#what does leasing a beat mean

[finalgirleddiemunson]

Home is Wherever I’m With You (Steve Harrington x Reader)

summary: a collection of scenes from moving in with Steve. (wc 2.6k)

warnings: kissing, cursing, domestic steve, found family, you know the vibes. let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: I’m thinking of making this a multi-part series, one where you could just read any part you wanted out of order, but that all fit in with this reader and Steve. let me know if that’s something y’all are into or not :)

masterlist

-----

In typical Steve fashion, the question of, “Do you want to move in together?” is simultaneously the easiest question in the world to answer and an earth-shattering declaration. 

“So I was thinking…” Steve starts. He’s laying across your bed, arms hugging one of your pillows close as he watches you put away laundry. Sort, fold, put away, repeat. 

“Dangerous,” You hum.

“Not nice,” he quips without hesitation, used to you.

You giggle then prompt, “You were thinking…?”

“Well your lease is running out here soon…” He’s got this lilt to his voice, the kind that he puts on when he’s trying to seem nonchalant. He’s never been very good at hiding his real feelings though, not to you. “And those apartments on the other side of town just opened up. You know I’ve been trying to get out of my parent’s place for, like, ever, so I’ve been saving up. And now I’m sitting here watching you fold laundry and all I can think about is how I want to fold laundry and make up a bed and pick out dishes with you. I don’t know, that sounds stupid out loud, I guess it was just a thought I had. You can think on it or tell me to shut up about it or-”

“Steve,” you interrupt, not unkindly. “Are you asking if I want to move in together?”

“Well-” He makes an odd gesture with his hands. Drops them back down to his lap and shrugs his shoulders while looking for the right thing to say. He settles on, “Yeah. Is that…something you would want?”

You can’t hide your smile from him as you crawl across your bed until your faces are level to each other. You kiss him, a bright and quick kiss that makes his eyes soften, losing some of the nervous tension in his shoulders. “Yeah. That’s something that I would want.”

His answering smile is bright enough to fill the room. 

—

The easiest part of the process is getting the apartment. 

A leasing agent shows you around a staged space. You and Steve hold hands through the whole tour, even while he does things like open cabinets and check the faucets because he wisely informed you, “That’s what you’re supposed to do when you tour a new place, babe.”

“How would you know?” You’d responded with a giggle, but shut up when the leasing agent appeared to talk to you about the spacious kitchen with new appliances. 

It’s not actually very spacious and you’re positive the appliances aren’t new, but Steve’s thumb runs across the back of your hand and you wouldn’t care if it was the worst apartment in the world, so long as he was the one you’re sharing it with. 

—

A few days later, you’re signing papers- the trailing cursive of your signature touching Steve’s as you sign a lease together. 

“Okay, and this page is about the no pet policy. So, I guess Dustin can’t come over-” Steve snickers when you hit him. Steve signs at the bottom of the sheet, long fingers flipping to the next one in the stack of papers you both have to go through. 

Despite how certain you feel in your decision, you can’t help the galloping beat of your heart.

“Hey,” Steve’s voice is quiet, a soothing balm on your anxiousness, “We don’t have to do this. You can back out now, no hurt feelings. It won’t change anything.” 

His hand finds its way to the back of your neck, just holding there. A reassuring weight that conveys how genuine he is, how patient he is with you while he waits for your response. 

Your fingers find the bottom of his polo, thumb dragging across the stitching so you don’t have to look in his eyes. See the wide, unconditionally caring expression in his eyes that is undoubtedly mirrored in your own. 

It won’t change anything- meaning he wouldn’t hold it against you. He would drop the whole thing now, even when you’re so close to this new future with the two of you. Your Steve, always looking out for you, whatever you need. 

But you don’t need reassurances on this. 

“You just want the closet to yourself, you can’t fool me.” You sign the final page and push the paper across to Steve. You dare a look up at his face. 

He’s smiling- just a small upturn that he’s trying to hide. He shrugs, “It is a nice closet.”

—

Then there’s the moments in between. In the time before your old lease runs out and your new one with Steve begins, you both start to accumulate little things that belong to the two of you. 

Date nights are now spent at thrift stores, lovingly picking out mismatched plates that somehow work together. They’re what you can afford, and they’re not perfect, but you love them all the same for the simple fact that they belong to the both of you. 

Despite it being only the two of you living in the new place, Steve insists on picking out seven extra plates. And when he finds a mug with the Ghostbusters logo on it, collecting dust pushed back on the thrift store shelf, he handles it with care as he puts it in your cart. You pretend you don’t know why, but file it away to tease him about later. 

A few days later, Steve shows up at your apartment door, hauling a box full of things that clink together when he sets it on your counter. 

“Cups! And they’ve got cool designs on them.” He looks so proud as he unwraps the tissue paper from around a glass to show you. True to his words, etched into the glass are pictures of fruits, wrapped around the middle.  

“Where did you get them?” You examine the designs as he pulls out a set of wine glasses to show you.

“Dustin’s mom was clearing out her cabinets to get new stuff, she asked if I wanted them.”

“Dustin’s mom is offering you glasses now?” You bump your hip against his.

“Yeah, well,” He looks slightly sheepish, “When I went to pick Dustin up the other day she came out and started telling me this big story about how she heard we’re moving in together and she remembered the days when she first moved out of her parents’ house and not having anything and handed me this box.” He gestures to the cardboard like it’s a treasure chest. You suppose, to the two of you, it might as well be. 

A different part of the story sticks out to you. “You told Dustin we’re moving in together?” You step in close, arms wrapping around his waist as you peer up at him. 

“I think a shorter list would be who I haven’t told we’re moving in together.” He reciprocates your hug, wrapping his arms around you tight, and he doesn’t have the decency to look embarrassed. 

You giggle, press a kiss to his jaw. “I’m really excited to live with you, Steve Harrington.”

“You’re okay too, I guess.”

You feel his smile when he kisses the top of your head. 

—

The most difficult part of the process is the actual move-in. 

While you count your lucky stars that there’s no rain in the forecast, the sun beating down on the two of you is draining you quickly.  The heat makes your shirt stick uncomfortably to your back, and your stop every so often to wipe perspiration from your brow. 

You’ve hauled more boxes into the space of your new apartment than you care to count, Steve and you passing each other as you both go back and forth from your car and his to collect more things. 

There’s a recliner that you acquired from your parent’s storage shoved into the back of your car, and you’re not sure if you can muster up the strength to get it into the apartment. 

“Steve, let’s just live out here,” you call, leaning miserably against the side of his car. 

He looks equally as tired as he deposits the box he was carrying on the ground in favor of leaning next to you. 

He considers your proposal for a moment. “There’s no walk-in closet out here,” he eventually sighs.

“The world is our walk-in closet.” Your head thunks against the metal of the car as you wither a little more. 

“Oh right, obviously.” He rubs your shoulders soothingly, fingers scratching against the material of your shirt.

The jingle of a bike bell and the crescendoing sound of arguing voices catches your attention, spine straightening as you look towards the road leading to your apartment complex. 

“What the hell?” Steve sounds properly mystified as he spies the source of the noise. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight of your favorite rag-tag group of high-schoolers coasting down the hill and screeching into the parking lot, pulling their bikes into a space a few spots down from you and Steve.

“I told you taking Ellington Road would have been faster,” Lucas grumbles as he kicks the stand on his bike. Max kicks her skateboard up so she can grab it, appearing to have been riding along on her board while Lucas pulled her with a rope tied to the back of his bike. 

“Well we’re here now aren’t we?” Dustin throws his arms up.

“Yeah, but if we took Ellington we could have been here five minutes ago,” Mike points out, not bothering with the kickstand as he lets his bike fall. 

“Oh my god, shut up about Ellington or not Ellington,” Max sighs as she ties her hair back. 

“Henderson!” Steve calls, arms up in exasperation. For a moment, he and Dustin are mirroring each other, and you chuckle at the picture. All of their heads snap towards you, as though just now noticing you and Steve. “Guys, I told you I can’t give any rides today, we’ve got a lot of moving to do.” Steve’s hands go to his hips as he jerks his head to the boxes spilling out of the back of his car. 

“That’s why we’re here!” Dustin’s grin takes over his face. Mike looks a special kind of miserable as he squints from the sun, dark hair even messier than usual from riding his bike. 

Steve’s brow furrows, confusion across his face. Lucas elaborates, “Yeah, we’re here to help you move stuff.”

“And to see the new place. They’re already planning on how to get you and Steve to let them crash here whenever they want.” Max smarts as she struts over. She reaches to the Walkman on her hip and she pops out the tape in it, passing it to you. “I liked it,” she says simply, giving you the tape you had let her borrow a few weeks ago. From Max, those three words are a glowing, five-star review and you preen just a bit. 

“We are not scouting a new hang out spot. We’ve got Mike’s house for that.” Dustin good-naturedly slaps Mike’s shoulder. Mike rolls his eyes and hits him back. 

“I don’t know, you could probably fit at least six sleeping bags in the living room. Maybe more.” You say casually.

Dustin stops. “Are you shitting me?”

You shake your head, trying to disguise your smile, “I’m not shitting you.”

“Well before we do sleeping bag configuration, we have to get all this inside.” Steve cocks a hip, pointing a finger at the group. You’re gaining a much clearer understanding of why he begrudgingly calls himself their babysitter. “So if you shitheads aren’t kidding, grab a box.”

“Aye, aye,” Dustin gives a little salute that Lucas joins in on. The group disperses, Lucas and Max grabbing totes from Steve’s car while Dustin and Mike attempt to brave the recliner in yours. 

“Jesus, guys, you’re going to break your backs that way- hold on,” Steve rushes over to Dustin and Mike, already swooping in to help them when they struggle lifting the chair. 

Watching them bicker playfully with each other about the best way to get the furniture into the apartment has your chest filling with an aching fondness. 

But you have no time to linger in the feeling as Lucas calls out over his shoulder, “Should we take these straight to the kitchen?” and then you’re hurrying inside to show him where to drop the boxes. 

—

With the help of your impromptu moving crew, the rest of your and Steve’s things take no time at all. But all of the lifting and moving is still exhausting, which is how all of you end up sprawled across the floor of the living room. You try to cool off in the air circulating from the ceiling fan. 

“Yeah, I bet we could totally fit more than six sleeping bags in here,” Dustin muses. 

Mike shakes his head. “You’re not accounting for when they get a couch. That could be, like, two sleeping bag spaces gone.”

“Yeah, but then two people could sleep on the couch, you know? No real estate lost,” Lucas points out. The others consider this, eyes focused up on the ceiling, before nodding in agreement. 

“Are you guys paying rent now too?” Steve groans, throwing his forearm over his eyes. You roll over a little so he’s within arms length and pat his chest placatingly. 

“I’m starving, what do you guys have to eat here?” Dustin lazily pushes on your ankle, the only part of you he can reach from where he’s laying. 

You take in the boxes scattered around you and laugh loudly, “Absolutely nothing.” Steve giggles with you. 

—

You end up finding two boxes of mac and cheese and a half-eaten bag of candy, squashed in the bottom of a box labeled Kitchen in Steve’s handwriting. 

“Only the essentials, right?” You tease, shaking the bag of candy.

“That’s our saving grace right now, I don’t want to hear any backtalk about it.” Steve snaps a dish towel at you as he pulls it from a box and you laugh in delight. 

You rummage until you find a pot to cook in, and Steve digs around for bowls and silverware.

Eventually you present your findings to your little house of workers and they let out cheers not befitting of the actual meal you’re giving them.

“A feast for kings,” Dustin praises as he takes a bowl from you. You ruffle his hair in response. 

Your scattered belongings get pushed to the edges of the room to make space for everyone. You sit together, making a circle on the floor, and eat your first dinner- scavenged as it may be- in a place that belongs to you and Steve. 

You’re listening to the kids argue over something they won’t remember ten minutes from now. You soak up the sounds of having your little family all gathered here, the crinkling of candy wrappers and the quiet scrapes of forks against bowls and the ebbs and flows of their conversation. The apartment is earning the name home. 

From where you both sit cross-legged on the floor, Steve bumps his knee against yours. “First meal in our home,” he says, pushing a spoonful of mac and cheese around in his bowl. He grins like it’s a secret. Our home rattles around in your chest, then grows roots and decides to plant itself there.

You kiss his cheek chastely and clink your bowl against his. “Not too shabby for some broke kids.”

“Not too shabby at all,” he agrees. His free hand guides your chin up so he can kiss you properly, a slow drag of his mouth against yours. It’s a lazy, soft thing that promises a million more to come so long as he gets to keep kissing you for right now.

He tastes like home. 

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #the final girl writes #steve harrington i want to give you the world

[shiorimakibawrites]

Image Credits: kissthemgoodbye.net / Greta Punch (Unsplash) / Stephanie Harvey (Unsplash)

A Tale of Two Men (Part 1 of Cozy Corners)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Word Count: 6,595 Summary: One week after you open your cafe, you meet two handsome men - defense attorney Matt Murdock and the vigilante Daredevil. Warning(s): Canon-typical violence, description of anxiety and panic attacks, referenced oral sex (f receiving), referenced p in v sex, referenced masturbation, dirty thoughts, female gaze Cozy Corners Masterlist Shiori's Masterlist A03 link Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer , @danzer8705 Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

A Tale of Two Men

You couldn’t stop smiling. Owning your own cafe had been the dream of you and your best friend Dora Morales since high school. And now, after years of hard work, it had finally happened. One week ago, you had opened your doors for the first time. You looked around. You and Dora had done everything you could, within the limitations of your lease and budget, to make Cozy Corners to live up to its name. Warm, comfortable, and inviting.

You were especially pleased with the little nook, tucked away from the main bustle of the cafe where people could read and study in relative quiet. You had found some nice chairs in a secondhand store, their brown leather the color of chocolate and butter soft. The little library of reference books and fiction was small but you hoped that over time it would grow. Yes, people were more likely to use the internet to look things up these days but you liked having analog back-ups. Just in case something got broken. Or the city was invaded by aliens. Again.

You found having back-up plans helped calm your nerves, made the anxiety gremlin in your head less loud. You were a big fan of keeping that gremlin quiet. You didn’t like it when the gremlin got loud. It was mean.

Hearing the bell on the front door chime, you looked up to greet your new customer. And immediately felt your stomach fill with butterflies. Because one of the most beautiful men you had ever laid eyes on had just walked into your cafe. Dark brown – no, dark auburn, you could see the glint of red in the sunlight – hair that looked like it would be very enjoyable to run your fingers through, excellent bone structure, and a mouth practically begging to be kissed. Round sunglasses with dark red lenses hide his eyes from view. Which was unfortunate. Especially if they were just as pretty as the rest of him.

The brown suit he worn, by contrast, did very little to disguise how well-built he was. Which was very, if the strain on buttons of his dress shirt was any indication. He moved an enviable grace as he walked toward the counter, his long white cane sweeping in front of him.

“Good morning, sir,” you said. “What can I do for you?”

“Good morning,” he replied. His voice was pretty too, nice and deep. The kind you could easily imagine whispering everything from sweet nothings to dirty promises in your ear. The thought made your cheeks warm and your heart beat at little faster.

His lips twitched into something like a smirk before he asked, “Do you have a menu in braille?”

You sighed, then said, “Sort of.”

“Sort of?” he repeated, tilting his head to one side.

“I have something in braille. The printing service claims that it’s my menu.”

“I take it that you disagree?”

“I don’t sell a cinematic rainbow muffler.”

“What?”

The sheer disbelief and confusion put into that single ‘what’ had you biting your lip to not laugh. You didn’t want him to think you were joking or making fun of him.

“Cinematic rainbow muffler,” you repeated. “Not something we sell here at Cozy Corners.”

His lips twitched. “I don’t think anyone does. What was it supposed to be?”

“Cinnamon raisin muffin.”

His brow furrowed. “That . . . doesn’t even have the same amount of letters. How did they manage get that?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” you said, shaking your head. “The whole thing is like that.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” you said, pulling out the copy you had left under the counter in case you needed a laugh. Which was about the only thing it was good for. You sat it down in front of him. “It’s at your twelve o’clock if you want to see for yourself.”

Mr. Handsome took you up on that offer. While he read – or rather attempted to read since you knew sections were completely unintelligible – you idly wondered if the dark facial hair dusting his face was the start of a beard or if he just didn’t feel like shaving this morning . . . you had the feeling he would look good either way . . .

Case in point, all that look of utter befuddlement like he didn’t whether to laugh or to be irritated by what he was reading did was make him look adorable. You needed to be careful. This guy was dangerously pretty.

“What is 78554.051?” He asked, looking like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“What?”

“It’s listed as one of the drinks. I think. I assume you don’t serve dribbles.”

“No, sir,” you said, thinking. “My best guess is that someone put the number sign where it didn’t belong.”

Mr. Handsome hummed thoughtfully, re-running his fingers over one section of the menu of nonsense. “Green tea.”

“Now that I do have,” you said. “Speaking of which, would you like to order a drink?”

“I don’t know . . . ,” he said with a teasing grin. “Drinking a coffin sounds dangerous.”

“It does,” you agreed, ignoring the continued presence of the butterflies to go along with the banter. “Does coffee sound better?”

“Infinitely.”

You gave him a quick rundown of the coffee options. He ordered a red eye for himself, which always sounded like a lot of caffeine to you but you didn’t know this man’s life. While he didn’t look tired, maybe he had been working a lot of hours lately and needed the extra oomph. Apparently he didn’t think his coworkers needed extra caffeine as they got a cappuccino and a dirty chai.

“What’s the name?” you asked. Mr. Handsome might be the only customer right now but that could change any minute. It was only a little after nine. Plenty of people might still be heading toward school or work, people who might decide to grab a coffee (and maybe some food) on their way.

“Matt.”

“Matt,” you repeated, both to make sure that you had heard him correctly and because you wanted to say it. If for no other reason so you wouldn’t accidentally call him Mr. Handsome outloud. He nodded in confirmation. “Just coffee this morning?”

He made another thoughtful hum. “I probably shouldn’t have just coffee for breakfast. What’s on offer?”

“We have bagels, muffins, croissants, turnovers, doughnuts, frittatas, and breakfast sandwiches.”

“Hmmm, those all sound great,” he said.

“Take your time,” you said, “Think about it while I make your drinks?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You turned to start making the coffee. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him flinch a little when the machine started grinding the beans. Which you couldn’t really blame him for. It wasn’t a nice sound. Easily one of your least favorite. But Dora, who was a coffee aficionado, might actually kill you if you even thought about using anything other than freshly ground coffee for espresso.

She had explained why it mattered. And demonstrated how changing how fine the grind was effected the drink. But that didn’t make the noise any less unpleasant. Which was probably why she hadn’t been able to talk you into freshly grinding your coffee at home. Not yet anyway. You were getting worn down on the issue. Agreeing would at least mean she would stop giving you that look of actual pain everytime she saw your can of already-ground coffee.

Pulling the shot part of the espresso was a lot more pleasant on the ears. With the added bonus of putting out that nice fresh coffee smell. You poured the shot into the waiting to-go cup of the house brew. You knew some places poured the hot coffee into the espresso but Dora thought that method disturbed the crèma too much.

You were pouring in the frothed milk with the chai concentrate into the double-shot of espresso for his coworkers’ dirty chai when Matt spoke again.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did but you can ask another one,” you said, feeling a little bold from his earlier friendliness, as you put the finished drink into the carrier alongside it’s companions.

He chuckled. “Left myself wide open for that one . . . Are you the owner?”

“Co-owner with my best friend, Dora,” you answered, tapping the used grounds into the knock box.

“Dora and who?” Matt asked with a charming smile. You felt your heart sped up. Something about smiling transformed his already handsome face into something breathtakingly beautiful. You had no resistant to something like that. You told him your name.

“That’s a pretty name.”

“And that was a line,” you said. One that you had heard numerous times. Through never from someone this good looking.

“It can be,” he acknowledged before subtly shifting his posture. He hadn’t been slouching before but there had been a relaxed air to the way he carried himself. Now he was standing there, straight-backed and shoulders square, his hands resting on the white cane held upright between his feet like it was some medieval courtiers’ staff of office. He had a presence. One that you suddenly realized had been there all along. It was just front and center now.

When he spoke again, there had also been a subtle shift to his voice. Easy self-assurance had been replaced with rock-solid confidence and conviction. Not thundering like an angry priest, just the calm, even voice of someone who knows they are correct, that the facts were on their side.

“Does that phrase being used as a pick-up line mean that a name cannot be pretty?”

“No,” you said. “A name can still be pretty.”

“Generally speaking, is your name one of the pretty ones?”

“Yes?” you said slowly. Why did you feel like you had just walked into a trap? Maybe it was that little edge of sharpness to his smile? . . . .

“Well, if names can be pretty and your name is one of those pretty names, then you have a pretty name.”

“I suppose,” you conceded. It was hard to argue with that logic. Especially when you didn’t actually want to argue that your name was ugly. You liked your name. And it was nice to hear something about you called pretty. Even if it was just your name.

“A pretty name for a beautiful girl.”

Warmth spread across your cheeks. That smile should be illegal. As for the words . . . he probably didn’t mean them. He was obviously something of a flirt. Regardless . . . it was still nice to hear. Still made your heart flutter.

“And that was absolutely a line,” you said, fidgeting with the ties on your apron. “Flattery is not going get you a free muffin.”

“It’s not flattery if it is true,” he said. Which did nothing to lessen the warmth in your face. “And since muffins are off the table, what about the doughnuts? Or the turnovers?”

You laughed. “Sorry. As much as I would like to give out free coffee and food, unfortunately there are all these places that expect me to pay them with money.”

“Instead of an excellent pie, like a sensible person?”

“Exactly,” you said, once again finding yourself drawn into the banter in spite of your nerves. You knew one thing for certain about Matt – he was definitely charming.

He nodded solemnly, like this was a serious conversation. “I’ve encountered the same problem with my small business.”

“You did?” you said. Then, feeling genuinely curious, you asked him, “What do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“A lawyer who wants to get paid in pie?” you said, feeling a little skeptical. Didn’t lawyers usually work in big offices that paid them big money? Granted your experience with lawyers was largely limited to baby-faced ones who were grabbing coffee for the office or law students who looked like they had forgotten what sleep was . . .

“I like pie,” he said mildly. “But, as you said, since so many people want money instead of pie, my partner insists that’s what we charge for our services.”

“That’s a shame,” you said.

“It is,” Matt agreed solemnly. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, “What to know a secret? If you ever need to bribe Foggy, try bagels. He can resist pie but never a good bagel.”

“Duly noted,” you said. “I assume Foggy is your partner?”

“Yep,” he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Nelson & Murdock, Attorneys at Law.”

“Nelson?” you repeated. “Any relation to Nelson’s Meats?”

You expected the answer to be no. This was New York City, after all, not a small town. But, to your surprise, Matt nodded and said, “Yes, it’s his family’s butcher shop. How do you know Nelson’s?”

“We buy the meat for the cafe from them,” you explained as you placed the to-go carrier by the cash register. “Did you ever reach a verdict on breakfast?”

He chuckled. “Jury is still out, I’m afraid. It all smells so good. Can you give me a recommendation?”

Your heart gave another excited flutter at the compliment as you thought about it. Then, with a little hesitation, said, “Maybe bagels? That way, if I need to bribe your partner, he knows what he’s getting out of the deal?”

“Good idea,” Matt said with a smile. “What favors do you have?”

After being given his options, he opted for a plain for himself and an everything for Foggy. After some further consideration an apple turnover for Karen, the third person at his office. He thought the sweetness of the turnover would compliment the spices of her dirty chai better than a bagel.

Soon the rest of his order was bagged up and paid for. Before he left, he tapped the menu of nonsense with his finger. “Can I have a copy of this? Otherwise I’m pretty sure Foggy will think I’m making it up.”

“Go ahead,” you said. “I’ve got other copies.”

He smiled, then tucked the menu into the bag with the food. He feed his arm through the handles of the bag, then picked up the drinks carrier. Considering his left hand was occupied with his cane . . .

“Would you like me to open the door for you?”

“Please.”

On the downside, Cozy Corners wasn’t very big so that particular journey didn’t take very long. But on the upside, you got to watch him walk down the street, discovering that he had a perfect ass. Because of course he did. You sighed. Why was everything about this man so attractive . . .

“I saw that.”

You jumped with a small shriek and whirled around. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen was Dora. How long had she been standing there?

“Saw what?” you demanded, walking back over to the counter.

“So many things,” she said with a knowing grin. “You flirting with Mr. Matthew Murdock, Esquire? Undressing him with your eyes? Checking out his ass? I saw it all.”

Warmth flooded your face. “I wasn’t undressing him with my eyes!”

“Yes, you were,” Dora said with the utter confidence of someone who had known you since you were ten and therefore knew all of your tells.

“Maybe I was,” you muttered as you tidied up the work station. It needed to be done but also gave you an excuse not to see that knowing grin. Which you knew, without even looking, had just gotten bigger.

“And now you are thinking about how loudly he could make you scream.”

“Dora!” You exclaimed, your head whipping around to make sure the cafe was still as empty as it was the last time you looked. It was. “Is this really the time for that? We’re at work!”

“That wasn’t a denial,” she pointed out in a sing-song voice. “I’m betting on very loud.”

“What makes you say that?” you asked, suspicion in your voice. “Did you sleep with him?”

The very thought sparked a little flame of jealousy inside you. Which you hated. You didn’t want feel jealous of your best friend . . .

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But I know someone who did. She said Murdock loves eating pussy. That he fucked her better with his tongue than any man ever had with their dick.”

“Dora!” You whined. Because now you were thinking about it. Now you were trying to imagine that handsome face buried between your thighs. It was an appealing image. Very appealing. But one you would rather not have when you could do nothing to quench the heat growing between your legs. “Why are you telling me this?!”

“You’ve been under way too much stress lately. Orgasms are wonderful stress relief.”

“Matt Murdock isn’t a requirement for me to have an orgasm,” you said mulishly. You had hands. And a vibrator. Both had served you well in that department. Often better than men had.

“Perhaps not,” she said, nodding in acknowledgment before flashing you a wicked smile. “But that’s who you are going to imagine fucking you senseless while you flick the bean, isn’t it?”

You were spared from having to answer that question by the arrival of new customers.

&&&

You managed to avoid any further conversation about Matt Murdock and what he could do with his tongue. Or other body parts. You put that down to two things. First, there had been a steady stream of customers to keep you both busy. Most had been simply curious about the new business in the neighborhood or tourists needing a quick break. The latter made you a little nostalgic, remembering your first days in the city and how overwhelmed you had felt. But some of the customers were repeats from earlier visits. Something that you hoped would continue.

Second, while you were still working on hiring, you did have some staff. Staff that had come in around lunch time and were there until final clean-up. It was one thing for Dora to speak so frankly about your sex life (or the lack thereof) when it was just the two of you but in front of others? Others who were your employees? Who likely would be very uncomfortable with that conversation? That was an entirely different kettle of fish. Not one that Dora or you had any desire to partake in.

By the time you were locking up the cafe and setting the alarm, Dora had seemingly forgotten all about Matt Murdock and how you had – allegedly – been undressing him with your eyes. It might only be temporary reprieve. Assuming he didn’t hate the coffee and food, Matt would be back. Despite the certainty of teasing from your best friend, you hoped that he came back.

Not because you thought had any chance with him. You weren’t delusional. Men that good-looking didn’t go for people like you . . . but if he was a regular, you could at least look at him. You’d get to talk to him. Though seeing him with girlfriends was going to suck . . .

“Are you sure that you don’t want me and Steve to walk you home?” Dora asked, looking worried.

“Yes,” you said, looking over at your best friend and her steady boyfriend. He had come to pick her up as usual. “I’m in the opposite direction of you guys.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve said. You knew that he didn’t. He made similar offers since he and Dora had started dating. And never complained or acted annoyed when you accepted the offer. But your apartment was much closer to Cozy Corners than their place, which weren’t even in the Kitchen. The only time you had accepted the offer since the cafe opened was the day before and only because you were dropping off the deposit at the bank. Then, carrying your opening week’s worth of cash, you felt like you had needed some extra security. Steve was a very sweet guy but he was also a tall man with large muscles. Not exactly the easy target that most criminals are looking for.

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “It’s not that late and my place isn’t far.”

“Okay,” Dora said. “If you are sure?”

“I am.”

Mollified by your conviction, Steve and Dora left. You watched them go around the corner before heading off yourself. You walked swiftly. Because rain had been predicted tonight and it was starting to get chilly at night. It wasn’t quite cold yet but brisk enough that you needed a jacket and didn’t fancy getting soaked. You couldn’t afford to get sick right now. Your business was too new . . . and Lady Who Sneezes A Lot wasn’t exactly the second impression you wanted to give Matt.

You might have very few hopes of attracting his interest but that didn’t mean you wanted to completely tank what little chance you had . . . You shook your head. You needed to stop the daydreaming. This wasn’t the time for it. Daredevil was back from wherever he had disappeared to but the vigilante only made things safer, not safe . . .

There was no warning. You were walking, almost home. Then you were grabbed from behind. You screamed as you were dragged toward the gap between two buildings. You dropped the sack holding your dinner and tried to struggle, to resist, but your attacker was too strong for you. You were pulled into the shadows and slammed into the side of a building. It knocked the wind of you.

Heart pounding, you desperately tried to suck in air. To get your breath back. You needed to scream again. Scream in the Kitchen and the Devil came. That was the story. That was the hope. But was one scream enough? You didn’t know. So you had to scream. Scream and pray all those stories were true . . .

You started to scream . . . then agony exploded on the left side of your face, transforming that scream into a cry of pain. Everything from your cheek down to your jaw immediately began to throb. It hurt. Worse than the time your sister Alex had accidentally given you a black eye with a softball. The bruising grip on your shoulder that kept you pinned against the wall barely even registered.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” the man ordered in a low hiss. “Make another sound and I’ll slit your throat.”

Tears were blurring your vision but you could see the knife he was brandishing. It wasn’t a small pocket knife. It was a chef’s knife. Like the one you had at home and at the cafe. And it was stained with something. You bit down hard on your bottom lip to stop a terrified whimper. It was too dark for you to tell with what but you feared that it was blood.

Apparently satisfied that you were too frightened to be anything but compliant, the man released your shoulder.

“Purse,” the man demanded. “Watch. Jewelry.”

Trembling, you removed your crossbody bag and held it out. It was taken and slung onto his shoulder. You ignore the watch directive since you weren’t wearing one. It was when you tried to remove your jewelry that things went wrong. The only piece of jewelry that you were wearing, a necklace, had a very delicate chain with a tiny clasp. Your hands were shaking too much for you to get a good grip on the lobster clasp, let alone open it and slip out the ring. The chain wasn’t big enough to pull the whole necklace over your head. Every time, the clasp slipped out of your fingers, your panic grew. Which only made the trembling worse.

It didn’t take long for the mugger to lose patience. His hand darted out and grabbed the necklace. He yanked hard, snapping the chain. More tears filled your eyes. It was bad enough that he was stealing your favorite necklace. Did he have to break it too? Then, to your horror, he raised the knife. You screamed, instinctively throwing up your arms to try to protect yourself. Your eyes squeezed shut, bracing yourself for the pain that you knew was coming.

Except it never came.

What came was a growl, low and furious. It was accompanied by the sound of something flying through the air. You heard a pained yelp and something metal clattering to the ground. You cautiously opened your eyes just in time to see someone put himself between you and the mugger.

Someone dressed entirely in black, save for the thick white ropes tied around his forearms and hands. Someone wearing a mask. Daredevil, you realized with a dizzying sense of relief. It might not be the more distinctive red outfit and its horned helmet but you were sure it was him . . . the stories were true. Scream in Hell’s Kitchen and the Devil will come to save you.

“You made a big mistake,” Daredevil snarled at the mugger, each word dripping with fury and utter contempt. “By not fleeing when you had the chance.”

Then he threw himself at the man.

Your legs turned to liquid. You fell back against the wall and slide down. You didn’t care the street was getting your pants dirty. You had to sit. While your legs were uninterested in supporting your weight, you could pull them up and wrap your arms around them. So you did. It was almost like a hug and you could use one right now.

You couldn’t stop shaking. The sound of breaking bones, meaty thwacks, and a man’s screams were oddly distant. Like you were listening to something through a well instead something happening just a few feet away. Scent, however, was viscerally and intensely present. Acrid car exhaust, rotting garbage, coopery blood, sweet peaches, and sour sweat filled your nose. You gagged, then tried to breathe through your mouth to lessen the nauseating combination. But you couldn’t get your throat to work . . . you couldn’t get enough air . . . your vision darkened . . . . you couldn’t breathe . . .

You weren’t sure which penetrated past the panic first – the hands massaging your shoulders or the deep voice speaking. But once it did, you were suddenly aware of both. You almost couldn’t believe your own eyes and ears. Was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen really kneeling in front of your huddled body? Were those gloved hands gently gripped your shoulders, really the same ones that had just literally beaten a man bloody?

“You’re safe, it’s okay . . .”

The soft, quiet voice was completely at odds with his grim reputation. It also sounded a little familiar but you were too exhausted to try remembering where you had heard it. It had been a long day and panic attacks always took a lot out of you.

You weren’t so tired that you missed that the Devil was a good-looking man. And not just in the face. Those grainy surveillance photos in the newspaper hadn’t conveyed just how tight his clothing was. Which was very tight. His shirt, for example, was practically painted on. You could see his muscles. His many, many muscles. He had clearly hit the muscle store during a clearance sale . . .

The thought made you giggle. It sounded more like a wheeze and more than a little hysterical but still a giggle. But you needed a laugh. You were alive. You had been sure that you were about to die. That you were going to be stabbed to death in a robbery gone bad . . . you started to tremble again, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the weather . . . you could have died . . . your bottom lip quivered . . .

Hands squeezed your shoulders, “Hey, hey, look at me.”

That didn’t sound too hard. Only half of his face was visible but what you could see was mighty fine.

A deep chuckle. “Thanks for the compliment.”

‘Note to self – abject terror followed by panic attack completely dissolves your brain-to-mouth filter. Shut up before you ask if it is actually possible to bounce a quarter off of his abs.’

Another deep chuckle alerted you that you might have also said that outloud. A theory confirmed by his statement, “I’ve never tried. Can you do something for me?”

Warmth filled your cheeks as you nodded. He smiled at you. It was a nice smile. “Follow my lead? Deep breathe in . . .”

You mimicked the inhale, the short hold, then slow release out.

“Good! Now again . . .”

It seemed like forever but eventually you felt calm. Or at least not like you were about to have another panic attack. That was good. Panicking was exhausting. Daredevil seemed to agree with your self-assessment as he had stopped instructing you to take deep breathes. After one more reassuring squeeze, his hands slid off of your shoulders. He sat back on his heels.

“Feeling better now?” he asked, his voice returning to what you assumed was his Daredevil speaking voice – low, deep, with a growling rasp. It was possible he sounded like this all the time. It wasn’t like you had ever meet him outside the mask. Well, as far you knew. You supposed that you could have but how would you know . . .

“Yes,” you said, when you remembered that you had been asked a question. “I’m fine.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not from a certain point of view. You were feeling better now that you were no longer teetering on the edge of a second panic attack in a short space of time. You knew this calm, almost numb, feeling was fragile. It would shatter instantly if pressed too hard. But that was the best you could hope for right now. Feeling any better than this would require things that weren’t here – like your most comfortable clothes and your pets – along with time.

Daredevil frowned, tilting his head slightly to one side. It was hard to interpret the expression on his face since you couldn’t see most of it. But it seemed like he was staring at you (through how he saw anything through that mask was a mystery) as if you were a puzzle he was trying to figure out. Or maybe he was simply skeptical. That was possible. You had seen how you looked after panic attacks. In his shoes, you wouldn’t believe you about being fine either.

“I’m as fine as I’m going to get tonight,” you amended.

That answer, at least, was deemed plausible to him. He nodded, then pulled something about the little pouch attached to his belt. A cellphone. Who was he calling? Since you had no energy for guessing games, you simply asked.

“The police,” he said.

Well that was your cue to get out of here. You couldn’t think of something you would rather deal with less right now. Your usual post-panic attack headache was already growing – no need to kick it into migraine territory with sirens and flashing lights. You shifted onto your knees so you could get to your feet.

“What are you doing?” Daredevil asked.

“Going home.”

“Home? Shouldn’t you be going to the hospital?”

Amazing, he had found something worse than the police. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” you said. “I don’t wanna.”

His lips twitched. “You don’t wanna?”

“What are you, a parrot?” you demanded, feeling your temper flare. If you had been less tired or not in pain, that question would have playful. But you were tired and hurting so that question was grouchy. So was the rest of your statement. “Yes, I don’t wanna. No, I don’t care that is whinny. I’ve had a shitty night! I’ll whine if I want to!”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, spitfire. No hospital.”

As the anger drained, you felt a swell of guilt for yelling at him after he just saved your life. This was why you did your best to avoid people when your social batteries were running too low to manage basic human interaction. It seemed like you always ended up biting someone’s head off for no good reason.

“I’m sorry,” you said, shifting back onto your bottom. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead against your knees. You didn’t care that your pants were dirty. You needed to hide. “I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just too tired to be peopling right now.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I understand.”

You cracked up an eye and turned your face to peer at him with that one eye. Again, it was almost impossible to get a read on his expression but he didn’t seem bothered. And vigilante like him probably did know a thing or too about having a temper. Suddenly feeling curious, you asked, “How good does it feel to punch crime in the face?”

A wolfish smirk spread across his face before he answered, “Sometimes very good. Why?”

You shrugged, “Don’t know. Maybe I’m looking for a career change. Punching bad guys sounds more fun than getting punched by bad guys.”

You got the impression he was giving you a very stern look from behind that mask. That mouth pressed together in a thin line was all disapproval. “How about you leave the punching bad guys to me and I’ll leave the baking to you?”

“How did you know I’m a baker?” you asked. Then felt a little stupid for asking. You were still wearing your chef’s jacket and an apron. It was pretty obvious that you worked with food . . .

“You smell like flour, yeast, butter, sugar, and spices which all says baker to me,” he said. “Through you also smell like peaches. The fruit, not the flowers.”

You blinked. That wasn’t the answer you were expecting. You also hadn’t realized that the scent of your peach beauty products were that strong. They smelled pretty light to you. But before you could think of a response to that, Daredevil rose to his feet. Which gave you a nice look at his legs which like his torso and arms was muscles for days barely contained by tight clothes. The black trousers weren’t quite as painted on as the shirt but they were snug enough. The naughtier parts of your mind wondered what it would be like to ride him, feeling those powerful thighs under you as he thrust up . . .

“Spitfire?”

Embarrassed warmth flood your face. While you were distracted, Daredevil had held out his hands and obviously asked if you wanted help standing. More than once if that amused smirk was any indication. You put your hands into his before you could embarrass yourself any further. A goal immediately challenged by watching the muscles in his arms flex as he helped pull you up onto your feet without a hint of strain. Because damn if that wasn’t hot . . .

Thankfully this time you managed not to become so distracted by the sexy vigilante that you just stood like there drooling like an idiot. You slide your hands out of his and then, to prevent yourself from staring at all those muscles (again), started looking for your crossbody bag. You hoped that the mugger had dropped it during the fight with Daredevil. Because as much as you wanted and needed your things back, you also would rather not get any closer to that man than you had to.

It didn’t matter that mugger was (probably) unconscious and (very probably) too beaten up to be a threat anymore. Not to anxiety brain. Anxiety brain was seldom appeased by such frivolities as fact and logic. So when you spied the large, still shape on the ground, your heart started racing again.

“Don’t worry about him.”

You looked over at Daredevil. He wasn’t even looking in the same direction that you were but still seemed to know what you were looking at. Almost like he read your mind . . . could he read your minds? God, you hoped not . . .

“I promise he’s not going anywhere soon,” Daredevil continued, his earlier rage coloring his voice a little. Part of you wanted to know what the mugger had done to make him so angry but most of you decided that you were better off not knowing. Your brain did not need help coming up with nightmares.

Feeling reassured by Daredevil’s confidence (and the knowledge that he was still between you and the mugger), you looked for your bag again . . . there it was. It was closer than you expected. You started to move closer but your foot encountered something. Something metal judging by the sound against the concrete. You looked, hoping it wasn’t the knife.

It wasn’t . . . too small . . . you knelt down and discovered your necklace. You picked it up, glad that you wouldn’t have to try to find something so small in such poor lighting or run the risk of it being gone by morning. Which it probably would have been. Aside from the broken chain, you hoped the rest of it was undamaged. You ran your thumb across the surface . . . it didn’t feel like any of stones had gotten chipped or cracked . . . the engraving could still be read . . .

“What are you doing?”

You jumped a little at the voice before remembering Daredevil. You were surprised he was still here. Weren’t there other damsels in distress he needed to be rescuing?

“Not at the moment.”

Either you were still saying things outloud without realizing it or Daredevil could absolutely read minds. You decided to believe the former because the latter was too mortifying to contemplate.

“Checking my favorite necklace,” you said as you darted forward and grabbed your bag. “Doesn’t feel like anything but the chain got broken.”

He nodded. “Ice those bruises when you get home – ten minutes on, twenty off. And try to keep your head elevated. After two days, you can use a heat compress.”

“Ice and prop up tonight, heat in a couple days,” you repeated. At his confirming nod, you asked, “Are you a doctor or something?”

“Just familiar with bruises” he said. “Trust me, spitfire, the bad guys often hit back when you’re punching them.”

You nodded, then realized that any further delay was just stalling. But as much as part of you wanted to keep talking – how often did you get a chance to talk to one of the city’s heroes? – the rest of you was still tired, still feeling jittery-numb from the panic attacks, and still hurting. And you had work tomorrow. It was time to call it a night.

“I guess this is good night,” you said, taking one last look at the vigilante. Odds were, the only time you’d see him again was in the newspaper.

“Good night, spitfire,” Daredevil said. Maybe it was projection but his smile looked a little sad. Like he also knew this was probably the first and only time you would ever see each other.

You paused when you reached the street to pick up your bag of food. It was probably a mess but you were definitely weren’t going to cook when you got home. As you walked away, you faintly heard the low rumble of Daredevil’s voice, presumably talking to the police on that phone.

Notes:

A Tale of Two Men is a reference to A Tale of Two Cities, an 1859 novel by Charles Dickens. I’m thinking about making all of the titles for this series reference book titles.

It occurred to me recently that my Reader characters in the series all are some level of anxious. Probably because I have anxiety and that colors how I perceive the world. Hence the Reader with anxiety.

The alien invasion is a reference to the events of Avengers I. Fair warning that some of the larger events of the MCU will not be depicted same as they were in canon. Accept that this is an alternate universe and move on.

I know Charlie Cox has brown hair but in some lighting for Matt Murdock, his hair does have reddish tint . . . and Matt in the comics is (generally speaking) a redhead so I’ve compromised by making Matt Murdock have dark auburn hair, the kind that looks brown unless the light hits it right and brings out the red.

Reader is sighted but knows how to read braille. The story behind this will be revealed later.

This knowledge is only reason Reader considers the misprinted menu of nonsense to be funny. She would have not find it funny if she found out about the misspellings and such after handing it to customers.

From my understanding, using the hands of a clock is the best way to tell a blind person where something is relative to their position. The menu of nonsense was right in front of Matt so at his 12 o’clock. Directly behind would have been his 6 o’clock, etc.

In braille, the symbols for numbers 1 – 9 and the letters A – I are the same along with J and 0. The number sign is written before tells you those symbols are meant to be read as numbers instead of letters. So 123 instead of ABC. If I have the information right, a second number sign is used to indict the end of the numbers and return to letters.

But all of my knowledge of braille is self-taught so don’t take my words as gospel here.

A red eye is a 12 oz (340 g) cup of drip coffee topped with a single or double shot of espresso.

A cappuccino is a coffee drink with a double shot of espresso topped with a very frothy milk. It is slightly stronger than a latte because it has less milk.

A dirty chai latte is a coffee drink with a double shot of espresso, then a chai concentrate is poured into the milk which is frothed. Finally the milk and espresso are combined.

Crèma is a dense layer of foam that forms the top of an espresso shot and is a unique characteristic to the brewing method (forcing very hot water under pressure through finely ground compacted coffee).

At least in this fic, Matt Murdock is a proud member of The Pie Appreciation Society. The Society ranks include its long serving president Dean Winchester.

How much a lawyer makes a year depends on where they work and what kind of law they practice. People who work in public sector offices like a public defender or a state prosecutor generally make a comfortable living but they are never going to get wealthy doing that job. There are some lawyers who charge six figures or more per billable hour but those seem to be litigators and they aren’t as common as the associates who charge something less crazy (through probably still an eye-watering amount of money to some).

It’s Nelson & Murdock because (1) this takes place not too longer after the 3rd Season so they are still working out of the back of Nelson’s Meats and (2) New York law prohibits the formation of the Law Firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page unless all three are attorneys. So if Karen wants her name on the sign, she has a law degree to earn and a bar exam to pass. Which she just might do in this universe.

The white cane is held in one’s dominant hand. I picked the left hand for Matt as another nod to his comic book counterpart who is (again usually) left-handed.

Esquire is an honorific title that is only used in the United States for lawyers for . . . reasons. No one seems to know why.

‘Flick the bean’ is a euphemism for female masturbation.

A chef's knife is a knife about 8 inches (20 cm) long used for chopping, slicing, and dicing meat and vegetables. Unless you have something like a meat cleaver, it is probably the biggest knife in your kitchen.

The favorite necklace is part of some story elements so this is not a generic favorite necklace but a specific favorite necklace. But if you want to mentally change the specific elements of its later description to better suit yourself, go right ahead.

A lobster clasp is the one that looks a like a lobster claw.

Matt is in the Black Suit since he has yet to replace the Red Suit – the old one being too damaged by the Midland Circle and only other one in existence was worn by the impostor who murdered people. A version of the Red Suit will eventually appear (since as hot as the black suit is, the guy without a healing factor needs body armor) but I’m still working out how.

The description of the panic attack (shortness of breath, sensory overload, etc) along with its aftereffects (exhaustion, mood swings, etc) are based on my experiences.

Spitfire is nickname for someone with a temper, possibly referencing the WW2 plane.

The treatment for bruises comes from internet so grains of salt are advised.

A chef's jacket is a double-breasted jacket with mandarin collar commonly worn by chefs and bakers, traditionally made from thick, white cotton cloth but can be made in different colors these days. The thickness of the jacket is meant to help protect the chef or baker from heat, steam, and splashing liquids in a busy kitchen. Frequently the jacket has long sleeves to help protect arms while reaching into the ovens.

#daredevil #fan fic #fan fiction #cozy corners #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #tw anxiety #tw panic attack #ao3 link

[isa-ghost]

shaking you by the shoulders. gnawing at the bars of the enclosure. begging screaming yelling sobbing crying for some happy qphil hcs . phil and his children. what do they do to destress. how do they recover from tragedy . p lease

Yknow what I need these so badly rn, I'm doing this ask first. Happy qPhil time.

qPhil headcanons masterlist

qPhil is a simple man. His kids are happy, he's happy. I've touched on this previously but they make him laugh so much. They're the fastest way to make him happy.

Seeing random pretty birds while on wandering adventures is another thing that makes him happy. They make him think of Rose.

I have to mention flying. I have to. I know it's angsty bc his wings are fucked. Shhh. Shut. Shut the up. It made him so happy. It still does, he has a glider and a grapple hook and a trident with riptide SHUT UP LET HIM FLY.

The times he and the kids share music together. The kids fucking love Battlecry and Dreamland and the three of them will start belting it out together.

Obligatory sparring mention. Listen some of the fandom makes pvp his whole thing and personality and that's not true but he's still good at it and likes it a lot. Esp when he gets to be unnecessarily homoerotic with Fit or Etoiles.

Building makes him happy ofc. Creating in general. He can't remember atm but he used to be an architect you could say, discovering the creations of the hardcore gods and tidying them up. Getting to make creations of his own for someone like him to discover one day feels fulfilling, even if he doesn't quite know why currently.

His friends' laughs make him happy. Fit's especially. You know the one. The one he does anytime he gets to be up to some fun destructive rebellious bullshit.

Messages aren't the only way the gods, especially Rose and Kristin, communicate with him. They give little signs that are subtle enough to go unquestioned by others but noticed by him. They're always with him and that makes his heart full.

I can't not mention his own stupid jokes he makes with the purpose of making Tallulah especially die inside a little. His lame jokes are for him and him alone sometimes.

The funny thing is when you ask what makes him happy without the involvement of other people, it might take him a second to answer, if he can answer at all. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. Yes, he's very "care for others and only the bare minimum for myself," but it's also a testament to how being loved and loving others makes him happy. Having people to make smile and laugh. Having people to show cool shit and teach cool things. Human connection makes him happy.

His crows and their dumbassery make him happy. For all the shit they affectionately subject him to and all the disapproval he puts on about the said shit, he'd be pretty lost without them. They've always been reliable to make him smile or at least feel heard when he has no one else.

He fucking loves all the cultural exchange he experiences with his friends. He could listen to Missa or Cellbit or Etoiles or literally fucking anyone talk for hours. God his friends are so cool and so are the things they tell him about.

Obligated to mention that the thought of Chayanne, a child, beat Ender King's ass for 3 days straight and bruised his ego so hard he gave up using Phil as a meat suit. It always cracks him up without fail.

Getting to reminisce to people about things. Especially memories of Techno or things he's done with Goddess of Death. He loves any excuse to talk about them and how awesome they are.

Crow brain means adventuring and finding cool loot makes him happy. Fuck EK he tainted it a little but Phil will reclaim the hobby if it kills him. He loves the rush of opening a new chest and seeing what cool shit awaits inside.

Okay listen this idiot is allergic to self care sometimes but god does he love the chill days where he and the kids just sit around or stay in one place and just hang out doing something fun and low energy. It's why he hates the reset. He wants the goddamn places they'd do that at back.

#qsmp #qsmp philza #philza #q!philza #qphil headcanons

[sonofthesaiyans]

A very Happy Birthday to the real heart of Attack on Titan..... 🎂

So comes that special time of the year once again to pay tribute to the best girl of AOT.....

Happy Birthday Sasha Braus, one of anime's best and most lovable gals, and one of Titan's greatest heroes. ❤️ 🎉 🥂

Sasha continues to hold a very special place in my heart, a place that has only grown over time. I don't think I can truly top what I wrote in her honor a year ago today, so let me just stop to reiterate my immense appreciation for what Sasha gave us, and how much she means to me as a character.

Sasha is truly a standout character and she has all the makings of a truly great protagonist. While Mikasa, Levi, Armin, Ymir and Historia all may carry greater weight over the course of the story, Sasha i think easily has the potential to be a greater main heroine, even moreso than Mikasa herself. Sasha is one of the few incorruptible characters of this story and her courage, resolve, and integrity easily make her one of the strongest as both a warrior and as a person. Sasha provides a warmth and levity through all the darkness that has erupted around her, and the series truly was much worse off without the comfort and reassurance of her presence.

With her honor, her humor, her strength, her infectious smile and personality, her unstoppable appetite, and her impressive skill set in the heat of battle.......Sasha has always been one of Titan's most fascinating characters and I will be the first to say her growth as a character from an easily frightened country girl to a determined soldier who has beat the odds constantly out of loyalty to her friends, is easily one of the greatest character developments of the series; even greater than those who take up the spotlight on this show. She truly had the potential to be the dark horse heroes of this series in the same vein as Armin was, and I know in my heart she had a lot more to give.

Isayama does not deserve title to a character as great as Sasha, one who could easily have been the hero of another story. Not as a character who exists for the benefit of another that nobody asked for.......but on her own merits and armed with both her skill and dynamic personality. I will always stand by my girl, because as I have said time and time again....

SASHA DESERVES BETTER.

You are the best girl in my book, Sasha. You always will be. And I will always be your loudest advocate among the many who appreciate you for all you are and all you could have been. I will continue on fighting for you, because you deserve justice for who cruelly you were snatched away from us by Isayama. I will not give up, not until you are restored to us. You deserve a second lease on life.

Much love for you, our beloved Potato Girl. 🥔🥔🥔🥔🥔🥔🥔🥔🥔 🥔🥔 🥔 🥔 🥔

There is no Attack on Titan without you, Sasha Braus. 🫂

She truly is the greatest part of a much bigger whole. ❤️

All the best to you Sasha, and to you I wish you one day a grand return, back with us where you belong.

My heart and soul to you, Sasha. From the bottom of my heart, I will always love you.

All the best, may it finally come to the girl who deserves the world. Happy Birthday, Sasha. 😇

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #hajime isayama #snk spoilers #i hate isayama #snk anime #eren yeager #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #levi ackerman #aot anime #aot manga #snk manga #i love sasha so much #sasha snk #sasha aot #attack on titan sasha #sasha braus #shingeki no kyojin ymir #mina carolina #mina aot #aot mina #anti snk 105 #anti snk 139 #snk fandom #aot fandom #sasha blouse #jean kirschtien #jean kirstein #snk connie

[howlingday]

Rivals

"Hey, guys?" Ruby asked as she lowered her comic book. Weiss was writing in her journal and Yang was beating her high score on the other end of the couch. "Does Blake have a rival for Team JNPR?"

"What?" Weiss turned to face her leader. "What are you talking about?"

"A rival." Ruby repeated. "Someone she can match up with and pit herself against. Like two heroes who are compara- comper- very similar in their stats."

"Well, it ain't me." Yang said, twisting as she narrowly ended a career ending blow. "Sure, we're both powerhouses, but she's way too strong. She's more of a wild-card who swings at whatever you tell her to- WHOA!" Yang's screen bleeped those ever immortal words in her face. GAME OVER. She set down her controller, took a deep breath, calmly stood up, and declared, "I need to go hit something very... VERY hard." She then left to do so.

"Unpredictable?" Weiss rolled her eyes. "Well, don't look at me. I'm the furthest thing from her rival. If anyone is my rival, it would be Pyrrha Nikos."

"Or Jaune." Weiss shot a cold glare at Ruby. "It's true, though. He has a sword, you have a sword."

"Pyrrha also has a sword, and is world renown athlete."

"Were you a world renown athlete?"

Weiss flinched. "N-No, I was a singer."

"You know who else sings?"

"Puh-lease!" Weiss stood from her chair. "That buffoon's caterwauling can hardly be considered singing!"

"Sounds like he needs a rival to teach him." Ruby teased.

"Argh! You are so infuriating!" Ruby watched as Weiss stamped off in a huff.

"Hm, but if Jaune is her rival, then who's my rival?" Ruby pondered aloud. "Maybe we're all sort of each other's rivals? Like, we're all equally good at what we do, but in comparison, there's room for growth?" Ruby smiled at her very mature thought. "Ack! There's a rip in the page! Oh..." Ruby whined as she looked at her comic.

Nothing good lasts forever, it seems.

---------------------------------------------------

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Nora shouted as she slammed her palms against the table.

"It means your dialogue lasted only two paragraphs before becoming smut." Blake replied, pushing Nora's notebook away. "Your lewdness lacks story."

"Huh?! I'll kick your ass!" Nora shoved Blake's script across the table. "Your book is too dang long! I was excited to read something juicy, but it took so damn long to get there, you might as well have put a gun to their head and told them to make out!"

"It's called 'pacing', Nora."

"It's 'padding' is what it is!"

"There's no point in writing a story if you can't set the scene and give the readers details on what they need to visualize." Blake countered. "Who are these characters? Why are they meeting? What drives them to give in to their carnal desires."

"People don't care about that!" Nora waved her off. "Just put two people together, and they'll either bone or not bone!"

"Stop saying bone."

"No!" Nora jumped on the table. "BOOONE!"

"Stop it."

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!"

Blake huffed a sigh. This was a pointless argument. Nora and her were clearly two different writers. Blake invested her time in her story telling, whereas Nora put all of her energy in the details of the art of smut.

"I liked what you did with the finger and thumb."

"BOOO- Huh?" Nora crouched. "Really? I just threw that in because I thought it would feel good."

"It did." Blake nodded. "I imagined myself in her place."

"Ooh~!" Nora placed a hand over her mouth. "Getting naughty thoughts, are we~?"

"And you weren't?"

Nora was quiet for a moment. "Touché." She hopped down from the table, facing away. "I like when they cuddled afterwards and talked about the future." She smiled. "It made me hope for another chapter." She turned to Blake. "There is another chapter, right?"

With a cheshire grin atop folded hands, Blake gave Nora that little, addictive word every reader wants to hear. "Maybe."

#rwby #ruby rose #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #nora valkyrie

[arhvste]

if you’re still taking prompts….

''what are you doing here? '' '' i don't know...'' + atsumu please 😭

atsumu was sweating. not out of exhaustion, but out of nerves. he looked around to thousands of people in the same crowd as him as various names were being called out through the speakers as student walked up to collect their graduation certificate.

was it normal for an ex boyfriend to attend your graduation ceremony? probably not, but prior to your break up, atsumu had promised to clear his schedule in advance in order to attend, and he’d promised you he’d be there in the crowd, cheering for you the loudest. as far as the blonde was concerned, promises don’t break even if the relationship does.

ten minutes later and his ears perked up at the sound of your name being called. he’s eyes immediately fixated onto your figure as you strode up the stage to shake hands with your professor and accept your certificate. just as he’d assured you before, atsumu cheered loud enough to the point where various stares were garnered by him, but he didn’t care. your surprised look and soft smile and nod after you noticed him made the attention worth it.

a little more waiting and shoving through a huge crowd and he found you talking with friends. with a beautiful bouquet of flowers in hand, the setter marched up to you as his heart beat rapidly. you noticed the boy out the corner of your eye and turned to face him.

“hey you!” you beamed. atsumu smiled handsomely back before bringing you in for a quick hug. “while i’m thrilled to see you, what are you doing here?” you asked curiously as your ex cleared his throat. it wasn’t that the two of you were on bad terms, but it definitely wasn’t a common occurrence to have an ex show up to personally congratulate your graduation. “i don’t… i don’t know.” atsumu scratched the back of his head. “i promised ya i’d come though didn’t i?” you laughed.

atsumu has promised you his attendance almost six months ago, you had no expectations for him to keep those promises after your break up. “you didn’t have to.” you insisted, waving your hands in front of you as gorgeous flowers were thrusted into your view.

“congratulations, i’m really proud of ya.”

your cheeks began to warm at your exes words. “thank you atsumu, it means alot.”

bringing you in for one last hug, atsumu allowed himself to feel at lease with you in his arms once more. oh, he’d really missed this.

“and who might this be?”

you tore away from the boys hold as your friends gave you a teasing stare. your eyes widened and you shuffled next to atsumu as if you hadn’t just been caught tightly embracing the boy.

“this is miya, my-” “boyfriend.” atsumu chimed in as you coughed at his answer. you gave him a look as he only shrugged and pulled you in with an arm around your waist. “must be nice.” you friend whined before offering the two of you a warm smile. you urged your friends to go on without you and assured them you’d catch up with them later as the two of you were left alone once more.

“boyfriend huh?” you raised an eyebrow as atsumu hummed. “well, i did promise to never stop loving ya didn’t i?” you sighed as the two of you sat down on a nearby bench. “you didn’t have to keep these silly promises after we broke up you know.”

atsumu took your hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “i wouldn’t make a promise to ya if i didn’t intend to keep it regardless of the situation. let me prove it to ya again. i promise i won’t let you go so easily this time.”

you smiled and leant into his side. a few moments of silence went by before you took a deep breath before answering. you’d come to your conclusion.

“i’m going to hold you to that promise.”

list of prompts to send me

#it’s grad season sooooo yah #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #atsumu x you #haikyuu x you #hq #hq x you

[lierenprotectionsquad]

This is my favourite episode in the entire series so far. I had some theories for what was so special about this episode and I got a few right, actually. Some, of course, by a technicality, but still very good to see.

I’ve marked the ones I got right, and I’ll keep the ones I didn’t for future chapters.

THIS WILL NOT BE IN APPEARANCE ORDER BUT RATHER IN ORDER OF HOW IT'S WRITTEN DOWN IN MY LIST!

Old Man Jaune Backstory

We start the episode with Jaune falling the same way Ruby did at the start of the volume, and him following after Crescent Rose. He finds the clock tree, which sends him back in time several decades. Jaune spends probably thirty years in depression (with a short intermission, but we'll get to that in a bit) until he sees team RWBY fall from the sky.

Old Man Jaune Turns Back Into Normal Jaune (technicality)

We see an image of normal Jaune in the wiggly woggly water slime goo thing while they walk on the weird road.

Alyx Shows Up

We find out the truth about Alyx's story and that she had a brother named Luis. Jaune becomes the Rusted Knight and leads them through the Ever After. He is troubled by the intense difference in Alyx's characterization in the book verse the real Alyx, and soon learned Alyx wasnt just a petulant child, but selfish and cruel. She poisoned Jaune and sacrificed her brother, who was kind and clever.

Penny Shows Up (technicality)

We Jaune painfully looking away from an image of Penny in the wiggly woggly water slime goo thing while they walk on the weird road. Although I didn't think she'd be back back, i did think Jaune's memory of her would talk to him, tell him it's okay. But there's nothing dictating that that can't still happen later.

Summer Rose Shows Up (technicality)

When Ruby passes the first wiggly woggly water slime goo thing, we see a blink-and-you'll-miss-it image of Summer Rose following all of Ruby's movements like a mirror. Same as with Penny, to be honest, but Ruby's memory of Summer talking to her seems much more likely than Penny. Maybe even Yang's memoty of Summer talking to her. They're bound to remember her differently. I don't think Summer will be alive in the sense that she can come back, they played the Hound up way too much last volume for that to happen, so if we were to get a Red Like Roses part 3, it would probably be when Ruby's facing off against the Big Bad Wolf (grimmified Summer)

Bumbleby Does The Smoochie Smooch + Bumbleby Say The Love Words

In a dramatic standoff at two unfinished rope bridges meeting on a platform, Yang and Blake are forced to finally be open and honest about their feelings for one another. Clearly, the Ever After was also tired of their bullshit and decided enough is enough. Blake tells Yang to just say it and Yang tells her she loves her at the same time Blake says she loves her too. They finally come together and make out. Btw, right when they kissed, my sister’s computer died. I swear, I almost cried! At lease it didn’t happen right before the kiss.

Everyone was happy they finally stopped beating around the bush. to quote Jaune, "feels like I've been waiting forever for that."

I actually got quite a few correct, huh? Legit my favourite episode, hands down. I'm so excited for next week.

Every who sees this, please have a glass of water, you have no idea how much I needed it after this episode.

This screenshot doesn't mean anything, I just like it

#try calling bumbleby queerbait now haters! #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #jaune arc #alyx rwby #penny polendina #summer rose #bumbleby #rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 9 #rwby volume 9 spoilers #rwby v9 #rwby v9 spoilers #rwby 9 #rwby 9 spoilers #shut up sparky

[prince-of-elsinore]

@luminescent-chorus tagged me to respond to the following. Thanks friend! I know it's not Wednesday, but hey, we need our Wincest fix between Wednesdays too, right? :)

Happy Wincest Wednesday! I have a few questions for people to answer. Feel free to answer them all or just one (or none at all) even if you’re not tagged!

what song describes samdean the most?

if spn was set in europe, what country would the Winchesters be from? What language/languages would they speak?

This is such an interesting question to think about! The possibilities that first come to mind are: Ireland, Scotland, Germany, Poland. On a superficial level, this is probably because Sam and Dean look Anglo-Saxon, and these countries have climes and landscapes not too dissimilar from damp Vancouver, where the series is filmed. But there are some cultural reasons, too.

First, Ireland/Scotland: (ignoring for now that supposedly the BMOL made hunting in the British Isles obsolete) There's a ruggedness to parts of the countryside and, stereotypically, to its working class inhabitants, that I think fits John and Dean quite well. It's easy to imagine young Dean being (or rather, posturing as) one of those mad lads at the pub, you know what I mean? While Sam went off to Dublin or even, God forbid, London, for school. I could maybe even see them being from Wales or Northern England--I could imagine Dean with a Mancunian accent. And when he picks up Sam from school, Sam's developed this posher, southern accent that starts slipping the longer he's on the road with Dean. This AU opens up a whole rabbit hole to explore: is Dean a bit of a chav? Or is he, in his anachronistic way, more of a skinhead (in the original British, not neo-Nazi sense)? Is he more into punk than classic rock? Aesthetically, it could make sense, but did John listen to that? And what does it mean for Sam to consciously distance himself from that?--etc.

Germany/Poland: the blue-collar aesthetic is intrinsic to spn, and it's interesting to me to think of that in an Eastern Bloc context. If they were German, they'd be from the East. Their childhood was spent behind the Iron Curtain, and part of escaping that life, for Sam, would be going west, maybe to Munich or even (*gasp*) Paris. Dean's romanticization of the past would be tied up with Ostalgie. Maybe they drive a Trabi, or a Polski Fiat 126p (lol). Would we get gopnik/dresiarz tracksuit-wearing Dean (bigger lol)? Or maybe he idolizes and emulates icons of Western pop culture (a precious commodity for him growing up) just as much as in canon. Maybe he loves "Eastern/Red Westerns" and Bruce Springsteen. As far as languages go, I imagine hunting would take them across borders all the time, so they'd both have a working knowledge of several Central European and Slavic languages. Dean's English would be learned entirely from pop culture and would reflect that, while Sam's would be much more academic. Sam would speak much better French than Dean (and than canon Sam *cough*) and probably Italian, Spanish, and Greek as well.

if they didn’t have the impala, what car would they drive?

is there a project you’re working on currently? Do you have a line or sketch from it to share?

I am currently working on a multi-chapter post-15x19 thriller! He's an excerpt:

What it comes down to is that he’s Dean fucking Winchester, and he should’ve known that would catch up with him sooner than later. Not because of the enemies he’s made, but because he wasn’t built for good things. He’d let himself forget that. Because he and Sam beat God and saved the world, and for a moment it’d felt like they had a new lease on life, and they got a dog for Christ’s sake because the worst was supposed to be behind them and they were finally free—what a joke. Freedom doesn’t mean the good life. Freedom is just a nice sounding way of saying that the rug can be pulled out from under you at any moment and you’ll never find a satisfactory answer why, because there are no rules, no guiding principles, no divine design behind your suffering.

what’s the first fanfic for supernatural you’ve written? Did you publish it? Or if you don't write: what's the first fanfic you remember reading?

is there another codependent/enmeshed duo from a different fandom you enjoy? Are there parallels to Sam and Dean?

Dennis and Dee Reynolds from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and Rick and Morty. Both of these duos have a considerably less healthy dynamic than Sam and Dean, but I think disentangling themselves from each other would be just as unthinkable as for the Winchesters. They also all have an element of "this person knows me better than anyone else, and we've shared experiences no one else could possibly understand."

what type of wincest dynamic do you currently enjoy most? (sexual, platonic, dark, fluffy, early seasons, etc.)

Mostly sexual (especially developing feelings), usually somewhere between dark and fluffy (bittersweet, melancholy, or hard-earned happiness), and often pre-canon or post-15x19.

These were fun! I tag @flownwrong, @mannequin3thereckoning, @thegoodthebadandtheart, @zmediaoutlet, @flashbulb-memory, and @nigeltde-fic, if you feel like it :)

#wincest wednesday #wincest #spn au #musings #my fic #spn #about my fic

[thekoopalingsandstuffs]

The Sleepover (Part 8 of 11)

>It's been an hour and a half, and nobody has puked yet<

Lemmy: "Wait!"

Rango: "What?"

Jr: "Can't we just play different game?"

Rango: "...Don't you two wanna go back inside and watch a movie or something?"

Jr: "No, not really... The game we just played was fun!"

Lemmy: "We wanna play another one!"

Rango: "Really??"

Lemmy: "Yeah! You're cool to hang out with!"

Rango: "Aw, shucks... How do you feel about playing tag?"

Jr: "Ooh, yes! Let's do that!"

Rango: "Oh yeah, I have to ask... Do you two feel... Different at all?"

Lemmy: "...No??"

Jr: "Different how?"

Rango: "NEVERMIND!!!"

Lemmy: "...You think ONE bite of those brownies is enough to get us high?? Puh-lease!"

Rango: "W-what??"

Jr: "You think we didn't know?"

Rango: "Uhhhh......"

Lemmy: "Eh, forget it. Let's play tag now!"

Rango: "...OKAY!!!"

Topper: "What? Talk to me."

Ludwig: "I'm thinking about what you said earlier. You know how it feels to wet yourself at someone else's house... Care to elaborate?"

Topper: "Oh. Uh. It's nothin' serious... I had horrible bladder issues when I was younger... And I still sorta do, actually. I pissed myself all the time, but the first time it happened at a friend's house was by far the worst... Actually, it was Rango's buddies' house. So I barely knew any of the kids there... And they were a lot older than me..."

Ludwig: "Oh dear!"

Topper: "I don't wanna go into details, but... I had an "accident." I don't mean I wet the bed. Though I probably would have if we stayed longer... No. Not even an hour after we got there! Rango and I had to go home early. His friends were already making fun of me, and Rango beat the shit out of me on the car ride home. He was so excited for that sleepover which I wasn't even supposed to be at, and I fucked it up for him... But the pain of being beat was nothing compared to the embarrassment and shame... It was probably one of the worst days of my life."

Ludwig: "I'm so sorry about that."

Topper: "Eh, I just try not to think about it and it's fine. ... So... Got incontinence, huh? What's that like?"

Ludwig: "Terrible."

Topper: "Don't wanna go into details either, eh? I get it."

Ludwig: "...I don't know if this means anything to you, but I had no idea you had urinary issues until today."

Topper: "I hide it well, I guess. I had no clue about yours until today, either."

Ludwig: "Good!"

Topper: "...Let me ask you one more question... Does your incontinence ever cause you to piss the bed?"

Ludwig: "Sometimes..."

Topper: "If you want, I can get some towels for you to stuff into your sleeping bag. Just in case!"

Ludwig: "That'd be nice... Thank you."

Topper: "Don't mention it! Now let's change the subject... Ya like jazz?"

Ludwig: "Yeah!! I like all music! And I play piano! Do you play any instruments?"

Topper: "Ooh, I play piano, too! But I specialize in keytar."

Ludwig: "What's a keytar...?"

Topper: !!! "Want me to show you?"

Ludwig: "Sure!"

[wumblr]

does anybody want to go in on a radio license with me so i can listen to music at work ad free? GOD. it would be so funny. like lofi hiphop beats to relax/study to. but as a radio broadcast. i'll lease the smallest possible plot of land out by the airport and put a whole radio tower on it. i mean theoretically you can build them out of scrap metal and wire, right? surely there are not at least three different things that could go wrong with that. or maybe i can just leave my phone in my locker connected to one half of a walkie talkie set. probably not since those are "high frequency" and not, as typically understood, "AM/FM" (regardless of whether they actually use amplitude or frequency modulation)

anyway my job MUST have had an incident in the past where somebody embezzled sensitive data using an mp3 player because they are unequivocally verboten, which is in and of itself, funny. i'm gonna bring in a furby and see what happens. teach it a credit card number

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Heart’s Choice - Chapter 27 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Later that morning, after the sun is full and safely up and the night of the ritual has passed, Ian Foley drives me home to the garage.

Gravel crunches beneath his truck's tires as he pulls into the work yard and parks.

"You don't have to come with me," I say, pulling my backpack from the back seat of the cab.

"I'll be fine."

"I'm sure you will. But two sets of eyes are better than one and you've only got one good arm. I'll just have a sniff around. Make sure nobody's been here while you were gone."

"Thanks, Ian," I say, suddenly realizing how grateful I am for the gesture.

"You're a good friend."

He takes my backpack from me and slings it over his own shoulder, ruffling my hair.

"Yeah, yeah. And you're a pain in the ass but we love ya anyway."

Thankfully, everything is as I left it and Ian detects nothing unusual.

His senses are less keen in his human form than they are as a bear but his human form is less apt to draw attention.

Bears aren't unusual in Spring Lakes but Ian's resembles a grizzly, a species which has been extinct in this state for nearly a century.

I don't want to have to explain why one might be wandering around outside my shop.

"Place seems secure," he says, inspection complete.

"You sure you wanna stay here, though? I mean, you're still renting from a lady who might want to kill you, remember?"

"I haven't forgotten. But the less Lucille suspects I know, the better. Besides, she's like eighty years old. What's she gonna do? Beat me with her cane?"

Ian sighs.

"Carlos, be real. You're from a family of demon hunters, you're friends with an encyclopedia's worth of supernaturals and there's a vampire after your ass, if not your heart. You should know things aren't always what they seem. Besides, from what you described, what happened to Kyle took some effort. If the old lady has anything to do with it, she's either stronger than she looks or she had help."

"I'll be fine," I say. "The next ritual's not for another two weeks, assuming the Feast of Blood was even performed. I'm safe until then, at least."

"If you say so."

He casts a last look around the garage and scuffs his boot over a crack in the concrete floor.

"Oughta get that fixed 'fore it spreads," he says, clearly reluctant to leave me on my own.

"Yeah," I agree.

"Unfortunately, one condition of the lease is that I can't make any changes to the place without Lucille's permission, including repairs."

"Have you asked about this? A crack like this means you got a weak foundation. Could be a pocket of soft soil, could be erosion. Either way, if it spreads, it could compromise the whole structure. Then you're in big shit. County could condemn the whole thing, 'specially since it's zoned as commercial. It's worth having someone come an' take a look, anyway."

Being in the construction business, Ian should know what he's talking about and I eye the crack with renewed suspicion.

"You know, it does look bigger than it did before. I guess I could..."

A whole rack of socket wrenches drops from the wall, landing with a clatter that has me jumping out of my skin and practically into Ian's arms, like a character in an old cartoon.

"Whoa. You okay?"

"Yeah."

I catch my breath and step away from him.

"Guess you're right, though. Kyle seems to agree with you, anyway."

"Kyle? Is he here now?" Ian asks, glancing around nervously.

I look askance at the corner where, as long as I don't look directly at him, I can see Kyle watching us.

"Yeah. I'm not alone after all, see?"

To my surprise, Ian seems a little creeped out by the idea and leaves pretty quickly after that.

I follow him out and wave as he drives off, feeling a stab of loneliness as his truck vanishes from sight.

For a while I just stand there, feeling the mid morning sun on my face and the breeze in my hair and letting thought swirl around my brain like a flock of restless birds.

My cell-phone buzzes and I pull it out to check.

I've got two notifications.

One is from a random app, offering me a special bonus deal because... Fuck.

What a depressing way to remember a birthday.

Especially my own.

The second is a text from John.

My heart leaps a little, despite myself but the message is unsentimental, short and to-the-point.

John: No deaths reported last night. All public areas in town are clear. Need your expertise. Please advise if ritual must take place outdoors.

I hesitate, both a little happy that he asked,and a little unsure what to make of the businesslike tone.

I decide to match it, colleague to colleague and ignore everything else for now as I type my reply.

Carlos: Yes. The same place as the first would be best. Otherwise, nearby in a significant location.

I hit send and wait.

After a moment, the three dots appear, telling me John is typing.

Then they stop.

Then they start again, then disappear.

Finally, I accept he's not going to reply, pocket my cell-phone and blow out a breath as I run a hand through my hair.

I did ask him for space.

On the one hand, it looks like the Feasts might be a dead end and between Kyle's ex-girlfriend and Lucille, we've got plenty of leads.

On the other hand, my aunt is missing and my love life is on the rocks.

I shake my head at myself.

"Tonto. (Fool.) You're so desperate for someone to love you, to have what Ian and Sam have and when it comes along, you freak out and push it away."

I sigh and watch as a trio of crows fly overhead and disappear among the trees on the other side of the road.

Then I head back inside to clean out the ten-day-old trash and the rotten food in the fridge, which Ian was too polite to mention smelled like absolute fucking shit.

Happy birthday to me.

[wayystey]

Narrator: The City of Townsville! And no better place to spend father's day.

(The camera zooms in before cutting to a pair of yellow kites in the air, one labelled 'DAD', and one labelled 'SON'. The camera stays on these for a brief moment before panning down to the father and son holding them and smiling, clearly enjoying their time together. The father pats the sparse hair on his son's head before the camera starts to pan right. As it does so, we see a father and son playing catch by a bench, a father and son on the bench eating ice cream, and on their other side another pair who have just finished a game of basket ball by the looks of things.)

Man 1: Son, when I was your age...ah, I was twelve. (His son looks shocked by the revelation, clearly having expected this story to go elsewhere.

Man 2: Billy, that was an amazing shot! (Closeup of basketball father as he speaks. Someday you're gonna be a famous player! (They hug)

Narrator: Yes, it's a wonderful day for all the dads of Townsville.

(The father and son duo move away to display Mojo on another park bench. He is looking rather bored and unimpressed with the day's events so far and drinking from a restaurant soda cup.

Narrator: Well, almost.

(Close-up of Mojo. He begins to mock the father he has just seen.)

Mojo: (Mocking) You're going to be a famous player. (Normal) Sickening. (He goes back to his drink as another father and son pair catches his eye to his right. We cut to them, where the excited boy has decided to sit on his father's lap.)

Boy 1: Dad! I wanna be a man just like you someday.

Man 3: I love you too, son.

(Once again, the pair hug.)

Mojo: Oh puh-lease. (His expression changes as instead of the usual cheerful exchanges we hear crying. Mojo looks on in surprise as the camera cuts to a rather nerdy-looking redhead sporting broken glasses, grey shirt and green and orange checkered shorts. His underwear has been pulled out of his shorts, and his face is bright red. He is crying to an identically-dressed man reading a newspaper.)

Boy 2 (crying): DADDY! (pointing o.c.) THOSE MEAN BOYS BEAT ME UP, AND TOOK MY ICE CREAM MONEY, AND GAVE ME A WEDGIE!

(Mojo looks in the direction he's pointing, and gasps in shock. The Rowdyruff Boys are kneeling there, counting the money.)

Mojo: The Rowdyruff boys?! (Jump closer to the Boys, who look up and smile)

Mojo: This is not possible! How is it that something that was destroyed can exist again? (He walks to the Boys and stops in front of them)

Mojo: I demand an explanation as to how something that was destroyed can exist again! (The Boys look at each other, then back at him)

Brick: Duh, nice hat, Dorko! (They laugh; Mojo comes up and brandishes a finger at them)

Mojo: How dare you talk to your father that way!

girls: Father?! (Now they start laughing hysterically, pounding the ground. Close up of Mojo, who is shocked by something o.c. "Him" descends into view, arms outstretched so as to hold the Boys in a very loose embrace. In the following exchange, the camera focusses on the speaker.)

Him: Yes, it seems that the boys have found a new father now.

Mojo: What?

Him: I brought the boys back, so I am their father now. (Him now lays on the floor, the boys gathered around him. At first Brick appears to be stood on Him's leg as he is not floating, but by the next line has resumed floating far above this spot. Mojo comes into view, pointing an angry finger at this strange scene before him. Mojo continues to make various hand gestures, often with little to do with what he's saying, as he speaks.)

Mojo: Incorrect! The Rowdyruff Boys were my idea, which means I was the original creator! Yes, it was I who originally created them, which means it was my creativity which led to the origin of the idea which resulted in the creation of them. Therefore the idea originated before the actual creating began, resulting in total origination of all creativity.

(Him looks on wearily, stifling a yawn. Cut to the boys.)

Brick: Uh, I didn't get that the first time. Can you repeat that? (Boomer and Butch laugh, shortly joined by Brick and Him while Mojo steams away at being the butt of yet another joke. Him sits up, drawing himself closer to Mojo.)

Him: I'm sorry, Mojo, but your creation was destroyed by the Powerpuff Girls, (He shoots to his feet. Evil voice) And would probably still be destroyed (Falsetto) if I didn't revive them. Besides (The camera cuts to a shot of the interior of Him's broken up house, showing the original versions of the Rowdyruff Boys) seeing as I made them better (A claw waves in front of the boys, turning them into the versions we know now. Once more he holds them in a loose embrace. Evil voice) They should remain mine.

Mojo: Better?! (The scene returns to the park as Mojo jabs a finger furiously at Him's chest.) How could you make Mojo Jojo's design of the Rowdyruff boys any better?

Him: (Laughing hysterically, falsetto) By making them immune to the Powerpuff Girls' girly kisses! (The scene shows Him holding his immunization to the boys before stock footage displays the girls attempting to defeat the boys with kisses in 'The Boys Are Back In Town'. They now tower over the girls, eyes glowing red.) Now they can't be destroyed by the mere touch of cooties. (Back to the park, evil voice) So why don't you run along, chimp chump?!

(Mojo really starts fuming now until he can no longer hold it back and practically leaps at Him in his eagerness to argue back.)

Mojo: Those boys were created to do pure evil, which makes me the more fit father since I am pure evil.

Him: (Suddenly holding a lolly pop. Falsetto voice.) Oh, I'm sorry, but nobody does evil (Evil voice) The way I do!

(The two disgruntled fathers really start to get in one another's face as the argument continues.)

Mojo: That is not so!

Him: (Falsetto voice) Is so!

Mojo: Is not so!

Him: Is so!

(Cut to the boys, looking very bored and practically falling asleep on their feet as they wait for things to move along swiftly. (Y/N) then appears next to the boys as they all then played some rock paper scissors.)

Mojo: Is not!

Him: Is so!

Mojo: Is not!

Him: (Evil voice) Is so!

Mojo: Is not.

Him: Is so!

(Cut back to the arguing fathers. They are now level, as though Mojo has suddenly gained a few meters in height, glaring deeply into one another's eyes. Pull back as Mojo pushes Him away, showing the former to be stood atop a stack of phone books.)

Mojo: Very well then! Since you will not acknowledge that I, Mojo Jojo, the original creator of the Rowdyruff Boys, who were originally created by me, am the more evil father, you leave me no alternative but to PROVE that I am the more evil father, therefore making me the better parent!

Him: (Leaning in, falsetto) Fine then. (Evil) And I will prove that I am the eviller parent!

Mojo: Very well then!

Mojo, Him: (Him returns to his falsetto as the screen splits to show both head on.) Let the evil begin!

The scene switches to show an election campaign. The Mayor stands by a podium, flanked by two bodyguards as a crowd stands below him. Above sits a banner reading 'MAYOR '04'. Pull back to show this is being watched on a screen by Mojo and the boys.)

Mojo: First, I will demonstrate my total evilness by kidnapping the Mayor of Townsville! (Mojo pulls a few levers on the control board in front of him as he laughs.)

Mayor: Friends and neighbours and, uh, fellow bedwetters! We are gathered here today to witness the holy union between- (One of the guards leans in to whisper into the Mayor's ear.) Huh? Oh? You don't say! Who's getting elected?

Mojo: Now, observe.

Mayor: And furthermore, it has come to my attention that there are just too many of you. And (He continues under as the screen focusses on a camera. The lense opens up and a large nozzle stretches out. On the barrel is written 'TRCP 800'.)

Mojo: Behold, the TRCP 800!

(Cut to inside)

Boomer: You mean... Totally Rad City Pulverizer?

Mojo: No, dumb-dumb.

(Brick happily takes the opportunity to hit his brother. Cut back to the TRCP as what appears to be a floating pickle with an antennae comes from the nozzle.)

Mojo: The remote-control pickle!

Mayor: Which brings me to my next point, which is (He notices the pickle floating before him) Guh, eh, the point, eh, um the point is...eh, which is... (He grunts and throws himself down, now crawling after the pickle.) Pickle, pickle, pickle, pickle, pickle, pickle (Cut to Mojo as he laughs, then back to the Mayor as he continues to repeat the same word over and over as he crawls through a sea of legs, down the stairs of the Town Hall, down a busy road, to an alleyway that bids no-one enter and through the barring fence, breaking it and getting his clothes caught and torn off in the process.)

Mojo: Now prepare to witness true evil!

The floating pickle stop before a simple box trap held up by a stick connected to a string before disappearing inside. The box itself claims to be for holding pickles. The Mayor continues to crawl toward the trap, relentlessly babbling over his need for pickles. As he approaches, we cut between Mojo and the Mayor, the former hovering his finger over a big red button.)

Mojo: Steady...steady

Him: Yoo-hoo! (A large shadow falls over the Mayor, diverting his attention upwards) Up here, mister Mayor! (Cut to Him, piloting some form of flying vehicle. He even wears a pilot's cap.)

Mayor: Pickle?

(We pull back to show the airborne vehicle in question is in fact a blimp made to look like a pickle. The Mayor reaches for this and then follows it blindly.)

Mayor: Pickle.

Mojo: (Watching this development on a screen) Curses!

(Cut to the blimp interior as Him teleports the boys over. They appear dazed.)

Him: And now, my dear boys, I will show you just how evil I am, by letting the mayor play a little game of upsy downsy. (The blimp stops over a tall building, which the Mayor instantly goes to climb.) Good little mayor. (He reaches the top of the building and starts reaching for the blimp.)

Mayor: Pickle pickle?

Him: (Pushing a lever) Whoops. (The blimp continues onwards without its little follower. The Mayor begins to lose his balance and falls from the top of the building, screaming. He hits the pavement below, head-first, but still seems to have the sense to cover his shame. After a moment, he falls onto his side. Cut to above, Him looking out one window with the boys looking out another behind him.)

[For this shot, Boomer appears to be missing his clothes, and Butch, his arms.]

Brick: Man, that was pretty evil!

(Cut back to ground level. A crowd has now assembelled around the Mayor. Ms Bellum rushes over.)

Ms Bellum: Mayor? Are you okay?

(The Mayor sits up and blinks, looking round until his eyes fall upon a man eating a banana with a bored expression. Zoom in on the banana.)

Mayor: Banana. (He once again crawls to his desired item) Banana, banana, banana, banana banana, banana, banana, banana!

Ms Bellum: Yep, he's just fine.

(Cut back up to the blimp window where all four occupants look on. The boys' arms appear detached on and off until removed from the blimp. Him draws the boys' attention to himself as he speaks.)

Him: Don't worry, boys, there's more evil where that came fr-oh! (He cuts off as the entire blimp shakes violently, shocking the four occupants. The camera zooms out to show one of Mojo's giant robots holding the blimp in place)

Butch: Wow! A giant fighting robot!

(Zoom in to the eyes of the robot, showing Mojo at the controls)

Mojo: Yes, a giant evil fighting robot created by Mojo Jojo!

(The robot raises its free hand to the blimp, one finger outstretched. This finger acts as a vacuum, pulling the Rowdyruff Boys out of the blimp and into the main control room of the robot.)

Mojo: Now watch this! (The robot holds up a giant pin and after a moment pops the blimp, sending it into the distance with the sound of a deflating balloon. Cut back to the int) And now, observe total evillness. (The robot raises its arms, now cannons, and fires two green missiles into the distance. They land somewhere within the city and cause a large whiteout explosion. Robot int.)

Brick: Wow! That's super evil, dude!

Mojo: Yes, and it's all yours to command.

(The boys exchange looks as they consider this before looking back to Mojo.)

Brick: You mean...we can blow stuff up and stuff? (Mojo nods and hums in affirmative.) Anything?

Mojo: Anything.

(The boys run to the controls, cheering. Suddenly, Brick throws his arms up to stop his brothers.)

Brick: Waaaiiit! (Pointing at a mini-screen, which shows the Mayor crawling along, still sans clothes.) First, let's start with that stupid Mayor!

Cut to the city, where the man being followed by the Mayor is talking on the phone.

Man 4: Anyway, I got this little naked dude following me and it's a bummer.

Mayor: (Running after him) Banana banana banana banana! (He exits OC and just misses being crushed by one of the Robo-Jojo's feet. He continues his chanting under.)

Man 4: Alright, just take it, please! (The Mayor snatches the banana from his outstretched hand and finally stops speaking, instead busying himself with his treat. Behind him, the giant robot approaches.)

Mayor: Banana. (He throws the peel over his shoulder, satisfied, and the foot of the robot comes down over it. It seems not even the giant robot is safe from the comedic powers of the banana peel as it is quickly pitched backwards and unable to save itself from falling with the large cannon arms. It ends up flat on its back, knees bent at an awkward angle and canons broken off. Various parts are giving off sparks and the head dome has a large hole in it. Interior, the boys are on their backs on the floor, Brick and Butch looking pretty peeved while Boomer just looks surprised. Mojo sits beside them, holding his head.)

Mojo: Curses...

Him: (Rising into view) Oh, what's the matter (evil) monkey boy? (Falsetto) Techinical difficulties? (He laughs and the screen is filled with a spiralling red smoke before the scene dissolves to him reclining on a pink cloud, the rather unimpressed Rowdyruff Boys hovering by his feet.) Boys, let's stop monkeying around. It's time I showed you what real evil looks like! (He raises a pan flute and blows into it, making a strange sound similar to that made by a lazer. A flashing multicoloured beam decorated with musical notes streaming out and heading to a building with a sign labelled 'center for cosmic research'. The beam crashes through the wall and passes by several scientists, who are visibly effected by this beam. The man on the end of the line puts down his clipboard and starts walking to another scientist standing by a machine.)

Scientist 1: (Monotone) Doctor Shank.

Scientist 2 (Shank): (Monotone) Yes, Doctor Yust?

Scientist 1 (Yust): Here is the secret code for the CSD. (He holds up a piece of paper that says 'secret code'.) That I am not supposed to give to anybody.

Doctor Shank: You mean the ignition code for the Cosmic Singularity Degenerator (He turns to the machine and starts pushing buttons) Which when activated will cause a fission reaction, Which will send a warp desensitive parabolic gamma ray into the cosmos causing disalignment between the celestial bodies, then of course throwing the Earth out of orbit, sending it hurtling into the sun? (As he says this, a light appears in a nearby machine, which then fires out of the building and reflects off several asteroids before hitting the earth, sending it past Venus and Mercury and towards the sun. Cut back to the research centre.)

Doctor Yust: Yes, that code.

Doctor Shank: Okay, just making sure.

(Cut to a hill Mojo stands on, watching the sun getting closer and closer. The sound of flames is evident and the screen starts to change colour to yellow. Mojo turns as a swirling red cloud appears alongside Him's merry laughter. Him appears onscreen with the Rowdyruff Boys beside him.)

Him: Splendidly evil, isn't it?

Mojo: Evil? How about stupid? Yes, thanks to your foolishness, we will be reduced to nothing! Nothing, like the amount of intelligence inside your head! Nothing, like the amount of respect I get after six seasons on this show! (Him holds up his hand, halting the progress of the sun.) No, you are not the more evil parent, you are the more stupid parent, which makes you unfit to be the father of these boys! (The sun retreats as the Earth returns to its proper place. The boys watch this with smiles, turning to see how Him will react. Cut to the latter, who is now steaming.)

Him: Is not so!

Mojo: Is so!

(Cut back to frame all five. The boys are no longer amused.)

Him: Not so!

Mojo: Is so!

Him: Not so!

Mojo: Is so!

Him: Not so!

Mojo: Is so!

Him: (Evil voice) Not so!

Boys: (Over Mojo's line) Shut up!

Mojo: (Under previous) Is so!

Brick: We don't care which one of you is more eviler or more stupider or whateverer! There's only one evil thing we care about, and that's destroying the Powerpuff Girls!

Boys: Yeah! (They high-five)

Brick: Let's go! (Mojo and Him exchange seemingly worried looks as the boys speed away. Mojo has his hands clasped, Him has his claws together and both are crying liquid pride.)

Mojo: Boy, that's the evilest thing I can imagine!

Him: (Falsetto) Oh, all you can do is raise them the best you know how and hope they turn out how.

Mojo, Him: I'm so proud of them! (They embrace and sniffle)

Narrator: And so, with Mojo and Him finally happy together, (The scene dissolves to an ending screen variant with black and white skulls instead of pink hearts and the Rowdyruff Boys fly into view.) the day is doomed, thanks to the Rowdyruff Boys.

-The End 

#powerpuff girls #mojo jojo #ppg him

[watching-pictures-move]

Put On Your Raincoats | Teenage Sex Kitten (Perry, 1975)

This movie is pretty much impossible to discuss without spoilers, so you have been warned.

This is my third Ann Perry, and feels like a collision between the two others I've seen. There are the good vibes and hangout quality of Ballgame, manifesting in the rapport between Rene Bond and Eve Orlon and the sexual escapades they embark on. (Fucking a gardener, fucking in the pool, fucking their way to a free room are among the highlights. I cannot confirm whether Bond actually majored in poontang like the poster suggests, although if she's an autodidact, the results onscreen suggest she picked up the material pretty well.) And there is the cruelty of Sweet Savage, manifesting in the hard turn the movie takes without warning into roughie territory in its last third. It isn't just a shift in the subject matter, but in the textures as well, going from a warm and sunny atmosphere and a cheerful looking cast to a dingy looking hideout with boarded up windows, dirty walls, a hanging lightbulb, flies buzzing about, and disheveled looking assailants in tattered clothes, one of whom resembles Sid Haig circa The Devil's Rejects.

There is a precedence for this kind of structure with The Last House on the Left, which I'd wager was an inspiration on this movie. Last House foreshadows its violence with its structure, cutting between the innocent victims, goofy side characters and menacing villains until the different groups collide with horrifying results. What eventually transpires isn't exactly a surprise, although the sheer cruelty and finality of the violence still manages to shock (and when I rewatched the movie a few years ago, I found I had not been numbed to its impact). This one offers no such buildup. An attempted coupling outside a bar two thirds of the movie is cut short when the man is given a blow to the head and the woman is kidnapped, raped both while unconscious and awake, and then accidentally killed. The victims' male friends avenge their deaths violently, beating one of the assailants to death and emasculating the other by tying his genitals to their car and driving off. Cruelty is met with cruelty. The movie ends on a note that feels anything but triumphant, as the avengers promise to lie to the dead woman's female friend about her fate, so as to leave her as a happy memory.

I've watched far too many roughies than is probably healthy for one's sanity, but I do think this is a bit more ambitious than most. At the risk of boiling these things down to the demographic details of their creators, this is another one directed by someone other than a straight male that offers an interesting angle on the material. Maria Lease's Expensive Tastes lingers on the feelings of trauma after the assaults. Zebedy Colt's Terri's Revenge! adds an element of camp with Terri Hall's performance. Both those movies also afford their victims agency and allow them some catharsis in avenging wrongs. This does not offer such catharsis, placing the vengeance in the hands of characters not directly impacted, but an early exchange reveals an interest in the leniency afforded screen violence and punitive treatment of onscreen sex.

"Isn't it strange in movies you can show killing and people getting tortured and maimed. You can even show a baby getting murdered and that's not a crime. But if you show something beautiful like people making love, it's against the law. If we were in a movie and you showed what we did just now, some people would think it was disgusting." "Debbie, nothing so beautiful and so natural could be disgusting." "Did you know a few years ago you couldn't even show a belly button in an advertisement? It's like people are ashamed of being born or something." "That's reality, Debbie. I mean, people screw every day. Or should, I mean, you know. That's reality. This violence and murder and blood and all that other shit, that's, uh…" "It just doesn't seem right to me."

So perhaps this is movie's way of dealing with this hypocrisy on a structural level. So it's more ambitious in its grimy way than the other two movies I've seen by Perry, although if I had to rewatch one of these, I'd most likely go for Ballgame and hang out with my good friends Candida Royalle and Lisa De Leeuw rather than sit through the cruelty of the other two movies again. File this one under the "watch at your own risk" category, although its ambition does keep this from being too dispiriting an experience.

#film #movie review #teenage sex kitten #ann perry #put on your raincoats

[miss-tc-nova]

Crazy - Bragi x OC

I ALMOST FORGOT TO POST THIS! AAAAAH!

Anyway, the third of @aiden-bevelle‘s exciting commissions that made me re-love Bragi somewhat. 

Premise: Bragi and Aiden’s friends are a bit fed up with the antics. 

~~~~~

              “Alright Fluffcoat, show me what you got.”

              That confident smirk ties knots in Bragi’s stomach but the words instigate his ego.

              “Oh, I will.” The red-head gives a practice swing behind his blade. “Just don’t go cryin’ when I roll you in the dirt.”

              So much smack talk for such an ordinary day at school. But one could only expect as much when it came to Bragi and Aiden.

              These two have been inseparable since the day they met. Aiden had that softness that made him an easy target, but he really snared Bragi’s interest with his steadfast conviction. Sure, Aiden would play nice to get what he wanted, in lieu of that though, he made it happen with his own hands. This made him an infallible ally of the light, but it also made him an intriguing partner. It was only a matter of time before witty remarks became conspicuous flirtations.

              Yet some of their friends have started to reach their wits’ ends with these two. The affection has become so painfully obvious that there have been active attempts to push the two together. None of them ever seemed to bear fruit though as the two go on as usual.

              Today, however, is pushing it.

              “Admit it,” Aiden goads as the herd returns to their classroom. “I got you today.”

              Though Bragi is actually quite enamored with Aiden’s pride, he sneers for show. “Puh-lease. You won by a fluke.”

              Hermod interjects, “Give a rest, you two.”

              The bickering pair ignore him. “Was that fluke you landing on your ass, because then, yeah, you fluked alright.”

              “My foot slipped.”

              “Sure sure. Just admit I beat you. I’m not Eraqus.”

              Poor Era. “Hey!”

              “Guys,” Xehanort tries, also with no success.

              Bragi smirks in Aiden’s face. “Nah nah. You believe what you want. I know what really happened.”

              Aiden grins back. “Yeah, you know I won.”

              “Whatev—”

              This time, the interruption works.

              “WILL YOU TWO JUST FREAKIN’ KISS ALREADY?!” Urd snaps.

              The room stares at her in silence for a moment.

              Bragi finds her outburst amusing; not only have they found the limits of their friends’ patience, but the prettiest pink blush bleeds across Aiden’s face.

              Oh how the tables have turned.

              Bragi’s shoulders rise in a shrug. “We did that already.”

              Now all eyes snap to him with a collective, “WHAT?!”

              Aiden snags his jacket, practically shaking him. “BRAGI!”

              “Ah, relax darlin’.” He can’t help laughing, showing off that smarmy smirk. “Everyone already knows you’re crazy about me.” A fist meets his shoulder. “Ow!”

              “That doesn’t mean you tell everyone we made out!”

              “But Urd said—”

              “I don’t care what Urd said!” Poor kid’s face is damn near the same shade as Bragi’s hair.

              Vor butts into the conversation. “About freakin’ time!”

              Bragi points to her. “See!”

              Huffing, Aiden rolls his eyes and stalks for the door, likely more from embarrassment than annoyance. Bragi tips a salute to their friends before following after.

              “Yo, cutie, slow down.”

              Aiden does not.

              Knowing how stubborn the blonde can be, Bragi takes action. Catching up, he shoves Aiden off-course, into an empty classroom. The door closes behind them as Bragi forces Aiden up against the wall.

              Leaning in, he lets his voice drop. “Oh don’t be mad. You know I’m just as crazy about you, right?”

              “You didn’t have to tell everyone we made out.” That pout is adorable.

              “’Course I did.” Gentle fingers coax Aiden’s face closer. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

              The breath that ghosts his face shudders. A chuckle slips his lips and Bragi closes the gap.

              It’s soft and slow, letting the boys bask in each other’s touch, just as they have so many times before. And every time, Bragi’s heart threatens to break from his chest. His stomach flips over and over and the rest of the world slips away. There’s no doubt he’s head-over-heals addicted to this feeling.

              Though the kiss breaks, Bragi’s voice clings to the intimacy. “See? Crazy.”

              He’d die for that sweet smile. “Yeah you are.”

#kh bragi #bragi x oc #khdr bragi #novas commissions #smarmy fluffcoat

[mudskip-muses]

🌝: Envious and 💦:Guilt with fuyuhiko and gundham, but a drabble if you don't mind since I don't have a roleplay blog lol :)))

under the cut cause i got carried away uwu

"You wear each one of your emotions like the freckles upon your cheeks, a smattering of stardust only visible under the right light."

The voice had Fuyuhiko startling, the yakuza nearly falling from his perch upon a high tree branch when it had broken him from his thoughts, the rustle of leaves being the only answer Gundham received until the smaller man could keep himself from crashing to the ground.

"What the fuck does that even mean? If you're here to spout poetry at me, you're gonna have to do better than that." Gundham just smiled, a playful glint in his eye as he stared up at the man in the tree. It may have been huffed, but it wasn't a dismissal, more of an invitation, if one knew how to read it.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm’d; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d."

The breeder looked smug from where he stood, no doubt realizing the yakuza hadn't actually expected him to spout such prose at him. Were they just words? A simple memorization? Or had they been meant for him, to say what Gundham couldn't normally? Fuyuhiko just rolled his eyes though, ignoring how the blush on his cheeks only reinforced Gundham's initial statement, the freckles popping out brightly under the right light.

"Real original, try again." Another invitation, more obvious this time, one that had a smile on the breeder's lips as he stepped closer to the tree, a hand on the bark as he gazed up at the other.

"But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, And, constant stars, in them I read such art As truth and beauty shall together thrive, If from thyself, to store thou wouldst convert; Or else of thee this I prognosticate: Thy end is truth’s and beauty’s doom and date."

Fuyuhiko just looked confused at the word's end, mind sifting through what he knew in an attempt to identify them, but without success. Gundham had planned that too, no doubt, all in an effort to make the yakuza talk, curiosity getting the best of him.

"...Alright, I'll bite. What the fuck was that?" Gundham's smile only grew, his hand leaving the bark to be replaced by his shoulder in a casual lean.

"It is still Shakespeare. Sonnet fourteen, I do believe, but from the middle. I felt it more fitting." Fuyuhiko replayed the words, what exactly all that could mean, but starting from the middle was no way to solve a problem, one had to go back to the start.

"...What's the beginning?" Not an opening of a door, but the closing of one, this time behind the breeder instead of in his face.

"Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck; And yet methinks I have Astronomy, But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, Or say with princes if it shall go well By oft predict that I in heaven find..."

A beat of pause.

"You've been avoiding me." It's said simply, and offers no room for argument, but Fuyuhiko tries anyways.

"That's not part of the poem." It's said just a simply, as obvious as Gundham's observation had been, but it's hollow, once again a reinforcement of the breeder's last words.

"Not his no, but ours." That brought a sneer to Fuyu's lips, so very tired of trying to read between the lines. No doubt Gundham was thinking the same thing.

"Maybe you should take up poetry, you fucking overdramatic bastard." It's an insult, yes, but one without heat, the anger behind it a simple cover to the real problem at hand. Gundham was nearing the start, and Fuyuhiko knew it.

"What is poetry without a muse?" It's not meant to be bait, but it acts as such anyways, Fuyuhiko offering a scoff as he averts his gaze, fingers picking idly at the bark of his perch.

"What, Sonia isn't good enough?" His eyes widen with a realization, the words not meant to be spoken. It wasn't Sonia's fault she was friends with the breeder, that she could pick apart what he said with ease. It wasn't jealously, but it was still ugly, a longing for something he didn't have. 

"Ah, so that's what this is about." For once, the breeder doesn't sound smug, but sad, even if his plan to get Fuyuhiko talking had worked. It only made the yakuza all the angrier, his guilt at speaking what wasn’t mean to be spoken forgotten as he spat out his words with a sneer.

"Don't fucking pretend like you know what I-"

"You rotate around each other as simple as breathing, have a history in that there is none. Simple infatuation born of close proximity, only having the other and nothing else to call their own besides misery and trauma of the worst kind."

"Will you stop with the fucking poetry?!"

"It is not poetry, but you and Pekoyama. A simple observation, nothing more."

Silence. Emotions seen in the right light.

"Sure fucking sounds like poetry." But it's softer, another invitation, if one knew how to read it.

"Perhaps it is because I am looking upon my muse." A smug smirk from Gundham, reflected back on the yakuza's face. A door opened.

"Real fucking original, try again."

#im just using gundham as an excuse to quote poetry at this point hdfjs #hes perfect for it i cant help it lmao #sorry this took so long i was having trouble figuring out how to meld envy and guilt together #migraine didnt help lmao #i may go back to this one before i post it on ao3 #there are parts im not super happy with and wanna add more to #but i cant parse out how right now #but im impatient and wanna post it now lmao #drabbles #muse: gundham tanaka #muse: fuyuhiko kuzuryu #kuzudam

[socialwicked]

Xenoblade Chronicles 3’s Main Characters are Its Best Asset

Graphic :  Nintendo/Monolith Delicate 

     All narrative-centered online video games live and die on their solid of people, and nowhere is this much more legitimate than in   RPGs  . Just as it’s simple to get swept up into   an attention-grabbing earth   by the occasion users and supporting solid you fulfill alongside the way, it’s just as practical to comprehend the people in the video game are a burden or worse, deeply uninteresting. Fortunately, the teens who make up the social gathering of Monolith Soft’s lately unveiled JRPG  Xenoblade Chronicles 3  are good. 

  Xenoblade Chronicles 3  is established in the world of Aionios as the kingdoms of Agnus and Keves have been locked in a yrs-very long war. On both equally sides, troopers are vat-developed and provided a 10-calendar year lifespan, in the course of which they educate and before heading appropriate into battle. Soldiers killed on the battlefield have their essence absorbed into the other faction’s huge mecha, who are run by a unit termed a Flame Clock. If a Flame Clock operates out or will get ruined, then the soldiers involved with it will promptly die, and that subsequent energy goes into the other faction’s mech. From there, the match opens on a trio of Kevesi troopers: Noah, who performs his flute to support fallen soldiers transfer on to the upcoming daily life, medic Eunnie, and defender Lanz.

               No matter of style, it can be quite straightforward for online video online games to get teenage or   younger adult characters   wrong. Generating teenager figures   experience genuine   is a thing the medium—much like Hollywood or television—can struggle with, even with the finest of intentions. Which is not the circumstance in  Xenoblade 3 . The sport opens with Noah’s group, and they are persuasive right from the start out. In advance of the game has its occasionally extremely long flashback cutscenes, you can explain to that the trio’s time collectively has been just as whole of reduction as it has been ensuring 1 an additional survives their battles. They bicker and hear to 1 yet another like they’ve regarded every single other for decades, and the video game succeeds in creating you experience like you’re there with them.

 Inside of an hour or two, the game’s plot kicks in when Noah, Lanz, and Eunnie cross paths with Agnus experts Mio, Sena, and Taion. Right after preventing just about every other and then teaming up to fight a mech monster, the teenagers discover that distinct pairings of their team   can fuse   to grow to be various mechs, and all six of them are freed from their respective Flame Clocks. Now eradicated from the literal organic clocks that help dictate their lives, the teens locate them selves compelled to adhere with each other.

            By means of the ability of friendship, let’s beat this dude’s ass!  Screenshot :  Nintendo/Monolith Gentle 

     A lot more than the battle or the bigness of the entire world, the banter in between the occasion is what’s designed  Xenoblade Chronicles 3  so pleasurable throughout my present-day 16 hour, 3-chapter playtime. The teenagers are just  entertaining  in the way that anime normally excels at. For each individual second that they are great in player-controller battle or a cutscene, there’s a further moment wherever you’re reminded of how younger they literally and figuratively are. Put together with the curiosity they share about their new lease on life and the bigger world all over them, they turn out to be endearing quite speedily. Noah and Mio are plainly billed as the game’s protagonists, and I do like them, but it’s Sena, Taion, Lanz, and Eunnie that have my heart.

 Unity and “friendship is magic” are well worn tropes at this level, specifically in anime, but I will damned if that does not even now get the job done on me. The cutscenes in which the teenagers 1st fuse into their mech forms—Noah and Mio   get it   early on, followed a chapter later on by   Lanz and Sena   in one kind and Eunnie in Taion in the other—feel gained, and in gameplay, it can be unbelievably gratifying to observe AI-managed occasion associates fuse of their individual volition. When an AI-controlled “Hero” character bestows their class to a particular celebration member after a unique facet mission, it can be exciting attempting to determine out who’s likely to be The One, and it’s satisfying when it is inevitably disclosed who that distinctive somebody is.

 One of my favored game titles of 2021 was Bandai Namco’s  Scarlet Nexus,  an anime motion-RPG that also showcased a cast of troopers compelled to band with each other in the midst of a war. Both it and  Xenoblade 3  put an emphasis on creating the figures link to every other both of those on a narrative and gameplay amount, with  Nexus  relying on gift giving and visual novel-model sequences exactly where the cast would hang out or battle collectively.  Xenoblade 3’s  solution to bonds is a minor extra literal, and does not enable you to cheat its units like  Nexus  did. At campsites, you can observe the solid sit alongside one another and eat, or have them prepare to get much better. When discovering the bodies of fallen soldiers in the open earth, Noah or Mio can engage in their flutes to mail individuals soldiers off to the future lifetime, and occasionally, they’ll participate in their respective melodies jointly. 

            Impression :  Nintendo/Monolith Delicate 

     At all moments, it feels like the teens are on the path to turning out to be buddies, if they previously are not by now. So strong are the vibes that even the recycled dialogue lines in fight and the open earth proceed to have a certain appeal to them. (Which is  suitable,  Sena, you are   the woman with the gall  .) The recreation is not subtle about its ambitions, but looking at the fairly messed up environment these teenagers live in, it is great that the match reinforces how hopeful they are and want to be about their situation.

 Provided how long  Xenoblade Chronicles 3  is mentioned to be, I know that I’ll come to feel that duration at some point or yet another. So it is a great point I’m paying it all with these types of a wonderful solid of characters who are truly worth remaining all over. 

  Xenoblade Chronicles 3  is available now for the Nintendo Switch. 

   Want more io9 news? Check out out when to hope the most current     Marvel     and    Star Wars    releases, what’s up coming for the     DC Universe on film and Television set    , and every thing you want to know about    House of the Dragon    and    Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power   .

https://socialwicked.com/xenoblade-chronicles-3s-main-characters-are-its-best-asset/