#what is the chewing gum girl doing there... just to make it more difficult for luffy to beat katakuri now that he even has the possibility

[hauntingblue]

Little sister spoiling katakuri's fun who woulda thot

[peachesofteal]

ghoap x reader / 18+ mdni / dark themes / prev here / masterlist

Six thirty in the morning might be your favorite time of day. 

It’s the before.

Before anyone else comes in, before the morning rush, before the chime of the front door’s bell, before the shop is filled with lines of people, before it all upends you.

At six thirty in the morning, you sit in the back, perched on the prep table, with a fresh cup of coffee. You leave the side door open, screen separating you from the world, fresh air mixing with the smell of strawberry basil scones, cinnamon coffee cake and mini kolaches, fruited with whatever jam you’ve managed to throw together. Steam rises, semolina spills, the sun dawns, and the world wakes… all well after you’ve had your breakfast.

This corner of the city is busy, and the shop always hums like a well-oiled machine in the dregs of a rush, the front counter team churning out specialty coffees and teas effortlessly. It’s cyclical, similar faces every day, morning commuters rushing in and out, locals settling in a nook with their laptops and lattes, people swinging in for a quick bite. You hide in the back, usually, elbow deep in sudsy warm water with your mountain of dishes, answering the occasional shout of 'do we have more of-' and 'just sold the last-'

This morning in particular, cranberry orange scones, pumpkin muffins and mini quiches are the only things left cooling on the speed racks, waiting patiently for their turn to be placed in the display case, an endless cycle of replenishment lasting until the rush dies down, morning fading into afternoon, triple shot monstrosities turning into decaf coffees. 

It’s laborious, this routine. Five, six, sometimes seven days a week, going to bed with the sun, rising before it. Your wrists ache from rolling dough, cutting dough, scraping dough. Your back weeps when you lift the bowl from the mixer stand every morning, and your joints fare no better. You need new boots, and new insoles for your new boots, and probably a new standing mat, though you know your boss will never go for it. 

You’re tired.

The exhaustion settles into your bones easily today, wearing you down until you’re allowing your eyes to close, wilting atop the butcher’s block- 

The shop phone rings. 

You heave yourself down and swing through the double doors to the front, scrambling for the classic corded receiver, nearly fumbling it in your hands. 

“Hello?” Shit. You always forget to answer with the shop’s name. You’re not exactly the customer facing part of the operation. “Galaxy’s.” You correct and… wait. 

There’s no response. 

You think you can hear someone breathing, something rustling, but it’s too faint and difficult to make out. 

“’Lo?” You try again, but still, there’s silence. It’s an unending moment, you on one end… who knows what on the other, and you hold your breath, straining to hear, to listen. 

The line clicks dead in the next second. 

Odd. 

The shop girl is chewing gum. 

You’ve told her a million times not to chew gum when she’s working the counter, but clearly, she’s never heard of norovirus, and you’re not the boss, or the owner, so being the broken record only gets you so far. 

“There’s someone out front to see you.” She snaps it between her front teeth, and your molars grind together like stone. 

“Who?” You toss a clean towel on the stainless steel table in the middle of the kitchen with a frown. You don’t really get visitors here, most of your friends are in the same industry, and either work the line too late to be up in time to even get coffee somewhere, or are already at work, buried beneath a bain-marie and the never-ending sound of a ticket printer. 

There’s dried, caulked dough caked to your fingers, shoved up underneath your nails, and you brush them self-consciously against the ratty old apron stretched across your waist. 

The surprise lingers on your tongue, and then explodes when you spot the massive dusky blonde from the other day, the one who was with the guy who split the coffee all over your favorite dress. He’s too tall, and too broad, and too imposing, everything in your sense of self-preservation screaming at you to run when he notices you approaching, gleam of a predator sparkling in his eyes.  

Still, somewhere, tucked away, it thrills you, the idea of them, the balancing act, two halves of a whole. He’s etched from stone, strong and steady, while his partner is saporous, vibrant, and riotous, crystal blue eyes sparkling in the mid-day sun. 

You wonder what they're like. What they talk about. What they do.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Your skin prickles once you fall into his orbit, immobilized by the molten toffee pooling around his irises. You float for a second, tracing his knife’s edged jaw, the fullness of his lips, imperfect pieces puzzled together to make a masterpiece, and then crash back to earth quickly, realizing you’re standing in front of him… staring. 

“Uh. Hi.” What is he doing here? How did he know where to find you?

“Sorry to barge in on you at work.” He starts immediately, wallet appearing from his back pocket like a magic trick. “Wanted to make sure we settled up.” Thick fingers hold a folded nest of notes, and you stare down at them, slowly processing what he means.

Cash? 

“Oh, I… I have… venmo. Or we could use apple pay, you didn’t have to come all the-“ 

“Don’t have venmo.” His mouth tilts, and you go with it, head listing to the side like a wayward buoy. “This is easier.” He pushes it into your hand, peeling your fingers back to enclose the money in your palm, heat sparking up your spine. 

“How did you know where I worked?” You blurt, unable to keep it at bay any longer. The question singes, settles uncomfortably in the sparks between you. 

“Saw you in the back yesterday, when we were in for a cuppa.” Oh. Suspicion sheds, snakeskin left behind on a cold, dusty trail, suspension of disbelief settling in the back of your mind. Sure. After all, this is where you ran into them last week, on your day off. They do come here. 

“Well. Thanks.” 

“It’s our pleasure. Hope the stain came out okay.” 

“Oh, yeah. It’s… still at the cleaners.” This is absolutely false, but he doesn’t need to know that. The spare bills will probably go towards your energy bill, and the ruined dress will go in the trash. 

It is what it is. 

“Couldn’t help but notice when I was comin’ through the parking lot that the back door is open.” His voice swoops low, dropping into a rumble, and you blink, lips parting. 

“Oh, um y-yeah. I like the breeze.” He shakes his head, a simple rejection, leaving you spinning. 

“City’s not the safest right now, yeah?” Oh, yeah. Of course, you knew. Rival factions of organized crime were leaving a red sea of bodies in their wake all over town, a new murder popping up in the headlines nearly every week. 

But you were safe. You were fine. Galaxy’s had never been stained with the bloody touch of any of them, and you took it as fact. Permanence. 

You agree reluctantly, watching the storm clouds roil on across his expression before evaporating. You shrug, hands clutched in your apron, doubt and skepticism clear on your face.

His expression shutters. His eyes turn cold.   

His thumb and forefinger dart through the air, latching onto your chin. 

You freeze. You should tug away, jerk backwards, yell and scream and hiss, but all you can do is stand there, caught in a trap and trembling as he leans forward to murmur in your ear. 

“Lock the door, little doe.” 

[ladylooch]

Lexi's Most Difficult Patient - [Nico x Lexi]

A/N: Everyone say thank you to Jay (@missjomarch) for this because I told her the fate of this being posted today rested in her hands. But also it’s almost her birthday!!!!!!!! Sooo happy early birthday to my little sister. I love you! Proud of you for all you’ve grown in this last year and cannot wait to see what is next for you!

Originally from this request.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: injury- concussion, one mention of blood

The bright afternoon sun is a little confusing to Lexi Hischier as she hustles into the Prudential Center after her sister in law. Normally, she is used to coming into this arena as the sun is setting or already down, but today’s game is a matinee showdown with the Islanders. The girls drove to the game together, but arrived late due to unexpected traffic. Lexi has Lucie in her arms, her little legs bopping against her mom’s hip as her quick steps lead them down the ramp to the elevator. 

It is ten more minutes before they are settled into their seats in the family section. Lexi and Emma wave to the other WAGS, then quickly focus their attention to the game. 

“Bah!” Lucie points and howls down at the ice. 

“Is daddy out?” Lexi wonders, pressing her lips into Lucie’s brown hair. Her green eyes scan the ice and she smiles when she sees her husband, hustling forward with the puck. 

He looks good today. Nico oozes focus, dialed in to the task at hand despite the earlier game time and lack of a pre-game nap. Lexi isn’t surprised. He had an extra pep in his step this morning when he kissed his girls goodbye. 

“Nico looks good.” Emma murmurs, clapping around Lio in her lap at Nico’s shot attempt. 

“Mhm.” Lexi responds, chewing on her minty gum in anticipation of the next puck drop. 

Things quickly take a sour turn for the Devils after the ten minute mark of the 1st period. What started off as a fast pace game, quickly turned sluggish and frustrating as they began an undisciplined march to the penalty box. Nico spends more time killing penalties than attacking the net and his annoyance is evident as he flips his stick against the boards at the period intermission.

“Is it too early to drink?” Emma jokes, leaning back in her seat. Lio turns around, asking for a snack. “Sure, bubba. Lex, do you two need anything?” 

“Can you grab me some water?” Lexi asks politely. “Oh and a cookie if they have one.”

“Yes! I hope they have the ones from last game.” Emma grins. She stands up, taking Lio’s hand for their climb up the stairs. 

Emma and Lio make it back just as the second period is starting with various treats, including the desired cookies. Lio carefully balances the unopened water bottle in his hands, then beams as he hands it to Lexi.

“Good job, Lee.” His aunt murmurs, then smooches his cheek as he giggles. “How is he so big?” She pouts at Emma.

“I don’t know.” Emma sighs. Lucie had been sitting in Emma’s seat while she was gone. Her aunt scoops her up, smooching at her cheek loudly. “Mwah! How are you so big too, sweet girl?” Lexi smiles, then crosses her legs, leaning forward in her seat as she claps.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get something going.” 

The second period energy is anxious. Lexi spends a lot of it bitting her bottom lip with worry. Hockey is a physical game, but these hits seem on a different level. She closes her eyes as Nico is rocketed into the boards, making the plexiglass sway from the momentum. When she opens her eyes again, she feels immense relief that he is skating away with the play unscathed. 

“Oof.” Emma mutters, holding Lucie tighter.

“Not loving it.” Lexi sighs, putting a hand over her mouth.

She watches as her husband goes into the opposite end corner, fighting hungrily for a puck with the Islanders defenseman. Suddenly, another Islander player comes in and obliterates Nico, bringing an elbow up to his face to follow through his check. Lexi gasps, shooting back in shock in her chair as Nico falls to the ice in obvious pain. Timo comes barreling in, grabbing the defenseman before shaking his gloves lose.

“Ugh! Timo!” Emma grumbles. 

Lexi can’t worry about Timo right now. Her sole focus is on her husband who still has his face resting in his gloves. He lays flat on his chest, then slowly makes his way to his knees, face still buried. The trainer slides across the ice to him. Lexi can feel her chest moving up and down but she doesn’t really breathe. Not until he sits up on his knees. She can’t see his face from where she is, but he looks unsteady on his knees. 

“Take it slow.” Lexi whispers. She brings her clasped hands up to her mouth.

Off to the side, the refs break up Timo and the Islanders defenseman. Timo skates off with a spring in his step towards the Devils locker room. It’s close to the end of the period and blood visibly drips off Timo’s knuckles onto the white surface.

When Nico finally stands up, Emma pats Lexi’s thigh encouragingly. 

“That’s a good sign.”

Lexi nods absentmindedly, then runs an anxious hand through her hair. She looks up at the scoreboard, swallowing heavily as the seconds begin to tick down again. She pulls her phone out of her purse, keeping it in her hand for the next few minutes, waiting for a phone call to come through. Instead, it’s a text asking her to come downstairs to the training room.

“They want me to go down there.”

“Oh no.” Emma frowns. Usually, injured players stick around through the game and families meet up with them after the final buzzer. But that doesn’t seem to be the case for Nico right now. “Do you want me to keep her?” Emma asks about Lucie who is still content in her lap.

“No. I better grab all our stuff.” Lexi decides. She puts her purse back over her shoulders, then grabs the diaper bag before gathering up her daughter. “I’ll see you.” She murmurs to Emma.

“Text me what’s going on when you can.” Emma requests. Lexi nods.

With their daughter in hand, Lexi nervously heads down to the locker room. A team representative meets her at the elevator, then brings her back to the training room. Players flow in and out of the room, getting work done between periods. Timo and Nico are in beds next to each other. Timo’s knuckles are being tended to while Nico lays with a towel over his eyes, mostly undressed from his hockey gear, except for his undershorts.

“Hi baby.” Lexi quietly announces her presence. 

“I can take, Luc.” Timo offers, grinning at his niece.

“No you can’t. You’re bleeding.” The trainer mutters to him. Lexi chuckles.

“Thanks, T. I got her. Thanks for sticking up for her dad out there too.”

“Gonna clock him again in the third.”

“No, you’re not.” Nico mutters. “Keep the team in the game.” 

Lexi and Timo share a look, then she reaches for the towel to lift it from over her husband’s eyes.

“What’s the word?”

“Concussion.” He rolls his eyes. “I disagree.” Lexi’s eyebrows scrunch together.

“Why?” 

“Because I’m fine.” He snaps, sitting up. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “The team needs me.” He glares beyond his wife to the team doctor who seems unfazed by Nico’s outburst.

A silent conversation goes between the two of them, like they have already had this conversation out loud and both are too irritated to get into it again in front of Nico’s wife. Lexi looks away from her husband to the team doctor.

“I’ll leave.” Timo murmurs, hopping off the table and lumbering back into the locker room.

“Nico sustained a concussion.” The doctor begins when it is just the three of them. “Testing shows cognitive decline. He is having sensitivity to light and sound. He also thinks I didn’t see him sneak Excedrin from the medicine cabinet, but I did.” Nico rolls his eyes again.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” The doctor says with finality. “Out for two weeks. We will monitor symptoms daily.” Nico scoffs, then throws the towel back down on his face, signaling he is done with this discussion.

“Did he lose consciousness?” Lexi asks hesitantly.

“No. Prognosis is good as long as he follows doctors orders.”

“Well, if he doesn’t want to follow those, he can follow the wife’s.” The team doctor chuckles.

“I like that. Get him home and resting. He’ll be okay.” The doctor encourages Lexi then exits the room to head back with the rest of the team towards the third period.

“Nico.” Lexi murmurs. “Let’s go home.”

When Nico doesn’t respond. She sets their daughter on his chest. Nico grins, peaking out from the towel at their daughter’s smiley face. The two Hischiers play peek-a-boo with the towel as Lucie’s infections giggles fill the room with happier energy. 

“I’m sorry, babe.” He sighs after a few moments. “I’m just frustrated. The team needs me.”

“So does this team.” Lexi reminds him, biting her bottom lip worriedly at his unfocused gaze. He holds her gaze as best he can, then sighs. 

“I’m gonna shower quick, then we can go home.” Lexi frowns deeper. 

“I don’t want you to fall over in there. Just get you dressed. We can shower together when we get home.” Nico grins excitedly. “Not like that.” She clarifies immediately. Nico scoffs, handing over Lucie so he can stand up.

“Fuck.” He mutters as he hops off the table. He sways into Lexi, stumbling and needing to grab the table for further balance. “I tripped over my feet.” Nico insists at his wife’s worried look.

Lexi watches his retreating back to the locker room. Lucie whines in her arms. 

“Shhh it’s okay, baby.” Lexi murmurs, cradling her daughter’s head to her mouth. 

Nico doesn’t seem phased by Lexi’s worry. 

Fine.

They can do this the hard way then.

- - - 

“Babe.” Nico grumbles as she runs her fingers through his hair to wake him up. He has been sleeping for two hours and it’s time for another check in.

“Mr. Hischier. Please open your eyes.” She drawls at him. He pops a curious eyeball open at her, like maybe she will finally give in to his pleading for sex. “How are you feeling?”

“If I say bad, will you help make me feel better?” He mumbles to her. He bites his bottom lip smugly at his own proposition. “Cause my biggest issue is this.” He grabs her hand, putting it on his growing arousal.

“Mmm.” She mewls to him, squeezing him for a moment. Nico shudders. “I really did want to reward you for being such a good patient today, but you’ve sucked.” She grins at his stammering as she moves away from him.

“Wh-what? I’ve done everything you asked today!” He mutters. “This isn’t fair. Suck my dick, baby. Please. Please, Lex.” He practically howls at her.

“I saw you take the garbage out.” She says, opening up Nico’s iPad to the Notes application. Inside there is seven days of symptom checks from the last week since his injury.

“Am I seriously being punished for taking out the trash?” He gapes at her like she can’t be serious. “What’s next? I get points off for helping with Lucie’s bath time tonight?”

“Your instructions were to what?” He balks, rolling his eyes then wincing at the motion. He brings a hand up, rubbing at the left side of his forehead. 

“Patient showing sings of headache on the left side.” She mumbles as she types.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” She says without looking up at him.

“It’s not from the concussion. It’s from my blue balls.”

Lexi giggles, a little snort coming out, which makes Nico laugh too. He groans, throwing his upper body into her lap exasperatedly.

“Not until you can get through the day headache free.” She reminds him, threading her fingers into his long hair. He pops up quickly, then closes one eye in discomfort.

“Maybe if we have sex I will have a headache free day.” He suggests.

“Okay, maybe tomorrow.” She pushes into his head with her pointer finger, forcing his head back down so he is laying in her lap. 

“I miss you.” He sighs dramatically towards the apex of her thighs.

“You are going on the list of top 5 worst patients I have ever had. The newborns in the NICU listened better than you.” She teases him. He moves forward, digging his face into her belly button. Then he lifts her shirt, putting his mouth there and blowing a raspberry into her skin. She feels his teeth from his grin as her abdomen shakes with laughter. “Neeks, focus. What else are you experiencing?”

“Did you write down my blue balls?”

“No!” She explodes with laughter, holding his head to her stomach so he doesn’t shake too much. 

“Um, I’m hungry for puss-“

“Enough.” Lexi says, putting a more professional tone into her voice. “This is serious. You could have longterm brain damage from this. We need to monitor what is happening to you.”

“Babe, I am fine.” He huffs, rolling out of her lap. “I have a headache, yeah. But it’s not like it was the first few days. I haven’t been dizzy.“ He shrugs. “I feel fine.”

“What about sensitivity? You seemed bothered by Lucie’s tears this morning.”

“Yeah because I hate when she cries.” He mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lexi looks over Nico for further evaluation. She leans forward, grabbing a wrist to check his pulse. Its strong and steady. She climbs onto his lap, looking into his eyes at his pupils and eye movement. He does seem to be doing better, but Lexi isn’t quite ready to release him back into the world. Sure, Nico has been hurt before, but this one is different. They are parents now, with more responsibilities than ever and the thought of what happens on the ice disrupting their family life has Lexi on edge.

She sighs, carding her fingers through both sides of his long, brown hair. 

“You need a trim.” She mumbles.

“Oh is that on the approved list?” Nico wonders. His hands snake around her hips, pulling her into his body tighter. He lays his head on her breasts, nuzzling his nose and cheek into the right one.

“Yeah.” She says, closing her eye and placing her mouth in the part of his hair. Tears start to sting in her eyes as she clutches Nico to her chest. Her throat begins to tighten, making it difficult to breathe fully or swallow. She sucks her cheeks in, trying to fight the emotions back. She needs to be the strong one right now to get them through this.

“Your heart is pounding.” Nico mumbles, pulling back. She opens her eyes and watches as his brown eyes turn concerned and gooey at her tears. “Baby, I’m okay.” Her bottom lip trembles. Nico runs his hands up from her hips to her back, pressing her into his chest now. Lexi shudders on her next breath.

“I just can’t stomach you not getting better.”

“I know.” He whispers quietly. “But I am getting better. You’re getting me there, sweets.” He rakes his fingers through her hair, then trails them down her spine comfortingly. “I’ll be better. I promise.” His nose digs into her scalp. “What other questions do you have for me?”

“Is that all it takes for you to listen? Tears?” She tries to lighten the mood, wiping her fingers across her wet cheeks.

“Yeah. I hate when you cry too, babe. Makes me feel helpless and sick.” 

“That’s how I feel when I see you laying on the ice like you were.” Nico is quiet, not knowing what he can say to make that better. He is going to get hit. Neither of them can prevent that. 

Lexi presses her palm into the middle of his chest, needing to feel his heart beat. Nico’s hand comes over hers, rubbing over the tendons of her fingers as they sit quietly together. 

“I love you.” Lexi tells him then pulls away. Nico smiles tenderly at her from below. His lips plumpen, asking her for a kiss. She eagerly obliges. Their tongues meld together, lips separating to let each other in. Before Lexi knows it, she is being lifted up as Nico stands. His hands eagerly grip her ass as he walks her down the hallway leading to their bedroom.

“Nico.”

“Shh. Let me love you, baby.”

Lexi melts at his words and needy tone.

When he asks like that, how can she say no?

Read more Nico and Lexi here.

[insxghtt]

do you hate me? — euronymous x mean girl!reader

Maybe Euronymous liked you more than he should.

warnings: beating nazis i guess (you'll understand). mostly fluff as always.

this is a fanfic for RORY CULKIN ONLY. i don't even know the real story of mayhem really, i just watched the movie and to be honest i didn't even like it so....... idk sorry, i am in my rory culkin era and i will make it everyone's problem.

The first time Euronymous saw you, you were not in a good mood.

Well, it was difficult to ever see you in a good mood. You came from a not so loving family, so you learned how to defend yourself from a very young age. It’s not like you chose it, you just learned that there were two types of people in the world: the ones who fight, and the ones who get hurt. It was about survival, so you did what you had to do, you built your walls and they were fucking strong.

Some people would be surprised. Euronymous was. You didn’t look very threatening, that was a fact. You liked pink, you loved makeup, you had a sweet smile. It's why he felt so confused when he first saw you walking inside his record store.

Your hair was tied in a bun, your earrings were golden, the pink shirt you were wearing ended just above your stomach, showing off your belly piercing. Your boot-cut jeans and high heels completed your look. You were definitely not fitting in. All the other people in the store were either wearing all black clothes or something dark with a weird band logo in it.

A couple boys tried to scare you as soon as you stepped in, yelling “Hail Satan!” right at your face.

Euronymous smirked, wondering how long it would take for you to realize that you walked in the wrong store.

But you weren't scared. In fact, you stared at the two boys in complete silence. For a moment, they laughed, but soon their smiles began to fade out. Something about your look, your presence and even the way you chewed your gum was fucking scary.

“The fuck you lookin’ at?”, you asked angrily and the two boys just looked away, too afraid to say anything else. “Fuckin’ assholes”, you whispered to yourself as you walked to the balcony, where Euronymous was still staring at you, but this time with surprise.

You stopped right in front of him. The look on your face was serious, and he felt the urge to say something that would make your face twist in disgust. After all, it was his favorite thing to do.

“You sure you’re in the right place, cupcake?”, he jokes.

You just ignored his question.

“Listen, I need a dark fucking mindblowing death metal album or some shit like that, what do you have?”

“This is fucking Helvete. Everything here is metal”, he laughed and leaned on the balcony.

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Okay, mister… whatever the fuck your name is…”

“Euronymous”, he added. “My name is Euronymous.”

You felt his friends around looking at you.

“Of course it is…”, you continued, feeling impatient to leave that place. “Look, I have a brother who’s into this…”, you gestured with your hands to the records around. “...type of shit and tomorrow is his birthday. I don’t know if your brain is rational enough to notice, but this is really not my thing, so I’m gonna need some help, okay?”, you gave him a sarcastic smile.

Euronymous liked it. The attitude, the way you were not threatened by anyone there at all. Shit, he even liked the lip gloss in your lips and he was far away from being a lip gloss admirer.

And he had no idea why he liked it.

“Alright”, he nodded, not taking his eyes away from you for even a second. “So, is he really into it or is he a poser?”

You had no idea what he was talking about. “You’re asking me if he’s a satanic freak who wants to burn down churches and eat priests for breakfast?”

“Wow, she’s fast”, he said with a smile and his friends laughed.

“Yes, he is.”

“Alright”, he said, disappearing behind the balcony to grab something.

He knew exactly what you needed. That is, if your friend was not a poser, of course. He grabbed his own band’s record and showed it to you.

You stared at the record and looked back at him. “Okay…”

“It’s my band.”

“This is weird”, you whispered to yourself and the guy in front of you gave you a smirk. “Whatever, how much for it?”

“If you give me your number, it’s for free.”

“That’s not happening, but I appreciate your trying.”

You paid for it as you watched one of his weird friends putting the record in a plastic bag. Euronymous made sure to take it from his friend's hand to give it to you himself and when you grabbed the bag, you felt his fingers touching your hand.

"Freak", you whispered to yourself and he laughed as you turned away to leave.

Euronymous wouldn't say it out loud but he even found himself thinking of you after that.

The second time he saw you, you were beating the shit out of a boy outside of a bar. The boy was on the ground already wrapped up in a ball.

"Fuckin' nazi!", you yelled as you kicked the guy on the stomach one last time. 

Later, he found out that you were very good at beating the shit out of nazis.

As soon as you noticed Euronymous watching you sent him a deadly look. Euronymous would even be scared if he wasn't… well, himself. That was one thing you had in common, you two were not easily threatened.

"What do you want?", you asked.

"Nothing", he shrugged and grabbed a cigarette from his pocket, putting it between his lips.

He turned away for a second but soon he turned back to you, removing the cigarette from his lips and putting it back in his pocket. You stared at him curious to what he had to say and he thought to himself if he should really say it.

But you only live once, right?

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Euronymous felt nervous as he watched you thinking about it.

But it was only a drink, right?

So to his relief, you also shrugged and nodded.

You two walked in the bar and he did buy you not one, but two, three, four drinks. You found yourself laughing at one of his jokes at some point and you wondered if it was the alcohol or if you were actually enjoying his presence.

"So, why did you move here?", he asked with a smile. "I mean, it's not like this is a dream city."

"Well, I like it here", you said. "And also the rent is cheap."

He laughed, but didn't say anything. Then you realized he wasn't satisfied with your answer. He wanted to know why.

"I ran away", you answered honestly.

"What did you run away from?"

Maybe if it was anyone else, this would be the perfect moment for you to push them away like you always did. But it wasn't anyone, it was him. And you enjoyed talking to him.

"My family. I ran away from my family."

Euronymous nodded, knowing that there was a line that he couldn't cross yet. Of course, he could ask more. He wanted to, but more than that, he wanted you to do that by yourself.

"I get it", he said.

"Of course you do."

Euronymous looked at you, so you explained. "Look at you, all angry at the world."

"My family is pretty nice, actually."

This time you were the one feeling surprised.

"Really? So you're a family guy?", you asked. "Then why do you act like you hate everyone?"

He thought about it for a second.

"I can still hate everyone except for my family", he gave you a smirk.

You smiled. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the fact that he had those big beautiful blue eyes, but you were mesmerized by how pretty he was.

"Do you hate me?", you whispered as you got closer to his face.

Euronymous stared at your lips. You were so different from him and he, for some reason, was loving it.

"No…", he whispered back.

He didn’t kiss you that night. You turned away before he could do that, distracted by a song playing in the background. You stood up from your chair and offered him your hand, asking him to dance with you. Euronymous hated that song and if it was anyone else asking him to dance, he would immediately decline and leave. But it wasn't anyone, it was you.

So he danced with you. The first minutes he had a frown on his face, but it faded away as soon as he saw you almost tripping on your own feet. He tried to hide his laugh as he held your waist, but you knew he was enjoying this more than he wanted to assume.

Soon, you two were dancing to songs that he swore to never dance to. Euronymous knew that if any of his friends saw him like that, they would probably lose all the respect they had towards him. But then again, he asked himself if he even cared.

And the truth was that he didn’t. He didn't care about anything else other than you at that moment.

[langernameohnebedeutung]

Thinking about writing a 14 year old girl who starts out bratty and grows and changes, but thinking about the best way to write her in a bratty manner without seeming like I'm bashing on teenage girls in general, any thoughts?

Oh, that's actually something I have quite a few thoughts about!

the shortest answer I can think of is to look at teenagers you know in real life and their behaviours - that's a good start to make that character authentic. A lot of people get age milestones wrong when writing kids (personally that's why I avoid writing kids) and especially with girls, it feels like a lot of authors can only write 'basically an over-sized toddler' and 'she only cares about boys and sex'. Now, teenagers are also tricky because they are all very different. I think learning about what actual 14yo do in their freetime, what interests them, what music they listen to, what jokes they make - or to maybe look at some of the things you did at that age - can be very helpful to avoid being too "how do you do, fellow kids!

Tbh, I always feel like the biggest issue with the way people write the 'bratty teenage girl' is that she's always there to be the 'reaction character'—because she's written by adults, and it reflects how adults feel dealing with teenagers, especially teenage girls. Usually, you have a main character, typically a middle-aged man, who is doing something, and the teenage girl character is standing on the sidelines, chewing gum and telling him he's boring or uncool or be like 'urgh, old people'. At the end of the story he wins her over and, in a heart-warming scene, she will say something like, '…actually, you're not that bad,' or '…okay, maybe you are pretty cool.' It mostly just feels like the adult author feeling insecure about their own age and whether they're still in touch with The Youth, and it's been done A Lot.

Then you often have teenagers as damsels to be saved—and the bratty factor often makes them more difficult to save. That's also a very common trope that often results in people hating on the character, even though, in my opinion, that's often unfair (and very often especially unfairly directed at female characters).

If you think of teenage girl characters who work really well, I think it's the ones that sincerely reflect the experience of being a teenage girl (or a teenager in general). Or whose experiences serve as a good allegory for those experiences. Think of your classic 'teenage detective' stories where the adults just. don't. listen. In those stories, 'bratty' is often a label assigned to the main characters BY adults who ignore them—we understand the context of why they are bratty. It makes perfect sense for them to be that way. Or think of your YA protagonists who stand a little outside society, who often try to do what is right but get very little recognition for it. Or think of all those shows featuring teenagers that have aged well and are still popular with adults—shows like Avatar or Kim Possible. They are usually stories that take the problems of teenagers and the world they face quite seriously - by placing them side by side with actually world-threatening events. While at the same time, the dismissive way adults treat teenagers is a giant threat to these worlds.

Now, obviously, these were shows specifically FOR kids—but I would argue that similar rules apply when writing a teenager in any other genre, especially if you want to avoid bashing them. Take their issues seriously. Explain why they are 'bratty.' Explore what it means to be 'bratty.'

For example, right now I'm rewatching Gotham (a show not for kids), and a major character is Selina Kyle, the young Catwoman, who is living on the streets as a homeless girl. She has a flippant, careless, often mocking demeanor and doesn't really let people in. A lot of people see her as a 'brat'—but because you see her in many situations, you understand what her life is like. You see how people treat her (she's frequently referred to as 'street trash'), and you understand perfectly why she acts that way.

When she does show that she cares about someone, when she lets people in, or when we find out, for example, that she takes care of other kids on the street or the stories she tells herself to feel better about her family, it’s not just to make some adult character feel better. In those moments, we actually learn something about her, build a meaningful connection with her, and see what makes HER tick. She is more than just the 'bratty teenager.'"

Obviously, it doesn't always have to be a giant tragic backstory. That really depends on the story you're telling. Personally, I would argue that even being a teenager (especially a girl!) in normal middle-class society comes with enough reasons to be a 'brat.' There you are, 13 years old, and old men are cat-calling you on the street. You're in your training bra while the beauty industry bombards you with insane beauty standards. Your parents are divorcing, and when you want to understand why, everyone talks to you in a baby voice. You get bullied in school, someone makes deepfakes of you and shares them on Snapchat, and when you try to explain that to the teacher, you can see their eyes glaze over because they don't have a clue what you're talking about.

One very common statement I hear about teenage girls is "they do it for the attention" - which, to a point, is true. Obviously, they want attention. Everyone wants attention to some degree. But notice how this is the same language often used to ignore and neglect the needs (especially medical needs) of adult women. Teenagers also often don't have the language to communicate the complex feelings and situations they are dealing with now. Being bratty or sulking or similar behaviours are they way of trying communicate their feelings. A good way to write a teenage girl like that is to explore her character and to be true to the motives and reasons why she is acting like this.

For example, I think a lot of teenagers are in a very alienated position in society. They're in a very difficult phase in their lives: They are growing into adult problems and adult feelings, adult routines. But those are still VERY big shoes for them to fill. It is overwhelming. This is also why they make convenient main-characters for these kinds of YA novels - because these are not yet integrated into society. They often have an outside perspective. They question the status quo. And this also appeals to teenage audiences because they are in the position where they start questioning the world around them, their family, school, gender, religion, politics.

Teenagers want to have an identity for themselves, make their own decisions, and explore who they are—but very often, the adults around them still treat them as kids, limiting them without even bothering to explain why. Much of the environment created for teenagers is out of touch with their interests—it's often condescending, lecturing, and not very empowering. Every time they have new hobbies - Pokemon Go, Fortnite, some new band, they are always mocked relentlessly by the same adults who don't even know how to entertain them. Some kids on youtube are eating tidepods and suddenly their entire generation is being blamed. The same messages are repeated over and over at teenagers and they're preached to in this way regardless of their own experiences or behaviour. If you are a teenager, no one cares about YOUR life, situations, or struggles—which, at this time, can be quite serious. You want to take charge of your own life, start captaining that ship—but very often, you stand by while some adult does it for you, telling you not to start smoking (it's dangerous!! Don't listen to your friends!!). (again, doesn't it make sense why teenagers see themselves in girls fighting dystopian governments?)

When kids become teenagers, their parents often stop being the most important go-to people in their lives—this is when their friends become their social bubble, and they share many things ONLY with them. So, the things adults often mock about teenagers (like 'But daaaaad, I reaaaally want to go out tonight!' or 'Muuuuum, I really need that One Direction tattoo!!') genuinely are that important to them. 'But everyone is going!!!' really is a valid reason in their eyes. And they often experience adults who not only don't understand but are extremely mocking toward them. Another reason why they might seem bratty to adults - when their behaviour might seem perfectly sensible to them.

Also, consider that when teenagers are portrayed as dumb or naive, that's usually the adult perspective on kids being less cynical and experienced than adults - and that's why they get angry when you say no to something or get bored and annoyed when you lecture them. They might genuinely believe that a new top or a trip to the clubs will help them win new friends, or that this boy might really like them if they do what he says. It seems real to them because they haven't lived through it yet. They have hope that these things will work, and they're a lot less worried about risks because they haven't seen things go wrong as often as adults have. (Just recently, I walked down a narrow street on a steep hill that I used to skate down at breakneck speed without any helmet or protection as a teen—where I could never have slowed down or avoided a car—and back then, it hadn't even occurred to me how dangerous it was. As an adult, I had a 'how am I still alive??' moment seeing that place.)

You know how we often say, 'Be nice to toddlers and babies, this really is their first time on a plane/in a car/in a supermarket'? The same applies to teenagers when it comes to things adults find childish. Wearing THAT outfit or going THERE really is that important to them. And do you know who they hang out with? Who some of their most important social contacts are? Other teenagers, who also think THAT is important. That romance book with its familiar tropes or those song lyrics we've heard a thousand times really are That Deep for them—because it’s new to them

They also don’t live within the same contexts as we do—they don’t have jobs, they go to school, and they don’t get money or immediate rewards for what they do. Is a teenager sulking during a trip or on holiday? Well, they worked just as hard at school this year as you did at work, but they don’t get a say in where the trip goes, most of the time. When they mow the lawn, they don’t really care what the garden looks like—because it doesn’t impact them. So of course they roll their eyes when you ask them to. They live in a world where they constantly do things without seeing any direct benefit, while the things they do find rewarding are often mocked or forbidden by adults

So yeah, one way to make a bratty teen sympathetic is to explore why she is bratty and to show her side of events.

Also: You can explore what makes her less bratty! Perhaps she's nostalgic for simpler times or she really loves animals or she moved and misses her old home or she is passionate about a hobby or music or drawing. These things might make her more approachable to people who also respect them and we see the personality beneath the brattiness.

And also you can explore what bratty means! There are many different flavours of "bratty teenagers". Some are already well-established tropes like the rich brat* or the goth kid. But the real challenge to making a bratty teenager likeable, imo, is to give them a distinctive personality and to make their bratty behaviour reflect real life motivations. In which way is she bratty? Does she disagree with everything you say? Perhaps there is a bigger thing she feels she's not listened to about. Is she reclusive? could be there are a lot of arguments happening around the house she wants to avoid. Does she have specific opinions and viewpoints she stands in at all times? Or is she contrarian on principle? Are there people she's particularly bratty towards? How does she act around her friends, teachers, strangers, neighbours, parents etc. I think the more you explore that the more she becomes a person and the more she becomes a person, the less it feels like you're bashing or mocking teenagers.

On the other hand, you could also write a character who really is a huge dick or even a villain. There's also many flavours of that - anything from the pissy older sibling to the mean girl bullying people in school to the Creepy Kid. (Think of characters like Joffrey from Game of Thrones, that's how far you can go with an evil brat villain even in adult story.) In these cases, I would also explore why they are who they are - even if the answers to this might be less sympathetic.

If you do that, you could also include other teenage characters with very different personalities to show that you are not making general statements about teenagers but that this is just one character you are describing. Or you could give her parents who act similarly. Or maybe it's a question of schooling - that's another popular trope for teenage villains, they might be a reflectin of a dysfunctional social environment like their school or the place they live.

*the thing about the rich brat trope: As someone who worked as a teacher at a boarding school for very wealthy kids, I often have issues with the very shallow depictions of this that basically boil down to "this kid gets everything they want so they suck". There are some very specific forms of neglect that are common among rich people and tbh, I think if you want to go in that direction, I would also look at what life this kid lives and WHAT they are lacking.

[shoshiwrites]

if you’re still looking for touch prompts, might i request doing a pinky swear (31) for jo and bucky?

- @parajumpboots 💜

Of COURSE, thank you so much, Peri! I got to try out Gale and Benny for this one, biggest thanks to @mercurygray and @basilone for the much-needed assistance <3 From this list. Bucky Egan x WarCo OC.

The jacket is only a little bit too big.  Someone had wrangled it for her off a bombardier who wasn’t going up today, the collar smelling like aftershave and a faint layer of sweat. She’s a little too warm here on the ground, but soon, up above, it’ll be all she’s got, on top of the other layers that all combine to make it difficult to bend her arms at their usual angles. In the pocket she feels a coin, a single jack, some kind of chain, the metal cool against her fingers. She lets them be. “So,” says Bucky, and he should be Major Egan now, to her, here on the tarmac. In his own jacket and crush cap, looking all of that rank and an inch on top. “You’ll be in Buck’s plane.”

Don’t focus on me, she wants to say. I don’t know why they’re letting me up, but they are, and none of you are supposed to know I’m there. Fat chance of that. “Yes,” she says. Yes, sir, she supposes it should be. Training had gone by in a blur of a week, half like some kind of absurdist play and half like the life and death situation that it was. Is. Fuck. A reporter from The Post was taking it too, he’d be going up next week. And his photographer, who’d been nagging Jo for a few shots until the instructor had told them to can it. “Nervous?” She rocks back and forth once on her heels. “Maybe.” “Don’t be. Listen, Gale’s bird — that’s where you wanna be.” Her mouth twitches, almost like a smile. “Good thing that’s where I am, then.” Gale, all six-foot-unruffled of him, walks up. “Right, Major Cleven?” He looks at Bucky. “Oh, I’m Major to you now?” Bucky grins like a bullseye. “In front of company.” His friend sighs, just a little. “Let her breathe, John.” “Ah, alright. I promise though, Jo, you’ll be fine. How ‘bout you let me swear it.” She doesn’t understand. “Hold out your hand.” Gale looks half a step from intervening in whatever foolishness he thinks this is. “John.” Behind him, DeMarco paces around the nose of the plane.  Bucky looks back at her, nods exaggeratedly so she does too, looping his pinky around hers. Almost funny, if she looks at how much bigger his hand is than her own. “You’ll be fine.” She plays along, the silkiness of her scarf now a little too tight at her throat. “I’ll be fine.” “Exactly.” He walks her through another minute of procedure, meaning a detailed inventory of the good luck talismans on his person, and hers, and everything she should be paying attention to once they get in the air. “We’ll take it from here, John,” Gale says. Something about his voice already starts to slow her pulse. And off Bucky’s about to go, to check the things that really need checking, the plane that Jo doesn’t examine too closely for fear of realizing it’s a tin can with wings. Well. Maybe that was already a fact. He shouts over Gale’s head so the two of them hear, Cleven and DeMarco. “You take care of our girl, Benny, hear me?” Something buzzes between her ears and she can’t tell what it is, the sudden sensation of her heart in her chest or the too-warm lining of the jacket or our girl or any of it, but Cleven is as calm as a tide-pool, on the runway there in his sunglasses. DeMarco offers her a stick of the same gum he’s chewing on his back teeth. “You ready?” “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”  He lets the air out of his nose, surely wishing for a day that doesn’t involve babysitting a jumpy correspondent. “You’ll be fine, just don’t touch anything.” “Roger wilco. Captain.” She thinks he smiles at that, and maybe she isn’t totally hopeless. He nods towards the plane, the thing they trust more than almost anything. “C’mon. We saved you a seat.”

[taoofshigeru]

2023 Game of the Year Post

Looking back, I was surprised to see how few "new" games I had played this year. But two of them were absolutely excellent so I'm going to talk about them a little.

In February, a game I was expecting to be good showed true greatness, and, in mid-November, a black-and-white indie touched my heart.

[Spoilers for In Stars and Time/Octopath Traveler II to follow.]

Let me start by talking about In Stars and Time/ISAT.

ISAT is a gay game about timeloops. The aloof but amiable rogue Siffrin sees their sanity stretched like a stick of used chewing gum as the fighter repeatedly chickens out on confessing his love for them and sincere heartfelt moments of human connection become rote scenes he must perform.

Throughout the process, Siffrin uses humor to deflect from serious emotional questions and eventually starts drifting away from the group during conversations. The specific character traits of 1) serial people-pleaser, 2) depressed person, and 3) funnyjokespun person who at times used humor to deflect from those issues was a little too specific in a way that hit in an emotionally relevant way.

Even more than that was the way it toyed with my patience as a player. I'm what I would describe as very good at games with repetitive tasks. Like, my tactics-loving friend and I have been doing a co-op playthrough of Tactics Ogre, and I was the enby who ultimately chose to be responsible for grinding Galgastani CF to recruit ultimate goth girl Cressida. It took hours of repeating the same battle and just babysitting the game for hours at a time. Sure I'd be willing to read through heart-to-heart events repeatedly to make the Siffrin's friends happy. I'd do it once, twice, even a fifth time. But my persistence is not bottomless.

In Stars and Time read me perfectly.

I did end up skipping or avoiding those events once the game stopped being a combat RPG and started being a visual novel/monkey island-style adventure in Act 4. I did start zoning through particular events once they happened more than 10 times. My patience did give way, though not to the extent of the protagonist Siffrin when they suffered a meltdown. And this happened right around the time when Siffrin started putting real distance between them and their friends. It took me to a dark place with the character in a way that made the catharsis at the end so worth it.

All of it went towards really effectively communicated the game's point of how it's worth it to talk to your friends about your problems.

~~~

The other game that moved me this year was also built around repeating and growing. It was about throwing yourself at the wall over and over again, with a little more force, a little more refined strategy, a little more panache and willingness to take risks. And about getting it just right, finally. This was my experience with Octopath Traveler 2

So, first of all, strategizing in OT2 kicks ass. Like the Bravely games of yore, this game nerfs the most broken tools (i.e. the Hunter's patience) from the first game, but gives the player new broken tools that synergize in new, exciting ways. And critically, it then throws enemies at you that can take it all and still be a challenge. (Sea of Stars did not do this last part.)

Got used to using someone's primary job for a lethal combo setup? Well guess what, primary jobs are now banned! Got a 6-attack strike with a killer legendary weapon that'll break any monster? Guess what, that weapon you used to get the break is now no longer the zombie dragon's weakness! Spent all your time building up your favorite 4 in an 8-character party? Guess who's gonna handle the superboss' second HP bar?

For a single-player game, it legitimately felt like I was experiencing a design that had been built to anticipate the player's combat choices on a meta level and would only let the door open for solutions that were suitably intricate and clever. Aside from superbosses, the game wasn't extraordinarily difficult, but it still left me constantly scrambling through my toolkit of HP, MP, turns, latent power, items, collectable monsters, and money mid-battle to find a solution to pick any given boss' lock. As a turn-based combat RPG, OT2 killed it.

And that wasn't even the strongest point.

The character stories in Octopath Traveler one were, on a basic level, enjoyable, and were engaging enough that the game's art, soundtrack, and deep turn-based combat could combine to make a great game. Octopath II ups the storytelling game significantly, offering nonlinear chapter order, story-focused chapters that end without a boss fight, and a cast that's generally very well written and played brilliantly by the English vocal cast. The positive impression I had of the game after the first ten hours gave way to a wowed one as characters started to interact, showcasing entertaining personal dynamics and tugging at the strings of a looming, bigger mystery. The climactic arc, Journey for the Dawn, ties all eight chapters together and presents an incredibly satisfying and at times emotionally wrenching finale.

I don't know if any side character in a game has ever hit me half as hard as Ori the Scrivener has

But also, mystery arc main plot removed, the world of OT2 has so much character. There's a whole questline where you sit through a court hearing and then have to investigate the mystery around town to show up and avoid a wrongful verdict with a key testimony or piece of evidence. Secret princess/gardener lesbian subplots and eldritch stuffed toys are just some of the things that exist in the background.

The story about getting it just right wasn't just a player experience. It was also the meta narrative - writing in the first game wasn't weak by any means, but the writing in the second game is just an inarguable improvement. Combat in the first game pitched juicy fastballs that were well-scaled to my play experience, but this baby kept tossing out monster curves and tricky sliders.

I think creative perfection is a myth, because it's always possible to improve. Octopath Traveler II shows how, and that's why it's my game of the year.

~Thanks for reading my selfish little blurb!~

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Wait okay what about Lucian trying to talk Peter into accepting ethical vampirism as an option/into not despairing quite so badly?

Lucian is trying his best and Peter is difficult, but what else is new?

On with the fic!

--

Peter should feel like he was in a dangerous saw-trap house due to his personal collection in his penthouse of vampire hunting tools, but he was still a hunter, damnit. Even if it... seemed bad that he was now one of the people he hunted. Was this like being a hitman against humans? He didn't know.

He tried not to think about it, especially about his situation, but it wasn't easy to avoid thoughts of fangs and blood. All he had to do was look in the mirror and know that he wasn't looking at a human anymore.

He tried to carry on with his life, he still performed his show, still caused trouble for people both in real life and online, and often could be found trying to get drunk off his ass. There just tended to be more panic attacks now, and times where he hid in dark shadows of his home as, apparently, the smallest species of bat in North America, which meant avoiding problems was made so much easier now. The only plus he could think of because of this stupid problem.

Well.

No.

There was another plus, and that was Lucian.

They'd only known one another for less than a month, but Peter found himself latching onto the guy constantly. Both metaphorically and physically when he needed to drink blood. Yes, he had... disgustingly been bringing animal blood into his diet, with the few foods he could actually stomach (which wasn't much, and he gave up quickly on trying to figure out what he could eat because he was tired of being sick), but Lucian's fresh blood was like a damn drug.

Maybe it was because it was offered willingly right from the source, who knows. But Peter always felt horrible after consuming it, even if it calmed the hunger that was always there, in the back of his mind.

He licked his lips, trying to savor every drop, as he pulled away from Lucian's wrist. Always the arm, always the wrist, Peter didn't want to bite Lucian's neck. He watched as the bite marks started to heal already. "I hate this." He said, staring at the wound.

"It's better than the alternative, though is the animal blood helping?" Lucian asked as he pulled down his sleeve, hiding the wound from Peter.

"Ehhh... kinda? I mean, it's not the worst, clearly, it's just... it's not as good as sucking you."

Lucian makes a face and Peter grins before sighing, leaning back against his couch, looking at his ceiling that he was becoming much more accustomed to now that he discovered he can sleep on it, oddly enough. What the fuck kinda vampire is he?

"I'm trying to drink it so I don't have to keep relying on you for my fix. I found that I can mix it with things, not everything tastes great, but I can tell you straight up that blood makes for the best fuckin' Bloody Mary you'll ever drink. I'll have to make you one later today. I also weirdly like it in my coffee, but I think that's cause I cover it up with enough syrups to hide the metallic taste."

"That sounds disgusting."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it, pretty boy." Peter snorted and moved to sprawl on the couch. "Look, Lucian, I'm tryin', alright? But I hate this! It... it sucks! You wanna know somethin'? I tried to chew some gum the other day, and my body made me feel horrible about it, so now that's something I can't have!"

He flopped down so he was on his back, and then moved to curl up, facing the couch. "I fuckin' hate this. I never asked to have this happen, I just... I'm always so careful! I used to wear silver all the time to protect myself! And guess what!"

"What?" Lucian asked, placing a hand on Peter's leg, the one he had unconsciously dropped on the man's lap.

"Apparently it burns me! I've had to give my shit away, and that's a lot of silver, mind you. Luckily, the girls in the show were more than happy to take some from me, and the rest I've given away in some fan contest thing online. My PR people like it because it means I'm doing somethin' nice for the fans, but it's mainly so I don't kill myself while wearin' my bling."

"Oh, I wasn't aware that silver was deadly to you. It's rather dangerous for me as well, and for many werewolf-like people. Not sure why, but it's painful. And trust me when I say that I wouldn't wish silver nitrate bullets on my own worst enemies, that was..."

Peter glanced at Lucian, watching his face contort into something that looked very pained, like he was feeling a phantom sensation. He only knew a bit of Lucian's past, that he had been the first of his kind and a leader who had 'died' during the last great battle of an underground vampire/lycan war. He remembered Lucian saying he had been shot and left for dead by bullets made of silver nitrate that liquefied in his veins. Yeah, he couldn't blame the guy for not wanting anyone else to deal with something like that.

"How do you do it, Lucian?" Peter sighed, moving to be on his back, eyes on the ceiling.

"Do what?"

"Just... not be human."

"I was never human to begin with, Peter, so I'm not sure how to answer that question for you."

He groaned and gently kicked the lycan. "I need an answer, I need to know how to handle this, to live as the thing I hate most in the world! For fuck's sake, Lucian, I spent most of my life learning how to keep these things away and how to fight them, just in case Jerry ever tracked me down to finish the job."

He wrapped his arms around him, squeezing tightly, his chest felt tight and he felt a little dizzy. "I'm trying, I'm trying, but I don't know what to do, or how to accept this...!"

He felt a squeeze on his leg, a comforting feeling. "Peter, it's alright."

"No, it's not."

"It's only bad because you can only see the negatives."

"They're all negatives. I don't want to be this, I just want to be human again."

Lucian sighed, rubbing his leg. "What if it had been different? What if someone of my kind had bitten you?"

Peter glanced at him, frowning, then shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know... I don't have beef with you guys, but it would be... bad? Awkward? I dunno the first thing about bein' a lycan."

"But you know vampires, you know how to keep yourself safe, you know your limitations and strengths, right?"

"Not... really? Kinda? I dunno, this isn't a well know species, but I know some stuff."

"That's good, it's a start. How about this, considering you can't undo what has been done, maybe we can find ways to make this work for you? There are pros and cons to being an immortal humanoid being, let's figure out what you like and dislike about it."

Peter scoffed. "Lots of cons there, wolfy. Cons: I'm the thing that killed my parents and girlfriend."

"You're not the same kind."

"Still, a vampire." Peter held up two fingers. "Con: I have to survive on blood."

"Pro: You've found some foods you can eat just fine, and other liquids are not a problem for you at all."

"Con: The sun hurts me."

"Pro: The sun hurts everyone, and you can actually still walk in it, even if only for short periods of time."

"Con: I sometimes eat bugs."

"Pro: Only as a bat."

"Con: I can turn into a bat."

"Pro: You can turn into a bat, and you love it. You told me you like being a bat to escape your problems."

Peter glared at him, damnit, he was right, he actually did love being an adorable, little bat. Especially when he discovered the wonders of just sleeping on one of his big, fancy, expensive bed pillows and just napping for hours like that.

He continued to try and bring up his bad stuff. "Con: Uhh... I get an ugly bat face."

"Pro: It's not ugly, it's fascinating and threatening. You also get a new eye color that oddly fits you." Lucian said with a straight face, but Peter felt his oddly-working heart beat just a little faster.

Fucking charmer.

"Con: I can't get drunk or high like I used to."

"Pro: It's much better for your health that you don't."

"God, you're a killjoy." Peter snorted and Lucian laughed, stupid, pretty, wolf man with a cute laugh.

Lucian smiled at him. "Pro: You're stronger, faster, and more agile like this. You can do things you've never done before, and you're immortal now, unable to age, you get to keep your looks from now on."

"Are you trying to appeal to my egotistical side?" Peter asked. "Cause it's almost working."

"Maybe." Lucian said and went back to rubbing his leg. "Peter, it's going to be difficult, I cannot lie to you about that. I have known many lycans and vampires who were once human that have changed and have had trouble accepting their new lives, but they had found benefits that worked for them, things that made life a little easier."

Peter sighed. "I get that, but... it's the principle of this thing, ya know? I feel like this is a punishment, for all the shitty things I've done. Or Jerry's revenge from beyond the dirt in his shitty, creepy basement where his ashes are laying. And... what's worse is that I was never given a choice, it was given to me against my will, like a bad gift I can never return or trade off."

Lucian nodded, looking like he finally understood what was bugging Peter. "It'll be a long road to accepting, and that might not even involve willingly accepting it all. But through all of this, you have me to help you, or even just to vent to, alright?"

He looked at Lucian and damnit, this man was just... how was it that he was a wanted war criminal when he was so nice and understanding? Peter reached out a hand, taking Lucian's in his own, he felt so hot to the touch, so alive, it was weird to be aware of that.

"Thanks. Just... ya know, thanks." He muttered, looking anywhere but at him.

"You're welcome." Lucian gave his hand a squeeze and they sat quietly in a comfortable silence.

Then Lucian spoke again. "Another pro: You like sleeping on the ceiling."

"Hell yeah, I do. You should try it, defying gravity sleeping in the best."

"I can't do that, even if I can climb on walls and ceilings in my wolf form."

"For real? Dude, that is so fuckin' hot."

"What?"

"Nothin'."

--

I almost, *almost* wrote them kissing during the pros and cons scene, but I thought, no, too early. Even though Peter unconsciously wants to smooch him.

[lost-kingsmen]

A Cold Night in Gotham

Ao3

It hadn't been difficult to find the site of the summoning. If the eerie clouds hanging in the sky hadn't been clue enough, the frost painting fractals across the concrete and floating in the water in the height of summer were a dead giveaway.

The knight touched down on the ice where it thickened at the threshold of the shipping container, and knocked on a piece of door that had been blown outward into a twisted metal shred twice before simply phasing through the wall of blue ice that blocked off the container’s interior. He didn’t spare more than a glance for the frozen chunks of ice entombing the unfortunate men who had been left on guard.

It was probably a mercy, compared to what the local vigilante would have inflicted on them.

As soon as Gawain’s suit cleared the icy barrier, the flame atop his helmet flared and split off into three pieces. Griflet, Chopper and Branwen crawled down his shoulders and arms in their more corporeal forms. Gawain crossed his arms over his chest and leveled the hulking skeletal entity seated across the room with a stern glare.

“Again?” He asked rhetorically. All activity within the container abruptly ceased as fifteen pairs of eyes snapped to the newcomer, wary and frightened in equal measure but for one. The entity did not falter under the knight’s glare, and made no move to rise from where he sat on the ground. When the stranger in gleaming armor was not treated as a threat, the group of near-trafficked children slowly began to relax, and one of them even threw a snowball at another.

Griflet, Branwen, and Chopper all dropped to the icy floor below and scampered across the ice, using their little claws as crampons, and falling over one another in pursuit of the snowball, and the rest of the tension seemed to break. A few of the children laughed, and they resumed playing among the drifts of snow and ice. The skeletal entity leaned their elbows over their knees andmade a sound like a sigh.

"Yes, again." He growled out. A child slid between them, laughing as they were chased by another, seemingly unbothered by the icy coldness of the room. "Look, I feel a summons, I answer a summons. It's not my fault this city has a trafficking problem."

"It is your fault so many children apparently know how to summon you." Gawain argued. Another child ran by, pulling two more on a makeshift sled with Branwen’s help. "This is the third time this month you've been summoned to Gotham, specifically. Gotham. Eventually you're going to get the attention of the locals. Goodness knows how you haven't already."

"Melkein toivon, etten olisi soittanut sinulle..." Red lights rolled around dark, cracked eye sockets in a dismissive gesture. "Are you gonna get me home or just stand there and lecture me?"

“Who says I can’t do both?” Gawain stepped to one side to avoid a child sliding across the floor, laughing as Griflet rolled a sizable snowball after him. “Your husband will make me a double ghost if I don’t get you home, not to mention your father…” He moved toward the center of the container, where the ice seemed to radiate outward from a circle of frozen spikes.

In the center of the circle was a rough summoning graph, drawn in black marker against the steel floor and sealed beneath a clear layer of ice. Four stolen cigarettes stuck upright in chewed gum stood in for the candles, and a red ribbon from somebody’s hair was placed in between them. In the middle, on top of the ribbon, lay a single, battered trading card with bent corners. Gawain knelt down and picked up the trading card, careful not to catch it on the seams of his hand.

“The cigarettes are a creative substitute.” He said quietly. The entity shrugged.

“They used what they had available.” He said back just as quietly. Gawain floated back toward the entity, and held out the card. The entity took it in one heavy, gloved hand, and passed it on to a young girl with a gaunt face and bloodshot eyes. She took it and pressed it to her chest, sniffling, and buried her face against the entity’s shoulder. A red shape moved behind her, and a canine-like blob rested its head on her own.

“I expected more of your polter-pack to be around, Ivan.” Gawain commented, a smile on the edge of his voice. The girl made a watery laughing sound, and the entity - Ivan, just like the name on the trading card - swiveled his skull to glare at the knight.

“They’re keeping the perimeter clear, at least until the local heroes show up…and don’t call them that.” He growled. “We’re not giving them some gimmicky name.”

“I think we are.” Gawain’s eyes turned up in a smile. The makeshift sled passed them by again, this time carrying three children as Branwen dragged it backwards in her teeth, her claws scrabbling at the ice in a frantic pace. “It’s been said out loud now. It’s not going away.” Ivan muttered something in Finnish that was probably impolite and slowly shifted his weight to begin standing up, giving the children leaning on him or near him time to move, themselves.

“I’ll corral the little ones.” He decided. “You make sure the coast is clear, and we’ll follow you out.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Gawain ignored the amused snort he got in response, and whistled a quick tune. His three little spirits came running back to him, and he phased them back through the icy wall without a word further.

[gfanlocalcryptid]

The story about Anti Mabel that you didn't expect.

"I don't want! I don't want! Idon'twantIdon'twantIdon'twantIdon'twant..."

"And yet you want it!"

Dipper, Mabel and Ford were accompanying Anti Mabel to the dentist, as she needed to get braces. Only that the dreaded Shooting Star variant was not at all happy about it.

"I don't want braces! They're ugly! Useless! And... stupid!"

The Pines couldn't take it anymore. Stan immediately snapped out of it, claiming he had pugs to export to Mexico or something.

After a twenty-minute drive in which the only sound was Anti M.'s moans, Ford took his eyes off the road for three seconds and fixed them on the screaming girl.

"If you don't get braces your teeth will grow crooked, you won't be able to eat and you'll starve! Is this what you want?"

Instantly, the wicked little girl stopped whining and fell silent, to the delight of all the other passengers.

When they arrived at the dental office they waited a few minutes, and then an orthodontist called the girl, who sadly trudged towards her fate. The orthodontist was an elderly lady with a sweet face and gold glasses. She made Anti M. sit down, and she did it without making too much fuss. He calmly explained all the procedures to prepare the girl.

However, just before starting, Anti Mabel burst out laughing and opened her mouth, showing chewing gum she had been holding the entire time.

"Ah-ha! How are you going to put braces on me while I'm chewing gum, huh? I really want to see!" Then she gave an evil laugh, and waited for the dentist's answer.

The woman looked at it for a few seconds, then said, "You know, I could call the man, the boy and the girl who accompanied you, and they'd make you throw it away."

Anti Mabel blanched. She hadn't expected this.

Unexpectedly the orthodontist smiled.

"I understand. Getting braces can be difficult, even frightening. I don't want to force you to do what you don't want, but as a doctor, I have a duty to treat you, or keep you from getting sick. And then, in my opinion, braces would suit you."

Anti Mabel stood still. "So you're not going to force me?"

The woman shook her head.

"Absolutely."

*some time later*

Anti Mabel touched her face. She was still under anesthesia, but she sensed that there was something different about her.

Anti Mabel looked at the orthodontist a little wary, but also grateful.

"T-thanks."

The kind lady smiled.

"It's been my job for thirty-seven years! Your welcome."

Anti Mabe returned to her companions. Ford was sleeping, probably dreaming about Bill. After he managed to get the demon out of Stanley's mind they were friends again, and maybe a little more. Dipper was reading a book and Mabel was chatting with a little girl who was there to treat a cavity.

They smiled when they saw her, and Mabel said they looked exactly alike now.

Anti Mabel snorted, said goodbye to the orthodontist, and started to leave the dental office.

She turned a moment before walking out the door, and showed the chewing gum she was putting in her mouth.

She stuck her tongue in, and ran off, chased by the Pines, while the dentist laughed heartily.

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

074 of 2024

Created by shestoohonest

Does it get super hot in the summer where you live?

Yea I wish. When it gets hot here, it's considered an anomaly XD

Have you ever applied to a job? Where?

Yeah, to Alstom (French rolling stock company). I got hired and I work there until today. It was 10 years ago.

Aren't you getting sick of hearing commercials say?

Say what? I'm sick of commercials in general, unless they advertise cat food.

When was the last time you were chewing gum?

Probably today.

What's the hardest part of being in a relationship?

Compromising lol. Admitting I was wrong.

Would you ever date someone of the same sex?

I haven't been dating girls at all. Always guys.

Who REALLY gets you hot?

No one. Not even my husband.

Did you buy a yearbook this year?

No, I didn't.

How much did it cost?

N/A.

If you HAD to be raised by another family member than you were, who?

My paternal grandma. The best person ever.

Do you own an iPod?

No, I don't. Never bought anything Apple and I don't intend to.

Doesn't it seem like everyone's iPods are ALWAYS getting stolen/breaking?

I don't know and I don't care.

How many best friends do you have?

I don't know anymore. I know my husband, my ex Nielsje and my sister are always on my side, as well as Christoph, Kenny and Gilbert, they have never let me down.

Are you close with you best friends' parents? Do you know them very well?

I don't know them at all. All my friends have families on their own.

Do you know anyone that has had children when they were 35+?

Probably. But most of my friends who have kids are around my age or younger, or had children in their 20s.

Have you ever had a pet destroy/eat something you owned? What was it?

Oh haha lol. My cat destroys house plants regularly.

Are you a good speller? What about grammar? Are you good with that?

I try to be, but I'm prone to making typos.

Who was that last person you kissed, IN A DREAM?

I don't dream of kissing people.

If financial situation was no matter, how many children would you like?

None. I'm not good enough to be a father, I'm better as stepfather and uncle.

Do you still buy CD's? Or download music?

I buy CDs as collectibles, I use Spotify to listen to music.

Do you pay for the music you download?

I pay for Spotify Premium.

Describe an article of clothing you wear often.

A red hoodie from Adidas, I'm not kidding. So comfortable.

Do you like reptiles as pets, or do they gross you out?

They don't gross me out, but they're not my type of pet.

What's your most recent obsession?

I always have the same obsessions, trains and signal identification.

And something you've ALWAYS been obsessed with?

Just as I said above.

Do you own a pinky ring? What about a thumb ring?

Pinky ring, yes. Toe ring, no. I don't see the point of them.

Do you file your nails? Clip them, whatever..?

Clip, but also bite.

What is the youngest age you would consider dating somebody?

Probably 26. I like some guys as young as 20, but hey. I'm 34, it's a bit of an age difference already.

Are you a cat or a dog-person?

Cat person all the way. I love cats so much. I don't mind dogs, but they just don't vibe with me.

Perhaps a different kind-of-animal-person?

I like rabbits, too. I used to have a Flemish giant girl as a pet, she was huge, but very sweet and gentle.

Describe the last time you truly, heartbrokenly distraught.

Recent times at work. There was a lot of crap going on. I'm only waiting for Friday.

Favorite type of seafood?

Nope, thanks. Seafood is normal in my country, particularly in the area I come from, but I don't like it.

Quote to live by?

There are so many, I can't choose.

Are you more traditional or progressive?

Somewhere in between. It's hard to explain.

Have you ever felt like the black sheep?

Not really felt so, but I've been considered one.

Was situation was that? (Inside your school, family, friend circle, etc…)

Some family members.

Have you ever worn boxers? Are they difficult to wear in jeans?

Yeah I do, and no, they're not difficult.

How old are you? How long until your next birthday?

I'm 34, my 35th birthday will be in 8 months.

You can kiss any person in the UNIVERSE besides your significant other. Who?

No one, I don't like kissing.

Are you into the occult?

No, I'm not. I'm a seeker, but rather closer to traditional beliefs.

One wish. Right now. As far from cheesy as you can make it sound!!

I want my older cat to be brought back to life.

[fionacle]

down to 803

I couldn’t tell you the first time it happened, most things before high school are a blur, but I often hear others called special. The meaning of this is not what special is supposed to mean. Special things are supposed to be important and unique, they matter a lot, it’s a very high compliment if you say it genuinely. But here it’s condescending. Like this is the core of the person being spoken about, and that core is a taboo. Like it’s pity for an illness, or warning of danger. They say the word as though they’re describing a creature, some animal of lesser mind.

“I’m proud of you for being friends with him.” “Why?” “Oh, you know, he’s special.”

To speak with one of ‘them’ is seen as a great act rather than basic human decency toward a human.

I love being praised. More than anything else in the world. I need to know I matter, to feel skilled and important, the good kind of special. But when I’m praised for something like this I feel dirty. I can’t help but try to be the hero when I see someone’s upset, even when it’s unneeded or undeserved, but not here. If I accept this praise it means I agree that I had to do something significant and difficult. It means that my friend is just a challenge that I beat. So, not only would I be lying, I’d also be insulting my friend, even if he wouldn’t be in earshot.

I want nothing more in life than to be special. The good kind.

I want to finish writing a book and become famous for it. I want adoring fans, and to make a difference in their lives. I want to be talked about as someone cool and worthy of awe and respect, maybe even envy. I want to know that my friends consider me significant and wonderful. I want everyone I meet to be so earnest about liking me that it forces out any thought telling me I’m not worth their time. I want to carry around the good special for everyone.

The word isn’t really that important to me, I don’t hold any affection for it. But I’m upset that it dehumanizes others, and mostly I’m upset that it dehumanizes me.

I’m not clinically diagnosed with autism. I’m clinically diagnosed with ADHD, and that’s it. But I am sure I do not exclusively have ADHD.

When I go into testing rooms, I’ve been to quite a few since childhood, they present games to test my brain. This is an awful way for me to show my symptoms. I do the best I can because it’s fun and I want to show off. I tend not to have “off” days when I visit them, especially because I’m rarely around triggers. They don’t see me cry because the lunch man took my apple juice cap. They don’t see me flail around because I hear someone chewing gum. They don’t hear my autistic friends explain to me how my experiences match theirs to an alarming degree. I need them to see my tears in action. I need to take my memories out of my brain and show them. They need to know everything I’ve done and they need to put a word to it and let me tell people.

Then, maybe, they won’t tell me to stop. To stop being too weird. Stop being too emotional. Stop being afraid of things no one else cares about. Stop “misidentifying” emotions. Stop all of it. To just be normal. Because no matter how much they want it to be true it’s not. It’s not. It never will be. I cannot be. I’m not normal.

There’s something both cathartic and terrifying in saying that.

I’m not normal.

“Stop doing that or they’ll think you’re special.”

I am. I am special. You’ve known me your whole life. People I’ve known for a year can see it. Why can’t you? Why can’t you see that a fundamental part of me is that my brain is not normal. Why can’t you stop making that face when I bring this stuff up. Don’t tell me I’m copying my friends. Don’t tell me my friends are weak. They are not weak. I am not weak when I act like them. When I am true to myself I am strong. Don’t tell me that strength isn’t the real me. You need to re-learn who I am before you get to tell me who that is.

I am not some normal girl, what makes me different is a bigger part of me than my loved ones would like to admit. I think they ought to know me as “bad” special, as much as I hate the word, because then at least they’d know me.

someone please help me shorten my college essay oh my god

it needs to be 650 words, max, but it’s 897 right now, and that’s after editing.

i don’t want to take anything out, but I have to.

a teacher told me to take out every “I’m not normal” but i will absolutely fucking not

Pasting it below the cut, CW for ableism (my topic is how people will refer to people with autism and stuff as “special”)

Also if I wrote anything offensive lmk because the only people I’ve shown it to are neurotypical adults

At some point, almost every child is told that they are special. It’s a great feeling. Human nature is to strive for the top, and children especially enjoy having their inflated self-importance validated. But I quickly learned the downside to that word.

I couldn’t tell you the first time it happened, most things before high school are a blur, but I’ve often heard others called special. The meaning of this is nothing like the way special is supposed to mean. Special things are supposed to be important and unique, they matter a lot for one reason or another, it’s a very high compliment if you say it genuinely. But here it’s condescending. Like this is the core of the person being spoken about, and that core is a taboo. Like it’s pity for an illness, or warning of danger. They say the word as though they’re describing a creature, some animal of lesser mind. I still hear this often.

To speak with one of ‘them’ is seen as a great act rather than basic human decency toward a human.

“I’m proud of you for being friends with him.” “Why?” “Oh, you know, he’s special.”

I love being praised. More than anything else in the world. I need to know I matter. I need to feel skilled and important, the good kind of special. But when I’m praised for something like this I feel dirty. I can’t help but try to be the white knight when a friend is upset, I love being a hero even when it’s unneeded or undeserved, but not here. If I accept this praise it means I agree that I had to do something significant and difficult. It means that my friend is just a challenge that I beat. So, not only would I be lying, I’d also be insulting my friend, even if he wouldn’t be in earshot.

I want nothing more in life than to be special. The good kind.

I want to finish writing a good book and become famous for it. I want adoring fans, and to make a difference in their lives. I want to be talked about by people as someone cool and worthy of awe and respect, maybe even envy. I want to know that my friends consider me significant and wonderful. I want everyone I meet to be so earnest about their care for me that it forces out any thought that tells me I’m not worth their time. I want to carry around the good special for everyone.

But honestly, the word isn’t really that important to me. I don’t hold any affection for it. I’m upset that it dehumanizes others, but mostly I’m upset that it dehumanizes me.

I’m not clinically diagnosed with autism. I’m clinically diagnosed with ADHD, and that’s it. But I am sure I do not exclusively have ADHD.

When I go into testing rooms, I’ve been to quite a few since childhood, they present games to test my brain functions. This is an awful way for me to show my symptoms. I do the best I can on the tests because they’re fun and I want to show off. I tend not to have “off” days when I visit them, especially because I’m rarely around triggers. They don’t see me cry because the lunch man took my apple juice cap. They don’t see me flail around because I hear someone chewing gum. They don’t hear my autistic friends explain to me how my experiences match theirs to an alarming degree. I’m horribly emotional and sensitive and find it incredibly hard to not hate every kid outside my friend group. I need them to see my tears in action. I need them to see. I need to take my memories out of my brain and show them. They need to know everything I’ve done and they need to put a word to it and let me tell people.

Then, maybe, they won’t tell me to stop. To stop being too weird. To stop being too emotional. To stop being afraid of things no one else cares about. To stop “misidentifying” emotions. To stop all of it. To just be normal. Because no matter how much they want it to be true it’s not. It’s not. It never will be. I cannot be. I’m not normal.

There’s something both cathartic and terrifying in saying that.

I’m not normal.

“Stop doing that or they’ll think you’re special.”

I am. I am special. You’ve known me your whole life. People I’ve known for a year can see it. Why can’t you? Why can’t you see that a fundamental part of me is that my brain is not normal. Why can’t you stop making that face when I bring this stuff up. Don’t tell me I’m copying my friends. Don’t tell me my friends are weak. They are not weak. I am not weak when I act like them. When I am true to myself I am strong. Don’t tell me that strength isn’t the real me. You need to re-learn who I am before you get to tell me who that is.

I am not some normal girl, what makes me different is a bigger part of me than my loved ones would like to admit. I think they ought to know me as “bad” special, as much as I hate the word.

[ssareids-coffee]

little drabble about eddie funding out his new gf is a sub!!

smut!!!

he was not expecting you to be quite so willing to submit to him. you projected this persona that made you seem like you take no shit from anyone and absolutely no one tells you what to do. when you started dating, eddie was expecting you to act like a brat, talking back to him and trying to make his life difficult. but, the more time you spent together the more it seemed to prove him wrong.

the sound of you chewing that gum is driving me mad and i need to concentrate, spit it out he says, half joking as he presents his palm. without question you let the chewed gum fall onto his hand, making his eyes widen with shock.

he starts testing the waters, seeing whether your just letting your guard down of whether you are really that willing to submit to him.

that’s my good girl making you melt into his lap, so good for me and grabbing you a little tighter than usual clearly had you flustered. it wasn’t until he climbed into your window and caught you in a particularly intimate moment that he realised you wanted him to completely take control. sprawled out on your bed, ass up, rubbing your clit furiously as you clung onto a teddy for dear life.

please daddy, please the way you were begging making his cock twitch in his pants. burying your face into the fur of your teddy to muffle your moans as you desperately humped your hand.

oh shit he groaned, leaning against your window as he soaked you in eagerly.

eddie- uh, shit i wasn’t expecting you here omg quickly turning around so you were sitting on your bed, moving the teddy so it covered your soaked cunt.

i can tell baby, who knew you were such a pretty sub smirking as he noticed how quickly the blood was rushing to your cheeks, so embarrassed about being caught you know you could have just told me that you wanted me to completely ruin you

i- eddie please don’t tease me, can we just pretend this didn’t happen you whine, hands fumbling with the ears of your teddy anxiously.

why would i ever want to pretend i didn’t see that? who would have thought that you of all people would want to be dominated, huh?

he’s now at the end of your bed, leaning down to so he is level to your ear you wanna be a good girl for daddy huh?

you moan lightly at his words, desperate for him to touch you when he finally connects your lips for a messy kiss. wrapping your hands behind his head you try to pull him closer to you, but instead he breaks the kiss.

how about we move this cute little teddy and show me how pretty your pussy is baby? nodding quickly, you throw the bear to the side and let him spread your legs slightly. his breath catches in his throat as he is met with the sight of your swollen cunt, wetness oozing out your desperate hole.

so so wet aren’t you? do you want daddy’s fingers or tongue first? eddie asks, running a finger up your slit as he waits for your response.

want your cock you pout, moaning at the way he is touching you.

gotta prep you for that honey, im gonna split you open so i need to make sure my girl is nice and wet for her daddy ok?

his words have you nodding furiously, opening your legs further for him as he slowly inserts a finger into your aching pussy. wasting no time in going slowly he starts fingering you furiously, trying to find your sweet spot quickly. eddie wanted this to be good for you, you had to be ready to take him but he was so hard he thought he was going to explode. his other hand finds your vest top and pulls it town to reveal your bare tits, pawing at them furiously.

oh my god, i- i’m so close you cry, already sensitive from having touched yourself before he got here. he lowers his head to your pussy and attaches his lips to your clit, sucking lightly. your orgasm washes over you embarrassingly quickly, making you grab your teddy to use his fur to muffle your cries. when he pulls away, covered in your cum, to see your swollen lips, cunt and pretty tits hanging out your vest clinging onto this teddy for dear life he thinks he is going to combust. tearing his shirt off as you fumble with his belt, finally freeing his painfully hard cock.

hold onto your teddy for me yeah? let daddy use you

[itsshizyne]

Baby Daddy Chronicles

——————

A Tomura Shigaraki parent Oneshot

You forced Tomura to spend some alone time with his year old son while you went out with a couple of friends for a girls night out. He realises how difficult parenthood can really be.

Inspired by @wornoutmouse

Word count: I have no idea but I’m pretty sure it’s a lot. Way more than I expected.

Warnings: None, just Papa Shiggy trying to figure out how to please and get along with his son.

This is targeted towards Black readers, but the reader insert is able to fit with anyone.

Key: b/n = baby’s name.

“It won’t stop staring at me.” He told you on the phone as he carefully watched his crawling child from the other side of the room. Chewing on one of his soft baby toys with his toothless gums as drool gathered around his small mouth.

You scoffed on the other side of the phone line. “It? Tomura that’s your son you know? And he literally just turned one last week. What is he supposed to do? Do cartwheels around the house?” You laughed, resulting in a groan from your baby daddy.

Tomura nearly jumped out of the grey sofa as his son began to slowly crawl towards him. He noticed the small, h/c haired, curly headed infant had one of his red shoes in his hands and quickly pulled it out of the child’s small fingers before he could start sucking on it. “He’s been doing the same thing for nearly an hour, it’s really creepy.”

“Welcome to parenthood. If you were around often, you’d see b/n does that all the time.” You sighed.

Shigaraki saw that the child was about to cry and pulled him up onto the sofa, his pinky fingers pointing away from the mini body as to assure that his quirk wouldn’t activate. “It’s not my fault I’m always at meetings, the league needs me y/n.”

“Well your son needs you more. You should’ve thought about all of that before and pulled out fast enough. Anyway, I’ve gotta go, have fun! I’ll be back in a couple of hours!” Before he could say anything you hung up, Shigaraki slumped his body down into the soft cushions as his child continued to stare at him with crimson eyes, just like his own, like he was some sort stranger.

This was the first time he’d ever been alone with his toddler. Ever since the kid was born, he had always left you to deal with the parent stuff while he was busy coming up with ideas to take down the corrupt hero society. Occasionally coming round with diapers, clothes, food, money and other things needed so you and his child were living comfortably.

It’s not like he didn’t want to be around his son, but it was more of a fear. He didn’t exactly have a good upbringing himself, he was new to all of this and thought he wasn’t good enough to be a father or he wasn’t prepared to take on such responsibilities of caring for a small infant.

Although you constantly reassured him that it was all going to be okay, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to show love to the child. And that he would probably grow up resenting his father, or worse…end up just like him.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when he felt his son crawl out of his arms and land bottom first onto the wooden floor, he tried to pick him back up when the child began to fidget and whine beneath him.

“Oh come on little guy, can’t you see I’m trying to make sure you don’t get yourself into trouble.” The baby smacked his muscular arm and began to crawl back to his original space, picking up one of those small All Might action figures you brought for him out of spite and smack it head first against the floor.

Shigaraki chuckled and scooted towards his son on the floor, attempting to take the toy out of his hand before being met with a small palm against his soft cheek. “Alright! I’ll leave you to keep destroying your little figure. I guess we have at least one thing in common hm?”

A gentle, warming smile appeared on Tomura’s face as the toddler began to loudly giggle, grinning wide with soft gums in amusement while he smashed the figure’s head on the floor with even more force. His father’s heart warmed at the sight of this, not only did his son also hate all might for some reason, but he found joy in destroying things to make him happy.

You would be pissed if you saw Shigaraki finding amusement in shamelessly entertaining the child’s activities, but you weren’t here. To your baby daddy, it was just him and his sons little secret.

However, his smile was quickly faded when the baby began to loudly cry. On normal occasions, he’d just step back and wait for you to deal with your son while he made his way to the balcony due to the fact he hated such noises.

But unfortunately this wasn’t the case. Tomura would have to man up, and deal with whatever was troubling his son like a responsible parent.

Only…he couldn’t think of anything.

You fed him before you went out. And made sure you had stocks of perpetrated milk in the fridge in case he got hungry, and his favourite show that made Tomura rip out strands of his white hair from the annoying rhymes was on the television at normal volume, so what could possibly be causing his son such agitation?

It was only until Shigaraki picked up his boy and was met with a strong, putrid smell from the boy’s diaper that he finally knew. And he wasn’t looking forward to solving the unfortunate problem.

~~~~~~~~

Holding the boy with eight fingers, the older male quickly rushed to his room and placed him on the changing mat. Tomura wasn’t exactly a fan of changing nappies, he always left it for you to do. He didn’t even know what way to put a nappy on a child, both sides were to insure that the baby waste didn’t spread anywhere else so why did he have to care what side he put it on?

After stripping the baby and realising he was completely lost on what to do next, there was only one person he knew could call at this time of the evening. Small coos and groans could be heard from the small boy as he held one foot high in the air with the other in his mouth.

“Look, cut me some slack okay? Your mother usually does this type of stuff.” He told the child as he began to call Dabi. He was the eldest out of his siblings, so he definitely knew how to change a diaper right? He must have the experience.

After almost two minutes of constant transfers to voicemail, the black haired male finally picked up his phone with a loud irritated groan. “What the fuck do you want? I’m sort of in the middle of something here.”

Tomura didn’t ask or even want to know what his partner was in the middle of, when dealing with such a lazy manwhore like Dabi, who knows what he’s up to most of the time. “Do you know how to change a diaper? The kid took a dump and y/n usually deals with stuff like this.”

Shigaraki was met with a huge guffaw of laughter from Dabi after explaining his current, serious situation and started to get annoyed. This was no laughing matter. “What? Seriously? Please tell me you’re joking boss, you don’t know how to change a diaper? Have you been living under a rock or something?”

“Just shut your mouth and tell me how to do this shit, I don’t have time for your jokes.” Tomura rasped, scratching his neck in frustration as his associate continued to mock him. “Fine alright I’ll help, this is why b/n can always count on his uncle Dabi.”

Shigaraki suddenly quirked an eyebrow and screwed his face. “Wait. Who said you’re his uncle? Cause I sure as hell didn’t.”

“Um, your baby momma. I was literally the first person to go to the hospital and see the kid, I’m practically his certified god father. Put some respect on my name Shiggy.” Dabi clapped back, sounding quite offended.

“Whatever, just tell me how to change this thing. I swear this parent thing is starting to get on my last nerves.” He complained, rubbing the side of his head and letting out a heavy sigh.

“Should’ve pulled out.”

“For fuck sak- JUST TELL ME HOW TO DO IT ALREADY!” He yelled, startling the baby and resulting in a small cry. His father quickly pulled out one of his soft chew toys and put it in his hand, calming the little boy down.

“Alright relax. So the first thing you’re gonna wanna do is take off the diaper, remove those little sticky bits.” Dabi begun to explain, Tomura put the phone on loud speaker and set it by b/n’s little head. He removed the tape from the front of the diaper and pulled the front down.

Being met with a strong stench, he put that front of his hoodie over his nose in attempt to block out the smell. “Yeah I did that, what next?”

“Pick up a few baby wipes and clean him and his mess up, and I mean CLEAN him, he might get a rash of you don’t. and make sure you do it from top to bottom.” Dabi spoke in a serious tone. Tomura nodded and began to wipe all of the poop away, he started to get a hang of it after a few swipes and smiled at his new accomplishment.

He was finally getting this whole dad thing under control, it was one of his great successes next to that one time he and the LOV fought the entire liberation front with hardly any sleep.

He was quite proud of himself. “Yeah I cleaned him up, next ashtray?”

“Clean him more, make sure there’s nothing there. Then you’re gonna have to put the wipes in the dirty diaper and wrap it up.” Tomura gave b/n a final wipe down with a warm wet, rag and placed the used wipes into the dirty nappy, using the sticky sides to hold everything in place when he wrapped it up and threw it in a plastic bag.

He didn’t notice his son slowly crawling away naked with the phone until he glanced back, he scooped the child up with one hand and placed him back onto the mat. “I haven’t finished just yet, stay here. You can hold the phone for me alright.” He giggled and tapped b/n’s button nose before resuming. “So what should I do after that?”

“Well you put a fresh diaper back on the kid and put his clothes back on.” Dabi lazily responded, Shigaraki picked up the diaper and was met with confusion as he tried to figure out what side went where. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate for me, I don’t know how to put it on.”

“There’s absolutely no way that you’re being serious right now… where are you when y/n does this?” The male on the other side of the phone slapped and shook his head in huge disappointment. What kind of father doesn’t know how to put on a diaper? “I have better things to do than deal with dirty diapers. You, of all people should know this.”

“And I thought y/n having a kid would change you, jeez you’re so cold boss.” Dabi said subtly, not knowing his words would land a critical hit on Tomura’s heart.

“I know I haven’t been father of the year, but I’m trying change that. So how do you do it?” He mumbled with a click of his tongue, feeling quite guilty at the fact that Dabi was right. Of course he’d been there to provide for his little boy, but when it got to important moments like this, he was always quick to run away and avoid catering to his son’s needs at all costs.

A simple job for you, yet a complete and utter hassle for him was an eye opener that he needed to have a change of attitude towards b/n.

“The side with the sticky part goes at the back and the soft side goes at the front.” Dabi answered and yawned into the mic, his hot breath blowing loudly through the phone with a static like sound causing Tomura’s son to shake the phone out of innocent curiosity.

After a few long and complicated seconds that felt like an eternity, Shigaraki was able to successfully put b/n into a fresh diaper. He put on a fresh pair of purple space pyjamas onto the little boy and hoisted him over his shoulder.

“Aye well done boss, you aren’t just a deadbeat father after all!” Dabi playfully clapped his hands together and jokingly cheered for his boss, successfully earning a long eye roll from the annoyed male who sucked his teeth.

“I was never a deadbeat, respect me.” Tomura frowned.

“Well Now you’re done, I’m gonna go back to doing what I was doing. Give my nephew a little kiss on the forehead from his favourite uncle okay?”

“Oh fuck right off.” Tomura grinned, patting b/n on the back as he him bounced around. “Fine be like that asshole, you’re just jealous that his favourite uncle has always got his back.”

“And his only father does too. Don’t I little man? Don’t I? Your daddy’s got you!” He cooed at the baby in his arms, who giggled and gripped at his hoodie.

Feeling grossed out at his boss’ sudden kindness, Dabi said his final goodbyes.“You’re so weird. It’s scary hearing you all happy and shit. Anyway I’m out, bye.” And with that; he hung up the phone. Leaving Tomura and his mini version of himself to hang out.

Tomura held the baby high in the air, chuckling to himself as mini feet kicked and flew all over the place in a fit of excitement. “So now that we’ve finally got that out of the way, what are me and you gonna do next hm?”

~~~~~~~~

After nearly an hour and a half of his father kindly entertaining the toddler with various, safe, ‘anti villain activities’, which is what you liked to call them, b/n started crying again. At this point Tomura had gotten used to his son’s yelling, carefully picking up the child and rocking him on his shoulder as he walked to the kitchen.

He put b/n into his blue and red high chair and pulled out his own seat, rummaging through the cabinets where you kept the baby food. “The last time I gave you your bottle, you threw it at my head. So pick between these two.” He pulled out a jar of mashed Carrot and peas, and apple purée.

B/n reached for the apple purée with his small hands and began to use his gums to bite on the lid, indicating to his father of his chosen meal for the evening.

“Good choice.” Tomura smiled and opened the jar, scooping up some of the purée with a plastic baby spoon and putting it into his Son’s mouth. “Ah, so now you’re not being all fussy. All you wanted was a little food huh?”

“Woah, don’t eat too fast, you might get the hiccups kid.” After Tomura waited for son to swallow his food, b/n soon opened his mouth and awaited another spoon full of apple sauce.

All this praise came to a stop when the infant spat out his mouthful of food. Tiny chunks of apple sauce covered Shigaraki’s frowning face as he sat in his seat frozen from shock, the little boy couldn’t help but laugh at his father’s reaction, that’s what kids do after all.

He stood up from his seat and picked up the nearest clean cloth to wipe his face and hoodie. “You try so hard to make my life difficult don’t you?” He sighed at a occupied b/n trying to get the last of his apple sauce from the almost empty jar with his little hand.

Tomura immediately came to assist him and scraped the leftover purée from inside of the jar and plopped it into the baby’s mouth.

“I guess I’ve gotta clean you up now. Your mum should be home soon.” He said checking his wrist watch. He cleaned his child’s hands and face with a baby wipe before he picked him up and went back into your living room.

~~~~~~~~

In order to keep the kid distracted while he cleaned up the living room which was filled with all of b/n’s little toys laying around, Tomura went through some of the CDs you had given him before you left.

In the end, he decided on Shrek 2. Tomura remembered how you always put it on for b/n whenever you were busy with work or house chores so he wouldn’t trouble you too much. “This should be fun, it’s your favourite movie right?”

B/n clapped for joy with his petite palms as he watched his father slip the disk into the DVD player and patiently waited for it to load as his guardian went into the other room to collect cleaning supplies.

Instead of watching the film, he watched Shigaraki with wide red eyes begin to put all of his teddy bears, action figures and electronic toys into his big customised wooden toy box situated in the corner of your living room.

Once he noticed that his father was done cleaning, He crawled towards the couch and held his hands up as an indication for him to be picked up. “All you have to do as ask y’know. Come on, I know you can do it. Just say something to me, Anything kid.”

One of Shigaraki’s goals was to be the one to inspire his Son’s first words. When you weren’t around, he always tried to get him to say crazy things such as ‘I hate All Might!’ or ‘Decay!’ But so far he hasn’t been successful. It wasn’t going to stop him from trying though.

If the kid could crawl, he could definitely try and talk.

“So you’re not gonna talk for me? Okay then little guy, come here.” He said in a slightly disappointed tone and brought his child up onto his lap, holding him in place with his strong arms as they both sat in silence watching Shrek shout at Donkey for no particular reason.

It reminded him about his relationship with Dabi and the others, they’d talk about absolute nonsense during meeting and he’d always tell them to shut up and focus on the main planning. He was a really tough leader, but secretly had a soft spot for each and every one of them. Just like he had a soft spot for you.

“Looks like after tormenting me all day, someone’s tired.” Shigaraki whispered as his son began to yawn and turn into his chest for comfort. He removed his hoodie and put it over b/n’s body, leaving himself with nothing but a white vest and grey jogging bottoms to get comfortable in.

He could feel himself slowly drifting off to sleep, he was really tired after spending the day taking care of the mischievous b/n. However, he had to ensure his little one was resting smoothly before he could take his own nap, so stayed up for another half hour.

Running his three fingers along the infants small back as he coed and dribbled over his fathers chest, before falling into a deep sleep.

And once he was satisfied, Shigaraki too slowly fell into slumber just minutes later.

No heavy or deep thoughts, just him and his adorable, innocent sleeping son on the small couch.

~~~~~~~~

“Shig? I’m back.” You yelled as you stepped through the front door, wondering what was currently occupying your boyfriend and your child.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” You called out again when you failed to receive a first response.

“B/n. Your mother’s home, where are you my favourite little guy? Hm?” You slipped off your shoes and coat, placed them on the floor and coat hanger before walking further into your home.

It was unusually quiet, from the last time you spoke to Tomura on the phone, you were expecting quite the opposite. B/n crawling up and down the apartment while his father tried to catch him, little toys everywhere, but it wasn’t the case.

Instead, the place was completely spotless and you were shocked to see your baby boy sleeping peacefully on top of his father’s chest, curled up in a little ball with his resting dad still holding him with one arm. It was such a beautiful sight to walk into.

Attempting to make as little noise as possible to ensure you didn’t wake the two males, you picked up a large nearby blanket and put it over them. The foreign object was enough for a half a sleep Tomura to flutter his eyes and smile at your presence that he missed so much.

“Did I do okay?”

You moved small strands of white hair away from his face before placing a soft kiss against his slightly sweaty forehead as he fell back into deep sleep.

“You did great Tomu.”

[sckyie]

➽ [ 12:18 PM ]

it was unexpected when you had found out you were pregnant. even more unexpected when your boyfriend kenma agreed to help raise the baby. despite living apart at the moment, the two of you had a baby girl, just shy of seven months now. it wasn't that you two were broken up or you didn't want to live together, it was just difficult finding a house that could fit you three and afford with both incomes. at the moment, your daughter stayed between houses every few weeks, mainly at yours but this weekend she was with kenma.

you clicked away through your files on your laptop as you glanced at the house site tab every so often. letting out a sigh, as you go to call your boyfriend, he was already calling you on discord on his pc.

"hi bubs," you smile at your boyfriend on the computer screen. "and hi pumpkin." greeting your daughter, who was gnawing on kenma's hoodie strings as she lay flush against his shoulder. her hands barely wave as she sniffles and chews. her hair is messily done pigtails, one drooping more than the other.

"love," he sighs, playing with her fingers as he bounces her on his leg. "can you come get her?"

"why? what's wrong?" you tilt your head. "was she crying?"

"i- yeah but i- she wouldn't stop crying today," kenma pinches the bridge of his nose. your daughter looks up at him, gripping his hoodie to get his attention. "and she pooped all over the bed so i don't know what to do or why she doesn't feel good."

"she's probably teething, that's why she's biting your clothes," you gesture. she turns slightly to the screen, whispering small noises as she looks at you. "she chews on my hand when she goes to bed because her pacifier isn't enough for her."

"oh," he looks at your daughter in defeat. you watch as he carefully pulls up her lips to expose four teeth creeping up in the front. she winces as he counts the teeth with the pads of his fingers. "she has four now."

"four!? she's growing up too fast. she had three last week," you pout. "if she's still hurting, rub her gums and if it's too much for her, you can give her the tylenol in her bag."

"well, me and stinkie are gonna go take a bath," he says lifting her up, making her giggle at the motion. she reaches for his face, grinning down at her dad. "say bye to mama."

she opens and closes her hand towards the screen, babbling softly. "bye bubby, bye pumpkin. mwah, mwah, i'll come over tonight so i can sleep over m'kay?"

the call ends and kenma looks at his daughter as she drools down her onesie. "okay stinkers, you do need a bath." he carries her to the bedroom, setting her down on the middle of the bed.

"baba?" she babbled. she pats her hands below her as she watched kenma place down new clothes and a fresh diaper. she picks up the items, giggling as bath time is her favorite.

"yes, baby, babas," he agrees. "hopefully, mama and i can live together soon so i don't need to call her every time you cry." he squishes her cheek softly as she looks at him in awe. he lays beside her momentarily as she crawls over to him.

she reaches up to tug his hair, her way of asking for kisses. kenma lifts her up and peppers her face with kisses, pulling away only for her to lean into his cheek. she nibbles and drools onto him, making him cringe at the feeling. "okay stinkie, now we both are going babas, you gremlin."

[dyns33]

The Devil’s Lawyer 10

Part 10 of Matt Murderdock x Nice Lawyer Reader. Part 9 here 

Nice Matt had found the right term. Territorial.

Matt Murdock was territorial.

Well, not with the city or Hell's Kitchen. Not really. He was the Kingpin of New York, so it was his. And he was born here, so it probably meant something to him. He defended his empire. But it was not really important to him, it was only his mission. If they asked him to blow it all up, he would without hesitation.

No, he was territorial with her, mostly.

Very quickly Y/N had noticed certain things, but now it was obvious.

It had to be said that Matt had tried to be discreet at first. Maybe not to scare her too much. So that she wouldn't have questions.

Then he understood that she was brave and that she wasn't going to ask anything, so he let himself go.

The ritual was always the same as soon as she got home. Either Matt was already there or he would arrive later, but it would always be the same.

Matt was practically throwing himself on her, visibly irritated, sniffing and touching her.

           "Uuh. Hello ?" she had stammered the first time. "A problem ?"

           "You smell wrong."

           "You mean I smell bad ?"

           "No. Wrong."

That meant, not like him.

On her clothes and her skin, he could smell the scents of all the people she had seen during the day. The people who had shaken her hand, who had bumped into her in the street, who had handed her a folder. All the people who had dared to touch her.

So Matt would take back what was his, his hands going over her face, her neck, everywhere, quickly followed by his lips. So that his scent would cover the intruders' stench.

But that wasn't enough, so he insisted on washing her. It was a fairly intimate moment, but above all a very serious one. Matt took this task really to heart, making sure to soap her whole body with great care.

And finally they ended on the bed, and the parasitic odours having disappeared, he could totally mark her again.

By rubbing. By licking, kissing, biting.

Even though he couldn't see them, Matt was very proud of the marks he left on her body. The others, not having such keen senses as him, needed to know that she was his. They could see the marks. He purposely chose spots that Y/N couldn't hide. Little brat.

Of course it didn't work and there was always someone to touch her, completely innocently, and Matt had to start all over again. He was pissed off by it, and at the same time he didn't seem to mind.

It was hard to understand Matt.

He didn't like people touching her, and he didn't like them talking to her either. It was a bit difficult to work without communicating with others. No, not difficult, impossible. And not just to work, to live.

So Matt didn't stop her, but he mumbled dangerously whenever she mentioned someone else. He did not like her colleagues and her friends. Nor her family.

He hated when she brought up Otomo-san. He didn't want her to say 'san'. Yet it was just basic politeness, it wasn't like she was saying 'sama' or 'shujin'.

He was not happy to learn that she had met Spider Woman. He didn't seem worried, because the Spider wouldn't hurt her, but he asked her not to get too attached to the girl.

He would sulk if Y/N evoked Nice Matt.

To sum up, Matt was really jealous of everyone. Absolutely everyone.

           "Should I have a talk with Foggy ?"

           "No, why ?"

           "He hugged you... He kissed you."

           "On the cheek. Well, he was aiming for the cheek, it was an accident. We won a very complicated case today, he was happy. Then we had a drink to celebrate, and he was even more happy. Don't be like that."

           "He kissed you." he repeated, growling.

           "And what ? You're going to wash my mouth with soap ?"

           "I could."

           "Do you want me to brush my teeth ? Otherwise I have chewing gum."

           "No. Throw that away. It tastes like plastic, it's disgusting."

If Matt had taken control of the bathroom, washing her every day himself and having changed all her beauty products, shower gel, shampoos, makeup and perfumes, he had also decided that the kitchen was his domain.

No, actually the whole apartment was his kingdom now. Y/N had surprised him several times touching the furniture, sitting on all possible seats, putting some of his things everywhere.

To mark his territory, again.

He had done the same when he came to her office. Foggy hadn't said anything, he had obviously done the same thing in their shared room back in Law School.

The whole apartment was therefore his, even if he hadn't officially moved in. But he was especially present in the bathroom and the kitchen. And the bedroom, of course. His silk sheets could attest to that. He also had a problem with textures.

Y/N didn't know if Matt really liked to cook. He was good at it, but that didn't mean he liked it.

It was rather that he had a very delicate palate, that he was very picky, and that he therefore preferred to do things himself so that they would be perfect. Besides, even if he could have smelled it, he couldn't risk someone trying to poison him.

The dishes were all successful and quite good. There was only one flaw.

           "It's bland."

           "It's perfect."

           "Matt, this is bland." repeated Y/N trying not to laugh because he was already starting to pout. "No salt, pepper, spices, sauce ! Bland !"

           "Perfect. For those who know how to appreciate. I didn't throw away the salt if you insist so much, you can do whatever you want on your plate Darling."

It wasn't quite true. There were food smells that Matt couldn't stand at all, even on her plate. So he decided to banish them. He had banned many foods.

If Y/N was mad at him and wanted to scare him away, all she had to do was open a packet of Doritos. So Matt was jumping out the window. If she wasn't really mad and was doing it for some other reason, he would take the package and throw it out. Then she was entitled to a new shower.

The other option when she was furious was music. Mainly rock n roll. Very loud. But there were several types of music that Matt couldn't stand. That didn't mean he couldn't listen to it at all, he seemed to enjoy certain operas, or instrumental pieces, if there weren't too many instruments at the same time. But most of the time he was covering his ears and growled until she stopped. That was nice of him, he could have done worse.

Foggy had explained to her that he had noise cancelling headphones when they were in Law school. And that didn't seem enough. Even when Foggy himself had headphones to listen to his 'barbarian music from hell'. Matt had broken his computer once, because he had been listening to AC/DC. Never listen to AC/DC in Murdock's presence. Foggy's advice.

Everyday Y/N tried to understand how sensitive Matt was to all those little things that she absolutely didn't notice. She sometimes asked him questions, but his answers were vague. So she had to be observant.

Being a very good lawyer, Y/N knew how to observe.

For example, contrary to what she had imagined the first time, Matt's super-developed senses made him dread sex.

He didn't hate it. But it was too much. Too many information at once. Too many smells, sounds, movements. And he felt a little vulnerable during the act. It was perhaps the worst of all.

Same with kisses. Matt didn't kiss with his tongue. Even if Y/N had impeccable hygiene, he could fell everything in her mouth, it wasn't very pleasant. What mattered was what the kiss represented.

A greeting. A love declaration. Excuses. A way to reassure himself.

On the lips, it was enough. He preferred to kiss the rest of her body.

And devour it... According to him, down there, she was sweet, the taste of paradise, with divine smells. Y/N didn't want to know. But once he started lapping up her entrance, it was hard to stop him.

And foreplay. Oh Matt was the god of foreplay. He seemed to like that part of the act. He could hear her heart racing with excitement. Her cheeks heat up. Her breathing become difficult. The little moans she was making were driving him crazy.

He liked to take all his time, to listen to her, to touch her, to smell her, to taste her, but her pleasure was the priority at the end.

There was also the after. When their bodies were pressed against each other, totally relaxed and he rested his head close to her heart, smiling because she smelled a perfect blend of their scents.

Matt had never told her any of this, but she wasn't blind. No puns intended.

Remembering something that Nice Matt had said, Y/N once wanted to know if he often listened to her heart. But, not just when they were together. Nice Matt had more or less stalked Foggy around town by listening to his heartbeats.

           "You really can do that ? You… Have you ever done that with me ?"

           "If I answer you, can you promise not to bring up the other me again ?"

           "Deal."

           "Good. Yes, darling. I can do that. And yes, I've done that with you, many times. If I want I can hear every hearts in town. It's a real cacophony. And if I focus, I can tell who is where if I know certain particular heartbeats. For example, Karen is at home. She's calm, she's fine. Otomo is in an alley, he's fighting."

           "Wow, that's... unbelievable. And that's how you know people lie ? It's a bit like cheating in court. But since you cheat all the time, it doesn't change much."

           "Oh darling." he purred, rubbing his head against hers. "Don't be a sore loser. I'm just using what nature gave me, it's not illegal."

She didn't ask him if he often listened to her heart when they weren't together. Certainly yes. To find out if she was okay. To relax too, perhaps.

As with her smell, when her heart didn't sound 'right', Matt was angry. He didn't like her to be nervous, scared, sad or sick. It wasn't really helping that he was angry. Matt wasn't very good at comforting and reassuring.

But Y/N could see he was trying. It was cute.

There was that day, that one day, when she saw him drunk. Normally Matt was always in control, he was very careful, he didn't take any risks.

And then, alcohol mixed badly with his senses. It made everything very blurry. Even blurrier than usual. More intense. So intense that Matt couldn't 'see' almost anything anymore, becoming almost... totally blind.

But during a meeting with clients, he had been drinking a little. Then some more. Then too much. It had been a miracle that he managed to leap from roof to roof all the way to Y/N's, falling out of the window and staggering over to her before falling into her arms.

           "It was good. Darling, it was sooo good ! Usually alcohol is disgusting, but this was nice. Sweet. Kind of like you. I could eat you for hours, you know that ?"

           "Yes, I know that, smooth talker. Take your clothes off and get into bed Matt."

           "Oh, straight to the point. I like that darling."

           "To sleep."

           "Hmm. Nooooooo !" he muttered, grabbing her by the waist before dropping onto the couch, dragging her down with him. "Stay with me. Stay with me forever."

           "Yeah, yeah. But let's get into bed first."

           "You promise ? You won't leave me like the others ? Everyone I loved is gone. Well I think I loved them... I don't remember, it was a long time ago."

           "Matt, come with me."

           "Always darling. I'll follow you everywhere." swore the sleepy Matt, agreeing to get up to go to the bedroom, but still not letting go, like a giant koala. Even when he was asleep, he clung firmly. A real hugger.

Matt refused to talk about it the next morning. Y/N didn't tease him with it. She knew he had said and done things that meant a lot, and that saying and doing things that meant a lot was scary for him.

He still avoided her for several days. It was during this period that she noticed that some of her clothes were missing. They reappeared with Matt when he came back.

Y/N said nothing, imagining the Devil sleeping using one of her t-shirts as a comforter, to smell her scent, as he listened to her heart from afar to fall asleep. Probably purring.

           "I don't purr."

           "Of course not." she smiled, stroking him behind his ear, listening to the little contented purring sound he was making without realizing it.

Yes, Matt Murdock, The Kingpin, The Devil, The Ninja, was a big territorial cat.