#or the most thankless one ever

[cuteniarose]

Sometimes I wish I had more people interested in my creations, but then I get hit by thoughts like “Imagine the outrage you’d be faced with if your Avatar Suiren AU was more popular. This is the fandom that still cannot ‘forgive’ Korra for SOMETHING THAT WAS DONE TO HER, calling her the worst Avatar for losing the connection to her past lives (which came about because she HAD RAAVA LITERALLY RIPPED OUR OF HER) and acting like that is somehow a worse offence than, say, inaction leading to genocide. The hate you’d get for intentionally making Suiren the last Avatar would be IMMEASURABLE” and go “… actually, I’m glad that for the most part it’s just @katkastrofa and I–”

(Though then again… would it even be an AU by yours truly if it didn’t contain at least one cancellable offence? 😁)

[absensia-archived]

1.1 WHAT HORROR TROPE ARE YOU?

THE SACRIFICE. A knife to your back is your first memory – it will also be your last. You cannot help but let things into your heart, such is your nature. Time and time again, however, they hurt you and leave you to rot. But your heart remains open, and you continue to let more in. Is it kindness, at that point, OR IS IT SACRIFICE?

1.2 WHAT TRAGIC DEATH WOULD YOU SUFFER?

THE BETRAYAL. You die at the hands of the person you love most. Maybe there are tears in their eyes as they drive the sword into your chest, maybe there is none. There are certainly tears in yours. Your mouth will open to ask "WHY" only to spit blood instead. You will die never knowing if they loved you at all, wondering if you could've done something to prevent this, or if it was always going to end this way.

[a-hazbin-reader]

Please. Alastor x single mom?

Oh my god and imagine how he’d give her the best Mother’s Day ever after years of just her waking up to a normal day aside from her baby giving her a macaroni necklace or a card and now she’s waking up to a breakfast in bed and a day to relax I’m not getting emotional you are

Okay, but y'all are giving me baby fever fr with these asks

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: F L U F F, A little bit of sex towards the end but a very small amount

Description: ☝️⬆️

Whether or not you were a mother when you were alive, you certainly were one now. You took in and protected as many children sinners you could because nobody else would

You took care of toddlers all the way up to teenagers, it was an exhausting and thankless job but you don't think you could ever quit

Not when one of your kids comes crying to you because they scraped their knee, or they had their first heartbreak, or they had a nightmare

How any of them ended up down here was baffling to you, especially the youngest ones

You protected your family fiercely and have even gone toe to toe with overlords to keep your kids safe, earning you a reputation for being a mama bear

You loved being their mother and wouldn't give it up for anything, no matter your own sins

So when one of your little ones goes missing, you're panicking and searching everywhere for her. You spend all day trying to find her and asking anybody if they've seen her

After hours of searching, one of your teenagers calls you, telling you they found her but that you need to come home immediately. You don't need to hear anything more

When you get home, you find your little girl sitting in the lap of Charlie Morningstar, Hell's Princess. All your kids are gathered around her while she tells them about her hotel

Something you had been trying not to let them know about because you didn't want to get their hopes up only to be heartbroken. It was cruel

Not to mention the shady characters that probably stay there.

So imagine your irritation when all your children suddenly swarm you and start begging to stay at the hotel. Each one excited and hopeful to learn how to go to heaven

You can't tell them no so you try to dissuade them but they insist on going so you allow it. It's very reluctant agreement though.

You try to keep all your children close to you once you enter the hotel and see the others. Let's see, an angelic exorcist, a p0rnstar, a tiny murderous maid, a drunk bartender and one of the most deadly overlords around

You were unimpressed, and it showed as you held your kids a little tighter, not even hearing Charlie excitedly telling you about all the amenities

You have a difficult time letting your kids sleep so far away from you, all of them excited to get their own rooms. You often check on them throughout the night

More than once, Alastor has caught you peeking into their bedrooms to make sure they're still safe in their beds

You startle when you hear his amused laughter, nearly bumping right into his chest as you close the door behind you

"Nobody is going to eat them while they're asleep, you know."

You can't help but feel defensive, crossing your arms and giving Alastor a withering look

"That's not funny coming from you."

His smile only gets wider, gripping your chin and tilting your head up as he leans in close

"Darling, it's even funnier because it's coming from me!"

You insist on making sure your children eat a good diet, often making it yourself because you don't trust anybody else to do it. That and some of your little ones can be picky eaters

Often, Alastor stops by the kitchen to watch you, curious about what you're making and how much of it you plan to make

"My my~ That smells absolutely delicious, my dear~! What are you making?"

You're guarded, setting down the plates on the table a little harder than you meant to

"It's just an old family recipe, nothing special."

So imagine your weary surprise when he starts to help you cook, helping with the food preparation and even setting the table. You start to get used to his help, relaxing a little more each time you two stand hip to hip, cooking

He's even taken to sitting down to meals with you and your family, an amused smile on his face as he watches all of you interact. Eventually, he joins in the conversations, and your youngest ones get comfortable enough to even eat off his plate

"Don't take food from his plate! That's rude..!"

"It's quite alright, my dear~ I find it endearing~"

He's even in your corner when your picky eaters rise up and try to say they don't like what you made. Pushing their plates away and pouting

"Mom, I don't like it..."

You can't help but sigh and roll your eyes, exasperated and annoyed that you have to go through this again

"Yes you do, you've eaten this before and you gobbled it up... Just try it, baby."

They whine and try to refuse when Alastor speaks up, pushing their plate back towards them gently

"Now, now, your mother worked hard on this meal... We don't want her good efforts to go to waste, do we?"

"No..."

Your child whines but reluctantly takes their fork and begins eating, Alastor giving you a triumphant grin as he sits back down

You take a bite of your own food to hide the fond smile that wants to creep up onto your face

The hardest, scariest moment at the hotel for you was when you and one of your older girls got into an argument in front of Alastor

It all started over a party and a boy, you wouldn't let her go and in typical teenage fashion, she started to fight with you. The more you held your ground and said no, the worse it got

"Young lady, that is not a good environment for you! It is a disgusting den of perverts, drugs and uninhibited violence!"

You tried to stay calm and reason with her, but her emotions were running too high

"We're in HELL! There's no place here that's good for any of us! Why do you have to be such a bitch!?"

Before you can even open your mouth to reply, Alastor places a hand on her shoulder, his smile twitching and the sound of static buzzing

Your heart drops as you fear he's going to hurt her, instinctively moving forward to stop him

"Alastor-"

"Dear one, it's bad manners to talk to your mother like that. She only worries for you and wants to keep you safe. I suggest you go to your room and calm down, then come back to apologize to her. Hm~?"

He pats her head and nudges her to go to her room, turning to you and tilting his head. She looks embarrassed and a little ashamed, seemingly taking Alastor's words to heart

"Ah, teenagers~ Always so temperamental even when dead~"

You do your best to ignore the sudden heat on your cheeks, the way Alastor handled the situation having you feel some type of way

If Alastor were to have a type...he would have to say he's definitely drawn to the motherly type, it's a weakness of his

So when Charlie drags you and your gaggle of children to the hotel, Alastor has an inkling of the kind of trouble he's in for the moment he sees you

He's seen how you've come running out of your room in the dead of night because you heard one of your little ones crying from a nightmare. How you spend the rest of your night awake and rocking them back to sleep

Alastor has watched you run yourself ragged trying to get all of your children ready to go out for the day, juggling your teenagers yelling at you because they can't find their clothes and your little ones tugging on your clothes for your attention

He's noticed how you'll shield your family from sinners at least twice your size without fear. Not even he himself was an exception from your intense protectiveness

In the earlier days of your family moving in, Alastor had picked up one of your younger kids to stop them from touching something and you had panicked

He'll never forget how you had tore your kid away from him and held them tight, giving Alastor a intense look as you poked his chest

"Never do that again."

He had tried to brush it off and charm you with a smile, acting unbothered

"Darling, your family is in no danger here. I can assure you-"

"Bullshit. There's no such thing as a safe place or someone you can trust, not here."

You had stormed off after that and Alastor was left with a warm feeling building in his chest that has yet to leave

Your soft smile whenever one of your kids snuggled with you, the way you sighed and put your hands on your hips when they argued with you. Your voice when you sang your littlest ones to sleep

It was all so addicting for him, he found himself wanting to be a part of your family and the love within it

Without even realizing it, Alastor had begun filling the role of the father in your family, ending up getting attached to each of your kids

He learned what made them happy, what made them sad or scared, which ones needed hugs and which ones preferred words

Both you and Alastor began to work together as a team, and most people outside of the hotel just assumed you two were a married couple. A married couple with a small army of kids

You stop one child from bumping into someone, and Alastor scoops up the other two before they can do the same

Alastor will cook dinner and you'll clean up the mess while you both sneak the dessert that the kids don't know you have

All of you will hang out together in the lobby of the hotel, Alastor humming to himself and pretending to nap while your girls play with his hair and paint his claws

Your boys will all be cuddled up around you while you read a story to them, both of you enjoying the domestic bliss

There's a building tension between you and Alastor that everyone can sense, even the kids but nobody comments on it

Except Angel but he doesn't dare bring it up around you two

Your kids start pulling little stunts to get you two to end up together, offering to make you both dinner only for it to be classically romantic with candles, flowers and your children pretending to be waiters

Or asking embarrassing questions in front of the two of you, like if Alastor thought you looked pretty or if you liked Alastor's voice

Or wanting both of you to tuck them and give them goodnight kisses at the same time

The worst part is...it was totally working

The tipping point came when one of your boys woke up crying in the middle of the night, both you and Alastor barging into the bedroom

He was inconsolable, having obviously had a nightmare and repeating that he didn't belong here. He only quieted down once you and Alastor wrapped your arms around him

The three of you were cuddled up on a bed that was far too small for all of you, you couldn't contain your blush once you realized this

So Alastor offered up his room for the night, and the three of you snuggled together in his bed, Alastor's arms wrapping around you

You both woke up with more kids in the bed than you remember going to sleep with, your little boy having climbed onto one of his sisters instead

Leaving you tucked under Alastor's chin with your face in his neck, Alastor's strong arms around your waist and his face buried in your hair

The two of you had pulled away out of embarrassment, making eye contact before suddenly melting back together, soft smiles on your faces

"Alastor..?"

"Hm~?"

"I really want to kiss you right now..."

You two are unofficially, officially a couple after that. Grossing out your children by kissing each other, saying sappy things, just embarrassing them with how in love you are

It's so painfully domestic, but Alastor wouldn't give it up for anything. Not when the youngest ones grab his legs and try to hold him down, not when the teenagers get snarky with him. Not when you two bicker over what's best for the family

Even the more embarrassing moments, like when you two are in bed together, Alastor chasing his release as you lock your legs around him and dig your nails into his back

He's nearly about to spill inside you when there's a tentative knock on the door, making the two of you freeze and whip your heads towards the sound

"Papa..? Mama? I keep hearing scary noises, and I can't sleep..."

It's an awkward untangling of limbs and soft cursing before you two start laughing at how absurd it is

Or the softer moments when he looks into the bedroom to see you singing your kids to sleep, feeling himself grow relaxed and sleepy at the sound of it

His life has nearly completely changed since meeting you and your family, but he wouldn't change anything even if he could

Rosie often teases him about how much he's softened up for his family. It's all good-natured, though, she just as attached to them as he is

"So Alastor~ How's that little family of yours doing? Did your girls finally stop fighting over that boy?"

"They're lovely as always, but unfortunately, that boy seems to have been scared off."

"Such a shame~"

"Quite~"

Honestly, the only thing Alastor needs now is to find you a ring

@valerie-is-in-the-cupboard I know we talked about you writing a lil' something about this, so I tried to twist it up because I didn't want to inadvertently take any ideas you had!

[weathertheraine]

Pirate AU!! Thank you @stringofturtles for watching OFMD S1 with me and re-igniting my Pirate Emotions so I had the motivation to finish this. The first sketches have been sitting in my files for months so please forgive the fact that they look different skdfjh.

More fleshed out AU details under the cut !! :D

- The kids are a little older than canon - the third years in their early 20s - but the story still starts with the second and third years as an established crew who then pick up the first years and the coaches.

- Daichi as a Captain is of course very much like he is in canon. He works very hard to take care of his crew and takes on a huge responsibility for providing for them (as well as making sure they don’t die in idiotic ways). Suga is First Mate so it’s his job to make sure DAICHI is okay and not worrying himself to death. He also has a good handle on morale/the emotional state of the crew.

- Asahi is the first line of offence when dealing with other ships. He doesn’t like actually hurting people, but he’s good at breaking ranks and barrelling through defences to get hold of whatever Karasuno needs. He was ‘off the team’ and out of commission for a little while after he lost his hand (not seeing combat while he was in recovery, and needing to build up his courage again). Noya played a huge part in helping him back onto his feet, and has been kind of protective ever since.

- Noya’s job is to make sure the ship isn’t boarded, so he very rarely leaves it.

- Ennoshita and Kiyoko work together as navigators and managing the little money the crew has. Ennoshita is the only crew member in the beginning who can kind-of read (Kiyoko can only read a little), and they work a lot with maps and planning out journeys.

- Tanaka is great at intimidating opponents. His eyepatch is totally for show - he thinks it makes him look cooler and scarier. His parrot doesn’t often co-operate with him.

- Narita and Kinoshita take care of maintenance and supplies and making sure there isn’t gunpowder anywhere there shouldn’t be, as well as things like fraying rigging and rotting boards/canons secure and the like. Of course, things like that are everyone’s responsibility, but these two consider is theirs particularly. It’s thankless work but the boat would definitely have burned down by now if not for them.

- Enter the first years!

- Kageyama is a prodigy swordsman with a huge reputation as a lethal pirate, although most people who spread those rumours don’t realise he’s as young as he is. He was marooned by his previous crew for being a controlling Captain (who should never have been captain in the first place, having only his fighting talent as the real reason).

- Hinata recently ran away from home to “become a pirate” without much of an idea what that actually entailed, and ran into Kageyama without knowing his reputation. All he knew was that this guy was incredible fighter, and he demanded that he teach him to fight! He now won’t leave him alone.

- Tsukishima ran away as a very young child in an attempt to find Akiteru, whose sailing ship was attacked and lost at sea. He fell in with pirates along with Yamaguchi (who was picked up after surviving a shipwreck), and the pair ended up sticking together as they bounced from ship to ship, ready to run whenever it seemed like tensions were getting high. They (read: tsukki) are going to need to break this habit, if they’re going to be a real part of this new crew.

- Tsukishima and Yamaguchi can’t sleep if they’re not in the same hammock. Embarrassing. The reason Yamaguchi was so tiny as a little kid is that he didn’t get enough food. Tsukishima still tries to sneak him extra (and gets in trouble with Daichi).

- Tadashi ends up as a sharpshooter, one of the few kids who’s confident using a pistol

- Hinata and Kageyama spar together all the time. It’s GOING to end in a make-out the first time Hinata successfully beats him.

- Neither of them have noticed that Tanaka’s eyepatch switches sides.

- Yachi is picked up when the crew stop in a bar in her town. She’s a better-off girl, about to be talked into an politically advantageous marriage, and desperately wants to get out of her situation. “Running away with pirates” was admittedly pretty drastic, but anything sounds like a good idea when Hinata suggests it so sincerely!!

- Ukai is a washed up older pirate, without a crew. Takeda is a very unlucky literature teacher who just happened to be on a sea voyage. They both ended up taken as hostages by the same (meaner) pirate crew, who were then stolen by the Karasuno kids. Although, it’s kind of unclear at this point whether they’re actually prisoners… They’re being treated very nicely (especially Sensei) and are in danger of getting attached…

[trainwiz]

Mehrunes Dagon kind of gets the rawest deal of the daedric princes, and I feel bad for him.

Dagon's not just the god of destruction, he's the god of change, he's the god of revolution (of all kinds). He's the embodiment of one of the most fundamental forces in the universe, and he's in the most thankless business in existence.

When the ayleid slaves were being broken upon the wheel, it was Mehrunes Dagon who whispered to Alessia, who gave them the strength to shatter their chains. And what did they do after all was said and done? They made a new wheel, new chains, and thanked

When a wrong is righted, it's always Stendarr who gets thanked for the justice that was served. Never Dagon for giving the courage to speak out against that injustice.

When the mountain blows its top and spews ash that settles into the soil of Vvardenfell and the crops of the dunmer grow strong and bountiful, they thank the Tribunal for the harvest, and never for the volcano that made the land fertile.

He's been there since the start, since the first daedron ate the first aedron and gave forth light. But everyone's only ever thankful for the warmth of a fire, never the fire itself. He's behind every chance ever taken, every redemption and desire to do better.

No wonder he's so pissed all the time. Has anyone ever just told him "thank you"? I doubt it.

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

AN: Just so no one is confused, I turned Summer Holiday into an official Landgraab. I needed another legendary blonde to play as Nancy’s yapping bougie cousin (her father’s niece) and she was casted immediately.

Transcript under the cut

Malcolm: [wails]

Geoffrey: [grumbles] I got ‘em.

Nancy: [yawns] I’ll get him. Need to feed him.

Geoffrey: [murmurs] Won’t fight you for it, dear.

Nancy: [snorts] Oh, I bet.

Nancy Narrates: [Malcolm was the polar opposite of Jonathan in every way. He cried relentlessly through the night. He could never keep anything down. His tiny body always wound so tightly]

Nancy: Ok, Malcolm. What would it take to for you to allow me one full night of sleep? That’s all I ask.

Malcolm: [grunts, hiccups]

Nancy: [softly] Oh, come on. What could possibly be so bad that you must cry like this?

Nancy Narrates: [Most nights, I cried with him, fearing he inherited my melancholy]

Malcolm: [whimpers softly]

Nancy: [sniffs] There. See? Calm. Easy. I know that’s asking alot, coming from me. We’ll get through this, together-

Jonathan: Mommy wahhh!

Malcolm: [cries]

Nancy: [sighs]

Nancy Narrates: [There was no time for tears, when they needed me to be stronger than that]

-

Malcolm: [babbles]

Nancy: [gasps] Are you happy? Are you smiling at me?

Malcolm: [coos]

Nancy Narrates: [As I learned more about Malcolm, I began to notice just how alike we were. The same curious and thoughtful nature that was in his eyes was in mine too ]

Nancy: You’re so beautiful. Geoffrey, look! Malcolm is smiling!

Geoffrey: Of course he is! He loves looking at you. See, Nance? Things just take time. You’re doing great.

-

Nancy Narrates: [And as I learned more about my sons, I was beginning to feel like I could be a mother they deserved]

Malcolm: [coos]

Jonathan: Hi Mommy!

-

Summer: It’s so good to see you, cousin! You’ve been such a shut-in lately! And wow, you look amazing for having had two kids. Although... If you ever want a referral to my guy down in Del Sol Valley, he does wonders. You’d never believe I had a cesarean.

Nancy: Thank you, but I want to avoid going under the knife. I know that’s all the rave now.

Summer: Good for you, hon! Wow, he sure has a set of lungs on him!

Nancy: [sheepishly] He prefers me to hold him, it’s why I haven’t hired a nanny for the boys yet.

Summer: Not many women in your position take such attentive care of their children as you do, cuz. It’s admirable. I think you’re doing a wonderful job.

Nancy: You really think so?

Summer: Oh, of course! Look at me, for example. I’m the definition of a great mother. I raise my boys to be model citizens while my husband runs his own law firm.

Summer: If there was anyone that understands the sacrifices of being a mother, it’s me, Nancy. Landgraab women are built for it, believe it or not.

Nancy: I suppose that’s hard to believe at times considering my mother-

Summer: Oh. Well, Aunt Queenie isn’t a true Landgraab now, is she? She probably wishes she were you, Nancy.

Nancy: What?

Summer: You can’t compare a common woman who married into wealth to born royalty, cuz. Just saying.

Collin: Mom! Taylor pushed me in the mud!!

Taylor: I did not! He FELL!

Collin: No, you pushed me, dickhead!

Taylor: You’re the dickhead, loser!

Collin: SHUT THE HELL UP!

Summer: Ugh! The both of you, zip it! Maria! Maria!! The twins, por favor!

Summer: Summer: My god, I have to do everything! Nance, trust me, motherhood is a thankless job. It really is. My boys would be lost without me, you hear me? Yours are so lucky to have you. Nancy?

Nancy: [inhales sharply]

Nancy Narrates: [Don’t. Please don’t. I’ve worked so hard-]

Summer: [snaps fingers] Hello? Please clean this filthy child, Maria! Rápido! Anyway, what were we talking about?

-

[giggling]

Geoffrey: Then, the big dinosaur came and gobbled up all the little dinosaurs with his big, nasty dinosaurs teeth! Chomp chomp chomp!

Malcolm: [squeals]

Jonathan: He eat all of them, daddy?!

Geoffrey: Every. Single. Last. One!

Geoffrey: But then, the even bigger dinosaur came and ate him!

Malcolm: [gasps]

Jonathan: And then I eat him, Malcolm!

Malcolm: [giggles] Me too!

Geoffrey: Hey, save some dinosaurs for daddy!

Malcolm: Mama! Mama!

Jonathan: Hi Mommy! [whispers] Mommy can eat dinosaurs too, right? Even though she’s a girl?

Geoffrey: Everyone can eat them, especially mommies. [laughs] Hey, Nance. Rough night, huh? Come to bed. I’ll read another story.

Jonathan & Malcolm: YAY!

Nancy: What will you read us?

Geoffrey: How about I tell the story of the handsome king and his beautiful queen and their two silly, little princes?

Nancy: Does this story have a happy ending?

Geoffrey: [grins] It sure does.

[maximoffwitch]

for the 1k celebration, could i please request from the smut list #126. "I'm sorry but, I don't think I can remain professional any longer." with natasha x fem(she/her) reader? 🥺

Keeping It Professional

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

warnings: 18+ !!! heavy sexual content, swearing, strap-on use (r receiving), fingering, reader has a praise kink, oral, mature content overall!!

word count: 2.7k

a/n: wow okay so this is like the smuttiest thing i have ever written i honestly don't know what i'm doing so pls be kind 🫣 also pls ignore the fact that this request is over a year old and from a celebration i never finished 😭 and as a reminder: this blog is 18+ !! (because this comes up in the story CEO is Chief Executive Officer and CFO is Chief Financial Officer :))

“You wanted to see, Ms. Romanoff?” You entered the large corner office, gently closing the door behind you.

“Yes, (Y/N),” the redhead didn’t even look up at you, her eyes still glued to whatever important documents she was reviewing. Natasha Romanoff was one of the most powerful CEOs in the city, if not the world, starting her own consulting firm at just 23. By the time she was twenty-eight, Widow Enterprises was the most successful firm in the entire country, making Natasha the first female executive and the youngest to lead an industry.

Oh, and she was also your boss. Working as Natasha Romanoff’s personal assistant was often a thankless job. The long hours and tedious tasks left little room for a social life, and your boss’s stoic perfectionism did little to ease your days.

“Please sit.” Natasha motioned to the two chairs in front of her desk, finally looking up and setting down her pen.

You obliged, taking a seat across from her. 

“Do you know why I called you into my office, (Y/N)?” The redhead leaned back into her chair, as she carefully observed you.

You frowned, quickly racking your brain for any reason why your boss could want to talk to you so out of the blue and, apparently, in such a serious manner.

“Did you want to discuss the upcoming board meeting?” You subconsciously crossed your legs and adjusted your slacks, a nervous habit you picked up in said board meetings—being one of two women in a room of men is nerve-racking, to say the least. “I prepared all the notes and slide decks, but did you want me to forward them to you to review?”

Natasha had stopped double-checking your work about six months into your tenure there, as you had proven yourself more than competent. But you would understand her hesitancy, seeing as this meeting was with corporate executives who, if you had to guess, possessed the majority of the world’s wealth.

“No, no,” Natasha nonchalantly waved her hand, “I trust you have that all under control.”

You let out a small sigh of relief before knitting your brows. “I’m sorry, Ms. Romanoff, but then I can’t say I know why I am here.”

Natasha hummed as she stood up from the chair and made her way around the desk.

“I have a problem,” she revealed, as she sat on the edge of the desk and crossed her arms before lowering her voice, “with you.”

You nearly choked on your breath, your own anxiety choking you. 

Seeing you were at a loss for words, Natasha continued, “Now don’t get me wrong, your work speaks for itself. I have no issues with the way you do your job. In fact, you are the best personal assistant I have ever had.”

Your eyes widened at Natasha’s rare compliment. 

“Then what,” you cleared your throat in an attempt to rid the nerves from your voice, “what is the issue?”

“The issue is.” Natasha pushed herself off the desk and circled you as if you were her prey. When she hovered behind you, she bent down and whispered, “I don’t think I can remain professional any longer.”

You remained frozen, clenching your thighs together, as the feeling of your boss’s warm breath against your ear caused a tightness to coil in your lower abdomen.

Natasha smirked at your body’s reaction, before gently running her fingertips across your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their path.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” She brushed a loose strand of hair from your neck, exposing more of your skin. “Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

You should yell that this was outrageously inappropriate, that you really shouldn’t be doing this in the middle of the work day, that this violated every single one of HR’s rules.

But you didn’t; you couldn’t. As much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you wanted her.

Craning your neck, you turned your head to meet Natasha’s salacious gaze and nodded.

Natasha raised her brow, amused. “Use your words, doll.”

“I want you,” you husked.

“Oh, I know you do.” She gave you a smug grin, firmly cupping your chin while running her thumb over your bottom lip. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you stare at me during meetings or the way you flaunt yourself around my office in those tight pant suits.

“Are you that desperate for attention, little one?”

“Only yours,” you panted, need bleeding through your voice.

“Good.” Natasha clicked her tongue, pleased by your answer, before guiding you to stand. “Now turn around.”

You obeyed and turned your back to her, gasping when Natasha gripped your hips and pushed you against the desk, her front pressed against you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” she growled as she pulled your hair, causing you to arch against her. 

“Every time I see you and your wide doe eyes, so eager to please, so eager to be fucked,” Natasha nipped your neck, and you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your mouth. At that moment, the redhead could not be more grateful for the soundproof walls of her office, “I want to bend you over my desk and give you what you want.”

"Yes, please,” you groaned, grinding your hips against her front, liquid arousal pooling in your stomach as you felt a bulge in Natasha’s slacks.

“Please what?” She kissed the corner of your mouth, as she nimbly worked her fingers to unbutton your pants, slowly sliding the waistband down.

“Fuck me,” you begged, “please.”

“So needy,” Natasha shoved her hand down the front of your black-laced panties, where she was instantly met with a desperate wetness.

“You are so wet, princess,” she teased, her fingers circling your clit slowly, “and I’ve barely even touched you.”

Before you could plead for more, Natasha plunged two digits into your heat, stifling your moan with a searing kiss.

Your tongues languidly danced together, fighting for dominance. Natasha quickly won that battle, simultaneously biting your bottom lip and curling her fingers deeper into your core.

“God, fuck,” you moaned as she pushed you down onto the desk so you were completely bent over at her will, your pants pooling at your ankles.

“Natasha is fine.” You could practically hear her smirk, but you were too far gone to say anything. All you could do was clench your walls around her fingers, silently asking for more.

Natasha added another finger as the heel of her palm rubbed your clit. You could feel yourself approaching the edge, and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold on.

“Be a good girl.” She leaned down and kissed the shell of your ear. “And come for me.”

“Natasha!” you cried out as you let the waves of pleasure crash over your body. Natasha kept her fingers in you, slowly pumping them in and out, as she gradually brought you down from your high.

As she finally slipped out of you, you whined at the loss. Natasha wrapped her arm around your chest, pulling you up and back against her.

“Taste.” She stuck her glistening fingers before your mouth, and you obeyed. Wrapping your lips around her digits, you stared directly into her eyes and swirled your tongue to taste your own pleasure.

Natasha’s eyes darkened at the action as you released her fingers from your mouth with a pop.

“You’re such an obedient assistant, aren’t you?” Natasha hummed, tucking a loose hair behind your ear. “I bet you’d do anything I asked, hm?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your shame long gone, as you submitted yourself completely to the other woman.

“Good.” She kissed the corner of your mouth before taking your hand in hers. “Now, come suck my strap.”

You stepped out of your pants, goosebumps rising up your legs as you were left only in your underwear and half-buttoned silk blouse. 

As Natasha sat down in her chair, she pulled her own slacks down her thighs, revealing a decently sized strap-on, and your mouth watered at the sight. You lustfully eyed Natasha, who scooted her hips to the edge of the seat.

“Get on your knees for me, pretty girl,” the redhead directed as she worked to unbutton her shirt.

You sank to your knees in between Natasha’s legs, ignoring the harsh vinyl floor beneath you. Softly rubbing your hands up her thighs, you stared up at her and took the tip of the plastic cock in your mouth.

Natasha watched you with an intense gaze, her eyes unable to leave the sight of her strap-on slowly disappearing deep into your throat. As you bobbed your head up and down, coating the dildo with spit, Natasha groaned, throwing her head back. 

“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” She took a fistful of your hair in her hand, controlling your pace. “I bet your pussy is just aching to be filled by my strap.”

You wantonly moaned and increased the pace of your movements, causing Natasha to hiss, as the strap-on rubbed against her clit.

Natasha tightened her grasp on your hair and tugged at your scalp, sending a shock of pleasure through your body at the brief moment of pain.

“Are you gonna let me fuck your mouth, princess?” She looked down at you, waiting for your eyes to meet hers. Nodding slightly, you widened your mouth and relaxed your throat.

“Good girl,” Natasha cooed, as she brought her other hand to gently caress your cheek before firmly taking hold of the back of your head.

Natasha bucked her hips, hungrily chasing her own release. The squelching sound of the dildo plunging into your throat echoed around the office, as your eyes began to water. 

“So good,” Natasha threw her head back, still rutting into your mouth. “So close.”

Feeling herself right at the peak, she thrust her hips up and pushed your head down, causing you to choke and lose your breath momentarily.

“Fuck!” she cried, her body stilling as her orgasm washed over her. Gasping, you released the strap from your mouth. You looked up at Natasha, who was also catching her breath. 

“Come here.” Natasha softly hooked her finger under you chin. You stood from your kneeling position and moved in between her legs, leaning forward to meet her awaiting lips. 

This time, Natasha kissed you with less urgency and more passion, as if she had all the time in the world.

“You did so well, milaya,” she cooed, the praise along with the Russian term causing your walls to clench around nothing. Natasha grinned, as she saw your thighs involuntarily clench together. “You want to ride me?”

Though she posed it as a question, you could tell there was little room for debate. 

Nodding, you bit your lip and shrugged your shirt off your shoulders. You kept eye contact with Natasha as you slowly shimmied out of your ruined underwear.

The redhead followed your every move with blatant desire, gulping when she watched a string of wetness cling to the fabric as it fell down your legs.

Bracing yourself on the back of the chair, you straddled Natasha’s lap, hovering over the dildo.

“You are so perfect.” She kissed your exposed cleavage, biting your skin before soothing it with her tongue. “So perfect and so ready to be fucked.”

“Yes, Natasha,” you rested your forehead against hers as she teased your entrance with the strap-on, “please fuck me, take me, make me yours.”

“You’re mine,” Natasha growled, pulling your bottom lip between her teeth as she pushed the tip into your heat.

“Yours,” you sank down, the toy stretching your walls perfectly, and the two of you moaned in unison. Neither of you moved, allowing you to adjust to the size.

Slowly, you started to move, pulling another cacophony of sounds from the woman beneath you.

“Faster, (Y/N),” Natasha gritted through her teeth as she gripped your hips. “Ride my cock.”

You followed her commands and bounced up and down on her strap. Natasha eagerly bucked her hips up, matching your rhythm.

“Fuck, Nat,” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as Natasha reached around you to unclasp your bra, allowing your breasts to bounce freely. 

“That’s right.” She pinched your nipples between her fingers, causing you to let out to a guttural moan. “You’re such a good girl, riding me like the slut you are.”

“Nat,” you pleaded, feeling the coil tightening in your abdomen. 

“Are you close, princess?” 

You nodded with a whimper, grinding your hips down onto Natasha’s.

“Chase your pleasure,” she whispered, as she brought your forehead to meet hers.

You stared deeply into her eyes as you relentlessly rode the toy. 

“I’m gonna come, Natasha,” you gasped, your breath hot against her lips.

“Not yet, darling,” she commanded, causing you to pout. Natasha slipped her hand between your bodies, her fingers ghosting over your clit. “I want us to come together.”

You let out a whine, your pace even more frantic than before, as Natasha began to rub tight circles against your bud.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” she grunted, her thrusts becoming sloppy. Pinching your clit, Natasha surged forward to kiss you, before mumbling against your lips, “Come with me, my good girl.”

You both cried out, pleasure overtaking your bodies at the same time. Melting into her embrace, you rested your head against her shoulder. The two of you basked in the post-coital silence, the toy still buried deep inside of you.

Remembering where you were, you lifted your head and tenderly smoothed Natasha’s disheveled hair. 

“How was that?” You gave her an amused smirk.

“Perfect.” She grinned blissfully. “You were absolutely perfect.”

“Better than you imagined?"

“So much better, my love.” Natasha gently kissed you, her way of thanking you for fulfilling her fantasy. Though she knew you got just as much pleasure out of it as she did.

“Good,” you separated, pecking her lips once more before demounting from her lap. 

“Where are you going?” she whined, removing the harness and tossing it aside as she watched you gather your clothes.

“James’s soccer practice is ending in twenty minutes, and I told him I would pick him up.” You fastened the buttons on your blouse before walking around the desk to where your pants were.

“Don’t we have a sitter for that?” Natasha joked, though you could tell she was still disappointed by your departure.

“We do.” You used the desk to balance yourself, as you slipped on your heels. “But I gave Kate the day off because I promised James I’d pick him up.”

“Fine,” Natasha stood up, pulling her own pants back up and buttoning up her shirt as she walked over to wrap her arms around your waist, “but I had other plans for us.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, straightening out her collar. “I was serious earlier about sending that slide deck over to you to review, if you want.”

“And I was also being serious earlier,” Natasha shot you a knowing wink, “I trust you have that all under control.”

“Good, because I do,” you smirked confidently.

“Best. CFO. Ever.” She emphasized each word with a kiss.

You preened at the praise, a slight blush tainting your cheeks. “Well, now I have to go be the best mom ever. Seriously, love, I have to go.”

“Alright,” Natasha relented, letting her hands fall from your hips.

“Don’t worry, we’ll finish what we started later,” you whispered, pecking the corner of her lips, as you slipped something in Natasha’s breast pocket. “I’ll see you at home, love.”

“Counting on it.”

You lightly patted her chest and winked, before making your way out of the office, making sure to close the door behind you.

After you left, Natasha cleaned up, ridding any evidence of your activities and reorganizing her desk. As she prepares to resume her work, powering on her desktop, Natasha feels something in her breast pocket.

Reaching into her pocket to retrieve whatever you put there earlier, she grinned at what she pulled out.

“Little minx,” Natasha chuckled, fiddling with your lacy black thong in her hand before tucking it back in her pocket.

Best. Wife. Ever.

[edwardsissyhandsthtdanceslikeabb]

why exactly is geto such a good character?

(not compared to naoya but using naoya as an example lol. i have no opinion on naoya other than that hes apparently a misogynist but some ppl like him for some reason idk.)

geto is arguably jjk's best written character —which isnt an indictment of naoya but an anime only's premature opinion lol— and a testament to jjk's initial narrative strength. reducing geto's motives down to toji massively undermines the layers that catalyzed his breakdown, which ultimately, was loss and disempowerment leading him to break. it was him being unable to reconcile his moralistic outlook with the mechanistic nature of jujutsu society and the utter dehumanization it demanded of its sorcerers, it was his disdain for the self-sustaining nature of human vice and negativity and its perpetuation of their system of futile sacrifice and loss.

this disdain stems from the bleak reality of being surrounded by its grimiest depths, by the thanklessness of choosing platitudes and lofty ideals for those who spit in your face for it, who exploit you, objectify you. which is why amanai dying is what truly began his undoing, the personification of everything he believed to be worth fighting for snuffed unthinkingly by those he's told are too feeble to know better. its the malignance of pure ppl like haibara dying while evil endures, of the godless nature of being a sorcerer, and how its ungoverned and unphased by any morality or goodness or purity. and why it ended with him discovering the girls in the cage, the most innocent of society, who couldn't have possibly deserved it, who were persecuted for their nature, the actual people endangered for it. its him flipping the ontological framework jujutsu society operates on, questioning why they have to pay for humanity's vices and fallibility, why they cant fight back too, prioritize their own pitfalls, and thusly him giving gravitas to humanity's evil underbelly. while also recognizing the strength and brilliance of sorcerers and choosing to be selfish with this excellence, self-serving instead of self flagellatory, not leaving them to be fed to the beast of human weakness but instead unabashed in their talents and strength. bc at every turn he's told to temper himself, to fight for goodness, but is only ever met with cruelty, haunted by sorcerers' disenfranchisement looming over him.

contradictory to his newfound ideals, geto chooses family and love by vowing to sacrifice humanity instead, he reframes gojo and all those relegated cogs in the jujutsu machine to the ppl really worth fighting for, as precious enough to matter, to be sacrificed for. its why he forms a pseudo family while pursuing his plans, and why he embodies such a performative personality thereafter, bc ideals consume geto. he has to expunge himself of humanity and embody hatred bc that's whats contrary to his former ideals and disposition. that's what he thinks he has to be. but when the heart of his wants shine through, when he allows himself grace around those close to his heart, we see the core of who he is and always has been shine through (e.g at his death scene). geto sees vulnerability and sympathy as inherent to humanity and the things indenturing sorcerers to them, despite his fight for sorcerers being grounded in fighting for the weak, but he doesn't want to give into that human aspect to his motivations. he wants to determine his own future, beholden to no one. (e.g the reason he fights against kenjaku, and is given strength by gojo's words)

now naoya very well may be a better character and commentary on jujutsu society than geto, but using his attire as reason for it isnt exactly equivocal to the aforementioned layers i've outlined. geto's brilliance is in how aptly they condensed all these angles relative to his screen time. now that doesnt mean he's beyond critique: his characterization post-defection is a bit too caricatured for me, and amanai wasnt utilized to the extent that she could've been to complicate his motivations and expand/clarify his thoughts on humanity, plus his plan to exterminate humanity is just as futile as his former sorcerer work, but thats the point. that ideals are fallible and often arbitrary, and that being governed by them can be detrimental and self-destructive. geto wanted to protect those he cared abt above everything, and conjured smth just as grand and insurmountable as the jujutsu system to rival it without taking into account how that obfuscated things, that ultimately, ideals weren't ever what was important, but actually those around him. bc in actuality, what he's doing doesnt center them, it centers him. he who literally tasted the rot and gore of humanity, took it into his body and used it as a weapon for their service, until that poison metastasized and he vowed to amputate his brokenness, without realizing that he'd just opted for another poison instead. he's a tragic character.

having said that, you dont have to care abt him. but he's defintely not badly written lol.

[homunculus-argument]

Why are you Finns so miserable? From an outside perspective, as someone who lives in a country where our government has continuously failed us, your country seems to be nearly perfect. It seems like paradise.

I truly feel that most people living in my country would kill to live in one like yours. I would saw off my leg if it meant that I could have the guaranteed quality of life that you guys have.

So why are you guys so sad? Is it the cold? The lack of sunlight? I’m seriously at a loss here, because I feel like you guys really take your homeland for granted.

I have no idea. Being alive is simply an unpleasant obligation and a thankless duty that you owe to nobody in particular and gain nothing out of doing. I was literally born as an unpleasant obligation - my parents didn't like each other and they didn't like children, but they married each other and had two kids because that's what people are supposed to do. When we whined as kids about how we don't want to go to school, they'd just say "well I don't want to go to work, either, but unfortunately that's just what life is." Life consists of going places you don't want to go to do things you don't want to do.

My mother once told me that if I ever kill myself, she will go completely insane, just the way that my grandmother went insane when my aunt killed herself. I was like 15 at the time when she told me this, I had been three years old when the aforementioned aunt died. I had never known her, but I was raised with the understanding that the only reason to continue being alive is peer pressure. You don't get to die, you have to keep living because the people around you would be sad if you quit. It's a mutual hostage situation.

Back when the church had more power and death penatly was a thing, there were people who committed crimes that had a death penalty (or claimed to have committed them, depending on the crime) in order to get executed rather than simply commit suicide, because suicide was an unforgivable sin but if you were executed, you could still confess your sins before the final blow and die with hopes of going to heaven.

Finns aren't oblivious of how bad things are everywhere else, or how good we have it. That, too, is a source of misery. It's a whole country of "you have no reason to be sad, there are people out there with real problems" and being reminded that everything everywhere else is even more miserable than how we have it. That anyone else would be ready to kill or saw off their own leg to get to be here, and here we are squandering all this potential by sitting here like a miserable little piece of shit.

Frankly, I am baffled by the concept that there really are people who just genuinely, honestly, wholeheartedly want to live. Like as a preferrable option to having never been born at all. To me, finding happiness in life has always been a "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade" sort of thing, finding silver linings out of the unfortunate matter that I happened to be born.

[leth-writes]

Request heeded (yandere homelander x reader)

SUMMARY: You, Ashley’s omega assistant, have gotten a mating request.

(PART 1)

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans.

NOTE: So this work is very heavily inspired by Kept Omega by The FireCrest over on AO3, please head over and give it a read!

MASTERLIST 

Requests are open!

Being Ashley’s assistant was one of the most stressful things to ever happen to you. The beta was always moving, always angry, always yelling, and yet you were expected to remain cool and collected by her side. She was frustrating, and she drove you insane, but she was the most normal person you’d ever met at Vought, where you’d worked for almost a year.

Today, she was stressing about the newly revealed arrivals’ social media. It was her job, and by extension yours, to ensure everyone had impeccable public reputations. It was hard, thankless work, and yet it was necessary to keep yourself safe from being fired. You’d been tasked with researching Sage’s, Firecracker’s, and the Deep’s current reputations; neutral, bad, and terrible, respectively. Of course, when you presented your findings to Ashley, she’d screamed in frustration and ripped out her hair, before grabbing the files and storming out. You’d run out after her, doing your best to keep pace, though it was hard keeping up with the fast-moving beta.

The ride up to the 99th floor was the most awkward you’d ever had, even worse than after Starlight had quit. Ashley was silently fuming next to you; you were lucky she was a beta, or you were sure she’d flood the elevator with her acidic, sour scent. As it was, you could only see and hear her anger, not smell it. Your own scent, luckily, was held back by your scent patches. While everyone knew you were an omega, you wore scent patches to minimize risk. You wouldn’t take any chances, not with the Deep in the building.

Finally, the elevator opened, and Ashley stormed out. You followed, scurrying after her and keeping your head down. You were glad you’d chosen to wear a turtleneck that day, keeping your neck obscured and preventing the chill from creeping down your spine. You’d never been to the top floor before; it was freezing, like they’d left a window perpetually open. The halls were ornate, filled with posters and memorabilia immortalizing the various members, past and present, of the seven. Starlight was not present; you’d miss the alpha, she was kind, and her beta, Hughie, had a heart of gold. They felt like the only other sane people in the whole company, and yet you were stuck, unable to contact them if you wanted to keep your head and your job.

Ashley rounded the corner and pushed the doors to the conference room open, taking a brief moment to smooth down her shirt and calm her expression, before she entered. You followed after her, though you were sure you were not as composed as she surely looked.

The members of the Seven were already present, all sat except for Homelander, who stood with his back to you, facing out towards the windows. Ashley strode over to the makeshift desk in the corner, placing your report down; you moved to stand slightly behind her, lowering your head in respect. You could feel the tension ratcheting up in the room.

“We need to talk.” She began, voice confident and sure. You could feel Homelander turn around, cutting through the thick tension in the room and striding over to the horseshoe-shaped table. You could hear the featherlight brush of his gloves against the lacquered surface.

“Then talk.” Sage said, her arms crossed. Something about Sage freaked you out; maybe it was the way she always seemed three steps ahead? It was horrifying, like she knew you better than you knew yourself. You looked up, unwilling to keep yourself vulnerable in a room full of the most dangerous people in the world; Starlight had impressed upon you the need to never seem too anxious, for fear of them discovering your friendship, even if you hadn’t seen the blond in months. Besides, Sage was dangerous; she was the first and only beta to ever join the ranks of the Seven, which she’d only achieved through subtle machinations and manipulation. Normally, the shareholders would’ve never allowed a beta, they only wanted alphas in case of ‘danger’, but Sage had been so thoroughly convincing, so slick and clean, they’d had no choice. It hadn’t helped that she’d apparently blackmailed one of the shareholders with the knowledge that she knew of the secret omega daughter he’d kept safely at home, prevented from being able to achieve her dreams of an education at GodU. It seemed even the shareholders didn’t trust their omegas around the supes, knowing their record.

“Woah, woah, what’s she even doing here? I don’t gotta listen to her again, do I?” The Deep complained, leaning back so far his chair squeaked in protest. Sage sighed, shaking her head, before she looked at the alpha. “She’s in charge of rehabilitating your image, so yes, you do.” She shook her head again, exasperated, and looked out the window. You could sense the irritation rolling off of her in waves; you had to suppress a chirp of empathy, which you knew would only expose you and place you in a vulnerable position. The less they were reminded of your status, the safer you were.

Your eyes flicked over to the Deep, who was staring at Sage in chagrin. His scent, mint and moss, so sharp it almost made your eyes water, permeated the room. Sage huffed, unaffected; she was nose-blind, though she seemed to make up for it through hard work and her natural talent at deduction. You had to hold back the impulse to cover your nose and wave away the smell.

“Well, Ashley?” Homelander said, voice deep and calm. He had his hands clasped behind his back, now. Was the hero training so deep that he struck the poses without even noticing? You couldn’t imagine how much work had gone into learning to keep that facade up, constantly. Sometimes, you wondered if it was even a facade, or if that was his true self peeking through a shield of anger.

“Y-yes, sir…” She straightened at the address, brushing her hair back and making sure the papers were perfectly stacked.

“W-well, Sage’s reputation is… fine. It’s neutral; most people don’t know what to think of her, especially as she doesn’t have much of a history in the public eye. Her status as a beta may cause controversy if it gets out; we should get her false scent patches, just in case.”

Sage nodded; she’d probably expected as such. She didn’t even bother looking at Ashley. Typical for a supe, ignoring those they viewed as below them. It was clear Ashley had limited use to Sage, though she was more useful than you. You don’t think Sage had so much as looked at you, even as you’d handed her reports prior, in your entire time working at Vought. To be fair, though, she hadn’t been at Vought for long.

Homelander, seeing Sage’s tacit approval, motioned for Ashley to continue on.

“Firecracker… Firecracker has a dedicated fanbase, but her reputation among the general public could be better…” Ashley hedged, looking uncomfortable. 

Sage sighed, though she continued to look out the window.

Firecracker looked displeased. “Well, with my new show, I’m sure I can manage to drum up some more support.” She crossed one leg over the other and flicked her curly red hair back.

Sage nodded. Ashley nodded. You guessed that was that. Ashley skipped through your proposals for Firecracker. You were slightly ruffled that your hard work had gone down the drain on that front, but at least you wouldn’t have to work with her too much, as she operated with her own team, assigned by Vought. You held back a scoff.

“Finally, the Deep…” Ashley trailed off. Homelander simply waved for her to continue. 

“The Deep… Everything with Starlight has social media divided; you have some hardcore fans who believe you’re innocent, especially after everything Alistair… On the other hand, Starlight’s fans despise you…”

“And what’re you gonna do about it?!” The Deep said, arms crossed as he leaned back. His scent leaked out, moss intensifying until you had to cover your nose; you turned to hide the gesture, unwilling to catch his eye, just in case. You had him convinced you were a beta.

Ashley glanced down at your list of suggestions nervously.

“Well, I think… I think we should continue playing up the trauma from the cult, drum up some more sympathy. Maybe we can play off the Starlight accusations as a pattern of deep-seated hatred for the supes, especially after Homelander’s recent win.”

You huffed quietly; Ashley had taken credit for your ideas, again!

Homelander’s eyes shot up to you, then widened. 

You felt ice crawl down your back. Shit. Shit! He wasn’t supposed to hear that, you’d forgotten for a moment that he had super hearing!

He looked into your eyes for a moment, face completely blank, before he turned to look back at Ashley.

The Deep nodded, not having noticed the brief interruption. No one but Homelander had, of course.

“Ah, that’s perfect! That fucking bitch, she ruined my fucking life, it’s only fair she be the one to fix it!” He crowed, looking happy. The scent of mint intensified. It was almost too strong, and it burned at your nose and your eyes.

Ashley’s eyes flicked to Sage, then to Homelander. Sage still hadn’t turned around, though she’d nodded once to show her support. Homelander was deep in contemplation. You couldn’t smell him; you were sure he was wearing scent patches, though all you could smell was leather. You’d never been able to smell him; maybe that added to the sense of unease you felt around him? Most of the alphas in the building refused to wear scent patches, sure that they would never encounter an omega and thus never need it, as betas were less sensitive and alphas wouldn’t react to other alphas, bar extreme emotions.

“Okay… Okay. That’ll work. You’re dismissed, Ashley.” Homelander said, though his blue eyes were locked on you. They were unnervingly blue, cruel; you’d never liked being around Homelander, though you’d been lucky to never have to interact directly.

Ashley swept out of the room. You took a moment to gather your report, Homelander’s eyes locked on your form, and hurried out after her, ducking out just as the doors swung shut.

She was waiting for you in the hall, tapping her foot.

“Well?” She said, hand out for the report. You plopped it into her grasp, and she whipped around, hair splaying out behind her, before marching away. You scurried after her.

You hated being around Homelander and the rest of the Seven. They were creepy; while you didn’t know too much about Homelander, Ashley made sure to try to keep you out of the viscera and the mess due to your status, you had heard the rumours. They said he was scentless, alien, inhuman; god-like. You weren’t sure you believed them, he was still human, after all, but you knew something was off about him. You just couldn’t put a finger on what it was.

The two of you descended back down to Ashley’s office. The bustle of the normal employee-focused floors was comforting, the lack of supes present reassuring. The people down here could be mean, outright nasty if you were being honest about Firecracker’s crew, but they couldn’t hurt you in the same way the supes could. Most of the supes didn’t deign to set foot on the lower floors, viewing themselves as too far above the common ilk to grace you with their presence. Long gone were the comfortable lunches with Starlight and Hughie; now, you ate your lunch in the employee break-room. You were surrounded by people, and yet all alone. 

It was exhausting, trying to keep up the facade, deflect suspicions; most people had already forgotten your status, the only fact that kept you still employed. You knew, however, Ashley had chosen you for your discerning nose. You were able to pick up on the subtle changes that she often missed, she did have the dulled nose of a beta, after all, enabling you to assist her in the nonverbal communication she otherwise wouldn’t be privy to.

You were doing better than her other assistant, who’d been lasered in the head after ‘betraying’ Homelander by contacting the Starlight house, and who’d only been with her for a month before the ‘incident’. All you had to do was stay out of his way, and maybe you’d survive until he inevitably lost his shit and fired Ashley. You planned on retiring early, after all.

Now depressed at your current train of thought, you pulled out your phone, sending an email to Annie’s old account. It bounced back; you had been blocked. You sighed.

[captainmalewriter]

College Janitor

Alright, I'll be the first to admit that working as a janitor fucking sucks. Nobody has ever said "Wow! I wanna clean up other people's shit for a living!" and for good reason too. It's disgusting and more often than not it's completely thankless job. This shit fucking sucks, pun not intended.

So why did the hell did I willing decide to become a janitor when I hate it so much? Well, let me tell you. Even though there's a lot of cons to the job, there is one pro that singlehandedly makes it all worth it. I didn't just become a janitor at some random place, no, I became one at a college residence hall. This place is just teeming with young, horny bodies everywhere! And since college students are always coming and going every year, my catalog of bodies just keeps on growing! This place is perfect for a body hopper like me, especially since nobody ever suspects the nameless janitor...

Take my most recent body for example. This clueless freshman had no idea he would get possessed when he first moved into the dorms!

I just love the way a fresh body feels after I possess them! My personal favorites are all the skinny guys with no meat or hair on their bones. It's always so much fun seeing my beer belly of a gut squeeze into them as I possess and take over their bodies for myself. They get all bloated and fat while I squeeze my spiritual form down their throats. It always take me a couple of minutes to slither down into their bodies, but the effort is always worth it. The sound of them grunting and gagging while getting filled up by my essence is always so hot!

Their bodies inflate to the max and they stumble around due to all the extra weight they just took on with my soul. Then they get all surprised when their hands start moving on their own. They don't have a clue that it's actually me controlling them from the inside! I love forcing them to moan as I start exploring my new body, slowly but surely taking over control while I rub myself down. Then, once the possession is complete and I get total control, my new vessel adjusts itself to welcome me in as its new host. My new skin snaps into place like an elastic band as all the extra body weight disappears like it never existed. Their body is all mine now, and I just can't help but smile at a job well done.

I wonder how it feels to be skinny and to have a hairy, heavy bear like me possess my body. I bet it feels good to swallow up my long, curly beard as I force myself in. It must feel pretty warm to absorb a beefy, mature man like me. Like a bear hug, only on a much deeper level. Not that I would ever know, I'm the possessor, not the possessee. Just the way I like it! I just really can't believe this twink keeps shaving all this beautiful body hair! No razor is gonna touch this body while I'm in charge, let's see if he can grow a majestic beard and a pelt of chest hair like mine. I can tell this ass is already broken in. What a shame, this long dick isn't getting action. That's gonna change too, there's plenty of ass to fuck in college!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to enjoy my first month of college... Hope the new, temporary janitor knows how to get cum off the shower tiles!

[lilacs-and-vanilla]

HCs for having Spider-man Noir as a S/O (w/ scenarios)

General HCs…

- His age is never specified in the movie, the game, or the comics. I think he’s around early-thirties.

- He constantly has cold hands and he will use them.

- Like he’ll walk up behind you and stick them up your shirt along your back or your sides and watch you squeal and try to wiggle away before asking smugly “Oh, sorry. Just warming my hands.”

- Unlike other Spider-man variants, Noir wears glasses. I think he has a bit of poor eyesight.

- He will go through the “where are my glasses?” thorough sweep of the apartment to try and find them, getting frustrated when he can’t, before he finally asks you for help.

- When you find them for him, you unfold them and slide them onto his frowning face. He’s not upset at you, he’s upset at himself for making you find his things.

- He’ll make sure to kiss you and thank you profusely for your services.

- His dark hair is often disheveled from being in the mask for so long.

- He likes when you play with it, running your fingers through it idly while he rests his head in your lap after a long day of wearing the stuffy, identity-hiding fabric.

- He has the cutest happy trail on his tummy. Enough said…

- He is not a morning person. Spending all night fighting crime takes a toll on one’s sleep schedule.

- But he has the most gorgeous morning voice you’ve ever heard.

- He’s the “five more minutes” type of guy.

- He will physically lay on top of you to keep you in bed if he has to.

- If you manage to wiggle out from under him and are pestering him to get out of bed, he will groan and huff and fuss because he just “doesn’t want to and you can’t make him.”

And now some more of the spicy HCs…

- If you want it, he’ll let you tie him up. He could easily break any ropes or cuffs you put on him, but he wants to make you happy.

- He’ll tie you up if you ask him to, normally with webs against the headboard or from the ceiling. He won’t gag you though.

- He likes to hear your pleasured sounds, to hear his name come from your mouth.

- He doesn’t like to see his seed drip out of you. He doesn’t want you to waste it.

- He’ll keep himself in you long after he’s done to make sure it gets in deep (great cuddle opportunity).

- If he pulls out, he will use his hands to scoop his mess back inside you. He likes seeing the face you make when you feel him fill your insides and keep it there.

- He doesn’t like degradation. He hears enough insults and dirty language fighting crime. He certainly doesn’t want to hear it from his lover.

- He won’t do it to you either. He doesn’t think you deserve that. The farthest he will go is teasing.

- How long will he last when edged? He literally won’t. He will not last more than maybe two or three denials before starting to squirm, and buck, and whine, and beg you to let him cum.

- He loves loves loves praise. His job is dangerous and often thankless. Give him any sort of praise and you’ll have him wrapped around your finger.

- If you call him a good boy, he will melt.

- He’s a strict “keep it in the bedroom” kind of guy.

- But there was that one time he was so desperate that he came and found you one night when you were working late, hoisted you up along the side of a tall building, and made love to you against the wall.

- He’d tugged on your clothes enough to slip a hand under your thigh to support your weight, the fingers of his other clinging to the smooth concrete with that special little spider power of his.

- He’d pulled the front of his pants down just enough to free his arousal, letting gravity do most of the work as he rutted into you.

- He’d slipped the bottom of his mask up just enough to press his lips into yours, effectively stifling both of your sounds to prevent any possible late night bystanders from looking up to see such a display.

- He hasn’t done it since, and he gets embarrassed when you bring it up.

- Wear any type of clothing that accentuates your curves and he will turn feral.

- Especially if it’s your thighs.

- Shorts that expose more than they’re supposed to, stockings that squeeze your leg in such a certain way, a dress that hugs your hips and fits the outline of your waist.

- He just has a thing for thighs.

- Grabbing, squeezing, kissing, biting, anything.

- He likes resting his head in your lap or eating you out just to have his face close to your thighs.

- If your thighs are ticklish, he’ll find all those little sensitive spots that make you wiggle.

- The man will eat you out like a feral animal. He’ll shove his tongue as deep as it goes to hear you mewl like a kitten.

- It doesn’t matter if you’re on your back in bed, sat on a counter, pressed against the side of a building (on the ground OR in the air), or sitting on his face. He will suffocate himself to get a taste.

- In general, he’s fairly vocal. He moans and pants and growls, and if you’re edging him he can get pretty whiny.

- He likes when you pay special attention to his neck. Kissing, licking, nipping. If you do it right, it’ll tickle just a little.

- If you’ve taken care of him after a particularly hard day, he’ll collapse on top of you immediately after finishing, cuddle up until you’re both comfortable, and promptly fall asleep.

[teaboot]

Your post about art vs content got me thinking about the differences between the two. To me there is no difference besides the mindsets. One is of creator and the enjoyer, the other is content and consumer it removes the personhood, the joy/emotion, from the equation. Like a writer or video creator may not see their work as art so content creator maybe a way to refer to themselves comfortably but it sounds so machine, emotionless and lifeless, like a cookie cutter recipe mass producing something verses people lovingly crafting something...then again Disney uses a cookie cutter recipe for the most part and it brings out bangers cause people lovingly make it their own so maybe I'm thinking too hard on this

Does my long-winded rant make sense?

see, I get what you mean, but I still feel like the willingness to entertain calling art of any kind "content" reduces it to the facet of consumption where in reality, the experience of consuming art is not the sole defining trait of it.

Reducing arts like music, writing, painting, dance, voice acting, theater, etc. to the role of "content"- a thing created to be consumed, measured and valued by how pleasant or easy it is to digest- I feel that it was our biggest red flag to herald the incoming tide of AI "art".

Because if art is "content", if arts are nothing but consumable matter, then obviously the key to success is to produce as much soft, tasty, edible paste as we possibly can at the lowest possible expense.

It's the same issue I have with "meal replacements", diet culture, nutrient slurries, twenty-step skincare routines, 24/7 body padding and shapewear and laxative teas and "grind culture". It's not a cause, but a symptom, of the disease that is late-stage capitalism.

Things must be produced at low cost and remain in high demand forever. Things must be perfect and palatable and the new hit trend forever. People must pay hand over fist to consume without asking anything in return, and if they start dropping like flies at the unending unrewarded thankless demand of it all, then that must be treated as a weakness. We should all take pride in how much we can spend, pay, give, produce, and think as little as possible about what we ask for ourselves.

So, who cares if, of two identical paintings, one was made by a person and one was made by a computer program? It's the same work, so what does it matter? What does it matter?

I am an artist. I make art. I ask a question, make a statement, declare something horrific or challenging or upsetting or wrong or grotesque, and when you respond, we are together experiencing a conversation. We are existing, two people living one life and reaching out and touching across time and space. No matter the work, you're at the barest minimum saying, "I'm alive, and you're alive, and at one time or another we shared this same world, and at the end of the day we aren't too terribly different. My heart is worth sharing, and your heart is worth the struggle of understanding."

An AI-generated piece, a computer-generated voice, a CGI puppet of someone long since dead and gone, they cannot speak. They have no voice. Ay best, they are the most chewable, consumable, landlord-beige common denominator possible that you can sit and listen to like the lone survivor of a shipwreck listening to the same three songs on a broken record, and at worst, they're the uncaring vomit of an empty, unloving, value-addled hack wearing the skin of someone I know over their own.

When you abandon art to say that you make content, that should not be a point of pride. That's an embarrassment. That's not sitting down for an intelligent discussion with an equal, that's kneeling at the feet of the crowd and saying, "what do you want to see me do? I can be anyone you've ever loved. I can be them, I can be anyone, as long as you love me."

I can make content. I can be consumed. What do you want to consume? I'll make myself consumable. I'll make myself just like anything you like. And I'll make so much of it that you'll never have to go anywhere else, because it'll all be right here, and under all the cut-and-paste schlock you've seen before I will sit alone in the dark and the silence and I will know that I am safe, because I am valued, because I am desired, and I need to be desired or else I am worthless like a factory that no longer churns out steel or a hen that no longer lays eggs or a cow that is too old to make milk.

Content, the most literal meaning, is something which is contained inside a container. What it is doesn't really matter, and the best it can hope to be is something worthy of being scooped out and used.

Art is an experience that transcends value. Art is something you can eat without paying for. You can make it out of anything and anyone can do it. It can be crude and vulgar and bad, and that's a strength because it means something. It always, always means something, and it doesn't matter if you like it or not. It's not content because it doesn't fill anything. It's a living, breathing thing, and whether you want to birth it or eat it, then you're going to have to be willing to put the fucking work in

[hazyange1s]

Everyone gets insecure sometimes, even if they try to hide it — or run far away from it.

Like Ominis, who is terrified of himself. He wants to be good; wants to be the kind and gentle and true boy he promised himself he would be. Sometimes it’s easy, and other times it’s easier to be cruel. To spit venom at those who’ve wronged you instead of hiding your fangs. He feels that seed of darkness tended to by his family, and spends every day trying to stamp it out; disgusted and ashamed by his own baser instincts.

And Sebastian, who embraces those instincts — even when it’s clear he should ignore them. But he can’t help that he’s passionate. And oftentimes those instincts are correct, anyway. Still, it’s not a trait he’s always proud of, especially when it winds up costing him (and those he’s closest to) dearly. He’ll admit that it’s exhausting to feel everything all of the time. He drowns in it. No, that’s not it — he burns with it, fearing that one day he’ll destroy everything.

Garreth knows this fear of extremes. He’s always seemingly either too much or not enough. Too loud, and reckless, and brash; but still not intelligent enough, or responsible enough, or good enough. He tries to maintain his carefree persona, but the criticisms stack up. His friends, his professors, his parents… they all tell him to calm down. Follow the rules. Be more like your brothers. For once, he just wants to be allowed to be himself.

Natty, a Gryffindor through and through, just wants to make the right choices. She has to do the right thing™️, and most of the time the solution is obvious. But still she questions herself; looking back on every little turn she’s made on her journey thus far and worrying if perhaps she’ll never be able to save everyone. No matter how many fights she wins or lives she saves, there will always be evil in the world that she can’t extinguish — and that sense of helplessness plagues her more than she’d care to admit.

Poppy has always been on the outside looking in. It began with her family, who she wanted to love but secretly despised (and who resented her in turn), and just when she thought she’d found her place… it’s the same story all over again. She may brush off the rude comments, the nicknames — there goes Peculiar Poppy, at it again — but they serve as a constant reminder of her lot in life. Once in a while, it would be nice to truly belong.

Imelda doesn’t need other peoples’ approval to know who she is. She’s strong, and confident, and… well, she worked damn hard to get where she is today. Maybe she’s a little stand-offish, and sure she can be a bit cruel, but that’s how you protect yourself. She guards herself so nobody can ever take away from those carefully cultivated parts of her, and yes… it’s lonely. It’s thankless. Is she missing out on something greater than the brief high of success? Hasn’t she earned some love and recognition, too?

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Drawn to you | Pt. 6

(A/N) There we go. I'm so sorry about not posting last week. A lot came up and I didn't find the time to write anything. Also, I really enjoy writing human!Alastor, more so than I thought, so there's gonna be more of that.

Pairing: Alastor x bunny demon!Reader (no Y/N)

Warnings: murder...yep, sexism, nightmare, flashback

Synopsis: Will he finally remember you?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

“Alastor?”

When did he fall asleep? As his eyes widened, he spun around and came face to face with Charlie. She looked concerned, one of her hands raised as if she was about to touch him, but hesitated.

“Ah, princess. What can I do for you?”

The demon got to his feet and swiped his clawed hands over his coat as if to smooth out any wrinkles. Now that he was standing, Charlie had to look up at him, a motion that had always given Alastor a feeling of power, but right now, all he could think about was you.

“I’m sorry for waking you. I just wanted to check in on the two of you and offer to give you a break. You’ve been in this room for days now.”

It’s true. He has been here for days. Watching you sleep and heal. Watching you slowly get better. And if he’s honest, it’s the only reason he hasn’t marched up to Valentino and beat him to pulp. So no, he didn’t want the princess to take over. He wouldn’t be able to take accountability for what happens if he leaves the room without you.

“Thank you, Charlie. I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather stay here.”

Her face fell, concern washing over it again. She opened her mouth, about to object, but a quiet whimper stopped her.

Alastor whipped around as soon as he heard the sound leave your lips and rushed to your bedside. You were thrashing around, your face distorted in fear. You were having a nightmare. Charlie joined Alastor at your side, but he quickly shooed her away, reasoning that the more people you saw once you woke up, the more you’d panic. She hesitated, but after a few seconds nodded and left the room.

The radio demon turned all his attention to you now, still battling with the blanket on top of you. He gently grabbed your shoulders and pushed you against the mattress, trying to keep you from hurting him or yourself.

“It’s okay dear, I’m here.”

He continued to hold you down while whispering nonsense, trying to break past the panic of what you were experiencing at that moment and reach you. And it worked. You suddenly went limp, another whimper leaving your lips, but this time it was his name…but…not really his name.

“Ali…”

He blinked once…twice…three, no four times, his eyes glazing over as memories came rushing back to him. New Orleans…the radio station…and suddenly he felt the humid heat against his skin, the sweat causing his glasses to slide down his nose and he pushed them back up again.

Earth - late 1910s

He stood before his workplace, the radio company where he took over the late airings. With his usual smile, he entered the well-air-conditioned building and made his way up to the offices, on a mission to find his favorite coworker.

He quickly spotted her, shoulders slumped as she read over a page. His cheerful smile lost most of its cheer, no longer reaching his eyes as he gazed upon her back. She deserved so much more than working for thankless, egotistical men who couldn’t appreciate her genius.

With quick steps, he closed the distance between himself and her and placed his hands over her eyes, his grin returning to it’s usual brightness.

“Guess who?”

The chuckle that escaped her lips made his heart beat faster, a soft blush covering his cheeks. It was the loveliest sound he’d ever heard and at the same he wished to keep that sound to himself, he wanted to broadcast it to the entire world.

“Oh, Samantha, is that you?”

His shoulders shook as a bubbly laugh escaped his lips. He rarely laughs, but with her, it felt natural. He leaned down slightly until he could whisper into her ear.

“Would you prefer it being Samantha?”

She shook her head and Alastor lowered his hands, as the woman spun around in her chair, smiling at him. And…it was you. He finally recognized you.

“Now, how is my favorite lady doing?”

Gently, he took a hold of your right hand, guiding it to his lips to press a quick kiss against your knuckles, while you rolled your eyes. You always did but he still insisted on the gesture. After all, it was one of the only places he could kiss. At least for now.

“Ah, you know, same old, same old. Got my work done within two hours, wrote down my concept for the day and it’s not even lunchtime, got yelled at by boss-man once again,-”

As soon as you mentioned your boss, his eyes hardened and he glared at the office door that hid the fat man. If he could only kill him…maybe he would. In that moment he wondered how it felt to kill someone.

“Someone ought to take care of that bastard.”

Your eyes widened at his comment you raised your hands to cover his mouth. But he just chuckled and lowered them slowly.

“You can’t just say stuff like that. You’ll get fired.”

Alastor turned back to you with his signature smile. How adorble you were, always looking out for him.

“If I were to get fired for protecting you, it would be worth it.”

He watched a light blush cover your cheeks. You lowered your head to hide it, but he still noticed. Of course he did, he noticed everything about you. That coy smile you were wearing right now. Your favorite perfume that he could always smell on you. How you always seemed to sit up straighter when he was near. And the excitment in your eyes when you see him.

Alastor chuckled again, before carefully ruffling through your hair, making sure not to destroy your hairdo too much. You started to complain, but before the first word could even slip past your lips, he had stopped and instead started to fix the mess he had made. Then he turned back to you.

“So, what’s on your agenda today?”

You reached for the pieces of paper on your desk and went through them, Alastor listening intently and taking notes in his head. He loved your ideas and often used them during his broadcast. Especially topics he knew you were passionate about.

“Congress is supposed to vote on the 19th amendment in a few days. I really hope it gets signed.”

Alastor nodded. He’d definitely have to mention that, especially after you turned to look at him with that sparkle in your eyes. He smiled, he loved that side of you. Excited and passionate. Something he rarely found in the women around him, something that drew him even closer to you.

His thoughts were interrupted when his name was called across the office space. He looked up and saw his boss waving him over. His eyes flickered to you and he saw the disappointment in them. And he understood it all too well, himself being annoyed that he had to leave you.

“Gotta run, will you tune in tonight?”

Knowing his boss didn’t like to be kept waiting, Alastor started to walk away while still facing you.

“I always do.”

Once again his heart fluttered at your words, a giant grin spreading across his lips before he turned and ran towards his boss who was already looking annoyed. As soon as Alastor was close enough, the other man started walking, keeping silent until they were out of the office.

“Well, is she your girl?”

Alastor looked at his boss, confusion plain on his face, but shook his head once the other man confirmed he was talking about you.

“Hm…in that case…maybe I’ll call her into my office then. You know, get to it. She’s a real cutie.”

Alastor would never admit it. He usually was more careful with his killings, but at the moment he saw red.

With a strained smile, he asked his boss if he’d like to go out for a smoke, his treat of course. Once the man agreed, Alastor led him out the back door, where no one ever was, and distracted him long enough for the radio host to grab a loose brick and whack him over the back of his head. It was enough to knock him out, but that wasn’t enough. If he could have, Alastor would have beaten the man to a pulp, but he couldn’t get any blood on his person, so he instead decided to use his belt to strangle him to death.

Once he was sure the man was dead, he got to his feet, breathing heavily while his lips slowly pulled into a wicked grin. Oh, how good that felt. He only wished he could’ve watched the panic in his eyes while he died.

Still, Alastor’s mind quickly returned to the task at hand. He had just killed someone in the alley behind where he worked. He’s not sure, but there was a possibility, that others saw them leaving together and then he’d be done for. His mind was racing as he thought of what to do. He had to stage the scene, that much was obvious, but how?

Burglary.

He quickly reached into his boss’s pants and pulled out his wallet, removing all the cash before dropping the empty wallet next to the body. Next, he removed the large, gold ring from the man’s little finger, as well as his pocket watch. The last touch was taking off the man’s belt and wrapping it around his neck in place of his own, just so that the police would think that it was used to murder him and not search for another one.

Once done, he stepped back, a proud smile on his lips as he pocketed the objects he had just taken. He could use those to remember this. His first kill. But surely not his last.

@impulsivethoughtsat2am @dasimp777 @fanficwriter5 @wonderlandangelsposts @mo-0-o @xalygatorx @fairyv-ice

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Hazbin Hotel - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

[pinkroseblooms]

Birthday Wishes

Summary: Uramichi may not like birthdays, but he might like you. 2.5k A/N: Official art from Gaku Kaze; Uramichi Omota/F!Reader, lots of fluff and some humor. TW: Mentions of depression and self esteem issues (kinda a given considering it's Uramichi, but still) Enjoy!

Working on Together with Maman was one of the most thankless, tedious jobs you’ve ever been underpaid to do. While the director got to lord over the staff and the actors got some praise and respect, you were just one of the many unsung heroes behind the scenes. Editing out Uramichi Omota’s regular mental breakdowns and existential crises from the show’s footage was a full time job in and of itself, but you did it every week without fail for the past three years. At this point you could practically do it in your sleep; sometimes Uramichi’s strained, desperate attempts to keep a cheerful expression on his face made regular appearances in your dreams. You suspected the void that was his stare would haunt your mind long after the time came for you to leave Together with Maman .

You did feel a bit guilty at the twinge of resentment you had toward the cast when they got the lion’s share of the glory. After all, they all had their good points: to start, Kumitani was fairly considerate of the staff, particularly those on the lowest rungs of the workplace hierarchy. Speaking of hidden kindness, despite Utano’s complaints, she was a devoted and thoughtful girlfriend. Iketeru’s childish wonder and joy was infectious; he hardly ever complained and was very appreciative. Even Usahara with his bad habit of putting his foot in his mouth, was still committed to a certain level of professionalism and was quick to amend for his mistakes. When everything was said and done, you had a fondness for them all.

Last but not least, there was Uramichi. One works with many different types in the entertainment industry and you were no stranger to washed up, jaded, regularly drinking their weight in booze performers putting on a show off and on camera but Uramichi was the worst.

Needless to say, you were crazy about the man.

Today was Uramichi’s 32nd birthday and though he no doubt would prefer to ignore such a day all together, you couldn’t help yourself. This was the perfect time to do something to show your appreciation for Uramichi and not just as a gymnast oniisan. With any luck, he might not hate it. In fact, you were certain he was going to love what you chose to do.

After making up an excuse to get his attention, Uramichi dutifully trailed after you, grim faced and changed out of his costume. You intercepted him just as Usahara and a somewhat less enthusiastic Kumatani were going to usher their colleague to a bar for a night of begrudging celebration. As unlikely as it was that Uramichi would rather spend any evening doing more work, you thought he seemed a bit relieved to be taken away. 

“Sorry, this won’t take long.”

“It’s fine.” Uramichi assured you in the most unconvincing attempt you ever heard. “Your job is editing, right? What do you need me for?”

“I wanted to get your approval on a few things. I wanted to work in some parts of what you were saying to the kids before.”

“From the segment about labeling?” 

That particular sketch was meant to teach the children about putting their names on their school things. Doing this would help them keep track of their positions, as well as teach them about personal responsibility. It could even be a good chance to allow children to practice their spelling and penmanship. It all went about as well as it could have.

“The bit where you warned the children about adhering to the labels others will try to assign to you and how the pressures of society are designed to slowly crush any trace of individuality that doesn’t help them go with the flow was a bit long winded, but I think we can keep in bits and pieces.”

“You…want to keep it in?”

“I mean, it’s not a bad message.” You type in the passcode to the staff room. “The script is good, but you have a way of talking to kids so they can understand without talking down to them. Not everyone learns at the same pace; it helps when adults can get on a kid’s level. Most are too proud.”

“You,” Uramichi followed you into the room. “Are you saying I lack pride as an adult?”

“What? No.”

As you pull out a seat for Uramichi to use, his face says he doesn’t believe you. Seeing how despondent he is makes you want to call the whole thing off, but then you would have to come up with an excuse as to why you requested his presence in the first place. 

Anyone would be justified in feeling insulted at Uramichi’s knee jerk reaction to assume the worst; it’s hardly charming, but you get it. How much of Uramichi’s attitude is natural or something he uses like a shield is anyone’s guess. 

“I guess it makes sense. It’s not like we know each other that well. Besides, this is our first time speaking one on one and I had to lie to you.” 

Uramichi was glancing around the room; there wasn’t any projector or cameras or a computer. 

“Wait, so you don’t think I have any pride?”

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” You stare in disbelief. “I meant about looking over the footage. Hold on, I need to-”

“So then…was all that other stuff you said just to get me to come here?”

“No, it wasn’t. I’ve already got someone editing that segment anyway.” 

In the corner is an easel, like one of the props they use for presentations in the show. Instead of a whiteboard or a display of cartoon images, there’s a sheet covering up the project you’ve been working on just for today. 

“That’s good.”

“Huh?”

“I thought you were going to lecture me about being more professional so you didn’t have such a heavy workload. I’m sure most of your time is taken up erasing the evidence of my family unfriendly fits of despair. My bad.”

“Even hearing you apologize is bumming me out.” You sigh. “Listen, it’s not that much trouble. Besides, it’s really not my place to scold you or the other cast members.”

“Why not? You have to make up for our screw ups. Don’t tell me it can’t be stressful. You look tired just being here.”

“That’s not really something you should say to a woman. Well, anyone really.”

The blank stare widens as Uramichi realizes what he implied, but you cut him off. Things have gotten awkward enough without dragging on this conversation. Besides, you brought him here to cheer him up, if that’s even possible.

“I hope you like this. I made it for your birthday. Well, I put it together. The kids made it.”

You unveil the display with a smile, hoping you had this right and Uramichi wasn’t going to walk out. Or worse, put on his fake smile to spare your feelings. You prefer an honest reaction to your efforts.

“These are all the drawings kids have sent in for the past year. I got the idea to save them up and make a collage.”

The board is covered in crayon doodles, rough sketches, and messy paintings. There’s some postcards and pages ripped from coloring books. Almost all of them are of Uramichi-oniisan in various costumes, mainly his tracksuit: in some he’s frolicking with Kumao-kun or Usao-kun or holding hands with Utano and Iketeru. Some illustrations are of Uramichi surrounded by children or animals or just random scribbles. There’s also a decent amount featuring Kotori-san but you try not to think about that too hard. 

“I thought maybe we could show the board in a show, but I wanted you to see it first. We could keep it safe in the studio, if you don’t have room for it in your place. It’s your birthday present.” 

Uramichi stands up to get a closer look; he doesn’t look appalled and you choose to take this as a good sign. You step to the side, trying not to seem too nervous when he stands by your side; after a minute, Uramichi still hasn’t said anything. Even so, you’re feeling more worried by the second.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Good.” You smile, but don’t feel too relieved. “You’re not just saying that, right? It’s okay, you can be honest. Is it too cheesy? Maybe I should have left out the ones with Kotori-san.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I hate that demon, but the kid’s probably worked hard to draw it. I don't mind so much. You said this took a year?”

“More or less. Uramichi, whatever you think, you’re appreciated. The kids see you do your best. It’s more than a lot of people bother to do. I figured you wouldn’t want a staff party, but everyone here sees it too. We’re glad to have you as our gymnast oniisan.”

Uramichi was still looking over the pictures. “You work a lot harder than I do.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Our jobs are just different.”

“But no one gives the behind the scenes crew much credit. I’ve never been especially considerate to your job before, but you spent a year making me a present?”

“I only collected the drawings. It only took a couple hours to actually put it together.” You replied. “Is this too much?”

“Yeah. I don’t deserve this.” Uramichi told you bluntly. “I don’t get it. Why did you do this?”

For a long time now, you’ve watched Uramichi drag himself through the day; as much as he professes going through the motions, you know that’s not exactly true. 

“The thing is, I wish I could do more. I want you to have a nice birthday.”

“I don’t like celebrating my birthday. It just reminds me that I’m a year older and I’ve wasted more time. Which is strange, since I don’t even know why I feel that way. I can’t even imagine what else I would be doing if I wasn’t an oniisan, so why do I feel like I’m wasting time at all? I can’t do this forever. I’m already 32, but I don’t have anything planned for when I get too old for Together with Maman. ’’

“You could probably still find work on another show. It doesn’t have to be physical. Unless you want to leave the industry for something else entirely. I bet you could do something with your physical education degree; you’ve had experience with children, then maybe you could work that into whatever you go for next.” 

“That…sounds like a lot to think about.”

You can’t help laughing a little at how defeated Uramichi looks just from the prospect of having to start over. It’s oddly cute, like a sad puppy being told they have to go to the vet.

“It is, but if you do it one step at a time, it won’t be so daunting. That’s why I like birthdays: I see them as a chance to, well,” You scratch your head. “It’s like, yes, I made it another year! It wasn’t easy, but I’m here and that’s enough. It’s something to celebrate.”

“Hey, you should be more careful with how you phrase things.”

“What did I say wrong?”

“You’re going to make me think you have feelings for me or something.” Uramichi chuckles dryly, turning his back on you to head toward the door. “If I was Usahara, I would take this as a proposal. But anyway, thanks. I can’t remember when someone tried so hard. I guess I should return the favor. I’m being emotionally blackmailed into going out tonight: if you want, you can join. Or not. Do you drink?”

“Yes, to both.”

“Both?”

“I wanted to tell you this now, before I start taking classes full time next month. Uramichi, I like you. I do, so,” You clear your throat. “Happy birthday. I hope you’ll still accept the poster. It’s more from the kids than me anyhow. I was going to bake you something, but I wasn’t even sure if you liked cake or-”

“You talk a lot. Hold on, I need a minute.”

Uramichi has his head in his hands; he looks pale and visibly disturbed. It seems like your confession wasn’t appreciated, but you could have guessed as much. Maybe you’re too different or maybe Uramichi just isn’t interested in dating.

You can respect that, no matter how much it hurts you. In hindsight, it would have been better to keep quiet or just wait until your time was done at the studio, but you naively assumed Uramichi might like hearing someone cared. Not everything comes with conditions or ulterior motives; sometimes the pay off is as straightforward as making someone else’s day a little easier to get through. 

“I’m sorry. I should go.” You make your way past him to the door. “I hope you enjoy your night!”

“Wa-wait don’t just leave! You can’t drop a bomb like that and just breeze past like-like-!” Uramichi stumbles to get to you before you rush outside. “You’re serious? Did Usahara put you up to this?”

“No.”

“Well, are you, like, sure? You didn’t mistake me for someone else?”

“You’re Uramichi Omota?”

“Yeah.”

“If this makes you uncomfortable, you really don’t have to worry, I never said anything to anyone else.”

“It’s not that. I’m just…processing. Do you really?”

“You know, maybe the next segment we do should be on active listening skills.” You cross your arms. “Uramichi, this isn’t rocket science. If you’re not interested, okay. I’ll live. I don’t mind being single, but I wouldn’t be bothering you with this if I wasn’t serious.”

Uramichi seems calmer, but no less baffled; it’s probably the most emotion you’ve ever seen him emote at once that wasn’t irritation or exhaustion. Surely he has had other girls confess to him before; you heard he was pretty popular in school. You don’t see why he’s having a hard time handling this one. 

“When I was drunk, I said I thought you were cute. I wouldn’t put it past that damn bunny to try to rope you into one of his pranks.”

You grin. “You did? When?”

“Come on, I’m embarrassed enough. I’m too old for this.”

“For what?”

“To act this way.” Uramichi sighs and drags a hand over his face. “I hate it. It’s like I’m back in high school or something. It’s awkward and I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Don’t you already feel that way?”

“That doesn’t help.”

“So then?” You shrug your shoulders. “Am I cute enough to date?”

To your surprise, Uramichi’s cheeks flush slightly; you wonder if your own nervousness is showing. Truly, adults pretend as much as kids do. 

“Is that offer for a drink still valid? Unless you don’t want me flirting with you in front of everyone.”

“No way.” Uramichi objects. “I don’t want to deal with that headache. Let’s not say anything until after you’re done working here.”

“Oh, now who’s making big plans for the future?” You can't resist a little more teasing. "I thought looking that far ahead was too much to handle?"

“That was when I didn’t have something to look forward to.”

Uramichi might not have meant it to sound like a line; he said it with the same bland, borderline monotone that he usually spoke with, but you feel butterflies all the same.