#probably just for flashiness’s sake

[sleepylabs]

The illusion of oni magic.

[braisedhoney]

looks are deceiving.

back in the day i would have given anything for these two to fight. they’re already kind of dead, so it’s fiiine they're fiiiine.

[storm-called]

I'm going to put together an official post sometime today or tomorrow, but the Commander Coffee Hour event will be next Saturday at 7pm EST on NA servers at the Crow's Nest in Lion's Arch

[lyrefromthesea]

Hello! I was wondering if I could please request the Hashiras taking reader to a summer festival? I love a good fluffy seasonal scenario lol thank you🫶❤️ I love your writing style and can’t wait to see what you come up with!!

Hashira x Reader - Summer Festival

author's note: sadly i did not manage to imagine Shinobu in this scenario, for the sake of not misinterpreting her character, i decided to leave her out of my post. i apologize and hope you'll get to enjoy the other pillars.

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader, Mitsuri x reader

content warning: none

Tengen:

you cocked your eyebrow at Tengen when he made a loud noise, imitating the sound of a buzzer telling you that you're in the wrong.

"what is it?" you ask, more than confused and mildly annoyed. he wore his hair down today, multiple pieces of jewelry making him stand out more than the other visitors.

"your outfit, it's good, but it could be better!" he claimed, pointing at the yukata you were wearing. you looked down at yourself, almost feeling a bit insulted by his words. it was rather simple, but you thought it would be enough.

"you need something more flashy!" he said, making you sigh. now you understood what he meant, his hands already on your shoulders, leading you to the next accessory stand.

"and what would that be?" you asked back, watching the people around you look confused by the man dragging you around.

"we need something showing off your beauty even more, beautiful." he deducted, stopping when you finally looked down on the beautiful jewelry.

this wasn't how you planned to start the festival, but you couldn't complain when he managed to fluster you once again.

Obanai:

"i'm sure we were supposed to meet here.." you mumbled, looking around the area. when Obanai invited you to the summer festival, he had explicitly asked for a spot without many people.

now you felt lost, you were sure he should've been here by now. it wasn't like he was late, but he usually came earlier than planned when you two wanted to meet somewhere.

before you could worry about his wellbeing, you saw something slither near your foot - Kaburamaru. the snake made it's way around your ankle, making you shiver.

"Obanai!" you scolded, looking around until your eyes stopped on a tree. you marched towards it, not surprised when you saw Obanai sitting on a thick branch.

"you could've said you were already here!" you said, watching him jump down the tree and land on his feet without much trouble.

"i'm sorry, i got distracted.." he admitted, your features slowly relaxing. he had been distracted? you found yourself asking him for more information. "for what?"

he looked at you, his eyes drifting to your outfit and then back to your face. his gaze softened, looking towards the festival's lights.

"nothing important.." if only you would've known he had been occupied watching your beautiful body, soft eyes trying to spot your lover.

Rengoku:

"excuse me?" another man said, his eyes fixed on you. naturally, you turned to face him, wondering if he needed help.

you had been walking through the crowds with Rengoku a moment prior, watching the different people interact with each other.

"i just wanted to say that your yukata fits you extremely well." the man said, almost appearing a bit bashful. and suddenly you weren't surprised anymore, realizing he didn't need help.

did it not look like Rengoku was your boyfriend? you wondered whether the man not knew or was bold enough to ask despite the obvious.

"you are right, my love is indeed beautiful in every way! it's not the festival alone, but every other day as well!" Rengoku answered, as if he didn't realize what kind of situation this was.

the man's face fell, realizing he had probably made a mistake by approaching you - at least while Rengoku was near. he soon turned away with a grumble, leaving the two of you alone.

"what a nice man!" Rengoku concluded, making you chuckle, looking away from him.

he really didn't know what the man's goal was. however, that somehow made Rengoku's compliment even sweeter.

Sanemi:

you were walking past the different stands with Sanemi, chatting about random topics that came to your mind, when he turned away from you, seemingly having spotted something interesting.

"wait here." he said, marching off before you even managed to ask what happened. you tried looking over the crowd, wondering where he had wandered off to.

not able to see him, you decided to do as he said, patiently waiting for him to return, yet you wondered what must've happened.

you didn't expect him to come back with something in hand, almost looking a bit flustered now. he moved past the crowd until he finally stood next to you again.

"i remembered you like them." he told you, extending his hand. you looked at the cut pieces of watermelon in his hand, neatly placed on a small rectangular plate.

he had gone out of his way to buy something you like from one of the booths.

"Sanemi.." you mumbled, slowly taking the plate out of his hand. your eyes stayed on the watermelon for a moment, glancing at him when you managed to answer.

"let's search for a nice spot and eat them there." you said, smiling at him in content. he nodded silently, wrapping an arm around your waist as you walked off.

Giyuu:

"damn it..!" you complained, seeing the small plastic fish fall off your miniature fishing rod. you gave up the small festival game, standing up again.

Giyuu looked at your sulking form, his eyes glancing at the prize sat in the festival booth. you had looked really happy when you saw it earlier, it hurt him to see that you weren't able to win it.

"let me try." he quietly said, giving the salesman another 500 yen. neither you nor the salesman would've expected Giyuu to be so good at the game though.

"you can stop now!" the man whined, seeing Giyuu get the last fish. there had probably been a dozen in total, but he didn't mess up once.

Giyuu looked at the man, standing up from his kneeling position to claim his reward. "my prize?"

"you can have it.." the man sobbed, handing Giyuu the prize you had grown so fond of earlier. without another word, Giyuu turned around to hand you the small gift.

"for you." he merely said, putting the small object into your hands. you awed at his actions, immediately throwing yourself against him.

"thank you, Giyuu!" you cheered, watching him hold you in surprise. he couldn't possibly ignore the little things that made you happy when he was rewarded with this kind of reaction.

Gyomei:

"are you sure? i'm not good with words." you told him, looking down at your hands. the two of you sat on the meadow, other couples sitting in the distance.

"you'll do good." he answered, placing a supporting hand on top of yours. you silently nodded, his encouragement always working wonders on you.

when you watched the first firework shooting into the air, exploding with a loud bang, you stared in fascination, eventually shaking your head to snap out of it.

you thought of a fitting way to describe it, knowing that colors wouldn't do for him. you decided to try a different approach, looking at the man you adored.

"it looked exactly the way a summer breeze felt. warm and somehow familiar." you told him, watching his lips pull up into a smile. you felt your heart beat harder than before.

you would've liked to comment on it, but the next firework was too fast for you. you watched the sky light up in a refreshing green color, feeling Gyomei scoot closer.

"and this one?"

Mitsuri:

"the sakura mochi here is so good!" Mitsuri cheered, pushing another one of the treats past her lips. she munched on the sweet food, swallowing it down in satisfaction.

you chuckled at her words and actions, taking one of the mochis and biting into it. "it is, the flavor is really good."

"another bowl please!" Mitsuri called out, turning your head to see the chef nod at the two of you. she had even stood up, waving her arm at the woman making her favorite food.

you looked at Mitsuri's clothes, the pink cloth she was wearing matching her hair and the sakura mochi perfectly. somehow she was fitting for this place.

you placed the empty bowl of sakura mochi on the other bowls, watching the stack grow. she had already eaten 7 bowls, but you guessed she was long from finished.

you two chatted as the chef brought you another portion, smiling at the two of you and walking away again.

"i'm full, you can eat that portion alone." you answered, a small smile on your face. Mitsuri looked surpised, putting the treat down again.

"we can go too, i don't mind..!" she said, wanting to show you that she wouldn't keep you here. you could only laugh in response, shaking your head.

"i really don't mind either, if you want, we can even get you another bowl." you answered, watching her eyes light up. a bright smile formed on her face, nodding in agreement.

you smiled back, after all, the festival felt better this way.

[lonely-lost-soul]

Day 2: Tengen and Rengoku

Day 2: Threesome

Tengen licked his lips, staring intently at the young lady in the entertainment district's kiosk before him. By his side was his most trusted friend, Rengoku, who seemed to be intently staring at the same woman, the way her hips moved as she walked, her shyness evident as the lady of the house seemed to fix up her hair. Almost scolding her as if she wasn't presentable enough as a lady. Uzui thought the hag couldn't be more wrong, “Are you positive your wives won’t mind that we are here?” The man asked, adjusting his leg slowly, one of his permanent injuries from the battle of Akaza. In his own opinion, he was much better off than Tengen; his friend had lost one of his eyes. But both men were forced into an early retirement from the Demon Slayers due to their injuries. Tengen only laughed, turning to face the man, 

“I already told them I’m scoping out another wife, either for me or you." He winked, causing Kyojuro to laugh from his chest, "The main thing they’re not happy about is me returning to this district.” Tengen snorted, hair falling prettily in front of his face, and Rengoku looked at him with a smile, 

“If it’s alright with them, then it’s alright with me! So long as everyone is treated with proper respect!” He shouted, pounding a fist to the palm of his hand before reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind Tengen’s ear like a good friend would. Tengen snorted, wrapping an arm around his companion, 

“If you were a girl. You’d be my fourth wife without a doubt.” Rengokou beamed with pride, 

“I’d be honored! And accept without hesitation!”

“Flashy!” 

“Excuse me, the lady of the house said you requested me,” Your soft voice spoke, causing them both to turn to look at you. You were even prettier up close than you were from afar, hair elegantly styled, red and gold kimono covering you just as elegantly, makeup placed flawlessly on your cheeks and eyes, “I’m at your service.”

Tengen hummed, better with words than Kyojuro, “Please sit and enjoy a cup of sake with us for now. We paid for the night, relax.” Rengoku shot Tengen a questioning look, knowing they’d spent a lot of money on you. They'd free you from this wretched district if all went well tonight. You looked slightly surprised at the offer and moved to sit down, “Pretty thing, not there in between us.” Rengoku saw your cheeks burn as you sat beside the two men; Tengen leaned back with a grin, bringing sake to his lips, “What’s your name?” 

You told them your first name, fluttering your pretty eyelashes at the both of them. “I’m Rengoku Kyojuro; if we are going by first names, feel free to call me Kyojuro!” He chipped, grinning fondly at the woman, “This is Uzui.” The silver-haired man winked, “We’re here to make love to you!”

“H-huh?” You sputtered, and Tengen spat out his drink, choking on it, “I-I mean…” You smile shyly, “That’s quite the demand.” 

“Kyo-” Tengen hissed, pressing his fingers to his nose, “Do you even know subtly? So unflashy?”

“No!” He hummed proudly, “The best way to communicate your point is directly and honestly! This also gives our little spark room to decline if she needed to.” Tengen couldn’t deny that point; they weren’t monsters. After all, you’d always have a choice. “Will you spend the night with us?” 

You eyed the two men before you; they were former demon slayers. Even in casual clothes, word spread about the silver-haired man who solely saved this district from two demons and the man with hair of fire who saved all the innocents on the Mugen Train. Honestly, you couldn’t say no to them, not that you wanted to; these men were probably the two most attractive men you’ve ever encountered. “Yes,” you nodded, “it would be my pleasure.” 

“Not your pleasure, little one,” Tengen hummed, kissing your hand softly, “It’s truly our pleasure to be accepted by a beauty such as you.” He delighted in how your face turned a beautiful color as you were flustered. “Come, let's go somewhere a little more private,” He purred, helping you to your feet before turning to his friend and helping him stumble. 

“Ah, my apologies.” Rengoku smiled nervously, “My legs aren’t what they used to be, I'm afraid. But I assure you my performance regarding intimacy is not hindered.” 

“Kyojuro.” Uzui groaned, “She did not need to know that. I’m sure she wasn’t questioning your sexual prowess.” Both men stopped as you giggled, opening the door to the private room, the kimono falling off your shoulders seductively. Exposing your shoulder blades and the swell of your breasts, Tengen shut up almost immediately, eyes training down your body. 

“Beautiful!” Kyojuro praised, hobbling into the room, hands finding your waist, and you helped to balance him as he stumbled into you. “You’re beautiful!” His eyes burned like fire; staring into your own, he captured your lips in a quick kiss, and your cheeks flushed. 

“I’m sure you could find prettier girls here, but thank you-” You squeaked, feeling the other man’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind. His hair tickled your cheeks as his chin rested on your head, 

“Is that self-depreciation I hear?” Uzui mused from behind you, his hands slowly moving up to slide up to cup your breasts tenderly, “because you’re the only one here who caught our eye.” His large hands palmed your breasts, massaging them and causing you to lean against his body. “This is perfect, you are perfect, right Kyo?” 

“Absolutely!” Kyojiro hummed as Tengen slid your kimono down, exposing yourself to the men before you. The room's cold air made your nipples perk up as Kyojiro buried his face between them; his warm lips against your skin made you shiver. “I never wanna leave,” He purred, squishing his head between your chest and pressing kitten kisses to the sensitive area, causing you to mewl. 

“Look at you. Enjoying yourself?” Tengen snickered as you looked up at him through wet lashes, 

“Y-yes-” You breathed, stretching your neck up, “kiss me?” 

“You don’t need to ask twice.” Uzui leaned down to capture your lips with his own, and his lips were skilled as his tongue slipped inside your mouth. You groaned against him as your tongues battled for dominance; yours was easily overpowered. Your fingers tangled themselves in Rengoku’s hair, and the embodiment of sunshine purred, biting the skin on your breasts. You moaned hotly as he trailed marks across your chest, allowing your kimono to open fully as he continued his way downward toward your core. You pulled away from Tengen’s lips to choke out a moan, feeling Rengoku’s tongue prod at your entrance. He hissed a little, trying to settle on his bad knee, and Tengen clicked his tongue, “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

“I’m not; this is worth it.” Kyo grinned and attacked your center like a man starved; you tossed your head back and moaned with delight. Uzui had to catch you as your legs melted against Rengoku’s mouth and tongue. 

“He has no self-preservation truly,” Tengen mused, watching you squeeze your legs around his comrade's head, which only egged him further, his fingers coming up to massage your clit. “You’re just that intoxicating, lovely,” His mouth latched itself onto your neck, nipping and kissing at the sensitive spots there, which only fueled your moans louder. Kyojiro pulled away, lips glistening with your arousal, 

“Umai!” You giggle, hands gently threading through his flame-colored hair, “Uzui!’ He shouted, “She’s close may I make her cum on my tongue?” 

“Don’t ask me; ask the lady you’re eating out.” Kyo looked at you with the most enormous puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen, 

“Yes. Please let me cum, Kyo.” Kyojiro grinned before looking at Tengen, who rolled his eyes. He knew what that look meant. You won’t be able to continue after Rengoku had his way with you, but it was fine you were coming back with them after all; you can cum on his cock another time. With a nod from Uzui, he dove back in between your legs; you moaned hotly as you felt his fingers begin to pump in and out of your pussy working in tandem with his tongue. You felt warm pressure as you yelped a little, standing up straighter, riding Kyojiro’s mouth. His fingers started heating up inside you, and your legs trembled in ecstasy. 

“That’s what he does,” Tenegn purred, “use his breathing technique to last a while, heating his fingers for maximum pleasure.” Uzui continued to play with your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers and enjoying the loud sounds you made against his shoulder. “You feel it, don’t you? His tongue works wonders inside your throbbing pussy, the heat as you clench on Kyo’s face.” You could only nod as Rengoku’s fingers found the spongy spot inside you and began to pound into it repeatedly with his fingers. Wet sounds of pleasure filled the room as you shuddered, coming around the man’s face with a cry, suffocating the man between your thighs. This time when Rengoku pulled away, he looked horny and dizzy, with a red face, 

“Holy. Shit.” a shit-eating grin spread across his lips, “You almost killed me between your thighs. What a way that would’ve been, aye Uzui?”

“Lucky bastard.” Tengen scoffed as you lay limp against his muscular body, shuddering in the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Let’s rest now, little one; we can continue in the morning.”

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter three )

18+ 7.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, assault (not perpetrated by HL), violence, smol murder, manipulation/gaslighting, hurt/comfort. nebulously takes place post s1. part 3/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander will do whatever it takes to convince you that he's the hero you need.

It’s shortly after one o’clock when Homelander knocks a whimsical melody against your office door, deciding he shouldn’t be precisely on time, lest he look as eager as he feels. He can already smell your perfume wafting through the doorway–the same scent he feverishly pumped his cock to the night before–as a teaser of what’s to come.

“Come in,” you call from the other side.

Homelander takes in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He screws his eyes shut, pinching his expression in a tight squeeze before he replaces it with a flashy grin, squaring away his anticipation in favor of his showman persona.

“Goooooood afternoon,” he drawls, strolling in with the same feigned level of confidence he’s entered every other moment of your life since stumbling across you, whether you knew it or not. He’s taken aback almost immediately, slowing in how he closes the door behind him.

You look nicer than usual. Your hair is styled with more conscious effort, and he’s been in show business long enough to recognize the makeup on your face. The shine of your blouse is a quality silk blend, and he can’t hear the scrape of cheap cotton underneath it anymore. No, you’re wearing something nice below, too. His lips slowly spread into a self-satisfied smile. 

You dressed up for him. 

Homelander takes the seat set across from you, sweeping his cape to the side with a flourish. He watches you tuck an empty container–your lunch, presumably–into a side drawer of your desk. His eyes closely track the way you lift your thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipe residue from it, sucking the mess from your digit. A distinct pang of arousal hits him just watching your cheeks hollow.

Imagine what she could do with that mouth.

“And good afternoon to you, Homelander,” you respond, straightening up in your seat. His gaze briefly dips to the swell of your breasts as you adjust yourself, casually dusting away any remnants of your lunch. Saliva gathers on his tongue at the instant memory of you scantily clad in your sleep wear, nothing but a thin sheet of worn fabric between you and his hunger. His eyes snap back up before you can take notice of how they wandered.

Lucky for him, you’re busy splaying out the folder he brought you the day before, scanning over the list of bullet points he’d slapped together for the sake of having enough talking points.

“I wanted to start with your concerns regarding the marketing for your upcoming miniseries,” you say, glancing up at him.

He clicks his tongue. “Wow, alright. Straight to business then,” he says, absently rolling his palms over the ends of the armrests on either side of him.

“I’m very bad at small talk,” you say. Probably to diffuse any notion that you were being rude on purpose.

“Ch’yeah, I’ll say,” he says, smiling thinly. “Lucky that you’re good at your job.”

“Shockingly, I was actually a personality hire. I don’t know what any of this means,” you say, matching his thinly veiled snark while gesturing to the spread of documents in front of you. He snorts softly. You have a knack for using that sharp wit to diffuse, but he doesn’t feel manipulated. You actually are funny. “I was hoping you’d explain your concerns.”

Smooth segue, he thinks, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. He’s worked enough interviews to know when he’s being led, but he takes the bait anyways, widening his smile.

“Sounds great.”

Homelander knows that you’re sharp, good at your job, but he needs to needle you into giving him what he wants. He wants to understand you, and the stack of his films he found hidden in your apartment. What he gets in the meantime is ample taste of your silver tongue, parrying his every jab with an equally sharp counter.

He can’t keep the smile from his face.

Gradually a level of familiarity slips into the air between you. He can see some of that tension in your shoulders easing. He’s steadily wearing down the walls you’ve managed to construct.

“I still think audiences will be confused,” he says, feigning a profound concern, stretching out the time of your little appointment.

“Well, audiences are a lot like celebrities,” you say, the hard candied shell of your professional exterior thinning with every back and forth, poised to crack at any second.  “They’re smarter than we think they are.”

“Oohh, ouch,” he purrs. “Nice backhand you got there.”

A twitch at the corner of your mouth. He knows you’re fighting a smile of your own, and pride blooms warmly in his chest. He likes sparring with you, but he likes pleasing you even more.

“I disagree about market confusion. Your diehard audience will already be up to speed, your broader target audience will show up for anything with your face on it, and anyone more casual than that likely won’t have seen the miniseries anyways, so there’s nothing to confuse it with,” you say, scanning down through one of the pages of the document he gave you.

Perfect opening.

“And which audience is it you fall into, exactly?” He asks, cocking his head a degree. “I mean, given your position, I have to imagine you’ve seen my range of film and television.”

“I’ve done my due diligence,” you say vaguely. You’re good at answering without answering. Normally it would irritate him, but your forced aloofness combined with your closely guarded–and inexplicably secret–veneration of him makes it into tantalizing bait begging for the sharp sink of his teeth.

“So you’ve seen all my movies, then?” He extrapolates, setting a line of his own.

You chuckle, gaze flickering to him before back down to the pages. Too brief a glance to even come close to satisfying his hunger. “I didn’t say that.”

He scoffs lightly. “But you’re a fan of mine?”

“I definitely didn’t say that.” He can sense he’s hit a vein, and like any good predator would, he’s eager to bite into it.

“C’mon. Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he continues to prod, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

You inhale a breath that you barely prevent from sounding too obviously irritated. His grin remains untarnished by the scrutiny of your unwavering stare. There it is, that’s what he wants. The weight of your gaze upon him, evaluating, taking him in fully. He doesn’t care how he gets it, he just knows he wants it.

“You are shy,” he accuses, knowing you aren’t.

“I’m not shy, I’m a professional,” you say curtly, the scratch of your pen scathing while you write notations on the document.

Good, he thinks. More likely to slip up now.

“Jeeze,” he laughs. “You’re wound up tighter than my fictional manager in Darkest Day.”

“You didn’t have a manager in Darkest Day, that was Origins,” you correct. After a beat, your hand stills.

Homelander’s gaze slowly slides to meet yours. He watches your face fall and clicks his tongue. He positively relishes how your mask of indifference slips into subtle dismay at your misstep. Such a simple bit of trivia, and yet it spoke volumes.

Got’cha.

“You do watch my movies,” he said, tone dropping to a near whisper. He revels in the quiet way you groan, leaning back in your chair. 

“Only the ones I was paid to,” you say, straightening up in your chair, but he can hear the defeat in your voice.

“Liar,” he says through his perpetual grin. “Don’t be embarrassed. How long have you been a fan?”

“Stop,” you say, burying your face in your hands. Oh, this is good. Was he your first crush? Your favorite hero? He must be still, judging by the flush of heat moving through you. All that pretense, all that haughty glowering, and beneath it all you’re a fan girl. He almost laughs at the thought of the face you’d make if he called you that. 

“Which was your favorite?” He asks, burying the knife deeper, eager to cut through flesh and muscle and bone to get to the heart of truth beneath. “Bright World? Rise of a Hero? Justice Dawning?”

“I despise you,” you say melodramatically, digging your thumbs into your temples. “Also, Justice Dawning was cheesy, I’m offended you’d even offer it.” You try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that secret little smile sneaks onto your lips it brightens Homelander’s eyes, reflecting your amusement back to you. Not just that, but amplifying it.

“You’ll learn to love me,” he tells you with confidence. You drop your hands, looking at him with subtle surprise. He holds your gaze. The earnestness of his words seems to dispel your mortification and replaces it with something more difficult to define, but he likes the shine it brings to your eyes.

The taste of your defeat is sumptuous. He’d prefer licking it straight from your tongue, but he’ll settle for this for the time being. An easiness settles into the air between you, deeper even than before your hackles rose with the lurking reality of your hidden opinion of him. It’s like a bubble has popped, dissipating uncomfortable tension, replacing it with something warmer.

He has every intention of turning up the heat even further.

The meeting moves forward. You work your way through his folder, and during a natural lull in conversation, he finally broaches the topic that’s been plaguing him since he stepped into your office.

“So,” he begins, interlacing his gloved fingers in his lap. “Gonna tell me what you’re all dressed up for?” He asks, wearing the same smile and speaking in the same tone he had when he baited you into admitting your secret love affair with his cinema.

He wants to hear you say that it’s for him, but he’ll settle for a flustered deflection. They’re as good as the same.

“Oh,” you huff with an airy little laugh, the sound like silver bells chiming. “I have a date tonight.”

You say something else, but Homelander doesn’t hear it over the tidal-like rush in his ears. He watches your pretty lips form words that he can’t understand. Everything falls out of focus as he tightly reins in the white hot rush of furious jealousy that floods his gut and erupts up the back of his throat like bile. He swallows the burn of it, jaw tight, and manages a tense smile.

“Great,” he barks, not realizing–or perhaps not caring–that he interrupted you. “First date?”

“First date,” you confirm, your tone less conversational than it had been a beat ago. The walls are going back up, but he’s too fixated on what feels like a stabbing betrayal.

“Exciting,” he says, adjusting his tone and mannerisms until they once more resemble something genuine. Something civil, despite the hostility in his gut. “Someone you know? Going anywhere special?”

“No, and not really,” you say evasively. He loathes how withdrawn you’ve become. You should be pleased he’s put off. Gloating even. It’s proof he cares, isn’t it? “It was his suggestion.” His. The leather of Homelander’s glove creaks subtly in the fist he makes. “I forget the name of the place,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

His right cheek tics. Liar, liar, pants on fire. People always underestimate his ability to read them.

You’ll learn not to lie to him.

“But you have an out if you need it, don’t you? Someone to bail you out in case he turns out to be some kind of freak,” he says, huffing the word with a lick of venom. It takes significant effort to keep the disdain from his face to imagine you as you are now sitting across from some nobody schmuck, lit by candlelight and smiling sweetly for them instead of for him.

“I always do,” you say, smiling thinly. He curates his own tone often enough to hear it in yours, and it pierces his ears like a thistle. He taps his fingers on his thigh, scrounging for something, anything else to needle you for, but your responses don’t give him much to work with.

“Well. If you did need someone–”

“I’m a big girl,” you interrupt, surprising him. He’s rarely interrupted. “I can take care of myself.”

At that, a thought strikes him. The slack line of his lips curls into a thin smile, and his hands relax on the armrests of the chair.

“I’m sure you can.”

Shaking off the aftermath of your one-on-one with Homelander proves to be more difficult than you’d anticipated. You replay it nearly moment for moment in your mind while freshening up after work. 

Homelander has an uncanny knack for moving through demeanors as though he’s trying hats, determining which one best suits the situation. One moment he’s a slick carnivore licking his chops in anticipation of his meal to come, and the next he’s every ounce the hero they market him as. He’d been relentlessly charming during the meeting, his charismatic smile becoming one you’d wanted to earn again and again. 

Then came the news of your date, and all at once Homelander possessed the ominous calm of a sentient statue. The moment still sends an eerie chill down your spine, even in recollection. How radically his appearance can change with mood or thought alone. You’d hate to ever see him truly angry.

“Get a hold of yourself,” you say to the bathroom mirror. You have a date tonight, and the last thing you need is to bring this kind of nervous energy to it. Powers or not, the commonality of man is easy to rely on, and you’ve developed the tactical mindset of an aloof cat. Never beg for what can be given freely. Never give more than you get. Never settle. “Be the cat,” you tell yourself affirmatively. 

A directive which, unfortunately, winds up being exceedingly easy to follow through the course of your date. James, bless his heart, struggles to wring more than the occasional piteous chuckle from you. Conversation with him is akin to drinking seltzer water–he is neither offensive nor particularly exciting, being only a step above plain water.

Perhaps James’ blandness isn’t entirely his own fault, but rather the basis of comparison he is subjected to. Throughout the night, you find yourself critical of the way he looks at you–or rather, the way he fails to look at you. Your thoughts keep drifting back to your meeting with Homelander and the way he looks at you. The intense ocean-blue caress of his eyes summons a blush to your cheeks even in hindsight.

He looks at you in a way that no one else does. It's as if he's trying to memorize the smallest details in your skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind your guarded gaze. He has a stare determined to lay you entirely bare to him.

James’ wine dulled ogling could hardly hold a candle to that. Looking into his eyes, you see only the planning for whatever dullard comment he was going to make next.

Still, it’s not until the end of your date–an exceptionally long two and a half hours thanks to a mishap with your order–that James displays a behavior unsavory enough to elicit a truly unpleasant feeling in you. He’s quite clingy after a few too many glasses of wine. He walks you out of the restaurant with an arm around your waist, and more than once you have to bat his hand away from the seam where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.

“You in the parking garage or the back lot?” He asks, smiling in a way he must mean to be salacious, eyes half-lidded like he’s lost control of them.

“The back lot.” Parking was a nightmare with how late you arrived after work. “Is that where you are?” You ask, hoping it isn’t.

“No, no, I actually took an Uber in,” he says, and you know immediately by the way he starts tapping your hip with his index finger why he chose to do that.

“Want me to wait for you here until your Uber arrives, then?” You ask, turning out of his grasp to stand face to face with him outside of the restaurant. It’s late enough now that the streets have calmed some, at least by New York’s standards.

James’ expression falters, but he tries for a recovery with a hopeful smile. “Well, you know, I was sort of hoping we might continue this elsewhere,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. Is he trying to look suave?

“Oh, no,” you say, putting forth your very best sympathetic head tilt, matched with a well placed brow furrow. “No thank you.”

This time his expression doesn’t recover. His hands lift from his pocket and he makes a helpless gesture with them, very nearly pleading. “Really? I thought we were having a nice time.”

“And I’m so glad for that,” you say, and even you can hear the corporate edge sliding into your tone, which doesn’t seem to soothe him any. “But it’s for the best that we part ways here, James. Thanks for your time.”

“But–” Your inarguable dismissal staggers him. He gropes for recourse. “I paid,” he blurts out, which proves to be his final mistake.

Your polite facade drops. “For what?“ His booze addled panic shifts into confusion. “F…For dinner, but I didn’t mean–”

“And that entitles you to fuck me?” No sense in mincing words now.

His expression morphs again, this time into mortification. “No! No, but–”

“You thought this would be a transaction? God, and here I was thinking your gravest flaw would be how mind-numbingly boring you are. But to be boring and stupid?” You scoff, waving a dismissive hand. “Goodnight, James,” you say, the kindest dismissal you can muster. You turn on your heel before he can sour the evening any further, and luckily for him, he doesn’t pursue you further.

Unbelievable. As if you hadn’t offered to split the check. As if he expected it to be a transaction that he cashed in your bed. As if the cost of dinner was worth anything more than a polite smile from you. As if.

New York doesn’t sleep, but it does grow very, very dark. You’re on a narrow street, not an alley exactly, but not a main road, either. Still riled up, you bring up the parking app on your phone as you walk, swiping through to get ready to pay for your crummy back lot space. A clatter brings your attention up, and that’s when you see them—two men. One wearing a black leather jacket, the other with a kerchief slung around his throat. 

You stop walking, caught between turning around, which would mean putting your back to the men up ahead, or continuing forward, which would mean passing within arm’s reach. They haven’t noticed you yet, or at least they’re pretending not to, but now they look right at you and smile.

The men don’t look dangerous, not like they do in the movies, but you know that means nothing—plenty of the worst people in the world looked safe. Yet the longer you stay put, the more you sense the ill intent wafting off of them like cheap cologne. “Hey, baby,” says one of them, moving toward you. “You lost?”

“No,” you say curtly, taking a step back. “Not lost. Excuse me.”

“You sure? We’re real good with directions,” says the second man, leering. Your eyes snap between them, phone clutched tight in your hand. “Y’look like you could use some.”

“No,” you say again, louder. How loud would you need to be for anyone to hear you over the sounds of the streets? Panic swells in your throat.

You don’t know how they got so close so quickly, but as you turn to run, a hand catches your collar. The guy in the leather jacket wrenches you back against him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your phone clatters to the ground. 

“Hey now, what’s the rush?” He asks, yanking you backwards. “Get off me,” you snarl, but he’s squeezing you tightly across the chest, making it hard to think, let alone breathe. You struggle until you feel something hard dig into your hip. A knife? No. You realize coldly that it’s a gun, the handle of it jutting out from his waistband and digging into you. In a desperate bid, you twist in his grip, trying to grab it.

“Careful,” says the other one, moving in front of you, closing in. “She’s got spirit.”

You kick out at the other guy but he jumps back, laughing at you. They’re both laughing, relishing in your fear. Your fingers skim the gun, but you can’t quite get it.

The first man’s breath is hot and sour on your cheek. “Come on, now, let’s have some fun.” You slam your head back into his nose—or try to, but you only manage to clip his chin. Still, you hit bone, hear the crack of a tooth, and just like that you’re free, stumbling to your hands and knees as the man reels. You hit the ground hard, the shock of landing lancing pain through your arms and legs. The gun tumbles from his waistband. Without thinking twice you lunge for it, fingers successfully closing around the grip right before one of the men grabs your ankle and pulls.

The street bites into your elbows and scrapes your knee bloody as you twist around and raise the gun, barrel leveled at the man’s heart. “LET GO!” You scream, heart hammering against your chest. “Oh shit,” says the man in the kerchief, eyes wide at seeing you armed, but the other one sneers at you, blood spilling from his mouth. There’s fury in his eyes, and the unmistakable intent to hurt you. “You ever held a gun that big, baby?”

“Let go,” you say again, voice firmer than the tremble of your hands. Your finger flexes on the trigger.

“You even know how to use it?” He asks, using his grip on your ankle to pull himself over you, his other hand falling to your thigh. He gives a pointed squeeze as he lifts himself up to tower above you. He reaches to take hold of you again, but you won’t let him. Can’t let him.

“Yes.” You squeeze the trigger as you say it, bracing for the recoil, the bang. It’s always so loud in the movies.

Nothing happens. You panic, looking at the weapon in your hands in dull shock. The safety isn’t on. You pull the trigger again, but the chamber rings hollow. It isn’t loaded. You look up at the man as his shadow falls over you. He bares his teeth at you, painted an ugly dark red with the blood spilling from his mouth. The man laughs, a short barking sound, and knocks the gun from your hands with a harsh slap. It goes skidding away.

“Stupid bitch,” he says, raising his boot as if you were an oversized bug, something to crush. You close your eyes and scream as he brings it down hard.

Or at least, he started to, but his leg locks up halfway, and then he topples, a single horrifying sound leaking from his clenched teeth. Your eyes open just in time to see his body hit the ground, a smoldering wound smoking from his chest. An instant later, the second man falls. This time you see the flash of crimson light that drops him.

Homelander’s cape billows in the wind with all the majesty of the flag it’s designed after as he descends from the sky. He lands in front of you, backlit by the distant street lights that give him an artificial glow. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel delivered straight from some market tested Heaven.

“Hey, you hurt?” He asks, reaching for you.

Awestruck, all you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. Tears well in your eyes. Shock is setting in the aftermath of all that adrenaline in your veins crashing your system. Through the blur of your tears, Homelander’s expression shifts from concern to that of determination.

“It’s alright, I’m here now. They can’t hurt you,” he says, bringing your arm around his neck while he slips his own around your waist, effortlessly lifting you from the ground. Before your gaze can drift to the corpses–whose burning flesh you can smell mingling with the acrid city air–Homelander rotates, taking them from your line of sight. 

With a flourish, he unhitches his cape from his shoulders and swings the fabric over yours. It settles on you heavier than you expected it to be, and impossibly warm. Moving back in, Homelader readily takes you back into his arms. He cradles you in his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other drawing lines up and down your back.

You try to choke out a sound, to ask him, how? How did he find you? How did he know you needed him? But none of the noises you make form any actual words. Your throat is too tight, and your tongue feels too big for your mouth, gnarled silent by panic. Everything is just too much. Your breaths only grow sharper as tears burn hot streaks down your face.

“Sssshhhhhhh,” he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take the weight of your body from you. His hold is compressive, but not oppressive. It takes everything you have left to lift your other arm around his neck while the sobs overtake you. He continues to hush you, whispering a menagerie of honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.

I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

You cry harder, coiling your arms tighter around his neck. He lets you cling to him, lets you sob away your makeup and soak the collar of his suit with the mess of it.

You don’t know how much time passes in your addled state of panic, but eventually your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder. Your body isn’t convinced that the danger has vanished yet, eager to turn to flight now that your fight has gone.

“That’s it, just like that,” Homelander praises. “Breathe. Breathe. Good… Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly,” he tells you. The weightlessness you feel in his arms helps the idea, helps you to feel like you aren’t being crushed by the terrible weight of such a moment of horror. That’s all it had been, a moment–two at most–and yet the torment of it had felt hours long. Exhaustion falls over you in the wake of adrenaline, and you’re glad for Homelander’s arms around you. You doubt you’d be standing without them.

“Home,” you manage to croak. “Please.” You can still smell the man’s sour breath, the memory even more powerful than the stench of reality.

“I can take you home,” he coos, maintaining that same soothing tone of comfort. “Is that what you want?”

You nod, focusing instead on the vetiver fresh smell of him. You’ve never been near enough to him before to notice it, but now you fixate on it. Anything to drown out the stink of the alley. He smells so much cleaner, like fresh linen drying over green grass in the summer sun.

His arms flex around you before he adjusts them, lifting you smoothly into his arms. Your stomach flips the way it does when you go down a hill in the backseat of a car, gravity loosening its hold on you. You can feel the motion all around you, the wind ghosting over you, but Homelander himself feels motionless against you.

Flying. He’s flying. And so are you.

His cape shields you from the night air bite, pulled snug around you and secured where your bodies are pressed together. You haven’t felt like this since you were a child, cradled with such care and strength that feels beyond your comprehension. Homelander serves as both place and person–somewhere safe, someone kind–and you tuck yourself closer into the sanctuary of his arms, hands fisted in the protective fabric of his cape.

“I’ve got’cha,” he assures you, voice warm in your ear. 

Without a shadow of a doubt, you believe him.

Homelander doesn’t need to ask where you live. It’s an easy detail to brush off if you question him. He doubts you will with the way you’re clinging to him, though. You feel good in his arms, settling so naturally against the contours of them he might convince himself you belong here. He doesn’t mind your weeping when it comes with your arms around him, fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.

A small shiver rolls down his spine.

Of all the ways Homelander expected the evening to unfold, he hadn’t properly anticipated you. While he cradles you, he replays again and again the moment you were snatched. You fought without hesitation. You wrenched the gun free. The fierceness in your eyes as you aimed it had been exquisite. The resolve in your gaze as you fired it even more so.

He’d known you were confident, but that kind of clawing survival can only be learned of a person in action. He’s known many supposedly strong people–supe and human alike–who walk as stone giants, but shatter like glass when faced with any real danger.

You couldn’t have known that you weren’t in any real danger. You couldn’t have known that he’d told those thugs to scare you, but not hurt you. You couldn’t have known he’d ensured the gun wasn’t loaded. You fought as though it was for your life, and it enthralled him.

He hadn’t planned on killing them in front of you. They would have been loose ends to tie up after his heroic rescue, but somewhere along the line that stupid bastard lost the thread. He hurt you, bloodied those pretty knees of yours, and he moved to strike you. To grind you beneath his heel as if you were the vermin instead of him. For that–and for so flagrantly going against Homelander’s own direct order–you witnessed his downfall.

As far as he’s concerned now, everything happened precisely as it needed to. You’re in his arms now, and he’s still half hard from witnessing you choose fight when your instincts kicked in. You’re too fragile to choose it so readily. Your bones feel bird-like compared to the scope of his strength. Hollow and brittle. You would make for a hell of a supe, though.

Still, he won’t break you. He’s spent his entire life learning what it takes to snap bones like party favors, and more crucially, what it takes not to. Yours are safe from him. In fact, you’re the safest person in the whole world now.

Homelander glides down to a soft landing on your driveway. Your car will be an issue for another time. For now, he walks you to your front door before gently placing you on your feet.

“Believe this is you, young lady,” he says, leaving space for plausible deniability. If it occurs to you to interrogate him about it, it doesn’t show on your face. With hands still softly trembling, you fish your keys out of your purse. He watches you fumble with them for only a moment before he steps in behind you, one hand gripping your upper arm to steady and pause you while the other covers your shaking hand, helping you to slide the key into the lock and turn it.

Your hand fits nicely in his.

“Thanks,” you whisper. It’s the first thing you’ve said since asking him to take you home. He takes the liberty of opening the door for you while he’s at it, swinging it wide to allow you in. You grab his forearm, and he thinks you’re only balancing yourself, but when you don’t let go he steps with you, letting you lean on him as you guide him into your home. He closes the door behind the two of you, smiling to himself.

He may not need an invitation to enter, but it’s charming to have one.

Your movements are stiff, a slight limp to your gait. You fell hard, and the delicate flesh of your knee had ripped apart against the concrete when you were dragged. You hesitate at the stairs, but Homelander doesn’t. You inhale sharply  when he scoops you back up into his arms with ease and starts up the stairs. He keeps his gaze ahead, but he can feel yours on him.

“Thanks,” you say again, the word barely more than a hiccup, adjusting his cape over yourself like a blanket.

“It’s what heroes are for.” He smiles. It’s a party line, one he’s said a hundred thousand times before, but you make him mean it. This is what heroes are for. To be worshiped and loved, understood deeper than pop stars and false idols like them. There’s a reverence in your stare that transcends the vapid starstruck way most people look at him. You understand now. You know how much more he is.

He brings you to your bedroom and sets you on the edge of the bed, adjusting his cape back up over your shoulders. You’ve scarcely let go of it since he wrapped you in it. Will you sleep with it tonight? He bets you will. The thought sends a pleasant tingle through him. 

“Alright, let’s get a look at those knees,” he says, crouching in front of you. There’s blood running down your left shin. He lifts the edge of your skirt hem just enough to catch a glimpse of shredded skin. It looks rough, dirty and embedded with bits of debris. He blows out a breath. “Got a first aid kit?”

You nod numbly. “Under the bathroom sink.”

It’s odd to see you so subdued. He forgets sometimes that you humans can be as emotionally fragile as you are physically. Surely the death of two measly thugs isn’t enough to break you.

Rising, he moves to your bathroom. He feels slightly unbalanced without the sway of his cape behind him, the garment as integral to his physicality as any limb. He rummages through until his hand lands on a bright red fabric pack with a zipper. He gives it a little toss and catches it, bringing it back to you, alongside a wetted towel. He gives the pack a victorious little shake.

“H’okay, down to business.” Homelander kneels before you, splaying open the kit and placing it on your lap. He’s never used one of these before, but he’s pretended to do it on set. How different can it be? He cups your leg, thumb absently smoothing back and forth on your skin while he uses the towel to gently wipe up the blood, dirt and debris from your shin and knee.

You flinch, tense a moment before you relax. “Homelander, you really don’t have to–”

“Am I doing a bad job?” He asks, glancing up at you through his lashes. There’s a playful lilt to his voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, the smallest hint of exasperation in your voice. He’s pleased to hear it. Perhaps you’re less wilted from the encounter than he thought. “I just mean that I can–”

“I know you can,” he says, and this time he definitely sees a flare of annoyance. You don’t like being interrupted any more than he does, but you don’t protest further. He smiles, triumphant, and focuses back on the task at hand, petting you the same way one might soothe a wild animal.

There’s a novelty in doing this for real that he hadn’t anticipated. It’s entirely unlike wiping away congealed red corn syrup from an actor. Your skin is sweeter, softer. He suddenly resents his gloves for the barrier they provide, despite his usual reliance for that very thing. He’s meticulous in flicking out the little stones embedded in your skin, spotting each one with ease.

Next, he tears open the alcohol wipes with his teeth and uses them to disinfect, rubbing at the sores. You flinch, sucking in a loud breath through your teeth. “Oopsy-daisy,” he says, switching to gently patting. He has no real concept of what you’re feeling right now. He’s never had a scraped knee before. The scientists at Vought had to get much more creative in order to gauge his capacity for healing.

He imagines they were disappointed to realize that, once damaged, he healed as slowly as a human.

“How’d you find me?” You ask, snapping him out of his unpleasant reminiscence. Your shock seems to have worn off entirely. You look more present, alert to his every move.

“Heard you scream,” he answers simply, unraveling a roll of gauze. That much is true.

“But how? How did you know where I was?” You push, watching him wind the white material around your knee.

“I didn’t,” he lies smoothly. He’s followed enough scripts in his life to do so very well. “If I’d known exactly where you were, I would have been there sooner. I was minding my business on 5th Avenue when I heard you. Familiar voices can…” He makes a vague gesture. “Cut through the din. Voices I want to hear.” 

He thinks he catches you flush at that. Just a touch. He bites back a smirk, pleased with himself. Does it matter if it’s true when it makes you look at him like that?

“I didn’t know your hearing worked like that,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of his cape.

His gaze flickers up every so often to watch your finger pick at the seam, inexplicably charmed by it. “Well, there’s some things not even a super fan can glean,” he teases, securing the gauze with tape. He expects to see a familiar indignation in your expression, but when he looks up, he’s caught off guard by the unmistakable fondness in your eyes.

“I was over the moon when I got my job at Vought,” you say quietly, like you’re whispering in a confessional. “I always wanted to work with heroes.”

“With me?�� He pushes, lifting his brows.

Very slightly, you smile. “Yeah. With you.”

“Busted,” he says, his own voice equally soft.

You give him a little nudge with your foot. “Gauze won’t stay by itself. Need to use a roll of self-adhesive wrap,” you say, plucking the beige roll from the kit. He likes the shy warmth in your voice. He would have done much worse to see this side of you. Have the intimacy of your pain, fear and relief all to himself. This glowing affection you’re so full of. He feels drunk on the cocktail of it all.

“Right, obviously,” he says, taking the wrapping from you. “I knew that.”

“Probably should have put a gauze pad under it, too,” you continue, eyes heavily lidded, expression soft.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he laments, affixing the textured bandage around the gauze. You laugh, and the sound of it feels like a space he could belong in.

He checks your other knee, your elbows and your palms, but nowhere else on you calls for anything more than some antiseptic and a few bandaids. With the wrappings secure, he shuffles the mess of supplies haphazardly back into the kit, zipping it up much more bulging and misshapen a state than he found it in. He pushes it under the bed with the towel atop it, standing.

“Good as new. Or close to it,” he says, making a small show of dusting off his hands for a job well done. 

You stand, letting his cape slide off of your shoulders for the first time since he put it on you, the fabric pooling on the bed. You step forward, and of all the things he expects in this moment, you blow them out of the water by suddenly wrapping your arms around him, the soft curves of your body slotting against his in a way that trips something primal and needy in him. He puts his arms around you the second the shock wears off, holding you with the barest fraction of his strength.

Tension drains from your body. Were you nervous he wouldn’t reciprocate? It’s an endearing thought. He gives a deeper, brief squeeze. He can’t remember the last time someone held him.

“Thank you,” you say after a long beat, drawing back. He reluctantly loosens his grip, but not by much. He’s loath to relinquish you so soon after he’s gotten hold of you. “It’s not enough, but I don’t know what could ever be.”

I could make a few suggestions, he thinks, but he doesn’t give voice to the lewd thoughts that follow.

“I’ll never forget what you did for me tonight,” you say. Your face is so near to his, it makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the curve of your lips as you speak.

Instead of responding, Homelander leans in, eyes falling shut.

“Oh,” you say sharply, your soft body suddenly going tense in his arms, stopping him in his tracks. Both of your hands are braced against his chest now, creating a distance that feels craterous. 

He blinks, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?” 

“I’m really tired,” you say, tone shifting to mild diffusion. It reminds him of the way you spoke to James, and his ego stings with both the rejection and the comparison. He’d laughed listening to you reject that pathetic, simpering man. It seems less funny now. 

He scoffs an incredulous little huff. But I saved you, he thinks, indignant panic flaring in his chest. To his dismay, however, the thought doesn’t sound like his own voice. It sounds like James’.

But I paid!

Repulsed, Homelander swallows the thought like bile. If the comparison comes so readily to his own mind, there’s no way you won’t make the connection yourself. He feels his skin prickle like there are fire ants crawling beneath his suit. The memory of James’ pathetic begging is the only thing that keeps his composure together.

“Of course you are,” he says tightly. His smile is forced, slightly too wide. “You should sleep. Rest up. Take the day off tomorrow,” he says stiffly, rattling off lines like they’re pre-recorded. Only then does he surrender his hold on you, hands moving to his hips instead. You take a step back, and he stands straighter to disguise the sting of rejection.

“Thank you,” you say, tone indecipherable. It’s full to the brim with something, but nothing Homelander can parse in his current state. “I–”

“No need,” he dismisses, jumping on the opportunity to end the conversation on his terms. “Really. Just doing my job,” he says, tossing you a little two-finger salute off of his brow, already moving towards your balcony door. You don’t move, watching him from the foot of your bed, arms wrapped around yourself.

“Catch you at the office,” he says. He knows he’s speaking too quickly, but it’s all he can do to keep himself in check. Anger and misery broil in him like vinegar and baking soda, the caustic brew threatening to erupt.

“Okay,” you say, which isn’t particularly what he wants to hear. He turns his back to you, and his smile drops, his ego violently stung. With a force that billows wind through your bedroom, he takes off into the night sky.

You just weren’t ready, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. It’s easier to be angry than embarrassed. He wants to make as much distance between himself and your rejection, flying higher and higher until frost begins collecting on his lashes. He flies until there’s no sound, no oxygen, no life but his own. He flies until gravity releases him and he can finally relax, suspended by cold, vast space.

The earth glows beneath him, reflecting the light of the sun where it illuminates a distant portion of the globe.

Closing his eyes, he tips his head back.

He’ll fix this.

( chapter four )

[yumeka-sxf]

I've been waiting to see Yor's epiphany chapter in the anime and it did not disappoint! I felt like analyzing more than usual because I loved this episode so much~ 💖

I hope that any anime-only viewers who at this point still had the opinion that Yor's just ditzy/submissive, one-dimensional, or whatever negative traits associated with her, have changed their minds. Throughout the cruise arc we've seen so many sides of her character: how she's struggling to understand the exact reason why she's taking on these dangerous assignments when her original reason for doing it (supporting Yuri) no longer exists, how her internal desire to seek her own happiness - live a peaceful life like Olka - is at constant war with her diligence to complete her mission, her yearning to be with Loid and Anya and how sad she looks when she has to tell herself that they're just a cover-up family and she'll have to leave them without a word if anything drastic happens, and how much more confident she is when doing something she excels at - assassinating - yet still retaining her kind and polite demeanor (Unlike Twilight, who dons the mask of Loid Forger, Yor Forger is not a mask for Thorn Princess, at least not in terms of personality. So everything she says as Thorn Princess can be interpreted as her true feelings, including the now two times she's hesitated during fights because of the thought of having to leave the Forgers).

And, in the moment where she's facing death right in the eye, all the doubts she's had since getting this assignment culminate, not only causing the samurai assassin to get the upper hand, but causing her to take a deep, introspective look into her reason for fighting...if it's not for the same reason as the other assassins, what is it?

What's even more amazing is that these things about her character did not come out of nowhere just for the sake of a flashy climax. We saw in previous episodes that not only does she understands that being in the Forger family makes her happy, but most importantly, how she's lived her life only thinking of the happiness of others above her own. And what's most tragic is that, upon finally realizing that her original reason for being an assassin is gone (since Yuri no longer needs support) she's ready to die then and there...until she remembers Olka's words about wanting to live a peaceful life, which in turn makes her remember her core reason for becoming an assassin was to not only support Yuri, but to make the world he lives in all the more peaceful by eliminating the villains in it.

Despite how naive Yor is about many things (due to her upbringing), she's certainly not ignorant about the needless tragedies that exist in the world. And here is where she makes her decision to keep doing her assassinating, not because she enjoys killing people, but because the result of it will make the world a better place...because now, she has even more people whose happiness she desires to protect.

Even if she sacrifice her own happiness by leaving the Forgers, that's not as important to her as preventing tragedy from befalling her loved ones, or the world in general. And these thoughts are so similar to Twilight's reasons for becoming a spy! Coincidently, as Yor has these thoughts, she thinks of how Loid complimented this aspect of her personality way back when they first met...and the thought that the man who she trusts and respects so much would approve of her decision, gives her the final push to keep on going (I love that they reanimated this scene too and didn't just use the exact frames from episode 2).

So yeah, if anyone who wasn't sure of how much depth Yor's character has, I hope this episode shed a lot of light! This is the right way to make a character both cute/sweet but also a total badass who's strong on the outside as well as the inside.

(I will probably reword a lot of this for my upcoming Twiyor analysis posts but I couldn't wait until then, lol).

[hellfireloserclub]

It was almost 10 pm, and Steve was at the point where if one more, sappy, loved-up couple came wandering through the door of family video looking for a tape for their valentines date night, (that would promptly get forgotten about as they fucked on the sofa in the sea of rose petals or whatever…), he was going to pull out the nail bat and start swinging.

Old him? He had loved all that flashy paper heart and sugar-sweet fakeness, but the new improved Steve? He was looking forward to the six-pack in the fridge and his hot date with Harrison Ford. Alone, locked away from the whole whatever of the situation. 

Steve tried not to feel betrayed because Robin had abandoned him for Nancy. He couldn't ever hate her for that, not after how long it took them to get together. 

But his late shift would have been a lot better if he had his co-workers by his side, yet Eddie and Robbin had abandoned him.

It was just depressing that even Eddie, the one person who said yes to almost everything, had left him to wallow in his own self-pity.

But adventure awaited, and no matter how much Steve had begged him to help cover Robin's dropped shift, Eddie had been firm about it. ' Wednesday night is Campaign night. Do you want to disappoint the gremlins?' 

No amount of Steve pointing out that the gaggle of seventeen-year-olds probably had other plans on Valentine's night that he really didn't want to think about could convince him to change his mind. (Steve had thought about it, and he had made sure they were always safe. He was, after all, always the babysitter, but they were his kids… they DIDN'T do that sort of stuff! He was half a step from Hopper’s general reaction these days, sticking his fingers in his ears when they made inappropriate jokes; they were just toddlers for Christ's sake) 

Not that he wanted to spend valentine's day with Eddie (he did) or that he was secretly wondering if Eddie had a date, (he was) because he had seen Max and Lucas drive past not an hour ago and they were very much not in the basement of Munson’s house playing with dice right now. (Had Eddie lied to him? Had he forgotten the number one rule of the party? Friends don’t lie? What if Eddie had a date? Why did that thought make Steve’s stomach feel as if he had just eaten some of Robin’s more questionable cooking?) 

The end of the shift couldn’t come soon enough and when he finally flipped the sign to closed at 10.30 pm, it tempted him to just leave the tidying for Robin or Eddie to do in the morning. 

It would serve them right for making him witness the absolute horror of other people's public displays of affection.

However, as he brushed the floors and chewed on the leftover promotional chocolates, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander again. Where was Eddie? Did he have some secret other-half that he was hiding from them all? If so, it wasn’t like Eddie to not be open about things like that, at least around the party he was unapologetically himself. Was it another man? Was that why he was being so secretive about it? Steve doubted it was that either, Eddie didn’t hide that part of himself either.

 ‘Were both Bisexual disasters? That’s why we couldn’t be friends in high school, Harrington. We would have seduced the entirety of Hawkins high, it wouldn’t have helped the devil worship allegations, but man, it would have been fun.’

And sure, maybe Steve had been funny with the last few people that Eddie had backed into corners after gigs, but it was just because they weren’t good enough for his Eddie. He was just being a good wingman. Eddie would, and had, done the same for him frequently. It was nothing. They were just protective of each other, that was all… (keep telling yourself that, king Steve). It just made no sense that Eddie would hide things like this from him. 

Steve was just putting the broom back in the closet when he heard the bell over the door go. 

“We’re closed.” Of course, someone would come in now. The people of Hawkins really needed to learn to read, but if you could ignore a multidimensional rift for several years, a closed sign might be a little advanced.

Nobody answered, but he thought he heard the bell go again. He really should start locking the door, especially when his hearing was as bad as it was.

Walking back into the front shop Steve almost jumped a mile.

“Jesus, Eddie! You know better than to sneak up!” Eddie stood in the open hatchway of the service counter, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, but at least looking apologetic. 

“I shouted, but you know” he gestured vaguely toward his ears with one hand, his other holding something behind his back “I'm guessing you were facing away…”

“I was in the closet,” Eddie's eyebrows raised. “Do not make the low-hanging joke, Munson. You're better than that.” 

“Oh come on Steve, it’s just there. Give me the win.” he chuckled nervously.

“Why? Did you strike out on your date?” Steve aimed for joking and missed, hoping that Eddie hadn’t picked up on the bitterness in his voice, he went about pulling the last of the novelty candy off the counter into a box behind it for Robin to graze on in the morning.

Eddie looked at him curiously. “I’m hoping I don’t.”

“Oh? So you did have a date then? I knew it was suspicious Lucas and Max drove past before. You know you didn’t have to lie, right? I would have given you the night off.” that feeling in his chest grabbed and tugged, it was almost painful.

“I need to kick both of their asses, but no Steve, I said I’m hoping I don’t…” Eddie stepped closer to him. “You know, like, future tense, you see I haven’t had the date yet? So I guess what I’m saying is no, I didn’t strike out, not yet at least.” his voice lacked its usual confidence, so unlike Eddie that it made Steve pause.

“So, why are you here, if you have a hot date?” Steve knew that this time he hadn’t kept his voice steady. He was jealous, and he knew it. And by the expression on Eddie’s face, he really hadn’t hidden it at all. 

“Well, I missed an important bit of my master plan. I forgot to do something.”

“Oh, yeah?” suddenly the scuff marks on the floor left by Robin’s Converse were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.

“Steve, look at me.” Eddie prompted. He had moved closer again, thrusting something into Steve’s line of vision. Gesturing for him to take it.

“Is this broccoli?” Steve was holding what, clearly, was a bushel of broccoli. Eddie was rocking from one foot to the other again at his side, hiding behind his hair in that adorable way that made Steve’s heart speed up of its own accord. His entire face was bright red and, for once, it looked like Eddie was lost for words.

“Eddie, why have you just handed me broccoli?” His confusion outweighed Steve’s jealous embarrassment. What the hell was happening?

“Be my Valentine? Or whatever? I’m not good at this, I am so not good at this…” 

“Are you serious?”  

“See, I told Rob’s I said you wouldn’t think I was serious if I asked you out on a date on valentines, but she was all ‘who’s his platonic soulmate Ed’s? It’s me, and he loves all this grand romantic bullshit.’ and then I listened to her like an idiot.” Steve watched him pace, hands flying everywhere. “this was a stupid idea. Can we just pretend it never happened?”

Eddie had come to a halt in front of Steve and was making grabbing hands at the Broccoli as if to take it back. 

It just made Steve hold it tighter to his chest. God, he loved this mess of a man. Without thinking, he used his free hand to pull Eddie towards him. 

It just made him hold it tighter to his chest. God, he loved this mess of a man. Without thinking, he used his free hand to pull Eddie towards him. 

“Eddie… shut up.”

Eddie didn’t kiss back at first. Steve had caught him off guard, but soon enough, he was pressing in with gusto, and yeah, that sensation in Steve’s stomach was nothing to do with Robin's cooking. Eddie hadn’t shaved, and his stubble was rough, just as Steve always thought it would be, and he kissed in the same way he did everything else in life, full of energy and over the top. Eddie twisted his hands up into Steve’s hair, and Steve traced his hands up Eddie's neck, making for the mop of hair he had wanted to tangle his hands in since the upside down, even if he hadn’t been sure of the reason back then. 

However, the vegetable in his hand hindered his progress.

“Drop the broccoli Stevie,” Eddie muttered against his lips.

“No, It's my broccoli,” He pulled it back from the kiss, cradling the greenery to his chest. “The broccoli is important, I mean, I don’t understand it, but …”

“It was all they had left in shop, I had planned on this big romantic bunch of flowers, a teddy… the full works, but then Buckley had an emergency… you know what her cooking is like… and then well by the time I escaped it was almost ten on Valentine night and I had to get you something, cause my plan obviously needed it to work, so it was the broccoli or a two-by-four with a smiley face on it courtesy of Joyce, so out of the two I think-”

“Eddie, shut up.” 

“Shutting up.” he mimed zipping his mouth shut as Steve carefully placed the vegetable on the counter. 

“I think a bunch of Broccoli is the most YOU thing ever, you weirdo.” he grabbed Eddie again wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close, placing a small kiss on the end of his nose, Eddie went cross-eyed trying to look at him but grinned none the less. 

“So do I get a win?”

“You get a win.”

And if every year the kids ask Steve why he’s got a bushel of broccoli in a vase on the fireplace on his and Eddie’s anniversary, well, it’s just another win for the man he loves.

(inspired by the old man behind me at the bus stop holding a bushel of broccoli like a bunch of roses because he was too cheap to buy a carrier bag but his wife had demanded he buys broccoli so god damn it he bought the broccoli You go you, stubborn old man. Also, I've written the word broccoli now so many times it no longer looks like a real word.)

( also give me prompts!)

[tinydefector]

If you're still taking requests, I would love to hear any and all headcanons for Minimus with his human please? Sfw, nsfw whatever you wanna write. I love him so much, and there's not enough about him.

Minimus HC's SFW and NSFW

I'm still sick AF but did some of this. I probably won't be working on fics yet, but I decided to work on this over the past two days. Had alot of fun doing this so I hope you like it!.

________

SFW

-Minimus is an extremely gentle and careful lover. As Magnus he's so large that he would worry constantly about accidentally hurting his smaller partner. Lots of delicate handling and making sure not to apply too much pressure in any way when interacting with them.

- Protective to a fault. If anyone so much as tries to hurt his lover most times it's Rodimus with his silly stunts and he gets the full Magnus glare. But he's also conscious of seeming intimidating and tries to moderate it for his lover's sake, and tries not to show how much he worries. 

- Self-conscious about his true size, but finds it much nicer with a human lover outside of the Magnus armour, he's able to hold his lover's hands, walk about the same pace as them and actually cuddle them properly. 

 - Excellent communicator. Wants to make sure his partner is fully comfortable, cared for. Checks in frequently about plans to make sure everything is alright and tries to make sure his lover gives input so they can make it a decent outing.  

- Loves human affections like kissing. Finding the tender gestures sweet and rewarding in a way that is just so different from Helm holds.

- Cuddling. As Ultra Magnus his size makes intimacy tricky, but Minimus would love nothing more than curling up in a quiet corner with his lover in his lap, holding them gently as they read or chat. Very cuddly when in private. Loves holding his partner close against his plating. He adores how warm their skin is compared to his servo. 

- Loves learning about human culture. He finds Earth fascinating and enjoys it when his lover teaches him new things about music, movies, history, popular culture etc. He's always asking questions.

- adores physical affection. As a minibot he doesn't get many opportunities for hugs and cuddles. He loves holding his lover close and pressing his faceplate against theirs, kisses, or having them sit in his lap while he nuzzles them. 

-a small collection of pet names he has for his lover: 

"My shining solace"

" pesky pest" 

"My scraplet"

"My spark" 

"My shining star"

"Dear spark"

"Core of my world" 

"Light of my world" 

"Beloved" 

His favourite date ideas depending on if you're on cybertron, Earth, or the Lost light:

- A trip to the civic archives or museum, where he could provide fascinating historical context as they learn about their city/planet's cultural heritage, this one works for both cybertron and Earth, it gives him the chance to share his history with his lover and to also learn the history of earth. Not the most flashy date but it is a very educational One. 

- Stargazing at a remote locale away from light pollution or from the Observation deck of the ship. where he could point out constellations and share astronomical knowledge. It turns into making shapes from the stars. 

- Cooking/baking class, allowing him to be creative while learning new skills, but so he can make human foods for his lover. He wants to be able to make beautiful meals, desserts even if he himself can't eat human foods. 

- A romantic picnic in the botanical/ Crystal gardens, where they can both just lay there and admire the plant life, pointing out plants they like.  

-but most of all he loves quiet nights with you in his quarters just enjoying each other's company, from watching holos, working or just laying beside each other.   

NSFW: 

KINKS & FETISHES

Kink Soft Fabrics: 

bondage : he loves being able to tie you up with ribbons or silk, he's not much for rope or anything that could hurt you but he loves wrapping you up in fine fabrics, watching the way it pulls your skin, but most of all his favourite part is unwrapping it, pulling you closer as he kisses you. 

Blindfolks: blinds folds also fit into the soft fabric Kink he has, he loves watching your face even with your eyes out of the picture. Watching the way you shutter and whine as he lightly brushes his digits across your skin, or the way he sinks into you before leaning into your ear. He loves the idea of having trust in him.  

Underwear: he loves, Loves seeing you in different sets of Underwear, it doesn't matter if they are frilly, lace little things or even boxers, this mech loves the way they morph to your skin, he loves running his servos over the soft fabric lightly pulling it and letting it snapback, enjoying the way you yelp or Squeal before you try to playfully slap him. 

Uniforms: we all know this Mech has a thing for uniforms and the moment he gets you in your uniform he's admiring. Gently touching and praising the way it fits your form, he also loves slowly undressing you, taking his time to drink in every little detail ask your lain bare Before his optics. 

Body kinks and fetishes: 

Breath play: there is something so fascinating to him about humans breathing, he loves watching the vapour clouds. While holding you close, watching each shaky breath you take as he thrust into you, loving the way it turns to moisture on his plating. But he also loves just laying beside you, admiring the way your body moves with each deep breath you take while you sleep. 

Hair fetish: this Mech has a thing for anything alien when it comes to his lover and Hair is one of them, he loves the way it feels in his servos, loves how it looks just normally, he tries not to pull it out of fear of it getting caught in the joins Of his digits. But he also adores how it looks spread out as a hallo When you're under him. 

Hand fetish: he has a thing for Your hands, loves the way they trace across his plating, they are so soft and warm and he loves just pressing his face into the palm of your hand, kissing your wrist and pinning them above your head as your legs are wrapped around his hips and he takes you.  

Others:

Interrogation Play: it's not one he partakes in a lot but he will if you are the one to bring it up first, it becomes very much a game of who's willing to break first, but other times it turns into desk sex where at the end of it he's kissing every inch of skin he can.  

Mirror play: mirrors just bring such a beautiful touch to interfacing for Minimus,  he loves being able to make you watch how your body reacts to him, he himself loves being able to stare into the mirror and watch the way your eyes never leave his, he loves pairing mirror play with ribbon/ bondage. 

Xenophilia: this mech despite how much he would try to deny it is very much a Xenophile due to humans and a few other humanoid species, but you took the cake by making him fall head over pede for you. The amount of study and work he put into trying to figure out if he could court you, interface. He spends a lot of time and he doesn't think he'd ever want a Cybertronian lover after you. 

_________

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[mcflymemes]

AS SAID BY IRON BULL  *  assorted dialogue from dragon age inquisition, updated version

hey, don't top from the bottom.

next time you're free, why don't you come grab a drink?

didn't figure you were the kind to bed your way to power.

love is all starlight and gentle blushes. passion leaves your fingers sore from clawing the sheets.

do you want your silky underthings back, or did you leave those like a token?

you're the toughest, wisest, most beautiful person i've ever met.

these big muscled hands could tear those robes off you while you struggled, helpless in my grip.

i will never hurt you without your permission. you will always be safe.

you don't need to be afraid... unless you want to.

you see us as this forbidden, terrible thing, and you're inclined to do the forbidden...

you want to watch, don't you?

make sure you undress him with your eyes... respectfully.

i'd offer to help you get rid of that frustration but, you know... i'm in a committed relationship.

next time we're alone, i'm going to pin you down and do things your body won't believe.

all that crap made sense to you?

i can't tell you how proud i'm gonna be, watching you out there, addressing them... with this big, old love bite on your neck.

wait, i'll flex a little for you. make it easier.

that staff's in pretty good shape. do you spend a lot of time polishing it?

i can see you don't want to talk about it. bet you looked good doing it, though.

how do you manage that while staring up at everyone's ass the whole time?

you and i are fine as long as you don't do any weird crap.

i'd pin you down, and as you gripped me, i... would... conquer... you.

oh, for shit's sake.

good. i like that energy. stoke those fires, big guy.

all i'm saying is... you ever want to explore that, my door's always open.

worked that out on your own, did you?

you're not as flashy as most mages.

wait, did you "forget" them so you'd have an excuse to come back? you sly dog.

i didn't say it was healthy.

you don't actually like thinking about hurting people, do you?

if you do that, everyone knows you're a spy.

still waiting for me to do something sneaky and spy-like?

we probably won't try down to burn down a city this time.

really not sad i missed that one.

you're lucky then. it was awful.

you only lack the will to get more blood on your hands?

enjoying the great outdoors?

this area's low on dancing girls, sadly.

i've always liked fighting.

i'm not sure you know what you're asking. not sure if you're ready for it.

well, that's a fucking relief.

i'm fine. hurt myself worse than this fooling around in bed.

so, you going to let me have it, [name]? or do i get to wait and wonder?

you really kicked the crap outta that guy.

it's pretty hot where we're from.

it's not a secret. it's just too big for a quit chat.

you get that thing i asked about?

maybe you should stand in front of me.

you ever get the asses mixed up?

you're a damn fine marksman.

i fell on a guy who tried to stab me in the gut.

all right, now you're just making it weird.

nobody fights well when their clothes are on fire.

i... didn't mean to offend you.

that hurts, [name]. that's hurtful.

i may have done it a couple of times on purpose.

i cold 'cause it freezes them, and then they break into little bits when i chop them in half.

with the magic, do you prefer fire, or lightning, or cold, or what?

you don't need to worry. i have no intention of trying to leash anyone.

are you gonna write me into one of your stories?

it's just daring somebody to try to attack it.

when that breaks, you fix it. like we're doing now.

in theory, they're no different from anyone else.

anyone who takes that burden and lives a good life with it has many respect.

you're pretty tall for a human.

the bloodstains are good for scaring enemies.

could you make it sound angrier? "love" is a bit soft.

tell me more about the coat.

i don't need a book to remind me that the world is full of horrible crap.

you're really good with that bow.

it's just friendly. i won't step in your business.

what i'm saying is, please stop stealing my kills.

we should get shirts. probably need different sizes.

i think you're confusing. how can you just pick and choose what parts you believe in?

you know, i really like hitting things.

who has sex smelling like roses?

hey, i don't hate you. you and me? we're good.

hey, no-pants fridays is a cause.

it's a difficult thing you've done, turning your back on one life to live another.

[pastorfutureletthembe]

Here we go again--

TRIP ABROAD TURNS INTO BUTTERFLY EFFECT

First thing worth mentioning is that the prime color in this artwork is pale blue. I feel like it's quite rare, most of INPLICK arts for Link Click have the same palette: burgundy red, shades of gray and black (except for the whole Surprise Beat thing which is splashed with flashy pink). All but this one:

(probably when they were 17 or sth)

For the sake of the argument, let's say it is a significant distinction to make. The reason is simple: the teaser of the airport scene and the trailer prove that shit started three years ago, when CXS and LG made a trip after graduation. If this chronology is correct, then blue probably symbolizes Lu Guang's innocence or happiness. Blue used to paint Lu Guang but now he only sees the world in black, white and red. In the birthday official arts, blue is associated with his character. His flower is freaking Forget-Me-Not; Myosotis.

So yes, that's why I think the color palette here is relevant to the time period we're going to explore in the Yingdu Chapter.

The couch itself is blue when we're so used to the pair sitting on a brick sofa. The cakes and the flowers are the usual shade of red, though.

On the table: red roses in a vase. Petals are all over the place. Ominous.

On the trolley: 1 bottle of wine, 2 CXS's feet, 3 glasses, 4 cakes, 5 individual desserts. The glass half full is Liu Xiao's, since it isn't on the trolley in the original artwork he is absent from. I said it in another post but the plate counts 4 portions, as in 4 antagonists, while the pudding might be Lu Guang's. The cakes are probably metaphors for timelines/curves, clocks dressed as desserts with a red fruit representing a dead Cheng Xiaoshi. V and VI are the only missing parts, just like Qiao Ling's one. CXS put his feet on the trail and I think it's both funny and tragic. I believe the correct saying is "put his foot in his mouth" but in french we say "mettre les pieds dans le plat", which literally translates "to put his feet in the plate" (to say something brutal with no tact or to do something stupid without thinking it through). He has both feet nearing timeline cakes and his head is five inches away from doomed flowers.

On the floor: 1 vintage phone. 1 camera. 2 envelopes, 3 pages of letters. 4 polaroids. Probably: 2 magazines and 3 pages of newspapers. The vintage phone could be relevant to THE TIDES, era-wise. The camera is taking polaroids and two of them are still dark, meaning they just took a shot and are yet to be revealed. The rest must be related to this chapter's plot. So much for holidays, guys (are they investigating CXS' missing parents?)

If you look closely, you'll see four different mentions of time:

Lu Guang's watch (hold this thought)

The polaroid: Big Ben

What looks like newspapers

The hourglass

We also have four mentions of information/communication

Letters

The polaroid: a public telephone box

Newspapers/magazines

Vintage phone (I was wondering why the phone had twelve numbers but after some research, I realized that some of them had # and *)

On another note, I don't know if their hands--

I mean, there's something definitely happening here but let's say for the sake of my sanity that what is supposed to be noticed are the sunglasses. If I'm being honest, this is the real oddity here and the teaser weirdly showed them off?? They're standing out because everything else is so blue for one thing.

They're pink-ish, which is close enough to magenta, so one of Lu Guang's colors (cf. Dive Back In Time). The color itself is weird for sunglasses. Lu Guang doesn't care about fashion, he wants practical. As a girl who loves pink sunglasses, I'll tell you: pink is shit at doing sunglasses' job. CXS told him to wear a cat hat, okay, but did he choose every other accessory?? My guess is that the pink served a purpose in connection with light.

And why is Lu Guang's watch on the other wrist in the artwork? I checked and LG wears it on his right wrist in the donghua and manhua. It can be the opposite for some artworks though... Or blocked from view for some reasons. It's almost as if we're not supposed to know which side is the actual reflection. 👀

Something else is reversed here, actually: the colors AND the pocket of Lu Guang's shirt. It could be a mistake, though.

>>>>> Basically, I think the artwork is telling us that the Yingdu Chapter is going to hurt and make us cry. If we're indeed about to see Lu Guang lose his humanity to try and save Cheng Xiaoshi for the first time therefore destroying worlds, I have no doubt it would be after Infinite Sadness™.

The real question this teaser isn't answering is either we'll go through the original timeline or a rewind. The last episode of season 2 makes me frown. How to be sure that the Lu Guang who dives exists before and not after the events we see unfold for two seasons? Is Yingdu Chapter a flash black or an actual dive itself? Lu Guang seems to be determinate and in a bad mood in the PV after all, could directly happen after one of CXS's deaths.

EDIT: someone mentioned that LG wears his watch on the left wrist when we get images of CXS getting stabbed. (It hurts right here in my meow meow)

[writingoddess1125]

Still Sexy?

Buggy x FemReader

⚠️ Warnings: ⚠️ Body Issues, Talk of Traumatic Birth, Sexual Themes.

Fluff at the end!

Click here to a magical place <-

Old Man Series <-

• You felt like a total dumpster fire- Staring at yourself in the mirror and looking over the 'damage' that had been done.

• And worse of all- You'd tore really badly while giving birth to your daughters and had to be stitched back up.

• It had been a rather traumatic experience for you.

• Being incredibly greatful for Buggy and your boys who helped so much after the birth since you weren't exactly up for the task quite yet.

• However that didnt mean things were great however. The quack doctor back at the village had decided to leave a lasting mark since he had stitched you a bit excessively..

• So you felt different inside and out-

• You and your family had gone back out to sea after 2 months- Deciding it was best to go back out. Now hitting the 5 month mark since your twin daughters births.

• You'd spent the time trying to be a good mom- Getting up for feeding, helping the boys and even pitching in with Buggy to help him get back into the swing of his pirating career.

• However you and him hadn't been Intimate.. at all.

• Mainly due to the fear he found you revolting in some aspect-

• So you slept in the baggiest pajamas, a pillow to your back or bust to keep yourself covered and whatever tactic you could to keep Buggy from even catching a glimpse of you-

• You hadn't really noticed but- buggy was getting fed up on not being able to see you. So he set his new flashy plan into motion.

• You had just gotten back from a bath, deciding to head down to the bedroom to get fresh clothes from the girls since you knew they probably needed to be changed soon. However stumbled on a rather interesting sight-

• Buggy laid on the bed, dressed the the nines facing you. The smell of apples in the air with the room done up just how you liked it.

• "Why (Y/N)~ I see you've caught me here. Alone~" Buggy said, you noticing the bottles of your favorite wine and alcohol laid out.

• "Well yeah we share this room Bugs- Whats with the new costume?-" You point out, very clearly able to tell even in the candle lit room.

• "Oh just wanted to try out something flashy. You like?" You nodded, It was a nice looking costume.

• He stood up and showed you the outfit in all its glory-

• It reminded you of a bird trying to do a mating dance by showing off its feathers and flashy colors-

• "Its lovely- I actually just came down here to grab clothes for the girls and get them changed"

• "I have Cabaji watching the kids with Alvida they have all beed fed and in fresh clothes-" Buggy said calmly.

• "Oh well I can go get the two of us di-"

• "I brought us dinner-" He said quickly pulling up a full cart of your favorite foods there.

• A bubbling of anxiety hitting your chest at this, worried now over why he was doing this all-

• "Welllll if there is nothing here for me to help with then I'll just head back up to the deck and we can go over your map-"

• "FOR FUCKS SAKE (Y/N) I WANT TO SLEEP WITH YOU!-" He blurted out.

• His face turning as red as your owns as there was a moment of silence in the room. The feeling of total confusion hitting your nervous system.

• "You.. Want to sleep with me?-" You questioned, Buggy nodding his head quickly.

• "But why? I look like this-" You gesture to yourself, still in the way to baggy clothes and soap scent hanging over you from your bath.

• "Like A Goddess herself? Fuck yeah I want to! I've been taking cold showers for months! I even put my dick in a box so I didn't walk around full tenting all day or poking you at night!" He admitted red in the face.

• "You put your dick in a box?-"

• "That's besides the point! I've wanted you for months now. Youre just so sexy to me in every way- I just wanted to give you space to heal up.. I know the birth has been hard on you and all.." He rubbed the back of his neck as he stepped closer to you.

• You felt tears welling up at his sincerity as he got closer to you wrapping his arms around your waist.

• "I just- I feel so damn ugly! My body feels like a foreign land- The weight, the stretch marks, my boobs! It is all so different from before and I don't know how to handle it- I-I didn't want you to be disgusted by me" You admit as tears ran down your cheeks and Buggys gloved hands started to wipe them away frantically.

• "What? No No- I'd never thing that! Your beautiful and- Honestly I was just worried you weren't interested either.. I mean I have but on a bit of Dad weight myself but I don't think you look bad, You've had 4 fucking kids!"

• You couldn't disagree honestly- Maybe you were a bit hard on yourself. You did push out 4 kids.. that and you hadn't even noticed Buggy had put on weight either!

• "And well- If you feel that way about your body.. Why don't we explore it together? I'm a great navigator afterall" He joked lightly, carressing yojr cheek- wanting you to smile desperately

• This managing to pull a giggle from you, Buggy smiling at this as he cuddled you close.

• You leaning into his touch with a happy sigh, while you still felt anxious.. it was better? Like you had someone there to battle it with you..

• You Weren't Alone

• "Well, Why don't we take it slow like before?- Till we both know how to go about it?" You said shyly, Blushing at just how excited he was at this as he nodded.

• "Of course Doll, we can take it as slow or fast as you need it. You're my wife afterall so you control" He says with a Goofy grin as he leaned you towards the bed and going in for a kiss.

• "When did I get upgraded to wife?"

• "....Did I never propose?-" He said confused blinking at you confused. You chuckling and shaking your head no-

• "FOR FUCK SAKES-!" He yelled, his hands floating away to his vanity as it rapidly digs through it and floats back to you quickly.

• He quickly took your hand and slid the simple ring on your finger.

• You remembered this ring- He had once showed it to the boys. It was the first piece of treasure he'd ever gotten as a Pirate Appreciate, gifted to him by his Captian Gol D Roger's.

• "There- Now you're my wife"

• You stared at your hand and the ring on your finger, before giggling at this. Nodding as you kissed his cheeks, a flush of feeling hitting your chest.

• "Yes then- Let's fuck as Husband and Wife then~" You say Leaning into his excited touch.

• "HELL YEAH!!" He said with a crazed laugh. You only able to give a squealing laugh as Buggy tackled you onto the bed with a gleeful laugh.

Bonus-

Cabaji was in hell- He was holding Ari who was making it her mission to grab his hair to pull on it. Bee and Dee who were running around in their newly built bedroom on the other wing of the ship and he had to keep them from pushing each other off their respective bunk beds.

"Don't pull your brothers hair!" Cabaji yelled, Dee letting go of Bee who fell face first on the ground. Bee pausing for a moment as he heard tapping that seemed to echo down the hall-

"Why does it sound like someone is knocking?" Bee asked, Cabaji flinching at his words as did Alvida who tried to hold back a laugh while rocking Ali.

"Don't worry about it kid-" Cabaji said softly as he turned up the Record player that was playing a lullaby to hopefully get the kids to wind down. The man gave a heavy sigh to keep the sound of what he assumed what your and Buggys rekindling relationship at bay.

[globalrebrand]

The Marriage of Music and Alchemy: Chapter One

Crewel is out of control with the whip cracking and Ace is fed up. He won't deal with tyrants on two fronts, but thankfully he doesn't have to. Ace and the Prefect have noticed how Crewel is looking at the new musicology Professor, and between the two them they definitely have what it takes to get their teachers together, and maybe grow closer with each other.

Too bad Crewel's a bit more emotionally constipated than Ace or Yuu could have anticipated, and unfortunately their dear homeroom Professor isn't the only suitor after the music Professor's heart!

Warnings: None!

A/N: Posting from AO3.

~ You start a new job and Ace hatches a plan. | 2.3K Words

Chapter I | Chapter II

“Have you ever wondered where Crewel gets the money to dress so nice?” Ace whispers to Deuce, doing anything to avoid actually paying attention to the orientation lecture the Professor is giving at the lectern in front of the fresh cohort of first-year students. Ace fully recognizes he probably should listen and that Crewel isn’t just rambling for the sake of it. Instead of boring everyone to tears with one several-hour-long presentation about the rules, the staff seemed to think it was best to break up the deluge of information by doing it bit by bit every day of the first week during homeroom period. 

But it seems all the faculty’s efforts were for naught because, by SEVEN, this is dull. Ace can’t help but let his mind wander to anything besides the endless tedium spilling from his Professor’s mouth. So he poses the question to his peers, hoping Deuce and the Prefect can provide suitable entertainment on this uninspiring morning. He’s not really concerned with Grim's stances on the matter, not that he could actually probe him for answers anyway. The little beast is already dozing off on the Prefect’s lap.  

Despite his best effort to remain attentive, Deuce lets himself ponder Ace’s question, a slight frown twisting his lips as he considers his friend’s inquiry. He really can’t say he’s wondered about Professor Crewel’s wealth much. Sure, their homeroom teacher is always dressed impeccably, but it's not something he really considers as that exceptional. All of the teachers he’s been introduced to dress quite well, as far as he can tell. If anything, Professor Crewel’s attire might be the most distinctive for someone in his position, but then again, Deuce has never had an eye for luxury.  

Even today, he looks rather dashing. The summer’s sweltering shroud of humidity still lingers over Sage Isle, and their Professor is dressed for the weather. Today, his outfit is simple enough: a black linen suit and a burgundy silken short-sleeved top with a complimentary cotton square in his breast pocket and a gold watch on his left wrist. Deuce definitely thinks that Crewel looks cool and all and  he supposes everything the Professor wears seems like it's high quality, but it's nothing too crazy, right?

“Is his clothing really that flashy?” Deuce asked, clearly having deliberated on the nature of his professor's dress for quite a bit before speaking up. 

“Don’t let him distract you,” the Prefect admonishes in a terse whisper. Their hands are dutifully clasped on the desk, and their posture is straight as they do everything in their power to look attentive and alert to counteract the audacity of the chubby little beastie currently snoozing blissfully in their lap. 

Yet, alas, it is too late. Deuce has already bitten the hook and is now being steadily lured in. 

“Are you kidding? Look at his watch.” Deuce and the Prefect, despite their best interests, take a glance at Crewel's wrist. The silver and gold band is nicely on display as he reads out the rules and expectations off of a sheet of paper held upright between his thumb and palm. Even from their spots toward the back of the classroom, the watch dazzles brilliantly.  The Prefect can’t make out any details but the watch is certainly flashy enough to be reasonably expensive.   

“When my brother got his first job out of school, he bought one from the same brand, but Crewel’s is wayyyyy nicer. The gold face alone makes it probably two or three times more expensive.”

“How much did your brother’s cost?” Deuce inquires.    

“Five hundred thousand thurmarks at least .” Ace replied emphatically. 

"That means Crewel’s is…”

“At most 1.5 million thurmarks,” The Prefect chimes in, saving Deuce from doing any mental math.

Deuce's eyes widen in disbelief, but he keeps a hushed tone. “No way! That much?”

Despite their initial contribution, the Prefect pouts. They needed to play devil's advocate to get the boys to focus back on Crewel’s instruction and stop distracting them  each other. “Nice watches are often gifts. That doesn’t mean Professor Crewel is exceptionally rich or anything.”

“Well, then look at the logo on his shirt. It's from-” Ace begins before promptly being cut off. 

“Heartslabyul puppy in the back, cease your yapping. I know the semester is young, but I fail to believe Rosehearts hasn’t trained you properly.” Crewel scolds, his voice bright and sharp. Loud and pointed enough to successfully startle Grim awake. 

“It’s hardly the third day of-” Crewel begins rounding on the trio of disobedient curs who can’t keep quiet, but before he can fully settle into his tirade, someone gently knocks on the door, twisting the knob and slowly prying the door open.

The students can already tell whoever it is will hear an earful based on the way their Professor tenses and casts a glare to the door, but then it is only you, the newly hired Professor of Musicology, and Crewel’s posture noticeably shifts from hostile to something much more neutral and arguably inviting. The Prefect watches as Ace’s head snaps between the Crewel and the woman, clearly riveted by Professor Crewel’s newly changed attitude. 

“Oh, it's the new music teacher,” Deuce informs the group in case anyone is struggling to place her face, but Ace, with a twinge of annoyance, replies, “ Obviously .” 

Yours was a face he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. 

When Crowley introduced you along with other new faculty members it left much of the student body pleasantly surprised and rather eager to take music lessons. Apparently, according to Cater, you were certainly leagues above the former, cantankerous old music director in every way. At least aesthetically. 

Everyone knew you were a globally accomplished classical musician. Crowley was more than happy to boast about the details of your accomplishments, not that any of them would recognize you by anything other than name if that. However, they hadn’t expected you to look like you did, which was to say, like a smartly dressed and rather comely young woman. 

Ace remembers how several of the boys in his dorm wouldn’t stop raving about your looks, but it seems that Professor Crewel wasn’t immune to your charms either. 

Almost immediately after casting his eyes upon you, all of the anger on Crewel’s face vanished, a slight and (possibly?) warm grin appearing instead. 

“Good morning, Professor Bellamy. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Crewel rose from where he leaned against his lectern to stand at his full height. 

Ace and Deuce could hardly stop their jaws from dropping at their homeroom Professor’s change in demeanor as you stepped into the room.  

“I sincerely apologize for interrupting,” You speak softly, closing the door slightly behind you. “but it appears I’ve accidentally taken your roster.” Your heels clicked across the inlaid hardwood floors as you quickly stepped towards the front of the classroom, the papers in question stretched before you. 

Crewel walks to meet you mid-way down the aisle in two confident strides, something you clearly didn’t anticipate as you were forced to stop short with a bit too much speed, almost colliding with him in the process, but Crewel without skipping a beat caught your shoulders gently to steady you, and your palm inadvertently came up to his chest to further stabilize you. The prefect is pretty sure they heard a Pomefiore student squeal with delight at the interaction.     

It’s plain to see that you want to be mortified by your slight lapse in (as far as the Prefect can tell) preternatural grace, but Crewel doesn’t let you. He tilts his head in a gesture of concern as if to wordlessly ask, ‘Are you ok?.’ 

And Ace has to hand it to the Professor. It was pretty smooth of him to ask if you’re okay after his actions threw you off course. 

You were too rattled to respond properly, so you just pushed the mixed-up roster in your other hand to Crewel’s chest and looked away from his eyes, which, throughout the entire exchange, had been trained on your face.  

“Hmm. It appears you have.” Crewel responds looking down at the papers in question.

“Then this must be yours.” he then furnishes the list stashed among his papers with an elegant flourish.

“Ah, it is, thank you.” You take the papers and seemingly recover from your earlier flustered state. You turn to the class, “Pardon my intrusion, dear ones, for those of you enrolled in music courses,  I look forward to meeting you all later this afternoon.”

“Good day, Professor Crewel.” You nod your head deferentially in Crewel’s direction, and he nods with a coy expression.

“Professor.” He demures you, and you turn to leave the room. But Ace can’t help but look back to Crewel, who doesn’t bother to take his eyes off you until you’ve fully retreated from the room. 

As if by magic, Crewel returns to reviewing orientation materials, forgetting entirely about the tirade he was about to unleash and Ace and his unwilling compatriots. His prior annoyance seemingly cleansed from his body at your impromptu visit. 

“Did you see that?” Even the Prefect seems stunned by what they'd just witnessed. 

“No?” Deuce replies, “What was I supposed to see?”

“Deuce, if you didn’t see it just now, you never will.” The Prefect sighs exasperatedly. 

“How interesting…,” Ace mutters quietly, filing away the encounter away for later. 

____

The semester started off busy, but you felt that you had a better handle on things than expected. 

It was your first time teaching, really, and now you had six sections of 'boys' choir and orchestra classes and a host of private tutoring sessions after school. Not to mention, you’d signed yourself up for a host of faculty duties, from assisting the students with planning the cultural fair and facilitating a host of events with the broader community. You also thought it would be good to foster a stronger connection between Night Raven College and the Royal Sword Academy, but baby steps, baby steps.  

The training the head mage offered was minimal, but despite everything, a month in, you’ve been able to keep your head above water. 

Your students, for the most part, behaved. The first years were a little rowdy, and the second years were promising but conceited and overconfident in their abilities. However, many of the third years were quite excellent musicians and singers. You’d been quite surprised at their level of talent, but you supposed Night Raven College rears exceptional mages and musicians, and you’re going to make sure that the reputation continues to blossom. Sure, the student's inclinations are a bit devious at times, but you have sympathy as you’ve been known to have a bit of a naughty streak yourself. 

Like most mornings, your homeroom is in perfect harmony. Your first years are quite well-behaved. It seems like the mix of students from each of the houses is rather well distributed, but your homeroom students seem to skew towards Pomefiore, Diasomnia, and Scarabia students. Of course, with meaningful exceptions. 

You and Jack, a first-year student from Savanaclaw, quickly bonded over the variety of plants you kept in the music room. Without prompting, Jack took it upon himself to tend to them, showing particular affection to the various cacti sitting by sunny windows. 

At NRC, you were gifted quite a lovely little music room—well, not tiny by any means. It was storied and grand, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the sea, beautiful inlaid wooden floors, and equally elegant built-in risers with delicately curving chairs and iron music stands. And the piece de resistance, a gorgeous grand piano in a deep mahogany wood tone. Everything about the room was sumptuous. Even the domed ceiling provided the most indulgent and heady acoustics. 

Your homeroom was a much more standard classroom, joined to the music room via a small corridor with a small private bathroom. It truly could not be a more perfect setup. 

While you suppose that you should sit in your classroom for the morning advisory period, you and the boys found yourselves spending most mornings sunning in the music room as you gently plucked away at the piano. Everyone was in agreement that this was a much more preferable way to spend these quaint 30 minutes at the top of the day.

Some chatted amongst themselves while others stayed in the classroom to finish assignments. 

Occasionally, students from other classrooms would sneak in to enjoy the peaceful atmosphere you created, and you didn’t mind much as long as they didn’t cause any disturbances. As such, the Prefect from the Ramshackle dorm often found their way into your room, perched near your piano bench and usually venting about the Headmage and the crazy errands he’s been sending them on. You listen attentively and conspire the best way to help them be slightly more comfortable, but you fear that there’s little you can do as a junior faculty member. 

Still, you endeavored to try. 

_________

The quarter was off to a chaotic start, and as far as Ace was concerned, a big part of it was due to Professor Crewel’s overbearing nature. 

It was bad enough to have Riddle as Housewarden, but having Crewel as his homeroom teacher as well meant Ace was never going to get a break. 

Both had far too many rules. Sure, Crewel’s weren’t as draconian or as extensive as Riddle’s, but the enforcement was just as severe.  No talking above a specific volume. No finishing work in class. No eating! And that’s just in homeroom. Alchemy class was a whole other problem! The first years weren’t even allowed to do any actual alchemical experiments, but Crewel was still a horrid stickler for lab safety, even if the boys were only memorizing elements, compounds and minerals.

Ace slumped into a seat next to Deuce and let out a dramatic sigh that Professor Crewel promptly shushed. 

Grim wondered in the room a few moments later, sans Prefect.

“Where’s your handler?” Ace questioned snidely. In a horrible mood now that he was lamenting that his first year at Night Raven College was going to be a shitshow for reasons beyond his control. His brother said as much. ‘Crewel as your homeroom teacher, oof, you’re fucked.’

“I know you mean my henchman, but I’ll let it slide for now,” Grim replied, clamoring onto his the Prefect’s  normal seat. 

Yeah, they haven't been around in the mornings for the past few days. At first, I assumed she was doing something for Crowley. 

“Me too. But this is week two of no Prefect.” Deuce seconds. “We always meet up later in the day, but still…” 

“Nah, they like to sit in the music teacher’s room,” Grim assuages the boys worries. “I used to get to go too, but I’ve been banned. For no reason!”

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly valid reason.” Deuce mumbles under his breath. 

“It’s way nicer in there, too, the music Professor is super chill. On Fridays, she even brings pastries for the class. Crewel should take a lesson.”

If Crewel were bothered by Grim openly bashing the atmosphere of his homeroom, he wouldn’t show it. He only flips to the next page in Gentleman’s Biannual , with his feet propped on his desk and a perfectly unamused expression across his features. 

“That’s it!” Ace exclaims, only to be met with another, more stern shush from their Professor. 

“No, I think I know how to get Crewel to ease up.” Ace whispers more quietly, but Crewel can obviously hear. While he isn’t giving the group his direct attention, Ace can see the curious arch of his perfectly manicured brow. 

“Crewel doesn’t need to, sometimes tough love is important.” Deuce tries to argue.

“I mean, sure, but you have to admit that sometimes his methods are overkill, like last Thursday.”

Deuce winces at the memory. 

 “So what’s the plan?” Deuce asks. 

“Grim, tell the Prefect to meet us at our dorm after class. They're our trojan horse, after all.”

“The tro- what?” Grim questions, entirely confused. 

“Oh my, seven, just fucking bring them!” Ace growls.

“Trappola! Watch your damn mouth.”

Series Masterlist

[pianocat939]

Mkay I’m bored and finished my assignment in Math so-

Pick-me/stupid pink plastic Leo

Tw: gaslighting, guilt-tripping, abuse of power

Basically Donnie’s opposite. In a way.

Unlike Donnie who prefers to be alone, Leo is all about having minions/a ginormous friend group that all wear and like the same thing.

“On Wednesdays we wear pink!”

Unlike Donnie, who just prefers to wear luxury clothes, Leo just likes to wear whatever’s popular or trendy.

Don’t mind his huge ass ice coffee that he carries around school, shaking the ice to get everyone to know he’s got ice coffee.

He’s pretty stupid in school. [for the sake of the stereotype] But he’s smart socially, so he gets a bunch of fellow minions/friends.

Leo will forget to do his homework because he was too busy buying weird random trendy stuff with his friends at the mall.

Enter middle reputation MC.

Leo is instantly all weird crushy blushy for MC. And starts being a little…annoying.

He was a pick-me before, but now it’s even worse.

He’s always trying to partner up with MC for any projects, and constantly asks if he’s “part of their friend group” (basically a replacement for being a part of the “boys” stereotype).

He’s wearing SUPER FLASHY clothes on some days of school. Like unnecessarily so. Like he could legit be wearing all hot pink or neon blue. And he’s whining to MC, begging for them to tell him he’s pretty.

He’s constantly doing a puppy face in front of MC, and using his “stupidity” to get MC to help with his homework.

He always ends up dragging them to hangout. Or go shopping. Or disturb Donnie on whatever he’s doing.

If MC doesn’t pay attention to Leo, or straight up ignores him, or tells him they don’t really see him as a friend…he’s gonna the biggest drama queen.

When they go to school the next day, a bunch of people will be glaring at them or calling them just bad names.

A lot of Leo’s friends call MC cruel for supposedly “rejecting Leo” after all he’s done for them.

MC finds out Leo told all his friends that MC rejected his confession and was really mean about it.

To the point MC has to literally be Leo’s lover in order for the mistreatment and bad reputation to stop. And honestly, people will pressure them to do so.

So in the end, they’re forced to be Leo’s lover until he says so…which will probably be forever.

.

.

.

People don’t like to say anything about it, but everyone knows that Leo and Donnie have a bad rivalry between each other despite being siblings.

They both hold different kinds of power in school, so it’s always a fight for it.

(This is so messy, but hey it works-)

- Celina

[verosikastrikerstellaexcuser]

It says a ton about Vivziepop’s writing that when watching the latest episodes I was both

1) rooting for the C.H.E.R.U.B.S to win because then it would shake up the status quo and actually make it so that their screentime was justified but knew it wouldn’t happen because she hates that

2) Fully prepared for Stolas to do his full demon mode at the moment where Blitz confronted him because all signs were pointing to that (the red and black colors, Blitz fighting back for once and out of Stolas’s version of him) and in a better show where he was still the villain signify a big turning point in their relationship

Yeah there are no stakes at all. And ykw? That actually worked in season 1. Hear me out, while there were some exceptions like Striker as a threat, in S1 in the first cherubs episode the stakes were really just whether they’d be able to do the job for their client or not. Or the stakes were things like the bet in spring broken. There were episodes with danger like with DHORKS but even then, the agents were played as idiots and the serious/“omg what’s gonna happen next” type of focus never really actually was on them. Rather it was on the character drama that was sprinkled between the whacky antics, and the character drama was the actual thing that held weight, how character relationships would change etc. HB has always been a dual character drama and whacky action/comedy that mixes in silly moments with serious. This can make the tone difficult and arguably it’s always had a tone problem, like with the bullying of Moxxie being both a joke and his insecurity being something that’s supposed to be taken seriously. But I would say it mostly worked in S1.

The character drama was usually mostly resolved by the episodes end like at the end of Harvest Moon, Moxxies relationship with Millie’s parents improved. Or the character drama was shown but was deliberately left unresolved or was only half addressed in an “acceptable” way because it was such a big thing that was being shown. Blitz’s feelings towards Stolas in the drug trip for example - that’s something that would take more than 1 episode to resolve. Same I would say with Loonas feelings towards Blitz being overbearing in S1, they were shown and semi addressed but still left open to future development.

The less extreme stakes if IMP lost combined with the character drama in S1 made the stakes actually feel higher. I think it’s because losing a job to the cherubs or a bet feels more believable while you know they wouldn’t just kill off a main character. Also, the spring broken bet was related to Blitz’s past with Verosika. It was related to the character drama.

But when the characters are fighting for their very lives… you know they’re not gonna die. The violence in the DHORKS S1 ep felt fun because it was basically just a cool montage designed to look flashy and show our faves being cool and violent. And the whole plot of the episode was that they got caught by demon hunters. You still knew that they probably wouldn’t die and nothing too serious would happen but it didn’t feel like the violence was actively in the way of the drama as much. It wasn’t supposed to be that serious in the first place so you watched it more as just something fun instead of being supposed to actually take it seriously as a threat.

I think Full Moon encapsulates a lot of the serious problems with HB S2 relating to all the above. We knew that there was going to be a huge drama at the end of the episode. So all the violence and antics that exist for comedy or the sake of fun violence become just a roadblock cluttering the eventual actual point of the episode. They become an annoyance. It’s a lot harder to enjoy comedy and action when it’s actively working against and is in the way of the shows other half instead of complimenting it. In S1 before going back to antics they managed to mostly clear up the drama or we understood it was on the back burner because it was so big/would be addressed slowly over time and therefore the comedy and action felt less like it was in the way. Or the action was the character drama more - like the Striker/Blitz talk in Harvest Moon about class and the assassination. I just think the interspersing of comedy/action and drama is so bad lately. The S1 Cherubs episode knew that it was going to focus heavily on antics and so it didn’t bother with character drama. And it was so much better off for it! While Full Moon drags us through DHORKS, Cherubs, so much clutter all at once and all of it impedes and gets in the way of the St*litz shit instead of complimenting it. Why not do an episode that just focuses on those 2 and save DHORKs and the cherubs for a full relaxed comedy episode? Why can’t we have only or mostly comedy episodes anymore?

The drama also felt more precious and meaningful when it was rare. You really got on the edge of your seat because it was a scarce thing you didn’t see often and reminded you these whacky assassins were still complex characters behind the comedy. Now, a lot of the time it feels like it repeats over and over. Moxxie’s constant repeated supposed arc of feeling underestimated is especially guilty of this.

Compare Full Moon to the Ozzie’s ep as well. I feel like that episode built up the eventual drama that was going to happen and given the serious heavy drama they were addressing, they made it the entire episode’s focus and as the first half of a season finale that was fitting. It felt more like the episodes knew what they wanted to be - it’s just too bad we never got a sequel episode that actually wrapped up Ozzies. Instead we went back to the St*litz status quo, and we were supposed to ignore all that drama and go back to focusing on antics. Not addressing that conflict was so god awful and is another example of how the drama clashes so badly with the other stuff in the show since S2.

HB right now, in order to be all about St*litz, is caught in this stupid thing of desperately trying to still be a whacky violent comedy at all yet the drama is more and more serious and the show becomes more and more about only the drama. So this means whenever the antics come on they’re getting in the way of the drama instead. And it means the other drama that was set up like Loonas issues have been flushed down the toilet -_- I’m so tired.

I’ve gone on so long omg anon sorry for an insanely long response I won’t say too much about your other point but you’re absolutely right. I’ve seen people saying that a better show would have made St*las an antagonist instead and honestly… I have to agree. That scene really shows you what could have been if he was allowed to be the antagonist he acts like imo.

[bunkoos-mole-enthusiast]

Weekly Jungkook Fanfic Recs

Some fine JK fics for your reading pleasure. 🔞 Please show your appreciation to all the wonderful authors :) Gravity Check: This really wasn’t what you’d had in mind when you’d agreed to spend a weekend in the arse end of nowhere.  You don’t even really know the bride that well, for Christ’s sake, but here you are stood amongst a group of her very best ‘gal pals’ with a poorly concealed look of horror on your face as the young woman in front bounces on the balls of her feet, petite frame brimming over with enthusiasm.  https://gimmesumsuga.tumblr.com/post/171775180603/gravity-check By It's Cover: The one where Jungkook makes a horrifically bad first impression. https://gimmesumsuga.tumblr.com/post/178121026378/by-its-cover-m Hand-On-Learning: You have - most inconveniently - become obsessed with your dissertation partner’s hands. In an effort to relieve some stress about it, you begin sending texts to your best friend detailing - explicitly - what you want those hands to do to you. Perhaps you should have checked the number a bit more carefully. https://ladyartemesia.tumblr.com/post/619327581330784256/hands-on-learning Once Upon A Bracelet: You were born to nothing, but your powerful craft caught the eye of a charming prince. However, his distinctly un-charming younger brother challenged your betrothal and is routinely challenging you. Jeon Jungkook is (probably) a former necromancer and (definitely) the wrong prince… But the bracelets tell a different story. https://ladyartemesia.tumblr.com/post/646287201408352256/once-upon-a-bracelet Freak-Quency: Rockstar au. https://gukslut.tumblr.com/post/190127844851/freak-quency-m-jjk Boots: Rockstar au. Established relationship. https://gukslut.tumblr.com/post/613752356101816320/this-is-a-companion-piece-to-freak-quency-but-can Koopid: The sight of his shit-eating grin leaves Namjoon with a prickle of hot frustration that hurts when the video rolls to an end, with no flashy end credits or promotion. Just a black screen with his own idiot reflection staring back at him. Pornstar au. https://gwoongi.tumblr.com/post/184496918409/%F0%9D%97%84%F0%9D%97%88%F0%9D%97%88%F0%9D%97%89%F0%9D%97%82%F0%9D%96%BD-jeongguk-ft-namjoon Lana: This position is particularly ambiguous; your face is almost gone, only slightly in frame, with the lens zoomed further into your ass and Jeongguk’s thighs, his ass there but moving as he leans for the lube across the bed. If he wanted, Jimin could pretend the figure beneath Jeongguk was a boy- could be him, if he wanted. He does not want. https://gwoongi.tumblr.com/post/184658542171/%F0%9D%97%85%F0%9D%96%BA%F0%9D%97%87%F0%9D%96%BA-jeongguk-ft-jimin The Art Of Revenge: Sometimes, getting even can be hot. https://archiveofourown.org/works/47776474 Crimson Park: Mafia au. https://heartbeatan.tumblr.com/post/188847613935/crimson-park-return-to-desperado-series-return-to