#not a fan of how poor i am but i AM a fan of blurring cultural music gaps and digital archiving of worldwide music through the decades

[weeee]

Actually am using radiooooo.org from that post I just reblogged and its fr so cool. Wish the paid version wasn't leagues better than the free version, but it is what it is and honestly a website as cool unique as this should be making good money

[lsargeantsgirl]

Reserve

pairing: max verstappen x f2 driver reader

word count: 1.3k

Summary: Max meets a woman at the 2023 FIA Prize Giving ceremony, but don't exchange numbers. Months later they meet again and sparks fly more than ever.

Warning: Max’s personality is not accurate.

MANY INACCURACIES (take place in Baku, but the place is the Met) also didn't know what to title this

----

2023 FIA Prize Giving ceremony

Y/n ascends the staircase with the wind in her dress and her hair blowing in the wind. She felt better than she ever had. Even though her boyfriend, well now ex-boyfriend, broke up with her a week ago. He had said some things that had made her feel worthless. Now she felt on top of the world. She had won the Formula 2 Rookie of the Year. It had been a crazy tear for you. 

“Y/N,” was all you were surrounded by. Many reporters and fans were yelling for your attention. At the top of the stairs, you stopped and looked over your shoulder as a pose. A man near the middle of the stairs caught your eye. He was sharply dressed in a nice suit.

After enough time to get the shot, you continued through the doors. Your team principal met you halfway to the team’s table. 

“Y/N, you look great. I got an email today from the Team Principal of the Red Bull F1 team, Christian Horner. He wants to talk to you.”

“When does he want to meet?”

“He wants you to meet him after the awards.”

“Ok, you’ll know where I’ll be”

He walked away as you made your way to the bar, getting your favorite drink. A man finds his place next to you.

“Hey, how are you?” he said with an accent.

“Good, you?”

“Great, now since I met such a beautiful woman,” he flirted.

“Aww, what level are you in?”

“F1.”

“Ooh, fancy pants here,” you said while smiling. “Guess I’m too poor for you.”

“But you’re not ‘poor’ on the beauty scale.” He smiles, and you meet his crystal-blue eyes.

“Thanks, if looks could lap, you’d be a world champion,” you joke to him, hitting his arm with a dopey smile.

“Jokes on you, actually, I am,”  he says with all seriousness. 

The smile on your face dropped. “What?!”

“The champion of your heart,” he smiles detecting your stand-offness to his previous comment. “So can I have your number?”

“If you buy the next round.”

“Bartender, can you put all of her drinks on my tab tonight,” he says as the bartender nods.

“Well, thank you, but for that, I can repay you by giving you my number,” you said as you trailed your finger on his shoulder.

“What if I don’t want it?” he says ‘sarcastically’ but you don’t catch on.

The face you made you kill someone. Your face dropped farther than it ever had. You might even have to get Botox for the frown lines after that. You set your drink on the bar and back away. 

“Thank you for the drinks, have a great night,” you said before turning on your heel and walking away. 

“Wait,” you hear him slightly yell but you ignore it. Max starts to hate himself for being sarcastic. It was hard for him to make friends or talk to girls. His abusive past makes him overthink things so much so that he blocks the best of people out.

You strut to your team’s table. As the ceremony commences, your eyes meet the Caribbean blue eyes. You fight the urge to smile at him, instead you force your deepest frown and even add a roll of the eye. 

Your award was announced. You walk up the stairs with a huge smile. As you look out at the audience, you feel a sense of accomplishment. You seem calm and collected but inside you are so nervous.

“Thank you to everyone, my team, my engineers, my strategists, my family, my friends. All that you have done for me has brought me to this very moment. No words can express how thankful I am for everything. All the blood, sweat, and tears I have put into this sport have finally paid off. If I cried on your shoulder, an extra thank you to you. Thank you,” you finished.

The rest of the night went by in a blur until your team principal came to you with three men following him.

“Y/n, this is Christian Horner, team principal of the Red Bull F1 Team.”

“Mr. Horner, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Miss (your last name), likewise, congratulations on your F2 Rookie of the Year.”

“Thank you,” you politely replied.

“I would like you to meet my drivers: World Champion, Max Verstappen and his teammate, Sergio Perez.”

You looked at the man he called Max and looked him up and down and said, “Champion of your heart, my ass.”

“Y/n, a word please,” your team principal grasped the upper portion of your arm. “What the hell, they’re offering their reserve driver to you. Don’t act normal please.”

You walked back to the group of Red Bulls. “My apologies, Mr. Perez, a pleasure to meet you,” you apologized completely ignoring Max. 

“Y/n, after careful consideration, Red Bull would like to offer you the position of our reserve driver. You can take as much time as you need to decide,” Christian said.

“Thank you, sir. I will think about it.” 

Christian and his boys walked away after giving their farewells.

—-- A couple of months later—

Bahrain Grand Prix

“Here we are in Bahrain, preparing for the first race of the 2024 Formula One championship quest, the 2024 Bahrain Grand Prix. It is a sunny day of 20 degrees Celsius or 69 degrees Fahrenheit. There are no new drivers to the starting grid but there are changes to the reserve drivers mainly, the Formula 2 Rookie of the Year, (your name). She had amazing testing results here last week. One of our reporters is with her now.” the Sky Sports host said. 

“Y/N, welcome to your first grand prix as a reserve driver. Are there any feelings of accomplishment yet?” she asked.

You laughed, “Not really, I am so happy to have this opportunity. Thank you to Christian and the Red Bull team for trusting me. It really won’t settle in until I’m in one of the cars during a race but yes I am so happy and excited to be here.”

“As someone new to F1, how is having Max Verstappen as a teammate?”

“I mean, he’s different than my previous mates. We have our downs but nothing that makes me lose sleep, I don't know about him though.”

“Well, thank you for your time, I hope you enjoy this grand prix.”

Sometime later after Max won the race, he found you at the back of the garage and cornered you.

“Do you think I lost sleep over that night in Baku?” he said with a low volume.

“You were the one who came running after me so maybe.”

“You would be right, every day I think about what compelled me to say that and I still don’t know what did?”

“I know what did. You were attracted to me so your first instinct was to pull me in but when I got too close you pushed me away, that’s not your fault.”

“My dad made me work so hard, so when you came in so easily I thought it was too good to be true,” he said.

“I feel the same,” you whisper.

“You do?” he whispered back.

“Yeah,” you smiled.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,”

His lips met your softly. You were hidden in the back of the garage so no one could see this intimate moment.

After you separated your lips, he asked, “Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

“Yeah, you know where to pick me up,” you say slipping out from between him and the wall to go back to the front of the garage, anxiously waiting for the night to come.

[bitethedevil]

Am i delulu or does raphael admire tav/durge? I know its him performing, but as gale says "inviting to dine with devil is devils equivilant of serenade and roses" and first scene where we meet him he does eye tav/durge througly from bottom to top. Also he says "im fan of your work" to durge. So idk?? It lowey feels like raphael is fond of us in game but i need proof/ professional analysis. [Ahem you are the professional mouse afterall heehee~]

He Loves Us, He Loves Us Not: What is Raphael’s Relationship with Tav/Durge?

*Puts on my little mouse glasses* I’m glad you asked. I’m summing up a few points that I have also written about in another analysis called ‘Raphael and weaponized mortality’, so if that sounds interesting, you can find it in my reading list.

Everything about Raphael screams wolf in sheep’s clothing (or a cambion in man’s clothing if you will). Here are a few points illustrating this:

Cambions naturally have a really predatory kind of stench to them because they are entirely carnivorous. Yet, he is described as a perfumed trickster who smells of cherries and sulphur, most likely because he is trying to cover up that smell.

Poetry, an art that is very dependent on nasty mortal concepts such as ‘feelings’, is something we know he uses a lot. He’s not really good at it and he even says it’s not his ‘main interest’ to Karlach in the second act. His theatrical nature and use of poetry humanizes him, and I think he is well-aware of this.

When you call him out as a devil in front of Mol, he says something about how she wouldn’t believe them anyway, ‘not with his angelic complexion’. We also know that Gortash’s parents sold him to a ‘warlock’ and that’s how he ended up with Raphael. I’ve seen multiple places that that warlock is supposed to be Raphael himself.

Now this all makes me believe that he usually does not reveal his true nature to his clients unless: 1) they’ve already signed, or 2) they are so utterly fucked that they have already reached the point of no return with him and are forced to take his deal no matter what.

Yet, he reveals his true nature to us from the get-go. Yes, one could argue that the tadpole-gang does fulfill option 2) according to him and that’s why he does it, but I think it could also be something else. I think he knows from early on that we are his best bet, so he chooses to lay out all his cards on the table and tries to build as much trust as he can from the beginning.

This is also the function of helping us with Astarion’s scars. Dealing with a devil when you’ve never dealt with one before? Scary. Dealing with a devil when he has proven once before to keep his word? Much less scary. He’s ‘grooming’ us for trusting him to keep his word with THE deal (and he gets to fuck over Daddy Meph by potentially robbing him of a lot of souls. Win-win.)

I think Gale is right on the money when he says that it’s ‘a devil’s equivalent to serenades and roses’. Raphael is like a bird or something. He’s showing off, charming us, but also reminding us that he is big and scary. Although despite the fact that he is big and scary ‘he simply wants to help us’.

He’s done his research and already knows everything about us, so he knows exactly how to play us. This is demonstrated in the comment to Durge in the beginning and the thing he says in Last Light if you tell him he knows nothing about you: “Don’t I indeed?.

I really think that we turn into an obsession for him at some point and that the lines between the obsession about the Crown and his obsession about us blurs. This seems definitely to be the case in his journals. I mean the poor guy has nightmares about us…

I also am so sure that he is not even trying to trick us into anything with the Orphic Hammer. He truly does believe that the Emperor is a threat to us. See this:

I DO think he admires us or at the very least is heavily rooting for us. I don’t remember the exact quotes, but Korrilla tells us in Sharess’s that her and Raphael made a bet about if we would make it to the Gate, and Raphael won that bet because we had. He really believes in our merry little band of idiots.

His reaction if we betray him is also very telling I feel like. Notice how his eyes widen for a moment before they narrow and say the ‘You’ line. He seems surprised. In that whole sequence he is obviously pissed, but most of all I also just get the feeling of a man that has been humiliated and who is angry that he had put so much time, work, and trust into us.

He says that ‘he is fond of us, in his way’ and that I completely believe. It might not be out of love or affection or anything like that, but he is as fond of us as a cambion can be of someone. We’ve grown on him, and he sees potential and use in us. We fascinate him and I’d even go as far to say that he respects us. I feel like even if you give him the Crown of Karsus and he gets to rule the Hells, he will not forget the people who brought him there. He would not flaunt the fact that he had mortals help him get the Crown, but I think that when he goes on his spree to fuck up the realms outside the Hells, Tav and gang would at the very least be spared or even given privileges in that new world order. Is that a bit fucked up? Yeah…But we have to remember what he is: a devil.

(Thank you so much for the ask <3 That became a long answer. I love to yap lol)

[saerins]

HeyYy I’m a little slow but how did eita and yn realize that they were into each other in that way or desired each other like that? (IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN 😜) Like did eita just hit yn with “dtf? 😈” on a random Thursday orrrr 😭

extra chapter: blurred

꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱ — part of priceless. eita doesn’t understand why it irks him seeing other guys hit on you. after one night together with you, he at least knows he’s fucked.

content: otoya eita x female reader. smut. takes place in university, before “friendship”. eita calls reader princess, alcohol, profanity, mentions of death, penetration, spanking, cunnilingus, virgin!reader, eita makes reader cum multiple times. word count: 3.3k

༝༚༝༚ hahahaha i am so normal about university!yn & otoya guys … so completely normal </3 side to nonnie: yn and eita have always found each other attractive ! they just never thought they’d go that far at first :)

you’ve always been like this, so why does it bother him more than ever?

two months. that’s how long it’s been since you two talked. for two people who always talk shit all day long everyday, that’s a long time. it’s eita’s fault. he knows. maybe he shouldn’t have been so vocal about how you should act. it’s not his place.

he knows that.

he hasn’t apologised.

it’s a saturday night, and you’re just out having fun with your course mates—it’s not illegal. and eita’s with his bandmates, and a date to top it off—some girl who came up to him after a performance and said she was a fan; in hindsight it was probably just to get into his pants and yet she’s still here, two dates later.

she’s here, and he knows she’s probably beside him wondering why the fuck he’s staring at some other girl when she’s grinding against him but he can’t help himself. no matter how loud the music, no matter how crowded the club, no matter how miss bombshell here rubs her ass against him, he can’t tear his eyes away from you.

you don’t like to club. you barely like those people you’re with. eita knows why you’re acting like this.

so unserious. so smiley. so forced.

“oi, takuya,” eita calls out to one of his bandmates, setting his whiskey, neat on their table. “she’s all yours,” he says, shoving the poor miss bombshell to his bandmate, her cries of objection going unheard because he’s making his way to you.

there’s a guy trying to feel you up, your course mate. what the fuck is his name again?

“yes, shiro?” eita hears you coo once he’s close enough.

right, shiro takanori. notorious playboy, almost as notorious as eita. born rich, heir to one of the most exclusive resort clubs in japan, already in a couple of big modelling gigs thanks to his naturally good looks. silver spoon, trust fund idiot who has his hands on your hips and such lustful eyes and that smirk that says he knows he’s going to get exactly what he wants.

unluckily for him, eita’s here. and like hell is he ever going to be so lucky to bring you back home to his mansion.

with a firm grip around your bare waist—because of course you had to wear something so sexy tonight, that black single shoulder strap crop top of yours—eita cuts in, only shooting shiro a warning glare before pulling you aside, dragging you behind him.

“hey, what the fuck?” you protest once he stops at the empty booth near the side. you sound frustrated, and upset, and somehow eita knows what the fuck is going on inside that little still-twisted mind of yours. “i was talking to him, you know?”

eita scowls, the most judgemental look on his face as he listens to you. “yeah? were you trying to seduce him too or what?”

there’s a defiant look in your eyes. you’re only a little tipsy, so you still have the better part of your common sense with you. “so what if i was? how’s that any of your business?”

what a way to have your first big disagreement since you became friends. this is the part where both of you are thankful that the music’s too loud for anyone else to hear you.

eita scoffs, tongue poking against his inner cheek as he looks at you in disbelief. he’s not an infinitely patient person. especially not when he’s looking at you not behaving like yourself. he takes a step back, leaning against the wall, hands in his pants pocket as he looks from the bigger picture.

your father just died not long ago. you have to deal with your mother and the inhumane way she treats you. you have to make sure you score well for everything lest they take your scholarship away.

you’re losing it.

probably.

so much so that you’re willing to look for someone like shiro takanori to relieve your pain. eita doesn’t get it—he’s right here. is he worse than shiro?

“you know what? forget it,” you sigh, your eyes glazing over, the potential tears betraying your spiteful exterior. you don’t say anything else before you’re storming out of the club, with eita struggling to catch up behind you.

he’s calling out your name but you ignore him. he’s sure. your hearing isn't that bad. and fuck because it’s raining and you’re too stubborn to stop and so is he so he ends up running after you, both of you soaked to the bone because it’s quite heavy and he thinks you find solace in it since it can mask your tears.

the intersection where the both of you meet before school starts because the diner you like is just around the corner—that’s where he catches up to you. eita’s fingers connect around your wrist and you try to yank it away but it’s no use.

“let go of me.”

the rain’s pouring all around you and your voice isn’t even clear but eita can’t let you go. not when he knows he’s guilty of leaving you alone when he shouldn’t have. all because of his stupid pride.

maybe he should’ve listened to you.

is that what you need? distraction?

it’s simple and complicated both at the same time. eita doesn’t care about your small crushes and fleeting flings, but why does he care so much back there, when he saw you with shiro like that?

before he knows it, his hand is pulling you in by the back of your neck, his lips on yours and it’s so much better than he imagined. yeah, he’s imagined what it’d be like to kiss you recently, for some reason. and you must really need the distraction, because you’re kissing him back.

“what was that for?” you ask, breathily, foreheads pressing together as your fingers fist at his shirt.

it takes everything in eita to pull away, not that it’s because he has any form of self control when it comes to these things, but partly because of the rain and partly because of the conscious fact that you’re one of his best friends and that until tonight, he never thought he’d actually ever cross a line with you.

eita ignores your question because it’s too tempting not to. “let’s get out of this rain, it’s all your fucking fault,” eita murmurs, though his strong words are cancelled out by his hands around yours as he walks with you in the direction back to the dorms.

“here.” eita tosses you one of his clean jerseys, the one he wears for the national team. you once told him that’s your favourite one. you always steal his shit. “i need that for my next game though, so don’t stash that away.”

you snort, “didn’t know you realised.”

eita looks at you from over his shoulder, white hair matted against his face, a squinted stare as he deadpans at you. “of course i did, you stole three jerseys and one windbreaker.”

just like you are when you’re around him, eita realises you’re so shameless, your grin lighting up your face. “and you let me.” because you of all people know he always asks for his jerseys back, especially after all his random dates try to wear it and never return it. (he’s already gotten in trouble for that with his coach once.)

do you even know what you’re doing? eita thinks you don’t. it’s just the way you are, it’s how you act—this is all natural to you, not forced.

his gaze falls to your bare skin not concealed by your crop top, to your legs under that pleated skirt. thank fuck he didn’t let you get too carried away with shiro.

“change and then get out,” eita tells you, pulling his shirt over his head. he doesn’t think he can stand another minute with you here looking like that; hair a mess, soaked top to bottom, makeup slightly smudged and yet still looking like a fucking vision.

it’s very annoying, actually.

why’d he have to insist on making friends with you that day?

“mean,” you mumble, and eita ignores you. because you need to get out of here, and fast, before he regresses to fifteen minutes ago when he couldn’t control himself. and you’re like a spoiled brat, purposefully saying shit that you know will get under his skin. “hm, maybe i’ll ask shiro if he’s still at the club.”

shit like that.

“are you—” but the moment eita turns around, you’re suppressing a grin. stupid, just trying to rile him up. but it’s not like you won’t go looking for it—distractions. you will. you’ll look for bad news because that’s what you need right now.

he gives up. he gives up on trying to play the role of a good friend. you’re testing his limits and it turns out they’re not really that high. and lucky for you, he’s always found you pretty. you’re so fucking pretty and you’re interesting, even with the way you’re inching closer to him right now.

“fuck, you’re too much,” eita murmurs under his breath, the last of his will being stripped away. he’s already letting his hands pull you closer.

“i can always find someone else,” you whisper, both of you avoiding each other’s gaze.

“don’t you dare.” no, eita doesn’t want that. fuck, why doesn’t he want to share? he uses his fingers to tip your chin up, searching your eyes for the answers he already knows. “you wanna forget, y/n?”

you nod, the recollection of everything that’s happened within the past few months already threatening to make the tears fall. but eita catches you before they do, because he knows you’re so stubborn that you’d rather hold everything back than let them out, even if it’s him.

“just physical, ‘kay?”

eita nearly scoffs, but his tongue is too busy to let him. “yeah yeah, if you end up falling for real i’ll kill you,” he says, in between kisses, both of you ending up on the bed, eita hovering over your body as he marks your neck.

“don’t worry, you won’t have to.”

maybe it’s the fact that he never thought that he’d ever touch you like this, make out with you in his room, that he’s already hard as a rock even without doing anything yet. his mouth travels downward—neck, collarbone, chest—and your moans only get louder.

there’s a way that your voice makes him excited more than he usually is, the way your chest is heaving that urges him to devour you right then and there. his hands travel down to your thighs, pulling them apart, and the way your head pops up to look at him when his lips press kisses on your thigh—those sweet, innocent eyes—makes him pause.

“you’ve never done it before?” eita asks, softer in comparison to the loudness of the rainstorm outside.

and the moment you hesitantly shake your head, eita feels his heart beating faster in his chest. yeah, definitely a good idea to have taken you away from shiro. he swallows the lump in his throat, the idea that he’ll be your first seems strangely enticing.

it’s not surprising to him though, considering you’ve never had a boyfriend since he’s known you, and with the way you’re so stiff, anyone can tell.

eita’s hands smoothly caress your skin as he gets up, looking over your body once. “tell me if you ever want me to stop,” he tells you, hands travelling underneath your top, slowly lifting it up and off of you, your face tilted to the side, too awkward to look at him. you know he’s been with multiple girls—most of which you know are models and the like. it makes you a little self conscious of your own body, but eita doesn’t care. “look at me.”

you do, your eyes travelling to his face first, looking at the barely contained lust from behind his green irises. he’s already half naked, so you can see again now, just how toned he is, eyes shamelessly dragging over his form. but so is his, his hand now snaking up your thighs, pulling your skirt up over your stomach, the way you wear that bold lace lingerie driving him crazy.

wordlessly, you sit up on the edge of the bed, your boldness taking centre stage, fingers unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, the cunning in your eyes looking so, so attractive to him. you even know to pull a condom out of his pocket.

“i know you, otoya eita,” you whisper, and eita doesn’t doubt it. if anything, you’re probably the only person who knows him as well as you do. nobody else comes close.

he takes the condom from you, opening it with his teeth while you get rid of his boxers before handing it to you, a smirk on his face. “first lesson, innocent girl,” he says, a thumb caressing your cheek. “put it on for me.”

with a sneaky grin, you stick your tongue out, giving his tip a little kitten lick before anything else—what are you trying to do, give him a heart attack? eita can barely contain himself just looking at you like this; slightly wet and looking sexy as hell. fuck, he’s so fucked, he wants to know what it feels like to be inside of you so bad. a muffled groan rumbles in his throat, and you take that as a sign to lick a stripe up his length some more, making him throw his head back, taking the chance to roll the condom over his dick. his hand comes up to your hair and tugs on it, pulling you away.

“be a good girl and lie the fuck down, now,” he tells you, though it doesn’t matter since he pushes you down, immediately pulling your panties aside and relishing in how wet you are. soaking, and not from the rain. “nobody’s ever touched you there before, huh, y/n?” he wraps his arms under your thighs and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed.

eita’s breath is hot against your pussy, partially covered by the lace before he tugs it to the side again, kissing the area around it, watching as you clench around nothing. “e-eita, please—”

he snorts—you don’t even know what you want, do you? you just know that you can’t get rid of the frustration by yourself. no, because no matter how you’ve ever helped yourself in the past, if you ever did, eita’s going to make you feel a lot better. good enough to make you forget everything.

he’ll just give you a taste of your own medicine, giving your clit a quick little lick, watching as you squirm just from that alone. resigning, he pushes a finger inside you—just one, he doesn’t want to break you just yet—watching your face as your back arches, the pleasured moan that rolls off your tongue threatening to make him addicted. you’re so wet and so hot and you’re his best friend but fuck that, he wants you. physically. every. single. part of you.

you’re already wet enough, but his mouth lingers longer on your pussy, licking your folds and tasting every bit of you. he likes the way you moan his name, and the way your fingers grasp at the sheets and his hair. you’re a lot more addictive than any other girl he’s ever met and fuck if he’s going to let this be the one and only time he gets to have you.

eita pulls his finger out of you, lining his dick in front of your entrance, moving the hair away from your face. you’re all hot and bothered and he really wants to know what you look like when you’re getting fucked. probably better than anything he’s ever seen—in person or on video.

he leans down, hands on either side of you, silently begging you to just tell him to stop but you don’t. your hands only trace a trail down his chest and he can’t keep still anymore.

“fuck, can’t take it anymore,” he groans into your ear, body pressed on top of yours as he gently nibs on your lobe. “i’ll try to go slow, okay? but you’re so fucking hot like this i can’t promise it won’t hurt.”

“just do it, i don’t care, i need you,” you tell him, all rushed and muffled because both of you are at your wit’s end.

that’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s slowly pushing himself into you, groaning out your name as he feels your tight, gummy walls through the latex, your nails already digging into his back.

“you okay?” he asks, stilling for a moment.

“i’ll get used to it,” you tell him, feeling the burn from the stretch of your first time. “just fuck me already, please.”

shit-eating smirk on his face, he mocks you, white hair falling all over you, the messiness of it only making him look even more like bad news. he moves his hips achingly slow, watching every minor change in your expression, from the way your brows arch to the way you bite your lip.

“we’re alone in here, princess, don’t hide your sounds,” he tells you, a hint of condescension in his tone.

until tonight, you didn’t think you’d ever let him touch you like this, feel you this intimately. yet here he is, pushing your bra up and putting your nipple in his mouth while he fucks into you, tongue flicking at your perky bud, making you feel all sorts of things you’ve never experienced before.

and you listen to him, his name falling out your mouth more times tonight than it has since the time you’ve known him—his lips moving from your chest to your neck to your lips, hungry as if he absolutely needs to claim his territory on every part of you.

eita shifts so that he can look at all of you, watch as your breasts bounce as he thrusts in and out of you, watch as your slick coats the base of his dick as you beg him not to stop, as if he could. fuck, he could cum just like this but he doesn’t want it to end so soon. you’ve already creamed around him what, twice now? you’re sensitive, oh so sensitive, squirming at every slight movement, mewling uncontrollably as he pinches your clit, threatening to cum again when he turns you around, gets you on your knees, slapping your ass.

how the fuck is he supposed to fuck anybody else now when you’re the most perfect girl he’s ever seen?

you arch your back, propped up on your palms as you look over your shoulder at him, his hips still moving, controlling himself as he makes absolutely sure to savour this moment tonight. 

but, like always, you always find a way to surprise him, mischief behind those eyes as you smirk at him; you smirk at him like you know how much he loves this.

“eita.” the way you say his name is so dangerous—like he’s caught in your web with no way out. “cum inside me?”

and just like that, he obeys, unintentionally, his body toppling on top of you, the weakest, guttural moan coming out of him ever as he feels you cumming at the same time too, his fingers rubbing circles on your clit, riding you through it.

fuck, he thinks as he looks at you under him, both of you wet from the rain or sweating, he can’t even tell, but what he knows is that he’s so, so fucked after what happened tonight.

shit, he wants more of you. 

[base0h]

Hiii! I hope you're doing great! can I request Sabo, Law, Shanks reacting to their s/o somehow slept on the bath? They thought they were taking to long and got in (Knocking and then walking in) and saw them sleeping and slowly sinking? Take your time! And an advance thanks!

a/n - you don’t know how obsessed I am with this idea anon oh my god- 😭 tysm for this request!! You have been the source of my inspiration!! So thank you for that! 💜

warnings ⚠️ - fem reader, suggestive kinda? Not rlly 😭

- taking a bath with Sabo is literally heaven 😭

- the way he gently scrubs your back leaves you with literally flawless skin

- he washes your hair too, and treats you like the literal queen you are ✨

- so tonight, you decided to ask him to take a bath with him after he finished up his paperwork for the day

- You drew the bath, putting in a lavender scent to set the mood just right, and you stepped into the comfortingly warm water

- it was just the right temperature, perfect

- tonight, his paperwork was taking a lot longer than usual, and you had been sitting in there for around 15 minutes

- the steam that was clogging the room was almost suffocating, why were you so dizzy??

- everything was so- blurry..

- before you knew it, the back of your head hit the edge of the tub as you slowly started sinking into the water

- your cheeks were flushed, breathing labored, your skin glossy and pale, your eyelids glazed

- Sabo ran towards the bathroom, realizing the time that nearly flew by for him

- he knocked on the bathroom door, quickly stripping off his clothes as he opened it to find you steaming, sinking into the water

- panic mode

- “Y/N?! OH MY GOD!”

- he rushed so fast that he tripped on the carpet, his naked ass laying flat on the cold tile as he ran towards you

- he lifted you out of the bath, checking your chest when he realized he had been literally fondling your breasts the entire time

- internally: “WHY ARE THEY SO FUCKING SOFT?!”

- he stopped himself, trying to gently wake you up, taking you out of the room and laying you in front of the fan to cool you off

- his heart was racing, you could hear it from a mile away

- his poor innocent soul was freaking out over how he accidentally “touched you” without your permission and holy shit he was about to go kill himself for it

- your eyes slowly opened and he felt his heart immediately calm down as he squeezed your hand gently with a smile

- “What took you so long Sabo?…”

- he laughed and gave you a hug, his warm body embracing you as he sighed with relief, smelling the lavender which made him even more intoxicated

- “Sorry… I had a lot more work..”

- “I don’t think we should take a bath now-“ -Sabo

- “yeah no shit sherlock.” -you

- "Babe, you're killing all of our noses. Poor benn's gonna go and suffocate because you haven't taken a shower."

- "He's overreacting!''

- "No I'm not." - benn

- When you suggested you would take a bath with him, his face literally lit up with excitement

- he was like a little dog who was about to go on the best walk of his life

- you went to go get the water ready, using some of his favorite shampoo and soap to spoil your red-haired boyfriend

- you stepped into the warm water, and the temperature was just right

- Unknown to you, shanks had already fallen asleep again on the bed, snoring away peacefully with a half-empty alcohol bottle in hand

- minutes passed, soon it had been 15 since you'd gotten into the water, and you were already starting to feel a bit light-headed

- the steam that blurred your vision wasn't helping at all, your cheeks were pink, your eyes glassy as they closed

- you slowly started sinking into the warm water, and oh god, if shanks didn't wake up soon, you probably would make the bathtub your early grave

- the bottle slipped out of his hands, the shattering of the glass waking him up as he sat up almost immediately

- He saw the light from the bathroom and he called out your name a couple times before walking towards the bathroom, taking off his shirt

- "Sorry- I fell asl- Y/N?! OH GOD!"

- cue his internal monologue about how stupid he was for falling asleep

- He literally started slipping on the floor as he lifted your body up with his arm, carrying you out of the bath and starting to try and wake you up

- He was literally about to have a heart attack at 39- lmao

- When you started coughing, you don't even know how relieved he was, he could feel his heart start to beat normally again

- "Dummy- why were you just sinking?!" -him

- "What do you mean?! You're the one who took forever!"

- "I- ok- fine- sorry.."

- "And you still smell like absolute shit." - you (pls he smells literally so bad- like alcohol and weird old fish)

a/n - omg this idea as literal perfection anon-

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 7: INCUBUS

maul x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.0k words

summary: a strange creature visits your dreams, promising to satiate a yearning body he heard call to him across the force.

cw: f!reader, incubus! — somnophilia and dub-con by default, p in v sex, size kink, rough sex, choking, use of pet name ‘dove’. not my finest work, but i wanted to play around.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 8: ROLEPLAY ⇾

Karlini silk pools around your body, the thin veil of fabric clinging to your sweat-damp skin. The sensation is what draws your attention from the black chasm of slumber, but the discomfort isn’t enough to wake you. Instead, you lay suspended between absolute unconsciousness and an obscure dream. Brows furrowed, lips parted, you try to focus on the blurred vision at the edge of your cognisance.

The pleasant weightlessness of sleep shifts when you sense the delicate brush of something sharp across the curve of your bare shoulder. It’s not painful– isn’t cold like a blade, but it raises goosebumps across your skin. Still, your presence of mind fails to drag you from your slumber, even when you feel a warm breath fan across your cheekbone.

“I hear your yearning,” a purring voice whispers in your ear, almost goading in its tone. Like urging you to succumb to its alluring timbre. Almost tentatively, a weight begins to settle across your torso, sinking you deeper into the mattress and further into your slumber. “Your fervour. So potent, I could hear it even through the shroud of the force.”

Rumbling sounds of empathy twist slightly, the spectre relishing in your subconscious suffering. As though it had manifested the longing inside you, desire pools between your thighs, desperate for the attention of this apparition. 

Heavy hips settle against your own, spreading your thighs open just beyond their flexibility, the delicious strain evidence of the sheer size of the presence. Blunt flesh slips itself between the lips of your cunt, nudging your feverish clit. 

A gasp tumbles from your lips, and you see. Through the fuzzy darkness, you see the vague vision of sly, scarlet lips exposing force-mottled teeth. 

“I taste it. How receptive you are to my touch,” the hum of the creature's voice skitters down your spine, pooling heavy between your thighs as it begins to roll its hips forwards. A heaving gasp tumbles from your lungs, knuckles bleached with the strength you grasp onto the silk beneath you. Thick and heavy, the throbbing intrusion threatens to pull you from your dreams as your walls strain against the unyielding push of his pelvis. 

Slick leaks from your cunt, drooling down the inside of your thighs to match the wetness of the tears of bliss that weep down the apples of your cheeks. You hear the spectre chuckle to itself, relishing in your body’s bewilderment. Pain or pleasure? Fear or bliss?

“Is it not manifest?” The smooth, raspy tone settles beside the shell of your ear, a feather-light dance of hot breath fanning across your skin, “I am extending charity to you; a poor, neglected dove.” 

The stretch of your slick pussy walls still feels too distant to be real, veiled with a dream-like fogginess that would clear upon waking. Yet–... Your eyelids still felt so heavy, and the gentle push of a velvety head into something blissful inside of you felt so tangible.

“The least you could do–” a heavy drag of his tongue against your throat causes your back to arch from the bed, sighing blissfully as the apparition tasted at your salty skin. It pauses against your pulse, and the creature's lips peel apart in a smirk with his enamel resting over your jugular,  “--is offer yourself in libation.”

The sudden arc of the creature’s hips, pushing the rest of his length into your tight cunt with a sharp thrust rocks you from the dream-world you’d found yourself suspended in. Something akin to a shriek of shock and a wail of bliss dies in your throat when the Zabrak slips his tongue inside of your mouth. You coat his taste buds, sweet and heady – he’d been pleasuring you long before you noticed the creature’s presence. 

The fiery red of the Zabrak’s skin blurs in your tear-laden vision, using the weight of his vast body to pin you into the mattress and fuck into you. Untethered by your consciousness, a brutality unleashes itself from the Dathomirian. Sinking his teeth into your neck, he thrusts deep inside of your clenching cunt, groaning loudly at the slick sounds of protest when he stuffs deep inside you over and over again. 

A strong, thick palm winds itself around your throat, index finger and thumb settling either side in the hollow of your flesh below either earlobe. The webbed, blackened apex of his purlicue settles against your windpipe, and the Zabraki seems to take great pleasure in applying slow, crushing pressure until your breath catches and your brain fizzes. Topaz eyes inlaid with ruby spark with glee to see you struggle, your toes curling in the sheets and hips rising to meet his own. 

“Ah, that’s it,” the creature laughs, heady and rumbling between your ears as your nails bite into the bi-colour flesh of his shoulder. You’re unsure if the warm, sticky wetness you feel beneath your fingers is blood or perspiration. “You feel it, don’t you?”

The shuddering of your body and slackness of your jaw tells the creature what your voice cannot. It’s arcing, flaring white hot like the shimmering edge of a lightsaber blade inside your pelvis. A delightful threat. 

“Come then,” he muses, thrilled with your struggle as you try so desperately to touch the oblivion he’s offering, the complete obliteration. It ebbs at the edges of your being, threatens to swallow you as he stuffs himself deep inside of your abused cunt. “Take it.”

A shudder, a snap. Something falls, then slots into place. A cool breeze seeps into the bedroom from the open window, net curtains drifting slightly as the moonlight leaks across the sweat soaked bed sheets and cools your searing hot skin. 

Deep breaths struggle to ease your heaving chest, eyes frantic as they search around the room for the crimson creature that had buried himself inside of you. The room is unstirring, untouched, and utterly silent. If not for the gnawing twinge at the base of your throat and the thick, seeping seed weeping from between your thighs, you could almost persuade yourself he hadn’t existed at all– an odd vision dancing across the force. 

Part of you didn’t want to.

star wars/kinktober taglist:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog1 @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @saradika @mylifeisactuallyamess

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh @km-ffluv @decaffeinateddinosauronearth @domaniquessidehoe2 @arrozyfrijoles23 @amisouki @sleepysheepsstuff @chunguk @lundenloves @marylovesdilfs @ninahhh-brahh @namelesshumanperson @limegreenbabx @doggydale @wiltedwonderland @justsayk

[elfdragon12]

New issue, new impressions!

This arc continues to set-up and gives the Autobots a little breathing room (though we know it won't last).

"Abomination" has never been more accurate.

Everyone's an art critic, especially Starscream when the subject is himself.

"With the trigger tied to my heartbeat--and our little controller over there, if we stop ticking, so do you."

A smart move, but, let's be honest, this tactic never ends well.

"A being that shares my goals! How fortunate! My name is Starscream and surely I am the greatest Decepticon you could have captured. I myself have been looking for the right fleshling to partner with."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah."

*looks at the first few issues* ... Yeah, yeah, that's totally what Starscream in this universe has been looking for.

This whole scene... Definitely explains in a nutshell how Starscream went from stopping Ulchtar from squishing little critters to gleefully crushing humans.

This is never a good expression from Starscream.

YEEEAAAAAHHHH!!! THE BAND IS BACK TOGETHER! Poor, poor Brawl!

OOOOOOHHHHHH! So that piece of Cybertron neither burned up in the atmosphere nor sank into the ocean. Hopefully, Cliffjumper is hiding out there somewhere!

"But we must focus on things more important than my own greatness. There is an evil that has grown in our ranks. Soundwave has--"

"You need not say more, Starscream!"

"Onslaught and I heard him plotting against our own fallen Shockwave! He is a traitor!!!"

This is all getting super juicy! 👀👀👀 Remember when Thundercracker was talking to Soundwave about how Shockwave was treating their prisoners of war? (I think it was issue 10.) Onslaught and Brawl certainly do! 👀

And then things hit the fan with the human squad.

Man, the general was really the only one close to Starscream's level, wasn't he? (Also... We don't necessarily need to feel too bad for these humans beyond general sympathy. They worked for Destro, major arms developer and dealer who recently confirmed his alliance with Cobra Commander. Yeah, the underlings were likeable in a sort of incompetent way, but also part of an aggressive paramilitary organization with intent to overthrow governments.)

I think these bits with the flashback reveals a lot regarding Starscream and Megatron's relationship, at least from Starscream's perspective, in this continuity.

Starscream may have willingly joined the Decepticons after Ulchtar was killed in action, but Megatron seemed to have dragged him down over the course of the war and pressed Starscream to do things he didn't want to do. While the lines blurred over time, Starscream's resentment never wavered.

And he gains a cat!

Of course the one human he left alive was the artist!

Oh, a little tidbit from the letters section:

"In regards to Ratchet, I will say 'never say never'."

It's not a promise, so Ratchet fans shouldn't get their hopes up, but DWJ is more loosey-goosey with what the robots can survive. It is possible that Ratchet still has some spark left like Skyfire/Jetfire? Starscream and Skywarp have survived a lot of punishment.

I would say this was a pretty interesting issue! We see, without the pressures of the Autobots or Soundwave, how Starscream can be effective in getting what he wants. He also has so much anger and resentment. Resentment out the wazoo!

[shiftintochange]

Why do fans hate their favorite celebrities WAGS?

In a world where celebrity worship blurs the lines between reality and fantasy, the allure of a male idol can transform into a battleground of envy and resentment for his female admirers.

Fans tend to idealize and create parasocial relationships with celebrities in general, but it may be worse when it is a female fan-male celebrity relationship. Female fans may deeply identify with the male celebrity, projecting their own desires and wishes onto him, occasionally even to the point where they idolize him and create a version of their token celebrity in their head. Sometimes, we view celebrities as some kind of superior being, but in reality, the male celebrity you idealize is just a man. He is just a regular person like you, and no matter how much media you consume related to said celebrity, you will never truly know the inner workings of this person or how they act when they are in private.

When fans see their favorite male celebrity with another woman, it triggers a response of jealousy as they wish to be in her place. Oftentimes, I see a lot of fans painting the female partner in a negative light, whether that be starting rumors or posting hateful videos on the internet. I strongly believe any negative feelings towards the female partner could stem from projecting their own insecurities onto her. These fans have wished to be in the female's position for probably as long as they have ‘known’ the male celebrity. This makes it easier to project their own insecurities onto the poor woman. Some fans might have even found themselves constructing a fantasy relationship with the celebrity in their minds where they imagine themselves as the ideal partner, so someone else coming in and shattering their fantasy upsets them. This obviously leads to serious jealousy, resentment, and even genuine hatred towards the celebrity's partner.

This was a very very short blog post, but I am hoping to type up a longer one soon and publish it somewhere else. If I do, I'll definitely link it here for you guys, if you enjoyed this of course :)

[dalesramblingsblog]

(Put into its own post because I have a chronic fear of hijacking things with reblog chains. Some Tumblr user I turned out to be... Anyway credit obv to @gen-is-gone)

But yeah this is pretty much where I come down on the matter as well. In writing about the books featuring Sam, and occasionally being critical of how her character has been handled, I have tried to be very careful not to frame it as some kind of objection to the character on a fundamental level, but rather to some egregiously poor decisions made by certain authors.

There are two reasons for this, the first of which is that I am, as critics go, a bit of a quietly staunch anti-Watsonian who has never once invested too much in the idea that art needs to be treated as, to use a possibly apocryphal Gayatri Spivak quotation, "gossip about imaginary people." Sam Jones doesn't need to be real to be meaningful.

But more importantly, as you say, I do want to be mindful of the long and not-so-distinguished tradition of male fans constantly putting Sam down because "unrelatable" or "unlikable" or "too politically correct" or whatever. Dale's Ramblings has always been kind of tacitly influenced by my growing up as a terminally online young autistic white boy of the sort who, if we're being perfectly frank, could have very easily spiralled down exactly that sort of right-wing echo chamber if things had turned out slightly differently.

So again, I do try to be mindful of the optics of my reviews, which I don't say to big myself up because I do think that it really is the bare minimum in a situation like mine. But y'know, point is, whatever my issues with how the overwhelmingly male crop of writers that defined Wilderness Years Doctor Who incorporated Sam into their novels, I never want to take anything away from the people for whom the character really resonated.

Because at a certain point in shitting on a book for having "poorly written female characters" or whatever as a man you're just going to end up in the same position as those male nerds who got huffy when ComicCon did a Twilight panel, where the boundaries between "OK you're making legitimate critiques of an author's decisions" and "Bro you might just hate women a little bit (read: a lot), it's OK we can wean you off of watching Nerdrotic, I know a great rehab program" start to blur and outright dissolve.

Or y'know, again, to quote myself in a TL;DR because sometimes I do actually write things that are halfway decent:

(Oh and also yeah I look forward to Seeing I immensely, if only because it's the only thing keeping me going through the looming spectre of Longest Day and Legacy of the Daleks, god the 1998 crop of EDAs is... not the most promising, with one or two notable exceptions. Of which Seeing I is one.)

[darkrpfinders]

Frankenstein + his “monster”

Basic info ; Howdy, I’m 19, strictly looking for 19+ rp partners for a dark or dead dove mxm rp. I’m literate to advanced literate depending, but 2 paragraphs per message at least is fine! I’m more of a quality over quantity rp reply enjoyer- but I do type a lot when I’m really feeling up to it. My favourite thing about rping though is actually talking ooc about the rp, so I’m okay with slower replies as long as you seem enthusiastic about brain storming or even just sending stuff like songs, Pinterest board things etc etc.

So I recently watched poor things, Lisa Frankenstein and have FINALLY started reading the actual Frankenstein book (despite adoring the story for years, I never read it??) - so sufficed to say I have (primarily) science fuelled resurrection on the mind. I ALSO have mutual destruction and abuse plots on the brain- my idea is more classic Frankenstein than the movies I mentioned but yk-

The plot ; Now this is bare bones but, I’m imagining that the power imbalances between these two are constantly shifting and fluctuating, our mad scientist obviously having most of the power to begin with, but the creature definitely having a physical advantage and maybe we could add some other things to make the playing field more balanced. Again I’m a fan of mutual destruction, and it wouldn’t be super mutual if our scientist has all the power all the time ofc. Maybe he’s a quivering coward- or unstable in other ways, has people he cares about that the creature threatens etc. All I know is that these freaks hate/depend on each other SO much the lines blur. If you’ve seen Hannibal — maybe a teeny teeny tiny bit of those vibes.

Things I’m comfortable with ; For this I’m good with non-con and think it could be interesting to write, or at least something not safe nor sane for both characters involved- I tend to write switches that start out as subs but am good with anything really! I’m also good with body horror and gore- the creature could definitely have inhuman/unrealistic durability too. Also violence in general. How much smut (if any) to plot ratio is v flexible, just let me know what you’d prefer!

Things I’m UNcomfortable with ; I do not want the creature to be child like in any way, despite likely not remembering much of his life before death I want him to be fully developed mentally and understand things as any adult would. I’m also not comfortable with scat, watersports and incest. Also really bizarre one but for some reason nipped piercings/torture in general whigs me out of all things.

Extra info ; I’d prefer this to be OCxOC but they can definitely have heavy similarities to Victor and Adam- I have two oc’s in development both fitting each role ! I’m good with any take on each character you have, any kind of oc’s are good to me but I’d prefer them to be at least 25 years old, along with being fucked up freaks ofc. Face claim wise I’d feel uncomfortable using IRL ones, but don’t mind drawn at all! I’m also interested in designs that aren’t typically conventionally attractive pretty boys— I mean they can be pretty if you’d like but I think ykwim.

Outro ; This was poorly worded I fear, but thanks for reading this far! If any of this interested you, interact with this post and I’ll dm you- we can chat here a little or move straight to discord!

🫀

.

[thedevotionaltour]

your posting about brat pack has got me so curious

ohhhh my feelings on bratpack are both So Complex and Extremely Easy. i'm gonna put this under the cut bc it accidentally got long. and then this got long too IM SORRY. this got so damn rambly. anyways. what i deem important i'll keep up here

summary of feelings: underground gritty take on superhero sidekick story contains both well done genuine critiques of the genre and its fans but i think has some contempt in there, too (but then again, who can blame a guy). offers interesting ideas. has some piss poor writing in there where occasionally trying to satirize something just makes it into exactly what it's trying to critique if not handled well. READ THE REVISED TPB INSTEAD OF THE SINGLE ISSUES AS THE REVISIONS MAKE THE STORY MORE IMPACTFUL and reminds us that capitalism is the upholder of evils. and lets itself breathe here and there a bit more and allows for more depth. though if you want to read both for comparison, i wouldn't advise against that-- rereading it in the tpb form as opposed to when i just read it as single issues helped me with some of the meh feelings i had about it.

it is also a comic i will absolutely say right now is NOT one i would recommend to everyone. at all. i'd say if you are not a fan of american underground comix, this may not be to your taste. but if you're willing, or enjoy edgier comics even with no underground experience, and enjoy comics that satirize the cape genre, it's worth giving it a go. and please keep in mind that not only is richard veitch's career from an undergound background, it is also the 90s. so it's good to keep that in mind, too.

also, important to note content warnings on the comic itself include homophobia, sexual abuse, racism, and misogyny. alongside other things, but i think those are the most important to be upfront on. this isn't a here and there thing with it-- they are major points through the whole story and will be carrying it along.

final important statement: i am so sad for all these children and wish the heroes would die.

and here is a link to the comic!

i think a good background context for this is to my understanding, it's was partially written as a response to the jason todd vote to kill hotline and how people acted about it afterwards. well, inspiration at least, not quite sure on the response part at all. im trying to vaguely remember things right now. the comic as a whole is satirical poking and prodding about it. for some further context, jason todd had only died two years ago when this began publication.

the comic is a very gritty, edgy superhero style story, talking about all the dark parts and the "you know, this wouldn't be all the fun in real life, now would it?" stuff. so these kids are going through the fucking ringer of abuse, life as child soldiers who are both idolized and despised by the public, and are seen as icons as opposed to people. and that it's adults who are putting children through this. you get the awesome reminder of it is not as easy to survive being blown up as dc and marvel may have you think just because you're the hero!

as mentioned before, it's a story that is a satirical and critical deconstruction of the superhero genre, sidekick and young hero groups in particular. author richard veitch's career started in underground comix and it shows through and through. i think it has a lot to offer in how it handles its critiques, how it points out the hypocrisy in the fan culture. it also has a lot of blunders with it too. sometimes when trying to satirize misogyny and homophobia within the fan culture and stories, it just winds up as actually misogynist and homophobic writing.

a lot of where my more negative feelings on it definitely lie in the realm of sometimes the line between crit/satire and then just contempt for the genre and its fans feel occasionally blurred. i think a lot of this comes from some parts of the writing i find really mishandled. a lot of my critical feelings also come from the aforementioned homophobia-- i have. many feelings on the character the mink. i think it is absolutely possible to write a gay sexual child abuser. i think it is very much possible to write a character like him, stereotypical flamboyancy and all. but i also think the caricature gets pushed too hard sometimes, and it leaves a very nasty taste in my mouth. i know exactly that this character and his sidekick are meant to be an exaggerated portrayal of the homophobic beliefs and gay interpretations surrounding batman and robin. knowing that fact and what it's meant to be does not make that better and mean it is done well. i think it could have been handled a lot better. maybe if i returned and reread after sitting with this comic for a while, my opinions would change. as of right now though, they remain... less than pleasant.

i am willing to hear someone out if they wanted to say, "eiffel, i think your feelings are truly more discomfort as opposed to veitch having handled this story point poorly, and here's why the writing with the mink is not actually as bad as it feels". but i will also say i dont think every second of it was bad. again, i think there are some interesting approaches here and there with it, and as a function overall in the group of heroes, none of them are any better than him. but it's. hooh. oh boy. oh boy. it's a lot. get ready for every stereotype about the flamboyant gay molester you could imagine.

mink is also not the only caricature here-- all of the heroes are meant to be some caricature taken to the extreme with the heroes they're meant to mock.

THAT BEING SAID I REALIZED I HAVENT ELABORATED ON LIKE. THE BASICS OF THE HEROES AND STUFF AND WHO THEY'RE PARODYING. It's obvious when reading but since I don't know if you'll read it, I'll say it here. Midnight Mink and Chippy are Batman and Robin, Moon Mistress and Luna are Wonder Woman and Wonder Girl, King Rad and Wild Boy are Green Arrow and Speedy, and Judge Jury is a combo of Captain America and Judge Dredd (and one more character?) while Kid Vicious is meant to be Bucky. The last one I couldn't figure out until TvTropes told me bc despite loving heroes my knowledge on many of them is highly limited to a few of them.

anyways, this is also where i really try to remember that veitch's background lies in underground comix, which are the most edgiest and pushing your boundaries comics you can come by. and it's also the 90s. oh god it's the 90s. it's the 90s in the way it's 2008 when the comic kick-ass was published. but i also think i can recognize when it's just me having to sit through some discomfort and when some stuff just becomes distasteful. i think he handles the other characters better, though. or maybe i just choke them down easier. again, i'm willing to hear someone out if they'll talk me through it in a convincing way.

however, my enjoyment of it comes from that i do enjoy a good darker hero story. i do! i will always prefer a hopeful for humanity and that's why it's worth is superhero comic, but that's mostly for actual hero comics in the genre that are not critiques or satires. when a comic lets it be known this is entirely its purpose, then it's better than guy who just hates hero wrote a superhero comic, for some reason. knowing veitch has a background in heroes is what makes some parts of this a bit easier to take in good faith, but like. i wouldn't be surprised if there was absolutely some contempt and bitterness interwoven into it, too.

i think the sidekicks are a really interesting cast, and i like them. my favorites are chippy (cody) and luna. my heart goes out to them sooooo much. everyone talks about how much they want mink to die for sexually abusing chippy but no one talks about how moon mistress was... also sexually abusing luna. 100%. not the same way as mink with chippy, clearly, but luna was absolutely 100% sexually exploited too. so i think moon mistress should die badly too.

with the revised tpb of brat pack, i think it's good how it shows what the actual driving force behind all the insane abuse these children go through; it's capitalism. the heroes sold their imagery to companies for money, and so they have to uphold it to continue their funding. their greed and selfishness is what causes harm.

it also goes into how vigilantes are highly conservative reactionary as a concept politically speaking. politics and superheroes are a long as fuck conversation with a lot to talk about, and im just not totally qualified for it, nor am i gonna go into it here. but it's less exploring the reactionary side of heroes as wooooaaaaah edgy looook at this guys the heroes are actually ~baaaad guuuys~ as too many people in non critical comics like to pull (and then do a piss poor job at it bc they dont understand what actually makes vigilantism bad as a real life thing. bc they arent trying to point out the actual bad politics of superheroes-- they just wanna see a good guy be a bad guy without further thought. but instead of just doing that, they want to think they're being oh so smart about it. so it sucks bad most of the time.), and i think it's honestly a more sincere approach that actually understands what it wants to say about that. because it understands capitalism as a system that upholds abhorrent abuses. and for all the shit i think it does wrong, i will say that veitch understands the phrase "abuse of power comes as no surprise" in this story.

anyways this is getting... really long! apologies! and it's super duper rambly for which i also apologize!! my feelings on brat pack are mixed, but i've come around to this comic way more the longer i've sat with it. it's not perfect, no comic is, but it is. definitely for a certain crowd. and i do, ultimately, consider myself part of that crowd, even if im certainly not envisioned in it most of the time. i'm also sorry if you were looking for way more stuff on the story as opposed to my feelings-- i feel like i can't give a lot on the story, especially bc i sometimes feel unsure how to explain without also spoiling too much and also i just cant remember a lot of what happened outside of some pretty key plot points. i've only read it twice, and it was like, twice in two days! like, in april.

overall brat pack does some things right, i think it does a lot of things wrong, but what makes it a comic i find worth reading is that it does offer some interesting ideas and approaches, and i think it has some neat characters. i think it falls in the realm of "mediocre story with insane potential will stay with you even more than a really fantastically written story you love". for me, at least. again, i don't think this comic. but there's a lot it could do better. and what it does do right (and honestly even what it does wrong) highly compels me.

... and i can't help but enjoy an edgy superhero satire.

[emotelizardrambling]

Friends in High Places:

Just a drabble based on a piece of fan art that I will edit into this post if I can ever find it again.

As a rule, Josephine Montilyet was a patient woman. However standing at the end of an ally waiting on the inquisitor was hardly a welcome pass time. They had come to Val Royux for the simple task of re-outfitting guest rooms for an upcoming, very picky noble visitor. Kaaras however had clearly gotten rather bored with the excursion, so Josephine had told them they could look at other shops while she finished the necessary preparations. Kaaras had promised to meet her here when they were both done, at high noon. Josephine had been waiting going on twenty minutes, and was now wondering if the Inquisitor had found another cause to get involved in, as they often did. She could not begrudge the influence garnered by their ability to involve themself in even the most petty squabble, but all the same, she rather wished she had agreed to meet at the tea shop instead. At least then she could sip a cup of tea and go over ledgers while she waited. "Hey Lady." a gruff and unfamiliar voice sounded from around a nearby corner. Emerging from behind it was a half armored hooded young man, followed by three others in similar garb. Josephine did her best to cover the irritation in her voice as she asked, "May I help you?"

"Hand over your coins," the lead figure stated with a cocky smile, "and nobody gets hurt." Josephine could not stop the quirk of her eyebrow, these thieves clearly were not regulars about Val Royux, anyone with sense would know not to mess with the ambassador of the Inquisition without far more forces. Josephine was no regular fighter for certain, though she was hardly defenseless on her own, but the Inquisitor had a, well justified, reputation for being protective of their people. "An' don't even think about screaming." The bandit continued, "We don't wanna shed more blood than necessary." At the same time a momentary blur of grey and black passed in the corner of Josephine's eye, from the top of a nearby building. Resisting the urge to shake her head at the inquisitor's flair for dramatic entrances she did her best to defuse the situation. "Monsieur, I am sorry that you find me in such poor condition," Josephine made a shallow bow, "you see, I fear my friend will arrive quite soon." Glancing at one another one of the thieves murmured "friend?", then they all began to laugh. "Look at that boss," one said "Nobles are throwing themselves at us. Two for the trouble of one." the "boss" laughed, "I might stop by the Chantry and start praying once we're done! Thank the maker for today." "Oh," Josephine sought to clarify. "I am afraid my friend is not a noble. At least not by birthright." she brought a hand to her chin wondering how to best broach the subject of who exactly they were messing with, "Does the name Adaar ring any bells?" It was clear by the dumbfounded expressions it did not. She almost pitied them for their ignorance, clearly there was no hope for this lot. "It means weapon, so I have been told." she tried to warn. "Likes to jump from high places." she allowed a twinge of annoyance to enter her words here. The bandits however were unmoved. "3 meters tall..." she attempted, though they only looked to each other in confusion at this, "Grey, does grey make you think of anything?" "No..?" "Carries a large sword, approximately my size..." "Look I don't care who your friend is lady just hand over the money." the man stated impatiently, inching closer with his blade. Josephine pinched the bridge of her nose as the bird's chirp sounded just above her. "Oh dear, now I do wish I had brought paper to write your names." It was at this point Kaaras decided to make themself known scuffing their boot on the roof of the building behind Josephine. "Huh? Who's there?" the thief barely had time to get the words out before Kaaras Adaar landed just behind the ambassador with a graceful crouch, before raising themself to full height, towering over Josephine. "Sorry I'm late." Josephine could hear the smirk in Kaaras' voice. The thieves, for their parts, seemed rather frozen in shock. "Boss....?" one murmured. There wasn't time for anything else before Kaaras broke into action, before any of them could get the good sense to run they were all unconscious on the ground. "You're unharmed, correct, Josie?" "Yes Inquisitor I am quite alright, next time, however, we will definitely meet at the tea shop." "Aw, but Josie they always make me stay for something, and the cups and chairs are so tiny..." Kaaras complained like a child. "Plus, better we catch these idiots then someone get hurt right?" "I suppose, but I would rather not play the bait, perhaps bring Dorian to do so in the future." "Please, Dorian would just fry them himself. It wouldn't be nearly as..." Josephine fixed them with a look. "erm... safe, for the bandits, I just knocked them out, they wouldn't escape Dorian without a few good burns." "An admirable point Inquisitor. Either way, we should see these men to our scouts to be dealt with by the proper authorities."

[amysgiantbees]

Something in My Room

Thoughts as I go, spoilers...

Nut Supanut Lourhaphanich is a really great actor. I'm loving him in this and Pit Babe. He is so good at being sad especially. His crying when he can't get the design right, HEARTBREAKING.

Love the relationship between Phat and his mum. It's really the whole backbone of the show I feel.

*Women* Dream and Chris are so pretty!

Dream is AMAZING! I love her art! Love that she clearly uses her art to process. I was surprised to see that her passion is cartoon work. She said she was dabbling in it again. I wonder if it's easier for her to process the supernatural things she's seen through paintings rather than sketches? Although I'm not sure why that would be the case. She could just be into both. I LOVE her hair! Love that she has magical powers! I was a little confused if the ritual didn't work as well as she wanted because Nuan took some of her hair or for another reason though.

I could have a whole show about Dream. I'd love to get into her Jim Jones sounding father and their relationship. Love to see her have someone positive in her life who could teach her about spirits unlike her dad and Nuan. Plus Luck feels like he's from a whole other show with his aliens. Maybe they could even develop Luck and Dream's relationship so they seem like a proper couple and not, what I initially thought, the local cool girl and her incel stalker.

I feel like the themes are really well thought through in this. Like grief and letting go. Nuan and Chris are two different ends of the spectrum. Nuan can't let go of anything. Stalking the house of a man who she never dated and who isn't even living there any more. Then Chris is the other end of the spectrum, letting go aggressively. Phob is scared to get caught even looking at his father's stuff. She wants his things gone so bad. Then by the end they've all found a bit more balance. Phat especially, being the middle ground. Able to hold on to the memory of Phob while still living his life.

The ghost uncle is a delight.

The spotlight on Phob in the audience at the play! Incredible! It foreshadows the farcical nature of the play and how it's going to put a spotlight on Phob. Love it, it's the whole reason why I made this post.

The way memory, dream and reality all blend together is so interesting. Nothing is either one or the other. When Phat actively dreams he physically moves. The real play blurs to have the same aesthetic as the dream world. Phob even describes Ben's play as (paraphrasing) "his love life mixed with dreams and hopes..." I like how due to the lighting, the script isn't noticeable in Phob's hand when he's playing his part "right." Ben lying and performing in real life, trying to play a part constantly. The NOVA competition branding itself on making dreams into realities but being in reality killing them by being too influenced by tradition and money.

LOVE the interpretive dancing in Ben's play. It's very intense and stops any doubling up of information.

The long pauses between sentences drive me a little nuts. Especially when it's emphasised by an overdrawn out dramatic back and forth of the actor's faces with music. I get that it's just a particular style but it frustrates me personally. It's not just impatience but it gives a false sense of gravitas or importance to the moment. I keep waiting for something dramatic to happen but almost nothing ever does. It also makes the conversation seem a little less natural.

Similarity, I am not a fan of, I don't know if this is a trope, but when people refuse to explain themselves. Characters will say hear me out, hear me out a million times instead of actually just starting to explain. It feels like an off branch of the poor communication trope. I otherwise love getting to see the flashback of Phob with his mother but don't like that she just doesn't properly explain why she cares about the magazines. Especially since baby Phob kept asking why. It's just frustrating to me.

Haunting isn't straightforward in this which I like. Phob isn't just haunting Chris and Phat's house. Nuan is also haunting their house, an ever present eye as she secretly watches them. Phob is haunted by his own ghost, his mother. Dream is haunted by all the ghosts but also haunted by her father. His impact on society as well as her mother keeping his picture at the table. Uncle is being forced to haunt by his daughter. It's a form of grief and never letting go.

Phob's mother's message is devastating. I'm not surprised she doesn't want to move on. I can't imagine she could with that much hate in her heart. Heartbreaking that Phat's ending prayer/message to Phob starts off like her video did.

I love that art is an ever present part of everyone's lives. Everyone values art. Phat and his dad love film. Chris plays piano, and expresses her love for her son through it. Phob has fashion. Dream has art, which she uses to understand and share the supernatural things she's seen that she can't outright talk about. Nuan is very proud of her cooking. Phob's mother loved modeling so much that she hated her family forever for being part of the reason why she couldn't do it professionally any more. Ben is obsessed with his art so much he struggles to stop performing.

[capsensislagamoprh]

Otabek sat in the room he shared with Yuri, headphones on, tracks running over his laptop in multiple successions as he bent the beats to flow with each other. Lead ins, drops, overlays, tone shifts - so many changes needed to be done without ruining the integrity of the pieces. His focus was laser sharp, his world reduced to a single fourteen inch screen for hours at a time. He remembered to eat because Yuri brought him things. He remembered biological needs because his body wouldn't let him forget. Aside from running with Yuuri in the early morning (for him, end of the night for Yuuri) he gave himself thirty minutes for grooming, and two one hour breaks to keep his sanity. At precicely ten every night for the last week Yuri would walk in, take his laptop away, and plop down with a litany of complaints from people he'd gleefully told off for 'piss poor taste' and knowing 'fuck all' about track mixing. The exception was Leo, who he seemed to give some credit to after the older man had agreed with his take on the importance of shifting dissonance within the contemporary field. Or, as Yuri had originally said, "Your old people music is going to kill the fucking vibe. Do better."

Christophe promptly drafted Leo into the 'complaint department', which was fine with Yuri.  He wanted someone else to take the heat after he'd been particularly volatile about the Titanic theme song not being right for the wedding or the dance floor. Fortunately Leo had far more tact, pointing out themes and timing, suggesting other options that would fit the same orchestrated grandeur without bringing to mind the death of several hundred in an unforgiving, icy ocean. Yuri almost broke his phone as the entirety of three Celine Dion CDs was dropped into the chat.

At the appointed hour Yuri tugged the laptop away from Otabek, who took a moment to reorient, finally focusing when he saw a cup of tea steaming next to him on the floor. Otabek removed the headphones and set them aside as Yuri dropped between his legs, pressing his back to the brunette’s chest. "Look at this shit," he said without preamble. Holding his phone out where Otabek could see it too as he scrolled through the text chat.

It was pinging wildly, different time zones throwing different songs into the list. "Yuuri is starting to pull his hair again. Victor is thrilled by the attention," he said while puffing blond locks off his eyes. "I'm straight up telling people ‘No’ when they make stupid choices, and Leo makes smart arguments when someone gets really pissy about it."

"He's not so bad, hum?"

Yuri glared up at his friend. "I never said he was. It's JJ who's an ass."

"Hmm," Otabek took a sip of tea. "You never quite told me why you're so mad at him."

"You mean aside from making fun of me and my fans, calling me princess, and being a whole bag of dicks?"

" A whole bag? Really? Seems like a lot."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "It's not like he ever goes out of his way to be nice to me. He just waltzes in, has everything handed to him when he doesn't deserve it, and then just fucks off to the ass end of nowhere to live his perfect little life like he didn't just fuck up everyone else’s."

"He worked hard to learn his skills, Yura."

"Fine. He can skate, kinda," Yuri grumbled reluctantly, "but he's not better than you. You should have metalled."

"Still not over it?"

"Never!"

Otabek chuckled, his breath feathering the blond's hair. "I can't win everything, Yura."

"Obviously not. I'm going to win everything. You should win everything I am not competing in, and when we're competing against each other, you should come in second."

"Is that how it is?"

"Yes. That is how it is."

"So matter of fact."

"I know when I'm right." Yuri made a grabby hand motion in the direction of the cup, not taking his attention away from the messages. Otabek held the cup so Yuri could take a drink of the calming brew, the blur of scrolling suggestions faster than he could keep up with.

"Chris wants to know if you can squeeze out an after party mix. I told him I'd ask, but no promises. You're overworked as it is."

"Umm," Otabek agreed. "Maybe. Depends on how many more changes Yuuri and Victor make. They seem to adjust their song selection often. I did not know they were so indecisive."

"Nah. I think it's because Katsudon doesn't want to piss off anyone and baldy is distracted by shiny things."

"Thank you for dealing with the-" a dark hand waved in the general direction of the phone.

"No problem. I don't get a chance to really let loose on someone with sanction that often."

"You've had sanctions to tell someone they,” Otabek peered at the screen, "have the musical taste of a desiccated mastodon's ... pile?"

"Barely digested shit pile. Yes. It's good, yeah?"

"It paints a picture," Otabek admitted. "When did you get sanctions for language like that?"

Yuri stepsided the question with a very neatly placed, "Anyway." Otabek chuckled, thunking the blond head with his chin. The laptop made a pre-programed grinding nose signaling the current file had finished saving. "That is so disturbing."

"It lets me know what's going on."

"Sounds like it's trying to sand its own model numbers off."

"Maybe."

Yuri sat up, tossing his phone to the second futon mat, reaching for the laptop. "Movie time!"

Otabeck gathered up the pillows and spare blanket, propping himself against the wall. As Yuri slid back, pulling himself into his preferred lounging position, he looked through the options, the familiar sensation of Otabek tucking a blanket around them letting him relax. "Something scary?"

"If you like."

"Okay. How about Viy?"

"Think you can make it through this time?"

"Fuck you. I can make it through anything."

"Of course you can, Yura. Your will power is very strong and you are very brave."

"And don't you forget it!"

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

[sillywolffoxwrites]

Prologue The Road to Amn 11th of Flamerule, 1490 - Day 43,741, Hour 9

(Here's a quick bio written by Yuze, with notes about our backgrounds and life expectancy, because apparently he likes to remind himself of his and everyone else's mortality.) - Aurelia Pictured above, from Left To Right Aurelia High Elf: Avg life expectancy 750 yrs. Age: 20 Born: ??/??/1348 Ferrum Half Orc/Half Human: Avg life expectancy 74 yrs. Age: 28 Born: 29th of Eleint, 1340 Yuze Half Elf/Half Human: Avg life expectancy 150 yrs. Age: 39 Born: ?? of Flamerule, 1329 (I just appreciate anthropology my dearest daughter) - Yuze

The events of the Iron Crisis all happened so damn fast. 1368 was a busy year, saving the sword coast from war, saving Baldurs gate. The months after killing my half-brother and saving us from war with Amn would be a blur. But the cult of Bhaal still lingered, The letters that follow detail our attempts to get rid of the last cultists of Bhaal, and to deal with the new threat that loomed over us, that of the Aasimar, Caelar Argent.

Since the beginning of our adventures, the meaning of Bhaals cult had changed for me. From a group of faceless zealots, to the homicidal fan club for the worst father ever. Now I have a fourth father. Gorion, Ferrum, Yuze, and Bhaal. He raped my mother, Sarevok's mother, and countless others. He sired a multitude of siblings, hoping some how we could bring about his holy resurrection. That's all I knew at the time. Ferrum would lead our fight against the cult, and many other evil-doers and miscreants (as Minsc would call them) besides. It confused me that amidst all our heroism his faith would fail him. Now I understand. We saw so much injustice that he began to lose confidence in Helm. Maybe we *should* be critical of our gods, but who am I to say. Ferrum lost favor with Helm, and his holy magics have gone dark. In light of his lost healing magic, he would grow to become quite the potions master, even after his magic eventually returned. Yuze seemed as much the sage as he ever was, looking barely older than myself all the while. It contrasted Ferrum's streaks of white hair, and his crows feet. I miss my father. I have outlived him by some hundred years, and still I miss him. I know Yuze does too. None the less, I would begin to grow as a leader, as well as silently taking up my own crusade. To atone for the sins of my father, and to resist his legacy. For so long I was just surviving, fleeing from assassins, reacting in the moment. Now I had a purpose. My exposure to the outside world that year had been eye opening. The monks of Candlekeep taught me to value equity, and I believe in the justice Ferrum taught me, but Baldur's Gate, no, the whole sword coast it seemed, did not. What justice was there when every Gnoll Kobold and Hoboglin were slain on sight? Their deeds never making it to a scale to be measured. Where was justice for the poor? One emergency, one disaster, or the misfortune of parentage, and a person is damned to starve in the streets, waiting for a coin or two from greed mongers with more wealth than they could ever spend. Unlike my father, I saw authority to be questioned, and laws to be disregarded if they did not serve any good. Maybe he saw it too, and that's why Helm forsook him. He could be a very strict god.

I believed I could use my rogue skills to find my own justice. The rich did not need all their gold, and I was all too happy to part them from it.

First though, the cult of Bhaal. The beginning of our story would find us in the undercity, in the neighborhoods surrounding Bhaal's temple. Imoen was there with us, she'd been doing well and had begun to train as a mage under the tutelage of Duke Jannath, a powerful teacher indeed. Minsc and Dynaheir were well. It was good to feel Minsc's wamth in this cold place - and Dynaheir was always good to talk strategy with. Not to mention she doubled the magical output of our team. Lastly we hosted a newcomer, Safana. She was a bit shady for our taste, but knew her way around the ruins.

Let us tell you of our adventures, of how we stopped the Shining Lady, of fights and folly, and knowing my fathers, probably fucking (I don't read those entries - ew). Let us tell you our story. - Aurelia

[froggibus]

Bullet Train - Cole Cassidy

Pairing: Cole Cassidy x reader

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: though you've seen many weird things on the train, the man dressed as a cowboy has got to be the strangest

CW: first meet, gun violence, poor judgement, cassidy being dumb in 2 languages, talking to strangers

i wrote this after watching bullet train lol + now im tempted to do more cassidy. also this has been sitting in my drafts for a month saved for a rainy day and today is that day cause I am dying!!

————

It seemed like everyone on the train had at one point been staring at the man sitting in the aisle across from you. You couldn’t blame them—it was hard not to stare. He was dressed like a cowboy, afterall. As the night grew later, the stares started to die off until he was finally able to watch movies on his holopad in peace.

The door at the front of the cart opened with a hiss, the cowboy man flinching when it did. You could see the way his muscles immediately relaxed upon seeing the pretty lady with the food trolley step onto the platform. Most of the cart was fast asleep, with the exception of a businessman towards the back who was clicking away at a keyboard, an older woman flipping through a book and a figure in the front who was shrouded by the sweater he was wearing.

It took no time before the trolley was between you and the cowboy man, the lady asking if you wanted something in Japanese. You bought a bottle of iced tea and thanked her, returning to stare at the seatback in front of you and fiddle with the impossibly tight cap of the bottle.

You could hear her asking the man if he wanted something, and force yourself to suppress a laugh when you heard him respond in Japanese. His language skills weren’t horrible, but spoken through his Southern accent it came out as a jumbled mess. A smile forced its way onto your face.

The woman, upon hearing him speak, immediately switched to English. This time, you couldn’t help but giggle at the interaction. The man finished ordering practically half of the trolley and paid the woman. She flashed you a smile before making her way to the back of the cart.

“Guess she wasn’t a fan of my Japanese,” the cowboy said.

It took you a moment to realize he was addressing you, amber eyes taking you in. “You’re American,” you noted. “You’re a long way from home.

He shrugged, “I’m looking for an old friend.”

You didn’t really care that much, and turned back to trying to open the bottle cap of your drink.

“You wanna hand with that?” 

You sighed, but handed him the bottle nonetheless. You were shocked to see a metal hand grab it from you before he effortlessly removed the cap and gave it back to you.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, pumpkin.” He reached an arm out to you, “Cassidy.”

“Y/n.”

He stretched his arms above his head, poncho slipping off his shoulders to reveal more of his physique, “so what brings you around here?”

You examined him, wondering how much you should tell him. Despite the cowboy getup, he didn’t look like a complete weirdo. In fact, he was super handsome. Chocolate brown hair tumbled down the back of his neck and framed his face perfectly. He had a chiseled jaw, covered in well-groomed facial hair that wrapped around his mouth. His eyes were what really caught your attention, though. They were filled with warmth, something you hadn’t seen a lot of in recent days.

“Just needed some time away,” you admitted. 

“Fella did you wrong?”

“Something like that.” You change the subject, “so, this friend of yours—is he in Tokyo?”

He nodded, “Hanamura, I think.”

“You think?”

Cassidy sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “He doesn’t exactly know I’m coming,” he said, “it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him.”

You could relate to that. It seemed so long since you had company, the memories blurring the longer it got. Based on the look in his eyes, he felt the same way. 

You took a swig of your drink. “Were you guys close?”

“We were on a team. We spent a lot of time together.”

That doesn’t answer the question, you thought, but said nothing. Clearly he was still coming to terms with things himself, and you didn’t want to pry. There was a thump on the roof above, the cart rattling. 

Cassidy’s eyes widened and he was on his feet in an instant, hand reaching into one of the leather pouches on the belt strapped around his waist. “Well, darling, it’s been a pleasure.”

You blinked a few times, too stunned at the sight of the revolver in his hand to say anything. He gave you a flirty tip of his hat, and charged to the front of the train car. As soon as the door opened in front of him, you could see two figures dressed in all black waiting for him. 

You pounced to your feet, ready to warn him, but the door was already closed. He has a gun, he can handle himself, you tried to tell yourself. It didn’t work, and you found yourself racing to the front of the car and smashing your hand against the button to open the doors.

You stepped onto the luggage cart just to see two men sprawled out on the ground. They were still breathing, thank god. Still, there was no sight of Cassidy.

You heard ruckus from the next cart over and ducked inside. There was a group of people now, dressed the same as the other figures, and they had him surrounded. He seemed to be holding his own pretty good, knocking people out and tossing them like they weighed nothing. His back was wide open though, and just as you realized that, so did one of the other figures. 

Before you even realized it, you were tackling them to the ground, snatching the knife out of their hand and slamming it into their nose. Blood gushed out of their nose and they instinctively went to cover it, leaving their jaw wide open. You remembered something you’d been told a long time ago, and struck the side of their jaw hard. They went limp.

Cassidy whirled around, eyes dancing with mischief, a smirk on his face, “thank you, darling.”

The other people laid around the traincar, in varying poses and states. Cassidy had taken care of all of them in the time it took you to take out one. It was clear you were dealing with someone a lot more powerful than you thought.

“Doesn’t really look like you need my help, to be honest.”

He shrugged, poncho slumping off of his shoulder to reveal a gash that was leaking blood down his chest. He quickly pulled it up, eyes meeting yours, “no need to worry, pumpkin.”

“Who are these people, anyway?”

“Let’s just say I have a bit of a reputation.”

You raise an eyebrow, “a bit?”

“You’re pretty good in a fight,” he changes the subject. “Where did you say you were going again?”

“I didn’t.”

He smirked, “then how would you like to join me? You seem to know the area, that could be useful.”

“Are there going to be more shadow ninjas attacking you?”

“Oh, darlin’,” he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and squeezed you closer to him, “you have no idea. So, do we have a deal?”

“Deal.”