#anyway. mind blown. baffled even

[hamyilton]

Wait, holy shit, this is a pretty popular Youtuber (most of her videos get hundreds of thousands of views) and she just made a video about mclennon?? And it's over an hour long? Has mclennon gone mainstream wtfff

[hansensgirl]

summary. | Your dad’s best friend doesn’t like your attitude.

prompts. | Andy Barber + Dad’s best friend + “I just want to take care of you.” + Daddy kink, requested by Anonymous.

pairing. | dark!dad’s best friend!Andy Barber x fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, age gap, delusion, Daddy kink, bratty/rude reader (inwardly, mostly), manhandling, andy holds the reader down, allusions to spanking, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics

A familiar voice calls your name, and you wonder what he could possibly want this time around. It’s Andy, your father’s best friend.

You sigh as you get up from your bed, an oversized sweater falling down to cover your upper thighs. You make your way downstairs and spot the older man at the bottom of the steps, blocking your way. He smiles when he sees you, and you forcibly return it.

Hatred isn’t the word you’d use to describe how you feel about Andy. Discomfort is far more accurate. You’re baffled at how he’s managed to insert himself into your life, even when your father isn’t present. He has a key and always seems to drop by over every little thing. Sometimes, his reasonings are genuinely absurd. 

You suspect it’s the loneliness of the divorce and subsequent moving away that did it. You feel bad for Andy at times, but the dark looks he gives you make those feelings dissipate, replacing them with both fear and arousal. 

“You busy?” he asks, a slight smirk on his face. It reads as a midlife crisis, or perhaps you’re just being too harsh. You prefer being on your lonesome, anyway. “Uh, no, not really. Why?” you ask, stopping at the last step. He’s wearing a green button-up, and his hair is slightly tousled.

When you watch him more intently, you notice his eyes are blown out. Lust or happiness? The former seems more likely than the latter. Your thoughts make you shiver, and he furrows his brows.

“Cold?” he jokes, but you simply hum. “I can’t see why,” Andy husks, smiling up at you. He refers to your outfit, which you realize isn’t the most appropriate thing to wear in front of him.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to watch a movie with me,” he tells you, and you nod your head. If you say no, he’ll surely tell your father somehow, and you can’t afford your allowance getting cut. Not until you find a decent-paying job, anyway. 

“Oh, uh, what movie did you have in mind?” you ask him, leaning on the railing. “I’m fine with anything, really,” he admits, shrugging as he stands up straight. 

“Alright, I’ll be back in a few. Maybe you can make some popcorn, get some candy?” you offer, turning just a bit so you can head back to your room.

“Where are you going?” Andy asks, crossing his arms. He’s got a serious look on his face, one you’ve never really seen before. “To my room, so I can change,” you say, a bit confused. There’s an awkward laugh laced in your words, but nothing appears to amuse the ex-lawyer. 

“Why would you do that?” he questions, and you furrow your brows. “I don’t have any pants on, and, like you said, it’s a bit cold. I’ll be quick,” you promise. Although you swear you have complete control over your body, you don’t move. It’s like you’re waiting for his approval. 

“I think your outfit is perfect, actually. Come on,” your father’s friend urges, and you scoff. “I won’t take long, Andy, I swear,” you continue, knowing the man has a bit of a temper. 

“I doubt you won’t, but I don’t see why you need to change. It’s perfect for what I wanna do to you,” Andy growls, grabbing your hand. You yelp as he drags you to the couch with ease, throwing you onto the cushions. His words make your stomach drop.

You barely have any time to run off. The older man is on you quickly, holding you down to the seat. Your sweater has now risen up, giving him a perfect view of your panty-clad ass. 

“C’mon, Daddy hates it when you’re being a brat. I know you can be good,” Andy grunts, straddling your thighs. “Get off of me!” you demand through gritted teeth, but your attempt is futile. 

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. Daddy’s got you. I just want to take care of you,” he whispers, left hand keeping your upper body pressed into the sofa. “But I can’t do that if you’re a bad girl, right?” Andy continues.

You feel his large, rough hand pull down your underwear, your soft flesh rippling from his harsh movements. “That’s fine. Daddy will just have to spank the attitude out of his little girl.”

[desertduality]

Potential for Scar angst this episode was insane so I wrote this in one sitting. Alternate scene for when Grian finds Scar hiding out in his egg house :)

Here it is on Ao3

———

No one talks about it, but the tasks they’re given tend to mess with their head. There’s— There’s a pull, there, to comply. Scar still remembers the way his tongue had tangled on that first day, the way his throat had closed when he’d even thought about calling someone by their real name. He still remembers the sharp, punishing pain behind his eyes when he’d slipped up and said Mumbo’s.

There’s a sort of urgency, once the task has embedded itself into their minds. Scar feels it, that frenzied energy that sends him knocking down torches until he can finally hit the succeed button without doubt. The secrets pull at them, tug at them. Scar is trying not to compare it to an Evoker’s command, but it’s hard when the feeling is so similar. When trying to fight it now hurts the same as it did back then.

He’s been running for a long time when he finally collapses in Grian’s egg house, panting and sweating. The stupid helmet is still on his head, and every time he raises his hands to take it off there’s that same pain shooting through his head. Joel had told him to take it off, everyone had told him to take it off, so no matter how much he wants to he can’t. He can’t do anything that they want him to do.

None of them will want to ally, after this. He’s burned a lot of bridges, and while he’s not against a little arson now and again, he usually likes to have a choice. He values having a choice very much, ever since he and Cub had broken free all those years ago. He wishes Cub was here, now. It’s a cruel thing to hope for.

There’s a loose feather on the ground beside him, and he picks it up with trembling hands, twirling it between his fingers. It probably fell out when Grian was cleaning his wings. Preening, he’d called it, back in the desert. Scar hadn’t heard of it before. His own wings were the wispy gray of the vex, and even at that a pretty poor specimen. No preening required, and with a bit of magic to keep them hidden, it didn’t matter anyway.

The feather is still in his hand when Grian appears in the doorway, and Scar can only hold his breath.

———————————

Grian… did not do well underground. A creature of the sky scuttling around in caves was bound to come with its issues, and so by the time he gets out, he’s near starvation and has just over seven hearts left to his name. His wings feel grimy with dirt and dust, his legs weak and unable to sprint. His only consolation is that he’d had the good fortune to resurface relatively close to his base, and it’s with an unholy mixture of desperation and relief that he drags himself up the stairs to the egg.

He’s already stuffed about a dozen sweet berries into his mouth before he finally registers that Scar is there. He’s sitting in the corner behind the bed, quiet as anything, and alarm bells start sounding in Grian’s head. Scar usually has a presence that can’t be ignored. He seems almost diminished, now. It makes unease twist in his stomach.

“What are you doing in my house?” Grian asks, baffled.

He rounds the bed, and unease twists into full blown worry when he sees the way Scar is shaking, pupils small and breathing shallow, like he’s been running. He looks— hunted. Scared. Grian suddenly doubts he’s here to steal anything or cause trouble. He’s here hiding.

“Scar?” Grian says tentatively, crouching to eye level. “How are you doing, buddy?”

Scar looks even more panicked, if possible, his mouth opening and closing several times as if unsure what he should say — or what he’s allowed to say. Finally, Scar winces, a frustrated furrow between his eyebrows.

“…Neutral,” Scar says, a tired smile tugging at his mouth, not quite looking at him. “I mean— Good. No. Bad.”

Grian raises an eyebrow. “Getting some mixed signals here, Scar.”

Scar sighs, and fidgets with something in his lap. “I’m— All of my allies are mad at me. The whole server is after me,” he says.

“Why?” Grian asks, because usually it takes a little bit longer for Scar to do something bad enough to warrant that type of server-wide behavior. Scar tilts his head forward as he sighs, and Grian realizes something else. “Why do you have a helmet on?”

Scar huffs a laugh that sounds more like a sob, and makes like he’s going to stand up, arms and legs moving in jerky, frantic movements. The feather he’d apparently been holding drifts to the floor, and Grian reaches out to grab Scar’s wrist without thinking.

“Everyone’s so concerned about the helmet,” Scar says, voice strangled and high. “It was an accident.”

“Why don’t you take it off?” Grian asks, genuinely confused, and Scar makes a noise like he’s been hit, dropping down to sit on the edge of the bed, head in his shaking hands.

It’s his task, Grian thinks, dropping Scar’s wrist, brow furrowed. Something to do with his task.

“Never mind,” Grian says, and sits next to him, wings stretching behind them. “It’s fine, Scar, just— Why don’t you just sit down a minute.”

Scar jerks to his feet, stumbling with the force of the movement until he catches himself on the wall, panting. Grian makes a noise in surprise, eyes wide in confusion as he looks at the tense line of Scar’s shoulders.

“I think I feel like standing,” Scar says, hoarse with forced humor.

“…Okay,” Grian says slowly, mind spinning. “You can stand, that’s fine, too.”

Scar sits back down, breathing like he’s run a marathon, annoyance flickering in his eyes like torchlight. Grian just stares.

“Nice bed,” Scar says, like nothing strange has happened. “Very soft.”

“Thanks,” Grian says flatly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Scar just shakes his head and closes his eyes, still breathing much too fast, hands fisted in the blanket they’re sitting on.

“Alright,” Grian says, letting himself relax a little bit, and he lays a hand on Scar’s arm. “Just breathe, Scar. It’s fine.”

A beat passes.

Scar stops breathing.

Grian looks over, questioning, and is met with eyes more panicked than Grian has ever seen before. Scar’s face is pale and his eyes are wide and terrified, a hand now raised up to his throat and starting to claw at the skin there. He is utterly silent, mouth opening and closing as he struggles, and Grian feels his own chest tighten, his own breathing quicken. He reaches for Scar with both hands, grabbing at him desperately as he tries to figure out what’s going on.

“Scar, breathe!” Grian shouts, but Scar only shakes his head violently and grabs right back at him, like he’s searching for support.

His task, what’s his task? Grian dives wildly into his memory for any clues, trying to make sense of the strange behavior from the past few minutes.

All at once, it hits him.

He’d asked Scar to sit, and he had stood. He had told Scar to stand, and he had sat. He had asked Scar to breathe, and he had stopped. It’s almost too obvious, looking back.

“Scar!” Grian shouts, panic forcing his voice louder. He ducks his head to meet Scar’s wet eyes with his own. “Scar, don’t breathe.”

Scar gasps and coughs, collapsing forward into Grian’s shoulder as he takes in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving and stuttering. A low whine of pain builds in Scar’s throat, and Grian just sits there and holds him, one hand on the back of his neck and one on his back. It’s hard to tell which one of them is shaking, but he suspects it’s probably both.

“I’m sorry,” Grian says, quieter now. “I’m sorry, Scar. I didn’t know.”

“…That’s kind of the point,” Scar says roughly, and coughs again. “Secret.”

Grian just sighs, and for a few minutes they sit there and breathe in the waning light.

“They keep telling me to take the helmet off,” Scar says, sounding distant and drained.

Grian feels a stab of sympathy and unwarranted anger. The others didn’t know, either. “Don’t,” Grian says. “Don’t take it off.”

A moment passes, and Scar reaches up with trembling hands to remove the helmet from his head. It makes a dull clanking sound when he drops it to the floor. Grian runs a comforting hand through his sweaty hair, and a bit of weight seems to leave Scar’s shoulders.

Fighting the pull of the tasks is difficult. If Scar had been able to focus enough, maybe he could have fought the impulse to stop breathing. Actively suffocating tended to make concentrating hard, though. He hadn’t had a chance. Not really.

“I’m going to fail this one,” Scar says, resigned.

“Maybe,” Grian allows, and thinks hard about how to word the next thing he wants to say.

“I don’t have any friends,” Grian says eventually, slowly. “I’m in the market.”

There. Nothing that could be construed as a command.

“Oh?” Scar says, muffled into Grian’s shoulder. “Me too.”

Grian hums, wings enclosing around them just a bit more. “How about that,” he says softly.

“How about that,” Scar repeats, tired but lighter.

Outside, the same stars as always hang over them, and they fall asleep without another word.

[just-jordie-things]

Ino falling in love with the most beautiful girl he ever saw while exorcising curses on a mission and being full on blown away when he sees you pull out some super impressive technique that... looks... oddly familiar...?

He's so mesmerized by you that he doesn't even notice the cursed spirit behind him, dashing at his limbs but quickly being handled by you who jumped in front of him to protect his dumb absent-minded ass.

He starts to blush stupidly and thanks you multiple times. He's both embarrassed about not being any help and impressed by you not actually needing any help anyways.

After all the curses are dealt with you glance at him and he smugly introduces himself, waiting for you to do the same.

When you tell him your name his jaw falls to the floor. Did you really just say your name was Y/N Nanami? Are you related to his mentor Kento Nanami? You surely must be, Nanami isn't a common surname in this area. Or maybe... maybe you're his wife...? But his mentor never even mentioned having a girlfriend, let alone a wife.

Nonetheless, the mere thought of you being in a romantic relationship makes his chest tighten and his heart break. Even if it would be his beloved mentor, he's feeling jealous just thinking of it.

You pull him out of his thoughts when you start to laugh, followed by a comment about how you imagined him to be a lot more badass and not so lost in battle, for lack of a better word.

Now he's confused. He's utterly baffled, entirely flabbergasted, quite literally he's bamboozled. What did you just say? Why would you think this of him when you don't know him? Was he correct that you are in some relationship with his mentor? Whether platonic, familial or romantic, he doesn't know. And if the answer is yes, which quite obviously is the case, does that mean his mentor talks about him when he's not around? He tells people about him?

"But you're also a lot cuter than he described you." — Ma'am, he will have to ask you to stop bamboozling him like this, because this young man will have a stroke quite soon.

The sound of your laugh is easily his new favourite tone, even if it's at his expense since you're obviously laughing about his confused expression. Understanding that this boy us currently stumbling over his own mind and needs some help with the situation you offer him a kind and happy smile.

"I'm Kento's younger sister."

It's the best and the worst thing he ever heard. You're related to his mentor, not in a relationship with him, something he feels immensely hopeful about, but then...

...how will he explain to his mentor that he fell for his sister?

———

Just some silly little Ino stuff my brain came up with at work.

~ Nanami Flowershop Anon

pls i need more of this nom nom nom 😭💀

ino is such a love at first sight guy and i think he’d especially fall head over heels for a strong powerful capable badass woman

((and nanamis sister?? he’s day dreaming abt the wedding already))

to the point where it makes him a lil dumb and pathetic and he’s flopping like a fish out of water when you talk to him

(he probably thinks he’s being smooth but he’s stuttering and staring so hard)

lucky for him your type is handsome simps 🥰🥰

[bamgyw]

Hellow Rey, this is the first time I've ever jumped into the askbox of an author so so quickly because 😦😦😦 GOOD LORD SIX NIGHTS IS SO... I'm baffled. Blown minded. I'M ONLY AT THE PROLOGUE AND READ UP TIL, LIKE, THE PART WHERE SOOBIN'S MOM BECAME EMO (this sounds so funny out of context I'm giggling) AND ITS SO.

Ugh no GENUINELY THO 1) YOU KNOWW THE FIC IS GOOD WHEN YOU START OFF WITH THE MC'S INTERNAL CONFLICT AKA DADDY ISSUES AND 2) YOUR WRITING ACTUALLY REMINDS ME SO MUCH OF MY OWN WRITING AND I FEEL SO COMFORTED BY THAT :(((( I feel like sometimes, especially as a picky reader myself, I couldn't really find fics (hell, even novels) that make me go wide eyed and giddy and jumping up and down making my writer senses explode combust and lap dance but. UGH. you know what good writing is, you clearly do. So unique, so flavorful, so dark but you're quirky like that.

I feel so motivated to write my own works just by reading a couple paragraphs into your work, dyk how crazy that is????? Anyways I'm so gonna write up reviews on six nights and have so much adrenaline and motivation left in me to complete my own fic series.

HAVE A BLESSED DAY HUN BECAUSE YOU'VE CERTAINLY BLESSED MINE WOOHOO 🗣️💥‼️🗣️‼️💥‼️💥‼️🗣️‼️💥‼️🗣️🗣️💥‼️

oh hey !! thank you so much. um. the more time passes without me sitting down to write the next update the more i cringe when i reread the previous nights, but i'll always tolerate the prologue.

and i'm really looking forward to reading your reviews (make them as long as you need i love lengthy reviews)

[k4zushi]

♪ INTRICATE TATTOOS

status : unedited, written 01/08/24 ☆ word count : 1.1k

cw : suna rintarou x reader, reader has tattoos, slightly suggestive (not rlly, suna needs to get his mind out of dumps lol), they’re at a party, underaged drinking, just rebellious teens being rebellious teens

“not a fan of parties?” a voice spoke up from behind you.

you turned around to face a person with a familiar face but an unfamiliar presence.

“suna rintaro, a friend of the twins,” he sat down next to you on the steps you had been occupying for the past 20 minutes.

“y/n l/n,” you replied curtly.

of course. how could you forget? suna rintaro, the infamous middle blocker from your school’s volleyball team.

he took your silence as a sign to continue speaking. “atsumu sent me to look after you. said you looked lonely and in need of company or whatever”

you cringed before opening your mouth to respond.

“sorry about that. tsumu’s always worried for some reason even though he knows i’m fine on my own”

suna looked at you with a flush dusting his face; a byproduct of the alcohol you assumed.

you got nervous under his stare and resorted to playing around with your red solo cup, an unknown alcoholic concoction sloshing around.

“so.. cool party?” your newfound companion said.

you laughed and cautiously took a sip of your drink, frowning at the bitter aftertaste.

“that was the lamest conversation starter i have ever heard.” you set the cup down in the space between the two of you.

he scoffed and shook his head while letting out a low chuckle.

“okay conversation starter genius, why don’t you try then?”

“got any piercings?” you said, rolling your eyes at the male.

suna seemed to pause and think. “lobes, upper lobes, and industrial”

your eyes lit up.

“i’ve been wanting an industrial. it’s been on my dream piercings list for a while”

“hah.. goodluck, they’re a bitch to heal,” he shuddered.

“so i’ve heard.” you pick up your cup again and take another sip. “ok your turn to ask a question”

“ok uhhhh,” suna pauses. “got any tattoos?”

“mhm, 4”

his head whips around to look at you with a baffled look on his face. his jaw is open and his eyes are blown wide.

you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the smile tugging at your lips; however that didn’t stop you from relishing in the feeling of catching the guy by surprise.

“well technically 4 but 3 of them are kinda small,” you admitted.

“where?? i can’t even see any on your body right now????”

“did you just admit to checking me out suna??” you raise an eyebrow teasingly.

he groaned in response.

“jesus fuck, i was wondering how someone so quiet was friends with atsumu”

you burst out into giggles.

“i’m not quiet, just reserved is all”

“fair enough, but you didn’t answer my question”

you sighed before pushing yourself off the stairs. you grabbed a fist full of suna’s grey t-shirt, dragging him up the steps, before shoving him into the bathroom.

the male eyed you suspiciously and opened his mouth to speak but you shushed him.

pushing back your hair you reveal the first of your 4 tattoos. a little star inked right behind your ear.

now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow at you.

“sooo… did you drag me into the bathroom just to show me that??” he questioned.

you let out an annoyed sigh before taking your jacket off and discarding it on the toilet seat.

your hands now moved to tug on the waistband of your cargo pants.

suna’s eyes widened.

“uhhh???? i’m flattered but you’re not exactly sober and in your right mind right now”

your expression contorted into face of digust.

“you should get your mind out of gutter,” you spat out while pointing to your next two tattoos.

a small strawberry and cherry on your waistline.

his lips formed an ‘o’.

you then turned around and lifted up your hair. “pull up my shirt. this is my last tattoo”

suna looked skeptical at first but complied anyways, lifting your shirt to see a intricate web of ink trailing down your spine.

he was in awe.

without thinking, suna reached out to touch the series of overlapping lines. you flinched at the sudden contact and shivered.

he instantly withdrew his hand.

“sorry..” he muttered, his hand now attempting to cover his embarrassed expression.

you turned around, hoping to tease him a bit but noticed he was avoiding your gaze.

this made you laugh.

suna looked at you, who was nearly in tears from laughing so hard. he frowned.

“it’s not THAT funny,” he said which only seemed to make you laugh harder.

that’s if your half laugh half wheezes could even be considered laughs.

after a couple deep breaths, you finally managed to calm down.

“my bad,” you coughed and turned your head to the side to disguise another laugh.

you hoisted yourself onto the bathroom counter, swinging your legs while you took a good look at the guy you had trapped inside the bathroom with you.

the guy in question was awkwardly shifting in place and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, seemingly trying to avoid looking at you directly.

he was actually really attractive now that you were getting a good look at him.

‘lucky ass. wish i won the genetic lottery’ you thought to yourself as you hopped off of the counter making your way to the door; grabbing your jacket in the process.

“wanna go back down now?” you asked. “just realized people might get the wrong impression if we’re in here for too long”

he finally looked at you and nodded.

exiting the bathroom and making your way down the staircase, you heard someone calling your name.

tsumu

“y/n!! where’d you go??” the blonde pouted. “been looking for ya for 5 minutes”

you sat down on the couch next to atsumu, suna sitting down next you shortly after.

atsumu wrapped an arm around your shoulders and turned to look at suna who still had a slight flush dusting his ears.

the twin started to put two and two together.

suna blushing?? y/n enjoying a party for once??? the fact that they came downstairs together after being M.I.A.????

that’s when it finally clicked.

he smirked.

“ooohh i see, i’ll leave you two alone then”

getting up from his place on the couch, a look a confusion spreading across your face.

atsumu’s final message to you was “don’t do anything indecent” which you responded to by throwing empty beer pong cups at the annoying blonde.

you huffed in frustration muttering things like “stupid tsumu” and “i’m gonna kill that blonde bastard” while sinking back into the couch.

this new side of you amused suna.

“so.. cool party huh?” he said nudging your side.

you deadpanned before lightly punching him over and over again. he snickered in response and grabbed ahold of your hands; undoing your clenched fists. suna laced his fingers into yours, interlocking your hands together.

you hummed in contentment, letting a small smile make its way onto your face.

maybe parties weren’t so bad after all

pls do not repost or claim my work!! ( this includes posting on other websites such as wattpad, ao3, etc )

AUTHOR’S NOTE : this is very much self indulgent… i have 2 of the tattoos mentioned (guess which!!). spine tats are so cool, i want one so bad along w/ a double industrial on both of my ears. those are my dream body modifications (⸝⸝⸝- ᴗ -⸝⸝⸝ ;) anyways suna oneshot abt cool tattoos yay!! also i have literally never been to a highschool party in my life so mb if the vibe is yk… off

[tabletop-nightmare]

OKAY SO: Usually I watch the show with my family on Friday but they were foaming at the mouth so we watched them all the minute they came out. So Prime I guess thought it was cool to make the cover shot for the 5th episode to be Vex which kinda peeved me and my family off, but no less they were happy she’s alive. Also my family is still fucking laughing at “good thing these titties where here”. Excuse me if I mix stuff up we just binged all three and I MYSELF am a little fucked up and can’t remember what happened when anYWAYS... Ep 4: Trinket lore!!! I shit you not, 40 seconds before Vax says his line my mom says out loud “Take me instead” like she knew WTF was up it was wild. My family hates Zahra, which makes me sad but she’s not easy to like in this episode. GUYS so many questions SO MANY QUESTIONS everything about Vax and the vestige had my family asking SO MANY QUESTIONS. They were too busy asking questions like the entire episode. Wince of pain for Percy after the punch but overall where like yeah okay you deserved it a lil bit bud. Once Zahra gave Vex Raven’s Slumber then my family was like “Oh okay she’s cool I guess :)” Ep 5: BAFFLED that Keyleth has a family like WHAT. Raven Queen showed up in the fire and my sister just said “That bitch is everywhere!!!” My family loves Grog and Grog related shenanigans. REALLLLYYYY hate the sword (spoilers, they hate it MORE later). If there is one thread my Dad is keeping track of it’s the sword and he DOESN’T like it. My sister pointed out Vax is probably being snippy to Keyleth about going to Pyra because he wants the whole dragon thing over so he can attempt to get the Deathwalker off. I agree with her. Interesting tidbit she picked up that I did not. EVEN more questions because they don’t understand DND and what the elemental planes are. When Keyleth inevitably turns into a elemental though my FAMILY LOST THEIR MINDS. And her outfit change and all that like full blown cheering they were going nuts. Allura Kima kiss made my sister go “Yeah, I saw that coming, they’re a thing.” They knew Ripley was gonna be a problem which obviously BLINDSIDED ME. Ep 6: REALLY hating the sword now this is Sword Hating Episode tm. Upset for Pike. About half way through the group fight they realized Scanlan was going to be the one to get to Kamaljiori. They REALLY like Scanlan now, they are starting to GET IT. WHICH IS GREAT FOR REASONS WE ALL KNOW. Lots more yelling and screaming when Umbrasyl showed up, LOTS of yelling when Grog started raging with Craven Edge. They were not pleased and VERY upset when Pike got stabbed. Lot’s of stuff happened those last few minutes, that has them confused. My sister got up and walked away and said “If Pike dies I’m not watching any more.” They themselves said they are gonna have to rewatch the episodes because they feel they missed stuff.

My 70 year old parents and 46 year old sister are watching Legend of Vox Machina with me and I thought I would start making note of the things THEY make note of with absolutely no context of CR:

Unfortunately I didn't think of this until Season 2 so all I'll say for Season 1 is they fell in love with all of the characters.

Season 2 ep. 1-3:

Ep 1: Lots of babbling about the dragons. Raven Queen sighting 1 left them all asking me questions loudly that I obviously couldn't answer. My mom asking if Vax is bi and my sister not missing a beat "I think they all are." My sister pointing out Scanlan's unwillingness to fight the dragons. They did a lot of eye rolling with Scanlan season 1 and they are very clearly realizing shits deeper than that.

Ep 2: I'll start off with saying my family now greats me with "Bidet" its a blessing. My dad straight up said "I think the sword may be regretting who its with rn." Which obviously made me wheeze. Raven Queen sighting 2 had them asking more questions but Louder. They are very aware now that all of the characters are highly complex and that this may be a bit more than a funny violence riddled time. Osysa's comment to Scanlan especially made my family go "oh wait... oh no wait a minute." This is a Pike Trickfoot loving household. They are very aware of the character arc Grog is about to go through I think.

Ep 3: Purvan Suul funny. My sister football yelling at them to look in the lake. Seeing Grogs frenzy made a few people nod their heads. With what understanding they have of DnD and the fact the show is almost a 1 to 1 to a dnd campaign they were really fucked up about Vex's death. My mom is a sweetheart and was like "Wait did that mean she couldnt play anymore :(" and I explained some dnd stuff to her and it turns out it was an evil rouse to get me to say that Vex would "probably" be fine and she straight up went "oh okay so shes not dead :)" Evil Mother tactics.

[visceravalentines]

So this fic reached 1000 hits on AO3 today...I’m absolutely blown away by the response I’ve received from that community and this one.  I stopped writing for a long time and could never start back up again, in large part because I was afraid it wouldn’t be good enough for anyone to read and enjoy.  Anyway, thank you all for proving me wrong and here’s the next part a few days early. 💚

Don’t Fear the Reaper:  Chapter 4

Rating:  Mature

Length:  2.4k

CW:  manhandling, knives, law enforcement

Reader POV

The Shape stands in the doorway of your kitchen while you assess the state of your pantry.

It is a baffling feeling, doing something so mundane with Death mere feet away. You move aside the crackers. His weight shifts subtly on the floor. You pull butter from the fridge. The knife shines in his hand. You fill a pot with water. He looms in the corner of your eye like a specter. You think you might lose your mind before he decides to kill you. The way he watches you, it almost seems like he expects the same.

The silence as you start water boiling is oppressive. You don’t like the silence. You always have music playing or a podcast or – God, what a cliché – a horror movie in the background. Now the silence has eyes and a crushing grip you have become intimately familiar with. It feels like your throbbing neck may snap under the weight of your skull.

You make boxed macaroni and cheese. It is not a culinary masterpiece, but you deserve a break, maybe just one, maybe your last one. You are well aware that his standards are not high either way. You remember the size of his appetite from this morning so you dump two boxes of pasta into the water. When you turn to take two full bowls to the table, he is blocking your way.

You stare at him for a long time, a waking nightmare in your kitchen. “Could you…go sit down? Please?”

He pivots back out of the doorway to let you pass instead.

You set the bowls down across from each other and sit. He watches you, doesn’t move for so long it makes your breath heavy, then at last he sits as well. You have a split second to wonder where the knife went before he drives it into the tabletop near him. The sound launches you out of your skin and you almost scream. Several seconds pass before you realize he is waiting for you to start eating before he does. Once you take a bite or two, he surreptitiously slides the mask up and tucks in.

Even though he starts after you, he finishes first, pulls the mask back down, and then sets his palms flat against the tabletop on either side of his bowl. You are simultaneously starving and sick to your stomach, but you force noodles down your bruised throat. You have to take care of yourself. That’s what this is all about.

“Can we…set some ground rules?” you ask, looking at him sidelong. He cocks his head, just a little. “I can agree to cook twice a day…but I have to go to work – ”

His fist slams sharply on the table.

You flinch, recover. “Okay, I can take some time off.”

He stares at you. You push your macaroni away.

“You need somewhere to sleep. The guest room might be the most comfortable…the most private….”

He continues to stare.

You hesitate for a moment. “How are you feeling? I can check your wounds again, if you want.”

He does not reply. His gaze is a force. How are you going to do this?

Carefully you rise to your feet and collect both bowls. He turns his head to watch you but does not get up as you take them into the kitchen and set them in the sink.

When you turn around, he is in the doorway again. You’re getting used to him already; you almost expected it. It does not escape you that he has left the knife in the dining room. He approaches you and takes the edge of his mask in his hands. He pulls it up to his nose again, exposing his swollen jaw, that purple bruise. You are reaching to touch it when you stop and remember the last time you tried to touch him without permission.

“May I?”

When he takes your wrist in a grasp that is firm, but not painful, you nearly stop breathing. When he brings your hand to his face and sets your fingers lightly on his jaw, you do stop breathing.

“I think it might be fractured,” you tell him. “I can check…it might hurt. I promise I don’t mean to hurt you.”

With the utmost caution, you palpate the swelling. The growl that rumbles through his chest at the pain is a warning.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and you realize you mean it. You’ve never been a fan of physicals yourself. “The best thing would be a hospital, but I guess that’s out of the question.”

You raise your other hand carefully to the other side of his face and gently feel the joints of his mandible. The stubble of a five o’clock shadow rustles under your fingertips. You realize he can’t be many years older than you. Your eyes are drawn to his lips, soft pink and perfectly symmetrical. “One more test…can you open your mouth and bite down so I can see your teeth? I need to make sure your jaw is moving correctly.”

He obliges. You are enthralled by his teeth. They are…incredibly normal, and seem to line up just fine. You draw your hands back as though pulling them from a trap ready to spring.

“Well, the best I can do is ice and ibuprofen.” You get him an ice pack while he repositions the mask. He holds it awkwardly to his jaw. When you offer him the painkillers, he shoots daggers at you and ignores them. That tracks, you suppose, with a childhood spent pumped full of medication.

You walk past him to the living room. Each time you creep by him, your chest tightens. Moving through your house feels like climbing the basement stairs in your childhood home; at any moment, the monster will grab you. Ironically, as you head upstairs to make sure there are pillows on the mass murderer’s bed, he is at your heels every step of the way, his breathing like a finger pressing on the panic button of your amygdala:  the living, breathing Boogeyman.

“This is the guest room,” you murmur, switching on the light. It doesn’t get much use, but the room is clean and welcoming, decorated with art prints of local birds and landmarks. There are indeed pillows on the bed. “Personal space is important to you, I think,” you say despite the fact his chest is almost nudging your shoulder as he crowds you in the doorway. “This can be your space. I won’t come in here.”

You chance a sidelong glance back and up. He gives the room a cursory scan and then the mask twists to look down at you. Awkwardly you squeeze past him back into the hallway. “I would…request…the same courtesy from you,” you say slowly, backing into your bedroom. He advances on you, matching you step for step, stopping at the threshold. “This is my room. I would appreciate it if you would…stay out of it.”

His eyes glitter. He quite literally toes the line. His hand snakes around the doorframe and he flips the light switch, throwing the room into darkness.

Your heart hammers. His hulking silhouette is backlit by the hall light. He flicks the light back on and you flinch. That mask is expressionless but you would bet every dollar in your savings account the motherfucker is smirking beneath the latex. He flips the light off again and you wonder if you should just save the both of you the trouble and walk into his blade.

The doorbell rings.

You gasp sharply enough to cut a windpipe. He does not move and yet he somehow grows larger, even more imposing. He is no longer playing with you.

You shake your head almost imperceptibly. “I’m not – “

The doorbell rings again, this time accompanied by a firm knocking. “Haddonfield Sheriff’s Department!  Open up!”

Your eyes widen. “I have to answer,” you whisper. He bristles. “I have to. Or they’ll just come in.”

The pounding on the door picks up again. From somewhere deep inside, you find the courage to step towards the Shape. “Come with me if you want,” you say, “but stay back.”

He melts into the shadows. You feel something akin to relief. You rush down the stairs so fast you miss half the steps and throw open the front door.

Both of the cops from yesterday stand on your doorstep. “Hello, officers,” you say, trying to steady your breathing.

“Nice to see you again,” one of them says. “We thought you might need this.” He proffers your phone.

“Oh. Yeah…thank you.” You hesitate before taking it. How would he perceive this?

One of the cops says something. The words don’t quite cut through the fog. You think she asked if you’re okay.

“I – I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

The officers exchange a glance. “Your neighbor was murdered. That would rattle just about anyone, I would expect.”

“Yeah,” you say lamely. “I mean, I didn’t…know her very well.”

“Just her cat.”

“Um…yeah.”

“Do you live here alone?”

“…yes.”

They look at you for a long time, sizing up your dubious emotional state. Can they smell the smoke on your clothes? You note the names printed on their uniforms:  Beckett and Flores. You aren’t sure where he is; you cannot see him anywhere in your periphery. But you can feel those eyes on you. You know he is listening. Still, the thought crosses your mind, darts by behind your eyes like a cat bolting across the street in front of a car.

All you have to do is mouth the words.

Help me.

He’s here.

If you make a run for it, he’ll probably kill the cops. But you might make it. You don’t have your car keys. How fast can you run? How fast can he run?

How many people are you willing to set in between you and him?

“Is there anything else you need?” Flores asks. Her eyebrows are knit together. You imagine she has seen her fair share of victims trying to play it cool. She suspects something.

Hand over hand, you reel a hoarse, weary chuckle up out of your hammered voice box. “Just some sleep, I think. Thank you for bringing my phone.”

Beckett looks ready to leave. Flores is not so sure. “Are you able to take some time off work? Maybe go stay with someone?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m actually – my sister is coming to stay. She’s…on her way right now.”

“Well, we’ll let you go then,” Beckett says.

“Don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything,” Flores adds.

“I will, absolutely, I will. Thanks again.” You shut the door at what you hope is a normal speed.

When you turn, you spy him immediately, standing in the back of the kitchen like he’s a fucking household appliance. How did they not see him?

“I assume you heard all that,” you say.

He does not move.

“I hope you understand this is a give and take.” The boldness of your own words flips your stomach, but you don’t care anymore. Your nerves are beyond frayed. You need to make sure he understands this arrangement, otherwise you may just run screaming out the door and you’ll both have to deal with the consequences.

He cocks his head.

“I don’t give you up and you don’t kill me. That’s the deal.”

He starts towards you. Slowly, like he’s taking an evening stroll.

“That’s the deal!” you repeat emphatically. “I give you a place where you can live like a human being – ”

He is ten feet away.

“ – instead of some kind of wild animal – ”

Five feet.

“ – and in return you don’t – ”

He closes the last few feet in a sudden burst of speed and the knife in his hand buries itself in the door so close to your stomach it pins your shirt to the wood. Simultaneously you scream and suppress the scream and it becomes a grating sort of shriek. He towers over you, standing so close you can see the individual threads of his coveralls, can make out the red in the dingy purple-brown of dried bloodstains. His breathing is infuriatingly even. The wheeze of his collapsed lung is minimal. He is completely in control, of himself, of you.

He takes your phone from your hand. His fingers brush yours and they are warm.

He's going to kill you.

You’re going to die.

If not in this moment, maybe the next.

The tears break loose and roll down your face. You peer up at him. The mask, blurry, is impassive, still splattered with someone’s blood. His eyes are ablaze and they are locked on you. Your little threats don’t scare him. Your attempts to fabricate an equal trade are, will always be, futile. Because you cannot satisfy him with comforts he has never required. You cannot fill a need he does not have. You are alive only because he has not killed you.

Do not mistake this for mercy. It is convenience. It is curiosity. It is control.

Every breath you draw belongs to him.

You belong to him.

As if he can read your thoughts, as if to underscore this conclusion you have finally come to, he dips and grabs you around the legs to hoist you off the ground, toss you over his shoulder. Your shirt stretches and tears against the blade of the knife he has not yet used on you. You weep as he climbs the stairs, your weight apparently inconsequential.

He takes you to your bedroom. He does not put you on the bed. He puts you back in the closet. You are far too exhausted to even put up a fight when he dumps you on the ground amongst your shoes and shuts the door.

When he turns out the light, a sliver of silvery moonlight still stretches under the door from the window. That is, until he stretches out on the ground in front of the door. His body sends you into complete darkness.

You sit, sniveling, hugging your knees to your chest, until time melts away and your legs are completely numb and your brain pushes you into blessed unconsciousness.

Taglist:  @daybreakmistakes

[m1ssm1schief]

I had the weirdest dream ever.

These past few days I have been simping so hard on Ewan Mitchell because of House of the Dragon. I was inhaling any content of him in the internet, I may have watched all of his projects by now. Don’t even get me started on the smut fanfics in ao3/tumblr and Tiktok edits.

Last night I was dreaming.. i know i was dreaming. It was kind of an erotic dream. There were people inside a dimly lit room and some were making out. I spotted him lying on a bed. So I reached out to him and sat on top of him ((please don’t judge me haha)). Then we kissed. And it felt real. I do not know if it was my brain playing with me or it was from my muscle memory, I don’t know the psychology behind it. And that baffled me because it felt real. I was confused but we continued to do the deed anyway. 😈

So after that we cuddled then I kinda forgot it was a dream. I told him that we should never do it again. He was on top of me this time and I can only see his eyes since his head is resting on my chest. He told me, “It’s okay you know I’m not real, I’m just an AVP”. AVP meaning audio visual presentation?? I have no clue but my I was mind blown. He reminded me that I’m in a dream. I started to panic and muffle a “What?”. Then he goes down on me till hes on the lower part of the bed. He’s smiling to me then he grabbed my right leg tightly as if mocking me, to know that I can feel his touch. At this point, I began screaming.

I woke up to my right leg numb.

Whatever, I still like Ewan Mitchell.

[unmeinoniwa]

ㅤㅤ " I suppose that makes sense given how busy you are ... " Honestly, it was already surreal to think about how he was even granted the opportunity to invited to such treasured moments ( it allowed Theodore to feel it was alright to be selfish in moments like these ). Sometimes, he wondered how he managed to become Julius' friend but well ... fate was a strange thing wasn't it ?

ㅤㅤ Theodore felt himself tense up as he felt the brush of Julius' thumb against his palm ( his face was already heated thanks to their joined hands but he swore he could feel his temperature rise from the furthered contact ). " I - I ... uh ... well ... I mean ... aren't you personally worried if people make those kinds of assumptions ? Rather ... doesn't it make you uncomfortable ... ? " Despite Theodore's concerns, he had a feeling that Julius didn't particularly care about what others thought of him aside from Ludger. Still, the fact that Julius could casually do this with a friend baffled the librarian to the point he didn't know how to act in a situation like this. Not to say he disliked the handholding but well ... it was admittedly a bit embarrassing as someone who's never held hands with anyone before.

ㅤㅤ The walk to the restaurant felt like an eternity as he was battling his own awkwardness but his anxiety was overcome with astonishment by the choice of lunch that Julius had selected. Theodore was practically blown away by the luxurious sights -- in fact, it made his mind melt from how extravagant this all was. As grand as the Library of Yggdrasil was, this was overwhelmingly different -- the entire place just oozed status ( it felt similar to entering the grand cathedral when he was first introduced as the librarian ). He was quiet as Julius spoke to the hostess, his emerald hues glued to the ground before Julius went about his way to guide them to their table ( of course out of respect, he made sure to give a nod of his head in acknowledgement to Valerie before they left ).

ㅤㅤ He breathed a sigh of relief the instant they entered the elevator and he leaned against the wall, almost as if to catch his breath. " Huh ... ? Oh -- I ... I'm not really worried about myself. I'm already under the radar as it is but it's good to know that they respect your personal life. But uhm ... anyways ... I didn't expect you to choose somewhere so extravagant. You really made sure to pull out all the stops, huh ... ? Moments like these remind me that you're quite the amazing person ... I'm assuming you come here often ? "

"I always try to save others the trip if I'm not running late. Each minute saved is a treasure when work can call at any second," Nor do I have many days left in this dimension, Julius couldn't say without bringing down the mood. Or, if he could indulge in hopeless wishes, perhaps if he survived by the Trial's conclusion, humanity's win would cure him.

"Hm?" Julius perked up once he heard Theo. Julius' gesture had him worrying about future tabloid rumors like, 'Crown Agent's Secret Lover!'. A fair observation, yet Julius smiled and rubbed his thumb against Theo's palm. "Don't worry about that. Spirius greatly values its Agents' autonomy; so long as I'm a law-abiding citizen, my personal life won't affect my standing in the company."

As for gossip, not even worth acknowledging unless someone tried pestering Ludger for comment. And if it came to that? Julius already had a public response in mind. The "risks" were all calculated.

Julius' choice for lunch would greet Theo to the five floored, red-carpet fine dining hall Nocnitsa. Fellow patrons were dressed for the setting, though the more crowded tables had an array of folks who looked straight out of work. At the front desk was a woman about Julius' age who, upon seeing him, smiled a real, warm smile.

"Good evening, Julius! Your table's at the usual spot, so enjoy your dinner!"

"Thank you, Miss Valerie. I hope the rest of your shift treats you well," Julius said, waving her goodbye as she went to help a table. Their destination would be a fancy elevator to their right, heading to the top floor. His friend would see the reason soon enough. "Before you worry, Miss Valerie knows me from Spirius' company luncheons. She and the staff aren't gossip mongers either; you'll stay perfectly under the radar."

[delicioussshame]

And now, for something a bit different. Set in the Sugar Baby AU.

Shang Qinghua cannot believe Shen Yuan’s gall. How can he, a very unproductive member of society, dares to criticize Shang Qinghua’s output? At least he contributes something, unlike some people who are paid to look pretty.

And, apparently, do more than that now.

Good for him, really. Shang Qinghua has heard his fair share of horror stories about Luo Binghe, but since Shen Yuan cannot stop singing his praises in that oblivious way of his, he cannot be that bad.

Plus, you know, Luo Binghe is very, very hot. Hot enough that even Shen Yuan, famous for his ability to ignore even the most blatant double entendre, cannot deny it. Shang Qinghua can imagine much worst fates than having to fuck him.

Now, if Shang Qinghua could get him to share all the juicy details, he’s sure it would make for great inspiration.

Not that there is much chance of that happening, not with the way Shen Yuan clams up as soon as Shang Qinghua so much as hints about his sex life.

Shen Yuan is a hypocrite, that’s what he is. He sure isn’t shy about complaining about Shang Qinghua’s sex scenes, or every aspect of Shang Qinghua’s writing.

Well, Shang Qinghua isn’t going to let him get away with it. He’s going to hear about it too! He just has to-

“What are you doing.”

Shang Qingua drops his phone in his haste to shove it down his pockets, so he gets to scramble under his desk like an idiot right in front of his boss. Fucking great. “Nothing! I wasn’t doing anything!”

Mobei-Jun’s angry growl has no right to be this sexy. “You’re supposed to be working. Get to it.”

Shang Qinghua sits back at his desk as fast as possible, randomly pulling a file off his desk while opening one excel spreadsheet or another. “I will! I’ll do it! I’m doing it now! I’m sorry!” That’s what Shang Qinghua gets for maintaining an acquaintance with an old friend who doesn’t have to worry about office hours.

Then again, this is kind of his job? Mobei-Jun wanted him to keep an eye out for anything useful on Luo Binghe, so he’s technically not slacking! “Actually, I was just messaging Shen Yuan, trying to get the info you asked for! He’s not very open, but I’m working on it!” He doesn’t think Shen Yuan will ever give him something Mobei-Jun would benefit from, but not for the reasons he’d think. From the way Shen Yuan complains about Luo Binghe’s general disinterest in the business he’s somehow managing like he was born into it, which he very much wasn’t, it wouldn’t even cross Luo Binghe’s mind to keep Shen Yuan informed on the ins and outs.

So Shang Qinghua is trying to find a way to get Shen Yuan to ask for said intel, cause he has a feeling Luo Binghe would tell him everything without a second thought. For someone who decided to pay their sex partner instead of wooing them, which someone like Luo Binghe could certainly have managed, he seems utterly besotted.

“Can’t we just pay him for it? He’s fine with being a whore; why wouldn’t he accept cash for info?”

Shang Qinghua winces and ducks instinctively to evade the slap Shen Yuan would have given him if he’d called him a whore in his presence. “It’s not quite like that. Shen Yuan’s relationship with Luo Binghe is complicated. Yes, Luo Binghe is paying for him, but from what I’ve gathered, it was more to skip the wooing and get to the good parts faster.” At least that’s what Shang Qinghua thinks happened. Shen Yuan, again, isn’t the most open about the details.

Plus, Shang Qinghua can’t say it didn’t work. Luo Binghe managed to get Shen Yuan living with him and doing nothing but being available to him 24/7. That has to count as a success.

Mobei-Jun seems baffled. “You can do that?”

Shang Qinghua shrugs. “Most people wouldn’t be into it, but I can get behind it. If someone with Luo Binghe’s wealth and looks told me they wanted to finance my lifestyle in exchange of sex, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Good life, here I come!”

Shang Qinghua then remembers he’s talking to his boss and not one of his former college buddies. “Ha ha, not that I really would! I am devoted to my job! I wouldn’t leave it, so please don’t fire me!” He needs the money to live!

“I’d pay you.”

Shang Qinghua startles for a second, before his brain catches up to reality. “Ha ha, that’s a funny joke, Boss.” He doesn’t know why Mobei-Jun chose now to try to develop a sense of humor, but he’s not surprised that when he decides to do so, it’s at Shang Qinghua’s expense.

“Not a joke.” Mobei-Jun takes out his wallets and pulls out what has to be at least a couple thousands yuan, which he waves in the air almost threateningly. “Take it.”

Shang Qinghua is utterly flummoxed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Shang Qinghua leans over the desk and tentatively takes the money.

In exchange, strong arms grab his waist, lifts him off the chair he was just sitting him like he could do it in his sleep, settles him on the desk and kisses him until Shang Qinghua has to push him back to breathe, because he cannot use his nose and his mouth at the same time right now. Not enough brain cells left.

“The hell?” says Shang Qinghua with all the eloquence he has left.

Then, his brain catches up with his mouth. If, for some unfathomable reason, Mobei-Jun has decided Shang Qinghua was worthy of him spending his money, Shang Qinghua will do the smartest thing he’s ever done and let him.

Why Mobei-Jun just didn’t use his words and tell Shang Qinghua he wanted him, Shang Qinghua will probably never know. It’s not like Shang Qinghua would have told him no. No matter what Shen Yuan says, he’s not stupid. The embodiment of all his fantasies wants to fuck him? Shang Qinghua is into that.

Oh god, Shen Yuan. He’s going to have to explain to him that latest development, will he?

…Naaah. He doesn’t need to know for now.

Anyway, what is there to explain?

…Is there something to explain? Mobei-Jun hasn’t spoken since Shang Qinghua freed himself, so maybe he’s reconsidering? Shit, maybe Shang Qinghua is a terrible kisser? Is he a terrible kisser? Is Mobei-Jun reconsidering? Of course he’s reconsidering. He’s not stupid either.

This train of thoughts is stopped by Mobei-Jun’s growling, grabbing his shoulders, pushing him down on the desk and devouring his mouth.

Shang Qinghua probably isn’t a terrible kisser then! Yes! Also Mobei-Jun isn’t reconsidering, so double yes!

That’s a good thing, because he’s pretty certain he’s going to need the money to replace the shirt Mobei-Jun is apparently very offended by, if the way he ripped it off Shang Qinghua, sending buttons flying everywhere, can be believed. Not that he cares about the shirt. Mobei-Jun can destroy all of them if he wants to. Especially if it’s always following by Mobei-Jun’s teeth getting very familiar with his chest.

Or the rest of him. Mobei-Jun is so lucky Shang Qinghua is both incredibly thirsty for him and suffering from long-term celibacy. He’s definitely willing to go despite the aggressive lack of foreplay.

Not that he can imagine a moment where Mobei-Jun almost tearing his pants open to get his mouth on his cock wouldn’t be welcomed. Shang Qinghua is always down for that. Very, very down for that.

Shang Qinghua balls his hands into fists, nails digging into the flesh of his palms, to stop himself from holding Mobei-Jun’s head. Mobei-Jun might bite them off.

Shang Qinghua also bites his tongue hard enough to bleed. The building is nice enough, but Shang Qinghua can be very loud.  The last thing he wants is for some underling to come running and find them like this. He would feel guilty to have caused a death.

Soon enough, another pressing concern makes itself known. “Boss, ah, please, you should let me go.” Shang Qingqiu has never even dreamed of Mobei-Jun blowing him, but he sure doesn’t seem like the type to swallow, and he wants to keep his cock in working order. He might get to use it more later.

Mobei-Jun glares at him over his cock, which has no business being this hot. Shang Qinghua is sure he felt him twitch and leak on his tongue.

Hey, if Shang Qinghua is wrong and Mobei-Jun is the type to swallow, more power to him. Shang Qinghua isn’t exactly going to complain.

Shang Qinghua whites out when he finally comes, and then probably does so again when he opens his eyes and is faced with Mobei-Jun staring at him, a little whitish drop on the corner of his mouth.

Fuck, he just got blown by Mobei-Jun. When did his life become so great?

Mobei-Jun kisses him again with no less urgency, which Shang Qinghua can sympathize with. He hasn’t done anything for his poor boss, has he? Time to remediate that.

___________

Shang Qinghua blinks repeatedly, trying to keep himself awake after the many, many rounds he’s just gone through.

His back is going to hurt like hell, isn’t it? And not just his back. He’ll probably be out of commission for days.

Doesn’t matter. So worth it. Even if it was a one-time thing, it’d still be worth it.

Is it a one-time thing? Does Shang Qinghua still have a job? Two jobs?

He should ask, right? It’s probably the right time to do so. Even Mobei-Jun probably is in a good mood after getting laid. “Boss?”

Mobei-Jun makes a noise Shang Qinghua decides to interpret as encouragement for him to continue. “Am I your sugar baby now? Do I have to come to work tomorrow?”

Mobei-Jun frowns.

Well, the whole thing was pretty spontaneous. There is probably no plan.

“You’re working tomorrow.”

Ahh, too bad. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

“I have to get you a replacement before you go.”

Shang Qinghua straightens up. “Just to be clear, that’s because you’re going to bankroll me personally, right? Not because I just lost my job for being unprofessional, right?”

Mobei-Jun nods.

Success! Shang Qinghua just won at life! He'll finally get to write whatever he wants instead of what sells! And he’s got a scorching not-boyfriend on top of it! Take that, Shen Yuan! You’re not the only one who can attract crazy rich guys! “Am I moving in with you? Or are we just not-dating? I’ll do whatever you want, no problem! Or wear whatever you want, cause this shirt is so dead I’m not sure how I’m going to leave this room, but I don’t care! You can do it again if you want to!”

Mobei-Jun throws his blazer in Shang Qinghua’s face like he’s an especially rude shoujo manga love interest. “Put this on. I’ll get back to you for the details, but you’ll be moving in with me.”

“Okay! I’ll be waiting!” He’ll wait forever if he has to. So worth it.

He’ll have to remember to buy Shen Yuan something to thank him for making this possible.

He’ll probably order him a bunch of the weirdest sex toys he can find and have them delivered anonymously to Luo Binghe. Shen Yuan will thank him someday.

Okay, he never will, but Shang Qinghua will know in his heart he did right by his friend.

[slashbitch2]

Prove Me Wrong, Darling

who doesn't love a bit of enemies to lovers? :)

You and Agatha had never gotten along. From your perspective, it was due to a conflict of interest. Whereas if you asked her, she'd likely say it was a conflict of intelligence, or something else insulting along those lines. Though the issue you had with the fellow witch wasn't her attitude, rather her underestimation of your powers. It'd started with her massacre of the Coven, when she'd attempted to end your life alongside the others. But to her surprise, you'd been strong enough to defend yourself and escape. Since then, there'd been several instances where your paths had crossed, and you hadn't let her live down the failure yet.

This particular occasion was different, however, as Agatha had asked you for help.

It'd taken everything in you not to immediately mock her. But you knew that she'd leave without further explanation if she felt ridiculed, and you were just dying to know what had made her stoop to your level. So, you'd swallowed your pride and attentively listened to her proposal. It'd mostly featured the repeated phrases "immense power" and "huge source of energy," and even a confession that she was baffled by the cause, which only intrigued you further.

Although you weren't too interested in accumulating anymore power, the opportunity to be on level ground with Agatha was too good to pass on. You confessed this to her upon accepting the invitation, which resulted in an unimpressed eye roll. Regardless of her annoyance, you left that same day, arriving in the least expected location. A quaint town in New Jersey.

"Well," You landed behind Agatha in the middle of a road, surveying the picturesque, colourless neighbourhood. "isn't this lovely."

She pursed her lips, looking round similarly perplexed. "Lovely?" She echoed. "This is like every outdated suburban stereotype rolled into one. Like some kind of picture-perfect movie set."

Her condescending comment jogged a memory. "That's what I was thinking of!" You exclaimed, clapping your hands enthusiastically. "Did you ever watch that sitcom- from the 50s? The Dick Van Dyke Show?"

"From the title alone I'm glad I didn't."

"Seriously, it's practically the same setting." You moved to stand directly in front, forcing her to look at you.

"So, what you're saying is someone used this insane amount of power just to recreate their favourite TV show?" She quirked an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your theory.

"Well, wouldn't you?"

"No."

"Anyway." You glanced down at the rather eye-catching ensemble Agatha was currently wearing, then at your comparably casual yet modern clothes. "This isn't going to work." With a wave of your hand, the jeans and jumper combo was replaced by a more period accurate pencil skirt and blouse. Satisfied, you looked up at her expectantly.

Taking it as a challenge, she copied the gesture, managing to both create a new dress and fix up her hair. She smirked, enjoying the chance to show off her superior abilities.

"It's not a competition." You huffed.

She placed a hand on your arm fake comfortingly. "Of course not, dear."

The contact caused you to shiver slightly. It felt as though her touch ignited sparks, though the sensation wasn't exactly unpleasant. Quite the opposite, in fact. But indulging in it didn't feel right either, so you were grateful when Agatha removed her hand.

Her face dropped, eyebrows furrowing. Slowly, she swivelled round to point at a house. "There. Can you feel it?"

Following her outstretched finger, you tuned into the energy, focusing specifically on the house. "Mhm." Unsurprisingly, Agatha was right. An unfamiliar energy was being emitted from whoever was inside. You tried to pinpoint what kind of magic the user possessed, but found no trace of any familiar type. "Shall we go meet the neighbours, then?"

"You read my mind." She muttered, narrowing her eyes and offering an arm without so much as sparing a glance in your direction.

You hesitated, taken aback by the kind gesture. It hadn't dawned on you until then that an incredibly powerful being was residing little over 10 metres away, and that you were both about to willingly walk into their house. Looping your arm with hers created a naïve sense of safety.

Neither spoke as you approached the house with faux confidence, only pausing for Agatha to summon a potted plant. A house warming gift, you guessed. The simple gesture of goodwill brought a smile to your face.

"I didn't expect you to be such a considerate neighbour." You whispered.

"Gotta make a good first impression." She reached out to knock against the door.

---

You sighed. Barely an hour spent in this black and white world and you were already bored. Everything was so tiresomely perfect, so normal that you questioned how you'd ever suffered through those terrible old sitcoms in the first place. Sitting in Wanda's living room, the only entertainment was your partner in crime Agatha, or Agnes, as you ought to say.

She was currently flipping through a magazine, tracing the page with her index finger and reading aloud to help Wanda prepare for her anniversary.

"Any notable date you can remember? Special occasion?" She asked the redhead. "You know, to remind him of good times." She winked suggestively, briefly glancing at you with an expression that only you could decipher. She was enjoying flustering Wanda a little too much.

"Oh...I don't know." She trailed off, untrustworthy eyes darting around the room. "Do you two have any memorable date? Maybe I could steal some ideas."

Had the sitcom spell effected you, this would've been the ironic moment in which you spat out whatever drink was currently in your mouth. Fortunately though, you'd declined the offer of tea earlier, and opened your mouth to correct her.

Agatha beat you to it by nudging you with her elbow. "Oh don't we just?" She laughed deeply until you joined in with a forced chuckle.

Deciding to join in with her game, you hummed thoughtfully. "What about that picnic we had? In Salem, remember?" Judging by the way her eyes flashed dangerously, she knew you were referring to that dreadful night with the Coven, serving as revenge for the sudden change in relationship status. "Agnes decided the best time to go on a date would be at night- and in the middle of forest of all places!"

Agnes threw back her head in exaggerated laughter. "Oh hush! I thought it'd be romantic. Besides, you're the one who got us completely lost, dear." She continued, further adding depth to the altered anecdote. "And I'd say it went pretty well regardless." She turned to whisper conspiratorially to Wanda. "So I'll spare you the dirty details."

The three of you fell into easy laughter, only interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone. "If you'll excuse me." Wanda stood up to answer. "That's probably Vis."

You took the distraction as respite from forcing such an overly hospitable smile, finding that your cheeks were already aching. For the last few minutes, you'd been aware of a pair of eyes watching you closely, and finally turned to face the witch sitting next to you.

"What?"

Agatha said nothing, her invasive eyes never leaving yours as she took a sip of her drink. You could practically see the gears turning in her head as she thought something through, and dreaded to wonder what she was about to say.

Reaching some form of a conclusion, she leant forward to place her drink down on the table. "Kiss me." She murmured through clenched teeth, momentarily glancing at Wanda, who's back was turned.

"Excuse me?" Out of all the possible things she could've said, this request seemed the least plausible in your mind.

"When Wanda turns round she should see us-" Agatha gestured her hand back and forth as if vocalising what she was implying was too sinful to put into words. Her vagueness was met by your blank stare. "Y'know?"

"No?" You shook your head, unable to comprehend why she'd ask such a thing, untrusting your interpretation of her suggestion.

"Just-" Agatha raised her hands to grasp your face. Hesitated. Then threw them back down into her lap and sighed in frustration. The fact she was struggling to initiate contact was laughable, though eventually you took pity on her.

Leaning forward, you kept your eyes open to watch for Agatha's reaction. You found it amusing that upon realising what you were trying to do, her eyes shut impossibly fast. Satisfied that she was consenting, you raised one hand to cup her cheek and continued to chase after her lips. The kiss was chaste and affectionately mundane, exactly at it should be.

In response, she grabbed your knees and pulled you closer, nipping at your bottom lip. Clearly Agatha wasn't on the same wavelength as you. Her hands shifted further up to your thighs, bringing a startling heat to the kiss. You gasped, virtually melting at her touch. You wanted this. One hand slid to rest on her shoulder. But it wasn't the time or place. You gently pushed against her.

Agatha pulled away, breathless. She scanned your face with pupils blown wide and mouth slightly agape like she'd just reached some new revelation. You were certain your expression mirrored hers.

Wanda cleared her throat somewhere in the distance.

"Gosh, Wanda I'm sorry." Agnes' cheerful voice reappeared as she addressed the redhead without breaking your intense shared eye contact. "But I think we ought to be heading home now." She said unabashedly. Like you hadn't just been caught making out on the neighbour's couch.

"Of course." You could hear the understanding smile in her voice, the slight awkwardness from intruding. "It's been lovely meeting you both."

Summoning an ounce of brainpower, you turned to Wanda. "And you. Feel free to keep the magazine." Then tugged Agatha up and began dragging her toward the front door. For once in her life she went willingly, allowing herself to be pulled along, calling out a last minute farewell to Wanda.

Upon reaching the end of the garden, Agatha wordlessly took the lead. Staying true to her fabricated story, she set a determined course for the house to the right, waltzing up as if she owned the place. A quick flourish of your fingers and the lock was rendered useless. Now the house was yours.

As soon as the door shut behind you, she turned on her heel and pushed you against it. Her mouth quickly sought out yours with a desperation only appropriate in private. Had you known Agatha was this good of a kisser, you would've done this ages ago, but elected not to vocalise the praise knowing she'd never let you live it down. You felt her smirk against your lips, and briefly wondered if she'd somehow infiltrated your mind. You wouldn't put it past her.

As she began trailing kisses down your neck, any concern about the invasion of privacy became inconsequential. You sighed. She rewarded the sound with a nip at your throat. Due to the haze of lust clouding your better judgment, you didn't register the sound of footsteps until it was too late.

"Woah!" A man called from the top of the staircase, presumably the current previous resident of the house. Agatha froze, her lips still pressed up to your neck.

"If you two beautiful ladies hadn't already broken into my house, I would've happily invited you in." The man grinned obnoxiously, slowly continuing down the stairs.

Agatha disinterestedly waved her hand, incapacitating him. The sound of the stranger tumbling down the stairs caused her to let out a short, cruel cackle, before returning to bury her face in the crook of your neck.

"Not big on roommates?" You joked, sliding a hand up and down her back soothingly.

She nipped at your flesh, a little harder this time. "Trust me, he doesn't want to be here for what I'm about to do to you."

Already impatient, you decided to tease her in hopes it would speed things up. "You're all talk and no action, Harkness."

She all but growled as she returned to your lips. Without warning her hands squeezed your hips. "I don't think you're in the position to be insulting me, love."

"Then prove me wrong, darling."

[mariproducer]

Talking abt mp100 in relation to mlb

(Spoilers for the first 2 seasons of mp100 under the cut)

Oooookay so last night I finished mp100 and wow was I blown away by how much of a feel-good show it is. It's emphasis on choice, on enjoying life, on being a kid, on having a support system. I cried a few times bc it made me that emotional seeing Mob's journey and how he interacts with the world.

While I really hate having to draw comparisons btwn things (says the guy whos constantly drawing comparisons btwn things), since mlb was the last "new" thing I watched prior to mp100, obviously I had mlb's presentation and execution in mind. And man... watching mp100 really drove home how bad mlb is with representing and showing its ideas.

I already talked abt how the lessons in s4 started caving in on each other bc mlb has no sense of consistency. Contrast that to mp100 where Mob repeatedly tells himself things, like to not harm someone with his powers or that he's just like any other person, doesn't matter if he has psychic powers or not. Ideas that were internalized into him by Reigen, who saw a kid lost in the world and didn't want to see him get eaten alive by its harshness. Mob learns things that stick, that help him thru situations, that he can teach to the ppl he meets. And mlb's lessons? They're usually for Marinette. No other character gets to grow or have their views challenged or get a new perspective; when other characters are given the chance to change, the writing immediately backtracks and keeps them on the same path they were on before. And even Marinette herself isn't immune to having her lessons walked back on.

And then there's that huge emphasis on choice. A lot of things that happen in mp100 are through someone's conscious choice. Whether it's adult espers misusing their powers or Mob using his own powers to protect those he cares for, every single character has the ability to choose for themselves, whether right or wrong. And it really shines thru when former adversaries in mp100 come back to help. Theyre shown that there's another way to live, but they chose for themselves to become better people, to use their powers for good instead of bad. It's not just for fighting either: Reigen tells Mob that it's ok to run away, to give up, he says that it's not Mob's duty to save the day with his powers. Mob still proceeds to do that anyway, but being offered that choice to begin with, to know it's an option... its really powerful. On the other hand, Marinette ... doesn't really have a choice: she's forced to attempt confessions when she's not ready or comfortable or the role of the guardian is forced onto her. The only time Marinette really got to choose was when she decided to become Ladybug once more to save Alya. We don't get to see Marinette feel like she's growing into her role or embracing it or making it her own or just getting the option to choose. The show goes out of its way to push and pull her around, to take away any semblance of choice or agency from her.

Like ugh I'm still just baffled at how ppl say mlb is good or smth or that it's well written because I can't see it at all. Watching mp100, looking back on medias I consumed in the past like haikyuu, it's like. I've seen good shows I've seen well-written shows. They may not be for everyone (e.g. I know haikyuu can be a snooze fest if u can't sit thru sports anime or ur like me and play volleyball lol) but like. There's good media out there that can get ur brain pumping tryna interpret and understand but mlb is just. Not one of those types of medias. It just isn't.

[ohheyitsokay]

home

part 10 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francisco (Frankie, Catfish) Morales x reader

wordcount: 3k

warnings: so so soo much fluff. clouds and clouds worth. kissing, implications of sex (blink and you’ll miss it)

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier Baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

In this chapter, you and Frankie finish the season and the summer, and know it’s only the beginning.

notes: thank you all so much for supporting this little story of mine! I genuinely am blown away by how kind everyone has been! originally I planned on this series just being a couple of one-shots set in the same universe, but it got away form me, and I can’t believe so many of you came along for the ride. some of those stories will come in time, but thank you thank you thank you to everyone who stuck around this long! all the love for all of you!

>>

It was a beautiful day for a baseball game.

The sun was shining and for once your bones weren’t shaking with the rumble of the stadium as people stomped and cheered. In fact, the majority of the noise was from Frankie’s momma as she chattered across your lap to your grandfather. The two of them were discussing gardening and how well season was played, how proud they were, the best of friends. It was peaceful, almost, and most of the flashing lights and roaring crowds were away – it was the final game, a charity fundraiser, all fun.

You could see your catcher as he turned, looking at your section like he couldn’t help but search for you, and you smiled, heart as full and as warm as the sun on your shoulders. His curls were sticking out from under his helmet haphazardly, the pads on his shoulders and thighs making him even more solid, and it was a sight that you’d never get tired of. Combined with the smells of warm pastries, jalapeños and melted cheese, contentment settled into your soul like a hand in a glove, a perfect fit.

It was the of the ninth and they were playing well, encouraged by the cause and playing for the love of of the game instead of a paycheck. Behind you, you heard someone mention just how well Frankie had batted this season, and you brushed pan dulce sugar from your lap.

The players had told you last week after all the big games were done why Santi had offered to pay for you and James to fly to see their final games. At the time, it had baffled you how intensely they insisted, how eagerly the pushed it, and how your boyfriend had looked equal parts embarrassed and hopeful, but eventually you agreed, assuming you could get the time off from work. When the secret came out you laughed, shaking your head and rolling your eyes.

They had exchanged smiles and shrugged and shared knowing glances as they let you explain away what they knew was true. You were their luck.

The thought was long gone from your mind now though, as Ben was doing weird poses on the field, and you heard chuckles ripple through the crowds. Fans of him and the team alike were endlessly charmed, and you knew you’d catch comments about it for months to come. His brother was just standing, and still you heard dreamy sighs of Will’s name, and made a mental note to tease him after the game about his “blonde halo”. Whatever that meant.

Santi threw a perfect curveball, and when it landed firmly in Frankie’s glove, you heard a girl swoon, “That’s my man!” and the laughter of her friends, as they called her “Mrs. Morales”.

“No!” his momma was glaring over her shoulder tugging on your elbow, as if physically fighting them was a viable option. You tugged back, making soothing noises as she protested, “Mi frijol.” The sweet lady muttered something else and before your heart could latch on to what you could’ve sworn was something about the future and tu marido you moved on.

“I know, I know,” you were saying, when James leaned over, glint in his sweet, aging eyes.

“She’s right, honey,” he said, only encouraging his friend, and you grinned.

“He’s my boy,” she said again with an air of finality, “and yours."

Looking at your grandfather sheepishly, you pointed at your shirt and shrugged as he said, “Right again.”

You were wearing his backup Jersey.

Cheesy as it was, it felt good to have the little claim of his over your skin, and while it wasn’t obvious to everyone, you wore it with pride. Comments from his fans slid off it like raindrops on a tin roof, and while you apricated her inclusion, you didn’t need it to know he was yours, as you were his.

Jimbo leaned towards the woman at your side and whispered conspiratorially in her ear, and she settled, and you left it, enjoying their friendship. The day was too lovely for anything else, anyway.

Catch, catch, walk, look for his girlfriend, sit, swing, hit, run, walk, sit. Repeat.

Nothing so eventful happened the last few minutes of the game, and as the Will went out for his final bat, you felt a surprising wave of bittersweet nostalgia for all that had passed since the opening game, cold as an evening breeze.

Then the ball cracked against the bat, and the sound snapped you back, and you felt a fire under your breastbone, reminding you the best was yet to come.

Frankie’s mom finished her final cheers enthusiastically, all annoyance long gone, and she pulled you into a hug.

“Nieta is calling. Hug Francisco for me, hija, and I’ll see you tomorrow?” You nodded, squeezing her back almost as hard. You and Frankie were using his first real day off to babysit and get some quality time, and both of you were well aware this was hardly goodbye. You gave a gentler hug to your grandfather, who was going with her, whispering “Bye Jimbo,” as you kissed his cheek. He had conspired to let you stay out for the evening, and while you’d miss driving him home, you were grateful for the opportunity.

Seeing them safely as far as you could, your feet danced with excitement. Like it had been more than handful of times, they knew the path to the locker rooms, carrying you so light you were almost floating. When you slid into the waiting room, Frankie was already clean and looking for you anxiously. Maybe you should’ve given him a little wave from across the room, but you could do better.

You ducked away from his line of sight, and snuck around behind him before say, “hey, batter, batter.” He whipped around and before you could even register the grin on his face, he was pulling you against his chest.

“Hey yourself,” he said, and the two of you got one sweet, slightly needy kiss before you heard good-natured groans.

“It’s been like month,” Santi said, ruffling your hair as you stepped back, “Aren’t you guys done flirting?” You stuck your tongue out at him, wondering if you were fast enough to flick him in the forehead.

“Don’t bother,” Will said, his tone resigned but playful as he hugged you too. “Be happy he got her to stick around.” You pulled a face, and Benny laughed. They all knew by now that it was more than a summer fling, even Tom, who you realized hadn’t come out yet.

When you asked, they winced, and you dropped the topic, knowing they would tell you in their own time. Frankie pulled you back to him, his warm fingers lacing with yours as you herded them towards the door.

They were still working on things, still trying to figure out what their next steps looked like.

For now, you owed your baseball boys a dinner.

-           

 It had taken you a couple of times cooking for them to get the portions right. The Miller boys ate like they were hollow, and after a game was a testament to that.

Thankfully, you had more than enough this time, having been preparing their favorites for days with the enthusiastic help from Frankie’s mom, and begrudging help from his sister as a thank you to her hermano. The piled into your little space and ate gratefully, telling you about the game like you knew what they were talking about.

“Benny, why were you –” his deep laughter cut you off, and your hand shot out to grab Will’s wrist mid-throw. You had a rule against projectile food to keep them from squabbling like children at your makeshift dinner table. The dinner roll fell to his plate as Benny tried to explain, and Santi deadpanned.

“I was stretching, and I got distracted –”

“You were flirting with the entire stadium, Ben.”

“No! Well –”

It was warm and bright, eating dinner with them like a family, teasing and laughter filling the space like clear broth in the cool of night.

Frankie’s hand found your knee under the table.

The best part about these replacement-parties was watching them all try to help clean up. You were lucky professional athletes had fast reflexes, or you would’ve lost more than a few dishes to their shenanigans. They insisted, wouldn’t let you help, and things probably would’ve been put back correctly if you had, but it was great, letting things play out however they may. Maybe years and years down the road, you would tell a younger generation that you had some of the world’s most desirable athletes fighting in your kitchen over where you kept your dish soap refills.

And after, they would collapse in your living room, unearthing all the games from your shelves. One of your favorite moments from the summer was coming through thrift stores for games, ignoring the stare of jealousy and making ridiculous bets.

All the while, Frankie kept as close to you as he could, too busy watching you with wrinkles in the corners of his eyes to be embarrassed of his rambunctious friends.

When you and Will won the first game of the evening, he accidentally hit you in the face with the back of his hand as he flung his arms open in triumph.

It hadn’t hurt as badly as it would’ve if his brother had been the one talking with his hands, but Frankie had still thumped him in the back of the head before he followed you to the kitchen.

“Baby, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Frankie,” you laughed, but he was already taking the pack of frozen peas from your hand to press it against the lump forming on your temple. He was gentle, and the air shifted, like there was more on his mind than your minor injury. Brown eyes searching yours, you wished you knew what he was thinking.

“Francisco?” Your hands had settled on his chest but the moved around his neck when he moved the ice to ghost his lips over the spot. He didn’t answer for a moment, just setting the peas aside, and carefully trapping you against the counter.

There were noises of good-natured arguing coming from the living room, and you knew he was taking advantage of their distraction, carving a little pocket for the two of you in time.

“Te adoro,” his lips were almost hot as they pressed into yours. “I love you,” he said, so close you could feel the hairs on his upper lip still.

For the past month, your relationship had been fast, jumpstarting to serious and staying that was, but this was new. It was one thing, for him to tell you he wanted something real with you, wanted you to be a part of his life, and another to hear him say he loved you simply, without abandon. Still, you didn’t hesitate.

“I love you too.”

He kissed you again, unhurried, and you almost couldn’t return it, you were smiling so widely. Your bump was long forgotten.

When the two of you came out the kitchen, the others had barely noticed you were gone and Ben immediately was accusing you of cheating, but Santi shot you a knowing smile.

-           

There was a gap of time when a season ended, when Molly’s inbox was mercifully void of emails. It was a time when the chaos of her job slowed, for a bit before she began her work for the off-season, and she relished it with every fiber of her being.

This particular gap began wrapped up in sheets with Tom, her Tom, kissing and wishing the world outside was a simple as this, in the little bubble of her room.

She could always tell though, when his mind was no longer filled with her, and the other sides of him began to leak through the cracks. His eyes moved with urgency instead of appreciation his hands moved a little slower and then in sudden jerks, and when he trailed off mid-sentence, she sighed.

“You told them, didn’t you?”

He rolled onto his back; his gaze pointed towards the ceiling.

“Right after the game,” he confessed, and she sighed again, sitting up. If nothing else, for him, she had endless patience.

“How’d that go?”

Her love was silent, thinking only of the embarrassment and defensiveness that had reared in his chest. The tilt of Santi’s head, Frankie’s slow nod. He wished Benny had been disappointed, wished Will had thought it was a joke.

“They understood,” Tom didn’t add that he hoped with all his considerable might that they had reacted stronger, hoped they had told him not to, said they needed him to stay, but they hadn’t. It wouldn’t have been true, anyway. They were growing, going somewhere he couldn’t follow.

Her hand ran over his chest as it filled with air, stilling over his heart.

“It’s time,” one of them said, and the other nodded.

Counseling. Rehab. Retirement.

Slowing down to coach at a local college.

He clenched his hand into a fist, and then relaxed, palm falling open, upwards.

The love of his life kissed his forehead.

It was time.

-           

The first stop of the day was with James, spending the morning helping him around the house. Before this summer, you had thought you were his favorite grandchild, but he had essentially adopted Frankie months ago, and already liked him more than you.

The little old man talked excitedly about baseball and lectured your love on enjoying his off-season. He dragged him into the yard, talking his ear off about the benefits of different teas and the importance of volunteering with youth programs, and you settled inside, throwing away expired things from his fridge. Their absence was your only opportunity for the chore.

Honestly, the two of you needed to leave sooner than later and you weren’t sure how much time you had.

“Honey?” You dropped a can of whipped cream from a month ago guiltily.

“Yeah, Jimbo?”

He eyed you suspiciously but seemed too excited to be deterred by you.

“I put this together for you!” He said proudly, and you noticed a flash of the same mischief from yesterday in his eyes. Your grandfather handed you a box, and made you promise not to open in until you left. You hugged the sweet man, and smiled when Frankie did, too, before saying your goodbyes, thankful beyond words for him.

If it weren’t for him, you were sure you wouldn’t be climbing into the truck of your boyfriend, and certainly not having the catcher’s hand slide into yours. When you opened the box, the gratitude didn’t shrink, but your embarrassment rose.

Frankie laughed so hard you thought he was going to have to pull over.

It was full of Francisco Morales merchandise, signatures and memorabilia ranging from his very first baseball card to his most recent bobble head.

-           

Frankie kissed your knuckles for the second time since you climbed into his truck, which was silly since it had only been three minutes since you left his mother’s house.

He could feel your look, answering before you even asked.

“I’m good, just… I love you,” he said, unable to keep his eyes on the road when he said it.

“I love you too, Frankie,” you said, wondering what prompted him.

“Could we… would you want to get dinner?” He looked thoughtful and you laughed.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

Your hand was lifted to his lips again, sending electricity up your spine as he confirmed.

The two of you had a bag full of Anita’s best by the time you entered his home, and he still hadn’t told you what was on his mind. The two of you ate, sharing stories about the day’s adventures, helping his mother around the house and watching, Bianca, his sweet, tiny new niece. You had a great conversation with his mother, and despite her excitable nature, she surprised you by asking you about your boundaries and promising not to overstep.

Frankie told you about his hermana, and her slowly opening up to the idea of letting him help her out, not as charity but family, and letting him shoulder some of the responsibilities. You watched the warmth in his eyes as he talked and wondered how it was possible for a single person to feel so safe.

Eventually the talking slowed, and you found yourself half falling asleep against the stretch of his chest, is hands slowing their wandering paths.

“Love?” he murmured into your hair. You hummed in response.

When he didn’t say anything, your mind woke, and you pulled yourself up, and into his lap, straddling him.

He looked up at you for a moment before you felt him sigh against you.

“I have this baby,” he said, and you couldn’t help but smile at his phrasing. Santi always said it was melodramatic. “Do you… is this all too much?”

His expression mirrored that of your first date, and you told him the same thing as you had then.

That you would stay, as long as he would have you. That you would navigate alongside him, that you were happy to. This time, you added that you loved him, and you felt him shift under you, anxiety leaking out of him, allowing solid adoration to replace it.

Frankie said, “Thank you,” against your mouth, and like a prayer. In the dim evening light, you kissed him, and as his hands slipped under your shirt to hold your sides, he held you for the first time like you were real.

And you were, this was something that wasn’t going away.

For the first time in a long time, it was a perfect day for something new, and his heart was here, beating under his hands.

 <<

translations:

pan dulce: pastries

mi frijol: my bean

tu marido: your husband

nieta: granddaughter 

hija: daughter

hermano/a: brother, sister

te adoro: I adore you

<<

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @pbeatriz

hey batter batter taglist:

@icanbeyourjedi @studyofawearymind @hnt-escape @athalien @the-witty-pen-name @daffodin @sarahjkl82-blog @pintsizemama @anaaaispunk @pjkimrn @dobbyjen @stuckontheceiling

[magnhild]

the misconceptions and mis-framing of penny’s death

i hesitated to make this post here for a good while; partially because i didn’t want to right when people’s emotions were heightened from the finale, partially because i’m sure some people are going to argue with me here and i’m not looking for a debate- if you don’t agree, please just scroll past.

i’ve made a large number of posts of penny’s death on twitter before, but some were based on my own heightened emotions, and they were all scattered over the course of a couple of weeks, so i’m making this psot to kind of gather all of those thoughts together, the most important ones, at least.

a quick disclaimer before we start- don’t mistake this as all being ‘oh you must just not really care that much about penny’. it couldn’t be more untrue. penny is a comfort character of mine, and a kin to boot. her second death was also the only in the show to really impact me, seeing as i watched v1-3 within a couple of days and didn’t give myself enough time to get attatched to any characters (and i just didn’t personally care for clover all that much). so, please don’t assuming this is coming from a place of not caring- it’s coming from the opposite.

i’ve tried my very hardest to look at what people are saying when they call her death inherintly bad writing, and honestly, i can easily see the validity to some of their points. there were a lot of flaws in the scene. 

it felt very rushed and blown-over, but then again, the entire episode did, and i have to wonder if it was done on purpose to emulate the chaos of war- you usually don’t get time to process anything. i mean, in rwby’s case, cinder was winning a fight, half of the characters that would’ve moured her were in the void, and the other half was in another kingdom. that left jaune, who had to focus on fighting cinder. it’s the same as when ruby wasn’t given time to mourn yang.

it also was weird to kill her off two episodes and probably only, like, 10-15 in-show minutes, after she’d been saved from death by gaining a human body. i think it would’ve happened anyway, given the many death flags she had, but i’d have expected- and liked- for them to wait a little longer. it would’ve been nice to see her adjust to having a human body, that’s for sure.

and i can fully agree that framing suicide as a good thing is not...a good thing. but, that brings me to the first point when i say ‘misconception’. because, penny’s dead wasn’t suicide at all. and i have no idea why people would frame it that way it the first place.

first of all, if we’re going to start labelling sacrifices as suicides, we’re going to have to say the same about pyrrha, vernal, and probably yang even though she didn’t actually die (but she thought she would). but being killed in a battle while protecting people...is sacrifice. penny asking jaune to kill her quicker, so that she could make sure the powers went to winter, was sacrifice. it also meant that she didn’t have to die slowly and painfully instead. penny was not suicidal. she has never been suicidal. to be suicidal is to want to die. penny never wanted to die- she only ever believed that it was her only choice to save the people she cared about and the city she was assigned to protect. in penny’s situation, i imagine you’d have a hard time finding another way out of all the siuations she’s been in too. it honestly feels like people are only calling it suicide instead of sacrifice to frame the scene as worse than it was, and that rubs me the wrong way.

and now you’re probably wondering, ‘but blaire, if she’d let jaune save her, she wouldn’t have died’. except that everyone who thinks that is missing one critical factor- she would have died anyway.

cinder’s blow was a killing one. from the moment she struck, she was already starting to steal the maiden’s power. a little longer, and she probably would have. but the one thing a lot of people seem to miss is that, even though jaune was there, he would not have been able to save her. firstly, his aura would have been extremely low at that point, considering we see it shatter in this episode; he probably would not have had enough to fill another person. he maybe could’ve sealed the wound a little before his aura would have broken, and then cinder would’ve just kept going with no problem.

but, even if he somehow had been able to- his aura recharges pretty quickly, after all- another critical factor is that there literally wasn’t time. penny said so herself. as i mentioned earlier, cinder was winning the fight agaisnt weiss. and we’ve seen how long it takes for jaune to heal someone. with weiss, he was lucky; there were several other people there to protect him and weiss while he did his work. with penny, there was only weiss. the moment cinder saw jaune healing her, that would’ve been it. with both of them defenselss, she probably would have killed jaune on the spot, given that weiss never would have been able to stop her on her own, and continued to take penny’s power. jaune or not, penny would have died. because penny didn’t kill herself, jaune didn’t kill her, cinder killed her. this was a murder.

bu then, what was all that about penny finally making her own choice? was it not to die?

no. of course it wasn’t. how i ever believed that myself at one point baffles me, because the more i look back, the more it’s very obvious that it wasn’t the case. it’s almost funny, actually, because my current self would’ve called myself from two weeks ago stupid for believeing such a thing. 

as i mentioned, penny has never wanted to die. and, in this case, it wasn’t even that she felt she had to for the greator good; she was dying anyway. her choice had nothing to do with death. her choice was who to pass the winter maiden’s power onto. because, if jaune hadn’t used his sword and severe’d cinder’s connection, the power very likely would have gone to cinder instead. she’d have the relics and both the fall and winter powers, and she’d have been near-unstoppable otherwise. 

even the wiki editors somehow saw this more clearly than i did, but like i said, it’s actually pretty obvious. once you get the weird idea that penny was suicidal out of your head, it’s clear to see that the choice she was talking about was to choose winter. and it’s a damn good thing she did, because winter probably would have died otherwise, and the evacuees would’ve been left defensless agaisnt the grimm- penny wouldn’t have been able to save them, as we’ve established.

the last thing that everyone should consider is that we literally have no idea what could happen next. it’s hard to write this off as anything when we don’t know what effect it will have on the story and characters, or- though it’s a stretch- if penny will even stay dead. she is, after all, based off a character who dies and is ressurected on a frequent basis. it was the same case with pyrrha and clover’s deaths; both were dismissed as bad writing based purely on assumptions, only for the auidence to find out later that both deaths actually served pretty reasonable purposes; pyrrhas’s to set the stakes and give all of the character’s a reason to keep fighting, and clover’s to demonstrate how loyal-to-a-fault the aceops were, and that ironwood had no problem sacrificing his own men.

in the end, to call this a good writing choice is probably a stretch. but, it wasn’t a bad one either. there were just too many factors that weren’t considered, or were misunderstood, and the aformentioned rushed feeling of the episode probably did not help with picking all this out. these are realizations it took me days and even weeks to come to. what’s instead important is to look at the situation from as many different angles as possible, and to keep in mind that we can’t really say anything for certain about the consequences of the event. nuance is important! espeiclaly in media critisism!

i genuinely hoped this has opened people’s eyes, even if they already didn’t consider it bad writing. seeing crwby, and this show, undermined so drastically, has been pretty hard for me to see, especially when some people are using it to call crwby morally wrong. i’ve even seen people say it was transphobic, because penny was trans-coded, while totally dismissing may, a canonically trans character. and i know that crwby are getting death threats again, which is bitterly disappointing and enraging. stop. and stop enabling this behaviour. 

also, if you’ve read over all of this and still don’t personally like the decision, that’s fine and understandable. i can easily see why people still wouldn’t. but i think it’s important to remember that not liking a writing deicsion doesn’t necceserily make it a bad one. kind of like how me not liking any of star wars doesn’t make it a bad franchise.

thanks for reading, and please remember to just...be nice. and if you’re still mourning penny’s death, which is understandable, remember to look after your mental health! she would want you to!

[thelazyvehicon]

Vehicon Headcanon, Part 1: Origin and Construction

I'm labelling this as Part 1 because I have LOTS of headcanons about these guys.

We all remember the humble Vehicons, don't we? Those poor souls we feel sorry for, but we love to watch them get pummeled anyway.

They're the identical punching bags of TF Prime. Destined to be blown up, crushed, or, more likely, shot.

They're not even safe from their own officers. They're so interchangeable, that no one can tell them apart. Even when they have different vehicle modes.

They're the perfect cartoon henchmen; sturdy enough to put up a fight, but just fragile enough that they can be taken care of with no problem.

Even the show creators seemed to be of similar mind. In The Art of Prime, it was stated that the producers weren't even sure that the Vehicons would even speak, hence the lack of mouth. Their voices ended up being a late production decision.

The narrative seems to portray them as drones (Starscream even calls them as such). Given their identical appearance, it's easy to assume they're highly sophisticated AI instead of true Cybertronians.

I found myself baffled that the Vehicons weren't fleshed out more. Other shows sometimes have single episodes that shows the perspective of such background characters, but Prime never got that chance.

And so, I took it upon myself to breathe some life into these grunts. Starting with the question: where do they come from?

Vehicons are basically MTOs Constructed Cold.

Those who've read the IDW comics know that there are two methods by which new Cybertronians are created in that continuity: they're either 'Forged' or 'Constructed Cold'.

'Forged' Cybertronians are, for lack of a better term, 'naturally occuring'. Their sparks are generated by the planet's core, and their bodies gradually grow around the spark, accumulating the 'sentio metallico', or 'living metal'.

On the other hand, Cybertronians who were 'Contructed Cold', had their sparks artificially ‘frozen’ and stockpiled. These sparks were then implanted into pre-fabricated bodies, manufactured according to standardized blueprints, and then ‘thawed’ out.

Reading further into IDW, I also learned of MTOs.

MTO is an acronym for 'Made To Order', a term for Cold Constructed soldiers who were hurriedly created in response to military campaigns. They were given a limited education program (which would be slowly done away with to save time), basic combat training, and then deployed to war almost immediately.

After reading the comics, things began to fall into place, and I reached a conclusion: Vehicons are Cold Constructed soldiers.

The reason they're all identical is that their frames are all manufactured according to a standardized blueprint. Team Prime is able to take them out in droves because their bodies are weakly armored, presumably so that they can be manufactured in large numbers without causing a drain on resources and time.

They appear in such large numbers because there really were that many sparks frozen and stockpiled before the War; Cold Construction was likely a huge industry on Cybertron.

I'm imagining entire platoons of Vehicons being Cold-Constructed in warehouses. They have some basic education and indoctrination downloaded onto their systems (adherence to the Decepticon way, loyalty to the cause, some basic combat training, and not much else), and then they're marched out for assignment.

Or even worse, maybe they were hastily Made To Order, instantly deployed onto a battlefield before they even knew what was going on.

Imagine a dropship soaring over a battlefield, containing rows of Vehicons in harnesses, sparks recently installed. Cables dangle from the dropship’s roof, plugging into the back of the Vehicon’s heads, streaming all the knowledge they would ever need.

With a jolt, the Vehicons come to life, visors flashing red. They only have a moment to process what’s just happened-to process that they’ve just been born-when the floor splits open, the harnesses unclamp and they’re suddenly dropping down to a raging battle below.

Vehicons are not drones. Vehicons still have sparks, and they're still sentient. Which means that they can make decisions, take initiative, and make judgment calls, like any other soldier.

However, their identical appearance, lack of a proper faceplate, their large numbers, and the prevalence of serial numbers in lieu of names, means that almost all other Cybertronians, especially the Decepticons, are unable to empathize or connect with them (with very few exceptions).

With all this in mind, is it any wonder that the Vehicons are treated as expendable?

In the next part, we'll take a look at my headcanons regarding Vehicon heirarchy, promotions and the role body modification plays. Stay tuned.