#she forgets her own birthday half the time. she forgets to EAT

[blujaydoodles]

💌 : How would they plan a romantic evening for a significant other?

I'm cheating I choose all of your blorbos

YELLSSSS JUSTIN THERE ARE SO MANY BLORBOS!! This has also been tricky to think about because 'a romantic evening for a significant other' is not (necessarily) the same thing as 'a date', and also all of my OCs have either not been in an actual relationship in a long time, or have not been in one uhhh ever at all lmao

Elyss's idea of a romantic evening is private and intimate; I feel like she would plan something like an evening walk in the woods, but depending on the other person maybe also something cozy, like staying in and reading together by the fire (preferably the other person reading out loud to her)? I don’t think she’d plan anything near water for a romantic evening in case it distracted her (unless her partner can also breathe underwater, in which case yes yes obviously yes WHAT could be more romantic than sharing the overwhelming joy and peace of the quiet depths with someone you love)

Idri gets all her ideas about Romance from books and goes over the top setting up a fancy candlelit dinner, dancing, roses, chocolates, wine, rose petals all over the bedroom-- a very archetypal Whole Shebang. She can't cook, so the fancy dinner is at a fancy restaurant. She's the exact perfect blend of self-aware of how ridiculous it all is and playfully playing into that, while also being completely earnest about wanting it to be really fun and nice-- winking at them over the rose in her teeth, but only because she knows it’ll make them laugh

For Juniper, I feel like a part of her might be inclined to try to Do Things Correctly, especially if she’s not very confident yet in the relationship-- dinner, flowers, candles, dressing up probably. But if she’s more comfortable, she’d plan something less formally by the book, but more romantic to her, personally-- something like stargazing together, or getting up early just to watch the sunrise. There would still be flowers, but it’d be less ‘an obligatory bouquet in a vase’ and more ‘a bed of druidcrafted flowers she’s set up where they’re going to be stargazing’ or ‘a wild blossom tenderly tucked into her partner’s hair’

Aubree dotes-- she's cleaned the whole house, she's got a hot bath with candles and fancy soaps ready for them, she cooks their favorite dinner and dessert and presents it all as artfully as she can, and there's a bouquet of wildflowers on the table cause you've gotta have flowers if you're being romantic, she’s gonna give them a back rub at some point, etc. There’s also gonna be a lot of wine, cause wine pairs well with dinner and with dessert and with a cheese board and with backrubs and romantic bubble baths and suddenly that’s A Fair Bit, haha

Melliwyk is not especially good or well practiced at romance, so I think she’d struggle to figure out how to plan a romantic evening at all :’) I think she’d generally lean on Going Out (because that's what people do, isn't it?)-- a nice restaurant, or a museum or something-- preferably stuff more in line with the latter, because what could be more romantic than bonding over experiencing something interesting together? She probably would also bring a gift-- specifically, something personal and handmade

Nyssa’s romantic evening emphasizes sensuality; this is wine and chocolates in bed, surrounded by flowers and silks, and if you’re not already naked you’re overdressed. Her ‘plans’ aren’t any more specific than setting aside the entire evening, but the loose plan is to lounge and bask and talk and feed each other grapes and get drunk and play music and kiss a lot and get frisky whenever the spirit moves them

Kethri is the kind of person who loves going out and doing stuff, so I think a romantic evening (as opposed to a basic date night) would be a private night in, to center the relationship/ her partner and how much she cares about them. She’d dress up however she knows her partner likes best, and she’s probably written a song just for them, which she plays for them over after-dinner drinks by the fire. Kethri tends to be really playful and cheeky, so I think if she's planning a romantic evening it's going to highlight her tender and sincere side

Felix, even moreso than anyone else, is very minutely tailoring his to his partner’s tastes. In general, he really loves seeing people light up about the things that interest them and make them happy, so in a relationship, being able to do that for his partner would be the height of romance for him-- especially if it gives them an opportunity to get excited and talk about what interests them, like going to a play by a playwright they love so they can discuss the themes afterward, or whatever.

Um, also, this is a crossover ship I’ve only very casually indulged but this is SO specific to them I can’t just generalize about it: if the partner is Melliwyk, he has boobytrapped her entire house. Like, this is the ‘scavenger hunt that leads to the bedroom’ thing, but instead of clues that are just sheets of paper that amount to ‘look in the toaster’ the clues are all, like, meticulously planned escape room puzzles and actual riddles and shit. Also, they actually lead not to the bedroom but to a hot bath and an actual dinner, because the woman needs to be lovingly tricked into eating and relaxing literally ever

Ask about my OCs?

#come to think of it that's also maybe the most thoughtful and romantic thing someone could do FOR felix #'I invented an elaborate mystery for you to solve and rube goldberg'd the shit out of your house' means 'I love you' in gnomish #anyway thank you my love I'm sorry it took me TWO WEEKS to answer but you DID ask the trickiest question of ALL of my blorbos lmao #I know I had also tagged ambrose tsakesh and indigo in the ask prompt post but man I JUST ran out of steam sjhdjgf #tl;dr: ambrose is achingly capital-r Romantic and indigo takes them out stargazing and talking about destiny #(indigo employs the same strategy with casual hookups but actually he's completely sincere in either case) #tsakesh-- I'm not sure? I dunno why I'm having such a hard time with him on this question 🤔 #nyssa is weird because with her cultural background I don't know if she groks romantic love BUT she would be very good at being romantic #oh make the other person feel deeply and personally loved?? slam dunk babey I can do that! #none of them would be bad at this in a way that's funny lol they're all either very charismatic or incredibly sincere (or both) #except mel but she's also not stupid ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ like- her inability to plan a good romantic evening is that she doesn't think to do it at al #she forgets her own birthday half the time. she forgets to EAT #but if she DOES think to plan a romantic evening at all it's not gonna be like comically bad or anything #ask thing #not art #my OCs #elyss #idri #juniper #aubree #nyssa #melliwyk #kethri #felix

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

A Very Merry Unbirthday

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: minor angst, fluff at the end

Request by anon: I was wondering if you could do a angst fic where Spencer forgets readers birthday maybe he’s too distracted by JJ (or anyone else) then Derek is the one who reminds him, maybe Derek brings reader flowers and Spencer got jealous and confronted Derek and that’s when Derek tells him that it’s her birthday 

Summary: Your birthday is here and the one person you expected something from doesn't even remember it's here.

Square Filled: penelope garcia for @anyfandomgoesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Today is a very exciting day because today is your birthday! To celebrate the big day, you’re wearing your favorite jeans that hug your ass nicely, shoes that make you look taller without it being a high heel, a nice blouse that stays in work regulations, your hair is half-pinned to the top, light makeup on your face, and a smile to tie it all together. 

It sucks you won’t get to spend it with your family but you have another family waiting for you at the office. Being surrounded by the people you care about, especially your boyfriend, is something you’d never turn down. Spencer has always been known to do cute and romantic things for you so you’re so excited to see what he has planned for your birthday.

The first person you see when you walk into work is Spencer. He is at his desk on the phone and based on his face, it’s not a pleasant phone call. You’re not going to bother him when he’s working so you’ll greet him when he gets off the phone. You walk to your desk and set your things down when JJ and Emily approach you from behind.

“Happy birthday,” Em grins.

“Thank you!”

“Anything special planned?”

“You mean besides the not-so-surprise party Pen is throwing?” JJ and Emily have shocked looks on their faces. “Come on, I know even if no one told me. Don’t worry, I’ll be prepared to be surprised.”

“She does make it obvious sometimes,” Emily chuckles.

“Other than that, no. Spencer might have something planned but that I do not know about.” Spencer gets off the phone with a sigh and you depart from your friends. You walk over to him with a smile even if he doesn’t return it. “Hey.”

“Hey. Sorry, I can’t talk right now.”

He grabs a bunch of files off his desk and leaves his desk and you behind.

“Okay, I’ll catch you later,” you call after him.

Maybe he’s having a busy morning. You’ll meet up with him later once he’s had enough time to get done what he needs to. Hotch and Rossi walk into the bullpen after visiting someone on the first floor, and you smile at them.

“Hi, Hotch. Rossi.”

“Hey, happy birthday, kiddo,” Rossi smiles.

“Yeah, happy birthday.”

“Thank you. Another year older. It seems like the older I get, the faster time goes.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Rossi jokes.

They both have gifts for you but they will give them to you at Penelope’s surprise party. She is a dead giveaway when she is doing something for other people. Once she starts planning, she has a hard time keeping it inside. It’s endearing.

After lunch, you find Spencer in the break room. He has been working his ass off all day and is in desperate need of something to eat.

“Hey, Spencer. How was your morning?”

“Rough. Hotch has me running around doing everything under the sun.”

You wait for him to say something but when he doesn’t after five seconds, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

“Do you know what today is?”

“Monday?”

“Yes but no.”

“It’s not a holiday.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I don’t know. What?” The smile on your face falls when you realize that he may have forgotten about you. He forgot. “Are you okay?”

“No, yeah, um, I just made you some lunch. It’s in the fridge.”

“Thank you,” he smiles and kisses your cheek.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper.

You wait for him to say anything else to you but he doesn’t. Spencer never forgets anything but he forgot this? He forgot you? Spencer’s desk phone rings and he abandons the lunch you made to answer it. Maybe you’re not important to him anymore.

You avoid him like the plague for the rest of the day. He doesn’t seem to notice since he is nose-deep in his work, but he does notice Derek walk in with some flowers in hand.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” Spencer smiles.

“Yours.”

“What?” Spencer stands up and checks the card to see your name on it. “Why are you giving my girlfriend flowers?”

“You didn’t get her any?”

“No, why would I?”

“You’re in trouble, that’s all I gotta say,” Derek chuckles.

“I’m not in the mood to play games, Morgan. Why are you getting my girlfriend flowers?”

“I got them for her birthday which is today.”

“No, it’s next month.”

“No, it’s today.”

Spencer groans in realization as Derek places the flowers on your desk.

“Are you kidding me?” Now he knows why you’ve been avoiding him all day and why you were so weird during lunch. “I messed up big time. She asked me earlier what today was but I told her I didn’t know. Now I have no idea where she is. She’s been avoiding me.”

“I saw her head into Pen’s office.”

“Thank you.” Spencer rushes over to Pen’s office and knocks twice. He tries to open the door but it’s locked. “Penelope? I know Y/N is in there.”

The door unlocks and Pen only opens it slightly so he can’t barge in.

“She doesn't want to see you right now.”

“Just let me talk to her.”

“Try again later.”

“Y/N, I am so so--”

Penelope closes the door on Spencer, cutting him off. Spencer debates on knocking until you relent but he has a better idea. It’s nearing the end of the day and Hotch has granted him early leave for the day.

“I get he’s busy and gets distracted, but not one ‘happy birthday’ to me? He remembers everything but not this?”

“Honey, all men are stupid, even the smartest of them.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I gotta get back to work. I can’t hide out here forever.”

“Good luck!”

You finish the rest of the work day without seeing Spencer and you don’t see him on your way home. You unlock your front door and enter your apartment expecting to just go to bed and forget today ever happened. Instead, you see fake candles making a path straight to Spencer who is holding a single rose in his hands.

“What are you doing here?” you eventually ask and close your front door.

“I am so sorry for today. I was caught up in work and I didn’t realize what I was doing until Derek told me, but that’s not an excuse.”

“Do you even know what today is?”

“It’s your birthday.”

“You forgot.”

“No, I was distracted. Darling, I am so sorry.”

You sigh, take your jacket off, and hang it on the rack by the door.

“I’m not upset that you were busy. We all get busy. I’m more upset that you forgot. You have a mind that can’t forget but you forgot me. It made me feel like I’m not important enough to you.”

Spencer rushes over to you and pulls you into his arms, lifting your chin so you’re looking right at him.

“No, don’t ever think that. You’re the most important person in my life. You are the light in all this darkness. You are the reason I get up in the morning.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Hotch has been bombarding me with work lately. I got caught up in that today.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes.”

“Is that rose for me?”

Spencer smiles and holds the rose out for you. “Yes.”

“Do we still have time for dinner?”

“Why don’t we stay in tonight and I’ll cook for you? We can plan something for after your party I know you know about.”

“Okay, deal,” you smile.

He leans down and kisses you, relieved that he didn’t mess everything up.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds fiction #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #cm #cm fic #cm fiction #cm fanfic #cm fluff #cm fanfiction #cm angst

[devildomsoup]

Silly little headcanons #2

Silly Little Headcanons #1

Lucifer

He sleeps with socks on.

Has on multiple occasions carried a crying Asmodeus around.

His home screen on his phone is a picture of his brothers with a poorly edited Cerberus in the background.

Can sing the entirety of Bohemian Rapsody without missing a note.

Mammon

Has a drawer with all the things Luke has given him. There's a lock on it.

Stands with one foot on his thigh when preparing noodles.

His keys are attached to his pants because he kept forgetting them.

Ruffles his brothers' hair. All of them.

Leviathan

Remembers everyone's favourite shows so he can buy them merchandise for their birthday.

Makes stickers so he can decorate Henry's fish tank.

Brings glowsticks to Beel's Fangol games.

Wears wrist warmers during winter.

Satan

Has kicked Lucifer in the balls more than one time.

He has a tendency to bump his hip into tables and chairs, you name it

Really good at jump ropes. He can even do tricks.

Has a secret stash of catnip.

Asmodeus

Ran a marathon in heels out of spite.

Had a slime Deviltube channel back when it was trendy.

Very skilled at origami. Made a bouquet for MC's birthday.

Has fallen down the stairs quite a few times.

Beelzebub

Ate the slime Asmodeus made for his Deviltube channel. It's a mystery how he didn't end up sick.

Kicked the front door off its hinges by accident 13 times in the span of 5 days.

Eats most fruits without peeling them first.

Makes a buzzing sound when you scratch his head.

Belphegor

Will take naps on any bed, but it has a tendency to not be his own.

Almost drowned in a bowl of soup once because he fell asleep.

This man never wears matching socks.

If he moos at cows, they will come running to him. He is the cow summoner.

Simeon

Falls for clickbait at least twice per day.

Accidently ordered 100 spoons online instead of 10. He won't run our spoons any time soon.

Likes to make flower arrangements.

Sleeps with a giant Teddy bear that takes up half the bed.

Raphael

He sounds like he's about to keel over and die every time he coughs.

Brings Solomon's cooking with him for lunch.

Forgot Luke in a supermarket.

Randomly brings animals with him to Purgatory Hall.

Luke

Has a hard time telling left from right.

Owns multiple kazoos.

He will never admit but he really enjoys shoulder rides.

Likes to spin around on office chairs. Sometimes he does it too much and ends up extremely dizzy.

Solomon

He once caused a chemical reaction with his cooking that forced the residents of Purgatory to live at the castle for a week.

Has no feelings in his pinky toes. He will ram them into a table leg full force and not even flinch.

Falls asleep on the couch all the time.

Can mimic animal sounds like a pro.

Thirteen

Falls out of her bed all the time. She moves a lot in her sleep.

Her very first trap was a bucket of water on a door. It hit Solomon straight on the head.

Really good at acrobatics.

Had a pet squirrel for many years. It died of old age and Thirteen was devastated when it happened.

Diavolo

Almost broke Barbatos' hand out of excitement when going to the cinema for the first. He apologised for weeks after the incident.

Skilled at climbing. It really comes in handy when he wants to sneak out of the castle.

Likes to do rubber duck races.

Hits his head on doorframes all the time.

Barbatos

Will randomly just do cartwheels.

Slides down the railings in the castle when there isn't anyone around to see it.

Likes to play the piano with the Little D.'s

Don't be surprised if you see birds or other animals help Barbatos. Demon Snow White.

Mephistopheles

He can and will destroy you in Uno.

Helps Luke with homework from time to time. Don't tell anyone though.

Has high kicked a demon into the ceiling because he heard them conspire against Diavolo.

He has a great singing voice.

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me simeon #obey me raphael #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me thirteen #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me mephistopheles #obey me headcanons

[blindmagdalena]

Eat Your Ego, Honey ( Ch 8 )

homelander x oc 18+  escort services, sex work, voyeurism, stalking, Homelander in general. see ao3 link for detailed tags. chapter index. check out the playlist!

chapter summary: After the disastrous spectacle that was Homelander's birthday celebration, America's "disgraced" hero is forced to reconcile with the demons in his head, and what that means for Layla, the woman standing precariously in their path.

additional tags: unhealthy/codependent dynamics, threats of violence, themes of abuse, canon deviation. 🖤

Sleep is a scarcity. Homelander fades in and out of consciousness, but he never truly rests. It’s strange to sleep somewhere he can't see the comfort of his own gaze endlessly mirrored back at him. Those mirrors make the world so much bigger, but for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t mind how small it is. What would normally be a dark, claustrophobic thing is now a great deal safer than the open expanse of a stage.

Layla’s warmth and the faint weight of her arm around him is the only thing that keeps him somewhat tethered. Her heartbeat is a steady metronome against his back, her breaths warmly ghosting over his neck and shoulder. It’s been hours, but it feels too soon when the covers move on his skin as she readjusts in her sleep, pulling her arm from him. He lifts the blanket and rolls to face her. 

She’s turned away from him, her dark hair fanned out in a wild splay on the pillow beneath her. Light from the unsleeping city spills in through the window, illuminating her figure. It’s strange to see her sleeping in day clothes and not the sleepwear he’s used to seeing her in. She didn’t have the time to change tonight. She was too busy taking him back into her arms, into her bed, into her life. He brushes his knuckles down between her shoulder blades, the disheveled silk of her blouse soft beneath his fingers.

He’ll find out why Starlight’s scent is lingering on her when she wakes.

Sliding closer to her, he flattens his palm over her hip and noses at the line of her throat, inhaling deeply, chasing the scent beneath shampoo and lotion until he finds what’s simply her. Her wine flush has followed her into sleep, her skin warmer than usual. She responds to his touch with a sleepy sigh of pleasure. Even now, the sound of her voice does so much to quiet the storm in his heart. He screws his eyes shut and buries his face into the soft tresses of her hair, gritting his teeth against the urge to squeeze too tight. 

The urge to keep. 

The urge to break it all apart and let the storm rage. Instead, he keeps himself perfectly still, trying to swallow the thrumming energy coiling in his tense muscles. End this, the darkness in him hisses, tempting him. How many days has he resisted the urge to reach out, not with his hands but with this thing inside him, and ruin everything? Everyone? A flash of crimson is all it would take to cleave this world in half.

But he can’t afford to. Not then, not now.

The only way he made it out of the cold isolation of the lab, far away from the bad room, was by convincing the staff, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was good. He was their perfect man-made hero. Logically, he knows they can’t ever put him back in the bad room. He’d never let them. It doesn’t stop the nightmares.

He folds in on himself, doing his best to forget that he even has power to wield against others—a whim as sharp as glass. Now, just as then, he orders his body and mind to still, to calm.

If Layla had stayed yesterday morning, things would have been different. His tightly controlled grip on her hip flexes minutely. How can she sleep so deeply knowing that she’s ruined him?

What was she doing with Starlight?

The inkling of a deeper betrayal slithers into his mind. He slides his hand up the length of her torso, traversing the familiar scape of her body, and into her hair, coiling his fingers into a gentle fist of it. One twist is all it would take to quiet her soothing voice forever. Would hair ever feel the same to him again, or would it start to smell like burning tears and cornea? The stench of grief hits him so suddenly that his eyes sting with it, and he recoils from Layla like he himself has been burned.

Has she been scheming against him all along, too?

Fucked. He’s so completely and entirely fucked.

He exhales harshly, curling his hand into a tight fist and biting into the meaty curve just below his thumb, muffling a tearful keen. He can’t think back to that morning without reliving how horribly it went wrong, and how the dominos just continued to fall until he was losing his senses in front of the entire world.

Those moments on stage play over and over in his mind, but each instance of them grows more warped than the last. He’s starting to forget what he really said, conflating memories with nightmares. How much of himself did he really let slip? How ugly does the world think him to be now? 

He can see the headlines now.

Homelander: America’s Fallen Hero

Homelander: Vought’s Poster Boy Throws a Tantrum

Homelander: Deranged Freak Snaps On Stage

He’s spiraling worse than he did during Stormfront’s smear campaign against him. It isn’t just dissenting opinions and slander—he’s finally given them real ammunition to use against him. The question is: how much, and how will he refute it? He needs to be able to recover from this.

His voice of reason is treacherously quiet. Nothing but the dreadful echo of I warned you.

With his thoughts twisting in on themselves like a pit of angry, writhing snakes, he finds it impossible to stay still any longer. His whole body is plagued with a restlessness that turns into agony. Carefully, he extracts himself from Layla’s side and slips out of her bed. He needs to see it for himself. He needs to understand the degree of damage that’s been done to him.

Stepping out into her living room, Homelander picks up the remote for her television and flips it on, dropping the volume to such a miniscule level that he’ll be the only one to hear it. He lowers himself down onto the couch and stares, watching his body move and speak, seemingly puppeteered by someone other than himself, operating in ways he’s never seen himself behave in front of a camera before.

“I’m done being persecuted for my strength–”

Erratic.

“Persecuted for my strength–”

Unhinged.

“Persecuted–”

Alive.

If they want to take us down, we’re going to take every last one of them down with us.

The sky is just barely beginning to turn with dawn’s light when Layla wakes to a chill that rolls up her spine. Her bed feels colder than it has any right to, and as the fractured events of last night spill back into her mind, it doesn’t take her long to figure out why. 

Homelander—who knows if he’ll accept that name yet—is nowhere to be seen.

Her temples throb with the aftermath of emptying a hefty bottle of wine as she lifts herself from bed, running her hands through her hair, breaking apart the tangles with her fingers.

The breadcrumb trail of Homelander’s suit leading from her balcony to her bed tells her that he hasn’t left. The image of him streaking through the sky in the nude does occur to her, though. Straightening her borrowed blouse and tucking it back into the waist of her skirt, she steps lightly through the dark of her apartment, head on a swivel, until she spots her quarry.

Reclined on her couch, Homelander paints an image somewhere between a renaissance painting and a billboard for depression, his body illuminated by the flashing light of the television. His expression is morose, his hand sitting on the couch next to him at an angle, the remote tilted in his loose grasp. As she approaches, he begins tapping on the volume until his own recorded voice fills the empty space between them.

It’s his tirade from last night.

“Hey, babe,” he drawls from the couch, voice pitched low and despondent. The way he pops each consonant makes the pet name sound downright derogatory. “So, what’s the verdict?” He asks, lazily gesturing to the television with the remote. “Is it everything you thought it would be?” His gaze slides from the screen to her, his head lolling to the side with it.

Any concern or lingering sleepiness in her face is swiftly replaced with bewilderment. “Excuse me?”

“‘Excuse me?’” He mocks, pitching his voice up condescendingly. Her expression hardens as he stands, the remote bouncing along the couch cushions where he tosses it. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

“I’m not playing anything with you,” she responds tersely. She’s never been a morning person. Compound that with the ache in her skull and the naked pain in the neck standing in front of her, she’s not feeling her usual bounty of patience. Last night, he was a weepy, sopping mess. Now she doesn’t know what to expect from the tight line of his shoulders, or the agitated curl of his upper lip. “I have no idea what it is you think you’re picking at.”

“Since when are you and Starlight pals, then?” He hisses through his teeth.

Shit. Annie. She never sent that text.

“Since yesterday,” she answers, her calm stretched thin. “She saw me at the elevator. She offered a shower and a change of clothes. That’s all.” She doesn’t find it necessary to explain why Starlight might have offered such a thing. He knows exactly how she looked when she left his penthouse, bruised and disheveled.

The memory looks to serve as a crisp slap, some level of clarity filtering into the incensed glaze of his eyes. His grip flexes, and he bares his teeth in an animalistic flash of frustration. He isn’t willing to accept fault for that yet.

“Stop fucking lying to me!” He snaps, the sudden jump in volume startling her. He advances on her sharply, halting her step backwards with an iron grip, his palm against her throat, his thumb and index finger notching perfectly behind the curve of her jaw below her ears. The contact is minimal, and yet the strength in those two fingers alone is more than enough to hold her firmly in place. 

“You’re all the fucking same! Agendas, lies, all of you trying to control me, use me, and you—you’re exactly the fucking same. You’ve taken everything from me,” he snarls. Despite his fervor, his grip remains remarkably controlled. Sometimes it’s as if his mind and his body are two independent entities: one an unstable, emotionally malnourished psyche, and the other a finely tuned weapon.

The human mind wants dangerous things to be ugly, but even now, Homelander’s twisted, angry expression is not an ugly thing. Though adrenaline surges the thrum of her heart, it isn’t laden with the fear any reasonable person would have. The thrill coursing through her isn’t rooted in some comfort that he won’t hurt her. It’s the knowledge that he—more devastating than any man she’s ever known—absolutely will if not handled correctly.

It’s like holding a thundering storm in her bare hands.

Layla stares wide-eyed and astonished, so thoroughly unaware of what he’s accusing her of that she struggles to speak around the hard lump in her throat. He leans closer yet, clutching her with all the same strength, tenderness and menace of the ocean cradling a ship.

“I killed her,” he whispers, the words passing between them like a confession to God himself. He’s so near, she could rest her forehead against his if she wanted. “I killed her for lying to me. I’ll kill you, too.”

Madelyn Stillwell. The name returns to her like a ghost, the hairs at the back of her neck prickling. Or was it Stormfront? The unnamed mother of his child? One was the victim of a domestic terrorist, one committed suicide, and the third is yet undetermined. All of them are apparent casualties of Homelander’s turbulent presence in their lives. Is she to be the fourth in a string of tragedies? Rage swells so suddenly in her heart that she almost chokes on the fire of it. What right does he have to interrogate her and  threaten her?

“Are you glad?” She asks, her voice steady despite the tremble in her hand holding his wrist in turn. “Are you glad to have killed her?”

His expression flips as if he’s been struck, crinkled brows shooting up. “What?”

“Will you be glad to have killed me?” She asks tightly, her nails biting ineffectual crescents into his titanium flesh. Her tone is sharp and no longer meant to soothe. She speaks to cut. “Or will you just be even more alone?”

Like hers, his eyes turn glassy. “No,” he says softly. She doesn’t know if that’s an answer or a plea.

“Let me go,” she tells him firmly, fighting to hold onto the fires of her own indignant anger. His abrupt flashes of softness and vulnerability compromise her resolve.

“Go where, Layla?” He snaps, suddenly loud again. His broken desperation and seething anger make his voice reedy. “Where the fuck could you go that I wouldn’t still feel you? Kill you, fuck you, love you; you’re in my fucking head!”

You’re all the fucking same!

She isn’t dead, but he’s treating her like a ghost nonetheless. As if she’s already one of the many specters haunting him.

“You love me?” She asks him, snatching that precarious lifeline out of the messy slurry of his words. She’s not sure that he knows the meaning of it. 

Does she?

The tension in Homelander’s face goes slack, stricken to hear those words fall from her lips. His mouth opens and closes as he tries and fails to form the right words. It’s too vulnerable to say yes, and too complicated to say no. Ultimately, he can’t bear to answer first.

“Do you love me?” He asks, defensive, as if she were the one who brought the terrifying gravity of love into the equation in the first place. The weight of it turns her tongue to lead.

There’s an adolescent sense of fumbling in this moment that would be endearing if he were not clutching her jaw with inhuman strength, the whispered promise of her death hanging over them like a creaky guillotine. In another life, this could have been a very sweet confession.

“Do you?” He prompts her again, desperate. He cups the back of her head with his other hand, taking a step closer. His chest bumps her forearms where she has them tightly braced, hands clamped tightly over his wrist. It’s a meager barrier to uphold, but she does so steadfastly. His hold on her is suffocating, his agonized ocean eyes filling up her vision. He’s larger than life, leaving space for little else in her life ever since he crashed into it.

Even when he’s gone, she is consumed by him like a fever that refuses to be sweated out. When her career first began, she knew well enough not to entertain superhumans. It wasn’t a bias she held against them per se, but the opposite: she knew from the start that she would become intoxicated on the danger of them. Homelander is the epitome of everything she’s ever been too afraid to let herself love. He’s the first person to ever be enough of a risk to scare her, and enough of a reward to satiate her. She can feel her destruction lurking in him just as plainly as her parents found their own in their shared thrill seeking.

“I want to,” she whispers, a secret she’s denied even to herself until now. “But you’re making it so fucking hard.”

He exhales roughly, something like hope softening the tension in his expression before he screws his eyes shut, another wave of agony contorting his features. His forehead thumps gently against hers. “I don’t know—I don’t know how else to be. I don’t know how. I don’t know how to make it easy.”

Finally, he releases her jaw from the snare of his grip, only to take either side of her face between his hands, pulling away to look at her. He’s always been younger than her in a multitude of ways, but in this moment, the agonized youth in his eyes takes her breath away. “I was—I was made to be loved. I was supposed to be everyone’s hero. They poked and prodded me, manufactured me in a-a fucking lab to be perfect, but no one—”

Layla’s eyes widen, her heart seized. What?

Homelander bares his teeth like a wounded animal, breath hissing in and out of his clenched teeth as tears roll down his cheeks. “But no one does, no one fucking does, no one loves me,” he says through his teeth, nearly choking on the words. “I don’t understand how to make it easy, Layla,” he sobs, hands shaking on either side of her face. She can’t tell if it’s from sheer emotion, or the restraint it takes not to crush her between them.

“So just—tell me what I need to do, please,” he begs her, devastatingly beautiful in the same way the sprawling webbing of a shattered mirror is. “Tell me how to be easy to love.”

Breathless, Layla stands there with her heart bleeding so freely, so painfully, that she swears there’s warm blood soaking onto the pristine white blouse she wears.

There is a monster in Homelander. At times, she can feel the claws of it in his grip on her. Hear it growling in her ear. When it comes to handling monsters, banishment is always the remedy. Slay the beast, free the man. Homelander’s monster is not so easily felled, nor is she certain it should be. He was not born with sharp teeth and claws. From what she’s gathered, they were filed into fine points long before he was a man.

People like to think of the monster within them as an outside force. Corruption, propaganda, the devil. Layla has spent enough time in bed with people’s deviance to know better. The proverbial devil is not outside of humanity, but embedded deep within It cannot be safely extracted any more than a beating heart can.

But corruption isn’t a heart—it’s a stomach. 

It craves and yearns, it twists and aches and growls when hungry. Just as Eve ate of the apple, humans take bites of sin to satiate their monster. Like people, monsters come in a wide variety of shapes, temperaments, and cravings. Some beasts can be satisfied with a nibble here and there. Others require more. Some never learned how to know when they’re full.

After all he has been deprived of, Homelander may never be truly satisfied, but does that mean he doesn’t deserve to be fed at all?

No, Layla thinks. It doesn’t.

Both of their faces are streaked wet with tears as they hold one another’s gazes. Gingerly, she brings her own hands up to cup his face, wiping his tears with her thumbs. “Okay,” she whispers, afraid her own voice of reason will hear her. “Okay, my darling.”

Relief helps smooth the crease between his brows, but it doesn’t dissipate entirely. “Say it,” he urges her, the hands still upon her face giving the faintest nudge. “Say you love me.”

“I love you,” she says, teary and quiet, but with conviction. She leans in, and he allows her to, no longer holding her firmly in place for fear that she might suddenly vanish. “I love you,” she says again, a promise that ghosts his lips. He shudders. “I love you. You’re in my head,” she says, echoing his own words back at him. Her lips brush against his in a not-quite kiss. “You were from the start.”

He exhales a pained, keening sound, pushing his fingers into her hair and pulling her deep into a feverish kiss. His hunger for her is voracious, and his desire is a force she might not withstand—not by virtue of its violence, but because of its sheer magnitude. He kisses her fiercely, one arm slipping around her middle to keep her body from bowing under the weight of his love.

“I love you, too,” he breathes, the relief in his voice palpable. She takes the air of it into her lungs like it might save her. “I love you so fucking much.”

It’s dangerous, she knows, to trick herself into believing she can satiate his mountainous hunger. Danger is like an ice bath, though. You grow accustomed to the bite of it.

Morning light creeps slowly into Layla’s condo. Homelander trails her as closely as her own shadow, breathing in against the crook of her neck while she cooks breakfast. He’s partially dressed in his undershirt and underwear, his suit folded neatly upon her vanity for the time being. It’s nice to feel his arms around her without the obstructive padding of his suit. Without the bulk of it, she fits more closely against him, his superhuman warmth like a particularly cuddly space heater pressed against her back.

“One egg or two?” She asks him, plucking one from the container on the counter.

“Mmm… Two,” he says, the deliberation making it sound more like a trivia answer than a preference.

She cracks four eggs into the pan, one at a time. “Over easy, medium, hard…?”

He grins against her neck, and she gives his hand at her hip a playful little swat with the back of her silicone spatula. “I dunno,” he says, nuzzling her. “However you like it.”

“Have you never had eggs before?” She asks, looking back at him. 

He’s got his chin propped up on her shoulder. His gaze flickers up from the sizzling pan to meet hers. “Just scrambled.”

…I was made… manufactured in a fucking lab…

She swallows a small lump in her throat, turning back to the eggs. She flips them all over easy and plates them with the toast. When she takes the toast off of the plates and begins slicing them into strips, Homelander makes an inquisitive noise.

“You’ll see,” she says cryptically, shooing him to the table as she plates their breakfasts and carries them to the table.

Homelander sits, and she sets his plate down in front of him. She sits on the adjoining corner to his, but within seconds he has a grip on her seat. The chair legs groan as he slides her closer to him, smiling at her look of surprise. “That’s better,” he says, his knee bumping hers.

He’d likely prefer she be in his lap. There’s always a lingering sense that she’s never quite close enough, even when they’re pressed tightly against one another. He might not be satisfied until he finds a way to open her up and crawl inside.

Huffing a small laugh, she gestures to his plate. “Use the toast sticks to break the yolk,” she tells him, and then demonstrates on her own meal, jabbing a piece of toast into the soft yellow yolk, coating it properly before taking a bite.

Blinking, Homelander does the same. He hums appreciatively, nodding with a mouthful of food.

“My gramma insisted that all food tastes better when it’s dipped. She always made my breakfasts this way,” she explains, her smile tinged with bittersweet nostalgia. “I can’t remember the last time I did it for myself.” 

Silence follows. She glances up to find Homelander staring intently at his plate, a cut of toast pinched between his fingers, dripping yolk back down onto the egg. Layla takes a breath to speak, but that inhale is all it takes to snap him from his thoughts, his sharp blue eyes meeting hers.

“Ryan would like this, I think,” he says. She can tell he’s working to keep his voice conversational.

“Ryan?” She echoes, though it clicks a second after she says it.

“My son,” he confirms, clearing his throat gently. She shares his trepidation as he enters this particular topic of conversation, considering the fallout the last time it was broached. He dips the toast again and takes another bite, seemingly buying time with deliberate chews.

Layla bites her tongue, choking back her own knee-jerk response. She likes children just fine, in theory. She’s had very little practical experience. Still, words of unbidden advice bubble up on her tongue as if she’s an expert. She wants to tell Homelander to go to the boy, talk to him. He told her that she had taken everything from him, presumably referring to his very public meltdown, but that isn’t true in a number of ways. He has a son out there somewhere, confused and without either of his parents.

It sets a sympathetic churn in her gut. Grieving her own parents as a child made an adult of her far too soon. She may not have raised any children herself, but she can speak as a child who was left behind.

“He’s nine. He’s strong,” Homelander continues tentatively. “I mean, really strong. Strong like me,” he says, pride underlining each word, driving out the hesitance. “He’s so much like me. I never thought I’d see it, but he’s real. He’s—” he breaks into a small, incredulous laugh. “—He’s a miracle. A real, born miracle.”

Unlike you, she surmises from his tone. He said that Vought had made him. The world has been rocked by the revelation that supes are the result of Vought’s pharmaceutical ventures, but the way Homelander talks of his son makes him sound different. An exception to that fact, somehow.

“You should go to him,” she encourages, still holding onto a level of cautiousness on the matter. “I was left behind by my parents. I don’t wish it on anyone.”

“I didn’t leave him behind,” Homelander corrects sharply. She was right to tread lightly. “He left me,” he says, though he doesn’t speak with anger so much as he does woundedness. He’s never expressed anything but love—bordering on reverence—for his son, and yet he has completely roadblocked himself from reaching out.

It’s complicated, he told her before.

“He’s nine. It’s not his job to uncomplicate things or bridge the gap,” she says as gently as she can muster, though even she can hear the weariness in her own voice. “It’s yours. He needs you to be the adult, to help the world make sense. It’s one thing to give him space, but you can’t abandon him.”

At first, there is a flash of petulant defiance in Homelander’s eyes, obvious in the tight set of his jaw. To Layla’s relief, however, it fades into quiet consideration. He looks back down to his half-finished plate.

“You can’t take personally what anyone, much less a child, does out of grief,” she says softly, reaching out to put her hand atop his where it rests on the table. “Ryan needs wisdom. Support. People who love him. He needs his father.”

He looks up at her with a level of vulnerability in those ocean blue eyes that never fails to pull her into the depths. “You think so?”

“I know so,” she says firmly. To this day, she can’t imagine what she wouldn’t do for just one more day with her own father. 

Slowly, the wateriness of his gaze becomes a sparkle. Homelander smiles. He has as many smiles as an ice cream shop has flavors, and this one says he’s just had an idea.

“What?” Layla asks after a beat, an edge of suspicion to her tone.

“Nothing,” he says placatingly. His smile shifts. She knows that flavor of smile. That one means he’s lying. “Just relieved is all. Could I use your phone?”

It’s a wonder the ease with which Homelander glides from mood to mood, as if he puts each one neatly in a box before he takes out the next one. Layla only hesitates for a second before she nods, sliding out of her chair to go and fetch her cellphone. She still needs to text Annie.

“Jesus,” she says softly, staring at her screen with a deep crease in her brow.

“What?” Homelander asks, leaning in his seat.

She has thirty missed calls, and about as many text messages.

THIS IS ASHLEY BARRET. HAVE YOU SEEN HOMELANDER? IF YOU KNOW WHERE HOMELANDER IS, PLEASE CONTACT ME. PLEASE CONTACT ME IF YOU KNOW WHERE HOMELANDER IS. MISS ALDEN PLEASE CONTACT ME AND ONLY ME IF YOU HAVE SEEN HOMELANDER. IF YOU CAN PLEASE INFORM HOMELANDER HE IS UP.

Ashley Barret. Layla recalls the name from Homelander’s initial booking. She had been the one to handle the details and arrange payment.

“Ashley Barret is very desperate to find you,” she says, reading the texts as she walks back towards him. “She says that you’re… up.” She stops at the table, looking at him. “What does that mean?”

The chair legs scrape audibly against the floor when Homelander stands up. “Give me that,” he says, taking the phone from her outstretched hand. His expression pinches tightly as he scrolls through the messages, lips parted. “I’m… up,” he says slowly, processing the words that mean nothing to Layla. With a tap, she hears a dial tone. Homelander holds the phone to his ear.

“Miss Alden–” answers a feminine voice immediately.

“What do you mean I’m up?” Homelander interrupts, a harshness to his voice that Layla doesn’t expect to hear outside of an argument.

“21 points with your base,” Ashley says breathlessly.

Homelander’s expression softens, becoming wonder-like. “What did you say?”

“21 points. They loved your speech!”

He looks at Layla, familiar glassiness returning to his eyes. He lifts his loose hand, which curls slowly into a fist, as if he’s taking hold of something precious, some nebulous concept of grace he had thought lost. 

“A massive 44% uptick with white males in the Rust Belt.”

“Yes,” Homelander hisses through his teeth, pumping his fist triumphantly. “Fuck yes! Yes!” With that same hand, he suddenly takes hold of the back of Layla’s neck, pulling her into a deep kiss. Her noise of surprise is muffled against his lips, his tongue a slick demand on hers.

“They’re saying you’re confident and unapologetic!” Ashley’s voice continues to prattle from the phone, though Layla’s finding it hard to pay attention with the way Homelander’s taking a fistful of her hair, bowing her back, kissing her hungrily. “That you’re not afraid to be yourself!”

He outright moans against her lips. She breaks away from him with a gasp, hand pressed against her chest. “Should I give you a moment alone with Ashley?” She asks breathlessly, only half-joking. The man is absolutely alight against her, heat radiating in his touches. The news trips an alarm bell somewhere in the back of Layla’s mind, but she’s struggling to process it in the wake of his voraciousness.

“Christ, no,” he says. The phone hits the ground with a clatter, Ashley’s confused voice continuing distantly on the line. He cups both sides of Layla’s face and pulls her back in, exhaling a pleased little growl against her lips. “Did you hear? They love me. They fucking love me,” he says between kisses, breathless and downright giddy.

Drawing back, he strokes her cheeks tenderly with his thumbs, his smile broad, eyes shining with relief, joy, and something Layla can’t quite place, though it causes a small knot to form in her gut.

“They want me to be myself.”

#this chapter took everything out of me but it's here and i hope to god it doesn't take this long for the next chap #bc i already have portions written and i know where it's all going!!! #blood sweat and tears in this fic fr lmao #homelander x oc #homelander x original character #homelander fanfiction #eat your ego #my writing

[captainpulisic]

i hate accidents! - c. pulisic

happy 25th birthday to my number one boy. again, this is for my girlies who go against gender norms and can’t cook!

gif credits to owner , wc: 1.8 k

flour. sugar. eggs. milk. butter. flour. sugar. eggs. milk. butter, you kept repeating the ingredients to yourself, making sure you had enough of each one. flour. sugar. eggs. milk. butter. oh- and cocoa powder. don’t forget the cocoa powder.

“oh, y/n.” your best friend leaned against her refrigerator, looking at you with weary eyes. she half heartedly gestured at the mess of ingredients you had laid across her kitchen counters. “why are you even doing this?”

her roomate chimed in from the next room where she was watching some movie, “yeah, we know cooking isn’t exactly your expertise.”

of course, they knew. everyone knew. you were self aware, you knew it better than anyone else. but this wasn’t cooking. it was baking. it was baking a birthday cake for christian so maybe this would prove easier than cooking?

you were going to bake it with love and whatever other bullshit people said, so this had to come out right, right?

“you know what you should do?” your friend was suddenly very serious. she took a step closer to you and fake whispered, “go get a store-bought cake that comes all prettily decorated. you just put it on a plate at home, put some candles and ta-da! it’s a beautiful homemade cake you made.”

you deadpanned, “are you being serious right now?”

“of course,” she waved you off. “i’ve done it plenty of times, people always fall for it.”

taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and point towards the door. “get out.”

“but this is my kitchen!” she half laughs, half protest.

“I know, I know,” you shake your head as you push her out of the room. giving her one last grateful smile as you shut the door, “and I really do appreciate you letting me borrow it but I seriously need to focus on this.”

yes, you had to find refuge in a different kitchen, no longer allowed in your own. after another cooking disaster, christian and yourself (mostly him) decided it was best to keep your time in the kitchen to a minimum.

“there’s only so many pots in the country,” he had teased as he tried scraping off the char. what? no one had told you making pancakes could be so hard!

it worked better for you, anyway. away from his prying eyes, you’d had free reign to practice all week long. you’re sure he’s grown suspicious of why you left every day for a few hours and came back smelling like you’d bathed in a tub of vanilla extract (you had spilled some on your clothes too many times to count). just yesterday, he had stopped you in the hallway and wiped some flour from your hair. when you saw him give you a curious glance, you leaned in to kiss him and led him straight to your bedroom. predictably, no questions had been asked after that.

with his strict diet and tough self discipline, christian didn’t indulge in sweets as often as would like. he stuck through rigorous training and healthy eating habits expected of him. his birthday cake was one of the few times of the year he let himself enjoy a sugary overload. therefore, you knew you couldn’t fuck this up for him. you had spent weeks scouring the internet for recipes and consulting with his mom on baking tips.

since his birthday fell on a monday this year, you’d planned to go out and celebrate with friends on the weekend. today was reserved for just the both of you. while he had a few hours of training, you were going to take advantage of the time to overcome the impossible and successfully bake an edible cake.

well, I have to start at some point, you chewed on your cheek. triple checking you had all the correct ingredients and measuring cups, your nerves got the best of you as you figured it was time to start.

you had settled on a simple chocolate cake- well the recipe seemed simple enough- and knowing of christians love for chocolate. hell bent on succeeding, you followed the instructions exactly as they were written and measured everything to the exact tablespoon.

all was going smoothly until it was time to add the designated two cups of sugar into the growing mixture. you hadn’t noticed you’d used up all your sugar during your trial runs. the recipe said not to stop stirring the batter, in fear that it would mess up the consistency. thus, you absentmindedly ventured into the cupboards in search of any sugar.

keeping your attention on stirring the batter, you reached for the unlabeled container of white grains?

aha! sugar!

once the batter was finished, you slathered the pan with butter and stuck it in the oven. moving onto making the chocolate buttercream frosting, you sprinkled more sugar from the container into it.

all too soon, the oven beeped and you rushed to take it out. surprisingly, it looked soft and spongy and like an actual, real cake. now more excited than ever, you covered it in the chocolate icing, trying to make it look as pretty as you could.

(the self restraint you had to not dip your finger into the bowl should be studied, truly.)

after thank yous and goodbyes and congratulations that you created something edible were said, you rushed back home in hopes of beating christian. making sure the house was still empty, you carefully take the cake out of the container and arrange it prettily on the counter. sticking a few candles into it, all there is left to do is wait for the birthday boy to come home.

soon enough, you hear the front door open and his footsteps advancing. he’s always had the knack of looking for you, of easily finding you. before you know it, his hands are on your hips and you feel soft lip brushes on your neck. it’s barely a mummer, “hey, you.”

“hey, birthday boy.” you turn around to face him. you cup his face, as he looks down at you fondly. his lovesick smile mirrors yours. it’s useless finding the urge to kiss him silly, thus you satiate yourself. rising to your tiptoes, your hands find themselves combing through his hair as your lips meet his. pulling away after a few moments, you can’t help but laugh when you see him try to follow you. you settle with leaving a trail of kisses all over his face and working your way down to his neck.

hearing him let out a content sigh, you find yourself settling your arms around his waist. mumbling into the crook of his neck, “you’re old.”

when he pouts and argues that he’s young, you retaliate and insist he’s reached grandpa status. this causes him to prove to you how young he is, by chasing you throughout the house. passing hallways and turning corners, the chase leads you both to the kitchen. where low and behold, a pretty chocolate cake sits with candles sticking out of it.

“oh,” upon seeing it, christian stops dead in his tracks. marveling at it, you see his eyes light up and he has the biggest grin on his face. stepping closer to inspect it, “is it from that new place down the street?”

that ‘new place’ was a bakery that had just opened up a few weeks ago. it’s a cozy, picture-perfect bakery that had cakes and pastries lined up along their windows. it’s the type of place where you’d have been able to get a professionally-made chocolate cake guaranteed to taste heavenly.

“uh, no.” you gave him a sheepish grin. feeling very shy, you’re beginning to regret even doing this. you’d been so happy about not fucking up the baking, you hadn’t considered how, maybe, christian would want a big, 5 star cake. you were just so proud of what you’d done! you hate to admit it but you had put love and all that bullshit into it. but, maybe, he did want a cake from an actual bakery. cheeks warming, “I actually made it.”

“y/n,” he whispers. it shouldn’t be physically possible but his smile got even bigger. he looked so handsome. reaching for your hands, he pulls you into his arms. looking down at you with the softest gaze, “you made this? for me?”

all you can do is nod. nerves overtaking your system, “I did, it might not even be that good, i’m sorry it’s not that pretty-”

he shuts you up when he leaves a kiss on each cheek and a few more on your forehead and nose. cupping your face, his thumb begins to stroke your cheek. you feel slightly silly over how fast you lean into his touch.

“oh baby, ‘m so proud of you.” his voice is too soft, and the look he’s giving you isn’t helping. your knees feel like jelly. he’s leaving kisses all over your face now, whispering ‘thank yous’ in between. “this is the best thing you could’ve done for me, thank you, my pretty girl.”

feeling the worry lift from your shoulders, you sigh in relief. solemnly nodding, “I was really careful, so it should taste decent.”

“I bet it’ll taste as great as it looks,” he dips down to leave a kiss on the corner of your mouth. that's when you see that particular glint in his eye. he goes in for another kiss, a deeper one. when he pulls away, the bastard bites your lip. there’s a teasing smile, “but I know it won't taste as sweet as you do.”

later that night, after dinner and gifts and intimate celebrating, you find yourselves seated at the counter.

yes, maybe it tasted like cardboard and the icing had a salty taste instead of sweet one (was the unlabeled container full of salt or sugar? you’re not that sure anymore.)

yes, maybe you both tried swallowing it and smiling through the torture your tastebuds were going through.

yes, maybe you lightly slapped his chest when he told you he felt bad for you guys’ future children. they’re going to think we hate them, he wheezed throughout the laughter.

yes, maybe you both were in hysterics over this bizarre situation and went out to buy a real, edible cake from the nearby bakery. and back home, when you lit a candle on it, you scolded him when he told you what he had wished for. he scooped some icing onto his index finger and smeared it on your cheek. then kissed the other, unaffected cheek. “for every year, to be exactly like this one. I want a salty cake for the rest of my life if it means you’re here.”

“hey!” you pouted. getting some icing yourself, you dragged it across his nose and curved it down to his upper lip. “the wishes don’t come true if you tell people, you know.”

he pondered this for a second, “well I was going to wish for you to get some cooking lessons but who would bake me a salty cake, huh?”

“haha,” you deadpan. leaving another kiss on his cheek, “you think you’re such a comedian, grandpa.”

i personally love a good birthday sheet cake from the grocery store. feedback is greatly appreciated, thank you!

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic fluff

[blues824]

Imagen izuru Kamukura dating the mitsuri kanroji.

💞He is the obanai to your mitsuri (he is more obanai and giyuu combined.)

🍡Imagen the contrast between them a person who constantly shows emotions and loves everyone dispite their flaws and has her own flaws with a guy who doesn't feel emotions gets easily bored and doesn't have any flaws.

💞Imagen her braiding izuru his hair like her and him letting her and him doing her hair in return.

🍡Imagen his reaction to her hair being pink and green because of her love for sakura mochi and learning that she had to eat 180 sakura mochi for 8 months staigt of it to acedently happen.

💞Or het mussels mass being 8 times denser than everyone even surpassing him and her being able to beat 3 sumu wrestler in a food competition.

🍡I know he whoud be able to be as flexible and as tallend with a sword like the mitsuri mc or even stronger but she doesn't mind she always wanted a strong and intelligent husband.

💞Her being a cat person and always doing adorable things and izuru is just starting their watching over her imagine her making a flower crown for him and him just walking around with it.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ANGEL!!!

Izuru Kamukura

When I say that this man fits your type perfectly, I mean it. You were invited to Hope’s Peak as the Ultimate Swordswoman, which made sense. The only thing was that you were well-versed in every weapon, and your signature was a pair of whips instead of a sword. However, Izuru could wield them just as well, if not better. 

Now, you were his perfect opposite. You were very sensitive to your emotions, being way more in-touch with them than he was. You don’t get bored too easily, and you are rather happy and joyful despite being shy. He, on the other hand, was not a fan of emotions, as they tended to get messy. He tended to think about the negatives, being a cup-is-half-empty kind of person. He was not shy, nor was he soft-spoken… he was just a lone-wolf.

But, here you were, sitting behind him at lunch and braiding his hair into smaller braids. All of your classmates were purely amazed that Izuru was just allowing you to do it as you talked to him and did his ‘daily affirmations’. Truth be told, your gentle hands felt good in his hair, and he found himself relaxing in your arms. You were the only one who could make him temporarily forget the pain he has gone through to be here, but he’s grateful for it because he has you.

Izuru has what one would call a ‘sleeper build’. His muscles won’t show unless he flexes them. Your muscles work pretty much the same way, but you often use yours more. He makes it known that he doesn’t care that your muscle mass surpasses his and that the concept of femininity has been frayed since the beginning. This came up when he saw you refusing food for the nth time. Afterwards, he gave you a box of sakura mochi, and his heart melted at seeing you so happy.

You totally call him ‘honey’ or ‘sweetie’, and again, everyone is questioning how you are still alive. In your mind, though, you were already married. Despite there being a certain absence on your finger, you have already pictured up an image of you and Izuru growing old with each other (think Ellie and Carl from Up). 

For your pink hair, he kind of guessed that it was because of the pigment in the sakura mochi you loved so much. But he didn’t really care. You were eating something you liked, and that’s all that mattered. Plus, your hair was a pretty pink color that allowed Izuru to distinguish you in a crowd, which he definitely liked. You stood out like a pink highlighter, and that’s actually Izuru’s contact name for you in his phone. Don’t be offended, it’s affectionate.

Once, you came to school with a flower crown in hand. It had all sorts of daisies and dandelions, and you placed it on your boyfriend’s head. You then placed a kiss on his cheek before heading off to drop your stuff off at your locker. Throughout the day, Izuru could be seen wearing the flower crown, as he didn’t bother to take it off. Plus, he didn’t want to make you sad by taking it off, so it stayed on.

#danganronpa izuru #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa #izuru x reader #izuru kamukura x reader #izuru kamukura #izuru

[lewmagoo]

So i wanted to request sth, it's reader's birthday, Bradley planned to go down on her calmly, relieving her from the week's stress, when she accidentally says Daddy and discovers his daddy kink -and other kinks 👀- leading both of them into a very heated night.

baby doll | b. bradshaw notes: you wrecked me, anon. i have passed away. warnings: 18+, dom!rooster, daddy kink, oral (f receiving)

bradley made her feel like the most special girl in the whole wide world. it was her birthday, and he’d been fortunate enough to be home for it. he was determined to make it the best birthday she’d ever had, and he had most certainly succeeded. they spent the entire day together, doing whatever she wanted, and enjoying one another’s company. it was nothing extravagant, but it was special to her, and that’s what mattered.

he took her home that night with the intention of making her forget about all her problems and all the stressors of the week. he wanted to make her feel as much pleasure as humanly possible. at the start, he didn't have anything too kinky on his mind. his only goal was to end the night with his face between his girl's thighs. but partially through, something changed.

he'd gone all out. lit some candles, turned the lights low, made sure she was comfortable. and she was, her body cozied into the soft duvet, her head resting upon the pillows. she was entirely bare, spread out for him, and he couldn't help but stop to admire her. she was so pretty like this, naked and needy. he'd be damned if he didn't give her everything she'd ever wanted.

"you're so pretty, baby doll," he hummed, fingers trailing along the silky inside of her thigh as he climbed onto the bed. she gazed at him through hooded eyes, taking in the sight of him clothed in only his boxers, cock half hard beneath the fabric. she bit her lip, almost salivating at the sight. he couldn't help but grin.

"you want this?" he asked, reaching down to palm his crotch. with a soft moan, she nodded. he came to hover over her, lips just barely touching her own. "you can have it in a bit. i'm gonna make you come at least once with my mouth before you get my cock. just be patient for me, darlin'." he punctuated his statement with a kiss to her lips. then, he began his descent, trailing searing hot, open mouthed kisses down her neck, over her breasts, across her stomach, and further down, until his lips were pressed against her pubic mound.

she watched as he went lower, and he locked eyes with her as he left a kiss against the sensitive little bud nestled within slick folds. then, his tongue flattened against her, and he licked along the expanse of her pussy before he encircled her clit. it drew a breathless little whimper from her, growing louder still when his lips wrapped around her and he sucked the nub into his mouth.

bradley wasted no time in getting her worked up. eating pussy was easily one of his favorite parts of sex. he loved to taste her on his tongue, and he loved the little sounds she'd make while his face was buried against her. and buried, it was. his philosophy was that if he wasn't nearly suffocating in pussy, he wasn't doing it right. he went all in, and he was messy with it, often coming up with her arousal smeared over his mouth and chin, glistening in his mustache.

tonight was no exception. he went at it like a starving man, devouring his first meal after going without. his big, gentle hands held onto her thighs in a bruising grip as he pleasured her, moaning and groaning at the taste of her, and the sounds of her bliss. "that's it. make those pretty sounds for me, baby doll," he urged. her hands found purchase in his auburn curls, breathless whimpers escaping her mouth. he removed a hand from her thigh, bringing it forth to aid his mouth.

he easily slotted two fingers within her, and the stretch was delicious. her toes curled, and her fingers tugged at his roots. his other hand came up to rest upon her lower belly, heavy and warm against her skin. something about that gesture made her feel so small, in the best way possible. she was quickly climbing toward that peak, warmth spreading through her fingers and toes and tingling like electricity. "you taste so good. i want you to let go when you need to. want all that sweet cum on my tongue."

he was desperate for it, eager to taste her. and above him, she was losing herself, mind swimming with pleasure, all inhibitions gone. she was sex-drunk, and saying any incoherent word that came to mind, because it all felt so fucking good and she was so fucking close. but then, it slipped out of her mouth. a single word, with an incredible amount of power. "d-daddy." and it was as if her world had stopped spinning on its axis. she froze, eyes snapping open as she realized what she'd said.

rooster froze, too, and for a moment, she started spiraling, horrified that she'd let it slip. he probably hated it. surely, he did. she'd ruined the moment and he was going to pull away from her. but within seconds, he'd recovered, and he moved so that his body was hulking over her own. she could hardly make eye contact, but a hand came up and held her jaw, forcing her to look at him. and when she did, she saw something in his eyes that she had never seen before.

"what did you just call me?" he asked. his voice was wrecked. it sounded like he was fighting with all his might to keep it steady. but she was too wrapped up in her embarrassment to notice how turned on he was. "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry," she squeaked, wishing the bed would open up and swallow her whole. anything to get out of this situation. but he shook his head, jaw ticking as he tried to remain gentle and calm. "don't," he commanded. "don't you ever fuckin' apologize for that. i want you to say it again. what. did. you. call. me?" she held his intense gaze. in the low light, she could see his pupils were blown, almost turning his entire iris black.

her chest heaved against his, and she felt hot all over, like someone had lit a match and was dragging it over her skin. "daddy." she said it in a whisper. "louder," came his gruff response. "daddy!" she cried out, and suddenly, his mouth was on hers, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss. she could taste herself on his tongue. "fuck," he groaned into her mouth. "you have no idea how goddamn hard that makes me, baby doll." he pressed his hardness to her center, separated only by thin fabric. "i know i promised to eat that sweet pussy, but i gotta be inside you. can i?" he was barely containing himself. his hands trembled. "yes," she sighed out. without a moment's hesitation, he was reaching down, tugging his boxers down just enough to free his cock. he pushed into her in one fluid motion, stretching her to capacity. "hold on tight, darlin'. and keep on talking. tell daddy how good it feels." then, with his mouth at her ear, he said, "i won't stop until you're begging me to."

-

@halfway-happyyy @natasharomanoffisbaebby @oliviabelova @robertbobfloydlover @supernaturaldawning @marrianena @mys2425 @n3ssm0nique @ice-mans-world @lovemesomevesey @straightforwardly @mochi-de-bisou @christinafaucher @emmmaturtle @fantasias-creativebubble @worldmadeofmemories @tarohemianrocketmanapsody @m0chac0ffee @not-leaprvt @i-simp-much @soaharleys @colorfultyrantearthquake @obxsuperfan07 @juniebugg @marchingicenotes7 @airedale17 @jamiedontbeacracko @monosjoons @dilfsandtherapy

#rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw imagine #asks #drabbles

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Nadia's Birthday

~ it's July 8, so here's how you might celebrate Nadia's birthday with her! Enjoy ^.^ ~

You would love to say that the morning of Nadia's birthday was calm and relaxing, but truthfully, you can't remember the last time the palace was this busy

She is the Countess of Vesuvia, after all, so it's only natural that the entire town would be involved in celebrating her birthday as grandly as possible

Not to mention the Prakran royal family - it's their first opportunity to celebrate her after years of no contact and they can't resist

Which is why you're woken up by her waking up, when a bell she's programmed to go off at a specific time alerts her to the beginning of her hectic royal birthday

Thankfully, you planned in advance for a light and energizing breakfast to be brought to her chambers so she can have a few moments of peace with you before getting thrown into chaos

It's a small surprise, but it's successful and deeply appreciated

Her eyebrows will raise and her mouth will drop open a little, and then she'll sink back into her cushions and allow you to wheel the tray of food closer to the massive bed to eat together

She will insist on having you sit next to her so she can feed you

Reclining back in the cool, smooth sheets, admiring the fresh face above you while she dotes on you before having to take on the cares of the day

Even on a day about her, she finds the greatest joy in caring for you

She's tempted to delay her duties just a little longer to stay in bed with you, but Chandra appears at her window to remind of her of the time

Insists that you take your time to get ready for the day, placing one last tender kiss between your eyebrows before dressing and heading out to oversee the planning of her own birthday party

Thankfully, her sisters have all arrived in the previous week and are hard at work helping her out and lightening her load

Meanwhile, you take advantage of her busyness to find the sisters and staff members not currently working with to her to finalize your own plans

Nadia knows that you've requested the week after her birthday to remain free for you to schedule her time as you please, but she has no idea what sort of vacation you have planned for her

She's been trying to guess for some time now - borrowing Asra's house in Nopal? An in-town vacation at your old shop, wearing disguises every day and pretending to be common folk?

Don't tell her, you got access to the Papess of Firent? That territory is impossible to visit!

You spend the morning completing your own preparations, finalizing travel times, packing your bags, packing her bags (with Portia's help), coordinating teleportation with Asra -

- listing all of Julian's suggestions for things to do at the seaside while remaining as un-sunburned and hydrated as possible, asking the sisters for pointers on how to behave in a vacation palace -

- are you allowed to use it like a normal home, just bigger? Or does the "no running and sliding in socks down the halls" rule still apply? You really, really hope it doesn't

You finally catch up with Nadia again at lunch, where she's sitting down for the first time in hours and getting a moment to catch her breath

She already looks a little tired and socially drained, so you check in with her sisters and Portia to cover the two of you for an hour while she gets a quick nap before the late night of partying

She's surprisingly open to your suggestion of a quick rest. Until you realize that she's had the same idea too, and that she's steering you towards her private bath and not her chambers ...

If you protest she'll simply explain that she's picking up where she left off this morning, before Chandra (the responsible darling) so rudely interrupted her

The next hour and a half pass so smoothly you almost forget about all the duties waiting for both of you until you finally make it back to her rooms and find your outfits laid out for the evening

And of course, she's coordinated your ensemble with hers perfectly. Arcana forbid you appear at her celebration poorly dressed

The afternoon passes in a flurry of activity. You're busy playing a support role as the Countess's partner, and a planning role as the court's official magician. The Palace doors are opening before you have time to blink

The party isn't anything like the Masquerade - while Nadia still had to go out mid-morning to officially invite all of Vesuvia to her party, the celebrations are only expected to last one night

It's a little quieter too. There's dancing and music and incredible food and wonderful entertainment, but none of it reaches the wild fever-pitch that you've come to associate with Palace events

Nadia, ever-graceful, doesn't expect you to remain in the center of activity with her, but she appreciates it when you do

She keeps you on her arm as the two of you stroll through the lit up gardens and hallways together, stopping between guests to glance at you from the corner of her eye with a loving smile before moving on

She'll also open the dancing with you, as is tradition at this point. She looks at you like she's the most fortunate woman in the world to have you for a partner in front of the whole town, but you feel like it's just as true in the opposite direction

You know it's time to start putting your own plan in action when she starts giving signals that she's about to retire to her chambers (sometime around one in the morning)

She doesn't want to seem rude or ungrateful, but she's noticed a distinct lack of presents from you and her family and close friends, and she couldn't help wondering what had happened

She starts to get an idea of it when you take her hand at the foot of the stairs, leading her away from her chambers and towards the garden maze, where Asra is waiting next to the fountain

"MC, my darling, can it be that you are about to reveal your mysterious plans to me? Consider me deeply intrigued."

Portia, Nasmira, and Natiqa have already ferried your bags and a massive pile of birthday presents through to your destination, and all that remains now is to pass through the water yourselves

The two of you join hands and sink into into the water, you savoring another glimpse of the curiosity sparkling in Nadia's eyes before you rise up out of the waves of the Sea of Persephia

The moon is well on its journey across the sky, but Nadia needs no help to figure out where she is: the sparkling water, the quiet private beach, and her family's Sea Palace sitting in the distance

You know that she often used to retreat here as a child to escape the summer heat, and now it's lying empty and inviting for the two of you to spend a week doing nothing but enjoy each other

She has her shoes in one hand and your fingers woven in the other, gazing softly in awe at the gift of rest and peace you've given her

And then she slowly, sweetly, sleepily leads you up the sand, into a week of playful mornings and drowsy afternoons and delightful evenings and wondrous nights

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #happy birthday nadia satrinava #nadia the arcana #nadia satrinava #countess nadia #the arcana game

[stxrrynxghts]

Uttara

Uttara sat down and lit the lamp. Today was a special day. Today, her room was lit up with lamps. She had decorated her room, with flowers, fragrances all around. It had been years since she had done this. The smell of the rose fragrance was something she had long forgotten. Uttara had lit those special incense sticks, which used to be lit in her mother-in-law's room, the ones whose smell had been ingrained in-

Her mother-in-law.

Uttara couldn't forget Subhadra. It had been 30 years since Uttara had last seen her. Subhadra had been kind and caring, loving and sympathetic. She had wiped away Uttara's tears ignoring her own, kept her head in her lap when no pillow provided comfort, stroked her face with love whenever she felt alone.

Subhadra had loved her from the moment she had known that Uttara would be her daughter-in-law. She had never, never made Uttara feel that she was alone. When Uttara had been pregnant, and her husband had died, many people told her to not kill herself, for the sake of the baby.

"I have already lost one child. I cannot bear losing another." Was what the woman who had lost her only son had said to her. Perhaps that was what stopped her. Uttara was young back then, only 14, newly widowed, and torn apart from grief. She was scared by the mere thought of having a child, and Subhadra had kept aside her own pain, pulling Uttara under the warm shade of her love and care.

In her whole pregnancy, she never made Uttara feel that her husband was dead.

As a widow, she had to eat simple food, to keep her mind calm. Yet, her baby didn't understand that it was going to be born to a girl whose life was now colorless. Subhadra used to sneak her sweets each time, as well as various delicacies, not just things that she craved, but food that she always liked to it.

When Uttara had been dying from pain, Subhadra had fallen on her feet, begging her brother to save her. Subhadra had been the one to do her delivery, and had chosen to save her, over the last memory of her dead son. She had taught Uttara how to smile again, how to live for herself again. She would never be complete, but she wasn't as broken as before. 

As a young mother, she had never listened to Subhadra, always running around, always playing with her Pari. Subhadra kept the child inside her alive, and now, when Uttara was 98 years old, she yearned for the motherly touch, kind smile, and spirited laugh that she hadn't paid much attention to.

Uttara threw her trunk open, pulling out the remnants of the past. Her old belongings, and her husband's things. Her wrinkled fingers felt glided against the soft material of her wedding dress.

Her mother had made it with her own hands.

Her mother.

Sudeshna had always been a formidable and strict woman. But she loved her children nonetheless. She had died very early, when Uttara was 20, her heart finally giving up in front of the pain of losing half her family, and seeing her daughter in such a condition. She had never been the type to sit and listen to her children's problems, but whenever Uttara would be sad, she would comb her hair until Uttara fell asleep.

Uttara was old now.

Yet she remembered her mother's face, if she thought hard. Her face, smiling during her wedding. Her mother's face became clear when Uttara gazed at their family portrait, made on Uttar's 16th birthday, a month before the war. Her father, Maharaj Virat, was another person who had long faded from her memory. She just remembered his face from the picture, showing it to her dear grandsons whenever they asked about her father. She couldn't recall his voice, or any memory related to him, except how much in pain she had been when he had died.

Another face came in her mind whenever she heard Father.

Arjun.

Her teacher/father-in-law/bestfriend.

He had never let Pari feel that he didn't have a father. The child used to call him 'Pitashree' when he had started to speak. Arjun was someone still vivid in her memories. Thinking about him hurt.

Uttara had relied heavily on the man for guidance, emotional support and fatherly love & care, after the aftermath of the Great war. And he had given those to her. Once she had mistaken him for her husband in the dark, forgetting momentarily, that she was a widow. They never spoke of that moment ever. Arjun was someone who had helped her in the moment she needed him the most....

And then proceeded to leave, when she needed him for the second time in her life.

The Yadava massacre was painful, and unlike his son's death, Arjun couldn't bear seeing his best friend dead. So he left, taking with him his brothers and wife, leaving them-No. Leaving her alone, when she needed a father. When Parikshit needed his grandfather. When Maa needed her husband.

Brihannalla had been her first friend, and he was the one whose company she still craved more than anything. Uttara would do anything, to go back to being a 12 year old carefree girl, with nothing more important than learning the new dance Brihannalla had taught, so that she could rub it in Uttar's face, how good a dancer she was.

Uttar.

Her dead brother.

A tear leaked down her eye. 

Uttara hugged the doll Uttar had gifted her during her farewell, tightly, soaking it with her tears. He had made it clumsily himself. It was painful, to think that she had no memories of her brother, except of his funeral. Uttara still read the letters he had sent her, letters which had his scent, that of lilies. Uttar had loved lilies.

'Dear Sister.' He wrote. 'I don't wish to marry. I want to be the cool and favorite uncle to your many children. Okay, maybe I do not like the idea of you having many children, since that would imply that your bratty husband....well, I would rather not think about it...'

Little did they know, that neither would Uttar marry, nor would Uttara have many children.

Parikshit had been the light of her life.

Uttara could still feel the first time he had kicked inside her, the first time he had moved, how he used to respond to her voice always-

How sweet he had been, her Pari.

He had ran into her arms the first time he had walked. He would excitedly show her what he had learnt each day. Growing up, he had looked a lot like his father. Parikshit had always been understanding, even the day he had learnt how his father had died, the day he heard the news of his grandfather's death, the day he learnt that his grandmother had taken jal samadhi.

But they had taken him away from her too.

He had been with her, when it had happened.

He had been cursed, and Uttara, she had sobbed, no-She had screamed, that she would stay with her baby, yes, she would stay with him, and when the snake came to bite him, she would save him, she would step in between-

Uttara had turned away for a moment, just like that time when he had fallen from the bed and broken his ankle. That day, when she had turned back, Pari had been crying. This time, he just gave her a soft smile, a lone tear rolling down from his eye.

He had died in her lap.

No matter how she screamed, he didn't come back.

For the first time in her life, Uttara cursed her in-laws. She cursed Kakashree Nakul and Sahadev for leaving, if they had been here, her son would have been cured. She cursed Tatshree Yudhishthira for leaving this burden for her child, Tatshree Bheem for failing in his promise of protecting her son.

She cursed Pitashree for not wiping out the Nagas.

How proud Arya would have been if he had seen-

A sob came out of her mouth. 

She didn't remember him. Not even a bit. Not even his voice. She knew how he looked like, by seeing the many portraits he had gotten made during their 6 months of marriage.

It was for him she had decorated her room.

Uttara pulled out the contents of the trunk, and spread them on her bed, gently laying amongst them. When she died, each and every one of these things would be burnt with her.

His things made her sob uncontrollably..

Abhimanyu had loved her a lot. He had made her his whole world, and then, he had been ripped away from her in the cruelest way possible. He had made her feel loved, appreciated, given her everything he could, he had devoted himself to her in the little time they had. Words couldn't describe what they felt for each other.

Would he still love her if he saw her like this?

Was he waiting for her?

Uttara couldn't think about him. The pain was unbearable. She sighed softly, seeing the lamps flicker. 84 years ago, this day had been their wedding day.

Uttara missed him.

She would do anything to see him one last time, to tell him that she loved him a lot, that she would keep him with her forever if she could-

Fate had always been cruel to her.

Abhimanyu had claimed her fully, her heart, body, mind, soul, everything was-No. Everything is his.

And will always be.

No one remembers him now. She was the only alive person who had seen him. And selfish she, had forgotten him.

Uttara's eyes drooped, as she tightly hugged his upper garment to her chest. His scent was still in there. Her Arya. Only hers. She had been rather selfish, not giving away her jewels to her daughter-in-law. They were memories-Looking at them made her suddenly recall, the brief feeling of someone putting them on her, the warm breath against her nape, the soft kisses on her neck, the gliding fingers as they tied the necklace-

She was an old widow, yet somehow, despite not remembering him, she remembered him. It was confusing. She had forgotten his voice and face, but his actions and words always stayed with her.

Each day, she would curse herself for not telling him to learn how to come out of that accursed formation, not stop him from participating in the war, not telling him that she wasn't well-

And she would tell herself to stop.

He was here, in each gift he had given her, those ornaments, that anklet he gave her on the best night of her life, all the time they had spent together, he was here through them.

Abhimanyu was ingrained in her, and no one could wrench them apart, not even death.

Uttara would remember him always, even if she forgot his voice or face. Because every word, every touch, every glance, every kiss-that was what kept her alive. He was alive in her memory, despite being faded away. Uttara was nothing without him. Oh how she had screamed the day she realized that she had forgotten his voice, his face-

She remembered his touch, rough, calloused palms; his scent, the smell of the sea & incense, untouched by any amount of straining-

He was alive through her, and their bloodline which sat on the throne now. Abhimanyu had died, taking the best part of her heart with him, as the rest crumpled into pieces.

He had once told her that she would die after doing her duty. She had done her duty. Her in-laws gone, Her son dead, and her grandsons independent enough, Uttara was now free.

Now, she can close her eyes, sink into the softness of her bed, wake up once more, to hear the voice she yearned to hear;

"Tara?" 

This was a piece that I had written sometime ago. It isn't an excerpt, but I wrote this as the entry for an ONESHOT contest on Wattpad, and I won!!!! I wanted to post something that I had written here, so I thought of posting this-

I am wondering, should I start posting my books here too?

#mahabharat #arjun #abhimanyu #subhadra #uttara

[haruniki]

🎂.🍓. Power and Kobeni try to bake a birthday cake for their S/O?

a/n: hihi!! tysm for sending in a rq for my bday event! It means a lot to me!! I hope you enjoy it!

Bake a cake! - Power, Kobeni

POWER:

I hope you like having food poisoning or just poisoning in general

Power tries to make a good cake but gets frustrated because why does it need to cook for so long?

Also tries to eat the uncooked batter

While Power does manage to bake the cake, it's slightly uncooked in the middle and very lopsided, not to mention burnt

One thimg Power does succeed at is decorating!

She adds both yours and her own favorite toppings

While she does do it messily, it still looks decent! And she very proud of it! Though Aki is a little annoyed that he has to clean an entire kitchen.

Power is boasting about how she's made the best cake ever and how amazing of a girlfriend she is.

"Tremble before me, insects! For I have made the best cake to ever exists and i declare myself the best girlfriend to ever exist, wahahahahahaha!"

KOBENI:

Kobeni makes the best cakes! Though it'll take her a few tries because she may or may not keep dropping them

She follows the instructions to a T! going as far as getting eye level and brushing away/pouring out any excess, even if it's just a little.

Stands near the oven slightly pacing waiting for the cake to be finished baking, can't have it over cooking or risk forgetting about it.

When decorating it she takes a very careful approach. Kobeni takes her time decorating the cake, mixing food coloring and frosting to make your favorite colors. Adding small hearts around the cake

Her last addition is writing Happy Birthday in cursive which took her half an hour to perfect.

She wants your special day to go great and she'll do whatever she can to make it so!

"Uhhh, oh no, this isn't the right color. They like a lighter shade, but if i make it lighter than i have to make that color lighter too.."

#.🎂.🍓 #csm power x reader #csm kobeni #csm power #csm kobeni x reader #chainsaw man power x reader #chainsaw man power #power x reader #power chainsaw man #kobeni x reader #chainsaw man kobeni #kobeni #chainsaw man kobeni x reader #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man #csm x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #x gn reader

[nation-of-bros]

Biological Family Stuff

Wow, my biological father didn't forget my birthday today. To be honest, I didn't expect it…

It's funny how he writes "LG, Papa" [greetings, dad] on WhatsApp, although since we've been in touch again (and only because of Andreas' efforts) I've never addressed him as "Papa". It's just something you have to earn. To this day I have the feeling that he just wants to clear his conscience: "Oh, there's someone else I once fathered, my only child…".

Every time we talk on the phone, he just complains about his new family (who he's been with since my parents divorced 10 years ago) and politics. Well, what can I say, he chose this fate himself when he flogged our family home and the carpentry shop for his new cunt. Now he's standing there and has NOTHING left, except an unprofitable cafe in a prefabricated building district, which he runs with his new wife, about whom he raved to me over and over again, but which didn't interest me at all. But his "angel" has already been divorced three times and didn't even know who the real father of her first child was, so the wrong man paid child support for years; in short, she's a bitch; but he thinks she's an "angel". In my eyes she is a classic slut who has no moral qualms about ruining her own or anyone else's family with her open legs. Accordingly, her youngest son has zero respect for her and regularly terrorizes his mother and my biological father. Really a great new family, which he preferred over us back then... :D (I admit I enjoy this as Schadenfreude, can you blame me?)

That's why my biological father always cries to me on the phone about how badly they treat him and how he's just a tolerated guest in their family home (where her parents still live). Sometimes he even sleeps in their guest apartment to have some peace and quiet. I bet when he calls tonight I'll have to listen to this self-imposed tale of woe again…

But I have to give him credit, since the Corona measures he has woken up from his political disability and, to my astonishment, refused the vaccinations and thus demonstrated intelligence. If it weren't for that, I definitely wouldn't have wanted any contact with him. Before that, he was simply a typical German worker drone: working all day, eating, and falling asleep in front of the television in the evening. I don't know that he ever had a normal conversation with me. Before I moved out at 18, we were already living next to each other without any connection. And if I said something at the dinner table about world events, I was just the stupid weirdo in his eyes with my "conspiracy theories"; as he then confessed to me after his “awakening”. So it's a satisfaction for me how he thinks about it completely differently today in light of the events and is impressed by the fact that I predicted all of this for many years. That's why we now have a certain basis for discussion which we didn't have before. But this still doesn't change that I don't feel emotionally attracted to him, and there are always moments when he repulses me.

The only reason why I'm even dealing with him is to conclude this chapter and not to take any "karmic residue" with me. But as soon as Grandfather dies, I will tell him my honest opinion, that he was never a real father for me, but that this role was taken over by someone else, by Andreas, who I have known for almost half my life and who gave me all this and taught what a father should have done.

#me

[weministertomonsters]

The Easter Bunny 1 - Werecat

"Do I look like an Easter bunny to you?" Max growls, flicking his tail in agitation.

It thunks against the leg of the kitchen table and he winces. "And I hate this costume. It looks stupid."

"Actually, you look adorable," you correct, reaching over to fix the headband of the droopy rabbit ears.

His own ears flick backwards but he endures your meddling.

"I regret coming here," he announces, picking up the basket full of chocolate eggs that looks tiny in his paws.

"Come on, Macy will be so happy! She always wanted a Easter-egg themed birthday party," you say. "Afterwards we can hang out and maybe watch a movie and eat the leftover chocolate."

"If Macy leaves anything for us, that is. My niece has a monster sweet tooth."

You almost laugh because an angry werecat with a bunny ear headband and a colorful onesie is too funny to take seriously. He bares his teeth at you.

"I could eat you, human."

"Save it for when we're alone," you smirk.

His eyes widen. "Are you saying-"

"You two ready?" Macy's mother, Sophia, comes bustling in with a stack of empty cake plates. A half melted number 4 candle lies on the top. "Macy wants to do the egg hunt now."

Max rolls his eyes. "We were in the middle of something."

"No, actually we were just about ready," you say sweetly. "The Easter bunny and his human helper."

You pat Max on one of his broad shoulders.

"Thanks for helping out! Macy has been so happy today... She hasn't even asked for her father once," Sophia says quietly.

"Good. She should forget about him," Max declares.

As an afterthought he adds, "you should too."

You drag him out of the kitchen before he can make the damage worse.

"That was a really insensitive thing to say," you scold once you're in the backyard, taking a bunch of the bite-sized foil wrapped eggs and using your shirt to hold them.

Max glances at your exposed midriff then looks away quickly.

"Maybe but it's true. That man did nothing right. Couldn't take care of the kid and couldn't even fuck his wife right." Max wanders away from you, tucking eggs just out of sight for Macy and her friends to find.

You sputter at that and it sounds like he's smiling when he says, "Sophia used to rant about it whenever she got drunk. Embarrassed him multiple times."

"Fair point but go easy on your sister, okay? He wasn't the best husband but they were together for five years."

Max goes quiet. After a moment he says, "By the way, remember we're a part of their egg hunt. Whoever finds us gets an extra prize."

"I almost forgot!" You reply. "I doubt we're small enough to hide behind the playhouse and go unnoticed. We can't even fit inside that thing. Or maybe the bushes beside the flowerbed-"

You hear a babble of children's voices coming around the house. Sophia must have assumed you were done and given them the go-ahead to start hunting.

"Uh-oh." You meet Max's eyes.

"The garden shed!" He says, darting towards it.

The backyard is pretty big and you're afraid the kids will spot you before you get to cover but you slip into the garden shed just in time, closing the door enough so that it only lets a sliver of light in.

There's one window but it's covered in a layer of grime that barely allows the sunlight to come in. You turn, ogling the dim interior of the garden shed.

"Figures, your clean-freak sister has the messiest shed I've ever seen!" You murmur quietly.

Max lets out a muffled laugh. "This shit belonged to the ex-husband. She either hasn't got the courage or time to clean it out just yet."

"Hey! Don't remove the costume!" You try to keep your voice down because the kids are running all over the backyard finding the eggs.

The garden shed is in the corner though. It might take awhile before they find you.

"Did you think I was going to wear it for long? It's hot and scratchy and horrible." He yanks it off his legs and as he bends to do so the headband goes flying into the darkness.

"Don't lose them! Those are one of Macy's favorites!" You hiss, stumbling over an empty sack of fertilizer and reaching for the ears which have fallen in the corner. "And you really shouldn't be taking that off. You're kind of naked now."

"And you're the only one who cares," he retorts. "Werecats often go around in nothing but our own fur."

"It's still inappropriate," you mumble, keeping your eyes averted.

He says nothing for a long moment.

"Does it bother you that much? Do you hate seeing me like this?" He finally says and you jerk your head up in surprise at the hurt you hear in his voice.

"Am I that freakish and different-"

"No!" You bark and then lower your voice. "No, it's not that."

"Then what? The time we went swimming with our friends you could barely look in my direction."

"Y-you've misunderstood. You know that's not what I think. I'm okay with everyone and everything. Human or not. That's really not an issue. It's just..."

"What?" He prods.

"You're really hot. And every time I see you like that I just want to run my hands through your fur... But I thought it would be too weird to ask to do that. I know physical contact is taken really seriously with your kind..." You purse your lips together and look at the ground. "I was afraid you'd think I was a weirdo."

"Seriously?" He says, breathing out in what sounds like relief. "That's awesome. I thought you hated me."

"No! Why would you even think that," you pout. "We've been friends for ages."

"All you had to do was ask," Max says. "Do you..."

"Can I?" You burst out and then shrink in embarrassment. "I mean, were you going to say I could touch you?"

"Go ahead," he replies.

You shuffle closer, side-stepping a clunky lawn mower. The lack of light makes it rather hard to see as you reach your hand out. Your fingers touch his fur and you jerk your hand back.

"Sorry, that kind of startled me," you laugh sheepishly before you reach forward with more confidence.

His fur is thick and incredibly soft like a plush pillow. You forget that you're touching your friend as you delight in the silky feeling. Until you find a small fur-less patch. Then a couple inches lower, another. And another.

A giggle builds in your throat.

"Maxwell Quinn, are those nipples?" You whisper. "Six of them?"

"Uh, yeah. They, uh, are just for aesthetics," he says nervously, shifting his weight. "Does that weird you out?"

"I love it, they must be so sensitive," you babble. "Six of them! That's really cool."

"If you say so," he mumbles, swaying.

"Are you purring?" You demand, detecting the soft sound.

He stops immediately. "No. I wasn't."

"I bet you were. Do it again?" You plead. "It sounds so comforting."

You lean forward and playfully place your ear to his chest.

"I'm waiting," you chirp.

His fingers slide through your hair suddenly. "What you said back in the kitchen about being alone..."

The air grows thick with something that makes your heart begin to beat faster. You look up into his eyes, which are glowing slightly.

"I-"

Suddenly, the garden shed door flies off its hinges, missing you by an inch as it falls. A bunch of werekittens crowd into the doorway. You take a step back from Max, clearing your throat.

Macy, covered in smears of chocolate, laughs and claps.

"We found you!" She squeals.

Max growls a curse under his breath and you nudge him.

"Later," you stand on your tiptoes to whisper into his ear before the kittens drag you away for their prize.

#exophilia #terato #monster x reader #monster fucker #monster smut

[xcestlavie]

full name . diego vincent montoya nickname(s) . mr . m , vince ( exclusive . doesn't like it being used ) age/birthday . 48 01/04 ( capricorn ) gender/pronouns . cis man he/him place of birth . san antonio , texas current residence . sun retreat , cape may sexuality . demisexual / romantic occupation . aspiring author/owner of atlantic book company

aesthetics . swallowing down your stubborn pride, newspapers draped across half eaten breakfasts, a clinging scent of whiskey and chocolate chip cookies

physical .

height . 5'11" build . not a dad bod but not super fit , just falls into the category of average with a questionable diet . hair color / style . brunette with signs of it graying with his age . eye color . brown face claim . pedro pascal

mentality .

positive traits . loyal , soft spoken , creative . negative traits . harsh , passive aggressive , prone to worry , critical .

biography .

( tw . brief mentions of parentification & death )

born to immigrant parents in south texas diego never once counted himself as lucky . he's the eldest of four and a victim of parentification , it's not to say he didn't / doesn't love his siblings he just wished he got a little more than he did growing up . david strove to prove he was worth his weight in school always aiming for high grades and being hyper critical when he didn't reach his own standards .

diego found great joy in creating worlds and shaping lives , he started really writing when he was in middle school and submitting things outside of the south texas area when he was in high school . high school was gone in a flash with nothing notable happening and he was off to college in austin before he could really wrap his head around how quickly his youth was flying by him . he kept to himself most of his college career only finding himself forming a relationship with a female classmate his last semester , it was a kind of ' aha ! gotcha ya ! ' moment when she fell pregnant and diego found himself going outside of his degree to take care of his new small family .

he found his relationship with her dissolving at twenty-five and by the time his daughter was three he was out of her life and living in port aransas . at twenty-nine he'd saved enough money to get out of texas and his father passing ( and an inheritance ) secured his ability to open a bookstore and buy a house , cape may was something he'd heard about in college from a classmate and it seemed like a good place to make a home . he's been living in cape may for eighteen years now and doesn't really have any plans on moving .

head canons .

is close to his brother and sisters and calls them every weekend . still holds some resentment with his mom and calls her once a month . always late to everything and will make it known when he wants to leave and tends to leave early . doesn't really like parties . has a book club every other wednesday when the store closes called CAPE READERS , it often dissolves into a gossiping circle with diego sipping away at punch and finding amusement in the whole thing . has a fish named baxter . wants a better relationship with his daughter just never knows how to approach it , so he just goes with ' hope your doing well ' , birthday , and holiday texts . he has a loose friendship with his ex . marriage is an idea he never felt comfortable with , any kind of romantic relationship isn't something he'd ever felt comfortable with . in his head he's adopted his employees and will help them while asking few questions . sometimes forgets to eat or just picks at his food . smokes like a chimney . has notebooks and notebooks of stories he doesn't feel are right . doesn't sleep nearly enough and always has coffee brewing at the bookstore free to the the customers that ask .

extras .

playlist . pinterest . connections .

#cape.intro #&& . dmontoya ; a capacity for self-loathing ( answered . ) #&& . dmontoya ; he didn’t know what he was doing ( meme . ) #&& . dmontoya ; ticket to nowhere ( task . ) #&& . dmontoya ; he feels everything so strongly or not at all ( musing . ) #&& . dmontoya ; was that today? ( thread . ) #&& . dmontoya ; his eyes are classic novels and poetry ( visage . ) #&& . dmontoya ; stay curious ( text . ) #&& . dmontoya ; a hymn for the hymnless ( music . ) #&& . dmontoya ; alone in my head ; i am content to pretend ( study . ) #[ does the index finger thing ] if you wanna join diego's book club let me know uwu #also if you see a mistake no you didn't #basic blurb is basic #can these tags go on any longer??

[curtsycream]

She Said

Warning: Topics of body issues, self discovery, sexuality, drugs, poly relationships, internalized homophobia, classic teen drama, teen pregnancy, infidelity, gender stereotypes, eating disorders, diets, and manipulation

Chapter Warning: none

The door to Y/N’s room burst open as two figures stood in the doorway anticipating a reaction. Removing her headphones from her ears Y/N’s head shoots up to look at the blonde and brunette standing before her. “Chrissy? Nancy? What are you two doing here?”

The clear confusion in her voice led Nancy to cock an eyebrow with her hands on her hips. Strutting into the room she stands over the H/C girl, “Did you really forget what today was?”

Sitting up on her bed she furrows her eyebrows trying her hardest to think about what she forgot. The only thing that came to mind was school which did not make sense to her as it was a Saturday. Giving up on her attempts at figuring out what she forgot she shakes her head.

Sighing Nancy crosses her arms over her chest, “Today Jason’s birthday! You know Chrissy’s boyfriend the same Jason we grew up with.”

Her mouth forms an ‘O’ as she slowly starts to remember their plans for today. “The surprise party, how could I forget! I even got him this really cute cardigan because his sweater vests are sooo depressing to look at!”

Giggling at her friend’s statement Chrissy comes closer to the other two. Only then did Y/N notice both her friends dressed for a party. Standing up from her bed she rushes towards her closet mumbling a ‘We can’t be late’. Rolling her eyes playfully Nancy takes a seat on the bed, “The party isn’t until 7 at that weird hookah club on 3rd street. The one with the hot bouncer that looks like Tom Welling.”

“Isn’t he like a college student?”

“I mean yeah but that doesn’t defeat the point that he’s hot!”

Normally Y/N would entertain her friends especially when good looking people were involved. But the overwhelming feeling that she only had 3 hours to pick an outfit and do her makeup was stressful. Her fingers skillfully move through her clothes which was rather impressive considering her acrylic nails. “Aha!” The small noise leaves her lips when she finds the perfect outfit to wear to the party. “I’ll be back!”

Chrissy and Nancy witnessed their friend trip on her way to her bathroom before the door slammed with a yelp. Nancy cupped her hands around her mouth before yelling out a “Be careful, Bunny Boo!”

“Don’t worry so much, Kool Kat!”

Y/N let out a sigh looking at her outfit in the mirror, pressing her finger to her lip anxiously she stares at her hair. Her hair was always the hardest part when it came to going out. Tilting her head she finally decides on a simple style that would fit under her beret. Grabbing her makeup bag she decides to do some heavy pink blush with glossy lip gloss. Satisfied with her look she opens the bathroom door before rushing to her friends who were looking through Bop magazines.

“How do I look?” Y/N asks while doing a small twirl as her friends assess her outfit. Nancy gives her a smile and thumbs up while peeking at her over the sunglasses that match her outfit. Clapping her hands Chrissy nods her head, “I love it! It’s like we’re matching a little!” Pointing down to her own outfit Y/N smiles at the easygoing blonde. “I have you to thank after all I was inspired by your heels, totes adorable!”

“Aww Bunny Boo! I’m in love with your heels too!”

Shaking her head at the squealing girls Nancy stands up clearing her throat. Looking at her flip phone as it displays the time she speaks, “I think it’s time we get going, it took you almost an hour and a half to get ready.”

Pouting at her friend’s words Y/N looks down at her shoes, “I couldn’t help it I didn’t know how I wanted my hair or if this was enough glitter for a birthday party.”

Patting the girl on the shoulder Nancy smiles, “Don’t worry about it we still have time to get to the club and finish setting up before our guests arrive.”

”It’s so pretty here! I can’t believe we got private access to a club!”

Looking around at the setup with wide eyes Y/N goes back to blowing up balloons for the party. After about 30 minutes into blowing up balloons and setting out snacks with Nancy and Chrissy the club doors opened. Her attention was drawn to the grungy looking guys who walked in and straight to Chrissy. Placing a hand over her cheeks Y/N couldn’t help the heat that started to crawl up her body.

Leaning closer to her friend and the guys who stood with her she pretended to sort a few snack trays out. “Oh you’re the band! My boyfriend really loves your stuff, I’m really glad you guys could perform for his birthday it means a lot!”

A chuckle left the lips of the guy with the chestnut brown hair and a smirk. “We’re always down to do events like these, means a lot doing one for a fan’s birthday!” An inaudible gasp leaves Y/N’s lips as she hears the suave voice leave his lips.

Though her shock is short lived as the one with light brown hair and babydoll eyes glances her way. Quickly looking away she pretends to be busy with the bowl of punch in front of her.

“That’s great! I can show you the stage so you guys can set up!”

A round of nods follow Chrissy’s statement as she leads them towards the stage area. Letting out a breath Y/N did not realize she was holding she stares after the group. Never in her life had she seen people dress and look the way those guys did. It was something new but she liked it for some reason.

“Earth to Y/N..”

Her head snaps in the direction of Nancy who had a smirk on her face. In her arms were rolls of streamer paper, “I saw you staring after NightSafe, hot aren’t they?”

“Like super hot, how do people like them exist?”

“Welcome to my world, some people just look so wow like I can’t describe it.”

Y/N nods her head along to Nancy’s words before looking back towards the band as they setup.

“You’ve got it bad, Bunny Boo. Stare any longer and you might burn a hole through them, now let’s get back to party prepping.”

Grabbing ahold of Y/N’s arm Nancy leads her in the opposite direction of the band.

“Finally done! We finished with a few minutes to spare! I can’t wait for Jason to see all that we did.”

“We all know he’s going to love it especially if you’re the reason it happened, Angel.”

Y/N could only nod at Nancy’s words, it was no secret that Jason had the biggest soft spot for Chrissy. Everyone could see how he looked at her as if she put the stars in the sky and made them twinkle. She found it very cute and nothing less than what her bestfriend deserved in a guy.

Standing up with a new air of confidence Chrissy makes her way to the doors beckoning her friends close. From the look on her face Nancy and Y/N knew the party was about to start.

Soon enough music ripped through the speakers as people danced around the club. off to the side in a booth sat Y/N and her group of friends consisting of Nancy, Chrissy, Jason, Carol, Gareth, and Tommy.

The group of seven sat around as Jason was opening presents that he was given by his friends. The table was filled with chatter and laughter that brought a smile to Y/N’s face. Standing suddenly she catches the attention of the six other people in the booth.

“Sorry guys! I’ll be back I like totes need to go to the restroom!”

Giving her friends a parting wave and smile she rushes to the restroom. Calls of ‘be back soon’ following her along with more chatter. The smile on her face only growing wider at her friends antics.

Sighing Y/N opens the restroom door exiting after relieving herself and washing her hands. Making her way down the club hallway she soon crosses paths with the band from earlier. The four guys seemed to be debating something when she passed right by them. “Hey, Pinkie!”

Pausing Y/N tilts her head before looking back at the guys pointing at herself. When the light brown haired one from earlier nodded his head she slowly made her way over to them. “Umm, yes?”

“You’re friends with the blonde one, Chrissy right?”

Nodding her head she smiles, “Yeah, I’m friends with Chrissy! Did you need something from her?”

“Yeah we just needed to know where the lounge is again before we start our set for the birthday boy.”

“Oh! I can show you! I’m Y/N by the way, I was setting up earlier!”

The four follow behind her before one speaks up, “I’m Billy, it’s nice to meet you.”

Glancing back at him she nods finally putting a name to the light brown guy.

“I’m Jonathan.”

Y/N found herself looking over him in awe his hair was straight but in a very hot mullet style. He also wore light eyeliner that matched well with his features. Beside him stood a guy with nicely styled hair as well.

“Hi, I’m Steve.”

Nodding her head at him she found it hard not to stare with how pretty he looked in her eyes. That is before she moved her eyes to stare at the guy with dark brown hair.

“Eddie.”

His answer was short and simple leading Y/N to nod before she stopped at a door with a metal plate that said ‘VIP’ in bold lettering. “This is it, I hope you guys do well I can’t wait to see you perform. Break an arm!”

The sentence came out rushed as she sped walked away covering her face with her hands. “Break an arm..” she mumbles with a shake of her head. Leaving in her wake NightSafe who all seemed to have amused looks on their faces.

A/N: this is very short but this is the start of a new story I’m crafting. I love the early 2000s and the bimbo princess meets grunge and metal style. I also have a big thing for boy bands and stranger things characters so why not. This story will have a main plot and a side plot which will just be stories that relate to the main story but can be read alone. I might take a little while to update the main story as this is the semester I’m graduating so I’ll be busy! Other than that I hope you enjoy!

#poly!reader #beforeitstarts #bimbo!reader #y2k fanfic #fem reader #poly fanfic #NightSafe #romance #fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #billy hargrove #jonathan byers #jonathan x reader #billy x reader #eddie x reader #steve x reader #stranger things au

[louff4tw]

“Bruce isn’t my dad and I’m not part of this family” - Stephanie Brown

My personal headcannons of how Bruce is a dad to Stephanie and despite both of them denying it. We all know. He’s the dad she wishes hers was

- this one she doesn’t know but when she was Robin he added her into the Will and made her a college fund

- she has a room in the manor since day one for when she was “to tired to head home” took her awhile to actually spend the night but she fell asleep in the cave and Bruce carried her up

- He helped her find the couple to adopt her baby and not ONCE did he judge her

- when her Mom was to high to go. He went to Parent teacher conference

- he convinced her to transfer to the same school his other kids went to and paid for it

- also attended all school events

- when she had a bad day he would watch movies and eat ice cream with her

- he helped her pick out a college

- he punched her bio dad in the face as Bruce Wayne during a hostage situation for criticizing her ( it was a Gala even and Steph and Tim came with him)

- she doesn’t even knock when she gets to his house anymore. She has a dedicated hook on the coat rack

- has grouped her in “my kids” when talking about his kids

- accidentally spoken about her in a interview many times and always tries to backtrack

- he is just so proud of her tho did you know her baking soda volcano stuff hit the gym roof

- Bruce can be a emotional brick sometimes. But he’s trying. The first time he told her he was proud of her after a particularly bad run in with some baddies was also the first day she hugged him

- when he and the kids were walking down the street and some creep made some creepy catcalls to her and Cass Bruce got into their faces and told them never speak to his daughters like that again

- she’s in all Christmas cards

- she eventually will spend more time at Bruce’s then her own for the night

- when she was trying to get a loan for school he had to stop her and be like “I have money for you to go”

- went to several College events to

- when she got the flu he was the one who took care of her

- her favourite movies and books joined the library and movie collection

- her favourite snacks and foods were added to the grocery orders

- she once joked that she was better then her and he dead serious looked her in the eyes and said “in many ways each and every one of you are better then me and I can’t wait to see you all surpass me”

- has said that IF someone else does become Batman (which he doesn’t want) Steph and Cass are the options

- Damian calls her his sister at school and neither lived it down

- made Bruce happy tho

- she has done the “if I run at him he will catch me” and he always does and somehow always manages to never drop what he’s holding

- He never forgets her birthday when both of her parents has

- actually listens to what she wants and gets her stuff she likes. When bio dad remembers it’s little kid toys. When mom it’s clothes in her moms size and style..and from her closet

- has only called him Dad ONCE while sober. She came really close to death and got hurt and he panicked. Kicked a dude in the face and rescued her. He also carried her back home while she was sobbing. She didn’t let go for a hour and at the end mumbled “thanks dad” and booked it to the showers

- he has and will tuck her in

- will listen outside her door for a second at night to make sure she’s breAthing like he does with all his kids

- she once jokingly asked him to read her a story. And HE DID

- is her emergency contact

In the future past current continuity

- he will be the one to walk her down the isle at her wedding

- gave the shovel talk to her spouse (if not Tim)

- gets called Grandpa by her kids

- he cried. She gave him a “worlds okayest Grandpa” to match the mug

- kid has half a dozen uncles and one aunt

- supports whatever career she chose

- second and last time she ever called him Dad was at the funeral. By then she never said it to keep the joke going

The joke to them being

“He’s not my dad” “she’s not my kid”

While everyone looks on like

😑

Happy Fathers Day!

#batman #batfam #dick greyson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #Batman #Bruce Wayne #Stephanie brown #spoiler #batgirl #Tim Drake #red Robin #Damian Wayne #Robin #alfred pennyworth

[hiccanna-tidbits]

@jackunzel-time

Jackunzel Month Week 2 - Coming of Age

***

"Okay, can I look now?"

"Not yet!"

The kitchen is once again filled with the sounds of Rapunzel banging around, plates and dishware clattering as she searches the fridge. Jack's got a sneaking suspicion this all has something to do with the huge, tinfoil-covered mound on the top shelf.

For an entire week, Rapunzel insisted they put every ounce of leftovers in the bottom half of the fridge, ignoring the Mysterious Object™️like a leaky faucet you handn't gotten around to fixing. Not that Rapunzel doesn't occasionally need her home fridge for work-related things, but she isn't normally cagey about it.

Jack once again resists the urge to peek out of the blindfold.

"Come ooooon, Zellie! This anticipation is going to kill me before our starving artist lifestyle does."

Rapunzel laughs. "Starving? I'll have you know, sir, that I've had no less than 5 whole french fries today!"

Considering it was 9 pm, this was not an ideal french fry quota. Rapunzel definitely had time to eat more fries today.

Jack wonders idly if Rapunzel's just getting too caught up in her work to take lunch breaks, or if her manager is crunching her deadlines again.

Before he can get too far into plotting how he would swap her boss's salt and sugar without getting Rapunzel in trouble, he hears the distinctive sound of a lighter.

"Are you torching our apartment?" he asks. "Because if so, I'm very offended I wasn't invited to participate."

Rapunzel scoffs. "Don't be silly! Like I'd set the place on fire without getting home insurance first. And it isn't as though either of us can afford that."

"You're still making me nervous. Usually I'm the one who plays the pranks."

"Hmmm, well...that would have been a good idea, actually." Rapunzel sounds a little regretful. "But no tricks today, I promise. Now open your eyes!"

And at last, Jack gets to see what all the fuss is about.

A stunning, snow-white cake sits in the middle of their dining room table, covered in sparkly silver candy orbs and carefully sculpted fondant snowflakes. All around the side are little hand-painted winter scenes, meticulously crafted by an icing brush in a process that must've taken hours. On top, a "2" and a "6" candle sit ablaze.

Rapunzel, of course, spends all day at work decorating cakes. It's her career. (Or, at least, it has been for the past 6 months--the longest she's gone without leaving a job to date.)

It still seems like she went the extra mile with this one.

"What--" For a long moment, all Jack can do is stare with his mouth hanging open.

"What the hell," he says finally. "How did I forget today was my birthday???"

Rapunzel's surprise quickly turns to laughter.

"Oh my god, how did you forget?"

Easy for her to say. Back when Rapunzel lived with her crazy mom, who practically kept her a prisoner in her own house, birthdays were easily the most interesting thing that happened all year. Birthdays with the Overlands were always much more...lowkey, so to speak.

"In my defense!" He holds up his hands. "Nothing interesting happens when you turn 26. Pretty much all the milestones are finished, so it's just another orbit around the sun."

"Nonsense!" Rapunzel sticks her lip out in disapproval. "That's no way to talk about your coming-of-age ceremony!"

"Coming-of-age?" He raises his eyebrows. "I think we missed the cutoff for that a while ago."

"Well, 26 is your age now." She crosses her arms, chin up defiantly. "And you have come to it. So therefore you have come of age."

He chuckles. "Is that how that works?"

"Why not? Teenagers and college kids shouldn't get to have all the fun!"

"My point still stands, though," he argues. "You don't really...unlock the same kind of stuff in your 20s that you do when you're younger. It's not like there are new magical adventures that you suddenly have access to when the clock strikes 12 on your 26th birthday."

"Says who?"

His girlfriend's conniving smirk sends a wave of excitement through him. What is she plotting?

"Did you find an elite 26-and-over club to join?"

"Not exactly." She leans over the table, smirk widening. "But someone did have a chat with your boss about how many great snowscape photo opportunities there are in the mountains, and how you're going to need to not come into the office for while to get all the best shots."

Jack's eyes widen as her meaning dawns on him. "And Mr. North was cool with that? Me taking a vacation right before the holidays?"

"I mean. He could hardly resist the offer of having his best photographer out getting festive snapshots for the December issue of the magazine. You'd do more good on the field than stuck behind an editing desk, right?"

"No kidding."

Jack sits down, getting ready to blow out the unexpected birthday candles. He pauses, something occurring to him.

"Wait, what about you? I'm not about to go off and leave you to handle the bakery's holiday rush on your own!"

Rapunzel hums thoughtfully.

"Well, funny thing. I told our head baker that I just hadn't been feeling very inspired lately. And if I went somewhere, say, fresh and exciting, then the muse was sure to strike again and I'd pump out a collection of the most beautiful winter cakes the bakery's ever known. Ones to really send that holiday profit flooding in."

"So...you snuck around and got us both a week off for my birthday by spinning it as a work trip? And on top of that, you just casually whipped out the most gorgeous birthday cake I've ever seen in my life?"

She nods, beaming.

"You're my goddamn hero."

He stands up and sweeps her into his arms, pulling her into a kiss worthy of being the Big Dramatic Finale to any coming-of-age film. All these years later, and it still feels like cameras should be spinning around them with rock music building into a triumphant crescendo.

Maybe that's cheesy, but to hell with it.

"Have I ever mentioned I'm in love with you?" he murmurs against her lips.

"I would hope so, Overland. We've been dating for 9 years now."

***

Half a hazelnut chocolate cake and two celebratory hot cocoas later, Jack finds himself being dragged toward the car in the encroaching darkness of 5:30 pm.

"Zel, what--"

"Come on! I booked us a night in a cabin, and we need to take off before the roads get icy. It's supposed to snow in a couple hours!"

"But what about--"

"I packed the car while you were at work." Rapunzel doesn't miss a beat. "Don't worry, I grabbed all your favorite sweaters! Your snowboarding stuff too. And the sleeping bags. And the cozy socks. And the snow chains. And the binoculars. And the sled. And the scarves."

He doesn't have time to form a reply before he's being bundled into the front seat and covered in one of his favorite fluffy blankets. The sheer amount of alpine field guides and brochures on the car floor make him do a double take.

"You have an itinerary?" he asks, surprised.

She hums uncertainly as she pulls out of the driveway.

"Well...nothing too rigid. No coming-of-age road trip of self-discovery can be that structured, or else it might get in the way of spontaneous epiphanies about who you truly are, right?"

"Right."

Rapunzel looks like she's about to burst open with what she isn't saying.

"I sense a 'but' there."

"I did find a really cute place for us to sled." The dam breaks as Rapunzel pulls out of the driveway. "And there's this secluded little mountain animal rescue we have to see. And this four-star cafe we can stop at for hot cider and soup, and this really pretty snowy hike that I don't think is too tiring. Also this ski and snowboard slope we can check out if we have time, with this really cozy lodge, and--"

She cuts herself off mid-sentence as soon as she picks up that all this might be a little overwhelming.

"Buuuuut," she amends slowly. "It's not like I've put down a deposit for anything. We could just drive through the mountains and stop whenever we feel the urge. Find the best secret spots and have them to ourselves, you know? Have deep conversations and be alone with nature and reconnect with our humanity and our sense of purpose. Or something like that."

He can't help but laugh at the way her brow scrunches as she goes deep into thought.

"That sounds great."

"Do you...have a preference?" She gives him a searching look as they pull onto the freeway, already glowing with streetlamps and taillights. "Agenda or no agenda?"

"Whatever you're down for, I'm down for. Hell, I'm just happy to have an unexpected week of vacation."

"I guess that's the thing about these types of 'finding yourself' stories. You kind of have to figure them out as you go along."

"Then let's do some figuring!"

Rapunzel hits the gas, and off they go into the winter sunset, bound for their next coming-of-age adventure. One to perhaps be followed by many more, depending on how many future ages they deem it significant to "come to."

***

Tfw you keep aging but The Blorbos™️do not, so the only logical solution is to force them to age with you XD God dammit, if I have to be in my mid-20s, then so do my comfort characters!!!

Fr tho, I often find myself wishing there were more aged-up AUs in the RotBTD fandom. Most fandom olds returning to (or who stayed in) the fandom aren't the teenagers we were when we first got into the big four anymore, so...why not let them grow up with us??? It's not like their canon ages are some sacred, set-in-stone thing that can't be changed since people do in fact get older as time passes ajdnlshbf

And like!!! Don't get me wrong, I love a well-done high school or college AU, and they can be a lot of fun!!! But I think as I've gotten older I wonder more about how the RotBTD kids would navigate adulthood, and how they would change/adapt and how they would stay the same throughout their lives.

Jackunzel I feel like would be one of those couples who would just be it for each other. Like they get together in late high school--probably junior or senior year--and everyone keeps waiting for the spark to die in college and for them to get stir-crazy (as people who get into committed relationships young often do) or bored of each other, and they just. Don't. MFs hit 30 and are still in the honeymoon phase with no sign of getting out XD

Rapunzel is so right here btw. Twenty-somethings DO deserve to have indie coming-of-age dramas made about them!!! Kids and teens and college students shouldn't get to have all the fun!!! Besides, there's plenty of growing/maturing still to do in young adulthood, so why stop writing stories about that just because the people in question are out of school??? Tbh I'm so tired of movies with adult protagonists being either fluffy (hetero) romcoms or a drama about Some Guy with a wife and kids like??? There are other types of adults besides straights in the dating pool and middle-aged people with tidy little nuclear families!!! I promise!!!

Guess I'll just have to write all those funky little RotBTD twenty-something AUs myself ajshdkuys

Shout-out to the RotBTD discord for giving me the idea of having Rapunzel be a cake decorator and Jack be a photographer! I sometimes struggle a bit with future career ideas for the RotBTD kids, but these fit really well :D Jack definitely seems like the kind of person who would like something freelance and loose-scheduled where he basically gets paid to capture the beauty in the world around him :O And we know Rapunzel can bake, and she likes art, so...

CAKE ART CAKE ART CAKE ART CAKE ART

VERY happy I found that snowflake-and-orb cake, because that definitely seems like something Jack would enjoy 🤍❄️ And now I kind of want to try it 👀👀👀I DO have to wonder how they did that little picture with the tree and the car :O

As always, moodboard pic credits available upon request!

#jackunzel #jackunzelmonth #jackunzelmonth23 #moodboard #aesthetic #jack x rapunzel #rapunzel x jack #jack frost #rapunzel #jackxrapunzel #rapunzelxjack #rotbtd #rise of the brave tangled dragons #the big four #tangled #rise of the guardians #rotg #crossover