#it doesn't suit me at all but I still really like it!!!

[andcars]

# 𝗙𝗖𝟰𝟯 ─── MAKE IT UP OFF-TRACK MASTERLIST . . . REQUEST ME . . . TAGLIST . . . AO3

YOU'VE RACED WITH HIM AND you've been under him. still, it hurts you when he outqualifies you. it almost hurts as much when you both still think you're just fuck buddies. ────── original prompt req.

PROMPTED DIALOGUE . . . # “You’ve been staring for a while” PROMPTED TAGS . . . # praise kink, rivalry, friends with benefits, jealousy ADD. TAGS . . . # quickie vibes, sex in the hospitality, author has a language kink, but also deepl translations WORD COUNT. . . # 1.6k

────── AO3 VERSION

P11. Fucking P11.

Everyone else is in the garage as you come in, all angry and disappointed. You were tenth of a second behind P10 and you weren't able to push it on the last lap because you went off track limits.

What’s done is done. You can’t work with a car that clearly doesn't wanna work with you. The better part of you wants to let this go and simply rest for tomorrow. Call it a day. Think of how to dominate tomorrow. Sleep it off.

But Franco walks to the garage at P7 and proceeding into Q3. The plan gets thrown away immediately.

You don’t hate the guy, of course not. You’ve met him times before when he was still in F2. If, of course, meeting him included hotel rooms and secluded bathrooms. You met him a lot, if so.

It’s not his fault that he’s better than you, as of now. You should be happy, really. But fuck, it should hurt how some rookie is better than you in a car you’ve driven for a year.

Despite all of this anger bubbling in you, you can’t stay mad at him. You could never stay mad at him, you think. Yet it hurts all the same.

You look away as your eyes meet. Not giving him a chance to even confront you or attempt to comfort you, you leave.

It’s pivotal now to talk with your strategist. He’s expecting you, unfortunately. Knowing damn well that your next duty was to come to him to see how to improve your performance, he already had your data pulled up.

Your, and their, wrongs are being talked into your ear and out the other. The farthest screen turns black, and you see Franco in the reflection. His blurred figure is towards you, his panting from the race still evident on him.

It’s difficult to pretend to care about racing right now. It’s not like they say anything different anyway. The rear wings are fucked, the tyres are fucked, the wheel can’t turn, and your head is just in the wrong direction. All the same things said before.

To the driver’s room you go. Q3 starts and you don’t do anything. The TV screen shows the delayed race as the crowd cheers from the opposite sides of the wall. Franco is in danger, with Mercedes finally coming out from the pit—you don’t expect anything more.

After the stretched minutes alone in your room, a knock comes on your door.

You say, “I’ll be out soon, tell James to get some patience,” with your head in your phone. No fucking way you’re going to be dealing with them while you’re still pissed.

The door opened and you grunt. Looking up, Franco was grinning at you.

“I’m also hiding from Jego,” he says, the grin on his face annoying, “can I come in?”

“And we both get caught?” It doesn’t matter what you think, he puts his feet in anyway.

The couch is uncomfortable. If they aren’t spending money on the car, they might as well spend it on the seats. With you laying across the couch, he kneels between your legs. You raise an eyebrow at him as he undresses his fireproof suit.

You ask, “You seriously wanna fuck?” and he laughs.

“¿Me dirás que no? (Will you tell me no?)” he murmurs, getting on top of you with his hips pressing against your ass. “Did you know I placed 6th today?”

“Mhm.”

“No?” He places a kiss on your cheek. “Didn’t watch me? What were you doing in here?”

His lips ghost over your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a small shiver down your fine. You know he felt it when he chuckles in your skin.

“Getting fucked my brains out,” your voice is flat. “What were you doing out there?”

“Ah, amor (love), you won’t get me like that,” he whines and kisses you once in one side. Then twice the other. He says, “You are so mean though, telling me things like this. Do you wish you were with someone else? Hm? ¿No me querés más? (You don’t want me any more?)”

Franco comes up to part your lips open with his tongue. You gasp a little, your arm limp over his back. His mouth wide open, chest pressed against yours, tongue just brushing against your lips, he says—

“Quiero coger. Te quiero comer a besos. Quiero que me hagas tuyo, mi amor. Don’t go making me jealous because you are.” (I want to fuck you. I want to lavish you with kisses. I want you to make me yours, my love)

His hand is gentle on yours, playing on the hem of your pants as his kisses turn wet. Desperate. Loving. It hurts you how careful he is with you when you spent the past hour hating him in your head.

And he’s always so gentle. He always used to ask you if you liked it, his words almost always in Spanish. As if he’s lost in you, he doesn’t know what words to use.

He no longer needs your permission now. A finger rubs between your clothed cunt as his hand pushes your shirt up to hold your tits. He moans more than you, in love with your body.

“So good,” he murmurs, “don’t ever look for anyone else. For me, please?” You moan against his cheek as he focuses on rubbing your clit through your pants. “I can make you feel so good. Amor, I can be yours.”

In moments like this, he’s too drunk on sex to know the words he’s spewing. He reaches for the lube and condom hidden in your desk. His movements are sloppy. You swear he struggles a little in opening the cap up.

He asks you something in Spanish. It’s out of your vocabulary, so you tilt your head.

“I don’t need to prepare you, right? You’re still loose?” You can see his hips grinding against the palm of his hand. His cheeks are flushed, and you see drool coming down his chin. It’s pitiful.

You nod. “Yeah, just give me a bit to adjust if you wanna—fucking hell.” It’s out of your control when you laugh. Franco eagerly shoves his pants down alongside yours.

“What has gotten you so eager?” you ask.

“I got P6,” he smirks. That little fucker.

His cock is rubbered and wet when it enters you. He moans loud as your hand comes to his cheek. It’s catlike, the way he goes soft against your hold.

Shifting slowly, he grinds inside of you. The soft rubbing inside your walls almost has you mewling. But you keep your eyes on him, ignoring the pooling pleasure between your legs.

Telling him, “You’ve been looking at me,” has his lips pouting. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were in love with me.”

“I am in love with you,” your cheeks flush, and you’re not sure if it’s the sudden thrust of his cock or his words. “I’m in love with the way you race, how you over-perform a dying car, how you move.”

His eyes drop to where you two meet, jittering his hips a little. With the quick thrusts, you’re caught off guard and moaning out his name. He looks very satisfied with it.

“Oh, amor—” his words turn gibberish to you as he starts to move. His pace is uneven, driven by the thought to take you carefully and the urge to bring the both of you to climax. Not a single word is getting into your head.

But his voice is so loving. He’s panting between every other word, lips pouted and eyebrows furrowed. His voice is getting louder, and you put your hand against his mouth.

“Shut - oh, God… Shut up,” you whine, feeling the cockhead rub against your g-spot. “You’re so fucking… good. Just like that, fuck me.”

He shuts up when he goes down to kiss you. Both his arms wrap around you, embracing you as he finds the right angle to make sure you’re still getting stimulated. His hair is rubbing against your clit, the little tickle in them getting you to moan a little louder.

You feel dizzy. It’s not the lack of air during the kiss, you know it. He’s just holding you close to him while he takes you like you’re his lover. Your heart curls in itself, punishing itself for its own stupidity.

But fuck, you want to focus on the now. The way his hands are going up and down your back, soothing you as you get lost in the pace of his thrusts. The way his body towers over you, completely enveloping you in his hold. 

“I’m gonna—” he gasps, his pace barely slowing as you assume he cums inside of you. You whine when he bottoms inside.

Franco knows you. He knows you too well. He grinds inside of you before pulling out. Still, he doesn’t let you think another thought before he’s flicking your clit.

“Shit, fuck, Franco!” he smiles under your silent praise as his other fingers tease at your hole. “I’m gonna cum too. Just like that. Don’t fucking stop.”

He only leans down to spit on your pussy, easing the rub as you’re moving your hips along him. You cum with your back arched and your hips off the couch. His hand stills on your clit as his eyes are fixated on the way cum leaves your pussy.

You drop back down when he places your hips on his lap. “Don’t get it dirty,” he reminds you, tying the condom and throwing it in the bin. “It’s embarrassing to explain to the cleaners.”

His humour comes in at the worst moments. You grunt and he only laughs. “It’s not even funny. You’re just telling the truth.”

“It’s funnier in Spanish,” he promises.

You think about how it probably sounds just about the same.

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . first time writing for bro ! i'm so open to writing more of him so i added him in my taglist options, so if you wanna be tagged for future fics of him 👀 you know what to do . if you already sent me a form before , you can resend another with him included ! anyways , fixing up the next few fics soon . ˎˊ˗ ᝰ. ──── 📨 @delululeclerc @hiireadstuff

you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡

[pastabaguette]

sorry for all the posts today, but this one is very important: alternian video game edits.

i actually have reasonings for all of their blood types, and a few classpects, so i'll dive into them here:

monika: i'm thinking that early in the game, during acts 1 and 2, she maybe masqueraded as a jadeblood or higher. only during act 3 does she reveal herself as a fuchsia to the protagonist.

gordon and alyx: gordon is probably a tealblood, or somewhere around there. fairly high, but not too high, i think. alyx is an olive, and eli is an indigo. azian was probably a gold. (or lime?) i did have to keep gordon’s orange HEV suit, though. surely you understand. okay, troll half life lore: i think on alternia, all the main characters in the half life franchise are like, olive or above. the rebels in follow freeman and the guards are all lowbloods, so that the player doesn't feel too bad about sacrificing them, or something like that. i think this would be something that would happen in an alternian video game, at least.

agent 47: 47 is actually a mutant, due to being manufactured in a lab. he's a weird ice-blue color. he's still got that piercing stare. i felt a little sad changing his iconic red tie, but i do have some thoughts on that as well. obviously, red in human culture tends to symbolize passion, among other things, and in this case, violence and aggression, because it's the color of blood. however, because trolls all have different blood colors, i think they might have different meanings attached to colors than humans typically do. i think that typically, the colors that would most commonly represent aggression in alternian culture would be blue (cobalt and indigo) and purple. now, i know that the sea dwellers exist, but since the vast majority of trolls are lowbloods, they would have a lot more contact with the land-dwelling highbloods, rather than the fish. so, 47’s tie is blue. (i also just think it looks cool matching his eyes)

chell: I made chell a bronzeblood. she’s a test subject, but not one of the special ones (astronauts, olympians, etc). she’s just another lab rat. (also, a lot of her outfit is orange…)

now for classpects! i only have two i’m sure of as of now:

gordon freeman is an heir of hope. this one is fairly obvious to me. a common belief is that heirs have the ability to become their aspect, in a way. in half life 2, gordon quickly becomes the main symbol of the resistance on earth. for the rebels, he himself IS hope.

agent 47 is a prince of life. again, it’s a common interpretation that princes are themselves void of their aspect, and they destroy that aspect in others. this is really literal, obviously, but as a hitman, 47 kills people. literally destroying life. as for his own lack of life in himself, it’s pretty simple as well. 47 is almost always described as entirely void of emotion and empathy. others often remark on his soulless stare, a lack of life behind his eyes. so, as a prince, he fulfills both criteria there.

holy hell, that was a lot of words. i didn’t intend to talk this much. feel free to add your own thoughts; i’d like to hear what others think. these descriptions were a bit rushed, and i don’t really consider myself to be very good at communicating my thoughts, so a lot of things may have been lost in translation. i’d be happy to try and elaborate on my reasonings for any of them.

(oh, also, please no alyx spoilers. i haven’t played it yet!)

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt behind the cut for Derpsheep; obligatory sugar baby Kon. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon laughs sheepishly, shakes his head, and then leans down and presses a kiss against the corner of his mouth. Tim boils alive. Like. Just a little. Then Kon straightens back up and gives him another grin before looking back down to the bag and digging into it. He comes up with the chocolates first, since they’re what Tim put on top, and grins wider again at the sight of them. 

“Dude, how much are you paying in shipping?” he asks with a laugh, shaking his head again. 

“Not that much,” Tim lies. It wouldn’t have been that bad if he hadn’t sprung for expedited, so he figures that counts as true. Like, arguably. From a certain point of view or whatever. 

Look, he’s spent more on less important things. 

Kon laughs again, then puts the chocolates in his coat pocket and pulls out the jewelry box, inspecting it curiously before flipping it open. 

“Oh, sick,” he says, looking delighted, which makes Tim feel as good as nailing a landing on the edge of a skyscraper, and then frowns again. “But how much was–” 

“You can’t tell me not to buy you things anymore,” Tim interrupts him as politely as he can. Kon pauses, then flushes again and ducks his head a little, smiling helplessly. 

“Okay,” he says, then bites his lip and stares down at the bag. “Um . . .” 

“Yes?” Tim asks. 

“I can kinda, uh . . .” Kon trails off, then looks embarrassed. “I mean, it feels like . . .” 

Right, Tim thinks. TTK probably does take away some of the element of surprise from unwrapping presents. 

“It’s fine if you don’t like it,” he says. “I just found, well . . . an option that wouldn’t wilt over dinner.” 

Kon looks very embarrassed. 

“You really didn’t have to,” he says, a little stilted. “I mean–you already . . .” 

Tim tilts his head. Patiently puts on what he’s decided to make his “you can’t tell me not to buy you things anymore” face. 

Kon turns red again, then pockets the jewelry box with the chocolates before pulling out the last gift to look at too. He opens the box gingerly, and stares into it for a long moment before taking the actual gift out. 

Tim really hopes he likes it. 

“You really didn’t have to,” Kon repeats as he turns it by the stem, his face still all flushed and his eyes and voice both just barely soft. 

It’s a slender little branch of blue orchids, all shiny and pretty. The company that makes them lacquers real flowers and then accents them in gold. So it’s still obviously an actual flower with the petals all visible under the lacquer, but the stems are gold-plated and the petals are edged in more gold, and the flowers themselves are preserved by the lacquer, so . . . yeah. 

He could’ve waited for the cul-de-sac and just started giving Kon fresh flowers like he’d originally planned, Tim guesses, but he’d stumbled across the site while looking for gift ideas and kinda just . . . gone from there, pretty much. He’d actually seen roses first, but the orchids had felt a little more . . . creative, maybe? And likelier to be to Kon’s tastes, given how obviously fondly he remembers Hawaii–and misses it, maybe, though that might be assuming a little much on Tim’s part. 

Even if it, unfortunately, doesn't miss him. 

It’s just . . . a hypothesis, really, that Kon misses Hawaii. Just going by certain things Kon’s been willing to say and show in front of Tim Drake, and hasn’t been willing to say or show in front of Robin or the team. 

So when Tim had seen the orchids, well . . . 

Blue orchids are a rarer color, apparently, and he’d just thought–well, Kon’s eyes are blue, and so is a significant percentage of his suit. And so is, obviously, the sky he flies in, and the water he might miss. And blue orchids are supposed to be symbols of rarity and uniqueness, so, uh–maybe it’s a bit much, but he’d just thought . . . 

Kon clearly wants to be seen as someone unique and individual, and clearly deserves to be, so . . . yeah. Well. 

It’d just fit, he’d thought. 

They’re supposed to represent sincerity, too, but that’s a whole other thing.

[storm-and-starlight]

Meteoric

This was originally from a larger fic idea that in retrospect wouldn't have worked, but I really liked this one scene, so it's getting posted on its own!

Damian Wayne is ten years old and trapped in a country he doesn't know with a Batman he was never supposed to be heir to and he is learning how to fall.

"I know how to fall," he snaps, irritated already -- he has already been trained, by people better than Grayson will ever be. It's more than muscle memory at this point -- it's more like running, breathing, the step and flex and roll to come back up already swinging.

"Do you now," Grayson says, trying for amused and interested and ending up with tired instead. "Off of buildings?"

"Yes," because how different can it be, really, except they're up on the pinnacle of Wayne Tower already, so high he can barely make out the shapes of the cars below them, looking out on the wide stretch of the city, darkened smoky stone and warm golden lighting and the great black expanse of the sea beyond it all. He has seen the images of his Father surveying his city, settled on the snarling head of a gargoyle or in the darkness behind neon lights, wrapped in shadow. Grayson is no master of stealth, no darkly watchful presence -- he leans wildly out over the gap, cape bannering out behind him in the wind, and looks up.

"Okay," Grayson says, still sounding tired, and turns to look at him. The cowl does not suit him; his chin is too narrow. "Wayne Tower's a good reference point if you need to get somewhere fast -- it's got good access to most of the major roads, and it's high enough you can grapple pretty much anywhere without slowing down too much."

"Yes," says Damian, "obviously."

"So, we're going to use it as practice," and Grayson fires a grapple at the neighboring skyscraper, checks it with a hard tug, and hands the gun over to Damian. "Like we did in the Bunker--"

"Release at apex, reset, fire again. I am aware." He is trained in all the things his father was trained in, during his time before he became the Bat, but he was not trained in this. This was something he learned in Gotham, on buildings such as this one, and Damian was not born to this city, to the home of Batman -- but he has been named Robin, and he has seen how all the rest of them fly. He sets his feet, braces for the leap -- below him, the city rumbles, never sleeping -- the line is almost invisible in the dark.

Grayson shifts, stepping closer, cape snapping in the wind.

"Going to tell me not to look down?" Damian gives his own tug on the line, which refuses to budge, and looks up, and out, and down, at the impossible plummet under his feet.

"Robin," Grayson says, tired and grieving and still somehow full of that infinite, impossible gentleness, that disgustingly soft core of him that Damian has wanted to plunge a knife into since the day they met, and "I am not afraid," Damian snaps, and leaps.

It's -- terrifying, paralyzing, the rush and plummet, the wind catching in his ears and howling, the thin rubber grip of the grapple gun in his palms all too slick for when his weight catches against the line and pulls him back upward, and yet it's also-- amazing, and he whoops sudden and startled and delighted when the arc runs out and he is flying, hanging weightless at the top of the world with all the lights of the city and the sea around him, black and gold and brilliant.

And then gravity reasserts her grip and hauls him back down to the Earth, backwards. He clings instinctively tighter to the gun, cape twisting, flapping, tangling with his legs as he falls blindly back towards the uncaring streets -- and an arm hooks around his waist and hauls him back up again with the benefit of greater mass and greater momentum, and with a jolt he finally hits the release and lets Grayson sweep him up onto the roof of the next building, landing without a breath of a sound.

Damian shoves his way free and Grayson lets him go, lets him shove the grappling gun back in the holster on his belt and stride off to the middle of the roof, glaring down at the smoke-stained concrete. He has practiced this a hundred times over in the Bunker, the changeover, the weightlessness -- he has done it perfectly on the practice course, again and again, until Grayson finally agreed to take him out into the city without the Batmobile, and he froze--

"You're not the only one, you know," Grayson says, and Damian pauses. He doesn't look back, but he pauses, and Grayson sighs. "Tim did the same thing all the time when he was learning. It takes practice."

"I have had practice."

"Not on the streets."

"What difference should that make?"

Damian can feel Grayson's Look, boring in between his shoulder blades, and he clicks his tongue and turns back to the edge of the roof. This building isn't quite so tall, and flatter on top. Any leap will be reliant more on the winch feature of the grappling guns to haul him up to the next roof in the chain.

"Damian," Grayson says, stepping up next to him.

"Names."

"Fine, then, Robin," and he actually manages to hit amused. "You want to know a secret?"

"Hm."

Grayson leans in, conspiratorial, and Damian refrains from tilting himself away. Grayson's secrets are... varied, in terms of how secret they must be kept, and frequently inane, but occasionally... occasionally they are his father's secrets, and Damian-- holds tight to those. 

They are his birthright, after all.

"Bruce didn't know how to do this either," Grayson whispers, close and quiet in his ear.

"I am aware of that." There was, after all, a time when his father was not Batman, Damian knows, and his lack of training then does not excuse Damian's current inability--

"No, I mean even as Batman," and Damian whips his head up to look at him, but Grayson is looking out over the shining lights of the city, unreadable behind the cowl. "

In the early days, he didn't-- leap like this."

"Explain."

"He didn't have the training. Who would be crazy enough to teach him how to-- throw himself off skyscrapers?"

"Surely there would have been someone--"

"Before all of this? Before the Justice League? Before Superman? Bruce--

"Names."

"--your father knew a lot of things, but he didn't know this." Grayson shrugs, shoulders drooping as though the cape is dragging them down. "Back then -- well, actually, back then we mostly used the Batmobile, but when we did do rooftop patrols it was a different technique. Lower buildings, narrower streets, different line attachments, no midair switches and no big drops like that. I spent a lot of time using a grapple like an elevator as a kid," and he-- laughs, soft and quiet and wistful. "I learned a lot from him, but I didn't learn how to fly."

"But the others--" He has seen the recordings of his-- predecessors, of Drake's careless confidence in the air, Todd's reckless swoops -- even Brown is better at this than Damian, and that cannot stand. His mother told him that Batman would close the gaps in his education (what small ones there were), that he would be the greatest of his students, and yet he cannot do this, and his father is not here to teach him -- and yet his father did not teach Grayson, either--

"They learned from me," Grayson says. "Bruce did too, sort of -- it wasn't exactly like trapeze, I had to figure out a lot of it, heh, on the fly, and I worked out the technique with him -- but the basics? That's all me. Robin flew before Batman ever did."

"...tt," Damian says, because he has no idea what else to do, but he looks out over Gotham's neon-and-gold and wonders, briefly, what it must have been like, all those years ago, to take that first leap. To look up to the sky and see Batman and Robin, aloft.

"Trust me, Robin, you'll pick it up," Grayson says, resettling the cape on his shoulders, and Damian looks up at him again. He's smiling, now, and the cowl still doesn't suit him but it's less about the shape of his face or the tilt of his chin and more that Richard Grayson, perhaps, should not be wearing the cowl at all. "You've already got the hardest step down."

"Which is?"

"Don't be afraid to fall," Grayson says, and gestures out at the city in front of them, alive with light. "All you've gotta do is keep moving forward. I'll be right behind you," and English isn't Damian's first language but Mother found him only the best of the best to be his tutors, and he hears the second meaning underneath the words. I'll be there to catch you.

"Tt," says Damian, and leaps.

[mitsua]

With an MC who likes to post about their dates with them

Warnings: none Genre: fluff

Series: OM! SWD? MC'S. . . GN!

Words count: 0.74k

I don't think he'd really like it at first, since you were all the time asking for a picture, for him to pose or smile, and, well, he doesn't really wish to do that.

However, once Asmodeous showed him all the posts you made on every date-how you wrote so highly and cutely about your spent time with him-it made somethings in his heart and pride go up to the stars.

"I'll smile only if you smile too."

Maybe sometimes is the one who catches you off guard asking you to take a picture of the most random moment on your date just as a joke.

But oh boy when he scrolls down later on and sees you really posted those embarrassing photos, he's gonna be malfunctioning for a while.

Still, as he reads your thoughts about the date on the picture's caption, his mind will race a thousands miles per hour and kick his feet like a little kid (obviously without anyone seeing him).

"Be grateful I'm not charging ya' for those photos!"

It started as posting about some streamings you watched, then to both your hands shown holding a video game controls, the final blow was when he woke up to an exaggerated amount of posts he'd been tagged on, new hashtags shipping the both of you and some even promoting their pages to read Leviathan x you content.

He was about to go insane, but as you asked him if he wanted you to delete all those posts, he reconsidered and ponder what was wrong on all that.

"It's fine, yes, it's going to be fine only with you by my side."

He'd get used to you taking a photo before and after entering a new place with him, sometimes a couple more in there. But never thought nor asked what'd you do with those.

Later on, as he read online about new places to take your date to in Devilgram as it seemed to be the most reliable app to ask to, he came across your page and finally saw all you had to comment of your dates.

"I love reading your narrating, however, would you mind telling me by yourself what you thought about it all?"

When he discovers your passion of publishing about your dates, you've grown accostumed to even going live on a couple of them. Of course the most part of your dates were private, you spent some time exchanging ideas on how to edit or tag your posts.

The only time you really caught him off guard was the time you posted a photo of him fully suited, when you attended to a fancy dinner of your anniversary together, he didn't notice you taking it! Your caption reading: "Hope you know you look beautiful to me in every way you'd never even got to imagine about <3"

His eyes got glassy as he absorbed your words and went immediately to hug you.

It's an odd thing to him, but doesn't really comment about it unless he thinks you're spending too much time on your D.D.D. your eyes might burn because of being glued to the screen all time.

One day, after an important fangol match of his, some reporters asked permission to publish the photographs taken on their Devilgram account and tag them on it, to which all of them agreed happily. After returning to the HOL he'd look for their team's post and click on your page by mistake, mersmerized with all the love you put on your almost daily posts about your dates with him.

"Uhm... do you want to take a picture of both of us eating this cupcake?"

He'd still have a weird approach, but trust me, he's trying.

He's between 'I don't like it' to 'I don't care'. Nevertheless, he would smile in a couple of pictures you want to take throughout your time together. But only when he's looking at you.

He won't bother looking to the camera, he'll only stare at you.

The only photo you have of him smiling to something else that was not you was when he was asleep. Probably dreaming of you too-

Sometimes, when he can't sleep, he might scroll down your Devilgram to remember those cute dates of yours.

"That I have to look to that little thing in your phone while you're taking the photo? Why? I want to look at you."

All writings' rights reserved © 2024 Mitsua. (Credit to the respective owners of the picture and tagged anime character.) ⌇ my navigation!

[diazsdimples]

I think Buck becoming a beekeeper after this would be hilarious actually. Like sure, the bees he faces are killer bees, stinging their was through half the population of Los Angeles and causing untold amounts of chaos, but I think he'd be like "🥺 but they were just following their instincts! People kept swatting at them and I'd sting someone that swatted me!" Anyways, after all that's done and the bees are safely collected and carted off to where they belong, Buck hops online and starts searching beehives and how to keep bees. He's still in his loft so he nominates Tommy and Eddie's backyards to be the Bee Lands (he argues bees will help cancel out Eddie's uncanny ability to kill every plant ever and Tommy's his boyfriend so he's gotta) and gets a couple of hives and a whole heap of honeybees delivered to both of their houses. It's a little difficult having split custody, especially considering the bee suits still give Eddie a nervous twitch, but Buck has the best time going over to each house and just chilling with the little guys, he initially doesn't want to take their honey but then does a bit more research and figures out a way to do it that's respectful and kind to the bees, and it becomes his favourite little hobby. He offers for the other members of the 118 to come over and look at the bees and see that they're really not so bad but for some reason no one really jumps at the offer.

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: It's your first week on the job and you find yourself having to deal with a very angry higher up.

Warnings: Power imbalance, Yelling. Please let me know if I missed any.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

"For the last time, Hansen, NO! We have these regulations for a reason." Levinson was yet again regretting hiring Lloyd. There's no denying the man got results but were the results worth the cost of dealing with the man? He'll have to get some of his analysts take a look. He doesn't even have to ask and he knows Raymond, his assistant, has made note to ask them.

"It's a bullshit regulation," Lloyd argues. "There's one IT person who can work with me, why the hell wouldn't they be the one to go with me on this trip? You've always been okay with us bringing some tech head in case our company electronics have problems."

"Yes, but that's for experienced tech employees," Jonathan intervenes. "This young lady has been working with us for only a few weeks. She is very skilled, yes, but---"

"And she's the only one of your team that isn't a pompous ass," Lloyd sneers. Ari, Jonathan and Raymond all give him a look. "Yeah, I know I'm a pompous ass. It's why I don't work well with those other assholes."

Ari sighs, "still, we can't have such a new employee going on a trip. You're going to take a more experienced IT member or you will take no one."

Lloyd huffs before stomping out of the CEO's office.

The project for the CFO is taking up a lot of your time but you're grateful for having something to focus on between tickets. Working with people was never your strong suit and those tickets can be draining.

Except for the ones from Hansen, funny enough. While you understand why others don't like to work with him, you're grateful that he leaves you be. He doesn't pester you with questions or offer advice that you have to pretend is good. He doesn't talk about his life's story or complain about "technology these days" that you have to half listen to so as not to appear rude. He lets you work, get in the zone, and you can get the ticket completed without feeling drained afterwards.

He seems like the naturally loud and demanding type so the fact that he's quiet when you work really means something to you. And he always follows it up with praising your work. The nickname "Maestro" seems to have stuck with the rest of the IT crew and it's really helped you feel more like you belong. You're genuinely grateful to Lloyd for that.

Almost as if your thoughts made him manifest, Lloyd enters your cubicle and sets his laptop next to you.

"Hey there, Maestro," Lloyd smiles. "My laptop is acting up. Take a look at it for me, will ya?"

"Um, Mr. Hansen, Sir, did you submit a ticket?"

Lloyd's smile drops. "If I did that, it might not get assigned to you. This way we can work around that requirement and spend some more time together."

"I'm, I'm sorry, Sir," you shake your head. "You have to submit the ticket. It's regulation."

"What the hell is with everyone and these damn regulations?!"

"I could get in trouble, Sir," you explain. "If I fix your laptop without submitting a ticket, that's work time that I can't account for. In other cases, Sir, if something goes wrong with company property, they need to know who was responsible for fixing it. If I fix your laptop but the fix doesn't work, there's a gap in that item's history that could throw off future updates. I really don't want to get in trouble, Mr. Hansen." You look up at him, eyes pleading.

He sighs, "well, can't have a good girl like you getting in trouble on my account, huh?" You try to hide your reaction to being called a good girl but Lloyd gives you a look before grinning at you. "Did you like that?" His voice is low and he brings himself to your level so he's right next to your ear. "Do you like being a good girl?"

"Y-yes, Sir," you confess.

He chuckles, "I'll remember that, Maestro." He grabs his laptop and gives you a wink before sauntering out.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory;

@late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly; @lokislady82

[jessieren]

Here In America

I managed to go and see Here In America last night and, as promised, here's my (fairly brief) review. If you're going to see it and don't want to know anything in advance then don't read any further - although I've tried hard not to include any spoilers.

Firstly the theatre is tiny... and I mean really really tiny! When they said in the promo video 'you're going to be up close and personal with the audience' they weren't kidding. The stage area is incredibly tight and all the audience are within a few feet of the actors.

The scale of the theatre really gives the sense that you're 'in the room' with what's happening and adds to the sense of tension as the play builds. It also means that you can see the actors every expression and movement and they don't need to project/act up in the same way as you would in a large normal layout theatre. My personal view is that this suited Shaun's more minimal nuanced acting style really well - it was almost like acting for the camera.

The play is just under 90 minutes and is intense, quite complex, and dialogue heavy but the pacing is incredible and the 90 minutes disappeared in a flash. Shaun is on stage for pretty much all of that time and much of the dialogue and interaction happens between Kazan and Miller. The set, props and lighting are very minimal but work well and support the interactions (the scrabble scene near the beginning is great and sets the play up really well).

All four actors are absolutely brilliant but Shaun and Michael Aloni's performances are truly stunning. Shaun really does hold the entire piece together but without overwhelming or detracting from any of the other performances. Whilst it is intense there are some small moments of comedy and Shaun, in particular, plays those really well.

I enjoy plays with small casts as I think you get far more from the relationships and interactions and this is an absolute case in point. The details and nuance of the way the characters interact build a picture of their relationships that support and help move the play along and I think also build a genuine sense of empathy with the conflicts at the heart of the play. I went into it with a clear view of what/who I thought was right and wrong but the script and performances really made me reconsider my views throughout - and I'm still questioning how I feel about it 24 hours later.

Whilst Shaun doesn't look like Kazan (Aloni truly becomes Miller in an uncanny way, and similarly Jasmine is compelling as Monroe - not an easy ask), he is really convincing and plays him with a charm and charisma that gives a fully rounded view of him as a man and the choices he made, where it could have been easy to play him as a more two dimensional 'bad guy'.

I absolutely loved it and really hope it gets the praise and attention it deserves. Its one of the best pieces of theatre I've seen - and I go to a lot!

I'd highly recommend getting to see it - or paying to stream when its available.

Just as a side note: The play covers a lot of ground and refers to quite a lot of detail of Miller and Kazan's lives in particular. My personal view is that you get more from it if you already know the overall chronology of what happened in that period and also understand the basics of Kazan and Miller. I'm sure its still very watchable without the background but personally I felt I got a lot more from it from knowing something about the key characters, events and timeline.

[themeraldee]

I was thinking about how what Homelander clearly considers part of Madelyn's betrayal, alongside the lying about him having a son, was her being afraid of him. And that fear being why she appeased him the way she did, *just like everyone else does*, when he'd hoped she was different. That she actually cared. But no, like everyone else who actually SEES him, she was scared of him. This made me think, what if he figured the only way a person could truly love him on a personal level would be if they'd had no exposure to who he is. Someone who doesn't know about the violence, who he can just be the charming hero in the sunlight for (I guess this would be pre his S3 revelation that certain people still like him even when he kills in broad daylight lol). Or so he hopes. He is desperate to please, after all. So then I thought, what if he somehow cultivated a relationship like this, away from Vought, and then this person was presented with the dark truth about him. Maybe from someone aligned with Butcher, maybe just accidentally, but for the first time he sees that familiar fear flickering in them too. This person who was supposed to be uncorrupted. Who was supposed to love him. Who he'd been so good for. I can see multiple endings to that scenario, some much darker than others. I guess a lot would depend on how this person reacted, if they could still accept him, how deep that fear goes. Anyway sorry for the very long ask! No pressure to do anything with this, I just wanted someone equally obsessed with this hot mess of a man to bounce it off of.

anon I AM OBSESSEDDDDDD. I feel a series brewing.... I honestly ADORE this idea. I love how heartbreaking it was to him that even though Madelyn has known him for so long and has been a part of like everything he's ever done she was still scared of him. How crushing must that feel that the person who's been by your side and at your beck and call for decades is afraid of you???

Him whisking you away to live this peaceful apple pie life with America's true hero you can't believe just happened to fall for you just to have the curtain pulled right in front of your eyes.

afagfhjdfadjlhf

I'm such a sucker for giving Homie all he wants and needs so like I totally want reader to go low-key darkside. Like. You realise noone will ever love you the way he does. Isn't a little grey morality worth this all-consuming eternal love you'd otherwise never feel again. Forever chasing this feeling the rest of your life.

After he finds out that someone spilled the beans to you he comes home crushed. You're nowhere to be seen. Again, another attempt at love ruined. Does he not deserve to have that? He undresses leaving his bloodied suit (after whatever carnage he came back from) in pieces on the floor frustrated, not bothering to clean up before you come home.

Except he wakes up to you being there in the morning cooking breakfast for him. You greet him with a, "good morning. I did my best to wash your suit. I didn't wanna ruin the fabric and throw it in the wash so I hope that's good enough. I really need you to find out for me how they usually wash it for you." You're being so nonchalant, talking about his bloody, viscera covered suit that you painstakingly scrubbed in the morning right as you're making some eggs and bacon for breakfast.

And he's kinda just staring at you shocked, waiting for you to meet his gaze. And when instead of fear he sees love and acceptance it's like his heart could burst from the relief.

ORRR it could go dark and sad - which I won't get into buutttt much to ponder.

[crabussy]

did you know my middle name is wallace. I think thats pretty cool. oldmancore

[maulfucker]

So fucked up that obimaul is a rarepair. What do you mean not everyone is obsessed with enemies to lovers with a Force connection, where one side is completely obsessed with the other who barely acknowledges him (but is just as affected)

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Head in hands. 'I Spy' with Pulp is such a banger for Zor. It's giving me the urge to finally think about designing them (+ redesigning a couple others..). There's something so good abt some of the lyrics like: "you see I spy for a living // and i specialise in revenge // on taking the things that i know will cause you pain". Like....likee.............

Theres earlier parts that also make my brain tick: "it may look like to the untrained eye // im sitting on my arse all day // I'm biding my time until i take you all on // my lords and ladies, i will not fail // i will prevail, cause i spy"

PLUS the name. That did not help the situation. Alas Different Class by Pulp 🤝 IEYTD Characters. Similar can be said about the Chicago soundtrack but thats a. Whole other ramble

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 10!

[feroluce]

smth smth yingfeng paralleling farcille

(magically inclined long lived partner tries to defy death by bringing their short lived partner back to life/have immortality but they come out Wrong(tm) instead)

just. the parallels <3

RIGHT? Like oh my god I love the idea of it: a mortal and immortal character falling in love, and the immortal one doing something horribly taboo for them to be together forever. But maybe they fuck something up, or maybe it's just their punishment for playing god, but their now-immortal lover Comes Back Wrong.

I'm actually not caught up on dunmeshi (I get the gist of farcille from socmed, though) but I really like an Inuyasha/Kikiyo flavor to it- Mortal lover is full of rage and hatred, immortal one can't not love them, and then they romantically and dramatically die together murder-suicide style and drag each other to hell. You know, the good shit. ☆

It is one of my ideal dynamics for a bad end pairing. And I do like necromancy shenanigans with a happier/good end, like farcille style too! Just...I don't like either situation for yingyue.

I don't think there's anything wrong with playing with them that way as long as you don't pass it off as canon, like I say all of this with no judgment. But I'm picky and I like to follow canon more closely so I can't really see them in that kind of scenario haha.

It's just! Yingxing's whole deal is that he's a haughty, spiteful, arrogant asshole of a man whose life mission is to be such a damn good craftsman that he can tell all the Xianzhou Natives who looked down on him to suck his short life species dick and flip them the bird. Him being made immortal takes all the fun out of it for me and kinda removes a central part of his character. I LOVE him being petty and full of himself. He should do it more!

And I am so so dearly enamored with the relationship between him and Baiheng. I can't write her out of the whole equation, especially considering she and Yingxing both Came Back Wrong from this incident, and she was the actual intended target.

Like. He loved her. Yingxing loved her. Baiheng was so, so important to him. She's referred to as "the beloved" in Blade's character stories. He called her his bosom friend. He handmade a jade flask just for her.

Not a weapon,

not something she needed,

not something he was doing to show off,

just a flask.

Something pretty, and just for her, something that she would like and use everyday. Not a need, but a want. He did it simply because he wanted to give her a present.

She was the first person to really encourage and believe in him. She helped him come out of his shell (so all that arrogance is her fault BSMZJMS). That animated short where they went up in her star skiff together and she called him cute fucking killed me. They make me chew concrete.

And she was really important to Dan Feng too! He wouldn't have tried to bring her back, otherwise! She died saving him. And he knew what he was doing when he chose to try to bring her back as a Vidyadhara. He had to have. There's no way he couldn't have known that his life was forfeit after this. They don't let you get away with purposely breaking one of the Ten Unpardonable Sins like that.

And he chose to do it anyway. He still chose her life over his own. Dan Feng loved her, too.

He and Yingxing both worked together to try to bring her back because she was someone neither of them could bear to lose.

So if anything, I feel like yingyue is more like larcille bringing back their beloved Falin haha

But no matter who is romantically involved with who, like. It's the love between all three of them that's important.

That's the secret ingredient that makes the triumph of Falin's rebirth and the horrific tragedy of the Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae so emotional. Because these were things that could not have happened unless they all loved each other.

[mako-island-moon-pool]

Personally of the belief that live action fans who go onto animanga posts uninvited like 'I DESPERATELY NEED YOU TO KNOW THAT I THINK THE ART STYLE IS UGLY EVEN THO THIS OPINION IS IRRELEVANT TO THE POST' should be hit with a big rock. We already moved past this ten years ago, get with it or get lost. Swallow the hunger inside of you that demands everything be palatable to you. Maybe you could stand to be a little uncomfortable for a while

[wizardlyghost]

super weird how childhood events that have had years-long mildly traumatic impacts on my psyche can be attributed to the autism or the adhd with the after-the-fact knowledge that i have those two things. like, one time in like third grade there was a class party sort of thing and all the kids were encouraged to bring in board and card games and stuff to play, and i was super excited to bring my dragonology card game that nobody at home wanted to play with me (because, let's be honest, i was Weird about dragons), but nobody at school wanted to play it with me either, so i just sorta sat at the table in the corner sadly shuffling my dragon cards because i didn't want to give up on the chance that someone might want to play, until i eventually gave up and played other peoples' games that i didn't understand for the remaining fifteen minutes of class. and i just remembered about that right now and remembered all the times that that disappointed and frustrated lack of understanding has haunted me over the last fifteen years and realised Oh, Somebody Should Probably Have Been Concerned Or Something Maybe.