#i was like 'do i have a babyface or something

[camthecatchameleon]

seething rn

This is a phenomenon I see FREQUENTLY and it pisses me TF off as an East Asian person.

It's when East Asian characters are whitewashed in fanart. But it's subtle!!!! It's REAAAL Subtle!!!! AND IT TICKS ME OFF MAN I HATE IT!!!!

Using Daisuke Mouthwashing as an example for no reason other than I like him.

First off. NOSE AND BROWBONE. Most if not all East Asian people typically have a very soft contour of the forehead to the tip of the nose. The whole "nonexistent nosebridge" thing is REAL, MAN.

Second: EYES. I know people make racist jokes about East Asian people having squinty eyes but it's true so I'd appreciate more East Asian characters drawn with thin eyes please and thank you very much.

Traits that are read more easily as "white" are pronounced browbone, upturned nose, larger eyes, etc.

See how I changed NOTHING except for the forehead, nose, and eyes? And already it makes a WORLD of difference. You don't even have to make the nose as flat as I did here ^^ literally it is JUST the curvature.

Not only this but people also tend to give characters like Daisuke really pronounced angular cheekbones which???? I'll be fair!!! There are East Asian people with the second version below's bone structure (myself included). But the point is that it's not the character. Daisuke in the game has chronic babyface and yet SO MANY FANARTIST GIVE HIM SHARP FEATURES ROUND OUT THOSE CURVES BROTHER YOU'RE KILLING ME.

SEE HOW THESE ARE TWO ENTIRELY DIFFERENT PEOPLE

DO YOU SEE HIM??????? DO YOU SEE MY BOY??????? DO YOU SEE HIS ROUND CHEEKS AND HIS FLAT FUCKING FACE I'M GOING TO START THROWING HANDS.

Don't even get me started on the whitening of skin tones I'll actually throw a fit.

It is NOT THAT HARD to accommodate for a variety of features. THATS HOW WE GROW AS ARTISTS. Venture out of your comfort zone!!! Try something new!!!!! It's not as scary as it seems I promise!!!! Just PLEASEEEEEE PLEASE PLEASE IM BEGGINGGG

(Don't think I need to say this but this is not a strict rule. Humans are diverse and just because a trait is “typical” doesn't mean everyone in that people group has it. This is just me angrily and loudly protesting a microaggression that is unfortunately very prevalent, especially in fandom.)

[zeiat]

i have a coworker who i'm pretty close with as far as work buddies go, not least because we're both queer, but she's 26 and she has forgotten at least 3 times now that i'm fully 7 years older than her and every time she remembers she makes me feel like the oldest bitch on the planet. two days ago we had this conversation:

coworker: did you ever have a bieber phase when you were a kid?

me: bieber? nah, i was a little too old for that i think.

coworker: really? everyone loved bieber.

me: yeah, no, he was like, slightly after my time.

coworker: i was a huge one direction girlie.

me: some of my friends were too, but one direction definitely also felt like it was after my time. oh but you'll love this: when i was little, all my friends had picked backstreet boys to be in love with, so i--

coworker: backstreet boys?!

me: wait, no, fuck, it was nsync. but they were all saying they were in love with nsync guys so i just picked one at random and pretended--

coworker: holy shit, you are dating yourself. remind me, who the fuck were the backstreet boys???

me:

[gingergari]

@dooplissss

meet ayumu nakagawa(中川歩夢, nakagawa ayumu), the second year art history teacher at ua and pro hero dreamer!

quirk: dreamwalk

dreamer can enter the dreams of others and interact with both the elements of the dream and the person dreaming themselves. with training in lucid dreaming, dreamer can summon some objects but is limited outside of his own dreams. any injuries inflicted on either party while the quirk is active will reflect on their physical bodies once they wake up.

the quirk active radius can vary, but average strength is around 25-30 meters.

dreamer typically works at night and works in finding missing persons and otherwise locating and/or apprehending hard to find villains. one of his students has expressed interest in joining his agency should he expand operations.

dreamer has a soft voice and appears to be rather tired some days, but tries his best to keep the class engaged anyway. he has been teaching at ua for about 4 years.

(submit a number from 1-30 to see one of my bnha ocs!)

here’s the one other time i drew him! (2021)

[weirdgirlbymommylonglegs]

there’s being a teenage girl in your 20s then there’s whatever the fuck the babyface by sorry mom experience is

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

Follow The Money is now my top contender for Dinas stands name- i need it to be something tec/information gather-y and Follow The Money is perfect for that, its a song about tracing the flow of money upwards, and also about being complicit in that money flow. Full lyrics under the cut bc i cant find them online, but its such a good song for her, especially with the whole its a song critical of all that, just like shes critical of what she does... but she still does it

This one looks at that one That one's talking back Another one looks nervous And someone starts to crack It's hard to tell the good ones Tell them from the bad It's hard to face the future When you have to watch your back

Follow all the money See where it stops Trace it on it's journey From the bottom to the top It starts in the gutter And rises up like fat It rises up like cream and It's never coming back

Take a look around and see who's got a future round here Scratch each other's back and you start to advance your career From the bottom of the pile to the great and the good on high Everybody's complicit with the big lie

Down on the corner Out in the street Everything's on offer From fresh dope to dead meat Look at all the pennies You and everybody spent You ended up with nothing And you wonder where it went

Everyone's an expert And they got a point of view And everybody wonders why Nobody else thinks like they do They all make presumptions About what's going on They all make predictions But they always turn out wrong

Take a look around and see who's got a future round here Scratch each other's back and you start to advance your career From the bottom of the pile to the great and the good on high Everybody's complicit with the big lie

Follow The Money [x8]

[nemesyaaa]

sweet babyface // toxic!bbydaddy!rafe x reader

summary ; rafe was decided to make your little one, a kook princess. and if it means to spend a million of dollars on a diamond swarovski tiara just to see it on the head of his daughter, you can be sure he's gonna do it.

warnings ; basically fluff but i would add +18 bc of a little bit of suggestive content but not real smut. mention of breeding kink. kind of toxic relationship. a bit of stalking. financial dependence. be aware of the warnings.

author's note ; i just wanted to mention @princessbrunette for the bbydaddy!rafe verse. you can check it on her account <3

even if you tried every time to keep him away, push him away, avoid him or chase him, rafe always came back. you could be cold, distant, suspicious and even cruel, he didn't care. by the way, he was better than you at that game anyway? it wasn’t for nothing that you always lost trying to fight him. he was winning while you were just exhausting yourself out. sometimes you wonder why you let him into your life, why you thought it would be a good idea to have a baby with him when everyone on the island told you he was unstable and uncontrollable. some even laughed at your situation, saying it was like giving something to the devil and hoping he doesn't use it against you.

you couldn't say rafe was a bad father. your daughter had always been outrageously spoiled. he always gave her the biggest and greatest gifts. nothing was ever good enough for his princess. he always thought big when it came to his baby. even if you were a pogue, he wanted to raise her as a fucking kook.

and sometimes you wondered if he did all this out of pure fatherly love or out of narcissism or ego.even if you hated him so much, he absolutely needed to make sure your child was on his side. every time he was there, it was like you no longer existed. the house was full of "dad," "daddy, “ or “ papa, " and babbling and laughing. it was always his name, she never called you. and you always felt a pang in your heart every time he grabbed her in his big veiny arms, making her the happiest little girl before taking her away from you to go on some weekly trips.

even when he was not at home, it was always with the toys he gave her that she played, the dresses he gave her that she wore, the hairstyles that he validated by facetime that she asked you to make, the meals he delivered that she wanted to eat. she was truly daddy’s girl. even in her facial features.

so no matter how much you tried to ignore him, he was still there somehow . through the demands of your daughter, the hundreds of deliveries a day to your door, the objects in this house and even its walls because he was obviously the one who paid for it.

you didn't need to work. you had access to all his cards. at first you spent tons of money on unnecessary expenses hoping it would drive him crazy but the next day you saw that even more money had been added to the bank account.

but rafe cameron didn't give you access to his banking data out of pure kindness and affection alone. he was also looking for a way to control you, and stay in your life. then, with that, he could also stalk you and do inappropriate things like when you bought lingerie and he received the bill. he couldn't stop himself from sending you a message. “don't want to see me, but you dress yourself like you want me to give you a second baby ;) ”

the only rule was that you were forbidden from going to see another man and even less from inviting him to the house. he manipulated you by saying it was for your daughter's mental balance but it was purely out of jealousy. and you knew it very well. you weren't the stupid naive girl he had gaslighted in the past and who he could lie to so easily anymore.

one day, you were giving your kid the extremely expensive cupcakes rafe had bought for her breakfast, trying not to comment on the ridiculousness of the prices but especially the situation, and there was a knock at the door. when you saw through the blinder that it was him, you stepped back discreetly, swallowing hard to not clench. your heart was beating fast in your ribcage as you were trying to silence your stepfoots.

“I know you're here.” you had heard his loud firm raspy voice through the door. “baby, i can hear you breathing and backing up from here. come on, i thought we both get over the time i scared you. ”

he continued to knock on the door until your old neighbor called you claiming that a crazy madman was in front of your house and didn't want to leave.

you had been forced to open up to him which made you even angrier.

but that didn’t stop him from smiling at you, the insatiable white colgate smile. his clean and fresh mullet was long enough that hair brushed the back of his neck. he was wearing one of his perfect black suits with the sleeves rolled up to show a glimpse of his nice shirt. a Rolex was tight around his veiny wrist, and the same rings he always wore were wrapped around his fingers.

he had his ear pierced recently with your daughter. you had been against it, but she still wanted to do like her father so you had no authority over the sweet monster. but you had to admit that the jewelry suited them both so well. especially on rafe, you couldn't help but think about kissing his ear, but especially biting his earlobe while caressing the silver piercing until it's wet and rolling against your tongue. all this perhaps while thinking of having a baby again.

“I should be allowed to come here whenever I want. " he had sworn under his breath, staring at you with his evil blue eyes.

“tell me what you have to say or I’ll call the police.” you replied shortly.

"I want to see my girl. I mean, the one who likes to call me daddy. "

“It’s not funny and she doesn’t want to…”

you hadn't had time to finish speaking before your babyface's little footsteps were running on the floor to come into the hall.

“daddy! " she exclaimed before being carried off the ground to snuggle into her father's strong arms, her little frame being hidden by the size of his biceps.

“that's my little girl.” he welcomed her with a kiss on the cheek, making her chuckle.

"I missed you! please, stay !" your kid had asked with bubbly face and pleading eyes, her childish pout so irresistible to say no.

“of course, I’m staying.”

“raf…” you started but he ignored you, walking in the house without your permission into the living room.

“I have something for you, peaches. ”

he took a present out of his bag and you rolled your eyes. you already knew it was going to be something crazy like the giant dollhouse he built in her bedroom, or the huge dinette in the playroom, or a scary tall comfort teddy bear that she couldn't even carry in her tiny hands. sometimes you wondered what he could offer to her because she already had everything. he had literally built her a heaven.

your daughter's eyes widened in surprise, while a smile floated across her lips in excitement. she opened the gift and took out a silver tiara set with diamonds and stunning crystals signed by Swarovski.

“she’s a baby, rafe…” you commented.

"no, she's a princess. " he corrected you and fixed your little one's hair before putting the tiara on her head, and placing a smack on her forehead. “ don't you see that kook babyface ? ”

she giggled before wrapping her hands around his neck to thank him.

“we need to talk.” you said.

"later. i have a princess to honor for now."

you wanted to fight back and kill him but you couldn't resist your daughter's face. she was happy to be with her father. and you knew it was important for girls to establish a strong bond with their father. and there was this bright spark that shone in her eyes every time she saw him that made you melt.

so you let him stay at home. he stayed with her all day. she managed to make him do whatever she wanted, and that's how he found himself playing with dolls, watching the princess and the frog, doing karaoke to barbie songs, serving as a client for a makeup session, and judging all of her princess dresses while she was making him a haul.

No matter how angry you were that he showed up like that and decided to stay, you couldn't deny the fact that he was damn good, that in the moment, you couldn't find any reason not to like him, even when he caught you spying on them and sent you a smirk to remember that you had no control.

you had decided to do some cleaning, to leave them both for a bit until the end of the day. after a long moment, rafe decided to leave her alone for a bit.

you were downstairs, and you were making food. he raised an eyebrow when he saw you. “don’t forget me.”

“no I’m sorry, I’m cooking for two and you’re not included in it.”

“I was included in this pussy to make you a baby so you can include me in this meal for one night, baby. ‘s nothing. ” he shouted back, chewing some gum arrogantly.

“don’t be trashy.”

"you used to like this..." he carefully said, because he knew he was treading on sensitive ground.

he stood in front of you, picking a taste of the ranch sauce from the bowl before putting it in his mouth. you watched him do it, glaring at the smile on his so fucking evil lickable lips.

“ taste's good. ”

“I want you to leave. “

"We should ask every part of your body if they're okay with this. Maybe it would put you back into your place to feel betrayed by your own self. "

“You’re not good for her.” you confessed.

“I am her father. And from what i know, she's very happy with me. You're the one to have a problem with my presence here. ”

"Please, leave the house. I don't want to call the police."

“exactly, baby.” he moved to stand behind you, rearranging a strand of your hair, his breath hot on the back of your neck. “you don’t want to do it. And you're not forced to do it…” he caressed your hand, slowly putting the knife away from your fingers.

“Step back.”

"I want to stay here tonight. Just this night. She really wants me to stay and would it be cruel to make her sad? You don't want to be the villain, right ? "

“don’t try to manipulate me.”

" mmh, just telling the truth and it makes you mad. you can hate me if you want but she needs me. i'm her dad and you know if I wanted to, I could make her come with me but I love seeing you together. you're a great mom.”

"you will sleep on the couch. and that is non-negotiable. you don't try anything with me, is that okay?"

“Come on, we can sleep together. We are mature and consenting adults.” he replied. "There's nothing I haven't seen before, baby. I know all that lingerie as well as that body hidden behind it."

“about that, stop stalking my bills.”

"Mine , baby. you mean, my bills. these are my cards that you use for your pleasures so I have the right to have an eye on them. even more so when I receive bills for sex toys. you should call me instead of handling it? yourself.”

"After trying them, I'm not sure that you're big enough now. “

jesus, you knew how to provoke him and it worked. he had sniffed the air loudly, trying to contain himself because honestly, he only wanted one thing at the moment, a strong urge that was to fuck you dirty on that counter until he was sure to see your hole tearing to death and dripping to get his cock in. jesus, yeah, he would give anything to see you grimace because it will never fit in but prove you wrong by giving you a second baby.

his jaw was tense and his nostrils were flared. he was forced to clench his fist to avoid touching you. " the day when your babygirl will want a little sister or brother, you better be begging on all fours on my fucking doorstep to convince me to give you another baby. so better to start now and stretch that hole very hard before it's happening because i'm gonna make sure to be breeding you enough to change your whole dna. ”

“ aren't you tired of thr…”

“mom, dad, what are you talking about?” the little girl burst into the kitchen, still with her tiara on her head. a smile appeared when she saw that her dad was still there. because it was rare for him to stay that late.

you warned rafe with your eyes, slashing violently at pieces of vegetables with the knife back in your hand.

“ we were thinking that i could stay tonight. what's your thoughts on this, little one ? want daddy to stay ? ”

“ yes ! i don't want you to leave. stay foreveeeer with me. ”

“ but you know, he can't. he's a businessman. ” you replied.

“ what do you mean, baby ? my only business is right here. ”

” Rafe. ” you said.

“ Baby ? ” he replied with a cocky smile. “ Why don't you tell us what you're cooking ? Seems delicious. Maybe we could get a taste. ”

“ Sweetie, can you go to your room for a second ? I need to talk with your dad. It's not gonna be long. ”

She pouted but agreed after Rafe promised her something if she was listening to her mom.

“you know you can’t stay. "

"All I know is that there is my name in the papers of this house, on your bills, and even on your documents. If I can't stay, you can't escape. So what's better ? ”

[sexilene]

omg lene you should do something about a 80's slashers au with rafe and the boys that would be soooo cool!! ❤️❤️

!!! omigod yesss i'm gonna start with 80's slasher!rafe if feel like he'd be a creepy little stalkerrr, def season 2 rafe 💞

𐦍༘₊ ⊹ warnings! 18+ - non con, violence, stalking, spanking, slight breeding kink, knife play, dark!rafe - ₊˚⊹

you sat in the comfort of your bedroom, bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, finishing up some homework while talking with a girlfriend of yours on the phone. you reach your hand out to your nightstand to grab the nail file when the sound of the door closing causes you to freeze, being left home alone, your heart starts to race, and you hang up the phone and walk up to your door. you pull down your pretty little white nightgown so it covers your ass as you press your ear to the door to make sure it was just your parents.

all you hear is silence so you shrug and convince yourself it was just your mind playing tricks on you, then the phone starts to ring again, thinking it was just your friend calling you back, and you pick up the phone. 

"hello?" you speak with your voice lowered.

"hey babyface" you stop moving when you hear a voice you don't recognize.

"who's calling?" you try to sound assertive but end up sounding like a scared puppy. 

"i've been uh- watching you for a long time, an' i figured i should introduce myself," he says, his voice all gravely. you grip on the handle of the phone and reach an arm over to close your curtains quickly.

"stop that! it's not funny, whoever this is leave me alone." you almost whine. 

"nah can't do that baby, you looked too pretty in that nightgown...you wearin' panties underneath?" he continues. 

"i'm gonna call my boyfriend an-and he'll find out who you are and beat you up!" you stutter.

"you're not gonna do that, cuz uh- i'm in the house, and if you hang up-"

"i'll call the police!" you cut him off.

"i need you to listen to me, if you don't wanna die, you need to walk down to the living room slowly- you try to run and i'll catch you. if you don't come down, i'll go up n'get you." he then hangs up, your chest heaving as tears start to form in your eyes, you think about climbing out the window but it is on the second floor and the man might catch you and kill you! you decide to grab a chair to put against the door to keep him coming in but it's too late, as you take one step backward trying to drag the chair you feel the blade of a knife press against your neck. you gasp, ready to scream.

"shshshsh, behave." the man shushes you, pressing himself behind you, god he must be tall. "told you to listen" he coos condescendingly. 

"please, please don't..." you sob. 

"hey, hey! shut up- listen to me alright?" he raises his voice causing you to shut your eyes and nod slowly in fear, tears spill down your face. "good girl. want you to lay down on your bed and stay there, don't move, scream, talk or do anything 'less i tell you." you nod again slowly and he removes the knife from your neck, you do as you are told and lay down on your bed, silently sobbing. 

you look at the man, face now lit up by the soft light of your nightstand lamp, you watch him come closer and wipe some of the sweat forming on his forehead under his messy hair with the back of his hand that's holding the knife. he grins, getting up on your bed and tossing the knife next to him as he pins you down. 

"r-rafe?..." you whisper, now realizing who it is.

"yeah! yeah baby it's me..." he continues to grin. 

"get off! please rafe, i don't wanna do this with you!" you whine and start to squirm a little bit.

"you don't really have a choice." he mumbles as he runs his rough hands up and down your thighs, stopping to grab the hem of your lace panties. "you wear this for me?" he says pulling them down as you really start to cry, trying to get him off of you by pushing at his shoulders but he's too strong.

"i have a- my boyfriend-" you start but then he looks back into your eyes and smiles again. "nah, you don't, i got rid of 'im... cut him up, he's in the trunk of my truck. wanna see?" he asks, his eyes following yours, bringing his hand up to wipe your tears away lovingly. 

"why!? why are you doing this!" you sob and try and move your face away from his touch. "i love you, i love you so much and you never talked to me or...looked at me and i need you to love me too…say it…" he demands. you shake your head no and try and push him off, pissed, rafe manhandles you. he flips you onto your stomach and lifts you up by your waist so your face is smushed against the messy sheets, ass in the air. "you fucking brat." he spits out.

he yanks your panties down and smacks your ass with his large hand, holding your wrists in the other. he forcefully spreads your legs and places a hard slap on your poor wet little cunt.

you let out a yelp as he "soothes" your throbbing pussy by rubbing your clit with the rough pads of three fingers. "are you a virgin princess?" he whispers, pressing a gross, sloppy kiss to your cheek. you whine out and try to move your face away. "what? you don't like my kisses?" he leans in again to give you a few more of those wet kisses, making taunting kissy sounds that make you scrunch up your face and mewl.

"gonna make you feel reeeally good baby, gonna make this little pussy cream all over me, yeah?" he rambles, grabbing the knife with his free hand, bringing it back to your neck. "please rafe, i've never- "

"you waited for me? huh? princess saved herself for me." you can hear his smile, he's almost relieved that he will be your first and last. he pulls himself out of his boxers and starts to line himself up. "i would'a stretched you out a bit first but this cunt is a dripping mess already so."

you scream as you feel his fat tip press against your entrance. "shhhhshh, s'just the tip." he murmurs, easing himself in slowly until he's stretching you as you've never felt, his tip kisses your cervix. "ow! it's too big, too much, too big..." you ramble, squeezing down on his cock unable to really move due to the knife.

"n'you are so tight, fuck, this is where you should'a always been..taking me like this babydoll." he grits through his teeth as he starts to thrust causing you to whine and to try and pull your hands away from his grip.

"keep cryin', it's only making me harder princess," he grunts, tears continue to stream down your face. he pounds into you now hard and fast, you wish you could grab onto his shoulders or hair as he starts to hit that sweet spot.

"stop it! rafeeee" you whine, he shushes you by tossing the knife on the bed again and covering your mouth with his hand as he continues his assault on your cunt. "i should cum in you, knock you up so you won't ever be able to leave me." he breathes out, he lets go of your face and wraps that hand around your neck to bring you up to kiss your neck. "no! no no please pull out! please rafe!" you cry.

he lets go of your neck and throws you back down you your face hits the mattress again, he lets go of your wrists so you are now gripping your sheets. "you know that's the knife i used to stab your boyfriend? he begged like a little bitch. he didn't deserve you." he reaches a hand around to grab your pussy and pull you closer to him, then rubbing your throbbing clit.

"m'na cummm" you mewl, body giving into how he's touching you so roughly yet gently.

"i know baby, give it to me, all over my cock c'mon" he encourages with that tone, and feeling him so deep in you and hitting that spot your body goes numb. shutting your eyes tightly as hot white explodes in you making you feel like you are on a roller-coaster.

he grips your waist and with the other hand, he's lovingly brushing back your messy baby hairs due to your sweaty forehead. "atta girl, thereee, see? i knew you could be good for me." he thrusts once more hard and deep, shooting his thick hot load all up in you causing you to whine at the feeling and making him groan.

he pulls out of you, sticking his two fingers into your pussy to push his cum back in, then leaning in to bite your ass. you let out a little scream, he flips you on your back and grabs the knife, gripping your thigh he brings the knife over to carve a little RC into the meat of your thigh. you try not to thrash around but you do let out another little scream at the pain.

"yer' all mine now kid." he smiles, exhaustion taking over as you let out shaky breaths and let him lean in to press icky kiss to your lips. ᥫ᭡

[wonderjanga]

I feel like that, whenever Billy needs a break from heroing, Freddy will sit on Mary’s shoulders and somehow convince everyone that they are Captain Marvel

The JL have noticed something recently when it comes to Cap. Recently, he’s been looking younger? Like Junior level young, and the boy looks twelve. Eventually, someone decided to ask about it,

GL: “Hey, uh… Cap?”

Junior: “Ye-” *clears throat to make his voice sound deeper* “Yes?”

GL: “We wanted to ask, why do you suddenly look normal, then young, then normal, then young again?”

Junior: “Uh…”

GL: “I mean, we know you aren’t human so is that apart of your biology or something?”

Mary: *doesn’t even want to dissect that statement and whispers something to Freddy*

GL: “What was that?”

Junior: “Nothing. Listen, to answer your question, it’s from a babyface spell.”

GL: “A what?”

Junior: “A baby face spell. It makes you look young.”

GL: “You get hit with that a lot, huh?”

Junior: *nods* “Unfortunately.”

GL: “Huh. …well, cool!” *is about to walk away* “Nice trench coat by the way!” *walks off with a pep in his step*

Junior: “Thanks!”

Later…

Junior: *making himself a sandwich cause Mary went to go piss*

GL: “Oh, hey, Junior!”

Junior: “Hey.” *takes a nice big bite of the sandwich*

GL: *stares* “You know, you know, you really look like your father? Right?”

Junior: *pauses mid-bite* “What?”

GL: “Well, he’s been hit with a Babyface spell a bunch of times apparently, and you look a lot like him when he has a babyface.”

Junior: “Oh really…?”

GL: “Yeah! Though I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. I mean, he is your dad.”

Junior: “Right… yup. Like father like son I guess.”

Then, there came the inevitable day. Mary lost her balance.

Mary and Junior: *tumble and sprawl out on the floor*

JL: *gasps*

Junior: *still sprawled, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how fucked they are*

Mary:*most bored, monotonous voice* “Ah… Ah… I’ve been cut in half! Oh no!”

*silence*

Junior: “YOU WEREN’T EVEN THE ONE ON TOP, MARY!”

Mary, Freddy, AND Billy, who had to be called in even though he was sick, were chewed out for nearly 3 hours because of this.

[phoenixyfriend]

Something something Dooku survives the Clone Wars, the Imperial Era, and even a few years past the OT...

And Luke finds him while looking for More Jedi to help him teach.

Chewie recognizes the decrepit old bastard, and there is yelling, but being A Hundred And Nine has mellowed Dooku out in his own dusty hermit hut, on the other side of the galaxy from Ben and Yoda's hermit huts.

All the Jedi ghosts are unhappy with this but Dooku is… not REFORMED, technically, but he's old and tired, even if the Force keeps him a bit more healthy and energized than the average Old Guy, and humans routinely live to pretty unreal old ages in the gffa anyway so really 109 for them is probably like 85 for us.

But yeah. Old mountain hermit (to contrast the desert and the swamp) who's been in hiding from That Dick Sidious since he lost both hands to babyface Vader in 19BBY.

@jebiknights (Sammie) said:

Dooku finds out Luke was also trained by Yoda and is like "oh Yoda finally gave me a younger brother like I always wanted"

Alternately he could probably get Luke to call him Great-Great-Grandfather.

Sammie: Funniest option is he's both which makes Luke even more confused lmao Ghost Obi wan in the background like "stop fucking using non Jedi terms to describe Jedi relationships it doesn't fucking work"

Luke calls him, irreverently, Gramps, but also. Leia definitely recognizes him as a Recent Historic Political Figure, but not until AFTER Luke has already integrated Dooku into his new Jedi school.

"Why did Chewie let him do that?" He thought it was funny. (And/or if you like Chewku, you can make this some sordid exes thing.)

"Why did R2 let him do that?" Best keep evil man in electrical prodding range.

Sammie: Leia comes to the school for her biweekly Jedi lessons and sees the newest teacher was a traitor to the Republic 😭

Best if they can find Quin or Ventress out in the black. Partly because like. Does this make Ventress their step-grandma (Quinlan's on-off something) or their great-great-aunt (Dooku's 4th apprentice)?

Sammie: Both and also Luke's niece. Luke has a migraine by the end of it and Leia is ready to disown herself. Ventress: I didn't realize the Jedi were so incestuous Luke: war flashbacks to before he realized Leia was his sister

Ahsoka in the corner with Spacebucks, five years late "Y'all suck. Hey, Quin."

Sammie: I know you likely didn't bring up Quinlan thinking of QuinObi but now I'm imagining Quinlan declaring himself their grandpa when he meets the twins bc 1) he loves to cause chaos 2) he does/did consider Anakin his kid even if not in neat non Jedi terms and 3) Obi-Wan thought being considered Anakin's father made him sound old, and Quinlan needs to harass him beyond the grave

Dooku must have a cane that the ghosts heckle him about because He Clearly Wants To Be Just Like Yoda.

@lyntergalactic (Lyn) said:

I feel like evil gramps could really bring out Ahsoka's snark once she shows up and that would be highly entertaining Ahsoka is simultaneously his most and least favorite grandchild

She's the most experienced as a Jedi (Ventress went full Sith, not just leaving the Order but following the tenets like Ahsoka, and Quinlan isn't in the lineage), has never Fallen unless you count that thing on Mortis.

Also she WILL bitch Dooku out at this age, and honestly he kind of appreciates the brutal honesty.

Ahsoka: I'm not a Jedi. All the old people: Lies

She brings up the Hondo incident since nobody else is putting in the effort. Anakin and Obi-Wan COULD as ghosts but nooooooo she has to do everything around here.

Sammie: Oh but it sets them off so hard they can barely get the story off from laughing NGL I think the twins did not understand how truly annoying Obi-Wan and Anakin could be together until the Hondo story gets told.

They are The Worst.

[updownlately]

how could i ever (treat my baby that way)

| leah williamson x reader | angst | 4.7k | inspo: never keeping secrets by babyface | a/n: got this ask a long ass time ago and it's finally gone somewhere. this is part one to a two part fic! (read part ii here)

~~~

You’d think that between the chilly air coming out of the air conditioning in the room and the freezing cold drink in your hand that you’d be comfortably cool, body not overheating despite being in a slightly crowded bar. 

You hoped that would be the case, just like it had been many times before. Yet, the way your body was burning right now contrasted your prayers, unusual for you, yet not surprising given the circumstances.

You knew you were pissed, could nearly feel the steam coming out of your own ears before your emotions could even make themselves known. It sucked, having to accept your fate, letting yourself get more and more agitated at the sight in front of you, hand tightening on your glass, fingertips white. But that’s all you could do, invisible rope holding you back, keeping your hands tied, the artist no other than the one you loved.

Letting your eyes drift over to the blonde, your blonde, in the middle of the dance floor, your jaw tightened. 

You knew she was yours, the two of you having been together for over a year now. You knew she was yours, your apartment being the one she resided in the most. You knew she was yours, ‘I love you’s’ whispered in the mingled breathes you shared late into the night. You knew she was yours. So why didn’t it feel like it?

Your unwavering gaze, almost like two laser beams, focused on your girlfriend, mentally begging her to look your way, to see the hurt in your eyes.

Taking a deep breath to try (and fail) to calm yourself down, you quickly downed the rest of your drink, thankful to have gone the sober route tonight. You didn’t know what drunk you would’ve done in all this hurt, and you surely didn’t want to find out.

Contemplating whether you should swim your way through the sea of people to the bar, you waited. You waited, and waited, and waited, pleading to the universe that she would meet your eyes.

She didn’t look. 

Not a single glance was sent your way.

She didn’t care. 

Shaking your head, anger quickly turning into disappointment, then sadness, you stepped out of where you were in the corner, having preferred to stay back by the booth as the rest of the girls enjoyed their night. 

Making your way over to the bar, you ordered yourself a water, hoping it would soothe the ache in your chest. 

Downing half of it as soon as the bartender passed it to you, you turned, eyes once again finding purchase on your girlfriend subconsciously.

You watched as she danced with the Chelsea player unashamedly, almost proudly, as if she didn’t have a girlfriend to go home to at the end of the night.

Naive and infatuated, you had never bothered to consider the difference between private and secret back when the idea was suggested to you. Now? Now you utterly resented the distinction between the two words.

Feeling the hair on the back on your neck rising however, you blinked out of your thoughts, quickly zoning back into real life, scanning the room for the cause before ocean eyes met yours. 

Leah.

The blonde was finally looking right at you, the girl in front of her continuing to dance in close proximity, her eyes closed- too gone with the music, to notice her distracted partner.

Raising an eyebrow in silent question, you waited.

You waited for a reaction, an apologetic smile, a mouthed sorry. Something to show she realized how her actions were hurting you. Anything. 

You waited a second, then another, and then another. 

Instead you got nothing, a continued blank look shot your way as she continued looking at you, head tilted.

You were well aware you didn’t have to say much, nearly a year of being in a relationship, a little over two of living together meant she knew you- quite well too, if you had an opinion on the matter. 

In this moment though, it felt like not enough. 

All the memorized takeout orders, her awareness on how you liked your coffee, what your moods were and how to best comfort you in your lows- her knowing all of that didn’t matter if she couldn’t understand how absolutely heartbroken you felt right now, watching her keep away from you, dance with another body that wasn’t yours, marking a win that you both shared, but only one of you were celebrating.

It didn’t matter if she didn’t realize she was hurting you. 

Bringing your drink towards your chest, you ducked your forehead down, letting the cool glass bring you some reprieve to your growing headache, no doubt caused by heartache. 

Wanting nothing more than to leave, teammates be damned- this night was over for you long ago- you placed the glass back on the bar top, thanking the woman behind it once again before heading over to the team’s table.

Quickly grabbing your coat, confident that Leah could find her way home- not out of malice but with the staggering number of your shared friends, teammates, and rival players in the club- you bid adieu to Steph and Kim, the only two by the table, citing a tired body as your excuse. 

Exiting the stifling atmosphere and slipping into the cool air, you took a deep breath in, forcing your shoulders to relax in an attempt to convince yourself you were okay. 

Well aware that Leah’s eyes had followed you out, you committed the sound of only your footfalls in the late night into memory, eyes stinging, shaky breaths escaping you. 

Beginning the trek home, your apartment not too far, you let yourself get lost in your thoughts. 

~~~

It’s much, much, later when you hear the unmistakable jingle of Leah’s keys by your front door- three forty-three am to be exact. 

You weren’t surprised to hear her here. It was very much expected in fact, the blonde spending nearly all her days and nights here since quarantine started, not bothering to move out once you had made things official. 

Sighing at the fact that you hadn’t slept a wink since you had reached home, not for a lack of trying but for having to console your dejected heart, you internally groaned at the thought of dealing with a drunk Leah. 

Putting your grief aside for the time being and rising out of bed, you rubbed the tiredness out of your eyes and padded over to the kitchen just as Leah stumbled into the entry hallway in front of you. 

Taking in the sight before you, you sighed warily. 

The blonde looked absolutely disheveled- hair matted to her forehead but sticking out everywhere, heels in her hand, and exhaustion pouring out of her eyes.

Watching her stagger blindly towards the island, you quickly put an arm around her waist, leading her to sit on a barstool as you silently grabbed her some water.

Placing the glass in front of her, you turned, planning to head into your shared bedroom to get a set of clothes for the midfielder to change into when her groggy voice interrupted your actions, derailing your thoughts.

“You left early…”

The accusatory tone wasn’t lost on you, your defences immediately going up. 

Baffled at how it was your behaviour being questioned, you shook your head in shock. 

“I did,” you state matter-of-factly, turning to face her. 

You paused for a second, waiting to see what the blonde would say next, already on edge from the rollercoaster of emotions from today.

“Why?”

The question put you in a state of incredulity, your anger and hurt resurfacing.

“Why? You’re really asking me why?” Your voice came out louder than you would’ve liked, given the time, but you didn’t pay much mind. 

“Leah, you spent the whole night getting cozy with another girl. The whole night! While I was there! And you’re asking me why I left early?”

“We were just dancing…it’s not like I was making out with her in the middle of the dance floor.” The slurred words combined with the eye-roll from the defender had you shaking your head. “It was completely platonic.”

You couldn’t believe this.

“You’re joking right? Or did you get a concussion mid-game that I don’t know about?” 

“Relax... just because you can’t go a few hours without me doesn’t mean I have to do the same.” 

The slurred words coupled with the nonchalant tone with which Leah expressed herself caused you to lose your breath for a second, mind baffled.

“Did you-,” collecting yourself for a second, you asked her, “…did you just call me clingy?”

Swallowing hard in the silence that followed, you felt your stomach sink.

“You’re really calling me clingy?” The shakiness in your voice made itself known, disbelief becoming apparent.

“It was friendly.” You watched as Leah turned her body away from you, choosing to rest her head on the cool countertop in order to find some relief from her probable headache.

“Was it? You want me to go fucking drape myself all over Millie the next we go out with the United team? Let me know if you feel ‘clingy’ then?” Voice rising more than quiet words once more, you took a step back, trying to put space between you and the other girl. 

“Oh come on it wasn’t that big of a deal…” 

You would have agreed it this hadn’t happened so often, so many times in the past- tonight being your tipping point.

There had already been multiple team events where the blonde stayed the furthest away from you, never bothering to celebrate your goals with you, avoiding any physical contact, almost as if it burned her to be near you. Hiding away any photos you took together, platonic or romantic, in her phone, them never once leaving her library. 

You didn’t know how much more of this you could take, really. 

Ignoring that she couldn’t see you, you shook your head at Leah. Clenching your jaw, you decided to forego taking care of the blonde like you had planned.

“Great, then neither will be you going to bed alone tonight,” you scoffed. 

You saw the midfielder immediately shoot up into a sitting position from her slumped state, eyes wide, body tense.

“We haven’t slept apart since the pandemic, you know that,” her timid voice echoed in the dark apartment.

It was true. You’d both had gotten lucky since and had even been paired up for the handful of times the team had stayed in a hotel, the only time spent apart being during international breaks.

“Well I feel like I was too clingy earlier so I wanna give you space now, since you so clearly crave that.”

“Babe…” 

Well aware that you were too upset to think rationally, you continued ignored Leah’s pleas. Turning on your heel, you started to make your way to grab your pillow and head to the guest room, choosing to kick yourself out rather than disturb the midfielder.

Hearing footfalls behind you, you shook your head as you continued on your path.

“Leah, go to bed. I’m sleeping alone and that’s final.” Your voice came out cold, almost stoic.

The blonde reached for your hand, fingertips barely skimming yours as you harshly pulled your arm to your chest, cradling it.

“Leah I fucking mean it.”

Shoulders dropping, the blonde dejectedly agreed, too out of it to protest again.

Hearing a lack of footsteps behind your own as you made your way across the hall, you shuddered as your heart sank deeper, the weight in your chest settling torturously.

Why did love hurt?

~~~

You didn’t know it but Leah’s miserable the next few days without you. She’s well aware she’d put her foot in her mouth far enough, dug her own grave, but she misses you terribly anyways. 

She misses your hugs in the morning and how you’d let her cuddle you as you cooked breakfast. She misses your kisses and the way you’d randomly just come sit with her during your free time. She misses you being around her, you always hyper, your energy infectious, always brightening her moods. She especially missed your mere presence, you now never spending more time than needed in the same room as her now, instead electing to leave for practice much earlier than needed, picking up takeout and eating in your room, doing anything and everything to ensure you both would never cross paths for longer than a handful of seconds. 

The distance between you had been so noticeable that it didn’t take the team long to catch on, the way you didn’t gravitate to Leah at every given chance during training a stark contrast to your regular shenanigans. 

It had gotten to the point where the team had even been too scared to ask you directly, your frustration clear enough on the pitch with how hard you trained, interactions with the rest of your teammates minimizing as well.

It’s why Beth and Lia had quietly confronted Leah, both uneasy at what had changed between you both. 

“You two okay? She keeps avoiding you at practice, and to be honest, it’s slightly worrisome…” Lia’s voice trailed off as her, Beth, and Leah made it back towards the locker rooms post-practice.

Taking a quick look over her shoulder, not finding you trailing behind, Leah faced the Swiss captain, voice dropping lower. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine. She’s just going through some personal stuff. She’ll be okay…”

The ‘I hope so’ went unsaid, but the way Leah’s pitch rose at the end of the statement had the two other player’s eyebrows raising in silent question, thoughts they both chose not to voice on the tip of their tongues.

Nodding in response, the trio continued their walk in silence, no one wanting to push too hard.

Unsaid or not, all three knew that nothing was fine, Leah more so than the others, and it scared her immensely. 

~~~

Stress clear on her face, Leah sprinted off the pitch after the game against Chelsea, chasing you down the tunnel before the rest of the team had even left the field. 

Catching up to your tired body, she grabbed your hand and pulled you in the opposite direction to a more secluded spot, uncaring of how drained you absolutely were.

Too tired from the past few days to refute, you let yourself be pulled.

When the blonde figured you two had made it far enough down the tunnel to talk without being heard, she quickly turned on her heel, stopping and looking at you, face screwed in displeasure. 

“What the fuck was that on the field today? Why were you so aggressive?! You got carded for fuck’s sake- you don’t get carded…ever!”

Sighing, barely scrounging up the energy for the conversation, you closed your eyes, pulling your arm away from her hold.

“I played the game. That’s what I did. Fouls are part of the game,” Your voice was rigid, no fight in you, not after how horribly you’d been sleeping as of late, the argument from nights ago not only affecting the blonde. 

“You played dangerously, that’s what you did! You were irresponsible, careless, and…and reckless! Not to mention selfish! Do you know how much of a difficult situation it would’ve been had you got a red? And with the way that referee was calling fouls, it’s a miracle you didn’t!” 

You could’ve gotten hurt. The words go unsaid.

By now the blonde was nearly yelling, face red from frustration.

Please just let me go.

Biting the inside of your cheek to stay calm, you sighed again.

“Game’s over either way. I didn’t get a red and we won…I don’t see a problem here.” Your voice curt, you made a move to step past the midfielder.

You didn’t get far however, the other girl’s hand coming to grasp your wrist to prevent you from stepping away any further. 

Stopping briefly in your tracks, you didn’t turn. You couldn’t. You couldn’t because if you did, she’d see the tears that were threatening to fall, heart exhausted. 

Instead, you shake your head, tugging your arm out of her grasp and bringing it to cautiously wipe away the few tears that had escaped. 

Watching your figure walk away, Leah’s face fell at your lack of care. 

Dejectedly, she followed you, a fair distance away. Making her own way to the change rooms with a flurry of thoughts in her head and an ache in her chest, she swallowed the lump in her throat.

She couldn’t even blame anyone but herself. 

~~~

Entering the locker room, Leah took a quick look around, the rest of the team nearly showered and changed out of their kits, save for you. 

Ignoring Lia and Katie’s questioning, the blonde walked over to her locker and began to get ready to shower.

Lucky that this was a home game, Leah knew she could take her time.

Taking a quick shower, she tried to casually wait for you to finish up- well aware that you were trying to drag out your own shower, hoping that you wouldn’t cross paths with your girlfriend (ex?- you didn’t really know.) 

The Gunner relented however, making up a lame excuse at Beth’s plea for her to join her on the walk out.

Patiently sitting, nearly alone in the locker room as she watched the rest of the girls file out, she waited. 

She waited as the patter of water ran longer than usual. 

She waited as she slowly heard it come to a stop, an eerie silence consuming the room.

She waited as you finally stepped out minutes later, wet hair tied in a messy but, club gear resting comfortably on your frame. 

She waited as you realized she was still here, eyes widening as a quiet fuck escaped your lips. 

Patience wearing thin now, she stood up, her own bag forgotten as she made her way to you. 

“Listen-“

You didn’t even let her finish though, instead cutting her off before another word could be said, your hand held between you to keep a distance. 

“Honestly? Save it.”

“No, but-“

Shaking your head, you slipped past her, beginning to quickly throw your dirty kit and toiletries into your kit bag.

Silence covered the room for a moment, only the noises of you angrily packing your kit bag to be heard. 

It didn’t last long however, timid words cutting through the tense atmosphere. 

“I’m sorry.”

You froze in your spot at your words, your sweaty jersey just barely dangling in your hands as you inhaled sharply.

Collecting yourself, you shook your head, Leah’s words meaning nothing to you. 

“Okay.”

The blunt, one word reply of yours hit Leah harder than she anticipated, this not at all how she was expecting this conversation to go.

Swallowing hard, she stepped around you, coming to a stop a short ways away, standing between the door and you. 

Wringing her hands nervously, Leah’s voice came out meek, eyes nearly downcast and heart pounding.

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

Laughing darkly at the other girl’s words, you stopped your movement again, turning around with your hands resting on your hips, a cold look in your eyes.

“What else do you want me to say?” Clenching your jaw, you gave Leah a blank look. 

“I-…”

Raising her eyes to meet you, the skipper straightened her back out, nerves rising as she took note of how rigid your posture was- how distant you were from her despite only being a few feet apart.

As you realized she wasn’t going to say anything, you decided to confront her on what had been on your mind throughout the second half of the game.

“You wanna explain what I heard at half-time? Because I’d really love to hear how you plan to spin this one on me this time…”

The deer-in-headlights look you got in return let you know she knew exactly what you were talking about.

At half time, just as the players were headed back in, a young fan had nearly begged Leah to sign her jersey. 

Never one to say no to a supporter of women’s soccer, much less of Arsenal and a young teen, Leah had quickly veered off, making small talk with the girl as she signed and posed for a photo.

Everything had been smooth sailing really, in fact, you watched the whole interaction with a smile on your face as you approached the tunnel.

Too bad good things never lasted.

Just as Leah had been ready to walk away from the stands, the young girl had innocently asked the question that had changed your whole mood.

The high pitched voice asking whether you and Leah were dating had easily carried over to you, repeating in your head since, a broken tape recorder you just couldn’t turn off.

What stuck with you however, was the Gunner’s response- the immediate scoff, zero hesitation or regret on her face as the words ‘absolutely not…she’s not my type’ escaped her. Words that were followed by a shrug and a cheeky grin that haunted you for the second half. 

You always had a feeling you weren’t good enough for her, your insecurity a topic of conversation for many nights in the past- nights where the blonde spent countless hours convincing and proving otherwise. 

Now though? Now it all felt like a lie- recollections of all those middle-of-the-night cuddles and hushed conversations making your heart heavy with the way her denial of your relationship came so quickly, so easily. 

Maybe this wasn’t meant to be, not as much you had wished it was.

Since the start of your relationship, when going out, whether it was with the team or just the two of you, Leah would distance herself from you, never sitting beside you even though she claimed you two were the bestest of friends. Choosing to be anybody else’s partner during media days. Hell, even going as far as standing on the opposite side to you during pre-match photos. And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t twist the knife in your chest just a little bit more each time that it happened.

If you were honest, you didn’t know how much bigger you could let the gaping wound get, unsure of whether your heart could handle another twist.

It’s why your next words physically hurt you to say, your voice quiet, its echo ringing in your ears.

“if you’re really that embarrassed of me, maybe we shouldn’t even be together…”

A shiver runs through your spine as you continue to look at Leah.

The admission feels heavy, the bright lights of the room unable to lift the somber mood in the slightest.

You can see a shuddering breath wrack her body at your words, and you can feel the distance between you two growing, mere feet feeling like hundreds of metres, goosebumps rising as the room grows significantly colder.

The reply comes slow, but the intensity, the anger, the defence in her voice at the words nearly knocks you back.

“It’s not like that…” 

The words are emotion laced, Leah’s head tilted to the side as her eyes search your face for any indication of what’s on your mind.

“Really? Then what’s it like? Is it just going to be you denying our relationship till the end? Is it just going to be you getting cozy with another girl and calling me clingy and overreactive? Is it just going to be you claiming you’ve done nothing wrong? Telling Lia that I’m going through something?” 

Shaking your head, a wry smile crossed your face. “Don’t be surprised- at least Wally cared enough to make sure I was doing okay, y’know? Something you haven’t asked me once.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me near you…” The timid admission had you shaking your head, displeased with her response.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, eyes closing as you tried to hold back your frustration, you spoke.

“Thats the issue Leah….you just don’t fucking know. You don’t know what you want. You don’t know how this relationship is going to work. You don’t know when you want to tell everyone we’re together. You don’t see how much it hurts me every time you deny that we are anything more than teammates, even friends! You just so happen to not know you’re breaking my heart each and every goddamn day!”

Chest heaving in frustration, you swallowed hard, you ears heating up in embarrassment of your outburst, eyes going everywhere but to the girl in front of you.

 It’s as you contemplate your next words that the blonde sees your anger turn to sadness, eyes dropping, shoulders sinking.

“You know what? I think- I think we’re done Leah.” 

Your voice was a whisper, the words strained, almost as if it cut you to say them.

“I can’t do this. I really can’t…”

“Wait no…”

You shook your head, barely any energy left in you. 

“How many times Leah? How many times are we gonna go back and forth like this? How long do I have to wait for you to get on the same page? It’s nearly been a year for fuck’s sake.”

Taking a deep breath, you grab your bag, your eyes firmly trained on the floor as you side step Leah and take off to your car, not once looking back.

If you had though, you would’ve seen the broken way the taller woman stood at the exit, eyes damp, body rigid in shock, fists clenched at her sides as she struggled to process what had just happened. 

Being snapped out of her daze at the slam of the door shutting by its own weight, the blonde came back to reality, the weight of your words finally sinking in. 

Swallowing hard as the alarm bells went off in her head, she turned on her heel, yanking the door open and running to follow you.

You are nowhere to be found though, she makes her way to the carpark, just to notice you pull out of your spot, not an ounce of hesitation in your actions. 

Hearing a pair of footsteps beside her though, ones that were most definitely not yours, Leah tensed at the thought of another person’s presence where you should be standing.

Glancing over to see Lia, the English captain tightened her jaw, closing her eyes in an unsuccessful attempt to hide just how broken she felt right now. 

“She told me to give this to you- said something about having an issue to attend to…” The words came out quiet from Lia, your set of keys for Leah’s home in her hold, dangling in the space between the two national captains, nearly mockingly.

Voice dropping an octave, Lia decided she had enough of the wait, eyes growing in concern at her counterpart’s disheveled look.

“Leah what’s going on between you two? She seemed pretty upset leaving…”

Swallowing, the Gunner knew she had her chance to come clean, to finally admit to herself that she hurt you, more than she ever thought she would.

Instead though, she didn’t- the idea of saying out loud that you left her too unbearably painful to speak into existence.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged instead, schooling her own expression into a somewhat relaxed one, “we didn’t talk much in the locker room, she seemed pretty stressed in there.”

Raising her eyebrows, Lia didn’t seem to buy it but she didn’t push and Leah didn’t know whether to feel relieved or not.

Grabbing the keys firmly from the Swiss’ hold, Leah turned towards the locker rooms once more, this time not bothering to wipe her tears as they fell, glad for the lack of footsteps behind her. 

With no idea as to where you went or when you would be back, she had no option but to wait and hope it would be soon- soon enough that she could rectify her mistakes and make you hers again- the best thing she ever had, gone, just like that.

~

(read part ii here)

[twistedpink]

Who’s your valentine? @/cafekitsune banner

And the spinner says….

Idia + getting sick + quality time

“Hey… I know how this looks.”

The cabinets clatter violently with how you scramble against the wood- Veggies, boullion, and way too much water go in the pot. You hope he tastes the anger.

“Glad you’re self aware, Casper!”

“The friendly ghost?? Mid reference.”

The ‘how to not murder your boyfriend’ council in your head is screaming at him to shut up already, but you kind of want him to keep going. Just to watch him talk himself into a corner, like your shit-stirrer so often does. The least he could is entertain you after this royal betrayal,,

If there’s anything you regret about tonight, it’s not hating Idia more (not that you do hate him, but everyone can sympathize with a little trouble in paradise!). It doesn’t matter anymore if it was a work function or family dinner- He promised to go, and now even his immune system’s flaking!

The half-hate soup simmers in the background while your true crime show is playing ‘FBI torture: not clickbait!’ as a duet to Idia’s shakey sneezes.. God, you’re mean. He doesn’t even like this show, he’s just compliant enough to sit in on it! Because he likes you!! “Dinner’s ready.”

There’s something special about the way he looks up at you- His hair pools in a waterfall down his hunched back after jailbreaking from a low pony that you gave him, and his little sickie nose twitches at the warmth… He’s way too cute to stay mad at!! The hot spoon full of fresh soup presses faithfully against his lips, and you’re soon to realize that he’s never looked guiltier.

“You good, babe?”

“UH. um. Never better, babyface..? This soup’s totally meta, YEAH, that’s it! Just thinking about soup!”

“It’s not that good! But I’m not here to yuck your yum, let’s get you better. Love you.”

“Yup! That too,,”

. Cheezy catchphrases and emote sound effects blare from your surround-sound system (Ids insisted on on the thing, and you’re weak to begging), echoing off the comparatively bare boned living room setup. One thing you convinced Idia to do was drag all his gaming into the living room “to share” (you’re hardly allowed to touch anything, much less any guests) you just couldn’t ever sell him on the “normal” knickknacks, barely avoiding anime figures for decor.

He’d only half persuaded you into starting this rpg- All the fantastical races and classes usually melt together whenever mods come into play, but you’re really starting to enjoy yourself! You’re so invested in the current dialogue that you almost don’t notice a boyfriend-shaped beartrap wrap around your arm. Almost.

“Idia, are you sure everything’s okay?”

He forces out a weak ‘m sorry, and the game’s forgotten pretty quickly to start loving on him (great! Now you have to catch up later), you lavish kisses all over his face, mumbling pet names into his sensitive ears- Avoiding his crusted nose and making your way to his neck before he shoves a palm in your face with a little too much force. It’s not like you can get away with all his weight piled up on your thigh, that’s just rude!

“I’M FAKING!”

what

“What?? There’s no way you’re faking this, how dumb do you think I am?”

“It’s stupid. I licked a Petri dish at work so we wouldn’t go out. I’m super sorry!”

Before you know it, you’re giggling uncontrollably at the mental image of Idia licking a Petri dish, and running away- Leaving only licks as evidence. He is HORRIFIED. Maybe this is your murder giggle?? Regardless of whatever he’s thinking, the grip on your arm gets tighter, and he joins you with a couple entertained huffs.

“SHUT UP, YOU DIDNT! You’re the funniest guy I know! Next time, just let me know when you want to stay in. I’m pretty slippery when I want to be :),”

“Really?”

“Really. Either way, it was a good Valentine’s Day. Are you up for icecream?”

“Sure! And, uh,, happy Valentine’s Day. Ilyt.”

[whoreseason]

RANDOM JAMES MARCH HEADCANONS

CW for murder, drug use mentions, and discussions of trauma/implied child abuse

I think he excels at doing cocaine. I don’t know how to explain what I mean though

He's done quite a lot of it in his life but no longer does, not only because his ass is dead and he can't get high but because such crass indulgences remind him of his younger days

He’d wear women’s perfume if it were more socially acceptable but his ideas around masculinity refuse to let him do this

His hair is naturally a bit curly and he has spent years gelling it into submission

Is 5'8 and rather small build-wise

Despite his size, he can really, really hold his own in a fight, though he fights very dirty. Hand to hand fighting triggers something in him and he does it with pure rage. His opponent will be on the ground before they know it and he'll probably have killed them before he realizes what he's doing

Is a bit resentful of his babyface, as well as his height, and wishes he were both taller and more mature looking

Growing out a mustache was influenced by this

Also deeply resentful of the phrase “prettyboy”, which he’s heard a fair amount

Either puts lifts in his shoes or wears slightly heeled ones. Do NOT bring this up

Has been smoking since he was 12 or so

His eye twitches just slightly when he’s annoyed. It’s often his only outward tell

His only two modes of expressing irritation/anger are “irritated but not showing it” or “literally screaming”

I feel like we as a fandom don’t talk about his canonical temper enough. This individual has probably thrown a fork into a maid’s eye because she got the placement of a napkin wrong

His original accent is lower class Boston, and while this may not be a headcanon, I feel the need to bring this up. His actual voice may sound more like Kit's than anything

Speaks a bit of French and Latin, largely in an attempt to fit in with the old money upper class

Started drinking pretty hard very young, maybe when he was around 12 or 13? And was basically an alcoholic throughout his teenage years

Barely went to school growing up and was more or less able to charm his way into university

Is embarrassed of his Irish heritage. He's a product of his time

Killed his first victim in a rage episode in an alley behind a bar somewhere when he was 16

His first victims were impulsive kills along these lines, but his motives switched from triggered anger to relying on it as he went on, and by the time he was in university he'd get tightly wound and restless if he'd gone a week without it

Took various traits from his first victims-- ways of lighting a cigarette, vocal quirks, body language tics, that sort of thing. As the number racked up and his designed personality become more fleshed out he stopped doing this, but he carries his first kills with him through certain mannerisms, though it's now subconscious

Also took various traits from movie stars and book characters. Spent a lot of time at the cinema as a young man finding things on screen to make a part of himself

Is so very, very fake. Has constructed basically every aspect of his presentation and outward personality

He hates being reminded of who he was before, who he truly was-- he’ll reference parts of his childhood in the context of who he is now and what he's had to overcome, but it’s more like he’s using pieces of his past to construct a story about himself. Anything vulnerable or authentic to that part of his life he won’t bring up, he doesn’t even let it cross his mind

Has worked very, very carefully to suppress his flinching instinct at sudden noise or movement, but sometimes it still comes out when he’s snuck up on

Used to wake up screaming sometimes when he was alive

Would just as often wake up crying, which he quite hated. He never remembered what those dreams were about

He’s glad that he doesn’t sleep anymore and can thus avoid all that. Which is what he loves to do with his memories or any sign of emotional vulnerability, avoid it. Good luck trying to get him to open up about anything

Love you grandpa

[soupbabe]

Can I request la squadra with a reader with a biting problem? NOT in a kinky way, like they basically chew on anything they can like a dog. That pen that someone lost? Readers chewing on it. The strings on your hoodie are busted? They were chewed on by reader. THANK YOU 🙏

La Squadra x Reader with a Biting Problem Headcanons

I'm so sorry for taking so long to get to this 😅😅 been focusing on other stuff lately and been forgetting to write

Formaggio

- Oh he also has a biting problem!!

- If you had a nickel for every time you saw Formaggio get ink all over him for biting a pen too hard, you'd get two nickels

- He doesn't mind your bad habit, he thinks it's adorable!

- It's not a big deal to him, just another cute quirk you both share

- Bite him he'd bite you back <3

Illuso

- He's going to act disgusted even though you know he has the same biting habit

- You'd loan him a pencil and he'd return it with the eraser accidentally bit off

- He's in complete denial about it though. Might try to convince you that you did it.

- He's a terrible liar and stubborn so it's useless trying to argue about it

- Tease him and he'd get so pouty about it, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes at you

Prosciutto

- Okay yeah I think he's the only one who doesn't share anything with you because he fears you chewing on his stuff

- And also unfortunately for you he will always be in someone's business

- He'd see you chew on the neckline of your shirt and he'd lightly scold you like "What are you, a goat? Stop it."

- I promise you he can be caring about it

- For example he cares a lot about the condition of your clothes. That's why you don't chew on it. See, he's helpful.

Pesci

- He's a chronic biter too, but he does it out of nerves!

- Constantly asks if you're okay when he sees you fidgeting and biting something

- Sure he knows you just do it when you're bored, but this man is always stressed and worries that you might be getting anxious over something too

- Pesci has a bad habit of biting his nails, thinking about you both reminding each other to break the habit!

- Pesci is just super supportive, having someone like him to help him to stop biting is a major relief

Melone

- Melone doesn't care for the most part, he just asks you to refrain from chewing around his juniors

- He doesn't like to think about the chaos that'd bring if Babyface decided to eat anything and everything they see because they wanted to copy your behavior

- But Melone is ever the teasing type, he sees you chewing on a pen or him, and he's always going to make it something more than it actually is

- Like he's the kind of guy to ask for one of your chewed up pencils just bite and lick at it, all while maintaining eye contact.

- All in the efforts to fluster, make you mad, etc. Everything you do is amusing to him

Ghiaccio

- Reader you are so lucky he likes you because it's one of his major pet peeves

- Ghiaccio doesn't like it, you will get certain privileges revoked because you chew on his things

- Things you're banned from: His pens, pencils, hoodies, erasers, literally anything in his room

- But also it irritates him that he's picked up your biting habit

- It's when he's in deep thought and working, he'll occasionally chew on a pen or bite through the wires on his headphones

Risotto

- I think he tries to mind his business about it, he doesn't outwardly say his thoughts on the biting problem, but it's telling that you have never even held one of his pens

- Risotto doesn't think it's gross, he just likes to have things without bite marks, y'know?

- Literally he only cares if it's his own stuff getting bit, with everything else he believes you and the others can talk it out

- If you're even closer to him, he may find it endearing.

- It's like seeing someone focussing with their tongue poking out, it's just a weirdly cute quirk of yours

[moetxt]

super epic mista backstory theory

originally written in: feb 12, 2019 (google docs link)

felt encouraged to publish this after learning that mista is now araki’s favorite character! and i have been a mista best character advocate since day fucking 1 of the vento aureo anime announcement!!!

Have you ever wondered about how, in Mista’s backstory, he lives in this really nice, really big house and always eats nice food? And yet we’re led to believe he spends his days doing shit like mugging people who hate Clint Eastwood? Because boy have I got a theory for you.

And that theory is: Mista’s an orphan.

This theory came about due to me thinking WAAAYYY too deeply about the literal *crumbs* we get in terms of extra details regarding Mista's life, e.g.:

his canon living conditions before Passione (strangely nice)

the fact that he apparently just thugged around all day (mugging people who hate Clint Eastwood) before joining Bruno’s gang

the fact that he is canonically the “guy who hotwires cars” among our guys (as shown in Babyface)

the fact that, when Mista got arrested (in his backstory), he had NO family to bail him out or even visit him

and, finally, the fact there is no mention of other family or friends any time afterwards

Also, it’s really hard to miss how—throughout the entire manga—he treats Narancia, Fugo, Giorno, etc. like younger peers, in a way. He has this attitude that makes him seem as if he’s used to rowdiness and being around lots of people; i.e., he seems like the kind of person who grew up in a large house. Too large. Too many adults AND too many kids, all with their own bullshit complexes.

Okay so. Orphan Mista. I've been (over)thinking about this for years and it all just seems to fit.

First of all, an orphanage would explain the nice, BIG house we see in his backstory (which is the same in both the anime and manga), and the fact that he’s apparently well off enough to spend his days sleeping in late and being in appreciation of nice food, a roof over his head, and generally pleasant surroundings.

It fits his behavior that he isn’t rich at all, but not totally impoverished either (else he’d be more motivated to rise up by that fact).

I reckon the orphanage is also run by nuns, considering the bit in his character page about him “believing in god on a fundamental level,” his obsession with luck, and commitment to staying on fate’s good side.

His fatalism is reminiscent of a vaguely/culturally Christian upbringing—because while he's not all that religious, he still believes in some sort of higher power + a central force outside of his control. So, this speaks of his upbringing as being not so strictly religious, but more of having been around a bunch of people who ARE and being influenced by them BUT, crucially, without being forced into the same lifestyle.

This theory also explains strangely well the fact that, out of the members of Bruno’s gang, Mista is actually the only one who can be classified as a genuine thug through and through.

See, if he was an orphan, he should’ve gone to a public school up to high school along with others in his age group, and then been expected to find a job in preparation for leaving the orphanage once he turned eighteen years old or something.

(And yes, I DO think he went to school—because if not, he would’ve been in the same boat as Narancia and I doubt it wouldn’t be brought up by Fugo OR Leone’s judgey asses. He can count, spell, read, think critically, and enjoy any type of art for any of the senses. He’s street smart! No need for any more excessive book learnin’!)

Anyway, the thing is, Mista’s a super carefree person, who only really cares about the simple things and isn’t the type to dream big or over-complicate his life. He knows exactly what he wants, his preferred food + fashion + tools + creature comforts.

AND he manages the Sex Pistols like people, earning their respect and cooperation through trust and treats.

AND he treats the youngest most neglected/abused/confused members of Bruno’s squad (Giorno & Trish) with absolute devotion and respect.

Never breaks boundaries or abuses or exploits. When he was in Trish’s body, he kept perfect focus on the mission without even a moment to spare messing/playing with the unfamiliar anatomy (made even more apparent by Trish's choice of outfit then).

Meanwhile, Giorno trusts him wholly and IMPLICITLY, despite them only knowing each other for a few days, because not even once has Mista even tried to take advantage of him in any way. He just pulls all the triggers Giorno cannot—regardless of whether that hurts him personally... AND he complains but ENDURES Gold Experience’s excruciating healing. No pulling back, no shoving Giorno away no matter how much pain he’s in.

That is downright RELIGIOUS levels of devotion and faith and trust. That is love, in its own way. Not sexual, or romantic, or platonic, or any combination thereof. It’s just love. Capital L Love, which cannot be snuffed out by any capital punishments or stigmas or taboos.

Anyway. Back to the theory.

I imagine that even with the looming pressure of finding a job and securing his future post-orphanage, Mista never felt the need to stress about it because he KNOWS it’s better to just go with the flow.

He just does what he wants: beating up and mugging Clint Eastwood haters, taking inspiration from movies about trying to hotwire cars the very first time he’s confronted with the opportunity to do (and it’s in service to saving HIS gang), and occasionally screwing up his antics and getting beat up or spending the night in jail (but it’s cool because he'll only bounce back and do the same shit again the next day).

And then, we have Mista's absolute lack of family to be concerned for him when he gets arrested or any time afterwards. Building up on what I said earlier, if he grew up in an orphanage, it’s very likely he'll just be kicked out once he turned 18. So, when he got arrested for his “3 counts of murder” at 17, they just left him to his own devices a bit early.

The authorities or guardians or other supposed adults in his life previously did not actually care about him, when it came down to it. Didn’t even seem to notice his absence + becoming a literal professional criminal.

Evidence of this: nothing holds him back from joining Passione at all. It’s like, there’s no hope whatsoever of anyone helping him appeal his 30-year prison sentence and taking Polpo’s test is his only lifeline. Also, in all his time in the gang, he seems like he has nothing else going on at all in his life other than being a gangster. He just *is* THE professional marksman under Capo Bruno Passione—no one else, nothing else.

He goes along with Bruno’s every order, doesn't even hesitate to join Bruno when he turns traitor (even laughs about it to Giorno like it’s such an easy and obvious choice, and even though he probably actually grasps the severity of the situation, he’s SO sure and SO committed to his choice that he can joke about it to try and lighten the mood for everyone else), and readily accepts his new position in Giorno’s inner circle as the new Don of Passione.

The second-in-command. The most honored and most trusted. The only one the new Don knows would never betray him—because he’s proven it already. In seven fucking days.

Someone with a family wouldn’t be this carefree about risking his life, much less be so singularly attentive to his role in the gang. So, it REALLY irks me that a normal family seems to overwhelmingly be how fic writers and fan-artists depict him—because it makes so little sense, and it’s lazy.

A normal, loving family wouldn’t leave him to rot by himself in jail. A problematic home life, on the other hand, doesn’t add up with Mista’s core personality (simple-minded and carefree); neglectful or abusive parenting leaves scars and leads to troubled youth. Mista has neither of those as far as we’re shown.

Everyone else in Bruno’s gang has a specific motivation that ties them to the gang (Bruno with what happened to his dad, Fugo with his being indebted to the gang, Narancia with his sense of trust after being abandoned multiple times in his life, Abbacchio with his loyalty to Bruno, and finally Giorno with his dream to get rid of drugs). Meanwhile, Mista's just kind of… there because he pretty much has nothing else to do, and he's found his calling in shooting things anyway, so why not?

I've read the manga multiple times and there’s really no mention of Mista having any family or anything that could hold him back from what he does in Passione. I often see/hear Mista be described as the guy who acts most like a traditional gangster among Bruno’s gang, and I agree wholeheartedly with that!

Moreso, I raise: this is the kind of behavior/mentality of someone who’s always been fending for himself and 100% accepts it.

So no, he wouldn’t “groom” Giorno or Trish or anyone else. He has proven it by being Giorno’s most trusted AND being in Trish’s body keeping perfect focus on his mission.

He’s their friend. A very special friend, who pulls the triggers they can’t, who must leave sometimes, but he always knows what’s happening. He watches. He protects. And he kills—so Giorno and Trish and Fugo won’t have to, anymore. Won’t have to suffer and die like Bruno and Leone and Narancia and La Squadra and even Diavolo.

He is the regulator of fate itself. He is Fairness. Blind Justice. Angel with a Shotgun. Whatever.

Bye!

[mimzywhimsy]

The Bowens Problem: Breakups, Feuds, and Narrative Tension

Think about your favorite wrestling feuds in AEW. I'll name a few of my own from recent memory; MJF vs. CM Punk, Swerve vs. Hangman, Mariah May vs. Toni Storm, and Daniel Garcia vs. Jack Perry. I also like whatever the fuck The Elite have had going on, but that's a whole separate post.

What makes these feuds great? Three things come to mind: Pacing, History, and Character Work.

I'll start with the easiest: pacing. Groundwork needs to be laid. Foreshadowing. Length of time, to really establish the relationship. Rushing a feud is like jacking off to relieve sexual frustration; it might get the job done in the end, but is it really satisfying? Would MJF vs. Punk be as good if we didn't have them blatantly ignoring each other for weeks before meeting face to face on the mic? Would Mariah May's betrayal be as gutwrenching if we didn't follow her efforts to gain Timeless Toni's trust?

The Acclaimed's breakup feud is good when it comes to pacing. Max Caster has been calling himself the Best Wrestler Alive on TV for many months now, and we've seen how his attitude change has slowly worn down on Anthony Bowens' last nerve. How The Acclaimed just aren't winning matches when it counts anymore; something's been off. They've been more and more out of sync in the ring, and Max has only gotten more abrasive and egotistical. Their breakup was hardly a surprise, for this reason.

Next, history. All the feuds I've listed above have this, to one extent or another. MJF's history as a rabid fan of Punk's as a kid. That autograph signing picture. Mariah May following in Toni Storm's footsteps, career-wise. Jack Perry's history as a fan-favorite babyface and his subsequent fall from grace intersects neatly with Daniel Garcia rise from tough midcard heel to beloved, dancing face.

The Acclaimed also have plenty of history: we've been along for the entire ride, witnessing it. Their rise from an obscure Dark tag team to one of the most popular and well-known acts. They fought their battles together, even when the going got tough. Suspensions and ill-times injuries couldn't break them up. They had fire in their eyes and a clear-set goal to be Tag Team champions, and they achieved far beyond our wildest dreams.

So, what's my problem? This feud practically writes itself, right? The breakup of a beloved tag team is a classic trope. Max and Anthony have always portrayed themselves as a Heel-and-Babyface duo who balance each other out, so their roles for this story seem well defined.

....But is that really the best way to go about it?

Enter the third element: character work. Specifically, I want to talk about tensions.

If Max is a clear-cut heel and Anthony is an obvious face, it makes sense- but it's also boring. In other good feuds, even if there is clearly a "good guy" to root for, nothing is ever black and white. Think of MJF's inner vulnerability, and Punk's underlying cruelty towards him. Mariah May's love for Toni that she tries so hard to deny. Daniel Garcia's inherent violent nature that he has to fight against to literally not kill Jack Perry. Swerve is dangerous, and he broke into Hangman's house, but then Hangman burned his childhood home down.

Do not boo me- do NOT boo me for being right, when I say that out of the two, Max Caster has been doing much better character work. It's in his music, his indie work, and (more recently) his work on AEW.

He's especially good at creating tension by showing the warring dichotomy within himself. He has a huge ego, but only to cope with his poor self esteem. He's a sleazeball player who wants love and is afraid of ending up all alone. He never shuts the fuck up, but who is he if he's silent? Sure, he's embarrassing himself in the ring- but is he more delusional than any other wrestler that refuses to give up in the face of hardship? Stubbornly sticking to an idea arguably led to The Acclaimed winning championships. Hell, he refused to stop scissoring his partner, and look what that led to!

Max Caster is an AEW locker room veteran who clearly loves to big league and bully his lessers. He's super awkward and doesn't seem to have many friends. He thinks he's better than everyone else. He's his own worst enemy and harshest critic. He's rich, and pretty, and powerful, and successful. He's the loneliest and saddest guy in the world.

He's a multidimensional, fleshed-out character.

Anthony Bowens is....a good guy? I struggle to figure out anything about him besides for the fact that he's a Great Athlete and Nice Guy who is good at a lot of other things like modelling and baseball. He does and says all the right things. He speaks at colleges and attends charity events. He lives in a cute West Hollywood apartment with a cute husband. He's openly gay and proud of it, but isn't in your face about it like those other more annoying gays! He's not The Gay Wrestler, he's just a wrestler...who is gay....and nice...and talented.

Do you see my problem, here? Anthony Bowens does not bring any tension to the narrative.

He's flatter than Charlotte Flair's pancake ass. He's so focused on being picture perfect that he fails to provide any substance for me to sink my teeth into.

But the thing is, he easily could! He checks all the right boxes and says all the right things- but isn't that just the slightest bit calculating and manipulative? If the image he broadcasts to the world is so perfect, then doesn't that imply that it might be fake? He wants to keep doing the Scissor Me Daddy shtick despite it getting stale, why? The money? The merch sales? Would a good guy with nothing but good intentions cynically do a segment with the Costco Guys and fucking Jericho?

No hate, I'm not trying to smear Bowens' name here! We're in the middle of the feud, so maybe he'll surprise me. I think that Caster's appeal in part comes down to how willing he is to be vulnerable and messy. It might benefit Bowens to do a little of the same.

[heymrspatel]

ian’s feeling a little self conscious and mickeys just straight up loving on his husband and telling him how sexy and fine he looks!

ohohooo boy you've hit me right in the chest with this one... ok, let's see!

---

ian's having one of those days. those days that don't happen super often anymore, but they do happen. waking up feeling physically heavy, groggy, slow. the harsh lighting in the bathroom making him notice those extra soft bits on his body, where he used to be taught and lean. he looks down, where his tummy sticks out above the band of his boxers, sighs.

eyes back up, he brushes his teeth, gazes at his reflection, and acknowledges that this is a fleeting feeling - because nowadays he looks at himself and sees it. happiness and health and comfort in his settled life. he loves it. he's sturdy, strong, beefy. he's soft, holdable, grounding. he sees it, he knows, mickey reminds him.

he sees it, washes his toothbrush, wipes at his face, takes a final look. he knows, but it's just one of those days. he turns off the judgmental fluorescents and pads back into the bedroom towards his....

my god... there, face bathed in soft light and gorgeous, mickey. he's shifted in the ten or so minutes ian's been gone. sprawled out and entirely tangled in the comforter. left hand sticking out and clutching ian's pillow - like he was searching, wanting, grasping - coming up empty. he's awake now. ian moves, the floors creak, mickey's eyes zero in on him.

"do you know how fucking cold it is in this room?... why the fuck are you up this early?" and ian's quiet, suddenly realizing he came to a stop in front of their full length mirror. a glance at himself, back at mickey. maybe he doesn't have to be up yet, it's saturday. maybe he can spare lounging around a bit more. glance and back. he should get under there, mickey said he's cold. glance, back. he doesn't move, rooted in place. "...come back under here and get on me!" glance...

"babyface... c'mere"

he moves. mickey rolling away, untangling, giving him his space in bed back... immediately shifting back and attaching himself to him. "always leaving me here in the mornings... can't stick around for me? hmm?" the drama of it all making ian chuckle and press his lips to mickey's forehead. he feels mickey's hands wander around his chest and down to his belly, making him draw in a breath and stiffen. he sees mickey's eyes squint and his nose scrunch in the process. a small tut escaping his lips. here it comes.

"got myself a human heater... warm and soft. teddy bear mother fucker." and that's a new one! "you gotta stop leaving me here every morning. you're like one of them weighted blankets you're always going on about... hmmph... comfy." he nuzzles into ian's chest, wrapping tighter around him, and breathing so deeply. smiling. "smell so good... i think i get why you're always sniffin'." giving quick cute pecks along his collar bone. "so many freckles. all over. this one here is my favorite." he moves to the hollow of his neck. giving it a little lick.

and ian can't help but giggle really. because his husband is so in tune, because he always knows when something is up, because his licks are tickling him!

mickey pulls until he's securely pinned under ian. "my big guy. cover me just right" his hands begin their familiar dance. over ian's strong shoulders, down the muscles of his back, lightly scratching back up. "you threw me around so good last night. was fucking airborne at one point."

oh. these giggly kisses are some of ian's favorites!

"you gave it to me so good and hard, made me grab on to all of you, huh?" his hands are everywhere, covering ian's body with love. "so sexy. do you know how good you feel and look when you're overpowering me like that?" the complete contrast of his statement and his soft lips making ian all fuzzy and warm.

"so good. so soft. so strong. so hard." a mantra. each declaration punctuated with the sweetest kisses. his hands wandering, grabbing, pressing ian's weight down. soft little moans making an appearance.

and god if ian doesn't feel like he's floating! high, on a cloud. sustained by mickey's touches, his sounds, his scent. his words, his words, his words. breaking through and helping him see and remember what he already knows. because today is one of those days, yes, and it'll take more than this to claw his way fully out... but he's being uplifted and loved and touched in the right ways. in the ways that wiggle in and help chip at that wall and appears in times like these.

he sees his strong arms framing mickey's head, how his size and weight are making him feel. he knows he's good, he's healthy, he feels his heart pumping strong and full of love in his chest. it'll take more than this, but this helps. every part of this helping, chipping away.

he breathes, he kisses, mickey moans...

he sees, he knows, mickey reminds him...