, he might have changed his names a couple of times during his life time so far. It wasn't like they could track down anyone anyway or keep to what Tim had told the boy, about trying to find likely already dead people for the boy.

"Anything else you want to tell use, Dan?" Dick ask gently in hopes to get anything more out of the boy but, realised a moment later that they hit a wall as the boy's eyes narrowed with dangerous glint. Something he tried not to react on as he had seen that kind of look from Damian before and dear god, this child version of Ra's was making them more and more aware that Damian was related to that man after all.

"That's all I am going to say." The boy growled a little, though Dick could still see the hints that all of that was just a brave facade to not appear weak before them. A mannerisms he remembered all to well Damian had for a long time when he first came to Gotham. A mentality of 'don't show weakness'. Dick sighed, this was going to be difficult to handle wasn't it?

Dan stared at the place these strangely dressed people had brought him too, by now he was wearing more fitting clothes instead of that oversized robe. Though the shirt and shorts where still to big for his current frame. For a moment he cursed his small build as he quietly walked about this 'safe house'. While Dan was no stranger to strangely clothed people or entities, he was wondering what he had gotten himself into as he watched them from the corner of his eyes. The last thing he remembered was being with his Mom and Ellie, they had just gotten back from a checkup with Frostbite and his mom had promised him that he was allowed a spar with Frightnight.

And then...

Suddenly he was before these people strangely dressed people in the mittel of what looked like a destroyed altar, robes that were way to big barely fitting him. While Dan acted bravely he couldn't help the childlike fear at the sudden change of situation. Frostbite had explained it to him and Elly, that because of now properly growing up their mentality would reflect on their actual ages now. It was annoying and by all means Dan didn't want to appear weak in front of potential danger, but his eyes still watered at the thought of his mom suddenly leaving him.

Sometimes he hated how attached he had gotten to Danny after all these years.

He glanced back at these 'heroes', his ears twitched as he tried to catch what the conversation the oldest of them was having on what appeared to be a earpiece communicator. Dan had noted that everything seemed, a lot more modern that what he was used to. It made him wonder if maybe something happened to the timelines again and he got flung into a different time. If that was the case he knew he could relax and just wait for his mom to pick him up, but at the same time Dan had a feeling that wasn't the case. There was no green post-it note from old Clockwork.

Keeping these people in his peripheral vision he angled his body away. One hand out to the side and definitely kept out of their side he tried to see if he could still access his ghost powers, he knew Frostbite had told them not to do that while they were still in a delicate state of re-aging but he needed to know, in case he needed to defend himself. It didn't have any Fenton weaponry on him either.

Dan hissed as a pain shot up his arm and he dropped trying to summon his powers, with a slight bout of annoyance. Okay Frostbites warning was valid, noted. Thought the next moment the kid dressed like a streetlight, Robin if he remembered right, snatched his arm up, inspecting his hand and Dan blinked for a stunned moment before growling. He didn't liked getting touched. He was just about to voice that when he froze.

Recognising something he hadn't before. "You...." He mumbled stunned. That kid had a ecto signature, it was weak, washed out and not really strong, but Dan recognised it and swallowed hard, it was similar to his moms and his own and Ellie's. Before he could comment on it more a gleam got his attention and suddenly Dan saw something else peaking out of the collar from the colourful dressed boy.

Without thinking Dan snatched it and stumbled back from the boy, inspecting the green, emerald like stone. The gold chain around it broke as he had ripped it of the others neck as he looked at it carefully, his thumb going over the smooth surface. While Dan did that he did not notice how Robin got held back by the teen from lashing out. He didn't noticed how the three 'heroes' seemed to hurriedly hiss and discuss something among themselves as Dan inspected the calling stone.

He would be a fool to not recognise this. It was a stone made from concentrated ectoplasm, it appeared like an emerald to mortals but in truth was made from his mothers ectoplasm. A calling stone, to call him when ever they were in trouble and his mom wasn't with them already. Dan clutched the stone, it looked different from the one he remembered his mother giving him. His head snapped up as he stared hard with narrowed eyes at the other boy only a couple years older. Noting some resemblances to Danny.

Suddenly he had the thought that maybe, just maybe Clockwork had sent him here on purpose. Because maybe these people had done something to his mother, to Danny, and maybe even Ellie too. Because why else would they have one of these calling stones.

"How did you get that? Where is mom?"

[buckybabybaby]

always pretty

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (gender neutral)

(established relationship, fluff, slightly suggestive, Bucky being beautiful, bff Joaquín has 3 lines)

Word count: 1k

*** SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS UNDER THE CUT ***

Plot: you see Bucky with his new hairstyle for the first time

Warnings: none :)

A/N: a small piece inspired by Bucky's hair in the post credit scene because I think we all agree its one of his best looks <3 that and the bit where he took his jacket off were very much for me

I haven't posted a Bucky x reader fic for 4 years now. New content = more inspiration apparently!

I saw thunderbolts on Friday and started this yesterday, it may only be 1000 words but I've never finished a drabble so quickly.

Also a little fix it for the Sambucky plot line </3 I didn't go in to detail as I don't know how they would resolve it, but after bnw I can't have them end like that :(

Masterlist

AO3

***

You sit outside the photography studio, nervous energy preventing you from even being able to scroll through your phone, eyes darting from the door, to the view out the window, to the many posters of previous work on the wall, and back to the door on repeat. It's been hours, but you are determined to wait.

Bucky's first time in his new avengers suit? Yeah, you weren't missing this.

He'd been so anxious this morning and your heart had melted. You understand though. Not only was he having his final fitting of his suit, they were also doing promotional shoots for the many magazines and websites that wanted an interview, so hair, makeup and endless poses were all on the schedule today.

Every time the door opens you look up expectantly, until eventually you see what you've been waiting for.

The new avengers file out, some acknowledging you, others clearly wanting to leave as quickly as possible. Joaquín bounds up to you, ever enthusiast, showing off his slightly altered falcon suit.

"You like?"

"I love." You grin at him. "Did it go okay?"

He nods, glancing back. "And Bucky did well, managed to tone down the grumpy old man vibes for once."

You make an offended noise, pushing at his chest lightly. "Don't be mean."

His teasing smile is infectious as he guides you towards the studio. "Go find him. He's probably exhausted after having to smile for more than five minutes."

You go to push him again but he's too fast, bidding you goodbye as you enter the doorway. Inside the screens and lighting supports are already being disassembled, staff streaming around you to get the place cleared quickly and making it a struggle to spot Bucky. Eventually you do, facing away from you talking to Sam on the far side of the room. You hesitate to approach, knowing how their friendship has been rocky recently, but then Sam laughs loudly at something Bucky's said, a natural laugh that has you relaxing as you make your way over. Their disagreement was almost as difficult for you as it was for Bucky, a horrible tense episode you don't want to return to anytime soon.

Sam notices you first, leaving Bucky with a final hand shake before pausing next to you on his way out.

"Who knew your man could look so good, huh?"

"And you. I'm sure your solo shots will be the cover photos."

He snorts. "Me and Bucky are cool now, no need to butter me up."

"Oh, I wasn't! I wouldn't-" You splutter before Sam takes pity on you, resting his hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, I'm joking." He squeezes you gently, smile softer now. "See you soon, yeah?"

You nod, watching him go. Turning back to Bucky, you walk over slowly, waiting for him to detect your presence. It takes him longer than usual, you're almost beside him by the time he does, like Joaquín said he must be worn out by all the attention and not quite his usual sharp self.

"Hey doll." He says, tilting his head towards you without getting up.

Moving in front of him, you step into his space to kiss him like always, until you get a good look at his outfit.

And his arm.

And his hair.

You stare. The 'a' on his chest has your own chest tight, knowing how much it means for him to be seen as a hero officially. It doesn't hurt that the top fits perfectly, that both his arms are defined in different ways, that the way they've styled his hair makes him look even more prince-like than ever.

"Is it bad?" He asks when you don't say anything.

"No, no! It's great-lovely-so nice." You rush to reassure him. "Did they blow dry you?"

"I think so? I just sat here and let them work." He shrugs.

"Okay, so you know I love your hair however you do it. But this," You reach out to brush the wave falling over his forehead. "This is my new favourite. You're always so pretty, I'm happy they managed to enhance it like this."

His smiles shyly at the floor, an unusual look for the former winter soldier. You're so endeared to him. This man is well over one hundred years old and a real life super hero, but you can still reduce him to a blushing mess with the right choice of words.

Tilting his head back up, you do kiss him now, only quickly as you need to take the whole look in again. He pouts as you pull away, only adding to his charm. One day you may get used to just how pretty he is, may find a way to not be left breathless just by his existence, not get distracted every time he looks your way.

Today, though, is not that day.

Climbing onto his lap, you bring him into a deeper kiss, feeling his body tense for a second before he relaxes, one arm snaking around your waist to hold you tight. Pressing yourself as close as possible, you can feel every firm edge of his uniform through your clothes, thoughts turning filthy in record time.

You break the kiss with a gasp to ask, "Are you allowed to take the suit home?"

"Oh?" He seems surprised but not displeased by the shift in mood. "It's like that is it?"

You whine in answer, not caring that the room is still very busy. Bucky cups your face to get a clear look at you, smirking as he sees how far gone you are just from a few kisses.

"I can take the suit home," He tells you, making you giggle in excitement. "Probably shouldn't mess it up too much too early, though. I know how you get"

You frown. "I can control myself."

"No you can't, sweetheart," Bucky argues correctly.

"Well, at least don't brush your hair through," You demand, delicately repositioning the loose strands around his face. "That is the best part."

"I can do that." His mouth meets yours again, briefly letting you get a taste of him before he releases you. Standing up, he drags you with him towards the exit, smiling cheekily over his shoulder. "Let's go prove how much you really like it."

***

Thank you for reading!

***

Masterlist

AO3

[imperialtopaz]

Pick A Pile - How will May 2025 unfold for you?

Pile 1 – 👑 Pile 2 – 💁 Pile 3 – 😁 Pile 4 – 🍀 Pile 1 👑 – Song: Headphones On by Addison Rae – “You can’t fix what’s already broken, you just have to let go and be in the moment.” – If you’ve been seeing 333 a lot, that’s a sign. There’s this strong empress type energy around you;think creativity, growth, and feminine support. – This month is all about shifting your focus. Stop looking at what you’ve lost and start thinking about what you want to create in your life. – Put your energy into those creative ideas you’ve been sitting on. Reach out to friends, connect with people who lift you up. – Whatever you do now is going to matter a lot in the months leading up to November. Something big is comingm, like a surprise opportunity you’ve always dreamed of. – I’m getting the vibe of growing up or growing out of a situation you’ve outgrown. You won’t be in the same place you are now in a few months. So if things feel a little stuck right now, just focus on the small steps forward. – I also see this nurturing, motherly energy around you, someone who’s going to help you stay grounded and remind you to appreciate what you already have. If you know this person, try to keep them around because they will help you a lot. – Honestly, you might already have everything you need, you just might not see it clearly yet. Try changing your perspective. Life’s probably better than you think right now.

Pile 2 💁 – The word “treacherous” came through pretty strongly. There might be some kind of unexpected betrayal around you. It kinda feels like not everything has come to light yet… – It might be time for you to take a step back and reevaluate the people in your social circle. – Some folks might see you as someone who “has it all,” and that could be stirring up some jealousy. – That jealousy might lead to drama, rumors, or gossip especially from people who don’t really show their true colors upfront. – If your gut’s been picking up on something weird or off about someone, trust it. Someone’s not being fully honest about their intentions with you. – You may have to let go of people you once believed were solid. That can be painful, especially if it involves grieving the loss of a relationship or friendship. – But in the long run, it’s better to know who’s really in your corner. Keep your energy protected, you’re not wrong for being cautious. Pile 3 😁 – This pile might be feeling kinda.. meh lately like you’ve been stuck in a routine. But deep down you're craving for something more exciting. – At the same time, you might not be the biggest fan of change or stepping outside of what feels familiar. – There’s definitely a theme here around fear of the unknown, not knowing what’s next can be scary, but it’s also where growth happens. – Nothing new is gonna come in if you keep doing the same thing every day. You have to shake things up a bit. – Try something different, try a new makeup, talk to that person, take a risk, start that thing you’ve been thinking about. – Life won’t really start until you do. Pile 4 🍀 – This pile has been putting in work, whether it’s on a project, a skill, or just working on becoming a better version of yourself. There’s definitely an energy of growth and improvement here. – I’m seeing a full-on rebirth, a really positive shift is coming your way. – Travel is also showing up here. It might be to a place you’ve been before, maybe your hometown, an old city, or somewhere from your past There you will see just how much you’ve changed and grown since the last time you were there. – You’re stepping into something new. You’re not stuck anymore. – Someone from your past might pop up too, possibly someone who lives far away and wants to reconnect. – The direction you’re heading in is the right one, and you have spiritual and energetic support backing you up. – Any delays or blocks you were dealing with before? They’re being cleared. Your spirit team is making sure things start falling into place for you. – A possible relocation could be in the cards too..new energy, new place, new you.

[violetwifey]

UNDERGR★UND H★UND — pitfighter!vi x ex!reader

✧.* — summary ⸝⸝ ex!reader has been following pitfighter!vi for two weeks. on a fateful night at zaun’s bustling bar, they fiddled, they diddled, BOOMSHAKALA

✧.* — word count ⸝⸝ 1.3k

✧.* — warnings ⸝⸝ kinda angsty, smut, unsupportive parents (didn’t really get into details but they’re the reason why they broke up)

✧.* — nessa’s thoughts ⸝⸝ guys um…idk wtf this is, alright? it’s been years since i wrote smut so…this is all i got now. please don’t bully me, i tried my best. also, literally such a poor plot in my opinion but i was kinda horny so…🤷🏽‍♀️can’t blame a girl thirsting over THE vi, can you?

vi screamed after knocking down her opponent, raising a fist up in the air. the crowd roared. pennies fell down to the pit around her.

you stood still, smiling too softly for a place like this. you didn’t mind the stench of body heat, the loud atmosphere, the gory scenes that play out in the pit. you didn’t mind it if it meant getting a glimpse of her. tears pooled at the corner of your eyes.

you raised up your hoodie, covering your face as you pushed through sweaty bodies. you had to get out before she saw you.

you were perched on the bar stool, watching the green olive swirl in your martini glass. you missed her. missed the way she touched you. the way she had this soft, soft smile, just for you. her scent— earthy, grounding. did you really throw away something so precious? was it a bad decision? was what you did really forgivable…?

“fuck…” you muttered under your breath, chugging down your slightly bitter drink. the apple martini burned your throat, grounding you.

“rough night?”

your head shot up, eyes wide in anticipation. then your heart shattered. not her. “you could say that.” you mumbled, not caring if the purple haired woman heard you over the loud music.

“i could help you.” could she, now? you raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed. “not in the mood. try for someone else.”

she scoffed, offended. “whatever.” she turned on her heels and stomped off.

you hung your head low, hair falling around your face. then you heard it. heard her.

“that was cold.” your heart stopped. then plunged into a race. you didn’t move. you don’t know if you deserve to face her after the way you threw her out of your house. your hand gripped the glass tighter. you had to hold on to something. or you’ll lose it.

“i just saved her a heartbreak.” you weakly defended yourself.

vi scoffed, throwing three pennies on the bar, whistling at the bartender. “give me your strongest.”

you finally found the courage to lift your head up.

your heart broke.

this was not the girl you remembered. sure, you’ve seen her new look in the pits. but up close? you could see every little detail— red-rimmed eyes, puffy cheeks (probably from constantly drinking), bruised skin, nasty cuts here and there.

the worse part? there was no life behind those once sparkling eyes. eyes that shone like the ocean when the sun woke up to kiss it. eyes that trusted you to stay by her side no matter what.

now they just stared back at you with nothing behind them.

“vi…”

her eyes dipped down. she missed it too. the sound of her name on your lips; the way it shaped when you called out to her so tenderly. vi’s breath hitched. her lips curled into a snarl. the next thing you knew was her deathly grip around your wrist, pulling you behind her as she took you somewhere.

“VI!”

you yelled out her name, walls tightening around her skilled fingers. they pounded into your squelching pussy angrily.

“that’s right, baby. scream my name.” she grabbed you by the back of your neck, pushing you down more, bending you over the sink.

the sight before you made your pussy weep harder. tears were streaming down your cheeks, tits hanging out of your tube top. vi held eye contact through the mirror.

“you see that? you feel that? feel me?”

you wanted to answer, tell her that you did feel her. but the way she curled her ring and middle finger just right, hitting the spot that had you rolling your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain, had you moaning out strings of incoherent words.

it was pathetic.

but if this was the only way she would have you for now, then so be it.

“what’s the matter, sweetheart? can’t answer? can your pretty little brain even process what i’m saying, hm?”, she added a third finger, stretching you out deliciously, “pathetic. what would your prime and proper parents say, huh?”

“nngh…v-vi…i’m sorry—“ your apology got cut off with a loud moan.

“keep your half assed apologies to yourself. you’re sorry?”, she scoffed, hand leaving the back of your neck to pinch and toy with your clit. it had you seeing stars. you barely managed a nod, chanting out her name like a prayer.

“prove it. that you’re sorry.”

you hiked a knee up to the sink, willing yourself to suck her long fingers in more. not enough. you started thrusting back against her, tits bouncing deliciously in the process. “FUCK!” your vision started to blur, the familiar knot in your lower belly building up.

“there she is. my dirty little whore.” she praised.

“cum! gonna— ngh! cum!” vi smiled sweetly. her eyes, for the first time that night, shined. “gonna cum all over my fingers, beautiful? yeah? go ahead. let me see how sorry you fucking are.”

she drew fast, sloppy circles around your clit. that was your last straw. you came around her fingers, screaming out her name like it was the only word in your vocabulary. vi slowed her pace, stretching out your orgasm, letting you ride it out.

it was only when you whimpered and tried to writhe away, that she took her fingers out, getting impossibly wetter at the string of wetness connecting her fingers to your pussy. it was messy. it was perfect.

you came down as she cleaned her hands before helping you clean up. then she turned around on her heels, walking towards the locked door. “vi!” you wrapped your hand around her wrist gently. she could pull away if she wanted to. if she does, you’ll know to never bother her again.

but she didn’t…

she stilled, the hand gripping the knob tightening. “i…i regret it. truly. this isn’t a half assed apology, vi. please, just hear me out?” her shoulders dropped with a sigh. she didn’t turn around, but her silence was enough to let you know she was willing to hear you out.

“i fought with my parents the night they kicked you out—“,

“you kicked me out. not them.” she interrupted.

you winced. she was right. “y-yeah…i did… i fought with them after. i tried to make them understand. but they didn’t want to accept it. so i…i left, tried to find you. wasn’t really that hard. your posters were all over zaun in just a week. underground hound…,” you chuckled.

“i came to see you fight ever since. i always voted for you.” vi laughed bitterly, finally turning around to face you. “aww, you voted for me? aren’t you a sweet little girl.” she cooed mockingly before shaking her head.

“vi please…i miss you. i made a terrible mistake. please, give me another chance.” tears clouded your vision. you waited. and waited. nothing. when you thought this really was over—

vi sighed, thumb lovingly brushing away the tear that escaped. “jinx told me.” you sucked in a breath.

“she told me how you hunted her down and found her in her hideout on a stormy night. you were drenched. begged her to…take care of me. patch me up after fights.”

you did do that. you also begged jinx not to tell her. but she did anyway. and it was helping you now.

you blinked, waiting. “you really left your home?” you nodded instantly. vi laughed, a small one, but a real one nonetheless, at your eager response. “you’re gonna have to prove that you’re sorry, babycakes.” she whispered.

thank the fucking gods.

she’s actually giving you another shot!

you breathed out a watery laugh, throwing your arms around her. vi tucked your head under her chin, swaying the both of you softly as you cried and sniffled into her bandaged top.

“thank you, vi. thank you. i’ll prove it. i will…”

and when you both walked out the washroom, hand in hand, you thought that every second of those three weeks apart was worth waiting.

[gatheringbones]

[“Henry sat quietly while I told him the story of what had happened at the motorcycle rally, the moment of revelation when I’d seen myself for the first time: the boy on the motorcycle with the girl on the back. There were two separate things going on here, obviously, but one of them wasn’t something I was interested in looking at just yet, and anyway, the relief of having finally said the words “I’m gay” out loud to another human being was so great it almost overwhelmed the other thing. I focused my attention on Lola, the presence of Lola, my desire for Lola. I want a girl on the back of my bike, therefore I must be gay. The other thing would have to wait.

I felt it necessary to produce as much evidence as I could to corroborate this statement in case Henry didn’t believe me. While I might have looked a bit like a baby dyke when I was in my twenties, I sure as hell didn’t now, with my hair and my jewelry and my French manicure. Also, I’d never done anything remotely gay. I was forty years old, and I’d never even kissed a woman. But I’d been in love with dozens, so I went back through my history, naming all of them, starting with Georgia, whom I’d met at my first boarding school, and then Lola, whom I’d met while trying to get away from Georgia, and then the girl I had a crush on at art school, and the model I used to drop Ecstasy with, and the actress who once told me she like-liked me, and the musician I’d semi-stalked, and the school mom who’d made me forget how my limbs were supposed to work, and all the other women in between whom I’d pretended not to watch, or want, or wish for, or lie awake at night dreaming about.

By the time I finished, I’d shredded an entire box of tissues into my lap. “It’s like a monster in the cellar,” I said, taking the second box of tissues that Henry was passing me. “It keeps bursting up through the floorboards and yelling, You’re attracted to women and you don’t like having sex with men, and I just put my fingers in my ears and go lalala until it goes away. Because I cannot be gay.”

“Why can’t you be gay?”

“Jesus, Henry, I’m married with four children!”

Henry took off his glasses and started cleaning them with a cloth. I looked at the seascape hanging on the wall. It was probably meant to be soothing. I wanted to throw a brick at it.

“It might be different if I were a man, but I’m a woman,” I said miserably. “I don’t even know what the right type of gay is if you’re a woman.”

“The right type of gay?”

“Well, yes, because it’s different for men, isn’t it?”

“It is?”

“Because gay men can be kind of . . . glamorous, can’t they?”

“And lesbians can’t?”

I winced. “Well, no,” I said. “I mean . . . no.”

Admittedly, I hadn’t actually met any lesbians recently, but I could clearly remember the expression on my father’s face when he saw the pictures of the women at the Greenham Common peace camps back in the 1980s, lesbians with bad haircuts and shapeless clothes aggressively shaking the chain-link fence surrounding the nuclear military base while their boots sunk into the mud. Unfeminine women with left-wing ideologies were my father’s worst nightmare, and somehow I seemed to have absorbed this fear without ever fully questioning it.

I pulled another stack of tissues out of the box and blew my nose. My hands hurt so badly it felt as if my bones were splintering inside my muscles. “Is this what’s been causing the pain?” I asked.

“It sounds like you’ve been building yourself up in layers that don’t belong to you,” Henry said, gently. “Now you can start peeling them off again, find out what’s underneath.”

“What if I peel off all the layers and find there’s nothing there? What if I just disappear in a little puff of smoke?”

“Why d’you think that would happen?”

“Because . . . because . . . I’m frightened I’m not anything!”]

oliver Radclyffe, from frighten the horses: a memoir, 2024

[perplexingly]

ok i'm not very good with words & this is kind of embarrassing for me so i hope this is coherent LOL but. i wanted to thank you for uh. well just posting your art i guess.

i could say i've been in a few years long slump but the truth is i've been in an art slump since i aged out of pre-teenness and grew awareness. i've kind of hated art for years, not just my final product but just the entire process of it. it made me miserable. and yet i felt compelled to do it despite that, despite knowing it would just make me miserable, because idk... i'm an artist? or i want to be? but. it still made me miserable. and to be honest i was reaching the point where i wanted to just give up on art completely because constantly comparing myself & constantly feeling like shit everytime i picked up a pencil just wasn't worth it anymore.

and then! i stumbled upon your art. to be honest i'm a little embarrassed i can't remember which specific piece it was. i have a feeling it was probably istvan, or istenry related (😅) but i can't remember. i do remember how much it struck me though. your work, i mean. your entire style. hope this doesn't sound weird lmao but after that first piece landing on my dash, i just felt compelled to look through your entire blog; and i did! and i only fell more & more in love with your art. i don't think i have the words to explain it, i don't even know if i could even if i did. there's just something about it that i adore even in like the smallest barebones sketch, or wip. what i'm saying is that you very quickly became my new favorite artist haha.

i've been inspired before, like brief rushes or whatever only for it to die immediately because i.. hated it lol. i hated what i made. and i assumed the, quite honestly, constant wave of inspiration your art gave me would be the same. and then it wasn't.

i really don't even like, know how to explain why. i'm not even sure if there is a why? but there's just something about your art that made me want to try, like *actually* try and draw something i love. and then i drew. and for the first time in years, even after weeks passed, i still not only loved the finished product but the entire process as well. and then i did it again. and again. and it was still happening, i still loved what i was making & for even more first times, even when i saw work that was very clearly technically better, i didn't care! for the first time other peoples works, including some of my friends, wasn't just a tool for me to feel worse about myself & my own work, it was just something i could enjoy & that was it.

i don't really understand it to be honest? but i do know that even though it was like, completely indirect, you honestly deserve most if not literally All of the credit for this. it never crossed my mind someone's art could be SO good it would cure my inferiority, and then i started following you and exactly that happened!

so. um yeah kind of a very long message Sorry about that. but basically what i'm trying to say is:

thank you i guess? for making art so beautiful it's enough to rewire someone's brain into falling in love with art all over again. i'm so serious i really do not think i would've been able to ever even like imagine doing that without your art inspiring me. to be honest i think if i hadn't just happened to be online the exact time someone i was following just happened to reblog from you, i have a feeling i really would've just given up art completely: so thank you, really.

i get the vibe from some of your more personal posts that things aren't really going the best right now which, admittedly i can't help with but. i really hope things turn around for you soon. you only deserve great things. ❤️

Omggg I'm so happy for you, it's such a wonderful feeling when you're in love with the art process 🥰 I'm glad you didn't quit art! There's that entire view that art is suffering but when you let go and just draw what you enjoy there's no feeling like it 🥰

Also thank you so much for such a heartfelt message, and for the wishes, you're most kind 🙇‍♀️ I hope all goes well for you too!

[e1e4n0r5]

Head Over Heels

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: College AU. Cheerleader Base Vi x Cheerleader Flyer Reader

Words: 4106

Synopsis: Paired with a new stunt partner for the year, you quickly fall head over heels - no pun intended - for Violet Lanes.

Warnings: Female reader, I've avoided describing reader's physical appearance but she is petite, lesbian pining, clueless reader, reader has some insecurities if you squint, height difference, alcohol (college party), fingering (r! receiving), oral sex (Vi receiving), spit kink, dirty talk/sexual language

Notes: I did as much research into cheerleading as I could, but I wrote this in 24hrs so there might be stuff I've gotten wrong!

“Are you sure about this, Coach?” you whispered tentatively.

Coach Ambessa didn’t even look up from her clipboard. “She came from Zaun University, one of their best bases. She’s already practiced with Mel and a few others, now she’s partnered with you.”

When you didn’t immediately move away, just kept anxiously rubbing chalk on your palms, she finally looks up and sighs.

“Just run a few drills with her, see how you get on. Mel vouched for her. Now go. Not an option.”

With that, you were dismissed.

You turned and watched your new stunt partner across the gym as she chatted with your assigned spotters. She might have the muscles for a base, but she looked nothing like anyone else on the team. Bright pink hair just past her shoulders, shaved low on one side. Arms and back decorated with black ink. Bandages on her hands and wrists.

Then there was you. Typical flyer – petite, small frame, easy to throw around. Hair pulled back in a ponytail, as per Coach Ambessa’s instructions. Cheer uniform pristine.

You were a deep breath away from making your way over to the tumble mats when she looked over at you. Violet Lanes. Your new partner. Something about her felt like it was drawing you in, but you couldn't move. She lifted a hand and beckoned you over with two fingers, and somehow your legs started moving by themselves. You also thought you gave a whimper, but you couldn’t be sure, it was probably just someone’s shoes squeaking on the floor.

With her hands on her hips, she watched you approach, clearly eyeing you up and down. Obviously just gauging your size and stature, so she would know if she could lift you. Yes, that’s definitely what it was.

When you were close enough, you saw she had another tattoo on her face, on her cheekbone. VI. Was it for her name, or the Roman numeral?

“You mine today?” she asked, looking down at you. She wasn’t that tall, maybe 5’8”, but everyone had to look down at your tiny 5’ frame.

Your heart stopped. “Uh…Yes, yes, I am.” You awkwardly give her your name.

She nodded. “Cool. What do you wanna do first?”

Still unsure of this girl’s capabilities, you decided to play it safe. “Can you do a Toss Chair?”

She looked at you for a second, then smirked. “Yeah, yeah, I can do a Toss Chair.”

You nodded and got in position in front of her, both spotters stepping closer from the sides.

With her hands on your hips, she leant forward and whispered in your ear, “Ready, sweetheart?"

You almost trembled. “On three,” you nodded.

On the count of three, you crouched low and pushed yourself off the ground, her hands lifting you up. Just as you reached the top of your jump, one of her hands grasped your downward calf, the other supporting your butt. You blushed. Maybe this wasn’t the best first stunt to do.

You came out of the stunt and nervously clapped with the spotters. “Uh, good, good. Um…You okay with a Toss Extension?”

“I’m good.”

Standing in front of her again, she held your hips again.

“Ready?”

You nodded. “On three.”

You crouched low again and jumped as high as you could. With a firm hold on your hips, Violet propelled you further into the air, until she caught your feet in her hands. Standing tall with your arms extended upwards, it took you a second to realise that you weren’t moving at all. Violet was completely steady under you. Some movement was normal, with the tension in your base’s arms, and the flyer trying to balance, but there was nothing. She was fully supporting all your weight, without so much as twitching.

You continued the practice and Violet handled everything you asked of her. By the end of it, she wasn’t sweating or even flushed. It was easy for her, to throw you around for a whole hour. And that excited you.

At the end of practice, Coach Ambessa came over to the two of you. “How did it go? I saw a lot of it; you looked like you managed each other well.”

You blushed. “Yes, Coach. I think it was good…?” You looked to Violet questioningly.

“Cupcake handles like a dream,” she smirked.

“Good, then neither of you will object to being partners this year.”

Vi didn't mind at all having you as her flyer, and you were more than happy with her as your base. Over the weeks and months, you'd gotten to know each other well and built that bedrock of trust necessary for all cheering partners. You literally trusted her with your life.

Which is why you had the biggest crush on her. More than that, you were in love with her. Utterly smitten. Pathetic, really. It's so cliché: the petite cheerleader head over heels – no pun intended – with her butch base.

But it was so easy to love Vi. She was smart, funny, charming, opened doors for you, carried your books, kept the creeps away from you at parties, put her jacket around your shoulders when you were cold – you never even had to ask, she just knew when you were cold! Her lifting you over her head with one arm was just a bonus.

But she, of course, didn't like you back. How could she? She was perfect, had all the girls swooning over her, even those who swore they weren't into women. But whenever a girl came up to her and asked her out, she'd just look at you and say to the girl, “you're not my type”.

You were struggling to work out what her type was. Tall girls were a no, but apparently so were shorter girls? Brunettes didn't get a look in, but neither did blondes or redheads. Thinner girls; curvy girls; long hair; short hair; femme types; other butches... Vi didn't seem to like anyone.

But maybe she did like you? You got a possible clue when you were practicing a more complicated lift sequence. You'd done a few tosses to warm up, then you'd shared an idea for a new move. You'd backflip onto her shoulders, then she'd flip you up into a handstand.

She nodded along and you got practicing. The first half was easy enough, you'd figured out quickly how low she needed to crouch for you to land on her shoulders without injuring either of you. Seated on her shoulders, her seemingly not noticing your weight at all, you were working out how best to get you into the toss and flip so you could land hand-to-hand. You were discussing it with your spotters and assistant coach, when you heard Vi say something below you.

“...facing the wrong way...”

When you asked her about it, she brushed it off and you kept practicing. But you couldn't stop thinking about it. You hadn't been facing the wrong way, you were on her shoulders correctly. If you'd been facing the other way, your crotch would have been right in her face! She must have meant something else.

Another day, you wanted to try something else. She held you over her head in an extended handstand, your arms only twitching a little as you held your balance. She barely moved at all, totally at ease with your weight over her head.

As she held you up, you asked, “Can I try something?”

She smirked under you, never breaking eye contact, “Whatcha thinking, Cupcake?”

“If you just hold still, I could do a splits?”

She chuckled, the sound seductive in her throat. “Go for it, baby.”

Slowly, focusing on your balance and core control, you carefully opened your legs into a sideways split.

“Good girl, sweetheart, keep those legs open,” she encouraged.

You gasped.

You fell.

You lost your balance at her unexpected comment, falling forwards down her front. In a split second, as you were trained to do, you moved your arms to grip her shoulders and tucked your legs. She caught you under your thighs, holding your body against hers.

“She's mine, I've got her,” she growled at your spotters as they rushed in to help. “She's mine. You okay there, Cupcake?” she asked, bouncing you playfully in her arms to help shake off the shock.

You nodded dumbly, your heart pounding as it always did when you fell. But you couldn't deny it also pounded for another reason. With your arms around her neck and shoulders, your legs around her waist, and her arms under your hips, your bodies were fully pressed against each other. You could feel her muscled torso against you, separated only by your uniforms. And you loved it.

“I'm sorry I fucked up that stunt.”

You looked up from your compact as you reapplied your make up. Your heart stopped again. Fresh out the showers with a towel around her waist and another draped over her shoulders to cover her breasts, Vi stood in front of you, absolutely glorious.

You had to clear your throat. “It's not your fault, I should have kept my balance.”

“No, no, I didn't think about what I was saying. I didn't realise how it might sound. I just wanted to tell you how good you were doing.”

You blushed. “It's fine, really. We’ll get there, we just need to keep trying.”

Vi nodded, crossing her arms, her sculpted biceps on show. “You going to that party tonight?”

You smiled. “It's at my house, so yeah,” you teased.

If it were possible, Vi looked like she was blushing. “Right, yeah, obviously. Do you want a ride-? No, because it's at your house! Right, I'll see you later, sweetheart.”

The day went so much slower since you knew Vi was coming to the party. All you wanted to do was slip on your dress, make yourself beautiful (for her) and have a good night.

So when you got home, that's what you did. A full shower after your quick after-practice one, including your full hair care, exfoliating, and shaving routines. You tried to deny why you were so thorough for a regular house party but you knew what you were hoping for. Who you were hoping for.

A few hours later, the party was in full swing. Music blared, the drinks were flowing, the dance floor in the living room packed full of students living their best life. You were opening a bag of chips to put in a serving bowl when you spotted her across the house.

God, she looked good. As always. Somehow, dressed in her regular leather jacket, a plain grey tank top, ripped black jeans, and boots, she still took your breath away. She carried a ¼ barrel keg on her shoulder with ease, nonchalantly talking to Mel and Jayce as she did. You tried not to stare, you really did, but you couldn't help it.

After a few seconds, she looked around the room and saw you. Her eyes lit up and she made her way over to you, the crowd parting for her when they saw the goodies she carried, some people patting her back and cheering.

When she got close, she gave you her typical Vi smirk. “Hey, sweetheart. You look fantastic.”

You blushed, “Thank you. You look hot,” you blurted out.

Her smirk widened. “Where should I put this?”

“We made space here,” you stepped around the kitchen island and led her over an empty space against the kitchen wall.

“Stand back, Cupcake,” she said, carefully lifting the keg off her shoulder and placing it down. “You want to do the honours?”

“But you brought it!”

“C'mon, sweetheart, open it up.” She helped you tap the keg and gave you the first drink. You hated beer but you drank a small cup with her anyway. She laughed at the face you pulled. “Let's get you a cocktail, sugar.”

You spent the whole night with Vi, chatting with her and your friends, sitting or standing somewhere just the two of you, or getting some fresh air in the garden. When it got chilly in the evening air, she obviously put her jacket around your shoulders and pulled you in close.

By the early hours of the morning, the raging house party had settled into a calm after-party, those of you who remained sitting on the couches or floor in the living room. Vi sat on the floor, leaning back against the armchair you'd been sat in. She’d started off rubbing your legs, sore from practice and dancing. But as that threatened to lull you to sleep, you climbed off the chair and cuddled into her lap, your head tucked under her chin. If you were going to fall asleep, you wanted to be in her arms.

You were all just chatting the hours away. Some people switched to soft drinks or water to sober up a little, others kept drinking. You and Vi were there former, you sipping a cup of herbal tea whilst Vi enjoyed a coffee.

After a while, a very drunk Jayce started a game of Spin the Bottle. Everyone groaned good-naturedly but played along. Some truths, some dares, some kisses. After a few minutes, the bottle landed on the two of you.

“Is that Vi or Y/N? Or both?” Mel joked.

“Both!” Jayce insisted. “And I know what to do!”

“Don't we get to pick Truth, Dare, or Kiss?” Vi challenged, one hand still absently rubbing your calf.

“It's all three,” Jayce cheerfully explained. “You two gotta explain why you haven't even kissed yet when you're both clearly obsessed with each other and then you're gonna do it! Kiss!”

The room filled with cheers and chanting of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” but your heart ached.

“That's not funny, Jayce,” you said quietly, sitting up in Vi’. The room fell silent, clearly sensing your mood shift. Everyone, including Vi, looked at you closely. “Vi doesn't feel that way about me, so don't make jokes-”

A calloused hand cupped your jawline, lifted your head, and Vi’s lips pressed firmly against yours. You melted instantly into her arms, whimpering into her mouth. You didn't even hear the room erupting into cheers and applause.

“Finally,” Jayce groaned dramatically.

Vi’s hands held you tightly in her arms, almost afraid to let you go. You shifted up on her lap, wrapping your arms around her neck. Her lips felt amazing against yours, tasting like the coffee she was drinking and something distinctly Violet. You moved one hand into her hair and she squeezed your hips in return.

“Okay, guys, cool it, you've proved your point.”

Vi ignored them, repositioning you in her lap, your knees on either side of her hips, straddling her.

“Whoa, Vi! We're still here!”

She growled against your lips, hating the interruptions after months of longing. She pulled away for a second, ready to tell everyone to shut the fuck up, but you whispered in her ear.

“Take me upstairs.”

She didn't argue. Gripping your thighs, she stood up with ease, carrying you in her arms as she practically ran upstairs. You occupied yourself with kissing her neck and running your hands through her hair as she desperately tried to find your room.

“Fuck, which one’s yours?”

“Room Six,” you answered, pressing your chest into hers.

She eventually found it, opening the door and pressing you against the closest wall when she slammed it shut.

“I've waited so long for this,” she groaned against your lips.

“You have?”

She chuckled against your neck. “Fuck me, Cupcake, wasn't it obvious?”

In that moment, it clicked. Looking back, it had been obvious. All the jokes, which were actually flirts. Opening doors, giving you her jacket, scaring away any men who tried to hit on you, turning down every single woman who asked her out...

“I'm sorry,” you whimpered as she traced the line of your panties against your inner thigh.

She pulled her head away from your neck, looking at you closely. “What for, sweetheart?”

“If I’d picked up on it sooner-”

She shushed you gently. “It doesn't matter, baby. We're here now.” With that, she moved her thumb over your sodden underwear. “Ready, are we?”

You mewled. “So ready.”

“Good girl,” she praised, pressing her thumb to your clit. You whined and she did it again. You couldn't stop gasping and begging, and she didn't stop rubbing your throbbing clit.

“Fuck me, Vi, please,” you begged, rubbing against her thumb.

She chuckled, sliding her fingers under your panties and pulling them to the side. “Fuck, you're soaked. Is this all for me, sweet girl?” You nodded pathetically. “Beg me again,” she whispered against your lips.

“Please, Vi.”

She tutted, running her fingertips up and down your dripping slit. “Beg properly.”

You whined again as she denied you what you needed. “Fuck me!”

“Good girl,” she smirked, finally sliding two fingers inside your cunt. Your eyes rolled back in your head, a long moan pouring from your lips. “Fuck, you're so hot. You're gripping me, baby. You needed this, hmmm? My fingers in your pussy?”

You nodded frantically as she pumped them in and out of you, the sopping noises turning your cheeks red in embarrassment.

“Don't blush, baby,” she soothed. “I like hearing what I'm doing to you. Make those noises, sweetheart, I wanna hear you.”

And you obliged. No longer caring who heard you, you moaned and whined and begged for more as your pussy dripped on her hand. It was too much, and it was perfect. Your breath came in choppy pants as she added a third finger, your eyes closing and your hips rolling.

“S'good,” you moaned, clinging to her shoulders.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? You gonna fall apart on my fingers? I bet you want to, you good girl. You've been so good for me all year, smiling at me in your little uniform as you let me toss you around. All those times I had you on my shoulders, your little thighs against my head. When you cum here, I'm finally gonna get my head in-between those legs like I've wanted all year. I could smell you, you know, could smell how much you liked it when I threw you around.”

You moaned in embarrassment, knowing she probably could. There were so many times you'd been balanced on her shoulders, legs looped as she held you up, her hands squeezing your thighs, her head inches from your pussy.

“I loved it, baby. Was such a tease though, when all I wanted to do was fuck you right there on the mats. Everyone would have loved it, seeing your pussy and perky tits on show. I'm gonna see them soon and give them the attention them deserve. But you gotta cum first, sweetheart. Can you do that? Hmmm? Cum for me, baby,” she encouraged, rubbing your clit with her thumb.

And you did. With a desperate cry, your pussy clamped down on her thrusting fingers and you sprayed all over her hand. She praised you through it, keeping her fingers moving as she extended your orgasm. When you finally stopped shaking, she gently eased her fingers out of you, earning a whimper. She gently lowered you to the ground, keeping one arm around your waist to hold you up.

When you locked eyes with her, you watched as she slowly sucked your juices off her fingers. Never breaking eye contact, she slid her fingers into her mouth, moaning deeply as she got the first taste of you.

“You're so fucking sweet, Cupcake,” she praised, licking her palm.

You whined and pulled her head down to kiss her deeply, sharing the taste of you. Your tongues danced together as you pushed her jacket off her shoulders. With trembling fingers, you clumsily opened her belt buckle.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” she teased.

You panted, “Your turn,” as you spun yourselves around, pressing her against the wall.

“You sure?”

“Let me eat your pussy, baby,” you begged, kissing her deeply again.

She moaned into your mouth. “Can't say no to that now, can I?”

You dropped to your knees at her permission, pushing her grey tank top up over her stomach. When her defined stomach muscles were revealed, you worshipped every inch of them, kissing and licking over every muscle and line.

“Fuck, baby,” she cursed, her hands in your hair.

Slowly you slid down her stomach, opening her jeans. Her black shorts called to you, demanding kisses against their material. You gave in, pressing kisses over her pelvis, squeezing her hips and butt. Sliding your fingers in the belt loops on her jeans, you tugged down her jeans and underwear, leaving her beautiful pussy on display for you. Your mouth watered as you looked on her pink happy trail, down to her neatly trimmed pussy. You couldn't help it, you leant in and smelt her, inhaling her scent deeply. You moaned, your tongue escaping your mouth and catching a taste. Tart and sweet. Violet.

You nudged her legs as wide as they could go with her jeans around her knees, and you locked in on her cunt. You gently spread her lips with your fingers, flicking your tongue over her clit. She cursed long and low, her fingers flexing in your hair as her head tilted back against the wall. You took that as encouragement, pulling her clit into your mouth and giving quick little sucks, driving her mad. You slid your mouth back to her pussy hole, but struggled to reach, her legs could only spread so far with her jeans still on. You pulled her pussy towards you, your hands cupping her thighs. You slid your tongue all around her clit and lips, coming back to suck her clit. She was delicious, you never ever wanted to stop doing this.

If only you could reach her hole, you whined.

“Hold on, baby, I got it,” she urged your head away from her pussy, earning a low whine of protest from you. She took hold of your jaw, slipping her thumb inside your mouth. With her free hand, she bent over and pulled her boots off, throwing them aside as she tugged her jeans and underwear off. The whole time, you knelt obediently, back straight, as you sucked her thumb, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

“Fuck, you're a good girl. We're gonna have some much fun together, baby. You can't imagine the things I've dreamt of,” she cursed. She reached out to the side and grabbed the arm of the chair at your desk, pulling it beside her.

“Open your mouth, baby,” she whispered desperately. You did so, moaning as she kissed you deeply, sucking on your tongue. “You taste so good. Tongue out, sweetheart.” You obeyed, sticking your tongue out for her. Between her lips, she let a trail of spit drip from her mouth onto your tongue. “Put that inside me, baby,” she ordered, lifting her leg and resting it on your chair, opening her pussy for you.

You moaned and leant forward, sliding your tongue into her hole. She keened, holding your head to her pussy. You slid your tongue in and out, fucking her with her own spit. A hand moved up to rub her clit, but she pulled it away. Dripping more spit onto your fingertips, she moved your hand back down.

“Fast as you can, baby, I need to cum,” she urged, pressing your fingers back to her clit.

You did as she said and rubbed her clit furiously, making her scream. You slid your tongue in as deep as it could go, flexing it forward and back. Vi held your head and humped her hips against your face, using your tongue and fingers to move closer to orgasm. She moaned and panted, cursing the whole time under her breath as she fucked herself on your face.

“There, baby, don't stop, don't stop,” she pleaded, her hips stuttering until she let out a long moan against you. Her juices spilled out over your tongue, coating your chin and cheeks, which you went mad for. You licked up as much as you could, desperate to get as much of her as you could.

“Stop, baby, I didn't say you could be greedy,” she scolded, pulling your head away. With absolutely debauchery, she licked up all her juices from your face, then dripped them into your mouth. You swallowed, leaning up for a deep kiss, which she happily gave.

“You got plans in the morning, Cupcake?”

You shook your head.

“Good. We've got so much to do.”

END

[lukeskywalkerslatinawife]

His Theme (Darth Vader x Reader)

‧₊˚❀ First fic and post ever. Wrote this with no power and stuck in a thunderstorm. New to tumblr.

‧₊˚❀ Summary: Reader is Luke’s partner. Get’s captured and held prisoner. Reader has a chance to escape and refuses it, choosing to help Vader see what he was missing for such a long time. Reader is too good for the world. Platonic Vader x reader.

‧₊˚❀ Warnings: None. Unless you count first time writing.

A/N-Trying to beat the weird kid allegations but I wrote a Vader songfic with fuckin undertale music.

Song: https://youtu.be/FobrRO8EkAM?si=nUsR9vKDxiovCZ4H

Can my damage be undone?

I'd forgotten how to feel.

Vader watched as the random cargo ship flew off to the void.

You had the chance to run away, escape and reunite with your friends, family, be with your Luke and live some sort of fairytale ending.

So why the hell were you standing there like a silly idiot trying to comfort probably the most ruthless, monstrous man in the galaxy?? To Vader, you were one of the weirdest people he had ever met in his life, his long, tragic life.

His reasoning for capturing you was also his biggest drawback. You are Luke’s partner, lover, whatever you both call it. His plan on luring his son with his partner wasn’t going as planned, having you here for quite some time now.

Luke confided in you shortly before your capture. Telling you his father’s true identity. You kept it a secret, even from Vader—even though it was clearly a “I know what you are” situation to the both of you whenever you looked at one another.

You barely spoke, not fighting back at all.

Luke wouldnt want that. You told yourself. You knew of Luke’s yearn for his father to turn to the light, not wanting to hinder that.

You deserve far better friends...

Now you're here at the end.

I can let all them go.

I'll be okay alone..

Today you had walked into the wrong room, running into his broken, destroyed, and burned form over the bacta tank. You scurried off, almost stupidly.

Neither of you spoke a word since the incident.

You couldn’t see his face concealed by his helmet, but you sensed he was troubled today. You chose to just sit beside him in the small room when he came by to check on you, probably making sure you weren’t plotting his downfall, like your friends and the rebellion probably would.

—But deep down Vader knew you were too soft for that, in his eyes too good for the world you were given in this life, though he still viewed you as his enemy in some ways.

“I know you’re sad, I can feel it.” You murmured gently as I shifted my gaze up to look up at the imposing man.

“—You know nothing, (y/n).” The mechanical voice almost snaps back, but he doesn’t shift or move. Looking down at you. Your big, wide, soft and sweet gaze almost terrifying him, your lack of fear always scared him in an unsettling, odd, sort of way.

Leave me be.

Say goodbye.

You can't help. Why must you try?

Why must you.. Stay with me...

Your battle's won. Go with your family.

“It’s okay to be sad.” You spoke up slightly, not fidgeting away or wincing at his sharp reply.

“Let’s be real no one would be happy in this boring floating ball, it’s not too too crazy to put together how you feel.”

Vader’s shoulders shook momentarily, as if he found your little comment amusing and laughed—but one could only assume what that was.

“That’s the most words I think I’ve ever heard you speak, I’m impressed.” His voiced echoed out, no tension, anger, or any emotion.

“Yeahhhhh.” You drew out with a small, childish, and silly laugh. Fidgeting with your own sleeves before it went quiet again, the silence making the two of you beside each other a bit more awkward than it already was.

After a long while, you realized that he probably wasn’t going to hurt you, not physically at least.

“What was life like before all of this for you??” You spoke up, beginning to play with your sleeve, the edges of his dark, silky cape started prodding at your shoulders, unintentionally making you face him.

“What type of question is that?” Vader gruffly replied. A scoff accompanying it.

“No no!” You lightly chuckled with a nervous tinge, shaking your hands a bit as if signaling him to listen to what you had to say.

“I just mean— ‘cause you know, Luke is your son, and he doesn’t know a single thing about you.” Your explanation rang in the air.

It went quiet again. God damn it, these two both suck at talking, who would blame you two, on opposite sides of a war and everything.

“He really wants to help you, you know?” Your voice softened up a bit more. You began unconsciously tugging at the edges of his cape that poked you, playing with the fabric while you talk.

“He sees the good in you, and because I love him, I believe him and want that for you too.” You continued. You let out a soft smile, thinking about Luke. How much you miss him, love him, and want nothing more than to see him again.

I don't deserve your mercy...

It's not fair to be alone

If you wont fight please just leave...

After what you've been though

No one came or heard my call...

So let me ease your pain

I'm so glad you took your fall.

“Stop.” Vader snapped.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know a little,” you piped up.

“Nobody would want to feel how you feel, it’s okay to be sad, I’m sad too.” You murmured your gaze tired and sad, emphasizing your imprisonment, being away from everyone you love, it would drain anyone really.

“You can’t understand an ounce of what I’ve been through, child.” The robotic voice scratched out, but he didn’t move, or shoo you away, or even touch you.

“I can tell it’s a lot, though.” You quickly replied. Were you referring to earlier when you saw his true form without his suit? Who knows.

Vader sighed, his shoulders relaxed a bit, slumping down as he looked at you. Compared to him you were just this soft little thing, not a bad bone in ya. Whether either of you liked it or not, you two were bound to get close in some sort of way, especially with how you two are tied to Luke, his father and his partner, sitting together and talking.

Knowing you probably were too weak to do anything, plus you’re imprisoned,

It’s not like they can actually do anything. Vader thought to himself, he finally said something.

“It started a long time ago.” He muttered sadly as if thinking you wouldn’t be interested

“That’s okay, I wanna hear.” You reassured

A mechanical exhale was heard through the quiet atmosphere. As if mimicking a sigh. You sat there while Vader explained his life. A chain of events, almost like a story was told.

His life as a slave, his love for his mother, training under the order with his best friend as a master, his forbidden love with his late wife, which sounded like something straight of a novel they would make you read in school.

His battle with his old master, where you would see the 20 year old aftermath of his broken, damaged body—what was left of it.

And now we were here, the prisoner meant to lure his son, now listening to him vent.

At some point his voice began to break as he told you about his life, and you couldn’t help but feel for him. Everything about his life was hardship and tragedy.

No one deserves that

I won't abandon you

You can't help.

Determination fuels me…

Why must you try?

To keep on trying to save you

You gently placed a hand on his shoulder, the coolness of the his metal suit tickling your palm as you raised it up slightly in reaction, before settling it there.

“I’m sorry.” You comforted, a soft quiet utter of your voice.

“I’m sorry the world didn’t treat you kindly from the start.”

Vader paused. His mind kept telling him he shouldn’t feel comforted by his enemy. But it didn’t help that the enemy in question was this sweet soul who never spoke an ill word of him or his empire since her capture.

He replied, confused but accepting the comfort.

“It’s not your fault.” He returned your gesture, settling his gloved hand on your head, ruffling your hair up a bit.

“You’re so strong.”You mused, looking up at him with the most awestruck look on your face. You settled into his touch raising your arms to touch his hand with your two tiny ones, acting almost childlike.

“You’re only saying that.” He scoffs, a tiny laugh hidden in there as he drops his hand. You’re fingers immediately going to smooth your hair out

“I mean it!” You giggled out as you playfully tugged his cape, sensing some form of joy in the room.

*Wow.* V thought to himself. *They’re actually smiling. I’m actually smiling*

“You only speak kindly because…” he trailed, remembering how you ran into him earlier today, you were probably the only person to ever see his burned self that wasn’t one of his men.

“Because you saw what you saw today. You saw how I truly look. I’m a monster an ugly, deformed, monster, I don’t deserve your kindness.” He croaked out, looking down at the floor to avoid what he thought would be your judgmental gaze.

You shook your head with a frown, disagreeing with his self deprecation, pawing at his cape in some way to show some comfort without overstepping.

“You’re not ugly.” A firm reply left your lips.

“I argue that you’re beautiful, you just look different—But different is good!” You replied with a soft little smile on your lips

“You’re such a liar.” Vader scoffed with a humorous smile

“Nuh uh! You’re like those cryptic sculptures and artworks that cost like a million credits in a museum! You’re… majestic” You mused, leaning into him a little bit.

“You went through hell and back. But you’re still alive, proving to the galaxy how strong you truly are!”

“We may be enemies but even I need to appreciate that.” You finished with a bashful little smile on your face.

Vader’s demeanor shifted. Shuddering.

“I’m supposed to hate you, kill you even, b-but I cant.” His mechanical voice shook the room.

I don't deserve your mercy..

I will stay by your side

If you won't fight please just leave...

“Do you love your son?” You spoke up, shifting your whole body to face him.

“Of course I do….” The sith answered quickly.

“Me loving others is what led me here.” He added.

You gave a big smile. One of those smiles a child gives a parent when they’re really excited about something.

“Looks like my Luke is correct!—” You gushed, squeezing his shoulder.

“There is still some good in you.”

That broke Vader. The s lord putting his helmeted face in his hands, as if breaking down. Crying? Maybe. You couldn’t really tell with his voice modifier.

“Stop, you remind me so much of her.” A mechanical whimper escaped his mask.

“Who?” You asked softly.

“My mom!—And my wife! Stop, you’re so unsettling.” He bawled, but made no effort to shoo me away so you stayed in place.

“Hey, hey.” You shushed him, pulling the man by his metal suit into a hug, an awkward one but you still made it work.

You simply held the man, rubbing his suited back as you let him cry it out. Usually it was Luke comforting you when you were sad about something minuscule and random, for maybe the first time you were comforting someone, it just so happened to be the most terrifying being in the galaxy.

“I’m here for you.” You spoke up, with a questioning tone as if asking if it was okay for me to be there for him.

Vader calmed down for a moment, his scratchy artificial breaths steadying.

“I don’t deserve your kindness—”

“I want to be kind so yes you do.” I cut him off.

I know its frightening

Your battle's won...

To think you might now leave

Go with your family..

But that my friend is why—

“I cant change your mind right away, but I know theres good in you, Luke knows it too, and when you’re ready, I want to help, and if Luke ever comes to rescue me, I know he’ll want to help too.” You explained as you cooed at him, it was almost silly to look at, but neither of you cared in that moment.

Maybe you were biting off more than you can chew, or maybe there was a chance that V would turn to the light.

Vader, now more relaxed, still in your arms finally spoke, his small pants dying down finally.

“I can see why Luke loves you so much, you’re too good, even holding out hope for me.” He groaned sheepishly.

Your idea of helping Vader was unrealistic, obviously, but he didn’t need to think about that in the moment, simply enjoying the embrace of another person.

A kind soul, not one who sees him as an intimidating sith lord, or a symbol of power, nor a terrifying monster.

No. You saw him for who he was. Just a man, a man who was fucked over by the galaxy and the order for way too long.

“What’s your name?” You asked, your eyes held a peaceful presence that seemed to only be welcoming.

“My name?”

“Yes, your real name. I doubt you popped out of the womb called Darth Vader. If you were I feel so bad for you.” Your childishness bloomed out with that comment, it was somewhat cute to him.

“So immature.” He commented a small chuckle escaping his helmet.

“My name is Anakin Skywalker.” He replied, his voice a bit quieter this time, a small whisper, but you sure as hell heard it.

Your face was adored with this wide, big, happy smile, feeling accomplished. You broke from the hug to stand up in front of Vader. Hugging him this time so that my chin rested on his black, shiny helmet.

“Well Anakin, I’m here for you, I hope to change your mind for the better and bring you back to the light, maybe with Luke’s help.” You giggled out that last part.

“You can’t let that old bag of bones control your life forever.” You lightly added.

Were they referring to the emperor?? Probably yeah.

Vader responded by wrapping his arms around you. He wont admit it, but you definitely don’t need your little boyfriend who happens to be his son to make him reconsider all his life choices.

“Yeah. Maybe. I’m not convinced.” He gruffly stated.

He nestled his head into your shoulder, seeking the comfort he got from you a moment ago.

“But for you, I’ll consider it, (Y/N).”

Forgive me...

I will spare your life always

Stay with me..

And hold you tight and close

You’re the last...

We will be together here

Light I'll see....

Until its safe to go

A/N I’ll probably write more in the future, just not cringy undertale songfics (love that game haha)

-Ignore the plot holes and OOC, I lowkey was on that 2018 gacha type shit writing this

[delugyu]

hi, pretty! hear me out, please, i'm loosing my mind over txt for real.

love language mv got me thinking about a summer love and literally i thought of a scenario for each member of the group. they all went on a summer trip to (somewhere), with some friends, and all of them with definite love language dynamics.

i feel like Yeonjun would be words of affirmation (don't ask why, it's a feeling), so on this trip with friends, he would tell the person that he likes a lot of things, everything he likes about her and that kind of thing. soso vocal that romeo would probably be jealous, cause i feel the guy has talent with words. ( often complimenting mc, telling how good they look. he would look unbothered but I FEEL, he would be on all 4 for the mc. )

Soobin would be acts of service, so he would do everything for mc, aiming to demonstrate his love through actions. he would do anything (literally) to demonstrate how much he likes mc. the guy is down bad, but that's the only way he knows how to demonstrate, taking care of his beloved person. ( also accordingly with the voices in my head, in this trip he would be like the dad as always, and the mc a type of mother/father. it would be so cute mc taking care of everybody and then soobin would be like "who's taking care of you?" ARGH I LOVE THIS GUY- )

i think Beomgyu would be quality time, i imagine him walking around with mc, going EVERYWHERE looking for a good way to spend time, especially with mc. even if they both just stay in pure silence. i doesn't matter. as long as he is in mc's presence, he's fine. ( he sticks like GUM! and he doesn't give a single f if mc thinks he's clingy, which mc clearly don't. he just have this urge of having mc's attention all to himself. yeah, i think he would be a little** selfish, in the best way — if this even possible. 🤣 )

Taehyun i think it would be giving gifts, not necessarily super expensive things, it might be even the simplest, like picking up a flower on a flower bed, a paper ring, literally anything that reminded him of mc. ( THE SWEETEST! god, i think he would be the type to make those jars with post-its, everything handwritten, things like: what he likes about mc, songs that reminded him of mc, reasons why the mc is so special to him. i think i'm collapsing- )

and Kai, last but not least, would be physical touch, i imagine he would have difficulty telling mc his feelings and that he would show affection through touch, be it something more heated, a kiss or even a hug. ( something like Gyu, i guess, clingy but also so so soooo loving. he doesn't fight about what he feels, he just doesn't have the same ability as Yeonjun of expressing everything that keeps burning inside him for mc. so, he would try any kind of physical touch to keep the mc close, hoping that, somehow, mc feels the same and at any time, until he finally manage to tell the mc — in his own way. )

in the end, i think they would also try to figure it out the mc love language, which could match theirs or be totally different; like if kai has difficulty with words, i would be funny if his mc love language be words of affirmation; or maybe soobin's mc would also be acts of service and so on.

ANYWAY, i think i am in a spiral now! got inspired by the mv, the lyrics and also by your incredible writting, so i thought it would be nice share some thoughts with you and i hope, you like what my unbusied mind thought about this morning 😅

take care! wishing all sucess to you, love! xoxo 🫶🏻

I LOVE THIS SO MUCHHH OMG

yeonjun with words of affirmation is sooo true like i feel like he’d love to shower u with praise, especially if it makes you all flustered and shy lol. he’d be so annoying about it too sometimes, you’ll be doing anything and he’ll watch u with a smile and go “cute~~ so cute~” and you’re like “? i’m just getting ready to go out…” lol him always calling u smart or pretty and complimenting you whenever he can! he’s such a flirt it’s crazy

acts of service soobin has my head reeling good lord I NEED THAT!! he doesn’t want u to move a muscle if u don’t have to! so eager to pamper you and do everything for you! you’ll sulk about something being broken and two seconds later you’re sitting on the counter watching soobin fix it for you. always making sure you eat, making sure you’re comfortable, working hard to keep u happy<3

eek omg beomgyu who refuses to keep away from u too long 😖 spending as much time with u as he can, taking u all throughout the city just to see everything and explore new places. u complain about ur feet hurting from all the walking and he’s like what! there’s still so much to do! we can’t go back now 🥺 and it’s too easy to give into him cause he’s so cute and desperate to hang out with u

taehyun gift giving except he doesn’t even realize how much he does it ACKKK he’ll see something u might like and grab it without thinking too much about it, then he brings it to you and acts like it’s nothing. meanwhile you’re there holding back tears like omg this is so sweet 😭 after the fifth gift you’re like okay taehyun stop. and he’s like what..? so u gotta ask how much he’s even been spending on you, and he just shrugs and dismisses it. a few hours later he’s handing u a little flower he picked and says “is this okay..? it’s just from outside” he’s too sweet 😖😖😖

hehe kai with physical touch cause he’s not sure how else to handle his feelings !!! holding ur hand when u walk the streets, throwing an arm over ur shoulders when u sit together, leaning into your side when ur watching movies… it all makes him feel so warm and floaty, and he can only hope u feel the same. he’ll pout at you when you tell him you need to get up, wanting to keep u in his arms longer cause that’s when he feels the best

also thank u bae i love u so much eek!!! this was so fun and so on brand for love language lol. u take care too!! hope you’re doing well 🤍🤍🤍

[sunandflame]

Analysis: Paulie as a Lover

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1021

Pairing: Paulie x GN!Reader

crossposted on AO3

1. Loyal to a Fault

Paulie is fiercely loyal—to Iceburg, to the Galley-La Company, and to the people he respects. That loyalty would extend just as fiercely to a romantic partner. He’s the kind of man who, once committed, would be all in. He wouldn’t be half-hearted or flaky; if he’s yours, he’s yours through thick and thin. You wouldn’t have to question his feelings—he’d prove them in both grand gestures and subtle consistency.

2. Old-Fashioned but Respectful

Paulie’s modesty and his disdain for “immodest�� clothing reflect a traditional mindset. But it’s not controlling—it’s more that he gets flustered or protective. As a lover, he might struggle initially with affection that’s too forward or revealing, but he wouldn’t shame his partner. He’s the type to avert his eyes and stammer “You shouldn’t dress like that—it’s too… distracting,” while clearly dying inside from how gorgeous you look.

He'd want to be the provider or protector in a relationship, and might take pride in being someone his partner could rely on. He’d likely thrive in a dynamic where mutual respect and stability are central.

3. Emotionally Honest (Eventually)

Paulie is passionate and outspoken, and while he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve romantically, he doesn’t bottle things up when it matters. If something was wrong in the relationship, he’d speak up—but probably awkwardly at first. His frustration or affection might come out in gruff, almost comedic ways: “Tch… I can’t get anything done with you lookin’ at me like that.” But beneath that, there's genuine tenderness. Once he feels safe emotionally, he’d become surprisingly sweet, even mushy—but only in private.

4. Touch-Starved Softie (in Denial)

He’s absolutely the type to act like he doesn’t need affection, but once he gets a taste of it, he melts. A hand through his hair while he’s dozing off? He won’t admit it, but he’ll nuzzle into it. A surprise hug? He’ll freeze, go red, and mutter something like “Jeez, warn a guy next time…”—but won’t pull away.

Behind his rope-swinging bravado is a guy who desperately needs quiet intimacy. He’d be the type to fall asleep with his head in your lap while denying he was even tired.

5. Jealous but Never Possessive

Paulie has strong protective instincts. He might get jealous if someone flirts with you, but he wouldn’t control or question your choices. Instead, he’d sulk for five minutes, then make a dramatic (but low-key cute) effort to reassert his importance: fixing something for you, building something with way too much flourish, or throwing an arm around you while trying to act cool. “Heh. Bet that guy can’t build a boat in two days.”

6. Love Language: Acts of Service + Words (Eventually)

He shows love by doing—fixing things, building things, helping you when you didn’t even ask. He won’t always say “I love you” first, but you’ll know it by how he always makes sure you’re warm, safe, and never left behind. Over time, the words will come too—but always when they mean something. No fluff. “You’re the one thing I’d drop my tools for.”

7. Lowkey Romantic—But Embarrassed by It

Paulie wants to be romantic, but he gets embarrassed easily. He’d plan something sweet—like fixing up a quiet seaside deck to stargaze with you—but play it off like it was no big deal: “Just finished repairs out here. Thought you might like the view, that’s all.” If you called him out for being sweet, he'd grumble, but deep down he loves when you notice his effort. He’s the kind of man who gives handmade gifts, even if they’re a little rough around the edges.

8. Deep Respect for Independence

While Paulie is protective, he also respects people who pull their weight and stand on their own. He’d fall hardest for someone with a backbone—someone who challenges him, holds their own in a debate, or surprises him with their cleverness or grit. He doesn’t want a pushover; he wants a partner. He’d admire someone who works hard, and he’d brag about them behind their back.

9. Conflict Style: Loud but Honest

Arguments with Paulie would be loud but short-lived. He doesn’t brood or play games—if something’s wrong, he’ll let it out in the moment. There might be shouting, arm-flailing, dramatic declarations—but no manipulation, no cruelty. Once it’s aired out, he calms quickly and is open to apologizing. He’s emotionally sincere even when upset, and wouldn’t walk away just because things get heated.

10. Acts Protective—but is Vulnerable Inside

He wants to be your shield—your rope-swinging knight in sawdust-covered armor—but there’s a lot of pressure behind that. Underneath the bravado is a man who sometimes feels not good enough, especially around people with greater power (like Franky or the Straw Hats). Your love would mean the world to him because it reassures him that he is enough, just as he is.

11. Ride-or-Die Energy

If you're hurt, threatened, or wronged? Paulie’s going to lose it. He’s the guy who runs headfirst into danger for you, no second thoughts. He might not be the strongest fighter in the world, but his loyalty makes him relentless. He’d pick fights he can’t win for your sake—and do it proudly. “I don’t care if he’s a Warlord—I’ll break his damn face.”

12. Not the Best with Words—but Always Tries

He may fumble his confessions, say dumb things when nervous, or get tongue-tied when trying to express big emotions. But he’ll try. If he sees you upset, he won’t ghost you—he’ll blurt something out, even if it’s awkward. “I—Look, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, but I don’t want you going to bed thinking I don’t care. ‘Cause I do. Way more than I should, maybe.”

13. Long-Term: A Rock-Solid Partner

Over time, Paulie would be the kind of husband or lifelong partner who stays consistent. He might not be flashy or poetic, but he’d be a constant presence. He’d build a life with you plank by plank—secure, loving, grounded. The guy who always comes home, always remembers your tea just how you like it, always fixes the creaky door without being asked. Quiet, loyal permanence.

[nanami-is-nanamean]

I know he probably didnt but like...

What if. Nanami understood Gojo more than he let on?

This is. An INSANE. Hypothetical but like—what if, Nanami understood Gojo in SUCH a visceral way and manner because... he mercy killed Haibara?

OKAY HEAR ME OUT— STAY WITH ME, STAY WITH ME, STAY WITH ME— walk with me king, let me open ur eyes to the possibilities...

I realized halfway through writing this that imma be talkin abt a lot of not poggers things happening to children and people so if u dont like that, just scroll past bucko. If ur cool with it tho-- its under the cut

Obviously, Haibara was very clearly cut in half and had slim to nil chances of living. I can only imagine the sheer amnt of burning, searing pain that kid was in—bro would not bave been able to stay happy, cheery, go-lucky in that state.

And, im not a medical expert, but i can only assume that it would not be an instant death. It would be slow, and painful, and something that you would not wish upon anyone

I... would not be surprised that, in his last moments, he would be begging for the pain to stop and end. I would also not be surprised if he asked nanami to get him to end it.

We didnt get any details abt what happened other than, haibara died and nanami was there, so there is a likelihood (i cannot guesstimate how high or low) that nanami put him out of his misery. And as jjk ever so often beats us over the head abt—there is no heroism or glory in death. You are there, and then youre not, and the only thing you leave behind are the people you've touched and the legacy you've left behind.

Obviously, if we assume that nanami mercy killed haibara, he would understand what gojo was going thru on a more visceral level. Its not full understanding, but so much more than anyone could ever have on that topic.

I imagine, if this scenario were the case, nanami would not have told anyone about it. His greatest secret.

After the autopsy, do you think Shoko would nonchalantly come up to him with a lighter and a cigarette? Would he crush the filter between his teeth and choke on the smoke, as Shoko tells him a few choice words—"your aim is shit"? What look would be on Shoko’s face as she lightly drags a finger up and down her neck and cheek? Would he crack and let the words spill from his mouth, confessing to her? Or would he take the olive branch as it is, an unspoken vow of secrecy, and tell her that he'll "fix his aim"?

After that December evening, would Nanami be the one to come find Gojo in the night, or would Gojo go to him? Would the two be in some hotel, Gojo teleporting infront of him in the middle of packing so he can rush back to Tokyo and find him? Or would the two be in either one's lodgings, Nanami having made a rush trip back and guided towards him? How would Nanami face him, I wonder—with an expression full of understanding, his usual stone faced look, or something else? How would he comfort him? Offering him food and drink after a taxing and exhausting day, or cleaning him up with a wet towel and fresh clothes, or letting him sit and take a breather in whatever area he's taken for his own? How would Gojo react? Would he still muster up some kind of strength to keep playing the fool and letting jokes and humor fill the air? Would he be stock still, almost like a mannequin, letting nanami manhandle him into taking care of himself? Or would he shatter in Nanamis arms, uncaring of whether or not he'll pick up the pieces because he's finally reached his breaking point? And Nanami—how would he react? Would he play along to Gojo’s antics? Would he act as a firm and steady rock to his turmoil? Or... will there be a new secret keeper to one of, if not, Nanami’s greatest shame?

I can only imagine then, what was going through both Gojo’s and Nanami’s minds then, when Yuji was assigned to Nanami.

[leonalovesalot]

Can we cam up?

Camboy!ArtDonaldson x Patrick Zweig

18+ Minors DNI

wc: 1.6k

Based on this request

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

Patrick had a dirty secret.

Not the juvenile kind he used to have when he was younger—like a crush on his babysitter, or the fact that he was the reason for the cigarette burn on the living room sofa (which he blamed on his friend Tony, a so-called bad influence—there was no Tony).

No, this time he had really taken it too far.

Almost every night, after a long day of tournaments, Patrick would stumble into his hotel room and log onto his favourite website. Previously, it was pornhub, but now it was a niche one called streammate, or chatmate, or something like that. The type of website that you'd find out about from a pop-up ad that interrupts you when watching a pirated movie. That's actually how he came across it.

A wonderful accident.

He gladly ditched whichever stoner comedy he was dead-set on watching that one night, and quickly took his boxers off. In the beginning, he'd just watch whichever girl had the most views on that particular day. As long as it got his dick hard, he was happy. And he wasn't pressured to send any money because tens of thousands of other horny and desperate men did the job for him.

It was all going well until one day his curiosity got the best of him, and he decided to explore the site further. His eyes scanned the page and came upon a category called "Rising Stars" which he clicked on, without much thought.

He wasn't expecting that his life to turn upside down after that.

One click, one small movement of his index finger; and everything was different.

Because that was the night he came across his best friend, Art Donaldson, jerking his big pink-tipped dick for forty one viewers.

Patrick had never clicked on a thumbnail faster and was immediately welcomed by Art's soft whines as he moved his palm up and down his thick shaft.

Patrick sat there with his jaw on the floor. He couldn't believe his eyes. Millions of thoughts raced through his head. One of which was a mild feeling of betrayal because why hadn't Art told him? Of course, this isn't something you would disclose to people you knew in real life— but Patrick was like his brother! Brother... maybe wasn't the right word to use, considering Patrick had always felt something a little more stronger than that. Nothing dramatic, nothing to write home about, but still— Patrick would find himself wondering, on more occasions than one, how it would feel to kiss Art.

Another feeling was shock, of course. Art Donaldson- golden child, pinnacle of purity and innocence- was whoring himself out on the internet for anyone to see. Patrick was finding it hard to believe but he couldn't say he wasn't impressed. You can never truly know a person.

Patrick also felt guilty because of this. This site, this account, this persona- they were all a part of Art's deepest secret. His dirtiest desire that he clearly didn't want anyone to know about. And when Patrick found out, he knew he could never tell Art. No, Art would probably pass away from embarrassment. He couldn't do that to Art (but also to himself because Art would definitely stop camming and then what would Patrick jerk off to?).

Last, but obviously not least, Patrick felt, well, aroused. It was then that he realized his sporadic urge to kiss his cute, blonde friend wasn’t just a trivial matter. No—Patrick was, as they say on the baseball diamond, a switch hitter. After coming to that conclusion, he stopped denying the fact that his thoughts about kissing Art really had evolved—into ones like: What did his cock taste like? Or: What kinds of sounds would he make when he came? You know, just the usual questions you have about your dear friends—Not.

So here he was, again. Sitting on his bed with his laptop wide open emitting the lewd sounds of his best friend pleasuring himself. Patrick mirrored his actions every time. Staring intently at the way Art's pre-cum would drip down his tip and stick to his fingers. The euphoric sensation always overwhelmed him which had him panting and cursing like a fragile virgin. Patrick would snap out of his trance when he'd feel his own warm drool making its way down his chin. Then he'd continue palming himself and groaning as he did.

He'd actually become a regular at this point. Art would notice him and a small smile would appear whenever he'd see his punny username. It was a contrast from the others which were so immature and dirty that Art couldn't believed they belonged to fully functioning adults.

PATontheback: fuck, you sound so hot

[PATontheback gifted you $25]

This only encouraged Art to be louder and more vulgar. Unashamed, he'd exaggerate his moans and whines to please his favourite viewer.

For Art, this started as a way to make a quick buck (or at least that's what he told himself). He didn't really need it though, because his parent's trust fund made it so he wouldn't have to work a day in his life and still be able get by comfortably.

The real reason, in short, was that Art liked it. Okay, he loved it. It surprised him greatly because he was never too interested in these kinds of things. Things like porn, or watching those dirty movies that Patrick would bring over to the boys' sleepovers in middle school, didn't captivate him. Sure, he got aroused and liked fucking people, but this tendency to indulge these types of sexual activities was quite unlike him.

But with camming, it was different. The attention from strangers fed his ego and narcissism in ways that made him feel so fucking good about himself. Was it wrong that he only liked himself when he got external validation? Yeah, probably. But did he care? No, not at all.

Every comment had him feeling like he was on fire. Knowing that every viewer's eyes were glued to their screen looking at, thinking of, and feeling Art. They wanted to fuck him didn't they? Each and everyone of them. They'd send their cash thinking that it would make Art like them more; make them feel special. It was cute.

The whole thing happened so quickly too. He had never expected to have regulars, already.

Every viewer was just a username to him, but one of them did stand out. So much so that on some nights, before bed, Art couldn't help but fantasize about his mystery admirer. He'd just think of the comments that viewer would leave, because he had no idea what he looked like. All he knew was that he was a man—which was confusing for Art—but he convinced himself that it was the comments themselves that made him all hot and bothered, and not the person leaving them.

PATontheback: just like that, keep going

Art lifts his head to stare down the camera lens, hoping that PATontheback was doing the same. He pushes his laptop a little further so he can fully come into frame- from the top of his head to the base of his balls.

"Anything for you," Art says breathing unevenly, "fuck- I Pat-" A guttural moan interrupts Art's profanities.

Patrick feels a jolt through his body making his own cock throb. It sounded like Art was saying his actual name and it made Patrick dizzy. His toes curled and he looked down at his glistening dick, knowing he'd cum soon.

PATontheback: spit on it for me

Art nods eagerly and forms a glob of spit in his mouth. He puckers his lips and leans forward with his head tilted down as the clear, wet, saliva drips down to the tip of his cock. His fast strokes move the spit all over his shaft and the feeling drives him crazy.

Patrick was close but needed a little more to push him to his climax. His free hand trembles as he types out into the chat again.

PATontheback: say it again

PATontheback: please

Art reads the new comment and twitches as he nears his orgasm, "w-what? say- what do you want me to say?" He barely chokes out as his eyelids get heavy.

PATontheback: m namr

PATontheback: my name

Art can almost taste the pleasure. He can see the finish line. He speeds up his pace and his hand moves from the base to the tip quickly, and sloppily. He throws his head back and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he whimpers out, "Pat- oh fuck- you're so good to me, Pat."

Patrick on the other side, upon hearing half of his name rolling off Art's tongue, knew this was exactly what he needed. Patrick arches his back, lifting off the mattress slightly and twitching as long white strings of cum shoot out of him. He moans and tries to keep his eyes open to focus on Art wanting to witness him coming undone too.

Art kept saying his name as he reached his climax.

"Pat, you fuck me so good."

"I wanna touch you, Pat- please- please lemme touch, I'll be good."

He speeds up his strokes and applies more pressure in his grip.

"Fuck, Pat, I'm gonna cum!"

Patrick watches in awe like he couldn't believe how someone like Art existed. He was so fucking lucky to actually know him in real life.

Watching Art jerk himself off was an image Patrick never wanted to forget. He would never get tired of it. He was already excited for tomorrow's session. And the day after- and forever after that. Patrick wasn't going anywhere.

PATontheback: be a good boy for me and cum 4 me

Art continued whispering the name to himself. He liked the way it sounded- he liked its simplicity.

It was going well- so fucking good but then the whispers switched to lewd whines as he shook from the blissful embrace of his orgasm and didn't realize when he mindlessly ejaculated.

"Fuck-oh god, Patrick!"

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

First time writing Artrick and I really enjoyed it!

@won-every-lottery I hope you liked this!! I was really nervous as this was my first request haha!!

Thank you for reading!

[drunkofwinehouse]

Where It Doesn’t Hurt

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x Yelena Belova

Summary: After New York, nothing feels the same.

Bob is still learning how to live with the weight of what he’s done—and what he could still become. Yelena knows what it means to carry ghosts and wear a smile like armor. As they navigate the quiet moments between missions, the long silences in therapy rooms, and the shadows that never quite leave, the two find something unexpected; understanding.

In a world that only sees the weapon or the threat, maybe healing begins when someone finally sees you.

Word count: 5.6k

Tags/Warning: Recovery, hurt/comfort, childhood trauma, loneliness, depression, mental health issues, unhealthy coping mechanisms, past abuse

Notes: Hi everyone! Here’s a quick note: this is the first chapter of my new fic!

I haven’t posted in years, but Boblena was enough to bring me back to this old path. This story follows their journey of healing, facing the lowest points amid everyday life as the New Avengers.

If you’re curious/interested, you can also find me on Ao3!

—————————————————————————————————————

The room was as bright as it was bare; the furniture was minimal—almost clinical.

Light filtered in through a window with plain white curtains, casting soft shadows on the floor.

To the left of the couch, a tall plant stood in a matte gray pot.

It was clearly meant to bring a touch of life into the sterile setting, but the glossy leaves gave away the fact it wasn’t real.

Yelena couldn’t help noticing: no photos, no personal items. No diplomas on the walls, no family pictures—just a single neutral print.

An abstract landscape in shades of blue and gray.

At first glance, it could be the sea. Or maybe a lake. Hard to tell.

The room smelled too clean. A mix of hospital disinfectant, paper, and something sweet and artificial—probably a candle with a floral scent, trying to mask the chemicals.

Yelena sat stiffly on a gray couch, legs crossed, tension in every muscle. Her oversized dark hoodie draped over her like armor, and her fingers kept picking at the seam of her right sleeve.

In front of her, the therapist—a woman in her fifties—watched in silence, a notebook on her lap, fountain pen in hand.

No ticking clock. No outside noise.

Just the sound of breathing—one listening, one trying to speak.

<< We can start wherever you like.

How are you feeling today, Yelena? >>

Yelena paused. The silence stretched.

She looked toward the window for a few moments, and then a faint, barely-there smirk appeared on her face.

<< I’m alive. I guess that’s a win for you. >>

She shrugged slightly.

<< I walk Fanny, I train… She really likes her new place. Too much space, if you ask me—but at least she’s happy. >>

Yelena hesitated for a beat, like she wasn’t sure whether to say what came next.

<< She really likes Bob. Always looks for him right after our walk—or when she wakes up in the morning. Brings him her ball, curls up next to him…

And he’s kind to her. Talks to her like she’s a person. A friend. >>

The therapist raised a brow, intrigued.

Still didn’t take any notes.

<< Do you like that? >>

Yelena stayed quiet. A moment… then another.

Her expression shifted—barely noticeable, but there.

When she finally spoke, her voice was lower. Rougher.

<< Yeah, I mean… it’s nice. Watching them.

It makes things feel… normal, I guess. >>

She paused. Her fingers clenched together, then released.

<< He’s so quiet, sometimes. Like he’s still holding everything in. Every shadow, every thought.

But when he looks at Fanny, or pets her— he smiles. A real one. Not the kind for the press.

Not the one he puts on for his therapist. >>

The woman tilted her head slightly, gently.

<< And how do you feel… in those moments? >>

Yelena took a breath.

Ran a hand through her short blonde hair, pulling out a clip so a few strands fell loose.

She was searching for the right words.

<< It makes me want to stay. To let this… whatever this is… happen. I feel happy, I think. And that makes me angry. And scared. >>

The therapist stayed quiet, letting her keep going.

Yelena sighed.

<< It makes me angry because… I felt happy. For a second. And I know it’s wrong, but this part of me keeps thinking I shouldn’t be. You know? After everything that’s happened. After what I’ve done.

After Natasha. After watching him almost die. >>

The therapist nodded slowly. Left space for her.

Yelena shifted, like she was steering away from the edge of something too raw.

<< There’s this part of me that looks at him and thinks: He’s going to make it. And another part that whispers: What if he doesn’t? What if I lose him? What if Void comes back, and this time… I can’t stop him? >>

<< You feel like it’s your responsibility to stop him? >>

Yelena gave a slight eyebrow raise, like the answer was obvious.

<< If not me—us— then who?

Sam Wilson and the government still don’t trust him… But when I look at him, I don’t just see the threat. I see the pain. And I get it. >>

Her tone lowered, as did her eyes.

She stared at her hands again, still gripping the edge of her sleeve.

<< And when you see that pain… what do you feel? >>

Yelena hesitated.

Pressed a hand to her forehead with a faint wince, biting the inside of her cheek.

Finally, she let it fall—like something fragile she’d been holding too long.

<< I feel like maybe I could hold him together. Just for a while. But I’m scared. Scared that if I get too close… he’ll break. And I’ll break with him. >>

<< What are you afraid you’ll find… if you get close? >>

Yelena tensed.

The silence was heavier now.

Then, softly—childlike in its honesty—she answered:

<< That I’m not enough for him. That he trusts me, that he looks at me like I’m something good…

But I’m not. I was trained to break things. To survive. Not to… keep someone whole. >>

The therapist studied her carefully. No pity. Just presence.

<< Have you ever thought maybe he sees something you can’t yet see in yourself? >>

Yelena didn’t reply. She turned toward the window again. The light had shifted—warmer now, softer, like even time was pausing to listen.

Finally, she smiled faintly. Almost in disbelief.

<< Maybe. But if I hurt him… if I fail… I don’t know if I could take it. Because he… he’s the calmest, most genuine part of my day. >>

The therapist nodded gently. Those words—“the calmest, most genuine part of my day”—landed with a weight she didn’t need to name.

She wrote something down, then set the pen aside.

Didn’t need to check the notes.

<< You know, sometimes the real question isn’t whether we’re capable of keeping someone whole…

It’s whether we’re willing to stay when we feel like we’re the ones falling apart. >>

Yelena pressed her lips together.

Her chest rose slightly beneath the hoodie.

She stared at a random spot on the coffee table—

noticing, for the first time, that one of the legs was chipped.

<< I… I don’t know who I am without a mission.

Without a target. And him…

he’s like staring at a fire and wanting to walk into it. Just to see if it warms you… or burns you. >>

The therapist let the silence breathe.

<< What if it’s both? >>

Yelena inhaled, slow. A blink—slower than the rest.

She glanced at the therapist for just a second, then looked back to the window. The white light had turned golden.

<< Then… I guess I’ll have to learn to stop running when it burns. >>

The therapist nodded. A small gesture.

Not triumphant—just present.

<< That’s a good place to start, Yelena. >>

Another silence. This one softer. Less defensive.

Yelena rose slowly from the couch as the timer buzzed.

She picked up her jacket from the armrest and paused, just for a moment.

Turned halfway toward the therapist, like she might say something else.

But then she just shook her head slightly, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway.

———————— ———————— ————————

Silence. A loaded, muffled silence—typical of rooms that are too formal, too bright, too far removed from the reality outside these government offices.

An environment that was making Bob a little uncomfortable as he sat on a dark, uncomfortable plastic chair.

His posture was rigid and composed, but his hands betrayed his anxious state, fingers moving repetitively and incessantly as they gripped the long sleeves of his jacket.

For the occasion, they had made him wear a suit that Bob, by his standards, would definitely call elegant… but a gray jacket and a white shirt are the epitome of neutrality. In both fashion and color.

As if tone alone could dull who he is. Who he was. Or who he might still become.

It had been a month since that day in New York. Since that part of him emerged and caused chaos throughout the city. A month since the guys—and girls—stopped him. Stopped and saved him. But at what cost? And most importantly… will they be forced to do it again? Because that’s the real question. When will they have to stop him again? It’s a valid question, and it’s the very reason why they were all now gathered in the Department of Defense and Homeland Security offices.

And yet, despite what he believed to be a certainty… he was still surrounded by the same group that hadn’t abandoned him.

Bucky sat a couple of seats away, also dressed neatly. His gaze was lowered as he read through some government legislation—or so Bob had gathered.

Normally, he would be the one most capable of understanding him right now; being judged for what you were, for what you might still become, even when you’re desperately trying to be something else.

But the truth is that they all shared a similar, interconnected past.

Walker was pacing back and forth. Impatient, tense, but Bob knew that beyond this, John was trying to regain the trust of his wife, to be able to hold her and their daughter again. These were not easy days for him, and Bob felt deeply sorry.

As hot-headed as he could be sometimes, he was a good man—capable and reliable.

Alexei and Ava had stepped out for a moment; the former had likely gone to the vending machines, and the latter had headed to the restroom a few minutes earlier to quickly freshen up.

But whether consciously or not, Bob’s disoriented gaze—which couldn’t help but reveal a hint of concern—wandered down the corridor, searching for Yelena.

It had been a chaotic and unclear month, with so many things happening so fast that he never even had time to pause and think for a second… and he still wasn’t sure if what he was finding in her was right or appropriate.

She had always been kind to him, from the very first moment they met.

But not in the way people are out of pity… no.

This was different.

She looked at him as if she still saw hope inside him. As if all the darkness he had brought with him hadn’t tainted her.

As if there was still something whole, something alive.

He didn’t know if it was right… but when he was with her, everything… calmed down. The voice—that voice—inside him… almost receded. Almost. Never completely, but… enough for him to breathe.

It was so easy with her. Maybe… too easy?

Maybe he was clinging too much. Maybe he was already leaning too heavily on someone he’d known for barely a month.

It was wrong. Tremendously wrong, and he was aware of that. And she had enough of her own problems already…

No, Yelena didn’t need another burden on her shoulders—the responsibility of a ticking time bomb. She didn’t deserve that.

And yet, when she smiled at him—just one kind word, one gentle look—for a moment, a single, fleeting instant… he felt like maybe staying was worth it.

And perhaps that was what scared him the most.

<< How are you feeling, Bobby? After all, they’re just about to decide your future… and ours. >>

Walker’s voice cut through the silence as he stopped two steps from Bob and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

<< Shut up, Walker. >>

Yelena’s voice rang out. Turning the corner, she stopped beside Bob, sitting in the empty seat next to him. Her eyes shifted, seemingly impassive, from the soldier’s face to the coffee cup in her hand. She took a quick sip, and her expression twisted into a small grimace.

<< This coffee always tastes like shit. >>

She muttered with a bored tone, taking one last sip before tossing the cup in the bin next to her.

<< Can you blame me? We’re like… illegal Avengers or something. I still don’t understand the legal side of it all, but… >>

John exclaimed, walking up and down the hallway once again, brushing his hands over his pinstripe suit. He was clearly worried—and rightly so.

<< Don’t worry, we’ll sort it all out. >>

Bucky’s voice rang out in the corridor for the first time since they’d sat down.

Bob turned to him, watching as the former soldier seemed so… calm. Almost at ease.

<< I know it’s scary, it’s a tough situation, but we’ll come out of it clean… one way or another.>>

He continued, giving the group a slight smile, trying to ease the tension—especially for Bob, on whom his gaze rested after a moment.

<< There you go! Let the senator do the talking and all will be well! >>

Alexei’s booming, energetic voice overpowered the others as he appeared from around the corner with a wide, enthusiastic grin. Of all of them, he was the only one who didn’t seem particularly worried.

Not out of disinterest—but from excessive confidence.

<< Glad someone’s keeping spirits up. >>

Sam Wilson’s voice joined the scene as he approached the now-crowded hallway.

<< Sam. >>

Bucky stood, and Bob followed suit, awkwardly clasping his hands in front of him, his gaze darting between the two men.

There was tension in the air—strained relations with Captain Wilson had been a known issue ever since Valentina decided to rename them the “new Avengers.”

<< This way. Follow me. >>

Sam didn’t bother with introductions, replying to Bucky’s greeting with a nod before leading the way.

To Bob’s eyes, the hallway floor was shining—a dangerously slippery kind of shine, the kind you risk sliding on if you go too fast.

The image was vivid in his mind, as it had happened too often in his childhood.

Bob walked beside Yelena in silence; behind them, John, Alexei, Ava, and Bucky followed just as silently, like a cohesive—but tense—shadow.

Sam led them to a spacious office.

“Access confirmed. Initiating Protocol Charlie.”

The metallic voice of the automated intelligence announced their arrival coldly and impersonally.

The doors slid open with a hiss, revealing a room with soundproof walls, darkened glass, and a long, dark wooden table.

On the opposite side of the table sat six people. Two from the federal government, one from the Pentagon, one UN representative, and two civilian figures Bob didn’t recognize—likely psychologists or consultants for this kind of… emergency.

All with the same look: analytical. Skeptical. Concerned.

Bob stepped forward and sat at the center, with Yelena to his right. She didn’t say a word, but she sat close enough that her shoulder brushed his more than once in a repeated motion. Bob understood.

She was telling him she was here, and that he wasn’t alone.

It was Secretary Grant who broke the silence.

<< Mr. Reynolds, we are here today to discuss the terrorist attack and the damage inflicted on the state of New York and its citizens by the subject in question. >>

He paused briefly, glancing toward Bob, then let his eyes sweep across the group.

<< Based on our data, we have 64 hospital casualties, 13 in critical condition. Entire infrastructures destroyed. The city went without power for six hours, all apparently due to the subject’s ‘emotional fluctuation,’ according to the reports. >>

The secretary paused again after reading the updated weekly data, lifting a judging gaze to Bob.

<< Why should we allow you to remain free, protected by a group that answers to no true chain of command? Why should we let someone this unstable be part of what are now being called the ‘New Avengers’? >>

Yelena instinctively opened her mouth to speak, but Bob placed a hand on her wrist—hesitant, yet firm.

<< Because I don’t want to hurt anyone. I never have. Because if there’s even the slightest chance I can keep it contained… I want to take it. But not alone. I know I can’t do this alone. I’ve already agreed to psychological treatment, and if that’s not enough… I won’t oppose containment spells, as previously suggested by Captain Wilson. >>

One of the civilian experts spoke up. A woman with round glasses and a folder stuffed with legal and medical documents spilling out.

<< The issue isn’t your intent. It’s your ability to maintain control. Sentry isn’t just a threat when he’s active—he’s a threat when he’s unstable. Anything can trigger the Void, correct? You said it yourself in the debriefings: ‘Sometimes all it takes is the wrong emotion.’ >>

Bob lowered his gaze, guilt tightening in his stomach and rising to his chest. His throat closed. He couldn’t argue with that.

Yelena could no longer hold back, speaking up in his defense.

<< Then keep him here. Lock him up. Burn down whatever is left of him. But know this: we’re not here to protect Bob because he’s a resource. We protect him because he’s one of us. You think locking him up will solve the problem? You think concrete walls can stop him? Even the serum created specifically for that had no effect—in fact, it made things worse. If you lock him up, you’re only risking another incident like the one last month. And then… then it will be your fault. >>

Her voice was firm, unwavering, but also calmly confident. Her tone didn’t falter for a second as her sharp gaze swept the room.

<< What Bob needs is help—not handcuffs and a cell. >>

Silence fell like snow.

The Pentagon general, who had remained silent until then, placed his hands on the table. His voice was gravelly.

<< Ms. Belova. You are a former Soviet spy, a former Black Widow, suspected of at least nine terrorist operations. And now you ask me to trust your psychological assessment of a man with the power of a living nuclear warhead? You see, Ms. Belova, the question isn’t if it will happen—but when. >>

He spoke in a composed, calm tone—but one that carried undeniable authority.

<< I read here that in Mr. Reynolds’ medical history, he’s been diagnosed with bipolar I disorder… recurring major depression, frequent drug abuse, and lastly, a suspected dissociative identity disorder. >>

He quickly read off Bob’s medical file—diagnoses from before the incident and confirmed again in recent weeks by government psychiatrists.

Matters closely tied to Bob’s legal sanity and his eligibility for De Fontaine’s project.

<< The issue here is complex. The subject’s nature is unpredictable. How can we be sure this wasn’t just the first of many incidents? >>

Bob tried to take a deep breath before speaking, but it caught halfway in his throat. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked a little.

<< You can’t. I can’t promise that either… but I can choose to face it every day. To show up. To not isolate myself… and if that’s not enough—if something happens again—I won’t stand in the way of whatever decision you make next. >>

The older man with the thick gray hair and neatly groomed goatee looked at Bob with a softer gaze now, maybe even a bit moved by how the tall, powerful figure in front of him seemed so uncertain… and human.

<< You’re not a ticking time bomb, son. But you’re not just a victim either. You’re both. And whatever’s inside you… it has to be managed. Every single day. >>

That’s when Yelena leaned in slightly, her voice calm but firm as she looked the man straight in the eye.

<< We’ll manage it. We’ll help him. >>

Then Bucky spoke, his voice cutting through the room for the first time. He looked around the table, his expression measured, but resolute.

<< You’ve trusted the Avengers before—in worse situations—and those people stepped up. Trust us now. Bob’s not alone in this. He’s with us. And whatever happens, we take responsibility too. >>

His voice had the composure of a statesman, but the weight of a soldier.

<< Believe me… if another Thanos ever shows up—God forbid—you’ll want Bob on your side. >>

Walker chimed in next, direct but respectful.

<< With all due respect, General… we’re the ones who fought Void. And we’re still standing. That has to mean something. >>

The woman from the UN paused in silence for a long moment before slowly nodding and scribbling something in her notes.

<< This sets a precedent. If we agree to this… we’re opening the door to a new generation of unstable superhumans under supervised autonomy. But maybe… it’s time we start building something instead of tearing it down by default. >>

Silence fell over the room.

Then Secretary Grant spoke again.

<< Three months of full observation. Weekly reports. Mandatory psych evaluations. Any sign of… ‘Void’ will be treated as a red-level threat. >>

He paused, finally lifting his gaze from the papers in front of him. His sharp eyes landed on Bob, who was slightly hunched in his chair now.

<< And you, Mr. Reynolds… pray you don’t mess this up. >>

————————

Outside the room, Bob was the last to leave. The hallway felt narrower than before. The walls seemed to close in. The air was thick. It felt hard to breathe—but maybe that was just in his head.

Yelena stepped up beside him with a soft smile.

<< You did good. Don’t worry… we’ll get there. We just need time. >>

Her voice was confident, her words steady. Bob didn’t feel any doubt from her. Still, it wasn’t enough to chase away the weight he felt.

“I don’t want to be a problem for you…”

Yelena smiled again, gently brushing his arm with her hand in a reassuring gesture.

<< You’re no more of a problem than me, or Walker, or Ava. Don’t worry—you’re with family now. And in a family, we take care of each other. >>

With that, she nodded toward the others already heading down the building’s main staircase, chatting about where to grab lunch.

———————— ———————— ————————

The apartment was silent.

A wide, almost unreal silence—the kind that settles in right after a storm, when everything’s been swept away and the calm is just an echo of the wreckage.

Stark Tower no longer felt like the operational hub it once was, bustling with people moving through its halls. At night, high up in the tower, it turned into something closer to an abandoned shelter.

The automatic lights were dim.

The windows looked out over a city still wounded. New York never really slept—but for weeks, it had felt like it was at least holding its breath.

After the government meeting, they went to a Japanese place Bucky had suggested. Thankfully, it hadn’t been too crowded at that hour.

None of them had felt ready to be around too many people anyway. It wasn’t exactly the time for small talk or fan photos.

They spent the rest of the afternoon at the Tower, each one busy fixing up their assigned spaces—part restoration, part personalization.

But now Bob was on the couch, slouched slightly forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped.

He wore a gray hoodie, too big for him. The sleeves fell over his damp palms.

The TV was on, but muted.

A news broadcast played recorded footage from that day: the “shadows,” the containment teams.

They talked about him too—but never by name. Just allusions.

The semi-human presence. The Void phenomenon. The anomaly of a failed experiment.

The words cut deeper for being spoken in that cold, clinical tone—detached, scientific, like a postmortem.

Yelena was in the kitchen, still dressed from that morning except for the jacket she’d taken off.

She was looking for something to eat—but she could feel the shift in the air.

Something was coming. Like the pull of a wave just before it breaks.

Bob’s breathing had gone uneven.

The screen kept cycling the same footage, over and over again—frame by frame, shadow by shadow. Motionless.

Bob didn’t feel like he was there anymore.

His memories—and his mind—were floating above New York, above the screams fading into murmurs, above the bodies dissolving in a black flash.

Void was laughing. But it was his voice.

“They’ll all love you, Bob… and then they’ll hate you. That’s how they’ll know how empty you really are.”

Mouthless shadows screaming. Hands grabbing and slipping away.

The face of a child, stretching in a broken grimace as the void consumed him.

Bob watching. Doing nothing.

He jerked upright, trying to take in deep breaths that wouldn’t come, then stood up, stumbling toward the outer patio.

The world around him blurred. The television was just flashes of light and meaningless sound.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears like a war drum.

Yelena was behind him in seconds, her hands gentle, steady against his back.

<< Bob. >>

No answer.

She saw him sway—eyes glassy, lost.

His hands were shaking.

One arm reached toward the glass, as if trying to steady himself.

<< Bob, you’re here. You’re in the Tower. Look at me. >>

But Yelena’s voice felt distant to him, muffled through layers of fog.

<< I heard them… screaming. They knew it was coming. And I— I didn’t do anything. I let it in. >>

His voice was strangled, choking on the words as his body sank to the floor between the patio and the living room.

<< Hey—hey, no. Bob, look at me. You’re not there. You’re here. >>

Yelena moved closer, like you would with a wounded animal—slowly, gently.

She reached for his face, cupping it carefully in her hand, turning it toward her with a soft, grounding touch.

<< Breathe with me, okay? Just do what I do. >>

Yelena took a deep inhale, letting her chest rise.

He tried to copy her—but it came out as only half a breath, fractured. His head throbbed.

<< Yelena, I did… that. I don’t know if I can keep it away. I don’t know if I’ll ever… be someone again. Everyone wants me to be a hero. But I’m… I’m the black hole in the middle of all this.

I can’t be Sentry without being him. >>

His hands clenched into fists, knuckles turning white with the pressure.

His voice trembled like a blade held too tightly.

Yelena shifted to face him more directly.

She took his hands—slowly, but firmly.

<< Stop. You are not Void. >>

<< But he comes from me. >>

<< Then we’ll anchor you. Even if you’re scared. Even if you think you can’t make it. Even if you believe you only deserve the emptiness… I’ll be here.

And I’ll face him for you if I have to—just like last time. >>

Her thumbs moved over his wrists in soft, grounding circles, coaxing him to breathe deeply again. Her hands were warm, steady.

He stared at them like he couldn’t quite believe they were real.

<< You don’t have to fight this alone. >>

Bob’s breathing slowed. The images in his mind began to lose their sharpness.

The present started to take shape again.

<< You’re really not afraid of me? >>

His voice barely made it out—a hesitant whisper, like he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer. Like he was ashamed of even asking.

Yelena looked at him. She didn’t smile.

<< I’m afraid for you. Not of you. >>

She sat beside him then.

They didn’t touch further, but stayed close.

Soon, Fanny joined them—padding over and settling beside Bob, resting her head in his lap, waiting patiently for his hand.

Bob closed his eyes.

And for the first time in days, he didn’t see shadows.

Only a voice calling him to stay.

————————— —————————

The hallway was too white.

Too still. Too clean. Like a hospital room disguised as an elegant office.

Bob walked slowly, as if every step might trigger an alarm.

He wore a plain white T-shirt and loose-fitting jeans.

That morning, he had trimmed his hair himself—not because he had to, but because he needed to do something, anything, that made him feel in control.

The therapist’s office was in a wing of Stark Tower that had been specially converted into meeting rooms for the occasion—Bob wasn’t even the only one using them.

In silence, he stepped through the doorway.

It was his third time entering the room. The first two had only been for preliminary meetings with the therapist.

But this was the first real session. And as odd as it seemed, he could feel the difference in the air. More intimate.

The room was rectangular, with a large window covered by light-colored curtains that let in a soft glow.

A faded Persian rug lay in the center, alongside an empty bookshelf (a detail Bob found kind of stupid), two matching velvet armchairs in deep blue, and a low table between them holding a pitcher of water and a glass vase filled with decorative stones.

The room smelled of old wood and incense, with a faint hint of lavender—

The kind of scent that clings to your clothes if you stay long enough.

She was already there. She didn’t get up. Just welcomed him with a soft smile and a nod.

<< Hi, Bob. Welcome. You can sit wherever you like. >>

He chose the chair on the left, the one furthest from the door.

An unconscious choice, perhaps.

The therapist rested a notebook on her lap, still closed.

<< I know you’re not here entirely by choice. We both know that.

But we can try to make this space into something helpful. >>

Bob stared at his hands.

They weren’t still. He’d stopped expecting them to be.

<< What do you want to know? >>

<< Whatever you feel like telling me today. Nothing more. >>

Silence.

Bob looked up. His eyes were tired.

He hadn’t slept much after the previous night’s episode.

Yelena had stayed with him until his breathing steadied, and Fanny had taken over, curling up beside him for the rest of the night.

<< I don’t know if talking helps… about some things.

I’ve done things that words won’t fix. Doesn’t matter how much you believe in them. >>

The therapist listened without interrupting. Without taking any notes.

<< You’re right. Talking doesn’t fix everything.

But it can help you understand where you are.

And maybe… help you decide where you want to go. >>

Bob made a small face—not annoyed, no.

The kind of expression you make when you’re not quite convinced.

<< I don’t know how much that works… for someone like me. >>

<< Like you? What do you mean? Your abilities? >>

He swallowed. His eyes grew glassy, forcing himself to shut out intrusive thoughts.

<< I’ve never been okay… not even before.

This doesn’t start with Sentry. It starts… with me. >>

He touched his chest—an automatic gesture, unthinking.

<< You mean your diagnoses? Bob, do you remember when you were first diagnosed with bipolar disorder? >>

The therapist tilted her head slightly, waiting for an answer, but in the brief moment when her eyes met Bob’s, she already understood the first sore spot of that session.

<< It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it now.

It was just a question—to understand you better. >>

She let the silence settle. She wasn’t afraid of pauses.

That disturbed him and comforted him at the same time.

For the first time, she wrote something down. Then set the pen aside.

<< How did yesterday go? I heard you had your first private hearing. >>

Bob nodded. He took a few moments to answer, his eyes shifting uncertainly between her face and his own hands.

<< It went well, I think… then we went out for lunch, and eventually we came back here. >>

But that last sentence—by the way Bob said it—hinted at something more.

Something left unsaid.

And for a second, the memories from the previous night flickered through his mind like a flash.

<< And how was the evening? Were you able to relax? >>

Bob hesitated again, this time almost with shame.

He knew he shouldn’t feel ashamed—especially not here, not with her.

But a part of him still did.

<< I think I had a panic attack… for a moment I dissociated. It’s been hard to deal with… all of this. >>

As he spoke, he wrapped his arms around his torso and crossed one leg over the other, shifting into a more curled, sideways posture.

The therapist took another note.

<< And how did it go? How did you calm down? >>

Her tone was gentle and steady, but Bob could almost swear he sensed her professional curiosity underneath.

<< Yelena was there. She helped me. >>

For a moment, he almost seemed to relax.

But then something in him tensed again.

<< But it won’t last. She can’t save me every time.

It’s not fair—and it’s dangerous for her. >>

<< You’re afraid you might be a danger to her? >>

The question froze him for a moment.

He stared at his hand, gaze drifting somewhere farther away.

<< I’m afraid that one day she’ll look at me the way the rest of the world does.

That she’ll realize how unreliable I am.

And that I’m not worth sticking around for—a ticking bomb waiting to go off. >>

The therapist leaned forward slightly.

<< What if she sees you not despite the bomb inside you—but because of it?

Because you keep fighting every day not to let it go off? >>

Bob didn’t answer.

He looked back down at the exact spot where the window light made a soft circle on the rug.

After a long silence, he spoke.

<< I don’t even know if I really exist without him.

If you take away the Void… what’s left?

Who am I? >>

The therapist closed her notebook.

<< Maybe that’s exactly what we can start to find out. Not just who you were. Not just who you’re afraid of being…But who you can still become. >>

Bob took a slow breath.

He was still visibly on edge—but something had shifted.

A foothold.

A word that didn’t echo into nothingness.

Possibility.

[demonslayedher]

Appreciating the KnY Noh Production: Part 4

Humans are demons, demons are humans. Feelings passed on; bonds unsevered.

Or so goes the catch copy for the continuation of the Kimetsu no Yaiba Noh/Kyogen production, titled "Tsugu" (継). Very clever title, since this kanji is used in both 継続 ("continuation") and the KnY-specific term, 継子 (Tsuguko). In the catch copy, they also bend it to act like 繋ぐ, the "tsunagu" verb for "binding together" so often used in KnY, like Giyuu being told how he "brings forward" the will of those left behind, and prominent lyrics in "Mugen."

Of course, like I said when addressing how to translate the catch copy for the first KnY Noh Production, there are always different approaches--the same goes for how to translate a manga for the stage.

I felt they took a different translation approach this time--a more direct translation, and less fluency in the visual and audio language used in the Noh and Kyogen theater traditions. A Noh style of sparse dialogue and lets motion and chanting tell the story, and uses more breaking of chronology to let characters express their story by feelings instead of narrative detail. This, however, was more like all the snappy dialogue we already know and love moving the story along, but all delivered with Noh flair and Kyogen-style humor.

I'll be referring some Noh-specific character rolls and stage elements in this post, and probably referring back to the first production for comparison, so you'll get more out of this post if you read this overall post first, and these reactions to Act 1 and Act 2.

What words will probably come up most in this post: Shite: The lead character role; this is the character that often has a personal story to tell or character development to undergo. Waki: The character who helps draw forth the Shite's story, like a witness or listener. Kyogen: This is a humorous theater form often used as interludes in a Noh program. Often simply silly scenarios and word play. Noh: Start here. Bridgeway/hashigakari: the corridor leading to the main stage, where some of the story may also be staged to convey a different place or time or mental state.

An actor will often be raised in a family tradition that belongs to one school of Noh and one role type. The Ohtsuki Noh Theater took charge of this production, with its shite actors performing Tanjiro, Nezuko, and Gyutaro (previously Rui as well). Waki actors have traded off for the role of Uzui (previously Tomioka as well), and Kyogen actors have taken many of the other lead roles, such as Zenitsu, Inosuke, and Muzan. Actually, Muzan/Urokodaki/Tennoji Matsuemon/Kamado Tanjuro/Daki/Rengoku have all been played by Nomura Mansai-sama, a Kyogen actor with a lot of TV and movie experience as well who has been a driving force behind these productions. The man's name shows up everywhere and in everything and he's such a dork who clearly loves Kimetsu no Yaiba.

So anyway, Mansai-sama recruited a different writer to the project this time: Misaki Kana, who I could not immediately find a professional profile for. Based on her comments throughout the first version of the script which was included in the pamphlet, Mansai-sama had a big role in the direction this production took as well.

Clearly, Misaki has knowledge of many different Noh and Kyogen plays and classic poetry upon which to draw inspiration, but the sense I got both from watching the staging and reading her commentary was that she was, above all else, a deep fan of Kimetsu no Yaiba and felt hesitant to make too loose of a transformation of it. In many cases, such as Rengoku vs. Akaza, she chose to make as few alternations to the lines as possible. In other scenes, like Uzui bringing the boys to Yoshiwara, it was played in a Kyogen style but still played the original lines fairly straight, simply altered to fit the more archaic style of language. Even scenes that I highly anticipated seeing in Noh style (most notably, Gyutaro telling his story and then reaching a state of newly found peace) were performed somewhat close to the original pacing and straightforward set-up of the manga scene. Based on his commentary in the pamphlet, I think Living National Treasure Ohtsuki Bunzo found performing Gyutaro with nuance more difficult than how he performed Rui in a more traditional Noh style, which I thought worked extremely well.

So yes, I was left a little disappointed overall with how it seemed afraid to lean into Noh style this time, perhaps both for fear of alienating the main audience, and for fear of not living up to a well-loved original story. I would have liked to see this adaptation pushed a bit more like the first one was.

But that is not to say I did not enjoy it. I most certainly did, and reading Misaki's script and footnotes made me feel like we where fangirling together. Like we were squealing over the nifty little canon references she made. You could totally feel her love for the world and its characters. I also think Mansai-sama, who has a good understanding of many audiences and media, pushed for pleasing the Noh-newbies a bit more, and this production garnered a lot more audience engagement and big laughs (though there was still plenty of that in the original).

I still continue to find it very funny when Tanjiro, played in a very serious shite style, is on stage with Kyogen-style characters. Every line is delivered with utmost earnestness, from the emotional shouting after Akaza with lines that translated to archaic style beautifully, to honest-to-goodness Tanjiro simplicity inquiring what sort of deity Uzui is.

So let's take this a little more chronologically!

Act 1:

In which Lady Muzan recaps how Lower Moons suck and the oni hunter with the earrings must die. It makes a good framing device, but also, I think Mansai-sama and Misaki just really wanted to include Lady Muzan. The Kyogen-style Enmu played a pretty anime-like Enmu with a neat overcoat that suits a kimono, a mask, and a creepy glove. Enmu's theatrical personality translates as well as usual but it had nothing on the overt theatricality of the 4D stage musical Enmu-sama.

A major element of Noh is the use of chanters, and "Nen nen korori" worked very, very well for this. Aside from the repetitious sounds and the dreamy atmosphere they create, it was also accessible to an audience unaccustomed to understanding the important storytelling that goes on in Noh chants.

The Mugen Train made out of simply Noh props was adorable, especially when it moved in time with the drums!

Tanjiro performed in straight shite style in stark contrast to Zenitsu and Inosuke's more free and silly Kyogen styles, but Mansai-sama (technically a Kyogen performer) basically does whatever he wants to dominate most of the scenes he's in. That meant ditching the mask for Rengoku this time in favor of makeup that looked more Kabuki style. But also, I loved that wig that trailed all the way down his back.

(Photo from this article.)

The whole bentou scene played pretty close to the original dialogue, also though the first draft of the script had Rengoku monologing more about how his usual favorite bentou fixings make him "wasshoi" but how this new and different this bentou is. But also, he's called "Rengoku-dono" here instead of "Rengoku-san" and I loved hearing that.

There were no people infiltrating the dreams. They were kept simple with actors dropped in black wearing simple masks and props to take on dream characters. Nezuko in Zenitsu's dream wore an Ofuku-style mask--plump and comically cheery (and almost exactly like this), and they were adorable as they happily skipped around the stage arm-in-arm. skipping around stage. Also, he called her his beloved "Nezuko-dono" and before he noticed her appear he was saying how he wished to show her this lovely scenery and he started writing about it into a story which was an overt "Legend of Zenitsu" reference. Inosuke chanted the "ore tachi doukitsu tankentai" which I love almost exactly as in the anime. Tanjiro's dream was played pretty straight and simplified. No Shinjuro or Senjuro characters; Kyojuro instead monologues that part of it and then dreams of a memory of his mother, and Ruka made for such a good Noh character!!

Not only that, but she was written to look and move similar to the famous "Hagoromo" play! In her notes, Misaki made this choice based on fanbook mention of Rengoku enjoying Noh, and assuming Ruka and the rest of the Rengoku family would have appreciated it too. It does not seem she took the drama CD into account, in which Hagoromo is stated to be Ruka's favorite play (and I analyzed that more here). The pauses and gaps between the actors really spoke here and made this the most Noh-like scene of the whole production, I felt.

Enmu as a train--basically, with a worm-like appendage out his back carried by multiple actors in black, moved convincingly both like a train and like flesh down the bridge way, and during the fight on center stage, it looked inspired by a theatrical Kagura style battle against a Yamata no Orochi (giant 8-headed serpent).

(Photo from the official Twitter)

And then Akaza, oh boy. Similar to Inosuke and Gyutaro, he had full attire with textures and symbols to fit his personality as well as the Noh stage, but what I really was not expecting was the light-up props that he and Kyojuro used. In the first production, Tanjiro fought Rui in a traditional Tsuchigumo (demon spider of canonical Noh) style battle with paper string webs all over the place, but this time they clearly chose "cool" over "tradition." When they moved their glow sticks, Akaza created the illusion of floating snowflakes and Kyojuro's sword truly looked like it had flames coming off of it. I can wrap my brain around the spinning props creating snowflakes (and this slow-exposure photo takes it to an extreme), but those flames broke my brain. (I'm just so glad it wasn't projection mapping; I usually find projection mapping cheesy and feel the simplicity of physical props suits the Noh stage better.)

(Photo from the official Twitter)

The fight was brief, though. Tanjiro's lines shouted after Akaza sounded great in the shite delivery style, as does "set your heart ablaze." I really thought we'd get the satisfaction of seeing Kyojuro follow his mother down the bridgeway (see symbolic of moving on to the after life or attaining some level of peace), but we did not get that. Kyojuro died kneeling the middle of the stage after seeing his mother at the edge, then she went on alone. Tanjiro stayed at his side, a crow slowly circled the stage, and then Tanjiro began heading off alone, taking one look back as the lights fell on Act 1.

Perhaps we could take this as Kyojuro not having needed some spiritual change to occur in his character--he was profoundly at peace with everything from his father's treatment to his own mortality.

But also I COULDN'T SEE KYOJURO'S FACE AT THE END BECAUSE A STAGE PILLAR WAS IN MY WAY but otherwise I had a good view of things.

Act 2

We start with Warabihime-oiran making her fancy walk with an entourage celebrating her, then we got cut over to Uzui bringing the boys into the scene. He was very, very shiny. Like. The brightest of silver brocade you can get in a Noh costume, probably. When he told them to be dogs and monkeys, Kyogen actors Zenitsu and Inosuke did just that, while Tanjiro, in full shite-role seriousness, earnestly treats Uzui as a god. Since Uzui was played as a waki role (an often quieter side character who bears witness to the main shite-role character's story unfolding) I wondered if this would not be flashy enough for him, but I was sold on this waki-Uzui. No shame at all in putting a foot up on the banister of the bridge way as he declares himself a god and pushes Inosuke away after the king of the forest gets up in his face and introduces himself.

In part of the original script:

Uzui: Listen well, you all. I am a god! A god's words are absolute. Tanjiro: Understood. You are a god who rules over what? Zenitsu: What are you talking about? Uzui: I am a god who rules over that which is flashy... the god of festivities! Tanjiro: Understood, God of Festivities-dono. Inosuke: I'm the king of the mountain! Uzui: What are you talking about? Zenitsu: (Makes a face at the audience that says "Wasn't saying 'What are you talking about?' my line!?")

We then got a Kyogen interlude featuring the Muscle Mice! They were a delight, even if this was no where near as long and involved and full of puns as the Kyogen interludes in the first production. Still, it was nice to hear them chat and build themselves up for being Uzui's trusted mice, get a little distracted by the beautiful sight of their own muscles, and provide more exposition to carry things along. Again, being so plot-driven made it feel a little less like true Noh/Kyogen than the first production, but I'll take all the Muscle Mouse content I am gifted.

Daki has a moment with Muzan, whose face is hidden behind a curtain and whose lines are played from a recording. This is because Mansai-sama played both Muzan and Daki.

(Photo from this article.)

Although Sumiko and Inoko made brief appearances in the original script, this was probably cut due to the constraints of time and costumes/makeup changes. However, there is a brief chance for Zenko to lament being the last to be sold off and playing a broom while someone plays a shamisen at the side of the stage. Worth stating here, you don't typically hear string instruments in Noh--drums, chanting, and flutes are more traditional, but this performance also made extensive use of a koto and even an erhu. Traditional Noh fans might not acknowledge this performance as Noh because of all those unnecessary instruments.

After a brief moment for Daki to call out Zenko for barging into her room and for being ugly, Zenko and Inosuke fight the obi down the bridge way. We get to see Zenko with a balloon for a sleep snot bubble and Inosuke totally drop archaic language to tell him he should always stay asleep.

(Photo from this article.)

Tanjiro and Daki briefly fight, Tanjiro falls away so that Ohtsuki Yuichi can do a quick change into his Nezuko costume, complete with a one-horned mask. I loved her entrance--Daki is happily monologuing to herself when Nezuko appears right beside her with a loud stomp. Fun fact: stomping is an important element of Noh performance techniques, so there are big, hollow ceramic jars below the stage to amplify the sound. This was excellent for Nezuko vs Daki, as it was a lot of vigorous stomping until Uzui came in, beheaded Daki, and ordered Tanjiro to sing Nezuko a lullaby. The chorus chanted/sang it as Nezuko dreamily left the stage. (Meanwhile, Misaki's first draft had Tanjiro performing the first line of the song, and noting basically, "Not sure how they'll pull this off since the same actor plays both roles. I look forward to whatever they figure out!")

Then comes Gyutaro, played in more of a straightforward Gyutaro way than the Noh style I anticipated... Ohtsuki Bunzo's full-on Noh style Rui was so impactful, and I think leaning away from Noh delivery in favor of making it more familiar to the KnY fans did not work in Gyutaro's favor. Thing we could have stood to get a lot more impact from the whole Gyutaro & Daki story, like a dance as he tells his back story and attains peace for having faced it (and had Tanjiro take more of a waki-role in witnessing/listening). Theirs is the kind of story that really would have lended itself well to a Noh-style storytelling approach. Oh well, at least the 4D stage play musical used the best of it's theatricality to do Gyutaro a lot of justice.

The battle was alright but brief, the dying heads arguing with each other worked well, but Gyutaro simply remained a head until it was time for he and Ume to reconcile and head off to the afterlife. A straightforward Noh style ending with them heading down the bridge way, but not the impact I was hoping it would have like seeing Rui take that path with his parents. That being said, in the original script, Misaki paid homage to canon Noh plays like "Aoi no Ue" that have a kimono prop represent a female character, and Gyutaro was intended to carry that kimono off as Ume. That probably would have been too hard for Noh-novices in the audience to understand, though, so Mansai-sama simply did a slight costume change instead.

Tanjiro concludes it nicely with lines reminding us of the core of these plays*, and then Muzan struts out in a nice framing device to mirror the beginning when he's announcing to the Lower Moons that Rui is dead. Gyutaro failed, his 12 Moon Demons keep dying ever since those cursed Tanjiro and Nezuko appeared. Meanwhile, ever-serious shite-style Tanjiro just glowers at him from the bridgeway.

*I would say "that brings us back to the catch copy for this play!" but I don't remember precisely, and it wasn't in the first draft of the script. Still, they are are fitting. To go with different possible translation this time:

Humans and demons, demons and humans. A will carried forward, and a bond that can never be cut.

人も鬼、鬼も人 継なぐ想いと切れぬ絆

[justafewberries]

do you think there is significance to the shades of orange shown throughout sotr? I noticed specifically the "burnt orange furnishings" of the tribute apartment and the "bright orange" paint on Lenore Dove's fingernails. I wrote off the apartment furniture as an example of bad taste on the Capitol's part, but Lenore Dove's bright orange immediately brought Peeta to mind — mainly because of the whole "sunrise on the reaping" conjecture that Lenore Dove has, in contrast to Peeta's "soft orange like the sunset." I haven't fully connected those dots for myself so curious what you think about Suzanne Collins' use of orange (and other colors) as symbolism in sotr

Orange as we know it in THG is Peeta's color for sure, so it definitely coalesces with the love interest liking orange parallel, but there are a few interesting through lines of orange here:

For Lenore Dove, notice where she is orange:

Her in a faded green dress, an ivory ribbon tying back her hair, lips tinted orange.

Orange paint on her fingernails.

Lenore Dove uses both her hands and her voice in her rebellion. She sings and plays the accordion, but she also speaks of her rebellious thought and paints the text on the walls with orange paint, using her hands. In the end, both words (propos & Peeta) and hands (combat, handy with a knife/weapons, boots on the ground, etc.) are what help to take down the Capitol and bring the sunset on the reaping. (Side note, there's a subtle implication from the line "I’m staring at a message sprayed in bright orange paint." that implies she is painting her nails with spray paint. do with that info what you will. i guess.)

I do believe the interpretation of orange being associated with sunset is the right idea. Especially in light of:

Through the trees, the sunset glows golden, then the orange of burning coal, before fading out, leaving me in darkness.

The sunset burns orange like coal. Couple that with the fact Lenore Dove painted the flint striker orange, you've got yourself a metaphor for the beginning of the flame:

I look down at the necklace in confusion. There’s orange on some of the feathers. She was probably just helping Tam Amber. Or maybe she tried painting them to match her lipstick.

Interestingly there's only orange on some of the feathers, not all of them, and none mentioned on the snake side. If could be another ode to the importance of speaking up, like how Lenore Dove says she wants to be like the raven in the tree because it can speak its mind. The orange on the songbird on the flint striker, like the songbird in the tree, highlights the importance of discussion and vocalization.

As for the apartment, there likely is symbolism in how it's "burnt", not "burning" and how he returns in burnt orange blankets after the Games:

Fresh confusion as I surface in a nest of burnt orange.

After the Games, Haymitch is certain it's all done for. But orange as we know, is a common color in the sunrise too. While the apartment is where he begins to fester on how things will never change, hence the burnt shade of orange, we know the coal will burn again in that soft orange decades later.

Another thing orange does is date the apartment in a 1970's style. Burnt orange was one of The Colors in that decade. If you want a reference for the apartment, just look up 70's orange apartments. im sure you could find one with the animal statues, too.

Another honorable mention of orange is the ropes of the reaping pens:

Two pens, one for the girls and one for the boys, have been clearly marked out with orange ropes.

Generally, Haymitch's time in the Capitol/Games all starts and ends with orange. Sunrise to sunset.