#this show is everything I want to put out into the world

[solastarr]

I’m Grown

Sammie/Preacher's Boy x Black Reader

Genre: Smut with plot, Modern AU?(ig)

Warning: Smut, fingering, D in P, unprotected

Word Count: 3.8k+

Summary: You and sammie basically grew up together. Though you were only half a year older, you always treated him like a little kid.

Then college came, and you moved away. Now it's summer, and you start to realize the little preacher's boy you left...is a man now.

Writers note: I’m still new to writing fan fics, so i’m not the best, but i hope y’all still like it! I plan to keep practicing and getting better!!⭐️

In the past…

Your mother and Sammie’s mother were next-door neighbors turned best friends. They did everything together, meaning you and Sammie had to do everything together too. From Sunday school, choir, same school, clubs, sometimes y'all's mom thought it was cute to dress y'all up in matching outfits. 

Eventually  leading to you and Sammie to become besties. 

Now even though you were only a half a year older than him, you made it your soul duty in life to make sure he knew he was the baby. From calling him nicknames like little boy, baby, baby bro, and eventually preacher’s boy. 

Sammie had a deep hatred for these lame ass names, but it was you so he let it slide.

Over time as you and Sammie got older and the teasing continued but started to tone down, as your crush on him started to flourish. But you denied it with all your heart. 

“He’s too young for me. Plus he’s my best friend… and I doubt he likes me.”, you explain to anyone who’d ask about you and sammies relationship. 

But everyone else could see it– how Sammie would zone out to watch your smile across the classroom, the way your lips curl up when you smile at his jokes, how he’d analyze every curl that fell from your hair, the way your skin glistens when you run around the tract for P.E., and the way yall sound beautiful together when harmonizing during choir. 

Sammie had feelings for you–no doubt bout it, but both of you had too much pride, and too much love for your friendship to ever say anything. 

Jump to the end of  Senior year of high school…

You and Sammie are now done with highschool, and now it’s time for you to figure out what the world has to offer you. You and your mother had been going back and forth for months about whether you should go to college near home and out of state. You wanted to stay close to home where your family, friends, and childhood were. But your mother insisted that you’d go much farther in life if you went to a big college some states over. 

Eventually, you caved and agreed with your mother’s claims and chose to go to school out of state.

Now, the day you leave for school, and it’s time to tell your friends, family, and the person you dreaded telling the most goodbye… Sammie. 

Going from seeing each other everyday to seeing each other for only a few months out of the year was going to be rough. But there was no avoiding it now. 

You and your mother walked over to Sammie’s house, greeted by a long hug from his mother and some positive words from his father. You put on a brave face while  talking to them all, not wanting them to see the fear of leaving choking you in your chest to show in your face. You barely talked to sammie the whole time you were over, unsure what to say or even how to say it—avoiding conversation with him at all costs. 

Before it was time to leave, you slipped away to the bathroom, trying to think of what to say to sammie that won’t leave you in tears.

“He’s my best friend, I’ll know what to say…”, but as soon as you opened the bathroom door, there he was. Sammie. Waiting in the hallway like he knew you were hiding from him.

“Damn you already ignoring me you couldn’t wait til left?”, he says sarcastically, but you can hear the concern underneath it. You froze, caught off guard, not thinking your silence would make him think you were ignoring him. So, you immediately threw your wall up.

“Boy, I didn’t know how to let you down easy without leaving you in tears,” you joked, nudging his side. “Plus, don’t think a little distance could make me forget about my little bestie.” You gave him a warm—if slightly worried—smile.

The tension between you was thick as he stared at you, like he was trying to find the words too.

“Of course not. You know you can’t get rid of me girl”, he says with a smirk on his face. “And stop treating me like a baby, I've been grown. You just won't accept it.”

He nudges you back, making you laugh. “Nah,” you teased. “You’ll always be my little preacher’s boy.”, you pulled him into a hug, holding him tight. He held you back even tighter—like he didn’t want to let go.

You could both feel it—the warmth, the bond, the love between you. But the hug didn’t last forever. The tall, masculine figure in your arms would have to stay behind.

For a second, you wanted to say everything. That you didn’t want to go. That you wished things were different. That maybe, if you both had just been a little braver, things could’ve been more than late-night phone calls and unsent texts.

But instead, you just held him like a memory you didn’t want to let go of.

“Now gon on,” Sammie said, voice low and playful. “Before it gets too late and you miss your train.”. You nodded, eyes a little misty, and started walking toward the front door where your mom was waiting.

“Bye, Sammie. Don’t grow up too fast, now!” you called over your shoulder with a laugh.

He chuckled, just enough to cover up the lump in his throat. “Yeah, yeah. And you don’t get into too much trouble, little girl.” 

You turned around one last time and flashed him a mischievous grin.

“Let’s remember who the little one is here.”

Before he could reply, your mom’s voice cut through the moment, calling your name.

And just like that, you were on a train to Georgia…
…leaving Sammie back in Mississippi.

Now your back home for summer…

You hadn’t been home for more than 24 hours and already your mama was dragging you around town, making you run errands like you hadn’t just survived your first year of college. Between unpacking, catching up with cousins, and fake-smiling through “You don’ grown up!” comments from nosy church ladies, there hadn’t been time to stop and breathe—let alone see him.

But you finally slipped away… finally getting a moment to go visit your ole best friend.

You walked down the sidewalk in your old neighborhood, past the familiar houses with chipped paint and crooked mailboxes, past the corner where you and Sammie used to race on bikes. Everything felt the same and yet… you didn’t.

And when you turned the corner toward Sammie’s house, you definitely didn’t expect what happened next.

He was outside. Shirtless.

Standing in the driveway like a man who knew damn well he looked good. He was taller, broader, and his skin was glistening from the heat—golden brown, smooth, and definitely not the “little preacher’s boy” you left behind.

He was working on his car, arms flexing just enough to make your breath catch.

You tried to act unfazed...Tried.

“Boy, you still out here pretending to be a mechanic?” you called out, trying to sound playful.

Sammie looked up, wiped sweat from his forehead with a towel, and his lips curled into that familiar smirk—but there was something different behind it this time. Something slower. Deeper. Like he was seeing you for the first time too.

“Well well well…” he said, voice lower than you remembered. “Look who finally decided to come home.”

You swallowed hard.

His voice was deeper too, not just in tone but in presence. He moved slower, more deliberate. Like a man who wasn’t in a rush to prove anything anymore—just sure of himself. Of what he wanted.

He walked up to you, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing every inch.

“You gon' give me a real hug or just stand there lookin’ surprised?”

You blinked, then gave him a tight hug, suddenly hyper aware of how solid his chest felt against yours. He held you for a second longer than expected, pulling back just enough to look down at you.

“I’ve missed you, my little preacher’s boy” you say softly. 

He scoffed, stepping back a little, “Still calling me that, huh?”

You nudged his side, now more muscular and lean than you remember, “You know you love it.”

He smirked, wiping his hands on the towel. “Love it? Girl, I barely tolerated it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. You would’ve cried if I ever stopped.”

“Cried? You forget who you talkin’ to.” He squinted at you, leaning in a little. “I’m not that lil boy you used to boss around, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” you said, glancing him up and down. “You done grew up a lil, huh?”

Sammie raised a brow, clearly catching the way your eyes lingered. “You tryna say I look good or something?”

Your throat went dry. You weren’t used to this version of Sammie—direct, confident, making it hard to tell if he was joking or if he really saw you now... like more than a friend and not just the girl who used to beat him in Uno.

“I’m sayin’ you don’t look terrible.” You shrugged casually, biting back a smile.

He stepped closer. “A year away and you still playin’ with me like we kids.”

“You ain’t ready for grown-woman compliments, preacher’s boy,” you teased, folding your arms.

Sammie chuckled and tilted his head. “Oh, so you grown now? One year outta town and you all woman now, huh?”

“Damn straight,” you smirked. “I eat my greens now.”

That made him burst out laughing, deep and from the chest. “Greens? Girl, you used to cry over broccoli.”

“Growth.” You lifted your chin proudly.

“Well, I like this grown-up you,” he said, eyes scanning you again, slower this time. “Confident. Mouth still slick. But I’ma warn you…”

You cocked a brow. “Warn me about what?”

He leaned just a little closer, voice dropping. “Keep teasing me like that and I might start actin’ like I’m grown too.”

You blinked, heart thumping just a little harder.

“Boy, hush,” you muttered, but your voice came out softer than expected.

“Mmhm,” he hummed, backing up toward his car. “That’s what I thought.”

You stared at him, biting your lip before shaking your head.

“Still cocky, I see.”

“And you still love me,” he tossed over his shoulder.

The next morning…

It was barely 10 a.m. and you were still in your pajamas— some old cartoon shorts and a stretched-out tank top—hair in a messy scarf, and attitude already on 10 because somebody was banging on the door, and you wasn’t expecting no guests. 

You lazily walked over to the door opening it with frustration all over your face. To your surprise it was Sammie. 

White T-shirt clinging to his arms, cargo shorts low on his hips, tool bag in one hand, smug grin in the other. Looking good as hell, unfortunately for you.

You froze.

He didn’t.

His eyes raked over you slowly—taking in your bunny slippers, your tank top with one strap hanging off your shoulder, and your scarf slowly falling off your head.

“Well damn,” he said, cocking his head, “did I catch you fresh out the bed or is this what grown looks like now?”

You crossed your arms instinctively, suddenly aware of every exposed inch of skin and how his eyes didn’t flinch away—not like before. It wasn’t teasing this time. It was... something else. He was really looking.

“Boy, what the hell are you doing here?”

He held up the tool bag. “Your mama told mine y’all kitchen faucet was leakin'. You know how they are. So my momma volunteered me like I’m the damn neighborhood handyman.”

You stepped aside with a sigh.

“She ain’t mention nothing about you coming over.”

“She probably knew you wouldn’t clean up anyway,” he teased, walking past you. “Or put on a bra.”

You threw a couch pillow at the back of his head as he walked past you, mortified. “Don’t play with me this early, Sammie.”

He laughed, easily dodging it. “I’m just sayin’. You had all that grown woman energy yesterday, now I pull up and it look like yo childhood fought you and won.”(damn sis)

“I’m still living out of boxes,” you snapped, following him toward the kitchen. “I couldn’t  find my good pajamas, so don’t start.”

“Right, right. Excuses.” He knelt down by the sink, glancing up.

You crossed your arms. “Fix the sink and shut up, Sammie.”

“I will,” he said, reaching under the counter. “Soon as you admit you missed me.” He smirked as he positioned himself under the sink to find the leak.

You rolled your eyes, smirking despite yourself. “Mmm. I missed peace. And silence.”

He chuckled, tools clinking under the cabinet. “Keep lyin’. You couldn’t even open the door right—you was too busy starin’.”

You blinked, your smirk faltering just a bit. He said it differently this time. Lower. Serious.

But before the silence could stretch too long, he flicked a piece of plastic from under the sink at you.

“You gon’ stand there or at least make yourself useful and pass me that wrench?”

Your fingers brushed his when you handed it over, and neither of you commented on how neither of you pulled back right away.

Trying to focus on literally anything except how his shirt lifted just enough to show the waistband of his boxers and the deep V line leading down.

Flashing that cocky grin.

“Dang you not even gon’ offer me a drink or wipe my sweat or somethin’?”

“I didn’t know ‘neighborhood handyman’ came with customer service demands,” you shot back, leaning on the counter.

He slid out from under the sink, sitting up on his knees. His eyes flicked over you again—longer this time. And it wasn’t funny anymore.

“Damn,” he muttered, looking you over like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. “You really grew up, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That surprise or disappointment in your voice?”

“Nah. Just… something i’m taking note of,” he said, standing up slowly. His shirt clung to his chest now, damp from sweat.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

And then— “You missed me, didn’t you,” he said again, stepping closer this time.

You tried to laugh it off, but it came out breathy. “I missed clownin’ you. Big difference.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Nah. You missed me.”


A beat passed.


His eyes didn’t leave yours.You didn’t answer at first. You just looked at him—really looked. 

“You know I did,” you said finally, your voice lower now, honest in a way it hadn’t been all year.

Sammie stepped closer, “Yeah,” he murmured, “but I wanted to hear you say it.”


Then his voice dropped, that Southern drawl thick and heavy like honey on your skin.
“You just scared.”

That made your head tilt. “Scared?”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer, that cocky smirk returning. “You missed me. You just don’t know what to do with me now that I’m not some lil boy followin’ you around.”

You scoffed. “Ain’t nobody scared of you, Sammie.”

He licked his lips, eyes dragging slow over your body.
“You should be,” he murmured. “I ain’t lil no more.”

Your pulse jumped. But your mouth moved before your brain could catch up.

“Then show me how much you’ve grown.”

You reached up, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him in, lips crashing into his like you were done playing games—and he didn’t hesitate, didn’t ease in. He kissed you back like he’d been waiting to shut you up for years.

His hands gripped your waist like he owned it, like they’d been there before in dreams he wouldn’t dare confess. He walked you backward, not even breaking the kiss as you hit the counter behind you, gasping as his mouth dipped to your neck.

“Sammie—wait,” you breathed, your hand curling in his shirt.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his voice a low rumble.
“You made me wait long enough.”

Your tank top was halfway up before you could respond, his hands slipping beneath it, thumbs brushing the soft curve of your waist. His lips returned to your throat, to your collarbone, trailing heat with every kiss. One second you were in the kitchen, half-dressed and breathless—and the next?

Your back hit the couch cushions.

He hovered over you, looking down, eyes dark and sure. “Say you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.”

You didn’t say a word.

You just reached for him again, pulled him down by the collar of that stretched white tee, and kissed him like you were starving.

His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, slipping beneath your shorts to grip your thighs. You gasped when he lifted you slightly, adjusting your body beneath his like he knew exactly what he wanted and how he wanted it. You felt him, hard and ready, pressing against the inside of your thigh, and it made your breath catch.

“You still scared?” he asked again, voice brushing the shell of your ear as he rolled his hips slowly into yours.

You tried to keep it playful. “I ain't scared of a little boy who had to listen to lullabies to go to sleep till ninth grade.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous, then caught your chin between his fingers and tilted your face toward him. "That boy’s gone, baby. Been gone. Let me show you what replaced him."

Then he was pulling your tank top the rest of the way off, eyes devouring every inch of skin like it was the first and last time he’d ever see it. His mouth followed, lips and tongue tasting your collarbone, your chest, teeth grazing just enough to make your back arch.

You moaned his name without meaning to. That only made him bolder.

His fingers slid beneath your shorts, teasing the band of your panties until you whimpered, rocking your hips into his touch. “Damn,” he whispered, "You already this wet for me?"

“Shut up,” you panted.

“Nah,” he said, voice dropping, teasing and full of heat. “I gotta teach you sum real quick.”

His fingers slipped between your pussy lips, slow and slick, finding your rhythm like he’d been studying your body in secret. You gasped, gripping the back of his neck.

“Sammie…”

“Now you know damn well I ain’t little no more, but you’re too fucking stubburn.,” he murmured, slipping one finger inside, then two. Curling them. Stroking that spot that made your thighs tighten around his wrist.

“Say it.”

You shook your head, breathless. “Fuck you.”

He smirked. “That’s the plan.”

He kissed you again—messy, possessive—while his fingers worked you open, coaxing soft cries from your throat. When he finally pulled them out, he looked at you like he was weighing a decision.

Then he tugged his shirt off, muscles flexing as he reached for his belt. Your eyes went wide when he freed his dick, thick and hard, no trace of that 'little boy' anywhere. He caught your expression and leaned down, lips brushing your jaw.

“Still think I’m playing?”

You swallowed hard. “Shut up and show me.”

He did.

He eased into your pussy, inch by slow inch, watching your face the whole time. You moaned his name again, louder this time, and his eyes darkened.

“Damn, baby,” he hissed, gripping your hips. “I know you’ve been wanting this.”

He started to move, slow at first, letting you adjust. Each stroke dragged long and deep, the kind that made your eyes roll back. His lips found your neck again, whispering filthy praise between kisses:

“Look at you… takin’ me so good.”

“Still think I’m that lil boy, huh?”

“Say it, baby. Admit it.”

You couldn’t form words at first—just moans and gasps, fingers digging into his back. But he didn’t stop. He rolled his hips with steady purpose, pushing you higher with every thrust.

When he lifted your leg and angled deeper, you nearly screamed.

“Oh my god—Sammie—” 

You started to pull back just a little, breath catching, heart racing. It was almost too much—too good, like you couldn’t handle all of him all at once. Your body wanted more, but your mind flickered with the fear of losing control.

“Why you running?” he laughed, dragging you back against him. “Take this dick like the woman you say you are.”

“You gon’ remember this every time you try to play me like I’m still a lil kid,” he growled, sweat dripping onto your chest as he picked up the pace.

Your nails scratched down his back. “Fuck, you’re grown. Fuck—okay?!”

He smiled against your skin, victorious and still not letting up.

“Say my name,” he growls against your lips.

His strokes are slow, deep, and strategic. Every thrust hitting the right spot again and again.

“Preac…” you almost say out of habit, but the way he grips your thighs, the scent of his cologne, the heat in his stare—it’s too much.

He slows just enough to lean down, lips brushing yours. “Say it right.”

You try to sass back, breath hitching. “Please—Preacher’s b—”

He stops.

Just like that.

Your body whines at the sudden emptiness.

He gives you a cold look, jaw clenched, voice low and cocky.

“Try that nickname again, and I’ll leave you right here—dripping and needy.”

You shoot him a look, trying to tell if he’s bluffing. But no—he’s dead serious. That playful glint is gone, replaced with something darker.

Hungrier.

Still clinging to a shred of pride, you whisper, “Okay, Samm…” You pause, catching yourself—desperate to bring back the friction. Trying to grind against him.

He tilts his head, starts to pull out again. “Try. Again.”

You squirm. “Sammie—please Sammie!”

He grins like the devil and slams into you again, making your back arch off the bed.

“That’s more like it. Now keep sayin’ it—so you never forget who you dealin’ with.”

He doesn’t let up. Just deep, calculated strokes. His voice low in your ear. “I’m grown now, baby… and preacher’s boy ain’t round here no more. But Imma help you remember—every damn time I’m diggin’ inside you.”

He fucked you like a man with something to prove—each thrust rougher, wetter, louder. The slap of skin against skin filled the room along with your cries.

You could barely breathe, let alone think, as his dick filled you over and over, your pussy fluttering around him, gripping every inch.

“Who's grown now?” he grunted.

“You,” you gasped. “You are—fuck, Sammie—”

Your orgasm ripped through you, blinding and hot, your body jerking beneath him.

He followed right after, groaning loud and low as he buried himself deep, hips jerking through his release.

For a long minute, the only sound was the rush of breath between you.

Then you whispered, "Told you I wasn’t scared.", as you smirked against his neck.

He kissed your cheek, lips curling. “You're too stubborn to be scared, but it’s alright. Imma break that habit.”

~ i feel like this was a bit out of character for sammie in the movie, but we can play pretend 😉. Hope yall liked it!💫

Taglist:

@heyyimmisunderstood @marley1773 @sajoi

@melaninbabyboo @hauntedfestivalluminary

@blackpinup22 @milesf4vg1rl @pinkpantheris

@iiiheartfayee @cosmicautomatonshark

@bluejay2503 @omgffs @anaiyaflys143

@pinkpillzsworld @jackierose902109

@serenedragonthought @condenhorn

@thesmutconnoisseur @katsleftnip

@sisi-pink0921 @woahthatshitfat

@cocooned-butterfly @motheroffae

@bumgyalworld @queenbumblebee777

@twistedsistas-stuff @ky1le

@kenziiie @queen-stars2 @sammiesprxncess

@ignotusumbra @goddessofthundathighs

@thickemadame

[daisymbin]

[01:51] - choi seungcheol

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

it's a question no one will ever ask; but if anyone were to ask seungcheol what keeps him up at night, he'd simply say it's insomnia. or something of sorts.

but if they really dive deeper, if seungcheol really were to tell them why, he'd tell them his hours of sleep are lost on the way his mind keeps replaying you.

how you smile at him like he hung all the stars, moon & sun when you greet him good morning even if its 1pm.

he'd tell them it's the way you always save him a seat in the name of him being your best friend.

he'd tell them it's the way you show up unannounced at 3am all the time for no reason other than saying "my bed was just too cold tonight. I cant sleep."

but also, it's always the way he spends hours effortlessly memorising everything about you without even trying. it's the way he always carries an extra bottle of water in his bag because he knows you haven't had water that day again. he'd tell them it's the way his heart and mind feels so at ease whenever he is around you. especially when he is around you.

he'd tell them it's the way you fit and feel so right in his arms when you hug him goodbye every time. how he doesn't want to let go, how even though he knows he will see you again in less than 12 hours, he still he doesn't want you to go. you just feel like home.

& he'd tell them the most stubborn thought stuck on his mind at 7am when the sun is up & he hasn't gotten a wink of sleep is because he can't stop thinking about the way the wind blows at your hair as your eyes sparkle with mischief as you blow the dandelions at him after you make a wish. how they flutter around the two of you like the world is mocking him, showing him what could've been his fairytale if he just lets go of biting his tongue and tell you how he feels.

& at 7am when he can't sleep, only one question is replaying on his mind like a broken record, what did she wish for when she blew that dandelion?

so help put him to sleep, he's dying to know; did you wish for him the way he did for you?

[idiomagic]

Horse Story #1 for @elodieunderglass

When I was young, back in the early 1980s, I rode horses for a living. Show jumpers. This is a story about me being an asshole to a prince and almost causing an international incident. I would like to preface this by saying that I regret reinforcing the 'ugly American' stereotype. I regret being rude, as I was a guest in the country. So...I'm sorry, England, your royalty is and always has been trash, but it was wrong of me to be rude. Anyway. I was 14 years old, and riding in the Royal Windsor Horse Show in England. It was my first international show, my first time ever leaving America. There was a Protocol Officer provided by the American embassy, to teach us how to bow and curtsey, how to address various members of the royal family we might encounter, since they were personally handing out the prizes. I was an utter nightmare at 14. I was a brat. I had a chip on my shoulder the size of Plymouth Rock, I hated every form of authority, I had just discovered punk rock...I was a horrid creature who should have been confined in a barrel, not let out onto the world's stage. The Protocol Officer reminded me of my mother, which was not a good thing. She was bitchy and superior, and it was clear that she idolized the royals. Worshipped them. Wanted to be them. I loathed her on sight, and immediately tuned out everything she said, while mocking her mercilessly. I was like that. So, I rode in the Open Jumping, and we won! There was a full ceremony, with a band playing God Save The Queen, fancy soldiers saluting, the whole nine yards. Then, the royals arrived. Prince Charles was going to hand out the prizes. He was there with a whole entourage...assistants? secretaries? royal ass wipers? Who knows. The lackeys followed him around like baby ducks as he approached. One of them carried bouquets of flowers for him to hand us, plus the ribbons and medals. First, he handed the goodies to the third and second place winners, then he approached me. There was a big crowd, and I resolved to be on my best behavior. Truly. I was going to be so good, and a credit to my country. I listened to the other winners say "Thank you, your Grace. It is a great honor." Right. I could do that. And he approached me and said "That was a very nice ride...for a 14 year old." And all of my hatred and resentment sprung loose. This chinless, brainless, inbred parasite who couldn't even ride a complete polo match without falling off his horse at least once (and sometimes more) dared to condescend to me? About my riding? Fuck that noise. He handed me the bouquet and ribbon, and put the medal around my neck. And I looked him in the eyes, smirked, and said: "Thanks, Chuck. Y'know, if you keep your heels down, maybe you won't fall off your ponies so often." Chuckles looked like he was going to have an aneurysm. His entourage fluttered and moaned. The end result was a Sternly Worded Letter sent to the embassy, a screaming match with the Protocol Officer, and a real question as to whether I'd ever be allowed out of America again. ............................................................................................................................ If you like my posts, please check out my pinned post. We are going through truly horrific times, and really need help. https://ko-fi.com/idiomagic

[iamasaddie]

push, push

Tommy Miller x f!Reader summary: you've been pushing Tommy's buttons too long for him to ignore, it was time he gave you a piece of his mind. warnings: MDNI, infidelity, Benji doesn't exist, PWP, dirty talk, tiny manhandling, naked grinding (is that a thing?), cum eating, big girthy age gap (reader late 20s-30s; Tommy 55), thick Tommy, kinda rude Tommy and kinda brat-coded reader? wc: 2.3k (that's 1.3k more than i intended oh well) a/n: tommy miller brainrot y'know what i'm sayin'. this is not heavily edited, english is not my first language all mistakes are my own and yada yada. special thanks to my special boo @cuppajoel for talking me reading through it ao3

Tommy was done with your shit. You were taking it too far to go unnoticed even by the most obtuse members of Jackson, let alone his fucking wife. 

It started when you felt enough at home in Jackson. The moment you came you were a trembling deer, still learning what it was like to live in safety; fed, warm. But when your nightmares became a rarely reoccurring echo of the past, another part of you showed its darker self and Tommy smelled danger. 

It all started with a simple hello, a bat of your eyelashes, a compliment to his shirt. Innocent, polite. But then your eyes started to wander to parts of his body no one but his wife touched for the last six years. And that wandering gaze didn’t falter when he cleared his throat to announce that he noticed, oh no, a vicious smile tugged on your lips, and you walked away but not before winking at him. 

Tommy wasn’t an idiot, he knew when someone was making a move on him, but he played stupid in front of you. Giving simple thanks and nods whenever you said that his hair looked good tied up like that. He was never rude, never gave you any emotional reaction, but that only fired you up more until you finally caught him alone in the Tipsy Bison cleaning up and doing inventory. 

“Here all by yourself, handsome?” You chirped, climbing on a bar stool. The apples of your cheeks became more pronounced as you gave him a toothy smile. Somehow this simple and innocent-sounding phrase tipped him off.

“You gotta stop with this shit,” he used more force to dry a freshly cleaned whiskey tumbler, his hand gripping the glass dangerously hard.

Your fingers tapped on the top of the bar table, the rhythmic sound imitated a timer, counting down beats before Tommy would explode. He couldn’t look at you, couldn’t see your eyebrows jerking up in a mocking confusion.

“What are you talking about, Tommy?” There was laughter in you voice. Tommy threw the wet rag on the table a little too hard, slapping it with his opened palm at the same time and making you jump at his movement.

“You know damn fuckin’ well what I’m talkin’ about. Trottin' around me, touchin’ me, saying stuff you ain’t supposed to say to a man twice your age. To a married man twice your age.”

You shrugged your shoulders, tugging at a strand of hair that was tucked behind your ear. “I think you’re just angry ‘cause you want me, and if you weren’t stupid you’d already have me.”

Tommy’s jaw went slack as he counted to three, red hot anger blinding him and he exhaled heavily, like a tired bull at a bullfight. You could almost see steam coming out of his flaring nostrils. He finally looked at you, face screwed in a myriad of conflicting emotions, from anger to annoyance to… curiosity? 

“Have you thought that maybe—just maybe—I just love my wife? Maybe I’m a decent fucking human being?”

It was like he was asking questions from a test you’d spent your whole life preparing for. Didn’t even take you a minute to think before responding, calm and collected, everything Tommy wasn’t.

“Not asking you to love me.” You said it so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You put your elbows on the table, placing your face between your palms and not taking your eyes off him. “And if you were decent, you wouldn’t have let me watch. You like it. Bet you fuck your fist thinking how I much want you. How I moan imagining your cock instead of my fingers as I fuck my pussy.” 

Your mundane, matter-of-factually tone made him turn around, and he circled the bar getting to you in several heavy steps. Your hawkish gaze never left him and you turned on the bar stool as he approached. Without a second thought, he stood between the legs you spread in an inviting manner and pressed your back into the bar table painfully. The wood counter cut into your skin and it made you hiss, but it was short-lived as Tommy grabbed you by the cheeks, thick fingers making your lips pucker. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The anger tethered on being wondrous. As if he was shocked someone like you would even be there. You wrapped your hand around his wrist and pushed his hand down. 

“I don’t pretend that we live in a normal world, maybe you should stop, too.”

His face dropped and you gave him a victorious chuckle. Your right hand found his neck, squeezed it gently feeling his rapid pulse under your thumb and he shuddered under your touch, but didn’t stop you. You took it as an invitation, tracing it lower, while Tommy stood still. Didn’t push you away when your nail scratched his nipple through his worn white top; let you squeeze at his prominent belly that hung above his jeans. And then he let you touch his hardened dick through the rough denim. In turn, you graced him with a moan while he stayed silent, studying the fire in your eyes.

And then you just climb off the chair, your body almost fully pressing into him as he failed to take a step back. Your lack of bra let him feel your hard nipples dragging along his chest, the proximity of you felt criminal, deadly to everything good he’d ever thought of himself.

“You know where I live.” You leaned to press a kiss to his cheek, but he jerked his face away, so you gave his belly a gentle pat and left. 

When your door slammed open at 8PM that day, you couldn’t say you were confident enough for it not to bother you. You knew that most of the town was at the cinema, watching a cult classic from way before you were born, so you jumped to your feet leaving your cozy chair and grabbing running into the hall.

Tommy looked hot, not just because his hair were a bit unruly with a few greying strands falling over his forehead, his jaw set tight and eyes darker than the night during winter solstice. But also because he still radiated that fuming anger that made him warm enough to cross the street with his jacket wide open.

“Tommy,” you smiled as kindly as you were physically able to, “so nice to see you in my-”

“Shut up,” he bit back crossing your tiny hallway after slamming the door shut. He came up so close to you that you could count his freckles even in the flickering light that stretched from your kitchen.

You made a silly movement with your fingers across your lips, pretending to zip your mouth shut, but he didn’t give you a single chuckle. Instead, he grabbed your shoulder—his fingers painfully digging into the skin revealed by the short sleeves of your simple t-shirt— and dragged you to your room. You had one of the newer houses that were built for the expanding population of Jackson. It was ridiculously small, only one-story high, an open kitchen that leaked into the living room through the narrow hallway, the only rooms fully divided by walls were your bathroom and your bedroom, both holding only as much space as necessary, no excess. With a few other similar places, it stood out among the older two-story buildings, but you didn’t even think to complain. It was light years away from the places you’d nested in before.

Tommy practically shoved you into your modestly decorated bedroom, pushing you hard enough to make you fly onto your bed. The old mattress creaked, and your body bounced like a ragdoll.

“Make yourself at home, I guess.” 

If looks could kill you’d be already six feet under. 

Slowly, you scrammed up, your legs open wide as you moved and settled on laying on your elbows. Tommy looked too big for your room, it barely fit him in. With his broad shoulders, and thick flannel, with his belly standing out and thighs as big as tree trunks. You focused on the belt buckle, it was shiny and big and dragged your attention to the part of him you’re yet to familiarize with. 

“Will having my cock finally calm you the fuck down?” The anger in his voice subsided, giving space for mockery. It was cruel, and it made your sleeping shorts soak through with arousal. 

“I don’t know, why don’t we find out?” Your words merely a whisper, thick and sinful, just like the man in front of you.

He just nodded, taking off his jacket and throwing it on your bed but missing. The item fell to the floor next to it, but Tommy didn’t bat an eye. His hands unbuckled his belt with practiced ease, and then he just dropped his pants, no teasing, no foreplay. 

You were taken aback by such a mechanical action, but when he climbed on the bed you decided no to test your fate and quickly got out of your sleeping shorts, throwing them into an unknown direction.

When your wet, bare cunt was on full display for him, Tommy licked his lips. For a split second you thought he was gonna eat you out, but instead, he hiked up his wife-beater to bare his stomach. A thick black happy trail guided to the soft looking tuft of hair around his cock. A little outgrown, but that didn’t bother you, because you were too impressed by the thing that bush of hair surrounded. 

Modestly long, around 6-6’5 inches, his cock was as thick as your wrist, and you felt saliva pooling in your mouth as you imagined the thing splitting you open. Taking him would definitely take some preparation, so you shuddered when he slapped your slit with his cock.

“Tommy, I—” You stuttered.

“Shut up.” That was his phrase of the day, it seemed. You braced yourself, you weren’t afraid of a little pain and with the amount of slick arousal your cunt was pushing out, it wouldn’t take long to make the whole thing something pleasurable. You wanted him too bad and for too long to push him away now.

But he didn’t push into you, didn’t even press the head to your weeping entrance. He left the shaft to lay on your slit, pressing it pleasantly into your clit. He held his fingers like a cage around the top side of his shaft, making sure he’s stimulating your clit with every thrust of his hips. Tommy was teasing you, mocking. His cock glided through your slick irritating your clit, not giving it enough pressure. The thick, hot shaft was caged between your cunt and his hand and you dug your short nails into his bulging biceps to get his attention.

“Come on, I can take it,” you assured him, thinking it was his way to prepare you, make you even wetter.

“You’re not getting more,” he grunted back, concentrated on the way your silky skin felt on him. Grinding through his teeth when he felt too close to the sun. “Either you cum like that or you’re gonna cry your needy cunt to sleep.”

“Not fair.” You whined, even though you knew you were more than halfway done on your way to a somewhat satisfying orgasm. Your own thoughts about him riled you up, and now, being surrounded by the smell of his sweat, his hair dangling so close to your face you could smell the pine shampoo. And with his deliciously thick cock relentlessly teasing your buzzing clit? No, cumming wasn’t really a problem, but you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if you didn’t push his buttons just a little. 

“No shit. I am not fucking you.” He spit, his lips twisted but not with anger, no, he was holding back. “I know how much you want it, how long you waited.” Tommy cooed, his mustache tickling the shell of your ear as you soak in the words.

“Will you deprive yourself just because you are a stubborn little shit?” He leaned back, his hips still lazily thrusting to make sure you were constantly stimulated. He looked into your eyes, almost gentle.

“Know you can do it, know you wanna show me how good you look when you cum.” His hand traced the curves of your body before returning to pressing the underside of his cock into your slick slit and nudging your clit. “Come on, show me.”

Your mouth opened in a silent scream as a wave of pleasure consumed you. Tommy kept sliding his dick through your slit, every time the ridge of his tip would kiss your clit you’d hiccup and sob with overstimulation. One look at you like that and he could finally admit that he loved this, loved seeing you ruined, nothing to say just pathetic little whimpers and pleas. 

He fisted his cock tightly, giving it a couple of strokes before erupting on his own knuckles and leaving a few ropes on your sweat-covered cunt. Tommy grunted with the sound of a wounded animal as the last drops of his pearly cum left his angry tip. 

Your fucked out look could easily be mistaken for love, if only he didn’t know you better. If you didn’t know yourself better. Silently, he brought his fist to your face, and you circled his wrist with shaking hands while your tongue cleaned his cum off his skin. When he was satisfied that you licked up every last drop, he ripped his hand from your grip. Without saying another word, he tucked himself in his jeans, tightened the belt and grabbed his jacket from the floor. 

“We should do it again sometime,” you laughed as his footsteps sounded more distant. With the way he slammed the door, you knew he heard you. 

PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT AND REBLOG, IT IS VERY IMPORTANT TO ME <3

'you can maybe like this' ahh taglist: @tommysversion @toxicanonymity @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @aureatelys @covetyou @strang3lov3 @megangovier

[ayamari-no-goshi]

Been thinking about my "Not All There" AU again. Basically, the idea that the Lazarus Pit fixed everything BUT Jason's memories (I'm going with the explanation that memories are complex and even magic has a hard time with it). But, Jason still returns to Gotham as the Red Hood, but he's not as overtly antagonistic. Instead, he likes to watch the Bats.

Here's what I had written:

He didn’t understand why he continued to watch them. Every time he saw the Bat or one of his Birds, anger seared through his very being, but it was always followed by a numbing mix of sorrow, pain, and loneliness. The emotions tended to set off nightmares and memories so fragmented they did little more than distract him. Yet, there had to be a reason those feelings existed. Perhaps he once knew them, or maybe they were somehow directly related to how he ended up half-way across the world in the care of a woman who seemed to know his past. She told him he’d been unavenged, but never provided further details. Perhaps he did know her once. Or maybe he just had a talent for reading people, but he knew she would not harm him, even if she sent him all over the world to train how to fight and kill. And once he seemed to be ready, she sent him to Gotham. She told him his enemy still hurt the people he once tried to protect, and that the protectors of the city continued to allow that to happen. He didn’t know who that enemy was, but it felt like coming home when he stepped foot into Gotham. Somehow, he knew her streets and her people. And he knew things had only gotten worse. How he knew, he had no idea, but something told him it was true. So after setting himself up a safe house, he took time to watch and learn before he acted. The Bat claimed he protected the city, but the cries of the people constantly hurt by his temporary measures fell on deaf ears. The people were tired and scared. They wanted, needed, something different. So, he decided to be that difference. … “B, our stalker showed up again,” Dick stated as he caught sight of the man who wore a red helmet on a nearby building as he helped Bruce disarm one of the sloppiest put together bombs he’d ever seen. Bruce grunted in understanding as he continued his work. “Any sign of movement?” “No… wait, he’s tilted his head.” He turned just in time to catch Bruce’s expression harden which made him smile. Teasing Bruce when he was being a hard ass was always worth it. But it was strange. The man in the helmet tended to just watch them, especially Bruce. When they first spotted him, due to lighting and stature, there were concerns it might have been Deathstroke. It wouldn’t have been surprising due to the sheer amount of run ins they had with him over the years. However, they quickly realized that his behavior didn’t line up with the mercenary’s. There were never any attempts at approaching them. Instead, he just watched from a nearby location, almost as if he was curious about what they were doing. It made all of them uneasy as they had no idea who he was or what he was doing. What they could see of his gear suggested he’d been well trained, and the one time they chased after him, he was one step ahead of them the entire time before vanishing into the shadows. Dick was dead set figuring him out. “Do you have this? I’d like to see if I can have a chat with our stalker.” “Don’t take any unnecessary risks,” Bruce responded, not looking up from his work. Gripping his heart, he made a show of being wounded. “Me? I would never.” Years ago, it would have at least made Bruce smile, but the man had lost most of his humor when Jason died. But it still got a reaction out of Bruce via a sigh, and for now, that was good enough.

[feistyvirghoe]

_ _　　ˇ† 𓈒ֺּׅ ₀₀ 𓏼 𓈒☆.｡.:*𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩.｡.:*☆ ݂۫ _ _　　ˇ† 𓈒ֺּׅ ₀₀ 𓏼 𓈒

𐔌 ݂۫ · !𝑷𝑨𝑪!- 𝑯𝑶𝑾 𝑼𝑹 𝑺𝑷𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑻 𝑮𝑼𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑺 𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑾 𝑼? ݂۫ ｡.:* ꒱

⟢ ｡.:*☆ ݂۫ ݂۫ 𓂅?𝐦𝐬𝐬𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 2 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰 𝐮?… ݂۫ 𓂅

_ _　　ˇ† 𓈒ֺּׅ ₀₀ 𓏼 𓈒☆.｡.:*𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩.｡.:*☆ ݂۫ _ _　　ˇ† 𓈒ֺּׅ ₀₀ 𓏼 𓈒

☆⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝑷𝑨𝑪 𝑫𝑰𝑺𝑪𝑳𝑨𝑰𝑴𝑬𝑹𝑺 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴀ ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴜ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ, ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴏʀ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴇ. ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ɢᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴅʀᴀᴡꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜᴇ, ʀᴇʟᴀx ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴏɴᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ��ᴀʟʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ’ꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ ꜰɪɴᴇ. ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴇᴛ ɪɴ ꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴄᴀɴ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ɪɴ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅᴇᴄɪꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇʟʟ. ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ. ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴛᴀʏ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ <3

𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔢 1111 𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔢 2222 𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔢 3333

𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔢 1111 ── .✦

[btw pile one! i felt nauseous, tired and extremely drained doing this pile and that can also be you guys energy, you know stressing yourself out so much that you start feeling sick (take your breaks, pleaseeeeee please please….cleanse yourself, use palo santo if u feel the need to, or any smoking cleanse, just a whole cleanse, something that’s feels right to you and don’t be afraid to look up different methods to help you…you all don’t deserve to feel this way, this low…i don’t like it and neither do ur guides, ily and take care]

⋆˚✿˖° ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴠɪᴇᴡ ʏᴏᴜ / ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴡ ʏᴏᴜ :

ok for this pile I see you guys are very mystical…esoteric, naturally intuitive. mystical and not one to conform to other ppls ideals. I don’t know I get this feeling like you guys wanna be seen in the spotlight and put yourselves out there but then there’s this contradicting feeling within you like you’re not good enough. sometimes thinking you’re not enough for whatever you wanna do I think that’s what can hinder you a little bit. “feelings come feelings go” for you guys like i feel like yall go back and forth a lot in your head. your guides view you as some magical being with soooooo much damn potential. like if you’re thinking they don’t believe in you, they do. i feel like they see your energy as infectious but in a good way. spreading your essence all around. you can’t be kept in a little box. you’re not meant to fit in to anyone’s rigid frame. it’s your world, your youniverse. you have two sides of yourself showing up here: one is your more eccentric, adventurous (i wanted to stop at that for some reason…like maybe you guys haven’t been tapping into that side too much)

but then your other side is practical and more serious (maybe even a bit too much of a realist lol), some of you guys could be earth signs but that other side to you is the “don’t fucking play with me” you’re not into the petty bs (hate wording it like that)

you guys seem to be more so focused on stabilizing yourselves, your life. wanting to take better care of yourself. your guides are viewing you as a responsible individual even if you may not feel like you’re living up to your own standards or anyone else’s. i feel like they want you to embrace this side of you more.

see i keep going back and forth w this pile. like you’re torn between wanting to be seen as a stable person who has everything together and your life looks “picture perfect” but you should know even that is way too much for you

(some of u are really pressuring yourselves in this pile, that’s the easiest way to put it…pushing and pushing. i feel like you guys are trying to claw your way out of this transparent bubble you feel trapped in, i had to add this and im sorry if it’s not what you want to hear, your guides see you though love, they see and feel how you’re struggling…i feel like u guys shouldn’t read this if your energy is really heavy, i don’t want to trigger anyone at all. but your guides also need you to know that u are not ignored, they fucking see your pain, and i know they can’t do anything about it except for sending healing energy your way…maybe u guys should try and reach out to them..even if u don’t know what to say, write a letter, a note to them, as if they’re your most precious friend you trust, your spiritual bestie hehe)

you need that balance and i feel like you guys have been ignoring that. ignoring your unique ass qualities within yourself, you have the drive and energy to tackle shit but then there’s the indecision (questioning yourself and how you handle things..more pressure). i feel like they see that you want to be seen not just by them but by others as well. wanting to have a place or group where you can be your eccentric self. where you can lower that barrier and not feel like you have to perform for others constantly. and you guys deserve that. you deserve to be seen and heard as you are. your energy isn’t small, i feel like you have this big impact on many people you interact w, whether it may be a short or long term thing.

the thing is, you guys have to stop it w the people pleasing. i feel like yall are minimizing yourself by comparing yourself to other people/things/situations. okay so it’s making more sense now. there was a slight fog, i felt like i needed more clarity, that can also be a message too (needing more clarity in your life, not wanting to fight anymore) i wanted to say it but w one of the men in the deck i have, he just looks so worn down but he still standing trying to keep it together. they can see u like that, trying to keep your shit together but it’s like a rope that’s about to snap…. all this weight on your shoulders isn’t helping you. and that weight has to do with your mind, your psyche and intuition. i feel like they’re seeing that you either don’t trust yourself or just what life brings you in general. “don’t wanna fight” by alabama shakes (ill link it..but that song just keeps running through my mind) you guys are tired of fighting and battling w life itself, as if u keep getting sucker punched by all these scenarios and events happening. a message here is so clear, you guys don’t trust and i wouldn’t be surprised if yall don’t even trust this message too. but i feel like they’re saying that when you get these messages of hope from any source, whether it be through friends ,family, the divine or even hearing your own inner voice speaking some sense to you. you need to trust it, it’s sounds cliche i know, but you’re not just receiving these synchronistic messages for no reason. i feel like you guys believe its load of bullshit but it’s not baby. (i feel like i need to stop it here and you guys also need to stop yourselves for a second…meaning what? take a damn break and lay down, try to get some alone time in for yourself…your energy is heavy even tho they see you as a showstopper…you captivate ppl but you need to see that from yourself more…validate yourself baby! please it’s okay to be your own hype man/woman) come back to yourself. find that spark again and let the fire burn steady. let yourself flow, not force.

okay that was weird but i hope it made sense to u guys…i love you and please rest! get some sleep, no staying up late to doomscroll! nuh uh! stop focusing on other people and pay attention to yourself and your health. this is your body, your choice, your life. take a step back from the weirdos and be selfish. be more bold w yourself…more of “i’m not gonna entertain this bullshit” i just feel like u guys are drained…rest please <3 i really want to send a big virtual hug you guys way, I LOVE U AND UR TEAM LOVES U! the divine loves you baby…i feel like i need to scream it.

𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔢 2222 ── .✦

⋆˚✿˖° ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴠɪᴇᴡ ʏᴏᴜ / ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴡ ʏᴏᴜ :

your guides see you guys as sweethearts! simplest way i can say it. something about the way your love is, your compassion in general. but also heavilyyyy intuitive. maybe you guys don’t pay attention to it too much but here’s another mystical pile. like pile one in a weird way but w the previous pile they were really struggling w seeing it for themselves. you guys could be called to that pile too. but in this energy, it’s more calm…. i’d say reserved too. the people in the cards are all alone but they’re not bothered by it, the energy i mean. not really being bothered by being a hermit. sweethearts that follow themselves. what i mean by that is you guys seem to have more faith in what you can do for yourself instead of seeking outside validation from random strangers. there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be seen for your talents/work/whatever you may contribute…or just being seen to be seen. idk this pile seems to be heavily involved with themselves. you guys know you don’t need anyone. i can’t ignore this tho. you may have a 6th sense. a inner knowing that you may even use to your advantage…

i feel like nothing can really stop you. okay (idk why this feels like the lighter side to pile one…like pile one was your shadow…a bit chaotic.) but this pile…. you guys attract easily whether you know it or not. if you notice ppl always wanting to be near you and in your bubble. you don’t seem to be fazed by that bc you’re so self focused. your guides see that you don’t mind taking the risk. making that big leap towards your next goal. i feel like this is the “nothing can stop me” but nothing really can stop you unless you let it. which i don’t see yall doing that at all. you know what you’re worth, you know how you are as a person in this chaotic world we live in. your guides are seeing you as this peaceful being. you guys may be my homebodies, staying to yourself in the comfort of your own living space. but even though you’re coming off as serene, you still have the drive, the energy within you to keep yourself going. even if you may feel like taking a step back to take a break and refresh! you’re still gonna go get what you want “she know what she wanted and gotta go get it w/o being caught” (that one song lol)

you guys may not be loud or obnoxious with the way you express yourself, but oh baby boo your energy is felt. you touch people, it just reaches others whether it may be in your own personal community or on a grander scale. i feel like your guides really see you as this sweet baby. someone who needs to be protected. your love is genuine. your love hits people in the face. your love is expansive. you guys may be very creative as well, with whatever you do, you create something out of nothing. people may want to give to you, maybe even spoil you without your knowledge. but u guys also come off a little shy even tho your energy is screaming soft vixen vibes lol. your energy is otherworldly. maybe your origins are not of this world, you know how they say when you feel like you don’t belong here on earth, like your souls came from some mystical place far away from this planet. i wanted to say that this is your own palace/kingdom, you have this aura to you that just screams royalty. very elegant pile. i feel like it could also be because you’ve freed yourself from a lot of situations that may have dampened your spirit but you don’t let those past situations screw up your views on your own life. basically not taking in other peoples projections, what they may intentionally or unintentionally send your way (if that makes sense haha) i feel like people just can’t look away from you guys. you’re not meant to be trapped or held down by anything or anyone. setting up boundaries for yourself. and that’s the best thing you can do in a world where it’s so normalized to see people stealing from others (not just physically, taking your energy, draining you. you cut that shit out, so that’s another reason why they see you as feeling more free like a little birdie, your wings have helped you stay afloat, staying sane.) “i am a smart individual” “i am productive” “my body is beautiful and unique as it is” you’re accepting yourself or have been accepting yourself more, regardless of the outside noise. (angel number for you guys 222 - you’re on the right path my love, you’re not doing anything wrong and they fucking love you! the divine supports you, the support you supporting yourself and letting yourself just be..) i told you that u guys reach people, so keep letting that glittery ass light shine from within you and keep expressing yourself in ur own individual way!

i love you guys so much! take care!

𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔢 3333 ── .✦

{ 333 }

⋆˚✿˖° ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴠɪᴇᴡ ʏᴏᴜ / ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴡ ʏᴏᴜ :

this has to do with love, i can just see it clearly right here. it’s either someone in your past, who you’re currently dealing with, or just the energy with love in general. i don’t wanna say this but it doesn’t feel good baby. whoever the fuck this person is to you is really making you guys overthink and stressing yourself out. and your guides can see this, you’re not okay, i feel like this may make you a bit snippy with the way you talk. this person or situation is not healthily feeding you. all it’s doing is making you spiral baby, and you shouldn’t let someone have that much control over you. “what you give is what you get” but what about the person you’re getting from, are they giving anything back to you? bc what i see is just a bunch of emotional conflict, and you guys don’t seem like the type to back away from conflict. but what if that conflict with this person or thing is just draining you instead of your pov-where you’re thinking that you’re reasoning with this individual but it’s just not clicking with them. i feel like your guides know that you know something is up lmao, like yall don’t seem to be oblivious to what’s happening right in front of you. but it’s like you’re gaslighting yourself, these delusions (ugh harsh i’m sorry!!) that’s keeping you in this weird ass pining faze….

i feel like you guys want something new for yourselves, a new lover, a relationship/friendship/companionship where it doesn’t have to feel so forced. as if you’re “working for this persons love” okay first of all, quit it! (ik i can’t control u but just some advice) i feel like yall know it’s time to get up from this and throw this situation/person out the damn window (not literally lmao) i’m giggling in this pile but not bc im making fun, no, i feel like your guides may see it as a bit comical bc even they know that it’s not YOU! whoever the hell this person is, they just need to be left behind, maybe they left you behind and if so i’m sorry love. but your guides want you to free yourself of this, (okay so i always shuffle the cards like a maniac before every pile to clean out the energy and some cards popped but i ignored it but now im like, hmmmm maybe this is that much of a coincidence) i feel like you guys are holding onto dead energy, something that isn’t serving you at all, it’s not doing anything but make you anxious, a war zone within your mind. that’s where they’re like this is a “no no” once you start letting it fuck up your emotional state and it’s detrimental, you have to let it go (easier said than done i know, but take ur time love!). you know it’s right there for you. i feel like your guides just sitting there like “they know what to do” they’re seeing something for you, but you have to see it yourself, believe in it yourself that you’re meant for better relationships, healthier connections. not this wishy washy shit w this weird ass individual/situation/thing. it’s getting to you so much that you’re putting yourself on the sideline but “for what?!” baby why? really ask yourself why. bc i feel like your guides want to cut this shit out of your damn life for you but they can’t…unfortunately no love.

so i just felt like i had to put a disclaimer for pile one about cleansing themselves. and the reason im bringing this up is bc their energy was heavy as fuck and what i received was this…. the stress you’re in at the moment (bc i feel like it’s present) can lead to you being extremely ill physically, like the feeling of nausea, wanting to just barf it all up and i feel like your guides don’t want you going in that route, where it gets that bad, so bad that your stress hurts you. bc it’s not a myth, stress can genuinely have such a heavy effect on our bodies. they want you to feel alright, to feel good.

not this baby…whatever this situation was regarding either your own love towards yourself or another person. your life is not doomed, no one’s is..don’t feed into that shit. it’s okay to pick yourself back up again. idk i just feel like this shit is making yall really vicious with the way you speak, even speaking bad about yourself. this change is necessary, the chaos will not last forever, no….i mean if you choose to acknowledge your pain you know. it’ll take time but we have to look at it, being avoidant will only let this weird feeling fester, and they don’t want that for yall. see i knew that your guides were on it when that energy came though (you knowing, u already know deep in ur heart but u could just be ignoring it or masking it) i barely pulled from my message deck i made and shadow work is just there clear as day…and (i feel thisss hehe) but we have to acknowledge what’s happening inside of us, not brushing it away…

“i am an abundant being living in an abundant universe. there is enough for everyone, i trust that all my needs will be met.” you have to understand that. we do have free will baby, i know divine timing is a big thing too but you also have the will to step up and say “no more” to whatever this was you know. okay so i pulled another card and you don’t even need to scare yourself worrying about the spiritual aspect of it, if you’re heavily into the esoteric stuff or not but i got “let your spirit team handle it” so they see what the fuck is going on. and they have your back 1000000000% if u feel like you’re not protected by the divine well here’s a a confirmation, U ARE PROTECTED, U ARE LOVED. they care about u guys so much, let them take care of the extra bullshit u can’t control. i feel like they’re saying it’s time to embrace your healing journey on your own, no one needs to know the ins and out of your progress, that is YOUR business and no one else’s. a song “fucks w myself” - BANKS

ur team got ur back allll the way, that’s why the chuckles kicked in, they’re like “what is pile 3 worrying for” dude even starting ur reading at 3:33 minutes says a lot! they’re always with u and you guys are being watched over, they love you and i love you. now u need to love you harder okay 🤍

૮꒰ 𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔨𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔱𝔲𝔡𝔢 ꒱ა

kisses xx mwah! mwah! mwah! thank u guys for checking this pac out. it was very very interesting to see what was coming out, i really hope u all take good care of yourselves and remember to just, take it easy boo..

i’m just fuckin around w my layout rn, ignore it if the next one doesn’t match up w this lolololollol!!

[tojiizm]

PARTY 4 U

k. nanami || angst. no comfort. fem! reader character death. spoilers for s2 jjk. i think thats it.

an: lowkey cried making this. this was inspired by party 4 u by charli xcx. the song makes me want to die. also sorry if there’s mistakes, its almost 3. k love u.

—

you hum to yourself, the house empty and quiet. you’re standing at the kitchen counter, decorating your husband, kento’s, birthday cake. there was a small smile on your face as you couldn’t wait for his reaction. you were also dressed up nice for him, just a simple t-shirt with a cardigan and some shorts. it wasn’t much but you knew he wouldn’t mind. he never did. he loved when you wore something simple. he believed that you were beautiful no matter what you were wearing or what you looked like. you could wake up with the craziest bed head and he would still think you were the most gorgeous girl in the world. he loved you. kento really cared for you and loved you, and he would show it through his actions. whether it be taking you out at random nights or just doing simple things like helping you with stuff. it was actually what made you fall in love with him. he was always so attentive and loving to you and you only. you loved him and you still do.

you shake your head to get out of your thoughts, a small smile on your face as you reminisce about your husband. the cake was done and it was almost time for your husband to get home. you sat yourself at the kitchen table, the cake in the center of it.

20 minutes go by; well, okay.. he could be running a bit late.

40 minutes; you start to get worried but you know he would call you if something were to happen, right?

almost an hour goes by and he doesn’t show up. your eyebrows furrow as you scroll through your contacts to call him. you press the call button on his name, fingers nervously tapping against the surface of the table.

it rings and rings until it goes to voicemail.

huh, weird. he usually answ-

oh. right. you forgot.

he’s not here anymore.

you end the call, hand gripping your phone tightly. your bottom lip trembles, hot tears rolling down your face and ruining the makeup you put on. your heart hurts, like you could physically feel it breaking. you sob uncontrollably, sniffles and hiccups filling the quiet room. you eventually tire yourself out, falling asleep with your head on the table.

you wake up hours later, eyes swollen red and mouth dry. you pull your phone out of your pocket. 2:14 am. you hum, grabbing a glass of water and chugging it down. you can feel the tiredness in your body as you walk towards your bedroom. the feeling of being in here almost suffocates you and you can feel your heart clenching, it hurts. you slowly walk towards kento’s side of the room, pulling out one of his t-shirts. you removed your own, putting his on and you can immediately smell his scent. it makes your knees weak, your hand darting out the dresser to ground yourself. you strip out of your shorts before making your way to his side of the bed. you carefully lie down, your blanket engulfing you in warmth. his pillow still had his scent. everything still smells like him. you close your eyes and attempt to go to sleep but it doesn’t come to you. your heart hurts, everything hurts. you just want him back, you need him back. the thought makes you cry, tears dropping onto the pillow beside you. again, you cry yourself to sleep, little hiccups coming from you every now and again. you can’t accept that he’s really gone forever… and you probably never will.

[fandom-smutty-shots]

The Boys kissing their s/o for the first time

Request

Masterlist

~

Characters: Starlight, Queen Maeve, Billy Butcher, Hughie Campbell, Black Noir, Soldier Boy, and Homelander

Warnings: Mild mention of choking in the Soldier Boy one, other than that, all family friendly!

A/N: I haven't written in so long I'm sorry! I'm totally burned out at work, but I will do my very best to stay on schedule. Enjoy, and let me know what you want to see me post!

~

Starlight

Annie would be so nervous to make the first move.

You had been seeing each other for a while, and it was almost awkward how bad you wanted to kiss each other, but just kept avoiding it.

Finally, you realized you would have to make the first move.

So you did. As you gently placed your lips to hers and gave her a quick peck, she'd grab the back of your head and deepen it, molding your lips together as if they were meant to be.

After that, you had no issues making out.

Queen Maeve

Maeve would make you so nervous.

After your first date, she would walk you home through side streets and alleys, trying to avoid getting recognized.

When she found a quiet spot away from everyone, she grabbed you by the waist and whirled you around to face her. She would push you against the wall and put her hand up to trap you in, a cocky grin on her face.

She would crash into you and take every bit of you, making you forget everything else in the world.

It would be the perfect end to the perfect night.

Billy Butcher

You know your first kiss with Billy would be savage.

He would pull your hair back and force you into him, starved for the love he missed.

He would devour you whole, taking every bit of resistance away and melting you into his arms.

Hughie Campbell

God, your first date with Hughie would not go smoothly.

Everything seemed wrong. You were supposed to go on a hike, and it poured rain and thunderstorms. You decided to go to a restaurant, and poor Hughie couldn't get his card to work and you ended up paying.

The food was bland and the conversation was boring, as if something was off.

Which is weird for the two of you, as you had been friends for years and never had this issue.

"This should go down in history as the worst date ever." Hughie finally breaks the silence as he walks you home, the chill in the air making you shiver.

"It wasn't that bad," you try to make him feel better, but he saw right through it.

He would stop and look at you before placing a quick kiss on your lips, his nervousness clear in the action.

"Well, that certainly improved my night," you laugh as he blushes.

Black Noir

Your first kiss would be quick, but the most meaningful moment you've had so far.

This is because it's the first time he took his mask off for you. He wouldn't say anything, not yet, but he would show his passion for you with the way he desperately holds your face and devours you.

It would last for what felt like forever, and you were thankful he trusted you enough to show you his scars.

It would, however, make you hate Soldier Boy for what he did to your love.

Black Noir deserved everything good in the world after everything he did for you.

Soldier Boy

Ben doesn't know the meaning of the word gentle.

He would ruin you with just a simple kiss.

He would hold you against the bed with a hand around your neck, making your head light as he took control.

"Do you want me to stop?" He pulled back to ask you, his thumb running along your jawline.

"No," you would answer, in just a whisper. "Kiss me again."

And of course, he was happy to make you feel good. Over, and over, and over again.

Homelander

John would be afraid to hurt you.

He knows his strength is too much at times, and you were very easy to break.

He would talk you through every step of the way as his hand brushed your cheek and he slowly leaned in, letting you lead the kiss as your lips finally touched.

It would be slow and gentle, the way his hands held you and felt up and down your body would be earth-shattering.

If you weren't in love already, you certainly were now.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Some people actually believe that Chat Noir and Adrien the model are both masks that Adrien is putting on, and that he doesn't know who he really is. Do you see any reason to believe that?

That's a complicated question because what does it mean to know who you are? Most people are constantly growing, changing, and learning new things about themselves, leading to better self awareness. How much self awareness do you need to have before you can say that you know who you are? I don't know if there's even an answer to that question!

Similarly, what does it mean to call Adrien and Chat Noir "masks"? Is this saying that everything Adrien does is a lie? A general observation that Adrien is a people pleaser who tries to be what he thinks people want him to be? A statement that Adrien is still finding his place in the world? Not sure I agree with the first two arguments and the last argument feels like a given for most characters in the show. They are all teenagers, after all. That's a prime age for self discovery and a good message for kids, making this one of the rare areas where it makes sense to embrace the character's age in a realistic fashion!

Further complicating this question is the fact that Adrien has some truly terrible writing. His character is a vibes-based enigma with almost nothing of substance to go on. It's a big part of why he's popular! He's incredibly easy to project onto without blatantly contradicting canon, making it easy to create all kinds of fan content that feels reasonably in character to other fans.

To show you what I mean, let's look at one aspect of Adrien's character and discuss the subtle ways that it makes no freaking sense. Note that this isn't meant to be an argument on how to write Adrien the "right" way. There really isn't a "right" way to write him because canon is swimming in contradictions. This also isn't meant to be me dunking on his character. I think he could have been great! This is a discussion on character design and how Adrien was failed pretty hard. He's the character equivalent of the season four plot. A recent ask accurately described the way fans approach that plot: people pick which narrative they think the show was showing based on who their favorite character is.

The same is true for Adrien. Fans pick the version they think the show was showing based on the traits and backstory elements they like the most as the following will hopefully prove.

Is Adrien repressed to the point where he's basically a blank slate?

Throughout the series, we're told that Adrien was homeschooled for his entire life. Prior to canon, he never had friends. Never went to concerts. Never did much of anything, really. At times, this makes his character feel like he was born yesterday because how can someone reach 14 with so little life experience?

The episode Wishmaker is built around this characterization of Adrien. In that episode we learn that Adrien can't remember having any sort of childhood dream or obsession. He doesn't even offer something nuanced like "well, I loved pirates, but I don't think I ever wanted to be one." As far as he concerned, he never had any dreams at all.

When he's hit by the episode's akuma, we flash back to when he was a literal infant and learn that Adrien's childhood dream was being whatever his parents wanted him to be:

Adrien: When I was a kid, I always wanted to be what my parents wanted me to be!

Wishmaker is also the episode where we learn that Adrien still has no hopes or dreams:

Adrien: My father arranges it all for me, but when I think about what I really actually wanna do, nothing! My mind is empty!

Viewers who look for logical writing probably expected this to lead into an arc where Adrien figured out what he wants to be. That is not the case. Confrontation - which takes place a whole season later - sees all of the teen characters declare what they want to be when they grow up. Adrien is the only one who has nothing to offer, leading him to write this as his official statement about what he wants to pursue in lycée (rough equivalent to American high school):

I've been thinking a lot, and still not know what I would like to do later in life. The only thing I know for sure is that I love Marinette Dupain-Cheng. But I guess that doesn't really help you. I'm sorry. Adrien Agreste.

Put this story line together and you get a picture of a character who has never been allowed to express himself. Someone whose life has been incredibly controlled to the point where he has no idea who he is on his own. A blank slate of a person. There's just one problem with that read: a blank slate could never create Chat Noir.

In Origins, Adrien was handed a magic ring and told that he was a superhero now. His immediate reaction to that information was to run off into danger, not even waiting until he learned how his new powers worked:

Plagg: Claws out! That's how you transform. Adrien: Got it. Plagg, claws out! Plagg: No, wait! I haven't finished explaining!

And when he meets his new partner, he's immediately comfortable talking to her, ready to have fun and joke around:

Cat Noir: Well, hey there. Nice of you to drop in. Ladybug: Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't do it on purpose. Cat Noir: I bet you're the partner my kwami told me about. I'm... Cat Noir. Yeah, Cat Noir. And you? Ladybug: I'm Ma... err... Mar... uhh... (pulls the yo-yo and it hits Cat Noir's head) Madly Clumsy. I'm so clumsy. Cat Noir: No sweat, clumsy girl. I'm learning the ropes too.

All of this goes against the blank slate message we were given in via Adrien's backstory and episodes like Wishmaker and Confrontation.

People aren't born knowing how to crack jokes and flirt. Those are skills that you pick up by engaging with media that has that content and/or by engaging with other people who exhibit those behaviors. People also aren't born knowing how to interact with others. That's yet another skill that you learn though experience and it's worth noting that it's not a single skill. Casually interacting with people your own age is a very different skill from interacting with your parents' friends or with your coworkers.

In other words, Chat Noir is clearly not be the product of someone who was locked away from society, forced to live a life devoid of joy and self expression. He's too polished for that. If you're going to take your repressed character and have this be their instant reaction to the prompt "hero," then they can still be repressed, but they won't be repressed to the point of being a blank slate. The pieces simply don't fit together unless you add in something like the repressed character being an actor in a show about superheroes.

With the backstory we're given, it would make infinitely more sense for Adrien to start out as Catwalker and become Chat Noir as the series went on, but that's not what canon did. Adrien starts as his most extreme, fun-loving self which means that he had a self to express!

These facts beg some obvious questions: if Adrien was so repressed that he can't even think of a thing he pretended to be when he was a child, then where did Chat Noir come from? At what point in his life did he learn how to have fun and pun? Why does he think that his over-the-top flirting style would work? Where did he even learn it? How did Adrien learn how to interact with people his own age? Your guess is as good as mine.

Some More Contradictions

The above is just one example of what I mean when I call Adrien a "vibes-based enigma." The facts of his character don't add up to a real person, so people just kind of go with the vibes they get from him and write his character based on those.

Here's another example: it's pretty popular for people to say that Chat Noir is Adrien embracing freedom, a take that makes perfect sense given his backstory and the way he's played in Origins. However, it's hard to call this canon. Outside of Origins, there's not much in canon to back up this read. Adrien never talks about Chat Noir giving him freedom and there are even multiple episodes that arguably go against that read.

Kuro Neko and Kwami's Choice both see Adrien give up his ring for reasons that have nothing to do with how fit he is to be a hero. On both occasions, he doesn't weigh the pros and the cons of this choice or even regret the choice after it happens. That's a pretty strong mark against the freedom read. If giving up Chat Noir is giving up his freedom, then giving up the ring should be a much bigger deal. We also don't see him using the ring to sneak out outside of akuma attacks and other hero responsibilities. I think Glaciator may be the only time that Adrien used the ring for personal reasons. So does Adrien value freedom and if so, how much? No clue. It's the audience's choice.

What about Adrien and Chloe? How close were they as children? No clue. Audience's choice.

How much did Emilie and Gabriel use the rings when Adrien was growing up? Are there any senticommands still controlling him to this day? No clue. Audience's choice.

Does Adrien enjoy any of his extra curriculars? He seems to like fencing and playing the piano, but is that just him making the best of a bad situation? And did he get to pick any of these activates or where they all forced on him? No clue. Audience's choice.

How did Adrien manage to grow up without any friends while being an avid fencer and also apparently playing basketball? Two sports that usually involve teams! No clue. Audience's choice.

How did Adrien get involved with modeling? Whose idea was it and where did the idea come from? Did he ever enjoy it? How old was he when the modeling started? No clue. Audience's choice.

Where did Adrien learn to pun? He says that his father has no sense of humor, so it clearly wasn't from Gabriel. Did Emilie like puns? No clue. Audience's choice.

Why did the Agrestes keep Adrien locked away? Why was Chloe allowed to be around him? How often was she allowed around? Was he allowed other friends? If no, then why not? If yes, then who? What lead Gabriel to suddenly change the rules and let Adrien have some freedom? No clue. Audience's choice.

What about Adrien and Felix? Were they ever close or was Felix always cruel? Adrien doesn't seem to view Felix as a bully, but we never see Felix be nice to Adrien so I have no clue. Audience's choice.

Why does Adrien act so different as Chat Noir vs Adrien? No clue. Audience's choice. You can probably come up with something more coherent than the kind of bs things the writers say about this one.

I could go on but you hopefully get the picture. Or more actually, the lack of a picture.

As a quick side note: it's perfectly normal to not give the fine details of a character's backstory, but that's because most characters have uninteresting backstories that don't need elaboration to make sense. For example, learning that Marinette wanted to be the knitting fairy when she grew up doesn't raise any questions about her childhood. It's just a cute fun fact. Learning that Adrien had no childhood dreams? That raises all kinds of questions that genuinely matter to the story and his character, but we're never getting those questions answered. The more the story goes on and the more hints we get, the less Adrien's character makes sense especially once you add in the sentibullshit.

Final Thoughts

There's no way to put the puzzles pieces of Adrien together and get a solid character which means there's a wide range of valid approaches to Adrien's character. On top of that, canon has not done a lot to develop the finer details of his backstory so there's a lot of room for interpretation there, too. As I said above, that's one of the reasons why he's so popular. He's very easy for people to project onto without blatantly going against canon. Stick to the very basic facts of canon, keep him in his core roles, and your Adrien will probably work for most fans even if he's wildly different than someone else's version.

I can give you my thoughts on what to do with Adrien, but much like my approach to Nino, it's more about shaping Adrien into a character who fits the story and his core roles than it is about making canon Adrien work because canon Adrien doesn't even work in canon! My lore bible has pages of notes on Adrien because canon gave me so little to work with and it's so important to get his character right! Before I move on, I'll note that Adrien is a stronger character than Nino, but not by much. Cardboard is stronger than tissue paper but you're not making houses out of either of those!

In case anyone was curious, I cannot say the same for Marinette and Alya. While they've also been hit by the inconstant characterization bat, their roles in the story and the handful of things that are consistent about them make them strong characters. Or, at least, strong in the world of Miraculous. I wouldn't call them strong in most shows, but in this one they're about as good as we're ever going to get. At the very least, they doing better than characters like Nathalie, Nino, Lila, and Adrien!

As a quick pass to show what I mean so you can contrast this with Adrien: Marinette is creative, a natural leader, and quick to overthink. Alya is inquisitive, likes to put together stories, and has almost no self preservation instincts when it comes to getting a good story. While Adrien has some consistent traits like him being a loveable goofball, his traits are way more generic than the girls' traits. He's especially weak when compared to Marinette which is frankly an insult to both of them since they are supposed to be a couple and you generally want strong characters for the main couple of a long running show. Side characters can afford to be less developed because they don't matter that much. You develop the character to the level needed for their role and Adrien is so underdeveloped that he's basically raw dough. Enough substance that you have a general idea of what he's supposed to be, but nowhere near ready for consumption, thus so many final forms feeling valid to fans.

[highfantasy-soul]

The goal of Andor was to get Cassian to the point he is in Rogue One. So what /is/ the point we're looking to get to and what point do we start - plus, what is the core of Cassian that makes it so that he has the internal fortitude to get there rather than bail and never make it to Scarif?

What do we know of Cassian from Rogue One? 1) He's dedicated to the rebellion's cause: he's lost everything and believes that defeating the Empire is the only way to ensure others don't lose the same. 2) He doesn't follow orders - if he believes another way is better, he'll do that. 3) He is willing to die for a slim chance at hope even if that means sacrificing those he cares about, too.

Where do we find him at the beginning of Andor? 1) He's working to find his sister and he takes odd jobs alone 2) He dreams of getting him and his mother off Ferrix and to someplace warm and comfortable where they can live in peace and luxury. 3) He cuts bait and runs if things don't look like they're panning out. 4) He'll do the job, but only if he's getting something out of it. He's in it for the credits he can then use to get his mom to someplace comfortable, not for the cause.

So what's his core motivation that can get someone from being terrible at taking orders and working with others for the long haul to sticking around when things get rough to the point of permanently sacrificing his own safety plus the safety of those he cares about?

Love.

Cassian loves so deeply - it's the through line for all of his actions, all his sacrifices, all his choices. He wants to see those he loves safe and happy. In season 1 of Andor, he thinks the way to achieve that is for him to just do enough jobs (alone, without those he loves getting put in danger) that he can take the people he cares about and disappear. By Rogue One, he's realized that to accomplish that safety, the Empire has to be defeated and he'll have to accept that those he cares about will be in the fight, too, and that they get to choose to sacrifice as well - and he's willing to sacrifice his own future and allow the people he loves to make that same sacrifice so others can have one of peace and safety.

So that core motivation of love and the desire to see those he cares about safe and happy has evolved over the course of Andor to be a love that encompasses the entire galaxy and each experience he has in the series leads him one step closer to being in the place he is in Rogue One, willing to sacrifice his own life - and even the lives of those he cares about - to stick it out when things get rough to make a difference.

The purpose of Andor wasn't to set Cassian up to be in a place where he needed the romantic love of a woman to change him and make him willing to sacrifice it all for the rebellion. The purpose was to set Cassian up to have the strength to do what he did even though he found someone he was romantically interested in. That even though he wants to give Jyn a happy future with her father free of the Empire, and before, he might have tried to run away with her and cut ties with the rebellion, he knows that isn't what's going to actually bring peace and love back to them. Only defeating the Empire will, and that means being willing to sacrifice both of them.

I think there's too much emphasis in the fandom with Cassian and romantic love in a vacuum, not what romantic love looks like in the big picture and how you're going to go about expressing that love in the real world rather than a little safe bubble where all you have to think about is that love you share. He had to learn to not be so overprotective of those he loves - Maarva and Bix, leading to how he treats Jyn with her own agency and doesn't try to control her actions - because that's how you ACTUALLY show you love someone and want what's best for them. All the right feelings could be there, but what you do with them matters. It took all of Andor and an entire year of exploring that after Bix left in order to see the Cassian we get in Rogue One.

I think going from Andor to Rogue One really is a seamless transition when you think about Cassian and not a ship you want to see set up. I ship RebelCaptain - I don't think Andor weakened that at all, I think it strengthened the bond Cassian was now /able/ to make with Jyn based on his entire history to that point. I love Bix and I think her and Cassian's love story was so important to see, even if it didn't end up in the 'happily ever after' column. I don't think they were compatible at the places they were in their personal development and that's not a fault to either of them. Sometimes, people just aren't in the place they need to be as individuals to make a relationship work despite all the feelings being right.

Just because love doesn't end in happily ever after, doesn't mean it wasn't worth experiencing. Cassian Andor's story (and the story of the Rebel Alliance as a whole) is a story about love - not just personal love, but all-encompassing compassionate, empathetic love for everyone in the world and the willingness to stand up and fight for that even if it's a sunrise you'll never get to see.

We see Rogue One from Jyn's perspective. Seeing Cassian's actions in a different light through Andor I think really enhances the story and re-contextualizes assumptions we (Jyn) made about Cassian and his past and why he does what he does. And i think both stories are more powerful for it.

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

I wish I was…..Bulletproof.

Synopsis: you wish you were bulletproof.

Word Count: 790

Karina X Male Reader

It was a gloomy Thursday.

The kind of day where the sky feels heavier than usual — a thick gray curtain hanging low, suffocating, leaking endless rain like the world itself is crying. The drops beat against your apartment roof, a relentless rhythm that matches the chaos inside your chest. You sat in the quiet corner by the window, the cold seeping through the glass and into your bones, wrapping around you like a second skin. The room was dim, save for the flicker of streetlights outside, and the faint, scratchy hum of a record player.

The needle spun on the vinyl, circling the same track over and over again

It was a sad song, slow and aching — the kind you listen to when your heart feels too full, too shattered to put back together.

You didn’t even try to change it.

Because this song was for her. For Karina.

You’d spent so many nights like this, lost in music and memories, trying to stitch yourself whole again. Trying to fill the space she left behind.

You could still see her clearly in your mind’s eye — not the distant memory, but that moment. The moment she told you it was over.

You were kneeling beside the old record player, hands fumbling to fix something broken. You thought it was just the machine, but it was really you.

She came in without knocking. Her eyes were tired, her lips trembling like she was about to cry, but she swallowed it all back, fighting so hard not to break.

“Y/N…” Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile yet weighted with everything she’d held inside for so long. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m so, so tired.”

You didn’t say a word.

You wanted to, so badly. Wanted to say something to stop her, to make her stay. But the truth was you didn’t know how. You had spent so long hiding behind silence and walls, afraid that showing her your true self would only push her further away.

She took a shaky breath, searching your face for something — love, hope, an answer — but found none.

“I’m tired, Y/N.” Her voice cracked now, breaking the fragile calm like glass shattering. “I’m tired of loving someone who doesn’t know how to love me back.”

Your heart cracked open then, raw and bleeding.

“I’m tired of your walls. Of the way you push me away with every joke, every cold glance, every time you pretend I don’t matter.” She swallowed again, biting her lip hard to keep the tears from falling. “I’m tired of pretending that I’m enough when I feel like I’m not.”

Her voice grew louder, filled with pain and frustration — the kind of pain that had been buried so deep, it finally exploded.

“I’m tired of begging for your attention. For your time. For your love. I’m tired of being the only one fighting.”

She looked at you then — really looked at you — with tears glistening in her eyes.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

And with that, she left.

The door slammed behind her, the echo louder than any scream.

You stood frozen.

Too stunned to move. Too broken to call her back.

And then silence.

Since that day, everything changed.

You tried to drown the pain. Nights blurred into mornings spent in bars, smoke swirling around you like a shield, hoping it would burn away the ache inside. You wandered streets you used to walk together, tracing footsteps that no longer led anywhere.

But the weight of what you lost clung to you like a shadow

The scent of her shampoo still lingered on your pillow. Her favorite hoodie — still folded, untouched in your closet. The sound of her laughter echoed in your mind when everything else was quiet.

You wanted to fix it. To turn back time and hold her when she said she was tired. To tell her that you loved her — not just in words, but with everything you had.

But now, all you had were the memories and regrets.

You stared out the window at the relentless rain, watching it blur the city into a watercolor of gray and sadness. Your throat tightened. Your hands trembled.

And in that moment, with the storm raging outside and your world falling apart inside, you whispered:

“I wish I was stronger.

I wish I was braver.

I wish I could have been the man she needed.”

A pause. A breath.

“I wish I was invulnerable.

I wish I was… bulletproof

[blasphemyandbackshots]

Wait! That one anon got MILF lover Shig and Dabi in my head now! 😳

I had to. I’m sorry, but I had to 😔

Dabi ;;

Dabi isn’t just into MILFs. He craves them. There’s something about a woman who’s lived a little. A woman who knows exactly what she wants, who doesn’t giggle and blush when he looks her up and down like he’s going to eat her alive. No, she meets his stare and raises an eyebrow like, you think you can handle this, kid?

And that makes him go feral, crazy and everything in between.

He likes her older. Likes her ripe. He wants her with hips that could cradle his waist. He wants soft thighs that wrap around his ribs, a body that remembers pleasure. Stretch marks? Scars? Maybe a kid? Dabi’s jaw just clicks into place, turned on by every reminder that she’s a real woman.

“You got any idea what that does to me, sweetheart? Watchin’ you walk around all put-together and fuckin’ lethal? While I know exactly how you sound when I’ve got three fingers in you?”

He loves corrupting that poise. Fucking her against her kitchen counter while dinner’s half-cooked. Fisting her hair after PTA meetings. Cumming in her and then smirking when she says she has errands to run.

“You’re so good at pretending you’ve got your life together. Lucky for you, I love wrecking shit.”

He doesn’t want to raise hell with a girl who’s figuring herself out. He wants a woman who already has a fire burning inside her. He just wants to fuck it higher.

Shigaraki ;;

Shigaraki has mommy issues and it shows. But we’re not talking wholesome healing. We’re talking dark, twisted, primal obsession with mature women who look at him like he’s something dangerous but irresistible. He’s a fucking pervert for it.

He wants her older, commanding, powerful. He wants someone who has lived, who might even pity him a little until she realizes he’s unhinged and hungry for her.

He fantasizes about women who’ve already had a life. Maybe she’s got a kid. Maybe she’s been married. He doesn’t give a fuck. She could be ten years older and still out of his league, and that turns him on more.

“You think I care how old you are? You think I don’t get off on it? Fuck, I like knowing how many men failed before me. You’ll never want anyone else after I’m done with you.”

He’s obsessed with how experienced she is. With how she teaches him how to touch her until he snaps and flips the script, because the moment she moans for him like no one else ever made her feel that way? He’s addicted.

He’ll get on his knees for her and lick her thighs like a man starved. Then fuck her until she’s shaking and whisper, “Not so in control now, are you, Mommy?”

Shigaraki’s into the contradiction of it all. Power and surrender. Age and obsession. Her perfectly ordered world being ruined by a man who wants her so badly he’d burn it all down just to have her again.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

After reading your recent platonic Bee thing, it reminded me of a platonic idea I've had for a bit.

I was thinking a very distant and cold but not necessarily rude reader working at I.M.P. as a relatively new hire. Despite the others attempts at bonding, they always avoid any real attempts at bonding or getting to know one another. Reader likely has similar issues to Loona and Blitzo, feeling unlovable. Essentially reader finally starts to let them in towards the end, finally accepting their place in I.M.P.s little "family," maybe during Sinsmas?

Ideally reader would be a gn or male sinner, but of course it'd probably be pretty easy to simply leave ambiguous, I don't mind either way. Thanks for your time!

Blitzø collects new family members like Pokemon cards.

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

New hire

★ At your first day with the company, you established firm boundaries. No chatter, no emotions, just work. But you couldn't have known how Blitzø treats his employees. Like it or not, he's going to treat you like family.

★ Blitz ignored your wishes, and tried getting you to hangout outside of work. You refused to put up with him without getting paid. So he did just that. Giving you 50$ to watch movies with him. During a commercial break he orders pizza. Letting you choose the toppings you want.

★ Unlike her dad, Loona wasn't concerned about if you like her or not. The only way she acknowledged you was with a quick glance. Maybe a rare eyeroll if you asked her for help with something. “Yeah, whatever." Was the first thing she said to you.

★ Millie is always warm towards you. She brings you coffee in the morning, having memorized your go-to order. Allowing you to open up at your own pace. Even though you don't want anything other than a professional working relationship.

★ If you stay distant she accepts it, but that doesn’t mean she’ll treat you like a outsider. To her your part of the team. Whether you like it or not. Good luck convincing her otherwise.

★ Moxxie was more formal. And assumed that he needs to earn your respect. For awhile he referred to you with your full name only. At least until you told him to stop. Out of everyone, you worked with him the best.

★ He appreciates how you communicate things to him clearly. You’re efficient and focused. Making you one of the only reliable people in I.M.P. And Moxxie lets you know what he thinks of you. "At least someone around here knows how to do their job."

★ You still tried to keep your distance. This job will go to shit eventually. Like everything else you've been a part of. Blitz was a decent boss, sure. But that cant stop the world from ruining everything. It's just a matter of time.

★ The turning point for you was sinsmas. You actually showed to Blitzø's party. Without being bribed. At that moment you realize, damnit, you got attached. The group grew on you, like some kind of parasitic infection.

[atamascolily]

Okay, so no release date for Walpurgis no Kaiten yet in spite of them selling advance tickets at Anime Japan this year (what), but there's a new key visual! I was away when it originally came out in March and I ended up sitting on what I originally wrote and thinking about it some more rather than posting it right away because I doubt we'll get any more news until September at the Aniplex Online Fest, just like the last two years.

Putting my thoughts under a read-more because this got very long.

Whereas the first key visual emphasized duality in the form of two different Homuras, this one takes a different tack by contrasting Homura and Madoka in their cosmic aspects. I think this is the direction that most people were originally expecting for Walpurgis no Kaiten (myself included), so it's interesting that they're going back to that after so much focus on multiple Homuras.

I also notice that each drawing has the same arch shape as the windows representing salvation from the Law of Cycles from Rebellion, except here they seem to be contrasting two different paths--salvation and destruction.

The Madoka panel is reasonably straightforward--both her gold eyes and her posture indicate she is being "possessed" (for the lack of a better word) by the Law of Cycles, which is emphasized by the doves, white feathers, and circle of clouds mimicking Gustave Doré's engraving of the Empyrean (heaven) from Dante's Divine Comedy, as many people pointed out back when that particular trailer came out.

(Re: the Doré engraving, I also want to note that it shows the sun at the center, while the WnK version doesn't really show us what's at the center--yet--and that scene may be one where our expectations are subverted. Though it's probably still a circle because everything is in this show ends up circular in the end, lol.)

The Homura panel gave me pause for a bit, because "which Homura is this?" is a reasonable question at this point. I was on the fence for a while because her eyes are red, but given everything else in this image, I think the situation is similar to Madoka's in that Homura is embodying her role here and that is indicated by her eye color. Yes, there's also a red-eyed Homura in the trailer, but given the headband and the outfit and the context, I'm leaning towards the "real" (for a given value of "real", lol) or original flavor Homura here.

The eye color shift also makes me wonder if "Devil" is a role that both/multiple Homuras can take on at different points, since the headband Homura with red eyes in one of the trailer is also shown with brown eyes in the first key visual. Eyes are not only "windows to the soul", they're also a key way of differentiating characters and their mental/emotional states. This would be fascinating, and go a long way towards explaining why the dopplganger!Homura dancing wth Madoka has red eyes in that scene but not in the key visual, where her eyes are brown, which had always flummoxed me before.

I'll also note that while Madoka's posture makes her embodiment feels more passive, Homura's embodiment is conscious and deliberate. Whatever this path is, she is choosing it--emphasized by the caption about fulfilling "the promise that we made that day" against Madoka's wishes, presumably referring to the scene from episode 10 where Madoka asks Homura to go back in time and prevent her from becoming a magical girl, i.e., the most traumatic moment in Homura's life that shaped everything that came after it.).

The flames are pretty obvious (Homura's name, as the show takes pains to point out, is a homonym for "flame") and fit with the Devil aspect, but it seems odd to me that the original Homura would destroy the world she spent so much time building. Would she if she thought she needed to? Absolutely--and she already did once before in Rebellion--but "burning everything down to ashes" is an odd choice if you're literally the system incarnate.

But that is what witches do... even though they also build them up, and of course, we have the cranes constructing buildings in the background; Walpurgisnacht being the "stage-constructing witch". In Rebellion, Mitakihara City reflected Homura's mental state and priorities, so what does it say that she is simultaneously building and destroying everything? Is she of two minds about this?

Or to put it a different way: If Homura is not fully in control here--if there is another being with radically different views of reality, who is working to build that vision from the ground up--then suddenly Homura burning everything down makes a lot more sense. And conveniently, there's at least one candidate--the other Homura, who shares her face and presumably her powers as well!

(While I think it's likely that this other Homura will either create or become Walpurgisnacht--i.e., metaphorical shadows and reflections will eventually prove to be literal shadows and reflections--you could also make a case for some other as yet unknown puppetmaster working "behind the scenes". TBD.

Also, as witches can only manifest in a world where the Law of Cycles is no longer fully applicable, Walpurgisnacht can only form if something goes haywire with the Law and/or Homura's world. Ether way, the only person who has been able to stop Walpurgisnacht in the past is Madoka, thus putting her in danger in spite of all of Homura's efforts to keep her safe. Oh, the irony! And given how powerful the new Walpurgisnacht is likely to be, only Madoka restored to the Law of Cycles will be able to stop her.

Unless something changes, history is doomed to repeat itself, but I do not think this series will return to the old status quo. Something will change, and I hope it will be Homura and Madoka working together to build a new system as equals, but again TBD.)

Much has been made of the costume shifts, but what's striking on seeing Madoka and Homura's magical girl costumes juxtaposed like this is how they have shifted to accommodate their current situations--i.e., the lock on Madoka's costume reflects how she is "locked out" from the Law of Cycles and her full memories/awareness of herself, just as the black feathers on Homura's shoulders resemble her devil form's wings. Given that costumes seem to reflect magical girls' self-image and also their powers or lack thereof (cf. Mami's costume lacking her ribbons, Sayaka in bandages, etc), this seems entirely plausible.

That said, I'm not a huge fan of these new costumes and I'm low-key hoping they are relatively temporary in the grand scheme of things, but you do you. The art style is also different, but that's probably inevitable after such a long gap between installments; things naturally can and do shift, even if it takes a while for me to get used to it.

It seems like the position of their feet are mirroring each other, but in reverse, in contrast to their different arm positions. Both of Madoka's hands are open and visible, but Homura has 1 closed fist and 1 hidden arm behind her back, which is reflective of their respective personalities but also their situations. We have a pretty good idea of what's going with Madoka, but Homura is not only a mystery, there's at least two sides/versions of her in conflict.

You can see the shadow of someone who looks like Madoka in front of Homura pointing a bow at her, which I find odd since she usually advocates for magical girls not to fight each other. Not sure what's going on there, but I think this may be one of those things that isn't necessarily what it appears to be at first.

But here's the thing that gets me. Look at what Homura is standing on. It's a stage, no? And in addition to the giant cogs, which have always represented the "gears" of fate and inevitability (and thus have been associated with both Walpurgisnacht, as the one who brings about that fate and Homura as the one who reverses time to overcome it), there's something else there that had me screaming when I noticed it. It's also her shield.

Or, more specifically, the two tomoe from her shield that hold the sand representing the flow of time.

I don't want to read too much into this just yet because the angle and the lighting aren't great, and it's unclear how much of this is going to end up in the finished film, but let's just say I'm very interested in where this particular piece of symbolism may be going, even if I don't love the CGI here.

Interestingly, Madoka appears to be floating over a different part of the clock/shield (in addition to the color shift). This was surprising to me because the drawings are otherwise the same, but you can see that Homura is standing over a series of cogs, while Madoka isn't. I'd originally thought they were supposed to be facing each other--and maybe they are--though if that's the case, it's even more interesting that the "Madoka shadow" we see on Homura's side is different.

Am I overthinking it and reading too much into a single image? Perhaps, but this is the only new thing to chew on for a while, so I might as well make the most of it, right?

I didn't notice this until other people pointed it out, but Homura's left hand (with her soul gem mark) is conveniently not visible, and the ribbon she's holding connects to Madoka on the other side, forming a loop. Great work, everyone.

[luvdalkxdlk]

Hugo is a big subtle Perry The Platypus meme. New Eridu just being Doofs T_T

1.6 and 1.7 spoilers. Using Hugo demo and some trust events, either taken from my own screenshots or other people's YouTube because one, I am not going to time spam everything to get all the trust events because I don't feel too insane today and there are some moments that only 1.6 and 1.7 cutscenes can't cover entirely. I am the Interknot brainrotter coming with you with startling news.

As the title said, if you have heard enough of the Perry The Platypus meme...

Tis the example. You get what I mean. Also, do you know who else wears a fedora...

The fedora is intentional damnit. Because I just realized. When we first meet him, as Hugo Vlad, an 'ordinary' collector...

He's not wearing the hat, people. He's not wearing the hat.

He's still not wearing the hat.

Even after coming out of his faked death...

Don't want people to immediately know that he's back from the dead, and like... people didn't recognize him???

Even after everything is over, people being pretty sure he's alive this time around. That Hugo Vlad is the only publicly known Mockingbird...

You come to us for trust events without the hat and that's enough for people not to recognize you????

THE MAGIC TRICK IS GOING WITHOUT THE HAT AND MASK???? ESPECIALLY THE HAT???? I'M BAMBOOZLED. UTTERLY BAMBOOZLED.

The only times he had worn the hat would be for work, phantom thief work.

Having a reunion with Lycaon as the Mockingbird phantom thief founder, who has every right to call him traitor for leaving Mockingbird...

He lost his hat along the way, but they all know he's Hugo Vlad so maybe that's why he can afford showing himself...

And then he puts it back on to fight Lycaon??? DOES THIS MEAN SOMETHING??? PURE BRAINROTTING PEOPLE. PURE BRAINROT.

Even for his escape.

For some reason even though for Mockingbird business, he comes without hat. Because its a public place and he doesn't want to be outed as a Mockingbird yet...?

Hugo Vlad the citizen revealing he is Mockingbird. Like, that was hard to figure out when it was the hat and mask that covered it up. Hugo had to say it himself??? The long blond hair and his heterochromic eyes aren't giving it away. This is just too Doof for me.

At first I was a little confused, because one moment he wears the hat and the next moment he doesn't. In this particular mission, does he work as Mockingbird or Hugo Vlad. Is it just that he wears the hat all this time and that the game model was too lazy to add it there for unknown reasons?

But then this scene happens, hatless when he talks to us Proxy, as Hugo Vlad himself and not as Mockingbird leader. So my guess would be that he wears the hat when he wants to show that he's doing things as a Mockingbird and without the hat is his true self?

When did you have time to put the hat my man? Is it to show the Mockingbird alleigance or something else? Something else, considering the dim lighting and maybe that the hat can shade his face to be unrecognizable. In a phantom thief's world with many enemies, and what Hugo knows, he had to make sure his work face is on...?

No hat Hugo being so real to Hartman, with the best full name identity ever. So maybe that's his edgy dramatic self, putting on the hat leffting that scarf sway, letting the dawn light illuminate him, like what. I'm just being objective coz is it just laziness to have a hat in game model. But personally I stand by my reasons about the differences in hat Hugo and no hat Hugo. It differentiates between Hugo the civilian and Hugo the Phantom thief. AND FOR SOME REASON THAT WORKS???

He had put the hat when he was hatless through, which is what will become the MockingbirdFalling.mp4, which is important to why the hat is needed and when it is not... explained somewhere further bellow.

HE INTRODUCES HIMSELF AS HUGO VLAD THE LEADER OF MOCKINGBIRD WITH THAT SUAVE HAT ON, AFTER THE FAKED DEATH WITH THE BEST COMEBACK SINCE PEOPLE KNOW AND HE OWNED IT. THOUGHT THE HUGO VLAD RAVENLOCK WON'T BE TOPPED BUT THIS PROVES WRONG. IT WAS WHEN THE WHOLE INTERKNOT WENT CRAZY KNOWING HIS IDENTITY, HAVING THAT MOCKINGBIRDFALLING.MP4.

And right after, he's back without the hat. Needing to make sure no one around after dramatic asf reveal can see the really alive Mockingbird and arrest him?

All this time in his reveal, in the death video, he had his hat on. So that people know it is Hugo Vlad the phantom thief. But has he ever, even once, shown himself without the hat when he declares himself the phantom thief? Has anyone ever seen Hugo Vlad so blatantly without the hat where he revealed who he truly is?

It's like this...

Are you telling me that the hat covers the face all that well? Was this planned by Hugo all along????

Why he has the hat on, when the video is taken, during this time of day with the hat on that you honestly cannot see the face well... It might be even difficult to discern who the people are, but its because of the hat that Hugo is famous for with those long blonde locks and maybe even those clothes, maybe, that somehow people immediately believed it was Mockingbird, that the video was all too real when the whole thing spread...

But truly, no one has seen his face yet... is the hat really that powerful, or is everyone in New Eridu really having this doof mindset???

SERIOUSLY

DO PEOPLE JUST NEED TO PUT HATS IN ORDER TO HIDE THEIR FACE??? Even PubSec's, ARCHON database has things about Vivian and Lycaon, the current and former partners and they still can't find Hugo Vlad, especially until he revealed himself???

Also, I'm suddenly realizing very few people and even characters wear hats and maybe hats are all too powerful for disguises. There's Lucy with her helmet, and other than that, no one else really wears a hat... but people can recognize Lucy with and without hat, because she introduces herself as such but maybe Hugo introducing himself as two different people with and without people has given placebo effect... Or maybe it specifically needs to be a fedora. A freaking cool fedora.

No wonder people haven't figured out his face yet. Never without his work outfit the hat even when chased around...

All the photos they have of him aren't without a hat... I...

Even when he's escaping indeed...

Here's the link bellow as sources to a thank you for making this insane posts.

Hugo trust event vid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KwyP8DXbYY

Hugo 1.6: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DMN1oRgNUw&t=12366s

Thank you for coming to my probably incoherent and conspring brainrot. The only people that aren't blind somehow are the people who know, who Hugo revealed himself and one Asaba Haramusa who figured it out all on his own. Someone call Jane and tell her how she can effectively disguise herself without much effort TT_TT

I would make the Hugo meme if I didn't have the photo limit but Hoyo... Hoyo... SERIOUSLY, THE PERRY THE PLATYPUS MEME??? IT'S SUPER EFFECTIVE????

... Excuse me chat while I still go reel from this. Hope you feel as insane as me about this. There are a lot more things to be insane about Hugo Vlad, from his fanfiction and the male convention but the moral of this story is no matter how unique your long blonde hair and heterochromic eyes are, the hat hides all... TT_TT

[songsofreason]

Here he is. The man that’s dared to cross him enough times to make Nelo Angelo have to really go all-out. Dante saunters into the room, his expression expectant, already sizing up Nelo Angelo for their third fight. ”A man of guts and honor.” He pauses, Force Edge pressed to his shoulder. “I like that. But it’s a shame you serve Mundus.”

Shame? There is no shame in duty. Nelo Angelo merely raises his claymore to point Dante’s way, intent of will to fight. The other man’s arrogance drives him mad, the laid-back composure irritating, acting as if he’s already won because he managed to drive Nelo off to recalculate and lick his wounds in their prior two fights. But he will stop the Sparda boy here no matter the cost. Dante grins. Nelo Angelo follows him with the point of his blade. At once he realizes he’s furious.

The sight of Dante’s face is so irritable to the devil, it stirs something within Nelo’s soul–a man who has been made to desire nothing but victory cannot say he feels anything else, but this is different from his usual impassive victories he’s claimed in the past decade he has spent serving Mundus. This is a need to win. This is stirring a part of his heart somewhere deep inside–a part of him that tells him if he does not win, he might as well go slit his throat. Nelo Angelo has never had a ‘need’ before. Nelo Angelo hates Dante.

With a scream so loud it would rip up his throat were he not blessed by Mundus, Nelo Angelo throws his head back, arms splayed wide to access everything he can, consumed by the need to kill Dante and to FINALLY, FINALLY, show him up. Parts of his armor splinter and shackle off, thrown by some blue energy that pulls at his flesh like a rippling magnet–he feels heavy and bogged down, like he can’t move like how he wants to. His armor suddenly becomes a prison; he’s always hated being slow. The helmet, too, in its ridiculous lumps and unflattering horns, makes it harder for him to avoid moving his head to dodge attacks going for his skull or throat. It will have to go too, in the name of defeating Dante. he blue shocks of energy shudders up his shoulders and destroy the helmet into pieces, revealing Nelo Angelo’s face to the world.

His hair, he realizes, is long and in his face. The feeling of his hair curling down around his neck and at his shoulders is distracting too. Nelo remembers hating having his hair in his face. It makes it hard for him to see and more importantly–something else. It’s gone. It doesn’t matter. I have to kill Dante. Then I’ll…that doesn’t matter either. Cracks of black blood vessels litter his skull, eyes shining an appropriately demonic red beneath the curtain of his bangs.

Speaking of Dante, the man only seems satisfied to have a face to put to his enemy, twirling one of his guns around on the hand not gripping the Force Edge’s handle. “You done with the light show? I want to get a move on, I’ve got a Demon King to kill.”

Nelo thrusts his claymore to point Dante’s way, turns it perpendicular with the ground, and with a thrashing type of yell, barrels for him, blue swords making hissing noises as they careen for the devil hunter’s torso. It’s annoying that he can hear Dante literally click his tongue in disappointment as he jumps, double jumps, twists and turns through the air, twin guns rattling off their song in response, Nelo’s summoned swords sounding like darts as they land one after the other in empty space. He screams in frustration as he drives his forward foot into the ground and turns, claymore swinging up through the air to catch Dante’s shoulder.

Dante lands, turns, damaged arm dropped as it heals, other hand still aimed with the white gun firing away, then he whips out the other. “Not bad, guy.” Nelo Angelo doesn’t get a chance to blink before Dante’s suddenly upon him, Force Edge cutting bits of his armor away, whittling open more and more weak spots, forcing the Angelo to take tiny steps backwards and catch what he can of Dante’s swordsmanship with his arms so he can’t land any hits on his torso. After his efforts to access more power earlier, Nelo Angelo’s armor is weaker–-Nelo can feel that trade-off beginning to weigh heavier on the scales.

He catches Force Edge in a hand with just enough force it stops Dante in his tracks, and then he throws him furiously backwards into a wall. Dante goes sailing. A summoned sword manifests and hurtles after him, pinning Dante’s coat tail to the wall. The Sparda remains unfazed and merely lunges back for Nelo Angelo, leather tearing behind him. Claymore meets the Force Edge, both figures’ hands coming up to try and add more pressure into their swings. Dante is gritting his teeth and groaning. Nelo Angelo is…Nelo Angelo and therefore looks like nothing. At once his mind leaves the battle for just a moment, aware only of how annoyed he is that his hair is so long.

In his momentary lapse of consciousness, Ebony blasts a hole through a chip in the side of his armor, making his breastplate crack and chunks of it fall off, exposing more of the black suit Nelo Angelo wears underneath his armor and making him easier to actually hurt. Forced to retreat, the demon practically dances backwards, claymore swinging up at Dante’s jaw and catching some stray hairs as it slices. “Hey!” Dante shouts, head jerking back, blood spilling from the nick in his neck that Nelo managed to land as well, “I like my haircut, thank you very much!” He reaches up to touch at the already healed-wound, then rubs his red-stained fingers and thumb together.

Shut up shut up shut UP!! Nelo Angelo can’t speak. So he shouts. He rushes for Dante immediately with another set of swings to convey his anger, anger he’s never felt before, anger he can’t identify with anger, raging cuts of steel slicing from his hands, ignoring the blasts of gunfire that tear the armor on his arms away or the bullets that lodge themselves into his skin, more focused on ending the fight as soon as he can. For Mundus. Such is his duty. Dante meets each swing, grinning but not without strain, then air hikes away to make the knight stumble forward into the wall, palm coming up to catch himself, a few more blasted chips of gunfire riddling themselves into exposed flesh that knits itself a moment too late, exhaustion beginning to give way to healing.

If he’s this tired, Dante must be too. Nelo Angelo turns around and extends his arm, hand opening and closing in a wordless taunt: COME ON.

“Oh yeah?” Dante sneers, but takes the bait anyway, he’s always been that easy to incite. Again and again they collide, steel striking sparks and blue swords dancing through the air and bullets ricocheting, the sound loud and cacophonous and ringing and again and again and again they swing, dancing, Dante’s quips losing all meaning and only becoming shapeless movements of his mouth amidst their swordsmanship. Eventually Dante tires enough to have to back out, feet sweeping half-circles and guns raised as he moves to recalibrate, his face now shiny with sweat.

In the newly regained space between them Nelo Angelo readies another barrage of summoned swords, this time from above Dante, intending for them to fall upon him like rain. Dante cartwheels–literally cartwheels–out of the area of effect, shocks of gunfire peppering his move, landing on his feet once again. Only he missteps, a foot landing on a small piece of rock that they’d destroyed earlier in the fight, and stumbles, ankle twisting, arms moving up and exposing his torso as he moves to right his balance. “Shit–,” Dante mutters, trying to keep his voice low as not to give himself away, and Nelo Angelo knows: now is his chance.

The knight drops into a crouch, eyeing that weak spot of Dante’s, hand readying over Yamato’s hilt as he prepares a Judgement Cut to cut into that perfectly exposed bit of torso and–Yamato isn’t there. It had been taken from him. His hand closes on the claymore’s hilt. It won’t move or cut like a katana, and the arc of the broadsword’s swing is much larger and awkward as it sails through air too high it can only be called nothing, Dante flying effortlessly past the last-ditch effort with his Force Edge extended like a sharp point of infinity.

The sword runs clear through Nelo Angelo’s sternum and makes him stagger backwards. His own claymore clatters noisily on the ground. He can practically feel the blade puncturing his aorta. Nelo Angelo is a man of honor, so he doesn’t scream–he merely raises both his hands to grab at the blade and try to push back, blood spewing from his lips and pouring from his damaged palms; he can’t remember when exactly Dante destroyed his gauntlets, the blade edge cutting all the tendons in his fingers.

Nelo Angelo speaks for the first time in a decade. “Dan…te…” The sword wiggles just a bit inside of his chest cavity, tearing all things it can loose with its sharp blade. A cough.

“Sorry,” Dante says, “show’s over, no encore this time,” and he forcibly moves his arm backwards so the sword pulls cleanly back out through Nelo Angelo’s torso and scatters crimson across the room.

“Ah…” Nelo raises both his hands to touch at the gaping wound, blood pouring from it like a waterfall. Coldness overtakes him like a shadow; he doesn’t realize he’s fallen over until his cheek smatters with pain and forces him to draw his awareness to the cold stone under it, something else falling heavily by his face. His amulet. He knows because he knows that shade of red anywhere. It’s brought him such comfort. Two boots stand before him behind the blurring red jewel; Nelo’s eye rolls in its socket up to the far corner to look up at Dante, his killer.

Horror. Whatever the man is seeing, it’s making Dante look more impression-like than man, of something twisted wrong, his eyes as wide as they can go, mouth a small ‘o’, washed out and colorless and too scared to even tremble–it makes Nelo smile openly, his tongue pressing against the slabs of iron-tasting granite, blood smeared all across his mouth, eager to spit in his killer’s face, but he has no energy so he just laughs noiselessly into the cobblestone. He’s always been defiant; even Mundus had to fight tooth and nail to get him to listen at first, he remembers his King saying as much about the early days of his making.

“How did you–,” Dante drops to a knee. Nelo is aware of a hand tugging at–something. The chain around his neck. “get this…–I–,”

“NO!” Panic, a denial, although of what the knight doesn’t know. Nelo tries to twist himself away from the pressure trying to claim his precious amulet for itself, only succeeding in wrenching his shoulder into the ground and cutting up his cheek on the rough surface of the ground, awareness dimming quickly, he cannot feel his fingers or his hands or his arms or anything, Dante is a blurry red mass in his periphery, he is someone trying to take from him yet again, he’s always been so selfish, “No! No one else can–…have this…” Nelo swallows to fit his teeth back together and seizes and spews up more blood and some organic mass goes with it. The ground quickly grows slippery beneath him then nothing at all. He was terrified a moment ago but at once he’s too weak to fight back or do anything, words pouring unbidden as his consciousness dissipates like grains of sand falling through his fingers, “it belongs to…a son of…Sparda–...” and then he is gone, red eyes dimming back into their washed-out blue sans spark of life within them. He didn’t even have the strength to turn his gaze back to his one remaining piece of self: the amulet half lying on the ground between them. Instead his eyes focused on some unknown point ahead.

He doesn’t feel Dante’s trembling fingers as the newly-made Cain slowly reaches for the large stone and he doesn’t feel how he forcibly yanks the pendant free from his neck, chain snapping. He doesn’t feel the shudder which jostles his corpse slightly when both of Dante’s knees meet ground, or he doesn’t feel the two hands reaching for his soulless body. He doesn’t know that Dante doesn’t yell or scream, just like he didn’t last time, that he keeps his grief quiet, shoulders shaking.