#especially since i know he didn't want to do it originally

[melminli]

𝗡𝗼 𝗦𝘂𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗲𝘀 - 𝟬𝟮

pairing: jjk x fem. reader

summery - meeting new people can be nerve-wracking, but that's how you make new friends.

word count: 1,2k

content: x reader, pre canon au, genshin impact inspired themes, crack, fluff, (in the future: manga spoilers, angst, gojo satoru x reader...)

series masterlist | previous chapter!

tokyo, august 21 2005

"i think i'll have the blueberry cheesecake..." you finally decide after thinking about it for a while and looking at the different options at the shop window.

satoru joined you. "yeah, me too."

you looked at him in annoyance in response. "are you stupid? pick something else. we can't both have the same thing." you pointed at something else in the window by tapping on the glass. "take the chocolate cake. i want to try it."

his mood worsened at your statement. "you always do this, and then you don't share yourself, so i always end up eating the things you actually want!" he threw the accusation at you being finally fed up with your behavior.

you laughed lightly and didn't take him seriously. "is that so?" you didn't elaborate further because you didn't really care, to be honest. it wasn't your fault that he always wanted to order the same thing you did. hasn't he ever heard of the rule that when you go out to eat somewhere, you have to pick different stuff?

you waited outside on a bench while he went in to buy the pastries, and you looked a little surprised when he came out a few minutes later with a box too big for just two cakes. "what did you buy?" you asked him a bit judgmentally. though, maybe the right question to ask was how much. you shouldn't have let him go in alone.

he just shrugged his shoulders. "the cakes and a few other things because we're going to meet some of my friends." he casually gave the reason while being very aware of the fact that this wasn't the original plan.

you shook your head. "no, we didn't talk about anything like that. i don't want to meet your friends." you said directly without hesitation. you had a relatively good day today, a good mood, and the weather was nice. you wouldn't ruin that by spending your precious time being awkward around other people.

satoru just rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. "i know you don't like talking to strangers, but you need to get out of your comfort zone a bit."

there was literally no reason why you had to do that. you didn't know why he made that his mission today. "i'm doing this with you already, isn't that enough?" you complained.

he sent you an offended look at that statement. "we've known each other for ages. that's definitely not the definition of strangers." he said a bit bitter. you always had to unintentionally break his heart like that.

you avoided his gaze. "i'll look up the definition right now if you keep bugging me." you said, being a little petty but also didn't want to risk exposing yourself in case he was right. you guys had been hanging out pretty often since you met two months ago, and he also texts you every day and spams your phone with dumb memes. "besides, i don't want to meet your stupid friends."

"they're not stupid. come on." he ignored your whining and went ahead. he knew you would follow him eventually since he was carrying your blueberry cheesecake. otherwise, he wouldn't have acted so confidently.

you considered following him for a while until you shouted. "wait for me!" you said and ran after him.

a while after that...

you ate your cake in silence and didn't pay much attention to the others. it was kind of relaxing to picnic outside, you thought. especially in the shady place under the trees. but even though you were a person who said what was on their mind most of the time, you were pretty quiet right now. well, you were kinda outnumbered here, so one could say that you felt a little intimidated, perhaps.

was it very obvious that you had grown up isolated and had never actually interacted with others around your age? you hoped not because even if you didn't like to admit it, satoru was the only person you would consider somewhat of a friend, and you certainly didn't want to put that on your resume.

"so, why aren't you a jujutsu sorcerer if you can see curses?" the girl next to you asked you in a casual tone.

you shrugged your shoulders and answered without looking her in the face. you were pretty nervous right now, you always wanted to be friends with a girl. "i don't know. why do you ask stupid questions when you can just shut up?"

satoru looked at you with disappointment. "hey, what did we talk about? stop being mean to others as a defense meschanism. you need to let others into you." he said the last sentence in a therapist voice while pointing both his hands to his heart. "this way, you just come across as a total asshole and no one will like you that way."

you just rolled your eyes and wondered why he always bothered you to hang out with him if you were such an ass. "that's what your mom did last night."

the other two friends laughed lightly at the trap that the gojo had set up for himself. he looked a bit betrayed at the two before he started saying something quick to somehow save his honor. "well, unlike you, i have a certain charm that appeals to older women. so i don't know. maybe i actually have a chance with your mom." he countered, emphasizing the last words extra hard.

it was a little painful to watch him try so hard. he just made things worse with that awkward statement. "my mom's dead, actually." she wasn't, but you loved the look on others' faces when you told them that after they made a your mom joke. you tried to stifle your laughter at satoru's expression, but you couldn't help but slightly contort your face.

it was a bit difficult not to be childish when you had lost your childhood to the hands of adults. it was something you would never get back and therefore would always stick with you.

the white-haired boy finally noticed what you did. "stop lying to make me look like a idiot! you really made me seem like a bad person!"

the three of you thought the same thing at what he said. he was worried about that? satoru's best friend couldn't help but add something as well. you think his name was suguru. "you don't need her help for that, i think you can do that all by yourself."

this led to the two continuing to bicker and exchange insults and threats with each other as they butted heads.

shoko ignored them and turned to you again. she didn't really mind your rudeness. you seemed like a good person with a tough shell. she asked you something because she wanted to make sure that she had heard you correctly before. "what did you say your last name was again?"

you looked at her and answered with a disinterested tone after reaching for a fruit roll. "raiden. why?"

she shook her head. "no reason." she looked up through the small gaps in the foliage, which let out pretty rays of sunlight. raiden means thunder and lightning, doesn't it?

to be continued...

[woeismyhoe]

I'm gonna preface this by saying I have no problem with representation. I love queer stories, especially when they're organic and natural. I'm bi, and I've had fulfilling relationships with women as well as men. Honestly, I would love a spin-off on Brimsley and Reynolds. It didn't feel.....forced. the characters were new and their story grew organically. Michaela? No. I'm trying to articulate how I feel without sounding like I hate the queer community because I genuinely don't. I appreciated Benedict's story line even if it was a little jarring. He's exploring, experimenting and that's fine. It still doesn't take away from his story. But the introduction of Michaela felt like a guy punch. It felt wrong. I've never particularly like gender swapping in stories based on an original IP, because it changes a lot of dynamics. It changes a lot of story lines. And yes, it's fiction, but I'm sorry I cannot get over it, especially when it's such a blatant case of pandering. It makes me feel as if I'm wrong to question this change and I've somehow internalised homophobia. If so, then why wouldn't I hate other queer characters or be similarly uncomfortable?

Okay I think I can make my argument clear with an example. If anyone has seen the movie Love Lies Bleeding, I think they'll get it. The sexual orientation of the characters didn't matter. It felt right. And it was not important to the story. It was just an established dynamic and we could enjoy the plot easily. It wouldn't have mattered if it was a heterosexual couple or a homosexual couple, the story is largely unchanged. If Michael becomes Michaela, here's the issues I see. Who inherits Kilmartin. We've already established an estate will go to the next male heir if the current owner dies. A major part of Michael's story was his guilt over his inheritance and his imposter syndrome. His story arc taking his place in parliament. It's all gone. I mean, I know the show isn't interested in the plots other than the main character pairing but this felt so wrong. If they wanted a lesbian lead, the just make another show with original characters why force this? I'm not looking forward to Francescas season at all. I'm sure a lot of people will like it and that's their prerogative but for me, personally, the only thing keeping the story moving forward is Benedict. Maybe Eloise. But I feel like the story of the show has lost its charm and has dug itself into a hole like Disney or marvel

I’m going to try to be respectful as possible. As a lesbian, it’s deeply concerning and infuriating to me how so many people including ppl from the community have internalized misogyny and homophobia to queer women. Just because you support and don’t have an issue with queer male stories doesn’t mean you can’t be homophobic to queer female stories. Just because you’re bi doesn’t mean you can’t be homophobic. Why do you think majority of mlm stories are consumed by women? Why are the stories written and targeted towards women instead of the couple’s own community?

There’s an issue going on right now where many fans are okay and THRILLED with Benedict being bi and sleeping with a man, yet complaining about Francesca and Michaela— both have revealed that they have a potential to turn into queer stories. But no one’s batting an eye to Sophie being erased for Benedict’s potential gay partner. People are more okay with a lesbian Eloise than Francesca, and maybe because Eloise fits the stereotype more than Francesca. Why????

Maybe you need to reflect on why you’re feeling this way since you’re clearly favoring queer male stories over queer female stories. Why is a straight male character’s arc more important than a sapphic character who can go through the same arc and even MORE? Why are you okay with Benedict but not with Francesca? Why does Brimsley and Reynolds feel natural but Francesca and Michael is forced and pandering? Why is making sapphic representation pandering unless it’s based on stereotypes, but not gay representation?

This is Bridgerton. They made POCs part of the elites, it’s not historically accurate, the medicine and technology isn’t historically accurate. I see no reason why they won’t change the law at some point for it to be possible for a woman to inherit titles and estates. Even if they don’t go into that direction, I’m pretty sure there’s a lot more story to explore for a sapphic character.

There’s so many variants of Michael in other stories and media, he’s not special. But Michaela?? How many stories are there even in the mainstream media where we get a happy WLW couple that doesn’t end in tragedy? Literally 0. There’s no happy ending anywhere in popular media because Bury Your Gays is the default fate of every queer female story that gets even slightly popular. You say make a new show with sapphic characters yet 90% of the time they get cancelled after the first season and this is something we’ve been dealing with for decades and trying to call out.

So again, why is a straight couple’s story more important to you than a WLW couple who can offer a more unique, nuanced portrayal of yearning, desire, betrayal to one’s self, crisis of faith, even loss of identity and room to show politics in the Bridgerton world like how they did with Queen Charlotte— and make a bigger impact on how the public perceives queer women?

You’re uncomfortable with a queer female character changing what you know and are familiar with in the books— that she can’t possibly compare to what a male character can offer. It’s ironic how awfully similar that sounds to homophobes who can’t accept the existence of queer women in society because god forbid a woman can do what a man can for a woman, or even do better.

Don’t watch it if you don’t want to. The rest of us will feel valued and seen and enjoy it together when the season comes out while you distance yourself further from the sapphic community.

TLDR; Queerness makes the story richer than any straightness will.

[thenotoriousscuttlecliff]

Amazing how a Tom King book has got all the right wing knobs completely triggered.

[lunarblue21]

man, even just writing about the ending of IA1 from an outsider's perspective - in this case my OC Theo from my Cruel Intentions series for a L22 side-story - makes me tear up.

That ending, man. That ending! It's so beautiful and bittersweet and emotional and amazing. :')

Edit: and yay, "Peace Child" and/or "Written in Eternity" is complete! And it stands at 22 23 pgs and 6, 629 780 656 words so a longish one-shot for me... again... as usual...

[webbedphantom]

Monkey Business

[@epitomees continued from HERE]

This guy was really ticking him off.

All he wanted was one quiet afternoon, just one shocking moment of peace where he could just relax and enjoy the company of one of his closest friends.

Instead, they now had to deal with someone tailing them. Whether they were here for him or for her he didn't know. And to be honest, he wasn't sure he cared. All that really mattered was this damn ape was making her uncomfortable. And that-

That was unacceptable.

Still, they didn't have many options for losing him. If they were in the Metaverse, he could just pick her up and leap up to the roof to lose him that way. But they weren't, and going in now could make things worse, either bringing in a random tagalong who got a little too close, or getting seen doing so.

Neither scenario seemed appealing.

"Not sure that would work..." He replied quietly, keeping his head facing forward while Arséne kept a third eye on the pursuing primate. "Not that many people in the bars this time of day. If they see us enter, they could easily find us inside, or just wait outside for us to leave."

He reached into his bag, thankful that Mona was hanging out with Futaba right now. It's a lot easier to search for something when you don't have a cat-adjacent creature in the way.

He didn't have many items that would work outside of the Metaverse, and the few that did, like smoke bombs, were a bit too conspicuous. Still, there had to be something in here that would-

"Bingo~"

He pulled out his grappling hook, a sophisticated device he and Morgana had made the night before their first real infiltration. It wasn't one he used too often, as his webs often did the job a lot better, if at a slight cost to his stamina, but it did come in handy on those longer Palace trips.

I'm unsure this is wise... You aren't as strong or agile out in the real world. Are you sure you can handle this?

"I'm sure. This thing was made to support up to 500 pounds, and the reeling mechanism will be doing most of the work. Besides, I may not have super strength out here, but I'm still in good shape."

Even still, you made it for the Metaverse. You have no idea if it'll even work the same way out here!

"It'll work, trust me. If there's one thing I'm an expert on, it's mechanical engineering. And unless you can think of a better way to lose Sinister Simian-"

Sinister Simian-?

"-then this is our best bet."

His Persona was silent for a moment, considering their options. They had already tried losing him the easy way, it was clear whoever this was, was going to be persistent. Still... was this really their best option?

Arsene sighed... I suggest we leave it up to our resident strategist. The grappling hook would work, but considering the risks, it should probably be saved as a last resort.

Aaron let out a small huff, but nodded. He couldn't argue with his logic... no matter how much he hated agreeing with his other self.

"Makoto, what's your take on this? Do we go with grappling hook, or try something else first?"

[sonicboomseason3]

a brief recap of what has been going on with the sonic movieverse in the past several months:

paramount has come out in public support of israel

keanu reeves, a man who has publicly rubbed elbows with none other than benjamin netanyahu, reportedly gets cast as shadow for the upcoming third movie

james marsden, the guy who plays tom, got exposed as having written a letter of support for a convicted pedophile

there's fucking??? zionist propaganda in the knuckles series???

kind of connected to the last point but adam pally, the guy who plays wade, is evidently pro-israel too

this is a complete and utter joke.

EDIT AS OF 4/30/24: if people see this version of the post, i'd really appreciate it if you reblog it instead of the other versions, as it's the most updated one with all the information that i want included. thank you :]

you know, it's been a few days since i've made this post, and some of you (not most) are staying determined in defending/justifying/giving the benefit of the doubt to keanu for that photo with netanyahu, whether it's because "it was a decade ago," "him being civil to someone he ran into at a party one time doesn't mean anything," "he's probably just silent because his pr managers won't allow him to speak up," etc. i've made my thoughts on the matter quite clear by directly responding to these people, but at this point, i'm tired of both seeing them in my notes and repeating myself, so take this as my final word on the issue.

i can't help it if you don't think the photo with netanyahu is damning, and i'm done engaging with everyone going out of their way to tell me that. i obviously disagree, especially after finding out that 1. the host of the party, arnon milchan, is a former israeli spy who has a history of developing israel's nuclear program and promoting apartheid in south africa (information that had broken out a few months prior to the party and thus would've been fresh news around the time keanu chose to attend) and 2. keanu has been caught hanging around at least two other weirdos, but if you don't find any of that to be cause for reasonable concern, then there really is nothing else i can say afaik.

with all that said, i'm beginning to realize how strange it is that these people's first instinct when seeing this post is to start debating about keanu's political stances without ever acknowledging any of the other bullet points. you guys realize that this isn't just about him, right? i know tumblr reading comprehension is known for being piss-poor, but like… you realize that i was trying to make a point of how there are MULTIPLE terrible things that have broken out about the people and company involved in the sonic movies, right? and yet, a lot of the people leaping to speak on keanu's behalf in my notes are completely ignoring the parts where i bring up paramount, pally, etc. all in favor of zeroing in on the singular point about keanu and making bad faith assumptions about me for holding him accountable. really makes one wonder where your priorities lie if, in a post that talks about so many other things, me accusing an a-list celebrity with, according to google, a net worth of almost $400 million is where you draw the line and apparently the only thing worth your acknowledgment.

ultimately, what i'm trying to say is that the intention of this post was just to gather up everything that i had been hearing for the past several months and put it all together in one place. there were a bunch of people who didn't know about at least one of the bullet points before seeing this post, and i'm glad that i could help inform them, that was what i was hoping to do! but as for the keanu thing, i've said pretty much all i can say for now, and i don't want to derail the original post even more than i may have already. unless something new comes up, i'm done talking about him.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Soft Astarion Jealousy

Now with part 2!

I love Ascended Astarion because he's horrible but the sweetness of the other end of the spectrum is impossible to deny. He's just so in love and grateful I can't 🥺🥺

So here's some jealousy that isn't psychotic. Well it is but not as bad:

Astarion never expected to be the jealous type. He always thought...well. In all honesty he never thought about the reality of having a relationship. He didn't even think it was possible for him, let alone the idea that he would actually want it. Even with you, even after he admitted a fraction of his own feelings to himself, he never thought that he would be so... possessive. Though admittedly, he had very good cause for it.

Because you were frustrating. So, so frustrating. For some idiotic reason, you simply didn't understand how alluring to others you really were. You were a pretty little thing, yes but that wasn't the problem. It was so much more than that. And he knew that the others wanted you. Every last one of them. Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach, Gale, Halsin. All of them like moths to a flame. And that wasn't even counting all of the strangers you had met on your journey, the extras that thought they had a shot with your greatness. They all wanted you in ways that made Astarion seethe. And the desire from others wasn't even the kind that he was used to, the kind he understood like the back of his hand. Because you didn't need to seduce to cultivate desire. All you needed to stoke the flames was merely your presence. Experiencing you was all that was required for people to know they wanted more.

Astarion knew that the others weren't just looking for a bedmate, they wanted you for the same reasons he had grown to. Your empathy, your desire to understand those around you. Your fearlessness, your infuriating habit of always trying to do the right thing. They wanted you for your laugh, the way your eyes would crinkle in the corners when your smile was too wide. Your silly jokes, your endless hopefulness for a future. It felt as though everyone around saw you for the gem that you were and it was... concerning. Extremely concerning.

Astarion hated thinking about things like this. He loathed admitting the truth to himself even more. But he was...terrified of losing you to someone else. Especially since it could so easily be done. He was so very lucky that you weren't the brightest, or at least not when it came to matters of the heart. You could do so much better than him, a fact that was incredibly obvious to everyone around you. Everyone but you, a luck that Astarion did not take lightly. But how much time did he have before it ran out? Would it ever?

Perhaps it was delusional, but he was starting to think when all of this was over, assuming neither of you perished anyway, that...it could just be the two of you. Living together, exploring the world, even if it had to be under the cloak of night. Maybe... maybe the two of you could even find a cure for his unsavory condition. The thought itself was incredibly stupid, but then again, it was just as idiotic to believe that there was a cure to the Mind Flayer parasite. But here they were, closer then ever. And if that was such an impossibility turned into reality, perhaps a vampiric cure wasn't so impossible. Or maybe even finding an alternative method for immortality for you, without the downsides of his own. Anything that could just keep you both together, for as long as possible. It was an unrealistic dream, that would never come into fruition. If anything it was dangerous, so very dangerous to even entertain the thought of forever. Especially when your connection was so tenuous.

Astarion would never be stupid enough to thank Cazador for anything but...he'd be lying if he said he wasn't appreciative for his own lack of subtly when it came to seducing you. Even if it originally was for distasteful reasons, it still got him ahead of the pack. If he had been less calculating, less astute, there was a sincere chance that you would be warming someone else's bed at night. Callousness would never be without it's uses, even if it led to uncomfortable situations like his current infatuation.

What would he do when you inevitably wanted to leave? How could he survive after having something so...good. Someone so caring, someone who for some very horrifying reason liked being around him. And the sex... it was fabulous. He was a massive fan of your intimacy, when he was capable of participating in it. He adored it, he adored you, your beauty, the sweet noises he could coax from your mouth, the europhia of being inside of you. Then there was the fact that you could be intimate without any traces of it devolving into lovemaking. He had never been gifted with the ability to say no before, so often and so freely without a single fear of punishment. If anything, it felt like he was rewarded when he was honest with you, when he would share his sudden fits of discomfort in his own body, the memories that plagued him and doomed him to staying stubbornly soft. You would never get angry, never even disappointed. You would just listen and smile, always adorable when you would ask, "But I can stay for a cuddle, can't I?"

An extremely silly question, considering the two of you hadn't spent a night apart from each other since you'd made it to the Shadowlands. Yet it never failed to make him melt.

It was getting worse, these feelings. He just wanted you around, by his side, constantly. Constant enough for him to get the ridiculous urge to hiss at anyone else who dared to come near you. He felt an intense need to protect the closeness the both of you had cultivated, the kind that he had never been allowed before. He had no interest in sharing you with your own friends when it came down to it, let alone another lover.

Which is precisely why his original, mild distaste for Halsin turned into a full-blown hatred the night he had the gall to proposition you.

It had felt like a shard of ice going through his chest when you bounded over to him, laughing about one of his greatest fears coming much too close to reality, "You won't believe the conversation Halsin and I just had-"

"Ah, I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that," Astarion laughed, purposefully interrupting you. He had no desire to hear the specifics of that conversation. He didn't even want to be having this conversation, where you were inevitably going to ask if it was okay to explore someone else.

The answer was no. Never would he be okay with it, allowing someone else to be close to what should have been his. But he needed to think strategically here. To say no could be disasterous. If it became a game of choice between him and Halsin... he's almost certain he would lose. Halsin was everything he wasn't; caring, giving, sharing in your worldviews in a way that Astarion never could. He couldn't risk it, he wouldn't. Having you at all was better than nothing.

"But I'd never even consider something like that-"

"It's fine," Astarion interrupts again, the fakest smile he can muster plastered on his face. The pain was worth the risk mitigation, he was sure of that. But... he still had to ask, "But is this because we haven't...y'know, in awhile?"

A sick part of him prays that you'll say yes. Because if that's the reason, he could do something about it. He could force himself if need be to always tend to your needs. Especially if it meant keeping you to himself. It was such a small sacrifice in comparison to the rest of his life. He would do it in a heartbeat if you demanded, anything to just make you stay.

But that was not the answer he received. Instead you frowned, looking him up and down, "What? No, I-Astarion no. Please don't think that. What we have together is so special to me. The physical part of it is lovely, perfect even. But...it's not what we are."

It's almost comforting to hear you say that. But then why did that make the situation feel so much worse? If it wasn't sex you were after then that certainly meant you wanted more with Halsin as well, did it not? But it was too late to rescind it now.

Astarion nodded, a confused mixture of hurt and gratefulness swirling through him, "I just needed to know. But if you're satisfied with me and just want to explore, go right ahead. I'll be here when you're done."

You nodded slowly, brow furrowed when you asked, "So...we aren't exclusive then?"

"No, of course not," Astarion confirmed, ignoring everything inside of him that was screaming for him to take it all back, "We can be as open as you'd like."

"I see..." You said, trailing off with a frown. You coughed into your hand, looking up at him sharply. Sharp enough for him to be sincerely confused, "Does this mean that you'll be speaking to me before you explore your other options?"

"I-yes? If you want?" Astarion answered, a new type of unease settling in his chest. You didn't seem very happy with this conversation, despite his best attempts to give you what you wanted. Where had he gone wrong? Was he already working to throw you into the arm's of another man, without even trying?

You were still frowning at him, your look cold in a way that made him feel particularly ill, "Please do. I'd like to know everything. I'm going to speak to Halsin, get this all sorted. We can talk later."

And then you were spinning on your heel and marching away, like Astarion was the offensive party here. It made no sense. He had done it all right, hadn't he? Agreed to it immediately, didn't make you feel guilty, had tried to be what you wanted. How had he failed?

He didn't wait around to see you go to Halsin. Instead he went straight back to his tent, closing the flap as he laid down. Great. Fantastic. Now he would have to be aware, perhaps even hear you being with another, while simultaneously reliving that horrid conversation in his head for the entire night. The hurt and worry was making his mind wander to uncomfortable places. Perhaps...Halsin could be dealt with in another way if things became too serious between the two of you.

Would poisoning the man be too extreme?

But before Astarion had the time to start thinking of a more detailed plan he was interrupted. Suddnely, moonlight was filling his tent, with your silleoute shining in the darkness.

He blinked up at you, confused, "What are you doing here?"

You frowned at him, looking hesitant in the entry way, "Should I not be? I thought-I can go if you'd like."

"No!" Astarion blurted out, loud and desperate enough to make him cringe. He cleared his throat, trying again, his voice still a touch too pitiful for his liking, "No, no, come here darling. Of course you're always welcome. I just assumed you would be busy."

To his relief you listened, crawling into the bedroll next to him. Astarion didn't waste any time in wrapping his arms around you, relieved to humiliating degrees that you had chosen to come back after the deed. Though...you didn't quite smell as he had thought you would. There were no traces of the floral, woodsy smell of the druid on your skin. Just the sweet, pleasant scent that he had grown so fond of.

You sighed as he tucked you against him, the warmth of you enough to make him relax for the first time that night. You laid together in a pleasant quiet, one that Astarion was actually scared to disturb. Despite the fact that he desperately wanted to know what happened between the two of you.

But you broke the silence for him, muttering into his chest after the two of you were settled, "I'm...sorry for being snappish earlier. I shouldn't have been. You didn't do anything wrong, and I know I don't own you. I shouldn't have assumed."

Astarion frowned, pulling back to get a proper look at your face. You looked hurt, sad even. Like you were the one who had gotten their heart broken. He could feel a curl of distaste settling in his stomach, annoyed that this felt as though the situation was being placed back to him. He had played his part, perfectly. What more could you ask for? What was there to assume?

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Astarion carefully said, his eyes fixed on every micro expression on your face, "What did I do that could have been construed as incorrect?"

"Nothing!" You rushed to say, shame coloring your cheeks, "I was being stupid. You never promised me anything. I just...assumed. Wrongly that we were something we aren't."

That didn't-he-what? Astarion frowned at her, his confusion evident on his face, "What did you think we were?"

You looked uncomfortable, avoiding his gaze when you answered, "I thought that we were...together. Alone. Just us. But if that's not what you want I understand. It's fine-"

"What in the hells are you talking about?" Astarion blurted out, his anger and pain bubbling to the surface, "I haven't done a thing. And we were just us before you decided to galivant off with a bear of a man!"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. So much for playing things safely. No, he couldn't even have the self-control to stay quiet. He always had to ruin everything.

But surprisingly, you didn't look angry. If anything you seemed just as confused as he felt, "What? I didn't-we didn't do anything! When did I say I wanted to do anything with Halsin? You were the one saying you didn't care!"

You weren't making any damn sense, "Well why else would you ask me about it?"

"I didn't!" You huffed, glaring at him, "All I was going to say was that he asked me. And I wanted your help on how to best turn him down! And then you jumped at the chance to push me onto someone else-"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Astarion seethed back, "If it was up to me you would never look at another man again! Or woman for that matter!"

It was an odd feeling, to be arguing while holding each other so closely. But Astarion had no intention of letting you go anytime soon, even if he could feel you squirming against his ironclad grip when you fumed at him, "Then why would you say it was okay?!"

"Because I don't want you to leave me!" He shouted back, loud enough to snap him out of his own anger. All of his fury was instantly replaced with fear. Gods, why had he felt the need to say that? To lay his biggest insecurity out on the line. Why not just hand you a stake while he was at it, since he was so eager to give you the tools to destroy him.

But you were still seething, hissing back at him, "Why praytell, would I leave the man I've been in love with for months? Hm? Please, explain it to me!"

Astarion couldn't. He was too busy being shell-shocked at the confession, feeling too many emotions at once. Joy, relief, somehow even more fear than before. You so freely said the words that he had done his damndest to bury, to ignore. But now they were out there, filling him with a horrifying joy.

He wanted to say it back. He did. But he couldn't get the wrecthed words out. Instead he was just staring at you like an imbeicle, his mouth hanging opening at the confession.

But his silence didn't make you falter. Instead you looked determined, near fierce as you grasped his face into your warm hands, "I love you Astarion. You don't have to say it back. That's not what this is about. But I want you. And only you. If you want the same of me then you must tell me. Now."

Astarion let his hands flutter over your wrists, humiliating tears prickling at his eyes. But at least his vocal chords allowed him to answer you this time, "I do. So much more than you know. I want us. Just us. No one else."

The words were flowing out of him, too fast and sincere for him to make the appropriate edits in his head. He was saying too much, feeling too much, giving too much. But the way your eyes brightened at his words, the way you grinned at him before pulling him in for a sweet kiss made it suddenly feel like he wasn't giving anything up at all.

As much as he loathed to admit it, Astarion was exceedingly grateful for Halsin's existence after that night. He would never have had the gall to demand you to himself without a trigger, without the anger you both shared at being misunderstood. Because now, you were his. His alone, the proclamation coming from your own lips. And he was free to stop hiding how much he had wanted it. How willing he was to do anything to keep it. He let himself off his own leash after that, leaning completely into the mutual ownership you had of each other. No more would he silently sit back and seethe as a stranger flirted with you. No, now he'd be upfront and center, with a possessive hand around your waist as he glared them down, more than prepared with a confidence-shattering quip on his tongue.

He started to let all of his urges seep through, taking full advantage of your willingness. If Wyll looked at you for too long at the fire, with a touch of something that Astarion didn't like in his eyes, he'd effortlessly pull you into his lap onlookers be damned as breathed you in. If Gale suddenly had a suspect offer to teach you some new magic in a secluded location, Astarion would invite himself, impervious to any glares sent his way. And when he felt as though all of them were being a bit too flirtaious, he was more than happy to put them in their places at night. Spending hours upon hours making you scream his name in bed from pleasure, loud enough for everyone to hear and know exactly who you belonged to.

He couldn't care less if it added to his own unpopularity amongst their merry-band of rejects. Their opinions didn't matter. Not when you were eating all of the sudden attention up.

You let him do it all because you understood him, in ways that no one else had bothered to before. You knew who he was, what he wanted, the extent to how much he craved your attention. And you let it all happened, reveled in it even. The intense shows of affection. Because you loved him. And he loved you. And one of these days he'd allow himself to admit the obvious.

But for now, he had what he wanted. What he needed. And in the first time in his life, even with disgusting tadpoles squirming his his brain, Astarion was actually...happy.

[flamingpudding]

Bat dad meet Ghost dad

Several years earlier....

"JAAAAAAZZZZZZZZ!" Danny flew excited through the Ghost Zone with a little kid in his arms rushing past some of his former rogues as he made a B-Line for his sister that happened to be in the Zone too, currently in a deep conversation with Frostbite about something Danny hadn't cared to pay attention to long enough. But right now he had exciting news he really wanted to share with his sister. Even now as adults Danny tented to live out his childishness whenever he could especially when he and his family went into the Ghost Zone.

The Halfa came to a screeching halt as he grined brightly at his sister who looked back at him with a raised eyebrow, slightly amused at her younger brothers giddiness. "What is it Danny?"

"I got a son now!" Danny declared happily holding up a young ghost teen by the armpits into his sisters face.

The 'son' in Danny's hands stared at Jazz blinking owlishly as if the teen boy still needed a moment to catch up with what was going on and Jazz blinked back at the ghost and then at Danny. That was not a child but a teen ghost. Going by the size the kid was probably around 14 or 15 and he looked very much traumatised and Jazz could not tell if that was because of Danny or because of how the teen possible died.

"Danny what did you-" Her brother did not let her finish her question as he started rambling excitedly.

"He is a baby ghost Jazz! Look how young he is! I found him floating around aimlessly, his hunt hasn't even fully formed yet and when i picked him up there was that instant connection! You know the same-"

"Danny."

"I have with Clockwork and Pandora! I instantly knew he was mine! Mine to protect! Mine to guide! When I saw him I swear I just knew, I ghost adopted him the moment I made contact! He is family Jazz-"

"Danny."

"I just know he belongs with us! Look at him and tell me he doesn't have Fenton charms! I am sure Dan and Dani will love him too! He is such a cute little ghost! There is so much I can teach him! I will be the best dad ever to this wonderful little baby ghost! And-"

"Daniel William James Fenton!"

Danny bite his tongue instantly silenced when Jazz pulled out the full name call. Both him and the teen in his arms stared at her a bit shell shocked and in that moment Jazz couldn't help but hide a small amused smile at how similar Danny and the teen in his arms looked when they stared at her.

"Did you explain any of this to him?" She indicated to the teen, who's name she by the way still didn't know. Danny at least had the curtesy to look a little ashamed as Jazz pointed that out and let go of the teen so they could float on their own. She sighed with a fond smile before looking at the teen that looked a bit unsure between her and Danny now.

"What's your name?" She asked them with a friendly and encouraging smile.

"Jason...."

Current time...

Jason was in a little bit of a predicament. Originally he really thought he never would end up in this kind of situation espacially since he didn't think he would patch up things with Bruce any time soon. But we'll here he was...

Life liked proofing him wrong.

Like with he fact that Jason could use a ghost wail in dire situation. And that something like that would naturally call his ghost dad onto the scene since he collapsed after it.

And like with how he woke up in the bat caves med bay with both Danny and Bruce standing over him and glaring at each other. Or at least he thought they were glaring at each other that looked like a pretty annoyed stare in his eyes from Danny and Bruce's jaw was really tense from what was visible and not covered by his cowl.

So all Jason could do was endure at the moment. Aaaaand refuse to make eye contact with any of his present siblings. Mainly Dick because he wasn't sure how to interpret the others' smiles. For a moment Jason wondered if he could hide out in his ghost-dad's castle in the Ghost Zone for a while until whatever storm was brewing with Bruce was over.

There was also a moment in which Jason wondered if there could have been anything done to avoid this... confrontation(?). Before feeling the need to face palm because his Aunt that sort of has been giving him free therapy told him repeatedly that communication was key. He never regretted not listening to her more than he was right now.

To be fair. Communication with Bruce espacially hadn't been his strong suit for a while now before and after his death.

"So you are his Bat-Dad?" Jason did not like the way Danny, his ghost dad was using the word 'dad' right now. Oh good was he trying to challenge Bruce?

"And you are his Ghost-Dad?" Bruce grunted, oh now Jason was sure Bruce was giving Danny a glare, and Danny was getting that protective look in his eyes Jason was all to familiar with from his time as a dead baby ghost.

He groaned loudly sinking lower onto the medbed. Why did these things always have to happen to him? At least he was lucky that his Ghost Aunt and Uncle didn't show up too.

[razzle-n-dazzle]

Hihi!!

Can I ask for some Adam dating headcanons?

MY MAN NEEDS LOVEE

ᯓ★ "Alright, Sugartits. You, me, you know what we're going to do." Adam / reader | Headcanons This man deserves so much more love!! >:v

ᯓ As the first man, and proclaimed original dick, Adam not only is rather obnoxious with his titles though can be rude and a bit sexist. At least, that is what you first thought when you met him all those years ago; what felt like years but had actually been a few decades.

ᯓ You first met Adam in a council meeting, having been recently promoted to sit upon the council (or having been a sinner that Charlie was trying to redeem). Either way, you were not safe from Adam and his mischievous nature and it was like he could pick out new blood in the court room like a shark closing in on it's prey. You had been minding your business at first, settling yourself before you heard the sound of large wings flapping in your direction and a pair of footsteps landing behind you. Followed by another, smaller pair. The marble floor wasn't great in hiding their landing, but you guessed they weren't trying to be sneaky the moment that Adam had opened his mouth.

ᯓ "Shit, you're the new guy that Sera was talking about? Man, you're even shorter than I thought you were, Babe." Adam would laugh, jutting out his arm to measure the height comparison between you and him. You would turn around to this, and was quickly unamused by his antics. "Adam, I presume?" You would mumble back to him, face dropped in annoyance that he didn't seem to pick up on. He just seemed rather overly excited that you had knew his name. "Oh fuck! Mortal souls still talk about me down there on Earth? Well, I wouldn't expect anything else I fucking rock."

ᯓ He was pretentious, that was the best word you could describe him as. Rude, arrogant, obnoxious, pretentious. He boiled your blood anytime he opened his stupid mouth and you often just wanted to shove your hand down his throat just to rip it out. He would constantly barge into your office and appear behind you in court just to annoy you and see "what you're working on," since he's technically "your boss" and he just doesn't see anything "wrong with it". You've had to shove him out of your office so many times; had even complained to your superiors about his behavior and yet no one seemed to take you seriously. They would shrug their shoulders (especially Sera) and just claim: "That was Adam" and you just had to "deal with it." Oh and that made you want to punch the little fucker even more.

ᯓ Your 'professional relationship' with Adam started off extremely rocky and you tried your best to avoid him in the halls and courtroom at all cost. The less you had to see him, the less you had to hear about him, the less your had to hear him or even stand to be near him, the better.

ᯓ And Adam noticed. He noticed really quickly actually.

ᯓ Not like it was hard to notice, you basically avoided him at all costs. Taking another hallway if you saw or heard him coming down one, shoving past him if he tried to block your path, ignoring him if he tried to talk to you, and so much more that he brushed off. Constantly, you heard him turn to Lute and point at you, jokingly telling her: "It must be that time of the month." With his stupid grin and cheesy smile. (Does this even if you are male) And you thought it was just him trying to get under your skin and annoy you into talking to him again; or even acknowledging his presence. You also had a hunch that it was him trying to save his 'precious little ego' that makes him so insufferable to be near.

ᯓ Yet, it was odd. For how much you hated, no loathed Adam, you couldn't get his stupid face and idiotic voice out of your head when you were along, shrouded in the dead of night. Especially on nights like tonight: Where you were sat along in your office, the chimes of midnight ringing along Heaven, as night clouded and contaminated the once gleaming city of day. You were leaning over your desk, trying to finish an assignment given to you by Sera; an assignment that was important to your continuation of climbing the council ladder. And yet all you could hear was that stupid fucker's voice in your head constantly. His remarks, his tone, his- ugh! His stupid, stupid voice why couldn't it just leave you alone.

ᯓ Why couldn't he just leave you alone?

ᯓ . . . but, dammit, why did you feel comforted by the thought?

ᯓ In reality you shouldn't be, you should never feel comfortable around a prick like Adam who only searches for one thing in women; sex, ass, and tits. Three things, okay, but it's all in the general same category. He was the man who would be at the top of your hitlist, if you could have one in heaven, yet his voice was the only thing keeping you up right now; Letting you fight off sleep for another night and finish this report sooner than Sera said she wanted it just to show her how capable you are. And as you continued to scribble away, letting the moon crescent slip back under the clouds to let it's sister sun peak over with it's gleaming light, it hit you. And the realization of WHY hit you hard, and the truth made you stop in your tracks. The final period to end your assignment taunting you along with your thoughts:

ᯓ Somehow, someway, you had started to grow a crush on that fucker.

ᯓ Somehow, by some grace (more like punishment), of God did you begin to harbor something other than loathing for Adam. For the annoying Adam who constantly picked you out in a room and came over to talk to you. The Adam, which you never noticed, began to grow more tolerable even if you kept up your act of avoiding him. The Adam, who constantly comes in to see what your doing but then asks you a million and one questions, not because he cares about your work but because in some twisted sense in his mind, that's him caring about you or trying to get to know you. The Adam who called you Sugartits and Babe all in your first 2 seconds of meeting. "Fucking Adam.." You would grumble under your breath, slamming your pen down to finish that last period as a mix of emotions boiled in your blood.

ᯓ "Fuck me? Kinky, but what the fuck did I do to you, I just got in!" Shit. Well, this is such a great start in trying to get to know Adam better. (I hope you can hear the sarcasm that is basically pooling on the floor)

ᯓ Yet, somehow, no matter how rocky the situation ship started, somehow Adam had a big enough of an ego to see it through and you had gained enough patience to put up with his bullshit. And trust me when I say, you need either need to match his energy, yet in a more responsible way, or have enough patience to deal with this man or your drowning under his egoistical bullshit. (Adam needs a Hispanic wife desperately. /j)

ᯓ For the most part, your relationship is actually rather lovely. Most wouldn't believe it, seeing as Adam is.. well Adam, but you were able to see the weirdly good intentions behind his rather questionable and problematic choices. As for such, when he had gone to Sera to start the extermination, during the whole meeting all he could think about was keeping you safe. What was the best way to keep you safe? How could he keep you from being entranced by Lucifer or Lilith and their sin and evil? He didn't want to lose you like he lost Eve and Lilith. Sure, he joked about being a fuckboy and a player (at least that's how he comes off) yet he never has actually touched anyone after Eve. He was waiting for someone, someone like you, to capture his attention and soon after his heart; and he chased after you and he was going to keep you, and he was going to protect you if it was the last thing he did. Because as much as Adam hates to admit it, he is terrified to be alone; to live all the rest of his immortality by himself, going home to an apartment with no one to share the warmth and feeling that empty wound in his heart.

ᯓ Adam, on the lighter note, is also the type of man who will go to a restaurant with you and claim he'll try something new; i.e. lobster. You had known, at an instant, that it would go wrong and decided to order any sort of red meat you could find that you knew Adam would like. And, wouldn't you know it, when you two got the food he couldn't bare eating that lobster. So, you offered to switch your plates and he was more than happy to. You don't think he's caught on yet, but you'll keep it a secret just to be able to see the excited grin he gets before snatching your plate with a "Thanks Babe!" and even kissing you later.

ᯓ You learn very quickly the only way to get Adam to start cleaning around the house is to either A) let him play his guitar for you, to simulate that he's helping by giving you motivation (and swooning over his voice a little) or B) playing music similar to that Adam plays (like AC/DC, Imagine Dragons, anything Indie-rock) and give him small tasks to do that slowly equate to one larger task. And then, of course, there is always his favorite option C) hug your waist and make it impossible for you to clean your shared apartment as he basically speaks dirty into your ear with his classical snicker.

ᯓ You're guys sex life is amazing though, Adam makes sure of that (so that cunt Lucifer can't take you from him like he did Lilith and Eve, through 'temptation'). But, honestly, you're the only person he has given head to or has eaten out, pick your choice. Either way, man goes crazy if you tug on his hair or tell him you won't ever leave him.

ᯓ The first time you saw Adam with his mask off was an experience, both for you and for him. For a long, long time Adam kept his mask on around you, even while in private, and you've always asked why he did so but he would never give you a straight answer and would brush around it. You often chalked it up to be a comfort thing for him, to make him feel stronger than he actually was and you didn't bother him much. Yet one day, you got oh so curious about what his face was like under the mask that you couldn't help yourself: Sitting next to Adam outside on the balcony, you listened as he prattled on about his work day all the while he ate. He was having some burgers you had cooked for him before he got home, as he exclaimed about, "These bitches don't know who the fuck they were talking to! I mean, hello, I'm fucking Adam I'm the dick master and I would have fucked them into next Friday! I'm like 10 times cooler and stronger than them, bitches thought they could come into the exorcists and make fun of me, well I-..." Adam paused unnaturally, a confusion sweeping over his digitalized golden-accented features. "Babe, what the fuck are you doing?" He would add on no more than 5 seconds later, noticing had you had moved from your seat and basically were straddling him right now. Though you didn't hear him, well you did but you shut it out as soon as he opened his mouth again; "You know, this is making me fucking hard right now and if you just wanted your sweet little insides-" "Adam." You hushed him as his arms wrapped around your waist and brought you closer. There was no missing the way his eyes widened in suprise at your sterner tone. Though his grin returned, another crude comment about to slip from his lips before he hushed again; Doing so as your hands had meet and cupped his cheeks in such an oddly tender way. And Adam had a hunch what you wanted to do, or well what you wanted to see, and he felt those same nerves churn in his stomach again anytime this topic was brought up. Yet, no matter how much he noticed the want in your eyes, you didn't ask him. All you simply did was lean towards him and place your forehead against his, closing your eyes. And all Adam could do was stare at you, stare at your beauty in the light of the setting sun, and feel those nerves slowly string loose. And he felt safe; for the first time in a long, long, time he felt safe. "Babe.." And his voice cracked, causing your eyes to shoot open with worry. You drew away from Adam, your hands darting down to his shoulders as you wondered if you had somehow offended or harmed him. Yet all he did was smile softly at you as his wings fluffed out, basking in the light for a moment, before encapsulating the both of you. He was hesitant, his eyes drawing away from you as he took a moment to gather himself before he pulled off the mask for the first time. And you swore, in that moment, you somehow both practically died again and fell for him. "Oh shit.." You would mumble, catching Adam's attention rather quickly. You saw the worry contort on his face, "You've been hiding this handsome face from me, Adam what the fuck?! I would have much rather look at this than your fucking mask when you were blowing my brains out you b-" "Woah babe," Adam's hand rushed up and covered your mouth. You saw his scheming smirk playing onto his lips, "I can fuck you now if you want to, but I thought we were having a moment! Look at you, ruining it this time instead of me!~"

ᯓ Oh the fucking tease.

ᯓ Adam isn't perfect, far from it, but you aren't either. You honestly probably help each other over come traumas of the past and heal together. After all, you're both just a burning pile of hot mess, so why not be a burning pile together?

Home | Masterlist

ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

(Hope this was good! :D I haven't written since I had gotten sick and writer's fog/block, so this might be a little more shaky than my regular work. I would appreciate any constructive critiques you may have!)

[anantaru]

neuvillette eats pussy to distress

cw. oral (fem! receiving), you're a lil bratty, fem! reader

what comes out of your mouth are nothing more than short-planted whimpers, little, hesitant cries, and then a filthy moan of neuvillette's name, but you tell yourself that you do not want to give him that certain satisfaction he had longed for all night— and you sneakily trace along his scalp with your trembling fingers, he hisses when you tug on his roots, then whines into your pussy when you do it again, eyes growing wide at your fine-drawn pursue.

"there certainly is no need to hold yourself back for me." he suddenly claims and it has you avert your eyes, the way he had phrased it was almost a little too detached and apathetic to your own liking— almost as if he didn't take this whole thing serious and believed that he gave in, just for a second, in one of the lewd, obscene pleasures of human kind, before adding, "because you do, in fact, hide your voice."

"am i correct?"

"i don't!" sweet sweet liar, because you do, you've been blocking them out this entire time, "maybe you're not as good— fuck, as you think you are!"

the man laughs, a little aloof, and evidently, neuvillette was aware on what he was capable of doing to you and his fingers are cool and persistent in fucking in and out of your little hole, and despite it being only a digit, not even fully in, your toes curl and your legs clasp around his head when he adds his tongue, it has your sticky slick pooling between the folds of your cunt and merging with his spit, fuck, acting as if he didn't bring you unrecognizable pleasure was harder than you originally thought.

especially since he appeared to be exceptionally fatigued and certainly used your body as a way to distress from day to day work— for him, this type of work life balance was the most sufficient one.

neuvillette slides his warm tongue up and down your pussy in long swipes when you shiver at the mere sight of him doing so, feeling like everyone in the giant building can hear what's happening to you right this second, more so know who is pulling those lewd noises out of your sore throat.

your glowing eyes, in a sudden haste, spring open when you feel how he languidly spits on your cunt, once, twice— so you're wetter for him, he claims you taste better that way, lubricating you so he can drag his tongue into you faster, just like you so desperately wanted him to, yet in secret, you'd never tell him that— while, the chief justice most definitely preferred it if you're adequately messed up whenever he comes to see you, your exposed core luminous, hole clenching around his digits and you swear you can feel him smirk faintly, although he wasn't a man of great emotions, while proceeding in this particular task, he couldn't possibly suppress this feral, animalistic desire housing deep inside his chest, rumbling and aching for a possibility to escape.

the twist in your stomach builds up quickly, quicker than you initially had anticipated, "how— how, fuck!" you manage to say, "how are you so fucking good at this?" and your fingers find themselves wounding in his hair, holding onto him for your dear life when a tremor of cold shivers crossed over your figure when he groans into your pussy by the nature of your rough tugs on his scalp, his breath hot and wet when it ghosts over your soaked folds. 

"there they are." he moans into your cunt, not giving a single flying fuck if his face was slicked up in your juices, as said, he adored making a mess, "those noises i've been looking forward to."

at last, when he adds another finger into your hole and curls them up, the tightened thread in your stomach snaps in half and you shake violently while pinned down with one of his arms strongly locked over your stomach, with a cry of his name, that you originally preferred to stay hidden in your throat, your loud moans tumble and bounce from your lips to his ears as you cum all against his mouth so he could finally taste you.

but the long-rooted waves of your pleasure have not dissipated as he continues to flick his tongue over your clit, your slick by now basically coating the entire lower half of his face, his eyes fixated on nothing but your addictive, more so intoxicating expressions— you knew neuvillette wouldn't stop, there's no such thing as leaving a case half finished, he had a habit of prolonging your orgasm until you're overstimulated to the hilt, always, whenever he had you under him, it's his way of fucking you, until you're nothing but satisfied, such as he was whenever a trial ends with no complications.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Just... I have to get this off my chest for some reason.

One of the reasons I can't stand S*puffy anymore, is because in season two with B*angel, they were trying to tell this story that him becoming her whole world was not a good thing and dangerous. And you can definitely see that in the narrative, like with "A*ngel, when I look to the future all I see is you." And this was a very good thing! This was, really, foreshadowing how even when their relationship was "good" and looked good there was also some foreboding here and, really, they were doomed. And this culminates in the whole A*ngelus arc where at the end she has to kill him to save the world. Because, intentional or not, even when he was A*ngel, she had gotten to this place where she was putting him above her duty (short aside: I don't think A*ngel would have ever wanted that. The opposite, really. He wanted to help her be the Slayer. But they got too wrapped up in each other, and yeah. And like I said, intentional or not, even before he was A*ngelus, maybe it was like he was starting to ask her to choose between him and her responsibilities), and that's why season two had to end the way it did.

This is one of the many things that makes B*uffy the Vampire Slayer good. And B*uffy a good heroine. This is what made the show what it did. And this is, quite arguably, the show at its best.

I remember some quote of Joss Whedon's where, in some ways, he was excited about the supernatural young adult fiction that started coming out around the time of Twilight, including Twilight, starring female characters. He thought that this was a good thing and he wanted to root for them... but as he read them, he felt like the stories were more about "what boyfriend is the girl going to pick." Because when forced with a tough choice, like between the world and her love, the girl would choose her love every single time and would never make the difficult choice, like B*uffy had. In these books, there was no "Buffy" in sight. Keep this in mind for later, please.

Now, in season three of B*uffy the Vampire Slayer, A*ngel does come back. And despite them trying to fight the inevitable numerous times, the two of them do end up dating again. But for the most part, they don't fall into the trap of season two, where they're putting each other above everyone and everything else. They love each other in a much better and healthier way, where they reach the potential they always had (and I feel they're even healthier in later seasons, where B*uffy doesn't do things like be willing to kill F*aith to save A*ngel). But even then, they're still doomed because of A*ngel's curse and know this, and A*ngel leaves.

Enter S*puffy. Now, I'm not even going to get into all the toxic stuff with them--that does bother me, don't get me wrong--that most people (for good reason) talk about with them. I'm here to discuss when they're "good." Including the comics. Which, I'll admit, is them at they're best (which I have enjoyed/did enjoy in the past). And there definitely is some good there.

But what really ticks me off, is that we completely forget the lesson that we learned and preached about in season two. And we start getting into "S*pike" is suddenly all B*uffy sees territory.

In season five, Buffy is faced with the dilemma of having to kill her sister to save the world at the end of the season. And this is one of B*uffy's major breaking points in the show (she goes catatonic after her sister is kidnapped by the goddess looking to murder her). Until season six (when she's ripped out of heaven by her friends) it is her lowest moment in the entire series. And the one thing she will not back down on: that, no: She will not let her sister die to save the world. She's given up so many other people (A*ngel in season two, for instance) and things (like her sanity, safety and peace of mind. Heck, she's already died once at this point). But this is the one sacrifice she won't make. And at the last seconds of the season--since she and her sister have the same blood (D*awn was created from her)--she realizes that she can die instead, and makes that sacrifice.

But then, all of a sudden, in season seven, B*uffy's saying that now she's changed and if she did have to make such a choice again--if there were no other option--she would sacrifice D*awn to save the world, but she won't sacrifice S*pike?! What the fuck?

I feel like no writing decision has ever pissed me off more than this, as the season five arc was one of my favorites in the show (maybe even more than the A*ngelus one, or tied with it). I was completely on B*uffy's side with the D*awn thing in season five and respected her for it, and they just threw it in the trash in season seven. And as someone who loves her own sister more than anything, and would definitely feel this same way as B*uffy, I take this personally.

Furthermore, remember that Joss Whedon quote from before that I told you to recall? Congratulations Joss and writers, you are now doing what you criticized in other authors: Having a heroine willing to let the world burn, but not her boyfriend! But she suddenly will let her sister burn, but not her boyfriend? That's vile!

And we're going backwards here. In season two, B*uffy realized why having her boyfriend be her whole world and cloud her judgement was a bad thing... and what? Now we're saying it's not? Or that it's okay with S*pike?!

Which gets me into another issue I have with S*puffy, that I made a post about (that I didn't even get even go into as deeply with as I could've/should've), that the writers started doing this thing where something they said was bad with B*angel was somehow okay with S*puffy. Which makes absolutely no sense. And could even get near a "S*pike is a Gary-Stu" level.

And it doesn't even stop with the D*awn thing. As others have pointed out, in season seven the S*coobies could have gotten seriously injured and S*pike has, like, a scratch on his lip (I'm exaggerating, I know, but the point stands) and B*uffy runs to him. He's a vampire! He has magical healing and is fine! Priorities, woman!

And there's this part in the comics where S*pike thinks that his great-great-great grandsire is going to possess him, and that he's going to become a real threat to B*uffy (that he might even lose his soul) and that she should probably just kill him for her and the world's safety (which, hey: is admirable. Major points to Spike here!:D). And B*uffy doesn't even take this seriously at all. (There's even this great part where she says something along the lines of, "You were a good person without a soul. If you lose your soul, you will be again and I'll just help you find your way again." But somehow, they also end up talking about his attempted rape of her when he was soulless and B*uffy goes, "That wasn't really you." Buffy, authors, you just contradicted yourself in, like, three breaths. You can't have it both ways. Which one is it?) But he does end up being controlled... and Buffy doesn't end up fighting him at all! All of the S*coobies are like, "What the hell are you doing?" as he's attacking her. But Buffy decides to take the risky chance of trying to get through to him with the power of love, and of course it ends up working out for them! This is not the B*uffy, nor the B*uffy the Vampire Slayer, I know and love. And of course when this ends up happening to A*ngel later on, they go about things differently for him. Ugh. (Another S*puffy issue I have: the point where the writers really started handing him his wildest dreams on a silver platter, while A*ngel and B*angel got nothing but suffering and trauma).

And then we have people like Stacey Abrams saying that A*ngel was good for B*uffy when she was discovering her power, but S*pike was good for her when she became the power. To me, it looks like S*pike made her weak AF, clouded her judgement--almost made her feel like a different character to me, after a point (especially in the comics, where she was making stupid decisions at points. Like the aforementioned risky power of love move)--and forget long, hard lessons she'd already learned.

Let's also not forget that a lot of times in the show that whenever they tried to push S*puffy, they had to do so by isolating Buffy from all of her friends.

And everyone likes to write home about S*pike's relationships with, like, J*oyce and D*awn and certain S*coobies. But eventually we lost those, too, to try and push S*puffy.

Buffy is definitely S*pike's whole world, which isn't healthy at all, which I'd say even takes away from his character and becomes his whole character in a lot of ways... especially in the comics. (The Buffyngton Post on YouTube has a lot of funny videos about the comics--and he's a huge fan of the comics, so it's not like he's hating on them or anything like that--where he pokes fun at everyone's entire role in the season. And a lot of times for S*pike, it'll be things like, "Show up at the end of the season with little to no bearing on the plot." And/or "Here to be B*uffy's boyfriend." And he's not a S*pike or S*puffy hater or anything like that. I feel like season 10, and arguably season 11 [or parts of it] is the only time this didn't happen. And The Buffyngton Post had the fear as the comics were coming out, that if S*pike became B*uffy's boyfriend in them, that he would lose all agency and just be Buffy's BoyfriendTM, with no arcs whatsoever. And that did kind of happen. Granted, this may moreso be an issue with the comics' writing as a whole. As the B*uffy the Vampire Slayer comics weren't the greatest. The A*ngel & F*aith ones were definitely better, for instance. But still.)

People complained when it seemed like this was the case for A*ngel in the early seasons of B*TVS (him just being B*uffy's vampire boyfriend, essentially). But then he got his own show, his own life, and friends. At a certain point, after S*pike falls in love with B*uffy, you rip her out of his life... and I honestly have no idea what he would do, where he would go, or what his story would be. Like in season twelve, when they've broken up. Which I guess is why it's a good thing that we really don't see much of that, and have a time skip. We jump right to when they're forced to interact again to fight an apocalypse. S*pike says that in that time he did some detective work with Dowling during their time apart, which I can buy, but it's still not a lot to go off of. Which is kind of the point and kind of my whole issue here.

Case and point: B*angel actually better adheres to the important theme that the B*uffy writers put in early in the show, and should have stuck to, then S*puffy.

Also... I am not looking for a ship war or argument here. This is me just getting these feelings off my chest (that's why I didn't tag anything and censored everything, because I'm hoping it doesn't show up anywhere and just stays on my blog, really). Anyone here who replies or reblogs this fighting, I will not reply and will probably instantly block you, etc. I'm sorry, but it's just the way it is. This is really me venting.

[rafesslxt]

DOBERMAN | Mattheo Riddle

summary: you and pansy go get some errands with hagrid in a store and on your way you find something really cute you wanna buy. When you come back with it, Mattheo isn‘t that convinced like the rest is.

warnings: cutest dog evaaa, new slytherin mascot hehe, mattheo being a softie and a dog dad, words: 806

notes: writing this in the honor of wanting a second dog, a doberman, even tho I got the most beautiful white Shepard ever

Mattheo honestly didn't knew what to say. This wasn't the first time you came back from shopping with things that surprised him. But this?

In front of him sat his girlfriend with her best friend Pansy and a fucking puppy. Even tho that puppy's head and paws looked so huge it could count as a little but matured dog. "What the hell is this?" he asks, looking down at it, sitting by his girlfriends feet.

"This is our new dog! And Pansy and I already named her!"

By the time half of the Slytherins were now in the common room, all standing and sitting around you and your dog. "What did you name her?" Theodore asks you. "Azula." "Azula?" he asks. "What does that mean?" a little girl asks, sitting on the couch.

"It's a name from a girl that can produce blue flames. She's a fire bender and really powerful." Mattheo sighs and shakes his head. "Does Dumbledore even know about this? And where do you even wanna let her be when we have classes?"

"I already figured everything out with Pansy!" Pansy nods in agreement and continues. "Yeah, we asked Hagrid and he says he would love to watch her whenever we have classes or are outside Hogwarts. Dumbledore said yes because officially it's Y/N's pet now. And well, we all know he likes Y/N so it wasn't really that hard."

"Yeah only Snape was a little unsure but then I told him I would teach her to catch rats and snakes for his potions." you say after smiling brightly at Mattheo.

"Oh come on Mattheo, she will be our little guard and new addition to the gang." you say, batting with your lashes at him.

"I like her!" comes from an Enzo who's laying on his back on the ground, already playing with Azula.

Mattheo rolls his eyes. " I am not going to feed her, walk her or do anything other. This is your responsibility, understood?" he gives in which leads you to jump at him happy. "Yes yes yes I promise! You will love her."

A few months passed by since you got Azula and to say Mattheo and her were enemys - one sided enemys - was an understatement.

She was now fully in her teeny phase which means she would not pee inside but now destroy everything her sharp teeth could reach. And to Mattheo's dismail, it were always his things. His ties, his hoodies, his belts, his shoes - especially his shoes.

He would always scold her for destroying his stuff but you told him every time that she was still learning and is now in her teeny phase. Like puberty. What the fuck does that even mean, was what he thought.

Azula on the other hand loved him. She was very picky about who she would let close to her but no matter how often she got pushed away by Mattheo, she would try again.

So it was when Mattheo came back really tired from his classes after he had studied all night long and got barely any sleep, when he fell down on the couch in the common room.

He slept so deep, that he at first didn't notice the little body that squeezed itself between his chest and arms. When he woke up from his nap, still alone in the common room, he gasps as he saw Azula's face right in front of his with her eyes closed.

That was the moment he fell in love, like hard. He would get her ANY toy he saw while walking through the pet store with you, originally to buy dog shampoo and a new leash.

No food was good enough for her but the one he got, the priciest of course and fresh food from Hagrid. He would barf her most of the time. (Barf is feeding your dog like raw meat, fresh fruits, vegetables and stuff.)

He would walk her every time you didn't have time or were still in class. Often he would let her chase Draco in his ferret form only to laugh at him when he hid on a tree or something different that Azula couldn't reach.

Oh and the pics you would collect of them both were so precious. Them playing together, sleeping together on the couch or when she was allowed in your dorm on your bed.

She also played a lot with the cats in Hogwarts as she grew up with them but she hates Mrs. Norris and always chased her through the castle, making Filch argue with you.

So now here he sat, with the love of his life and you. Joke joke joke. But no for real. He would love her to death and that's when it hit him.

"Y/n? I think I want a baby with you."

I just haaaaad to write this, hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you think. 🫶🏻

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xoxo sarah <3

[dcxdpdabbles]

Phantom's Number 1 Fan Part 3

John Constantine calls a joint Justice League and Justice League Dark meeting.

It's not something he wants to do. He barely works with the LJD, but at least that lot understands his work and knows what to do and where to go.

The JL members always ask questions and forget proper manners when working with the paranormal- John isn't the most well-mannered bloke around, but even he knows to permanently say goodbye to ghosts so that they don't follow him home- and it's like trying to teach an intern while dodging bullets.

He prefers to avoid the whole origination, especially since Bruce's death; everyone has been walking on eggshells, and there is a sense of disorganization drenched in grief that John breaks into hives just thinking about, but this is big.

Bigger than he can handle it on his own or with just the JLD. Even if the whole group gives the bats not-so-stable glances as they filter in.

John notices that one of Batman's brats is missing- the smart one- but he has heard that the kid suffered some kind of psychotic break from his father's death. It's sad, really, mainly because John used to believe that the third Robin was the one with the good head on his shoulders.

What's worse is that the Third Robin up and ran off, having gone off the grid when he refused to accept Batman's death. The boy hadn't said anything besides, "The portraits told me!" after having a miniature breakdown in his home.

It didn't help that around this time, the boy teammates had all dropped like flies except for one. So yes, John knows it wasn't a big surprise that he lost it, but it was still sad to see. Kid is only seventeen.

He hopes they find him soon to give him the help he needs. John would offer a spell to try and find him, but he needs to learn about the kid better, which means his spell can only point in a general direction.

Nightwing looked downright ragged, but losing a father on the battlefield and a younger brother to his grief did a number on anyone.

John hates himself just a little for dragging the grieving family here. He does, but again, this is bigger than all of them. This is a matter of life and death- literally.

"Listen up. We have a bloody level ten on its way to Earth if it's not already here." His words cut through the muttering crowd, shutting everyone up. A level ten makes even the big, lousy Superman sweat. He snaps his fingers, allowing his magic to shift into the image of a King Phantom sitting on his throne- painted in the early 1200s and the picture that can be used to identify him.

The art style would have been almost modern if it wasn't for the unease that the painting could cause due to the glowing green from his majesty's portrait. They say the green was ectoplasm from the king himself- and that alone should warn others to not mess with him.

Everyone Justice League Dark member hissed through their teeth, sitting up straighter and a few even pale. John is once again grateful that they understand just how deep in shit they genuinely are.

"This is the Ghost King. He is not to be confused with a god or king of gods. He's something else entirely because he makes gods nervous. He is on his way here to kill whoever is dumb enough to threaten his pregnant fiancee, and I fear the rest of Earth will be collateral if we don't prepare-"

"That's Danny Phantom," A young voice cuts John off. He is surprised someone would talk over him in a level ten briefing. All eyes turn to Robin- er, the new Robin.

The kid is frowning at the image, his signature scowl already deeper than usual. He's also heard the new Robin was a spoiled boy who was not a team player.

"You know King Phantom?" John asks.

Robin nods. "Placeholder is obsessed with him. Half his room is covered with King Phantom's heroics."

"Do not call him that.," Nightwing hisses a second later. He frowned when Robin ignored him but returned to the room without further comment on the boy's cheek. "Danny Phantom is a low-level search and rescue hero. He pops up around the world but only sometimes interacts with people. Robin- Young Justice Robin- was obsessed with him."

The room gains an awkward weight as no one is willing to bring up the mentally unsound MIA teenager.

It's too bad for them. John has never cared about making anyone comfortable. "You said his room is covered in images of King Phantom?"

From the corner of his eyes, John catches sight of Zatanna's face. She's pale white, with a horrified expression as if though she was standing before the grim itself. Every other member of the Justice League Dark is in a similar state.

"Yes, he has a whole wall of posters and stuff." Nightwing conforms, and shit John knows who Phantom's after now.

The thing is, one just doesn't have pictures of King Phantom. No one knows why, but the Ghost King can not be documented. Not without having some kind of connection to the King.

Throughout history, the only ones who have ever had even one solid picture of the king- John's magic doesn't count cause he can't well hold the thing up forever- usually meant that the King would appear before them at one point.

There is also a myth if one could beat a member of the royal ghost family, then one wish is granted to them. If one can kill a royal ghost member, death can be overturned.

It's not true, obviously, for death is not easily beaten like that, but John knows that as an expert, would a mentally unwell teenager know the same?

It was also known that if the King appeared before you, something terrible would happen. The sighting of King Phantom often came as an omen and usually right before a terrible disaster.

In the last disaster, they lost Batman, and if King Phantom had shown up, where the Third Robin have spotted him? Where the Third Robin have thought the King could return the dead?

Not to mention the rumors!

King Phantom was hunting down a group of humans known as "The Bats." John hadn't put that much stock in that rumor simply because it could have been anyone- hell, when he looked up the bats seven different groups appeared, varying from boy bands to zoologists.

But if he placed the name "The Bats" next to the Third Robin's psychotic break, his obsession with King Phantom, and his intertwined fates...well, shit.

There is a slight chance that the Third Robin's fate could be intertwined with the Ghost King in a positive light, but John has learned to not be optimistic in his line of work.

"I think the Third Robin is gunning after the Ghost King's fiancee and unborn child in a misguided attempt to bring Batman back to life. He may have kicked started a war that humanity can not win," He announces. He hates to say. hates to even suggest it, but the needs of the many outweigh those of the few. "We have to find the Third Robin and attempt to stop him. If we can't reason with him, we must put him down."

Wonder Girl gasps a sob, pressing her hand against her mouth.

John hates himself a little more as she sobs; a few rushes to confront her, but no one is unaffected by the news.

"I'm ordering a hunt for the Third Robin," Wonderwoman speaks up to her steady leadership, returning everyone from their despair. "Every available hero will help. Do not use lethal force unless there is no other choice. We may be able to find him before King Phantom's armies arrive."

John just hopes they are not too late.

Meanwhile, across the plane of existence, unaware of the manhunt for his head, Tim Drake is trying to stare down a Yeti, attempting to put him in silk clothes that are just fabrics held together by strings.

"No."

"But-But- but you have such a flattering figure! You must flaunt it! The Great One will barely be able to contain himself if he sees you in this!"

"No. It looks like something you wear on a honeymoon to seduce your spouse. I'm not walking around in that."

"Well, you don't need to bewitch his majesty. You already have a child on the way." The Yeit mutters, considering the fabric in his claws with a frown. He is Frostbite's royal tailor and has been attempting to dress Tim for over an hour. Everything he's suggested so far looks like it came from those romantic fantasy games.

It's like they want to make him a sexy consort or something.

Tim's teeth grind against each other. He hates how often his role is reminded, how casually the yetis mention that Ra's expects a child from Tim.

He doesn't even know how that child will come to be, and it makes him sick. He's been bidding his time, waiting for his wounds to heal and to find a weakness in the frozen fortress, but so far, he is unsure how he will escape.

And Bruce is still out there, waiting for Tim to get him. He can't waste any more time here.

"How about this cloak?" The Yeti offers, holding up a dark metallic fabric that reminds TIm of his Robin cape. "If we are going for a more conservative look, something that screams power is just the way to make the masses wild!"

Ugh, he really needs to think of a plan soon.

[vivwritesfics]

Set The World On Fire

Chapter Sixteen

Lando Norris had been incredibly angry when they met. Incredibly angry, but sweet enough to help her. Turns out he just needed somebody to talk to, somebody to be there for him.

He was easy to fall for, and that put her in a world of danger

Warnings: Stalking

Mafia AU

1.9K

Warnings: hint of smut

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Light filled the room from the curtains they'd forgotten to close the night before. Lando's eyes opened, but he just let out a groan and pulled her closer, pressing his face into the crook of her neck.

But she stayed asleep, and Lando was grateful. He pulled away from his neck to just look at her. Admire her. Admire the way her eyelashes kissed her skin, the deep, almost snoring breaths she pulled in as she dreamed. She'd fallen asleep with Lando's arm around her, splayed hand settling over her stomach. Her fingers laced through her own, and she refused to let go.

God, he was in heaven, and he never wanted to leave.

Gently untangling from her grip, he pulled his body away from her own and grabbed his phone, turning off his alarm before it had the chance to wake her up. He tried to be quiet as he pulled a suit jacket, white shirt, and trousers from the wardrobe.

Lando tiptoed out of the room. He headed into the bathroom across the hall and quickly got himself dressed. His hair was untameable curls that he didn't bother trying to fix. No, she could run her hands through them, try and do what she could before he left.

As Lando left the bathroom, top two buttons of his white shirt undone and his suit jacket over his arm, he checked his schedule on his phone. He'd left Will to arrange his day for him, but both men knew it would be a miracle if Lando stuck to it.

Walking into the kitchen, he draped his jacket over the back of a chair and searched through the cupboard for her mug.

Her first morning at the house, Lando had made her a coffee in this one mug. It had originally been his sisters, green with little brown and white rabbits on it. She hadn't used another mug since.

Pulling it from the cupboard, Lando placed it under the coffee machine. He pressed the buttons (something he hadn't had to do before she arrived) and waited for the cup to fill up. It rumbled to life, slowly filling the mug.

Impatiently, Lando checked his watch. He wasn't impatient to leave, to be on his way. No, he was impatient to return to her, fresh mug of coffee in his hands.

The coffee machine had barely stopped when he pulled the mug from beneath it. Leaving his suit jacket draped over the back of the chair, he walked through the house, heading up to his bedroom. Their bedroom.

His girl was still sleeping when he walked into the bedroom. Lando placed the mug of coffee onto the bedside table and ran his hands through his hair, pushing it away from her forehead. "Wake up, baby," he whispered as he sat down.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she curled her body around his own, grabbed his hand and pulled him in. A breathy laugh left his lips and he allowed himself to be pulled on top of her. "Come back to bed," she mumbled, eyes barely opening.

He kissed her. Lando pressed his lips to her own, hands cupping her cheeks. "I've got to go," he said, lips still pressed to her own.

Hands holding the back of his neck, she kept him there. "When are you gonna be back?" She asked, voice quiet as she reached up to run her hands through his curls.

Lando kissed her again. "Not long," he said when he pulled away. He grabbed the mug from the table and handed it to her. "If you wanna go anywhere today, let Max know and he'll go with you."

She took the mug and breathed in the scent of coffee. "I will, Lan," she replied, placing her hand on top of his own. "Stay safe?"

"For you, always." Leaning in, he kissed her head and walked out of the bedroom. No goodbyes, never goodbyes. Especially not now she knew who Lando was, what he did.

Settling back against the cushions, she sipped her coffee as Lando left the house. She looked around the room. Since she'd moved in, Lando had taken down some of his posters, was making a move to make the room 'more grownup'. It wasn't something she had asked him to do, but he was determined.

She finished her coffee and got herself dressed. A yawn was pulled from her lips as she looked out of the window, looked across the grounds. She'd been out there once, sat on the decking with Lando. In his lap, actually, his lips attached to her neck as he sat, nestled inside of her.

Holding her empty mug, she headed down to the kitchen. Lando had gone already. She'd heard the front door shut as he left, but she couldn't help but miss him already.

"Morning," said Max Fewtrell, the man she knew to be Lando's oldest friend, as he poured his milk into his cereal.

"Hey, Max," she said as she took her mug over to the sink. "D'you think we could head to my apartment today?"

Max thought about it. He didn't voice what he was thinking, that they had cleaning staff to do jobs like the washing up and she didn't have to do it herself. Instead he said, "Would Lando be okay with that?"

She leaned against the counter, arms folded over her chest. She looked down at her jumper, one of the oversized ones Lando rarely got to work now that he was the head of the family. "Have you got anything better to do today?"

Letting out a breath, Max checked his watch. "You've got me for three hours," he said and continued eating his cereal.

Three hours. As she ate her breakfast, she made a mental list of everything she needed. Clothes, books, her laptop, and the things she needed for work.

Work. God, she hadn't been in since she moved into the house. Her boss had been fuming when she'd called, but Lando had pried her phone from her hands and spoken to him for her. As soon as he was done, she was given as much time off as she needed.

But she was getting a little stir crazy, stuck in this house with him. She loved him, and the house was amazing, but she needed to get out. Outside of the house, outside of the walls. She even mossed her shitty job, something she never thought would be possible.

Before they set off to her apartment, Max disappeared further into the house. It was only for a few minutes, while she pulled her shoes onto her feet.

"Here," he said, walking back over. A gun was tucked into waistband and he held a butterfly knife out towards her.

She took it from between his fingers. "What's this for?"

Max shrugged his shoulders. "Just in case," he said and grabbed a hold of his keys.

He drove them to the apartment. The radio played softly, filling the empty space between them as she pulled out her phone to text Lando. He didn't respond, but that was okay. She knew he was busy today.

"If this goes well, think we can get some lunch?"

Max's jaw was set as he pulled up outside of the apartment. "You're really trying to get LN to maim me, aren't you?" He muttered and pushed open the car door.

No matter how mad he looked, she knew it wasn't real. Since she moved in she'd gotten to know Max, had spent several nights sitting on the sofa with him and Lando, consuming a movie (of usually Max's choice). They weren't quite at the point of friends, yet, but that was coming.

Max kept one hand on his gun as he followed her up the stairs. When they got to her door, Max pulled his gun out and opened it for her. He walked in first, gun raised as he surveyed the room.

The kitchen and living room were clear, but Max didn't say that. "You got your knife?" He asked as he started towards the bedroom.

She pulled the butterfly knife from her pocket, her grip on it tight as she followed Max into the bedroom. But it was clear. Her entire apartment was clear.

It was only when Max lowered his gun that she relaxed. "Go on," he said and walked over to the window. "Pack your shit."

She did just that, shoving her clothes and shoes into bags. She grabbed a few books, just her favourites, and shoved them into her bags, too. Everything else in her apartment she had for sentimental reasons. They weren't necessities, though.

Grabbing a picture of her parents, she zipped up her bag and slung one over her shoulder. Max grabbed the other in his free hand. He looked around the room, still full of so much stuff. "Is this everything?" He asked, unable to hide the scepticism in his voice.

She nodded her head and he led the way out of the apartment. "You know, Lando can get people to help empty this place out for you," he said as he started down the stairs.

A sad sort of hum left her lips as she followed him. She'd loved that apartment, had made it her own, and part of her didn't want to leave. But a bigger part of her saw the bigger picture.

At the car, Max threw her bags into the boot and closed it. A sigh left his lips and he checked his watch again. "Lunch?" He asked.

That sad smile was wiped from her lips as she climbed into the car and Max drove her away, taking her to get lunch. The day was nice, there was no better way to describe it. Max told her stories from his and Lando's childhood as they ate. They were hilarious, had her giggling into her greasy, shitty burger. (It may have been greasy and shitty, but she loved it).

When lunch was done, Max checked his watch once again. He rushed her into the car and drove her back to the house. She carried her own bags as Max drove his car to the garage, and walked up the steps, pushing her way into the house.

Part of her had hoped the Lando was back already. But it wasn't possible; she and Max had only been gone for a couple of hours, not long enough for Lando to fly to the Netherlands and back.

So, she set about unpacking her things in the room they shared. She filled Lando's wardrobe and drawers, and placed the picture of her parents on her bedside table.

It started raining as she placed her books on the bedside table. She took a moment to watch as the rain fell on the grass outside. It was beautiful when it rained, but the garden needed something. Flowers, a vegetable patch, some furniture or something.

The door opened, but she thought nothing of it as she walked out of the room and headed downstairs to get something to drink. There was muttering that she didn't much pay attention to as she headed down the stairs.

But then she saw him. There he was looking, looking much the same as he did that morning. But that didn't stop her from running towards him and jumping into his arms. "Hi, baby," he whispered and pressed his lips to her eyes.

"Hi, stinky."

He put her down and turned her to face the other person in the foyer. "Baby, I want you to meet my sister." His heavily pregnant sister.

a/n: so the sister mentioned here is our dear reader from NNTA. Or, as Bianca and I like to refer to her, pretty little wife (plw)

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[inkbybambi]

best friend!simon riley picking you up from a bad date —

words: 2.2k rating: nothing explicit apart from a brief mention of sex, just some light angst and comfort. my blog is 18+ so minors please dni. warning: hurt/comfort, fluff, pet names, insecurity/doubt/worry, mentions of sex, simon is the softie we all know he is notes: originally written for @ghosts-cyphera ♡ we all need a bestfriend!simon in our lives who's so sweet and gentle with us.

one thing you love about simon — besides everything — is how reliable he is. strong, steadfast, there when you need him. even when he’s not physically there — his work taking him away for weeks or even months at a time — you find yourself reading over the messages he’s sent, the little sticky notes he’s left, whatever memento you’ve kept of him tucked away in the drawer in your bedside table.

not that you’ll tell him that.

you hate asking him for favors — asking anyone for favors, really, but him especially. whenever you ask someone for help, it's always accompanied by a long-suffering sigh or a roll of the eyes or some very clear indication that they'd rather do anything else.

except for simon.

which is why you're hesitant to ask him more than you absolutely need to. you don't want to push your luck too far, less he eventually tires of you as well.

losing people hurts, always assuming it's you that caused the problem. you've come to accept this, even if the dark feelings of being too much or a burden claw at the edges of your mind.

but losing simon? you don't think you'd ever get over that.

it's just after 9pm, the sky dark and clouds threatening, with thunder rumbling steadily in the sky. your hand shakes as you fumble your phone from your pocket, trying to hold your tears at bay as you scroll through your contacts.

your call log is all simon.

some appointments here and there, but simon everywhere else.

fuck.

you hiccup, the tears spilling from your eyes as the sky finally opens up, joining you in your mourning.

you don't have any other choice, really, so you click his number before you can talk yourself out of it and walk home instead, bringing it up to your ear as it rings.

he answers before the third ring.

"i'm so sorry to bother you," you sniffle into the phone, before he has a chance to say anything. you take in a sharp breath, blood turning to ice. "am i bothering you?" you sound so meek and small and tired.

“no, dove, you’re not,” comes his calm, reassuring voice. you’re only half-convinced.

"i'm sorry," you begin again. your heart falls to your stomach, convincing yourself that this is his final straw. you're overtaken by a wave of nausea, despite not having eaten anything since lunch. "i didn't know who else to call, and i lost my tram pass, and i don't have an umbrella, and — "

“dove,” he says, his accent soothing to your ears — he's so endlessly patient and kind. you ache.

"i can just walk home, i-i'm sorry," you whimper out, unable to stop the tears blurring your vision, feeling pathetic and weak and so, so alone.

“darling,” he says, a little stern. not angry, never angry. trying to focus you. “what’s wrong?”

“u-um, my date stood me up,” you sniff, swallowing hard. "i waited an hour," you mumble, looking to your shoes. "messaged him too, y'know. but he just. didn't show."

you think you hear simon curse over the line and your heart lurches, feeling like you're about to be sick.

“where are you?”

there's a rustle of fabric, the clink of keys, the heel of his boot walking across his floor. you manage to tell him the name of the restaurant, voice cracking.

“twenty minutes,” he says, and you’re about to protest but he beats you to it. “sit there and be good and patient and i’ll pick you up, yeah?”

"okay," you whisper in agreement, before the line clicks dead and you allow yourself to cry, huddling under the awning as some protection from the rain, now coming down in thick, sharp waves.

thirteen minutes later, the headlights of his truck shine through the dark, pulling up to the curb. you make a mad dash for the passenger door, still getting drenched in the process.

you can't even look at him, hands shaking as you buckle the belt, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

he says your name gently. you take in a shuddering breath and let it out just as shaky, looking over towards him. he's wearing his balaclava, but his eyes — even in the dark, you can make out his beautiful eyes. assessing you, worrying.

"i'm sorry," you croak out. you can't help it. it's burned into your tongue, driven into your mind to make him understand you didn't want to bother him. he doesn't have to forgive you, but as long as he knows, that's enough.

"love," he says, and there's... something in his voice, as he reaches over for your hand, holding it gently in his own. his eyes never leave yours. "'m never gonna be mad about you askin' for help." your eyes flit away, but he squeezes your hand and you reluctantly look back. "you know me better than that," he says, as if he can read the treacherous thoughts swirling in your head, drowning you and making it hard to breathe.

you can only nod, not trusting your voice at the moment. he hums, bringing the back of your hand up to graze his covered lips over the back, pulling out to drive you back.

"this is your flat," you say, fifteen minutes later as he shuts the car off. you were too busy looking at the window, watching the rain drops race down the glass, to notice that he wasn't driving the familiar route to your place.

"yes," he replies, as if it's obvious he'd bring you here. "you really think i'd let you stay home alone?"

his eyes are so fucking bright. it startles you, and you hate how your heart twists and thumps at how intently he's looking.

"i..." you start, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. his eyes flicker to your lips, snapping away just as quick. "i was gonna eat ice cream and drink shitty, cheap wine," you say.

"as if i don't have either of those things here," he replies, opening the door and effectively ending the conversation. you scramble after him, eager to be inside in the warmth and burrow yourself into his couch.

"go get changed," he says, voice clear as he removes the balaclava and bends to untie his shoes.

you hesitate for a second, until he looks up to you and there's that something lingering in his gaze — the same something that was in his voice.

"go on now," he repeats, softer, and you ditch your shoes and your uncomfortably wet jacket by his.

his flat is as familiar as your own — you could walk through it blindfolded at night and you wouldn't knock into a single thing.

well.

you might knock into a corner or two, but that's not a vision thing. it's a you're a bit clumsy thing. simon finds it endlessly amusing, poking at the bruises that blossom on your skin while you bat his hand away.

his bedroom is familiar as well. which is why you don't think twice before you're shimmying out of your clothes — undergarments as well — and rifling through his drawers, finding your favorite shirt of his and a pair of his boxers.

you take a moment to smell the collar, taking comfort in the scent that lingers. you’ve been dressed in his clothes many times before this but it feels different this time.

as you pad back out to the living room, simon’s already on the couch. your favorite blanket is draped across his lap, two bowls of ice cream and a bottle of cheap wine sitting open, glasses filled far more than you would’ve. but you’ll indulge him, mostly because you have the sneaking suspicion that he’ll have you sleep here anyways.

his balaclava is off. the last dregs of tension drain from you as he looks over to you, face soft in the lowlight of the lamp, tv already ready with a show you’ve watched a thousand times that he watches with you without complaint.

“knew you’d choose that one,” he says with a bit of a smirk as you crawl on the couch, burrowing yourself into his side, his arm slinging across the back of the cushion.

“am i that predictable?” you mumble, a small ‘thank you’ as he hands you a bowl.

he doesn’t answer, but you feel the burn of his stare before he snorts, flicking the tv to start playing, the familiar theme relaxing you further.

the silence with him is comfortable, lingering in a hazy in-between of awake and sleep, empty bowls and mostly empty glasses sitting on the coffee table.

“were you going to fuck him?” he asks, three episodes in, bottle empty.

you blink, not sure if you heard him properly as you pull back to look at him. you can’t read his eyes. something hot twists in your gut.

“i-i don’t know, simon,” you start, the weight of his stare heavy. “maybe?”

he doesn’t say anything and you chew your lip for a moment, fingers curling to play with the blanket. “depends how the date went, i suppose. doesn’t matter much now,” you snort. his gaze hasn’t changed. “why?”

his jaw clicks, taking a deep breath. “you deserve better ‘n that.”

a confused frown pulls at your mouth, unsure how to reply. “i know how to be safe,” you tell him, voice soft.

he seems to be weighing his words in his head, lowering the volume of the show. you feel sick.

dark eyes rove over your face, taking in every minute detail. you bite at your nail, just for something to do.

“don’t think there’s a bloke in the world that’s worthy of ya.”

your frown deepens, breaking your eyes from his, twisting your fingers in your lap. relationships aren’t easy. being that vulnerable with someone isn’t easy.

you never want someone to pay for you, and even the smallest gestures like opening the car door or pulling out your chair feel like it’s too much. you don’t deserve that kind of attention. after a while, they’ll get tired. you’ll become a burden to them like everything else in your life.

it’s easier to be by yourself. the only person you have to worry about bothering is you.

“love.” he tilts his head, eyes trying to catch yours. how hasn’t he tired of you yet?

a hand under your chin forces your gaze up, and you try to shrink yourself against the back of the couch. your voice catches in your throat, words stuck there.

“what’s goin’ on in tha’ pretty head f’yours?”

you swallow thickly, finding it damn near impossible to keep your eyes on his.

“‘s not like it matters,” you start. his brows furrow, but he stays silent. “no one would want me anyways.”

“‘n why would you say that?”

frustration burns the back of your throat. isn’t it obvious? you can barely call him in a dire situation without thinking the worst of yourself. how can he think of you as anything but a nuisance? how could he think anyone else would put up with it?

“you wouldn’t understand,” you say, defeated. you crumble back into the couch.

“make me understand.”

heat flashes at the nape of your neck. he takes your hands in his, cradling them in his warmth. your name sounds so soft in his voice.

“how aren’t you tired of me?” comes your whispered question, nose tingling and eyes threatening to water. you look at him. hesitant. scared.

the silence is loud. his frown deepens. it takes a few painful minutes, but you see the moment something clicks in place.

“you know i’d do anything for you, yeah?”

your lip quivers, sniffling as you beg yourself not to cry.

“because you do the same for me,” he continues. you doubt it, mind going blank of every time he’s come to you for something.

his touch moves to your elbow, tugging you forward gently until he can arrange you in his lap. he slips his hands beneath the hem of his shirt, thumbs rubbing on your hips where the waistband of his boxers start.

you slowly brace your hands on his shoulders. firm and broad and safe.

“you apologize so much. you worry so much.” the tears slip down your cheeks, throat aching, but now you can’t look away from him. one hand moves to cup the nape of your neck, thumb rubbing gently at the skin behind your ear.

“you’re allowed to ask for help.”

you shake your head, a “no” caught in your throat, tears blurring your vision.

“oh, love.” he cradles you into the curve of his neck, arm wrapping around your waist and keeping a gentle hold at the base of your skull. “you have me wrapped around your finger ‘n you don’t even know it.”

he lets you cry into his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt. but his cologne is soothing and you eventually slump against him. you’re so tired.

his lips graze your temple, his soft touch lulling you to sleep. you’ll talk about it tomorrow, but for now you want to stay wrapped up in his arms, held by someone who genuinely loves you.

[colleendoran]

How Do I Do Stuff

The question was phrased a little strangely, and I don't want to embarrass the person by posting exactly what was said, but I'll answer it and hope this clears everything up.

I do almost all of my drawing by hand. No, I don't trace in Photoshop. Not a judgment on those who do, but I come from a generation of artists who did not use Poser programs or other digital tools. We learned to draw using a technique called the Sight Size method. I know a lot of people assume everyone - including the old masters - traced everything using optical tools, but while it is true some people did, it is just as true that most didn't, and you can draw with great accuracy if you learned how to draw the old fashioned way.

Sight Size breaks everything down into its barest components of geometric shapes and you build from there. Once you learn it, you never forget, and it applies to everything you will ever draw.

I learned it using a set of Famous Artist Course books my mom had since she was a kid, and they are still the gold standard. They're often on ebay. If I were you, I'd buy them.

I actually find using figure reference really annoying because I like exaggerations and modifications from reality in my final work.

This page from Neil Gaiman's Chivalry was drawn and painted without figure reference of any kind.

I don't know why people assume I trace all the time. If you were to try to use photographs to replicate these figures, you would find they are slightly off. There is no tracing here.

This is not to say I never use reference. This page, for example, was referenced from a photo of my mother. Isn't she pretty.

But this page of Sir Galaad was drawn and painted without reference.

He's pretty, too.

If he were real, I'm sure a lot of people would be very happy about it. But he's not. And had I reference, the art would have gone a lot faster. I had a time trying to nail this face that is very alive in my head but doesn't really exist.

Back in the ancient days, all cartoonists had to learn to draw and paint extemporaneously because reference was limited and digital tools didn't exist. While some high end artists had photography studios and professional models with costume and sets on hand, small fry like me were limited to what was in the house or available at my small local library, which was no bigger than a few rooms of my current house.

Artists kept extensive "morgue files" or "swipe files" which were collected from magazine clippings and photographs so we would have as much of what we might need on hand for quick reference. These ephemera collections could get unwieldy. I have thousands of photographs I've simply never sorted. I finally dumped most of my files this past year.

Have I ever traced anything? Of course, especially if I have to re-use a shot or setting over and over. Making extra work for myself is just silly. It's my job to make pictures, not to perform magical feats, like copying one shot after another over and over without making a mistake.

However, for almost 15 years of my career, I refused to copy or trace anything, and did not even own a lightbox. On the one hand, that forced me to learn to carefully examine what I saw. On the other hand, it was a stupid hill on which many deadlines died.

Only after I realized many professional artists had lightboxes and overhead projectors did I finally break down and get one.

The one thing I use my lightbox for more than anything is for tracing my thumbnail sketches to the final drawing paper. Instead of trying to capture the liveliness of the original sketch by copying what I see - only bigger - I blow the thumbnail up to the size I want the final art to be, then I trace over the thumbnail using a lightbox onto the final drawing paper.

Here's a look at thumbnails from the graphic novel Neil Gaiman's Snow, Glass, Apples.

I enlarged these on my computer to fit onto 11"x14" paper, and traced the thumbs before finishing the art which was drawn in pen and ink and colored in Photoshop.

While I obviously made some changes, the essence of the thumbs is there in the final work. Tracing my thumbs retains some of the looseness of the original sketches, which is often lost otherwise.

So, there is a valid purpose to tracing at times, though in my opinion, too much tracing can weaken drawing ability, substitute for developing skills, and make the work kind of stiff.

If you want to, I'm not your judge. But it's weird to me that people think I must be faking my skills in some way.

Ironically, the word cartoon comes from the Italian word cartone, which is a large heavy sheet of paper - also, the origin of the word carton.

Preparatory sketches were made on this paper which was then transferred to the final work surface via either tracing or by stamping little holes in the paper through which dust was sprinkled, recreating the contours of the drawing for the artist to follow.

So the origin of the word cartoon comes from a process often used...for tracing.