#should odd acquaintance be forgot

[personinthepalace]

[SPOILERS] Captain O sacrifices herself for Ozzie - Odd Squad UK

[gotham-daydreams]

i had a really random idea that activated a neuron in my head and wanted to share here if that's ok— neglected!reader and friend!reader crossover. increased angst potentials, increased relationship struggles.

idk if it's just me, but the cold knowledge and sudden realization that your family was only ever interacting with you to use you as a means of getting close to their original target (who i will be assuming is a friend of yours)? you should be feeling glad that they're finally, *finally* interacting with you, but it just makes you feel more sick. they talk to you, but never want to talk about *you,* if that makes sense, always their target. half-hearted attempts to try and be more discreet, but you can tell they really just want to probe out info about your friend from you. perhaps this even cements your belief that "oh. they're never going to care for me the way i used to care for them."?? im sick i will explode and become atoms for this hypothetical reader's sake. leaving them, and the family realization that in their own selfish goals, they lost something more valuable. only makes sense for them to get it back.

but perhaps it can also be them originally them trying to again, use you as a bridge between said target, only to become more obsessed with you somewhere down the line of continuous interactions. idk lots of thoughts here i am happy big and mentally normal about these giant group of costumed losers !!

I am in love with this idea... especially because you can do it both ways (with the reader either being a part of the fam, or just a 'friend' of one of the Batfam members that they kinda forgot about until now)!

I'll go into Acquaintance! Reader later, so for now I'll focus more on this other neglected sib reader :]

Can you imagine how absolutely heartbreaking finding out that they're just talking with you to get something out of you, at first? Like, okay, maybe reader is suspicious at first, of course, because why the hell is the family starting to acknowledge their existence now? Was it something they did? Something that caught the family's attention? Etc., etc., but the point is that maybe with a little effort and too little time, they begin to have a little hope. They began to think that the family actually cares about them now.

Like yeah, sure, they kind of dismiss their questions when the reader tries to bring up the changes and why things couldn't be like this before, and have an odd habit of giving short answers and moving onto other topics concerning their friend when the reader, again, tries to press even a little bit more for answers or responses, but that's just how it is, right?

It's nothing personal... the reader knows that, and even if it hurts sometimes, it's nothing to worry about, right? Besides, they wanted this... didn't they? They wanted to be noticed, to finally have the family's attention, to have something and they're finally getting that! They should be happy, grateful even... and they are! But... is it so selfish to want more? To want the family and some of their siblings to even be a little interested in the things they do? Instead of just asking about their friend all the time?

Maybe the reader even gets a little jealous, envious, even, as this goes on but I can see them being content with little. Ultimately a little scared to ruin a good thing, and to ruin this for themselves... even if it definitely doesn't feel as good as they had hoped it would be oh so long ago.

... And then, they figure out the truth. Either from overhearing some members of the family talking about it, other friend of theirs points it out/puts that idea into their head, or they just... notice it. Hell, all three of those things could happen - with the reader knowing on some subconscious level that things aren't as they seem and that the family is definitely trying to get something out of them (a thought they had at first, that didn't fully go away), and another friend of theirs (that the fam isn't going crazy over) sort of points out that it looks like the batfam is just using them to get to whoever (and maybe the reader dismisses it at first, but that moment only further plants that idea into their head), and the reader keeps noticing all of these little things from that moment and onward... only for everything to come crumbling down once they finally overhear that conversation.

Once they hear some of the members discussing what they should ask the reader, how they should go about it, and hell - maybe for the irony of it all, maybe even joking about the reader finding out about their little 'ploy'. Even going so far as to laugh and say how the reader will never find out because they're too stupid, too desperate to even really entertain the idea to its fullest. How even if they do think so... well, they can just string poor little reader along and distinguish the idea before it even becomes a problem. How they could use that to just further rope the reader in, and make them feel guilty until they forget all about the very idea of the family just using them... further securing themselves to be one of - if not the only - closest people to the reader, and therefore, much closer to their fixation.

It's... more than just heartbreaking for the reader, but not quite world shattering either. It's some odd in between feeling that hurts all the same. They knew, sure, and they always had the suspicion- but it fucking hurts.

Somehow, knowing hurts more in that moment - just the reader knowing and having their suspicions confirmed hurts worse than anything they've ever felt. It doesn't quite feel like betrayal, or maybe it does - they aren't sure, but at the same time that description doesn't feel quite right. Though that's because they feel partially at fault. Like they did this to themselves, and they do feel guilty, but for only putting themself through this.

They should've known better. They should've listened to their gut. They should've never let this happen- they are at fault as much as the family is...

But can they fully blame themself? They got a glimpse of what it was like to be part of the family. A glimpse into the life they always wanted... could they really blame themself for taking that chance when they saw it? For trying to seize that opportunity even if it was never really there? Could they blame themselves for trying to look past all the signs, because they too wanted something out of it? Because they just wanted to be part of the family that badly, even if it was all a lie?

It hurts, and the reader leaves quietly. They don't burst into the room and confront everyone - no, they just walk away. Too consumed in their own grief and feelings to do much else besides that. I imagine that they don't even make it to their room, and hell, maybe one of the other Batfam members find them, but just looking at them makes the reader cry harder.

If they literally run away from the person, or not, is really up to interpretation at the moment, but either way they manage to find some alone time to themselves, and just... let it all out. The reader, in that moment, allows themself to grieve over the lose of a family they never had, and after all is said and done, I can imagine that they try to distance themselves- but are smart in how they do so.

The reader tries to get the family closer to their friend, while also limiting the amount of the the reader is actually around both the friend and the family. Basically just trying to put everyone in a position where they don't need a middleman - where the reader doesn't have to be involved anymore, and basically just... giving the reader an opportunity to truly distance themself from the family.

Sure, the reader might still try to hang out with the family's current fixation, but I can see them be willing to sacrifice time with that person just to further get away. It hurts to do it, and they don't want to, but they figure that, with enough time, once the family chills the fuck out, they'll hopefully be able to sort of go back to how things were. If not? Then... well, they'll just have to learn how to live with that, and they hope that their friend can forgive them.

Don't get me wrong, I could totally see the reader trying to find ways to get their friend out of the position, but the batfam is one tricky foe.. so they settle for what they can, but maybe they're still trying to do what they can. (Or maybe they think that this is the best course of action since... well, maybe they overheard some other talks afterwards? Who knows)

It could also be that, through the reader's attempt to leave, and them trying to eliminate themself from the equation entirely could be a huge turning point for the Batfam in terms of them turning yandere (aka, if they weren't yan before, they definitely are now. and those that are, are even worse than before). A real "you don't know what you had until it's gone" kinda deal, and it's gotta be hilarious to see the fam just scramble for something, and to kind of 'catch' the reader until they're truly gone... which, to add to the humor- the reader is probably already trying to move out of Gotham by that time LMAO

[film-in-my-soul]

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2024 Reclists · INBOX · Blog Updates

[existslikepristin]

Been holding on to this one in a finished/unedited state for a few months now because I wasn't too happy with it. @worldsover did some editing for me. It still feels like something's missing (I'm not going to try to make Levi literally rewrite the whole thing), so feel free to give me critiques and suggestions, even if it's "yeah, I see what you mean and it is a little odd". I don't want to avoid posting it for forever, so let's call it a learning experience.

Regardless, I hope you enjoy! This is my first explicitly stated female reader insert, so that's yet another fun step.

(Also, I know I promised that the next story would be "normal" but you know what? Anything is normal compared to my last fic, so the only critique I will not be accepting is "Waaah, this isn't 'normal!'")

Tags: NSFW, TheLounge, Red Velvet, Irene, Female reader insert, anal, rimming, not a single line of dialogue, canonical silence, ass worship, massage oils, hand holding, yeah you’re deeefinitely the dominant one here

Open and Shut Up

~~~~~

No talking.

You can get behind that. That’s totally sexy. What’s less sexy… is a flowchart.

Obviously, you printed it out. Irene is going to be paying you for thi—It’s not payment, you remind yourself. It’s a mutual favor between acquaintances which may or may not involve money or goods/services which require it.

You scowl retroactively at Yeri’s so-called humorous insistence that you are, effectively, a prostitute. Performing sex acts in exchange, one time, for smoked salmon bagels is most definitely not prostitution, as you have reminded her many times.

Trying very hard to put that train of thought behind you, you glance around at the room. Low light, vanilla lavender sandalwood candles, obscenely soft towels, lube options, massage oils, and the stupid fucking laminated flowchart. You sigh—

NO! You don’t sigh, actually! Because the no talking rule was emphasized in great detail during negotiations, and included moans, groans, hums, whispers, grunts, and unnecessarily heavy breathing. And since a sigh is a heavy breath, you fucking hold that shit in tight!

But why do you need to hold in your sighs? Well, because of the final feature of the room that wasn’t mentioned two paragraphs ago: Irene, lying entirely nude on her stomach, on a bed of silk sheets, implying that your job—NOT your job, excuse you—has already begun. You entered the room mere seconds ago, so this should be extremely obvious to you, but you had to take care of a bit of exposition before you could really admire her body or get into the action. Perhaps you should do one of those two things now.

You can hardly believe what you’re seeing. Her slim legs and waist, the expanse of her back easily defeating the silkiness of the sheets she’s on, her elegant neck, her luxurious pitch black hair twirled into a loose bun, and the mild plumpness of her ass, peeking out from above the creases where her thighs meet it. Now, you’ve seen plenty of naked idols, but it’s the prestige that comes with this idol in particular that may have you so excited. Or it’s what she wants you to do to her. It’s hard to say. Point is, you’re wet, and you’re probably going to have to lay down a towel of your own.

On that note, you forgot an important aspect of the exposition: You’re not allowed to touch yourself.

That’s right. You’re in a room with a naked Irene, perhaps the most desired (per capita by fans and/or marketing departments) idol in history, preparing to gape her asshole in exchange for goods and/or services and/or currency totalling in value no less than the approximate equivalent worth of this spa treatment, and you aren’t supposed to get yourself off. But you are supposed to be naked, so you remove your shirt and bra, making just enough noise for her to hear you undressing, since that’s supposed to be how you let her know you’re about to start—

Oh, yes. Did you forget the most, actually, critically important part of your exposition? Oh, you think you caught on to it moments ago? Why, yes. You’re here, specifically, to gape her asshole. No more, except any action that will lead toward said gaping, and definitely no less. You are to take the role of dominant, while she takes the role of submissive. Never mind the fact that, per her instructions, you can’t speak, or make any noise, or touch yourself, or use her body to get yourself off, or choose your own state of undress, or touch any part of her not shown in the diagram on the flowchart, or do anything that isn’t explicitly spelled out on the flowchart… But you are required to spank her if she makes any noises. So yeah, you’re totally the dominant one here. (And, to be more specific, you are to keep track of which buttcheek you last spanked so that you can make sure to spread the ass-slapping evenly between cheeks and preserve symmetry, followed by immediate continuation of whatever action you were in the midst of prior to said spank.)

… Yes, that is the last of the exposition. What? You want to have a flashback to when the verbal negotiations were happening? Absolutely not. That’s dialogue, which is technically against the rules. It’s time to do things to Irene’s butthole. Stop stalling.

Once you remove your skirt, slippers, and underwear, you get onto your knees, noting that the floor seems slightly spongy and wondering what that’s about. Irene’s legs are closed. The crevasse of her ass on its own makes you want to scream, but the centerpoint of the cross formed by that crevasse and her thigh crease . There is the slightest gap at that point which reveals the tiniest sneak peak of what hides between. You bite down on your lips to suppress your instinctual lewd moan. Okay, you’re just getting started. Calm down, or this is going to be impossibly difficult.

You straddle Irene’s calves (without touching them!), take a deep and silent breath, and lean forward, placing your palms first on the flawless globes of her ass, then letting your fingers come to rest as well. They’re such a perfect combination of firm, soft, and smooth that it brings tears to your eyes. The inability to comment on them out loud brings you near-physical pain and certainly-mental anguish. If Irene cares, she’s not making it known. She’s deathly silent, and you only know she’s alive because of the way her back rises and falls with her breath.

Contact achieved. Looking at the flowchart isn’t necessary for now. You had a pretty easy time memorizing steps one through five since they don’t have any branching-off points. Step two is to inspect. You look away and take a couple more deep (and silent!) breaths, then increase the pressure of your hands on Irene’s butt and ever so slowly pull apart.

Within the realm of your imagination, you can see yourself comically hyperventilating. In the real world, you see a hole that you could only ever describe as manicured. Not a hair in sight, and some shade of pink so unrealistically perfect that it probably has a Pantone color named after it (Irene’s Butthole Pink? Pick a hex code). The miniscule folds of flesh are already very slightly gaped, giving you a near-imperceptible view into her interior, as if she’d had someone else very recently do what you’re about to, or as if she’d prepared herself with a butt plug. You wonder if Irene even owns a butt plug though, considering she can probably convince any person on the planet to open up her ass any time she would even want to use one. Or maybe she does have one. The Alexander III Commemorative Fabergé egg is still missing, after all…

You pull a little further, and can’t contain your shudder as not only her asshole opens by another couple millimeters, but her pussy lips spread and eventually split apart when the pressure barely overcomes the moisture holding them together. Your eyes and heart flutter, and you think you might faint. The vagina is one of many areas which is not indicated as touchable on the diagram, which hurts your soul because it’s the perfect number of shades darker than the surrounding skin and—

It’s time to focus! Asshole only! Get your mind out of the gutter!

Keeping one hand in place so she stays half-open, you get a handful of one of the massage oils. It feels room temperature, but you're supposed to hold it until it's warmer, so you stare at Irene's back as you try not to let too much drip away. The movement of her breathing is steady and subtle. In. Out. You try to match her pace. In. Out. In. Out.

When it's ready, you let the oil flow off your hand into the cleft of Irene's ass. She doesn't so much as flinch, which you obviously credit more to your excellent reading of body temperature and less to her ass-trance. But back to the butt in hand.

The oil travels leisurely down her crack, speeding up ever so slightly as the path becomes more vertical, and stopping to pool on top of her hole. You place your oily hand on its designated cheek again and repeat the process on the other side.

It’s time to really get started now… with step three-dash-C.

The tips of your thumbs meet just over her hole and press down flatly so that they do not enter her. You slowly shift them around each other and back, massaging with just the right pressure to stay on the rim. The rest of your hands are for massaging the rest of her derriere. It’s not necessary, but you want to show off your manual dexterity, and you want to make sure she’s as relaxed as can—She’s effectively already achieved Nirvana down there, from the looks of things, actually. The relaxation is for you. You’re the one who’s Nirvous about this anal—Is this a joke to you? It’s time for another spread test. You need to make sure Irene’s ready, because maybe somewhere between steps four-dash-E and four-dash-K you’ll forget to off yourself for that pun… Thank fuck you didn’t say that one out loud.

Step four is the first insertion.

Every ounce of fortitude you have is tested. You hold back your shaking. It’s just a finger. It is just a finger, right? You’ve done this plenty of times, to plenty of idols, no less. Well, not a silent butt-fingering, per se, but you’ve been knuckle deep in other idols before, and often more than one idol and often more than one knuckle! Irene just has a gravitas that makes yo—Don’t you dare say she has a gravitass. Stay. Quiet! And keep her ass spread with your free hand.

You watch the carefully trimmed, polished nail of your forefinger leisurely slip into her asshole. Then you pass your first knuckle. You stop on the second and quietly release your held breath. You don’t recall making an analogy about the feeling of her ass cheeks, but you’ll sure as hell compare the interior of her butt to cashmere. The minor gape you’d noticed previously has no effect on how tightly the hole hugs your digit.

Irene’s back rises a centimeter higher, and falls more slowly. Her pattern is broken. You catch your breath again. Did you do something wrong? Is the massage oil adequate? No, it’s only meant to be the starter. This was the whole intention. Right? You glance at the flowchart. Yes, step three, massage oil only, no additional lubrication. You do your best to relax and drag your finger back.

The way her asshole holds on to your finger is its own story of seduction, affair, and dramatic departure. She (her hole is a she) clearly doesn’t want her (so is your finger) to go, but she has to, lest her family shun her. But she cannot resist returning, leaving again despite all the kissing and languid hugging, and returning once more. One last time, she escapes completely, but after telling the story to a saucy friend, introduces Irene’s butt to them, and suddenly the sordid romance becomes a menage a trois.

Two fingers, two knuckles deep in Irene’s ass, you note your own wetness beginning to trail down your inner thigh. You aren’t sure exactly why the thought crosses your mind that you hope that it will somehow evaporate against your ragingly hot and bothered leg.

Now, out, and back in, out, and back in. With your breath. You match Irene’s. Out, and back in.

You gulp. You’re halfway through step four’s substeps. Next is the addition of another finger and more thrusting at a torturously slow pace for an actually timed five minutes. You find yourself hypnotized by it. The five minutes pass by in something more like twelve seconds, and the clock on the wall gently changes color to let you know it’s time to make the final preparations for step five. It’s not magical. It’s just connected by bluetooth to the phone to your left.

But what is magical? You’ve come this far, so you should know by now. It’s Irene’s asshole. You remove two of three fingers, then reinsert one more from the opposite hand, and as cautiously as you can, pull apart. There’s the magic.

Irene’s butt is open, and not just immediately around your fingers, but in a whole oval shape. It’s not enormously wide, but it’s enough that you could reasonably, without discomfort, insert the tip of your tongue.

… Hey. Wouldn’t you know it? That’s step five.

Rimming is always a questionable thing to do to your nose, ranging from the worst to a merely neutral idea. When you draw in close to Irene’s open ass, however, it’s the massage oil that overpowers your trepidatious olfactory sense. You’d noticed earlier that it was labeled as Fresh Linen, a scent that certainly makes sense given Irene’s reputation for laundry-doing, but it triggers a seemingly unrelated and entirely Loony memory of the smell of coffee. How the smells of linen and coffee are linked in your mind, you may never know. Perhaps you should see a professional about that.

But how’s the taste? Well, bland with the slight bitter spike of chemicals that improve viscosity but shouldn’t be ingested in large quantities. The risk of health complications is extremely low though, and you’d risk significantly more for this specific opportunity.

Irene’s butt cheeks and your face cheeks are still separated by your hands, but as of step five-dash-B that will no longer be the case. For now, your lips and tongue are in full contact, and that would be more than enough. To be licking around and inside the asshole of Irene, the rarely disputed queen of idols, you have to be infinitely lucky. You thank heaven you are.

Your focus is drawn in further and further. No more jokes. No more references to other stories. Even the most obvious pun/reference slips from your mind as you try your best to keep your tongue soft for Irene’s pleasure.

Your complete and total compliance doesn’t go unnoticed by Irene, somehow. The tiniest roll of her hips, that barest indication of her appreciation, kicks your core into overdrive. The trail down your thigh widens and it’s all you can do to beg the universe that you won’t drip on her calves.

It takes more strength than you knew you had not to squeal your desperation into her ass. Your thighs and your lungs and your everything else burn with desire. You know it’s not for want of air since your nose is still free, so it has to be your overwhelming need for Irene’s attention. You’d do anything. You are doing anything. A friendly agreement to gape her hole? No, this is a test, a labor, a trial. You’re proving your devotion.

You’re not licking a queen’s ass. 

You’re worshipping a goddess. 

It’s not a flowchart. 

It’s a divine ritual.

The shifting color on the clock only mostly guides you out of your trance. You pull away with a heavy heart, staring half lidded at the strings of saliva still connecting you with what you now live for. There’s no difference in size, but you much prefer the sheen you left on her rim to that of the oil. Step five isn’t over yet.

Do rituals have steps? You try to think back to any hieroglyphics you’ve seen in old textbooks. There were no numbers… Obviously there were no numbers. They were hieroglyphics. You can’t read that shit—

Stop.

You remove your fingers, allowing Irene’s ass to close once more. It happens slowly. You nearly choke, watching her hole return to its previous shape with your breath held so tightly in your chest that it feels like something is going to burst. Hey, maybe it will, but that can’t happen yet. That would be too loud, and your goddess demands silence, so you open your mouth to simply allow the breath to drift out along with any comments you had on the subject.

You close back in once again, this time letting your face settle against Irene’s cheeks and gently nudge them apart, reattaching your tongue to her rim. You want to dive in, to feel her squeeze you, maybe even cum around you, but that’s not part of the ritual. You need to give her rest. The best is yet to cum—no. Come. You give her the lightest rimming you can, holding your tongue back to merely caress her asshole while you silently revel in the light press of her glutes on your cheeks.

Another slight roll of her hips sends you reeling. Your vision fades and Irene is all that’s left. You can see the movement. It’s not just her breath, but her oh-so-gentle rocking back and forth that makes the light and shadows play across her back like the grains of the Elysian fields waving in the breeze. It doesn’t seem right for you to be allowed to experience this, to taste this, to be treated to a view of paradise, to understand the touch of divinity.

The gently shifting color of the clock, magenta to yellow, broadens your vision again. You back away, taking a deep breath that you only now realize you desperately needed.

Without thinking, finally, you do as Irene has commanded. You place your palms on her ass: your altar. You slide your thumbs into her glorious hole, and you pull apart softly. Her muscles have relaxed so thoroughly that you meet no resistance. She is simply open, as if this is just how she was always meant to be, told in myths that cannot be written. Her soft ass doesn’t try to clench down. It remains a portal that entices you, begs you to enter.

And you could. Certainly, as is the case with other gods, Irene could forgive you for showing her your specialty. You, the heroic champion, could show her an unexpected pleasure. Touch her clit, lap at her juices, grind yourself on the back of her thigh. Her instruction indicated that you’re the dominant one here. Make it so.

You hook the first knuckle of each of your pointer fingers, as directed, inside.

No. You can’t get greedy now. You’re not that kind of hero.

Irene opens further around your digits with no effort. Now you see the depth of her abyss, and it does not try to close. Irene wants you to see into her. Even the beautiful spheres of her ass to either side, her graceful back, her soft legs, her captivating hair… It all fades away. You know what the next step is. You don't need the clock to intuit the moment she's ready. Your higher thoughts and your lust blend together.

Slowly, you pull further apart. Not much. It may not seem like it's so small, but this immortal gateway still needs to be treated with reverence. For every millimeter you actually widen her, though, you see miles more. It makes you feel light-headed, even a little dizzy. And when you slide your fingers out, those feelings become far more distinct. Irene remains open.

Gaping may have been an appropriate word for her to have described what she wanted from you, but it was far too crude to represent what you see now. Then again, you’re not sure what else to call it. It’s been a while since the thesaurus failed you.

Irene's muscles are relaxed. Serene, even. Like this is where they should naturally be. You simply guided them.

You lean back in and gently kiss her rim. It's dangerous, running your tongue around the defined edge of the mortal and everlasting, but exhilarating. The slight rolling of her hips is your indication that Irene is feeling the same passion, for all the hubris it takes to assume such a thing about your goddess. As far as you know, she could just be moving because your tongue and lips aren't in the right places and making up for your inadequacies.

Still, every slight, slow shade of her ass against your cheek is a divine caress, urging you further along the journey. Your kisses are as insistent as you can get them without making the grave error of smacking your lips.

In the foggiest reaches of your vision, a hand reaches out to you along the floor. Irene grasps at the air like she wants something. That’s not part of the ritual. You can only think of one thing in the moment, and you take her hand in yours.

Irene’s fingers close around yours and curl into your palm. They flutter every time you swirl your tongue across her rim, and, after a moment, they squeeze.

It’s terrifying, at first, when Irene trembles underneath you. It evokes thoughts of earthquakes, brought upon by the wrath of the gods. But no, it’s orgasm. Her asshole contracts slightly, but otherwise just quivers against your mouth. It ends almost as soon as it begins.

Irene takes her hand away, and a bit of your soul with it. She lightly presses on the clock, and it shifts to white. You don’t have to be reminded of what that means. Steeling your heart, you back off of Irene’s ass and carefully push yourself up to your feet. Even at your full height, you can see into Irene’s hole. Taking it in with the full picture of the rest of her body is an incredible sight to behold. Knowing that you contributed to it makes it even more beautiful.

As you look over her, your eyes go wide and you have to contain a gasp. Irene’s calves are covered in little wet streaks, right where you had been hovering over her. Embarrassment washes over you. It's hard to imagine being so turned on as to not have felt yourself dripping on her, especially after having worried about that very thing mere minutes ago. You want to reach for a towel to correct your mistake, but you know you're not supposed to touch her. You're supposed to be dressing yourself and leaving, so you step away, and reach down for your clothes.

Your arms feel heavy as you pull your underwear up, only getting more embarrassed about how soaked they immediately become.

As you put on your shirt though, Irene moves again. You can't help but stand perfectly still, mesmerized by the smooth motion of Irene getting up onto her knees and sitting back on her heels. Now upright, she's even more statuesque, back curved inward from her generous bottom up to her gentle shoulders. One hand releases her hair from its bun, and the night sky falls past her neck, simultaneously obscuring and enhancing that gorgeous expanse.

Irene’s torso twists a quarter in your direction. It's hard to think that for however long you've been here, this is the first you've seen her face and it's merely a silhouette, not even far enough around that she could look at you out of the corner of her eye. All you can see is her eyelashes, pointed down, to indicate that her eyes are closed. The movement also coyly presents you with the side of her breast, yet another of the endless curves of her body that you have had no opportunity to worship.

One graceful arm comes back. Her fingers find their way to the cleft of her ass and sensually feel their way down. You don't even think to wipe away your drool as you watch those fingers dip inward. They move in and out, unhurried and exquisite.

Your mind reels. Were you not enough? Is she just basking in the remnants of her pleasure? Is she doing this for you to watch? Should you even still be here?

Irene continues to toy lightly with her asshole while at the same time her other hand shakes out her hair from below. 

Your legs twitch. You can't stay here anymore. You practically jump into your skirt, grab your shoes, and you're out the door. You keep the doorknob turned in your hand even as you whip yourself outside so the latch won't click when you close it.

In the hallway, you slump back against the wall. Your body is on fire. You need to be touched. You don’t live very far away. You can get home fast, and if you can’t grab someone on the way, idol or otherwise, you’ll be sitting on a vibrator all night—

The door you just came through opens again. Irene walks out in a shoulderless sweater, just long enough to cover her shorts, and sneakers. How she can look so casual, you’re sure you’ll never comprehend.

She doesn’t turn to leave, though. She steps closer to you, and closer, and closer. The hallway isn’t that wide. Are her steps inches long or is space expanding? Either way, she crosses and stands over you. It doesn’t matter what your height was. Your knees will only hold you against the wall at a height that makes it look like Irene is miles taller.

You open your mouth. You want to ask her to make good on her end of your bargain right now. Or maybe not. It doesn’t really matter. You just want to say something. But before you can, you feel the shock of physical connection. Irene strokes your cheek with the back of her fingers. Her eyes capture yours, holding you steady.

The distance becomes inches, and you’re paralyzed. She doesn’t blink as she gets even closer, but closes her eyes just in time to remove the final gap and touch her lips to yours. She kisses you so softly that you can barely feel it. In fact, the whole of your body seems suddenly light and cloudish, like a breeze could send you away. You even feel a drop of rain leave your eye.

When she retreats, she gives you the coyest smile to ever coy, and as she approaches her full height again, her fingers leave your jawline and the lightness you felt reverses. Gravity crashes your ass into the floor.

Then Irene turns to leave, breaking the line of sight to her eyes, freeing your own to wander. The last thing you see before she turns the corner is that she is not, in fact, wearing shorts under her sweater. You get one last glimpse of your handiwork. Though you can’t see very well and can’t imagine her ass is still gaped now that she’s back on her feet, it is still visibly wet, as are the backs of her thighs and calves.

[dr-trafalgar-law]

Trafalgar Law X CisFem Reader

15

“I didn't know I'd feel relieved after ordering a dress.” you sat across from your fiance at a cozy little bistro you'd picked for lunch.

“I didn't really understand why it was such a big deal until today.” He replied picking up the menu in front of him.

“That hit me at dress number four.” You chuckled, “I feel like you saved the day.”

Law lifted the tri-fold laminate to hide the odd surge of pride he was feeling.

“That's a bit much.” He managed evenly, “All I did was pick something I thought you might like.”

“Well, it is perfect.” You smiled glancing down at the menu.

All of your reactions today had him feeling a bit cocky. He'd been the source of that happiness and Goddamn if that wasn't an addicting high. It was more than that though, part of your elation was the unexpected show of affection in the dressing room. Whatever rare occasion Law touched you was warm and comforting. This small kiss on the forehead was electric. Shivers wiggled down your spine just reflecting on it.

“Do you come here often?” He asked, still perusing the restaurant's offerings.

“I used to when I wasn't burying myself in work. A friend of mine from culinary school owns it.”

He glanced up, interested in this newly offered information, “You went to school with Sanji-ya?”

“Small world it seems. How do you know him?” You asked.

“Through an infuriating acquaintance.” He grimaced.

“Oh, now that sounds interesting.” Your chuckle faded as realization washed over you, “Luffy.”

Law's brows raised, he shouldn't have been surprised. Your cousin hung out with Sanji and Luffy too.

“Smaller world than I thought.” He murmured, “You used to hang out with them?”

You shifted and cleared your throat.

“Something wrong?” He asked, watching your disposition change.

“I mean… to answer your question, kind of? Luffy is Zoro's best friend.”

Law sat forward as it clicked, “The little brother?”

You nodded.

The raven sighed, “Will everything always come back to that guy?”

“I really wish it didn't.” You slouched forward a bit.

“Sorry,” Law reached across the table and hesitated briefly before touching your wrist, “I didn't mean to ruin the mood.”

His hand was so soft and warm, you fought the urge to hold it, opting instead to stay still.

“No, you didn't ruin anything. It's actually something we should talk about.” Your gaze rose from his tattooed fingers just before he pulled away.

“Maybe not in public.” He glanced around, “Let's get back to the issue at hand. What would you recommend ordering?”

He’d found that getting you to talk about something you had passion for usually brightened you right up.

You sat up and flipped the menu between the two of you to show him all of your favorite items. He leaned in resting his chin in his palm, pleased with the mood change.

Soon your orders arrived as the conversation continued comfortably.

“So did you decide on going back to Olympia to look for your suit?”

He nodded, finishing his last bite, “I forgot to tell you, Cora-ya will be coming next weekend to help me.”

“Is he going to stay with us?” Your eyes lit up.

“Well, I assumed he'd stay at a hotel. Our place is small.” He answered appreciating your excitement.

Our place.

The phrase sent a flutter through your chest.

“It's a two bedroom apartment.” You deadpanned moving your napkin from your lap to the table.

“I guess I can take the couch so he can have my room.” He suggested thoughtfully.

You cocked a brow at him, “Is sleeping with me that bad?”

Law’s eyes widened as his face heated up, “I'm sorry?”

“Wai-I -” You covered your face and let out an embarrassed chuckle, “I meant like, if I snored or something.”

A soft laugh rumbled through your fiance's chest as he reached forward to gently move your hands from your face. The amused look on his face had you frozen for a moment.

That smile could end wars.

“You don't snore,” he assured, “I just didn't want to invite myself into your room.”

Your gaze trailed down to your hands resting in his, “I appreciate that. You can stay in mine.”

“Thank you.” He murmured.

“Look at the two of you, charming everyone around you.” A familiar voice chimed as a plate softly clacked against the table.

“Sanji.” You straightened yourself out now that you'd been reminded you were in public.

“I couldn't let my beautiful former study partner leave without her favorite dessert.” He'd placed a small plate of strawberry shortcake between you.

“Awe thank you.” You smiled up at him, “I'll hook you up next time you stop by the bakery.”

“Sanji-ya,” Law nodded toward your friend.

“Tra-guy, it's been a while. I see you're doing well.” Sanji shook his hand.

“Tra-guy?” You echoed.

“You know how Luffy is with names.” The blonde winked at you.

“How's Pudding? I heard about the bed-rest.” You changed the subject, deciding to circle back to Law's nickname when you had him alone.

Sanji's blue eyes sparkled at the mention of his wife. He immediately launched into an update on her pregnancy and gushed so much you almost wished you hadn't asked. You were glad she was well and the bed-rest was just a precaution due to high blood pressure. After the catch up and a few pictures your former classmate excused himself to get back to work.

“I definitely ate too much.” You sighed entering your apartment.

“What should we do with the afternoon?” Law asked removing his shoes and placing them with yours by the door.

“First, stretchy pants.” You suggested.

“And then?” He prompted removing the dark knit sweater he'd had covering the worn black t-shirt he had on underneath.

“I'm fine with whatever you choose Tra-guy~”

His sweater flopped over your head and shoulders as you tried to make a dash for your room.

“Not you too.” He grumbled blithely.

You gasped dramatically and pulled the garment off your head, “That’s abuse.”

“You're ridiculous.” His lips upturned enjoying this playful side of you.

“I could have fallen.” You pushed the sweater against his chest.

“I'm a doctor,” he leaned over you and dropped his voice, “I'd take care of you.”

Fuck.

That silver gaze flitted from your lips to your eyes so quickly you had to have imagined it. His expression was relaxed but there was something there he was holding back. Torn between learning what the consequences would be and being afraid to let you into his world completely - he held his breath.

It was a subtle but bold move. Wanting to match his energy and ride out the high of this tension without taking a move your brain might not be ready for - you gently nuzzled his cheek.

“I know you would.” Your fingertips brushed the sharp line of his jaw.

The rush of cool air that hit him as you stepped back was sobering. He cursed under his breath as you made your way to your room to change. Kissing your forehead earlier in the day suddenly didn't feel as intimate.

Confirming you wanted the affection was like opening the door to a locked room.

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Studies: Odd Squad UK -- "Should Odd Acquaintance Be Forgot" Episode Followup, Part 4

Well...halfway through the episode now. Taking it as it goes, but man, people, shit's hard.

Below the break.

(A post-editing note: I was informed that Leonie is, in fact, a girl, and not a boy like I thought. I'm keeping the LGBTQ+ theory because we've already gotten gay triangle villain and they could extend that to child villains too, but keep in mind that Leonie is a girl and not a boy. That's my bad.)

I will choose to pass this as "Onom explained how the gadgets work on the way here".

Just...for the sake of my rapidly-decreasing sanity.

Ohhhhhhh...huh. So that's where that final scene in the gadget competition results video comes from. I mean hey, they got balls to give us a teaser, at the very least.

But also, is this meant to be this precinct's equivalent to the Odd Squad Warehouse? And if so, why are all of these adult construction workers here? If this goes to the outside, and this area is not a part of the precinct's HQ, then I have a hell of a lot of questions.

"Is it 'get a pizza'?"

Ahhhhh Ozzie...you poor schmuck. Stuck with a goofy scientist and a stoic-in-name-only Security agent who are both fixated on food when chaos is running rampant in town. Surprised he doesn't rescind his temporary leadership based on that alone!

So throughout this franchise, we've gotten blue, green, red, and now purple blobs.

If they keep going with a yellow and an orange one, we can get the whole damn rainbow.

"So what's next for you three?"

Regretting their past actions and contrived stupidity?

See, at least Obbs had plans for world domination, and then domination of another planet.

These three? Fucking amateur hour, and I'd honestly love if some Odd Squad agent went, "Okay, so then what?"

Really, this is just the cameraman being really bad at his job.

Not...not the show's cameraman. The newscast's cameraman.

THIS WAS N O T HIM FUCKING ABANDONING THEM!!!!!! DON'T YOU FUCKING GET IT?!?!?!?!?!

I'm just...I'm weak...I'm so fucking weak...Tasha, you're fucking killing me.

"But...I panicked" NO BRO. YOU COULDN'T HANDLE THE FUCKING PRESSURE. GET SOME GODDAMN TRAINING, P R O P E R TRAINING, AND COME BACK.

"You think we're masterminds?"

Well I sure as hell don't, considering you don't know how to read a fucking book.

I...what??? Just like that??? ARE YOU FUCKING K I D D I N G M E . Y'ALL ARE GONNA FORGIVE HIM JUST LIKE T H A T ?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Okay, look. I've heard complaints about The Shadow's reformation being too quick. Personally, I disagree, especially when you stack it up against whatever in the assfuck this is. The Shadow, at least, had a moment of doubt before she was fully reformed and accepted Opal's apology -- and the acceptance wasn't just because of status quo; it was sisterly love and appreciation. These three just go "oop well okay sure, you're forgiven" with the only doubt being about what they've done, with Ozzie giving a half-hearted speech that has no impact.

This shit? IS SO FUCKING ASS AND WE ONLY HAVE THREE MINUTES LEFT TO GO. I've never wanted to fire a lightsaber into my eyeballs more.

Ohhhhhhhhh...so just...exactly like the pienado...

Dad, give me the lightsa- GIVE ME THE LIGHTSABER.

No. On five million levels. NO.

Yes, even with Orli asking if they're on the heroes' side now.

FUCK YOU. A MILLION FUCK YOU'S. UPON YOU AND YOUR FAMILY. DISHONOR ON YOU. DISHONOR ON YOUR FAMILY. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

Usually I don't mind Orli's self-aware shit. Here, however, it's grating.

Onom deciding to go get pizza instead of, y'know, helping out is grating too. At the very least, though...he's in the Side Character Bin where he belongs, just as God intended.

Yes, "did I miss anything?" be damned.

Ah yes, resurrection. If I imagine myself as Directors having that innate power because they can live for millennia, it actually makes this better.

Wh...I'm sorry, WHAT?????? This precinct was facing a serious lack of agents and now you're sending the one agent that was brought here to boost numbers awa- OH. OHHHHHHHHHHHH NO I NEED MY WONDER DRUGS. WHERE'S MY TYLENOL. WHERE IS MY ADVIL. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH-

BAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA THIS GUY COULDN'T FUCKIN' STAND BEING ALONE SO HE DECIDED TO ROPE ORLI BACK INTO GOING TO NIAGARA FALLS??????

JUST MAKE HIM PART OF YOUR PRECINCT CAPTAIN O OH MY G O D .

"Turns out there's a lot of oddness back home."

How the fuck does he know?! He lives IN A CAVE BEHIND A WATERFALL. W H A T FUCKING ODDNESS DOES HE HAVE-

*long sigh* This finale was tolerable before it started slipping into "the US government's new form of torture for most-wanted criminals". Having the falls turn into chicken soup is not a wake-up call. It's an isolated incident. THIS MEANS NOTHING.

I- and...and just like that??? He accepts it?!?!?!?!

I'm...my body hurts. My soul hurts. We're really just doing anything and everything to wrap this up in 11 minutes and I hate it. God, at least Olando actually got a whole-ass resolution to his problem by making the decision to stay, even if things were handled poorly. This is just...straight ass!

ooooooooooh she said the line oooooooooooooooh- shoost me. shoost me fast. shoost me hard. all the way to the moon.

I AM GOD, AND I FROWN UPON THE SIN THAT IS THIS ENTIRE FUCKING EPISODE.

There is absolutely no fuckin' chicken soup that can heal my broken-ass soul, Osgood.

Why the music is cut off, too, I will never understand. And fuck this whole.

And your credits for this episode, for what might be the final time.

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

Overall...oh my God. I think the followup speaks well enough for itself, but in case it wasn't clear, let me lay it down for you in a single image.

God I've been itching to use that image for a month. Really any image to add to my text reactions, but...Tumblr's photo limit.

Pretty much everything about this finale was a trainwreck, to the point where it makes "Odd Together Now" look valid enough for a Peabody. From the villains' motives, to Ozzie making up with them, to how the conflict is resolved, to the ending...all of it was the most shit-laden thing I have ever had to sit through in the nearly 10 years I've been with this franchise, and to dive into it in-depth requires another essay entirely. There are a select few funny bits, I will admit, but nothing particularly redeeming about it.

I'm going to dash some hopes now while I'm on a bitch streak: if you think this finale's abrupt ending means we're going to get another season, stop hoping. Please, I am begging you, stop hoping. Abrupt endings are very common for this franchise, and just because the finale has one doesn't mean we're getting a continuation. Of course, I could be wrong, and maybe PBS will see that it might be doing numbers and decide to greenlight another go, but given their track record with Odd Squad favoritism-wise, I don't see that happening. And if it does happen...well, maybe it's just the cynic in me, but I don't think it'll get better, even if we get more than 12 episodes. Ever hear of the complaint that video games should take as long to make as is needed for the game to be good? This season/series was made in the span of a year, and it's crystal-clear that's not enough time to make a season perfect regardless of episode count. Whether the rush was due to the 10th anniversary or not is up in the air, but I'd have been fine with waiting another year or so and having something else be done for the 10th anniversary. However long it takes, so we don't get the slop that this was.

My disappointment expands beyond the cosmos. It is, by every conceivable piece of mathematical knowledge, beyond immeasurable. And my entire fucking Spoopy Month has been ruined by people who can't recognize the signs of franchise rot.

*deep breath* Now that that's out of the way, some future plans: I'm currently working on a few more Seren's Studies, including my overall thoughts on the series/season as well as a study on PBS Kids and how they treat Odd Squad. Expect those soon, hopefully.

For now, I need to take a shower, scream, cry, and melt into a puddle. And then sleep. Preferably for half a millennium, whereupon I will wake up and then promptly Google "what happened to odd squad".

Oh, and if you've been reading these...thank you. These have been crazy fun to make, whether I have a good time or a bad one. Screaming into a mic is better, but banging keys works just as well. Stay tuned.

Seren out.

[elleryhart]

Write, dear Hart -- Entry 2

I spent some time locked up, but I’ve managed, as it will be quite obvious, to get myself out. There was some little help, and I have repaid the favor. This was before [image of a flower] of course, but in my haste to get that bit down, I forgot it should be mentioned.

Some of my time after this is a blur. I took up doing odd jobs, and made myself enough to get rooms above a gambling den, and met [image of a wide hat]. I should have left [image of a wide hat] alone, as meeting them had only made my nightmares worse. [image of a pen] found me bleary and unkempt in the street one evening, avoiding the rest that had been plaguing me and told me they knew of a solution. [image of a pen] kept me company for a few nights, watching over me while I slept, and finally my nightmares seem to pass. I think some of the fault lies with me for giving that d__n statue some blood on a whim, but I have no concrete proof of this.

[image of a closed eye] got to me eventually. [image of a closed eye] seems to think something can be done with me. I do believe it’s [image of a closed eye]’s doing for my many recent windfalls and new acquaintances. I could not begin to enumerate them here in a list, as I fear I will run out of paper, but as they make themselves important in my life –as friend, as foe, and mentor –I will make them known.

[Here the handwriting changes slightly, and the ink quality is different. Some time has likely passed, but a new entry has not begun.

[image of a flower tied with a black ribbon] has called me a (and this is a near-direct quote) weasel who has been taught to knife-fight by a drunk. It seems I must clean myself up. I am saving for a new hat and a coat. Perhaps trousers are in order as well.

[two circles that seem to be halo’d] says my writing is poor. I suspect this is why [image of a closed eye] gave me their name. I feel the need to get the clothing [image of a flower tied with a black ribbon] suggested before we meet in person –it may be important.

It seems to be a day to dress me down, as it were. No matter. I know they mean well.

[image of a military badge] wishes to duel. Many such instances these days, with my new ribbon adornment. I look forward to the challenge.

[image of a gargoyle] is the most… curious sort. Gave me a weasel figure which contained a garrote. I would normally have considered this a threat, but it seems to have been meant as a friendly overture. I do not know what to make of [image of a gargoyle]

[wackybuddiemewbs]

Buddie Moodboard - Service Dog Trainer AU

AKA another AU that wouldn't leave my wicked mind, after Hoover stole all of our hearts. So yeah, it had me thinking... what if Hoover's actually Buck's dog? And what if he trained service dogs? And what if that's how he meets (and falls in love with) Eddie??? And now... here we are. Cheers!

Eddie doesn't know what he got himself into. He never should have trusted Frank to hook him up with a trainer for service dogs. His psychologist said that a dog might help him deal with his panic attacks that became more and more frequent recently.

Well, what Frank forgot to mention is that the trainer is unique, to say the least. Eddie thought he'd get to work and get on with it. Instead, Buck makes him sit on the ground for hours, so dogs may lick his face as they please - if he's lucky. Or he comes up with something else that has Eddie wonder why on earth he'd spend money on that guy.

But he's doing it. He needs to get this fixed, after all. He can't scare Christopher with his panic attacks again. Not happening.

Though, in Buck's defense, Eddie greatly appreciates that Buck chooses dogs from local shelters to train to become service dogs. Or the "(under)dogs", as he referse to them occasionally.

At the very least, McGruff is not as gruffy as Eddie feared he'd be. And so, he now has a dog to train to help him deal with his anxiety, apparently. At least Christopher is thrilled about it, so that's a plus.

It is only a short time later that Eddie makes the acquaintance of Buck's own dog. Hoover, a menace on four paws trashing his owner's apartment whenever he isn't the center of attention. Oddly enough, Buck is perfectly chill about it. He finds it all kinds of endearing, whereas Eddie has to think hard whether he can still get a refund.

But against all those many odds, McGruff doesn't just grow on him. Eddie has to recognize that training with the dog, spending that much time with a being that will just sit there and listen to you, no matter what you say, no matter what you might be afraid of saying out loud... it does something for him. It really does.

But then his past comes back to haunt Eddie, when he reaches out to some of the people he served with, as part of his therapy. Because it is only then that he finds out that the people he saved... he didn't save. They are all dead. And it all comes crashing down around him.

It is Buck and McGruff who manage to snap him out of it eventually. And Eddie has to recognize that he's not fine. And that he won't be fine if he continues as he did. He can't do therapy for his son's sake, to be "fixed" for his son. He has to treat this seriously. He has to learn to live with it. And as it turns out, he has people who are happy to support him throughout.

While he knows he still has a long road ahead of him, Eddie feels like he is finally starting to make some progress. He wants to move forward again, after what he went through in the military, after Shannon died, after he found himself drowning on dry land.

Though the closer he takes a look at himself, the more Eddie begins to discover about himself. Including some rather uncomfortable truths about his growing feelings for a certain dog trainer with the goofiest smile in the world.

Then again, Eddie feels like he doesn't really know Buck as well as he'd need to, in order to know what his feelings truly are for him. Buck wears his emotions on his sleeves, alright. But there are things he won't speak about, when he only seems to be fine.

Eddie finds his suspicions confirmed when he invites Buck to a family gathering his aunt is hosting. Christopher falls into the pool by accident. Buck instantly dives in to rescue Eddie's son. But once the boy's out of the water, Eddie has to fear that Buck might drown in the pool himself as he can't seem to move.

The only thing that snaps Buck out of it is... Hoover. It is then that Eddie starts to understand that he is not the only one benefiting from Buck's natural talent at training dogs. Hoover is Buck's own service dog, even though he normally claims that he isn't.

In the aftermath, Buck confirms Eddie's suspicions. He had to stop working as a firefigher because of the trauma he suffered during the tsunami some time back. Buck was there as a civilian and tried to help people. He'd managed to get a good number of them on a ladder truck. Then he saw that boy struggling to stay afloat. He jumped right back in. But just as he was about to reach him, another wave hit, swept the boy away, and tilted over the ladder truck. Some couldn't move out of the way fast enough and were pulled under by the truck's weight.

Buck tried to get back to the job. He passed all evaluations and did fine for a while. But then he got triggered on a call, and he had a panic attack. Buck quit his job after that. He couldn't stand the thought that someone might have to suffer for him "not being good enough" at saving people. So he sought out ways to fix himself. And along the way, he found another way to help people.

And some dogs, too.

Following those revelations, Buck and Eddie feel closer than ever. As time progresses, Eddie feels more and more confident in his feelings for Buck. He is sure that he wants that man to have a place in his life, and not just at the margins. Thankfully, any ethical conflicts of a coffee date can be ruled out after a very awkward moment.

And so, the two dare to embark (pun only intended by Buck) on a new journey towards healing - by doing it together.

[unusannusbracket]

I've had some people be confused as to why the first option has tended to win, so I'd like to do a little peak behind the curtain as to how I arranged this... incredibly large bracket.

First I asked people which videos they remembered, which they forgot, and which was their favorite, and gave them a score accordingly. Remembering a video gave it +1, favorites gave +1, and forgetting gave -1.

As for ties, those would be settle by if it had more overall votes (i.e. two videos with a total score of 4, but one is because 7 remembered and 3 forgot and the other is because 10 remembered and 6 forgot, then the one that 10 people remembered would win.)

If that were the same, a video in the tie being someone's favorite video would make it win. If there were no favorites in the tie, I would use my personal judgement.

After that, I had 366* videos all ranked. Now, that doesn't exactly fit well into a bracket, so I removed the top four and bottom two videos- the top four would be introduced in round four, and the bottom two would be put into a three-way vote.

Of the remaining 360, I took the top 120 and put those into round two as byes, and the bottom 240 were put into round one. I once again divided the bottom 240 in half, and arranged the bracket so the highest ranked video of that group was put against the lowest ranked, the second-highest against the second-lowest, and so on.

As for the group of 120 byes, those were arranged so, should all the predicted videos from round one win, the highest ranked video in the 120 group would go against the lowest ranked winner in the 240 group, second-highest against second-lowest, and so on.

All this to say, the top video in each bracket is in fact, intentionally biased to win. This is how seeded brackets work. Not to blame people for not knowing; I myself have no interest in sports and only recently became acquainted with the arrangements of them due to tumblr's polling system.

Honestly, had I thought ahead, I should possibly have still shuffled some of these around, and I only had 66 original responses to my form, but, well, I made the bracket in a single day while sick, so, I won't blame myself for making my first bracket ever a little bit off.

*As you may have noticed, the Black Lives Matter video has not been included. I expressed why I did this in the form at the beginning, but just to once again clarify: this was removed because BLM is a serious political topic that shouldn't be put into a jokey competition. Comparing it to, say, a video in which two grown men bathe in their own urine, seems rather demeaning, no? As a bonus, this does also even out the videos from 367 to 366, as the Only Unus-es/Annus-es videos were uploaded on the same day, making the total video count odd.

[unfortunatelyfuckingstupid]

How i feel about my technology. A somewhat ranked comprehensive list:

feel free to use this as a guide for what to buy:

Phone (galaxy flip3): hate you. why am i chained to using you. i would trow you down a cliff if i could. Why must you be so useless and at the same time so essential. your on such thin ice to be so bold. you're spirit is violent and spiteful. Ungrateful little bastard.

Ipad (forgot model but an apple): fuck you if i didn't need you for school i would destroy you. Why are you denying me even of the most basic of functions. the soul of a total stuck up rich kid. even worse than phone. Burn in hell.

switch (normal model from 2017): You i feel little about.you are a tool nothing more. i do not like you but i don't hate you either. You have the essence of plain bread. you mean little to me i wouldn't feel bad about loosing you if it wasn't for the money.

in ear bluetooth headphones (sennheiser 4th gen): you are a pain i my ass i only have you because phone requires me to but i can not fault you for that, also you work with my earcuffs so youre a welcome acquaintance. you have little personality but suppose you are to small to properly fit anything in there.

headphones (wired, don't know the model): a shield for me from the world works with all my devices (except phone the little bastard). functional and beloved. the soul of an alcoholic though.

phone (old one, j5): all functions working you are still alive despite it all. All those years and yet i have had to give up on you my old lady... yo no fault of your own of course. I still appreciate using you from time to time when your bastard brother decides to be a pain. You have all your functions but they have grown slow. enjoy your well deserved retirement dear one. Again your essence is of a small old but joyful lady with many cats.

cd/dvd runner/ burner (a thinkpad ultraslim): you have been in my family before i was even old enough to start using you. you have served our family well and will continue to for many years i am sure. whether its burning dubious dvds and cd or watching movies you have done what you could. I am glad you are mine loved child. a strong mind you are.

camera (olympus c-300 zoom): You have been alive for longer than i was and also served my family for 2 generation. You still function as you should. The picture you take remain beautiful and i will always cherish you as a respected companion. Elan of an adventurer who even in old age will still go no matter what.

Mp3 player(there is no model its on its own): Oh you little wild card the 10 buck i paid for you have sure brought us through the years. A mischievous spirit. whether its going through the washing machine or being left in the snow for a night you have beat the odds and survived. All you do is to spite people and i am so here for it.

Discman (panasonic anti shock memory II): a relative newcomer yet already so high. You allow me to carry stories with me wherever i go. i can not fault you for your little hiccups for you are pre loved. I am sorry i could not save you from batteries damage but i know you will make it through for you are stronger than you know and you will achieve great things. You're substance is of undiscovered strength.

Nintendo (3ds XL): A warrior and a Showmaker, no matter what little me did to you, you remained. I am sorry for the damage i caused to your shoulder but im glad you remain with me. A caring, strong but kind psyche. greatly have you served me through long car rides and boring weekends, your games remain many and all off them are well loved i could not bear to lose you dear child.

Headphones (over ear, sennheisser gen3): My shield and my sword. you have brought me art as well as shielded me from the noise of the world which i so hate. You're quintessence is nochalant but deep down i know you care. I have brought you many places and you will continue to come with me everywhere i go no matter what i do. you are a tool which knows to serve their purpose. i could not trade you if i tried my good friend.

laptop (thinkpad):Also a relative newcomer but that does not mean a thing my child. You are a hardworking one, you bring me basic access in ways the GODDAMN PHONE could never even hope to if it tried, not that it does ofc. your machine spirit is a gentle and caring one and i thank you for your services of helping me navigate the great sea that is the internet and i hope you will have an as glorious live as the one you clearly work so hard for. The mind of discovery itself.

Desktop( im not gonna bother with the stats): I have not seen you in so long yet and i am sorry. You have the most power of them all but do not hold it over anyone's head, you even try to work with them to the best of your ability, this is very formidable of you. My dear child your machine spirit is also a gentle one but you have a somewhat thicker head due to the power you wield this is not a fault of yours of course but simply a quality. you do everything you can and im gratefully for your work. Many say you're parts are not the best but i disagree you are the best you could be right now even if not everything is the newest. I will continue to take care of you as you do everything you can my dearest child.

[lumiereandcogsworth]

hii hello !!

i had a few questions i was wondering :

-at the end of beauty and the beast during the spring dance, do you hc that being a time skip to belle and adams wedding, or just it being a celebratory dance?

-do you think the french revolution happened in that universe since it was the time period? if so what would you think happened?

-what year (if you have an exact year hc) do you think adam and belle got married? my main question is just about the french revolution really to see if you think it’d still happen ?? like i think the monarchy ended 1792 so do you think their story is before that?

sorry for these random questions 😭

I LOVE MORE QUESTIONS YIPPEE!!!!!

1. no no no yeah that’s just a celebration ball!!! i am very adamant that that is NOT their wedding!!!!! here are my reasons for why it is not their wedding:

belle looking curiously at adam’s face and asking “how would you feel about growing a beard?” very clearly indicates that things are still NEW. she’s teasing obviously but like, clearly she’s still getting used to his human face!! that’s an odd thing to say if there’s been a time skip and a whole courtship, engagement, and wedding planned. believe me, by THAT point, she’s well acquainted with that human face of his!

all the women are wearing white dresses, not just belle!! and, in fact, belle’s is the LEAST wedding-like of all the white dresses there. if you look at what everyone is wearing, the fashion theme seems almost entirely back suits & white dresses. with the exceptions of adam, cogsworth, and lumiere, who are dressed in Their Colors™️ to intentionally make them stand out. (and of course madame de garderobe, because she’s a fashion goddess and cannot be contained by simple themes and aesthetics🤌✨)

on that note, kind of, neither adam nor belle are wearing wedding rings! they are both wearing rings but belle’s just wearing the pinky one she’s had the whole time, and adam’s is on his index finger and is huge and obviously not a wedding ring, lol.

the only people AT this ball are the castle residents and the villagers. basically all the villeneuve citizens. very much implying that it’s a local celebration. if the PRINCE was getting married, wouldn’t the wedding be a LOT bigger? (oh hey check out my recent fic set at their wedding!!! hehehe). AND in the script, it describes the setting with “the entire village celebrates” — and nothing more. to me, if this was intended to be their wedding, it would have been more specified.

and this last points means the least to me because the adaptations are very different in my head, but it’s worth noting that batb 1991 doesn’t end with their wedding either! so no reason to think that that’s changed.

OH and i forgot to add, but to me, i think that celebration ball takes place about a week after the curse is lifted!! they’re so excited to celebrate, and adam, all high on freedom and true love, even suggests that they should just do it tomorrow!! but cogsworth BEGS to have just a MOMENT to be able to properly plan it. PLEASE. so they settle for in one week’s time, we’ll all celebrate properly ✨

and belle makes her silly inquiry about his facial hair because it’s the first time they’re all dressed up together, post-everything, but also because, like i said, she’s still getting used to his face! she hasn’t spent every waking moment with him yet, as i think maurice would want her to come home just a Little Bit. the courting phase is kind of interesting for her, because i think she does spend a lot of her time at the castle, but i also think she wouldn’t just Stop living at home with maurice completely. they’re very bonded!! and, in her mind, she was apart from him for a WHILE. but now i’m rambling waaayyy to much. i can get more into that on another ask, if you want sjdksjd. but my point here is, that celebration ball is 100% very new, and 10000% NOT their wedding 💐

2. hahaha no i actually like to think that this is an alternate reality where adam & belle are such a fantastic king & queen that the people are happy and don’t revolt, LMAO. but hey, i majored in history, i know reality is rough. that’s why in fiction it’s very lovely and happyyyy🥰!! i only like royalty in fiction, it is WILDLY messy in real life. (which is still fun to study sometimes, but absolutely horrendous to witness) AND IM NOT LETTING MY BABIES GET GUILLOTINED OKAY!!!

3. yes i actually have made a very detailed timeline with years and dates and such. which shouldn’t be a surprise to you by now, lol, but YEAH. so, many years ago, before i knew more, i decided that the movie would be set in 1740 — purely for the reason that the first french iteration of the story, “la belle et la bête” was written by gabrielle-suzanne barbot de villeneuve in 1740! so i was like, that’s good enough for me!!! i have since learned that batb 1991 was actually most closely adapted from the second french iteration, same title of course, by jean-marie de beaumont in 1756!! so i do admit that if i had known all of this seven years ago, i probably would have made the movie set in ‘56! BUT! i did not, and my timeline is soooo deeply detailed now and, truthfully, it Doesn’t Matter At All, because the disney story is still quite removed from the 18th century books, so you can literally do whatever you want! and it’s okay! (also 1740 is such a nice round number to figure stuff out from😭, i love it) and i mean, i think a lot of people have guessed (based on wardrobe?) that the 1991 film is set in like the 1780s. which is fine too! truly go off, there’s no proof of the year within the movie, and i don’t trust historical accuracy with wardrobe in films basically ever, so it really is up to you!

but yes, for me, my timeline begins in june of 1740. they get married on september 24th, 1740. they’re officially coronated king & queen in january 1741. their first child is born april 6th, 1742, and so on and so forth… i looooooove my timeline very very much. any of the landmark years pop up in my life and i’m like HEY!!!🫵 but anyway i love the details of my timeline, sometimes i really do feel like they’re a real royal family in actual history and that i could give full lectures teaching about their era. their love story!!!

so yeah! i’ll say this, as a last fun little note, that i DO still honor the 1756 book by using the author’s last name, beaumont, as adam’s family name! his family is the royal house of beaumont, in my world. at the actual time, it was bourbon, and then napoleon, of course! but here it is beaumont 💙✨

[personinthepalace]

What are the chances of you doing highlight reels of Lift Operator Osip and Miss Information?

ask and you shall receive! here you go :)

[wxtchpilot]

That wasn't something Shido could answer with clear certainty.

If the same phenomena that displaced her was the same that displaced Tenguu City one year ago, the chances of her being able to return there was slim. Shido could never go back to his old life; he accepted that ages ago.

However, he was fortunate enough to have family members with ties to an international organization with lots of resources at their disposal, as well as help from those he met along the way that he was able to adjust to the change in his life. And with most of those he knew from back then surviving, he truly was in a rather fortunate position.

But what about this girl?

He knew nothing about her situation prior to this, if she had any family or friends or even the exact location of where she came from, but the chances were that she had no one to help her as of now, no one to contact and no way back to where her home is if the same event befell her.

"....I don't know. If what happened to you was exactly the same thing that happened to Tenguu City, there's a real possibility your home is gone. But even so, we don't know anything for sure. It could have been something else altogether, but until we figure this out, I can't say anything for sure."

Then again, it was odd he hadn't heard anything about a second mass displacement event happening. Ratatoskr had Sites and eyes all over the world. The FRAXINUS, the airship his little sister commanded was more or less one high level facility that was deemed very important, not to mention often serving as the main hub of command for the SEPHIRA Initiative, which was Ratatoskr's special taskforce that responded to any threat to the world, both on the ground as well as off planet.

Shido was technically part of this initiative as "Member 0" where his role would have been to recruit new members, or at least convince them to join. If a second displacement event occurred, Shido would have heard about it already and he and a lot of his acquaintances would be making their way to ground zero to investigate. And yet he hadn't heard about it from anyone else so far.

Was the event so recent that the information simply hadn't reached them yet?

Or was something else at play?

Either way, all that really mattered was that there was someone in front of him who needed help.

"But with that being said, I'll do my best to help you. Whatever happened, your circumstances are too troubling to just ignore. Somehow, I'll find a way to get you back home, and if that isn't an option, we can figure something else out. So don't worry, everything will work out one way or another"

With all of this, it sounded like the school would be completely gone, perhaps everyone there too. Suletta still worried if it carried over to other stations or planets, because if Mercury was gone too, then that would be it, she'd have no home to go to.

She didn't want to panic, she didn't want to fear the worst either, but it was getting harder and harder the more the situation sank in. She should focus on that he said it doesn't mean its wiped out or everyone is dead, she should hold onto some form of hope.

If she ran, she'd only gain one. If she kept moving forward, she'd gain two.

'Just have to keep moving forward...' It was scary, but it was better than running away and being alone in an unknown world.

He was willing to help her as well, which she appreciated more than she could vocalize.

"R-Right, of course. I can't run away, if anyone r-really is out there then I have to help find them. So...so thank you, really! I'll make sure to help and do my part!"

The girl immediately awkwardly bowed, though she also forgot something important. Looking back up at him for a few seconds, the teenager began to fumble with her fingers.

"...My name is Suletta Mercury. Thank you for choosing to help me...I wouldn't know wh-what to do if you didn't."

She'd probably be hurt, or worse off.

[restwellsoon]

Jason Todd’s Masterlist

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18+ only. Minors and ageless blogs DO NOT interact! You will be blocked!

Legend

♡ fluff  ❣ smut ▽ hurt/comfort ◆ tw/kink, please read fic notes/ tags

Sweet One Shots & Drabbles

while you were sleeping ♡

alive and well ♡

Sundays Down the Aisle ♡

The Sky is Grey ♡ ▽

Corn Dogs & Kissing Booths ♡

hallelujah ♡ ▽

Spicy One Shots & Drabbles

gold star ❣ ◆

when night falls  ❣ ◆

Afterhours  ❣ ◆

Playmates ❣ ◆

Sir ❣ ◆

Sea Foam on Your Skin ❣ ▽ ◆

under your (dry) spell ❣ ◆

Unholy Confessions ❣ ◆

Since I Ever Was Your Star ❣ ◆

Fire & Envy ❣

Introductions ❣

Dressed in White ❣

Call Out My Name ❣ ◆

The Dream of the Astronaut’s Lover ❣ ◆

Check out the tags for specific content  

x Reader

xM!Reader

x GN!Reader

Smut

HCs

AO3 Exclusives!

amor vincit omnia ❣ ▽ ◆

Direct link to AO3 here!

Status | in progress!

Summary: As the goddess of love, it only makes sense that you should feel at odds with the god of war. After all, the two domains appear to be on opposite ends of the spectrum. Chance encounters while working lead to a growing curiosity about this hated god, and soon the two of you become a topic of gossip not only in Olympus but in the mortal realm as well.

“I appreciate your decorum, but you needn’t be so polite with me. I’m used to the rugged language of the battlefield. If this is your way of kindly telling me to fuck off, speak plainly, so we don’t waste our time.”

Ares’ banter drew a smile out of you, his brusque manner of speech refreshing from all of the niceties you exchanged tonight. Twisting, you rested your back against the railing, propping yourself upright with your elbows as you spoke with tease.

“Sweet god, do you know who you’re speaking to?” You shot your most charming smile at him in case he forgot. “When the goddess of love commands you to fuck, you may end up in a wildly different situation than intended.”

Stake Your Claim ❣ ▽ ◆

Direct link to AO3 here!

Status | COMPLETE!

Summary: In a desperate attempt to improve your social status, you sneak into a wane gala in the hopes of getting turned by a vampire. Anything was better than being an omega and a base. Instead of getting turned, you meet a werewolf who’s determined to show you what you’re truly worth.

“Do you like to play with your food before you eat it?” You asked, trying to wash away the bitterness that Jason brought out. He seemed to hit all the sensitive parts of you, your insecurities and your weaknesses.

Finishing his drink, he set the glass down with a loud clunk. Instead of using his hand, his tongue peaked out to lap at the stray droplet on his lip, his eyes never leaving yours until he winked. “Isn’t that why it’s called foreplay, sweetness?”

Words with Friends ♡ ❣ ▽ ◆

Direct link to AO3 here!

Status | COMPLETE!

Summary: Jason Todd was someone you’d consider an acquaintance at best, having run in similar crowds during college. After meeting at a gala, you’re surprised to learn how much he’s changed since then, especially when he makes a proposal that the two of you should have sex.

“I’m just trying to get laid, have fun and do some kinky shit. Maybe even have a few good memories to look back on when I’m old and my dick isn’t working anymore. And -don’t let this get to your head now- for whatever reason, I feel comfortable doing this with you.”

The Spaces Between Us ❣ ▽ ◆

Direct link to AO3 here!

Status | COMPLETE!

Summary: The Red Hood has been on your tail for months. Confrontations get heated with each meeting. What seems hopeless finally becomes hopeful when he ambushes you in your safe house.

A kiss, crushing and desperate. Your hand pressed against the back of his head to keep him there. It was a kiss that left your mouth red. Red like the color of passion. Red like the color of guilt. Red like the color of anger. A kiss that reminded you of Red, the man who didn’t love you

Dripping in Gold  ❣ ▽ ◆

Direct link to AO3 here!

Status | COMPLETE!

Summary: A sequel to The Spaces Between Us. You filled in the parts of yourself that left you broken with   forgiveness. But as life moves on, there’s someone out there who wants   to know if there’s space for reconciliation. Someone who’s refusing to   be known as Red anymore. Someone by the name of Jason Todd.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a draw, a deadlock. Fights in the past weren’t easily erased. You could still make out the words as you slept, your mind filling in the parts that were scratched out. It couldn’t be remembered as it was but it was feelings not facts that were key to relationships.

[ominouschickens]

Like I said before, if ever needed PLEASE feel comfortable with ignoring or postponing my asks!

So, y'know the scene where Brahms kills Greta's ex-BF after he breaks the doll? And she freaks out and runs off?

Well, can you do an imagine or drabble where reader is there instead of her? Like, where Greta doesn't exist, And she has a strictly- acquaintance relationship with Malcom?

Reader has suspected Brahms was alive, so she is shocked but not too much.

Anyways, reader screams and is in tears after the ex breaks the doll. And after Brahms comes out she doesn't run away, but runs towards Brahms, hugging him for protection. Thankful for saving her from the Ex-bf?

She stays with him, and all is happily ever after! 😉😘

I AM SUCH A SUCKER FOR THE 'PROTECTIVE' TROUPE!

Oh this is a very good request!!! Sorry it took so long! I wanted to make sure it was perfect for you!!! <3

I’ll Protect You.

Brahms Heelshire x Fem!AFAB! Reader

Warnings: gore, canon typical violence, abuse and mentions of past abuse, toxic relationship, name calling, cursing

You knew it was a bad idea to let him in, but you couldn’t say no.

He traveled so far to apologize and see you, and you felt so bad. How could you push him away again. Yup completely forgot that this wasn’t your house, and why you ran away from him in the first place.

Brahms, the little doll you were taking care of, was definitely mad at you. You suspected he was haunted. The house would creak and shift, your things would go missing, and creepily of all, he spoke to you. The doll spoke to you. He used to warn you of the rules, back when you were skeptical of the doll. Now the he was uncharacteristically silent, and you could practically feel the anger radiating from him.

You knew why, you broke a rule. No strangers in the house. Your crazy ex is definitely a stranger to Brahms. Your ex pointed him out, and asked why your were clinging onto that creepy thing when he first arrived. You didn’t respond then, and you weren’t responding now, as he stands chest to chest with you. He’s holding onto your chin, making you stare into his eyes. Brahms is sitting on the counter behind him, and you swear he huffs in anger.

“Baby, I promise things will be different now. I didn’t mean anything back then. Please come home with me,” your ex begged. You couldn’t. Not after what he did. The scars he caused are still healing, the mental and physical ones.

“I can’t. I promised Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire I would stay until the end of summer until they got back,” you say. You weren’t staring at him anymore, instead focusing on the wall behind him.

“To watch the doll? It’s a fucking doll! It’ll be fine, just come with me.” You take particular offense to your ex belittling the doll. That poor boy haunting it probably needs you.

“You should go home…” you murmur, walking away. You pick Brahms up gently and head to the library. You hear your ex stomping after you.

“Brahms, I need your help,” you whisper softly to the doll. Whatever spirit is in that thing needs to help you get rid of your ex. He might start to get violent again…

“The fuck?! Are you talking to that thing?! Give that shit here…” Your ex grabs Brahms from you and holds him over your head. You yell and reach for him. “You’re such a freak! You want your dolly back so bad? Come get him you little bitch!” And with that, your ex slams the little porcelain doll onto the ground.

“Brahms!” You over him in an instant. But you’re too late. Brahms head hits the floor and shatters. Dropping to the floor, you try to pick up the pieces. You can’t help the tears that spill over, and you let a broken sob out. It may be odd, but you grew fond of Brahms, and you feel as though let Mr and Mrs. Heelshire down. They loved him, and now he’s in pieces on the hardwood floor.

Your ex is snickering in the background, watching you mourn the doll, but stops quick when the house starts shaking. “The hell is that?” he says. Paintings knock to the ground, books fall over, and the house groans in pain.

“Pretty Y/N?” You recognize that voice. It’s Brahms’ voice. The one that reminded you it was time for music or lunch. The sweet little boy you’ve come to know.

“Brahms?” you call out. Did the spirit leave the doll, you think. Is he going to hurt me? No, he wouldn’t.

“Pretty Y/N…” One of the paintings that fell off the wall left a hole. A hole that now has a large hand coming out of it.

“What the fucking hell?!” your ex screams. Then another hand reaches out. And a torso follows. It’s a man. A man with curly hair, a green cardigan, and Brahms’ porcelain face. The same one that you’re cradling.

The doll wasn’t Brahms, you think. That’s Brahms. Your sweet Brahms. He’s real and he’s alive, and all grown up. The burns licking his skin up and down his neck and exposed shoulder tell you that he must’ve survived the fire. He must’ve been living in the walls. He took your things, he messed with you, did he watch you too?

You’re pulled out of your head by your ex’s panicked screaming. “Who the fuck are you?! Y/N get behind me.”

“Brahms,” you whisper incredulously. “Brahms!” You bounce up and run to him. He’s holding an arm out for you. You take and scurry behind him, hiding from your abuser.

“Y/N what the hell are you doing! Get away!” He’s shouting, holding both hands out for you. “She’s mine, you freak!” he screams. As if you were property. It makes you shudder, and it clearly angers Brahms. His shoulders hunch and his breathing comes out in short pants.

“Pretty Y/N does not belong to you,” is all he says. There’s a pause of silence before your hands are ripped away from Brahms’ cardigan. He’s booking it towards your ex, who doesn’t even have time to shout before Brahms is on him. He throws him to the ground and lands a punch straight into his jaw. A sickening crack fills the air, and your ex screams in pain.

You watch in fascinated horror as Brahms pummels the man that caused you so much pain. You can’t bring yourself to stop him when his hands find purchase around your ex’s throat. You stare in silence as his body goes limp against Brahms’ violent onslaught.

Brahms sniffs and gets up, wiping at where your ex’s nails clawed at his neck, leaving red welts. He turns back to you, but for some reason, you’re not afraid.

“Brahms…” He moves to you, tilting his head. He’s chest to chest with you, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around him and squeeze. “Thank you…”

Brahms holds a hand to cradle your head against him, and his other arm snakes around your waist and squeezes. His voice drops a few octaves. His childish nature is gone.

“I will protect you, Y/N. Always.”

[carnal-lnstinct]

𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 "𝐼 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑌𝑜𝑢".

Summary: A series of short one-shots inspired by this prompt, 1-35. I am not going to write all the prompts and I will not be writing them in order, but based off inspiration. To fuel my “horny on main” I may focus mainly on writing for Goku but there may be a few with other characters. Not all fics will be suitable for all ages. Minors should not interact with prompts rated mature/18+.

Completed Prompts: 2 / 4 / 7 / 10 / 12 / 16 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 26 / 27 / 28 / 31 / 34

12. When we lay together on the fresh spring grass

Pairing: Broly (DBS) x Female Reader ( God of Destruction ) - PLATONIC Rating: T Warning: ( canon-typical violence, mentions of death ) A/N: Reluctant God Mom has hard-to-hard with newly adopted man-child. I haven’t really written for Broly in a while I almost forgot how to

He joins you today for lounging in the grass. By the lake where the larger trees shaded the area just right, a comfortable mix of warm sunlight and a cool breeze graced this spot with the perfect comfort for a nap in the peaceful outside. Nothing but the rustling grass and the sound of the water. More appropriately, you were trying to nap in peace with his company until he shared his thoughts. A rare opening up from a normally quiet presence, but it garnered your attention to humor his unprompted conversation.

“You think I have everything?” You chuckled softly in your throat. Your eyes open looking toward the sky through the breezy tree limbs. Quite the exaggeration of your character. “That is cute... but untrue. I do not have everything. I live by a discipline that allows me to exist comfortably.” 

“You destroy things --people-- on purpose. No one tries to stop you.” The large saiyan points out. He turns his eyes upward finding the wide sky above as well, lightly adjusting his hands behind his head. “Because your power scares them.”

“You can understand what that is like.” You harmlessly chided in return.

Broly has been here for a while now, along with the other two remaining of his kind. Mostly for the sake of training, but every time you turn around his silent, hulking stature is close by trying to get chummy with you by some awkward means. Sometimes mimicking the way you do certain things to blend into your background or become better acquainted with the normalcy of general etiquette and a lifestyle away from Vampa, the methods of a child taking in the basics of self-sufficiency by watching the adults around him successfully do the smallest things. To some degree, he gets his way of gaining your attention when it’s desired in the beginning. Forcing you to acknowledge him by staring from the far end of the table when you have something on your plate he wants or correcting some behavioral issues that one would expect from living on a desolate planet for his entire life.

 Your interactions develop beyond simply correcting him, recognizing the bits of personality in that deadpan frown as you allowed yourself to be more receptive to him and let your curiosity learn about the history of this long lost saiyan. It taught you to be more patient with him and lessened your indifference, though he continues to test the former every so often. You felt like you had to catch his mistakes before they happened, giving more caution to him and what he tried to do outside of training. Eventually, you spoke regularly with him and became more proactive in helping him with the small things while Whis and the others focused on training that power of his. More smiles in his expression came through as he progressed and not too long had he blended in with the ruckus of saiyans for the better. But he didn’t leave you out. It was the strangest thing when he would come back to you to share his experience and achievements at the end of the day with the last of his energy, as if you knowing completed his day. Perhaps a means of tracking his progress if he was confident enough to bring it to you, you assumed. An odd thing to trust in a God of Destruction, yet he smiles proudly when he shares his story of the day’s lesson. 

A contagious smile.

You can admit this saiyan is surprisingly more tolerable than the other two, still a handful and downright awful at chores but less noisy for starters. Despite his independence, he looked to you more than he did Whis and his saiyan counterparts in his uncertainty or for understanding. And suddenly you find yourself speaking up for him in various situations without hesitation. As if you had to when his eyes sought you out. Your unusual interference is heeded by everyone who witnessed it, whether you were defending the large man or reprimanding his recklessness with a disapproving wag of your finger. Whis couldn’t help but tease at your “care” for the saiyan as you made it quite clear from the start you want nothing to do with them until they were strong enough to rival you. You brush it off as nothing special.

But there was no denying you asserted a charge over Broly a tad more shielding than you did Goku or Vegeta.

So, what could it have been to prompt this sudden conversation topic? To the eyes of a misfit mortal, did someone with a divine reverence as yours seem to be, and therefore have, everything? He does not appear to hold that fear of you claimed to be held by others, you’re not sure what it is he actually fears. Envy, then? Did Broly desire to have “everything” that you are, feared included? He’s not so far from the latter. “Any saiyan in this universe who could have what you have could assume such a luxury. Respect,” You proposed as what he really meant. “-Or fear, and power. But...” You continued to speak with a shrug of your shoulders and closed your eyes once again. Broly attentively turns his head toward you. “Then I would be forced to deal with them, you see? Having too much of something doesn’t mean we have everything. My ravaging has an order, yours is gratuitous at best, and often mortals fear both.”

Broly’s own introduction to his remaining counterparts wasn’t exactly a warm one. It didn’t occur to any of you that living among the seventh universe was your own berserker saiyan similar to that of universe six’s Kale. He’s different however, unnaturally stronger than any saiyan you have known before. It made you wonder if your search for the prophesized super saiyan god was actually misinterpreted. That while the vision did reveal itself through the saiyan Goku and eventually Vegeta as well, there was another who surpassed that power with very little trying. The way you heard it, this super saiyan alone overpowered two Super Saiyan Gods, their blue transformation, and Frieza before he came to join them under Whis’ tutelage. His potential to gain the power of God Ki is more likely than his counterparts if he can continue to withstand the lessons Whis had to offer. There was a lot of rough edges in his fighting method to smooth out, as to be expected of a saiyan, but there are still some other blocks in his mental capacity that he must overcome to achieve the perfect form for God Ki. The idea of that would scare anyone aware of the powerhouse he already was.

It’s impressive, still. And a shame such power is more of a burden for him. You could definitely rattle the cosmos in a battle with him, he may be the one to push you to your full potential after so long. But there was no joy in fighting someone who was just flinging himself around like a battering ram at whatever moves. You tilt your head toward him with open eyes, seeing his eyes turn away.

He didn’t like your answer. How you spoke of destroying things, that doesn’t sound like him at all, Broly surmises with a wrinkle in his brow. But then he considered how his father sought to handle his power and what ultimately became of him tapping into more strength than he ever has before, and it sounded exactly like him. Fighting like that felt free, and even fun, until he found his limit. And then it broke, he broke, and suddenly he was pushed to a new height of power inevitably becoming what his father feared. Broly was somewhat grateful the old man didn’t get to see him become that wild monster. All he remembers of his father’s final moments was shutting out the man’s voice in favor of fighting it out a little longer, achieving what he had trained for at all costs. And then he’s gone. Paragus did want his son to be strong, but never wanted him to lose himself to his strength no matter what and Broly was more than aware of that. His true power was scary, and no one should want that. 

Broly wondered what your true power was like, then. With a title like “Destroyer”, you couldn’t have been any better than he was at that time. Goku and Vegeta speak of you as if you could go off at any minute, warning him not to get on your bad side. A warning uttered in quiet fear. Whis just encourages him to proceed with caution or not at all if he could avoid your presence. Yet, that has not been his experience with you. You’ve gotten angry at him before, and he tensed at what he expected was something worse than the collar he once wore about to come his way. But you just left him after, calling for Whis to “retrieve his pet project”. It was very, very brief, but Broly was afraid of you the. Never again since. The way you controlled yourself during that time stuck with him. If you were so strong and feared, and could control that which made others afraid of your power then he could learn to do the same. He could be strong, and he could be free. Just like you, and in doing so have everything. However, if he failed to do so, then he knows death is what waits for him. There would be no other option for a power like his if you exist to destroy it.

“All I have is my strength. That and... nothing anymore.” He closes his eyes back, resigning himself to a curious sensation to the fate put upon him. “...Would you destroy me for that?”

Your eyes narrow slightly and once more you shrug your shoulders. “There are possibilities where I may need to intervene with you. Do you ask because you, too, are afraid of me?”

The way you spoke reminded Broly of how his father use to speak to him. If you chose to kill him, then you had no choice. Paragus spoke with fear and would reach for his remote, but you spoke calmly like the energy around you silenced everything, and everything listened in return. You talk about killing people like it was nothing, like Paragus of Vegeta and Frieza to everyone, but the fear others responded to you with is more palpable than those who feared even Frieza. So does he still have that fear for you, after all?

“...No. I am not afraid.” Broly lifts a hand from behind his head and looks into his rough palm. With his tragic eyes and a soft sigh through his nose, he drops his hand to his chest. He sits up, legs crossing and hands lax in his lap. “Unless we are playing, I wouldn’t want to hurt you on purpose. I wouldn’t want to hurt Kakarot or Vegeta. I know what my power can do. If I...need to be stopped. I hope it is you to do so.” Broly turns his head towards you and sees the odd look you were giving him. “You are like me, so you should be the one to do it.” You answer with an indifferent hum and turn your eyes away from him with another shrug.

“If you have to kill me, would you still consider you and I friends?” Broly asks.

You answer with another odd look at him. He is charmingly naïve, there was no denying that. You can sense Goku’s handiwork behind that idea for some reason. You scoff, “We were never friends, Broly. Gods of Destruction do not “make friends” with mortals.” You informed.

“I will be your friend.” He politely insisted, a small, melancholic smile rising in his features. “It can mean nothing right now because we are together, we are alive at the same time and get to see each other but if I have to die, then it can mean something important to you after.” He lifts his eyes toward the sky, hand absentmindedly closing around the green pelt tied around his waist. “I miss my friend Ba even though we are no longer friends. It makes me happy to think about the fun we had playing together, I still think of him as my friend.”

You sigh quietly, the story of the Vampa Beast recalled to your memories from his tales. The desire to nap had long passed, and so you sit up as well. “Dear boy, I do not want your friendship.” You grunted. “How silly, to insist a destroyer god to want such a thing. Am I to use that to comfort me after your mortal life comes to an end?” You murmured softly to yourself, steeling your apathy in your visage against a bitter lump creeping into your chest. Shaking your head, you give a curt huff. “What’s with this grim topic anyways, did you plan on dying any time soon? Here I thought saiyans never stop pushing themselves to do anything, especially fight.” You stretch your spine and left your indifference firm in your eyes, a learned response to close oneself off from sentimental influences that would hinder a destroyer’s duty. “If I have to destroy you then I will, and that’s that. You serve your place in this universe, have a little fun on the way, and then move on to the afterlife just like everyone else. Got it?” 

“...Then what becomes of you? What will you do after that?” He continues to ask.

“-What?” You turn to him with an arched brow. What else is needed after that?

“You will be all alone.” He points out, tilting his head to look down at you. “When we are all dead and gone.”

Your cold façade weakens for a moment, casting your face in the opposite direction from him. “I will continue to act as a Destroyer God until I can no longer. That is all. As I said, I do not have everything.” You softly concluded.

“But until such a time, I have you and those other rowdy saiyans to keep things interesting for a spell, and Broly,” You reach over, taking his chin in your hand to turn him to face you. “They have you, too. Same goes for your other friends and most importantly you’ll always have your potential. That is not “nothing”.” You affirmed to him, seeing his eyes brighten from the gloom he let take hold of him. In return, you grinned and folded your arms to your chest. “Keep up what you’re doing. Whatever path you saiyans are on now, you are on it for a reason. Whis is not training you to die any time soon... And I do not see a future to destroy you where you learn to conquer your inner strength.” You nodded, then shrugged casually and reclined back into the grass with your arms under your head. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get to play, then. Really see what you’re made of.”

You close your eyes, breathing a sigh of relief getting that joyless topic out the air. But a new weight does settle on your stomach. You look down finding Broly using your abdomen as a pillow, his eyes reflecting the light from the sun looking back at you. You frowned.

“We’re not friends, saiyan.” You insist more curtly turning your nose up at his action. Broly smiles, feeling your hand brush his hair and closes his eyes. “And if you tell anyone about this, I will take back what I said.”