#you get to see my brain explode intensely

[fairyyybread]

Mmm the obsession is real (This is just gonna be me obsessing over the framing of everything- It's gonna be a lot to read. Sorry not sorry).

Even if they don't fully realize it I am obsessed with the composition of the scenes. In the first scene we are panned into Grian's room from a distance, but since we're starting in the room with warm lighting looking at him asleep, it gives a sense of a peaceful morning. It's such a simple thing but it conveys the story in the way it needs to be shown. We aren't viewing from the outside where Jimmy would be standing, we aren't looking in through his window, we aren't peering through a doorway of any sorts. We are simply seeing Mr. Princess man resting early in the morning. It's the perfect amount of distance and lighting to convey the right mood, before it's quickly disrupted by Jimmy knocking at the door. Moving on, the scene where we DO get to see Grian from outside the window. When he sits down in the chair and we see the black substance crawl up outside. The placement of this scene is so AAA! The framing is perfect for the buildup of suspense. We had a lighthearted moment of everyone having their costumes showed off with Grian finally sitting to rest. If this frame was shown any sooner or later it would've given a different vibe. Idk how to describe it. It's just perfectly placed. It helps switch into the more serious issue later on in the chapter. It's eerie, it's concerning. It makes you go, "What's gonna happen to Grian? Why is there a black substance crawling up to him?" And that's EXACTLY the goal I think this frame is trying to have. It's the build-up to quickly switch to the main plot of this arc.

Scar in the light hallway as he hears a noise, asking someone to come with him to check. We don't know what's in there, we're following Scar with as much confusion and worry as he does. Peering into the room to see Elle on the floor. The only light is from the outside of that hallway, giving the perfect amount of shock as the characters panic and try to make Elle wake up. Like a kid scared of the dark, peering into their bedroom and asking their parent to check under the bed for a monster. Despite Scar being positioned in his wheelchair, we're still looking down at them in the dark at the end of page 11, the shadows giving a sense of serious dramatics. Everything is serious now. There is no light anymore. The hues of the last few pages are all dark. People are passing out, there's confusion and panic and fear. Scar pulls the fire alarm in a tilted panel. It's such a simple thing to do but SO effective. Everything quickly delved into chaos. People NEEDED to get out of the school. Students running away in panic. By this point, the only light we see in the comic for the rest of the part is Tango's hair. Everything is dark, eerie, worrying. Despite how much Tango is anxious about his appearance, he's also the only true light that can help guide them out of the building while holding Ren and Bdubs. Ren's distressed yet soft expression as he's passed out on Scar is also just really well drawn. The final page where we see Scar call Cub, where the lighting of Tango's hair adds that dramatic flare to the scene that elevates the anxiousness they are clearly feeling and we are feeling alongside them. How the final text bubble is simply "Cub, we have a problem." It's a good cliffhanger and a good way to make suspense. Maybe I'm just reading far too into things but god I LOVEEE analyzing the scenes in this comic so much and getting to deep dive into the way the characters are characterized through writing too. This is a lot but it's not even all of what I have in my mind.

MOTHER SPORE

Part I

I know it's almost new year but I don't care, it's Halloween again people (this part was supposed to be posed in October but things happen)

Once again thank you @xmaruu11 not only for being the co-writer of the comic but also for doing the flat colors

[alastorss]

brother i still have no idea how tumblr works and this is my first request and it might not even be in the right place but—

why does NO ONE talk about the fact that “Allie” would be such a silly nickname for Alastor? i would love to see some headcanons/a lil story about how he would react to the reader calling him that. maybe completely detests it at first but secretly likes it?

a/n: hello lovely, you've come to the right place 🫶 yes yes yes!!! i'm obsessed with this idea <3 i'm adding to this: he would think you're mad at him when you finally call him normally again ^ ^

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

"What did you say?"

"Huh?" You hum, attention devoted to fixing Alastor's bowtie.

"That thing you just said. Repeat it."

You finally blink at him, using your palms to smooth out the front of his jacket before stepping out of his bubble. "I said your tie was undone."

"No, dear, before that."

The Radio Demon can feel his eye twitching in irritation. You look at him again dumbly, trying to retrace your steps.

"Oh!" You flash him a little smile and he thinks his brain is going to explode. "Allie?"

He just gawks at you, surprised by the sheer audacity you have. And it doesn't help that he's so fond of you that he doesn't even want to strike you down.

Had it been someone else calling him so endearingly, he might have done something violent. But how could he do that to you, his darling companion, when you look so sweet calling him such a ridiculous name?

"My apologies but... where did that come from?"

"Isn't it cute?" You grin, completely dodging his question.

No, he wants to say. Absolutely not. However, your smile is ever-growing and he can't very well deny you this pleasure. So he sucks it up, draws in a deep inhale to compose himself, and nods.

"Of course, cher."

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Weeks pass and the rest of your friends in the hotel begin to raise a brow at how casually you address such a powerful Overlord. And more than that, he doesn't seem to want to correct you.

It becomes his name reserved exclusively for you. Angel had tried, once, to purr out Allie in a seductive way that made Alastor's skin crawl. Never again.

He gets used to it. Even likes the idea that there is something shared between you that no one else can have. That is, until you're pushing around your breakfast on a plate one morning.

"Can you pass the salt, Alastor?"

He looks up from his mug of coffee in confusion, brain taking a moment to buffer before it catches up with his already moving mouth.

"Alastor?" He repeats his own name, staring at you intensely and most definitely not passing the salt over the table.

You look back up at him blankly. "That's your name, don't wear it out."

He scoffs at your lame joke before sliding the salt shaker over the table. There's something unsettling him and he can't quite place it.

Setting down his newspaper, he watches you as you eat. His gaze is so fiery that you look up from your food almost instantly.

"What's wrong?"

"Are you alright? Have I done something to upset you?"

Your brows scrunch. "No, why?"

"Why did you not call me Allie?"

Complete and utter silence settles over the dining table until he feels like he can't breathe. Your spoonful of food hovers just in front of your open mouth as you stare.

Then, laughter. Laughter fills the room and his ears so heartily that he feels it in his own chest. You double over the table in your fit, spoon clinking onto the plate as you drop it.

"What?" He grumbles.

"Of course I'm not mad at you!" You howl, using a finger to wipe up the tears gathering in your eyes. "'Sides, I thought you hated that name?"

His jaw grows taut. "Hate is a powerful word."

"So you like it?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Liar, you do!"

Alastor is never one to get flustered, but here he is for the first time in his afterlife, teetering on the edge of bursting out in flames. "You are terrible, you know that?"

You snicker, leg getting trapped between his under the table. "Yeah, Allie, I know."

Yet the way his smile softens says it all.

~

taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc (send an ask to be added!)

[averagetransdaughter]

"Hey, aren't you ___'s mom?"

You turn, just about whip around to see a girl about your daughter's age. Not just any girl, though... One of your daughter's friends, wasn't she? The last time you saw her would have been...

Right. How could you possibly forget? She stayed over at your house while your daughter was home for the summer, spent a whole weekend together with her, even.

Your cheeks go rosy, and the girl before you raises an eyebrow.

When she visited, your dearest daughter spent each night whining, squealing, and moaning. Your house was filled, suffused with the soundscape of a cheap porno—all because of this girl.

She asks, "Is something the matter?"

You blink a few times, fumbling over the words sent scattering through your brain like bowling pins. You say, "U-um, yes, I am..! You visited her last summer, didn't you?"

The girl nods, a wry grin contorting her lips, as if she heard a joke you aren't privy to. Though, you have the strangest feeling you know what she's smiling about. She says, "Haha, yeah~ I had a ton of fun. You probably knew that, though, didn't you?"

Breath catches in your throat, and your heart plummets. Is she seriously asking what you think she's asking?

You sheepishly reply after gathering yourself, "What do you mean..?"

The girl looks a bit surprised. "You know," she says, "she was really noisy when I fucked her brains out, so I thought you must've heard. You didn't?"

You shake your head, perhaps a bit too intensely. If she noticed your suspicious behavior, however, she doesn't let it on.

"Gosh, really..? I worked so hard to really get those out of her, too. Thought you could use some material, you know? A lonely woman like you must have a craving or two."

"I have no idea what—"

"So you didn't hear it, and you didn't spend your nights with your ear pressed up against the wall and your fingers stuffed inside yourself listening to me wreck your daughter's cunt?"

Her eyes trail down your figure, lingering at each and every curve. Not just salacious, but hungry.

"N-no..." Is all that you can squeak out.

"You didn't imagine that those fingers were my cock, stretching you out just like I did with your daughter?"

A small gasp escapes you, pent-up need exploding out like a catastrophically high pressure steam engine. That was your mistake, or, well...

Would it really be right to call that a mistake?

The girl wraps an arm around your waist, subtly pulling you closer. She laughs, and gives your ass a small squeeze.

"Come with me, 'kay?"

[astrolook]

🌙 Moon in Synastry: How You Emotionally Connect (or Clash) 💥

Note: First of all, these are my personal observations based on client readings and what I have observed in real life relationships whether flings, short-term romances, long-term commitments, or marriages. We will be looking into both good and the shadow side of it. No single synastry aspect determines if a relationship is “meant to be” or if someone is your soulmate. True soulmates won’t bring you constant pain, abuse, emotional neglect, or detachment. They won’t harm you, manipulate you, or make you question your worth.

Now, with that said… let’s dive into today's post!

Moon in Fire Signs (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius) 🔥- You feel first, think later. Both outbursts and passionate affection are all part of the package. If partner can’t keep up with your energy, you’ll get bored fast. If both of you have fire moons, you’ll either ignite a romance or burn it down.

Moon in Air Signs (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius) 🌬️- You process feelings by talking it out… forever. Space and freedom are your emotional love language with some occasional tears. If partner is clingy, your flight mode gets activated. If both of you have air moons, your love notes will be text essays and memes.

Moon in Earth Signs (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn) 🌿- Stability > emotional drama. Love here is shown thru practical actions. You bottle up emotions until…well, you explode in the most rational way possible. If partner isn’t dependable, you check out emotionally. If both of you have earth moons, you’re basically a power couple with a solid 401(k).

Moon in Water Signs (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces) 🌊- Your emotions run deeper than the Mariana Trench. When hurt, you withdraw into your emotional shell…for years. You crave soul-connections but somehow 9/10 times attracts toxic people successfully. If both of you have water moons, the relationship feels destined, intense, and occasionally exhausting.

Moon through the houses:

Moon in 1st -

The Moon person emotions are all over your identity. The house person feels seen and accepted. Instant emotional connection. They can read your moods before you even speak. Feels like you've known each other forever. The house person would feel emotionally tied together.

The Moon person might be too emotionally reactive to house person’s moods. If emotions aren't mutual, one person might feel suffocated. House person might feel too exposed or emotionally overwhelmed. Can lead to codependency if not balanced.

Moon in 2nd -

The Moon person sees the house person as their personal emotional ATM like the withdrawals of comfort and security guaranteed! If you both love practical romance think home-cooked meals and doing something together, this is a dream come true. The Moon person truly adores the house person and sees them attractive and their "type".

The Moon person might get a little too comfy, treating the house person like an emotional vending machine. The house person could become way too possessive. True love is priceless, but this overlay might make it feel like it comes with a price tag. House person could feel like they are taken advantage of by the Moon person.

Moon in 3rd -

Conversations just flow, it’s like your brains are on the same Wi-Fi network. The Moon person gets the house person’s way of thinking, no explanations needed. The bond is fun, light, and effortlessly supportive. Both of you laughs at the same dumb jokes or have deep talks.

The connection can feel more bestie with emotional perks/benefits than fiery soulmate passion. The Moon person could get a little too invested in the house person's daily life. One of you might feel the other is too chatty and just won't shut up about things.

Moon in 4th -

There is a weird sense of "I know you". Deep emotional security, like an invisible weighted blanket wrapped around both of you. Feels heartwarming and like family. If you both love intensity, this is the ride-or-die emotional bond.

Family-level fights. Emotional abuse. You know, the kind where only they can trigger your childhood wounds in 0.2 seconds. Emotional baggage unpacked right in the middle of your relationship. The Moon person might behave like an overbearing parent making the house person feel like "Why can't I breathe around you?"

Moon in 5th -

The Moon person sees the house person as pure romantic magic even their bad hair days look artistic. The Moon person is like head over heels for the house person. feels like young, child-like love no matter their age.

The Moon person might idolize the house person a little too much. Responsibilities take a backseat. If the house person doesn’t return the emotional warmth, the Moon person feels like a sad poet. Common in one-sided relationships.

Moon in 6th -

The Moon person feels like it's their mission is to take care of the house person. One of you is always looking out for the other, which can be adorable. If you have a shared goal, dream team vibes! You get stuff done. This overlay can create a nurturing, stable relationship.

The Moon person can sacrifice too much and then passive-aggressively sulk about it. It can feel more like a boss/employee dynamic than romance unless you’re into that. If either of you lacks boundaries, this turns into resentment city fast. The Moon person micromanages the house person's daily life. The house person might start expecting favors and the Moon person could feel like an unpaid intern.

Moon in 7th -

This overlay feels like slipping into your favorite cozy hoodie, it's safe, familiar, and warm. The house person naturally wants to be around the Moon person. Relationship flows like a well-balanced duet as you complete each other. One of the strongest overlays for long-term commitment.

If one person takes the other for granted, resentment brews like bad coffee. The Moon person may get emotionally clingy, which can suffocate the house person. One of you is suppressing their emotions and simply compromise to keep the peace.

Moon in 8th -

You’re drawn to each other like moths to a forbidden flame. Unspoken understanding like you can read each other’s soul files. A transformational relationship whether that’s growth or destruction depends on you. The whole dark romance package.

Feels less like romance, more like a crime-of-passion waiting to happen. Triggers all the buried baggage like insecurities, jealousy and all. Couples who are one and off for years and can't really let go of each other has this overlay.

Moon in 9th -

You bond over big ideas, deep convos, and shared worldviews. Mutual growth like adventuring together, mentally or literally. Long-distance isn't a problem as your connection transcends miles. The house person feels inspired like a guru with their most devoted follower.

Moon person might feel inferior, house person might feel pressured to be amazing 24/7. Too much idealism on one or both sides. May turn into a motivational speaker/fan club dynamic instead of romance.

Moon in 10th -

There is mutual respect for each other’s achievements and professional goals. One of you might be the ultimate trophy for the other’s success story. Practical and productive. No time for emotional drama. If you’re both goal-oriented, you’re the dream team.

Trophy wife/husband vibes can get a little too shallow for comfort. Emotional distance and self-serving tendencies may leave one or both of you feeling a bit disconnected. Not the best for intimacy unless your charts have other affectionate touches.

Moon in 11th -

You meet, and it’s like you’ve known each other forever. You both feel like you can show your true selves without worrying about the judgment. You see the house person as your dream come true, and they feel the same way about you. No grudges. You can never really stay mad at each other it's like you’re permanently in good vibes mode.

It's the “castle in the air.” Sometimes it feels like a fairytale that might be a bit too dreamy/one-sided. You both might live in an idealized bubble and overlook real issues. One or both of you is just daydreaming about the relationship without doing anything in reality.

Moon in 12th -

You connect on a soul-deep level, it's mysterious, intense, and possibly otherworldly. Both partners are attuned to each other's needs, with an almost telepathic understanding. The relationship invites raw, unfiltered emotional expression, fostering a strong bond. There's immense potential for healing and growth together.

The Moon person always feels like the house person is hiding something even if they’re not. This overlay's a paranoia central. It’s like a dark cloud of suspicion hanging over everything, no logical reason, just gut feelings. Accusations fly between both of you. Every little misunderstanding hits deep, and healing’s tough. The survival rate for this overlay is low unless you’ve got the emotional fortitude of a zen master.

Check out my Sun in Synastry: The Light They Bring Or Burn You With

✨ Wanna know more about your birth chart or your relationship? DM me for a synastry or complete birth chart reading ✨ and check out my pinned post for pricing! 🌟💫

[jo-speaks]

I'VE GOT YOU

overview: you're having one of those days you just can't explain, but you've got quinn by your side.

warnings: honestly, i don't know. angsty + comfort all that jazz. crying, lowkey disassociating, etc.

note: very much inspired by my day today, except i don't have a quinn hughes to make it better 💔 (im good now i promise)

+ check this out if you need it 🫶🏼

It had been one of those days. 

One of those days where nothing seemed enticing, desirable. You couldn’t find a word for the way you were feeling, and it certainly didn’t help when Quinn had left due to his early 1 pm game just as you were waking up. 

The room felt cold and lonely; the blankets he had tucked you into a little tighter before leaving being the only form of comfort you could find at the moment. This feeling was strange. You weren’t upset. You didn’t want to cry. You just wanted to lay there, unmoving for the whole day. 

You couldn’t even bring yourself to reach for your phone to distract your brain for a while. Hearing the familiar buzz, you knew Quinn was sending his usual text that he always did before games. 

q: hope you’re watching, wish me luck :)

q: i love you. ❤️

The guilt that surged through you was unreal. You wanted to text him back, let him know you loved him too. You wanted to watch him do what he loved, support him even when you weren’t at the arena to see it live. Everything in your body was screaming at you to get up and turn on the TV.

But you couldn’t.

Nothing physically held you down, nothing was restricting you from reaching a short distance to the side to get the remote. Yet you just couldn’t. Your body was exhausted, but it wasn’t physical. 

You closed your eyes, hoping this feeling would go away with some more sleep. Something in your mind kept you awake, though, your eyes shooting right back open and finding a space on the wall to stare at until you were sick of it. 

Unaware of how to fix this feeling, your eyes began to water, tears quickly forming and slipping down your cheeks and onto the mattress. Soft tears quickly turned into sobs as you turned to Quinn’s side of the bed, grabbing his pillow and hugging it so tightly it could explode. The cushion muffled your cries as they fell, quickly picking up the intensity before you could stop it. 

You were so confused. Why was this flood of emotions suddenly crashing over you? What caused it? Why couldn’t you stop it?

Shifting yet again, you let go of his pillow, the scent of him adding to that sub feeling of guilt, turning back to stare at the wall as your arms wrapped around your body, holding yourself as if you’d shatter if you let go.

So lost in your own mind, hours passed by, and before you could realize it, you heard the familiar sound of the front door opening and closing, shoes slipping off and being put on the rack by the entrance. 

By now, your sobs had turned into deafening silence as you laid in the same spot, back turned to the bedroom door. 

“Sweetheart?” Quinn called out into the empty space of the living room. 

He’d noticed you hadn’t responded to his text or even opened it, but since he’d normally return home to see you perched on the couch, or in the kitchen cooking up a new recipe you’d found on Pinterest, he hadn’t thought anything of it until he was met with the echo of his own voice. 

You weren’t one to sleep in so late, and with the clock reaching five pm, his confusion shot up by a million. Before he’d start to panic, he’d enter your shared bedroom to investigate the improbable. 

However, his eyes widened slightly when he saw you lying there exactly how he’d left you this morning. His instinct was to joke around with you and see if you were just so tired from your day that you needed to lie down again. But when he saw your hands wrapped around yourself, he swore his heart broke a little. 

He was quick to be by your side, hovering above the side of the bed to find your face tear-stained, yet so blank.

“Y/N?” He kneeled down, his face now on level with yours. Your eyes were still looking past his, as if you were unaware he was even here. Yet the second his hand came up to cup your cheek, your eyes found his in an instant. 

The second you locked eyes with him, you could see the way his eyebrows furrowed slightly, confused as to what had happened. That guilty feeling came back, tears welling in your eyes again as you felt those overwhelming waves coming back to get you. The change was so sudden, Quinn barely had any time to brace himself before your eyebrows knitted together, streams of tears falling down your face, re-hydrating the stains left behind from before.

Quinn moved quickly, his hands tugging you up by the arms to hold you. The position was awkward, your legs fully extended in front of you but your upper body twisting to rest on his clothed chest. It was tight, supporting. His hand came up to hold the back of your head, the other looped around your waist. You brought a hand to hold the one he had entangled in your hair, intertwining your fingers with his as your grip tightened as if he would run away if you let go. 

Amidst his confusion, he had no intention of going anywhere until you were ready. He didn’t know what was going on, but he recognized your fragile state the second he laid eyes on you. He wasn’t trying to pry, he wasn’t going to question you; he was just going to hold you. For as long as you needed him. 

“I’ve got you, my love.” He whispered into your hair, pressing a soft kiss onto it, “I’ve got you.” 

Those words broke you further because you knew they were full of truth. He had you. When you needed him and when you didn’t, he always had you. 

His thumb rubbed slowly up and down your waist, the gentle movement soothing you more than it should. Harsh cries into his shirt turning into soft sniffles as you began to move, pulling back to look at him. You let go of his hand, letting it come around to wipe the tears off your face. 

Quinn nodded subtly – more to himself than anything – shifting you around so your legs were now wrapped around his waist. He stood up, making his way to the couch he knew you loved doing anything and everything. Sitting down, he kept you in his lap so he could look up at you and hold you comfortably. His eyes were full of worry, but you couldn’t relieve it because even you were confused as to what brought this on.

He stared into your eyes longingly, searching for answers he would never find if he didn’t ask. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head slowly, maintaining eye contact, trying to find words that seemed so out of reach. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.” He said sincerely, “You don’t have to know. Just tell me what you need from me so I can help.”

His words alone were enough to cause some stray tears to slip. They stopped as quickly as they started when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, tucking your face into his neck. “Just stay with me?”

Quinn laughed softly at the words, the request sounding ridiculous to him because where else would he want to be if not with you? 

“As long as you need. I’ve got you, Y/N.”

[deadrobinthoughts]

♡. Mobile post. Hcs & a small scenario for Damian and his "Pastel, yapper gf". Enjoy, anon.

The Ultimate Grumpy/Sunshine Dynamic™ – If anyone ever needed a perfect example of opposites attract, it’s you and Damian. He’s broody, reserved, and always looks mildly irritated, while you’re a walking bundle of pastels, excitement, and nonstop chatter.

He Pretends He Doesn’t Listen, But He Memorizes Everything – You could be talking a mile a minute about something completely random, and Damian will look like he’s ignoring you… but then two weeks later, he’ll casually bring up that one obscure fact you mentioned about some show or hobby you like, just to prove that he was paying attention. (And yes, it makes your heart explode every time.)

Hand-Holding as a Muzzle Tactic – If you’re talking too much in public (and it’s overwhelming him), he will silently grab your hand and squeeze it, his way of telling you: "Enough, beloved. My brain is melting." (It works about 30% of the time.)

Acts Bothered by Your Energy, But Thrives Off It – If you weren’t around, Damian would absolutely go back to brooding in a corner, drowning in his own sharp thoughts. But with you? His world is louder, brighter, and somehow softer all at once. Even if he doesn’t always respond to your rambles, the sound of your voice makes him feel at peace.

Death Glares Anyone Who Tries to Shut You Up – You can talk his ear off all you want, but the second someone else tells you to be quiet? Damian is more than ready to say something. (Only he is allowed to get mildly annoyed by your endless chatter. Everyone else must deal with it. Perks of being in love.)

Calls You “Beloved” Unironically – He says it so effortlessly, so casually, that you almost forget how incredibly romantic and old-fashioned it is. But hearing that deep, serious voice say: "Beloved, focus." or "Calm yourself, beloved." always makes you melt. He'll say it without even realizing.

The “Secretly Soft for You” Phenomenon – Damian isn’t affectionate in public, but when you’re alone? He’s all over you. He’ll have you curled up in his lap, arms wrapped around you like you’re his personal stress relief, all while he pretends you’re the one being clingy (even though he literally hasn’t let go of you in two hours).

Has No Patience for Social Events, But Goes Just to Make You Happy – You drag him to pastel-themed cafés, bookstores, art exhibits, and other bright, aesthetic places. Damian hates being surrounded by crowds and noise, but he’ll suffer through it just to see you happy. (And if anyone so much as brushes against you? He’s throwing a glare so intense it could set them on fire.)

Deadpan Humor That Pairs Too Well With Your Chatter – You: “Dami, what if frogs had tiny little raincoats? Can you imagine—” Damian, completely monotone: “Why must you plague me with these thoughts.” (But later that night, he actually sketches a tiny frog in a raincoat for you.)

Steals Your Pastel Hoodies Because They Smell Like You – He will never admit it, but if you ever leave a soft, oversized hoodie lying around, it somehow ends up on Damian while he reads or works on something. (If you bring it up? He just says, “It was the closest article of clothing.”)

His Love Language is Acts of Service & Physical Touch – Damian isn’t great with words, so his love is shown through actions—making sure you eat, walking on the dangerous side of the road, pulling you onto his lap after a long day without a single word, etc.

He’s the Calm to Your Chaos (And Vice Versa) – If you trip over your own feet because you’re too excited about something, Damian is already catching you effortlessly without even looking up from his book.

You’re the Only Person Who Can Get Him to “Smile” in Public – It’s subtle, just the slightest softening of his normally sharp features, but everyone notices it. (It’s why people are always shocked he actually has a soul.)

“How Did I End Up With You?” Energy – Sometimes, Damian just stares at you when you’re talking (or singing off-key, or dancing around the living room) like he’s genuinely confused about how someone like him got stuck with someone like you. Of course, not "stuck" in a bad manner.

Knows Exactly When to Let You Talk and When to Pull You Into Silence – He’s never rude about it, but when your energy turns from excited rambling to nervous over-explaining, Damian will cut you off mid-sentence by gently cupping your face and saying: “Enough. You are alright.” (And just like that, the world feels a little less overwhelming.)

You Make Him Soft & He Has No Idea How to Deal With It – Sometimes, when you’re asleep, Damian just traces his fingers over your cheek, like he’s trying to figure out how he let himself fall this hard.

Refuses to Call You By Your Full Name – He never calls you by your full name because why would he? You’re his beloved, and only that title matters.

If You Get Sick, He Goes Full Caretaker Mode Trying to Fix It – "Who made you ill? Who do I have to kill?" "Dami, it’s just a cold—" "Unacceptable."

Secretly Thinks Your Energy Is “Refreshing” – He’ll never say it out loud, but being with you is like breathing fresh air for the first time in his life. You bring color, life, and laughter into his otherwise sharp, guarded world.

If You Cry, He Panics (Internally) – Damian isn’t great with comforting words, but he’ll pull you into a firm hug, pressing soft, fleeting kisses to the top of your head, whispering, "You do not have to face anything alone, my love."

Your Chatter Helps Him Sleep – Damian is so used to nightmares that it’s hard for him to fall asleep… unless you’re talking. Your soft voice, your presence, your warmth—it makes everything quiet in his mind for once.

He’ll Never Say It, But He Loves Being Around You 24/7 – If you ever stop talking abruptly, Damian looks up instantly, as if searching for you.

If He Ever Loses You, He Will Burn the World to Find You Again – Period. A reasonable response.

He Doesn’t Do PDA—Except for You. In public, he’s gruff but still keeps a hand on your waist or fingers intertwined. In private? He will curl into you like a cat who refuses to let go.

You Make Him Believe in Love, Even When He Never Thought He Could Have It – At the end of the day, Damian never expected to have someone like you—but now that he does? He’ll protect it with his life.

—

The morning sun filtered softly through the sheer curtains, casting a warm golden glow over the bedroom. It was one of those rare, quiet mornings, where Gotham’s usual chaos had yet to intrude, and Damian, for once, was still in bed.

You, on the other hand? Fully awake, wrapped in the coziest pastel sweater imaginable, and absolutely buzzing with thoughts.

"Okay, Dami, listen," you started, propped up on your elbows, looking down at him where he lay, face buried in the pillow, refusing to function yet. "What if—no, hear me out—what if cats had tiny little backpacks? Like, for their little cat belongings? Where would they even go?? Like, imagine Alfred with his own tiny bag! Wouldn’t that be adorable? What do you think he’d keep in it?"

Silence.

You paused, then gently poked his cheek.

Still nothing.

Finally, after a long, suffering sigh, Damian shifted just enough to glance up at you, narrowed green eyes sharp despite his grogginess.

"Beloved." His voice was low, hoarse from sleep, but dripping with deadpan exhaustion.

You beamed, undeterred. "Yes, my love?"

His gaze dragged over you, taking in your bright, bouncy energy compared to his own half-conscious, definitely-not-awake self.

Then, finally—

"Why must you do this to me first thing in the morning?"

You gasped dramatically, hand pressed to your heart. "Excuse me, sir, but I am merely blessing you with my intellectual wonders!"

Damian exhaled sharply—not quite a sigh, not quite amusement, but something in between. He shifted onto his side, grabbing your wrist, pulling you down against him in one swift, seamless motion.

You let out a small squeak as you landed chest to chest with him, your face inches from his, suddenly trapped under the warm weight of his arm resting lazily across your waist.

“…Dami?”

He hummed, already burying his face into the crook of your neck, voice muffled against your skin. "If I hold you here, will you stop talking?"

You snorted. "Absolutely not."

His lips ghosted against your shoulder, and though he was too stubborn to admit it, you could feel the small, amused smirk hidden against your skin.

"Then at least let me suffer in peace, beloved."

You giggled, wrapping your arms around him, fingers tangling lazily in his sleep-mussed hair.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

For all of Damian’s complaints, for all of his grumpy little comments, he still held you close, his grip never loosening, his presence warm and completely unwilling to let go.

Yeah. He could pretend all he wanted. But you knew the truth.

Your endless chatter was his favorite sound in the world.

(And later that day, when you found a tiny handmade cat backpack on your desk with a note in Damian’s sharp handwriting that simply read: "For Alfred."… You swore you saw a ghost of a smirk as he walked past you, pretending he had nothing to do with it.)

[f1daydreamer]

Ready to be a Father

Kimi Antonelli was in the middle of an intense testing session in Bahrain, his focus razor-sharp as he navigated the track, gathering valuable data for the team. The mechanics and engineers monitored his every move, analyzing every fraction of a second, every minor adjustment. The pressure was immense—after all, this was his first year in Formula 1, and expectations were already sky-high.

During a short break, he sat in the garage, helmet resting on his knee as he grabbed a water bottle. His phone buzzed on the table next to him. He wasn’t one to check his messages during testing, but something made him glance at the screen. The moment his eyes landed on the picture you had sent, his entire world tilted.

A tiny, pink baby onesie.

With the caption: You're going to be a daddy! 🩷

His breath caught in his throat, heart hammering against his ribs. His hands trembled slightly as he re-read the message, his brain struggling to process what he was seeing. Pregnant? You were pregnant? His mind short-circuited. He was only eighteen. You were only seventeen. He had just started his career, barely getting used to the chaos of F1. And now… a baby?

A mix of emotions crashed over him like a tidal wave. Panic. Shock. Fear. And then, something else—something warm and overwhelming. Love. The idea of having a family with you, of holding a tiny baby in his arms, made his heart swell. He swallowed hard, his mind racing. Could he do this? Would he be a good father? Would you be okay? He had so many questions, so many worries, but one thing was certain—he loved you, and he would do anything to make this work.

With shaking hands, he took a deep breath and, without really thinking, forwarded the picture to his parents. Mom, Dad… I have to tell you something important. Y/N is pregnant.

Immediately, his phone exploded with notifications. His mother was calling him nonstop, and his father sent a string of panicked texts.

Kimi Lorenzo Antonelli, ANSWER YOUR PHONE RIGHT NOW!

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

You’re EIGHTEEN, Kimi!

KIMI, WE ARE GETTING ON A PLANE.

Kimi felt like he was going to pass out. His hands were sweating, and his helmet slipped off his knee onto the floor with a loud clatter. His engineer, noticing his pale face, frowned. “Kimi, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think I just did,” Kimi muttered.

He barely made it through the rest of the testing session. His engineers kept asking if everything was alright, and he brushed them off with forced smiles. The second he was done for the day, he bolted to the nearest store, heart pounding in his chest. He found a small, soft teddy bear, something perfect for a newborn to cuddle. Holding it in his hands, he made a silent vow to be the best father he could be.

When he finally arrived home, his hands were shaking as he unlocked the door. You barely had time to turn around before he was wrapping you up in a tight embrace, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured against your skin. “I—I don’t know how we’re going to do this, but I swear, I’m going to be the best dad. I’ll do anything for you, for our baby.”

You froze. “Our… baby?”

He pulled back slightly, looking down at you with the softest expression you had ever seen. “I know it’s unexpected, but I swear, I’ll be there for everything. Doctor’s appointments, late nights, everything. I’ll make sure you and the baby have everything you need.”

Your mind reeled, trying to piece together what was happening. Then, a small bark broke the silence.

Your eyes flickered towards the couch, where a tiny golden retriever puppy sat, its tail wagging. And there, draped over its tiny frame, was the pink baby onesie.

Realization hit you like a lightning bolt.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, slapping a hand over your mouth. Your shoulders started shaking with laughter. “Kimi, no! The onesie wasn’t because I’m pregnant—it was for the puppy! I was trying to surprise you with our new pet!”

His face turned a deep shade of red. “Wait… what?”

Tears of laughter streamed down your face as you clutched his arm. “Kimi, you actually thought I was pregnant?”

Kimi groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I just had an entire existential crisis for nothing.”

You grinned, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “A very cute crisis, though.”

Just as Kimi was about to respond, the apartment door burst open with a loud BANG.

“KIMI LORENZO ANTONELLI!”

Kimi jumped, nearly dropping the teddy bear as his parents stormed inside, looking completely frazzled. His mother, eyes blazing with fury, marched up to him and smacked his arm. “You thought you could just TEXT US something like this and NOT ANSWER YOUR PHONE?!”

His father, though slightly calmer, was running a hand through his hair, looking at you with wide eyes. “Kimi, what were you thinking?! You’re both so young! We are about to rearrange our whole lives for this!”

You were doubled over in laughter at this point, tears streaming down your face. Kimi held up his hands. “Mom! Dad! It was a misunderstanding! Y/N isn’t pregnant!”

His mother stopped mid-rant, eyes narrowing. “What?”

Kimi pointed to the couch, where the tiny puppy was now chewing on the onesie’s sleeve. “The onesie was for the puppy! Y/N was surprising me, and I misunderstood!”

Silence.

Then, his mother smacked his arm again. “IDIOTA! Do you know what you just put us through?! We nearly had a heart attack on the way here!”

His father let out a deep sigh of relief before shaking his head. “You’re lucky we love you, Kimi.”

You wiped at your tears, still giggling. “I think this is the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Kimi groaned. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

His mother crossed her arms. “Not from me.”

His father smirked. “Or from me.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around Kimi’s waist. “And definitely not from me.”

Kimi let out a dramatic sigh. “Great. Just great.”

But despite his embarrassment, he couldn’t help but smile. Because even though this wasn’t the life-changing moment he thought it was, he still had you—and now, a tiny puppy that you would raise together. And maybe, just maybe, one day, the real onesie moment would happen.

Just… not today.

[rose24207]

Interrupted Stream

Summary: Lando is streaming and the chat seems to like his girlfriend more than him.

TW: None!

Genre: fluff, humor

A/N: English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

Lando was in the middle of an intense game, his eyes glued to the screen. His chat was alive with their usual chaotic energy, commenting on everything from his questionable aim to his random screams whenever he got ambushed.

“Alright, chat,” he muttered, leaning closer to his mic. “This is it. Big brain plays only. I’m clutching this—wait, WHAT?!”

A sniper shot from across the map ended his game, and he threw his hands up in disbelief. “That’s so unfair! How did he even see me?”

The chat erupted with laughter:

“Lan, you’re blind.”

“Bro, he was RIGHT THERE.”

“Classic Lando meltdown.”

He sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “Chat, you’re supposed to be on my side. You’re supposed to support me. Where’s the loyalty?”

As he rambled on, the door to his office opened, and you walked in holding a mug. “Lando, do you—oh. Are you live?”

He spun around in his chair, a grin spreading across his face. “I am, indeed, live. And now so are you.”

You froze for a second, glancing at the camera. “Oh no,” you said, setting the mug on his desk. “This is why I avoid this room when you’re streaming.”

The chat immediately exploded:

“Y/N REVEAL!”

“WE’VE BEEN BLESSED!”

“OH SHE’S HERE!”

Lando leaned back, hands clasped behind his head. “Chat, look who decided to join us. Everyone say hi to my very lovely girlfriend.”

“Hi, chat,” you said reluctantly, waving. Then you turned to Lando with a suspicious look. “Wait. Why do you look so smug? What did I walk into?”

“I was just showing chat how amazing I am at this game,” he said innocently, gesturing at the screen.

You raised an eyebrow. “Amazing? Didn’t I just hear you screaming about getting sniped?”

The chat went wild again:

“SHE KNOWS!”

“Y/N CALLS HIM OUT!”

“WE LOVE HER ALREADY.”

Lando groaned, putting his head in his hands. “Why are you always on their side?”

“Because they’re right,” you teased, sitting on the arm of his chair. “Let me guess. You ran straight into the open without looking, didn’t you?”

“Excuse me,” he said, pointing at you. “I’m a tactical genius. They just got lucky.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, babe. Tactical genius. That’s why you once threw a grenade at your own teammate.”

The chat was losing it:

“EXPOSED.”

“LAN, SHE’S TOO GOOD.”

“PLEASE LET HER STREAM INSTEAD.”

Lando groaned, covering his face. “This is cyberbullying. From my own girlfriend.”

“Call it tough love,” you said, smirking. “Besides, you’re the one who left your socks on the kitchen counter this morning, so you deserve it.”

“What does that have to do with anything?!” Lando exclaimed, his cheeks turning red as he glanced at the camera.

“Everything,” you said, standing up. “Alright, I’ll leave you and chat to... whatever this is. Try not to embarrass yourself too much, yeah?”

Lando turned to the camera with a dramatic pout. “Chat, she’s so mean to me. Don’t you feel bad for me?”

The responses were immediate:

“NOPE.”

“WE STAN Y/N.”

“JUST ACCEPT YOUR FATE, LAN.”

Before you could leave, Lando grabbed your hand. “Wait, wait! Before you go, answer one thing.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “What?”

He turned back to the chat with a grin. “Alright, chat, here’s the question: Who’s better at Mario Kart—me or Y/N?”

You snorted. “Oh, that’s not even a question. I destroy you every time.”

The chat erupted again:

“Y/N SUPREMACY.”

“GET HER ON STREAM!”

“LAN IS FINISHED.”

Lando shook his head, laughing. “Unbelievable. I’m outnumbered in my own stream. You’re supposed to be on my team!”

“I am,” you said with a smile. “But only when you’re actually good at something.”

The mock gasp Lando let out was so over-the-top that you couldn’t help but laugh. You kissed the top of his head. “Good luck, babe. Don’t lose again.”

As you walked out, Lando turned back to the camera, shaking his head. “Chat, this is my life. Constantly roasted, no support, but hey... I think I kinda like it.”

The chat spammed hearts and laughing emojis as Lando launched into his next game, grinning from ear to ear.

Thank your for reading!

[childrenofcain-if]

That one scenario where C and MC have a kid has my heart completely 😭 Can we get a follow up for that? How are things going on in the joint household? I'm also very curious to see what C would name their kid 🤭

the hershey’s kisses glinted in the late afternoon sun, crinkled foil catching the golden light that streamed in through the window. aster sat cross-legged on the sofa, a small island of contentment in the messy sprawl of school bags and discarded socks she’d left in her wake.

she was humming under her breath as she unwrapped another piece of chocolate, oblivious to the way her shoes lay in two opposite corners of the room and how her lunchbox sat precariously balanced on the edge of the coffee table.

you leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and watching her with the detached amusement of a parent who knows they’ll have to clean up the mess but hasn’t yet summoned the energy to do so.

C was in the armchair, one foot propped on the edge of the ottoman, clicking through their macbook with half an eye on aster. it was domesticity in its sweetest form, the kind you don’t think about when you’re young and idealistic, imagining love and family like perfect polaroids on a wall.

“did you give her those?” C asked suddenly, their voice louder than the hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen.

you blinked and set your coffee down, moving closer to inspect the crumpled foil wrappers littered around aster.

“nope,” you said after a beat. “not exactly either of our flavor. that’s… what is that, cherry? we don’t have those in the house.”

C arched a brow, and without missing a beat, turned their full attention to your daughter.

“aster,” they said, voice soft but with a worried edge, “where did you get the chocolates?”

aster’s head snapped up, her chalcedony green eyes lighting up with excitement.

“felix gave them to me!” she said, her grin wide enough to show the little gap where her front tooth had fallen out last week.

C froze, their hand tightening slightly on the edge of their macbook. you, on the other hand, were far more amused.

“felix, huh?” you said, crouching slightly to meet aster’s eye level. “and who’s felix again?”

her grin grew impossibly wider as she happily declared: “my boyfriend!”

you chuckled, leaning against the arm of the sofa. “oh, really? you have a boyfriend now, kleine ster? when did this happen?”

“this morning actually!” aster exclaimed, bouncing a little on the cushions. “he gave me the chocolates at recess and said he liked me, and i said i liked him too, and now we’re boyfriend and girlfriend!”

C’s eye twitched, a muscle jumping just beneath the surface. they sat up straighter, their attention now fully honed on your seven-year-old’s revelation.

“did he now?” they said, their voice tight. “and what else did this... felix boy say?”

aster frowned, confused by the sudden shift in tone. “uh… he said i could have the last red crayon in art class.”

“generous of him,” they muttered darkly, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“C,” you said warningly, but they ignored you, leaning forward with the intense focus of someone about to conduct an interrogation.

“and does this felix… hold your hand?” they asked, their tone too casual to be actually genuine.

“sometimes,” aster admitted, her brows knitting together.

C’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “does he share his lunch with you?”

“yeah, today he gave me his oreos!”

C’s jaw twitched. you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“C,” you said again, a little louder this time. “let it go, darling. they’re just kids.”

but they were too far gone now, leaning forward as though proximity might grant them any sort of control over the situation.

“aster,” they said with all the solemnity of someone at a funeral, “you can’t have a boyfriend. you’re too young. your brain isn’t fully developed. you’ll... you’ll explode! you’ll leave your parents all alone then and it’ll make us very sad.”

aster blinked at them, unwrapping another hershey’s kiss with deliberate slowness.

“i will explode?” she asked, clearly confused by this turn of events.

you rolled your eyes. “no, you wo—”

“yes, you will,” C insisted, cutting you off. “and anyway, you’re not allowed to date anyone until you’re like 30 and paying taxes. it’s a rule.”

“that’s not a rule,” aster said with the stubborn certainty of someone who knew she was right. she really was her parents’ daughter. “and felix is a good boy.”

“‘good,’” C muttered under their breath, glaring at the imaginary felix as though he was lurking in the shadows, waiting to hand their precious little star another chocolate. “i’m going to fight this seven-year-old.”

“C!” you snapped, stepping between them and placing a hand on C’s shoulder. “calm down, my love. it’s harmless.”

C leaned back reluctantly, their gaze flicking between you and aster, who was now watching them like they’d sprouted a second head.

“fine,” they grumbled, crossing their arms over their chest.

***

after dinner, aster sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room, her brow furrowed in concentration as she examined a tiny instruction manual for building LEGOs with the intensity of someone decoding the human genome. her fingers, small but deft, picked up pieces and slotted them into place, her movements sure and deliberate.

C sat beside her, their long legs folded awkwardly beneath them, one hand bracing their bad knee. their fingers worked slower than hers, more hesitantly. the gap between them—her bright enthusiasm, their cautious quiet—was almost laughable. but C didn’t laugh.

they watched her instead.

aster had inherited their stubbornness, the precision of their thoughts, the way they spoke with certainty even when they were wrong, the hard-headed refusal to back down in the face of a challenge. but she’d also inherited your warmth, your easy charisma, the way people seemed to orbit around you like you were some kind of gravitational force.

she was both of you, but neither of you. something wholly her own. and she shone so brilliantly.

“non,” aster said suddenly, shaking her head. she spoke in a tone that was equal parts exasperated and amused, the way one might speak to a child who couldn’t quite grasp a simple concept. “that piece goes here. look.” she leaned over, plucking a flat blue brick from the pile and snapping it into place on the half-constructed spaceship.

“ah,” C said, their lips quirking into a faint smile. “of course, petite étoile. how foolish of me.”

she beamed proudly, her confidence growing with each small victory.

“it’s okay. you’re still learning,” she said magnanimously, patting their arm. honestly, it amused C greatly to see her reflect you back when you both argued everyday like your life depended on it.

C snorted, shaking their head. “merci, mademoiselle.”

“pas de problème,” she replied breezily, her accent and pronunciation impeccably like a parisian native.

C felt a pang of pride so sharp it was almost painful. french had been one of their gifts to her, a piece of their heritage they had handed down like an heirloom. and she had taken to it effortlessly, as if it had always been hers.

she slipped between languages with a grace that left C in awe, her young mind absorbing everything like a sponge.

“wat is dit?” she asked suddenly, holding up a strange piece they hadn’t encountered yet.

“hmm,” you said from where you were sprawled on the couch, your legs stretched out and a book resting on your chest. you barely looked up as you answered her in dutch, explaining what the piece was and where it might fit.

aster nodded thoughtfully, her small fingers turning the piece over as she considered its possibilities. C watched her, their heart swelling with a mixture of love and disbelief.

how could someone so small hold so much brilliance? how could she be so much more than they had ever dared to imagine for themself?

“do you think felix likes LEGOs?” aster asked suddenly, breaking their reverie. she was staring at them now, her eyes—C’s eyes, pale green and perceptive—narrowed in thought.

C felt their jaw tighten at the mention of the boy, the ghost of their earlier irritation flickering to life.

“i have no idea,” they said evenly, focusing on the spaceship.

aster tilted her head, clearly unconvinced by their tone.

“he’s nice,” she said firmly, as though this simple fact should erase all of C’s doubts.

“i’m sure he is,” C said, their tone carefully neutral.

you glanced up from your book, smirking slightly as you watched the exchange. let it go, your eyes seemed to say.

but it wasn’t that simple.

it wasn’t about this felix boy, not really. it was about aster, about the inexorable passage of time, about the impossibility of holding on to something as fragile and fleeting as childhood. she was growing up, and there was nothing C could do to stop it.

C reached for another LEGO brick, their fingers brushing against aster’s. she looked up at them, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“tu vas bien?” she asked, her voice soft and earnest.

the question caught them off guard. for a moment, they didn’t know how to respond. how could they explain the tangled mess of emotions that had been simmering inside them all day? how could they tell her that the thought of her growing up terrified them in a way they couldn’t quite articulate?

“i’m fine, petite étoile,” they said eventually, forcing a smile. “just tired.”

she seemed to accept this, turning her attention back to the spaceship. but C couldn’t help noticing the small furrow in her brow, the way her hands moved more slowly now, as if she was trying to puzzle something out.

they watched her in silence, their heart aching with a strange, bittersweet kind of love.

***

later, when the spaceship was complete and aster had been tucked into bed, C found themself sitting on the edge of your shared bed, their head in their hands.

“okay,” you said, sitting beside them. “do you want to talk about what exactly is bothering you, my love?”

they sighed, looking up at you now.

“it’s just… strange,” they said, their voice low and tired. “she’s growing up so fast. too fast. i feel like i blinked, and suddenly she’s not my little girl anymore.”

you stayed quiet, letting them find the words.

“i still remember holding her in my arms for the first time,” they continued, their voice thick with emotion. “i remember her first steps, her first word, the first time she looked at me and called out for me. and now… now she’s talking about boyfriends and whatnot.”

they let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through their hair. “i didn’t have this. a proper childhood. a father who cared. i don’t know what i’m doing half the time. i just… i look at her, and i love her so much it terrifies me. so much so that i still don’t understand how my father could—”

“hey,” you interrupted gently, placing a hand on their arm. “you’re nothing like him. you’re such a wonderful parent, C. she loves you so much. you can see it every time she looks at you. and yeah, it’s hard watching her grow up. but that’s the deal. you love them, and you let them go, little by little, so they can become who they’re meant to be.”

C nodded slowly, their eyes softening as they looked at you. “i know you’re right.”

you leaned in, pressing a kiss to their temple. “of course i’m right, i always am.”

they rolled their eyes, but a small, tired smile tugged at the corners of their mouth.

“do you think…” they hesitated, the tips of their ears turning adorably red. “do you think we should have another one?”

“another what?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

they scowled, burying their face in your neck.

“you know what i mean,” they mumbled, their voice muffled. “don’t make me say it out loud.”

you laughed, stroking their hair. “we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

but you already knew the answer.

[giuli4nna]

PLAYING DANGEROUS

you want to try something new - so you turn to your best friend, hamzah, for help.

contains : slapping, choking, masturbation, slight dacryphilia

a/n: previously a chris sturn fanfic but upon request i changed it to hamzah since i dont rlly want to write for sturniolos !!

you're not sure why you were so susceptible to these urges, but they were strong and distracting, occupying your thoughts constantly.

they got so intrusive that it came to a point where you couldn't act normal, not even around one of your closest friends.

you were over at hamzah’s apartment one friday night, per usual, watching a movie with him.

he had already begun interrupting the film after merely ten minutes of watching, just because he wanted to ramble about his 'bright' idea of having a pillow fight, like how it happens in the cliché movie sleepovers.

eventually, you agreed, just to shut him up.

your fight started out normal, the living room filled with the sound of laughter and pillows thudding against bodies.

after a few strikes, you have a moment of weakness. your arms had already gotten tired from hitting hamzah constantly, while simultaneously trying to dodge his attacks.

taking advantage of your weariness, hamzah rips your pillow out of your grasp, tossing it onto the floor, too far away for you to reach.

"not fair!" you exclaim, trying to scramble past him to retrieve your weapon, but he lightly shoves your shoulder, pushing you down into the corner of the couch.

"got ya," he chuckles, smiling down at you devilishly as he kneels above you, his arm retracting behind him with the pillow clutched in his hand.

not wanting to get hit in the face, you quickly reach out and yank the cushion out of his hand and down into your lap - just as he begins to bring his arm down in the direction of your head.

a crack echoes throughout the room, the noise bouncing off the walls and making your mind spin.

"oh, my god- no, fuck, are you okay?"

your head is knocked to the side, a fiery stinging sensation exploding across your cheek, every nerve ending in your face tingling with raw pain.

"shit.. hey, look at me, i’m so sorry.."

you sit frozen in shock, forcing your eyes open after you wired them shut on impact.

"let me see.."

wincing slightly at the gentle touch of hamzah’s hand on your face, your eyes shift over to him. his expression is etched with worry as he examines the red blotch blooming across your cheek where his hand had struck you.

"damn it. it was an accident.. only meant for the pillow to hit you, i swear."

a wave of humiliation washes over you when you notice that your eyes have gotten all watery from the sheer impact and intensity of the shock that coursed through your body.

"c’mon, don't cry." hamzah murmurs softly, his eyes flitting across your features.

you sniffle, shaking your head and snapping yourself out of the dazed state you were enveloped in.

"no, hamzah, stop." you say, shoving past him and getting up off the couch. "it's fine."

ignoring his persuasions to come back, you quickly rush down the hall to the bathroom, shutting yourself in. you stare back at your reflection in the mirror, bringing your fingertips up to lightly graze the sensitive mark on your cheek.

in the small room, you feel suffocated. all of the emotions and feelings you’re experiencing at once are weighing down on your shoulders, making your brain feel fuzzy.

you feel hurt, obviously - hamzah is pretty strong. naturally, your face is still irritated from the blow he landed on your skin.

however - you're sure that hamzah would never do something like this on purpose, you can tell by the way he was so quick to become completely apologetic, inspecting the damage he’d done.

this.. made you frustrated.

deep down, something’s burning inside you, something filthy, something you want to indulge in.

your gaze is fixated on yourself in the mirror, analyzing your red face and your heaving chest as you inhale shallow, labored breaths.

you try to ignore the heat pooled in your stomach. you didn’t want to like this.

hamzah is your best friend, and he’s good looking, you knew that, but you’ve never had any sexual feelings towards him. plus, it was an accident.

so why is your body practically trembling with want? with the need for more?

it’s been several days since last friday. you’ve been ignoring hamzah’s texts and calls. you left him to assume that you were just angry with him for hitting you - and part of you truly was infuriated, because if he hadn’t done that, you’d have been able to focus on anything else except the incident.

you finally gave in after hamzah started forcing martin and mandy to start texting you, checking up on you, persuading you to go see hamzah.

upon arriving at his house, just seeing his face when he opened the door reminded you of your darkest desires, making you silently curse yourself for having no willpower anymore.

hamzah notices your demeanor, asks you what’s wrong, and you panic. you immediately usher him into his bedroom.

"dude- what’re you doin'?" hamzah grumbles as you shove him through the doorway, closing you two in the room with a slam of the door. "i told you, im actually sorry, i didn’t mean to hit you-"

"hamzah, just shut up for a second," you snap. he’s apologized numerous times, you knew he was sorry, you knew that he felt bad.

but you didn’t want him to feel like that.

you didn’t want him to be apologetic, because the ugly truth is that you liked it. you wanted to experience the sensation again, properly.

hamzah is just standing and staring at you, face twisted into utter confusion. you’ve never seriously lost your temper with him before.

"i’m not mad at you," you clarify, sighing and walking over to sit yourself down on his bed.

"okay.." hamzah says carefully, sitting down with you, the edge of the mattress dipping underneath his weight. "then what’s got you acting like this?"

you pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut. you can hardly believe what you’re about to say, but you just can’t keep it a secret.

you and hamzah don’t lie to each other; however, you don’t normally get serious like this. everything is lighthearted between you two - making this situation all the more stressful.

"promise me.." you speak hesitantly. "if i tell you, that you won’t get weirded out?"

hamzah quickly shakes his head, his interest piqued even further. "no, i promise. y’can tell me anything."

exhaling another long sigh, you fight an entire war in your mind in the span of a few seconds. heat crawls up your neck, the walls feeling like they’ll close in around you if you don’t speak up. just say it. just tell him.

"i can’t stop thinking about how it felt."

"what?" hamzah’s brows drop, his eyes scrutinizing you. you look down, trying to hide the red tint spreading across your cheeks. your eyes fixate firmly on your lap as you toy with the hem of your shirt.

"what do you mean?" he questions. your pulse rings in your ears, each thump of your heart making your torso twitch.

"i mean, it made me.." your breathing becomes shallow, your voice struggling to speak your mind as the words crumble in your mouth.

forcing yourself to look up at him, you make yourself spit the words out.

"i want you to do it again."

hamzah’s lips part, his eyes darkening. "nah, you’re messin' with me. that isn’t funny." he rasps.

you shake your head. "i’m not, hamzah. i swear."

"that's crazy, i don't.." he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. "you’re killin’ me here, i.. i’m not gonna hit y-"

"please," you whisper, cutting his rejection off. "i just need to feel it one more time."

hamzah’s fingers twitch, his tongue running across the inside of his cheek. he stares blankly at you for a moment, making you want to melt into his bed and disappear forever.

just as you're about to take everything back - tell him to just forget about it and rush out of his room, he reaches out towards you.

grabbing your chin in one hand, he coaxes you to lean back on his bed, giving your shoulder a gentle push with his other hand. his knee comes to settle between your legs, his body slanted towards yours.

"you're playin' dangerous, you know that?" hamzah growls, moving his thumb to brush across your cheek, right over the same spot he landed the accidental blow just days ago. "you’re really askin' me to hurt you?"

you only nod in response, staring up at him - seeing your best friend in a completely new light. noticing lust in his eyes for the first time, it made you question everything.

"nah," he smirks, shaking his head. "need you to tell me how bad you want it. lemme hear you."

you were starstuck by his words, his low voice echoing in your mind and bouncing off your bones, sending electric shocks through your body.

"hamzah, i- we don't have to.." you breathe out, the situation suddenly feeling a little too real.

"mm-mm," he hums teasingly. "you got yourself into this." he trails his hand down to your throat, wrapping his fingers around your throat, but not quite squeezing. "go on, tell me what you want from me."

"i.." you swallow harshly, eyes wildly searching chris' face as your pupils become swallowed in black, giving away your desire immediately. "i want you to.."

"c'mon, you said you’ve been thinkin' about it, so tell me. use your words." he says, his voice dripping with poison.

"want you to hit me," you mutter. "i just.. please, hamzah?"

"fuckin’ pathetic," he laughs, rolling his eyes before suddenly lifting his hand, his open palm connecting with your cheek so hard it feels like your brain rattled in your skull.

he grins at your startled reaction, the way you’re looking at him him with such a desperate expression - it only spurs him on. you barely register the pain spreading across your skin, you’re too enamored by this new version of hamzah.

"this what you wanted?" he asks, his tone unforgiving as his hand tightens around your neck. "want me to rough you up a lil' bit, huh?”

you snag your lip inbetween your teeth, biting down hard as you nod, whining in the back of your throat. your insides feel like they’re on fire, your thighs squeezing together as you anticipate the next hit.

"who knew you were such a slut?" he hisses, striking your face harder the second time - earning a moan out of you.

"oh my god," you whimper, your face colliding with the pillow you’re laying on from the impact of the second hit.

the lower half of your body shifts uncomfortably, the aching between your thighs becoming so intense that it’s clouding your brain. your jaw clenches bitterly.

hamzah notices how you’re trying to press your legs together, a groan rumbling in his chest. "god.. how fuckin' wet are you right now?" he snarls.

your skin is burning hot with embarrassment, and having to admit how turned on you are only makes it worse. you’re too flustered at this point to actually say anything, so you decide to visually tell him.

with shaky hands, you find the waistband of your sweatpants, lifting up your hips to tug them halfway down your thighs, not even bothering to get them fully off. hamzah drinks in the sight of you with hunger, his gaze landing on the wet area of your panties where your arousal has soaked through.

"fuck, you really like this." he whispers ardently, slipping his hand between your legs. his touch is feather-light as he brushes his fingertips up your inner thighs and across your clothed pussy. you shudder, a soft whine slipping out of your throat, strangled by hamzah’s firm hold on your neck.

"show me." he mutters.

"what?" you choke out, squirming under his piercing stare.

"wanna see just how much you're enjoying it when i hit you." he says, hooking a finger in your underwear. he tugs them down in one harsh motion, eliciting a gasp from you. "touch yourself." he orders, his tone hushed.

tossing aside all your dignity, you skate your fingers down your stomach and to your core, plunging into your slick folds. staring up at hamzah apprehensively, you rub slow circles on your clit, fingertips soaked by your own juices.

"so eager to listen to me, huh?" he quips, releasing his hold on your neck to cradle your face securely instead. his other hand travels to your hip and obtains a bruising grip on your body, holding you still.

you start to moan while stimulating yourself, but the noise is cut short by another smack. then another, and another - each one making you even more aroused than the last.

"hamzah," you cry out, your back arching up off the bed. your fingers start aching as you uncontrollably increase your pace, touching yourself with an intense fervor. the left side of your face burns with the building pain of each hit, making your eyes flood with tears.

"too much?" he murmurs, grabbing your face and inspecting the pretty red color blossoming across the area he's been targeting. "you're cryin'." he licks his lips, watching as a droplet slips down the side of your face, dripping into your hair.

"no, it's so good- i.." you whisper urgently, your voice shaky and breathless. "keep.. keep going, m'gonna finish already.."

"good," hamzah purrs, gently stroking your cheek, watching you writhe beneath him for a few moments before giving the same amount of attention to the other side of your face - backhanding your right cheek, his knuckles clashing with your supple skin.

his dick twitches in his boxers at the sight of plump tears gliding down your scarlet cheeks.

"oh, my- fuck!" you mewl, your face screwing up in pure euphoria as the twisted knot in your lower stomach rips apart, your abdomen tensing as you start to mentally burst at the seams.

"that's it," hamzah hisses. "cum on your fingers f'me, dirty girl." he hovers over you, threading one hand in your hair as he lands a final hit across your face right as you climax. your body convulses while an animalistic groan is ripped from your throat, turning into a breathy whine. your release leaks out from your entrance, soaking your fingers and dripping down to the bedsheets.

you collapse into a flushed, gasping mess against hamzah’s bed, your eyes pinched shut in euphoria. your pussy throbs, your whole body feeling extra sensitive after your mind-bending orgasm.

once the moment is over, it's like hamzah just reverts back into a friend instead of - whatever role he was just playing.

"uh, shit." he murmurs, pushing himself off the bed, wincing as it finally registers that he has a painful erection that's formed in his pants. "yeah- stay here, um, let me.." he trails off, rushing out of his bedroom.

he quickly rushes to his kitchen, ripping the freezer door open and grabbing you an icepack as well as a damp cloth to clean up your mess.

upon return, he fights back a groan at the downright goddess-esque state he left you in - half dressed, laying limp on the bed with a thin layer of sweat coating your flushed skin, your hair frizzy and splayed out across his pillows.

"here," he offers the icepack to you, swallowing thickly as he sits on the edge of the bed and gently cleans the slick coating your folds and the insides of your thighs. you press the chilly pack to your stinging face, sighing shakily at the stark contrasting sensation. you allow hamzah to take care of you, his movements slow and tender as he pulls your underwear and sweatpants back up to cover yourself.

"thank you," you murmur, silently paying that the uneasiness of this odd situation won't affect your friendship negatively.

"yeah, no problem," hamzah responds softly, moving himself up the bed to lay down next to you. "next time you wanna try somethin', don't wait so long, yeah?" he asks, a grin crossing his lips.

"next time?" you question, your brows quirking as you look over at him.

"well," he chuckles. "after seein' you like that.. i don't think i can just let this be a one-time thing."

xo giulia

[mapofsouthdakota]

If you were to run a kitchen with the LADS guys…

I’m rewatching The Bear (yes the series) and my brain just exploded—like a proper “wait… wait… WAIT” moment. AU, who? Just… bear with me, heeeh. Omg, sorry.

Details: 1500ish words of my creativity just going completely bonkers. This became a pilot! Yaaay

🔪 Xavier – Kitchen Assistant / “The Quiet Backbone”

🩷 “Tell me what you need. I’ll handle the rest.” Said barely above a whisper, while slipping fresh gloves into your hand mid-rush. He didn’t wait for thanks—he was already gone.

Station: Not technically a cook—floats between prep, cleaning, organizing, managing back-of-house chaos. Exceptionally bad at cooking.

Description: Xavier is… not a chef. Everyone learned that quickly, after The Incident With The Eggs. But what he is, is the person who keeps the place from crumbling. He keeps stock rotated, ingredients labeled, knives sharpened, and people from losing their minds.

He doesn’t say much. Always calm, always focused. He moves through the kitchen like part of the architecture—quietly fixing things, cleaning messes before they spread, handing you what you need before you ask. He’ll offer you a rag when you’re bleeding and a chocolate when you’re about to scream.

He’s incredibly bad with flavor—puts sugar in sauces, burns toast—but he’s strangely brilliant at tasks that require repetition and quiet focus: peeling, organizing, cleaning fish (if someone else cooks them). He’ll never be on the line, and he’s fine with that.

He’s a calming presence for you. A quiet safe space. And he always offers you the best bite of whatever he is eating, like a quiet little ritual.

Vibe: Steady. Awkward. Gentle. The heartbeat of the kitchen no one sees—but everyone needs.

Xavier calls

Caleb: “Boss.” No frills. No question. Caleb runs the kitchen, and Xavier follows. Simple as that. Occasionally: “Captain.” When Caleb’s in full command mode.

Rafayel: “Loud one.” Observational. Said like he’s describing the weather. Sometimes: “Glitter.” When Rafayel’s mood and outfit both shine.

Zayne: “Sharp one.” Respectful. Quiet. Rare praise. Occasionally: “Edge.” For when Zayne’s intensity gets a little too pointed.

Sylus: “Other Boss.” Always with a neutral tone. Not sarcastic—just factual. Sylus hates it. Once: “Red tie.” The one time Sylus broke his all-black look. Xavier logged it like a system update.

Xavier calls you:

“Chef.” Neutral, respectful. Used in front of others, especially during service. Occasionally: “Second set.” His personal nickname for you. Quiet, private. It means you’re his other half in the kitchen—his extra pair of hands, eyes, instinct. It’s not about rank. It’s about sync.

🔪Caleb – Head Chef / “The Machine”

🧡 “I’ve got the kitchen. You just breathe.” Said like an order—but only to you. Said during chaos, when the printer won’t stop and the pans are burning. He didn’t touch you, didn’t need to. His steadiness was enough.

Station: Runs the whole kitchen. Controls the pass. Oversees every dish, every second.

Description: Once a rising star in fine dining, Caleb burned out in the brutal world of elite gastronomy—and rebuilt himself into something sharper, more contained. He doesn’t yell—he commands. Every dish goes through him. Every mistake is his to erase. He’s fire, held tight under pressure, and his perfectionism is legendary. If something’s off, he’ll fix it before you even realize.

He walks the line like it’s a battlefield. Sees everything. Misses nothing. Speaks only when it matters.

Except to you.

With you, the rules shift. His attention lingers. The corners of his mouth soften. The warmth he keeps locked down for everyone else flickers through—because you throw him off. You disarm him. You make the pressure feel like something else.

And that scares him more than failure.

Vibe: Smug. Controlled. Scalding beneath the surface. Always watching.

Caleb calls

Rafayel: “Art Project.” Sharp and short when he’s annoyed. Once, in exasperation: “President of the Drama Club.”

Zayne: “Precision.” Said with grudging respect or flat annoyance, depending on the day. Sometimes: “Blade.” Used quietly, when Zayne pulls off something flawlessly under pressure.

Xavier: “Ghost.” With low-key fondness. Xavier’s the only one Caleb doesn’t try to control. Occasionally: “Inventory,” when things go missing and he blames Xavier anyway.

Sylus: Doesn’t nickname him. Just clenches his jaw and mutters “Boss.” Always flat, always loaded

Caleb calls you:

“Chef.” His constant. Used when he’s focused, when he’s tense, when he’s trying not to look at you too long. Occasionally: “Hotshot.” Said with a raised brow and the faintest ghost of a smile. Used when you challenge him—and win. Rarely: Your actual name. Only during quiet moments. And only when he means it.

🔪Rafayel – Pastry Chef / “The Art Freak”

💜 “If it doesn’t make someone feel something—rage, lust, joy, hunger—then what’s the point?” Muttered while throwing out an entire tray of flawless soufflés. Said it like a dare. Like a creed.

Station: Pastry and dessert. Shows up when he wants. Plates like a gallery opening.

Description: A dramatic menace with sea salt in his veins and sugar under his nails. Rafayel treats food like an art installation—and you like a canvas he wants to ruin just to repaint. He’s barefoot half the time, covered in edible pigment, purring “puh-lease” while plating sugar sculptures that make grown chefs cry.

He skips shifts to “meditate by the ocean” or “chase inspiration,” but no one dares cut him loose—because his creations sell out every night.

Charismatic, chaotic, and probably in love with you in twelve different metaphysical ways.

Vibe: Effortlessly beautiful. Loud, flirty, deeply unsettling when he wants to be.

Rafayel calls

Caleb: “Maestro.” Dripping with sarcasm. Occasionally: “Chef Supreme,” “Dictator de Cuisine,” or when he’s feeling truly bold: “Daddy Discipline.”

Zayne: “Icebox.” Consistent. Flamboyantly sung whenever Zayne says something dry. Sometimes: “Slicer.” Used when Zayne’s knife skills make him feel dramatic.

Xavier: “White Rabbit.” Because Xavier vanishes and reappears like a magic trick. Occasionally: “Whisperer.” Usually while narrating Xavier’s movements like he’s on a nature documentary.

Sylus: “Daddy Deep Pockets.” Bold. Loud. Said within earshot on purpose. On quiet nights? “Mystery Merlot.”

Rafayel calls you:

“Flame.” Always. Teasing, flirty, reverent in his own chaotic way. Occasionally: “Little flame” – used when you’re either adorable or frustrating. Never uses your name unless things get very serious.

🔪Zayne – Sous Chef / “The Scalpel”

🩵 “If you flinch at the truth, you shouldn’t be in the kitchen.” Said without raising his voice. Cut sharper than any knife in the drawer.

Station: Second-in-command. Oversees prep, quality control, plating precision.

Description: Everything about Zayne is sharp—his eyes, his knives, his expectations. He doesn’t tolerate sloppiness. Doesn’t indulge drama. But he will step in if you’re falling apart… and do it so quietly, it feels like dignity instead of rescue.

The staff respects him. Fears him a little. But you? He lets his guard down around you. Barely. Sometimes. A sideways smirk. A hand over yours when you’re shaking. A quiet “You’re better than this.”

His loyalty is absolute. So is his judgment.

Vibe: Clean lines, cold eyes, warm core. Gets shit done. Holds secrets close.

Zayne calls

Caleb: “Pressure.” Said only when Caleb’s pushing too hard or when something about him makes the kitchen feel just a little too tight. Not mocking. Just true.

Rafayel: “Theatrics.” Dry, unbothered. In emergencies? “Get out of my station.”

Xavier: “Inventory.” Half joke, half truth. Stuck after Xavier labeled everything one night. Sometimes: “Quiet.” With a rare note of appreciation.

Sylus: “Owner.” Always formal. Laced with cool disdain.

Zayne calls you:

“Chef.” Direct, even-toned, deeply respectful. In private: “Ace.” A personal nickname. Quiet praise. Never explained.

🔪 Sylus – Owner / “The Boss”

❤️ “Perfection is never loud. It just waits for the room to catch up.” Said over wine, once, to you. Calm. Sure. Like the truth was something he’d invented himself.

Station: Doesn’t touch the line—but he owns the building, funds the staff, and secretly curates the entire wine list under everyone’s nose.

Description: Sylus is the kind of boss who never needs to raise his voice. He walks into a room and the temperature drops—not because he’s cruel, but because he never enters without a reason. He doesn’t cook anymore, but when he does pick up a knife, the precision is terrifying. Not because he wants to impress anyone. Because he can.

While the kitchen burns itself out nightly, Sylus hovers just outside the chaos—glass of wine in hand, watching with faint amusement. Everyone assumes the wine pairings are the work of a nameless sommelier. No one knows the handwritten notebook of perfect, sometimes suspiciously intimate flavor pairings is his.

He doesn’t tell them. Why would he? Let them struggle. He’s always five steps ahead.

He calls you “chef” like it’s a compliment and a threat. And when he does offer advice, it’s always helpful… and always laced with something you’ll be turning over in your head long after the shift ends.

Vibe: High-functioning menace in a three-piece suit. Refined, unreadable, devastatingly well-paired. Owns the place, owns the game, and might just be playing you.

Sylus calls

Caleb: “Chef.” Always calm. Always strategic. Once: “Starboy.” No one’s recovered.

Rafayel: “Pixie Dust.” Used once during a wine-fueled jab. Rafayel loved it. Caleb did not.

Zayne: Doesn’t bother. Just meets his eyes and lets the silence work. Occasionally: “Sharp.”

Xavier: “Efficient.” Said like a metric. One-time only. It stuck.

Sylus calls you:

“Chef.” His go-to. He says it like it’s yours to live up to. Occasionally: “Darling.” Only when he’s being particularly smug—or trying to get a reaction from you or Caleb.

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: Sooo… I was rewatching The Bear while doodling Chapter One of the Coffee Shop, and suddenly this whole thing just unfolded on my keyboard. For some reason, I thought, “Huh… Bear’s kinda like Caleb in some ways.” I might’ve written a whole chapter about it… or maybe not. Heeeeh. Edit: Forgot to mention that I’m a wine and dine nerd, so there’s definitely a personal touch to this AU too. Bless my poor brain. Okey then, thank you for reading! 🫶🏻

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil.

I know you are flooded with asks and this somehow became extremely long. Too long. “Why am I suddenly telling this poor man my life story?” too long. “I think I’d rather he work on the GO3 script than read this wild beast” too long. “He’s going to think you’re criminally dangerously insane” too long. If you never get to it, I’m good with never seeing a response from you. Maybe it’s better that way? Maybe an anon would have been nice here. But, it’s 2024, so I say “we ball.” It’s a privilege to be able to send this to you at all. You get a lot to this effect and I hope they give you good feels, so maybe what’s the harm, yeah? Because this is not an ask. This is a thank you letter.

First, thanks for reblogging my therapist post, I hope it amused you. I nearly sent you “How am i supposed to explain this to my therapist?!” But refrained. At that time.

So, therapy. What is therapy really? Well…

Things have been really rotten for as long as I can remember. Bad health, bad doctors, bad relationships, bad coping mechanisms, bad all kinds of things. (Yeah, bad is a weak and unhelpful word, my therapist reminds me, but we’re doing this.)

Well, things got even more really really rotten and BAD these last few years. Health declined further, coping mechanisms declined further and more intensely, packed up my life, applied for disability, moved back in with my parents across the country.

Then 4 years ago last week I watched my fiance die of a sudden heart attack. I was 29. Two years later my best friend died. Then last summer I sauntered vaguely into a cancer scare. Not long before an operation my cat who has been my companion through so much garbage died as well. I’m not entirely in the clear on the cancer scare front. All my attempts at going back to work, volunteering, going to grad school - they collapsed on me because I couldn’t get through this STUFF.

(Sometimes when I talk about this, when I tell people, I think “they are going to think you are a raging pathological liar.” Because I’m not sure I would believe someone if they told me all of this happened to them. In such a short time period. All before they were 35. And hell if that hasn’t been isolating. You know how it sounds? Lonely. And it is.)

I did the hypervigilant and sensation/experience chasing stage of PTSD. It got me in a lot of trouble in all kinds of ways. I had to do a lot of medical and psych advocating because things kept getting worse. That was exhausting. Then that peaked. I went into the thick of the “I feel absolutely nothing” stage for a long time. I didn’t feel fatigue or hunger or thirst. Not people, feelings, a reason. Not hope.

But of course, like seems be for a lot of us, I somehow found Good Omens at just the right time. I was a very “I’m so cool and intellectual I mostly consume non-fiction media” person for too long. Like, what? How is that even a real thing? And it wasn’t real. It was just part of this curated autism mask that I don’t think anyone really bought anyway.

I think I got to a point where I’d just had too much reality. I needed fantasy. I didn’t realize I always needed it. But I denied myself for too many odd and painful reasons. Maybe I thought it was an escape I didn’t deserve.

But as it turns out, it wasn’t an escape. I watched both seasons last fall, and then this light came on. I watched it again and again.

I came to tumblr because I needed more. I found this fandom. I stepped into this beautiful world of fanart and fanfiction and brain flexing meta writing and a sense of community and wonder that you and Terry created - that everyone involved in the show inflated - exploded in the right way - like fireworks if fireworks were some kind of autocatalytic reaction - a self perpetuating force.

It’s not a “saved my life” feeling. Not a “getting my life back” feeling. It’s been a “maybe it’s time for you to have the life you’ve always been denied - that you’ve denied yourself” feeling.

I’m creating. I’m not “great” yet. Not terribly “good” at all. Maybe “behind” as far as the “proper” timeline for starting. I know there isn’t one, not really, but boy does that society machine make ya feel like there is. And sure, I started and stopped a lot in the past. But the second it got hard I always gave up. I felt like if I didn’t get it “right” to begin with, then I just didn’t have it in me at all. But for once I’m really in it. I’m writing and trying to draw things that look less like fever dream five year old drawings. (Not that there’s anything wrong with those, is there? 🙃) I’m eating better. I’m sleeping better. I reach out to old friends more. I’ve made new friends who share this love of Good Omens.

My therapist has been floored by the change in me. After that first funny mini flop, he has been so encouraging about it. I saw him this week and I said “Maybe this is helping me get prepared to start living again. Maybe it’s a springboard.” And he honest to god said “But You ARE living. This is YOU LIVING. Why does it have to be a springboard? Why do you have to turn this into ‘work?’ Just let yourself have this for once in your life.”

But there were two more added elements that made it all work. And I can’t help but think this whole brainrot thing wouldn’t have happened without them. So many things just happened all at just the right time - a proper coincidence.

In all of the madness of the last few years I finally got the memo that I'm autistic. i figured I was for a while. But it finally sunk in for me and my docs and my people. So I’d been working on unpacking that. Grieving the life that could have been entirely different, shedding the mask. I let myself hyperfixate openly instead of hiding it and hating myself for “spiralling” or “obsessing” like others -!like ‘I’ always punished myself for before we knew that it was a trait and not a personality flaw.

Then over the last few months my therapist and I started trying this new exercise. One session he stopped me and said “in the last 20 minutes you have responded to what I’ve said with 9 ‘I knows.’” My response to that? “Ugh, I know.” So we started this “I know” swear jar type situation. Really, I’ve been afraid of not knowing. I couldn’t let myself “not know.” Because it meant I was “dumb.” I was just drowning for so long in guilt and self loathing for the “I knew better and screwed up anyway.” Or “I should’ve known better - I should know that by now.”

As it turns out, there’s a lot of things I don’t know. That I didn’t know. Things I will never know. And refusing to admit all of that kept me from learning a damn thing. Kept me from asking questions. Kept me from trying new things because it was scary to do something new - something unknown - and I "knew" how it would all turn out anyway. Kept me from connecting with people because it was painful or embarrassing when they knew things I didn’t and it seemed like I already should have. Kept me from getting better at making art, music, writing. Kept me from forgiving myself. Kept me from growing. And kept me from moving forward. Maybe not on. I don’t know if we ever “move on” from things. But we can move forward as we carry them. And as we do, the weight gets less. We’re able to carry it better. But only if we can admit that we don’t know how. Only if we don’t treat ourselves like this is something we do know or should know and we’re just failing because we’re less than. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not deserving. We have to be able to say “I don’t know how to do this.” And then we can start looking for the answers. We can ask. We can learn.

I thought about the apple. Being able to tell the difference between good and evil. Aziraphale’s years and years of watching what he “knows” to be true be proven wrong. Crowley’s need to ask questions…

The simple and enormous gift of “Knowledge.” The “Knowledge” of the difference between Good and Evil. The “Knowledge” that can only be gained by realizing, accepting, admitting that there are things we don’t know. Asking the questions. Sometimes we get answers we don’t like. Sometimes the consequences of asking hurt us. And unless you want to stay in that painful place that painful knowledge got you, well, you’ve got to let yourself learn how to get out.

So all of this good? I never expected this. I never thought I deserved it. Joy and belonging and this sense that “Yeah, maybe things can get better. Maybe things can be good.” Because I said those things, not truly believing them, to the people I thought needed to hear it. But it couldn’t save them. It was hollow. The proof for us wasn’t really in our orbit or on our radar at the time. And now they’re gone.

People always say “it’s never too late.”

One of the people I lost said “it’s later than you think.”

I jokingly would respond “it’s already too late.”

It was for him in the end. For them. For some people I guess it really is. But maybe a lot of the “too late” people are there because they think “they know” that things will never be good for them. So they stop looking, they stop asking, stop finding. And eventually they just stop.

Then there came Crowley’s “It’s always too late.” The first time I heard it I thought “For sure, Crowley-cakes, I KNOW.”

But then…I just needed to rewatch the whole thing. And lines like that…familiar things…familiar themes…I was suddenly identifying with these characters. I suddenly saw myself. And the realization hit - I connected with something! Something new. And I FELT THAT. And that tiny little crack that made in the wall was just enough to start breaking it down. Yeah, when you start letting yourself feel after not feeling for so long, opening up to the good feelings means opening up to feelings and then the bad ones come out too. But when there IS good … it helps you balance. You can deal with the bad a little better because you’ve got the good thing to lean against when it gets too much. And now you’ve got feelings. You’ve got good and bad. You’ve got sticky foggy grey. You’ve got life.

Whew.

So, TLDR, thank you. From the bottom of my slowly healing heart, thank you.

And to sign off with some shits and giggles… I couldn’t find this in existence as a sticker so I had to custom order. Perhaps this will spread misery and panic among the humans of my city - or at least a malignant and creepy sense of unease.

Or maybe they’ll say “wtf” and go home and google it and they’ll fall into the Good Omens hole they never knew they needed too.

Thank you for this. I never quite know what to say to messages like this apart from I am really glad that it helps. (It becomes the weird extra piece that I worry about when writing season 3 -- hoping that it will be that thing again. Not just a story, but something that helps people feel and helps with healing and helps with love.)

[emptyjunior]

It looks like with the movies taking off, everyone is on the Dune train now!! Which is very exciting, I’m glad a bunch of new people are discovering this media and reading the books, but can I recommend you the David Lynch, Dune (1984) movie.

First of all, if you are invested in the lore of the books and the deeper messaging of the story, you’re going to need to turn that part of your brain Off. If you love kick ass shit and are willing to be slightly tipsy while you watch and have a great goddamn afternoon, this is the flick for you.

Now first fun fact I’m going to share with you. David Lynch (twin peaks, eraserhead director, celebrated surrealist) turned down the opportunity to direct Return of the Jedi for this film. A film that was devastatingly slow to make, changed hands multiple times, had a pricy VFX budget of $40 million and then made barely $31 million, David Lynch turned down Star Wars to work on it. And he did this when he had never read the novel, and did not even like or engage with sci fi media. THAT’S how you know we’re really in for something.

Now this film has some big names in it! We’ve got a young Kyle MacLachlan who is rocking some Devastating outfits:

We’ve got Sir Patrick Stewert as our Gurney and Sting, lead singer of the police, playing the 15 year old Feyd Rautha! If you wanted to see a grown man, sprayed orange, basically naked playing a free wheeling maniac you are in for a treat! And another fun fact, David Lynch also did not know who these actors were, he made a mistake and thought Patrick Stewert was someone else and when Sting said he was in the police he assumed he was in an organization of lawmen.

Now these characters are familiar to you, but let me get into the unfamiliar. Lynch made some directorial executive decisions throughout this film, for I suppose the ease of the viewer? I mean an adaptation is supposed to adapt so he went let me change some stuff up👏👏👏.

Those who paid attention to Jessica’s backstory may know about the Weirding Way. This is a martial arts style created by the Bene Gesserit, and practiced by Paul. It is more than just a fighting style but also an important philosophical concept, like Aikido or how Kung Fu has foundations in Buddhism.

You may also be familiar with the quote “My name is a killing word.” This inner monologue of Paul’s refers to how his title Muad’dub will be used to spur a holy war. A simple name is what people will die and bleed for, it will be what they scream as they cut down enemies.

Dark! Intense! That’s Dune, anyways in the novel it’s easy to take your time exploring these concepts. Introducing the audience to the religious ramifications of a simple name and fighting practice and how these things can have rippling repercussions upon a society like the Freman.

Now David Lynch didn’t have time for that! He had the belief (that may be right🤷‍♂��!) That watching a bunch of people kick each other on top of a sand dune would be Lame😭😭

So he made the choice for his film that “My name is a killing word” was to be taken Absolutely Literally and invented a device where if the freman said the name Muad-dib, shit would explode.

If they said Paul’s name, they could Explode Stuff. Let it sink in how rad that is. Hell yeah man, hell yeah. Imagine me interpreting religious text that way, imagine if I made a bible movie and the moral I took from a parable is that when Jesus asked for food and everyone donated fish, I concluded that Jesus was a mutant who had fish powers and could immediately conjure fish with magic and gave him fish death rays that shot out of his hands.

So that’s what you can expect from this interpretation, the weirding way now means everyone has Lasers its rad as hell.

Some other incredible choices made! This is a spoiler, but in the novels and the new films you can see the Freman collecting every scrap of water they can. Dr Liet-Kynes, the planetologist, reveals to us it’s because they have a long, multiple generation spanding plan to fix the planet. By introducing this water back they hope to reset the ecosystem over centuries of work. The reason they have been unable to do this is because a green planet would obviously not have worms and sand who produce spice, the most coveted drug in the empire, so imperial and harkonnen forces have been stopping this from ever happening. They want to be free from oppression so that they can start to work on slowly fixing their world, a project that plays out in Paul’s adult life and has its own dramas and complexities.

In Dune 1984??? The moment, the Moment Paul lays out his cousin and throws the final punch, it begins to rain in Arrakis. As if they were all under a magical curse and were just waiting for a teenager to come fight another teenager and then the water will come back. It’s so good, it’s so funny.

Also Pugs! House Atreides official Pugs! Paul has pugs in his lap!!

This is honestly an adaptation choice that I really really like! Paul is the result of centuries of selective breeding, this practice is an artform to the Bene Gesserit and a skill that they monitor closely. It produces bizarre and sometimes terrifying results and is the reason for Paul’s existence.

I think having an animal that was also created through selective breeding, was engineered from a wolf into an animal that can hardly breathe is an incredible metaphor! A smart and identifiable symbol for the audience, I think it’s a slam dunk and the new movies should have done it to.

Anyways can not recommend this film enough.

-The body suits the bad guys wear are made out of real body bags, that actually had been used.

-David Lynch to this day hates it.

-The original cut was four hours.

-The cast and crew were sick the Entire shoot with something they called Montezuma's Revenge, which was probably just food poisoning, side effects from the constant smog because they shot the whole thing on backup generators, illness from the cockroach infestation and terrible morale.

-Frank Herbert saw it multiple times and said he absolutely loved it.

-When they ride the worms, sick rock jams play.

If you love electric guitar, lasers, worms and will forgive me for not including all the trigger warnings cause Yes this film will gross you out, then go watch this movie.

[agentzedbooks]

*Written while high and horny.*

Imagining someone with some magical ability, and they cause my breasts to swell up a cup size. Of course I’m instantly wet, and breathing hard. I ask her for more, and she says no, that I haven’t earned it yet. She says I have to beg for it. This just makes me hotter, and I have to decide if I’m willing to degrade myself just to satisfy my kink. As I appear undecided, she reaches out and gives my chest a light caress, telling me if I just say ‘please,’ she’ll give me a little more. I whimper slightly at her touch, and before I realize it, I say ‘please.’

She snaps her fingers, and I feel that intense pleasure as they swell up again. I almost bark out another ‘please,’ and another snap, another swell, more waves of mindless bliss. I don’t know it, but as my titties grow, my brain is shrinking. I’m now sporting some respectable handfuls, C cups about, and her hands go to my chest again. Her touch turns my knees to jelly, and I am putty in her hands. She smiles and lets out a satisfied chuckle. She asks me if I want to go bigger. I say please! She wags her finger and says, “Please, what?”

“Please make my tits grow,” I moan out. She snaps her fingers, and they swell again. I’m almost on the floor, and her silky touch is sending my brain into blank, empty bliss. She slides her fingers into my mouth, and I’m reflexively sucking on them. She then trails them down my chest, my belly, and stops just above my slit.

“Beg me,” she whispers.

I can’t think, too overwhelmed and lost in a fog of arousal. “P... puh... please... make my titties big!”

“Good girl,” she says, and the swelling begins again, and I’m so close to cumming I want to touch myself, but can’t actually focus enough to do it.

Soon, I am on my knees, as my top is close to ripping open, and I am kissing up and down her legs, begging through gasps and moans for more, to go bigger.

“Good girl,” she says, and my tits balloon up, and the fabric starts to tear. It hurts for a second, then my gorgeous new titties are free! My tits are so huge now, and I look down at them swinging freely in the air, nipples hard and so sensitive I can feel the air moving over them. I try to talk, but only desperate whimpers come out. I’m riding the edge and too far gone from pleasure to think.

“Do you want bigger?”

I grab my giant new tits and the pleasure sends me to a whole new level of blank, blissful arousal. I can only nod to her, and give the weakest of whimpers in the affirmative.

She snaps her fingers again, and I feel the flesh growing in my hands. I’m cumming, but it’s shallow, and only makes me more desperate, aching for a sexual release. She laughs at me.

“What a good little dummy doll,” she says, “Hmmm, let’s see, you need some evening out.”

My tummy cinches and my ass plumps just a little. My hair falls in front of my face and it’s suddenly bright blonde and wavy. It all feels so... right. I coo at the touch of my Mistress, who looks me in the eye and asks me “What are you?”

“I’m a dummy dolly,” I say, and she kisses me, melting what’s left of my brain. My tits swell one more time and my cunt explodes with pleasure. I float on a cloud of pink orgasmic bliss, and yet..l and yet I still need more. I’ll do whatever my Mistress wants to get more. No more icky thoughts, just fuzzy pink brain and tits. Love tits. Love MY tits. Dummy dolly wants to play!

[solxamber]

On my hands and knees sobbing throwing up combusting into dust signs my soul away to you THAT WAS SO SO SOOOOO CUTEEEEEE GUAYAYYAYYUUUUUAUAGAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! Poor Rollo thinks hes just being nice meanwhile poor yuu is so used to people digging underneath the bar that he's literally prince charming incarnate. Rollo clearly needs to adjust their standards and do what the villains could not by kissing yuu softly while they take a nap. And also threaten crowley to give them money for food. ANYWAYS!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR FEEDING ME AND THE 5 OTHER ROLLO FANS THAT SURVIVED THE FAMINE (/j) I OWE YOU MY LIFE!!!!! This message is getting so long, but you deserve to know how awesome your writing is and that I look forward to whatever you post for real. I slide over a crisp 5 maddol and ask for when you feel like it (and if you even want to ofc!!) A part 3 where maybe they're deeper in the relationship and are doing heinous things like m*king out and grimm thinks they should be executed for making him walk into this horror. (He didn't knock. Bc he's grimm. He claimed to be scarred for life until Rollo busted out the premium tuna suddenly we should get married asap) . ANYWAYS SORRY FOR THE LONG RAMBLE. IM BARKING AND CRYING AND EXPLODING AND PROPOSING TO YOU. Signed with love, rollo anon 💗💝💖

Rollo Flamme x reader

i just saw this and this almost made me cry 🫶 also sorry for the very long wait

Part 1 ; Part 2

Rollo was nothing if not diligent. Whether it was reorganizing the shelves at the library, fixing the perpetually squeaky door in Ramshackle, or chastising Grim for yet another snack-induced fire hazard, he was always helping in his quietly intense way. It wasn’t just duty—he genuinely seemed to enjoy making your life easier, which both baffled and warmed you to your core.

You, of course, did what you could to return the favor. Helping him clean up after unruly magic festival events, proofreading his endless notes about anti-magic policies, and gently reminding him to relax when he got that telltale furrow in his brow.

And you were in love.

Like, grossly in love. The kind of love where you found his huffy rants about magical irresponsibility charming and he tolerated Grim's chaos just to spend more time with you. It was a weird, wonderful balance you’d somehow managed to strike.

Which led to this particular evening: you and Rollo, tangled on the old, creaky couch in your room at Ramshackle.

It had started innocently enough. You’d been reviewing a new book he'd brought for you—something philosophical, of course, but he’d chosen it specifically because he thought you’d enjoy it. You were teasing him about his insistence on leaving a handwritten note inside the front cover (“Who even does this, Rollo? It’s adorable, but—seriously?”), and he had flushed in that way that made you want to pinch his cheeks.

Then one thing led to another.

Now, his lips were on yours, one hand cradling your face with the kind of reverence that made your heart twist. His other arm was around your waist, anchoring you against him. Rollo might not have been an experienced romantic, but he made up for it in sheer, focused intensity. When he kissed you, it felt like you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

“You’re—mmph—very distracting,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and tinged with amusement.

You grinned, tugging him closer. “Says the guy who started this.”

His only response was to kiss you again, deeper this time, until your brain was reduced to a pleasant, fizzy blur. The world outside the room ceased to exist. It was just you, him, and the creak of the couch as you shifted closer—

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY?! MY EYES! THEY’RE RUINED!”

Grim’s shrill scream shattered the moment like glass.

You froze, pulling back to see Grim standing in the doorway, paws dramatically covering his eyes. “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? ON MY COUCH?”

“Grim, it’s my couch,” you said, face burning.

“You’re the henchhuman; it’s ours by default!” Grim wailed. “And now it’s a place of SIN!”

Rollo, to his credit, had already straightened up, his expression transitioning from flustered to composed in record time. “Grim,” he said, voice calm yet firm, “surely you’ve barged in enough times to anticipate that privacy should be respected.”

“Oh, I respected it,” Grim sniffed. “But my henchhuman clearly has no shame. And you!” He pointed an accusatory paw at Rollo. “I thought you were better than this! But no, you’re—”

Rollo, completely unbothered by the tirade, reached into his bag and produced a can of… premium tuna?

Grim’s rant ground to a halt. His ears perked up as he sniffed the air. “Wait. Is that—?”

“Indeed,” Rollo said smoothly, holding it up like a peace offering. “A gift I intended to give later, but it seems circumstances call for a different approach.”

Grim’s eyes lit up with unrestrained glee. “You know what? I’ve never doubted you for a second, Rollo!” He scurried forward, practically salivating as he swiped the can. “You’re clearly the best thing that’s ever happened to my henchhuman. You two should get married. Tomorrow. I’ll get a priest. I’m sure Crowley owes me a favor.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as Grim popped the can open with zero regard for decorum. “Grim, you are the worst.”

“Correction: I’m the best,” Grim said, already devouring the tuna with gusto. Between bites, he added, “This guy’s a keeper. Don’t mess it up, henchhuman.”

Rollo’s lips twitched, a hint of amusement breaking through his otherwise composed demeanor. He leaned closer, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “Shall we take his advice?”

You gave him a playful shove, laughing despite yourself. “Not helping, Rollo.”

But deep down, as Grim devoured his bribe and Rollo sat beside you with that quietly pleased look, you couldn’t deny that the idea didn’t sound all that bad.

The exhaustion of the day had finally caught up to you, and you’d collapsed onto your bed with a sigh of relief. “Wake me up for class, okay?” you mumbled to Rollo, who was sitting at your desk, meticulously organizing the scattered notes you’d left behind.

“I’ll make sure you’re on time,” he replied, his voice carrying that steady assurance you found oddly comforting.

You barely managed a hum of acknowledgment before sleep claimed you, leaving the world behind in a haze of warm, peaceful quiet.

When you stirred again, it wasn’t the sound of your alarm or the creak of the floorboards that woke you. It was something far gentler.

A warm, featherlight pressure on your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, and the first thing you saw was Rollo leaning over you, his expression soft in a way that made your heart do an Olympic-level somersault. He was close enough that you could see the slight flush on his cheeks, though his composure never wavered.

“Good morning,” he said softly, his voice a gentle murmur. “It’s time to get ready for class.”

You blinked at him, your still-sleepy brain struggling to process what had just happened. “Did you… just kiss me awake?”

His blush deepened, but he stood his ground, meeting your gaze with quiet confidence. “You looked so peaceful. I thought it would be a more pleasant way to wake you than simply shaking your shoulder.”

Your heart melted on the spot. If there was a scale for romantic gestures, this one had just broken it.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, though your voice betrayed how utterly smitten you were.

“Perhaps,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you didn’t seem to mind.”

You didn’t bother arguing because he was absolutely right. Instead, you reached out, tugging him down for a proper kiss this time.

When you finally pulled away, you smirked at his flustered expression. “If you keep this up, I’m going to start napping more often.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “If that’s the case, I’ll have to be even more diligent about ensuring you don’t oversleep.”

You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest as you sat up and stretched. “Thanks for waking me, Rollo. Really.”

“Of course,” he said, his tone earnest as ever. “It’s the least I can do.”

The man was going to ruin you with how thoughtful he was. And as you got ready for class with a lingering smile on your face, you couldn’t help but think that waking up like this every day wouldn’t be so bad.

It started with something simple. You were both sitting in the courtyard of the chapel, enjoying a quiet moment together. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over everything, and Rollo was, as usual, the picture of composure. He was reading a book—some historical text you’d never have the patience for—but his attention drifted when he noticed you staring at the horizon, lost in thought.

“Are you cold?” he asked, setting his book aside and leaning slightly closer.

You blinked out of your reverie, shaking your head with a soft smile. “No, I’m fine.”

He studied you for a moment, then pulled his scarf from around his neck and gently draped it over your shoulders anyway. “Just in case,” he murmured.

It wasn’t anything extraordinary—just a scarf—but the gesture made your heart swell. The scarf smelled faintly of lavender, and the warmth of it felt like an extension of Rollo himself.

“Thanks, Rollo,” you said, voice soft.

He nodded, but when he saw the way your smile lingered, something shifted in his expression. His usual composed demeanor softened into something… almost reverent.

“You deserve this,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically tender.

“Huh?” You tilted your head at him, confused.

“You deserve to be cared for,” he clarified, meeting your gaze with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “You give so much of yourself to others. It’s only natural that someone should do the same for you.”

You stared at him, heart racing. “Rollo, I… That’s really sweet.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, though not at you. “It’s concerning that such basic decency stands out to you,” he muttered, almost to himself. “What kind of environment is this school fostering?”

The thought of Rollo, grimacing at the thought of NRC’s questionable population, made you burst into laughter. “I mean, you’ve met Grim, right? The standards here are subterranean.”

Rollo’s expression softened again when he saw how amused you were. “Even so,” he said, taking your hands in his with surprising gentleness, “you should never feel as though you’re asking for too much when you expect kindness or respect. It’s what you’re owed.”

Your heart did a little somersault, and you couldn’t help but giggle, ridiculously touched. “Stop, you’re going to make me cry,” you teased, though the slight quiver in your voice betrayed how close you were to actually tearing up.

He smiled faintly, leaning closer until his forehead nearly touched yours. “If you cry, I’ll simply have to dry your tears,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “Though I’d rather see you smiling.”

You let out another helpless laugh, pulling your hands free so you could lightly swat at his arm. “Stop being so romantic! I can’t handle this!”

Rollo chuckled softly, pleased with your reaction. “If it makes you happy, then I’ll consider it a worthwhile effort.”

And he meant it. He was genuinely, utterly content to see you so touched, so happy. Yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, a quiet but fierce determination grew. The villains and miscreants of NRC may not have treated you with the respect you deserved, but he would make it his mission to ensure you never doubted your worth again.

Masterlist

[sluttyangy]

Hey there, I hope you’re having a beautiful day/night! I’m not sure how many requests you have at the moment; if you’ve got too many please feel free to ignore this! Before getting into the request I just want to say I absolutely adore your blog theme and writing! ❤️ As for the request, I too am a bit of a Shidou whore >~< so I was wondering if you’d feel comfortable with maybe writing something about his turn-ons? It doesn’t have to be anything explicit if you don’t want it to be — maybe just some things his s/o does that would be attractive/stimulating to him? Of course you could also include other characters if you’d like! Again, if you aren’t interested or if you’re too busy then please feel free to ignore ❤️ thanks in advance either way! You’re doing great! ❤️🙌🏻

⟢ Synopsis : Shidou’s turn-ons ! ♡ (sfw and nsfw)

⟢ Notes : Hiii anon !! tysm for your request, I’m very glad to know that my theme and writing is liked ! ♡ I hope you are doing very good ! My requests are indeed open and even very welcomed <3 There will be a sfw part, and a nsfw part, so if you aren’t into nsfw stuff, feel free to ignore this part ! Thank you so much to everyone for the support, and I hope i can continue to bring y’all the delulu we all need ♡

⟢ Sfw :

Shidou is absolutely in love with everything about you. But, there's still some little things that make him go wild. He loves whenever you just call for his name, even calling around the house, calling in the changing rooms at the stadium. It brings him so much satisfaction to hear his name from your pretty mouth, and sometimes will even act like he didn't hear you, just so you would repeat that heavenly word to his ears.

Ryusei also has a thing for your hair, whether it be long or short. He just loves to run his hands through it, and he can never help but imagine himself tugging and pulling it.

Shidou is absolutely in love with your waist, he always needs to be touching it, holding it, squeezing it underneath his fingers. It turns him on to imagine just how much positions he could put you in just by holding your waist.

Finally, the horny demon feels his heart explode whenever you walk around the house wearing his clothes. It makes him feel like you totally belong to him, that there's a piece of him on you, showing that you are his. Same for outside, he could die on place when he sees you wearing his jersey, out in town or to his matches. Being really possessive, that allows him to show to everyone that this pretty girl is his girlfriend.

⟢ Nsfw :

During the more sensual and intimate moments, Shidou has a lot more turn-ons. Basically everything about you turn him on, from your body to the look in your eyes, to the way you lick your lips.

But once again, some things turned him on more than the others. Shidou's favorite thing is seeing you totally fucked out, totally cockdrunk. That man goes on for many rounds, more than your pretty little brain can handle. This leads you to only being able to think about the man holding you, only feeling his touch and the intense stimulation he gives you. Ryusei could cum just by watching the dazed look in your eyes, the drool dripping down your chin.

He loves your shudders, the way your body react to his relentless assault. He loves when he feels your goosebumps under his fingertips when he bites and suck at your skin. He proudly wears the scratches on his back, on his waist, and on his arms. Ryusei adores that you just try to have the most physical contact possible with him, and he gladly gives in.

Shidou also has more simple things that turn him on sexually, like those little booty shorts that shows the underside of your ass, or those tank tops that'll reveal your cleavage. He will always grope at it, touch it in some ways. Want to send him to heaven ? Wear those and stuff his cock between your breasts, giving him that innocent doe eyes.