#and by funny i mean concerning and worrisome

[uncanny-tranny]

My biggest take is that police are under no protection of anonymity in the police force specifically. Citizens, by nature of being a citizen, have the right to anonymity in any capacity that is not a direct threat to the law or other people. So many cops operate as though they deserve to be completely anonymous in the same way that an individual citizen can, and that's where corruption will be exasperated.

[oliverrevengers]

it’s okay. i’m here. — denki/m.reader.

it had been twenty minutes since denki had taken permission from aizawa to go the bathroom. it wasn’t unlike him to try and skip class, but not aizawa’s class. every class except aizawa’s class, actually. it was getting worrisome.

after inquiring from their friend group if y/n’s worry about his best friend was misplaced and anxious, they all agreed that he should go and check where he is. mostly so he wouldn’t get into trouble, but also since they were concerned. (even bakugo)

he walked up to aizawa and honestly told him about his worry to which the teacher instantly told him to go. walking through the halls, y/n couldn’t help but feel his heart ache in apprehension.

y/n walked through the hallways that he knew denki could be at. he couldn’t find him. he pushed the doors of the bathroom, “denks? are you here?” his voice echoed through the grandiose empty bathroom.

“y/n?” the boy’s eyes widened at his best friend’s voice. it sounded raspy, rough and scared. y/n walked in more until he found the stall denki sat at. he sat on the floor, which would be gross but UA kept their hygiene well.

y/n cupped denki’s face, pushing the golden blond hair that stuck to his forehead. he tried to examine his face to understand what had happened. his usually bright face was flushed red and stained with tears, his breath was heavy and his body shook so much that y/n pulled him into a tight hug in hopes of calming him down.

“it’s okay, it’s okay. i’m here.” y/n replayed the words in a mantra of echoes. this has been happening way too often. denki has been getting so many panic attacks, it was actually getting so concerning.

“what happened, mm?” y/n’s voice was low, his mouth close to denki’s ear. the other boy only hugged y/n closer, his arms around y/n’s neck and almost fully sitting at y/n’s lap. “i just.. people being mean is getting into my head.”

“people being mean?”

“as a joke. it’s funny sometimes, but i.. i’m not that dumb, right?”

y/n pulled away to look at denki’s face. it was a mixture of anger and sadness that filled y/n’s aura. he wiped the tears of off denki’s face, wiping away with his thumb under his eyes and his cheeks. he looked into the boy’s yellow eyes,

“you’re not dumb at all. if you were, you wouldn’t be a student of UA. whoever said that is a fucking moron. you’re smart in ways that many people aren’t. you’re capable of being so good and kind, that’s smartness that doesn’t come easily to many people. getting good grades isn’t the golden ticket to the world. i love you, remember that.”

denki chuckled, “stop. don’t say that. what if someone comes in and hears you saying that?” he finally smiled. y/n pinched his cheeks, “as if people believe the lie of us being just best friends.” he kissed denki’s forehead and helped him wash his face, took him to class where he was energetic and happy again.

y/n sat next to bakugo, “hey, ‘need your help in something.” the blond laughed, “god. who are we going to scare for the sake of your boyfriend this time?” he said, tearing off his jacket in readiness.

[loveemii]

Adventures with the Kamaboko Trio!

SKIT: Adventures with the trio are not like any other. (3)

———————————————————————

Y/n watched in amusement as Inosuke chased down Zenitsu around the front of the Butterfly Mansion, Tanjiro just came outside to let everyone know lunch was ready.

Tanjiro’s joyful eyes quickly turned to worrisome as he saw that two of his friends were fighting again, over something so little.

“Inosuke~! Stop! Please~!” Tanjiro called out as his voice slightly cracked, Y/n’s eyes widened is surprise as she barely noticed Tanjiro’s presence. Inosuke stopped in his tracks and so did Zenitsu. “What? Lunch is ready?” Tanjiro sighed and nodded, “Sweet~” Sang Zenitsu.

Y/n followed inside after Ino and Zen, “What were they fighting about now..?” Tanjiro asked her in distress, Y/n “zipped” her lips shut; “These lips are sealed, I promise I wouldn’t say.”

They hear a slight snicker and look over inside the estate to see Zenitsu blushing while his hand covered his mouth; he seemed to have laughed a little. Inosuke then punched Zenitsu’s stomach and Y/n clenched her fists as she could basically feel that gut punch to the abs.

“Inosuke apologize!” Tanjiro shouted and Inosuke picked the inside of his boars mask nose. “Nope.” Ms. Aoi then scolded everyone to the table. “What is taking so long!? The food is gonna get cold you know!” Everyone hurried along into the dinning room and took a seat.

———

“Could you pass the salt please?” Y/n asked Inosuke, he handed her the salt quickly and began to chow down again. “Here take it.” Inosuke spoke quickly as he hadn’t had time to chew he was basically just swallowing his meal. Zenitsu watched him in disgust as he tried to eat his own meal.

“Am I mean for hoping Tanjiro sees Inosuke’s-” Y/n quickly cut Zenitsu off by stuffing his mouth with a rice ball. Tanjiro looked at Y/n a little suspicious; she tried to pla it cool as she tried so hard not to laugh then just busted out in tears and falling off her chair. Tanjiro had a look of concern on his face but then a worried expression as Zenitsu did the same.

Tanjiro leaned over he table to see he two laughin in tears rolling on the ground as they clenched their stomachs. “I can’t-!” Y/n shouted as she tried to stop laughing and catch her breath, “It’s too funny!” Zenitsu added as his face turned a bright red.

Inosuke had finished eating and stood above the two out of breath, Y/n opened her eyes and quickly stayed quiet as she sat back in her chair; gently kicking Zenitsu she signaled that Inosuke was about to fight. “Zenitsu..! Get up..!” She whispered to Zen, quickly he stayed quiet and sat in his chair alongside Y/n who’s face also a bright shade of red.

They both snickered and Tanjiro demanded he knew what was going on, “Ok what is going on? Whatever it is I have to know now.” He said sternly, Zenitsu got up and ran to the patients bedrooms. Quickly he came back with a piece of paper and handed it to Tanjiro.

It was a drawing Inosuke had made of the four of them, Tanjiro and Zenitsu hugging, Y/n as a bunny rabbit, and Inosuke with a crown above his boars mask that stayed over his head. Tanjiro blushed but snickered because Inosuke had the drawing skills of a 5 year old, though none of them were any good at the skill.

“It’s very cute Inosuke.” Y/n snickered as she blushed while looking at the drawing again. “Yeah Inosuke!” Tanjiro added while Zenitsu just busted into another laughing fit.

Inosuke blushed at the compliments but glared at Zenitsu, he covered his face again with his boars mask, “Whatever..”

———————————————————————

hii! i hoped you enjoyed this third “episode” :]

- please excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes, thank you

[icharchivist]

Also, tmi, super serious and all but like

I know i act super cheerful online and everything so it may not be super noticeable but im hella depressed. Like. Extremely depressed. Followed professionally over it and all and already got concerns from doctor asking i wanted to be hospitalized bc my thoughts are extremely worrisome. It gets worse in worse every passing days despite the medication and it's just....

Anyway the only reason i didnt so anything Regrettable:tm: those past few months have literally been "i need to at least reach the end of the year to see the next da come". And boy was it hard to hold on to that. Tho on the funny side it means DA is written in 3 different psych files so that's fun.

So I'll be quite honest as long as I'm happy with the game im not going to nippick it to death. If being happy about it gives me a bit of fuel to keep on living for the next few months hopefully to get my shit together and all, I'm going to ride that high as much as i can.

But yeah. Yeah. Lol.

[revserrayyu]

2.1 Penacony thoughts [part1]

**Mild spoiler warning** until the first moment we switch to Aventurine’s POV in the story and I don’t think much has happened yet, but if you haven’t reached that point yet, then turn away anyway if you wish I’m just gonna ramble a bit here and toss my thoughts into the void for my own reference.

Firstly, the return of the odd yellow text and Aventurine calling us ~fuh-riends~ in that hilarious and exaggerated tone of his.

Makes me wonder whom else has perished during their time in Penacony, and if it’s true, then the Family certainly has experience with covering such things up which raises many other concerns. Also gives me another reason to not fully trust Sunday.

Oh teehee~ We got Aventurine’s number. And some extra credits due to my responses, HA. sugardaddy

As we learned from a beautifully animated dance animation, Black Swan certainly knows how dangerous Acheron can be.

he whole flashback with Duke & Acheron was pretty good. It at least gives us more context rather than us being told he was killed offscreen, but still confirms the dude is dead, though he mentions the kids are alive, somehow. Duke also guessed that Acheron’s an Emanator (though he’s wrong about which path), then there was some important music box that gets brought up later on, and Acheron speaks of her sword that has indeed been sheathed this entire time, even during the 2.0 story.

At the very end of the scene it fades to black and Acheron full says: “May death be the end of your boundless dream, guiding you back to the waking world,” which I remember is the exact thing she said after witnessing Firefly’s death.

Sweetie, you’re a big mystery but it does not surprise me in the slightest to learn that you’re wanted by the IPC after witnessing your power in your many trailers. Hearing her speak about the Stellaron Hunters though made me think back to her character trailer, since I wondered if she even knew who was attacking her in the first place, but perhaps she did, even if the trio was nothing but Sparkle’s tricky illusions.

It was kinda funny seeing her get lost occasionally in the hotel during the previous story update, but now I feel bad knowing that she has horrible memory. Having to rely on your emotions seems quite challenging if you don’t have a good control of them, but she seems to be fairing well enough.

Tell us your suspicions Acheron! I mean, I have my guesses as well, but I’d take your word over anyone else’s.

It was at this moment where I had a real random idea and thought, “huh, could this be Boothill?” I found it strange how they revealed him to us when we haven’t even met the dude in game yet, like he really came in outta nowhere for me. But seeing Sam again and realizing how both of them have robotic bodies.. I dunno. I thought it could’ve been an extra set of armor or something.

Of course it makes no sense, since Sam & Boothill have different voice actors anyways, but still, the way Acheron speaks so familiar to him, as if they were both truly galaxy rangers, gave me second thoughts for just a brief moment. Nothing more. Just a small silly idea.

The return of the worrisome red text, capable of causing anxiety even through such a small word. With her horrible memory, I assume she’s not even sure what she’s supposed to be doing in life, so asking about Elio’s script and if she’s included made me think she’s trying to learn about her purpose and her own goals.

Say it loud, mom! We shall NOT. TRUST. ANYONE! And at this moment I seriously don’t. If they ain’t from the Express then you’re sus. Case closed.

Glad to see Danny boy lending us a helping hand from the train, but red text begone! First learning about how Acheron has terrible memory and now we can’t even remember her well? That can’t be good.

I firmly believed that if you die in the dream, you would just wake up in real life, so thank whatever Aeon you fancy that we’re finally getting the idea to head back into reality to confirm if Firefly and Robin are still alive. Maybe we should check up on those couple npcs that passed away during side quests too.

The way I held my breath.. I don’t even know much about HI3 but I’m aware our grandpa is more or less the same guy, so seeing him interact with some like Acheron, oh dear. The way Acheron still didn’t reveal her true name to him made me more wary too. I get she might not even remember, because poor memory, but hmmm.

I can understand her having some Stellaron Hunter knowledge because she’s wanted just like them, but ma’am why do you know this?? especially since the Family doesn’t even know the truth about Welt’s cane apparently.

Can’t lie, a fight between him and Acheron would be a spectacle. Who do you think would win?

Again, how does she know this? Has she been chatting with Aventurine? because he figured out our stellaron last patch too.

First thought: yay, she’s worried about us. Second thought: why would she be concerned about Black Swan? Shouldn’t it be the other way around after their dance? Third thought: What exactly is Black Swan capable of and how frightened should I be right now? Fourth thought: Acheron, why do you know so much about others??

So this music box.. why exactly does Black Swan have it now? Didn’t Acheron snatch it from Duke Inferno? Was she planning to give it to BS, or did memokeeper steal it off her? I dunno.

Is it me or does it feel like she’s talking to someone else? Another memokeeper? Or just to herself for dramatic effect? Either way, who exactly are we expecting to show up?

I honestly was getting a bit creeped out during this scene, from the weird camera angles the game was giving is to seeing Black Swan not understand what was going on or who was speaking to her. I actually started fearing for her life and I made a stunning realization that if they killed off BS I would actually freak out. Surprisingly, I wasn’t too upset over Firefly (we didn’t spend much time with her), but it feels like we’ve know BS for longer you know? Ever since that trailer about all the Aeons.

I can hear Luocha somewhere in the distance going “the dead return!” I tease, but actually hearing one of those from Ever-Flame Mansion call out to BS was a bit confusing? Duke said his kids were alive, sure, but BS is looking at past memories attached to the music box, right? So I’m still a bit on the fence regarding who out of the kids are actually alive. Maybe some, maybe all. Maybe I’m being played for a fool and thinking about it too much.

How many of y’all got excited to see Ratio interact with Aventurine again? I know you people are out there. Anyways, hearing about how Robin had a stand-in leads me to believe her death was planned, which would upset me greatly because what did that precious lady ever do to anyone??

It’s crazy this man has actually tried several times to end himself inside the dreams, like bro what if you actually succeeded?? At least this shod bring us some relief that Firefly and Robin are okay? Hopefully? I’ll believe when I see them.

I freakin' knew there was something wrong with her voice!! The first couple times we meet her you can tell her voice sounded off, like it was glitching out or something. It’s not very easy to hear, but the difference between the real Robin and Sparkle impersonating Robin towards the end of the last patch sounded different. No wonder Sunday picked up on Sparkle’s trick so easily.

Soooo, that’s pretty much everything I went through after the update hit. Unfortunately it isn’t much but adulting is a drag. Of course I’m looking forward to continuing the story later on. Starting with these men again will be a treat too.

(originally written on 3/27)

[hopeymchope]

The Harry Potter reboot has me really concerned . I mean, if the news about it came out during 2030 or something it would’ve been fine, but the fact it’s happening right now and JKR’s part of it is a massive turnoff for me. I know a lot of HP fans are excited about the reboot, but I have no doubt that the show’s gonna be controversial no matter what, to the point it’s making me worried for the kids who want to be part of it because they like HP.

Note: This is following up on this post/rant about the HP reboot streaming series BS.

In 2030, at least it wouldn't be one year after the previous attempt at extending the franchise crashed and burned. But I feel like that's the only reason why doing this reboot series in 2030 would be any better than doing it right now: Because right now it looks desperate. But in both cases, a massive TERF will get millions more cash to fund her efforts to vilify, dehumanize, and terrorize transgender and transsexual people worldwide. Just because David fucking Zaslav thought this would be a great way to squeeze more blood from the stone.

Y'know, if they did this without JKR's direct involvement and promised to try and "expand upon" the novels outside of her text? That would feel better to me, because A) she'd probably just get her usual tiny royalty instead of this larger salary, at least, AND B) it'd open up the possibilities of them trying to correct the material for her shitty views, like how Hogwart's Legacy at least did its best to provide positive trans representation within the Wizarding World universe.

Unfortunately.... with JKR directly involved and - more importantly - with how she's recently rewriting her own history to claim that trans people are equivalent to the Death Eaters? YEEEEEAAAH, this reboot has a STRONG potential to get REAL fucking Anti-Trans in a VERY fucking dangerous way. Don't be surprised if the Death Eater army shows up and seems coded VERY HEAVILY to be trans without explicitly saying so, is what I'm fucking saying.

BTW Anon, I'm not sure I understand your very last sentence? Or at least, I'm not sure of who you're talking about specifically. As in: Do you mean you're worried about the kids who will try to be actors/characters in the show? Or you're worried about kids who will get involved in watching it and the fandom because of it, etc?

Because... well, I agree either way actually. BUT I'm honestly more worried about the latter group. The ones who might be introduced to this world/fandom by this MAX series have real potential to be radicalized into hateful TERFs by it, especially if they're watching at young/impressionable ages like six years old or thereabouts. Dear god, at least the actors will probably be circa 10 or 11 at the start and will therefore be more capable of critical thinking than the youngest viewers will be, plus they could potentially just be there for the paycheck/exposure or whatever.

This is a VERY worrisome production, for sure. And once again, it's funny how little Rowling understands her own work.

Mmm, yes, and what if that boy was vilified and hated by family for who he was inside? What if they abused him and treated him as sub-human just for who he was internally - how he was born?

What if the family around him even tried to hide the very existence of that type of person, never once letting him know such a thing was even POSSIBLE, because they hated those people so very much, and they were so deeply afraid of him becoming one of 'them'?

What if — even after discovering his true nature and finally thriving among like-minded people — that boy was still forced to 'present' as what his family members considered to be 'normal' whenever he was around them. And as a result, every time he was forced to return to them, he became depressed and felt alone all over again, always pining to return to the place where he could REALLY be himself?

It's especially bizarre to me that someone who once spent years speaking out against the hatred and ostracization and fear thrown at our gay population can then turn around and do EXACTLY ALL OF THAT to another queer demographic.

Like: How the fuck does she not see that she's the very thing she previously hated and railed against? How the fuck.... ???

[rengokugutspill]

I had a really weird dream the other night that woke me up at four thirty in the morning & destroyed my sleep schedule. I wouldn't say it was a nightmare, & to call it a bad dream sounds kind of funny, but I suppose it was.

It was an adventure / nature style dream. I was going through a wilderness like a woods. I know someone was with me, but I can't remember who it was. It would be funny to say if it is my subconscious idea of Rengoku like a permanent tag along, but I can't really say that's true, though it could be.

I'd heard before if you dream of a person & wake up & think it could be any of a few people you know in real life, the person was meant to symbolize what those people mean to you. But it's also so common to dream about a person & immediately lose their appearance when you wake up. Maybe spirit guide, even ? I wouldn't doubt it.

It was another hyper-realistic dream, where it's like you're really out there in nature & everything is so tangible & highly defined.

I remember a low land of brambles, & I do think it was blackberry bushes. Of course recognizing the awake knowledge of how blackberries play into wilderness disappearances. The brambles here were not tall, maybe shin height below the knee. But they kept wrapping around my ankles & legs, making it hard to move. It was also like there was some type of quicksand or marsh-like underneath. Not only am I sinking into a muck I can't see, but I can see these vines wrapping around me & each step is halted for a moment to calculate & maneuver out, only to do it again & again.

I am thinking about how it's an annoying path, I am think about how this must have to do with the disappearances, as the brambles & vines are alive & wrapping themselves around people to pull them down into the Earth, maybe.

Eventually I come to this spot that I have dreamt about before in the past. It reminds me of a place I saw in real life when I was in middle school. It's like this heavily wooded area beneath a canopy of trees that go on as far as the eye can see, but there is this type of mound with a chain link fence on it.

I know I was walking & talking to the counterpart. We kept seeing snakes on the ground, so many snakes. Now, it was like instead of vines to watch out for, but poisonous snakes like landmines meaning to wrap around your ankles as you walk & bite you. I remember they were defined, black scales with a stripe down either side, a cream color, difficult to tell if it is a saffron yellow or off white. When I look it up, I think it's a garter snake, which of course in real life are harmless.

I'm navigating around the snakes & I know I am concentrating on going forward, perhaps feeling annoyed, but I'm focused on this. Then something breaks my focus & I look back behind me & there is this thing that I can best describe as a slug. It is as big as a car in real life. The color is a yellow / saffron yellow & the strangest thing about this slug is it's completely detached from the rest of the dream. Like how I said everything was hyper-realistic, this slug was like a 3d rendering from an art program. Not quite the look of cgi, it had this very out of place look but like a really specific look too. It almost looked like the world was warpping around it. As if there was a mist of warbled corona around it. But in my dream this was a poisonous snake & it's coming towards me so I gotta get out of the way. I run blindly towards the chain link fence & begin to really frantically climb the fence until I am about the height to be above the slug. My counterpart just walked up & against the fence, but made no effort to climb it & did not seem all that concerned about the slug. I remember this because I was watching them & I was concerned why they hadn't climbed the fence too & thought about how they were fine despite not really doing anything & thinking like maybe the slug was not going to get them or maybe the slug wasn't really as frightening or worrisome as I thought.

I watched the slug in the distance go to eat something & it spit up a corrosive bile that steamed what it burned. I have no idea what it was eating, I just remember seeing the steam. But it went about it's forward like on a track & with purpose.

We eventually continue through the snake patch to a set of stone stairs in the woods & we are ascending & every single stair is crawling with so many snakes. I gone up a few but that's where I woke up.

It wasn't like it was a scary or horrific dream, but it carried the stress of feeling smothered by poisonous snakes.

The dream very much carried a sentiment with it & when I was awake, I was awake & that was it. For once, I know what it means but it didn't really bring me any solace either. It feels like my subconscious just mocking me & needling me more.

The day after I ended up having to go back to the post office. I so desperately did not want to but I really got to a point where I felt like it would have been okay if I waited a day, but looking at the weather app said the next day would snow & it's like I definitely do not want to make the walk in the snow if I don't have to. I was like okay, you can check your Demon Slayer news but then you're immediately getting dressed & going out the door. Which is what I did. I wanted to eat before I left, but that didn't work out. I felt like I was dying & going to faint from starvation, so I brought a protein bar that I begrudgingly ate as I walked.

I wanted to dress cozy & comfy so I would be less miserable. I wear velour joggers with my Wakatakakage shirt, underneath was a slightly more fitted t shirt under a long sleeve shirt with star pattern & I wore a purple cardigan over all of it. I was going to wear a heavy black faux fur coat, but it was fifty degrees out despite how cold it felt in my house. Thankfully I checked on the porch first & not only did I get my first Korean doll, which did not have tracking so I didn't know it was even coming, but I seen elderly patrons at the restaurant dressed less than me & I determined I wouldn't need the larger coat. I think I wanted it to feel hidden & smothered in warmth, like hiding in my bed. I went with the cardigan instead & it was a very good call because on the way home I ended up having to take it off because I got sweaty.

I also made an effort to try to wear shoes I felt like would be the most comfortable, not just reasonable. I wanted to wear shoes that made me feel like I didn't exist, a perfect zen state. Like all of me was floating in the ether. It was the only way I could brave such a journey.

I also had a very miserable experience. Two of the dolls I've been searching for for the past year posted together in a lot for an expensive price. It was irritating but not painful, an expenditure that was unfortunate but also didn't really matter. It was a huge lot. I think it amount to five dolls I wanted with eight dolls I was planning to resell for seventy per doll... I got the okay to buy but had to wait for the paycheck to process. I kind of didn't really think anyone else was going to buy it just due to the amount but someone beat me to it & I really just do not want to be alive anymore.

Like, when I saw the lot, I was like I don't need that, I just have to hope & pray the two dolls I want will each post reasonably by Christmas. But when I got the okay to spend the money, I became very excited. My roommate didn't like that I wanted to resell some of the dolls, but it would have made back more than what we would have paid for the lot if the dolls sold... I'm just so deeply disgusted & appalled. Furious & in irreparable pain.

I would also like to talk to you more about the tournament, but it's looking like that won't happen.

Admittedly, my brain can't store many matches per day, my memory will look like notable bits & pieces floating on the surface. I would be able to say my favorite matches for the day & who I thought really killed it... I used to tell my roommate because I thought they cared about the rikishi. I felt positive to say who was doing what & who I was happy & excited with.

But I realized they just do not care. No one does.

It's not a matter of speaking about it because I am so impassioned that I have to get it out. I can't stand talking to someone who does not care & would rather I just shut up & fuck off.

I had asked them every day to please watch the tournament with me & every day they say no. I try to reel them in in whatever way I can & they say no & leave. I asked their friend to please watch the tournament with me & they got up mid tournament & left. I was fighting against myself not to start crying because I just want someone to come with me. I want someone to care even slightly. I don't want to constantly beg people to pay attention to me or interact with me. They always say they are too busy, but they aren't, they just don't want to.

They are redoing a room in the house, but when they come home, they could watch the tournament with me before starting the work, or trying to make time by cutting their work early. But they have all the time in the world to go & drink at the bar with people they claim to hate. Yet they can't do one thing for me.

My resentment grows to a point where sometimes I think about understanding women who eradicate their entire families & then themselves. It's not a viable position. It's not something I can ignore or slap a bandaid on anymore. The hatred & disgust I feel is ending & all consuming. It's not worth it to me anymore.

There's an ideation the self exists as a vibration & I've described before certain moods you can feel your aura change in shape, like turning into spikes when agitated. We are all vibrating on a frequency, but I feel as though my soul is trembling in the way you shake when you're about to hit someone & trying to hold yourself back. My feeling is constantly in this state with no relief.

I am so sick of being met with nothing but aggression. I am sick of being around someone incapable of thought. I am sick of being around someone who wants to live in literal garbage & who leaves chocolate wrappers around for the cats to eat from with no regard for their health & safety & completely shirks the blame & responsibility for their own actions.

I know I'm not the problem. I know I can be level headed & respond with care, concern & compassion towards others. I can handle someone softly & work with someone. I have patience & gentleness. But I can't for them because they refuse to see how they are the problem & it's not that I'm refusing to meet them half way, it's that they're always asking for more from me & refuse to acknowledge everything I do for the household & do just to tolerate them. It's beyond exhausting, I think I will really kill myself if I don't leave.

I decided to stop sharing with them. I do not want to share my happiness, thoughts or opinions with anyone in my life anymore. I would like to find someone who is willing to work with me & then I would like to move states & change my name so no one from before will ever be able to find me or communicate with me again.

I don't have a choice. It doesn't matter that I don't really want to. I think I am going to be forced to pursue a dating website, which I can't do right now anyway because I don't have a phone. & I am so scared because I don't want to do this. I have no choice but to sell myself to someone else who I hope won't abuse me. But if I can find someone who works reasonable hours, they might be willing to help me get a job & drive me to work, then I can at least contribute to the household beyond homemaking.

I'm not looking for someone to raise me or fix me, but someone where we can mutually prosper & help eachother. Someone who wants a home as bad as I do, because my life would be so easy to just take care of a household with someone who was capable of talking to me without screaming at me or constantly putting me down. If they could drive & wanted to bring me to work, they would never have to complain that I don't contribute. It would be a perfect life of teamwork & coming home to a person who is your family. My dream doesn't sound too lofty because I am really not asking for too much. But I can't help but think in my state people are incapable of compassion. But I also admit I want a partner I find attractive, which will be even harder because I don't like people. & I don't want to go through potential of months to get to know someone, which it will have to be if I am going to have to live with them.

Which like word, I know I don't have to force anything on anyone, not even myself. The ability to find someone with a real compatibility seems so rare & unlikely. I want to cry when I think about it.

For now I am trying to work on an outline for a dating profile to hopefully be as concise & clear about what I want. As well as a questionnaire to determine the level of safety & trustworthiness a responder would have.

But at this point I kind of don't even know what to say about myself anymore outside of single handed homemaker who is honest & prioritizes mutual communication & care. Like, I think that sounds good, but I feel like it either sounds like I'm lying or I'm not giving enough. I don't really worry about people trying to take advantage of that sentiment off the bat, that is why I'm working on a questionnaire because hopefully my questionnaire should immediately show misogynists. I am going to ask about whether or not they can cook, how important sex is & what their favorite type of sex is. Because if they expect me to cook it's no & if they say anything about BDSM they're getting blocked immediately with zero follow up.

Basically my questionnaire is hopefully going to psyop them. It's an order form & background check for a mail order bride.

But I have nothing to say about myself anymore. I don't do anything anymore. I can't really say I play video games because I really haven't this year, nor do I watch anime. & I'm not going to talk about Rengoku because I don't want a candidate to try to fake a personality. But I will be like “I'm really into sumo right now & intend to watch every tournament going forward.” lmao

The whole thing is making me so depressed & afraid.

My roommate holler at me again because for some reason they put Venom in the bathroom & I didn't know why so I asked why she was in the bathroom & they were telling me how retarded I am... I was so mad, my entire body was shaking & I wanted to take this bar stool & beat it into the wall. I walked around the livingroom & it was like my entire body kind of limps in a way before the shaking subsides entirely. I don't know why they couldn't just have asked me if she was supposed to be in there. I don't know why they couldn't just have said they did it because they were confused, because then the whole thing would have been done & over. But they really kept going & telling me how fucking retarded I am & saying all their coward bullshit under their breath.

Then they come screaming to me at ten in the morning about how they're dying again because their throat is closing. Which of course I don't believe them because they fake dying for attention all the time. Then they want to act like we're all close & everything is reasonable. Which I found out after they went to bed that they drank beyond their limit again, buying more beer than what they really should.

I don't want to be on dating apps, I don't want to abandon my comfortable life. There is so much I love in my life, but I don't have a choice. I can't feel comfortable because I can't get warm & cozy, I have to get up despite how badly I don't want to. I asked my mom if I could have my uncle's apartment & get the job at Target. The answer is yes but there is no idea about when. I am thinking likely not until after January. I know these things take time & don't happen over night. It feels like waiting for the other boot to drop. I haven't said anything because there is nothing to say. I don't want to be screamed at or begged to stay. I don't want to see a false & disarming show to try to lure me back in when I have to go. It is all hurting me.

I hate everything about this. My only hope is you have to be uncomfortable to grow something better. & my mom keeps saying I have to leave & do everything on my own despite my exhaustion. She is telling me not to keep relying on others, which I do get. I would really like a reasonable relationship. Too many romance novels have spoiled me !

I want to throw up.

It's very hard to believe in myself & believe in my dream. I look at myself & say what am I doing ? Shouldn't I suffer for comfort ? What is peace ? What am I fighting for ?

[sullenangels]

the lack of passion and earnestness is extremely concerning, being woman’d in kind of a transactional fashion. it’s like. we’re going to have you on a pedestal and will be collecting ur art in ways that we prefer, completely disregarding the actual meanings and time and effort and reducing it to something that’s palatable to us. it’s gross. the jokes were never funny. there’s so many people that are deeply connected and inspired by ethel’s story and longing to run away but basking in the glory and almost easy-ness of conformity, and consuming this from a privileged standpoint just you could force yourself to “feel something” is very worrisome to see. i am wholeheartedly committed to experiencing her music in a more meaningful and responsible manner, it’s what she deserves. hoping the art reducing freaks can fuck off <3

i really have a deeply personal connection to ethel’s music and it’s unfortunate that she has to see weirdos who are seemingly afraid of thinking outside of their comfort zones interacting with her art. it’s very disappointing

[concubuck]

Alastor/Ozzie

((They like singing neon black-lit jazzy diss tracks about other people's naive cutesy idealistic musical numbers, so as far as I'm concerned they're made for each other. Alastor is the most powerful sinner to ever arrive in Hell and he uses his power to wander aimlessly looking for live entertainment. Ozzie is the ruler of one of the rings of Hell and he spends his time running a night club. Are you seeing the parallels. Two people who hold the world in the palm of their hands and all they wanna do is watch it sing and dance. And we know Ozzie's attracted to funny little mean guys, he's dating one already. (Speaking of which, side note: Ozzie/Alastor/Fizz.)

Sexually speaking—y'all know I like doing weird experiments with Alastor's asexuality—I think there's a lot of fun potential to pairing up an asexual character with the literal embodiment of lust itself. Now, I'd be really picky about HOW that's handled. I'm bored by sitcom-level "character A has 0% libido and character B has 1000% libido and they're mad at each other! *cue the laugh track*" interactions, and I'm also bored by cutesy idealistic "he was used to nothing but lust... until he found someone who loved him WITHOUT lust... making their love different... more pure..." type plots, so like, that side of the dynamic would have to be written by somebody I trust. But in this hypothetical scenario here I'm the one who'd be writing them, and I trust my own tastes completely, so no problems there.

Overall Alastor/Ozzie isn't quite OTP level but it's well within my top 5 Alastor ships.

As far as this particular blog is concerned: this is a pairing I think could have a LOT of potential, given where my Alastor here currently is—namely, the fact that he's horny all the time, HATES it, and wants desperately to change this. Asmodeus is in the best position to help a succubus rise in social ranks, but is also the least likely to be sympathetic to a succubus who desires to no longer feel lust. He could be a powerful ally but also extremely motivated to sabotage Alastor's ambitions. On top of that, any platonic/romantic attraction he'd feel for Ozzie would be twisted up in lust and therefore dangerous: if it turned sexual (and it would turn sexual), if there's anyone who would turn Alastor's already barely-manageable libido into a full-blown 24/7 completely unmanageable addiction, it would be the king of lust. There is a significant and worrisome chance that hooking up with Ozzie could break Alastor's brain, leave him finally unable to think about anything except sex, destroy the remains of his personality, and ruin his life. ... But like. He insults his customers with jazzy musical numbers and that's very attractive. This is the kind of ship that could be very good for Alastor or EXTREMELY destructive, and both possibilities have me rubbing my hands together.

At some point I'm planning to write a fic about this AU succubus Alastor and I've been toying with the idea of Alastor/Ozzie being a main ship in it.))

[cyle]

Hey I have a couple questions and concerns about the new no reblogs feature, the wip askbox is closed so I hope it’s ok I’m messaging you. Can you turn reblogs on and off at any time after publishing a post? If so what happens to the versions of the post that have been reblogged by other people while it was on, can anyone reblog those at any time or only while it’s allowed by the op? This is a good feature to prevent harassment but I also worry it’s not very healthy for the culture of the site. A quintessential part of tumblr is an innocuous post that “goes viral”, often through funny additions in the reblogs. The OPs sometimes complain about it (notifications become unusable, they get too many followers, etc) now can they turn reblogs off and just take everyone’s fun away? But then people could also just screenshot a post and then we would have “can you make that ask reblogable please” 2.0. Another consequence that is worrisome is the development of echo chambers, with fewer opportunities for good faith, productive discussions. Overall it feels weird to me to be limiting interaction on a social media platform that, especially having no algorithms, is so vitally dependent on it.

these are all great questions and valid concerns. my opinions here are my own, i'm not speaking for Tumblr officially.

first, i believe the way it's supposed to function is that reblog controls are tied to the root/original post, so if the OP decides to slam down "no reblogs" when editing their post, then that effectively cuts off the whole possible future reblog trails, even if people have reblogged it. not 100% sure on that though...

as for it being "healthy for the culture of the site", i hear you. honestly, this is something we've been grappling with for 10+ years on tumblr. specifically whether the original idea that "reblogs being always open means anyone can call you out on a bad take" is net-good or not. our conclusion over the last few years is: no. it's not net-good. it actually leads to more abuse, more hate, more general bad vibes than good. there are a large cohort of people on tumblr who tag things "don't reblog" and for them, it's a safety issue. they don't want bad memories circulating, they don't want their unfinished drafts being more popular than the finished ones, etc etc. it's a niche, but it's unique to tumblr.

based on the data we have, it seems net-benefit to let people control access to the reblog functionality than not. by the way: we've allowed advertisers to control this for many years, to their benefit. why not extend that to anyone/everyone? seems like the same core issue, and we have a long history of it benefiting them.

but! this is all an experiment, at the end of the day. all social media at scale is an experiment, imo. if it ends up that people are abusing this new feature more than using it in good faith, then we may roll it back. software isn't forever. it's literally a one line code change to take it away right now.

the best thing we can all do here is report the blogs/posts that are acting in bad faith, whether they're using this new feature or not. that's ultimately the signal we (staff) are looking for.

[fanfic-scribbles]

Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

  ~

 You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

~

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

~

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

~

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

~

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

~

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

~

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

~

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

~

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

~

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

~

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

~

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

~

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

~

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.

[loosesodamarble]

Ida trivia! Fun times are sure to be had here!

(read the first fact)

Oh right I forget that Ida's existence is a anomaly!/lh A delightful one. But worrisome too. But that's what makes Ida lovable to me.

1) I've only heard about it in passing but I think it's possible for people to be born without a sense of pain. I bet it would make life really difficult if someone can't register pain though. It really isn't my area of expertise so I can't say much else. It's not unbelievable. Just highly concerning. 😰

2) The no scarring thing. Peculiar but I kinda wish my body was like that. Although I wonder if that no scarring ability is an effect from the devil blood experiments her parents did on her... Devils have been shown to be immune to most attacks. 🤔

3) Oh noooooo! Ida doesn't know a mother's love? No no nooooo! 😭 Baby girl should have a sense of maternal love in her life! Oh the dynamic between Ida and Josele because of this. Josele wouldn't actively try to act like a mother to Ida. She (begrudgingly) respects the presence of Mama Faust (or Adela as I call her) and so simply sees herself as Ida's friend/sister (especially when she's engaged to Morgen and she's on her way to actually being Ida's sister-in-law). Then Ida just latching onto Josele is funny in one way but worrying in another. I just want the best for Ida (and Josele too). The fact that Ida doesn't quite understand maternal affection just... Oof, I can't imagine... 😭

4) S-second magic?! 👀🍿🍵 The world looking like a video game? 🤔 I'm gonna guess that it means that Ida can know the abilities/weaknesses of someone she looks at?

5) Pansexual pride~! That's it. Actually wait... Ida talking about her crushes and Asta is like "wait, you've crushed on more than one person in your life? How?!"/j

6) Wakjhtsakjg! Ida wearing Nacht's hand-me-downs essentially. Akjhfsiurt! Nacht sees Ida wearing his old clothes and has awful flashbacks to when he was a punk. KAsjhfasiuht! 🤣

7) 40 degrees? (converts the units) AAAAAAHHHHHHHH! HOW IS IDA ALIVE?! That's not even fever temperature! That's death! 😱/lh

8) I have heard that trying to deny or argue what someone experiences during a psychotic episode isn't the way to approach it. Definitely safer to let Ida believe she is Nacht or Morgen. Yami (and later Josele and Nacht) would definitely be the one that watches out for Ida in these moments since the rest of the Bulls wouldn't really know how to interact with her while she's behaving as Morgen.

9) 😐😑😐 I'm not sure if I want to know more about this or less./lh Just when I think I know Ida, you throw out stuff like this, Marune. Keeping me on my toes! 😂

10) Gaaaaah! I'm so sorry Ida! She's trying to get a reaction out of Josele but it wouldn't happen, at least not the way Ida wants. 😭 After breaking the curse, Josele would want to sit down with Ida and talk through whatever incident(s) happened. Josele would apologize for causing Ida to put up with her cursed self and hear out Ida's frustrations, if she wants to share. She'd want to work through those painful memories alongside Ida. Also good on the team (Yami, Asta, Vanessa, Nacht, and Josele) for helping Ida when she needs it! Ida went so long without familiarity or comfort and now she's found it with the Bulls! 😭💖

11) Ida likes strong flavors it seems. Bitter coffee or sour lime. Alas, poor Morgen would've been crying because his sweet tooth couldn't comprehend Ida's favorite flavors. She and Nero could share some nice black coffee together (goodness knows they both need it). She would enjoy some sour, citrusy drinks with Josele too while the rest of the squad is 😖.

12) Okay but once Ida and Nacht reunite and reconcile, she's stealing the Bremen devils for cuddling purposes. Their smaller forms just seem perfect for it! Also, Ida should get head pats, like how Yami gave Finral, Vanessa, Noelle, and Asta headpats for their hard work in the Seabed Temple. 😤

13) Kajhfaiustharst! Ida getting more dates than Nacht and Finral somehow does and doesn't make sense? I mean, Nacht is Nacht. Affection (and especially romance) is not his forte. 🤣 And Finral may be a notorious flirt but he's also a bad flirt. But where would Ida have learned how to flirt? Unless she just has the natural instinct for it. Or maybe she remembers the way Morgen flirted with Josele and she went off that. 😆

Fact’s abaut Ida Faust

Just of my Boringness

Fact

1.) Ida born whit No physical pain felling but she fell pain mentally what tell her her body hurt’s as a child cut Ida herself really painful what she don’t fell bud gave her Brother a heart attack

2) ida can’t getting scar’s in Norm way she can just get’s scar’s from curse Magic weapons

3) Ida don’t really understand love of woman’s there she never fell love of her mother in a crossover whit @loosesodamarble oc josele finking Ida this she love josele and wants a Family but in true it’s it’s the Love of Mother what she fell but Ida don’t know this there she don’t understand this and will do everything too gets josele love even it’s wuld be Negative love……

4)Ida have a second Magic what she use many jears whit out knowing let’s say her look of the wold is like a video game

5)Ida is pan sexual but like older person like her but not too old she like too mess whit other and her sexuality and make fun of this and talk whit Asta abaut this and there love god know how this happened

6)Ida wear just clothes what Nacht use too wear as a teen there she runs really hot

7) Ida’s body temperature is 40 degrees hot and can run araund baisicly blank there she don’t get’s sick of cold temperatures but Summer is hell four her this is the reason why it can be she just wear underwear at home whit the black bulls

8) Ida runt’s some time in jears as Morgan araund on day wear his clothes and ponytail all the stuff too remember him and sometimes as Nacht Ida have a small Personality disorder on this day’s if she do this and imitate the personality of them as she have them in her Memory‘s what discomfort brings too all person‘s araund there Ida is not Ida in this moment all you can do is play along even you have a traumatized moment because of this

9) Ida have eat a Human in the past what she tells the black bulls like nothing Yami and she have a deb talk after this

10) in the crossover whit loo oc josele canty have Ida a instabil psychological moment wo she do disturbing fink‘s araund josele ore tell really dark story‘s and get’s psychotic araund her ore self Harmful ore attack’s josele whas going mush better as she get’s 18 jears but yami asta Vanessa Nacht and josele need too help her in this moment‘s there she have no control of this

11) Ida Fell peace if she drink coffee ore Limetten juse

12) Ida love it if she get’s pet’s ore cuddling not she going too tell someone this is the reason why her love life go out of Hand some time

13) Ida have a mush more love life as Nacht ore someone ever have she do go out some time and finral cry abaut this and Nacht don’t really like it not this he know how too talk abaut this

[goatchulu]

jealous! lucifer x gender neutral! reader

Genre: fluff, ig? slight smut in the end.

Fandom: obey me!

Prompt: you find yourself in a fake relationship, and now you're introducing your "boyfriend" to the demom brothers. they don't take it so well, especially lucifer.

Warnings: mentions of drinking, mentions of harassment and stalking, they make out in the end, reader's gender is unmentioned for your imagination (and inclusion).

lucifer takes another swig of his whisky, a slight burning sensation lingering on his throat. no matter the amount of alcohol he consumed that night, he couldn't escape the bitter feeling that was left inside his chest.

the two of you have been hitting it off pretty well for the past few weeks, if he could say so himself. the harmless complimenting and the subtle glancing had turned into ardent flirting and shows of affection overtime. you two were finally going somewhere with your mutual pinning, or so he thought.

lucifer didn't think his small (not so small) crush on you would lead anywhere, really. nor did he think you would reciprocate his infatuation. but with all the friendly interactions you had of late, anyone would assume you two were together in a romantic light.

now look, lucifer prides himself as a person. he was assertive, efficient, productive, level-headed and the voice of reason when stress is most prominent. but as a lover? lucifer wasn't so sure. he assumed you'd like someone more jolly and eccentric like mammon or someone more confident and charismatic like asmodeus. he didn't expect for you to even spare him a second glance when it came to the dating game. lucifer was a busy man after all, and he wasn't the most expressive when it came to emotions; not very ideal for a lover.

but what lucifer also did not expect was for you to bring home a common demon boy and introduce him as your significant other.

let's just say that all the built up tension and courting were all ruined by a single dinner party.

you had gathered all the demon brothers earlier that morning, claiming you had an important announcement to make. you went as far as inviting diavolo and his loyal butler, barbatos, to spend the evening over for dinner. they thanked you for the invitation, but they unfortunately, could not attend because of their hectic schedules.

lucifer, on the other hand, was more than happy to accept your invitation (though he was quick to cover up the smile he held when you came up to him). seeing as he already lives under the same roof as you, anways. his happiness would soon be diminished and grinded into dirty, pathetic, dust, though.

lucifer's eyes narrow as mammon's loud laughter bounces off the walls of the dining room. lucienne, your "boyfriend", had managed to crack the demon up with one of his silly stories about a strange elderly wizard that sold expensive medication made out of fairy wings that turned out to just be bedazzled dragon fly wings. he worked wonders with the avatar of greed, considering the fact that just a moment ago, mammon was cursing in jealousy and resentment as you sat with your newly introduced boyfriend.

luficer would've told mammon to shut up, but he feared saying something far more vulgar out of anger. the previous tension was already eased into a more domesticated athmosphere (credits to lucienne's charm and humor), lucifer didn't want to ruin dinner for his brothers, and especially not for you.

i mean, lucifer felt betrayed, he felt used and-- and played. how could you lead him on like this? but deep inside, he knew there was something else. he felt disappointed, he felt defeated, he felt crushed, he wished he'd done something sooner before this lucienne stole you away from him.

but anyways, back to the dinner party.

"you seem unusually quiet, lucy." asmo teases from across lucifer's seat. the phrase seems to capture everyone's attention, all eyes now on the grimacing and glaring lucifer.

"asmo's right, you haven't uttered a word since lucienne arrived, lucifer. is something wrong?" you chime in, causing lucifer to perk up. the thought of you worrying about his state sent sparks into his heart, but they were quick to disappear when lucienne asks him the same question.

"i'm fine." he replies to your concern, unable to hide the venom that strung on to his words. this only causes asmodeus to snicker, and leviathan to sink deeper into his seat. everyone else watches in concern as lucifer downs another glass of demom whiskey. you're about to ask him again, unsure about his reply, but he stops you before you could even form a word.

"i said i'm fine."

the air is tense, until eventually, mammon gasps out of nowhere. "don't tell me! lucifer is jealous!!~" he repeats in a sing song manner, only irking lucifer even further. no one else speaks up, the whole situation akward enough.

after a while, though, lucienne speaks up. he gestures at mammon, especially. hoping to stop the demon from escalating the situation. "hey mammon, wanna hear about that one time i accidentally professed my love for my eight grade math teacher?" mammon only settles back into his seat, ready for another laughing fit. the avatar of pride snaps at this, slamming his fists down the table before abruptly excusing himself with a "i have something to do."

he spares you one last glance. his heart aching with guilt from the way you had lowered your head in shame. lucifer didn't want to make you feel like he owned you, or that you weren't allowed to be with someone else... he just, he has enough reason to justify his anger right now and he really wants to dwell in it. he turns his head away from you, biting his lip to contain the guilt and pain that was threatening to seep out. he doesn't turn to look back as he walks away from the dining room in long and rushed strides.

lucifer walks down the dark hallways of lamentation, familiar with every nook and cranny the mansion had. he sighs in relief as his palm reaches out for a familiar door. it creaks as lucifer walks into his room, sounding just as glum as lucifer is.

he heads straight to his paperwork, silently hoping that they would provide him some sort of comfort. he tries to focus on anything but the thought of you or your unavailability, his mind barely processing any of the words that were printed out in front of him. he groans, his hands pulling on his jet black hair in frustration.

i mean, he should've expected this. lucienne was everything lucifer thought you would love. funny outgoing, caring, expressive, charismatic, a smooth talker and he looked at you with utmost respect and admiration. i mean, who in their right mind would choose old-schooled lucifer over the flawless lucienne?

you deserve lucienne and although lucifer thinks that no one in the three realms could ever deserve to call you theirs, he still thinks that lucienne is more deserving of you than lucifer could ever be. what were you doing to the poor demon? he was never one to admit defeat like this, and he especially wasn't the type of person that'd lower themself like this.

his rollercoaster of thoughts are interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. his ears already familiar with this particular knocking pattern. he can't help but straighten himself up, suddenly aware of the way his hair is all sprawled out. he slicks it down with saliva, muttering a small "enter" soon after he finshes checking on his appearance.

his mood lightens just a little bit at the sight of your face. as much as lucifer wants to hate you right now, he couldn't possibly feel that way towards you. never, not in a quadrillion light years.

you sit down in front of him, a genuine look of concern on your face. this makes lucifer visibly frown, catching you a bit off guard. "i wanted to talk to you about something, lucifer." his eyes grow curious and a bit hopeful, wishing it were about something that would distract him from the current situation or give him even the tiniest bit of closure.

"it's about lucienne." and once again, you manage to crush all his hope with only a few words. lucifer swears that if he hears that name one more time, he would personally shove your lovely boyfriend down the deepest depths of the underworld.

you watch his brows furrow and his fist tighten on his quill. lucifer looks far from happy to hear you talk about your significant other right now. "look, i know you'd rather not hear about lucienne again, but it's really really important and i want you to just hear me out. just this once, please?"

lucifer couldn't stand the pleading look you were giving him. your puppy eyes were a weapon that you used on him often, and they always managed to work. a tired sigh leaves his lips, if it meant getting it over with then he'd listen. "fine," he snaps, not before rubbing at his temple in obvious distress. he's said fine, but his body language told you otherwise.

"someone's kind of harassing lucienne at the moment. stalking him, giving him unwanted gifts and constantly professing their love for him when he's told them multiple times that it made him uncomfortable. they're an admirer of some sorts. i'm posing as lucienne's lover in hopes that they'd back off for a while, but i wanted to see if you and diavolo could do some actual help. it's worrisome, really. and it's been stressing lucienne out for the past couple of weeks. pretending to be his significant other is the most i can do for him, i hope you understand."

lucifer only freezes in shock, guilt washing over him all so suddenly. you call out for him, effectively snapping him out of his short daze. of course you'd offer to help lucienne out, you've always been a kind person. in lucifer's eyes, atleast. he coughs into his hand, avoiding eye contact with you as he degrades himself for his previous selfishness.

"of course, i'll do my best to make sure this harasser is punished. the school and i will ensure that lucienne won't be seeing this stalker anytime soon. just keep supporting him like this, i suppose. tell him he can sleep here for the night. thank you for informing me about this." you smile at lucifer's response, relief overwhelming your senses. if this meant that lucienne was finally going to be safe and unbothered, you were overjoyed.

you jump at lucifer, thanking him, all the while, squeezing the life out of him. his heart races impossibly fast at the gesture, and you can't help but smirk at the red that tainted his cheeks. "just so you know, i still like you. and only you, lucy."

his breath comes to a halt. he was no longer able to contain the butterflies that crowded his stomach; shock and well, pure bliss apparent on his face. "does this mean i can kiss you?"

"do anything as you please."

lucifer lunges at you. capturing your lips into a hungry and impatient kiss. his hands roam all over your torso, looking for anything he could hold onto. he settles for your waist and you drape your hands over his shoulders. heaven knows how long he's been waiting for this moment.

he manages to stumble through his room, leading you two to his bed. you part as he pushes you down to sit at the end of his king sized bed. he grins at the sight of you, disheveled and thirsty for more. the avatar of pride couldn't help but be excited for the faces you'll make in the unholy endeavors he's planning for you. he'll devour you, tear apart every innocent limb you have in your body. his imagination runs wild as he thinks of the many ways he'd mark you as his, exhibit you to the world and spread you wide open for his contenders to see. for them to know just how pathetic and needy lucifer could make you in an instant.

he bends down to kiss you again, pushing against your tounge with his own. he squeezes your thighs, digging his nails deep into the skin under the cloth still covering you. groans and grunts leave your lips as he countinues to caress your plush thighs.

as you two part, panting, a newfound possessiveness overtakes lucifer's eyes.

"you're mine."

[willwriteforhugs]

the most beautiful girl i’ve ever known- jung hoseok

boyfriend! hobi x chubby! reader- one shot !

word count: 2.3k

genre: angst

synopsis: you’ve always struggled with confidence- it’s simply part of who you are. always the chubby student in the class, always the one wearing pants instead of a mini skirt. as an adult, you tried to make peace with it, but after a horrible run in with your coworker, you feel like you just can’t do it anymore- at least, until your boyfriend takes things into his own hands. hoseok’s determined to get you to realize your own beauty, and he’ll do anything for that to happen.

warnings: body-shaming, work harassment, swearing, minor arguing

a/n: wow, first bts fic, here we go...

this fic was requested by a sweet anon- and if they’re reading this, i hope i did the request justice! i think i did well, though i tried to treat the topic with love and respect.

i hope everyone enjoys <333

- - - 

your apartment building’s elevator makes a polite dinging noise as the doors slide smoothly shut- and for the second time since they opened, you thank god the small space is empty. 

elevators are generally silent places, but now the box is filled with the sound of your rushed, uneven breathing. you rotate so your back is pressed into the corner of the moving elevator, pressing a hand to your face. hot, silent tears stream down your cheeks. your thoughts are a jumbled mess: 

god, how embarrassing. crying in a public elevator. anyone could walk in right now. 

you try to take a stabilizing breath- but you quickly realize the attempt was in vain. your inhale causes you to hiccup and choke, making you cry even harder. you bury your face in your hands, wondering what you’d done to deserve this. 

‘why this body? why?’ you think to yourself. it was a thought that came all too quickly, and one you were familiar with.

you don’t think you were ugly, not necessarily- but you certainly don’t think you were desirable, either. being overweight had always had that effect- not complete hopelessness, but a serious lack of overall confidence. and it’s not like you can help it- you try your best to stay healthy, but genetics do what genetics do. so you are overweight. some days, that fact it didn’t bug you- but today was not one of those days.

in the moment, you feel yourself reach up down and clutch at your own arms, squeezing the soft flesh. you groan quietly, unwillingly reliving what had caused this spiral in the first place.

one hour ago:

you had begun the day in a positive mood, really- but that had all gone to shit once the work day began. 

you had a new coworker- mr. lee. he wasn’t your superior, but he liked to be called by his surname, apparently. he’d been hired on a whim two weeks ago, when the company lost the long time employee that previously held mr. lee’s position. 

the man, though being probably a decade your senior, had a childlike way of going about the work day. he laughed at things that weren’t funny, and tried to make conversation even when you had your earbuds in.

you hated him, naturally. 

he was just too much. over-caffeinated, controlling, and immature- basically everything you despised in a peer.

however- or up until today, at least- you’d been able to tolerate him. but while you were on lunch break, mr. lee drew the last straw with you.

he’d walked into the breakroom, already making too much noise. he was humming, and tapping his foot, and running the microwave, all at the same time. and, unfortunately, you were the only other person in the room- so he made a beeline straight for you. 

“afternoon, peach!” he’d said. you hated the nickname, and had no idea of its origins.

“hi,” you grumbled, staring down at your food.

“i didn’t see you come in this morning.”

you made a noncommittal noise. “got here early.”

“right.” the man replied. 

a beat passed, and the two of you settled into a stiff silence, only disrupted by the sound of your eating.

and finally, the vulture had a point of interest.

“you really gonna eat all that?” he’d said, looking pointedly down at your meal.

you’d frowned at the comment, and dodged the question. “why do you ask?” you’d replied.

“well, you know. didn’t think a girl like you would need all of that, right?”

you set your fork down, trying to keep your breathing even. before you had been able to come up with an answer, though, he’d continued:

“i mean, you should be trying to lose weight.” he leaned into the word ‘lose’, as if speaking to a child. 

you remember your anger had begun to dissipate, quickly replaced by offence and sadness. you’d stood up quickly, grabbing at your things so you could leave. 

mr. lee had frowned at your reaction. “come on now,” he’d said. “there’s no need to feel upset, i’m only being honest with you. you don’t want me to lie, do you? you’re fat, you may as well know.”

you spun on him. “and what’s so wrong with being fat?”

before he could supply you with an answer (which he surely thought he had) you’d stormed out of the room and requested the afternoon off.

and now here you are. 

you stumble a bit on your way out of the elevator, cursing as you nearly drop your bag. when you finally make it to your door, it takes three tries to get the code correct.

you sigh heavily as the door to your apartment swings open. to your surprise, you find the lights still on, and it takes you a moment to realize why. 

it’s friday.

hoseok had the day off. 

shit.

you kick off your shoes and shut the door quickly, abandoning any efforts to be quiet. your own sniffles seem loud as you scramble to shut yourself in the hallway bathroom. you don’t want him to see you like this- crying, puffy, and chubby as usual.

right as you slam the bathroom door shut, you hear his voice.

“y/n?”

you grimace, clamping a hand over your mouth to stifle the sounds of your crying. 

“y/n-ah, is that you?”

you hear your boyfriend pad into the hallway, and his steps falter when he discovers your belongings strewn about by the front door. there’s a pause, then the footsteps continue to the bathroom door- where, on the other side, you’re slumped against the cabinets. 

hoseok knocks gently. “y/n? love, are you alright? i thought you worked until five today...” 

when you don’t answer, he continues. “are you sick?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, and a small sob tears its way out of your mouth.

you can tell your boyfriend heard it, because his voice becomes even more frantic. “y/n?” he says, leaning against the door.

oh, hoseok. sweet, innocent hoseok. he was always so kind to you. you remember the day when he first asked you out- you’d been convinced it was a prank at first, but when you realized he was being genuine, you’d fallen for him instantly. now, you know that genuine was all hobi ever was.

he’d never called you fat. it had crossed your mind, of course- whether or not your size bugged him, or if he had to defend you to his friends- but whenever you’d been brave enough to ask about it, hoseok would always respond with: “of course not, my love, you’re beautiful.”

you’d never pushed it, though now you realize you always wanted to. 

now you remove your hand from your mouth, taking a shaky breath. your voice trembles as you finally respond: ‘”i’m okay, i’m- i’m not sick or anything.”

you hear your boyfriend’s body slide down the length of the door, ultimately settling on the ground in front of it. you lean forward so your head is pressed against the wood- the two of you are sitting face to face, with only the closed door keeping you apart.

“y/n-ah, talk to me.” hoseok says. “please.”

your shoulders shake as another wave of tears crashes over you. “i’m sorry,” you manage. “i’m just- i’m not feeling very good right now.”

you can tell hobi’s face is pressed into the door from how close his voice sounds. his words are tinged with distress. “what happened?”

you sigh, overwhelmed with shame and anger. you don’t want to tell him- but of course, you know you have to anyways. if for anything, just to wipe the sad curiosity out of his voice.

“you remember- do you remember how i have that awful new coworker?” you croak.

there was a pause, then: “the older one?” 

“yeah. he’s annoying. and rude.” 

“okay, yeah. i remember.” hoseok says quietly, urging you to continue.

you inhale slowly. “he just- he said some things to me today, and i-”

hobi interrupts you suddenly, his tone having gone sharp. “what kind of things?”

you pause. “he said... things about my body. he said i needed to lose weight.”

hoseok says nothing, which is always worrisome. you can practically feel his emotions through the solid wooden door- a chaotic mix of distress, concern, and red-hot fury.

after a moment, your boyfriend speaks up. “y/n-ah.”

you hum dully in response.

“can you please open the door?”

you frown, but decide not to fight it. you know he’s only trying to help. so you reach up and scoot back a few feet so that the door can open inwards. hoseok, who had been so faithfully slumped on the other side, shuffles inside the small bathroom, still on his knees.

when he meets your eyes, you can see his heartbreak, and he can see yours. without any hesitation, he reaches forward and takes your face in his hands, softly caressing your tear-streaked cheeks.

you lean into his touch, allowing your body to fall forward into his. he slips an arm around your abdomen in support. 

a few minutes pass without speaking, the air filled only with the sounds of hobi’s hand running over your back, and your laboured breathing.

finally, your counterpart speaks up. “y/n- is that all he said? the one thing?”

he places his hand on your jaw to lift your face away from his chest, wanting to meet your eyes.

you sigh, pulling away. “no, he- he told me that i should eat less, and that-” your breath catches. “well, he said i was fat.”

hoseok’s jaw clenches, and you shift in his arms. “what?” you whisper.

his eyes are aflame when he responds. “why would he say those things to you? i just- why did he think he’d have any right?”

you look away. “i don’t know. male workplace entitlement.”

hobi gives a wry chuckle. “that’s no excuse.”

“i know.”

“we’ll report him, alright? i will, if you won’t. that’s no way to be speaking to coworkers.”

you nod vaguely as hobi runs his hands up and down your arms. trapped underneath you, your right foot begin to fall asleep. 

“baby?” your boyfriend asks after a minute.

“do you think he’s right?” you burst, eyes burning. “do you think i need to lose weight?”

hoseok’s face falls, and he grasps at your wrists. “y/n,” he starts.

“no,” you interrupt. “really, hoseok. i- i’m not enough for you, am i? i don’t know why you stay with me. you’re way out of my league.”

“y/n!” hobi snaps. his tone is suddenly sharp.

you shut your mouth, already regretting your words.

“my love.” hoseok whispers, his voice breaking. “how could you say that?”

you choke on a dry sob, unable to answer.

your boyfriend’s eyes search your face, desperate for an answer that isn’t there. “how could you ever think that you aren’t good enough? and- what, just because you aren’t skinny?”

you look down at the floor as he continues, blinking rapidly. the tears really won’t stop. 

“that’s a silly way to think.” hoseok says quietly. “and i know that for a fact, y/n. because you are the most beautiful girl i’ve ever known. and you always will be, no matter how big you are. you could be four sizes smaller, or four sizes larger, and i would love you all the same.”

you burrow your face further into his chest. “you mean it?” your voice comes out in a whimper.

“absolutely.” he says, not hesitating. “there is no version of events where you aren’t good enough for me. you’re too good for me, honestly. sometimes i think you deserve better.”

you pull away now, frowning. “that’s not true.”

“why not?”

“well,” you falter. “because i love you. and i chose you. i chose you because i love you, and i don’t want anybody else.”

above you, hoseok smiles gently, waiting for you to hear your own words.

the realization hits, and you understand suddenly. he wanted you to say that, to hear it from yourself.

“oh,” you whisper.

“now do you get it?”

you sniffle, grateful that your tears have mostly subsided. “yeah,” you mumble. “i get it.”

“good.” hobi pauses. “i love you, y/n. and it doesn’t matter what anyone else says about you, because you’re gorgeous, and you’re important. and you will never be defined by your body. i’ll call your office and report that awful guy, alright?”

you nod silently.

“okay.” he says, nudging your arm. “now how about you get cleaned up? since you’re home early we can spend the whole evening together if you’d like.”

you perk up at that. “oh- yes, i want to.”

hoseok smiles. “i thought so. here-” he rises to his feet, extending a hand to help you. you take it, placing your palm in his. he lifts you to standing, then smiles again.

“don’t worry, my love. i’ll fix your mood right up. i even have some sample tracks i could show you!”

you smile gently. “that sounds nice.”

as he turns to leave, you clear your throat. “hoseok.”

he turns quickly, eyebrows raised. “hmm?”

you gesture for him to come closer, and as soon as he’s in arm’s reach, you lean over and kiss him.

it’s a gentle kiss, really. a kiss that says i love you, and a kiss that says thank you, for everything.

hoseok hums into your mouth, hands quickly finding your waist. you lean into him, body and mind buzzing. kissing hoseok is your favorite, because each time is just a little different. 

your hands find his hair, and you smile against his mouth. you can feel him smile back.

he kisses you for just a moment longer, then pulls away. 

he rests his forehead on yours, sighing lightly.

and you know that you have never felt more loved, more beautiful, more safe, then you do in that moment, with him. 

[anoradraws]

Z-Move with a Price (Part 3)

My first attempt at a P.O.V short story; hope you enjoy!

Summary: ‘While a battle you were forced to engage in pursues, your Z-Move attempt has mysteriously backfired... and now you have to pay for the consequences.’

⚠️WARNING:⚠️ Explicit language, mild violence and gore, slight sexual preferences. Read at your own caution.

Guzma drags you with him to the Pokémon Center in downtown Iki Town, where Team Skull admin Plumeria and nearly the entirety of the grunts waited patiently for your arrival and Guzma’s. Once you both arrived, Guzma tells a couple of the grunts to keep guard outside the clinic while he keeps his grip tightly onto your left wrist as he drags you with him inside the building with Plumeria and about two more grunts following behind, and the rest of the team either followed you all in or assist in the guard.

At the front desk, Nurse Joy and her Blissey became shocked at the arrival of Team Skull, but especially at the arrival of Guzma himself. She didn’t know if Team Skull were preparing to raid the Pokémon Center, cause some random ruckus to annoy the staffers, or...

Guzma approaches the nervous nurse, but held a more concerned look on his face as he explains the more important situation to her.

“Please nurse, I need your help in healing my Pokémon, Golisopod!” He requested with a steady but worrisome tone in his voice.

Befuddled by the gentle request coming from a gangster boss, Nurse Joy tries to recollect her thoughts back into reality as she replies. “Eh, are you sure? I-I mean, what seems to be the problem?”

Guzma pulls out Golisopod’s pokeball once more and releases his prized pocket monster for the nurse to see for herself. The nurse looks over at the large isopod creature and see the bloodied brutality that appears before her, shocking her to the point where she feels her life flashing before her eyes.

“Sweet Arceus, what did you do?!?” She cried just as she pressed the emergency button on her desk, summoning a few staff members to prepare a gurney, some IV, and other medical attention to get Guzma’s Golisopod ready for treatment.

“What happened to this poor Pokémon?!” Nurse Joy asked once more with a continued look of fear on her face.

Guzma pulls your arm up in midair and pulls you closer to his side as he remarks. “Why don’t you ask her instead? She’s the one responsible for this mess!”

Nurse Joy just looks at you with slight confusion but still held that terrified concern for Golisopod and asks. “Is this true? What did you do?”

You chuckled as you try to lighten the mood a bit with a corny reply. “Heh... funny story...”

Guzma squeezes your wrist tighter in his bear hand, annoyed by your reply of how this current situation is funny.

“GA-AAH-- B-But not as funny as you might think!” You winced by Guzma’s crushing your wrist, almost hearing a piece of bone break through the skin, but then you continued as you submit to your actions. “(Sigh) In all seriousness... yes, I did this to Golisopod... it’s true, it’s my fault.”

Nurse Joy couldn’t believe it, coming from even an assistant to Professor Kukui, but it was indeed true; you did something horrific which caused the move to result in the current yet gruesome plight which poor Golisopod now suffers from. You continued to explain what happened while staffers begin to cart the injured Pokémon through the large doors that lead to the surgery room.

“I don’t even know how it happened though; all I know is I-I was about to win the battle but then, once I powered up my Z-Move I-it was like-- I-I lost control or, I don’t know, something else made the move take a setback and then there was this explosion, fire, brimstone, and worst of all it took a serious hit-- literally-- on Golisopod, and... (sigh) well... here we are.”

It wasn’t quite the best explanation you had recollected, but it was enough for Nurse Joy to feel a little more sympathy for what Golisopod had gone through, and understood what became of Golisopod’s injuries. 

Momentarily she makes another statement. “Well, I suppose with the conditions Golisopod is going through, it might actually take some time for it to fully recover, but...”

You swallow your tongue as you feel a bad sense of what the nurse might say next.

“Especially in this critical condition, there may be a chance... he won’t make it.”

The nurse’s last comment made Guzma squeeze your wrist even tighter, even making you feel uncomfortable by Nurse Joy’s bad news at this point as you yell in your head ‘Ohpleasedon’tsaythatpleasedon’tsaythatpleasedon’tsaythat!’. Then the nurse explains once more.

“However, we’ll be checking in and keeping you up to date on how your Golisopod is doing; for now I’ll see to it that Golisopod is prepared for further evaluation before we get started on his surgery.” Afterwards, the nurse returns to the desk and gets back to work with her Blissey partner assisting her.

While the conversations between you and Nurse Joy may have been over, it still didn’t fully convince Guzma as he was still transfixed on the thought that as the nurse quoted awhile ago, that Golisopod may not make it; which suddenly enrages him more and starts to tighten your wrist in his hand, and then furiously drags you to a dark corner of the hallway at the right hand side of the Center’s front desk. 

You were then nearly lifted up against the wall by Guzma, looking straight into his eyes as you were almost at the core of your fear by what he was going to do next. You try to calm him down while trying to defend for your life.

“Guzma, wait; I don’t think the nurse really meant what she said-- she’s only doing her job! Please, please, wait!!!”

With wrath in his expression, Guzma lifts a fully prepared fist as he was actually about to take a true beating to you!

You try your fullest to calm him, but the fear in your voice just fuels Guzma’s anger more. “NO! WAIT! PLEASE, PLEASE DON’T DO THIS; I’M SORRY, I’M TRULY SORRY, I’LL BE FOREVER SORRY BY THIS, I SWEAR!!!”

Within seconds Guzma readies to strike until you cried once more. “PLEASEPLEASEI’LLDOANYTHING!!!ANYTHINGYOUWANT!!!--

“I’LLDOANYTHINGFORYOU!!!!!!”

You close your eyes for the incoming punch you feel would eventually leave you 15 to 20 stitches and several bruises, but as your life flashed before your eyes you instead hear a different sound:

CREACKK!!!

A ringing in your ear where the sound comes from emerges but only for a few solid seconds while your eyes still close from seeing the impact of Guzma’s fist. In fact, you physically feel no hit at all; nothing has made even a dent on your pretty nose or other parts of your face. You slowly but easily open your eyes, despite feeling pale as a ghost, and you look to see Guzma’s fist set within inches off the side of your head, smashed into a now cracked wall you are continuously pinned against, and seeing a small hint of blood coming from Guzma’s knuckles from where he had punched just moments ago.

Guzma lowers his now bloodied fist to his waist, but keeps you pinned up against the wall as you breath profusely from the fear of being beaten by the Team Skull leader. Then Guzma stares deep into your eyes as something new starts swimming in his head. Was it something you said that stopped him from punching you? Something even you are now starting to regret despite it stopped him from harming you?

Finally, Guzma cracks half a grin as he repeats the frightened words you shouted a moment ago. “You’ll do anything for me, huh?”

You stuttered while trying to recover from the fear of being punched by a giant pissed off gorilla that is Guzma. “... W-Well, um... I-I mean...”

Guzma lowers you back to the ground while he pulls out another pokeball from his pants pockets as he continued. “You’re right; you’re too pretty of a face to be beaten with my fists. Let’s make this a little more interesting though;”

Meanwhile, Plumeria, followed by about three grunts that followed behind, and your Bulbasaur each heard the loud commotion coming from you and Guzma and wanted to see what was going on as they hear Guzma continue talking to you.

“... You and me. A rematch. One on one this time.”

You swallowed some air as you hear Guzma’s conditions of the new battle you and Guzma will be pursuing in soon. “If you win, I’ll accept all your apologies and you can go on your way.” Then you asked despite you probably already know what the other hand will hold. “What about you if you win?”

Guzma smiles a little wider than even your Gengar would normally do, and he replies with a slight whisper to your ear. “... If I win?... Then you belong to me.”

You feel your soul nearly drop from your physical being after hearing those last five words. Why didn’t I just take the punch, you thought endlessly now, but listen at the same time as Guzma continued.

“If I win the battle, you’ll not only belong to me, but you’ll still stay with me even until Golisopod gets back on his feet-- if he does get better that is, which he’d better be for your sake. Until then, I’ll be thinking up every punishment for you to suffer, and something even bigger once Golisopod’s surgery is done. You got all that?”

With no other choice, and without any second thoughts, you agree to Guzma’s terms. “O-Okay, okay, I-I’ll battle you.”

Then Guzma turns his head and notices his second in command and his grunts listening in on the conversation, but he mostly notices your Bulbasaur who held a worrisome expression over the whole ordeal, and thought up another idea in his head as he told you once more.

“Bring your Bulbasaur into the rematch; I want to see how well he can actually fight like you always brag about.”

“Toothless?” You asked as you turn to Guzma’s direction and see your Bulbasaur alongside Plumeria and the grunts, all holding confused and worried looks of what you and Guzma were discussing. Then you momentarily agree as you didn’t want to piss off Guzma than he already is. “Alright, okay, Toothless can fight with me.”

At this moment Plumeria had already figured out what you and Guzma were talking about and she spoke up of the situation. “You guys are already talking up another battle between you two-- especially at a time like this?”

“Relax Plumes, we talked some negotiations and we’re gonna have a one on one rematch for it.” Guzma reassured with a smug expression while still gripping onto the collar of your hoodie shirt.

Plumeria shook her head, knowing Guzma may have a trick or two up his sleeve, and then she replied with a reassured look on her face towards you. “Alright, but this time I’ll be the referee in this match. Not because of being in Team Skull, but I want this to be a clean and fair fight this time.”

----------

Outside the Pokémon Center, you and Guzma were setting up for a rematch even though you personally feel this is going to come back and bite you in the ass; you brush up with your Bulbasaur-- Toothless-- to figure out some battle tactics against one of Guzma’s Pokémon even though he didn’t say what he was planning to use, and once you finally ready your Bulbasaur, you tell Plumeria to get the battle rolling.

“Alright; Team Skull Boss Guzma vs. Research Assistant (Y/N)-- REMATCH: One on One Battle!” Plumeria announced as a few spectators outside the Pokemon Center watch with interest. “Bring out your chosen Pokémon!”

You send Toothless out on the makeshift battlefield in the middle of the beachy street while Guzma sends out his second Pokémon of his personal bug team-- an Ariados, the long leg Pokémon.

Most of the crowd were cheering for you as you were publicly known as Kukui’s research assistant while you reside in Alola, all in hopes you would beat Team Skull’s Boss and show ‘em their place in society.

“Let’s go (Y/N)!” One spectator cheered. “You can do it!”

“Even an assistant to Professor Kukui is no match for Team Skull!” Another cheered.

One of the onlooker’s child suddenly notices something off about you. “Mommy, is the Pwofesas’ asisant supos to shake wike that?”

Something was definitely off about you; you’re actually just standing there, frozen but quivering in fear for some reason. You’re breathing heavily and sweating profusely; something was frightening you to the bone. Even your Toothless looks back at you and notices your shaking in fear, but then he looks back at his opponent, the Ariados, and at that moment your Toothless realized something--

-- You are deathly afraid of spiders-- specifically any Spider Pokémon-- even a common Dewpider sends you running up a tree like a scared Persian! And it’s a phobia you had completely forgotten about once you agreed to battle Guzma again. Any time a spider or spider-looking Pokémon is used against you, it is your Bulbasaur who is not only your starter Pokémon you formed a bond back in Kanto, but he’s also your emotional support Pokémon to calm you even from your greatest fears while you’re in battle; but now that Toothless is on the battlefield he can’t necessarily be right at your side to calm you.

Toothless panics in realization that he can’t follow his trainer’s commands while calming you at the same time. However, it was already too late when Plumeria signals to start the rematch. “BATTLE: BEGIN!”

Guzma smirks while he gives the first command to his Ariados. “Use Shadow Sneak!”

The Ariados quickly uses a ghost type move to make the first pounce on Toothless, while Toothless himself turns around and tries to snap you out of your phobia as he uses his vine whip to smack your face back to reality. Unfortunately, the Ariados manages to strike Toothless with his move, knocking Toothless to the side while you suddenly cower as you crouch yourself to avert your sights at the Ariados, not realizing your Toothless is in danger despite his own strength in surviving the first attack.

Guzma orders Shadow Sneak with his Ariados a couple more times in weakening your Toothless and finally finishes the battle in its entirety with Infestation, making Toothless push back in mid air and thrown right at you, knocking the both of you to the ground. You finally snap back to reality once your Bulbasaur smacks you in the head, but at what cost as you see Toothless knocked out of the ring, and you rush over to help him.

“Toothless! No! I-I’m so sorry!!!” You cried with deep regret of letting your phobia getting straight to you as you check Toothless’s condition as Toothless is now knocked out cold. 

Plumeria checks over your shoulder to see Toothless out of the ring and out of consciousness from the battle, and announces the winner. “(Y/N)’s Bulbasaur is unable to battle, which means Team Skull Boss Guzma is the winner!”

As Plumeria announced the winner, you suddenly feel a deep chill in the air, a dark and foreboding appall, and a harrowing realization-- that you now belong to Guzma, the Team Skull leader and Boss.

While some of the spectators either left the scene or felt disappointed by your loss, Guzma calls back his Ariados and momentarily walks vigorously to his prize. He slightly slouches over your head as you were kneeling to the ground speechless by your loss and recovering your Bulbasaur with some health potions you packed in your backpack, and he chuckles in delight.

“A deal’s a deal princess... you’re mine now.”

You shiver at the thought of being anywhere near Guzma once you looked up slightly at him; then you take out an empty Master Ball and actually transferred your Bulbasaur back in for safekeeping. Then, without any hesitation, you try to run away from him-- again!

“Oh-ho no you don’t!” Guzma chuckled as he finally grabs you by the hood of your hoodie shirt, and then he lifts you by your waist and starts to drag you back into the Pokémon Center. While you struggled to get away, you also accused Guzma of purposely sending out the Ariados, knowing well of your arachnophobia.

"You son of a bitch-- bastard; you tricked me! You knew I'm scared of spider Pokémon, didn't you?!?"

"I tricked you?" Guzma laughed. "I only told you to battle with your Bulbasaur, I never told you what I was gonna battle with. Besides, we'll count this as your first part of your list of punishments."

"You motherf--!!!"

Momentarily, you and Guzma are back inside the Pokémon Center, when Nurse Joy shortly notices your return and approaches the two of you to ask something.

"Oh, I see you two have returned!" She said with a steady voice. "I have been meaning to ask you anyway; since your Golisopod will be under intensive care for the next few days, would you be considered to staying here as well?”

Guzma forms a mischievous grin at you as he replied. “Why yes, actually; in fact do you have something of a honeymoon suite?”

“WHAT?!?!” You cried before Guzma would cover your mouth from talking anymore, half of your mind hoping he’s just joking.

Even Nurse Joy gave a befuddled expression by Guzma’s request, but continued. “O-Oh? Eh, well, I mean-- of course, there is a special one-bed complex you may take residence in while your Pokémon recovers; would that be alright?”

Objectively, you lick Guzma’s hand to break free from his grasp; Guzma flinches by your disgusting gesture while he still grips together tightly to your arms and waist with one arm. while at the same time you cried. “I’d rather sleep in a dumpster than share a room with this egomaniac!!!” 

Quickly, Guzma covers your mouth, and this time he ignores you trying to lick your way out of his clutches again, which in all honesty you really didn’t want to do again. Then Guzma agrees to Nurse Joy’s bedroom accommodation, while also speaking on your behalf.

“That’ll be perfect, and sorry about that; you know brides-- post-marital nerves, am I right?”

“MMPFF?!?!?!” What the fuck did he just say?!? you screamed internally.

Meanwhile, Plumeria and most of the Team Skull grunts continued to post guard duties almost all around the lobby and cornerstones of the building (both inside and outside of the Pokémon Center), and while they weren’t necessarily ‘taking over’ the Pokémon Center, it’s only because their Boss’s Pokémon is currently in critical condition and is undergoing evaluation so far. Plumeria, followed by a couple of grunts, couldn’t help but overhear some of the discussions going on between you, Guzma, and Nurse Joy; she approaches the three individuals as the exchange become anxious with you trying to piece together if Guzma’s just joking as part of your punishments with you frantically yelling and struggling to get away.

Shortly however, Nurse Joy hands Guzma an assigned key card for the bedroom suite she mentioned earlier. “Here is your room key; hope you two have a lovely... eh, honeymoon.”

“Honeymoon?” Plumeria chuckled as she already figured Guzma is up to his tricks again. “Didn’t think you guys would make up that fast, especially after everything that happened today.” 

You finally shake Guzma’s hand away from your mouth as you explained. “BULLSHIT, and you KNOW it!!! He’s just using that as either an excuse to get a free room, or another one of his ‘punishments’ to get back at me!”

Guzma holds your arms and waist tightly with one hand while twirling the key card in his free hand, and at the same time he replied. “Well, getting the room was more of a bonus really since you and I are going to be staying here awhile anyway; and on top of that, you deserved this punishment baby.”

You groaned with an annoyed look on your face.

“Oh, before I forget,” Guzma pulls out his pokeball containing Ariados, then he reaches into your hoodie pocket and pull out your pokeball containing your Bulbasaur. He hands both injured Pokémon to Nurse Joy while he remarks with a sinister grin. “See if you can heal our Pokémon real quick and bring them up to our room when your done. (Y/N) and I had our battle earlier today, which kinda led to us getting... eloped.”

Your whole body shudders by the last word Guzma spoke, not to mention your stomach growls in queasiness.

Plumeria chuckles and shakes her head as she prepares to walk away when she spoke once more. “Well, I’ve got a few errands to run anyway, and it’s getting a bit late; I’ll leave some grunts to watch over the place and make sure they don’t do anything else stupid. This is the Pokémon Center after all. And hey, enjoy your ‘honeymoon’ ya lovebirds.”

Saying the last part of the sentence made the grunts that were following Plumeria respond with shock and awe in their eyes. Possibly, they don’t even realize this is all just one of Guzma’s elaborate schemes to mostly punish you.

“(Gasp) Boss is married now?!” Grunt F cried with his expression looking both bewildered and excited.

“Ooh! I love weddings! Congratulations, Boss and Boss-Queen!” Grunt J congratulated as she mysteriously pulls out a traditional bag of wedding rice and throws the little pieces over your head and Guzma’s in a celebratory fashion.

“Wait, where did you pull out that bag of rice--?” You asked but then decided to shut your mouth as you thought to yourself. What am I saying, this is Team Skull here; they’ll steal anything including a Bus Stop sign.

“Alright, beat it you two;” Guzma ordered. “It’s getting late like Plums said, and you should get back to being grunts and go guard the Pokémon Center.”

Shortly afterwards, Guzma finally carries you in a bridal fashion while gripping your arms and legs together so you wouldn’t struggle much to try escaping again, and he carries you to the assigned Center room complex.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (You are here)| Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Epilogue 

[zodiyack]

A One-Of-A-Kind Gangster

Requested by @fandom-puff: Hey! May I request something sweet with alfie Solomons x pregnant!reader where hormones are an absolute bihh and he’s fretting about every little symptom, asking Ollie for advice and being ever so worrisome for a big intimidating gangster? It’s okay if not don’t worry 💖💖💖 big love 💗💗

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x pregnant!Female!reader

Warnings: pregnancy- if that’s a warning, swearing, Alfie already having that parental Stress™, my sad attempt at writing his accent

Words: 933

Summary: (see request)

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @marquelapage, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @psychkunox, @stuckysslag​, @i-love-superhero​

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

"Ollie?” Alfie’s gaze didn’t lift from the papers sprawled on his desk. Names upon names written down, some crossed off, some with question marks beside them. Nonetheless, it was obvious Alfie was undergoing a great amount of stress.

“Yes sir?” Ollie answered with a soft yet still shaky tone. Alfie made all of his workers nervous, even his right hand, but his fear of the big man wouldn’t stop him from doing his job. “What are the names for?”

“The wife’s pregnant, and kids don’t just name ‘emselves.” He chuckled, the noise contagious enough to lift Ollie’s shoulders with laughter. “But that’s only a little of what I need your advice on, son.”

“What can I help you with?”

“Well... Like I said, m’wife ‘as been bakin’ somethin’ of ‘er own and... ’m a little er...” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “scared.”

“You’re...scared?”

“Oi! Don’t tell the ‘hole bloody world! The fuck is wrong with ya?”

Ollie flinched. “Sorry-”

Immediately, upon seeing the young man’s reaction, Alfie felt guilt tear at him. It wasn’t a usual reaction one could draw from Solomons. “Sorry, Ollie. That’s... Didn’t mean t’yell at ya. Just been stressed, ya know? Hate to see the missus in pain... she’s clingy as hell, which I don’t mind, but she’s so sad when I ‘ave to leave.”

He didn’t wait for Ollie to respond, continuing to rant about the emotions coursing through him. “What if ‘m not a good enough dad? Or what if she leaves me? Ollie, I know you’re not a dad, but I figured you’d be the best person to ask for help. My right hand man! What if the baby doesn’t like me though? What if...” Alfie kept Ollie in his office for a good hour or two, simply fretting the worst and coming up with impossible situations each time Ollie tried to reassure him.

By the end of the day, he’d made himself far more tense than when he’d originally entered the bakery. His wife could see the weight as though it visibly weighed him down. He was Atlas and his burden of stress was bringing him to the ground. She ran up to him before he could move away from the front door, concern covering her face.

“Alfie! What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothin’ love, ‘m alright.” He chuckled softly, cupping his wife’s cheek with his soft palm.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“’m not. I know better than to lie to Y/n Solomons.”

Her expression untensed slightly, a warm smile replacing the frown. "You know you can tell me anything, right Alfie?”

“I know.”

Y/n took his hand and led him to the living area, a fire alit and tea on the table beside the chair she had been sitting on. She pushed him into said chair and walked around, ignoring his confused grabs and reaches for her, then grabbing his shoulders. Alfie chuckled again, shaking his head.

“I believe you’re the one who’s supposed t’be in the chair?”

“Not as of this moment, Mr. Solomons.” Her hands grabbed at his shoulders, just rough enough to be relaxing. Alfie tried his hardest to fight the urge to give into the massage, but he lost, leaning back into her touch and closing his eyes as a throaty groan emitted from deep within him. “That’s it. Just relax, okay?”

“Alright.”

Not even a minute later, Y/n’s brows had furrowed once more. “Jesus, Alfie! You’re tenser than...well, everything!”

“‘m sorry, love, I dunno what ‘appened!”

“Stress happened, Alfie. Stress. But my question is, what stressed you out enough to make you this fucking tense?”

“It’s noth-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit again, Alfie. I want to help you, and in order to do that, I need to know the truth.” She walked around the chair and knelt before him, grabbing his hands and looking into his eyes with a pleading look. “When I married you, I vowed to be by your side. Through sickness and health, until death do us part.”

“It’s not that important, love.”

“Don’t say that. Everything you go through his important to me, just as everything I go through is important to you. You can’t just take on all of the families problems by yourself, Alf...”

He sighed, lowering his head as though he were ashamed of his reasoning. In truth, he was ashamed that he couldn’t be the tough man his wife needed, that he couldn’t be the “scary big bad Alfie Solomons” the world knew. He was ashamed that-

“‘m going soft.” Y/n froze, blinking after a few seconds before bursting into laughter. “It’s not fuckin’ funny!”

“Alfie, it kind of is.” She giggled.

“How fuckin’ so?!”

Y/n regained her composure after a few more breaths, looking Alfie in the eyes again and cupping his jaw like he did her cheek a mere few minutes ago. “Either way, I love you and that will never change.” Her other hand met the other side of his face, the love in her eyes hard to miss as she rubbed his cheeks with her thumbs, his stubble tickling her palms. “Soft or not soft, you’re still my Alfie. You’re still this little monster’s father.”

He lowered his head a bit, “You deserve a strong man, love...”

“And I have a strong man. I need not anyone else.”

“But-”

Y/n interrupted Alfie with a kiss, one he reveled in as his eyes fluttered shut. She didn’t pull away completely, mumbling against his lips with a smile. “Why would I, when I have my one-of-a-kind gangster? Rough to the touch, but soft at heart.”