#just having fun and trying to go back to my former drawing routine

[sorethpid]

This is my way of saying “hello again” to the fandom after some years of absence. PS.: the position looks strange, but apparently Alex was carrying Miles in the original picture :D?

[imrtale]

"a week?" he nearly gasped, hand over his heart for dramatic heart regardless. "i would never, i could never, you're the love of my life eden, we're bound to one another for all of eternity and then some. can't return me, exchange me or get a refund, so remember that, grape." he teases, pressing yet another kiss against her lips this time as he locked his finger around hers. attention turns back to the arlen's as he couldn't help but laugh along. benji still keeps close to eden after the exchange and turns to the former sheriff to look him over. "wouldn't miss the two of you gettin' married, come on." a quick kiss of his teeth as camille seemingly moves closer to her husband, let's him lean into her sneakily so his weight is off his leg and instead hers. "benji, honey, why don't you stay with him and i'll go with eden to help her find a chair and karisa, the two of you can, bond over being big ol' saps." she teases, turning back to eden as benji nods quickly. "i'll try to grab everyone else here, that way when you get back we can tell everyone what's going on," he agrees, leaning in for the upteenth kiss as mr. arlen nods to his wife. "come on, i gotta feelin' she's outside, she probably went to call nikki and give him his goodnight routine, he's with his father this weekend so," camille explains, shrugs and walks in step with eden to try to find the girl in question. "i'll let you talk to risa whenever we find her and i'll bring the old man his chair, deal?" camille offered as benji turned to mr. arlen, clearing his throat for a moment. "kinda feel bad interrupting everyone's moment, everyone's dancing and having fun y'know?" benji whispered to the older male, who again, sucked his teeth. "i got this," two fingers placed in his mouth so he could whistle as loud as needed be, of course it draws attention and he signals with the same fingers for everyone to join them.

"i would never let you do that, i would teach you how to throw a punch before you did that." he teases in response, darker hues seem to light up in her presence. pink lips part to respond to her initial question but soon shut to the revelation and he could only shake his head and laugh. of course she did. "she can be scary when she needs to be. i owe her one, i would have taken the fall for it, i'm sure one of my brothers would've bailed me out - but that's not the point. it's eris, the one i go to, my brothers are older than us, JD and angel have always been you know, together, so when eris came, we were close, still are and, it doesn't surprise me that she did that. we've always had that thing - unspoken agreement to look out for one another, guess this is just one of those times." he shrugs it off, lips pursed and brows raised as he rolls his eyes. "old ladies do always ask the handsome, younger folks to help them with shit, so yes maybe you are an old lady sienna," he teases, a smile that resembles hers as he offers an arm for her to take, turning to the whistling noise. "ah, well, we'll see if you're telling me the truth after uncle sammy is done telling us whatever it is he needs to tell us."

cain simply curses under his breath, nostrils flair as he blows air out of them, muscles in his jaw slacked. "hope you broke his jaw," a grumble, not directed towards her necessarily but to the asshole responsible for this. and in true cain fashion, he remains silent. works at the wound until it's cleaned up and remains in his position to redress the wound. whatever he has to say, he needs to look her in the eyes, show her that he means every word of it. they were officers, they knew how important body language and eye contact were when it comes to situations - one like this. so, he rises to his feet, keeps that close proximity and let's eris' hand fall. "old man always says family is determined by loyalty and behaviors, not blood or names." is what he starts off with, eyes boring into hers. despite the roughness in his voice his words are gentle. "i trust very few people, eris. the guys? are my friends but i don't trust them. not like i trust you. i trust you with my life, i trust your judgement, your decisions and your words. i trusted you the first day i met you. this, thing you've got, this passion to do the right thing, not because you want the fame that comes with it but because you want to do it because it'll make the world right, i admire you for it. it's that, that heart of yours ris, has had me tied around that finger of yours. and i hate it, drives me up the wall. i could give a shit about aelin. i don't give a damn what she can and can't give me because it isn't you. aelin isn't you."

for a moment he grows silent, debates his own emotional baggage before continuing. "our pasts ain't pretty, we both got our own demons, guilt and trauma we carry, right?" he asked, leaning against the counter as he picks up his suit jacket, extending it to her for her to take. "and i talked aelin's ear off about you every chance i got. you aren't just my partner, or an officer that works under me, a coworker . . . you are my best friend, the woman - the only woman besides my mother who can ever ground me, whenever i'm cornered, whenever i can't go on or if i think i'm not doin' it right, it's you. you are who i look to. you're my best friend, my headlights during a stormy night. and if i can't, i can't have that with you, ain't no one in this world that's ever goin' to get that from me. i ain't askin' for much eris, just . . . be patient with me, i can't - i can't express how i feel like i used to, i might get it wrong sometimes or piss you off, but, i do like you and i want this, whatever it is, wherever it goes, i want it with you. nobody else but you."

her words sink in. dig into the depths of his chest and make it tight. and he does take a step back when the finger is raised - old childhood habit as his expression softened. "hey, hey, now wait, wait a minute," jackie called out, "oblivious to things woulda been the word i would have used but airhead or dumb blonde ain't it," almost as if he's scolding her as he tries to figure out whether or not to close the distance. "i don't - i don't want the stand up girl! i wanted you - want you!" he shouts, corrects himself and turns to the occupants on the dance floor who look at him. so, now he has no choice but to close the distance. "winona maristela, i have liked you since my freshman year of high school. those - horribly written poems written on the valentine day grams you got every year from your anonymous admirer, or the balloons in your locker with hand written notes, that was me, i - god, and when you asked me to prom i thought, wow maybe - maybe she sees me for me you know? not this - broken kid who had a shitty life and when i saw you at the bookstore and i kept, bringin' you coffee, i thought you know, maybe i can do it. maybe i can - i can make that leap of faith. and i'm sorry that i didn't do it, i was scared. i was scared that you had someone and that my teenage crush would just go away but it didn't. i only asked that stand up girl to be my date so it wouldn't hurt to see you with someone else, i just, i fucked up, i know, i get it i just - i'm sorry, just please, please do not let this ruin your night. you were having so much fun dancin' and drinkin' i don't - want you to not do that because i fucked up."

the blonde held her breath for a few beats of a moment, darker hues roaming his features for an inkling for what comes next. shoulders soon slack as she relaxes, muscles in her jaw do clench to try to conceal the emotion that she tries to swallow. "oh," a blurt as she quickly shakes her head, "i would love that, so would he, thank you for," a breath as she waves her hand in the air. ". . . being so understandin'. it's not the most ideal situation but, no matter my feelings i always do what's best for nikki and i - you have no idea how much this means to me, you wantin' to do all that," she replies, warm smile as she let's out a laugh, motioning for him to follow her as she leads them into the venue, brows quickly furrowing when she makes eye contact with eden. "oh! what are you doin' out here? shouldn't you be dancin' with your husband?" karisa teases, turning to rowan. "rowan, this is my best friend eden, eden this is rowan," but she senses something - can't place it but she does. "uh, are you alright shortstack? you look like you're about to tell me the sky's fallin'."

"i'm sorry mr warren, did you just hear the word that left your mouth? raisinette?" she was giggling, happy tears but giggling. "i know i know, 'risa will kill me for the makeup thing." and then she sighs, soft and airy. "about a week.. well, suspected for two, confirmed properly by a doctor.. for a week. i wanted to tell you so many times but at the same time i-.." it felt silly now. "i didn't want you to change your mind about.. marrying me. it's like i suddenly remembered every television drama where it all goes wrong when the woman says it and.." she flopped her head a little bit. "i was being a big grape wasn't i?" she carried on the joke. "so long as we do it together, all of it.. even the hard bits you know? so long as we manage it together and do the best that we can do." very briefly, she wrapped her little finger hrough his, making it a promise, like she hadn't already done that enough today. her own ring finger, glinting as it caught light. attention turned to mr and mrs arlen with her wide smile. the newly wed couple looked blissfully happy. eden moved in for the hug happily. she sent baked goods to the nurses whenever she had any leftovers, had a lot of respect for the women that helped her grandmother go peacefully, and fought tooth and nail to try and save her brother. "oh don't i'm going to be set off again, i'm meant to be a tough cookie today!" she broke a little huffed giggle hearing about benji, seeming like he'd double over just seeing her. she linked her arm through benji's but turned herself to samuel. "mr arlen, do you want me to find you a chair, would it be any more comfortable for you?" of course that sprung to her mind. "let me go get you one, honestly, i don't want you going too hard today, i was shocked you even made it! happy but, surprised. actually... has anyone seen karisa? i have to talk to her first but after that, we've a little announcement for everyone, i think-- benj? what do you think?" she was excited, they were.

"why, would you let me dislocate my thumb if i did try and fight you on it?" she was half joking, a hint of a smile and how any man had tried to wipe that from her was surprising in itself, how could you not want to see that happiness on her lips? "yeah.. yeah i know just, hard to ask for it isn't it? i mean, who do you ask for help to not feel so alone? oh that reminds me, nobody else is gonna say it so i will. i was talking to eris earlier, are you aware your sister spent hours talking my ex out of pressing charges on you? used her position as a threat so whilst she might not have told you, i think you owe her a very big thank you.. closest she's going to get to showing affection isn't it? matthew really was going to press charges, headstrong guy, clearly." ex. she'd well and truly left him. "on the topic of asking for help.. you any good with furniture? building it?" she flashed him that look, the one that was her effort showing through. "oh, so you don't think i look like an old lady? i think i look like an old lady. maybe i am one." there, the proper thing, the real smile. "what? i-.. you want to dance with me?" she flashed her eyes over to her brother and grimaced. "deal, so long as you don't dance like sprinkler boy... happy to tell you that i happened to get all the good moves in our family."

you. because it's you. the words kept repeating in her mind, not because of work, or some silly duty he thought he had over their jobs, but because it was him and her and that was some form of comfort to her. it was never spoken about, mainly because she never found it easy to talk about... but they'd known, camille and samuel, his parents, they knew what she'd been through when she was younger. in many ways she thought she owed them so much, for finding her a home with her two moms, her three brothers, an actual home... not the care homes she ran from time and time again. it's hard for them both, she knows that... she knows she'd been reckless going out to a drunk call in on her own. "this was uh.. it was my fault, someone called in a drunk, getting rowdy outside mavericks bar, didn't want to listen to reason, swung first.. big guy, that one that always mouths of? yeah i.." shrugged her shoulders quickly. "guess i couldn't be late for this wedding today." it was a terrible excuse, she knew that much.

her head nodded in response to his words but.. the minute he started to clean that wound she was holding her breath in, adjusting and then when she couldn't hold it anymore there were a few rushes, the rise and fall of her chest quickening and then her hand.. her hand that hovered, that wanted to hold and squeeze his shoulder. he was dabbing, gentle, careful. moments of silence lingered after that question until she breathily spoke. "because she's everything i can't be.. she's morning coffee arm to arm, she's a hug when you have a shitty day or a bad call. she's sunshine on a rainy day, impressive and up there career-wise, she's... she can touch you. she can be a pat on the back, she can hold your hand she can do.. everything, that i can't. that's why i think you care about her... because i guess she isn't me, and that's.." a bonus. it had distracted her, for the most. "she doesn't have what i have, the baggage the.. you know she isn't broken, and broken things aren't anyone's first choice." all of a sudden her hand lowers and grips his shoulder. it wasn't the type of light grip someone would give with little thought, it was firm and tight, gripping into the fabric of his shirt. rather than curse she'd bit the insides of her cheeks. "i don't know if i can do this." she admits in a rush, and a big sigh but... but wasn't there something nice mixed into eris' touch? a yearning, to know it more. in hushed whispers the was repeating that it was fine in some quick mantra. "why do you-" question, a distraction. "why do you worry about me? you don't have to... i'm not family, i'm not a... just, why do you worry about me?"

"i didn't bring a date jackson. i didn't ask anyone to come here with me because i wanted you to ask me." drunk winnie was for more honest, brutally honest and forward with what she meant, just a little slurred. "i wouldn't have asked you if i hadn't meant it.. i didn't think you were annoying, i thought you were funny. i thought you were cute, handsome, and i didn't ever want some prince charming, i'm not a disney kind of girl, i don't want any shining armour. i wanted someone that saw me, exactly as i am and wanted that. you know? mr darcy, that finds someone bewitching! mr rochester, loving jane eyre for all of her flaws and her tale of woe, i wanted something real.. you were real. didn't matter that i was the airhead half the time, the dumb blonde back then, you still tried to make me laugh and all of that garbage.. i never pitied you, i never thought you were some kicked puppy. you were nice, and i liked nice! i like nice." winnie spun and nearly fell right over, but turned with a raised pointed finger. "this what? you know what, i don't know why i bothered. give your stand up girl a call, since you wanted her to come with you oh, so badly. i dont care." she did care, she was just upset by it all.

"short notice or not, i'd never let a beautiful woman down." god he really did love her accent. "actually yeah, i'm not aiming to woo everyone though, just you." he laughs a little and then his blonde brows are raised in want to know what this big something was. "nicholas." he repeated and nodded his head slowly. "okay, i'm not following.. why would i leave?" his eyes squint in confusion, a hand moving to try and stop her from saying anything. he was a slow talker, deep-voiced but each word was considered. "why don't we make it earlier, we might not get the stars, but then nicholas could enjoy the beach, and i'll make it a family-friendly restaurant... not that i'm family, but so he can come along and then, your son can decide whether he likes me, because that matters. especially if i intend to really woo his mother properly." he pauses, tries to gauge some reaction. "i have not wasted any of my time coming here karisa, you having a son would not give me any reason to walk away. i'd actually like you to tell me all about him, over a.. is it champagne in there?"

[vixenpen]

Okay but like..... hawks as a body piercer or tattoo artist

Babyyyy!😩 Hawks with tats and piercings?!!?

That’s TOO much flavor. Like things are getting too spicy for the pepper ma’am.

Tattoo Shop AU (Hawks x GN Reader)

Your friend had recommended this place to you. Fierce Wings Piercing and Tattoo. And since all of f/n’s body work was dope, you trusted their judgement.

What kind of name is Fierce Wings?

You wondered as you checked out the artwork of intricate red wings etched on the glass door.

Ah well. Inside, the shop gave off a cool industrial vibe; with it’s brick walls, exposed pipes in the ceilings, and cool light fixtures.

You marveled at the beautiful pictures of artwork that must have been done on previous clients hanging in various picture frames from the walls.

A rock song you didn’t recognize pumped through the large shop and the front desk sat unoccupied.

The shop seemed to be empty from what you could gather.

“Umm, hello?” You called out, peering around the corner which was sectioned off with a crimson red divider

“Yo, yo!” A deep, lazy voice called back.

The voice, it turned out, was attached to the most beautiful man you had ever seen in your entire life. A man with tousled ash blonde hair emerged from the back. He was a bit shorter than average, body lean and rippling with muscle that looked like it came from actual manual labor rather than a workout routine.

His skin was a tapestry of patterns and designs. A colorful sleeve of Japanese art climbed his left arm, a geisha and an oiran on his right. The beautiful colors popped even more against the black tanktop he wore. He had a small gold hoop in every hole in his ear from the lobe to the cartilage and a barbell in his left brow.

But the real draw were his eyes. They were like nothing you had ever seen on a human being. A sort of liquid amber like a cats or more precisely like a hawk’s...

A slow smile spread across the man’s face. Those beautiful golden eyes ran over you—as if appraising your appearance.

“Hey there, welcome to Fierce Wings. What can I do for ya?”

“I wanted to get some new ink.” You explained.

“Well you came to the right place. Got anything particular in mind?”

“Oh, yeah! Here.” You handed the man your phone.

Hé whistled. “That’s beautiful, kid. That’s gonna be fun, but first things first. If I’m gonna be mutilating your skin for the next several hours, we should probably get acquainted first, huh? My name is Keigo, but everybody knows me as Hawks. How ‘bout yourself?”

“Y/n.” You answered.

“Well, y/n, if you’re ready we can get started. Follow me to the back and let’s get you prepped.”

As you followed Hawks to the back of the shop, you noted that all the stalls were indeed empty.

“I hope I didn’t catch you at closing or something. I saw on your site that you guys take walk-ins.”

You said as Hawks ushered you into a booth in the back.

“Ah, you’re good, kid. Funny story, all of my other artists quit on me except one. My boy, Dabi.”

“Holy shit, really?”

“Yupperdoodles.” Hawks laughed.

“Why?”

“During co-vid, everybody found it more fruitful to go off and do their own things. I can’t even be mad at ‘em. After that shut down and with us not knowing whether or not we’ll have another one or not, everybody’s just searching for job security. So we’ve had to adapt.”

“How has that been?”

“It’s been chill,” Hawks said as he cleansed your skin. “Less people, less drama. Unfortunately that means we’ve had to pull ourselves up by the bootstraps around here, but hey,” he shrugged, “I’m used to it. I go hard in everything I do, ya feel me?”

He winked and you felt your cheeks burn. Was that...an innuendo?

“Well, your work is amazing. My friend, f/n, recommended I come to you all.”

“Ah yeah, I remember f/n.” His face brightened at the name. “They’re good people! Tell ‘em I said: hi and thanks for the referral, when you see them again.”

“Will do.”

You settled back on the chair as Hawks went to work stenciling the design you’d chosen on your skin. His long tongue occasionally ran over his lips as his amber eyes narrowed in concentration.

Holy shit. His tongue is pierced too. Fuck that’s hot.

“You trying to commit my face to memory or sum’n, y/n?” Hawks asked, startling you.

His hooded gaze never left the work he was doing on your skin, but an amused half smile danced on his face.

“N-no, I was just thinking how amazing it is that you only saw that picture once, but you’ve got it down to the detail.”

Hawks chuckled. “That’s my gift at work. I have photographic memory. As soon as I get the information, it’s locked in. Came in handy in flight school.”

“Flight school?”

“Yeah, studied to be a pilot back in the day.” He tapped his index finger against his temple and glanced up at you. “This quick brain of mine made me a beast in the cockpit.”

“Is that how you got the name Hawks?” You asked.

“Cute and smart. A dangerous combination kid.”

You bit your lip, heart fluttering a bit at the compliment.

“Alright, y/n, I’m gonna get started now. How’s that look?”

You admired Hawks’ handy work. It was stunning. Every detail was accounted for.

“Perfect. Ohh it’s gonna be so dope!”

He grinned at you. “Sure is, kiddo.”

In a matter of minutes, the humming of the tattoo gun filled the air as Hawks worked. His handsome face was scrunched in concentration. He was moving quickly, but carefully. Obviously a master at his craft.

“There you go sizing me up again, kid.” Hawks piped up out of nowhere.

You bit your lip once again—caught and embarrassed.

“Like what you see?” He asked. His gaze flicked up at you, lusty and half-hooded, a smirk settled on his face.

Your throat went dry.

“Ye-yeah. Um, the tattoo looks amazing...”

“The tattoo or the tattooer?” He teased.

Fuck it. If he’s gonna tease me to death, I might as well throw it back at him.

“Por que no los dos?” You shot back.

Hawks laughed, surprised. “Both is good, kiddo.”

You smiled in response, glad the flirtatious cutie hadn’t thrown you too far off your game.

“So, Hawks, did you choose the name Fierce Wings because of your time as a pilot?”

“You bet. Fitting for the fiercest former fighter pilot in Japan. It was also my codename.”

“Damn, how many names do you have?”

“Hmm, let’s see, there’s: Keigo, Kei, Takami, Hawks, Fierce Wings, Wings, Big daddy, master, lover boy-“

You laughed, covering your face a bit at Hawks’ antics.

He let out a deep chuckle in response.

“But my favoriiite,” he said, dragging out the word as he tilted his head to look over your tat; “is; Oh God, yesss.”

His tone dripped with silent suggestiveness. Fingers gently brushing your skin as he examined his work thus far.

Your neck and face burned at the implications of his statement.

Hawks looked up at you once more, pierced tongue dragging across his full bottom lip.

And suddenly, neither of you were laughing anymore.

(((Pt.2)))

[palbabor-writes]

I know you said you only might accept pregnancy requests depending on what it is so I wanted to try 😅 how about shigaraki and reader break up while she’s unknowingly pregnant with his child and he bumps into said child years later and connects the dots that it’s his? If you don’t like it feel free to ignore this request 😊

I liked this nonnie.

I am terrified that by saying that I’m going to be inundated with pregnancy HC’s, lol. But, this request I really leaned into. Plus, it’s more about a kid than a pregnancy. 

So, thank you for asking and letting me slip out of my comfort zone. It’s always good to do that every once in awhile and this ask was a great reminder of that.

It’s a bit melancholic, but I think it fits with Tomura, at least, in my mind.

Now, this is not in canon. This is not like, pre-war arc, or post-war arc. If anything, it’s more of an AU. I’d put Tomura in his late 20s to early 30s.  

warnings: none really, just some sweet, sweet interactions and mild angst 

Hestia Hestia, in Greek religion, is the goddess of the hearth, a daughter of Cronus and Rhea, and one of the 12 Olympian deities. When the gods Apollo and Poseidon became suitors for her hand, she swore to remain a maiden forever, and Zeus, the king of the gods, bestowed upon her the honor of presiding over all sacrifices. 

The shouting noise of children set his teeth on edge.

Toga had insisted that the bus stop by the school was the best place for the information exchange.

They won’t look for you there, she’d assured him. It’s like hiding in plain sight. Yeah, it’s patrolled, but it’s only an old security guard who does the rounds. Besides, he’s retired from the police force, she qualified, and was more like a lazy cat than an attentive scent hound.  

It’s the best place, really.

So, Shigaraki had made the long trek across Tokyo.

He kept to the shadows as he weaved his way through back alleys and streets. Although the dominance of the League had waned some over the years, he was still a wanted criminal, responsible for countless death and threats on hero society.

He was still the King of his slice of the underworld.

Besides, he reassured himself as he loitered by the bench under the bus stop, he could trust Toga.

She had improved in leaps and bounds as she came of age; deadlier, sleeker, more attuned to the ebbs and flows of the world around her. She wasn’t that girl who chattered about blood anymore.

Oh, she still held a strange fascination with the fluid. But she had more control over those impulses that drove her. If she said it was the best place, well, who was he to argue? Toga had been with him from the beginning, a vital ally. Hell, at this point she was close to being a friend.

Shigaraki is still musing when the ball taps its way to his feet.

It clatters against the pavement; the rubber shuttling it along the loose rocks and leaves. Unthinkingly, Shigaraki lifts his shoe to balance against its unbound movement, stilling its lulling bounces.

Must be from that schoolyard, he thinks, his red eyes flashing up at the low chain-link fence that separates the school grounds from the busy street.

There’s no child dashing their way to retrieve it, so he lets his gaze slip from the teeming masses of giggling youngsters. It’s a pretty blue. The ball looks new. Hardly a scuffed and battered thing.

He keeps it under his sole, toying with it, rolling it meditatively as he slips back into his thoughts.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

It’s a small voice that calls to him and he turns his head back to the fence, looking for the source.

It’s a girl.

She’s leaning against the metal, her hands clutching into the links, cocking her head inquisitively at him.

Her nose wrinkles at his silence, and she shouts another demand.

“Mister, that’s my ball. Toss it back.”

“Aren’t you supposed to say please?” Shigaraki taunts, his lips lifting in a quick grin. He’s not sure why he’s bothering to engage with this kid, but something about her plucky attitude resonates with him.

She leans away from the fence, that scowl deepening on her soft features.

“Aren’t grown ups not supposed to steal things?”

He laughs at her snark. He can’t help it. Oh, this kid’s fun.

Carefully slipping the ball into his hands, he moves closer to the fence. He can see her a little better now.

She’s still got that deep frown on her face and her dark hair is gleaming in the afternoon sun, some strands catching the light, reflecting a deep, auburn, hue. He’s just about to chuck the ball to her when he catches sight of her eyes.

They’re red.

Not that red eyes are unusual. There are plenty of people milling around Tokyo with them. But hers are different.

No, these eyes are like looking into a mirror for Shigaraki. They flint and glare with the same sheen as his own. It’s a prefect reflection.

His feet suddenly feel heavy, leaden, and he can’t lift his arms. Who is this child? Why does she-

“Ok, ok, mister. Can I please have my ball back? You’re still stealing it if you don’t, so I’m not apologizing for that. I might... if you give it back to me, cuz’ it’s my ball, not yours. And, stealing makes you a thief.”

She’s rolling those uncanny irises at his stiff form, and a huffing sigh escapes her small mouth.

“What’s your name?” Shigaraki asks, hands trembling over the rubber of the ball.

“Not supposed to tell that to strangers, mister.”

He smiles again, bemused. Well, he thinks begrudgingly, she’s a clever little thing. Whoever she is.

A sharp bell echoes across the yard and she turns her head at the sound, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders.

“Here,” Shigaraki relents, gently flipping the ball over the fence, bouncing it to her feet.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, quickly snatching up her prize. Those red eyes of hers meet his own, and he can feel a low shiver echo up his spine. What’s up with this reaction? It almost feels visceral, like some sort of otherworldly pull on him.

“Sorry I called you a thief,” she apologizes, quickly bowing her head, ducking those eerie eyes from view.

He’s not sure what to say, so he continues to watch her. She doesn’t seem perturbed by this, opting to giggle at him as her little head lifts.

“You’re weird,” she assess, a smile finally spreading over her lips, her cheeks rounding and softening. 

Tch, she’s rude, but she’s also cute, Shigaraki thinks, snorting at her frankness.

She turns, dashing away from him, her dark hair flowing around her back as she goes.

Shigaraki shakes his head, trying to dislodge those lingering questions that keep floating to the back of his mind.

He’ll never see her again, he reasons, wandering back to the bus stop. Trying to tamp down the urge to look for her again, to pinpoint her from the other giggling and shouting children on the playground.

But he did see her again.

He comes back to the stop a few weeks later.

There’s no information pickup this time. There’s no real reason for him to even be on this side of town.

He just can’t get her out of his mind.

This little kid had shaken something within his psyche. He kept dreaming about her. Well, not her, really. No, there was someone else haunting his dreams.

He hasn’t thought about you in years.

But now? Now, he can’t get you out of his head. He even feels like he can feel you some nights, warm against his side. He sulks in the memories of the familiar touches that the two of you shared, the love that you’d pressed into him, so, so long ago.

He saw the girl in those moments. Resting in your arms as you looked up, your eyes bright against her dark head. The girl would laugh and run to him, those reflective red eyes shining with mirth. 

It was fucking strange.

He both hated, and loved, the repetitive nature of these illusions. They made him feel safe and warm, but they also chilled him to his very bones. It was unsettling.

Unsure what else to do, he’d back come to the bus stop.

It’s early afternoon. Close to the time he’d visited it before. He waits on the lonely bench, his hands pressed together and that strange tremble races through his veins.

This is stupid, he thinks, his eyes lowering from the sea of kids, all twisting and turning in a heap as they play. It’s an impossibility, really. The chances of that girl losing her ball again is minuscule. There’s no way he can call to her either. It’s a waste. He shouldn’t even be here.

He’s standing to leave, when that small voice reaches him.

“Oh! You’re back.”

His head whips around, his long white hair glowing against the sunlight.

There she is.

She’s gripping the fence again, and she’s staring right at him.

Shigaraki smiles. It’s a gentle lift and he can feel his heart tapping a rough tattoo against his ribs. He steps toward her, kneeling when he gets close, careful to not overstep his bounds.

He’s not wanting to startle her.

No, he’s wanting to talk with her. Maybe she’ll drop some kinda clue why he’s so drawn to her. Or maybe she’ll morph into any other child again. Plain, uninteresting. Slipping from that odd ghost that she’s become to his subconscious. 

He hopes it’s the latter. But part of him also longs for it to be the former.

She’ll hop to the fence around 3:15.

She looks for him now, used to the routine of his presence.

He told her to call him Tomura, and the name falling from her lips made his heart ache.

Tomura stopped by on Fridays. Careful to not stay too long, to not draw too much attention to himself.

At first, he’d sneak her little trinkets. 

A little plastic toy of his, one that he had since he was a kid. She’d squealed with delight and clutched it to her. He’d grinned at that, remembering how he’d once held onto the thick plastic himself. 

Once, he’d just plucked a nearby flower as he walked to the school, presenting it to her outreached grasp. He’d watched proudly as she tucked it behind her ear, the color glossy beside her hair.

She’s still a sassy little thing. But she’s softened a little, too. Her voice losing that early, untrusting, edge.

He didn’t ask her much. Sometimes they both just sat in silence as she sketched designs into the dirt. Sometimes he would listen to her chatter about her day. Her classmates, her teacher. Once, she’d even pressed something over the fence to him.

It was a drawing.

He’s not sure if it really was all that well done, or if it’s just his heavy bias toward her. But he loves the mix of color and lines. He’d asked who the people were.

One was her friend, Kenji. One was her teacher. One was him.

He’d pinned it to the wall in his room. Displaying it, flaunting the gift. He looked at it every morning, admiring her work.

He’s late one day, and she scolds him, her small arms draping over the fence.

“I didn’t think you were going to come,” she chatters, her red eyes lingering against his, the two colors casting back the same hue.

“Was running behind,” Tomura replies, leaning against the low concrete barrier, resting his back against the fence.

Her little hands reach for his hair, playing with the pearlescent tendrils, weaving some into knots and braids. 

He doesn’t mind.

“Hey, Tomura,” she says, working a tiny hairband into her creation, her voice curious.

“Hmm,” he hums, careful to not shift his head, not wanting to disrupt her hard work.

“You didn’t ask my name again. At least… not after that one day.”

“Do you want me to ask?” He queries, his pulse lifting.

He’d wanted to ask her again, but he didn’t want to startle her, to shatter these innocences that they shared.

“It’s Beryl,” she answers. She says it confidently, and he turns to face her.

She grins at him, wiggling one loose tooth playfully at his serious expression, trying to tug a laugh from him.

“Beryl?” he repeats, unable to keep that awed hush from his raspy tones. It’s a pretty name. It suits her, really. But it’s strange. It’s not Japanese. 

You hadn’t been Japanese. 

“That’s a good name,” he assures her. “But, it’s not… you don’t hear that name very often.”

“Yeah,” Beryl concedes, her vermillion eyes roving over his face. “My mom’s not from here.”

His nostrils flare at that.

He hasn’t asked her about her mother. He’s unsure if it’s a general disinterest on his part, or trepidation. He fears it’s the latter.

Gulping, he tilts his head at her, feeling that soft braid she’s plaited into his hair shifting.

“Who’s your mother?”

“Who is she? She’s my mom, silly.”

“No,” he pauses, ignoring that creeping tremor that’s working its way to the top of his skull, his skin prickling and cooling. “I mean…what’s her name?”

“Oh! Her name is-”

“Beryl! Beryl, it’s time to come inside.” A teacher is calling for her. 

Tomura startles away, drifting to his feet and pacing quickly back to the bus stop. He can’t help the snarl that etches its way across his lips. He’d been so close. So fucking close…

He chances a glance back at the fence and catches sight of Beryl. She’s dashing across the playground, her dark hair waving in the sun.

Japan is about to slip into summer. School will come to a close, moving into a long break. He won’t see her again for almost a month.

His heart sinks at that realization and he grits his teeth. Slipping his hands into his dark trench coat, he steps across the street, away from the bus stop, away from the little girl that’s feeling more and more like his own.

Edit: oh hey. so, i couldn’t stfu about this and created a sequel: Materfamilias 

hahaha & part iii

[karalovesallthegirls]

“Is this going to become unpleasant? Having Kara here?” “I’m not a child, Arthur. I can be in the same room as my ex-wife without causing a scene.”

“I know, dear, I know,” he soothes in that grating voice of his. “I just want you to be comfortable.” His grip on her arm is anything but. She smiles through the discomfort like always and places a hand affectionately on his chest. “I’m certainly not comfortable,” some old hag Lex invited chimes in. “I can’t believe they even let that creature in here.” It takes all of Lena’s self-restraint not to deck her clear across the face. To stand there with a placid smile while her present company disparage the woman she’d once vowed to have and to hold till death. It’s been a year since the divorce and it hasn’t gotten any easier.

“Now now, can we please be civil?” she hears behind her, and again she’s forced to focus all her energy on maintaining an air of indifference as her darling brother arrives. “That thing was Lena’s wife for a while, after all.” His smile is anything but kind, his figure imposing as he steps in close. “Yes, well,” Lena says with a passable smile, “we all make mistakes, right?” Arthur laughs and the hag laughs and Lex puts a brotherly arm around her to pull her in close, close enough to whisper against her ear without drawing attention, “Let’s not make anymore, hmm?”

He squeezes her so hard he nearly breaks skin.

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

Their story goes like this: They fall into a mad sort of love, one that consumes and surrounds and heals. They marry in the spring with flowers in their hair.

They finalize their divorce before the leaves brown and fall.

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

Lena manages to avoid Kara for most of the night.

Partially by her own efforts, partially from Arthur intervening. No one wants another Lena-Kara cat fight, not tonight at least. While it can be fun to watch the former spouses quibble over politics, tonight is meant to be a celebration honoring the most important thing in this world, something so important no drama should overpower it: Lex. Lex is running for senate. They announced it earlier in the week to great approval and support. Arthur figures he’ll spend a few years working the senate before making a bid for president. They’ve already written the campaign slogans.

“I’m so honored you all came here to join me for this momentous occasion,” he says, and he smiles at the crowd with equal parts affection and disgust, though perhaps only Lena can recognize that second part. “We stand here now at the precipice of a historic moment – an end to the horrendous occupation of our planet. To freedom from otherworldly invaders.” As if on cue, all eyes turn to Kara. The lone alien in a room full of bigots. Everyone knows who Kara is, of course. Even those who somehow missed the great identity reveal know her by her scars. Even in the face of hatred, she stands tall. Unwavering. Staring down the man who wishes for her demise.

“It’s amazing, the hubris. We can’t even have a moment’s peace at a banquet, can we?” Lex says, earning a round of laughter. Lena stares steadily ahead at him. She can’t stand to look at Kara right now. “I’m here as a concerned citizen, Mr. Luthor. Nothing more.” “Of course, as a citizen,” his voice drips with disdain. “Well then please, stay. I support all of my great state’s citizens. I’m a man of the people, after all. I represent all of my human constituents, but please. Enjoy the lobster.” The night moves past that temporary discomfort, and Lena almost finds herself settling into it when, of course, her ex-wife approaches.

“Mrs. Danvers,” Kara greets her, and she rolls her eyes like always. “Always a pleasure to see you.” “It’s Ms. Luthor now, Supergirl. Surely your alien memory can recall our divorce.” “My mistake. Sometimes I forget you’re really a Luthor,” she smiles, like she’s trying to joke with her. “You’ve got so much hair, after all. Your genes haven’t quite kicked in yet.”

Lena doesn’t smile. Doesn’t do anything more than stare. She can see Arthur in her peripheral vision stepping closer, but she holds a hand up to stop him. No need to cause a scene.

“Do you need something or are you just here to harass me?”

Kara just shakes her head, stepping back. “I apologize. Just wanted to say hello to an old friend before I left.”

“We aren’t friends, Supergirl. Feel free to leave now,” Lena sneers with a dismissive wave of her fingers. That is finally what does it – Kara gives her one forlorn glance before exiting the ballroom. The crowd around Lena snicker as she departs, and Arthur lays a too-large hand down on her shoulder.

"Security should have never let her in, love,” he says, genuinely apologetic. “What do you say we forget this unpleasantness and dance?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He takes her hand and leads her out to the dance floor and she smiles at him, with the burn of unshed tears at the back of her eye, and together they dance.

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

This is how their story plays out to the public: Lena Luthor marries Kara Danvers and, unknowingly, she marries Supergirl.

Kara Danvers is Supergirl – something she didn’t know, something the world didn’t know until human hero Lex Luthor reveals it. When he heroically saves her from her mistake. Everything she has built as a human crumbles in one fell swoop. The legality of her marriage – the legitimacy – is questioned. How could an alien love a Luthor? How could a Luthor love a Super? Should humans and aliens even be allowed to marry?

Lex Luthor is released from prison with a pardon, and the anti-alien movement gains traction alongside him. There’s talk of voting out the Alien Amnesty Act and making public its list of intergalactic immigrants.

Lena files for a divorce, one the press lovingly reports on how it is in no way amicable. Kara Danvers stops existing as a reporter, as a person.

Lena takes her place beside Lex, leaves everything she ever built with Kara behind. She takes back up the mantle of Luthor and all that it entails. The world sinks back into its own bigotry, rolls back rights hard won. Lena falls in love with someone new – Arthur White. A family friend and loyal employee of Lex Corp. Gossip magazines love to talk about their romance, but always mention that Lena wants to take things slow. She’s in no hurry to tie the knot again.

When asked, Lena denies ever knowing Kara was an alien.

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

Lena finds a moment’s solace in the bathroom.

There’s something soothing about the rhythmic routine of scrubbing soap into her skin, under her nails, over and over like maybe the motion will be enough to fully wash her clean. She hasn’t felt clean in a long time. The bathroom door opens behind her but she hardly notices, too focused on her ritual.

“Lex is always such a charmer,” she hears from behind her, and of course. Of course, it’s the person she’s so adamantly avoided all night. Of course, they’re alone together. Not that Lena is ever alone anymore. “Sometimes I almost even buy the crap he says.”

“You know, I told Arthur I didn’t need to extend our restraining order but you’re making me think that maybe I should,” Lena says without looking up from her hands. Again and again she rubs them together under the water, scrubbing until her skin turns red. “You need to leave.”

Kara doesn’t leave. Worse, she locks the door and slowly approaches.

Lena looks up at her reflection in the mirror in alarm, eyes wide in terror, and she shakes her head frantically, mouthing ‘no’ repeatedly as Kara draws ever closer. Kara pulls out an earpiece from her ear and holds it up to Lena’s. “Listen,” Kara whispers. Her front presses gently against Lena’s back, bumping her into the sink. Lena grips the sink in a white-knuckled hold.

Through the earpiece, soft echo of someone quietly sobbing plays out. “Brainy’s looping this audio over your bug,” Kara whispers against her other ear. “They can’t hear us. To them it just sounds like you’re crying alone in the bathroom.”

“You can’t be sure,” Lena barely breathes out even as she sinks back against her former spouse. “Lex-” “Isn’t listening. I promise. Trust me.”

That really is all it takes. Lena will always trust Kara.

She’s turning and shoving before Kara can say another word, pressing her against the wall with a desperate kiss. It’s frantic and dirty, both of them gripping at each other like they don’t know where to touch, like any minute someone will catch them and it’ll all be over. “Baby,” Kara breathes against her lips, and Lena nearly melts. “My love.” Lena just moans in reply. Licks into her mouth, desperate, trying to work her hand underneath Kara’s gown, trying to take advantage of every second she’s allowed to be near her, but they’re both distracted by the rapid beeping coming from Kara’s communicator.

“We’re out of time,” Kara gasps against her. Lena shudders at the feel of her lips moving against her own. “Dammit, dammit!”

She pushes away from Lena with an anguished sigh, running a hand over her mouth. Lena leans heavily against the bathroom stall trying to catch her breath. “We have twenty seconds until the loop ends,” Kara announces, looking at her cellular device.  “Listen, I’m going to come for you, okay? This isn’t over. Don’t give up. We just need a little more time but he is not going to win. Just stay strong, my love, okay? You have to believe me.”

She kisses Lena’s forehead, then her mouth. Lena tugs her in for a longer, frantic kiss, like she’s scared to let her go. “I love you,” Lena says, because she doesn’t believe it. She doesn’t believe they can beat him. But she does believe in this: “I love you so much, Kara.” Kara kisses her again, then again, then the beeping becomes too much to ignore. With one last, lingering look, she turns and vanishes in a quick gust of wind, leaving Lena alone in the bathroom. She takes just a few moments to get herself back together. Wipes her face clean, her eyes dry. Washes her hands once more. When she steps out, Arthur is there waiting. He holds his arm out for her to take, and she loops hers through it. His grip is tight as he leads her back towards the main hall. “Crying in the bathroom?” he says, voice low. “How embarrassing, Lena.” The mask she wears falls back into place at that as the high of Kara is shattered. “We all have moments of weakness, Arthur. Let’s just go back to the party.” And so they go.

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

Theirs is the story of two factions facing off in a cultural war.  

This is how their story goes for years and years, told through newsprint and blog posts and gossip whispered on the streets. Their story of lovers turned enemy, of humanity versus the other. Luthor and Super, alien and human.

But the real story, the truth hidden by all the gossip and hearsay, is so much worse. Beneath it all, theirs is a love story.

[ahkaahshi]

stay here [iwaizumi hajime x reader]

pairing: iwaizumi hajime x fem reader

genre: smut (18+) and fluff

warning(s): explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, a bit of dub-con (bc of the fact that alcohol was involved), alcohol consumption, swearing, brief mentions of toxic relationships

word count: 3.5k

overview: a post break-up night at the club with your best friend ends a bit differently than you’d expected

notes: a commission for the lovely @devlovesiwa-channn​! sorry this took so long bb but I hope the wait was worth it! thanks for supporting me ily ❤️

The heavy bass pulsating through the club shakes every bone in your body as you sit at the bar, head propped up by your hand and fingers tapping against the side of your face to the beat of the song playing. From where he is beside you, Iwaizumi watches you breathe out another, long sigh with furrowed eyebrows.

“Oi,” he barks, drawing your (e/c) gaze to his dark one illuminated by the bright lights flashing from the ceiling, “Quit thinking about that jerk, would ya?”

With a roll of the eyes, you retort, “You say that like it’s so easy, Hajime. I did just get my heart broken not even a week ago.”

“And you say that like I’m clueless. Don’t forget who’s spent the past—what is it now? Five?—nights over at your place, watching movies with you and making sure you get to bed at a decent time.” His words elicit an immediate feeling of guilt that wells up inside your gut and makes you avert your gaze to search for the bartender who should be finishing up your drinks any moment now.

What he’d said was entirely true, and you knew it. Ever since you’d gotten out of a relationship earlier that week, you’d been a bit of an emotional wreck. Mountains of snack wrappers and tissues had already been piled up in the trash bin placed in your room when Iwaizumi had first showed up at your apartment after hearing about the news. He’d sat with you every evening this week, huddled beneath the covers of your bed or a pile of blankets on the couch while you’d switched between directing words seething with venom towards your ex and struggling to speak through sobs. He’d made sure that you’d eaten your meals, gone to bed at a decent hour, and had done everything in his power to be the friend you’d needed.

So, to even mention that you’d just endured a heartbreak like he had no idea about the situation was nothing less than a slap in the face to him—and you knew it. However, the noticeable discomfort written on your face has Iwaizumi shaking his head as if trying to negate the harshness of his statement.

“Hey,” he tries again in as soft a voice he can use when he’s having to compete with the music blaring, “all I’m saying is that I’ve seen the hell you’ve been put through because of that asshole, so I want you to be able to take your mind off of it for a bit and enjoy this night out, okay?”

You can’t help but chuckle in a way that reflects how jaded you feel by your predicament but shoot him a small smile anyway as you respond, “No promises.”

“We’ll see about that,” he challenges, a smirk flashing across his lips when the bartender sets down two shot glasses on the metal bar top before you. As if in synchronization, the two of you reach for your drinks at the same time and clink them together in a toast. “Here’s to a good night.”

After downing your shot, squeezing your eyes shut and taking a sharp inhale at the burning sensation of the alcohol traveling down your throat, you state, “Gonna need a few more before we get started with that.” Iwaizumi nearly chokes when you raise your hand to summon the bartender for an instant refill so you can tilt your head back once more to knock another one down. “What?” you question upon noticing his wary gaze, “You said you wanted me to have fun, didn’t you?”

“I’m not hauling your ass out of here if you get wasted, (f/n).”

“Guess our definitions of fun are a bit different, then.” He clenches his jaw and grunts with indignation at your response, and you laugh heartily at his annoyance, reaching over to graze the sleeve of his floral button-up shirt with your fingers. “I’m kidding! I promise I’ll stay conscious.” Another, louder murmur of disagreement that echoes from behind his pursed lips has you rolling your eyes and placing both your hands on his muscular shoulders. “Learn how to take a joke, would ya?”

He huffs, “It’d be easier to if what you’d just said hadn’t actually happened before.”

Sighing, you move your grip from his shoulders to the hem of your skirt, holding it down as you hop off the barstool. “Well, if I have to choose between sitting here, recounting my unfortunate run-ins with alcohol or dancing to this mediocre song, I think I’m gonna head to the dance floor.” After attempting to give your friend money for the drinks that he refuses out of kindness, since your plans for the evening had been made by him to begin with, you offer, “You know where to find me,” before making your way through the throngs of clubbers to the dance floor at the other end of the venue.

Iwaizumi shakes his head as he watches your figure disappear in amongst the sea of people and turns his attention to the empty shot glass he’s taken to tracing his fingers along pensively. As much as he wants to ignore the thoughts that have a habit of returning each time he sees you fall out of love with someone else, he can’t seem to rid himself of them—of the idea that maybe, just maybe, things would be different if you were with him instead. All this time, he’d been sitting on the sidelines, forced to play spectator in the games that other men seemed to enjoy playing with your heart while knowing damn well he would treat you with the respect you deserved.

It makes him a bit angry for you, actually, the way others haven’t known what to do with your heart after you’ve given it to them. He knows better than most that you can’t help who you choose to fall in love with—since he’s felt a natural affinity towards you since the first moment he met you—yet he can’t help but hope, after each of your breakups, that you give him a chance with your heart instead. However, out of respect for you, since you haven’t given him any indications that you might return his feelings, he’s kept quiet and maintained your close friendship.

The nagging thoughts persist, and each time, he shoves them into the darkest corner of his mind so he can help you pick up the pieces of your heart after another man drops it.

But they return when he eventually ventures out to the dance floor to find you after you’d returned to the bar for another round of shots to fuel your agenda of forgetting about your ex and sauntered away once more. Navigating through the waves of gyrating bodies finally brings him within a few feet’s distance of where you stand, swaying along to the music without a care in the world. 

As he watches you with the same admiration he would give the only twinkling star in a dark, nighttime sky, he wonders how your former boyfriend could’ve ever thought to treat you the way he had—with such blatant disregard for your feelings. Anyone who tried to dim your light wasn’t the one for you, and now all he wants is for you to shine brighter than you had before. Whether or not you do so for him doesn’t matter in his eyes. He just wants to see your radiance and happiness return.

Just as he’s about to approach you so he can join in on the fun, the song changes into one he knows well—because it’s your favorite. He can’t count the number of times he’s listened to you belt out the lyrics while driving or caught glimpses of you performing bits of the choreographed routine you must’ve created whenever you hear it played in a public setting, but what he sees unfold before him this time is entirely different to anything he’s witnessed before. 

Even if he didn’t want to look, it’s impossible to ignore you when the thin veil of sweat over your skin makes you shine under the bright, multicolored lights in a dazzling display as you move to the beat. With the way your body’s undulating in cadence with the music, a seductive look on your face while your hands run from your torso down to your thighs, you’ve attracted more than a few hungry gazes. But his is the only one that you meet with your own, silently beckoning him over to you moments before you lift a finger to summon him in a request to join you. His feet carry him across the distance separating the two of you without a second thought.

There’s a gentle, somewhat amused smile on his face at seeing you finally letting loose, but it soon becomes much more serious when he feels your fingers clench around the fabric of his shirt. The space around you is hot and charged, and you’re barely able to tell one direction from the other with the way your head’s spinning in a pleasant buzz from the alcohol, but you know exactly what you’re doing. The heat of his body radiates onto your hands as you run them along his toned torso while singing along to the song’s lyrics, and you relish in the way his dark eyes are traveling along every inch of your skin.

When your hands reach his, you turn your back towards him and place his palms on both sides of your waist. Feeling his hold on you tighten and strong fingers pressing against your skin spurs you to grind your hips against him slowly in an attempt at testing the waters. He encourages your actions by pulling you closer to him and moving in synchronization with you. His acceptance and reciprocation of your invitation has heat pooling in your stomach and your heart fluttering in your chest.

The way your bodies as one, like they’ve been created to fit perfectly together in this moment has any restraint you would’ve normally shown evaporating completely. In your mind, you only want him. You’ve known that. You’ve known that for so long, yet you’d been out chasing down other men who’d inevitably become the sources of your heartaches. Now, you think it’s high time you finally go after who it is you’ve truly been yearning for in silence for far too long.

Once a change in the song brings an end to your fairly explicit dancing, you turn to face him again, (e/c) eyes drifting from his own down to his lips as your hands instinctively find his arms to steady yourself in amongst all the movement surrounding you. He seems to hesitate for a moment, since the two of you stand and stare at each other in silence despite the bass sending vibrations through your chests, but he eventually finds the courage to act on his desires. In an instant, his large hand is moving to cup your face and bring it closer to his so he can press a strong kiss against your lips.

A mixture of exhaustion and utter euphoria knocks the wind out of your lungs, sending soft pants tumbling out of your mouth when he finally breaks the kiss. “Hajime…” you utter, voice barely audible above the vocals bouncing off every surface of the club’s interior.

The distinct scent of alcohol taints the breath that fans across your face when he asks, “Yeah?”

“I want you. I want you so badly. Please.” The confession falls off your lips with such ease that you question why you haven’t been able to say it all this time.

A curse word escapes his mouth in a gentle whisper, and you can feel his hard-on against your body when he pulls you in for another heated kiss. “Wanna get out of here?” he wonders. Your enthusiastic nod forms a smile across his lips, and his arm is wrapping around your waist to safely guide you through the crowds so he can sort out a ride home.

What happens next all feels like a blur to you, since all you can think about the entire car ride back is having Iwaizumi’s hands all over your body the moment you get to your doorstep. It appears you’re not the only one who’s impatient, since he’s caging you against the wall in the entryway with his body moments after you’ve kicked off your shoes and locking lips with you once more. The combination of the booze and the pleasure is making your head spin, but you’re able to take his hand and pull him into the bedroom with you so your back can be against the mattress instead.

The strong, passionate nature of his sloppy, open-mouthed kisses serves as a telltale sign of how long he’s been waiting to experience such an intimate moment with you. All along, he’d thought he would want to take his time in this situation—trailing gentle kisses across every inch of your skin and making sure no part of you is left needing his tender but firm touch. However, in the heat of the moment, he’s quick to abandon any ideals of a slower pace, intent on ravishing you.

Your fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt so you can push it off his broad shoulders as his hands work on yanking off your little clubbing outfit. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest with excitement at the new, uncharted territory you’re both delving into together. For the first time in the many years you’ve known one another, you’re seeing each other at your most vulnerable states.

A gentle moan sounds from your throat at the feeling of his fingers traveling between your legs so they can slide along the saturated fabric covering your slit. Wrapping your arms around his back and pulling him closer to you, you bring your hot bodies flush against one another so you can taste more of the alcohol lingering on his tongue. He swallows another whimper you release when his fingers shove your panties aside so they can toy with your sensitive clit. The sharp sensation of your fingernails pressing into his skin makes him grunt gently, but also sends a rush through him like a buzz of electricity.

“That feel good?” he murmurs, his deep voice prompting your walls to clamp around his thick fingers as he pushes them inside of you.

Hips bucking at his thumb stroking your pearl and legs already shaking from just how mesmerizing his touch is alone, you nod in response and breathe, “So good.” His lips return to yours for another kiss before forming a smile as they press against your jawline, neck, and collarbone, slowly making their way down towards your breasts. Feeling his tongue drag across one of your hardened nipples has you crying out softly as your hands fly to his head, fingers carding through his dark hair.

The delicacy with which he’s sucking on your pebbled bud sharply contrasts the fast, fervent motions of his fingers thrusting into your warm, wet core, edging closer and closer to your sweet spot each time.

“H-Hajime!” Your voice shudders when his name tumbles off your tongue. “Want you inside of me… please, baby.”

Hearing your voice become so needy and desperate as you beg has him groaning against your skin. “Wanna cum all over my cock, princess?” he suggests lowly, moving his head away from your breasts so he can look down at your eyes clouded with lust.

Your heart skips a beat at the name he calls you in jest being used in this situation instead, and you gaze up at him with a mixture of awe and affection burning in your chest until your mouth falls open again at his fingers kneading your sweet spot. You moan loudly in place of the words you’d meant to say, but continue once you take a breath, “Yes! Please, fill me up!”

The way you sound makes him want to do anything for you, and he withdraws his fingers from inside your core so he can unbuckle his belt and push his pants down. Your eyes widen at the sight of his large dick adorned with beads of precum, which he notices and acknowledges by rubbing soothing circles on your thighs while he rids you of your soaked underwear and spreads your legs further apart so he can slot his torso between them. “You can take me, baby; I know you can,” he reassures you in between gentle pecks to your lips.

You hum in agreement, your gaze focusing on his as he aligns his leaking cockhead with your entrance and pushes inside you slowly, stretching your walls in a way that sends currents of both pain and pleasure shooting through your body. He groans, “Oh, fuck; you feel so good,” while your pussy swallows him inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed inside your inviting warmth. He starts with a slower pace than expected given how quickly he was thrusting his fingers into you just moments earlier, rocking his hips against yours and nudging your cervix.

“Faster, Hajime, please,” you beg breathlessly, “I need you.”

A particularly hard thrust he can’t hold back at hearing your request has you mewling with both surprise and satisfaction. “I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he growls, heavy breaths falling onto your ear as he picks up his pace and intensity, filling your stomach with a familiar warmth, “Gonna be the best you’ve ever had.”

His strong hand gripping your hip, lifting you up slightly to meet the angle of his precise thrusts—despite the animalistic desire that’s overcome him—has your legs trembling where they’re wrapped around his waist. The sound of his skin smacking against yours is barely audible above your own moans mingling with his loud grunts. All you can feel is him. Every inch of his body, every ridge of each muscle beneath his hot skin, and every ragged sigh that fans over your neck. He’s all you want, and you can’t help but voice your desires over and over again in the form of his name.

“H-Hajime, I’m gonna cum!” you squeal when he starts drilling deeper inside of you, sending waves of pleasure flowing over your body with each thrust. Your toes are curling, your heart’s racing, every muscle in your body’s tensing as you dangle on the edge of your orgasm��so tantalizingly close to coming undone.

He seems to know what you need to reach the state of euphoria you’re craving, since he pulls out of you to flip you over onto your stomach. The room tilts around you ever so slightly at the sudden change in orientation, but your head drops to the comforter when he pulls your hips up towards his and slams into from behind instead. More feverish sounds of pleasure and begs of “Don’t stop!” leave your mouth unabashedly when the sensations overwhelming you slacken your jaw and create white spots in your vision.

“That’s it!” Iwaizumi hisses as your pussy spasms around him and you cry out his name in the heat of your orgasm, “Fuck, baby; you’re gonna make me cum.”

Your velvety walls clenching around his dick so affectionately and your hips thrashing against his as you ride out your high has him reaching his as well moments later, and he releases inside of you, filling you to the brim with warmth. His hands on your hips keep them in place while he finishes, and he remains inside of you a few seconds afterwards before pulling out and lying down on the bed beside you.

“Fuck…” you sigh as your chest rises and falls with deep breaths. The exasperated tone in your voice causes worry to bubble in Iwaizumi’s chest for a brief moment until you turn to regard him with a bright smile. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Glad you feel that way too,” is his response delivered with a chuckle.

In the darkness only interrupted by pale shards of moonlight seeping in between the blinds, your hand finds his face so you can tilt it towards yours and press another, tender kiss against his lips. “I’m sorry,” you whisper even though your mouths are still connected.

“Why?” His fingers brush your hair away from your face on their way to rest at the nape of your neck.

“Because I should’ve been with you all this time and not those other losers.” There’s a short pause, bathing the room in silence save for the beating of your heart against your ribcage. “I love you, Hajime—and I have loved you—but I’ve just been running away because I’m scared of ruining things like I have with other guys.”

The warmth his lips spread over your body when they return to yours puts you at ease, as does his arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer to him.

“I love you too, (f/n),” he confesses, pecking the crown of your head, “So how about you stop running and stay here with me, hmm?”

Nestling your face against the crook of his neck and taking a deep breath, you sigh, “That’s all I want.”

masterlist ⭐︎ treat me to a coffee!

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @dinablossom​​, @newfriendjen​​, @devlovesiwa-channn​​, @ohbyunhunn​, @aftcrlust​​, @mister-future​​, @kyleclxin​​, @kac-chowsballs​​, @osamusmiya​​, @nit-sir-hc​​, @arixtsukki​​, @shinsurou​​, @ichorizaki​​, @dominikmagnus​​, @yamagucji​​

iwaizumi: @misora-msby​,@lotsoffandomrecs​, @tsumue​, @heyhinata​, @cuddlysoftbear​

[riddleblack246]

For @scoobydean and @destielsecretsanta2020

“This could be nice for Jack.”

“’My First Christmas’. Cas, this is meant for babies.”

“It’s still his first Christmas with us.”

“That mean we should get one for you too?”

“If you’d like.”

Read below for some Team Free Will 3.0 holiday head canons~!

After everything goes down with Jack makes use of his new abilities, Sam and Dean are much more willing to fight to keep him with them. He initially wonders if it is because he’s “useful” to them now. The brothers promptly inform him that no, it’s because this is the first time where they can all feel safe enough to take a breath. Sure, they’re still hunters. But after everything they’ve been through, they all deserve a chance to enjoy life without constantly looking over their shoulders. And so Jack stays.

As promised, he brought back those that were loved and lost. Obviously everyone is relieved and thankful, but that is most clearly seen in the return of Eileen and Castiel. Sam and Eileen are quick to pick up where they left off. Castiel, however, is a bit more hesitant. He didn’t expect to ever see Dean again. He truly thought he wouldn’t have to know Dean’s feelings and when he confessed, he felt he could live with that. But now he’s suddenly back in this world, aware of his existence and the knowledge that he told the man he’d been in love with for over a decade how he felt. But Dean doesn’t allow him to panic for long. Enveloping Cas in his arms, he’s squeezing the angel’s vessel so tightly that he can barely get out the words. Nonetheless, he does and finally returns the sentiment that Castiel never expected to hear.

“I love you too, Cas.”

And now to dig into holiday centric joys!

By the time Christmas rolls around, the bunker’s primary couples have developed a sense of routine. Eileen has finally moved in and Dean and Castiel have eased into a comfortable romantic domesticity. And for the first time in a while, there are no hunts to investigate or major threats to take on, and the Winchesters found themselves able to celebrate the holidays in a way that they hadn’t had a chance to in some time (save for the Mrs. Butters stint).

On the first of December, Dean sits down in the library and begins to make a list, trying to figure out exactly what was expected of a traditional Christmas. When Sam catches him, he expects scoffs of disagreement or just bored indifference. Instead, he supplies the idea of inviting some people to the bunker.

“What, Sammy? You want to throw a Christmas rager?” (The statement does earn him an eye roll)

“No. I just thought it might be nice. See everyone together.”

Neither of them explicitly say why it would be nice, but they know the relief that would come with seeing each person they never expected to see again. Dean tasks his brother with making a guest list and sending out an e-mail to those on it (because Dean draws the line at trying to make actual invitations).

The response is overwhelmingly positive and soon enough, they’re fielding constant texts from Garth, asking if it would be okay to bring his kids, and e-mails from Donna, offering to bake a multitude of requested holiday treats. 

Amidst holiday planning, the group allows themselves to give into expectations of the season. Jack and Castiel are largely in the dark of what is or isn’t part of the holidays and while Dean, Sam, and Eileen aren’t the most immersed, they do have an idea of what is to be done and are admittedly eager to dive in.

One of the first things on Dean’s list is to decorate a tree. He even insists on cutting one down himself, as aside from various times he had to cut and sharpen his own stakes, it’s something he’s never had a chance to do. Sam, reluctant to join him, tells his brother to have fun. In the spirit of “giving”, Dean bring Cas and Jack along, assuring Sam and Eileen that they’ll “be a while ;)”. They return some hours later with a tree that rivals the Rockefeller Center and relief in the fact that they have two celestial beings to transport something of that size. Decorating it is another story.

After digging through the bunker and finding that, no, the Men of Letters did not hoard Christmas ornaments or wreaths or any such things among their piles of artifacts and cursed objects, the groups decides to get a little shopping done. They initially hit a big box store for a bunch of basics - lights, tinsel, various colored balls (Dean makes several jokes about this), but as the month goes on, all of them are guilty of picking up random items to decorate with while out.

Eileen delightedly shows her boys a Christmas pyramid she bought and is quick to tell Jack that he can’t light it whenever he wants, as forgetting about it could result in burning down the bunker.

Sam buys all of them advent calendars, each dedicated specifically to every member of the bunker. Dean doesn’t comment on Sam’s shift toward the holiday spirit, not only because he’s happy that his brother has allowed himself to be more joyfully invested in things, but also because every day for the month he gets to appreciate a new and weird specialty bottle of hot sauce. Sam’s own contains different types of tea, Eileen’s has jam, Jack’s has little LEGO figures, and Castiel’s has coffee.

Jack nearly gives Dean a heart attack one morning when the man wakes up to find a nutcracker as tall as he is in the crow’s nest. Jack tells him all about finding it in a shop he and Castiel passed when getting supplies and insisting that it was a perfect thing to have for the bunker. Dean looks to Castiel and knows the angel would have been too soft to say no. Then again, he knows he would have been just as guilty.

Castiel begins buying ornaments for people in the bunker. Even with Dean teasing him about it, he does buy a “my first Christmas” ornament and puts a photo of Jack inside that Eileen helped him print out. He finds that he is particularly fond of ornaments that contain photos and begins to buy ones for that explicit purpose.

Dean doesn’t necessarily have a type of decoration that he finds himself buying outside of what they have, but he is fond of the lights. He usually insists they stay on as long as allotted, urging whoever is the last to go to bed to turn them off (though it’s usually himself).

When it does snow, Dean is eventually irritable about it with Sam and Eileen in a similar boat, though to a lesser degree. Shoveling snow out of the way of the bunker’s entrance is a pain in the ass and none of them love the chore of getting treads on their respective tires. But seeing Jack’s fascination with it - and realizing that it’s his first time encountering snow, they find themselves softening.

After getting help in clearing access to the bunker, the group spends much of the day outside. There is an unspoken agreement that they want Jack to experience all the great enjoyments of snow and it honestly brings out the kid in them too. They build a mediocre snowman (Sam takes the heat for his poor artistic skills), make snow angels (the jokes about Castiel doing so get old within five minutes), have a snowball fight (Eileen is fucking ruthless and not above putting snow down jackets), and creating makeshift sleds to race. The sledding is what ultimately makes them go back inside. Garbage can lids are hard to steer and after Dean eats it by running into a tree and loosing a tooth, even Cas fixing it doesn’t resolve the choice to go in. Nonetheless, the accident doesn’t stall the mood, as Dean insists on introducing Jack to one more awesome component of the Traditional Snow Day - the hot chocolate at the end. Said hot cocoa almost results in a fight when, after Dean makes enough for all of them, Castiel reluctantly admits that he doesn’t care for it, and Dean and Jack nearly come to childish blows over who gets his mug. Later that evening, Castiel makes sure to thank Dean privately for allowing Jack to have it. ;)

Now, when it comes to cooking, Dean likes to consider himself pretty well-versed. Baking is another story. The preciseness that’s required is what gets him. Sure, he can be meticulous, but he’s always been more of a “little of this, a bunch of that” kind of guy over exact measurements, which leaves a lot more room for error when it comes to baking. But after going on a “Gilmore Girls” binge with Castiel (the couple constantly debates the superior show of the former and “Dr. Sexy, M.D.”), he can’t help imagining a scene of tenderly showing Cas how to roll out dough and mussing some flour in his hair and watching the angel lick the spoon in a way that borders on pornographic. The day after watching, he’s searching for cookie recipes and telling Castiel to dig out some aprons.

As is the Winchester way, this expectation does not come to fruition. Cas, as he thought, didn’t know a thing about cooking or baking. But Dean pictured being able to guide him, to do all the romantic shit you see in Hallmark movies. Instead, the angel is complaining about not being able to just will the baked goods into existence, standing in the way when Dean needs to get any kind of ingredient, and getting flour on every fucking surface in the kitchen. Things reach a boiling point when Cas pulls the cookies out of the oven, sans oven mitts, and for a brief moment, Dean’s brain operates on a panic reflex and snatches the tray from his hands. The result is their hours of baking scattered all over the floor, a dented baking sheet, and second-degree burns on the hunter’s hands. He’s huffing and cursing and he fully expects Cas to scold him and point out the obvious fact that he’s an angel and such temperatures have no effect on him. But instead, he watched Castiel pulled his hands from the faucet (having immediately shoved them under there after he burned himself) and tenderly brushes his finger tips over the wounds. Dean feels the familiar sensation of healing flesh, something he hasn’t felt in a bit and he’s silent as Cas brings the newly healed skin to his lips and presses a kiss to his palms. The irritability baking had brought them is gone. Dean lets Cas wave the kitchen clean and they decide to just go out and buy Christmas cookies instead. Later that evening, Cas’ lips taste like ginger and Dean finds that the reality is way better than the fantasy.

They ultimately end up hosting the party that started their shift into the Christmas spirit a few days before the actual holiday. After all, they know most of their friends prefer flying over driving and it might be a lot to ask them to come out on the actual holiday. But their concerns of traffic and irritated guests soon fly out the window in the face of so many familiar… well, faces. Hugs never stop coming and despite everyone’s claim that gifts would not be necessary, everyone knows that’s bullshit and a pile beneath their ridiculous tree grows with every teasing comment and expression of happy holidays.

Speaking of the tree, Castiel is quite pleased with his holiday crafting and the other members of the bunker share that sentiment. Since the angel discovered the photo-insert ornaments, he had taken it upon himself to spend random periods during the month finding photographs of each important person in their lives that he could and putting them into such items. Everyone takes joy in searching for their own picture. Claire comments that he picked a terrible one of her, but Cas hears her quietly asking Dean if she could take it home with her, as it features her and Kaia pressed close in a hug. Charlie adores her’s and insists that she wants to make the same craft, but only if they do it together. Everyone quietly appreciates the ones made for those that aren’t present to appreciate them. Jack ensures that Mary’s ornament has prime placement. Eileen hugs Sam when she catches him looking at Kevin’s for a while. Dean makes a point to kiss Castiel privately after finding Bobby’s nestled among some tinsel. Everyone agrees that their the best decorations in the place.

Hunters and those that know them have never been known to operate on a normal schedule, so it is nearly three in the morning before the bunker clears out. Some have elected to drive home if the trip was relatively easy. Others have settled into the many spare rooms that the bunker holds. Once all the gifts have been opened, the eggnog’s been drunk, and everyone has eaten their weight in treats, only Dean and Cas remain in the quiet bunker. They sit together in the library, positioned on one of the many extended seats they’d brought out to fit their guests. The lights of the enormous tree are still on at Dean’s request and Castiel can’t help staring at the way the different colors still look so beautiful on him. He glances up at the other decorations strewn about. The bows, the poinsettias (Garth had brought something like ten of them), the holly, the- He spots a familiar item of decor. He’d seen Sam and Eileen equally position themselves under it in wait of their partner, always stopping them with the insistence that a kiss must be administered before they continue on their way about the bunker. Lazily, he nudges Dean and points to the archways between the crow’s nest and the hall that leads to the bedrooms.

“Is standing beneath that a requirement for kissing?”

Dean follows his finger and huff out a laugh. Even though they hadn’t been dating long, they’d been together for so many years that he knows the angel is teasing. He turns to meet his eyes, smiling at the way the lights almost change them from blue to a rainbow of color.

“What, you want to kiss under the mistletoe? Now?”

For a moment, it seems as if he’s considering the offer. But instead, he shakes his head and reaches a hand up to cup Dean’s cheek. He knows that he could have kiss Dean under there the same way Eileen and Sam do. But he knows they’re different. Dean is a lot of thing and as much as he would deny it, one of those things is private. Their relationship is simultaneously new and so so ingrained into their life. Affection was always something there, just beneath the surface. And while he had the thing he desired for so long, that doesn’t mean he feels the need to push Dean into a realm of affection that just isn’t fitting of who they are together. Leaning forward, he captures Dean’s lips in a kiss. He tastes like eggnog and candy cane.

Castiel understands all the more that happiness is in the being. And he no longer fears his joy. Because he can’t imagine being happier than holding Dean beneath these lights and knowing that they still have tomorrow and so many days to come. There is no better present than that.

[writingthingsisdifficult]

Saving the world (Double booking pt 2)

I was asked to write a second part, and as inspiration struck, well… here it is.

They've shared a room. Now what?

If you like it, let me know :D

Word count: 5655

Part 1

_______________________________________________________________________

The light is seeping under the curtains, dragging you back to the conscious world, but you're not ready to get up just yet. So you squeeze your eyes shut and stretch your back. It's stiff as a board, and your cheek has seemingly set in a permanently squished position. The room feels stuffy and warm, and there's a soft noise you don't recognise at first. But when you finally open your eyes, you can't help but smile.

Everything's a bit blurry without your glasses, but there's no mistaking the man sleeping in the bed next to yours. His arm, which you suddenly notice isn't gloved, but a prosthetic, is hanging over the edge of the bed, and if you strain your imagination, it's almost stretched towards you.

It looks like he hasn't moved at all during the night. Neither have you when you come to think of it. When you stretch again, your neck cracks as if you were eighty, and it's a struggle to lift one leg over the other, though that might just be that you're still half asleep.

As you fumble for your glasses, Bucky opens his eyes and gives you a sleepy smile. "Good morning."

Your heart skips a beat, and it's as if you've forgotten all suitable responses to such an innocent greeting. "Yeah." That's what comes out of your mouth, and you groan.

"You sleep good?" He yawns and props up on his elbow.

"Mhm. Like a baby."

"Me too."

You grin and roll over on your back just as the loudest growl erupts from your stomach. Heat creeps up your neck and ears, and you mutter a soft "Sorry."

Bucky laughs. "Don't apologise for being hungry. What do you say we go get some breakfast?"

"I could eat."

After a quick shower and a couple of frustrating minutes picking an outfit, you really don't want to look like a slob in front of Bucky, you're both seated in the restaurant, devouring the bacon and eggs like your lives depend on it.

The conversation is light. You're slowly getting to know each other. "I'm freelancing for the government," Bucky says and gulps down his orange juice. "It's all really boring, though."

You nod and stuff your mouth with bacon. "I'm sure it isn't. But paperwork, am I right?" you add with a chuckle.

Nodding, he wipes his mouth and takes another bite. "Mhm. How about you?"

"Oh, it's not very interesting. I freelance too, I guess. Right now I've been hired to design a calendar with paintings from the city. It's not well paid, but it's fun."

"So you're an artist? May I see some of your work?"

Suddenly you feel a bit self-conscious. That's weird. You haven't had doubts about your art in forever. "I've got some photos in my phone." You hesitate for a second, then fish it out and unlock it. Scrolling down, you find the series of paintings you did last spring. Green and lush, you get a pang of longing for the fresh air and colourful flowers. The contrast is vast from the grey city.

"Wow, these are good!" Bucky exclaims and starts gushing over your lines and colour and the composition, and you feel your ego inflating with every word. All you can do is sit there with a stupid grin on your face, and a pulsing heat in your cheeks, while he builds you up like he's a professional.

You've totally forgotten the time when the staff tells you that the restaurant, unfortunately, is closed now, but that you're welcome back for dinner later. With many an apology, the two of you get up and head to the lobby, where you stay, talking for almost an hour before you remember why you are here in the first place.

"Sorry," you say, and mean it. "I need to get some work done before the light goes. I was thinking of heading down to the harbour today. See if the water can inspire me."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Bucky looks down on his feet and gives you a small smile. Then he looks up again, his eyes shining, competing with the glorious smile that grows on his lips. "Do you mind if I come with you? I mean… you don't have to say yes, I just…"

"No, of course." You're relieved that he asked, letting you out of asking him yourself. "Some company would be lovely. Just gotta get my stuff. Meet you back here in ten minutes?"

He nods and sighs almost imperceptibly once you've turned away, watching as you almost skip towards the elevator. A tiny voice in the back of his head warns him that he has tripped and is going to fall hard if he doesn't get a grip soon, but he ignores it. The feeling is too pleasant to care just now.

The next few days you establish a routine of sorts. Bucky knocks on your door, asks to sleep next to you, you say yes, and you wake up, turned towards each other. After breakfast, you head out into the city, sometimes he's leading the way, sometimes you have a plan, and you spend the day drawing and talking and without realising it, falling hard for him. Every evening you have dinner in one of the restaurants near the hotel, and every evening you forget what is happening around you, and all you can focus on is Bucky.

_____________________________________________________________________

The sun is shining. A bird is singing in the tree behind you. You can barely hear the traffic from the road outside the park. Bucky is lounging on the grass, chewing on a straw, and you've been drawing him in secret for the past two hours, your original subject completely forgotten and rejected. When he looks up at you, his face is filled with happiness. "This is nice," he says, careful to mask his full joy.

"Yes, it is," you reply, quickly hiding the drawing under a sketch of the bridge and skyline.

He sits up and looks like he wants to say something, but he closes his mouth instead. After a small pause, he gets up and holds out his hand. "Let's go grab something to eat."

"Okay," you whisper, breathless from the feel of his hand in yours. "Lead the way."

He takes you to a small café at the edge of the park, explaining that it's famous for its fries, and they've got the bestdipping sauce, you just have to try it.

You're in the middle of the meal, laughing at a joke, when a shadow interrupts. Looking up, you hear Bucky mutter a curse under his breath, and you feel a pinprick of fear in your neck. He's glaring at the stranger, and the stranger surprisingly returns the look.

"Um…" You look between Bucky, sat at the table with a curly fry sticking out from the corner of his mouth, staring daggers, to the man who just interrupted your lunch. The truth smacks you in the head with force. Holy shit! That's Captain America. Captain freaking America! And it slowly dawns on you who Bucky really is.

The glass you just picked up slides back to the table, sprite sloshing over the sides as it hits, but you don't realise your hand is cold and wet. All you can focus on is that your roommate for the last week is… Bucky Barnes, AKA The Winter Soldier. Yeah. You try very hard to swallow the food in your mouth, but it's so dry, and forcing it makes your throat ache.

Said soldier quickly chews the curly fry and swallows thickly. "What do you want, Sam?"

Sam hands him a pad, and upon reading the contents, Bucky's frown deepens.

"It's very nice to meet you," Sam says, his shining smile lighting up the whole room. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Y/N," you reply, still unaware that the hand you're using to shake Captain America's hand with is wet and slightly sticky. Actually, you're kinda unaware of your surroundings altogether.

Sam laughs, making Bucky look up from the message, scowls at Sam, then returns to his reading. "So you're the one who's keeping Bucky busy, huh?" He winks, and you feel that heat creeping up the back of your neck. "From the look on your face, I'd say you didn't know who you're having lunch with, right?"

You nod, squeaking a confirmation.

Sam laughs. "I thought after the whole Flag Smashers case, everybody knew who Bucky was."

Your ears burn, and you breathe a little faster now. Of course, you've been to the exhibit at the Smithsonian, and of course you know about Steve Rogers' best friend, it just never connected in your brain that this super sweet man is a WWII hero and assassin.

Your eyes flick from his prosthetic arm and up to his face. "Uh… I'm just not super into the whole celebrity thing?" you offer, blurting out the first thing that pops into your head.

Snickering, Sam turns to Bucky. "And you didn't tell her?" There's a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Bucky picks on a stain on the table before setting up a defiant face. "It didn't come up." And he wants to add And by the way, how do you go about saying Oh, and FYI I'm a former assassin and murderer, to a woman you really want to get to know better?

He looks so uncomfortable, you get a strong urge to hug him, but now you're uncertain of all this. What if the two of you are against the rules? Wait, what are you, really? Friends? Accidental roommates? You like Bucky. You really like Bucky, and you had kinda hoped it would grow into something… more, but now… Swallowing the lump in the back of your throat – that was an unexpected reaction – you smile flatly. "Are, are you allowed to, to… I mean, can you be friends with…" You swallow again. "Civilians?"

Sam's eyes widen for a split second, and somehow you feel as though he can see right through you. Then he laughs, and all the tension around the table dissipates. "Of course. We're human, Bucky's human, as difficult as that is to believe. Of course we're allowed to have friends, relationships, family. Wouldn't be much of a life without it, would it? But expect them to do a background check on you, hell, they probably already know what you ate for dinner on your twelfth birthday."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but I'm afraid I have to whisk your boyfriend away for a while. There's a situation."

"We're… we're not…" You have to admit that thought feels good, but really, any hope you had has been well and truly smashed.

Bucky gets up and smacks the pad at Sam. "I'll see you later?"

"I'll be here," you reply with fake confidence. "Please be safe. Both of you," you add with a small smile.

"You too," Bucky says softly. "Be careful if you go out after dark. It's not as safe as you think here."

That makes you snort. "It's me. I don't even like people, what am I supposed to do outside after dark, huh? Don't worry. I'll probably stay in my room and paint all day anyway."

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "good", but it's hard to hear over Sam. "I'll take care of him," he laughs, ducking under Bucky's hand as he swats at his head. "Come on, Buck. Let's roll."

"Be safe," you mutter again, looking after them as they head to the black, unmarked car waiting by the flower shop on the corner. It's as if all colour drains from your vision.

_______________________________________________________________________

The first sip of coffee feels divine; just what you need to wake up after spending another night without Bucky. It has been another restless night. You tossed and turned and couldn't settle properly. And the dreams… You'd rather not think about them. Never before has your brain produced such chaotic absurdities, such eldritch horrors, but to be honest you're not really surprised. Sleeping next to Bucky; something just clicked. You smile into your cup, feeling calmer just thinking about it. It's weird how quickly you got used to his presence, and how wrong it feels when he isn't there.

But you don't get to enjoy your drink for long. Before you've even finished the second sip, someone shoves you hard from behind. The coffee spills over the sidewalk, painting the concrete and splashing all over your shoes. "Hey! Watch where you're going!" you bark, turning to confront whoever pushed you. But before you can even see them, they pull a bag over your head.

Panic rises in you, and you scream until your throat feels raw. Someone smacks you across the mouth, and the shock and pain shuts you up. Your lip thumps: it's split, you can taste the blood now. Tears stream down your cheeks, the soft fabric of the bag clings to your skin. Feeling the darkness caress your mind, the world starts folding in over itself. Still you possess enough awareness to kick the person holding you. They yelp and swear, resulting in a sharp rap over your ear. Your head is ringing.

A pair of strong arms pick you up as if you weigh nothing, and haul you along, struggling with your flailing arms and legs. There's a metallic clang, like a van door opening, then you're half lifted, half pulled up, all while screaming and cursing, hoping someone – anyone – will hear.

Someone speaks a language you don't recognise; your sleeve is pushed up and there's a sharp prick in your arm. Seconds later your brain starts spinning. The faint light that seeps through the weaving of the bag blinks like a starry sky.

You sway back and forth, feeling off kilter and fuzzy, as the voices around you grow all garbled and muted. Someone pushes you backwards, but before you hit the floor, you're out. As the world fades from your consciousness, you just wish you could have seen Bucky one more time.

When you come to, your head is pounding, your mouth is dry, and everything is dark. You try to move, but your hands are shackled, and your feet are bound to whatever you're sitting on. At least you're right side up, you think, before the situation dawns on you, and the contents of your stomach threatens to make an appearance. You swallow thickly. God, your mouth is so dry. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, and there's not enough liquid to even wet your lips. All you can do is grimace, feeling how they crack and pop. It stings. The taste of metallic, rusty blood coats your tongue.

Your throat itches, so much so that you can't even speak, but you can cough. Hard, like explosions in your head, and it's enough for you to lose your breath.

Something floppy is shoved into your hands.

"It's upside down, you idiot!" someone shouts, and the paper is turned.

Panic surges through your body, and your throat constricts, increasing your coughing. Your heart is racing, but everything happens so fast you just can't process it. Someone removes the bag from your head. The light burns in your eyes, and the shock stops your coughing instantly. Everything is white. There's voices, and movement, but you can't see anything clearly, and for a moment you wonder if you've lost your contact lenses. Slowly your vision returns, but they all keep to the shadows, and they've covered their faces, so you can't make out any details. The buzzing in your ears almost drown out every sound in the room.

"Look straight ahead," they command, and by some miracle you actually manage to move your head. "Keep your eyes open. Ready!"

There's a bright flash, someone else yells "Got it!" and then, in a flurry of motions you're untied, dragged through a dark hallway and unceremoniously dropped on the floor. The door clangs ominously behind you, and you freeze, waiting for someone to grab you or hurt you. There's no one in the room, but you remain in the floor, rubbing your wrists and trying to calm your breathing.

It's cold in your cell, room, whatever people call it, but at least you've got a blanket, and they've fed you, so there's that. But no matter how many times you've asked, nobody tells you anything.

You're over the initial shock now, and the fear has begun to settle into anger, but you're too numb to react.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? I'm no one, never been important in my whole life, hey, someone please say something." Silence. You bang on the door, not sure what you're hoping for. In the back of your mind you know it's risky, but you need to know. The silence is making the walls come closer. You lick your lip. It's bleeding again.

You figure your friendship with Bucky has something to do with your current predicament, but you're not sure exactly what they hope to achieve. It's not like you're best friends or anything, but maybe what you have is enough for him to come for you. That thought sends an electric jolt straight to the small of your back. For a moment you allow yourself to hope, to imagine him blasting through the door and marching in with murder in his eyes, angels singing, and the light surrounding him like a halo.

You laugh grimly. What are even the odds of him finding out where you are? Does he even care? He is the Winter Soldier, after all. He's probably got better things to do, he's busy saving the world, no doubt.

_______________________________________________________________________

Bucky smiles as he walks through the hallway, the ugly carpet muting the urgency in his steps. He can't wait to see you again. It's only been four days, but it feels like forever so the moment he got the all-clear after mission report, he made Sam drop him off at your hotel.

A short walk later he's standing outside your room, heart in his throat and arm outstretched, ready to knock. His stomach dances, pure happiness courses through him. It's been so long since he felt like this; he swears he can almost feel it in his metal arm.

A soft knock. No answer. He knocks again, harder this time. Still no answer. It's only a few minutes past eleven, you won't be asleep yet. You never fall asleep before midnight.

Suddenly it's like someone's poured a bucket of ice water over him. Putting an ear against the door, he listens like some kind of creep, but the room is silent. Maybe you're out. But that doesn't make sense either. It's too dark to get any proper work done, and you're not one for night clubs, or so you've said. Could you have checked out? Bucky's heart skips a beat. What if you're gone? But… wouldn't you at least have left him a message?

Turning on his heel, he marches back to the elevator as if he's got the devil on his tail. There's a really nasty feeling growing in his gut, something he just can't afford to think about now.

He presses the elevator button multiple times, but it takes its sweet time, so instead, he heads to the stairs, taking several steps at once, then skips the steps altogether and jumps over the railing, landing with a heavy thud on the ground floor.

There's a tenseness to his stride as he walks to the front desk, feeling more and more anxious with every breath. He never thought he'd feel this way again; that pit in his stomach and the growing stone in his chest. Last time, he was on a plane, heading for Italy in 1943, not knowing what was waiting for him.

"Excuse me," he says, rather gruffly, spooking the receptionist, though how she didn't hear him stomping through the lobby is a mystery. His own ears buzz loudly, and it's a miracle he can hear her at all.

"Good evening. How may I help you?" She smiles in that professional way people do when they're interrupted and don't really want to talk.

Bucky glances at the reflection in the glass wall behind her. Solitaire. He shakes his head to clear it a bit. "Um, yeah. Is there a message for me? For James Barnes or maybe Bucky."

She looks through the papers on the desk and shakes her head. "Sorry."

He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. "Okay. Don't suppose you could tell me if Y/N has checked out of room 508?" His brows furrow, but he tries to smile anyway.

Another head shake. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm not allowed to disclose that kind of information." She looks briefly at her screen, then back up at Bucky, fake smile plastered on her face.

Bucky bites his tongue and swallows the rage that's building in him. It's not the receptionist's fault. She doesn't understand. But then he gets an idea. "Right, of course," he says, making his voice sweeter. "But maybe you will allow me to leave her a message?"

"Certainly. Let me grab a pen and paper for you."

So you haven't checked out. From the look on her face, the receptionist doesn't realise she's confirmed his suspicions. Well, he'll leave a message just in case, but it's time for drastic measures.

Outside it's dark now. Low clouds are threatening with rain. No one sees the dark figure slipping around the corner and jumping to grab the lowest rung of the fire ladder. Bucky easily hoists himself up, and climbs to the fifth floor, keeping to the shadows and making as little noise as possible. He knows where the window to your room is, and in less than a minute he's standing on the tiny balcony, peering in.

The room looks untouched. The bed is made, your stuff is all there. There's an almost finished portrait on the sketch pad on the desk; a smiling, content picture of himself. Nothing is missing except you. Bucky is three seconds from losing it.

A cold raindrop hits the back of his neck, drawing him from his haze. Soon the sky has opened up, and he's blasted with icy water. It soaks through his jeans, and drips from his hair into his eyes. Without looking back, he slides down the fire ladder and lands in a puddle. He doesn't know what to do next. Maybe Sam knows, so he ducks back into the hotel to get out of the rain, but before he can make the call, he's interrupted by the receptionist.

"Mr Barnes, I apologise. I didn't see this before. Someone left this for you." The woman hands him a large, brown envelope. All of a sudden he's transported back in time; drowning in flashes of memories of past missions, but he shakes himself out of it. Leaning on the column by the door, he opens the envelope.

There's nothing in there but a photo. It makes his stomach turn, and for the first time since he's been free, he has to fight the rage of the Winter Soldier, expanding, threatening to explode and send him on a vengeance fuelled killing spree. "When? Do you know who delivered it?" His voice is darker than usual, and the woman steps back just from the sound.

"I'm sorry," she squeaks. "It's been here for a couple of days, I think. I wasn't here when it was delivered." She hurries back behind her counter, putting a safe distance between them.

Bucky adjusts his stance, and forces his voice to sound kinder. "Thank you. Is there somewhere I can make a phone call, undisturbed?"

She nods and points to a nook behind the oversized fern in the corner. There's a sliding glass door that will provide some privacy.

Turning the envelope over in his left hand, Bucky is careful to not leave any more fingerprints on it. It is unmarked, but he knows people who can read things that no one else can see.

Whipping out his phone, he dials the first number in the contact list. He doesn't realise it, but he's shaking. The four seconds it takes for Sam to pick up are an excruciating eternity, and Bucky grips the door handle to keep himself from running off without a plan.

Before he can even say hello, Bucky wheezes: "They've got her, Sam!"

"Who?"

"Y/N! They've taken her!" He closes his eyes. The photo has burned into his mind.

"I'm on my way."

Bucky relaxes his grip on the door. There's a dent in the metal, and that makes him even angrier. They've made him lose control. He curses as he exits the tiny room, pacing over the floor, waiting for the voice of reason to arrive.

Being Sam, being Captain America, opens a lot of doors, so when he shows up at the hotel, requesting to look through the surveillance tapes – though it really is a demand; he's got a way with words, Bucky muses, thinking back to when he realised that what he first took as being soft, really isn't soft at all. Anyway, they all fawn over each other, fighting to be the one to give Cap access. Bucky can hardly watch.

"Give us a few minutes," Sam says with a smile, settling in front of the computer.

"Of course." The manager bows and closes the door.

Then Sam turns to Bucky. "Okay. When did you see her last?"

"Four days ago, right before we left on that goddamn mission." He wants to beat himself that he exposed you to danger, and he resists the urge to take out his irritation by slapping Sam over the head. Instead he settles on a flat, emotionless that he hopes conveys all his frustration.

"Right, so somewhere after last Thursday, then." Sam pushes a button, selects the right floor and presses play. Nothing happens for a while, and he pushes a new button, making the footage speed up.

"There!" Bucky shouts, pointing at the screen. There you are. Leaving your room with a large bag over your shoulder. Bucky smiles in spite of his fear. A soft expression on your face and your trusty art supplies at your side. Everything looks normal.

Fast forwarding through the footage, nothing out of the ordinary happens. You return around seven, looking a little bit tired, but happy enough. Food is brought to your room an hour later, and you don't go out again that night.

"Sensible girl," Sam comments, drawing Bucky out of his thoughts.

"Yeah. But she didn't know how much danger she was in."

The night passes in a blur. A drunk couple stumbles through the hallway around two in the morning, but other than that it's quiet, until you leave again around 10am, again with your bag over your shoulder. You look tired, yawning and dragging your feet. The bounce in your step is gone, Bucky notices, and he wonders if it has anything to do with your abduction.

They keep fast forwarding, but when the time stamp shows 11.30pm, Bucky's chest plummets. He knows you're not coming back.

Sam looks at him. “Calm down, man. You look like you’re about to explode!” he hisses, putting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky shakes him off and glares. “Because I’m this close.”

“But that won’t do her any good, will it? We gotta keep our cool, don’t do anything rash.” Sam's voice is still calm. Bucky doesn't know how he does it.

"Fine." Bucky takes a deep breath, just how his therapist taught him. "Show me what direction she went."

Sam clicks and drags the front camera onto the screen. You stop outside for a few minutes, then head down the street towards the city centre. They follow you on the screen until you disappear from view.

There's a shoe shop on the corner where you turned, so after thanking the hotel manager for the help, they follow your moves through the city. The shoe shop doesn't have a quality video, but it's enough to recognise you. Tracking you through the streets feels like an endurance hunt, Bucky thinks, impatient to find out who took you and where you are. That's all he can focus on: to get you back. And god have mercy on your kidnappers if you're not okay. Eventually Sam and Bucky stop at a small restaurant, but they don't have surveillance at all.

"Okay. Let's head to that Starbucks," Bucky says, nodding across the road. "They're bound to have surveillance, right?"

Sam rolls his shoulders. "Let's go."

The video shows three large figures, lurking in the shadows in one of the side streets. They're watching as you enter the café, and when you exit with a large coffee in hand, the gang is ready. The footage jumps a bit, but it captures the terror in your face, and Bucky feels like throwing up. You're hauled into a waiting van, it's an unmarked, normal van, but as it speeds away, luck strikes. The camera got a clear shot of the number plate.

Bucky lets Sam handle the rest. He can't shake the guilt, the pit in his stomach that grows larger and larger. And his anger grows too. Why didn't anybody react, nobody can convince him that nobody heard or saw anything. He watches as Sam talks on the phone, already mentally punching your kidnappers to a pulp. The metal arm flexes involuntarily.

Sam puts down the phone and turns to Bucky. "Okay, so here's what they told me: The van isn't connected to anything, they didn't even have a name for me. It's probably a fake number plate. But they said it's been spotted driving to and from a warehouse not too far from here. Let's go suit up while we're waiting for the address."

Bucky exhales. They better hurry up with the address. You've been in captivity for far too long already.

_______________________________________________________________________

It's quiet in the building now. You don't know what time it is; they've taken all your stuff, but you know it's late. Your eyes sting, both from exhaustion and from wanting to cry, not to mention your contacts are getting dry, but you refuse to remove them – not being able to see would terrify you. But neither sleep nor tears come. Sitting on the cot, wrapped in the blanket they thankfully provided, you are too wound up to relax enough to sleep. What if someone comes in while you're out? There's not much chance to defend yourself, but at least if you're awake  you can try to put up a fight.

How long have you been here? It's hard to tell. After the first shock they've pretty much left you alone. Except for the interrogation a few hours later. They kept asking you about where Bucky is, what he's doing, details on his mission, but you told them, truthfully, that you don't know anything. And they seem to believe you. But they still won't let you go. You sigh and pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Even if you knew everything you wouldn't have told them anything, but you didn't say that out loud.

Suddenly there's a loud bang reverberating through the walls. Instinctively you flinch, trying to make yourself smaller. Your blood roar in your ears, and it feels like your heart is trying to beat its way through your rib cage. There's a pause – the silence is deafening, then someone yells. You hear gunshots. Heavy boots rush past your door. It's torture just listening to the fight, not knowing what will happen. What if there's a fire? Or what if you're abandoned here? Is this how you're gonna die?

The fight is getting closer. You drag the blanket over your head, locking your arms around your neck. Unfortunately it doesn't mute the sounds, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. Slowly the fight dies down, and for a moment everything is calm. You feel woozy, grateful that you're already sitting down, and you steel yourself for what comes next.

The door opens. Heavy boots slaps against the hard floor. Someone blocks out the light, and you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder, making you flinch and whimper.

A soft voice whispers in your ear. "Y/N?"

You forget to breathe again.

"Y/N," the voice repeats, coaxing you out of your makeshift cocoon.

You look up, and into the eyes of the man you never thought you'd see again. His face is blood-spattered, and his expression is a murderous rage, but the moment your eyes meet, he softens. "Bucky," you breathe, folding yourself out, and reaching for him like a toddler.

He scoops you up, holding you close as you begin to sob into his neck, and he rocks you back and forth until you calm a bit. "Are you hurt?"

Shaking your head, you climb down from his lap and looks over at Sam, hovering by the door. There's a look in his eyes that you can't quite decipher.

"You're bleeding," Bucky says, touching your lip gingerly.

"Oh." You don't know what else to say, as he helps you up on your feet. His arm stays around your shoulders all the way out into open air, and you lean into his embrace. The building is littered with bodies, some are definitely dead, others are being detained by soldiers dressed in black. Your knees buckle from the sight.

"Hey, I've got you," Bucky murmurs into your hair.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For coming to get me."

"Of course," Sam says, offering you a reassuring smile. "Why shouldn't we?"

You exhale shakily through your nose. "I thought you were busy saving the world and all."

Bucky pulls you closer.

"Don't you know?" Sam asks quietly, so no one else can hear. "You are his world."

_______________________________________________________________________

@schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte

[kurinoot]

[day 3] three convention days | kozume kenma

-> being a cosplayer means being the star of the show, or in this case, an anime convention. gifting your introverted boyfriend with the ticket could either be a good, or a bad idea, but who knows? it’s valentines after all

pairing: kenma x reader

themes: fluff, post-timeskip, cosplayer!y/n

word count: 2031 words

author’s note: sorry for the late update tho hehe burnout has been consuming me lately but I'll do my best to follow plans as scheduled :) also, Y/C/N in this story refers to your cosplayer name just in case :)

“Eh?!” His voice cracked, and as if on cue Kenma’s hands accidentally unclasped his controller from shock, letting it fall on the floor as his character was immediately killed in the background, showing a game over screen. It was, perhaps, too much for Kenma to process what was unfolding before him.

“P-Please come to my performance at the convention!”, you stutter as you hand out a ticket to a 3-Day Anime Convention to your boyfriend, whose attention is now on your hands as he hesitantly accepts the tickets from you and then goes to pick up his controller from the floor. You watch as your boyfriend looks over the details on the ticket, eventually finding out that the last day falls on Valentines.

You mustered what was left of your courage before gambling your chances whether he accepts it or not. “C-Consider it as my Valentines’ gift or something.”, you stutter as you shyly turned away with flustered cheeks as your eyes glanced over to him reading the details on the ticket.

“I’m not sure about the first two days, but I’ll be there on the last day.”, he nonchalantly replies, much to your shock, as he scrolls through his phone’s calendar, checking and finalizing his schedule. 

You gave out a sigh of relief, despite knowing how busy your boyfriend is, and it is definitely not easy when he has to juggle various jobs as a YouTuber, stock trader, professional gamer, and most importantly, a CEO of his own company while being a university student at the same time. Even though he won’t be able to go for the first two days, you wholeheartedly appreciate that he gets to go on the last day, which coincidentally fell on Valentines’ Day. Although you and Kenma have been happily dating for a few years now, you both agreed to keep your relationship a secret for privacy reasons, although in recent years, you were feeling the urge to introduce your and Kenma’s relationship to your fans.

Despite that, the two of you enjoyed the peace and solace in your relationship, and have never been more grateful to have someone like Kenma supporting each other, even if it was in secret.

The two days went on without a hitch, as the last day arrived smoothly, you quickly prepared in anticipation for your performance. At the back of the stage, other several notable cosplayers were occupied with their preparations as you finished putting on makeup as well as your costume and accessories. You hear noises from the venue outside as the crowd starts to fill the area as you carefully try to look if your boyfriend has arrived; although to no avail, you dismally had to start preparing for the event beforehand.

Unbeknownst to you as you head to the backstage, a red jacket and sunglasses-clad figure steps into the venue, trying to avoid standing out and drawing unnecessary attention to himself while holding a cup of apple juice on one hand. He cautiously avoided the crowd as he carefully made his way to the main stage situated in the center of the venue. He looked around, somehow looking for you as he waited for the program to start. He then fishes in his jacket pocket with one hand to grab his phone to text you as he takes another sip of his apple juice with the other.

The lights started to dim as it fixed on the stage, with your face and the other cosplayers displayed on the LED screen. As he watched, he had a gentle smile on his lips as he captured the sight of your moments shown, somewhat proud of your feats. He knows how hard you worked to become the well-known cosplayer and model that you are today, and although both of you were busy with your passions, he still supported you in his own ways; thus it was for the first time he will get to see you in your own element in person.

A figure walks up to the stage with a microphone on one hand and then taps it to check for any faults. When the microphone worked, they cleared their throat, attracting the attention of the audience. “Please help me welcome to the stage, Y/C/N!”, the emcee enthusiastically cheers as you enter the main stage in your simple yet eye-popping Tekken’s Alisa Bosconovitch cosplay.

The spotlights were fixed on you as you cheekily stood in the center as you unleashed the chainsaw portion of the costume in an X-formation, winking as you see your wide-eyed flustered boyfriend staring at you in the middle of the audience. The music started to play in the background, prompting you to do a couple of dances that you practiced in secret from Kenma, mixing with a few of Alisa’s fighting stances from the game. Your overly enthusiastic fans kept on cheering every time you did the familiar stunts; and Kenma—albeit silent, was enjoying your performance, if his intent gaze on you were an indicator.

All seemed to disappear around him as you danced on the stage with energy, elegantly, and beautiful in his eyes. His gaze was only on  you, watching you perform that seemed to be just for him. It was all a blur to him, but you were so clear to his eyes only as his phone recorded every moment of you.

As you performed, you gazed in his direction when the routine gave you an opportunity. Even in the dark, his eyes had a certain spark that you were familiar with, it was always when he was engrossed in something he loved. You felt such bliss with every step you took, prompting you to blow a kiss to his direction in front of the unsuspecting audience that had the clueless crowd rile with joy to your display; unknowingly, it was only for your boyfriend. Receiving your kiss, a gentle smile formed on his lips, his heart beating faster more than whenever he finishes his games as his face started to redden from your stunt. He felt a thorn in his chest as his ears rang from the cacophonous crowd. His hand started to shiver as his grip on his phone tightened with animosity as the other cuffed into a fist that he shoved into his jacket.

I don’t like this crowd… He thought as he watched the audience cheered before he resumed to watch you with a tender gaze while recording your performance. As he watched you twirl and kick, it was as if on cue, a tear unknowingly escaped from his eyes, filled with nothing but happiness as he compelled his hand to stay still and record this very moment.

“Eh~” A familiar voice cooed from behind Kenma. He quickly wiped his tears before his eyes shifted to the voice he heard as the familiar figure walked towards him.

“I never thought Pudding Head is a fan of the goddess Y/C/N.” The familiar voice continued, distracting Kenma’s train of thought just to find a flustered Tora holding a staunchly pink uchiwa fan with your face imprinted on it in one hand and a lightstick on the other while wearing an official headband merchandise of you sitting on his head to finish his weird outfit.

“Ah, Tora.”, the former setter casually replied back.

“Yo, Kyan~ma!” Yamamoto says with a teasing tone as he waved at the former setter. Kenma, shocked but not surprised, kept on looking up and down at his former teammate with mixed feelings while his handheld phone still recorded you. Kenma scoffed with loathe as he returned his gaze to your performance.

“This guy…!” Yamamoto grunted. “Hmph, a long time has passed, and this is how you greet an old friend?”, he teases out of annoyance as he crosses his arms in irritation. Kenma gripped his phone tighter as he looked at the annoyed mohawk.

“Are we even now?” Kenma replies, further annoying his old friend.

Kenma shifted his gaze to you again, ignoring Yamamoto’s casual annoyance. The former spiker scoffed as he turned on his lightstick, preparing himself to cheer for you. “I’ll show you that I’m her number 1 fan!”

Yamamoto returned his attention to your performance, as he raised his lightstick to cheer for you before being met with Kenma’s gaze.

“...show me.” Kenma looked at him with the familiar spark and confidence that he had during their old days as Yamamoto heard his inaudible whisper and could only look in his direction with a dumbfounded look. Before the spiker could reply, your performance had just ended in high spirits while being followed suit by the next cosplayer as your fans disperse to see you. 

Kenma walked around the venue for a moment as he waited for you, still pleased with your performance, and seeing you ecstatic in your own element for the very first time he’ll remember while he continued on to look for you.

“Thank you everyone! I had so much fun with you all!”, You beamed in delight as you walked around the venue sans the chainsaw and wing accessories from your costume earlier. A few of your fans, mostly boys, recognized you and have gone to flock towards you, wanting to express their love and admiration for you. Somehow, one voice stood out to you, as the blonde-dyed mohawk guy approached you with a phone.

“Y/C/N-san, can we take a picture?”, He beamed with a large smile—albeit his intimidating physicality, to which you gladly accept as you can see how much he respected your space. You both took a couple of selfies before the guy—in tears—thanked you.

Kenma, hearing your voice, was drawn to your direction before seeing your fans flocking to you. Seeing you up close in cosplay—albeit far—felt an urge within him, wanting to sweep you away from the convention. His body froze, hesitating if he should do it or not; feeling the cold sweat forming as he watched your fans crowded around you. Without a thought in mind, his feet subconsciously walked towards your direction with haste, his eyes locked onto you as he clutched his sunglasses safely. His arm outstretched until he grasped your figure within his reach as he swiftly pulled you towards him before making a break for it, much to you and your fans’ surprise.

As you both sifted through the crowd, earning quite a bit of stares from the passer–bys that you ignored. You could only gaze at him from behind in awe at his stunt. You rattled through your mind, trying to find the words in the sudden situation.

“K-Kenma? Wh-what are y—” You were suddenly cut short before Kenma tightened his grip on your hand, not wanting to let you go.

“Is it wrong for me...” Kenma said in a hushed tone that only you and a few nearby people heard. “that I want to spend time with you…?” His words left you astounded as you followed him suit as his hands suddenly emitted his warmth to you. You felt your cheeks redden in surprise to his words. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his embarrassed state while walking hand in hand out of the venue.

You and Kenma looked at each other in unison as the sun glistened on his flushed face with a smile that was only for you.

Back inside the convention, a couple of stunted fans are left in shock from what they have just witnessed. The few fans who somehow heard the inaudible interaction you both had earlier were now freaking out in their heads as if they have pieced something together.

“D-Did she just say K-Kenma? Like you know, that YouTuber?”

“You mean Kodzuken?”

Various fans who have caught the interaction were now starting to talk amongst themselves about what they had just seen. Yamamoto, despite having the chance to take a selfie with you, still got left in the dust as he knew that familiar pudding hair from anywhere. In fact, he was just with him earlier, and the current discussion amongst the fans have somehow just confirmed his suspicions.

“...show me.” Kenma’s words and the confidence he emitted from earlier finally sunk into Yamamoto.

“KYANMA!”

back to valentines masterlist

[blackstonesandtrapnest]

Helloaasaa, Aaaa request are open (excited dance) or please, our goddess, could you do? Yami's Fluff Alphabet (๑ ♡ ⌓ ♡ ๑)

Sure I can do that :) Sorry I took so long on this request! It took quite a while to make! I hope you enjoy this Sweet Anon!

Activities (What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?):

The sky's the limit with Atem and he'll do damn near anything with his S/O in his free time! But his favorite activity hands down with his S/O is dueling as one would expect. Nothing makes Atem happier than dueling with or beside his S/O!

Beauty (What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?):

Physically Atem's favorite feature about his S/O is their eyes. They never lie to him and he can see right down to his S/O's soul. Personality wise Atem loves his S/O's tenacity and toughness and admires it to the point of flat-out simping! He thinks it's gorgeous when his fabulous man or woman goes off on someone and doesn't take shit from anyone, not even him!

Comfort (How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?):

Atem's first extinct is to ask his S/O what's wrong but he's smart enough to know that it only makes things worse. Instead he'll immediately rush to his S/O's side and start holding them, not even speaking unless he deems it necessary. Actions speak louder than words after all. If Atem's S/O is having a panic attack, he immediately knows what to do since he has many friends who suffer from anxiety.

Dreams (How do they picture their future with their s/o?):

This is something that Atem won't think about unless you ask. He prefers to live in the present and is just trying to get through what's happening right at the moment. Not to say that Atem doesn't picture a future with you at all but he just doesn't see the utter importance of it.

Equal (Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?):

Atem likes to think that he's the dominant one in the relationship when in actuality, it's a pretty even split. But there are times when Atem will have to give or take more and vice versa which he has no issue with.

Fight (Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?):

Fights with Atem are definitely gonna happen whether you want them to or not. Atem has pride for days and he can be a total prick at times so he needs someone who doesn't hesitate to put him in his place. Atem's way of fighting is playing the long game. He will NOT back down and he WILL push your buttons to the max! Atem isn't as merciless as he once was so he is definitely willing to forgive his S/O unless the fight was about something severe. In that case, Atem is gonna need some time before he can even think about making up with his S/O.

Gratitude (How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?):

Atem may seem like a brat but he's eternally grateful for everything that his S/O does for him and is fully aware of said things. Atem hates being taken for granted and he wouldn't dare dream of doing the same to his S/O!

Honesty (Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?):

Atem is pretty reserved so yes he does have secrets. He especially has a lot of skeleton booty in the closet but that's probably the only thing that he'll share with his S/O.....if they ask. Atem's reserved nature comes with one that values privacy. He keeps his cards close to his chest and finds it quite fun to be mysterious and hard to figure out.

Inspiration (Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?):

Atem has definitely changed since getting with his S/O! One of the main ways is that he's learned to pick his battles and to sometimes accept the loss and move on. Atem's commitment and trust issues have also been overcome and he's become more grounded and less fickle as a result.

Jealousy (Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?):

As hypocritical as it may seem, yes Atem does get jealous and he can be childish when dealing with it. Being the former player that he was before getting with his S/O, he's no fool when it comes to how other people can be when it comes to relationships. Game recognize game! If you can't avoid the person that Atem is jealous of, then he'll make your relationship known using PDA that he normally wouldn't do. Under normal circumstances, Atem will make his jealousy known and if you call him out on his hypocrisy, prepare yourself for an argument! A jealous pharaoh is not a good pharaoh!

Kiss (Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?):

Of course Atem is a good kisser! He's had lots of practice over the past 5000+ years after all! His first kiss with his S/O was romantic and passionate and it happened in the rain which made for an excellent atmosphere!

Love Confession (How would they confess to their s/o?):

Atem would talk to you in private and he would just be honest and upfront about how he feels before asking you out on a date. Short, sweet, and to the point!

Marriage (Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?):

Atem acts like he doesn't wanna get married but he does. Deep down inside, he truly does. He just denies it because of past heartbreak. Once Atem knows for certain that he wants to marry you (which will definitely take a few years), he'll propose to you in front of thousands of people after he wins a big dueling tournament and of course the crowd (and the paparazzi) will go wild! Your marriage with Atem will be one hell of an adventure and it'll have many ups and downs but it'll all be worth it in the end because Atem will treat you like the King/Queen you are!

Nicknames (What do they call their s/o?):

Atem's most common nickname for his S/O is "My King/Queen". Atem will also shorten your name if he can to make things more personal between you two. Other nicknames Atem likes to use will be Honey, Darling, and Sweetheart.

On Cloud Nine (What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?):

Atem's behavior when he's in love starts to change pretty quickly so it's obvious to people who know him. He changes his phone and computer wallpaper to a picture of you, he has your number in his phone as " My King/Queen", and he's 100% loyal to you! No flirting with other people and he rejects any and all offers for dates/flings. Atem's love language is Acts Of Service so he expresses his feelings by doing things for his S/O and sacrificing his time to do said things. To him, actions speak louder than words and he wants to make his feelings for you as clear as possible.

PDA (Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?):

Atem is very upfront about the relationship but only in a subtle way. He doesn't like drawing unneccesary attention to himself and he doesn't wanna embarrass his S/O either. Atem will only share info about his S/O if they want him to. He prefers to be more verbal when it comes to PDA. His physical affection in public isn't much but it speaks volumes. The most he'll do is wrap his arms around you and give you lingering kisses on your cheek and neck. Hugs and kisses are only reserved for hellos and goodbyes.

Quirk (Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.):

Being 5,000+ years old gives Atem a lot of intelligence so if you wanna know things about various times in history, he's got your back! He also knows lots of random trivia and is very good at game shows like Who Wants To Be A Millionaire!

Romance (How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?):

Atem is definitely a romantic guy and he'll pull out all the stops to make his S/O happy! He's pretty cliche when it comes to romance. Candlelit dinners, roses, walks on the beach, the works! Atem tries to be creative but in the end, the tried and true methods work for him much better!

Support (Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?):

Move over Tea! Atem's the #1 cheerleader in this bitch! Whatever your goals are, he'll support you and make sure you achieve them no matter how long it takes! He believes in you to the fullest and he wants you to be the best version of yourself!

Thrill (Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?):

Atem lives for the thrill! Without it, your relationship with him is doomed. Atem gets bored easily so he's always looking for ways to spice things up between you two and he would appreciate it if you do the same as well. Variety is the spice of life and Atem wants to live it to the fullest with his S/O!

Understanding (How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?):

Atem tries to know his partner the best he can but there are times when he'll fall short and misunderstandings will be had. This is where communication comes in. As long as you explain yourself to Atem, he'll be quite empathetic and understanding, especially if he's been through the same thing himself.

Value (How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?):

Atem's relationship with his S/O definitely means a lot to him but that doesn't mean he's willing to give up everything he's ever known to be with you. Yes Atem will give up his player days and be 100% faithful to you but that's the biggest change you'll get. Atem's not giving up anything else that makes him happy. Your relationship is worth a lot to him but he's not an idiot and tries to balance things as much as possible so his priorities are kept straight.

Wild Card (A random Fluff Headcanon.):

Atem likes it when he and his S/O wear similar or even matching clothing. Especially if it's spiky and/or leather-based! He wants his S/O to always look good!

XOXO (Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?):

Atem loves affection especially in private! You'll definitely be getting many kisses and cuddles from him! Atem prefers physical over verbal affection but he'll deliver the latter just as well. He knows how to lay on the charm and make his S/O feel like the most important person in the world with the sweet words flowing out of his mouth!

Yearning (How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?):

If Atem has to be away from you for a long period of time, he'll definitely miss you but he's not gonna die without you. He'll keep in steady contact with you but he won't smother you either. Atem respects his S/O's space and doesn't want them to feel that way.

Zeal (Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?):

It may not seem like it but Atem is a true ride or die kind of guy! He'll do anything for the sake of your relationship and for your sake in general! To give an example of what kind of lengths Atem would go to for you, if you're ever down on your luck in any kind of way, he'll literally give you his entire savings account if it would save you from financial ruin! That's just how loyal Atem is to you! Just don't take it for granted or you'll regret it!

[bltngames]

The Balan Wonderworld demo came out yesterday. If you haven’t been keeping up with this, it’s a game by Yuji Naka and Naoto Ohshima, two of the original creators of Sonic the Hedgehog. A lot of that original team has gone on to do solo work outside of Sega, but this is the first time two former members of Sonic Team have gotten back together to make a new game.

If the demo is anything to go by, Balan Wonderworld (which I keep trying to type as “Balan Wonderland,” because it has a much nicer rhythm to it) is a game that lives deep in the shadow of NiGHTS into Dreams and Sonic the Hedgehog. It is very clearly trying to be an “Old School Sonic Team” experience, which it... sort of succeeds at, for better and worse.

This feels like a game they ripped straight out of 1995, warts and all, and remastered it with modern-ish graphics. I say “modern-ish” because in broad strokes, I think Balan looks pretty good. The character designs are charming, the level themes are interesting, but if you really stop and look at the game, it’s honestly pretty ugly, with simple lighting, limited detail and blurry textures.

One gets the impression maybe that’s because Balan is on everything -- Playstation, Xbox, PC, and even Switch. The gross texture work could be to squeeze the game down for Nintendo’s handheld, but apparently it runs extremely poorly there. On the PS4 Pro, it sticks pretty closely to 60fps, though there are occasionally hiccups here and there. Nothing worth fretting over, honestly.

But how does it play?

This is where the shadow of Sonic the Hedgehog looms large. Balan is designed to be simplistic to a fault: You get one button to control your character. Or, more specifically, every button on your controller will do the same thing (for the most part). This is right out of the Sonic handbook, as that game was also designed to be operable with only one button, as well.

Now, what your one button does can change. Scattered around levels are different costumes for your character to put on, and each costume has its own unique ability. The full version of Balan promises 80 different costumes, and there’s probably half a dozen in the demo. Each one serves a unique purpose, and some of them don’t even have the ability to jump. Which is fine, mostly, because you can carry a stock of three costumes with you that you can swap between sort of like the team mechanics in Sonic Heroes. Once you finish a level, those costumes get added to your dressing room, allowing you to customize a loadout of costumes at any checkpoint.

On paper, that much sounds fine. But this is where things start getting weird.

Costumes are not freely available to pick up. The jewels that hold costumes are locked with a key. This creates an obvious gameplay loop: find key, unlock costume, use costume to solve puzzle, right? Right.

Except that, at least in the demo, most keys are only a few feet away from any given costume jewel. On top of that, keys respawn. Crack open a costume jewel, grab the costume, but hang out for a little while and eventually the key will reappear. In doing this, you can stock up on keys early on in a level, smoothing out the process of acquiring new costumes as you go. I’m not sure why Balan does this. The time between key respawns is a few seconds too many -- just enough that it starts to feel tedious. But, as far as I can tell, there is no penalty for farming up a bunch of keys from the first key spawn point, either. It’s the worst of both worlds. If it was trying to be convenient, keys would spawn more quickly, but if it was trying to plan puzzles around acquiring keys, you can completely side step that by just waiting it out and hoarding keys early on.

You’ll not only want to hoard keys, but hoard costumes, as well. If you’re unlucky enough to take damage or even die while wearing a costume, it’s gone. You can build up stocks of costumes so you’ll always have spares to pull out of the dressing room, but that requires you to specifically go out of your way to get duplicates and bank them. If you don’t, you might find yourself at a puzzle that requires a specific costume that you simply don’t have anymore. When that happens, your only recourse is to backtrack in the hopes of finding a crystal that contains the costume you need, and characters in Balan aren’t exactly fast moving.

The chances of you losing a costume seem pretty low, admittedly. Balan Wonderworld doesn’t really seem like it’s aiming for anything resembling difficulty. Enemies exist, but only in very small numbers, and they’re easily dispatched. Most of the game is more about exploring the dream-like environments and playing around with the various costume abilities in order to solve basic puzzles.

You aren’t working against a clock, there isn’t a scoring system, and you usually aren’t being graded on your performance. Talking it over with some others, the vibe is that this could be a good game for young children. It requires little in terms of controller dexterity and is generous in every sense of the word.

The primary complaint against that, I guess, is that Balan Wonderworld is a weird game. Like, “Elsa and Spider-man Finger Family Youtube Video” weird. Every level is packed full of gently dancing ghosts that phase out of existence once you get too close to them. They’re all the creatures your costumes are based on, but they don’t exist as NPCs in the world for you to touch and interact with. Like I said, they’re ghosts, and they disappear the moment you get within a few feet. Those same ghosts will suddenly materialize when you touch certain checkpoints, throwing you something of parade. They interrupt the level music and everything just to play their own special celebration song. Move more than a few feet and they will fade back out of existence again, taking their special parade song with them, never to be seen for the rest of the stage.

It lends a strangely “uncanny” feeling to the game. I think the dancing characters are meant to add a sense of carefree fun, but they look like people wearing mascot suits, doing the same basic scripted routine over, and over, and over, for eternity. They don’t look like they’re having fun, they don’t appear to be choreographed to the stage’s music, and yet there they are, eternally dancing the days away. It’s kind of eerie. They were performing before you got here, and they'll keep performing after you leave.

The demo pits you against a single boss, which is notable for being someone who has the same powers you do, but combined and amped up. Seeing the same costume motifs come up in the boss as they draw from the same abilities that you have is actually a really fun idea, and the game rewards you for getting creative and swapping between costumes when you deal damage.

Balan Wonderland is a very odd game, and I’m not sure what to make of it. It took me a while to start wrapping my head around its aesthetic and vibes. It contains shades of something like Super Mario Odyssey to be sure, but it feels like it’s trying to elevate itself above that. Again, it’s a game living deep in the shadow of NiGHTS and Sonic, and in particular, it feels like it borrows NiGHTS’ penchant for putting artistic expression at the top ladder rung. Balan often feels like a very inscrutable sort of game, but in a way that seems to be reaching for some kind of greater meaning beyond simply gameplay. Everything in Balan feels like it might be conveying a message of some sort, even if it’s not immediately apparent. Its ideas do not come from a vacuum.

But here’s the deal: even though a lot of people couldn’t grok NiGHTS into Dreams, I did. I love that game to death. But with Balan Wonderworld, even I’m often left scratching my head. Despite its dead-simple gameplay, it may be just a little too high concept for its own good.

But at the end of the day, it’s not a game I hate. It’s strange, and charming, and even if it feels sort of impenetrably "artistic," at least that makes it interesting. The simple gameplay works its magic, making it an easy game to drop in to even if you don’t necessarily understand what you’re looking at.

Like, what’s the deal with the “Isle o’ Tims” between levels? It kind of has the vibe of a chao garden from Sonic Adventure, but the individual “tims” creatures don’t seem to have statistics or anything like that. You feed them so they crank a wheel, which builds a tower that helps them crank the wheel better. It turns in to a bizarre sort of perpetual motion machine. To what end? I don’t know. And what exactly is Balan himself, anyway? Some of his visual cues call to mind character designs for NiGHTS, but he appears to be a different sort of creature altogether. There’s a rather lengthy intro FMV, as you can no doubt see from the Youtube embed, but it’s more about swirling colors and hyperactive animation than conveying what’s going on or who Balan is. How much of this is even really happening, and how much of it is purely metaphysical? It’s very unclear.

I’ll be interested in seeing how the full version of Balan Wonderworld fares. I get the distinct impression that this will be another NiGHTS -- a game beloved by a core audience of hardcore fans, but shunned for being “too weird” by the populace at large.

I’m not quite sure which group I belong to yet.

[alfafilly]

New Year New Me

I want to make a small New Years Resolution this year aimed specifically towards my role in the Sly Cooper fandom. It’s gonna be kinda long and venty so warning!! 

As a bit of backstory, I haven’t been in a fandom/actively drawing fanart since like... 2012 maybe? Like in terms of drawing fanart for the same series routinely. I went through a really stupid phase where I thought fanart was a waste of time because I had been hounded over and over again by peers and those I looked up to that only ORIGINAL © DO NOT STEAL content mattered. I looked down on fanart and used every excuse to belittle fanartists. I dunno if this was also in part due to the last fandom I was in being extremely toxic (that being the Invader Zim fandom. Booooois them 2006-2008 deviantART IZ days were something else) and my college experience constantly telling me “fanart in your portfolio is stinky bad no do that” (which is hotly debated btw).

Anyway... jumping into the Sly Cooper fandom has been extremely positive for me and helping me shed a lot of that negative attitude. Dare I say there was character development?! And while, for the most part, Sly fandom isn’t that toxic, there are elements of it that have caused much chaotic negativity within me that I am hoping to get rid of.

Maybe it’s a result of my former opinions about fanart, but I have always felt a sense of inadequacy, or as if I NEED to make my place in the fandom for me to be relevant and to matter. I have vented about this in the past. My first fanart piece was a compilation of my interpretations of the cast, and it was well received, and everyone talked about how they wanted me to draw more characters, to see more designs, etc. Which is why I said I wanted to redesign ALL the cast because the people DEMANDED IT!! This could be my way of placing myself in the fandom!!! HELL YEAH!!!

But it didn’t make me... happy, I guess? I DO enjoy redesigning, but when I do it under my own terms, with no pressure. I think coming out of art school made me put on blinders and tell myself what I used to believe in: “If you’re going to waste your time on fanart, better make it good. You know, people can hire you if you show good fanart! These redesigns could get you a job in the industry! You gotta ONLY do work that will benefit your end goal and nothing else!!” 

This often made me feel extreme guilt when I started drawing more of my Arpeggio content, or my Arpeggio AUs because despite how much fun I was having, that little voice in the back of my head was saying “No!! Stop drawing that!! Draw stuff that everyone will care about besides just you!!! You’re not going to get anywhere with this!! Drawing sexy Arpeggio won’t get you a job in the industry KJSNJKGNSKNGKJNAJ!!!!”

This mentality also crafted some uhh... extremely negative competitive attitudes towards other artists in the fandom. Certain artists would piss me off every time they posted to the point I would have to block them to stop seeing their work just to prevent these feelings. There is a notable artist I won’t name, but they do Sly redesigns too. I was fine with them initially, but after they blatantly stole one of my designs without crediting me I was LIVID. I called them out and they did apologize and changed the design, but every time I saw their work from then on out I had this insane urge to “beat them”. It was a sick competitive game. I felt jaded they ripped my design and kept getting popular anyway. TBH it’s rather petty and I am trying not to harbor any ill will towards them because I don’t think they meant anything by it and the design was rather insignificant in the whole scheme of things. But I still have them blocked or muted everywhere because I am still struggling to ignore that great urge every time I see their designs to drop everything I’m doing and draw my own redesigns out of unhealthy spite.

And I’m only briefly going to go over the god damn Deceit of Thieves drama. Apparently they are still making it into a legit game? They have a Patreon apparently and are posting stuff about it? I found out about that and the same sort of fiery rage filled me. But this was much less personal. Sure, I had given a critique to them but I honestly wanted the game/story/whatever to flourish? After seeing their poor reactions and being attacked by their white knights, my taste towards them grew bitter and I think my fellow Sly fans having the same bitterness fueled me to flat out grow a hatred for them. That’s kind of awful? I never expected to want another member of the fandom to have their project fail. What kind of asshole am I for wanting that?? I don’t want that. I want them to learn from their mistakes and make something great. Not hold some ridiculous resentment. I can decide not to support them if I wanted, but wishing failure is a whole other horrible thing.

So realizing this I knew I needed to... change my perspective on how I see myself in the fandom and how I process my feelings towards it. I don’t want to be here to produce soulless portfolio worthy content. I don’t want to compete with other artists or wish them ill. I just want to draw some god damn fanart of a series I love and that makes me happy! 

I’m posting this here as a way to hold accountability to myself and be honest. I started drawing Sly stuff again in 2017 so it’s been an issue appearing on and off the last 4 years and that’s... sad. It needs to end! I appreciate everyone in the fandom who has supported me in my endeavors, as ridiculous as they are. I can’t believe drawing and writing about a dumb bird man and cat lady and throwing my stupid OCs into the fray for my favorite childhood game has made me learn so much about myself, my work, and gained me so many great peers and friends. I definitely don’t want to stop any time soon! And I apologize profusely if I ever hurt anyone in some way because I lost sight of that (or was just a dick for whatever reason).

Thanks for your support, and I hope 2021 will bring me loads more positivity into my content!! 

[amerrierworld]

Wicked

Marvel (Thor Ragnarok) oneshot

For anon 

Summary: Thor sets you up on a date with Hela, and everything seems to go well until old high-school ‘friends’ interrupt your meal.

Characters: Hela x fem!reader, Thor, former high school friends (I haven’t given them names or too much detail, so imagine whoever you’d like :) )

Word Count: 2,107

Warnings: uh, annoying high school girls?

“Are you sure about this?”

“Of course!” Thor responded, trotting next to you. “Trust me, you’ll love her.”

“Hm, why am I finding that so difficult to believe?” you huffed, pulling at the sleeves of your shirt as you walked down the street. “If she’s anything like her brothers, I doubt I’ll be able to sit across from her without slapping her across the face immediately.”

“Very funny, Y/N,” he responded. “Give it a chance, will you? You’ve been single for forever. And Hela’s been single for, well, eternity.” 

“I can’t help but wonder if this is just a scheme of yours and Loki’s to try and keep Hela off your butts from what I’ve been told.”

The God of Thunder shot you a look as he led you inside a diner, winking at a few passing people who squealed in delight at recognizing him. You rolled your eyes.

As the two of you waited at the front of the diner for your date, you shuffled nervously, hugging your purse tightly.

“Just don’t question her power, you know?” Thor was going on about all the tips he could think of so Hela wouldn’t accidentally kill you and everyone else enjoying their lunches.

“And don’t bring up family, bit of a sore topic that. Steer clear of Asgard and the Avengers, she’s still a little salty about not getting to rule it and such. Oh, and don’t talk about me or our brother too much, she finds us really annoying.”

“I wonder why?” 

“Haha,” he said, bumping your arm. An easy silence fell between you two, and you glanced around to see anyone that might stick out to you as a god.

“What does she look like?”

“Oh, irritating, mostly,” Thor sighed. “Like an absolute pain in your ass, completely incoherent of understanding other people’s lives-,”

“Stop it, you doof,” you said, shoving him lightly. “I’m serious.”

“Right, well she looks a little like Loki- same dark hair, love the colour green. Bit of a copy cat if you ask me. Tall, just as tall as me-,”

“Intimidating, cunning, and absolutely bored to death by her little brother’s dialogue,” a smooth voice spoke up behind you. “Is this her, then?”

You turned around and stared, stunned at the sight in front of you. She was tall, with black boots adding an inch or two so she towered above you. With a tight, dark green tank top hugging her curves and showing off her toned arms and a pair of black leather pants she looked, frankly, delicious. 

You swallowed thickly and blushed as you met her gaze, piercing green eyes framed by a mess of black waves. 

“Hello sister,” Thor said dryly. “This is my friend, Y/N. Treat her nicely.”

“Oh, don’t worry little brother. I don’t bite... often.”

She gave you a coy smirk and you felt your face become even more flushed. Thor clapped your shoulder.

“Right, I’m off then. You two have fun,” he shot his sister a warning look and she smirked back before he was gone.

“Should we find a seat, darling?” Hela began, pressing a hand to your back. You nodded meekly as you watched her. She moved swiftly like a cat waiting to pounce. Either way, her sudden touch on your body sent your heartbeat into a wonderful overdrive as the hostess led the two of you to a booth.

-

“Do you do this often?” Hela asked, grumbling as she scanned the menu.

“What? Dating?”

“No, ordering food like this,” she said. “How are you supposed to just pick one?”

Her dark eyebrows were furrowed intently and you couldn’t help but giggle, making her look up.

“We can split an appetizer first, if you want,” you offered. “You don’t have to just pick one, but it’s not very common to go scrounging on like, three meals at a restaurant.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, her gaze flickering down to the menu again, almost nervously. 

“So what would you like to start with?” you asked. “The calamari is pretty good, unless you don’t like fish? Maybe nachos...”

“What are nachos?”

You blinked at her, stunned once again, but for a completely different reason. This time you burst into full-on snickering that didn’t dissipate for a solid few minutes, with Hela staring at you in confusion until you were done.

“What?”

You patted her hand. “We’re getting nachos. I can’t believe you’ve been on Earth with those two knucklehead brothers of yours and you haven’t ever had nachos.”

Hela was looking at your hands touching before a grin split across her face and suddenly she seemed more at ease.

“Nachos it is.”

-

Your meal with Hela was going wonderfully, which was a surprise for both of you. You steered clear of the advised topics that Thor had told you about, but found that conversation flowed easily enough without it; Hela was more intrigued about Earth and your every day routine than any realm-enslaving conquest she’d ever been on. When Asgard did come up, it was always in passing, or by her own choice, and you listened whenever she spoke of it, holding her hand tightly. 

You learned her favourite colour is green, that she had a pet wolf named Fenris that she couldn’t wait for you to meet and that she’d only been on Earth for a little while, so she wasn’t really sure how to act human around everyone. 

Nodding along, your hands intertwined easily and automatically. Hers were cool to the touch and you found yourself tracing her figure with your eyes as she spoke. The conversation turned to you, talking about your upbringing, and you were eagerly talking to her about your life when a high-pitched, god-awful squeal caught your attention. 

“Oh my god! No way! Y/N?”

Rising from a table a bit further from your booth was a trio of girls from high-school that you’d hardly talked to since graduating. Your stomach plummeted; they were the exact few ‘friends’ that you had during your four years that you avoided after leaving that school behind once you realized how horribly toxic they really were.

Your face paled as you forced a smile on your face, and your fingers suddenly had Hela’s hand in a trembling death-grip. She noticed, eyes scanning between you and the group, silently watching. 

“Girl, it’s so great to see you! How long has it been? God, you look so different than you used to!”

You grimaced and said a weak ‘hi’ to them. You pulled your hands from Hela’s and buried them under the table to wring them together, sweaty and trembling. 

“What are you up to these days? Do you work in the city? I never would have thought you would have made it, you know? None of us could have imagined it in high school! You were always so weird back then, right?”

The same preppy tones, glamour bags and glittery lip gloss stared at you like demons coming to haunt you again. You had been much different than their clique from school, and yet you had found yourself wound up in their drama and constant bickering anyways. 

Through your haze, you made out a clear, cool voice from across you speaking up.

“I’m sure Y/N wasn’t anymore weird than anyone else who went to that school of yours,” Hela chipped in. You came back to reality to watch Hela speak with the leader of the girl group, a loud and pretentious girl who had a way of making everyone feel useless without trying. Yet your date was staring at her with a feline look, waiting for something to happen. 

“And who is this, Y/N? Your girlfriend?”

“I’m Hela, pleased to meet you,” she ignored the question and reached to shake the girl’s hand. In a split second you saw her face contort in an ungodly pain from Hela’s grip. She struggled to pull her hand free and when she did she was huffing, clearly offended. You smirked a little.

“Huh, quite a grip there, lady. Martial arts?”

“No, just a lot of experience killing people.”

The girls chuckled nervously. “What, are you one of those Avenge folk or whatever?” they scoffed, cackling amongst themselves as if they had made the best joke of the century.

“No, but Thor, who spends a lot of time with them, is in fact my brother.”

“O. M. G. What! You know Thor? As in God of Thunder? Like, super-hot blonde dude with a hammer and stuff?”

“That’s the one. Although he seems more fond of Y/N than me, sibling-rivalry and all that.”

In an instant you were bombarded with questions how did you meet him? is he really that hot? god! isn’t he an absolute dream? c’mon Y/N let us meet him you owe us that much at least.

Your heartbeat sped up again and you found it difficult to breathe, clamping your hands together. Your leg was bouncing up and down until you felt a heeled foot press against your calf, rubbing up and down soothingly. 

“If you’d like, I could introduce you much faster you know,” Hela drawled, drawing their attention like a predator playing with its prey. “I can easily summon him if you want to come outside for a second. It’ll be too much of a commotion indoors.”

They were scuffling about like puppies begging for snacks as Hela stood up, towering over them. You felt nervous, wondering what she was going to do but she turned to you and winked before saying,

“Be back in a minute, babe.”

Once you got your bearings again, you shot up from your seat to follow and hurry outside, afraid to find three corpses littered on the street. You hated high school bullies, sure, but not that much.

As soon as you stepped out the front doors, high-pitched screaming erupted from the streets and you watched all three girls scamper for their lives, away from Hela and a massive black wolf that was growling and roaring at them by her side. A shimmering portal was pulsing behind Fenris, and Hela was nearly doubled over in laughter as they ran.

When she saw you approach nervously she stretched out a hand.

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite either, unless I ask him to.”

She gave you the sweetest of smiles and your anxiety melted away. You placed your hand in hers and she pulled you closer to pet Fenris, who nuzzled your palm. 

“Off with you, now,” Hela said, patting the wolf’s head. “You don’t fit anywhere in this world.”

Fenris purred in protest and Hela tutted. “Now, now, I’ll visit soon. Thor keeps telling me if I bring you here they’re either going to hunt me or fear me, and apparently that’s not what the Avengers want right now. Scram now.”

Fenris turned like a wounded puppy and you giggled as he grumbled, before stepping through the portal and disappearing. 

“You alright, darling?” Hela asked suddenly, standing much closer than before, her face inches from yours.

“Y-yeah, I think so. Now that they’re gone.”

“They were absolute bitches, you know that?”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, they’ve always been like that.”

“Were you really once friends with them?”

“Yeah, surprisingly. I was a different person back then, and a lot of things happened that just weren't right. Eventually I locked them out of my memory but seeing them like that; that was the best revenge ever.”

“I’m glad you liked it. Though I’m afraid when Thor gave me a blueprint of ‘typical first dates’, summoning a giant wolf and scaring off old bullies wasn’t anywhere on the plan.”

“Oh, that’s alright. Regular first dates are boring anyway.”

She grinned again, a hand snaking around your waist and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You sucked in a breath.

“I couldn’t let them stand there and belittle you like that, it angered me so much.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t kill anyone,” you said, poking her playfully. “I consider that progress.”

She smiled at you.

“I had a wonderful time, Y/N.”

“Me too,” you breathed, before leaning up and pressing your lips to hers this time. She held you tightly as you kissed, her cool touch making you relaxed and dizzy all over.

You pulled away and brushed your hands through her hair, feeling the soft textures run through your fingers.

“Does that mean a second date is in order? Thor said a first kiss shouldn’t be until the third date, at least.”

“Thor is an idiot,” you mumbled against her lips. “I may owe him one for the best first date ever, but he’s terrible with dating advice.”

A/N: this was so much fun to write! thank you for the anon who prompted this <3 i don’t know about you, but I definitely had some specific people in mind when writing the hs girls and it made me very satisfied to write them running for the hills. let me know what you think folks!

[itsclydebitches]

Hello, I'm that one anon that had asked if my cinder asks had gone through but I don't think they did when I sent them through my laptop? But they really nerfed the hell out of Cinder (and Neo) in that Amity fight. Cinder should have won, she's more experienced with her magic, is suppose to cunning and quite intelligent given that she planned a majority of events that led up to Beacon's Fall. It's also like CRWBY don't acknowledge that she stolen some of the Spring Maiden's power, had to rewatch that fight to confirm, AND a good chunk of the Winter Maiden's. It should've made a significant difference there but it doesn't, like she's back to Half-Maiden power when she clearly isn't.

Neo shouldn't have struggled so hard with Maria. She literally needs her cane to walk around, it's not just for show like with Oz, and I think she hasn't really fought against anything serious in years? How is she suddenly so springy and doesn't need her cane to walk or help to get settled into a seat? Like, don't get me wrong, I love Maria, but even with the preflexes she wouldn't struggled to get a solid hit in with Neo.

Hello again! You know, I’ve had strange difficulties between tumblr desktop vs. phone too. For the last couple weeks tumblr has straight up refused to make any changes to a draft after I’ve saved it once (which makes recaping super fun...) but it will take them if I do it on my phone. What a mess lol 

Absolutely agree about these two fights. Penny is pretty damn powerful now, so I’m not 100% against her winning a fight with Cinder - especially if, as we saw, she has a leg up by being an android - but my question is why? What was the point of this battle? Don’t get me wrong, I understand completely that RWBY is a fighting show and, thus, there should be lots of fights, but moments like this feel like RT is shoving needless fights in because it’s a requirement, not because it makes sense for the story. If Cinder was just going to lose again... why bother having her try? To destroy part of Amity? It didn’t stop Ruby from releasing her message (which could have been a win for Cinder even if she lost the fight itself) and if the story needed a “Oh no, Amity might fail” moment, just have something go wrong with the tower itself considering it was never supposed to be finished in the first place. Or make getting it off the ground the central conflict considering they solved that problem literally the same moment we learned it existed. Why bother having Emerald tag along if she wasn’t going to turn the tide in some way? It makes more sense for Cinder to run off on her own and Emerald can still fuss over her when she comes back and collapses. By having the villains fail this spectacularly, it just draws attention to the ways that the story keeps certain characters illogically weak in order to achieve a pre-determined outcome. Cinder isn’t more powerful than Penny despite having had the Maiden powers longer and not being emotionally distracted (Pietro, told she was built for this - if we’re supposed to believe the Ace Ops failed solely because they were upset, how come Penny being upset doesn’t lead to her own defeat?) As you say, the threat of Cinder stealing bits of the Maiden powers seems to have been dropped entirely. Emerald comes to help but then only assists each fighter with a single vision. Neo is too distracted by Maria to do anything else. If you need to randomly make the villains less powerful/unhelpful because you want a fight here but don’t want to consider who should realistically win it... that’s not a good fight. 

Neo and Maria are, to my mind, the more egregious example. Others have made cases that Neo isn’t quite as powerful as previously assumed, mostly based on the fact that, outside of the brief skirmish with Cinder, she’s mostly fought the group. AKA, partially trained former students. My problem with this explanation is that the group’s status as (supposed) lesser fighters is ignored when they need to beat someone. Like, say, the most elite team in all of Atlas. So which is it? If Neo can dance circles around JNR without breaking a sweat and RWBY can beat the Ace Ops without a single broken aura, are we meant to believe that RWBY is THAT much stronger than JNR? Dividing between the two teams is the only way we can explain this setup of “Neo is actually weak because she’s only shown beating the group. The group is actually super strong because they can beat elite huntsmen who have been on the job for a while.” If not, I’m of the opinion that if the show wants me to buy into how strong the group is now, it has to deal with the impact of having other characters beating them: Neo must be pretty damn strong too. 

Yet Maria runs circles around her. It’s not that they’re evenly matched, or that Maria just got in a few good hits, she’s laughing while dancing around her opponent. The fight isn’t treated like Maria has to work hard to keep up with Neo. Rather, fighting Neo is treated like the easiest thing in the world. So... what in the world is up with Maria? She told us she retired after she lost her eyes. I’m not going to pretend that I can gauge the ages in RWBY (learning Cinder was ten made me ?????? lol), but this is a pretty young woman: 

and this is a pretty old one: 

So Maria has spent decades doing... we don’t know, but not actively fighting out in the world like Neo has. So are we meant to believe that RWBY fighters never lose their skills? That you don’t need to be out fighting for your life to keep up with those who have? Do we blame this all on Maria’s semblance, arguing that precognition is just so unfathomably powerful that fighters rarely land a hit on her? Even if we accept all this as true, we have the dual issue of a) Why Maria’s incredible power hasn’t been utilized since now and b) Why she’s been treated as an old lady who no longer fights (using her cane, needing Yang to push her through the show, relying on technology like airships and mechs, etc.) With the bonus c) Her fight with Neo isn’t treated as a Big Reveal. We don’t learn that Maria was deliberately hiding her power for whatever reason of her own, faking the old lady routine, but will now demonstrate them when it’s necessary. 

The problem is that she was written as a non-fighter until she suddenly wasn’t. The “rule of cool” continues to mess with what little continuity we’ve got left. It is very cool for an old woman to demonstrate such power... but not at the expense of the story making sense.  

[ducktracy]

179. rover’s rival (1937)

release date: october 9th, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: bob clampett

starring: mel blanc (porky, puppy), robert c. bruce (rover)

at long last, rover’s rival makes history before the short even begins: this is the first cartoon to debut the opening using “the merry go round broke down”, as well as the first cartoon to have porky bursting out of the drum at the end (which i believe is animated by sid sutherland? for the 1937-1938 season anyway). the merry go round broke down would be the longest running theme song—even the merrie melodies would drop “merrily we roll along” in favor of the former in 1964. quite a feat indeed!

the cartoon itself is a fun one (as are the clampett porkys of the 1937-1938 season, a particularly strong one): porky is eager to teach his old dog rover new tricks, despite the old saying. a plucky little pup is just as eager to out-perform the old pooch, much to the displeasure of porky and rover.

the structured, spherical, well-constructed close-up of porky as he peruses a book on how to teach your dog new tricks (by author clawed meatly, no less!) can only be attributed to john carey’s hand at the cartoon’s open. porky babbles on in excitement (”oh be-boy, here’s a honey of a-a trick to teach my deh-dee-deh-do-de-dee—eh-pooch!”), wasting no time to jump out of his chair and grab the necessary toys to entertain his pup. for an expository sequence, the scene flows quickly but smoothly, especially the scene where porky grabs the hoop and the ball to play with rover. there are no cuts, and he doesn’t stop to grab either—he just glides along, propelled by his giddiness.

juxtaposition is key to comedy, and here is no exception: clampett does a great job of building up to rover’s reveal. porky dashes to rover’s doghouse, calling fragmented commands to whatever lies within the kennel. “ol’ strongheart”, as porky calls him, is finally introduced with a triumphant fanfare. hold on the still of the doghouse, and our hero enters:

note how the book porky was reading wasn’t titled “new tricks to teach your old dog”. there are no clues that porky’s faithful companion is a withered, tired, geriatric old dog (except for maybe all of the positive reinforcement—that is, “ol’ strongheart”, the fanfare, porky’s excitement—which makes itself too good to be true). chuck jones is, of course, behind the animation of rover’s entrance. once again, part of the three key identifiers to chuck jones animation: dogs, drunks, and close-ups. sometimes all three!

porky tells rover that they’ll try a couple of easy tricks “to weh-warm up”. as rover follows his owner’s order to sit up, remnants of the more comic strip looking iwerks shorts sprinkle in to the animation of rover’s vertebrae cracking as he slowly sits up--little stars and lines (accompanied by treg brown’s excellent creaking sound effects) further just how weak and old porky’s faithful companion is. if we still had any doubt, our suspicions are confirmed as rover answers porky’s command to roll over in the voice of an old man’s (provided by robert c. bruce, who would narrate a good number of upcoming cartoons): “eeeeh?”

enter the antagonist, a perfect, pint-sized foil: rover’s rival, a tiny little pest of a pup who tinkers into the scene. he spots rover struggling to roll over and winks knowingly at the audience, jabbing a thumb in a gesture that reads “get a load of this guy!” interesting to note, they don’t cut away to the pup’s introduction--rather, the camera zooms in as the pooch gets closer to the action, a fade leading to the next shot. a subtle but nice move that brings the audience along with the pesky little rival and evokes a sense of involvement, menial as it may seem.

bobe cannon animates the close-up of rover struggling to roll over, repeatedly flopping to one side. the stray pup offers to display a shred of neighborliness by blowing on rover as he gets close to actually rolling over, once more tipping him back where he started. 

porky, undeterred, moves to a new tactic: the ol’ jump through the hoop trick. he signals for his faithful companion to do so, and is taken aback as the little pup jumps through instead. great joke after: porky eyes the now broken hoop, turning around as he curses “aww, neh-ne-nu-ne--shucks!” as he does so, the absence of the hoop reveals a metallic pan hanging on the side of the house, which rover (still following porky’s orders) crashes right into. wonderful timing and wonderful sound effects. 

the rival pooch approaches a dazed and confused rover (with a double exposure cuckoo clock springing out of rover’s head and cooing wildly to suggest as such), barking up a storm before snarling in a high pitched, nasally voice “ya old antique! why, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks! why don’tcha give yourself up?”

despite the pup’s incessant bullying, porky is still determined to go against the age old saying. as he offers for rover to catch a rubber ball, rover chews out the smug pup, raving about young whippersnappers. “watch THIS!” rover awaits the ball thrown into the air with an open mouth, leading to some prime scheme hatching opportunities for the pup. 

there’s some nice dry brush action to convey the movement as the puppy lugs a conveniently placed pumpkin and throws it into the air with a some effort, which lands squarely in rover’s maw (much to the bewilderment of porky.) dry brushing would be everywhere in the 40′s cartoons--and i say that lovingly, it’s an art!--but it’s awfully interesting to find it in a 30′s cartoon. you’d be amazed at the variety of ways it can convey speed or motion! 

john carey does some wonderful animation of the pup’s comeuppance, now touting the ball in its mouth and giving a self-satisfied, quiet “yea, man!” (a reoccurring catchphrase in the cartoons of the late ‘30′s) before launching into a showboating routine. he bounces the ball onto his back legs, juggling it and even turning into a seal--barks and all--as he balances the ball on his nose, putting poor old rover to shame. instead of having the pup act like a seal, his hind legs melt together to form an actual fin, pushing the gag further. it’s a great little detail, and the jaunty score of “’cause my baby says it’s so” serves as another plus.

ending the routine, the pup opts to berate rover more, who grows tearful from the barrage of insults. “you mean t’ say... i’m one of them thar... used-to-was-es?” the prick pooch imitates rover’s speech (and appearance, his face saggy and wrinkly--to quote the cartoons, “a reasonable facsimile”): “yes, i mean to say, you’re one of them there used-to-was-es!”

finally, porky intervenes: “hey, don’t eh-imic-eh-ick-eh... don’t imic-eh-eh... don’t mimic rover, he’s eh-see-eh-ss-ehh-sensitive!” so, of course, the pup magically gains a few pounds in the face to mirror porky, stuttering back in a nasally voice (more than normal) “eh-geh-geh-geh-gee, i’m sorry to hear eh-theh-theh-eh-theh-that!” he snarls at porky in comically ear-splitting volume, rendering porky hurt for a despair-filled two seconds. but, of course, he’s back to his excitable old self after he finds another trick for rover to do. 

clever decision to make the trick a “surprise”: we don’t find out what it is until after rover excitedly dashes over to porky (doing a running take in mid-air as he struggles to gain traction). the trick is simple: fetch the stick. porky tosses the stick, prompting the pup to lean up against porky’s belly nonchalantly and give a monotone, condescending countdown: “one... two... three... seven... eight... two... nine... ten...”

predictably, the puppy grows impatient, and darts off screen to outperform rover once more. rover, on the other hand, takes his sweet time picking up the stick, which proves to be to his detriment as the pup swoops in last second to grab it. i love the “shiver take” on the lower body of the pup as he slides away with the stick (another “yea, man!”, no less)--little touches like that to remind us that this is a ‘30′s cartoon are much appreciated, on my end at least. nevertheless, rover still goes in for the bite, spitting out a mouthful of dirt.

porky and the pup play a quick round of spiteful tug of war with the stick. porky manages to free the stick from the ever menacing jaws of the beast, insisting that it’s rover’s turn to get it. he throws it again, and this time rover does manage to grab it: but his dentures free from his mouth, clamping down on the immobilized stick on the ground, returning with a mouthful of nothing but saliva. pooch, on the other hand, returns the stick--dentures and all. this drawing speaks for itself in how funny it is, porky’s befuddlement always a plus.

rover inserts his dentures before getting the stick a third time, whereas porky pins down the pup (who’s winding up to retrieve it once more.) the timing of porky pinning the pup is excellent: the jump itself is only six frames, and all on ones, making it go by in an instant. treg brown’s thumping sound effect of porky pinning his entire weight down on such a small creature is the icing on the cake. 

seeing as this is a cartoon, and a warner bros. one at that, the stick lands in a site filled with dynamite. so, of course, it’s only logical for a senile old dog to confuse his stick with a stick of dynamite explicitly labeled as such. rover retrives the dynamite and brings it back to an overjoyed porky (holding the pup by the turtleneck). bobe cannon animates porky gloating to the pup: “see? rover got the s-eh-ss-ehh... he got the suh-eh-seh...” 

polite head pats from porky turns into porky thrusting rover’s face into the ground as he does a take, finally realizing that he’s holding ”DYNAMITE!!!” the dynamite physically clings to porky’s hand as he aimlessly thrashes around in attempt to throw it, finally managing to do so. the pooch runs off to catch it, whereas rover inquires “dynamite!?” and does some running of his own. 

dashing inside the house, rover plops himself into porky’s armchair with urgency as chuck jones animates the hilarious close-up of rover frantically thumbing through a dictionary, mumbling and sweating all the way. the dead-eye and reading glasses are the perfect touch to top off the gag. 

elsewhere, the pooch returns to porky with the dynamite, whispering another satisfied “yea, man!” as a job well done. porky is quick to throw the dynamite off into the distance, ordering “ee-eh-GO HOME, WILL YA!?” after the pup retrieves the dynamite once more, we’re treated with a GREAT scene by chuck jones as bob clampett’s love of magic tricks give us rapidly appearing dynamite sticks, pulled out of the infinite pockets of the pooch. chuck’s animation of porky frantically pulling on an interminable string of dynamite sticks (in the same manner of the old never-ending handkerchief trick) is especially smooth and a delight to see (animated on ones.) the upbeat score of “nagasaki” also compliments the scene nicely, reflecting the frenzied action. 

eventually, the altercation turns into a rapid fire throwing match between pig and pup, dynamite sticks flying. porky struggles to catch all of the sticks, but does so anyway. the nuisance of a pup adds insult to injury by sticking dynamite sticks in porky’s mouth and ears (which would be revisited 13 years later in chuck jones’ classic the ducksters), segueing into a standard but great gag: the pooch asks if porky has a match on him. porky thinks for a split second, and, out of the goodness (or, gullibility rather) of his heart, reaches into his pile of explosives and pulls out a match. 

the pooch lights all of the dynamite in porky’s possession as we cut to rover, still frantically thumbing through the D section in the dictionary. back to porky, who frantically scales a tree after recognizing his peril. the persistent puppy pops out from a bird’s nest full of baby birds, offering a terrified porky a plethora of dynamite sticks. with the same speed as he went up the tree, porky flies back down to the ground, where he STILL can’t catch a break. cue one of my favorite mel blanc deliveries as the pooch appears from the bottom of the tree, forking over a dynamite-lit birthday cake. porky rejects the pup’s birthday wishes with an ear-splitting “uh-teh-ee-eh-tee-eh-tee-ehTAKE IT AWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!”

once more to rover, who finally uncovers the definition of the elusive dynamite: “noun. ‘a high explosive.’ EXPLOSIVE!?” he runs like he’s never ran before as he darts out of the house. back to porky in a hilariously staged shot, praying incomprehensibly to himself as he’s surrounded in a barricade of dynamite, the sadistic puppy laughing and pointing at him in the process. 

thankfully, rover comes to the rescue: he scoops up the barricade of explosives, carrying the bundle in his mouth as he runs away to expose of the danger. of course, that doesn’t stop the puppy, who manages to lift rover up (with a gleeful grin towards the audience as he does so), turning him around and bringing him back to porky. porky tosses the dynamite away, inadvertently disposing of rover’s dentures along with the bundle. yet, like before, the pesky pooch returns with the dentures in his mouth, dynamite sizzling away in between the false teeth. 

some lovely, dimensional angles of the pup sweeping across the screen and into the foreground as he and rover engage in a high stakes game of tug of war. in ‘30′s cartoons, animation is bound to be rubbery, especially in a clampett cartoon, but the decision to turn the dynamite into the consistency of rubber to demonstrate the push and pull of the two forces is a nice touch. rover manages to grab a hold of the bundle of dynamite, his own dentures snapping him right in the nose.

the gag isn’t staged very well and gets lost in the action, but rover’s dentures fly into the air as he dashes away once more to dispose of the dynamite. the dentures land back on a nearby tree branch, snagging onto the pup’s tail and causing him to dangle aimlessly from the branch. the same type of gag would be used just a few months prior on ub iwerks’ porky and gabby, which clampett also had involvement in. as the cherry on top, rover returns briefly to shake porky’s hand in a sorrowful but respectful goodbye. porky covers himself just in time for the explosion offscreen, marked by an orchestral resolution chord and a sign from the dynamite site that lands conveniently in the scene: “WE’VE BLASTED!”

both porky and his sadistic little puppy friend are quick to rush to the scene of the crime. the drawing of rover lying flat on the ground is confusing at first glance: he’s supposed to be covered in dirt, but the transparency of the cel and two dimensional line work of the dirt covering him make it appear as though rover had been dismembered in the process--gruesome, isn’t it? nevertheless, the pup proves to be much more mournful than porky, actually displaying a shred of empathy as he tearfully chats up rover, blabbering on about how he didn’t mean any of it, rover is capable of learning new tricks, and that he’s “the best little stick-bringer-backer that ever was.”

as to be expected, rover pops up, perfectly fine, just in time for the iris out: “do ya mean it?”

bob clampett has the most porky entries out of any director, and while i frequent his the most, this is one i continue to forget about. which is a shame on my part, because it’s so much fun! right off the bat i say you should go watch this one, it’s a lot of fun. while it’s nowhere near as boundary breaking as clampett’s later films, it’s still rife with energy and life. i love how the gags are often pushed to being taken literally: the pup’s hind legs turning into a fin as he mimics a seal, his face contorting to match rover’s and porky’s, the “WE’VE BLASTED!” sign after warnings of “DANGER -- WE’RE GONNA BLAST” sprinkle up between shots, and so forth. moreover, there’s some fine animation in this one, from john carey and chuck jones especially. the seal scene with the pup and the never-ending dynamite are probably my favorites, though there are a ton of funny shots as is, such as the pup with the dentures and porky praying as the pup openly mocks him. 

of course, it’s not perfect--the animation is messier in some places than others, and you could argue that the back and forth structure of the gags could grow repetitive, but the benefits certainly outweigh the negatives. this is a fun early piece that reflects how far the cartoons have come, but also demonstrates that there’s much to look forward to it. go check it out!

link!

[enigmatist17]

Sirens and Wings (Rhys Strongfork x Vaughn)

Just a fun idea inspired by this fic :)

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

It started with a low ache after their first night of sex. It was rushed, and dorm beds aren’t exactly the nicest, so he thinks nothing of it. It’s strange that the pain centers on his upper back, but over time he just becomes used to it. 

It’s two years into their tenure at Hyperion when the pain fades, and he is left with something in its place. They’re a small, but clearly growing pair of what could only be described as wings. The primary color is a dark green, much like the shade of his glasses, with dark grey linings littered throughout. It’s a good four-hour panic attack before he realizes that this must remain hidden.

Vaughn isn’t the most technically sound, but he crafts a compression shirt to hide the strange new body parts.

Hyperion never notices, and his blood remains unchanged despite the yearly test. His compression shirt, despite becoming worse as his wings grow and grow, is able to trick scanners and keep bumps hidden as it is upgraded over the years. Vaughn doesn’t really know how it happened, but sticks by his closest friend and secret lover, knowing that somehow in his very bones that Rhys Strongfork is responsible. He doesn’t get a chance to ask until one fateful day, their lives change. A change for promotion, a fake vault key that leads to an actual Vault upends so much, and even brings Helios to a spectacular crash. Rhys is also taken from him, gone, and leaving a feeling in his soul that can be only described as pure sorrow and longing for his other half that had never been too far away from Vaughn since he could ever remember. No longer is Hyperion watching, and after some internal debate, Vaughn masks himself much like a bandit before ridding himself of his compression shirt. His wings are massive, all raw power as he slowly trains himself how to fly, having never had the chance before. 

A siren, one that helped kill Handsome Jack, sees him and approaches Vaughn after his recent failure. He rightly panics, backing away as the siren lifts her hands in a calming motion.

“Whoa, relax man, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Yea, excuse me for not being so relaxed. Everything and everyone has wanted to kill me since I’ve been here.” Vaughn doesn’t mean to be so snippy, but he is sore, hungry, and his wings needed a damn good preening again.

“You from Helios?” The air grows tense, and figuring that he had nothing left to lose, Vaughn nods. Lilith regards him, and after some time rolls her eyes and offers a hand. “They wouldn’t make a Protector someone who was an actually shitty guy.”

“...a what?” The term is unfamiliar, wings giving a slight ruffle when he takes the other's hand and is lifted. He feels almost like Rhys is there, but the feeling is just off-kilter that it leaves Vaughn almost upset.

“Jeeze, you Hyperion lo-nerds don’t know anything outside papers and numbers huh?” Lilith hears the soft scoff and smirks as he tucks his wings behind his back. “Trying to fly?”

“...yea, never really did it before.” Vaughn shrugged, watching as Lilith put a hand on her hip and eyed him over. Vaughn was the least intimidating one there was, yet his muscles and guarded stance showed that he was well on his way to becoming a reckoning force. “Uh, since you’re a siren and all...how did you know what I was?”

“Easy, I once had my own.” Vaughn doesn’t have to ask who it was, and Lilith doesn’t continue as she gives him a once over. “You already know who your siren is, don’t you? Because I am very surprised they’re not here with you.”

“...I don’t know where he is now...he went into the Vault of the Traveller...and now he’s gone.”

“...I feel you.” The tone in her voice makes Vaughn feel a little heard, and he offers a weak smile after removing his mask a little bit. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find him one day again...let's get you ready for that day, shall we?”

Over the next seven years, Vaughn becomes almost a myth to most bandit clans. A plundered Vladof hologram is repurposed to hide his wings in the daytime, but at night he is usually found ghosting over deserts and towns without a sound. Vaughn always wears his mask when he goes at night, and over time he is called the Wandering Soul, seeming to just fly with no destination in sight. Lilith is visited from time to time, and sometimes Ellie finds the man perched up high on some of her cars, looking up towards where Helios had been a long time ago.

His routine is interrupted when the Children of the Vault begin to spread like a disease. The hologram is ever constant now, and Vaughn snaps from being restrained when his clan wants to sell something he only views as a bad omen. It falls on deaf ears, and his hologram almost fails when he is rescued by Vault Hunters, Lilith hiding him until it is fixed. The feeling that gnawed at him only seemed to grow so much worse as months dragged by, Vaughn working hard to keep the Children from overtaking Pandora. He can hear whispers, people wondering where the Wandering Soul was, wondering if he had been taken or worse by the Children.

There are cries of joy when one night, he comes. It is the night the Raiders have returned, to mourn, and to rebuild after completing their mission from so long ago. The babble of reuniting lovers and families are startled by an excited child, pointing up as the familiar figure of Pandora flies overhead. Vaughn smiles to himself at the relief he can feel, and figures returning to his former routine will be only strengthening for the Raiders, and does so for a few weeks. 

He does wake up one morning, lying on his stomach with his wings splayed out all over the bed, and something feels strange as he looks at the wall across from him. The room feels...cool, and the crushing pressure that had been on his chest for seven years was gone. Vaughn frowns and freezes when a hand caresses one of his exposed wings. They expertly work a few feathers from their small tangle from Vaughn’s shifting at night, and Vaughn can’t help but hum at the feeling. Slowly, Vaughn unwinds as the other carefully and neatly preens the bandit, getting at some areas that had never been properly cared for over the years. 

“I’m so sorry.” The voice that settles around Vaughn’s ears is familiar and aching, and the bandit just lets out a weak whine. Vaughn doesn’t care as he merely lifts a wing to invite the other to lie beside him. A metallic arm slides around Vaughn’s waist, quickly taken up in one of Vaughn’s free hands. It’s red now, and the bandit rather likes the color as he traces the metal with a spare finger. 

“Will you stay, or will I come with you?” A kiss is placed on the back of Vaughn’s neck, and the bandit lets out a soft purr.

“We leave when you’re ready,” Rhys speaks easily and confidently, and Vaughn wonders how the change stuck after all these years. The question is shelved, eventually, the two facing and kissing away unbidden tears that were no longer held at bay. The sun rises and sets as they lie together, sometimes in silence and other times in a passionate thrall, Rhys’ left arm glowing red to match the red shine that danced over the grey and green feathers as Siren embraced Protector. Pandorians don’t question when they no longer see their Wandering Soul, each one somehow knowing they had finally sought whatever it was he was looking for the day an Atlas ship leaves orbit. Rhys still has questions, and Vaughn only has so many answers, but when they reach Promethea, it doesn’t matter.

The city, its denizens still rebuilding and starting to go back to what was the new normal, are taken aback when Vaughn takes his first flight. He isn’t alone, the bandit still masked yet not joined by another. Rhys has changed his hand to a silver one and dons a simple version of an Atlas soldier mask, red transparent wings shimmering along the black glass and numerous mirrors of countless buildings as the two fly together. He only wears a button-up shirt, his siren marks glowing through the light blue fabric, as well as the jeans he wears, hand often being held by the bandit. Promethea is abuzz the next morning, unaware the two watched high above.

Vaughn doesn’t care much, just tucking Rhys under his wing and drawing him close. For once, finally, all was well, and he could finally relax.