#i think there's a lot more that could be said but my brain is absolutely fried as usual
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Saw ur Toshiro post, and I absolutely agree that Toshiro's outburst will be a stepping stone for both um an Laios to grow and that the buildup was because Shuro didn't want to ruin situation he was still trying to figure out.
But the funniest thing is, afaik, Laios and Falin are *also Foreigners* for quite far away. Their country is simply Scandinavian/northern Europe themed. I don't think we see any long-lived races in their flash backs (baring the dead man buying a ring of elves?). And both Falin and Laois definitly are the equivalent of nobility/Local chiefs kids.
But instead of being send out with all their assistants and guards, Laios ran away and suffered in the army and then on his own in a caravan , and Falin was send to a Magial School full of other races and people.
They both had time to 'adjust' to the wider world (and still carry a bit of home-grown uh...prejudice (mountain people)). So when they met Shuro both of them were well used to meeting people not from their Country. Toshiro not being either from the tiny Island or the nearby lands simply didn't mesh with how they had adapted to behave.
Plus, obviously, Laios textual Autism. But I feel like Laios could totally have figured it out if he had met people from Shuros island before who would have told him, he does after all know how to behave around Dwarves and such, who also have quite diffrent culturual norms.
Sorry for the ramble xD Good Toshiro post!
Hi hi! I’m really glad you’re adding onto my silly brain thoughts hehe - I’m super happy to hear yours, especially since they make me think more! Warning this is going to be long, talking about dungeon meshi is just a lot of fun.
When I said foreigner, I should have clarified that that I meant he’s a stranger to the CULTURE. A good chunk of the people in the island are not native to it! But culturally, they have the social background to fit in. They didn’t all come from the same place, yes, but they grew up in European-esque cultures and interacted to some extent with other races. Even Kabru and Rin are not foreign to this type of culture because they grew up with Western/European socialization.
Gonna elaborate bc I think it’s fascinating: From what we know about the Eastern islands, the worldview is very very different. In the Adventurer’s Bible where Kabru talks to Hien, they talk about how the East defines “humans” as “tallmen”, and oni/ogres were the only “other”. In the post-canon snippet where Toshiro talks to Falin, he even refers to Eastern thinking as “backward” due to the lack of long-lived races. Because of his delayed exposure to other races, and because the worldview is far more different than the one the Toudens experienced, that’s where I make the statement that he had more to adjust to.
I’ll also note, the fact that the Toudens are subjectively more adjusted to seeing and accommodating other races makes Laios’ statement that Toshiro “had an odd appearance” an even more bizarre thing to say. And although we can assume Toshiro also has his biases, we don’t see them highlighted like other characters have had (to my knowledge). So it makes it seem like he was more thoughtful/careful towards other races from the get-go, despite his lack of knowledge. His main issues were always with other tallmen, just like Laios.
It’s good to point out that the Toudens are outcasts in their own right. Both of them went through a really hard time, and it changed them. Laios’ cycle of failures and giving up and being bullied are especially important to characterizing his relationship with his sister and his disinterest in humanity and lack of close friends. Falin at least had Marcille. Both Laios and Toshiro have reasons they’re inexperienced in friendship, but one of them stated it in the story and the other didn’t. There’s more misconception about Toshiro’s character than Laios’. So my post was to talk about that one a bit.
ALSO OOO I COMPLETELY FORGOT but I WAS going to mention how both the Toudens and Toshiro came from families of influence! Thank you for bringing it up! Laios and Toshiro diverge from that upbringing, while making Toshiro and Falin a little more similar. This goes into another whole thing where Laios and Toshiro parallel (and foils?) each other but that’s too long of a discussion. Just as long is how this divergence distinguishes the Touden siblings (too many people have said their only difference is gender..)
Lastly, yes, Laios does need more exposure to Eastern people and Eastern culture to get a grasp on it. He really wants to learn! It’s just that Shuro isn’t his encyclopedia and until he gets that chance, he will make ignorant takes. I can think of two more that will occur in the main narrative alone. (but like Toshiro said, Laios has no malicious intent, that’s what makes it all the more complicated)
While there’s good conversation to be had about the fight from a ND vs NT POV, I’ve seen SO much discussion about Toshiro possibly being read as autistic too, and neurodivergent individuals who can relate to his experience. Often it comes as an intersection between both being autistic and being a poc. I think it brings even more nuance to the narrative. Plus I’m just glad there’s people who can relate to him. He’s meant to be relatable! His problem with Laios is just as much a character flaw as it is human.
Hope this post was a thoughtful response to yours, I tried to tackle everything you mentioned! Thank you sm for the ask :D
Edit: for the sake of context, here’s the og post that’s being referred to!
#dungeon meshi#delicious in dungeon#askella#shuro#toshiro nakamoto#laios touden#touden siblings#character study
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i think ed and double dee have a special bond that we see some of in the show, but in my head of course it goes deeper. for example, i really like the scene in "to sir with ed" when ed is over at double dee's house late at night and they're just hangin out. it's one of my favorite little scenes because i feel like it gives a brief but interesting view into their friendship outside of the trio's dynamic.
we can pretty safely assume that ed's parents don't give a shit about him and frankly don't want to be around him, hence the removal of the basement staircase at least once. they're (mostly his mom) so blinded by their detestation for their son that they forgot they'd need to do laundry at some point. and you guys know what i think of dee's parents. they don't give a shit about him outside of how good or bad he makes them look.
i think the two really connect because of their lack of caring parents and for being kids who spend a lot of time alone, and are probably comfortable with/used to solitude, but crave the company of another person. i imagine that on a lot of summer nights when the boys are parting ways, eddy goes home and does whatever he does. but the other two go to edd's house to hang out until they're ready to go to bed. ed's parents wouldn't notice he's gone and edd's parents rarely come home before midnight.
their time together consists of science experiments where edd gets to teach his friend about things he thinks are cool. whether or not ed absorbs the knowledge is another story. they build models together, and watch gory horror movies while critiquing the practical effects. edd gets his hands on a taped surgical procedure and they watch between handfuls of popcorn. i think they'd also enjoy doing their own thing while in the same room; ed drawing while dee is studying or compulsively organizing, etc. i wonder if they ever make fun of eddy behind his back... 🤔
in the show, i see ed being somewhat of a protector of dee. he doesn't process a lot of the things dee says or does, but cares nonetheless and sometimes anticipates things that might upset his delicate friend. whereas with double dee, he takes on an almost parental/motherly role for ed. he tries to guide and teach him, but also wishes to keep his innocence intact as much as possible. he's also sensitive to his friend's feelings and reactions, though he might not really understand them. i could see him wanting to mentor ed in things like hygiene and other basic life skills that his parents neglected. he's not very successful in his efforts though.
ed and dee do, of course, get on each other's nerves for similar reasons. ed doesn't always want to learn about quantum mechanics and the clinical quality of dee's house creeps him out, in a bad way. a little filth would really liven up the place. double dee really wishes ed would take a shower - why, he'd even provide the hypoallergenic soap! he also struggles with ed's one track thinking and tendency to (unintentionally?) disrupt and destroy. one thing i find hilarious in the show is that most of the time when dee is frustrated with ed, he calls on eddy to handle it. there's something interesting about that, but i'm not fully prepared to delve into that right now lmao. maybe it's because double dee doesn't know how to get ed to change behavior barring physical force and he's not comfortable doing that (aside from the band-aid method). but eddy'll do it! i imagine ed's response to being upset with dee would be to utterly zone out and forget about it entirely in five minutes. but he might also purposely continue to piss him off for shits n giggles. he secretly wants to see double dee's "dark side" really badly.
anyway, those are just some thoughts and hcs i had the momentary mental energy to gather in one place. nothing revolutionary, but fun to share nonetheless. thanks for reading!
#i think there's a lot more that could be said but my brain is absolutely fried as usual#i remember back in my original run being so emotionally attached to ed and being suuuuuper normal about his dynamic w/ edd#ed edd n eddy#eene#text
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Uh-oh! Made the mistake of watching horror content while in a delicate mental state and now I can feel I'm going to be paranoid for a while! Oopsie daisy! Silly me! Ha ha 🤪
#mental health#neurodivergent#paranoia#undiagnosed mental illness#girl i wish i knew exactly what it was so i could work with my brain on this#basically sometimes - usually when I'm big stressy - and i watch anything even mildly creepy#i start to feel like I'm being stalked by a malicious entity and i think everyone wants to hurt me and i do s lot of dumb shit#in order to avoid people (danger) but also can't be alone (more danger) and it can't be dark (shadow people) etc etc#i asked my last therapist about this and they said it's not schizophrenia even though that's kinda what I've always felt like it could be?#shrink said no one who's 'that kind of crazy' is aware that they're crazy#which is kinda very ableist#but also. hi. I'm somewhat intelligent. i can absolutely tell the difference between how my brain and others' brains work#I've also talked about this enough times over the years to know that not everyone has visual hallucinations of shadows moving#and not everyone has auditory hallucinations of either someone screaming in fright or random static with the occasional pronounced voice#it's scary as shit and my only method of dealing with it is to logic my way out of it - which doesn't always work#there's only so much you can tell yourself you're not being watched you know?
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Soooooooooo guess who started crying in the doctor’s office bc she has to miss her labs tomorrow
#I have COVID apparently#despite testing negative twice before#they think it’s bc my first tests were too close to when symptoms started#but anyway I got told that I absolutely must stay in my room and not leave except for bathroom trips and like. emergencies.#and all I could think was ‘oh no I’m screwed I’m gonna have to miss so many classes’#told my roommates and they said ‘we cannot afford to get COVID. do not leave your room please’.#which. yeah. I also cannot afford to get COVID. and yet here we are.#my roommate brought up the food my mom got delivered for me so that’s nice#I’ll probably be full for a while and I got some juice so I could take my meds#which is nice bc I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning and I wasn’t hungry until like. noon today.#this does partially explain the intense brain fog yesterday#I spent hours just staring at the wall shivering trying to form a coherent thought#went to take a bath and almost fell asleep in it#and then had to crawl out because I was shaking too hard to stand up on the wet surface.#all of this to say#wear your masks and get your booster shots if at all possible#I was behind on my boosters and look at where we are now#Infected With The Plague#this is supposedly a mild variant and yet I feel like death#at least I can think better today. got more sleep anyway. been crying a lot tho. and coughing. and shivering.#Fuckign Miserable
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ok going back soon to the regularly scheduled posting. nothing changed it's just that the sun is up and i feel braver being a girlwreck so we're back to that not so sweet spot where i just don't care. just don't care. so what if i don't hand in anything or hand it in a week later and get a bad mark and have to apologize profusely and everyone's disappointed and they think i'll never amount to anything. what about it. what are they gonna do, kill me? better make it count. better make it hurt. because otherwise, well i do not care
#it's my armor it's the only useful thing my father taught me#i hate being a shell of a person though#but what can you do. in this environment. in this economy. i mean come on#so what if i never amount to anything. the world needs cashiers and janitors and maids. i can be that#i'd love to work with my hands‚ my brain is kind of killing me#getting in the way. i can't be someone with a diploma‚ i can't be like my mom for real#for real! but the other option is my dad and you know how i feel about that#my mom's miserable btw. you think i can take her path and not go absolutely insane? naw!!!!...#i do know that blue and pink collar jobs are not equal to ''not amounting to anything'' btw#that's just what certain people would say that means‚ in my case? like there's something people expect from me#and then i suck at it but i'm also like a delicate soft-shelled turtle or maybe a turtle without its shell at 20. seems like i wouldn't be#good at like‚ costumer service or manual labor. i feel like i'd crumble they say i'd crumble#but maybe i should just take that chance cause it's better and more fitting than whatever this is and eventually i'll be happy#i could still help people and be relatively comfortable without a degree.. i don't know why i act like i want this#well i do know but i've already said a lot of stupid personal shit and i don't even have time for this i'm wasting time right now#so.. whatever 🥴#kata.txt
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"you have general anxiety, you are deficient in several things, and you may also have autism" local doctor states to me. referral for assessment and cognitive ball therapy pending, however
#maggles ramblings#i didn't know which mix of the two 'c b t' acronyms to use so i made my own. no balls will be undergoing therapy in my health plan though#ANYWAY !! due to the anxiety bit she knew i disliked unplanned change. so asked me if my interests were kinda narrow#and I'm like. absolutely. there are specific games n shows i like and that's all my brain knows or cares about at any given time#and she asked how good i am at picking up social cues. and i wasn't sure abt that one but i know ive always been more of a social observer#in primary school especially i was like. 'must watch peer interactions so i can spot any traps that may lead to me being made fun of'#like i didn't get why it happened; i just tried to observe and avoid what i could#and i still feel like i don't always Understand most of my peers. my best friends have always been the ones who also weren't great socially#bc with them there was never any 'secretly judging you/not interested in what ur saying/can tell this conversation isn't natural for u'#kind of vibe. idk it's tough like i feel like i am Some level of good at social interaction but also feel like im just pretending to Get It#and there's just. certain people who match my vibe and won't think im strange or too passionate about the things i like. those r my friends#but yea anyway she said some of it could be the anxiety but it was just! a relief honestly. to know that Maybe there's a reason for#how I've been feeling a lot. for a lot of. life i guess#+ even if it's not that and it Is just All Anxiety; it'd still be a relief knowing precisely how it's impacted my mindset for things#but like also it'd make sense to me if it was both. bc i do indeed get v nervous about not knowing How to Do certain social situations#in new situations i often plan what im gonna say and write notes bc if i don't know what to say or do i get overwhelmed and cry easily#but YEA it was just. cool hearing that I'm not just Completely unfounded in my suspicions about that yknow#afterwards even my dad said he's thought of it as a possiblity for years and I'm like WHY DIDN'T U TELL MEEEE#but anyway. day is being had
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hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.
as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)
but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:
changing expectations
the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!
my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.
when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.
so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?
with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.
with that in mind:
#1: work slower
when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.
instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.
i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!
now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.
doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.
however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:
#2: switch projects
sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.
this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.
the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.
what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.
but it doesn't have to stop there.
#3: switch focus
maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?
let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:
what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today.
okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now.
alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily?
what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?
and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?
what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for?
what if i try sampling something obscure?
what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?
any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.
or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.
but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:
#4: learn something new
when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.
for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴☠️)
it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)
that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:
music theory and composition
music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang
mixing and production
dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix
general inspiration
nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!
(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)
of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:
#5: consume art you love
not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.
but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.
and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.
what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.
as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.
none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.
and finally,
#6: rest, and live your life
let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?
take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).
it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.
i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.
when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)
before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:
be kind to yourself.
being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.
i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.
i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.
thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.
with care,
bee 🐦
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Glad You’re Here
Oscar Piastri x insomniac!reader // Tangerine Pt. 1.5
Masterlist // Tangerine Part 1 // Part 1.5 // Part 2
It’s been raining where I live this week and I couldn’t get this version of Oscar and reader out of my head. So, here you go- a little companion blurb from Oscar’s POV.
Word Count: 1.1k
find my other fics here, including the original one for this blurb!
Warnings: none
Oscar loves sleep. He could sleep anywhere, could fall asleep at the drop of a hat. It’s been an issue, actually- he habitually snoozes through alarms and constantly naps when he should be doing more important things.
It’s been an adjustment, dating you, because of that. It’s not that you don’t like sleep, you just… can’t. Honestly, it breaks his heart, because while tumbling into his bed at the end of the day is a relief for him, for you, it’s the opposite.
He’s watched you get worked up with exhaustion to the point of tears far too many times. He wishes he could take it all away, that he could reach deep into your brain and press the magic button that would let you sleep. You’ve tried lots of things- chamomile tea, melatonin, warm baths, hot milk and honey, but nothing seems to help.
That is, until Brazil.
It’s the end of a triple header, which is exhausting in its own way. You’re dragging, have been for days. He can see it in your eyes when you give him the update before qualis, can see the way it pulls at the corners of your lips. He wants to wrap you up in a hug and hold you there until you get so bored you fall asleep- though that doesn’t work, either. But the two of you are in public, surrounded by coworkers, so he refrains.
Dark clouds roll in over the track and cut the session short, which is less than ideal. Oscar climbs out of his car, frowning when he notices you’re missing from your usual spot in the garage. It’s odd, but not impossible. You could be in the bathroom, could be in a meeting- he’s not sure.
When he’s made it through his debrief and you’re still not back- which is odd since you’re a part of his team- he starts to get worried. Finally, he asks, trying to sound casual about it. It’s not necessarily a secret that the two of you are dating- the important people know, important being your bosses. He leans towards one of your closer coworkers, asks them if they know where you are.
“Oh, she left, I think,” she says, and Oscar feels even more concerned. “She said she didn’t sleep well last night, I think she wasn’t feeling good.”
Oscar blinks, rubs his thumb against his knee under the table. It’s odd that you wouldn’t have texted him before you left. He wonders if you went to your hotel room or his, feels a stab in his chest at the thought of you all alone and not feeling well. Not sleeping well the night before is an understatement- he knows you didn’t sleep at all, actually. You’d stayed in his room and read a book, a little light to read by and his head in your lap.
Once they dismiss him to head to the hotel, he beelines for his driver room to gather his stuff. Lando’s trying to make small talk on the way there, and when Oscar opens the door he’s following behind him. Oscar stops in his tracks, though, and Lando bumps into him, opening his mouth to make a comment when Oscar raises his hand and shushes him.
You’re there, curled up on the massage bed, tightly wound. You’re asleep.
“Oh,” Lando whispers. “I’ll go.”
Oscar nods, closes the door, walks over carefully. Your lips are barely parted, lashes tangled together, arms curled protectively around yourself. He watched the soft rise and fall of your shoulders, absolutely entranced.
The thing is, Oscar doesn’t actually see you sleep very often. When it does happen, you usually fall asleep after him, and then you wake up before him.
All of the tense energy is gone from your body. Your hair has fallen into your face, a strand across your lips that moves with every breath you take. He’s pretty sure you’re wearing one of his hoodies. You look so soft, like you’ve melted into the massage table. He wants to curl himself around you, into you, keep you close and warm and safe.
He sends Lando a text, asks him to knock quietly when the car to the hotel is ready. Then he locks the door and crosses the room. He’s so careful when he climbs onto the makeshift bed with you. He takes it inch by inch until he’s got you under one arm, his chin on top of your head. He doesn’t dare pull you close like he’d really like to, afraid of waking you up-
“Osc?” You say, voice soft.
He curses himself out in his head. He shouldn’t have risked it, should’ve just let you sleep, should’ve known this would happen. You’re going to kill him, probably- the one time you fall asleep easily, and here he is, ruining it.
“Sorry, baby,” he says, sighing. “You looked so cozy, I just thought- I didn’t mean to wake you.”
In response, you wrap one of your arms around him and pull yourself into his chest. Your cold nose brushes his neck, lips against his collarbone. You yawn and turn your face so that your cheek is pressed to his chest.
“S’okay, m’glad you’re here.” you mumble. “The storm made me sleepy.”
The rain is still pelting the side of the garage, sending the sound through the room. Every so often, there’s the distant sound of thunder. He wonders if a sound machine would help you sleep, tucks it away into his brain to try later. Right now, he brushes his lips against the crown of your forehead and rubs your back.
He opens his mouth to say something again, but then he feels it- your grip on him loosens, and your soft, even breaths wash over his neck. He pulls his head back just slightly, finds your eyes closed and your lips parted once again. You’re adorable when you’re sleeping. The relaxed look on your face makes his heart clench in his chest. He keeps rubbing your back lightly, afraid that if he’s stops you’ll wake up again.
He’s not tired, but he stays anyways. He stays and watches you sleep, even if it’s mildly creepy, even if Lando will definitely make fun of him for it if he ever finds out. He doesn’t know how long your sleep will last, so he’ll cherish every second of it.
On the car ride back to the hotel, he buys a sound machine off of Amazon. You try it the next time you can’t sleep. It doesn’t work. He waits until then to tell you the truth.
He absolutely hates thunderstorms.
a/n: thank you for all the love on the original fic!!
taglist: @4-mula1
#oscar piastri oneshot#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri x you#f1 fic#formula one fluff#formula 1 fluff#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri blurb#tangerine!verse#< I have started the tag but no promises on more in this universe… guess we’ll see though?#honeywrites
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oscar w a feral!gf who fully believes that she could fight a kangaroo. idk, it's kind of a shit prompt but just a lil something
-🌠
don't know what the fuck this became but enjoy! thank you for requesting!🫶🏽
.
“You sure you’ve got her?”
“ I'll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’ve got—wait, baby, no—”
You burst into a fit of giggles as you felt Oscar’s arms wind around your waist, pulling you back into his chest before you could get far. You leaned back into his embrace, tilting your head back until you were practically looking up at him upside down—a sight that only made you giggle even more.
Your friend raised her brows, looking at Oscar with a doubtful look. “Are you absolutely sure?”
He gave her a tight-lipped smile as he held you up, but something in his chest eased a little at how concerned your friend was. It was reassuring, in some odd way. It was nice to know you had a good support group when he was half-way across the globe, wishing he was beside you.
“I can handle her,” he said, almost sounding amused when you let out a scoff.
“I don’t need help! I am so fine on my own,” you commented, attempting to step away from him to prove a point but the stumble in your legs had him clinging onto you. “I could, like, totally fight a kangaroo right now.”
Oscar pressed his lips together to bite back his smile. “A kangaroo?”
“Yeah,” you nodded confidently before gasping, looking at your boyfriend with wide eyes. “Oh my god, you’re basically a kangaroo.”
“Jesus, you drank a lot,” Oscar murmured as he waved your friend goodbye, watching her head back inside to the bar he had just driven to to pick you up before he began guiding you towards his car.
“I could fight you!” You said, sounding far too happy about the prospect of it. “I have a mean right hooker!”
“Hook,” he corrected with a fond smile. “Do you even know what that means?”
“Of course not,” you said before bursting into another fit of giggles, practically sinking back into his embrace and giving him your full body weight.
To his credit, Oscar hardly even faltered. Instead, his arms remained locked around you as he practically carried you towards the passenger seat of his car. He continued to let you ramble away, knowing that at some point you would tire yourself out and the sleepier side of your drunk self would come out.
“Do I annoy you?”
Oscar’s head snapped around to you so quickly, it was almost comical. Luckily, the car had been parked at a red light, but that didn’t stop the uncomfortable twist in his stomach when the question passed your lips.
“What?” He frowned as he watched you lazily blink at him, almost as though you were waiting for him to say yes. “Baby, I—” He paused, shaking his head. “No, of course not.”
“Okay,” you said, giving him a small smile. “I don’t think you’re annoying either.”
But the light-hearted teasing didn’t shift his attention away from the heavy question. “Why would you ever think you annoyed me?”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged, unable to fight the yawn leaving your lips as you leaned further back in your seat once the lights went green and Oscar began driving again. “Just heard some people mentioning something.”
Oscar frowned. “Who?”
But you just shrugged again.
And maybe somewhere in your drunk and fuzzy brain, you knew not only would it be embarrassing to say out loud, but also that Oscar would be upset by it. He didn’t get angry, not when it came to himself. He was fairly laid-back, he let things mostly wash over him before moving on with his life.
But when it came to the people he loved? When it came to you? It was a whole different story.
You knew that it would upset him that somebody upset you, that their words affected you enough to play on your insecurities and doubts. It would upset him to hear someone bashing you in such a cowardly way, mocking the way you acted and how loud your personality was. It would upset him to hear the way they thought you were too much for him, not good enough for him.
People like you weren’t right for people like Oscar.
“Baby,” he said in a soft voice after you had fallen quiet. He watched as you blinked, glancing around and seeming to realise you were now parked outside his place. “Look at me.”
You turned your head, your eyes meeting his and something eased in your chest.
He reached towards you, his hand engulfing your cheek as you leaned into his touch. He watched you for a moment before leaning over the console, pressing a soft and chaste kiss on your lips before he spoke. “I don’t know what happened but you could never annoy me.”
You blinked, your hand reaching out to hold his wrist like you were scared he would pull away. “Promise?”
“Promise,” he said with a nod before smiling at you, that full lip smile that made your heart stutter a little. “C’mon now, need to get my pretty girl ready for bed.”
You snorted, rolling your eyes even if the idea of your boyfriend doting over you warmed your heart. “M’tired,” you grumbled as you watched Oscar reach for the door. “Let’s just go to bed.”
“Nuh uh, gotta take your makeup off, baby,” he said with a shake of his head, smiling a little when you let out a whine. “I promise I’ll do all the work.”
Your smile brightened. “Have I mentioned that I love you?”
“Yeah, once or twice,” he grinned back at you. “I love you too.”
“Of course you do.”
Oscar sighed. “Had to ruin the moment, didn’t you?”
“Just pointing out the facts, my kangaroo boy.”
His nose scrunched up. “Please do not let that become a thing.”
You could only laugh in response.
.
#oscar piastri#formula one#f1#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri x y/n#oscar piastri fic#oscar piastri one shot#formula one x reader#formula one x you#formula one x y/n#formula one fic#formula one one shot#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 fic#f1 one shot
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My thoughts during “The Sign” [SPOILERS!!!!!]
ID in ALT
More thoughts under the cut
So I think most of us can agree that this is the best episode of Bluey so far. It was so emotional and satisfying in ways that are kinda new for Bluey. It answered so many questions while giving us a few new ones. I’ve been waiting for this episode for months and it did not disappoint in any way.
This is just a Chekov’s firing squad of an episode. As in a lot of stuff that was set up in earlier episodes all pay off in this episode. I kinda understand why people love soap operas now lol. I will say that this episode was a tad overwhelming for me in the best way possible. As in I had to pause and rewind every 30 seconds or so so I could emotionally process what was happening before moving forward (but that’s a me thing). There was just so much going on and I’m happy about that.
Now onto individual thoughts about specific things:
The callback to Baby Race (“you took your first steps in that house!”) really got to me because Baby Race was the first episode of Bluey that I watched and it immediately made me fall in love with it so it just got to me.
When Chilli said “Frisky and I came up here as teenagers to…um…think,” my mind started racing immediately with “what the FUCK happened at the Lookout?” “Who hurt Frisky and/or Chilli?” And I’m just so curious about what made Chilli say that line like that but we’ll probably never know what happened.
So yeah that scene at the end when the music was playing and Bandit ripped the sign out of the ground and Chilli tackled him to the ground ABSOLUTELY CHANGED my brain chemistry y’all. I can’t articulate my feelings any more than that.
I know some people were upset that Brandy ended up getting pregnant but I thought it was great for her! I’m happy for her! And I think that even though she got what she wanted in the end doesn’t negate the feelings she had about her infertility earlier. But I think we’re all wondering who the father is and I don’t know if the show really needs to answer that.
The whole message of “we’ll see” in terms of if something is good or bad is such a mature message that I never really thought of like that so I will be taking that philosophy forward in life. Congratulations Bluey, you managed to teach a 22-year-old childless person something new and insightful about life that I don’t think I’ve learned from another show.
I want to know more about what Bob was going through and feeling and why he went to India, but again, we’ll probably never know.
I just love how the wedding photos were beautiful but imperfect. Like of course we’re not perfect and nothing will ever be perfect but it’s beautiful and worth remembering anyway.
So many little jokes and moments were so funny in a mature way (I.e. “are we allowed to do that?” And Nana thinking there was about to be a baby announcement) were just so funny and memorable.
I think some people would say it’s a cop-out to end up not selling the house after building it up for 2 episodes but I don’t know, I think it works. I think Bluey and Bingo learned a valuable lesson and Bandit (and Chilli kinda) learned it’s not always about making their kids lives “perfect” in their eyes. Also I’m just personally glad they didn’t end up selling the house and I also kinda like that it wasn’t entirely their choice to keep it.
On a more serious note I think this episode has some interesting commentary on like gender roles and gender relations in straight relationships. In this episode Chilli and Frisky (both women) have to deal with their male significant others pressuring them to move with them far away from what they know and love. In the end they don’t end up moving and the men didn’t seem to have like malicious or selfish intent with it, they were just kinda basing their choices off their jobs instead of what’s best emotionally for their loved ones. But I think it’s interesting to have this conflict where gender is kinda brought up in a way (“because your husband is making you”). It kinda plays into the traditional idea of like men are the breadwinners and the family has to move with them regardless of what they actually want. And this episode kinda like deconstructs that and says “no, it’s not always about the job or money, it’s also sometimes about connections and emotional attachment.” And I’m not saying that you should never move or whatever, but really weigh your options. I just thought that it was interesting that this episode kinda touched on that.
So yeah that’s kinda the main thoughts I had on this episode if you made it this far thank you for reading my rambles and have a good one!
#Bluey#bluey the sign#meme#Bluey heeler#rad heeler#bandit heeler#chilli heeler#baby race#my ramblings#my rambles#frisky heeler#brandy cattle#spoilers#bluey the sign spoilers#bluey spoilers
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Oh my. My brain is full of ideas, but I can't write.
Spencer, but it's his first time showering with his gf? Either she casually invites him to join her, or maybe she's also a member of the BAU and was injured and needs some assistance?
AN: oh absolutely hun. I wasn’t sure if you wanted nsfw or fluff so I went with fluff for a safe option. Also I’m so sorry if this lowkey sucks. This is definitely my first rodeo with writing and I know it’s not perfect but I hope you kinda like it?
OK MORE RECENT AN: im sooooooooooooooooooooooo sorry this took so long. I don’t even have an excuse. And I’m so sorry because this is ASS. But I feel bad not giving you anything so here you go
Warnings: Fluff, swearing? , talk of nakedness and stuff idk
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Spencer had been extra protective of you ever since you got hurt. He didn’t want you to lift a single finger, even though you were perfectly capable. He made you food , carried your bags, hell- he even offered to carry you if your crutches got too annoying. All of this to say , he was willing to do anything to make you comfortable.
“Spence, I’m gonna take a shower.” You say with your back turned as you grab some pajamas out of the dresser drawer.
“What?” His voice was filled with concern, as it often was. When you turned around toward him he had the same amount of concern written on his face
“I have to shower Spencer, my hair is so dirty it looks wet.” You haven’t washed your hair in a few days, relying on dry shampoo and braided hair to get you by.
Spencer was thinking for a moment , you could tell by the way his brow furrowed slightly. He finally answers “Let me help you.”
You were slightly taken aback by his response. Spencer wasn’t usually confident enough to initiate or out right suggest anything intimate. And taking a shower together was definitely intimate. Not to say you were opposed to the idea though
“Are You Sure Spence? You do know I shower naked right?” Your tone was some what joking but also kind of not. Regardless you hear the little chuckle you love so much
“Yes I know. I dont want you to fall and get hurt any more than you already are. If you don’t want me to thats fine I just-“
You cut him off
“That would be really helpful, thank you.”
You see Spencer’s worry ease from his face and it’s replaced with a little curve of his lip
You give him a little smile before returning to grabbing your pajamas and walking to the bathroom. Spencer graciously follows you inside, locking the door behind him. When you turn to the counter , Spencer is quick to slip past you, turning on the shower for you.
“Do you take your showers warm or hot.” Spencer asks as if it’s so incredibly normal
“Uh hot I guess? It’s ok I can-“
He stops you when you begin to walk over
“Let me Take Care of you. Please.”
You sigh “you know I can do it myself.”
Spencer takes a step toward you, placing his hands on either side of your shoulders
“I know, but I don’t want to risk anything. You do so much for me and you deserve to be helped as well, especially when your injured. So please let me do this for you.” His voice is soft but you can tell how strongly he feels about this
“Ok, I’ll let you handle it.” I say
He smiles “can I take your clothes off?”
I Nod “You don’t have to ask.” You said that a lot, and it didn’t matter how many times you did. Spencer always asked
He grabbed the bottom of your shirt and you raised your arms. He pulls the shirt off your body and folds it before placing it on the counter. He does the same with your pants. Your standing only in your underwear now
“Do you want me to do the rest?” You ask
He shakes his head “turn around for me.”
You turn so your back is facing him and he unclasps your bra, sliding it down your arms until it hits the floor. He hooks a finger under your underwear on either side of you, pulling them down and helping you step out of them. He smiles when he meets your eyes again
“See something you like pretty boy?” You raise an eye brow in a teasing manner.
“Always.” He replies before walking you over to the shower. Holding his hand, you slowly take a step inside until your under the water. Once inside , Spencer takes a step back and sheds his clothes as well before joining you in the shower.
Spencer had ensured that you had a shower bench installed into the bathroom you shared when you moved in together. He said it was for safety reasons but, you still wondered if it might be for other things.
“Sit.” Spencer says, leading you to the bench.
When you sit down he detaches the shower head and wets your hair. When it’s what he considers wet enough, he lathers shampoo into his hands and begins to massage it into your scalp.
This man has very capable hands, many uses. And washing your hair just got added to the list of them. You close your eyes from a moment letting out a contended sigh
“Feel good sweetheart?” Spencer asks gently
“Mhm, definitely.” You reply, barely opening your eyes.
Spencer rinses out the shampoo and conditions your hair. He helps you wash off and when you finally stand , you wrap your arms around his neck. His hands lace around your waist
“Thank you Spencer, you’re an angel.” You say pressing little kisses to his jaw. You can see the blush creeping on Spencer’s face.
“You’re welcome, I’m always happy to help you.” He says peering down at you.
The two of you exit the shower. Wrapping towels around your selves and getting dressed- well Spencer refuses to let you dress your self so he helps you. He even blow drys your hair for you because he knows you don’t like going to bed with it wet.
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You lay in bed on your side facing him as he looks back at you. You reach out and brush a strand of his hair out of his eyes.
“You should stay home tomorrow.” Spencer says breaking the silence.
“Absolutely not. I’m perfectly capable of going into work. Plus Hotch would have my head if I didn’t go.” You say and Spencer sighs
“I don’t like the idea of you out on the field” he says once again with concern
“You’ll be with me. I’ll be fine.”
He sits up “I don’t want you to be fine I want you to be healthy.”
You sit up and scoot close to him “Spencer I’m going to work. If it makes you feel better I’ll stay back with Penelope and help her.”
Spencer relaxes a little “yea. Ok that makes me feel better. But don’t go doing anything stupid. That means no trying to entertain Penelope with” Spencer throws up air quotes “crutch tricks”
You groan and lay back down “whatever you say.”
You can hear Spencer’s little laugh as he turns off the lamp.
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#criminal minds#aaron hotchner#x reader#fluff#i can’t write#idk how to tag this#foryou#dr spencer reid#writing prompt#request#white guys
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Alastor x reader
Alastor reacting to someone threatening reader.
Requested by: @legendofluck
You had been working at the hotel for quite a while now. Everyone at the hotel enjoyed your presence, as you were an absolute sweetheart.
Alastor, especially, had a soft spot for you. You died near the same time as him. You would often dance with him while listening to jazz and gossip and slander Vox and his insecure whiny bitch boys.
You didn’t have any specific job so you just did what was required around the hotel. Right now, you were checking some guests into the room.
You had just checked the last guest into the last vacant room. It was late and everyone was in bed. You often took the night shift even though you hardly got any customers. You sat by the counter idly, humming to some jazz while reading through a magazine when another dinner walked in. Your eyes darted up and you quickly sat up.
“Hello sir! Welcome to the Hazbin hotel, how may I help you?” You asked with a gentle smile.
The man sinner glared at you and stumbled through the door, clearly intoxicated. He was a big burly boar demon with large tusks, sharp yellow eyes, and a long snout. He glared at you, a dark glint on his face. Everything about him screamed "caution" like a label on a pack of cigarettes.
You shifted uncomfortably as he trudged closer.
"S-sir...? Would you like to make a reservation..?" Your voice wavered, flinching as he slammed his fist down on the counter.
"Listen here you l-hic-little whore...You better get me a room or I-hic-I'll bash your head into the counter.." He slurred while grabbing your wrist with a vice grip.
You winced in pain and let out a small hiss. Your eyes watered at the retched smell of whiskey and cigars on his breath.
You looked at the man in fear
"I'm afraid that there aren't any rooms ava-" Before you could finish your sentence, you felt a hand grip your hair sharply and you bit back a yelp.
"I said...Get. Me. A. ROOM! Or I'll bash your pretty little head in and watch as your brains cover the walls..."
You nodded weakly, your whole body trembling as hot tears started to spill. You grabbed the phone and dialed in a room number.
"J-just a moment...sir.." You whispered, calling Alastor's room number, praying that he'd be awake.
Ring ring
Silence
Ring ring
Silence
Ring ring
"Unfortunately, room ### is unavailable, please leave a message at the tone."
Your stomach dropped as you frantically tried to think of a way out of this situation. You felt the hand in your hair tighten and suddenly yank your head back. A scream escaped your lips and then a sharp stinging pain shot through you as the sinner slapped you across the face.
"SHUT UP YOU STUPID BI-" He was cut off when a long dark tendril impaled him through his fat beer belly. Blood splattered into your eyes and you were disoriented. You rubbed the blood from your eyes when suddenly you heard a familiar voice.
"Was he bothering you, my dear?"
You stared at Alastor, stunned, before the whole weight of the situation came crashing down on you like an avalanche. You broke down into sobs and crumpled to the floor.
You shook with terror, your vision swimming with hot tears when something unexpected happened.
Alastor hugged you.
The Radio Demon, Alastor, hugged you.
You buried your face into his shoulder as his claws scratched your back gently.
"There there, he's gone now, your safe..." He cooed while picking you up. "I'll go ask Husker to take over the shift. You need some rest and that bruise on your cheek needs some attention."
You nodded weakly, your eyes red and puffy as your sobs simmered down to whimpers and hiccups. As Alastor walked into his room, he set you down on the bed.
"You stay here, darling. I'll be back momentarily."
And with that he melts away into the shadows. You stare at the ground with a detached look in your eyes. When he returns, his smile is a lot smaller and more strained. He gently raises your chin with two fingers and places an ice pack on your bruised cheek.
"Don't cry, cher" He says while whipping your tears with the pad of his thumb. He slowly takes off your shoes and lays you down into bed with you.
"I will...stay with you for tonight, if it makes you feel safer. It wouldn't be very kind of me to just leave you in such a state." He said while pulling you into his arms. You nuzzled closer into his warm embrace and snaked your arms around his thin waist.
"Goodnight mon cheri"
#Hazbin hotel#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel fluff#hazbin#radio demon#hazbin hotel x reader#x reader#requested#alastor x you#comfort#TW#hazbin hotel fandom#fanfic#self insert
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I asked a few of my favorite hazbin writers this and only one answered and it was ok but I felt like it could have been expanded on so here's my take
Vox, Val, Alastor, and Lucifer react to your love language being baking/cooking
Vox
(Starting with him because he's the one thaf inspired this).
Vox came from the 50s and even though I firmly believe he is past all the ingrained gender roles and homophobia I think he still has some internalized misogyny. He wants to be viewed as the man in the relationship, the breadwinner, the provider. He can cook for himself but it's pretty basic food (except steak. Like every other man since the invention of the grill how to bbq has been hardwired into his brain. If his partner also grills ya'll fight over whose turn to cook out it is)
(Unrelated but as a lesbian who loves to grill, and is the designated grill bro, butch lesbians or cookout lesbians are some of Vox's favorite type of gays to chill with)
I firmly believe that's why even though he's a sub, it's so hard and would take time and trust to get him to let you top and enjoy it. He's so worried people will find out and judge him, that you'll judge him. His ego can be very fragile.
Especially if we go with the Vox used to be a cult leader theory. His power, image, and success are linked to his ability to appear in control. To appear to have all the answers and take responsibility. It's going to take a lot of time and patience to unravel all that and help him seperate his personal and professional image.
That being said, a partner who uses acts of service as a love language is perfect for him. He's a busy man, so he tends to be a gift giver type. The gifts are always well thought out and expensive. He wants it to be something you need, want, can get a lot of enjoyment from, and be worth the money spent, so he puts time and effort into them. Unless he's just showing off by giving you his card and telling you to go nuts.
So you taking time to make his coffee for him the way he likes, ordering lunch from his favorite places and having it sent to his office so he remembers to eat, or just texting him reminders to drink water or eat/take breaks throughout the day makes him giddy.
If you're his assistant or something, (and I believe Vox absolutely would have his partner working for him/with him), then it's even better when you take on extra work to try and help him. Organizing his schedule, sorting emails/mail, and proofreading things. Any small act you do for him, because you want to and care about him, makes his heart rate pick up.
It'll really make him overheat, glitching slightly, literal heart eyes, if he comes home after a shitty day and you're cooking for him.
His internal monologue is absolutely raving about what a good housewife you are for him, a hard working husband.
Bonus points if you cleaned too! Either way, he adores you even more now, letting you fret and coo at him, removing his jacket and tie, pouring him a drink and telling him dinner will be ready soon and you made his favorite. He's so tempted to bend you over the counter right now, but that would ruin dinner. After you guys eat though, he's having you for dessert. Man's gonna make sure you know how much he appreciates this by turning your knees to jello, good luck walking tomorrow, doll.
If you bake treats and bring them to VoxTek he's gonna brag so much. Literally the embodiment of John Mulaney's, "That's my wife!" If you bring them just for him, he's defending his treats like they're the last ones in Hell. He has literally hit Val with a fly swatter for even asking if he could have one.
(Unrelated but like, chubby vox maybe? You're cooking is too good)
Valentino
Val wishes he could cook better. He's some kind of latino, so I feel like the fact he can't cook very well is a sore spot culturally. He can make the salsa and chips and like, help with stuff, he knows how to wrap tortillas and tomales (I picture him as like Mexican or Puerto Rican but that's just cuz the town I grew up had a large Puerto Rican group).
It doesn't help that his eyesight is even more shit in Hell. He can't see what he's doing hald the time. It ruins his art hobby too. He's overall just more easily frustrated with his bad eyesight.
I don't imagine you guys dating per se. Maybe you're his sugar baby, maybe you're someone he hired to help him do stuff like clean and organize and you just sorta start doing other things to help him. (Again I'm not saying it excuses jackshit, but as someone who worked with bipolar people and people with mood disorder I kinda see the fan theory in him, either way I think all the Vees could be sort of trained to be better people, but especially Val. We already saw Vox do it.)
After all, he's usually in a much better mood if you do and that means less outbursts. The first few times you cook him something he teases you about being his housewife, tries to make it sexual. It's not really something he clocks as being an act of love because I don't think you'd realize it yourself at first. I think the more you got to see him when he wasn't stressed, lashing out, being abusive, you'd start catching feelings. ("I can fix him", delulu asses)
He loves to be in the kitchen when you cook once it starts becoming a regular thing. He can't see clearly what you're doing but the way you move around the kitchen and get what you need, even if you're an ADHD mess and do steps out of order or at random, he can tell you know what you're doing. He likes to smell the food too while it's cooking.
He will ask you to try and make some spicier/more traditional foods he grew up with, but he doesn’t remember all of the ingredients, and it just gets him more frustrated he can't tell you. If you look them up and surprise him with it it'll probably be the most genuine, human response you get from him.
He's shocked, silent, standing frozen in the penthouse as familiar smells waft around him. You present him a plate nervously, practically shaking hoping it's good enough. The first bite nearly puts him in tears. No one's done anything this nice for him? Why would you? Lowkey thinks you want something from him. It's gonna make him paranoid for a while so don't expect a verbal compliment but he eats it all.
Eventually though, one day when you're in the kitchen cooking, humming softly and swaying your hips, one set of his arms will wrap around your waist, the other reaching around you help with the salsa, or wrap a tamale, and he'll prop his chin on your head and mumble out thanks. Some praise, maybe. Would definitely tell you stories about eating these foods growing up.
It's the first step towards having an actual relationship with him.
Alastor
This man almost always insists on cooking. He isn't much of a sweet tooth either. You tell him one night you want to try cooking for him. Tell him you understand it's an activity he enjoys and relaxes too, (especially if you know it's something that reminds him of his mother), but you want to do something for him and this is one way you show you care.
It's gonna remind him of his Mama so much that if you didn't know why he loved cooking so much before you do now. He compromises. You pick the meal and gather the ingredients and do most of the cooking and he helps prep and does dishes.
He playfully critiques you the entire time about adding some spice too it or a little southern flair. Just smack him with the wooden spoon, gently. It's gonna make him laugh because his Mama used to do that when he wouldn't keep out of the sweets, or tried to add stuff to her cooking.
Once you start it becomes habit to help each other in the kitchen every night, trading off who cooks and who preps and does dishes.
If you do find baked goods he likes that aren't too sweet and send them to him as snacks, especially to Overlord meetings, he's so fucking obnoxious about his sweet little doe (doesn't matter if you are one or not) and how they spoil him. Especially rubs it in Vox's face (not him whining to his partner so they send him with treats too so he can also brag).
Only shares with Charlie, Rosie, Niffty, and sometimes Zestiel. If he's feeling generous, Husk can have a bite.
Low-key also has a thing for his partner behaving domestically even if he isn't exactly invested in traditional marriage.
Favorite activity though is dancing with you in the kitchen to jazz while dinner cooks, holding you close, in his room usually, so he can hear the sounds of the bayou. If he closes his eyes he can pretend this is how his life went and that his Mama is in the corner or sitting in her chair, watching him, happy to see him find someone.
He will literally kiss Vox willingly before admitting that last part though.
Lucifer
It's not that he can't cook, it's just....it's easier to just snap his fingers and make food appear. He's been in a depressed slump for decades man, he's lived off of the 'want food, no cook, only eat' mindset.
When you come into his life it's a complete overhaul. Despite what issues you have yourself you can recognize someone in worse state than you and immediately categorize and prioritize. First thing first, get this man's duck collection/obsession organized, thinned out, and under control.
Second, help him work through his issues with Lillith and Charlie. Encourage therapy, be a mediator between him and Charlie (and trust me she appreciates it. She knows her dad struggles, didn't know how bad, and still feels awkward). Help him socialize more, rebuild his connection with the other sins.
Get this man a work schedule!
Then it's on to personal habits. You help him get out of bed, you're both probably a little helpless in the sleeping on time category though. Help him get a routine again to keep out of his funk. Then you start cooking for him. It just happens naturally. You enjoy cooking, you enjoy showing people you love how much you care by providing good meals.
At first he's gonna resist and tell you he can handle that, you already do so much for him. He can cook or better yet he can just make it appear and you laugh and tell him it tastes better when it's made with love. He brushes it off as a joke too, you're both just being silly and obviously you said that to get him to quit fussing. Except, unholy hell does it actually taste so much better.
Lucifer hadn’t realized how bland and unsatisfying just materializing the food was. Maybe that's because he was so depressed and uninterested in what he ate, maybe not. Either way, your cooking is so much fucking better. He actually looks forward to eating now. If he gets caught up in work or has a bad day, you make sure to always bring him something, leaving it as an offering of sorts. It almost always works and entices him to eat at least once.
You cook, he does dishes, and he will not budge on that rule. He wants to be a fair man. He occasionally boots you out to do dessert, though. Apple pie is his bitch and you've never tasted one as good as his. He also makes good pancakes and some absolutely orgasmic angel's food cake.
Ironicall, devil's food cake is one of your go to recipes. Sometimes you both make a cake and take it to events just to watch people get confused as fuck when it's revealed the literal Devil did not make the devil's food cake.
Everyime you're in the kitchen together it's a disaster, you're both to silly and chaotic. You were making noodles one time and he threw flour at you so you smacked him with the noodle you were holding, leaving a line of flour and a speck of dough against his cheek. From there it escalates. It happens every time. Making cakes together, you're smashing frosting on each other. Making cookies, you're fighting each other to stop eating cookie dough.
Once, after you get fed up with him stealing her spatula to lick the chocolate off of, hovering above you with his wings, you pout and bat your eyes, asking him sweetly to please give it back. He swoops down in front of you, booping your nose to smear chocolate on it and leaning in to kiss you, letting you have a taste of the chocolate batter you were mixing for brownies. While his tongue is in your mouth, drunk off the taste of you and chocolate you smash an egg over his head and let out a triumphant cheer, snatching back your spatula.
He's so stunned his wings disappear and he drops the last few inches to the ground while you cackle. His heart is pounding, his ears are ringing, and his chest feels like it's gonna explode. His eyes are literal sparkles. He hasn't felt this much joy, wonder, and love since Charlie was born. It feels like witnessing creation all over again, of the breathlessness he felt when he first saw Lillith.
You're laughter stops when you realize he's just staring at you awestruck and you smile, asking if he's ok.
"For once...yeah..Yes. I'm ok." He responds, genuinely. You kiss his cheek and resume baking. He watches you from the counter now, dreamily, thinking about how he's gonna marry you someday.
#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin hotel valentino#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel lucifer#vox x reader#valentino x reader#lucifer x reader#alastor x reader
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Highlights from Catherine Tate's Q&A Panel at Armageddon Expo 2024 (NZ) :
[I took notes best I could during the panel but some may be paraphrased]
Q: What's your favourite Doctor Who alien?
CT: The wonderful Ood!
Q: Who's your favourite Doctor? (Crowd gasps in anticipation)
CT: Well, I get asked this a lot, and obviously it's David (Tennant). I don't know what number he is, he keeps coming back. But definitely, David. Although, someone recently pointed out that I was technically the first ever female Doctor. So you know what? Me, I'm my favourite Doctor.
Q: What's your favourite episode you were in of Doctor Who?
CT:The Runaway Bride, because that's where it all began.
Q: What's a favourite memory of working with David Tennant on Doctor Who?
CT: The scene in 'Partners in Crime', the one with the Adipose, there's the scene where Donna and the Doctor see each other from across a room. But they're both behind glass and they have the whole mime scene with the windows. Well, I remember it was about 3am when we were filming that - - Russel really likes to film at night if the story is taking place at night - so it was 3am, and I said to the director 'Uh, right here it just says Donna Mimes' and he said 'Yeah do whatever'.
So that whole scene was ad-lib during shooting and David and I were so in sync with it, we did that first take and the director said cut and print!
Q: How emotional were you filming your final scene in Journey's End?
CT: So, we didn't always film in order. And I'm not really a sentimental person, but I will say I thought Donna's ending was absolutely perfect. When she meets the Doctor she was always yelling at the world, and she was so different than what she was by the end, she had so much growth with the Doctor and she changed so much in her time with him, but then, she forgets the him and all those memories. And that final scene, what really got me was how he says 'Donna, I'm off' and she's just, I think she's on the phone, and she just waves dismissively. She doesn't know him anymore. Russell, the way he ties things together, he's brilliant, that man.
Q: What was it like working with Bernard (Cribbins)?
CT: Oh, Bernard. God, I love him. He was so funny and talented. He always had stories and voices and sound effects. He loved making people laugh. But we had a gag where every single time I called him I'd say (Donna Voice) 'GRANDAD!'
He'd say, "Who is this?"
"It's Catherine."
"Catherine who?"
"Catherine Tate"
"Never heard of her."
We did this every time I called him and I loved it.
Q: Is there anything annoying about working with David Tennant?
CT: No, absolutely not. He's perfect. He's the best person to work with. I will say though, I was annoying him a lot. When we did the 60th Anniversary specials, our trailers looked exactly the same and I never knew where my trailer was. I'd walk into his all the time!
Sometimes I'd walk in and see his shoes in the trailer and instead of thinking 'Oops, wrong trailer', my brain went 'What's he gone and left his shoes in my trailer for?'
It got so bad, sometimes I'd walk up the stairs and from inside I'd hear 'NO.'
Q: Was it weird coming back to play Donna after all these years? Especially when it was along side David Tennant?
CT: It was a bit weird, more in the 'Oh I hope i still know how to do this' way than anything. But I did think it would be hilarious if David and I arrived on set and every take we just did completely wrong voices. Just thought it'd be hilarious for him to go (in an airy upper-crust British accent) 'Ohhhh, hellloooo. I'm the Doctor'
Q: If you could take any prop from set, what would you take?
CT: Ohhhh, I'd have very large pockets and see what I could fit. But mostly I think it'd be a sonic screwdriver. It's gotta be a sonic screwdriver, doesn't it? It's small and mobile... Easy to steal. Plus, it'd fetch a great price on Ebay!
Q: Best show you've ever worked on?
CT: The Office, they paid me tons of money.
Q: My mum loves David Tennant, is there something you can say to dissuade her?
CT: Hm, something to convince her he's not.... Oh, he doesn't believe in astrology! I'll say 'It's Mercury Retrograde' and he'll say 'NO, NO, NO I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT'.
Other Highlights:
As soon as she came out, she saw the stage had no steps to the audience, so she stayed on mic and went the long way round to go into the audience and interview people, trying to find who had traveled the furthest to be here. She was sorely disappointed everyone was just from Aotearoa 🤣
Donna Lines She Performed:
"Oi Spaceman! You're not mating with me sunshine!" (Crowd went wild for that)
"Binary. Binary. Binary." (🥺)
She did some of her characters: Lauren Cooper mostly, but also wished someone Happy birthday as Nan
#Catherine Tate#Donna Noble#Doctor who#Lauren Cooper#Catherine Tate show#About me 2k24#The great cate tate adventure#dw 60th#David Tennant#tenth doctor#fourteenth doctor
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AHHHH HELLOOO sorry i usually dont request much, haha this is actually my second request in all of my tumblr story ever but...i saw you decided to write for gaming and i just couldnt resist, i love your writing a lot and i just think its so immaculate hahaa. Could you write an scenario where male reader is stressed from work (imagine he has an important job like a doctor or something whatever you want is fine :)) because he has been working days nonstop, so much that his boyfriend is all worked up and horny for him so when reader comes back he finds himself straddled by him while hes begging for fucking? With cockwarming, breeding kink and cowgirl position. Could that be with Gaming, Lyney and Gorou? SORRY IF IM ASKING MUCH I DONT WANT TO BE A BOTHER😭😭 i just dont know how to request but thanks for reading all of rant. And again, thank you and sorry for bothering😔 have a nice day/afternoon/night!
"an unnamed player has invited GA-MING, LYNEY, and GOROU to play . . .
an apple a day
✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!top!male!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!characters, vaginal sex & riding, breeding kink + creampies, creaming (lyney), gratuitous praise + petnames .
A/N : aa u are never a bother !! i am SO SORRY this took so long for me to get to, omg . . . but i had sm fun with this (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)
"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."
Patient after patient after patient, each one with a more downright stupid trouble than the last. Your day had started with a young man, clearly fresh out of Millelith training, complaining of a tummy ache, of all things! He had clutched his stomach and moaned and groaned, and all you could prescribe him was bedrest. It’s not like you were going to waste medicine—medicine that some people needed—on someone who ached because he didn't eat fucking breakfast.
The next patient was an older woman, here only for her biannual check up. You'd greeted her, said a sweet, “Good morning, madame,” but all she did was turn her snobby nose up at you and demand you not waste her time.
“Madame, you have a serious—”
“I know, young man.” You had heaved a sigh, letting her boss you around for the length of her appointment before sending her off with the exact same specifications as last time: take vitamins, get ample rest, stop talking back to people just doing their jobs. (Though, that last one there was merely something you wished you had said.
Too bad the customer—in this case, patient—is always right, huh?)
But, by the end of the day, you wish, instead, that you had simply elderly after elderly; their disrespect pales to the absolute headache that the rest of your patients put behind your eyes, pounding at your skull—bam, bam, bam.
Wham bam-thank-you-ma'am, all throbbing incessantly behind your eyes and making you wanna hurl—except, god, you’re the fucking doctor, and who’s there to take care of him when he’s a little under the weather? You’ve got your boyfriend, of course—your perfect boyfriend, light of your life, apple of your eye, yet he’s home, and you’re here, and you’re bloody exhausted.
“I need to go home,” you murmur—quiet, lest your own voice make you lose the last of your thin-threaded sanity—, already stripping yourself of the itchy scrubs you wear during the long days.
“But sir—” the nurse asks, meak, but her voice is still too loud, too shrill for right now.
You huff. “I’ve worked for fourteen hours.” The tired gruff to your own voice makes you cringe. You can feel the way it tumbles from your chest, rattling you, your overly sensitive eyes and brain and head and fuckin’ everything, at this point. “Refer to the doc on duty, now.”
The nurse nods, once. “Have a good night, doctor.”
You bid farewell—a kind apology with a promise to make it up to them, to bring them coffee, maybe, or some cookies—, and you take the slow walk home. The sky is dark and the fireflies are out, the gentle glow illuminating the path. With nothing but your own thoughts and the night to accompany you, you feel your headache gradually ease. It throbs, still; but each bump in your skull is gentler, now: it’s easier to ignore.
Although the porch light is too strong—the lantern bright and attracting the nighttime bugs and moths—, the foyer of your home is dark. Your aching head is grateful for the reprieve—for the silence that envelops you in totality the second the door clicks quietly shut behind you—, but something other than tiredness pulls at your heartstrings: your sweet boyfriend, clad in only a shirt of yours, toeing into the entryway.
“Honey?” He wipes the sleep from his eyes, softly smiling at you. “Hi.”
“Ga-ming, honey—” honey, because Ga-ming unabashedly stole the pet name from you, first, “—you didn’t have to stay up for me.”
As if on cue, his jaw cracks open in a yawn: this, you do not need the lights on to see. Your heart aches with your head, knowing that he had stayed up just for you. “Honey,” you repeat, sliding off your jacket and stepping up to him. You take his waist in your hands, bunching up the shirt he stole from your closet.
“Quit with that,” he murmurs, tilting up his head for a soft kiss. You grant it; but when you go to pull back, to keep the kiss gentle and chaste, Ga-ming presses forward, darting that little tongue out to lick at the seam of your lips; his hips, too, come bumping against yours, pressing into your thigh, pant to skin—
“Ga-ming?” you repeat, breath leaving you in a low huff. “You’re—” bare.
Utterly, wholly bare: an expanse of warm, slick skin against your clothed leg. “‘m ready,” he mumbles while he takes to mouthing at your throat. His lips soothe you, somehow; it’s a reprieve, a stark contrast, to the pounding at your skull.
“Ready?” you whisper, tilting your head back, letting your hands guide the steady roll of his hips onto your lap.
He nods. “Ready for you,” he enunciates as he softly whines.
Ga-ming—your Ga-ming—, your boyfriend, your love and light of your life: right here in front of you, on you, all needy for you, offering himself to you, wholly ready for the taking.
“So please,” he continues, his cock dragging heavy across the seam of your pant; “fuck me.”
“Oh, honey,” you murmur; then again, an “oh, honey,” because you’re still half-dressed up in your clothes—though they’re only soft and bland, made to fit under the rough scrubs you had abandoned at the office—, and Ga-ming is naked save for the shirt draping across him, the low hemline covering the absolutely sinful way he grinds down. It’s a dirty move, a down, down, down that gives his sensitive cock friction against your pelvis.
“Please, please, ‘m ready, I said—” his words abruptly drop off, a high cry in his throat that sends him to hide his overly-warm face in your neck. His skin burns against you, a feverish-hot that makes you chuckle, makes the throb in your head go away, just-so. “I said I-I was ready, so, please!”
You coo, quiet, bumping your hips up once. The jerking motion makes him cry out, but he manages to keep himself upright, right-side up but entirely unmoored on your cock. “Go on then, little lion. Take what you need, yeah?”
Whimpering a quiet, “Y-yeah,” he begins riding you, slow, steady—but slightly off-balanced—rolls of his hips that makes him whine, makes you groan low n’ deep in your chest. You let your hands rest on his hips, the fabric of his shirt falling over your wrists, and gently guide his motions. Once you’ve helped him establish himself, he begins riding you harder, more desperate.
Silent tears—though, are they truly silent, loud as he is moaning out for you?—dribble down his cheeks, falling to his shirt and soaking the collar of it in salty evidence of his abject pleasure. His abdomen is tensing and relaxing and tensing and relaxing again, all in a rapid loop, in and out and in n’ out, and then there’s a fucking bulge right below his navel when he sinks down hard n’ deep on your cock; and you’re sent over the edge at the sight, moaning through your teeth as you fill Ga-ming up with hot, sticky cum.
“Oh, oh—” he cries, grinding down harsh to get all your cum in as deep as possible, deep ‘nuff to breed him— “bred me, bred me so well, oh—” You groan at his desperate babbling as his thighs jerk around your hips, just before they give out on him entirely. He falls bodily into your chest, heaving through his own orgasm as weak mewls tumble from his prettily parted lips. Each sound is smeared into your throat while you laugh, light and breathless, jostling his overly-sensitized body and making him flinch.
“Sorry, honey.” You kiss at his temple, and, the whole while, his small cunt is left to unconsciously milk your cock, left to assure that loud, insecure part of his brain that he’s wanted, that he’s bred all nice n’ full because he is loved. You’re long done, now, but the undulations make your body warm, soft, safe—just like Ga-ming is, comfy in your lap and wholly protected. “Thank you.”
He shakes his head against you, nuzzling into your throat with a heavy sigh. “You don’t have—hafta thank me,” he mumbles, a lick at your Adam’s apple to seal the deal. “I wanted ta.”
Tucking up the blankets around him, you grin. “Then can you warm my cock, lil’ dragon? Just for me?” You run your fingers lightly up his clothed spine, delighting in the shiver you can feel, one that runs the length of your cock as he’s snug on it. “Since earlier was all about you?” You raise the end of your sentence in a lilting tone, meant to tease, and Ga-ming huffs at you.
And, n further retaliation, he clenches around you; the soft squeeze—all wet n’ warm, smearing your own cum across the base of your cock and leaving the mess of both of yours to dribble down the minute space between your bodies—forces you to calm your breathing, to take in the delicate scent of what is undeniably Ga-ming mixed with the smell of your own shirt, your own cologne.
You laugh, then. “‘m sorry,” you say again amidst giggles, ones you’re careful you confine only to your upper chest lest the movement be too uncomfortable on both of your oversensitive groins.
He doesn't reply, snuggled up comfy on your lap and stuffed full of your cock n’ cum both. Instead, he only noses into your neck further before his breathing steadies, lulling you to sleep, too.
It’s in your final moments of consciousness that you realize your head no longer hurts.
(You suppose you now have the evidence that, yes, an orgasm is sufficient enough a cure for headaches.)
Under Lyney’s palm, a small floor lamp clicks silently on. The light is admittedly dim, but, to your sensitive eyes, the bulb is blinding. You cringe and cover your eyes; but it only serves to shield you slightly, because you’re still upright in the foyer, and your body is rather weak. “Lyney,” you tiredly murmur, lifting your palm just enough to see the ground lest you trip.
You bump into him, laughing lightly, but his worried hands jump to your arm. “Hey—”
“I’m okay.” You’re quick to calm him, placing your free hand on his in a tender gesture as you make way to the living room. “Just a headache, ‘s all. Ya shouldn't have stayed up f’r me.” Earlier, it hurt to even think; but here, with him, the pain is easy to ignore, in the face of his own self destruction.
He grumbles at you, though, says something you can’t quite catch and drops his hands, pads over to the lamp to flick it off. The return of darkness is soothing.
He smiles at you, then; or, at least, you think he does. It’s difficult to see in the dark, and you can’t strain your eyes without hurting yourself. “I wanted to!” He takes three long strides before he’s standing in front of you, draping his arms across your shoulders. The position makes his (your) shirt ride up on his belly, and— ”I missed you, y’know,” he murmurs, suddenly all soft n’ deep, looking up at you and bumping his forehead against your chin. “A lot, really.”
“Lyn—”
He quickly silences you with a kiss. Against your lips, he pulls back, murmurs, “I missed your cock, especially.”
Laughing against him, you lean up ‘til he can no longer reach you. He pouts at you when you reply, faux-snark, “only my cock, huh?” Your bottom lip juts out—a mirror of Lyney’s own, a magic trick of his you took for your own; it’s a devilish trick, one you play right alongside puppy-dog eyes you know he’s soft to. “How cruel.”
He huffs at you, pulling you down by the collar of your shirt to kiss the mirth off your lips. “I was tryin’ to be seductive,” he grumbles, knocking against your chin and beginning to push you backwards into the living room. “But nevermind!”
You want to say, “Hey, now:” disagree with him and keep on pouting and go, “hey, hey, hey,” all offended, but the backs of your knees come into contact with the edge of the sofa, and you’re well and sufficiently distracted from that idea.
“Sit,” he gently commands you—merely the illusion of choice—, giving you no choice in the matter with the way he’s pressing you down into the cushions. You go easily; you sigh in relief when the softness begins enveloping you—a pillow’s snug right in the middle of your back, and you briefly wonder if Lyney had planned this. He murmurs, “there you go,” quiet n’ soft, and you’re taken by the way this man gives to you.
He wears his heart on his sleeve, truly; except, right now, the sleeve is yours (just like his heart belongs to you and yours to him in turn), and it's bare, and so is the expanse of his long, pale thighs, the hem of his boxers peeking out beneath the shirt. He stands in front of you, between your legs, makes sure you’re down and that you’re gonna stay down, but your eyes aren’t really tired, not anymore, staring at Luney—your Lyney—before he huffs and sits bodily onto you, straddling your lap with his knees sinking into the cushions on either side of you.
“Lyney,” you murmur, reaching out to take hold of his thighs. The position makes the shirt rise up on his belly, exposing the soft, rippling muscles there; but, in the dark, all you can go by is what you feel against your own stomach, his bare skin pressed to your thin shirt. “I was kiddin’, sweetheart.”
“I know you were,” he snaps at you, mean-like, but he brings his arms around your shoulders all sweetly and nuzzles into the side of your head. “But I wasn’t. I—I really did miss you; and your cock. If you—if you wanna, of course.”
“Of course I want to, Lyn,” you mutter, tilting your head up to kiss beneath his chin. “I’m just a little tired.”
“A little?” He huffs, again, before sighing. “Just—let me do the work, alright? I’m already...” he pauses, tilts his head to the side, breathes in and out sharply.
You hum at him to go on.
“‘m already prepped.” Oh.
“Oh?” You grin, bringing your tired arm up to cup his cheek. He leans into your palm and his eyelashes flutter, brushing against your skin. “Go ahead then, sweet thing.”
And go ahead he does, smiling into you before he abruptly leans back ‘nuff to chuck off the shirt. You whine, say, “hey!” but there isn’t any bite left on your tongue when Lyney starts tugging his boxers down, too. He’s impatient, pulling at the seam and groaning curses at the fabric—as if it’s the damn boxers’ fault that he’s in a position that prevents him from taking them off.
He relents, tilting this way and that and finally—after painstaking minutes later, ones that, under no circumstance, should be arousing, but the anticipation, the wait: it all makes your dick chub up in your own pants—Lyney’s left naked in your lap. The fabric hangs off his foot, and you reach down to tug it the rest of the way off for your sweet boyfriend as he busies himself unbuckling your own belt, loosening the tough leather enough for your pants to droop and enough for him to reach a hot hand into your briefs.
“Eager, huh?” you tease, lifting your hips—and, subsequently, him—to let him get your dick out of your pants. Neither of you bother pulling down your own pants, not after Lyney spent so long on his boxers alone. He doesn’t dally. “My sweet Lyney.”
He sighs, again—he’s rather dramatic tonight; but, then again, when isn’t he? It wouldn’t quite be your Lyney without some theatrics—, spitting into his palm and lathering up your cock with it while he makes to straddle you more fully. “Thought you were tired,” he grumbles, hovering his, indeed, wet n’ slicked up and entirely prepped cunt over your thick cockhead.
“Mhm.” You set your hands on his plush thighs once he hooks the head of you into his loosened hole, groaning low and pleased in your throat while he softly whimpers at the barely-there stretch. He prepared himself well. “But when you’re lookin’ so pretty for me, I can’t help being wide awake. Wouldn’t wanna miss this sight for the world.”
With your eyes now adjusted to the light—and, oh, you consider how the throb of your head is a bygone memory now—, you can see the way his cheeks darken just-so, puffed up in exertion as his groin meets yours. You’ve got your cock stuffed up balls-deep in him, and he leans into you once he’s fully settled.
He moans, less out of outright pleasure and more out of total contentment, comfy and warm on your lap as your arms knead at his thighs. His arms squeeze around your shoulders, and he quietly asks, “Gimme a minute.”
Nodding, you simply bask in the steady heat of him, letting him adjust and recognize that, yes, you’re home, now, and you hadn’t really left him at all. “I missed you,” you murmur rather suddenly, your voice quiet but still stark in the silence of the night. “Thought about you durin’ my shift.”
“You did?” His voice is rough but wispy, a little out-there and entirely gone. He’s slipping into that mindset he always does when he’s left to warm your cock—regardless of if it were by his volition or your own—, but he begins to subtly grind his hips against you, mewling at the hot sparks of rapture from his cock rubbing just right against you.
“‘Course I did,” you continue, moving your hands to his hips instead to help move him along. His arms tighten around you and he moans directly into your ear.
From then on, it’s quiet: quiet, that is, save from the obscene slick noises of the lube Lyney used to prep himself earlier with his own slick, your pre-cum mixing up and making a mess of thick liquid between both of your thighs. His moans are barely audible, these soft, gentle lil’ uh, uh, uh’s punched out of him with each tender grind down.
You think, even, that you’ll both cum like this: quiet, nothing but the sounds of your connection and heavy breaths, moans, groans as you fall over the edge. But then Lyney starts bumping his groin against yours even harder, grinding down deep on your cock and rubbing against your full balls, and he starts babbling for you to “breed me! Please—”
“I-I’ll breed you,” you groan, leaning your head back into the sofa cushions and chasing your release, chasing the release you both want, the one he wants so desperately stuffed up deep inside him. “Gonna fill you right up, just like you want, sweetheart.”
He babbles more—a mix of syllables and words, more pleas for you to breed him—until he’s silenced by his own high-pitched whine, cumming around you and slathering you in creamy-white. The steady clench and release of his cunt forces you to your own end, thick cum slowly leaking out from the edges of his cunt and your cock. (You can hardly tell what’s your leaking cum and what is his own.)
“Thank you,” he mumbles, already beginning to doze. “Th’nk you:” quieter, more muddled against your ear.
You grab the throw you have across the sofa’s armrest, rucking it up around the two of you; you cocoon Lyney safe in your arms and on your softened cock. He’s nodded off, now, and he misses your words: “You don’t have to thank me,” you say anyway, even if he doesn’t hear you, “I love you.”
The cum’ll be sticky, later, when you wake up; but for now, it’s perfect. It’s perfectly warm and entirely cozy, wholly snuggled up with the love of your life. Your headache, the stressors of the day—they’re all forgotten in his presence.
You’re so, so glad to love him.
“Hi, puppy,” you coo. The sound of your own voice grates you, but you ignore it to sweetly smile at your beloved. He stands there, motionless for a moment right there at the threshold before the foyer, until he shakes his head with a barely-there laugh. “Gorou?”
He tilts his head to the side—this you can see, the silhouette of him in the moonlight—before he takes a tentative step forward.
Then another. And another. Another, another, another, ‘till he’s standing in front of you and leans up to kiss your jaw. “Hi,” he repeats, voice ruff (hah!) and hoarse, a little too much so. “Missed ya.”
You tilt your head back to let him mouth at you, and your hands subconsciously come to clutch at his hips, and— “Oh, Gorou,” you mumble, pleasantly aghast, because your hands come into contact with bare, slick skin. “Pent up?”
With a quiet whimper, he tilts his hips forward, into you, pressing against the contact of your fingers on him. You slowly slide your one hand around, sneaking a large handful of his ass before you dip into his cleft, shuddering when your fingertip easily glides across his slicked, open cunt.
“I-I wanted you, so bad,” he starts to mumble, shy, tucking his head into the meat where your shoulder meets your neck. Without any prompting, you adjust your stance, pressing your knee into his cock and making him jerk forward with another whimper high in his throat. “Oh!”
Slowly, his hips begin grinding—it’s a weak movement, testing, making sure you're really okay with this, right now. He moves unsure against you until you begin bumping your knee, letting his slick make a mess of your pant leg. “Go on,” you goad him on, soft, holding him snug against you. You can feel his cunt clench even through the fabric of your pants, a rapid rat-a-tat-tat against you that is oddly reminiscent of the headache you can feel begin to dissipate. “Take your pleasure, pup.”
He nods vehemently against you, beginning to hump as his tail swishes side to side, side to side, hypnotizing you just slightly. It’s hard to parse it out in the dark, but the shadow of it is undeniable behind him. Each bounce of your leg makes Gorou whimper, and he’s quick to crane his neck up for a kiss to muffle himself. You grant his request easily, but only for a minute; after, you gently part from him to murmur, so quiet that only he could possibly hear, those big, soft ears of his twitching as he strains, “What else do you want, honey?”
“Want you,” he whines, grinding harshly once, twice. “Want you inside me, want you to breed me.”
You didn’t expect that, but you’re a doctor, after all; it’s kinda in the job description to roll with the punches, so you do. “You wanna get fucked full of pups?” you ask, teasing and light, but Gorou’s mouth parts as a loud whine crawls out of his chest.
“Yes! Please.” Thick tears begin to drop from his eyes, saltwater dribbling onto the bare skin of your throat. “Now, now—breed me now,” he begs, and you coo at him, bringing your hands to curl into his hair, rubbing soothing circles into the base of one puppydog ear.
“Patience, pup.”
And, because he’s Gorou, and Gorou is nothing but a good boy, he nods, rapid-quick movements of his head, and begins to slow on your thigh. Heat shimmers low in your belly as he steps back from you on shaky legs, a wet splotch across your leg from his cunt. You bring a hand down, meaning to scoop it up off your pant, but your finger brushes two distinctly different textures: his natural slick, and fuckin’ lube. “Did you prepare yourself for me?”
“Y-yeah,” he mutters, tail tucking itself between his legs. You almost cringe at that, knowing he’s smearing himself into his own fur, but if he doesn’t mind, then you won’t either; besides, it’s hard to truly care when your boyfriend is so bashful in front of you. “I—I missed you, ‘nd wanted to be ready for you.”
The image of Gorou, ass up on the bed with four of his fingers stuffed up inside of himself flitters across your mind, makes your cock throb in your britches. Your erection was easy to ignore, earlier; but now it’s abject torture.
However, it’s not nearly as torturous as it was for your boyfriend, and you know this. You know he didn’t cum, know his fingers are far too short to truly reach in deep and press against his g-spot, know his wrist can’t comfortably bend to jerk himself off and finger himself at the same time. So you coo, soft, “Sweet boy. Where’s your toy?”
“Charging,” he mutters.
You grin at that: it’s perfect. “Can you go get it then, puppy?”
With an audible swallow, he nods, rushing for your bedroom. You follow behind him, lethargic but so, so turned on; and while he’s grabbing the vibrator from the corner, you shuck off the rest of your clothes and plop yourself down on the edge of your bed.
He must not expect you to have followed him, however, because once he turns around, he jumps, ears flattening to his head in embarrassment. You only laugh and pat your lap. “C’mere.”
Quickly—and toy in tow—, he shuffles over to you. He stands awkwardly in front of you for a moment before you murmur, “I said c’mere,” and tug him to straddle your lap. The position immediately forces his cock—slick n’ thick, out of its hood and throbbing incessantly—against yours, and he mewls helplessly for a moment, grinds once, twice again, before he grabs the lube to the side of you.
You hadn’t even noticed it there, but now that he’s grabbed it, pointed it out, you feel other wet spots beneath you. He fuckin’ masturbated here, right on the duvet you both sleep under, thinkin’ about you and only you. You’re taking out of your musings when he slathers up your cock in lube, messy and sloppy, and then he’s rising, positioning you, and sinking right on down.
“Mm!” he cries out, swiveling his hips to take you in deeper, deeper, deeper. You groan at the lube-slick combination that smothers your cock in Gorou, Gorou, Gorou. “Breed me, breed me!” Each meak plea makes your cock pulse inside him, and he mewls at each throb inside him. “Please!”
“I got you, pup,” you murmur, your edge so close you can taste it on the tip of your tongue. “Just make yourself feel good, and I’ll breed you, okay? Okay, puppy?”
“Okay, okay—”
You grin. “Good boy,” you say, and then he’s tumbling over the edge and bringing you right down with him. You groan into his throat, feeling the vibrations of his whimpers n’ whining moans as he’s getting thoroughly bred. Your hands ruck up his shirt to hold his sides and soothe him down from his high. “You did so good for me, sweetheart. Bred you just like I promised I would, hm?”
He weakly nods. “Thank you,” he mumbles, nosing at your throat.
And, well. You’re bloody exhausted, and you promised to breed him, and he can’t keep on being bred if you pull out. You tell yourself you’re only upholding your promise as Gorou falls asleep on your cock, breathing deep on your lap: tell yourself that it’s the lingering tiredness that suddenly seems to hit you in full-force that keeps him warm and snug on you.
Really, clean-up can wait.
i got a lil' carried away on lyney's part ,, o(*^＠^*)o also, none of these were really cowgirl 'cos reader was sitting up for it . . . i couldn't think of how to have him lay flat in these scenarios LOLL
13 MAR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .
#ㅤ✦【 ASKS 】#i used to have very frequent headaches and the only way i could abate them was:#1) midol (god's gift to earth i stg)#and 2) jrking off.#so !!#sub genshin#genshin smut#genshin x reader#sub gaming#gaming x reader#sub lyney#lyney x reader#sub gorou#gorou x reader#lord .#top reader#dom reader#amab reader#male reader
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baby, baby, baby (sh)
steve's always discovering new things about himself, usually with your help
breeding kink!!! i can't state enough if this isn't ur thing click off because that's all it is. unprotected sex, p in v (f! reader), fingering, discussion of babies and breeding, hint of jancy, rough-ish sex, bit of misogyny surrounding birth control (reader goes on the pill.) one use of the word daddy during sex but not rly daddy kink. no use of y/n, no spoilers, no reader description. steve’s into cringy pet names i don’t make the rules (2.2k words)
a/n; a really lovely reader made it clear to me that some of my language wasn’t POC or plus size friendly. this absolutely wasn’t my intention and i’ve edited this language out to ensure that this is a fic for anyone, as intended. pls let me know if i do make any mistakes like this - being exclusive is absolutely not something i ever intend to be. thank you angels<3
it had started growing in him one day, and he hadn’t felt the end of it since.
a sort of weird, deep urge he felt in his bones, gnawing at him from the inside out and churning his brain and boiling his guts. if he hadn’t known better, he might have called it animalistic. neanderthal. his most base instinct. for months, he hadn’t been able to think about anything else. twisting his mind and driving him crazy.
steve harrington wanted to fuck you full of his babies.
you hadn’t even known you were doing it. how could you? you knew he wanted kids, and a lot of them, but it felt miles off in your mind. when he told you about you and the six kiddos and the camper van, you thought he meant five, maybe even ten years off. so you’d thought nothing of it when your friend liz had asked to come over for a coffee with her almost brand-new baby and you’d spent the afternoon playing with her in front of steve.
he’d seemed a bit more tense than usual, and you thought maybe he was uncomfortable around the baby. you knew he had a relatively small, relatively disconnected family, and the last kid born was more than ten years ago, so he’d never really even been around infants. he seemed to be watching intently as you picked her up, smoothing her tufts of hair back and nuzzling your nose into her hair to absorb her uniquely baby smell. you’d never brought it up though, never thinking much of it. until it started happening more.
you’d see a toddler sticking their tongue out at the grocery store and stick yours back before steve would half drag you away by the arm. you’d mention your hairdresser’s imminent due date, and he’d find a way to change the topic. hell, you’d cooed over the baby in look who’s talking one time and he’d switched the channels, claiming he hated john travolta even though you’d watched saturday night fever with him at least four times. you were starting to get confused. the two of you had talked about kids; why was it becoming such a problem now?
───
‘i got on the pill, y’don’t have to bother with a condom.’
steve stopped stock still. in seven years, he’d never been able to go without. shitty blue state indiana had made contraception for unmarried women a fucking nightmare, and while he really wanted to marry you eventually, he wasn’t about to do it just so he could go raw. steve’d half-hoped he wouldn’t be able to until you were married; he didn’t know what he was capable of if you let him do that to you. but you’d sprung it on him. while you were naked under him and he was halfway to the bedside table, you’d laid a small hand on his arm and looked up at him with that expression on your face he loved so much and stuck out your bottom lip. he’d never said no to you before. how could he ever start now?
‘a-are you sure? y’know i don’t mind, sweetness, i’m happy to wear one.’ he was frowning now, deep lines etching the ordinarily soft skin of his forehead, and you reached a hand up to smooth out the creases.
‘kinda thought you’d be a bit more excited than this, honey.’ you were half-smiling, half-worried, head tilted as you observed steve. you’d known him for fifteen years, been dating him almost half as long. knew him like the back of your hand, knew when he was worried about something, when something was playing on his mind and he just couldn’t shrug it off. he shook his head vehemently, stroking your face with a shaky hand.
’s’not that, babe. i’m really excited, like, really excited. didn’t think we’d be able to do this until- well…’ he trailed off, leaning down to kiss your bare shoulder in a feeble attempt to hide his reddening face from your eyesight.
you sat up a little then, peering down at him. the pill wasn’t even something you’d thought much of until nancy had told you all about it, hush hush over a coffee.
‘it’s changed my life, honestly. everything’s more… regular, and well, you know…’ you’d raised your eyebrows at her to hasten her explanation and she’d blushed bright red and hidden behind her hair when she whispered ‘jonathan loves being able to, like… y’know, do it inside. everything’s so much better in the bedroom.’
you’d left your lunch date hot under the collar, and almost sprinted straight to your family doctor. the idea of being so intimate, so close to steve for the first time ever without having to worry about the consequences excited you.
‘until what, stevie? we can carry on using a condom if you w-‘ steve’s eyes shot open, shaking his head wildly until his hair bounced.
‘no! no, i just.’ he cleared his throat, itching the back of his neck nervously.
‘i’m worried if we do it without, i won’t be able to hold back. the idea of doing that to you, of cumming inside you… it makes me so hard i can’t think.’
his confession left your mouth open and mind whirring, thinking back to the last few months and the way he’d been acting around you and babies and all of a sudden, everything clicked.
‘stevie,’ you cooed, smirking at the expression on his face. ‘you wanna get me pregnant, don’t you?’
a guttural groan broke free from his throat and he lunged forward like a man possessed, capturing your lips with a ferocious heat that had you moaning into his mouth. large, rough hands gripped your stomach, your hips, and squeezed so tight you groaned. steve took his chance, tongue surging into your mouth and licking the top of your mouth, the back of your teeth. he pushed himself up so he was kneeling above you, manhandling you up so you were facing him, knees touching.
‘y’can’t say that to me, baby,’ he looked frantic, still kissing you between words. ‘god, you’re so… so fuckin’… h christ, can’t believe you said that.’ your mind was reeling, all consumed with the idea of it.
‘i’d be lying if i said the thought of trying for a baby with you wasn’t on my mind recently, stevie.’ you looked up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and his fingers dug into your flesh so hard you were sure there’d be bruises the next morning. ‘when liz came over with the baby, y’have no idea how much i wished she was ours.’
steve was totally fucked.
he couldn’t get his breathing under control listening to talking about carrying his babies, and his head was swimming in pictures; you, lying on the beach in a bikini with a cute bump. lying on your front cautiously while steve rubbed your tired back muscles. tying your shoes for you ‘cuz you couldn’t reach over your swollen tummy. most of all though, he couldn’t stop imagining the sight of his cum seeping out from your pretty little pussy, your hips propped up on a pillow, hoping it’d take.
‘think we should?’ he spoke before he could even think about it, and he almost apologised. almost. because when he looked down at your face, instead of seeing shock or disgust, you were fucking smirking up at him. a manicured nail traced its way up through his chest hair, the other hand gripping the back of his neck, and steve felt lightheaded.
‘you gotta be off the pill at least a week before it stops working, you know.’ you cocked your head to the side. ‘doesn’t mean we can’t start practising though.’
steve helped you onto your knees so you were face down, ass up. his favourite, especially when he wanted to go a bit harder, a bit rougher, and the anticipation sent shivers down your spine. behind you, the bed shifted, and the distinctive sound of elastic cracking skin rang out from behind you as steve shed his boxers, the final (and only) barrier left between the two of you.
‘you want me to lube up, baby? i’d ask you to do it with your mouth, but i think i’d bust.’ you laughed together and he grabbed your left hand, intertwining your fingers. no matter what, steve never made you doubt how much he loved you, and small moments of intimacy like this always made you wanna cry every time.
‘just a bit, babe, ‘m ready for you,’ you whined your hips back into him, ass brushing his hairy thighs, and he groaned at the trail of slick you left against his hot skin. reaching into the drawer and, for the first time, straight past the open box of johnnies, steve grabbed the half-empty bottle of lube that lived there. you could hear him squirting it into his hand, slathering it all over his thick cock, all the while muttering away almost mindlessly.
‘you’re gonna be such a good mommy, honey, s’ good for me and our baby. so full of our children, so beautiful and round for me, gonna look after you. gonna be the most gorgeous little family, sweetness.’ he reached down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
‘baby, i really need to just fuck you full,’ he whispered, and you looked over your shoulder at him. there was an almost feral gleam in his eyes, and you swallowed thickly. he pushed two long fingers into you, whining when he found you were already soaking wet and more than ready to take him. you keened your hips back again, pleading, pretty eyelashes fluttering.
‘take me, steve.’
he was up to the base by the time you’d taken a breath, heavy balls resting at the curve of your thighs and ass, and the sensation was like nothing either of you had known before. you could feel every ridge, every vein pumping through his cock, and he felt so warm in you it could have almost been too much. steve had never felt anything so hot, so tight, so unbelievably natural in his whole life, and he had to stop still as soon as he was balls deep lest he cum in seconds.
‘oh fuck,’ he was groaning behind you, legs trapping the bottom half of your body to the bed in an attempt to stop you squirming. ‘this is- jesus christ, this is something else, baby.’ under him, you were desperately trying not to rock your hips back into steve’s. he was so heavy and hard inside you, twitching and leaking precum already and he hadn’t even moved, hadn’t even started to fill you up.
steve’s hips pulled back slowly, leaving just the head still wrapped in you, before plunging back in and starting up a brutal pace. his hands were gripping at your pelvis and your head was buried in the pillow at the head of your bed, fingers reaching behind you to intertwine with his own against the fat of your hips. he thrust particularly hard into one spot that had your mind reeling, almost screaming his name into the pillow and pulling forward from the pleasure of it all. steve chased you, the front of his thighs almost stuck to the back of yours with sweat. by now, he was barely even pulling out, just chasing his own thrusts deep within you as he panted above you, sloppy kisses pressed into the skin at the back of your neck. skilled fingers reached around to your clit, rubbing it in that way only steve ever managed to do it, and your legs felt like jelly under you. if it wasn’t for the way he pressed right up against your hips, you’d be on your front by now, crushed under his weight into the bed.
‘’m really, really close, baby, fuck. c’mon sweetness,’ he was rambling behind you, hips working even quicker to turn you to goo under him, melted into the mattress and taking what he gave you. you could feel it building deep in your stomach, and you just needed something else, something to push you over the edge-
‘cum for me, let’s make me a daddy,’ steve was crying out and you were cumming, thighs clenching and back arching, screams buried into the pillow and teeth clenched so hard your jaw popped. steve wasn’t long behind you; the way you gushed when you came, the vice-like grip on his leaking cock? it was all too much, and for the first time, steve harrington came inside the love of his life, hot and gasping and flashes of you with a baby bump running through his mind. carefully, gently, he pulled out, cock softening against his thigh and then growing half hard again. your pussy was swollen, his cum leaking out of your hole. unthinking, steve reached up to push it back in with two fingers, rubbing your ass with the other hand when you flinched away from the stimulation.
‘sorry, baby, just gotta make sure it takes.’
you rolled onto your back, and he couldn’t help but smile at the way you rolled your eyes at him.
‘told you stevie, gonna be at least a week until i’m all fertile and shit again.’
he flopped on top of you, grinning.
‘i guess we’re gonna have to practise over,’ a kiss to your cheek.
‘and over.’ your shoulder.
‘and over.’ your nose.
‘and over again.’ finally, your lips. ‘i love you.’
#Steve Harrington#Steve Harrington smut#Steve Harrington x reader#Steve Harrington x you#Steve Harrington x f!reader#Steve Harrington x female reader#Steve Harrington imagine#Steve Harrington fluff#Steve Harrington angst#Steve Harrington blurb#Steve Harrington headcanon#Steve stranger things#Steve the hair harrington#stranger things smut#stranger things imagine#stranger things blurb#stranger things angst#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fanfic#Steve Harrington fanfic#Steve Harrington fanfiction#stranger things masterlist#stranger things vol 2#stranger things s4#stranger things steve
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