#spent so long trying to get the coloring to fit the lighting

[coolingrosa]

ooooooo i love rs!ink he's so cute......could you, perhaps, speak about him a little more?? (I've heard he's very similar to Lilo too, would love to hear about his childhood a lil' bit more👀)

Sure! This gives me a chance to also say publicly that RoseVerse!Ink is CANONICALLY AUTISTIC. I stated this in the QNA livestream I did a while back, but I know not everyone watched that as it was mostly chaos. Most characters in Roseverse are not giving canon mental illnesses or mental disorders because anyone can project themselves onto these characters and find traits they can relate to. For example, Killer has no canon mental disorder and is only based on my experience as a 15 year old. Whatever you see fit to fit his mental health is uo to viewer interpretation. But Ink is one of the few exceptions to this as he is canonically autistic.

Now with that out of the way, what was Ink’s childhood like? This will be long!! Prepare!

Ink was created at three years old and was nonverbal up until he was seven. He hardly used sign language besides signing to show he was hungry, he wanted more of something, or to say yes or no. Error and Nightmare were always worried about this, and they did not have the resources to see a doctor to have help in figuring out why Ink wasn’t talking. They had to do with what they could, and learned to work with Ink’s lack of speech. He is capable of more sign language, and does use it when he wants to have a conversation, but that is not until he gets closer to six, where he gets more interested in joining in on talks.

Ink from the ages of 3-5 was very all over the place. He was blunt, and had many outbursts and meltdowns due to Error and Nightmare simply not knowing how to handle an autistic child. While he could not verbally communicate, he would get very frustrated if he wasn’t understood, and often resorted to tantrums and throwing his toys or food when he would want something and Error and Nightmare had no idea what to supply. He also was touch repulsed between the ages of 4-6, and preferred to do his own thing. He’d ignore when people would try to talk to him if he wasn’t in the mood for it, and Error and Nightmare learned to leave it at that. What he tended to do was draw, finger paint, solo play with toys, and sort things. Error once stole him many markers, and rather than jump to draw, he spent hours reorganizing them over and over into different shades and colors. (Based on a experience of my own childhood lol)

Error and Nightmare worked with Ink’s needs and unintentionally created a household perfect for neurodivergent children. The lights were dim, safe food was always in stock, loud noises were kept to a minimum, and Ink was given headphones and comfortable clothes to help his meltdowns.

When he hit seven, he finally started to speak verbally, and then never shut up LMAO. He also became hungry for touch, and was often jumping at Nightmare at random (since he knew Error couldn’t handle it) and climbing all over him. While with Error, he always made his presence known before latching on and not letting go for hours. However, he tended to like Nightmare’s hugs the most, since he’d place his tentacles over him and make a little cocoon of safety. This is also when he got the burst of curiosity for the outside and would run through the woods and grab random animals from trees and bring them home (much to Error’s horror). Think Ame from Wolf Children. That was very much how he was. A wild child who was always getting cuts and bruises but smiling big. Once, he even snapped his arm falling from a tree while in the care of Reaper, and Nightmare and Error couldn’t heal him enough. He forever sports a scar on his arm but continues to climb trees anyways.

When he got a bit older, ages 9-10, he mellowed out a bit with the understanding of his powers. Nightmare helped him a lot with the control of his abilities and magic, and with that came maturity and peace. He preferred to keep the house tidy and fetch dinner still, but in a much calmer way. He’d go out and catch fish or use his magic to catch squirrels. He’d always come home at a good time and would help Errror around the house. He wasn’t as loud and excitable, especially since he became aware of who he was supposed to be at ten, and had to come to terms with the fact that Error was meant to be his competitor, and they were breaking those rules.

Overall, he grows a lot and becomes a child Error and Nightmare are proud of.

Then, on his eleventh birthday, he disappears.

Tragic, truly. It’s a mystery of what happened to the poor kid.

#undertale #undertaleau #undertale multiverse #roseverse #cooling rosa answers silly stuff #nightmare sans #error sans #ink sans #autistic ink sans

[baekslight]

BAEKHYUN filming the Let Me In MV

#baekhyun #baekhyunedit #exoedit #exosnet #ultkopnetwork #kpopedits #kpopedit #kpopccc #midolsedit #mgroupsnet #mgroupsedit #kpopsoloists #byun baekhyun #byunbaekhyunedit #my gifs #let me in #spent so long trying to get the coloring to fit the lighting #anyway i hope y'all like it #i also reduced the sharpening which i think makes it look softer

[abibliophobiaa]

One word prompts are so hard for me cause they could go an infinite direction but what about the word Cherry with Steve?

don’t you call him ‘baby’

steve harrington x f!reader. angst with a happy ending. [2k]

——

There’s a cherry red stain on the edge of the grainy photo. The color of your favorite lipstick — the same color still on the collar of his old jean jacket. He'll never get rid of it, he’s decided long ago now. You’re smiling back at him, captured forever in this picture, the sunset behind you, a hand hiking up one side of your flowing dress, the fabric backlit by the orange sky, highlighting the curves of your silhouette. He doesn’t even need the photo to remember the way it feels for his hands to travel the pathway of your side, your hip, the contours of your thighs. And the memories of that day hit him like a freight train all the same, like it was only yesterday.

Your hand is in his as he peels away from the curb at Max and Lucas’ new place in California. Sun streaks across the sky still, his sunglasses perched high on his nose. He feels you squeeze him tighter, thumb stroking lovingly along his knuckles. He turns his head and captures your gaze, your mouth a firm line, eyes round and soft. Sad.

“You okay?” you ask, and he realizes that sadness is for him. Heart practically shatters at that, because you know him deeply — just as you’ve always known over the years without him ever uttering a word.

His lip wobbles, but he doesn’t cry, tries not to at least. Even so, you gather the tear that eventually streams down his face. Thumb it away so tenderly it’s like you’re trying to capture it — to encapsulate this moment. Max is gone, Lucas is starting a new career, Dustin is off to college with El, Will, and Mike. Robin’s getting married soon. And he’s peering at everyone through the window, wishing them well, watching them slip away with the passing of time.

Everything is changing, yet you remain, and though it aches to see his life changing so quickly and suddenly, you’re a constant. The thought alone has him leaning over at a red light and kissing you soundly on the lips, hands in your hair at the back of your head, his cheeks flaming hot when the light turns green and someone slams on the horn behind him.

“Let’s go somewhere,” you muse softly, a little to yourself, head against the doorframe, free hand twirling in the wind out the window, catching sunlight in the palm of your hand. “That sign says there’s a beach up ahead. I want to put my feet in the water.”

He smiles, squeezing your hand, thinking how he can’t wait to marry you one day. “Okay, honey.”

Soon enough you’re both running along the beach with your hands tangled together. You’re spinning. Twirling. Laughing as he turns you round and around on the beach, sand between your toes, sun kissing his skin, blissful words punctuated by lingering kisses. There’s a blanket strewn out nearby you brought along and laid out, shoes discarded, your newest book propped open on its front. Beside that is the camera he brought along for the trip, the same one he rushes away to grab, chest splitting in two at the wide smile that breaks along your face.

You’re perfect. Everything he could ever want and more in a person. Beautiful beyond whatever measure a camera could ever capture you within. The photo slides out and slowly develops. The same photo you hold pinched between your fingertips as you later drive back to your hotel, bringing your lips to the bare corner, leaving a cherry red stain behind.

“Give me your wallet,” you reach an arm out and he slaps the leather within, the picture sliding into an empty slot. “Now you’ll always have me with you.”

Such sweet words — if only you had known.

He’s not sure how it happened. How that one perfect day became a memory. He still remembers the feel of your warm skin after hours on the beach spent kicking up sand, dancing in the waves, falling into fits of laughter as you eventually fell back onto a blanket, hands tangled together as tightly knit as your hearts. Later you’d pulled him down against you in that hotel bed, blocked out the rest of the world, and relished the feel of two souls wound together like one. You whispered forever against his throat as he later curled you against his chest, with the sound of his heartbeat a promise to lull you into sleep.

But things changed. His anxiety after Vecna grew, he buried himself in a job he didn’t even want at his father’s company to run from it. Work became too much — distance between you grew, him on trips that drew him further and further away from Hawkins. He pushed you away, he knew it, you knew it, though neither wanted to admit it out loud. At first you fought about it, about how you wanted forever but forever couldn’t look like this if you wanted it to stand the test of time. And then the apartment grew silent. Screaming matches turned into quiet sobs before bed, when you thought he couldn’t hear you, but he did every time. The distance became a chasm, too far to broach.

Then you left. Packed your things one morning and chose yourself. He understood. Of course he did. Still it didn’t make anything better. Didn’t make his heart hurt any less.

Now he sits in the middle of your — his — bed staring at the photo of you. The box of things he kept of yours through the years stored beneath his bed, even after Eddie suggested he might want to put it away in a closet or something. It’s been six months, six months of not turning over every morning to find you already awake and propped up beside him, wanting the first thing he sees every morning to be your smiling face. Six months of wondering what you’re doing, wondering who you’re talking to, wondering if you’ve moved on.

He gets his answer that night.

Eddie’s shoving Steve along beside him. Clothes cling to sweaty bodies in the packed bar. Robin couldn’t make it, so the two decide on a ‘boy’s night out.’ They’ve not had one in a bit, since Chrissy’s just given birth to their first baby a couple months ago. But she practically pushes him out the door that night, promising her and their new son will be fine, that he deserves a fun night with his friend.

Only it’s far from fun. With July came the hottest weather Hawkins has seen all year. ‘A record breaking high,’ the news stations tout. All Steve knows is his jeans feel tighter than usual, his skirt is stuck to his sweaty back, and the woman he loves is standing at the bar with a man Steve doesn’t recognize.

“Don’t look,” Eddie warns, as though it’s not already too late. As if Steve’s not drawn to you like a magnet, even after all this time. “He could be a friend, or something.”

He could be. But the man is reaching over to rest a hand over your forearm, head bent low, eyes wide, and clearly engaged in whatever story you’re telling him. Steve’s not surprised. It’s one of his favorite things about you: this way you seem to captivate every room you walk into. Like he’s in your orbit, circling around you, pulled in close by your mere aura. Anyone who knows you loves you, he thinks — and they’re lucky for it. He’d been lucky for a time, too.

“Steve, stop torturing yourself,” Eddie says, giving his friend’s shoulder a little wiggle. “Here — let me go grab us some beers. I’ll be right back. Don’t do anything hasty.”

Steve shakes his head. What’s he going to do? Scream. Cry. Beg for you to come back. No — instead he watches. Feels his chest ache as you throw your head back in a laugh at something your date must say, hiding your smile against the lip of your glass, suddenly bashful when your eyes flicker up and clash with Steve’s. The drink in your hand falls and shatters and people rush to clean it up. Your date scrambles to find a stack of napkins, dabs at the front of your blouse, the gesture lost to you as you stay staring ahead, held in place by a ghost of your past.

Suddenly, like a light bulb flashing in your mind, you snap back to attention. He watches the bob of your throat on a swallow, the long rise and fall of your chest on your deep inhale and exhale, the forceful smile that curls your lips as you return your focus to your date.

The moment slips away as Eddie returns to the table, glasses in hand.

——

He’s not sure how he ends up here. Standing in your doorway, the ‘exit’ sign at the end of your hall flickering in the night. Your palm splays against the open door, mouth agape, eyes on his face, blinking frantically like you might think he’s an apparition.

“Please don’t tell me he’s your boyfriend.” Please don’t tell me you call him ‘baby.’ He hates himself for the tears that glimmer like pools in his eyes, hates as you reach up to cover his cheek when the first spills down his skin. “Damn it — I had a whole speech and I —” His voice breaks, throat closing around his words. You’re on your toes, face in his collar bone, clinging to him like he’s the very thing keeping you afloat at sea. “I quit my job, I started therapy, I’m not saying it excuses anything but —”

“Come with me,” you whisper, dropping back onto your heels, pajama shorts ruffling around your thighs.

Heat blooms in his belly as your fingers knit with his, dragging you further into an unfamiliar apartment. It’s very you. All your favorite colors and things, movies strewn about the living room floor, the grainy static humming on a television screen. A pot of half-eaten macaroni is left on a stove top, a plant on your kitchen table, books on a little shelf on a corner leading to a hallway. Lived in.

“Sit on the bed,” you demand as he slips inside your bedroom.

The blankets are messy, like you’ve risen from a nap recently. A stuffed animal he won you at a carnival rests beside your pillow, well-loved, as the fur is no longer as fluffy as it once had been. He watches stiffly as you reach down beneath your bed and pull out a shoebox. In your lipstick, you’ve written “Us” and decorated the top of the box with dozens of little stickers accumulated over the years. In awe, his gaze trails your hands as they pluck item after item collected throughout the years together. That first Scoops Ahoy napkin where he wrote his phone number down, that strip of photos at the photo booth at a carnival, your plush toy between your bodies as he kissed you that first time, a shirt of his from high school days that still smelled like him when you breathed deep enough, the little stack of Polaroids with all your memories scattered within. Early dates, holidays, Valentine’s Day, trips out of town with Robin, photos with the kids. Memories frozen in time of a life that feels so long ago — a life he still craves more than anything.

“I never got rid of them,” you mutter thoughtfully, holding up a photo of him napping on a lawn chair at his parent’s house, skin tanned, chest bare, marker scribbles by the kids on his face in the shape of glasses. “He’s not my boyfriend. I haven’t dated anyone since…”

“Me neither,” he swallows, inhaling sharply as your forehead rests against his. “I know I can’t…I know I messed up and I can’t take that back. But you deserve the world and I want it to be with me.”

“You’re going to give me the world, Harrington?” You tease, and he can almost hear the laughter in your voice as you reach down between the two of you to shove the memory box aside.

“If you’ll let me.”

“You have a lot of groveling to do,” you murmur, and he can feel your lips brush his, just a whisper, softly enough he wonders if he’s dreaming, “starting with this.”

He kisses you. One for every day he’s gone without. Until you’re falling onto your back and gazing up at him with stars in your eyes, fingers trailing his bare chest, lingering along the heart that thumps wildly beneath, singing of a forever.

——

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington blurb

[chamomiletealeaf]

Sweet as Pie

Chapter 5

Warnings: mommy kink, praise kink, sex muahahaha, slight drinking, tooth rotting sweetness tbh

About a month has gone by filled with walks, long talks, laughs, and delicious dinners between you and Simon. You cooked for him every time you were both home at the same time and even went food shopping together once. Spending time together became a habit, and you two started to have withdrawals from each other when you spent a few days apart. But, even away from each other, there was always something there to remind one of the other.

For you, little jars of honey at the supermarket or in your home, honey bees, and anything with a cute little skull or ghost reminded you of Simon. He told you about his time in the military as well as his counter, Ghost. And the bees and honey reminded you of his eyes, since you always thought they were the same color. Little did he know, that's why you always called him honey in the first place.

For Simon, his reminder of you was any type of pie, since you were just as sweet as one. Peaches reminded him of you as well because it was the scent of your shampoo and was the first pie you ever made him. Anything even remotely sweet reminded him of you too. But what reminded him of you the most, was the unexpected sight he saw in the mirror.

"What the-" Simon said as he was getting dressed after his morning shower. He looked in his mirror as he tried to pull his sweatpants up, fitting a bit tighter than they normally did. He untied the drawstring and stretched out the waistband so the pants would sit comfortably around his hips, which he never had to do before. Before he put his shirt on, he looked in the mirror again at his figure in confusion.

Why did everything feel tighter all of a sudden? He thought.

As Simon stared at himself in his body length mirror, he noticed a soft layer of fat pillowing his thick muscles. His muscles were still incredibly defined, but just the tiniest bit softer. His thighs, arms, and ass were definitely thicker, but what he noticed most of all, was the slight softness of his tummy and the little pudge that came with it.

That definitely was not there before. He thought as he turned in the mirror, making sure he was seeing this correctly, a confused and disbelieving expression on his face.

But then, he thought about all the food you have so kindly made for him and put all of your love into. And damn was it good.

The weight he was gaining was healthy. It showed him that he was finally relaxing, and it reminded him of the affection and care you showed him. Simon was finally learning to enjoy life, all thanks to you.

His shocked expression then softened into a smile.

Then, he remembered that he was supposed to go over for some drinks with you tonight, and his smile grew even bigger. Maybe he would get a chance to do something nice for you in return.

You spent the day preparing for the evening, doing everything you could to make the time pass in anticipation. You loved spending time with Simon, and every time you two saw each other, the stars shined brighter that night.

You asked him to come over for some drinks tonight, so you went out to get something he would like. He mentioned he liked bourbon, but you wanted to try something different with him tonight.

So, after standing in the liquor aisle of the tiny local store nearby for what felt like hours, you finally chose something. It was classic, yet rugged like him. You picked up the bottle and smiled down at it noting the liquid's honey hue that was the exact same as Simon's eyes, and placed it in your basket with the label facing up that read:

Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey

-

As the night fell, and you prepared your house for Simon's company, you found yourself getting even more giddy with every passing second.

You set out the glasses on the living room coffee table, had your record player out, turned on the fairy lights decorating the walls of the room, had a fire burning in the fire place, and even made a cute little platter of fruit and crackers as a little snack in case Simon got hungry.

Meanwhile, Simon spent the day thinking of what to bring you. He knew nothing would make up for the hospitality and kindness you've shown him. But he tried anyway.

Simon was never affectionate. He never had time to feel. But you were different. You made him want to catch every star from your favorite constellation and place them in a jar for you to put by your bedside to look at every night before you went to sleep, lighting up your room the way you lit up his heart.

But alas, he didn't exactly have the equipment for that right now. Maybe a quick call to Price and he'd be better equipped. But for now, he settled with a bouquet of the prettiest flowers he could find consisting of Azaleas, Magnolias, and even Cornflowers walking around the little town in Georgia you both called home.

When the time finally came, after sitting around his house checking the clock every five minutes, Simon gathered the flowers and made his way to your house.

As you stood standing in your living room, staring at your records, trying to decide what to play, the knocking of your front door caused you to gasp, snapping you out of your deep thought.

You placed the albums down and scurried over to the door with a smile, and opened it to Simon returning the same smile.

"Hi hun" You said with a giggle.

"Hi." He said back softly.

You glanced down at the flowers in his hands, wild, messy, and organic, and he held them out to you.

"Oh here. I got these for you. Sorry, they're kinda wild looking but-"

"I love them." You cut him off.

"Oh Simon they're absolutely gorgeous!" You smile impossibly bigger as you reach for them, brushing your fingers over his.

"Come on in! I got somethin' special for you." You say.

"Ah love you always have something special for me." He says in response. "Feel bad I can never pay you back."

"Oh hush with all that." You scold, as you guide him into the house and close the door behind him. "All you gotta do for me sugar is keep me company and eat all that damn food I can't stop cookin'." You joke.

"Speakin' of which, I made a little plate of snacks if you get hungry." You guide him into the living room, showing him the platter you made before you leave him to get a vase in the kitchen for your flowers.

Simon stands, looking around the living room slowly, taking in the ambiance of it. It was so nice, unlike anything he's every seen or felt before. It was just so domestic and cozy.

The warm, soft light of the fairy lights, the glow of the fire, the record player and records that have clearly been used multiple times, the two glasses set out, the worn in couch, everything was so charming and it overwhelmed Simon.

You come back into the living room with a vase filled with water and the flowers he brought you, and you placed them in the middle of the coffee table.

"Oh now isn't that lovely." You say, admiring the colors of the flowers and how they light up the dim room. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Simon says back.

"You like Chris Stapleton?" You ask him, walking over to your record player, picking up the records sat atop of it that you abandoned mere minutes ago.

"Who?" He asks, and you turn to him mouth agape.

"What do you mean who?" You say, with a fake accusatory tone. "One of the best country voices out there baby."

You take out the record from Chris Stapleton's "Traveller" album and place it in the player. And after a few seconds, the first song begins to play, livening up the room that much more.

Then, you turn to Simon sitting on the couch, and see the two glasses on the table.

"Oh! I almost forgot! I gotta show you what I got today." You leave him again on the couch for the kitchen.

Simon laughs to himself, loving how you could never stay still. You were always bouncing from one place to another, eager to show him everything you wanted in the shortest amount of time as if he would run away if you took too long. But Simon would never leave you, not even if you took days.

"So I went out today to find us a nice lil' drink for tonight, and I thought we could try this. I've never had it before, and hopefully you'll like it. I know you like Bourbon but..." You hold the bottle of Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey out and Simon smiles at how cute you are, presenting him the bottle like it's your most prized possession.

You sit next to him on the couch and go to open the bottle. You struggle a bit and Simon gently and slowly takes it from your hands, silently asking you to let him do it. You've done so much for him already.

"It's a classic. I'm sure I'll enjoy it. Thank you y/n." He says as he pours the honey colored liquid into the glasses.

You both clank your glasses together as a little "cheers" and take a sip.

"Mm. Damn that's better than I thought." You say, licking your lips and looking at Simon to get his opinion.

"Not bad. Who'd've thought I'd enjoy Whiskey." He smirks at you, and you giggle, relieved he enjoys it.

"I picked it out because it reminded me of the color of your eyes. It's an exact match." You state matter-of-factly, taking another sip.

Simon perks up a bit and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, shocked that you even noticed the color of his eyes.

"R-really? You think so?" He asks taken aback by your statement.

"Yeah. They're both a deep, rich, honey color. That's actually why I call you honey sometimes. It's my favorite nickname for you."

You may have only taken two sips of the whiskey, but you spoke so truthfully and bluntly it seemed like you'd had 20.

"They're just brown." He mumbles, trying to hide his blush by taking a sip from the glass, hoping you'll think it's from the alcohol.

"No." You say, reaching your hand under his chin to tilt his face back up towards you, letting the fairy lights light up his eyes so you can get a better look. "They're definitely honey colored... honey." You tease him, and try to repress a smirk that creeps it's way onto your face anyway.

Simon's eyes widen and his lips separate slightly as his breath hitches at your assertiveness and touch.

Then, as you two stay in that position for a moment, you hear the intro to the third song on the record, which happens to be titled "Tennessee Whiskey", and is your favorite song on the album.

You gasp and look at the record player.

"Oh this one's my favorite! C'mon dance with me." You exclaim, setting your drink down and pulling him up with you, making him place drink down as well to not spill it.

"Hey! We're drinking Tennessee Whiskey just like the song says!" You giggle, giddy at the coincidence as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

"I- I don't know how to dance." Simon says, standing still with his arms at his side while you sway with your arms around his shoulders.

"Neither do I." You comfort him. "Just sway, like this." You pick up his hands and place them on your waist, and he lets you. You two sway to the music playing while you hum along, and Simon's hands drop lower to rest on your hips.

You smile at him. "See, not too bad is it?" You tease.

Simon smiles back down at you, following your rhythm, hands still firmly resting on your hips, not daring to move any lower. The warm light of the fire and fairy lights illuminate Simon's eyes and emphasize the dip of his cheekbones and shading of the curve of his nose, and you smile to yourself at the confirmation that Simon's eyes, were in fact, the exact color of honey and Tennessee Whiskey.

Simon looks down at you, admiring the curve of your smile and how it crinkles your eyes, and how cute your soft humming of the melody is. You just felt so right in his hands.

Then, after a few moments of syncing your sways with each other, Simon grabs your hand and twirls you around, making you giggle.

But as you twirl around, you notice a cowboy hat hanging on a coat hanger by the door. It was an old one you really only had for decoration, but you thought Simon would look cute in it.

You grab Simon's hands off your hips and you smile at him, stepping away towards the door.

"Where you going? He asks softly, slight panic on his face as if he'd done something wrong.

You giggle again, and pick up the cowboy hat hanging by the door and hold it up, letting him see.

You walk towards him with it, and when you get close enough, right below his chin, you place it on his head with a chuckle.

"Oh god." Simon laughs, dipping his head down and his confused and worried look turned into one of humor.

"What? You look cute." You say smiling up at him as you place your hands back around his shoulders.

Simon brings his hands back to your hips, pulling you a little closer.

"Well, I think it would look cuter on you." He says, and picks the hat up off his head and places it on yours.

You gasp, looking up at him with wide eyes, then you pressed your lips together to hide a smile.

"I was right, you look cuter in it than I do.... What's that look for?" He asks.

You press your chest up against his as you lean your mouth up to his ear, both of your swaying never stopping.

"You know what the cowboy hat rule is?" You whisper to him with a smirk.

"No?" He asks confused, eyebrows furrowing as he waits for you to explain.

"You see." You giggle. "You wear a cowboy's hat, you gotta ride the cowboy." You say softly in his ear, biting your lip to suppress the smile that won't seem to go away. "And you, sugar bear, just placed yours right on my head."

You and Simon both stop swaying and look at each other. You look up at him and he looks down at you, his cheeks flushing pink and his hands never leaving your hips.

He looks down at you with wide eyes, then down to your lips, and you do the same.

Then he's pressing his lips onto yours. His hands squeeze your hips and you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders.

You both kiss each other in the light of the fire right in the middle of your living room. It all felt so perfect.

You then take your hands and place them on the sides of his face as you both pull away for air. You lightly rub your thumbs over his blushing cheeks and he doesn't move. You stare at each other in disbelief of what just happened, but then this time, you both go back in for another kiss.

It's even more heated this time as you walk Simon back towards the couch, his tongue making its way into your mouth.

The kiss is messy and slow, filled with lust and all that pent up pining finally being released.

You take off the cowboy hat and place it next to the both of you on the couch, breaking the kiss only to gently push Simon's chest to sit. You straddle his waist and place your hands on his chest, moving in to kiss him again, just as messy and slow as before. He runs his hands up and down from your waist to your hips, then he stays there, gripping them tight as you softly grind down on him.

"Fuck." Simon whispers breathlessly. He's only ever dreamed of this moment for so long.

You run your hands up his chest to cup his face again.

"Such a pretty boy." You coo at him, then kiss him again.

Simon whines into your mouth at the praise, letting himself fall apart in your hands.

"Please." Simon whimpers.

"Please what honey?"

"Please... been waiting for this for so long. Please... ride me."

You smile against his lips, your hands still holding his face.

"Well, we wouldn't want to break the cowboy hat rule now would we?" You tease him as one hand slowly drags down from his face, all the way down to his belt.

You undo Simon's belt with one hand and reach it in his jeans to stroke him, earning a whimper from him as he bucks his hips up into your hand.

"Yeah, like that baby? How's that feel?" You coo in his ear as you nuzzle your face into his neck.

"Fuck mama, please, keep doing that." Simon drops his head back against the couch as you continue to tease him in his jeans.

You pull your face away from his neck to look at him, realizing what he called you.

"Mama?" You ask him with a smirk on your face, slowing your hand a bit.

Simon realizes what he said and his eyes widen in embarrassment as he lifts his head back up to look at you.

"Oh- fuck- sorry. It just slipped out-"

"Say it again." You demand placing your forehead on his, the hand around his leaking cock jerking him off faster, causing his precum to leak through his boxers.

Simon moans and his mouth drops open.

"Fuck- just like that mama, please." He whines.

"Aw good boy." You praise him, making his cock throb in your hand.

"Need you." He whispers, squeezing your hips again and you smile at him.

You take your hand out of his pants and move both of them to the hem of your sundress. You slowly pull your dress over your head, making a show out of it for him.

You sit straddling him, now in just a pair of cute powder blue panties, and you threw your dress to the side.

"Fuck love, you're perfect." Simon says breathlessly, moving his hands to grab at your tits.

He rubs a thumb over your nipple and you moan in response, lightly wrapping your hands around his wrists. You then bring one of his hands up to your mouth and suck on his thumb, which makes his hips buck up into you again.

You giggle at his sensitivity and eagerness and reach for the hem of his shirt, which he then quickly pulls off, revealing his broad, scarred chest.

You take a second to admire him with a soft smile on your face, then your hands move to the waistband of his open pants.

"Hips up baby." You say, and he obliges, allowing you to pull down his boxers and jeans until they fall around his ankles, which he then kicks off to the side with your dress.

"Can I take these off? Please?" He asks you with the cutest puppy eyes as he toys with the waistband of your panties.

"Well, since you asked so nicely sugar." You say, and he wastes no time tearing them off of your thighs.

"Need to feel you." Simon whines, pulling you by the hips to try and get you to grind against his painfully hard cock.

You lift your hips up to hover over his leaking cock as you place one hand under his chin and the other on his chest.

"And how do we ask baby?" You ask, titling your head to the side.

"Please mommy. Fuck me." He begs, close to tears from frustration and pure lust.

You then place both hands back against his chest and sink down onto him, making his head lull back as he chokes out a moan and grips your hips impossibly harder. You swear there will be bruises in the shape of his fingers there tomorrow, but you don't mind at all.

You move slowly, up and down, and back and forth, making Simon a panting mess underneath you.

"Been wanting this since the first time I saw you." Simon admits as you pick up your pace, "seeing you all pretty and smiley all the time. God fuck you're so tight. Squeezing me so good."

You moan as his thick cock stretches you out, hitting just the right spot inside you.

"Fuck baby- mm-" You moan and place your forehead against his again. "So pretty for me, letting me ride you. Sitting there and takin' it like a good boy. Been waiting for this too. Always eatin' everything I cook up for you with such a pretty lil' smile."

Your praise makes Simon's hips twitch, and he's fucking up into you now, meeting you halfway as you drop your hips up and down. He picks up the pace and now you have to catch up.

"Call me that again. Call me your good boy. Call me honey. Love when you're so nice to me." Simon babbles, his voice trembling as if he's about to cry, still bouncing you on his cock.

"Aww sweetheart I could never be mean to you. Ah- fuck- Such a good boy deserves to be treated like the sweetest pie hm? Deserves to get eaten up and fucked nice and good till he's dumb." You say, bringing a hand up to squeeze his cheeks.

Simon whimpers at your words and furrows his brows. No one has ever been so sweet to him, let alone fuck him so good.

"You gonna cum for me honey?" You coo at him, his lower tummy rubbing against your clit as you ride him, making your orgasm approach as well.

He nods with his face still held in your hands, cheeks all squished and flushed pink, his whiskey-colored eyes teary with pleasure.

His hips smack up into you from beneath, bouncing you on him. You let him fuck up into you but keep control while you continue to ride him as he does so, and it feels so good.

"Come on do it. Cum for me sugar." You say, both of your hips stuttering and your paces get sloppier. You're both panting messes as you bask in each other.

"Fuck mama, gonna cum. Oh fuck gonna cum mommy. Let me cum inside, please." He leans forward and nuzzles his face into your neck while pawing at your hips.

"Do it baby." You say, feeling yourself start to flutter around him as you feel that familiar warmth start to brew low in your belly.

And with that, you feel Simon cum inside you with a sob. You feel his thick, warm cum fill you up and you cum at the same time. You throw your head back as you pulsate around him, squeezing and releasing him with your walls as you feel yourself gush, warm tingles running through your body.

You both come down from your orgasms panting and moaning, one of your hands tangled in Simon's hair, keeping his face nuzzled into your neck.

He thrusts shallowly a few more times and then leans back to look at you, his cock still inside you.

His cheeks are still flushed the prettiest pink and you reach your hand out to his face to wipe away stray tears of pleasure that escaped their way out of his eyes.

He couldn't help but let his emotions take over him. How could he contain himself when everything he's ever needed and wanted was given to him all in the same night?

He places his forehead against yours once again wrapping his arms around your waist while you wrap yours around his shoulders.

As you both catch your breath, you both let out breathy laughs in realization of what just happened.

"Stay the night." You whisper to him.

"Love, I'd stay forever if you asked."

Taglist: @pussypinkbarbie @thatonepupkai @confuseddipshit

#call of duty #cod #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod x reader #ghost x reader #mommy kink simon riley #mommy kink simon #mommy kink simon riley x reader #mommy kink simon x reader #sweet as pie

[callsign-rogueone]

a brief history of Navarre - x.r.

Xaden Riorson x marked!partner!reader (gn) Midterm week at Basgiath has you wanting to pull an all-nighter to study, but Xaden won’t let you. requested as part of my Valentine’s day celly 💕 (gonna be posting these well into March, oops) words: 745 🏷: no book spoilers and no triggers, just X taking care of his partner. established relationship between reader and Xaden. the reader wears one of Xaden’s shirts, but there is no description of how it fits on them (we bigger / taller girls are tired of reading that [character]’s clothes are soo oversized and long on us!) shoutout to the people who put a full timeline of the continent’s history online bc I was too lazy to find it all in my copy lol

“I’m calling it a night,” Xaden announces, closing his textbook. “Gonna go shower.”

You hum in acknowledgement, pen between your teeth as you read the same page for the fifth time tonight, still trying to cram six hundred years of history into your brain. You’ve been sitting on his floor for hours, and the lines of text are starting to blur together, words starting to look misspelled and foreign, losing their meaning with repetition.

You spent too much time reviewing the first fifty decades. You still have nearly another hundred years to cover, from 530 to present. 

It has not escaped your notice that the book reduces the Tyrrish revolution to an afterthought, at the end of the text. The belittling words they’d chosen to describe your parents’ valiant effort had nearly been enough for Xaden to light the entire volume on fire, but he’d settled for ripping that page out of his copy and letting Sgaeyl torch it.

You’d left it in yours as a reminder that these people are not on your side, nor will they ever be. 

The running water stops, Xaden stepping back into the room a moment later. “You’re still studying?” He asks, rubbing at his hair with a towel. “You must be really into that book if you aren’t checking me out right now. I’m literally dripping.” 

He’s a little offended that you don’t even look up as you answer. 

“This is important, Xay. It’s a third of our final grade.”

He dries his hands on his pants, taking the book from your hands easily -- your grip on it has loosened with your exhaustion.

You protest, but he shushes you. “Why did Poromiel not unite with Navarre after the great war?”

It takes you a moment to respond, pushing through the sleepy fog to find the answer. “Religious differences”, you reply tiredly. “And their king did not want to share his throne with Navarre’s.”

“Good. When was the second Cygni Incursion?”

“328.”

“And the second Krovlan uprising?”

“434.”

He shuts the book, gathering your notes into a neat stack. “You know this stuff, darling. You’re going to pass this exam with flying colors and set the curve for the whole class, but only if you get some sleep.”

Materials now confiscated, you have nowhere to look except up at him, and your resolve immediately starts to crumble.

He’s ready for bed, dressed only in a pair of black sweatpants that drape across his hips and cover the muscle of his legs, but every other inch of skin is exposed; the relic swirling up his muscled arm, the definition of his chest and stomach, the broad expanse of his shoulders…

You’re too tired to jump his bones right now, but it would be nice to stop, to cuddle up with him, to fall asleep in his arms. Your schedules are packed with classes, studying, training, his wingleader duties, and your responsibility for the younger marked ones. It’s been nearly a week since you’ve been able to hold him for more than five minutes. His skin is always so warm against yours, and his mattress is certainly more comfortable than the hardwood floor… 

You hesitate, still eyeing the book in his hands. “I don’t know…”

“Yes, you do. C’mere.”

You sigh, letting him pull you up from the floor. Your muscles sing in relief as you stand, your back aching from being hunched over for hours. You relax into him, resting your eyes for a minute.

“Go brush your teeth,” he encourages.

You don’t want to move from his arms, but three years of dating the boy has taught you that he won’t yield on matters of your health. You sigh, heading to the bathroom.

When you get back, he’s packing everything into your bag for tomorrow — or today, rather. You’d started studying after dinner, and now it’s well after midnight. 

He helps you out of the day-old clothes and into one of his shirts and a clean pair of underwear -- you keep a few days of necessities here for moments like these. 

You curl into his side, pulling the blankets overtop of you, and the swirling thoughts are replaced with the easy contentment that comes with being held by your partner.

“You’re going to do great,” he whispers, smoothing a hand over your back. “Just get some rest, okay?”

You don’t respond, already lulled to sleep by the steadiness of his heartbeat and the warmth of his arms around you.

#xaden riorson #xaden riorson x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #reader insert #fourth wing x reader #mine

[jo-harrington]

You don't have time for Christmas.

Work and home and this friend in a crisis.

Work and home and, let's be honest, probably work again.

And before you know it, it's December 20th and you don't even have any decorations up. Barely anyone does. The neighborhoods that are usually lit up with lights and figurines enough to rival the Griswolds are noticably dark this year.

What holiday? What festivity? It's wake up and hustle and lay in bed in a dreamless sleep. Then wake up to do it all again.

You are a cog in a machine.

You don't know how to voice these things, your displeasure, the secret yearning for the pomp and circumstance and childhood whimsy for the holiday season that's tucked somewhere deep inside your weary body. You can't bring yourself to indulge in it.

You're tired.

You glance down the card aisle at the grocery store but don't stop to grab any for friends. You pick up a bag of peanut butter bells for your candy jar at work but then second guess it at the checkout. Gifts are bought with as much care as you could, but you can't even bother to wrap them as prettily as you usually would.

You can try again for Valentine's. Chocolate hearts with the crispy rice inside and roses for your coworkers. Something.

But this year, you don't have time for Christmas.

And he notices.

It starts with cookies.

He likes to bake--started with boxed cake mix and then you bought him a handheld torch one year so he could try his hand at creme brûlée after he watched a little too much Jacques Pepin on PBS--so it's not anything suspicious. No ulterior motives detected.

Only he's dug up the little handwritten notebook full of your grandma's favorite recipes. Grandpa's handwriting because he wrote it while she dictated. Cookies he's never tasted before himself but seemed to have nailed exactly the way she made them. The love he poured into the treats matched hers exactly.

He brings you a plate and a cup of cocoa when you come home and collapse on the couch.

You cry when you eat them. And he lets you.

Then he digs out the tree from the garage.

The one-car garage that you pay extra for doesn't fit either of your vehicles but fits all your crap. You both vow to clean up at some point and never do. He slogs through the boxes of old band tees that don't fit him and kitchen crap that you don't miss or really need, to get to the plastic 6 ft tree that used to have stickers to note which bough went in what slot but those are long gone.

He spends hours figuring it out and decorating it, and imagine your surprise when you come home to an otherwise-dark apartment illuminated by the fat, colorful incandescent bulbs that you're sure he spent a significant amount of time untangling. You'd both given up last year and went without lights. But there they are.

"What?" you drop your bag by the door. "What is this?"

"I dunno," he grins proudly. "Thought it would be nice. Get in the Christmas spirit. Saved the star for you to put on top if you want."

And you did. You wanted it so bad. Ever since you were a kid, you were the one to put the star on top of the tree.

After it's up, you marvel at the special care he's taken with the important ornaments. Fragile little wooden ones from your grandma, popsicle stick frames with baby pictures of both of you, a macaroni snowman that he gave his mom once-upon-a-time that his uncle had stashed away, and then a fancy hallmark one you got the year you moved in together.

They all have special places on the tree and tell a story of your lives, separate and then together.

You both lay under the tree that night, staring up at the glittering lights as you hold hands.

Finally it's Christmas Eve. Which to him really meant nothing, but to you meant the world. Christmas Days were spent with individual families but Christmas Eves of old meant a big dinner and time spent with your cousins and It's a Wonderful Life on the TV.

It's a tradition that got put to the wayside as everyone got too old and too tired. As you started getting scheduled to work, like this year. And it's almost worse this year, as you've done a stretch of you-can't-remember-how-many days, that you even turned down an invitation for the two of you from your mom for a small dinner with her.

You're exhausted by the time you get home and, more than anything, you're looking forward to the day off tomorrow.

Not the holiday. The day off.

Still, you remember to bring in the handful of gifts from their hiding place in your trunk. You don't really do gifts between the two of you anymore. Nothing big at least. Just a cheesy little thing. Something fun, not something serious. But you did a little more this year than you usually would--all of the OT you'd clocked for one, and too many things you saw that you knew would make him smile for another.

You try to tip toe into the house as quietly as possible so you can throw the boxes under the tree and shower but he's vigilant. He's been at the stove cooking for a while, and he greets you at the door as you shut it behind you.

"I thought we said no big gifts," he admonishes you and snatches the boxes from your hands. The wrapping paper isn't festive--just brown craft paper you stole borrowed from work since you wrapped on your lunch--but you managed to slap on some red and green bows from the drugstore that you grabbed the other day.

"They're not big," you explained. "I promise."

"Well neither are mine," he winked.

You slap a hand against his chest and then give him a kiss in greeting and thanks.

"One better be the RC racer I wanted when I was nine," he mutters against your lips.

"Hmmm, you're just gonna have to wait," you tell him. "And no shaking the boxes.

You're almost a little ticked off'; one of them is the RC racer.

You kick off your shoes as the smell finally hits you.

Dinner.

Thick and savory and fragrant.

Some kind of fish and roasted potatoes and the starchiness of a pasta and the tang of its sauce.

Recipes, again, taken from your grandma's little notebook. They stir something deep inside of you. That yearning you never voiced.

The weariness that's been slowly building within you finally comes to a head when you make it to the kitchen and see the pots and pans and two plates already portioned out.

An ice cold beer for him, and a Shirley temple, extra cherries, for you.

"Remember when you told me," he comes up behind you and his arms snake around your midsection, "that you and your cousins would sneak extra maraschino cherries from the fridge when your gram wasn't looking. And then she went to go get them for the pistachio salad and they were gone."

Your knees shake and you practically collapse against him.

"Speaking of which, there is a pistachio salad in the fridge for dessert."

"Why?" you sniff.

"Because that's actually my favorite, so sorry to your grandma's tiramisu." He pecks a kiss to the side of your head and rocks you back and forth. "But if you want to make that for New Year's Eve, I won't say no."

"No," you let out a watery laugh. "Why are you so good to me, why did you do all of this?"

"Because I know it's been a hard few weeks. Few months." You can feel him shrug. "Fuck, it's been hard for me too but...I know this is one of your favorite parts of the year and you just...haven't been in the spirit for it. So whatever I could do to make it happen for you..."

You turn in his arms and bury your face in his shoulder, in his neck, so he doesn't see your tears. Again. Worse this time as you begin to shake from your sobs. He shushes you, runs a hand over your back, and leaves kiss after kiss against your head.

"Baby, I'll do anything for you," he tells you, voice thick with emotion. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy," you whine against his skin. "I'm so...so happy."

"Good."

"Thank you," you repeat it over and over again until it feels like you're empty of all the void and indifference that have filled you for the past few months are gone. In their place just...love and gratitude for him.

"Merry Christmas baby. I love you."

"I love you too, Merry Christmas."

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson fic #it honestly could be anyone but it's him #christmas fic #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fic

[ccarrot]

what made you fall for chuuya?

LOADED QUESTION

let's go through this step by step

1.) his design. there's so much to talk about there!

One thing I really appreciate about harukawa's costume designs is that despite the series taking place in 2010ish, the main cast's outfits have a very old fashioned vibe. like they're from the mid-20th century. very fitting considering that the bsd world is just recovering from a World War event. So we always get a really interesting mix of different time periods when it comes to the fashion in the series.

So i like the classy, timeless aesthetic of the design as i do with most of the characters but i also appreciate how ... punk it its? Like the gloves, the belts, the tie with the buckle, the hat, the FREAKING CHOKER. let's remember that chuuya was a teenager during the 2000s and then look at the edgier elements of his fancy executive outfit

so many layers! so many accessories!!!!!! there's so much happening here but it doesn't look like too much. But the hat especially, it's a really fun call back to the namesake poet but it's such a good identifiable part, instantly makes his silhouette interesting. The big cape/coat too, and to a lesser extent the gloves and cuffed sleeves are really cool features for his silhouette. shame they got rid of the belt and hat chain for the anime. i'm also a weirdo who finds drawing the hat fun

Overall I like his color palette. i'm a bigbigbig fan of warm tones and red/orange color schemes, and chuuya's is that but darker and muted. very nice to look at. I like his hair especially, I like that its long but not really long like when harukawa draws it. I like that he has a weird haircut. I spent a lot of time staring at it to figure out the mechanics of it but settled on 'it looks nice!' I like the color harukawa uses for it the most, a really dull red, bordering on light brown. it's so nice.

2.) his personality!

He acts so cocky, and overconfident. It's fun that he's so expressive. you'd think that a person in his occupation should maintain stoicism (which he can! he's so good at deception if 15, sb and meursault have shown us anything) but i think it's so interesting that he chooses to be more emotive with his expressions.

I think it's interesting that he chooses to be honest and try to play fair against his opponents even though it would be easier to just decimate them without talking things out, (even though that has seriously put him at a disadvantage. i'm thinking about how much easier it would have been for him if he just bust down the hospital and had his squad rush the ada in cannibalism instead of giving them a chance to negotiate). it's cool how he uses earnestness to trick people into thinking they've got an upper hand over him, like in 15-stormbringer. (on that topic though it is rough that he got matched up against ranpo in cannibalism LMAO)

I like how childish and snarky he gets with Dazai. i like how he tries to put on a totally cool put together energy infront of his colleagues (and kenji who's a fan). i like how he looks so done and ever suffering when he's with mori. i like how when he tries trying to put on a neutral face hoshikawa and harukawa draw him looking a little tired and melancholy. just a little extra on the eyebags

Stormbringer chuuya's probably the most compelling to me. If there's one thing that you have to understand about chuuya's character, it's that he's at his core a deeply sad person. <-His ability is called "for the tainted sorrow" after all (delightfully edgy name too btw. it's so dramatic.)

I think a lot of misconceptions about his character come from the fact that despite seeming to be relatively straightforward outwards, he's full of contradictions. If he's happy he'll play it off as aloofness, fear he'll turn to anger, when he's really angry he'll choose not to act on it, and he'll push down his sorrow and grief and make it seem like he's fine and everything is fine. Stormbringer was like an insane crash course in compartmentalization and chuuya went from being consumed by his hopelessness to 'ah guess it doesn't matter.' like damn bro, you actually doing good or are you just saying it?

bonus but i think it's really under talked about how easily he puts on masks. especially cheerful ones because he's got that too. the parallels between him and dazai are insane...

i think about the arcade confrontation scene in the fifteen manga and the tunnel fight too much.

Anyways here's some more chuuya expressions from the mangas because he's got so many good ones and ilovehim

2.5) fun entrances and his not-quite-villainy

I know asagiri has totally abandoned the idea of the Port Mafia being actual villains, but as an antagonist, Chuuya is,,,,,,,, he qualifies because he's in the Port Mafia, i think.

Every time he shows up, he's usually only there to help the ada in a terribly roundabout way (usually on mori's orders). The only time he was genuinely a threat to our heroes was cannibalism . . but he seriously dropped the ball there lmao XD Even though he's a criminal and enjoys a good fight it's nice how killing people and overpowering his enemies isn't really his first option, even though that'd be so easy for him. this one exchange of him and mori is so funny for that reason too, chuuya is so alarmed

another thing i really really find fascinating is how during the Guild Arc, Atsushi got the idea of teaming up with the Port Mafia because he saw Chuuya and Black Lizard defending the streets of Yokohama. It's like Asagiri was literally waving to us and saying hey hey hey they aren't the bad guys and you should want them to succeed.

i hope chuuya and atsushi can meet. they're my favorites.

Overall i think despite him having a limited pagetime, I think it's all used very very effectively (except in cannibalism. but that's a different story). A lot of his actions ultimately aid the heroes more than anything, which is cool for a character who's apparently a key member of the enemy org.

anyways.

3.) his BACKSTORY. strap in.

context time!!!!! when i was first reading bsd (reading bc I started with the manga) i was still mainly hyperfixated on Evangelion and this is very very very relevant.

Neon Genesis Evangelion IF YOU DON'T KNOW (why are you following me if you didn't actually) is a psychological horror disguised as a scifi-mecha anime. It focuses a lot about grief and depression and messed up interpersonal relationships. but it's story is about child soldiers, government exploitation, war trauma, human experimentation etc and the likes. And so to put it REALLY SIMPLY, Chuuya's reminds me of Asuka and Rei and that's one reason why i really hooked onto him. I've joked that he could be a strayed Eva pilot but i am being genuine.

So now that THAT's out of the way. Fifteen & Stormbringer are a very very well crafted side story/prequels that gives a lot of insight to the BSD universe and really narrows in on some of the horror of this world. And I think Asagiri did a very good job with integrating this overarching lore with Chuuya's story arc, and also pacing out these releases. So.. lemme give you a play by play on how I got through this

Chuuya I think was set up from the very start to have a lot of mystery surrounding him. When we first meet him he's a cocky little shit but you're also wondering, "He's dazai's ex-partner? what did that entail? what did they go through?" And then the Lovecraft fight happens and now you're thinking "what the FUCK is corruption and WHY the fuck is corruption?" So you're casually making your way through Bungo Stray Dogs not really seeing much of him until you realize that the light novels exist so time for Fifteen!

And honestly the twist in Fifteen really DID get me too because at that point I started reading Chuuya kinda like. kinda like Naruto, lmao. The "I am Arahabaki" moment was wonderful. But there's something actually horrifying about that scene as well, the way his entire face becomes blacked out when he confesses that he's the one they've been running around looking for for the entire book. the way he completely rejects his own humanity, the way he fights with his hands in his pockets because it puts him at a disadvantage? the way he really does think he's nothing but his powers and the singularity inside him.

^^ something that's really really interesting is that despite being so strong, chuuya sorta sabotages himself a LOT. I do think some of that is intentional but hmmm different story but the abridged version is that even though he feels like he needs to have control over himself, I think he does want others to take that control away from him. And also Chuuya's loyalty , which is his key trait, is really rooted in who takes care of him. So he lets the Sheep take advantage of him, because they took him in, and he chooses the Port Mafia bc they gave him stability and defended him. He 'forgives' Verlaine because Verlaine wanted to do what he thought was best for him. He trust's Dazai with his life because Dazai validated his humanity. ,,

okay so anyways. nothing can begin to explain the sheer brain rot i got over Storm Bringer. Genuinely the most insane thing i've ever read in my life. Especially the lab parts with N, fundamentally altered my brain chemistry. I literally cannot think about chuuya without thinking about it. It's like, psychological horror story and a buddy cop story and a tragedy and a coming of age and the most sci-fi that bsd has ever gotten and it's so much. it's so so so much. wat?

Fifteen-Stormbringer is what REALLY got me hooked on Chuuya's character. Like he was intriguing for me until this, and I'm a weirdo who doesn't always latch onto characters based on vibes alone so i needed A Reason to like him as much as i do and i found it soooooo

4. conclusion! but not really i'm GOING to keep rambling about him in other posts lmao ;D

Chuuya might be a side character but he has SUCH a presence. I have a huge soft spot for protagonist type of characters, i'm a little basic like that but most of my favorites from a lot of fandoms are usually the main characters. And Chuuya might not be the protagonist but he is definitely the hero of another story in a way...

I think i kin him a little bit. maybe a little i can't really tell. Not self aware enough for that 🤔 you tell me.

Asagiri and Harukawa really hit the jackpot with him though

#this is an appreciation post and meta analysis fusion monstrosity #anyways I love lovelovelovleoleobloelboeooeooeoe LOVE CHUUYA NAKAHARA BUNGO STRAY DOGS #ask #bsd #yeah i took this anon as an excuse to ramble about chuuya #bite me or whatever.

[radiant-reid]

The Right Person

request:

things spencer would say to his ex who’s his ex but not really his ex bc their hearts always belong to the other but is actually his ex bc they called it quits but just bc it’s over doesn’t mean it’s really over cuz he’s just: last slide

Summary: Right person, wrong time... at least until there's a part two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (angst, sort of)

Content Warning: a tiny spicy moment

Word Count: 3.3k

Masterlist | Navigation

Spencer has always jumped into things too quickly. It's the cocktail of being a romantic, coming from a broken home, failing with most social relationships, and the desperate need for a family.

So when Y/n came along, all smiles and beauty, he moved too fast. Fell is probably a more accurate verb. He fell in love so quickly without any logic that he couldn't help proposing a year in and marrying her six months later.

She offered him support and unconditional love. And for the first time in a tough five years in the FBI, he felt like the world wasn't completely terrible.

The whirlwind relationship would have been much better if taken slowly. It might have even worked out. With their fast pace, neither of them could keep up and after four years, trying to make it work wasn't worth it. The therapy, fights, and long periods without speaking wasted time and drained them both emotionally.

It was like fire. Hot and heavy or warm and comforting, but they were destined for a burn.

Sure, they loved each other more than anything, and they would forever argue that they're soulmates and the timing was at fault.

When Beatrice was nine months old, it was clear things wouldn't, so for her sake, Spencer moved out, the fighting stopped, and they could be friends.

For three months, they've been doing well with their co-parenting routine. Since Spencer had spent so much time away during their marriage, Y/n didn't have to get over the feeling of loss.

Maybe some of that could be accounted for by the fact it still felt like they were dating, the magnetism between them still volatile.

It's Saturday when Y/n's baking in the kitchen. She's yet to enquire about selling it, probably because they're yet to properly get divorced. Somehow, it doesn't feel weird for her to live in their marital home. She ignores how little it feels like they're broken up, especially when she's eagerly anticipating him coming home back from a case. He's not even coming to see her, but she's changed out of her pajamas and put makeup on.

"Guess who?" A voice says while the matching fingers block her vision.

If she didn't know that voice like the back of her hand, she would have freaked out. "You're so close to losing your key, Spencer Walter Reid."

He pulls his hands away, resting his back against the bench with his body facing her. "Boring answer. I would have accepted sexy ex or the smartest man alive." He says, smiling his perfect wide smile.

He looks good, a golden glow still surrounding him, and his shirt fits him tightly around his muscles. She's allowed to say that as his eventual ex-wife, right? It's more of a compliment to herself for attracting attractive, intelligent men. That's how she justifies it anyway.

"Who's been inflating your ego, loser?" She teases.

Repartee of their level is something no one else could ever offer him, and he cringes when other people try. "Jealous?" He asks.

Yes, she is. She'd love to shower him with compliments. Tell him about how nice his hair looks a little bit longer, how he should wear more light blue because it really is his color, how good he smells, and some less innocent things as well. The jealousy boils in her at the thought of someone else doing that. Still, she resists.

"That someone else has to vacate the bathroom for hours each day so you can do your hair? No." She lies. It's a lie on all levels.

Unimportantly, he doesn't spend that long in the bathroom, and he's about the furthest thing from a narcissist there is, but deeply, she would jump at the opportunity to be locked out of the bathroom while he spends far too long in the shower and be greeted with the gorgeous sight of a towel wrapped around his hips and his chest showing.

"Okay." He lets it go, and it annoys her that he won't believe the time. "Can I have some cookie dough?"

"Say please." She directs.

He pouts too much like Beatrice. "Please." He complies before opening her mouth.

She frowns, unsure if he seriously wants her to hand-feed him cookie dough. The answer is yes because he doesn't shut his mouth and tell her it's a joke. She scoops some up, putting her fingers into his mouth. He doesn't let them sneak out without wrapping his lips. It's suggestive, and it doesn't disgust her.

"You'll get salmonella." She tells him when he finally lets her fingers out of his mouth. She tries not to blush like mad while she wipes her fingers on a kitchen towel.

"You'll have to look after me then," Spencer says, justifying it. "As the person who gave it to me."

She shakes her head. "Gross."

"Why are you baking on a Saturday?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at her. He's suspicious whenever things change in her behavior, more so than anyone else's.

"I'm anticipating being busy tomorrow." She answers ambiguously.

It was on purpose, but the goal wasn't to make him curious and ask more questions. She just wasn't jumping at the opportunity to hear his opinion on her love life.

Unfortunately, his curiosity peaked when she started speaking. "Why?" She mumbles out an answer that he doesn't catch. "Come on, don't be shy."

"I'm going on a date." She says finally, avoiding looking at him.

That knocks him off guard, the smile slipping from his face as he steps back. Quickly, he forces himself to say something recoverable to hide the hurt and shock he's feeling at the unexpected news. "Does he know you're married?"

He knows he has no right to be upset about it. Not only are they not exclusive, but they're, in no way, romantically involved. It's why there's no bite in his words, nothing vicious in his tone.

It hits him harder with every passing second. Her statement is something he never expected, and questioning why that is while standing in the middle of their kitchen with her in a beautiful new top, yeah, it's gut-wrenching.

She holds up her bare left hand, shed of a wedding ring. "He doesn't, no."

"What's his name?" Spencer asks next. There are a million questions on his mind, but he keeps the conversation casual.

"Bradley."

She feels guilty for it, unsure if it's cheating guilt or mom guilt, and she's forced to constantly remind herself that it's okay, she's allowed to say yes when she gets asked out and be swept away by someone else.

His next move, to her, seems predictable. Whenever he's looking for more information, he stays quiet, waiting for her to feel awkward enough to elaborate. Even though she used to read him like an open book, she can't see that he's processing, replaying their worst moments-the moments that led them here- in his head.

She keeps talking, annoyed that his old trick is working when really she's just breaking his heart more. "He's a defense attorney, but he accidentally took my coffee the other day."

Spencer resists the urge to scoff because 'accidentally.' He's seen Morgan use the move a hundred times: pretend to mix up the coffees, apologize, and seal the deal by asking if he can make it up to her. "Switching teams, I see." He interrupts, predominantly so that he doesn't have to hear anything else. "And a new top." He mentions. Again, a tactic to get her to stop talking. "What color is it? It would look really nice as a feature wallpaper."

He does that, too, only complimenting things adjacent to her. Talking about fucking interior design instead of just saying she looks nice pushes her buttons, and she knows where his are.

"Yeah, I was wearing a jacket in a similar color, so I'm hoping it's a subliminal message." She admits. "Plus he's tall and very attractive.”

Spencer wants to scream something along the lines of 'I'm 6'1, I have three PhDs, you've told me I'm handsome after you held my hair up while I puked after drinking far too much, and I'm so goddamn in love with you,' but he can barely admit the last fact to himself.

"So he's got brown curly hair and sparkling brown eyes?" Spencer teases her, and she rolls her eyes. That dumb eidetic memory would never let him forget the descriptors she'd given him, and his cocky attitude would never stop mentioning it. "It's not your fault you have a type. Scientifically-"

"Shh." She requests, pressing her finger to his lips.

Without thinking about it, like it was second nature, Spencer purses his lips and kisses her skin. After letting it linger for a moment, she takes it away and turns back to what she's doing.

Again, he draws her attention back to him, cupping the cheek furthest away from him and turning her face to look at him. Once she is, eyes locked on his, he holds her other cheek. He steps forward so that he's so close to her that her breath gets trapped in her throat.

Those fingers on her skin make her feel things she shouldn't be feeling, and her heart starts to thump in her chest when she sneaks a glance at those beautiful veins. Maybe her skin is hot or maybe his fingers are just cold but the contrast sends shivers all over her. It's hard not to think about all the times they've been inside her or how they look wrapped around his cock as he lines himself up with her sex.

"Y/n, if he lays a hand on you, I swear to god." He says threateningly, and it would worry her if she didn't know him so well and if it wasn't so hot.

"You don't believe in god." She calls him out, raising her eyebrows in challenge.

"I can find anyone, anywhere." She can't debate that. "And if he lays a hand on you, I'll kill him or put him in jail for the rest of his life. Your choice."

He's acting like he's doing her a favor, letting her decide how he'll hurt someone who hurts her. It's an odd declaration to be making, contradictory to every bit of his sweet nature, and she doesn't hate it.

"What if I ask- beg for it?" She questions him.

"Oh, I'm not worried about that." He's really not.

He would do immoral things that would make him lose his job and even go to jail if someone hurt her, but the deep feelings he's disgusting as an overprotective bravado against someone assaulting her is really just because he can't stand the thought of someone else being with her.

He's not worried about it sexually. She might be anticipating not being home for the night, but she's not the type to ask a first date to get rough with her. What's got him on edge is her being someone else's emotionally. They might be telling everyone they're not together, but if her heart belongs to someone else, there's no chance of him getting her back, and that's all he wants.

His lips are so close that she could kiss him, but the magnetism makes it challenging to resist. She yearns for the feeling of warm lips against hers, more specifically, the pretty pink ones she's peeking at.

They've had slips before. It's been three weeks since their last one. Every time, she swears she won't do it again, but she's ready to tear his clothes off and fuck him in the kitchen.

She's daring him to make that dangerous leap, and he's about to.

The cries of a woken-up one-year-old through the baby monitor snap them back into a harsh reality before their lips can touch. They both wonder if it's horrid that they forgot why he's there. Spencer lingers for a moment with her face in his hands before he breaks away from her painfully.

"I'll go." He says, leaving her standing there stunned with cheeks hot and a pounding heart.

She has a moment to recover, but it's not enough, and soon Spencer's back in the room with the sweetest baby in his arms. She's giggling, clinging to her dad, who she loves dearly. If Y/n didn't love Beatrice wholeheartedly, she'd be jealous she wasn't enough for Spencer to spend time with. But she can't be. Not when Bea has the greatest dad in the entire world, and she deserves every inch of his love.

"Kiss momma." Spencer directs, holding her up to Y/n's cheek.

She plants a kiss that's mostly saliva on her mom, and despite how messy it is, it makes Y/n grin. "How'd you sleep, baby?" She asks, knowing they'll be no reply. Her vocabulary is limited to three words: mom, dad, and love.

"Not so well last night," Spencer answers like it was intended for him.

He sits on a bar stool at the kitchen island, sitting Bea in his lap. "Spencer," Y/n warns, glaring at him.

"Your mom's mad at me." He stage-whispers to Bea. "I never know why."

"Should we start with lying to a child?" She wonders, but it's playful, not insulting. "Add in some pesky comments."

Spencer pouts, holding Bea up so she can see it and copy her father. "Oh, she loves them." He assures her. "And I love you. So much."

Y/n smiles in adoration. He might be difficult to be in love with, but he's the best dad ever. Spencer catches her staring, it's pretty obvious when the bowl of cookie dough sits abandoned on the counter.

"You look so similar." She says, trying to prevent the awkward since and slightly too romantic looks.

"Need another one to look like you?" He jokes, or maybe it's an offer. She can't really tell.

She scoffs, shaking her head. "I'm alright, thanks."

"But she's so perfect." He coos, her entire hand holding his pinky finger. "How could you not want another one?"

She chuckles at his baby fever. It is practically impossible to not want another child when theirs is so incredible, but they're only masochistic towards each other.

"Don't go getting random girls pregnant, Spencer." She jokingly advises him.

“I’m only ever going to get one girl pregnant.” He tells her.

He’s messy. In fact, they’re messy together, and he can’t keep his dick in his pants, but it’s not a problem he has with anyone else.

"That's possibly very nice." She says, frowning as she tries to figure him out.

"You're lucky." He rephrases.

She laughs, shaking her head. "You're lucky I don't kick you out now."

"Whoa, I get it." He teases. "It's someone's time to get lucky, hang a sock on the door and all that."

"I highly doubt you got any in college." She reminds him.

"Or now." He adds.

It should be weird. Who casually discusses sex with an ex?

"Yeah, I noticed one of your hands seems stronger than the other." She quips, although there's no discernable difference. They're both equally delicious.

"Mm, reminds me, I need more lotion." He mentions, playing along with the joke. "Vanilla, right?"

She fake-gags. "That's literally disgusting." She chides. "Do not go and get the same lotion I have to jack off."

He shrugs casually. "It's a free country."

"You're disturbing." She reiterates, reminding herself he said it to get her flustered.

"Don't flirt with me like that, or I might start thinking you like me." He warns, fluttering his eyelids at her.

She does feel like she's falling in love all over again with him when it's all flirting and comfortable.

"You'd be begging if I was flirting." She assures him, and it's true. Spencer begs like no one else.

"Alright, I think that's time to go." He decides, clicking his tongue and looking at Bea again. "Your mom's too into me for her own good."

That is hitting the nail on the head. She's into him and she always will be, but it's not wise, and it compromises her self-respect time and time again.

He gets up, bouncing Bea on his hip and walking around the bench. She leans forward to kiss her happy baby before playing with her soft hair. "Just admit you lost, Spencer." She tells him.

A little grin lights up his features as he refuses to comply with her directions. "I never lose." Oh, except for his one true chance at happiness and a family with the most remarkable woman in the world.

"Those beautiful big brains." She coos, moving her hand to his hair to part his curls properly.

"I'm sure yours are equally, if not more, beautiful." He says, once again making her stomach slip with the eye contact. "Smaller of course."

She scoffs out a laugh. "Bye." She says. "Her bag's in the hall."

"When do you want her back?" Spencer asks, holding the baby up so her cheeks can be kissed an obscene amount of time.

Their custody arrangement is nonexistent. With Spencer's hectic schedule and their good relationship, there's never been a need to make it official. Bea's always his priority when he's in the District, and that keeps Y/n happy.

Not fully happy. She'd like to see Bea, and her dad, every day, and she's too far from that with the latter Reid to ever be completely satisfied with her life. Months later, she's still convincing herself she can one day not look at him and wish for something unrealistic.

"Whenever." She says. They start walking towards the front door, slowly, both lingering and dragging it out. "If you need to go, you can bring her back."

"If you're in the middle of a date?" He wonders cheekily, grabbing Bea's bag from the floor.

She glares at him, not finished with her sentence. "Otherwise, I'll text you."

"Call." He insists. "We're not texting people."

"Fine." She agrees, swinging open the door. She takes Bea into her arms, giving her a tight hug. "Love you, sweet baby."

"Mom, love," Bea mumbles back, placing her hands on Y/n's cheeks.

Spencer gets the sinking feeling in his chest that he always gets leaving, but it's worse when he's taking Bea, who's Y/n's entire world. It makes him feel nauseating amounts of guilt. How can he be okay with putting her through the loneliness of a house that big being empty?

He smiles at her as he takes Bea back. "Thank you."

She not sure what for and she doesn't have a chance to ask before he's walking out the door, strapping Bea in her car seat. She waves at her mom, looking as happy as always.

Spencer stops before he gets in his seat. "Y/n?"

"Yeah?" She asks, straightening up her posture.

She's hoping he'll say what she wants to hear, although she doesn't know what that is. A Spencer fact would keep things simple, but saying something about how they can get back on track, that she shouldn't go out tonight, would ruin their carefully stacked house of cards.

"He's a lucky guy." He says, and it kills him to know that it used to be him taking her out, watching her grin from across the table, making her laugh until she's begging him to stop, driving home with his hand on her thigh, watching her take off her makeup and become more beautiful, and ending up cuddling in bed, their baby just a room over.

And he can't ever have that again, not with her, and he can't fathom it with someone else.

Y/n goes back inside once he's driven away, hoping for once, after he leaves, that she can not think about him.

It doesn't work. As always, she's stuck thinking about Spencer.

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[alien-magnolia]

Spoiled

Dom!codedJoel Miller x sub!coded fem reader

Fic description/ idea: Hyperfem!reader goes on a date with Joel, inviting him over for dinner, and a movie, on an early October evening. She’s a bit too feminine, childish, and very, very shy! That makes Joel want her even more <3

18+ mdni! protective Joel miller, hyperfeminine fem! innocent!reader, daddy!kink, breeding kink, corruption / innocence kink, bimbo/dumb!kink, praise/degradation! kink, bj, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all) lil bit of service kink too

Wc: 3.7k. If you like this post, pls help a writer out and reblog :)

Part two: spoiled

October 7, 2001. 6:55 PM

“Shit, shit… you thought to yourself. He was almost here. A sharp knock on the door. Seven o’clock sharp, like he said. You hastily make your last adjustments in the mirror. Your white acrylic nails brush down your light pink skirt, a white little tank with hearts on top. 

You dressed as if you were a child, and sometimes had no common sense. You loved stuffed animals and the color pink. Everyone has always told you that you were way too giddy, innocent. You wore bows in your hair sometimes. Nobody ever saw you without some sparkling jewelry — gold, usually. The man you were going on a date with? A contractor. 

 A construction worker, who spent all day in the dirt, working. Physical work — something that you were just not strong enough for. You scoff as you imagine your dainty hands doing such work. A bottle of Dior perfume, some heart shaped earrings, a necklace. White sneakers, a pink cardigan to match. 

Joel was your first date, well — ever.

Before him, you haven’t gone out with any man whatsoever. It’s been a few weeks since you first met him, and the two of you have been on a few dates outside so far. You loved walking down the street with him, his big strides besides your little ones, his large hand always on the small of your back, guiding you. You felt so nice, so safe.

You skip over to the door, worried that he might be mad at you for making him wait. You open it. His eyes quickly dart over to you. “Hey, sweetie. What took ya so long?,” he asks, his gaze making you a little weak in your knees. You lean against the doorway, just in case. “Umm…,” you start off.

“I'm just messin’ w ya. Can I?” You nod, and move aside so he can step in. Tonight, your date was just going to be at your home. You even ordered some dinner beforehand. Your nervousness makes your hands shake as you try to close the door behind you. He comes up behind, his hands over yours. “Let me help, yeah?” You nod, blushing a bit. His hands were just so much bigger than yours!

“Hey. I, um, made us dinner. Well, ordered some. I can set it up, just sit down anywhere,” you babble at him. He nods, sitting at the counter. You set up a few plates and some food in front of him, even folding a napkin for him before placing it in front of the plate. He chuckles to himself as he watches you frantically search for a glass. You set it down in front of him.

“Something to drink, Mr. Miller?,” you ask, glancing down at your shoes. You were just too nervous!! “Some beer would be nice,” he says with a half smile. He thought you were god damn adorable, unbeknownst to you, of course. You grab a beer from the fridge, your small hands twisting around the cap, trying to open it.

“Lemme have it. Thanks, sugar,” his brown eyes concentrate on opening the beer, something that came so easily to him, his biceps flexing as he opened it.

You try to get onto the tall stool that you had for your island. You loved how modern they looked, and they fit the elegance of your kitchen. Only thing — you were too short for it. You struggle a bit to lift yourself up onto the chair. “Let me,” he says as he gently helps you up, his calloused hands running over the plush of your hips for a bit. He smelled like Old Spice and sawdust. Actually, there was some on his hands, now on your skirt as well.

“Thank you, Mr. Miller. Or, um — I can call you Joel, right?,” you sheepishly ask him as he walks back to where he was sat before. “Of course, hon.’ Joel’s fine. That mister stuff is too formal anyways. We’ve been on a few dates anyway.” You giggle at his southern drawl, slow, like molasses. “Just bein’ honest,” he shrugs in defense as he sees you try and hide your laughter. “I’m just really having a good time,” you reassure him, and he smiles at you again. God — his smile just made you melt!

You clean the table and wash the dishes after him, as he sits manspread on the couch, head tilted, watching you. Unbeknownst to you, he loved it when a woman cared for him like you did. After you finish cleaning after him, (he did offer to help but you insisted —) he asked you to join him on the couch.

“C’mere, sweetheart. How about a movie, yeah?” You nod and scamper over to him. “Ya into horror? I brought some DVD’s. My daughter and I watch this stuff all the time. Figured you’d like it,” he explains, patiently waiting for you to respond. You were absolutely terrified of horror movies, yet you figured you wouldn’t want to disappoint him. You agree, and he shows you this DVD case with a glowing pumpkin and knife, titled “Halloween.” He explained to you that it was from the 1970’s, as he got the movie set up.

The opening credits began to roll, you snuggled a bit closer to him. He was a bit sweaty, but you did not mind, he was probably just exhausted from work. “Sorry if I smell, hun. We had a tough job today. Came straight here after I was done.” “It’s okay! Must be hard to build stuff,” you say in an attempt to relate. “Well, technically, contractors don’t always build. They plan too, sugar,” he explains with a bit of a chuckle.

“Oh…,” you trail off. Fuck, you felt stupid. You didn’t know much about many things. Some said that you lived under a rock. You sheepishly blush as he leans over to give your cheek a little peck as he starts the movie. “S’okay, hun. I get it,” he chuckles.

At first the movie didn’t seem too horrible — it was just a nice showcase of a teen’s mid afternoon in late fall. However, you started to hide behind your hands, grabbing the nearest pillow, whimpering a bit even when the killer came on screen! Joel noticed you were starting to get a little uncomfortable, your pink nails fidgeting with the hem of your skirt.

“Scared?,” he asked nonchalantly. “Um. A bit,” you confess, scratching the back of your neck in embarrassment. “Don’t be. Jus’ a movie, hun. C’mere,” his hairy arm stretched out to you, draping over your shoulders (and hip!) as you leaned into him. You place your head on his shoulder, you feel his prickly beard on your forehead.

As the girl on the screen continued to be stalked by the silent killer, from across the street, from her school, her commute home…you slowly slinked down the couch, until your head was basically next to the pillow Joel was leaning against.

The girl on screen was now watching tv under her soft throw blanket, the camera drifting to the backyard, where the sharp chill of the October air lurks, alongside the killer, now behind a tree. You close your eyes, covering them with your hands. You peek at the movie, seeing the killer lure the girl into the backyard. He strikes!!

You watch in horror as the killer puts his large knife into the screaming woman. Tears well up in your eyes, and your vision gets blurry! You begin to sniffle, this movie was just so, so, frightening!

Joel, entranced by the movie, looks down to see you sniffling, trying to wipe away the tears with your sweater. He reaches over for the remote to pause it. “Hey. What’s wrong, huh?,” he asks, voice soft, gentle, as if not to spook you.

“It’s a little scary. What if he comes after me??,” you ask him, voice breaking with a few sobs in between. “I’ll turn it off then. Should’ve told me ya didn’t like movies like this, darlin.’ I wouldn’t have watched it with ya,” he almost reprimands you, just like a dad would to his little girl. You sniffle some more, your doe eyes looking up at him.

He couldn’t let you know, of course, that your tears and cute little frown were making him hard as a rock. Well — not yet, at least.

He gently pulls you onto his lap, his calloused hands the size of your knee, easily wrapping around your thighs. This soothed you a bit, as well as igniting an ache in you — an ache that you rarely had.

“Was just a bit scary. But, I wanted to watch it to make you happy, Joel,” you tell him, a bit ashamed of yourself. “You already make me happy, sugar. Just by bein’ here with me. I’ll turn this off, yeah?”

You nod, clinging to him still as he turns off the tv. You smile at him, grateful that he has made you feel better. “Sorry if it scared ya. You probably don’t know much about things, but that’s okay,” he apologizes, his face getting closer a bit. “Is it ok if I kiss ya? You don’t have to say yes,” he reassures.

You giggle a bit. “I’d, um — actually like to. Cause I like you, you know?,” you shyly ask him, expecting a reaffirmation,validation, of your feelings for him.

“I’m glad,” he whispers, wiping some tears from your face. His large hand on your cheek guides your face closer to him, his soft lips meeting yours for a kiss. You felt his prickly beard on your soft cheeks, he tasted faintly of mint, some of the sawdust still stuck to his fingers rubbed off on your cheek.

His kisses got more aggressive, and there you felt that itch again! What was it?? He pulls away for a sec. “You still doing okay, sweetie? You wanna take this a bit further?,” he asks. You think. You were not sure. You never went further with anyone, ever.

“I do, here’s the thing, I — um, never did any of that stuff before. I hope it does not hurt…,” you trail off. He chuckles at your innocence. God — he was going to ruin you. In the best way possible.

“We’ll take it slow, yeah, kid? Your outfits n’ all, your hair, these cute lil’ things,” he points at the pink butterfly clip in your hair. “It just makes you look so goddamn adorable. Wanted ya for a while, hun.”

The heavy blush spread across your cheeks is paralyzing. You’re paralyzed. He’s so close, his veiny hand on your thigh, his stubble, his smooth Texan voice…fuck it. You wanted him. You wanted to go all the way.

“Okay, Joel. Let’s do it. You’ll show me, right?,” you ask, voice shakier than ever. Only his presence had your heart rate skyrocketing. “Yeah, sugar. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” he says softly.

His hands grip your thighs tightly, squeezing. You sighed from his sheer strength, his calloused hands and thick fingers caressed your soft and smooth thighs. Your little manicured hands found his face, and then draped around his neck, his thick arms (with a large vein running down each of them, and plenty of hair <3 ) sliding up to hold you by your hips. You grind a bit up onto him, the soft plush of your thighs on his waist, so big, so wide compared to you. His lips keep in a dance with yours, soft, slow, warm. You were losing your breath kissing him, and yet you loved feeling his stubble graze your chin, over and over again, while he periodically let out a deep moan. You keep grinding into him, stopping all of a sudden once you feel his hardness beneath those cargo pants covered in remnants of asphalt and dirt.

“Did I do that?,” you ask, innocently. He lets out a soft chuckle. “See, hun?

His hands knead at your soft, plush, hips, slowly grinding you onto his already semi-hard cock. The tip touched your lips, and although both of you were still clothed, you tried your best to suppress a moan. You failed. Seems like he failed, too.

“Wanna help me undress, sweetie?,” he asks you, breath heavy just like yours, your lips felt cold without his. You nod silently. He brings a hand to your cheek to pinch it a bit, smiling. “What a good girl you are, hun. Get on your knees f’me.”

You do as said, sitting on your knees in front of him, his legs manspread. “Help me take off my belt, yeah?,” he asks, eyes meeting yours for assurance. You nod, you were ready. Your tiny hands find his brown, leather belt, struggling a bit to pull it off. Once the belt is loose, you wait for your next instruction. “Unzip. Go ‘head. I don’t bite,” he chuckles. “Not yet at least…,” he murmurs in a low tone.

Your face is hot, red and hot as you unzip his jeans, sliding them down, revealing his strong, hairy thighs, his toned lower legs, and most importantly — some gray boxers, sporting a noticeable tent.

Your eyes focus only on the tent. You swore you saw some pre-cum on those boxers. Fuck. You look up at him, batting your eyelashes. “What’s next, Joel?,” you ask, voice sickeningly sweet.

“Why don’t ya take off my underwear.” You do as said, his already hard cock springs out at you, the tip red, angry, leaking!! His cock had a large vein running down the right side, with some awfully plump <3 balls to match. You didn’t notice that you were drooling until Joel caught you.

“Drooling, huh baby? S’okay. I know I’m a lot to take in, kid,” he patronized you, as his big hand grabbed your face again, leading you closer to his cock. “Can use your mouth and hands, okay, kid? Don’t be afraid.” With that, his hand brings your face even closer to his cock. “Open wide,” he chuckles, and you do as said, tongue sticking out. With both his hands still on your face, he slides his cock in your mouth.

The tip feels heavy against your tongue, and drool covers the rest of his cock that is outside your mouth. You begin to gently suck, one hand at the base of his cock, the other fondling his balls. God — you started to hear the sound of those hearty moans coming from him, his big chest heaving, his shirt already off. He had so much chest hair!!!

His hands ran through your hair as you suckled on his throbbing cock. “Fuck. Mmm, that’s, that’s my good girl. My good little girl, pleasing me like this,” he moaned out, and you swore you felt yourself get wet. That was new to you.

His cock slides out of your mouth with a little pop. “‘Nough about me, sweetie. Why don’t you come sit on my lap? Take off that pretty pink skirt of yours, yeah?,” he asks, his smile predatory. He helps you off your knees, and pulls you into his lap, his hard cock now pressed directly against your lips.

“This okay?,” he asks, checking in. You nod, grinding your hips against him instinctively. He chuckles at your neediness. “Someone’s needy, huh? Does my little girl need daddy’s cock…,” he patronizes as he brings you in for a few kisses. “Daddy…,” you repeat back to him. That name fitted him, you thought. He was strong, caring, and most of all, took care of you and ALL your needs! <3

“Need it…,” you moan out, pausing for a bit, before adding a soft “daddy,” whispering it in his ear. He almost growls at you, hands bringing you closer to his dick, while he pulled off your skirt, revealing your pretty pink lace thong in view.

“Fuck. What I wouldn’t do to cum on this pretty lil’ thing of yours, sweetie. Y’know what, keep ‘em on,” he instructs you. You nod your head giddily, excited to finally take his cock.

After adjusting you and himself, his thick fingers trail gently over your lower abdomen, sliding in between your lips, massaging your lips and clit slowly, gently. He unclasps your bra, his large hands holding your tits, kneading them. You feel yourself losing your balance. He takes his fingers out, with a squelch <3

“Ah.. Joel!!,” you squeal out. “Already too much for my girl? Look at you, so wet f’me. You think that pretty pussy can take me?,” he questioned you.

“Yes! Yes, I promise. Please,” you beg him, as he tuts, almost not believing you. “Yes, what, sugar?” “Yes, daddy,” you obediently replied. “That’s my girl,” he smiles, pinching your cheek again with his strong fingers. With that, you feel the throbbing, hot tip slide into you. You already squeezed around his cock, so tightly, just wanting to be filled to the brim.

He groans loudly — “fuck. Pulling me in, sweet girl. Can I go deeper? How slow do ya want me?,” he asks you, still concerned since this was your first time.

“Want you in deep, daddy. Please, deep, and fast!!,” you cry out. “Alright hun. Grab onto daddy’s shoulders,” he instructs you, as he helps you move closer onto him, your hands moving to grip at the back of his wide back and neck, for support.

You feel him push into you, pulsing. He was in, halfway, and you already felt so full!! “Doing okay? Look at you, sweet girl taking my cock so well. Doing so good for me, sugar,” he moans out as he stills inside of you.

He had to be gentle, of course. He was sure there were going to be moments where his cock just simply bullied your pussy, but — now was not the time. It was your first time, after all. He was so glad to be the one to corrupt you. To give you your first, addicting, taste of cock. A taste you would never stop chasing.

“Gonna go all the way in now. Hold on, ‘kay?,” he reassures you. You nod, as he pushes into you all the way, in one big motion. His tip was reaching your cervix, brushing against that sweet spot perfectly!! He was that itch that you finally got to scratch.

He asks you how it feels. You tell him that you love every minute of it. With the help of his hands, he guided you up and down on his shaft, the sound of his soft, swollen balls hitting your lips was heard throughout the room. “J-Joel. F-faster. P-p-please.” Even with his cock pumping into you slowly, you were still almost at a loss for words.

“Look at you, using your manners f’me, sweetie. Doing good,” he patronizes you, it made you feel so needy, so dumb, just a cock hungry little thing all ready for him!!

He started bouncing you on his cock, faster, deeper, his balls now hit your lips!! All the while, his Texan voice just taunted and taunted you. “My good girl. Bouncing on my cock, like a little bunny.” You babble and moan in response. “Aww. Too full to talk, bunny? S’okay. You just sit there and take it,” he would say to you, in between kisses on your breasts and face!!

You were not sure about how much time had passed. All you knew was the feeling of him inside, twitching, his hearty, deep groans, pumping you full of his cum… you could barely sit up after how sore you were!! You had also experienced your finish too — it was amazing. The both of you came together, and after that you slowly started to drift into a sleep.

————————————-

“Ya with me, hun? Was I too rough?,” you wake to the sound of Joel’s voice. You were in your room, tucked under the soft, pink and fuzzy blanket throw you had over your bed. Joel was in his boxers and nothing else, next to you. You were in his arms, your head propped onto one of your stuffed animals. “Hi,” you murmur at him. “Hi,” he smiles back. “Was it okay? Did ya like it?,” he asks, with genuine concern. You nod, giddily. You tell him you loved it, and that you were glad that he was your first. He chuckled, “Glad you feel that way, sugar. I like these stuffed animals of yours too. They’re cute, like you,” he says, a warmth in his eyes. You smile back at him, bringing him into a kiss.

The two of you cuddled for a while longer, until he realized that he had to be back home. “But, um…Joel. My parents won’t be home for the weekend, and I don’t like being home alone,” you confess to him. Here was your innocence and naivety, once again. Most people found it annoying, or strange.

Not him.

He thought for a moment. “Ya know what, sugar. I’ll stay. You’ll be safe with me, sweets. Although I might have to go to work on Sunday,” he tells you sheepishly. You giggle and snuggle closer to him, his mustache brushing over your smooth face as he smothers you in gentle kisses. The rest of the night, the two of you spent it by watching more movies. He took care of you. He gave you what you needed, opened things for you, he even ran a bath for you later that night. How could someone be so sweet?

“You’re too nice to me, Joel,” you tease. “Sweet girls like you deserve nice, plain and simple, bunny.”

You giggle, a bit flustered as the next movie comes on screen. It was a perfect way to spend a chilly, October evening.

#liz’s masterlist #liz writes 🖤 #joel miller x reader #joel miller hot #joel miller x hyperfem!reader #dom!joel miller #tlou smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller headcanon

[van1llam1lkk]

Kinktober week 2 — Virgins

[ nsfw | CW ; First time, missionary, praise, body worship, Size difference, mentions of breeding, cream pie, pussy drunk, light overstim, Oral(F receiving), themes of making it fit, cock warming at the end, Dubcon(just in case) ]

Male x Female Reader

a/n ; I've been going through brain rot about sweet ol' virgins with big dicks... which is really the only excuse as to why Fujio exists now.

wc ; 2.1k

Synopsis — Loosing your virginity to your equally inexperienced big dick boyfriend... That's it.

Your fingers smooth over the ivory silk, tips tickled by the fine threads, "You don't think it's..." You trail off into a unfinished question eyes flickering over to his.

He stays silent for the most part, gingerly grabbing your hands and stopping them from running over the wrinkles in the fabric in favor of pulling them above your head.

"We can probably still trade it back in—" You continue on, nervously squirming under his intense gaze.

"No... You look pretty in this." He mumbles softly, "And it's only fair to dress you up like a princess, right?" He asked, tilting his head. You hesitantly nod, trying to relax your body.

He looked so pretty from this angle, pinning you against the soft mattress, observant eyes undressing you. It was a little unnerving honesty, Fujio wasn't the type of person to be this... Quiet.

But considering this was your first time, with each other. With him it makes some sense as to how serious he is being.

A soft warm kiss is planted against your temple, letting his weight settle in between your legs. "I can't believe this is all for me." He whispers, a shaky quiver entering his words.

Large hands wonder down your body, playing with frills and squeezing at anything they could get on- Chest, hips, thighs.

A strained whimper escapes your lips as his hands trailed down your body, the soft touch of his fingers as they explored your curves making you shiver.

You swear— with how hard your heart heart is pounding you might have a heart attack.

He leans down, soft lips pressing up against yours. Even with his position you can still feel how anxious he is, carful with every movement as if you you'd break if he made one wrong move.

You lean into the kiss, it's different gentle and passionate. Only familiar to the many nights you two spent grinding against each other eager for one's warmth.

Your hands entangled themselves into his long black hair, lightly tugging on the strands until a soft groan escapes into the kiss.

His hands worm their way in between your thighs teasing your clit beneath the ivory colored silk. Applying only the bare minimum of pressure to get you whimpering into the kiss- whimpers that he greedily eats up.

Eventually he pulls away, panting heavily. Gaze lingering on your face before looking down at your sex where his hand was busy teasing.

Thumb swiping over your sensitive nub. Lust filled eyes admiring how your panties started dampening. "Your so pretty." He breathes out in a sigh, letting his free hand come down to hold your squirming hips still.

You blush, shifting your gaze away from his intense stare in favor of looking at the ceiling. "N-Not as pretty as you." You stammer out, unable to think straight with the how frustrated your getting with the minimal pressure he's using — Enough to have you whimpering and shuddering but nowhere near enough to bring you to the edge.

His thumb continues stroking you, a small smile adorning his lips at how impatient you're getting. "You are." He whispers, leaning down to kiss your form.

Small, light kisses that he placed down against your neck, collar bones, breasts, all of them just a little too close to your chest to be considered "decent".

"Fujio..." You breath out, his last kiss was placed directly on top of your cunt.

"May I?" He hesitantly asks eyes fixated on the twitches of your pussy beneath the damp material.

You bite your lip, hesitating for the briefest of moments before nodding your head.

"Oh, you don't know how long I've been waiting to taste you." He quickly says voice shaky with anticipation, leaning in to give your clit a slow, teasing lick.

A pleasant sigh escapes your lips from the warm sensation of his tongue. Shifting your position so your legs were sat atop his shoulders. The sensation was more pleasant than you thought, his tongue warm and wet with saliva.

Your hands find his way through his hair again, whimpering at his experimental licks and sucks, His eyes staring up at your face to see what made your already faltering composure crumble more.

If your eyes hadn't fluttered shut you could've seen the way his hips seemed to grind against the mattress, chasing some kind of simulation in its tight confines.

It wasn't long until he found a pace, mouth latched onto your pussy— Staining the already wet panties with spit.

" F-fuck Fujio~" You whimpered, already shut eyes squeezing together. "Please— please don't stop." You stammered out, thighs twitching around his head.

He moaned into your pussy, his own hips mindlessly humping into the mattress. Fingers digging into the fat of your hip pulling it deeper into his face.

You swallow thickly, the hand in his hair tightening into a fist while the other grabs at the blankets beneath you.

"Close— m' so close fuck." You warned trying to keep your thighs from squeezing shut and suffocating him.

With a brief moment of hesitation he pulls his mouth off of your cunt, A wet 'pop' sound following.

Your glossy eyes fluttered open, a confused, frustrated whine escaping you as you rub your knees together. Trying to keep that orgasm from slipping away but it had already disappeared.

"M' so sorry baby, I— I just wanna feel you come on m' cock." He panted heavily, shoving his pants down just enough to free his already leaking cock.

"You— you can do that for me right? Yeah, I know you can." He quickly said, his own composure slipping because he finally gets to feel you around him, pussy fluttering and clenching because of him.

Giving himself a few good strokes to smear the pre along his length.

You eyes slightly widen at the size, you're not sure what's different about now compared to the steamy nights you two would hump each other— Maybe because unlike those other times he's actually going to fuck you.

"I don't think it'll fit—" You say under your breath, eyeing the tip. Could he even fit the tip in?

You know it's just the virgins anxiety getting to you, but why did God decide to make his dick look so big?

"It'll fit, I'll make it fit if I have to." He says, leaning down to kiss you again. "I'll just take it slow alright darling?" He adds a moment later.

You hesitantly nod your head, opening your legs so he's able to slot himself in between.

He leans over you, hands slowly reaching up to pull your panties down your legs and You obediently kick them off. Trying to keep your mind off of the heavy thumping of your heart or the increasing anxiety.

It's a little funny seeing his own eyes widening at the sight of your glistening pussy, a smile he's clearly trying to fight off forming onto his face.

"Your so pretty like this." He whispered, placing a hand right next to your head with the other one slapping the tip of his cock against your clit.

Savouring the way your hips tried squirming into the sensation.

He carefully pushes the tip against your entrance. A little frown forming on his face when it slipped past for the third time, a sigh of content leaving him when your own hand goes down and guides his length into you.

Just the head was enough to make you want to weep at the overwhelming feeling of something big inside you.

"Shit—" You cursed, squeezing your tear-filled eyes shut.

"Relax baby" he panted, slowly sinking into you pretty little whimpers and praise spilling from his lips.

He bit at his lips the second he bottomed out, "Fuck, you're so tight-" he whimpered, peppering your face with kisses. "oh I' feel like m' gonna cum already." He slurred out. You can feel him trembling, it's not from coldness but from the effort he's putting into not thrusting his hips.

"Tell- tell me when I can move." He huffed out, holding your hips closely up to his pelvis.

The two of you stay in that position for what felt like eternity, bodies closely pressed up against each other, breathing in each other's heavy pants. "I love you, I love you so much." You whispered wrapping legs around his waist.

"I love you too, I love you so so much— you're perfect, everything I ever could want and more" He rambled trying to stay focused on how pretty you look right now.

Glossy eyes staring lovingly at him, it's enough to have his cock twitching inside of you.

You swallow thickly, running fingers through his hair. Though a part of you wants to stay like this forever— There was a primal part that was starting become overwhelming, focusing on how nicely he stretched you out, how good it must feel when he drags his dick along those gooey, tender spots that has your toes curling and eyes rolling back in pleasure.

And those thoughts are starting to feel more appealing by the second, with a shaky exhale you whisper a meek

"M' ready—" Oh but before you could even let the last word leave your mouth he's already pulling out of you, till only his tip remained in before snapping his hips forward.

Greedy hands holding your hips tightly, to keep you in place as he fucked into you. "Thank— thank you." He says in between pretty gasps and groans, he wasn't even doing anything special. But with how thick he was, it grinded against everything just right, blunt head hitting spots you didn't even knew existed inside of you.

His eyes eagerly fixated on the way he seemed to sink and pull out of you so easily when just a moment ago he needed help getting it inside you in the first place.

"Haaa, please don't stop—" You whined, fingers tightening their grip on the blankets.

You can't tell whether it' feels amazing or agonizing, the way it feels like he's forcing space inside of you- bullying into your pussy with each heavy thrust of his hips.

"Shit oh, I can't— not now don't wanna cum now." He cursed under his breath, leaning his weight into you to fuck deeper.

That was all it took before your brain was short-circuiting, mindless pleas' and babbles spilling from your lips. Legs tightly wrapped around his waist, wanting more.

A shaky hands move over to your clit, rubbing sticky circles and shapes all over it. "Can— Can you cum on my dick for me? I know you can, you'll be a good girl for me right?" He babbled, equally as fucked out as you— which is saying something.

Wet squelching sounds ringing through the air everytime his hips made contact, slick and precum wetting the creaky bed beneath the two of you.

Your eyes fall shut, head lolling to the side. "Fu—fuck, you feel so good." You panted out, unable to form words properly any longer.

"Shit shit shit shit— m' gonna breed you, stuff you full of my cum" Hissing out as his thrusts turn sloppy, sloppy for his standards.

He held your hips in place as he let out a primal grunt, your fluttering hole being filled white with his cum.

Following his orgasm you came undone, the fullness pushing you over the edge as you mindlessly pleaded for more and moaned.

Loud wet slapping sounds resounding through the whole room, thick, sticky pearly whites leaking from his cock and spilling out beneath you, getting onto your thighs with each twitch.

His hips absentmindedly humped into you, fucking his cum deeper into you despite the overwhelming simulation.

"Fuck, I can feel it, I can feel everything" you whimpered out, fingers digging into the blanket beneath you.

He stays like that for a moment, heavily panting against your neck. Hands that kept your hips glued to his pelvis squeezing supportively.

You whimper softly, squirming beneath his weight. "Your squishing me..." You complain trying to push him off with little to no avail. You were about to complain more but he'd whisper something into your ear and though you're not entirely sure what he said, he sounded desperate.

"Mhmm what?" You mumbled internally cringing at the feeling of slick and cum oozing out of your hole.

"I love you." He whispered out, body already succumbing to sleep.

You stay silent for a moment a little smile on your face "I love you too." You whisper, fluttering your eyes shut for a moment. "Fujio you didn't fall asleep did you? You're still on top and inside of me." You asked, squeezing his shoulders lightly.

You never got that answer out of him. His soft breaths tickling your neck, You look up at the ceiling and let your mind fade, his soft breaths lulling you to sleep.

#Fawn | Fujio #fanfic #writing #fiction #smut #smut tw #tw size difference #tw dubcon #body worship #missionary position #minors dni #cw praise kink #breeding k1nk #smut tag #male oc #male oc x reader #male x reader #female reader #fem reader #fluff and smut #minors do not interact #c0ckwarming #pussy drunk #cw overstimulation #tw overstim #tw praise kink #mount fuji havin' ahh name #creamp!e #he's so nice #Five hours before this happens Fujio spent three of those hours studying on womans anatomy

[atimeofyourlife]

Oh ho the mistletoe

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: Christmas | rated: g | wc: 464 | tags: pre steddie, getting together, mistletoe Steve's parents go overboard with the mistletoe while decorating for Christmas, he gets caught under it with Eddie

Steve wasn't sure about his parents' choice in Christmas decor. It was the first time in a long time that they had spent much of the holiday season at the house in Hawkins, so it was the first time in a long time that they had bothered with anything more than basic Christmas decorations. Usually, there would be a modest, but sophisticated tree, maybe a few garlands placed at tasteful intervals, the matching, personalized family stockings hung on the mantel. A wreath for the front door, with a simple string of lights.

But this time, it looked like the embodiment of Christmas had thrown up on the house. Multiple trees throughout the house, the biggest that could fit. Some decorated to a theme or a color scheme, others covered in the most random mix of ornaments. All kinds of decorations hanging from the ceiling and the walls. Festive pillows decorating the couch, matching the table runner and table cloths. Lights everywhere, inside and out. Figurines on the mantel, and the coffee table, and as a center piece on the dining room table. Wreaths and garlands and candles and snow globes lining almost every surface. Gifts piled up under and all around the biggest of the trees in the lounge. Designs on the windows in artificial snow. And the mistletoe. So much mistletoe. Hung in so many places around the house that it seemed to be multiplying.

When his parents had guests over, Steve did his best to avoid getting caught under the mistletoe, not wanting to be caught in an awkward position with the daughters of his parents' friends and colleagues. It was difficult at times with how much mistletoe there was everywhere, but he managed it.

Then there was the gathering his parents insisted on throwing for Steve's friends, making more of an effort, wanting to get to know the people that meant so much to their son. Getting caught under the mistletoe was something that could range from slightly uncomfortable to never going to happen for fear of death. And some of the kids, Dustin in particular, would be doing anything to trap him under the mistletoe with either Robin or Nancy.

In the end, it wasn't Robin or Nancy he got caught under the mistletoe with. It was Eddie, and neither of them noticed it at first.

"Steven, mistletoe." His mother pointed out.

Steve looked up, there was a bundle of mistletoe right above them.

"I. We don't have-" Eddie started.

"Yes, you do." Steve's dad replied. "It's the laws of mistletoe."

"Come here." Steve said, pulling Eddie down and kissing him.

"That was. What?" Eddie fumbled over his words as they pulled apart.

"Maybe we could try it again later?" Steve offered, glancing at Eddie's lips, then winking at him.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #pre steddie #steve harringtons parents #steddieholidaydrabbles #atimeofyourwrites

[anonymouszephyrus]

Voltron Characters Headcanons, go!

FINALLY! I HAVE.. too many..

Let's start with the original Red & Blue duo:

KEITH (Aka. He isn't emo, just unique)

- Demisexual Homoromantic (Yes.) - He/Him Pronouns - Full Name Headcanon: Keith's full name is “Keith Akira Kogane” and other languages. However, I like to think that Keith's father (whom I've named: Hyeong-Min, Hyeon by itself means “Virtuous or Worthy” and Min means “Sharp-minded” which I think fits someone who is Keith's dad.) His surname in Japan is Kogane, yes. But in Korea, it would be Kim. As both Kim and Kogane mean “Gold” in Korean and Japanese. This does mean that Keith has a Korean name along with his usual one. I'm choosing to go along with the idea that when Hyeong-min's parents left Korea and moved to Texas, they gave him a Korean name but when Hyeong-min and Krolia had Keith, they chose to gave him multiple names depending where he was. TLDR; (Japanese - Akira Kogane; Korean - Ki-Joo or Ki-Joon Kim/Kogane; Common - Keith Akira Kogane.) - Absolute Literature nerd (He spent a shit long time in that cabin. There's no way Adam or Shiro hadn't found him before and given him books or something to occupy himself.) - I love having him as Japanese-Korean + Half-Galra but he was raised in Texas so he's forgotten a lot of his Korean since no one was there to continuously talk to him in the language like his dad did. Shiro talks Japanese with him so that one is still fine. Keith's been trying to relearn Korean but it's hard since he gets sad (and mad) when thinking about his dad. - He wears eyeliner. Shiro taught him to. - He wears too many rings. And whenever he has to wash his hands, he takes them off, and Lance practically faints every time Keith flexes his hands to ensure his rings are in place. - Despite being touch-repulsed, Keith is so fucking touch-starved it's unreal. - Keith only calls Shiro “Takashi” when he's mad or sad. No in-between. One time he did it was when he was younger, Shiro beat him in Mario Kart and he got so mad, he screamed: "I'm disowning myself from you, Takashi!" and Shiro almost cried. - Keith's Galra side only comes out when he's focused, mad, or extremely flustered about something. Lance teased him to no end one time and his skin started turning purple. - After Allura and Keith had their talk, Allura's been trying to make his little Galra situation better. If she sees him slowly turning purple and becoming anxious about it, she'll turn purple too for the remainder of his ordeal. (And then it becomes a “who wears purple the best”) - Keith loves music, he likes to play the keyboard or piano at times, only problem is that he's a bit tone-deaf (which is surprising considering he actually is pretty good at playing those instruments.) - He is lactose-intolerant, only that he doesn't give a shit and does continuously eat or drink dairy products, it doesn't make him sick though because of his Galra genes... but he does, quite literally, destroy the bathroom.

LANCE (Aka. Too many sad shit)

- Bisexual Disaster (with a hint of internalized homophobia) - He/Him Pronouns - Full Name Headcanon: His real name is Leandro Agustín Nuñez Carmen Esposita-McClain, shortened to Lance McClain. Just like @autisticlancemcclain's headcanon, I love it a lot. (Sorry for the ping, if it did) - All his siblings have acronym names along with their mother. Mervin, headcanon McClain papa's name, is the only one without one. - Lance has central heterochromia, meaning the inner ring of his eyes are brown whilst the rest is blue. Kinda like this:

(This is a picture I got off Google, please don't sue me. And yes, I know it's more orange than brown but I couldn't find a good enough reference to show you all, basically it's just like that except the middle is much darker) - He's constantly terrified he'll forget things from Earth. Like his sense of time, the way colors are, the way the light moves, the moon changing every night, everything. Not just because of you know, Voltron and stuff, but because he has memory issues too. - He accidentally forgot the name of his niece and nephew one time and panicked afterward as he scrambled to think of what they were. Now, he has little notes in his pocket that holds all his family members' names. - Lance is a prodigy at playing music, specifically guitars but he doesn't think he's good after the last time he played in a competition, he got absolutely destroyed and insulted by one of the other sour competitors that he never tried to play a guitar again because everytime he tries to, that memory keeps coming back and it's one of the many reasons he has such low self-esteem. - He thought he was sick the first time he had a crush on a guy from the first week of being in the Garrison (it was Keith) and rang up his mother only to be politely told that he wasn't sick. - Lance often tries to write little poems for Keith because he knows how much he likes literature only to throw it allow or out the airlock when he thinks it isn't good enough. It leads to the first poem Keith received from him being the most romantic and elegantly made poem he's ever read... (and he only got it because Lance forgot where he left it when he was planning on throwing it away again) - Despite being a flirt, Lance cannot handle being flirted with. Keith is surprisingly smooth with his comebacks (it's only when he doesn't try). - Keith sometimes accidentally (or purposefully, depending on the situation) initiates physical affection and it flusters Lance to no end. - He prefers wearing gold because Keith told him one time that it suited him. Aka: Keith's opinion of anything Lance wears is what he sticks to as a fashion choice.

I've got more for the other characters! Stay tune for those. Next up: Pidge & Hunk, the lil' nerd duo!

PART: 2 & 3

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld keith #vld lance #voltron headcanons #keith kogane #lance mcclain #klance #keith x lance #AnonZeph Asks! #AnonZeph HCs!

[hillbillyoracle]

Androgynous/Masc Leaning Capsule Wardrobe Ideas

In honor of International Nonbinary People’s Day, I offer you the clothing advice I wish I had like 15 years ago. I prefer a small well curated wardrobe but it is so tough to pull that off as a nonbinary genderfluid person. I spent years struggling to make my capsule wardrobe work for me. Every example I saw was either with feminine clothes or with the world blandest men’s clothing. 

For reference, I’m AFAB and live in Kentucky - very hot and muggy in summers, can get quite cold (-20 F) in winter but it’s usually mild with highs are in the 30F-40F range most days. This is the advice I’d give my younger self if I could. 

Focus on 10-15 Core Items

While I am fluid, I consistently spend most of my time “inbetween” these days. Having a neutral to masc learning main wardrobe with some feminine items to mix in wound up working best for me. So here’s the masc leaning base wardrobe I recommend. 

~3 x Button Ups - I went with short sleeve Hawaiian shirts for myself because I love bold patterns. You can find a lot of Hawaiian shirt these days that don’t have stereotypical “island” patterns on them while still being pretty light and breathable in summer. If your style leans more classic, consider oxford cloth button ups. You might need more button ups if you work in a business casual setting. 

~3 x Tees - I like graphic tees, specifically hand screen printed ones so that’s what I go with. But if your style is more classic then consider investing in some good quality solid color tees. 

~3 x Casual Tops - for me this is a tank top, turtleneck, and a Henley. But you might consider a collarless button ups, plain long sleeve shirts, and ringer style long sleeve shirts. 

~3 Pants - for me, I have black and stone washed denim since those are my favorites. I look for tapered fits over skinny or boot leg where I can. I have one pair that’s a jogger style I quite like. You might look for chinos or khakis if you have a more formal dress code at work but they’ll still work with graphic tees and other tops if you style them right. 

~3 x Layers - for me this is a cardigan, a flannel, and a hoodie. You might consider v neck or crew neck sweaters, cable knit sweaters, and fair isle sweaters as well. 

Feminine Clothing Module

What’s nice about this approach is that you can then create a feminine clothing module that plays nicely with your main wardrobe. 

For me this looks like

1-2 Dresses - I have a maxi tee dress and a long sleeved linen dress since that works more for everyday wear for me. 

1-2 Skirts - I don’t have any presently but the next big feminine swing I have I’ll be ordering a nice linen skirt in my favorite color. 

1-2 Casual Tops - I don’t have any presently after my last big wardrobe edit but business casual shell tops, camisoles, and cowl neck tops work well here. 

1-2 Layers - I have a linen blazer in a women’s cut and a long striped duster. You might consider a kimono style shrug/wraps, sweaters in a more feminine cut, and women’s cardigans

You don’t need a lot here because so much of the main wardrobe can be mixed with a feminine element or two and it becomes much more feminine - especially if you’re AFAB but even if you’re AMAB. It doesn’t take a lot a feminine clothing to make an over all outfit look more feminine and subtle touches work just as well as more overt styles ime.

Sizing

Sizing is tricky as hell. I’m plus size (size 18-20 in women’s pants) and especially trying to find masculine stuff with the right fit is a pain. I really recommend going in to try things on if you’re able but if not get comfortable with the idea you will likely need to send things back. Yes you can take measurements but those measurements are still listed with different proportions in mind. 

For men’s clothes I lean toward a slightly oversized fit - as most men I’m around do. For women’s clothes, I lean toward a slightly tight fit - as most women I’m around do. Look at the people around you and see which fits they lean toward and opt for that where you’re able to for yourself. 

Shoes, Outwear, Special Occasions

Shoes - I tend to opt to go neutral in my shoes and outerwear. Not in color or pattern mind you but gender. For shoes, I currently have 3 pairs - a pair of crocs (with spikes), running shoes/sneakers (old Champion brand slip ons), and a pair of Doc Martens. These are good options if you’re AMAB too because the sizing is unisex or available in similar styles for men and women. Other good options are Vans, Chucks, any hippie sandal brand you can think of. “Nicer” shoes are great but often pretty gendered. I lean toward getting “nicer shoes” that are opposite my assigned gender when I do grab them. 

Outerwear - I also tend to opt for gender neutral options for outerwear too. Since it doesn’t get terribly cold here, I stick to a micropuff jacket from North Face and layer a black denim jacket over it when it gets cold. When I wear it with masc stuff, blends in. When I wear it with feminine stuff, it adds a slight edge I like. Pea coats are decent options as well. If you live some place real cold, a lot of the long winter coats are basically the same between genders, just different fits. 

Special Occasions - I would recommend not worrying about special occasions until or unless they come up. I have the same two “special occasion” dresses that I’ve been using for years because they come up so rarely and I can’t bare to spend too much money on something I’ll wear maybe once or twice a year. Formal wear is highly gendered and if you learn androgynous it’s a tough needle to thread. For those events with hosts you know, it’s worth reaching out to them to see what they think makes an outfit “formal” - could be nicer cuts or materials, could be rigid gender norms - can’t know until you ask. 

For most special occasions, I do not know the host, so I default very structured looks in accordance with my assigned gender. Still feels a bit edgy but no ones gonna have the guts to say it’s wrong. For AMAB folks you might do the inverse, more flowy looks and colors while still adhering to your assigned gender. All depends on the level of familiarity you have with the hosts and the flack you’re willing to catch. 

Outfits

Some masc leaning outfit ideas: 

button up, hoodie, pants, boots

graphic tee, flannel or cardigan, pants, sneakers

turtleneck, pants, boat shoes

button up, tie, cardigan, pants, chelsea boots

Some fem leaning outfit ideas: 

button up, cardigan, skirt, sneakers

shell top, wrap, pants, sandals

graphic tee, skirt, sneakers

dress, sandals

Conclusion

Hope this was helpful to someone out there! 

#nonbinary #androgynous #nonbinary fashion #international nonbinary people's day #genderfluid #genderfluid fashion

[sasukimimochi]

.✦ Blackened Wings. (Pt 1) - Happy Halloween!! 🦇

WC - 1080 ( .MDZS Bat flock AU✦. )

Summary: The siege of burial mounds was set, but upon arrival none were found- all belongings left behind besides the clothes on their backs and Wei Wuxian's scripts. When there is nothing else left behind and no traces to find, what more is there to do than move on?

Timeline: Post first siege on the timeline. Wens/WWX did not die in the seige, and are completely off the map.

Prompt 26, for my Writing/Drawing Challenge- Animal.

.✦

Lan Wangji had been spending a great amount of time with the bats that had chosen to roost under his roof- he knew it wasn’t good practice to be in close contact with them, but he felt especially attached to them since they showed up not too long after Wei Wuxian’s and the Wens disappearance.

He was, of course, distraught. Absolutely devastated and worried- but he was very much wounded, so what could he do in such a state? When he went there to see, there really had been nothing left of them. All of their belongings were still there besides the clothes that were likely still on their backs, and Wei Wuxian’s inventions. 

The assumption was, despite months of searching, that they had all died, ran away, or the most nausea inducing, been secretly done away with or decided to die together on their own terms. There was just no evidence, nothing- it was like they were spirited away. 

Like they never existed.

Lan Wangji had drank that night. So much so that he thought he might disappear too- his brother had brought him home safely though, somehow.

He’d spent the next few nights trying to sneak out, being brought home and at one point even restrained- his family didn’t want him to go on a search for someone they considered evil, but especially when injured and having no leads- he didn’t care. However all he was allowed was time sitting on his deck, the night sky all he had to keep himself from going completely out of touch.

He could remember stories that Wei Wuxian told him as he looked at the stars- how he hoped his parents were two of those very ancient lights watching over him- on a long past anniversary of his mother’s passing.

And then…they came from that sky.

A somewhat large, black and red bat with a group of small white bats- he hadn’t ever seen the small white kind before, but the larger one looked kind of like a flying fox. It was large, but it wasn’t as big as some he’d seen- which made him think it was a different breed than those he’d seen in the past. Its wingspan was impressive, but its body was smaller than a cat’s. The small ones could fit in his palm if they allowed him to hold them, with sunburst orange details and dark gray wings, accented by that same golden color mixed with a light, delicate red on the outer fold of their wings. The smallest of them had an especially brilliant hue and a lovely fluffy white coat, and was the friendliest of the bunch. A baby, he presumed.

He’d focused on them, watching them hang from the beams and all huddle up inside the larger’s wings in what he assumed to be to stay warm. It was still chilly at night, and the white bats were quite small- and as they were white primarily they likely didn’t get a lot of heat retention. The larger bat though was the one who shivered. The smaller ones would huddle close, and eventually the larger one would fall asleep for a short time.

So he watched them, and stopped trying to run away. For some reason the bats stuck around, and one of the smaller ones especially loved to fly over to him and hang off his robes, sit on his shoulder or on his head. The larger one would quickly follow as if worried, but would stay as well when treated to pets and figs. It turned out even the smaller ones ate fruit as well, which he found unusual. He’d never met such small bats that didn’t eat insects and rather ate fruit.

It became his reason to keep going day to day, the only reason he didn’t rush off with his injured body looking for the one he loved. He had to stay here as long as he was injured, but he felt the time was easier now, spending time with his bats.

“A-Ying,” Lan Wangji whispered to the large bat, watching as its head turned to him expectantly. These bats were so smart, and the little things this one did reminded him of all the cute characteristics Wei Wuxian had. Rubbing its nose with its wing, tilting its head when told something curious. He still remembered the angry flapping accompanying a quite squeaky, chittery shriek the bat had made when his uncle had gotten too close to the little white bat. Those two seemed bonded, despite the little one appearing to have some sort of family amongst the other white bats left.

“Is it alright if I name your little one too?” Lan Wangji asked softly, watching as it leaned forward to give him a little lick on the nose with its soft little tongue. He exhaled quietly like an attempt of a laugh despite the exhaustion, listening to the soft mewling and chirps that sounded like real laughter to him.

“What about ‘Sizhui’?”

The bat moved its head back as if it truly understood the words, mouth slightly ajar with its head tilting ever so slightly and eyes wide- as if he was looking into his heart with those dark eyes.

“It is from a poem…do you want to hear?”

The bat chittered quietly in response.

“Yearning for but cannot chase after you, longing for someday when you will return.” He looked outside briefly, where the bats usually were roosting. The bats however were roosting in the corner of his room where it was warm, except for the littlest one currently hooked into his lapels. “It loosely means ‘chasing memories’, or another: ‘to yearn for’.” He gently scratched under the large bat’s jaw, watching its ears vibrate with happiness to the affection, but still stare at him so closely. It was unusual to see the bat this focused.

“Do you like it?”

The bat gently booped their noses together and wiggled its ears again, the soft little clicks bringing the corner of his mouth up, however tired it was. “Little Sizhui then.” 

He paused, remembering the boy that followed at Wei Wuxian’s heels. He called the boy little radish, didn’t he? He missed them so much…

He hadn’t realized he had started to drift to sleep until he felt something soft gently wiping away the tears he hadn’t known he shed. His eyes cracked open just slightly, and he could have sworn he saw pale anthracite blue looking back at him.

✦.

Hope you guys enjoy Halloween! I took time to finish most of chapter 28 instead of working on the second part for this, but just so you know its basically a second perspective with perhaps a bit more addition. It'll be for prompt 18 "Love."! I will hopefully have another part to show you guys before long, but for now i hope you enjoy this ! 🦇 💖

I did a very quick sketch with it, but I apologize cuz it doesn't look too great hahaha I'm just trying to get ahead so I can't spend time on side stuff too much. HAPPY HALLOWEEN! eat lots of candy and enjoy some halloween movies etcetc!!

.✦.👻🦇💀🎃🍬🍭🍫🌙✨✦. *

Read More MDZS stuff I've written or look at more MDZS stuff I've drawn in my masterpost! ❤

-

Random Information about this au:

WWX turned himself and the Wens into bats together to “disappear”. The bats start roosting under the edge of the Jingshi roof in the corner and LWJ watches them during his recovery days. He thinks it's in his head that two of them remind him of wwx & wy but doesn't care - he protects them now, and even a bit of the vice versa.

WWX is a fruit bat (I felt like a flying fox would be too big), and the wens are Honduran white bats. They are seen as a flock, despite WWX presenting as a different breed. They CAN change at will, except for Wen Yuan which WWX keeps tight control of because he’s a kid and accidents can happen. They don’t though, so the Lans assume they are all just regular bats that have taken a liking to the Jingshi roofing.

(Extra: convo excerpts when developing, it won't be completely cohesive):

Sasu: Someone is mean to LWJ (forcing him to accept liquor, etc etc) bat wwx pops out and starts squeaking at them from inside his lapels. It scares em off (works almost everytime).

A-Yuan is still little so he stays on LWJs shoulder half the time (tucked under wwx wing the rest of the time).

Yuyu: “Pristine cultivator Hanguang-Jun” chilling in front of his uncle who’s seething. Cause there’s two bats on his nephew; One is chewing his ribbon.

Yuyu: Would be funny if only wwx was the big bat and all the wens and a-yuan were just-

A tiny mob of fluffs under his wing

Sasu: jfhshfjfj beautiful, I like the idea. Maybe not a flying fox size cuz that's huuuuuuge but fruit bat. still big enough!

Yuyu: Everyone in Gusu just sighs as they now not only got “totally not pets” bunnies but bats too. Wangji privilege smh

I like to imagine Qiren is like….slightly afraid of the larger bat

Sasu: all the Lans start to like the small bat flock tho cuz the big one brings bugs and fruits to the small ones

they also don't poop there which is a plus xD

I'm sure they wouldn't like guano on Gusu paths

Yuyu: Omg.

Maybe one of the smaller bats got stuck in Qiren’s closets or something 

And well….

Qiren might explode

Sasu: jfhsgdjfb LMAO LWJ is just like “why did you close them in there” and just babies the bat and feeds it a berry or smth

Yuyu: The lost bat was a-yuan ಥ_ಥ Hence wwx was just panicking flying everywhere

Sasu: I think wwx woulda led them to the closet and just sqUEAK

Qiren: "no u cant get in there!" but then heard the other squeaks gjhsgxjf

LWJ just following them around like what's wrong and that's how he ends up on the scene jfjshdhf much bat cuddles after that

Yuyu: wlskjheiocewin one day LWJ just full on cuddles bat wwx like a plushy and wwx bat is just (a bunch of flustered emojis) And all the other bats are just looking at him from the other side of the room like e u e

Sasu: HAHAHAHA they know they for sure know- god I'm dying a little imagining LWJ petting wwx slowly while he's going to sleep like he's a cat (and falls asleep with his hand on him)

Yuyu: God imagine if that’s how he poofs back into a human- /jk

Sasu: ignshdjfn fruits basket style. imagine he wakes up and sees the bat replaced with wwx nods

Yuyu: Wwx has not dared to move all night

Sasu: wwx panic shifts back into a bat and LWJ wonders if he was seeing things

Yuyu: Just eyes his water next to his bed all suspiciously……"did i accidentally drink"

Sasu: hfhsbdjd - he starts calling the bat a-ying (cuz wei ying would be too on point) and the bat seems a little flighty so he's like ‘did i catch smth’ nfhshdjjf he's sus but also doubtful haha ‘maybe i offended him’

aw but imagine he like recognizes mannerisms in bat wwx that human wwx would do, like rubbing his wing over his nose a lot, having human like expression and these squeaks that seem like laughter (and he of course gets scary or protective depending on who he's with) so he act like air puppy sometimes or shows his teeth at other times and he likes to wrap his wings over LWJs shoulders to have a full body rest

Yuyu: A living blanket

Sasu: mn, living blanket with claws

Yuyu: Lwj has learned not to voice this opinion out loud or the bat gets upset (A puppy! Of all things)

Sasu: kfhsgzcjfj hahaha- that’s just the term for fruit bats they’re nicknamed air puppies. I don't think LWJ would call him that, maybe some juniors tho haha

Yuyu: Jingyi

Sasu: pft haha Jingyi bonds with bat a-yuan nods the bat LWJ personally named Sizhui because he is small and reminds him of the little boy wwx once cared for owo

so a-yuan is a shoulder bat for Jingyi a lot when he's in his kid years

Jingyi says he's his best friend and has to be convinced to leave the bat at home when training dnhdgshsj

Yuyu: Mo Xuanyu lives in this? I can imagine him being absolutely infatuated with the bats, also hilarious if he looks at wwx bat for like 1 min and is just ... leans in whispering, Yiling Patriarch!?

Sasu: wwx, internally: that's my name don't wear it out

wwx, outside: angry bat flutters

how would he recognize tho

vkjdhdj hahaha

Yuyu: Haah love bats, wonderful stuff

Sasu: Bats are the best (❁´◡`❁) ❤

#aka just wanted to write about our bat ramble AU and since i have my fall prompt list to do- why not? #I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did! keep an eye out for future posts #Sasu's Writing/Drawing Challenge 2023 #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mo dao zu shi fanart #wei wuxian #wei ying #wwx #lan wangji #lan zhan #lwj #implied wangxian #bat #fruit bat #honduran white bats #ficlet #mdzs ficlet #mdzs fanfiction #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fanfic art #hybrid au #sketch

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

Gah, I can't stop thinking about Hidden Agenda. It's not even my top show on right now, but I think because I spent a number of years training people in communication and conflict, there's just a lot here that is hitting my radar.

I've seen a few takes online about the show being a mess, and how we already know the entire "hidden agenda" due to bad writing, blah, blah, blah. There are also a lot of people talking about how romantic they think the final scene is. And I will never tell anyone their take is wrong, but I want to explain why I feel like there's a lot more than what people are seeing, on both sides. (And credit to both @respectthepetty and @slayerkitty for picking up on the same vibes I am).

Alright, so I'm going to dive in a bit more to this idea of how love is not enough without understanding, and how I'm seeing it expressed in the show.

First thing - for a while now I've been wondering why the debate club was factor in the show. But they just spelled it out for us, and it fits with what I said in my first post about needing to be able to understand someone else's perspective, even if you don't agree with it.

See, at this stage of their relationship, I think Joke & Zo do love each other. But they don't understand each other. Debate-wise - they're on opposite sides.

Jeng and Pok on the other hand - despite getting short shrift on scene time, have reached understanding. (And I'm not a lighting expert, but I read their reaching understanding as being reinforced by the brightness of their room - followed by them literally going out into the light).

But with Joke & Zo we have some big issues still. And I'm mostly putting this on Joke at this point. I am not a savvy color person, but look at his environment when he's confessing. That is one drab-ass green. This is not a pretty shot (except for Joong of course, the man is always fucking gorgeous). There's darkness in this green.

And even once Zo forgives him, it's all artificial light, surrounded by darkness (and storminess).

I'm giving Zo more credit here, because although Zo started out as a lot more withdrawn, as their relationship has progressed, he has opened up a lot more with Joke. He was able to articulate exactly why he was upset and hurt. He is trying to explain his perspective to Joke. But Joke isn't doing the work to understand it. As I said in my earlier post, he feels justified. As long as he doesn't see any potential problem with his own behavior, he's not going to understand Zo's point of view.

And on the opposite side, I also think that Zo doesn't understand Joke. But I'm also putting this on Joke - because HE IS STILL HIDING SOMETHING. I don't know if this is more "the end justifies the means" behavior, or if he's so focused on being the perfect boyfriend that he's scared to let that mask slip. But there is still something more than just collaborating with Pat. He's not giving Zo the opportunity to see the real him.

Where does this clinginess and desperation around love come from?

Why was he initially so hostile when Zo approached him freshman year?

If he already started falling for Zo at that point, what were they fighting about with the freshy contest?

Joke and Zo cannot be together long term yet, because Joke cares more about love than understanding. Which is not enough. It's NEVER going to be enough. And Zo is going to have to hold him accountable for that.

If you've read this whole thing, you are a trooper and I love you.

#hidden agenda #hidden agenda the series

[untitled5071]

I have a Lisa Frankenstein request! If you'd rather not, thats totally okay, but I'd love a modern au of them going to a my chemical romance concert. ^^ it's for me and for one of my friends too, and it would really mean a lot to us! Thank you so much for doing what you do!

I hope you like it!

🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦

“Oh my god oh my god, I think this is it!” 

Even though Lisa’s eyes were trained on the stage in front of her, her arms were busy shaking the daylights out of her husband, her hands on his shoulders while he chuckled adoringly at her enthusiasm. He wasn’t doing too good of a job at hiding his own, either; this concert may have been a gift for Lisa while they ‘traveled’ through Mexico as part of their “don’t get caught by the police” world tour, but he was excited too. 

They hadn’t been to a concert in a long time; after Lisa was reanimated and recovered, the two of them had gotten as far away from Brookside as they could potentially get, and once the dust settled, they decided to do a little traveling to see what the modern world could offer them. They had no end of potential date ideas, but they both particularly liked live music. 

Though their favorite of all time would always be the private one given in the living room of Lisa’s old home, they both enjoyed being among other music lovers and shouting lyrics like maniacs. Granted, he knew he wouldn’t be doing much shouting tonight in the sea of people they found themselves in-both because he knew he wouldn’t be heard and because shouting just wasn’t in the cards tonight, but it was all worth it for the sake of seeing Lisa so happy. 

Speaking of Lisa, her declaration that the show was starting seemed to be right on the money, since the lights were starting to dim, the anticipatory roar of the crowd was starting to get louder and cell phone flashlights were starting to flick on like illuminated eyes across the arena. The creature divided his attention between Lisa and the stage as the sound of a heart monitor was projected over the screams of the fans, and she grabbed his stitched-on hand in a vice grip when a gurney containing a covered body was rolled onstage. 

Lisa’s cheers joined that of the rest of the crowd when the body revealed itself to be the lead singer, clad in a hospital gown over his signature dark outfit and clutching a microphone. The first song was ironically called “The End”, and as the creature expected, Lisa sang every word at the top of her lungs, teased hair flying in every direction as she bounced along to the beat.

He knew buying her that second hand iPod Nano last year was a good idea. 

The first verse ended with Gerard Way ripping off his hospital gown as the biggest curtain they had ever seen opened to reveal the rest of the band, already whaling away on their respective instruments. They all wore black outfits and parade marshal’s jackets (which seemed fitting), and they weren’t the only ones who had dressed the part. 

Lisa had spent hours trying to pick the perfect combination of tights and tops for this concert (all black, of course), and had finally settled on black fishnet tights that she had torn and woven back together herself with more colorful embroidery thread (sticking heavily to purple and green to match her husband’s stitched limbs), a black tulle miniskirt and a black sports bra under a mesh top, complete with black and dark-gray striped arm warmers, to match the fashion of the time. He himself was wearing a leather jacket over a deep red shirt, and his best ripped jeans that Lisa distressed for him, in more ways than one. They blended in perfectly with the ocean of punks around them, and that was just fine by them. 

The band cycled through their set with infectious energy and an electric stage presence, and the creature was surprised that the stadium they were in didn’t collapse under the weight of the stomping and jumping the audience was doing. He was particularly fascinated by the mosh pit that had formed towards the font; it was mesmerizing to see all of those bodies moving in such a disjointed but synchronized way that anyone could immediately understand was dangerous if not done properly. He had to respect it, honestly. 

The biggest problem with it, on the other hand, was that it was blocking their view of the stage, and by the time the band’s most popular started (signaled by a single note that was almost drowned out by the crowd), the frenzied movements of the people closer to the stage got more intense, as did the noise level. 

Lisa was staining herself on her tiptoes to see over the screaming heads in front of them, and when her husband noticed this, he put a hand on her shoulder gently, shuffling in the limited space that they had so that his back was to her, and squatted down slightly. Lisa got the hint immediately and hopped onto his back, and he hoisted her up so she could see over the several hundred flip phones being used to record the show and get a better view of the stage. She was delighted by this plan, holding onto him with her thighs and one hand while waving her other hand in the air, mirroring Gerard on stage. And even though her voice was meshing with thousands of others, even that of the actual lead singer, the creature thought her voice was the clearest and most beautiful of them all. 

She must have been able to feel his adoring gaze somehow, because as the song ended in a shower of confetti and pyrotechnics, she bent down and kissed his right cheek first, then his left, whispering (or, given the noisy circumstance) said in a normal speaking voice, 

“Thank you. I love you so much.”

And though he was particularly tongue-tied that evening and unable to speak the words back, he hoped that the kiss he gave her amidst the crowd’s raucous applause spoke his feelings adequately. 

They stayed that way as the concert continued, the creature keeping Lisa safe in the arms collapsed around where she was perched on his back and Lisa sneaking little kisses or playing with his hair in between songs, and as the band played one of their slower pieces, the two undead souls swayed together, united in their love of music and each other. 

These are the eyes and the lies of the taken

These are their hearts but their hearts don't beat like ours

They burn 'cause they are all afraid

When mine beats twice as hard

'Cause the world is ugly

But you're beautiful to me

#lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein fanfiction #lisa frankenstein 2024 #lisa swallows #the creature #my chemical romance