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onepagelovestories · 18 days

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I made a discovery/theory that I thought I might share in case it's of use or interest to anyone else!

How big is Valisthea?

TL;DR - It's just Scotland, Cymru (Wales), Ireland, and England but flipped upside-down and photo bashed a bit.

These are just purely my observations, so I'm throwing them into the void!

So, for fan fiction purposes (and just general peace of mind), I really wanted to figure out exactly how big the twins were, considering how insanely quick everyone moves around. This is obviously true for video games in general but I felt it a lot more in FFXVI than other comparable games imo.

There's not a ton to go off of, just some throwaway dialogue lines here and there that give you the general sense that you can move from one location to the next in a day or two primarily by foot (chocobos are a whole other side tangent, as is the Enterprise or whatever the hell Dominants are capable of).

Some of those specific references include;

The trip from Rosalith to Pheonix Gate and back taking an expected 5 days total (with Clive, Tyler, and Wade arriving that night despite the detour through the marshes),

The boat ride from Port Isolde to Drake's Breath taking 3 days,

Someone from the hideaway referencing that they leave for Lostwing each day for work. (Couldn't find the exact example don't quote me on that one.)

Twinsides/Origin being "Hundreds of Leagues" away from The Hideaway

There's probably a few others, but most of the other examples I could find were open to interpretation, merely implying that travel took place in the same day but could be interpreted to have been spread out over longer were it not for 'video game logic and scale'.

That being said, I like things being a little more grounded for head canon purposes and wanted to know how much down time was reasonable in and between trips back and forth.

In general, I feel like the game should have been spread out over the full 5 years. But understanding game development limits, I get why that'd have been a nightmare! So the time skip makes sense practically, and I just choose to headcanon that events are a little more spread out. (Like them taking the full year in 873, from Clive and Jills rescue to destroying Drakes Head, rather than a couple of weeks like it seems in game.)

Shout out to this reddit post for doing an awesome estimate based on an average measure of the aforementioned "hundreds of leagues" quote. This was my starting point.

They concluded that Valisthea was likely closer in size to India or Australia, which I like a lot in terms of Valisthea being a full-scale continent. However, it does mess with the timeline a lot.

Also, I'm from a large country so my sense of what is a "reasonable" distance is pretty thrown off compared to a lot of other places. A 2-5 hour (200-400km) car ride to another city is nothing in my head until you realize that distance would take 1-4 weeks to walk or even ride (Horse metrics. Again chocobos are weird and probably a bit faster due to being all terrain and more robust than horses but are also birds so I don't know what endurance levels carrying heavy loads would be like).

Soooo, I began looking for European contemporaries since the game is very eurocentric (and all the criticisms that come with that).

Which led me to the realization that Valisthea is literally just the UK and Ireland, but flipped.

Now. Am I 100% certain this is what the devs did? Of course not. Is it so damn close that I'm 99.9% certain? Yes. Storm is Britain, and Cymru. The Northern Kingdom and the Iron Kingdom are Scotland but broken up. And Ash is Ireland and Northern Ireland.

Major cities or points of interest all have approximate real-world contemporaries and even follow geographical features on the map in that there are matching rivers, topography and even highways.

The biggest giveaway to me was Pheonix Gate just literally being London, as well as Norvant Valley matching exactly in shape with an upside down Bristol Channel (which would put Caer Norvent in Swansea). Even The Greatwood lines up relative to a major national park (forgive me UK peeps, it's hard to tell from a map alone if that's all one giant forest or several parks smooshed together).

So, if we're working off that assessment, with the quote from Tomes where he mentions that Valisthea is a small continent, then the time/distance ratio makes a lot more sense!

Of course, by our world standards – the UK alone does not a continent make.

But I'm honestly ok with that? I'd rather the land mass be small to match the timeline rather than warp the timeline to match the land mass.

So, here's a list of some of my estimated real-world contemporaries for all major landmarks on the Valisthean Map. Of course, they don't line up 1-1, and are not at all reflective of the locations themselves. It's all just for a relative sense of scale.

Rosaria;

Martha's Rest - Oxford

Eastpool - Reading

Pheonix Gate - London

Rosalith - Cambridge

Port Isolde - Peterborough (ignoring that it's not on the coast)

Deadlands

Cid's Hideaway - Stratford-Upon-Avon

Clive's Hideaway - Birmingham

Sanbreque;

Lostwing - Tauton

Caer Norvent - Swansea

Northreach - Exeter

Oriflamme - Kingsbridge

Kingsfall - Salisbury

Dhalmekian Republic;

Kostnice - Leicester

Drake's Fang - Sheffield

Dhalamil - Derby

Dravozd - Wolverhampton

Tabor - Shrewsbury

Boklad - Lampeter

Ran'Dallah- Tregaron

Waloed;

Shadow Coast - Belfast

Eistla - Kinnegad

Edge of Infinity - Westport

Ravenwit Walls - Wenagh

Stonhyrr - Cork

Other;

Twinsides - Fishguard

Kanvar - Chester

Drake's Breath - Ipswich

Dzemekys - Aberystwyth

Going off of those locations, I was able to get the rough time/distance of certain trips (using google maps metrics in pure walking hours not how long it took them because of *variables*)

Routes;

Rosalith to Pheonix Gate: 86km, 20hrs

Hideaway to Pheonix Gate: 172km, 39hrs (to Martha's Rest: 67km, 15hrs; +Eastpool: 41km, 9hrs; then to Pheonix Gate: 64km, 15hrs)

Hideaway to Oriflamme: 295km, 68hrs (Hideaway to Lostwing: 184km, 43hrs. What shortcut Cid?? +Northreach: 48km, 11hrs; +Oriflamme: 63km, 14hrs)

Lostwing to Caer Norvent: 199km, 46hrs (Benedika and Co were at that fort for days, not hours. Also, how hard did Cid knock Clive out if it took more than a week to get back to the Hideaway after the Garuda Fight?)

Shadow Coast to Stonhyrr: 755km, 171hrs. (Shadow Coast to Eistla: 169km, 38hrs; +Edge of Infinity and back: 181km, 41hrs x2; +Stonhyrr: 224km, 51hrs) meaning crew were gone in Waleod for WEEKS.)

So, all in all a bit longer than in seems in game but still well within range given that they probably shaved off arbitrary travel days for narrative flow.

That being said, I love the potential of more "down time" moments. And it really shows just how often/long everyone would be gone from the Hideaway at any given moment.

It puts into perspective Gav's side quest, "You keep sending me wherever you need to, I'll keep going. Safe in the knowledge that I'll have a home to come back to." And how they all remark that they never seen each other, or how much their trips away together were really meaningful.

(Also kinda excuses the fact it took Clive and Jill 5 freaking years to get together. They were too busy walking everywhere!)

Is it possible to just pop down to Martha's for a quick supply run? Yes. But unless you're on a chocobo, you're camping out at Three Reeds then staying the night at the Inn before heading back. It's more of a 4-7 day trip rather than an afternoon and back.

Anyhow, I hope this all makes sense!

Now, time to go write about Clive/Cid camping overnight in the Greatwood together on Clive's first real night of freedom. 😭😭😭

#ffxvi #ff16 #final fantasy 16 #valisthea #fan fiction

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mrgaretcarter · 17 days

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Time to gush about Hacks season 3 and Deborah and Ava's relationship

Ps: I do not ship them, if you do that's great, it's just not how I perceive them

This is actually more of an overall appreciation post for the show and the way it exists, but I just love that they pour so much value into the creative relationship between these two women, and that, though the show is realistic about the toll of prioritizing a career, it still romanticizes that drive and respects their choice to do it.

I love that because they connect through the #1 thing in each of their lives, you know, the work, comedy, there is nobody more important, because there is nothing more important. So, even though they value their families, friends and romantic partners; family, friendship and romance aren't things that they care about (nearly, in Deborah's case) as much as they care about the work, and thus, nobody else comes close.

This was apparent in the first two seasons, but especially now in season 3, I feel like every week I get dizzy with how excellent the writing (still) is. The way they communicate that relationship through just incredible, inspired, narrative choices, not just when Deborah and Ava are together, but also on their own, or via contrast with other relationships, is so so good.

Like Deborah looking at DJ like she actually saw her for the first time only when she does well at the roast, Ava being jealous of Deborah in the context of comedy (I generally love the choice to tell their relationship through tropes that are usually reserved for romance), and then especially the way that Deborah has no built-in limit to what she will ask of Ava except when it comes to Ava's career.

Deborah will take up all of Ava's time, insult her and violate her boundaries unless - and sometimes despite - being asked not to, and yet she has willingly given Ava space twice, both times so Ava could have the chance to pursue her own work and be great in her own right, which is another aspect of their connection I am obsessed with, because Ava does not think she is (one of the) great(s).

Ava thinks her access to greatness is Deborah. When she chooses Deborah over her relationship with Ruby, what she is choosing is the chance to leave a mark that she doesn't fully think she's capable of on her own ("You're the one with all the stories. What do I even have to say?"), and I think the single most loving thing that Deborah has ever done on this show is believing that Ava is independently capable, and more than that, wanting her to be.

That is incredible because Deborah otherwise loves to be the Sun, to be the provider to this group of people and to keep them trapped in her orbit that way, including Ava, yet Deborah still went through with pushing Ava out in season two because again, the love they have for for each other is inherently tied to the value of their work, so the ultimate proof that Deborah cares about Ava can only be related to that work.

I'm not going to go too much into the sense-of-self aspect of this because otherwise I'll go insane, but I really think that Deborah sees Ava as a do-over, and on some level appreciates that she can believe in Ava in a way that she was never believed in when she was the one clawing her way to success.

That is the other side of the scale, because in 3x04 we see that despite the residency and the fans and the money, Deborah's never felt truly valued in her work until now, and even though the people in her staff believe in her, they believe in her within a specific set of circumstances, while Ava believes in her without restriction.

Like when they're on the jet, Deborah says she cannot just outright ask for the Late Night gig and everyone immediately accepts that it would be total suicide because of how society views women and they think Deborah is beholden to that. But not Ava. Ava thinks Deborah is above those restrictions because she is idealistic in a way that Deborah had never allowed herself to be, or be around, because she was scared of the vulnerability that came with that ("If I say I want it and then I don't get it, for the second time, then I'll be a joke again.") until now, until Ava.

In short, they have this back and forth of trust and belief in each other, coupled with a total commitment to the work that I feel very emotional about. It's not unusual to see that type of partnership in media, but I do think it's rare to see it between female characters, especially as the focus of long(ish) form television, and especially because it demands that the audience recognize a passion and brilliance in these characters that is difficult to sell overall, especially difficult to sell with women, and twice as difficult to sell when it's two of them.

I realize that most of the people avidly watching this show and posting about it on tumblr are probably part of a captive audience that is already more than open to the concept of women as people with valuable inner lives, but I feel like this show has even burst out that bubble and managed to get recognized at a more mainstream level which makes me super happy.

Anyway, I hope they sweep awards season.

#hacks #hacks hbo #ava daniels #deborah vance #ramblings

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hihopelessromantics · 1 year

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Through the Wall Chapter 1

Nanatsu no Taizai Fanfic

Written for my mutuals because I could.

A Fanfic Story Featuring!! : Pre Holy War, demons and goddesses fighting for some reason, TC Meliodas’s Questionable battle strategy, Zeldris being a literal brat (child Zel!) but a very smart one, the Ten Commandments doing their job well for once but behind the Demon King’s back, Fraudrin being forced into the role of NPC after he unfortunately finds himself as the smartest person in the room, the predecessors of the Six Knights of Black being even worse at their job than the ones the Sins beat in Prisoners of the Sky, the lack of goddess characters forcing me to come up with one on the spot, Ludociel not understanding the assignment (the assignmnent being ethics), (child!) Mael’s rebellious phase (hit me with some ideas for that), Bloodstained Elizabeth terrifying everyone around her by just being her jolly old self, humans cowering in the background, Indura, and a lot of dialouge. Also inspired by those pack mentality demon posts because please give the TC some sort of bond, how would they survive all alone how else would Meliodas not go insane as their leader. Can’t give the demons a society (yet) but I can give them Shenanigans. I don’t know how to change the font which is a bummer because I found special ones just for this. Anyway-

More than 3,000 years ago.

~~~Demon Realm. Demon King’s Stronghold.

It was a terrible, no good, possibly dangerous idea to disturb the Commander right now. Fraudrin knew this. But right now, he was the only one familiar enough with the Ten Commandments to approach him. He would tell one of the others - oh, he wanted to - but they were spread thin throughout the Demon Realm defending major cities. Of all the times, why did there have to be a major influx of Indura activity now, when the goddesses had found another way to ambush demon settlements? Well. No use in complaining about nature. There was nothing left to do but kill them before they could wipe out civilian villages - but like with the goddesses, that was easier said than done.

Especially since the Ten Commandments’ absence from the front lines wasn’t … ah… approved explicably by the King, who had designated lower-level soldiers to deal with the Indura situation. It was Meliodas who sent the Ten Commandments out. Those of the demon army who didn’t know any better perceived it as him obeying the King’s specific instructions as he always (ha!) did. But Fraudrin knew protecting rural settlements was the furthest thing from the Demon King’s mind at the moment. He felt it like a stab of unease in his soul. In all his days of service, and all the days he spent being privy to the Ten Commandments’ business, he had never been so worried - the unsettling emotion made him feel even more ill- about the Demon Prince. Because with what news he was about to deliver, the hero of the demon clan might curse whatever prompted him to be one.

Even so, he couldn't hesitate to open the door to Meliodas’s personal study. He slipped inside and closed the door quietly as if this whole misadventure would stay a secret from everyone for long. He felt the Commander’s attention shift to him - felt the lack of politeness he was expressing so keenly he had to force his limbs to stay steady. Meliodas didn't turn to face him but sat perfectly still at his desk, no doubt questioning who would dare enter his personal quarters without permission.

“Commander.” It felt odd calling him that just now, despite everything dictating that he should do so. Because he knew this was more personal to Meliodas than anything. “I was asked to deliver a message to you. Information to be shared in confidence.”

Papers flew to the other end of the desk. Clearly, Meliodas wasn’t happy about this breach of privacy. “I would not come here, to this place, unless -”

Darkness shot out from around him, latching onto Fraudrin’s waist and yanking him forward. As his surroundings blurred together, turning black and purple before throwing him abruptly back into the world of color, he thought he was in for a venomous verbal assault. His body slammed against something - the back of the armchair? - but there was no pain. The darkness gently released him, sinking into the floor in the shape of a familiar sigil. Gowther’s invention. This was an invitation to speak freely.

Fraudrin relaxed somewhat, more than he should while standing inches from the demon called the Destroyer. “There was another full-blown attack near the southern portal to Britannia. The goddess forces were taken care of. I heard every one of the citizens was evacuated successfully, thanks to some timely intervention from...” Damnit, now was not the time for speculation! “Well... before they were asked to be discrete about the matter, they said it was His Highness, Prince Zeldris, who stepped in when the soldiers couldn’t.” He couldn’t see Meliodas’s face. Couldn’t decide if that was a torment or a mercy. “They left quickly to reinforce nearby cities without even noticing the Prince, so . . . regarding his whereabouts after that moment, according to those who were there... Prince Zeldris has been... he’s - ” Fraudrin choked on his own words and immediately cursed himself a thousand times over. Now was not the time to have zero eloquence!

“I assume the Six Knights of Black are dead as well if that's the case.”

Daring to look down, Fraudrin noticed Meliodas’ small hands were clutched together against his chest, tight enough to draw blood with his quickly forming claws. That tone like black thunder would have alerted even a human to Meliodas’s swift transformation into a more demonic state. Right now, he undoubtedly had every ounce of his power right at his fingertips. He would send this section of the castle straight to purgatory if he was so inclined, and at this point, the six aforementioned knights would have been reduced to a blubbering mess of nerves.

Fraudin, counting himself better than them, simply talked faster. “No. NO. Barely escaped with their lives, to come and tell you that he's been captured by a goddess. An archangel unexpectedly showed up after most of the goddesses were dead - they said it was Ludociel.”

“Can't even do one thing, huh. Or come tell me themselves.” His power exploded outward, dark tendrils stabbing through a wall to the left. At that, Fraudrin did flinch. And maybe grab the top of the chair to steady himself. The smaller demon rose from his chair just as his darkness retracted, carrying his signature coat and boots right to him. Not going to question that, thought Fraudrin. He stared at the wall that was a portal to hell knows where for a second while his commander donned his uniform. He chucked his shirt under the desk and raked a clawed hand through his golden hair, smoothing down the static frizz until he was content. This only messed his hair up further but the motion seemed to calm the demon. When he spoke again, the darkness writhing across his forearms had retreated back into his body. “Well. Well. Well. I'll be stopping by them anyways. Fraudrin. Where?”

With more concern in his hearts than there should be for the powerful demon prince, Fraudrin led the way.

~~~

Meliodas stood in front of the large door with his aura oddly relaxed. It was more terrifying than when the magnitude of his power forced warriors to their knees. “Come out.”

They did not. Understandably. The whole point of assigning a guard to the young, yet untrained prince was to make sure he never got close to actual fighting - or even worse, alerted anyone who would tell the Demon King he was doing anything besides wasting away under a pile of books or whatever it was the prince was supposed to be doing during the time he'd normally spend with Meliodas and the commandments. Did the Six Knights even pay attention to where they were going on this little adventure? Did they seriously think their task wasn't a big deal? Fraudrin feared the answers. They had failed a very important test - and even more unluckily for them, he didn't think they even realized what Meliodas would do if anything happened to his baby brother, their fault or not.

Needless to say, when Meliodas snapped the door open with his darkness and strode in without further preamble, he hesitated to follow. The door closed abruptly behind Meliodas- apparently, Fraudrin wasn't supposed to.

He waited in the silence. Taking the time to appreciate the thick walls that blocked out conversation, he stood unmoving and wished they would also block out the sound of his heartbeats. It was like that for a while - the silence and the standing and heartbeats and no, don’t look out the windows, just stare at the door. Waiting and waiting and CRASH. The sound broke the barrier of the walls. A shudder ran through him like a shockwave as he worked to process what he just heard. He just heard a sound like...

Like... the outer castle wall had been...

Meliodas stepped briskly out of the room. The door clipped shut behind him. Fraudrin looked only at his Commander’s face, paying no attention to what could be behind him. Praying that Meliodas’s wrath was satisfied when he motioned for Fraudrin to follow him down the corridor.

He could have left the door wide open if he wanted, displaying its mysterious contents to all - which he knew - but the eldest prince valued discretion in this moment. He did not remind Fraudrin of this. Not that he needed to, but... normally, he would.

The possible show of trust wasn’t a comfort. Not today.

As Meliodas strode forward, his gaze was directed straight down the hallway, to where the large windows displayed the full range of the soldiers’ training grounds. That calculating stare seemed to focus on a point much farther away, and Fraudrin felt sick to his stomach, knowing the young prince was out there somewhere. He quite possibly could not be saved in time.

With that far-off gaze indistinguishable from his usual calculating, Commander-of-the-Demon-Army poker face, Meliodas said, “I'll need a list of suitable candidates for a new Six Knights of Black. These ones seem to have found a taste for desertion.”

Fraudrin tried not to imagine what had just gone down. “Yes, Commander. And the recent skirmish - do you want a more detailed report? I can-”

“Oh, not now.” The Commander’s eyes locked onto his. “The commandments and I are heading out to the front lines in a moment- not that I need to be telling you. I'll be checking over that list of yours when I get back.”

Fraudrin made a face he probably shouldn't. A face that hinted at more emotion than the son of the demon king should be able to understand. But Meliodas could. (He learned long ago never to underestimate him.) Whether he would still chew him out for broadcasting uncertainty and doubt and disbelief in the middle of the goddamn war wing of the castle, well. That remained to be seen.

Fraudrin felt himself utter the words: “Commander, when do you expect to be back?” It was the only nonsuspicious question he could think of, but an audacious one of someone of his station.

Meliodas’s answering hum caught him by surprise. Even at times like this, with the castle almost deserted, he rarely spoke with any personality when there wasn’t rage to mask it. Or maybe he was just so enraged, he didn’t care what potential onlookers thought. That might be worse. “Welllll, that would depend on what the goddesses decide to counter with. If we don’t get into a major battle within the next week, we should be back to check on the realm soon. I don’t have to tell you and the soldiers on guard here not to slack off ‘till then- do I?”

“No, Commander.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ll believe you.” Switching to his usual no-nonsense tone, he ordered, “Fraudrin. Don’t concern yourself with what I’m doing. It’s above you. And if you get distracted and falter in the tasks I’ve assigned to you, you’ll regret you ever got the chance to speak to me face-to-face.”

He couldn’t repress a shiver of awe as he stared into Meliodas’s unblinking black eyes. Could he really resolve this situation before it escalated? Who knew? But if anyone could...

“I’ll look after His Highness the Prince while you’re gone. I’ll protect him with my life, my lord.”

“I’m sure you will.”

With that last pretense, Zeldris’s older brother strode off into the empty hallway, soon to leave his father’s domain for the wilds of the demon realm.

#seven deadly sins #nanatsu no taizai #pre holy war #fanfiction #fanfic #TC Meliodas #Zeldris #child! Zeldris is a badass because he is #someone please tell me how to describe the sound a wall makes when you smash it with inhuman strength. I will need this information for this

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runfast-runfar · 18 days

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Friendship Question

I need to find a freaking advice column to write into at this point because I feel like I struggle so much with interpersonal things and not really ever knowing if my feelings are really valid or not. But asking here has led me to some really great advice/input/feedback too. So here we are. Again.

Long story short, last month my doctor found a lump in my breast that I had to get biopsied, and getting cancer is one of my biggest fears (I have health anxiety, specifically breast and ovarian cancer. Don't know why those two, but that's how it's been for about 7 years now). After the biopsy, and MRI it's not cancer, but hyperplasia. Which means I have too many cells in my breast tissue which increases my risk of developing breast cancer in the future. Not by much at all, but as someone who is deathly afraid of getting cancer, it has been a really really hard thing to come to terms with.

I haven't told one of the friends who I tell everything too yet because her responses to anything serious for the past few months has been honestly invalidating and apathetic. She is going through a lot of her own stuff, which I completely get.

Anyway, when I found out I had a lump and had to get it biopsied I texted her and her response was, "uh oh". That is literally it. Nothing else. She knows my fears with cancer and knows she is someone who I talk to a lot. And that response felt SO insanely invalidating and honestly just hurtful bc it felt like in a moment where I was really scared, she didn't give a shit at all. And since then I haven't really been very open about things with her.

This also isn't the first time she's had abrasive, short responses and we had a conversation about it and it was just summed up to that's where she's at in her life and things she's dealing with etc. And I genuinely understand that and empathize with her, but at the end of the day a friendship should feel like it has some care and love and support embedded in it. And for a while now it doesn't feel like that with her, and I can't tell if that is all just because I feel hurt by her "uh oh" response. And if it is, is that even fair!?

What if "uh oh" was a fair response and she didn't know what to say and just thought that was her expressing concern?! I don't even know.

But I don't know how to talk to this person that I was once so close with because of this fear that if I share something that I feel is hard for me, it will possibly be met with a likewise response similar to "uh oh" and leave me feeling stupid and alone more than I already do. I honestly just never know if I'm too sensitive and just maybe am too difficult to be around or know on any sort of deeper level.

#me #personal #relationships #friendships #bpd #attachment #mental health #advice #input #adulting is fucking hard

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youremyonlyhope · 6 months

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The Giggle

Final Fourteen episode*. If I've added an asterisk it means that I correctly interpreted the vague spoiler I saw and am not happy. (Edit: Yep added the asterisk.)

Anyway. I'm just glad this means we'll finally get Gatwa!Doctor. We should have had him already.

Also forgot to put this in the last post. But. Pandemonium, the world ending, people going insane, and a Toymaker. My prediction for the plot of this episode: StarKid's Black Friday.

Sorry, all I can hear is Barney Stinson. I'm sure he did a bad German accent at some point in HIMYM. I like dolls but these puppets are creepy even to me. "Sunnier climes" OH, SO HE'S A RACIST. Hey dude. Tell Baird about the human hair before it blows up. "Imagine if it could talk." No no no. Be careful what you wish for.

Something I forgot to say much much earlier. I don't know how I feel about the intense zoom-in on the TARDIS in the opening sequence. It's almost a Torchwood level of dramatic zoom.

Very carefully not showing us Wilf's face. I wouldn't have wanted Bernard present for all this chaos either though. I'm sorry. UNIT has an Avenger's Tower now? I don't like that. I liked the Tower of London. But I guess Kate wanted to make sure they definitely didn't get shut down again. I was chanting "Slap him, slap him, slap him" as Kate walked up and when she hugged him I said "Aww" in disappointment. Oh Mel! I had been vaguely spoiled of her showing up too. RTD2, I would have preferred an Old Who companion showing up in the 60th special episode that was closest to the actual 60th, but oh well I guess I should be happy we got something Old Who at all since this really was getting close to being a purely RTD focused anniversary. "The pilot declared his right to land wherever he wanted." Greaaat. Sounds like an average day here in 'Murica honestly. "Why should I care about you?" I mean look everything I've ever seen of the Tories tells me that's just what they're like anyway. What is a Vlinx and why is it here and why do we trust it? I don't trust it. Ah. Bad idea to deactivate it for even more than a couple words honestly. So is everyone just prejudiced now? Like the racist toymaker?

TRINITY WELLS!!!!! NO WAY. NO. WAY. THEY GOT MY GIRL TRINITY BACK ON MY TV!?!?!?! THAT'S MY GIRL RIGHT THERE. I LOVE HER. Ohhhh Trinity deserves the big font for that.

I've found the one bit of RTD era nostalgia that instantly gets to me. Have Trinity Wells show up. I guess this is how everyone else has felt the last few episodes. Not even Wilf got that reaction out of me. I literally just SCREAMED "Trinity Wells!" Out loud. I can't even be mad she's spewing stupidity and is "anti-Zeedex" I am just happy to see her. That's my girl.

If nothing else comes from this episode, if I don't care about anything else, I got to see Trinity Wells again. Ok that really made me so happy just now. The Trinity Wells Show. Really showing us it's her. Ahhh I love her. Seriously I'm reacting the way I probably would have reacted if they ever acknowledged Frobisher during Twelve's era. Only Martha showing up could get a bigger reaction out of me right now. Truly that was a cameo aimed at me and only me it feels like. So like the Master's network? "It's not like the old Archangel Network." Ok never mind. Oh so Rose only came out as trans 6 months ago. I WAS GONNA SAY THAT THE CHILDREN'S VOICES WE HEARD BEFORE THE TIME-SKIP WAS MY VOCAL WARMUPS. God I need to write things down when I think of them. NOOO. I THINK I KNEW ABOUT THE FIRST TV VIDEO BEING A PUPPET OR SOMETHING. THIS SOUNDS FAMILIAR. I don't mean to be That Person but the whole human race isn't connected by Internet yet. We still got uncontacted/limited contact tribes and groups all over the place. Hundreds if not thousands of people who have never seen a screen. Oh yeah! They're President of the World!

(I took way too long searching to find that specific gif. But I love that gif so much.)

"120 plus five weeks holiday." "Done." YAS GET THAT MONEY DONNA. Also find Martha to see if she's still freelance or not. "So you talk about no one. Ever." I don't mean to quote Jack Harkness, but not if they're blonde... Doctor. You are. Avoiding. Still so much Thirteen in you. NOPE. LOL at them having to use basically refurbished still images from the lost episodes. BBC, this is only the fault of your own that they're missing. I hope you two have learned from last episode to STAY TOGETHER. Rules of play. Lawless. Hmm. So the Toymaker made everyone act like kids where the world revolves around them and only them? WHAT DID I SAY. STAY. TOGETHER. Oh no he's way too light. That was way too heavy for the Doctor to lift. Who's your mummy? Not an Empty Child reference just me being convinced his mummy is going to be someone. Oh nooooo not the "mama" and the teeth. OH RECAP TIME. Is this because they know a bunch of people skipped Twelve and Thirteen and even Eleven? Oh well. At least some acknowledgement. Still wish it was in the first of the specials but ok. "Oh, well, that's all right then." Ok look Toymaker has got a point for those three "surviving" but dying. Why only reference the Flux and nothing else Thirteen went through? Part of me is upset at no mention of the Fam and Dan, not even at least Yaz since Fourteen would have seen her only days earlier, but Thirteen had a clean track record of companions surviving so it's ok. Ok NPH's using his Barney magic trick skills ok. I see you. What do you mean a jigsaw of the Doctor's history? WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT. PLEASE BE A REFERENCE TO THE ORIGINAL OLD WHO EPISODE. DON'T BE A HINT THAT RTD2 IS GOING TO TRY TO RETCON THE TIMELESS CHILD. JUST LET IT BE. I'm sorry the Master is in your WHAT. "The one who waits." Amy? Rory? They both waited. "That's someone else's game." huh. Sorry, all I see is Barney Stinson even in the mannerisms. I was wondering why if they went back in time that things would still be bad in the future. Since if they fixed it in 1925 it wouldn't happen. The Toymaker wouldn't be there. But no wibbly wobbly timey wimey just a different order. They should take the little toy box. Oh good took it. Don't you dare kill of Mel right here while she's watching the box. Don't you dare. I haven't even seen any of her episodes but I swear if you kill her.... WHAT. IS. THE. VLINX. THOUGH. Hey Doctor, at least tell Kate what you're up against. I was about to say that NPH was pretty perfect casting for a role like this, then the Toymaker threw Kate into a wall and too I'm mad now. DON'T HURT MEL TOO. Oh no. Kateeee I love you I do but listen to him ok? NOW you tell her about the Toymaker. Maybe some warning next time? Eh. He can shoot it. I didn't like this new UNIT building anyway. This is very Christmas Invasion. [thud] [glass shattering] OK that was dark. Wait celestials were a thing in Do You Hear Me? right? "And yet, I have fallen in love with humanity." Really hitting the nail on the "just like the Doctor" head here. OH. WOW. OOOOOOOOOOH. Next Doctor. Oooooooooooh. "It doesn't matter who. Because every single one of you is fantastic" RTD2 that better be a purposeful Nine reference though I know it's not. Don't you dare say "I don't want to go." for the third time. "Allons-y." Ok I'll accept that.

NO. NOT AGAIN. WE ARE NOT DOING ANOTHER TEN REGENERATION FAKE OUT. NO.

"What?" No. Nope. The spoiler came true and I am not happy about it. Time to add that asterisk. No. Is he not even wearing pants? Oh but I love Gatwa as the Doctor already so much. He's here. Oh Fifteen (fine I will say the number. I think this is the first time) gets to keep the tie. I meant to say I liked the grey knit tie earlier like 2 episodes ago. And the shoes. Oh and Ten's in an undershirt, I thought the shirt multiplied somehow just to not leave Fifteen totally naked. "Someone tell me what the hell is going on here?" I am so happy to see you. Why must your first scene involve you not wearing pants though? The disrespect. "I think you're beautiful." "Do you come in a range of colors?" "Yes." I... do not know how I feel about that line. I really don't like that Fifteen has to LITERALLY share his start with Fourteen. I was saying it when Gatwa was first announced as Fourteen and then not Fourteen because then Tennant got announced. And now it's literally happening. They're sharing the lines, the scene, 1 of 3 specials. Really more like half a special if we're being generous. I really wish we had just not done this Tenthree thing at all. See even Fourteen got to say "I'm the Doctor" first while Fifteen said "And I'm the Doctor." like. Come on. At least let Fifteen have that first line. HEY. THE CAPTIONS SAY [TENTH DOCTOR] NOT FOURTEENTH. SO WHICH IS IT. WHAT IS THE TRUTH. DOES THIS NOT COUNT?

Ok seriously. Give the man some pants. Like come on.

Eeek did he have too many teeth? He looked like he had too many teeth. Flat, 2D, like Flatline? "My legions are coming." Ok and that means... Oooh I did not like that the laugh's arpeggio didn't resolve. "And bind it in salt." SO. IS THIS SALT THING. REALLY A THING NOW? REALLY? Or is it just because the Doctor mentioned the whole salt thing being the leak that let the Toymaker in? And what about mavity? There's 15 minutes. The ball fell but did it hit the ground yet? Gravity? Maybe the game didn't end? The Doctor kissed themself. Not in the way the Master did but still.

Give him some pants please.

NO. NO. NOT ANOTHER LADY WITH RED NAILS PICKING UP SOMETHING THAT HAS THE MASTER INSIDE IT. NO. SERIOUSLY RTD WHY ARE WE DOING THINGS OVER? Unless it's Dhawan!Master. Then I will accept that. I will gladly have Dhawan!Master back. BUT OTHERWISE NO. I REFUSE. Why is Fourteen explaining this to Fifteen, he should remember it since he's him. Like come on. "This is great. I think. Is it?" That was a Thirteenism right there. "One thing you need in this place is a chair." see that's the Doctor channeling Bill judging Twelve not having chairs close enough to the console. "Adric." "Adric." ADRICCCCCC. Seriously that hurts me and like I said I haven't even watched that part of Old Who. God. Stop bringing up Rose come on. OH WAIT. WAIT.

WAIT.

"I loved her. And Rose." OH MY GOD. I hate Tenrose but even I'M freaking out that the Doctor just admitted to loving Rose out loud. OH MY GOD. I mean still fanservice pandering. But FINE. Fine. Tenrose shippers take this one I'm giving it to you. I got so distracted by my annoyance at the still constant bringing up of Rose I almost missed the weight of what that meant. Still mad about the Rose-colored-glasses of the RTD era but good for you guys getting this.

Mavic Chen? Remind me to look that up it sounds really familiar. Ah, wish I didn't look it up, gotta love that 60s racism. Rehab in reverse. So you're saying we're gonna check back in on Fourteen in the future and he'll properly regenerate and/or kind of pop into existence in the moment that Fifteen bi-generated? Maybe? Hopefully? God if I had a nickel for every time RTD had a second Doctor separate from the main Doctor and had Tennant's face stay on Earth with a companion, I'd have two nickels. Don't you dare split the TARDIS too. That's too much. I assume this hammer is an Old Who reference. If so, very cute. They split the TARDIS. And Fifteen gets the second TARDIS. I can't really describe my mood besides -_- "I am so sorry." Yeah you better apologize to her. Ok that's cute the ramp. Why the jukebox though. Traditional Earth ballad? If Billie Piper shows up I'm literally stomping across the pond to RTD's house and killing him because that'll officially be Too Much. I can't even be completely happy at Gatwa's first proper TARDIS flight. "You weren't going to leave without saying goodbye were you?" Of course he was. Ask Sarah Jane. ASK SUSAN. "As if I would ever do that." At least you're self aware. Have these two been the first Doctors to hug? So Fifteen tells people he loves them. Willingly. Openly. Frequently. And a lot. I like that. (Yes Fourteen said he loved Wilf and River but shhh that was over the course of days. Fifteen has said I love you twice in like 3 minutes and was very affectionate to Mel)

Can we PLEASE put this man in some pants though!?

The little 2-finger salute from Fourteen is cute though. "The eyebrow story." TWELVE? Nope an alien species. "Oh, you're family, darling. Sit down." AWWWW. AWWWWWW MEL GETS A FAMILY. Ok. Ok that's really sweet. That's what I care about. Not even Tenthree/Fourteen getting a family. Mel gets one. Empty chair. It's for Wilf yes but let me pretend Martha's just running late to dinner ok? Ok. "I've never been so happy in my life." That's good. Fifteen really split off from Fourteen and was like "Ok you carry all the trauma and deal with it. I'm gonna keep running away."

I knew the Vlinx was voiced by Nicholas Briggs. What IS the Vlinx though? Because I really was waiting for it to be like a plant by the Toymaker.

God I can't believe we're really gonna do the same thing all over again with the Master. Like I said, if it's Dhawan!Master then I'm overjoyed. If it's another, I'm not as happy. I'm hoping that because it was the same way Simm!Master had came back as himself, it means Dhawan!Master will too. We'll see. And who grabbed the tooth this time? At least last time the ring was in a forest. I could believe someone was nearby to take it. But they're on a HELICOPTER LANDING PAD. In the secure UNIT building. Seriously who picked up the tooth?

GIVE. MY MAN. SOME PANTS. I feel so insulted that Gatwa spent all of his moments in his first episode IN HIS UNDERWEAR.

The absolute highlight of the episode was seeing Trinity Wells. Literally the most excited I've been about any of these fanservice moments. That feels like it was fanservice just aimed directly at me. As if RTD2 was like "Hope's not gonna enjoy this. What can we do? No no I'm not bringing back Martha. Oh! Trinity Wells!"

*Asterisk time! I can only hope that Fourteen is just another Tentoo and will live and die a normal human life but that's not what seems to be the case. I don't like that there's just another Doctor floating around. I had been spoiled for it. I hoped I had misunderstood the post since I hadn't properly finished reading it once I realized it was a spoiler. But I interpreted it correctly. If it ends up being that Fourteen does eventually regenerate and kind of hops back into the moment the body splits into Fourteen and Fifteen, then fine. But like. Otherwise, if there's now just a separate branch of Doctors and regenerations and then Fifteen technically has to share the title of Fifteen with whoever regenerates from this Fourteen then I will be so mad. Is this Fourteen really Fourteentoo? Or Tenfour. CAN WE JUST STOP REGENERATING INTO DAVID TENNANT AT THIS POINT. Just have him come back as Ten, he doesn't need to be three maybe FOUR different Doctors!

Oh my god. If RTD2 pulls a "Fugitive!Doctor is actually a Doctor AFTER Fourteen and regenerated and forgot everything and then met Thirteen" instead of being a pre-First Doctor then I'll actually riot. If that's the meaning of the jigsaw of their history, I'm really gonna actually riot.

Of the 3 specials. The Meep was eh. It was fine. Pure nostalgia and a nightmare fuel alien monster of the week. However, I REALLY enjoyed Wild Blue Yonder. That was right up my alley combining aspects of a lot of my favorite past episodes. And the Giggle was fine. Better than the Meep, definitely. I love Fifteen. I'm mad about the bi-generation thing. I would have preferred if after the Toymaster was gone for a bit that Fourteen got sucked back into Fifteen or something as a way of the Universe correcting itself. I'm mad that for most of Fifteen's scenes, it felt more like he was Fourteen's companion. Not the next Doctor. ALSO WHY COULDN'T WE GIVE FIFTEEN SOME PANTS PLEASE. AT LEAST IN THE LATER SCENES.

Also is it still mavity? Did Donna really just ruin all of human history with that one joke?

Oh I just started proofreading and I realize my prediction of Black Friday was wrong. I really thought the Toymaker was gonna make everyone go crazy over a puppet toy.

GIVE FIFTEEN SOME PANTS.

#hope watches doctor who #dw spoilers #doctor who spoilers #the giggle #my non-spoiler verdict: pants #also: a cameo that only i would freak out over #(no it's not the obvious person who you think it is. if it had been i'd be a crying mess probably)

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animehouse-moe · 11 months

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Dandadan Volume 4: Have You Ever Seen A Cattle Mutiliation?

It's really so easy to lose sight of the vibe of a series when you've got 3 or more months between volumes. Despite that, Dandadan volume 4 hardly misses a beat as it caps off the Nessie/Serpoian fight of volume 3 and begins to set up for our next close encounter of the 3rd kind. Thanks to that, there's not a huge world of things to talk about specific to this volume, but I feel like that break gives us the perfect opportunity to dive further into Yukinobu Tatsu as a mangaka.

I'll just say it to get it over and done with: Tatsu, with the right story, would make for a great slice of life/comedy mangaka. The humor, the posing, the interactions, the sheer oddity of their appeal. It's the perfect recipe for a story you can't put down that doesn't need action or drama or anything like that to keep it going.

This doesn't mean they shouldn't create action stories like Dandadan, but it does mean I think Tatsu has room to grow in regards to action series, so I'll start there.

The combat itself is interesting and innovative, but hinges on large movements and actions that are preceded by careful planning and struggling against a far superior enemy. This in itself isn't a bad thing, but requires effort and ability to pull off the pieces in between planning/struggling, and execution. And I feel like Tatsu is just on the cusp of grasping it. The big moments are big and impactful, but the in between can feel lacking, and out of sync with those bigger moments.

Take this page as the prime example. The two action shots of Aira are very good. The top is a very unique angle on the situation, while the bottom plays into a more typical style in aggressive fashion. The middle that separates them though, I'd say it's very far from being needed or contributing to the flow of the moment.

I think even further, a piece that Tatsu is so close to grabbing, is the level of detail for events. Not so much how much work is put into the art for it, but how much is shown for the respective moments. Pieces that you'd want to see more of you get very little for, and then other pieces that seem somewhat inconsequential you get plenty for.

Of course, this isn't the case for everything, as Tatsu provides an incredible sequence for Momo to finish off our Serpoian Nessie here.

The storyboarding, the degree of detail in it, and just the sheer quality. It's an incredible moment that shows Tatsu at their very sharpest in this volume, at the peak of their ability to deliver action and energy through this story.

But anyways, the next piece. Tatsu's Always Timely Humor ™️. Tatsu just gets humor. They get the kind of humor that they enjoy, and they get the kind of humor that works perfectly with their absurdist approach. And whaddya know? They're one in the same.

So, what's the secret to conveying this humor that Tatsu's so good at? Sincere characters paired with an absurdist reality and posing. The comedy is such a genuine piece of the characters that the ridiculous poses and insanely odd setups meld perfectly with the overall story.

And just one last bit of good humor that brings us perfectly into the next topic. The Mantis Shrimp alien became an outlaw for the sake of his son who has an illness that causes him to lose blood daily. As our group of misfits finds out, the blood that runs in that Mantis Shrimp-like alien's blood is nothing else than milk. Thanks to that we get a classic cow abduction scene with some added flavor.

Yeah, that second image? That's 100% an homage to the Millenium Falcon (with a few tweaks to avoid copyright). And that's where the next piece of praise comes from for Tatsu (and why they'd be great with a slice of life/comedy story). The references are on point and creative, and stay true to where the material comes from. Disparate to his one-time senpai Fujimoto, Tatsu's references are very forthcoming, and play a core role in the comedy and reception of the story. They don't carry the story or its humor, like parody series tend to lean on, but it adds a very nice complement that provides variety and breadth.

And truthfully, I think that summarizes a lot of my thoughts on the volume. An old "friend" of Momo's returns with promises of a haunted houses and further teasing of the Serpoians being involved, and this time a reverse triangle appears as Okarun and Momo's "friend" Jiji vie for attention from her. It's well done, and it provides a nice break that allows for the house to be explored in full with the next volume.

I don't think it's a surprise to any that Yukinobu Tatsu and Dandadan are good, but I think it's pretty clear the improvements that appear the longer that Tatsu gets with this story, and the further they grow as a well rounded mangaka similar to their tutor(s), such as Fujimoto. So yeah, Dandadan good. You should read.

#dandadan #ダンダダン #tatsu yukinobu #anime and manga #manga #manga review #manga recommendation

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blametheeditor · 1 year

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Jeremy Messed Up: Chapter 5

NOT SUITABLE FOR ALL AGES

The Sequel To Mike Messed Up

First | Previous | Next

Mike was just a night guard waiting to be killed by the end of the week. Now, he is the proud, and soon to be sole owner, of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. Business is booming, animatronics are teeming with life, and Foxy is back in the spotlight after so many years. Even so, the dark past of Freddy's is slowly encroaching upon them. One with more ties than they could ever imagine.

Content Warnings: Mentions of death and murder, want to harm someone, cursing (lots of cursing), mentions of tracking someone down. Mentions of teasing about being in a relationship when not.

AAAAAAAnd we’re back! Again!

___________________________

Mike only grins at the glare currently being aimed toward him by the world's most unintimidating kid, definitely not taking advantage on how terrified his guest is over the animatronics by opening the door and stop any denials. There's no scream of not letting their wonderful star of the restaurant into the office, so he'll call it a win. A silent terror making it clear there will be screaming if one of animatronics does come close is much better than one that makes him louder than Bonnie, sure. But nothing yet.

The only problem is, instead of handing over the first-aid kit and leaving them alone, Freddy holds Parts And Nervous' savior high above his head. And on the one day Mike actually wants to act like a responsible adult. "Yeah, I'm not jumping to try and reach that. Tomorrow will be a different story though."

"Michael," the bear murmurs. And even though he's pissed about the whole Henry thing, which he has not forgotten, the tone shuts him up. "Mind bringing me up to speed about your prisoner?"

Mike shrugs, avoiding the glassy blue eyes giving quite the disappointed look.

What? He's allowed to befriend a random kid who hid under his desk. Based on the list he's created in establishing someone's chill enough to keep around:

A. the kid hasn't tried to kill him.

B. he hasn't run saying the man's humor and nicknames aren't appreciated.

C. hasn't told him he's insane for saying to respect robots.

If anything, the bear should be happy he's making friends. Especially considering every time he's asked, it's always the same answer of 'who needs friends anyway?', in which the four stare at him with sorrowful expressions.

Which they shouldn't because it's not sad, it's practical.

"I haven't gotten the full story yet. Just that he got chased and needs his boo-boos fixed up."

Freddy raises an eyebrow. Mike flips him off.

The animatronic sighs long and hard as the first-aid is finally handed over, finally accepting the fact he's fighting a loosing battle. "Should I be concerned with your level of trust?"

"Hey, I trusted you even after Phone Guy said you'd kill me," the man points out.

Freddy goes quiet for a bit too long, Mike wincing at the realization he brought up that specific topic, maybe a little scared he's about to get lectured over airing dirty laundry like that without warning. The kind a murderous animatronic isn't proud of and never really wanted to bring up unless it was bothering him. Which it has, and the man's been the one listening to his worries, so he really shouldn't talk about it when he's been trusted with so many details.

A paw being set on his shoulder lets him know he hasn't fucked up this time, looking up from the floor he silently hoped wouldn't be his deathbed in order to meet the clearly hurt expression.

"Sorry."

"I'll be here if you need me," is all Freddy says before walking halfway down the hall in the attempt to not make Cake Snatcher nervous.

Well wasn't he a massive asshole just now?

Mike rubs his face as he punches the door button again in the attempt to lock out the conversation entirely, suddenly not wanting to really deal with anything else today. They've got bandages for their impromptu refugee, but he can ask questions tomorrow. Or maybe not ever! Just get the poor guy home and pretend this never happened. Including Henry visiting.

"It-he r-really cares about you, huh?"

The restaurant owner glances over at the shaking hand ruffling the still mud-caked curls telling him the younger almost wishes he didn't say anything.

"He's a pain in my ass most days, though."

Parts and Nervous grins. "My mom is too."

Mike opens his mouth before closing it. Because those are one of the few things he has no idea how to respond to. "So, since you started the questioning train, what's your name? Unless you adore my brilliant nicknames."

"Oh yes. 'My boyfriend' is by far the greatest compliment I've ever received," Definitely His Boyfriend smirks. "I do prefer Jeremy, though."

"Well met, Jer. I bet you heard Fuckbear, but unless you're putting my ass in timeout, it's Mike."

"Naw, is Michael too formal?" Jeremy grins. The shorter leans forward in order to grab the first-aid kit from hands that haven't even opened it, pawing through the options himself before finding something useful.

Thank fuck because Mike wouldn't know how to start. And he shouldn't, cause that's Chica's favorite job. How rude would he be trying to take her place as head doctor.

He watches Not A Criminal wince as a bottle labeled 'anti-septic' is poured onto one of his knees before slapping a band-aid onto it. "You, uh, were having a fight with it-him?"

Mike huffs. "Honestly, I'm not pissed at Fuckbear. It's Mr. Perfect who wants to fuck up all my hard work."

"Mr. Perfect?" Jeremy snorts, grinning at the look stating what. The man was an absolute dick and therefore deserves a dicky nickname. "No wonder you looked like you'd kick the desk in two!"

"Keep laughing and I'll make time go backwards so this time I ignore your pleads for mercy."

"The guy was pretty handsome," Jeremy laughs.

Mike attempts to not show his smirk because he should be upset at the judgement currently being passed. Very unfair judgement. Just because the entire conversation was heard doesn't mean he knows all the details! "Well then who's your Mr. Perfect?"

Cookie Thief tenses up. At the worst moment too, dumping a lot more than what's needed on a long cut along his elbow. Grey eyes quickly look up, afraid, and not as comfortable as he's been letting on. "N-No one. What's, uh, what's up with the b-b-b-back room?"

"Nothing much," he shrugs easily, the kid breathing out in relief for not getting an interrogation out of passing on a question. Obviously he can relate to not enjoying thinking about the Henry in your life. He thought Mr. Fuck had been bad. "We've got a bit of a bad past around here. Nothing to worry about now, though."

Jeremy slowly looks up from finishing cleaning up the cuts he can see. There's a moment of him trying to find the right words to respond. Mike doesn't interrupt him with a big spill of why he shouldn't be worried, complete with details of what happened only a year ago to make that possible, or maybe even yelling the wonderful phrase 'Gotchya!' and explain his new best friend should maybe be a little worried.

Not when the kid opens his mouth to say-

"Oi, Mikey!"

The man in question turns with the want to either glare for the interruption, or grin because finally the rest were realizing he had disappeared. Turns out, he snickers at Not A Criminal's face going pale white when he spots Foxy waving at them from the window opposite of where Freddy guards. Realizing they're now trapped on both sides by animatronics.

"Ye didn't tell us ye had a special guest o'er!"

That's when Mike gets a wonderful idea.

"Shit, Foxy, you're right!"

Jeremy's eyes narrow as Mike move to lean against the West Hall door. A glance at the elbow sitting right beside the door's button causes the grey eyes to blowing up wide in under a second, the kid leaping to his feet in terror in the attempt to shove the taller away. "W-W-W-WAIT!"

Too late. He's already pressed it. Gently shoved Parts And Nervous out into the hallway as he immediately cowers away from their resident puppy.

Mike is quick to throw his arm over the narrow shoulders, keeping his best friend and official ex-prisoner from gaining the courage to sprint right back into the office. "This is my good friend Jer! Jer, this is Foxy."

You can say whatever you'd like to about him, but the new restaurant owner knows how to be a proper douche bag. So instead of Jeremy getting overwhelmed by Chica's mother Henning he faints, intimidated to hell and back by Freddy's need to seem superior, or scared shitless by Bonnie's enthusiasm, they're left with Foxy being the most aware of how terrifying he can seem to others.

That means the fox carefully closes his mouth shut so his voice box can function without making it seem like teeth sharp enough to cut your hand off will be coming any closer. Makes sure to hunch down so the over 7 feet in height is just 7 feet. Not perfect, but slightly less scary to comprehend. Able to see he's making an effort to come off as welcoming instead of the murderous robot he is.

And guess who's fascinated with the attention to those details he's no longer trying to leap out of Mike's arms?

"Well hello there, lad. How are ye?"

Mike can hear the gears working at seeing Foxy treating him like any other kid who walks into the pizzeria. Jeremy clearly confused but not scared. "I-I-I-I'm ok-k-kay."

"Well, it looks like Mikey 'ere hasn't been the best host." The paw finally fixed to adorn soft Faux fur yet has been ordered to be locked away until there's nothing but metal is held out for an invitation. "Want ta get yer stomach filled and join in on a few sea chanties?"

Jeremy looks up at Mike for support, a bit of a surprise considering he just forced him to interact with the animatronics he's been absolutely terrified of. Screamed his head off with pleads he doesn't summon them.

The weirdest part is that he was already nodding before he could fully process the thought of how much trust he's earned.

Foxy's offer is taken before he can say something corny as shit. "Don't ye worry. M-M-Mikey's coming."

"Fucker, if that nickname sticks!"

The animatronic cackles, mouth opening for a proper expression to rub it in his face. Jeremy doesn't move to yank his hand back either despite such dangerous teeth on display. No, he's willing to let it slide to aim a shaking smirk to say Mike's finally getting payback for the boyfriend thing.

Or constantly making fun of how nervous he is. Or thinking of him in terms of criminal, not criminal. "Don' ye worry. We'll be finding the best thing ta call 'im."

Shit, he's dismantling Bonnie for the day.

#look I blame the holidays #it got busy #I'm the nickname David favors #but the Jeremy's back!#I do like how me posting here was supposed to help get me wanting to write more for it #because these are still older chapters #and yet it's technically pushed it back a couple months #don't make me do it!#I've got a Fritz vs. David but in space #I've got a Fritz vs. David but Fritz left for a couple years #not to mention the Fritz vs. David but Fritz is a thief has a chapter written but I want to rewrite it #my schedule is booked!#but hey at least I've been wanting to do a Tyler!#see not ALL Fritz vs. David #but definitely disproportionate in their favor #Jeremy Messed Up #BTE writing #cw #content warning

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dwn024 · 1 year

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plus just. in the last year the feeling of "being ignored en masse on purpose" has increased exponentially Especially when it comes to my art even though i Know i'm improving and i Feel like my engagement has been going up on average too especially taking into account social media Other than tumblr. and i know "you shouldn't draw for internet points you should draw for yourself yadda yadda two cakes etc etc" obviously i know that but like. imagine you make a cake that you're super proud of and you bring it to a party that already has a cake there. doesn't matter the quality of the other cake, you're thinkin "hey mine's got its own value + i'm proud of it so maybe others will like it too"

and then over the course of the party the second cake gets completely 100% devoured while yours is left untouched gathering flies. maybe a few people picked at it and told you they liked it and were really nice, but it's REALLY FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE to have that happen and not feel at least a LITTLE discouraged

and me because i'm normal my brain chalks this up to "obviously there is a conspiracy against me && i am being shunned en masse && no one actually likes or wants me in the megaman fandom because somehow in the last year it became a teeny tiny clique that's very vocal and Very much does not want me specifically in it, and i don't know what the hell i did wrong or how to fix it all i know is this is definitely the case this is the truth this is what's happening and i'm powerless to stop it." there's evidence to the contrary obviously, but Obviously my brain is smarter+stronger+whatever bullshit it makes up is The Most Correct so any time someone is nice to me it's Obviously just a trick so i'll keep thinking they actually want me around because they just want to laugh at me or talk shit about me behind my back and they're all waiting with bated breath for me to just officially give up

which lately i Have been seriously considering which breaks my fucking heart because if i'm not able to enjoy megaman like i always have i might as well kill myself it's the most important thing in the world to me i don't want to lose it i Can't lose it but i might fucking have to give it up because i don't have any good ideas all my headcanons are wrong only weirdos like how i draw the characters especially shadowman i'm not allowed to be the shadowman guy how dare i have an insane person level attachment to shadowman that's not My guy i'm not Allowed i've been usurped i can't have that guy pick another no one wants you to have that guy you aren't smart or articulate enough + you're wrong about him you're not him who cares if you've been consistently delusion-kinning/shadowman posting since 2014 no one likes you shut up about it pick another or get out. any shit i make is always the wrong level of funny or the wrong level of angsty it's boring it's derivative it's insulting i don't know what i'm talking about obviously everyone fuckingelse is the experts i don't know what i'm fucking talking about what am i even still doing here no one cares about my OCs which i only feel more comfortable talking about because at least i can't get them Wrong like canon characters. i don't know how to get people to care about what i have to say because i either have NOTHING to say OR i'm too preemptively scared of rejection to even open my fucking mouth

i know this is petty internet fandom shit but cut me some slack i'm unwell i'm fucked up i'm a weird little freak and i miss when megaman tumblr fandom was less of a small very tight knit group that's impossible to avoid and more just randos sprinkled around randomly that you only ever tangentially interact with i don't know What the fuck happened in the last year but. maybe it's just because i'm finally close enough to the sidelines to realize "oh it's just Me that's being excluded" rather than "everyone else is just as dispersed as me" bro i haven't stopped thinking about this since like IDK last june or some shit whenever my halfhearted suicide attempt was i think that was june. or may

i now understand why everyone always says shit like "don't interact with fandoms worst mistake of my life" and "i'm so glad i don't interact with the fandom for the thing i like outside my tiny tiny group of friends and literally no one else and all our discussion keeps out of the tags and in a group chat where there's no risk of randos interrupting" i wish i had friends i could do that with . my boyfriend doesn't count also i think the ideal fandom experience is something like "you are the only person in your friend group into this thing and you can infodump at everyone else about it and none of them can tell you you're wrong about your headcanons and theories and ideas because what do they know right" but again that hinges on FUCKING BEING ABLE TO MAKE FRIENDS OUTSIDE OF THE COMMUNITY FOR A SHARED INTEREST i have got to join some mutuals servers and NOT mute them all this time man

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poplohours · 1 month

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wanted to blather about the one fic i wrote but hate the idea of doing it on twitter and tumblr means i can hide it behind a read more for me alone.

The thought of lying to her was repellant. As long as he didn’t lie. And he wasn’t lying. There just wasn’t much to tell.

makes me insane. always hung up on the idea of someone who is hiding so much from even themself because 'there's nothing much to tell.' as though it makes it easier.

Did it count as voyeurism if she knew he had looked? Or if they stood in the same office? The thought alone fills him with enough fear that he casts his eyes back down to the screen before him.

the idea of feeling completely unwelcome in a space that you're inherently being allowed into, the fear of being a voyeur just for the fact of existing and being able to see, the idea of one's eyes being harm and betrayal.

Three weeks pass at the Wright Anything Agency before Apollo realizes that, while Trucy is frequently there with him, Mr. Wright is never present at the office without his daughter.

the original line for this was "she never leaves apollo alone with her father." but i felt like that was too obvious so i said the same in more words. i think a lot about trucy seeing a lot of people go in and out, and the way that nick handles things, and the fact that apollo is someone she wants to have stay.

Currently, however, Apollo wishes that it wasn’t so sturdy, as Mr. Wright is right beside him, full weight against the edge.

i love the horrors and discomfort of workplace harassment. part of my fixation on this kind of thing is just the hyper-casual way that nick interacts with apollo and how ... there's this implication to me because that's so unprofessional and even unethical. in a court of law referring to apollo by first name, when apollo is literally his lawyer, and everyone else engages with apollo at a far more respectful level. the way that he talks about lamiroir or others in front of apollo. the way he jokes about apollo 'carrying his daughter's panties.' so much of it feels so inappropriate and it makes my eyes vibrate.

Wine must have spilled on his clothes at some point, as Apollo can smell the sour mixture of sweat and alcohol with how close he stands. Mr. Wright puts a hand on his shoulder. “I knew you’d be perfect for this place.” Revulsion, embarrassment, or excitement, Apollo can’t determine the feeling that contact invokes. He mumbles, “Thanks, I guess.” “You guess? Apollo, you can be a bit more grateful than that, can’t you?”

i specifically like 'you can be more grateful than that' here because i think a lot about how nick constantly frames apollo working for the agency as though it's something 'good' for him. or how nick constantly internally comments in DD about how apollo is too full of himself. just . discomforts.

Mr. Wright stands straight into a slouch

i just like this line. i think i did a good job.

“And, um.” The way it comes out of her mouth makes his neck itch. There’s no way for her to say it properly, so Trucy simply says, “Sorry that Daddy’s so annoying.” Though his throat should have closed up, he hears his words get out. “It’s alright. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

the neck itch is a higurashi reference lol. the idea of stress and fear. "nothing i haven't dealt with before" as a line meant to make one worry, as a line meant to invoke a sense of horror, without any context needed.

This time wasn’t strange. But Apollo found himself surprised nonetheless.

i like this because the point is often how the scenes that are kristoph change seamlessly into a scene with nick, because they're meant to be the same. changing from past to present tense depending on the scene as well. referring to 'him' or 'he' without an explicit name because of how things like this all blend together at a certain point because you can't allow it to matter.

It’s an awkward fit as he’s blocking the left of the stairwell. Offering a formal nod, Apollo walks closer to the wall. The stairwell isn’t wide, barely enough for two people shoulder to shoulder. He has a placid smile as Apollo walks by – yet – he puts an arm up, palm pressed into the wall, before Apollo can make his way past.

much the point of my horrors ...

Apollo keeps his stare even, rigid and unchanging eye contact. He will not counter with the reality that he has had excuses in the past, but employers never like them, he has had written notation from doctors of illness that meant nothing, and that even if he did have an excuse, it was nothing he wanted to share and nothing he wanted to hand over of himself. He will not and he does not.

Frustration about having to disclose too much about oneself to someone else, especially someone who is supposed to be "an employer", and frustration about a history of constantly being denied sympathy, no 'excuse' is ever good enough, nothing matters enough to let anyone have compassion for you.

He looks at him in such a way that Apollo’s jaw tightens. Somehow he steals so much space before him and it is only with a moment of thought that Apollo realizes he gave it away reflexively. Though the difference in height between them should not be so vast, Apollo’s mind blanks and all he can think is that one stupid meme. See, he isn’t crouching down, he isn’t trying to pick you up. He is following a pitch-perfect procedure. Berating himself, Apollo claws back into the moment. He can’t avoid the situation. Yet no matter how he tries to focus, Apollo is forced to pour his energy into maintaining stoicism so as to not burst into laughter.

dissociation honestly. also.

“You know, you could just ask.”

Nick leaning into the idea of Apollo's 'idolization' for him. I'm insane and think a lot about Nick engaging in sex as something transactional, especially in his business, and oh this is a 'repayment' right, Apollo? Making Apollo's vision swim.

Despite himself, Apollo’s heart races – he hates that – no matter what he means to say or do, some stupid aspect of his body betrays him. It shouldn’t be real.

I'm insane. Stares into the void. I think a lot about physical reactions to things you don't want at all.

“This is a friendly invitation from one interested party to another.” Somehow. That makes some small part of Apollo’s brain snap. “I am not interested.” There’s a sense of pleasure in hearing how harshly the words leave his mouth. “I would like to get to work.” He is quiet. And then, “Do you think this is all that different from work?” And, mocking, he goes on. “For you, I mean.”

since i do the Horrors of apollo wrt kristoph and nick knowing more than apollo would ever want him to know.

“There’s only one kind of work my daughter needs from you. Leave the rest outside the office. Apollo.”

nick once again holding apollo's previous affairs against him. both of them know he wouldn't ever do that, but it's this way of stabbing him through again, again, again. lol. uncomfortable with himself and distrusting and insane.

But that is all it takes for the horror to strike and settle like detritus below still waters. Trucy knows.

Trucy knowing too much about her father's affairs also and that just chilling Apollo to the bone.

Apollo doesn’t allow himself to speak, nor to take the next logical deduction. It does him no good now. Kristoph is imprisoned for murder. The Gavin Law Offices are defunct. Two years of work, study, shadowing, maintaining, all under Kristoph. Within that tightly wound reality, Wright knows what Wright knows. Therefore – to linger is to cede oneself to that which has since been lost. Much like every other part of his life, it is something to file away. It’s a matter of the past. There is no changing it. So it isn’t worth considering. It isn’t worth discussing. Thus - Apollo smiles at Trucy. The corners of his eyes crease in what is more genuine, more grateful, than anything he could ever say to her.

this is kind of the entire point of this piece ... 'it's a matter of the past so it isn't worth considering, it isn't worth discussing.' painful. sad. ... it's the point. how painful it is. how much we close ourselves off. how much we pretend nothing has happened to us and ensuring that anything but the present is burned away.

“So don’t forget, Polly,” she says. “You’re my responsibility.”

also important. like recognizes like.

He smiled through it. It was pretty easy to believe. He’s just not the kind of guy, apparently. He was probably from some weird midwestern town with six siblings and annoying puritanical parents. He was only just coming to terms with being gay.

because no one would ever believe the absurdist horrors that have made up your life.

Year of 1933, a “good year”, or something along those lines.

year hitler came into power. kristoph thinks it's a funny joke.

"Only the foulest vermin on this earth would be so uncouth as to dirty a vintage Riesling.”

you don't age a riesling for more than 30 years usually. kristoph is a wine snob but he acts like he knows more about it than he really does. he bought this just flatly believing it without looking into it because it's about the prestige and the image.

That’s a small difference between the two. One was a stickler for the specifics of wines. The other only cares enough about wine to determine where on the scale of tipsy to drunk a single bottle lands him.

i like this transition from kristoph to apollo as well.

“How’re you able to make virgin drinks anyway?” Neutral voice, Apollo reminds himself – he answers, “It’s just a drink without alcohol.”

once again holding this kind of thing over apollo's head to get a reaction out of him.

This didn’t used to be so difficult.

the more things change the more difficult they become the harder it is to repress your actual feelings.

Indeed, even Trucy appears to be smiling with a wide-eyed exuberance. No one else sees the way her pupils flutter around the room. Anxiety or manic intense focus, he is the only one who begins to have an idea.

bit of a reference to AA6 and how trucy's eyes vibrate as she lies.

It is, in effect, a peace offering. Neutrality. They both care about her enough that there is good reason to avoid unpleasantness, disagreements, bitterness. Wright gives Apollo a nod.

this is important to me becuase it is nick ceding a little ground. not enough. but it is kind of genuine.

It could always be worse. It could be nervously sitting in the closet with a kid at the same foster home because he said you looked like you knew about that kind of stuff.

this whole section is also Horrors.

It made him feel hollow, at times, organs pulled and stripped, but

horrors horrors horrors horrors. the point is obviously like. horrors of sex without explicitly saying what it is, but also like ... again, repression of difficult memories and things you can't really unravel.

Wiping it off the desk made him gag, leaving him to wonder why it didn’t set off his gag reflex otherwise. Maybe it was a matter of whose it was. Apollo sprayed copious amounts of disinfectant on the table and on the inside of his own hands, as if that would help.

me writing this: this is normal

me reading this: oh this isn't normal, this is actually horrifying. ok.

again, i think it's pretty obvious what this is about. trying not to have to Say it though.

once again the horrors ...

There was that Mormon group home that had around five other kids all sleeping in one room in three sets of bunk beds. That might have actually been the point he first had sex, he thinks, distantly. The meetinghouse after sacrament. More out of spite than anything. It’s pretty funny, thinking back on it now. Mormon guys had such an insane attachment to proving they weren’t gay. Much like their insane attachment to “saving” kids through the foster system. But that was why he could argue that he “liked” confident men. At least they wouldn’t try to play off literal gay sex and roll their eyes at him for being attracted enough to men to sleep with them.

'it's funny thinking back on it now.' it isn't, not really. it's just horror. this is the first time sex is explicitly mentioned. i think its important, again.

It was a far cry from living with Nahyuta, who would curl over his back with disgust and gratitude as they watched Apollo take over on gutting the carp they’d fished up.

leaning on the scene with kristoph about apollo's organs being 'stripped'.

no scented candles or acetone in the air.

nail polish remover btw.

As if on cue, knowing what he needs before he grasps it, he hears, “Polly?” “Yeah,” he croaks as a question. “Trucy?”

grounding, safe, careful, utterly removed from the idea of sex or that kind of discomfort and peril and the way you say yes to things without really meaning it.

She gives him a look – what am I ever going to do with you – and answers, “Apollo, I already told you. You’re my responsibility.”

younger but understanding and protective. apollo doesn't have the emotional maturity he should for his age. hasn't been able to be safe... neither of them, but the two of them help make each other safer.

He can hear the grin with which she said the words and it makes his chest ache. There is an effusive kindness in her every move. Trucy times her knock so well that, if it weren’t her, Apollo would assume she’d been watching him change.

also again, comforting to know that she respects those boundaries.

Trucy knows too well what he has never told anyone, not even what he has wholly realized for himself. Would he detail exactly why her father’s behavior made him squeeze a stress ball hard enough to make it explode? There wasn’t even a way to construct the words, the memories, organized and filed away with pointless procedure. He is a lawyer. He trains himself to forget, teaches himself to give up, and he has been doing this for years. It seems unfair that Trucy Wright would break into his life with the worst father and the worst events. It seems unfair that her life is just as unreasonable. It seems unfair that she’s the one person who recognizes anything within or around him that deserves scrutiny.

more explicitly saying what was said earlier. haha.

He looks in her eyes. She’s not asking for anything of him. Not asking for explanations. She expresses exactly what she means through her gaze alone. You cannot take that which is freely given.

this kind of thing makes me cry most of all.

She had entrapped him once already. She would do no further. He would be beholden to no one else but her. She had made him her responsibility. That. Apollo could accept.

entrapped by forged evidence but no other can take advantage of that and she won't allow anyone else to consume him.

anyway done rereading my weird thing. gweh.

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jonboudposts · 6 months

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Cafe Life #5: Gail’s, Wardour Street

Tea = £2.70 (in a paper cup)

We have just walked into Gail’s in Wardour Street for the first time is ages and they have redesigned the place. It is actually smaller, with less places to sit; specifically, they have taken out the counter seating area, so you can no longer sit at the end, watching the Baristas do their thing; nor stare out the large windows into Soho, daydreaming of your latest piece of unfulfilled artistic genius, as London bustles by. Now that dream is also gone. I never did this in my late teens, but always wanted to. Such abandon is for the cool people who worry about nothing.

This is a classic day off at it’s best. We just saw the Daido Moriyama exhibition at The Photographers Gallery, a great Japanese photographer whose best work shows a grainy black and white cityscape full of the people not normally paid much attention to, even though they build the world and kept it moving. We then went to Reckless Records and Sister Ray in Berwick St; got some CDs as ever and did not damage the bank too much, before poncing about in the streets taking my own random photos. Such activity calls for a nice cup of tea to make the day perfect as the light draws in and the horror of Christmas is just around the corner.

Gail’s tea selection is shit now. Just the basics, insanely overpriced (of course) and if you want some food to go with it, better bring your bank loan. Plus I remain hungry afterwards; never filling enough. This is what comes of not standing up to gentrification. First they take the street and homes of the poorest residents; then they take everything else. The affordable cafes disappear quicker than pubs close around here, although we hear less objection. Rent goes higher than the sun and poverty increases to unimaginable levels. If only the Baristas were raking it in, that would at least give us something to hold on to.

These small joys are just the moments between fights now. There is no calm that lasts longer than a few moments – like the joy of a nice tea and cake in the middle of this beautiful city. Between our endless working class battles at home, the fate of Gaza miles away, this is a time of bearing up at best. Anxiety and horror on every channel; genocide on the evening news, all enabled by our political leaders. Evil is so banal. From a dementia-ridden cunt in the US to our very own moral-less banker who talks like a children's TV presenter.

Yet the worldwide response, not least here in London, has been amazing. Rejecting the apartheid state of Israel; land-stealing psychopathic child killers in government trying to tell us our response is unjust, not their actions. We can shut them down and bring justice, even from this far away.

There is only the class war. Maybe I always wanted it this way, so now it is.

Upon leaving I ask to use the toilet, as I have done so many times before in Gail’s but now there is a rope over the staircase. ‘We only have one for staff’ she says. Fuck this place; I just spent the better part of a tenner on two cups of tea (in takeaway cups because they somehow have no china) and a Croissant between two and I cannot even use the toilet? Never coming here again.

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therealvinelle · 2 years

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The inevitable daemons AU

Received an ask, talked it over with the Muffin, now here comes the dreaded daemons AU that every fandom must have.

Look, guys, if I didn't make this post, someone else inevitably would.

This is a Cullens only edition, since tumblr doesn't allow enough images to do the Volturi.

And please forgive my nerding out over breeds.

***

Alice - Hummingbird

It has to be a bird, as she sees hte world from a unique perspective few others do. She's not on our level, with a bird daemon that's in a very literal sense.

Specifically, I see her as a hummingbird - beautiful, tiny, colorful, and energetic, some might even say erratic. Featured in many myhts and lore, just as Alice's gift is something quite mythic.

I can think of no daemon more fitting for Alice.

Bella - Mouse

Self-explanatory, really. Bella has the lowest self esteem possible, she views herself as plain Jane, uninteresting and certainly unworthy of Edward Cullen.

Specifically, I'm thinking a harvest mouse. They're the tiniest rodent you'll find in Europe, just the absolute most delicate little mouse you can find. Notably, they don't like to mate with strangers but prefer males they know and feel safe with.

Carlisle - Horse

For starters, the thought of Carlisle trying to navigate hospital hallways with a massive horse stomping behind him is hilarious. Being unnoticed just got that much harder.

More, the man is steady as a rock, headstrong, may seem a bit odd to those around him and sometimes do things that make no sense to others. The horse is a very kind and forgiving animal, not to mention intelligent. The modern equine is the result of thousands of years of selective breeding, as humans have historically depended on close cooperation with the horse.

I think the døla horse is the perfect breed for him, as they are very determined, calm, and resolute, not to mention insanely strong. It's one of the smarter horse breeds. They're very beautiful, and were bred to be helpers to humans.

Edward - Snake

Silent, graceful, beautiful, enchanting, and surrounded by myth and lore. The snake is heavily laden with symbolism, which I find appropriate for Edward who is such an introspective and brooding person that he would have to have an animal that was more than just an animal but carried with it strong connotations. A snake is more than a snake, and a snake daemon is a statement if anything ever was.

Edward would hate having a snake for a daemon so much, it would fuel his self-loathing and self-romanticizing.

I decided on the Asian Vine Snake, as it is regarded as one of the most beautiful snake species out there. It's venomous, a skilled predator, and includes rodents in its diet.

Emmett - Dog

Dogs are easy-going, love easily, energetic, fun, and easy to form relationships with. They can be intensely protective of their families. On the flip side, few things are more intimidating than a big, angry, dog.

Specifically, I'm thinking a Labrador Retriever for Emmett. It's a beloved family dog, very fun and loyal. It's a large and strong breed, and can be quite rambunctious.

Esme - Seahorse

Esme is such an odd woman, she has to have an odd daemon. And nothing says odd like her carrying around a beautiful bowl (I'm thinking she straight up gets into glass blowing so that her daemon can have the loveliest bowl in the world) with exquisitely crafted aquarium decor. For hunts she has to put it in a water bottle, though, that or she gets Carlisle to hold the little fella.

Seahorse because that way her daemon is a parent too.

Jasper - Dog

Starting out as an obedient and loyal dog, by the time Jasper claws his way out of hell and to Alice's side his daemon is a tired, beaten old thing that just wants to live in peace.

Golden Retriever because like the lab it's a large breed, and it is a calm, loyal, and kind breed.

Renesmée - Kiwi bird

A very unique and odd little creature, that it even exists is a bit of a surprise. It's nearly been run extinct, too. Flightless and weak, it can't fend for itself but depends on either the absence of predators or the protection of those stronger than itself.

Rosalie - Cat

Cats are famously reclusive, stick to the people they're comfortable with and may appear stand-offish or even hostile to strangers, who in turn may assume the cat dislikes them when the cat just doesn't care. They are no less loving and loyal to the ones they care for.

Specifically, I see Rosalie as a semi-long hair red-silver pedigree cat, preferably a Siberian or a Norwegian Forest cat. Long hair because she's high maintenance and luxurious like that, and as for the specific breed - well. The intelligent and all-american Maine Coon would in theory be more appropriate for Rosalie, but the Maine Coon has a too masculine and square face. The Norwegian Forest is just as fierce, only more refined features - the Norwegian Forest has his features aimed towards a triangular shape, as a contrast to the Maine Coon's square shape. The Norwegian Forest cat is notably a one-man cat, many (though not all) have One Person™ they'll consider Mother.

The Siberian is a very sociable cat, and makes the list of candidates mostly because they're so ridiculously beautiful whilst retaining that hint of wilderness. Still, a bit on the cute end, and I find the Norwegian Forst more elegant, hence me partial to that breed.

(To the left: a bluesilver Norwegian Forest Cat, to the right a redsilver (the color I was thinking) Siberian cat)

(And yes, I think it's appropriate to be this obsessive about appearance because Rosalie herself would be.)

#daemons au #twilight daemons au #cullens #the cullens #carlisle cullen #alice cullen #bella swan #rosalie hale #jasper hale #edward cullen #esme cullen #emmett cullen #renesmée cullen #renesmee cullen #twilight #twilight meta #twilight renaissance

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yoonpobs · 3 years

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bad boy good thing | drabble i. | m

WARNINGS. jealous jk, jk's gf is hot and he's not the only one who thinks that, jimin and tae as instigators, i swear jimin and jk love each other, fucking in public spaces aka a car in a parking lot, jk luvs his gf, appearance of perpetrator jin!

NOTE. i missed this couple 🥺oc is living her hot girl summer life and jk does nawt know how to deal with it Lol. hope u enjoy loves!!!!

WORDS. 3k+

“I’m okay,” Jungkook murmurs, eyes fluttering shut as he repeats his own personal mantra. “I’m good. I’m fine—I’m chill. Chillest person ever. I’m good—”

“He’s not okay,” Taehyung snickers.

Jungkook blocks the negativity out, purposefully and intentionally. Nothing could ruin his day—not on his watch, especially as the sun shines over bodies across the beach while the waves break into beautiful fragments that he’s yearning to dip his feet into.

Personal affirmations came first.

“I’m good, I’m fine, I’m okay,” he chants like a crazy person, definitely earning some form of side-eye from the people next to him but he can’t be bothered. Another person thinking that he was insane wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him—not when—

“You should open your eyes,” Jimin says, “How are you going to fight them if you don’t know thy enemy?”

Immediately, Jungkook’s peace is disturbed by the mouth of Park Jimin, who painfully reminds him of why he’s got into the entire personal mantra and affirmation thing. He used to think it was redundant, unnecessary. How could the universe return your wishes just as you’ve uttered them into the atmosphere? It didn’t seem logical to him.

But right now, that didn’t matter—not when he had bigger things to be worried about.

“Don’t disturb my peace,” Jungkook snaps.

“They did it first,” Jimin retorts, cocking his head towards the flock of people at a certain part of the beach, specifically towards where the water meets the shore.

Jungkook’s eye twitches. His peace is disrupted, his happiness is compromised and it’s all Park Jimin’s fault. He spent a good amount of time getting into his zone, reaffirming himself that he was in fact, fine, good—he was okay! But now, he feels all his resolve dissolve when he realises he can’t even see the main thing that was responsible for his dilemmas.

“You’d think a celebrity was on this beach,” Taehyung snorts.

“Not helping,” Jungkook says dryly.

“So isn’t your crazy person chanting,” Jimin points out, “but yet, here we are—listening to you reciting your own version of a biblical verse.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook grits for the umpteenth time, and no less is his assertions any more convincing than it was a moment ago. The flicker of his irises towards to crowd is enough to prove that fact. “I’m just enjoying my day at the beach with my friends and my girlfriend.”

“See, there are two false statements in that,” Taehyung tilts his head downwards, offering a smug smirk that Jungkook wishes he could shove into the sand beneath him. “You’re definitely not enjoying this because I can see the veins protruding out of your neck at how hard you’re clenching your jaw, and”—the older boy makes the effort to taunt Jungkook further by letting out a low whistle the moment the crowd seems to grow slightly bigger—“you’re partially right about the friend part. Your girlfriend though … where is she?”

I’m good. I’m okay. I’m cool—

“Oblivious, as usual,” Jimin sighs, plopping back onto the beach towel beneath him while shooting Jungkook a pointed stare. “It’d be sad if you only called her your girlfriend for six months when you’ve been in love with her for seven years.”

“Okay that’s it. I’m going there,” Jungkook declares, huffing as he pushes himself off the ground while Jimin makes an effort to grab at his ankle, halting the younger boy from causing any damage and potentially getting them banned from ever returning.

“Not with that temper you aren’t,” Jimin snaps, “Sit your ass down. God. Can’t you take a joke?”

“A joke?” Jungkook splutters, abhorred. “You literally just said she’s going to break up with me!”

“I said that it’d be sad if—”

“Same fucking difference,” he hisses, rubbing a hand across his face before he kicks Jimin’s petty grip off his ankle while levelling him with a menacing glare. Jungkook’s eyes slowly drift to the side where you finally enter his vision, still smiling like the soft and sweet person you were as you help Namjoon with whatever crab hunting mission he had.

See, Jungkook’s mature enough to know that you and Namjoon were good friends, great ones, even. The two of you were smart and clicked well, and if anything, Jungkook was more envious of the fact that the two of you shared such a wholesome and meaningful friendship than anything else.

The fact that Namjoon used to have feelings for you didn’t bother Jungkook anymore, not when he knew where your heart truly laid. He also trusted Namjoon with his entire life and his firstborns (not that he’d ever tell you that, and God—did he hope that day would eventually come when it came to you). But still, Jungkook was mature—he did some growing up, and he was proud of that.

But Jungkook’s human, a flawed, ever-learning and constantly improving human. A human who’s crazy in love with his pretty girlfriend that he’s longed for years—and a human who isn’t blind. A human who can’t ignore the fact that, apparently, he wasn’t the only person that was trying to keep himself in check at how stunning you were. Every day—and especially today, with how your dainty yellow bikini drapes over the curves of your body.

Jungkook nearly cries. Yellow was his favourite colour. You wore it for him.

Not for—

“Maybe you should head over,” Taehyung murmurs, snapping Jungkook out of his love-filled mind as his eyes clear, immediately catching what his friend was referring to.

Some dude. Talking to you. Smiling at you like you carried all the answers to all the world problems as you giggle a tune comparable to birds chirping. Maybe Jungkook was exaggerating but it always sounded like you were singing his favourite song even if you were just explaining economical concepts to him like a soothing e-book.

“God, why couldn’t she have been ugly,” Jungkook groans.

“You wouldn’t have dated her otherwise,” Jimin retorts.

Jungkook gawks, affronted as he gives his two friends a scandalised expression as he places his hands over his chest to indicate the offence he took to that statement.

“I’m not superficial,” he huffs, “I fell in love with her because of her—”

“Personality, yada yada,” Jimin mocks him in a lower tune that has Jungkook glaring at him. “Yeah, okay. But don’t tell me that her being pretty doesn’t help you bust a nut every once in a while.”

Jungkook flushes.

“Well, yeah, but I’m her boyfriend—”

“Thank you for reminding me that you are in fact, still a boy,” Jimin rolls his eyes, “Men. Mansplaining everything, really.”

Jungkook’s jaw slackens as his eyes briefly land on Taehyung’s figure who doesn’t look too bothered with how the conversation turned out as he shrugs in response.

“How about you do the typical manly thing of being a jealous prick and go over there and stomp over all her fan club members,” Jimin says sarcastically, resting his arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

There’s a brief rustle from where the sand meets the towel, and a relatively long period of silence while the only thing that permeates the air is the sound of waves with laughter coming from a family a distance away.

“He did exactly that, didn’t he.”

“You need to stop giving him ideas,” Taehyung sighs, plopping a grape into his mouth before occupying the space next to his friend. “Should we find another beach to frequent?”

“Really?” you laugh, “That’s so cool! I’m actually planning on landing an apprenticeship there over the summer.”

“Oh?” The man is leaning way too close to you for comfort, but you’re unfazed. Jungkook doesn’t even want to know where the hell Namjoon had gone, leaving you with this broad-shouldered, terrifyingly handsome man. “I could definitely put a good word in for you if you’d like.”

You beam, appreciative rather than brazen. But Jungkook thinks the man doesn’t know that.

“I don’t think I can accept that, Seokjin.”

And of course, you knew his name.

“Why not?” Seokjin smirks, and Jungkook knows that it’s definitely done him justice in other situations. “For a beautiful—”

“____,” he interjects, smoothly (or not quite) sliding next to you as his arms wrap around your waist before his glare rests on the man before him, who looks both shocked and unbothered at his appearance. “Who’s this?”

You jump slightly at Jungkook’s arrival but relax when you realise that it was just him and not some other beach weirdo.

“Jungkook, this is Seokjin! He actually attended our university—”

“Really,” he says dryly, “That’s nice.”

“Is this your …?” Seokjin looks Jungkook up and down before settling with a rather unimpressed look. “Do seniors usually bring their shadows out for playdates?”

Your eyes widen at his patronising tone, and before can even think to correct him with a tilted frown, Jungkook’s fingers dig into your waist, a precursor to his jaw that clenches while he engages in his own version of a staredown with the man before you.

“Boyfriend.”

Seokjin raises a brow.

“Me,” Jungkook blinks, unnerved and quite frankly, tired. He’s crossed this bridge enough times, and it’s always the same. Some older dude who thought that you were doing charity work by having Jungkook tag along with like some puny little brother. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“Jungkook—” you start, softly reaching to grip his arm.

“Interesting,” Seokjin says offhandedly and Jungkook knows it’s anything but. “Well, my offer still stands.”

He’s directing it to you as you peer up at him with your notoriously innocent eyes. Jungkook hates that this douche is still unaffected by his blatant declaration of the fact that you were—taken.

“I—that’s fine, Seokjin,” you say softly, lips curling into a thankful smile before he nods.

The look he sends Jungkook is nothing short of unimpressed, and Jungkook’s thinking of clamming the dude into the sand and quite literally, bury the hatchet with him. Sure, he was handsome and broad, and undoubtedly ripped—but Jungkook trained to benchpress twice his weight so he could beat up assholes who tried to hit on his girlfriend.

Right before he leaves, Jungkook calls for his name—intentionally calling him Seokmin—noting the way his face drops into a scowl.

“You’re not her type.”

He scoffs.

“And you are?” he throws back, brows raised as a challenge.

“That’s why I get to hold her and you’re walking away.”

With that, Seokjin doesn’t bother responding to Jungkook, especially in the way that you gawk at your boyfriend’s blatant warning to the older man.

He titters off, and it’s effectively just you and Jungkook standing by the shore while you briefly see the way Namjoon stutters before deciding to return to where Jimin and Taehyung lays.

Jungkook’s still seething in his rage, clenching and unclenching his fists even though he got the last word. It wasn’t that he thought you’d elope with Seokjin and leave him—he trusted you wholeheartedly and vice versa. He knew you loved him and so did he.

It had more to do with the fact that Seokjin saw you, and eventually, him—and thought that Jungkook wasn’t fit to be your boyfriend. That he saw a gorgeous girl on the beach and expected her to be single, and if not—to be with a boyfriend that had his shit together and not … not Jungkook.

“Jungkook?” you say quietly, tugging at his elbow while you peer up at him with wide and apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry.”

It’s no good, the fact that you’re apologising. As if you were responsible for his insecurities when you’ve done nothing but shower him with love and support ever since the two of you started officially dating.

“Don’t apologise,” he says stiffly, though his heart isn’t angry—he can’t help the way his words get out. “It’s not your fault.”

“But—”

“If you apologise then you’re gonna piss me off, baby,” he says lightly, peering you down with a small smirk as your eyes widen.

“I—okay,” you say weakly, and before he knows it, you’re intertwining your fingers with his, eyes suddenly twinkling in a way he’s grown all too familiar with.

“You have the keys?” he murmurs softly.

You nod, blind and in love as you sigh.

“Take care of me?” you ask sweetly, and Jungkook forgets all about Seokjin when he has you right in front of him.

“O-Oh, fuck—Jungkook—ngh—”

Maybe Jungkook really was a crazy person, but he’d argue that you were equally as crazy to oblige to indulge in his lewd fantasies. He was crazy, for you and your cunt that was like nirvana, and it’s proven further when he fucks into you at a brutal pace, uncaring whether or not the car shakes with the exertion of the activities that were taking place in it.

It could be the fact that he had a decade worth of fantasies to play out, but he knows that he plays a huge part in opening your sexual nature and he couldn’t be happier about it, especially when you unabashedly throw your head onto your chest, whimpering with the dirty squelches of his thrusts that echo in the vehicle.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he growls, hand wrapping around the back of your neck to force your glassy eyes to look at him.

The look on your face is enough to get Jungkook even more riled up, your flushed cheeks and swollen lips while you nod your head manically, crazy—and his.

“Y-Yours,” you whimper, and just about then, Jungkook brings your hips down with his free hand and meets you with a sharp thrust that has your mouth dropping open and your face scrunched up in pleasure. “F-Fuck, J-Jungkook.”

“No one gets to fuck you like this,” he hisses, pressing a hot kiss to your neck as you whine, hips involuntarily swivelling to meet his fast pace. The car is shaking and it’s all too risky, Jungkook knows that—but his rationale is clouded with the antagonising face of Seokjin. “No one gets to see you like this. Only I do.”

“Y-Yes!” you sob, clutching onto him as he feels your pussy tighten viciously around him, the walls of your inner linings spasming as Jungkook hisses at the feeling. “Only you K-Kook. Only ever want you.”

Jungkook believes you, especially when you desperately hold onto him as he feels himself slowly reach the edge. He knows you are too, especially when your whines get higher in pitch, and your tugs against his shoulders get tighter. He knows because he’s learnt about your body as your boyfriend—and he’s the only person that will ever get to have you like this.

The thought, paired along with the risk of your situation only fuels his determination to get you off, his strong arms immediately wrapping around you to root you into place as he shoves his cock deeper into you.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he croons as you mewl in pleasure, breathless whines turning more desperate as your eyes flutter shut. “You wanna show me how much you want me?”

You nod manically, your pussy fluttering around his length as he grunts in exertion.

“G-Gonna—pleasedon’tstop—fuck, I-I’m cumming—!” you cry, tugging your face into the crook of his neck as Jungkook bites his lips in focus, all ready to accept your hot pleasure and his own.

“Come for me,” he encourages, lips hovering over your earlobe as you obey his orders, head thrown back as he watches your mouth drop wider and your eyes roll to the back of your head, pussy tightening around his length.

Jungkook thinks you’re beautiful. On days where you don’t feel like you do, but he may be biased to say that he thinks you look absolutely stunning for him like this. When he knows that he’s the one responsible for your reddened cheeks, the way you so desperately cling onto him whenever you’d orgasm (the only person that would ever know this fact about you), and the way that you’re left breathless, satiated and with that hazed expression after his resolute efforts.

Jungkook cums shortly after, with those exact thoughts plaguing his mind. He was so whipped. He really only had to think of you and he would get hard, and having you right above him, soft and warm with your arms draped loosely over his form made his heart all mushy and soft despite the way his cock stands erect.

You mewl in oversensitivity although you don’t complain. You never do, whenever Jungkook cums after you. Even now, when Jungkook comes down from his high with pants of his own, his own mind-clearing while his cock softens in you—you remain patient. Patient like the ever-loving, wonderful girlfriend that you were—one that Jungkook wasn’t sure he deserved.

“Wow,” you giggle, forehead resting against his as you return from your own post-orgasmic bliss. “I can’t believe I let you fuck me in a parking lot.”

Jungkook flushes, reality sinking in when he realised that the two of you weren’t hidden from plain sight. While the idea of being caught was definitely arousing, Jungkook knew he wasn’t too keen on having anyone see you delirious, even if it was all for him. He was lucky enough that your bikini top remained on the entire time, but both your sweaty bodies were enough of a dead giveaway.

“I just,” Jungkook tries to explain, words slurring in embarrassment as you raise a brow at him. “You look really pretty today.”

You stare at his forlorn expression as if admitting that pained him. Jungkook feels slightly embarrassed at how he reacted, and if you notice this, you don’t point it out—yet.

“Wore this for you,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to the mole under his lip. Jungkook’s heart soars at your admission even if he knew that. “You know it’s only for you, right?”

Your question is purposeful and Jungkook shamefully looks to his lap, and even then—you’re still connected. He slowly pulls out, wincing when his cum threatens to pool out of your pussy, but before he can pretend to clean you up, you’re putting your bikini bottoms back in place and clamping your hands over his cheeks so that he’d look at you.

“Jungkook,” you say sternly.

He sighs.

“Yes,” he groans, feeling a lot like a child who’s being berated. “I just—God. He was such a prick.”

“I know,” you say gently, fingers combing through his hair while he melts into your touch. “There are a lot of pricks out there, but you know that I only love you, right?”

Your confession is the same as the one you’ve made six months ago, and just last night before the two of you fell asleep—but it’s a confession that Jungkook never grows tired of.

“I know,” he mumbles as you giggle at him. “It’s just that … he really thought he had a chance with you, and when he saw me it was like—”

You frown, finger pressed against his lips to stop his rambling as he peers up at you with doe-eyes.

“None of that,” you chide lightly, “I don’t care what people think. The only person I care about is you, and no one will change that, okay?”

Jungkook feels himself relax into your touch, especially when you lean forward to capture his lips in a soft kiss that isn’t set to lead anywhere. He remembers. He remembers the times where you were unsure and all too worried of the words of others—and here you were, with him and with your gentle and loving soul, the embodiment of comfort as you tell him the words he’s always known but needs to be reminded of.

“I love you,” he says quietly as you grin widely at him, “Sorry for—you know.”

You roll your eyes, lifting your leg to get off his lap as you wince at the cum that threatens to escape your lips.

“I mean, it was kind of hot,” you shrug with a small smirk.

“God, I’ve created a monster,” Jungkook snorts, looking over at you when you shoot him a devious grin.

“You love it,” you throw back cheekily, leaning into his shoulder as he wraps an arm around you with a sigh.

He does. And he knows that he’s the only one that you’ll love back.

#bad boy good thing #bbgt #bts #bts fics #bts series #bad boy good thing drabbles #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x oc #bts fanfiction #jungkook scenario #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 3 years

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A/N: If there’s anything I learned from doing this, it’s that vampirerry is an utter WHORE. Good for him!!!! As for myself, I’m done with the semester and my term projects and finals left my singular brain cell fried, so this was a nice way to get back into writing again. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you to the anon that suggested it, this was super fun to do! :D

read you’re someone i just want around here

word count: 6k

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Harry is very attentive when it comes to aftercare with Y/N. The sex they have is often rough and includes toys, degradation, and multiple rounds, so he believes aftercare is non-negotiable. Rough sex can be fun, but if it’s not followed by a lot of communication and post-performance support, it can take a hard emotional toll on a person. Even when intimacy isn’t meant to be inherently sentimental, there has to be a certain level of connection and etiquette surrounding it, or it could end badly for both parties involved. He always checks on her immediately after they finish, simply to gauge her headspace and how her body is responding, and after he’s made sure she’s alright, he goes into his usual routine of skin-to-skin contact and gentle coddling. Reassurance and praise is just as important afterwards as it is during, because it’s good to let a partner know that your appreciation runs deeper than just the physical need felt in the heat of the moment; everyone deserves to feel valued beyond their body.

Harry proceeds to clean Y/N up after every session, because it’s the least he can do since she’s usually the one getting the brunt of the work. He’ll fetch a clean towel dampened under warm water to wipe her clean, or he’ll offer to help give her a bath or a shower— whichever route she prefers. Harry dresses her, and changes the sheets if need be, and tucks her into bed to ensure she’s nice and comfortable. If it’s been a particularly intense session, he’ll go the kitchen and bring back a snack and a drink— a granola bar and a Gatorade, or some chips and her favorite juice, or if she’s feeling especially hungry, he’ll happily go out of his way to prepare her an actual meal— and he insists on feeding it to her bit by bit until she’s come to enough to handle it on her own. If she’s not hungry, he at least brings her a glass of water and urges her to drink it; better to be safe than sorry. After that, more cuddling is the status quo, which normally ends in Y/N falling asleep in his arms, and Harry has absolutely no problem with that at all.

B = Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Harry’s favorite body part of Y/N’s is probably her chest. Yes, he likes it for sexual reasons— obviously— but there are innocent reasons for his fascination, as well. He likes how responsive she gets when he touches her there— how he can get her going just by groping her the way she likes it, or by using his mouth to tongue across her nipples until she’s writhing in pleasure and whining for more. He loves leaving hickies all over her tits, probably more than she likes receiving them. It’s just so fucking hot seeing himself marked all over her, especially when she’s putting on a bra and he can see all of the dark bruises scattered across the cleavage spilling from the undergarment. Filth aside, he also enjoys loving all over her chest. Absentmindedly cupping them while they’re snuggling, nuzzling his head between them while they’re watching television, massaging them under her shirt with his large palms as she sits back against his chest, sipping a glass of wine and chatting away, unwinding after a long day. It’s a form of intimacy; it provides a type of closeness nothing else can.

As for his own favorite body part, it’s a tie between two different areas. He loves his thighs— they’re one of his most prominent features. They’re thick and meaty and sensitive, so they’re the perfect sweet spot to touch when he wants to get riled up. Given his previous response, it can be easily deduced that he likes to get hickies there, as well. The marks look great peeking out from under his briefs (for the short amount of time they last, anyways) and they make a great accessory to the large tigerhead tattoo along his left thigh. It’s artwork, really; a proper Picasso.

His other favorite body part...well, take a lucky guess. It’s likely not that far off— literally, considering it hangs right between his thighs.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Harry’s personal preference is cumming inside. He adores feeling the way Y/N tightens around him when he finally orgasms (she’s just so warm and soft and unbelievably tight; it’s like she was made for him), almost as much as he loves seeing her reaction. Her body will immediately start to wriggle and her back will arch as she releases broken little whimpers, clinging to his shoulders with her nails and begging him to fill her until he’s milked his worth. Hearing her ragged breathing and feeling her sweaty chest stutter against his is enough to do him in, but when she goes as far as to gnaw on his ear and whine a soft little, “Want it all, baby. Want you dripping out of me when we’re done.” Well, that’s enough to kill him all over again.

Of course, there are times when Harry likes seeing himself all over her, too. On her outstretched tongue, or smeared across her pretty face and plush lips (she looks particularly cute when it ends up all over her eyelashes), or streaked over the valley of her tits, or pooled at the center of her tummy. If he’d been taking her from behind, then he likes seeing it run down the backs of her thighs, or splattered across the dip of her spine. And if she’d been giving him a handjob, then seeing himself dribbling down her fingers is just as good. Why? Because those fingers usually end up in her mouth, which means he ends up all over her tongue, and so the cycle comes full circle. How poetic.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Did Harry suggest wearing a matching set of a vibrating cock ring and buzzing bullet to do grocery shopping once? Yes. Did he drop three glass jars of peach preserves by accident as a result, causing them to have to book it out of the bread aisle while trying to look as unsuspicious as possible, which failed horribly because they were literally hobbling like a crippled elderly couple? Also yes. Did they end up fucking in a Target fitting room? Definitely.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

A lot of experience. Tons. Immense amounts. Insane amounts. Two hundred years of the same seven continents just means two hundred years worth of sex across every single one. And it gives you plenty of time to find the clitoris, as well as giving you a chance to learn the female anatomy like the back of your hand. That being said, Harry doesn’t doubt he could make Y/N cum with his wrists tied behind his back and a blindfold strapped to his face. In fact, he’s made her cum just by using his thigh, so that in itself is enough credibility to last him several more lifetimes. The toy chest in his closet and the fact that he’s well-endowed are bonuses— he knows more than enough tricks to keep her satisfied with just his tongue. Not to mention his fingers— they’re long for a reason.

F = Favorite position

Funny enough, Harry doesn’t have one. He’s spent so many decades cycling through every possible position in existence, it’s gotten to where he can’t pin-point a preference; all positions are unique, and they each have their own appeal. Reverse cowgirl is nice because he likes watching the way he stretches Y/N open with every plunge of her hips, and it also gives him the luxury of marking his rings across her ass in the process. Regular cowgirl is nice, too— having her chest bouncing in his face is nothing short of a divine miracle, in his opinion. Doggy style is a staple, and there’s always different add-ons he can apply to spice it up; for example, taking her from behind with her wrists tied to her ankles, or bending her over the kitchen counter with her face pressed into the marble, or fucking her against his glass wall with her hands and chest flushed to the cool surface as their breaths fog the floor-to-ceiling window.

Missionary is a tried and true option, and just like it’s prior counterpart, it can be enhanced with a variety of extra tricks. Bondage is a good condiment, against the wall is always a nice touch, spread-eagle never goes wrong, and just having her legs wrapped around his lower back is more than enough. However, he does have two favorite variations of the position. The first is when he mounts her legs onto his shoulders or along the inside of his elbows to open her up more, and then just ramming his hips down at a very specific angle that hits her g-spot just right, pounding her into the bed so hard she tears the sheets off the mattress. The second is a cowgirl-missionary hybrid: he sits back on his heels and uses the steep downward slope created by his thighs as elevation, pulling her ass onto his tilted lap and swinging her legs over either side of his hips. He gropes her waist with his palms and yanks her forward, bouncing her against his cock and watching her completely dismantle as he nudges all the right places with as much speed and force as she deems fit.

And then there’s fucking from the side, but that’s a whole other extensive conversation he doesn’t have time for.

Actually, maybe Harry will entertain it for a minute or so. He usually throws one of Y/N’s legs over his neck to get a deeper range, manhandling her roughly onto her side and yanking her closer to his body by her waist, grasping it with stern vigor and holding her down against the mattress, grunting out a gravelly, strict command along the lines of, “Stay fucking still.” He’ll drill into her at a brutal, consistent pace, staining his fingerprints along the curves of her torso and sponging damp kisses onto her ankle, smirking into her skin as he watches her fist at the duvet in a futile attempt at maintaining her bearings. It’s pretty evident that she can’t, though; the way her eyes lull around their sockets from his harsh stride does a terrible job at hiding her lack of self-control, alongside the fragmented curses she gasps out whenever he nudges her g-spot with the head of his cock.

“Oh, that was such a pretty noise. Did I hit that little spot you like?”

Her response will be begrudging, as always, which he thinks is ridiculously useless considering he can see her burying her face into the pillow to hide how her jaw drops open in sheer rapture. “No.”

“No?” The vampire leans forward, stretching her leg towards the headboard and preening at the garbled squeak that escapes her gritted teeth, plunging deeper as he lowers himself to her level. He knots her hair around his knuckles, tugging sharply until her face is tilted back enough to meet his fiery gaze. “Then why are you starting to shake?

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on the mood, honestly. There are definitely serious moments, but Harry enjoys the humorous ones just as much. He already adores making Y/N laugh and smile on a regular basis, and that desire only grows when he’s buried between her thighs, simply because she just looks so fucking cute laughing with her hair splayed around the pillows in a messy halo, her sounds of glee stuttering due to how sharply she’s jolting against the bed. He loves feeling her giggle into his mouth as he cracks sarcastic jokes and makes stupid witty comments that break the intensity in the air, especially because she’s usually clever enough to return them with some of her own. Then they both end up snickering like idiots as he tries to keep a solid pace, which eventually tapers to a messy, haphazard stride as their laughter drowns out their goal to the point where he has to take a genuine break to collect himself. There’s tons of examples— how could there not be? Sex is hardly ever perfect, so awkward moments are not only expected, but guaranteed. What better way to handle them than with a bit of humor?

There was an incident once where Harry accidentally knocked their foreheads together so hard, they both bruised (which he responded to with, “I’m pretty sure this isn’t what Cosmopolitan meant when they suggested matching couples tattoos.”). Another time, he got so into the moment he didn’t realize he was jack-hammering the top of her head into the backboard until she brought it to his attention (and made a comment saying it sounded like a sped up version of the beat to We Will Rock You). A bad case of the hiccups. Y/N burping right in his face halfway through his orgasm. A random leg cramp that made him think he was going to need amputation to survive. Accidentally rolling off the bed or couch onto the ground and nearly dislocating both of their spines in the process, getting his cross earring tangled in her hair and nearly ripping off his ear trying to get it out, and the unfortunate collapse of a pillow fort he’d spent over an hour building. He even sneezed in her face once, and when she instinctively went to shove him back, she wound up slamming her palm into his nose so hard he nearly passed out. Nose bleeds aren’t necessarily sexy, per se, but he just dug blindly through her nightstand until he found two new tampons somewhere in that black hole she calls a drawer, shoved them in his nostrils, and kept going. No one can ever accuse him of being unresourceful.

Queefing. Lots and lots of queefing, which he usually starts mimicking with his mouth, and then she responds to that by whining and telling him to cut it out, and then he takes to mocking her whining instead. It normally finishes with them laughing so hard that Harry’s cheeks hurt from smiling so big, but it’s a good type of pain. The best type of pain.

H = Hair (how do they groom?)

Harry likes keeping himself neat and orderly, but he doesn’t enjoy going bare, so trimming is his grooming preference. There’s just something so unappealing about a completely smooth dick— it looks like raw chicken and it’s fucking disgusting. He doesn’t have anything against a good bush, but it tends to get unruly and he’d rather not have to overcomplicate his shower routine. And honestly, he can’t trust himself because last time he had a full front yard going, he got shitfaced and tried to braid it on a dare. Keeping the hedges trimmed is the ideal landscaping option, and it just looks way hotter— a uniform dusting of hair is a good accessory and it just makes everything look more cohesive, given that he also fancies keeping his happy trail thick. It’s all about aesthetics, isn’t it?

I = Intimacy (the romantic aspect)

It’s no secret that Harry’s been somewhat detached from intimacy for the last two hundred years or so. Intimacy is reserved for genuine romance, and that’s something he hadn’t entertained since before the lightbulb was invented. But now that he has Y/N, intimacy has crawled its way back out from the deepest recesses of his subconscious, where it had been shoved into a bottomless pit with the rest of his trauma. He likes it— he likes opening up to her in any way he can, because sharing those obsolete parts of himself with someone again is more fulfilling than he ever imagined. He likes kissing her randomly when she’s halfway through a sentence, just to feel her words die off abruptly in her throat as she gives into his gentle gesture, a delicate smile spreading across her satin lips. He likes whispering sweet phrases of encouragement into her hair when they’re tangled amidst sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets, reminding her of how much he cares for her and how beautiful she looks when she’s so far gone and how she makes him feel like his entire body has been set alight. He likes sponging soft pecks across the stretch marks along her thighs and across the dimples on her belly, her skin candy and velvet on his tongue as she releases a watery sigh that lets him know he’s doing all the right things in all the right places. He just likes letting her know she's special to him, in any and every way he can.

Intimacy forges timeless bonds, and he reckons that assumption is unarguable, considering he knows a thing or two about eternity.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

Harry likes to jack off, obviously. Who doesn’t? It’s why he has an entire section of his toy chest dedicated to self-pleasuring tools. Vibrating cock rings, an array of lubes that range from temperature-changing to sensation sensitivity, and a few pocket vags that get the job done whenever Y/N is out of commission (usually because of work). His favorite one is an electronic sleek black model that is made of a premium silicone material and has a variety of massage settings, suction strengths, and internal textures. It’s designed to make the session feel more real, and yes, it was expensive, but self-love is always worth the splurge.

The beauty of living on his own is that he can get off wherever and whenever he wants, without having to stress about someone interrupting an important step in his pampering routine. He usually does it in his room and on his bed, simply because Y/N’s pillow is close by and the experience is heightened when her scent is swimming around his hazy, bliss-drunken mind. If Harry is feeling particularly needy, he’ll ditch the toy all together and just hump one out against the mattress or cushion. If it’s a particularly restless day, he’ll take a toy downstairs and lazily play within himself on the couch while browsing through Netflix. Those instances usually average a few tamer orgasms rather than a single large one, but he’s not complaining; his stamina comes in unapologetic waves that stem from a never-ending supply, and he certainly has the time to kill. If Harry gets the sudden urge in the shower or while he’s relaxing in his jacuzzi, he won’t bother fetching a trinket; he’ll just stroke one out with his hand, using the cool metal of his trusty lionhead ring to tease the tip until he brings himself to orgasm. It turns out daylight crystals have more than one use.

There is one common factor amongst all these different choices, though: Y/N is present in every fantasy. And if the vampire is feeling especially bold, he’ll grab his phone and take a video of whatever he’s doing to himself, and then she’ll have a nice little gift waiting for her once she gets out of the café for the day. That usually leads to him receiving a present in return later that evening, and then he’s dialing her contact before the clip is even done playing, and then what he does during his alone time doesn’t require him being so alone anymore.

K = Kinks

Harry has tons— in fact, he has so many, he can’t really keep track. And he also has the sneaking suspicion that if he were to ever jot all of them down, he’d end up locked in some type of sex addict rehabilitation center. Bondage is a big one, so he’ll start there. He’s great with ropes, given that he learned his way around them ages ago. Chains are nice, but they can be a pain to set up without the right equipment; he’s thinking of getting a reinforced metal hook installed into his ceiling, like the one in his storage closet, which he uses to keep his punching bag secure. Handcuffs, obviously— velvet-lined, straight metal, fuzzy coverings, he’s got it all. Dominance, degradation, Daddy, Sir, choking, brat-taming, spanking, flogging, slapping— impact play in general, to be honest— spitting, wax, praise, begging, masochism, branding (mild stuff, no molten metal shit), collaring, discipline, dirty talk, edging, exhibitionism, face-fucking, face-sitting (with him on the receiving end), giving oral (is that a kink? It is now.) gagging (both the action and using the actual object itself), breeding (he hates that term but that’s the official name, unfortunately), teasing, voyeurism, role play, and… he thinks that’s it. Oh, and blood, but that doesn’t really count for apparent reasons.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Y/N’s couch is sacred, at this point. Their entire relationship started on that lumpy, worn excuse of a sofa, and it’s seen them through their progression from strangers to friends with benefits to lovers to more. It’s comfortable enough, the dark color hides any explicit stains, and the cushions always smell of her signature mixture of honey and lavender combined with Snuggle fabric softener. It’s finicky, but irreplaceable. His kitchen counter is a close second. It’s provided a lot, taken a lot, been through a lot— through a lot of Lysol wipes, to be specific. If it wasn’t marble, it likely would have been reduced to chunks and rubble by now, courtesy of his enhanced strength gripping the edges as he slams her against the smooth surface. The backseat of his Cadillac is consecrated, as well; there’s just so much erotic appeal to fucking in a car with rock music blaring in the background, muffling the obscene sounds of bodies connecting and a mixture of fever-pitch moans. The couch, the counter, and the Cadillac— the Unholy Trinity.

The jacuzzi is nice, too, but for the sake of his clever little “c” alliteration, he’ll leave that one as an implied token.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

As much as Harry claims he likes full submission in bed, he can’t deny that he loves being challenged. Delivering punishment and coaxing out an orgasm is so much more satisfying when he has to fight for it; it’s so fucking hot watching his girlfriend try to best him in a power struggle, especially when she finally— and undeniably, since he always wins— caves under his will and winds up begging him for what he otherwise would have gifted her freely. That’s where the brat-taming kink comes into play. He likes it when she mouths off and makes snarky digs, and he enjoys it even more when he tries to set her in place and she amps her disobedience as a result. There’s nothing more attractive than a battle of wits with someone who is a perfect match in every way. And when she channels her attitude into physical gestures, it riles him up beyond compare. For example, when she smirks and rolls her eyes, despite the fact that there’s trails of tears staining her cheeks and mascara smeared all over her waterline? Christ, he could go feral.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No feet, no feces, no beastiality. There’s probably more, but those are the ones off the top of his head.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Receiving oral is great— he highly recommends it, solid ten out of ten— but giving it is so much better. Harry’s always been a giver, even when he was young and barely knew his way around a woman’s undergarments. The stereotypical expectation for a person who is beginning to explore their sexuality is that everything they do, they do for their own gain. It’s a selfish realization, yes, but it’s a primal type of selfishness that no one can truly be blamed for. It’s a simple concept: when you start having sex, you want as much personal benefit as possible. It’s only natural. But from the second Harry became sexually active, he came to find that providing release to his partner outweighed the bliss he could get from letting them pleasure him instead. It’s not direct pleasure, but rather cognitive, which more often than not translates itself physically. And when it comes to Y/N, that euphoria manifests tenfold.

Nothing compares to having his face buried between her legs as she tugs and yanks at his hair desperately, her chest heaving and jaw falling open as he uses his tongue to unravel her from the inside out. Spitting sloppily onto her folds and hearing the raw gasp of aroused shock that escapes her sore throat, which causes his swollen lips to spread into a dirty grin as he latches onto the sensitive bud at the thick of her core, fiddling with it until her legs are trembling uncontrollably around his sturdy shoulders. Watching her features go slack as he bobs his neck fervently between her thighs, swiping the bridge of his nose across her clit over and over until the entire bottom half of his face is drenched in her excitement. Fucking his tongue into her and feeling her buck against his jaw as she holds him in place with her fingers tangled in his curls, whimpering his name repeatedly in a voice so shattered, he could probably build a mosaic with the fractures. Feeling her drip down his chin and into the collar of his shirt, savoring how sweet she tastes as he pins her hips down against the bed and groans feverishly into her cunt, his ego idolizing the image of her so disheveled under his influence.

A measly blowjob is hardly any competition to that. Harry could very well cum just from eating Y/N out. In fact, he has, and that in itself is all the proof he needs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This is one of those other factors that depends on the mood. If Harry has been waiting all day for it, his impatience bleeds into his rhythm, which means he settles for fast and hard. It means he settles for bending her over the back of his couch with one palm around her throat and his other fingers in her mouth, pounding into her with so much force, the sofa starts shifting across the ground. If Y/N has been teasing him endlessly for a decent amount of time, it’ll be rough and deep, but not fast; he’ll drag it out for as long as possible, just to make her regret acting like such a spoiled brat. That’s when he brings out the paddle, or the crop, or just manhandles her across his lap and spanks her until she’s apologizing profusely through her whines. If he’s in a soft, romantic headspace, it’ll be slow and sensual, with lots of gentle caresses, giggly kisses dusted across eager lips and droopy eyelids, and penetrating strokes that make his toes curl and tummy clench.

Pace is relative, but the message behind it is all the same: I want you more than anything, and I’m going to show you just how deeply I mean it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are fun, Harry will admit. They’re filthy and messy, and they show just how far gone two people are for each other to the point where they can’t wait to feel one another at a later time; that they need to be together now, or they’ll go absolutely insane. Quickies are saved for when the urge strikes at random times. For when he’s out with Y/N at a park, sitting under the shade with his head in her lap as she combs his curls out of his eyes and thumbs over his chin affectionately, and the sun filters through the tree canopy just right to where it illuminates her lashes and the suppleness of her cheeks in a manner he deems ethereal. For when they’re at the mall, walking hand in hand and licking at ice cream cones as they survey the shops, and she reaches over to wipe a bit of Rocky Road off the corner of his mouth, replacing the stain with a soft stipple of her lips instead. For when they’re out eating dinner and playing footsie under the table like immature teenagers, and she’s trying to steal a French fry from his plate but he keeps fighting her off with his fork because, “I told you to order your own, but you wanted those disgusting potato skins instead!” And she’s laughing so brightly and unapologetically, giving him a look that so obviously tells him she can’t wait to get him alone, and nothing seems quite as flawless as that fraction in time, then and there and nowhere else.

These simple but memorable moments cause him to get love boners, which he jokingly refers to as “sniffy stiffies,” where “sniffy” has to do with being sentimental, and “stiffy”...well, that one is pretty self-explanatory, no? It always ends with them shagging in the car, or in the family bathroom of a diner, and in the case of the park, in an obscure area of the forest that lines the jogging trail.

Quickies are just that— fast, but meaningful nonetheless, because they come from a place of genuine emotion. They’re fleeting, but unforgettable. Sniffy stiffy quickies, if you will.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Taking risks is the norm in Harry’s life, especially when it comes to his sex habits. He’s proven time and time again that he has no problem riding along the seams of a dare and just barely making it out unscathed, so experimenting outside of the bedroom is just another day in the life. Fingering Y/N in a music room in an antique shop, getting road head during a two hour drive back to Los Angeles, ripping his girlfriend’s panties out from beneath her dress at one of California’s most prestigious restaurants— the list is endless, really. Harry likes to think he has a gift for coming up with inspirational quotes on the spot, so he’ll lend his expertise here and now: “A life without risks is a life that isn’t worth shit.” It even rhymes, so he knows sorority pledges will have a ball putting it in their Instagram bios. A bit of charity work for the bird-brained.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Endless stamina. Literally. Vampires don’t stay tired for long, so he could be ready to go again within seconds. And he can last long, as well; his stubbornness and pride depend on it, and he likes making his partner cum first as an ego boost. He can go as many rounds as Y/N can and more, though he won’t push it. He doesn’t want her to end up in the ER with a bruised cervix.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Harry could run a sex shop from his closet; Y/N doesn’t take the piss by calling him “Fifty Shades” for no reason. He uses them on himself, he uses them on her, and he got high once and tried to sword fight Y/N with a dildo, so it’s safe to say he definitely uses them quite a bit. If his Lovesense Lush 3 vibrator could talk, he’d be drawn and quartered for excessive debauchery.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Harry loves teasing, that’s no mystery. Winding people up is one of his most practiced skills, so of course that would channel into his intimate life. He’s mastered it, though it’s not like it’s hard. A drawn out blink here, or a feathery touch there. An inch of space between his and Y/N’s lips to establish some tension, or squeezing her inner thigh with his palm hard enough to draw a tiny squeak from her chest. Touching her through her clothes, or leaving a trail of wet kisses down her throat and stopping right at her cleavage. Biting the sensitive skin along the inside of her knee, or dragging the tip of his cold nose down the center of her twitching tummy. Lapping slowly at her nipples until they perk up, or sinking a single long digit inside her and keeping it there just to feel her clench around it needily. And once he gets a pattern going, teasing molds into edging, edging molds into begging, begging molds into praise, and before he knows it, he’s hit four of his kinks with one roll of the dice.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Harry is very vocal in bed, and he’s not ashamed of it. He knows for a fact that Y/N loves it, and if him being loud gets her worked up, then he’ll let his throat go out in the process. He’s noticed that in different situations, he has an arsenal of sounds for each. If he’s being rough and dominant, he tends to groan, grunt, and growl. If he’s being desperate and needy, he turns to whines and whimpers to communicate how he feels. If he’s too zoned into the moment to distinguish all his emotions, broken moans and stuttered mewls are his default. No matter the circumstance, they all take the same route: they start low and soft, and escalate in volume proportional to the intensity of the moment. So what if half the building is hearing him orgasm for the third time as he mocks his girlfriends sobbing pleads and calls her his “dirty fucking whore”? Let’s be honest, it’s probably the highlight of their week. He has a great voice— a sultry, deep baritone that compliments his English accent nicely— and anyone would be lucky to hear it spew the filth it does. He’s yet to get many complaints, so he doesn’t intend on stopping.

W = Wildcard (random headcanon)

An honesty hour moment seems interesting, so he’ll confess a few tales from his past. The first time Harry ever went down on a girl, it was against a tree in a garden and he nearly asphyxiated under all the layers of her gown. A couple of years later, he ended up getting oral from a reverend’s daughter against a tree, too, for the morbid irony and associated religious revenge. And to drive the point home, oral was only the beginning of what she gave him. His first decade as a vampire was definitely his pettiest.

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It’s not uncommon knowledge that Harry’s well-endowed. He remembers how insecure he was the first time he had sex— a shocker, he knows; he was insecure?— and how he knew barely anything regarding sizing and how to use his assets accordingly. But it’s been ages since then, and now he definitely knows his way around his own body (let alone his partner’s), and he most certainly knows that he’s above average not only as a person in general, but when it comes to what’s in his trousers, as well. Harry won’t specify inches— he loves how speculation drives others mad— but it was big enough to give Y/N a decent pause the first time she pulled down his pants, and it’s big enough to leave her absolutely fucked every single time, without a single miss. If that’s not credibility at its finest, then he doesn’t know what is.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Harry’s sex drive is insatiable, to say the least. His vampirism combined with his narcissistic tendencies makes the ideal cocktail— cocktail— for the constant fuse that’s always burning under his skin. He’s ready to go at all times; Y/N just has to say the word and he’s pulling on a pair of sweatpants as he grabs his keys, hopping down his complex’s corridor toward the elevator on one foot as he tries to get his last shoe on the other. Lazy morning sex is probably his favorite; he’s come to find it’s when he’s most pent up, usually after a sleepless night of feeling Y/N’s body heat radiating through all of his cold limbs. It also sets a great tone for the rest of the day, and he just loves seeing Y/N wake up to him lying on his side with his temple resting on his fist, his elbow propped against the mattress as he poses the other on his hip in a theatrical diva stance. He’ll smile at her giddily with all his pearly teeth, dimples twitching as his lashes flutter dramatically, dirty intentions written clear all over his face (“Good morning, hon—” “Wanna have sex?” “Harry, it’s ten in the morning.” “Is that a yes? Because it’s not a no.” “I haven’t even brushed my teeth!” “That’s fine, I’m gonna stick my dick in there anyways.”)

All in all, his libido is insane, and he’s lucky that Y/N’s is up to par or else he would have worked her into an exhaustion-induced coma by now.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Harry just...doesn't. Maybe once every few weeks, but definitely more often now than before he had his girlfriend. Sleeping just comes way easier when he has someone he cares about resting beside him, their inherent warmth thawing the stiffness from his muscles and putting his racing mind at ease. He feels safe enough around Y/N to let his guard down— both literally and metaphorically— and that seems to help with his supernatural insomnia; it sedates that nocturnal hyper-instinct in his brain that demands he be aware at all times, muffling the animalistic part of him that has been manning the reins for the better half of the last two hundred years. He doesn’t need to be so on edge anymore when everything he needs is just an arm-length away. Especially when she’s usually willing to lend her chest as a pillow, and who is he to neglect her wishes.

#ysijwa #harry styles smut #vampire!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles mature #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction

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lordoftherazzles · 3 years

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Can I you write something on jealous thorin! I am dying to read something like that... Like Bilbo going somewhere and getting flirted by someone (except elves and dwarves) for example by a normal handsome person. And even Bilbo is attracted and stupified by his elegance and his slender body.

Thank you so much for this prompt!! I love writing a grumpy guy. This one was a lot of fun for me and gave me an opportunity to explore a "during the quest" setting! I hope you enjoy it!

prompt "I do believe our burglar has a type,"

word count 2175

relationship(s) thorin oakenshield/bilbo baggins

character(s) thorin oakenshield, bilbo baggins, the company of thorin oakenshield

additional notes this one was insanely fun for me, that's all I gotta say! I'm LOVING these prompts and ideas you guys are giving me!!

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Thorin didn’t like Lake-Town.

Namely, the Master and his greasy little sidekick, but they were given more of a welcome and more accommodation than the bargeman had been able to secure. The sooner they were out of here, the better, but there was still a bit of time before Durin’s Day, and there was no need to camp aimlessly outside of a hidden door.

Celebrations and the promise of riches for all had kept spirits rather high, except for Thorin’s. He had tried to put on a mask, the type that was reserved for social affairs that he hadn’t been a part of since he was a much younger lad. Thankfully this was nothing like the social gatherings that had been held between Erebor and Dale once upon a time.

There was that stench of stale ale in the air, as well as fish, but that seemed to sum up Lake-Town entirely. Thorin sat near the end of one table, tapping his fingers against the wood as his glare seemed to be burning into the back of someone at the second table that housed his company.

Feeling an elbow jam into his own, a scowl formed on his lips as Kili wedged himself to sit at the table, sitting far too close for Thorin’s comfort. “Why the long face, Uncle?” Kili chimed, a small slur to his voice as he had a mug in one hand and the other hugging onto Thorin’s arm. At least the alcohol was keeping the younger dwarf from grimacing every single time he took a step. That shot to Kili’s leg had been bound, but certainly not healed.

“I’m fine,” Thorin insisted with a growl before Fili wedged in on his other side.

“You don’t look fine to me. I know that look. You’re angry.” Fili nearly had a sing-song tone to his voice, but at least he didn’t reek of ale as Kili did.

Another nudge at Thorin’s elbow had the leader of the Company squishing in on himself so that he wasn’t bumping elbows. It was a failed effort.

“Could it be because a certain someone has his attention fixated on someone else? I do believe our burglar has a type,” Fili gave Thorin’s arm a comforting pat, not trying to sound teasing whatsoever. Though the same couldn’t be said for Kili.

“What? Tall, dark, and broody?” Kili sputtered out with a laugh, spilling a quarter of his mug across the table. “Though, I do suppose Uncle could be considered tall for a dwarf!”

Thorin’s face was flushed, be it by both anger as well as embarrassment as he felt his ears burn. He couldn’t let his eyes tear away from Bilbo’s back, or the small nods of fascination that seemed to come from the hobbit as he was engaged in deep conversation with one of the Lake-Town locals.

A tall fellow, dark hair wedged beneath a hat and a beard that surpassed even Thorin’s own. Not that the dwarf was examining this fellow that much, but he was one of the more reasonable fellows to look at in this fisherman’s town. Never before had Thorin been concerned about his appearance, not like this, and yet here he was, idly reaching a hand up towards his shorter beard and scrubbing at the coarser hairs that didn’t measure up to any sign of beauty among dwarves.

“There is a solution in all of this, Uncle. You could just go over there and sweep the burglar off his feet for yourself?” Fili offered up, trying to sound helpful, but he was fixated with a glare that told him to snap his jaw shut.

“I am not bothered if Mister Baggins chooses to socialize during our stay. I will not tell my company who they may or may not speak with.”

“Yeah, but it’s what we do with those we speak with that may capture more of your attention, right?” Kili jammed his elbow into Thorin’s arm again. “Or rather, one specific person. You couldn’t give a whit what Fili or myself do while we’re here, or Dwalin or Nori, but you get my point. However, when it comes to him, you care.”

“I do not care,” Thorin insisted once more, feeling like a tightly sealed vault full of feelings instead of gold.

“All we’re saying is that if you’re waiting for the right moment to make your move, it’s probably now. Or someone is going to beat you to it.” Fili always seemed to be slightly more mature one of the two nephews, but his words were just as unwanted as Kili’s.

“You’re both wretched little creatures and the topic will cease, now.” Thorin’s stern tone seemed to ward off more harassment when it came to Bilbo, save for one parting statement.

“Alright, we’ll sod off, but I gotta say, green just isn’t your color, remember that.” Fili gave Thorin’s shoulder a fond pat before moving to fish his younger brother away from the table with no small amount of difficulty. That wound, accompanied by a few mugs of ale, didn’t make it easy for anyone to toddle off.

Thorin was left to his own devices, tapping his fingers again against the table as he stared and simmered and let the words of his nephews influence that agitation brewing on the inside. Just what did Bilbo find so appealing about this fellow he was chatting and laughing with? What sort of stories could a fisherman in this drab place have to tell? So yes, Thorin was jealous, almost on an embarrassing level. It made him even more agitated to feel this way, but then again, these were feelings that he hadn’t felt before.

Life had been hard and duty-bound for so long, and where Thorin Oakenshield had assumed he had seen it all, he was now being sent into an uncomfortable frenzy over some butterflies in his stomach. It made his insides hurt, but there was a quest to focus on, and the rest could wait until after. A mountain was far more important than his silly little love life. Once he reclaimed his homeland, surpassed the expectations of those around him, and set Erebor back on the path to greatness-

Oh, who was Thorin kidding? Bilbo would be long gone by then.

It made a sinking feeling enter his stomach, tearing at those angry butterflies as he dropped his head some. What was more important? Pining? Or extreme focus on winning a mountain? If he let this go, would Thorin ever truly be focused on the quest at hand?

Swallowing thickly as he lifted his eyes to catch a lingering hand at Bilbo’s back, whatever tentative stare had dared to glance towards Bilbo was snuffed out in favor of a roaring blaze of a glare.

Jolting up from his seat and rounding the table towards the next, Thorin held zero hesitation to land a hand next to where Bilbo was leaning on the table - dreamy eyed and seemingly enamored with this fisherman fellow sitting next to him. “Master Baggins, if you don’t mind I’d like a few moments of your time.” Bright blue eyes darted towards the tall fellow who looked rather perplexed at the sudden dwarf’s appearance. “Alone.”

Bilbo gave a small wave of dismissal, “I best take this conversation, though I appreciate the fine stories you brought. You don’t want to see this one in a bad mood,” Bilbo teased, clearly indicating that Thorin was temperamental and unpleasant and- well, maybe he was right. The hobbit shifted in his seat as he and Thorin were left alone, staring up towards the standing dwarf and looking rather delighted - much to Thorin’s dismay. “What’s so important now, Thorin?”

“I did not expect for you to be such an obvious flirt,” Thorin grumbled, a bit of displeasure to his tone as Bilbo’s face twisted to more surprise than anything.

“Me? Oh, that?” Bilbo had a grin twitching on his lips. “Does that bother you?” Bilbo twisted in his seat, looking over towards the bar where his previous company had sauntered off to. “He is rather attractive, isn’t he? A bit rugged looking, with long locks to die for, and quite a nice beard.” Bilbo rubbed the air around his chin as he was describing said beard, eyes darting to the corners as he barely caught Thorin’s frustration in his sights.

“I suppose.” Thorin hissed between his teeth, shifting in his boots and wondering just how far a chair could sail if he kicked it.

“Though I prefer blue eyes, myself. His were brown, and he wasn’t a dwarf. A moody dwarf, specifically.” Bilbo spoke as he patted the seat next to him. “Do you wish to join me, Thorin Oakenshield?”

Thorin was certain his jaw could hit the floor as he stood there and felt his face heat up. Bilbo looked entirely too content and pleased while he stood there like some red faced fool. “I...I beg your pardon?”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to stomp over here instead of huffing over there. Thorin, if you think you’re subtle, you’re not.” Giving the seat next to him another pat, Bilbo used his free hand to claim the stein before him once more. “You’ve been staring at me all night, and ever since we escaped Mirkwood for that matter, but I wasn’t going to bring that up.” And yet he had.

Thorin stood there dumbstruck for a moment before slowly sinking into the seat next to Bilbo’s own in silence. Gnawing at the inside of his cheeks for a good moment, the dwarf wasn’t entirely sure what to say. Had he truly been that obvious? Thorin thought himself a rather reserved fellow who was decent at schooling his emotions and expressions. Perhaps he wasn’t nearly as good at that craft as he assumed. “And all of this was just for show?” He asked quietly, finally daring to look towards Bilbo at his side with extreme caution.

“Really, Thorin…? Are you truly this dense?” Bilbo’s laugh sadly was not contagious. He was an observant sort, at least for the most part, so as he noticed Thorin’s face turn a touch redder, Bilbo quieted down before nudging Thorin’s arm a bit and dropping his voice. “I simply figured you had enough on your mind without adding myself to the mix.”

Which was exactly what Thorin had planned on. Win the mountain, secure Erebor’s future, and then the rest would follow. Well, as he had told Balin before, plans changed.

“Plus, watching you squirm between your troublesome nephews was rather amusing.” Bilbo grinned proudly.

Thorin’s brows furrowed slightly as he shifted his gaze and felt a little bit of that embarrassment start to flow away from his face, though still rosy cheeked. “You’re as considerate as you are cruel, you know that?” Purposely driving that jealousy to a point where Thorin couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I’ve been called worse,” Bilbo reached up just as Thorin leaned down, latching his hands against both of those braids that lined the sides of Thorin’s head, giving them a small tug before both of them came to a pause at bumping noses and foreheads. “Ah, Thorin?”

“Are you truly wanting to ask me a question right this second?” Thorin murmured, bright blues focusing on the hazel ones that were so incredibly close to his own.

“Well…” Bilbo started before his eyes flickered to the side, which caused Thorin’s own to shift, following Bilbo’s gaze.

A table crowded with dwarves all staring with amusement and all the cheekiness in the world.

Thorin pulled back slightly, fully turning his head to face that company of his with a small sigh escaping his lips, but he didn’t look nearly as put out as one might expect.

“Don’t make me come over there and smash your heads together!” Dwalin barked over the table, earning a chorus of laughter - and even a small huff of amusement from Thorin.

Bright blue eyes shifted to meet hazel eyes once more. “I don’t fancy being entertainment for anyone,” he started while sliding from his seat, “save for you, Master Baggins.”

That low murmur just about sent Bilbo melting into the floorboards as a large hand engulfed his own. “I should have started flirting with others a lot sooner,” Bilbo chuckled before being fixed with a look as he too was slipping from his seat.

“I would be most obliged if you saved your flirting for me. Alone. Away from this miserable audience.”

And boy did he not have to tell Bilbo twice. The hobbit followed one a step or two behind Thorin, one of his smaller hands still gripped in a larger dwarven one, and honestly, propriety and expectations could go hang themselves. Bilbo didn’t give a whit at the groans and catcalls that followed during Thorin and Bilbo’s retreat, but no doubt there would be more conversation to be had in the morning over breakfast...

...Or perhaps second breakfast. Bilbo had a feeling that sleeping in tomorrow may be inevitable.

#the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #bagginshield #thilbo #hobbit fic #bagginshield fic #hobbit fanfic #razzywrites #razquests #thank you for the request!

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