#which is actually my signature that I've been using for

[socialiseisnotinmyname]

Sentitwin Week Day-1

"Do you remember when they used to have so much fun pretending to be eachother?"

(Note: I may accidentally post the post(s) a day earlier due to my timezone)

this was a pain to finish man... but Look At THEM HA AHA MY BOYS BABY BOYS MAWH×20 They are sooo CUTE I love the results haha❤

It's felix and adrien: right to left :)

(or you already figured that out)

(Tumblr is gonna butcher my drawings isn't it, please zoom in to see the details better :,))

[kalosian-woods]

i sorta wanted to reply to syncro anon about clemont and his inventions because realistically, it is really interesting!

while yes, his inventions blowing up is mostly used as a gag, it's also kinda funny becuase a lot of things (especially technology wise) tend to malfuction or just kinda "self-destruct", and trying to move that into a visual form is a hard thing to do, so it's done via the explosions. (though HOW he (and the others) survives them is a completely different story.)

technology either can malfuction or "self-destruct" for the smallest of reasons like a code was inputted incorrectly, overheating, excessive use, or going above the limit then what they were designed to do, and so on forth. so realistically, all of this is possible, albiet with less explosions.

ofc we also have to take account just how much time clemont had to create these inventions, has he tested them out? has he polished it? all of those things are pretty important when it comes to creating something completely new. and even if he had; it takes a lot of re-working on the device again and again until its finished.

and like you said op; besides all of those factors, it could also just be from clemont himself, putting on failsafe's, him being an S rank worrier, and of course having his past mistakes tower over him and having him fumble, or, again like you said, being put in a pedestal of perfection (after all he is The inventor lighting up the world.) and with all that pressure he just messes up (Gifted Kid Syndrome, anyone?)

so yeah, lots of different factors. But of course, if we put the knowledge of the other media's pokemon has put out besides the anime, clemont so to speak does, make it big. creating an invention that another region uses; The RotomDex, with clemont being its creator

-�� (again sorry for jumping in! clemont's explosions is very interesting to me, and i sorta understand his furstrations/disappointment whenevr it does fail as a person who codes every now and again)

Hmm, you raise some very (very) good points. I've tried to code in the past and it never stuck, but I totally get what you're coming from! It does take a lot from the internal and external part of things, from coding the program, making sure it's compatible with the device, making sure the device has all the working parts it needs, and of course testing it out (because theory rarely plots itself perfectly to reality).

We don't see Clemont actually go through the entire process of building his inventions, but he feels like the type of guy to just rig one out very quickly to me especially as they're on the road (there are some he totally made in a few hours or overnight). He's making them for theoretical scenarios that may come to pass after all, which might also explain how they may not be as refined as, say, the Clembots (where he has a defined reason for their existence and probably put more time and thought into building them) (which may also explain how Clembot mini especially survived! Because it does have a lot of its basis on the OG after all, which he has not only made but fixed up as well). I do agree that the explosions are probably just for dramatic effect though, very sound theory! To be fair, he could have also went to attach some parts wrong just as easily as made a wrong turn in coding, but yeah coding would be harder to depict visually for sure. And also coding is super finicky, from what I recall heh. Considering the environments he's in compared to the much more isolated lab back in Prism Tower, he's bound to make a few mistakes here and there.

Gifted Kid Syndrome is such a Clemont thing though, and his past issues would totally haunt him through the machines themselves. Plus the worry too!! He's the inventor lighting up the world after all! He's gotta be perfect with them! He's always got to be on the move, on the next invention that will change everything, irrevocably, amazingly. Sometimes he's going to burn himself out, or stay up too late or work on too many and get mixed up with the details. And that has just as much consequences as anything, if not worse. And as you've said, frustration is going to be natural for him to feel. And maybe that also fuels some of his mistakes, but it has just as much power as to fuel a bit more introspection as well. The good kind, anyways.

But that's totally not to take away what he's done! Even in the anime proper, in the first few eps he literally makes a Pokemon Translator! Like that is so OP even if it didn't work quite as intended lol. And stuff like helping to make the Power Plant aren't small things either. Even with the fails there are wins with him and in the end, it really is just about a matter of growth and gaining a good eye for details and a steady hand for the rest (and some luck as well).

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking [part five]

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader

You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Tags: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fingering, kissing, making out, kitchen sex/foreplay???, reader guiding bucky, praise, fem reader, panic attacks, bucky is touch starved, mentions of previous sa, stake-out mission, wow! they're actually doing their jobs this chapter!!, ex black widow reader, very consensual, safe words, bucky barnes needs a hug, angst, bickering, reader is lowkey not doing good, trauma, mentions of past violence and death, no use of y/n, gif does not represent reader's appearance, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 13.9k

A/N: it's finally here! this was... a fucking beast to write. only took a month of agony. this got so, so long, i ended up cutting an entire scene near the start so hopefully it doesn't jump around too much. let me know if you enjoy! on a more personal note, just wanted to give you all an update. i had put a few posts mentioning how i've been very unwell mentally and physically. it's made it really hard for me to write while also studying full time. but um yeah basically i was diagnosed with a?? kinda scary?? chronic disease lol?? which explains why i've spent the last 6 years of my life exhausted and feeling awful, and turns out my depression/anxiety is likely a result of this. but yeah, after all these years of dismissal and misdiagnosis, i know what's wrong so i'm getting medicated for it. i'm hoping it gives me a big energy boost to juggle uni and my hobbies (like writing) more efficiently. anyway, this authors note is so long, if you have any questions or thoughts on this chapter, reblog or send me an ask! thank you all so much. as always, sorry for any typos!

main masterlist | series masterlist

Bucky didn’t respond at first.

His jaw ticked, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. From the way he shifted, feet planting wider, shoulders drawing back just enough that you almost suspected he was bracing. Not for a conversation, but for a hit. As if he expected you to launch across the balcony, heels and all, and pummel your fist directly into his face. 

As absurd as it was, it almost didn’t surprise you. You’d become strangely used to his defensive reactions, the expectation of raised voices and violence, the way he always prepared his body for pain, like he expected even you to punish him.

And maybe the worst part was that deep down, he thought he deserved it.

Maybe you could’ve hit him. Pounded against his chest or disarmed him with words, if nothing else. You could’ve demanded, snarled questions as to why you were some secret mistake he didn’t dare let anyone see. Why are you ashamed to be around me? Why are you embarrassed?

Do you even care about me?

Do you care about me in the same way I care about you?

The ache in your chest flared thinking about it. Deep down, you knew the answer. 

So, you held yourself back. Quiet, still, observing. Not because you weren’t angry, not because you weren’t hurting, but because you had become disturbingly good at packing that raw pain into tidy boxes and sealing them away. 

Bucky adjusted the wrist of his leather glove, tugging it tight like it gave his hands something to do other than shake. You lifted your chin.

“Alright.” He spoke finally, voice a little hoarse, and for a split second, you wondered if he had been crying. “Talking… that’s usually where the trouble starts, isn’t it?”

His attempt to be light-hearted, to gauge your reaction, was short-lived. You met him with silence, exhaling slowly from your nose as you looked him up and down. He immediately folded, metaphorical throat bared as he met your gaze with his signature puppy-dog eyes.

For all your guilt, for the sadness and longing you had felt these past weeks, you still had enough self-respect to keep it together. You’d spent too many years of your life making excuses, compromises for those around you. For once, you would stick up for yourself, for once, you’d let someone other than yourself know you were hurting. You weren’t sure if that was a strength or a weakness. You were sick of being the one who met insults with sarcasm, tired of being the one who shouldered every blow and sting for the sake of others' comfort.

For once in your life, you would take the teeth you were born with and learn how to bite.

“You hurt me.” 

Bucky’s fidgeting stilled instantly, face taut, his eyes searching yours already wide with creeping dread. “I—”

“Let me finish.” You cut over him, and his mouth clamped shut.

“I know this…whatever it is between us is complicated. There isn’t exactly a rulebook for this stuff. I know it’s messy, I know we never defined anything, and maybe we should’ve talked more…” Your body shuddered as you sighed, hesitant as you decided on your slow wording. “But what I understood, what I thought we both understood, was that there was trust. If there wasn’t anything, there was always trust… and what you said, that broke it.”

You paused, trying to steady your voice. Bucky had gone deathly still across from you. You watched his expression crumble. Guilt bled into every crease on his face, each of your words weighing down on him.

“I know that I lied to you about Nat, and I’m sorry. I know I should’ve said something, but I was scared that you’d react badly. That you’d react in the way that you did. I’ve never pretended to be easy to be close with. I know that I can be guarded, cold, or distant but…” You hesitated, sucking in a sharp breath. 

The words burned behind your teeth.

“I always cared. I do care.” Your voice softened momentarily, despite the bile rising in your throat. “I gave you my time, my trust, I took you seriously, Bucky, I told you things I haven’t even really told anyone, not even myself, I—”

You crossed your arms over your chest, fingers digging into your sides. You could feel that stone in your gut, tears pressing just behind your eyes. You wouldn’t cry, not here, not now. You’d say your peace, lay it all out before him and see what he did with it.

“I get that you’re scared. I get that you feel shame, shame that you don’t quite understand. I understand that you have an instinct to protect yourself, to control how others see you because you’re afraid to push it too far, afraid to upset anyone…” The words tasted bitter, but they kept coming like a flood, hot and vile even as Bucky looked across at you like he was seconds away from crumpling to the floor. “But what you said was cruel. It hurt me. I just need you to understand that. I need you to understand that whatever it is we’ve been doing, friendship, lessons, whatever… It was never a joke to me.”

As you met his gaze directly, he flinched, jaw clenching so tightly that a muscle in his cheek twitched.

“You acted like I was beneath you, like you needed to downplay all that has happened for the sake of saving face. I understand you want to keep things private, I respect that, but a desire for privacy is very different to belittling me in front of Steve.”

Bucky’s shoulders slouched, his entire body shrinking in on itself. You half expected him to drop to his knees then and there from the way his eyes locked onto the balcony, too ashamed to meet your eye.

“I can be your secret, I can help you, but we are equals,” you muttered, quieter now. “I won’t chase after you, begging for scraps of decency. I’m not going to accept you pretending I’m invisible, that you’re disgusted by me the second someone important walks in the room.”

You looked away, breathing deeply through your nose as you willed the weight pressing on your chest to leave. “I’m not asking you to be perfect, god knows I am anything but that. I just need you to understand that I’m… I’m sick of making myself smaller just so other people can feel comfortable. I’m sick of the constant judgment, the way people don’t think I realise. I’m sick of all of it.”

When you finally looked up again, he looked like he had been punched in the gut. Not physically, but in that hollow, breathless way that left someone stunned and struggling to stand upright. Like every word you’d laid out between the two of you had knocked the air clean out of him.

His mouth parted, but no sound came. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, staring past you without actually seeing. You could see it written across his face, the guilt, the lingering panic, the way his whole body trembled. It was the slight hitch with each inhale, the way his shoulders rolled tight beneath the strain of his suit jacket like he wanted to crawl out of it, crawl out of his own skin.

He was close. Too close, seconds away from spiralling into the kind of anxiety that devoured everything in its path.

So, you gave him space. Silent and steady, let him work his own way through it. 

The breeze stirred around you, catching a few strands of loose hair. They tickled against the nape of your neck. Below you could hear the hustle and bustle of the city nightlife, the chatter, the cars. The muffled sound of the party music just beyond the glass windows separating the balcony from the rest of the tower. 

Bucky’s chest rose, then held, then he released it slowly. You watched him, silent, as his eyes flicked around. One smell, two things he could feel, three things in his line of sight. Good. He was grounding himself.

You watched without interfering, letting him work and find his own rhythm. You could practically read his mind now, how the cogs turned, each minuscule mannerism telling you which step he was at. You’d coaxed him through enough of these moments to know the signs. And maybe there was something bittersweet about it, the fact that he was steady enough to guide himself, no longer dependent on the comfort of your voice to guide him through.

“You’re right,” Bucky said at last, the words rasping out like they had been lodged in his throat for hours. “You’re right, I hurt you. And I hate myself for it.”

His hands flexed at his sides, fists curling and releasing as if unsure of what to do with them. A flicker of movement crossed his face, a wince, maybe, and then he lifted his eyes.

“I was a coward.” He continued, voice hoarse. “I’ve been replaying it in my head every day since. Over and over and… thinking about you. About how I made you feel.”

He took a half-step forward, caught in the pull of wanting to close the gap. His foot faltered mid-air, stopping him. He planted it back on the ground, shoulders locked, as if he was worried you’d dash if he closed the distance between you.

“I should’ve apologised that day, the second it left my mouth,” he muttered, words almost lost to the breeze. “I should’ve followed you instead of hiding and hoping it would fix itself.”

He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “And I know it’s not an excuse… I was just so afraid.. Afraid that I had fucked up so badly that I would lose you. Guess it didn’t matter in the end because I lost you anyway—”

“You didn’t lose me,” you cut in, firm but soft. “I’m right here.”

He blinked hard at that, as if he couldn’t believe what you were saying. His chest trembled as he dragged in a sharp inhale.

“I’m sorry.”

There. That was it, the moment you’d been waiting for, the thing you’d needed from the very beginning. Not grovelling, not guilt, not the sight of him unravelling, just understanding. You hadn’t wanted to watch him spiral or flinch beneath the weight of his own remorse. That was never the point. You only wanted to be seen. For him to see you, the ache you’d swallowed, the silence you’d worn like armour.

You weren’t the kind of person who held pain like a weapon, who dangled forgiveness just out of reach. But you were tired, bone-deep tired, of being stepped over, of shrinking yourself to keep the peace. Tired of wearing humour like a mask, sharp and dry, to cover the bruises he couldn’t see. All you’d wanted was for him to get it. And now… now he did.

All you ever wanted was for someone to listen to you. Truly listen. 

“Yeah?” Your voice cracked slightly despite yourself. 

“Fuck,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry. I’m not embarrassed by you, if anything, I’m embarrassed about how I acted—”

“Bucky…”

“And don’t you dare say it’s okay,” he interrupted quickly, almost desperate. “Because it isn’t. I should never have said that, never have even thought that. After all you’ve done, after all the kindness and patience you’ve shown me, and I repay you by shaming you—”

“Repayment…” You cut over him, rolling the word slowly over your tongue, head shaking. “You don’t owe me anything, remember? That’s how it works with us, yeah?”

He exhaled hard. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Handle all this so gracefully…Have such a pure heart despite everything.”

“If I were to describe my heart,” you said with a dry little huff, “it would not be pure—”

“You’re killin’ me here—” Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation, and for the first time in days, the edge of your mouth twitched into a smile. Sly, wicked, and entirely involuntary.

His gaze caught it instantly, and his breath stilled.

You took the initiative, closing the distance between you in a handful of steps, until his breath hitched slightly, his eyes locking onto your face.

“I am sorry.” He murmured, voice less desperate now. “Seriously. I don’t expect forgiveness, hell, I don’t want forgiveness unless you really mean it, and you’re not just saying it to spare my feelings—”

“Bucky—”

“No, don’t say it—!”

“Bucky.” You breathed his name. Your hands found the front of his tie, fingers curling around the black silk. You wondered if it was the same tie you had blindfolded him with, if he had subconsciously chosen it to feel closer to you. You nearly smirked at the thought, a warmth in your belly despite the surprised expression flooding his features. You tugged gently, and he didn’t resist. He leaned into the pull, breath catching again as you drew him in close, close enough for your foreheads to nearly touch, for your breath to ghost across his lips. “I forgive you.”

His eyes fluttered shut, like the words had struck him physically. “I don’t know if I deserve you—”

“Bucky.” You hummed, almost scolding. “If I’m honest, I forgave you weeks ago.”

His eyes opened, a spark of confusion flickering.

“I was just… sabotaging myself,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “Because that’s what I do when things get complicated. I cut people off, I burn bridges, I destroy my own life. I convinced myself that you hated me, because I lied to you about Nat.”

He quickly shook his head. “I could never hate you.”

And there it was.

You exhaled, something soft breaking inside you, not the kind that shattered and left shards punctured into your heart and lungs, but the type of crack that let the light in. Your hand slid from his tie to his chest, resting lightly over his heart. Beneath your palm, it thudded unevenly and wildly. 

“Stop looking at me like I’m not real,” you muttered.

“I’m not—”

You shook your head with a snicker, fingers tracing across his shirt to the lapels of his suit jacket. You tugged at it, and he stiffened in surprise, but didn’t stop you as you twisted around him, easing the jacket from his shoulders. He shrugged it off wordlessly, leaning into your guidance, and you knew he was secretly relieved to be rid of the thing. 

“I know you hate these things,” you murmured, voice teasing. “Can’t move properly, too tight around your shoulder ‘cause Tony never gets them tailored right.”

Bucky blinked at you, lips parting slightly, some of the tension still lingering in his brows.

“You remembered that?”

“Of course,” you smiled faintly, smoothing the sleeve as you folded it over your arm. “You know, at this point I think I remember more about you than I do about myself.”

His lips curved at that. “Tell me something then?”

“Like what?”

“Something I don’t know about you. Something you’ve never told anyone.”

You blinked, caught off guard. For a long moment, you just stared at him, stunned into stillness. No one had ever asked you that before. Not really. Not with that quiet, open curiosity. Not like they actually wanted to hear the answer. People were always eager to talk, to fill the silence with their own stories and needs. But here he was, waiting, willing to listen.

It left you a little breathless.

There were still entire corners of your life shrouded in fog, moments you hadn’t unpacked, parts of yourself you hadn’t dared to explore. You’d spent so long watching others, peeling back their layers, learning what made them tick. It was instinctual how you kept yourself safe. Quietly observant, always listening, always careful. You didn’t mean to be secretive. It wasn’t some deliberate act of mystery. It just… never came up. No one had ever made space for you like that. No one had ever lingered long enough to want something beyond the surface.

Until now.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled, gaze dropping. “I guess… I guess pick at my nails when I’m nervous?”

He let out a soft, almost fond huff of laughter. “Yeah, I picked up on that one months ago.”

“Shit. That obvious?” You glanced down at your hand, suddenly extra aware of the damage. The nailbeds were raw and uneven, the skin around them puffy and inflamed from restless fussing.

Then Bucky did something unexpected. He reached out, slow and careful, the soft creak of his leather gloves barely audible. His gloved fingers brushed against yours first, the cool and smooth material almost foreign in feeling. You watched, breath caught in your throat, as he gently threaded his fingers between yours.

“Maybe a little,” he murmured with a quiet snort, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

Without a word, he began to tug a glove off, leather resisting slightly before giving way. You swallowed and helped him, pinching the fingers and easing them free, and then repeated with the other side. 

His bare fingers closed gently around yours again, his palm warm and calloused. Your jaw snapped shut as he traced his thumb over the jagged cuticles in a comforting, rhythmic motion.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you breathed in, sharp and shallow, and shrugged in a small, embarrassed motion. “Well… I don’t know, then, I’m probably an insomniac who relies too heavily on coffee to get by.”

That earned a proper laugh from him, and warmth pooled in your belly like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

“You and me both,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

You hesitated then, teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek as your faint smile faltered. Your mind turned inward, digging past the surface, searching through the fog for something true, something buried a little deeper. Your brow furrowed as your gaze dropped again, fingers twitching faintly in Bucky’s grasp like they wanted to pull away but didn’t quite make it.

“I’m claustrophobic,” you admitted at last, so quietly you didn’t think he had heard you.

His laughter cut off mid-breath, a soft sound dying on his tongue. The stillness that followed was immediate. His hand stopped mid-motion, thumb frozen against your knuckles

You forced yourself to keep going. “I don’t like small spaces. Feeling… trapped. It’s why I never take the elevator. It’s why I… freaked out on you at training the other week.”

“I’m sorry—” he began, voice already thick with regret.

“It’s okay.” You shook your head quickly, eyes flicking away. “You didn’t know. It just… it just reminds me… reminds me of things I’ve tried to bury.”

His free hand rose then. You didn’t flinch as his fingers brushed your chin, tilting it upward with such deliberate tenderness that it made your breath catch. His touch was featherlight, and when your eyes met his, the air sucked out of your lungs.

“I understand.”

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “I’m sorry that I freaked out on you. I should’ve—”

“No.” His tone deepened, firm but gentle. “It’s okay. You don’t apologise to me for that. Ever.”

His voice was low now, so low it vibrated in his chest, a soft rumble that thrummed through the narrow space between your bodies. “You never have to apologise for setting boundaries.”

The words hit you square in the chest, like the impact of something you didn’t see coming. Your knees weakened, just slightly, and you gripped his wrist to steady yourself, though whether it was to anchor you or to keep from moving closer, you weren’t sure.

For a moment, everything else faded, the hum of the distant city life, the soft swish of the breeze, even the bass from the party. All that remained was him, warm, close and achingly sincere.

A part of you wanted to kiss him. Badly. The urge bloomed like heat in your chest, climbed up your throat, burned behind your lips. But then your gaze flicked, just briefly, to the giant pane of glass windows behind him, floor to ceiling, offering a clear view into the party beyond. You were almost certain Steve and Nat were watching from somewhere, probably with popcorn.

So instead, you smiled, small and almost rueful, and didn’t move. Didn’t lean in.

But he did.

His hand, still cupping your chin, shifted just slightly, tilting your face upward with a touch so gentle it barely registered as pressure at all. His eyes searched yours for a heartbeat longer, as though committing you to memory, as though asking are you sure? without even speaking a word.

And then his lips met yours.

Every nerve in your body buzzed, and his lips were warm and plush against yours. You could feel the way he held himself back, like he was afraid of falling too deep into hunger. 

His hand hovered at your waist, fingers brushing your side, hesitant to pull you closer unless you gave him a sign. The other remained at your jaw, thumb stroking the hinge of it in a gentle rhythm, anchoring you. His breath mingled with yours, sweet with the faintest trace of spearmint, his chest rising and falling unevenly against the few inches that still lingered between you.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes blinked open as though waking from something half-dreamed. A breath of laughter broke from your lips, soft and stunned, and you shook your head slightly. Still, you didn’t move far, fingers tangled loosely in his tie. “People could be watching, you know—”

You were beginning to think that none of it mattered anyway, not when he looked at you like that.

“Let them.”

You didn’t even flinch as he pressed in again, slow and exploratory, the faintest drag of his lower lip over yours, testing the shape of your mouth with a tenderness that sent a ripple down your spine.

But something in him had shifted, restraint thinned, weeks of built-up tension bleeding into a desperate need. 

His mouth moved with more certainty, lips parting yours just slightly, enough to deepen the kiss without taking too much. He coaxed rather than claimed, a subtle tilt of his head aligning you closer, a soft press of his tongue just barely tasting the seam of your mouth. 

Your fingers curled tighter back into the front of his tie, tugging him closer as that familiar rush of heat flooded your chest and belly. You responded, parting for him, letting him in, and the reward was a low, pleased hum from deep in his throat, vibrating through his chest and into yours.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and dazed, the slick warmth of his mouth lingering, his gaze was heavy-lidded, pupils dark, lips parted just slightly. A faint smear of your lipstick sat crookedly above his upper lip—evidence, as obvious as a lovebite

You blinked at him, lightheaded, dizzy in the best way, like the floor had dropped out from under you and all that held you upright was him. And then, to your own surprise, you giggled. Actually giggled, breathy and unguarded, a sound you hadn't heard from yourself in far too long.

“They’re going to be insufferable now, you know that?” you said, grinning against the glow that refused to leave your cheeks.

He tilted his head, lips quirking. “Who?”

You gave him a pointed look. “Steve and Nat.”

“Because their little scheme worked?” He snorted. “Shit, you’re probably right.”

“I’m already bracing myself,” you muttered, mock-exasperated. “Nat gets this tone in her voice when she’s feeling particularly smug. It’s the worst, she doesn’t even try to hide it. Drives me crazy, I swear—”

“Sam knows too,” Bucky said, a little too casually, but his voice dipped just enough to betray him, quiet like he almost hoped you wouldn’t catch it.

Your smile faltered. “Oh?”

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking briefly away. “Yeah… after the little, uh… slip-up in training, he knows everything now.”

“Everything?”

Bucky winced, shoulders hunching slightly. “Yeah. I may have told him and Steve the whole story.”

You gaped at him a moment, speechless, before you found the sense to speak up. “The full story… as in, lessons and everything?”

“Maybe…” He gave you a look so sheepish it bordered on boyish. “Do you wanna know what Sam said when he found out?”

You groaned, almost too afraid to ask. “What?”

“‘That sounds like an HR nightmare.’”

You broke into laughter, a real, bubbling laugh that rose out of you before you could stop it. “Shit. We’re in deep now.” 

He watched you, fondness etched into every line of his face. His expression had softened again, that rare, open version of him shining through. You pulled back enough to look up at him properly. His eyes were gentle, amused, but earnest—so goddamn earnest it made your chest ache. 

“I feel… good about this,” he said, and the quiet conviction in his voice struck you deep. It rasped low, his tone threaded with a sort of rough certainty that made your stomach flutter.  “For the first time in… I don’t know. I feel good.”

You blinked up at him, eyes wide and a little dazed. Warmth bloomed steadily in your chest, curling beneath your ribs and climbing up your throat. It spread like honey through your limbs, soft and molten, loosening something inside you that had been wound tight for far too long.

“Careful, Bucky.”

“I’m tellin’ the truth, doll.” His hand brushed your arm, knuckles grazing like static, his eyes trailing down your body as if you were committing you to memory, curve by curve, inch by inch.

“Keep talking like that,” you murmured, “and I might kiss you again.”

His smile curled slowly, crooked and dangerous. “Oh yeah? Just kissing?”

You tilted your head, letting your gaze drop to his mouth. “Maybe more… if you’re lucky.”

He laughed, a low, husky sound that vibrated through you. Then he took a single step closer. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, once, then again, just to see the way his expression shifted. Bucky let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan, one hand snaking around your waist as he pulled you in again for just one more kiss.

—

After the disaster that had been the training session—where you and Bucky had gone so hard it probably qualified as attempted murder in at least three jurisdictions—Steve, Natasha, and Sam had clearly smashed their heads together and prayed they could cook up a plan to get you two talking again. The infamous balcony had been plan B, and to their endless delight (and your mutual dismay), it had actually worked. But that small victory left them scrambling, because now they had to try to cancel the other contingency plans they’d set in motion, like overexcited matchmakers who’d gone past their pay grade. 

God only knew how many schemes they’d cooked up. From your current predicament, it seemed they’d well and truly scraped the bottom of the barrel. Because here you were, wedged into the backseat of a car far too small for three muscled idiots, on what was technically a stakeout, but what felt more like slow torture. You were hours into waiting for some crypto-genuis kid, Karpin’s pet money launderer, to finally come home. And the whole reason you and Bucky were here at all? Steve and Sam had begged Fury to approve your presence on this op, convinced this was plan C, the masterstroke that would fix things between you two if the balcony gambit failed. 

But the balcony hadn’t failed. The balcony had worked spectacularly, and now Steve and Sam were left trying to undo their apparent meddling, scrambling to pull you off the mission. Too late, Fury had signed off, likely with one of his signature scowls and a clever quip. Everything was greenlit. No take-backs. 

You’d managed to pry this information out of Steve within the first three hours, much to the absolute dismay of Sam. Now both of them were currently avoiding your gaze like their lives depended on it, and you were simmering, imagining at least five creative ways to end them before the kid even showed up. 

“So this was your brilliant plan C, huh?” you hissed, exasperation curling through every word as you craned your neck forward, arms braced on the back of Steve’s seat, peering between him and Sam in the front. The centre console dug uncomfortably into your ribs, but you hardly noticed over the heat pricking across your skin. “Cram us into this metal coffin and hope the awkward tension does the trick?”

Steve still kept his eyes stubbornly fixed on the street ahead, knuckles white on the steering wheel like he might snap it in two if he had to endure one more minute. The muscle in his jaw ticked, but he said nothing. Sam, slouched in the passenger seat, had perfected the art of looking like he wasn’t there at all, staring out the window, face blank, like maybe if he wished hard enough, he could astral project somewhere far away from this cramped nightmare. 

Beside you, Bucky had sunk so low in his seat you half expected him to disappear into the upholstery. His arms were crossed tightly, his long legs awkwardly angled to avoid pressing too much against yours. Though your thigh and shoulder still touched, the contact was warm and sticky. Secretly, you didn’t mind it that much. 

“Are you gonna bring it up and whine about it every 5 minutes or—” Sam finally drawled, and you leant over to smack the back of his seat in warning. You could’ve sworn the jolt made his eyes roll harder. 

“It wasn’t my first choice—” Steve spoke at last, voice strained, and you scoffed, flopping back into your seat. You shot a glare up at the rear-view mirror, where Steve steadfastly refused to meet your eye. You resisted the urge to kick the back of his seat. Sam’s lip twitched, and you weren’t sure if he was fighting a smirk or a grimace. 

“Yeah, yours was the training session, wasn’t it?” you muttered, shifting in your cramped seat, your thigh brushing Bucky’s. “The one where we nearly killed each other?”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Steve protested.

“You paired us against each other—!”

“I thought it would help work out the tension—!”

“Oh, genius move, Cap. Almost as subtle as the balcony stunt. Remind me…” You said, glancing between the two of them with an exaggerated patience. “How much money did you lose to Nat over us making out within twenty minutes?”

Bucky choked on air beside you. 

“Nope,” Sam cut back, smirking, eyes on the windshield but clearly enjoying himself. “She made me promise not to spill what she put down.”

“She cleaned up, didn’t she?” you said, grinning despite yourself.

“Let’s just say I owe her a drink…or five,” Sam muttered.

“And you two just went along with it. And when that actually worked,” you went on, voice rising as you gestured vaguely at the cramped space around you, “you didn’t think to, I don’t know, maybe… cancel this mission?”

Steve gave a long-suffering sigh, “I already said we tried—” 

You blinked, turning to Bucky, who was doing his best impression of a statue. His ears were pink. God help him, he was blushing. “Are you hearing this?”

“Loud and clear,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw, eyes fixed on the upholstery like it was the most fascinating thing in the car. “I’m starting to think we’re the mission, not the kid.” 

Sam barked a quiet laugh at that, then immediately tried to hide it behind a cough. 

You smirked, leaning back just enough to make your knee knock into Bucky’s. “At least someone finds this funny.” 

“Oh, I do,” Sam didn’t even try to hide his grin now, eyes glinting in the rearview mirror. “You know, Buck folded like a lawn chair after that training room mess. Didn’t even need to interrogate him, he just started confessing.”

You blinked, glancing sideways at Bucky, and sure enough, his shoulders tensed, jaw tight, face flushed red. Yeah. You’d heard about that. After you and Bucky had practically torn each other apart during that disaster of a sparring session, it hadn’t taken long before Bucky caved. All it took was one pointed look from Steve, and he’d apparently spilt everything. The lessons. The gala mission. The whole messy, complicated truth. He hadn’t wanted to hide it anymore, and they hadn’t judged him. If anything, they’d been supportive, but god, had it given Sam and Steve endless material to work with.

“I didn’t fold,” Bucky muttered, dragging a hand down his face, trying to hide the red creeping up his neck.

Sam’s grin widened. “Oh no, you practically snapped in half. ‘It’s not what it looked like! I swear!’”

Steve, who had been studiously pretending to focus on the rows of beach houses, finally let out a quiet snort.

Sam continued his onslaught. “He was trying so hard to be chill. Said something about ‘It’s not like she was giving me sex lessons or anything!’ Swear to god, I thought you were about to write us both a formal apology letter.”

Your brow shot up, heat blooming warm and easy in your chest. Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Jesus, can we not—”

“So…” Sam began, tone too casual to be innocent. He swivelled half around in his seat, arm slung over the headrest. “What exactly do these lessons involve?”

Bucky shot him a glare that could have melted steel. “Not talking to you about this.”

“Right. Right, of course.” Sam nodded solemnly, lips twitching. “Just curious. Is there, like… a syllabus? A final exam?”

Sam looked over to you, and you rewarded him with a blank, unbothered expression. All of his attempts to get under your skin so far had fallen flat. 

“I swear to God, Sam—” Bucky huffed. 

“Okay, okay!” Sam laughed, hands raised in surrender. “Damn, Barnes. Touchy!”

Bucky grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face as if to physically wipe away the heat creeping across. He exhaled through his nose, visibly trying to collect himself, jaw working like he was biting back another groan.

The moment stretched, the car settling into a beat of silence.

Then Bucky leaned back, voice dry as bone, as if he was looking for punishment, “I still haven’t forgiven you for not packing snacks, by the way.”

It earned a sharp bark of laughter from you before Sam twisted around, indignation written all over his face. “You were supposed to pack snacks!”

“You’re the reason we’re here in the first place!” Bucky shot back, arching a brow, the edge of a smirk threatening his mouth.

Sam groaned, tipping his head against the headrest like a man resigned to his fate. “God, please. Can you just shut up—?”

“You’re the one who has been talking this entire time—”

“Eyes up.” Steve’s voice cut through the bickering, sharp enough to snap the tension like a taut wire. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as his gaze fixed out the windshield.

You straightened instinctively, pulse kicking up, the lingering humour of the quarrel evaporating as your attention followed his line of sight.

A sleek, silver car, a little too flashy for the neighbourhood, rolled up the driveway of the house you’d been watching for hours. The low purr of its engine smothered the quiet hum of distant gulls in the air. The driver door swung open, and out stepped a kid who looked like he belonged more at some overpriced frat party than tangled up in Karpin’s operation. Early twenties, hair artfully messy, sunglasses pushed back onto his head like he thought he was some kind of tech mogul already. His clothes screamed new money, designer labels, logo-heavy, just subtle enough to look casual if you weren’t paying attention.

From the back of the car, the trunk popped, and a scruffy golden retriever leapt out with a thump, tail wagging like mad as it bounded up to the kid, nearly bowling him over. The kid laughed, ruffling the dog’s ears, before slinging a backpack over one shoulder and heading toward the front door.

“Target’s home,” Steve muttered, already shifting into command mode. His voice went flat, but with that edge of anticipation that always crept in when the waiting was over.

Sam sat up straighter, his earlier grin gone, eyes sharp. “Finally.”

Bucky leaned forward, his knee brushing yours, the tension humming back into his frame like a coiled spring. “What’s the play?”

Steve didn’t take his eyes off the house. “We move in quietly. Sam, you cover the back in case he spooks. Buck, I’ll need you two with me at the door. No heroics. We’re here to talk, not smash up his house.”

You gave a tight nod, hand already sliding to the door handle. “Copy that.”

“Let’s move,” Steve said, and the car doors clicked open almost in unison, the stale warmth of the vehicle giving way to the salty breeze as you slipped out into the early afternoon air.

— The dog’s tongue lolled out of its mouth as it bounded after the tennis ball you lobbed down the yard for what had to be the fiftieth time. The poor thing was all enthusiasm and no aim, skidding through flowerbeds and trampling what was clearly someone’s expensive landscaping project. You didn’t have the heart to stop him. The quiet thunk of the ball hitting the fence made you sigh, shading your eyes with one hand as the retriever scrabbled to chase it down.

The house loomed behind you, modern, sleek, soulless, and through the open patio doors, you could hear muffled voices. Mostly Steve’s, low and steady. Occasionally, Sam’s sharper edge cut through, exasperation bleeding into his tone. You couldn’t make out the words, but you didn’t need to. This was dragging. Of course, it was dragging.

You glanced at the sky. How long had it been? Too long. Definitely too long. 

The dog trotted back, panting, ball slimy with slobber, and you took it with a grimace, wiping your palm on your thigh before tossing it again.

The screen door creaked, and you turned just in time to see Bucky step out, rubbing the back of his neck. His jacket was off, henley sleeves rolled to his elbows, expression carved from tired frustration.

“Well?” you asked, arching a brow, catching the ball one-handed as the dog dropped it at your feet.

Bucky exhaled, dropping onto the steps beside you. “It’s not going well. Kid’s a wreck. Just keeps freaking out, throwing out half-baked lies, hoping we’ll get bored and leave him alone.”

You smirked, tossing the ball lazily. “He doesn’t know those two very well then, does he?”

Bucky’s lips quirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “They’re trying for a good cop, bad cop thing… don’t think it’s going too well.”

You dusted off your hands, straightening. If this dragged on any longer, it would be nightfall, you were entirely sure there was a better and faster way to get the kid to spill. “It’s my turn to play cop, don’t you think?”

Bucky looked up at you, wary. “You sure? He’s on the verge of passing out.”

“All the more reason to cut the bullshit.” 

The living room was too clean, not lived-in, just staged, like everything else in this house. The kid sat on the edge of the pristine white couch, hunched over, elbows on his knees, wringing his hands so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His chest hitched, breathing fast and shallow. Steve was standing nearby, voice soft, like he was talking him down from a bridge. Sam loomed near the window, arms crossed, scowl in place.

You didn’t bother asking. You just dragged a chair across the floor, the legs screeching deliberately against the polished hardwood as you flipped it around and straddled it, resting your arms along the back. The kid’s red-rimmed eyes snapped up at the sound, wide with panic, sweat beading at his temple.

“Okay, everyone, let’s take a breath.”

Steve shot you a sceptical look, brows knitting together like he wasn’t sure if you were serious. Sam, arms still folded tight across his chest, arched a brow, glancing at you like, really? The kid—Brandon, that was his name, you remembered now—just looked outright bewildered, as if the suggestion was the most alien thing he’d heard all afternoon.

“One deep breath. All of you.” You spoke pointedly, daring a glare over at good cop and bad cop respectively. You dragged in a slow inhale through your nose, filling your chest until your ribs ached, then let it out in a long, audible exhale. You exaggerated it, not for theatrics, but to show there was nothing complicated about it. Just air. Just calm.

Steve, bless him, always the good soldier, mirrored you next, drawing in a slow breath like he was trying to set an example. Sam followed reluctantly, like he hated admitting that maybe you had a point. His chest rose and fell, but he kept side-eyeing Brandon the whole time.

Brandon hesitated, his gaze flickering between you all like he was waiting for someone to yell gotcha! His knee bounced erratically, fingers twitching. You half expected the kid to bolt—not that he’d make it far, you were sure either of the three men would take absolute delight in tackling him to his shiny, expensive floors.

“C’mon, Brandon,” you coaxed, leaning forward just slightly, head tilting. “You’ll feel a whole lot better. Just one breath. Try it.”

For a beat, you thought he might refuse, too locked in his panic to even try. But then his shoulders sagged a fraction, and he sucked in a shaky breath, a wet, uneven sound that hitched halfway through. He let it out in a rush, but it was something. 

“There we go,” you murmured. “Better, huh?”

Shit, maybe you were good cop. 

He stared at you, wide-eyed, chest still shuddering from the uneven breath he’d managed. Like he couldn’t quite believe the panic hadn’t immediately swallowed him whole. 

You didn’t rush him. Instead, you took another slow, deliberate breath, and with just the faintest glance to the side, you caught Steve doing the same. Bucky too, silent and steady at the doorway, setting the rhythm without a word. Even Sam, though he tried to look like he wasn’t following your lead, let his shoulders loosen as he exhaled through his nose.

“Good,” you murmured after another long beat. “Let’s just stay right here for a second. Was getting far too tense in here, wasn’t it?”

Brandon sucked in another breath, still ragged, but at least it wasn’t the frantic gasping from before. His hands were still trembling on his knees, but they weren’t clenched into fists anymore.

“Okay. Let’s rationalise this, yeah? One step at a time.” Your voice dropped low and warm, the kind of tone you’d use with a skittish animal. The type of tone you used with Bucky when he was spiralling. 

“Do you know who he is?” You tilted your head toward Steve.

Brandon hesitated, but his eyes flicked to Steve, and he gave the smallest nod.

“Say it out loud for me,” you urged gently, fingers drumming softly on the back of the chair.

“H-he’s Captain America,” Brandon whispered, voice weak, almost like he wasn’t sure if saying it would make it more real.

“That’s right,” you said, offering a small smile. “Good. That’s good, Brandon. You’re thinking straight.” You pointed with a lazy flick of your finger at Steve. “And do you really think Captain America of all people is going to hurt you?”

“No.”

“Good. But those other two—” you jerked your thumb toward Sam and Bucky, your voice dipping into dry humour, “—those ones you wanna watch out for. Absolute wildcards.”

It earned you a quiet snort from Sam, and Bucky’s mouth twitched, but Brandon let out a breath that was almost a laugh. His face was pale, but some of the sheer panic had started to ease at the edges.

But the hyperventilating wasn’t gone. His chest was rising too fast again, his eyes darting around the room like he couldn’t help it.

“Hey, hey. Just breathe.” Your voice stayed patient, casual but focused, like you had all the time in the world. “I just need to ask you a few questions. Can you handle that?”

Brandon’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow. His wide eyes glistened beneath the overhead light, flicking between you and the silent figures of Steve, Sam, and Bucky like a cornered animal. Though, it wasn’t the wild panic of a man about to bolt. It was something else. Defeat, maybe. The heavy, sinking weight of realising he was out of moves.

His mouth opened, shaky. Closed. Opened again. He wet his lips, voice barely a whisper.

“They’re gonna kill me if I snitch—”

“Who’s gonna kill you?” Steve’s voice cut in, instinctively taking a step forward.

You lifted a hand, a silent hold up, and Steve froze mid-stride, eyeing you warily but ultimately submitted to your lead.

You exhaled slowly, studying Brandon, the trembling hands on his knees, the sheen of sweat at his temple, the way his leg bounced like he might still have been weighing the odds of making a run for it. Your head tilted, voice dropping just a hair softer.

“How about this,” you hummed thoughtfully. “I tell you what we know… and you help me fill in the gaps, hm?”

Brandon blinked, uncertain, but you saw the subtle slump of his shoulders. “O-okay…” he croaked.

“You’re from a middle-class family. Did well in school. Kept your head down. Got all A’s in college, IT, tech stuff, right?”

His eyes widened. He glanced at Sam like maybe he’d confessed those details without realising. Sam just arched a brow, impressed despite himself.

“You got into cryptocurrency to make a little money on the side…” You continued, your tone easy, conversational. “And that’s when Karpin found you. Asked you to help him move his money until it was basically untrackable. Paid you more than you’d ever seen in your life to keep quiet and work with his buyers.”

Brandon’s mouth parted, but nothing came out. 

“You probably don’t even know what he’s really selling,” you added, shrugging lightly. “Just that it’s illegal. Because you’re smart, you could see it a mile off. But you didn’t ask. Why would you? You’re making more money than you ever dreamed of.” Your gaze swept the room, the expensive furniture, the sleek floors, and the view of the ocean just beyond the windows. “Beachfront property? At your age? You’re making more than most people see in a lifetime.”

Brandon gave the faintest, almost imperceptible nod.

“But now you don’t want to talk. Not to us. Not to anyone. Because Karpin’s dangerous, right?” You softened the words further. “Because he told you as much, because you know you’re in deep…Because he threatened you. Maybe even people you care about, said if you ever ratted him out, it wouldn’t end with just you?”

That hadn’t been in the brief, but you’d spent enough time in Karpin’s club, in his VIP rooms, hanging off his arm like his latest pet to know his game.

You didn’t even need to hear the confirmation from Brandon, just one look in his glassy eyes told you the truth. You were right. Your eyes flickered over to Sam and Steve, watching as they exchanged a look.

Bucky hadn’t moved, leaned quietly against the doorway, face carefully neutral. But his eyes—oh, his eyes tracked every word, every shift of your body. And though his mouth was set in a firm line, there was something under it. A shameless flicker of pride. That soft, secret warmth, like he was quietly glad to see you work your magic.

Brandon’s breath rattled, his fingers fisting the fabric of his shorts. His wide eyes darted from you to Steve, then to Sam, as if one of them might swoop in and end this interrogation—or maybe mercifully his life. His voice cracked as the words tumbled out in a rush.

“I didn’t know, I swear! I mean, I knew—I knew it had to be something illegal, but not this illegal! I thought it was just drugs or something!” His chest heaved, breath coming fast again, panic starting to claw its way back up his throat.

“Hey.” Your voice cut through the rising spiral of his fear, leaving no room for argument. “We’re not here to decide if you’re guilty or not. That’s not why we’re here. We want to talk to you about one of the buyers, the one Karpin does the majority of his sales to. Do you know who I’m talking about? The Russian?”

Brandon hesitated, throat working as he swallowed. “Yes…”

“Good.” You hummed, slow and encouraging. “I need you to tell me anything you know about him. A name, a bank number, an address. Anything you can give us.”

Brandon’s shoulders hunched, his head shaking, wild-eyed. “I can’t—”

“Why?” you pressed.

“Because… because they’ll kill me!” He burst out, breath hitching again. “If it’s this bad, if it’s really this bad, I know they’ll hunt me down if I say anything—”

“They’re not going to be able to reach you, Brandon.”

His head snapped up, desperation shining in his eyes. “How can you guarantee that?!”

You sat a little straighter, drawing in a slow breath yourself. You knew the feeling currently roaring through Brandon’s veins, you recognised it like an old enemy. The panic, the sick weight of fear coiled tight beneath your ribs. The terror of the unknown. It was like wading blind through pitch-dark water, searching for a foothold, for anything solid to cling to, with no promise of light ahead. You’d felt it too many times before, felt it in your bones, felt it define you. And like every time before, your mind scrambled to make sense of it, to wrestle the chaos into something you could control. But how could you, when you didn’t even know the shape of the fight you were facing? How could you rationalise the storm without knowing where it might end, or if it ever would?

If only, you thought bitterly, if only you’d had the foresight back then. The knowledge. The map that would’ve let you navigate those shadows instead of stumbling through them, bruised and broken.

You knew exactly what the kid needed to hear.

“Do you want me to explain what’s going to happen to you after this conversation?”

Brandon nodded wordlessly.

“The police are going to come.” You reassured, recognising the instant dread in the kid’s wide eyes. “They’re going to arrest you, not hurt you. They’re going to keep you in custody while Karpin and his buyers are investigated, tracked down, and arrested. You’ll be safe. No one can get to you inside.”

“You’ll hire a lawyer,” you continued, voice even, matter-of-fact. “And that lawyer is going to tell you to take a plea deal. That means you’ll testify against Karpin. The deal might mean you walk free under witness protection, or maybe you serve a few years, but nowhere near as much trouble as if you stonewall us now.”

You smiled softly, leaning forward, lowering your voice to a comforting hum. “Brandon, all you need to do is cooperate with us.”

He blinked hard, tears threatening now, though he fought them, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “I’ll be protected? Will my family be protected? You’re sure?”

“If you help us?” You shrugged, glancing at Steve and Sam. “You’ll be protected. So will your family. By the people we work for. There’s no shame in having made a mistake, Brandon. You think we’re innocent?” 

Your grin tilted, dry and a little wry as you thumbed toward the guys. “These three destroy half of New York every other week, and you think people are just fine with it?”

Sam gave a short huff of laughter, shaking his head. Steve smirked faintly, arms crossed over his chest, watching the way you worked with no small amount of admiration.

“We can do what we do because we have the right friends in the right places,” you went on, gaze locked steady on Brandon’s. “If you tell us what we need to know, we’ll make sure you and your loved ones are protected. That’s a promise.”

Brandon let out a shaky breath, the tension bleeding from his frame, if only slightly. He swiped the back of his hand across his damp face, voice rough as he finally nodded.

“O-okay. Okay. I’ll help.”

—

The mission had wrapped up without much fuss once Brandon finally cracked. A little breathing room, a few well-placed reassurances and the kid had spilt more than you’d hoped for. And after a long morning of waiting and watching, the team had been cleared to stand down. The beach house, a backup in case the op had dragged on, was yours for the night. No one had expected things to go so smoothly, but no one was about to complain either. 

Now, with the sun bleeding gold over the horizon and the promise of an early flight hanging over your heads, you were determined to steal a few hours of peace. 

You lay stretched out on a sunbleached towel at the base of the porch, toes buried in the warm sand. The last of the afternoon rays bathed the world in honey light, glinting off the waves as they lapped the shore. The ocean breeze lifted your hair and carried with it the brine of the sea, the faint tang of salt settling on your skin where the sweat had dried in the heat. You tilted your face up now and then, soaking in what little warmth was left, letting your eyes fall half-shut.

The beach house itself was small and sweet, worn blue paint with white trim, seashells lining the windowsills, wind chimes and catchers swaying and singing softly in the breeze. The kind of place that felt like it belonged to the sea as much as to the people.

On the porch steps, Bucky sat like a man trying to blend into the scenery. His arms rested heavily on his thighs, his boots planted solidly on the wood. There was tension in him, subtle but sure. He watched the waves, mostly. Sometimes he watched you. His gaze would flicker your way when he thought you weren’t looking, then back out to the horizon like it could give him answers. He’d tried the sand once, made it a few steps before muttering something about not wanting it grinding into the plates of his arms. The steps were his compromise, close enough to be near you, far enough to avoid what unsettled him. 

Steve and Sam had gone into town, promising a dinner worth eating—something fresh, not from a takeaway joint or gas station, which was the usual menu for missions, especially stakeouts—before you all shipped out at dawn. The house, the beach, the world itself felt hushed in their absence. Just the occasional cry of gulls, the gentle crash of waves, and the music of chimes above. 

It was Bucky who broke the quiet first. His voice was almost tentative, as if he’d been sitting with the thought some time before letting it out.

“You were good with that kid today.”

You cracked one eye open, shading it with your hand from the sun. The breeze caught his hair, tugged at the soft cotton of his shirt, ruffled the hem where his sleeves strained over the gold and black glint of vibranium. 

“You’re good at talking to people,” he went on, not looking at you now, but at some fixed point beyond the waves. “Understanding them.”

A soft, tired huff escaped you. You let your eyes fall closed again, the sun warm on your cheeks. “What I understand about people is that everyone wants kindness. That’s all. They want to be seen, heard, given a little grace.”

You let your head loll to the side, gaze following the slow roll of the sea. His eyes were on you again, you could feel it, watching, like he was trying to piece you together, to see past the practised ease of your words. 

“How did you know all that?” he asked after a beat, quieter now. “About lawyers, plea deals, witness protection?”

Your lips curved, a wry, sad little smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I lied.”

You felt him shift. His boots creaked against the steps, his spine straightening. “You lied?”

You rolled onto your back, brushing the sand from your skin, fingers playing idly at the tie of your bikini. “I told him what I knew he wanted to hear. That’s all. A kid like that, scared, cornered…He responded well to knowledge. It doesn’t matter if I don’t know what they’re gonna offer him, maybe they will offer him a plea deal, but at least he won’t feel like he’s in the dark.”

The breeze tugged at the chimes again, the gentle clatter filling the quiet that followed. Bucky didn’t speak, just watched you, thoughtful, a crease between his brows. His gaze was steady now, no longer flickering away like he was seeing something in you that you didn’t want him to.

“I just…” His voice was gentler now, but insistent. “I just think that version of you, the one who talked that kid down, the version I know... sometimes I think it’s the real you.”

You turned to him properly then, one hand propping you up, the other shading your eyes against the glare. “The real me—Jesus. Are we doing this right now?”

Bucky didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. 

“I think they’re still in your head,” he said simply. “The same way… the same way H.Y.D.R.A is still in my head. You just wear the mask better. Pretend better. It took me too long to see it, but now I do, and I can’t unsee it.”

The air left your lungs like you’d been tackled from behind, a cold rush tearing through your veins, leaving you sick and hollow at the centre. H.Y.D.R.A. Bucky almost never said it aloud. That name lived in the shadows. But now he had given voice to it, like he was fucking invoking it.

You stared at him, heart tight, the sincerity in his voice cutting deeper than you expected. He was right. Of course, he was right. There had been far too many occasions where he had seen through you, seen through the walls, the humour, the deflection—and for what? For you to be afraid, to continue to pretend, to deny him entry to the truth you both knew he had already discovered?  

“What are you trying to say, Bucky?”

He hesitated, just for a breath, as if he was weighing his following words before he went all in. “Why are you still in this job?”

Your pulse spiked.

“Because it’s what I’m good at?” you snapped back, a little too fast, a little too brittle. 

“Bullshit.”

You sat up fully now, towel forgotten beneath you, heat rising to your cheeks. Whether it was anger or shame, you weren’t too sure anymore. 

“What do you want me to say?” Your hands lifted, fingers splayed in frustration. “This is all I know, this is what I was trained for. There is no other alternative, and you of all people should understand that.”

There was a pause. A longer one than you expected. 

“Do you know what Sam said to me after today?” His eyes met yours, sharp, intent, almost fierce in their focus. It pinned you where you sat. “He said, ‘I think I finally get what the hell those lessons were about’. He saw it. He saw you. The way you connect, the way you see people. I think you’re far more than what you limit yourself to.”

You let out a breath that tasted of defeat, bitter at the back of your throat. Or maybe it was a laugh. You couldn’t tell anymore. “I do this job because I want to make a difference, Bucky. Maybe I want to make a difference because no one ever tried to help me, or Nat or Yelena. We had to help ourselves.”

“And you think the only way to do that is by tearing yourself apart in the process?”

You snorted, shaking your head, though the motion felt heavy. “Tough words coming from you.”

He huffed his own small laugh, but there was no humour in it. 

“I just…” His voice was lower now, the edge of frustration softening into something that sounded almost like pleading. “You really plan on doing those missions forever? The ones where you use your body to get information? I see how it weighs on you. How it tears you down piece by piece.”

You dug your fingers into the towel beneath you, staring at a seashell half-buried in the sand—anything to avoid the look in his eyes. 

“What am I supposed to do instead, huh?” Your voice was tight, controlled, though you could feel the cracks forming, the storm just below the surface. “I’m good at what I do. That’s why I do it. I know how to get what the team needs. I know how to play the part, no one expects me to be anything else. So I stay in that box, because it works. End of story.”

Bucky was shaking his head before you had even finished your stubborn spiel. 

“I think you have more potential. I think you get people. Really get them, in ways none of us do. You always say the right thing, know how to calm a room, and make people feel seen. I think you’re wasting that, wasting you, because you’re too afraid to ask for more.”

You forced a laugh. “Bucky, just because I’m nice to you doesn’t mean I’m good with people—”

“Steve told me what you said that day,” Bucky cut over you, quiet but unyielding. “What you said when he walked in on us. He told me how genuine you were. How much you cared. Said he never expected it, not from you.”

For a moment, your throat closed up tight as your mind skidded, fishtailing toward anything that might sound coherent.

“This all just sounds like you’re the one who’s got a problem with my line of work,” you said finally, trying for lightness, humour, anything to take the weight out of his words. “What, you jealous or something?”

But the joke fell flat between you. Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver. His voice carried an assured edge like he was giving up hiding behind anything. “No. I think you have a problem with it.”

Your breath snagged, ribs pressing in tight like you’d sucker punched.

“I think you’re destroying yourself,” Bucky went on, tone stripped bare, nothing left but truth. “I think, deep down, you’re punishing yourself. And I don’t know why. Or what for, but I know the signs, doll. Because I do the same damn thing.”

You stared at him, heart hammering. The wind stirred between you, the gulls cawing above and the hush of the surf. The world felt too still, too intimate, like the air itself was holding its breath.

“Where is this coming from?” you managed, voice smaller than you intended.

He let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe because watching you today, watching you work, impressed me. I know it impressed Steve and Sam. Maybe it just got me thinking about how things could be. How things should be.”

“I don’t want things to change,” you said, too fast, too sharp. “I like it how it is now.”

“Oh yeah?” His gaze still unflinching. “And what about all this makes you so happy?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Swallowed hard. 

“You,” you said quietly, bitter as the ocean air. “You make me happy. I like helping you and talking things out with you. I like lessons, or when we just hang out.”

Your voice softened, as if that could make it truer. “I’m comfortable. I’m happy.” But even as the words left your lips, they curdled. They felt wrong. Hollow, like smoke in your mouth, like ash on your tongue. And you knew—God, you knew—he could see it. He could see right through it, through you.

Deflect. Deny. Subvert. The old playbook. Your armour, your sanctuary. The instinct that came too easily, a reflex honed by years of keeping the world at bay. You reached for it like a lifeline, tried to wrap it around yourself before he could press further, before he could dig up what you’d buried so deep even you barely dared look at it. Anything was easier than letting him see the soft, frightened parts. Anything was easier than letting him reach them.

You sat still for a heartbeat longer, the weight of his gaze heavy as a hand at the base of your throat. And then you moved. You pushed up from your towel, brushing sand from your palms as you crossed the short distance to where Bucky sat, stiff and watchful on the porch steps, his eyes lifted to yours, wide and unsure, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d strike him down or pull him in. 

You lowered yourself, just enough to meet him, just enough to cage his face between your sand-dusted hands. You knew the grit would drive him a little mad, would catch in his stubble, smudge across his cheekbones, probably lodge itself somewhere in the joints of his vibranium arm. But you did it anyway. You did it because it was the only way you knew how to say what wouldn’t form on your tongue.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you murmured, voice low, breath hitching in your chest. The wind tugged at your hair, lifting it from the damp heat of your neck. Your thumbs traced his cheekbones, light as the breeze. “Is that okay?”

His lips parted, maybe in a silent plea. “Yes.”

It wasn’t neat or gentle. It was messy, hungry, your mouth slanting over his, tongue sliding past his lips as he groaned low in his throat. His hands came up, tentative at first, like he didn’t know where to touch you. Then the dam broke, and his fingers threaded through your hair, pulling you closer, his other hand bracing your hip. The taste of him was salt and heat, the faint bitterness of coffee from earlier lingering on his tongue. Your breath mingled, quick and uneven, as you poured everything into it, the frustration, the fear, the need.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. The windchimes clattered softly, like they’d been eavesdropping on the whole thing.

You gave him a look—part promise, part challenge—and turned, heading inside. You knew it was wrong. Christ, maybe he knew it too. Knew that this was what you did when the truth got too close, when his gaze stripped you bare and the panic rose sharp beneath your skin. You’d reach for what you knew worked. The kiss, the heat, the distraction. Anything but the raw honesty of what was unfolding between you. 

Your bare feet padded across the worn wooden floors, the little beach house warm with the last of the sun’s heat. You shook out your towel by the door, brushed sand from your legs and arms as best you could, then made for the tiny kitchen, rinsing your gritty hands under the tap. 

You were just reaching for a towel to dry your hands when you felt him behind you, the silent, solid press of his body, the familiar weight of his hands wrapping around your waist. His fingers splayed across your bare skin, like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to be but couldn’t stay away. His breath was warm against your ear, his nose brushing along the curve of your neck as he nuzzled there, the stubble of his jaw rough but welcome.

“I’m not trying to upset you,” Bucky murmured, voice low and earnest, the words vibrating against your skin. “I’m not trying to argue. I just care about you.”

“I know.” The words barely made it past your lips as you turned in his arms.

His hands framed your face, his mouth on yours. His thumb brushed your cheek, his other hand slipping down to your waist like he knew the shape of you by heart. The scent of salt air clung to him, to you. The kitchen felt impossibly small, the world shrinking down to just this. Just him, just now.

When he finally pulled back, breath warm against your lips, his forehead rested lightly against yours. “You make me happy too, you know,” he murmured, an honest confession. “More than I think you even realise.”

Your heart gave a traitorous lurch, and you swallowed hard, your hands still resting at his sides, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t say things like that,” you whispered, but there was no bite to it, no real protest.

“Why not?” His mouth quirked into a soft, crooked smile. “’Cause you might believe me?”

You let out a breath, half laugh, half sigh, leaning into him. “Hmph…”

His mouth found yours again, slow and searching. His thumb kept stroking your cheek, tenderly, while his other hand slipped lower, fingers curling around the curve of your hips as if to steady himself as much as you.

The worn floorboards creaked softly beneath you both as you shifted, as he nudged closer, fitting his body to yours like a puzzle piece. The scent of him—spearmint, sea salt, the faint leather tang of his jacket still clinging to him—filled your senses, dizzying in its familiarity.

Your hands slid up his chest, fingers splaying over the hard lines of muscle beneath the soft cotton. His heartbeat thudded steadily and sure beneath your palm.

Without thinking, without planning, you found your back hitting the edge of the counter. His hands followed the movement instinctively, guiding, steadying, as you hitched yourself up onto the worn wood.

Bucky stepped in, between your parted legs, his hands finding your thighs, thumbs tracing slow, absent circles over your skin. His lips sought yours again, deeper now, as if he couldn’t get close enough. And you let him, you gave yourself over to it, to him. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, greedy for his touch, his taste.

The kiss deepened, your breath mingling, your pulse thundering in your ears. Your hand skimmed lower, a slow, teasing path along his stomach, until your fingers brushed under the edge of his waistband, intent on taking control the way you always did, the way that felt safe and predictable. A soft sound escaped you, half a plea, half a groan.

He stopped you, catching your wrist gently just as your palm began to slip beneath the fabric. When you looked up, his blue eyes met yours, dark with heat, yes, but steady. Sure. 

“No,” Bucky said, voice low, roughened by want, thumb brushing your wrist. “I want to make you feel good.”

You stilled.

Pure, unfiltered, raw panic slammed through your gut like a punch you didn’t see coming. It rose fast, too fast, thick and all-consuming, choking the breath in your throat. The edges of the kitchen blurred, vision tunnelling to just him. The closeness of his body, the heat of him, the solid press of the cabinet at your back—

You dragged in a breath, but it scraped through your chest ragged and raw. Metallic fear coated your tongue, your pulse roaring too loudly in your ears to even think.

Your free hand twitched, half-formed in the start of that signal—the three taps. You could feel the ghost of it against his arm already, your fingertips itching to retreat into that small mercy, that lifeline you’d always given each other without question.

But you didn’t. God, you didn’t.

Because if you did, this would change. He would see. He would know. And then the questions would come, the soft ones, the careful ones, the ones that peeled you open in ways that scared you more than anything. And what then? What would become of you?

No. No, you couldn’t let that happen. The thought made your heart pound harder, made your throat burn. You needed to do this. Needed to show him, show yourself, that you were fine. That you weren’t broken. This was different. He was different. That you could be the person he saw when he looked at you, brave, whole, unflinching.

Even if inside you felt like you were unravelling at the seams.

Your breath shuddered as you forced it deeper, trying to steady the wild beat of your heart. You blinked hard, trying to clear the haze creeping at the edges of your vision, trying to quiet the voice in your head screaming. And you clung to him, to Bucky—

Your Bucky.

He could never hurt you. 

You swallowed hard, trying to drown the panic, trying to push it down where he couldn’t see. You could do this. You would do this. You trusted him. More than anyone.

“Can I make you feel good, doll?” His voice was soft, low, threaded with something that almost sounded like hope. His palm glided slowly up your forearm, warm and steady, the rasp of his calloused skin grounding. He didn’t see the storm behind your eyes, didn’t feel the stone lodged deep in your gut.

“Is that what you want?” You whispered, your voice hoarse.

“Yes.” The word came out on a breath, “more than anything.”

And for a moment—just a moment—fear loosened its grip.

Your mind spun back, unbidden, to all the nights you’d lain awake wanting this, wanting him. The ache of it. The sleepless hours where your hand found your own skin, your own heat, and you pretended, just for a heartbeat, that it was his touch. You thought of the months you and Bucky hadn’t spoken, how that want had burned hotter because of it, how his absence had left you hollow and restless.

And now here he was. His body so close, his hands gentle where they held you. And you remembered every time he had touched you. His hesitance, his tenderness, his devotion hidden in the brush of knuckles, the graze of fingertips.

It stirred a molten heat in your gut, one more welcome than panic. 

“Yes.” The word tore from you roughly, your forehead tipping to his, your eyes fluttering shut as frustration and need coiled tight inside you. 

You felt his breath hitch, felt the tremor, the hesitation in his hands even as they touched you, almost shy as they smoothed along your exposed thighs. His breath was warm against your cheek, his lips hovering just near your jaw, like he wasn’t sure he had permission to go further, like he didn’t trust himself to do this right.

“Bucky…” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair, coaxing him to look at you. His gaze flicked up, blue eyes wide, the vulnerability in them making your heart squeeze. His palms were broad and heated where they held you, but they trembled ever so slightly, like the weight of wanting was almost too much to bear. “Are you sure?”

“I—” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his thumb tracing slow circles just above your waistband. “I just don’t want to mess this up.”

The honesty in his voice, the way it cracked around the edges, nearly undid you. You cupped his face, feeling the prickle of stubble under your palms and the tension coiled in his jaw.

“You won’t,” you murmured, stroking softly beneath his eyes. “You can’t. Just… touch me. However you want. I’m right here.”

Something within him eased, you felt it against your mouth as you leaned in, trying to pour every bit of reassurance into the slide of your lips. His hands roamed more boldly, exploring the dip of your waist, the curve of your thigh. It felt like worship the way he took his time, mapping your skin, committing it to memory.

The heat built between you, slow and consuming, and the edge of panic drowned out. You arched into him as his mouth followed, kisses pressing into the sensitive hollow beneath your ear, down the line of your neck. The small kitchen disappeared, the world narrowing again until it was just him, just this. His hands moved as if guided by instinct now, though there was still that delicious edge of hesitance that made every touch precious. His hand skimmed lower, calloused pads slipping beneath the thin band of your swimsuit bottom. You gasped, fingers fisting in his shirt. 

And for the first time in far too long, maybe in your entire life, fear didn’t spike. You didn’t choke, you melted—

His breath stuttered, and he froze just over your mound. His forehead rested against your shoulder, his voice uncertain. “Tell me what to do, doll. I want to—I just… I don’t want to hurt you.”

You smiled, the kind of soft, private smile only he ever got to see. Your fingers found his wrist gently, guiding his hand down, slipping it fully beneath the fabric, where you were already warm and wet for him. “You’re not gonna hurt me. You’re perfect. Just… slow. Start slow.”

You saw his lips part, saw his pupils blow wide, felt the tremor in his fingers as they touched you where you wanted him most. His gaze flicked to yours, awed, wrecked.

“That’s good,” you breathed, the words tumbling out on a shaky exhale as your heart thundered against your ribs. Your hips moved instinctively, chasing his touch, tilting into him, desperate for more. “That’s so good, Bucky…”

His fingers trembled, tentative but eager as he explored. He traced the slick heat of you, learning every reaction, every way your body responded to his touch. Your hand slid over his, guiding him gently.

“Here,” you whispered, voice thick with want. His breath stuttered as his fingertips grazed your clit. “Feel that? That’s where I want you.”

A shaky breath left him, and he followed, so careful it made your heart ache. Your own nervousness forgotten, you arched a little, legs falling open wider, encouraging him. “You’re not gonna hurt me. I promise. I want this. I want you.”

That seemed to steady him. His fingers slid through your slick heat, finding your clit again. You shivered. But still, he hesitated, waiting, watching your face.

“Circle it,” you murmured, voice low and pleading, your hand tangling in his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as you gently urged him on. “Gently. Like this…” You rocked your hips, showing him the rhythm, slow and steady, letting him feel how you moved beneath him. And God, he followed, so tentative at first, testing, learning, then growing surer as he felt your breath hitch, your body tense, your pulse race beneath his hands.

“That’s it,” you gasped, pleasure building, slow and deep, coiling low in your belly. “Good. Fuck, that’s good Bucky.”

The praise tumbled from your lips, and it only seemed to fuel him. His fingers moved with more purpose now, every breath, every sigh from you making him more confident. His thumb found a rhythm, steady and sure, as two fingers slid inside you, filling you, and the low groan that broke from him when he felt you clench around him made the heat bloom hotter, deeper.

He buried his face against your neck, nose brushing your skin, breath warm and ragged in your ear. You kept guiding him, your voice cracking as a pleasured sob bubbled in your chest. “That’s good—Please just…You’re doing so well, Bucky. So well.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself just feel. Let him take control, knowing he would never misuse it.

Every time you gasped or sighed his name, you felt him react, his body pressed closer, his kisses growing hungrier, his fingers more confident. His vibranium hand anchored at your waist, holding you steady as he worked you. His mouth brushed your ear.

“You’re… so beautiful like this,” he managed, voice rough, as if the sight of you unravelled him.

Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut, the world outside the two of you blurring to nothing. The kitchen, the sea breeze, the clatter of seashell chimes, all of it faded, lost beneath the crash of pleasure building inside you. His thumb kept that perfect rhythm, his fingers filling you, stroking you. Your hips rolled, chasing him as you found yourself already trembling on edge.

You tried to keep guiding him, tried to tell him how perfect it was, how right, but the words blurred as the pleasure built, as he guided you through every tremble, every sharp breath, every subtle roll of your hips. 

“You feel so good,” he muttered, voice wrecked, lips brushing your jaw, your ear. “So fuckin’ good like this…”

And then you couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but hold on as he pushed you over the edge, his name falling from your lips in a broken moan, toes curling, back arching, body trembling apart under his hand. Your breathing was ragged as Bucky’s fingers kept moving, slow and sure, guided by every gasp, every shiver he coaxed from you. His forehead pressed to yours, fingers gentle now, soothing you through the aftershocks. His focus was absolute, blue eyes darkened, intent, watching you like you were the only thing in the world worth seeing. And you were. To him, you always had been.

“I think I get it now,” he murmured, voice rough-edged, low like a secret.

Your lashes fluttered, your mind hazy with the pleasure he so patiently built inside you. “Hm?” you managed, head tipping forward. You opened your eyes to find him watching you, like you were the most incredible thing he’d ever seen.

Then, softly, with that mix of wonder and affection that always, always undid you, he spoke.

“Why you like watching me finish.” His voice was a rasp, reverent and wrecked all at once. And before you could reply—before you could even think—you watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth, slow and purposeful, tasting you, sucking his fingers clean with a soft, satisfied hum.

It was obscene. 

Your body nearly gave out. You gripped the edge of the counter for support, chest rising and falling, heart pounding so hard it drowned out the sound of the sea and the chimes.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, dragging a shaky hand through your salt-tangled hair, trying to catch your breath. The strands clung to your damp skin. Your bikini bottoms were twisted at your hips, darkened with wetness, your thighs still trembling from the slow burn of his touch. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” 

---

hello! thank you for reading, let me know your thoughts! i no longer have a taglist because it got too long and was reaching the tag limit. if you want to keep being notified of my updates please follow @artficlly-updates and turn on post notifications! <3

[askerror87]

Why it's important that Ramb isn't an American plug.

I know this is pedantic but I've been seeing a lot of otherwise great posts about Ramb that don't quite get that Ramb being British isn't a simple quirky throwaway nonsense detail. He's not British just for the sake of it- there’s a really important reason for that that actually says a lot about him as a character and why he ended up like this. I originally wrote this out as a reblogged response to this post but I realized that this was going to need a visual aid.

Most of the Plugboys we see in Chapter 2 are not only visibly supposed to remind you of a cat, but they are distinctly designed off of the Type B outlet that most Americans would be familiar with. (Note that Ramb's eyes, while still rectangular, are rounder and softer thanks to the eyebrows and beauty marks/ eyelashes/ smile lines/ however you want to interpret these pixels.)

[Image ID: Some Deltarune screenshots and pictures of electrical plugs. Descriptions in alt text. /End ID]

(Obviously, we see a variety of expressions from them throughout the game, which seem to primarily take inspiration from Type A, B, G, and possibly I outlets)

[Image ID: More sprites of the Plugboy with various expressions of stress and surprise, and a whole list of outlet types for comparison, all of which looking like faces. /End ID]

Ramb, however, is designed to be Like the Chapter Two Plugboys But Different BECAUSE he isn’t an American Outlet.

He’s a Type K power strip that Kris and Azzy stole from the Library.

Type Ks are distinct because of the roundness of their first two prongs and the semi-circle curvature of the third, giving them that signature ‘smile’ that Type Bs inherently lack because of how their plugs are shaped. They are also, as you may have guessed, very much European. (Type Ks, as pointed out to me by my friend @strangeandinteresting, are outlets that are primarily used in Denmark, but that they "do also reckon that a Danish accent would be harder to do in written format like that, so for the intents of him seeming 'other' the British (Specifically London, cockney(?)) accent is perfect". I grew up using Type K and other circular plugs, so my working theory is Toby primarily wanted to use a plug type that was distinctly From Europe first and foremost, and had the furthest possible 'expression' from a Type B.)

Ramb isn’t British and a Dog just for the sake of it- he’s Designed Like That because while Type Bs and Type Ks are visually very similar, they are inherently incompatible. You can’t put a European plug into an American outlet and vice versa for a variety of reasons, primarily because you will probably fry the thing you’re trying to plug in. To explain this as simply as possible, British (and other European) plugs are created in such a way where they include their own fuse (which is why the head is so big). Inherently, they are simply a more powerful and superior device because of how they are made. He’s also very portable because of this- power strips are supposed to allow you to Put More Things In Them.

As you can imagine, though… this is only the case if there’s actually something FOR THEM TO PLUG INTO. Whoever ordered Ramb (possibly Miss Boom) accidentally bought the wrong type of power strip. That’s also probably why no one from the Cyber World ever said anything about him- why he was never missed by anyone.

We see this foreshadowed by the Spamton Sweepstakes and its 2025 update. What’s the URL allowing us to access the greenroom page? /ramb. And yet, all traces of him are missing in it… beyond the door that Ramb guards for Kris stating plainly that ‘No one will shed a tear for him.’

Almost like he no longer served a purpose, no? Almost like he vanished without a trace???

This seemingly very small detail about his accent is actually one of many ways Toby gives us an indicator of him Not Belonging and to be able to cement it in this way by accent and character design alone is so good I’m going to explode-

He's supposed to be a shopkeeper but that job was delegated to a vending machine because Tenna didn’t want him handling POINTs. He's supposed to work the green room but he quit. He's supposed to be in the computer lab but no one noticed or cared that he went missing- nobody mentioned him in Chapter 2, nobody mentions him after you go to your Castle Town in Chapter 4. He has all the markings of a secret boss, talking about freedom, chaos, and remarking about big shots, and facilitates play via a game (games are supposed to be fun, don't let it feel like a job, okay?). AND YET-

He doesn’t give you a shadow crystal. No, that’s for the REAL secret boss. He doesn’t give you an item. That’s for the other REAL secret boss.

Something, SOMEONE, meant to be extremely helpful deprived of a use.

Jesus Christ is Toby good at making characters.

Bonus: if werewires are meant to be dogs-

Does that mean if Ramb was to be plugged in his werewire design would be more catlike? (Thank you to @gogogoat495 for the ID!)

[ani-craft]

Ren and Martyn on Cleo's stream

[long transcript under cut]

Ren: Cleo!

Cleo: Hi!

Ren: (singing) I just won TCG!

Martyn: You did win it?

Ren: (still singing) I just won TCG!

Martyn: You wanted to win that so bad as well.

Cleo: You won TCG?!

Ren: Dude I was sweating, that was scary!

Cleo: What did you win with? What deck? Tell me everything!

Ren: Oh! Um, hold on. Oh this is gonna make you so happy, actually!

Cleo: Please!

Ren: The best deck in the entire game—Hello! ZombieCleo-Welsknight PVP!

Cleo: YES! PVP deck!

Ren: Cleo knows, Cleo knows!

Cleo: Easy streams, easy mode deck. Martyn, it's an easy mode deck.

Ren: Why are you covered in like, post-it notes?

Cleo: Well, if you'd been in any plane and I could have gotten your signature, you would know that I'm collecting everyone's signature. But you don't, you go out and you leave me! And I'm alone in that room with all my friends. (Cleo laughs)

Martyn: You just think about yourself and it's selfish!

Cleo: How selfish are you, Ren!

Martyn: Find a sticky note and get back to your life!

Ren: Okay, okay, I'll find a dang sticky note!

Martyn: Clearly you don't need us!

Ren: Jeez! Okay!

Cleo: (laughs)

Ren: Love you, Cleo!

Cleo: Love you too!

Ren: Oh, do I get to stick this on you as well?

Martyn: You do!

Cleo: Yes. Uhh, there's sellotape down in my feet somewhere.

Martyn: You need it, yeah.

Ren: Oh, yeah.

Martyn: Am I still on there, I wonder if I've fallen off. Here, let me check.

Ren: Um, okay, lets see. I'm going to stick myself... (Ren makes a face) Uhh.

Cleo: Where are you going to stick yourself, Ren? (Cleo and Ren laugh)

Martyn: (teasingly) Finish the sentence.

Cleo: (also teasingly) You started, so you'll finish!

Martyn: C'mo—No! (following Ren) No! Stop! Hey! You come back here and you finish that sentence. Say it on camera!

Cleo: (laughing) I'm so glad that it's the three of us in a corridor alone. Cause no one else would have said that!

Martyn: Right!

Ren: Umm, lets see. I'm just gonna—I'm just gonna have myself dangling off of your... screen.

Martyn: Screen! Screen, okay.

Cleo: That tickles, Ren! You have to be very careful where you're placing things.

Martyn: So I have fallen off since earlier, so I'll sellotape this time.

Cleo: Oh, okay, cool.

Ren: You should dangle on the other side!

Martyn: Yeah, sounds good.

Cleo: So I've got Ren and Martyn dangling off my face, is what you're telling me?

Ren: Yeah, yeah, you can't, you can't actually— (Ren laughs) You can't see the danglage, but it's gonna be double danglage happening.

Cleo: Is it now?

Martyn: Cleo's getting bangs!

Cleo: I do appreciate the dangle. (Cleo snorts) It's late, it's nearly 2am. I can't.

Ren: (laughs) That's awesome! I'm going to take a picture of that for you, that's, uh, that's beautiful.

Cleo: Please, please do! I need that picture! Who else do I need? Chat who else do I need? I need...

Martyn: You definitely still needed Scar, right?

Ren: Yeah, I think so.

Cleo: Definitely still need Scar. I think I may need Joe as well.

Martyn: Yeah.

Ren: Okay, I am gonna go, because apparently I'm getting slapped in the face with a tortilla.

Martyn: I think I am at some point, so I'm gonna get you to Scar, and then I'll be coming back.

Cleo: Cool! Cool.

Martyn: Lets do it!

Cleo: I can help Scar do whatever Scar is doing. Which is...

Ren: Okay, awesome. Bye Cleo!

Cleo: I'll see ya! Enjoy the tortilla! Bye!

[loserabby]

could you write something on eating out big pussy!abby for the first time

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚.     𝐒𝐎 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑 (𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐈'𝐌 𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑) big clit!abby x reader

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ . ** MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS AN 18+ BLOGI DO NOT GIVE ANYBODY PERMISSION TO REUPLOAD OR PLAGARISE MY WORK. IF YOU SEE SOMETHING I'VE WRITTEN ANYWHERE ELSE OTHER THAN HERE OR MY A03, PLEASE LET ME KNOW VIA ASK **

₊˚ 𓂃 ₊ ˚ ✧     some people just aren't into receiving, or at least that's what you think the problem is when it comes to the fact that your girlfriend of two months still won't let you make her feel good. until you accidentally catch her naked for the first time and suddenly you start to get an idea about what might actually be the problem.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 :     explicit language and content, use of Y/N, no outbreak au (modern), established relationship, references to sex, enlarged clitoris (clitoromegaly), slight misunderstandings. sexual content: kissing, dry humping (once again, to quote madeline argy: BRING BACK DRY HUMPING), mentions of strap-ons and sex-toys, cunnilingus, cum eating. slight dirty talk. mentions of past bodyshaming, embarrassment 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 :     5,869k

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 :     i mean i imagine her pussy to be an absolute meal in all my writing but this one really focus' on it. shout out to @onlyheluvsme for being the mvp of team big clit abby i highly recommend going through her masterlist for that it's... chefs kiss. ngl the smut is not my best but this has been fermenting in my drafts for like a week and showed no signs of getting better I'M SORRY. and finally, clitoromegaly is obviously nothing to be embarrassed by and i don't want anyone to take abby's shame/bad experiences in the past as me mocking the mutation but it is something others might not be as well educated about so i didn't want to pretend that doesn't happen.     [ read on ao3 ]

[ border credit ]     [ resources for palestine ]     [ boycott tlou ]

Admittedly, it takes a few times before you start to pick up on a recurring theme and when you do pick up on it? You don’t just feel guilty but… Curious, and deep down… Disappointed. 

Abby had wanted to take it slow and to her credit, you guys had only been officially dating for two months. Taking that into consideration with classes, part-time jobs and other college related things that meant you were both busy, it was understandable that she wanted to take it slow when you guys were able to see each other. 

She was a gentleman, making sure to take you out on proper dates first — not just somewhere quick and then have her hand up your skirt on the car ride home but actual restaurants with recommended dishes and signature wines that just confused you. She’d kissed you properly for the first time in her apartment on date number three, a movie forgotten about in the background but even then, she’d wanted to keep the pacing of your relationship slow.

But when you did start to get hot and heavy? God, it was good. So blindsightingly good you didn’t notice that every time it seemed to always focus on you. 

Climb on her lap? She readjusts you so you’re straddling her thigh instead and you’re so lost to the pleasure of your clit dragging against your panties and the hard muscle of her leg to pick up on it. 

Your hand snakes down to try and touch her pussy? She’s got your wrists pinned above your head in one hand, your nipples caught between her teeth and her other hand rubbing fast circles against your clit before you know it.

It doesn’t help that by the time you’re both in those situations, it’s late and when Abby finally decides she’s pulled enough orgasms out of you — slick coating your thighs, sticky against your cunt, her chin shiny from where she’d used her mouth on you and fingers still smelling of you even after she’s sucked them clean obscenely in front of you — you’re too exhausted to even think about cleaning up, never mind returning the favor.

Which fucking sucks cause when you do realise you can’t help but pout at how many opportunities you’ve been robbed of seeing her eyes roll to the back of her head, to see what her pussy looks like as it quivers. 

You were no stranger to pussy, it’s not like you wouldn’t know what to do. In fact you were proud to say you were very much a giver in that you could spend all day between a girls thighs much like Abby has done for you previously.

You’ve dated other girls before that maybe weren’t as keen on reciprocating and, given the circumstances, you assume at first that maybe that’s what Abby thinks about you. You had just rolled over and gone straight to sleep (albeit after making her spoon you and wrapping her big, strong arms around you beforehand so you’d feel safe in your fucked out state) so it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that she had assumed you were a pillow princess.

Respectfully to all pillow princesses, that misconception simply will not do.

So you try and subtly make it clear that you are very much interested in being a munch the next time Abby has you pressed into her sofa at her campus apartment, fingers buried knuckle deep inside your pussy, so wet you can hear every movement as she fucks you harshly. Abby’s got her mouth on your neck, sucking dark marks at your collarbones that make you whimper and keen before soothing them with her tongue and soft kisses as her thumb strums over your clit.

“So fucking pretty, baby, look at you swallowing my fingers so easily… Greedy little hole’s sucking me in” The blonde hisses against your skin, having to use her other hand that was groping your tits roughly to keep your thighs open. They’re shaking, threatening to slam shut even with Abby lying between them and you whimper as you feel her fingers digging into the soft flesh. 

Last time she left the prettiest bruises there, you’d spent days pressing your own touch to them just to feel the ache, an embarrassing wave of sadness coming over you when they started to fade. So maybe you purposely don’t hold back from letting your thighs twitch and writhe so she’s forced to hold you tighter, just so you’re maybe gifted with another reminder of her touch.

“Please, please… Let me, I wanna…” It’s unclear what you’re begging for, to cum or to touch her. You’re so close but not quite lost to the delirium Abby brings by orgasm number three so you take advantage of that, shaky hand coming out to grip at the butch woman’s jeans but faltering, instead clutching at whatever you can grab when her fingers start pounding at that gummy spot deep inside only she seems able to find as your vision starts to white out. 

You can feel yourself clenching around her fingers, the sound of your weeping pussy obscene as she continues her relentless finger fucking. “Shit, baby, you’re so.. Fucking.. Tight” she grits the words out, chuckling when she looks at you beneath her with your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your back arching off the couch and your head thrown back so far. “You coming? Gonna make a mess on the leather for me? C’mon, lets see how messy this pretty pussy can get for me, yeah?”

It doesn’t take long after that, pussy squirting all over Abby’s hand and dripping down your ass to the leather couch like Abby predicted, but even then she doesn’t let up with her relentless torture of your clit and hole. You try to grab at her jeans again, trying to unbutton them but she shakes her head, eyes wide for a split second before she’s making soft coaxing noises, your hands pinned above your head again. “All about you, baby” Is all she murmurs against your skin, before she makes sure to send you over the edge again and again, effectively cutting off any urgency in completing your task.

The next time you try and focus on Abby, try to make it clear you want to reciprocate is when the two of you are watching a movie at her apartment, your body lazily thrown over her and your head resting in the crook of her neck and your arms tossed around her.

Slowly your attention drifts from the screen, bored by some adaptation of a historical-fiction book Abby read but you’ve never heard of. Your lips slowly trail down her neck, featherlight kisses pressed to her collarbones as one of your arms drops and begins to drift below the blanket she’d pulled out to keep you both warm.

Abby’s attention is still on the film, still pointing out changes they made from the book to the movie but you know the moment she realises where your hand has gone. You feel her reaction more than see it, how her breath catches and her body stiffens. Your hand immediately stops tracing her crotch, teasing line drug along her slit over the fabric of her basketball shorts. 

“Sorry, I didn’t— I shouldn’t..” You pull your hand away quickly, your apology rushed and face hot from embarrassment. 

“We should, um.. We should focus on the film, yeah?” Abby says after some consideration, and you just wanna hide in embarrassment and shame because she clearly didn’t like that. 

You miss how she clenches her thighs together, mistake her heart racing for being out of panic and try to ignore the failed attempt at seducing your girlfriend when she has you bent over the sofa a few hours later on her strap in the low light of her living room, cooing in your ear about how pretty you look dripping down her cock.

Maybe you come to the conclusion Abby might be a stone butch, a touch-me-not, whatever the hell you wanna call it. Because she seems to shy away with every advance you make to try and reciprocate. 

You get it if that is the case but can’t help but feel like that should have been mentioned, communicated in some way so you didn’t feel so… Weird about it. Sue me, you think, is it so wrong to want to touch your girlfriend? Your incredibly attractive girlfriend? No, surely not.

You wouldn’t exactly say it’s a deal breaker, you like Abby a lot. Even in the little amount of time you both have been together already, she’s amazing and not just physically — although that is certainly a perk. 

She’s thoughtful, caring, she makes sure to check in with everyone (seemingly knowing everyone on campus). She always sends a good morning and a good night text, even when she’s deep in her study sessions or writing papers. She makes sure all your dates are ‘real’ ones, even if it’s just going to her apartment to make dinner cause she wanted to make sure you didn’t feel like you were being used for your body. Hell, she even made sure to let you know where the spare key to her apartment was kept so you could let yourself in after that time you got caught in the rain outside waiting for her.

Which leads to now; Enter you, spare key in hand after sending a rushed text to Abby saying you were coming over to talk when you realised you couldn’t go any further without discussing boundaries. 

You should have realised something had thrown a wrench in your plan the second you stepped foot in Abby’s apartment really, the small space weirdly quiet and steam slowly rolling out of her bathroom. Distantly, you can hear the low murmur of music coming from her bedroom, the door slightly ajar.

You’re calling Abby’s name as you push through the door, not bothering to knock as you assume she’s read your text. It’s only when you process what’s in front of you that you come to the realisation that you seem to do an awful lot of assuming — and you know what they say, to assume is to make an ass out of you and me.

Because Abby clearly didn’t read your text, not based on the horrified look on her face when you walk in on her stark naked on her bed. Her skin is flushed, still damp from the shower she’d clearly just taken and her hair dripping big, fat water droplets onto her chest. Her muscled thighs are spread open, heels digging into the mattress as her fingers remain still stuffed deep inside her dripping hole. Her bush is wild and untamed, a light brown that curls through her fingers as her other hand spreads her lips wide open

There’s a voice in the back of your head, a really unnecessary one that points out that it seems like Abby does like being touched after all, but maybe just not by you.

But the best part of the sight — or the worse part, taking Abby’s look of utter shock into consideration — is her pussy, just as a whole. Her enlarged clit, erect and pulsating as it seems to stand to attention. Her pussy as a whole is big, the kind of big that makes your mouth begin to salivate, embarrassingly, as you think playing with it.

It makes you realise you’d never actually seen her pussy before, that every time the two of you fucked she was either fully clothed or had her strap on over her boxers. How cruel of her to hide that perfect pussy away.

“I… I texted” You say weakly after a few moments of silence, stood in a half step in the door way. 

Abby doesn’t move, and you don’t know what else to say as you spiral, murmuring apologies and rushing back out the door before Abby is able to process what just happened.

Communicating isn’t going so well, more so after you accidentally walked in on Abby’s post-shower masturbation session. She’s avoided pretty much all your texts asking to talk and even gone as far as changing her routine to avoid running into you.

It kind of leaves you in a weird limbo where you’re not quite sure where you went wrong. There’s definitely areas you could have improved on (i.e. actually communicating about boundaries from the start so all this assuming bullshit didn’t happen) but you texted, you said you were coming by. Maybe you could have shouted a hello when you first entered the apartment but the last time Abby was in when you did she said you didn’t have to.

You’re also just incredibly unaware as to what the state of your relationship even is anymore? Is Abby still your girlfriend? Does she only like to touch herself and not be touched by others? It’s frustrating, yes, but you can’t help but feel like you owe Abby the time to digest what happened.

After all, it was her that got walked in on in her own home, completely naked and knuckle deep inside of herself. You can cut the blonde a break.

Doesn’t stop you from salivating at the memory of how beautiful and fucked out she looked that split second before she realised she’d been caught, face contorted in pleasure and juices spilling down past her knuckles.

After a dozen texts to Abby, ranging from apologies to simple messages telling her you missed her and you would wait until she was ready to talk, it’s a week later you finally get a response. It’s simple, to the point and very Abby.

[ Abs ] : You can come to my apartment for dinner, we should talk.

A terrifying text to receive, given the circumstances. The ‘you can come for dinner’ aspect giving you a sense of security, it makes you feel like everythings fine but the ‘we should talk’ part? That’s sending ‘break up talk’ alarm bells ringing through your head.

You text back nervously, asking what time and if you should bring anything. You end up outside her apartment door, pointedly ignoring the space where her spare key is hidden like it might burn, with a bottle of wine in hand as you wait for her to answer.

When she does, there’s a tension between the two of you the moment your eyes meet and — thank god — it’s not a bad kind. It’s like suddenly you’ve both had the air knocked out of you, like you hadn’t realised you’d been missing a piece of yourselves until you saw what was missing right in front of you. Two months you’ve been together, god Lesbians were stereotypically quick to get attached.

You can see how Abby’s eyes soften, warm when she sees you and she has to steady both her hands on the door frame as she welcomes you inside.

“Dinner might be a while,” She says, uncharacteristically timid seeming, her hand drifting to your lower back as she guides you into the apartment. “Sorry, took a little while longer than I thought but, um… We can sit on the sofa? Maybe, uh, if you want we could talk now? Get it out of the way?”

Get it out of the way?

You place the bottle of wine on the coffee table, heart racing as you consider what Abby might be about to say. God, is she about to break up with you? No, she couldn’t be… She’s made dinner, it would be epicly cruel to break up with you and then expect you to stay for whatever homemade pasta dish she’s made.

“I’m sorry!” The words spill from your mouth at a rapid speed, not even bothering to stop to give her a chance to cut in — her brows shot high and eyes wide as you ramble. “I-I texted and I thought that was enough but clearly I didn’t think that through, and I totally should have shouted to let you even know I had arrived in the apartment but I just didn’t think. But.. You.. I.. I froze when I saw, I mean how could I not but I thought you didn’t like that, and I guess that’s my own fault cause I never asked what you do and don’t like — we kinda forgot to have that talk a-and—”

“Woah, woah, Y/N, slow—” Abby tries to cut in, hands coming to your arms to try and stop them from moving around wildly as you talk. “What are you talking about, c’mon, slow down.”

“It’s my own fault, I didn’t notice for way too long and when I finally did, I realised you probably thought I was just a pillow princess so I kept trying to subtly show my interest but you— a-and then you kept pushing me away or turning it back on me so I just figured you didn’t like being touched, stone butch or whatever but then i-in your bed… you… you were touching yourself a-and—”

You only stop, words cutting off suddenly, when Abby takes your face in her hands and forces you to look at her.

“Y/N. Baby, stop. I need you to breathe, calm down for a sec’ okay?” Her words are spoken so softly, the care dripping off each word as she brushes a strand of hair behind your ear gently. “Can you do that for me, slow down and take a breath?”

You nod slowly, watching her reverently. Abby’s tongue darts out to wet her lips as she watches you, taking a deep breath of her own. “I should have talked to you sooner, I’m sorry I just… got caught in my own head. Maybe none of this would have happened if I’d of done that, but if you still want… If you’re still wanting us I’d like to talk now, if that’s okay?” She sounds nervous as she speaks, the words almost practiced. You nod, giving her the time to speak and watching as her hands drop from your face to twiddle nervously on her lap.

“I… It’s not that I don’t like to be touched, I want— I really want that, but I… I haven’t had the greatest experiences in the past when it came to… Other people and what they thought of my body” Your heart aches as Abby speaks, her blue eyes cast down to where her hands lay nervously on her lap and her voice going soft.

“I just… Got used to hiding my body, you know and I didn’t even realise I was doing it until you… You remember that night we were watching the City of Thieves film and you—” She didn’t need to go any further, your face brightening in shame as you recall the awkward rejection. “I just didn’t know how to… broach the subject, y’know, and it’s not like I really thought you’d be judgemental and mean about my body but it’s just built up after so many negative reactions”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, eyes narrowing slightly as you stare at your girlfriend. “Why would I judge you? I know you’re big, I know you’re muscle-y, why would I be mean about that?” You ask in genuine confusion, causing Abby to freeze and look at you equally as confused.

After a beat, she speaks slowly. “You… You think that I was talking… about my body-body?” After a beat, you nod just as slowly. “I was talking about my pussy” She finishes after a long space of silence, blunt and to the point.

Your head cocks to the side, confusion still clear in your expression as you process what she’s saying. What the fuck is so wrong about her pussy? You didn’t see anything wrong with it in that small (but well committed to memory) glimpse you’d had of it. “I don’t?—”

“Shit, you don’t… You really don’t see a problem, do you?” She sounds like she’s in awe, like your total lack of an issue around her genitals is something groundbreaking which makes a simmering bit of rage begin to boil inside of you because who in their damn right mind made the beautiful, the amazing Abby fucking Anderson so insecure in her body she couldn’t even show her girlfriend what she looked like?!

“Shit, okay, uh… I mean, you know — you saw — it’s big. Fatter than the norm’ I guess. It’s a mutation, congenital… I just.. I guess a lot of people I’ve been with have found it weird, ugly a-and they didn’t really wanna.. return the favor or do anything I guess.”

Yep, definitely rage you feel below the surface. The idea that Abby has been dealing with this because of people that were supposed to care for her speaking so badly about her body, for their reactions to something she cannot control makes you clench your fists. But you force yourself to relax, fingers stretching out on your thighs as you try to remain cool.

“Like I said, I didn’t really realise I was doing it until you started to, y’know… And I don't know, I couldn’t stop myself from panicking that it was gonna be the same reaction all over again. I just.. I couldn’t handle seeing that look of… of disgust on your face, not… you.”

Your delicate hands reach out to capture hers, stopping her from picking at the skin around her thumbs nervously as she speaks, to get her attention. “Abby, I.. I know other people have reacted that way but I would never—”

Her cheeks tinge red, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth and a small smirk etching its way onto her face. “I know, Y/N”

“You— You do?”

She nods, looking up to meet your eyes. “Yeah, I know. I, uh.. I figured that out.”

Your face pulls together again in confusion and slight annoyance, if she knew that then why did you spend the last week getting ghosted?! “What do you mean?”

“You have this look that comes over your face whenever you get turned on… Normally see it whenever I’m getting you off but, uh… That day, when you walked in on me? You had it when you were looking at me”

Your mouth drops open, breathless as you take that in. It’s no surprise though, you had been incredibly turned on at the sight, even thinking about it now has a wet spot forming in your panties at just the thought of Abby’s legs spread to unveil that beautiful cunt.

Shaking off the haze of lust, you focus on Abby. “So… Why did you, I mean I was happy to wait as long as you needed — I mean, again, I walked in on you a-and you needed to process that shock — but… why did you wait so long to talk?”

She heaves out a slow sigh, scratching at the back of her neck. “It was just weird, this bizarre 180 I was experiencing where this thing about me and my body that was always… weird for others and that I was kind of, y’know, expecting to be weird for you was suddenly attractive. That made you get that fucked out, horny expression on your face and I… I couldn’t believe it.”

“And now?”

“I mean… I believe it”

At that, your hand comes out to lightly smack at her arm, the both of you falling into light rumbles of laughter. Your hand lingers on Abby’s arm, dropping after a moment too long.

“Asshole,” softly you shake your head, a smile forming on your lips as you dip her head down. “I meant and now what? I mean, I take it this isn’t you breaking up with me like I was worried about?”

Her eyes widen in slight horror, like she hadn’t considered all of the nightmare scenarios that had been swarming in your mind over the last week. “N-No, no, absolutely not. Shit, you didn’t think— God, okay. No, no breakup was ever considered for the record”

That definitely eases the weeks worth of tension that had built up. 

You bite your lip, leaning forward into Abby’s space slightly. After a moment of silence, your needy eyes lift to meet Abby’s “Can we just skip to the part where we kiss and make-up?”

The other girl barely gets her own eager nod out before you’re clambering onto her lap, hands in her hair as you kiss her hard and messily. Your tongue licks into her mouth aggressively, small noises falling from the two of you as your hips rocks against hers. You missed this, missed how Abby tasted, how her tongue felt against yours as she explored your mouth just as thoroughly.

“I missed— missed you… so.. much” Heavy pants bracket each and every word, only broken by Abby pulling your lips back to hers as she devours you whole. She only pulls back with a high-keening hiss when you roll your hips in a certain way against her that makes her clit throb in her boxers. “Fuck, baby, careful” She sounds so pretty when she whines, her lip bitten as her head rolls back against the back sofa cushions.

Her head rolls to the side, looking at the kitchen before she swallows thickly, looking back at you. Her large hands move down to your hips, tapping the hip bones to get you to stand up. 

“Gonna save the food before we forget and burn the apartment down, you… Get in the bedroom” The way she breathes the words out, like she’s as affected as you are makes your head spin and you’re quick to scramble off her lap and into her bedroom.

Abby’s on you quicker than you realise, shoes barely kicked off before she’s at your back and kissing down the column of your neck with her hands running up and down your sides. Turning to face her, you drag her down into a punishing kiss until you feel her bed hit the back of your knees. You don’t fall back though, turning the two of you so Abby now has her back to the bed.

You’re panting when you break the kiss, wetting your lips despite the messy kiss as you look up at Abby through thick lashes with deep arousal. She looks equally as fucked, hair messy from where your fingers have gone through it as you both made out and her blue eyes dark with need. “Get on the bed for me, Abs. Like… Like you were that day” You sound fucked out already, thinking back to when you caught her touching herself like a wanton whore. You see the moment it registers in Abby’s mind what you’re asking her to do, a single raised eyebrow as she breathes heavily.

Slowly she strips her clothes, kicking her own shoes off. You spend equal time helping her discard her clothes as you do standing back and admiring her form, salivating as her tits spring free of her sports bra. She’s just got her boxers left when she crawls onto the bed, laying back against the headboard before lifting her hips and pulling them free.

She pulls them past her ankles and throws them on the floor, landing with a soft noise by your feet. Not that you notice, no, you’re too focused on Abby. Lay back on the bed, completely bare with only her knees propped up straight and infront of her to cover that pretty pussy of hers.

Your eyes are dark, hungry as you stare ahead, right where you know her crotch is covered by her legs. “Abby, that’s not how you were lay when I caught you” The words are low, almost rough as you wait, watching.

Her long hair, free from the braid she always wears, cascading messily down her shoulders is pushed behind her nervously before she slowly spreads her thighs and finally mirrors the position you’d caught her in a week ago.

Her heels aren’t quite digging into the mattress with need the way they were that day, but Abby isn’t nearly as worked over as she was then either. Still, you move forward hungrily, almost drawn to her like a magnet with your palms spread on the mattress to catch yourself as you instinctively move to get closer to her glistening slit. You look like a predator, crawling up from the foot of the bed and settling between her thighs, eyeing her pussy like prey.

She’s wet, so fucking wet you know your fingers would glide with ease through her folds. It makes you dizzy with lust, watching how her large clit throbs as you stare it down.

“Fuck, what… What now?” Abby whines, voice soft and breathy.

“Show me what you were doing before I walked in” Your voice is low, rough and your eyes don’t lift once from her drenched core.

You can hear the needy whines from Abby, her soft little moans that make you want to bite and kiss at her skin but she does as she’s told. Her hands come down to her pussy, one hand spreading her lips wide to show you everything while her other eases in with slow circles against her clit.

Not that she needs warming up, not with how quick she is to react to the barely there circular motions she does. “C’mon baby, you can do more. What did you do with this pretty pussy after that?”

Bottom lip drawn between her teeth, Abby can’t help but watch your darkened gaze as she drags two of her thick fingers through her slick, coating them with her juices before working them inside her hole.

Instinctively you lean in closer, inhaling her scent as you watch her twitching hole stretch to take her digits. Each time she fucks her fingers into herself, slowly and so fucking erotically, you watch as her hips lift slightly to meet her fingers, clit bumping against her palm and leaving a messy trail behind.

“So fucking gorgeous, look so pretty stretched around your fingers” You barely register your own voice, that you’ve said anything as you practically drool at the sight. No, wait, you’re actually drooling. Okay, between that and the obscene sounds of Abby fucking herself you can’t stop yourself, deciding you’d waited long enough to give.

Still, you can’t stop yourself from teasing before you stop her as you begin by kissing up her ankles. Your lips make sure to suck the occasional hickey the closer you get to her inner thighs, laughing low and wickedly when you hear her whine so pretty and the muscles of her thighs quiver. By the time you make your way close to where she wants you — and more importantly, where you have been wanting to be all this time — you have to take a moment to just… stare.

Take it in.

Fucking beautiful.

Licking a stripe up her pussy, slow flat tongue against her before sucking her fat clit into your mouth and laughing as she keens, hips lifting off the mattress before moaning at the taste of her. Above you, Abby’s head eventually falls back against the headboard with a soft thud as she makes a low, whining noise.

That’s when you start eating her out like a woman starved, messy and unashamed as you go to town. Licking her long and rough, spit falling from your mouth as you suck her clit into your mouth and lay one of your hands flat against her abdomen to keep her from lifting off the bed. She melts like honey on your tongue, the sheets beneath her messy with a mixture of her arousal and your saliva as it drips both down her ass and off your chin.

You’re eating her out half with the desire to bring her over the edge, to show her what all her other partners should have been giving her this entire time, and another part of you wants to just lap at her pussy with no regards. Hungry for the taste of her juices on your lips, to swirl your tongue around her protruding bud like you’re lazily licking an ice cream cone.

Her hands are in your hair, torn between yanking you off her when you suck harshly on her fat clit, laughing as she whines and whimpers, or pressing your face against her cunt to keep you fixed in one spot when you start to go rogue

“Oh.. Oh god, yes!” She’s a mess, completely gone beneath you when you finally decide to focus on getting her off. She’s soaked, dripping down your hand when you do touch her, and flooding your mouth with her arousal so much that when you grow desperate — yanking her up and throwing her on her hands and knees, eating her out from behind — you can’t stop the way her arousal drips onto the sheets beneath. She’s too damn wet for your mouth to capture all of it and the thought makes you feel feral.

“C’mon, Abs, I wanna feel you cum on my tongue okay? Wanna feel that pretty clit throbbing in my mouth”

You’ve got your hands at the junction where her thighs and her ass meet, spreading the skin so you have the max amount of access as you bring her over the edge, Abby’s neighbours no doubt able to hear her reaching her apex with her wailing. You move one of your hands down as you focus your mouth on her clit, fingers pushing inside of Abby’s warm heat again and sighing against her slick as her hole sucks them in greedily.

It doesn’t take long until Abby goes rigid, screaming and babbling that she’s coming with her head thrown back as you continue your ministrations, working her through her orgasm happily.

“Fuck, you coming from my fingers or my mouth, Abs?” You tease against her pussy as she gushes down your wrist practically, lapping her juices up with your tongue and feeling it drip down your chin. 

Her strong fingers thread through your hair and practically have to rip you off of her once overstimulation sets in, toned thighs twitching, desperate to slam shut and hide her pussy away from you. You let her pull you off, licking your lips with a wicked grin as you hover over her.

She’s redfaced, skin glistening with sweat and she looks completely fucked out. It’s a good look on her.

“What’s the verdict?” You ask with a teasing lilt, watching as she huffs out a laugh with her chest rising and falling rapidly still.

“Uh… Might let you do it again” She tries to play it casual but you swat at her chest lightly and she quickly falls into laughter. “Fine! I loved it, 10/10, I’ll write a damn Yelp review if you want me to”

“Who the hell even uses Yelp anymore, damn how old are you” You tease, caressing her cheek. “Promise me you’ll let me do that more? No more hiding” Your voice is tender as you speak, eyes warm as you look down at her. Abby’s breath catches in her throat at the softness, the love she can feel and she nods up at you. “I promise. No more hiding away.”

[glowettee]

✧ how to reinvent yourself without deleting everything this summer ✧

hey lovelies!! WELCOME TO SUMMER! so i've been obsessing over this idea of reinvention lately... like literally woke up at 3am last night to jot down notes in my phone because my brain wouldn't stop thinking about it?? summer always feels like this dreamy little pocket of time where anything is possible... where you can try on different versions of yourself between iced matcha lattes and sunset walks.

i know we've all been there... that moment when you're scrolling through pinterest at midnight and suddenly you're like "what if i just... became someone else??" (guilty of creating entire secret boards dedicated to my "french girl era" that never actually happened lmao). but the thing is, completely starting over is exhausting?? and honestly kind of impossible unless you're in a witness protection program??

so this post is for my girls who want that reinvention feeling without the whole dramatic disappearing act. because honestly? the you that exists right now is already pretty magical, we're just gonna help her shine in some new ways.

✧ why gentle reinvention just hits different ✧

i had this realization while reorganizing my bookshelf last week (yes, for the third time this month, don't judge me) the most interesting characters aren't the ones who completely transform overnight. they're the ones who slowly evolve, keeping their essence while discovering new facets of themselves.

like, remember in "emma" when she realizes she's been in love with mr. knightley the whole time?? she didn't become a different person, she just finally understood something that was already there. that's the kind of reinvention i'm talking about: the recognition, not rejection, of who you are.

✧ actually magical reinvention tips that feel like character development ✧

digital presence evolution (without the cringe factor)

• create a finsta where you post the aesthetic you're curious about but not ready to commit to (mine started as dark academia but somehow evolved into cottagecore with a side of astrology memes??)

• change your social media bios to describe who you're becoming, not who you've been

• make an email signature that makes you feel like the main character (mine has a tiny moon emoji that literally no one has commented on but makes me happy every time)

• curate a new spotify playlist with songs that feel like your "becoming" soundtrack (tip: add one new song every morning as a little ritual)

• start ending your texts with a new sign-off or emoji (i switched from "x" to "✨" and now my friends get worried if i don't include the sparkle)

• take selfies from a completely different angle than your usual (overhead instead of straight-on changed my LIFE)

tiny identity shifts that nobody notices but YOU

• give a slightly different name at starbucks, not completely different, just a variation that feels like an alter ego (i use "amelia" which is my middle name and it feels like slipping into another dimension for 5 minutes)

• create a secret signature scent combination by layering two perfumes you already own (vanilla + something citrusy has main character energy, trust me)

• change your handwriting slightly, make your y's loopier or dot your i's differently (sounds so minor but feels so intentional)

• develop a subtle personal symbol and incorporate it places only you would notice (i draw tiny stars on the corners of important journal pages)

• start carrying something unexpected in your bag that represents your new era (i have a tiny rose quartz crystal that literally no one knows about)

• choose a "power color" you don't usually wear and incorporate it somewhere small every day (even just as a hair tie or phone background)

space magic that costs zero dollars

• rearrange your room based on the energy you want to create (bed facing the window changed my sleep quality so much??)

• create a tiny altar/intention space somewhere private with objects that represent who you're becoming

• switch up where you do everyday activities (i started doing my skincare routine by the window instead of the bathroom and it feels like a whole spa moment)

• change the scent of your space. different candles, incense, or even just boiling cinnamon sticks on the stove

• put up photos from a completely different phase of your life than what you usually display

• rearrange your books by color or theme instead of author (my shelf organized by "books that made me cry" vs "books that changed my mind" feels so personal)

• sleep on the opposite side of the bed or with your head where your feet usually go (literally changes your dreams, i swear)

style whispers that feel like screams

• start wearing your hair in a completely new way just one day a week (slicked back bun on tuesdays has become apart of my routine)

• change where you wear your everyday jewelry. ankle bracelet instead of wrist, rings on different fingers

• try "dopamine dressing" where you wear something purely because the color makes you happy, not because it "goes" with anything

• experiment with makeup placement rather than buying new products (blush higher on cheekbones or across nose bridge instead of apples of cheeks feels revolutionary)

• wear the "special occasion" clothes on random weekdays

• try to add one unexpected accessory to elevate basic outfits (a silky scarf tied on your bag handle)

• match your nail color to your current emotional goal rather than your outfit (blues for calm, reds for confidence)

routine alchemy that changes everything

• take a completely different route home, even if it's longer

• switch when you shower AND the temperature (night showers ending with 30 seconds of cold water changed my sleep quality)

• read the last page of a book first before starting it (chaotic energy but changes how you perceive the story)

• change where you sit in every familiar setting... different spot on the couch, different chair at the dining table

• set alarms for weird specific times (9:43 instead of 9:45) so you actually notice them

relationship refreshers that feel magical

• respond to texts with voice memos if you usually type (this transformed my friendship with my long-distance bestie)

• ask people completely different questions than usual ("what made you smile today?" instead of "how was your day?")

• suggest a different type of hangout than your usual (art gallery instead of coffee shop, sunrise instead of brunch)

• share something slightly vulnerable if you're usually private (i told my friend about my secret passion for astrology and now we have the best conversations about it)

• write actual handwritten notes to people instead of texting

• create little rituals with friends that feel special

• be the first to suggest plans if you usually wait for others (this tiny shift literally expanded my social circle overnight)

mindset magic that costs nothing

• choose a new word to eliminate from your vocabulary (i stopped saying "sorry" before asking questions)

• pick a new word to deliberately use more (i've been using "delightful" instead of "cool" and it makes ordinary things feel magical)

• create a secret personal holiday that only you celebrate (i have "manuscript monday" where i work on my secret novel for just 20 minutes)

• start a collection of something weird and specific (i collect interesting sugar packets from cafes and it makes every coffee shop visit feel like a treasure hunt + i get to discover new food brands).

i literally started taking a different route to my morning coffee last month and ended up discovering this tiny bookstore that's now my favorite place?? sometimes the smallest detours lead to the biggest discoveries.

the most interesting people aren't completely different versions of themselves every season. they're just constantly evolving.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

p.s. make sure to rest this summer, you're gonna need it <3

[toxileaf]

griefer has that gamer rizz

[Y0. C0M3 0V3R T0 MY CR1B. 1 G0T SNACK5.]

sent 30s ago

(1.1k words cross-posted to Ao3 || Griefer/Reader)

Looking up from your phone, you gaze back at the doorway in front of you, the entrance obscured with vines and leaves.

You've been here once before, for a vastly different reason than now. Now, you're stood in front of his "cribs" door not as an enemy, but as a friend. After a second of pause, you decide to make your presence known with a yell, seeing as there was no door.

"Griefer!" Shouting to the other side of the wall, you try not to sound too loud, lest you bother the Woodsmen. "I'm here!!"

A few thunks and bumps could be heard from beyond the vines, followed by fast the thumping of steps approaching the entrance right before Griefer pops out through the foliage.

"Y- Y0-!! 1- UH- D1DN'T 3XP3CT Y0U T0 B3 *THAT* QU1CK!1? I T3XT3D Y0U L1K3, 0N3 M1NUT3 AG0 DUD3...???????"

His clothes are messy, jacket haphazardly put on and belt halfway undone. Was he not ready when he sent the text?

"Of course I got here quickly, I've been here before!" I try to give him an easy smile, attempting to dissuade his tension. Maybe I should have waited a bit longer before fast-travelling here...

"?? THAT5 N0T WHAT 1 M3ANT?" He cocks an odd look at you.

"BUT W3LL- 1F Y0U W3R3 *THAT* 3XC1T3D T0 533 M3..." A wide smirk spreads across his face as he flushes and looks to the side in pride.

"H3H. 1'LL 5PAR3 Y0U TH3 3MBARRA5M3NT, PUNK." With the same signature smug swagger, he turns around and leads you into his place.

You take the time to give it a proper look, being unable to fully observe the place the last time you were here.

There's still the same likely-stolen card displays and posters on the wall riddled with grammar mistakes, but there's a rather noticeable decrease in the number of half-drunk or empty soda cans around the room.

It seems he pulled himself at least the slightest bit together after being cured from his Venomshank-induced affliction. It widens the smile on your face a little to know this.

"4LR1GHT, T4K3 A 53AT. Y0U W4NNA PLAY 50M3 BR1CKBATTL3 PARTY?" You look over to him to see him by a couch and TV set-up. It didn't seem new, by the look of the patches on the couch and fading stickers on the TV, but it definitely wasn't there before. He likely brought it up from his actual home.

Taking a careful seat on the couch, wary of any stains (which upon further inspection, the couch was surprisingly free of. maybe he just took it off some random person's doorstep..? the idea of GRIEFER having a stainless couch is impossible to you.), you take in the wide array of snacks on the coffee table. Including a good amount of The Special's... for some reason?

You remember giving a copy of the recipe to Mayor Thaniyel, just in case, but you didn't expect it to ACTUALLY be used.

...Did getting transformed back somehow make Griefer acquire a taste for onion rings and compost? Odd. So very odd. But upon looking over the other offerings laid out, any true discomfort is immediately dissuaded. You greatly appreciate the presence of a good pie.

Griefer hands you a controller, snapping you out of your thoughts. You take it, and he sits down right next to you, his own in hand. He's surprisingly close, actually. Maybe he just doesn't have many issues with personal space.

The two of you load up a party game and get to playing. He, of course, knows all the little tricks and gimmicks to get an edge over you in any competitive mini-games.

"L0L. G3T PWN3D N00B- 0H, H3Y, CH3CK TH15 TR1CK 0UT!" Griefer constantly showed off his skills to you, while you just smiled and nodded, asking after to show interest.

You didn't totally care about video games like that, but you liked seeing him happy. Everytime he showed you something he thought was cool, he had this adorable smile on his face... It made you happy as well. So you let him continue on.

Though there were no windows, you could see the time in the corner of the screen growing later whenever you hopped from game to game. But neither you nor him got much more tired, on account of the sugary snacks he supplied you two with since the afternoon.

Though, even though you could tell Griefer definitely wasn't getting more tired, you noticed *something* was bothering him. He would look away all awkward each time your eyes met, and fall into silence like he was thinking hard about something.

After a bit, it seemed like he finally mustered some courage, and he piped up with a stutter.

"..UH.. L- L00K..-!! 1 CAN D0 TH15 TR1CK W1TH 0N3 HAND!!!" Griefer keeps one hand on the controller, pulling off a "51CK 360 N0-SC0P3", while he swiftly slides his other arm around you, his hand grabbing your shoulder and pulling you in.

Being all the more closer to Griefer, you notice his skin flushing red, and could almost hear the pounding of his heart. It surely couldn't be the sound of your own, since it felt like it had stopped in your chest.

A heated silence passes, almost feeling like an eternity and a half, before he quietly speaks to you. The warmth of his breath hits the top of your ear, sending countless shivers down your back.

"UH.. Y- Y0U'R3 0KAY W1TH TH15, R1GHT..?" You finally notice your half of the split-screen is red, text saying you lost the round. It takes you a bit before you can gather yourself to give a response.

"Yeah-!! Totally! I- I like this!" You panic while responding, and you panic after responding. Why did you say it like *that*!?

While you're wrapped up in your own mortification, Griefer sets down his controller beside him, and moves in closer to you, both his arms now wrapped around your shoulders.

"TH3N.. L3T5 G0 FURTH3R, Y3AH?"

[HAHA FADE TO BLACK PUNKS im not writing smut jjst yet]

You slowly wake, trying to roll over in bed until you're stopped by something warm and sorta leafy pulling you in. Then you remember the bed you're in likely isn't yours at all, though you don't recall actually getting on the bed...

"Hngh... Griefer.." He greets you good morning by nuzzling his face into your hair, leaving kisses atop your head.

"Dude, gross... Your morning breath stinks.." You whine and try to turn away from him, right before he wraps his arms around you even tighter and his lips move down from the top of your head to your ear, giving it a small playful bite.

Writhing around even more, he has the audacity to laugh at your distress while you're captive in his arms.

"G00D M0RN1NG, BAB3..."

originally started writing this to write making out with griefer sloppy style but i lost the horny halfway thru so. another day it is. maybe i shall update with smut who knows but 4now this is all u guyz get. and i know ull eat it for u r starved,.,.!!! as am i. hence why i wrote this. lawlz.

[ellerial]

Robin looked over at Red Hood from where he was hunkered down on the rooftop. He sat unmoving with his helmeted head resting on the top of the raised roof edge. Robin couldn't tell if he was actually focusing on anything or just zoning out.

They had been on this stake out for over 2 hours, and he was starting to get bored. He double-checked the camera feeds set up around the supposed meeting place at the docks. No movement. All clear. He just wanted something to happen before he gave in to his urge to lay starfished on the dirty roof.

As if granting his wish, a bright green light flashed and crackled in an alley next to their building. An electric hum mixed with the cheery tinkle of silver bells followed by the scent of plastic burning had both Robin and Red Hood looking at each other before moving to investigate.

What they saw didn't make sense at first. A man with bright, nearly glowing white hair, Lazarus green eyes, and dressed in black overalls was drawing sigils in the air while facing the alley wall. Bolts of green and purple light danced across him as if he were a living Tesla coil.

He didn't look in danger. In fact, he was writing the sigils almost carelessly with loose posture as he hummed a song to himself, bobbing his head and tapping his foot.

It took Robin a moment to realize the song he was humming was followed by the Tesla bolts giving the same pitch. It was oddly enchanting.

The others were a few minutes out when the man finished his sigils. They spun and twisted, taking the electric bolts from the man, before warping into a floating circle that revealed multiple beams of light flowing quickly beyond the window. They felt chaotic and unstable, clashing against each other and sending sparks into the alleyway.

Hood signaled that he had alerted the rest of the team, and O had responded that she was picking up heavily corrupted video and slightly static audio from them, but nothing she broadcasted to them over comms was being received.

They waited for backup.

The man grinned and shoved his hands directly into the anomaly of electricity without a second thought. Hood and Robin had no more time. They made their move.

Robin leapt down into the mouth of the alley, blocking the strangers' escape into the streets while Hood blocked his way further into the alleys. The man made a high-pitched scream and pulled light out from the window, which sparked, stuttered, and promptly burst into a shower of glitter that dusted across the stranger.

"Aw, man. What did ya go and have to do that for? Can't you see I'm busy?" He moved to stick his arms back into the window before he paused and whipped his head to look at both of them with wide eyes. "Oh, fudgesicles. You're alive."

Robin raised an eyebrow. "Astute observation."

"No, I mean, I thought you were -" he paused before rubbing his hands down his face. "Nevermind. How can I help you... people?"

"What are you doing here?" Hoods mechanical voice demanded.

"Uh..." The man looked between his window and back at them before standing in front of it as if he could block it. "Nothing. Not me. Not doing a thing. Nope." The vigilantes just stared at him for a moment before he broke. "Working. What's it to ya, any way? Who are you people?"

"You do not know of us? You're in Gotham. How can you not know of Robin and Red Hood?"

"I only know one Robin Hood, and he steals from the rich. Ya'll thieves?" Robin bristles before Hood interrupted.

"We're vigilantes. This is our city. Now, what are you doing?"

"Vigilantes?" His scoff quickly turned into dismay. "Oh, fiddlesticks. You're the Lady's cauldron." He groaned and looked up at the smog filled sky as if praying for strength. "This is my fault. I should have verified your signatures, but you're some of the most liminal I've met in years. How was I to know?"

Hood and Robin just looked at him while he seemed to have a mini-breakdown before he started patting himself down and going through his pockets.

"Hello, local vigilantes." He read, "You may call me Phantom. I am the assigned mechanic to your universe, 3969-XDM." He gave a little wave. "I am currently running diagnostics and correcting a broken loop caused by an unauthorized temporal readjustment. Please allow me to complete my task before further corruption and failures develop. Feel free to ask questions after my mission is complete." He gave another smile at them before tucking the card away and turning back to the anomaly. His arms were already back inside as both Robin and Red Hood drew their weapons.

"Okay. This is fine. Totally okay." He began emptying his pockets at his feet. A hammer, a rubber duck, an Allen wrench, fake vampire teeth, a few batteries... was that an avocado? "Breaks every rule I was supposed to maintain, but c'est la demi-vie."

He exclaimed triumphantly as he pulled out a stack of index cards. He went through each one, "No, no, nope, definitely not. Aha!" He put the other cards back in his pocket before he took a deep breath, straightened his spine, and put on a smile that Robin might have seen Tim use as he went into a WE boardroom.

"Hey! Back away from the magical window."

Phantom frowned at them. "No. I told you I gotta fix this loop. The corruption is starting to cause issues." He narrowed his eyes at Hood as if sizing him up before nodding and going back to his task. "You of all people should want this fixed. That feedback can not be good for you."

Hood switched off his safety. "What are you talking about?"

Robin was just about to move forward when Batman landed beside him.

"Unknown, alias Phantom. Step back and stand against the opposite wall." Phantom gave him an unimpressed eye and raised a single eyebrow. Robin knew what his response would be.

"No." He retorted before he snapped his arms within the anomaly. The window gave a bright flash of light with a shower of sparks. The electricity hummed and danced across Phantoms form before settling into a soft lullaby. The energy within the window calmed and flowed gently. Phantom stood back, then clapped his hands, causing the anomaly to vanish in another shower of glitter.

As it vanished, Robin realized Hood had staggered and stumbled into the wall with his hand on his head.

"Hood!" Red Robin jumped down beside Hood hands hovering over him, unsure if Hood would accept any physical assistance.

"I.. I'm fine. I. I'm actually fine. What was that? What did you do?" Even with the distortion, Hoods voice was filled with awe.

Phantom had moved to lean against the opposite wall from where his anomaly had been. All his pocket hodgepodge was no longer visible. "I told you, fixing the loop. You were ridiculously affected. Mass amounts of feedback. Feeling better? Not so angy?"

Robin expected Hood to bite Phantoms head off and was thrown when, instead, he laughed. Hood stood up with the help of Red Robin. He took off his helmet, disregarding his brother and father's protests despite the domino he still had on, and grinned at Phantom.

"You have no idea. I was murderous all the time. I can finally breathe." As if to prove the point, he took a deep breath before laughing joyfully. Robin saw how this new laugh visibly shocked both Red Robin and Batman. "He cured the pit rage. Holy shit. C'mere." Hood quickly strode over and wrapped Phantom in a hug. "Thank you so fucking much." Phantom awkwardly patted his back.

"Eh, no problem, big guy. Glad I could help!" As they stepped apart, Phantom rocked forward on the balls of his feet. "So.... I'm gonna just go, now."

Batman took a step forward. "No. We have questions."

Phantom slumped and sighed. "Yeah, I figured. Ok, tall, dark, and brooding. Where ya taking me? I respectfully request to keep my purpose here limited to a small few as the knowledge can create another loop, and it's a pain in the ass to locate."

Batman nodded before gesturing to the batmobile that was rolling to a stop by the alley. Phantom looked mildly apprehensive before Hood moved up beside him and knocked shoulders.

"Don't worry, Phantom. What you did for me, I'll shoot pretty much anyone who'd wanna do ya harm. The old man included." Phantom laughed and let Hood guide him into the rear seat of the batmobile with Hood sliding in beside him.

Robin shook his head. He left Red Robin at the scene calling JLD to investigate. He had to race to his bike if he wanted to be there when this Phantom was interrogated.

[luguangssandwich]

I'm rlly tired rn so idk if any of this will make sense but I've done some sleuthing and rewatched the episode, now with the highly likely chance that Cheng Xiaoshi has dived back too. Hear me out:

Xiaoshi definitely did dive, and I think it started from the moment we saw his face in black and white at 4:59 PM:

And I think he stays until the Vivian arc fades out after they ran away (that was at 3:45 AM according to the clock in the room) I think he left as soon as they were safe and before the 12 hour limit passed. After that, he is back to the same, more naive and youthful person (who doesn't know about Lu Guang's powers) we have seen before the above. Everything he does in between those 12 hours is completely in line with his late S1 and S2 behaviour, I found it extremely uncanny and interesting to watch with this in mind!

Other bits that I found particularly interesting was the conversation after he pulled Lu Guang back to the studio. Qiao Ling asks what they should have for dinner and Cheng Xiaoshi suggests hot pot. We know this is his signature food, but I found Qiao Ling's response odd, because in the original Chinese subtitles she asks him if he's sick, because nobody eats hot pot during such a hot day. It felt odd because she made it seem out of character for him?

There's also CXS bossing Lu Guang around - at this point in time they know each other for a very brief amount of time, but the way he asks all these things of him feels like a future timeline in which they've already gotten extremely used and comfortable as partners and living together.

With this in mind, calling him "Guangguang" doesn't feel like it came out of nowhere anymore.

A few other pieces of dialogue I found extremely sus:

Even Lu Guang is surprised by his out of character behaviour at this point (but also vice versa!).

Now, the way he behaves during the date - I wouldn't say it's completely out of character for a future CXS to act out of his own wits. I don't think this guy's been on a single date in his life lol of course he would freak the hell out in such a situation, during previous dives he at least had the safety of possessing someone else. His empathy never fails so he tries to be kind and guide Vivian home, something a future Cheng Xiaoshi would do as well.

But what REALLY tipped me off is that there is no way a non-possessed CXS would've known that LG would know where he is at this moment in time, because he wasn't told until after this scene that he took a photo. I don't think the Vivian arc happened before (and it's possible it was triggered directly by the changed node when CXS dragged LG back to the studio). Cheng Xiaoshi had no idea Lu Guang would ACTUALLY SHOW UP IN PERSON tho (my guy at this point are u actually even surprised?) and probably just thought he'd call the cops, seeing how surprised he was at Lu Guang's appearance.

I'm gonna post the screenshot of Cheng Xiaoshi with golden eyes again because it really baffles my mind.

I don't know if any of this makes sense and I'd love to hear your thoughts!!

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Pixies - Where Is My Mind? 1988

"Where Is My Mind?" is a song by the American alternative rockband Pixies from their 1988 debut album Surfer Rosa. It is one of the band's signature songs and has inspired a multitude of covers.

The song was written by frontman Black Francis while he attended the University of Massachusetts Amherst, inspired by his experiences while scuba diving in the Caribbean. Guitarist Joey Santiago composed the song's guitar line. He recalled of his part, "This was actually the first thing I tried. A lazy arpeggio that instantly sounded strong and hooky."

After being featured in the 1999 film Fight Club, in which the song plays over the final scene, the song gained an even wider audience. It's been used in a multitude of movies and tv series, including Sucker Punch, Criminal Minds, The Tick, and The Leftovers. The 2009 film Mr. Nobody (one of my personal favourites) also featured the song. Maxence Cyrin's cover of the song has been featured on Mr. Robot and It's Kind of a Funny Story.

On April 13, 2004, NASA used "Where Is My Mind?" to wake up the team working on the Mars rover, Spirit, in honor of its software transplant.

In 2023, it was revealed that Francis' remark of the word "stop" at the beginning of the song triggered certain Google phones to switch off their alarms.

"Where Is My Mind?" received a total of 80,5% yes votes!

[giddyfatherchris]

📝skz reaction - doing the ‘me jalo’ dance trend

pairing. ot8!skz x gn!reader (individually)

type. fluffyyy

warnings. gender neutral reaader and obsessive daydreaming after imagining these scenarios :)

a/n. the specific context for this is that you’re kind of springing this on them so you’re getting a ‘raw’ reaction (pls let’s all remember this is made up stuff and we will never know their actual real reactions lol). also, writing this from the hole i've been hiding in, i hope you’ll enjoy iittt mwah x

a/n 2. if you haven’t seen this trend just look up ‘me jalo dance trend’ on tiktok or instagram

my masterlist

(pictures are not mine. credit to the owner!)

(divider credit!)

jeongin ⊹ ࣪ ˖ you know he knows the trend, but this is a test. will he stop what he’s doing to do this silly thing with you? the answer is inevitably yes. he would smile and cover his mouth while he laughs but he just can’t resist the sillies and does the trend with you even if it makes him feel kinda shy and embarrassed. so yeah he’ll do it but he does NOT want you to post this. which means that when you threaten to do so he will grab your phone and make silly faces to the camera before running away while you are seen chasing after him.

seungmin ⊹ ࣪ ˖ seung would be kinda reluctant at first. you'd set up the camera while he’s sitting cross legged with the biggest look of judgement. but lets not be fooled, he is on the internet and he recognizes the song as soon as the first notes play. you almost think he won’t get up to do it but once you start moving towards him he starts shimmying from the chair with a defeated sigh while you’re smiling so hard your cheeks might fall off and he is absolutely totally charmed. (he will do any silly trend you want to do just to see you smile like that) ((no he will never admit to it))

felix⊹ ࣪ ˖ he’s probably gaming and the point of springing this on him is to see if he’d stop gaming (his one true love) to do this with you. so you’d set up the camera, press play, rush to his side and tap his shoulder. he’d take his headphones off, his eyes still glued on the screen with a "what?" but as soon as he hears the song he rushes to do it with you, literally THROWING the controller away. he’ll be whining and feeling anxious about his ranking going down but there is just no way he wouldn’t join you. “using your power to do something so cruel is not right” he’d pout afterwards.

han ⊹ ࣪ ˖ he’d probably be drinking coffee and would look at you set up the camera with a confused expression. you’d push the start button and at first he wouldn’t understand. he probably hasn’t seen this trend yet or he just totally forgot about it but that won’t refrain him from joining you. when it’s his turn to get to you he'd do so with a cute smile and shimmy his shoulders with an unsure smile before he breaks into his signature loud laugh. and that's just the thing with han, even if he doesn’t get it you can always count him to join in your shenanigans <3

hyunjin ⊹ ࣪ ˖ as soon as he sees you coming towards him with your phone he knows something’s up. you'd refuse to answer him as he berates you with questions, demanding to know what silly video you want to film now. you just start the timer and look at him with a serious face while he keeps rambling like a drama queen because: one, you know he’ll get it and second, seeing him getting so worked up is incredibly funny to you. and just as expected, he'd recognize the song and immediately get into the rythm, doing this silly dance trend with his years of dancing experience in tow. “you didn’t think i would remember uh, uh??” he’d brag and taunt.

changbin⊹ ࣪ ˖ you’d probably be working out together or you’d be watching him work out until you get bored and feel like annoying him. he has dumbells in hands and a focused binnie face but when he recognizes the trend a huge sweet smile splits his face and he does it with you, dumbbells still in hands which is kinda impressive ngl. he will def make that face where he opens his mouth with a quirky expression and looks all cute and shit and you just meeeeelt and giggle and you realize you should have known better than try to annoy him because that's (almost) impossible to do.

lee minho⊹ ࣪ ˖ your phone is set up and the timer is going when you (literally) drag him into view. of course he looks like an annoyed kitten but he’s not running away so there is hope. he gives it a very minimal effort when you first go towards him but the excitement on your face, your enthusiam and the way you shimmy your shoulders inevitably make him laugh and so when he goes back in your direction he’s laughing and shimmying as best he can since he doesn’t even know the trend. you'd very openly laugh at his moves until he'd scold you for making fun of him "hey it's your stupid trend!!" and go after you as you run out of frame.

bang chan ⊹ ࣪ ˖ he would be in the middle of chatting with han when you put down the camera and start the video. han would ofc immediately flee so he’s not caught in your shenanigans. chan is sooo confused at first, he’d probably look at the camera with an eyebrow lifted up, unsure smile on his lips. but when you shimmy towards him he immediately starts laughing and starts moving his hips in a very mid imitation of a latin dance style before awkwardly shimmying towards you (he doesn’t really know the trend but he’s trying his best). “im proud of you old man! i didn’t think a grandpa like you would know this” you say with a taunting smile. “you little-“ and in a second you’re trapped in his arms, probably to be thrown over his shoulders as he puts you in air jail.

[animeyanderelover]

There's no greater experience than having an hour break in university and trying to write something. I'm sorry for not answering requests but I actually like to put more thought behind them than just simply trying to get something out there. I've wanted to do this for a while now anyways. Those are my two favorite characters from this show so I wanted to write for them.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, stalking, threats, violence, guilt-tripping, manipulation, threats, violence, death

Yandere Hc's

Wednesday Addams

𝓦What a child full of woe she is indeed. Here Wednesday is the one who has always been judging her parents for their nauseating ways of doting and loving on each other in ways that didn't feel good only to wind up the same way. Perhaps it is just a family curse which has found its way to her at last. Wednesday always thought that she would be the one who would swear all love off yet here her black heart is trying to claw its way out of its cage whenever you are around. She almost feels alive when she is around you and that is deeply disturbing in all the wrong ways. Yet she never utters a single word of it to anyone. No one must find out. This is a weakness she is not fond of and Wednesday Addams very much hates having a weak spot. Anyone else might be able to brush it off as a silly, little school crush but Wednesday knows somehow better. She doesn't just let anyone earn her loyalty and trust but those who do are usually the people she would go to great lengths for. This is so much worse though. She didn't let you in. You have wormed your way in like a parasyte. It's almost admirable how you did it without even trying but that is also where the silent torment lies.

𝓦Her stare is pretty much her signature and you find it a lot on you. Unblinking as always. You might think she is plotting murder. You're not entirely wrong. Wednesday is technically plotting. Just not murder. She's analysing. She's inspecting. She is learning. Her obsessive curiosity whenever a mystery presents itself is not exactly unknown and that principle can be very much applied to this. For someone normally so detached romance is a riddle she is now being forced to solve and understand. And Wednesday? She picks up on a lot. Little ticks and habits you do, often even without you being aware of it. She sends Thing to follow you around whenever you are gone, unwilling to take the risk of doing it herself and be spotted by you. It would be humiliating to say the least if she would let herself be reduced to some lovesick fool who clings to their subject of obsession. She cannot stop the process that has already begun unfolding. Wednesday knows that she is doomed to rot now. However, if she does she will do it as coldly and as calculating as she has always done. Control is the word to use here. She will show restraint where her parents never ever did.

𝓦You'd have better luck convincing her to cut off her own tongue and nail it on the wall than to have Wednesday ever admit that she is jealous. Jealousy is the beginning of emotional decay and she will simply not let that happen. However, it would be one big lie to claim that she is even remotely unbothered whenever you spend your time with other people. There is the death stare of hers again whenever that happens. Yes, this time it is a death stare because what she is scheming now is not nice. Others may simply say that some people are just nice to you but Wednesday doesn't believe that. She doesn't believe that niceness is sincerity. People who are nice usually always have ulterior motives. Normally she sends Thing who will then set up an accident to stop this horrible sight that has her itching to stab her own eyeballs out. In only very few situations where no other options are available will she see herself forced to pop up behind your back and stop this herself. Wednesday isn't nice. She never pretends to be. Well, you know how she is so you can expect that her sharp tongue coupled with her glare will soon scare away anyone who she categorises as an unpleasant variable.

𝓦Wednesday is morally ambiguous, to say the least. She tolerates few and she respects even less. If someone is in her way or if someone keeps important information from her she resorts to rather extreme methods to get what she wants. That is precisely what makes her so terrifying. She doesn't see people. She sees threats and if necessary she will resort to elimination. In terrifying and horrible ways as she is desensitised to violence and gore that would have normal people sick to their core. Now, she isn't a savage of course who just runs around with a gun and shoots anyone in sight. Wednesday is very much like a dagger. She is precise and cuts effectively. Fear is often the first step if there is someone who lands on her list. Warnings written in bleeding ink where she describes in vivid detail what exactly will happen if something should happen to you can do a terrific job in frightening someone and motivate them to never get close to you again. If something should happen to you though an unfortunate accident might just befall the culprit. It is best to not make things personal with Wednesday or otherwise terrible things will follow.

𝓦Wednesday requires her own privacy. She is not like her mother and father who couldn't spend even a day away from each other. Yet protective surveillance is always going to be ensured. Thing is always offering a helping hand. Her visions too provide a good way of keeping danger away from you if she should ever have one where you get in danger. Is this concerning? No, not at all. Wednesday rationalises it. She always does this. This is just to prevent anything from happening to you. Prevention is simply more effective than a cure after all. She doesn't enjoy the thought of harm coming to someone that she has silently claimed in her mind as hers and that is very much why she does the things that she does. The loss of control is always a fear of Wednesday. She would hate if something were to happen to you because deep down she would silently label it as her own failure of not having thought ahead enough. You might not understand. Maybe you will never be able to fully understand why Wednesday does the things that she does. But your own feelings will have to be put aside as Wednesday has clear priorities. Yes, she is a close friend of death. But she prefers you alive and breathing.

𝓦She considers her point of no return when the morbid poems of love begin. Initially she doesn't let anyone see them. It is her only way of expressing what she simply won't be able to express in words to anyone else, not even to you. Eventually she dares to send you a few of them. Never all of them. Only a few chosen ones. Written in elegant handwriting and tugged away in a black envelope with only your name written on it. Always tugged away in hidden spaces in your room or places where you like to spend some time alone by yourself. That is her affection. It is quiet, sometimes cold but very invasive at times. Wednesday will only openly tell you that she loves you very few times but when she does speak it, she means it. When she finds herself brooding with thoughts about you, she sometimes starts playing her cello. Her fingers move on their own and she ends up with her own melody for such times. It's in a way a song composed for you and eventually you learn what it means when the eerie melody echoes through the silence. She doesn't coddle. She never does. Wednesday offers truth far too harshly at times but if there is anything that endangers you, she will have it removed.

Tyler Galpin

☕︎Tyler I simply find fascinating to observe through the lenses of a writer for dark romance. On the outside Tyler is pretty much the perfect boyfriend package. He's sweet, he's soft-spoken, he's caring and he always considers your thoughts and opinions first. Yet there is something or someone else on the inside. A lot of suppressed rage, trauma and something monstrous, figuratively and literally speaking. In this context I simply have to label him as emotionally unstable as he and the Hyde don't speak the same language. Not at first at least. Now, Tyler is aware that with the current situation that he has going on love should really be the last thing on his mind. He has enough on his plate already, desperately trying to balance between a normalcy he craves but can never have and the control that Laurel has established over him via torture, violence and drugs which forces him to follow her commands. Perhaps this is a reminder though that despite everything he is still just a teenager who has just been handed the worst cards possible in life. A monster in the forests when Laurel orders him to be but in town a boy struggling to deal with his first love. And dear lord, does he fall fast.

☕︎It starts out as something very genuine. Tyler knows he shouldn't risk it but unfortunately the heart just wants what it wants. Whilst it looks sweet, it turns into an intense attachment over time. Tyler gets hyper-attuned to all of your emotions. If you're happy then he's floating. If you're depressed or even wind up crying he is spiraling and tries everything to fix whatever it is that is causing you to feel this way. Technically speaking there is nothing wrong with putting your partner's needs before your own. Tyler puts your needs as his first priority instead of his own though and there lies an issue that has never been fully explored even by Dr. Kinbott. The sad truth is that he is far too used to people leaving and abandoning him through no real faults of his own. Even Laurel who he genuinely believed wanted to help him for a certain time turned out to have motives that simply involved using him and now he can't even do anything about it anymore. This is the first situation where he actually has the chance to hold the wheel himself but that is what causes him to clutch it far too tightly. Tyler is controlling too. But he does it with soft words, clinginess and gentle manipulation.

☕︎It feels wrong. He wants to trust you. He does trust you. The horrible feeling is still always there in his gut though. An acidic twist in his stomach, his heart suddenly in his throat. It's overwhelming and difficult to navigate through all of the feelings that always burn within his chest. And he cannot even tell anyone about it. He doesn't want to come over as someone who is horribly jealous. What ends up happening is that Tyler attempts to outshine the rival. He buys you your favorite snacks, he brings you coffee, he compliments you a lot. All with that sweet smile on his face only mildly twinged with nervousness. Sometimes he might also let a passive-aggressive comment slip out but that's all he dares to do. Because Hyde? Hyde doesn't understand jealousy. What he does get is rage and he understands that jealousy is the emotional trigger of it. No further context is needed. It's a terrifying feeling when his heart starts pounding not with fear but with a fury Tyler can't even hold back as it isn't even fully his own. It brings forth one horrifying realisation though. And that is that Hyde starts responding to something that isn't Laurel's command.

☕︎Tyler is already a killer. Not by his own choice. But because he has been brainwashed and enslaved by Laurel who has made her own plans to ressurect Crackstone and for that has decided that Hyde is going to kill people for her. He knows what he has done when he wakes up covered in blood and is completely naked but he can't remember. Perhaps that is the last crumbling wall he has as he doesn't recall how he has done it. Until those dark instincts start to seep into his mind when he observes you. When people get too close his hands start twitching. When someone speaks wrong of you Tyler experiences tunnel vision and he swears that he starts smelling blood even though no one is bleeding. His mind gets hazy and his heart starts drumming violently within his chest, each heartbeat screaming "mine, mine, mine". Most terrifying of all is that he doesn't even realise it when he zones out. There's a pulse behind his eyes and an itching beneath his skin as something else is watching. It is eventually only a question of time until Hyde breaks out and protects and defends his territory the only way he knows how. With claws and teeth. And worst of all? That's the first time Tyler remembers.

☕︎Sometimes that thought does cross his mind though it isn't really his own. The idea to simply take you and keep you somewhere for himself where he can protect you is disturbingly tempting in some moments but simply not possible. It's not something Tyler could justify either even with those other thoughts in his head. So he never acts on it. He can't control if he acts on it in his Hyde form though as feelings and instincts heighten then. Hyde though doesn't act on them either as if begrudgingly acknowledging the not so ideal situation either. Marks of ownership are still made from both sides though. Tyler has an odd tick of keeping you for prolonged times in his rooms until his sheets smell like you. He constantly lets you wear his jackets or shirts, the sight oddly calming for him. Hyde might leave claw marks on trees on the paths you take that take you close or even through it at times. You might even notice dead animals placed deliberately on your path like sacred offerings in a language spoken by predators and monsters. One side claims you through clingy touches and the other through violent protection. The best of both worlds, innit?

☕︎The bond is for both sacred though. For Tyler you aren't just a silly crush. You are an anchor and the one person he eventually ends up orbiting around to a dangerous degree that dives into open dependency. He's almost perfect but incredibly fragile. He answers texts within seconds and if you don't respond to his within minutes the messages and calls quickly pile up because he ends up assuming the worst. He doesn't simply falls in love as much as he spirals into you and the most tragic aspect of it all might just be that he doesn't even resist it fully. And then there is Hyde. To Hyde you are neither prey nor threat. You're other. You're mate. A mate must be protected. A mate must never be let go of. A mate is sacred and to be worshipped in the most violent but reverent ways imaginable. This puts you in an incredible possession as you are even out of Laurel's touch. You are the blind spot, the one person he would never harm even if Laurel were to tell him to do so. It transcends the bond forged through pain and torture with one forged through something much more ancient and primal that rattles both boy and monster to the marrow of the bones. But it also unites them, at least in that aspect.

[quinnynation]

the first of many,, first kisses with bonedo ! headcanons

park sungho :

sungho knows he wants to kiss you as soon as you arrive at your date. he's known for awhile that he likes you, but you look so...incredible, and the way you're being extra attentive to his day and interests just seals the deal to him. so when you linger at your apartment door for a few moments too long? yeah, he takes the opportunity; carefully leaning down and using his slender fingers to lift your chin before interlocking his lips with yours.

"you don't know how long i've thought about doing this." he'd whisper as the two of you break apart for air, sending a chill up your spine that practically begs you to go back for more.

lee riwoo : 

riwoo, bless his heart, is a nerve wreck. he wants to kiss you, more than anything in the world- but god he is shaking so badly and stumbling over every sentence he attempts to utter.

"are you okay?" you'd ask, genuine worry lacing your tone as you tilted your head. riwoo would go bright red, stammering about how he's fine and not to worry about him- his eyes betraying him by glancing at your lips for just a moment too long.

that's when you know what he's so nervous about. and thus the teasing begins, getting just slightly too close to his face- lingering for a moment before pulling away.

it isn't until the end of your date that you finally kiss him, feeling all the anxiety physically melt off his body as he slowly wraps his arms around your waist.

myung jaehyun : 

oh my sweet loverboy myungjae <3 jaehyun is the kind of guy to lay his head on your shoulder/chest during a movie, listening to the melodic sound of your heartbeat against your ribcage.

thump, thump, thump.

it almost, almost, lulls him to sleep. the sight of your sleepy puppy crush fuels you with a bit too much cuteness aggression- which results in you peppering the top of his hair with kisses. he almost immediately becomes a puddle of giggles as he pulls you into a tight hug.

it's only natural that when your shared giggles die down, a soft kiss is shared.

han taesan : 

listen...taesan really tried to play it cool. like...he really, really, tried.

but the look you give him when he arrives at your apartment fifteen minutes early? yeah, he knows he's cooked.

taesan tries acting cool as you invite him to lay on your bed while you finish getting ready, but being surrounded by your decor, the lingering smell of your shampoo and signature perfume? yeah, he's not just cooked...he's charred.

"dongmin? are you okay? you're quiet." you ask, looking at the man who was sitting on your bed through your vanity mirror. dongmin's eyes go wide as if he's been caught with his hand in a cookie jar, "m' fine." he mumbled, looking anywhere but your eyes.

you'd squint at him, trying to analyze what it was that was actually troubling the man. only to come up empty handed.

"you look really pretty." taesan would comment as you applied your lipstick/gloss/stain/etc. you'd glance up at him through the mirror once more, a soft blush sprinkling over your nose. "you look really pretty too, minnie." you smile back

it doesn't take long for him to work up the courage to kiss you after that- playfully pouting when you scold him for smearing your lip product.

kim leehan :

leehan...my sweet, slightly social-cue-lacking, leehan <3 either he has no clue that you've been trying to kiss him for the past 4 hours, or he's playing hard to get.

and judging by the way he's still talking about his newest tank's filtration system-- it's the former. he's just going on and on, that enthusiastic twinkle in his eyes shining bright as ever; you listen- or at least pretend too.

don't get me wrong, you love hearing about leehan's fish. the ideas he has for new tank landscapes, the ups and downs of figuring out the perfect filtration system but...today, today you've had it.

you want to kiss this man, so bad. so finally, you bite the bullet and just admit it outright- "hyunnie, i love you- and your fish- but i've been trying to kiss you for the past four hours." your tone might be blunt, but you aren't attempting to be mean in the slightest. just very very honest.

leehan would blink in surprise before his nose and eyebrows crinkling together in confusion..."you have?"

you nod, a breathy laugh escaping you. leehan would blush, a mixture of love and embarrassment sitting prettily across his face. he'd lean in, placing a quick- but meaningful- peck onto your lips before uttering, "you could've just asked, y'know."

kim woonhak :

oh woonagi <3 sweet, inexperienced woonagi whose first (and fingers crossed, last) love is you. he spends weeks running a game-plan in his head, with the "help" (endless teasing and mindless bickering) from his hyungs.

however, when the cafe the two of you were meant to have lunch at closes early due to an electrical issue- and it starts pouring, thanks to the forecast falsely promising "sunny skies"- he realizes quickly that he should've planned for the unplanned.

because now the two of you are sitting inside a convenience store, soaking wet and sharing a ramyeon...which isn't very convenient for kissing. no pun intended.

don't get him wrong! he is having fun, because your there and despite being soaking wet and cold- you're still hilarious.

it's just...not the most romantic place to kiss.

does that stop him though? no. no it does not.

your kiss is shared inside a 7/11, over a 1 dollar cup of ramyeon. "sorry about the...lack of romance." he'd laugh as he pulls away, scratching the back of his neck. you'd wrinkle up your nose in laughter before leaning in to press another kiss on the edge of his jawline.

the first of many.

this isn't proof-read so it probably sucks but y'know ! you live laugh and learn, or wtv the sign at hobby lobby says.

[regretisstoredintheme]

Hi!👋

I noticed your requests were open and I'd like to put my two cents in.

I was wondering if you could write all the rise boys (separately) trying to comfort their S/O on their birthday bc they get birthday blues (feeling really depressed during and/around the time of their birthday).

If the request doesn't interest you or for any other reason feel free to ignore!

[It's my birthday today and I've been experiencing birthday blues so :(, but regardless I wanted to step out of my comfort zone and build up the corage to submit a request! ]

Stay hydrated❤️

A/n: YOU ALSO STAY HYDRATED!! I’ve actually been using an all-day water bottle consistently! Anyway, I wanted to give this request PRIME importance due to it being time-sensitive, unfortunately that does mean it’s got less effort in it 😔 ALSO Happy birthday! I’m sorry it’s been blue :(

—

Warnings?: None, but this is set after the movie!

Rise!Turtles X Reader with Birthday Blues :(

-

Raph

- “Happy birthday!!”

- He immediately notices how your smile doesn’t meet your eyes.

- He quickly stops in his tracks, his brows furrowed and eyes wide.

- Raph asks if something’s wrong, but tries not to push if you’re not ready to tell him.

- I feel like he’d be entirely understanding, he’s probably found himself being bit blue on his own birthday when he was younger (despite being red) due to feeling he always has to be selfless

- It’s a weird spot for him, he feels almost like he’s comforting his younger self— he tries to think of what he wanted to hear back then

- he gives you the BIGGEST hug, practically lifting you off the floor

- doesn’t let go until you start pulling away

- “Well, this is no good!” His mood shifts as he sets you back on your feet, he’s determined to cheer you up.

- He’s ready to do whatever you want to do!! Today’s supposed to be fun!

- Go out? He’s taking you to Albeartos! His treat!

- You want to stay in? He’s surrounding you in his teddy bear collection, holding you in his lap and putting on your favorite movie.

- If you want to talk about it, he’s all ears, he’s happy to listen, no matter the reason for the blues, or whether there’s no reason at all, he’s there.

Leo

- He clocks the mood before he even WALKS in the room

- He was ready to turn up the fun, hell, he has maybe 20 gifts to give you!

- but seeing how you stared blankly at your phone, he can’t bring himself to turn up the charm

- Walking into the room, he’s got his signature smile on, but hes not gonna avoid the elephant in the room.

- You’re barely able to greet him before he’s scooped you up right off the chair.

- he only speaks after your surprise wears off

- “So what’s got mi vida down?”

- he decides this is one of the only moments where he can’t take no for an answer.

- I think he would also understand how you feel, but more in recent years rather than childhood. (After the events of the movie)

- He’s eager to distract you if that’s what you’re looking for— fun activities till you pass out kind of distraction. hard core. high energy. because that’s what he does on his birthday! Always works!

- If that’s not what you’re wanting, he’s more out of his element, but he would do anything to put a smile back on your face.

- Anything.

- If you wanna sit with him and talk about it, he’s there to wipe your tears away, to cheer you up with stupid jokes, or even just let you know he understands

- I don’t know if he would let you know about his similar experiences? It depends on how long you’ve been dating, he wouldn’t just bring it up, you’d have to ASK him if he’d ever felt that way before

- and he hesitates, but nods. He needs you to know you’re not alone, he knows that feeling too well.

- because you’re not alone, and neither is he, and he’d be damned if he lets you believe it differently.

Mikey

- He woke you up with breakfast, singing your praises and smiles and cheer — but he noticed the melancholy way with which you held yourself when he gave you his happy birthday wishes.

- Dr feelings has been summoned!

- He may not be a licensed professional, but he is your boyfriend, and his main priority is to hear anything you have to say.

- his gifts and plans for the day can wait!

- He encourages you to talk about it, “it’s not good to hold these kinds of feelings inside!”

- He hasn’t personally felt birthday blues, but he does have empathy for your situation.

- He asks you what you’d like to do for your birthday, and whether cheering you up would even work or not.

- He’s at your beck and call for ANYTHING, what you say goes! But he does have a few suggestions!

- Mikey suggests making you dinner, reaching out to friends and family and telling them how you feel about your birthday, maybe even playing games together and staying in.

- He feels like talking about it more with other people as well as himself would broaden the support, and help even more, because it’s likely that those who love you aren’t even aware of how you feel about it!

- He won’t drag you around to talk to them, but he’s well aware there’s only so much he can do by himself.

- He wants to help you feel your feelings, he’s not here to force you out of your shell.

Donnie

- I imagine Donnie is the type of person to try and impress you at every opportunity. He’s here, he’s there, he’s buying— nay, MAKING you a new dress or suit for the occasion.

- so when you sigh to yourself, he whips around to see what’s wrong.

- “What was that?” He folds his arms, brows furrowed and eyes attentive.

- Deep down he was a little worried he didn’t go big enough with his celebrations, but with explanation, he quickly diverts from that thought process.

- he feels a little awkward with himself, he is NOT equipped for this sort of thing

- He references Dr feelings in his mind for how he should be comforting you

- After a long moment, he asks what would make you feel better, as strained as his voice is

- he’s so bad at comforting it almost makes you laugh— but he eventually sorts out his own weirdness with being vulnerable.

- because he’s your boyfriend! Boyfriend stuff… he signed up for this..! yeah! He’s got this! He’s totally got this.

- he’s back to his charismatic mood in no time, an emotional learning curve is no match for his expertise!

- he sits you down in his room with mood lighting and soft music (a playlist he made just now because he only listens to ear-bleeding shit)

- he offers you to use his advanced gaming tv on his beanbag at your disposal. he has any game you can imagine on there— not because he has every game in the universe, but because he pirates any he thinks you MIGHT like.

- He tries to remind himself he can’t just fix the situation like he might fix programming, or an invention, or a router..

- but he wants to.

- You can see it in his hopeful expression any time he brings you a snack or sits beside you.

- Deep down, he does wish he were better at this. Because dammit, he loves you, so much, and he would fix everything in the world for you if he could.

—

Taglist: @cheesecrackerssoup @yourlocalartsonist @neon-obsessions

A/n: I’m SO SORRY this was so late :( the moment I saw this request I was writing as much as I could, but I was wrapped up in a family event! I hope you like this, and that maybe it was a little comforting. It might be ooc because it was rushed?? But thank you SO much for requesting, anon, I’m glad you got up the courage to :(

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hey how are you? I was actually curious how the characters' main writing was like. I remember that Harry makes his "i" like Lily's and Ron has a bad writing but I don't remember well for characters like dumbledore, Snape, Malfoy...

Hi, I'm doing pretty good, swamped with uni, but I don't have much to complain about.

Luckily for you, I actually have some notes regarding canon character handwriting. These notes are from supplementary books (Fantastic Beasts & Tales of Bettle the Bard) which actually have the character's handwriting in them. Along with some quotes I found about character handwriting.

(Also I'm not using signatures from the movies)

Harry:

'She had made her “g”s the same way he did' (DH) - Harry's handwriting shares some letters with his mother's handwriting. Notably, the "g".

Ron:

'Ron’s untidy scrawl' (CoS)

 'said Ron, scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible' (CoS)

'Harry stared at the word “Pig,” then looked up at the tiny owl now zooming around the light fixture on the ceiling. He had never seen anything that looked less like a pig. Maybe he couldn’t read Ron’s writing' (GoF)

Hermione:

'Harry could make out Hermione’s neat writing' (CoS)

'And Hermione’s done four feet seven inches and her writing’s tiny' (CoS)

Dumbledore:

'Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before' (PS)

'The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar' (OotP)

'thin, slanting writing on the parchment' (HBP)

'were five words written in the thin, slanting handwriting that Harry recognized as Dumbledore’s' (DH)

McGonagall:

From the actual HP books we get McGonagall's handwriting as well, due to her signature being on Harry's Hogwarts letter:

Snape:

Thanks to the HBP book, we also have some notes about Snape's handwriting:

'and yet his writing was minuscule and cramped' (OotP)

'cramped handwriting' (HBP)

 'Although Harry had offered to share his book with both of them, Ron had more difficulty deciphering the handwriting than Harry did' (HBP) - I take this to mean young Snape had tiny handwriting and that might be slightly similar to Harry's own (hence his ease at reading it).

'I think the handwriting looks more like a girl’s than a boy’s' (HBP) - assuming the handwriting is small and has some flourishes. (I kina imagine Snape's and Lily's handwriting is similar, which is why I think Harry's handwriting is a little similar to the Prince's)

Hagrid:

We also have some notes regarding Hagrid's writing which is nearly eligible.

'even a scribble that looked as though it was from the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid.' (CoS)

'He recognized the untidy scrawl on the brown paper at once: this was from Hagrid' (PoA)

Tom Riddle's:

'Riddle’s reply came quickly, his writing becoming untidier, as though he was hurrying to tell all he knew' (CoS) - meaning his handwriting is quite tidy usually.

(On an unrelated note since I've been searching for mentions of writing in the books I encountered this line in PS:

Harry cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote

Considering we all talk about Harry's gold cauldron, I think we need to talk about Harry's color-changing ink. More cute Harry additions to Fantastic Beasts since I found them adorable:

The kid's adorable, I don't understand how the Dursleys could keep hating him, my boy.)

Edit: I got my hands on the 2017 edition of Quidditch Through the Ages, so I have more handwriting to add for anyone curious:

We've got in this photo: Ron (with comments), Neville, Susan (with comments), Hermione, Padma, Earnie, Melicent, Hermione again, and Draco.

(I'm not sure who commented on Ron and Susan's names as I don't recognize the handwriting. These are two different commenters I belive, due to how they write their 'S' and 'i'. The 'stinks' next to Ron's name might be Bulstrode as the 's' and 't' are a little similar)