#and it was on the wrong blog anyway so let's fix that

[skyteglad]

the latest aita is making me sad. the teeth one. because like... when i was a kid, i was told to have braces! and that i'd need an eventual surgery! and because i didn't want to, my parents didn't make me.

that surgery would've changed my life. i'm not fucking kidding. i'm pretty sure 75% of my physical disabilities stem from not getting that surgery. and by the time i was able to bring up trying to have corrective work again, i was two years from losing my insurance, and my parents procrastinated. now it seems like a pipe dream it'll ever happen.

i get being resentful of your parents forcing you to do things you don't want to do, but god damn, if mine had actually really pushed me into getting braces, my life would be so much different and so much better.

[physalian]

How to Make Your Writing Less Stiff Part 3

Crazy how one impulsive post has quickly outshined every other post I have made on this blog. Anyway here’s more to consider. Once again, I am recirculating tried-and-true writing advice that shouldn’t have to compromise your author voice and isn’t always applicable when the narrative demands otherwise.

Part 1

Part 2

1. Eliminating to-be verbs (passive voice)

Am/is/are/was/were are another type of filler that doesn’t add anything to your sentences.

There were fireworks in the sky tonight. /// Fireworks glittered in the sky tonight.

My cat was chirping at the lights on the ceiling. /// My cat chirped at the lights on the ceiling.

She was standing /// She stood

He was running /// He ran

Also applicable in present tense, of which I’ve been stuck writing lately.

There are two fish-net goals on either end of the improvised field. /// Two fish-net goals mark either end of the improvised field.

For once, it’s a cloudless night. /// For once, the stars shine clear.

Sometimes the sentence needs a little finagling to remove the bad verb and sometimes you can let a couple remain if it sounds better with the cadence or syntax. Generally, they’re not necessary and you won’t realize how strange it looks until you go back and delete them (it also helps shave off your word count).

Sometimes the to-be verb is necessary. You're writing in past-tense and must convey that.

He was running out of time does not have the same meaning as He ran out of time, and are not interchangeable. You'd have to change the entire sentence to something probably a lot wordier to escape the 'was'. To-be verbs are not the end of the world.

2. Putting character descriptors in the wrong place

I made a post already about motivated exposition, specifically about character descriptions and the mirror trope, saying character details in the wrong place can look odd and screw with the flow of the paragraph, especially if you throw in too many.

She ties her long, curly, brown tresses up in a messy bun. /// She ties her curls up in a messy brown bun. (bonus alliteration too)

Generally, I see this most often with hair, a terrible rule of threes. Eyes less so, but eyes have their own issue. Eye color gets repeated at an exhausting frequency. Whatever you have in your manuscript, you could probably delete 30-40% of the reminders that the love interest has baby blues and readers would be happy, especially if you use the same metaphor over and over again, like gemstones.

He rolled his bright, emerald eyes. /// He rolled his eyes, a vibrant green in the lamplight.

To me, one reads like you want to get the character description out as fast as possible, so the hand of the author comes in to wave and stop the story to give you the details. Fixing it, my way or another way, stands out less as exposition, which is what character descriptions boil down to—something the audience needs to know to appreciate and/or understand the story.

3. Lacking flow between sentences

Much like sentences that are all about the same length with little variety in syntax, sentences that follow each other like a grocery list or instruction manual instead of a proper narrative are difficult to find gripping.

Jack gets out a stock pot from the cupboard. He fills it with the tap and sets it on the stove. Then, he grabs russet potatoes and butter from the fridge. He leaves the butter out to soften, and sets the pot to boil. He then adds salt to the water.

From the cupboard, Jack drags a hefty stockpot. He fills it with the tap, adds salt to taste, and sets it on the stove.

Russet potatoes or yukon gold? Jack drums his fingers on the fridge door in thought. Russet—that’s what the recipe calls for. He tosses the bag on the counter and the butter beside it to soften.

This is just one version of a possible edit to the first paragraph, not the end-all, be-all perfect reconstruction. It’s not just about having transitions, like ‘then’, it’s about how one sentence flows into the next, and you can accomplish better flow in many different ways.

4. Getting too specific with movement.

I don’t see this super often, but when it happens, it tends to be pretty bad. I think it happens because writers feel the need to overcompensate and over-clarify on what’s happening. Remember: The more specific you get, the more your readers are going to wonder what’s so important about these details. This is fiction, so every detail matters.

A ridiculous example:

Jack walks over to his closet. He kneels down at the shoe rack and tugs his running shoes free. He walks back to his desk chair, sits down, and ties the laces.

Unless tying his shoes is a monumental achievement for this character, all readers would need is:

Jack shoves on his running shoes.

*quick note: Do not add "down" after the following: Kneels, stoops, crouches, squats. The "down" is already implied in the verb.

This also happens with multiple movements in succession.

Beth enters the room and steps on her shoelace, nearly causing her to trip. She kneels and ties her shoes. She stands upright and keeps moving.

Or

Beth walks in and nearly trips over her shoelace. She sighs, reties it, and keeps moving.

Even then, unless Beth is a chronically clumsy character or this near-trip is a side effect of her being late or tired (i.e. meaningful), tripping over a shoelace is kind of boring if it does nothing for her character. Miles Morales’ untied shoelaces are thematically part of his story.

Sometimes, over-describing a character’s movement is meant to show how nervous they are—overthinking everything they’re doing, second-guessing themselves ad nauseam. Or they’re autistic coded and this is how this character normally thinks as deeply methodical. Or, you’re trying to emphasize some mundanity about their life and doing it on purpose.

If you’re not writing something where the extra details service the character or the story at large, consider trimming it.

—

These are *suggestions* and writing is highly subjective. Hope this helps!

[1800-fight-me]

Devout Worshiper

Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

Rating: E (EXPLICIT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

Warnings: Explicit sex! This is literally pure smut.

Word count: About 3.3k

Synopsis: The Prince Regent expresses his carnal desire and devotion to you atop the Iron Throne.

Author’s note: We were robbed! I can't believe they never showed us Aemond sitting on the Iron Throne or wearing a crown! So anyway I tried to fix it with this fic- please accept my humble offering.

I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Here's the link to my Aemond Masterlist if you want to check out my other stories! Also my requests are open, please send me some more!!

It was long after the moon rose and the knocking on your chamber door was loud and insistent. It made you nervous, and as you opened the door your confusion only grew. 

A kingsguard stood in your doorway. 

“My lady, the Prince Regent requests your presence in the throne room.” He said sternly, making it clear it was more of a demand than a request. 

Prince Regent? 

Trepidation filled you, but you only nodded demurely and followed his lead. 

You flinched as thunder cracked loud enough to hurt your ears. Flashes of lightning lit your way through the halls of the Red Keep as rain poured. 

The kingsguard opened the door to the throne room and gestured for you to enter. He did not follow you, only closed the door behind you, sealing you in. 

Lightning flashed again and you saw the Prince Regent where he lounged on the iron throne. His long silver hair practically shimmered in the low light, his legs were spread, and his gaze was heart stoppingly intimidating. 

Your heart skipped a beat, but for a completely different reason. 

“Aemond,” you breathed out, walking forward again so eagerly you nearly tripped over your own feet. 

You heard that he and Vhagar had returned to King’s Landing after the battle, but hadn't seen him yet. He looked good, completely himself, not a scratch on him and not a hair out of place. You were so relieved. 

He murmured your name too, strong unidentified 

emotion behind the syllables. 

As you beheld your childhood best friend, he looked the same, but something about him was completely changed. Perhaps it had something to do with the conqueror’s crown that rested upon his brow. 

You stopped walking as you reached the bottom of the stairs of the throne. 

“What-“

”Aegon was grievously harmed in the battle, I have been named Prince Regent while he heals,” he explained. 

You nodded, you had heard the King was hurt. 

“And you, are you alright?” 

He smiled crookedly and nodded. 

You stared up at him, for the first time in your life uncertain about what to say to your childhood companion. The circumstances of this conversation were far different than any other time you spoke to him. 

He beckoned you forward, and feeling jittery you 

tentatively made your way up the steps of the iron throne. 

As you reached him, relief overcame you and you laid your hand on his cheek. 

“I’m so glad you’ve returned unharmed. I was so worried for you. I don’t know what I would do if-“ 

He shushed you gently as he placed a large hand on your waist and pulled you closer to him, leading you to stand between his spread legs. 

You knew that none of this was proper. 

“I am here,” he murmured and nuzzled his face into your hand. 

Your heart thumped harder as you tried to pull your hand away, but he intertwined his fingers with yours and prevented you, instead running his nose gently across your skin, invoking goosebumps. 

He took a deep breath as his nose reached your wrist and let out a soft groan. 

Your knees threatened to buckle. 

You should pull away. Walk away. This was wrong, wrong, wrong. You were betrothed to another man. He was betrothed to a woman who was not you. 

“I thought of nothing but your scent throughout the battle, of returning home to you and smelling you once more,” he said, his voice low and deep, before he pressed his lips to your wrist. 

“Aemond,” you protested weakly. 

“Claiming you as mine,” he continued, trailing his lips further up your arm, pushing away the fabric in search of your skin. 

“It is a sin,” you protested. 

About a year ago Queen Alicent caught you and Aemond in a passionate kiss, it was not the first kiss between the two of you, and reprimanded you both sharply. Reminded you both that your maidenhood must remain intact and that developing feelings for one another was folly as it was highly likely you would both be betrothed to others. 

Her words were sharp and you took them to heart. You did your best to squash your feelings for Aemond and treat him only as a friend. 

But feelings that strong don’t merely disappear… and it seemed Aemond’s desire for you remained as fiery as ever. 

“Nothing between you and I could ever be a sin. We were made for each other,” he said urgently, his lips now reaching the skin revealed by your collar as he pulled you even closer. 

Your breath hitched in your throat. 

“We are betrothed to marry others,” you said even as you whined at the feel of his lips against your throat. 

“Fuck that,” he said as he bit down on the most sensitive part of your neck. 

Your grip on his shoulder tightened even as you plunged your other hand in his hair at the back of his head and held him closer, tighter, never wanting to be apart from him again. 

He chuckled darkly and licked up your throat to your jaw. 

“Aemond,” you panted and he pulled back enough to look you in the eye, one hand slipping to caress the side of your face. 

“You are mine,” he growled. 

You whimpered. 

“Say it,” he ordered. 

“I’m yours,” you breathed out. 

You stared into his violet gaze, overwhelmed by the emotion you beheld. 

“And I am yours,” he said. 

“And you are mine,” you repeated. 

You weren’t sure who moved first, but his lips crashed into yours, and it was like coming up for air. You couldn’t breathe without him, hadn’t been able to breathe properly in a year, and now in his arms with his lips covering yours, your breaths came properly.

He pulled back all too soon, and said, “We will say our vows again on the morrow in the sept. I am Prince Regent now, I sit upon the Iron Throne, no one can deny us. You will be mine for the rest of our lives.” 

The crack in your heart that has festered over the last year healed over instantly and you scrambled upon his lap as you kissed him once more. 

As your tongue tangled with his and you both gripped one another tighter, as he held you closer than you’d ever been held. 

‘Finally, finally, finally’ your heart and soul sang. He let out a cocky chuckle and you realized you’d said the words out loud. 

He pulled your legs apart, spreading them as you settled more comfortably on his lap, your dress no longer a barrier between the two of you as his tongue flicked against yours. 

Heat ran up your spine as the taste of him filled your mouth, as your blood pounded through your veins, as he somehow managed to pull you even closer- practically crushing you against him. 

His hand ran up from your waist, his palm enveloping and gently squeezing your breast, and an erotic moan escaped from your lips, spilling into his mouth. 

He pulled your mouth closer, tangling his tongue with yours as he moaned back. His fingers began to tug at the laces of your bodice, and you pulled back with a small gasp. 

“Aemond,” you whispered in concern, looking back to make sure you were well and truly alone. 

“I ordered them to leave us be and guard the doors. No one will interrupt us,” he reassured as he tugged again at the tie covering your heaving bosom. 

Your breasts spilled from your dress as you stared into his eye. You reached around his head and unbuckled the eyepatch, letting it fall to the side, rendering him bare too as the sapphire eye glittered- a reflection of the flashing lightning. 

His gaze dropped to your chest, and with hands on your waist he led you to move your hips, grinding down on his hardened length.  

Your whimper turned into a gasp as his lips left hot opened mouthed kisses that trailed from the hollow of your throat to your breasts. 

As his mouth enveloped your nipple, his tongue swirled on the sensitive bud and you let out a breathy, “Oh!”. You continued to grind down on him, your breaths quickening as heat filled your core. 

His thumb flicked your other nipple as he suckled and moaned. The crown on his head slid down on his forehead for the third time, getting in his way and irritating him. He yanked it off his brow and placed it on your head before returning his attention to your breasts. 

Your head fell back and you moaned wantonly at the eroticism of the action. His hands yanked at your skirts, rucking them up enough that his long warm fingers met the sensitive skin of your upper thighs. 

You shivered at his touch even as a bead of sweat dripped down your spine in the cold throne room. 

Never, you’d never been touched in such a way, never been worshiped in such a way, never had the love of your life fully expressed his devotion to you. And when his fingers slipped into your slick and lust swollen cunt, you knew you’d be his until the day you died.

Those fingers teased and rubbed, finding their way to the pinpoint of your pleasure and you gasped so loud it echoed throughout the room. 

He hummed in approval, his lips quirking into a smirk as he looked up at you and you yanked on his hair pulling him into another heated kiss. 

His finger, that damned finger, swirled around your clit and you bit his lip. 

He hissed your name and sunk a finger inside your desperate cunt. This, this was heaven. Fuck the gods and religion, you were his and he was yours and nothing else mattered. 

He slipped another finger inside you, pumping them in and out gently and you moaned as you clenched around those perfect fingers. 

“You’re perfect like this,” he groaned and you whined once more at the praise and with the flick of his thumb against your clit you gasped his name. 

His breaths came heavier as he watched you near your peak, the pupil in his eye lust blown, and the type of adoration in his gaze you’d always yearned for from him. 

Heat coiled in your core, your heartbeat pounded throughout your whole body, and with a moan of his name you came harder than your own fingers had ever brought you. 

His lips were on yours, consuming and devouring you hungrily, swallowing the sounds of pleasure from your lips that only he could elicit. 

Your desire for him did not diminish, no you needed him somehow even more now. You wiggled your hand between the two of you and ran your hand across his hardened cock. 

He moaned into your mouth, and feeling emboldened, you began to attempt to free it from his tight pants. He chuckled, placed a kiss on your jaw and took mercy on you, and assisted you. 

You wrapped your hand around his hardened length, trepidation filling you at the size of him, and you looked back up at his face with a shaky breath, suddenly feeling bashful at your lack of experience.  

Doubt flickered in your mind, what if you couldn’t please him? What if- 

His lips were on yours once again, he kissed you with a steadfastness that reminded you that this was in no way meaningless, this was Aemond - your best friend- expressing his love for you. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmured in your ear as he trailed his lips across your throat. His large hand wrapped around your much smaller one and guided you to wrap your hand around his cock. 

You whimpered in desire as he continued to guide you to stroke his throbbing length. He led you to twist your wrist, showed you where to grip tighter, guided you to pump his cock up and down until he was groaning. 

He let go of your hand, and you continued to pleasure him, feeling more powerful than ever before as you held the cock of the Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, as he again dipped his head and encapsulated your nipple in his warm wet mouth. 

You both whimpered in pleasure, and as you ran your other hand through his silver tresses, pulling his head closer into your chest, you felt that there was nothing better in this life than this. 

Until he lifted his head once more, his eye wide and filled with love, and you crushed your lips into his. 

His hand met yours once more, brushing yours away, and he guided his cock to the entrance of your sopping cunt as you settled your hips over his once more. 

Your breaths came heavier as he said, “You are mine.” 

“I’m yours,” you responded, nodding and following his guidance as you began to sink your hips down on his throbbing cock. 

You winced slightly at the stretch, but he ran a hand up and down your back, pulled you closer to him- your chest crushing against his, and dripped honeyed reassurances in your ear.

”You can fit me, my love. You were made for me,” he said. 

Your heart burned for him, and with his grip on your hip you managed to take him completely inside your soaked cunt.  

The frantic feeling in both of you eased as you sat on his lap, stuffed full of him, and felt complete in a way you never had before. 

Your hands ran across his chest, up his shoulders and down to his biceps, gripping the corded muscle you found everywhere. In tandem, he ran his hands up and down your curves, gripping the flesh he found, until his hands enveloped your ass. 

He gripped your ass and led you to shift your hips, grinding down on him in a circular motion. You let out a breathy, “oh!” The feel of him inside of you as you shifted, moving in an erotic way you’d never moved before, threatened to overcome you. 

“You are perfect,” he reassured and you clenched down on him, causing you both to moan. 

When you were ready, he then guided you to lift your hips up until his cock was almost completely out of your cunt, then you sunk back all the way down, sucking him inside your desperate hole, becoming his in a way that was irreversible. 

“Aemond,” you gasped as you repeated the action, continuing to let him guide you. You finally learned how good it felt to be full, to be so full of him you realized how empty and aching for him you’d felt for years. 

His grip tight on you, stuffed full of his cock, as his teeth bit down on your neck, you’d never felt so alive- so free. 

And so you found a rhythm, bounding up and down on his cock, bringing you both pleasure unlike any other. 

With his hands on your hips, your pace quickened, and one of your hands slipped from his shoulder, looking for more leverage and you cut yourself on a blade of the throne. 

You yanked your hand back with a gasp, ceasing your motions atop him, and he looked at you wide eyed. 

“What is it?” He asked and you placed your hand in his. He surveyed the small cut on your finger, you both realized it was small, barely more than a papercut really, you were lucky, and then he brought your hand to his lips. 

You blinked in surprise as he enveloped your finger in his mouth, lips parting and tongue licking the blood off it. 

You stared at him in shock for one moment, two, then three…. long enough that his expression became bashful, before you crushed your lips into his, pillaging his mouth with your tongue, desperate to taste yourself inside his mouth. 

He moaned as his hand on the back of your neck pulled you closer, and then you were both moving again. 

You felt blissful, stretched out in such a wonderful way, and desperate for anything he threw at you. 

“Made for me,” he breathed out once again against your lips. 

“You’re mine,” you replied as you ground down on him. 

He huffed out something between a chuckle and a moan, and with a tight grip of your hips, he said, “I am yours until the day I die.” 

He punctuated every word with a sharp thrust inside you, and with that he took control from you. You gave it to him gladly, and held onto his shoulders, tangled your fingers in his hair as he thrust up inside you at a pace that kept you from breathing properly. 

There was a spot inside you, that you’d explored before with your fingers, but never once had you felt like this as his cock hit that spot repeatedly. Your toes curled and you whined his name in a high pitched voice you didn’t even recognize as your own. 

“For so long I dreamed of what noises I could pull from your lips. Mmmm… the real thing is so much better than anything I could have imagined,” he purred in your ear. 

Your only possible response was a gasp and clenching on his thick length as your mind had separated from your body, there was only him and the pleasure his body provided yours. 

His muttered words in high valyrian, sweet promises of devotion as he continued to fill you. He filled your body, your heart, your soul, and the only expression of devotion you could return was to come on his cock. 

With a moan and a squelch you gushed around him and he gasped, holding you tighter, somehow increasing his pace- the intensity of his thrusts as he followed you over the edge. 

With one final push inside your cunt, he climaxed inside you, filling you with his come, and it was all you could do to kiss him, sloppily and desperate, as he marked you as his. 

You rested your head in his shoulder, breathing him in as you both came down and attempted to slow your heart rates. 

He tattooed his name against your being as he pressed his lips to any bare skin he could reach. 

“I love you,” you whispered, completely baring yourself to him, feeling more vulnerable than ever before, despite your state of undress, despite the fact that he was still inside you. 

“I have loved you for as long as I have known what love is, and I will continue to do so until I am ashes in the wind,” he swore, pulling back to meet your gaze. 

You could only wrap your arms tighter around him and hold him. 

Eventually, he disentangled the two of you, but swatted your hands away as you attempted to retie your bodice. 

“I never said I was done with you,” he growled. 

A shiver ran down your sweat slicked spine. 

You merely let him lead you to stand, watched as he tucked himself back into his pants, then he led you to sit on the iron throne. 

“Aemond,” you protested, but he merely shook his head at you, took a step back, and stared at you. 

There was desire, possessiveness, and feral satisfaction in his eye as he looked you up and down in your disheveled state that he caused. 

You could only imagine how you looked, sprawled on a throne you had no right to sit on, your breasts spilling from your dress, your hair disheveled, and a Targaryen crown crooked utop your head. 

But the Prince Regent only kneeled before you. 

Any doubts of his allegiance, any doubts in him flew away like feathers in the wind as Aemond Targaryen knelt before you, bowed his silver head, then lifted your skirts and spread your legs. 

His groan was drowned out by your loud gasp as he began to feast on you. 

Aemond ruined you and made you anew in the throne room that night, and at dawn the next morning he brought you to the sept and made good on his promise to marry you. 

Damn the consequences and opinions of others, before all the gods Aemond Targaryen declared his devotion to you above all. 

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

hii, I‘ve already made two requests and you‘ve written them so so beautifully <33 Your work is really amazing and I think I would consider you one of my favorite blogs💞💞 I do have one more idea :)

Reader and Jason are in a relationship, yet they don’t know about his vigilante identity. Reader works the night shift as a barista.

One night, the café gets robbed during reader’s shift, but Jason isn’t there to take care of the robber since he went on patrol only later, meaning the GCPD is the first on the scene.

When Red Hood passes the café and see’s all the police lights, his heart drops. He comes to check up on reader, but they’re so shaken up that jason scares them.

It’s all fluffy in the end, and perhaps Red Hood reveals his identity 😚

Promises

Hi, nonnie! Thank you! ~1.8k words

There was a gun to your face about ten minutes ago. Well, it might have been ten minutes ago, you're not exactly sure how long it was now. The idea of time seemed to phase out when two masked robbers stormed into the little Café you worked at.

Who even robs a coffee shop? You had maybe thirty dollars in the till, everyone uses cards or just taps their phones anyway. That point didn't seem to get across to the men as they waved their pistols in your face and shot off rounds into the air.

You showed them the safe, and a few hundred dollars seemed to calm them down. They took the money, took your wallet and phone. But none of that stopped them from shoving you to the ground as they ran off. You just sat there– dazed, scared, and overwhelmed– until a patrol car from the GCPD and an ambulance rushed to park outside.

No one was hurt, maybe some bruises from being pushed around, but you and the two unfortunate people who wanted coffee half past midnight were more than a little shaken up.

You stumble through the questions the cops ask you and let the paramedics guide you to sit on the back of the ambulance. They drape a shock blanket over your shoulders as you murmur about needing to call your boyfriend.

Someone presses a hot drink into your hands, and you barely register the quiet conversations over this being the fourth small business to get robbed this week. Your eyes only leave the spot in the distance you're fixated on when gasps resonate throughout the air. Your gaze shifts up, and your breath leaves your lungs. Red Hood. Red Hood is stalking towards you like lives depend on it, avoiding the medics and cops that try to talk to him, to get his attention.

You're proud of the fact that you don't flinch when his gloved hand meets your face, carefully tilting your chin up to observe your face. His body is rigid, you can tell something's wrong even through the muddled, shocked state of your mind.

He's crowding over you, a barrier between you and the rest of Gotham. You know he's a vigilante, you know that he helps. But the moment frays the last of your nerves and tears fill your eyes.

You just want to go home. You just want to feel safe. You want your phone back and you want to call your boyfriend and have him make everything okay again.

Red Hod freezes and you can audibly hear his breath hitching. His fingers twitch against your skin before dropping, but he doesn't step away, "Sorry. I'm sorry– Did I– are you hurt?"

That only makes you want to cry harder. He's apologizing to you. This stranger hasn't done anything, but check if you're okay, and you're crying all because he looks big and a little scary. You shake your head, trying to find the words to apologize back, that you don't know why you're crying.

You shift back, even if there's no room to go anywhere. Your heart is pounding and you're scared even if you shouldn't be because there was a gun to your face and you could have died and the man that smells like gunpowder and leather can't fix that.

His head doesn't move, you know his eyes haven't left your face. You don't know why. He doesn't gain anything from lifting his hand to catch the tear that spills down your face. "You're okay. You're safe," he murmurs, steady and full of promise, "tell me what you need. Let me make it better." He says your name, says it softly and gently and damn near yearning.

"I need– I want my phone. I want to call you boyfriend," You answer shakily, blinking back the rest of your tears and trying to figure out why a vigilante knows your name.

His head turns, presumably looking for your phone, "Is it still inside the Café?"

You shake your head, voice heavy with emotion, "It– they stole it."

"They?" He questions, mask tilting back towards you.

"The robbers?" You answer weakly, Isn't that why he's here? To get information? To catch them?

His hand finally leaves your face, and you exhale softly in relief, "I'll take care of it."

He wavers in front of you. Another thing that doesn't make sense. You don't get another word out before he's disappeared into the shadows.

Your shoulders slump. You're so tired and so, so drained, and not even the hot drink in your hands is making you feel more in your body.

Someone calls your name. Jason. You stand up on shaky legs, nearly spilling the cup in an attempt to put it down quickly. Jason's here. You don't care why or how, but he's here. He has you wrapped up against his chest and face buried in your hair before the cops can even try to stop him.

He says your name over and over into your hair, and you try to ignore the way your tears stain his shirt. "I've got you, you're okay. You're okay, baby. Promise. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you," he murmurs, arms tightening around you.

He feels safe. He smells like– he smells like leather and gunpowder. He's big and warm and a barrier between you and the rest of the world. And it all clicks.

"Let's get you home," he says softly, gently, so careful with a voice full of yearning and love. You recognize it. And you know.

Jason knows your shift ends in forty-seven minutes. But patrol has been slow tonight, and he's going to walk you home even if it wasn't. So why not show up a little early and keep you company? Spoiler seemed eager enough to cover his territory for a few hours, anyway.

He'll go back out after he sees you home safe and watches you fall asleep. Jason's idly trying to decide if you're going to be too tired to shower with him, when the flashing lights outside the Café catch his attention.

He thinks his heart might have stopped. He doesn't even think to call Oracle or text you, he just knows his feet hit the pavement and he's running.

There's only one ambulance, only one cop car. His eyes dart. Where are you. Where are you?

He's barreling towards you as soon as he finds you. He doesn't have a plan. Doesn't need one until he knows you're safe. "Move," he snaps at the medic that tries to stop him, never stopping his path towards you.

His hand is tilting your head up before he even considers the possibility that it's a bad idea, that he's just a stranger in a mask armed to the teeth with knives and guns.

He can't help himself. He needs to touch you, needs to ground himself and make sure you're not hurt. He doesn't manage to get his words out before you're tearing up.

Jason's heart breaks at the sight, bile rising in his throat. He removes his hand, even if every instinct he has goes against it. He thinks he chokes out an apology, but he's too busy looking at every inch of you for injuries.

You shake your head and a piece of his soul shatters. He reaches up to wipe your tears, as if he could do anything else, "You're okay. You're safe," he murmurs, and wills it to be true, "tell me what you need. Let me make it better." He wants it to be better. He wants your tears to stop and the tension to leave your body and the anxiety to disappear from your eyes.

"I need– I want my phone. I want to call you boyfriend," You answer, and he wants to drop to his knees when your voice shakes.

Your phone. He can do that. His eyes dart from you, looking for the familiar phone case, "Is it still inside the Café?"

"It– they stole it," You answer and his focus snaps back to you.

"They?" He questions, doing his best to keep the anger from dripping into his voice, to bite back the threats on his tongue for whoever scared you.

"The robbers?" You answer weakly. Robbers. Robbers. Robbers did this. He files that away for once you're home, once he knows you feel safe.

He pulls his hand from your face reluctantly, "I'll take care of it." Jason doesn't want to step away from you. All he really wants is to wrap you up against him and promise everything will be better. But you don't need Red Hood. You need Jason Todd.

He forces himself away from you, moves faster than he should, struggling to shed his armor and mask. He drops his guns to the roof, anything recognizable left in a pile for someone else to deal with.

He's back on the ground and rushing back to you. He says your name. You look up at him and he sees the relief flood your face.

Jason catches you when you step towards him, arms wrapping around you to keep you close.

He whispers promises against your skin, tightening his grip on you. He can feel you crying. It makes concern and anger and the overwhelming desire to protect you twists in his stomach, "Let's get you home."

Jason– Red Hood– talks to the police for you. Insists that there's no more questions for you to answer as he hooks his arm firmly around your waist. He guides you home. You barely process a word he says.

All you can really focus on, as you watch him unlock the apartment door, is that he's Red Hood. How did you miss it? Why didn't you know?

You feel disoriented. But Jason's perfect, exactly what you need in the moment. He doesn't ask you questions, doesn't press or make you move too fast as he helps you change. He nods and gets you water when you say you don't want to shower, that you're not hungry.

He lets you curl against his chest and he kisses the crown of your head when you finally crawl into bed, "I was scared," You admit quietly into his skin.

"They'll never scare you again," he promises. Your stomach swoops. It's the truth. You know it's fact. They'll never scare you again. They'll never scare anyone again. He'll make sure of it.

You fall asleep to his comforting whispers and vows, the feel of his fingers tracing your skin. When you wake up, he's still next to you, still holding you flush against him. Your wallet and phone sit on the nightstand next to your bed. Neither of you mention it as the sun begins to shine on the familiar leather jacket folded over your chair. Neither of you mention it, later, when the news reports that two bodies were found in Gotham Harbor.

[sims3fiend]

Some dumb sims 3 updates/stuf

Or, how to develop severe brain damage in 10 easy steps.

Sooo… This is going to be more of a blog post than anything of any real substance, more of a whinge with maybe a few teasers for some stuff I may or may not release (probably not). Feel free to skip if you're after hot tips or coherent writing.

Stutter "fixer"

Sooooo…. The sims 3 has some stutter issueeesss… Incredible discovery, I know! I started looking at remedying them with settings, found some hidden settings that help reduce some of the issues but that can only do so much when the game was made in 2009 for 2009 computers.

So I had a looky at some things I thought could be causing it, mainly WinAPI functions because that's the easier route (h-haha…), and started to try to "optimize" some of the more common ones:

ReadFile: Was the first, and looking at the sheer volume of like 12783972198 calls a milisecond every time you move the camera, I thought surely I can speed it up a little r-right. Not really. I tried all sorts of… interesting things, file caching in memory, implementing the overlapped flag (took ages), etc. Oh and the performance increase? Literally nothing. It's called weirdly from wherever it's called and so we must suffer.

Threads: So, I had a look at other areas that were potential targets for speedup, ran an actual profile and it showed a problem areas namely threads and some other stuff I don't remember. ZwWaitForMultipleObjects and WaitForSingleObject take up a lot of time, so I very poorly attempted to optimize them, adding some timeout optimizations (and a bunch of other failed attempts). Despite being the most insane, this actually worked, and I got like a 40% speed increase in a very very niche metric that did not noticeably effect the game one single bit. I plan to combine all my failures into a single script eventually, maybe once combined they'll do something…

Actual insanity - Memory IPC: Then I had an idea, everyone hates e12, why don't we shove the games memory into another process and that'll fix it. No brain moment. No clue what past me was thinking, for some reason I thought you could like, access another processes memory if it was spawned from it, but uhh.. no, that's not how things work… I tried a few other things in a similar vein but it just crashed and crashed, so for now I'm just gunna work on:

Alloc/free mee - Current insanity: Currently, I'm still working on VirtualAlloc and VirtualFree (which is what I was redirecting to another process), but more from an optimizing memory usage standpoint than a… whatever the IPC thing was. There's a lot of things to try, and I've had some luck in some areas and some abysmal failures in others. There's a few promising functions calling VirtualAlloc/Free that seem to be potentially pointing towards memory leaks (004e54d0), but I'm too dumb to investigate that. At the moment, I'm going mostly just gathering more logs which takes forever and hurts my brain real bad.. On testing there's like 180 allocs that we could probably yeet no problem, which is like 750mb saved… Maybe idk.

I have plenty of ideas for deduplication, memory pool implementations to reduce churn/fragmentation, shoving things aggressively into pagefiles if they're not being used, etc. etc. Basically, there's a lot of avenues to explore, and I feel like there's potential… though I've definitely said that before and been dead wrong so…

Anyway, rambling over. I plan to release a dumb little renderer settings mod maybe-soon-ish that'll let you do dumb stuff that might be useful for reshade like turn shadows/drop shadows off and post processing off and on. I guess I could add max lots and other settings eventually too since they're static values.... Might also do a mythbusting post for some performance "tweak" stuff I see thrown around that isn't super accurate but I also don't want people to be angry at me so maybe not.

Sorry to whoever read all this, but also thanks :)

[sunlightmurdock]

Ashes, Ashes | One | Bradley Bradshaw

masterlist | prologue | next chapter

Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

Warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell, age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Crossing the threshold into Maverick’s home doesn’t come naturally to either one of them. This place is something that they had both left behind. Outgrown. It’s solely his. It’s not their home and it has never been, until now. Now, Avery, at least, is stuck here until things are figured out.

On that fourteen hour drive down to San Diego, she’d had a lot of time to think. How long is a person supposed to wait for a body to turn up before they go ahead and throw the funeral without it?

Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, she is met with a smiling family picture. Only, she’s not in it. 

Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.

This picture is of a real family. Hung on the wall opposite the front door is a picture of Nick and Carole Bradshaw holding their infant son. He’s bald and gummy. They’re grinning and showing him off like a prize trophy — so proud of him even though all he did in those days was drool and pee himself. 

These days, their infant son is up to more important things. Their infant son grew to an upsettingly grand height and is carrying two of her bags in one hand behind her today.

“C’mon, Mitchell — these are heavy.” Bradley huffs softly from behind her, reminding her that she’s standing stationary and blocking his path. 

The nickname stings. Avery’s last name isn’t Mitchell because her biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because her mother’s husband knew she wasn’t his and would rather die before letting her take his name.

She shrugs her duffel bag closer to her body and turns left. Bradley huffs under the weight of her luggage, watching her walk her cute butt in completely the wrong direction. “Wait, where are you going?”

Not struggling at all under the weight of her single duffel bag, she turns slowly to face him and frowns slightly. “My room.” 

Avery doesn’t remember Bradley. Not in her own memories, anyway. She knows he was around, she’s seen him in pictures but the image in her head doesn’t match. Not quite right. Like puzzle pieces bent and forced together.

He’s taller than he looked at his high school graduation, which sits pictured and framed above Mav’s mantle. Older, but that’s to be expected. Up close, he looks more like his mother than his father. A slight bump in his nose and scars, nicely healed, but jagged and raised nonetheless dusted his cheek and his throat. 

Even with all those differences, there’s a very slight familiarity to him that makes this all feel a little bit less suffocating.

Bradley’s brows draw together. He gives a small nod in the direction of the spare room. “That’s… I usually stayed in that room.”

“Oh.” Avery realises with a hum. With Bradley being ten years your senior, the room was his long before it was hers. With him growing up so close by, it was probably his much more frequently than it was hers, too. It’s not like she had ever kept anything here anyway. It’s just a guest room that she would occupy every now and again.

There’s a brief quiet between the two of them. 

“I just figured you could take the big room. ‘Til you get settled. I’ll go home once your car is fixed, if that’s what you want.” Bradley adds on. That sad little look on her face, right in front of him, is killing him. 

The big room. The loft room upstairs. Avery thinks about it and finds herself pretty sure that she’s never even been upstairs in this house.

“You’re staying too?” 

Oh. Yeah. He hadn’t addressed that point yet. Truthfully, he hadn’t even been planning to stay. He hasn’t even packed an overnight bag. But, from the second that she had stepped out of the car and looked up at the house with that look on her face, he hadn’t even considered leaving her here alone.

“Just ‘til we get your car fixed,” He offers with a small shrug. “I’ll be here to run you around until then.”

Like he’s doing this for her sake. Natasha has her own life to get back to and Bradley can’t stand the thought of going back to his apartment alone. 

“Okay,” Avery agrees, turning to peer down the hall towards the spare room. It’s nothing special — it really never felt like hers, anyway. “Alright, I’ll take Pete’s room.”

Pete. She calls Maverick ‘Pete’ now. 

Bradley just nods, shifting the weight of her bags and nodding for her to head for the stairs. All the floors in this house are tan oak. The entryway is now herringbone. With the help of a friend, Pete had done the entire thing himself. 

Of course, as they walk silently across it, neither one of them would know that. Neither one of them was speaking to him last May, which was why he had needed a project in the first place.

Natasha’s outside on the phone. Bradley’s footsteps thud on the wood of the stairs behind her, following her up. She stops at the top, leaving just enough room for Bradley to stand there behind her.

The door to Maverick’s room is open. His bed is made. There’s a book thrown on top of it, the spine cracked and used, the pages yellow from years out in the sun.

“No way is he still trying to fucking finish War and Peace.” Bradley steps around her and heads straight for the book. Pete started this book before Bradley finished elementary school. Bradley twists and looks back at her. “He always gets bored and stops reading, then forgets his page and starts again.”

Another slow nod. One foot in front of the other, her shoes along the tan oak floors. Her fingers trail the white walls. Maverick wouldn’t have minded. This place was always messy before. It’s not now. 

This house is vacant and quiet, but it’s far from empty. It’s filled to the brim, practically pulling apart at the seams with everything that Maverick was and planned to be. He was finishing War and Peace — he made it to chapter 253 this time; further than he had ever made it before. 

Suddenly, Avery’s throat is thick with the knowledge that all she knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that she’ll never know.

Four days of knowing, a fourteen hour drive down here, and it’s a book that stings like a cold slap to the face, reminding her of why exactly it is that she’s here.

Fire burns behind her eyes, blistering and stinging as Bradley sets her bags on the floor with a soft thud.

He turns with his attention completely on the book, his fingers extending towards the peeling cover of the paperback. His fingers curl around its weathered pages and he lifts it tenderly, examining the front at first.

It’s too early to start this process bawling her eyes out, and Avery refuses to let Russian Literature be your downfall, again.

That thick feeling sits in her throat like a stack of weights as she sits down on the end of Maverick’s bed. The mattress is soft, taking her weight without a squeak of complaint. Maybe he finally listened to her and got a bed that wasn’t so harsh on his back.

It’s been almost two years since she had even set foot in this house last. If she had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… she sits and thinks to herself about if she would have maybe visited more. Probably not.

“I’ll change the sheets and stuff, then I’ll get out of your hair for a bit.”

Lifting her head, she blinks at him. He has already started to pull back the comforter and strip the bottom sheet from the bed, awkwardly forcing her onto her feet again. 

Mobile once more, Avery turns slowly to take in her surroundings. This is Maverick’s room. It’s his house, she was prepared for that much — but this is his room. The last thing she wants is to be alone in it all night.

“Oh. Sure,” She nods, setting into motion to help take the sheets off.

He’s so methodical about it, like none of this phases him at all. But then, she hasn’t seen how he has been for the past few days.

“I was thinking of just ordering food tonight, since I’m kinda tired — and Pete never had groceries. Would you want… to maybe join?”

“Sure.” Bradley nods, tugging the pillows out of the cases. He glances up to her with a strictly polite, neutral smile. Quiet settles between the two of them until the bed is just a bare mattress and uncovered pillows. 

Then, there’s a moment of total stillness between the two of them. Her gaze flickers up, meeting his, and the realization settles between the two of them.

Maverick’s favourite cologne was a French thing that some woman in the eighties had liked. Citrus in the shade of cypress wood. The scent fills the room like he’s standing between the two of them.

Bradley glances down at the white sheets in his hands. The snowy white peaks of those mountains, Maverick’s aircraft spiralling into them, engulfed in flames. In a sick way, Bradley hopes that he didn’t manage to eject. At least then, it would have been instant. Maverick wouldn’t have felt anything.

Avery watches his adam’s apple bob in his throat from the other side of the bed. The last you had heard, Mav and Bradley weren’t on speaking terms. She wonders if this is as weird for him as it is for you.

“I’ll put these in the washer. You can… unpack, or whatever.” He decides finally, already taking one step backwards, headed for the door. She stands there, blinking at him. Even with those steeped, broad shoulders, he makes it through the doorframe unscathed before he turns to check where he’s going.

He probably knows this house inside and out, just like he knew her dad. Once. 

When it comes to wracking her brain and trying to remember Bradley Bradshaw, Avery can’t ever come up with anything. Maybe a glimpse, here and there. A blue t-shirt with green stripes. His school backpack accidentally left in the backseat of Maverick’s convertible beside her shoddily installed car seat. 

Truthfully, her experience with Bradley Bradshaw is limited. He’s just as real to her as any of the other guys in the stories she grew up hearing about. Her very own Peter Pan is downstairs right now, trying to figure out Maverick’s ancient washing machine, just so that he doesn’t have to stand up here and stare across at her.

He can’t hide from her forever, though. Evening comes, and so does hunger. 

He stares down at the pizza between the two of them as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when she had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.

Natasha has gone home. It’s just the two of them, now. Sitting in this unchanged, all too familiar kitchen. Avery has barely unpacked. She set up a couple of things in Maverick’s bathroom, but it doesn’t feel right to be in the big room upstairs. That wasn’t ever her space to claim.

She chews absentmindedly at the bite she had taken. The TV in the living room is off. The record player is coated in a layer of thin dust already. It’s dead quiet. The kitchen light is dim above their heads.

There’s a chip in the corner of the table on Bradley’s side. It’s there because Bradley was running through this kitchen when he was four years old and had tripped and knocked his front tooth out right here. His thumb trails the tiny mark, wondering how his teeth had ever been that small.

Wondering why she isn’t angry with him, too.

Maverick had picked him up that day, turned him around and held Bradley while he cried, stemming the blood and quickly introducing the concept of the tooth fairy. He had done all that he could, and Bradley still found a way to resent him for what had happened to his own father.

Bradley hasn’t ever done a thing for Avery. Except maybe pay for this pizza. And here she is, calm as can be. 

The sauce base feels tangy and coppery, and the cheese makes him want to puke. He sets the slice down on his plate and wipes his hands on the paper towel beside him.

Finally, he lifts his head and looks at her. Her hair is up differently now, tucked out of your way after an afternoon of manual labour upstairs, tidier than it had been earlier. She’s wearing a stretched out old t-shirt. Bradley assumes she got it from a boyfriend.

Really, he doesn’t think she looks that much like her old man. He would really have to search for the resemblance. But, briefly, when she offers him a polite smile across the table, he knows that you’re Mav’s kid.

“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. They both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken.

“…For what?” Avery asks quietly, lips tugging into a small frown.

“I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows she probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in her spot, and not know how to talk about it.

It’s his fault that Maverick didn’t make it home.

She stops chewing. That last bite sits in her mouth, doughy and dry all of a sudden. She stares across at him, awkwardly making herself swallow down the last of her bite of pizza and picking up the paper towel to wipe at her mouth.

“We weren’t that close.” She tells him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. She’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.

But, he knows what it’s like to be told how to grieve. He just dips his head and nods awkwardly. “Right.” 

“I got a call from an admiral the other day,” She picks up the slice of pizza and pick at its toppings. There’s no one here now to tell her not to play with your food. Mav never really cared anyway. Bradley watches her, unhungry. “Invited me down to Miramar. He said he was a friend of Mav’s and that he could talk me through… this whole thing. How it works.”

Bradley rubs a hand over the neatly trimmed hair above his lip. It feels like he has swallowed a golf ball, sitting here like it’s normal to be discussing the measures.

He knows how it works. It won’t be as simple as it was with his own father. At least Maverick had afforded him something to bury. For her, there’s nothing.

“I’ll have to be there around eleven.” 

“Sure,” Bradley nods, scratching at the back of his neck. His legs tingle with stiffness. Clearing his throat, he shifts in the little wooden chair and stretches, knocking his foot into hers under the table. “Oh. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.

“It’s fine.” She hums, pushing back in her chair and standing up from the table. “Well, I’ve been up since like… four, so I might just hit the hay.”

“Sure.” Bradley breathes out, hands braced on his thighs, eyes focussed on that tiny chip in the corner of the table. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

The downstairs bedroom seemed bigger when he was a kid. The twin-sized bunks on the carrier feel bigger than the wooden-framed bed that Maverick put in here. Bradley’s shoulder is practically hanging off the side, and the old frame creaks with each movement he makes.

It’s not like he would be sleeping much anyway. When he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is the fireball Maverick’s plane had turned into as it fell.

Bradley’s hunched over the coffee pot by the time that Avery wakes up. He hears her coming down the stairs and straightens up like he wasn’t three seconds from throwing the stupid thing at the wall, clearing his throat and turning around.

It occurs to him that he should have put a shirt on. This isn’t his place. It’s hers, now, he guesses — either way, he hadn’t considered making her uncomfortable. He folds his arms over his naked torso as she strolls into the kitchen, hair mussed and rubbing at her eyes.

She’s wearing big socks and the same big t-shirt she had worn to eat the pizza last night. He can’t tell if she’s wearing shorts or not.

“Morning,” He offers up, making her lift her gaze from busily tapping at her phone. Her gaze lands squarely on his navel — more so, how low his shorts sit on his hips and the way a soft trail of brown hair ventures from there to his bellybutton. 

Blinking, she finds his face.

“Coffee machine’s broken, we can stop somewhere on the way to base if you like.” He leans down a little bit, like an awkward teenager shrinking away from a family picture. She locks her gaze on his, trying not to glance back down at his muscles. 

“Oh. That’s not broken — if you hit it hard enough, it’ll work.” She heads right for him, fuzzy socks padding across the floor so softly that it really does startle him when she grabs the copy of War and Peace that now sits on the kitchen counter, and slam the book right into the side of the coffee machine.

He whips around as the machine whirs to life. Avery the book back down gently, and look up at him. He sets his jaw, brows knitted together, searching her face.

Maverick never taught Bradley anything like that. In fact — Bradley always, always was taught the opposite. You never take the easy way out; if something’s worth fixing, then you fix it right.

Then you, you on the other hand, beat the thing with the heaviest book you can find? He just doesn’t get it.

“Well. Thanks.” He guesses, turning his bemused expression back to the brewing coffee. 

He hadn’t been expecting you to do that. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, given the way he’s still glaring at the machine. That coffee pot is older than you are, and Mav never taught him that trick?

“So this guy, the one who called me,” Avery skims her fingers along the cool granite countertop, just to have something to do, “He was the guy calling the shots up there?”

Bradley blinks. He doesn’t know how much she knows about the way all of this works. He knew everything there is to know long before he ever enlisted, but that was because he wanted to know.

“Um,” Bradley grabs his mug and takes a step back for her to get herself one.  “He was our mission command so, kind of. He gives orders — but, y’know, everything happens fast, it’s… it’s hard to call the shots from back on the boat.” 

“Did he like Mav much?” She asks, head tucked inside the fridge door as you scan for anything to make her coffee a little less black. Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese. She swings it shut with a resigned sigh, wondering if she’ll be here long enough to need groceries.

The thought flashes across her mind — what’ll happen to this place when she leaves it behind?

“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.

“Great.” Agitation creeps into her tone as she curls her fingers around a plain white coffee mug. All of his kitchenware is plain white. 

“What?” Bradley tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse at the look on her face, stuck between whether she’s sad or pissed off.

It’s an easy answer, rolling off of her tongue with a shrug of her shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”

That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father. 

He screws his mouth up, shaking his head and reaching for her without thought. His palm claps against her shoulder, platonic and soothing, but the first time he has touched you nonetheless. “I’ll be there. He won’t say a thing.”

Glancing upward, while his palm lingers on her shoulder, her eyes flit across his features. He doesn’t know quite what she’s searching for, or whether she finds it. His fingers squeeze softly against her skin before the touch is gone all together.

They drink their coffees in parallel, both subtly miserable in their silence but comfortable in it anyway. It’s difficult to prepare for a meeting like this — she doesn’t have a clue of what to expect. 

Bradley wears black jeans and boots with a plain white t-shirt, which convinces her not to wear the more formal dress she had thought she’d have to wear. She slips into his passenger seat in a skirt and Mary Janes.

He drives a loud, blue vintage Bronco. It sparkles inside and out, and makes her dusty old car look even worse. 

Bradley settles behind the wheel to the sound of chilled seventies music, the radio turned low. He drives with three fingers curled around the bottom of the wheel and the other hand resting absently on the stick shift.

Even though he seems calm enough behind the wheel, she watches him chew at the inside of his cheek for the duration of the drive. Gears tick away inside his head. His knee only stops bouncing nervously when it’s time to press his foot against the pedal.

He’s not as good at pretending as he thinks he is; she silently appreciates that he tries, either way.

Bradley, truthfully, spends the entire drive thinking about the last time he was face to face with Admiral Simpson. ‘Son, I’m doing this for you.’ He had sworn, face sullen, uttering the exact same words Pete Mitchell once had when delivering the words that had torn Bradley from him the first time.

Only, Admiral Simpson wasn’t pulling Bradley’s papers — he was just putting him on a month long bereavement leave. His protests had fallen on deaf ears once again, as they had fifteen years ago. He’s now a week into that leave, but it feels like longer.

It turns out that when sleep is cut from the equation, everything feels a lot longer. In his own apartment, his routine has been getting up at 2am after hours of tossing and turning, going for a run all the way down to the docks, coming back and showering, then waiting for the sun to rise.

Last night, he’d been awake in that creaky old twin bed, struck by the realisation that if he spent all night tossing and turning — one, he might actually break the old bed frame, and two, the squeaking of it would definitely keep Avery up. 

All it had taken was the focus of trying to sit still for so long to finally knock him out. It was the best that he’d slept since the mission.

He kind of hopes that it’ll take him a while to figure out something to do with her car; at least that way he’ll be able to sleep at night. 

“You ready?” His voice startles Avery from her daydream, the engine cutting out with a jingle of the keys as he stretches forwards in his seat to shove them into his pocket. “We’re headed just over there.”

“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” She’s stepping down and swinging the heavy door shut before she’s taking her next breath, leaving him to catch up to her. 

His long strides have him at her side before long, reaching ahead of her to pull open the glass door to the post headquarters. 

This process has already been easier with him at her side. He’d coolly handed over his service ID and greeted the guard at the gate by name, and he stops her from turning sharply down the wrong hallway with a soft bump of his shoulder against hers.

He catches her forearm as she tries to blow right past the front desk, his grip loose but firm. 

“Rooster.” The woman behind the desk stands up sharply, looking sharp in her service khakis, her entire face creased with a deep worry. She’s older, maybe around Mav’s age. “I heard, I’m so sorry.”

Rooster loosens his hold on her forearm, his lips flattening into a line. He stands up straight, his interaction with the woman nothing if not totally polite. His thumb trails across the bend of her wrist as he nods his head towards her.

“Thank you,” He says softly, seemingly unaware of the way Avery has stiffened in the presence of this woman. “We’re, uh… we’re just here to see Cyclone, Lynn.”

Her warm, brown eyes whip towards Avery, widening. Recognition floods her features as she pieces together who the girl at Bradley's side must be. 

Her boots hit the ground, Avery's lips parting slightly as she realises that this stranger is headed right for her. Bradley feels Avery's arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way she's trying to shrink behind him.

Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch Avery when he can see how unnerved it makes her.

“We’re a little late. I’ll catch you at the O-Bar this weekend?” His fingers uncurl from her forearm and his palm falls flat between her shoulder blades, giving her a gentle nudge and silent permission to avoid Lynn's hug.

The woman stops and there’s another polite, departing exchange between the two of them while Avery continues down the hall.

Bradley catches up to her as she raps her knuckles against the doorframe, fingers trembling when they come to settle back against her thighs.

“Miss Mitchell.” A chair scrapes along the tiled floor, Cyclone’s signature rumbling voice carrying out into the hallway. His boots tap across the ground, his face creased with sincerity and his hand outstretched when he notices Bradley standing behind the young woman he had arranged this meeting with. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

Avery checks back over her shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind her, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression. 

Standing tall, his uniform crisp and his greying black hair combed neatly, Admiral Beau Simpson slips his palm into hers and shakes her hand curtly. The sunlight catches on his shining name badge, his face heavy with lines and sharp angles.

Letting her hand go, he then reaches to her right to shake Bradley’s. Bradley’s chest bumps her back as he leans into the handshake.

Avery steps away from him, angling yourself closer to the doorframe. “He just gave me a ride here. Is it okay if he comes in?”

“Of course,” Cyclone is far more polite to her than he has ever been to Bradley. “Anything you need. Please, take a seat.”

It feels a little bit wrong standing before his boss in jeans, and sitting before him. Everything about this feels a little bit wrong. Bradley rests his chin against his fist.

Avery sits in the chair beside him, shoving your trembling hands under your thighs, straightening up and trying to look as brave as you can. 

It shouldn’t be this stranger sitting beside you in this meeting — your mother should have come with you.

“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.”

Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him, not really.

“We are forever grateful for his service, and the sacrifices he made on behalf of our country. I understand that this is an extremely difficult time, and I’d just like to say that I’m going to personally make sure that this process is as easy as it can possibly be.”

Avery blinks at him. Jet engines rumble on outside of the window. People bustle on outside of the closed office door.

Cyclone glances towards Bradley. 

“When a man is lost in action, our resolve is to initiate a search and rescue effort as soon as possible,” The admiral explains, leaving out the part where that search and rescue effort had been delayed by seventy-two hours after Mav disappeared. “We’ve been working tirelessly, and our efforts to locate your father are ongoing.”

Her brows knit together, lips pursed, unimpressed.

“But— he’s dead.” She frowns abruptly, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?”

Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at her, her words like a jolt of ice-cold water, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in her expression, no fear or sadness. Pete deserved more than that.

“The point is to bring him home.” He bites from her side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.

She shoots him a look. When it’s clear that she isn’t going to say anything else, Cyclone clears his throat to continue. 

“Miss Mitchell, we do have to prepare ourselves for the other outcome. If recovery efforts are unsuccessful, in two weeks time, he will be listed as formally ‘Missing in Action’. If that’s the case, we will honor him with a memorial service and all of his service records and personal effects are delivered to you.”

She drags her teeth across her plush bottom lip, swallowing hard and giving a small nod of her head. Closing her eyes for a moment, she pictures the moment that this is all over. She can get out of here and pretend it never happened.

“Okay. Two weeks?”

“This is going to be a longer process,” Cyclone warns her. He’d heard that she had come down specially for this, and he doesn’t want to mislead her about the time frame. “The recovery mission, if unsuccessful, will be suspended in two weeks’ time. After that, we’d like you to be local for the investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“Of ourselves. To ensure that the Navy had performed its due diligence, that kind of thing… I’d expect us to be here for a good few months.” He explains.

After that, it’s like Bradley can see a switch flip for her. 

She’s biting at the inside of her cheek so hard that she must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of her skirt and breathing like she’s trying not to cry.

He’s still confused when he’s all but chasing her across the parking lot, listening to her try to control her breathing.

“Hey, hey, hey,” He tries, approaching her cautiously as she crowds herself against the passenger side of his car. “It’s alright. We’ll get through it, it’s just a couple of months.”

“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“

“Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around her. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes her bicep, bending his knees so he can catch her eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.”

Avery knows that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, she’s sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left her with no idea of who he really is. “Of what? There’s so much that I have to—“

He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of her plate for her. The idea sparks in him.

“You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at her bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in her eyes not to spill over.

She sniffs, turning her gaze towards the ground. The lump in Avery’s throat burns and bobs as she tries to swallow it away. 

Mav really is never coming back.

“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that she is in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than her. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse.

He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. 

“You could stay at my place, for a night or two.” 

…

[yanderederee]

I love your work and your whole blog is just so amazing! I would like to request letter A for Baji from Tokyo revengers. Thank you, have a nice day dear! :)

This one’s going to be longer than normal— sue me. Read more cause it’s long

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Baji Keisuke is a very intense person. When he feels strongly about a person, it’s hard not to notice. He goes out of his way to give Pah’s dog extra attention when he’s away, carries Mikey to and from places when he falls asleep randomly— everyone feels at ease when they’re with Baji because he is a safe person that they know they can trust.

So for his significant other; of course he’ll show his affections openly. Though it may look like less like romantic affection than it would a doting mother (does that make sense?)

Baji will wholeheartedly take care of you.

You have a stomach ache in public? He rubs your back and finds a place for you to sit, or takes you home immediately if you want. Even if he’s not entirely sure how to fix your issues, he’s dutiful in the way he cares for you.

Order something you don’t like at a restaurant? You got two options, you two can swap meals (because he doesn’t care what he eats as long as you’re happy), or he’ll order a safer option for you.

Can’t sleep? He’ll be half delirious, but he’ll stay on the phone with you and let you chat while he mumbles back replies to make you feel better. Battery might be shot tomorrow but he only uses it to stay in touch with you anyway.

Leaning into romantic affection: not so much into the casual stuff like hand holding (he’s a little squirrelly and gets frustrated if his arm is locked down for too long), but loves looping his arm over your shoulder and holding you close to him at all times. It’s more than showing people you belong to him, it’s also the comfort having you near brings him.

If he’s sitting and getting stir crazy, he’ll play with your fingers. It eventually becomes a fidget of his so he doesn’t realize he does it, but everyone else does.

Likes cuddles, specially holding you. He loves feeling you wrapped up in his arms and pressed into his neck. He could get lost in thought and lay there for hours thinking of all the things he adores about you.

If you fall asleep, he’ll stare at your face; gently pat your hair or trace your features… he’s star stuck thinking about you.

Also shows his affection in protecting you. Can not stand when other people waste your time. If you’re enjoying the conversation then sure, he’ll endure. But if you show any sign of fatigue or annoyance, he’s quick to swoop in and come up with an excuse to get yall going.

That goes for his own friends too. If anyone so much as gives a backhanded comment about you, (I.e: she’s leeching all of your time Baji/Cant you go anywhere without her?/she’s fine but I don’t like having her around/etc), he goes off. There was nothing fucking wrong with you and if you were content being by his side, then he would happily keep you there.

“Fuck you say? Ain’t no one ask you, so keep your shit shut.” He can get really aggressive with his language and dialect, don’t try fighting him further than that, it will end in fists and blood.

Speaking of, is happy to beat the shit out of anyone for you. There’s not a lot that is beneath him. (More on this @/Blood) He doesn’t hit girls, but he will pull their hair and scream in their face for a long time until they get the picture to not mess with you.

Overall: Baji only becomes an intense yandere if other people get involved. If it’s just the two of you, he’s extremely doting and careful with you, but does his best not to stir you into complex feelings that might cause you to leave him.

[sindar-princeling]

I am still baffled by some of the choices made by rop so far, and in a big part it is because. there is such a good story right there. and unless they had no rights to literally any plotline ever described in any of tolkien's works... why fix something that isn't broken, you know? ESPECIALLY if you're not actually fixing it ajsjdjdjdfjffj

I can't really get (yet, at least. benefit of the doubt until the whole story is told) what justifies adding Isildur's sister or those women dressed in white or Sauron pretending to be Just A Human Guy On A Raft while the story we have, however generally described, is fascinating

elves get tricked by Annatar because he says he's an emissary from Valinor - the HOME they're banned from just got brought to them! you can show why and explain just how big of a deal it is that they can return at the end of LotR so much better than "we're told it's a big deal but Galadriel jumps and returns anyway". AND this way it's the elves' collective mistake, not just hers. were they too hubristic to believe Annatar's offers? did they just miss home too much? there's a big, deep story here about AGES of middle-earth's history. and even if you wanted to tell a new story in this show - it IS new to most people who know LotR anyway, because most people know it from the movies and have never read the book, let alone the Silm! this is a new story for them!

maybe things could get wrong slowly even before Sauron creates the one ring - at first deniably, until it can't be ignored anymore. maybe there's some agitation among the free peoples, and elves can see that their mortal acquaintances are different, they're not sure what is happening, but it's wrong. there's a growing, nearing sense of dread, and by the time the one ring is forged, by the time they realise the threat was right under their noses this whole time, it's too late, and it has been too late for a long time. by having made the three, the elves managed to create not a solution, but barely a means to stop MORE damage, but they only managed to help themselves anyway.

the world starts to grow smaller, weaker, diminish into the third-age middle earth that we know, and there's some sweetness in it for us as viewers because this is the world we're most familiar with, but it's first and foremost bitter and tragic. it's not a happy ending. the war will continue, and many of our characters will have no choice but to continue seeing it through because they're elves. they will live to see it, or they will die, or they will run - and not all of them can run

series fucking ends.

anyway, I will. try. to not make this blog into a pool of bile in the next few days after s2 comes out, but as it turns out I'm still pissed about the "stronger than the foundations of the earth" bit coming from sauron and not galadriel in s1 and stripping her of her best character trait so! 👍

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

once a friend made me sit on his shoulders and carried me around, i got so shy when i realized there were some people staring at my thighs (they are already big when i sit down they get bigger, it was practically impossible to see my friend's head 🥸 ) could you do some twst boys reacting to this situation?

(I hope that didn't sound weird, I just like to see horny messed up boys)

Don't we all 😏

🖤🖤🖤🖤

Sitting On Their Shoulders | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Ft. Floyd Leech, Jack Howl, Epel Felmier, Trey Clover

Floyd Leech

If you’ve read about Floyd on my blog its practically my own cannon that he absolutely loves it

Your weight, your thighs, the warmth of your privates at the back of his head

He loves to squeeze people and no doubt probably likes to get squeezed himself

While he typically sees being squeezed as an activity for fun its also a kind of love-language

Especially with you

So much as touching him skyrockets his mood and has him smothering you in his affection

No doubt is drooling when you squeeze around his head

He gets off to to his weak mate attempting to compete with him 

Even if that's not what your doing

He’s so close to your intimates its like he’s getting a taste before he gets the real thing

He’s not exactly sly enough to trick you so he’ll instead put you in situations where you owe him a favor

“Ne~Shrimpy you owe me! Five minutes and your not allowed to stop squeezing!”

Anyone who gets in the way will be squeezed into oblivion

He will not tolerate anyone interrupting in his (Y/n)-time

Interfering is like directly challenging an eel trying to mate

Showing that they are a rival: 

Someone who’s getting put 40ft deep into the Coral Sea if they don’t stop

“Hehe your just askin’ for me to squeeze ya into an early grave!”

Jack Howl

Blushy and trying to keep calm 

He no doubt offers his tall stature to help you fix something high up in Ramshackle

Because for some reason…some Savanna Claw students are borrowing the only ladder you were provided…

Anyway Jack is there to help

As the good friend he is 

He doesn’t mean to enjoy this so much

But your weight on his shoulders makes him proud

But the rubbing of your…against his head is driving him insane

He wants to tell you he really does

“Mmmm”

“Is there something wrong Jack? Am I too heavy?”

“No! You are perfectI mean I worry that you may be slipping…perhaps squeeze a bit tighter?”

He knows it probably isn’t right that his tail wags so intensely when all he can smell is you

But he just can’t help it!

After all he couldn’t in good conscience let anyone take this task

After all they’d take advantage of you

“If you ever need uhm a ladder again, I’d be there.”

Epel Felmier

A real man can carry anything (so they say)

So of course he’d jump at the opportunity to hold you up

All the better if your squeezing him tight

Go ahead

Go tighter

He can handle 

Don’t think he can? 

he’s squeezing your thighs tighter around his face

“Keep going (Y/n)! D’ya think I’m weak?! Try me!”

Not struggling by your weight he’s overheating out of overexcitement

To be so close to you

To be able to feel you 

He can easily rub his exfoliated cheeks against your plush skin

And he’s living the dream

“Hah~your really–hah~ really warm. It’s fine no worries.” 

Trey Clover

He’s a brother first and foremost

So he’s done this many a time before 

But the very action of feeling you grind upon the back of his head

And the heated warmth of your thighs on his ears

“Oh…whoa…this is…nice.”

He’s transcended into an experience of intimacy he’s never gotten

…from his other ventures

He may not let you down 

Claiming to have gotten carried away, lost in thought as he returns to playfully toss you on his bed

“Let’s do this properly (Y/n). You shouldn’t be teasing anyone but me. And even if you are…I can only stay calm for so long.”

[elis-corner]

hi there I’m new to this blog! If possible, could I be ⏳ anon? Anyways, could I get some hermit comfort, if possible Xisuma and Grian? I’ve had a rough day today and I just need some fluff in my life 😭 feel free to deny this request if you’d like, have a great day ^^

Hi my dear!

Just over a year ago, I did a couple of others, including Xisuma. But why not a bit more? :D

I know how life can be. I haven't actually seen the recent season of Hermitcraft yet, and it's been so long since I wrote for them but you deserve a little something, so I'm whipping out my old skills.

Stuff does get better, I promise <3

Xisuma

Xisuma is comforting in the way that he knows exactly what you need in the moment. He's always prepared, and that includes to throw everything out just to be with you.

He'd probably have a feeling something was wrong. He never goes too long without checking in on you. He doesn't bring it up, though, letting you take your time.

When you do, armour begone, he'd pull you towards him and let you talk about what's wrong (and if you don't want to, he's cool about it)

He doesn't try to cheer you up in the moment. Instead, his goal is to shift the tone of your day entirely.

He'd figure out what you'd want to do, and he'd do it with you.

Guaranteed to be playing music in the background the entire time.

He's think of recent shenanigans he had witnessed recently in order to provide you some entertainment.

He knows he might not be able to fix your problems, but he knows for a fact that he can at least help dull the pain. And that's exactly what he plans on doing.

Grian

Watchers be damned if Grian would let you go on struggling.

He would drop everything and try everything in order to cheer you up.

Be prepared to be showered with pet names, which gradually get more and more ridiculous.

His goal is to make you smile, so consider this a warning that he will joke around and spoil you until he achieves his goal.

He'd lie down beside you, wings resting on your side, and let you choose how to spend the day.

The only reason he'd leave your side would be to get things for you.

Your pick of movie, food, snacks... anything you want, he'd have it at a moment's notice for you.

His day becomes all about you, and honestly? He thinks that's the best way it could possibly be.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 428: Night of the Kouhai

Previously on BnHA: Well at least Spinner is sort of kind of doing okay??

Today on BnHA: I see the check that I sent to Horikoshi finally cleared.

okay first things first, you all know how it is right. I’ve never made a secret of my Kacchan bias on this blog. I promise you I did actually write a recap to 426 and 427 as well, but both of those chapters went HEAVY on the themes and drama and philosophical shit, and my reactions were kind of all over the place, and the Todoroki one in particular was like a million words wrong and it needs a shit ton of editing which I don’t know when I’ll have the spoons for

on the other hand however, a chapter like this which features class 2A cuteness and an absolutely unreasonable amount of Kacchan character development fanservice to hyperfixate on, takes absolutely no spoons at all and in fact actively recharges some of my spoons, so yeah. here we are

anyway so when we last left off Kacchan and Shouto were in terrible danger from a threat more terrifying than any they’ve ever encountered before. so I already knew this chapter was going to be great

“IIDA IS BIG AND STRONG AND AUTHORITATIVE, LET’S HIDE BEHIND HIM, HE WILL PROTECT US” everyone, I’m delighted to announce that the BnHA manga ending arc, despite having its ups and downs until this point, has officially been saved thanks to this panel right here. pack it up folks. this was officially a sweeping success. this panel brought Tomura back to life and teleported Touya’s mind back into his childhood self from roughly ten years ago time travel fix-it style. Horikoshi you beautiful bastard

Shouto trying to explain that he can handle them one on one but just not ALL TOGETHER IN THIS TERRIFYING SWARM LIKE THIS... buddy you don’t have to explain yourself sob. or is he trying to negotiate with them??

meanwhile Kacchan skips the negotiations entirely because he’s already assessed the situation and knows that the best way to handle this is to appeal to Iida Tenya’s boundless love of regulation and social order

y’all it’s killing me that this boy can handle being LITERALLY MURDERED by the greatest evil the world has ever known. but a group of admiring fifteen year old kouhais? no sir. that’s where he taps out

“but I thought Bakugou liked attention” yes well, you see, Shinsou, it’s kinda a “monkey’s paw curls” sort of thing

Kaminari with the BLACK SPEECH BUBBLE lmfao. FRIENDSHIP WITH KACCHAN HAS BEEN CANCELLED. NOW MIDORIYA IS MY BEST FRIEND

“well you see up until recently the ladies all thought Kacchan was a feral troll so they avoided him at all costs” wow Deku this man literally died for you and you just throw him under the bus with zero hesitation just like that

“SOURCE: ME, HIS CHILDHOOD FRIEND” just adding in his credentials in that little footnote there lest anyone question his authority on the subject

wait so is Shinsou surprised that girls used to not like Kacchan? or is he surprised that Kacchan and Deku were childhood friends? I can see how the latter might be surprising (oh Shinsou, sometimes I forget that you effectively just got here. we have so much to catch you up on. you will not BELIEVE how badly the two of these kids just want to hold hands all the time), but ngl, I’m rooting for the former just for the implications. “you’re seriously telling me a certified ten like him never had any girls interested in him?”

Horikoshi, hear me out, I know there are only two chapters left after this, and they’ve both already been written. but if you wanted to rewrite one of them at the last minute in order to add about a dozen more pages solely dedicated to Shinsou interrogating the rest of class 2A about Kacchan’s love life, out of what he insists is just innocent curiosity with no ulterior motives. well, I would not complain about that

anyway so yes Shinsou he is still single, for now. though I don’t really think it’s the girls you need to be worried about

meanwhile Mineta is all, “I just wanted to let all of you know MY opinion, which is that Bakugou isn’t morally upstanding enough for my delicate sensibilities.” yes you heard that right. Mineta of all people is weighing in on which personalities are deserving of being popular. that’s some audacity right there

A WILD DEKU FANBOY APPEARS???!

“IT GAVE ME COURAGE” omg yesssssss. jotting this down for essay material at some future point in time!! because THIS. this right here is the true “what it means to be a hero” in my opinion. a hero is someone who brings reassurance, yes. someone who makes people feel safe. but I think a hero should also be someone who makes people feel brave. someone who inspires other people to be heroic in turn. so yes, this, all of this, inject it into my veins. wtg Deku

having an official fanboy apparently broke Deku’s brain. hang in there bud. I know you’ve still got villain angst to work through, but try to enjoy this. you’re allowed to have nice things

IS MINETA STRANGLING KACCHAN BY HIS FUCKING TIE OMFG. THAT’S WHY HE NEVER USED TO WEAR THEM. also you’ve worn my patience down all the way now Mineta. get the fuck out of my blog

also Kacchan successfully beat the shit out of him with his ONE GOOD ARM so take that Mineta

also shoutout to this KiriBaku moment right here which feels like the first time we’ve had the two of them together in ages. good stuff

I’m LOVING this panel of Ochako staring at Deku all indecipherably, but ngl it’s also giving me just the slightest bit of anxiety, because does this mean we’re finally gonna get answers on what ultimately happened to Toga. it better not be sad. please don’t ruin my happy chapter with depressing things Horikoshi

“tell them no” OH MY GOD AIZAWA’S TURNING DOWN ALL THE INTERVIEW REQUESTS FOR HIS KIDS SO THEY CAN JUST BE KIDS AGAIN FOR A LITTLE WHILE nooooo what is this. “yeah but I’m prioritizing the kids who aren’t up for dishing to the media about all of their horrific trauma.” omfg. it’s been too long since my last Dadzawa feels. I wasn’t ready after all this time

you guys Izuku finally got a new hero costume that’s not in tatters after all this time. all it took was his old costume getting literally torn to shreds. and now he’s back to looking twelve years old again lol

JEANIST AND FATGUM REUNION?!?! RETURN OF KACCHAN’S THIRD DAD, AND A SECOND WACKY UNCLE TO BACK UP GOOD OLD MIC? GOD BLESS

FAT HIRED TAMAKI AS A SIDEKICK D’AWWWW

now they’re putting the kids to work. glorified janitorial duty. Deku you better not be using up any more of your embers on this sob

this motherfucker did not just liken my baby boy Kacchan to “distressed denim” omg. we have less than three chapters left and we’re spending our hard-earned time on this and I TRULY WOULD NOT CHANGE A SINGLE THING

“Kacchan on light duty” PROTECT HIM!!! don’t think I don’t see you over there too in the background, Aizawa. he’s surrounded by dads. they’re not letting him out of their sight again until he’s thirty

meanwhile he’s out here quietly sorting through trash with his one good hand without complaint and without even the barest hint of a gremlin face. with his half-and-half costume so we can’t see how fucked up his arm is. AND NO MORE MASK. we burned the mask. my thank you letters are in the mail, Horikoshi. and you too TomurAFO, this was your actual greatest contribution to society

ANOTHER DAD?!?!?!

dfjsdlfksldkfjl

“don’t worry, I’m gradually recovering” fsdfkslfkj r.i.p. my ability to take this man seriously ever again. do you think his voice is like the normal sexy Edgeshot ASMR voice except all high-pitched like a squirrel in a Disney princess movie. it is, isn’t it

he can make hands now. buddy you’re amazing. mvp of the entire fucking manga. my son literally owes you his life. please let me see you sitting Jeanist’s shoulder like a parrot before this wonderful glorious chapter ends

Kacchan’s little cheek scar is somehow both badass and adorable at the same time. I can’t stress how fucking much this chapter is just surrounding me with “protect him at all costs” feelings.

MORE SOFT KACCHAN FEELS ON THE NEXT PAGE BECAUSE HORIKOSHI WROTE THIS CHAPTER SPECIFICALLY FOR ME, THANK YOU SO MUCH

“are you... [ever] gonna go back to normal?” because if not he’s gonna cry himself to sleep every night for the rest of his life!! no big!! YOU WOULDN’T DO THAT TO HIM WOULD YOU EDGESHOT?

NO HE WOULD NOT. THANK YOU EDGESHOT. ONCE AGAIN YOU ARE A REAL ONE

...or wait. so does he mean he is indeed going to go back to normal eventually? or is it that he’s embracing this new form as an exciting new evolution, hence the “even further”? it kind of feels like the latter, ngl. especially with this weird sad little smile Kacchan gives in response... fuck me. what the hell am I gonna do when this series ends in two weeks. nobody can rip my soul to pieces as utterly and effortlessly as Horikoshi does, man

THEY MADE THE KIDS LUNCH AWWWW. though in fairness there’s something seriously messed up with Japan if any of these kids ever has to pay for another meal again for the REST OF THEIR LIVES. like come on

noooooo goddammit I’m tired of seeing Izuku quietly despairing over things that AREN’T HIS FAULT

I am glad to see this side of the civilian population, though. sure have come a long way since the low point that was the U.A. clown mob. I like this a whole lot better ngl

what’s up with this mysterious bus all of a sudden

OH MY GOD THEY’RE BACK LMAO. QUICKLY BAKUDADS. form a perimeter

they’re apologizing again dsfkjlskdfjlsfd THEY DIDN’T EVEN CONSIDER EVERYONE’S CIRCUMSTANCES!!! holy shit these first years are all collectively my new favorite character

Cementoss couldn’t take the pressure omfg. is this your first year as a homeroom teacher?? YOU CAN MAKE ANYTHING OUT OF CEMENT BUT CAN YOU MAKE YOURSELF A FREAKING SPINE, CEMENTOSS. I love him

Cementoss is telling them to go work in the corner so they don’t bother everyone else lmao. stuck them as far away from Kacchan as possible. good looking out, Cementoss. how many dads are we up to now?? five? six if we count Iida????

“hey so anyway what actually is up with these fucking kouhai though” I don’t know but my greatest regret is that this only became a thing three chapters before the series finale. where has this nonsense been all my life

“I don’t really understand” me neither fella but here in BnHA land we just roll with it

now we’re cutting back to Ochako who’s making yet another mysterious face that makes me think she knows perfectly well how much we all want to know whether Toga is alive or not, and she’s deliberately dragging it out just to fuck with us

okay I honestly can’t tell if Ochako is being fake cheerful or genuinely cheerful. but it’s definitely fake cheerful right??

aaaaand there’s a close up of Deku with FULL LIGHT back in his eyes like the clouds just parted for the first time in an age. accompanied by a THROB sound effect. ohhhh buddy. did my boy just have a hormone. is it finally that time

THEY’RE LETTING THE KIDS GO BACK HOME OMG. if they want. awwww. r.i.p. fanfic dorms. poor Shinsou missing out ONCE AGAIN

THEY DIDN’T CATCH THE CONCLUSION OF THE TOGACHAKO FIGHT ON FILM??! oh hell no. that settles it, she’s definitely still alive

tell me this cheeky motherfucker (Horikoshi, not Ochako lol) isn’t going to try and actually END THE SERIES with Toga’s fate still all ~mysterious~ and ~up in the air~ like I’m starting to get the sneaking suspicion that he’s doing

HORIKOSHI I SAID I DIDN’T WANT A DEPRESSING CHAPTER WHY ARE YOU HITTING ME WITH THESE FEELS AFTER I LET MY GUARD DOWN

YOU REALLY GAVE MY GIRL A SYMBOLIC FRODO STYLE ANGSTY STAB WOUND SO SHE CAN NEVER FORGET THE PAIN OF THAT DAY ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW WITH THIS

DEKU AHHHHHH

oh my god lol. I’m so curious what’s going to happen next week. my money for the record is on them bonding in a STRICTLY PLATONIC WAY over their respective dead(!??!?!) villains rather than a Romance Thing happening. but I wouldn’t be bothered if they do go there though just so long as we don’t get any timeskip epilogues where they’ve all got fucking kids and such now. don’t you do that to me Horikoshi Kouhei. I swear to god two chapters left omfg. this is really happening. the inexorable march of time etc. etc. ahhhhhhhhh

[pinkaditty]

Pink Slush

*timidly tiptoes into my blog but crashes into a comically placed vase and breaks it into pieces and it makes the "oh no, our table!" noise*

looooooong a/n: hiiiiiiiiii............ so it's december! and my last thirst was in october! in my defense... im graduating with a B.S. next semester bro. lots going on woo! but thankfully break is here and all i have to do next semester is research! so ill be active lots more i promise <3 anyways as a thank you for waiting so patiently i have decided that u all deserve a little treat and that little treat is a typical aphrodisiac-induced threesome, except it's between you, Solomon, and Barbatos! IT'S NOT FINISHED but it's in the works so enjoy this little sneak peek of it <3 after this ill work on finishing part 3 of the pervert series and then im answering some asks!

CW: slight dub-con bc u all r under the influence of an aphrodisiac, but otherwise fully consensual, no penetration yet but there is some humping, panting, and lots of men moaning. mc's physical attributes aren't mentioned, so gn!mc.

MINORS DNI PLEASE!! I WILL BLOCK MINOR BLOGS AND AGELESS ONES! PLEASE RESPECT MY BOUNDARY!

It had all started when you, very innocently, asked Solomon if you could participate in his potions-making sessions this afternoon. You didn’t know what he had been making for the past few weeks, but the fat black cauldron had been sitting on his desk for days at a time; bubbling in magenta and overflowing in blue and being his overall first priority when it turned pink. You weren’t even let into his room much anymore, because he’d be so busy taking care of the thing that you couldn’t spend time together. You huffed at his broad chest as you were ushered out a second time, Solomon’s strangely pink lips uttering various excuses of “you being in here is dangerous!” and “something might go wrong!” and “i don’t want you to suffer from any side effects”. His lips were all you could stare at as he continued to mumble something about the potential dangers of the potion and how having a novice around would do more harm than good. Absent-mindedly, he leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to your forehead, promising to spend more time soon. You realized that he probably hadn’t meant to do that, because the second you pressed your fingertips to your forehead in shock, his face burst out into a deep pink blush. He coughed and hurriedly turned his head to the side, muttering about the side effects again, apologizing for the potency of the potion, and closing his door. You could still hear his muttering. 

The upside to Solomon’s newfound business was that he no longer had any time to cook as often as he used to, so your favorite demon, Barbatos, was at Purgatory Hall’s kitchen, helping to fix a treat for dessert after having brought leftovers from the castle for dinner. You figured, since Solomon wouldn’t let you in, you’d just go and attempt not to be too much of a burden to Barbatos. Upon reaching the kitchen, delicious smells of ingredients you were familiar with filled the air. You were surprised to discover he had been making commonplace human world dishes today. “Hey,” you start, Barbatos turning to you to acknowledge your presence and give a soft smile in greeting. “What are you making?” You approach with your arms behind your back, not wanting to disturb Barbatos too much. He smiled a little wider at you and turned back to his work. “Trying to replicate human world ice-cream.” Barbatos’s voice was ever monotone, and he often spoke in small half-sentences when he was busy. You never minded. If anything, it was endearing to you. He was always so dedicated to his work, sometimes so absorbed in it he didn’t notice anything outside of it. However, you knew he wasn’t unaware of your staring, and it was obvious in how he moved. You didn’t mention it. “Made cookies to go with it.” He shrugged his left shoulder in the direction of a pan full of chocolate-chip cookies, aromatic and fresh from the oven. You hadn’t even noticed Luke’s small figure before you entered, but there he was at the counter, reaching upwards to feast on a cookie. “Have some. And please prevent Luke from eating them all.” The first two words were said suspiciously close to your ear after you’d turned away to glance in the direction he’d shrugged. You pretended to ignore the heat on the back of your neck and tips of your ears as you approached Luke, gently patting his head. He wiggled and shouted in protest, but ultimately let you, holding your hand in his hair when you tried to pull away. With your other hand, you reached out for a cookie, and ate it rather quickly. Barbatos’s baking was always top-notch, and today was no exception. The buttery cookie melted on your tongue, warm chocolate spreading over your taste buds. You had to stop yourself from reaching for another one and turned Luke’s attention away from the cookies so he wouldn’t eat more. With him safely nestled in the couch next to Simeon, watching a crude human world reality TV show, you found it okay to return to Barbatos’s side. He had already finished the ice cream, so there was no way for you to help in making, but he happily invited you to taste test it. 

He held out a spoon by it’s handle, a large dollop of ice cream on it’s end. You couldn’t decide if he intended for you to eat it or take it first. Without thinking too hard, you leaned forwards and took the spoon in your mouth, gently coaxing the ice cream off of the spoon and into your mouth. Barbatos momentarily froze, almost unnoticeable before returning to his demeanor. His smile was gentle, and his eyes shone with an unreadable expression. You slowly leaned off of the spoon as Barbatos slipped it from between your lips, and turned away to put it in the sink. 

He turned back towards you to watch your expression. You could tell he was curious, but he did not show it. His head was tilted in observation, his classic reserved expression and gentle smile on his face. “How is it, MC?” You are surprised when you hear him speak, jolted from your observation of his features. You nod vigorously, expressing your approval of his attempt. He smiles wider and turns away, preparing for clean up. 

“Ah, by the way, MC.” Barbatos addresses you as he’s turned away. He knows better than to suspect you may have wandered off. “Forgive me for my forwardness, but if I may, what are you doing down here?” You watched him as he moved back and forth across the creamy marble tile of the kitchen, picking up dish after dish, his arms gently flexing with every heavy pan, hands covered in bubble mesh from the soap. “I expected you to be upstairs with Solomon, helping him with his potions today.” You didn’t miss the way his voice grated when he said his name. You sigh amusedly at their fight, hoping Barbatos didn’t hear it. If he did, he makes no move to make it obvious. 

“Solomon won’t let me into his room any longer… He’s making some really intricate potion and it’s been eating up his attention lately…” You pout without realizing it, having wanted to spend time with him after not seeing him often in weeks. You were rather fond of his antics, and treasured the time you spent together, learning all sorts of new magic from him and deepening the bond of your friendship. Sure, perhaps you might be pushing a little hard to spend time with him, but it’d been weeks. That much had to be understandable. 

When you look up, Barbatos is turned towards you, rolling his sleeves down and donning his gloves. The cleaning had already been finished, ice cream placed in cold storage and cookies left out to be ravaged by whoever. You smile at him, his efficiency never failing to surprise you. He smiles back, gently, before returning his attention to his gloves. “Have you heard what it might be?” 

“No, and I really want to figure it out… But he won’t let me in.” You sigh, turning towards the stairs, wondering if a third try today was really worth it. You heard Barbatos approach from the side, looking up the stairs with you. You glanced at him from the side, and you could see the gears turning in his head. Both of you wanted to see him - likely for very different reasons - but wanted to see him regardless. 

“Let us go upstairs.” Barbatos spoke suddenly, and you turned to him fully. “I need to speak with him about the condition of the kitchenware after his atrocious cooking.” His expression was as displeased as you’d ever seen it, his eyebrows quirked downwards, and his lips in a straight line.

A smile spreads across your face and you have to muffle your laughter in your hand, following Barbatos up the stairs. Upon reaching the wooden door of his room again, Barbatos reached out to knock, announcing his presence. There was no answer, if not for the ominous humming of the potion and occasional whooshing and crackling sound of the fire underneath it. Barbatos’s eyebrows quirked in annoyance, and you brought a hand to your lips again, stifling your laughter. Barbatos once again knocked, announcing his presence slightly louder. You piped in as well this time, hoping Solomon would listen. There was still no answer, and Barbatos was becoming increasingly frustrated. You turned to him, about to insist that you come back later, when Barbatos reached out and pushed the door in, having realized it was unlocked. 

The scene that greeted you was expected: Solomon hunched over his potion, which was glowing neon pink on his face, the light highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. His hands were hovering on either side of the potion, as though prepared to grab whatever leaped from the cauldron and stuff it back in. He hadn’t seemed to notice your presence, too focused on the potion. You glanced at Barbatos, who was already storming in, uncaring about his privacy or lack of response. You followed, though significantly more timid, not daring to storm for fear of toppling his potion over. The fumes for it were already potent as you stepped in, and you swung the door shut to prevent it from wafting into the halls. The potion smelled overwhelmingly like a mix of perfume and musk, invading your senses but still rather somewhat pleasant. The smell of it made your body feel warm and somewhat weakened at the joints, like a warm cup of hot chocolate or the arms of a lover securing you in their grasp. You blinked, resisting the cloudy feeling in your head as you looked up. Barbatos was now in conversation with Solomon, likely berating him for the state of the kitchenware, while Solomon occasionally retorted back, still mostly focused on the potion. When Solomon looked up and noticed you, his expression went from surprise to slight frustration, his brows furrowing and his lips quirking down in displeasure. You knew he didn’t want to see you in here, but you waved at him anyway, and he rolled his eyes, attention too split between Barbatos and the potion to force you out. You walked over to where he and Barbatos were speaking, standing just behind them, watching Solomon hover over the pink, bubbling mixture. It was thick and gooey looking, some of it overflowing and dripping down the sides of his cauldron. The smell of musk and perfume was stronger as you got closer to the potion, but still pleasant. 

You don’t quite know what happened next. Barbatos must have said something that made Solomon turn to him, exasperation laced into every one of his features, contorting his expression. As Solomon turned, he knocked an elbow into the edge of the cauldron, and it tipped over, the gas and sludge spilling all over the three of you. 

Your shoes and pants drenched in pink sludge and the rest of you surrounded by a thick pink gas, you only have two seconds to feel displeased before a strange warmth spreads through your body. You swallow roughly at the feeling, heat rising in your cheeks. Your lower body begins to twinge strangely in response to the warmth, and you shudder. When you look up to survey the others, it seems they are in a similar state. Also covered in the pink sludge, but the redness of their cheeks betrayed their outward angered expressions. You wave away the gas, while not unpleasant to breathe, still very intoxicating. You clear your throat once the gas has mostly dispersed, still feeling warmth all over your body. When you try to speak, your voice comes out low and thick with arousal. “What… was that potion?” You hold a hand to your throat, surprised at your own voice. You attempt to clear your throat again, but when you mutter to yourself, there is no change. The warmth continues to build, intoxicating and somewhat suffocating under your clothing. The blush on your face deepens as you shift uncomfortably, everywhere your clothes brush against your skin burning with arousal. 

“That,” Solomon spoke, rather incredulously, thwap-ing a palm against his forehead. “Was… an extremely potent… aphrodisiac.” He spoke slowly, his words punctured by hisses and moans disguised as deep exhales. The sound of his voice was strangely intoxicating to you, and you couldn’t help but notice the pinkness of his lips again, watching his tongue flick against them as he prepared to elaborate. “I was brewing it… for a client… and now, here we are.” He had one hand fisted in the collar of his shirt, pulling it away from his skin to alleviate the growing heat. He didn’t sound angry, but it could have been the nature of the aphrodisiac softening his voice. His breathing was heavy and still punctured by small whimpers. He gripped his desk for support, trying to stay upright. 

You swallowed, watching his lips form these whimpers. You gripped your shirt too, both to distract yourself and to hopefully alleviate the way his actions were entracing. You forcefully turned your head away, towards Barbatos, who was also not in a very good state. It was then that you realized how potent this potion must have been, because even he could not keep himself upright. He was also gripping the other end of Solomon’s desk, unable to stand. His legs were shaking where he stood, and one hand was tugging at his collar. You watched his throat bob as he swallowed, breathing heavily and biting his lip. You couldn’t see his face, as he was turned away from you both, but the tips of his ears were a very bright red. His demonic features were beginning to unmask themselves, his tail swaying and his horns sprouting from his head. 

You were not in a good state either. Somehow, you’d lost your balance and tumbled backwards, landing on the edge of Solomon’s bed. You were panting, clutching at your R.A.D. uniform, fingers shakily moving to undo the buttons. The heat was too much. The shifting of your clothes was too much. Arousal blazed within you simply from sitting there, feeling your fingers move across your chest. You grit your teeth and your thighs twitch as you attempt to stave off the arousal and stay still.

“Nngh…” One of Solomon’s tantalizing moans. You bit your lip and squeezed your eyes shut at the visceral reaction you had to his sounds, breathing heavily to calm yourself. When you could stand to, you opened your eyes and turned to glance at him. His face was red with arousal, eyes closed tight as he gently peeled his uniform jacket off of him, attempting to relieve the heat. You watch as it slides off of his shoulders, leaving behind a formal black button up that clung to his torso, slick with sweat and stuffy from the heat. You tried to look away, but couldn’t, enamored with how his fingers began to fiddle with the buttons at his collar, whimpering at the chance of freedom. You watched as his pink lips turned very red when he bit them, stifling his own moans at the feeling of cool air on his neck. 

You were dizzy with arousal. You had barely managed to peel off your own jacket, reluctant to go any further, but the heat seemed to urge you. You squeezed your legs together as your lower body twinged again, this time with more arousal than the last. You let out a strangled breath, gripping at Solomon’s bedsheets. You lifted your chin upwards, determined to resist the urges.

“Haah…” It was unfamiliar, but you could tell it wasn’t Solomon this time. Your eyes flew to the butler as he straightened up, having removed his tie, holding it in his gloved hand before it fell to the floor. Barbatos was leaning against Solomon’s desk, face red with arousal, a hazy look in his eyes. Gripping the desk with one hand, he lifted the other to his face and bit at the end of his glove, pulling it off of his hand. It slid off with ease, and he groaned at the release of heat, the look in his eyes becoming hazier. He removed his glove from his mouth, and there was a small string of saliva connecting his lips to the glove. He wiped it away, and bared his fangs for the second glove. 

Before you could watch him do it again and feel your arousal grow, you flop onto the bed and turn yourself over, muffling your moans with the nearest pillow. You lay your upper body across Solomon’s bed, face buried into a pillow, knees giving way and struggling to keep yourself up.

You did not hear the shuffling in the room, nor the footsteps, nor the hesitant movement behind you, having been too focused in muffling your own cries of arousal into the pitiful pillow. But you do feel when a weight from above presses into you, arms reaching for your chest, and a tongue presses into the back of your neck. You cry out in surprise, gripping the sheets harder and arching your back, feeling your backside hit the peak of someone’s arousal. When a strangled moan and push back are done in response, you know it is Solomon. He pants heavily for a moment before continuing to leave open-mouthed kisses on the back of your neck, lapping at the collection of your sweat and leaning forward to nibble on your ear. You bury your face further into the pillow, beginning to feel short of breath. You couldn’t even think straight anymore. You reached behind yourself for Solomon, lacing your fingers through his scalp and grabbing a fistful, attempting to ground yourself. Solomon moans loudly into your ear, curling his back and snapping his hips forward into you. You hear him pant as you feel the hardened length of him push between your thighs. You squeeze your thighs together, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you feel him continue to press further. His heavy breathing is indicative of his tongue lolling out, and it’s not hard to imagine his eyes rolling back either. Eventually he swallows and stops pressing, relieving some pressure on you and instead burying his face in the crook of your neck, mindlessly lapping his tongue at whatever exposed skin there was. Not wanting the pressing to stop, you pull on his hair again and he whines, pressing forward, face level with yours. You see tears prick the edges of his eyes as he presses between your legs again, feeling him brush against you. You muffle your moans into the pillow and he muffles his into your neck, reaching down to grip at your hips rather harshly, lost in the pleasure. He continues to mindlessly lap at your skin, pressing his forehead into your hair. 

You almost don't notice when the bed dips in front of you, the mattress now supporting three weights. It is then that you remember that you have managed to effectively trap yourself in with an accomplished immortal sorcerer and the most powerful demon in the three realms. Both of which are experiencing major arousal. Including you. 

You force yourself to look up, Solomon still buried in your neck. You were certain you looked a mess, but the stuttered exhale from Barbatos indicated otherwise. Barbatos didn't exactly look a mess, but he was certainly sweaty, disheveled, and full of yearning. His jacket and dress shirt were still on, but both were unbuttoned partway, revealing his neck and upper chest, glistening with sweat from the sticky heat. His mouth was wide open, panting for air, but his lips were curved upwards in a wicked smile. His eyes were shinier than before, glowing just slightly as his tail whipped back and forth behind him. You couldn't say that you weren't somewhat excited at this.

Barbatos began to tremble, leaning forward towards you until your faces were level and his chest was pressing into the bed. He leaned into the sheets, pressing his cheek against the thick comforter. His eyes were watery and he was still panting. You could see his fangs through the small part in his lips. "F-Forgive me…" His voice was low and breathy, and his eyes rolled as he spoke, as if simply exerting energy speaking was costing him. "Forgive me, MC… Every second, it gets… harder…" He suddenly inhaled sharply, gnashing his teeth together, trembling harder before releasing, exhaling heavily. He whimpered softly, closing his eyes and biting his lip to stifle anything further. You watched his face, paying no mind to the lack of movement behind you. You couldn't explain it, but this only made your need swell. His lips, small but soft and pink, were becoming discolored the longer he held them between his teeth. His hair was scattered over the comforter,  blue green strands hanging in front of his clear emerald eyes. His cheeks were red and his skin was splotchy, both from heat and arousal. He did not look as prim and proper as usual, and something about it stirred within you, deeper than the potion effects...

---------------------------------------------------------

a/n: haha and that's the end of that for now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! had this in the works for MONTHS! it's taken my blood, sweat, and tears y'all. i hope you enjoy this for now and i PROMISE i will deliver! it will be late... but i WILL deliver!

[neuvilletteswife]

Argenti Fluff Alphabet!

Inspired by the NSFW Alphabet by @fairy-tail-babes.

Feel free to use for your own writing Blogs!

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Argenti spends his free time to take care of you both physically and mentally. He loves to praise, cuddle and protect you. Always make sure that you feel happy when you are with him.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He loves to admire everything about you. Your face, body and attitude. Everything about you is beautiful for him. Argenti never stop praising you.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

He is good at comforting you.

“Shhh…My dear please let me comfort you.” Argenti pulls you closer to his chest. “What happened? Do you want to talk? If you don’t want to it’s alright. You can cry. Let it all out. I am here for you. I never leave you my love.” He rubs your head softly and kiss your forehead. “You will get better soon. My beautiful. Please be relax in my embrace” Argenti rubs your back softly before you sleep in his arms peacefully as he watched you sleep with his soft and caring eyes.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He wants to travel space and finds Idrila with you. He will support and take care of you forever.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

He can be dominant one or passive. It depend on you want him to be. Even he is dominant, he never push you into anything. He also follow your wishes too. When he is passive he is a good follower would do everything for you and will sacrifice his life if you asked him to. He loves it when you make him wrap around your finger.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Be the first one to apologize whether he is wrong or not and always forgives you. He prefer to talk to fix the situation over fight.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He always says “Thank you” or praises you a lot for do something for him. Even though the things that you did for him is just a little but he always remember and appreciate everything you did.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Argenti is straightforward person. He never keep his secrets from you. He trusts you and shares everything to you. Lie and deceive are not in his dictionary.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

He learned a lot about your planet. How he should live or behave on this planet with you. He appreciated that you help him solve the problems a lot and he will repay you with his kindness and treat you like a prince/princess.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Argenti rarely feel jealous. He is always understanding you. If he feels jealous. He will just ignore it.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

He would ask your consent first. (What a gentleman) His kiss is loving, soft and passionate. He is a good kisser. Never too rough or making you feel uncomfortable. If you kiss him you make him feel lucky like he was born for this moment.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

When he feels his heart beating so hard when he is with you. He will confess his feelings for you. How much he adores and love you. His feelings are genuine.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He will dream of marrying you one day but if you don’t want to it’s alright. He always lives with you until his last breath anyway. Your marriage are full of roses and luxury decorations. He did it just to impress you.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

My rose, my love, my dear and sweetheart.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when

they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

He will express his feelings directly to you that he loves you so much. He always treat you well.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Argenti will praise you in front of others but when you two show affection by physical touches. He prefer to do in private. (He is a knight so he won’t do anything too affectionate in front of people)

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Argenti loves to do your hair. He is also a very clean person himself. He might clean your body too.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Argenti is born being romantic (most sweetest knight that you ever met). He can be both cliché and creative but he wants you to tell him how to make you happy. He likes to surprise you.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Argenti is always support and believe in them 1000000% He also help them to achieve their goals and praises while they doing it.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Argenti would like to spice out by taking you ride his spaceship and travel around the universes.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Argenti is walking green flag. He knows about you a lot. He always let you speak what’s in your mind without judging. He never being mean to you. Always empathetic and understanding.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

You are a beauty of his life. You always make him feel happy just being exist. He always feel grateful and lucky to have you in his life. You are everything to him.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

He doesn’t mind when you tease him. He also likes it and laugh but he rarely teases you.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Argenti is very affectionate and likes to touch you soft but firm. He loves to kiss, hug and cuddle for relief his or your stress. He would do everything you want him to do. Just say it.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

He will thinking about you all the times you left. Sometimes he messages you that he misses you a lot follow up with his infinite praises when you are on work.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Argenti would dedicated his life for you just like his aeon. Would sacrifice his life for you. Never leave you. His loyalty is very strong. Argenti is a perfect lover.

[captainnameless]

hi! i was wondering if i could request some soft little Max? you and bean are my absolute favorite authors and blogs and since i am not blessed with the writing gene i was hoping you would bless us with some little Max to hopefully cheer bean up a bit too.

aw! you can always request little Max, i adore my boy. and i think this is very cute, hope you’re ok <3 @33max

- -

Daniel struggles fitting Max’s foot into his sneakers, Max’s entire body seemingly still soft and noodle-y post nap.

“Muffin,” Daniel hums, gently squeezing Max’s ankle. “Can you help Daddy, please?”

Max lifts his neck to face Daniel from where he’s flopped onto the couch, cheeks still flushed and lined with the imprint of the sheets. “Huh?”

“Your foot,” Daniel lifts Max’s ankle and wiggles it in his view, electing a soft giggle from the boy. “Has to go in your shoe, bud.”

Max sits up a little straighter so he can get his weight behind it, rubbing at his eyes and letting out a soft yawn.

Daniel resists the urge to coo, and the magnetic pull that wants to wrap Max up in a cuddle in a makeshift blanket fort and stay there for the foreseeable future, makes quick work of fitting Max’s shoes on and tying the laces.

It is a nice thought, the cuddle fort, but it’s been raining in England for the two days they have already spent together, and finally the sun has peeked to the grey clouds, and Daniel intends on soaking up some of those vitamins.

“All done,” Daniel hums as he pushes himself up, then holds out both hands for Max to pull himself up on. He does and then flops into Daniel’s chest, burying himself in the soft material of Daniel’s new enchanté sweatshirt.

Daniel smiles, wraps his arms around Max and presses his face into the messy mop of hair that he hasn’t fixed post nap. Secretly he loves the disgruntled look it gives Max, especially when they have nowhere important to be, and it just looks so cute now that Max hasn’t trimmed his hair in a bit.

“As much as I love this cuddle,” Daniel hums into Max’s dark blonde hair. “We should probably go chase the sun before she goes into hiding again.”

Daniel can feel Max make a face, the little guy also unimpressed with the amount of rain they’ve had and the strict rules that Daniel had enforced about not playing in it. Usually Daniel doesn’t mind, but their immune systems are down after the triple header, and Max would be very upset if he’d had to miss GoodWood if he were to fall ill. It had already been difficult keeping him and Lando separated post Silverstone after Lando had come down with the flu.

“Quick,” Max says already wriggling out of the hug and skipping off into the hall where their jackets are.

They’ve opted for casual wear, Daniel pleased with convincing Max out of the Red Bull windbreaker in hopes to not attract any attention on their walk, the area surrounding their AirBnB quiet anyway, but he doesn’t want to tempt fate.

Max is sporting the tote bag this time, Leo tucked inside, Max still weary of bringing him along but upset if he leaves him behind, the tote provides the perfect shield from prying eyes but it doesn’t stop Max’s babbling about everything they’re seeing.

“There’s a puddle, Leo.”

Daniel keeps a little bit of a closer eye on Max, slowing down from where he was a couple steps ahead.

“But we can’t jump in it cause we’ve got regular shoes on.” There’s a defeated sigh and Max stomps his foot away from the puddle to proof his point.

“Because,” Max adds, looking at Daniel now. “Daddy put the wrong shoes on.”

Daniel bites back an amused smile and watches as Max continues his conversation.

“Right?” He says, as if the plush is conversing with him, shaking his head as he walks past Daniel. “Silly Daddy.”

Daniel snorts, reaches out to poke at Max’s side as he passes him, something Max squeaks at and dances away from. “He’s going to get us!”

Max darts off ahead then, the dirt kicking up behind him as he speeds off further into the forest.

Daniel curses his age then, definitely enjoying their slow paced stroll up until know and wills his knees into shape as he chased after Max.

Max is definitely faster than Daniel, luckily, this version of Max is a little less speedy, more clumsy and Daniel catches up quickly enough, wrapping his arms around Max from behind and lifting him briefly. “Gotcha!”

Max bursts into a fit of giggles as he squirms out of Daniel’s hold, adjusting the tote bag on his shoulder and making sure Leo’s face can peak out again before he fits himself against Daniel’s side as they continue their stroll.

“Love.” Max hums, patting at Daniel as Daniel wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“Right back at ya.”

[doberbutts]

My apologies about the weird ask! I saw pictures of ballet dancers bloody feet and let it color my view of it, figured if its painful for people with five toes it would be hell for anyone with more than that. Not that they couldn’t or shouldn’t do it, but that it’d be harsher on their feet. As someone who has wide feet that has a hard time with pointed shoes I was wincing 😅 sorry again should’ve kept it to myself

Oh, you're talking about images like this?

Tbh this is fairly extreme and mostly you see this with ill-fitting shoes or with professionals who don't give their feet a break (bc they can't, bc this is their livelihood). Dancing small time competitions in the local rec center shouldn't do this to your feet unless your shoes really suck or your instructor is very hard on you (by ballet standards- ballet instructors are stereotypically fairly tough anyway).

However, ballet does permanently change the way your foot is shaped and the way your joints work.

Not just your feet but your whole body. Especially when started very young, so since I started at 4 and I have a bazillion things wrong with me anyway I was kind of pre-destined to have some problems from ballet later in life. Don't get me wrong, there were also many benefits, and I LIKE ballet, but ballet and foot problems later in life kind of go hand in hand regardless of what your foot was shaped like when you were born.

It's a rigorous discipline and people don't take it seriously because it's seen as hyperfeminine and also because they see how effortless the dancers make the moves look, and they don't see the work it takes to create that visual. So it's very shocking when non-dancers happen upon images or discussions of the drawbacks.

As said before, I never went en pointe due to ankle weakness I couldn't quite fix, so that photo where her ankle is bent at an extreme angle? Yeah my instructor wouldn't let me go en pointe bc she was afraid I'd snap the bones in my ankle the second I tried that move. Ballet flats aren't nearly as bad on your feet as pointe shoes (pointe shoes are in each of those photos), so it wasn't the shoe itself that beat up my feet but the wear and tear of executing the dance moves.

These are flats- much more flexible than pointe shoes and what young children learn on before their skill and development reaches a safe point to graduate to pointe shoes. They're really just a piece of soft leather or satin held on by a stretchy band. Little kids should never be in pointe shoes and I genuinely caution anyone whose instructor told them it was safe before hitting double digits to find a different instructor for whatever kid before they do massive, permanent damage to their feet. Pretty much every medical study out there says you should be at least 11, and preferably 13-15, before you move off of flats.

My instructor believed the same. I stopped ballet because I was tested twice before being allowed to go en pointe and both times failed due to ankle weakness, at about 13-15. So in high school I switched disciplines because otherwise I'd be a teenager dancing with a bunch of little kids still in flats.

THAT BEING SAID I do feel the need to clarify that I have not had extra toes or fingers after my first week of life, because they were banded pretty much immediately after birth and fell off shortly thereafter. So I wasn't some 6-toed kid forcing myself into an unforgiving wooden shoe, I was a 5-toed kid in effectively soft leather moccasins that just happened to have slightly wider feet than you'd expect. I'm not putting photos of my feet on this blog but unless I point it out you wouldn't really be able to tell I was born with extras until I show you the remnants of the little "shelf" where the extras would have grown out of.

I do appreciate the concern- just keep in mind how it might be coming across next time.

[eldritch-spouse]

This is a bit of a loaded question, however curiosity is a stronger beast than lust is

Do any of your characters have, specifically, a rape kink? Or get turned on by the idea of rape?

Gomen I know this isn't a very nice question :(

[Anon, the rape warning is in the blog for a reason, there's no need to apologize because you have crossed no boundaries. However, unlike you, these guys-]

TW: NONCON; Death; Mild dehumanization.

Kalymir. Listen. He just loves to dominate. It's his whole thing. Seeing you fight for your dignity, your body- Tossing everything and anything you can to try and slow this hulking beast, but deep down, he knows you know it's already over. He knows he's going to get his way and your running, screaming, kicking and punching only gets him more excited. Because, to Kalymir, sex is hunting. And you're exceptional prey. Crying, begging for mercy, slumping under him in utter defeat- Growing to worship him in time, all things Kalymir loves. Granted he wouldn't be as brutal to you as he was to past lays who meant nothing to him, the people who ended up shattered and lifeless from the brutality of his desire and the sadism that fuels him. If there wasn't a splatter of blood every single time Kalymir pistoned, then something was wrong.

Vesper. Such a sweetheart he is, so generous in his offerings- Until you recall that Vesper is the Icon of Lust, and lust is sometimes quite ugly. Vesper's violation of your will is subtle, peppered in perfumed pheromones and arousing lilts, suggestions of consent, illusions of desire. You will not deny him, because you cannot, he demands your carnality. Is Vesper capable of outright rape? Yes, that's how he fights, that's how he fulfills the fantasies of rotten people who strike deals with him, and Vesper does get aroused from his own vile actions. Does he prefer to trick you into thinking you want things? Yes, a lot more.

Morell. Another one who loves the hunt. But more than that, Morell is just a little too used to treating humans like a commodity rather than a person. All piggies kind of flail and whine about it, all of you make faces and get temperamental. What does it matter anyway? Play nice and let him make you squeal one last time before you end up on a platter... Although Morell will rape you in a non-lethal manner, he's infantilizing throughout it, trying to soothe you and shushing you, treating it like a dumb animal's tantrum. The damage is fixed with a few kisses and a nice meal, in his eyes.

Vinnel. Oh the sneering sadist. He wants you broken and crying beneath him, trying to hide your face and curl in on yourself, shaking like a leaf. He wants you covered in cuts and begging him to stop. What a pretty, pretty image you'd make, especially if put on display this way. But he's willing to be nice, oh very very nice, you just have to not get on his nerves. Very simple. His attention will still generally happen regardless of you wanting it or not, what changes is the degree to which he'll be relentlessly cruel in his assault. The more you suffer, the more he quakes in pleasure.

Nebul. Your will is secondary and you know this. Consent? No, you're a pet, he determines your consent, the same way he determines your entire routine. Punishments during his training oftentimes involve sexual assault, because it's brilliantly effective in drilling powerlessness into the minds of his victims, and your powerlessness is a drug that makes him feel oh so alive. Nebul likes that no matter how much you try, you're nothing but a puppet to his desires, and you will one day share them in a complementary fashion.

Patches. He feels very guilty about it, not that it makes it any better. It's not very often that it happens, but sometimes his own inability to take initiative or suceed in courting will have Patches erroneously casting his frustrations onto you and fantasies of rape flourish- Arousing him because of how cathartic they feel. Would he act on them? Only as an opportunist. Would Stitches outright rape? Oh yes, you're fucked with that one. Curiously, Patches also has vivid daydreams of you assaulting him, and the more degrading you are in his mind, the more he longs for it in real life.

Santi has enjoyed rape before. He's taken the sexual dignity of others before to make himself feel powerful, and it's something he won't do again. But sometimes, the thought rears its ugly head. Remnants of who he was, paired with a more sinister side of his nature.

Roch. A bit like Patches, he more so fetishizes the possibility of being taken advantage of while he sleeps. Roch enjoys the idea of being touched inappropriately or outright used by someone who stumbles upon him and simply decides to have the soft little imp all to themself. He doesn't tell you outright that you have permission to fuck him in most states, simply hopes that you'll be rotten enough to discard his consent entirely.

Ludwig. Like most wrath demons, rape is at the very least a semi-frequent fantasy. You're very lucky Ludwig happens to have more control over himself than most of his kin, but oh, that doesn't mean you're safe. While he will only harm you further if he has to, Lud does morbidly get off on intimidating you into performing sexual acts for him. Sometimes he doesn't even want penetration, he just wants to see the fear in your eyes while you bare yourself to him, touch yourself, suck him off, or just present and wait for a load on your ass.

Nick. She likes abusing her physical might. Ideally, she won't have to, but if it comes to that, Nicele gets a pretty big kick out of seeing you crumble to her commands. If she barks at you to ride her fingers, then you better. If she pushes your shoulders down and starts grinding her cunt on your face, then you better stay still and take it. Wouldn't want anything to break now, would we? Fear is a beautiful look on you.

Sybastian. Listen, it's a bit genetic in this case. Sybastian's used to snatching people. Careful not to trigger that instinct when he's trying to get frisky with you. It doesn't help that part of mimic sexual foreplay involves surprising their partner with sexual attention, so your initial flailing will only make him more enthusiastic because it signifies he succeeded in shocking you. He finds it fun and stimulating to overwhelm you, which makes gouging consent borderline impossible at times, and there are instances where he simply refuses to let go, therefore assaulting you.

(A lot of other characters are capable of rape but don't necessarily particularly get off on it.)

(Monsters who enjoy rape should not be confused with opportunists, which there are many here. These opportunists would not outright assault someone until the victim is vulnerable enough for the act to be performed, but they would take advantage of situations where they either know that you can't verbalize consent or lack thereof, situations where you may not recognize them, etc...)

Notable opportunists are: Breg; Lacai; Shags; Zizz; Livius; Flints; Jayde; Rinx; Nena; Obie; Belo; Vorago; Glauk; Colmei; Gallon; Fank-e.