#it feels disrespectful to not put him in there

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Mafia Ateez OT8x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, poly ateez, violence and weapons, mafia ateez, organized crime, parental death and grieving process, bullying, possessive and controlling behavior, mentions of suicidal thoughts.

Summary: When Y/n Ricci is forced to marry Kim Hongjoong—leader of the notorious ATEEZ organization and one of eight men who cruelly abandoned her seven years ago—she finds herself trapped in their heavily guarded compound with the ghosts of her past. As she navigates the dangerous world of mafia politics and her own wounded heart, Y/n discovers that all eight powerful, irresistible men still harbor deep feelings for her, suggesting an unconventional solution to their shared dilemma. But before she can consider forgiving them, let alone loving them again, she must uncover the dark secret that tore them apart—a truth that could either heal their fractured bonds or destroy them all completely.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

18+ only- Minors do not enter

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Masterlist

Chapter 3: The Dinner Declaration

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, jaw set with determination. If they expected you to play the part of the grateful, compliant bride-to-be, they were about to be sorely disappointed. Your fingers work methodically, pulling your hair into a messy bun and scrubbing away the last traces of makeup from earlier.

The silk pajama set you slip into is designer—black with delicate lace trim—but unmistakably sleepwear. Let them see exactly how little effort you're willing to put into their charade.

Your phone buzzes against the nightstand. Marco's name lights up the screen, and for the first time today, you smile genuinely.

"Little sister," his warm voice fills your ear as you answer. "How's life in the wolves' den?"

"About as welcoming as you'd expect," you reply, sinking onto the edge of the bed. "They're all here, Marco. All eight of them."

A pause. "And how are you handling that?"

"Like a Ricci," you say, but your voice wavers slightly. "Though I'll admit, seeing them all together again... it's harder than I thought it would be."

Marco's voice turns serious. "Y/n, listen to me. These men broke you once. They shattered you so completely that I almost lost you." His words carry the weight of that terrible night seven years ago, when he'd found you on the balcony, ready to step over the edge. "Whatever game they're playing now, whatever excuses they have—don't let them do it again."

"I won't," you whisper, but even as you say it, you remember Wooyoung's enthusiastic embrace, the way Mingi looked at you with such longing.

"Steel your heart, sorellina," Marco continues, using the Italian endearment that always makes you feel protected. "Make them pay for every tear you shed, every night you cried yourself to sleep wondering what you did wrong. You owe them nothing but contempt."

His words straighten your spine, reminding you why you're here—not by choice, but as a pawn in a larger game. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right. I'm your big brother." You can hear the smile in his voice. "Now go show them exactly what kind of woman you've become. The kind who doesn't break twice."

After ending the call, you sit in the silence of your temporary prison, Marco's words echoing in your mind. Steel your heart. Make them pay.

By the time you descend the stairs at exactly seven o'clock, your armor is in place—not silk and steel this time, but defiance and deliberate disrespect.

* * *

The dining room falls silent as you enter. Eight pairs of eyes track your movement, taking in your appearance with varying degrees of shock and something that might be appreciation. The massive table is set with formal china and crystal, multiple courses already laid out with military precision.

Hongjoong's jaw twitches as his gaze sweeps over your pajamas, his knuckles whitening where they grip his wine glass. Good, you think with savage satisfaction. Let him see exactly how little this arrangement means to you.

"Y/n!" Wooyoung's voice cuts through the tension, bright and welcoming as if no time has passed at all. "You look comfortable! I love that you're making yourself at home already. Oh, and your hair looks so cute up like that—remember when we used to braid it? You'd sit between Seonghwa and me while we watched movies, and—"

"Wooyoung," Seonghwa's voice carries a warning, but Wooyoung barrels on, his energy filling the room like an unstoppable force.

"—and you'd always fall asleep halfway through, so we'd have to carry you upstairs. Your mom would laugh and say we spoiled you rotten, but honestly, we loved taking care of you. Remember that time you got sick with pneumonia and I learned to make your mom's minestrone from scratch because it was the only thing you'd eat? I must have made it twenty times that summer—"

Your heart clenches traitorously at the memory. You do remember—the fever, the way Wooyoung had sat beside your bed for hours, spooning soup into your mouth and reading to you when your throat was too raw to speak. The gentleness in his hands as he smoothed your hair back from your fevered brow.

But then the storm clouds gather, dark and vengeful, reminding you of other words he'd spoken. God, Y/n, you're exhausting. Do you know that? You're exhausting and needy and you never know when to stop.

The memories collide—past tenderness and past cruelty warring in your chest until you can't breathe properly. You look around the table, seeing all of them watching you with expressions ranging from hope to wariness to barely contained longing.

That's when it hits you. The sheer audacity of it all.

"Are you all fucking delusional?" The words explode from you like shrapnel, sharp enough to draw blood. "Do you think you could each break my heart over and over with your words, and I would come here and play house with all of you?"

The temperature in the room drops ten degrees. Wooyoung's smile falters, his hand halfway to his wine glass freezing in mid-air.

Hongjoong sighs, setting down his utensils with deliberate care. "We were trying to—"

"Protect me? Right?" you sneer, cutting him off. The word tastes like poison in your mouth. "Poor little Y/n. Needs everyone to protect her with secrets and lies. I don't give a fuck why you did it."

You stand so quickly your chair topples backward, the crash echoing through the silence like a gunshot. Every eye in the room is fixed on you now, but you don't care. Seven years of buried rage is clawing its way to the surface, demanding to be heard.

"You were all my first friends," you say, your voice deadly quiet, look at Hongjoong. "You took away my first kiss." Your gaze shifts deliberately to Yunho, whose face goes pale as understanding dawns. Around the table, surprise ripples through the others—apparently, he'd never shared that particular secret.

Yunho's mouth opens as if to speak, but no words come. His eyes are wide, almost panicked, as if he's afraid of what else you might reveal.

"Now you want to take away my marriage?" You laugh, but there's no humor in it—only broken glass and bitter irony. "What's next? Am I going to be expected to have a child with you too?"

Hongjoong's eyes flash with something dangerous, possessive. His grip on his wine glass tightens until you're surprised it doesn't shatter.

But you're not done. Not even close.

You smile then—sharp and vicious and completely without warmth. "Don't worry, dearest fiancé. You won't have to take my virginity. That honor went to someone else."

The silence that follows is deafening. You can feel the jealousy rolling off them in waves, thick enough to choke on. Hongjoong looks like he could murder every man in the city with his bare hands, his carefully controlled facade cracking to reveal something primitive and possessive underneath.

San's knuckles are white where they grip the edge of the table. Mingi has gone completely still, like a predator preparing to strike. Even gentle Yunho looks stricken, as if you've physically wounded him.

Good, you think viciously. Let them feel a fraction of what they put me through.

"Enjoy your dinner, gentlemen," you say with false sweetness, gathering what remains of your dignity around you like armor. "I'm sure you have much to discuss."

With that, you turn on your heel and head for the door, your bare feet silent on the marble floor. Behind you, you hear the scrape of chairs, raised voices, the sound of something shattering—whether it's glass or composure, you neither know nor care.

You've delivered your message loud and clear: the naive girl they once knew is dead and buried. In her place stands someone who won't be broken twice, someone who learned that the only way to survive wolves is to become something more dangerous than they are.

As you climb the stairs to your room, you don't look back. But you carry with you the image of eight faces, each reflecting a different shade of devastation, and for the first time since arriving, you feel like you've won a battle.

Even if the war is far from over.

***

The silence after your departure stretched like a taut wire, ready to snap. Eight men sat frozen around the dinner table, the wreckage of your words settling over them like fallout.

Hongjoong's wine glass lay shattered on the floor where he'd thrown it, red liquid seeping into the pristine white marble. His chest rose and fell with barely controlled fury, his carefully maintained composure crumbling piece by piece.

"When did you two kiss?" His voice was deadly quiet, but his eyes burned as they fixed on Yunho.

San's hand slammed against the table with enough force to make the crystal jump. "That's what you're focusing on? Did you hear what she said?" His usually charming features were twisted with anguish. 

"We broke her," Seonghwa said steadily, though his face had gone ashen, the careful mask he wore stripped away to reveal raw devastation beneath. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for his wine, the only outward sign of the turmoil raging inside him.

Yunho shifted uncomfortably under Hongjoong's intense stare, running a hand through his hair. "It was nothing," he said, but his voice cracked slightly. "We were fifteen, at that beach bonfire. Everyone was drinking, and she was upset about something—I don't even remember what—and I just... I comforted her. It didn't mean anything."

But his eyes told a different story. His eyes remembered everything—the taste of salt on your lips from tears and ocean spray, the way you'd looked up at him with such trust, such innocent affection. The way his heart had stopped when you'd pressed your mouth to his, soft and tentative and perfect.

"Bullshit," Hongjoong snarled, starting to rise from his chair. "You never—"

"Enough." Jongho's voice cut through the air like a blade, stopping Hongjoong mid-motion. The youngest of them rarely spoke with such authority, but when he did, they all listened. "You weren't the only one in love with her, Hongjoong. Just because you're going to be her husband on paper doesn't change that. It doesn't give you the right to interrogate the rest of us about our feelings."

Hongjoong's jaw worked furiously, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I'm her—"

"Her what?" Jongho challenged, rising to his full, intimidating height. "Her fiancé? A title forced on both of you by circumstances and family politics? You heard her tonight—she doesn't want this any more than we do. So don't stand there acting like you have some special claim when we all lost her seven years ago."

The words hit like physical blows, each one landing with devastating accuracy. Hongjoong's face cycled through emotions—rage, pain, frustration, and underneath it all, a grief so profound it was almost unbearable to witness.

Across the table, Wooyoung had begun to cry—silent tears streaming down his face as he stared at his untouched plate. His shoulders shook with the effort of containing sobs that wanted to tear free from his chest.

"She hates us," he whispered, his usual bright energy completely extinguished. "Did you see her face when I was talking? She looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I was nothing." His voice broke completely. "I used to make her laugh every day. Every single day, and now she can't even stand to hear my voice."

Mingi hadn’t moved since you’d left, his eyes fixed on the doorway as if he could still see you standing there. His face was a mask of quiet devastation, all the light drained from his features. Of all of them, he seemed the most deeply affected, as if your words had physically wounded him.

“Someone else,” he murmured, almost to himself. “She gave herself to someone else.”

The words sent another ripple of tension around the table. The implication that you had been intimate with someone else—someone not in this room—was like salt in an open wound for all of them.

“Who?” Hongjoong demanded, turning his fierce gaze to Seonghwa. “You’ve had people watching her. Who was it?”

Seonghwa’s expression remained carefully neutral. “Our surveillance was for her safety, not to monitor her personal life. If she was involved with someone, we weren’t aware of it.”

“Find out,” Hongjoong ordered.

“Why?” Yeosang spoke, his quiet voice cutting through the tension. “So you can what—track him down? Threaten him? Kill him?” He shook his head. “Her life is her own. It always has been.”

“She’s going to be my wife,” Hongjoong said through gritted teeth.

“On paper,” Yeosang countered. “This is a business arrangement, remember? Your words, not mine.”

The two men stared at each other across the table, years of friendship straining under the weight of the moment.

"She's gone," Mingi said quietly, his deep voice barely audible. "Even when she's here, she's gone. The girl we knew... we killed her that day."

San laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and broken. "And for what? To protect her? Look how well that worked out. She's alive, sure, but she's nothing like the person we fell in love with."

"She's stronger," Yeosang said quietly, speaking for the first time since you'd stormed out. His observant eyes had been taking in every detail of the confrontation, analyzing and processing. "Harder. She's built walls that would make ours look like paper."

"Strong enough to hate us," Yunho added miserably. "Strong enough to look us in the eye and tell us exactly what we took from her."

Seonghwa set down his wine with shaking hands. "The way she looked at me when I walked in yesterday... like I was a stranger. No, worse than a stranger. Like I was an enemy." He closed his eyes, pain etched in every line of his face. "She used to run to me when she was scared. Used to trust me with everything."

"We all lost that," Jongho said grimly. "The way she used to light up when she saw us, the way she'd curl up between us during movies, how she'd share every thought and feeling without hesitation." His massive frame seemed to shrink in on itself. "She was so open then. So trusting."

"And now she threatens to shoot anyone who touches her," San said flatly. "We did that. We created this version of her."

Hongjoong finally sank back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. When he looked up, his eyes were wild with frustration and something that looked dangerously close to desperation.

"We had no choice," he said, but the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. "The threats were real. They would have killed her."

"Would they?" Yeosang asked quietly. "Or did we just make the easy choice? Take the money, break her heart, and tell ourselves it was noble?"

The question hung in the air like an accusation. Around the table, seven men faced the weight of a decision made in desperation and fear, a choice that had saved your life but destroyed your soul.

Wooyoung's sobs finally broke free, raw and devastating in the silence. "I can't do this," he choked out. "I can't sit here and pretend this is fine. She's upstairs right now, alone and hurting, and I can't even comfort her because I'm one of the reasons she's in pain."

Mingi's chair scraped against the floor as he finally moved, standing abruptly. "I need air," he muttered, heading for the terrace doors. "I can't... I can't breathe in here."

"Running away again?" San called after him, his own pain making his voice cruel. "That's what we do best, isn't it? Run when things get difficult?"

Mingi stopped at the threshold, his broad shoulders rigid. "What would you have me do, San? Go upstairs and beg for forgiveness? Explain that we broke her heart to save her life? You think that'll make her hate us less?"

"At least it would be honest," San shot back. "At least it would be something other than sitting here feeling sorry for ourselves."

"Enough," Seonghwa said wearily. "Fighting each other won't fix this."

"Nothing will fix this," Yunho said hollowly. "Don't you see? We can't go back. We can't undo what we did. And she's made it clear she doesn't want our explanations or our apologies."

Hongjoong's hands clenched into fists on the table. "So what? We just accept this? We marry and spend our lives as strangers? She lives in our house, bears our name, and hates us every second of every day?"

"Maybe that's what we deserve," Jongho said quietly. "Maybe that's the price we pay for the choice we made."

The words settled over them like a death knell. Seven years of guilt and regret crystallized into a single, awful truth—they had saved your life, but in doing so, they had lost any chance of sharing it.

Yeosang stood quietly, pushing in his chair with deliberate care. “You all keep talking about her like she’s a problem to be managed,” he observed. “She’s not. She’s Y/n. Our Y/n. And right now, she’s alone and hurting.”

“Where are you going?” Seonghwa asked as Yeosang moved toward the door.

“To do what none of you seem capable of,” Yeosang replied. “Listen to her.”

“Yeosang,” Hongjoong warned. “The agreement—”

“I won’t tell her anything she doesn’t need to know,” Yeosang assured him. “But someone needs to make sure she understands that whatever happens next, she’s not alone in this house.”

Without waiting for permission, he left the dining room, his steps purposeful as he headed toward the staircase.Before anyone could stop him, he was gone, his footsteps echoing up the stairs toward your room—toward a conversation that was seven years overdue and might already be too late.

Next>>

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[gabseyoo]

ESPECIALLY — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: best friends to lovers, fluff, mutual pining. word count: 0.9k.

Kiyoomi was slouched in the passenger seat, head tilted against the window, hair falling over the side of his face that isn’t swelling. You were standing by the open door, a half-used first aid kit you just bought resting over the dashboard, your heart somewhere in your throat.

Still, your hands were steady—imbued with a tenderness that defied your inner turmoil—as you dabbed antiseptic onto the split skin above his eye.

“Shit.” He muttered under his breath, flinching slightly. “That stings.”

“Someone punched you in the face.” You said flatly, biting back the waver in your voice. “You’re lucky it’s just stinging.”

Kiyoomi huffed out a small laugh through his nose. “That’s a point.”

You glanced up at him, a quiet beat of silence hanging in the car park air. The pharmacy glowed behind you, too bright against the night. Everything felt suspended in this moment—the party, the fight, the adrenaline, the look in your best friend’s eyes when that guy grabbed your wrist too hard.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You said softly, fingers trembling just slightly as you smooth a gauze pad over his brow.

He turned his head slowly, carefully, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your throat feel dry. “He put his hands on you.”

“I could’ve handled it.”

“I know.” He replied, just as quiet. “But I’m not gonna stand there and watch some drunk asshole talk to you like that. Grab you like that. I’d never let anyone disrespect you.”

Your hand stilled against his skin as you looked at the floor, trying to clear your thoughts. The words didn’t feel light. They felt like something that’s been sitting between you two for a long time. 

You have been friends since high school, when you were still figuring yourselves out and somehow kept ending up side by side. He became one of the few people you could rely on without question. He’s seen you at your best and worst, and you’ve seen him just the same. What you had was easy. Solid. The kind of friendship that feels like home. 

But lately, it had started to feel like more than that.

After a few seconds, you lifted your gaze again, your eyes tracing the damage on his face. The split lip, the bleeding brow, the faint redness blooming on his cheekbone. His eye was already beginning to swell. God, you wanted to cry. He’s never been in a fight in his life—but he threw a punch for you.

“Even if it gets you this?” You whispered, your thumb gently brushing just below the cut on his lip. His skin was warm beneath your touch, a stark contrast to the cool night air.

“Especially.”

The silence that fell between you after his response was thick. Not awkward. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy.

“You’re such an idiot.” You breathed, the words trembling at the edges.

A faint smile touched his lips at the familiarity of your words. You’ve been calling him an idiot probably every day in every tone imaginable since you were teens. 

“I couldn’t help it.” He murmured, gently wrapping his hand around your wrist, the same one that the guy at the party had grabbed so tightly an hour ago. “Seeing someone treat you like that—I don’t think I’ve ever been that angry in my life.”

Your breath caught, fingers still resting lightly on the side of his face.

“I care about you.” He said quietly, but not like it was casual. He said it like it meant something. Like it had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for longer than he’d admit. “More than you think.”

The beat of your heart quickened. You knew what he meant, and it felt like thousands of emotions running over you at the same time in a second, because you cared about him too. 

More than he thought.

It hit you all at once—how close he was. How long he’s been here. How your hand was still on his face, cupping his cheek, the gauze pad now somewhere on the floor. 

The next thing that came out of his lips, in a low, almost scared tone, caused you to stop breathing for a few seconds.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you right now?”

Something inside you tipped, like stepping to the edge of something with no way back. A fleeting fear pressed against your ribs. If you did this, everything would change. If you didn’t, you might regret it forever—and you were not the kind of person who liked to live with regrets.

“That depends.” You whisper, a soft grin making its way to your face. “Are you only saying that because you’re concussed?”

He chuckled at your words. “I’m not.” He said. “I’ve been wanting to for a while.”

You lean in first.

He meets you halfway.

The kiss was soft, careful, like a breath caught between years of friendship and something finally shifting into place. His hand came up, slow and warm, settling gently at the back of your neck, like he’s been waiting for this permission. Like he’s been waiting for you.

When you pull back, it’s only just enough to breathe. You’re still so close, foreheads nearly touching, his eyes searching yours like he’s still trying to believe this really happened.

Then he smiled—a small, bruised, beautiful thing. You loved his smile. It was one of those rare, unguarded expressions he only ever showed you. 

“Totally worth the punch.” He said before joining your lips again.

And this time, there’s no hesitation at all.

[moonymarvel]

I was scared to take a breath, didn't want you to move your head... (Bob Reynolds x female reader *SMUT MINORS DNI*)

🂱︎ pairing: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts/New Avengers female reader

🂱︎ synopsis: You're upset after a recon mission with Yelena goes slightly wrong, and Bob jumps at the opportunity to comfort you. He suggests to put on a film, and in the cosy movie room in the dim lights it leads to the two of you to become closer and more intimate than you ever have before.

🂱︎ genres: fluff fluff! friends with feelings as @em1i2a3 calls it, friends to lovers.

🂱 warnings: SMUTTY SMUT SMUT MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, praise kink, mentions of anxiety, mentions of wounds/injuries, mentions of Bob's previous drug use

🂱 notes: this is a bit long lol I kinda didn't know where I was going with it at first whoops... inspired by the line of lyrics in the title from the Sombr song 'back to friends' !

You let out a soft groan as your weight shifted on your bed, your muscles aching, bones still healing, and your heart pounding.

You'd been on a recon mission with Yelena last night, when things went sideways and the getaway car you drove flipped on its head, rolling a few times as you and Lena had no choice but to jump out of the car.

You'd both limped your way back to the tower to meet the medical team, your arm around Yelena's waist holding her up. Your rib was fractured and you had bruising all over your body, but Yelena wasn't so lucky. She had jumped out straight into some concrete, meaning she had to be monitored for a few days in the hospital wing for head injury and trauma.

You were at least able to sleep in your own bed after being patched up, but you couldn't help but feel drowned with guilt as Yelena was bedridden for the next few days.

"Lena? It's me." You opened the curtain slowly, holding an assortment of breakfast foods for her. You made sure to give her a wide selection, settling on a bowl of oatmeal with bananas and peanut butter drizzled on top, a plate of bacon and eggs, and her favorite pastries from the bakery across the road.

"Oh thank god thought I was hallucinating the smell of those pastries--" She said excitedly, reaching her arms out to you fingers motioning to hand her the food.

She dug in hastily, and despite the events of last night she seemed alright, considering.

"Yelena I'm sorry. I-- I should've gotten us out of there earlier-- quicker." You said sat on the edge of her hospital bed criss-cross-applesauce pulling apart a spare pastry she insisted you have.

"Don't even worry about it. This is all just precautions, honestly these idiots don't know the extent of things I went through in the red room, these injuries are nothing." She said with that thick Russian accent, so nonchalantly talking about her dark past. You stayed silent, still guilt ridden and full of regret.

"Hey, y/n. It's okay, I promise." Yelena reached over to hold your shoulder, the edges of her mouth covered in crumbs.

"You got me back! And we were fine. So fine. Really." She added reassuringly. You nodded, and gave her a small smile.

"Now stop disrespecting Mr Krispy Kream and eat your donut instead of pulling it apart." She finished, and you let out a soft chuckle, grateful for her ability to make light of these situations.

You both continued eating, and when nothing was left but empty bowls and crumbs you got up and took the tray of food to the kitchen.

You turned the corner and saw a familiar figure hovered over the sink, sweatshirt rolled up to his forearms, hair messy and falling over his face.

"Good morning Bob." You say, making your way over to the sink behind him.

"Y/n! Hey, morning!" He replies, tone happy and light that you couldn't help but crack a small smile.

"I heard about last night... A--Are you okay?" He asked, hands busy with the dishes and covered in soap.

"I'm f-fine. Yeah. Could've been worse I guess." You reply softly, leaning on the counter, hand clutching your bandaged side. You wince under your breath, and notice the purple and red hues beneath your skin that cover your hand.

You look up and meet Bob's worried gaze, hair falling over his face as his attempts to push it away, which just resulted in him leaving bits of soap on his temple. His lips were pressed in a thin line, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"y/n, are you okay?" He repeated. He always did this, saw right through you and your excuses. You both have grown quite close since moving into the tower, as you both had insomnia and anxiety. You'd find yourself up at odd hours of the night, with only Bob and a good book keeping you company.

He knew you better than anyone else on the team, always somehow knowing exactly what you needed. On the other hand your presence calmed Bob, hushing the constant buzz that constantly filled his head.

After especially hard missions, you'd come back to the compound to Bob doing some cleaning up, and upon seeing your tired figure enter, he'd immediately get to work on making you a cup of tea or hot chocolate.

During larger gatherings or meetings you'd pick up Bob's nervous ticks, when he'd start pulling at the loose threads of his sweater, or start to rub his eyes a little too often, and you'd find yourself giving him a gentle nudge or a reassuring squeeze with your hand to calm him.

Bob would knock at your door to check on you on the days you wouldn't leave your room, and make sure you'd eaten.

You'd stand up for Bob when Valentina or anyone else was putting too much pressure on him, and made sure that he was on top of his medication and therapy exercises.

"y/n?" You'd zoned out completely, and Bob was now stood in front of you, blue eyes full of worry.

"It's my fault." You whispered.

"w-what do you mean?" Bob asked, wiping his damp hands on the sides of his trousers, leaving behind even more wet marks on his clothes.

"Yelena... It was a simple recon mission. I just needed to get her out-- now she's in the hospital wing-- I just feel-- like I failed." Your vision clouded slightly, and you looked to the floor to avoid Bob's gaze.

He studied you for a second, before he gently lifted your chin up.

"I saw Yelena this morning, she's alright y/n. She's going to be okay." His fingers were soft and tender on your chin, and you looked up at him through teary eyes.

"I don't want to be the reason anyone else gets hurt." You whisper, and you knew Bob understood.

He didn't say anything, but he pulled you in for a gentle hug. He was slightly wet from doing the dishes, but you didn't really care. You buried your head into his soft sweatshirt inhaling the scent of him, with a little bit of dishwashing soap, and let a tear slide down your cheek. Then another, and another.

"Shhh. It's okay." Bob whispered, head resting on top of yours, holding you tightly. He couldn't help but catch a whiff of your shampoo, the one you lent him once and he's been obsessed with ever since. It smelled of coconut and vanilla, and he's since associated those scents with you.

He just stood there with you, and time seemed to slow when he held you in his arms, the rest of the world melting away.

You'd pulled apart from him eyes slightly red and cheeks stained with tears, a little embarrassed at your emotional outburst.

"I-I'm sorry Bob. Oh shit, I got your favorite sweatshirt all drenched I'm so sorry." You added, wiping your hands over his shoulder as if that would dry the spots from your tears, only to feel his hard muscles underneath his sweatshirt.

"Don't worry, this sweatshirt's had it's fair share of tear stains before." Bob replies, a slight blush tinting his cheeks at the feeling of your hands on him.

"d-do you wanna maybe put on a film? Get your mind off of it?" He adds.

"Y-yeah... I would love that actually." You're grateful for a distraction, and you grab some tissues from the cupboard dabbing away the leftover moisture on your face. You hear Bob shuffle around the kitchen behind you, pulling out two mugs, some chocolate powder, and milk. You take it upon yourself to grab some microwave popcorn from another cupboard, Bob shyly stepping aside to give you room.

You microwave the popcorn as Bob finishes up the drinks, the two of you stood silent but comfortable as the hum of the microwave filled the room.

"The rest of the team are gone by the way, they're out on mission... so we have the movie room to ourselves if--if that's where you wanna watch a film." Bob adds, stirring the liquid chocolate and adding the toppings just the way you like it.

"That's perfect" You chuckle

"No Alexei speaking over the dialogue or Walker acting like he's some film critic." You add. He flashes you a shy smile, mugs of finished hot chocolate in either hand.

"Ready?" He asks. The microwave dings and you grab the bag out of it, filling the room with the buttery smell.

You follow Bob's lead into the large movie room upstairs, cluttered with pillows, blankets, and some large couches all pointed towards the massive screen.

After minutes of discussing what film to put on, you both settle on a comedy film neither of you had seen before.

You make yourself comfortable on the couch, pulling over some blankets and a small table to put your hot chocolate down on. Bob sinks into the space next to you, hot chocolate already half empty with a hint of whipped cream covering his top lip.

"How have you had that much already! The films not even started yet!" You tease.

"I was hungry!"

You laugh, and if Bob could bottle up the sound and play it whenever, he would.

You lean over, closing the small gap between the two of you. Bob freezes, unsure of what to do but scared that whatever he does will ruin the moment.

He's not sure what to expect, but your hand comes up to cup his face and your thumb lightly swipes the whipped cream off his top lip.

Your finger was soft, gentle, but he could feel the small calluses that littered your skin from years of hero work.

You had your eyes locked on his lips, and you could have held his face in your hand forever.

You pull away, and Bob clears his throat, snapping himself out of your mesmerising touch.

"T-thanks"

"No problem."

The film opening credits begin to play and you settle into your seat, the couch so perfectly comfortable and cosy that you relax in no time.

Bob sits awkwardly next to you, not quite as relaxed, as he remembers the feeling of your hand on his face and your finger on his lips.

About a third into the film, Bob feels the slightest weight on his shoulder, and looks over to you completely slumped over on him, a light snore escaping your lips. The popcorn bag had now fallen from your hands leaving a pool of kernels on the floor, but Bob doesn't dare move to clean it up.

"y/n?" He whispers softly. There's no reply. You were exhausted after all, and the couch's soft embrace easily lulled you to sleep.

You moved, and Bob tenses, you slide down from his shoulder and he has to reposition himself to make sure you don't wake with a crick in your neck.

As slowly and carefully as he can, he slides lower down on the couch, arm coming around your shoulder. He hesitates, arm suspended in midair as if afraid to touch you. That's when you nuzzle into him in your sleep, head rested on his chest, your hand landing on his stomach.

You looked peaceful, angelic, and if it mean't Bob had to stay in this position forever just for you to get the rest you deserved than so be it.

He finally settled his arm on you, drapping it over your shoulder and side.

Bob tried his best to focus on the film, but the blooming feeling in his chest kept peeling his attention from the screen. Bob could happily drown in the smell of your hair, and tattoo the feeling of your skin on his. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, almost scared if he took a breath too deep or moved even an inch you'd wake and he'd never have the privilege of being this close to you ever again.

He spent the rest of the film breathing as shallow as he could, even holding his breath every time you stirred. This moment was sacred to him, holding you close as you were at your most vulnerable. He drew small circles on your back, relaxing into the rhythm of your breathing.

Little did you know that ever since you and Bob moved into the tower, he became your sanctuary, your safe space. He'd enter the room and you'd calm, he'd give you a soft smile and you'd melt.

The sound of the film's score woke you from your slumber, the credits of the film rolling on the screen. You realised your position, and how you were now laid diagonally on the couch on your side with your leg over Bob's lap, head on his chest, and arm across his stomach.

You looked up slowly, to see Bob eyes focused on the screen. He almost looked like a statue, with the contours of his features being especially obvious in the dim light. He was still, almost too still. Wait, was he breathing?

"Bob?" You spoke softly, lifting your head up from on his chest.

"y/n, y-you're awake." He turned to look down at you, still looking a bit tense.

"yeah sorry, didn't mean to fall asleep... shit that position must've been so uncomfortable for you I'm so sorry--" You sit up, immediately regretting it as he warmth of him by your side fades.

"N-no, please don't be sorry... I was perfectly comfortable, and I'm glad you got some rest." He added shuffling over on the couch to give you a bit of space, even though all he wanted to do was pull you close again.

"Damn. I don't think I've had a nap, in years..." you let out a small yawn and stretch your arms up, your shirt lifting giving Bob a peak of your midriff. He swallowed at that tiny flash of skin, immediately feeling guilty for looking.

"you okay? how was the film?" you asked. Bob seemed to be looking everywhere but you, suddenly extremely interested in the details of walls behind you.

"yeah I'm all good... erm- the film, yeah uh-- it was alright, not my taste-- maybe- erm I didn't follow it really--" His eyes keep darting around the room, as if afraid to look at you for too long. He runs a hand through his loose curls, a slight redness appearing on the tips of his ears.

"Bob. You didn't watch it properly, did you?" You interrupt his rambling, and looks as if he's just been caught doing something he shouldn't have.

You laugh, and there's that sound Bob wished he could bottle up again.

"Did you fall asleep too then? Maybe it wasn't a very good film." You add, looking over at the credits rolling on the screen.

"something like that..." He finally looks up to meet your eyes, and just from that quick nap Bob can already see you've perked up massively.

"So uh- how are you feeling?" Bob asks, leaning over to finally tidy up the spilled popcorn.

"Better. A lot better, thank you Bob." You join him, scooting over on the couch your thigh making contact with his as you both lean over collecting the pieces. Your hands touch as you reach for the same kernel, the contact sending electricity up your arm.

"Sorry." He says under his breath through a small chuckle.

"Don't be." You add looking over to him, your beautiful bright eyes piercing right through all the walls that protect Bob's heart.

You collect what's left of the mess and put it aside for now, not wanting to leave Bob's side just yet.

"Shit y/n, you're bleeding." You look down on your side and see red.

"Fuck, what time is it? I think I need to change the dressing of my stitches." You press a hand on your side, feeling the sting from the stitches below.

"The spare bandages are in my room, I'll just sort this and I'll see you in a bit." You get up, wincing slightly, hyperaware of the pain on your side.

"W-wait, I can help you." Bob is stood now as well, eyebrows knitted together in concern.

"Y-you don't have to do that Bob, you've done enough already--"

"No please, I want to help. Let me help you." His voice is soft, tender, laced with something deeper than just care. Your stomach grew warm at the thought.

"Okay... Thank you." You say quietly through a small smile.

You make your way down the corridor, Bob trailing behind you like a lost puppy dog transfixed on your scent.

You open the door to your room and rummage through the first aid kit you left next to your bed last night.

Bob is standing awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

"You can come in Bob" You say over your shoulder, collecting the bandages and anti-septic cream.

Bob steps into your room shyly, taking specific note of how the room smells like you. He looked around, observing the state of your room. Posters were put up all over your wall as if the blank white paint behind them frightened you, you had a stack of books balanced precariously on your bedside table, and you had a Playstation 5 by a stack of games in the corner next to the TV.

"Sorry, I'm in need of a tidy." You felt a bit exposed, and you would almost be embarassed if it was anyone else but Bob. But you knew he'd never judge you, never.

"No no, don't apologize... The room is so perfectly, you..." He trailed off, eyes wide reading the countless movie titles on the posters that cluttered your wall. He just missed the slight blush that appeared on your cheeks, that warmth in your core bubbling up again.

You settled down on your bed as Bob timidly took a seat next to you.

"I'm assuming you know how to do this, right?" You asked, you didn't doubt he knew what he was doing, but you thought you'd give him one last chance to back out.

"y-yeah... I had to take care of myself anytime I did anything-- stupid-- whenever I was on-- y'know..." He said, almost ashamed. While your heart dropped everytime he brought up his past, you also couldn't help but feel proud of how far he'd come, and how strong he is. He dropped his gaze down to his lap, looking guilty he brought it up at all. You took one of his hands and gave it a gentle squeeze, reassuring him that he would never have to be alone like that again.

"Sorry, um, yeah. I can do this." He looked up at you through his hair, giving your hand a gentle squeeze in return. You pulled away and put the bandages and cream between the two of you, and awkwardly turned so your back was faced to him.

"Um, can I lift this up?" Bob asked as he fiddled with the hem of your shirt.

"Oh, yeah of course... Um, it may be easier if I just take it off." You didn't give Bob enough time to respond, as you pulled your shirt over your head and held it to your front. Bob swallowed, grateful you were faced away as his cheeks burned.

"Sorry, was that okay?" You asked, realising you must've taken him by surprise.

"Y-yeah of course, as long as you're comfortable." Bob couldn't peel his eyes off your bare back, which moved everytime you took a breath. You had a long line of stitches that stretched down from your right shoulder blade all the way to your side, with other patches of bruising cluttering your shoulder and arm.

Even through your injuries though, Bob couldn't help but find you beautiful. You had freckles that looked like paint speckled on a canvas, with a few older scars that looked like shooting stars across in the night sky.

He snapped himself back to reality, taking the time to gently remove the dressing that had been stained red. The light touch of his fingers on your back made you shiver, the warmth in your stomach growing.

Bob did good work with cleaning up the bleeding, and reapplying a new bandage. The moment was quiet, but intimate, something heavy weighing in the air between you two.

"Thanks..." You said, looking over your shoulder at him. His hand was still on your back, large and warm, pressed on the bandage as if he didn't want to detach from you.

"You're welcome..." He said in a low, quiet voice that made the skin under his touch tingle. Bob's hand took on a mind of it's own as he trailed a finger across your spine, making your whole body shiver. You didn't say anything as he continued lining his finger across your back, like he was painting a picture.

"That... feels really nice..." Your eyes fluttered closed, sinking into his touch. You let out a relaxed exhale, all your pain going numb under the gentle touch of Bob.

Bob was quiet, transfixed, almost no longer himself. Maybe it was the Sentry taking over for a second, or maybe it was just Bob, finally giving into the desire he'd had for you for so long.

Then he did something so soft and tender that it broke the unspoken tension between the two of you. He planted a gentle kiss on the top of your shoulder. Then another on the top of your spine, and another right behind your ear.

"Bob..." You said softly, leaning into him, the feeling of his lips on your skin making you feel drunk.

The sound of his name snapped him out of his trance, eyes going wide and pulling away, leaving your back bare and cold again.

"Shit-- uh... s-sorry... I hope that was okay... I- I don't know what came over me." Bob was flushed, almost terrified at himself for getting carried away.

"N-no please... I-- I liked it.. I-- like you Bob..." You said laying out your heart to him.

You turned to him, still clutching your shirt to your chest. His hair had fallen over his eyes, his pupils blown. You saw a shimmer of something yellow in his eyes, something golden, for a split second, then it was gone.

"I want you, Bob. Only you" Your tone was soft, but desperate, your need for him growing.

"I want all of you."

"Y/n, you drive me crazy." And with that he surged forward connecting your lips with his. The kiss was hungry, but tender still, like he was drinking you up like sweet honey. His hand came up to cup your cheeks, your hands still clutching your shirt. He tasted like chocolate and butter, lips slightly chapped and hands slightly calloused.

You both twisted and manouvered around each other on the bed, as gracefully as you could and without hurting your injuries, never unlocking lips. He settled you down softly onto your pillow hands cupping the back of your head, positioning his body on top of you.

Your side stung just the slighest, but not nearly enough for you to want to stop the moment. Your hands found his mess of curls, letting go of the thin cotton shirt that separated your bodies.

Bob pulled away, breathless, resting his forehead on yours, his hand and forearm next to your head bearing his weight.

"C-can I-" He says fingers tangling with the bottom of your shirt. You nod, and he slowly peels the fabric away exposing your upper body to him.

"God... you're beautiful." His voice was low and husky, but the compliment was soft, leaving his lips like he's wanted to say that to you forever. One of his hands began to explore your body, starting from you stomach, up to your breasts. You were aching under his touch, and when his finger even slightly grazed your nipple you let out a soft moan.

"fuck y/n, do that again for me." And with that he latched onto your nipple, sucking lightly, other hand fondling the opposite breast. You let out another moan, louder this time, giving him exactly what he asked for.

Bob was careful not to touch any of your lingering bruises as his hand continued to roam your body, lips still on your nipple eyes closed shut trying to memorise the feeling. One of his slipped under your shorts, immediately finding your soaked center.

He came up from sucking on you starved for air, looking up at you with his stunning blue eyes. He wished he could frame the way you looked, bottom lip trapped between your teeth, hair falling perfectly around your face as you moaned his name.

His fingers made contact with the wet spot on your panties, softly grazing the top of the fabric.

"f-fuck Bob..." He'd barely even touched you and you could already feel yourself begin to unravel.

"Is this okay?" He asked, not in the shy tone he usually spoke with but a deeper, hungrier, more powerful voice.

"yes-- yes--" You answered between gasps and moans as he slipped his hand into your panties, finding your sensitive bud with ease.

"aw baby, so wet already." His voice rang with that same dark tone again, and you looked into his eyes and caught just a glimpse of the golden honey the flashed in the blue.

He dipped a finger in you with ease, and you let out a moan, pushing your head back into the pillow. This gave Bob access to your neck, immediately littering your skin with soft, wet kisses.

He pumped his finger in and out, while kissing you like you were holy. He added another digit, and the feeling made your hand fly to his head, and pull at his loose curls.

"Yes baby, that's it..." his husky tone made your eyes roll back into your head, feeling the tight knot in your lower belly become more intense.

He latched on to your nipple once more, sucking and biting just the right amount that the feeling teetered between pain and pleasure.

"F-fuck Bob-- I'm gonna--" He didn't need telling, he could feel you tighten around his fingers and could hear your moans growing louder and more intense. He continued on pumping his fingers, kissing up your chest and neck,

"I've got you baby, cum for me please." You didn't need to be told twice, feeling the knot come undone as the pleasure reached its peak. Bob helped you ride out the high, littering your neck with soft kisses in between compliments.

You heaved, catching your breath. Bob kept his fingers in you for just a moment longer, savoring the feeling of being inside you.

You opened your eyes to his blue ones taking in your beautiful form, still flushed and glistening from your finish.

He slowly pulled his fingers from beneath you, and lifted his fingers to his lips, and sucking them clean.

"fuck Bob." You moaned, already aching for more.

"I love it when you moan my name." He said in his husky voice before pressing his lips on yours, letting you taste yourself as his tongue explored your mouth.

His hand came up to your side, ever so gently and still very much conscious of your injuries, which was in complete contrast to how hungrily he was kissing you, and the pressure you felt pressed up against you.

You reached down, making contact with him through his trousers, making him break the kiss to moan.

"y/n-- I-- you don't have to do that." Bob said between breaths. He was big, and you could feel him aching beneath your palm.

"you--you're still hurt-- please- don't feel like you have to do anything f-for me--" He could barely get a word out, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought the urge to unravel at your touch.

"I want to make you feel good Bob. I want to feel all of you." Bob's eyes shot open at your words, pupils wide and blown, and with one swift movement, he had you on top of him, and sat up to meet your lips.

He cradled you with arms that felt like they were molded in marble, as he kissed you as if he were drunk on the taste of you.

You could feel him pulsing beneath you, the only thing separating the two of you being his sweatpants now wet with excitement.

You start to move, craving his touch and needing friction between your legs, when he pulls away suddenly, like he's snapped out of a trance.

"You feel any bit of pain, we stop. This isn't worth it if I hurt you y/n." He had a serious tone to his voice you'd never quite heard before, but it was laced with such protectiveness and care that you knew this man would go to the ends of the earth for you.

"Yes Bob... And don't worry, I'm not made of glass." You reply playfully, already missing the feeling of his lips on yours.

"Not glass, definitely not glass." He kissed you again, cradling your body flush onto his. You traced your fingers down his body, feeling the dips and curves of his frame. Your fingers played with the frayed hems of his sweater, ever so slightly making contact with the skin beneath. You physically felt him twitch.

You pulled the sweater off, to finally reveal the physique that can only be described as heaven sent. He was toned, strong, but not overly big, and still littered with signs of Bob and his past. He was beautiful, godly, but still warm and human.

"y/n? Is something wrong?" You'd realised you hadn't spoke or moved in a second, Bob's deep voice pulling you back into the moment.

"Bob, you're beautiful." Was all you could bring yourself to say. It left your lips almost like you didn't mean to say it, like it was a secret that you didn't dare share so you could keep him all to yourself.

Bob was speechless, but his smile grew showing the creases on his temples, and the sparkle of his eyes.

"and you're perfect." His lips were on yours again in no time, and he held firmly on your hip with one hand as he began lowering his sweats down his body with the other. It wasn't graceful, but with your help he was finally bare before you.

He was flushed at the tip, and so, so incredibly big.

He lined himself up to your entrance, and slowly, you lowered yourself onto him.

You went slow, feeling every inch of him filling you up. Your head dropped onto his shoulder, and he said small praises into your hair as you took him all in.

He allowed you a moment, even through gritted teeth as your walls were so warm and tight around him. When he felt you move and lift yourself up, only then did he start thrusting up to meet you.

"You're taking me so well beautiful..." He had one hand down on the bed for support, the other holding you as your hips continued to meet in the middle.

You felt him deep in your core and it wasn't long till your legs gave out from beneath you.

"Bob--" You barely got his name out between moans, feeling the waves of pleasure all over your body.

"I know baby, I know. Do it with me okay? Just hold on a little longer." He could feel you tightening around him, and hear your moans getting loader. He kissed your neck, and worshipped your body with his free hand.

"Please--" The feeling was overwhelming now, but he continued to thrust into you at an even pace. You knocked your head back when he made contact with your nipple, his mouth doing it's magic as his thrusts became harder, sloppier, hungrier.

"You've done so good beautiful, come with me now okay? You've done so good." His praises were more than enough to send you over the edge, and your moans were music to his ears as he released deep inside you. Throughout it all Bob watched you like you were divine, hyperaware of how perfectly the two of you fit together like this.

You collapsed onto him, and he slowly let himself fall back onto the bed, cradling you again gently. You laid in comfortable silence, still catching breath and calming down.

It wasn't long however till you felt a small tingle at your back, drawing your attention back to the whole reason you two were here.

"crap. I think my stitches broke again."

[kitkat5628]

I need Bat writers and Titans writers to get it together and communicate, please.

I understand the writers have their preferences. Bat writers probably prefer DickBabs while Titans writers prefer DickKory, but I'M BEGGING if one editorial is making one of the couple canon, can't the other one tone down the flirting or implications??😭

I also understand "feeding" the fans, especially DickKory ones since they're not the current couple but can't they use... Like... Elseworlds? Same for DickBabs. If Dick and Barbara were to break up and Dick would start dating Kory again, I'd rather have them in elseworlds instead of flirting or implications in main canon.

Dick Grayson character is already often mistaken as a cheater because of... That annual, shudders.

Why would they make it worse..?🫠

You can give us content for both ships to make everyone happy by giving us flashbacks or elseworlds stuff (Kami Garcia's books are currently the best example. They're so cute in that and it's an elseworld, fans of both ships are getting "fed" and happy), why making it seem like he's cheating or not "committing" (?) to his partner? It feels so disrespectful for all three characters idk.

Can't they talk it out like "if you're writing about the main continuity keep in mind that Dick is dating Babs/Kory so don't write some certain stuff"??

And again I understand they must have their preferences but it can't be that hard to write Dick and Babs or Dick and Kory as close friends? Like, I always say DickKory is good but not my thing: I'd still be able to write them as friends, same for Babs. While I heavily ship her and Dick, I wouldn't have problems in writing them as close friends with funny banters, without having to include romance.

I keep hearing from others that Dick is a cheater because of the annual or him flirting with Kory while dating Babs — probably meaning the Titans Academy thing. And following the timeline, apparently, he and Babs weren't together. But Taylor was indeed writing them with the intentions of getting them together at that time, so why the need of writing that part of the story???

Before being a fan of the ship, I'll always be a Dick Grayson fan first, and I can't blame people for thinking he's a cheater if writers keeps pulling inconsistent stuff😭😭

Or like the recent cover, where they put Dick and Kory but always include Garfield. Like... There's no need to put Garfield to make it platonic. You can just draw them as close but not in a romantic way, and if people want to ship them it's not the artist fault and canonically no one's doing weird stuff.

It didn't even look like a romantic cover, just two friends (and exes who are still close) getting a coffee together. Compared to Dick and Barbara's covers you can feel the difference.

I just wish they were more consistent.

If Dick is dating one girl, don't make him flirt with the other one, it's so bad for the three characters, especially for Dick who's getting the "cheater" flair.

Am I just imagining things, is it just me?? Like it could be, maybe I'm just not sleeping enough again (it's almost been a day)💔

[biancasaidstfu]

I want to talk about Luke's InStyle magazine story for a minute. This alone is evidence that Luke and Antonia's "relationship" has always been PR from the way beginning. There is no authenticity to it.

If you read the article, they say Luke "shared polaroids he taken for THIS story". Doesn't that sound odd? That he went on a date in LA and shared the photos with a magazine? That alone is the antithesis of a private person like Luke.

The LA date was definitely set up by InStyle, like those fake "what's inside my bag" videos by Vogue.

But let's pretend that Antonia is Luke's real girlfriend for a moment. Imagine being in a brand new relationship and your boyfriend asking you to go on a date for InStyle magazine and to take photos? Doesn't that sound weird? Most people would not feel comfortable participating, even if it was with their long term partner that they fully trusted. It is also disrespectful to put your partner in such an awkward position like that.

If this was a real date and wasn't pre-coordinated at all with InStyle, then it is a huge red flag to have your partner share your "private moments together" to a major magazine outlet and have them publish them, especially if you only have been dating for a few months

It shows that Netflix/Shondaland/PR teams were involved from the beginning and this wasn't a normal situation where Luke was quietly dating or talking to Antonia. How did they find out about her so soon? Luke is very private, and if he was serious about someone, I assume he would keep it tightly under wraps, not arrange a fake date three months into the relationship and share photos with a magazine.

The whole InStyle thing would scare most people away; that is the very last thing you want to do with a new relationship. That is why I don't think they were ever dating to begin with; it has always been PR.

***I don't want this to bring any hate towards Luke. I just wanted to bring this up because this is textbook PR. It is what celebrities do all the time. I am just saying that no way would Luke or anyone do this to a real life partner, especially if that partner is brand new. It is another instance where the math doesn't add up with him and Antonia.

Oh anon you're cooking and I'm eating 🍝🍝🍝

[uzumaki-rebellion]

If Pearline holds no purpose, then nethier does Mary ( which isn't true). Like I get, we can all have opinions, but some of these people are disrespectful and truly don't care about character dynamics in a story. Pearline represents a new love for Sammie, new experience, and new beginning. They very much compliment each because of their drive for music and the freedom they feel when doing it. ( It was told in actions/ movements) A real critique should have been, " I wish we would have gotten more of backstory about Pearline’s other than she was married." instead of comparing her to replace to an object (lamp). Like get sometimes people can't see beyond sex, but let try our best to keep coloring within a line because some of yall wasn’t paying attention.

Exactly.

It's plain microaggressions disguised as critical engagement of Black art. Like you said, a good faith critique could've been wanting more backstory etc, but that wasn't their intent.

Nowadays we have to be more mindful of how others interact with Black content, especially Black female characters. There are anti-Black people who are also saying disparaging things about Riri in the Ironheart series (another Coogler produced project) that are thinly veiled as "critiques" when it's just putting down Black women.

We're in an era of blatant Black erasure and I'll always stay on the necks of dishonest critiques and shady "opinions". I'm especially suspicious of opinions from people whose blogs/pages have never had any posts about Black media, but suddenly have negative things to say about a Black film character. Every one of those Black women characters had agency that propelled the story forward (even Grace as a Chinese American character pushed the plot), and having viewed the film several times, I can't even imagine Pearline not being there, especially as a balance to the Black female presence helping to create Blues music, too.

Every male character had a female counterpart that brought out different sides to them and mirrored their inner impulses, and Sammie not having Pearline would've been a hole in the story. In fact, when Sammie was in the church at the end and his father was preaching for him to let go of secular music, he thinks of Delta Slim and Pearline as his reasons to keep making blues music and leaving the delta for good.

People get mad when I call it anti-Blackness wrapped in misogynoir. It's what I see.

Pearline helped propel Sammie into the future, and he revered her for the rest of his life. It's why so many people get misty-eyed when they see that he named his blues club after her. I mean, even the great blues guitarist Son House has a song named "Pearline" that I know Ryan listened to in his research of blues music, so she was meant to be there.

[karikarasuno]

part eight | part nine | wc: 4.4k | semi-public oral sex (again but this time m!receiving)

“I got somethin’ that belongs to you.” Ace hears Marco say from where he’s crouched behind the DJ booth fixing some wiring for Usopp. But before he can stand his hat lands on the ground beside him.

“It’s bad manners throwin’ a man’s hat on the floor,” Ace chides as he plucks it from where it sits and dusts it off. It takes him a second to remember where he left it, and when the memory hits him a blush that he has no control over settles across his cheeks. You make him feel so young. Which is an odd sensation for Ace since he’s never really known what it was like to be youthful. It’s one of the reasons he doesn’t go too hard on Luffy when he makes mistakes. It’s hard growing up when you’re not ready for it. He knows better than anyone else what that’s like. 

But this is different. You excite him in a childlike way. Ace has never really had a crush before. It seems so juvenile to describe his feelings for you in that way. But it’s the only thing that makes sense to him. 

“Whatever you were doin’ in the storage room was probably bad manners,” Marco responds, snapping Ace out of the memory of you. 

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he feigns ignorance. Better to play a fool then give away more than anyone needs to know. 

“Right,” Marco scoffs with a shake of his head. Ace watches him think for a second. He knows Marco well enough to see that he has more to say, but he’s choosing his words carefully. It always worries Ace when he can see the gears turning in his head because it usually means whatever he has to say Ace isn’t gonna be too big a fan of. 

“Tell me one thing,” he finally says, arms crossing over his chest as he meets Ace’s eyes intently. “This thing you got goin’ on, is it serious?”

Ace sighs. It falls heavily from his lips as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why is everyone so pressed about my love life?”

“Well for one, I’m nosey,” Marco says casually with a small knowing smile playing on his lips. “And y’know, we just want what’s best for ya.”

Ace has to suppress an eye roll. Agitation flares in his chest in an uncomfortable way. In a way he’s not entirely used to. “I’m a grown man capable of making my own decisions, but thanks for your concern.”

He turns away hoping that’s the end of the conversation because it’s one he’s not too keen on having. But his life doesn’t really work out in the ways that he wants it to. 

“I never said you weren’t,” Marco argues, tone even and calm. Which annoys Ace even more. “I just worry about you, kid. I don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

“Why would you assume I’m gonna get hurt? I like her. This shit is new. Obviously we’re still figuring it out,” Ace huffs out. He can feel his blood pressure rise and a warmth that makes his skin crawl starts to take over. 

“I’m just sayin’ ever since you came back you’ve been different,” Marco explains, throwing his hands up in surrender. “And I just wanna make sure you’re good. You don’t talk to me like you used to and I respect that. You’re a grown man after all,” he throws Ace’s words back in his face, “but that doesn’t mean I stopped carin’.”

Ace puts down his tools and tosses his hat on a nearby table. He doesn’t like talking about what happened in the city. He hasn’t talked to anyone about it actually. Besides Sabo, who was there. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve been distant,” Ace says, shoulders sagging slightly. “It’s just…”

Sabo’s scar fills Ace’s mind. The weight of guilt bears down on him so intensely most days it’s difficult for Ace to pull air into his lungs. His sleep is restless. His dreams are haunting. It’s been years but the memories of that night have yet to fade. Sabo told him not to go to the underground fight, but they owed Ace money. Sabo said it was a set up, but in his youth Ace was a stubborn idiot. Prone to irrationality especially when he felt disrespected. Sabo would probably still have vision in his left eye if he didn’t protect him that night. The dumbass nearly took a bullet straight to the face for him. The shrapnel ended up bursting right in front of his face, though, when he pushed Ace out of the way. 

Ace still hasn’t fully forgiven himself for it. It seems like tragedy follows him everywhere. Even when he tries to escape it. 

“Yeah,” he says at last, “I think it is serious. With her.”

He finally looks up at Marco and he visibly softens. His eyes are glowing with a fondness that makes Ace almost uncomfortable. It could nearly be mistaken for pity. But Ace knows better. 

“Good,” Marco nods resolutely. “Now Whitebeard can stop houndin’ me about it.”

“He isn’t,” Ace responds, taken aback by Whitebeard’s interest. 

“It’s about time for Ace to settle down. The boy ain’t gon be young forever. And she seems like a sweet girl too,” Marco’s impression of Whitebeard is perfect. So perfect that Ace folds over with a laugh and covers his face with his hand. It’s nice to know that people care. It satisfies him in a way words can’t really describe. 

“Guess I should probably take her out again then,” Ace smiles, his mind already drifting off to where he wants to take you. What he wants to do with you. 

****

“Hello?” You answer on the first ring. Which strokes his ego more than he’d like to admit. 

“Hey there, jailbird. How’s freedom tastin’?” He teases, grinning to himself as he holds his phone up to his ear. 

“Will you ever let me live that down?” He hears you huff out a small laugh, which lights his chest up with affection. “Because if my memory serves me I’m not the only one who’s served time in this little group of ours.”

“Very true.”

“But to answer your question, freedom tastes sweet. Peachy,” you joke and he can hear how proud you are of yourself in the way you giggle. He finds it incredibly endearing the way you make yourself laugh. 

“Glad to hear it because I got a question for you,” he says, leaning against his truck after he tosses his tools in the backseat. 

“Should I be worried?” You ask hesitantly. Rightfully skeptical since everyone in this town always seems to be up to no good. 

“Not at all,” he chuckles, “I was just wonderin’ if you were free tonight.”

“That depends. What do you have in mind?”

“You, me, and a drive-in movie,” he answers, giddy excitement rushing through him at the thought of spending more time with you. 

“What is it with you and getting me alone in a truck?” You ask cheekily, and he can just see the smile you’re wearing through the phone. It’s fun. The little game of cat and mouse the two of you are playing. He especially enjoys when that game leads the two of you into dark corners. Where you typically let him have his way with you. Not that that’s his intention. For the most part. 

“If I’m rememberin’ correctly that first time was all you,” he says, biting his bottom lip to keep the grin from splitting his face. He wishes he could see your face right now. He’s sure you’re rolling your eyes at him, but you still blush. You always do. 

“I blame the free shots and adrenaline,” you deflect easily. “But to answer your original question, I am free tonight.”

“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at eight, then.”

Oddly enough, Ace is nervous. Like ‘sweaty palms and racing pulse’ nervous. And he doesn’t really know why, but as he gets closer to your house he feels himself grow restless. Fidgety. There’s a strange pressure he’s feeling. Like at any second he could fuck this up. He blames Marco for that. Their conversation this morning has created a shadow Ace can’t seem to get rid of. One that compounds every mistake he’s ever made. One that whispers to him that he’ll inevitably make another one and lose you too. But he’s aware that things with you are too new to mess up. You’re barely on your second date and he’s already overthinking this. 

He takes a deep breath as he pulls into the short dirt road that leads to your house. You have your porch light on and he notices you added a few plants to the porch and a bench right beneath the window that looks into your kitchen. The sight is so distinctly you that Ace feels the breath he takes fill his lungs easier. And when he watches the way you excitedly walk through your front door his worries ease. The tightness that was previously in his chest travels down to his jeans though when you turn around to lock your door and he sees the way your shorts hug your ass. It’s concerning how attracted he is to you. How much of a distraction you’ve become for him. 

He hops out the truck the closer you get. You’re also wearing a thin poncho that drapes over your shoulders and sways around your torso. You make the simplest things tantalizing. It’s really becoming a problem for him. 

“New ride?” You ask, leaning up to kiss his cheek when you’re close enough. He feels his cheeks burn but he ignores it. 

“No, just new to you,” he answers, slipping his hand into yours to lead you to the passenger side. 

“It’s bigger than your usual truck,” you comment, stepping on the side rail when he opens the door for you to climb in. 

“Figured it would be comfier to watch a movie in.” He grabs the seat belt and buckles you in. He feels your breath kiss his ear and goosebumps tickle his neck. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to get this close to you if he’s planning on surviving the evening with you without making a move. 

“That’s why you have the middle seat up?” He can see your sneaky smile from the corner of his eye as the seat belt clicks into place. When he glances at you, your eyes are bright. Tempting him. “For comfort.”

“I also got a blanket in the back if you get cold.” His fingers ghost over your bare thigh. He told himself he’d behave tonight. But when he looks at you he thinks you might have other plans. 

“I’m sure I won’t need it given how hot you run.” 

He chuckles. Flirting with you is so easy. Natural. “Sabo says I’m like a furnace. I usually can’t even stand wearin’ a shirt most days.” 

“I’ve never seen you without one.” Your lips form a pout, one that punches him in the gut with the urge to kiss it right off of you. “Kinda unfair if you ask me.” 

“Maybe later,” he leans in close, until your noses touch, “if you’re lucky.” 

He hears you laugh softly as he steps away from the passenger seat and shuts your door. He bites down a smile of his own as he rounds the hood and his nerves, the ones that were trampling his lungs not too long ago, morph into something with wings. Something that makes him feel lighter than he ever has. 

****

“So where exactly are we going?” You ask after about twenty minutes as he merges onto the highway.

“The closest drive-in is in Alabasta,” he answers. “Another ten minutes and we’ll be there.”

“I’ve never been.” You peer out the window and your hands fiddle with the ends of your poncho as you do. Maybe he’s not the only one who’s nervous. The idea of you sharing a feeling as benign as that makes his fingers itch to touch you. They spasm around the steering wheel. And he’s so distracted by the thought of you beneath his touch he almost misses the exit. He jerks into the right lane unexpectedly and your body flattens against the door. You let out a short yelp when your shoulder meets the window and when he finally straightens out the glare you give him sends a shiver of amusement down his spine. 

“Sorry,” he says with a chuckle. “I should’ve warned you.”

“You think.” You slap his arm, but there’s no real power in your swing. He flinches anyway, releasing an exaggerated “ouch” until you smile at him. 

“What movie are we even watching?” You cross your arms across your chest and straighten in your seat. Entirely too far away from him for his liking. 

“I haven’t got a clue.” He only managed to check the times earlier before he called you. Not really giving a damn what was playing to begin with. 

“Didn’t you check beforehand?” You ask, throwing your hands in the air. 

“Wasn’t my priority at the time,” he answers, making a left into the movie lot. 

“And what was?” Your brows furrow and your nose scrunches in a way that makes you look cuter than you have any business being. 

“Gettin’ you alone in my truck, obviously.” He winks at you, rolling down his window to ask the attendant for two tickets. He hands them to you after he pays, thanking the young kid as he drives off. He finds a spot near the back in a patch of grass. It’s the only area where he has enough space to park this truck. But it’s also private. Intimate. It makes him feel like it really is just the two of you. 

“So, I got popcorn, beer,” he reaches around to open the cooler that’s sitting on the floor of the backseat, “those seltzers Sabo says girls like.”

You chuckle when he pulls one out and gives it to you, snatching a beer for himself. “And sour gummies or peanut m&ms if you’re lookin’ for somethin’ sweet later.”

“I’ll actually take those m&ms now, please.” 

“Ah, dessert first?” He tosses the box at you and it lands on your lap. 

“Always.”

****

“How dark is your window tint?” The question rings as strange, random, when it falls from your lips. The movie is about half an hour in and you’ve managed to wiggle your way into the center seat, curling into his side. 

“Dark enough for Garp to ticket me every time he catches me drivin’ it round town.” He eats a handful of popcorn as he eyes you skeptically. You fold your legs onto the seat, angling yourself so that your face tilts directly up to him. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” you shrug, inching closer to him. Your perfume fully invades his space. He swallows quickly. Anticipating a kiss. But your head drops to his shoulder and your hand wanders from your knee to his. 

“I’ve been thinking,” your fingers skirt slowly up his inner thigh and even though he can’t feel your fingertips through the thick denim, his skin still chills beneath your attention. “I should return the favor for the other night.”

“What night?” He asks absentmindedly. Your hand is distracting as it creeps closer to the zipper of his jeans. 

“Ace,” you say firmly yet with a wistfulness that makes his heart stutter. You avert your gaze from your hand and look at him. Your hand pauses on his upper thigh and he already feels himself stir in his pants. It’s a little quicker than he’s used to but he really can’t help it. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

Your words ghost across his lips. His brain buffers. Your fingers curve around his belt buckle. “Can I…?”

“Can you what?” He wants to push you. He needs to hear you actually ask for it. He sets down the bag of popcorn somewhere at his side. His mind solely focused on the insinuation of your words. He knows what you want to ask but even if he didn’t he’d probably say yes. He struggles foreseeing an outcome where he doesn’t say yes to you. 

“Can I… taste you?” Your voice is quiet, sincere. Hesitant. His hand caresses your cheek and pulls you closer. Practically kissing you when he asks “where?” 

You tug on his belt, the buckle clattering when it loosens around his hips. You fit your lips to his and he’s tense. His whole body is wound up tight. Painful. It’s taking every ounce of restraint he has not to pounce on you like an animal. 

“I was thinking here.” You pop the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down. Your fingers slip into his pants until you’re cupping his erection. He’s impossibly hard at this point. He’s been craving you ever since your stint in the storage closet. He’s stroked his cock to the thought of you coming on his tongue more times than he can count in the last few days. In the morning before he even opens his eyes. In the shower after a long day. 

“Only if you want me to,” you whisper, your lips stretching against his in what he knows is a smile. One that suggests you already know his answer. 

“I would want nothin’ more than to feel your pretty lips wrapped around my cock.” You gasp. Your lips part and your fingers tighten around his shaft. His groan rumbles in his chest from the pressure of your hand. 

“Jesus, Ace,” you sigh, smearing your lips across his cheek until your face rests in the crook of his neck. Your hand softly strokes him, but the way your palm digs into him has him leaking. He wants you so terribly he’s surprised he isn’t shaking from his self control. “You really just say anything.” 

He chuckles darkly, breathlessly, as his head falls back on to the headrest. It allows you to drag your lips down his neck. Pressing tender kisses down his collarbone until your teeth graze the collar of his shirt.  

“Would you prefer it if I shut up?” He jokes, but the words hold too much air to be heavy. To hold any real weight because you shift further away from him. And he’d be bothered over the distance, but not when you pepper kisses down his torso. He can feel the heat of each one burn through the fabric of his top. He twitches in your grasp. 

“No,” you say once you reach the waistband of his jeans, working them gently down until he’s finally exposed to you, “I like hearing you.” 

Ace’s inhale gets caught somewhere between his lungs and throat. Your lips wrap around his head and the warmth of your mouth has his hips flexing. Itching to move. But he keeps them still as your tongue slips from between your lips. Wetting him. Exploring him. 

“Fuck, ok.” He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He wants to touch you but he can’t bring himself to cross that line because once his hands are on you he’ll be too tempted to pull you off of him. To push you down onto your back and beg you to let him fuck you. There’s more space in this truck for him to feel you the way he wants. The way he cannot stop imagining. 

You hum around his dick as you sink down and swallow. One of his hands shoots out to grip the steering wheel. He can’t breathe. Especially when you start bobbing your head and fisting him as your spit leaks from your lips, soaking him. He’s having a tough time connecting his imagination to his reality. You’ve been the subject of his fantasies the moment he watched you for the first time on the dance floor at Whitebeard’s. He’s never needed anyone as badly as he needs you. 

The audio from the movie warbles through his speakers and through his ears. He can’t focus on it or the scene playing out in front of him. Not when his vision blurs and sound is muffled by how heavy and dense his breaths are. 

You pop off of him briefly, your free hand clutching his thigh. His cock glistens in the minimal light that filters through his windshield. And when you angle your face to lick up the length of him, he catches the way your chin shines as well. Salacious. Beautiful. 

God, he can’t stand it. His hand finds the back of your neck once you start sucking again. And you moan. It’s more of a whine as it crawls up your throat and travels down to his base. 

“Shit, that feels…” His words die in his throat as his grip tightens involuntarily and another small noise catches in your throat. 

“You like that?” His pulse is racing and his heart thuds recklessly in his chest. You surprise him. Every time he tries to be tender, sweet, gentle with you you ask for more. Something rougher. Harsher. The realization alone makes his stomach dip low with pleasure. With a heat he cannot control. 

Your nod is enough of an answer for him. He holds you tighter as your movements pick up the pace. He’s gonna come. You’re gonna make him come and his restraint frays at the edges. His hips jolt, forcing him further into your mouth. He hits the back of your throat and you gag around him, but you don’t stop. It’s becoming too much. He’s suffocating. 

“That’s it,” he groans. His abs tense as his orgasm builds aggressively in his gut. “Fuck, baby, m’gonna-“

His words are stolen from him. His warning barely tumbles from his lips as he finishes inside your mouth. He has to smother his moan into his shoulder in an attempt to quiet the sound. It's difficult though when you swallow down his release eagerly. Your hand is still pumping him until he’s drained. Sensitive. 

When you pull back, the first thing he notices is how smudged your mascara is beneath your eyes. And your eyes glow with unshed tears. Your lips are swollen and even though he’s still reeling, it doesn’t stop the urge he has to kiss you. And you must notice the way his eyes cling to the sight because you part them to reveal the last traces of his cum pooling on your tongue. 

“You’re tryin’ to give me a heart attack, aren’t you?” But he doesn’t actually give you a chance to answer because he’s already pulling you into him. Kissing you. Tasting himself on your tongue yet he still tastes the sweet remnants of your lip gloss. 

Ace nearly tugs you into his lap. Already ready for another go. This time for you. To make you feel as good as you just made him feel. But you push away from him. He doesn’t wanna let you go, but your hands are firm as they press you away from his chest. 

“Let’s finish the movie,” you say, breathing hard but smiling at him. So much fonder than he expects for the moment you just had. 

“I’ve already seen it,” he replies, reaching for you again.

“Yeah, but I haven’t,” you laugh and swat his hands away. 

“You missed half of it,” he argues, watching as you twist to grab the blanket in his back seat. 

“Then catch me up,” you say, unfolding the blanket to cover your laps. Beneath the blanket your hands tuck him back into his pants before you turn your attention back to the screen. Even going as far as turning the volume up in an attempt to tune out his retorts. “Now pass me the popcorn.” 

Ace, no matter how hard he tries, cannot wipe the grin off his face for the rest of the night. And you don’t help his case either. Your walls are completely down and he thought he knew you before, but now he realizes how silly you can be. How chatty you are. He explained the movie to you but it ended up being pointless with you just talking through the ending. He didn’t mind though. You settle him in an oddly familiar way. He can’t quite put his finger on why that is, but he’d be stupid to question it. To overthink it to death. To make it out to be something that it’s not. 

“I had fun tonight,” you say as he drives up to your house. “Thanks for inviting me out.”

“No need to thank me,” he shakes his head, parking a few feet from your porch steps. It’s dark out and even though your porch is illuminated, he still decides to walk you to your door. Like a gentleman. 

“I’m serious.” He meets you on the passenger side and extends his hand to help you jump out. “We should do this again sometime. And maybe get out of the car next time.” 

“I should be able to make that happen,” he says, intertwining your fingers as you lead him to your front door. He won’t ask to see you tomorrow, afraid that it will be too forward, but that doesn’t stop him from spinning you towards him once you reach your door. Pressing your body to his in the hopes that this won’t be the last time he touches you tonight. “Before that, though, you should invite me in.”

“No way,” you laugh and try to wiggle away from him, but his hold on you tightens. “Not tonight.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. I owe you one.” He almost tacks on a please for good measure. Ace isn’t above begging. Especially if it leads to him between your legs again. 

“I can handle that for tonight.” You manage to wedge some space between your bodies, skipping heedlessly away from him. 

“Ugh, don’t tell me that.” His head falls forward in distress. Now all he can imagine is you alone in bed. Fingers nestled between your thighs and hopefully his name dripping candied from your tongue. 

“Tomorrow we’re meeting at Sanji’s for some breakfast,” you change the subject swiftly, twisting your key in the lock. “If you’d like to join us.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He loops a finger into one of the holes on your poncho. When he goes in for a kiss, you meet him halfway. He intends for it to be longer, more persuasive than it is. But your intentions are innocent. Your lips press to his warmly, romantic. 

“8:30,” you smile a breath away from his lips. “Don’t be late.”

taglist: @a-girl-cant-decide-on-a-name @nico-ith @chillerkiller @jozhenji @starchild-unnamed @certain-tragedies @hannahbarberra162 @kanekisheart @stuckinmymind22 @greenbnny@kimkat1822, @purplefluffycows @insomniacvoidsstuff

[londonfoginacup]

Fuck. I missed my 10 year 1D anniversary by 17 days. September 29, 2014 SMG played on Radio 1 and I was changed.

Liam was my favorite. He’s always felt like home in a very specific way. Everything that I would say has been said. He deserved the chance to get better. He deserved the chance to atone. I will always be devastated that this is how it went.

To me Liam will always be that 21 year old trying his best, because I was a 21 year old trying my best. He will always be that bit of sunshine and joy who never said the right thing but his heart was in the right place. I will miss him and the grief will hit and it will hit and it will hit, because he was part of the everything that was pure magic in my bloodstream at a time when I didn’t know magic like that existed.

I saw 1D at the age of 22, exactly 31 days before I broke up with my boyfriend (who hated them). I remember literally ONE thing from that concert and it’s the moment that Liam said something so dumb that I knew, in that moment, that when I went home and booted up my laptop, people would be dunking on him for it. And they were.

He had too much on his shoulders from the very beginning and I only wish we could’ve help.

I’ve missed him for a while and I miss him now and I’ll always miss him.

But I loved him. And I love him.

And I love you all.

To every one of you who has journeyed in any form with me, I thank you. This fandom transformed me as a person, taught me what I was missing in life. I can honestly say I would likely have gotten married at 23 to a man who would turn out to be a Trump supporter, and be perfectly miserable now, if not for all of you.

This year has been one full of burnout and learning to cope with the bad sides of being an adult, and the burnout is still there and I’m still crawling my way through, but still yall have been here with me. I cannot thank you enough.

I miss Liam already. I miss him. I don’t want go to go work tomorrow and be given condolences. I don’t want to hear strangers talking about this pain that feels so private. I don’t want it to be real. I want this to be a bad dream.

But. I am so thankful to the fandom. I wish I could pay yall back properly for the wonderful experiences you’ve given me. I love you all.

[reineyday]

why do they keep making bucky a government-manipulated pawn 😭 from the american military to hydra to whatever weirdass public relations campaign valentina is pushing the thunderbolts through (see: end credit graphics & the cereal campaign), like he had his brief time on the run and his goats in wakanda but he's sucked back into a sketchy institution once again like what are they doing with him. sure the movie was fun, but every time i think about it i just end up head in hands.

[dirtytransmasc]

atwow hot take:

if jake had said his "son for a son" shit out loud and spider had heard him, he would have been so beyond pissed, he would be seeing red.

spider loved his little siblings so much, neteyam included, even after they grew apart. he loved them like they were his own blood and protected them like they were too (we see a lot more of them together in the comics, where spider is the big brother without a doubt). neteyam's death most certainly rocked him hard, even if he hasn't really been able to show it (how could he? he's already going through all the shit with his dad and the RDA and their nonsense, he can't grieve around neytiri, he's just so tired after it all. he doesn't have the room or the energy to grieve yet)

so if jake had the audacity to say that to/around spider not even a few hours after he watched his little brother get shot after coming to save him, after he stared at the bullet hole in his back, after he watched him take his last breaths, after he watched the light leave his eyes, after he watched his little brother die for him; if he said that while his little brother's body lay in a pool of his own blood not even ten feet away, not even cold yet, blood still clinging to his chest, the scent of it still filling the air: he would have lost his shit.

because the disrespect for his brother is wild.

jake was an active player in spider's neglect and abuse for the last 16 years, he let it happen, he helped it happen. he tried to send spider with the humans, tried to take him away from his siblings, from the forests, from eywa to live with his foster family that didn't love him (not to mention Nash was an asswipe of epic proportions) and the RDA of all people. he had referred to spider as a stray animal since he was little. he was the reason spiders life was hell.

and after all that, years and years of putting him in shit positions and allowing him to suffer the fate of being forever unloved and uncared for (by an adult authority figure, cause I love the kids, but they don't make up for the gap left by a parent), this is what it took for jake to care about him? his little brother had to die in front of him first? he had to be traded out to fill the space of a corpse, to fill in the gap left by his little brother's death?

in canon, spider was in deep in shock with nothing to break him from it, he wasn't in the place to really think about any of it, and I'm sure we're gonna see this anger in the coming movies, but if jake had said it out loud, that would have been enough to snap spider right out of it, and he would have given jake a piece of his mind, I just know it.

[the-meme-monarch]

people can Famously do whatever they want especially when it comes to enjoying media and generally i find this to be a good thing. but unfortunately i am a strange and unusual autistic that generally sticks very very close to canon. all this to say i don’t Get It when people headcanon k_k deltarune as using they/them Only or even she/her Only when he has literally been referred to with ‘he’ by one of the people presumably closest to him(brothers to me)

for the record i think he is he/they. i think all three of them are he/they. maybe even canonically but people fight me on this one (really just capn and kk since sweet has only indirectly been referred to as they like in the following screenshot from the wiki (bc I didn’t want to watch a video of their fight to screenshot and crop flavor text) BUT they’re still called by generally masculine terms alongside the other two like ‘guys’ (ost “almost to the guys”) and ‘young men’ (by seam)) (and they use overly-masculine self-referential pronouns in japanese, along with capn)

like im Fairly Certain the individual of scc are still the only one being lost in the groove in dance x. the “they” in ‘they’re totally lost in the groove’ is still Just One of scc. I don’t believe the fun gang are lost in the groove bc honestly they don’t talk like any of this fight was fun for them HSHSHDNDHDJDJ

also incase it isn’t clear i think it’s chill to add on she/her to k_k’s pronouns. people can famously do whatever they want especially when it comes to enjoying media and generally I think this is good. but saying they use she/her (or they/them) ONLY and not In Conjunction With is where I go “well. no. the game called him he. so he/him has to be part of their pronouns?” and i recognize it’s probably petty and stupid to care about to like any degree but know I don’t say this with hate in my heart

and of course there’s nuance like maybe the idea is they Change their pronouns later on but idk no one ever says this

[genericdragon]

Noah fence but if you can't handle thinking about the actual story of Mouthwashing and you just want to imagine silly found family scenarios with the crew on the Tulpar then maybe you shouldn't be engaging with HORROR media...... just a thought.

[itspileofgoodthings]

End of last week I kept a teenage boy to help me with something after class as a pretext so that I could speak to him about his attitude, decided at the last minute to say nothing and just let him go with a “have a great weekend” and it’s so funny but I think he knew and sensed that lakskskskss

[jfkisonthemoon]

they honestly couldve done so much with junpei beheaded/dismembered and im disappointed that it ended up just being mira. so much of his character and his relationship with akane is characterized by his lack of bodily autonomy, and him being openly beheaded during the nonary games would be the ultimate example of this. its perhaps the most brutal death in the game, and it never really gets explained or developed beyond the one puzzle that we get with it. junpei has been shown repeatedly to be subject to akane's plans or follow her blindly and i just think that would have been a really interesting angle to approach his beheading from. junpei has willingly signed up for nonary games in two different timelines just because he knew he would see her. he was infected with a deadly virus trying to find her. he grew desensitized to death as he took underground jobs to try and find her. his safety always comes second when shes in the picture, and his beheading wouldve been a prime opportunity to 1. exploit his willingness to let himself die/be injured for her and 2. make akane confront the fact that her confidence that junpei will always follow after her is not necessarily a positive thing.

[moe-broey]

One thing that's validating js

Waist? Delicate curve. Thighs? Yeah.

[guckies]

I feel like I get more and more pissed off anytime I watch q!Bad make a move. So here’s the rant after seeing the clip and following with what @/daisyychainssj said about Leo’s Ninho room:

Why on god’s green earth would he allow Bagi into Leo’s room and allow her to grab the warp into the room.

Yeah maybe it was to do with the size of the room but maybe they could have you know waited and asked to check Richas’ room or waited until her parent or Leo was online.

He also knows full well that there is hollow walls inside the Ninho that could be turned into unofficial/temporary rooms for those eggs and that Leo’s room doesn’t have to be touched at all.

But also since he remembers enough about the Ninho and how it works with his memory loss then he goddamn knows the significance of those rooms and he just broke the main fucking rule.

Which is that the ninho rooms are SAFE SPACES FOR THE EGG THAT OWNS THE ROOM, that ONLY the egg, their parents and TRUSTED individuals can reach.

Do Leo and Bagi know each other?? Hmm that’s looking like a solid no. How well does Leo know the new eggs? Wait they don’t know and neither does Leo because they just recently met. Do they forget Leo is shy and not always social? yes she trust the eggs she knows but how often does she get online for anyone but her family?? Looking like about 5% which is usually because Foolish or Roier have outside factors stopping them from taking care of her.

Also he’s not her parent, he doesn’t get to make decisions for Leo just because he took care of her like 2 or 3 times and he knows her parent. That’s stupid and demeans Foolish’s parenting.

In conclusion, Bad should have never stepped foot in Leo’s room with Bagi today. It makes no sense lore wise or even just him showing her. Despite his “respect” for all the eggs, he really needs to check himself first before he does anything. Because any time he’s messed with an eggs stuff it’s always been Leo and sorry but Leo isn’t Foolish. That dynamic should be keep completely separate and to say this isn’t disrespect is a lie because it is.

This isn’t even like bad roleplay anymore it’s just disrespect because how in lore will any of them know about it unless bagi uses it in front of them.