#think it's the realisation of time going by that has me thinking so hard

[mona-risms]

HEAR ME OUTTTTTT. We know Rumi spent a ton of alone time before the movie timeline, but what if she had a go to cam girl she would drop huge amounts on during that time, and then afterwards flew you out to top her after talking for so long?

Wait shut up wait shut up oh my god your BRAIN wait I have so many thoughts about a camgirl!Reader I'm gonna yap so hard rn

Rumi being left to her own devices in solitude for most of her time, not really being able to join in with other people (whether it be due to her patterns or just bc of her training) gets anyone to end up surfing through the internet for too long. And deeper than they should too, which would most likely lead to her discovery with porn......and you 🫡 a camgirl in some random streaming site she ended up perusing after sheer curiosity took over

She's most likely sexually frustrated, especially considering it's not like she can just go out and hook up or smth, even if she wasn't an idol—her patterns made sure of that—but what she realises is that with camshows, she doesn't even need to worry about showing herself. And there was something that had her drawn to you compared to the other streamers

It wasn't just bc you were pretty to her, though it did help, but it's the fact that you're so nice too, making eeveryone comfortable in chat and even talking like this was just something normal instead of. Yk. A sex stream lmfao. Like, the moment she got on mid-stream, you notice her, someone new, and greet her :(. It was the way you commanded attention, not in the way that she did onstage but in the way that had everyone in chat mesmerised and her body following your every "I want you to...", every "imagine...", every demand and illusion you talked everyone through and set out—she knew you were talking to the audience, but it felt like you were speaking to her

So she donates AUDACIOUS amounts whenever you stream, zeroes that have everyone going "????WHAT" in chat and you with wide eyes. Considering how she's loaded as hell, she knew it wasn't necesarily pocket change but at the same time compared to the money she acc had, it's barely a dent in the digits. But she does it constantly, and I think if given the option, after gathering her nerve, she pays for private shows too. Not just to get off bc holy Fuck she needed it, but also just to genuinely talk to someone without feeling like she has to hide. Repeatedly doing this ends up with the two of you getting to know each other better to the point where you might even consider e/o as friends (though Rumi can't help but wonder if it's fr or she's clowning). Eventually (aka probably post-movie bc this is the only time I can see her being comfortable of being physically intimate and seen) she lets the question slip about whether you wanna visit South Korea—her footing the costs obviously. She IMMEDIATELY backtracks like oh god oh fuck you don't need to that was COMPLETELY inappropriate ohgodohgodshe's gonna get Banned-- wait you said yes? Wh

Cue her waiting to pick you up at the airport, with Rumi being in disguise. Cue the both of you actually meeting each other, with you being extremely puzzled ab why she's completely covered up.......until you see EXACTLY who's behind the account that pays you the most, that you've somehow grown attached to. You got paid. And flied over. By a CELEBRITY. KPOP ROYALTY. But Rumi doesn't want to be treated like that, she wants to be treated exactly how the two of you interacted w e/o online—as friends.....as camgirl and donating viewer........maybe even as something more.............

She wants the feeling that only you could ever give her, even when it was just through a screen. And right now? With you right above her, touching her puffy, pink, glistening clit as your fingers curled in and out of her needy cunt as you gave her praises and talked her through every single movement you made? That feeling was INTENSIFIED. And My God, with the collection of toys she bought the day after you said yes to her (ranging from vibrators to straps that you've probably talked about/used in streams before) she's showing she really really needs more of you ☹️☹️☹️ babyyyyy

Continued to here.

[literary-dolly]

A Study in Scarlet

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.6k warnings: nothing, really - treachery maybe? A mention of alcohol, some swearing

Tim loves a good podcast, but when his favourite podcast host is getting cosy with a new special guest, it rocks his world (A.K.A how Jason Todd makes his first podcast appearance).

If there was one thing to know about Tim Drake, it was that he was always plugged into something. Never working without some kind of stream, podcast, or music feeding into his ears – it makes chipping away at some of the more monotonous, less glamourous hero tasks a tad easier to stomach. Why would you go about life in silence if you could listen to someone discuss the history of monster trucks? Or the hidden harmful properties of household plants?

It's times like the current, while he sits in the Cave reviewing a week’s worth of CCTV footage in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the perp Bruce was trying to track down, that a good old-fashioned podcast comes in handy. And although Tim would like to see himself as a purveyor of all genres of entertainment, there’s something about a local story that really captures his attention.

The Gotham Goods. For surveillance purposes, of course.

It’s remarkable how much intel he’d gathered from the podcast, truly. Almost embarrassing. He was fairly certain that the woman must be some kind of vigilante – for a period, he was convinced that it was Babs herself moonlighting in casual entertainment (until she’d chewed him out for even suggesting it – she was a fan too, deep down). He’d tried to convince the Oracle to track her down, an idea to which Babs had vehemently protested. That was, until he realised that she had tried to track her down, and failed.

It was witty, funny inside jokes that only Gothamites got to make, interviews with the famous baker down on Crest Hill, the one-million-year-old homeless guy down in Gotham Bay who everyone and their mother has been robbed by at one point or another. It was safe to say he was a fan. So, best believe, when the latest episode pops up on his screen with another 4-hours of footage left to troll through, he’s on it immediately.

It’s impossible to stop the quirk in his brow at the title: A Study in Scarlet. Nice reference. He’s practically buzzing as he hunkers down into the chair, reclining back leisurely with a freshly opened Gatorade.

“Hello, dear, dear Gothamites, and welcome back to another episode of The Gotham Goods. I’ve got an interesting one for you, I must say. I know I’ve stepped back on the interviews in the past few weeks – death threats, am I right? – but I have been trying to get this interview for so long so when he finally agreed, I had to take him up on the offer. So, rather than leaving you in suspense for any longer, may I introduce todays guest – I’m sure you’ve heard of him – the Red Hood!”

And Tim thinks he just about passes away. If it’s possible for him to phase out of existence and back again, he does. There’s Gatorade all over the Batcomputer, Bruce will be pissed, but Lord knows he’ll be more shocked at what the actual fuck is going on. He knows immediately that he should call Jason, both to chew him out for being sloppy about his identity, but also to ask what exactly possessed him to entertain a podcast appearance.

“Hello, hello,” the voice is modulated, but still maintains the familiar cadence of Jason’s words, “Yes, it has been a long time coming and a lot of begging.”

“Well don’t say it like that, you make me sound desperate,” your voice is teasing and light, and Tim can practically hear the smile on your face.

“No, no, you’re right. Begging isn’t right – grovelling might be more apt.”

“Alright, smartass,” you quip, “I suppose we should move onto the hard-hitting journalistic questions, right Mr. Hood?”

“Please, no need to be so formal, Hood is fine.”

It’s only from the ache that begins to burn in his jaw that Tim realises he’s been sat with his mouth wide open this whole time. It’s unfathomable. It’s impossible to get Jason to listen to a voice note, let alone speak for an hour-long podcast. He doesn’t think he’s heard Jason speak for an hour total in the entire time he’s known him. There’s a disarming warmth to the conversation, one that sits in the hollow of Tim’s stomach, he’s seen it in videos of Jason, well, before, but not in the years since his return to Gotham.

“Soooo, quickfire question numero uno,” you pause emphatically, “thoughts on Gotham tap water? Love it? Hate it?”

“Ooo,” Jason croons, “Tastes like home. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fucking vile. It has that aftertaste like a science experiment gone wrong, right? But I feel like me and everyone else in this city has developed an immunity to it. Normal water tastes too clean.”

“Totally get it, you’ve put that into words in a way I don’t think I ever could,” you hum thoughtfully, “Next question, Condiment King? What the fuck is up with him?”

Jason bursts out into actual laughter, and Tim isn’t sure if it sounds like the gates of heaven or hell opening, “Don’t. Don’t even. I mean I respect the message, condiments are king, a wise man once taught me they make or break a dish. I feel like he’s like one of those kids who picked his Xbox username at like 8 years old and had to live with it for the rest of his life. He picked condiments and now he’s stuck in the niche.”

“Lost in the sauce, you could say?”

“Fuck off,” Jason’s wheezing now, “Christ, I’m gonna piss myself.”

“Okay, okay, final quick question,” you mutter out between wheezes, “Do you have a favourite rat? And before anyone makes any sweeping statements about it being gross or whatever – this is Gotham, dude. The rats have more rights than the people.”

“My favourite rat,” Jason plays up his pondering with a variety of noises, “Yeah, I would have to say my favourite rat is the one that I always see in the back of the bodega. I know he’s putting the work in back there, ya know?”

“Which bodega?”

“Top secret, I’m afraid,” Jason quips, “There’s no way I’m getting that place shut down, they feed me most nights of the week. Incredible chopped cheese.”

The conversation about convenience stores in Gotham continues for a few minutes as Tim attempts to recollect himself. Gather some restraint, focus on the task at hand, try not to lose his shit.

That is until Dick bursts in the door.

“TIM!” It’s deafening, echoing around the cave, and he can hear the thundering of footsteps heading rapidly towards him, “Tim this is going to sound crazy but –”

“Dick, Dick, I know.”

“You listen to The Gotham Goods too?”

“Don’t be stupid, Dick. Of course I do. Everyone does.”

Dick’s breathless, and Tim isn’t sure if it’s the strenuous activity or just a panic attack, as he huffs in and out, “What is Jason doing? And why does he sound so- so- dopey? Do you think he’s been drugged or something?”

“I thought that,” Tim muses, “but we’ve seen Jason hit with all kinds of gas and toxin, he’s never been like this.”

Dick reaches over to furiously rip one of Tim’s headphones out, regardless of how Tim attempts to swat him away; their squabbling is silenced as soon as they clock back into the light-hearted conversation drifting through their ears.

“So, dare I say, workout routine?” you tease, “For those of you that have never had the pleasure of seeing the Hood in person, his biceps are about as big as my head.”

“Aww, stop it,” Jason quips, but his words are full of mirth, “You’ll make me blush.”

“I can see you blushing, you idiot,” you bite back, “You can’t play coy with me, you know that.”

Tim can practically feel his bones grating against each other as he jars his head to the side to stare at Dick, who’s eyes have widened to the size of saucers.

“Did she just say he’s blushing?” Dick’s words come out loose and airy, clearly lost in whatever horrifying conclusion they have both just come to.

“He’s there without a helmet? He’s there as Jason?”

 It’s at that moment that another set of footsteps can be heard echoing throughout the Cave, and if Tim and Dick had been shocked before – the image of Bruce Wayne sprinting down the stairs in a full suit and tie to skid to a stop before the computer leaves them reeling.

“Jason’s identity has been compromised.”

That’s all he has to say.

“You listen to The Gotham Goods?” Tim lets out what can only be described as a guffaw, turning to Dick who (for the first time in his life) has been stunned to silence.

“Casually,” Bruce snips, “Alfred often has it on in the car.”

There are no words, truly. Much like Dick, Tim can seem only to stare into space meaninglessly as you and Jason continue to chirp in his right ear. Tim is a child of the Bat, he has a contingency plan for every single obscure event that could ever befall him or his family, but he had never for one second thought Jason’s podcast career would be one he would have to contend with.

The Cave is silent bar the sounds of the podcast chattering (which Bruce has taken the liberty of pulling up on the computer), nobody able to do anything other than sit and listen. Tim sees Alfred slip behind them, and if he didn’t know any better, he would say that by Alfred-standards that the butler has a smirk on his face.

“We need to stop him,” Bruce growls, “has anyone tried to get in touch with him?”

“It’s prerecorded, Bruce. Jason patrolled last night he’s probably still asleep.”

“I don’t care we need to –”

“Bruce,” Dick starts slowly, “Jason is, begrudgingly, an adult. And he’s in charge of his own life. If this is something he wants to do, then we can’t just tell him not to.”

“He’s compromising his identity,” Bruce bites, “Our identities.”

“He sounds happy, Bruce,” Dick’s words have a finality to them, and Bruce quiets fairly quickly after that. The glower across his features doesn’t go unnoticed, but there’s a strange resignation in his eyes.

They blow open wide at the next question.

“So, to actually get to a question of substance,” you start tenderly, “I know we talked about this before, and you agreed, but we don’t have to talk about it now. I think it’s a question a lot of people have about the Red Hood. The Bat symbol? Your relationship with Batman? You’ve never had the opportunity to speak about it before, and is there anything you would like to say?”

Jason’s sharp inhale picks up on the mic, and everyone in the room winces, “It’s not something I’m going to say too much about, but I know it’s news in Gotham every time me and Batman clash. I don’t hate the guy, not at all, we just have a difference in, ah, belief systems that I’m sure everyone in Gotham can put together. I do think Gotham needs the Bat; he’s our hero at the end of the day. But I don’t think I’m amiss in saying that I think we need someone with a less delicate touch too.”

“That was very well said,” your words are earnest, laden with the suggestion of knowing something deeper, “thank you.”

“He’ll probably find this at some point anyway,” Jason sighs, “so hiya Big Bat.”

Bruce physically winces at Jason’s words, and Tim shares a look with Dick at the point the man starts pacing back and forth along the walkway.

“Batman is crazy work though,” you add, bemused, “Talk about picking your Xbox username as a child.”

“Oh, totally,” Jason sniggers, “That’s a childhood fixation gone way too far.”

“I mean who looks at a bat and goes ‘real, that’s so me’ and then bases their entire personality off it? I’m a hypocrite though, I think I did that in high school.”

“I know –”

“Hold on, hold on,” you’re wheezing already at whatever has popped into your head, “Don’t tell me he hangs upside down. Please, you can’t, I’ll go crazy.”

“I have,” Jason begins slowly, almost tantalizing, “on occasion, seen him –”

“No, stop,” you’re shrieking, and the sound of you jumping up and down in your chair is audible through the mic, “Stop it, you’ve never told me that before. Oh, my lord.”

Dick turns to face Tim with a suspicious look, “You’ve never told me that before. This isn’t new, Tim, this is – they know each other.”

“You think that they’re… you know?”

“There’s no way. They can’t be.”

“An analysis of their tone does suggest,” Bruce begins half-heartedly, waving his hand with exasperation, “something of a fond affection for each other.”

It’s only as the podcast begins to wrap up that Alfred chimes in, that same whisper of a smirk gracing his features, “Well, Master Bruce, Master Tim, Master Dick, I would have to applaud you for your fine detective skills once again.”

“What are you suggesting, Alfred?” Bruce begins steadily, turning to face the older man.

“I’m suggesting that it used to take Jason roughly 17 minutes and 43 seconds to travel from his home apartment to the Manor. In the last 6 months, it has only taken him an average of 15 minutes and 29 seconds, suggesting he has changed residences. He has gotten regular haircuts for the same period, changed his cologne, and in general had a happier and more agreeable disposition, wouldn’t you agree?”

It’s at that moment that every cell phone in the room dings, and a look of dread passes over all of them accept Alfred. It’s Dick that opens his phone first, drawing back with a completely flabbergasted expression, “No, no, there’s no fucking way.”

Tim scrambles for his own, inputting his password as quickly as he can manage. And then it’s there. Jason has sent one photo into the family group chat: it’s him sat in some kind of recording suite, headphones pushed back casually, a beer in one hand, and in the other is someone else’s hand. A woman’s, clearly. Only the hand is visible. Interlaced with his own. The grin on Jason’s face can only be described as sharkish, completely smug.

The photo has a caption.

I hope you enjoyed the show, you nosy fuckers.

“No fucking way has Jason pulled THE GOTHAM GOODS?”

You’re desperately trying to gather intel for your next interview, having been cramming at the kitchen table for the past three hours. Jason has been sat lounging of the sofa for a similar amount of time, bursting out into a fit of hysterical laughter every 30 seconds or so.

“You do just think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” You sigh, closing your notebook for the day.

“Oh, princess, I am hilarious,” Jason chuckles, “This might be the best thing I’ve ever done. They’re losing it.”

He’d hacked into the camera in the Batcomputer hours ago. He’d been watching them since they started.

You settle down next to him with a huff, and he brings an arm to rest around your shoulders out of instinct, “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to you? I’m hurt, truly.”

“Nah, I’m just being dramatic, baby,” Jason presses a kiss to your temple, “Obviously you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Is that right?” You grumble, shoving his side with a playful grin.

“Absolutely,” there’s a wide smile plastered across his face, “Now, let’s watch them desperately try and figure out who you are. I’d like to see them try.”

“You are an evil, evil man Jason Todd.”

“You know it, baby.”

This idea came to me in a cold and flu medication infused haze. I actually think it's really funny, but then again, that could be the cold and flu.

If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don't like it leave me alone.

[kusanagihaku]

watching the we’ll go together mv and the thought of visiting an amusement park on a motorbike made me instantly think of sho so this was born… 4.6k of dates i think the ghouls would bring you on… also gave myself the added challenge of inserting a kiss into every one so. that’s what this is!! 

The night is soft around the edges. You are curled into his side, the quiet glow from the television at the foot of his bed throwing your profile into muted blues and greys. 

Your hand traces sleepy shapes into his arm. He wonders if you can feel the way his heartbeat stumbles under your fingertips, feel the kind of ache that blooms in his chest at your warmth – the kind that reminds him how lucky he is, and how fragile luck can be in the face of your curse. 

As he reaches for his phone he wonders how to go about planning a date, one that you’ll tuck away to remember at the beginning of the end. 

Jin books out an art museum after hours. He books it at first so you can admire the art, and he can admire you, but neither of you remember the last time you’ve spent time perusing a fine art piece that wasn’t haunted or about to be auctioned off by Sinostra. You both end up, instead, making up stories about the sitters of the portraits you see, heads bent together and snorting like children about how the sitter has her nose in the air and her left sleeve rolled up because her sister rubbed pigeon poop into her gloves as a childish prank. The way your interlaced laughter bounces off the paintings goes against everything Jin knows about fine art museums, but so does the way joy slips out of his mouth, unbidden and boundless, with you. So does the pad of your stockinged feet on museum floor and the heels he slings over his shoulder, the kiss you paint onto the curve of his jaw, the realisation you sculpt into the dawning silver of his throat – that with you, he is nobody’s son and nobody’s captain. All he is, under the soft of the gallery lights and the unwavering gaze of characters long passed, is yours.  

Tohma shows up at dusk in a beat-up van with his sleeves rolled up. It startles you at first, seeing Tohma out of uniform, but his grin is warm and his hands are gentle helping you into the van, and when you kiss him hello across the console he smiles at you with the same glint in his eye that’s only ever reserved for you. He takes you to the outskirts of the city onto clean camping grounds – it comes complete with a fire pit and clear view of the stars, and after you hopelessly burn half the skewers he prepared for this you find out it comes complete with the fond of his laughter, too. It is the most relaxed you’ve seen him in ages. The tension melts out of his shoulders the more marshmallows you hand-feed him, and the kisses he gives you are sugar-sweet, after. He lays a ratty Vagastrom blanket on the roof of the van post-dinner, and as he helps you up and into his arms the moonlight catches in the threads of his hair and soaks in  between your shared breaths. Tonight, there is no talk of responsibility. There is only talk of you. 

Kaito texts you to come over to Frostheim for lunch on a weekend. He doesn’t hint at the storm he has left in the steel Frostheim kitchens, nor at the hours he has spent whipping up a spread of different pastries. He tucks them all into picnic baskets, instead, and when you knock politely on his bedroom door, tugging your blazer tighter around you, he tugs you up to the Frostheim roof, baskets in his hand sunlit and glittering and overflowing with his hard work. The first bite you take of his strawberry shortcake sends you to heaven and back; the first look he takes of you, face tilted towards the sky and eyes closed in pleasure that he - he! - hand-delivered to your mouth, sends his heart thundering for miles. He can’t help the proud grin that spreads across his face at your contented hum, or the flush that climbs up his neck when he tastes strawberry off your sun-sweet kiss of thanks. If there’s one thing he’s confident about, it’s that nobody else can make your lips taste this divine. 

Lucas hears about the carnival from Kaito. He isn’t sure what to expect at first, but when you get there there are too many people pressing into you from all sides; cheeks flushing, he takes your hand in his so he doesn’t lose you in the thick of the crowd. He doesn’t let go after. Lucas isn’t quite great at carnival games, as it turns out, but the moment he snags enough points for a prize he’s already turning to you, eyes wide in delight. (He chooses a teddy bear, in the end – so you can have something of his to protect you while you sleep.) When you look up at him, new teddy bear in his arms and your name on his lips and stars in the dawn of his eyes, all his edges soften under the carnival lights, so bright they blur the line between this moment and the previous and the next, between the future you want and the future you have and the future that Lucas is now presenting to you, fluffy and soft and blushing, between the tremble of both your palms. Thank you, you say, and you tip-toe to kiss the flush dusting his cheeks. It’s perfect. 

Alan picks you up at eight. He does the little short jog around the front of the car just so he can open the door for you, and when you slide into the plush of the car seat you find that he has already set out one of his warmer hoodies for you to slip on in case you get cold. Between you and the morning sun and the crackle on the radio, time in the car melts into something elastic and malleable, something golden and pliant that fits perfectly between your fingers and his and settles around your shoulders like a security blanket, solid and sure. Being with Alan is easy. It always has been. You blink once, twice, and the highway is already stretching before you, sun glinting off the asphalt and coating him in glow, made all the more brighter by the small smile he always wears whenever he hears you ramble. When Alan parks at an off-road camp site and turns to face you, you tangle yourself into the comfort of his scent, bloom into the warmth of his touch as he tilts your chin up. Hey, you smile, and watch the corners of his eyes crinkle. You kiss the pad of his thumb. Can’t wait to spend the rest of today with you. 

Leo could plan a great many public dates for you. He could bring you to the latest donut shop that is all over Instagram, or the river cruise that’s making its way around TikTok. But he doesn’t – he brings you instead, to a quiet cable car ride just a city south of where you are. The lights aren’t bright and the couples there are more interested in each other than they are in either of you, and as the city lights wink back at you through the glass of the cable car they feel less like camera flashes and more like the blink of stars far away. In the swaying dark Leo’s hand finds yours without looking, silent, lemon-sweet. Because this is what it’s like, with you — always steady, always trusting, always you looking at him and past him and all the walls he has built to keep you out, always you choosing to stay, despite everything. You can see the ferris wheel from here, you say, quietly, and Leo hums against your shoulder, a static that drapes itself sweetly across the tip of your tongue. Why, wanna go on it after? You chase the smile in his voice with a kiss. Always. 

Sho has many reasons to love Bonnie. He becomes aware of yet another when he realises her speed makes you press up against the broad of his back, arms winding around his waist and laugh echoing in his ear as you cling on for dear life. The date he plans, as a result, ends up having a lot of travelling - the amount of shuffling you do from place to place surprises you, until you piece together that all of the locations he’s brought you to and all of the activities you end up doing are things you’ve mentioned once in passing, in slips of off-hand comments about what you and Leo have seen on social media. It swells in the base of your throat, this silent thoughtfulness, and when he ends the day by bringing you to a quiet amusement park with barely any patrons you can’t help but kiss him in front of the carousel, bright and giddy on its merriment and the gold he has poured into your veins. Thank you, you whisper, pressing your lips to where the carousel lights have painted the curve of his smile warm. Thank you for remembering. 

Haru glows under the glare of arcade lights. He is terrifyingly good at claw games, fingers deftly manoeuvring joysticks and tapping buttons to get you the exact toys you want, and half-way through the night you find yourself already carrying more plushies than could ever fit on your bed. When you mention that you want to catch one to keep him company too, Haru laughs. Then there won’t be enough space on the bed for the both of us, he jokes, but his chest is already flush against your back and one hand is already closing on yours on the joystick, the other curled around the soft of your waist. This way, he murmurs, warm on the shell of your ear. You can’t hold back the shiver that skips down your skin at the undercurrent of his voice. But you blink, and a plushie drops from the claw’s pincers, and Haru is cheering so loudly it turns your laugh breathless with adoration. You lean up to kiss him, then, his startled smile against yours sweet as honeysuckle, and as he steals kiss after kiss from you under the neon bloom of arcade lights you wonder if this is what it feels like to be addicted to the sun. 

Towa doesn’t know how to apply for an R&R, but he doesn’t need to – the quiet beach he brings you to after sunset, tucked into a far corner of Jabberwock, belongs to an entirely different world. Its sand is almost pitch black under the light of the moon, fine under the sift of your fingers, and as you lay down it molds itself to the shape of both your bodies. Towa hums. His fingers play with the ends of your hair. Dandelion, he says, tell me a story. And so you do, your words wrapped in night and the soft cadence of waves coming home to shore, and as you do you feel Towa’s nose find home in the crook of your neck. If only you could stay like this forever, uninterrupted and warm, safe and adoring, your arm around his shoulders and your voice swirling around him like warm ocean breeze– Towa rises to his elbows. The moonlight fractures across the sea, winds itself into the glow of his eyes. You’re my favourite story-teller, Dandelion, he says, softly, and he kisses you, lips chapped and soft against the curve of your smile. You’ll always be his favourite. 

Ren cooks you dinner. He steals away from the circus of his dorm, sets up shop in the quiet Clementia kitchen with your pots and pans and bags of ingredients he bought under an R&R permit the day before. He hates doing the washing, hates waiting around for the food to cook, but oh, the way you look at him throughout it all makes the process worth it – your eyes shine under the artificial kitchen lights, smile button-cute and teasing as you trace the arc of his hands through the air. You even join in without him having to ask you to, your words and hands flying deftly alongside his to prepare all the vegetables needed, until all he needs to do is toss everything in a pot and set it on simmer. It makes it easier, he thinks. You make it easier. After you set the lid on the pot you turn to Ren. Everything you make always smells so good, you sigh, and watch his neck flush a pretty pink. Yeah, yeah, he mutters; he curls his arm around you anyway. If it were anyone else he’d suspect they were trying to manipulate him to cooking more often, but you’re tilting your chin up and pressing the softest kiss on the curve of his jaw, and the voice in his head quietens. He never feels obligated to do things, not with you. 

Taiga doesn’t get the approval required to bring you off-campus, but he doesn’t need it – after all, what for be the most proficient gambler alive if he can’t just buy what he wants with his winnings? The next time you show up at Sinostra you find a photo-strip booth installed in the lobby. You don’t have to wait in line for it, of course – Taiga pulls you into it after hours, arm around your waist and tongue clicking in impatience. The first photos you get are blurry with laughter, of you trying to figure out the camera and the timing and why Taiga always startles whenever the flash goes off, of Taiga looking confused at your giggles with his mouth half-opened and his eyebrows furrowed. The next few are cuter, of Taiga tucking his teeth into the crook of your neck, of you pressing a kiss to Taiga’s cheek, of him turning back to you, eyes soft like a memory, tender like candle glow. The last few are blurry with something else, of Taiga’s searing grin, of Taiga coaxing gasps from the burn of your lips, of his rings digging into your hips and your hands running into his hair. He keeps these in his pocket. You keep them over your heart. 

Romeo pretends that he’s doing it more for himself than he is for you. The hotel room he books out is opulence itself, with pearlescent floor and velvet curtains the colour of wine; you don’t have to touch the pillow cases to know its thread count soars into the thousands. He pulls out silk pajamas and three different lotions with hyaluronic acid and royal jelly, brews you tea the colour of blood. He orders room service. He snaps at you to lay back in the pillows, but his touch on the curve of your cheek as he applies a clay mask on you is softer than clouds. Because this is how Romeo loves — without false promises or niceties, just the stuttering gasp of need, just the quiet exhale of I will do anything for you, over and over, without you having to ask. When he holds you it is with the desperation of a man who knows he has a deadline, who has inexplicably found himself tangled in the ticking bomb of you, but when he kisses you it is like the dusk kissing the horizon kissing the dawn — like it is the natural order of things, like something that can never be lost, like something he will never give the universe a chance to stop. 

Ritsu leads you around a history museum. The warm afternoon is dulled by the buzz of patrons around you, and yet further muted by the weight of Ritsu’s hand in yours. You meander, slowly, through the glass exhibits and the carefully penned panels, heels clicking quietly on the marble flooring, until you come to a stop before a collection of bronze rings, meticulously placed and described on the plastic panelling before you. This is my favourite exhibit, Ritsu says, quietly. His hand tightens around yours. Your eyes alight on the translucent inscription on the top right of the glass box. In loving memory of Irene and Rodolfo, who met and fell in love at this museum. Ritsu shifts. There is something about how old these items are, he says, that makes you wonder how many couples they’ve seen, wandering around the museum, hand-in-hand and in love. The June of his words bloom bright in the tight of your throat. You lean in to press a kiss on his cheek, and he turns to look at you, thumb skating over your bare knuckles. Now they’ve seen one more, you murmur, and watch the sky of his eyes crinkle up, clear with delight. 

Subaru brings you around a quiet town two hours away from the city. The locals know him not for his career but for the boy he once was, meek and sweet and stubborn, and as you enter the Showa era shophouses you are surrounded by sweets and tea and a delight that echoes past your bones. You spend most time, in the end, in a small kimono store run by a kindly grandmother — she presents you and Subaru a rainbow of beautiful fabrics in intricate pinks and greens and blues, but the only thing you return to again and again is a pastel purple, so pale it is almost white. When you step out of the dressing room it sends Subaru reeling. He has seen you in white before, yes, but never before has he been so vividly struck by the vision of you in a shiromuku, smiling at him, walking towards him like he is a future you’ve always wanted. Subaru rocks back on his heels, dizzy— but then you are laughing, and kissing him sweetly on the cheek, and suddenly he sees himself in a montsuki, black as night and just as sparkling. It drums through his heart, this shared glow of a shared future, and as the warm squeeze of your hand through his gloves brings him back to reality he can’t help but smile. He will buy this kimono for you, of course, but perhaps— perhaps he will also indulge in a black haori for himself, to go with you. 

Haku brings you the stars. Or rather, he books you both tickets for an evening at the planetarium, the one midtown with private plush beds reclined just at the right angle for you to watch the stars in the warmth of his arms. The night starts off with your head on his shoulder, narrator’s voice melting into your seats as you watch the universe expand across the domed ceiling; it ends with Haku’s lips on your temple as you track constellations across the silently rotating sky – he murmurs old myths into your hair, hums shrine stories of how all stardust is said to carry memories of the star they came from. He intertwines his fingers with yours, low voice tucking reverence between the stitch of your palms, and suddenly you are dizzy with the ache that sings through your chest at the promise of colliding again and again with Haku, of each insignificant particle of you finding particles of him over and over in every lifetime past and every lifetime to come, of carrying the home of his hands and hymn of his lips in the blueprint of your very atoms, indelible and indefinite and sure. You look up at him, after, at the way he is outlined in silver and starlight. Haku, you say. The honey of his name drips off your tongue like a prayer; he kisses it from your lips. He kisses you like he has known no other sweetness, until he is no longer him and you are no longer you, until neither of you carry curses or demons or responsibilities, until you are once again two dust motes spinning across the universe, drifting together, drifting home. 

Zenji takes you to a bookstore. After all, how better to know what kind of poetry resonates with your soul? The bookstore is tucked away between an old tea shop and a bakery, its green awning long bleached colourless by the sun and rain. When you step inside you are first greeted by the singing creak of the floorboards, then the dance of dust notes in the morning sun. They swim in the warm rays of sunlight, lightly disturbed only by your entrance and Zenji’s humming, but give way to the stacks upon stacks of yellowed books neatly shuffled into nearly-toppling piles. Zenji inhales deeply. One of my favourite smells, he intones, and you can’t help but smile and take a deep breath too. You shuffle between books, reading their jackets and occasionally flipping some open to peer inside, and laugh quietly when Zenji’s voice, deep and resonant over your shoulder, brings the words to life. Because isn’t this what words are for – to carry love, to be carried by love? Zenji’s reading brushes your shoulder, kisses the shell of your ear, sweet as mint. You look up at him, then, with all his love carried in the sparkle of his voice and the ruby of his eyes. Maybe it is. 

Ed offers you a rainy day in. He complains of the rain and the wind, of the ache in his joints that don’t quite go away whenever the moon is covered, and the current of amused dramatics running under every word of it makes you laugh fondly. It isn’t very different from all your other dates, not really – you end up dozing in the velvet of his covers, his nose pressed into the intoxicating scent of your pulse point and his arms around your middle – but neither of you mind. Perhaps if the days blur together they will extend far beyond your understanding of time; perhaps if this becomes your new normal you will forget that your days have been limited in the first place. Or perhaps, he hopes, you will look up at him at the end of your days, your bare back spread with bruising violets and crimsons, and curl your burning hand over his, murmuring kisses of acquiescence against the cold of his lips– Ed sighs. Humans. For now he will simply listen to the drum of the rain on the window and watch as flashes of lightning linger in your eyelashes. There will be time still. 

Rui brings you to the botanical gardens. The flowers there are different from those in Obscuary, of course, and not quite as pretty, but how nice it is, to smell the sweet of blooms not meant to die in the moonlight. How nice it is, to flirt with you among reminders of life. He takes you down winding paths shaded by rustling trees, brings you to see the multitudes of orchids and tulips and sunflowers lining the insides of greenhouses and brings you to see more flowers still. He talks you through the honeysuckles and the lilies, and as the sun kisses your faces through the leaves and your hands drift closer and closer to home, he can’t help but feel the sprout of some stubborn hope he has long since buried. It winds itself between the stalks of you, sinks itself into the sun between your feet — that the both of you, stubbornly surviving between the cracks of Darkwick and determined to bloom still, will be able to live again, side-by-side, in the dirt-stained hands of spring. 

Lyca teaches you how to draw. You settle on the floor of his room, thick sketchbook paper strewn out between the both of you, and by the time the sun goes down the pages have been filled with beautiful portraits (Lyca’s) and pencil squiggles (yours). The afternoon itself was quiet, filled only with the scratches of graphite on paper and the occasional conversation about what went wrong in the mess you’ve made on your papers; Rui only popped in once, just to ask if you needed water. (And, you suspect, to gather some intelligence too — you get a polite text soon after from Haku enquiring after the reason for Subaru letting out a relieved laugh and hugging his phone to his chest.) The rest of the evening passes by in almost a blur, and at the end of it, scattered amongst the sketches of you and doodles of Lyca’s swishy tail, is this: the sunshine-glass of laughter, bright and sparkling on the floor between you. The graphite-shine of Lyca’s eyes printed onto your heart, the melt of him onto the margins of your pages. The skip of your heart when he leans in a little too close to look at your scratches, the sweet blush that spreads across the scrunch of his nose when you finally, finally, lean back in and kiss him. 

Yuri brings you to an open lecture hosted by a known expert at the University downtown. It doesn’t matter that it has nothing to do with medicine or biology — the sheer delight on your face when he off-handedly mentions the permit he got from Professor Nicolas is enough to turn his cheeks bright red. He makes you give him a crash course on the subject before the lecture, of course, but it is only so he can cover up the fact that he has spent the last two nights reading up all he can about the subject matter you love, buried up to his nose in books and reading materials he tucks away before you come in in the morning. All he learns doesn’t make a difference anyway — the entire lecture goes by without Yuri absorbing anything into his brain. This is what he remembers instead: the soft of your cheek as you settle your chin in your hand, ready to listen, the sparkle in your eye, bright like stars even as the lights in the auditorium are lowered. The thank you kiss you leave on his cheek after, burning him some shade of lovestruck and self-satisfied and grateful all at once. 

Jiro looks almost intimidating when backlit by aquarium blue. But he is half-smiling in wonder, blood-red of his eyes cooling into something child-like and animated, and you can’t help but laugh as he tugs you from room to room, peering into the well-kept glass habitats with focus and intent. You drift from coral to eels, from starfish to anemones, the cold of his hand the only thing anchoring you in the flow of the experience. Before you know it, the next room Jiro pulls you into opens up into a floor-to-ceiling display of jellyfish, gently pulsating with life, and you can’t help the little gasp that escapes your lips. Jiro peers down at you, grin crooked and fond. Did you know, he says, that jellyfish exist in all sorts of different water conditions? There are jellyfish in the Artic oceans and in freshwater lakes. You look at him through your reflection in the dark glass – even in the backdrop of mindless jellyfish there is still a rare sparkle in his eye that swells like a tide in your lungs. I didn’t, you answer. You tug him down to kiss his cheek, and let him sweep you away on the current of his smile. 

in writing this i realised that like . i’ve planned the date actually not them. booooo. anyway on ao3 here!

[kaidoslastbraincell]

how it all started / baby saja x reader

When you attend the Huntrix fan signing, you meet someone unexpected...

Pairings: baby saja x zoey fan!reader

Part 1, Part 2,

You'd been waiting in line for this since the early hours of the morning, with the hopes of being first. Much to your displeasure, a group in sleeping bags had beaten you to it. With a sigh, you slumped against the wall, thumb brushing over the handle of the gift bag in your hands.

The doors opened and everyone rushed in, yourself included. The girls addressed the group in front of you, before they removed their sleeping bags and posed far too pretentiously for those considered the general public in the presence of idols. Huntrix didn't seem to think so though, glaring at them with all the malice of someone who'd been deeply betrayed.

After some debating, Rumi announced that they would be sitting together for the signing and you realised that the boys must have been a new band. Despite everyone else around you looking more than thrilled, you had no idea who they were.

Being next in line, you approached slowly, offering Mira and Rumi small smiles before you turned your attention to Zoey...your idol. She grinned at you, eyes flickering to the decorated bag in your hands.

"Who am I signing for?" she asked sweetly, pulling the cap off her pen and pulling the stack of posters closer.

"Y/N, please," you murmured, cheeks warming as you held the bag out to her, "and this is for you..."

She gasped, eyes sparkling as she gently took it from you.

"For me? You shouldn't have!"

The other girls watched with soft eyes as their friend rummaged through the tissue paper to get to the treats. When she reached the bracelet you'd spent hours making for her, hearts overtook her pupils.

"You got all my favourite snacks!? And this bracelet is SO CUTE!!!"

The mint-green-haired boy had watched you the whole time, eyes keen as he took you in. With a smirk, he leaned over the table.

"Want my autograph, too?"

An awkward smile tugged at your lips as you fidgeted. Fuck he was cute.

"I'm sorry...who are you?"

The other boys at the table gasped so dramatically, you almost rolled your eyes. Huntrix tried - and failed - to contain their laughter.

"Do you live under a rock or something?" a pink-haired boy in a yellow beanie turned in his chair.

Mira smacked the back of his head. "Don't be mean to our fans!"

"It's okay," the dark-haired boy beside Rumi smiled kindly, "we're the Saja Boys. Still new to the scene."

"Oh...well it's nice to meet you...?" You bowed slightly before turning back to Zoey.

She handed you the signed poster, but before you could thank them for their time and be on your way, Mira and Rumi had stretched across the boys beside them with autographs of their own. Your eyes widened.

"Oh, I couldn't! I was only able to buy 1 signing, it wouldn't be fair..."

Rumi waved dismissively. "Nonsense, consider it a thank you for your dedication to our group!"

Taking the offerings slowly, you nodded. "If you're sure..."

Another poster was held out to you. Following the arm, you met the gaze of the green-haired boy. Upon checking the signature, you found that his name was 'Baby', and in tiny writing beneath it was his number. You frowned.

"Thanks?"

You grinned at the girls again, bowing in thanks and walking away. This was not how you'd expected today to go.

Later that night, while you were lying in bed listening to music, your phone buzzed with a flurry of notifications.

(@) zoey_official has followed you

(@) mira_official has followed you

(@) rumi_official has followed you

(@) zoey_official tagged you in a story

"How the hell did they even find my Instagram from just my first name?" you muttered, heart hammering so hard you felt it in your throat.

Then...

(@) abby-saja has followed you

(@) mystery-saja has followed you

(@) romance-saja has followed you

(@) jinu-saja has followed you

(@) baby-saja has followed you

"WHAT-"

(@) baby-saja wants to send you a message

"THE FUCK?"

(@) baby-saja: found you~ cutie <3

[kellykadesperate]

83 :0

“You don’t get to decide that.”

[set around march/april 2016. just a scene i think would slot in nicely to the time]

Aaron’s having a good day. Robert can tell by the way that he’s still here, sitting right next to him, with their hands almost touching. Robert isn’t having a good day, he’s having a day where he feels the weight of what Aaron is going through hit him like a truck. 

He’s had them a few times. Vic looks at him funny when he goes all into himself, has an early night, and then doesn’t sleep at all. He lies there thinking about the things Aaron’s had to go through, things he won’t ever be able to understand. He feels this distance between them, the way Aaron’s somewhere he can’t reach. 

Now, Aaron’s cradling his pint and they’re both staring at the television in the back room of the pub. There’s some shitty movie on right now about an undercover police officer and Robert is only half listening to it. 

“You’re quiet.” Aaron says. 

It catches Robert by complete surprise. He hasn’t realised how in his head he’s been but clearly it’s been a while since he tried filling the silence, said something stupid about the film or asked Aaron a pointless question just to say something. 

Robert opens his mouth and then closes it again. Then he gulps hard. “Just watching.”

Aaron’s right hand curls a little around the pint and the other moves a little towards Robert’s and then stops. Aaron keeps doing that. Robert can tell. Since finding Liv, since that conversation in the park, there’s been moments where Aaron reaches out and then reaches away again like he’s petrified Robert won’t hold on.

Robert wants to hold on, and never let go but he’s fairly sure that telling Aaron that will make him run a mile. 

Robert has a plan. The plan involves doing everything he possibly can not to fuck up Aaron’s life. Everything else is scarily secondary to that aim.

Aaron sips at his pint and then leans forward to sit in on the coaster. When he leans back, he folds his arms. “Are you scheming?” He asks, like he’s resigned to the fact.

Robert scoffs. “I’m fine.” He says, and then he puts on this stupid smile to try and prove it.

Aaron finally looks at him. Robert squirms under it and it doesn’t make sense to. They’ve spent days and days together since this nightmare started, they’ve spoken for hours and said things quietly and other times they’d said nothing at all. Aaron hasn’t looked at him the way he is now though, not for ages. He looks worried. He looks like he has all this concern for Robert. He frowns and it hits Robert right in the heart.

“Vic told me you’ve not been sleeping.” Aaron says. 

Robert breathes in deeply. He’s been getting up in the middle of the night, every night really but he didn’t think Vic really knew how often. He didn’t think she’d tell Aaron of all people about it.

“She’s exaggerating.” Robert decides. Then he smiles again. It still doesn’t meet his eyes and Aaron notices because Aaron just knows him. “I’m fine, honest.”

Aaron sits up, turns so that he’s staring right at Robert. “You can’t just say honest and think it means you’re doing just that you know.” 

Robert almost laughs, instead he just dips his head so that he can’t look at Aaron and see how worried he is. “I’ve just been a bit restless.” He says. “At night.”

Aaron won’t look at Robert, he stares at his own lap and then his hands are reaching forward towards Robert’s knee and then moving back again. “Because of. All of this.” He sounds so scared. It eats Robert up inside, twists and twists until it’s difficult to breathe.

“No.” Robert says shakily. “Well.” He gives up trying to say anything and then breathes out quickly. “I just hate what’s happening to you.” He admits.

Robert hasn’t done this. He hasn’t told Aaron how sorry he is, he hasn’t hugged him so tight that neither of them can breathe, he hasn’t run his fingers through Aaron’s hair and told him he wishes this was all happening to him instead. It’d be pointless, doing all of that would just make Aaron have another thing to think about. 

It’s better to think about it alone, by the kitchen sink, at three in the morning and just feel everything there. Not here. Not now.

The thought snaps him back into what he should be doing, which is making sure Aaron is OK.

“But I’m fine.” Robert whispers gently. He nods so that Aaron can really understand. 

Aaron’s chin wobbles. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that.” Robert feels a little light headed thinking about Aaron apologising to him.

“As soon as I told you, I made this something you have to think about too.” Aaron looks so serious. “I didn’t think about how it would –”

“You don’t need to think about me.” Robert says quickly. “You shouldn’t be thinking about me.” He says.

“Yeah well you don’t get to decide that.” Aaron snaps, and he seems genuinely annoyed by the idea. Robert watches as Aaron sits up a little, facing forward like he can’t say what he’s about to whilst staring at Robert. “I still think about you. You’re still in here.” He points to the side of his head. “You’re a good thing in here.” He whispers.

Robert blinks quickly. “Didn’t think you’d ever think that again.” He blurts out. It was a thought. He didn’t mean to actually say it. 

Aaron finally looks at Robert. “Yeah well.” He shrugs. “It’s true.” He bites his lip and then leans back into the sofa. He leans over a little so that his leg brushes against Robert’s thigh. “I’m here.”

“I know you are.” Robert says.

“To talk.” Aaron points out.

Robert pulls a face. “I should be saying that to you.” He whispers.

Aaron gulps hard. “I don’t want this to – I want you to know I’m here.” He bites his lip hard. “Everyone’s rushing around being there for me and I feel useless half the time.” He holds at his hands, wrings them together a little. “I want to be there for you too, OK? Can you just – say OK?”

Robert feels his heart do something funny. He reaches out, holds Aaron’s hands until they stop shaking. 

God. He really loves him. He really really loves Aaron. 

“I’m up half the night too.” Aaron admits. He looks down at the way Robert’s hands are held tight with his own. “So just. Call me. Yeah? We can talk about nothing for a bit.”

Robert didn’t think he could ever love someone like this. His heart actually aches, there’s this dull thudding in his chest that won’t go away.

Robert wants to do something stupid, lean down and kiss at Aaron’s hand. He wants to make Aaron smile more than anything else in the whole world. 

“Sounds like a plan.” Robert whispers, and then he does the something stupid. He leans down, kisses Aaron’s hands like he’s a prince and Aaron’s the blushing beauty. He doesn’t dare say that. 

Instead he watches Aaron blush. He goes bright red. He smiles.

Robert feels it hit him in the chest.

[beef-brisket]

((When I get my hands on you, tumblr!!))

It's been a month since Charlie's first birthday and Lucifer was sitting at the police station, waiting to finalise a court date. Turns out the bitch damaged his car when she attacked him.

Teddy: Hey there, son.

Adam: Hey Lu.

Lucifer looked up and smiled, especially when he saw Charlie in Adam's arms, asleep. They went out to do some shopping while Lucifer waited.

He moved over so they could all have a seat: Hey. How was your walk?

Teddy sat down, outting Charlie'sbaby bag on the floor near his feet: Very good, son! The markets on! And Charlie was very popular.

Adam sat down between Lucifer and Teddy: Oh yeah, real popular with the old bats.

Teddy chuckled: A-Adam, please.

Adam: What? One tried giving her a hard boiled lolli- not on my watch, bitch.

Lucifer laughed: Well, thank you for saving my daughters life, Adam.

Adam: Anytime, shorty.

Teddy: So, you any closer to filing a report?

Lucifer nodded: Already done, the officer is just finalising a court date, then they'll give me a copy of everything. Are you sure you don't mind paying for everything? I... it could be a lot...

Teddy: Court is always a lot of money, Luce. And of course, I'm happy to help my son!

They looked up as a cop walked over to Lucifer.

Dee: Alright, Mr Lucifer, your court date is on the 8th of August. We'll make sure Lilith gets served as well. If anything else happens, don't hesitate to contact us.

Smiling, Lucifer stood and grabbed the paperwork and then shook Dee's hand: Thank you very much, officer. I'll certainly do that.

Adam walked out when Charlie started to get fuss. Teddy rubbed his back as he walked past, making Adam smile.

When the cop was finished talking, Teddy stood and walked outside with his son. They say down outside and watched Adam from afar.

Lucifer glanced at his dad: ...You love him, huh? Thought this was just an arrangement.

Teddy: ...It started off like that. But it quickly turned into something else. Son, I know you don't approve. Many don't. But... they don't know him. Haven't taken the time to know him.

Lucifer nodded, staying quiet. Until his dad handed him a box: Dad- is this...?

He opened it and stared at the ring. It was perfect. Wasn't bulky like most men's rings, but it wasn't dainty like a woman's. It was very... Adam.

Teddy smiled: I've been thinking about it for a while now, but with everything going on at home and at the company, it wasn't a good time. But, when he left... I realised how much I missed him. How much I love him. And I can tell he's changed. He hasn't told me what was going on, but... he's done so much for me.

Lucifer closed the box: Dad. You should marry him because you want to, dad. Not because he does a lot for you.

Teddy: Son. Everyone has different ways of showing affection. He shows his love with his actions- I'm physical touch- but we wont go into that too much.

Lucifer chuckled: Thanks dad... if you want to do this, I support you. Both of you.

Teddy smiled and hugged Lucifer: Thank you, son. That means the world to me! I know this hasn't been easy for you- so I appreciate your blessing. I really do.

When they parted, Lucifer handed Teddy back the box before Adam saw: So, when ar you popping the question?

Teddy: July 23rd. That would be our second anniversary. Fitting, I think.

Sugar baby!au

This one's a bit different- maybe because I love Adam being a little shit 👀

Lucifer and Adam used to be best friends in high school, but they had a falling out after Adam caught Lucifer and his girlfriend at the time, Lilith, in her bed.

After Adam moved schools, they didn't see each other for ten years. Lucifer went on to do woodworking and eventually made a toy start up. And after Lilith left him, he was forced to move back in with his dad.

Since he moved in, his dad wouldn't stop gushing about some singer he's dating. Lucifer didn't really care, he has his own issues. But when he saw the person his dad was dating, Lucifer was disgusted- and extremely annoyed.

-

Adam: Sup, loser.

Lucifer: What the hell are you doing here?!

Adam smirked: I'm fucking your dad, shit lips!

-

Queue Lucifer's compain to destroy his father's relationship with Adam- who's obviously using him to fun his music career.

Adam's having a great time pissing Lucifer off, but he also hates the fact that he still has a crush on his ex best friend.

I love this so fucking much. I want to do this simply for this line: You want to date my dad? Fine. But he is a good man and deserves to be happy so you're either with him because you love him, or step away.

And Lucifer is only staying with his dad because Lilith got the fucking house lol He's looking for a new one but the market is a MESS.

Maybe Lilith calls Lucifer up and says she's pregnant adding to another layer of it. Because not only is he getting divorced but there's a custody battle in future.

[glamourscat]

MY DEAR ARMIN | PT2

PT 1 | Maybe, after all, promises can be kept. Maybe, after all, those dreams weren’t so foolish as we thought they were

The letter had been sitting on his desk since yesterday, unopened. He meant to read it before bed, he really did, but when his fingers broke the wax seal he just stopped. He saw his name in your handwriting and froze. Maybe, unconsciously, he already knew what you were about to say. And maybe, for the first time in ten years, after so many losses, after everything, he didn’t want to face another obstacle. Maybe, for once, he wanted to choose the easy road, cowardly indeed. As unfair it was, especially when any conversation with Annie never really led anywhere.

Armin was known for his intellect, the one thing he truly felt was his own. And yet, even he could be a fool. He has always been attracted to the unknown. To the mysterious aspect that life sometimes seems to offer, to shield. He is an idealist at heart. Hence why despite everything, he has always been there for Eren. Not just as a best friend, but maybe because some part of him has always been fascinated by what he couldn’t understand, and with Annie is nonetheless.

She is hard to read, she is hard to understand. And he can’t blame her after everything she went through. But as much as he is emotionally invested in her, because she is that code he can’t crack, his rational mind knows. Knows that he needs an emotional reciprocity. He seeks connection, understanding, vulnerability. And there’s only one person that can give him that. And it’s not Annie.

As the sunlight filters through the window, time passes by. His blonde hair is a mess. He’s still half asleep, but his eyes keep drifting to the letter on his desk, his mind screaming at him to read it as if it knows what he’s trying to avoid, that what’s inside is more important than any sleepy excuse. He read the letter in silence. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Time stopped around him. He can’t hear anything, not the birds, not the kids laughing in the street, not the merchants yelling. By the end, his fingers are trembling. His eyes are blurry. He grips the paper so tightly it creases.

“If you ever find yourself looking out over the ocean, and by any chance you think of me… just know that I’ll be out there too, somewhere, thinking of you. In the ocean. In the sky. In the stars…”

He doesn’t realise he’s sobbing until one hits so hard it knocks the wind out of him. What the hell is he doing? That’s all he can think. Why did he wait this long? Why did he try to do the most illogical thing for once in his life? You’re leaving. Today. And as the truth sinks in, he’s moving faster than he can think. Shower. Clothes. Essentials shoved into the first handbag he could find. Not much. He doesn’t need much, everything else can stay behind if it means he gets to be with you.

He shouted something to Jean down the hall, “I’ll be out for a while, take charge, let Levi know!”, but didn’t stop to explain, even when Jean gave him a confused side eye. In the hallway, his eyes meet Mikasa’s. His mouth opens before his feet can stop running.

“Where is she now?” he asks, breathless.

Mikasa stares at him and doesn’t ask questions. She just knows. “Pier 3. They’re finishing boarding.”

He takes off running to the docks, which as always, are a mess. He pushes past crewmen who barely register him. The wind burns his lungs. Time is running out and he can’t seem to find you. But then his eyes caught your figure. Your hair caught in the wind, eyes fixed on the horizon, on the future. A future that seems so close yet so far. And for a second, he nearly chickens out. What is there to say? After weeks of silence, after convincing himself that taking the easy road would hurt less, while his heart had been screaming at him the whole time to wake up. To act.

He’s not sure if you’d even want to see him. He could still walk away. Let the ship go. Let you go. Tell himself it’s too late. But then you brush a strand of hair from your face, the way you always do when you’re nervous, something in him breaks. And he is yelling your name sharp. Loud. Unsure. You turn in confusion, eyes locking onto his. And your face fills with shock, maybe disbelief. Because he’s really here. And knowing Armin, he looks like he’s on the verge of either tears or an anxiety attack. And yet, somehow, he’s still wearing the softest, sweetest smile you’ve ever known.

He climbs on deck. Nearly drops his bag. Almost trips over air. Your lips curl into a small amused smile at the scene, a sight that nearly undoes him right there and then. How long has it been since he saw that smile? And why does he feel like he wants to kiss it, until you two are both too breathless to even think?

“I’m sorry,” he says, breathless. “I—I was late reading the letter. I was stupid. I let you think I stopped caring. I let you walk away thinking I chose someone else, something else, but the truth is—I didn’t. I was scared to be selfish. I thought if I stayed still, nothing would break. But I was wrong. I broke anyway. Without you.”

“I remembered,” he continued, softer. “I remembered everything. That promise. That night. You were the first person I dreamed of escaping these walls. And the only one I ever wanted to dream with. I told myself it was better this way, to just distance myself. Cleaner. Safer. But I was wrong. The easy way, what feels too nice to be true—is never the answer, especially in our world, isn’t it? I don’t deserve your forgiveness. And if I must, and I will, I’ll beg for an eternity just to be in your good graces again.”

A moment of silence goes by. You’re unsure on what to say, there’s too much. The only thing that comes to mind is to address the big elephant in the room. “And Annie? What about her?”

“I didn’t choose Annie. I stayed because I thought I was supposed to. I don’t even know if what I felt for her ever really belonged to me.” He paused, eyes growing softer.

“I’ve spent so long carrying what wasn’t mine… Bertolt’s memories, other people’s grief, the weight of the world. I thought I owed it to everyone to stay still. Because I thought love had to mean sacrifice. But I don’t want a love that feels like duty anymore. I don’t want to guess anymore. I want a love that feels like coming home. A love that’s naive maybe, but familiar. A love that I don’t need to contort and walk on eggshells. I want to be where you are. What I feel for you, what I’ve always felt, has never changed. I have been— just too afraid to admit it. Because it was easier to pretend I didn’t feel anything even if my heart was killing me seeing you flirt with Jean.”

He took a break, to catch some air, but mostly to stare at you with those bright blue eyes of his. To make sure you can feel the sincerity in his words.

“It’s never been a chore. Us, I mean. This. Never an obligation. It’s always been my choice, in a world that doesn’t let you choose. I have always chose you, from the moment I decided to share my only book at the age of three with you. Every time I gave you half of my ration. Every time my eyes searched yours on the battlefield. And now… it’s nevertheless. I’m choosing you.”

You don’t speak at first. Just look at him. Like you’re waiting for a disaster to strike, like you’re waiting for the world to crash down. But that moment never comes. Your bottom lip trembles and so does his. And for the first time in weeks, weeks that felt like years, it all crumbled up. The distance. The silence. The emptiness. You’re the one who closes the gap, running into his arms just as the ship is about to move. And he holds you tighter than he ever has before, a silent but steady promise neither of you intends to break.

The silence stretches, long enough that it aches. He wraps his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He buries his face in your shoulder, like he’s trying to ground himself, pressing a brief, tender kiss to your skin. The ship rocks. The port fades. The world narrows to just you and him. You pull back to meet his eyes. He’s crying and so are you.

“Let’s go,” you say, steady, your hand reaching out to him. And this time around he takes it like he’s planning to never let go.

That’s a promise.

[juicebuck]

GREAT! YES PLEASE for finishing the blood kink fic. Okay after the shooting do you think Buck was hyper aware of every time he accidentally nicked his finger, or cut himself shaving? He becomes increasingly obsessed/plagued by thoughts of Eddie tasting his blood when this happens. Part of it is guilt, because he had Eddie's blood in his mouth and it feels like he took something without permission, but also because thinks Eddie is the safest place for his blood to go. The best keeper for it.

oh my god. Well, yes. okay i'm obsessed with this actually. buck so, so aware, can't stop thinking about eddie's blood in his mouth. inside of him. and suddenly needing it reversed. his blood inside of eddie. needs eddie to taste him like buck tasted eddie. complete the circle. and like, also now thinking about buck doing it on purpose. in front of eddie. just being deliberately careless. because he's deranged and can’t stop thinking about it. he's cutting vegetables in eddie's kitchten and lets the knife slip, snags his finger. and eddie's there. holding his hand, buck's blood staining the pad of his thumb. and buck holds his breath. lets eddie clean it, wrap a band-aid around it. then he just. keeps doing it. keeps chasing more. does it again a few days later. and eddie's right there again, deliberately swiping his finger over the blood this time. an odd look on his face. then again, a week later. a little deeper. and this time there's something in eddie's eyes, curious. and he brings buck's finger to his mouth to soothe over it. and buck's breath catches. and eddie hums. then cleans it, like he did the last two times. buck staring at the smudge of his blood on eddie's lip as eddie puts a band-aid on. and like, buck's half hard every time this happens. obviously. but he wants more. so next time, buck ups his game. they're both in eddie's bathroom one morning, after buck stayed over. getting ready for work. and buck's shaving. accidentally on purpose nicks his skin. lets his eyes flutter when eddie reaches up, holds buck's face in his hands as he inspects it. and they're so close. and buck's breath shakes. and eddie stares at him, charged. then leans forward, body pressing against him. soothes his tongue over the cut. and buck whines without quite meaning to. and eddie pulls back, says, buck, what are you doing? and buck swallows. says, i—don't know. and god, he's so hard. there's no way eddie can't feel it. and eddie breathes, buck. laps his tongue back over the wound. and buck moans, fingers sinking into eddie's hair. and eddie noses at his cheek, says, oh. and buck shuts his eyes, can't even look at him as eddie pulls back again. and he doesn’t know how to say it. how to say that he wants eddie to know the taste of him. the way buck knows the taste of eddie. wants eddie to be keeper of his blood the way buck has kept his. and eddie says again, buck. and buck shudders. says, when you got shot. it was—your blood. it was—everywhere. on my face. in my— and realisation dawns on eddie's face. strange and heady. and he thumbs over the cut on buck's jaw, presses his nail into it, just enough. then drags his lips over the blood, says, like this? and buck jerks, pressing into eddie’s hip. and eddie sucks in a breath, presses back, and he’s hard too. and buck feels like he's going to fucking die. tries to say something. but then eddie's kissing him, with his blood-stained lips. sinks his teeth into buck's lip. and buck's rutting against him now. mindless. and eddie's matching his grind. lapping over buck’s lip, groans against him, says, now you're in me too, and buck pants, eddie, fuck, and comes with a shudder. and eddie growls, hips moving hard and fast, follows. kisses buck softly. says, now we're even. and buck laughs, breathes, says, not even close, you freak. and eddie's like, me? look at your hand, you weirdo. and buck does, looks at the band-aids. says, yeah. okay. you, uh. you might have a point.

[hollowedskin]

I forgot to say at the time but the draft horse post reminded me.

My nephew is obsessed with red dead redemption 2 and has become a horse girl (boy version) about it in record time. Despite living in the city his whole life and never setting foot in a paddock or even seeing a horse closer than while driving past.

So when he did something super hard and scary I took him to the outback spectacular as a treat.

Its horse theatre. You sit in a stadium setup and the centre is dirt, and they put on a musical that revolves around horses, riding horses, trick riding, and showing off cool things they've trained the horses to do. This one was about a cattle station in outback Queensland and a beautiful brumby that was tamed by the pureness of this one guys heart or something. The story wasn't good. The story wasn't the point. The music was also not good. The point was horse tricks and doing choreographed stuff with horses.

I got him backstage tickets so he could meet the horses himself and see where they're kept, and it didn't really click to me that this was going to be his first time seeing a horse up close. And that perhaps rdr2 does not give an accurate sense of scale.

So we get there and I take the tourguy aside and let him know that kiddo is a foster kid and he loves horses but he gets very scared sometimes, especially around people, but he did something we are very proud of and he's excited to meet his first horse.

So the guy goes oh ok, I'll change the order we do the tour so he can have a little time with this one specific horse first, get him used to them. Because he's sweet and friendly and gentle or something.

So we go in. We are the only people under 70 on the tour or in the group. Tourguy signals for a horse guy to let me and kiddo get a little closer to one of the horses who's being brushed, and take a photo with him.

Kiddo sees his first horse in real life up close when he sticks his head over the fence and sniffs him.

He's a fucking Percheron.

His head is the size of kiddos entire torso. His shoulder is taller than his head. I watch him completely freeze as he realises the fucking size of this guy. He's never seen an animal this big. the guy brushing him asks if he wants to pat him and he can't move. He still wants a photo but the pictures I get are of him dead pale, white as a fucking ghost. Teeth clenched in a rictus attempt at a smile, eyes wide open and a thousand yard stare.

He whispers to me "I didn't know they were this big" I ask how big he thinks they were and he indicates about the size of a pony. The horse guy laughs and says this is a big boy but he's the nicest.

We see a few other horses, learn all their names and what their colours are called (kiddo has an encyclopedic memory of the horse coats and breeds in rdr2 and didn't know they weren't entirely accurate, or all of them)

Then the last animals we are due to see are the herd of cattle. He tells me he's never seen a cow either. I said they're also a bit bigger than he might think.

We round the corner and the damn things are fucking brahmins.

[momo-minomo]

Fic Fairy Friday: Batfam Meets The Justice League

@graziegraziella asked me to do fic fairy friday where the Batfam meets the Justice league for the first time. Excellent idea! So here you go, I actually have enough of these already bookmarked to do a second part sometime lol. Sorry for missing the last few fridays, btw, I'm dealing with some stuff and also working on my novel.

Happy 4th of July to my fellow Americans. I know things are really hard and scary right now but please hold strong and keep resisting. We'll get through this together.

For more fic rec lists please check out The Fic Fairy Friday Masterpost

Monolith by CharlesWaterloo

Summary:

Diana realised with a jolt that none of them had actually asked him how he knew Batman. And she was just as curious as the rest of them about the “we”. It implied Batman worked with more people. ‘How did you come to know Batman? Does he have any other friends?’ His mouth fell open, and he snorted, which evolved into full-out laughter. ‘I’m sorry. Oh my god - friends?’ Diana felt a little hurt on Batman’s behalf. ‘Are you not his friend?' He shook his head. ‘Did B really not say anything? I’m hurt. No, I’m not his friend. I’m his son.’ (An AU where the Justice League haven't met any of Bruce's kids.)

Momo's Notes: This is the first fic I think of when I think of this trope! It's technically unfinished but each chapter is essentially a one-shot and this fic covers the JL learning Bruce has kids and meeting all of them so I think it's finished enough to include. I love the WFA vibes on this one, btw! Also bonus points for busybody!Diana. That woman is DETERMINED to get all the hot goss.

To Rescue a Bat by Blueseabird2

Summary:

Batman gets into a situation during an alien invasion and could use a rescue. Unfortunately, Dick and Jason don't think the Justice League is up for the task. At all. So Dick lets the League know that he will be handling the situation and to expect Batman back by the end of the night. He even promises that he won't be going alone. No one should stand in the way of a Batfamily rescue, even if the Justice League doesn't know there's a Batfamily at all.

Momo's Notes: I love this fic. It's mostly in Jason's pov with a short foray into Dick's later on. The brotherhood and loyalty between Jason and Dick in this one is just chef's kiss. The Batfam are such badasses here. Bonus points for all the Robins still having their own teams but still having no one the wiser that they're in any way related to Batman lol.

Secret Visitors (on the Watchtower) by TheWitchBoy

Summary:

The Watchtower was the same as it always was. With an exception. A kid. Clark couldn’t quite wrap his head around that. A kid. In front of him. On the Watchtower. How did a kid even get on the Watchtower? How had no one noticed? 

Momo's Notes: This one is short but has the rare quality of being a 'Batfam meets the JL' set during Tim's initial Robin run, when he was still just the neighbor and before Jason came back. Dick is aged down a bit, making him 19 instead of the 22 he was in canon. Bonus points for mentioning Tim's perpetual bedhead between the ages of 13-15 lol. I love that Clark takes one look at 19-year-old Nightwing and is basically like "That's a baby. Why is a baby on the Watchtower?!"

Security Updates by Jazz020

Summary:

Hal, Clark, and Barry find an unexpected guest playing with the watchtowers security.

Vacation at the Watchtower by Jazz020

Summary:

A continuation of Security Updates It may have been a mistake to let Tim stay at the Watchtower while he heals from his injury but the kid really needed to get away from his brothers. “Wait, what if I go to the Watchtower with you.” “I don't think-” “It’ll be great. I'll even help out if you need me to. I'll be the best unpaid intern the Justice League has ever had.”

Momo's Notes: This two-parter is cute and WFA coded. Tim is delightfully sassy and hypercompetent gremlin, Bruce is honestly a good dad that in no way can control his flock of birds, and the JL are in no way ready for any of this lol.

pin the blame by ashenice

Summary:

“So, you're the one who named the Batmobile,” Nightwing opened his mouth, then closed it. “Who told you I named the Batmobile?” “Uh, Batman?” A grin split out on Nightwing's face. He leaned in. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said conspiratorially, “B lied to your face,” “What?” “I named the Batcomputer and the Batarangs,” he nodded towards where Batman was currently speaking to Superman. “The car? That’s all his doing,” “Oh my god,” Barry whispered. (Barry Allen goes on a quest to figure out who named the Batmobile. There isn't a single Bat who will give him a straight answer)

Momo's Notes: This fic is a lot of fun lol. Barry had no idea that Batman had a family. Apparently, most of the Justice League DID this know this but they didn't see fit to share that fact with him, Hal, or Shazam. Finding out BATMAN of all people had kids leads him down a rabbit hole trying to figure out who named the Batmobile but in true Wayne fashion the entire family takes the opportunity to fuck with him.

Undercover by InvalidStuff

Summary:

Jason is working undercover when he gets kidnapped by the Justice League. Batman is off-world which leaves his siblings scrambling to find him. While he has to figure out how to not get sent to Arkham and keep the existence of the batfamily a secret from the league. Or, Jason annoys the league and learns he's important, Dick being the aggressively protective older brother that he is, Tim being a casual badass, and Damian living for violence.

Momo's Notes: Poor Jason is having a TERRIBLE day in this one. Everything that can go wrong, does. Now he's being held prisoner by the Justice League who have no idea he's Batman's kid, several of them aren't acting like themselves, he's injured, Batman isn't available, and his siblings are ready to fight god barehanded if it means getting their brother back.

NA NA NA NA Batdad! by nightwalker

Summary:

The irony of Batman having that coffee mug was amusing. The thought of Brucie Himbo Trainwreck Wayne owning it was hysterical. Ollie took a quick swallow of coffee to push back a laugh. “I like the coffee mug. A friend of mine has the same one.”

Momo's Notes: Short and wholesome. Green Arrow is one of the first to discover not only Batman's identity but that he's a damn good dad, too.

little brothers and chilli dogs by bleesknees

Summary:

Tim gets gravely injured while on a mission. Luckily, wanted criminal, murderer, and mob boss Red Hood is there to save him, but due to an unfortunate mishap involving copious amounts of glitter, the Batcave’s medical stores have been destroyed. Instead, the closest emergency supplies are one Zeta away—in the Justice League’s Watchtower.

Momo's Notes: No one knows who Batman or the other Gotham vigilantes are, only that Batman, Nightwing, and (Red) Robin work together. So they are understandably alarmed when wanted criminal Red Hood somehow breaks into the Watchtower with a profusely bleeding Red Robin in his arms. This is one of the rare 'Batman conceals his identity even from the JL' fics that have him continue to be very careful about who finds out rather than just revealing it to everyone at once.

The Waynes, Damsels in Distress by hitthedeck

Summary:

Roses are red, violets are blue, Bruce Wayne and his kids get kidnapped every other week. Some things are just universal, undeniable facts of life. Or, in which Bruce Wayne is still Batman and his kids are still Robins, but they keep letting themselves get kidnapped because they think it's funny.

Momo's Notes: I love this fic, it's so unhinged. The JL and some of the Titans meet the Waynes in their vapid public personas with no idea that they're also the badass heroes they've known and respected for years. The Waynes take full advantage of this opportunity to be as annoying as humanly possible. I also recommend reading the rest of the series since it has more unhinged shenanigans such as Jason "haunting" the watchtower and Tim fighting a magical invasion with the power of self-destruction. It's so much fun.

[numberonetacostan]

Hi again Loomy!

I'm really excited for s4 and what is going to be done with it, from what I've heard its going to be good (no spoilers tho thankfully)

Do you have any hc of tea kettle? mainly with Taco I physically can't get enough of what their dynamic could be like. You can't tell me she wont take one look at this 5 apples tall malnourished woman and not decide to smother her motherly love whether she likes it or not. She did it with Nickel and Balloon and she'll do it again.

Thanks!

Also take this thing I put together at midnight while half asleep.

Hi Clover!!^^ Welcome back, and thank you for sending in your request!! :]

You are so right. Tea Kettle already has a little gremlin son AND a previously kind-of villain son. She is so well-equipped it's not even funny. Well it's a little funny.

She gives Taco so many snacks. So much food. She gets on Taco about eating very hard. There would be an incident, I think, early on in which TK, Mic, and the greater cast learn that Taco is not exaggerating when she says she can't eat any more than she does. Id est, They try to have her eat more food because she doesn't eat nearly enough to be healthy, but her stomach is quite small from having had such restricted access to food for such a long duration of time that she physically can't increase her portion size without throwing up. Other issues as well, based on what she's most deficient in, but I won't go into that. So, snacks. Frequent snacks. If Taco can't eat enough in three regular meals, she'll eat enough through snacks in between. Taco doesn't particularly want to get back to a healthy weight/eating habits at least at first, though that's mental health related and again I won't go into it, but TK is a stubborn mom. She probably learns a bunch of lemon recipes since Taco can not resist the allure of lemons.

TK gets much less upset when Taco is rude than when Nickel is rude. This is because Nickel is doing it on purpose because he is a little shit, and Taco genuinely doesn't realise if she's being too harsh and is trying not to be. Taco gets a calm reminder where Nickel gets an Annoyed Mom Glare. Like that one Gordon Ramsey meme where he calls the child beautiful and the adult a fucking donkey.

They talk about tea so much. Hours and hours could be dedicated to discussing the intricate details of tea. British tea parties vs Japanese tea ceremonies. Caffeinated vs noncaffeinated. The ethics of the Dutch East India Company. Bagged vs Loose. There is so, so much to talk about it and you better bet they talk about it all. They have little tastings, for fun and for comparison.

Taco keeps trying to get Tea Kettle to pronounce hors d'oeuvres 'correctly', and by correctly I mean in proper French. Tea Kettle doesn't hear much of a difference, and the difference she does hear is not one she knows how to pull off with her mouth. Someone starts calling them 'horse divorces' and Taco changes targets immediately.

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 85 Open Posting

The feels, dear void. THE FEELS!

The second editor's note has a spoiler so the rest of the post is under the cut.

Editor's Notes First Page: (too blurry, will get later) Last Page: 閉ざした目を、開いて... [tozaishita me o, hiraite...] "Eyes once closed, now open..."

The Metaphor Blade

Samura Seiichi nominated for "most stubborn character in fiction"

Chihiro cracked Samura's resolve, but the old man fixed it right up with the same "what if the future sucks" anxieties that propelled him all this way.

Honestly there's not much to dissect this chapter since it was 100% loud and clear about what was going on and what the visuals were standing in for. 10/10 stuff, right on point; even the speed readers have no excuse for not understanding since it's all plain as day. Samura even says it outright: as long as Chihiro holds that blade (a metaphor for his father's wishes/burden), he'll be in constant pain. Leave it to him, the older generation, to kill himself trying to make amends.

Not a chance, middle-aged man.

But obviously Chihiro's having none of it and Iori's coming in big with her desire to stand by her father's side. Chihiro and Iori want to be there with their dads to make things better. Step by step, side by side. Chihiro can't do that with his own dad any more but he can at least make Samura see the error of his ways and give Iori what he can't have himself. God. I love you, Chihiro.

This is peak shounen too: the MC providing hope and insisting that things can and will be better if we all work together is at the heart of the works in this demographic. Friendship, effort, victory: the original motto of WSJ. Chihiro's gotta work on the friendship part and the part where he has hope for himself, but he's getting there. Forcibly showing Samura a better way to do things is a start.

The Metaphor Door

Anxiety incarnate.

Samura's been struggling with this door for a long, long time now and he finally opened it to see what was really behind it instead of all his fears and anxieties taking control. Very cool that it was Inori's memory that reminded him to do that, too! Chihiro did a hell of a lot this fight, but it was all so that Iori and Inori could finally get through to him. The catharsis is seriously overwhelming.

I think this is also a really strong message from the author. I relate to Samura a lot, unfortunately. Anxiety disorders compounded with PTSD mean it's extremely hard to catch yourself in a self-destructive thought pattern based off of negative assumptions. You're trapped in a myopic vision of the world without realising it a lot of the time. So, actually taking a fucking look what's behind that door is momentous. Incredibly difficult. Even remembering there are other options is a struggle a lot of the time. And what if it's even worse than what you're imagining?

But oftentimes, it's better than you think.

The catharsissssssss

It's something that speaks to me on a deeply personal level and I think it was executed perfectly this arc.

Be there for the ones you love. Thank them, love them. They need you as much as you need them, no matter what your brain's telling you. The future isn't as frightening if you don't try to go it alone every time. Which leads us to...

The Metaphor Injury

Oh no, he's hot.

Samura's blindness being healed because he's finally, finally, FINALLY seeing reality for what it is. This moment is what the whole arc's been building to ever since we met the man in chapter 50!

I hope some of his scars remain as a little reminder that having a breakthrough moment doesn't wholly "fix" a person, but no matter how it turns out, we got our resolution. Samura's standing down and willing to talk things out at last.

Now we just have to hope Yura allows this to happen.

Chapter 59. Yura's so unseriously serious.

I will enjoy this moment of relief as long as it lasts. But I'm also prepared for some sudden heartbreak because of this "unbreakable pinky swear". Seriously, I want Samura to be able to retire and rebuild his relationship with Iori at last. Both of them need to really talk and sort things out... and honestly... the suicidally anxious/depressed man deserves a chance to heal all his wounds, not just the physical ones. We'll see how it goes though... Iori inheriting Tobimune and/or joining Chihiro's crusade against the Hishaku isn't off the table yet is all I'm saying.

There's also a very slim chance that Samura continues on his quest, but I think we can safely rule that out now. At this point I think he'd rather let the pinky ring do whatever it's there for instead of acting against Chihiro and Iori's wishes. So the main questions I have now are:

Will Samura get a chance to talk to Iori? And sort things with the Masumi?

When will the pinky promise come into play?

What's Yura up to while all this is going on?

Where's Kumeyuri, exactly?

When are we getting back to the Kamunabi HQ thread and all it's own plot points (Azami vs. Samuraishaku, Hakuri and Uruha, Magatsumi and the Sword Master, Hakuri being "bait" for the main forces, the mole, etc.)

How will the Kamunabi events set up for the next arc?

Will we ever get the kanji for Iori's given name? If not, that bodes ill for her chances of sticking around...

Okay. Like I said, not much to dissect this week since it's all extremely obvious stuff resolving the main tension of the arc. 10/10 peak chapter I love it and have so many emotions. Next week... who knows what will happen? Until then, stay hydrated and healthy, dear void.

[boarloved-art]

ghost girl no longer wip...they did it...they made it out of wip-dom.....

[eff-exor]

what if we bathed together and you lay me down so you could wash my hair, my head now floating above your lap, your eyes memorising every inch of my face as your fingers glide through my hair. Hmph. what IF

[kalosian-woods]

froakie must've felt so satisfied for achieving success by choosing ash after so many failed attempts with other trainers

the mere fact that he finally found that "love" he always wanted must've already been such a big milestone for him in life.

-🦋

In a way I really did enjoy how they mixed things up with Ash's obligatory 'tough' Starter this time, especially as most of them were abandoned by their Trainers (Charizard, Infernape, Pignite) or just didn't have any contact with people before (Sceptile). But instead Froakie wanted to find a Trainer and has picked them out himself, reversing the way the relationship usually starts out, and being a great foil with the other Starters/Pokemon as well.

The fact that Froakie has been searching for a while before Ash is something that I've always thought about, myself. He's left at least 8 people considering the shadows? And the way that Olympia said that humans taught it that in order to be stronger he needed a bond (but through feelings, not words), the way he wanted a lot from his Trainer, that he was searching for someone that was worth risking everything for, looking for 'love' - to me, it is an all-encompassing feeling that he's been searching for. Love so much that you would do anything for Pokemon like he would do anything for you. Give and take. Froakie did not expect a relationship where he had to carry out everything that the Trainer wanted without question - he wanted a relationship where his opinions and thoughts mattered just as much, to deal with the potential he always felt inside of him. And it is a lot, to balance a relationship in that manner. A lot of new Trainers would not even realise that is an option, and that's what initially threw him off.

Froakie is very persistant, it's true, but he can also be impatient at times. Would he have bothered to stay by Sycamore's lab any longer, considering how he was up and around Lumiose watching Ash? Would he still stick by his resolve to find the perfect Trainer, no matter the failures he had recieved? I don't think he would lower his standard, but at some point, he probably did wonder if there was someone out there who held the love that he wanted. When he first laid eyes on Ash, noticing how Pikachu was and their shared interest in battle, it piqued his interest. But it was the way they faced down Team Rocket despite being overpowered, Ash helping Pikachu even though he couldn't stand up to their might, that's when Froakie saw what he wanted.

To him, I think that feeling of love felt like the static shock he felt when being hit by that Electro Ball being reflected by Wobbuffet. Twice as strong, utterly paralyzing, weakening him completely. But also-- the feeling of two hands around him, and a voice calling out to him, and the wind as he was rushed into care. Love was knowing that someone had your back and will support you, even when the odds were impossible. And considering how much they'll go through, I don't think Greninja regretted a thing.

[manglam-marfach]

dyke!Chilaios has me understanding breeding kink all of a sudden