#instead of all this in the go fandom where no ones saying anything and its like

[carry-on-every-neverland-magic]

Also also it's literally just the first two eps people are lucky enough to have seen early, no one can say what else happens or the ending so wanting to know some things from the first two to get even more excited seems reasonable and I'm bothered by the holier than thou who are getting at fans who are actually tagging spoilers correctly and asking privately for spoilers with no intention of deliberately ruining it for someone else, like let us live a little and if you are privileged enough to see these screenings (if I wasn't broke I could have got London tickets since I'm off work next week but alas I'm poor 😭) so maybe just don't say anything if you're not gonna give a morsel of a spoiler. The show and everyone have put themselves here by allowing people to see it early like what did they think would happen?! Of course people wanna know things and get more excited so ya just saying if I'd have gone I'd be telling anyone who wanted to know every single juicy detail.

[maximumqueer]

Yamato, Transness, and "Passing"

Now that we're nearly a full arc removed from Wano and Yamato's introduction, I want to talk about the reaction that a subset of the one piece fandom had to his reveal as a trans man/transmasc person, the transphobia behind that reaction, and how the concept of passing plays into that reaction. I'm not going to be arguing that Yamato is a trans man, as I think it is very obvious that he is given how he is referred to in the canon text. This is instead going to be more of a fandom dissection of why (in my personal opinion) so many people refuse to acknowledge Yamato as a man.

When we are first introduced to Yamato, he is dressed in a way that gives him the appearance of a flat chest, and is wearing a mask to hide his face. He looks like a man in a cis-heteronormative way

When Yamato was depicted like this, he was (from what I can tell) mostly referred to with he/him pronouns by the fanbase. This is based on comments underneath his chapter debut and episode debut. There are comments under his episode debut that do use she/her pronouns and refer to him as a woman, but because these episodes have been out for a while, it would make sense that these kinds of comments would be left on his debut after his second design was revealed.

Then, when he removes his mask and outer layer of his outfit, he is depicted like this

After this reveal, more people began to refer to Yamato with she/her pronouns, and refer to him as Kaido's daughter, despite him referring to himself as Kaido's son, as well as the people around him using he/him pronouns exclusively for him. What changed? Well, Yamato went from having a design that looked traditionally masculine to having a more traditionally feminine one. As such people who associate only women with having breasts and more "feminine" features began to insist that Yamato was a tomboy, or a delusional woman, anything but accept that fact that he is a man.

There is a phenomena with trans "acceptance", where a character is accepted as trans only if they look like their gender according to the cis-heteronormative ideal, and questioned and denied if they don't. Kiku, a trans woman who "passes" as a woman did not receive nearly the same level of speculation and denial of her trans identity. (This is not to say that Kiku received no hate or transphobic comments, but that because she looks like a woman to the average cis-het viewer, she was treated as a "real" trans person, whereas Yamato was not).

Yamato has been repeatedly referred to as mentally ill for being a "non-passing" trans man. He has been called bad representation (despite large numbers trans men/transmasc people, myself included, saying that his IS good representation). People have made claims with no canon backing in an attempt to hand wave away his transness because he "looks like a woman", a popular one being that Kaido some how forced Yamato into being a man, despite his backstory telling us the exact opposite.

And the reasoning for all of this speculation is that trans people are held to such high standards in terms of appearance and presentation, even in fictional media. A trans man must have a flat chest, deep voice, facial hair etc. or he isn't actually trans. A trans woman must have breasts, a high voice, a lack of facial hair, etc. or she isn't actually trans. Non-binary people are dismissed entirely. This denies the many different and diverse ways that a person can be trans. Sure, some trans people wish to medically transition, get the "surgery" and go through life as if they were cis. But not all trans people want that. Gender is messy and complicated, its not nearly as black and white a we have been taught to believe. There are many trans people (both binary and non-binary) who will never medically transition. That does not make them less trans, it does not make them delusional. Yet because we have this black and white thinking ingrained in us from childhood, any deviation from the strict boxes of "man" and "woman" are immediately questioned, and that includes gender non-conforming people - both trans and cis.

This type of transphobia is not talked about enough, as the people doing it will so often hide behind the idea that they are protecting "real" trans people, and just want to make sure that they are respected and taken seriously. But, respect for a persons gender identity CANNOT be conditional. It does not matter if they "don't pass". It doesn't matter if they are a good person, a bad person. The second you start dictating who gets to have their gender respected is the second you stop being an ally. And that includes fictional characters like Yamato.

[moonsaver]

Imagine instead of 4ggravate being a kpop boy group and reader being the fangirl, its the other way around

4ggravate forms a groupchat particularly because of you, their bias, who is also the least recognized in your group and is often overshadowed by others, leading to a desperate convergence of your fans in finding out the itty bitty stuff about you that's all on blast when it comes to the other idols in your group. They're like detectives trying to figure out whether you liked the specific flavor of ice cream on a show you participated in with your group. Each of them keep tabs on any official updates about you, recording and clipping parts of your group's lives in the tidbits where you come in, and forming a wall trying to defend you from majority of the fandom when you get backlash from false rumors. That's just how the group came to be.

Kaveh is the oldest fan amongst them – he's been there since day 1. Claims he knows the most out of all of them and tries to prove it via quizzes and guessing games. Sometimes he wins, most times he doesn't. Also the poorest of the four. He spent so much on buying your specific merchandise he didn't plan for the future concert you group was holding in his area, and ever since then he's had to tearfully decide constantly between buying albums, your photocards, new lightstick versions, etc.. and your concert that may or may not even be held in the area.

In the rare chance that he does attend your concert – he tries to get the most out of it. Front row, headbands, fanchant at the top of his head, lightsticks in both hands. When you notice him and exchange a few words over the loud crowd, he swears he's going to pass out, looking up at your crouched figure on the stage makes you look almost like an angel to him, the light highlighting your figure perfectly. Suffice to say, he eventually made an impression on you at least.. because he passed out and the crowd had to surf him to a security guard. He's deeply embarassed about it, and can't really escape it now that he's become a bit of an inside joke in your fandom

Cyno is the second older fan. Like Kaveh, he prides himself over having a good amount of knowledge about you that's not exactly easy to find – old, old, old images of other kpop idols in which you appear for a fraction of a second, spotting the products you use in your lives and being able to find out the brands is his specialty. If Kaveh has the knowledge, Cyno at least has the detective skills. He has his own individually run fanpage where most other fanpages, even your group's fanpages, refer to as a trusted source. Has also managed to create several fancams of you that were incredibly hard to get ahold of. He's those fanpages on twitter who thoroughly collect evidence and manage to pinpoint future events you're going to take part in before they're announced, and he manages to predict it correctly almost all the time. He's well known within the fandom, but due to how busy he is in 4ggravate trying to form a cumulative plan almost all the time, rarely does he find the time to respond to other fans and fanpages, and most other admins don't usually approach him either.

If anything, at least he's got more resources and money than Kaveh. I imagine he actually also is in a lot of other groups besides 4ggravate.

Alhaitham, out of everyone, is the one who's actually talked to you the most. He was originally just interested in the music, didn't really care until he realized how less and less your lines became the more songs your group churned out. So in his mind, to "make up for" the lack of lines on your end, he decides to simply just pay extra attention to your solo activities. It's not soon before you become his bias. Unlike Kaveh, he was pretty strategic and managed to plan ahead for scheduled fancalls, fanmeetings, appearances in public, etc..

he leaves a lasting impression because.. he doesn't show his appearance. At all. There's many fans out there who get your attention by doing strange things with their appearance, but Alhaitham refuses to even take off his mask just to talk to you. In fancalls, he decides to cover the cameras, always wears hoodies that cover him completely when he meets you in public. At some point, the fandom falls in love with him instead (which drives Kaveh insane), and it's not soon before there's all sorts of rumors about you two. The rumors get more wild when he only ever takes his hoodie off once when you meet him face to face. Personality wise, he sticks out because of how easily he's able to spot changes in choreography, voice, pitch, writing style, etc.. and even more so, because of how upfront about it he is, without actually being creepy about it. He gives good advice without making it sound like unwelcome criticism.

Tighnari is actually the normal one. He just generally likes the music and likes your voice specifically because he thinks your voice suits the concept the best, but because of a few injustices (which he sarcastically comments on many fancams, to which also many fans agree), he finds himself doing something similar to Alhaitham. Albeit, less.. detailed? Is what he thinks. He's actually a bit of a keyboard warrior when it comes down to it – replying to group threads that intentionally leave you out, having the sassiest comebacks to mean or rude comments about you, piecing together timelines and locations to prove false rumors wrong, working especially close with Cyno in these kinds of cases. If there's a fancam of you, Tighnari is under it fighting some or the other hater, or just blatantly commenting on the event itself that intentionally disrespects you or your group.

He's probably the only one who actually leaves a long lasting impression on you. When your car drives by a bunch of your excited fans, he's the normal one who's looking on calmly and waving to you with a stoic face. Whenever he comes to fanmeetings with Alhaitham, or has fancalls with you – it's fun! His humor is easy to accustom to, conversation goes lightly, and overall he's the tamest out of everyone. He gives you some skincare advice which you gladly accept, and somehow, despite not being as incriminating as the others when it came to detail, they're salty about how he seems to be the one who's closest to you. It's not unnoticeable the way out of all four of them, you recognize him by a first name basis. Ohhh boy.

[victimsofyaoipoll]

Finals

Propaganda Under Cut

Sakura Haruno

Her husband is gay and her author doesn't know how to write women. So many people say she's the worst but she. DESERVES. BETTER!!! Save her from this franchise.

My baby girl my bestie my best friend. She committed the crime of um being written by kishimoto who both doesn’t know how to write women and somehow writes men in the gayest way possible specifically naruto and sasuke. Like the thing is naruto and sasuke ARE gay and also she gets so much hate for the crime of kishimoto writing her one dimensionally in love with sasuke. I know her personally she is a butch lesbian to me just trust me she’s in love with Ino and has a lesbian thing going on with Karin okay just trust me. My everything. She needs to divorce the loveless lavender marriage she’s in 

What is there to say, even? The OG Threat to my 90s anime brain, the only woman I've ever hated with such a passion she made me turn away from the color pink. I used to write fics with my friend where she got left behind on purpose so our OCs could join the Naruto and Sasuke team instead. I loathed this bitch until I was 16 and realized the author simply couldnt write women and decided it was time to make peace with Sakura. It is not her fault she's vaguely written and obsessive over Sasuke. She deserves better. Sasuke and Naruto still should be together and Sakura shouldnt be with Sasuke but I no longer believe this because I hate Sakura, it is because I love her. She deserves a spouse who will actually put in the time to treat her like the hero she is.

Misa Amane

she gets treated in-canon the way fandoms treat female characters that Threaten an m/m ship. it's like, "oh why don't you go sit in the corner and be pretty, misa, while the Men have intelligent conversation and pretend they aren't ten seconds from fucking each other, doesn't that sound nice?" it's infuriating. and MAYBE it's better now but i remember her getting treated the same way in fanfiction too, like we all need to do just as badly by our female secondary characters as fucking tsugumi ohba, but with the added insult of making her be alternately oblivious of the relationship between light and L or actively trying to sabotage it—incompetently, of course, because god forbid misa be allowed dignity or moments of cleverness.

she's one of the first characters I think of when I consider old school fandom misogyny. The annoying bitch and clingy crazy gf allegations were AFTER HER ASS. She's also a lot more intelligent than people gave her credit for, but most seem inclined to take the Very Biased word of our unreliable, narcissistic narrator and his homoerotic arch nemesis and claim that just because she's bubbly and into romance that she's also a complete moron. Which is blatantly untrue. Everyone was afraid of Misa girlbossing too hard. Killing people and devoting yourself to the deranged twink of your dreams even though you know he'll never love you back??? Having a hardcore goth aesthetic and being so Hot even literal Death Gods are into you?? God forbid women do ANYTHING!

Not only is she the victim of yaoi culture, she is the victim of early 2000s misogyny by an author that wanted to introduce a girl character because he knew his male rivals were getting too homoerotic. She is a goth bimbo icon who portrays what I think is one of the few callouts for stan culture and what parasocial relationships can do to both the stan and the idol. The fact that she is a toxic fan of Kira and also hot, funny, sociable is tragic in its own way, which I think the author did try to touch on but was too misogynistic too really get through. Of course, she was reduced to villain status by the fandom and anime alike because she got in the way of the supposed romance in their psychological horror anime

[kaibutsushidousha]

Every otaku producer on any at least decently-sized project is chained to very BIG MONEY merch contracts. Merch sales are one of the biggest cogs making the anime industry run and because of that, merch manufacturers expect producers not to allow anything that would make their products fail to reflect the contents of the show.

A recent example that sparked controversy about this is the new Tokyo Mew Mew reboot anime. Mew Mew is a series where pretty much everyone important has food names, but the early scanlators failed to notice how far this motif extended and rendered Quiche's name as Kisshu. This is spread in the fandom enough to make merch makers assume that was the proper way to spell his name in English and produce pins with the name Kisshu written in Roman letters. Thanks to that, over a decade later, the Mew Mew translator on Crunchyroll subs is forced to use Kisshu on her script despite knowing it's wrong.

But this is a Type-Moon post, so let's talk about Type-Moon instead. On October 29th, 2010, Nasu released Fate/complete material III, containing profiles for all Servants featured in Fate/stay Night. In his lack of English knowledge, he most likely relied on Google to learn how to romanize all those names. This generated two curious results: Arthuria was rendered as Altria, as the first search result for アルトリア would be the cigarette corporation, and Rider favored the French spelling Medousa over the English Medusa.

Flash forward to May 25th, 2016. At this year, Fate/Grand Order had already been released and proved itself a commercial success against all odds. In celebration of that, FuRyu Corporation sculpted the source of all evil.

FuRyu's figure utilized the erroneous "Altria" from Complete Material III. Here is where I want you to notice that FuRyu did not release a Medusa figure alongside it. "Altria Pendragon" is the only character in this collection.

Our next chronological stop is August 14, 2016. Merely 3 months after the FuRyu Altria figure began to spread its corruption through all we know and love. That's the day Fate/Grand Order Material I came out, containing profiles for Saber Arthuria and Medusa.

As you can see in the right corner, Medousa is no more. Due to having 6 more years to learn things and no merch contract forever chaining him to his spelling mistake, Nasu had the opportunity to correct Medusa's name, which also settled it as the name FGO NA legally had to go with.

So when I say FGO NA translators went with Tam Lin because it's literally illegal not to do so, I am talking about

[shalotttower]

The Devil Is a Gentleman

Title: The Devil Is a Gentleman

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Summary: You wake up in the middle of the night with a headache.

Word count: 800+

Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader

Notes: Yandere Chrollo, captive Reader, my head is murdering me so I wanted some soft Chrollo stuff.

You shift under the covers and for a moment it seems that maybe this state of half sleep, half consciousness is here to stay. Just for a bit, until you slide all the way back into a dream, where the dull throb in your skull doesn't matter. No such luck; angry blurred dots start swarming behind your eyelids and the longer you lie there, the more evident it becomes that sleep isn't coming.

3 AM.

The red numbers from the alarm clock glow way too intensely in the dark. It's quiet. Chrollo's breath tickles your shoulder. No matter the position, he somehow manages to do this every single time - wrap himself around you like it's no tomorrow, with tangled legs and chest pressed to your back. Sometimes it's annoying, sometimes sickly comforting, but not now. There's a faint feeling of nausea in your throat, the whole world is spinning and swaying from side to side even though you're lying still.

Sharing a bed is a recent development. Previously the floor was your choice, but two weeks ago Chrollo simply carried your sleeping body to the mattress. You woke up trapped between him and soft pillows, then the pattern repeated two times, four, six, until it became clear that this arrangement was going to stick.

Carefully, inch by inch, you wiggle out of his embrace. An awful taste coats your tongue, clings to the palate - not something you expected upon waking, but not unusual either.

The kitchen light is bright and unpleasant. It stabs right through your eyes without remorse, making you promptly settle for a dimmer one above the stove. One cabinet after another, the fridge - no pills. Of course, why would Chrollo keep anything like that lying around? You probably have to wake him up for medicine, but it's honestly the least tempting scenario. You don't want to talk to Chrollo, don't want to ask him for help, don't want him to see you in pain or sick.

So you brew a cup of coffee and hope that the nausea plaguing your throat will eventually subside. What you should know by now, however, is that Chrollo doesn't need more than you breathing wrong in order to wake up.

"Dear?"

His voice has a slight raspy edge to it.

You glance over your shoulder and see his figure standing at the door frame. The light from the hallway throws a shadow cutout across the floor, and it's the only time beside after shower you ever see him all mussed hair, loose pants and, of course, no shirt. You suspect its absence has some relation to the attempts at wooing you which range from subtle to not so subtle these days.

You make a non-committal sound.

"It's 3 AM," Chrollo says and steps into the kitchen. "What are you doing up?"

His fingers brush a strand of hair away from your neck, linger there, feather-light and warm. You take a small sip of coffee.

The pulsing in your skull feels like someone decided to tap a small hammer against your brain. Well, he's up, so might as well do something.

"Headache," you say and press your forehead to the cool marble of the counter. It feels nice for a short moment.

Chrollo doesn't respond. He does place a hand on your nape though, thumb drawing circles, massaging the tension there. It's so peculiar. His tenderness leaves marks wherever it goes - light trails on your skin, hands on your forearms - a constant reminder that in this current reality he's everywhere and everything.

'Stop,' you want to say, but instead a quiet "mm" comes out. Maybe you're too tired to muster up any spite. He takes the cup out of your hand and sets it aside with a quiet clink.

"How bad?"

"Bad. Don't get too close," you warn. "I feel like throwing up."

He does anyway, and wraps an arm around your waist. Chrollo knows very well that you'd rather jump into boiling oil than lean on him out of your own volition, maybe that's why he uses every given opportunity to hold you.

"You should have woken me up," his words are muffled, lips pressed against your temple. Chrollo smells of shampoo, sheets and himself. "I'll get you something from the pharmacy later, but for now you should try and sleep, dear."

Then you're up in the air, carried out of the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" you frown, fingers gripping the muscles of his arm.

He hums something akin to a simple melody, the devil. "Taking you back to bed, where you can keep being miserable with more comfort."

This time you don't protest; the pillow has cooled down, and as soon as you lower your head on top of it, it feels like bliss. The bathroom door opens and closes, followed by quiet splashes of water. There's a pause before the mattress dips on your right.

Cold cloth covers your forehead.

"You should have woken me up," he repeats. "Next time do it, dear."

"Mm," is all you manage, when the bedside lamp clicks off, and then there're covers lifting, fingers rubbing your temples and a low hum somewhere above you.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

6.8k+

Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren.  Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.  

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company. 

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends. 

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment. 

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action. 

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.” 

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you. 

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around. 

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed. 

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high. 

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part. 

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger. 

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth. 

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner. 

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose. 

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose. 

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable. 

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds. 

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth. 

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints. 

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.  

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud. 

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown. 

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life. 

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin. 

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance. 

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm. 

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes. 

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center. 

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl. 

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit. 

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it. 

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings. 

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time. 

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption. 

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin. 

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking. 

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again. 

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips. 

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous. 

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection. 

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return. 

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss. 

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

[starrvsn]

` ִ ꔫ ۫ ⊹ D.HUME ࣪ ˖ TWO HALVES OF ONE HEART.

﹙ MOVIE/FANDOM ⠆THE BOYS IN THE BOAT ﹚

PART 02 OF HEART AND MIND! READ PART 01 HERE.

PAIRING ⠆don hume x fem!reader.

WORD COUNT ⠆3,756 (well spent!)

ON ROTATION ⠆cheek to cheek by frank sinatra, head over heels by tears for fears, my heart it beats for you by grent perez, how deep is your love by bee gees.

CATEGORIES ⠆very fluffy!!! a long awaited lovers reunion!!!! the boys on crew being the biggest supporters as always, joyce being lovely, very comforting. loved how it came out... though i feel like it kinda dragged but i digress.

𝟒𝟏𝟏. a much needed reunion between two lovers.

you don’t think you’ve ever seen lake washington look so alive, there were swarms of crowds surrounding the lake. the day was sunny and bright with a slight wind whistling through the air.

full of supporters and spectators from both cal and washington alone. your heart raced with a mix of excitement and nervousness as you followed followed your parents through the crowd but ultimately separating from them as you made your way to the viewing deck. the thought of seeing don again— being in his presence again made you so excited yet so nervous. you were elated he made the JV rowing team, knowing how effortlessly he knew how to do things; basically being good at anything. you had a fairly good spot over looking the water; not realizing it’s a student only viewing deck (did those even exist..). you looked for a spot not to close to the front in case don ends up seeing you, you didn’t want to throw him off from their first race of the season. as you were getting settled in your spot you accidentally bump into someone.

“oh! i am so sorry!” you apologize, pushing your hair away from crowding your face as you watch the girl in front of you stumble a bit.

“no! no it’s totally okay.” a blonde with short hair instantly assures, noticing as her eyes scanning over you.“i don’t think i’ve ever seen you around school before.” she adds, you found it bit odd she would say such a thing.

“ i don’t actually go here.” you affirmed, clearing your throat a bit. still confused on her sudden interrogation, she nods. taking in the newfound information before continuing.

“where do you attend?” you hesitate, suddenly noticing how everyone on the deck had UW flags and you didn’t have that, instead a berkeley flag that someone had given you after recognizing you from school. if she had seen the flag tucked behind you it would’ve given you away immediately.

“cal.” a slight cough out of the school name; there was no way in lying to her, suddenly feeling small amongst the groups of UW students. the short haired girl piques at your response “cal as in cal state berkeley— the rowing team the boys are going against?” you nod for her in clarification “how come you’re rooting for the opposite team?” fully facing you now. before you can tell her your reason she interrupts saying how rude it was for her to bombard you without asking your name, you weren’t offend at all and introduced yourself instantly as she does the same immediately after.

“my boyfriend is on the team actually.” you felt awkward telling her but also relieved, you don’t remember the last time you outright told anyone you had a boyfriend. ”oh really! who?” it crosses in joyce’s mind that it could be joe but she knows joe would never keep something like this from her and there was a massively rare chance it would be him so her mind briefs through the rest of the roaster. though she only knew their faces and not their names.

“don, don hume. you know him?” joyce ponders for a bit, the name sounding very familiar.

“i think joe mentioned him before…” you assume ‘joe’ is on the rowing team with don, further assuming she was here to root for joe but would’t say that of course… insisting she’s here rooting for everyone, not just joe.

“its okay, he’s not much of a talker anyways.” laughing it off, don wasn’t someone to put himself in the lime light, finding comfort alone or with you. a part of you hoping he’s getting along well with his teammates as he isnt the easiest to get along with because of how reserved he could be… you just want him to be happy.

“does he know you’re here?” you shake your head in response but mention to her that you sent him a letter recently entailing that you were coming over to visit but it was safe to assume he hadn;t gotten it since he hadn’t called (knowing he only calls when he needs to respond immediately). an idea suddenly sparks in your new friends mind. she tells you there is supposed to be a party if the huskies win and she insists you surprise him then, it was such a spur of the moment proposition you accepted. she squeals excitedly, grasping your arm. she was so happy to meet someone new who wasn’t from washington, excited to make your acquaintance as she stays close to you, cheering on the boys.

the race was nothing short of a spectacle, no one was sure that the huskies would win but they had defied odds and won with an astounding outcome. you see dons face as their boat pushes to the finish line, time seems to slow when your eyes land on him. his hair is shorter and face slimmer from the last time you saw him, your heart swells seeing him so happy from winning, splashing the water and celebrating with the rest of the team. you don’t think you’ve seen anything more attractive, his muscles taught and defined in that fitting uniform he wore. a faint blush creeps up you neck as you watch his muscles flex under the sunlight, you couldn’t wait to be with him again, talk to him, be in his arms again. you eyes don’t leave him until joyce drags you away from the your spot, immediately talking your ear off about how well they did on the way to her dorm. don lingering in your mind the whole way.

the hall was loud and in high spirits after the win of the JV rowing team, don watches as george walks off hand and hand with a pretty brunette. sitting alone as the other guys sit in the paired tables in front of him, having their own conversations. don didn’t mind to be alone or away from the group; it would probably be expected of him to go off and talk to others but he really isn’t much of a talker and preferred to observe the scenes in front of him. he didn’t need to be apart of the fun to have fun- he was content knowing the guys were having a good time. it did get lonely at times though the guys kept him company and included him in conversation for a part but his mind kept lingering at the thought of you; being here with him— having fun of your own if you were here. he’s been thinking about you more lately, missing you more than he usually did. it was rough the first few months but he eventually got used to the fact that you weren’t around anymore and he had to carry on with his own life. its not to say he didn’t think of you at all; you were the muse of his dreams and he’d think about how you were sometimes and at times where he’s out, he’d something that reminds him of you. most of all, the jewelry you gifted him. he’d fidget with his ring and he’d think of you. ever since the night he told roger and bobby about you it feels like he’s back a year ago when you freshly left for california feeling incomplete without you, unbeknownst to when you’d retuen, wondering if you got his letter or if you wrote back to him.

your heart pounds in your chest as you walk with joyce towards the hall, her arm laced with yours. your heart races, full of emotion. memories of when you last saw don flooding your mind, you couldn’t wait to see him. you were nervous he wasn’t going to recognize you, it had been a year since you saw him and you weren’t sure if you look the same you did when you left, what if he didn’t feel the same way anymore after seeing you? what if he regrets waiting for you after a year of being apart? what if— as if she could sense your overwhelming nerves, joyce immediately assures you— insisting that don is gonna be elated to see you, especially after a big win. what worried you was the fact that you had sent him a letter, unveiling your news that you were coming up to washington. you were unsure if he’s received it yet and it drags your heart at the thought of him reading the letter and not caring; content with having a life of his own away from you. he would he awaiting your arrival wouldn’t he? looking for you. but there was no news up the grapevine about him from the passing hours as you got ready in joyce’s dorm but if you didn’t find out for yourself you’d never know. you can hear the music grow louder as you get closer, excitement bubbles as joyce squeals skipping towards the hall with you in tow, already feeling the warmth from the hall.

at the doorway is a tall blonde with his eyes fixed on your short haired friend, you look at her and see a faint flush on her cheeks. unlocking your arms she walks a few steps ahead greeting the man with a hug. standing a bit awkwardly before them as they speak, a mere moment later she turns around gesturing you over. from there you meet joe, the man she mentioned earlier during your first interaction. she introduces you fondly as a new friend, locking arms as she leans against you. she continues to tell joe how you’re visiting from california and she’s love to introduce you to the boys. joe has a hesitant look on his face, as much as he wasn’t opposed to the idea, he knew the boys would eat up a pretty face like yours without the slightest bit of hesitation. he wasn’t convinced from her persuasion but the look she gives him? how could he say no to her? heaving a small sigh, the blonde nods. further exchanging pleasantries as he tries to get to know you a bit better before gesturing for the two of you to walk inside, him following behind. you can't help but feel a mix of anticipation and nervousness as you walk into the bustling room, eyes instinctively scanning for don. your heart skips a beat when you finally spot him, sitting alone at a table. he looks even more handsome than you remember, you’ve never seen him in a suit before and he looks better than you could ever imagine. breath catching in your throat as you realize this is actually happening, the man you've missed so dearly, the one you've been yearning for since you moved to california. you’re so close to being in his arms again, in his presence again. before you can take in more of the lively atmosphere, joyce is dragging you to the refreshment table. you weren’t sure what she had in mind, she hadn’t told you anything beforehand and you were dying to know. she guiltily admits to you how unsure she is about her plan, though there wasn’t much to it in the first place. you immediately reassure her that whatever happens, you appreciate her effort, without her your surprise reunion with your lover could have gone completely differently.

don doesn’t know why or how but he feels as if you’re here, somewhere (his spidey senses are tingling) especially when joe had them gathered so closely, being sandwiched between roger and bobby as they all ask whats going on. joe casually relays that joyce had someone she wanted to introduce to them, making the advanced effort to note that the person is a girl. the group suddenly becomes boisterous and are quick to fix their suits and appearances. don has half the mind to entertain the thought the the person is you, though he thinks you would come straight to him if that were the case, so he makes himself comfortable sat down with his hands in his pockets awaiting their new guest- ready to watch what’s to come.

your heart flutters with nerves, as joyce tries are best to calm you down. there was only so much she could stall and soon joe approaches the two of you stating how impatient and restless the guys were, your mind is in a frenzy now trying to imagine how seeing him again will be, what you’ll say, how he’ll react. it overwhelmed you so, wringing hands and deep breaths as you gather yourself. it was now or never.

you pass through the throng of people, the atmosphere is charged with an electric energy, a complete contrast of the feelings that consumed you as joyce holds your hand comfortingly through the crows. joe walks ahead, gathering the boys as you approach them. trying your best to hide behind the small frame of joyce. for a moment don thinks he’s right, eyeing the girl standing behind joe’s girlfriend, as the boys stand ready to impressed. he also thinks he’s become delusional drowning in the thought of you— he can’t see the person well but with her frame peaking from joyce it makes him think its you, he tries to deny the thought in his head— trying to not physical head palm himself at such a stretch.

clearing her throat, joyce speaks “i made a friend from california and i just wanted to introduce her to the team that beat hers.” a small wave in her voice, seeingas don snaps his attention to her as she silently hopes she does this right. her words cause an immediate stir in the boys, ready to impress with their chests puffed. roger and bobby immediately share a look before looking down at their friend who’s now sat upright and at attention.

it can’t be…

you feel your hands tremor and a slight ring in your ears as your friend speaks but you can’t help the surge of adrenaline that runs through you knowing at any moment you will be face to face with your lover.

you feel a tug on your hand and soon enough you’re faced in front of your boyfriend among a sea of unfamiliar faces.

“this is y/n.”

before any of the boys can approach you, the sound of a chair screeching against the wood floor causes a pause through the group. turning their attention they see don stood up, eyes wide. all at once it feels as if time begins to slow, you’re stood before him looking beautiful as ever, like an angel sent from heaven. he feels like he’s dreaming— as if at any given moment he’ll be woken up from a painfully realistic dream. it isn’t until he feels a pat on his back, he breaks his gaze. looking over at roger who whispers a ‘lucky man’ with a giddy smile on his face. bobby and roger pass you last, having a small conversation with you telling you how you have a good eye for jewelry and realization on that you’re actually real, the locket on your neck further proving that. the group moves else where but close enough to see the lovers reunite.

his gaze is back on you, unbelieving the sight before him, you’re actually here— standing in front of you him with a wide smile on your face. you slowly walk towards him, meeting him until your inches apart. your hands comfortingly grasping his hands, thumb grazing his ring. you eyes take in his features that matured from the time you were away, he does the same drinking in the sight of you— guess his feeling wasn’t wrong. you were afraid he wouldn’t recognize you or look at you the same the same way he did before but the loving gaze is still strong through his iris’

"you're quiet. do i look bad?" trying to break the ice, words unsaid whilst you took in the sights of each other. you missed him more than you can recount, now that he’s in your hands again you cannot imagine being apart now.

"no. no, god, no.” shaking his head, gathering himself ”you left me speechless. in a good way, of course." (prompt from @novelbear) he would have never thought you could leave him speechless in a way you did now, looking breathtaking under the warm lighting of the hall, a soft laugh leaving you before giving his hands a gentle squeeze. your nerves dissipates into comfort as you look at him, a sudden wave of emotions coming over you. tears wake at your waterline and chin trembling as you look at your lover, your hand moving to his cheek caressing it gently— all your worries and doubts disappearing, grateful to whatever being upon the universe that brought you together again. don immediately noticing your change of emotion and he pulls you into a tight but comforting hug. the rest of the world fades away as you share that familiar embrace, the connection you once thought lost rekindling in an instant. your arms tightly around his neck, as his rest on your waist and a hand soothing at your back. he tries his best to hold back tears of his own as you softly sob into his blazer jumbled out “i missed yous” between hiccups and sniffles, he softly hushes you, comforting you the best way he can as he tries to keep it together but all at the same time reciprocating the same words to you like a soft lullaby letting your crying subside. you part from the crook of his neck, eyes puffy and tear stricken cheeks. staring down sheepishly at your sudden outburst. don takes it with open arms, grasping your face as he wipes the tears away and tucks fallen hairs from your face. so glad to have you back in his arms again.

“so, were you surprised?” you ask, straightening yourself up acting as if nothing happened— brushing your hair to your back as your hands go to fix his blazer, hand lovingly gracing his tie, evening the two pieces together. he looks at you with a crooked smile—

“surprised? honey you blew me away.” mimicking the way someone would be blown away from strong wind. his effort of making you laugh fruitful, as you giggle with hand coming to cover your mouth.

“but seriously, i’ve missed you so much. there wasn’t a day where i didn’t think of you, you’re the reason i tried out for the team..” his words coming out soft and sincere, standing close to you again. your heart swelled at his words, looking up at him with loving eyes. all while finding the words to describe how much you missed him.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you when i was in cal, adjusting to the school was difficult; i felt like it would’ve been so much easier if you were there with me… i struggled so much but eventually i fell into a routine that felt empty because you weren’t in it. that’s why i came up to visit you; i didn’t mean for it to be a surprise— i wrote to you about it but judging by your reaction you haven’t received it yet.” don processes your words, thinking how the week has been so busy that he hadn’t had the time to go to the mail room to check for any response from you. you can see in his eyes a shade of guilt swirling through them, comfortingly you run a hand over his chest. grounding him. “but regardless, surprise or not. i’m happy to be with you again and to see you win.” you gleam, now filled with pride, squeezing his bicep gently. don flushes at the thought of you watching him win, in such tight and little clothing as well. you tease him about how much fitter he’s gotten and how he must give you a personal lesson on rowing soon. cooing at his flushed cheeks with proud words of praise as he thinks of taking you on a boat ride before you leave, when you leave.

“how long are you staying?” his face falling a bit but you lighten up.

“well… if you read my letter you’d know i’m transferring here as of next semester.” you say proudly, biting at your lip as you await his reaction. you watch as he tilts his head, a breathless chuckle of disbelief leaving him. then suddenly he wraps his arms around you, twirling you in his grasp making you squeal in surprise. he puts you down before pressing his lips to yours before you can catch your breath, chaste and content but relayed feelings and emotions not expressed through words said.

“you’re not joking right?” praying this wasn’t just some sick joke you were playing to get a rouse out of him, you wouldn’t do that to him right? the moment you shake your head no as a massive smile graces your face, he swears he’s never been happier. nothing could damper his mood, not even the words you said next.

“i’m staying for 2 more weeks starting today before i leave back to cal. but we’ll only be apart for a few more months before the semester starts again.”

he was elated at the news, once again pulling you into a content embrace telling you a few months was nothing. it was only a few months, if he could get through a year he could get pass a few months.

well, he better make the most of the two weeks then.

the rest of the night plays in a high note as you and don join the rest of the group, them getting to know the lover don had been hiding from them. bobby and roger seemingly more interested in the stories you told of don before college, even the most embarrassing ones and eventually convincing him to play a song other than the washington fight song when the party had died down, instead playing the lighthearted tune of cheek to cheek ( the original version was released during the 1930s but feel free to reference the sinatra version :] ) with soft hums of singing along as he plays. he watches as his friends dance on the floor beneath him, ever so often looking at you— watching him from the height of the piano, eyes full of love with your chin resting in your hand. content as ever.

the other half of his heart came back to him and he couldn’t be happier.

ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.

[wishful-thinking64]

One Hell of an Unpopular Opinion #05

Apology Tour completely dismantles the very thought of Stolitz ever being a remotely healthy relationship once they actually become canon on account of AT proving that Stolas doesn't truly love Blitzø for who he is but rather the idealized version of him that Stolas created within his own head and could be replaced by anyone who's willing to take/play Stolas' idealized role of a partner. __________

As much as I hate Full Moon for wasting so much of the audiences time, it did give us that scene where Blitzø was finally sick of Stolas' shit and told him off for it. However, since it's HB the show immediately tries to run damage control in it's next episode, Apology Tour. This is not only another episode that I despise but it's also the one that solidified my hatred for Stolas and his character. In the beginning of Apology Tour, Stolas bitches and moans over how Blitzø is still making their "relationship" about sex when, news flash, it's ALWAYS been about sex because you, Stolas, have kept it that way to the point where your victim feels like he has to sleep with you in order to DESERVE to keep his OWN BUSINESS RUNNING!

And Blitzø isn't wrong! Their "relationship" has always been, as Blitzø worded it back in Season #01 of HB, "a transactional fucking." Why would he see it as anything different when that's how its always been? Now, how does Stolas reply to this?

Honestly, this IS very shocking Stolas as I believe this might be the first time where you and Blitzø have interacted with one another where you're not blatantly sexualizing or romanticizing him on screen! After this he says that Blitzø should respect the fact that he isn't in the mood to sleep with or even speak to him right now. Mind you, whenever Blitzø has told Stolas in the past that he isn't in the mood to sleep with him or be flirted with, Stolas has respected that notion ONE TIME which was after the fiasco at Ozzie's back from Season #01. Otherwise, Stolas hasn't respected his boundaries for shit. Boundaries are important but you two aren't in a real relationship and even if you were respect is still a two way street. If you command respect from someone you choose to CONTINUE to disrespect on a CONSTANT/CONSISTENT basis then why the hell should they respect you? If it wasn't for his book, Blitzø wouldn't have any incentive to cross paths with Stolas at all.

Anyway, literal seconds later, Stolas tells Blitzo how he got invited to an annual anti-Blitzø party and comments on how he's above such silly nonsense only for him to quickly change his tune upon seeing Blitzø's annoyed and enraged reaction to seeing that Verosika is behind this petty pity party.

This starts a back and forth with Stolas demanding that Blitzø leaves. This results in Blitzø, yet again, reinstating on what their relationship truly is and how Stolas fetishizes him which discomforts Stolas because deep down he knows what Blitzø is saying is true.

Now, I won't get into the conversation that takes place after this comment as the critical side of the Helluva Boss fandom on Tumblr has already (rightfully) torn it to shreds. So instead, I'll save us all some time by simply skipping ahead to when Stolas is at the party after that Incubus guy (that rabbid Stolitz shippers hate) asks him if he wants to dance and why I despise that entire scene.

We see that Blitzø is uncomfortable with this and Stolas KNOWS that he's uncomfortable with this random guy asking Stolas to dance with him as Stolas made DIRECT EYE CONTACT with Blitzø! Now, Blitzø does effectively advise that Stolas take up the Incubus' offer with a hand gesture HOWEVER for Stolas to claim that he's always been in love with Blitzø and that he has eyes for him and him alone only to later MAKE OUT WITH A STRANGER just proves and validates Blitzø's feelings that you don't actually love or care about him! And moments before this scene Stolas says this.

THEN GO AND FIND THAT PERSON AS LITERALLY ANYBODY CAN DO THAT! YOU DO NOT LOVE BLITZØ, YOU MERELY LOVE THE CONCEPT OF BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM BECAUSE TO YOU, YOU SEE HIM AS A "CHILDHOOD FRIEND" WHEN IN REALITY YOU KNEW HIM AND HUNG AROUND HIM FOR ONE DAY SINCE YOUR FATHER BOUGHT HIM TO BE YOUR PLAYMATE FOR A SINGLE DAY! ... *Ahem.* In conclusion, there's no amount of future retconning that Viv and Spindlehorse can do to successfully make Stolitz appear as a genuinely healthy ship without trashing the entirety of Apology Tour but even that would create/introduce an entire new set of problems. __________

Man, I've been wanting to get this one off my chest for a while as I haven't seen many people bring up these scenes from AT when discussing how and why Stolas doesn't love Blitzø. I hope you enjoyed reading my thoughts this time around and I'll see you later!

[shougojo]

Hi! Can i request a headcannon where they get jealous of your pet 🥹 ? Any pet and fandom is fine 🫶

DOMESTIC FIGHT

cw: blue lock x gn! reader, fluff, headcannon, jealousy, pets can be chosen / they focus on cats tho

a/n: thanks for requesting anon !! hopefully this is what u want , it’s kinda long -︵-

rin just shrugged when you told him you owned a pet. he saw it normal that his partner had a pet, what else could possibly be wrong? well, rin now despises your pet. whenever you let it out or call it over - that was when the action starts. the animal would start nuzzling you and take your attention away from him. and whenever rin tries pulling you closer to him, it would just hiss; like he was gonna harm you or something. and rin wasn’t dumb about it; every night, he would brainstorm on how to get rid of it - trying not to upset you in the process.

sae is similar to his younger brother, but instead - the pet despises him. sae simply ignore the creature with his sanity, he doesn’t give a damn about the pet; although he gets scolded by you, the animal can’t do anything about can it? he doesn’t feed, play, or even share you with the domestic animal — it gets on the pet’s nerves. and sae just ignores it. you almost walked into sae and your cat ‘wrestling’ each other once. he also sometimes grabs your pet and replaces it whenever it takes his spot — your lap.

isagi is probably the only one that gets along with your pet. it’s probably either he has second nature or the pet is just fond with him. you’ll sometimes find the two playing or napping together. you sometimes think that your cat might like isagi more than you. but isagi always says that your pet obviously likes you more; but how can you agree when your pet’s always following him when he goes home? even so, at least they get along… maybe they get along too well.

nagi. let’s say he doesn’t really give a shit about your pet. they already went off on a bad start the second they met. he pretty much despises the pet; like, how can he not when it’s hogging you all to itself. you’ll often catch nagi giving death glares at your pet whenever their in the same room. they’ll have starring contests once in while, and if you were being honest, ‘if looks could kill’ would be the best way to describe the two. and nagi isn’t the guy who would have dates out in the world, he’d obviously prefer to do house dates - but when it comes to your pet - he’s always up to go to his house or a public date. anywhere away from that ‘thing’.

reo honestly just reacted with a ‘cool’ when mentioning you had a pet. but it’s not very cool once he meets it. he would often tell you that your pet is literally the definition of satan. it wasn’t like your pet scratched the furniture, it was just that it took your attention away from him. sometimes, whenever you left to get something in another room - he would ‘gently’ grab the domestic animal by the throat and point his finger in its face, telling it threats to back away from you. but the animal was stubborn and ignored every word he punctuated. making him loathe the pet even more.

bachira is just like any other person. caring and loving for your pet, it’s like a lil family to him. but sometimes, if your pet is an introvert, things might get a little messy and the pet might be the one despising him. but it’s ok! if your pet is extrovert, they’d have a fantastic time. it’s like their best friends or even brothers. overall, bachira is amazing at pets ( just don’t get him a tortoise, it might bore him )

[i-like-omori]

omori manga chap 2 is mid for obvious reasons (shota manga artist, poorly rehashed content, etc.) but i just want to go into lore rq because it FAILS to do what omori did in EVERY COMPASITY

this rant is going to be petty as shit but what did you honestly expect from a person whos made their entire online presence omori

okay so what started to get me frustrated was this panel right here

it says orange joe

orange joe is a fucking man in headspace and so kels favorite drink has been substiuted for milk in basegame

my uber autism wont let me look past this this is upsetting

there is litterally nothing in basegame headspace that said anything about this because orange joe isnt fucking real in headpspace and this is probably just a callout to the realworld stain on the carpet for NO REASON

also another thing , BOSS isnt from "the other day" , its implied he had been banished for a while because they had time to FUCKING MAKE AN ENTIRE CUSTOM SIGN FOR IT

(id say hes been gone for maybe a week)

also can we talk about how they TRY to impliment the game but FAIL horribly so fucking bad

okay so boss has 150 heart according to fandom wiki, he is a BOSS this is a BOSS BATTLE where you learn the BASIC FIGHTING DYNAMICS which wouldve been cool to see in the manga

BUT WHAT WE GET INSTEAD IS HIM BODY SLAMING AFTER A 39* HEART LOSS.

AND CAN ANYONE TELL ME WHY THE FUCK MARI IS EVEN HERE?? SHES NOWHERE NEAR THE FIGHT IN BASE GAME

THIS ALSO CONTRADICTS WITH MARIS ENTIRE HEADSPACE BEHAVIOR, ITS IS 100% CLEAR THAT MARI IS UNDER STRICT CONTROL OF OMORI

AND HAS FUNDEMNTALY DIFFERENT RULES PLACED FOR HER THAN KEL AUBREY AND HERO, DUE TO BEING SO VALUABLE TO OMORI BECAUSE SHES FUCKING DEAD IRL

SO WHY WOULD OMORI, THE COPING MECHANISM, LET MARI EVEN BE PUT IN A SCENARIO WHAT WOULD REMIND SUNNY OF HER DEATH

"its so he could save the day and defeat boss"

BOSS WAS NEVER FUCKING ABOUT MARI, ITS ABOUT SAVING BASIL AND HS GANG, THEY ALL FUCKING DIE HERE, THE GOAL OF BOSS IS TO BE THE HERO TO *THEM*

MARI DOESNT NEED TO BE INCLUDED IN THIS

THIS ACTIVELY MAKES OMORI ONE DIMENTIONAL SINCE SO FAR WEVE SEEN NEITHER SUNNY NOR OMORI GIVE A SHIT ABOUT ANY OF THEIR FRIENDS OTHER THAN LENDING KEL SOME MONEY BEGRUDINGLY AND BEING SHOCKED THAT BASIL EXISTS ,

WHICH DOESNT SOUND LIKE HE LIKES EITHER OF THEM

OTHER THAN THAT HE LITTERALY STABS AUBREY FOR HIS SISTER, STABS BOSS FOR HIS SISTER, AND THATS IT.

TUMBLR MOBILE ONLY ALOWES 10 IMAGES SO IM MAKJNG A PART 2

[suashii]

୨♡୧ YOU SHINE LIKE STARLIGHT— dan heng x reader. sfw. fluff.

note! this is my first time writing for the fandom + dan heng so pls be kind! enjoy ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

dan heng's limbs feel heavy when he boards the train. he offers himkeo and mr. yang a short nod before making his way to the passenger cabin. his body is practically screaming for him to get some much-needed rest but there are a few things he wants to review in the data bank before he does so.

the door to the archive room opens with a quiet whoosh. dan heng sheds himself of the armor on his shoulder and leans his spear in the corner while he slips out of his shoes. he inhales a breath of air through a yawn, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he walks up the two steps to get to the computer.

"hey." the unexpected sound of a voice makes dan heng's shoulders jerk up in surprise. he whips his head in the direction of it to find you situated on the floor with a book in your hand. but you aren't just in just any spot on the floor—you've gotten comfortable in his makeshift bed. "how'd it go?"

he doesn't think it should, but the sight makes his mouth go dry. for a moment, all the man can do is stare with parted lips. you've been in and out of here plenty before but he can't say he's ever seen you so snug—not in the desk chair and never under his blanket. dan heng isn't sure why the view makes his palms sweaty and his cheeks warm.

he clears his throat and continues on his path to the desk, answering your question with one of his own. "what are you doing here?"

"reading." you gently wave your book in the air to emphasize your statement. "you said i could stop by whenever."

he did tell you that and he meant it but dan heng never expected that the invitation would have extended to his sleeping quarters. he doesn't bother elaborating on the context of "here" in his query, only nods and taps away at the keyboard in front of him in a poor attempt to stop thinking about how cute you look in his bed and the strange way it makes him feel.

a beat of silence passes before you speak up again. "you dodged my question."

lithe fingers dancing along keys still for a split second with your statement. dan heng hums as he continues with his search. he should have known you wouldn't let that slip; for as long as you've been on the express you've been perceptive. it's an admiral trait, he thinks, although, during moments such as these, your keen eye seems to be working against him.

"you didn't run into too much trouble, right? no injuries or anything?" you ask.

there's a heavy thump against dan heng's chest that follows your voiced concerns for him. he's still getting used to that—someone asking about him, worrying about him. it's foreign, the care you seem hellbent on showing him, but he'd be lying to himself if he said it didn't make him feel warm inside. still, dan heng hasn't found an effective way to express his gratitude quite yet. "you really consider little of me if you think i walked away with anything more than a scratch."

you close your book with a cheery laugh that drifts through the air and kisses dan heng's ears. the sound is light and sweet and one the man doesn't hear nearly as often as he'd like. even now, you're readying to leave.

he turns in his chair to watch your rise from his mat and stretch your arms above your head. you meet his sparkling blue eyes as you do so, offering him a sleepy smile. "well, make sure you get a bandaid on that scratch."

dan heng can't help the quiet huff of air that comes from his nose at your words. he appreciates that too, the way you entertain his dry humor.

"and maybe think about sleeping in an actual bed tonight instead of on the floor." you gesture to his setup as you comb the bookshelves for the empty spot where you pulled the leather-bound journal from. the next part of your sentence comes while you carefully return the book to its rightful place. "your muscles will thank you."

the door to the archive room slides open with your prompting. before you take your leave, you turn back to the man and raise your hand in a wave. "good night and sweet dreams."

the room is blanketed in silence after your departure. dan heng's mind wanders back to you and your presence as he wraps up his research. the cabin felt much more lively and far less cold with you in it. tranquility has never bothered him but he's slowly beginning to learn that he prefers the illumination that radiates from you. he'd choose that over the stillness any day.

less than an hour passes before the fatigue catches up with dan heng. as he stands from his chair, he glances at his mat on the floor. he hasn't considered touching the room set aside for him since he boarded the express but, at your suggestion, he just might.

thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎

[eetherealgoddess]

hey bestie. requesting a yandere rindou haitanj scenario where reader (cis fem) is currently dating Ran, but rindou is obsessed with her and wants her for himself. a noncon smut where ran leaves reader at home for some reason and rindou takes the opportunity to do the noncon smut and ran ends up catching them, but instead of getting mad, ran just joins them. 💜🖤

Of course!! Hope you like it ♡︎♡︎♡︎

ꨄBrothers Conflictꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Haitani Brothers Au

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Brothers Conflict

Being a Haitani’s girlfriend comes with its perks. Not only is Ran an attentive boyfriend, he loves to spoil his girl with all the finer things. Jewelry, makeup, clothes, nails, you name it, it’s done. It was a done deal as soon as he set his eyes on you. It was interesting considering you were the pursuer at first, having a small crush that grew into something more. Finally, ignoring all of your anxiety you confessed, only to find out that he had the same feelings.

Considering it’s hard to read his emotions, you had no idea that he had been thinking about you as much as you thought about him. It was a wholesome moment when he accepted your confession and surprised you with his own gift the next day to properly ask you to be his official girlfriend. It almost felt too good to be true.

After the first hang out, you met his brother Rin. Unfortunately, the awkward meeting resulted in his subtle insults at the dinner table along with the scowl plastered on his face. Worried that you had crossed a boundary of some sort, Ran reassured you that he acted that way with all his girlfriends and explained that he was just being a protective younger brother.

Brushing it off, you let go of your anxious thoughts and continued on as a normal girlfriend. A few months pass and the tension flees, though you still catch Rin’s intense glare boring into you whenever you and Ran relax at their apartment. You refrained from bringing it up, not wanting to cause any problems between the two brothers.

One day, you had been watching tv as you stroked your boyfriend's hair, his head resting on your lap as he breathed steadily, indicating a deep slumber. After a while, he wakes up and slowly pushes himself off of your lap. You eye him in confusion.

“There’s something I forgot to do. I’ll be back later, babe.” He says before giving you a peck to your forehead and hopping off the sofa. He checks for his wallet in his pocket and opens the door to leave. Once the door shuts behind him, you grab your phone and pull up an app, bored out of your mind as you scroll mindlessly.

“Don’t you have your own home or something?” A voice speaks from the side of the couch. You almost jump out of your skin, you have forgotten that your boyfriend’s younger brother was home.

“Ran invited me over.” You shrug, already used to the subtle jabs to the point that they don’t really affect you as bad. He ignores you as he grabs a glass of water before walking into the living room and sitting next to you, crossing a leg. Your eyebrows furrow at his choice of seating.

“What do you see in my brother, Y/n?”

You pause for a moment, not really expecting a question like that out of nowhere. He takes a sip of the liquid as he readjusts his glasses.

“W-well, I don’t really know how to explain it other than the fact that I would take a bullet for him. I like that I can be myself around him.” You shrug. Honestly, your feelings couldn’t be explained though you know for a fact you’re smitten over the older Haitani. You had been for years prior. The excitement you felt when he accepted your confession was unlike any other happy moment you’ve had. You feel safe when you’re around him, whether to be yourself completely or physically, knowing he’s protective. Of course, this is hard to explain when you’re called out on the spot.

“What a lame answer. Are you sure you deserve my brother?” You make eye contact with him.

“Maybe not.” You sigh, “but I do love him if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not going to try and hurt him or anything.”

It’s a funny thing, really. You think he’s asking as a protective younger brother. Such a naive girl, though that’s something he noticed in you from the beginning. The little love letters and gifts he opened whenever he found them in his brother’s trash. The excitement he saw on your face from a distance when Ran accepted your confession, not willingly on his own but by his younger brother’s bargaining. The hue that formed on your face when you read the notes from ‘Ran,’ not realizing who they were actually written by.

The plan was easy, really. Ran asks you out so his younger brother can get closer to you. What wasn’t part of the plan was Ran falling for you mid relationship. It just wasn’t fair. He never noticed you until Rin noticed you. Of course, they argued about it. Argued over you. It was interesting how much conflict you were bringing to the brothers without even knowing it. Yes, such a naive thing.

You eye him curiously, wondering why he hadn’t answered you. After a moment of Rin lost in his thoughts, he sets the cup down and stands up. Turning towards you, he bends over and snatches you from the sofa, placing you over his shoulder as he walks to the hall of the apartment.

“Hey! What are you doing?” You exclaim as you hit his back repeatedly. Once he reached his bedroom, he shut the door before tossing you on the bed.

“Rin?”

He climbs on top of you, pinning you to the bed.

“Why? Why do you love him so fucking much?” Your eyebrows furrow as you gaze at him with confusion. You wince as his grip tightens.

“What about me? I’m the one who tried so hard to get you! I’m the one who did everything!”

“Rin, I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You try to reason with him, anxious out of your mind.

“The notes, the letters, all of it! It was all me.” He hissed, nails digging into your skin. “It was all a plan!”

“What? N-no.” You say in denial. You were so happy when Ran finally decided to give you attention within your relationship considering the beginning of it was a little confusing. You take a moment to think back to those detailed notes that stated things only Ran should know. Was it really all a ploy?

The younger Haitani smirks. “Yes, your precious boyfriend lied to you. Multiple times. He didn’t even have feelings for you until recently.” Tears threaten to fall as a familiar lump forms in your throat.

“N-no. Please, stop saying those things.” You hold back from crying, no longer in denial though not wanting to continue to hear anymore of what was coming out of his mouth.

“I’m tired of waiting for you to wake up, Y/n. It’s time you give back to me.” He states, removing his glasses and setting them down. You take the opportunity to use your free hand to slap him.

“Get off of me!” You shout angrily, tears finally spilling. You just want to leave and sulk by yourself. Rotting in your bed as you send Ran a break up text.

Instead of pinning the arm down, he ignores your outburst by grabbing your neck and lowering his face.

“If you bite me, I will fuck you up.” He promised with a deranged glint in his eyes. You could only stare in horror as he brought his lips to yours. He moves his lips along you hungrily before piercing his tongue through, saliva sliding out of your mouth as you don’t respond.

Using your free hand, you attempt to shove him by the shoulder though it doesn’t work. When he pulls back, he stops for a moment to wipe his mouth and gaze at your eyes. Before you could stop him, his face nuzzled between your shoulder and neck, piling kisses slowly up your skin as you grip his shoulder.

“Rin, don’t do this.” You cry, ignored as he uses both of his hands to tear your shirt. You gasp as the cold air hits your skin, the shirt torn apart, revealing your bare breasts considering you didn’t wear a bra today. His hands grab your mounds, gently squeezing as he releases a quiet moan.

“I was angry the first time I saw you and my brother have sex.” He lowers his head as he sucks one of the nipples, flicking his tongue before closing his lips around the nub once more. A heartbeat forms from your clit as you slightly arch your back from the chill that runs up your spine.

“Rin, please stop.” Your voice cracked, still hurt from the words before though frustrated with the reaction your body is emitting. He makes eye contact with heavy lids.

“But then, I couldn’t help but watch. Your intoxicating moans drew me in, Y/n.” His husky voice vibrated against your nipple, his lips barely touching the nub as he speaks, breath causing your nipple to harden.

“Such a slutty girl. Legs wide open for my brother, begging for more.” He returns to sucking, along with one of his hands easing down to your pants, unhooking them before sliding into your panties.

“Rin.” You whisper. “Just wait, please. W-we can talk about this.” You bite your lip when you feel his finger push against your clit. He slowly rolls his finger against the nub, eyeing you as he continues to lick your nipple. His other hand fondles the other breast, pulling and rubbing circles on your nipple. Your hands held his shoulders, pushing him once more, to no avail.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about your face and how it looked when he was eating you out. The way you rubbed your pussy against his face. I came so hard thinking about you, baby.” He whispers the last sentence.

Your fingers tighten against his shirt as he accelerates his finger against your pussy. Your hips twitch as your head falls back. You felt the juice fall out of your pussy as he gave another lick to your nipple.

Suddenly, he pulls his hand out and sits up. He moves off of you and swiftly pulls your pants off. You try sitting up only to be pushed down before he tears your panties off.

“Rin! This is wrong!”

He ignores you as he opens your legs, fitting himself in between as he holds your thighs down. He doesn’t give you a chance before his lips circle around your clit. Your hips jolt up as you grab his head as an attempt to push him away. His grip only tightens around your thighs, squeezing his arms around painfully as well as using his nails to leave indents, eyeing you from below. You yelp in pain as you fall back, the pleasure of his tongue flicking your nub conflicting with your emotions.

“Well, brother. This was quicker than I thought.” A voice comes from the doorway. You look up surprised to see your boyfriend.

“Ran, i-it’s not what it looks like! I swear!” You cry out.

“It’s okay, baby. I know.” He sighs as he sits behind you, positioning himself to lean against the headboard as your back leans against him.

“I know I have some explaining to do. We can talk about it later, alright? Just relax.” He circles his arms around your waist, his hands moving to hold your breasts as he leaves a trail of kisses on your shoulder.

Rin uses his fingers to gather your slick before pressing two of them inside of you, angling it to hit your g-spot steadily as he continues sucking and licking your clit. You couldn’t help but thrust your hips to force his fingers deeper, releasing a moan before heavily breathing as the overwhelming sensation takes over your body. Your eyes fall into the back of your head as you lay against Ran.

“I just want you to know that I love you so much, even if our relationship didn’t start off as ideal.” Ran softly speaks against your ear while pinching and fondling your nipples.

“W-why did you, ah… lie to… fuck! Lie to me?”

“Oh God!” You exclaim as Rin continues to bring you closer to the edge, accelerating once more as the sounds of your wet pussy fills the room. You feel Ran’s hardened cock against your back.

“I said we’ll talk about it later.” He uses one hand to pull your chin back, landing a passionate kiss on your lips as your body moves against him, grinding your hips against Rin’s face as he adds another finger.

“I-I’m gonna…ah!” You moan as you finally release, Rin lapping up all your juices as your body convulses.

When Rin moves from your legs, he removes his pants as Ran gently shifts you on your knees. You breathe heavily as your legs tremble from your orgasm. Rin guides you on top of himself as you weakly rest your head on his shoulder.

“W-wait! What about a condom?” You say against his neck.

“It’ll be a Haitani either way.” Ran states as he removes his own pants.

Before you could respond, Rin pulls you down as he shoves his cock all the way in. Both of you groan as the feeling of your pussy is stretched and wrapped tightly around his girth. His arms wrap around your back as he holds it there. You feel Ran spread your cheeks before he uses your leaking cream and his own saliva to rub against his cock. He eased the head in, a pain shooting through your back as you whimpered against Rin’s neck.

“I’m gonna fuck this pussy so good.” Rin breathes out before pulling back and rocking his hips forward. Ran shoves himself all the way in as he grips your ass, pulling himself back before slamming in.

They both rock their hips, gradually accelerating as all of your moans and heavy breathing filled the air. The pain mixes in with the pleasure before it engulfs you fully, your mouth held open as your body rocks in between them. Your hands hold onto Rin’s shoulders tightly as you’re plowed from both holes.

“So good. Such a good fucking girl.” The blonde says as he picks up the pace. His head falls back as your sweat mixes with his. “I waited so long, Y/n. You have no idea… fuck! How many… ah! Times I’ve cum to you.”

In a twisted way, the words he spills out of his mouth causes another aching throb to hit your pussy, clenching around him as you both make eye contact.

Ran accelerates his speed, turned on by the display of you getting double penetrated by both of them. He smiles as the scenarios fly through his mind of you naked and waiting for them to come home. Another twitch of his cock forms from the ideas.

After a few minutes of his cock making contact with your g-spot and your boyfriend’s cock filling your ass, you squeeze your eyes shut as you subconsciously bite into Rin’s shoulder, orgasming. Your bite causes him to groan out before pressing himself deep inside you and releasing his load. Ran follows not long after, his cum leaking out of your ass as he pushes against you. Breathing heavily, Ran removes himself from you, pulling you into his arms as well as Rin hugging you from behind.

When you caught your breath, you attempted to sit up from your position, anger lingering from the truth spoken earlier.

“We need to talk.” You say to both of them who only ignore you as they hold you in place, dozing off into a deep slumber as you follow not long after.

[matan4il]

911 ep 701 first watch reactions

(I don't think I have the energy to write proper Buddie meta, so here's me randomly squealing instead...)

LMAO In case you were wondering whether s7 of 911 will be subtle about their gratitude/debt to ABC for saving the show, the answer is a resounding no.

Also, I have lost a lot of respect for Frank as a shrink, but gained a lot of love for him as a sass king. "Did she win!?" The murderous look Athena gave him was priceless. I love her, too. She doesn't even need words to rule.

Man, nooooo. Don't give me a mutual "I love you" between Bobby and Athena like that.

"Go ahead and cut the green wire." Everyone and their sister: "Green? You said Red."

9-1-1 is the superior comedy they slipped into our drink, while we were here for our weekly action, suspense, drama and familial love.

Buck broke off with Natalia, and the show really did it like that. XD Every single person who rolled their eyes at this pairing during s6, we were all justified, but wow. The show really is the only forum to respect the pair even less than fandom does. And of course we find out about it in the middle of a scene built around Eddie being half naked, Buck watching him, with the camera specifically turning so we can discover Buck was initially covered by Eddie's body, and the angle change reveals him, when the whole thing wraps up with Eddie welcoming Buck back to the land of the living... Yeah, wonder what made Buck feel alive again. Don't know. 'Tis a mystery. We were given zero clues...

"I want the honeymoon life." *cries* Chimney is just such a good, good man. And okay, expecting your whole life to be a honeymoon's a bit unrealistic, but Madney are living together and they have a child. They know this. Chim knows this, but he still wants to go for it. Aim for the moon, you'll at least land among the stars, right?

Bobby baffled by Athena's reaction to Norman and Lola is hilarious.

I like how Chim has a great idea, but it's still obvious that it's gonna go wrong, because he can't help going overboard with it...

OMG, that scene with Eddie recounting to Buck what Christopher's date was like... If I were to write my Buddie meta, I would serve a three course meal just from that. I mean, the fact that watching Chris hanging out with a girl he likes, makes Eddie compare it to "hanging out with his guy friends" (when there's no lack of interest in this girl... in fact, it turns out that if anything, Christopher's problem is the opposite of a lack of interest) is so telling. There's a reason why that's where Eddie's mind went.

But then also... Eddie's trust in Buck got to me, the way he went to his best friend (not his own gf) for help with Chris. But that was still played with half a smile. But then Buck sort of disses himself jokingly, and Eddie won't have it. "You didn't end up like you." He sees how Buck worked on being a better person, even when Eddie wasn't there for the worst of it, and he appreciates it, and won't let Buck forget it. Meeeep. I love them.

Oh Chim. I was giving you so much credit, and then you went and bought that outdoors jacuzzi. lol Still love him. That's what Maddie's reminding herself of right now, too. ;p

Poor Hen, she was great in this ep, but none of it was really about her, she was comic relief, both with Chim and with the red wire. Then again, she was amazing in this, like she always is with everything.

Eddie and Buck were both so good with Chris this ep, MY HEART. Buck with getting him to talk about what's really bothering him, and Eddie with realizing exactly what his son needs, and how to give it to him. They completed each other. Neither one would be helping Chris without the other one. Tell me again how they're not soulmates?

In conclusion, I love Bobby saying, "Let's go prove one of us wrong," when they're both right. Something WAS going on with Norman and Lola, AND Athena was using them to avoid him.

Argh. That scene of the ship and its passengers being hijacked was rough to watch. </3 I'll still be here to watch the conclusion of this. That's the power of 9-1-1 for you.

It def felt like a great kick to the new season. We had lots of comedy and fun, some great tension, some emotional moments (especially with Christopher), but all in all, it's still clear that the whole thing's a build up to next week. Are you excited?

[elrielffs]

This is the only fandom that INSIST their head canons and what they desire HAVE to happen.

What happened to crack ships?

What happened to enjoying fanfic?

Here's the thing. No one cares what you ship. No one cares what you want to happen. No one cares about how you view certain things.

It's THE INSISTENCE that rubs.

You like Neris? Okay, but stop insisting Cassian is gonna die or Nesta is gonna reject the bond. Enjoy Neris fanfiction, commission Neris fanart but DON'T back track thru the books to cherry pick sentences out of context to fit your narrative. Don't INSIST on what you FEEL is going to happen IS going to happen and everyone is else dumb cause you've picked up the CRUMBS.

You think Rhysand and the IC are evil? Okay, but SJM obviously did not write with that intent so stop INSISTING they are because YOU don't agree with what they do and you FEEL they are evil.

You like Tamlin/Eris? Great, everyone has their fans, it's not right or wrong but stop INSISTING they didn't do anything bad actually and everything they did was justified. If you like a character fine but like them with all their flaws instead of trying to excuse it or sweep it under the rug. (Also Nesta fans...)

I just don't get why people have this INSISTENCE on what THEY want to happen or how THEY interpret a scene/character rather than what IS happening in the books is that AHA correct one and the rest of the fandom "just doesn't get it?" You don't like the way the story is going? Then stop reading the series.

Stop trying to Frankenstein sentences out of context and fanfiction you've read and confused for canon into a narrative that suits what YOU want to happen.

I get I have bias as well but I only came to that bias BECAUSE OF WHERE THE BOOKS ARE OBVIOUSLY LEADING US. If you have to go back thru a book to find scenes to support what YOU want to happen rather than coming to that conclusion naturally--that should tell you something.

The disregard for canon, the narrative twisting, the sentences out of context, the "well I FEEL", I just don't understand.

There are a BILLION books for the tropes ya'll want yet a portion of this fandom wants to come in and twist THIS book series to get what THEY want when it's readily available somewhere else.

Idk man, I just feel like all this is setting the series up for failure. After 4 years and radio silence, no matter what happens, everyone's gonna be disappointed in one or another and it just makes me sad, frustrated, angry---because this series doesn't deserve people who obviously don't like it to pick it apart and put it back together in their mind to set up for a huge disappointment for themselves cause they didn't like where the books are going.

I know someone's gonna be like "BUT THIS APPLIES FOR ELRIEL TOO" and gentle reader, I'm going to touch your hand when I say this, whether or not Elriel end up together in the end or not, they have clearly been set up to have a story together in some capacity. They have multiple scenes together, other characters have pointed out something weird between them, the bc had a scene where they almost fucked in a hallway--

You don't have to read power point presentations on "ACTUALLY ELRIEL IS CANON CAUSE CASSIAN ORGASMS IS DESCRIBED LIKE MUSIC AND MUSIC IS MATE LANGUAGE" its CLEARLY written on page.

They have canon scenes--other couples do not. Just look at the recent fanart debacle. People HAVE to come up with happy scenes for the other couples because NONE exist in the books for these couples. Elriel's don't have to twist the narrative cause the narrative is there. You don't have to like it, you don't have to ship it, you don't have to think their endgame, but it's there, sorry.

[shalotttower]

The Art of Disappearing (part 2)

Title: The Art of Disappearing Fandom: Resident Evil Village Characters: Lady Dimitrescu x Reader (female) Summary: Lady Dimitrescu enjoys wine; you enjoy living. You pray to god those don't overlap. Word count: 1900+ Notes: Implied violence, implied death (not reader), tension, topics of disillusionment and loss of faith, WINE Part 1

You don't forget.

The small tube remains in your apron pocket for the rest of the day and the next, and every time you touch it ─ a gesture done without thinking ─ you're reminded of where it came from.

It's not that hard. Just a walk to the Lady's chambers. Just returning an item to where it's supposed to be. And if someone sees you, then you've simply found the mistress' missing lipstick.

In six months you've only seen Lady Dimitrescu when serving meals. Her shoes sometimes would pass by while you were cleaning the floors. You've never spoken a word to her before, or even looked directly into her face for more than a second. The idea of being in her private quarters, uninvited and out of place, is nerve-wrecking. But you promised. You gave your word, even though it was the only option possible.

At five in the afternoon, just before dinner is served, you go.

Lady Dimitrescu's chambers are located on one of the higher floors. Everything smells like jasmine here; sweet, heady perfume in the air with a faint trace of something bitter to balance it out. The red rug under your feet absorbs sounds, making each of your steps almost silent. You take a turn at a vase filled with wilting roses, then another near a painting of a woman who looks like Lady Dimitrescu herself but much younger.

To knock or not to knock? Your fist hovers over the door. What if she hasn't left for dinner yet? What if she's taking a nap? To wake her up seems like a grave mistake. You stand, awkward and quiet, with a tube of red lipstick in your pocket.

After another few minutes tick by, you decide to knock.

Nobody answers.

With a sigh of relief you enter, shutting the door.

It's spacious here; high ceilings, tall windows. The curtains are drawn back, allowing the sunlight to flood through.

Her vanity table is a beautiful wall piece, carved from dark mahogany and polished to a shine. Your reflection in its mirror is clear as day. A maid with tired eyes and hair styled in a braided bun. You're not here to gawk though. The faster you're done, the better.

You put the lipstick back where it belongs ─ there, done ─ and turn to leave.

She has a massive bed, you think in passing. Must be comfortable to sleep on; it looks like it could fit four people and have space left. A canopy of heavy curtains hangs from its frame, slightly open.

It wasn't open when you entered.

You didn't open it either.

Two golden eyes watch you in mild interest through that gap. Oh no.

"My lady," you croak out, and manage a curtsey. "I didn't know you were resting. Forgive me for the intrusion."

The words tumble out of you in a rushed mess of vowels and consonants. Lady Dimitrescu does nothing to acknowledge your apology, instead she studies you, in silence, in a way that makes thin hairs on the back of your neck rise. She's dressed for bed, you notice ─ a nightgown of dark silk and delicate lace. Finally, you snap out of this staring contest and bring your gaze to your feet.

"You're not one of mine."

The comment is so soft that you barely catch it.

"No, my lady. I work in the halls and dining room, mostly."

"And yet," she says. "You are here. Do you have any business in my chambers, or were you simply lost?"

It sounds like a joke but you're sure she isn't smiling. You curtsey again ─ deeper this time, anything to make amends and live yet another day under this roof with all your fingers intact.

"I found something that belongs to you, my lady. And only-"

You hear a gentle rustle. A scratch on a matchbook.

"Lift your head. I can't understand you if you're a puddle on my floor."

Slowly you do.

You've seen her while waiting, seen her while bringing out drinks and standing near walls, served her meals with hands that trembled and a bowed head; never for more than one second, never for more than half a breath.

Lady Dimitrescu sits at the edge of her bed with one leg crossed over another. A cigarette in a dark holder is perched between her fingers; she blows out a cloud of smoke which drifts towards the window. It smells expensive, unlike what your dad used to smoke. Your throat burns at the memory.

"Well?"

"I found your lipstick, my lady, and came to return it."

You're not stupid enough to mention Daniela. Something tells you this is a secret between you and her alone.

"Where?" Lady Dimitrescu asks.

Your brain scrambles for an answer. "In a... a corner of a hallway. Near a window, second floor. East wing."

You wonder if she believes you. The tip of her shrinking cigarette glows brighter as she takes another drag.

"Was that all, then?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Dismissed. Refill my glass before you go."

There's a bottle on a nightstand, and it's the prettiest you've ever seen in your life. A pattern of intricate metalwork decorates its sides and top, like vines curling around stems or branches woven together, so delicate that they'd look real if not for their color.

"...yes, my lady."

It takes forever to pick it up and pour.

The rich wine flows ─ a viscous syrup ─ dark like late July cherries meshed together in one liquid drop. It makes your head spin a little. You're too aware of yourself. How heavy the bottle is, how clumsy your fingers feel when handling glassware like this one, worth more than your body weight probably; how much gold is it alone? Five thousand lei? Ten thousand?

You try not to think about it, where it comes from. You don't want to be sick all over her floors, because then you're dead for sure.

"That will be all."

Happiness in castle Dimitrescu is short-lived and fragile, but you've learnt to cherish these few seconds when you can.

When your hand twist the doorknob, she adds as if in afterthought: "I rarely visit the east wing this time of the year. I wonder how it ended up there."

"I'm not sure either, my lady. Have a pleasant evening."

The door shuts close.

You've done everything in your power to keep your presence as faint as possible in these walls, so that you're forgettable in every single way, but still useful enough to keep around.

It's a simple formula which worked so far. So far.

You hope Daniela is happy with herself, now that her mother knows you exist.

---

There's not much to her.

Not many things to say, not many experiences to share. All that's known about her is what she wears: a maid's outfit, standard issue.

And her eyes, of course. She has very expressive eyes that convey more than she thinks. They hold a certain kind of weariness to them ─ not just physical exhaustion from labor or lack of sleep, but emotional fatigue which seeps deep into one's bones until they ache at night, when there are no distractions left. When there're no chores, no conversations, nothing except a room with two beds (or four) and another girl trying just as hard to sleep.

Is it going to be like that? Yes.

Will she never leave this place? Yes.

Does anyone miss her? If there's anyone left. She hasn't got a letter from the village in a while.

Does she still believe in god like her mother (they had a small altar at home, decorated with simple things like a fresh bun and candles in various colors), then her father, her grandparents? She wants to, but he's stopped listening long ago.

Is she afraid? Sometimes. But mostly she's just tired.

Pretty maids with expressive eyes aren't a rarity in Dimitrescu castle.

Most of them have a similar story: born in the village, a father who works in a field, a mother who stays home, maybe a sibling or two. The oldest girls in the family who always end up here. Their fathers couldn't provide for them, the harvest was poor, and so on until their mothers send them off to work for 'someone rich', because 'at least you won't starve, at least there's a bed and a roof, and you get paid'...

...but money stops coming one day; there's no word, no letter, and their mothers cry in the kitchen.

Poor, scared, desperate things.

---

"How did it go? Did you put it back?"

You're not surprised to find her in your room. She's sitting on one of the beds, flipping through an old journal you've hidden under the mattress. It's a book full of silly poems you used to write in your spare time, back when you thought those were important enough to preserve on paper.

Daniela's fingers slowly leaf through the pages.

"I did."

"And you didn't tell it was me?"

"I didn't."

Her face lights up. "Good. Now I don't have to eat you."

You stand in front of her, two hands clasped together over your apron.

Is there a code of conduct which applies to your mistress being in your room? Or do you just wait until she leaves? You're not sure; Daniela doesn't seem to be in a rush. She continues browsing through your private thoughts instead with intense interest.

Your handwriting is messy, untidy scribbles in pencil; you see her struggling at times to read them. There are smudges of graphite here and there where your hand rubbed on paper by accident.

You wonder how much of yourself is revealed there without any filter or censorship, or self-restraint.

"I like this one." Daniela says after a while.

She points at something. It's a poem about a girl who lives by a lake, and goes looking for rocks and pebbles along its shore every morning. She keeps them lined on her windowsill, and her family laughs at her because what is she doing, collecting trash.

It's a sad one, you realize. You've forgotten you even wrote it until now.

"Thank you, my lady."

"Is it about your home? Where you grew up?"

Her eyes flick between you and what's written down on the yellowing paper.

"My mother didn't let me near the lake," you reply. "She was too afraid that I'd drown."

That's not really what Daniela asked; she wants to know if this is about your life before the castle, your family ─ parents who gave birth to you (and sent you here), brothers or sisters who played with you when you were little. But it is also as honest of an answer as you will give.

You don't understand why she even asked. Curiosity, maybe. Yes, that's a feature constant enough in her personality. Curiosity which pushes her to poke around and wiggle herself into every corner just to see what's there. She'll find out, absorb and then move on.

There's something very innocent about it.

She can also kill you without a second thought, you think grimly, watching her.

Daniela gives you a funny look. Then huffs, apparently deciding that it's not worth getting upset over.

The poems stop around the mid-point of your journal, sometime during spring. The rest are blank pages from then on, it's been at least six months since you last wrote anything new. She shuts it close and places it on top of your folded blanket.

"You're no fun today," she comments while standing up.

You've never been a great conversation partner, that's true. But again, what is the exact definition of 'fun' here?

Before you can apologize for not being entertaining enough, Daniela waves: "Good night!", and then leaves through the door like any other guest would.

The journal lays on your bed, unassuming. You tuck it back underneath your mattress.