#especially if what you make is at all 'weird'

[penkura]

Merry Christmas, Ace

Summary: You and Ace enjoy the morning of your first Christmas married.

Note: I hope you all enjoyed these Christmas themed fics! :) I'm taking a break until the new year, so I'll see you guys then! 💚 Small note warning for pregnancy but that's it. :)

Ace has this unfounded fear that one day, he’s going to wake up and you’ll be gone. He worries you’ll decide you don’t want to he with him anymore, too much emotional baggage and daddy issues with your husband to bother anymore, and you’ll just up and leave him someday. He knows it’s silly, you wouldn’t have married him if you were going to leave so easily, you’ve told him that before when he’s spoken this worry to you.

Still though, it’s always there when he wakes in the morning, even on Christmas when he sees you still fast asleep beside him, breathing a sigh of relief to see you. He stays and watches you sleep for a few minutes, still unable to believe this is real and you married him.

You’re really the best thing in his life, apart from his brothers of course.

On days like today, where he wakes before you, Ace will stay up and watch you sleep for a bit, sometimes he thinks you’ll wake up and be weirded out by it, but when he’s woken up to you do the same, or kissing his freckles to wake him, he thinks you probably don’t mind if he watches you for a few minutes. Especially so when you do wake up, seeing Ace wide awake, and giving him a sleepy smile that he returns before you throw an arm across his chest and bury your face in his neck, making him laugh.

“Good morning, [Y/N].”

“G’morning…” Smiling again, you place a kiss on Ace’s cheek, “Merry Christmas~”

“Merry Christmas, babe. Wanna get up and open gifts?”

“Mm…sure!”

You both still take a bit to get all together, it’s just the two of you this morning, Luffy and Sabo will come by later for the rest of the holiday and their own gifts from you. Its nice to have them come by often, for Ace to see his brothers whenever he can. Luffy and Sabo have already spent many nights in your house having sleepovers, they wants things to stay as normal as they can now that you two are married and you don’t mind when they stay over, so long as the three brothers aren’t loud.

Once you’ve gotten up and to your living room, though it’s not a lot, you and Ace go back and forth with the few gifts you’ve gotten each other. Its mostly clothing items you’ve both wanted and a few fun things like games, but it’s still nice to know you both pay attention to what the other wants or needs, you’re grateful that Ace pays attention to you.

“Well,” Ace sighs and brings you over to him, kissing the top of your head, “Guess we gotta clean up before Sabo and Luffy get here.”

“Mm-hm,” When Ace moves to get up, you stop him with a smile, “Actually…I have one more gift for you.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Ace is confused while you reach over the end of the couch, pulling out another rectangular box and passing it over to him once you sit back down. He’s not sure what you’ve done, but the label that reads ‘To: Daddy, From: Mommy’ makes his breath catch in his throat as he snaps his head over to you.

“Are…what…you’re—”

“You should open it, Ace.”

The grin you have while Ace looks from you to the gift and back with wide eyes makes his heart rate pick up, especially with the tears he can see forming in your eyes when he finally opens it. He starts to tear up too, seeing an ultrasound image, baby onesies,  and the positive pregnancy test in the box.

“Are, are you,” he’s trying so hard not to cry but Ace starts to pull you closer to him, bringing you into his lap, “Are you sure? You’re…you’re pregnant?”

“Mm-hm,” you wrap your arms around his neck and let Ace bury his face in your shoulder, you know he’s happy just in shock, “When I had the flu earlier this month and went to the doctor, he ran several tests to figure out what was making me so sick and, well, it was the flu but also our baby. I was going to wait for your birthday next week to tell you…but I just couldn’t anymore.”

You let him have the few minutes he needs to let the information settle, but once it does, Ace quickly stands up still holding you, and spins you just a bit with a laugh before setting you down. He takes your face in his hands, grinning away as he rubs his nose against yours before kissing you. Its unexpected, you’ve not even been married a year, but he’s just so happy.

“A baby! Our baby!! This is…this is the best gift ever!”

Ace hugs you tight while you let out a relieved breath, glad he’s happy about your pregnancy and that you’ll be parents in a few months. You know he’ll want to know more later, like your due date and anything your doctor told you, but for now, you’ll enjoy the happiness radiating off him as he holds you, and how you spend the rest of your morning lying on the couch with Ace wrapped around your middle, his head against your stomach as he tries to talk to your baby already, telling them he’s excited to meet them, how Luffy and Sabo will be happy too, and you’ll be the best mom ever, he’s sure of it.

You hug Ace close to you, kissing the top of his head and smiling away yourself.

“Merry Christmas, Ace.”

[frogaroundandfindout]

I used to give the 'lazarus pit madness' trope for jason so much shit unless it was a REALLY good fic that did something interesting with the idea. But the more I read of pre52 red hood the more I'm just like "yeah no I have absolutely no idea how I'd reconcile all this heinous shit he's done without finding a way to make it not his fault actually"

I hate the 'jason was always a monster and bruce couldn't save him' nonsense so much, he was literally just a homeless little boy. MY BUDDY LITERALLY WILLINGLY WENT BACK TO BEING HOMELESS BECAUSE HE DIDN'T WANT TO HURT PEOPLE FOR MA GUNN EVEN THOUGH IT MEANT GIVING UP FOOD AND SHELTER AND DECENT TREATMENT

jason sweetheart I'm so sorry dc butchered you like this my god

When the characterization is so inconsistent the fandom has to resort to literal magic to explain it.

But seriously, I haven’t read a whole lot of Jason as Robin but from what I did read he was so tiny and just wanted to do good. It’s a disservice to every character involved for Bruce to adopt him because he thought he’d be a criminal otherwise. It implies Bruce thinks of every kid living in poverty as a shoe in for crime and not as some of the most vulnerable individuals in low SE areas. Which is just…so bad considering he’s 1) a rich white man stereotyping a large group of people and 2) someone that fights crime because of an act of violence commited in front of him as a little boy. A Batman that doesn’t believe in the goodness of a child (especially one like Jason who, like you said, gave up basic necessities for the sake of his morals) and protecting it in a way he wasn’t protected is a very very weird Batman to me. So it turns Bruce into a white knight and redhood into confirmation of Bruce’s stereotyping and paranoia.

If it was just Jason thinking that’s why Bruce took him in it would be a completely different animal. I might have even enjoyed reading about how Jason rationalized their changed relationship after he came back swinging (literally) and thinking that it’s some innate characteristic about him that drove the wedge between him and Bruce before he even realized it was there. But it’s very much not just Jason. EVERYONE. FUCKING. SAYS. IT. And tbh that kinda ruins everyone just a bit in my eyes. If not agreement and support for Bruce’s bs, they’re at least silently complicit in perpetuating it.

But beyond that, it also makes me think of Devin Grayson’s run where she kept talking about how dick was “meant for crime” or would have obviously been a criminal if it wasn’t for Bruce. This was built on frankly awful stereotypes regarding Romani people. I bring this one up because the combination of the two does not make Bruce look as good as the writers seemed to think.

But if we ignore the bs involved and take the reason for Jason’s adoption at face value, I think it offers an interesting comparison between him and Damian. Jason is presented a child destined for a life of crime who eventually became one of The Villains despite Batman’s efforts. Damian was an heir destined for crime who eventually became one of The Heroes because of Batman’s efforts. Idk it’s just interesting to me.

[agarbar]

Don't Leave- Prologue

Sevika x Reader

MDI!! +18

You were Sevika's most loyal pet.

Warnings for whole story: (I will avoid giving too much detail of the plot of the fic, read at your own risk.) SMUT, Sexual descriptions, age gap, ANGST, SLOOOOW BURN (years literaly pass, kidnapping, aggression, Toxic relationship, aggression, cheating (situationship type), Sevika does not even like (or respect) the reader, Reader is delusional. Sevika hasn't lost her arm (yet), manipulation, reader might be described as curvy. More warnings be added later. SLOW WRITER! (sorry)

English is not my first language. I struggle a lot with punctuation and grammar. This will take multiple parts, and its set before the first events of Arcane. Its technically an x reader, but I will avoid using (Y/N) the best I can. There is an age gap in this story, the reader is also a bit weird and obsessive.

Sevika made her way through the crowd, her steel-toed boots making loud thumps as she marched along the wood and metal floors of the Last Drop. She headed to the ornate doorway of the top floor. The men guarding the entrance knew better than to attempt to block her path. The door swung open and banged against the wall, slammed shut just as loud. Silco did not even need to glance up to see who it was, he called her up after all. 

“You asked to see me, boss?”

"Have you been taking good care of your pets, Sevika?" Silco questioned as he reviewed their latest shimmer supply record.

She nearly rolled her eyes at his question. "My men know their place— they do as I say, no questions asked. They don’t need pampering."

"You must already know how vital loyalty is for someone of your position. Particularly the ones you are affiliated with." The man poured himself a glass of liquor. “So then? How have you been treating your pets?”

The woman slumped down on a wooden coffee table, not bothering with the fancy velvet settee. "What exactly are you getting at?”

"Certain rumors are spreading around," Silco picked up his drink, swirled the golden-hued beverage, and leaned back in his seat. "In regards to Sheriff Grayson." 

Sevika scowled as she heard the Piltie’s name. “What type of rumors?” She drew a cigarette from her vest and dug into her back pocket for her lighter.

"Insiders say Sheriff Grayson is going around digging for dirt."

Sevika blew a cloud of smoke out her nostrils, the burn alleviated the itch in her lungs. “Thought the Piltie had no interest in ‘fixing’ Zaun.” 

"The sheriff does have a deal with Vander.” Silco dropped the papers on the table, no longer interested in revising them. “But things can change fairly quickly."

“You think she will start meddling with our business?”

"She might," Silco said, circling his chair to look at his large window. "There are numerous sightings, all late in the night. She visits one person in particular.”

“And you want me to deal with them?”

Sevika could tell Silco was more amused than enraged. Especially by the stupidly obnoxious way he swirled the liquid in his glass. Strange, considering that the possibility of the Sheriff suddenly placing importance on their business was a big reason for stress.

“Sources claim that the sheriff has been visiting a little seamstress.”

Sevika froze for a moment. So this was it? This was the reason why you've been avoiding her for months? Her jaw clenched in anger. Of course. Of course, Grayson would be targeting her... she pushed her thoughts aside, focusing on what was important.

“Blue building, three stories high, store front at the bottom, sound familiar?”

"Yes, I know the place.” She answered, gripping the cigar in her thick fingers and drawing it away from her lips.

Silco turned his chair to face her once again.

"The sheriff has been going in late at night, and leaving before sunrise.

The girl was a..... plaything of yours,” He arched his thinning brow. “right?"

Sevika averted her eyes. She despised being questioned. “I never claimed her as my own, just.. entertainment. A distraction.”

Silco leaned back in his chair, his eye never leaving Sevika’s face. "And, don't you think it's odd that the Sheriff is visiting your ‘distraction’, night after night?" his voice both serious and amused.

No, you wouldn’t. You were an attention-seeking hog, but you were too obsessed, too devoted to her for something like that. But then again... you had stopped attending to her needs. After ‘that night’ you had not shown up at the Last Drop to see her. Or tried to seduce her, shown at her doorstep for some fun, or showed your face anywhere she frequented. 

“Are you implying she’s a snitch? For Grayson? My brat?”

Silco chuckled, taking another sip of his drink. "I’m not implying anything, Sevika. I’m merely stating the facts. Grayson has been spotted entering that little seamstress shop, night after night. And I find it awfully convenient that your little pet happens to be involved."

Sevika clenched her jaw, her irritation and anger growing with every word Silco spoke. "Bullshit," she hissed. "She would never.”

But a small, nagging doubt crept into her mind. It had been months since you stopped seeing her. Could it be that you were working with Grayson? Betraying her? No, there was no way. Was there?

Sevika took a long drag from her cigarette, calming her nerves before she spoke again. "Even if Grayson has been visiting that shop, it doesn’t prove anything," Sevika said, her tone stern. “There's no proof that they are involved."

"We don't, but we don't have any proof she is not either," Silco said, looking at how his glass gleamed with the moonlight. "I was going to let two of my men give her a visit for answers, but I doubt you'd appreciate me bruising one of your apples."

Sevika grimaced at the thought of you being roughened up by some ruffians. "No. Nobody touches her. I'll handle this myself." She snuffed out, her cigar on one of Silco's trinket plates.

Sevika stood up from her seat, determined to find out the truth. She needed to know if you were truly working with Grayson and if you had sold her out. She headed towards the door, her mind set on confronting the little seamstress she had spent most nights with for the last 3 years. Her hand grasped the door's brass knob.

"Take better care of your pets, Sevika," Silco said, "She was so loyal just months ago."

Sevika paused in the doorway, her hand on the handle. Silco's words dug deep, reminding her of the once loyal girl who used to attend to her needs.

"You think I don't know that Silco?" she said, her voice low and laced with irritation. "Just... let me handle this." She walked out and slammed the door behind her.

[oblivious-aro]

This was pretty much my exact same thought process a week before I made this post. I do get where you're coming from, but here's a question: when does the episode explicitly condemn Danny for cheating? Does TUE actually say “cheaters deserve to watch their family die”?

Furthermore, consider this line from the end of the episode:

Remembering this line was my turning point. Clockwork is a very wise character (he was literally just established to be omniscient right before saying this), and he’s the one teaching Danny the lesson TUE wants him to learn. If the lesson is supposed to be ‘cheating is bad’, wouldn't that be completely undone by having Clockwork immediately turn around and, by his own admission, and in those exact words, “cheat”? It’s a very prominent line with a lot of attention called to it, too.

“Cheating is bad” is the kind of moral you’d expect this kind of kids cartoon to make, so I think a lot of us preemptively filled in that blank without truly listening to what the episode was actually saying. I get it, I watched my sister struggle through the public education system while getting practically no help or sympathy from it, and I'm sure a lot of viewers were in the same boat as her. Academic pressure can be a sensitive subject, especially if it looks like a character is being chastised for struggling, but that's not what’s happening here. We jumped the gun. The text doesn’t look down on Danny for wanting to cheat. He’s in a difficult position, and being forced further and further into a corner is a feature of the story, not a bug. Danny's situation feels unfair so that the audience understands why he wants to cheat:

"OK! I get it! You're brilliant, I'm stupid, and I'll never be able to get as high a score as you."

"Guys, come on. I'd love to have spent the last month studying, but I was fighting ghosts! Besides, if you two think this test is so meaningless, why do you even care if I cheat? Why shouldn't I open this up and study the answers, huh?"

TUE’s stance isn’t that “cheating is evil”, it’s “cheating isn’t worth the risk”. Despite what Danny’s been led to (erroneously) believe, he’ll have other chances and opportunities if he does badly on a test, even one this big. There are people in his corner looking out for him (Mr. Lancer gives him to come forward even when he knows Danny stole the answers, and literally offers him a make-up test. Clockwork messes with the timeline just to tell Danny that he’s a good kid who deserves more than one chance), but getting caught cheating really could screw up his future. You could still say that’s an anti-cheating message, but the writers do show more sympathy for Danny than people give them credit for.

I don't think the concepts are that abstract. Everything that happens in the present is presented directly, and the main idea you need to get out of the future stuff (bad stuff happened because Danny got caught cheating) is pretty simple and clear. Everyone I've heard talk about the episode seems to get the basic idea.

As for all these events caused by Clockwork… yeah that's 100% true. But given that Clockwork is all-knowing, the master of time, and clearly sympathetic to Danny, it can only be assumed he’s doing what he can to help Danny. Omniscient/psychic characters are kind of weird like that. They make the stories they’re in a bit messy, and you can't really judge their actions by typical standards (ie. Garnet from Steven Universe). Same with time travel, but I won't go into much into detail, because this post is long enough and discussing rules around time travel can get overly technical, but the gist of it is Clockwork is on Danny’s side, but he’s working under some very specific restraints, either from The Observants or from the natural laws of the timestream.

Danny isn’t being taught that cheating makes him bad, he’s being taught not to place such unhealthy (and unrealistic) importance on his academic performance. Sure, this lesson isn’t explicitly stated in exact words, much like the themes in Teacher of the Year, but I don’t think it’s fair to say that the writers were just trying to condemn Danny in either intent or execution.

And as was the original point of this post, the episode really speaks for itself:

"Maybe that's all anybody needs…a second chance."

"I guess the future isn't as set in stone as you think it is."

"And here we are with you, a fourteen-year-old child, risking everything to save the people you care about. You've given everyone else a second chance. Why not you?"

Me for years: I can't believe The Ultimate Enemy is telling kids they deserve something as horrible as watching your entire family die for cheating on a test!

the Ultimate Enemy:

[gainercontent]

Room to Grow Part 1: Bad Influences

Elliot had always been the skinny guy. At 23, he was tall and lean, with a metabolism that seemed to burn through food like it was nothing. He didn’t work out obsessively or follow any strict diet. It was just the way he was. His friends liked to joke that he could eat an entire pizza and still fit into his skinny jeans the next day, and for the most part, it was true. He liked being that way—easy, effortless, and always confident in his own skin.

When Elliot moved to the city for a new job, he quickly realized that finding an apartment he could afford on his own was next to impossible. After a couple of weeks, he found a shared apartment close to work and agreed to room with two guys, both of whom were a bit older than him. The rent was cheaper, and it seemed like a good deal.

The first time he met his new roommates, he was a little surprised. They were both big guys, especially compared to him. There was Ryan, with his thick arms and broad chest, wearing a band t-shirt and cargo shorts, and then there was Mark, who was tall but with a soft roundness to him that suggested he enjoyed a few too many late-night snacks. They both had warm, easy-going personalities that immediately put Elliot at ease. 

“Hey man, welcome!” Ryan said with a smile, slapping him on the back as they shook hands. 

Mark, with a lazy grin, handed him a plate of brownies. “We’ve got more where that came from,” he joked, “but don't feel obligated to eat them... unless you're hungry.”

Elliot laughed awkwardly, not sure what to say. He accepted a brownie and followed them inside. The apartment was cozy, decorated with posters of classic rock bands and sports teams. It was clear they had lived there for a while, and it felt like their space. Elliot tried not to think too hard about the size of the couch or the wide kitchen table that always seemed to be piled high with food containers.

Over the next few days, he got into a routine. He worked long hours and spent most evenings in his room, catching up on emails or watching shows online. He didn’t have a lot of time to get to know Ryan and Mark, but he did notice how much they loved to cook and eat together. It was always pizza night, or they’d whip up something hearty in the kitchen, from massive pots of spaghetti to giant meatloaves. 

Elliot, by contrast, usually grabbed something light—a salad or a protein bar—when he wasn’t too busy. He didn’t want to make a big deal of it. He’d politely decline when they offered him a plate of whatever they were eating, not wanting to come off as rude or judgmental. 

One night, after Ryan made his signature homemade lasagna, he turned to Elliot. “Hey, man, you’re gonna eat with us, right?”

Elliot froze. He had been about to grab a salad, but he didn’t want to seem like he was avoiding them. “Uh, I’m good. Thanks, though. I just ate earlier.”

Mark, who was lounging on the couch, raised an eyebrow. “You sure? This is *the* lasagna, Elliot. Don’t want you to miss out on it.”

Elliot smiled awkwardly. “I appreciate it, really. I just don’t eat as much as you guys, I guess.”

Ryan set down his fork and looked at him, his expression thoughtful. “Hey, I get it. But honestly, we’re not here to make you feel weird about it. We just like eating together, that’s all. You don’t have to stick to your salad thing just because of us. We’re not judging.”

Mark chimed in from the couch, “Yeah, man, we’ve got no problem with what you eat, but if you’re ever hungry, just join us. No pressure.”

Elliot felt a weird lump in his throat. He’d always been the guy who prided himself on being the one who didn’t care what anyone else thought. But in this moment, he realized he had been putting up walls—around his food choices, his routine, and even his relationships. He wasn’t just trying to avoid calories; he was isolating himself from them, from them as people.

The next weekend, Ryan and Mark invited him to join them for a “healthy cooking day.” Elliot was hesitant at first, unsure of what that meant in their world, but he agreed. They spent the afternoon trying new recipes—grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and a huge smoothie bar. For once, Elliot wasn’t the only one watching his food intake. He felt like he wasn’t *on display* for his choices anymore. He was just another guy, chopping vegetables, chatting about movies, and trying to make something together.

As the evening came around, they all sat down with bowls of their homemade stir-fry, laughing about silly things from work and sharing stories about past roommates and cooking disasters.

“That was a lot better than I thought it’d be,” Elliot admitted, pushing his empty bowl aside. “I think I’ve just been so stuck in my own head, you know? About food, about what I *should* eat, what I *shouldn’t* eat.”

Ryan leaned back in his chair, nodding. “Yeah, man, I totally get it. It’s all about balance, right? We’ve both been there—stuck in cycles of eating out or trying to cut out everything. It’s about enjoying food and not obsessing over it.”

Mark added, “Exactly. And hey, if you want to keep things healthy, we’re all for it. We’re just trying to make it a little easier for everyone, right?”

Elliot smiled, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. They weren’t just his roommates. They were his friends. They didn’t care about how he looked or what he ate. They just wanted to hang out and share good food, good company, and good times.

Over time, Elliot found that living with Ryan and Mark didn’t just teach him how to enjoy meals more freely, but also how to be more open. Their easy-going attitude about food, body image, and life in general started to rub off on him. He didn’t feel the need to be the skinny guy who had it all figured out. He could be himself—and sometimes, that meant indulging in a big meal, enjoying pizza without guilt, or laughing at a late-night snack with his roommates. 

They all grew in their own ways, together. And Elliot realized that, more than anything, this shared apartment was a space where they could be who they were, without judgment. It was a place to grow—not just in size, but in friendship.

At first, it was a struggle. Elliot had never really thought about how much he could eat. He had always maintained his slender frame with little effort, casually filling up on salads, protein shakes, and the occasional light meal. But living with Ryan and Mark was a different world. Their love for food wasn’t just about eating—it was about *enjoying* eating. And they had no problem eating a lot.

In the beginning, Elliot felt self-conscious when they invited him to join their meals. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the food—they made fantastic meals, hearty and flavorful—but his body had been trained to eat only a small amount at a time. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a full plate of something. Most evenings, after just a few bites of lasagna or grilled chicken, he felt uncomfortably full and wanted to stop. But Ryan and Mark always finished their plates, sometimes going back for seconds, and then settling in for snacks, chips, or bowls of ice cream.

“Come on, man,” Ryan would say, giving him a playful nudge. “You gotta try this. Just one more bite. Don’t let it go to waste.”

Mark would chuckle, adding, “You’re not gonna be hungry later. Might as well eat now while it’s here.”

The first few weeks were an odd dance for Elliot. He’d eat slowly, trying to keep up with them, feeling the discomfort of fullness hit earlier than usual. At first, he tried to maintain his usual restraint, convinced that he *had* to stop before he felt bloated. But Ryan and Mark, with their carefree attitudes, kept encouraging him to eat more, and each time, Elliot found himself taking just one more bite—then another, and another.

After a while, it became a pattern. There was always more food than anyone could eat in one sitting, so they’d end up watching TV with pizza boxes open on the coffee table, snacking mindlessly. Elliot’s stomach would be stretched to its limits, a dull ache growing in the pit of his stomach, but he found it hard to stop. It wasn’t just about the food anymore. It was the camaraderie, the way they bonded over meals, shared jokes, and never made him feel weird for not being able to keep up at first. 

At first, Elliot hated that feeling—being too full, sluggish, uncomfortable. He’d retire to his room, feeling like he was walking a fine line between fitting in and betraying his own body. But slowly, imperceptibly, something began to shift. His stomach seemed to adapt, expanding in small increments, slowly able to handle more. The next time they had pizza, he found himself reaching for a second slice without the usual hesitation. Then, on a random Tuesday night, he finished a whole plate of spaghetti—and didn’t feel as stuffed as he had before.

He noticed it during the weekends, when they would make their Sunday feast. Mark would fill the air fryer with fried foods, and Ryan would make pizza and a dessert. They’d eat together for hours, chatting, laughing, and passing around dishes, always encouraging each other to take more. It was normal for Mark to have three servings and Ryan to finish off the last of the food.

“You don’t have to keep up with us,” Ryan would say after seeing Elliot hesitate at the table. “But trust me, there’s no shame in enjoying a good meal.”

Elliot had been reluctant at first, but now he was starting to *enjoy* it, too. As much as he tried to fight it, his body began to crave the comfort of those big meals, the indulgent late-night snacks, and the feeling of sitting around with his roommates, chatting over bowls of chili or homemade pizza. He found himself going back for seconds more often. A third helping wasn’t out of the question anymore, and he no longer felt the need to rush to his room afterward to avoid being seen as weak for not finishing everything on his plate.

He also started noticing something he hadn’t expected: his body was changing. At first, it was subtle—an inch added to his waistline, his jeans feeling a bit tighter after a few weeks. But as the months went by, it became more apparent. His arms felt fuller, his stomach rounder, and he even noticed his face becoming a little softer. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but the extra food—and the ease with which he now consumed it—had started to reflect in his body.

It wasn’t just the weight that was changing. His attitude toward food was shifting, too. Whereas he used to feel guilty for indulging, now he felt more comfortable with the idea of eating for pleasure. His conversations with Ryan and Mark had slowly shifted from just joking about food to serious discussions about eating for both enjoyment and balance. Mark would often tell him, “Don’t think of it as overeating. Think of it as living.”

One afternoon, after they’d spent hours preparing a massive barbecue spread, Elliot was leaning back in his chair, feeling pleasantly full for the first time in weeks. Ryan, who was lounging across from him, caught his eye and gave him a thumbs-up.

“Look at you, man,” Ryan said with a grin. “You’re finally eating like a normal person. Not bad.”

Elliot chuckled, rubbing his stomach. “Yeah, I guess I’ve gotten used to it. Still a bit of a stretch, but... not terrible.”

Mark, who was halfway through a third helping of ribs, laughed and wiped his mouth. “We told you. The more you eat, the more room you’ve got.”

It wasn’t just a physical change. Elliot began to feel more connected to Ryan and Mark. Food had become a bridge, a shared experience that didn’t have to be about calories or body image. It was about friendship, about enjoying the simple pleasure of a meal together and letting go of any anxiety about what or how much he ate. There were days when they all sat at the kitchen table long after dinner, talking and laughing until the food was gone, and he realized he was no longer counting the bites or trying to stop himself from eating too much.

One evening, as they were cleaning up after a particularly indulgent dinner of burgers and fries, Elliot noticed something that made him smile. For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about how full he felt or whether he should have stopped earlier. He was just enjoying the moment, grateful for the friends he had made and the space they’d created where he didn’t have to worry about measuring himself—or his food.

"You're gonna regret this tomorrow," Ryan teased, as Elliot helped clear the table.

Elliot smiled and shrugged. "Nah. I think I’m starting to get the hang of it."

And for the first time, he wasn’t just talking about eating. He was talking about life—letting go, being present, and allowing himself to be a part of something bigger than his own self-consciousness.

Over time, the changes to his body became more pronounced, but Elliot didn’t mind. The tightness around his stomach was no longer uncomfortable. It felt natural, like something that had just happened over time. And maybe it wasn’t about his physical transformation as much as it was about his acceptance of himself and his life with Ryan and Mark. It had always been about more than just food. It was about sharing, growing, and finding comfort in something simple but meaningful.

**New Chapter will be posted each Thursday** 

[miamooooo]

sorta timid reader x sadistic josh who gets off on the thought of scaring you shitless. josh thinks you're adorable, but seeing you scared and vulnerable did something to him that he couldn't quite put into words. one day, he asked if you'd play into his little kink, and though you laughed nervously, unsure if he was being serious, josh had a way of making you want to say yes even if you didn't entirely know what you were getting yourself into. on your trip back to the blackwood mountain lodge before a party, he goes all out, savoring the chance to see you at your most vulnerable. you don't get why it excited him so much, but with josh, you'd quickly start to understand.

warnings: lowercase intended, the reader has female anatomy, nsfw, slightly naive reader, physical aggression, dubcon, fear play, manipulative josh, he's a bit creepy, power imbalance, psychological games, cunnilingus, hella clit stimulation, a bit disturbing, please don't read if any of this is triggering! (slightly proofread, so i'm apologizing in advance for any mistakes <3)

josh had asked you to arrive at the lodge before anyone else. you didn't think much of it at first; it wasn't unusual for him to want some one-on-one time before the party began. he loved having you to himself, away from the noise and drama of your friends. still, there was something about the way he'd asked — too eager, almost like he had something planned. but it was josh, after all, and he adored you! there was nothing to worry about.

the evening had settled in with a cold chill, the sky darkening as you made your way down the snow-covered path toward the huge lodge. as you got closer, you noticed that something was off. josh wasn't standing there, waiting to greet you like he usually did. it was weird. no lights flickered from the windows, no sound but the cold night wind and your shoes shuffling in the snow. you hesitated walking up the wooden stairs for a moment, unease settling in your chest, but you brushed it off — josh was probably just inside waiting for you.

the door was unlocked, which was odd. he had always locked it to keep strangers out, especially when the lodge was empty. as you pushed the door open, the silence of the mansion swallowed you whole, darkness enveloping you completely as you closed yourself in. something felt wrong. usually, there'd be a candle lit or a light left on for you. josh had always knew how much you hated the dark. your unease deepened, but it wasn't until you stepped further inside the quiet lodge, that a realization began to suddenly click for you.

josh was setting you up for something. the strange eagerness in his voice earlier, the silence, the way everything was just too perfectly unsettling — it was all intentional. your pulse quickened at the very predicament you found yourself in, anxiety sitting in the pit of your stomach. whatever he had planned, you were walking right into it.

you grabbed your phone in your jacket pocket, fingers slightly shaking as you sent josh a quick text.

you: "hey, where are you? everything okay..?"

the message sat there unanswered, the silence only fueling your anxiety. your heart raced, deciding to call him, but the phone only rang with no answer still.

you knew josh wanted you to play further into his game, not just stand there. with a shaky sigh, you slowly made your way through the living room, your footsteps creaking and echoing through the silent house. first you checked the dining room, and then the kitchen, before you made your way to the grand staircase that lead to the second floor.

"josh..?" you called out, your voice small and shaky as you take one step up the stairs, freezing completely in your tracks when you hear a faint creak come from somewhere above you.

you were so caught up in your own anxiety and spiraling thoughts that it took a moment for you to notice the figure standing motionless at the top of the stairs.

"josh..? is that you?" you question directly to the figure, hesitantly taking another step up the stairs.

the figure didn't say a word or move. instead they only tilted their head, the motion slow and deliberate as the moonlight reveals a scary and deranged looking mask on the perpetrator.

your stomach twisted, fear washing over your face as you stepped back down the stairs. there was a hint of reassurance from keeping you from bolting back out the door. you knew it was josh — of course it was josh — but there was something unsettlingly convincing about how he stood there, his breathing heavy and his stance deliberate. the reasonable part of your brain that knew it was a game tried to reassure you, but your instincts screamed otherwise.

the sound of his heavy boots slowly making their way down the wooden stairs echoed in your ears, each step worsening your terror despite your awareness. you turned, bolting straight toward the front door, your heart hammering in your chest.

behind you, the footsteps quickened, starting to match the same urgency as your own. you fumbled for the handle, your hands trembling as panic clouded your movements. just as your fingers brushed the cold metal handle, strong hands grabbed your arm, yanking you back and pushing you against the nearest wall, hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

"j-josh! ...stop it!" you cried out, but there was a crack in your voice that betrayed more than just fear. you hated the way your body responded to his closeness in this situation, the way he pinned you against the wall, his movements so calculated and firm that it sent a rush of heat to your face. you didn't want to feel this way, especially in a moment like this, but your actions spoke for themselves.

josh didn't release you right away, reluctantly loosening his grip on your arms. he suddenly let go, letting out an amused laugh. "gotcha," he drawled, his voice way too calm for the situation that happened.

"josh," you breathed, a hint of frustration and lingering fear still in your voice as you watched him pull the mask off. his smirking face made your stomach flip. that self-confident, knowing expression.... you absolutely hated it. but you hated how it made you feel even more.

though you were relieved to see josh's face, and not that stupid creepy mask, anger quickly followed, mixing with embarrassment. gritting your teeth, you shoved josh hard against his chest, your hands still trembling as adrenaline rushed through you.

"a warning would've been nice," you start to angrily scold him, your voice still shaky with residual fear that josh couldn't even take you serious. he thought you were adorable like this.

"oh, come on, babe!" he insisted with a laugh. "you should've seen the look on your face. it was priceless."

"yeah..! because you scared the shit out of me," you exasperated, shoving him in the chest again.

"wasn't that the point, sweetheart?"

you furrow your brows, watching the way josh smirks down at you, his confidence only fueling the questionable attraction you were feeling in such a fucked up situation — maybe it was something about the way he was looking at you, maybe it was the way he was carrying himself; like he just simply knew he had more power over you in that moment.

"you're such a jerk," you muttered, averting your gaze from his amused one.

"maybe," josh shrugs, tilting his head with that same charming smile on his face. "but i bet you liked it, didn't you?"

you glared up at him, showing your frustration even as your face burned in embarrassment. his confidence was infuriating to you, but the worst part was how right he actually was.

"admit it," he urged, leaning closer to you, running his thumb over your bottom lip. "a part of you enjoyed what just happened."

before you could protest, josh leaned in to press a sloppy kiss against your lips. he grabs your wrists in his hands, pinning them above your head against the wall, wasting no time in sliding his tongue into your mouth. josh took note of the way you reciprocated the kiss, your tongue clashing against his own and he cant help the smile that spread on his face.

josh's lips moved against yours with confidence, and as the kiss deepened, his hips subtly rolled forward, pressing into yours, a low and satisfied groan rumbling in his throat. the hard bulge in his pants didn't go unnoticed by you — it was impossible to ignore. he wasn't just showing you how much he wanted you, he was savoring every second of it; purposely pressing his body against yours to show how much you were affecting him.

the kiss was everything all at once: messy, overwhelming — just entirely too much. you whimpered into his mouth, body arching into his as if begging for more. you hated how easily your body responded to him... but you wanted so much more.

he pulled back, just enough to let his lips softly brush against your lips. "see? told you a part of you liked it," he teased, his voice low.

"josh..." you breathed out his name in warning, chest heaving from the messy kiss you two previously shared. he ignored your breathy warning, his lips trailing down your jawline and neck, giving light and teasing kisses that made you bite your lip in anticipation.

"relax," he dismissively murmured at your tone of voice, his hands loosening their grip on your wrists, and sliding down to grab at your hips. "let me make it up to you... for scaring you so bad."

before you could say anything, josh got on his knees in front of you in one swift motion, his hands gliding from your hips down to grip your thighs as he looked up at you, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "just relax, and let me take care of you."

you weakly nodded at josh's words, your body pressing back against the wall for support as his fingers toyed with the button of your jeans.

josh wasted no time in getting started. his fingers eagerly unbuttoning your pants and pulling them down your legs enough to reveal your underwear before he's leaning forward, pressing his nose right against your clothed pussy and taking a deep, perverted sniff.

you gasped softly at the way his nose bumped against your clit, a soft whimper of his name escaping your lips that made him hum approvingly.

"you smell so good," he murmured, a comment that seemed to be more directed to himself. his hands moved to the waistband of your underwear, his fingers hooking into them, before he's peeling them down your legs as well... and to his surprise, your lips were already glistening enough for him to notice in the dim lodge. maybe you weren't being as honest as you let on... josh didn't comment, only hungrily licking his lips at the sight, the only thing on his mind was devouring you.

josh eagerly buried his face between your thighs, groaning as his hands spreads your legs a little wider apart to accommodate his shoulders. his tongue slid right between your puffy folds, instantly flicking the warm muscle against your throbbing clit so good that it had you immediately crying out his name.

"mmh, josh..!" you moaned out, your head falling back against the wall as you pulled on his fluffy hair. josh groaned in response, his eyes closing in satisfaction as he started to circle his tongue around the sensitive bud repeatedly, enjoying every gasp and moan that he elicited from you.

you couldn't help the way your hips instinctively started rutting against his face once he took your clit into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him impossibly closer between your thighs as he enthusiastically sucked on it. josh's hands reached around to grip at your ass, holding you in place as he devoured your pussy. the sounds of your desperate moans and the sloppy noises of his face fucking you filled the room.

you could feel your orgasm building, the pressure building tightly in your stomach as josh continued to suck and lick, relishing your taste as he felt you near your orgasm. "fuck, i.. i'm gonna cum.." you loudly choked out, nails digging into his scalp as a silent warning.

"yeah..?" josh replied knowingly, his voice muffled against your soaking cunt. he starts to double his efforts at your announcement, determined to make you come undone against his mouth. his tongue moved faster, harder, alternating between long, teasing licks and focused flicks over your sensitive nub.

the stimulation was too much for you, it felt so good that seconds later you were crying out, your orgasm hitting you hard as strained whimpers and moans fell from your lips.

your legs violently trembled as you came on josh's tongue, back arching off the wall, your mind clouded with pure bliss. josh moaned approvingly as you convulsed and grinded against his face, his tongue continuing to lap up your cum, but slower this time, dragging out your orgasm until you became overly sensitive.

even as you whined and shook, josh didn't stop, he continued to hold you firmly in place, hands gripping your ass more painfully now as he gently licked your pussy. "josh..!" you breathed, voice shaky, "i cant- too much..!"

finally, he relented, listening to your plea. he lifted his head slightly, his wet lips softly brushing against your inner thigh before he presses a firm kiss there. he studied your exhausted state for a moment, taking you in adoringly, a smile forming on his face as his fingers lazily caressed your skin.

"guess i'll have to scare you more often, if it'll always end like this." he teased, his voice low and playful.

"next time," you murmured, your voice breathless and tired, "tell me first."

josh lets out a soft chuckle, his touch feeling almost too tender for everything that had just happened. "well, where's the fun in that?" he replied, the glint in his eyes making it clear that he was already planning his next move. and for reasons you couldn't explain, you didn't feel like you'd mind at all.

[packedlunchmeat]

A healthcare worker’s take on Dungeon Meshi shipping discourse

Hiya y’all! As someone who has become a fan of Dungeon Meshi (honestly one of my favorite franchises at this moment) I’d just like to give more of a nuanced take on a shipping discourse I’ve seen. I’d like to clarify this with I am an NA. I’ve literally been recognized by the country I live in through the sunshine awards system on my contributions to my patients lives. All this to say, I know a bit about healthcare. And I also think that. Personally, people should be allowed to ship whatever they please. They shouldn’t be made to feel guilty for what they enjoy, especially if it isn’t hurting anyone.

I’d like to clarify what I am speaking on, this being the controversy surrounding the ships Mithrun and Kabru, vs Laios and Kabru. Both of which are valid ships in my opinion! I think both are great! And whichever you like you should feel comfortable and happy to indulge in it.

I work mostly with geriatric and bariatric patients, as I work on a cardiac unit. So, by proxy, I witness a lot of disabled people come through. This to say that these people HAVE partners. And their partners care for them. Such as feeding their partners if they need help eating, helping their partners feel safe if they have dementia, I have even seen someone clean their spouse after they had soiled themself. All of which are examples of love and affection, as partners. Not as a provider doing their job.

The argument i see many a time against the ship of Mithrun and Kabru, is that it is unethical. As Kabru would be a “provider” in this case, and Mithrun would be a “patient” to this I say, is Kabru being paid in this hypothetical? Is he following training he has been given? Is he following a code of ethics given to healthcare workers when he helps Mithrun with his disability? Disabled people deserve love. And they deserve a partner that cares for them. So the argument that the ship is gross is kind of… weird. Isn’t it? Again. Mithrun and Kabru as partners do not have to be your cup of tea, but that doesn’t mean that anyone who DOES ship them is gross or immoral. Helping your partner because they are disabled is an act of love, and completely different from a provider helping their patient.

Statistically, everyone will either die able bodied or live to become disabled. It happens to everyone. Disabilities are almost as much of a fact of life as breathing is. I am new to the Dungeon Meshi fandom, but the insinuation that someone able bodied cannot have a disabled partner is kind of horrible to actual able bodied/disabled partnerships? The dynamic is so common, and so to say that it is gross, almost implies that the dynamic in a day to day is gross.

This post isn’t meant to be inflammatory, there are so many dungeon meshi ships I love with all my heart. Some that are rare pairs, some that are common within the fandom. I just think that people should be more friendly with each other. Kabru has two hands guys it’s okay /j /lh. Just please be more friendly guys. Both ships are valid. But the way the fandom gets so angry over it makes me scared. And I imagine it makes other people who are new to the manga/anime a little scared too.

[dexteri0us]

no, i don't want nothing crazy; just wanna get you alone; and all of this snow is falling; i can make you fall too

pairing: best friend's dad!dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: fluff, domesticity, harrison (listen, i'm not a fan of his, but he serves a purpose), age gap (both reader and harrison are in college), best friend's dad!dexter, smut - shower sex, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, dom!dexter

summary: requested: "shower sex with dexter? please and thank you 🙏🏻"

w/c: 6.9k

a/n: i honestly love new blood and i will always consider it a christmas tv. merry christmas!🎄

Spending Christmas in Iron Lake wasn’t your initial plan, but now that you thought about it, it was for the better. You were supposed to spend Christmas with your dad this year. It also included him picking you up in Iron Lake and driving you to New York, but he backed out at the last minute. You weren’t even surprised at this point; he always went out of his way to let you down. Or maybe it was just your perception. After all, he said the same thing about you.

Going to your mom’s wasn’t an option either, not with her boyfriend in the picture. He was a carbon copy of your dad, not just in appearance in attitude too. Arrogant, dismissive, and always acting like spending time with you was beneath him, especially when you were a teenager. He’d never really made an effort to connect. So, you were pretty happy to get into college and move into the dorms. But that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted to spend Christmas alone.

You couldn’t ask Harrison to take you either because he had plans with Audrey.  

“Fuck.” You muttered, reading the text from your dad.  

“What’s wrong?” Harrison asked, glancing up from across the table. A smudge of clung to the corner of his mouth as he took another bite of his cheeseburger, his eyes briefly scanning the diner for a waitress that would bring him another cup of coffee.

“Dad bailed on me. I’ll probably have to hitchhike to get to New York.”

“What? No way! I’ll drive you,” he said immediately.

“Harrison.” You gave him a look. “You promised Audrey to help her and Angela with the charity drive.”

“Out of all people, I think Angela and Audrey would understand.” 

You raised a brow at him, knowing full well he’d argue until he was blue in the face, but you weren’t about to let him ruin his plans because of you. You were big on keeping promises, and you sure as hell weren’t going to be the reason someone broke theirs.

“Well, you can always spend Christmas with us. My dad won’t mind.”

And that’s how you ended up swapping the couch for the bed with Harrison every night, spending the first of many Christmas breaks with the Morgans. Well, technically the Morgan-Lindsays, but to you, Harrison’s dad would always be Mr. Morgan.

When you first called him that, he just stared at you, almost startled, but Harrison had quickly jumped in to explain. Not to you, to his dad, that you just couldn’t get used to the difference in their last names. He seemed to relax a little after that, though he still looked kind of stiff most of the time.

Sometimes, you wondered if he didn’t like you, or if your presence made him uneasy. But Harrison had reassured you that he was always like that. He’s just weird like that. Don’t take it personally.

So, you didn’t. And truth be told, over the next Christmases you spent with the father-son duo, you became more comfortable around Mr. Morgan – or Jim, as he insisted on calling him. “Jim” just felt unnatural to you, so usually, you just settled for “hey” to get his attention. But every now and then, “Mr. Morgan” would slip out of your mouth. And truth be told, you thought he liked it.

Eventually, it would become like a running joke between you two.

One night, during your second Christmas in Iron Lake, you caught him with that amused smile on his face when you said it again.

“What?” You asked, passing him a plate to dry as the two of you cleaned up after dinner. Harrison was in the other room, button-mashing his way through a video game.

“What?” Mr. Morgan asked, glancing at you with mock confusion.

“Every time I call you Mr. Morgan, you look like you’re holding back some big inside joke.”

“Do I?” he said lightly, his brows furrowed, but the smirk formed by his lips didn’t falter.

“Yeah.” You snorted, as if it was the most obvious thing. “It’s weird.”

“Weird? I’ll have to talk to Harrison, he’s bad influence.”

You just rolled your eyes. You weren’t going to kid yourself. You had developed almost a feet-kicking crush on him and his teasing wasn’t helping. You felt like a little girl with a silly crush on her classmate.

You remember how reserved he had been, intense, when you met him for the first time. It had made you a little bit uncomfortable, but paradoxically, you preferred that to some pretense-interest in your life. He already knew about your situation with your dad and your mother – or more specifically, with her boyfriend.

You loved Harrison, but he kind of had a big mouth on him, and he had told his dad. You could tell from the way Mr. Morgan avoided the subject altogether. Honestly, it was refreshing. Audrey’s mom asked about your parents every year – polite but a bit probing, sometimes you felt like she was judging you and or maybe thought there was more to the story. You didn’t blame her, though. First, she was a cop, and second, they were your family, after all. At least, by blood.

Still, you felt more welcome here than you ever did with your parents. Mr. Morgan made it so easy too, even if things had been a little awkward at first.

The first Christmas you spent in Iron Lake, you ended up in the woods with Mr. Morgan, collecting firewood. Harrison made sure you felt comfortable being alone with him, and you did, it was just a little awkward.

You didn’t know what was weirder – spending Christmas in Iron Lake, or trudging into the woods along with your best friend’s dad. He didn’t exactly scream “festive cheer” with his quiet, no-nonsense demeanor.

Harrison had once told you that he wasn’t always like that. Apparently, there had been some kind of hunting accident, back when Harrison was learning how to shoot. He’d hit his dad, barely missing the heart, but he'd survived. Harrison described it as a Christmas miracle, but from that moment on, Mr. Morgan just hadn’t felt the need to celebrate Christmas like he had the years prior.

You watched him move through the snowy woods with certainty, like he already knew exactly which trees to check for fallen branches.

“So, uh… you do this every year?”

Nice. Real charming. You were a master in manipulating professors into extending deadlines. How are you so bad at making casual conversation?

“Pretty much,” he replied without looking up, crouching to grab a branch half-buried in the snow. “Wood-burning stove keeps the place warm. It’s more reliable than the heater.”

“Oh.” You nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at you. The cool air bit into your cheeks, your boots crunching in the snow as you followed a few steps behind. Then you tried again. “I mean, I guess it makes sense. You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d be big on central heating.”

You tried to joke, but he stopped for a moment, straightening up and glancing at you with a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “What kind of guy do I strike you as?”

“Well, you know.” You shrugged, trying to not get distracted by the joke going over his head. “The ‘off-the-grid cabin’ type. Knows his way around a woodchipper. Probably has a couple of tarps in the trunk, just in case.”

He watched you, probably waiting for a smile to crack, but your expression remained serious. You started to think maybe you’d gone too far. But then he finally snorted softly, pointing the branch in your direction.

“Tarps are versatile.”

His delivery was deadpan too, so dry it caught you off guard. Was that… a joke? You couldn’t tell, but you let out a laugh anyway. You decided to just role with it.

“Right. For winter emergencies.”

He didn’t respond, just gave a faint nod as he tossed another branch onto the sled you’d brought along.

“You’re doing fine,” he said after a moment, his tone surprisingly reassuring.

It made you scoff, your breath puffing in the cold air.

“Thanks Mr. Morgan, I was really worried about failing Firewood 101.”

You really enjoyed spending time with him like that, even though he didn’t talk much. But the way he adjusted his pace so you wouldn’t fall behind, stepped on a stick that was stubbornly stuck to the sole of your boot, or helped you with a stubborn log trapped under the snow made you feel like you didn’t have to try so hard.

When that Christmas break ended, you felt kind of bittersweet, because you knew you’d now see him only occasionally when he’d visit Harrison in New York. That is, if you were lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. But the year went by like nothing, and lo and behold, Harrison had invited you to spend another Christmas with them, saying that his dad brought it up first. To Harrison, it meant nothing, to you? Every-fucking-thing.

So now, during the second Christmas with the Morgans, you were doing domestic shit with him, like washing dishes while he was teasing you. It made your body all jittery with every passing moment. Hell, you didn’t even mind that he didn’t have a dishwasher, because you liked doing dishes with him. And Harrison was grateful for that too. See, everyone was getting something out of it.

“Maybe I just think it’s funny. You’re so committed to it. But I guess it’s better than calling me hey.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Okay, you brought that on yourself. No offense, but Jim just doesn’t suit you. It’s too basic.”

He had that faint smile on his face again, his eyelids dropped as if he was having a whole inner monologue again, but you didn’t call him out this time.

When that Christmas ended, you didn’t have to wait long to see him again. Harrison started inviting you to every holiday – Easter, Halloween and Thanksgiving. Of course, you couldn’t make it to all of them, but you did appreciate the extra time you got to spend with Mr. Morgan. He’d even helped you, Harrison and Audrey move them into their new apartment in New York. And you were too naïve and paranoid, so you thought he was doing it all for you.

So, next Christmas, you decided to come prepared.

“You can’t give her another necklace. Try to be original,” you said, sipping on your coffee, watching Harrison rub his temples as he tried to think of a Christmas present for Audrey.

“Okay… okay.” He sighed, letting his hands fall to the table, grinding his teeth as if he was contemplating his thoughts. “I have an idea. But it’s big and you’re gonna laugh.”

“Okay. All the more reason why you should tell me.”  

He took a deep breath, and then, he spit it out.

“I bought her a ring. An engagement ring.”

Your eyes widened and your lips broke into a huge smile. “No fucking way. Are you fucking kidding?”

“See? I knew you were gonna laugh at me.” He rolled his eyes and fell back into his seat, crossing his arms like a child.

“I’m not laughing at you. That’s amazing, Harrison. Oh, my God.”

“But?”

You stayed silent for a moment, figuring out a way to put it gently. “But… Audrey hates clichés.”

He closed his eyes in exasperation.

“Fuck.”

“No, hey. You can propose to her, but maybe don’t make it the main thing, you know.”

He sighed, rising to his feet with a small scowl on his face.

“Hey,” you said softly, “I’m so happy for you two. And she will be too.”

You exchanged smiles before he made his exit. You leaned against the back of the seat and looked out of the window to your right side, still smiling. You wondered if Mr. Morgan and Angela knew.

You got back to the crossword puzzle you put under your plate, munching on the bagel to fill your stomach and enjoying the faint Christmas music playing from the speakers. The waitress had just refilled your cup when someone slid into the booth across from you.

At first, you didn’t look up, assuming it was Harrison again, maybe realizing he’d forgotten something. But when you finally glanced up, you were met with a face you hadn’t expected.

“Morning,” the man said, his voice smooth and polite. It made you sit up just a little bit straighter.

“Uh, morning.” You smiled back.

“I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here alone,” he continued, leaning forward just slightly. “I’m Kurt. Kurt Caldwell.” He extended a hand across the table, his palm up.

You introduced yourself, putting your hand into his. You’d heard about Mr. Caldwell. They’d said he was a very kind and fair employer, someone who took care of his own. But after his son's death, he'd vanished from the public eye for a while.

For such a small town, there was sure a lot of accidents. Tragedies. On the brighter side, the number of of missing women cases dropped in the past few years, so that's that.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, just visiting,” you said with a smile but remained cautious. After all, he was a stranger. And you’re not one to underestimate the stranger danger rule. Not even in a small community like this.

“Really? We don’t have many visitors this time of year, Christmas tends to keep people close to home. You staying with family?”

“Friends,” you corrected.

“That’s nice. It’s always good to have people you can rely on during the holidays.”

You offered him another polite smile, unsure of what to say. He seemed harmless, but people randomly coming up to you were instantly weird to you. Welcome to a small town.

“You know, if you’re looking for something to do while you’re in town, I run a little truck stop just outside the main strip. Got a great diner there, too, and we’re always looking for friendly faces to stop by. First meal’s on me.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” you replied, laughing with him.

You pretended to get back to your puzzle, hoping he’d leave you alone, but before he could say anything else, the bell above the diner’s door jingled, and you heard your name.

You turned to see Mr. Morgan standing in the doorway, his presence commanding. He scanned the booth, his eyes landing on Kurt before flicking to you.

“Oh, hi.” You waved awkwardly at him as you watched him stride towards your table.

“Harrison forgot his gloves,” he told you, even though his gaze was locked on Kurt.

“Oh, right. I’ll text him.” You grabbed your phone, completely oblivious to the silent standoff happening between Mr. Morgan and Mr. Caldwell.

Mr. Caldwell stood, his smile losing some of its warmth. “Well, I should get going. It was nice to meet you, YN. Hope I’ll see you around.”

You gave him a polite nod and with that, he turned and walked out of the diner.

Mr. Morgan waited until the door closed behind him before he finally spoke.

“You okay?”

You hit send and looked up.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, brows furrowed.

“Just checking.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, grabbing the empty sugar packet on the table and crumpling it in his hand. “But next time, maybe stick to sitting with people you actually know.”

This time, his tone was firm, almost scolding. You blinked at him, taken aback by this side of him. Now that you thought about it, you had never seen him pissed. And you didn’t know how to react. Your muscle memory took over for you, feeling the need to get defensive.

“Okay… I wasn’t – he just sat down. I didn’t –”

“Finish your breakfast. I’ll drive you back.” He interrupted, glancing out the window one more time as he watched Kurt’s truck disappear down the road.

You weren’t sure if it was the way he was ordering you around, or the way his hand hovered over the small of your back as he led you out of the diner, or the darkness that spread across his face, but something was sending shivers down your spine.

That evening, it was the first time you touched yourself to the thought of Mr. Morgan. You started wearing more revealing clothes, nothing fancy, just simple shorts and tank tops that would just show your skin, even though it was literally freezing outside. Overtime, you got bolder, getting close to him when Harrison wasn’t looking, unnecessarily leaning over him or brushing against him with your ass. When it was your turn on the couch, you’d purposefully stay uncovered, hoping that the tight shorts would ride up your ass while you were sleeping, to bring a little diversity to his early-morning routines.

He was a smart man. He knew what you were doing. And unfortunately for you, he was resilient.

“You sure you aren’t cold?” he’d asked once as you mixed the batter for gingerbread cookies, leaning casually against the counter behind you. And when you turned around, you saw his eyes flick from your exposed legs to your face. He did exactly nothing to hide it.

“I’m sure.”

You gave him an innocent smile and returned your focus to the batter, smirking to yourself.

“It’s below freezing outside.”

Yeah, tell me about it.

“Exactly. Outside. That’s why we collect firewood, right?”

“Hmm.”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he studied you. Or tried to intimidate you? Honestly, you had no idea. “Doesn’t really explain why you’ve been walking around dressed like it’s summer for the past week.”

You paused, holding the bowl against your ribcage as you turned to face him.

“Maybe I’m just trying to liven up this place. Bring some Miami energy to Iron Lake.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “Miami energy?” He repeated the words like they amused him, though his tone was dry. “Interesting choice.”

Your cheeks flushed and a shiver ran down your arms – and not from the cold. Maybe, just maybe, you should have kept your mouth shut. Harrison had told you that they’d moved from Florida. But you didn’t need to mention that part.

You were waiting for him to say something else, but he didn’t. He just stared at you, with that expression on his face that said that you were crossing a line. He made you too aware of your whole being – your skin, your lips, your eyes, everything was twitching or at least it felt like it was.

Gulping down the lump in your throat, trying as much as you could to make it unnoticeable, you turned your back to him again. He didn’t say anything more, and when you heard him walk away, you finally felt like you had space to breathe again. You hoped he at least checked you out one more time before leaving. Your cheeks still burned with a mix of embarrassment and frustration, and your body ached with an unfulfilled desire that he seemed intent on ignoring.

But still. He wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted you to believe. You just needed to figure out how to crack him.

Sometimes, less was more. So, the next evening, you decided to try something else. You’d packed a pair of thigh-high, cable-knit burgundy socks that you almost never wore – you found out quickly it was too impractical for everyday use. You thanked yourself for not selling them on Vinted, because now, they had a perfect use.

They clung perfectly to your legs, and you paired them with an over-sized sweater that was barely covering your thighs, leaving a teasing strip of skin visible when you moved. And that was the only thing you were relying on. Well, that and your sweater riding up when you’d stretch yourself up to hang the Christmas decorations.

You slid into your Birkenstocks and took a deep breath. Showtime.

You had been at the cabin alone, but you knew exactly when he was coming home. You’d timed it all perfectly, waiting until you knew he’d walk in and see you in the middle of something. Harrison wouldn’t have noticed the outfit, but Mr. Morgan noticed everything, even when he pretended he didn’t.

It was quiet as you set up for decorating, untangling the mess of Christmas lights while waiting. Any minute now. And then, you felt a gust of icy wind as Mr. Morgan made his entrance. You glanced over your shoulder, greeting him with a fleeting smile, pretending not to pay him too much attention.

“How was work?” you asked as you started to wrap the lights around the mantle, focusing on draping the string evenly.

“Average.” He said as he threw his car keys into the bowl by the door. “Did the cold finally get to you?”

You smirked to yourself, proud that you made unable to resist commenting on your clothes. First thing that came to his mind. Meaning the image of you in your usual shorts must've been lingering somewhere in his had. It had to be.

“Yeah, you were right. I wouldn’t want to spend Christmas in bed, on the cusp of dying,” you said, feigning defeat. “Where’s Harrison? He was supposed to help me.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “I don’t know.”

Well, you did. He was still at the tavern, because you told him you’d start at around nine. It was around six o’clock.

“Never mind." you said with a small shrug, turning to adjust a strand of lights. "At least I don’t have to listen to how everything's at the wrong angle.”

That earned a fait snort from him. His boots thudded against the floor as he crossed the room.  “You need a hand?”

“No, thanks. But you’re welcome to supervise. You’re good at that.”

“Funny.”  

“Is it?”

You reached for the next decoration – a thin garland of cranberries – and stretched up on your tiptoes to hook it around the nail, feeling the hem of your sweater ride up, baring the tops of your thighs. You could almost feel the moment he noticed by the way the silence in the room sharpened.

“I should’ve bought you some proper clothes for Christmas.”

Oh, my God. You couldn’t believe it worked.

“Really? And what would you consider proper, Mr. Morgan?”

You turned to face him, watching his eyes darken, his pupils dilate as his eyes flicked to your legs and then back to your face, his jaw tightening slightly. “Something warmer.”

“Warmer?” you echoed, glancing down at your cozy outfit. “I thought this was perfectly appropriate for decorating.”

“Appropriate for what, exactly?”

You tilted your head, the corners of your lips quirking upward as you shrugged playfully. “For making the place feel festive.”

“Festive.” He repeated with a strong voice. “If you say so.”

You stepped closer, your fingers fiddling with a stray cranberry that had fallen into your hand. “You don’t approve?”

Oof. Well, go big or go home.  

His posture shifted, straightening just enough to make him seem even taller, making you crane your neck to hold the eye contact. “I didn’t say that.”

A tiny victory. You nearly let your grin slip, but you had to hold it back. You still didn’t get what you wanted.

“Well, if you have any decorating tips, I’m all ears," you said casually, turning your attention back to the box of ornaments. You pulled out another string of lights and moved around the room.

You repeated the same tactics again and again. Sometimes, you bent down deliberately to give him a different angle as he ate his dinner, before retreating to the couch and doing something on his computer. Other times, you stretched a little too far to reach something, the edge of your sweater lifting again, revealing more skin.

The room was finally coming together, warm light casting shadows across the walls, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air. You collected the empty boxes and stray bits of ribbon scattered on the floor and stepped back to admire your work.

With everything in place, you decided to retreat to the bathroom for a well-earned shower. Stripping out of your sweater and socks, you paused with your hand on the faucet knob, another idea sparking in your mind.

If he wanted to keep his composure, he was going to have to work harder. You hadn't done all of this for nothing.

You grabbed a towel and wrapped it tightly around yourself before heading into the living room, where he was still locked in whatever he was doing on his laptop.

“Mr. Morgan?” you called, your voice intentionally soft.

“Yes?”

He glanced over his shoulder, and his brow immediately fell, his eyes roaming your body yet again.

“The shower isn’t working. You think you could take a look at it?”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his eyes narrowing, trying to decipher your intentions. Shit, he was already onto you and you were scared you’d really scare him away. But then he rose to his feet and made his way to the bathroom. He eyed you suspiciously as he walked by you, but you just gave him an innocent smile. He disappeared into the bathroom, the faint creak of the old wooden door echoing through the cabin. You followed close behind, feeling the chill of the room raise goosebumps on your skin. The sound of him inspecting the faucet, twisting the knobs, testing the showerhead and eventually the sound of water filled the silence.

“It’s working fine. You probably didn’t turn the knob far enough.”

“Oh. My mistake.”

You stepped further into the cramped space, closing the door behind you quietly and leaning against it, nibbling on your lip.

He turned around, sighing as he was already aware of you caging him.

“YN,” he said, giving you a chance to back out. “What are you doing?”

He stepped closer to you, his sturdy figure towering over you. You shifted your weight from one foot to another, trying to not let your composure slip.

“Well, I thought maybe you could teach me how to fix it,” you shrugged your shoulders, the words stumbling out before you could really think them through.

“You don’t need to know how to fix it if it’s not broken.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the towel tighter, the only thing keeping you grounded, really. You could be here forever with this back and forth, words felt useless. So instead of saying anything, you rose to your tiptoes and kissed him. It wasn’t bold, not entirely; you lingered just long enough to make your intention clear, then pulled back.

You couldn’t read him, his eyes were closed and his lips still parted from the kiss before he finally spoke.

“This isn’t supposed to happen,” he said, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“Why? Because it doesn’t fit into your routine?” You meant it as a joke, but this was really not the time.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might walk away. But then he stepped just a little bit closer, his hands bracing on either side of the door behind you, caging you in.

“You can’t even imagine what I’m capable of.”

You probably couldn’t, but it didn’t even matter. You found him attractive, and you wanted him. It was as simple as that.

“You sure you want to take that risk? All because you can’t help but act on your impulses? Last chance. Walk away.”

But you didn’t and you let him know with a subtle shake of your head. And that was it. Whatever restraint he’d been holding onto snapped like a thread pulled too tight. His mouth was on yours in an instant, the kiss rough and urgent. His hand slid from your neck to your jaw, tilting your face just enough to deepen the kiss.

You’d never been with an older man, but man, was this something else. He wasn’t careful about it. Even though he didn’t strike you as the most confident guy at first sight, the kiss convinced you otherwise. It was a stark contrast to your previous boyfriends. They’d been clumsy and eager, but Mr. Morgan – Jim knew exactly what he wanted and how to take it.

You barely had time to catch your breath as his lips left yours, trailing along your jaw, his stubble scraping your skin in a way that made your knees weak. He didn’t waste any more time as his other hand slid up your inner thigh and beneath the towel, going straight to your pussy. You gasped as his finger found your wetness, fighting the urge to shy away.

In no time, his clothes were gone and the towel pooled on the floor. He gripped your hips firmly, turning your bodies around and guiding you under the steady stream of water pouring from the showerhead. The sensation of cool water against your skin was overshadowed by the way his hands roamed your body and pulled you against him, making you dig your nails into his biceps.

“Jim,” you gasped as his cock brushed against your cunt, but his hand shot up to your face, covering your mouth.

“No.” He growled. “You picked the wrong time to use that name.”

Your brows knit together in confusion. That name? What was that supposed to mean? 

“Get on your knees.”

Without hesitation, you obeyed, sinking to your knees in front of him, your kneecaps digging into the wet tiles. He shifted his body so his broad frame was shielding you from the stream of water, making you aware of the cool air prickling your damp skin.

The droplets were cascading down his chest and over the taut lines of his stomach. Your eyes lifted from the scar on his left side to meet his, and for a moment, he just simply looked at you. Admired you. Then, with one hand cradling the back of your head and the other stroking his cock, he guided you closer.

You opened your mouth automatically, your lips almost wrapping around his head, but before you made a contact, he gripped your soaked hair and pulled you away, making you shriek.

“Did I tell you you could put your mouth on me?”   

“No,” you said with a small voice.

“That’s right. So, let’s try this again. Who’s in control?”

“You are, Mr. Morgan.”  

You felt your pussy throb from the way he was ordering you around. And for a split second, you were doubting yourself that you could handle it. What if he thought you were pathetic? What if he waited for you to fight back? What if he wanted you to be bratty?

“Hey, look at me,” he said, his voice softer than before, but it was still demanding. His thumb brushed along your shiny lips before continuing. “You’re beautiful. Don’t overthink this.”

Yeah, probably easy for him to say, but you nodded anyway.

“Stick your tongue out. Keep it out.”

You obeyed, opening your mouth wide and letting your tongue rest on your chin. He gripped your jaw again, holding you in place. His cock brushed lightly against your tongue, before letting go of your jaw and bringing his hand to the back of your neck, squeezing, as he guided you down his cock. Automatically, your hands shot up to grab onto his thighs.

“Now, if it gets too much, you tap my leg three times, okay?”

You nodded, the movement of your head with his cock in your mouth making him hiss.

“Show me.”

You tapped his thigh.

“Good girl.”

Your chest swelled with pride as he praised you. This was a whole another level of making you feel good, and you’d never guess it would be coming from your best friend’s father. And not only was he making you feel good, but he also gave you confidence, making you slide your mouth around his cock in a more steady rhythm with him still controlling the movements.

It was slow at first, but you felt that he was holding back, so when he went to pull your head back, you overpowered his strength and instead let his cock slide deep into your throat, making you gag while he simultaneously moaned at the unexpected feeling. He pulled out of your mouth, a string of saliva and precum connecting your lips to the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he whispered, as his palm wiped your chin. Well, more like spread the fluids over your lower jaw, before he returned his cock into your mouth and fucked it. He finally let go, hitting your throat over and over again, making you gag and cough around him, up until the point tears started sliding down your cheeks.

You were so close to tapping out, but before you could signal to him, he pulled out and leaned down, grabbing your jaw as he kissed your open mouth, tasting himself on you.

“Get up.”

You stumbled slightly as you got to your feet, your knees weak and sore from being in that position for so long. He didn’t give you a chance to steady yourself, grabbing your hips and spinning you around. Your back hit his chest as he guided you toward the tiled wall.

“Hands on the wall.”

As you did so, his hand trailed down your back, lingering over the curve of your ass before landing a sharp smack that made you gasp, and wow. You’d never have guessed that he’d be such a kinky motherfucker.

It’s not like you hadn’t had a guy slap your ass before, but this was just different. You remember being unable to get turned on when your sexual partner would spank you. You remember thinking maybe there was something wrong with you. It’s not like you didn’t like it or like it made you uncomfortable. You just hadn’t felt anything. It hadn’t hurt. It hadn’t sting. It had been like eating plain, salted chips. They taste good, but they don’t really get you excited.

But from Mr. Morgan, it burned, and it was the best feeling in the world. He skimmed his nails against the flesh of your butt, as if tracing the hand-print that was surely forming there. He placed kisses down your back until he was kissing your stinging skin. You shied away as you realized he was now kneeling behind you, but he quickly caught you by the creases where your thigh meets your abdomen, pulling you back to him.

“Spread your legs,” he instructed yet again.

Your heart pounded, the position feeling unnatural, but despite that, you moved your feet apart, feeling the stickiness between your thighs. You flinched as his cold fingers made contact with your pussy, but quickly recovered. He buried his thumb between your pussy lips, parting them as he slid it from your hole to your clit, pressing down harder as he circled the sensitive bud.

Your whole body vibrated, the blood rushing through your body and into your throbbing clit. He kept flicking it with his finger, occasionally slowing down to pull the hood of your clit back to focus on the most innervated part of you. You arched your back, as he brushed over that spot, making your stomach tighten. Then he finally brought his fingers to your cunt, pushing in one, then two fingers. It made you mewl, the way he was carefully sliding them in and out, enjoying every ridge of your walls. You heard him sigh, feeling his hot breath bouncing off your ass. It made you realize how bad you wanted his mouth on your pussy.

And as if he read your thoughts, his fingers slid out of you and to your clit, as he replaced them with his tongue, flexing it and fucking you with it straight away. He was licking up your walls, the wet muscle prodding against them, making you moan. The finger still worked your clit, but when you felt him open his mouth wide and bury his face even further into your ass to get his tongue as far as he possibly could. It made you see galaxies.

When he felt you twitching against him, already trying to get away, albeit unintentionally, he circled both your thighs with his arm, trapping you against him. You were basically sitting on his face and now that his fingers left your clit, he slid his chin lower, his stubble scratching your skin as the tip of his tongue massaged your clit. His nose was buried in your wet hole now, his cheeks squished by your thighs, and you were scared you were going to suffocate him. Unfortunately, it was his fault and his fault only that you stopped caring as soon as you heard the squelching sounds of your pussy as his tongue kept delving into you. That’s what he did, he made you selfish. He was bringing you closer to the edge and the only thing you cared about was falling.

And with his tongue flicking against your clit, you soon felt the knot in your stomach tightening, until you let go. Your release poured out of you and he was catching it all on his tongue, licking everything up.

Once he got every drop, he stood to his full height, his arms encircling you. I made you feel safe, secured. One of his hands landed on your breast, squeezing and pinching your nipple as he kissed along your neck and then your shoulder, waiting for you to fully come down. You let your head fall backwards against his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck.

He smelled so good. Or maybe it was just the undetectable pheromones spreading through the air that sharpened every sense to its peak. You felt like a mess. Your hands itched to adjust your hair, to wipe at the moisture beading on your flushed skin, but you were too scared to move.

“Are you sure?” He asked as he pressed closer, his cock prodding at your cunt.

“Yes.”

And then he finally fucked you. Your back arched instinctively into him as he started thrusting, finding a steady rhythm. His hand slipped lower, tracing the line of your hip before dipping between your thighs again, spreading your pussy and grazing the nail of his finger over your clit. His hips moved harder and harder, the sounds of wet skin slapping against each other, his moans and your whimpers filled the room, the stream of water coming from the shower making a bad job at obscuring it. He was hitting that spot inside of you over and over again and combined with the sensation of his fingers on your clit and his teeth pressing against your shoulder as he licked the water from your skin made your knees buckle. He was going to leave a faint imprint, that’s for sure.

He was getting close too, or at least you thought so from the way he got louder and more high-pitched, fucking you faster. He wasn’t gentle about it. He wanted you to come hard around him, and it was working. You were getting closer and closer, and when he sank his teeth a little harder into your shoulder, not sure if it was intentional or in the heat of the moment, that name escaped your mouth on its own again.

“Jim–”

And in a snap of a finger, his hand shot up to your mouth, covering it and leaning your head back against his shoulder, his lips ghosting your ear.

“Dexter,” he said, his hand sliding down to your neck and lightly pressing against your throat. Your brain was mush, you didn’t know what he meant, your brows knitting in confusion as you tried to focus on what he just said. “Fucking say it.” He growled when you didn’t react, pinching your clit and giving you a particularly hard and deep thrust as he stopped him movements. 

“Dexter,” you moaned immediately. You just wanted to be good for him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he praised as he started fucking you again until you were coming around him. It made your whole body convulse. You hinged your hips to press against him and at the same time, to escape his wicked fingers. You brought your hand down to cover his on your pussy, thinking maybe it would bring you relieve from the overstimulation, but it did exactly nothing at all. You kept coming, coating his cock in your cum, making it easier for him to slide along your pussy walls, but harder for him to keep his cock from sliding all the way out. You were so slippery, your cunt clenching around him which brought him to his own edge, finally spilling himself inside of you.

Gradually, he slowed down until he eventually removed his cock from your pussy and freed your sensitive clit from his fingers. He did manage to slide them to your hole one last time, scooping up your mixed cum as he brought his hand in front your faces and admired it, his breath hot against the nape of your neck as he rubbed the juices between his fingers. You watched it slowly disappear under the running water before he let his arm fall to your hip, turning you around. He pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, breathing heavily, before opening them again, his eyelashes catching the drops of water from the shower.

“Next time, I’m fucking you in those socks.”

[clueless-fan-critic]

Why Helluva Boss Surpasses Hazbin Hotel In the Best Way Possible

The Helluva Boss Christmas episode dropped and I caught up with Season 2. I love this show so much for so many reasons. But that doesn't diminish Hazbin Hotel in any way at all. In fact, because of the show, it gives us a much deeper appreciation for what Helluva Boss is doing. I mean Hazbin Hotel was cool on Prime, but I want to talk about why Helluva Boss is the "Shrek 2" of the R-Rated animated musical series by a YouTube Animator. And that's a weird mouthful.

Getting Better with No Reward

Helluva Boss makes pretty clear that the "evil" demons of Hell are basically regular people with problems. Whether a majority of demons are born in Hell or damned souls, it's clear that they grow up from children to teens to adults. They have jobs, families, homes, and all the mundane things in our lives. And do in fact die. Possibly? That part is vague in whether they just get erased from existence or reincarnate Chainsaw Man style. But with those in mind, what would exactly be the point of being a "good" or "bad" person?

Throughout the series, many of the demons have some moral code, ethics, empathy, or rationale that sets them apart from the more chaotic and stereotypical demons. What I saw with a lot of characters is they willingly try and change for the better, all without Charlie Morningstar or the promise of Heaven, but redemption. This is especially in the case of Blitzø with a silent O.

Blitzø is one of the more unhinged characters you would see as a demon: immoral, selfish, hedonistic, all those demony things. But we, the audience, get to see his life, his failures, and his pain and how it shaped him. While it doesn't excuse his actions, it does make us understand. Once realizing these feelings, Blitzø tries to confront the consequences of his actions, with some trial and failure. Reconciling with his twin sister Barby: failed. Apologizing to his exes: failed. Talking with Fizzoralli: okay but still some scars, literal and figurative.

In fact, both Blitzø and Charlie share one major quality: attempting to change the status quo of Hell. But Blitzø wants to be seen more than a lackey to other higher demons while Charlie wants to prove people can change for the better. While Charlie's reason is more rooted in selflessness and hope, Blitzø's feels more human and genuine. From what I could see from the show so far, Hell is getting a whole lot bigger in what it can offer.

What's The Big Difference?

Helluva Boss is a more grounded and relatable show than the epic musical of Hazbin Hotel. The show allows for a lot of worldbuilding moments with the different rings of Hell along with their functions and associated demons. We're introduced to imps at the bottom of the demon hierarchy, demon royalty through Stolas and the Goetia royals, and six of the Seven Deadly Sins.

It seems the Seven Deadly Sins hold the most authority compared to the Overlords. It might be that the Overlords are more rich people like CEOs, industrialists, and entertainers while the Sins are like government officials, both holding power and influence but in different areas of life.

Whenever Hell is used in a show, it's represented in a myriad of ways ranging from classic burning pits to existential or nihilistic despair. It does make it clear that Hell is more a dark reflection of life on Earth, but more dirty, vibrant, and chaotic nonetheless. Even the Earth depicted in the show isn't really different aside from the whole demonic powers and magic stuff.

What Makes it More Interesting than its Predecessor?

Helluva Boss uses episodes as vehicles for their characters. Basically, getting to know who we're watching, why they're important, how they are as people, and so on. It doesn't have an overarching story that builds to a final battle. They're just chilling with exploring characters and their impact to others and the present stories in different episodes. Although there are interconnecting plots and stories, the show is mostly episodic.

Its strongest element include the characters, its main cast, supporting, and even one-off jokes, they all leave impressions on anyone who sees them. Millie is given more exploration in later episodes with why she always put up with Blitzø and believes in their business despite his total incompetence and hangups. You think Millie is just this bubbly tank, but shows a much more vulnerable side who wants to be seen more than her "intended role."

Stolas is another character is breaks the mold of his role. With disastrous results for everyone he cares for. Stolas is the love interest of Blitzø who aids IMP with his magic. He slowly breaks out from being a prince into someone else he hasn't found yet. We see his royal comfort implode in the Sinsmas finale, he loses his status, power, and even his daughter because of a perceived fantasy or escape that would free him. But, like a lot of caged birds, he doesn't fare so well in the real world. Now left with truly nothing but the very person he made his "sacrifice" for. Even uncertain of that as well.

But, the songs from both shows are incredible!!!!

My favorites include Loser, Baby performed by veteran Keith David and newcomer Blake Roman and U 2 Me performed in "Apology Tour" by Bryce Pinkham. Both those songs really connect with me while conveying character moments. The songs in Helluva Boss develop and explore character like a musical would use them for those big "Declaration of Something" anthem. Defying Gravity, We Don't Talk About Bruno, even Cell Block Tango, all are songs that explore one's mindset, opinions, and personal struggles.

Why Should I Watch...?

The Characters, the plots, the songs, the animation, so much F^$King things to admire and love that I can't... I just... 😣 😩 ... I don't know.

Just Watch It and See for Yourself!!!

[liketolaugh-writes]

Re: the Fenton Parents-

The thing is, it's not abusive to be just... sort of okay at parenting. It is not abusive to be unable to stop your kid from behaving erratically, to not be able to figure out what's wrong, to not be able to stop your kid from lying to you and sneaking out of the house. They tried! They spend several episodes trying, which is, frankly, a lot of screentime for a 45-episode series (movies excluded)! They just were never able to figure out what was wrong.

(If you're curious: S1E7, S1E17, S2E9, and S3E3 all center around plotlines where the Fenton parents make an active effort to connect with their kids... and that's leaving out episodes where it's merely a major element and not half the plot.)

(It's also not neglectful to assume that a man showing an inappropriate interest in a married adult woman is probably not inappropriately interested in a teenage boy, especially when Danny hasn't said anything. That would frankly be a really weird assumption to make, and it only seems obvious to us because... we already know.)

You can say that they never showed the Fentons taking Danny to the hospital after his accident... but we also aren't shown that they didn't do that. We know nothing about the immediate aftermath of the accident. Stupid Desiree reality-warp episode aside.

It never said that they knew about Danny's accident... it also never said that they didn't. (Personally, I think that it would be super out of character for Jazz to know and not tell them, regardless of whether or not they're neglectful? Jazz, like Danny, has faith in them.)

You can say that we didn't see how the Fentons fed their kids when the food in the house was contaminated... but we also never heard that they didn't do that. There was not a word about missing meals, not even from Jazz.

Do I think the Fentons were abusive?

The simple answer: yes!

The complex answer: But not in any of the ways I usually see depicted.

The thing is- the thing is, I think that the only thing the Fentons did that was genuinely abusive - not just a mistake, not just they could have done better - is their godawful lab safety. That is where they knew better, knew what they were doing was wrong, and did it anyway. The house wasn't safe and that was entirely on them, and danger on that level is criminally neglectful.

But that's a very unusual profile. It's not that they didn't care enough about their kids. It's not that they didn't pay attention to their children, or that they prioritized their work over their family, or that they neglect their responsibilities. (For God's sake, they go to multiple parent-teacher conferences! Jack chaperoned a dance he didn't remember agreeing to attend! Maddie woke up in the middle of the night, not yet knowing there were ghosts around, and immediately went to find Danny!)

They were just, quite literally, criminally irresponsible, which is a different breed of family trauma altogether.

Now, Danny definitely experienced domestic violence. Was Danny physically abused? Absolutely. But because of identity shenanigans, 'was Danny physically abused?' and 'are the Fentons physically abusive?' are two very different questions. 'Was Danny physically abused?' is about Danny's childhood and the trauma he gained from it; 'are the Fentons physically abusive?' is a statement about their personalities. And this extends out to all of the other ways they failed Danny because they never knew about his ghost half.

Did Danny experience that trauma? Yes. Would the Fentons ever knowingly do those things to their child? No. (This contrast causes Danny a lot of stress.)

Of course, a lot of this is still rooted in headcanon, and other interpretations are equally valid! Just as it's never shown that they didn't make sure their kids got every meal, it's also never shown that they did. Just because it's never said that their kids couldn't catch their parents' attention when they needed help, doesn't mean that they could. But I wanted to get my thoughts down, since it's a fairly significant divergence from most of the standard interpretations.

[nonbinary-vents]

Rant incoming, this got out of hand sorry.

Also, a lot of these foods do actually have distinct ‘styles’ that are really only Israeli. Take shakshuka for example— it’s a North African dish, created around Morocco and Tunisia, but it’s eaten as far as Turkiye and Greece (side note: went to Greece recently, they have amazing green shakshuka, but I guess we aren’t allowed to eat it cause it’s eeeevil appropriation). Speaking of Turkiye, they’re a great example of a specific regional style. Their shakshuka tends to be spicier and have yoghurt or cheese on top if it. It’s pretty easy to tell that it’s shakshuka, but it’s also very clear that this isn’t your standard North African one, and if you know how they do it in Turkiye then it’s easily recognisable.

Israeli shakshuka is the same. It’s made with a lot of cooked onions and herbs, definitely more than the any other of the styles I’ve encountered. Because anybody with a tiny bit of Israeli heritage is addicted to tchina, basically every pan of shakshuka (it’s served in the pan in Israel) comes with a side of it, and also with basic salad and toasted challah. There’s a thing called shakshuka sandwich, which is shakshuka as a sandwich where the bread is challah. Sometimes it’s also served with chips (which also have a cup of tchina, chips in Israel will always have tchina no we don’t have a problem)

side note again: this is actually a really common thing with Israeli food— everything is a sandwich. Traditional Persian and Nash Didan herb omelet is served plain, but Israelis looove to put it in bagels. I’ve eaten at a cafe this amazing aubergine ‘schnitzel’ and matbucha sandwich, where yes the bread was challah, and yes they also offered you a mountain of tchina, and yes I drenched that mofo lol. It’s all sandwiches here. Israel turned chamin and leftover aubergines and cabbage into a pitta. Nothing can stop the bread obsession.

Actually, that ‘schnitzel’ sandwich is a good example of a big aspect of Israeli food— the cultural mixing. Matbucha is a Moroccan sauce, schnitzel comes from Austria I’m pretty sure (although Israeli style is already different because it’s exclusively made with chicken), and aubergines are well known for being west Asian, especially Iraqi I think? This weird great fusion dish probably came about from a mixture of Jews whose families lived in these three areas, as a natural way of sharing and integrating subcultures when together. It’s not some evil plot to try to steal as many people’s cultures in one food item as possible, its just people close to each other eating food and something new coming out of that. One of my mum’s best friends is a Moroccan Jew and she regularly gives us matbucha, so I decided to make a monstrosity of Iranian dolma pielpelim with matbucha and guess what that’s how I earned my Israeli citizenship.

Fun fact— this woman also makes the best kneidelach I’ve ever tasted and she doesn’t have a drop of Ashkenazi blood in her. Does that make her evil, and am I evil for eating it when not Ashkenazi, or is it only applicable when deemed ‘ethnique’ enough?

There’s also just completely unique Israeli dishes like sabich, that was created in Israel by Iraqi Jews and wasn’t eaten anywhere else before, or ptitim which came out of 50’s rationing/the country being too broke to afford couscous. Also, Jewish specific foods like jachnun, kneidelach soup, challah, chamin, etc. are a thousand times more Israeli than they are of those host countries, by virtue of the fact that they were not a normal dish in said host countries. Yemenite goyim didn’t eat jachnun, so how is it stealing from them when the descendants of the ones who did continue to do so?

This is kind of a weird pivot, but I think that people are treating ‘Israeli’ like it’s it’s own ethnic group now as a desperate attempt to slice it away from Jews (and Israeli Arabs sometimes, depending on the situation) and have their own special root of all evil. So they expect us to have all of these special unique foods that no other Jewish community in the world has or else we’re just like… stealing??? I guess??? By eating food from our Jewish communities??? But the thing about nationalities is that the culture is created by the ethnicities of the people who live there. And the thing about Jewish sub-ethnicities is that because we were torn apart from each other and forced to live under much more powerful rulers, we tend to have very different cuisines from each other that seem similar to those of the countries we were living in— but even then, our food tends to have similarities to each other and differences to goyim’s just because kasher restrictions and pre-diaspora foods are still adhered to and made in almost every community.

So of course Israeli food is going to have Moroccan elements to it, seeing as if you meet five Israelis three of them are going to have some sort of Moroccan heritage, and one other is going to have someone close to them that’s Moroccan, that’s not even an exaggeration help they’re everywhere. And of course it’s going to be mixed in and muddled up with a bunch of Iranian, Romanian, Egyptian, Iraqi, Russian, and however more elements. Because once again, a nationality’s culture and cuisine is not independent from the people of that nationality. And Jews spent a long time in all of these countries, long enough to pick up some food habits in between all of the pogroms. If you wanted Israeli food to be completely independent to anything you’ve ever seen before, then just fucking time travel and give Bar Kochba a gun already.

Rant over. Ugh.

To the large chunk of non-Jewish bloggers on this website who before Oct 7 would every now then reblog something along the lines of "don't be antisemitic" and around winter time "happy hannukah to all my Jewish followers" and then a out a character who maybe be headcannoned as Jewish and nothing more

but after Oct 7 has become riddled with the most disgustingly antisemitic posts, posts full of misinformation, posts calling for the death of Israelis, denying Jewish Indigeneity, and of course posts using "shitrael" or "isntreal" or "isrhell".

Do you think we are stupid. Do you think we can't see this.

Or is it rather that you never cared about us and now that you have permission to revel in the hate you are.

I would like to share something that I saw on of these such types of blogs. It was one who is exactly has I described. Did the barest and of bare not even bare minimums, but after Oct 7 has become a hate infested cesspool.

They reblogged a post where someone had shared an article from the Middle East Eye, a Qatari run propaganda machine.

Now how did Hebrew steal from Arabic when Hebrew predates Arabic I guess we are not supposed to think about that. That Jews have been living in the region for several millennia don't think about it. That there have Mizrahi communities in these places since the Babylonians don't think about it.

The notes of course was filled with the tags "cultural appropriation"

but then I saw these tags

You mean the Shekel which is mentioned in the Tanach. The parliamentary system of government. Which craftworks, please be specific?

So again do you think we don't see these things. Do you think we are stupid.

Or what we see not the point and not what matters, but rather what matters is the lies and misinformation and making sure that is what is seen and spread so that you can ensure we have no friends and no allies. So that no when will stand up or make a fuss when you come to hurt us, to kill us, and destroy us.

And to that I will say look to those who came before and see where they are now. Do you see them? No, because they are not here, but we are.

So if you are going to come for us, if you are going to come to destroy us you better give it all you have because when you fail and you will fail it will not end well for you.

It never does. But we survive, we always do.

Am Yisrael Chai עם ישראל חי

[boredpotate]

Happier Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Arcane or any links. I only own the concept for this story.

Concept: Isekai Fem Reader turns back time to fix her timeline, but has unforseen consequences.

Reader Pov

"Come on. I'm sure you look great. I wouldn't pick something that would make you look ridiculous." Powder says outside of the changing room I am in as I wear another set of clothing she chose for me.

After dragging me back to Zaun to give me a "tour", she immediately brought me straight to a clothing store since I didn't have any for myself currently and Isha needed more clothes after a paint bomb incident. Maybe back in my original world this wouldn't be a big deal, but it's been so long since I've actually went clothing shopping that I have no idea what to look for.

I tried to get out of it by saying I had no money, but she insisted on paying. I tried saying I could get some of my extra clothes back at my old place, but she wasn't having any of that. I tried voicing my concerns on not knowing what to even get, so she started picking out clothes for me. To be fair I did like some of them, but some just felt wrong on me. Especially the one I'm in now.

Meanwhile Ekko had the balls to just stand there and smirk with a knowing look; watching me suffer. At least Isha was having a good time and she even picked out some clothes for herself.

"I'm going to come in there myself if you don't come out." Powder says, not sounding like she's joking at all.

"Trust me. She's not joking." Ekko warns me and I can hear the smirk on her face.

"Okay! Okay! I'm coming out." I say before reluctantly stepping out of the dressing room and facing a smiling Powder and Ekko.

"There, you see? Look," she says as she grabs my shoulders and brings me to a full body mirror to look at myself with a smiling Powder now standing next to me. She picked out a blue and white striped shirt dress that ties around just above my waist, folded sleeves and the top three buttons undone, "You look good."

"I feel exposed." I say as I look at my reflection with hesitance.

'The last time I remember wearing a dress was in my original life. This is kinda weird.'

"Oh c'mon! It's good, plus you'll match with Isha." she says as she wraps an arm around my shoulder, making me confused before the child in question bursts out of her changing room.

I look over to see her in an unbuttoned long sleeved collared shirt with the same stripes and colors as mine with a white shirt underneath and dark blue shorts with white high socks to match. She runs over to Powder and I and stands in front of us to look at herself in the mirror.

"That isn't fair, why does she get pants and I get a dress?" I ask making Ekko and Powder laugh before Isha turns around and comes up to me and raises her arms to me.

"Because it wouldn't look as good if you two were wearing the exact same thing, soooo Isha get's the pants." Powder says which makes me roll my eyes as I pick up Isha, hold her in my arms and smile at how happy she looks.

"You didn't force this on her did you? Do you actually like it, Isha? Or are you two just conspiring against me?"

"Nope."

"MmMm" Isha denies with a shake of her head, but Powder gives her an obvious wink, making me roll my eyes again and Isha giggle.

"See! It looks good. Ekko come look," Powder asks Ekko who comes over and joins us, standing on the other side of Isha and I in the reflection of the mirror, "Oh yeah. This..... this looks great."

"I think it looks good on you." Ekko says while I take a moment to look at Isha and I's matching outfits in the reflection.

'I look like a mom from the suburbs."

"Isha seems to like it too." he adds on, and Isha nods her head rapidly; looking at the reflection.

*sigh* "......Okay, I guess it isn't that bad. I'll get it, if Isha likes it." I say, making Isha's smile brighter and hug me a tight hug.

"Nice." Powder says as she hold up a hand to Isha and they high five each other.

"Alright. I think that's enough clothes, right?" I ask Powder as I glance at the pile of clothes Isha and I have found to our liking.

"Fine, I guess that's enough for now." Powder says sounding dramatically reluctant, making Ekko huff.

"You're just upset you don't get to dress them up like dolls." Ekko says, getting a light slap on his shoulder form Powder as I set Isha down.

"I'm gonna get changed."

"Don't wanna wear it out?" Powder asks suggestively.

"I still have my gear to wear, maybe on another day Isha and I can match." I say as I head towards the changing room; Isha doing the same towards her.

"Don't think I can't see what you're doing."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I catch their conversation but ignore it and focus on getting out of this dress and into more comfortable attire and putting my gear back on. I step out and notice Powder and Ekko seemed to have stepped aside to have a private conversation; whispering to each other, so I wait for Isha to be finished to give them room. It only takes a minute or two before Isha is done and steps out.

"Do you like the clothes you and Powder picked out?" I ask while taking the clothes from her to put into the pile. She nods her head before going to put on her helmet, adjusting it so it sits right.

"Sorry about that, I'm going to go pay for these. You guys wait outside." Powder says as she grabs the pile of clothes and hauls it to the cashier.

"I'm guessing she likes to play dress up with you too?" I ask Ekko with a teasing smirk as the three of us go wait outside the store for Powder.

"Oh yeah, you got off easy. The first time she took me out to buy clothes I thought I'd be stuck for eternity," he says, but has this fond smile on his face that says he still enjoyed it, "Anyways, you have any idea what you wanna see next?"

"I have no idea," I say as I look around at the different stores and take just how.... normal it all feels, "Still getting used to it."

I feel a hand pat my shoulder I turn to Ekko.

"Hey, I get it. Well I kinda get it. We were here as Zaun was changing, so it was easier to adapt with it; still weird though. Trust me, you'll love it up here after a few days." Ekko says, reassuring me. I relax at the comforting gesture.

"Thank you."

"I'm back!," I suddenly hear Powder say and Ekko yelps as he is immediately dumped with two bags of clothes, making me hold in a laugh at the surprised look on his face, "So where to next?" she asks more to herself than us as she thinks to herself; looking up and down the streets.

"I was thinking," Ekko says as he steadies himself and holds the bags in one hand, "Maybe we can take them to our usual spots? Where you and I hang out together?" he asks her making her perk up at the suggestion before looking at Isha and I for confirmation.

"Hey, you're the tour guide. I'm the tourist." I say with a shrug.

"What about you kid? Wanna see our favorite places?" she asks Isha, who grunts and nods excitedly before grabbing my hand in one and holding Powder's hand in the other, "Alright, let's go. C'mon babe." Powder says as she grabs Ekko's free hand and we make our way through Zaun. Occasionally giving Isha a swing from between Powder and I.

It was moments like these that made life feel normal. Peaceful.

We went browsing through a couple stores and market places. I got to see the depths of this new Zaun and just how much better things were here. Powder and Ekko showed me the usual places they go to spend time together from places filled with the community and places where they can have some privacy like the library I saw earlier; Isha actually got a book for herself. We even ran into Vi, Cait and Sevika while on their patrol and got to hang out with them for awhile before moving on to our next stop. Eventually what felt like noon came around so Powder and Ekko wanted to take Isha and I to a nice cafe that they like to go to and sit down for lunch.

"Trust me. They make some great coffee. Ekko got addicted to it for awhile, so I had to monitor him."

"By monitor me, she means follow me to the cafe and also order herself some coffee and pastries," Ekko clarifies, getting a nudge from Powder, "I ended up being the one to cut us off from having it on the regular."

"I mean, technically, it still worked." Powder says as I laugh and hold Isha. I noticed her getting tired and only purely running on kid energy, making her legs wobble a little so I decided to carry her to the cafe.

"Well I can't.... wait..." I say as I slowly stop, now noticing where we were heading.

The bridge.

Now filled with little market stands and people, but memories come back. Enforcers guarding the bridge. The segregation of two classes of people. Finding Pow- No. Jinx. Finding Jinx on the bridge after not making it in time again. Silco taking her away.

"Y/n?" Powder calls out ahead of me. I snap out of the memories, but my hesitance is still here. Only ever crossing this bridge once before, when we rallied together to fight against Viktor, Ambessa and their army.

"U-Um, so-so the cafe is in Piltover?" I ask already know the answer to that, "We can go there?" I hold Isha closer and guarded to myself and she looks at me worried. My eyes locked and unwavering; looking down the bridge to the other side.

My thoughts too chaotic to notice Powder and Ekko give me looks of concern before approaching me until I feel a hand grab my free one. I look to see Powder and Ekko standing close to me.

"Hey, it's okay. It's not like before; we're allowed to go to Piltover now." Ekko says, and his comforting tone, Powder's hand and Isha holding me close grounds me enough to not panic, but still filled with nervousness.

"Y/n, it's okay. No one is gonna hurt you." Powder says, keeping my hand held in hers and tracing over my knuckles with her thumb as comfort.

"Promise?," I ask, though after a moment I realize how childish I sound now that I think about it so I go to correct myself, "Sor-"

"We promise. It's okay. No one is going to hurt you Y/n," Powder says now interlocking her fingers with my own, "Right, Ekko?"

"She's right. We won't let anything happen." Ekko says before Powder starts leading me onto the bridge.

We walk a slow pace on the bridge as I look back and forth between the small market stalls on either side of the bridge. Seeing both people from Zaun and Piltover just going about their day, talking, bartering and just....... living. To my surprise I even see Jericho about halfway through the bridge serving enforcers that looked to be on their lunch break; he gives us a wave as we walk by and Isha returns the gesture. My nerves start to lower as we slowly make our way across bridge and I just take it all in. It doesn't take too long before we reach the other side into Piltover.

"See it wasn't tha-..... Oh. Are you okay?" Ekko asks as I look back at the bridge and feel some tears slip down my cheek.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean t-"

"Hey, hey! It's okay. It's fine. We got you," Ekko says as he reaches towards me to wipe the tears away, "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks. Sorry about that." I say which makes Powder roll her eyes and groan.

"Stop apologizing. It's fine; you're still getting used to all of this." Powder says before taking second to brush some hair out of my face and behind my ear, "There. Now c'mon, we need to make you an addict like Ekko and I. Not you Isha, you get juice." Powder says as she pulls me along and I see Isha put on a little pout at not being able to try the coffee.

"I'll let you sip from mine." I whisper to her, making her immediately perk back up.

Powder Pov

"Not bad right?" I ask Y/n as she sips from her mug of coffee and looking to be enjoying her drink. A satisfied moan as she drinks the beverage and it sends a tingle down my spine.

"Greeeaaat. Now we gotta prevent another addict." Ekko says as he enjoys a pastry, and Isha having stars in her eyes as she enjoys one of the many pastries on her plate that we got for her.

"I'll be back. I need to use the ladies room." Y/n says as she stands up from her seat and walks away, now giving me time to address something.

"Hey, now that she's gone. What do you think that was about back at the bridge?" I ask, making him think on it for a few seconds before sighing.

"I don't know. Her hesitating to cross the bridge made sense since she's not used to it. But her crying? I have no idea. Maybe something personal? She might have some bad memories on that bridge," Ekko suggests, but I can hear in his tone that he's not sure about his own theory as much as I am, "Whatever it is, we can help her get used to it. She's still adjusting to everything."

'True, but she looked ready to run away from the damn thing.'

"You're probably right. Anyway I was thinking, maybe I can help you with your project for the Innovator's Competition?" I ask and Ekko chokes on his coffee which makes me immediately start patting him on the back.

"Re-*cough* Really!? Why?"

"What, don't want my help now?"

"No, that's not it! I'm happy you want to help. It's just, you seemed pretty hesitant before. Why do you want to help now?" he asks and I shrug my shoulders.

"I don't know. I'm just...." I trail off as I look at Isha enjoying herself and gaze at Y/n's empty seat, "I'm just in a good mood." I say before feeling Ekko wrap an arm around my waist and pull me closer; I lean my head on his shoulder as he does.

"I know what you mean. You think she might want to help too? I know Isha will, she seems to love messing with your old gadgets." he asks, and I can hear the hope in his voice. To be honest that brought an odd feeling of hope to me too; now imagining Y/n joining Ekko and I with our work, or just watching us work from the the side.

"I hope so. She's going be living with dad and I for awhile, so it will be a good way to spend her time than just sitting in bed or something," I admit with hope in my voice, "I don't know about you, but I meant what I said back at the bridge. Even if this whole thing is a little weird. We need to keep her safe, okay?" I ask and he holds my hand in his own.

"I know. Don't worry, we'll protect her. She needs help adjusting and feeling safe here in Zaun, and we will do that for her," he says and Isha grunts and raises her hand while nodding her head, making me laugh as Ekko reaches over to ruffle her hair, "Of course you will too, Isha. We all will." he says, making me smile before glancing back at Y/n's seat.

"I like her." I admit after a few seconds; not knowing what the full meaning behind those words are.

"Me too." Ekko says as well and I can tell there's a deeper meaning behind his words too.

'Whatever it is. I don't want this feeling to go away.'

Hope you enjoyed.

[curseofhecate]

MERRY CHRISTMAS, I MISS YOU | LN4

an: This is based on Merry Christmas, I miss you by Alex Crichton. It can be read as part to to merry christmas, please don't call. Again, depressing but I can't help it. This is Lando's point of view.

w.c.: 1.3k

December 25th, Christmas.

The view from the cabin was captivating. Especially now that the sun had gone down and it was snowing again. Everything outside seemed so calm and peaceful, the complete opposite of the war that was currently going on in Lando’s mind. 

His plan hadn’t been to spend Christmas in a cabin somewhere in the french alps. It had actually been Max's idea, to make their annual ski trip overlap with Christmas this year. He knew his friend very well to know that if Lando was left alone this year on Christmas day he would have ended up wallowing in his sadness. 

The whole day had passed by in a blur. Presents, skiing, food, jokes, card games, it had all been a well revised plan to keep him distracted. And it had worked. Up until now.

It was late in the evening and everyone was off doing their own thing. Lando was sitting on a couch, half watching the snow fall outside through the floor to ceiling window and half watching the movie Pietra and Max, who were cuddling on the other couch. 

Love Actually. He remembered when his girlfriend had forced him to watch it with her around this time last year and how he had complained it was a dumb movie without actually having seen it. Well, ex girlfriend, because he had ruined that.

He hadn’t really meant to. It was something he either did subconsciously or it was out of his control. Usually, he likes to blame their falling out on the distance, on his job, on his career. And while all of those things had played their role in how things progressed between them, what had really destroyed what they had was their communication. Or better said, their lack of. And it killed Lando to admit that his inability to let someone see him for what he really is, had ruined the best thing he had ever gotten hold of.

It is weird how quickly things change.

Exactly a year ago, he could have sworn they’d be infinite. It was the day he had taken her to meet his parents. She was nervous and he had spent the whole car ride down to Bristol reassuring her that his family would love her. What she didn’t know was that they already did. Lando hadn’t stopped talking about her since the day they'd met. 

He had convinced her it wasn’t that big of a thing. Which was a lie because Lando never introduced his girlfriends to his parents. Mainly because most of them couldn’t even be considered girlfriends and fit more into the ‘casual hook ups’ or ‘friends with benefits’ categories.  

He remembered how he had spent most of his time watching her interact with his family and feeling proud about how well she fit in with them. That was the moment that solidified for Lando the feelings he had for her. And as he sat there and watched her interact with his niece we thought about how Christmas would be ten years from now, when they’d be married and have a family of their own. 

It was the moment that made it clear to Lando that this was the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The girl he was going to marry.

If he were honest, he always knew. From the moment he first saw her, at the back of that party on Christmas day two years ago with a drink in her hand and looking awkward, he knew that something was different about her. 

When he first walked up to her, Lando was nervous. Which was the most unlike Lando thing ever. Normally he was really open and comfortable around people, the definition of an extrovert. But for some reason this was different.

The first thing he told her was some lame joke about both of them being out of place since they knew no one and their friends ditched them, He didn’t get much of a response, except for a forced smile, and for a bit lando felt as if he was having a one sided conversation. But the longer he kept talking the more at ease she started to feel around him. 

The walls didn’t really come down until Lando made another joke about something stupid, what he couldn’t remember. What he remembered though was the way she had thrown her head back laughing. And from that moment, he was a goner. 

It was crazy to think how two years ago they didn’t even know each other and last year at this time she was curled up against him, head on his chest with his arms wrapped around her and watching cheesy Christmas movies. And now she is gone. He had lost her. 

Sometimes he wondered what he could have done differently. He knew it wasn’t entirely his fault and some things were out of their control but he couldn’t help but want to go back and change everything. 

What he had felt for her, he hadn’t felt for anyone else before, and he was convinced he wouldn’t feel for anyone else in the future. 

Usually he tried not to think about that. During the season it was easy. He was preoccupied with races and the possibility of winning the drivers championship. Being a formula 1 driver didn’t allow him much time to wallow in his self pity. 

But now, it is really difficult. Especially considering how he kept thinking about the Christmas they’d spent together last year. The look on her face when he’d told her it was too early to blast Christmas songs on November 1st, the domestic feeling it brought him decorating his London apartment together, the way she’d force him to do silly childish activities, like baking cookies and decorating gingerbread houses and how he’d complain even though he always ended up loving it.

Waking up with her in his arms on Christmas morning and pretending to be asleep as soon as she started stirring, just to make the moment last longer, knowing well that she wouldn’t have the heart to wake him up. It all haunted him.

But most of all, it was the what ifs that tormented him.What if she has moved on? What if she’s with someone new? What if he’s nothing but a ghost that lingers in her life?

But then what if she was lonely? What if she missed him as much as he missed her? What if she had realised how big of a mistake this had been? What if she wants to reach out but is afraid to? What if the reason she didn’t is because she thinks he has moved on. 

Lando thought about this far more often that he would like to admit. All he could think about lately was her. And even though he appreciated how his friends tried to distract him he couldn’t help but feel suffocated. 

He missed her. He missed her a lot. How could he not? He was in love with her, he still is. And so he can’t help but wonder whether she would answer if he called. 

He hoped she would. 

Sighing, he picked up his phone and tapped on her contact. He typed out a paragraph, explaining how much he missed her and how he wished he could have her back. His finger hovered over the send button but he hesitated and erased the message, turning off his phone frustrated.

He couldn’t go on like this. 

If she didn’t want to talk then she wouldn’t reply. But if still cared then maybe she would. And for once in his life Lando Norris had nothing to lose. 

He turned on his phone again and typed out another message, hitting the text button and turning off his phone before he could overthink it.

[leighsartworks216]

Doctor's Orders

Zayne x gn!Reader

I was working on a longer form version of this that just Was Not Happening, but this came out so easy so it's the version you're getting

@midiplier You sent your ask while I was writing the long-form version and I wish I got it out sooner but fuck it Christmas angst I guess

Warnings: grief/mourning, hurt/comfort, Christmas, childhood friends, cuddling, crying, not proofread, possibly OOC

Word Count: 839

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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The lights twinkle in a little dance around the tree. Glass ornaments hang delicately along its branches. Tinsel shimmers and shines. The star at the top stares down at you.

You wipe your cheeks with your sleeves and the back of your hands. The tears keep coming, no matter how hard you try to stop them. They pool without ceremony in your eyes and slip free without even a sob to accompany them.

Zayne lowers himself to the carpet beside you. He doesn't speak. Doesn't say that you should be in bed. Doesn't need to ask what's wrong. What he does do is offer you a box of tissues. You grab a couple and hold them to your eyes, hoping they'll suck up the moisture.

This is the better alternative. Only a couple days before, Zayne visited your apartment to find it woefully devoid of any decoration. Dishes sat untouched in the sink, laundry overflowed the hamper, and the bags under your red-raw eyes spoke volumes. When Zayne asked you to spend the holidays at his place (practically running down an entire list of your excuses to convince you to please get out of your house), you packed the essentials and settled into his guest bedroom.

"I’m sorry for waking you," you croak out with a pitiful sniffle.

He shakes his head and offers you another tissue. "You didn't wake me," he assures. You can't tell if he's just lying to make you feel better or not, but it's a lot easier to believe he is. A whole lot easier to blame yourself than odd coincidence. "If you're about to apologize for being a bother, I'd rather you just blow your nose."

You take the tissue and turn your face away as you blow your nose. "That obvious?"

"You've apologized seven times already for intruding, even though I'm the one that invited you to stay," he gripes, but there's no real frustration behind it. He reaches for a blanket off the couch. It's barely used. He unfolds it and drapes it around your shoulders. "You don't have to apologize for your grief."

You shoot him a sardonic look. "Even if I'm mean to you?"

He smiles slightly. "Especially if you're mean to me. I know you well enough not to take it personally."

"You're so weird."

"If you say so."

You can feel the exhaustion in your back, your shoulders, under your eyes. You want to go to sleep. You want to curl up in bed and shut your brain off and pray it doesn't show you anything worse. But you don't. You turn back to the tree, trace your eyes over the same ornaments you've already memorized by now, and let the tightness in your chest weigh you to the spot.

You exhale shakily into the still air. The lights become a blurry bokeh as your eyes unfocus, staring at the ornaments Zayne's parents sent him from their travels. You'd numbly helped him set it all up a few days ago. You were so checked out that the loss didn't register. Now it keeps hitting you in full force, over and over.

Zayne must recognize your internal plight because he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his side. You fall easily into his chest. His shoulder makes the perfect pillow to cry into. He rubs your arm up and down, doing his best to ground you and comfort you in one.

"I'm scared to go back to sleep," you admit in a choked whisper. "I'm scared I'll see their faces. And then I'll wake up and they aren't here."

He rests his cheek on your head. Josephine and Caleb had meant a lot to him, too, especially growing up, before he left. Countless memories of life when being carefree was expected. When getting into trouble was the norm. Days when he was still struggling to use his Evol, much to Caleb's amusement. Days when more time was dedicated to using it to form popsicles out of soda and poor attempts at sculptures to cheer up a certain other child.

Time truly does not change much.

"We'll stay up all night, then," he whispers back, feeling awfully like two children hiding under a blanket from the monsters of the night.

You scoff even as you turn further into him. Your wet cheeks are warm against his neck. "That doesn't sound like something a doctor would say."

He chuckles. "What if I said it was doctor's orders?"

A mangled sound escapes you. Zayne can only be sure it's a laugh with how your lungs spasm with the burst of exhaled air. "Then I guess I have no choice but to listen."

It's not ten minutes later that you're fast asleep in his arms, uncomfortably sitting on the carpet as legs fall asleep and backs ache. Zayne doesn't move from this spot, the silent aegis against all your fears. He will be here when you wake up. That means more to you than any gift under the tree.

---

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[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-seven of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Tim keeps kissing Bernard just as easy and appreciative as he slides another fingertip lightly along Kon’s rim all slick and warm, and Kon realizes he must’ve grabbed the lube again at some point. He didn’t really–notice, before. It feels . . . it’s good, and his body opens right up for it the same as the last two. Feels–feels warm, and a little bit tight, and like just enough of a stretch to notice. Feels full, and like he’s doing something right; doing just what Tim wants him to be doing; being just what Tim wants him to be. 

He concentrates on that, and not the part of him that wants to get kissed like that by somebody again. 

“I think actually getting Timmed might be worse,” Bernard half-mutters, and Tim laughs, and Kon’s chest tightens up in a weird way. 

He likes how they feel around him; inside him and against him and wrapping him all up. He likes how they kiss each other, and how Bernard makes Tim laugh like that, and how they look in cute couples’ selfies together, and just how happy and easy Tim gets whenever Bernard comes up in conversation. Really likes how their heartbeats sound together. Likes it all. 

It just hurts a little right now, for some reason. 

Kon doesn’t . . . he doesn’t get what about that’s . . . 

“Kon,” Tim says, stroking his free hand up his ribs, and Kon’s whole head all reorients from top to bottom, just like every time Tim ever says a single thing to him at all, and especially every time Tim says his name. “Do you remember what you asked for?” 

Kon . . . frowns, a little, and can’t . . . he asked for something? 

“Dun . . . dunno,” he manages to mumble, and Tim’s fingers stroke up inside him and between them and Bernard’s cock he really–he really– 

It must be the pink K, he thinks a little bit vaguely. Like–it must be, right? That he wants specifically cock right now, and wants specifically cock this fucking bad. He doesn’t wanna get out of Bernard’s lap at all, even with Tim’s fingers inside him again too. And like–there’s being invulnerable enough to make it easier to take cock and there’s, like–obsessing over wanting cock, which is definitely not the same thing. 

But, like–he does always get real into the girls he fucks too, and specifically real into their cunts, so . . . like, it’s the same theory, right? He always wants to take his time and go back to them again and again; eat them out and fuck them as many times as they’re willing to let him and even stay inside them even after they’ve both come, sometimes, and . . . 

So it’s just–it’s the same thing as that, right? Just–reversed, or whatever. Just the other way around. 

. . . well, that’d definitely explain how hard it’s been to stop thinking about sucking Tim off again. 

He wonders if–like, if he could maybe spend as long doing that as he’s spent eating out some of the girls he’s slept with. Like, definitely not as long as he could with Cassie or anybody else on that level of endurance and invulnerability, and definitely not as long as Cass was nice enough to let him, especially since Tim’s not gonna be able to come as many times as a girl anyway, but maybe . . . maybe if he takes his time about it, he could get somewhere a little closer to how long Anita’d rode his face the last time they'd fucked around or the couple of times Cissie’d told him to just stay under her desk in her dorm through her midday break while she’d done the reading for her afternoon class. 

He wonders if Tim would let him under his desk, if . . .

[gatorbites-imagines]

I love the idea of Kryptonians having a few animalistic instincts/habits. Like the purring and such, it makes me so happy when i read it, kicking my feet, giggling etc. I love it so much, especially when it's Conner, with him discovering new things about himself. So sweet, so perfect, gimme more sweet sweet Conner😫😫

Conner Kent x male reader

Headcanons

This is mainly just Conner and my kryptonian biology headcanons. This is based off of my own kryptonian headcanons, which you can read here.

Imagine Conner learning he can purr. Kryptonians, in my headcanons, purr at a frequency humans can’t hear. So, you two would be cuddling and he would suddenly notice he’s rumbling. He might start freaking out and asking if you can hear it, but obviously you can’t.

It takes some freaking out from both of you, and you pressuring him to ask Clark about it, for you guys to learn what it is and that it’s not dangerous. Conner ends up getting a whole book or pdf about kryptonian biology, that he barely reads.

Imagine Conner realizing he goes crazy for his partner’s scent. It doesn’t even have to be in a sexual way, he just starts salivating and going a little fuzzy in the head when you come around smelling extra ripe.

He starts realizing it’s a problem when he finds himself yoinking clothes from your laundry basket so he can keep it in his bed and rub it all over himself, since Kryptonians don’t sweat. I’m not sure if Conner would sweat a little since he’s half human, or if he doesn’t sweat at all.

You guys decide you might actually need to read the pdf Clark gave you when Conner starts snuffling into your armpits when you guys cuddle, or when he starts licking your neck or chest, without even seeming to realize he’s doing it.

Now, also imagine Conner starting to rub on you more and more since he just wants to be close to you and to smell like you. Hes like those clingy boyfriends on tiktok that are always kissing on you and whining when you have to get up for work.

Conner would just be questioning himself on his actions and the instincts his body wants to act on. his kryptonian wants are more dulled compared to Clark or Jon, since Conner is a lab grown kryptonian, but they are still there.

Conner would be weirded out by his purring for a long time, and might subconsciously try and stop himself from doing it, even though you cant hear it. It’s just kind of weird for him, maybe its because he was raised with human knowledge and doesn’t feel as connected to his kryptonian biology as he probably should be.

Imagine Conner basking in the sun like a cat. He finds out that your bed is just perfect to lay in during the sunny hours of the day, and he realizes it feels so good to lay there without a shirt on.

You walk in on him multiple times just laying splayed on your body in nothing but his boxers. If you have a cat or cats, then they are laying on the bed too, purring up a storm. They cant hear his purring, but they can sense it, so its so loud with purrs in there.

Imagine here, Conner slow blinking at you like a big ol cat. Hes also so warm to the touch, always, thanks to the sun power in his skin and body. Hes a complete nightmare to cuddle in the summer. Because he WILL want to cuddle.

Since I headcanons kryptonians have a sun organ, or a sunspot as I call it, Conner would have one too. Because of his half kryptonian nature, this organ is somewhat underdeveloped. He gets most of his excess radiation out through his TTK. But the organ starts to almost “ripen” when you two start dating.

It takes months for the organ to grow sensitive to the touch, and only when its you touching it since you are his “mate”. It becomes raw in the way a bruise is, the kind that you can only feel when you press on it. except it also makes his knees buckle almost like a button to make him collapse.

Being in a happy healthy relationship actually strengthens and stabilizes his powers because it helps this organ develop, which helps his body stabilize.

This gives you a healthy and horny kryptonian, since the sunspot developing also kickstarts his kryptonian growth. Hes active in every way that matters, but you better watch out when you guys reach around the 30s in physical ages, since that’s when kryptonian sexual maturity truly kicks in.

You guys also better read that pdf in detail, or you might end up with Conner developing organs to carry offspring. It would be extra difficult since he’s half human, but if you guys truly wanted to knock him up, then his body would allow it.