#but I don't go thinking that means the people who do get it are wring

[lasnevadaslaborunion]

I genuinely do love the prison arc and find it fascinating and I wish it was easier to find content and analysis about it that didn't veer to any of the Very Not Fun extremes

[lillithhearts]

Can I please request Alastor who made a deal with the reader? Kinda how you did with Vox. Alastor tries to keep his pride only to be put in place by the person in charge of the deal. I love your writing btw 💕

Alastor x Reader ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

OHHH YEAHH LETS GO

Warnings : not proofread, Exercising of Power imbalance

Reader in gender neutral!

Your pet was getting unruly, and needed a tighter leash so you came directly to him; without telling him beforehand. Dusting off your sleeve and clearing your throat you put on your best nice smile and knocked on the door; hearing a few voices start to react you hummed; the talking quickly came to a stop as you heard the knob turn. Then you heard his voice; a quite well hidden hint of fear in his voice as he ushered this girl away from the door; he insisted opening it and he did

"Ah! Hello friend! What may I do for you?"

You held back a laugh watching the bead of sweat dripping down his forehead; his cute little ears pulled back as you watched him almost snap a piece of the door off. You welcomed yourself in and looked around; uttering not a word to the Radio demon as you greeted the other residents; you heard a grumble from Husk and a static screech from behind you; the last thing Alastor wanted was you hearing something disrespectful. Especially since he can already tell you're in a bad mood. You watched the others observe you trying to understand why Alastor was so insistent on talking to you and him being the only one to.

You then turned on your heel, faced with the demon as your smile turned sinister; he could see the veins popping in your temple as you jerked your head to the side

"I'm gonna have a private talk with our dearest Alastor, I hope that's okay"

You then walked off the tall sinner right behind you; he was already starting with level headed apologies and explanations as you admired the decor in the hotel, humming along as your heels clicked on the hard floor. Alastor felt more uncomfortable by the second at your silence and passive body language after a while longer of walking you finally stopped; turning your head around to check if anyone had followed you.

"so you find this tacky hotel and suddenly you can do whatever you please?"

"by all means no!..I thought—"

Alastor's head throbbed in pain as his body was slammed into the ground, chest starting to heave as his eyes filled with alarm and fear, his clawed hand gripping the chain he was all to used to.

"you don't think you do as you are told, I thought you said you were a great listener."

Frantically looking around Alastor tried to find an excuse, something to say; anything to say but nothing came to him and he knew nothing was worse than anything; he clenched his jaw as it was grabbed by your hand; a gentle yet firm hold, you cooed at him; tilting your head as you stood in front of the kneeling man, you spoke softly.

"you're my favorite, and you are quite the sight for sore eyes; so, I'm giving you a warning and if you ignore me again-"

You kneeled down to him as tugged on the chain, a sadistic grin adorned your face as you booped Alastor's nose

"that chain will wring your neck in two."

"acknowledged.."

"Great, You are always so obedient."

You released the trembling overlord and ruffled his hair as you walked past him

"go back to your little friends before they get worried."

With that you were gone; a mocking laugh trailing after your presence. Lurking and watching for even the slightest mistake.

Authors note : idk how I feel about this 😮‍💨

Does anyone else get nervous when they talk with people who don't follow u 😭😭 like I low-key know it doesn't matter but it makes me insecure 😭😭😭

[theysaidhush]

I need more hard thoughts about CatHybrid!Jungwon fucking the shit out of the reader with a very dominant Jungwon

Who's in charge ? Jungwon says

Okay no but for real, Cat!Won who's the nicest hybrid ever, you wouldn't even imagine that he can be that mean.

Not proofread cuz I'm still a lazy ass, feedback help us keep going !

Basic trope because those are the best, you adopted an hybrid, thinking that you could change someone's life, and you end up feeling like you are the hybrid.

When you welcomed Jungwon into your house he was nice, sweet cuddly and respectful. But once he understood that you weren't going to let him down or return it to the shelter ? Boiiiii. He's a cat what were you expecting ? If you really wanted a cuddly bubbly and talkative hybrid you would have adopted a dog !

So Cat!Won who know don't give a fuck about privacy or such things anymore. But don't get me wrong, he's still the sweetest boy ever. He's just letting you know that you don't own him, he owns you. He's not living at your apartment, he's just willingly sharing his new home with you. And if he don't like something you cook ? He'll not throw a tantrum, he'll just get up and cook something else - and it's even worse, the feeling of embarrassment spreading your body as he's looking at you while slurping his ramen, because you feel like he's judging you as in "It's been a while since we started living together and you still don't know what I dislike...". And you're pretty sure he rolls his eyes when talking to you. Well, when you're done scolding him for eating the last packet of ramen without telling you and that he's leaving to nap near the window. He's bratty, you know it, and you din't really wanna do or say something about it because you like it - him - tat way. Your house is lively.

But once, you made the mistake to bring a friend home. He was maaad. But sweet kind of mad. Smiling with hypocrisy while stroking his head on your cheek, playing with your finger and napping on your lap. Your friend definitely felt like a third wheel. It was awkward, and your cat was mad when they left. Didn't even asked to you for hours because "How could you bring someone at my place without telling me ?" Talk about being way too comfortable.

But what made him lose his mind was the collar. In here, you live in a society where hybrids need to go out with their owner with a collar blablabla the classic trope. And he was oddly quiet. Followed you without complaining about the warmth, the sun, the people, the smell. It was a first ! And honestly it was refreshing too. You love your boy.

And he loves you too. So so much, that he can't stop stuffing your pillow full of his cum, head buried in your covers as he's whining and pleading for someone- Not someone, for you to help him. And you're standing at the door, mouth wide open at the prediction you found your cat in, and you can't even babble something cuz he has already pushed you on the bed.

"Ah fuck- Y'ou so good f'me..." Jungwon whimpers, a hand in your hair, forcing your head in your pillow, drenched in a mixture of saliva and semen. And Jungwon can't help but close his eyes, afraid that the lone view of this would make him cum: your face flushed covered in his cum because of how he played with your cushion while you were away.

His fist grips your hair tighter, a groan bubbling inside his throat at the mere thought tat you left him at home, alone, while he was suffering and begging for you to come home, jolting when his hand stroked his hard dick because of how sensitive he was. And you were outside, not giving a bit about it - he small part of him, one that was incapacitated at the moment, could still tell that you were unaware of what was happening. It made his blood boil, and his guts spin and wring with a delicious pain that made his head roll backward.

"But you're still trying to be good for me huh ?"

He nibbles on the back of your neck before wrapping his fingers around your throat, using it as a lever to press your sweaty and naked body against his. Vaguely, though being in the dark, blindfold rubbing against your skin each time you move, you can feel, quite literally, what he's doing to you. And it's even better. It seems like each stroke of his fingers against your skin is a hit to your G-spot, each kiss, or bites, is a promise of a wonderful orgasm, and yet all of this is nothing compared to the caress of his tail against your private part. His fluffy member which roam around your body, discovering new territory before landing on your clit, adding pleasure to the slow in and out of his fingers. And it's a thousand time better, because you feel the urge to do something, to scratch the sensitive part, but you can't. You can just whimper, curl your toes, and feel the knot in your stomach tighten.

And even his your body and your mind is screaming at you to just let it go, you've learned your lesson.

"Wanna cum ? Wanna cum so bad, right ? Oh you're so pretty- Wanna see you cum..."

Even when ravaged by the heat of his instincts, Jungwon can hold on. Just a bit more, because he wanna see you fall appart on his cock, want to see you admit, to hear you admit that you were, since the beginning-

"Yes yes yes please ! I- I'm just your-" A slow stroke to your G-spot empty your head and for a minute you forgot what you were about to say, what he wants to hear. But again, the firm grip of leather around your throat is a quick reminder "I am- I am your pet, Wonnie~!"

[shaisuki]

“what's your favorite color?”

megumi asked you, out of the blue. the child sitting beside you while you both looked at the people passing by. his legs swinging a little.

“let me think. it's mmm...”

megumi looks to his side. studying your face while you think of your favorite color. your lips quirking to the side, eyebrows furrowed up. when you reached your answer, your face lightened up.

“blue. my favourite color is blue, megumi.”

“why is that?” he asked once again. your eyebrows raising. megumi never asked for trivial questions such as where do babies come from or something simple as what's your favorite color but the boy's asking and you're more than willing to answer him. an attempt to connect with you and you smiled softly at him.

“it's reminds me of everything that makes me happy, megumi. the sky, the sea and it's the color of his eyes...” megumi gave you a confusing look when your voice died down at the last words.

before he can ask anything again, a annoying, all-too familiar voice interrupted him.

“hello, my two favorite creatures.” slinging his arms in megumi and to you. giving you a large smooch in your cheek and gojo looks to the side. a huge grin breaking out in his face and you swore you never seen megumi so scared before grabbing gojo's blindfold to stop him from terrorizing the poor child.

“satoru, i swear. megumi's going to kill you in your sleep—one day. stop annoying the child.” you warned to him, wringing his blindfold which made him wince from the pain.

“such a meanie—(y/n)!” he pouts, pinching your round cheeks — his cold, long fingers squeezing the flesh with no remorse. this is revenge and seeing you wince, eyebrows knitting in pure annoyance earns the biggest smirk from him. gojo would relish it for a little longer but seeing megumi sending daggers to him made him stop.

“phew. that was tough.” gojo casually began. attempting for the conversation to divert — feigning innocence like he didn't hurt your cheeks and ignoring megumi's glare at him.

“that hurts, satoru.” rubbing the sore spot in your round cheek. you'd be lucky if it didn't bruise. that would really be a pain in the ass.

“it wasn't that hard!” he retaliates. defending his own doings and you just shake your head. arguing with him would be pointless. knowing how gojo never back down. no matter how stupid it is.

“never mind. gumi you want to get ice cream?” pointing out the ice cream truck and megumi nods.

“what about me?!”

“satoru, you're an adult. get it on your own.” reaching out for megumi's hand in which he gladly accepts. his smaller hand holding yours. walking away from the white-haired male wearing blindfold with megumi in your grasp.

you gulped, looking at the corner of your eyes — only to find gojo standing and silent and him being quiet staring at you and megumi, there's chaos brewing in that brain of his and it's never good. it means trouble and despite the park having a fairly amount of people, it's no question he will be doing it.

in which you prepared for the worst. maybe, you can escape it this time.

“megumi.” you call out to the boy. responding to you with a hum. “prepare yourself. your other guardian is going to cause trouble again.” you whispered to him and megumi sweats a little. knowing how this one will end up. could he just have you as his and tsumiki's only guardian? not that troublesome adult who didn't seem to grow up—maturely. beggars can't be choosers or something like that, he knows he owe it to the man but sometimes he don't know how much longer he can endure it. megumi's glad you're around to balance, keep him calm but it never lasts.

you both turned around, and gojo seems like a statue standing there while watching you both and in cue, “run!” you told megumi. bolting to find a place to hide or escape and hoping you'd lost that boyfriend/troublesome idiot of yours.

with you and megumi holding your hand for dear life. yeah, it would be the death of you both if that idiot caught you two. you'll die of embarrassment.

then a full chase began around the park and with lessons yet still to learn and will never be taught. you forgot how gojo's long strides are and with the speed with you and megumi running in even at the headstart. too worried about the shenanigans gojo will bestow to you both.

“gotcha’ (y/n)-chan.” he said in a sing-song voice and adding the chan when teasing you and you felt yourself being lifted up with no chance of escape and you let go of megumi's hand.

“run, gumi!” you told the kid in which he reluctantly obeyed not wanting to leave you but knowing you, he ran in a safe distance watching as you squirmed at his other guardian who won't give you any mercy.

“satoru! put me down this instant!” in which gojo didn't comply. holding your middle with both of his hands while he spins you around. making you squeal and you swear you could feel the stares of multiple eyes.

“nope.” gojo flatly declares.

even with your weight, he still make you feel like you were the lightest person on the planet.

megumi watched in the distance, sitting in one of the tree roots sticking out in the ground. he could feel the annoyance creeping up on him but seeing you happy made him happy too. the annoyance barely affecting him while you laugh at gojo. he can hear the laughter and the cries you were making for the man-child to stop and megumi relished on that. he couldn't help but to feel a little upset about gojo, the man who stopped for letting him get sold by that so called family of his. he knows you and gojo had a life before him but seeing gojo takes all your attention away from him. he simply couldn't help it.

you gave him and tsumiki the utmost care, the unconditional love, making they were satisfied and making sure their wants and needs are met. catching the responsibilities they shouldn't be doing at their age for them to have a normal life. always going for the extra mile to have them taken care. you became the mother they never knew they needed. of course, that weird guy also gave them with the same amount of love but it would never match it with you.

with a plea and string of praises. of course, you complied. you didn't know if you could take more. face hot with embarrassment and your dress in a bunch. crinkling in the corners and you sighed looking at them. “you're the great and handsome gojo satoru! i love you with all my heart!” you shout earlier. never you thought you would stoop that low and just to feed his ego. you're not going to survive another whims he'll whip up. you were glad megumi's not part of it.

there's the casual silence, followed by the small bites in the ice cream you three bought. sitting in the bench under the sky with the soft breeze blowing.

“it's good?” you asked megumi and the boy looks at you and nods. bringing back his attention at his ice cream and you look at the man beside him. contentedly humming while he feasts on the cold treat.

“you got stain here, gumi.” swiping the boy's cheek with your thumb and he stops for a moment for you to clean it properly and goes back once again and gojo seeing it and being the jealous one. he accidentally smears the ice cream in his cheek. “mou~ (n/n) — i think i have some too.” he pouts and you look at him with “are you serious” look. knowing damn well it was intentional. he only smirks and points his cheek to emphasize. someday, you're going to have the chance to slap him, just once.

he leans down to you closer, dangerously close while you hold his jaw to avoid unnecessary movements and for you to wipe the sticky liquid in his face. “done.” you says and there's a cold sensation in your cheek. this bastard.

you decided to be the bigger person today cause if you fought back. there's a full on wild goose chase again. it couldn't be help. you accepted this idiot and you won't be leaving him anytime soon with megumi and tsumiki now in both of your lives.

you three sat there. watching people passed by with ice creams in your hands. it's a cool, windy day under the blue sky.

it felt like it was yesterday. the days and years passing in a blink of an eye and it slip backs into his memory why he asked you what's your favorite color. blue. you fondly told him that with a smile gracing in your lips and that is only memory that stuck him.

under the blue sky. the sunny days. where everybody is basked in it's warmth. the vastness of the blue sky and how it always be a reminder of the happy days. it's always brought a smile to your face, he would remember and he would smile too —a little.

he can't find himself to he happy nor feel a little joy under this weather. droplets of rain falling all over the road, the roofs and the cold wind blowing. puddles of water surrounding the area and he understands why such joyous moments only happens in a warm, sunny day with the blue sky—no clouds.

megumi didn't know what losing someone felt like and he got the first taste of it when tsumiki got cursed and now yours — it was different.

it felt like a ton of bricks and stone is put on him. he feels numb despite of it. he couldn't believe it. how could this happen? you were strong. that's why you survived for so long, enough to see him grow up to be the man he is now today but death's hand is unstoppable. the greatest power on earth couldn't prevent it.

he refuses to see your body laying down in the table. what's bright and warm smile you always give to him — it's gone. replaced by a cold and lifeless expression in front of him. he says he needed to see after all, to see is to believe and he wish he didn't.

the white blanket covering your body and he don't know if he'll cry or not. it's too much. gone too soon and what of your passing to his sensei.

gojo remains silent. the most silent he ever seen him. of course, the loudest he was is when with you. the banters, the witty remarks, your laugh, the squeals when he does something stupid. megumi knew gojo didn't need comfort, not from him. knowing that the cure for that pain is you . he's fighting his own battles too and despite what he felt for the man in his younger days, he still owes him. his life to him and to you.

with no parents stepping up and leaving them to fend for their own. you both came. remembering the day where you scolded gojo to never say anything stupid enough to spook them. he was first to be graced by your smile that day. assuring him that he and tsumiki will be fine. jabbing at gojo telling him that they were going to be fine and it was more than fine.

he couldn't ask anything for more and when the heart could no longer carry the heavy burden of you being gone. his eyes speaks for what the heart can't carry no more. excusing himself leaving the man who you deeply loved more than anything in the world and with the door closing. his eyes opened for the tears to fall.

he's no better than what's megumi feeling right now. fuck, didn't he just promised that he'll protect you so what the fuck this happened.

he wants to scream. curse every living person. his knuckles turning paler than it is — gripping his hair that it'll rip off. you were supposed to be coming home. alive and well. breathing with his name the first thing you'll say and you'd given him the most tight embrace you could muster. “i'm home, satoru.” you are never coming back home.

this is his reality.

he went to approach your body. you look so different. there your face. it was the most brightest when you smiled, laughed even, cried when he's teasing got overboard. he wouldn't get used to this. he needs you laughing and smiling. tell him you love him — that he's an insufferable asshole — that he's your idiot — that—that you're afraid of losing him.

he examined your face, from the shape of your eyes, to the roundness of your cheeks, to the fullness of your lips. you were still his. you look peaceful and he don't want that when you're laying in this table with the mountain of corpses who has been previous laid here.

he wants to see your eyes again. staring right back at him with much adoration and annoyance. he would tease you for hours for the reason your favorite color is blue cause it was the color of his eyes. he can't miss that what you'd told megumi that day. blue makes you happy. his eyes, him. he made you happy and that's important right? he made you happy with the duration of your life with him and that was meant to last for a lifetime with him but it's not going to happen.

he grasp your hand. it's hard and cold. no life and warmth in those hands. the very hands who tenderly cared for the siblings — the very hands who held him every night — that hands that cups his face and you would tell him straight in the eyes that you love him — so — so — much.

“i love you too, (y/n).” he says. slipping the ring he got after the day you both adopted megumi and tsumiki. you're both officially guardians to two children and that means a new start for a family. he didn't know what possessed him that day to get a ring. you're both young with the future ahead of you. it's seems unclear and yet he still got that. one day — one day. he will put that ring to your finger with a promise that he'll annoy you for the rest of your lives together.

he didn't even get to propose to you. always waiting for the right moment but never came and he thinks this is the right moment. he wants to laugh for how stupid he was. the ring would be nicely suited to your ring finger if you were still alive. a promise to spend the rest of your lives together and he can't do that now.

he kisses your forehead one last time before covering you with the blanket. this is goodbye, he guesses. he thinks you're in peace now — no pain, suffering. no one's going to harm you. you're at peace. he told himself.

no amount of grieving will ever rid the pain you inflicted with your passing to the both of them. with the heavy rain pouring.

there will be no promise of blue sky, after this.

[oceansprompts]

text message prompts

[text] You okay?

[text] GO TO BED!

[text] hey you better be alive in there

[text] SOS save me please holy shit

[text] call me this date is going so bad

[text] I have way too much shit to do.

[text] Honestly I'm really worried about you.

[text] Why are you trending on Twitter?

[text] Please let me come over and pet your (pet).

[text] We are in the same building, you could come talk to me.

[text] It's not going to work out.

[text] This is a terrible idea.

[text] people have fetishes

[text] They really do crucify anyone these days huh

[text] I don't know why but that really means me want to stab you

[text] That movie was awful.

[text] For the love of god please help me

[text] I fucked up. I fucked up really bad.

[text] I'm blocking you.

[text] YOU ONE BRAINCELLED BITCH

[text] I regret swiping right.

[text] Everyone lies on their dating profiles.

[text] That absolutely can't be an actual picture of you.

[text] This forced open my third eye and I saw the devil

[text] I'm like a child in line for the newest fucked up disney ride

-

[text] That's just all fucking sorts of fucked up

[text] Why are we here? To suffer? Every other day I get messages that cause pain

[text] In the department of old man fucking, we've got you beat.

[text] have you gotten any work done?

[text] I am beyond shame, try again

[text] You left your left your underwear at my place.

[text] Don't you dare put this on Facebook.

[text] My brother in Christ you're being haunted

[text] I want to wring you like a wet towel and slap you against a wall

[text] The mind is weak but the body is funky

[text] I'm a zombie the law can't stop me.

[text] Jealous of my massive honkers

[text] We left you to die to play minecraft

[text] She would never ever take away one of these stupid fucking hats

[text] I puked all over the Uber driver's backseat.

[text] I just took a screenshot of that and posted it to Reddit

[text] You said you'd be right back and it's been months.

[text] Can't we talk about this face to face?

[text] Yeah, you'll come learn I just have a thing for milk

[text] Why did you like one of my pics from 2014?

[text] Now's as good a time as any to exchange nudes.

[text] Why would you send me an eggplant emoji?

[text] I write five paragraphs, pouring my heart out, and all you reply with is k?!

[text] Who would dare to lie on the internet?

[text] When I die, please delete all my shit off the internet

[text] He's so hot, I briefly started texting like a straight person

[text] And because I'm god and I've decided that; no, in fact, I'm not done.

-

[text] I know you love bloopy reggae jams, now is not the time.

[text] You better not be standing catatonic in your room again.

[text] God has abandoned his children but unfortunately for you I pay child support and I will smite thee.

[text]: My neighbor just told me he can fix my water heater for 50 bucks. I’m skeptical.

[text]: Do you have any idea how much it costs to buy apples? I paid 10 dollars for 6.

[text]: I mean, I wouldn’t say I have a problem with buying Squishmallows..

[text]: Hey, so you know how you told me no dog? *sends pic* I don’t do well with no’s.

[text] Stuart Little is a bitch and Remy could take him any day.

[text]: My roommate just said that Lola Bunny is hot. I’m moving out.

[text]: Hey I posted that vid of you drunk, singing Ariana Grande, wearing all black and people said not to do it again. Sorry.

[text]: Do you think the price is ever right? Like, I feel like it’s not.

[text]: I booped your nose. Boop the last five people you texted or–nothing happens really.

[text]: I’m actually in the ER and it’s a long story that involves Best Day Ever from spongebob.

[text]: I fucking hate you–wait you’re not my ex. Who are you?

[text]: You ever ask yourself if birds see a bee and just go ‘wow a bee’? im high.

[text]: sometimes all i think about is–sour patch kids. bet you thought it was you.

[text]: I love you—not as much as I love my dog. But still a lot!

[text]: I found a cat on the way home and now it’s mine. But it hates my guts so this should be fun.

[text]: I have questions about the marvel cinematic universe…how long do you have?

[text]: why do donald duck and winnie the pooh not have to wear pants but other people do?

[text]: Hey you know that show floor is lava? I may have turned the apartment into that..this isn’t a joke, btw. the floor is sticky.

[text]: I bought too much soap off etsy and now I don’t know what to do with it…I smell like Captain America.

[text]: On a scale of one to ten, how many drinks would you need to sleep with me? This isn’t a tiktok trend…or it is.

[rocketbirdie]

Arrrghh. People are finishing up Rebirth and looking up the different localizations, and the inevitable wave of hate for the English version is starting to gain traction again just like with Remake. I guess I just get super defensive about it because I have worked on large translation projects before, and it's not as straightforward as players seem to think.

It's not like the good ol' days of "This Guy Are Sick." They don't write the JPN script first, and then just send it out for translation anymore. Nowadays the different language scripts are all written simultaneously, with the teams working back and forth together, to check over each ofher's work and make sure that no one sentence is under- or overshooting a goal. Like it or not— everything is checked over and approved.

There's a lot more being translated than just words. There's so much to take into account— tone of voice, the cultural context, the lip sync and corresponding length of each line (which isn't allowed to run over by more than 0.2 seconds which is CRAZY). It's a messy process and it's a lot of goddamn work.

And then there's the audience, too. Different languages' audiences are often going to have wildly different interpretations of a character. A really good example from FFVII would be Yuffie. In the JPN version of the OG, Yuffie is written to be a confident girl who's dead serious about her ninja training. The ENG translation didn't do that justice... she instead comes off as a silly annoying kid pretending to be a ninja. Remake's DLC was testing the waters to see if they could write Yuffie in a way that's still faithful to both of the strikingly different regional perceptions of her character. And they nailed it.

The same thing happened with Cloud, and continues to influence the way he's written in the Re-trilogy. It's much more subtle than with Yuffie, but it's still noticeable, and I think it's why a lot of people get up in arms about his dialogue.

Cloud has always been written as having a stark disconnect between his tone of voice and his choice of words. It's just that the two major languages get it swapped! JPN Cloud has a harsh, mean tone, but his choice of words is polite and easygoing. On the other hand, ENG Cloud says a LOT of nasty shit out loud, but his true feelings are betrayed by his soft voice and gentle body language.

The difference goes unnoticed by the average player who isn't so invested to give a damn. But if you're actively searching for "bad translations" to get mad at, then you'll find them where one version's Cloud comes off a bit too strong. It's only natural that English Cloud is the one that pisses people off more often— after all, he's literally saying stupid shit to to piss other characters off constantly. His character is so convincing that players want to reach into their screens and wring his neck, and I think that's glorious.

But that's why it upsets me to see people turn that frustration at the localization teams. They didn't "ruin" a character's dialogue— they were just barely able to make something work, all things considered. Character, line length, culture, story context, facial animations, voice acting, for MULTIPLE languages, like... holy shit. It's a miracle that most of it is really really good, and that the bad is only a little bit bad.

Idk where this rant is going. Just... c'mon people. Have some respect for such an insanely complicated art form.

[fili-urzudel]

A Kiss Hello - Fíli x Reader

Hey guys, look who keeps overcommitting :D

Anyway how about instead of any of the requests I have in my inbox you read a short piece I wrote in November 2022?

Word Count: 0.7k

Warnings: none

Fíli had always thought it was a bit of a strange greeting and goodbye. One kiss to each cheek, your hands easily resting on his shoulders to pull him in. You told him it was normal where you came from, and he supposed he wasn't one to tell you you weren't allowed to practice your culture near him.

It helped that he didn't exactly mind. You had lived with them under the mountain for years, and he was still the only one left with a burning face and butterflies in his stomach once you were out of sight.

"Fíli, this is getting ridiculous," Kíli sighed goofily as they traversed the halls of the mountain, trying to find the longest and most time-consuming route to their meetings. "I can see hearts in your eyes whenever she's around, why don't you just... confess?"

"Because I'm not you, Kíli," Fíli said, a bit agitated. "It's expected of me to find a nice dwarrowdam and settle down, keep our people happy. I can't just... just..."

"Just be happy with the woman you so obviously love?" Kíli interrupted, seemingly unfazed by his brother's sharp words. "You're free to make your own decisions, but I can promise you will live with regret forever if you don't do something. And soon."

Fíli looked slightly up at his younger brother. "What is that supposed to mean? What do you know?"

Kíli shrugged, eyes trained on the path ahead of them. He wasn't smiling anymore.

"Kíli!" Fíli felt his frustration rising, and with it, panic. What was happening? What were you going to do? "What, is she going to leave?"

Kíli only looked at him.

The golden prince's heart sank.

Was it his fault?

Fíli paced, wringing his hands, in the marketplace you always seemed to find yourself in, sometimes to sell, sometimes just to shop—oh, how he loved how vibrant you were when you shopped with him.

At this point, his heart was no longer in his stomach, but his feet. He couldn't stand it if you left, all because he chased you away, all because he was stupid and didn't know when to admit it—

"Y/N!" He interrupted his own thoughts, seeing you draw near. You held the basket you always used when shopping, the one he bought you in one of the towns you stopped at, before Erebor had even been won. It was looking a little worse for the wear, but you refused to give it up.

"Fíli!" You called back with a smile, but your eyes looked strained.

He wrestled with his brain, trying to figure out what to say first. His words became an incomprehensible knot. "Are you leaving?" He blurted. He just... he just really needed to know.

"Yes, actually, I am," you admitted, gazing at the floor. "I figured... I don't know, I think it's just time," you nodded, mouth twisted in a sad smile. "I hope you won't miss me too badly."

Fíli's heart raced. "Actually, if I could—"

A voice called out to you, and from the looks of it, it belonged to the head of a caravan you were looking to travel with.

"I'm so sorry, it looks like I have to go," you apologized, moving forward to bid him goodbye.

First, it was the right cheek, and as you moved to kiss his left, he turned, catching your lips with his.

The contact was fleeting, you startling back, flustered. "Oh, goodness, I'm sorry—"

You were still only centimeters from him. "Don't go," he murmured, moving to kiss you again. He didn't want to leave any doubt in your mind—that was not an accident.

His heart fluttered as he felt you kiss back, tilting your head as his hand rose to cup your face.

"I won't," you said as you pulled away, hot breath fanning across his face.

He felt eyes on the two of you from all sides. There would be no hiding this, no killing rumors or trying to keep a secret. "Good," he said, his lips still almost touching yours.

He had always liked your goodbyes, but this new beginning was much better.

[coraniaid]

I guess I'm running the risk of sounding like a broken record at this point, but I don't think I'll ever not be deeply depressed by the way so many people on here talk about Joyce Summers.

I mean, I'm just thinking out loud here, but.  Maybe the reason that Giles was much more immediately accepting of Buffy's identity as the Slayer than Joyce was might have something to do with the fact that Giles has been training to be a Watcher for over three decades when he first meets Buffy? That his family sat him down and explained to him that vampires were real when he was a child, and that he's had over thirty years to get used to that fact? And that he is in fact literally paid to train Buffy and mentor her and prepare her for being killed in the Cruciamentum after she turns eighteen and he helps rob her of her powers her destiny? 

Whereas Joyce learns about the reality of vampires and Slayers and the supernatural for the very first time while in a state of extreme emotional distress, only hours after discovering that her daughter is wanted by the police for murder, and in circumstances such that Buffy simply has no time to sit her down and explain things in more detail in the manner they would both want?  Which is a turn of events that can be attributed in large part to the fact that Giles himself repeatedly told Buffy that she couldn't possibly tell her mother about vampires, even after (1) a vampire attacked her in her own home (in Season 1's Angel) and even after (2) the vampire Buffy had been dating, who had a standing invitation into her house, lost his soul and started going after the people closest to her, people explicitly including Joyce. (And note that Giles never offers a better argument for not sharing this potentially life-saving information than Xander's "the more people who know the secret the more it cheapens it for the rest of us".)

I mean, I know you're all pretty wedded to the popular competing theory that it's because *checks notes* Giles is a perfect dad who Buffy should have been much more grateful and sympathetic towards while Joyce is an evil bitch who never once did a good thing for her daughter (and Buffy must be stupid for ever thinking or saying otherwise), but the problem is that that theory is … uh, bad, actually.  Really incredibly cartoonishly bad. And dressing it up in pseudo-progressive language doesn't make it any better.

Wringing your hands over how poorly you think the show writes middle-aged women as if there's simply nothing to be done about it except conclude that they are indeed horrible people (and maybe give them some completely new flaws the show never did), while at the same time you write endless hagiographies and apologia for the show's canonically terrible (and often just as badly under-written) men is definitely a choice though.

And yes, it is definitely true that Giles matters more to the story of Buffy the Vampire Slayer than Joyce does. It is clear that the writers care about him more as a character than they care about Joyce, and that he is consistently used in a metaphorical way that Joyce normally isn't. At best you can perhaps argue that Joyce exists to vocalize and reify Buffy's own lingering desires to be seen as respectable and 'normal', but I don't think this is a reading the show ever commits to in the systematic way it does the Mind/Heart/Spirit reading of Giles/Xander/Willow. But on a less metaphorical level, thinking about the different characters of the show purely as distinct people in their own right, nothing Buffy says or does ever suggests she cares about her relationship with Giles more than her relationship with Joyce. Quite the opposite, in fact.

[eomayas]

love without tragedy • jww

pairing: mafia!wonwoo x f!reader

genre: angst, mafia au

synopsis: what is it called when he wont be your boyfriend but acts like he is?

warnings: swearing. mean wonwoo. toxic realtionship. reader is in her early twenties, its unspecified how old wonwoo is but he is older. reader slaps wonwoo

a/n: helloooo i cant get wonu out of my mind so here is a little drabble. he is really mean in this story but thats not how i see my man its just for the purpose of the plot 😭💕

the look he's giving you is enough to make you tremble. you've never felt fear around wonwoo—his job is inherently scary and dangerous, but you've never felt fear of him, though right now that is being put to the test. a cold shiver runs down your spine as he stares at you from across the room. you wish there was an island of distance between the two of you, and not a measly coffee table.

"w-we were j-just dancing," you try, wringing your hands together in front of you. he scoffs through his nose and smirks, but its not sweet. there is malice behind it, like he thinks you're pathetic.

"that's what we're calling it?"

sure, maybe you did do more than dance with jun. maybe he had his hand on your leg and you let him inch it up your dress. and maybe you let him kiss you a couple of times. and sure, they were on the lips, sometimes on the neck. and maybe jun ran in the opposing gang in the city, so you made yourself and your fathers mob a target, which inherently puts wonwoo in the middle of it as well. but can he really blame you? wonwoo won't go out with you, always says its not safe for you to be seen with him. what he's really saying, is that he doesn't want your father—his boss—to find out.

wonwoo stares at you, his nostrils flared and his jaw set. whats making all of this worse, is that he hasn't even yelled yet. anger is practically seeping from his pores, but hes not yelling. "well, you wont go out with me!" you exclaim, throwing your hands up.

"so you go and fuck around with somebody from the other side, all because i wont take you out?" he scoffs at you again as your bottom lip trembles. "you really are a spoiled brat, you know that?"

"don't call me that," you frown at him and he shrugs at you, unfazed by your emotional state and the words he's saying to you. other than the fact that you were kissing the opposition, you don't know why he cares so much—there are plenty of other men that work for your father that can handle this.

"its what you are—you think you can have whatever you want, whenever you want," he says bitterly.

your frown deepens, and you almost threaten telling your father, but you know he'll just call you childish. its what he always does when you two argue about something stupid and you pull the dad card. "you're not even my boyfriend, so i don't know why you give a shit," wonwoos nose twitches at the B-word, and you know you've struck a nerve. if theres a couple ways to get under his skin, its to threaten him with your dad and point out the truth to him. "im not yours to worry about. there are plenty of people who do that anyway."

when he doesnt say anything, you keep going. "and so what if jun is with the other side? he doesn't seem to mind being out with me—something you can't handle! you won't even be my boyfriend, so what i do, and who i do it with, is none of your fucking concern."

"watch your fucking mouth, y/n," you're visibly taken aback at his words and his tone. wonwoo rarely, if ever, swears at you. he'll swear in your everyday conversations, but its never towards you. not even when you swear at him, like right now, does he ever do it back.

staring at him with wide eyes, a million thoughts race through your head, the first one being: when did i start being afraid of him? "dont talk to me like that," you say, a slight tremor in your voice.

"don't pull that card now, you've been cussing at me all night," wonwoo spits, puffing his chest out. "that's that spoiled brat shit i'm talking about! you think the entire fucking world revolves around you, but it doesn't!" you can't handle his sudden change in temperament, and your hands ball into fists at your sides.

"quit fucking talking to me like that."

"i'll talk to you how i want to talk to you-" the slap happens before you even realize what you've done, your feet carrying you over to him on autopilot. its not until you pull your hand away from his cheek that you register what you've done, the hurt on his face.

anger flashes on his features, and you have a split second to panic. you tense up, waiting for him to yell at you, but instead he only takes a deep breath and shifts his gaze away from you. "wonwoo..." you whisper, bringing your finger tips up to touch your lips. a red mark in the vague shape on your hand spreads across his pale cheek, and you swallow the lump in your throat. "wonwoo, i..." you trail off, because you don't know how to finish that sentence—you are far from sorry, feeling vindicated because, in your eyes, he did deserve it.

wonwoo runs a hand over his face and opens his mouth, but rethinks and closes it into a thin line. shaking his head, he shrugs on his jacket and grabs his belongings from your coffee table. he slips past you wordlessly and your eyes trail him as he walks out of your apartment, a sort of darkness settling over the room as you're left to stand alone.

wonwoo doesn't call, and after the fifth day you start to lose your mind. the day after the incident, you hardly thought about him, and when you did, it made you angry. the second day, you started to feel his absence, but it wasn't nearly as violent as it feels right now. the tears started on the third day, and haven't stopped. its only now that the guilt has settled in, your dry phone practically taunting you every time that you touch it.

"kwannie, i miss him!" you moan, burying your face into a pillow and letting out a scream. your best friend, seungkwan, gently pats your head and you sigh, turning your head to the side to look at him. "do you think he'll call?"

seungkwan presses his lips into a line and glances around his bedroom. "y/n, you slapped him," he reminds you, making you wrinkle your nose. "and you haven't apologized yet. i would't want to talk to you either."

"okay, but he deserved it! he was being disrespectful!"

"but you put your hands on him. you should have let, like, mingyu or somebody—if not your dad—deal with him," seungkwan says, referring to another one of your fathers men. and seungkwan is right; even though mingyu and wonwoo are friends, you know that his loyalty to your father comes first, which means that you come first. any of his men could have handled it adequately.

sighing, you sit up and hug the pillow to your chest. "he is so..." you groan into the pillow and hold it there for a few seconds. wonwoo is a piece of work. he's quiet and hard to read at times, and can't always give you a clear answer on what the two of you have. he says things that hurt your feelings. but he's also a confidant, your protector, while being something similar to a boyfriend. you trust him more than you trust yourself at times, and sometimes what you feel for him is so intense you wonder if you're making it all up.

its hard to trace when your realtionship with wonwoo began. you've known him since you were 20 years old, him appearing seemingly out of nowhere one day when you came home for a weekend in college. he introduced himself politely, but hardly asked about you or offered any information about himself. you went back to campus with your brain on him and him only. it wasn't until that summer that you saw more of him, but you two hardly interacted. he was always around but never quite where you needed him. your paths hardly ever crossed, unless it was the rare times you happened to be passing by him in the hallway or kitchen. a few months later, when you were home for winter break, you ran into him early in the morning. you'd just come back from a work out and ran into him in the kitchen. he was leaned up against the island, tapping away on his phone and he looked up when he heard your footsteps. you spoke first, saying good morning and asking him how he’s been. he returned the conversation and from there, every time you saw him you two at least spoke.

from then on, you exchanged numbers. he’d text you sporadically, checking in on you and asking you about your classes, life, etc. the texts turned to phone calls, late into the night when you were tucked in and he was just getting home from whatever job he’d finished. he never really told you what he did, but you knew. when you’d ask, he’d just say he handled something for your father, almost like he was trying to protect you from his reality, but you knew—you’d grown up around this lifestyle from birth. the calls started getting longer too, going from ten minutes, to thirty, and then for an hour, sometimes more. you’d talk about any and everything, so late into the night that you’d hardly get sleep sometimes, nearly missing class or dozing off during lectures. but you didn’t care, as long as you got to talk to wonwoo.

for spring break that year, you didn’t plan to come home, having plans to go out of town with your friends. b ur you cut your trip short by two days, and came home instead. everybody was surprised to see you, especially your father who wasn't expecting you. you just lied and told him you wanted to surprise him, but that was far from the truth. you were itching to see wonwoo, even if only for a few minutes because of his other duties. it was hours before you finally got to see him, and when you did it was late. you were hot tubbing, and you heard the backdoor open, his dark figure emerging. you called out to him and he walked to the edge of the hot tub, squatting down in front of you. your heart was racing as he looked down at you, and you got goosebumps despite being in warm water. not much was said between the two of you, but it was like there was an electric current flowing between the two of you. you asked him about his day, and he gave you the answer he gives you all the time: "it was a day." and then he asked you, and you said: "better." as in, better now that he's here in front of you. you raised your body out of the water a bit, the water coming up to the bottom of you ribcage. wonwoo shamelessly checked you out, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. you moved to the edge of the tub, standing directly in front of him, his eyes darting between your bikini clad chest and your eyes. you stood up taller, this time most of your body coming out of the water, to get as close as possible to his face without touching him. he asked you: "do you know what you're doing?" to which you replied: "im positive i know what i'm doing." and then you kissed him, pressing your wet body against his extremely dry and clothed one, your hands gripping the edge of the hot tub. he kissed you with a hunger that made you breathless, and you gripped the front of his black jacket, nearly yanking him into the hot tub with you. when you pulled back to look in his inky dark eyes, you knew you were a goner.

letting out a breath, you let go and drag your hands over your face, closing your eyes. "i just don't get him sometimes," for nearly two years, you have been playing a sick game of cat and mouse with him. you think you have him, and then he'll say something to remind you that you in fact, don't. but he always has you, as much as it pains you to admit it. "h-he says he can't be my boyfriend. but when i try to go out—if i even look at another man—he goes crazy. kwan, i don't even know how he knew where i was. i didn't tell him i was going out."

seungkwan swallows and avoids your eyes. you glare at him, trying to meet his gaze. "seungkwan."

"yes?"

you hold eye contact for a second before he quickly looks away, and you gasp. "seungkwan, what the fuck!" you shout, jumping off of your bed. he holds his hands up in surrender, his eyes wide and pleading.

"y/n, i'm sorry! but he called me randomly, and said that you weren't answering! and he knew i wasn't with you because i picked up the phone, and i swear i wasn't going to tell him, but..." seungkwan trails off and you scoff, shaking your head.

"but what?"

"but... you know wonwoo: he's intimidating. and i don't want any problems with him. i'm really sorry, y/n. but i felt like i had no choice."

you frown at seungkwans words, the gears in your head turning. he had no choice? "did he threaten you?" you ask your best friend, your stomach churning. seungkwan... he's not like the rest of them. his father is also a mob leader and does dealing with your own father, which is how you two know each other. he is your longest and first friend. seungkwan isn't involved in any mob activities per his mother, who made it known that his father was not to involve her only son in any of that business. everybody knows to leave seungkwan alone, that he's like you: off limits. but clearly, your not-boyfriend doesn't know the rules.

seungkwan waves vaguely in the air and you see red for a moment before snatching your purse off of the nightstand and pocketing your phone. "y/n, where are you going?"

"i'll be back," is all you say before running out of his house and down to your car, hopping in and speeding the one place you can guarantee to find wonwoo.

pulling up to the club, you swing your car into a spot and scan the parking lot looking for his black mercedes. you spot it glimmering in the evening sun, and scoff before jumping out. you hardly have to talk to anybody when you walk in and make you way to the very back where wonwoo and five of your fathers men do business outside of your house.

a cloud of smoke hits your face when you push the door open, and you scrunch your face up. the first person you come in contact with is joshua, your fathers right hand man who you've known for the greater part of your life. when your father wasn't around, joshua was. he was more like an uncle to you, practically raising you. "hey, princess," he says, a smile on his face.

"where is wonwoo?" you ask, eyes surveying the room. you see mingyu, minghao, jeonghan, and vernon, but not the man you are here for.

"that's how you greet me?" joshua asks, tilting his head to the side. you don't feel like arguing, so you give him a quick hug paired with a kiss on the cheek. "why are you looking for wonwoo?" he asks.

you bite the inside of you cheek, trying to come up with a lie on the fly, until the door to another room opens, and wonwoo emerges buttoning the first three buttons on his shirt, followed by a dancer. your stomach drops, and you feel like laughing and crying at the same time. wonwoo doesn't acknowledge the woman and turns away from her, meeting your eye in the process. guilt and shock pass quickly over his features, before he composes himself and carries on like he didn't see him.

marching over to him, you stand in front of him as he takes a seat on the couch in the room. "wonwoo, we need to talk," you say, putting your hands on your hips. he picks up a glass of brown liquor and drains its remaining contents.

"then talk."

"in private," you say, widening your eyes. he sighs and stands up, starting to walk over to the room he just came out of. "i'm not talking to you in there." you say, a hint of disgust in your voice.

"then talk," he barks, the room quieting down a bit. your face burns in embarrassment, hating the way he's treating you. he stares up at you like there's better things he could be doing, his gaze hard.

"you're such an asshole."

wonwoo shrugs. "oh well."

"you know what, wonwoo? fuck you. i know you threatened boo the other night, so you can just fuck off! you can fuck with me—fine—but leave seungkwan out of it!"

his nose twitches like it did the other night, but this time you don't stick around to wait for him to explode. you leave just as quickly as you'd shown up.

once outside, the tears start. you lean against the side of the building and sob into your hands. you don't know how, or why, for that matter, you let wonwoo treat you this way. but he's not always like this— you've seen sides of him that prove it. but its been nearly two years of push and pull, him doing both the pushing and pulling. he pushes you away while simultaneously pulling you to him. he knows that you'll follow him wherever he goes.

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

i think Helaena can be autistic but also a happy and joyful girl , autism ≠ depression. the way the portrayed the only neurodivergent character on screen as unstable, shunned depressed, and with no importance to the plot feel very ableist and weird , but then they're the ones who made the guy with a foot disability a feet fetishist 🫠

Hi OP, finally answering this because the trailer dropped and still the only Helaena shots we have are from her Jaehaerys' funeral. There is also one still photo of her. If you haven't seen it, here she is, apparently sewing the funeral shroud for her little boy:

So it seems like season 2 is going to continue on this trajectory for Helaena as a character who exists in order to suffer beautifully.

Don't get me wrong. I am glad that the show is going to wring the full emotional effect from Blood and Cheese, not just shock value. The audience will feel the real horror of a six year old child brutally murdered in his own home and the psychological torment of Helaena. It should be terrible, it should be devastating, and I hope they do not pull any punches.

What's disappointing about how the show has handled Helaena is that they didn't really put any effort into building up her character before her tragedy. It's all well and good that she likes bugs and she's touch averse, but what are her opinions? Who is she closest to? How did she react to becoming a mother so young? To what extent does she understand her visions? What does she value? She can be happy and cheerful, or she can be frustrated and angry, and hell, she can be depressed too, but I need to know why. It's telling that I can describe the basic internal motivations for each of the male children, including Luke who was a glorified plot device, but I cannot for Helaena. Aegon wants to feel loved, Jace wants to prove he's as worthy as any trueborn heir, Aemond wants what his brother has, Luke wants to be free from his family's expectations. Helaena? Fuck if I know. I guess she wants not to die horribly.

The ableism is an issue. F&B is full of women who were deemed "simple" -- Gael, Daella, Jaehaera-- without being given much else to define them, and HotD adds another (there's something, I think, to the way the "simple" Targaryens are always women and how disability kind of used as a way to remove them from the narrative and shunt them aside, often tragically). And while it's great to see an autistic person represented on screen, the show consistently has an issue with treating representation as characterization. "Autistic girl who likes bugs" is not a personality. Autistic people, (even those with horrifying prophesies I assume), do have hopes and dreams and feelings about things. The one peek we get into Helaena's life is at the in episode 8 when she roasts Aegon and even that scene is open to interpretation (and gets taken wildly out of context). Now, I can read a lot into the actor performances, but ultimately, lines that could have given a glimpse Helaena personality were cut. It's as if they're afraid that if they give her an opinion on anything she would lose that (frankly kind of infantilizing) "pure cinnamon roll too good for this world" "i would die for her" sympathy from people who are not inclined to be sympathetic for her family as a whole.

(And anon, you're right about Larys. And let me say, turning Larys' clubfoot into the punchline of an OnlyFeet joke also does not inspire confidence that they'll handle Aegon II's eventual disability with any sensitivity either, especially when Mushroom's accounts of his last few months are incredibly mean spirited. We need to start that discourse now so they get the memo).

Sadly, I don't think the show really has any intention of course correcting with Helaena in season 2. I imagine at most we'll have her try to warn Aegon and/or Aemond about Blood & Cheese but they won't understand her warning, and then this will be a vehicle to further their guilt and grief. And while we do need to see Aegon's guilt and his grief, I also want to know if Helaena blames herself, if she wishes they'd run away when they had the chance, if she thinks Aegon could have done something, if she is angry at Aemond for killing Luke, if she wants revenge. I do think, with the public funeral for Jaehaerys, they are going to show that the smallfolk are fond of Helaena, and hopefully that will be expanded upon this season and in season 3 because her death is the catalyst for the revolt that sees Rhaenyra driven from the city, and we should understand why her death has such an impact before she actually dies.

[fizzingwizard]

Randomly visited reddit and saw this:

My first thought: it's an incel pretending to be a woman, because what modern woman thinks she's spoiled milk a 30??? (Aside from also trashing her girl friends - girl, get better friends!) But their profile doesn't seem weird in any way, so, I guess there are some people out there who really somehow believe youth ends at 29. Even some who have aged past it.

It's not even true that all 30 year olds are less beautiful than they were at 20. People age in different ways at at different rates: yeah, your likelihood of getting wrinkles and gray hairs is only ever going to go up. But some people don't have their style figured out in their twenties - some people turn thirty and freaking bloom. And you can't call that a late bloomer. 40 isn't a late bloomer either! 20 is nice but it's not the heaven on earth it's cracked up to be, and 30 is just getting started.

Idk about the rest of you but you know those posts about how embarrassing it is to look back on 14? Yeah, related to those when I was 20. Now I've passed the big 3-0, and guess what - I think 20 year old me was so silly lol. So insecure, so afraid to make mistakes, so resistant to change. I enjoyed my twenties, but my early thirties have so far been way better: I'm more confident, less self-involved, and I find happiness so much more easily than I did back when I thought everything I did had to matter So Damn Much. And if you think that doesn't relate to being attractive: confidence is 90% of it. Just walk up and smile. A confident, happy person always attracts others even if they're just average-looking.

Also for people who like men, don't forget: men in their 30s usually aren't quite the energizer bunnies they were in their 20s when it comes to ~sexy times~ The 20-year-old stud who insisted he could go for a roll multiple times a day, every day, is probably much less gung ho at 30. And also more forward-thinking, and less amaaaaazed by omg boobies!!! When you're young, half the excitement is just how new everything is. It gets less intense, thank goodness. (But it's still hot!)

This post just totally rubbed me the wrong way. It read as a still young woman anxiously wringing her hands in apology for having the audacity to be single at... 30?? And apparently not trusting women to have good advice about dating at 30 (so no point in me responding to her, lol), but perfectly comfortable kissing up to incel mindsets such as "women past 25 should accept that they're sloppy seconds" etc. "Value as a partner" do you have intrinsic worth as a human being?? Yes??? Then your value does NOT degrade. Yeah, you might have gray hair, the horror, so unsexy (I've had very visible grays since I was 23 and been dyeing since 26 lmao). Doesn't mean you're less hot than some 20 year old who doesn't know what she's doing. Doesn't mean it'll be at all hard to find a partner who will love you warts and all. Do you have this same expectation of men? Are you gonna start dating a 30 year old dude and then complain that he gets tired more quickly than a 20 year old would?? Is he less sexy just because he doesn't party all night and drink twice his weight without effect? Overrated overrated overrated!

My parents divorced in their 60s. My mom's got a new boyfriend who takes her dancing under the full moon. They're living their best lives way past their so-called "prime" and no, that is not rare - it's just a choice. If you view yourself as having some expiration date, you're not gonna do anything to improve your happiness once you're past it. Don't let incels or misogyny or whatever convince you your perfectly wholesome milk has gone bad, because that is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

ETA: Well, while I was working this got 150 notes, and although that's barely a drop in the bucket, it's still a lot more than my rants usually get (about 2 lol). So I just want to clarify a couple things so I stop getting comments about them.

This post was from the askmen subreddit. I left that out, feeling "reddit" was context enough, but I guess the implications may not have been obvious, especially to tumblr users who don't also use reddit. Askmen isn't a horrible place (a number of the responders pointed out why they prefer older women to younger ones), but many of its members have a pretty incel-adjacent vibe. Plus there are a number of women (real or not) who post there, many of whom have a similar brown-nosey "unlike those radical feminists, I'm a woman who knows her place" attitude.

It's fine to suggest the OP may have internalized misogyny from being abused - but it's not a given, as nothing in the post is a definite indication of abuse by itself. Big kudos for the compassion - just keep in mind that my response was about general attitudes towards dating post-twenties and not about abuse victims.

To the person who thinks a relationship of six years makes a difference somehow?: You seem to have interpreted my post as an attack on people who feel insecure about returning to dating after a breakup. But I think it's clearly nothing to do with that. Of course it is natural to have anxieties about being single after so long, but nowhere in this post was that denied or mocked. Whether you've been together one year or six, this post would always be weird - those natural anxieties don't make misogynistic mindsets about decrepit 30-year-old women any less gross. If you had decided to write a reaction to the OP's post, perhaps you would have chosen to center it on the effects of coming off a long term relationship, and I'm sure it'd be insightful. However, I am not you, and I chose to react to the attitudes around aging in relationships reflected in the post.

[mllemaenad]

The thing about Fallout is ... I don't actually think Bethesda really broke the concept until Fallout 76. I have seen people wring their hands over the Nuclear Option quest in Fallout 4 being incompatible with Fallout's themes, but I don't really agree with that.

There's that tired, defeated sounding voice over at the start of every game, after all: "War, war never changes". And I remember: I remember having to blow up both the Mariposa Base and the Cathedral in the original Fallout; I remember destroying the Enclave oil rig in Fallout 2. That's three whole buildings with people in them, just like the Institute.

While they are role playing games with a lot of choice and consequence built in, the Fallout series does consistently railroad the player in one sense: you are inserted into the narrative at a point where the situation has escalated to the point where you have to go to war. There are many side quests that give you the opportunity to find alternative, peaceful solutions to conflicts – you can fix broken machinery and forge alliances or just shout at people until they calm down, and that all works – but in the main quest, the fight is inevitable.

And that makes sense. The ghost that haunts the narrative of every Fallout game is the morning of the 23rd of October, 2077, when everybody fired on everybody else at once. You ask yourself – "How could they do that?" The scale of the destruction, the sheer number of deaths, the absolute no-win scenario that created for every nation in the world makes it sound utterly unthinkable. But they did it.

You get a lot of historical backstory on how they got there, of course: the over reliance on fossil fuels, culminating in a last minute switch to nuclear power; the collapsing economies and failing institutions; the extreme ideologies embraced by the world's super powers; the horrifying disregard for human life that spread everywhere well before anyone launched those missiles. You see all the off ramps that weren't taken along the way.

But more importantly, you live it, every time. You never set out to fight a war or blow anything up. You're trying to find a damn water chip, a GECK, your father, the guy who fucking shot you, your son. But at the end of the day, you always find yourself recruited, and you always have to destroy something. Then you can see for yourself how it happens. The world had passed its point of no return the day you arrived in it, and you just have to deal with it. War never changes.

But with Fallout 76 ... I mean, it's the problem of a single player narrative in a multiplayer game. The premise is that you are one of many vault dwellers emerging into the world to rebuild, but in practice you are The Chosen One, all over again. The Vault Dweller, singular. If you imagine it as a single player scenario it's not that bad, although it is retreading old ground: the Enclave has another one of their delightful genocidal plans, and in the end you have to turn their weapons on their plague-ridden creations to stop the nightmare from spreading. It's a tragedy, because you are risking this little patch of unpolluted land, where crops can still grow and people can still live – but you're alone with only the resources you've been able to scrape together from the detritus of this fallen society, so what choice do you have?

Except. Well. You are not alone. Not even a little bit. In theory you should have a vault full of fellow geniuses to collaborate with. And unlike other games in the series, your fundamental issue is not that you are dealing with multiple groups of people with such different ideologies that they will never agree. Those people existed, but they are now dead or fled (At least originally; I am aware that expansions have since changed the situation). In theory you are now accompanied by a group of people who should, like you, be focused on doing everything they can not to destroy their new homeland.

And worst of all, because it's a multiplayer game everybody gets a bloody turn. You don't launch your weapons, battle the scorchbeast queen and then fade into a montage describing the literal fallout of what you have done. No, you do the whole thing over again for the XP and the loot. So now you are basically using nuclear weapons for post-apocalyptic big game hunting, and it drives me up the wall.

War never changes. Let's launch the nukes for fun.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

ugh but i mean

Having the worst crush on Josh Lyman

Going for a drink with him after work

Feeling all of the sparks fly

But you're not willing to get your hopes up, so when a staffer asks you out for the next day, you say yes

And you can only kinda stand this guy on a good day, but you say yes

Because you and Josh are just...Never gonna happen, not really. You're positive.

Sure, you went for that one drink, but it was a one-off

So you may as well go on this date

But good god is the evening awful

You commiserate with Donna the next morning, slouching against her desk

"It couldn't have been that bad."

"It was," You grouse.

"And you're sure it was a date?"

"He bought me a drink and talked down to me until I felt bad about myself. Where I come from, that's a date."

"Hm...Hey, Josh."

Donna's greeting makes you whirl around, and you spot Josh standing just a couple of feet away, looking stunned, and a bit ashen. And it takes him a moment, but—

"Donna, can you get me a transcript of, uh...Of Thompson's deposition yesterday?"

"Sure."

"Thanks." Josh's gaze flickers to you, and you find the look riddled with confusion, and hurt.

It wells up your nerves, and you find yourself clearing your throat and excusing yourself.

He gives you that look all day, any time the two of you are in the same room, when you pass one another in the hall and again, finally, when you stop to give Donna the hot tea that she hasn't had the chance to grab for herself.

But this time, he doesn't just leave it to a look.

"Can I talk to you?"

His question is soft, and plying, and he sounds a little...Flighty.

"Sure."

You follow him into his office, hands wringing as he shuts the door behind the two of you. Neither of you speak right away, but when he does—

"What did I say?"

Your brow furrows as your confusion grows, and you shake your head a little bit.

"...Excuse me?"

"What did I say that made you feel bad?"

Your mouth works wordlessly for a moment.

"Did you—Josh, did you hear my conversation with Donna?"

"Yes."

"Did you hear all of it?"

"I heard enough—What did I say?"

"Josh."

"Was it that crack I made about you reading chick lit? I was joking, you can read anything you want."

"Thanks for the permission—"

"Don't get me wrong, I do think that Danielle Steele is personally responsible for the wealth of romantic ideas and collective brain rot in the anti-feminist camp—"

"Josh—"

"Not that I'm calling you anti-feminist, obviously—"

"Obviously."

"Was it that? Or was it when I called the elaborate cocktail that you ordered 'girly'—"

"Josh!"

You raise your hands, cupping his face to still his staccato speculation.

He goes quiet, his warm eyes fully focused on you. God, you want to live in that look—but you have to clear this up first.

"I wasn't talking to Donna about you. I had a date last night and it was...Bad."

"...Last night."

"Yes."

"Not two nights ago."

"Correct."

"You weren't talking about me."

"That's what I said."

"Right."

"...Okay?"

"So you didn't feel bad about yourself when we went out."

Went out—it sounds so good coming from him.

"No," You confirm. "Quite the opposite."

You let your hands slip from Josh's face as you back toward the door.

"You worry too much, mister."

"Yeah...Hey."

"Yeah?"

"Don't go out with him again."

Your lips twitch with a nervous smile. "Wasn't gonna."

"Good. 'Cause you've got a better offer."

"I do?"

"Yeah."

"Who from?"

In the space of those two words, Josh closes the gap between you.

You're stunned as he leans in, as you feel his lips brush yours and see the gentle flutter of his lashes as he closes his eyes.

You curl your arms around his shoulders as your kisses deepen, and you can't help but sigh softly as Josh's hands smooth over your hips, steering you back against the door.

You slide one of your hands up, gently grasping at the curls at the nape of his neck.

Josh rests his forehead against yours as the kiss breaks.

"Life's too short to go out with people that make you feel bad, you know."

"You are very wise, Lyman."

"And smart."

"Yes."

"And devilishly handsome."

"I'm starting to feel like you don't need me here at all."

Josh's face lights up with a grin as he gives your hips a gentle squeeze.

"I do."

"Do you?"

"Mmm, badly."

"How long before Donna comes knocking?"

"I think we've got a little time."

You hum, nodding and leaning in to murmur against his lips:

"Better make good use of it."

Tag list: @massivecolorspygiant @winniethewife @winchestershiresauce @kmc1989 @brandyllyn @missredherring @amneris21 @blueeyesatnight @nominalnebula

[sparklingsin]

— say you want me too | robin buckley

+ robin buckley x fem!reader

summary: "are you really that oblivious?" in which robin thinks the reader is straight, when she's definitely not. [requested by @taylorsmylover]

tags: just fluff, getting together, robin pov, confident reader

a/n: first robin fic! i love her sm. yes, this fic is inspired by that popular girl applying makeup on another girl meme. hope you enjoy reading it! feedback is appreciated. <3

Robin thumps her head against the side of the giant shelf. A couple of tapes come tumbling down from the top and Steve, who had been casually leaning against the opposite wall, scowls at her in distaste.

"Ugh. I wish she would look at me like that," Robin whisper-sings, feigning ignorance about the tapes. Her gaze is hooked on you, talking to a random blond, leaning casually across the counter. Your lips are stretched into a toothy smile and Robin can't help but think you might be in the middle of flirting.

Steve groans loudly, moving to pick up the fallen tapes.

"Jesus Christ, this again. She does, Robs! You're just never looking at her when she is."

Robin watches as you laugh coyly at something the guy says.

"She likes guys, Steve," Robin says, like a mantra at this point, trying to get herself to move on. You like guys. You like guys. You like guys. Boys. Men. Not girls. Not women.

Certainly not her.

"So? She could like girls too," Steve argues. The pile of tapes in his hand is high but Robin makes no effort to help.

"Ya know, she's always wearing that shirt you complimented that one time."

So not true. But, admittedly, you are wearing it right now. It's a bright orange top, with faded hems and a slightly scandalous neckline but Robin loves how it brings out your eyes.

God, you're biting your lip now and Robin has never felt such privation before.

"Shut up," she mumbles, spellbound by your laughter. "It's just coincidence. Happenstance. Yesterday, she was wearing that pink dress that makes her look like a pr—"

"Yeah, yeah we know you're in love but then explain why she made a face when you asked if I could tag along for your night out?" Steve questions and Robin opens her mouth before shutting it in response.

Steve smiles smugly. Too soon.

"Maybe she doesn't like you. Lot of people don't like you, you ever think about that, huh, Harrington?" Robin disses and the smirk on Steve's mouth fades.

"Well. You like me," he counters.

Robin shrugs, turning back to look at you once more. You're patting the dude's shoulder and ugly, ugly envy trickles down her chest.

"Anyway," Steve hisses, "She made a face 'cause she wanted it to be just the two of you. Take a fucking hint."

Robin doesn't have time to respond, because the blond man has already left and you're now making a beeline right to her.

"Hey Robin, Steve," you say, still smiling cheerfully. Much like the radiant sun, your presence warms her skin. Robin can feel her body start to tingle like it has been doing lately, every time you are in her vicinity.

"So... I just wanted to ask if we're on for tonight still?" you ask, looking in between them both and Steve turns to Robin, waiting for her to answer.

Robin's lips seem to be sealed shut and Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah w—"

"A-about that," Robin shuts him off loudly, suddenly finding her voice, and you blink back, surprised. "Sorry— er, Steve's not going to be able to make it actually," she continues, lowering her voice and wringing her hands.

"I'm not?" Steve asks just as you say, "He's not?" and you look between the two of them again, clearly confused.

Robin and Steve exchange quick glances. He sighs, something passing over his features.

"I'm not, yeah— I've got this... thing—" Robin shoots him a look, "I've got to babysit my kid's sister— er I mean my sister's kid. So I won't be able to come, sorry."

You look between the two of them, before shaking your head slowly.

"Um, sure okay," you say pressing your lips into a thin line and then turn to Robin. "I'll see you at my place at eight then?"

Robin nods, smiling in a way that she hopes isn't creepy but the look on your face says otherwise. You nod then, excusing yourself from the two of them.

Only once you leave does Robin realise that she'd been holding her breath all this while and lets go, sagging against the shelf.

"My kid's sister, Steve?" she asks wearily.

Her best friend makes a face at her. "So I fumbled. Big deal. I was just taken aback. A little heads up would be nice next time," he replies defensively.

Robin drags her hands down her face in exasperation.

Maybe they really are fated to be alone forever.

"But— you don't even have a sister!"

***

It is entirely plausible that Robin's a little too obsessed with you for her own good. She spends half an hour solely on deciding what to wear, settling on black jeans and a tank top in the end; fifteen minutes doing her hair only to get frustrated and let it down as is and then another ten minutes outside your door, scouting for the courage to ring the doorbell.

All the dilly-dallying proves to be worth it, however, because she's finally in your room, sitting on your bed as you stand beside it, hands on hips and deep in thought. You're wearing a cute crop top that says "Filthy Animal" over teeny jeans shorts, your lipstick a shade of red that she can't help but think would look lovely on her own skin.

Now, maybe, Robin is setting herself up to get a massive heartbreak when she (inevitably) finds out that you're not into her but that doesn't mean she's going to think rationally and pass up on the opportunity to hang out with you.

It simply isn't her style.

"I think this is closer to your style," you say, handing her a black dress with long bell sleeves. Robin does think it's pretty but she's never worn anything other than jeans and overalls before.

"You really think this'll fit me?" she asks.

"My sister's the same size as you, hon'. It's gunna fit."

Robin shrugs, rising to stand up from the bed.

"Wait!" you shout, gently shoving her shoulder to stop her from getting up.

"Not that you don't look absolutely beautiful without it," you say nonchalantly, reaching for a large box on your dressing table, "I really want to do your make-up."

Robin only absently agrees to the last part because her brain stopped listening the moment you called her absolutely beautiful. Beautiful. You called Robin beautiful.

Her brain barely catches up from it's derailing before you're whipping out foundation and brushes and Robin has to shake herself to the present.

"Whoa, whoa. I've never done this before," she says and a grin tugs at your lips that makes her insides warm.

"I'd pictured you saying that in a different setting, but we'll make do," you quip and Robin's brain just about shuts down. For the first time in ever, Robin can't think of words. Whatever the hell do you even mean? Did she hear you right?

"Okay. Why don't you lean back down so I can do your eye make up better?"

Robin's brain is having a hard time coping with everything that's happening. Her hands pushes her back onto your bed on their own accord, resting half her back and head on a pillow. She watches, with bated breath, as you climb onto the bed and crawl over her. You place your knees on either side of her, brushes in hand and lean over.

You're just barely hovering over her, not quite sitting, but Robin just about dies. You pick the eye-shadow with the brush and softly ask her to close her eyes.

Robin thinks she might combust.

Your warm breath fans her face as you gently dab the powder onto her eyelids, painting out the corners and the outer wing.

"What do you think about red?" you ask, voice lower than usual and Robin struggles to figure out what you're talking about.

"Like, the color?"

You chuckle. "Yeah, the color."

"I like it. It's the color of so many of my favorite things. Steve's car, a bag I bought in high-school, this old book I have from when I was a child. My mom's purse, the color of your lipstick and—" she bites her lip.

It was better when she didn't have words to say.

You continue to dab the eye-shadow on the other eye. Robin thinks this might be where you might call everything off, you might end your friendship with her.

"You like the color of my lipstick?"

Something faint blooms in Robin's chest. A wet tip presses against her eyelid— eye-liner.

"Yeah, it's— it's uh. It's a pretty shade." Looks good on you, Robin wants to add but the words die in her throat.

You brush her cheeks with what she assumes is the blush.

"Would you like me to apply it on you?"

That something fizzles and fades away in her chest.

"Sure," she agrees, heart folding in on itself tighter than she'd expected.

"All done," you say and Robin opens her eyes. You're still looming over her, lower lip tucked in between your teeth, as your eyes skim over her face.

She feels hot everywhere all of a sudden and hyper aware that you're leaning so close, hovering right above her stomach.

"Should I get changed, then?" she asks, when two minutes later you're still looking at her and have said nothing.

Her words seem to jolt you and you hop off of her, which immediately makes Robin feel cold all over.

"Oops, yeah. You can change in the bathroom," you say, pointing to the door opposite to you.

In the bathroom, she has to take a second to calm her racing heart. Having your crush sit on top of you like it's nothing... well, it's not nothing. And all those things you said about her being pretty and the double entendre— did you do that with all your female friends?

Robin knows she's going to get hurt. That somethings are simply too good to be true and her good might downright be unachievable. And yet, she tries the dress and it slips on like a glove. It is an almost perfect fit, the sleeves flowing down her long arms nicely, the hem falling down to her mid thighs.

You've given her almost silver, glittery eye-shadow and a lipstick that isn't the red you had been talking about. She looks almost like her natural self, save for the glittery eye-lids and flowy dress. But it isn't too uncomfortable, she thinks she might even look good. Checking herself out in the mirror one last time, she takes a deep breath and steps out.

"Tada!" she says nervously, drawing your attention since you have your back to her.

Robin thinks she imagines it but your jaw almost drops.

She begins to fiddle with the hem of her sleeves.

"Thanks for not putting on too much of the make-up, I'm just not used to it haha. And the dress," she pats down her thighs, "it's almost perfect, I might have to come over and borrow more of your sister's clothes because, well, even though this is, perhaps, the opposite of my style— I do kind of like it and—" she stops when she sees a smile creep up your face.

"What?"

"You're adorable," you say, stepping closer.

Robin feels heat creep up her cheeks. She rubs her neck nervously.

"Thanks."

"And shit," you say, stepping closer, until you're inches from her face. Your gaze definitely dips to her lips and back up, something dark flickering in your eyes.

Robin forgets how to breathe.

"You look so incredibly hot in this outfit," you say casually and all blood rushes to Robin's face. You're standing so close, gaze fixated on her face, skimming over her features like you can't get enough to look.

For the millionth time that night, Robin finds herself at a loss for words. It's like her tongue ties itself in your presence.

"You always look hot." You're whispering now.

"Robin Buckley—" you begin, stepping impossibly close, breath hot on her face. Heat flashes through her, tendrils of a tigngling sensation snaking all across her body.

"— You drive me insane."

All thoughts evaporate from Robin's head, leaving a bubbling mass of one surviving question.

"You... like me? Like that?" she says, before she can stop herself but she's stunned by your words to care.

You chuckle, that pretty laugh that stings Robin's heart in all the right places. You step closer and your hand finds it's way to her waist. Her breath hitches in her throat.

"Are you really that oblivious?"

And then, you're tilting your face and kissing her, a gentle brush at first that makes the ground slip from beneath her feet. The mere contact of your cheery red lips sends her head spinning. Your hands card through her hair then, cupping her jaw and pulling her further in this time.

The kiss presses deep into her body, lips moving against hers with fervour once she overcomes the initial shock. It's nothing like she's ever experienced — a hot want travels through her being when you push your bodies closer.

When you have to inevitably come up for air, the first thing Robin notices is that your lipstick is smudged all over your face.

It's the most incredible thing she has ever seen.

You pull her in again, biting your lip devilishly and looking up at her with half-lidded eyes that make her chest do flips.

"My lipstick looks so much better on you."

[rollercoasterwords]

something else that i have been thinking abt since writing the cowboy fic is that like. i feel like. there is sort of this....very intense expectation when it comes to warnings on fics? and i feel like this is a post-tiktok shift simply bc i don't see it as much w older fics but. what i mean is like.

the tags are where tws/cws go, right? like, the general expectation is that if there is potentially upsetting content, the writer will do their best to tag it so that people know going into the fic to expect violence or angst etc etc. and it is the responsibility of the reader to check those tags before reading and decide if they're okay with encountering that potentially upsetting material. which is a great system!

but i feel like now there's this growing expectation that writers will not only tag their fics, but also include detailed warnings in the notes on each chapter. and like.....i think that is a very kind gesture from writers who want to do it, but it shouldn't be an expectation. it isn't a writer's responsibility to provide warnings on every single chapter of a fic. like, if the fic is tagged with something like "violence" or "injury" or "gore," you as a reader are opening that fic with the blanket acknowledgment that you are prepared for any kind of violence/injury/gore that it might contain. and you aren't entitled to any more detailed warnings on the actual chapter where those things occur. y'know?

and yeah, sometimes you'll open a fic tagged with something thinking u can handle it, and then you'll get to that part of the story and find it more upsetting than u expected. that happens! but that's just part of like...the Big Kid Reading Experience, y'know? it's not the writer's responsibility to protect u from a story that u chose to read.

anyway, i just feel like i am increasingly witnessing (and every so often being subjected to lol) this phenomenon of people reading a fic tagged with various warnings and then acting surprised or even upset with the writer because.....they were surprised that the fic tagged "violence" was violent. or that the fic tagged "angst" was sad. or that the fic tagged "canon-compliant" was canon-compliant. and then if they're called on their bs they'll hand-wring and act like the tag on the fic wasn't enough, because they weren't expecting the violence to be that violent, or the angst to be that sad, and they'll act as though the writer has done something wrong by not giving a step-by-step breakdown in the notes on each chapter of every single potentially upsetting detail....which is just ridiculous!

anyway. tl;dr - nobody is entitled to detailed, in-depth tws on every single fic ch; the writers who do that are just being extra nice to u, so stop treating it as some sort of standard expectation!

[roosterbruiser]

I’d love a blurb about the moment one of the boys (your choice) realized he was in love with you

(Extra, extra bonus points if it’s during a normal domestic moment)

(Also!!! I love your bravery and honesty during these sleepovers)

this is so sweet!! dealers choice!! and you're the sweetest, honey! all the love to you!!

it happens when he least expects it.

you've been together for a few months now--a few sunny, open-mouth laughter, cherry wine, late night ice cream trip filled months. he knows--and has known--that you're special. you're different than the other people he's dated, but not in a big and scary way. it isn't even something he can really even pinpoint; it's just the way he feels about you. there's just a tug, an invisible one, that keeps your bodies close all the time.

when he realizes he loves you, you're sitting out on the back deck at your house. the sun is beginning to set and you're drenched in pink light, your hair falling very sweetly over your shoulders. you're sipping the rest of your rose as Bob sits beneath you, his lips resting on your bare shoulder.

"that was fun," you tell Bob contentedly, soothingly rubbing your fingers up and down his thigh. "they should come over more! wanna use my deck more often."

"you're the only person in the world who wants to host seven fighter pilots for a two-course meal," he says softly, smiling. "and also the only person in the world who tells them to not worry about cleaning."

at that, you glance at the table. soiled napkins, empty wine glasses, dirty plates, strewn cutlery decorate the places where the squadron had sat earlier.

you're flustered now, grinning at Bob.

finally, you turn on his lap and grin at him.

"just want your friends to like me," you admit to him.

"they do," he tells you, really meaning it. he thinks Bradley might like you a bit too much. "who wouldn't like you, sweetheart?"

before you can think of answering, you see it--there's a smudge on Bob's glasses. those sweet blue eyes are somehow blind to how dirty those glasses get, which is why you've taken it upon yourself to always carry around a lens wipe.

"honey," you say softly, smiling as you take his glasses off and sit up to reach into your jacket pocket. "you really are blind, huh, Floyd?"

and then you diligently begin to clean his glasses. solid, slow movements as you very carefully swipe the cloth across the lenses. Bob watches, his smile fading, as the sun hits you just right. the most beautiful girl he's ever seen in his life is cleaning the glasses he's relentlessly teased about by his squadron and the rest of the world. and he can tell, with everything in his being, that you want to do this. for him.

and even though he knows, he still asks, "you don't wear glasses, right?"

you shake your head, glancing at him.

"so, you just carry a lens cloth around for me, then?"

you're a bit flustered again, carefully putting his glasses back on his face before wringing your hands together and nodding. in the past, you've been accused of caring too much. you don't want Bob to think that you're pushing yourself into his life too deeply.

"yeah," you answer sheepishly.

you're going to explain, but then Bob is holding your cheeks between both hands, stroking your skin with his thumbs carefully.

he truly wasn't expecting for it to happen here and now. he wasn't expecting you to carefully clean his glasses for him after hosting all of his friends at your house, after you fed all of them, after you insisted that everyone go home after dessert without cleaning up. but here you are--his angel drenched in pink-light, flustered at her own sweetness.

"I'm so in love with you," Bob says simply. and he thinks it might be what he is most sure of in the world. "like, in a big way."