#watch me immediately mute this post ha

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSTRAP ONㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : What if you ask if you can peg them?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Terry McGinnis, Male Barbara Gordon, Male Cassandra Cain, Male Stephanie Brown.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

You ask him in bed one night, very nonchalant.

“Hey, can I peg you?”

He freezes. Like full reboot. The Bat-OS is updating. Bruce.exe has stopped responding.

“...Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I think I deserve it.”

He stares. Silently. A slow blink. His jaw clenches, like he's negotiating peace with an international terrorist. You see the flicker in his eyes—he’s considering it, and that terrifies him more than anything.

Eventually?

“Once. You get one.”

But then he comes back for more. Doesn’t say it out loud. Just lies face-down on the bed like a Greek tragedy and says:

“Don’t talk. Just… do it.”

And you never let him forget it. You slap his ass and he growls like a wild animal. Gotham’s protector? Pegged by his princess.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

You bring it up during foreplay, and his eyes sparkle.

“You wanna what??? …Wait, really? Is that like—hot for you?”

He’s immediately into it. Like too into it. He starts googling positions, stretches, prep routines.

“Do we need a safe word? What’s the etiquette here? Should I make a playlist?”

When the moment comes? He’s spread out like a centerfold, full trust, full glutes.

“I feel so vulnerable. Is this how girls feel all the time??? God, it’s kinda hot—”

He moans so loud. Like theater-level drama. Neighbors can hear. Batfam knows. And Dick? He’s glowing for a week.

“So when’s round two, babe?”

— JASON TODD ⋆

You say it casually while he's cleaning guns.

“Let me peg you sometime.”

He chokes. Gun clatters. You hit a nerve.

“You wanna what???”

He’s mad. Flustered. Pacing. But also blushing. And you notice the way he starts testing the waters—

“If I said yes… hypothetically… would that make me less of a man?”

You just pat his cheek like, “No, baby. It makes you a brave man.”

He glares. And then, eventually, agrees. But he makes it a war zone. He's gripping the headboard, growling like you’re in a gladiator fight.

“You better own it, then. I want bruises, I want pain—do it like you mean it!”

Afterward, he lies there like he got hit by a truck. Whispers:

“...Don’t tell anyone.”

You immediately text the group chat: “Guess who just got wrecked by me.”

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

You hit him with it after a sparring match, while he’s sweaty and happy.

“Can I peg you sometime?”

He short-circuits.

“You wish.”

But he’s curious. You see the gears turning. He starts reading medical journals. Watches porn on mute. The ego battles the intrigue.

One night, he corners you like:

“If you must dominate me… you’ll have to earn it.”

Treats it like a duel. He makes you work for it. Grapples. Resistance. Eye contact like a wolf. But when it finally happens?

He groans. Face buried in the pillow. Tries to act composed, but he’s trembling.

“This… is merely… a power experiment.”

Lies. He loves it. But he’ll never admit it. Until he randomly buys you new gear and says:

“This model is superior. More efficient. Less friction. I did… research.”

— TERRY MCGINNIS ⋆

You ask Terry during post-sex pillow talk. He’s already panting, sweaty, pupils dilated.

“Babe… what if next time I hit it?”

He blinks.

“You mean like… role reversal?”

“No, Terry. I mean I peg you.”

Visibly panics. Short circuits. But his toxic trait? He’s a curious little freak.

He’ll act all alpha, but that man grew up on internet forums and old Batman archives. He’s been exposed. He’s thought about it.

“Okay. Okay. I mean… I’m not against it. But like, do I—do I have to do the… arch thing?”

By the time you’ve got him moaning into the mattress, he's lost all higher brain function. Tries to talk tough:

“T-This doesn’t c-change... the fact I’m still B-Batman…”

“Mmhm. Say that again while I hit that spot.”

After everything, cuddly. A little emotionally destroyed. Always asks shyly afterward:

“So... wanna do it again next week?”

— BARRY GORDON ⋆

So Barry's in the chair, coding. You lean over and whisper it in his ear like it's nothing:

“Wanna let me peg you?”

He doesn’t even look up. Just slowly removes his glasses.

“I was wondering when you’d ask.”

“...Wait. That’s a yes?”

“Baby, I can’t walk, but I can take it. Now help me out of these pants.”

This man is confident and freaky. He guides you through. You’re the one sweating and stammering while he talks dirty.

“Mmm, harder. You call that topping? C’mon, use that core strength.”

Afterward he lays there smug mocking you.

“Good job. You get a gold star. Wanna go again or do I have to manspread harder?”

— CASSIAN CAIN ⋆

You say it during your usual makeout, biting his ear:

“Wanna be my pretty little baby?”

Cassian doesn’t speak much. But his eyes go wide. And the blush? It climbs his ears.

At first, he shakes his head—too shy. But a week later, you find him laid out on the bed. On his stomach. Ass up.

Doesn’t say a word. Just… offers himself.

And he’s so sensitive. Bites his knuckle, whimpers through every motion. Has his whole face buried in a pillow, fists clenched, body twitching.

“You’re doing so well, baby…”

Nods frantically. Tries not to cry from how good it feels.

After? Curled into your arms, completely limp, like you just possessed his soul.

— STEPHEN BROWN ⋆

You barely finish the sentence:

“Hey, what if I pegged—”

And he’s ALREADY stripping.

“YES. PLEASE. I WANNA TRY IT. DO I LOOK GOOD LIKE THIS? DO YOU WANT ME TO SHAVE?? I HAVE CANDLES???”

He’s bouncing. Wagging his tail. Sends you like 10 Etsy links for strap-ons. Makes a mood playlist. Packs snacks.

In the bedroom? Drama. Theatrics. Noise.

He’s moaning like a porn star. Gripping the sheets. Begging.

“I’m your good boy! I’m your little toy! Use me, mommy, pleaaaase!”

You have to put a pillow over his mouth because he’s SCREAMING. And afterward, he wants cuddles and tells all his friends:

“I’m in love.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[zombaebitez]

ik u j posted it but alr havin withdrawals can we get more relationship hcs w abby??

Abby Relationship Hcs

abby anderson x fem reader

synopsis: modern day abby relationship headcanons, just rambles oopsie.

zom’s note: withdrawals is so silly, i love it. hope my writing is up to par, enjoy! 🌸

word count: abt 1.1k

warnings: use of petnames (love, princess, etc). nsfw content (own section after sfw! don’t like it? just don’t read that section), mentions strapping (r!receiving), teasing, manhandling, foreplay.

SFW HCS <3

ꕥ Abby always has a hand or arm around you, says it’s for safety, to keep you near her; but you know deep down she’s just a touchy girl, and you can’t complain, you love it.

⤍ “Love walk on this side,” and before you can even move she’s alreading pulling you to where she wants you to go, wrapping a strong arm around your waist.

ꕥ On the subject of touch, this girl will literally carry you around (on her back, bridal style, etc) when you ask her to (or when you don’t), in the house, in public, she doesn’t care one bit. You are her pretty princess, and she loves being at your beck and call.

ꕥ She takes pride in her physique, she has a set workout routine, and is constantly in a protein kick. She loves bringing you to the gym with her, just so she can catch you stealing glances at her while you’re doing your own thing.

ꕥ Her casual wear? She is a chronic cargos, sweats, or jeans wearer, though she will switch it up with shorts sometimes. She’ll wear some sort of tank, compression/fitted top (to show off muscle), hoodies, or basic tee, with a sports bra underneath, maybe a beanie or snapback depending on how hot it is. Very minimal jewelry and accessories, and has an obsession with muted colors, and black.

ꕥ Speaking of jewelry, she’ll always wear your initial or name on her somewhere, and vice versa. Her favorite would be a simple gold necklace/chain which has your initial that you got her, it also has a matching gold link bracelet that she sometimes wears too.

ꕥ She loves when you offer to braid her hair for the day, now she just volunteers you to do it with a random excuse, “I dunno princess, you just do it better!” She’ll have the brush, and hair ties ready once you finish your morning routine.

ꕥ Morning Routines? She usually wakes up when you do, or some time before. But once you wake up, she immediately follows you to watch you get ready for the day. It’s endearing, kind of like a giant puppy.

ꕥ She enjoys pet names surprisingly, and will call you all sorts of names (princess, love, sweetheart, etc). She never got to show her lovey dovey side before you, so she just can’t help it.

ꕥ Hates when you get upset, “Princess, cmon talk to me… what happened?” Always running a soothing hand down your back, she just wants to be there for you.

ꕥ She’s not as stoic as people may think when it comes to you, she’s just a girl who loves her princess to death; therefore, she has to show it… like all the time, sue her (you’re just as bad).

ꕥ A random girl hits on her? She gives the girl a judgy once over… maybe twice? hell THREE times, and says something like “I have a girlfriend, you’re gonna get us both in trouble…”, “Uhm I’m taken.”, “My girlfriend won’t like this.” Before she starts aimlessly looking around for where the hell you went to, because the interaction is now a little awkward.

ꕥ She has natural sass, it’s not even on purpose, she is just a little snippy. Don’t even dare say something that will earn you a side eye, because she’ll hand them out to you too, again she can’t help it.

⤍ “Babe, you know you could totally pull off being a hey mamas”, now you were clearly joking, giving her a ridiculous ass grin as she looked up from her phone to hit you with a judgmental stare. “Excuse me?” you couldn’t help but laugh your ass off, as she just sat there confused, “Princess don’t start with me”, she mumbled with a slight eye roll, reaching over to gently slap your thigh.

ꕥ Oh god and the coin collection, she indeed has one of those collection binders, and keeps it organized/labeled. She gets so excited whenever you gift her a new one, and always shows you when she finished a sheet in the binder.

ꕥ She most definitely loves to shop with you, and go on errands. Something about being all domestic and on top of business, watching you mark off things you two need for the house, watching you get all happy when you finally get to go shopping, and being productive makes her feel good. (She wants to put a ring on that finger real bad, real bad).

⤍ Makes you carry her wallet, and phone when y’all are out because she feels they are safer with you, (her wallet fell out her pocket once and she freaked the hell out). She keeps her keys on a carabiner with a bunch of random charms or a lanyard so she can’t misplace them.

NSFW HCS !!

ꕥ Abby prefers to top, and dom. But she’ll let you occasionally top if you really asked nicely or she’s having a hard day. There’s just something about getting you all fucked out that she can’t help, she needs to have you under her.

ꕥ She’s a total strap lover, she’ll fuck you in any postion she can. Loves how she can just grab onto you and make you forget how to form a thought with deep or shallow thrusts. Don’t even try to wiggle or push her away, she’ll just get a little frustrated with you, and pin you exactly how she wants you like it isn’t any effort for her (it’s not).

ꕥ She likes to tease you with just the tip. Watching you think you’re about to get what you want, what you need; seeing that frustrated pout go slack, with a quiet moan. Just for you to whine, when she pulls back just as fast as she came. It’s really not fair.

ꕥ Yes, she likes to manhandle you, she doesn’t have all those muscles for nothing. She’ll use them to her advantage every time, and her stamina goes in-fucking-sane. She’ll fuck you till you can’t even moan anymore, all dazed out and whiny for her, just trembling because of how overwhelmed she can make you feel.

ꕥ Sometimes she forgets her own strength, digging her fingers into the plush of your thighs or ass, biting and sucking a little too hard on certain parts of your body, slapping your ass a little too hard. You’ll wake up with a bunch of bruises and marks the next day, whining about how sore you feel, but she lowkey gets off on that shit.

ꕥ Whenever she does let you top her, she is usually guiding you how she wants you. Just because she’s on the bottom doesn’t mean shit, she still makes the rules, and you just want to take care of her like she does for you.

ꕥ Foreplay god! She loves being a tease to you, getting you all frustrated, gets off to the fact she can get you needy from mere touches and words. Plus what's the use in rushing, she’s gonna take her sweet time with you.

[iimplicitt]

OFF TO THE RACES | LN4

parings: lando x cowgirl unnamed fem! character (faceclaim bella hadid)

summary: the mclaren team gets taken to a rodeo ahead of the austin grand prix. lando takes the saying; “save a horse, ride a cowboy” a little too literally. let’s take Jesus off the dashboard, he’s got enough on his mind.

warnings: 18+ smut!!, car sex (it’s crime don’t do it), unprotected p in v (also don’t do this), one night stand, lando in a cowboy hat, hickeys, spitting, praise, size kink? kind of, lando has a thing for making her cry (in a good way), social media posts towards the end

wc: 3.8k

a/n: i’m a born and raised texan so don’t come for me with the stereotypes in this LET ME DREAM

Sweat coated his skin as they walked, the road cracked and uneven as they made their way up to the exposition center turned rodeo. It was Zak’s idea, a bonding experience he said for Lando and Oscar even though that was completely unnecessary. They probably spent too much time together as is.

Their boss smiled at them, already sun burnt a bit as they got closer and closer to the blaring country music. “You can’t get a more American experience than this!”

Lando and Oscar looked at each other for a moment before shaking their heads, smiling despite how ridiculous this all seemed. Lando had no interest in watching animals run around in dirt while shitty music blared through speakers all the while someone’s beer might be spilling on him. Then again, maybe he was being cynical and the South was about to be full of surprises.

The whole venue was crowded, making it seem even hotter despite the setting Texas sun. There was a carnival going on as well, a good chunk of people still running around playing games or going on rides. The other half were pouring through the large open doors, the Mclaren Formula One team being a part of it.

It was loud, the metal ceiling and walls echoing the sound of music and people talking and shouting. It was lively, he could admit that. Maybe it would even be fun drunk, but that was a big no go in regard to the rule book of a race weekend.

Someone met them near the entrance, a man who clearly worked with the venue based on the obvious cowboy get up he had on. Boots, hat, the whole thing. Zak did most of the talking while Lando and Oscar looked around curiously, watching as people bustled about and waving at those who recognized them.

Eventually they were led to a section close to the floor, front row seats to all the action. Neither driver really knew what to expect, but the very last thing Lando was anticipating was seeing the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on riding out on horseback.

He was awestruck immediately, his eyes not leaving her as she made her way around the perimeter, smiling and waving as she went. Fuck, she was stunning. Her skin was tan and glowing, her grin bright and brown hair tucked loosely under a cowboy hat. He felt his heart skip a beat as she got closer and closer to where he was sitting, and Lando became acutely aware of himself as he leaned his elbows against the railing. Hoping he didn’t look like a dumbass and for once hoping he didn’t look too British.

Would she even be interested in an Englishman? The thoughts running through his head were ridiculous but everything seemed to go mute as she passed right by him. Tipping her hat down and sending him a wink before the horse continued on its path.

“Careful mate, I think you’re drooling.” Oscar laughed from next to him, nudging him knowingly.

“Shut up, Osc.” Lando barely spared his teammate a glance before he tracked his gaze back to her. Watching in awe as she did whatever the hell she was doing, maneuvering the horse expertly around obstacles, dirt kicking up around her but her face didn’t give anything away but pure determination and focus. He’d never seen anything so graceful.

The rest of the night he kept an eye on her whenever he was able to, his gaze flicking up to the big screen to catch her name anytime she was shown on camera. When she laughed at something her friend said, her head thrown back and eyes crinkling, he thought the earth was opening up underneath him with the desperation to hear the sound of it.

When the rodeo was over, Oscar just about had to drag him away from the railing to get him to leave. “I’m sure this is how your fans feel,” the Australian joked, not at all bothered by the glare Lando was throwing his way.

“I’m not her fan. Merely an admirer.”

“And I'm sure that’s the mindset all your fans have. Besides,” he gestured to where a decently large group of men were waiting near the exit at the back of the expo center shouting her name. “Seems she already has groupies.”

Lando ticked his jaw, not seeing how waiting around would help them at all. He didn’t want to pull the I’m an F1 driver card because then he’d come off like a complete arse. So, cutting his losses he followed everyone else and headed into downtown Austin to find a bar to attend.

Not that he saw the point given; no drinking.

The music was even louder in the bar that was also combined with that he knew very little about like line dancing. Mulling over his water as he scrolled through his phone, he hesitated for a moment before typing her name into instagram.

“Christ,” he muttered. Every time he saw her she seemed to get prettier.

He debated on following her but he knew someone somewhere would take notice and spin it into something it’s not. Even if he wished there was something to blow out of proportion.

Someone bumped his arm and his thumb hit the follow button.

Lando blinked at his phone for a moment, watching her follow count tick up by one and he squeezed his eyes shut. Letting out a sigh he shoved his phone back in his pocket, no point in undoing that hiccup given she’d see the notification. Some small part of himself, or maybe a larger portion, wanted her to take notice. Take an interest, and maybe follow him back. Hell, he’d beg the universe for a DM if he had to.

Oscar appeared and gestured with a hand, smiling as if he knew something. “Look who it is.”

Following his friend’s gaze, Lando looked around before his eyes fell on what Oscar was looking so fucking smug about.

There she was, barely twenty feet away and leaning against the bar. Her smile was contagious as she talked with her friends animatedly with her hands.

“Go and talk to her.”

Lando spun around, looking at Oscar as if he just suggested he commit suicide. “What?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Since when are you nervous when it comes to girls? Just go and say hi.”

“I’ll look like a stalker who followed her here from the rodeo.”

“Right, like she even remembers seeing you.”

Lando's hands went to cover his heart, his features warped into offense. “Ouch, Osc. Low blow.”

The Aussie was hearing none of it as he lightly took hold of Lando’s hoodie and shoved him in her direction. “Thank me later.”

His annoyance wasn’t all that genuine, in fact he was thankful for the shove of encouragement as he made his way over to her. Fuck, was his hair alright? Did he smell bad? He’d been sweating all day. He hadn’t even talked to her yet and she had his mind reverting back into his insecure teenage self.

She caught his eye before he was too close, recognition flashing briefly across her face as her friends continued to talk. Her smile slipped into something more sultry- more knowing. Like she knew exactly why he was here. He wouldn’t be surprised if she got approached a lot, she was stunning.

He came to a stop, her friends' voices slowly fading into silence as they all looked at him. The air tense and a bit awkward but he forced a casual laugh. “Hi.”

Was that really all he had?

She bit her bottom lip, clearly amused by him before he was finally graced by the sound of her voice. “Howdy.”

Even that was heavenly.

“Do people here really say that?” Stupid non flirtatious things were pouring out of his mouth.

Her and her friends laughed, looking at him as if he was a court jester and he wanted to punch Oscar next time he saw him.

“Do you really say cheerio?”

This time he laughed, feeling more relaxed and he shook his head. “No, I don’t at least.”

Her pale green eyes slated to her friends for a moment, something silent passing between them and before he knew it they were alone. She gestured her head for him to come and stand beside her and Lando obliged like a lovesick puppy.

She leaned in close, the smell of her perfume mixed with polished leather was addictive and he wanted to bottle up the scent and keep it forever. “For the record,” she began, her accent light but noticeable. “I do say howdy as a greeting.”

He grinned at her, leaning down to match the level of her gaze and her slight whisper. “It’s cute.”

Her eyes flicked over his face, taking in his features and for the briefest moment her gaze danced over his lips. Making him feel dizzy and he wondered what the woman was doing to him.

She leaned back slightly and took a sip of her drink. “I saw you at the rodeo earlier.”

“I’m glad I’m memorable.”

“You’re hard to miss. You don’t exactly scream you’re from the south. Especially wearing this when it’s almost a hundred out.” She tugged lightly at the string of his hoodie, her lips pulled back in a playful smile and he wished he could just grab her and kiss her. The thought was overwhelming but he had to remind himself not to be an absolute creep.

“Well, it seems the stars are aligning then. I was hoping I’d get to run into you at some point.”

“You sure you didn’t stalk me Mr. Norris?”

He blinked at her. “You know who I am?”

Her cheeks were dusted a rosy pink as she waved her phone at him, his instagram page glowing at him and he shut his eyes. “That was an accident and a coincidence that you happened to be here.”

“Aw, and here I was being flattered.” She scrolled through his page, a giggle leaving her as she came across a picture of him in the ocean with mud all over his face and wearing a pair of sunglasses.

“No, don’t look-“ he tried to cover her screen with his hand but she took hold of his wrist and playfully shoved him away.

“This is golden.” She laughed. “This is what millionaires get up to?”

“You’re looking at all the wrong pictures.” He tried to reason, surely blushing as he made to cover her phone again and she pushed him away, this time with her hip and he felt his mind slip into a numbness that craved her touch again. She was pressed against him now, laughing for another moment before she eventually followed him back.

Her back pressed against his chest, turning to look at him over her shoulder and flashing the screen at him. “There.”

He looked down at her and completely ignored the phone, one hand falling to her waist absentmindedly as his other arm kept him upright against the counter of the bar. Her face was so close and he took in every minute detail. The way her skin glowed, dusted with a faint blush. Her nose was adorable and long lashes fanned out over her glowing eyes.

She was breathtaking.

The feeling of pure want coursed through every nerve in his body, acutely aware of the pressure of her against him. Her jeans tight around her hips and thighs before beginning to flare out and her top was snug fitting and complimented her wonderfully.

His grip on her waist tightened and he heard her breath hitch as she blinked up at him, her pupils blown wide and the smile that stretched his lips was anything but innocent.

Lando had her.

They barely made it into the back seat of her truck before his mouth was colliding with hers in a way that was almost violent as they fell back onto the seats. Lando settled himself between her legs, grinding against her in a way that was shattering his sanity second by second.

Her nails raked up from his neck and into his hair, a groan escaping him and being swallowed up by her mouth. She tasted sweet and had the faint taste of whiskey on her tongue, utterly maddening and he would never get enough of it.

“Take this damn thing off,” she managed to say between bites and kisses, tugging impatiently at his hoodie.

He smiled into the kiss, his hands blindly taking hold of the hem of the fabric before breaking away for a moment to rip it over his head. The truck was a bit cramped but he’d make it work, his mind was consumed by her at the moment and he wanted this to last for an eternity.

Her nails dragged down his body, letting out a content sigh as she took in the sight of his tanned skin and muscle, her fingers hooking into the belt loops of his trousers and the way she looked up at him would’ve been enough to send him over the edge. The sight was heavenly and the innocent look to her in that moment as her brown hair fanned out around her like a nimbus was devastating.

Lando reached forward and took hold of her cowboy hat that had gotten knocked off and placed it on his head, sending her a wink.

When a mewling sound left the back of her throat he raised a brow at her and he felt his cock get impossibly harder. Lando smiled down at her knowingly as he began to undo his belt. “Is this really doing it for you, darling?”

Her eyes nearly looked black with desire as her gaze trailed up from what his hands were doing to his face. “You have no fucking idea.”

He tugged his belt off and tossed it to the side, but before he worked on undressing himself further his fingers danced out and began undoing each button of her too tight shirt. Her breasts had already been tugging at the seams so when he popped one open they practically spilled out for him. No bra and on display and the sound that left him felt primal.

Lando needed her. All of her. Everywhere and every second of the day. If he could have her the way he wanted as he pleased he even considered fucking her in the middle of the paddock if she let him.

His fingers trailed down further and made easy work of her belt and zipper before he leaned back and took hold of each of her legs to rest them on his shoulders. “Lift up for me, baby.”

She didn’t hesitate as she lifted her hips for him and the immediate submissiveness made his mind melt into a puddle of pure desire. He tugged her boots off and then her jeans, and when the sight of her lacy white underwear graced his vision he suddenly wished they would’ve had the patience to get to the hotel.

“Fuck, I bet you taste incredible.”

But there was simply no room. He half debated on saying fuck it and bring her to the bed of the truck so he could ruin her in every way he was dreaming about, but that would probably lead to an arrest and a very unhappy meeting with the team and stewards.

“Please.” Her tone was needy, desperate even as she lifted her hips to him in an attempt to get her closer. There was already a damp spot appearing and Lando wanted to take her away and keep her to himself for the rest of his life.

“Where have you been all my life?” He sighed, his fingers dancing down her thighs and delighting in the way she trembled against his touch. “Tell me what you need.”

She bit her lip so hard he thought it might bleed and his hands dug into the soft flesh of her thighs, earning himself a moan from the back of her throat. “Use your words, baby. I need to hear you.”

“Fuck me, please.” She yanked his hips flush against hers by his belt loops. “And please lord, keep that hat on.”

His grin was wicked as he leaned down to capture her lips again, open mouthed and sloppy. His tongue dancing against hers and exploring, teeth clinking together as he pulled himself out from his trousers and used his other hand to tug her underwear to the side.

Lando never skipped foreplay but he was desperate and so was she. Not to mention she was practically dripping already and when the tip of his cock rubbed against her entrance and clit he shuddered as she let out a gasp, her nails digging into his back.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, darling.”

“Please,” she choked out, pulling him even closer by the back of his neck and kissing him.

When Lando sank into her till his hips were flush against hers he knew he finally found salvation. Purpose is what it felt like. The missing part of his life that he hadn’t even been aware of but now made him whole. He groaned into her mouth, matching her moan.

She was so warm and tight, the muscles of her cunt clenching around him. “You take me so well,” he ground out as he pulled his hips back and watched as he sunk back into her pussy slowly. The sight was other worldly. He wanted to film it but he was now determined that this would not be the last time he had his way with her.

She grinded her hips against him, matching his agonizingly slow rhythm and trying to get more. More satisfaction and he laughed at her desperation before burying his face in her neck, sucking and biting as he continued the slow pace.

“Lando, harder.” She gasped out, clutching at his shoulder with one hand while her other twined in the curly hair at the nape of his neck that was peaking out from under the cowboy hat.

He pulled back, teeth tugging at her skin before he released it with a pop. He got a little carried away, a hickey on her neck already forming but he couldn’t find himself to care as he got lost in the sensation of her cunt around his cock. She was perfectly made for him.

His hands pressed into the seat on either side of her head. “Open.” His tone was sharp and her lips parted immediately at the command. He smiled as he let saliva drip from his tongue and into her mouth, not giving her a moment to get a grip on reality before he then spit on her at the exact same time he pulled his hips back and snapped them hardly forward, burying his cock even deeper inside her.

She let out a cry, pleasure mixing with pain as he brushed against her cervix before pulling back and dragging against her g-spot, only to repeat the process over and over again. Bending her knees up so he could get a better angle, his thrusts brutal and being driven mad by the sound of his name being cried from her lips.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he said through heavy pants, watching her unravel beneath him and when his eyes caught sight on her naval the sound that left him didn’t even sound like himself.

Lando could see the outline of his cock as he fucked her, her smaller and skinnier size making it easier. “Oh fuck, you’re gonna kill me, baby. Look at you.” He pressed a hand gently to her stomach, feeling himself thrust in and out.

She bucked against him at the added sensation, tears streaming from her eyes and leaving pretty trails of mascara down her cheeks.

“Lando, oh my god—“ a scream left her as his other hand began rubbing tight circles into her clit. “I’m gonna—“

“Do you want to come on my cock, darling?”

She nodded, words lost on her and Lando knew he was on the verge of crashing as well. Feeling each of his nerves winding tightly. “Why don’t we come together, can you do that for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Please.”

“Such a good girl,” he praised, his tone soft. A complete antithesis to the almost violent pace of his cock slamming into her.

He switched the direction of his fingers on her clit. “Now, darling.”

Not a moment later she was convulsing against him, her cunt clamping down in his cock and Lando groaned out her name as he threw his head back, his cum filling her up nicely as the muscles in his stomach clenched. Sweat was coating both their bodies, all the windows completely fogged up and he felt delirious as he collapsed on top of her, settling comfortably between her hips and still buried inside of her.

He could both feel and hear her rapid heart beat, her warm breath coating the side of his neck as she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.

“God, I love the English,” she muttered breathlessly against him and he laughed, loving the way she fit so snugly against him.

“And I’m in love with this form of southern hospitality.”

She snorted, the sound heartbreakingly adorable and he never wanted to let go of her. “All I said to you was howdy.”

He turned his face to hers, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “Say y’all.”

She raised a brow at him but complied. “Y’all?”

He groaned and kissed her through her laughter. “I’m done for.”

Eventually, and not with any thrill, he had to pull out of her and she shivered as he did so. Picking up his discarded hoodie from the floor, he gestured for her to sit up. “Lift your arms,” his voice was soft and his heart clenched as she smiled at him, doing as told.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him but he felt like he was struck by cupid’s arrow or something. Lando didn’t want this night to end and he wanted to see her tomorrow. And the next day, and the next. He wanted her by his side till he was rotting away in the earth.

He needed to thank Oscar next time he saw him.

Slipping the hoodie on her, he brushed the hair out of her eyes and dusted his thumbs over her cheekbones as he cradled her face. The air was quiet but not tense, a comfortable silence and he sighed slightly through his nose.

“What?” She asked, her brows furrowed and her smile timid. A bit shy despite the events that just unfolded.

“Would it be mental to ask you to come to the race this weekend?”

His eyes caught her tongue as it darted out to wet her lips, which were slowly forming into a grin. “I would love to, but I don’t know anything about it.”

He shrugged, pulling her in gently by hooking a finger into the collar of his hoodie she was wearing. “Just cheer for car number four and I’ll be on top of the world.”

She bit her lip, eyes searching his before she nodded. “Okay, but I want to do something for you.”

“You don’t need to—“

“It’ll be fun.” She reached her hands up and straightened the cowboy hat on his head. “Besides I haven’t seen enough of you dressed like this yet.”

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, youruser, oscarpiastri and 307,284 others

landonorris am i doing this right?

photo creds and tour of austin courtesy of youruser

*tap to load more comments*

userone: THIS IS EVERYTHING

youruser: you are definitely doing this right

landonorris: taught by the best

oscarpiastri: i’m still waiting on a thank you

landonorris: shut up

usertwo: i need to know the tea

userthree: AND WHOS THE GIRL???

f1wags

liked by 56,029 others

f1wags oh? who’s this? potentially a new wag spotted in the paddock this weekend at the usgp and rooting for lando norris!! some sources say they were seen together afterward, but nothing is set in stone yet! pictured is; youruser

*tap to load more comments*

userone: OH MY GOD THEY WOULD LOOK SO GOOD TOGETHER

usertwo: right?? i hope it’s true

userthree: lando dating a cowgirl is not something i knew i needed

userfour: ew? really? not an american LMAO

userfive: she’s literally stunning what do you mean

usersix: the way she was screaming and cheering for him has me SOBBING she already seems so supportive

userseven: everyone needs to chill we don’t even know if they’re together, just because they follow one another doesn’t mean anything

usereight: you must be fun at parties

youruser

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, lilyzneimer, iamrebeccad and 67, 892 others

youruser south side of heaven

*tap to load more comments*

userone: PLS TELL ME THATS LANDO

usertwo: oh my god?? all the wags liking it???

userthree: CHAT PLS I NEED HER AND LANDO TO BE REAL

userfour: he’s been seen in texas NUMEROUS times over the break istg i think they are dating

landonorris and youruser

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 702,299 others

landonorris happy birthday pretty girl

*tap to load more comments*

userone: oh. my. GOD

usertwo: I KNEW IT

carlossainz55: the black and white made me think she had passed

youruser: i thought i missed my own funeral

landonorris: i hate you both

userthree: IM LOSING MY MIND WKSKSJW

userfour: he looks so happy IM SOBBING

taglist: @theonottsbxtch @fortunapre @ashbone @c8lap1nto @taasgirl @stopeatread @dying-inside-but-its-classy

[omelettewise]

Can you do a twisted wonderland x blind or mute male reader?

Characters:

Mallues, Idia + ortho and the rest is up to you. I don't mind 😼

Sorry if anything is spelled wrong. Also I wonder if Mallues and Idia can be platonic with ortho (obviously) ?

The book is collecting dust waiting for it's reader , why not give it a try ? .. another one for the pile of books by your side !

hiii ... its me again ... back umh ive decided to do it with a mute reader ! maybe ill post a blind one later (in 20 years) , i was rewriting the wattpad book .. after many misspells n cringe its back !! i love the choice of characters !! btwww the new malleus card made me go wildd THE BACK WINDOW ??? ❤️

btww (again) there might be some mischaracterization on my part since its been a while since ive actually writen not sure what the last part meant but i tried my best (i might have a favorite) (no proofread!!!!)

pronouns : you / yours

reader can be read as yuu or not (implied yuu on malleus)

– Idia barely leaves his room , so getting to know him was already hard . you two might have meet during book 6 , yet he might have seen you before because of the school cameras . He took notice of the fact that you barely talked , or talked at all .

–Idia secretly admires how you handle your muteness with grace and confidence. He wishes he had your ability to communicate without words, especially since he often struggles to find the right ones himself.

– because of him watching the cameras , now aware of the fact that you are mute due to observing your sign language as you seemed to scold grim .. in his defense the quality of the cameras is complete ass.

– Ortho was the first one to reach out for you , whether it was before or after book 6 , using himself as a translator of sign language in case any ignorant students would just ignore you.

– you warmed up to Ortho and that led you into the situation of right now .

Idia wasn't completely sure of what to do , or what to say in that matter , neither could you .. so he decided to play for a while as you sat on whatever surface you could in his bed (Ortho started to clean the room even more after that). He could feel your eyes on him , choosing to pause the game and look at you unsure of what to do but inviting you to watch him more closely .

“ I'm aware I might not be the best company right now .. but i hope you don't mind .” Idia stuttered between teeths as you took another chair and sat next to him , getting as close as physical possible with the huge gaming chair , Ortho on your right side , keeping an eye for potential sign language . A happy smile could be seen by how bright his eyes were . “ Yeah Yeah ! We adore having you here. I'm really glad Idy can have at least one Irl friend ! “ , Ortho giggled and you smiled brightly at the older Shroud , leaning in as you signed , Ortho immediately working on translation.

“ It's okay . I'm having fun just by being here ! . “

–Ortho is a curious one by nature , (look at his big ass and tell me he is not) he caught on immediately on the fact that you were mute , as i said before whether it was before or after book 6 , he was ready to lend a ‘hand’ for you to be able to communicate with people who didn't understand sign language , making your a life a lot easier , you make sure to thank him every time .

–Sometimes you and Ortho spend the rest of the day together in peace , communication between the two of you very few people can understand , as time went on Ortho may have become a very important pillar in your social life .

–He might even ask Idia to create a special accessory that can translate via detecting the movement of your hands at the moment of your signing . Ortho brings you a comforting peace whenever he is around , you can't help but love the younger brother energy he has.

Yuu and Ortho are sitting together in the Ignihyde dorm, surrounded by the soft hum of machines and glowing monitors. Ortho beams as he hands you a sleek, wrist-mounted device he and Idia have been working on.

“I call it the ‘Voice Companion!’ It translates your sign language into speech instantly, and you can customize the voice, too!” Ortho explains, his excitement palpable as he demonstrates its features.

You can't help but smile warmly and sign a heartfelt "Thank you." As the device speaks the words aloud in a gentle tone, Ortho’s eyes light up even more.

"I’ve also added a setting that lets me understand you directly through my sensors," he continues, leaning closer with genuine curiosity. "That way, even if the device isn’t working, I can still communicate with you—no tech hiccups allowed!"

Your laughter fills the room, not as sound, but in the way your eyes crinkle and your shoulders shake—a joy that Ortho immediately mirrors with his own gleeful giggles.

"Do you want to try it out during the next board game night with Idia?" Ortho asks, his enthusiasm unwavering. He’s already imagining how much easier it’ll be for you to join the conversation with his introverted brother.

You nod , your hands moving fluidly to sign, “Only if you’re on my team!” The device translates your words, but Ortho doesn’t need it to understand the teasing sparkle in your eyes. He grins and claps his hands together.

“You’ve got it! Let’s crush him together!” Ortho declares, buzzing with determination. In that moment, the bond between the two feels like its own kind of magic—a connection built on trust, creativity, and unspoken understanding.

–Malleus was curious about two things , you didn't seem to fear him, but neither did you talk  to him. It was when you communicated your name to him in sign language when he understood why.

–You being mute doesn't bother him , he probably has an uncanny ability to read your emotions through their expressions and body language. His fae senses help him pick up on even the subtlest cues, making your communication feel effortless.

–Malleus as someone who has faced isolation and misunderstanding, he is fiercely protective of you . He ensures that you are treated with respect and steps in gracefully yet firmly if anyone ever dismisses or mistreats you .

– Both you and him appreciate moments of solitude, and your relationship is built on mutual respect for each other’s need for space. This creates a tranquil world of your own where words are unnecessary.

The moonlight filters through the ancient trees of the Ramshackle yard where Malleus and you are . Fireflies dance in the gentle breeze, casting tiny glimmers across the serene pond. It’s a spot Malleus rarely shares with anyone, but tonight feels special.

Malleus crossed his arms as you leaned on the twisted trunk of an old oak, his gaze fixed on you as you signed with your hands to describe the beauty of the night. He watches your movements intently, his sharp eyes catching every flick of your fingers and every subtle change in their expression.

“I see,” he says, his voice low and warm. “You find the moon particularly enchanting tonight.”

You smile, nodding as you continue signing. Malleus moved toward the fireflies next, his hands weaving imaginary patterns in the air. You watch, your lips curving into a small, amused smile.

“You’ve captured them beautifully,” he remarks, holding his hand out to summon a small wisp of green magic. The glowing orb hovers between them, then bursts into dozens of sparkling points of light, mimicking the fireflies around you two. Your face lights up with delight as you gesture to say, Amazing.

Ortho might be my favorite ... might

[rinhaler]

i cant stop thinking abt noncon + stepcest Rin who cant control himself anymore after noticing how much his lil step-sister has grown since he was away bc of soccer n shit yk..

(btw your blog is goated)

GOATED WHAT A COMPLIMENT AKGHDSAKLH thank u very much I hope u enjoy this <3

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, stepcest, dub/noncon, slight fingering, vaginal sex, nii-chan/rin-nii used, slight degradation, praise, dacryphilia, calls ur pussy 'she', shush kink?

words: 2k

“You’re always flirting with me.” Rin speaks. It’s the first time he’s said anything to you since he got back from Paris. He’s always been cold with you, short-tempered and even cruel. But you hadn’t expected to hear him say something like that.

You scoff, shuffling your position on the couch to get more comfortable to read your magazine. He always notes how often you change your position when you read; you can never sit still for more than a few minutes. You often read with your bedroom door open, and if he passes by to go to the bathroom, you’re always in a different position by the time he walks back to his room again.

“What was that?” he asks, pulling a disgruntled face at your dismissive response. “You think you don’t? You only wear short skirts when I’m visiting. I see your socials.”

“Oh… so, you’re stalking me then?” you giggle. “Don’t flatter yourself, Rin-nii… I jus’ feel pretty like this.” you defend yourself despite knowing he’s right. He thinks you’re dumb, and the fact that you smile and giggle after every word is a dead giveaway. You’re a flirt, and you’re a liar.

He also hates that you’re absolutely right.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t check your social media profiles. He likes to see what you’re up to and who you’re seeing. It’s only been a recent development, though, he saw a particularly sultry post on your Instagram and he quite frankly hasn’t been the same since. He hadn’t realised you’d grown so much and come into your own. He can’t get you out of his mind.

You gulp a little as he leans forward, his fingers lingering on your chin and guiding your eyes to meet his own. He doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, he opts to examine your responses. The way your forehead forms a tiny bead of sweat under the pressure of his gaze. The way your tongue quickly swipes over your plump lips when his eyes drift to stare at them. The way your breasts almost spill with each heave of your chest as you try and keep your composure.

“Be grateful, little sister. Good nii-chan’s keep an eye on their little sister’s, you know.” he tells you matter-of-factly.

“T- uh, thank you, Rin-nii…” is all you can muster beneath his intense stare. He smirks, too fucking coolly before withdrawing. You close your magazine and stand up, desperate to hurry to your room to calm your nerves. He watches you walk away as he flicks through the channels on the TV.

“Oh God, miss you on my lips… hm-mm-mm…” you sing along with your record player as you listen to Lana Del Rey, following a muted makeup tutorial on your phone to pass the time. You grunt in annoyance when you realise that maybe you aren’t destined to perfect winged eyeliner today.

After locking your phone, you immediately tap the screen to see the time. You almost gasp as you realise it’s 7PM and five hours have passed since you last checked what time it is. Dinner will be ready soon, you grab a makeup wipe and begin to cleanse your skin. You should probably do your skincare, too, but it can wait until right before bedtime.

You examine your face to see if you’ve missed any makeup. Your eyeliner is stubborn but eventually comes off. And so with that, you get up to toss the wipe into the bin in your room.

“Jesus Chri— Rin! What are you doing?” you ask, spotting your elder brother in the doorway of your room. His eyes follow the stained wipe as you drop it into the bin, but his eyes linger on you once more as you wait for him to answer. “Oh… is there something on my face? Thought I got it all…” you tell him, leaning over your dressing table again to make sure your face is spotless.

“Tell me the truth.” he sighs, entering your room without closing the door. You look at him through your mirror before you turn to face him, an eyebrow quirked in confusion as he continues to close the distance. “You flirt with me.”

“This again?” you laugh. You lean back against your dressing table, fingers curling beneath the tabletop as you cross one ankle over the other. You feel heady as he gets closer and you smell his cologne. It doesn’t suit him, you think, but it’s nice. The scent is generic and sporty but Rin Itoshi himself is nothing close to generic.

Though it doesn’t matter, ultimately, not when it’s flooding your senses and drowning your mind.

“You’ve gotten so big…” he sighs, placing a hand on your hip. He smirks at how you shudder from his touch on your bare skin. Your watery eyes make his heart swell, unable to believe how trusting you are. You don’t stop him when his hand smooths over the curve of your ass and fingers dip under your skirt, though you’re trembling. Thick fingers prod at your panties and a tiny mewl escapes your lips. A condescending chuckle leaves him as you uncross your legs, widening them to give him better access. “Your panties are soaked. I knew you wanted me…”

You grab his wrist, urging him to stop when you remember the bedroom door is still wide open. It doesn’t deter him, though. His heavy fingers still press against the material covering your cute little cunt, his bulge growing tenfold when he pushes by your puffy lips to tease your throbbing clit.

“Don’t act coy, now. I know you want this, you opened your legs for nii-chan to play with you.”

“We can’t.” you whisper, biting your lip in a feeble attempt to stifle yourself. “Not l-like this! Not when they’re home… please nii-chan.” you beg, though it’s fruitless. Your eyes flutter closed as his head sinks, his lips meeting your neck to kiss you delicately.

You barely have the energy to fight when he encourages you to hook your legs around his waist. He carries you to the bed, mumbles of protest leave you but you don’t dare make too much noise and draw attention.

“Has to be now, princess.” he tells you. “Don’t know when we’ll get a better chance.” he continues.

You’re trapped beneath him, making a point of looking away from him as he humps against you pathetically. And you want him, of course you want him, but the risk is too high. He’s lost all sense, instead thinking with his cock rather than his brain. But you’re not too far gone yet. You can put a stop to this.

It needs to stop.

“Why are you being like this?” he wonders as he pulls out his length, jerking it slowly all the while still humping the tip against your clothed, wet panties. “I have to do this… little sister. I have to know how tight you are around me.”

“Another time, please! What if we get caught? P-Please stop, you’re smarter than this!” you beg once again, the request falling on deaf ears. You gulp as you feel his fingers hook under the gusset of your panties, moving the material into the crease of your thigh. Your voice breaks, a whiny moan following as he presses his tip into your sticky cunt. The stretch is heavenly, and you can barely catch your breath. His glimmering green eyes staring down at you as he inches further and further into your welcoming warmth makes you feel humiliated. You don’t want this, but fucking hell, you really do. “Aaah~!” you sob.

His palm flies to your mouth, the pressure almost suffocating as lust blown eyes turn impatient.

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers, still bullying his cock into you. “Gotta be quiet, don’t want our parents to see what a little slut you are for nii-chan, yeah?” he warns you.

You don’t know what to do with yourself. You aren’t sure where to put your hands. They grip into the duvet below before you begin pulling at his shirt. He doesn’t have the patience to take it off, though, not when you’re sucking him in and squeezing around him like a fucking virgin. Are you? He doesn’t want to know. His head dips as your nails begin to claw up his back, marking your territory unintentionally.

He moves his leg, hooking his ankle around yours to keep your thigh pinned in place and open wide. You feel him hold your other ankle briefly, kissing it softly before he moves his hand under the bend of your knee. Your eyes cross as he pushes your leg until your opened up for him like a blooming flower. The new angle is monstrous, his thick, intimidating length reaching depths you didn’t even know existed.

He groans as he watches tears roll out of your innocent eyes. Those trusting eyes that didn’t think your nii-chan could be capable of something so salacious. He’s sure he won’t last long. Not when your clamping around him like this and looking at him with those pathetically wet eyes. You’re mumbling something beneath his dampening palm, but he isn’t stupid enough to free your airways and risk you crying out needily for your dear nii-chan.

You panic as you feel him withdraw his length, though deep down you know it’s for the best. But your eyes roll over white as you feel him stab it in again.

“Pretty little sister… want you to cream this cock for me…” he announces, repeating the motion again and again as he basks in the way you can barely look at him in your ecstasy. He can’t take his eyes off you, though. He doubts he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight. “I’m gonna cum inside, princess. I belong inside, yeah?”

You shake your head, his words stirring in your mind and bringing your senses back once more. Oh God, he can’t. You’re on the pill, all should be fine if he does cum inside but it’s so damn wrong.

“Did you just say no to your nii-chan? I don’t like that answer.” he replies, his hips picking up the pace again. His body shimmers with a sheen of sweat, and his breathless pants become heavier. “You should be begging me for my cum. I’m sure you didn’t mean it, don’t worry, I’ll give it to you.” he continues. Each thrust of his hips is deep and powerful and you’re sure your inner thighs might be developing bruises.

You whimper, again, knowing you can’t do anything to change his mind.

“Your pussy is so cute… think your clit needs some attention, though. Touch yourself for me, let me watch.” he requests. “Go on… she’s so swollen.”

It’s like being hypnotised. Your dominant hand flies to your cunt and begins to rub your needy clit. And it’s minimal, after barely any touching at all and you’re creaming for your beloved nii-chan. The sight is too much for your brother and the way your walls squeeze him for all he’s worth are an additional lure into his release. His own eyes turn white briefly before he looks down at where you’re joined. Your combined coupling forming a beautiful white ring around the base of his cock with every shallow impale.

“F-Fuck… don’t wanna pull out.” he tells you, finally uncovering your mouth to kiss your lips intimately.

You’re speechless. You aren’t surprised your brother is so experienced or so filthy with his words. Not when he’s travels and fucks girls around the world. But how are you meant to be without him now? When he goes away again… how will you stand it? His cock is made for you, of that, you’re sure. But you doubt he’ll keep it in his pants for your benefit.

Fuck, this was a mistake.

“Dinner’s ready!” your mother calls up the stairs, your nii-chan’s hand instinctively flies to your mouth and he shushes you before chuckling again.

You cry desperately as he withdraws his softening length from your twitching hole. But neediness turns to discomfort as you feel your brothers fingers move the gusset of your panties back into place. It’s so wet and sticky and gross, your face distorts at the unpleasant feeling.

“Come on, don’t want to be late, do we?”

© 2023 rinitxshi

[antonton]

come to bed?

fluffy! hyunjin x reader,

2am, you quietly enter your home. it’s dark, it’s quiet, no sign of hyunjin.

the smell of freshly baked bread still lingers after hyunjin spent the evening trying to recreate his mother’s apple bread.

tiptoeing into the bedroom, you’re careful not to wake your sleeping boyfriend.

dropping your bags, you hear shuffling coming from the bed.

“baby?” hyunjin peeks from under the covers.

“oh- i’m sorry! did i wake you?” you worry.

“no, no, i’ve been up for a while. come to bed?” he ushers you.

“i will, need to shower first though.” you reassure your impatient lover.

he whines in protest as you bend to give him a quick kiss on the forehead before you maliciously abandon him yet again.

you hurriedly shower, eager to finally get some time with hyunjin after your long night.

finally climbing into your comfortable bed, hyunjin turns around to wrap his arms around you and hold you impossibly close, placing a few very soft kisses along your crown.

“how was it? did you have fun?” he asks, brushing your hair through his fingers.

“i guess it was fun, missed you though. it’s just hard to have fun being away from-”

her.

there’s that familiar sound again.

“i got it, you’re tired, go to sleep.” he spoke before kissing your forehead and unbinding you from each other.

rolling over and grabbing the baby monitor from his bedside, hyunjin mutes it before hopping out of bed.

he’s already heading out the door of your bedroom before you could say a word.

he told you to stay but you can’t help it. you follow behind him quickly, a man on a mission, his long legs carrying faster than yours ever could this late into the night.

nearly out of breath, placing your hands on his hips, you peek from behind hyunjin.

normally he would jump at the sudden touch from behind, but he was far too focused on the issue at hand.

“aigoo~ why is my baby crying?” he coos as he gently picks her up from her crib. he holds her gently in his arms and begins to ever-so-lightly rock her.

almost immediately she stops crying.

all you can do is sit back and watch in awe.

hyunjin has always been the favorite between the two of you, but you don’t really mind. she’s still your baby and of course she still loves you with all the emotion she can process at six months old.

she’s such a daddy’s girl and it absolutely melts your heart.

you sit on the chair in the corner of the room, overwhelmed with drowsiness. through tired eyes, you watch your boyfriend sing a makeshift song to try and get your daughter back to sleep.

“i think she’s hungry” he says as he turns to you sitting behind him.

except you’re sound asleep.

so once he’s finished feeding your daughter and putting her back to sleep, he gently scoops you from the chair, careful not to wake you— though not successful— and takes you back to bed.

you let out a whine in protest of him disturbing your sleep, but that doesn’t stop him from ensuring you’re comfortable. he tucks you in before then tucking himself in, settling into your previous position with your limbs intertwined, and placing kisses on your temple with some incoherent whispers in between.

forget his career, he’d rather spend his life taking care of the two of you if it meant moments like this.

a/n: i literally wrote this months ago and never posted it but baby fever got the best of me 💔

[wzrd-wheezes]

The Art of Hating You : Part One - Sirius Black x Reader.

AN - hello it has been a while but i have finally finished the first part of this. pls pls pls let me know what you think and give it a reblog if you enjoyed! i've already started part two so if enough of you like it, i can post it soon. thank u love u bye x

3.6k words

Contains: Arranged marriage Sirius x Reader. Mentions of alcohol, some swearing - nothing too bad in this part.

Part 2

The clinking of crystal glasses was deafening, a symphony of wealth and power all concentrated into a single ballroom. Y/N stood by the towering bay window, staring out at the sprawling grounds of the manor. There was a muted hum of conversation mixed with the gentle music of the band behind her, though the blood was pumping in her ears, almost muffling it. 

“Stand up straight,” her mother’s voice cut sharply at her shoulder, snapping her back to reality, “People are watching.” 

She adjusted her posture automatically, straightening her back and lifting her chin. A marionette pulled into position by invisible strings. Like a bloody puppet, she thought bitterly as her mother’s polished nails adjusted the sleeve of her gown before drifting off. 

A server passed by with a silver tray and Y/N’s fingers reached out instinctively for a flute of champagne. It took all of her self-control not to tip the entire contents down her throat and immediately grab another one. The bubbles fizzed against her lips as her father’s voice broke through the noise. 

“Ladies and gentleman,” his voice rang across the room, immediately silencing the chatter, “I just wanted to thank you all for attending tonight as we celebrate the announcement of the union of two families. I also want to thank Mr and Mrs Black for welcoming us into their spectacular home and hosting, what I hope, will be a very memorable evening.” 

Y/N’s stomach clenched, but she kept her expression neutral. She had been dreading this day for weeks. Its presence lingered in the distance, gradually growing closer and closer until she couldn’t escape it any more. The finality of it, spoken aloud to a room of hundreds of people, felt like a guillotine blade suspended above her. 

“Some engagement party, eh?”  

The voice came from behind her, low and close to her ear. Soft and familiar. 

“Remus! I didn’t think you’d be able to make it!” she exclaimed, relief flooding her chest as she lowered her voice, “Thank God you’re here.”  

“My flight landed a few hours ago,” he smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “Thought you might need some moral support and, well, Mum and Dad weren’t going to let me get away with not showing my face.”  

“Remind me to thank them for that later. I need all the support I can get.” she whispered, glancing towards the centre of the room where her father was still preaching about “legacy” and “union”. 

Remus followed her gaze and grimaced. Y/N nodded solemnly and drained the remaining champagne from the flute. Seamlessly, Remus grabbed another from a passing server’s tray and handed it to her. 

“That’s why you’re my best friend,” she softly clinked her glass against his own. 

“Always at your service,” he bowed jokingly and then leaned in slightly, “So, he’s here somewhere I assume?” 

She didn’t need to ask who he meant. The weight of Sirius Black’s presence had been pressing all night, even though she had done everything to avoid him. 

She hesitated, letting her eyes drift over the room. The ballroom was crowded: older men in pristine suits were smoking cigars by the balcony, their wives dripped in diamonds and murmured conspiratorially over flutes of champagne, and the younger guests milled about in groups that were carefully curated by their parents. 

And then, there was him. Leaning against the mahogany bar, perfectly at ease in the busy room. He was infuriatingly composed as ever, dressed in a tailored suit that he made look effortlessly dishevelled. His tie was loose, the top few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a sliver of his tattooed chest. He looked like he belonged and didn’t belong all at one. A study in rebellion with polished edges. 

As if he could feel her gaze, Sirius turned his head and caught her staring. A slow, deliberate smirk curled at the corner of his mouth and he tilted his head slightly, one of his eyebrows arching. To her horror, he pushed off the bar and began making his way towards them. 

“Lupin,” he drawled, his voice low and smooth, “It’s been a while.” 

Remus raised his glass in acknowledgment, “It has indeed.” 

Sirius’s smirk twitched into a grin as his eyes flickered to Y/N, “And you,” he said, gaze locking onto hers, “You look...thrilled.” 

“Absolutely ecstatic,” she said flatly, meeting his stare head on, “happiest day of my life.” 

Sirius chuckled and reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter, relighting the cigarette that dangled between his fingers. 

“You’re smoking.” she pointed out sharply. He exhaled a curl of smoke, unfazed,  

“Observant as ever.” 

Y/N clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to swat the cigarette from his hand, “You’re not supposed to smoke in here.”  

“And yet here I stand,” he gestured grandly to the room, “Alive and thriving. Remarkable, isn’t it?” 

Remus stifled a laugh behind his glass, earning a glare from Y/N. Sirius didn’t miss the exchange and turned his attention back to his old friend, his smirk softening into something genuine.  

“It’s good to see you, mate. Really. How long’s it been?” 

“Three years-ish, I reckon.” Remus replied, his voice friendlier now, “Last time we crossed paths you were getting thrown out of the Gryffin Club for setting off fireworks in the billiard room.” 

Sirius barked out a laugh, “Ah, yes. A classic. Who knew aristocrats were so touchy about singed velvet? Well, in my defence, leaving fireworks unattended in a store cupboard wasn’t their wisest move.”  

“A locked store cupboard, if I remember rightly.” Remus added, grinning. 

Sirius shrugged, flicking ash into an ornate plant pot nearby as though the memory pleased him, “Details. Though, if I remember rightly, it was your lighter that got things going.” 

Remus chuckled and clinked his glass against the other boys, “Touche.”  

Y/N rolled her eyes, her patience wearing thin, “Perhaps you two should have been the ones set up to marry each other.” 

Sirius’s eyes snapped back to hers, his smirk turning wolfish, “Sorry, darling. I forgot tonight wasn’t a reunion for Remus and I. Tonight’s all about us – The happy couple.”  

Her champagne glass froze halfway to her lips, her fingers tightening around the delicate stem, “Don't call me that.” she said, her voice low and sharp.  

“Why not? You are my fiancée, are you not?” he asked innocently, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him, “The whole room is here to celebrate our impending union.” 

Her expression didn’t waver, although her heart was hammering in her chest, “If you’ll excuse me,” she said icily, “I think I see someone I actually want to talk to.” 

As she strode away, she could hear Sirius’s laughter behind her. She didn’t look back. Instead, wove her way through the crowd, the familiar faces of family friends and society elites blurring together as her mind raced. 

It wasn’t until she reached the edge of the ballroom, near the double doors leading out to the garden, that she let herself pause. The cool night air drifted in, nipping against her heated cheeks. For a moment, she just stood there, breathing deeply, trying to steady herself. 

“I thought you might come this way,” a voice said softly. 

She turned to see Remus standing a few feet away, his expression gentle. He held out a fresh glass of champagne. “You looked like you needed this.” 

She accepted it wordlessly, staring into the golden liquid like it could fix all of her issues. 

“Do you ever wonder,” she said after a long moment, “what it would’ve been like to be born into a normal family? One where your future wasn’t mapped out before you even knew how to walk?” 

Remus leaned against the doorframe, his own glass dangling loosely in his hand, “Every day.” he admitted quietly. 

She looked at him, her expression softening, “You’re lucky you got out, you know.” 

He didn’t respond, but the shadow that passed over his face told her that he knew exactly what she meant. Remus jerked his head towards the garden and Y/N followed him.  

The cool air was a relief from the stifling atmosphere in the ballroom. The garden lights twinkled softly, casting long shadows across the pristine hedges and gravel paths. Remus settled down on one of the stone benches, pulling a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He tapped one out and offered her the pack. 

“I don’t know how you put up with him for so many years,” Y/N muttered, sitting down next to him, 

“He’s not all bad. Though he does seem to have a knack for getting under your skin.” he tilted his head back. 

“Under my skin?” she huffed, reaching down to loosen the strap on one of her high heels, “He’s practically burrowed into my soul just to annoy me.” 

Remus smirked, blowing out a puff of smoke, “You make it sound so romantic.”  

She shot him a glare, “Don’t even joke about that.” 

“I’m not joking,” he said lightly, “You know, there’s a fine line between love and hate.” 

“That line doesn’t exist here,” she retorted quickly, crossing her arms, “It’s all hate. Pure and simple.” 

Remus stayed silent, his smile lingering as he tapped the ash from his cigarette into a nearby rosebush. The faint glow of the garden lights caught the curve of his face, his eyes flickering with amusement that he didn’t bother to voice. 

Their quiet moment was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. Y/N stiffened, her fingers curling around the edge of the bench. 

“You’ve not stolen my fiancée, have you, Lupin?” 

Remus turned his head towards the source of the voice, unbothered, “If I had you’d only have yourself to blame,” Remus joked, “Should’ve kept a closer eye on her.” 

“I’d hate to have to duel you for her.” Sirius quipped, “It’s such a bother – laundry bills for bloodstained silk and all that.” 

Sirius stepped into the moonlight, his tailored suit still managing to look deliberately rumpled, as though he’d gone to great lengths to seem as effortlessly dishevelled as possible. 

“And yet here you are, conveniently lurking in the shadows with her,” he countered, grin widening as he looked at Y/N, “Careful, sweetheart. People might start talking.” 

“Let them,” she snapped, standing abruptly, “Maybe it’ll save me the trouble of this farce of an engagement.” 

“Oh, don’t be cruel,” Sirius feigned a wounded expression, “You’ll hurt my feelings.” 

Remus stubbed out his cigarette on the bench and stood up, “I’m going to need infinitely more champagne if you expect me to bear witness to this all night. I’ll see you both back inside.” 

Sirius stepped closer to her after Remus’s departure, “You ran off so quickly, I thought perhaps I’d done something to upset you.”  

Y/N let out a sharp laugh, turning away from him, “If only you were that self-aware.” 

He stepped closer still, his voice dropping, “Steady. People might start to think that you actually hate me.” 

She spun back around to face him, her chin tilted defiantly, “I do.” 

“Good.” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “Hate makes things far more interesting. And, for the record, I’m not too fond of you either.” 

Y/N held his gaze, her heart thundering in her chest despite her calm facade, “Glad we’re on the same page.” 

Sirius smiled again, his expression infuriatingly nonchalant, “Crystal clear.” 

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to continue trying to avoid you for the rest of the evening.” 

As she re-entered the bustling room, the noise and brightness felt suffocating after the peace of the garden. She manoeuvred through the crowd smiling and nodding with the practiced ease of someone who had been raised to perform. 

“Y/N.” her mother’s voice drew her attention and she turned to find her mother standing with a group of guests, all of whom were watching her with polite interest. She plastered on a smile, stepping into the circle, immediately being swept up in the niceties of conversation. 

Her practiced smile never faltered, even as her mind raced. But then, out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him. Sirius had returned to the room. He didn’t look her way, engaging effortlessly with a cluster of guests near the bar.  

Y/N forced herself to focus on the conversation, they were talking wedding venues, but her resolve crumbled when her father strode purposefully across the room. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he announced, all hum of conversation vanishing immediately, “As you are all aware, tonight is a celebration of the union between two great families. One that promises to strengthen our legacy and secure the future for generations to come.” 

Y/N’s throat tightened as the room erupted into applause. 

“And what better way to seal such an occasion than with a little tradition?” he continued, “Y/N, Sirius. Join us.”  

Every muscle in her body screamed at her to run off. She wished that the server that was walking past with a champagne bottle would crack her over the head with it. But her body betrayed her and she found herself moving towards the centre of the room.  

For the first time that night, Sirius’s smirk was gone, replaced by a look of mild surprise as he stepped forward, his cigarette hastily extinguished. Her father gestured grandly to the band who struck up a waltz and the crowd parted, leaving an open space in the centre of the room. All eyes on them. 

Sirius reached her side, offering his hand, “Shall we?”  

She wanted to glare at him but placed her hand in his. As he pulled her into position, his grip on her waist firm, he leaned in just enough for her to hear him over the music. 

“Tell me,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, “Did you know about this little spectacle, or are you just as blindsided as I am?” 

Her jaw tightened as they began to move, “If I’d known,” she hissed through a fake smile, “I’d have faked the flu.” 

“Glad to know we’re equally as miserable.” his lips quirked up into a smile, his eyes scanning the room, “My father told me people were asking why we haven’t been joined at the hip all evening. I told him we were both...mingling.” 

Her grip on his shoulder tightened just enough to make him glance down at her, “How generous of you to cover for me.” Her steps remained perfectly in time, “And what did he say to that?” 

“Oh, you know, the usual,” he replied, his tone breezy, “Something about how mingling is well and good, but appearances must be maintained. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking that the happy couple isn’t happy. Terribly romantic, isn’t it?” 

“Do you enjoy making everything sound insufferable or does it just come naturally?” 

“It’s a gift, really. But let’s not pretend you’re any better at playing the part, darling. That smile of yours could make a baby cry.” 

“Maybe if you stopped talking, I wouldn’t have to force it.” 

They moved through another turn. To anyone watching, they looked the perfect pair: graceful and composed, perfectly in sync. Yet, deep hatred was bubbling beneath the surface. Eventually, the dance ended, the music drawing to a soft close. Applause echoed through the room as they pulled apart. 

Sirius stepped back, “Always a pleasure, sweetheart. Shall we make the rounds? Wouldn’t want anyone getting suspicious now, would we?” 

“Of course not. I wouldn’t want to ruin your sparkling reputation.” 

He held out his arm for her and she took it, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow as they floated around the room. 

Sunlight streamed through the towering windows of Y/N’s bedroom, too bright and too unforgiving. She groaned loudly and buried her face into her pillow. Her head was pounding, a clear victim to the bottomless champagne. Eventually, she sat up, pressing her palms against her eyes as if it could block out the memory of Sirius Black’s insufferable smirk.  

He had played his part well last night. Despite his less than stellar reputation, people seemed to fawn over Sirius. He was the black sheep of his family, infamous for his defiance of their traditions. His face often graced the tabloids alongside stories of wild parties, broken rules and a long line of flings. It didn’t tarnish him. If anything, it only added to his appeal.  

When she finally emerged from her room, the house was still and quiet, save for the distant clatter of breakfast preparations in the kitchen. She could have stayed in bed much longer but the pounding in her skull made it impossible. Fresh air, she thought. That would help. 

She regretted the decision instantly. 

The morning air was sharp against her skin as she stepped out onto the terrace. There he was, standing by the stone balustrade with a cigarette balanced between his fingers. The warm morning light caught in his tousled hair, giving him the air of someone who had either just rolled out of bed or hadn’t bothered sleeping at all. 

She scoffed and crossed her arms when she saw him, “Should’ve known you’d still be lurking.”  

Without even turning, he took a slow drag from his cigarette, “And yet, you walked right into my presence. Starting to think that you might actually enjoy it.” 

She rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see, “Hardly.” 

Finally, he turned to face her, an infuriating smirk plastered on his face. “It seems all that champagne you downed last night has muddled your memory.” His voice was smooth, teasing, “This is my house, remember?” 

Her fingers twitched with the sudden urge to shove him over the balustrade. 

Instead, she let out a slow breath through her nose, levelling him with a glare. “Trust me, Black, I haven’t forgotten whose house I’m imprisoned in.” 

He chuckled at that, a lazy stream of smoke escaping from his lips. “Imprisoned? Dramatic, even for you.” 

“Oh, I’m dramatic? Your parents are the ones who decided I should move in like some weird prisoner.” She gestured vaguely towards the manor, “I half expected them to have a dungeon prepared.” 

Sirius smiled, tapping ash from his cigarette, “Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” he said smoothly, “The dungeons been out of use for years. I think Mum uses it to store wine now.” 

She huffed out a laugh despite herself, shaking her head as she turned back toward the railing. The morning was deceptively peaceful – dew clung to the hedges, birds flitting between the trees, the world blissfully unaware that her life had be forcibly intertwined with his. 

“I assume we’re expected to play the doting couple again today?” she asked dryly. 

“That depends. Do you want to cause a scandal before breakfast?” 

“Tempting.” she mused, “Though I imagine your parents would spontaneously combust if I threw myself off the terrace.”  

“Perhaps. Although the headlines would be amusing to say the least.” he turned to face her, “I can picture it now. ‘Y/N L/N’s death – tragic accident or sweet escape? Find out on page 3’” 

She let out another laugh, “Your parents must really hate me, huh?” 

Sirius arched a brow, “Hate you? Fuck no. They adore you. You’re pure-blooded, well bred, and – miraculously- not me. You’re their dream daughter-in-law.” 

“Exactly.” she deadpanned, “They like me. Which is why I find it cruel and unusual that they’ve forced me to live with you.” 

He grinned, wicked and amused. “Maybe they’re hoping I’ll charm you into loving me.”  

“More likely, they’re hoping I’ll kill you and save them the trouble.” 

“You wouldn’t last a week without me, love.” 

She turned her expression mockingly serious, “You’re right. I’d be devasted. Absolutely inconsolable. I’d do a Queen Vic and wear nothing but black for the rest of my life. Mourning for at least a day. Maybe two.” 

Sirius clutched his chest theatrically, “You wound me.” 

“Not yet.” She muttered. 

During the first weeks of living at the Black estate, Y/N had gotten quite good at avoiding Sirius as much as possible. It was difficult at times. Every hallway, every grand staircase and every insufferably elegant room seemed to contain him at some point. He was everywhere. Sprawled out on the library sofa with a cigarette dangling from his lips, arguing with the house staff in the kitchens, strolling in at ungodly hours after doing god-knows-what. 

She had become very good at ignoring him. Until now. 

“It’s getting out of hand, Orion.” Mrs Black’s voice cut sharply across the corridor. Y/N stopped in her tracks, turning to linger outside of the door.  

“Sirius is an embarrassment. He’s reckless. Irresponsible – he refuses to carry the weight of this family’s name.” her voice continued. 

“I agree.” His father’s voice rumbled, “But marrying her might be the only thing that reins him in. If he ruins this, Walburga, we lose everything. The contract is binding.” 

Her stomach twisted. Contract? She knew their engagement was arranged but this made it sound almost sinister. 

“Do you truly think this will change him?” Walburga scoffed, “The boy is incapable of loyalty. He’ll self-destruct before the year is over.” 

She should have left. Walked away and pretended that she never heard a thing. But before she could, a hand suddenly closed around her wrist. 

She gasped, spinning on her heel, only to meet a familiar pair of stormy grey eyes. 

For once, there was no teasing smirk on his face. Just something unreadable.  

“Enjoying yourself, eavesdropper?” he muttered. 

Y/N opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself. There was something off about him, he wasn’t his usual arrogant, unbothered self. Sirius knew what his parents thought of him, but now he knew that she did to. 

She yanked her wrist out of his grip, "I- I didn’t mean to-” 

“Save it.” He raked a hand through his hair. His expression had turned into something distant, “Welcome to the wonderful world of being a Black.” 

Then, without another word, he turned and walked off, leaving her standing alone.  

For the first time, Y/N felt something unexpected. Pity.  

And she hated it. 

[celuere]

Hello! Celuere, you don't know how long I've wanted to see some OC x Arle fanfiction (since the first ship chart, >:), so now that you have given us permission to ignore your closed request status regarding them, I feel obligated to share how desperately I want this scenario between them.

I'd like to request a fluffy but suggestive oneshot where it's the morning and Arlecchino pretends to be asleep with her head on Juno-Celia's (is just Juno fine, or no?) breasts because she loves hearing her heartbeat and being close to her (physical touch love language, yeah I actually read and remember that ship chart). I think Juno-Celia would immediately, figure it out, and half-heartedly "try to go to work" but on the inside she's going absolutely feral about how clingy Arlecchino is. From just vibes off the chart and art, I feel like she'd try to embarass Arle for trying such childish tricks on her by teasing her or something, and Arle would be 100% unaffected because T I T T I E S and she's a simp for her wife.

Btw, please correct me if i read the vibes way wrong. I'd love to know more about your OC, but you also have like 5 posts on her total, so not a ton to know her (this is my plea for more Juno-Celia content please, if you don't mind ;)

no you actually read the vibes 100% right kekenwoekownw arle is a PROUD wife simper actually😭 and just juno is totally fine i rarely call her celia etc. BUT OKAY LESS TALKING MORE WRITING, I‘M MORE THAN HAPPY TO INDULGE IN YOUR REQUEST

pairing: arlecchino x fem!oc

cw: none other than arle being a pathetic lesbian and some oc lore

you‘re welcome to self insert here btw! also if you‘re not interested in this content, you‘re free to mute my arlexoc stuff under the arlejuno tag!

implied nsft at the end!

the sun in snezhnaya had risen long ago, yet not a lot of its shine broke through the coat of the everlasting winter, therefore drowning the bedroom in a cold light.

her eyes darted away from her research report to the clock that’s been softly ticking away on the wall.

8 am.

„you know, just because it‘s your free day doesn’t mean you can occupy me for the whole morning…“, raising the sheets of papers to have a proper look at the white-black mix of hair resting on her chest, juno adjusted the position of the glasses resting on her nose.

no answer.

the fingers fidgeting with her purple locks gave it away.

„peru, i know you're awake.", it only earned her a rather annoyed hum.

„ten more minutes", arlecchino's voice came out muffled against her skin, face only sinking deeper into her cleavage. it was pointless.

„honey, i have to get to my lab... sandrone still needs me to calculate through a whole pile of data regarding her research and there is a whole shelf of potions waiting to be tested.“, juno nodded her head to the empty side of the bed. specifically arlecchino's side, „and you've been clinging to me for the whole night."

but she loved the view of her wife clinging to her like a second skin. always did. if she had the choice she'd just stay here in bed with her all day, watching her back fall and rise with each breath, the usual stern look replaced by a face of pure calmness and relaxation… juno would always choose to stay with her.

„i‘m failing to see the point you are trying to make.“

„i need to go to work, peruere.“

„you don’t…“, she pressed another tender kiss to the skin that she exposed earlier by shoving the fabric of juno‘s silken robe aside, clearly not caring about her wife‘s urgency. why does she have to work anyways on her free day? it almost feels like an insult to the harbinger. but knowing her since the ripe age of six years old… juno has always been caught up in researches and other experiments. back to their days under mother‘s care, she would occasionally slip a selfmade contraceptive into crucabena‘s drink when they wanted to have a free afternoon. and now she is the one teaching the children to make their own poisons. how times change, huh?

„what would the subordinates think of the knave if they were to find out about how she clings to her wife every morning… that would make a truly embarrassing headline in the newspaper…“, unable to bite that remark down, a nail poked arlecchino right into her cheek.

but at least she finally lifted her head up to properly look at her wife and the smug look plastered on her face, „let them find out… what else are they supposed to discover? i have no reason to hide the obvious feelings i shelter for my wife.“, when did she start getting so close?! hands coming back up again to shove the sheets of paper between their faces again, juno became incredibly flustered at the sudden confession, but arlecchino only removed the reports completely from her grip, placing them on the nightstand.

„you‘re flustered.“

„i-i‘m not…“

„you‘re avoiding my eyes, there is a visible blush tainting your cheeks and…“, black fingers shoved a bunch of purple strands back, „your ears are sinking downwards with each word leaving my lips. i‘d say you are pretty flustered.“, the slightest hint of a smile grazed her lips at the obvious victory as a pair of blue eyes found her own.

„j-just let me get ready for work, peru…“

„i‘m certain you don‘t actually want to spend the next seven hours calculating out equation over equation…“, arlecchino suppressed the urge to stroke over her wife‘s sensitive ears. the lecture she earned herself the last time still rung in her head. she might not fear a lot of things but juno when she is angry… she‘d rather not provoke it.

and she‘d rather not get exiled to the sofa again.

„…fine, ten more minutes.“

„make it fifteen.“

„ten.“

„thirteen.“

„…ten with your head between my legs. take it or leave it.“

her only answer being the rustling of the sheets as arlecchino disappeared underneath the covers, skilled fingers already working down her slip.

works everytime.

[still--kicking]

got any good fic recs?

oh boy, do i

My favorite lovebug fic is antidote by ardenrabbit, it's an angsty spin on the lovebug trope where Keith feels physical pain when he's not in contact with Lance and I love that level of angst

If you haven't read there, nestled against his pulse yet YOU GOTTA this fic is THE klance soulmate fic it's so fucking good it makes me cry every single time and that's all I'm gonna say

Echo my heart is another incredible soulmate fic, it's a college au where Lance is mute and communicated with sign language and texting / a white board and Keith is grumpy and doesn't believe in soulmates because of course he doesn't. This one is so precious I absolutely adore it

Like a second heart is a post canon fic where Lance and Keith are married, but Lance loses about five years of memories and we get to watch him fall in love with Keith again :') another one that makes me cry. Allura also lives in this one <3

Suspended momentum is another post canon fic where Shiro gets all the paladins to come teach at the garrison for a semester and oh no Keith and Lance have to be roommates because of limited staff housing !!! Bummer !!!

Poor boys and pilgrims is a fucking masterpiece, it follows Keith in the quantum abyss seeing visions of himself in three alternate realities where he falls in love with Lance each time. This one has the in canon universe, a mermaid/pirate au, a coffeeshop au, and a cyberpunk/android au SirCumference popped OFF with this

By the same author, back to the wall is a rock climbing gym au that follows Keith and Lance in their 20s navigating chronic illness and as a chronically ill girlie this fic is so special to me

Picket fence in a yard of stars takes place immediately after the battle of naxzela, where canon Keith gets swapped with a version of himself from another reality where he and Lance are married and have adopted two children. It's PEAK I love this fic so much

Lion at my side is a bodyguard au, Lance is a popstar Keith is his bodyguard and it's immaculate absolutely chefs kiss

Like the night falling is an astronomy grad student au and it included illustrations from the author, I absolutely recommend anything and everything they've written but this one is so sweet

Love me twice, save me thrice is a fey au where Lance is a fey and Keith is half fey half human and it's better than any published fey stories I've read

Anyway I should probably stop but these are all pretty long and I think mostly rated T-M so if you want a part 2 with shorter fics / one shots or less explicit ones lmk and I am happy to provide!!! And if you read any of these please let me know what you think, I'd love to talk about them !!!

[snootlestheangel]

Hear Me Out

Guys, just, hear me out: YouTubers/Streamers AU for COD. There was a series of posts on @cod-dump 's blog about what games are banned for the boys and I've just been thinking about this but with Ghost, Gaz, Soap, and Alex where one of them is the actual streamer/gamer dude and the others just almost always play with him (maybe Roach if we went on the path that he's not actually mute, just kinda hates talking)

Retired or discharged for whatever reasons, the 141 are actually kinda happy to be living semi-normal lives. Maybe they're not all entirely civilian now, maybe Price has a position that doesn't require him to be on the field but he's still teaching/being a Captain.

But he's constantly telling the boys to find things to do to keep themselves happy. Especially Gaz and Soap, cause the military is kind of all they know, they've never had to be civilians really as adults.

Ghost is transitioning fine, and he's been a huge help for Soap, but Gaz is still kinda struggling. Eventually something happens and Alex is part of his life, but it's still not really what Gaz needs to feel "normal".

So Soap and Alex convince Gaz to start streaming/recording videos of their gaming sessions. It's a slow start, and Gaz is getting frustrated.

Until one time they play something silly but incredibly rage-inducing. It's a trending game because it's designed to pit you against your friends but is still silly nonetheless. There's one clip in particular that starts trending and becomes the reason Gaz's channel starts to take off.

The clip? Gaz yelling at Soap for something and Soap immediately just cursing him out in straight Scots only for Alex, an American, to scream into his mic as loud as humanly possible "WHAT THE FUCK IS A KILOMETER?!?!" after having been dead silent for the last 2 minutes. Why did he scream this? Not because of Soap's Scots, but because he had secretly just won the round after having lost the entire time they'd been playing.

People eat that shit up! Suddenly everyone's like "damn there's this hella attractive dude that records gameplay with his friends and they're all really funny." Everyone falls in love with Gaz's appearance first, but then they actually hear him and his friends interact and it's just trading insults and stupid jokes, acting like there's no one watching and they're suddenly kids again.

It eventually comes out that Gaz and his friends are all veterans, and despite the air around military not being the best, there's no denying that caring for veterans is a must. People slowly start to support Gaz's channel/streams, and before he knows it, he's actually got quite the following. His whole thing is about "wanting to do something to distract himself and others from the shitty aspects of life with a few laughs and some good games"

Eventually they convince Ghost to start gaming with them. It makes Gaz's popularity grow because now there's this really deep accent in the mix that's completely clueless as to what he's doing like 90% of the time (I just have this gut feeling that '22 Ghost is so fucking awful at video games) that they refer to simply as "Ghost". Suddenly, the chaos Gaz and his friends are known for increases tenfold. Ghost is flirting with all of them, Soap is arguing with him over literal couple things that come with living together, and there's a new element of really dark humor that wasn't there before (there was dark humor, just not this dark)

They're playing The Backrooms one time. They're not even in the game yet, just in the lobby. Gaz is laughing at Alex's tag for the game "MYLEG!" which is a reference to that one fish in Spongebob always yelling "my leg!" after an incident. Gaz is laughing too hard to actually explain to his viewers that, yes, Alex is an amputee. Soap starts making fun of him, as usual, and that's when it happens.

Alex: "I'll take my leg off and hit you with it, Soap, I swear to god." Soap: "I forgot you were already missing one for a second there and got real concerned." Alex: "No, Soap, I planned on removing my other leg. The one that's still attached, yeah. Just like a lil *pop noise*, ya know?" Gaz: *wheezing so hard he almost throws up*

Then they're playing this silly monster/cryptid hunter game called "A Day Out" and there's skeletons every now and then on the map. Gaz walks up to one and just starts freaking out, saying Ghost's name over and over.

Ghost, freaked out: What?? Gaz, pointing at the skeleton: Look, it's you! *cackling* Ghost, after a concerning long pause: *quietly* Nah, I'm not gonna say that Alex: SAY IT COWARD Ghost: No, that's my brother *Gaz making the most horrified face as he tries not to laugh* *Alex and Soap are losing their shit* Gaz: NAH THAT'S NOT OKAY

That clip posts and the internet looses it. I see this being the actual first video Ghost is in, so for this to be the first thing the viewers get of him, it's safe to say he's a hit. It's also never explained that Ghost does have a deceased brother, so there's just an acceptance of Ghost's skeleton brother.

There's several times where they've all gotten together and played silly games like Mario Kart when there's a bunch of them. There's the sober one and there's the drunk one, where there's so many different languages being hurled as curses at each other, Gaz gives up on captioning ANY of it.

OOOOooooooooohhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!! WHAT IF! Roach becomes his editor once he gets popular enough so he can spend more time playing games, solo ones when the others are working.

For a while, everyone's going crazy wanting to see what the others all look like, and sometimes (cause we're assuming the world they live in now during all this is a lot better), they're joined by Rudy or Alejandro, or both in one rare instance. Sometimes, for old times's sake, during the drunk gaming sessions, they'll call Laswell only for her to scold them. There are times they'll bully Roach who always, as the editor, changes their words from the insults to compliments. Or he definitely trolls Gaz a lot with some of the editing, and it's all around just a good time. Hence why everyone wants to know what they look like.

Then it's around the holidays after about 2 and a half years of Gaz's channel being as popular as it is. He posts a single picture on his socials with a group of people and the caption: "Love seeing the boys over the holidays."

It's such a nice photo; Alex with an arm wrapped around Gaz's shoulders, Soap and Ghost on his other side with Roach between Soap and Gaz.

And the internet has once again gone crazy. Why? Cause not only are these dudes fucking hilarious, but they're hot and taken.

Except, as they all end up teasing him about, Roach is very much still single XD

I have been watching too much YouTube lately, can y'all tell?? Haha anyways back to my hole I shall crawl

[striveattemptfail]

Minor Differences | Logan Howlett & Wade Wilson, 1.9k, PG-13

@poolvertober: Day 20 – Pop Culture

Summary: Five times Logan learns something new about the timeline he's in (and one time it was for the better). Inspired by this post by @nichknack. Rated for language. Takes place some time after the movie's events; just assume Logan and Wade are back-up X-Men. More gen than slash but we all know the truth ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Read on Ao3

A/N: Once again, I'm taking today's prompt fast and loose so forgive me in advance 😅🙏 Un-beta'd but quite frankly it's a miracle I even finished on time lmao. Can you believe this was originally supposed to be ~600 words? (ノ_<、)

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

The first time Logan notices that his new timeline isn’t identical to his old one, it’s over a subtle name change.

He’s reading the Saturday paper in the living room, Wade watching some reality show on the seat next to him with Mary Puppins in his lap, when Althea leaves her room and shuffles into the kitchen.

“Alexa,” she calls out, “what time is it?”

A robotic voice replies, “The time is 5:43pm.”

Logan drops the newspaper from obscuring his face. He immediately finds the source of the reply on the coffee table: a grey, cylindrical device that looks like a mini speaker, control buttons on its side. It blinks a turquoise light around the rim until the light turns off with a muted beep at the extended silence.

“What the fuck?” he wonders out loud, surprised to see such a familiar gadget.

“Have you not interacted with an Echo before, peanut?” Wade asks. “Did you not have Bezos’ army of listening devices where you’re from?”

Althea barks out a hollow laugh. “You keep calling the damn thing a spy machine—”

“Because I don’t trust it!”

“—but you keep it right there anyway.” She scoffs, making her way to the fridge. “Fuckin’ hypocrite.”

“Well, it’s also convenient!” Wade argues. “Do you miss when I used to shoot the lights off?”

“What the fuck?” Logan says again, but for a completely different reason this time.

“Listen,” Wade starts, and from his tone Logan can tell some bullshit is about to leave his mouth, “sometimes a guy just wants to pass out after walking in at ass o’clock in the morning without having to get up when he forgets to deal with the lights!”

“So you shot the damn lights out?” Logan guesses. “Is that why all the light switch panels are just exposed? Because you shot the fuckin’ plates off?”

“Alexa, tell peanut to stop bullying me!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know that command,” the device says. “Would you like to—”

“Alexa, shut up.”

The cylinder goes quiet with a beep.

“Anyway, you didn’t answer my question,” Wade says before Logan gets a chance to berate him more. “Did your world not have Echos?”

“We did,” he admits, “but they were called Alexis.”

“Like Texas!” Wade shoots him a wink before chuckling to himself.

(Presumably to himself, because Logan has no clue what the fuck he’s talking about, as usual.)

Before either of them can elaborate, Althea yells from where she’s bent over in front of the open fridge, “Wade, did you put the fucking milk carton back empty again?!”

Their attention quickly shifts from there.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

The next time Logan notices, it’s over something equally innocuous.

He and Wade hate talking to the authorities when they finish a mission, but none of the X-Men who are way better suited to dealing with humans made it in time to stop their target. He and Wade finished the job before those asscracks even left the X-Mansion, which meant the two of them had to deal with the aftermath until someone more qualified arrived.

“I’ll play you for it!” Wade finally suggests after five whole minutes of arguing over who should talk to the police chief.

He sticks his hands out, a fist over a flat palm. Logan rolls his eyes but dutifully mimics the gesture.

“After three, okay?” Wade clarifies. “No cheating!”

“Let’s just get this the fuck over with.”

Wade nods once.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” he counts as Logan simultaneously chimes, “Paper, scissors, rock, bang!”

They don’t even look to see who won. Instead, they mirror each other’s expression: one of total confusion.

“Mr. Deadpool? Mr. Wolverine?” a voice calls behind them—Logan recognizes it as one of the younger detectives Wade was speaking to earlier. “We need one of you now, please.”

He and Wade finally both look at their hands.

Fuck.

“Ha ha, sucker!” Wades hollers, his rock crushing Logan’s scissors. He only grunts in response when Wade quite literally skips away after slapping Logan on the ass. Logan turns around with a flat expression and follows the detective to where the police chief is giving a statement to some reporter.

Whatever. The sooner this is done the sooner he and Wade can go home.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

Another time it happens, Logan’s not even sure if he even remembers the reference correctly.

He and Wade are at the X-Mansion for another mission, catching up with Ellie and Yukio inside the Blackbird jet while Colossus to grabs more a few more people. Logan’s not quite paying attention to the conversation’s details, more enamoured by the strange friendship the two girls have with Wade.

At some point, Ellie says something that makes Yukio giggle and shove her shoulder, causing Wade to cackle out, “Weird flex, but okay!”

Logan furrows his brows but doesn’t comment because Wade’s already pivoted the topic to something else.

He could swear that the saying was odd flex, but very well. If he actively recalls the kids from his old universe, that was what they used to say, right?

(Most days, he usually tries his best to not remember them. The pain may not be fresh anymore but it still hurts all the same. He’ll never be able to hear Kitty, or Jubilee, or Rogue, or Bobby cracking jokes he doesn’t understand but finds amusing nonetheless. Never again.)

Apparently, he’s still deep in thought by the time Laura walks up to him. Her face looks remarkably similar to one he sees on himself all the time—brows pinched, eyes narrowed, lips turned downward. At least on Laura the expression looks like a cute pout compared to Logan’s usual, unimpressed glare.

“What’s wrong?” She looks to the other three still caught up in their conversation, not paying Logan any mind. “Did they say something?”

Logan shakes his head. There’s no point in dwelling over the kids’ memes from his old life. He’s poked at those memories like an old bruise more than enough now.

“Nah,” he says, mostly telling the truth, “just remembered something.”

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

He finally catches on by the following incident.

A song has been driving Logan fucking crazy for the past four hours. The goddamn earworm simply refuses to get out of his head, even with Wade’s incessant rambling at his phone in the background. What he’s blabbing about right this moment, Logan has no clue, because lyrics are on loop in his brain and he can’t hear anything above it.

Time for a replay session, he supposes, taking a seat in the living room. Hopefully making his ears bleed from the melody on constant repeat will finally get it out of his head.

“Hey, bub, can you play that ‘Vegas glowing’ song by Handsome Delight on the Alexis?” he interjects in the middle of Wade’s rant.

Wade furrows his hairless brow-line. “Come again? This time in my ear? Also, it’s still just Alexa.”

“You know,” Logan says, followed by a vague hum. “You walk in over time / ‘Cause we both know you’re mine / Fallin’ straight, don’t look down / Las Vegas glowin’ on the town,” he sings, hoping he has the correct lyrics. “That one?”

“One: Excellent singing, honey badger! Do you practice scales when I’m not listening? Because that voice is—” Wade cuts off to do a chef’s kiss with his fingers. “Two: Nope! Still no clue what that song is.”

“Stop fuckin’ with me, Wade.” Logan grunts, remembering how annoyingly often the song was playing on the radio when he was bar hopping earlier this year. Wade listens to pop music almost exclusively—there’s no way he would’ve escaped this song. “It was in the Top 40s for months. You had to have heard of this.”

Wade just blinks at him. “I really, truly have not.”

“Wait,” he pauses in realization, “does Handsome Delight not exist here?”

“Never heard of them!” Wade confirms, shaking his head and starts typing away on his phone. “Aaaaand Google here only pulls up a very adorable cake when I search that name.” He shows his screen to Logan, who grumbles in frustration after squinting at the results.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding me.”

“Why? What’s up, buttercup?”

“Shit. The damn song’s stuck in my head but I only know that stupid part.” He groans at himself, throwing his head back onto the couch, miffed that he can’t scratch the song’s itch like he thought. “I was hoping I could put it on repeat so I’d finally get it out of my system.”

“Sorry, peanut!” Wade pats his shoulder. “If it helps though, I can sing anything you want to rid you of the earworm plaguing you! I’ll be your personal jukebox!”

His answer is automatic. “I’d rather chop my ears off.”

Wade, obviously, starts singing anyway.

“You are! My fiiiire—”

Logan promptly sticks a claw into each ear. He might have pushed a little too far and nicked his brain a bit on both sides, which is just fine because the injury causes him to briefly pass out, a good solution as any at this point.

The last thing he sees is Wade’s comically dismayed face.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

Logan accepts that this universe is just weirdly different after one more incident.

He and Wade made it home too goddamn late last night after finishing a job that took way too fucking long, which meant they both pass out for a solid eight hours and wake up well past noon for their first meal of the day. Althea had already left to do her own business (Logan never asks her what she’s up to, and he’s probably better for it) and took along Mary Puppins, so it’s just him and Wade in the kitchen.

Wade’s already sitting at the table, digging into something from a silvery packet when Logan shuffles by.

“Mornin’, peanut.”

“Hrm.”

“Figured I’d get some real food later, but I’m too damn tired right now, so, y’know—” he lifts up what Logan finally sees is a Pop-Tart, “—Pop-Tarts.”

Logan assesses that he is also too damn tired to actually cook himself a meal, but also too hungry to ignore his appetite. He combs through the cupboards with a quiet hum until he can kick his ass to get some real food. He eventually decides to follow Wade’s lead to eat something now and order more food later, going to the cabinet and bypassing Wade’s stock of sugary children’s cereal for the Special K.

“Not digging into the Raisin Bran, old man?” Wade teases.

“I may be old,” he tosses right back, “but I don’t need to act like it too.” He grabs the milk (a new carton because Althea chewed Wade out last time), a bowl, and a spoon, bumping the utensil drawer closed with his hip. Then, he makes his way to the kitchen table to sit across from Wade.

As always, he pours the milk first.

“Logan,” Wade says slowly, his eyes growing wide with what looks like concern, “why the fuck are you pouring the milk before the cereal?”

“Because that’s how you’re supposed to do it.” Logan shoots him a bewildered look because that’s how everyone does it? He’s pretty sure it’s common knowledge to pour the milk first so you get an even distribution of crunch. He’s adding the cereal in when he asks, “What the fuck are you on about?”

Wade’s horrified gaze flickers back and forth between Logan and his bowl. “That’s so fucking cursed.”

At this point, Logan doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response, digging into his bowl with a dismissive grunt and shake of his head. He very purposefully ignores the implication that people on this planet pour the cereal first.

Now that’s fucking cursed.

Logan may have been engineered to be a wild animal, but he’s not a goddamn savage.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

&1

Logan finds out that Dolly Parton is still alive on this planet.

He considers forgiving the cereal before milk bullshit just for that.

——————————————

(More notes on Ao3.)

[booksandabeer]

Ramblings on Fandom: Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, Delusional Shippers, and Alleged Misogyny

So with the release of Season 2 of What If…? emotions are once again running high, the outrage is outraging, and people are up in arms about the whole Captain Carter situation. While I do think that some reactions are a little overblown, even needlessly aggressive in tone to the unfortunate detriment of their otherwise convincing arguments, I share the confusion and frustration about the sudden centering of a long-dead & never excessively popular character, the sidelining of the Steve-Bucky friendship, and the as-inexplicable-as-it-is-total exclusion of Sam Wilson as Captain America. However, I’m not here to talk about the show because (1) I haven’t watched this season and have no plans to (why waste time torturing myself with something I know I’ll hate?) and (2) other people have already written dozens of metas about it, so what could I possibly add at this point.

What I do want need to talk about (lest I explode) is something that has irritated me for a long time and that is now happening again: Every time someone even mildly criticizes Peggy Carter, expresses doubts about her suitability as a heroine, or even just questions her disproportionate importance to the franchise post-EG, inevitably a certain section of fans will come out of the woodwork to immediately throw around accusations of misogyny and yell about how we’re all just a bunch of delusional Stuckies who are mad that she got "in the way" of our ship. Sigh.

This is gonna be a long one, so I’ll put it under a cut. Rant incoming. You've been warned. If you don't want to read, simply keep scrolling.

First of all, let me state very clearly that I’m not debating the existence of misogyny and sexism in fandom spaces—or in the media from which these fandoms originate. At all. It exists, it’s a thing, I’m not denying that. Which is exactly why it frustrates me endlessly to see these accusations thrown around as a gotcha! argument to shut down any and all critical debate around a female character. All it does in the end is escalate rhetoric and radicalize attitudes.  

In the case of Peggy Carter, specifically her treatment by Stucky shippers, I’ve always found 'misogyny as a motive' to be a largely unsubstantiated accusation.¹ Now, I neither presume nor do I want to speak for the entirety of Stuckynation, so I will not claim that there aren't corners of the fandom where people discuss her in ways that I find off-putting and deeply unserious, but I will say this: If you genuinely believe that disliking one (1) fictional female character equals “hating all women” and wanting to suppress and marginalize their presence in fiction and real life alike—then I think we need to take that word away from you until you’ve learned its true meaning.

You might also want to ask yourself how exactly reducing a female character to a mute trophy wife or a heroine who has to act out her love interest’s recycled storylines helps your feminist fight.

As for the “getting in the way of your ship” part of the argument. Very simply put: No character can get in the way of something if there never ever was “a way” to that something to begin with. “Being mad” implies that there was a reasonable expectation that wasn’t met, a substantive hope that was crushed. Now, I’ve said this before and I’ll gladly say it again a million more times: No Stucky shipper in their right mind ever truly thought that there was even the slightest chance that Marvel Studios owned by the Walt Disney Company would allow Steve “Captain America” Rogers and Bucky “Winter Soldier” Barnes to be canonized as an explicitly romantic pairing in their billion dollar franchise. Be serious. That was never in the cards. I wish we all lived in a world where it was, but we don’t, and it wasn’t. The best we could ever hope for was for Steve and Bucky to get a good, satisfying, in-character ending. And if, in Steve’s case, that would’ve included hints (or more) about a possible rekindling of his, uh, aborted romance with Sharon—then so be it. But we never got any of that. The characters never got any of that. Instead they sent Steve into 1950s suburban hell, literally trapped him behind a white picket fence, and condemned him to a life of passivity and lies, all so he could be married to a woman he barely knew a long time ago in a completely different world; who built and ran a top-to-bottom Hydra-infested organization, but apparently never noticed that there was anything wrong with her life's work. For decades. Great. As for Bucky—well, we’ve all seen the devastatingly grim-faced, utterly lonely, and deeply sad version of him that was presented to us in TFATWS. Happy endings all around, I guess.

So. Am I mad that Steve didn’t get to ride into the rainbow-colored sunset with Bucky at the end of EG? No. Because that was never going to happen anyway. Would I have been mad had he ended up with Sharon or another female character in the 21st century? Also no. Granted, I wouldn’t have been ecstatic about it, but mad? No. But am I mad that Steve ended up with this specific female character under these specific circumstances as presented in canon? Fuck yeah, I am.

The thing is: I personally believe Steve and Peggy to be fundamentally incompatible when it comes to the way they view the world and their respective places in it; their morals and values; their capacity for compassion and empathy; their ability and willingness to compartmentalize, compromise, and collaborate with people and institutions whose ethics and/or politics do not align with their own. I have a real hard time believing that a relationship between these two (or worse, a hasty marriage) could be either happy or long-lasting.

I don’t believe Peggy to be inherently evil, I don’t hate her, I simply think she operates within a different moral framework than Steve (and even genuinely believes it to be a righteous one).² Your mileage may vary, but I personally happen to find that framework reprehensible, even indecent, and ultimately dangerous. After all, over the course of the 20th century, we have seen exactly where that kind of “the ends justify the means” brand of pragmatism leads—over and over again. Not to mention that the people who use this line of argument to defend characters like Peggy (or real-life politicians for that matter) never seem to want to look too closely at who gets to define what "the ends" are in the first place and who decides when they've finally been met.

(Never. The answer is never.)

And to be clear, there is absolutely nothing wrong with depicting, and even centering a narrative around a morally (dark)gray character—oftentimes it’s actually the more interesting option—but you cannot at the same time claim that they are purely good and should be only admired as such when their actions literally tell an entirely different story.

So, no. I will not accept Peggy Carter as the shining aspirational heroine that the MCU so badly wants to sell her to me as—while simultaneously continuing to reveal things that paint an increasingly darker picture of her character. And I will certainly not celebrate seeing one of my favorite characters of all time—whose defining trait was that he couldn't ignore "a situation pointed south"; who used to fight for the little guy and against the establishment; who once said about the very organization that Peggy Carter helped build that it was so corrupt, it all needed to go—rendered morally inert for some hollow happy ending that may as well be a conservative’s wet dream full of false nostalgia for an America that never really existed. I cannot find it in me to be anything less but mad about that.

But that does not make me a misogynist. It does not make me a delusional shipper. It makes me someone who looks at what the MCU has been telling me about Peggy Carter for years now—over and over again—and takes them at their own word.

--------

¹ If you’ve actually read a a fair number of Stucky(!) fanfics you will have noticed that the reverence afforded to and "page time" devoted to her character and her relationship with Steve is somewhat disproportionate to anything that's backed up by canon—well, up until EG, where she was suddenly reanimated as The Great Love of Steve’s Life—and in my experience, it's highly unusual for any fandom to put so much (mostly) positive attention on another character, let alone a potential love interest that is not part of the endgame ship.

² I also want to emphasize that if you love Peggy and she's your fave: good for you! I genuinely have no beef with you. People can agree to disagree. All I ask for is that we maybe stop willfully ignoring the less savory aspects of her character. You don't need to pretend she's perfect to justify your affection for her. I LOVE Steve, and yet I have no problem conceding that he is FAR from perfect.

[andy-wm]

Andy, I dont think JM is queer, coz in WHO he is singing about a her, not a they.

She/her pronouns leave no scope for ambiguity.

Anon, that's like me saying 'Anonymous' must be your real name because that's who the ask came from.

Makes sense?

No.

No it does not.

If the pronouns were THEY, Jimin would be

a) slammed for being woke

and

b) not clearly telling you that he lives in a society that makes him think his love MUST be a she/her. And he can't find love, he can't find it anywhere.

If he had grown up thinking he could find love with (he/she/they... any pronouns) don't you think he would have found it by now? I mean, look at him, he's so beautiful and kind and smart. How could he not find someone?

Would he be singing songs about how he can't find love?

The way he specifically says HER tells you THAT'S WHERE THE PROBLEM LIES.

Please, Anon (not your real name, yeah?)

Please, for your future self, for you to navigate the information you encounter every day, don't just grab the first thing you see and run with it. Sure, consider your immediate reaction, but also consider what else might be happening.

Because theres always more than one way to look at a situation.

(Thats why we have a jury of 12 and courts of law, and we don't just let people claim revenge for perceived wrongs by vigilante justice. Because there's two sides to a story, and you need different perspecives to see all the angles.)

Critical thinking skills are important because often messages are hidden.

Sometimes it's because the author wants you to misunderstand at first, because their real meaning will have more impact when you discover it later.

Sometimes there are two different messages directed at two different types of audience (like kids movies with adult jokes hidden in them)

Sometimes it's because they actually cannot say what they really want to say because they aren't allowed to or because it'snot safe or because they simply don't want to be upfront.

In the case of this song, it's all three of those reasons.

Context clues tell us that this album is very queer themed. There are rainbows and smeraldo flowers everywhere.

Smeraldo flowers LITERALLY mean a hidden truth/ truth untold/ I couldn’t tell the truth.

The original posts about Smeraldo flowers are translated here:

You'll find this here: https://cafearmy.wordpress.com/category/flower-smeraldo-blog-post-translations/page/2

There are also clues in the WHO music video - the extended metaphor of the weather, and the rainbows and colour flares. These tell us THERE'S MORE GOING ON HERE.

Read the lyrics and also watch the mv and think about what you are hearing and seeing.

Follow the story and think about WHY everything is happening the way it happens.

The director didn't just randomly yell "ok dance! Now run a bit, now look at the camera, now sing!"

There's a plan. The plan is based on a story they're telling. The story has an ending that THEY ALREADY KNOW, but that we don't.

Until we've seen the whole thing and thought about it, and then gone back to see what we missed the first time around, we dont know.

Like Spring Day isn’t REALLY about the seasons, and Bapsae isnt about birds, and The Truth Untold isn't about growing flowers.

Go back and watch the MV with the audio muted and think about the story thr MV tells without the music.

Read the lyrics as though you are reading a poem.

Genuinely, i care about this (i am a school librarian Anon, i wouldn’t be one if i didn't care about how people interact with information) so listen and think about it.

Then come back and tell me if you still think he's not queer because the pronouns in this song are she.

Borahae 💜

[lxnabeetv]

A Marvel Newcomer's Thoughts on Captain America: The First Avenger (2011)

>SPOILERS AHEAD<

After the... well, harsh... review I gave last night, it's time to watch Captain America. And dear God, that means it's also review time.

For starters, the Tesseract was brought in again. I had TOTALLY forgotten about due to the melatonin-inducing film that was Thor. This German not-see was... interesting. I recognized him as Hydra, as the Hell's Heaven map is, y'know, Hydra-themed.

To continue, this movie exceeded my wildest expectations. Amazing CGI, entertaining plotlines, explosions, snark out the wazoo, Bucky Barnes, stellar makeup effects, and Rockette-esque dancers selling bonds. What in the Kentucky fried fuck happened between Thor and now?? Thor was so mid, but this was so good!!

Plenty of snark, by Bucky, Cap, and the Colonel; plus, a hero that I could actually root for! Cap is clever, witty, and determined as hell. He has so many funny bits, including where he got beat up, asked about the bathroom, and asking Agent Carter about fondue-ing Howard Stark. Cap is also a badass for saving 400 men from a not-see prison just to save Bucky. Like holy shit, dude, you're a legend for that. Yeah, Bucky falls off a train later, but you did what you set out to do AND proved yourself in the process.

Johann Schmidt made for an INSANE villain. Very good performance and a very fitting demise to the Tesseract. Extra amazing SFX on him, especially when Cap hit him in the eye.

Dr. Zola was an oddly familiar presence on screen, thus causing me to turn to IMDb yet again. Toby Jones, better known to me as the voice of Dobby in the Harry Potter world (I am very autistic about Harry Potter). Speaking of Harry Potter, when Schmidt takes off his human mask, he looks like a cherry lollipop version of Voldemort. I told my boyfriend this and he started laughing so hard he had to mute.

Cap's design may be campy at first, but it was very adorable. The (maybe?) Rockettes were not expected, but very fun to watch. Cap knowing how to draw was something I didn't know I needed to know until I saw it.

Agent Carter is the fucking GOAT. Slapping that disrespectful asshole, snarking with Cap, and their kiss towards the end was a ticking time bomb I couldn't wait to see explode. She is so clever and charming and DAMN I saw the sparks fly immediately.

Slight side-tangent; the Colonel yelling that he wasn't also kissing Cap was fucking HILARIOUS. The Colonel was kind of an ass at times, but very wittily so. I enjoyed watching him and his snark.

I have two notes on my paper that both read "NO BUCKY :(" and dear God, this film was a rollercoaster of emotions. I was so excited that Bucky was showing up this early! And then heartbroken when he was captured by the not-sees. Then overjoyed (and amused) when Cap rescued him. Bucky and Cap have the most amazing chemistry and- oh wait, now he's dead for real this time(?). I am going to piss my pants in sorrow.

I had no idea Howard Stark would be making appearances in this. The vibranium shield, so iconic. Stark finding the Tesseract was unexpected, but it ties into Dr. I-Grew-Up-On-Norse-Mythology's appearance at the end of Thor.

My rating: 9.5/10. The ending was heartbreakingly beautiful. Cap coming back into 2011 was so sad, yet so sweet. The "recovery room" on the other hand was so fucking surreal to me. I wish we had seen more Cap and Bucky, but perhaps another time. I wish they could bring Agent Carter forward in time as well so she can be with Cap. They were AMAZING together. There were so many adorable callbacks, from "You're late" to "I had him on the ropes," which tied in well when Cap appears in the post-credits scene doing some boxing.

Alright, one last part that I almost forgot...

In the post-credits scene, I spotted Loki (who is apparently alive after jumping off the Bifrost), Hawkeye, Widow, Nick Fury, Thor, Iron Man, Cap, Mark Ruffalo as the new Bruce Banner, and....... Robin Scherbatsky from How I Met Your Mother???? I have no idea who the fuck Cobie Smulders is going to be, but I'm hyped as hell for The Avengers and whatever crazy villain they're gonna face next. Captain America very much recaptured my interest after the last two films were rated by yours truly as mediocre. What a fucking film. If I didn't have such dry eyes from allergies, I would've cried at least once. RIP Dr. Erskine & Bucky and please for the love of all things holy find a way to bring Agent Carter back.

[sabotsen]

God’s Offering

Relationship: Tulu & Keeper/Reader [Platonic!! Friends!!]

Notes: Based off his Wandering chapters and a bit of his Frenzy chapter. Word Count 5.5k because I’m insane. Cross posted to ao3.

Warnings: Child sacrifice, mentions of death and gore, grief, survivor’s guilt.

There is no such thing as an outstretched hand without expectation. There are always strings attached. 

Tulu knows this. It is simply the nature of things, much like the way a curtain of colors follows the sun’s trail across the sky. It just simply is. 

So why, then, are your strings so hard to find? They must be there, somewhere. True, there are times you ask for his aid in battle on the few occasions you manage to catch him awake enough to ask, but that is simply his agreement and duty to Mythag, not you. Perhaps if you reached out to him more often he might be able to see it, glinting like piano wire in the sun. But rare are the instances you reach out to him at all. He has noted, more than once, you tend to keep your hands to yourself in his company. Now and then, you offer small sweets if your hands are full from a recent visit to the bakery you seem to enjoy. 

But not once have you reached those scarred hands out to him, empty and pleading. 

It’s strange. Baffling even. 

Tulu watches as you crouch on the dusty paved walkway a short distance away, a small smile on your lips as you listen to three children awakeners. Jenkins and Aigis, he idly recalls two names only thanks to the passing memories of their play and laughter reaching him from afar as he dozed. He does not know which is which, however, and he lazily watches as the one with the tattered cloak jesters wildly with excitement. The other two are quieter: one clutches a doll beside the cloaked child and the other child with long brown hair lingers closer to you, almost pressed against your side. 

They’re speaking of a small path they found in the garden where a well tended to shrubbery maze rests, as if it might lead to a grand adventure or secret. There’s excitement woven into every word of the cloaked child and, although silent, it shines just as well in the gazes of the quiet children. There’s an innocence to them — in their words, their gaze, even in the way their tiny hands grasp at your clothes. 

It reminds Tulu of days long, long gone and buried beneath the waves. It reminds him of faces blurred by time that shook him from his sleep and dragged him from the bunk bed with giggles and urging. It reminds him of reverent whispers spoken in hushed tones as they dragged him down hallowed halls, hope and dreams lacing their every word. 

An ache, aged and calloused, unfurls in his chest. Heavy, it settles upon his lungs as he watches the three of you. But he sits by all the same — looking, waiting, searching. 

You listen to the children, laughing softly at their excitement when the cloaked child grasps your hand and tries to pull you up to follow and the brunette child clings to the folds of your clothes. The child clutching a doll hovers and watches, her face nearly hidden behind the doll.  

“I can’t right now,” you say even as you allow them to coax you to your feet. “Doll is waiting for me.”

The quiet child tilts her head up towards you and Tulu only barely manages to catch her voice, “Are you hurt?” 

Even the cloaked child settles as they stare up at you, worry muting their excitement, and the third child clings to the former’s cloak seemingly near tears. But you gently pat them each on the head and smile, “No, it’s just a checkup. How about I come find you two tomorrow morning?” When the three of them blink up at you, eyes wide, Tulu hears your laughter once more. “We can’t go on an adventure without packing anything. Even great thieves need tools, right Jenkins?” 

The cloaked child, Jenkins, immediately perks up. “Th- that’s right!” Her small hands clench into tiny fists for a moment before she latches onto the other children. “We have to get ready! Let’s go, Aigis, Lily!” 

Aigis stumbles but is quick to match Jenkin’s stride as if almost second nature. Lily allows herself to be herded and dragged away from you, but she still glances over her shoulder to give a small wave before Jenkins drags her too far for her murmur to reach you, “Bye-bye.” 

Tulu watches, gaze lingering on the gentle slope of your smile as you wave goodbye to the children. It’s only when they are out of sight that your hand falls, as does the smile on your lips. It shifts to something more subdued as you wallow in your thoughts. Behind you, the setting sun casts you in a gentle glow, the silver key around your neck glinting in the golden light. 

That weight still lingers in his chest, burdened even more by your solitary figure for a reason he doesn’t have the energy to discern. Instead, he calls out from his perch beside the fountain. “Shouldn’t you hurry along?” 

You startle, visibly jumping as your hands fly to the silver key around your neck before your head snaps in his direction. “Tulu?” Tension bleeds out of you just as quickly as it came and the chuckle you offer is more a weak breath than a true laugh. “How long have you been there?” 

“Long enough,” he closes his eyes for a brief moment, the fountain gurgling behind him. He had only come to stretch his legs and hide from Miryam for a moment, yet he ended up lounging here. It was… nice, even if only faintly, to hear the distant bustle of the university. The birds chirping in the nearby trees that rustled in the breeze, the occasional footfalls and rush of students and faculty as they moved from building to building, the hourly chime of the clock tower that loomed near the center of the university — the voices and life of people who did not crawl on their knees before him. The sound of life flowing, free from his grasp and direction, as it thrived around him. 

There was comfort to be found in it. There was a loneliness to be found in it. 

Tulu opened his eyes and noted you had ventured several steps closer, hands behind your back and head tilted slightly to the side. Absently, his Aequor limbs coiled closer, winding around the bench he lounged on and even dipping into the water of the fountain. The setting sun gleamed off his crown and cast even the green hues of his tentacles in a soft glow. He sighed, head perched upon his hand, “If you have something to say, I give you leave to speak it.”

“I only wanted to say don’t stay out here too long, Tulu. The evenings are getting colder.” 

That’s… it? 

Tulu blinks, nearly raising his head from his hand. That’s all? A faint frown tugs at his lips, his voice even and weighed with something too heavy for someone his stature, “You forget what I am.” 

“I haven’t,” you answer simply, still offering that baffling gentle smile. “I imagine even God Kings would have trouble sleeping if they get too cold.” 

Silence is your only answer as Tulu watches you, the soft coral of his gaze deepened to an almost eerie crimson hue by the setting sun. Patiently, you wait and watch as his gaze narrows, his presence alone enough to peel the layers away of any normal mortal’s facade. But you are no mere mortal and you do not buckle beneath his gaze. Tulu closes his eyes. 

You are different. For better or for worse. You have always been different. 

You know him well enough to take his quiet gesture as permission to leave. Just barely does he catch the faint chuckle you hide behind a quiet breath, nearly lost beneath the crunch of gravel underfoot as you turn to leave. 

“Wait.” 

It is pure impulse that wrenches the words from his lips. But you halt just the same, and Tulu feels the warmth of your gaze upon him, waiting. 

Almost hesitantly, he opens his eyes, but he keeps his attention downcast upon his Aequor limbs that curl just beyond his feet. The words form and die in his throat several times and he struggles to salvage the wreckage of their remains. It’s foolish, he knows, to hesitate like this. He is a God King — there are few things he has not seen and heard over his long, long life. 

But perhaps that is why he is all the more baffled. 

Tulu frowns, a furrow in his brow as his gaze finally lifts back up to your face. Your hands linger near the silver key — a nervous habit, he has long since noted — but still ever present is that soft smile of yours. The sunlight shimmers off the soft green of his tentacles as they squeeze close to him before unfurling out, expanding their reach around him as if to elevate his presence. 

Perhaps it is cruel of him to ask this of you. But enough time has passed with him holding his breath as if waiting to drown. Why haven't you reached for him? Why haven't you asked anything of him?  A cold, plain stone bench rests beneath him and the humble clustered buildings of Mythag sprawl just beyond, but all he feels is the bloodstained throne and all he sees is the muted, swallowed remnants of his homeland. 

“Do you not wish to ask something of me?”

Confusion wipes away your smile as you tilt your head to the side. “Like what?” 

“The revelations of a God, their prophecies, or even the vast treasures of Lemuria.” There’s an edge to his voice, crowned by the cold metal of the burden golden upon his temple and framed by the Aequor that coils around him. Faintly, he hears in the echoes of his own voice the prayers and pleas that used to haunt his dreams.

You laugh, more a huff than anything else, and an amused expression replaces your confusion. “I don’t need them.” 

The frown upon his lips twists, small and fragile in a way only a soul lost at sea would know – grasping at the wreckage of what he once knew and finding no landmark in sight. “Do you truly not need anything of me?” 

Tulu watches as you press your lips in thought for but a moment, fingers rubbing at the silver key. “Nope,” you reply with a smile so honest and bright it hurts. 

It doesn’t make sense.

An ache hollows him out, old and nameless. It settles in his lungs, nestles where the sea once burrowed when the grand civilization was swallowed. 

Tulu closes his eyes, Aequor limbs coiling close and in on themselves as if to make him smaller. You’re strange. So strange. A god king sits before you and offers a wish yet you laugh it off and continue on your merry way. Do you think he cannot honor his word? Do you think whatever you wish for is beyond his reach? 

“You are strange.” There’s a grumble to his voice, barely hidden behind the exhaustion he sighs with. 

You laugh. It’s a gentle and warm sound, an honest one — Tulu can’t bring himself to dislike it. “I hear that a lot.” 

When he does not respond, his eyes closed and his brow still slightly furrowed, Tulu hears the gravel crunch underfoot once more as you turn to leave. He does not stop you this time. He listens, straining against the noise of the trees, the chitter of birds, and the distant bustle of others to catch the sound of your steps until they fade. Only when you are truly gone does he open his eyes again, gaze lingering where you once stood. 

The sun has nearly vanished beyond the horizon and the deep blue and purple hues of the night creep across the sky. 

He is tired. 

Dreams hover on the edge of his periphery, gnawing upon the fringes of his waking mind. It wears him down to ignore them for long, but he couldn’t help but stall the lulling call of his evening nap when you happened by. He had thought perhaps if he watched you a little longer, stared a little harder, pried a little deeper he might finally see the strings wound about your hands. Perhaps he could finally, finally see your end goal. 

But it was for naught. 

All he saw is all he ever seemed to see. Your hands are empty and there are no strings attached to your kindness. You do not reach for him. You do not ask anything from him. 

Is it because you have nothing to ask from a King? Or do you have nothing to beg from a God?

Tulu rises slowly, Aequor limbs lazily unfurling and flowing in his wake like ripples on the water.

It doesn’t matter. 

He just needs to sleep a while, and then this ache in his chest will drown beneath the sea, just as all things do. 

He dreamt. 

Tulu always dreams, but this time was different. He dreamt not of things yet to come — of chaos twisting unto itself upon a throne of corpses he could never save. No, this time he dreamt of something etched in stone and lost beneath black waters. He dreamt of the past and that made it all the worse. 

Like a curse, those hallowed halls loomed around him, pale stone gleaming in the soft light as children — his friends, faces he has not seen for eons — chatter in hushed whispers as they dragged him along. At his side, as if he had never left, was Noah — face still soft and round, unmarred by both the sea winds and time. Innocent. Youthful. They all were. As they pulled him from the bed and dragged him through the quiet temple halls, dread coiled in the shadows of his every step. 

He knows how this plays out. He has seen it time and again, a curse burned into his mind at night whenever sleep claimed him — as unchangeable now as it was back then. Tulu watches, resigned, as his long gone friends usher him into the throne room. There, as he knew it would, gleamed the golden crown. Something bitter and cold coils in his gut at the sight of it.

Despite the many years since. Because of the many years since. 

Tulu did not dissuade his friends when they cloistered around the crown, nor did he stop them when they pondered testing it upon their heads. 

“To see if they are worthy,” one of them had said.

As if that relic was anything but a burden and a curse. 

When the high priest came and admonished them, Tulu let his eyes linger on the crown. What did they see when they stared at it, he wondered. Did they feel that eerie sense of dread drip down their throat as they neared it? Did they see the Aequor tentacles coiled about it, twisting and writhing like a beast grasping for air? In their eyes was it truly just a mere metal crown? 

Tulu closed his eyes. 

He did not ask. This was a dream. Nothing would change. 

Tulu resigns himself, as he always does, to allow the currents of the dream to carry him forth. There is no point in thrashing against the tide, no merit to expending energy in the struggle. Nothing would change. 

When the dream shifts to the crowning ceremony, Tulu tastes bile in his throat. He is loathe to relive this moment, no matter how many times he has seen it. It did not prepare him when it haunted his dreams prior to the ceremony, and it did not bring any comfort now that his homeland lay buried and lost beneath the sea. He lingered, just as he had that day, at the foot of the grand altar. 

Distantly, he feels something different. Something off. There is something — someone in the dream. 

But he hears the reverberation of several pairs of footsteps climb the stairs and he cannot focus on anything else. He feels the rain against his skin, hears the distant scream of his people as they flee to safety. Nature and beast alike roar in the approaching distance upon the black waters. At his side is Noah, face twisted with worry and fear. But there, upon the altar is that foolish, gentle friend of his — Samuel. The clown glints in his too small hands. 

Tulu sees, too late — always too little, too late — the golden crown rest upon Samuel's head. For only a moment, a heartbeat’s stumble, he prays that perhaps this time will be different. 

But Fate cannot be changed, and blood sprays from the child’s mouth, blooming bright amidst the dreary colors of the storm. Bathed in crimson, emerald tentacles curl from Samuel’s mouth and further burst from his throat. Bloodied tears form and trickle before every semblance of his face is erased in a writhing mass of emerald and mutilated flesh.

One after another, those foolish — brave — young friends of his give their lives for faith, for hope. For salvation. 

Their prayers are answered in blood.

He hates it. He hates these dreams he cannot change. He hates these memories that haunt him still. He hates the faith he cannot shake, the voice that echoes in his dreams. He hates so many, many things. 

But Tulu still screams at the top of his lungs, his voice swallowed by the storm. He still runs up the stairs with Noah scrambling and grasping after him. He still salvages that bloodied, cursed crown from the horrid remains of Samuel, Amos, and Gretchen that are quickly nearly washed away by the rain. He still grits his teeth and bears the weight of that crown — that burden, bloodied and gory — upon his head. 

Because such was his dream. Because such was his fate. 

Only when the metal kisses his skin, the cold chilling his scalp, does he feel it. There, buried and nearly lost amongst the presence of something Other, is someone familiar. Small, weak — like a firefly nestled beneath the cycling beam of the lighthouse. Easily missed, easily overlooked. But Tulu knows the weight of this crown — he knows the blood upon its metal and the sound of its call. You are not the crown, but you are there, within it. 

There’s comfort to be had in that, perhaps. 

A gentleness that flows from the shadows of the metal into him that he is unaccustomed to as he floats through the dream. You stay with him, even as the storm ceases and his people return. You remain, even as they place him upon that damnable throne and the days slip into years between his slumber. You remain, unchanging and gentle, even as Noah ages beside him with every blink of his eyes. 

An ache grows in his chest, cold and gaping. Bottomless. But still he feels you, that warmth you try to seep from the crown into his small form to fill the gaps. It’s not enough. But it means something, still. 

It is only after he stands in the darkened doorway of Noah’s home, a small pouch of treats pressed into his hands by Noah’s wife, tears still streaming down her face, that he feels the tendrils of the dream shake. The delicate thread connecting you to him thins, twisting as if strained. It’s ending. The dream is finally ending. The priestess calls his name, all but beckoning and grasping at him to drag him back to the throne. But he still lingers in that doorway as if trapped, his gaze on the lifeless form of Noah upon the bed and the way his wife curves a weeping willow over him. Her delicate hands grasp at his calloused ones as she bows her head as if in prayer. 

Idly, Tulu wonders when exactly did he close his eyes to the way Noah’s hands outgrew his own. He knew Noah aged, just as everyone else did — just like all mortals are supposed to. 

Tulu stands in that mourning doorway, unchanged since that day in the storm — his frame too thin and his shoulders too small for the burden crowned upon his head. 

Tulu turns away, the warmth of you shatters, and the dream collapses. 

But the priestess begs for him once more and the dream shudders. 

Tulu turns away from Noah’s corpse, from Noah’s wife, and the cozy little home Noah had built with his own hands that Tulu knew from countless cherished tales like the back of his hand. 

He wakes slowly. 

Upon his head, the crown gleams in the morning light, cold and devoid of comfort or warmth — just as it should. 

It takes longer than he would like to untangle himself from the Aequor limbs that had coiled and twisted themselves around him like a sinner’s chains in a lakebed. But he crawls from the bed, scowling all the while. A pressure lingers upon his shoulders and nestles in his chest — a weight he can’t quite place. It unsettles him. Tulu ignores it, as he does so many things, and slips silently from his room. 

Miryam will no doubt come to pay her respects to him — too noisy and devout by far. Despite the many hours he lost to his slumber, he could still track when she would come. Religion requires time set aside for devotionals and Miryam was nothing if not fervent in her devotion. She knows his sleep schedule almost by heart and, knowing he would wake around this time, she would no doubt come to him. It would be best if he made himself scarce now. 

Tulu flees to the one place he knows she will at least hesitate before gracing the doorstep — your room. 

He's dreaming again. 

Resignation taints the edges of his emotions. He doesn’t recall falling asleep. He should have been on his way to your room, to burrow under those thick, fluffy blankets and while away the remaining hours of the day in quiet peace. He should have been curled up in the corner of your bed, bundled up as he watched students bustle to and fro outside your window. He should have been in the sole quiet shelter he carved for himself away from dreams and burdens. 

With a sigh, Tulu lets the edges of the dream twist around him. There’s chaos in this space, here at the edge of dreams where colors and noise blur into dizzying shapes — the place beyond a normal mortal’s reach. A voice, muted and distant hums at the back of his mind, too invasive to be friendly as it needles under his skin. He doesn’t bother trying to parse what it’s trying to say; he gave up long, long ago. He simply waits for the chaos of the realm to collapse in on itself enough to break the edges of a dream, to pull him once more into a vision he cannot change. 

But there's something else beside him in the chaos of noise. Soft and subtle, foreign in this alien sea he has grown so accustomed to drowning in.

A light burning silver blazes in the swirling colors like a comet struggling against the gravitational pull of a giant star. He sees it flicker and wane, sees it surge in a brilliance of silver before it wavers and dims again, like a foolish cycle. A firefly struggling in a monsoon rain, brave yet fragile.

It's you.

He would recognize that silver hue of yours — that gentle warmth, that guiding light — anywhere. A beacon, a comfort, a friend, a fool. 

Tulu plucks you from the sea of dreams too old and powerful for you to swim and linger in.  He feels the confusion that ripples off the edges of your light, the way panic tinges the edges of the silver into a burning white. Carefully, he cradles your consciousness close, basking in the familiar warmth of your company. You settle against him, quieting once you recognize him. Idly, he wonders what he feels like to you in this dream, so close to the edges of reality. Do you still recognize him as himself, or is he overshadowed by the crown upon his head and the tether tying his soul to something Other? 

Your light dims a fraction the longer he holds you, a firefly battered and weary in his palm. 

Tulu supposes it doesn’t matter what you see him as here. It’s a dream. Perhaps you’ll forget. 

He weaves the chaos and noise into something more stable, darkness bleeding like ink from his fingertips. Carefully, gently, he guides you back to shallow shores, where dreams are contained and harmless things. He guides you back into the gentle embrace of a black, empty dream and slowly pulls you up with him to the surface. 

Sleep washes from him effortlessly, smooth as water off his Aequor limbs. There's a soft bed beneath him, pillows and blankets piled high like a nest. A bed. He’s in a bed, warm and bundled. Tulu shifts, Aequor limbs coiling around the pillows as he rises. 

Across the room, he sees your slumped form as you lay rousing with a groan from your sleep at a desk. 

“You—”

His voice is hardened, a scowl upon his lips. How many times has he told you not to carelessly approach him while he sleeps? Do you not care for your safety? Do you not realize how dangerous it is for a feeble mortal like yourself to glimpse even a shadow of a God’s dream? 

The words boil up his throat and they taste of blood — of salt water and blood splayed across the altar. 

But they die upon his lips, dissipating to sea foam as he catches sight of the framed picture on the wall above your head. Even from across the room, he recognizes your figure — one arm slung over the shoulders of a silver haired girl, Ramona, as you flash the camera a wide grin. He can almost hear the sound of your laugh when the picture was taken, the way your eyes gleam with pure joy and how honest you are, right down to your posture. 

He doesn’t have a photo of you upon his wall. 

Tulu’s gaze drifts down as you groan and slowly push yourself up off the desk. He sees little trinkets decorating it. A small train car, an old coin, a rusted key, a pendant with a chain that gleams white gold in the faint light. Gifts. Memories. They are not his. 

This is your room. 

Tulu is quiet and still as you mutter something under your breath and rub the back of your neck. He does not make a single sound, but you must feel the weight of his gaze on your back. You turn, still half groggy as you rub a kink out of your neck, “Tulu?” 

He does not answer you right away, instead his gaze lingers on your face. Searching. Waiting. Nothing happens, aside from the way you furrow your brows at him. You’re fine. You’re safe. Tulu casts a glance at one of his Aequor limbs, the green hues shimmering between soft seafoam and a deeper emerald as the light filters over them from the window. He closes his eyes and takes a breath. 

He still tastes blood on the back of his tongue. But it’s not yours, and that’s what matters for now. “My apologies. You were pulled in because of me.”

You tilt your head and roll your shoulders, stretching. “I honestly didn’t see you bundled up over there. You were buried pretty deep,” you chuckle. 

Silence settles, gentle but strained in a way Tulu feels like oil against his skin. He opens his eyes, quiet as deep waters as he remains half buried in blankets upon your bed. You’ve stood and have turned your back to him, sorting through paperwork you fell asleep on. Homework and reports, he assumes. That’s not what catches his attention. 

It’s you. 

It’s the hue that lingers around the silver of your soul — the colors he sees through the crown’s eyes. There’s exhaustion lining the edges of it, a film that mutes all colors. Understandable, considering you were pulled into two of his dreams in short succession. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep while he waited for you to return, but he did. You’ve always been sensitive to awakeners, and his pull is stronger than most. 

But beneath the muted color of exhaustion is something new. Something he can’t ignore. Deep, rolling, seeping into the silver colored core of your soul like ink stains in water. A deep purple that bleeds into crimson and back again. 

You saw. Too much, too little — he isn’t sure. But it was enough. 

But even so, he did not want you to see those days — those green Aequor limbs soaked in the blood of children (his friends…) that now surround him, the remains that the storm couldn’t fully wash away, the empty days that followed, the silence between dreams, the loss as time slipped by. 

Tulu closes his eyes to block out the sight and bows his head. 

Of all the things for you to see. Of all the moments in his past. 

He is not ashamed of his choices, nor is he capable of regretting the burden he carries. 

You are too kind by far. 

“Tulu?”

He knows such sights are not easy to bear (but he carries them all the same because there was never any other choice). 

Your gentle voice pulls him from his thoughts and he opens his eyes to see you hovering near the edge of your bed. Your brow is furrowed in worry as your hand hovers in the air, just shy of brushing against the blanket still hanging off his shoulders. “Are you alright?” 

When was the last time someone asked him that, genuine and kind? Was there ever a time? Back before the crown claimed him, before even the temple plucked him up to be reared for something Other? Had there ever been someone who needlessly fretted and worried over him? 

He can’t recall. He never dreamed of them. Perhaps it really, truly never happened. 

Tulu reaches out, his hand lightly brushing yours away. 

You worry too much, he meant to admonish. To remind you that he is not a child, but a God King. 

Instead, his tongue betrays him. “Do you think differently now?” 

You blink, confusion evident as you withdraw your hand. “About what?” 

Tulu presses his lips into a thin line for but a moment. He already caught himself in the net, he might as well let it pull him to the surface. Perhaps it will be different this time. You’ve shared a dream with him, even if only one of his past. It stretched for decades yet flickered by in a blink like light flitting downstream. You’ve glimpsed what it means to be a God King — trapped in the crown, you’ve seen the world from a view no mortal has. You’ve witnessed sacrifices and miracles, salvation and death. Perhaps now your answer will be different. 

Tulu straightens his posture, Aequor limbs twisting in the blankets to frame him like a wreath upon a throne. “Is that all you wish to ask?” 

You straighten, no longer hovering over him as you stand by the edge of the bed. The furrow in your brow deepens and a scowl begins to tug at the corners of your lips. You are quiet.

He presses further because surely, surely you have something to ask of him now. Surely you’ve glimpsed enough of what a god king can provide to answer him now. Surely, surely, surely you will reach for him with purpose, with strings, with intent. “Do you truly have nothing to ask of a God King?” 

A change. Subtle and soft, but devastating like the fracture of ice over a lakebed. Tulu watches as that deep purple hue around your soul shudders and bleeds dark crimson-violet down to the very silver core of your soul. Your expression shifts, your frown pressed into a thin line as you bite your lips. A mist glimmers in your eyes as you regard him. Your hands, always so kind and gentle, curl as you tuck them close to your chest — not in prayer, not to beg, but simply to press as if staunching a wound weeping from your heart. 

“No,” your voice is a fragile, delicate thing nearly lost in the silence of the room. Yet there is a weight to it that lingers, heavy — weeping and bleeding from the sacrifice of others. It rings in his ears. “I don’t need anything.” 

Something nameless and wounded writhes in his chest. It has been there since his first dream and it will remain, suffocating and dying within his chest, until the crown falls bloodied from his corpse. 

You do not reach for Tulu.

He does not ask again. 

[lurkingshan]

Japanese QL Corner

ICYMI: There are so many Japanese qls airing weekly, so I’m going to start posting this little round up at the end of each week. Most of these shows are on Gaga and I highly recommend watching!

Tsukuritai Onna to Tabetai Onna 2

Another great batch of episodes this week, as Kasuga and Nomoto settled into dating life, all the gals got together for various food related events, and Nagumo began seeking treatment for her eating disorder. This show is just always so compassionate with its characters, and manages to find interesting conflicts without going for high drama. I am very much enjoying seeing Kasuga and Nomoto figure out how their relationship should look now that they're dating and also how to communicate and respect each other as they make decisions. Kasuga's tendency to let Nomoto steamroll her feels harmless when it's about picking fruit or vegetables, but it won't be when it comes to making decisions about where they live and how to set up their home, so it's great they're addressing it early. It's also awesome to see them expand their circle of friends and deepen their bonds with Yako and Nagumo--I was high key jealous of the curry and s'mores parties. And Nagumo just has my whole heart. When she expressed profound relief at learning there is a name for her illness and ways to treat it, my mind immediately jumped to Rachel Bloom. Looking forward to her healing. I can't believe there is only one more batch of episodes coming, love and gratitude to @furritsubs!

Chaser Game W

I’ll keep this brief. This show was a mess, and not even in a fun way because unfortunately it was also extremely misogynistic. @twig-tea covered the major issues well in her post. Wild that this show aired simultaneously with TsukuTabe, what a dichotomy.

My Strawberry Film

This one is really not grabbing me. It feels kind of slow and muted and uncertain about what it's doing. I am not finding the mystery or the love rhombus compelling, and this week's focus on Hikaru's infatuation with Minami had me yawning and picking up my phone a lot. But it's early, I am hopeful it will pick up some steam.

Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka

This was a cute episode about Sakae and Soga getting past their initial awkwardness, learning how to communicate with each other, and moving into a more intimate phase of their relationship, and I think I would have loved it if we'd gotten it two weeks ago. This should have been the episode that followed their initial confessions, but instead the show did a two week diversion into love triangle nonsense, and unfortunately, I think it really threw off the pacing and the connection to these characters for me. It just feels too late in the show for this relationship to still feel so new. We haven't had time to settle in with them as a couple, or for them to develop a strong foundation to make us root for them to overcome the coming obstacles in the final arc. Still, this episode had some delightful scenes--Soga finally paying a visit to the sauna was my personal fav, and I also enjoyed the metaphor of Sakae literally catching Soga's love (and knowing @bengiyo would lose it over another important SPORTS moment in bl). This is a show I really want to love, but something just isn't connecting.

Perfect Propose

I love this final episode and I love this show. Hiro quit his job, Kai resolved things with the shop owner and his son, and they finally got on the same page about their relationship and made out about it. 10/10 no notes for this finale. It was lovely to see Hiro finish his project and make a decision to quit the daily grind--I loved, too, that he is still in touch with his former colleagues--and we saw the change in him so quickly. He looked happier, lighter, brighter. His skin was cleared and his crops were watered! And Kai got to have his moment of catharsis too, sharing his fear that he is a burden on others and having Hiro affirm for him that he wants him in his life and he's a help, not a burden. And I loved that we got all that plus a great kiss, a bed scene (with a very cute leg cramp diversion) and a small peek at their new domestic life together. This show makes me happy and it will definitely be one I return to for rewatches.

Ossan's Love Returns

I'm of two minds on this finale. On the one hand, I really loved it as a single episode of the show, was happy with where all the resolutions landed, and was left with a very warm feeling toward the show overall. The cherry blossom scene especially really got me right in the feels; I've loved the progression of Maki and Haruta's relationship this season and I love the way they talk to each other. They have earned themselves a spot on my list of favorite drama couples who I actually believe are going to stay together. I also loved everything about the big chaotic group scene and all these characters coming together to pour love on Haruta; it felt earned after a season of him knocking himself out for all his loved ones. The end joke with Chief moving in next door, and getting a final Maki/Kurosawa battle, was *chef's kiss*. And Takegawa's perfect life partner being a cat? 10/10 no notes. I will be clutching my aroace Takegawa read tightly to my bosom.

On the other hand, the episode reinforced for me that the way we got to a lot of these resolutions didn't feel quite right. In particular, I don't think the way Kurosawa's health scare played out across the back half of the season worked, and I'm not too pleased about spending three episodes in a downbeat, tragic mode for the sake of a simple pun joke. I think the whole plot would have landed a lot better for me if the audience was let in on Kurosawa's mistake at the start and the tone of his overwrought goodbyes was farcical all the way through. Not only would that have maintained the comedic tone of the show, but we could have used that story time to better seed some of the themes of this episode with Haruta's crisis of confidence and yearning for family. I'm pretty much agnostic on Kiku and Izumi; they never sold me on that pairing but I wasn't mad about their ending.

Overall, I am very glad I jumped into this show and enjoyed the watch experience a lot, despite my quibbles with some of the overarching writing choices. The cast is amazing and all the characters make me smile. If they make another season, I'll be watching!

Bonus: Josi teki Saikatsu

I finally watched this drama this week--I held out for awhile hoping to find it in better quality, but no dice, it's 480p in the grey--and despite the potato lens I loved it so much. This is the story of Miki, a transfemme lesbian, just trying to live her life in the way she wants, and all the barriers she comes up against in that pursuit. Our story begins when her childhood friend, Goto, comes looking for his old pal in a moment of desperation and is stunned to see how she's changed. The show is only four short episodes, but they manage to paint a full picture of Miki's life at home, at work, with friends and lovers, and with her estranged family, and show us how she became who she is. Miki is whip smart and perceptive and generous, but also wary of trusting anyone after she's been let down by so many loved ones. I love her so much, and you will too. This story was written by a trans woman and it shows! Brave the 480p and check it out.