#because like for the first half of the first movie I was like???

[419jhat]

Steve becomes an actor. Eddie reacts to his movies while nursing his crush.

***

That Time He Got Naked

Steve had always been a good performer. Eddie watched him in school, putting on the face of a disaffected cool guy who was above everything around him. And he watched him put on a face of bravery for the kids when the end of the world was at their fingertips. When Steve got his first role, Eddie figured it made sense. He hadn't exactly been trained in acting, but he had a pretty face and the ability to do what he was told on a set.

When he got his second role, Eddie didn't pay much attention. Local art movies by Robin's college friends weren't that interesting to watch, in his opinion. But the third role was when it became a thing. That's when it started turning into a big deal. And before they knew it, a year later, Steve was in a real movie. A movie they could see in theaters and rent at family video. A movie people had actually heard of. The kind of movie everyone sat down to watch in support of their famous friend. Even if it was a just small role.

So, at the first available showing where the entire party could get together, Eddie found himself squished between Dustin and Nancy, watching Steve gasp and moan like it was his first time.

And Eddie's face was on fire.

Dustin had pulled his hoodie over his eyes.

Nancy was sitting straight as a telephone pole.

Jonathan leaned over and asked her, “Was he really like that?” Which made her smack him on the arm and tell him to shut up.

Eddie could barely pay attention. He was too busy wondering, as he stared at Steve's bare ass taking up half the screen, if Steve had been hitting the gym to tone up just for this scene because-

He needed to stop thinking about it before he made it even more awkward for everyone.

When Steve called him a week later, he could barely talk without stuttering like a fool.

“So, what did you think? Maria said I was really convincing but she was in the scene with me. She kind of has to say that,” Steve said.

Eddie thought that the sight of Steve's ass had been imprinted on the back of his eyelids, because it was all he saw when he closed his eyes to sleep at night.

“It was good,” Eddie said awkwardly.

“That sex scene was so embarrassing. People keep asking me if it was hot. There is nothing hot about standing around your coworkers in a flesh colored jockstrap.”

“Mm-hmm,” Eddie said, trying not to imagine a scenario where Steve was his coworker, and that was his uniform.

That Time He Died

The next time they met up to watch a Steve movie, nobody had warned Eddie about its contents. Or, maybe they did and he'd ignored it because he didn't want to think about the little mole on the small of Steve's back that he'd discovered last time they watched a Steve movie.

Either way, Eddie was completely unprepared to watch Steve gasping for air while being beaten to death in an alley.

“Ugh, I can't watch this,” Robin muttered when it became clear what was happening. She ran out of the theater a few moments later when the scene didn't end quickly enough.

Lucas was on Eddie's other side, cringing with each brutal punch. Steve was letting out pathetic, wet whimpers, his face literally crunching under the main actor's fists.

Eddie knew it was fake. The blood was kind of excessive and there was just no way you could rearrange someone's face like that with your bare hands. But watching Steve's eyes go glassy made Eddie feel sick.

He got up too.

He found Robin standing next to a water fountain, just staring at it.

“Thirsty, Buckley?”

She jumped.

“Oh. No,” she said, stuffing her hands in the pickets of her jacket. “I just dream about that kind of stuff a lot.”

Eddie nodded. “I get it. It's different when we've seen him hurt before.”

Behind them, the theater door swung open. Dustin paused when he saw them, and then propped it open with his foot. The rest of the party followed.

“I guess we're leaving early, huh?” Nancy asked.

Everyone nodded.

“Nobody tells Steve,” Robin warned.

When Steve called him the next day, he kept his mouth shut.

“You were terrifying,” Eddie said.

“You sure? I think I was supposed to be more pathetic than anything else.”

“I mean, that too. But it was super gory, so I think the whole theater was freaked out.”

“Neat,” Steve said. “You know, I'm going to be in Chicago this weekend. We should hang out!”

“I'd love that!” Eddie said too quickly.

Steve laughed and asked, “maybe you can show me around?”

“Yeah, you can stay at my place!” Eddie said.

And then he looked around his apartment and cringed. “On second thought, you can get a hotel if you don't want to deal with the mess.”

“I love the mess. It's you,” Steve said.

Eddie wasn't sure if he was supposed to be offended or not.

That Time He Cried

The next movie wasn't much better. This time, Eddie came prepared. This time, Steve didn't get naked or die. What he hadn't anticipated was that there were other terrible things that could happen, like watching the man he'd held a crush on for years now scream and sob because he lost the will to live after his wife died.

Eddie honestly didn't know that Steve could sound like that. The anguish in his voice at the funeral scene, the pain in his eyes. It was raw, and difficult to face.

There wasn't a dry tear in their row.

“I do not like this one,” El whispered to Eddie.

“Why is he always miserable in these movies?” Max muttered. She had her shoulders up to her ears and her arms crossed, like she could hold the tears back if she wound herself up tight enough.

“Well. He seemed pretty happy in the first one,” Eddie said.

Max punched him in the shoulder.

Steve's phone call came that evening.

“Dude, I think you broke everyone's hearts. I didn't even know you could cry like that,” Eddie said.

Steve huffed a laugh into the receiver. “My agent told me to think of something sad.”

“What did you think of?” Eddie asked. He instantly wanted to smack himself in the forehead. Why would Steve share that with him? To his shock, Steve hummed, like he was thinking.

“I thought about how I felt when we thought Max was dead,” he said quietly. “Obviously, it's not like that between us. She's basically my sister at this point. But…it was the first time I'd ever lost someone but cared about. Someone I was supposed to protect.”

Eddie's heart melted into a million pieces.

“Steve. I think you should invite her to visit you. She loves you too,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Steve said slowly, “the only thing is that Dustin would lose his shit if she visited first.”

“Oh, don't worry, I'll keep him distracted for you,” Eddie said.

“With Dragons and Dickwads?” Steve asked.

“You know it.”

That Time He Proposed

Eventually, Steve broke his curse of misery and managed to get a lead role in a rom com. Eddie hated it more than anything else. Watching him fall in love with the human equivalent of a shallow puddle pissed Eddie off more than anything else had in a long time. Steve's pretty eyes, staring at her. Steve, so visibly in love with someone who didn't deserve him. Steve, doing stupid shit to make her take him back when he hadn't done anything wrong in Eddie’s completely unbiased opinion.

It made Eddie want to tear his hair out.

The real cherry on top was Steve proposing to her at the end, because of-fucking-course the movie ended that way. That kind of heteronormative love at first sight, get married and have kids bullshit the media always pandered to, drove him up the wall. Steve did all the work. He set up a cheesy outdoor surprise at the beach and dropped to one knee while everyone in the background of the scene clapped like a bunch of lemmings.

“This is so fucking stupid,” Eddie said.

“Tell me about it,” Mike said.

“God, I hate romance movies," Eddie said.

“They always suck,” Mike agreed.

“Steve would never do that! He doesn't like big grand gestures!” Eddie said.

“What?” Mike asked.

“He's a very private person!”

“Eddie…that's not Steve. That's Chris. Steve’s character,” Erica said.

“I- I know that. I'm just saying,” Eddie sputtered.

“Can you all shut the fuck up?” Max hissed.

Steve called him a week later, and by then, Eddie had forgotten all about it up until Steve started waxing poetic about how romantic it all was. Ugh.

“Wait, I thought you didn't like that kind of stuff,” Eddie interrupted.

“Oh. No, I don't. But in the context of the movie, it was supposed to be.”

“So…what kind of romance do you like?” Eddie asked casually.

“Gonna surprise me with something, Munson?” Steve asked.

“Wha- no, I just-” Eddie stuttered.

Steve interrupted him with a laugh. Then, he suddenly asked, in a sinfully soft voice, “when are you going to visit me?”

Eddie's heart skipped a beat.

“Uh, I don't know. Tattooing doesn't pay for a California vacation yet,” he said nervously.

“You could move out here,” Steve said. “There's a ton of people wanting tattoos in LA.”

“I don't know if all that sun would agree with me,” Eddie joked.

“Youcouldmoveinwithme,” Steve blurted out.

“Hmm?” Eddie asked, twisting the phone cord around his thumb.

“You could move in with me,” Steve said.

Eddie nearly dropped the phone. He sat up straight and looked at his hands like they couldn't tell him what he'd really heard, because there was no way Steve was being serious.

“Eddie?” Steve asked.

“I'm here. Good one, Steve,” he said with a forced laugh, “like you'd want me messing up your place. Anyway, got anything else going on?”

Steve didn't reply for a moment. When he did, he told him about some party he'd gone to. And Eddie forgot about the offer completely.

That Time He Was a Villain

Thankfully, Steve's next film was wildly different from the others. This time he was the bad guy. Eddie found it kind of thrilling to watch him parade around with the confidence of an unapologetic piece of shit. The way he led the main characters around like he had them on a leash, the way he looked when he was in charge. It made Eddie's pathetic little heart shiver.

Steve made a sexy villain.

Unfortunately for Eddie, nobody else seemed to agree. As they left the theater, all the kids were grumbling under their breath.

“I thought he was cool in that role,” Eddie said.

“He was such an asshole!” Dustin said.

“I can't believe he was so mean to Miranda! He didn't have to be such a bad husband!” Max said.

“It was the look in his eyes. Like he thought it was all fun,” Erica said with disgust.

“Once a douche, always a douche,” Mike muttered.

Nancy lifted an eyebrow. “You guys know that it was just a character, right? Steve didn't actually endorse any of that stuff.”

“He chose the role,” Dustin muttered. “I hope Hollywood isn't ruining him.”

Eddie was pretty sure they just missed him.

Steve called him three days later.

“Do you think I'm turning into an asshole?” he asked without saying hello.

“Dustin’s just being stupid,” Eddie said.

“He says I'm regressing back into my high school days!”

“That's dramatic,” Eddie said with a laugh, “he didn't even know you in high school.”

“Exactly!”

“I thought you were cool in your latest movie,” Eddie said.

“What?”

“I mean, you are a bit of an ass, but it shows your skill.”

“Wait, is that what this is about? I thought I missed his birthday or something!”

“Oh, no. They just don't like seeing you play the bad guy.”

“Oh my God, that is so fucking-”

That Time He Fell In Love With A Man

Eddie didn't know what was coming next. Steve had been in a wide variety of roles at this point, so when he sat down in the theater with a bucket of popcorn, he did not expect to witness the crush of his life, holder of his soul, dream of all dreams, to be making out with another man.

Eddie nearly threw his popcorn at the screen out of sheer shock.

“Buckley, did you know about this!?” he hissed to Robin.

“Yeah, I thought it was really brave,” she said softly.

“What do you mean? Because he's straight?”

Robin slowly turned to look at Eddie with an eyebrow lifted.

“...what?” she asked.

Eddie wasn't paying attention. He turned back to watch. It was beautiful. It was nothing like what he'd expected. Explicit love between two men, on screen for the world to see. He didn't even have it in himself to get jealous. For the first time, Eddie couldn't see Steve. He saw the story. He could see himself in the way Steve's character looked at his lover. The way they hid their feelings for each other in public. The film ended with Steve's character passing away in a car accident. It made Eddie cry. Eddie hadn't cried in a theater in years.

He left the building feeling raw.

The others were raving about the film, talking about how it would push Steve's career to the next level. No comments about it being weird or gross.

“Robin, why would he choose that role?” Eddie asked quietly.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean, did he do it for Will or something?”

Robin turned to Eddie with her hands on her hips, looking very much like Steve with the level of judgement in her eyes.

“Eddie…when you said Steve was straight. Were you being serious?”

Eddie just blinked at her. “Of course I was. He is straight.”

“Are you stupid?” she asked. Eddie opened his mouth to reply, but she didn't let him. “Where have you been the last few years? Has that apartment of yours been lined with lead?”

“What-”

“Eddie, he calls you almost every week!”

“He calls everyone-”

“He stays at your place when he's in town!”

“It's cheaper-”

“He is a successful actor! He has no reason to stay in your apartment, which is always covered in dirty clothes!”

“Hey, I try to keep it-”

“Last time I was there, your underwear was hanging on the bathroom doorknob!”

“Listen, I told you I can explain that-”

“Eddie, he asked if you wanted to move in with him!”

Eddie opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. Now that he thought about it, he did recall Steve joking about that. But it had just been a joke. Right?

“I thought he was being nice?” Eddie offered.

“Oh my god, you are so stupid,” Robin said.

“Wait, so let me get this right. Steve isn't straight. And he's interested in me!?”

Robin punched him in the shoulder. “Go call him, you dumbass.”

Eddie turned and ran all the way home without even saying goodbye. By the time he made it to his phone, he was gasping for air after running up three flights of stairs. And for the first time in years, he called Steve after watching his movie.

“Hello?”

Eddie could only gasp for air.

“...listen if this is some kind of prank-”

“No! Wait! It's me!” Eddie gasped.

“Eddie?” Steve asked.

“I saw your new movie,” Eddie said, brushing his hands out of his face with a shaking hand, “why didn't you ever tell me?”

Steve was silent for a moment.

“Tell you what?” he finally asked.

“That you like men!”

“I'm sorry?” Steve asked, sounding shocked.

Eddie's face was on fire. Had he somehow completely misunderstood Robin's point? Should he have stayed beyond to make sure?

“Eddie, did you not know that?” Steve asked.

“What! Of course, I didn't! If I had known that I would have-” Eddie cut himself off, too embarrassed to even say it.

“You would have what?” Steve goaded.

“It doesn't matter,” Eddie mumbled.

“No, I think it does,” Steve said.

“It's not a big deal,” Eddie said.

“I think it is,” Steve said.

Eddie bit his bottom lip, letting his feelings fester inside him until they finally exploded in the form of him shouting, “I would have asked you out!”

“And I would have said yes,” Steve said instantly.

“Really?” Eddie asked softly.

“I mean…I've been crazy about you for years,” Steve said.

“Why didn't you say anything!? Do you know how crazy you drove me last time you stayed here? You can't hold a man in bed like that and not expect him to fall in love!”

“I- uh, thought you didn't feel the same,” Steve said, sounding embarrassed. Eddie closed his eyes and sighed. Robin was right. He was so stupid.

“Steve, I feel the same and I want to ask you to be with me for the foreseeable future,” Eddie said boldly.

“The foreseeable future? Not just a date?” Steve asked.

“I am well past wanting a single date, to be honest.”

“Oh wow. Well, I've been looking for a boyfriend,” Steve said.

“I might even surprise you with something romantic,” Eddie said with a smile.

[dinosus]

John Price is a domestic menace who is so in love with you it’s borderline ridiculous.

Price is up at the crack of dawn, even when he’s home. Military habits die hard. But instead of rushing off to train, he takes his time watching you sleep. He adores how peaceful you look, face buried in the pillow, hair messy.

“Too bloody gorgeous for your own good, love.”

He always makes coffee first thing in the morning. Your coffee is made with care, perfect sugar-to-milk ratio. His? Jet fuel. The man drinks pure black coffee like a lunatic.

If you wake up early, he pulls you into his lap, letting you sit between his legs as he rests his chin on your shoulder, sipping coffee together in comfortable silence. This man cannot cook for shit. You let him try once, and the kitchen almost caught fire. His ‘specialty’? Scrambled eggs that somehow taste like regret.

If you’re cooking, he’s always hovering. Arms wrapped around your waist, chin on your shoulder, murmuring- “What’s on the menu today, sweetheart?”

You have to swat him away because he steals food off the pan.

“John, I swear—STOP PICKING AT IT.”

“I’m just taste-testing, love.” (No, he’s eating half of it.) Price is a touch-starved bastard. He constantly has a hand on you—your thigh, your back, your waist. He hates sleeping alone. If he’s home, you are glued to him.

Post-mission cuddles? He holds onto you like you’re his lifeline.

Comes home, sighs deeply, collapses onto you. He buries his face into your neck, muttering “Missed you so damn much.”

He physically cannot sleep unless you’re in his arms. If he has nightmares? You always wake up to comfort him. He tries to brush it off, but you cup his face, run your fingers through his hair.

“You’re home, John. You’re safe.”

And just like that, the tension leaves his body. This man walks on the side of the road closest to traffic. Always. Hand on your lower back when walking through crowds. If anyone even looks at you wrong? That stern Captain Price glare™ is activated.

One time, some guy at the grocery store got too close to you— Price instantly went into overprotective husband mode.

“The fuck you lookin’ at, mate?”

You had to drag him away before he decked the poor man. Don't let this man near laundry. “John, you can’t just throw your combat gear in with our clothes.” “...They all get clean, don’t they?” Absolutely not. One time, you found a grenade pin in the washing machine.

“JOHN WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”

“…Souvenir?”

You ban him from doing laundry after that.

When he gets rare days off, he’s the laziest bastard alive. He’s in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, sprawled on the couch. If you try to get up? Nope. He pulls you back down.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’, sweetheart? You’re stayin’ right here.”

Movie nights? You lay on his chest, and he rubs lazy circles into your back. He snores. Loudly. But if you ever tease him about it, he denies it. “I don’t snore, love.” “John, I have video evidence.” “…Fabricated.”

[elliewrites77]

Uncle!Sukuna

Uncle!Sukuna who always hated the idea of settling down and having kids. he definitely did not want to be a parent.

Uncle!Sukuna who refused to even consider a pet because he didn't want that kind of responsibility.

Uncle!Sukuna who almost went off the grid when he got a call about stepping up as a guardian after his brother Jin and sister-in-law passed away, leaving their 6 year old son Yuji, who Sukuna hadn't seen since he was...1? maybe 2?

He hadn't been very close with Jin, and Jin's wife had always had "a bad feeling" about Sukuna, so it wasn't like he was going over every Sunday for family dinner.

Uncle!Sukuna who agrees to talk to Yuji's social worker, after multiple phone calls, to at least get an understanding of what's being asked of him, and what's at stake.

Uncle!Sukuna who the second he sees Yuji, knows he won't be able to say no to the kid. Despite being Jin's son, the boy looked exactly like Sukuna. The biggest difference in their appearance was the gummy grin that Yuji gave as soon as he saw his tall, broading, indimidating uncle. Sukuna was surprised at the...brightness the kid held, despite all he had lost.

Uncle!Sukuna who spends the next few weeks before he officially becomes Yuji's guardian getting his life together. He has money, owning his own bar and sometimes bartending there has kept his bank account more than happy. But he's never cared for big spending, except for his fancy car. So he moves out of his apartment, moving into a nice family house, in a quaint, safe neighborhood, neither of which he ever saw himself doing.

But the second he saw Yuji's face light up when he pulled up to the house for the first time, he knows he made the right choice. Even if he did grumble and act indifferent and uncaring.

Uncle!Sukuna who is suprised how easily Yuji takes to him, how comfortable he is so quickly. Considering the kid barely knew him, he acted like he had been around forever. He already calls him Uncle Kuna, and is not the least bit deterred by his hard, cold exterior.

Uncle!Sukuna who acts like Yuji is an inconvenience, an annoyance. He tells him he better not ask for anything unless he's willing to work for it. But he always finds himself buying the kid stuff whenever he goes to the store, whether it's a toy, a snack he doesn't need, a movie, or whatever. even if Yuji doesn't ask one.

Uncle!Sukuna who internally panics when there's an emergency when there is an emergency at his bar that requires his immediate attention. It's late, and there's no one to watch Yuji, and he definitely couldn't take him.

Uncle!Sukuna who practically drags a half-asleep Yuji out of the house, ignoring the kids mumbled confusion as he pulls him to the house across the street. He recalled seeing a kid in the yard the week prior, so he was taking a chance in hoping that meant there was a willing parent there too. Irresponsible and risky but he only had so many options.

Uncle!Sukuna who practically bangs on the strangers' door, waiting impatiently for someone to answer. He completely ignores the fact that it is 2 am and a weeknight.

When you open the door, rubbing your tired eyes to see a tense, tall man holding the back of a little boy's shirt, who is grinning brightly as if it wasn't 2 am, it takes you a moment to process. You glance between them a few times. They look familiar, but you can't place where you've seen them.

"Can i help you?" You eventually ask, confused and tired, and slightly annoyed at his previous banging.

Sukuna is a little thrown by the softness of your voice, by how sweet it sounds. Even with the clear tiredness and weary. He does nothing to hide his glance of..appreciation of your figure, but only lets himself get distracted for a moment before he gruffly explains why he was there, not even introducing himself.

You stare at him in suspicion for another silent moment, before glancing back to the boy next to him and giving him a kind, soft smile. Sukuna ignores the unfamiliar feelings in his chest when he sees that smile aimed at his nephew.

"I can watch him till the morning." You finally said, looking back to Sukuna. He took no time to push Yuji into your house, a breath of relief and a mumbled thanks leaving his lips before he turns, briskly walking to his car.

Once the door is shut, you stare at the child in your entry way, while he stares back up at you. You were still processing the situation, to be fair.

"Hi honey, I'm y/n. What's your name?" You ask with a tired sigh. he grins once more.

"I'm Yuji! you're pretty."

you chuckle, ruffling the kids pink hair fondly. Something about this situation told you this little boy and his unnamed guardian were gonna bring something totally new to your life.

----

not proofread

[sirhamburrger]

worth it - m. kaiser x f!reader in which you decide to give it another shot with with each other.

tags/cw: exes to lovers, crack (see original req ask) || wc: 1k-ish (i have gone insane)

courtesy of kai’s cat caf��! - 150 followers event café menu || order progress asks closed.

michael kaiser is convinced his life is 100% a joke. there’s no other explanation for why he’s currently sitting in a dimly lit, overpriced restaurant, waiting for a blind date that his best friend, ness, had insisted he go on.

it'll be fun, ness had said. you haven't dated since her, so just give it a shot.

michael doesn’t do blind dates, doesn’t do serious relationships, and he certainly doesn’t do surprises - which is precisely why he’d refused ness’s ridiculous proposition at first. but between his friend’s relentless nagging and his own begrudging admission that his love life had the excitement of a damp sock, he had caved eventually.

and now, as he swirls the wine in his glass like some kind of brooding movie villain, he wonders if this is the universe’s idea of a cruel prank.

because the person who just walked through the restaurant doors - the person he's meant to be on a blind date with - is none other than you.

michael nearly chokes on his drink at the first glimpse he gets of you. you don’t see him at first, distracted as you scan the restaurant, looking for whoever your own meddling friend had set you up with. when your eyes land on him, your entire body stiffens, and he watches as you cycle through the five stages of grief in record time.

he knows exactly what you're thinking, because he’s thinking the exact same -

out of all the people in the world, why you?

your relationship had ended on less-than-great terms. there had been yelling, multiple dramatic exits and even more dramatic re-entrances, and at one point, if he recalls correctly, a very unnecessary but satisfyingly cinematic slow clap. it had been over a year since the breakup, and though time was supposed to heal all wounds, he wasn’t sure if it applied to two people as ridiculously petty as the both of you.

you take a deep breath and approach the table, walking like someone being led to their inevitable doom. “this is a joke, right?” you say, pulling out the chair with a familiar enthusiasm - the enthusiasm with which one might do the dishes, maybe.

michael leans back in his chair, trying to appear nonchalant even though he’s nothing but. you look good, infuriatingly so.

“trust me, if i were trying to pull a prank, it’d be something a lot more elaborate than this.”

you sigh, shoulders slumping. “so, what? our friends thought it would be hilarious to set us up?”

“looks that way.”

silence stretches between you, heavy with the weight of tense, withering stares and poor life choices, and michael, for all his arrogance, finds himself at a rare loss for words. he should say something clever, maybe. something that would put him back in control of this bizarre situation. instead, he blurts out, “you look... less mad than i expected.”

you blink. “i just got here. give it a minute.”

a beat of silence. then, against all odds, you both snort at the same time.

somehow, you make it through the meal without either of you throwing your drinks in the other’s face. the conversation starts awkward, progresses to dangerous levels of sarcastic, and before long, you’re both swapping old inside jokes, complete with exaggerated impressions of each other. by the time dessert arrives, you’re laughing so hard you nearly snort crème brûlée out of your nose.

reality seems to hit the two of you, then, turning the sweetness of the custard bitter on your tongues.

you poke at your half-eaten dessert with your fork, your voice quieter when you finally speak again.

“do you ever wonder if we could’ve done things differently?”

he pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. he should brush it off, throw out some cocky remark. but instead, he casts his pride aside, sets his fork down and meets your gaze.

“yeah,” he admits. “i do.”

you nod as if you expected that answer. “at least we know our friends are absolutely useless.”

he scoffs. “truly the worst.”

the check arrives, and the night reaches its fated conclusion. you both step outside, the cool air nipping at your skin. for a moment, neither of you move, standing there like two characters in a sitcom finale that never got renewed.

finally, you exhale, pulling your coat tighter. “well. goodbye, kaiser.”

something in his chest tightens at the way you say it. he forces a smirk, shoving his hands into his pockets. “see you around, liebling.”

you roll your eyes at the old pet name but don’t comment. instead, you turn and walk away, down the block. the night seems to swallow you up in seconds.

he watches you go, exhaling. he should turn around and walk the other way. should go home, pretend this night never happened.

but then, just as you reach the corner, you stop.

you hesitate.

and then, as if it takes every ounce of courage you have, you turn back around.

“kaiser.”

he’s already moving before you say anything else, crossing the distance between you with the same reckless abandon he’s always had. you open your mouth, maybe to say something witty, maybe to say nothing at all, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

because before he can overthink it, before either of you can change your minds, he cups your face in his hands and kisses you.

it’s not perfect. it’s a little clumsy, and more a little desperate. but when you kiss him back, fingers tangling in the fabric of his jacket, he swears it might be the best decision he’s made in a long, long time. and when you finally pull away, breathless and a little stunned, you stare at him like you can’t quite believe what just happened.

michael grins, cocky and familiar and maybe just a little hopeful.

“so,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “think our friends would find it hilarious if we gave this another shot?”

you laugh, shaking your head. “they’d be insufferable.”

he hums, tilting his head. “worth it, though?”

you pretend to consider it, but you both already know the answer.

“yeah,” you whisper, smiling giddily. “worth it.”

bllk masterlist || general masterlist © sirhamburrger 2025

[amfstargirl]

Details of half return

The narrative starts with y/n going back to their old house, where they start with reminiscing about memories from their old home. They admire every mark they left in their home when they were a kid not knowing that was the last time they were gonna live and make memories there. It's also a perfect situation where you can relate to Adrianne Lenker's lyrics, specifically in which she says, “standing in the yard, dressed like a kid,” which indicates a moment of nostalgia. To me, this song is highly associated with missing the innocence, youth, childhood, or simply who you were in the past.

 If you're wondering why the reader goes to their old house, it's because it's a way of letting go for them. As they have said in the story that it was a way of letting go and mourning that version of them. Because you can never really let go if you're not mourning/did not mourn even the slightest.They saw it as a necessary step in the process of growing and becoming a new person.

In the old house scene, you can see the memory of the reader, where they see the life they want in the lives of others, making them yearn for that. The space between two windows, reader and their neighbor, indicates or symbolizes their current life (reader's window), while the other mirrors the life they long for (neighbor's window), like a window to their desired reality. So watching the Barbie movies/shows through their neighbor was them actually watching the life they wish for. 

Also, the puppy she found on a random day while she was alone. The puppy is a symbolic object of the reader. As you saw in the first scene where they both first met, it was said that the puppy was just crying for its mother and father, hoping, waiting. (That's eerily familiar, don't you think?) And! The reader named the puppy “Amara,” which, if I'm not mistaken, means forever loved, which she is. Amara was a mirror of y/n's soul. And y/n treated them the way they have always wanted to be treated. 

But Amara is not a mirror to the current reader's soul. Do you get it? Because Amara was the symbol of the past version of them, which means they were the beacon of youth Y/N once had. Amara staying and waiting within the walls of where they both grew up just connects to y/n’s journey of letting go. That is why when the reader saw her, whispered gently to her and reassured her that it was okay, that she could rest now. representing readers' way of saying goodbye to the old y/n and letting them rest. The scarred innocent of their younger self is now free from the heavy pain of the things they went through. 

The scene where the reader “made up” with their mother and the fact that their mother admitted she never hated them that much but couldn't confirm that she didn't entirely hate them is SO important. It was a moment where their mother finally acknowledged her faults and apologized bitterly but with sincerity. She was very honest in that scene, as she knew that was what you needed and wanted. No sugar-coated words, only the truth. Also the fact that they made up, but it was also going to be the last time they would see each other!! Because the reader cut them off on good terms, and that was the final step in making peace with everything that was part of their past. 

Also, if yall were wondering how the reader “moved on” with the Bat family, it was actually the first ever step they took in making peace with their past. As their way of doing it was just accepting. Accepting that they will never see them as family, and they will never be interested in them in any way. (Guess who got clowned.)

And Alfred, who was driven by his own selfish desires. Now we all know that it was Alfred who took care of the reader the moment they got to the manor, so naturally it would be Alfred who first spiraled into yanderism. I like the idea of Alfred; despite wanting what's best for the reader and what makes her happy, he is still a yandere. And that means he still has traits of a yandere, which is what made him come up with a heavily detailed plan. 

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

@dr-reids-fidget-toy#omg I didn’t know that about comic bucky that’s rlly cool

Starting a new post because I have off-topic Thoughts. Comic!Bucky contains fascinating commentary on the Cold War, WWII, and the media representations thereof. MCU!Bucky is (by necessity) pretty watered down. In the Brubaker comics, Bucky isn't brainwashed, at least not in the classic Marvel sense. He's just this guy who believes in the absolute rightness of his country, and has been in combat to support the U.S. since age ~14... and then he gets blown up by a missile, loses his memory, and Department X tells him "his country" is the USSR. So now he's the Winter Soldier. Nothing else about his personality or his politics changes. The Winter Soldier we see in the Brubaker comics is definitely a villain — he kills indiscriminately, kidnaps civilians to get his way, murders Rick Jones out of petty spite. But his personality is basically the same from childhood.

This is Steve remembering Bucky as a kid during WWII:

Brubaker retcons Bucky's role, from "kid sidekick who rushes in first and gets kidnapped, needing Captain America to rescue him," to "kid agent who infiltrates bases first, so that Captain America can follow him." With the memory loss, Bucky goes from slitting throats and setting off bombs for Uncle Sam, to doing it for Mother Russia. He's always been as cold and as willing to kill witnesses as he is as the Winter Soldier. It just never made the news reals.

And that's the other half of his retconned role: being propaganda for other child soldiers (e.g. Toro) who join up in his wake. This is Bucky and Steve watching a Cap and Bucky recruitment newsreel:

As an adult, the real difference isn't that Bucky is Soviet now; it's that he doesn't have Steve holding his leash anymore. To be clear, comic Winter Soldier also isn't free to come and go as he pleases — he's kept in a freezer between missions, he's probably not paid, he's in Department X — but he also has far more agency within the latitude of his orders. He's not dead-eyed and tortured by guilt like we see in the MCU. He goes on side quests to kill other Buckies. He argues constantly with Aleksander Lukin (the comic equivalent of Pierce). He complains about the inconvenience of not just sniping Steve in the head to steal the Tesseract.

Brubaker's point, throughout the comic, is that we have been lied to about World War II being "noble" or "good" or the story of the U.S. saving the day. And that that lie is used to prop up everything from U2 spy planes built with 100x the budget for education, to the Patriot Act nullifying the Fourth Amendment. Because not only is "WWII was a noble war fought without atrocities" nationalistic bullshit, but "Soviets are fundamentally different from us" is too. Bucky's continuity of character reveals both at once. He's a walking Soviet superweapon. Why? Because he was a walking American superweapon first, starting before he was old enough to shave.

Anyway, I get why the MCU had to change his backstory. You have to a) remind the audience who Bucky is, b) show-don't-tell why Steve is sad Bucky is trying to kill him, c) get across the idea that Bucky doesn't want to kill Steve but feels he has to, d) use Bucky to develop Steve's character, and e) set up a way for Bucky to get un-brainwashed. All within the span of ~30 minutes this movie has for this plot, amidst all the other plots. MCU!Bucky plaintively asking Pierce who Steve was, only to get slapped in the face, is sort of like AniTV!Tom constantly pawing at his ear: it quickly gets across that this character isn't acting under his own volition, in a way that minimizes audience confusion.

Plus: it's a Hollywood movie. It wouldn't get funded if it was too critical of the U.S. military. Movies are always, by definition, more conservative than other media because of their need for funding. And the MCU makes a decent effort to incorporate at least some criticism of the U.S., having Zola be involved in Operation Paperclip and having him (while working for the U.S.) order Howard Stark's murder. But a computer ghost reciting dry facts about the CIA recruiting Nazis doesn't have the same gut punch as watching the "good guys" send the literal child to knife his fellow child soldiers during WWII would have had.

[xoeus]

when the lights dim — oneshot

PREMISE 𓃊 ❝ a love tested by silence and distance, where sunghoon’s presence is all you need to heal, but is it enough to mend what’s broken? ❞

박성훈 x fem reader ꣑୧ angst, unrequited love wc 3.5k

୨୧ when you love someone, you hold on — you fight, you stay, you endure. at least, that��s what you always believed. being with sunghoon felt like second nature, something you never had to question. but somewhere along the way, love turned into something quieter, something heavier. he started slipping through your fingers like sand, and no matter how hard you tried to hold on, he wasn’t reaching back. when does love stop being worth the fight? and more importantly, when is it okay to let go?

the thing about falling in love is that no one ever tells you how much it hurts when it starts slipping away.

you and sunghoon were never the type to have explosive fights. there was no dramatic screaming, no shattered glass, no slammed doors. instead, your love unraveled quietly — like a favorite sweater slowly coming apart at the seams, thread by thread.

you noticed it first in the way he held you. his arms used to be your safest place, warm and steady, but now they felt hesitant, almost reluctant. when you leaned into him, he didn’t lean back as much. when you kissed him, he still kissed you, but the passion felt… different.

less.

at first, you brushed it off. maybe he was stressed. maybe he was just tired. maybe you were overthinking.

but love wasn’t supposed to make you feel like you were begging to be wanted.

the change was gradual, like the slow fade of a once-vivid photograph. he started coming home later, staying out longer, answering texts with half-hearted responses.

“practice ran late”

“got caught up with the guys”

“too tired, maybe tomorrow”

excuses that tasted like lies, even if they weren’t.

you missed him. even when he was right next to you, you missed him.

but no matter how much you ached for him to hold you like he used to, to look at you like you were the best thing in his world, he never did.

one night, you tried. really, really tried.

you made his favorite dinner, set up a movie night, even put on the hoodie he once said you looked cutest in. you wanted to remind him — remind yourself — that you were still here, still fighting.

when he walked in, he barely spared you a glance.

“you’re home late,” you said, forcing your voice to stay light.

“yeah,” he mumbled, toeing off his shoes.

he didn’t ask about the dinner. he didn’t notice the way you had set up the couch just the way he liked it. he didn’t even kiss you hello, like how he used to.

you swallowed the lump in your throat. “i thought we could watch something together.”

sunghoon sighed, rubbing his eyes. “i’m really tired, y/n. can we do this another time?”

another time.

but another time never came.

you stayed for weeks, maybe months, in the limbo of waiting. waiting for him to come back to you, waiting for him to say i love you first, waiting for the ache in your chest to fade.

but one night, as you lay in bed beside him, staring at the ceiling while he faced away from you, it hit you.

you weren’t waiting for him.

you were waiting for the version of him that used to love you properly. the sunghoon who held your hand just because, who sent you texts filled with hearts and dumb jokes, who made you feel like you were the best thing to ever happen to him.

that sunghoon wasn’t coming back.

and loving someone shouldn’t feel like convincing them to love you back.

packing was the hardest part.

not because you had too much to take with you, but because everything in this space had traces of him. the hoodie draped over the chair, the half-used bottle of his cologne on the dresser, the polaroids of the two of you stuck to the mirror.

you stared at them for a long time.

then, carefully, you pulled them down.

“where are you going?” his voice was groggy with sleep, but the moment he saw the bag in your hand, he sat up.

your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “i can’t do this anymore, sunghoon.”

his brows furrowed. “what do you mean?”

you let out a breathy laugh, but there was no humor in it. “you know exactly what i mean.”

he didn’t say anything.

because he did know.

you waited. you waited for him to tell you to stay, to promise he’d fix things, to reach for you the way you had been reaching for him all this time.

but all he did was stare, lips slightly parted, eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

guilt? regret? relief?

whatever it was, it wasn’t love.

you nodded to yourself.

that was your answer.

walking out of that apartment, out of him, was the hardest thing you’d ever done.

but as the cold air kissed your cheeks and the weight of waiting was finally lifted from your shoulders, you realized something.

it hurt like hell. but for the first time in a long time—

you could finally breathe.

k: i hope this doesn’t flop TT

xoeus ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓂃 ‎ ‎ ‎ TheXoeusArchive

[foggieststars]

feed me please.

for you my love... thank you for all of your wonderful art i hope u know how much i appreciate u!!!! pls have some girl charles getting fingered at the FIA gala for your efforts <3

-

Charles doesn't think anything of it at first, when Max's hand brushes against her knee. They're packed in like sardines around this table, and she thinks he's just adjusting his chair, or something.

At first.

They're awarding some of the junior categories right now, fresh-faced F1 hopefuls bumbling their way through grateful speeches. Charles remembers when that was her, looking out across a sea of faces, searching for the F1 drivers, hoping beyond everything that one day it would be her.

And now it is. She made it to F1, she's here to collect her runner-up trophy, and underneath the tablecloth she's got her biggest rival's hand inching steadily up her thigh.

Charles stiffens when Max's hand reaches the hem of her dress. She turns towards him under the guise of a joke, leans in as if she's trying to be heard over the voice of the announcer.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she hisses into Max's ear, smiling when she pulls away. Max's hand tightens around her thigh in response, thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. The hair on Charles’ arms stands on end.

“What do you mean?” Max asks, and Charles dares a glance around them. The cameras are focused on the stage for now, thank god, but she knows they’ll be doing a sweep of the tables soon, trying to grab reactions from relevant people. There’s hardly anyone more relevant here than Max. 

“Your girlfriend’s here,” Charles reminds him through clenched teeth, though she doesn’t know where the delightful Eloise has run off to. 

Max shrugs, hand travelling higher, thumb continuing those gloriously broad sweeps of skin. “So’s your boyfriend.” 

Charles hasn’t even seen Louis in half an hour. He’ll be in a corner somewhere, schmoozing with anybody who looks like they might be important. 

Charles can feel her heartbeat loud in her ears, a warmth spreading through her body. Max’s hand doesn’t stop moving, pausing at the very apex of her thigh. 

Anyone could see them like this. Anyone at all. The thought shouldn’t make Charles’ cunt throb. 

“Besides,” Max says, voice low, so as not to catch the attention of Lando, only two seats away and looking terminally bored. “You like this, yes?” 

Charles bites down on her bottom lip, wondering if any of her lipstick will transfer to her teeth. She doesn’t say anything, just blows out a shaky breath when Max’s fingertips move further, searching for something he’s not going to find. 

His fingers still when they reach the damp heat between her thighs. “Are you–” he chokes, a gentle colour rising in his cheeks. 

“You cannot wear underwear with this dress,” she mutters defensively, trying not to hitch her hips up into the barely-there sensation of his fingers. 

Max snorts, shakes his head in disbelief. “Whatever you say.” 

Charles is about to snap something at him, and then his thumb finds her clit. She shuts her mouth so sharply her teeth click together. She has to, otherwise she might scream.

It’s not that sex with her boyfriend is bad, per se - it’s just lacking. In what, Charles doesn’t know. Louis is good with his hands, with his tongue. There’s just no passion. Louis likes candlelit dinners, nights snuggled up on the sofa watching a terrible movie. 

It’s the opposite of the way Max makes her feel. Basically all the two of them have is passion. Charles struggles to imagine Max wanting to go to her mother’s apartment for brunch on a Sunday, taking long walks by the sea. 

As Max grins at her and rolls her clit with his thumb, Charles struggles to remember why that’s supposed to be a bad thing. It must be a bad thing, because otherwise there’d be no reason to keep it such a secret. But with his hand between her legs coaxing pleasure out of her, Charles can’t bring herself to feel even a little bit bad about it. 

“Fuck,” she whispers, aware of the way her face is heating up. Her eyes dart up to the stage, where they’re no longer handing out awards. Instead, it’s the chaos of category change, trophies being carried on and straightened up. The cameras are on the hosts of the event.

Charles slumps down in her seat slightly, creating a gap between her lower back and the seat. It’s uncomfortable, but the access it gives Max to her cunt makes it worth it.  

He takes the opening she’s given him, slides his index finger into her pussy with zero warning. Charles can’t help it; she lets a moan slip free at the sensation. It’s a toe-curling feeling. Fingering doesn’t usually do a whole lot for her on its own, but it’s the context. She’s surrounded by important people, men who could make or break her career with a snap of their fingers, and she’s letting Max finger her in front of them. 

She reaches for the glass in front of her on the table, picks it up with a slightly shaking hand. The water is cool and refreshing, and nowhere near enough to douse the growing fire inside of her.

Max slips another finger in, and Charles jerks in her seat, water spilling down her wrist. Lando raises his eyebrows in her direction, but turns back to talking to his neighbour pretty quickly. 

“Max,” Charles hisses. “You can’t - oh, fuck,” she moans, when his fingers curl inside of her. It’s too much, here, now. 

“I can’t what?” he asks, voice slightly too loud for her liking. “I can do anything I want. You’ll let me do anything to you, won’t you?” 

“Fuck you,” Charles grits out. She takes a deep, steadying breath through her nose. 

Unfortunately, he’s kind of right. Charles does things with Max she’d never dream of letting another guy do to her. She demands a high price in return; she’s pretty sure Max has never let any of his wispy little girlfriends fuck him with a strap-on. There’s nothing she won’t let him do to her, nothing he won’t let her do to him. 

Charles blames this horrible, animalistic thing that lives between their bodies. It’s like a livewire, electrifying and deadly to touch. Most men fall at her feet, but Max makes her crawl. 

His thumb finds her clit again, scissoring his fingers simultaneously. 

Charles bites down on the inside of her cheek so hard her mouth floods with the taste of metal. It’s better than screaming. 

And then, a man’s approaching Max, clapping him on the shoulder. The shoulder attached to the hand that’s currently inside of her. Charles thanks the lord for long tablecloths.

“Max!” the man’s saying. “I’ve been looking for you all night.” The man looks vaguely familiar when he smiles in her direction. Charles grimaces back at him, fully aware of the hot flush on her face. 

“Hello, Robert,” Max greets warmly, no indication that he’s currently fingering his rival under the table. “How are you doing?” He reaches for a handshake with his free hand, and Charles wants to die. 

They lapse into boring chatter, nothing that Charles really pays attention to. It’s not like she even can. The scope of her world has narrowed down to the feeling of Max’s fingers moving inside of her, the continuous pulse of her cunt, the wetness between her thighs. 

“And what about you, Charles?” the man asks, and now she wants to die even more. 

“Sorry?” she asks, smiling weakly. Max’s fingers start to move faster inside of her, his thumb circling her clit in a steady, unrelenting motion. “I was a bit - mm, lost in thought.” 

The man regards her warily. An FIA official, maybe? Charles can’t place him. 

“I was asking how you are enjoying the evening so far.” 

Oh, god, Charles can’t do this. There’s arousal building in her stomach, a tightening in anticipation. Clear evidence of it is running down her thighs. 

“Oh, you know,” she says, voice shaking. “Free food, free wine, a trophy. What is not to like?”

The man laughs, and Max smirks, crooking his fingers deliberately. The motion is obscene, a stroking motion right against that spot inside of her that makes her feel all twisted-up and squirmy. And also like she needs to piss. 

Christ, that’s all she needs - the first time in her life that she squirts, and she does it at the FIA gala. All over the world champion’s suit. 

Maybe that would finally encourage him to buy a new one. 

The man keeps talking to them, and Charles mostly gets away with smiles and nodding. He leaves, finally, with another clap on Max’s shoulder, a polite nod in her direction. 

“Fuck,” Charles whispers. “Jesus, Max.” 

Max’s thumb starts moving faster, tight, quick circles against her clit, drawing her to the edge. “Come on,” he grunts. Maybe his wrist is starting to hurt. Good. 

Charles moves her hips in tiny, aborted motions. She needs to do something to get the energy out, the fizzing anticipation racing through her bloodstream. It makes the tablecloth move, but Charles doesn’t have room left in her brain to care.

Charles’ hands curl into fists, nails cutting into her palms. The pain of it is clarifying, just in time for her orgasm to hit her like a freight train. 

Charles hitches forward in her seat, the feeling too much for her to cope with. She can’t hide her small moan of pleasure, the expression on her face. She ducks her face and fumbles for the buckle of her shoe, pretending to be fixing it, as the pleasure washes over her like a wave. 

The movement dislodges Max’s hand, practically flattens it against the seat, but Charles doesn’t care. She keeps it locked between her thighs even as he tries to withdraw, grinds out the aftershocks against his palm. Her cunt’s so slick with desire that there’s no resistance, just the smooth glide against his hand. 

“Charles,” Max says. “Can I have my hand back?” he sounds far too composed for her liking. 

Charles shifts, allows him to withdraw his arm. She can’t speak just yet. 

When he pulls his hand out from between her thighs, his fingers are glistening. Wet with her. He wipes them off on the tablecloth. It shouldn’t be hot, the thought of Max dirtying up these no doubt very expensive tablecloths with her desire, but it is. 

“You are a fucking bastard,” Charles tells him, and Max tosses his head back, laughs like he knows. 

Suddenly, there’s a harried looking production assistant at Charles’ shoulder, nudging her. 

“Yes?” Charles frowns at the woman, who smiles at her nervously. 

“You need to be backstage now.” She checks her watch. “Well, two minutes ago, actually.” 

“Oh,” Charles gasps, all too aware of the frantic throbbing of her heartbeat, the matching pulse in her cunt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was our time so soon.” 

“That’s why Robert was over here, you know?” Max smiles at them politely. “He gave us a five-minute warning. You cannot have forgotten this already!” He laughs, and the assistant laughs too, though hers is tinged with panic. It can’t be a great time, rounding up disgruntled celebrities. 

Finally, it clicks where Charles knew the man who’d come to speak to them from. The fucking program co-ordinator, the guy who’d explained to them when they’d arrived how the trophies would be handed out and how much time they had to speak. Fuck. 

Charles is going to fucking kill him. 

She gapes wordlessly at Max, adrenaline rising in her body until she’s not sure whether she’s going to punch him in the face or start sprinting for the exit. He keeps smiling at her until she stands on shaking legs. 

Charles wishes she had a witty rejoinder to leave him with, something to show that his victory isn’t as complete as he’s imagining it to be. There’s nothing, nothing in her head. 

She turns and follows the woman on shaking legs, positively soaked between her thighs. She’ll be lucky if that doesn’t show up on camera, the bright lights reflecting off her skin when she crosses the stage to accept her third-place trophy. Maybe people will think it’s body glitter, or something. 

Louis appears out of nowhere, slings an arm around her shoulder, gives her a tight squeeze. 

“Good luck,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to her cheek just before the aide leads her backstage. “You’ll be wonderful.” 

Charles smiles wanly in his direction, guilt roiling in her stomach. She’d actually… forgotten he was even here tonight. 

She’s led backstage, and before she hands her purse off to the woman, she fumbles in it for her phone. 

“So sorry,” Charles tells her with an apologetic glance. The woman looks like she’d happily slit Charles’ throat right now, but Charles ignores her. 

She pulls up Max’s contact, thumbs flying over the keypad. 

Meet me in the bathroom once you have your trophy. 

Max’s reply is instantaneous. 

Why? 

Charles doesn’t bother to reply, hands her phone to the assistant. Max will do whatever she tells him to, even if he’s got to make an awkward excuse to his girlfriend. Charles plans to repay the favour. 

If she blows him after reapplying her lipstick, there’s no chance she doesn’t leave a ring of red around the base of his cock. A present for his girlfriend to find later. 

That’ll teach him not to fuck with her. 

[headedstraightforfrankcastle]

Random Vi headcanons

Plot: none, just random thoughts about Vi as your pretty little girlfriend <3

Disclaimer: both SFW and NSFW, not revised (please tell me if there's any mistake so I can fix it), mention of food

A/N: besties, I didn't forget about the smut! It just coming together pretty slowly because I'm working on an exam and all my strenght goes there. But it's coming, so stay tuned 👀

-

SFW:

Vi who always has a little smirk on her face because of the scar in her upper lip - her mouth is costantly slightly ajar and it makes her look as is in an endless state of are, mostly when she's looking at you

Vi who holds your hand as if it were the last safe anchor in a sea full of monsters

Vi who tries to cook for you when you don't feel like doing it by yourself, but she insists you absolutely cannot skip even one single meal

Vi who clearly makes a mess, filling the sink with dirty pots and utensils, struggling to keep up with something harder that a grilled cheese, but who keeps trying and ends up cooking a not-so-bad-but-very-personal version of your favourite dishes

Vi who later gives you the biggest puppy eyes while watching you eat, waiting fo you to tell her if she did good (you end up telling her she did even if it's a lie, because the effort that woman puts in everything she does for you is worth eating even dirt if she put it in a soup for you)

Vi who actually likes cooking with you as you teach her tips and tricks, because the way you do it without being patronising makes her feel important

Vi who insists on watching horror movies with you thinking she's good at hiding the dread

"It's just a movie, babe, no need to get scared", but she's actually the one taking her gaze of the TV when scary stuff happens. It always ends up with her snuggling in your arms saying it is for your comfort (you both know it's a lie)

Vi who loves to absentmindedly play with your hair and who's head over heels when you dye a lock of her same pink

Vi who is so messy in basically everything she does except handling you

Vi who sings in the shower thinking you can't hear her, not knowing you're actually sitting outside the door listening to her

Vi who would teach you some self-defence and love seeing you becoming stronger everyday, but will still be your scary dog privilege

Vi whose first reason to teach you how to fight is to admire you in your workout gear because your body and the way it moves is art to her - but seeing you so powerful when you hit the punching bag and knowing you can do it to whoever tries to hurt you is second place on the list

Vi who always shares drinks with you, so she's sure not to exaggerate with the alcohol and gets to have a constant contact with you at the same time

Vi who doesn't mind getting into little fights because she knows that when she comes home you'll fuss over her like a madman; it always ends up with you doing your best to mend her wounds while sitting on her lap, and she loves it

Vi who can seem like the toughest, meanest, harshest person to the rest of the world - but who, you know, has the biggest heart who she only shows to those she loves, especially you

Vi who is the best of both worlds, both strong and vulnerable, and who melts when you call her your wonder

NSFW:

Vi who likes your marks a little too much: your bites on her thighs and neck, the hickeys you leave both in places where everyone can see then and in hidded spots only she knows about (these are her favourites), the stinging red lines and half-moons of your nails digging onto her skin... the memories of you on her alter her brain chemistry in a way she cannot even describe

Vi who's a massive switch, but who's always at your service, mostly when she's fucking you dumb, be it with her fingers, her tongue or her strap

Vi who was sceptical about taking the strap from you at first, but later realizes how much she loves being at your mercy

Vi who loves making love (she stopped "having sex" with you a long time ago) while listening to a playlist you made with her and your favourite songs, humming the little tunes while she kisses you neck or eat you out, making you crazy

Vi who has you sitting naked on her knees and spends hours worship your body: caresses, kissing, the tip of her fingers tracing your curves, did I mention that you are her favorite work of art?

Vi who is super sensitive, way more than you, and loves taking her time with you before you take your time with her, so you can both finish together, her core rubbing against your until your screams of pleasure mix with hers

Vi who memorizes all your limits and knows you more than you know youreslf, but establishes a safe word anyway, just to be sure

Vi who never runs out of things she wants to do to you and who loves discovering all the nasty little things you want to do to her

Vi, with whom everytime feels like the first time, but who also is the most familiar habit

That's all besties! Hope you liked these little ideas, thank you for reading and have an amazing day <3

[vulcanvampyr]

'the newsreader' season 3 and bpd rep

note: major spoilers ahead. trigger warning for mentions of self-harm, suicide, and substance abuse.

you don't see a lot of fictional characters with canonical bpd diagnoses in media. the illness is usually ascribed to one-off villains in crime dramas, or in the case of movies like girl, interrupted (1999), largely romanticized. a recent exception was rebecca bunch from the tv series crazy ex-girlfriend (2015-2019), who embarks on a profound journey from diagnosis through treatment and healing amidst the show's musical backdrop.

when i started watching the newsreader last year, i picked up on a lot of borderline traits in helen norville. i related to her mood swings, her protective measures to prevent abandonment, and her difficulty identifying, describing, or regulating her feelings. from there i sort of decided in my head that she had bpd, without the canon confirmation. this is nothing new for me--as someone with the disorder, i'm always quick to catch these traits and run with them, since i rarely see canonical representation of the illness. over the years, i've "headcanoned" fictional characters like david rose, ed teach, and bojack horseman with bpd, among others.

-

when helen starts seeing a therapist in the first half of the newsreader's final season, the therapist, marcia, recommends that helen take in her surroundings and employ breath work during times of stress. i clocked this right away as a mindfulness DBT (dialectical behavioral therapy) skill, but figured given the show's 1989 setting, they probably wouldn't "go there."

but sure enough, i watched helen go to the library, look up her therapist's treatment methods. i saw her burst into marcia's office talking about how the disease is incurable: "it's for manipulative, vindictive, narcissistic, promiscuous, hysterical people. and apparently there's no fսcking treatment for it" (3x03). but DBT is an experimental new treatment, marcia says, and it's been met with much success thus far. finally, she says aloud what i'd been thinking: helen meets the criteria for bpd.

helen storms out of the room, tries to escape her reality with alcohol and valium. she's sent out of the newsroom and isolates herself at home. i watched all this unfold onscreen in disbelief, an uneasy lump settling somewhere deep in my stomach because as surprised as i was to see the words--borderline personality disorder--utttered onscreen, i understood, painfully, what helen was going through.

i was diagnosed with borderline in 2018. by that time, i had been exhibiting self-harm behaviors on-and-off since about 2014. i went through periods of extreme, bone-crushing sadness followed by numbness. i oscillated between flippant communications and desperate pleas for validation with those close to me. several textbook characteristics for borderline.

my therapist told me, "don't look it up online," but of course i did, ducking into the office restroom after our session for an immediate google search. i was inundated with exactly the material helen must've seen, if in a different format: bpd is the hardest mental health disorder to treat; many therapists won't even treat folks with bpd; people with bpd are statistically more likely to attempt suicide. there were online listings for a book frustratingly, reductively called i hate you, don't leave me, the only major popularized work on the illness.

these are all things i read on a first-page search many years after the setting of the newsreader. fortunately, a quick search in 2025 looks different, featuring many landing pages on psychiatry websites focused on debunking myths about the illness.

but in 2018, at the age of twenty-five, i thought: this is it for me. it's all fallen into place. i'm broken, i'm broken, i can't be fixed.

-

when helen's former-lover-always-best-friend dale jennings comes to check on helen later on in the episode, what plays out is one of the most beautiful, raw, and validating scenes for someone with the illness to witness.

we watch helen go through the intense back-and-forth of processing her feelings in real time:

i've been seeing this woman, this, um, this therapist, dale, and she's been really good. she's been really good. she's given me, like, all of these kind of, um, ways to...to handle, um, stuff. and then today she said, um, that i... that... that i just am fսckеd. [...] and it's not like, um...like a, um...it's not like i'm sick. it's just my personality. [sobs]

... blaming dale ...

she said it's a personality disorder, and it's...and it's true, you know? it's just true. and...and, i mean, you must have seen it. [...] why wouldn't you say? you're the only person who's ever told me the truth, why wouldn't you tell me? why wouldn't you tell me?

... and then blaming herself.

i could have done something about it. i could have fixed it. i could have done something about it. and now there's no one! [...] i even fucked up with you, my fucking family, and now my fucking job.

i can't overstate the sheer vulnerability displayed by anna torv in this scene. it's a highly realistic portrayal of an initial reaction to getting this diagnosis. there's the instinct to prescribe yourself with inherent wrongness, to cast a cloud of villainy over your whole life to this point.

it's dale's response that seals the deal for me in terms of marking this an effective, empathetic portrayal of bpd onscreen.

"it's called borderline personality disorder, apparently," helen says, "did you see that?" in other words: did you see that in me? and if so, why are you still here?

dale just looks at her and says, "all i see is you."

to hear a character say that to a person with a confirmed bpd diagnosis is frankly revolutionary for television, even in media's generally progressive view of mental illness today. dale sees helen for all she is and still loves her. with the stigma that still exists around bpd, i don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that many folks with bpd would give anything to hear those words.

"all i see is you," dale says, "and i don't think it makes a difference. do you feel different?"

and what a question. this brings things into perspective for helen, and perhaps even for the viewer. this diagnosis doesn't change anything about what came before, or who helen is as a person--namely an inspiring, hardworking journalist and a loyal partner and friend. now she just has a name for the strong emotions that color her world. and with that name comes the power to learn, to grasp, to move forward and heal.

in the months following my diagnosis, as i started working on DBT individually and in a group setting, i slowly began to accept this part of myself. i called it by name, and i told it to the world. it reframes a lot of my behavior, past and present. it's helped me put terms to my emotions and how to handle them. and yet it's not all of me.

so, after the diagnosis, do you feel different? helen's answer is mine, too:

"no," she replies after a bout of surprised laughter, "i fucking don't."

-

after her diagnosis, it's clear helen doesn't take to therapy or DBT right away. she's suspicious, stubborn, and in denial about her path forward.

in 3x04, helen challenges marcia in any way she can, saying her fast-paced career doesn't allow for skill work, and summing up the study of DBT skills as "infantile checklists." marcia stands her professional ground, though: "if there were a pill that treated borderline, you would have it, but there isn't. this therapy requires your full engagement. you know what the alternative is." by the end of the scene, helen reluctantly begins trying again to work with her therapist, ranking different DBT skills and their effectiveness in her day to day.

again, i'm struck by the realism in this portrayal. the show references actual DBT skills with care and detail, despite the newness of the method in 1989. there are four major modules--mindfulness, emotion regulation, distress tolerance, and interpersonal effectiveness--and within them myriad terms and exercises pioneered by psychologist marsha m. linehan. several are referenced throughout the season.

helen's resistance is palpable--DBT makes up a whole book, and i can't say i was thrilled embarking on the journey myself. at first, a lot of it did seem trite--splashing my face with cold water, or practicing box breathing in a room full of people.

but what i had to realize for myself--and what helen does, too--is that these skills are an ongoing practice.

later in the episode, helen calls her therapist in distress after an encounter that brings her face-to-face with the uncomfortable reality of racism in australia and her innate privilege. "this therapy is not about denying your feelings," marcia reminds her, "it's about bringing you to a frame of mind where you can better navigate the situation. and right now, you need a distress tolerance skill, so pick one."

sure enough, we see helen doing laps up and down the stairs--employing the TIPP skill to bring her back to baseline. this is one of the many things i love about the newsreader's handling of bpd: it shows the borderline character doing the work. you don't "graduate" from DBT. i've gone through two group rounds myself, and have worked since my diagnosis with various therapists on individual practice. and still, over 6 years later, oftentimes the skills i need the most aren't readily at hand in high-stress moments. i'll never be done doing this, and that's kind of the point.

-

helen's story arc comes to a head in 3x05, when the press reveals details of her stay at a mental institution as a young woman. helen not-normal, the headline says. helen spirals--this could be the end of her career. she panics, begging for it to be retracted. this loops back to the denial of her condition, her emotions, her very self that plagued her for two seasons (and presumably far before). but this time, her therapy work grounds her:

marcia: helen, what can you control? what can you always control? helen: my reactions. marcia: you control what you do next. and what you do next tells everyone who you are.

so helen uses her journalistic platform to talk about mental health. she goes live on her show public eye with a social worker and former psychiatric nurse, who was institutionalized herself and thus became passionate about revamping the mental health industry: "if community were more accepting of people with mental illness, that would make the biggest difference." facing the camera, helen responds:

having experienced anxiety and depression myself, i do believe that...that it is the shame and the isolation that makes it so unbearable. and perhaps if we could change the way that we view and discuss mental health issues, it might seem less impossible to overcome.

this is just the start of helen's self-acceptance journey--and audiences receive it overwhelmingly positively. public eye is inundated with calls after the show. helen even reconciles with her sister, after years of little contact.

helen's choice to be authentically herself, live on air--marrying her public persona with the very real person behind it--is so important for folks with bpd to see onscreen.

-

the sixth episode and series finale, "the fall," positions helen further getting a handle on emotion regulation. in an explosive confrontation between her and her co-executive producer, bill, helen takes a deep breath in response to his slew of insults. she responds to him calmly, setting a boundary:

i don't want to do this with you anymore. i really tried to protect your feelings. i mean, i blamed myself. i blamed your marriage. i blamed our working relationship. but i'm not going to be punished because I didn't want to fսck you.

later, in front of a group of largely male network executives, she sets her terms for the show going forward, delivering an ultimatum. the network pushes back on her terms, saying, "you do not get to control this." but, oh, she does. in establishing understanding and control of her emotions and her reactions, helen is able to fully harness her power as the queen of australian news.

in the end, helen ends up running public eye alongside her trusted co-producer, noelene, with dale serving as the show's international reporter. she's become herself, owned herself and her illness, and is still a wildly successful newsreader and journalist--not despite her bpd and the work she's doing to manage it, but partly because of all that too. because she knows herself, and unabashedly, she lets the world know this part of her, too--if not in name, then in her continuing to move forward with the candor around her experience with depression and anxiety.

i chatted with my therapist about helen's season 3 storyline. i'm still processing what i watched, and i wanted to reflect aloud about why that was. i had a really visceral reaction to helen's story that i'm still moving through, and one i wasn't expecting. and i think it's because this sensitive, realistic, honest portrayal of bpd and treatment and recovery resonated with my journey. seven years out from my diagnosis, sometimes the behaviors and cries for help i exhibited in my early to mid-twenties feel far away. is that really the "person" i was? was the diagnosis accurate? i realized it had to have been, for this season to have pulled at me so strongly.

and i remembered this is just one facet of who i am, and i've worked hard to learn how to manage it. my symptoms may look different now, less severe--but it doesn't change what happened to me, what i've been through, what i did at my borderline "height"--and the work i've done and continue to do. there's no "cure"--but there is recovery (not linear--no healing ever is). it's so clear in the show's final moments that helen is on her way there, too.

having the opportunity to see what i've experienced mirrored back at me through a beloved fictional character, as well as to reflect on how far i've come, is something i've not really experienced until now. i'm impressed with how the writers handled this aspect of the season, and i want to continue moving through how it resonated for me, and i'm sure for so many others.

helen, thank you.

i am so proud of you. (and i'm proud of me too.)

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hello! I wanted to ask about your analysis of Cedricd Diggory and his family, especially because people are unsure of whether his blood status is pure-blood or half-blood since there's not much about his mother, his nationality; only prominent figure of their bloodline was Eldritch Diggory— unknown blood status and a British wizard who served as the fourth Minister for Magic of the British Ministry of Magic. Wouldn't that tidbit add to possible wealth for the Diggory family as they're descendants of him?

Like, we don't have canon answers, so I have speculations, headcanons, and theories — but that's something I do here often.

Not much is known about Eldrich Diggory, but all the three ministers that came before him (Gamp, Rowle, and Parkinson) were all purebloods and likely Wizengamot members (Gamp canonically was and I assume the others were too). So, I think it's reasonable to assume that the Diggories, at least back then, were purebloods and members of the Wizengamot.

Amos Diggory (Cedric's dad) works in the ministry and seems quite prideful in his son and family — suggesting they might still be involved in the Wizengamot. We also know they lived near the Weasleys and Lovegoods around Ottery St Catchpole which is a wizard-only village, which indicates, again, that they at least used to be pureblood and might still be. (The Weasleys and Lovegoods are both purebloods who live in Ottery St Catchpole, so, it suggests the Diggorys' blood status is similar).

They also seem to have enough disposable income for the Quidditch World Cup which they seem to have paid for:

“Had to get up at two, didn’t we, Ced? I tell you, I’ll be glad when he’s got his Apparition test. Still . . . not complaining . . . Quidditch World Cup, wouldn’t miss it for a sackful of Galleons — and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy. . . .” Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. “All these yours, Arthur?”

(GoF)

Mrs. Diggory also declines when Harry tries to give them Cedric's Triwizard winnings (yes, it was a choice fueled by morality, but it still implies they aren't short on money since a 1000 Galleons is a lot). Cedric also says this:

“Hi,” said Cedric, picking up a copy of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration that was now splattered with ink. “My bag just split ... brand-new and all ...”

(GoF)

So, again, the Diggories live comfortably and can buy a brand-new bag for every school year.

So, they seem to be well off, not Malfoy-rich, but doing well. I'd call them solidly a middle-class or even upper-middle-class family. They are likely still Wizengamot members, with Amos having a nice position in the ministry (though, nothing is known about it beyond the department). They were pureblood-ish around the 1700s. That being said, the Diggories are not listed in the Sacred 28, which could be either for Cantankerus Nott's resentment towards a Diggory of his time or that by the 1930s the Diggories were known as not pureblood anymore. There isn't really anything to say either way, but I find it more likely they married half-bloods and muggleborns throughout the years rather than muggles due to where they live (they live in a wizard-only village and go to school only with wizards, they have little to no opportunities to even meet muggles, so I think it's unlikely they married muggles. Again, not because of prejudice, but due to the fact they likely never really met any).

Mrs. Diggory, specifically, is implied to be a witch since she visits Hogwarts:

“Professor,” Harry mumbled, “where are Mr. and Mrs. Diggory?” “They are with Professor Sprout,” said Dumbledore. His voice, which had been so calm throughout the interrogation of Barty Crouch, shook very slightly for the first time. “She was Head of Cedric’s house, and knew him best.”

(GoF)

While the Fantastic Beasts movies showed a muggle at Hogwarts, this is a retcon considering muggles won't even be able to see the school due to how muggle-repelling charms work in the books:

The tricky part was getting onto platform nine and three-quarters, which wasn’t visible to the Muggle eye.

(CoS)

“This is it,” said Hagrid, coming to a halt, “the Leaky Cauldron. It’s a famous place.” It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn’t pointed it out, Harry wouldn’t have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn’t glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn’t see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Harry had the most peculiar feeling that only he and Hagrid could see it. 

(PS)

So, Cedric is essentially pureblood (I mean, his mom could be a muggleborn or half-blood but she's clearly a witch) as both his parents are wizards, he grew up around the Wizarding World his entire life and probably never met a muggle.

So, to summarise:

I think they have money, though I don't expect them to be super rich. I place them as an upper-ish middle-class. Like, they have disposable income and a very comfortable lifestyle, but they aren't the Malfoys or even the Blacks or Longbottoms (yes, I think the Longbottoms are pretty rich).

They might've been richer in the past, but by the 1990s they just don't give me the vibes that they are super rich, but they're doing well, yk?

They probably used to be a pureblood family around the 1700s

They may have started marrying in muggleborns/half-bloods between then and the 1930s or a Diggory angered Cantankerus Nott at some point.

They likely had a Wizengamot seat in the 1700 and it's very possible they still do.

Cedric is either pureblood or half-blood (his mom is a witch, but her blood status is unknown). Either way, he was raised very much like a pureblood with little to no muggle influences. I usually think of him as pureblood as it seems more likely to me.

[bonesfucker3000]

My one year anniversary of watching Star Trek and just rambling about how much I love Star Trek

Today is my one year anniversary of watching Star Trek (3rd of February 2024 was the first time i ever watched any form of Star Trek media) and I honestly can not believe it has been a year already. I know this will most definitely sound cringe and what not but I really do not care; Star Trek is such a comfort to me and it helped me through a quite shitty part of my life. I only watched it because @thetwinksainttwunking really loved it and would not stop yapping about it for years since we known eachother and I decided to give it a go. I only knew a few things about Star Trek: it's gay, Kirk and Spock love eachother (Spirk is the main reasons why I gave Star Trek a go) and Spock had to pretend he was Chinese (one of the first things twunking ever told me about Star Trek was that scene in The City On The Edge Of Forever, where Kirk and Spock have to lie that Spock is Chinese and he only looks like that because he got into an accident in a rice farm, I thought it was the funniest shit known to man...Still do) and I decided to give it a go, even though scifi was never my thing but hey I might actually enjoy it (i never thought I ever would had enjoyed it THIS much)

So on the 3rd of February 2024 me and @thetwinksainttwunking watched Star Trek 2009 together and I actually quite enjoyed it, so the next Day we watched Into Darkness, which I somehow enjoyed even more and actually made me intested in the franchise, wanting to watch more. I really enjoyed both AOS films, I thought they were fun, enjoyable and had a good plot, I really loved Kirk in both movies (I honestly started tweaking when he "died" in Into Darkness and when Pike died too because Kirk was yk in pain) On the same day Twunking showed me an episode of TOS The Naked Time aka Peak and may god I loved that episode so much, it just fun and silly (and I started tweaking when I saw Sulu shirtless too-) and that episode is the reason why I even considered and given a chance in watching TOS, because I just loved that episode alot (and from that day I started singing randomly 'ill take you home again....kathleeeeen') on the 15th of Feb I watched Wrath of Khan and on the 16th of Feb Search for Spock, on the 24th of March I began watching the original series and a year later...here I am completely obsessed and in love with this franchise, already finished with TOS, all TOS films, half way through TAS and nearly done with TNG-

Star Trek just means so much to me, I started watching it when i was in a bad and failing relationship which led to a horrible break up and Star Trek was a massive comfort to me during that time. I just loved watching TOS seeing the silly situations the crew were in and just overall loved seeing the characters (in the beginning it was just Kirk, Spock and Sulu i mostly cared for but later Chekov and Bones too because of my Bones obession), interacting with eachother and just in general seeing them. I absolutely loved it and still very much do. I also loved how Star Trek overall was optimistic about the future and the lessons they taught (even though some in TOS were outdated or not handled the best)

Man...I just love Star Trek so much...though I only liked it for a year, it really does mean alot and it will always hold a special place in my heart ❤️🖖

Thank you so much @thetwinksainttwunking for introducing me to Star Trek, I love you

[2am-writing]

Need a Hand? Steve Harrington

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader; Y/n's perspective

Summary: You’re new to Hawkin’s currently moving into the new town. You’re on your way to your new apartment when your car runs out of gas. Little did you know how this shitty situation could turn around. 

WC: 1.3k

A/n: Hi!! My name is Jes and this is my first ever “fanfic” “imagine” type writing ever. I really hope you enjoy it. I have always wanted to start doing this but I never had the motivation, I usually am just a quiet lurking reader. I would love to have some moots, and I would love to keep writing. Feel free to message me ideas or even if you just want to talk!! I hope you like this. (: This is also my first post in 5 years so ahhhhhh

Of course the day I choose to move into my apartment in the small town Hawkins, Indianan just happens to be a dark cloudy rainy day. The rain was coming down relentlessly hammering against my windows, turning the town that absorbed it dull and bleak. 

This wouldn’t have caused me too much of an issue due to the insignificant amount of boxes I had in the back seat.. That is if my car didn’t start sputtering. 

‘Just great’ I thought to myself, I was about 10 minutes from my apartment and now I’m pulled over on the side of the road stranded. I glanced at my gas meter- My car has been causing me trouble recently but I thought it would make it through this move, then I was going to get it fixed. I guess not because 5 minutes ago it read that I had half a tank of gas, and now it’s on empty.

I stay sitting in my car for a moment watching my surrounding environment as I contemplate what I should do next. 

‘I could walk and get gas, I definitely can’t push my car, I could call a tow truck- No I can’t afford that… I could just stay here,’ I go over in my head.. None of these options I wanna do. I just wanted to get to my apartment, rent a movie from the Family Video store across the street, order food, and fall asleep to a crappy movie. My big plans have now been delayed. 

A few minutes went by, and I decided to start my treacherous journey to find a gas station in this dead ended town. I grabbed my purse and keys then slammed the door shut as I embarked on my adventure.

I was about 3 minutes into my walk down this straight dead road, my hair and clothes were already drenching wet as they were sticking to my skin, my face flushed from the cold. That’s when I heard the sound of an engine approaching nearby.

A maroon BMW slowed down next to me as the passenger side window rolled down revealing a handsome man, dark expressive brown eyes, gorgeous thick messy chestnut hair, he looked to be around my age, I was captivated by him, he was without a doubt beautiful.

“Hey,” He called out to me putting his car in park, “I’m assuming you’re not walking in the rain by choice.. Do you need a hand?” Typically I would call stranger danger and tell him to piss off, but something about his vibes felt like I could trust him- Though my judgment could also be clouded due to the fact that I no longer want to be walking in this rain, but oh well..

We make eye contact as I reply, “I actually could, my car ran out of gas and I have no clue where I’m going,” I chuckle out. 

“Hop in,” The mystery man replied back to me as he opened the passenger door from the inside. I don’t hesitate to come in and sit down, 

“Thank you so much, I’m so sorry about your seats I’m drenched-” He cuts me off before I can ramble on further,

“It’s okay, I knew what my seats were getting into when I invited you in.” He smiled at me laughing a little, “I’m Steve, Harrington by the way,” He said, holding out his hand. 

“I’m y/n, y/l/n,” I smile, shaking his hand back, “It’s nice to meet you Steve,”

“I’m assuming you’re new to town? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before”

“Oh yeah,” I reply, “Today’s my move in date.. And well, as you can see I’m not off to the smoothest start” I laughed a little, 

“No kidding” Steve chuckled to him a bit, “Well I have some gas in the trunk, I’ll take us back to your car and you’ll be on your way I guess.” I nodded in agreement, smiling at him once again before breaking eye contact.

Little did I know Steve was absolutely captivated by me, how I was still smiling and seeming so positive after everything that was going on. He wanted to get my car running again, but he wanted to keep talking to me, he wanted to get to know me, why I moved here, why I didn’t get my car fixed before the move, and why was I so willing to get in the car with him, he wanted to know every detail about me. He didn’t know why he felt this way, but something about me intrigued him, this felt different than any other interaction he’s had and he wanted to keep exploring it.

He drove us back to my car and parked behind mine, “Stay right here I’ll go fill it up real quick” I didn’t have time to protest before he left the car leaving me alone in the passenger seat, the rain singing to me as it bounced on the hood of his car. 

A couple minutes later a soaking wet Steve came back in the car, “Man it was pouring hard out there. Your car’s all full though” He commented.

My heart feels like it’s melting and all I can do is let out a small chuckle and smile at him- Why was he being so nice to me? Why wouldn’t he just make me fill up my own car? He really just let me hop a ride, gave me his gas, and stood out in the pouring rain to fill my car. I guess it doesn’t seem like an extreme gesture from an outside perspective, but from my perspective those gestures meant everything. I came from a place of nothing, grew up with nothing, absent parents, fake friends. It’s sad to say but this small moment with Steve I would cherish forever. 

“Thank you so much Steve, I seriously owe you one” 

Steve’s heart felt like it skipped a beat at those words, “It’s no problem, really. Can’t let a gal as pretty as you walk to destination of nowhere in the rain.” 

My face heats up at his comment, and I look down shyly smiling. He quickly follows up, “I’ll take you up on you owing me one though,” I make eye contact with him once again, curious with what he could possibly want from me,

“Yeah, what do you need, anything” I reply my face still burning up from this interaction, 

“Uh- Coffee would be great- But I don’t wanna bombard you with moving in you know- so whenever you have time-” I could tell he was nervous, but that made me feel good. I cut him off before he could continue blabbing, “Coffee would be great. This weekend? Saturday morning?” I stutter, he doesn’t hesitate to reply,

“Yeah- uh- that’s perfect,” He says, falling over his words. I grabbed a piece of paper from my bag before scribbling down my apartment address and phone number before handing it to Steve, “Here” I said not holding back my smile, 

“Thanks y/n, I will see you this weekend then” Steve replied holding the piece of paper tight in his hand but careful not to get it wet, 

“Thank you again Steve, for the ride and the gas, and again I’m sorry about your seats” I laughed a little. Steve took in my smile and laughter, he loved the way I said his name. It sounded natural when it came out of my mouth. To him it was such an innocent pure moment, he thought I was beautiful and kind, he wanted to spend more time with me but he knew I had to get started on moving in, and well, he didn’t want to push any boundaries with us just meeting and all,

“Anytime really, I’m just glad I could help” He doesn’t want to break eye contact, but it has to end eventually. I got out of the car, walking quickly back to mine before closing my door. Steve waited until I successfully started my car and drove off before he too left where we were parked. 

The whole way to the apartment he wouldn’t leave my mind, his kind gestures, his compliment to me, him wanting to see me again. Maybe this move wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

[gaykarstaagforever]

I just watched TOS "Mudd's Women".

This is Season 1 so there are some quirks, as compared to the later seasons. Like Uhura is wearing the gold uniform.

No Chekov yet. Just some guy who looks like a partially-deflated Conan O'Brien.

Spock keeps doing this little grin the whole time, like he is barely concealing his amusement at how goofy and horny everyone else is. I guess they eventually wear him down into Stoic Spock.

Mudd calls Spock a "half-Vulcanian." Which is more technically correct as the name for someone from Vulcan, like a Vulcan would be from the planet Vulk. But I guess writers kept misspelling it or something, so

I like Harry Mudd's accent. Like an Irish pirate cowboy, who is also obviously faking it. Fits the character.

The ship runs on "lithium crystals" instead of "dilithium," I guess because no one thought yet about lithium being a real thing that has real properties they'd need to take into account at some point. A shame. I like the idea that the Enterprise runs on banks of EV batteries. Explains all the explosions.

Kirk pushes the Enterprise too hard and we hear all the lithium crystals pop in sequence. They sound like someone breaking Kit Kats off screen. Scotty AND Sulu warn Kirk not to let that happen, and he absolutely does it anyway, then acts like it's everyone else's fault the ship is dead in the water and running out of air. Which, yeah, that's our Kirk.

Also when they go to get new crystals from a mining planet, Kirk beams the miners up to discuss payment. I guess they didn't have the whole "Communist space future" thing worked out yet.

Both Scotty and Kirk call Mudd a "jackass." I didn't know you could say ass on 60s TV. I suppose it was as part of a metaphor that used it to mean donkey. But they still said "ass." Twice.

This is only one of two times TOS shows them using the computer during a hearing as a lie detector. This would have been useful technology like...400 more times, over the next all of the shows and movies, forever. But "she" also points out, unprompted, how everyone is horny during the hearing. And I can't imagine Picard finding that as funny as Kirk does.

McCoy's horny face. (Also I think his patch is on crooked.)

...Has he always had a pinkie ring??

Round playing cards! Round playing cards, in SPACE!

Mudd is a wanted criminal with diagnosed mental problems who is flying a spaceship he probably murdered a guy for, so he can sell women he supplies drugs to to space miners. That's what this episode is about.

When they all go down to the lithium mining planet, Kirk teaches the incel miners that having *real* women as co-equal human companions is better than having twee anime babes who only like them because the women are drugged. This is unrealistic.

This might be the first time it is relevant to a Star Trek plot that Kirk can't fall in love because he wants to fuck the ship. The same ship that earlier proves it can tell when he's horny. ...This is why normal people bully us for watching this show.

[tsumuus]

denki + 🎧/💍

him and the reader are friends who happen to be spending valentines together. and on valentines day, everything seems to be discounted for couples. why not pretend to be one to have some fun and save some money? but by the end of the day, the two start to realize they want to be more than friends...

Valentine’s Day had never been a big deal to you. In fact, you usually spent the day ignoring the influx of pink and red decorations, the sickly sweet smell of chocolate in every store, and the countless couples parading their love all over social media. But this year was different—this year, you had Denki Kaminari, your best friend and partner-in-crime, lounging on your couch with his phone in one hand and a bag of heart-shaped gummies in the other.

“Dude, look at this,” Denki snorted, turning his phone screen toward you. “Couples get half off at that new sushi place downtown.”

You raised an eyebrow and leaned in to look. Sure enough, the restaurant was running a Valentine’s special for couples only. Your feed was flooded with similar deals—discounted movie tickets, buy-one-get-one-free desserts, even an escape room that was offering a ‘lovebirds’ challenge at half price.

“We should totally do this,” he said, popping a gummy into his mouth. “Like, fake date for the day. Think about it—we could get a whole day of free and cheap stuff just for pretending to be madly in love.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Denki, that’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously genius.” He smirked. “Come on, unless you have a real date planned?”

You scoffed. “Please.”

“That’s what I thought. So what do you say, partner? Shall we become the ultimate fake couple for the day?”

You hesitated for a moment, but the idea did sound fun—plus, free food was free food. “Alright, but you better commit to the bit.”

Denki beamed. “Oh, I’m about to be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

Your first stop was the sushi restaurant, where Denki dramatically slung an arm around your shoulders as soon as you walked in.

“Table for two, lovebirds?” the hostess asked, smiling warmly.

You were about to speak when Denki beat you to it. “Yes, please! My sweetheart here has been craving sushi all week.”

You felt warmth rise to your cheeks at the casual pet name, but you forced yourself to play along. “Yeah, my wonderful, amazing boyfriend knew exactly what I wanted.”

The hostess gushed about how cute you two were as she led you to a table, and soon, you were enjoying half-priced sushi rolls. But somewhere between the casual banter and Denki reaching across the table to brush a stray grain of rice from your cheek, you started to feel something shift. The jokes felt a little less like jokes, and the playful touches lingered just a second longer than necessary.

Next was the dessert café offering a ‘sweetheart special’—a free dessert for couples who fed each other at least one bite. Denki, ever the performer, wasted no time scooping up a bite of chocolate mousse and holding the spoon toward you with an exaggeratedly romantic gaze.

“For you, my dearest,” he said, barely suppressing a grin.

You rolled your eyes but leaned in anyway, taking the bite. The mousse was rich and smooth, but you hardly noticed because Denki’s eyes were locked on yours in a way that made your heart stutter just a little.

“You’re supposed to feed me now,” he said, his voice softer.

You hesitated only a moment before mimicking his actions, offering him a bite. He took it without breaking eye contact, and for the first time today, you wondered if maybe this wasn’t entirely just a game for him either.

The last stop of the day was the escape room. The challenge was to “escape Cupid’s Trap,” and while you managed to solve the puzzles quickly, the final challenge required you to ‘prove your love’ by standing in a heart-shaped spotlight and declaring a heartfelt message to your ‘partner.’

Denki stepped in without hesitation, pulling you close. “I don’t need a spotlight to tell the world how amazing you are,” he said, and this time, the teasing lilt in his voice was barely there. “You make everything more fun, and honestly… I wouldn’t mind doing this for real.”

Your breath hitched. “Denki…”

“I’m serious,” he said, his grip on your hands tightening just slightly. “I thought today would just be a fun little scam, but somewhere along the way, I realized I actually really like being your boyfriend—even if it’s just pretend.” He let out a nervous laugh. “Unless… it doesn’t have to be pretend?”

You stared at him, heart pounding. All day, you’d been pushing aside the little moments, the lingering touches, the way your chest tightened whenever he said something sweet. But hearing him say it out loud made you realize—you wanted this too.

A slow smile spread across your lips. “Maybe we should do this for real, then.”

Denki’s eyes widened for just a second before he grinned. “Wait, really?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I think we’d be pretty great at it.”

His face lit up, and before you knew it, he was pulling you into a giddy, slightly clumsy hug. “Best Valentine’s Day ever.”

And just like that, the fake date wasn’t so fake anymore.

valentines event | masterlists

[forgotteneffigy]

Take something sad, make something good

⋆ yuji itadori x reader ⋆

word count : 1k+ ⋆₊˚⊹

before you read : mentions of childhood, mutual pining if you squint really hard, hurt to comfort fluff

“When I was little, I used to cry over this one movie…” You trail off as you try to collect your thoughts. You slide Itadori the toppings you didn't want inside your burger onto his tray. Tomato after tomato, pickle after pickle.

They never got your order right even after countless visits to this place, huh?

He listens along as you talk, hanging onto every word as he eats his food. In between bites of his, he eats yours off the side of his paper place mat.

You shrug, looking down at your plate of fries.

You give up on trying to remember what you were saying. "Never mind. It's silly." You sigh, shaking your head.

“Eh? What's silly?” Itadori asks, sliding a tartar sauce drenched tomato into his mouth as he speaks. He wipes the corner of his lip after with his thumb.

“Crying over a movie ending because it reminded you of someone.” You reply, circling the paper straw in your soda before taking a sip of it. The fizzy flavor sizzles on your taste buds as you look down at your own burger, untouched. You poke at its top bun, toying with your food.

Who taught you that? That crying made you weak?

It was like you were trying to make yourself look smaller, scared of what he'd think of you all because you said something you thought was silly.

One wrong move, and then suddenly, it's like you're a kid again, trying to explain something, but you can't form words. The words stuck in your throat, unable to come out on their own.

Yuji looks at you for a moment, as if soaking up your words the same way his napkin did when it absorbs the sunflower oil off his fingers.

“It's not silly if it made you feel something.” he says, making sure you saw his face even as you lowered his gaze.

He leans in, torso bent against the dining table to look at you.

“When you remember, you should tell me, got it?” Yuji's smile lightens up your face and the entirety of the little booth you both sat in. The corners of your eyes fold up when you smile back.

“I will.” you reply.

You watch as the boy beside you eats your half-eaten burger, remaining toppings spilling out on the other side of the bun like it was his last meal without another care in the world.

Your gaze softens as you look at him, your hand resting in the curve of your neck.

“Hey, Yuji. I think I remember now.” His eyes meet yours, and the shine in them seems to sparkle when you mention remembering what you were so caught up in saying.

“What was it?” he asks, his cheeks filled with the food you couldn't finish moving up and down as he speaks.

You couldn't understand a word of what he was saying. His words were muffled because he was eating. Yuji seemed to forget that every time you went on these little lunch dates together.

The clueless look of interest in his eyes makes you laugh. Lifting your hand off of your neck, you flick your hand in his direction as if you were swatting at an imaginary fly.

“Eat your food first, Itadori.” You stifle another laugh, covering your lips with the side of your finger.

His gaze hardens on you, but there's no true malice behind it. It's almost like he's pouting, cheeks full of food as he murmurs something incoherent to you as he swallows it all down.

Before you can say what was on your mind, Yuji holds a finger up to signal for you to wait. You listen, and he takes a long sip from his cream soda float, the sound louder than it needed to be between the two of you.

You try not to laugh, lips pressed together, mirth visible in your eyes as you fought for your life to contain it.

He lets out a breath of satisfaction, settling closer to you from across the table once he takes his fingers off of his melon soda straw.

“Okay, continue!” he exclaims, gesturing for you to talk.

Yuji always did that, even when in a room full of people. Always letting you speak first, always letting you fork over whatever you didn't want on your place onto his.

He would always be there to listen to you. Even when no one else would. That was just the type of person Yuji Itadori was.

Like you always did, you smile warmly at him.

Hopefully, one day you could do more than just pay for his food at some cheap family restaurant.

You pick fries off of his tray and eat them before circling back to what you were saying. You reach in to grab another fry, and Yuji doesn't complain.

“When I was little,” you began again, Yuji leaned in to hear you better.

“I cried over this one scene in some movie that I still can't remember the name of.” You laugh to yourself, continuing your words.

“It was some animated film about a family of foxes trying to make it big in the city. A daddy fox, a brother fox, and a baby brother fox. The baby brother fox needed medicine to live, so the daddy fox ran through the crowded streets of Tokyo to grab the medicine the baby brother fox needed.” Your eyes lower down again to the table. The tips of your fingers trace over the patterns in the wood.

“The baby brother fox in the movie had the same illness my own baby brother did,” you pause, and so does he. Already, Yuji's thinking of ways to comfort you. To make you feel better.

You look at him, vulnerability raw in your voice. Eyes wet with tears. “So when I saw the lengths the daddy fox went to save the baby fox, I cried. Well, like a baby.”

You still smile, even though there were tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“I hugged my own baby brother after that. He doesn't remember, but I do.” You look off to the side, fixing your posture.

Yuji mirrors you subconsciously, leaning away as well. He takes in the way you look, your tears, wondering why you were holding them in.

“It's not silly (Y/N).” he says, putting it frankly. Yuji takes a drink from his cream soda again.

“Movies are supposed to do that. They're supposed to make you feel that way. Crying and hugging your brother after watching a sad movie isn't silly at all. You were a kid.

You were a kid.

Those words echo through your mind. You feel your lashes wet with tears as you blink them away.

“Thank you, Yuji.” You place your fingers on his knuckles, your forearm now against the table.

He looks down at your hand, the way it fits against his. The sentimental gesture gets his cheeks to dust a fair shade of pink, almost the same shade as the hair on his head.

“You're welcome, (Y/N).” he says back, knees brushing against yours.

⋆ writing this healed something in me!! (。^。^。) i love yuji , i might write for junpei next