#what kind of ridiculous name is d anyway

[cyberpunk-20xx]

At some point I'll write about D properly but for now lemme just dump what I got going on about it. This blog's just my scrapbook for anything that nyooms long enough around my brains if you expected palatable analysis and well-organized content I'm sorry. I'm not, actually, but I'd be sorry if I were.

D is an alter (DID/OSDD) that got digitalized and then poses as an AI in 2077, so that VD (my V) doesn't just delete its files. V is my character, and D is my alter's.

It uses it/its pronouns, it dresses like a transtrender on purpose, wears pastels and fairy/party kei outfits only, quotes girly culture products like The Winx or Sailor Moon unironically, it manipulates VD into taking care of themselves, it likes to break men who are bigger than it and act tough, and is in a constant state of dissociation, which is normal and actually sane for it, since it's not a person. It doesn't care about having a body again, its end goal is to grow an organic garden in 2079.

When Johnny first assaults V (and I don't personally hc that my V can fight back- VD cannot interact with him at all physically unless he lets them, after the Relic progresses to 35%), back in their megabuilding flat, D grows from a widget to a fullbody png, jumps on his back while screeching like a bugged DVD and bites him in the throat down to the pixels, making both of them glitch out of reality, leaving VD to take their fucking pills and go back to sleep (on the floor. with a nosebleed).

D also happens to originally be Victor's alter, that they got "rid of" in an attempt to "be normal" before fleeing Europe for NC, where they hide away from their own demons, and end up working as an agent for Samurai. Which means that by the time Victor meets Johnny, D is out of the picture already.

Regardless, Victor's terrible taste in men must have persisted because D still ends up interested in him, only in a much more carnal, no-nonsense and frankly downright sadistic way. So basically, D just bullies Johnny the fuck out of his closet and exists mostly to make fun of him, all while being dressed up as any manly repressed gay male's nightmare.

(careful i know fuck all about sound mixing so this is loud and not well paced. also yes I'm aware i drew Johnny waaaay too big and shredded here it's because his engram is skewed by his self-perception that's not his canon appearance)

Also, at Mikoshi D steps in toward the end after VD steps in the well and just nabs his ass and flips Alt off before disappearing into the Net again, after their short stay-at-V vacations.

VD's very upset to wake up alone with zero brainworm but don't worry they find each others again at some point. After making VD bald I couldn't also leave them bitchless, I'm not that cruel.

[darsynia]

New (Nomad Steve/Nurse!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST | Ro Roll

Summary: As soon as two weeks ago he’d have said that keeping to himself was the easiest part of his life right now… but that was before he met you.

Word Count/Warnings: 2,400 | None

As 1/7 of my Birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, NEw is a first kiss hurt/comfort fic about writing your own happy endings. It's a hugely busy week for you and there's no pressure to respond right now, they'll all be here when you have time!

Excerpt:

Lately it feels like exhaustion is your religion. Stay up way too late, stumble home confused and euphoric and try to will yourself to sleep, then wake up and perform miracles to get yourself back to the hospital for your shift. You’ve always been a night owl, but your shift supervisor practically considers you the ward’s brand ambassador, and to keep the peace, you agreed to stay on the day shift. You’d gotten the schedule down to a science, right up until a tall, gorgeous complication started to jog at the track after hours.

The name he’d given feels fake, but nothing else about him does, and you know all about needing to distance yourself from the horrible things you’ve seen at work. You suspect he was a soldier until he got out, and after that probably a firefighter, but you’ve never asked. Mostly, you just try to keep up with him. The sum total of the words you’ve spoken to each other probably wouldn’t make for a single meet-cute in a romance novel, but they feel consequential enough to you.

NEW

It takes Steve a painful amount of time to adjust to hiding.

It isn’t just that he’s recognizable, it’s that he’s always stood out, always. As a small baby he’d been gasped over by strangers, as a sickly child he’d see concern and aversion in their eyes, and once he’d grown into a scrawny adult, those reactions had just intensified. 

Some accused him of making himself sick to avoid the war, as though he could have secretly known it was coming and starved himself into stunted growth just in case. For some, it didn’t matter what he looked like-- any man who wasn’t at war was fair game for ridicule. Even those who didn’t care either way found his presence unnerving simply because men his age were scarce. He reminded them of the people they missed, the people who didn’t have the ‘protection’ of being physically unable to join up. 

If his life was a narrative, he’d be the best protagonist he could be.

Even so, there was a special kind of hell in wanting so desperately to fight for justice and be told how lucky you were to be disallowed. Back then, it had been important to him not to hide. There were certainly others in the same boat as he was, men who needed groceries, to watch the news in the theater, to have a walk in the fresh air. So he went out anyway. He was the example, the target, the archetype.

Once he had the serum, hiding meant all the hard work by Doctor Erskine and Howard Stark would be for nothing, so he didn’t. Even in tights.

The symbolism was even stronger when he came out of the ice. Now, people look to him as a lodestar meant to bring them all back to decency and safety, and he wants to, but with action, not iconography, no matter how potent. 

That hadn’t been enough, and now they’re here.

“You’ve been tying your shoes for five minutes, man. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Sam.” Steve finishes up quickly and straightens. “Daydreaming, I guess.”

Sam leans over and looks out through the thin rectangle of night sky visible through the thick curtains. “At this point I think you can just call it dreaming. Stay safe out there.”

Steve watches Sam head off into the kitchen before he slips out of the apartment door and locks it behind him. He and Sam keep nocturnal schedules, but Natasha’s expert-level camouflage skills have netted her a day job that keeps them all afloat. Their plan of moving from community to community taking seasonal jobs has worked well so far. 

This is the most ‘domestic’ of their locations to date; they’re spending the lead-up to Christmas in a small city in the midwest full of people who know how to keep their heads down and get things done. No one’s expecting a trio of superheroes to settle in a satellite town whose main attraction is a vintage bowling alley, but there are other calculations to consider. People make eye contact here. They bring their real selves to the conversation, and Steve’s been struggling with some real guilt about that. 

As soon as two weeks ago he’d have said that keeping to himself was the easiest part of his life right now… but that was before he’d met you.

Lately it feels like exhaustion is your religion. Stay up way too late, stumble home confused and euphoric and try to will yourself to sleep, then wake up and perform miracles to get yourself back to the hospital for your shift. You’ve always been a night owl, but your shift supervisor practically considers you the ward’s brand ambassador, and to keep the peace, you agreed to stay on the day shift. You’d gotten the schedule down to a science, right up until a tall, gorgeous complication started to jog at the track after hours.

The name he’d given feels fake, but nothing else about him does, and you know all about needing to distance yourself from the horrible things you’ve seen at work. You suspect he was a soldier until he got out, and after that probably a firefighter, but you’ve never asked. Mostly, you just try to keep up with him. The sum total of the words you’ve spoken to each other probably wouldn’t make for a single meet-cute in a romance novel, but they feel consequential enough to you.

As it has for the past week, your heart starts racing when you get close to the track. The problem is, you were run ragged today, and you feel just like the mermaid from the original fairy tale. Every single step is like knives stabbing the balls of your feet, and your arches are singing ‘fuck you’ so loudly you expect Ursula to show up any minute.

You stop on the bench right inside the gate to let the burning pain subside a bit. The last thing you want is for your burly new crush to think you’re a lightweight, not now that the months of forcing yourself to run after work have paid off so nicely with… well, him.  

Besides Frank, the school’s night security officer and all-around nicest tough-guy in town, there isn’t anyone else visible on the brightly-lit track. You take the opportunity to cross your ankle over your knee and reach for your shoe in preparation to swap it with the sneakers in your bag. These are a new pair, and you’d planned on wearing them every few days to break them in. As soon as you get your heel off you understand just how much you screwed up by not bringing  the others in to swap into once you realized how go-go-go your day would be. The swelling is bad, and the beginnings of blisters sting in various places. There’s no way in hell you can jog today, and walking home is going to be excruciating. It’s a god-damned miracle you have the day off tomorrow.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” you mutter under your breath. The John F. Kennedy High School campus is the same distance from the bus stop as your apartment is, but in the opposite direction. Your feet had already been screaming, why hadn’t you gone home instead?”

“Thought you weren’t coming!”

Your crush’s voice cuts through the late November chill, warming your heart. You look up and see him crossing from under the bleachers, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. He’s far enough away that you let yourself sigh, half in addlepated pleasure in seeing him, half in utter frustration at yourself. He’s the reason you came, of course. You’d walk across fire to spend time with this guy, and by the time you head home, that’s definitely what it’ll feel like.

“Sorry, long day,” you tell him once he’s close enough. 

Hurrying, you yank off your second shoe and nearly swallow your tongue from the pain. Tears stand in your eyes, exacerbated by the surprise when you look up and your new friend is right there, almost like he'd teleported over. He’s crouched in front of you, and there’s nowhere to hide from his concerned scrutiny.

He confirms your assessment of ex-military by the professional once-over he’s doing, even more so when he takes your shoe out of your weary hand and tests the bend of its sole with a practiced hand.

“Don’t say it--”

“These are not very good shoes,” he pronounces. With a move as graceful as a ballet dancer, he shifts onto the bench beside you, still examining the shoe. You snag it from his hand and tuck it into your backpack with its mate, pulling out your tennis shoes before zipping back up.

There’s no chance you’ll be able to put them on, but, one thing at a time.

“You’re right. I didn’t expect to be the runner on the ward today, but we were shorthanded.” You wince at your feet, both of which are looking decidedly puffy. Shit, will either pair of shoes fit, at this point? “There’s a ‘best foot forward’ joke I could be making about hoping you’d be here running tonight, but honestly, I’m too wiped out to make it.” You look over as you finish speaking and catch his pleased reaction. It’s understated, but it’s there, enough to make you brave. “I have the day off tomorrow, maybe I can give you a twelve hour rain check? I bet you’re even more handsome in sunlight.”

To your dismay, his face falls and he looks down. You turn your head away, unwilling to see the evidence of just how badly you’d gauged this. He’s very clearly not interested.

“Or not! ‘Not’ is also okay, sorry about that, I--”

The words dissolve on your tongue at the gentle touch of his knuckle on your chin, turning your face back toward his in the time-honored tradition of romantic male leads.

“Please don’t-- Running with you has been-- Believe me, during the day-- I would like to, I just can’t.” Disappointment is etched across his handsome features, but more than that, you can see the way his mind is racing just like yours had just seconds ago. The man looks like he’s desperate to rewind to a moment that doesn’t feel like this.

There’s a remedy to that, and after a day of doing your best to fix everything and everyone around you, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to surge up and touch your lips to his. 

You meant to pull back right away, mirroring that thing where a couple knows each other so well that gentle brush is all that’s needed-- but your midnight warrior is still in the middle of the book. His large hand shifts to cup your cheek, holding you still for his head tip where he deepens the kiss and scrambles your brain. It’s impulsive, desperate, and honest. You grab at his clothing, needing to believe this is real, even as the two of you follow kisses with more kisses like you’re saying goodbye in an airport.

“Doesn’t look much like you’re runnin’!” the security guard calls out, his words so distant they almost don’t register at first.

That ends things abruptly, but the two of you don’t move much farther apart than a few inches, his hand still on your face, yours with a handful of his sweatshirt, right over his heart.

“Textbook,” you whisper, flattening your hand out to smooth over his chest. It’s solid muscle under there.

“Oh?” he asks, pulling his hand away swiftly like he’d forgotten how to be a gentleman in his eagerness to touch you. It’s charming as hell.

“This whole operation, it’s right out of the romance novel guidebook,” you praise. “I ought to look for cameras.” A shadow crosses his face, and you suddenly put the pieces together. “Shit, you’re hiding from something, aren’t you? That’s why you freaked out about coming here in the daytime.”

He’s already standing, but instead of stalking away from you, he’s looking around the track, turning in a circle of deep concentration. He’s looking for cameras, but not in a joking way, not as part of a bit.

“The school district would rather spend the money on Frank than cameras, if that’s what you’re looking for,” you murmur, pushing your voice into steadiness out of sheer determination. “The city contributes. It’s been so much safer when everyone who wants a night walk comes here, but there are fewer of us out in the winter months.” The fall chill is actually helping with the pain in your feet, so that's something.

Your mysterious crush is facing you again, apparently satisfied that the two of you aren't being watched by anything more permanent than good old Frank. “I’m sorry,” he says. The words have a horrid finality to them, but you’re focused on his eyebrows. They’re not on board with the rest of his body language. They’re beseeching, rather than resolute, hopeful rather than harsh.

You have one chance to get this right.

“There are some things I love about my coworkers, and let’s be real, a lot of things I don’t-- but do you want to know the thing I like least about working in a hospital?”

Your whole body is practically vibrating with adrenaline, and you realize this is your opportunity to shove on your shoes. As you do that, you refuse to look up at him. The goal is to bring his critical thinking skills back from ‘fight or flight’ mode. Then maybe you can get the two of you on the same page again.

It takes over a minute, but he lets out a long breath and sits down beside you. “Tell me."

“They’re terrible gossips,” you say, looking right at him. He’s not allowed to make the obvious (ruinous, new-relationship-wrecking) conclusion about what you’re saying, not without having to look you in the eye while he does it. “I can’t stand that shit. That’s why they send me on the errands. I’ve got everyone trained to stop talking when I walk by, at this point.”

His relief is visible. “I can respect that.”

“Good.” You set both feet on the ground and decide to test things out by standing. If you’re wobbly, you feel certain he’ll reach out and catch you. “Tomorrow night?”

“Wait,” he says, the picture of confusion. “You’re not-- You think I’m hiding from something and you’re not going to ask about it?” Even in the dim glow of the nearby track light, you can see the clench and release of his jaw.

“For all I know, you’re hiding from your last girlfriend. I know I’d find it hard to give you up, and I’ve known you for what? Two weeks?” Your feet are screaming at you about as loudly as the critical voice in your head, but happiness has made both just distant enough to achieve your goals. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets, which you take to be a good sign. “Would that still be ‘textbook?’ This is all new to me.”

All of the cheeky, sarcastic, and cheesy thoughts that cross your mind would ruin the moment, so you go off script. It’s not the best, but it’s not awful, either.

“New is terrible for work shoes, but it’s lovely when it’s you. See you tomorrow night!”

Stay tuned for more stories in the Ro Roll! Would you like more of these two? Let me know 💚

[meanbossart]

Spicy Asks: The Sequel is here. I'm so, so sorry.

Oh he's a very passive guy, he likes being manhandled around and not having to do much of the work (a bit of a pillow princess one might say). As far as fetishes go, he does have fantasies about group sex and of being roughed up, but I think if put in a situation where he could practice it in a controlled environment he'd be like "EHHHH nevermind actually" and go home very quickly LOL

DU drow would have 100% banged Lae'zel if he hadn't killed her. He couldn't stand her personality but they would have gotten on like two peas in a pod in the sack.

He does find Shadowheart very pretty, but they struck up a friendship so quickly that I don't think he could see her in that way 🤷 but that's still a smash, technically speaking.

Jaheira. Ohhhh Jaheira. As far as general dynamics go she would have been the best choice after Astarion, probably - though there is no way in hell or high heavens that she would have ever let him touch her LOL regardless, DU drow finds her looks and personality to be very attractive.

He's pretty much utterly indifferent to anyone else. Wyll is too idealistic, Gale is Gale, Karlach isn't his type, Halsin gets on his nerves - oh, he WOULD have banged Mizora if he hadn't been heads over heels for Astarion by that point.

The man just likes his femmes I guess LOL

HMMMMMMM yes, but since it's not really a porn fic expect any scenes like that to be in line with what we've had so far, where there's more of a focus on developing character dynamics rather than gratuitousness (I hope I've gotten that across, at least LOL).

LOL, It's ok, it's a ridiculous not-name and I'm so sorry for all the people I have made confused and will continue to confuse because of it.

As for your question, definitely not! I personally like big-bottom/smaller-top scenarios so that's why I focus on it, and I do think character-wise those are the roles they fall into most naturally - but they switch around every so often when the mood strikes and it isn't really a big deal.

Oh are you kidding me? The guy LOVES being cared after in an intimate setting. Being doted on, groomed, checked up on, having his hair played with and clothes fixed up - he doesn't express it outwardly much, but these are all things that make his murderous little heart skip a beat. He was the same way pre-tadpole but it was mostly servants and Sceleritas doing it, so he didn't get much out of the exchange; and Orin didn't entertain this at all, or, if she ever did, it was very, very, very rarely and really just a crumb of intimate affection that he most likely misread anyways.

I'm not sure what to say to this one LOL the penis is full of blood already man I don't think a vampire needs to make it any more tempting to themselves to chomp down.

I wrote a thing about that not too long ago :D ! The answer is complicated but, mostly yes.

Alright you joke, but, if you don't think DU drow hasn't spent a little too long lingering over Astarion's feet and ankles then I got amazing news for you.

I touched on what they generally like on the previous edition of Wine Fuelled Spicy Asks, but as for what they like to do as a couple, it's probably a lot of body worship and some playful denial on both ends. Du drow thinks Astarion is the most elegant and limber thing he's ever seen (and he loves how he smells), and Astarion thinks DU drow's body is an expertly put together murder machine. They have a great time being mutually enamored with each other's (and their own) appearances.

I think they also venture into some blood-play and vapid threats of violence in the future, as a treat, but takes a while for them to trust themselves and each other enough to indulge in that kind of thing.

Needs a little direction, plus you gotta learn to enjoy a bit of teeth and a very slobbery time - also I think he distracts easily, It's nice to have a man who's willing to venture the whole perimeter with his mouth but sometimes you do just want him to stay on the prick. But generally speaking - yes, DU drow gives good head. Fun head, even!

What do you people want from me? Do you want schematics? Diagrams? Do you want me to compare their holes to famous people holes? Do you want me to take out my measuring tape and give you numbers, tell you which kind of produce each of them can fit in there???

One is pink, the other one is brown. One of them just looks normal and the other looks and feels a little like it been around the block a few times. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW.

[babypinkbruno]

Blind Date Drabble pairing: Bruno Bucciarati x fem!reader word count: 3239

warnings: none!

notes: may become a chaptered deal... also on my ao3! this has not been beta read lol i'm too tired. maybe you'll like it, idk. i love him anyway and enjoyed writing this even though i desperately need to sleep. hehe.

It is ridiculous, Yn thinks to herself. This is so stupid. ‘Quit stressing – you look hot.’ Next to her Mista sips on a canned drink, eyeing her appreciatively. ‘Do I really need this?’ Yn asks, hesitantly.

‘You asked us to set you up with someone,’ Mista shrugs. ‘He’s a really nice guy, we promise – right, Fugo?’ he yells down the hall.

Fugo’s voice floats back. ‘I took no part in organising this!’ Yn laughs, rolling her eyes. She turns back to the standing mirror she is sitting cross legged in front of, getting herself ready, smoothing and fluffing her hair in the right places. ‘You sure it’s not too much? Do you know where I’m meeting him?’

‘Sure, I do. In fact, I’ll drive you.’ Yn grins, the anxiety melting away slightly. Though she is hesitant, it is true, she did throw the idea out there to her friends that maybe they knew a single guy who might be interested in going on a blind date… Though she recalls that conversation being held when she was very drunk. ‘You want a drink to calm your nerves?’ ‘I am not pregaming a date,’ Yn says firmly, with a wry smile. ‘I just hope that he’s hot enough to make me forget about Bruno…’

‘Suit yourself,’ Mista grins slyly. ‘I’m sure he’ll order you a glass of wine, or something. Or an entire bottle.’ He pauses thoughtfully. ‘And you don’t need to worry about Bucciarati – trust me. It’ll be fine.’ An hour later, Mista pulls up outside a rather low-key building. The lovely architecture is old, beige coloured stone with very minimal windows showing the inside of the establishment. As Yn steps out of the car, she notices there are two bouncers dressed immaculately. A few tables are set up outside underneath an awning, with patrons relaxing, nursing cigarettes and drinks in crystal glasses. Yn looks back at Mista, peering through the open window of his car. ‘You sure this is the place? It looks… intimate. Fancier than I’m used to.’ Mista grins. ‘It’s definitely the place. He’s inside,’ he says, glancing at his phone. ‘Have fun, baby girl.’ Yn smiles weakly, suddenly nervous. She gives her friend a wave as he heads off down the road. Once the lights of his car have disappeared, she takes a deep breath and heads toward the entrance of the establishment. She is not even sure what kind of place this is. Is it a bar? A club? A restaurant? All of the above? The bouncers greet her kindly but absently, scrutinizing her ID and then waving her in. Yn notices the way they give each other a knowing glance and she wonders what the hell was up with that. Before she can wonder further, she is distracted by the sound of a jazz band playing. She walks up the few steps into the building, suddenly breathless by how lavishly decorated the interior is compared to the outside.

Wall sconces cast a golden glow all over the walls, candles on every table, and a glittering chandelier hangs in the middle of what looks like a cosy dance floor. The jazz band plays softly at the end of the establishment, each member dressed smartly in 1950s style suits.

There must be around fifteen tables, pushed to the edges of the interior, up against the walls decorated with paintings and photographs. Yn notices a second story, like balconies at a theatre. She catches a glimpse of other tables and patrons watching the band play from high up.

Yn turns to the maitre d, anxiously, feeling somewhat out of her depth. She gives her name to the man, and he smiles at her warmly, that same knowing glint in his eye as was in the eyes of the bouncers.

‘Right this way, signorina.’ He leads her to a table tucked near the corner, close to the bar, and her heart lurches when she sees who sits there, waiting patiently for her.

In fact, Yn almost spins on her heel and leaves. Her heart races, pounding loud in her ears. Bruno Bucciarati – her boss, the one guy she was trying to not crush on – stands up, surprise flickering across his pretty features. He smooths his shirt. He has dressed somewhat more casually yet looks pristine in a dark coloured button up shirt, paired with darker trousers, neatly pressed. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, the top two buttons of his shirt left undone. Bruno smiles softly at Yn, and she catches the way his eyebrows slightly crease upward – he’s nervous… The maitre d leaves them, smiling to himself as if it is the most entertaining thing he has ever seen.  Yn’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, words unable to escape her mouth, her cheeks warming, ‘What are you–’ ‘You look—’ Yn and Bruno look at each other, accidentally speaking at the same time. Then, they laugh. At first, gently, then, as if it were something unbearably funny, they laugh harder. Bruno turns away, covering his mouth with his hand, his laughter effectively melting away any nerves between them. He gestures to the seat nearest his, so she can see the band without having to turn around in her seat. Yn smiles and sits down, smoothing her dress. ‘This is terribly unexpected.

Bruno nods, a chuckle escaping his lips. Yn notices the pink dusting his cheeks, and wonders if he is embarrassed because he is happy that  it is her who arrived, or if it is because he is disappointed. ‘I’m sorry, if you were hoping for someone else… At least, we can enjoy, um, hanging out, right?’

Bruno looks at her, surprised. ‘What do you– I’m pleased it’s you.’ ‘O-oh.’ The two of them stare at each other for a moment, the laughter from earlier threatening to bubble up again.

Yn laughs lightly and she looks round at the bar. ‘I, um, need a drink.’ ‘It’s not so unbearable that you need to drown your sorrows already, is it?’ Bruno jokes, the slightest hint of worry in his voice. Yn shakes her head profusely. ‘No! It’s just been a long day.’ Bruno looks at her, understanding. He slides her the menu – a thick bound book with the word “menu” embossed in gold on the cover. ‘You can tell me all about it over your favourite drink,’ he says kindly. Butterflies flutter dangerously in her chest as she meets his gaze – those bright eyes, as warm as a sunshiny summer’s day. She manages to drag her gaze away from his and to the menu, flicking through the pages. Finally, she chooses a familiar wine, and Bruno beckons the waiter over, his smooth ordering for the two of them. ‘So, you didn’t know it was me?’ Bruno says, a small smile tugging at his mouth. Yn blushes and avoids his eyes. ‘I– no, I had no idea, Mista did not tell me a single thing.’

Bruno lets out a soft laugh. ‘Are you disappointed?’

Yn shoots him a confused glance. ‘Not at all–’

The waiter cuts her off, delivering their wine.

Bruno thanks him with a smile and gently places Yn’s glass in front of her, the wine reflecting the flickering of candles placed around the room. ‘Shall we toast?’

Yn regards him curiously. ‘Toast to what?’

Bruno pouts thoughtfully, watching her sniff at the wine. ‘To our companionship? And our dear friends’ mischievous meddling?’

Yn rolls her eyes playfully. ‘Mista’s gonna get a smack later, I tell you.’ She raises her glass to clink against his. ‘To companionship, and our meddling pals.’

They drink quietly, surveying the taste as it lingers in their mouths.

Yn watches Bruno carefully, her heart racing in her chest. How the fuck did Mista get Bruno to agree to a date? And with her? She cannot believe that after months of pining for her boss, she is finally sitting next to him… on a date. Mista must have gotten sick of hearing her whine about how much she likes him… Yn thinks to herself, embarrassed.

Bruno notices how pink her cheeks are. ‘Are you okay? Is it too warm in here?’

‘Oh! No, I–’ Yn says, shrugging out of her coat, letting it drape over the chair next to her. She wears a neat dress, with short sleeves, the satin skirt falling to her mid thigh. Yn notices how Bruno averts his eyes, clearing his throat. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know what venue I’d be going to, so I just put on what I thought would fit with… most date places…’

Bruno shakes his head, suddenly worried.. ‘You look beautiful.’

Yn holds his gaze, the air between them seems to crackle with electricity. She looks away before she can say something stupid, and takes a sip of her wine.

Bruno smiles softly, his cheeks still pink. ‘Tell me about your day?’

‘Well, it’s not… interesting at all,’ Yn says. ‘Just went to work, pretended to be a barista.’

‘Do you not find the cafe interesting at all?’ Bruno asks curiously, resting his chin in his palm.

‘Well… Sometimes. I can’t say I enjoy all of it. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m extremely privileged to have a job, I just would rather, you know, be out there with you guys, on a mission.’ Yn shrugs, sipping her wine, enjoying the way her mind starts to feel fuzzy.

‘At least you’re grateful, though I’m not sorry that there hasn’t been more action available for you at the moment,’ Bruno says. ‘I like it when you’re safe in class rather than out there roughing people up.’

Yn blushes at his words, her heart skipping a beat as he admits he is glad she is not out there facing danger every day. ‘How was your day?’ She asks, changing the subject.

Bruno thinks for a moment. ‘Tiresome – reports, supplies, the usual check ups on our establishments’ He speaks softly.

Yn finds herself captivated by them, his tanned skin looking soft but calloused where it is evident that his hands had been busy. She wonders how they might feel, grasping her thighs and— stop. It’s not like that.

She shakes her head slightly, pushing aside her filthy thoughts. ‘But, now it’s time to relax,’ he says, smiling at her. He sips at his wine, watching her intently.

‘True,’ she replies, mirroring him and sipping her wine. ‘This place is beautiful. Do you come here often?’

‘Not often, no.’ He places his wine glass down on the table, and stands, offering her his hand. ‘Would you like to dance?’

Yn looks at him rather surprised. ‘Yes, I– I would like to, but I don’t know if I’ll be any good.’

Bruno shrugs. ‘It’s not a competition, we’re here to have fun.’

Yn quickly drains her glass, the last mouthful of wine better act as her courage, she thinks. She accepts his hand, her heart fluttering as she looks up at him and is met with his toothy smile. She was right, his hands are soft.

Bruno leads her down a few steps and into the open space in front of the band. He places a gentle hand on her waist and holds her other hand close in his. He looks down at her, his soft expression reassuring her nerves. ‘Don’t worry, just follow the music,’ he whispers low into her ear.

She shivers as his voice meets her ear, his breath sweet on her skin. She nods, swallowing nervously.

The music is gentle and Yn finds herself enjoying dancing so much more than she thought she would 

For what feels like half an evening, Yn is swayed on the dance floor. At first awkwardly, but then as the music progresses, she grows more comfortable, even going as far as to rest her forehead on his chest. She can feel how Bruno’s heart beats hard against his chest, and her own flutters at the thought.

She wonders if there is any chance that… No. Of course not. They’re… friends. They’re superior and subordinate. Boss, and employee. It is impossible to be anything more, she thinks to herself.

‘Hey, Yn,’ Bruno’s voice is low in her ear. ‘Are you alright? You’ve– you’re not moving.’

Yn suddenly snaps out of her daze, opening her eyes and looking up at him.

Bruno meets her gaze with surprise, worry furrowing his brow. He reaches to her cheeks, wiping away a tear that had rolled down her cheek. His lovely blue eyes search her face. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I–I’m fine,’ Yn half-lies. Her heart races as she stares back into his eyes, desperately resisting glancing at his lips. ‘Just thirsty,’ she murmurs.

Bruno hesitates before intertwining his fingers with hers and leading her back to her seat at their table. He disappears to the bar and returns with glasses of water. ‘Please drink.’

Yn accepts the water glass gratefully, swallowing the cool liquid quickly.

A moment passes as the two of them are quiet.

‘Are you–’ Bruno begins, before he is cut off by a message buzzing from his phone. He withdraws it from his pocket, opens it, and frowns.

Yn watches patiently, willing the butterflies in her belly to stop. Disappointment feels better than this horrible hope that he likes me back, she thinks.

‘What is it?’ She asks.

Bruno closes the phone and places it back in his pocket. ‘It was nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.’

‘Was it work related?

Bruno falters slightly. ‘It was. Why?’

Yn does not respond. She knows he is busy, she knows she is lucky to be here with him right now, on this… whatever this is. But it was their work that made this completely inappropriate. The reminder stung.

‘Bruno,’ Yn begins, taking a deep breath. ‘Do you– would you ever…’

Bruno watches her patiently, his eyes flickering to her hands and to her face.

‘Do you think you’ll ever, like, properly date anyone…? Yn asks, feeling silly for even asking. ‘I mean, everyone in the neighbourhood knows you, like personally… Women love you…’ She trails off.

Bruno leans back in his chair, thoughtfully, an emotion Yn does not recognise flickers over his features. ‘I might.’

Yn looks at him expectantly. ‘Why did you agree to go on a blind date?’

‘Because Mista told me it would be you.’

It feels as though the air has warmed by several degrees.  Yn looks at Bruno, letting the information sink in. He knew it would be her? And he still…?

‘You knew?’

Bruno nods, frowning slightly. ‘I thought you knew as well. I never mentioned it because Mista told me you were embarrassed about it.’

That fucker… She thinks.

‘Well, I…’

Bruno takes a deep breath. ‘Listen…’ he says slowly, placing a gentle hand on her hand. ‘If you’re uncomfortable, try not to worry about it. Who says friends can’t enjoy each other’s company?’

Yn looks at him, mouth dry, unsure what to say. Unsure how to protest and say she does like him, that she is uncomfortable in a good way.

‘We might not have gotten the date we expected, but I think it’s been worth the worry, wouldn’t you agree?’

Yn’s heart skips a beat. Bruno’s kind smile was wider tonight, the creases at the edges of his eyes deeper, his goofiness a little brighter. He seemed to be having fun, she realises, so why can’t she?

He looks at her softly. ‘Be in the moment – you can forget about it in the morning.’

His hand begins to move, but before his warmth can escape her hand, she quickly intertwines her fingers with his. Yn avoids looking at his eyes, running away from their blue intensity. She waits a moment, expecting him to pull away, but he does not – he tightens his hand around hers, squeezing gently.

‘We can forget in the morning,’ Yn murmurs, more to herself. She would like this, the chance to have him to herself just for a moment, without the consequences of the next day. He surely would wake up regretting letting her touch him like this, she thinks to herself, but not tomorrow… We can forget.

But as the night drew on, and the closer their side moved toward each other, the more hushed their voices became, the more they leaned in, dizzy with drink, the less she began to believe that it would be as easy as simply “forgetting in the morning”.

Bruno walks her home, the chilly air swirling around her bare legs as they walk quietly beside each other down the sleepy streets. His hand still holds hers, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing against the back of her hand softly.

Every now and then, Yn glances up to see if Bruno’s expression had changed to disgust, disappointment, or anything else she is worried he might truly feel, but his expression remains calm, happy, warm.

‘Home, safe and sound,’ Bruno’s voice breaks through her reverie. He smiles down at her as they stop outside her apartment block.

‘Yes,’ Yn replies, looking up at the apartments. She spots the soft glow of a light from the open curtains on the second floor.  ‘Mista seems awake.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ Bruno says, rolling his eyes playfully. ‘You’d better go in and get some rest, all that dancing really takes it out of you.’

Yn smiles up at him, remembering faintly how his hands felt on her waist. She shivers and tries to play it off as if she is cold, wrapping her coat tighter around her. ‘Well, thank you,’ she says quietly. ‘That was a lot of fun.’

Bruno nods, a smile still gracing his lips. ‘We’ll have to do it again some time.’ Yn’s heart flutters at his words. Next time…? I mean, yeah, friends hang out all the time… ‘That would be nice.’ Bruno grins in response to that and brings his hand to her cheek, stroking softly. ‘Goodnight, Yn.’ Yn holds her breath, unable to tear her gaze away from Bruno. She swallows hard, nodding, trying desperately not to learn into his touch too much. Bruno hesitates, glancing at Yn’s lips, but he turns, withdrawing his hand from her face. ‘Go on, I’ll wait until you’ve gone in.’ Yn nods, letting go of his hand regrettably. The space between her fingers has never felt colder, and emptier. From the apartment wafts the warm scent of pizza as she unlocks and opens the door. Yn can hear Mista’s turning pages of whatever book he is reading in the living room accompanied by the low volume of whatever is playing on tv. Yn turns back to face Bruno, dreading the moment she has to walk into her apartment, leaving the memories of the night behind her. Bruno seems to know exactly what she is thinking and smiles reassuringly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ ‘Goodnight,’ Yn manages, resisting the urge to reach out to him, to have her hand enveloped by his warmer, larger one again. Bruno nods, a flicker of something unrecognisable in his expression. His smile tugs at his mouth, and as he leaves, he waves a gentle hand over his shoulder to her. It is only later on, when she is tucked away in bed, tossing and turning over every detail of the evening, does Yn realise she had never seen Bruno smile as much as he had done that evening.

[the-hopeless-haze]

When Will the Clouds All Disappear? (ch1)

Gregory House x Reader - part of Series If You Want It, You Can Bleed on Me

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: heavy suicidal ideation

“Kind of rude to make a cripple head to the roof of a building to look for you.” You hear his voice, loud and clear behind you, gravelly and distinctly masculine. You’d know it was him anywhere.

“What do you want, Greg?” You ask, sniffling. You're sitting on the ground, your back against the ledge, having made yourself sick staring off it for a good ten minutes before he arrived. Your head is in your hands, blocking him out, blocking everything out. You can’t open your eyes. You can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“You know,” he says firmly. You wish you had four hands so you could block your ears, too. You wish you were senseless. It would be so much easier. So much more peaceful.

“You wouldn’t have to worry anymore. I would just be gone,” you say, and you hate this, you hate everything, you wish he didn’t come up here so you could jump. Guilt-free. You know you look fucking ridiculous, with your hospital gown riding up to your thighs and those stupid non-slip socks damn near falling off your feet. Your hair is blowing wildly in the bitter January wind, and you feel lightheaded and woozy as it is, having pulled out your IV that hooked you up to fluids a half hour ago now.

“That isn’t what I want. I want you to come back downstairs with me.”

“How did you even know I was up here?” you question.

“You’re the one thing I can and can’t predict. Knew you’d come up here when they said you left the bed… still don’t know if anything I can say can get through to you. If you jump I jump?”

You shake your head. “No. You deserve to live.”

“And you don’t think you do?”

“No. And I don’t want to either.”

“Why not? I thought we had fun together.”“But you don’t care—“

“Why am I up here with you freezing my ass off if I don’t care?”

“Just go.”

“Not without you, sweetheart.”

You grimace at the pet name, it sounds so fake coming from his lips. “You didn’t even come to see me,” you whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know what to say.”“Anything would’ve been better than nothing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. You’ll say anything so I don’t jump,” you say, tasting bitterness acrid on your tongue. You wish you could turn off your brain, but you’ve been here before, seconds to an attempt and still gone through with it with no one to stop you except for your diseased brain. And it was diseased, every impulse usually hardwired to keep your body alive at all costs screaming to be let out of its misery and to just let you die, please. It’s almost like an addiction, instead of one more hit, it’s just like, one more thing to let go of. One more thing to convince yourself doesn’t matter, one more person to convince yourself wants you to die or doesn’t care if you go, one more event you’ll never get to live through that you convince yourself you didn’t want to attend anyway.

“I mean it,” he says urgently. “I’m sorry. Okay? I’ve been a shitty boyfriend, lover, friend with benefits, or whatever you want to call me. I know I’m not the reason you’re contemplating this right now. You’ve struggled with this all your life. I’m not going to fix it. But Jesus Christ. You and I both know this isn’t the goddamn answer. You spent your whole life going to school and working to prevent people from offing themselves.”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you,” he says. “I came for the surgery—“

“You had plenty of time to see me. You weren’t there when I needed you to be! I’m just another patient, is that it? Don’t come visit them unless you think you’ll learn something? What was it, you never got to see a D&C before? I called you, Greg. You never answered. I had to call Wilson to make sure you weren’t dead but of course, you weren’t, you were just avoiding me and why should I expect anything more from you? Of course you run when things get hard; when the woman you’ve been fucking might need a little more than after-sex cuddles.” You stand up as you say this, turning your back to him, looking over the ledge. Fuck.

“I’m sorry. Just please don’t jump,” he says and if you were in your right mind you’d notice that he was getting increasingly desperate, but you aren’t noticing much of anything right now. Except that your plans were thwarted. You see firefighters and they’ve already set up a trampoline on the side of the building. You don’t say anything, nothing at all, and you start to walk away from that ledge and then sprint toward the other one, hoping that you can get over there, run faster than he can, but he’s on you, and he moves fast for someone with an injured leg when the adrenaline kicks in, and you feel yourself knocked to the ground, his warm breath fanning your face.

“Got you. You’re not getting away from me that easy,” he says, and you finally look at him for the first time since you’ve been up here. You wish he would crush you to death but he’s barely putting his weight on you, just enough that you can’t move.

“I can’t go through this again,” you mutter, squeezing your eyes shut, and you expect the hysterical tears but they never come. You feel numb. Empty.

“You can. You can and you will.”

“You’re going to put me on a hold?”

“I have to,” he says, and you could trick yourself into thinking there’s guilt in his blue eyes when you open yours again. “I’ll make sure they give you the good stuff. Say you need to be chemically restrained. Order you Haldol, Ativan, or whatever you want. But I need… I need to know you’re safe.”

“So you’ll sedate me?”

“It’s the only way I’ll be able to sleep.”

“Just like you to make it about yourself, huh?”

“Shut up,” he says sternly, tacking your name on the end of the command like a warning. “This isn’t about me. None of this is about me. I know that.”

“Then you should have let me go.”

“One day you’ll thank me,” he says, digging his phone out of his jacket pocket. “Hey. Yeah. I need help bringing her downstairs. She’s not going to go willingly.”

You hate how he’s talking about you the way you would talk about patients to your coworkers, and you hate him for calling Wilson to help him walk you down the stairs. Wilson’s a certified sap, and the look on his face, his brown eyes sympathetic and his brows furrowed… makes you want to hit him, and maybe you’d try if you had the energy to. You don’t want pity. You want to be left to your own devices. You want nothing, hatred, you could stand, but Wilson looking at you like you were a kicked puppy is more than you can handle right now.

“I wasn’t going to jump,” you say, and it’s unconvincing even to your own ears. “I wasn’t even on the ledge when you came up here.”

“Yeah. Well. It’s enough that I don’t believe you,” Greg says. “Your track record sucks. Every attempt has been after a traumatic event. Forgive me for being a little worried.”

You’re about to protest, say he doesn’t know anything, but you know he went through your medical files before the first time your lips touched his. Fair enough. Two could play at that game, certainly, and you took what you felt you could without him getting suspicious out of your file. You looked through his, too, because what’s good for him is by all means fucking good for you too, and if you can’t have normal conversations like a normal couple, at least you could learn about each other unconventionally. Isn’t that love, at least kind of love, searching high and low for information, trying to memorize somebody else like you know yourself?

Never mind that it’s illegal.

You feel his mouth on yours, his scruff scratching pleasantly at your skin, and… yeah. That’s when the fucking tears come.

You wish neither of these men saw you like this. You were meant to be firm, cold but compassionate, distant but likable, albeit only from that distance. You didn’t get close to people, not since you were younger, because you knew how you’d get and you knew it was a horrific sight. Wilson, you love like a brother, but Gregory… you love irrevocably, irreverently, irreversibly. Intense is an understatement, and you wish it wasn’t the case, you wish so badly you could turn it off and become the woman you were before that man and his cane hobbled into your life. You wish more than anything you were alone right now.

But then again. You might not be alive.

“Shh. It’s okay,” he says, and you don’t believe him. He doesn’t believe it himself. It’s just something to say. And he hates those clichés. He hates talking just to talk. Yet … he says that to you. He lies to you, just for your benefit. Everybody lies.. but it's usually for their own gain. “I don’t want to make this worse than it has to be,” he says slowly. “Make this easy for us.”

“You have drugs on you, Greg,” you say, rolling your eyes through your tears. You hate that you know him this well. “You’re prepared to sedate me regardless.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t want to have to get to that point. Would you rather be sedated? Because I can arrange that.”

“Get off me.”

“Are you going to walk with us?”

“Yeah,” you huff.

“Good girl,” he says, and in a different context that would lead to something very different than this. But no. He lifts himself off you instead of dicking you down, wincing when he puts his weight back on his leg, and he and Wilson both help you off the concrete roof. It’s now you realize your back is scraped from when Greg pushed you down, and you grimace as you stand up. Everything hurts.

You have four strong hands on your body now, Wilson’s thin graceful fingers wrapping around your left arm, the other hand on the small of your back to steady you. Greg, you’re more fine with seeing you this way, he’s a train wreck himself and you’ve gotten him out of his shell before. But Wilson? He’s got everything together, well, except for his marriages. House’s larger hands grip you too, one hand firm on your right shoulder and the other around your side.

It’s a slow walk down the stairs, back into the building and you feel a rush of relief at the feeling of heat on your body, but then it becomes too much and you don’t know what you’re fighting for because you know there’s no way you could run, you may be faster than Greg but there’s no way you’d get by Wilson in your current state, and then you’re pushed against the wall in the staircase, Wilson’s calling for security on a radio and a gurney on the radio, and they’re both holding you there and you’re struggling against them, arms you try to push out of the way and legs you try to kick but it’s to no avail, you feel the slight pinch of a needle in your arm and … that’s it. Maybe this is what you were asking for but you were too ashamed to say, too ashamed to acquiesce verbally to the sedation, too embarrassed to say “no, I need to be unconscious for this, thank you.” But you weren’t too embarrassed to pull a fucking nutty in the staircase of the hospital you work at.

“I would’ve just given it to you,” you hear Greg say. “You don’t have to do everything the hard way.”

And then, thankfully, mercifully, pleasantly, you fade out and away.

[maochira]

IN THE SPOTLIGHT; First Selection; chapter 1: supernova

Tags: Blue Lock x transmasc!reader; reader is referred to with female pronouns and terms; reader's last name is Hoshino and will be referred to with that, if a situation calls for his first name, (d/n)= deadname; reader discovers he's transmasc as the story continues; series masterlist

Blue Lock, block five. Cafeteria.

Lost in thought, you push around the rice in your bowl instead of actually taking a bite. You can't feel any appetite with all this adrenaline rushing through your vains.

'Pretty bold decision', you think to yourself. You, (d/n) Hoshino, the Supernova of Japanese women's football, got put into Team Z? The team who's all the way at the bottom? The game of tag you played earlier already demonstrated what kind of losers you got teamed up with. Hah, even "The Crown Jewel of Japan" was the one to be eliminated. Ridiculous.

Despite sitting at a table with some of them, so far you've made no effort in talking to your teammates. There's no use in getting attached to them. It'll only be a matter of time until they get eliminated while you rise to the top.

"Alright so", one of your teammates interrupts your thoughts with his aggressive voice. "Just so you know, I won't hold back or treat you like a princess only because you're the only girl here!"

"No worries", you shrug without bothering to look up at whoever just spoke. "I won't hold back on you either."

It was only a matter of time until someone would begin to make comments regarding your gender. And as expected, it's something about underestimating your skills.

"Alright, Supernova. But don't go crying when I shoot all the goals and you don't get a single chance to kick balls." You can practically hear the smirk in Raichi's voice as he continues.

You let out a sigh and raise your head to stare straight into his eyes. "Shut up before I kick your balls. Bastard."

Raichi only huffs in response before taking another bite from his food. "Yeah sure."

"Don't let him get to you, Hoshino", Kuon, who's sitting next to you, gives you a soft smile and pats your shoulder. "Besides, in the end I will be the greatest striker, anyways. But it's an honor to be up against the Supernova of Japanese women's football."

"Eh, you can try being the greatest male striker, ", you push Kuon's hand away. "But the title of the world's greatest will be mine."

"I'm looking forward to see you try."

The interactions in the following days don't differentiate much from how Raichi and Kuon talked to you. Your teammates either continue to underestimate you, or they'll throw in some kind of comment about how even though you're the Supernova, they're still going to beat you.

And you've grown tired of it. You don't even bother responding anymore.

Tomorrow will be the first match. The perfect chance to crush everyone's dreams by showing off how wrong it is to underestimate your skills.

[lily-orchard-gossip-blog]

Hello hello again! It's good to have you back for a little while! Unfortunately there is a lot of infighting in the critical sphere right now and it's not very fun to follow. And worse still Lily is as smug as ever. People are too invested in who ripped off what, who's disrespecting this or that, they should just be having fun at Lily's expense. That's what Saiscribbles has done, and you can tell how effective it is because Lily has tried every strategy in the book to prove how not mad she is.

You know what?

I think I would like to poke fun at the whole thing. I mean, it's sounds like she's gotten a bit ridiculous since I've been gone. (Ridiculous sounds like an understatement, thought.)

I've done serious and it's exhausting. You can only take her serious for so long before you realize she doesn't really even know or believe what she's saying.

As for the fighting, well... It's a shame, but let's try to focus on what's at the core of this blog: Gossiping about Lily.

...But I do have one thing I want to get off my chest, so I will mention it here and then move on. It is under the read bar just so those who don't care can ignore it.

I do have one thing to say about the drama, and that's about Ethel.

They are a liar liar pants on fire.

Seriously, I watched Evangeline Skovs video, which was one of the better coverages on the subject and there was no plagiarism. Not even of me, and I was a source!

Never mind that fact that Ethel legit lied about my blog in their rebuttal, claiming that Levi couldn't find anything on my blog about their video, or glade, so Evangeline was lying.

Their proof? Levi used the search bar, used the word minor and glade, and nothing came up except one post...

Fun fact: I'm bad at tagging things, and my search bar is kind of useless because of that.

(Side note: why would I use glade's name? Why would I want to draw attention to someone who I assumed wanted to be left alone? I'm pretty sure that was made clear in the video.)

Anyway, if you used my archive you could easily find TONES of posts from me talking about the video in question with details.

Here's one that Ethel conveniently left out:

And you know what's hilarious about that? They reblogged this take to try and rebuke it on their tumblr. (That they have long since abandoned.)

I decided to ignore it, because obviously I'm not going to try and get in a fight with them, and Ethel was so mad by that they messaged me directly to try and threaten me with legal jargon.

So I blocked them.

But hey, since I'll probably never bother with this again, here are the messages. Enjoy old drama from like...2 years ago:

Image text here:

[Okay, I've put this off for as long as possible, but please, read this case study as right now you are parroting harmful legal advice. Victim testimony not only constitutes evidence, but can be sufficient evidence to convict, a fact that was tested in Commonwealth v Gustavo Gonzalez Santos in Massachusetts.

I’ll highlight two relevant sections in case you don’t have the time to read the entire thing: “The defendant's sole argument on appeal is that the evidence was not sufficient to support his convictions. The defendant asserts that "there were no witnesses to the alleged assaults," "no physical evidence," "no medical or forensic evidence," and "no expert testimony." He argues that "there was absolutely no conclusive evidence presented at trial that suggested the [d]efendant's guilt beyond a reasonable doubt."” And: “Here, the victim testified to facts that constituted each element of the charged offenses. Her testimony, which the jury found to be credible, was sufficient, standing alone, to support a finding beyond a reasonable doubt as to each of the convictions. See, e.g., Commonwealth v. Lawrence, 68 Mass. App. Ct. 103, 104 (2007)

("The victim's testimony was sufficient evidence of [indecent assault and battery on a child under age fourteen]"); Commonwealth v. Gonsalves, 23 Mass. App. Ct. 184, 185 (1986) ("The victim's account of what the defendant did to him in the apartment was sufficient to overcome the defendant's motion for a required finding of not guilty of rape"). The idea that long infected our legal system that the victim's testimony in sexual assault and rape cases is less credible than the testimony of victims in cases involving other types of crimes -- an idea that reflected nothing more than sexism and an unwillingness on the part of our courts to treat sexual crimes as the gravely serious matter that they are -- has been rejected both by statute and by common law.”

When you and others continue to parrot the myth that victim testimony does not constitute as valid evidence, you are harming victims of rape and abuse. This is straight up rape culture and, since I’m pushing back any video coverage on the matter until I’ve finished dealing with Lily because I don’t want to muddle things, I need you to stop promoting falsehoods. We have legal members on our team who have passed the bar, Patchie does not, Opal does not, and neither does You Can Eat Hearts. You are causing unnecessary harm to victims by breathing life into myths constructed by rape culture. To be clear, I am not asking for your denouncement of certain people, just for you to please, stop publishing bad legal takes.

This is also the case in Canada, if you're wondering - https://www.accused.ca/evidence.htm

Sorry, I just realized I didn't give you the US case study. Here it is - http://masscases.com/cases/app/100/100massappct1.html#:~:text=The%20jury%20found%20the%20defendant,We%20affirm. ]

Oct 30, 2022 9:16 AM

Whew, you have no idea how long I wanted to spill this tea.

Alright, I've said what I've wanted to say on this topic. I'm now going to focus on laughing at Lily and her horrible incest stories.

[risquefanfics457]

Hi! If your requests are still open, would you be able to write Giorno x Shy!Fem!Reader where they’re childhood friends and Giorno gained feelings for reader over the years and wants to confess but doesn’t know how? Maybe reader feels the same way and wants to confess too?

Thanks!! :D

Did I spend 2 hours writing this because I got hyperfocused? Yes. Worth it? Yes.

Giorno and the reader are both 15 at the start and 18-19 by the end. ENJOY!

“Amica?” 

You knew that voice. It had Giorno all over it. Giorno and you had become friends when he moved next to you when your were both 4. He’d changed his name to Giorno, and you respected that, only his mom and step-dad called him Haruno, as he was known in Japan.

“Gio Gio?” You stepped out on the porch of the cafe you worked at, “What is-?” You stopped. Standing in front of you was Haruno Shiobana or Giorno Giovanna as he liked to be called but… blonde.

“Santa merda! Gio Gio, you’re blonde!”

“I know!” He threw his hands in front of him, “I woke up this way!”

You looked at him, gathering all the details you could. He was still the same boy. Same jade eyes, “What happened?”

“I woke up this way!” He waved his arms about, “Can we talk about this?” He pointed to his newly golden locks. It practically glowed in the sun, “Uh, I have a 15 minute break soon.” You stuttered.

“Okay, I’ll be here.” He wrung his hands and leaned awkwardly against the lamp post.

“Or you could come inside.” “I don’t have any cash on me.”

You chuckled, “I can still get you a water, on the house.”

He nodded, “Alright.”

You waved him in, “It’s not like anybody will recognise you anyway.”

“You did.” He said quietly

You blushed silently, “Be with you in a few.”

“So you woke up, and now you’re just blonde?”

“Yeah! Like my dad.” He whispers

“Whoa, you never talk about your dad.” You are even mor eintrigued now. Giorno had a peculiar picture in his wallet that he said was his biological father. The man in the picture was build strong and almost scarily so. But the defining trait Giorno knew was from that man was the star shaped birthmark on his upper shoulder. 

“I mean, I didn’t think this is what puberty did.” You teased, “What colour do you think my hair will turn?”

“Pink?” He laughed, “No, that a ridiculous colour.”

“Yeah, nobody in their right mind would have pink hair.” You laughed together.

“What would you even do if you met a dude with pink hair?”

“How should I know?” He laughed, “I’ve never seen one, and I doubt I ever will.”

“Well, you could grow it out.” You said

“I could, we could style it like those old magazines we used to read as kids.”

“I can see you in a braid.” You grin

“We’ll see.”

“Ehi! Y/N, back to work, I see you going 2 minutes over your break!”

“Gotta go.” You stand up, but Giorno stood as well, “Me as well, goodbye, Y/N.” He customarily kissed you on both cheeks, something you’d taught him a long time ago. Watching him leave, you went back to taking orders as you wished that you’d had the nerve to teach him a new kind of kiss.

A few weeks later, he stopped in again, “Amiga!”

“Hey, got money for an actual coffee this time?” You called down the stairs

“I do, but that’s not the point.” He climbed the cafe stairs to meet you, “I’ve figured it out.”

Him suddenly so close with that piercing gaze had you pull away, flushed pink. “What?” 

“I figured it out. The drug trade, everything.”

You looked quizzically at him, “You mean the mafia?”

He nodded, “I’m going to join them.”

You blinked. Wow, you’d lost it. Who knew serving 17 macchiatos in an hour would finally push your brain past its breaking pointt?

“Amiga?”

“Sorry, you lost me. What’s the plan?” You wiped down a table

“I’m going to become a gangstar.” 

You nodded, “See, I keep hearing you saying you want to join the mafia.” You shake your head.

“I did say that.” He tries to meet your eyes, “All the drug problems, the law being run by criminals, it can be solved, I can solve it.”

You couldn’t believe what you heard, “You’re 15.”

“I know. I need all the time I can get, I have to start early.” 

You put the cloth and spray down, “Tell me you’re kidding me.” You kept your voice low, you didn’t like catching attention of others.

“No, I’m finally going to do something about all this.” He took your hands in his and you noticed him stutter, “W-we grew up surrounded by people influenced by drugs, isn’t it time to do something about it?”

His change in demeanor prompted you to break out into a red blush. He wasn’t usually so… forward. It was different. You automatically sank back into your shell as red as a crab as other people stared. “Giorno, this is insane. You can’t join the mafia, it’s an early death sentence.”

“I get that, but things are different now.”

“But why you?” 

“Because kids like you and I deserved to have good childhoods.”

That struck a nerve, “Giorno, I want to talk about this more, but I need to stay focused on my job right now, I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”

He took a deep breath and stepped away, ”Okay. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s alright, I’m just worried about you. I care, okay?”

“I know.” He smiles earnestly, “I love that about you.”

Before you had a chance to reply or even register what he said, he was gone.

You called him that afternoon. Nothing. You called him again later that night. Nothing. You called him the next morning. Same results. Life went on, agonizingly slow. A week went by. 

You should have just told him when you had the chance.

A month. 2 months. 4… 8… a year. You gave up after 3 years…

“Andrea, I need you to calm down. The report doesn’t have to be done until noon tomorrow. You have a full day and 3 hours to draft and finish it.” You spoke on the phone to a colleague. “Yes, I’ll be in on tomorrow… no, you don’t need me to proofread it, you’re an adult, you can scan your own emails for typos.” 

A knock came from the front door. “Andrea, take a breather and write when you’re ready.” You hang up. Why your co-workers who were 5 years your senior needed you to spellcheck was beyond you. The knock came again, whoever it was, they were impatient. You checked the glass and caught a glimpse of blonde, and your heart skipped a beat. You calmed yourself and opened the door. It wasn’t him. Of course it wasn’t. A man in a green suit was standing in the doorway, “Buongiorno signora.” 

That name. He had to say buongiorno. Of course giorno was a regular word, but it followed you everywhere, and you felt your heart flop sadly every single time you heard it. 

“What can I do for you?” You cross your arms.

“My name is Pannacota Fugo, my boss wishes to speak to you privately.”

You nod, “Okay, I’m guessing you’re from a law firm or something?”

“No, signora. I am from Passione.”

Despite the decrease in crime regarding the mafia, the word stung, it was the mafia group Giorno mentioned. God, if they were looking for Giorno… but they couldn’t even ask you, you had no idea where he went either.

“What about it?”

“You may know him.”

“I don’t know anybody from the mafia, I make it my business to stay clear of their business.” You go to close the door.

“I’d reconsider. The boss says he knows you personally. I’m here to take you to see him.”

You steeled your nerves, “I said no.”

It was a skill you were working on, you’d become better at not being so shy.

“Right. Well, Giorno sends his regards then.” Fugo says and goes to leave

“Giorno?” Your heart almost jumps out of your chest, “Giorno Giovanna?”

Fugo nodded.

“I’ll get my things.”

You pulled up the a house. It was lavish, even on the outside. 

“He’s inside.” Fugo holds the car door open for you. 

In just some clothes you’d thrown on, you climbed the steps to the house. You stopped at the door. Fugo followed you and nodded to some guards who opened the door.

“Where is he?” You asked the blonde man.

“On the left.”

You rounded a corner and on a chair in a large room was a man.

“Amiga?”

Your face flushed at the sound of his voice.

“Please, leave us.” The blonde man stood. He was just as handsome as he was before, but now, toned and his blonde hair was long and braided down his back. He wore all black. You stared dumbfounded at him.

“It was hard to find you, you changed jobs.” He chuckled. That laugh made a old shiver run down your back, one you’d thought you’d lost.

You stepped back and tripped over a chair behind you. Without missing a beat, he caught you. But that didn’t make sense, he was on the other side of the room. But something caught you. You caught your balance and eased yourself up, still in shock, “You’re… here.”

He nodded with a hint of pink on his cheeks, “Yeah, I’ve been here for a few years now.”

“You… you never came back.” Your face heated up.

“I’ve been getting a handle on crime before I brought you to me. I didn’t�� I didn’t want you to be a target.”

“But you could have called.” 

“I’m always being watched, Amiga. Nothing was going to be a secret these past years.”

“You’re still calling me amiga.” You said.

“Well, I thought maybe we were still friends.” He sighed hopefully

“I, I don’t even know what to think. I… I hated you. I hated that you said nothing and left. But I missed you, and I still do…” You held your head in your hands, trying to name all these emotions running through you.

“I loved you.” You finished.

He looked wistfully at you, “Me too.” 

“Well, w-what now?”

“Well, it’s up to you. We can start over, or we can just, let this go. I’ll let you go back to how you’ve been.”

There was a long pause,

“I… I want to be near you, but this can’t have just… not happened. I think-”

“So we should start over?” He nodded

“Not from the beginning.” You got closer and touched his face, “I still know you, at least I think I do. I might not, but I want to.”

He leaned into your touch.

“I still know this face.” You brushed your thumb over his cheek. You chuckled, “To be honest, I dreamed of this face.”

“Really?” He chuckled pleasently, a sound that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter

“I face I wished I’d kissed.”

“You’ve kissed my face plenty of times. You’re the one who taught me to do it.” He smirked. A vine snuck around your wrist and a flower appeared in your palm.

“Then the face I wished I kissed in more than one way.” You leaned in. You pressed your lips to his left cheek, and then the right, and as the sun made the rose coloured curtains behind you project a pattern of pink on his face, you sealed the confession with a gentle kiss on his soft lips. His hand curled around your face and tucked your hair behind your ear, “I wish you showed me this was to kiss earlier too, Amiga.” He smiled.

“Yeah, if this is how it’s going to be from now on, I’m going to need to be something more than amiga.” 

His response was quick and sauve, “Then this is the greeting kiss you should expect from now on, cara mia.”

[sunsetno4]

WIP Whenever~ :D

Thanks for the tag @trebuchet151 ^^! Anyone who is looking for an excuse to share something, consider yourself tagged right now (and tag me too, I'd love to see it! <3). c:<!

Mhm. I haven't really worked on anything new this week to due a never-ending cold. I mostly just did small doll projects, like updating doll!Vendetta so I could switch nem between their Retri + Revelations looks. ^^;; I did start a short comic while waiting for sealant to dry many times today though, so???

With Ven's canon ending being some shade of broken legs, I always imagine nem asking the Rat King to help out if/when ne realizes they can control the armor (like grabbing hair dye so Ven can start hiding again~). Rat King would have fun helping nem, even if they don't quite get how shopping works. Vendetta normally gives them a ton of cash and tells them to leave it on the counter. :')

And, mhm. Since that isn't quite Ven-centric, enjoy a small snippet from an unfinished fic too? ^^;;

It's about a Vendetta who doesn't go out of the window during Heartbreak, but everything is still kind-of fucked anyways. Anathema dying is not something ne would've dealt with well, at all. :'l

Slowly opening your eyes, you wince at the semi-lit room. Your room. Living room. Parlor, you joked once. With Themmy. You wanted to be fancy, you wanted to make nem laugh. Tears sting, and you rub your raw nose through the sniffles, sinking deeper into your reading chair. Thoughts swim, lucid like a dream. You itch your arm, and notice the bandages. Sitting up a little, you stare blankly at the care covering your lower arms. They're not well-done, so wh— "Vendetta!" Ortega storms in your view, furious and frankly strange. Your name, your favorite word, sounds like poison on her lips and yet, it still wraps your mind in comfort and safety. It's a lie, of course, just a trick you used to use to feel better, but it's a familiar one. Nostalgic. You repeat it to yourself under breath. "Why don't you have a bed?" You blink. Isn't it obvious? Dragging home a bed never seemed worth it when you had a perfectly broken-in fluffy oversized reading chair. Instead, you narrow your eyes at the strangeness of the woman before you. "What happened to your hair?" It's wet? Damp? Shower damp? Oh, right. You grimace, memories slowly coming back together. Vomit. Bile. Gross. That would explain her clothes too, they're yours. Sweatpants rolled up to the knees, and one of your favorite sleep shirts. You swim in it, so of course, it fits Ortega like a distracting glove. "That's not important." Crossing her arm, she frowns. "It's short." And puffing out wild as it dries. It shouldn't feel like another stab in your heart, memories dancing in your foggy head, hair in hands, strands being crossed into a braid as an actor makes ridiculous love confessions on a screen. Ortega keeps frowning, refusing to look at you. It's okay. You hate looking at yourself too. Her arms are crossed tightly, and there's an anger in her stance that even a drained and empty you can still pick out easy-peasy. The training never really stops, does it? "I tried calling you. So, so many times." She finally settles on, soft as daybreak and just as harsh.

I really do need to finish this because I do quite like it. :( <3

[cacoetheswriting]

Hello! I hope all is well. I had a fluffy request if that’s ok? Eddie x fem!reader where reader is an art nerd that likes to draw for their campaigns. One day, they’re hanging out preparing for the campaign and maybe Eddie had a run in with Jason earlier and was feeling a little down that day so then reader just starts aggressivley complimenting him out if nowhere. I really love your work! ❤️

thank youuu for this request & for your sweet words, makes my heart happy that you like my little fics ❤️ hope i did your vision justice!

-

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 2.6k content warnings: adult language, use of pet names, a little mutual pining, insecurities / self-doubt, mentions of bullying, mainly just fluff - very much unedited - pls let me know if i missed anything!

Your friendship with Eddie was an odd one — if you could even call it that. More colleagues than friends, to be honest. Or better yet, acquaintances by association.

Freaks. Geeks. Social outcasts.

There was however, one big difference.

Your status at Hawkins High was by design. A strategic decision you put into play long before you even stepped through the building doors. Growing up in a busy house with a younger brother too loud for his own good, solitude was your best friend. Art was your escape. Often you only found time for both at school. So no, you didn’t wanna socialise or try out for the cheerleading team. You were quite content being left alone.

Being neighbours with Nancy Wheeler, and your younger brothers being practically attached at the hip, helped with staying invisible ‘cause who’s gonna bully the girl that sometimes hung out with Nancy and King Steve.

Eddie unfortunately was not as lucky. His label wasn’t his choice — not at first anyway. It followed him through the years from an age arguably too young. No kid deserved to be treated the way he was simply ‘cause of how/where he was brought up. The curly-haired boy couldn’t escape the names, the teasing, the dirty looks. He couldn’t change his fate. So eventually he stopped trying. The Freak.

And perhaps that’s why he’s never fully warmed up to you. You were a fraud, not actually understanding what it’s like to be an outcast.

But it’s not like you cared what Eddie Munson thought of you or if the metalhead liked you in any way. Hanging around him was simply a means to an end. He needed someone to immortalise his D&D campaigns and you needed continuous inspiration as well as material for your portfolio.

Most of your meet-ups were surrounded by quiet.

Thinking back, that was the first mistake since it was in that congenial silence, you noticed how he sucked his lip between his teeth whenever he was deep in thought, and how he’d scrunch his brows together if what he came up with didn’t quite make sense. He was undoubtedly pretty. The faded freckles on his face are reminiscent of a million stars. The dips in his cheeks, appearing whenever he smiled, comparable to picturesque valleys. Those big brown of his eyes were like chocolate buttons and the more time you spent together, the more you thought you caught him glancing in your direction with that cocoa gaze, but that would be insane. Right?

It was also in those moments, as you drew the monsters he described in grave detail, you got to see the Eddie he so desperately tried to hide away from the rest of the world. The real Eddie. He was ridiculously smart. Not many people in Hawkins, if any at all aside from your silly little brother with his band of friends, could come up with such intricate ideas. Funny too, making you snort a laugh one too many times with practically zero effort. And he was kind. Asking you how your day was, seeming genuinely interested in your answer.

The small talk was kept to a minimum in the hours you two spent working on the campaigns, but whenever you did have a short conversation, Eddie always made sure his attention was focused solely on you. The second mistake was letting him, because being his priority, if only in the moment, made your stomach flutter.

But today Eddie hasn't uttered a single word aside from a measly hello when you opened your front door earlier that afternoon to let him in.

Normally the silence doesn’t bother you. If anything, you welcome it as it helps you concentrate on the details of any piece you’re currently working on. There was just something about the way Eddie was sitting that made you feel uneasy. He didn’t seem present. Leaning against your dresser, legs sprawled out in front of him, gaze focused on something out the window as he fidgeted with the pencil in his hand.

At first you thought maybe he was planning the next move in his new campaign and just needed a minute, but then fifteen minutes passed and the metalhead still hadn’t moved. If you didn’t know any better, you’d doubt he was even breathing. As still as a rock.

A sudden wave of concern rushes through you and without taking a second to consider what you were doing, you grab one of the pillows from your bed and throw it in his direction.

“Shit, what the—”

“Are you okay?”

Eddie’s not sure how to answer that question, especially when he looks at you. Eyes wider than normal, accompanied by delicate worry lines that he's never really been on the receiving end of — aside from Wayne's constant frown. Eddie first thinks you're clearly faking the concern 'cause why would you actually care? But the longer his gaze remains connected with yours, the more he wants to believe your sincerity is genuine. And that's fucking scary.

“Yeah,” he says eventually. “Just a lot on my mind. Nothin' you need to worry about.”

But you don't give up as easily as he hoped you would.

“Wanna talk about it?”

His lips twitch though he never actually smiles and you are certain then something definitely happened because it's as if he really wants to offer you a glimpse of happiness, but his body is refusing.

Dropping his gaze to the pencil in his hands, Eddie sighs. “You don't have to do that.”

“Do what?” You ask, stringing your brows together.

“Pretend like you actually give a shit,” he replies with a little more disdain than intended while once again catching your eyes with his own.

You don't mean to scoff, but you do. “Look, Eddie, I know we're not like best of friends or anything,”  you begin, hopping off the bed with an elegant bounce. “But considering lately I spend more time with you than Nancy or Steve, I feel like we can at least talk about shit, no? Like when something is bothering us, we can talk about that.”

He's slightly surprised at your words. The admission that you hang out with him more than your actual friends didn't seem right to him. In his mind, you and Wheeler are inseparable. He sees you two together all the time, sharing a ride to school, having lunch at the same table. And in the evenings or at the weekends, you're always around Harrington and that other girl, Buckley. Not like Eddie seeks you wherever he goes... He's just... observant.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Eddie rolls his eyes, tone full of disbelief. “You don't gotta lie to make me feel better.”

“I'm not,” you defend and sit cross-legged at his feet, knees brushing against the soles of his dirty Converse in the process. You know you don't owe him an explanation or reasoning, but it seems Eddie won't let up about what's on his mind without one. 

“Nancy and I have drifted apart since I kinda took Steve's side in their breakup. Sure we carpool and sit at the same table in the cafeteria, and our idiotic brothers are good friends, but that's pretty much it.”

Eddie starts to feel like a jerk for assuming shit when he clearly had no clue, but you don't give him a chance to interject. 

“And yeah, I see Steve often, but it's not like we're all buddy-buddy. He likes it when I stop by the video store to literally sit on the counter and draw his stupid head of hair just so he can make other girls jealous.”

“Jesus, that's shitty.”

You shrug, a small smile circling your lips. “I don't mind. Free film rental and peaceful sketching time.”

The lighthearted tone of your voice makes the corners of Eddie's mouth curl upwards, matching the expression currently present on your face. There's a semi-second of quiet. He's no longer feeling bad 'cause you've taken those worries away with one simple look. And when you knock your knee against his shoe again, Eddie's completely relaxed.

Lost in the way the sun reflects in your eyes, the metalhead doesn't really think when he asks, “So how come you've never invited me over for movie night, huh?”

You smirk. “Horrors aren't really my thing. I actually like to enjoy what I'm watching,” you tease, “Even if the shit is free. Don't wanna see any decapitations, thank you very much.”

Eddie huffs a laugh. He pulls his legs up before sliding along the carpeted floor of your bedroom until he's about a reach away from you. Closer than he's ever been. His arms make way around his legs, ring-clad fingers hanging low, poking at your calf.

Surprisingly, you don't flinch at Eddie's sudden proximity or the delicate touch.

“Quite presumptuous of you, sweetheart.” He affirms, gaze focused on where his skin brushes against the denim of your jeans.

“So you don't only watch gruesome things?” You challenge, your own fingers hesitantly reaching towards him, stopping before you can actually graze him in any way.

Eddie's smirking. “Not the point.”

“Sounds like I'm right,” you muse, your smile growing wider. “But I'll make you a deal.”

He looks up to meet your eyes then, hiking a brow. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod. “If you tell me what you were thinking about earlier, I'll let you pick a movie we can watch together. Even something horrific.”

This was uncharted territory — (and also your third mistake). The two of you have never hung out outside of working on D&D campaigns, but since Eddie asked a mere minute ago, even if he was just teasing, you figured why the fuck not. What's the worst that could happen? Plus this seemed the only way to get him to open up.

Eddie tugs his bottom lip between his teeth as he mewls over your proposal. On the one hand, talking about feelings or problems isn't something he's necessarily into. And when it comes to spending time with you, part of the allure is congenial silence, unless he's the one fishing for information. On the other hand, his heart rate has increased tenfold at the thought of you hiding in his embrace during a particularly gross scene or before any jump scare.

In the end, the physical urge to be close to you, an unmistakable desire he's been experiencing for far longer than Eddie would care to admit out loud, wins.

“Carver just got in my head.”

The instant frown on your face, and how your fingers are suddenly reaching for his, looping together, make Eddie want to elaborate.

“Called me talentless. Usually the shit that douche and his gang of imbeciles spewer doesn't bother me 'cause I've been called many things throughout my life and whatever they come up with is more idiotic than hurtful, but I dunno, that comment just rubbed me the wrong way.”

He drops his gaze, focusing instead on your hands now perfectly intertwined. He began to rub gentle circles into your soft flesh and although this was completely odd behaviour for the two of you, it felt more than right.

“Because it's not true, Eddie.”

The metalhead's heart flips at your words and the encouraging tone behind them. Although he didn’t let it show, focusing instead on the dips between your knuckles and every single crease in your skin as he squeezed your hand just a little tighter.

“You're not talentless,” you affirm, dipping your head lower in hopes of catching his brown eyes. “If anything, you're one of the most talented people I've ever met.”

“Bullshit,” he mutters, still refusing to look up.

“Eddie, you can't let those idiots make you feel worthless. You've got more talent in your left pinky than Carver and his band of bullies have put together.” You declare, rather passionately at that. “These campaigns you come up with, do you know the imagination that takes? I-I also know you play the guitar a-and sing too. Plus those extra curricular activities of yours require a mathematical brain. That's already also more talent than I have.”

He glances up at you then. “Shut up. As if you actually think I'm more talented than you?” he disputes and jerks his head towards some of the drawings covering the walls. “No one I know could do that and I know I never told you, but my campaigns would be nothin' without your art, sweetheart.”

Although heat rushes to your face at the unexpected compliment, you don't let Eddie's kind words steer you off course. This wasn't about what he thought of you, this was about what you thought of him and, as it turns out, how badly you wanted him to know.

“My stupid brother won't shut up about how fucking cool you are,” you reveal, chewing briefly on the inside of your cheek. “He's never said anything remotely as nice about me.”

Eddie lets out an airy chuckle. He drops his hold on you, but he doesn't give you a moment to even register how you instantly miss his touch, how your hands are burning with invisible imprints of where his skin brushed yours. No, because he's pushing your legs apart with little to no effort and sliding in-between them.

“Well, I happen to think you're cooler than me.”

It's your turn to laugh while again choosing not to comment on his closeness and ignoring how it made you feel. Ignoring how your stomach fluttered as he pressed his legs to your sides, hands hovering near your face as if he debated whether he was crossing some sort of line.

“Right. Don't fuck with me, Munson.”

“Cross my heart,” the metalhead promises. “Why do you think I asked you to help me out in the first place? Why do you think I willingly spend most of my afternoons with you? Like, there's no need for us to do this together. I can come up with the campaigns on my own then share the concepts so you can draw them out.”

You swallow 'cause the thought has never crossed your mind.

Before Eddie approached you with the offer, your knowledge of Dungeons and Dragons was definitely limited, only privy to whatever your brother and his friends shared. When Eddie asked you to draw something that very first time, and every time after that, you didn't stop and think if it was really necessary for you two to sit together for hours on end, crafting and creating on opposite ends of the room. Now that he's mentioned it, you really didn't need to.

“I-I don't—”

“There's no cooler chick than you, sweetheart.” Eddie interrupts, hands now cupping your face, no longer hesitant, and you're left wondering when the topic shifted from a conversation about his talents to whatever this was shaping up to be.

“Eddie...”

“How Harrington can use you to make other girls jealous instead of realising he should just ask you out, I-I don't understand.” The sentence fades with each word until his voice is a low muffle and you're not entirely sure you heard him correctly.

But every fibre of your being is screaming, so you know he definitely said it. And the way his doe-eyes are glimmering, your own reflection prominent in the pretty brown, only cinches that feeling.

Your final mistake is not asking then and there what Eddie meant.

He stands shortly after and extends a hand to also help you up.

“Speaking of, is the King of Hawkins working right now?” Eddie asks and when you nod slowly, still recovering from the small bomb he's after dropping, he claps his hands together. “Let's go then. I'm thinking we can start with My Bloody Valentine and because you're providing the entertainment, I'll get us some snacks.”

thank you for reading!

eddie munson masterlist | main masterlist

[koy0uu]

“Off with their heads”

Summary: In which Executor Rosehearts thinks about the future Queen…

Ship: Executor!Riddle Rosehearts X [future] Queen of Hearts!Reader

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Warnings: Mentions of beheading, public executions and blood. Riddle is an executor in this after all! Also some yandere-ish behaviour from Riddle

Author’s Note: Hello my dear costumers~ I am sincerely sorry for having been gone for 4 months. Writer’s block and school had me GOOD, sadly. I’ve been to “Shanti” by wotaku ft KAITO and it actually inspired me to write this haha. I also have multiple drafts going on, let’s see if I manage to upload them and finish them any time soon. Aside from that, I will use this as an announcement for my art sideblog @sirins-void on which I actually upload. Until then, this must suffice.

SPECIAL THANKS TO: My one and only Queen @l0laaa-ita for supporting me and being such an inspiration! Ilysm 💕

Word Count: 438

It is a soldier’s duty to serve his Queen. Anything she wants, she shall get. That is a soldier’s duty. That is what Riddle Rosehearts swore his life to. To protect you and listen to your every beck and call; his Queen’s happiness above all. And yet, how come he was jealous of every single one of your suitors? None of them were worthy! That was why he felt such joy and relief when you dismissed every single one your parents brought in, right? He merely wanted the best for the future Queen of Hearts, is all. That was precisely why he was always around you. To fulfil his duty of course. Not because of ridiculous reasons like him wanting to be the suitor you chose - Trey and Cater really did have radiant fantasies, spewing atrocities on his precious Queen’s name by claiming that “she’ll never find a suitor if she keeps rejecting everyone.” You were merely a lady of high status, beauty and Grace - it’s only natural you’d want to find someone just like that for yourself.

You only deserve the best. Anything below that is merely an insult to your excellency. That was why he accepted becoming an executor anyways - sure, his position as a soldier was just as good, however getting to serve you so closely, and ridding all those worthless bastards of their life at your command was just what he wanted. Sometimes, even he had such ridiculous thoughts, that told him that only he was worthy of you. He’s already killed so much for you, he’s serving you every day, and he is the servant you’re the closest with. You laughed and cried in front of him - he’s seen all your sides, and Riddle’s accepted them all, growing indeed fond of them all. A beautiful Queen with a beautiful heart; someone who all the blood on his hands was the bare minimum. He’d do anything for you. As a soldier, as a friend, aspiring to be more than that… So, what difference would it make if there were two matching rings on your fingers?

Unlike those swines your parents sought for you to marry, he did not care about the throne at all, but merely about you as a person. Your beauty may have intrigued him at first, but in the end it was the beauty of your personality, your kindness, your forgiving smile, your slight guilt of him having to behead the judged criminals for your sake. Slowly but surely, Riddle had understood just how precious your pure soul was. And he had no intentions letting anybody taint it, no matter what.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D

All credits belong to @koy0uu on tumblr. Please do not steal my works! Reblogs are appreciated though :D

[misc-obeyme]

Okay, Lesson 24. Honestly what do I even say about it other than the cliffhanger nearly took me out?

Fine, fine, spoilers below the cut, I'm gonna have to say something lol.

Okay this is a shortish one, but here I am!

I'm kind of glad they had Lucifer being the teacher in this lesson. Diavolo kind of made it sound like it's a temporary thing for right now before they officially start RAD, but like you can't tell me that guy is a student. I don't believe it!

The best part of that whole thing was Diavolo responding cheerfully to the brothers' complaints.

Also is this the first time that Lucifer does this with someone's name other than Mammon?!

I honestly can't remember. Lucifer you sound ridiculous lol.

Right, but anyway. I didn't write a post for the last lesson because I was out of time, sorry Mammon. But we got a pact with our boy and of course he was the first because it couldn't possibly be anybody else, right?

And now Asmo's acting up, which means we're not going in the OG order. I wonder if there's a reason for that or if it was just like... Mammon is first, Lucifer is last and we can mix everybody else up? 'Cause if Lucifer isn't last, I'll be surprised.

So uh... Solomon in this lesson, though... and then Barbatos shows up... and oh my gosh. The whole later part of this lesson was just me freaking out the whole time because I LOVE THEM so much.

Solomon being protective of MC despite being less powerful than normal? Barbatos just absolutely shutting everything down the second he gets there? Barbatos then telling Solomon how he's still upset with him? Both of them putting aside their issues for a minute to help MC find Little D No 5? MC being like nope you guys are intolerable, let's talk about this? THE CLIFFHANGER????

I was actually really surprised when Lucifer was like, go to Solomon! I was like hang on what? You want me to get Solomon? I don't understand. And then Lucifer was like y'know 'cause of his pact with Asmo! And then I was like ooooohhhh okay yeah that tracks.

And our boy Sol can sense MC's presence? Now I headcanon that he reads auras, too. Of course he can. Of course he does. I love him.

Oh nothing, just my true love serving all the sass.

This man. He has also said (in an event I believe it was or maybe a Devilgram?) that he wants MC to scold him. Like sir...

Anyway, due to the fact that there was so much of Solomon and Barbatos in this lesson, I very much enjoyed it. I also love Asmo, though I am concerned about his current state. I actually liked the WW conference call the others had, though. It's so sweet that Beel was watching over Asmo while he was sleeping. Precious babies!

BUT THAT CLIFFHANGER THO.

[uglynicc]

Listen, I avoided this movie for AGES thinking it fit into the Bro Movie Torture P0rn™️ genre which really isn't my thing, but after going down a rabbit hole of video esays and analysis, I decided to watch it.

And I actually loved it. There is SO MUCH commentary about this movie but I enjoyed it enough to dive into my own analysis of it lol, even if it's one that's been done before.

The book does sound like it's a bit too gruesome for me (plus the author's comments about "women can't make movies" definitely rubs me the wrong way), but only going off the movie I am blown away how some toxic trolls out there entirely miss the point and unironically idolize Bateman.

Firstly, I interpreted this as a comedy, a real dark satirical one, and I laughed a LOT.

Second, I do think the murders are in his head. I know there's room for commentary about The Rich And Elite Being Able to Literally Get Away With Murder, but I'm fairly certain someone would, at the very least, complain about a naked man running through an apartment complex with a chainsaw after a screaming woman. All the little hints that a lot of events didn't happen also lead me to think this.

I think he's still a D Bag who abuses sex workers, but that the killing was either a fantasy to give himself a sense of power, control, and greater agency in his life, or that it is a product of untreated and worsening mental state.

Ignoring his potential neurodivergency/mental illness here purely for the fact I think it's a separate interpretation from the one I have, and focusing on the idea that he's getting lost in the dark fantasy world he's constructed, my greatest takeaway from the movie:

Bateman is a loser.

Yes, he's wealthy and attractive, but what does he actually have going for him, even in his shallow little group of elite toxic fuckwads?

For his inflated sense of importance, no one gets his name right or even remembers who he is most times. His fiance doesn't respect or even like him, and he doesn't like her either. He pays women to be part of fantasies where he is awe inspiring, a rich, muscular sex god, and even they are bored and unimpressed, they can't even act like he's worthy of their admiration. His male peers don't think he's anything great either, and how could they when they're constantly wrapped up in meaningless pissing contests. He's so insecure in his masculinity he is close to tears when someone mistakes him as being homosexual. He can't even buy his way into Dorsia, can't use his good looks or cash, the only things he has going for him, to get a dinner reservation at his White Whale restaurant.

He's failing to achieve anything even in his shallow little world, so his Wall Street job (with a business card no one thinks is particularly great), fancy apartment (which he grudgingly admits isn't even as nice or as expensive as his rival's) and chiseled good looks mean nothing. He craves status and recognition, which he fails to achieve.

And yeah, he's a misogynist, racist, classist, homophobic dishrag too, can't forget that.

He's the archetype of toxic, impotent-with-misplaced-rage, insecure yet inflated male ego we see everywhere. If people don't perceive what Bateman feels is his inherent "greatness" or "importance," he lashes out, through mistreatment of those more vulnerable, and/or through dark fantasies which give him that sense of greatness and importance.

It's almost too real, because there are so many real world examples of this kind of privileged dickwad (which makes it even more baffling when these same real world dickwads put Bateman on a weird pedestal thinking he's actually great), but I loved the way the movie examined it. I don't think it's celebrating Bateman or men like him at all, I felt more compelled to laugh at him as a figure of jest, a ridiculous caricature of entitlement and failure. Hell, even his "confession" falls flat, he can't even get that right.

Anyway, just my musings after my first viewing, 20 some years late to the party lol.

[ropes3amthoughts]

Kabru in silly pajamas except for the blue which is supposed to be normal pajamas but idk if they look that normal actually. Had some more ideas planned but my headphones died and I am incapable of doing anything without them. I ramble about Kabru in silly pajamas under the cut.

So my original idea was:

Kabru has a sleepover at the Touden house and he has to borrow their pajamas but they all have ridiculous pajamas and like Laios offers to lend Kabru some of his and Kabru just looks like this (I used a discord emoji here but it doesn’t transfer over to Tumblr)

as he sees like wolf meme prints and SpongeBob like a monster onesie whatever it’s called and a shirt with dinosaurs and explosions that says some shit like “I love gay sex” but in Japanese and he asks Laios if he knows what it says and Laios is all like “no idea but it looks cool doesn’t it :D” and Laios has this bigass shirt because he got the wrong size and he just never returned it because it was comfortable and then Laios says smh about how maybe he could borrow some of Falin’s clothes because they’re about the same size and so he loosen through Falin’s pajamas but they’re also kind of cringy (to Kabru at least) like it’s stuff like the universe but with a picture of a weevil replacing the sun and then like Kabru sees an outfit that’s actually matching like it’s a pajama shirt and pants that are soft blue with white polka dots and buttons and it’s like proper pajamas and then Falin’s all like “oh yeah Marcille bought those for me so we could be matching but I don’t like the neck part so I never wear them” and Kabru I-love-turtlenecks no-last-name is like “this is perfect” and so he ends up wearing normal people pajamas and then they like chill and eat snacks and watch a movie and stuff but I like to imagine eventually Kabru does wear some corny pajamas because like nobody’s judging him it’s not like the Toudens are gonna analyze which pajamas he picked and like he should learn to be cringe and free and happy it would be good for him

Do you guys see the vision

Anyways Kabru in silly pajamas has my heart

Oh yeah I changed the polka dots to stripes in the doodle because I felt like the polka dots looked stupid

I’m not like a pro artist or anything but I think it’s great that I can doodle whatever like I can put Kabru in so many situations like it’s silly pajama time and now he has silly pajamas this is wonderful

I think everybody should draw Kabru in silly pajamas I think it would be fun but you don’t have to

💭 Kabru silly pajamas

[january-summers]

I just made myself giggle, and I’ve decided to share why and make it everyone’s problem >:3c

I kind of have this crack treated seriously AU that’s been floating in the back of my brain on an off for a while and it goes like this:

The alpha team from PFL (plus who ever makes it funnier) end up in a simulation of what we might consider a modern au, or at least a sitcom america suburbia version of a modern au.

How? Uhhhh, they were exploring possible forerunner ruins and Santa’s cousin never finished their system set up so their trials are, uhm, whatever I need them to be.

Anyway, in suburbia land Carolina and York are the newly wed couple who have just moved into the area (or cul de sac, we can put them on a dead end street) which is densely populated by the other Freelancers.

Wyoming and Florida live together.

(So do Washington and Maine because I still ship it damnit!)

They start to realise none of this is real and that they’re trapped but all attempts to forcibly wake others or escape end in escapades.

So on and so forth, and everyone gets to (is forced to by the simulation which makes them think this is real life) use their pre-PFL names.

Now, not all of them have names which we know, some we often fill in with head canons or borrowed headcanons, like I picked up Mattias for Maine from a fic and it stuck in my head, and I like Kathrine (Kathy) or Caroline for Carolina but then I realised I couldn’t remember if I knew if York had a name or not.

And this is why I was giggling:

My brain threw out the option “Newton York.”

How do they get out of there? Either my best adult ass man boy Wash is able to notice some stuff and find Santa’s cousin and ask them to knock it off. Or after a series of hilarious hijinks the street finally makes it to the big local festival which they have to save from disaster (normal sitcom disaster like vodka in the free punch, missing decorations/leading act, a stolen prize winning plant/animal) and the credits roll on their season finale because all they had to do was make it there without anyone dying which almost happened.

Santa’s cousin was just bored and wanted to play Suburbs & Sitcoms, the lamest of D&D variations.

… also I kind of need most of the Freelancers to take a ridiculously long time to realise that Maine’s “housemate” David, is Washington because he doesn’t take his helmet off very often and they were all convinced Wash is at least 7 years younger than he actually is.

[artaxlivs]

Hi! I know I don’t follow you but I still think you’re super amazing and you said anyone could do an ask so if you’re up to it..

Treat?!

No hard nos but if you’re up for fluff, I could use something cheery and cute :D

Fluff and laughter and a sprinkle (or a tsunami) of smut are my thing! So fluff it is!

Someone's knocking on his door. Clint loves this part. He grabs the bowl of candy and yanks open the door, ready to cheer over the kids costumes.

"Bucky? What are you doing here?" They've been doing this flirty thing where they don't call them dates but they go out for coffee or pizza and Bucky doesn't talk much but Clint talks enough for both of them. It's not anything more than friendship with delusions of dating yet but Clint's hoping.

Bucky lifts an eyebrow, eyes trailing over Clint's costume. He suddenly feels a little foolish.

"What are you supposed to be?"

"Uh...I'm-uh, I'm Green Arrow. From...you know from Star City. He's a...a superhero..." Clint fiddles with the frankly ridiculous amount of buckles on his costume. Why does Green Arrow wear a costume with so little give?

"Isn't that-kinda..I don't know..." Bucky's eyes follow Clint's fingers and then he finishes flatly, "...weird?"

Snorting, Clint nods, "Yeah, probably. But I thought it would be funny, since everyone mistakes me for him anyway. Like, tongue in cheek, you know?"

"Why would anyone mistake you for Green Arrow? His costume's dumb. A green hood? Who does he think he is, Robin Hood?" Bucky scoffs and Clint realizes he's still standing in the hallway so he backs up, waves him in.

Before he shuts the door there's a clamor of children's voices and Simone yelling "Incoming Clint!" Just before a herd of children come to a stop in front of his open door.

"Oh man! You guys look great! What do we have here?" Clint grabs a handful of candy and dumps it in the first bucket, "A teenage mutant ninja turtle? Donatello - he's my favorite!" he grabs another handful as that kid shuffles away and another takes his place, "And Elsa? Don't make me sing, I always cry on the high notes!" He drops the handful in her pillowcase. There's about eight or none of them and he goes through each, exclaiming excitedly over each one.

He almost closes the door before he sees the last one, tucked to the side of the jamb, "Hey there, did you get any candy?" The kid is kind of in shadow and most of his costume is black, his head is tucked down and he's scuffing one worn black boot on the floor next to his still empty pillowcase. He's probably gotten missed at the other apartments because he was too quiet to speak up before the doors shut.

Clint squats down and the kid scoots into the light. He's wearing a Winter Solider costume. Clint's eyes twinkle and he glances back at Bucky to make sure he sees it. "Bucky Barnes, huh? Can I tell you a secret?" The kid nods but doesn't look up, still clutching the empty bag in white knuckles. "The Winter Solider is my absolute favorite superhero. And he's pretty quiet, too, kinda shy around big crowds. Likes to look before he leaps, you know? You mind telling me your name?"

The kid looks up through thick eyelashes, "Bethany."

Clint smiles, chastises himself for assuming the kid was a boy, "Well, Bethany, can you open your bag for me?" She does, still white knuckling it as Clint upends the entire bowl into the bag, "Happy Halloween kiddo, be safe out there." She gives him a little smile and runs back down the hallway toward the group. Clint can hear Simone hustling them to the next floor.

When he turns back around, letting the door shut behind him, Clint finds Bucky still staring at where Bethany had been standing, "You didn't tell her to be brave or speak up."

Clint shrugs, "She will when she's ready. Or when she needs to. Or maybe never. It's no one else's right to tell her how to be." Bucky nods at that and Clint says, "Sooo...did you come over to hand out candy?"

"I wanted to know if you wanted to watch a movie and gorge ourselves on Halloween candy." He smiles at the empty bucket, "We might have to go rob some trick or treaters for that, though."

"Nahhhh," Clint grins, pulling another bag out of the cabinet, "secret stash."

They watch Frozen. Clint does, in fact, cry on the high notes. And he manages to not make a big deal about it when Bucky leans in close and rests his head on Clint's shoulder.