#now that it's far down enough on the list I can probably put my standard organizational tag for fate stuff

[raspberryusagi]

Tonight's Artober is brought to you by a silly edit my wife made while I was musing aloud over what to draw tonight. I knew I wanted to draw the Count, but that was it. She then said "pumpkin" and made an edit of him in a pumpkin costume.

[pedros-immaculate-vibes]

A Peaceful Elf

Part III

Halsin/Tav fanfic (slow burn, fluff, angst)

Zzar, Daggerford Clarry, ale. Well, that’s certainly something. You looked in your bag at the bottles you and your band of merry adventurers had stolen from the goblins who would no longer be needing them. “Hey, soldier, think we have enough libations in your bag, or can we fit more?”

The swarthy tiefling gave you a shameless grin. “I’ll have you know I’m carrying my weight in dandy drinks and a lady never says her weight, but trust me, it’s a FUCK of a lot!” She threw her head back and her hair whipped around as wildly as the flames in her chest. “We won’t remember tonight if it bit us in the arse! No offense, fangs!” She elbowed Astarion.

“Mmm, none taken,” he mumbled, although he clearly didn’t appreciate being touched. “Any chance there’s a bottle in there that isn’t absolute swill? I do have standards, you know.”

“Ale’s ale, mate. You can have a go at it when we get back to camp, but I’m sure you’ll find something worthwhile,” Karlach winked down at him, flirting the way only a gregarious soul could with Astarion. You weren’t sure, but you could have sworn you saw the vampire blush the slightest bit as he changed the subject and looked away into the woods. Did Vampires blush?

“Any idea who’s going to this, ugh, debaucherous debacle tonight? I like to know who’s on the list for things like this.”

“Only the who’s-who of the grove, which is to say, probably everyone you’ve talked to,” chimed Gale, who seemed in very high spirits himself. He had found a few scrolls and a tome in a hidden chest beneath some rubble. It was like watching a cat who caught a canary saunter through the woods.

“I’m sure tonight will meet your expectations, Astarion, in the best possible way,” Wyll smiled back at him, a satchel brimming with food on his back. “Will this be the first time you’ll be getting a hero’s welcome? I can promise you, that feeling stays in your heart forever; like a candle on a cold evening,” he beamed. The smile turned a shade wry as the moment passed. 

“I’m sure you’ve had many such welcomes, Wyll, and countless more to come,” you put a hand on his shoulder, determined to make him forget his recent misfortune. His sacrifice had gained them Karlach, after all. He deserved every spot of happiness you could afford. Wyll nodded gratefully to you and looked back at the trail, smiling a bit easier.

“Oh! So I’m assuming that druid elf will be there, what was his name? Has-been? I wonder what kind of standards he has… in regards to libations, of course,” schemed Astarion as he glanced sideways at you.

You sighed. 

A few miles ahead, when you and he were at the back of the group, Astarion tripped over a few conveniently placed vines.

***

The druids had already stopped the ritual a few days before you were able to save Halsin; after you revealed the correspondence between Kagha and the Shadow Druids found in a disconcertingly serene wetland, the interim Arch Druid came to her senses and helped you purge the grove of their influence. With that, tension eased and the tieflings breathed easier. Now that Halsin had returned, everything was about as idyllic as possible, given the circumstances. 

Your pride warmed you as a breeze flitted over the lake near the camp. Staring out over it for a brief moment more, you turned to Wyll, handed him the best of the food and drink you could find, and nodded to him, understanding his wish for quieter surroundings. “Always looking out for us. Thank you, my friend,” he smiled back wanly, and returned to his reverie. 

The idea of sprinkling drow poison on his food had flitted through your mind and nauseated you as quickly as you forced it to flit right back out. What kind of thought was that, toward Wyll of all people? Something to figure out later, I suppose. Not tonight. You turned a corner and the whole camp came into view; the far end of the camp, near the river, became keenly clear as a pair of hazel eyes swept across the soirée, to yours.

Not tonight. Please.

—

He inhaled deeply and supped on the vibrance of the smiles, laughter and music around him. Halsin wasn’t the only one who was free, now; the tieflings would be on their way, the umbra of the Shadow Druids had dissipated over the grove, and the danger of the Absolute camp had been vanquished. 

His chest swelled with a wholesome delight.

All thanks to this band of, well, vagabonds. Idiots seemed too harsh, although after speaking at length to a few of them, he realized that there was more will than wisdom in more than one. Nonetheless, he couldn’t have been more grateful.

Friendly back slaps and arm shakes came from the group, especially Zevlor who had imbibed at least two glasses of something strong. The night was going well and he was glad to see a few druids in the fray, dancing in a circle with a tiefling or two. The bard tiefling strummed something lively while more joined the circle around the camp fire. Halsin gladly stepped back from the dancing, not nearly drunk enough to partake in anything rhythmic around so many he would have to face again at some point. Actually, not drunk at all. He saved that for more intimate company.

He stood back, at the edge of the camp, and took inventory of his saviors: the feisty tiefling in leather danced in the circle; the pale one (who’s name he had learned was Astarion) endeavored to make Lakrissa swoon over a bottle of wine near his tent; Gale spoke animatedly with Rolan at his tent table, books and complicated hand gestures between them; the githyanki gnawed on a roasted leg of something while peering over the crowd, apparently looking for someone; Wyll was nowhere to be seen; and the brooding one named Shadowheart stood near a tent by the fire, admiring the brawny tiefling woman.

That’s everyone, he thought, except—

His eyes fell on Tav, from across the camp. His chin dropped every so minutely to his chest as he held her eyes and smiled, lightening his gaze by cocking his head to the side and nodding gingerly at her. She did the same. Then, quickly looked away. The light on the lake danced behind her, making her already invigorating presence even more dynamic. Something in his gut tightened and his ears twitched as he realized the tips of them were burning. Blinking at the unexpected sensation, he raised an eyebrow looking down at his boots and pursed his lips. I’ll need to keep that in check, it seems. And she appears to be occupied. I’ve garnered enough of their attention. I can speak to them, to her, tomorrow. He cleared his throat and came back to reality when another tiefling and druid came to congratulate him and hear his harrowing tale of capture and liberation at the hands of the travelers.

He looked once more at Tav’s face, her eyes alight at the sight of all the merriment, and felt a smile spread wide across his face. 

“They are, quite remarkable, to be sure.”

He looked back at his audience and began to retell the tale, only to miss Tav look at him and think the same.

—

After hearing all of the stories of this arch druid of the grove and see him cater to yet another growing group of adoring faces, some with more than mere appreciation in their stances and glances, after all he’d been through, she could think of only one thing:

Quite remarkable.

[bbcphile]

More Ask Memes Answered!

Thanks, @fealiniel, for asking for #29 from this list:

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic.

I sadly don't have any other deleted scenes I can share for MLC stuff, but maybe you'll accept the opening of my abandoned modern AU (summer music camp edition) for The Untamed?

Cw/tw: allusions to physical abuse

**

“Wei Ying, I swear to God, if you play one more note on that fucking thing, I’m chucking it out the window,” Jiang Cheng growled, gripping the steering wheel like he wanted to wring its non-existent neck.

“You’d have to catch it first,” Wei Ying laughed, flinging himself as far from his brother as the seatbelt of the front passenger seat would allow, and clutching his bright red slide whistle to his chest.

“A-Ying, no antagonizing the driver,” Jiang Yanli laughed from the backseat.

“But A-Cheng’s being mean, jiejie! He’s not appreciating my skills!” Wei Ying whined.

“You can’t be skilled at slide whistle, idiot,” Jiang Cheng snapped. “It’s not a real instrument.”

“Don’t listen to the cruel man, babe,” Wei Ying cooed at the slide whistle while stroking it gently, barely avoiding calling it ‘my precious.’ “He’s just jealous of what you and I can do together.”

“No one could be jealous of that racket. It makes me want to claw my eardrums out. What are you trying to do, raise the dead?”

“It’s not a racket! It’s “Flight of the Bumblebee!”” A piece Wei Ying happened to have one or two pretty fucking fantastic memories of from a summer orchestra camp not too unlike the summer festival they were headed to, as it happened. “And anyway, I’d like to see you try to play it.”

“Hand it over and I’ll show you what I can do--”

“--by tossing it out the window? Yeah, no thanks.”

“Boys,” Jiang Yanli said, laughing and leaning forward from the backseat to put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Enough. A-Ying, it’s very impressive but also very loud and probably distracting for A-Cheng. If you want to play, why don’t you get out your flute and go through the fingering for your audition pieces?”

“Jiejieeee,” Wei Ying whined, then flipped the reclining switch for the seat and flopped back until he was practically lying down and staring up at his sister where she was sitting behind their brother. “I’ve already practiced the fingering for each piece twice AND listened to them each on my headphones. I can’t do it again. I will literally die of boredom. And then fucking Su She will get all my solos—

“—They’re not your solos, jackass! You haven’t done your seating audition yet.”

“—No, but they will be, because I’m better than he is.”

“Ugh. You are so full of yourself!” 

“I am not! I’m just being realistic. Anyway, as I was saying: if I die of boredom, then Su She will get my—yes, MY—solos, and that can just never happen. It would be so wrong it would destroy the universe.”

Jiang Yanli smiled and shook her head. “So the fate of the universe depends on your playing slide whistle, then?”

“Exactly. Jiejie’s so smart. Why can’t you be more like her, A-Cheng?” He reached out and lightly bopped Jiang Cheng’s leg with his knee. 

“No hitting the driver!” his brother yelled.

Wei Ying stifled a giggle. It wasn’t very successful. “Now, see, that’s louder than my slide whistle playing. I really think there’s an unfair double standard here, and--”

“--Will you shut the fuck up?” Jiang Cheng bellowed. “I’m trying to pay attention to the goddamn road”

“Ok, ok! Man, someone’s grouchy. Why—Oh!“ Wei Ying’s mind ran ahead of his mouth for a change, supplying him the answer to the question before he could even ask it. He popped his seat back to an upright position and whipped around to look at his brother. “Is it because you’re nervous about doing the conductor program this summer?”

“Of course I’m not nervous,” Jiang Cheng snapped, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

“Good. You shouldn’t be. I saw you practicing in front of the mirror last night--”

His brother turned red and glowered at the road. “--I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t --”

“--Yeah you did. It was around three this morning. You were standing there, in your purple pjs in front of the mirror on the bathroom door, practicing--I’m guessing 4th movement of Dvorak’s “New World Symphony,” given the opening syncopation--”

“--why the hell were you spying on me?”

“It’s not like I meant to! I just started packing late and then I heard movement so I went to check it out, and you’d left your door open! But anyway, it was awesome. Totally professional and confident.” The energy that had been coursing through him all night until he gave up on sleep and had him bouncing his leg against the footwell of the car flared with a potential outlet. “Ooh, I’ve got an idea! Did you want to try conducting with one hand while driving and I’ll play along and try to follow your cues?”

“No, because I’m DRIVING, and because you’d be BLASTING YOUR GODDAMN FLUTE IN MY EAR. Do you have a single fucking brain cell, or did they get fried by playing too many high notes on the piccolo?”

“A-Cheng, be nice,” Jiang Yanli said. “You know how he gets before auditions.”

“Yeah, A-Cheng, be nice,” Wei Ying pouted at his brother. “You -- wait, what do you mean, ‘how I get before auditions’?”

Jiang Cheng snorted. “Like you don’t know.”

“I literally just asked. Why would I ask if I already knew?”

“To hear the sound of your own voice? Why else do you normally talk?”

“Ok, you two. That’s enough,” Jiang Yanli said. “A-Ying, I just meant that you tend to  . . . have more energy before auditions. Or concerts.”

“It’s like you revert back to you at age ten. Pre-Ritalin. You’re impossible to be around. No wonder Wen Qing isn’t coming to the summer orchestra festival this year. Probably couldn’t wait to be rid of you.”

“Very funny. You were on the text thread when she said she was doing the MGH research internship instead. It has nothing to do with her being my stand partner.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Hey! Come on, she thinks I’m great!”

“She insults you in every other sentence.”

“Exactly! It’s how she shows affection.”

“That’s not a thing.”

Wei Ying laughed. “Ok, didi. If that’s how you want to play it. Anyway, if Wen Qing hated me, then why would she ask me to look after her younger brother, huh?”

Jiang Cheng jerked his head to look at Wei Ying, before scowling back at the road. “She did what?”

“It’s his first year at Tanglewood. I guess he’s kind of shy. So she asked me to introduce him to people and make sure he made friends, didn’t have too hard a time, that sort of thing.”

“Why the hell would she ask you? You’re the least responsible person there.”

“Come on, I’m a GREAT big brother,” Wei Ying said, leaning over into his brother’s space so the dyed red steak in his ink black hair flopped onto Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “I’m gonna mentor him so hard he won’t know what hit him.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t sprain anything. “Yeah, right.”

Something about his tone sounded off. It wasn’t the normal type of grouchiness. He was genuinely pissed at something. “What does that mean?”

“What, you don’t remember how well you mentored me, my first summer at orchestra camp?”

Wei Ying scrabbled around in his memory banks, but there was a huge blank spot where the data should be. He huffed out a nervous laugh to hide a sinking feeling worse than when Ms. Yu brought her palm back to strike with all her considerable force. Wei Ying hid a wince behind a chuckle and twirled his slide whistle between his fingers. “Um. Did it involve my pointing out the best waffle iron at the buffet and which shower runs out of hot water first?”

Jiang Cheng glared at the road so hard Wei Ying was surprised it didn’t cower in fear. “You got fucking expelled, asshole. Ringing any bells now?”

Wei Ying winced and looked out the window. Apart for some soup-related memories and a few vignettes with an uptight violinist, most of the year he’d turned 14 and the eight years before that were shut behind a door in his mind labeled “Do Not Enter” with several padlocks, deadbolts, and a retina and fingerprint scanner for good measure. Thank fuck for containment strategies and good trauma therapists. Not that he’d found a way to tell his family about the reason for the gaping holes in his threadbare memory. Well, maybe one day. Just . . . . not this one.

He peeked in the peephole of the forbidden door and reached for a memory. There was a faded one, almost in black and white, of him music dueling a kid his own age who seemed determined to win ‘stick in the mud of the year,” some snatches of him getting bored and improvising flute parts instead of observing a 50 measure-long rest, and— “Ah. Right. That was the summer conductor Lan Qiren threw a baton at me, wasn’t it?”

“Of course that’s what you remember. I still can’t believe how fucking proud of it you were. As though that were anything to be proud of. You better not try that shit here, ok? You know what Mom said.”

Wei Ying forced himself not to grip the slide whistle too tightly. Ms. Yu had said that if he made a nuisance of himself, then she and Mr. Jiang wouldn’t pay the room and board for the Berklee School of Music next year. He’d gotten full tuition covered with his music scholarship, but even the two jobs he had lined up wouldn’t cover his share of the apartment he was sharing with his brother or all of the scores he needed to buy. “Oh come on. I haven't done stuff like that in years,” he insisted.

His brother gave him a doubtful look.

“Aiya, everyone’s so suspicious. Fine, fine. I’ll be on my best behavior. Scouts honor.” He lifted three fingers up to his forehead in a mock salute.

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “You were kicked out of the boy scouts.”

“Because they didn’t like that I protested their exclusionary practices!” Wei Ying said, waving his slide whistle at his brother to punctuate each word.

“It’s not like you’re trans! Why do you have to fight other people’s battles? Can’t you just not make a mess, for once? Fuck, it’ll be a nice change to not room with you.”

Here, at least, they were on solid, familiar ground. Wei Ying had memorized the notes to this piece within a year of being taken in as a foster kid. He started twirling the slide whistle between his fingers and gave his brother his most charming expression. “Aww, Jiang Cheng, don’t be like that. Come on, admit it, you’ll miss me.”

“Bullshit. How could I miss you? Or your piles of sheet music with illegible scribbles you scatter on the floor instead of keeping them in a notebook like a reasonable person? Or practicing at 3 in the morning?”

“What else am I supposed to do? Not write down or try out the melodies when they come to me? Now who’s ridiculous.”

“Well, they better give your roommate a refund. Or at least cover his therapy bills. God knows he’ll need it after he’s done with you.”

The only evidence of Wei Ying’s wince was the sixteenth-note hesitation that interrupted the otherwise rhythmic twirling of the slide whistle. “What are you talking about? I’m a fucking delight,” he said, pasting on a bright grin.

[tisorridalamor]

I have been making this breakfast sandwich once a weekend for like... 5 weeks now? It's REALLY good! Read below for my BDG breakfast sandwich tips ✨

First things first, all of the ingredients for this freeze and thaw really well so if you're worried about buying like a bunch of sausage and not getting enough use out of it just cut patties and throw it in the freezer :) I've been keeping the buns, sausage, and bacon in the freezer and then thawing what I need the night before I plan to make it (the frozen hash browns just go straight in the pan, the bacon could too but I'd recommend thawing the sausage). The official ingredients list is:

Buns

Sausage

Bacon

Egg

Frozen hash browns

Cheese

Ketchup

⚠️ INGREDIENTS ALERT ⚠️: There's quite a bit here and you can use less sausage and hash browns especially than you think you might need. This sandwich is quite heavy for me so I think less can be more for this one. Of course this varies person to person so measure with your heart 🫶

I don't have a nice long flat pan like BDG has in his vid, but I managed just fine with a standard nonstick skillet and had my smaller skillet on another burner be the "warming zone". I can confirm that after a few times this sandwich only takes about 30 min to put together (even for two people) + clean up. Just start with the bacon and sausage to get the juices flowing, then throw down the hash browns and finish off with the egg and toasting the bread.

HASH BROWN TIPS: Easily the hardest part of this is getting the hash browns correct so here is some advice:

Get em in the pan early and let them sit. They will take the longest out of all the items if you want to get em real crispy since you're probably taking them straight from the freezer

DON'T MESS WITH THEM. LET THEM SIT. Even with this advice though I had a hard time getting them to stick together in a patty (maybe it's the brand I'm using? 🤔) so...

If you're having trouble getting them to stay together, use a bit of egg or melt cheese on top to force them to stick :)

If they do end up falling apart, you can still use them on the sandwich: put the ketchup on the bottom bun as glue and sprinkle your hash browns on top and they won't fall off the sandwich, then top with the other ingredients.

My personal modifications: The best part of cooking is doing whatever you want so here's my personal shake ups:

Pepper jack cheese cause it's the best cheese

I don't scramble my eggs cause I love a runny yolk - the technique to still getting a "patty" out of the egg is to have the pan real hot then crack it at the edge of the pan and carefully flip it over itself so you cook the whites around the yolk, tilting the pan and using the wall to help maneuver the egg. Yes this results in a far messier sandwich. No I don't care.

PEPPER!!! Crank that shit babyyyy (for context I have a pepper grinder)

Genuinely don't remember if BDG does this in his vid but I like to toast both sides of the bun and kinda squish it down a bit. Due to the egg this has the potential to be a tall sandwich so this helps reduce the height

Overall an excellent breakfast sandwich to me as someone who is a breakfast sandwich connoisseur. I was skeptical about the hash browns and ketchup but they really do add some good flavor to the sandwich. I recommend making it once or twice matching BDG's recipe before getting silly with it (I think it's important to start from the beginning if you can to learn what YOU think works and what doesn't before making a bunch of changes. I would not have used ketchup if the recipe didn't call for it but it's a great addition and I always use it now). I think he also has some great tips - the one about letting the sausage patty cook a bunch on one side, then flipping and using the crispy to flatten it out is so genius. I ❤️ lazy cooking

FUTURE RESEARCH: I have some ideas for what to do next with my sandwiches personally. I'm looking forward to trying these and you should like this post if you want to hear about my future endeavors:

Using cheap croissants as the bread. I love cheap crappy croissants, they're SO GOOD on breakfast sandwiches so I need to try them here

Removing the bacon or sausage. Like I mentioned, I think this is a pretty heavy sandwich and I don't think both are needed (though they are REALLY good). I might get just as much enjoyment without both personally

Adding avocado. I love avocado + bacon + egg sandwiches so this would be perfect for me personally with the has browns

I should possibly try thawing some hash browns to see if they stick together better when thawed first...

(unrelated to the sandwich) I now have a massive bag of hash browns in my freezer cause these don't come in small amounts. I've personally never been a big hash brown person... but making them real thin and crispy for this sandwich has opened a new door for me. I will be cooking them more to see what else I can do with em

[scumscuttlers]

A really normal person who is just an asshole.

— @coralcalypso describing my character, 2024.

Inezra as a character has been around since 7/28/2014. She doesn't have a super long history though because most of what I did have was lost to hard drive failure. So, lol. I ended up reconstructing things pre-2018, and have been trying to flesh her out by interacting with more people.

If you're curious what writing I'm referencing, her writing tag is over here.

Personality

Inez is obsessive. This isn't always a negative.

Inez is too smart for her own good and frequently thinks herself into knots (as evidenced from some of the conversations and interactions in recent / old stories). She is absolutely yanking on people's chain when she pretends to not know or understand some things. Key word: Some. Somewhat at odds with the brawns over brains presentation she has. It's easier not to think about things. Imagine how happy you would be if you stopped thinking too. (She's still not happy.)

That said, she's also allergic to being honest about herself and her feelings. She doesn't lie out of habit. It's more likely she'll omit information or deflect by making a joke. This makes it easier to slip in actual requests for information. You just never know if she's fucking with you or not.

Rarely does she reconsider whatever she thinks the "best" option is. Gleaned from Dialus' perspective in old writing and conversations with my friend @sleepytrolls.

She has a kneejerk reaction to new information, but will also keep asking for details until she's satisfied that she knows enough about it. She's then incredibly likely to turn around and make fun of your character for their perspective. This makes her not fun to talk to. She knows this. She also doesn't care (most of the time).

Has a penchant for violence that's hereditary and probably in part caused by brain damage. From all the concussions, your honor. She has poor emotional regulation normally. She also does not have a moirail or very many trolls willing to put up with her, so this is just bad soup. She's gotten better but not better fast enough.

She has standards and a conscience even if she goes to great lengths to pretend she doesn't. There are absolutely lines she won't cross and she's sensitive to people not being receptive to her bitching, but that's new. Notably, times in the watch party chats when she's switched tack mid conversation based on someone's responses. You won't catch her apologizing though.

She tries to tone down her assholery depending on the person, or tailor it specificly to them to make their day worse. It depends.

Likes

Fighting. As 5lux put it, Inezra was hatched to hate. She doesn't need much reason to fight people and will go so far as to injure herself to get another lick in during those fights. There's something going on up there in her pan. Don't ask what it is.

Being a dick. This is just a precursor to fighting. She doesn't really do blackrom or she'd be in a quad with the whole world. If you hate her she likes you.

A cool cigarette to ease the pain.

Reading, but only sometimes, and she doesn't like most contemporary writing.

You'd think music would belong in this list but it doesn't. No I won't be elaborating on that right now.

Quirks

You can earn her honesty. Ways this has been done so far includes: fighting her and making it fun, having a spine, making her laugh, or being upfront about feelings (that last one doesn't always work). This is usually only for a limited time. You get one glimpse into her functioning troll brain. Just one.

She smokes. A lot. If she were normal she would probably have had two types of lung cancer by now, but she's suspiciously okay.

Whatever

Stuff that doesn't have a specific place to go yet.

Inezra doesn't relate to anyone in her age group. She finds it very strange how Sefoni & co (how she mentally refers to that entire extended friend group) seem wrapped up in other alien's cultures. It's somewhat alienating to be the only "real" troll, which as we all know is a feeling normal people react to with anger. 😀 (She's not actually normal.)

She actually did dodge the draft. That piece of trivia isn't punk posing and will probably catch up to her at some point.

The game doesn't exist in her universe. Every time she sees somebody talk about the game and adjacent topics she thinks they're taking FLARPing too far. It's the cognitive dissonance for me.

Thanks for making it this far. Maybe I'll vomit words again soon.

[calicoaidan]

Eurovision 2023 - the story so far

I’m gonna be blunt folks, I adore the Eurovision Song Contest, it’s not even a guilty pleasure nowadays.

The concept of it is just something I like, every country gets one shot, once a year, 3 minutes to write and perform a song of their choosing with it being staged however they wish* (well, there are some restrictions).

A list of the recent winners shows the brilliance of it all,

The Swedish slickness of Loreen and Mans Zelmerlow

The heartfelt nature of Jamala when she won with 1944, a song that resonates ever more with current events

Conchita Wurst’s victory with Rise Like a Phoenix, the best Bond theme tune there never was

And through what can often be a lot of noise the breakthrough of Salvador Sobral with what by Eurovision standards was a shock win

It’s not even the winning songs that stick in the memory; Dadi Freyr, Francesco Gabbani, Mahmood, all bangers.

One source of sadness was the remote chance of Eurovision ever being anywhere near home, for near enough the entirety of the 21st century the BBC has tied itself into a number of completely out-of-touch tunes and often hamstrung themselves with some feeble staging - Electro Velvet is probably the best example, just poor. And then, TaP Music – and more importantly Sam Ryder – arrived.

Between his 2nd place, Putin’s fuckery needing the UK to host, and a lengthy bidding process, it has now fallen to Liverpool to host the next contest. Roughly half of the songs in 2023’s contest have now been unveiled and it’s time for some takes!

I’ve zero interest in being harsh, some of these tunes just don’t do it for me and that’s fine – others will thrive on these and that’s the joy of the contest.

From the 18 so far, here’s 11-18:

11 – Latvia

12 – Italy (my least favourite Italian song since they rejoined the Song Contest)

13 – Ukraine

14 – France

15 – Norway (note - this is currently the Eurovision subreddit favourite)

16 – Denmark

17 – Albania

18 – Romania

Between 11th and 15th I see stuff to enjoy, there’s artistic merit, they just don’t fully scratch the itch for me. From 16th onwards I’m just a bit lost, sorry.

And now, we count down from 10.

10th – Malta

It’s a slick enough tune, if they stage it like this in Liverpool it’ll resonate, it’s like a crossover of Moldova’s Sax Man and Lake Malawi’s Friend of a Friend

9th – Spain

It’s a stunning performance, will stand out on the night, but there are bits where it feels a bit flat for me - artistically incredible all the same but yeah, it doesn’t fully carry me.

8th – Ireland

The general attitude towards this song has been hostility from the subreddit, it’s been rather vicious! For me, the lyrics are a bit corny and the live performance on display isn’t amazing because RTE insist on having their selection contest in a shoebox, but the chorus is one of the most anthemic so far. It won’t win, but if they pitch it right they’ll make the final with that song.

7th – Croatia

This year’s pearl-clutcher will be this entry by Let 3, which points their ire to a very obvious individual without directly naming them. The first 45 seconds are a bit of a void, but when it gets going it tells a story that doesn’t need translating - it’s daft but fun. Will it make the final? The jury is out.

6th – Belgium

It’s full 90s, very catchy, another one that r/eurovision hates but I hope it makes it through, it’s three joyful minutes.

5th – Estonia

Well-written, brilliantly-performed, the only thing stopping me from putting this higher is it doesn’t quite peak, a victim of the 3 minute track limit.

4th – Lithuania

Similar issue to Ireland where the verses don’t quite carry but the choruses are lovely, it reminds me slightly of Saudade, Saudade with the harmonies - I feel like this will do better than most expect, not quite a winner.

This moves us onto the top three (who are a clear top three for me at this point), Slovenia, Australia and Czechia

3rd – Slovenia

A very catchy indie tune delivered by a group who clearly want to lean on boy band charm, I’m more interested in the former but this lot are going to be shovelling in the points in May, guaranteed top 10.

2nd – Australia

This is hot off the presses having been released this evening (in the middle of the night for Australian folks, strange) - I LOVE this. There’s elements that remind me of Everything Everything, and then sections that go grungy, world away, it’s a love-on-first-listen kind of tune for me. If it sounds this good live, it’s another top 10 in May.

1st – Czechia

As it stands, this is my clear favourite. It’s powerful, poignant, carries an energy throughout, and between the group of them, multi-lingual as well, it just works. I so, so hope they make this work as a live performance, it should be top 5 as a minimum and it's a potential winner if they pull it off.

So yeah, that’s where we’re at so far - 18 down, 19 to go.

I’ll do a part 2 when we have the full slate and update my rankings. Sláinte.

[kharmii]

Thank you Matt Walsh! In todays show: 02:08 - 18:34 How We Became A Society Full Of ‘Traumatized’ Weaklings, Matt talks about how media increasingly is putting trigger warnings on every little thing. Its turning something stupid the girlies online started doing back in 2009 that never really went away into mainstream. My favorite part of this is where he says:

In 2013 leading medical associations radically altered the meaning of trauma. This is a a common theme with the medical organizations where they take something -especially something that's a mental health problem- and they expand and expand and expand the definition until eventually everybody has it.

We've seen this with many things. PTSD just being one of them as one Berkeley psychology Professor recently told the New York Times: "Some changes to the diagnostic manual psychological disorders may have blurred the line between PTSD and disorders like depression or anxiety". In 2013 the committee overseeing revisions to the manual expanded the list of potential PTSD symptoms to include dysphoria or a deep sense of unease and a negative worldview which could also be caused by depression. The Times report added PTSD was introduced as an official diagnosis in 1980 as it became clear that combat experiences had imprinted on many Vietnam veterans making it difficult them for them to work or participate in family life.

Over the decades that followed the definition was revised to encompass a large range of injury, violence, and abuse as well as indirect exposure to traumatic events. In other words with very little fanfare the medical establishment completely redefined the meaning of PTSD and the trauma necessary to qualify for a diagnosis.

Once again, this this is the trajectory that we follow with almost every mental illness or mental health challenge. It starts first they come up with the idea of it. They come up with the label and it applies to a small subset of the population. As time goes on it expands and expands and expands and expands so that eventually every single living human on earth could qualify as having PTSD or depression or anxiety or ADHD (or autism) so now it's no longer necessary to personally witness a violent death or injury to receive a diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder. It's enough to indirectly experience such a violent death or injury that is trauma under the new standard. This is what psychologists are telling their patients.

The only limitation as far as I can tell from reading through the dsm5 is that this indirect exposure has to involve a loved one. Even then, it's no longer necessary for your symptoms to involve vivid flashbacks and extreme social dysfunction or anything like that because now if you have a deep sense of unease and a negative worldview then you have PTSD. Never mind the fact that probably the vast majority of people in the country have at least sometimes a deep sense of unease and even a negative worldview. In fact every person who's ever lived on the planet struggles at least at times with a deep sense of unease and has -if not all the time- often a worldview that could be described as negative.

Again every single person could have PTSD. That's all it takes to suffer trauma according to every major medical institution at this point. This is one way in which the concept of trauma has been expanded and over diagnosed into oblivion. They just changed the meaning of the word back in 2013 probably to enable more doctors to diagnose more patients and prescribe them some more drugs. Then that lingo filters down to the media and everywhere else.

If that sounds far-fetched or conspiratorial consider the fact that another convenient rebranding took place that same year in 2013. It was also the year that the American Medical Association or AMA abruptly decided to reclassify obesity as a disease just like asthma or diabetes. This happened in the same year but the AMA privately acknowledged that obesity didn't actually meet the criteria to be classified as a disease because there are no unique symptoms that only obese people suffer from. It's also the only disease in the world that can be cured with a 100% success rate by expending more calories than you're consuming. Nevertheless the AMA simply decided that reclassifying obesity as a disease would have a positive impact on society, so they did it. This is how the psychiatric community decides ultimately whether something will be classified as a mental illness or not. The criteria isn't actually asking the question 'Is it a mental illness?' They're asking, would 'calling it that' (whether it's true or not) have a positive impact on society?

Again, notice that that question is different from is 'it true would have a positive impact' with 'is it true (that obesity is an actual real disease)' those are actually two different questions. The Lancet (medical journal) documented all of this as I outlined a few months ago. Now just a few years later Oprah is hosting an hour-long special in which she confidently suggests that OIC is the miracle drug that can cure this disease. Now there's reason to believe that the same approach has now been applied to trauma much like the idea Lancet acknowledgements.

This massively expanded definition of trauma has quickly made its way from a handful of elite academics all the way to everyday life so now we get trigger warnings on Netflix and Hulu and the theater and everywhere else. Much more importantly now millions of Americans incorrectly believe that they've suffered trauma when they haven't. They are under the impression that their problems are far more serious and uncontrollable than they really are. Now that's good for the people prescribing the medications and doing the talk therapy. It keeps the money rolling in for everybody else. It's yet another sign that we're becoming a weaker and more broken society, one that inevitably will become even easier to control and manipulate.

(Basically, left wing victimhood culture turns us all into emotional infants who will never ever get over our 'trauma'. I had left the comment: PTSD is something you get over with time. Sometimes you need therapy -often you just need a friend to talk to- but mostly time heals trauma. If a person doesn't get over PTSD, then they end up a homeless guy on drugs. Left wing victim culture wants to turn us all into emotional infants who never get over our trauma. The drug industry wants us all hooked on medications which often make the condition worse.)

[snorkling-in-sodasea]

Moments of Stupidity

What I mean is, I feel like listing all the instances I can think where a character does something stupid, whether it be their natural inclination to be or just taking a turn holding the stupid stick. By the time Oops rolled around, I wasn't at all upset by the characters' stupidity because, around the time Exes and Oohs came around, I learned that Helluva Boss is one of those universes where plots only happen because everyone is naturally an idiot. The degrees of which are varying but most, if not all, the plots happen because someone's a moron.

And like I said, I feel like doing this so why not? So whatever examples I can think of as I recall the whole series by far, I'll list here. Now for those who have this seriously favorite character of theirs - which is bound to be everyone, especially those who give some of their time to read this list - sorry if they end up on this list. But please remember that I'm in the belief that Helluva Boss is an universe full of idiots and that the only true difference is the varying degrees of it. So that means even my favorite characters aren't exempt from this list and I'll put the examples of stupidity when I come across it in my head. And what are my standards of stupidity, at least in this case? Instances of someone doing or saying something that leads to consequences that could have been avoided if they just had common sense and/or information that should have told them the more sensible thing to do or say but didn't because it's clearly shown that they weren't inclined to using a fucking braincell (And yeah, I know that Viv and her writers are in control over how stupid the characters are but I believe my point still stands. If someone doesn't want others to say shit about them, then that someone shouldn't do shit so stupid that it gets others to say it)

And I think I'll post it one episode at a time. That way, it'll be easier for me, especially when I'm posting late at night because that's usually when I do it, and because new episodes of Helluva Boss will come out and I'd have to make another post anyway. Seriously, if I'm hearing right, then another episode of Helluva Boss is already going to come out on Halloween. Finally, I think I'll either save the pilot for later or even pass on doing it since, as far as I know, pilots to shows aren't really canon. Haven't decided yet. Finally, please let me know if I missed any instances of stupidity because I'm just going off on memory and I don't love the show enough to go back and rewatch episodes

Anyways, without further ado...

Murder Family -

No one putting fire safety procedures or even just any safety procedures on the book. You'd think that if Blitz cared so much about getting screwed over in the worst way possible, then he'd make sure it's for sure safe in wherever it's kept. And yeah, I'm feeling that Blitz didn't do that when demanding if 'the fancy book is still intact'. As in, it sounds like there was a chance that the Grimoire could have been destroyed in the fire and Blitz knew it. So it was probably just lucky that Loona. Maybe it's slightly better that Blitz kept the Grimoire in the safe but, as Seeing Stars shows, it's its own moment of stupidity. (Which I'll get to in due time)

Blitz happily telling Moxxie that they're gonna ruin a family rather than killing a family. I guess this example isn't as bad as blatant examples latter down the line but it still resulted in his softer-hearted employee to intervene. All because Blitz is fully expecting Moxxie to be as cold as him. So it's still understandable given that Blitz is bound to not know the exact details of Moxxie's mother - that already giving Moxxie a reason to care so much about a family being ruined even if he was as cold-hearted as his boss - but I'm pissed off that Blitz at no point even thinks that it was his fault that they were in that mess and keeps pinning the blame entirely on Moxxie. Seriously, if Blitz didn't happily gloat about how they're going to ruin a family, then Moxxie wouldn't have interfered with the shot. What makes this a little stupider is that Blitz should have known Moxxie well enough by then since they apparently met each other in jail and broke out together. Meaning that Blitz should have known well enough that Moxxie isn't as cold as him or at least not enough to enjoy the thought of ruining a family. Because yeah, Millie was all 'if that's what the clients want' due to professionalism so it made a difference when it came to Blitz's attitude on the matter; I was able to tell that he liked the idea. (Which is seriously messed up given the episode Oops now that I think about it). Even if Blitz didn't know a single damn thing about Moxxie other than his name, Moxxie acted clearly enough that he didn't like the idea of killing a family so why would he find it better to ruin one? Yet Blitz just keeps up the anticipation over doing that like it wouldn't cause Moxxie any distress

Moxxie messing up the shot. Same thing as above example, it's understandable, especially when you get the context, but it still led to the family of Satan-worshipping cannibals to go after Moxxie, his wife, and his boss. If an action brought on by impulse and/or emotion leads to disastrous results, as stated above, then I'll be hard-pressed to call it smart. Blitz is to blame but just by half or at least partially. I can't ignore that Moxxie did mess up the shot and got them discovered by the crazy-ass family and put them all in danger

Blitz for fucking confirming to Martha when she gets the idea to just shoot him and Millie. Just because the fire didn't hurt you didn't mean you were invulnerable to fucking dying in general. Especially according to Viv who says that imps are just as vulnerable as living humans when it comes to dying and to just as many things (as much as she's being inconsistent about how she writes her characters and her show) Just because Martha would have thought of another way to kill you off when she inevitably discovers that the fire doesn't work, as well as her husband no doubt going to help brainstorm in permanent killing solutions, doesn't mean you had to confirm that shooting you will work. If Millie actually bothered calling you out, then it's a stupid move. Moxxie put you in that situation but you definitely didn't have to add more fuel to the fire, especially if your employees - with one of them right there with you and in just as much danger as you - is supposed to be so fucking important to you

Oh, and let's not forget the fucking phone. Blitz didn't put his phone on fucking vibrate. Considering that, in the human world, with his two field employees with him, there'd be no one but Loona to call or to be called by. And just because Blitz never expected to be running for his life. He's supposed to be an assassin. As in, no one's supposed to see him or notice him. As in, Blitz isn't supposed to be drawing attention to himself. So why the fuck would he not even put his phone on vibrate? That way, he'd just feel someone calling him instead of broadcasting his location to anyone and everyone who can hear it. And in the case of Murder Family, that includes a serial killing, Satan worshipping cannibal who's trying to shoot him dead. It's just that, in the dangerous situation that Murder Family provided, not putting the phone on vibrate became even stupider

Let's not forget Stolas now that I think about it. Yeah, he's incredibly selfish and self-centered for calling Blitz for transactional fucking when the imp is in the middle of trying not to get shot. He's still stupid because, if getting imp dick was so important to him, then he should have known that distracting Blitz in a survival situation like trying not to get shot could result in him DYING. Unless Stolas is gonna bring Blitz back from the dead or just outright perform necrophilia, then that horny owl won't get any transactional fucking whatsoever!

I'll probably include Mayberry, too. After all, she was completely overrun with emotion that overrode common sense when finding out that her husband was cheating. She never at any point turned off the computer, not before she left the school and especially not before shooting herself, especially if Mayberry is gonna act like her students are precious to her. Although I said I'll 'probably' include Mayberry because her actions have been inherently selfish. When she left the school, she thought about getting revenge to satisfy herself, well, she never thought of turning off the computer so that the kids wouldn't have to see it. Then Mayberry realizes what she did and she still never turned off the computer before committing suicide, which just traumatized the kids even further than what the teacher would have wanted. So maybe Mayberry genuinely loved and cared about her students but got so emotional that she lost common sense concerning the computers and her students, which would make it stupid. If not, then the concern for the students' mental well-being was just a facade and the only stupid thing she did was still not turning off the computers so that she wouldn't have witnesses and so wouldn't feel the need to kill herself to escape being convicted (okay, so I did still find a stupid moment in there)

(And yeah, I bitched on Blitz far more on Moxxie. There's probably favoritism, at least partially, but all this still seems and feels pretty damn logical. Besides, it does help my opinions on my most favorite that Moxxie took responsibility for his goof-up, complete with apologizing, while for my least favorite, it only hurts when Blitz fucking pinned the blame entirely on Moxx and threatened to rape him and Millie for another screw up. Besides, this is just the first episode of the series proper. I'm sure everyone will take a turn in being an idiot, and in large quantities)

[loveronlineee]

Being a Freak 101 Part 2 (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Masterlist   All Parts

Eddie Munson x Cheerleader! Reader (She/Her)

Warnings: swearing

Synopsis: Y/N gets her first class on metalheads as Eddie introduces her to his music and style

Y/N notes: thinner/smaller than Eddie, hair long enough to be put in a ponytail

Y’all remember part 1 of this??? Cuz I totally forgot about it. Hehe oh well part 2 is finally hereeeeeee

Also I changed the title, it used to be Pranks on the Preps

Sorry if you were waiting for more Three. chapters! I didn’t want to force myself to finish the next part and not take the time to plan out where the story is going. Gonna work on it more tomorrow:)

Hope you enjoy this for tonight!

Wanna be on the Eddie Munson tag list? Look here!

Wanna request something? Look here!

Eddie waited outside the school, leaning up against the wall, a cigarette in his mouth.

Suddenly the doors burst open and the cheerleaders spilled out, walking to their cars. Y/N came out with the same two girls she sat with at lunch. As soon as they saw Eddie, they started giggling to each other.

“Eddie! You waited.” Y/N said with a smile. The metalhead could tell this was her fake peppy act for this prank. Still, she was adorable.

“Of course. You asked me to.” He played along, showing the other girls that he was already wrapped around Y/N’s finger. In reality, he really was but he’d keep that a secret from Y/N for at least a little longer.

“I’ll see you guys on Monday!” Y/N waved as the rest of the cheerleaders drove out, leaving her and Eddie in the dark empty parking lot.

They began waking towards Eddie’s van. “How was Hellfire club?”

“Do you really care?” Eddie asked with a chuckle. Y/N smiled back.

“No, but tell me anyways.”

“Good. How was cheer practice?”

“Do you really care?” Yes.

“No, but tell me anyways.”

“Good.” The two got into the van and Eddie started it up.

“So what’s the plan L/N?”

“You gotta teach me about being a metalhead. Style, attitude, music. Everything.”

“So you want me to be your metalhead teacher huh?”

“Sure do Munson.”

“Yeah I think I can manage that.” Eddie grinned.

“So we going to your place?” Y/N asked. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Eddie didn’t know much about Y/N’s living arrangements but he knew his trailer wasn’t going to be up to standards.

He found himself unable to speak. It didn’t help that Y/N decided to let her hair down out of her ponytail at that exact moment. She shook her head and ran her fingers quickly through it before turning back to Eddie with a smile.

“Y-Yeah. Yeah sure.” He started driving, nerves building along the way.

How bad did I leave the trailer today? What’s on the couch? Did I leave food out??

A flood of questions filled his head, trying to find any way to prepare for Y/N walking through his front door.

He turned into Forest Hills Trailer Park and began to sink in his seat. He looked over at Y/N expecting her to have her nose turned up at the sight of where he lived.

But instead she was swaying a little in her seat, looking out the window quizzically. As Eddie parked the van, he tried to memorise the state of the inside of the trailer.

“Uh you’ll have to excuse the mess. The maid won’t be round til tomorrow.” He joked to ease the tension. Y/N chuckled as they reached the front door. The pair went inside.

Eddie could feel his anxiety building more and more. He watched as Y/N closed the door behind herself and began to look around. He waited for a disgusted look at the mess, a crinkle of her nose at the smell, a negative comment disguised as a compliment.

But no. Nothing. Y/N just smiled at him.

“You probably don’t know this about me, well most people don’t…” Y/N began. “But I used to live in a trailer park.” Eddie blinked.

“You did?” She nodded.

“Yeah, when I was little. My parents didn’t have enough for a kid but suddenly I was there and they just had to do their best.” Y/N shrugged. “My Dad got lucky, a few things went our way and now we live on Maple street with all the rich kids.”

“I had no idea.”

“Yeah so, I wanted you to know so you know I’m not judging you. To be honest, your place feels weirdly nostalgic. Kinda comforting.” Y/N smiled again. Eddie smiled back, feeling calmer.

“Eddie.” The pair turned to see his Uncle.

“Wayne! I thought you’d be at the bar.” Eddie said, which sounded a lot more suspicious when there was a pretty girl standing in their living room. “U-Uh this is Y/N she’s uh-“

“A friend from school.” Y/N saved. “It’s nice to meet you Mr Munson.” Wayne gave her a nod of approval and walked out the trailer.

“I’m going to the bar. You two have fun, but not too much fun.”

The pair made their way to Eddie’s bedroom. Eddie scrambled to grab anything lying around and shoved it in his closet. Y/N took a seat at the end of his bed as he went over to his collection of cassette tapes.

“Okaaaaay L/N. Metalhead lesson number one. Our superior taste in music.”

“Superior?” Y/N repeated comically, cocking her head to the side. A song began to play as Eddie turned to her.

“Yeah I know what I said.” Y/N giggled as she began bobbing her head to the beat. Eddie played an air guitar before dropping down next to her. “Now this my dear, is Black Sabbath.”

He walked over to his closet and opened it, having immediately forgotten that he had shoved a bunch of crap in there moments ago. It fell to the floor which Eddie ignored in favour of going through his clothes. “Okay whilst we’re filling your preppy brain with Paranoid, let’s think about your outfits…”

Y/N watched as Eddie sifted through his belongings, picking out some things. “Now the lady metalheads dress a little differently to the guys usually, but this can be a start.” He turned around and held out a pair of blue ripped jeans and a black AC/DC shirt.

Y/N took them and went over to the bathroom. Eddie looked through his music, picking the next song as he waited.

“Eddie!” Y/N called out.

“Yeah?” Eddie looked up to see Y/N in his jeans, holding the waist on one side so they wouldn’t fall down.

“You got a belt?” She chuckled. Eddie tore his eyes away from the top of Y/N’s underwear and scrambled to get her his black belt.

“Y-Yeah yeah here.”

“Thanks. Won’t be too long!” She disappeared back into the bathroom. Eddie breathed out. He could feel the heat creeping up on his cheeks. It hadn’t occurred to him that seeing Y/N in his clothes might be a little too hot for him to handle. “Holy shit!” Eddie rushed to the bathroom door.

“What? What is it? You okay?”

“Your belt buckle is hand cuffs!!!” Y/N said excitedly. “That’s so fucking cool!” Eddie grinned so wide at that. Y/N emerged from the bathroom and gave Eddie a twirl.

The jeans and the shirt were way too big for her but weirdly, she pulled it off really well. Yeah, Eddie was right. This was way too hot.

“Lookin good L/N.” He grinned. The two went back to Eddie’s room so she could use the full length mirror.

“Oh my god. I look so different.” Y/N giggled to herself as Eddie stood next to her. “Well we definitely look like we’re going to the same concert.” She said, making Eddie chuckle. “So you said that girl metalheads dress a little differently?”

“Yeah you’ll probably want to get a women’s leather jacket, some type of black boots, my rings won’t fit you so you’ll want some of them…”

“Well then, sounds like we’re going to the mall tomorrow Munson.”

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[quillsareswords]

Hi! Me again, I was hoping I could request a little blurb? Like how Damian and the reader met, like under the crooked grin arc? If not then I totally understand, just thought I would ask. Have a nice day!! 🤓❤️

No I'm not answering this like two years late ahahaha no like what who even does that

Anyway here's some thirteen year old Damian Wayne and John Constantine's apprentice. See my Swords and Spells collection for more ❤️

WARNINGS: language

MASTER LIST in BIO

It's too loud.

That's all he cares about at the moment.

Still nursing a headache, as result of a hard hit he took the night before, this place is far too loud for his liking.

Why his father dragged him along is beyond him. Mingle. He'd scoffed this morning and he's scoffing now. The heir of the Demon and son of the Batman does not mingle. Especially with...these people.

The only reason he'd come at all was because, as Pennyworth pointed out this morning, it would be useful to have a standing relationship with some of the other vigilanties of the world, in the event that he has to call for backup.

He's been Robin for three years now, after all, and he's still only really got Superboy and some Teen Titans he could use for a fallback. What if they betray him?

He splits off from Batman almost immediately. Every person he's been introduced too between the main hall and the Zeta Tubes has only commented on how cute he is and joked about how alike they look. Introducing himself hopefully won't have that effect.

Plus, it's quieter on this side of the room.

"Right, but like, theoretically, how would you punch a ghost?"

His eye twitches. What.

He whips around to see who's asked such an absurd question. More accurately, who to avoid.

It's Wonder Girl. Of course.

She's leaning on one of the tables, in a new suit, bright hair brushed and straightened neatly. She's obviously here to make friends.

Whoever she's talking to, however, obviously is not.

You're slouching in a chair, leaning both arms on the tabletop, squishing a cheek onto one propped up palm. You don't seem to be wearing a suit of any kind, nor a mask, which is probably why Cassie came up to you in the first place. Instead, you're in jeans and combat boots, huddled into an oversized jacket. There's a ring on most of your fingers, and he counts three necklace chains from what he can see from here.

"Iron knuckle dusters. And it's not theoretical." You blink at her slowly.

"Really? Have you ever punched a ghost?"

You sigh quietly. "Nope."

"Then how do you know it's not theoretical?"

"Because I've seen it done before," you grumble. "It's my job to know."

She rolls her eyes good naturedly. "You're like, ten. You don't have a job."

You glare. "I'm thirteen. And it is my job."

Interesting, to say the least.

He walks over, squaring his shoulders and putting on his most professional face.

Cass sees him first. "Robin! Oh, I didn't know you were coming, I would've told Diana to tell Superman to bring Superboy!"

He sighs, deeply. "I have quite enough interaction with the Supers, Sandsmark."

You glance over, boredly. He watches, from behind emotionless white lenses, as you give him what he can only assume is a standard once-over.

It's coincidence that he only speaks up once your eyes reach his face again. "Who are you?"

It doesn't escape him that Cass looks at you expectantly, too. As if she's been talking to you this whole time without ever asking your name.

"Hellblazer's apprentice."

He crosses his arms. "Do you have a name, apprentice?"

Your gaze shifts from disinterested and passive to something very sharp and very much directed fully at him. "Do you, jackass?"

Cass goes wide-eyed and sucks in a silent breath. She glances between you and Robin.

This is the point at which, usually, Damian would have smelled a challenge, threw his metaphorical hand of cards down, and barked a challenge right back. But there's just something...different.

And it has nothing to do with the way his heart stutters in his chest now that he has full view of you. That's– Well that must be part of your powers, or whatever your thing is.

He decides to keep his cards in his hands. He minds his tone, just to see what happens. "I'm Robin."

You notice the shift, and react accordingly. Your gaze softens again, to something indifferent. "Oh, right. With Batman, yeah?"

He nods.

You nod too, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. Opening your body language, just a little. You give him your persona name.

Cassie can only stare.

She doesn't know Robin personally, exactly. Strictly through vigilante work. But she's still seen him get into brawls with men three times his size over far less than getting glared at and called a jackass.

"I'm gonna go find, um–" she scrambles for a name, for just long enough that you take notice, "Diana. It was really nice to meet you, though!"

You nod once, but she's gone before you get a real response out. You both watch her weave through the crowd of costumed adults, until she's out of sight.

"What was that about?" you wonder, assuming that his use of her last name meant they know one another.

"I don't know," he replies, squinting in her direction.

He catches sight of the Titans while he looks out into the crowd. He supposes some familiar company would be nice. Beast Boy is awfully loud, though. And Kori has such high energy...

You, on the other hand, seem to be just as much of a reluctant attendant as himself. You're sitting here, alone, quietly. And you seemed content talking to Wonder Girl, so you probably don't mind company—you seem like you'd have no problem running him off if he's wrong.

It would be very smart to have a contact with supernatural knowledge and experience. Father has Hellblazer, after all. And he's needed him many times.

It's a strategic choice. Obviously.

"What did you mean, when you told Wonder Girl that it's your job to know how to punch spirits?" He looks down at you.

You snort, but meet his eyes all the same. "Okay, I mean– Firstly, that's not my job, just part of it. Well...I guess it is." You stop and shake your head, looking away from him quickly.

You suck in a breath. "See, my job is to know how to fight things like ghosts. Mostly demons. Ghosts aren't much of a threat to the general population."

Demons? Like Raven's father? Now that would be a useful contact. He uses his heel to kick the chair beside you out from under the table and takes a seat. "Explain."

Your posture shifts a little. A little more towards him. A little more open. Like nobody's been asking you the right questions until now. "Well, I study demonology..."

[xjoonchildx]

snapshot | jhs x reader

summary: after a day at the beach, hoseok has some surprises in store for his longtime love

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: fluff, smut, fluff OH MY GOD SO MUCH FLUFF y'all i apologize

word count: 4.7K

notes: this fic is a commission fic for the lovely @wwilloww as part of the @armyadvocates fundraising initiative to stop hate crimes against AAPI. miss willow asked for an old house, candles and soft smut as well as a mystery box. i did my best to deliver on all counts because willow is amazing and deserves all good things.

thanks go to @hobi-gif @ladyartemesia and @btsarmy9593 for beta reading parts of this story, thanks so much for keeping me on track ladies! a very special shoutout to @sahmfanficbts who helped me come up with a very *key* part of this plot.

warnings: no one dies? no one is in danger of dying? who am i? standard smut, unprotected sex. liberal sunscreen use. low air quality due to paint fumes and sawdust. references to yoongi, who we can assume is cranky offscreen, references to @untaemedqueen first suggestion of what was in the box.

Warm.

Hoseok is so warm right now, inside and out. He stretches his long body out on the length of his beach lounger, enjoying the feeling of the sun beating down on his skin. His buzz is mellow and pleasant. He lets his eyes drift shut, lulled into a lazy calm by the sounds he can hear all around him.

The steady lap of the waves against the shore. Kids laughing as they run around on the sand. Off in the distance, a bluetooth speaker thumps out a song that’s too far away for him to recognize. And after a few minutes, another sound.

Your bright laughter, carried to him on the breeze.

God, he loves that sound.

“You are such a lightweight,” you tease. Hoseok can hear the smile in your voice. “Two beers and you pass out on me.”

He cracks one eye open to find you standing beside his lounger. The early evening sunlight streams through the strands of your dark hair and warms your bronzed skin, bathing you in a kind of golden halo. He gazes up at you, languid and content.

“I’m not passed out,” he argues with a slow grin. “I’m relaxing. Come relax with me.”

Hoseok doesn’t give you a chance to accept his offer, leaning up to grab your hand and pull you down into the narrow space beside him. You laugh when he wraps his arms and legs around you like a starfish, pulling your back flush against his chest.

“I’m just enjoying the perfect day,” he murmurs, nosing at the back of your ear, “With my perfect girl.”

“Flatterer.”

Hoseok can’t see you rolling your eyes, but he knows you’re doing it anyway. Just like he can’t see the way you flush and he knows you’re doing that, too.

“We should eat,” you say after a while, shivering when he strokes the pads of his fingers up the soft skin of one bare leg. “Grab something before we have to take the bikes back.”

Hoseok hums under his breath as he slides his palm up the curve of your thigh, boldly searching for trouble under the hem of your sundress. You bat his hand away and he laughs, hugging you tighter.

“Alright,” he agrees in a whisper, ghosting his lips down the nape of your neck. You jolt in his arms when he sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, nipping playfully. “Just a quick bite.”

There’s not much difference between a sundress and a négligée is there?

Certainly not from where Hoseok is sitting, anyway.

He studies you as he rides close behind, watching the way your hair whips in the breeze as you pedal. One delicate sundress strap slips down your sun-warmed shoulder, exposing just a bit more of your back. Then the wind grabs a hold of your sheer skirt, lifting it just long enough for Hoseok to get a glimpse of the pretty white panties underneath.

God, he loves those panties.

Could stare at them all day, really.

But instead he forces himself to pedal faster and take the lead, grinning when you take note of his advance and glare. It’s for the best because while you think this is just some meandering evening ride, he’s the only one who knows where you’re really headed. For the best because if he falls off his bike and breaks his face because he’s too busy staring at your ass, the entire night will be ruined before it has the chance to start.

It’s quiet on this street just a few blocks from the shore.

Dolmeori Beach is rockier, more wooded than the beaches preferred by most tourists and that’s always suited Hoseok just fine. When he was a kid, he’d steal away when the weather was warm and hop the train here from Gwangju any chance he got.

It’s always felt like his place, his personal piece of sea and sand.

Pine trees loom high over the pavement, canopies so dense they block out much of the waning sunlight streaming down from above. The shade beneath the leaves makes the heat bearable, but it also makes it hard to judge the time. Hoseok steals a quick look at his watch.

Right on schedule. He hopes Yoongi followed his instructions to the letter.

“Hurry up, slowpoke,” he teases over his shoulder, and he chuckles at the sound of frustration you make as you pedal faster to catch up. It takes a few seconds for you to coast into position at his side.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” you fuss, “Wanna clue me in?”

Hoseok turns his head to smile at you, sly like a fox.

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

The realtor had said the place would need a little love.

Turns out, it needs a lot more than a little. But Hoseok was able to see right past the weathered wooden porch and salt air-worn paint right away. When he found this place online, he knew it was the one.

He slows his bike to a stop as the two of you make your approach, taking note of the warm light that glows just behind the frosted glass pane in the front door. Looks like Yoongi came through.

“What is this place?” you ask, skidding to a stop beside him. You stand over your bike on tiptoes as you survey the house, brow knit in confusion.

“It’s a surprise,” Hoseok grins, hopping off his bike. He shoves the kickstand into place and offers you his hand, which you accept with a suspicious smile. “Wanna go in?”

“Yeah sure,” you shrug. “We’ve probably already stolen these bikes. What’s a little breaking and entering on top of that?”

Hoseok laughs, leading the way to the front door.

He cringes when the porch floorboards creak loudly beneath his feet, making a mental note to put that project next on his to-do list. You stand with arms crossed, watching silently as he crouches down to lift the mat at the front door, fingers feeling beneath for the concealed key.

You stop him with fingers wrapped around his forearm when he gets to his feet.

“Wait,” you whisper frantically. “We can’t just walk into someone’s house, Hoseok.”

He chuckles before leaning down to kiss the adorable confusion right off your face. Then he slides his key into the lock and pushes the door wide open.

“Not someone’s house,” he corrects, watching you peer skeptically inside.

You step slowly through the threshold and scan the candle-lit front room before turning to him with wide eyes.

“Our house.”

“You bought a beach house.”

It’s the third time you’ve said it by now, and not once has the hushed observation been directed at Hoseok. You said it when you brushed your fingertips over the freshly-dried spackle on the living room wall, said it again as you passed your hand over the base coat of stain on the mantle over the fireplace.

You say it again as you turn to him, jaw slack with disbelief.

“You bought a beach house.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok admits sheepishly, uncertain of your reaction. He tries to see the room the way you must see it now, candles and tools scattered across the tables, floors covered in drop cloths, cans of paint and plaster stacked up in the corners.

Yoongi had done a decent job of clearing up most of the clutter before he left, but judging by the astonishment on your face, he’s probably been romanticizing the mess in here.

He’d really hoped to have a lot more done the first time he brought you here, but he’s learned the hard way that some home renovation projects don’t go as smoothly in real life as they do on YouTube. The process has been a bit of trial and error, with a lot more error than he’d originally counted on.

“I know it doesn’t look like a whole lot right now,” he says, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, “But it’s going to look great when I’m done. Yoongi helped me sand all week.”

You shake your head like you’re coming out of a daze.

“Oh my god Hoseok, no -- ” you vow with a shaky laugh, “ -- no, this is incredible. This is amazing. I’m in shock.”

“Yeah?” Hoseok grins, relief melting over him. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted -- ”

“ -- Wait,” you interrupt, one brow quirked high as you step closer. “You said… you said something important. You said this was our house.”

“Did I?”

You narrow your dark eyes at him and he chuckles uncomfortably, nerves kicking in for the first time tonight. The feeling -- and the occasion both call for more booze. Which he’s prepared for.

“Are you going to give me a tour?” you ask.

“Later,” he says. “After.”

“After what, Hoseok? You’re killing me slowly with all this suspense.”

“Hang out here for a second,” he instructs, ducking into the small kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”

It takes him no time at all to find the bottle of Moet he’s stashed in the fridge and the clean champagne flutes tucked away into the corner of his dutifully-dusted kitchen cabinet. He double-checks the contents of the box on the counter, making sure everything is in place.

Then he takes a deep breath.

Your brows lift in surprise when he walks back into the room with that box in his hands. You watch him set it down on the floor, saying nothing when he turns back to retrieve the champagne and glasses.

When he finally returns, you’re on your knees -- examining the package. Lips pursed thoughtfully as you press your fingers to the gold flecks on the fabric lid.

“Hoseok,” you whisper, flicking your gaze up to find his. “I have so many questions right now.”

You look so damned beautiful in this candlelight -- like you brought your golden glow from the beach indoors. Like you absorbed the sun’s rays and you’re emitting them now like some kind of superpower.

“Have a drink with me,” he murmurs, “And I’ll answer them.”

Something in the room shifts then; the temperature changes. The silly fun of the afternoon evaporates, leaving behind something heavy and heady. Hoseok knows you feel it too, when your half-smile slowly drops and you pull your lower lip between your teeth.

“Okay,” you agree softly, “Let’s have a drink.”

You watch him with those focused dark eyes as he pops the champagne. The drink bubbles over the lip of both flutes as he pours, on account of his haste and shaky hands. Then you take one of the glasses in hand and offer him the other, which he quickly accepts.

“To this surprise housewarming,” you declare, raising your flute for a toast.

Hoseok clinks his glass against yours, taking note of the way you watch him carefully over the lip of your glass as you’re tilting back the flute to take a sip. He decides he can’t keep you -- or himself -- in suspense any longer.

“You know how special you are to me, right?”

You make a face.

“Did you bring me to your new house to break up with me?”

Hoseok’s startled laugh turns into a cough and tears prick his eyes as champagne bubbles blaze a path up his sinuses.

“Yes,” he says dryly, once he’s managed to collect himself. “I figured dumping you by candlelight sounded like the most romantic option.”

You tip your head back when you laugh, light playing off the curve of your neck, your collarbones, the tiny gold pendant that sits in the pretty dip at the base of your throat.

God, he loves your skin.

Hoseok looks at you long and hard before lifting his flute to take a long drink.

“This is for you,” he says quietly, acknowledging the box out loud for the first time.

“What’s in it?”

“A human head,” Hoseok snorts, flinching when you reach over to pinch his leg. “Don’t be a pain. Just open it.”

Your eyes light with excitement as you smooth your hands over the lid and Hoseok can’t help but smile. But your excitement turns into confusion the moment you open the box and find the neat row of plain white envelopes inside.

“What is this?”

“Quit asking me questions,” Hoseok deadpans, pouring himself another drink. He tops off your glass, too. “And start at the front.”

You shake your head with a wry smile as you work the first envelope open, slipping your fingers in between the paper folds to fish out the contents inside. Hoseok sips his champagne as you produce the polaroid photo, head cocked to the side as you study it.

It was cold that day, he remembers that. You’d been bundled up in a pretty scarf and matching belted coat. In the photo, the mid-morning sun flares behind you, illuminating your profile as you squint up at a display of laminated menus.

“This is me,” you murmur, mouth quirking into a disbelieving smile, “At the coffee truck outside of work.”

“Yup.”

“We’d just started dating.”

“Yup.”

“How did you take this without me noticing?”

“Easy,” Hoseok laughs. “You stared at that menu for five minutes straight. I’ve never seen someone take coffee selection so seriously. Thought you were gonna order the most complicated drink in history.”

You roll your eyes but you laugh. So does he.

“Turn it over.”

You flip the polaroid over in your hands, eyes moving over the neat block handwriting on the back.

coolest girl i ever met

“This is the day I knew I liked you,” Hoseok murmurs, “Like, really liked you.”

Your eyes are a bit glassy when you look up at him now, the corner of your mouth tugging into a soft smile.

“You were that sure that fast, huh?” “Yeah,” he admits, scratching self-consciously at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I was.”

You move onto the next envelope, this time prepared when you pull out yet another polaroid picture. This one is harder to place, taken in the dark, mostly black but for a few splashes of vivid light.

“I don’t know this one,” you frown, ghosting your finger across one particularly colorful blur of red and gold. “I can’t make it out.”

You turn the polaroid over, looking once again for Hoseok’s neat block letters.

she’s into me

You laugh out loud.

“That was the lantern festival in Cheonggyecheon,” Hoseok explains. “I’d invited you, but you’d had plans, remember? And I was just going to get Yoongi to go with me but you called me last minute to say you’d decided to come.”

“I remember,” you say with a smile. “Yeri invited me to a movie, but I cancelled on her. I wanted to hang out with you instead.”

“Yeah, well that’s the night I knew you really liked me.”

“Cocky,” you smirk, reaching for another envelope. “But warranted.”

Your eyes light with recognition the moment you pull the next picture out. You’re crouched down at the edge of his mother’s koi pond, one finger making ripples on the surface of the water.

“First time we ever went to Gwangju together,” you muse quietly. “First time I met your parents.”

You flip the polaroid over.

pretty sure my mom loves her more than she loves me

“Okay, this might actually be true,” you tease, taking a sip of your champagne. “Your mom and dad love me.”

“Yeah, well that was the day I decided I loved you, too,” Hoseok chuckles. “The point where I kind of knew there was no turning back.”

You look up from the photograph then, eyes glassy with emotion when they find his. Candlelight flickering across your face as you look at him fondly.

“You still feel that way?”

“Hell yeah, I do,” he laughs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Keep going.”

The next polaroid is a selfie of Hoseok in bed but it’s by no means sexual. There are dark circles under his eyes and his skin has a sallow tint. Next to his pillow, the bedside table is littered with cold medicine and empty cups.

“Is this when you had the flu?” you ask, flipping the polaroid over. The neat block lettering on the back confirms your theory.

she took care of me

“You were so pitiful,” you laugh, shaking your head at the memory. “Wrapped up in your blankets like a burrito. I swear, men have zero tolerance for discomfort.”

“I nearly died,” Hoseok protests dramatically. “But you dropped everything to come take care of me. That’s the day I knew you loved me, too.”

Your smile is brilliant now, open and sweet as you reach for the last remaining envelope. Hoseok takes another swig of champagne, slugging it down as you pull out the polaroid and study the image.

You are wearing your delicate sundress, leaned up against the wooden railing that separates the sand and rocks. Standing just next to your bike, nose in the air as you breathe in the salt carried on the wind.

“This is today,” you murmur, brows knitting together when you flip the picture over and find the back side blank. “And you haven’t written anything here.”

“Yeah, well,” Hoseok starts and stops, clearing his throat. “I haven’t had a chance to write it in yet.”

“Oh.”

“That’s the day I asked you to marry me.”

“Oh.”

You blink. Once, then again. Hoseok can hear the shaky breath you take in when your mouth parts in surprise. He sets his champagne flute down, sufficiently bolstered by the booze.

“So that’s what I’m doing right now. I’m asking you to marry me.”

You’re still mute with shock, eyes wide as they go from Hoseok to the picture and back to Hoseok again.

“But uh, the longer you don’t say anything, the less confident I feel about this entire plan,” he chuckles awkwardly.

You take him off balance when you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and your thighs around his waist. He keeps you both from toppling over with a palm flat to the floor, laughing as you pepper his face with kisses.

“So is that a yes?”

“Yes,” you sigh, pressing your lips to his temple, his neck, his jaw. “Yes. To you and to these amazing pictures and to this beach house. Yes to all of it.”

You pull away from him to grab the champagne, eyes flashing mischievously as you take a drink straight from the bottle. “Yes to champagne, too.”

Hoseok feigns shock. “Naughty.”

You kiss him deeply then, thoroughly, enough for him to feel the remnants of the carbonation on your tongue. You tease him with a barely there roll of your hips and his cock responds instantaneously, at the mercy of the warm friction he can feel straight through the thin material of his board shorts.

“You know what I’m thinking?” you murmur against his mouth.

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea, yeah,” Hoseok chuckles, sucking a breath between his teeth when you bite the skin just below his ear.

“We have a lot to celebrate, right?” you reason, tone light. “But we came here for a housewarming.”

You lean back just far enough to pull your sundress over your head, tossing it carelessly aside, leaving you in nothing but those pretty white panties he loves so much.

“So we should warm it.”

Hoseok grins, pulling the champagne bottle out of your grip. He turns it up just like you did, finishing what’s left before setting it back down.

“I like the way you think.”

The only bedroom in this house is buried beneath a two-inch thick layer of sawdust right now.

Not that making it to a bedroom seems high on your list of priorities.

The fact that you’re both sitting on top of a drop cloth on Hoseok’s living room floor isn’t stopping you from threading your fingers into his hair, slipping your tongue into his mouth, grinding against his lap.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” you laugh, pressing your bare breasts to his chest once he’s managed to untangle himself from your limbs long enough to shrug out of his shirt. Your pebbled nipples drag across the lithe planes of his chest and his cock jumps in his shorts.

“Clever.”

“That’s me,” Hoseok murmurs against your lips, deft fingers slipping beneath the damp cotton between your thighs. He slides the pad of one long finger across your wet slit and you gasp, rocking against it.

“Gotta get you out of these panties,” he laments, pulling one nipple into his mouth and working it with his teeth. You shudder in his hold. “Quick.”

“What are you in such a hurry for?” you tease, circling your hips to chase the perfect pressure of his fingertips. “We have all night.”

“We have about three more minutes if you keep grinding on me like this,” Hoseok laughs, shifting your bodies to lean you back onto the floor. “So give me a break because I want to enjoy this.”

You lie back for him dutifully, dark hair spilling onto the drop cloth around you, skin gleaming in the candlelight. Your gold pendant twinkles at the base of your neck.

God, he loves the way you look like this.

Flushed with excitement and anticipation. Like a feast laid out just for him. He rids himself of those pesky board shorts as fast as he can, leaning over you on hands and knees.

“You’re gonna marry me,” he muses, burying his face into the soft skin under your jaw. “You already said yes, can’t take it back now.”

Your laughter is echoing in his ears as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, across the bronzed planes of your shoulder. He can taste the day on your skin; the ocean salt and sunscreen mixed with that flavor that’s so uniquely you.

“I don’t want to take it back,” you sigh, whimpering when Hoseok kisses a path down the velvety skin between your breasts. He travels lower, kissing just below your bellybutton as he starts working your panties off with one hand. “I’m gonna keep you.”

Hoseok chuckles as he tosses your panties away, off to somewhere unimportant. What’s important is the way you take a deep breath and hold it when his mouth hovers coyly over your cunt.

“Look at me,” he directs, peering up at you from beneath heavy eyelids. You open your eyes to meet his gaze, candlelight dancing over your pretty face.

“I love you,” he breathes, lowering his mouth to make contact with your clit. The air leaves your lungs in that moment, a soft exhalation of air that makes the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end.

“I love you too,” you sigh, hips jerking at the contact, fingers digging hard into his hair. “So much.”

He knows you by now, knows how you like to be touched. Your rhythmic panting goes a bit ragged, when he slides two fingers into your cunt, crooking up to stroke you the way you like while his mouth works your clit.

God, he loves this part.

The part where you lose any semblance of control. The desperate sounds you make when you start to come apart beneath his mouth and hands.

“Hoseok -- “ your voice is strangled when you call out, “ -- Hobi, I’m gonna come.”

Something about the way you say his name goes straight to his dick. He grits his teeth when your nails dig almost painfully into his scalp as you start to tremble, shuddering against his mouth.

“That’s it, baby,” he soothes, pinning your hips down with his strong hands, keeping you from pulling away from the pleasure that borders on pain. “That’s it. Sound so good when you come for me.”

Hoseok stays face first in your cunt, nose and tongue pressed against you, until he’s certain the last wave has come and gone. Between his own legs, his cock pulses painfully, leaking pre-come at the thought of finally being inside of you.

Your body twitches with the aftershocks of your release as he slowly kisses his way up your thighs, your mound, your stomach.

“How was that?” he asks with a teasing tilt to his mouth, stealing your ability to answer when he kisses you deeply, fitting his slim hips between your legs. He reaches down to grab his stiff cock, sliding it across your slick entrance. You clamp your thighs together to tighten the drag and he groans at the friction.

“Amazing,” you sigh, dragging your nails over his ass, up the lean muscles of his back. “Perfect. You should let me return the favor.”

His dick practically jumps at the suggestion, stomach contracting hard at the prospect of feeling your pretty mouth wrapped around it. But Hoseok is too worked up, too riled up by the alcohol and the excitement.

“Can’t tonight,” he pants, arousal shooting up his spine when you wrap one hand around his now-wet cock. You pump him lazily, trailing soft bites from his jaw to his shoulder. “Need to be inside of you.”

“Yeah, I’m ready for that too,” you admit, guiding the blunt head of his cock to your entrance.

He surges forward then, pushing past the tight grip of your fingers, groaning as he’s enveloped completely by your warm cunt. You whimper at the stretch, locking your legs around him, gasping when he bottoms out.

He pulls back to the tip only to drive in again, earning another strangled moan. You’re squirming beneath him, breathless and dewy, looking like some kind of wet dream.

“I’ll never get over how good it feels to be inside of you,” Hoseok admits, burying himself as deep as he humanly can into you.

You’re so wet he can feel you spilling out onto the base of his dick and for one fleeting moment he wishes you knew how good this feels for him. How wet and hot and tight you feel around him. How being inside of you like this makes his brain go haywire, reduces him to only instinct and need.

You lift your hips to meet each snap of his, the wet sound of your joining echoing off the walls in this mostly empty house.

He hears you moaning his name in between the other sounds you make, in between the panting and mewling that makes his balls tighten. You grip his forearms as he grinds against you, kissing you in between desperate breaths.

“I think I’m gonna come again,” you gasp against his mouth. “Don’t stop.”

“Oh, fuck,” Hoseok groans, pulling back to get to his knees. He hooks one of your legs over the crook of one strong forearm, using his one free hand to press a thumb to your clit. His rhythm falters as he watches himself slide in and out of you, hypnotized by the sight of his body joined to yours.

You lift your ass off the floor, back arching as you chase the pressure of his fingers. Hoseok strokes you desperately, feeling his orgasm looming menacingly at the base of his cock. It takes just a few more strained pumps of his hips to set you off.

The second he feels you clamp down around him, Hoseok folds back over you, arms braced on either side of you as he thrusts through his own orgasm. He shuts his eyes and groans as he empties his cock inside of you, thrusting until he can’t anymore.

He collapses onto you, heart racing as he tries to catch his breath.

“Don’t leave me,” you groan when Hoseok peels his damp skin away from yours to get to his feet.

He strides across the room, completely nude, grinning when you turn onto your side and go up on one elbow to ogle him.

“Just for a second,” he calls out, pulling out every unorganized drawer in the kitchen until he finally comes across a pen. “Gotta finish something.”

He makes a show of holding it in the air as he walks back into the living room, opening the gold-flecked box, and pulling out the last unmarked polaroid photo.

You’re smiling the entire time you watch him pen the last caption on the last photograph.

she said yes

tag list!

@japzalileo @dionysusrage @hey-itsmina @myimaginationsrunningwild @hauntedlilies @spring2787 @suppbeccc @veronawrites @minyoongiboongi @katbonv

[thebeautyoffanfics]

Hey there Savi.. could i request a kou,mitsuba and tsukasa x reader where their s/o gets bullied alot?? I've been struggling with it recently and now that school is going to start again im dreading it .. thank you in advance <3

kou minamoto x gn!reader, mitsuba sousuke x gn!reader, tsukasa yugi x gn!reader

a/n: of course!! I’m really sorry that you’ve had experiences like that, but I also genuinely hope that this year will be better! You’ve got this-!! And don’t be afraid to ask for help <3 you’re so so welcome, tho I’m sure schools probably started by now, therefore I’m super sorry for the time this took- and thank you so much for requesting <3

Waaaaaah i’m also sorry if it’s OOC, cos I know Tsukasa’s at least is;;; writer’s block is aaaaaaah-;; I’ve genuinely been writing this since September 19th,,,,

warnings: bullying

word count: 2,044

kou minamoto <3

You glanced at your phone screen, the date flashing up at you. It was depressing. Thoughts of previous years danced in your head, as you shut your phone back off. You currently stood outside of your school, “open house” finally over. School was starting back in just a few days. Your days of freedom could be counted on one hand… this was, by far, one of your least favorite times of the year.

“(Y/N)! Do you still want to walk to the park?” Kou questioned, running up beside you. You nodded, hoping that spending time with your boyfriend would get your mind off of school, and memories related to such. As the two of you began to walk, you could practically feel the question on the tip of Kou’s tongue. He always made himself rather obvious- his hands fidgeted a bit, his gaze lowering to the ground.

“Say, (Y/N)... you seem sad. Is it because school’s starting back?”

You thought for a moment, unsure of how to put it. He certainly wasn’t wrong…

“Yeah, that’s basically it… last year was just… not a good year, haha.”

“Oh? Well, I’m sure this one will be better!! If you want, we can make a list or something? All the bad things about last year can be something we change this year-!”

Despite bitterly knowing that it wasn’t exactly something within your realm of control, you laughed a bit. “That’s… insanely corny, Kou. I didn’t say a terrible idea- just… corny.”

When you glanced up at him, you noticed his red face, as he blurted out an excuse. A moment of fumbling over his words passed, before he gave up, glancing off to the side once more.

“Wh-whatever- I mean, just… like, tell me what’s wrong, if you want to. And I’ll try to help. Alright?”

“It’s really not something either of us can help, Kou.”

“So? I’m your boyfriend,” He seemed a bit embarrassed to say, most likely not used to pulling that sort of card, “If you don’t want to tell me, I can’t make you. But, if you’re alright with telling me, I want to know. Either way, I’m here for you...”

“Ah… I know it, Kou. Honestly, I just… dealt with some bullying last year, so I’m really not looking forward to this year. No matter how much I hear ‘oh, the bully does it to feel better about themself’, it’s just emotionally… hm, awful, you know?”

“Oh… I understand, (Y/N). I do remember some people picking on me, since I have a big brother like Teru- it’s not fun at all. Here!! I’ll stay with you, 24/7! Sit with me during classes, and I’ll hang out with you during free time!” “Thanks, Kou- but we probably won’t have every class together.”

“Then- just tell me if something happens during the class,” He spoke, crossing his arms rather seriously. “I’ll talk with the teacher! Easy peasy!!”

A moment passed, before Kou took your hand, looking at the ground, then back up with you. His eyebrows were furrowed just slightly, his eyes not as wide as they usually were. Kou was being serious- as serious as his sweet mind could let him be. He almost seemed to resemble his big brother even more- when the two were serious.

“If something happens, tell me, okay? I mean it. I don’t want this year to be bad for you- as your friend and boyfriend! Let me do what I can to help, alright?”

You blinked a bit. Kou’s words were so sincere, you felt your heart beat a bit quicker. “A-alright. Thank you, Kou. I really mean it.” You spoke, bringing the boy into a hug to hide whatever sort of expression you were making.

“Of course! You don’t need to thank me, (Y/N). I’m happy to try and help-!”

mitsuba sousuke <3

“(Y/N), if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I’ll give you something to complain about.”

Ah, Mitsuba… he spoke, his arms crossed as he sat next to you, silently noticing your slightly disheveled clothes. Judging by the slightly down look you wore, too many things were now adding up. Something was bothering you, and he was bound and determined to find out what it was.

“Mitsuba, it’s okay, really. Here! Let’s eat, I’m starving!” You opened up your bento box, sliding one his way, and sticking the chopsticks into your mouth. Though you hummed happily, Mitsuba was… in Detective Mode, to put it lightheartedly. Your every move was being analyzed, as he tried his best to figure out what was wrong. Your eyebrows furrowed, as you swallowed a bit harder than usual.

“What’s the point of lying to me, dummy? If you aren’t hungry, it’s probably because whatever is bothering you is ruining your appetite. Talk to me. I’m serious.”

You sighed, feeling as if the food was stuck in your throat. Or maybe your throat simply felt as though it had a lump in it…? Either way, you were painfully aware of the unpleasant feeling. Along with the creeping suspicion that Mitsuba wasn’t going to leave this alone. Was he good at reading people?? Were you just easy to read…? Or maybe, he was just far too accustomed to the way you reacted to things. Able to focus in on the little things, especially when he wanted to. Perhaps it was the talent of a photographer? Being able to read the entire picture??

Perhaps you were thinking too much into it, desperate for a way to get your mind off of the things going on around you.

“I’m just… dealing with some stuff.”

“Well, duh. What kind of stuff?”

You kept your gaze glued to the floor, fiddling absentmindedly with the chopsticks. You knew you could confide in Mitsuba… yet, something about it felt practically impossible. What would happen if you told him? Could he do anything? He was merely a ghost…

“Oi, I asked a question. Listen, and listen well, you idiot- I know I can’t solve all your problems, but I can at least listen- which is what you’d better be doing right now. You listen to me, though who wouldn’t want to is beyond me, so I can at least do the same. I’m not your therapist, but I am your boyfriend.”

Those words danced around in your mind for a bit, as you considered how to put it. For a moment, you simply nodded, letting Mitsuba know you heard- and were acknowledging- what he said. A few more moments passed before you began to speak.

“Lately, there have been some students… picking on me, I guess. It’s… discouraging, and makes school feel like a living nightmare. You’re the only good thing in my day at this hellhole.”

“Oh.”

You tightened your grip on the chopsticks, trying to read Mitsuba’s tone. Suddenly, it clicked- remembering Mitsuba mentioning being bullied for being “feminine” and “foul-mouthed”. He truly, genuinely, understood where you were coming from.

“I see, then… I’ll tell you what to do, (Y/N). Tell an adult, lame-o. I don’t give a flying flip about ‘oh, they won’t believe me’ or ‘what if the bullies blah blah.’ At least try it- it’s hard, but I don’t care about that either. Also, freaking ignore them. Obviously, you don’t want to pay them attention, so don’t.”

“Mitsuba, it’s not that easy-”

“I know. (Y/N), I’ve been in your shoes. Maybe it’s different- I dunno what kind of bullying they’re doing. Still, if you’re good enough for my standards, you know you’re at least worth something. So don’t let those low-lives get you down. I promise you, if I could, I’d give them a piece of my mind. But, since I can’t, just… do it yourself, or something. Don’t endure it, you rat.”

(“Mitsuba, all your insults lowkey feel like bullying-”

“Shut up, stupid-face, you can’t tell a teacher on a ghost. What’re you gonna say?? Waaaah, sensei, school mystery number 3 is calling me names!! Hah.”

“Tsuchigomori-sensei can see you, you know. And he teaches both Minamoto boys!”

“Lalalaaaa, I can’t hear you-”)

tsukasa yugi <3

Tsukasa… knows.

There was no other way to put it. You knew he knew, and you knew he was just waiting. A part of him wanted you to ask him for help- to confide in him, even if it took some pushing. He was… a bit different in that sense- I mean, how was he to know you didn’t enjoy being bullied? Was it the same way he felt when Amane looked at him with such hatred?

“(Y/N)!! What’s with such a sad look?? Did you get a bad test grade?” Tsukasa questioned, floating alongside you as you entered the broadcasting room. You simply shook your head, placing your bookbag on the floor, then standing back up.

“It’s just been a day, Tsu,” You added, taking a seat near Sakura. As you did, she pushed a cup of tea your way, her gaze as it usually was. She looked right through you, as if you were nothing but a ghost. Still, it was a much better look than the ones given by the bullies. Muttering a ‘thank you’, you lifted the cup, fiddling with it slightly.

“If there’s something bothering you, feel free to share it,” Sakura spoke, her gaze staying on you, then finally closing as she sipped from her cup.

“If there’s something bothering you, share it.” Tsukasa added, placing his head on your shoulder and staring at your eyes. His gaze drifted to your hands when you brought the cup to your lips, then over to your throat as you struggled to swallow.

“Runt, if you don’t back away from them, you’ll the the one bothering them,” Natsuhiko spoke, raising his eyebrows at Tsukasa, then offering you a slightly concerned look. His expression was enough for you to know he wanted to know if you were alright- to which you shrugged, reaching up and patting the side of Tsukasa’s face.

“Don’t worry, guys. I’ll be fine, really.”

Sakura pondered for a moment, before standing. “Mitsuba, would you like to walk with me? I should go grab something.”

Mitsuba, who had been sitting off to the side- glanced up, his usual puppy-like expression on his face. “Sure,” He replied, standing up, practically in sync with Natsuhiko.

“I’ll go as well, my lady!”

Oh. She’s doing that on purpose.

Your eyes followed the trio as they left the room, and you could feel Tsukasa’s eyes still stuck on you. The moment the door shut, he spoke. “(Y/N), tell me what’s wrong. You don’t seem to enjoy being miserable!”

“Am I supposed to?” “You’re miserable then? What’s wrong, c’mon!!”

“I didn’t say I was- just that I don’t think many people like it,” You spoke, taking another sip from the tea. The warmth of it made your throat feel hot, but it didn’t help the lump stuck in it.

“(Y/N). Just admit to me what’s wrong, and I’ll do what I can!”

You sighed, not wanting to grow frustrated. Tsukasa was… trying. He just didn’t understand everything- the boy who enjoyed seeing people wear normally unpleasant expressions, of course he wouldn’t personally understand. He wanted to help you, but how could a ghost help? Much less, the ghost of a boy such as him?

“(Y/N)-” “I’m just dealing with some bullies. It’s fine, Tsukasa- I’ll figure something out.”

“I’ll kill them <3”

“Tsu-”

Tsukasa stepped away from you, crossing his arms. “So, (Y/N), you don’t like it when people bully you? I’ll take care of it! Promise!” “Stop it right there, Mr. Only-grants-wishes-for-the-dead. Don’t ‘take care of them.’ I just need to get enough confidence to tell a teacher or something…”

Tsukasa paused, pouting his lips slightly, before nodding. Quickly, he floated back over to you, and trapped you in a hug. His arms wrapped around you securely, making you feel rather safe for being in the arms of such a destructive boy. “Fine. I’ll go with you, then, (Y/N)! I’ll even hold your hand!! And I definitely won’t let those bullies bother you any more~.”

“Tsukasa, please, don’t do anything drastic-” “Whatever you say, (Y/N). You know I can’t go against the wishes of my cute partner~!”

[goodlucktai]

(I feel like I should finish your prompt first but. These ones are so good....feel free to ignore if you have too many asks but 29 or 33 with chocobros...?

PROMPTS LIST

33. “Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” “Yes.” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

ik i just did this one for natsuyuu but...........chocobros

x

They're somewhere in Duscae, near enough to the coast that each breeze carries a hint of the sea, on another errand for another stranger to scrape together enough gil to eat tonight.

They've stopped at the last little roadside cluster of shops before the countryside stretches far and wide and wild, stocking up on what meager supplies they can afford.

Noctis has never lived this way before. He's never gone to bed hungry before. Neither has Gladio or Ignis, for all their world-weariness and the general practical knowledge and common sense they walk around with that far surpasses Noctis' own.

Ignis can budget with the best of them, and Gladio is willing to eat literally anything at any time, but Prompto is the one who gets it.

He chats at length about all the times he's had to get creative with pasta or rice because it was all that was left in his pantry. Back in high school, when he could only work part-time. When someone should have been taking care of him, and instead he was left to figure out how to stretch a tiny budget much farther than made sense.

"Come on, Iggy," he said once when they were out shopping, half-laughing. Like he thought Ignis was joking. "Fresh produce? We've got like a hundred gil between the four of us and we're totally out of restoratives."

And Ignis paused, and glanced sidelong at him. He put back the crisp, flowery vegetables and pulled out his little notebook and asked for suggestions instead. It took Prompto a few minutes to convince himsef that Ignis was taking him seriously, but now they like, bond over canned fruit.

"I'm gonna kill this catoblepas with my bare hands," Gladio says with feeling, leaning against the car. "I'm so godsdamned sick of pasta. Don't tell Iggy I said that."

Noctis rolls an energy drink between his hands absently, brow furrowed. It's tricky business, and he's not very good at it just yet, but home-made elixirs save them a ton of gil. He feels guilty when they have to spend their money on something he should be able to do himself.

"I'm telling him," he says without missing a beat. "He'll never forget, and he'll give you shit every single time you make cup noodles from now on, forever."

"I can't stand you," Gladio tells him seriously.

The bell above the door of the convenience store rings brightly, and Noctis glances up to see Ignis and Prompto walking out looking a lot more cheerful than they did going in.

Gladio's face does something very subtle and specific when he sees them, there and gone in a second, before Noctis can pin it down and figure it out.

"What are you two chucklefucks up to?" he calls over. Ignis immediately narrows a disapproving stare at him, but Prompto beams.

"I got a commission, sort of!" he says.

"A commission?" Noctis parrots, sending the energy drink back to the Armiger.

"Sort of?" Gladio adds.

"While we were checking out, the store-owner saw my camera, and seemed really into it," Prompto says. "Since, you know. It's unique."

Noctis does know. The digital camera hanging at Prompto's side has been with him since Noctis first bought it for him three years ago. He would rebuild it every so often, bowed over a collection of impossibly tiny parts spread out carefully across a dish towel at the kitchen table in Noctis' apartment. To call it unique is a bit of an understatement.

Gladio frowns, sensing where this is going a split-second before Noctis does. "And?"

"And he offered me money for it! Like, more than it's worth probably. A lot more."

"I don't see how that could be possible," Ignis says smoothly, leaning through the open window of the Regalia to put the shopping bag in the backseat. "Since your camera is clearly priceless. Which is what I explained to the man."

Noctis relaxes, glad that Ignis and Prompto have bonded over shopping to the point that neither of them want to do it unless they can go together-- because if Prompto had been in there by himself, he 100% would have sold his camera. He would have hated to do it, but he would have done it. It's like he thinks he owes his friends something just for letting him exist.

"Good looking out, Specs," Gladio says gruffly. Prompto waffles a bit, looking torn between pleased and embarrassed. Noctis decides to rescue him.

"What commission, though?" he asks.

"Oh, right. Well, he was kind of bummed about the camera, but he asked if he could see some of my photos, and Ignis said we had time-- "

If it were literally anyone else, Noctis thinks, up to and including and especially the Actual Crown Prince, Ignis would have said they were in a hurry and not to show off.

"--and he seemed really impressed! With the photos! I told him we were going to take down a catoblepas, and he asked why, and I said for some cash, I mean, clearly," Prompto adds, gesturing at the four of them and their general road grime. "So he, ah-- well he's never seen a catoblepas up close before, and he said if I could get some good pictures of it, he'd pay me for them. He gave me a figure, and it's, like, better than some of the jobs I've done for Vyv."

He's delighted, clearly. He likes feeling like he's pulling his own weight. Noctis is always so relieved when Vyv calls, not because of the inherent payday, but more because it puts this light in Prompto's eyes that Noctis would easily climb a hundred volcanic mountains for.

"Damn, Prompto, at this rate you'll have funded our whole trip," Gladio says. He doesn't ruffle his hair anymore, because Prompto actually hates that, just sort of scrunches his fingers through it instead. Prompto doesn't hate that at all. It's adorable.

Sometimes in the early morning, when he and Noctis are the last to drag themselves out of the tiny camper, they'll do their affirmations together:

"Gotta be our best today," Noctis will say, and Prompto will put on this absurdly determined expression, bed hair hanging into his eyes and cheek still creased pink from the pillow.

"Gotta get those hair scrunches," he'll reply gravely.

"What else did he say, Prompto?" Ignis says in a pleasant tone of voice that Noctis hasn't trusted since he was seven years old.

"Um! Nothing. Nothing worth repeating, anyway, you know." He is looking completely away from them now, an avoidance tactic if Noctis has ever seen one. "Woah, is that really the time? We better get going if we wanna catch that cow before it gets dark!"

He turns toward the car and runs into Gladio's arm instead.

"He suggested that Prompto's talents would be put to better use in different company," Ignis says, his voice carrying clearly over Prompto's whine of 'nooo, Iggy, let it go.' "He said that if Prompto ever got tired of our lifestyle, his door would be open."

Ah, Noctis thinks, followed by, ouch?

"Oh, fuck that guy," Gladio blurts. "Let me go talk to him."

"No!" Prompto clings to his arm, throwing all his weight into keeping Gladio in place. The Shield, who could bench Prom's entire body weight in one hand, lets himself be detained anyway and pretends to be annoyed about it. "Ignis, why are you causing trouble right now?" Prompto says frantically.

"Transparency is important in a relationship," Ignis replies.

"There's transparency and then there's causing trouble. Noct, tell them."

"I think Gladio should go talk to him," Noctis says immediately. But then Prompto looks betrayed, and it makes Noctis feel awful. "Ugh, okay. Okay. We're leaving. Ignis, Gladio, that's an executive order."

"Are you sure I can't punch him in the face?" Gladio grumbles.

"Am I-- yes, dude!" Prompto half-laughs nervously. "Very sure!"

"What if I just broke his nose a little?"

"Then that would be treason, I guess, cause Noct just said no."

It's with the standard amount of bickering and noise that they climb into the car, the top rolling up over their heads as it starts to drizzle. Ignis pulls smoothly back onto the cracked asphalt road and reaches over to turn the radio on; a peace offering. From the backseat, Noctis can see the corner of Prompto's smile, framed by a flyaway piece of yellow hair.

They live this way now, but they didn't always. Noctis used to have the run of the whole Citadel, had his own penthouse apartment, grew up dodging banquets and lavish dinners. It's not like he likes sleeping on the ground and having nothing to eat. It's not like he chose to lose his home.

But it could be worse. It's not a bad way to live, just Noctis and the people he loves best and these countless hours together. There's a lot of hard work and sometimes he goes to bed hungry but he knows he'll remember these days forever. He knows he'll miss them.

"Hey," he says, over the quiet sound of rain on the windows and the catchy synth-pop crooning out of the speakers. "Don't ever sell your camera, okay?"

Prompto says, "I mean, I wouldn't ever want to."

"Seriously," Noctis presses. He doesn't want to let it go. It feels important. "Your pictures are-- they mean the world to me, Prom. I can't even tell you."

His friend looks bewildered. He's half-turned in his seat, and his eyes stray to Gladio, then jump to Ignis, then settle back on Noctis. Whatever he's looking for, he seems to find it, because he smiles.

"Okay, weirdo," he says, "one fully-documented roadtrip, coming up. I won't leave anything out."

Noctis is counting on it.

[itsclydebitches]

I kinda wonder, what could bakugou do (hori write bakugou to do) to make him less popular with the "anti" crowd. Like He was a horrid child no doubt and people who try to put blame on Deku or lessen the terrible shit bakugou did aren't great. But as we don't rly see it, we have to assume bakugous behaviour wasn't stopped, we only ever saw his mum "punishing" him when he was being rude after getting kiddnapped. Nothing will excuse what bakugou did, but he has stopped? He's overall a harsh person but he's not harrassing and bullying people anymore, specifically not deku, he's trying to attone for what he did to deku and has now apologised for it. His behaviour was never viewed as justified or good in the series, he's a scary figure in middle school, we're not meant to like his behaviour, so the series itself hasn't justified his actions.

As someone who relate to both bakugou and deku more than I'd like to admit (never told someone to jump tho, that's fucked lol) so I can 100% understand not liking or even hating bakugou but as someone who's not 15 anymore, looking back I also made a lot of really shitty decisions and like bakugou have tried to make up for it, and like deku I was 'friends' with people who hurt me.

Is there anything he can do for the "antis" to just dislike him rather that be "anti"?

(I'm very sorry if you've talked about this somewhere, you can just tell me to look for it if you have, I'll continue to look for your posts on the subject)

Hey there, anon! I think I’ve spoken about this only tangentially and/or in my main Bakugo meta, which is too big for anyone sane to read. So yeah, let’s chat here!

For me personally—and that’s all I can ever do: speak personally. I think it’s important to keep in mind that there is no single solution to please the “anti” crowd. Each fan will be looking for something slightly different in Bakugo’s character, much of which might contradict what a “stan” is currently enjoying. Given how charged a character he is, I'm not sure it's possible to get the entire fandom to like him—what I’m looking for hinges on having a different reading of the story than you seem to. Meaning, I think the series does justify his behavior. Not in any overt, super obvious way like having all the characters go, “Wow, Bakugo! I sure do love how you threaten people all the time. That’s super cool and heroic!” Things are rarely that straightforward. Rather, it’s in a more subtle, but consistent manner that paints a rather conclusive picture across hundreds of chapters.

Simply put, Bakugo is continually rewarded for his actions. Or, if not outright rewarded, his actions are ignored in a way that implies silent acceptance. Characters may not always like what he does... but they're willing to let it slide because Bakugo's heroism was always treated as a given, not something he had to earn and prove.

With the ever necessary disclaimer that I’m not fully caught up yet, here’s a list of some of the things that stood out to me in the first half of the series:

Bakugo’s bullying made him the most popular kid in school.

Bakugo’s bullying was ignored by/outright supported by the teachers.

Bakugo’s bullying did not hinder him from getting into U.A., one of the most prestigious hero schools around.

Despite acting horribly throughout his time at U.A. too, this behavior was continually ignored by the teachers and other authority figures around him.

Bakugo’s struggle to realize that other people aren’t “trash” doesn’t hurt his achievements in any way. He still gets top scores, still wins the tournament, etc.

Bakugo’s behavior gets him special attention from All Might, the greatest hero and Bakugo’s personal idol.

His behavior doesn’t make others dislike him in any manner that’s taken seriously. Everybody is still willing to not just put up with Bakugo, but—in time—start treating his behavior as a quirk (no pun intended lol) that they’re secretly fond of, rather than something he should legitimately be striving to change. Kirishima is the most overt example of this.

This is compounded by his behavior constantly being framed as humorous. Much like with Mineta’s perverted actions, characters might superficially go, “No, that’s bad!” but the story never demands any significant development because then we’d lose the “joke” of Bakugo screaming in rage at the slightest inconvenience, threatening to murder someone over nothing, constantly belittling everyone around him in a “funny” manner, etc. When fans talk about development of a manga character as archetypal and extreme as Bakugo, most don’t really want to see significant change to his base personality. Because then that would result in someone who doesn’t look like the “real” Bakugo: someone nicer, more even-tempered, more mature, etc. But for those of us who were never drawn to that personality in the first place, the continued acceptance of his rude, egotistical, and violent behavior is discomforting. The easiest comparison I can draw is between this and Bakugo’s mother slapping him. That slap is meant to be another “joke”—we see it constantly in shonen anime, something "humorous" you shouldn’t take too seriously because haha, it's just an overprotective mother—but many fans do take it seriously, using it as the basis for a whole “Bakugo was abused and this explains his behavior” reading. Well, I take the “joke” of Bakugo’s threats and insults seriously, especially in a story that starts with something like telling Izuku to jump off the roof. In the same way that many fans want others to treat Bakugo’s mother as a serious topic that has had a negative influence on his development, I want the series to take Bakugo’s everyday actions seriously as a negative influence on… well, everyone around him. But it doesn’t. His base personality is grudgingly adored.

The above two points are seen most overtly in Izuku, who never wavers in his respect for Bakugo despite how Bakugo treats him. Not just prior to U.A., but during their training too. Izuku, as the protagonist, is the emotional heart of this tale, so when he talks about how inspiring Bakugo is, it encourages the reader to see his behavior as inspiring too. Rather than, as said, something that needs to change. Izuku's continued friendship with Bakugo, his adoration of him, and his acceptance of the way he's treated has severely warped how the entire story sees Bakugo's actions. After all, if #pure Izuku can see the good in Bakugo, why can't everyone else? He must not be that bad after all.

I could get into detailed analyses of all the above—like how Bakugo was the one comforted after attacking Izuku outside the dorms at night and how the messed up relationship he has with Izuku is upheld as something to nurture; how the remedial courses he had to take were made to be rather silly, thereby undermining their supposed importance to his development; how Bakugo’s kidnapping had nothing to do with his flaws, but much of the fandom uses it as a way to dismiss any appropriate consequences because, “Hasn’t he suffered enough?” etc.—but in the interest of keeping this within a readable length, I’ll leave it at that. The point is that Bakugo has always been privileged when it comes to his behavior, resulting in others either outright praising it, ignoring it, or demanding that he change a miniscule bit, which always keeps him far below the standards of both his peers and the expectations of a hero. Everyone in 1-A must learn to be even better than the good people they already are... Bakugo needs to learn that other people aren't dirt at the bottom of his shoes. It's never been a particularly impressive development when pit against the rest of the class. All of which can make something like an apology feel pretty hollow. Yes, he’s apologized and I say with all seriousness that that’s great! But how does that apology stack up against 300+ chapters of content? As Bakugo’s words highlight, he's been a really awful person up "until now": he was consumed by Izuku being “miles ahead of [him],” he “looked down on [him]” because he didn’t have a quirk, he “didn’t want to recognize that,” he “hated that,” “grew distant,” “tried to beat you down,” “opposed you and tried to show my superiority over you,” and ends it all with, “it probably doesn’t mean anything telling you all this” before finally getting to the “I’m sorry.” This is basically a laundry list of how horrible a person Bakugo has been for the entire series, with an acknowledgement that this apology is coming really, really late. This is the moment where I could START to like Bakugo, depending on how he acts form here on out, but that pivotal moment arrived after six years of content and in the final arc of the story. It’s too late. Bakugo needed this kind of self-reflection and positive action 250+ chapters ago so he could (hopefully) grow into a better person across the story, not at the story's end. What we got instead is 322 chapters of him being a really horrible person, but the story going out of its way to excuse or even praise that behavior the majority of the time.

As a quick comparison to end on, I think what Bakugo needed was what Soo Jin got in True Beauty. You don’t need to have seen the drama to follow along. The tl;dr is that she has a lot of the core qualities of Bakugo: an all-consuming drive to win that was created due to abusive parents with high expectations, resulting in her bullying a peer to a pretty horrific extent. The difference between them is how the story frames their actions. When Soo Jin becomes the bully she loses everything. Rather than succeeding academically, her grades plummet, making it clear that this anxiety and self-doubt (things the fandom keeps insisting Bakugo is struggling with, but that rarely ever show up in the text) is actually impacting her day-to-day life. Her best friend drops her because she’s not going to support her choices. The boy she likes rejects her. She’s eventually forced to start over somewhere new - which importantly separates her from the girl she was bullying - and get some distance from her parents, resulting in the growth needed to become a healthier, happier, good person again. So when Soo Jin apologizes to the girl she hurt, it feels earned. The story continually recognized how horrific her actions were and put her into a place where she either had to change, or continue losing at everything else that was important to her. Bakugo? Bakugo doesn’t lose. Oh, he claims he does because he’s comparing himself to Izuku constantly, but that’s just him thinking in extremes. He still wins academically. Still wins many battles. Still wins at having friends. Still wins by maintaining the prestige of being a U.A. student. Still wins by getting All Might’s attention. Still wins by receiving Izuku’s respect and an agreement to maintain this rivalry that Bakugo is so obsessed with. Bakugo comes out well 99% of the time, he just thinks he's "lost" because he can't stand not being the absolute best.

For me, the story needed to have Bakugo face consequences for his behavior, not receive rewards and/or have others ignore it, and that revelation/apology needed to come way, way sooner. For me the issue is not a specific action that Horikoshi can have Bakugo do in the next chapter and them bam, I like him now. The problem is Bakugo’s entire concept, how he’s received by the entire cast, and his run across this entire series. "Entire" is the key word there. Which is why the “But he’s apologized. What more do you antis want?” reactions don’t sit well. What we wanted is a better written redemption arc across those 300+ chapters, not a single scene that’s meant to have us forget all the other problems inherent in the story. At this point it’s a far more complicated situation than, “Bakugo just needs to do X, Y, and Z and then we’re golden.” At the end of the day, Horikoshi failed to make me like him as a person and I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to change Bakugo enough to make him likable to me. Bakugo was never the sort of character I’d be inclined towards without a serious, nuanced redemption arc, but sadly, a core, crucial part of that redemption arc took six years to arrive. At this point there’s no way to change the problems in Bakugo’s writing for that huge chunk of the series and not enough time left in the series, it seems, to do the work we should have seen across the entire run. Honestly, idk if the Bakugo we'll get going forward is someone I can just dislike as opposed to being really uncomfortable with, but my money is on there being too little story left and too much investment in upholding Bakugo's base personality for that to happen. I could absolutely be proven wrong! But I think the problems are structural and needed to be better dealt with from page one, not hastily patched over in the final hour.

[fayeimara]

Miya Osamu || Little Delights | First Meeting

SUMMARY. Osamu can't help but be intrigued when his daughter starts bringing home delicious desserts prepared by her best friend's mother.

PAIRING. You x Miya Osamu

GENRE. Fluff <3

WARNINGS. Suggestive content

Haikyuu! Anthology Series | It's Fate When Your Kids Are Friends

OSAMU | First Meeting > Second Date > Third Time's The Charm > Four Is Our Family

Osamu's made it just in time, right as the bell tolls to signal the end of his daughter's second day in her new school year. Standing back as a swarm of kids rush out of the brick building and into the arms of their waiting parents, he takes a moment to breathe and relax. Juggling his burgeoning restaurant with being a single parent isn't an easy job, but he wouldn't trade it for anything.

He stands taller than many of the other adults around him and it's evident his little girl has no problem seeking him out as a black, red, and grey blur races towards him, a thrilled, "Papa!" reaching his ears and splitting his mouth into a wide, happy grin.

His arms are already open in a silent but enthusiastic response as he crouches down and then the bite-sized impact of his daughter is rocking him back on his heels, his reaction overly exaggerated as he pretends to almost fall over from the small force of nature that's all Miya Izumi.

Standing back up, Samu catches sight of another little girl who was trailing behind, wide eyes studying him before shifting to Zumi, his daughter turning back around to wave at her, proclaiming the girl as her 'bestest friend in the whole wide world'. The girl returns Zumi's enthusiastic wave with a quick raise of her small hand before her attention is caught by a pretty young woman, her own wide smile replacing her previously hesitant expression as she's warmly enveloped into welcoming arms with kisses peppered on her cheeks and forehead.

Her delighted giggles reach Osamu and his daughter as they turn around, hand in hand, to walk back to his car, small interaction soon forgotten as his little munchkin lists off the snacks she's looking forward to having on their return to his shop. She won't be able to finish half that list, he bets to himself with a quiet chuckle at his daughter's inherited exuberance for food as he securely buckles her into car.

It's not until they reach his second pride and joy, Onigiri Miya, that he finds the first little surprise tucked away in Izumi's not so empty lunchbox. When he inquires about the remarkably delicious looking set of biscuits he certainly didn't pack for her that morning, his daughter's response is that it's a thank you gift from her bestest friend, Reina, for the lunch she'd shared with the girl on her first day.

Well, a six year old certainly didn't bake these from the looks of it. It's only confirmed by his first taste, the texture and flavour beyond even most consistent home bakers, let alone a young child. Right? But a more pressing thought flags his attention, first.

"Did your friend not have her own lunch?"

"She did! We split because hers wasn't so good, even though her mama put so much love into it. But the treats were so much better so we decided to go halfsies and have best of both!" His daughter giggles with the oblivious sweet innocence of a child.

"And what about today?"

"Mhm. Same. But I liked the chocolate brownies yesterday much much better!"

Samu chuckles at her excitement and can't help but tease his precocious daughter, "Oh, and was it better than papa's food?"

Zumi's eyes widen as she contemplates the question with all the adorable seriousness she can muster, but loyalty must break free and run because her reply is, "Almost! So close, but I love papa's cooking more than anything in the whole wide world."

It seems the whole wide world is the current standard of measurement for first graders, but he appreciates the heartfelt sentiment behind her loving words.

After another moment of consideration, Osamu settles on the thought chewing at him and decides that tomorrow his daughter won't be giving up a portion of his food which she loves so much. No, she'll have double the amount to do with whatever she may please.

So briefly, that he doesn't even ponder on the sudden image, he's reminded of the warm reunion he witnessed between the little girl and the woman who he'd assumed was her nanny, but concludes is probably the girl's young mother. Based on the number of treats Zumi brought back, Samu's certain the woman had to have thoughtfully made extras of these baked goods for her daughter to have more than enough to share with friends and then some.

Well, it's definitely no skin off his back to make his daughter even the slightest bit happier by being able to help her share her savoury little delights with her new bestest friend.

It's on the third day of your daughter's return from her new school year that you're able to confirm that something is indeed amiss. The previous two days, the small portions of her lunch left uneaten were questionable, given her voracious appetite, however, when she returns with the lunch you made for her today still sitting wholly untouched in her cute little lunchbox, you finally sit her down to ask about it.

Her response is far from what you expected, "My friend's papa made extra lunch so we could both have something yummy to eat!"

You press your lips together to hide your amusement as you teasingly inquire, "Oh? Is that so? And I guess that means mama's food isn't so yummy after all."

Her eyes widen in dismay and mouth opens in an immediate denial that you know would be a lie to soothe your feelings. Even at such a young age, your beautiful baby girl is truly a kind and compassionate soul, she would dutifully eat anything you prepared no matter how lacking the meal might be and never utter a word to tell you the obvious truth.

Before she can manage to find the right words to faithfully express how much she loves your cooking, you lean in to kiss her on the forehead and pull back with a laugh, gathering her in your arms for a warm hug. "Oh baby, I'm so sorry I can't make you the food you deserve. But please don't ever feel the need to say otherwise to spare my feeling, okay? You should always be honest about what you like or don't like."

Her little arms find their way around you as she snuggles in, voice soft and words like a wise, old soul when she denies, "But your food is made with so much love mama. Zumi says some people are just better at other things. We both think you make the best yummies."

"The best yummies, hm?" You think about the various baked goods you add in to balance out for the healthy but tasteless lunches you're able to prepare.

They are indeed good, but baking has always been something that comes more naturally to you than cooking. An interesting distinction not many people might accept, but for you the former has always been an effortless science whereas the latter is more of a difficult art.

"Well I'm really glad you like those, but we do need to figure out what to do so you're not picking at your friends' food or going hungry."

She pulls back to send a serious look your way, exclaiming, "But I'm not picking at it, I promise. Zumi said her papa made extra just for me!"

You take a moment to consider her words. She made a similar implication in her earlier statement, that her friend's dad had made extra for them both. What does that mean? Did his daughter ask him to because she was sharing her food with Reina? Or did he somehow grasp the situation and is simply being generous?

A warm burn threatens your cheeks as you consider the awkwardness of accepting such a gesture from a complete stranger. While you appreciate the kindness of Reina's friend and her dad, it still somehow feels like a terrible imposition, as if you've burdened them somehow with your lack of skills to keep your child happily fed.

It's not like you can't cook good, healthy food. You're just painfully aware how bland the food you make can be, unless you spend three times the amount of time as anyone else would need to in order to prepare similar meals. But... studying the smile that's on your daughter's face, you can't help the twinge in your heart that reminds you how much more her happiness is worth than your pride.

You won't assume this will be a daily occurrence and you'll continue to make your daughters lunches so she never goes without, however, it'll be no extra trouble for you to make double the batch of baked goods than usual. After all, you usually account for the fact that she'll be sharing with friends and classmates anyways.

However, you're now determined there will be enough delicious snacks for Reina to share not only around at school, but also some treats for her sweet friend Izumi to take home for her generous parents. Perhaps, you think, it might be prudent to include a short message, thanking the man for his thoughtful effort.

Silent gratitude isn't very much to anyone ~ (So I hope you and your family will accept these.) Thank you for your kindness, Miya-san.

Osamu blinks, unaware of the small smile that curves his lips as he reads the delicate, handwritten note carefully wrapped around one of the cupcakes Izumi brought back home today. There are only three of the original twelve left, apparently, but the one he's just bitten into is as incredible as expected.

If he's correct in his assumption from the note addressed directly to him and included with today's delightful treats, then the little girl's mother has picked up on his small action and is returning the gesture to convey her thanks. The thought is confirmed by his daughter explaining that one of each of the three cupcakes is for their family.

Three for their family? Hm. Well, it's just him and Zumi, but he's sure his brother will be all over the remaining offering when he visits tonight. If there's any left for him that is. Probably won't be, it's really just that good and anyways, he doesn't need Atsumu nosing his way into this simple exchange as it is.

The following day, Friday morning, Samu pens back his own note, assuring the woman that no thanks is necessary. There's no reason for her to express her gratitude over what's really such a simple action for him.

That evening, he and Zumi enjoy some quality mochi delivered in a white, rectangular box with a pretty decently hand-drawn background scene at a spring festival on the cover. Two little girls, one that looks remarkably like his daughter and the other like her best friend, hold hands in the centre of the street dressed in traditional yukata and sharing a box of what he assumes is mochi.

As they much into the chewy treats, he watches and listens as his daughter points out the bright colours she and her friend chose to fill into what was apparently initially a blank canvas for them to colour on. Her delight at having a pink and grey yukata, even if only in a drawing, prompting him to make a mental note about looking into the clothing and any upcoming festivals.

Osamu makes a point of saving the box, childlike scribbles over the simple sketch leaving a warm feeling in his chest and a slightly wider smile gracing his mouth.

The response he receives the Monday evening (from his penned message the Friday before) is enough to prompt a full smirk that, this time, doesn't go unnoticed by him. The woman showed an interesting sense of humour and gracious acceptance with the first cupcake note. Then, a sweet and thoughtful disposition with the drawing included as part of the soft treat for the girls Friday.

But now, Samu sees a challenging firmness in her reply to his easy brush off of her thanks, delicate lines yet again adorning the small card carefully tucked into a pretty red ribbon that's tied around and decorating another white, rectangular box.

Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it ~ So please accept this gift without concern.

Sitting inside are four differently coloured, rounded treats that look familiar but he can't place off the top of his head. A quick search identifies the delicate confections as macarons, the colorful delights an absolute wonder as the airy crunch of the top and bottom shells simultaneously give way to a firm filling with the first bite, the sweet flavour almost dissolving on his tongue.

He and Zumi finish the box off in minutes, three of each flavour included to a total of four different flavours, so both he and his daughter each get seconds of their respective favourites.

The next morning, filled with anticipation at what new surprises you might include with the goods you send today, he's fully aware of the grin that stretches his face as he writes out a note of his own for you to receive later this evening.

The macarons were inspiring. Izumi and I definitely won't turn away any gifts you'd like to send our way. I wonder... what other surprises do you have up your sleeve? I sent a little something your way to inspire you too. - M. Osamu

The neatly written note returned, once again, on the back of the small rectangular card you'd last sent, brings a warm smile to your face. The various onigiri that came along with it, apparently with specific instructions communicated from Izumi to Reina that today's additional quantity is set aside for you specifically, stretches the amused curl of your lips into a delighted grin.

You split each of the four different types of rice balls with your daughter, listening to her input on the delicious food as she points out her order of most to least favourite. Although there's not a single one you wouldn't eat on any given day if given the choice, the food is simply divine.

Your note the following day is a compliment to the chef, with a cheeky inquiry as to what deities one must pray to in order to make food like that. His response is a swift rebuttal asking what cruel gods bless some with the skills to cook but others with the skills to bake, ironically echoing your own thoughts from the previous week.

So goes the back and forth for weeks, notes getting cuter, sassier, and more personal as jokes, challenges, and encouragements alike are enclosed among the lunches of two excited little girls, their own bond strengthening with this unique camaraderie between their parents, until you feel the peculiar sense that you know the man on the other end, without ever even having actually met him.

Then, one day, three weeks into the first exchange, you receive a note that makes your heart beat in your throat at the unspoken challenge which raises the stakes of the now familiar routine. It's a simple response to your unassuming request for the onigiri recipes you initially received as the first returned delight, a meal you and Reina have been craving since the first taste.

I can do one better and teach you. xxx-xxx-xxxx. - Osamu

There's no reason to be shy or hesitant, is there? After all, it's a kind offer that will only serve you and Reina well with your future attempts at her lunches. You can't count on Miya Osamu's kindness forever.

Fingers still shaking, you dial the number enclosed within and find the call picked up before the first ring even finishes.

"I wasn't sure ya'd actually call."

Oh, wow, that's a voice to melt hearts alright. You're still smiling as you immediately reply in beat, with the easy familiarity of your shared repartee over the last few weeks, "With an offer like that, how could I not?"

He's quiet for a second and you start to lose your smile, suddenly worrying that perhaps you've acted too familiarly with a man that's all but a stranger and offended him. But his next words, slowly expelled in a lazy but thoughtful drawl, have your heart beating fast for an entirely different reason, "I had a feeling ya'd sound as pretty as ya write."

Now you're the one that's silent but it's entirely because you're at a loss for words, this quietly charming man having stolen them right from the tip of your tongue.

A low chuckle breaks what you realized was actually somehow still a remarkably comfortable silence and then his delicious voice reaches you again, "I hope I didn't scare ya voice away. It'd be a shame now that I've only just heard it."

Okay so he's maybe much more of a flirt than the subtle hints you'd noticed over the notes, but then again, they were delivered through your daughters as messengers so it would be reasonable he would have toned it down. Then again, what kind of man flirts with a woman he's never met previously? He doesn't even know what you look like. Have you captured his interest solely through your mutual correspondence?

You almost snort, catching your thoughts and feeling like you're the main character to some historical romance. Maybe during a world war era. Mutual correspondence. Right. What are you even thinking? He's got you flustered already.

"Funny. I would never have imagined you would sound so pretty from the way you write." You're tempted to arch an eyebrow with your audible smirk but then you remember that it's not like he can see it.

"Ya think my voice is pretty, do ya?" His tone is full with soft satisfaction, "Maybe ya can tell me if it's better in person."

"And here I thought the offer on the table was for learning a delicious recipe."

You swear you hear the smile in his response, "Sounds like yer in either way."

"Sounds like I am." You concede in mock resignation but you're painfully aware that your words and following sigh sound more like a promise.

You and Reina find the charming storefront quite easily from Samu's instructions. It's finally the weekend, several days since your first call with him, and your handwritten notes have now upgraded into convenient, daily text messages.

He's definitely confident and teasing but not quite the overt flirt you briefly considered he might be from a few days ago. In fact, he's more calm and grounded, even if he can be a smooth talker, but you've quickly found that what came across as flirtatious was actually just him being honestly direct. Which is both exciting and flattering enough to make you nervous for this first real meeting today.

A soft chime sounds as you open the door to usher Reina through before following her in yourself. The first thing your eyes land on is a small girl running to your daughter like a heat seeking missile and the two collide in an adorably sweet hug, somehow understanding each other while seemingly talking simultaneously.

With a small smile on your face, you take a moment to survey your surroundings and find your bearings in this unfamiliar space. It's not an overly large area, focusing more on a cozy, comfortable atmosphere emphasized by the deliciously welcoming smell of various foods that make you feel right at home.

Your eyes run over the bar with stools lined against it before you do a double take, finally noticing the dark haired man that's leaning with his arms crossed against a door frame beyond it, watching as you examined his space.

He must be able to tell he's slightly startled you as an amused smile stretches his lips and he dips his head ever so slightly in greeting. "Welcome to Onigiri Miya."

"Thank you for inviting us, Miya-san." You bite your lip at your automatic formality, already certain what he's going to say next.

And he doesn't disappoint, eyebrow arching as he uncrosses his arms and, finally, steadily makes his way towards you, "I already told ya to call me Osamu. Or Samu."

Now you're smiling again because the situation is definitely out of the ordinary, the level of familiarity you feel with a man you're seeing for the first time can only be considered unusual. You take a moment to study him as he stops just before you, tall build with broad shoulders and a handsome face that looks like it belongs on a heartbreaker not a homemaker.

Your fingers itch to push back the locks of his hair peeking out from under his dark cap and falling over on side of his forehead, if only to have an excuse to run your hands through it. But that's definitely not appropriate no matter how comfortable you might already feel with this easygoing man.

"Right... Osamu, then. And of course, you can call me Y/n."

"Yer name and looks suit ya, just like yer voice and handwriting." He's got a small smile on his own face now and you're not sure if he's aware he basically just called you pretty. He doesn't really seem to do this on purpose, from what you've gathered.

You beam at him regardless and volley back, "Well, I can say the same for you too."

And for a brief second, that small smile splits into a quick grin that stutters the already erratic beat of your heart. Oh yes, this man is certifiably lethal in all the best ways.

"I'm happy to hear it. Now, let's sit ya down with the girls while I grab some things."

Izumi has already led Reina to a table by the window and Osamu gestures their way as he moves to lock the door behind where you came in and then moves off to the kitchen behind the bar again.

You notice with a little apprehension that the girls are sitting next to each other on one side of the booth still giddily talking together (although not over each other anymore) about friends and weekend plans and such, but you're not going to be the anxious oddball that separates them for seemingly no reason. Even if you're already sure of the overthinking you'll be doing at the thought of Samu sitting next to you in the booth.

He doesn't seem to think about it at all as he easily slides in, smoothly setting a plate and a tray with cups, glasses and a couple pitchers on the table just as you feel the left side of his body line up against your right. Okay, yeah, because this is totally normal for you. Not.

You hope neither he and especially not either of the kids can tell you're flustered, even as you feel the heat creep up your neck and flirt with your cheeks. Yup, normal day, normal day. Just a regular day with a new friend.

"Here ya go." You just hold yourself back from jumping when he hands you a cup from the tray and then leans over to pour what looks and smells like tea from one of the pitchers. If you're not going crazy, he's pressed even more against you for those long seconds, completely in your space even if it's not unwelcome.

He either knows exactly what he's doing or he's just one of those people that's never paid mind to polite social norms and rules of conduct that many prefer. While you're calming yourself down, he's already poured the girls juice from the second pitcher into their glasses and set out quarter plates in front of everyone.

You finally focus enough to take in the still steaming gyoza on the plate he'd placed down in the middle with confusion and ask, "I thought we would be making onigiri and eating it for lunch?"

"Of course, but I couldn't put ya to work on an empty stomach."

"Mhm." You give him a dubious look, you might have mentioned your early breakfast in one of your texts to him this morning, but you have a feeling that this is also an effort to make you and Reina feel comfortable in this space together instead of getting right into the cooking lessons planned for the day.

It's an incredibly thoughtful effort and that warm flush is threatening you again so you choose to tease him and deflect instead, "Somehow, I feel it's more about your empty stomach but okay, let's go with your version instead."

You lose the fight with the flush and flutters when he chuckles at your sassy retort, especially since you literally feel the vibrations melt from his body and into yours with the way he's still somewhat pressed into you. Does the man not have enough space in his own booth? Actually... you notice you can move closer to the window yourself since there's quite a bit of space on your side too but, then again, it would be a little obvious to shift now.

The girls pick up the fried dumplings by hand with happy exclamations as they bite right into theirs, you and Osamu following suit but not before placing another two on the plates in front of each of them and then splitting the remaining ones between you.

With a dip into the soy and vinegar sauce (chili excluded for the girls), you quickly bite into the first one and savour the sudden burst of flavour in your mouth. Oh wow, yes, this is exactly what your cooking is missing. This addictive, tasteful quality that makes you want multiple helpings of whatever's being served.

With a glance from the corner of your eye to the right, you meet Osamu's eyes studying your reaction and decide to ask the question on your mind, "You made these yourself right?"

"I did."

"Okay, they're hands down the best gyoza I've ever had." You compliment him genuinely before giving in to the urge to  tease him yet again because the flutters are back, if they ever even left, and you can't have him knowing just how much he affects you, "But who ever heard of serving gyoza in an onigiri shop?"

He must catch the light, teasing tone because he just smirks and throws right back, "Well if they're as good as ya say, maybe I should expand the menu."

"Oh no, don't do that!" You laugh with wide eyes, "Then Reina and I will never find space when we try to come back here during regular hours! Actually, I'm sure you're already always packed, hm?"

"Some days and times less than others, but there will always be space for the two of ya whenever ya want to visit again."

Oh yeah, it's a losing battle, the flutters are a full on tsunami of feelings now. Just push it away and chill. But then he adds, "And I can teach ya this recipe too. Anytime there's something ya like or want to try, just let me know. I'm sure we can make an amazing cook outta ya yet."

Your mouth drops open followed by your blurted question, "Why are you helping me so much? I'm sure this is a lot of time and effort for you too."

You hear the girls' conversation pause as they pick up on some subtle change in either your body language or demeanour, but Osamu's calm eyes just meet your wide ones, his lips sliding into a soft smile, as he simply answers, "Because I like ya."

You feel like you're back in grade school because you want to ask if he means that he 'like' likes you or just... likes you. But there's no way you're going to ask that question, not only because it feels a bit asinine but because that's not a conversation to start in front of both of your daughters.

You look over to the girls who are watching with beaming smiles, maybe happy their parents are good friends just like the two of them, and you return their wide grins with a reassuring one of your own before looking back into steady grey eyes. "Well, I really appreciate your help. Thank you, Osamu."

"I'd say no thanks needed, but I've been down that road before." Another quick, heart-stopping grin graces his face, this one almost as roguish as his tone is playful. He's definitely referring to your initial correspondence when you made a firm point against his initial brush off, as if his actions in making extra lunch for your daughter to enjoy wasn't incredibly thoughtful and certainly out of his way.

"Well you certainly catch on quick. Let's just hope I can say the same." Your playful smile turns into a grimace at the thought of how difficult it might be to actually improve your skills. Maybe it's just a question of talent? Maybe you're just never going to be able to reproduce food like him.

But he glances over to catch your frown just in time and reassures, "I know what I'm doing. Soon enough, you will too. Just say you'll keep supplying me and Zumi with yer baking every once in a while when ya don't need us anymore."

You know he's probably joking with the last part but you hadn't planned on stopping. You love to share the goodies you bake with the people in your and Reina's life, it makes the two of you pretty happy so you're sure Izumi and Osamu will be able continue enjoying your baked goods to their heart's content.

"Izumi will definitely get her share of sweets and snacks every day." You send a smile her way when she hears you and bounces excitedly in her seat but then you force yourself to drop it and face Osamu with a challenging look instead, "But you... well, I guess we'll have to wait and if you're as good as you say and maybe then you can get some too."

He places a closed hand to his chest as if he's been struck, the girls laughing at his overdramatic reaction, but his widening smile gives him away. You look at each other for a suspended moment, with shared amusement but also the teasing heat of something else reflected in his achromatic eyes, which makes you certain he picked up on the unintended double entendre in your words.

"Sounds like a promise." Then with an arched eyebrow at the empty plates and cups in front of everyone, Samu asks, "So shall we get started?"

You agree, helping him clean up the table and he takes the opportunity to help you and Reina familiarize yourselves with the kitchen. The rest of the afternoon is spent in an equally easy cadence as he does indeed walk you through the steps of making his recipes, flavours included.

He starts with the simplest option, yaki onigiri, which is just fried rice shaped in a triangle or oval, and then demonstrates how to make and add a few of your and Reina's favourite fillings in to change and enhance the flavour. The girls enjoy making their own mini rice balls alongside the two of you and the time flies until you're all back at the table and having the onigiri you've just made for lunch.

You can't deny there's an improvement already but your little rice balls are still nowhere near the level of skill and flavour of Osamu's, even though he and the girls all assure you that you've done a great job. You accept their compliments with a smile and the determination to keep at it on your own time until you improve even further because Reina deserves better than even this.

By the time you finish eating, the girls are unsurprisingly tired out and choose to stay at the table to watch a Disney movie with Izumi's iPad. You can't help but smile in amusement while watching Osamu grab the thing from behind the bar, tapping away on the clunky looking device which is perfect for Izumi with a thick, pink rubber cover protecting it from grade-schooler level damage.

After the movie's been set up for the two worn out little munchkins, you and Osamu head back into the kitchen for him to show you how to make the gyoza and the next hour slips away with more teasing jokes, increasingly heated looks, and slightly bolder touches.

You can close your eyes and now know the feel of Osamu's hands on yours, demonstrating how to properly fold and pleat the wrappers. You can still feel the heat of his chest brush your back from when he leaned around you to pick up an empty bowl to place in the sink, and you're pondering on what feels like a heated brand on your hip where he lightly curved one hand to shift you over.

You can't deny your attraction to the man, a slow fall that you should have seen coming from the excitement of receiving his words every day until you were eagerly expecting the notes, to this first meeting where he's everything you expected from reading between his lines and even more.

Since the girls are pretty much full, you and Osamu clean off the new batch of gyoza between the both of you - him more than you, which you tease him about again. All the while, you're panicking about this new realization of your feelings, given that you're seriously crushing on a man who might only mean to help as a newfound friend and maybe you're the one reading too much into his interactions.

It's not until you've helped him clean up, collected the girls, and are watching him lock up the shop that you get some semblance of an answer.

"Thank you again Osamu. This was not only very instructive but Reina and I had a great time today."

He's holding Izumi's small hand in his, similar to Reina's in yours, and his other hand stretches up to rub at the back of his head, his arm bent at the elbow. When he speaks, it's not a direct response to your gratitude but a question instead, sounding somewhat unsure himself for the first time today, "How about next time we have a date that's more fun than instructive?"

Your jaw almost drops in surprise but you quickly collect yourself because he's still looking a little worried, maybe because he thinks he's overstepping by calling this a date or maybe because he's not sure you'll want another one even if you do accept that.

Your smile is quick to light up your face and, with a light squeeze from Reina's hand to yours accompanied by her and Izumi's giggles, you happily reply, "Just let me know when and where, and it's a date."

He grins again, the third time today your heart stops at what you're sure is usually a rarer sight since bodies aren't always dropping to the ground around him (that you've heard of). "I think I might already have something in mind."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, but let me look into it and get back to ya."

"Sounds like a promise."

With your final reply, a borrowed echo of his words to serve as a temporary goodbye, you and Reina split away from Izumi and Osamu. Heading for your car with once last look behind you, you're pleasantly unsurprised to find a flash of gunmetal grey also glancing back your way. Later that night, finished with your and Reina's joint skincare routine and having tucked her into bed, you find the expected message waiting for you.

A/N: Okay wow I had SO much fun with this one! I hope you all do too <3 It's not triple edited per usual so please do let me know if you catch any errors or issues. No promises but probably dropping Atsumu’s First Meeting next ;)

Taglist: @yatoatyourservice, @crayonwriting

© 2021 fayeimara. All rights reserved. Please do not repost, modify, or claim as yours.

[legends-live-in-memories]

Business (Mis)Management

AYO you know the drill. MGI Trope Tussle! 

Fics Masterlist

Timari Oneshot 2.3K words

Summary: 

"Right before her, where her professor usually stood every Tuesday and Thursday, stood a surprise guest lecturer. One problem, though. Marinette hates the guy. She hates him and his stupid well-fitting suit that she dedicated actual blood sweat and tears into making. "

One shot using two prompts for this server event: Day 3:College AU Day 5: "Why'd you do that?" "I- I don't know..."

without further ado: 

It was Tuesday, bright and early at 9:30 am, and Marinette was ready to commit murder. She was sitting in her Intro to Business Management course with her cup of coffee and notepad ready and pencil about to snap in her grip. Right before her, where her professor usually stood every Tuesday and Thursday, stood a surprise guest lecturer. One problem, though. Marinette hates the guy. She hates him and his stupid well-fitting suit that she dedicated actual blood sweat and tears into making. 

Right there, on this awful Tuesday morning, stood one Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne looking all the world like he would rather be anywhere else; stupid rich people were all the same, thinking the world was doing them a favour by letting them grace everyone else with their presence. Marinette also wishes he was anywhere else but life doesn’t work that way. Her actual professor stood off to the side, waxing sonnets about how accomplished the young CEO was and Marinette listened to none of it. Rather, she was silently stewing in her thoughts, lost in how this man became the particularly large thorn in her side.

It was six months ago when she got an email asking for a commission. A commission for the exact three piece suit he was wearing today. He had gotten her contact from another client and his emailed request was perfect and professional. He had asked for the suit, listed all the required measurements and requested any personalizations he wanted. They couldn’t meet for any in-person fittings so it was currently both aggravating and satisfying to see it fit his lean figure so perfectly. The drama didn’t start, however, until two weeks after, when Marinette had sent the finished product to the designated address. While Marinette isn’t one for showboating and bragging about her capabilities, it grinds her teeth when others try to talk down on her skills. 

When Marinette had sent off the suit, and emailed the man that the package was to be expected within three business days, she got a rather crude email in response, labeling her work as ‘tacky’ and a ‘pathetic attempt at wiggling her way into his family’s pockets.’ That had her doubletaking at the sender, making sure it wasn’t some spam mail that she was reading. Nope, that’s his email right there. Marinette remembered a particular twitch she had in her eye the first time she read that email. It was one thing to be ungrateful of a finished product, Marinette was no stranger to harsh critiques and pieces that worked better on paper than as actualized designs, but the accusation of being a gold-digger set off warning bells that threw her back into the tenth grade where she had battles with a rich blonde with daddy issues. At least he had paid her in advance for the suit. Marinette would have been perfectly fine with silently cutting all ties with Mr. Wayne right then and there, and putting the whole ordeal behind her, until he decided that a crassly worded email wasn’t enough. No. He felt compelled to go on national television and insult her suit for everyone to hear. Marinette remembers his words perfectly, as if they were ingrained in her memory forever.

“You’ve seen the suits I’ve worn, I look like I escaped my own funeral. I’ve tried local, and outsourcing designers and tailors and nothing matches my taste. I’m only twenty-three and I dress like I’ve gone through my third divorce—”Marinette had turned off the television to shamelessly cry into her pillow. She couldn’t bear to hear him insult her design over the poorly timed laughs of the ‘live-studio audience’ that particular interview was filmed in front of. 

After that, Marinette had reaffirmed her conclusion that all rich people were assholes best left to their own privileged bubble. 

A solid clap snapped her attention back to the front of the lecture hall, eyes narrowing at the man by the podium. The presentation pulled up on the smart board indicated that he was going to be speaking to them about professionalism and how to engage in buyer-seller conversations. Oh that was bloody perfect. What did this guy know about any of those things? 

The time was 9:45 exactly when the guy decided to start his presentation. 

“Hello, everyone,” his voice was smooth and firm, not wavering while speaking before a hall filled with two hundred students. “My name is Timothy Drake-Wayne but you all can just call me Tim. It’s lovely to meet all of you and I’m honoured to be here speaking for you today.” 

Cue a very predictable, very standard, very boring introduction. Marinette was beginning to tune out at this point.

“To start off this presentation, I would like to talk about misunderstandings in professional conversations.” He started walking across the front of the room. Slow and methodical; he knew he had all eyes on him and he was taking full advantage of it. Marinette wanted to gag. “Additionally, I want to discuss how to avoid them, and what to do if miscommunication occurs.”

Blah, blah blahblah. Marinette didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

“To start off, I’m going to talk about a situation I found myself in not too long ago.” That caught her attention. “It’s funny now and makes for great dinner conversation but not so much when it had happened. How many of you siblings?”

He paused and surveyed the room. His eyes passed over Marinette and for a brief second she thought he focused on her for a blink longer than necessary. She banished the thought from her mind; she didn’t have siblings so he had no reason to notice her.  

“Now,” he continued, “how many of you have siblings who aren’t afraid to sabotage your work when they’re mad at you?” 

Another pause as some of the students lowered their hands. Some were unsure and Marinette had a weird feeling in her gut. Her instincts were screaming at her but she couldn’t figure out why.

“Don’t feel shy,” the guy raised his hand to join the students, “my younger brother is a menace who can and has attempted to sabotage my business. Just recently in fact.”

Marinette looked around the room to see quite a few surprised faces. She was vaguely familiar with the Wayne family and remembered a few details about the youngest child. He was a menace, that’s for sure. As egotistical as any thirteen year old can be. That feeling in her gut returned with vigor. She was suddenly very alert and eager, almost desperate, to figure out how the ankle biter had sabotaged this man.

“About six months ago my brothers and I were butting heads as usual. My sister was enjoying everything while shit hit the fan from a safe distance. I’m not going to go into much details.” He’s arms were waving animatedly as he spoke. It was quite endearing. NO. Bad thoughts, Marinette. “The point of all this is that I pissed my younger brother off somehow. I don’t know, maybe I breathed too hard on his cat or something.” That got a laugh out of the students except Marinette. Six months. He said his brother had sabotaged him around six months ago. That gut feeling had turned her stomach into a pit, eating away at her nerves.

“My brother had hacked into my email and sent absolutely horrible replies to everyone that was marked as important in my contacts in a poor attempt at pretending to be me. Of course, most of those contacts work at Wayne Enterprises. It took a courtesy email explaining the mishap and a personal visit with an apology gift to clear the air. Now for the contacts who don’t work at Wayne E, that’s where it gets tricky.”

Marinette was holding her breath, wishing for this day to already be over and for the ground to open and swallow her whole. She both hoped she was and wasn’t wrong. On the one hand, it meant that he was truly that harsh in replying to her and she wasn’t among the contacts his brother emailed, justifying her slowly dwindling fury. On the other more plausible hand, it meant that he wasn’t responsible for the crude email. It still didn’t explain the interview he did but…but she never did watch the entire thing. She had started watching the interview already expecting him to tear her down. He never referenced her suit by any specifics before she had changed the channel. That probably meant that she had poorly misjudged him. But she would have been contacted in some way if she was among those people and she hadn’t. So he was still an ass to her. Right? 

“For those who I couldn’t visit in person,” Oh god, he was still speaking. “I sent them more personal emails compared to what I sent the employees. That was really the most I could do and I hoped for the best. I got a reply from most; they were rather understanding, actually, some even claiming that their own siblings would do something like that. It went over pretty well.” He suddenly had this forlorn look as he rubbed his hands absentmindedly against the suit. 

“While I was lucky that most of my contacts were understanding, one important thing to be prepared for is people who won’t be that forgiving. Do you see this suit I’m wearing? I love this suit. I will absolutely get buried in this suit. I had commissioned and received it just before the email fiasco and I, regrettably, never got a response when I tried to both thank and apologize to them. My brother had used my email to accuse them of being a gold-digger of all things. I would have loved to commission them again but it looks like my brother burned that bridge permanently.”

What? No. That’s not true and Marinette felt hot rage flare up in her. Was he really lying to try and save face right now? She felt the strong urge to interrupt him. To march down those steps and let him know exactly how she felt about him lying about emailing her to apologize. But, a treacherous hopeful part of herself whispered to her, she had to be sure. She had to have irrefutable proof that she wasn’t one of the victims to his rabid brother and he was just an ass. 

She couldn’t get to her phone fast enough. She searched for all the emails the two had exchanged, finding the most recent to be his harsh email. She had another niggling feeling, however, and decided to check her spam mail. 

Marinette has most definitely stopped breathing. 

Right there, in bold letters sat a Wayne Enterprises email waiting to be opened and read. She couldn’t bring herself to click it open, ice flooding her veins, freezing her in her seat. She actually misread the situation. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to bash her head on the table and grovel for forgiveness from this very handsome man. She didn’t do any of this, however, managing some degree of composure and sat through the remainder of his presentation. She would bet her left leg it was the best presentation she would have ever heard but she couldn’t recall a single word of it from that point on; too busy digging her own grave and writing her own eulogy. She could never show her face around Gotham again. Her life was ruined.

The sounds of people packing up had her crawling herself out of her own head. She mechanically packed her things up, gazing pathetically at her blank notebook. She made her way down the steps, eyeing the gaggle of students surrounding Marinette’s biggest missed opportunity to date. She was just about to walk straight out the door, resigning herself to her fate when she made a hasty decision. She turned to the dwindling crowd and marched like a woman on a mission. She wormed her away to stand directly in Tim’s line of sight and she braced herself for possibly her dumbest idea yet. She listened to the conversation going on and as soon as it appeared she was not going to interrupt anyone, she shot her hand out and grabbed him by his suit. The act caught everyone’s attention but before she could chicken out, she turned to leave and pulled the businessman along with her, leaving stunned silence behind. 

They didn’t get far out the door when he yanked her arm off him, stopping them in their tracks. He looked angry, confused but also very put out at her. Fair. 

“Why’d you do that?” 

“I— I don’t know.” His glare was intense. Marinette felt her face flush and her knees weaken. She wanted to make things right but it seemed she was only making things worse. She took a breath. Focus, she reminded herself. She just needed to address one problem at a time. “I mean, I do know why but I wasn’t supposed to do it like that. I just needed your attention.”

“Well now you have it. So what do you want?”

“I wanted to apologize. Not about dragging you out here. Yet. But for accidentally ignoring your apology email.” One of his eyebrows rose incredulously as she kept talking, but she ignored it and powered on. “It was, for some reason, in my spam mail and I didn’t see it. But if it’s any consolation, I would love it if you commissioned me for another suit. Or anything else really.” 

“Pardon?” He didn’t believe her, or was at least confused by her, that much she could tell.

“You suit. I made it. Here, look.” She turned her phone screen, showing him their conversations in her emails. At his slightly more relaxed posture she continued speaking. “I’m glad you like the suit.”

“Huh.”

“Also I’m sorry for dragging you out here.” She had curled her shoulders into her ears, still holding her phone out like an idiot. His chuckle in response eased her nerves only slightly. He had a cute laugh. And he was cute too. Bad thoughts! Stop getting distracted!

“Okay, I’ll accept your apology if you accept mine.” The carefree smile he threw at her was disarming. “And I would love to talk more about working with you, Ms. Cheng.”

“Marinette, please, Mr. Wayne.” She could breathe easier now, no longer on the verge of catastrophizing. “If you want to get started as early as possible, I’m free for an early lunch right now.”

“Only if you call me Tim. And lunch sounds great actually. I know a great bistro off campus if you will let me escort you.” He really needed to stop smiling at her like that. Her heart couldn’t take it.

“Sounds wonderful. Lead the way.” He turned and offered her his arm. She was slow to move, still faintly caught in the emotional whiplash of the morning. Her gentle grip on his bicep was enough for her to feel the muscle definition under the suit. It pleasantly surprised her but not nearly as much as his next words.

“Perfect. It’s a date.”

What?