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tojiscursedtool · 2 days

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Hi reqesting a headcanon where in another au toji's wife died while giving birt to megumi and so Toji was by himself and had no clue on how to raise a kid so he went to a parenting class where he met male!reader who also his also a single father. Toji starts falling for male!reader

₊˚ʚ Toji HC’s . ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

Note ~ of course, thank you so much for the request!!

MENTIONS — MaleTeacher!Reader, SFW, Fluff?, mentions of death and struggle, kissing, Toji falls in love with reader, Reader takes care of Megumi, some angst-ish, love confessing.

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

— After Toji’s wife died he wasn’t really in a good state but he still had to try for the thing she left, their child, Megumi. He didn’t know how to take care of their child and he was completely lost, he’d searched up online if there were any type of learning ways on how to raise a child, there were classes he could attend for people like him. Who were also confused on how to raise a child.

— Toji started attending these parenting classes, at first he was confused but he kind of got the hang of it?..you’d have to help and correct him here and there but that’s what these classes were for, for you to help those who were confused, especially him.

— Toji appreciated your help a lot, he’d even ask if you could give him extra time to figure some things out he wasn’t sure on and you agreed, he was a nice guy and was a caring father trying for his child of course you’d say yes with no hesitation.

— During the times you did extra lessons with him the more you knew about him, and his child. You felt bad for him especially his child. The mother had passed away to birth due to a lot of blood loss, you felt bad for Toji and his child, Megumi. Toji would assure you that it’s okay and he’s grateful he has a helping hand with Megumi and someone who could help him during these hard times.

— Toji was a tough guy to crack, you couldn’t really read his emotions or tell how he was feeling. You both weren’t on that level of trust yet to were he’d tell you everything, Toji needed help with his child that is what he was there for. Not for friends..he didn’t see you as a friend a bad thing though. He just didn’t want to get distracted from the main point at hand, his child’s future.

— Little by little Toji has been picking up what you’ve been teaching him and he was glad he was able to raise Megumi correctly, he would thank you and you were a great help. He’d sometimes gave you a small genuine smile that you rarely see, a different side of him. He really was a sweet guy.

— as weeks, months, and maybe a year went by Megumi was growing up fast, Toji would sometimes come to you for help with Megumi when he was confused on behavior or what to do with Megumi’s change of growth. He’d even tell you that Megumi took his first steps recently and began speaking slowly, you were happy to hear that especially from the lessons you gave Toji you were glad he was putting them to use.

— Time from time Toji would invite you over to his place or even ask you out, as friends of course. He wanted to show his appreciation and also wanted to get closer to you, to be close with someone who helped him through a hard time and is still helping him. Usually he would take you for a bite to eat or a stroll out bringing Megumi, of course you didn’t mind because he was a single father and had no one else to take care of him.

— Toji felt closer to you, trusted you more, he told you how he was feeling more often and was more soft with you. He felt a strange feeling when around you or when talking with you..a good feeling? Like his body was happy and his insides felt fuzzy and warm, he couldn’t help but smile around you. He’d always ask how you are and if you are busy with work so the both of you can make plans, and if you’re free he’d always snatch you up after work. You loved when Megumi came along he was really cute, he even learned how to say your name. It made your heart melt, he was such an adorable kid and Toji was such a good father, you also felt a way towards him but you tried to push those feelings aside, he lost his wife almost a year ago and he was a single father, plus was he even gay? You were sure but didn’t want to push the matter. You were glad the both of you were good friends anyways.

— months go on, you both are still great friends. Toji would still come around to your work place here and there to ask for help or what he should do with/for Megumi. And of course..you were more than happy to help.

— Toji starts to feel something towards you..at first he thought it was just him being comfortable with you but he figured out it was more than that, at first he tried to deny it. He wasn’t gay, he couldn’t be, he has a wife..or well he had one. He feels a romantic feeling towards you and he’s unsure if it’s mutual, he assume it isn’t because he’s just some guy who could barely afford his rent and needs help to take care of a kid. Who’d want a guy like that? Sure he was good looking but he didn’t think he’d even have qualities of a partner. He tried to push those feelings aside and just wanted to remain your friend, he doesn’t want to lose what he has with you already.

— Toji who would always text and call you showing you how Megumi was doing and always made sure to thank you, it really made your day. It was so cute on how good of a father Toji was, he was so sweet towards Megumi honestly so heart warming, you’d reassure him it was no problem and that was what you were there for.

— Toji was usually busy with work to provide for himself and Megumi, but he managed to pull through. Especially thanks to your help, it didn’t help his feelings what so ever, his feelings towards you grew even stronger. He was beginning to love you and he couldn’t control it. To Toji you were such a sweet and cute guy, he’s never felt that way about a man like that before, and he’s never even gave it though..dating a guy? He wasn’t sure anyways. He tried to shove those thoughts away but couldn’t due to the image of you he had in his head. A sweet, caring, loving guy who was great with kids. To him you were also very pretty, very handsome, you made his heart flutter whenever he saw you.

— Toji couldn’t get you out of his mind so he got a sitter for the day and invited you out, he wanted to take a walk and have a talk with you. You happily obliged and were curious to what he wanted to talk about, once the both of you were hanging out he explained to you how he was feeling.

“Hey, sorry for the random call, jus’ wanted to talk to ya’ about sumthin’.” He spoke looking at you, gazing into your eyes before looking away, you told him it was okay and not to worry about it! As the two of you were walking and taking a stroll in the park he confessed..he told you how he was feeling about you and wanted to know how you felt, you looked happy, your eyes where glimmering with happiness as you gave him a warm smile and spoke back to him, “I’ve also felt that way towards you as well, Toji! I did not know you’d feel something like that towards— towards me..it’s honestly quite shocking but I’m really happy.” You hugged him tightly as he hugged you back wrapping his arms around your torso. He smiled before he used his hand to lift up your chin and slowly lean towards you, he kissed you gently and softly. You gasped but got used to it and kissed him back, melting into the kiss as you felt like you were on cloud nine.

— Toji who started dating you after that day happened, he’d cover Megumi’s eyes when you and him would kiss, he’d compliment you, tell you how much he loves you, he’d try his best to spoil you in anyway he can. He’s completely infatuated with you, Inlove, it wasn’t a bad thing because so were you.

— you and Toji moved in together a few months after dating, you would help around with Megumi as he was working, of course you still did you job too you would even bring Megumi to work with you occasionally. You and Toji shared a room, he was sweet to you, he’d help you as much as he could, he’d go on about how much he loves you, protects you, tells you he will always make sure you’re safe and loved when you’re with him

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

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042502 · 14 hours

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I want it I have it // C. Sturniolo x Reader.

SYNOPSIS: She was upset because Chris didn't want to go with you on the school trip, you use all your weapons to convince him to go.

WARNINGS: Obscenities, angry sex, and more

NOTES: My first language is not English, so if you find any grammatical errors you already know why :)

MASTERLIST!!

"Ah.. fuck! ma slow down!"

Chris furrowed his brows and hissed at the sight of you riding him. Your hands were using his chest for balance, panting and sweating from all the movement. You were aggressively taking his length in, you didn't even give yourself time to adjust, but it didn't matter because you were upset.

The knot inside the pit of your stomach had been forming for a while now, but because pride got the better of you, you didn't want to finish yet.

"You're gonna. Break my dick, ma... shit" He cursed, his face in pain and his toes curling. Given his current state, you gathered enough confidence and hit his cheek.

"Now I get to decide when we're finishing, okay?" You ordered, watching him widen his normally lazy eyes.

Every time you snapped your hips with his, you grunted more and more, you were reaching your limit. You hadn't even noticed the loud creaking of your bed until Chris desperately tried to hold the board. Your juices were now completely coating his dick, making it wet with and almost slippery. You lowered down to his face, still working your way up and down his dick, and welcomed him to a hungry kiss. He quickly slipped his tongue in, exploring your wet cavern while at the same time making lewd noises.

Heeventually found your exposed waist in held it tight enough to bruise your skin.

"I wonder how long you've been holding it" He whispers with an evil grin, beads of sweats streaming down his face.

"Speak for yourself" You darted back, sinking down roughly, rocking your hips forward and clenching around him.

"Oh, you're so dead" he says, throwing his head back at the warmth hugging his cock.

You allowed his free hand to grip one of your breasts as you moved back up to keep jumping on his dick. Your body was sore, and as much as you loved making Chris pay, your pleasure became a priority. Whimpers escaped your lips, finally allowing yourself to reach your climax. And then you moved off of him and between his legs.

"You can't just leave me lik- you bitch" He gasped lowly, watching you envelope your mouth around his dick, gagging on it in no time. When he would move his hands to grab your hair you would slap them away.

It wasn't long before he came undone, he was a moaning mess, shooting his hot load up your mouth, you deliberately took it in and swallowed. Just when he thinks you're done, you continue to maneuver and overstimulate him before he starts twitching.

"Ma, stop, oh my god-" You heard him beg as you licked him clean and then laid onto of him.

"That was... a lot"

"Hope you learned you lesson"

Your eyes met his, now inches away, your chin resting on his chest and your arms hugging his body. He traced his fingers so softly on your back that it almost tickled, he was so gentle with you sometimes.

"You still want that shirt?" you joked, trying the change the mood.

"Hmm, no, I think you've earned it" you had a big dorky smile plastered all over your face.

I'm falling hard for this guy.

"I'm guessing you have to go now?" you mumbled with a tone of sadness. You were used to him leaving shortly after your sessions, and of course you didn't like it"but it's not like he's supposed to stay and give you aftercare, you were fuck buddies, nothing more.

"I can stay for a bit"

"R-Really?"

He scoffed at your sparkly eyes staring right him.

"Hey... so about that trip..?" You hummed making circles on his patched skin.

"You getting cocky after I let you top me?" He chuckled and you nodded like a little puppy.

"Well, my answer's still no" you slowly got off him and sat straight.

"I knew you wouldn't change your mind, was worth a shot though"

Chris stared at you as you got up and picked up the shopping bags, dropping them on the bed.

"Instead, you'll help me pick out my outfits for the trip!" You cheered, trying to hide the fact that you were down.

"So you are going, alone?" He asked scavenging for his scattered pants and pulling out a cigarette.

"I don't know... it's our last year, and it's a free trip" You explained while taking out the items of clothing you purchased.

"Alright then, model for me, princess"

And so you did, with his attention solely focused towards you. You twirled around in your various bikinis and cover ups. He watched you with a small smile on his face, practically mesmerized by your beauty. He enjoyed seeing you happy, he really did.

You loved having him here, in your presence. He made you comfortable with yourself, something you hadn't been able to do up until this point. You wondered, how long will this last? How long until my time runs out and he's off to the next girl?

"Tie this up for me?"

"Yeah, come here baby"

Baby. It was only a handful of times you've heard those words slipped off his mouth. Maybe it was a habit of his, or perhaps he was growing fond of you, but you loved hearing it every time.

You walked to him and turned around, letting him tie up a firm knot. Goosebumps reach your skin as you feel him plant soft kisses on your back, his hands tracing over your hips.

"You like it?" You managed to say with a shaky voice as you see him play with the straps of your bottoms.

"I love it, your ass looks great" he says and you feel his hot breath. He slaps your ass for you to move forward and twirl for him.

"Shit, I'm having second thoughts about going to that trip..."

"Does that mean you'll go...?" You ask, observing him smoke from his new nicotine stick.

"Maybe" He looks the other way and you jump to hug him.

"I knew you would come through, you're the best" You squealed and kissed his cheek.

"Yeah, yeah, now hurry up to the next outfit before I rip that off you" you blushed and continued to show him what you got. You were overflowing with joy... he was coming! He... cares.

NOTES: Remember to hit the heart and share it with your friends! Thanks for reading^^ If you want to be part of the taglist leave a comment!

TAGLIST: @luverboychris @alexandernvr @prisciliin @sturncakez @imwetforyourmom @hotreaderliin @tillies33ssss @sturnioloxlver @jnkvivi @stvrniolowh0re @dirtylittleheartsworld

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bunnysbrainrot · 1 day

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A Lesson in Manners

Relationship: Dean Winchester x f!Reader

Content: Romantic tension, protective Dean, alcohol consumption, a weird guy ft. the way Dean handles it.

Summary: After a long, exhausting day of hunting, Team Free Will unwinds with drinks at a nearby bar. You're enjoying your time until a stranger decides to pester you, but that won't go unnoticed by Dean.

The signature purr of the Impala faded as Dean turned off the ignition, releasing a heavy sigh, a defeated and tired noise. Whatever nasties they have down here in Georgia have been difficult. All signs in this case were pointing to a djinn, but without getting in closer, there was no way to be completely sure.

That risk was left to Sam and Dean, as they had told you yesterday, when the research finally fell into place.

Sam's lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at his laptop screen, his brows twitching. He deadpanned and looked to his brother, "Djinn. How the hell didn't we think of that yet?"

Dean matched Sam's frustration with a scoff. He simply shook his head.

Djinn were unfamiliar to you still. Though you had done a fair bit of research, helpfully guided by Sam, and learned quite a lot. But, you also knew that research and experience were very, very different for a hunter.

"Awesome, so... what?" Dean inquired, raising a brow at Sam. You sat in the small armchair in the boys' motel room, looking between them. "We gonna go into blood-sucking paradise-dream-world again?"

Sam flashed a quick smile, "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that. Do we have any more lamb's blood?"

Dean's expression changed to annoyance, "Not after that dickbag Balthazar used it for that stupid parallel-universe crap." He crossed his arms over his chest and threw his head back in thought. "And where are we supposed to get it, anyway? We're in the middle of friggin' nowhere."

"Cas?"

"If we could even get a hold of him."

"I'm sure he's still listening, Dean. I know he's been here and there for a while, but-" Sam explained.

Whirling to face his brother, Dean countered, "'Here and there'? Sam, we basically wait three to five business days for him to give us anything. If he's so focused on Heaven right now, let him stay up there."

You had seen Dean's rising upset with his friend for a few weeks now, seeing the angel's presence less and less. Castiel didn't indulge any details, and kept recollections vague - but, the lack of transparency had been taking a toll on the group.

He’d been absent for two weeks now. Nothing.

Dean's lengthy sigh showed his stress. He brought a hand up to his brow; Sam rolled his head to stretch his neck in the passenger seat.

"I need a fuckin' beer," Dean breathed.

You laid a hand on his shoulder from the seat directly behind his - Sam was more conversational on long drives, so sitting on the left side gave good distraction in the long hours on the road. Dean craned his neck to you, looking to you expectantly.

Because as much as he didn't like to admit it, Dean craved the moments when you touched him.

You couldn’t tell if you spooked him, judging by the way Dean froze in his seat, eyes boring directly into yours. A grin spread across your face, "Let's get shitfaced."

Dean shook his head and pointed to you, "You don't wanna get to shitfaced level with me, sweetheart. Just a few beers. Plus, I’ve seen you get tipsy even after one."

Each of you started stepped out of the Impala, respectively stretching your achy legs, or arms, or backs or neck and everything else. No matter the hunt, the soreness remained the same. You released a groan as you lean backward, flexing your stiffened spine. Dean neared and landed a gentle pat between your shoulders to get you moving along.

You noticed how quickly Dean pushed ahead to open the front door, before you had the chance to lift a finger. He looked into the cracked door - an assessing glaze cast over his eyes. Always on the lookout for danger.

Who could keep you safer than Dean Winchester?

After all of his impressive feats so far, it’d be hard for someone not to admire Dean. Saving the world was easier on the drawing board, and with having been to hell and back, you couldn’t fathom the willpower he gained to push past it. Not a semblance of that traumatic experience showed in that handsome, stoic face.

Dean pressed the door ajar to make way for you and Sam. You scanned the tables and stools at the bar; patrons scattered around in clusters, each chattering and laughing amongst themselves.

The thick smell of liquor filled the air. You noticed the hints of whiskey, oddly reminding you of Dean, and the way that scent mixed with his cologne. You memorized that smell from his occasional hugs, or times where you’d sit together, and you’d wondered if he could hear your heart hammering in your chest.

Sam led the way toward a taller table in the corner of the joint, settling in a stool closest to the back emergency exit. You eyed the stool at the outer side, but a creeping feeling dawns on you - someone is staring. Settling into your stool, you took the chance to swivel around, looking for the source of that persistent feeling.

At the bar, a man with a scruffy beard had his eyes trained on yours, roving over your form in the chair. You exhaled, fighting back the feeling of disgust, and turned back to Sam, plastering on a terse smile.

“What is it?” Sam asked, his brows furrowing in concern.

You paled slightly, the man’s stare still honed in on your back, “Dude at the bar has a staring problem.”

Sam leaned casually to reach for his pocket, craning his head for a swift second. A glint in his eye told you he’d found the perpetrator. Footsteps approached from behind - a familiar pattern, one you’d heard every day, and without turning you’d known it was Dean. A careful brush of his hand between your shoulder blades eased you, a gentle reminder he was here.

“Bottoms up, buttercup,” Dean teased, placing a shot of amber liquor in front of you, himself, and then his brother.

Three lime wedges rested on a plate, along with a salt shaker. You glance at Dean with a ‘seriously?’ look, and he gave a signature Winchester grin. You did say you wanted to get shitfaced. And hell, it could help with that looming creep. You licked the back of your hand and sprinkled some salt.

“To figuring something out,” you proclaimed, raising the shot glass. The boys follow your lead before clinking them on the table, and tossing their heads back.

The tequila burns the back of your throat, but the lime helps you ignore it. Sam held a steady face while Dean grimaced at the burn.

You giggled softly, “Can’t handle tequila, Dean?”

He flashed a toothy grin, and a quick middle finger. Your giggle evolved into a bright laugh that drew one from Sam, too.

“Bet you couldn’t handle pool, though,” countered Dean.

Sam eyed you from the side and threw a knowing smirk. You’d never back down from a challenge, especially when it was Dean testing you. There was a desire to beat him at his own games, to show him you could match his skill and then some.

Then there was the chase of it - cycles of teasing comments and passing glances, but never a break in the tension.

Your voice lowers, “I’ll take you on any day, Winchester.”

The jest made Dean grin. The chase was on again.

Sam stayed behind when you and Dean claimed a vacant pool table, letting you set yourselves up for the perfect one-on-one.

Dean nodded to you and eyed the cue ball. You bend at the waist over the table, and felt the creeping feeling again. It radiated along your spine to the nape of your neck, as if your body was set ablaze under the stranger’s stare.

Until suddenly, you had company.

“Say, think you could spare me a game when you’re done, beautiful?”

The voice matched the face. It was nasally with a copious amount of douchery; another entitled asshole who got involved when he wasn’t wanted.

Across the table, Dean’s brow twitched.

“Listen bud, we’re just getting started here. Plenty of other folks in here who can play you,” the edge in Dean’s tone was a warning in and of itself.

You hitched a breath awaiting the man’s reaction.

Out of the corner of your eye you spotted Sam sliding off his barstool, slowly making his way closer to your pool table. He idly looked at his phone, but kept a watchful glance.

“I’m sure you’ll have the time for another one, right, baby?” The stranger’s words slurred stupidly. He didn’t address Dean with meeting his stare, and instead fought to have yours. He closed the gap between you two further - the smell of alcohol lingered on him, thick and nauseating.

You bark, “You’ve got ten seconds.”

“Oh…. hic… ten seconds ain’t enough for me, sweetheart..”

Dean’s voice was taunting, probably trying to pull the dickbag away from you, “It’s plenty for us.”

Finally, the man looked to Dean, straightening his posture at the height difference. He was lean, but couldn’t hold a firm stance, by the looks of it. The man scanned Dean top to bottom before turning back to you.

Before crossing a crucial line.

A foreign hand stroked your spine, making you recoil. Anger contorted your features as you warned him yourself.

“Try that again, fucker,” you spat with disgust. You could still feel the touch on your back. Gross.

The man’s lips tug into a smile, and the anger continued to brew. Of course, you were not the only one with that bubbling rage. Dean has closed the distance before you could register he’d moved at all.

Dean loomed over the man with a haunting glare. To add fuel to the fire, the man had the gall to grin at the threat, raising his hands to Dean’s chest.

“Come on, jus’ gavin’ a lil’ fun,” said the stranger.

In one swift motion, Dean collected the man’s wrists with one hand, and delivered a hook with the other.

The blow knocked his head to the side. Other patrons turned to the scene unfolding - some turned back to their drinks, some kept staring. You gasped when Dean landed another strike, sending the man tumbling to the floor with a resounding thud.

“Dean, that’s enough, he’s-“

He didn’t react to your objection.

Behind the commotion, Sam’s eyes widen with shock, though he smiles with satisfaction at the takedown.

A final shove put enough distance between you and the pathetic drunk. You turned to see the bartender giving Dean a stern look, but they return to filling a pint glass.

You panted softly while the stranger walked away, bracing his bloodied chin with his hand. You looked to Dean and found his attention back at the pool table, letting out a frustrated grunt. There wasn’t a way to thank him. No need. The man had made great strides in protecting you, enough to reassure that you didn’t have to offer thanks. It came naturally, protecting one another.

Sam made his way back to the table and returned to his stool, shaking his head in disbelief, a smile on his face.

What a night, right?

It was Dean’s voice that brought you back to your senses. That same voice that calmed you, that ignited your body to its core.

“Alright, sweetheart, you go first.”

——

“Dammit, whathefuck- that isn’t fair-“ you protested. You’d lost, but kept trying to knock the striped pool balls into the pockets, insisting that there was some sort of rule to let you go until you were fully done, including the cue ball.

Sam handed you a glass of water, which you sipped on immediately. Your fingertips slowly grew numb against the cold glass.

Dean chortled as he collected the pool balls, “Shitfaced and pool don’t mix well, do they?”

You let out a tipsy laugh and shake your head at him. The moment stilled, where the rest of the scene faded away. Dean scanned you over, and held a too-long look. A small spark lit behind his eyes.

“Let’s getcha home.”

Thank you for reading! I liked this idea, and I think it could easily have a second part. Vote in the poll or me know in the comments if you’d like to see where this goes!

#fanfiction #supernatural #spnfandom #spn #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #bunny writes #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader

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delzinrowe · 3 days

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WORD COUNT: ~1.4K WARNINGS: Mentions of alcohol, idk. F!Reader

Bartender!Takuma Ino has been rotting my brain so here's a little something.

Bartender!Takuma, who is one of three bartenders in a local pub. He’s known for his mixing skills and his moves, constantly getting the highest tips due to his level of wit, skill and his handsome face.

Bartender!Takuma who always has a keen eye for guests and listens attentively when he notices someone with worries. He has a special drink for each occasion that he gives a concerned guest. For a broken heart he has a soft pastel blue coloured sweet cocktail meant to heal. For financial trouble he has a clear drink with green syrup that brings fortune. For family struggles he has a pink cocktail, supposed to lift all the worries and help rekindle.

Bartender!Takuma who gets in trouble with his boss for giving out those cocktails for free (one per guest though) but always gets off the hook cause he brings the most business into the pub and is well liked by all locals.

Bartender!Takuma whose eyes are immediately on you when he sees you walk in. He doesn’t say a word about it but he notices the tear stains on your cheeks, the chapped lips from biting them nervously, the unfocused gaze in your eyes. He’s immediately in front of you when you sit down at the bar, ready to take your order.

Bartender!Takuma who mixes you a special and unique sweet cocktail after you tell him you don’t have the mind to choose from a long list of drinks. He serves you the cocktail with a reassuring smile.

Bartender!Takuma who is known as the one to always make a show but tonight he didn’t perform a single move because all his attention is on you. He keeps coming back to you and asks you if everything is okay, but he never comes across as pressuring or pushing.

Bartender!Takuma who doesn’t give you advice because he knows advice from someone else might come from a good place but mostly falls on deaf ears until the person actually learns the lesson on their own, so he settles for listening to you instead.

Bartender!Takuma whose shift ended half an hour ago, yet he still stands behind the bar, talking to you about mindless stuff until you cheer up a little more because he can’t leave without seeing you smile.

Bartender!Takuma who asks if he should call you a taxi or bring you home himself when you tell him it’s time to go but he knows you’ve had a few drinks. You reassure him that your friend will pick you up and you won’t drive yourself, which has him visibly relieved.

Bartender!Takuma who watches you leave with the sour taste of regret in his mouth that he didn’t ask you for your number or at least gave you his. But he knows it would be unprofessional, and despite everything you (and other locals) share with the bartenders you’re still all just paying customers.

Bartender!Takuma who leaves that day with the least tips he ever got because most of his attention was on you but he really doesn’t care about that because as long as he made you smile it was all worth it.

Bartender!Takuma who spends his shifts during the next few days watching the door almost obsessively in hopes to see you walk in again but he’s disappointed every time it’s someone else. He’s waiting to see you again.

Bartender!Takuma who always gives up on seeing you again and tries to forget you by doing his job extra well, performing different bartending moves and throwing bottles and glasses in the air, effortlessly catching them all and putting on a show for all the guests. He’s so immersed in the show that he only notices the wave of new customers when he approaches them from behind the bar.

Bartender!Takuma who is absolutely elated and immediately has a bright smile on his face when he realizes you are among the wave of customers. He does his best to cater to everyone’s wishes but his attention is still mostly on you as he asks you about stuff related to your first night in the bar. It makes you blush that he remembers even small details.

Bartender!Takuma who doesn’t seem to notice the glances your friends give you whenever he performs a trick just for you. He still performs for other guests too but it’s obvious that he’s putting much more effort into the moves he makes for you.

Bartender!Takuma who slowly but surely gets to know you more, your full name and zodiac, as you tell him happily, your profession, your worries, your hobbies, your likes and dislikes. He’s happy you’re talking to him so much and he’s opening up to you just the same.

Bartender!Takuma who once again forgot to ask you for your number when you leave but it’s okay because he has the strong impression that you’ll visit the pub again, and he hopes it’s because of him.

Bartender!Takuma who is smiling like a little kid on Christmas when he sees you again because he was right that you’d come back. His two colleagues are happy you’re back too because if they had to listen to him talk about you any more they would have punched him.

Bartender!Takuma who builds a solid friendship with you over the course of weeks. You don’t know it but his colleagues tell him when you come in on his days off and how your happy smile always falters when they tell you he’s not working. His heart always skips a beat when he thinks about it

Bartender!Takuma who gladly caters to all your wishes in everything cocktail-wise and always knows which moves to make to get you to laugh. Everytime he succeeds his heart makes a little jump.

Bartender!Takuma who gets urged by his colleagues to finally make a move and ask you out because now that you frequent the pub they have seen many guys looking at you. He gets visibly upset when they tell him that men have bought you drinks on his day off.

Bartender!Takuma who is immediately irritated when a guy on the other side of the bar buys you a drink and tells him to give you a message. But it’s his job, so he has to do it. Instead of making the drink and giving it to you right away however, he asks you if you want to accept it.

Bartender!Takuma who smiles a little too happily when you ask him if it’s impolite to reject the drink from the guy. He reassures you that it’s not impolite and takes care of the guy, in a more or less polite manner because he’d like to keep his job.

Bartender!Takuma who scowls the immediate moment a stranger approaches you and asks if they can buy you a drink. It’s different when someone is standing right next to you, so he knows you’re likely to accept just so you don’t anger the stranger. He takes the stranger's order, internally rolling his eyes at the bitter drink he ordered for you because he knows you don’t like bitter cocktails.

Bartender!Takuma who nonetheless mixes the drink and even performs some of his skilled moves to get you to look at him. When he serves the drink he accidentally spills it, making sure it stains the stranger’s pants. Of course he apologizes, but only you know that it’s a half assed apology that he doesn’t mean

Bartender!Takuma who swears the entire pub can hear his heart leaping when you thank him for saving you with his little stunt. It’s the first time he’s actually blushing and you think it makes him look even more handsome.

Bartender!Takuma who finally has the guts to ask you if you want to go out with him after weeks of pining for you. He’s not as smooth when he asks you, almost a little clumsy with his words but unbeknownst to him you think it makes him seem even cuter.

Bartender!Takuma who can’t hide his relieved and happy smile when you agree on a date. He’s so happy he completely forgets to ask for your number or when you have time. When you leave he wants to kick himself because how can he take you out on a date if he doesn’t even have your number.

Bartender!Takuma who almost breaks out in a happy dance when one of his colleagues hands him the napkin you purposely left behind with your number on it. He’s so happy he seems to be floating and beaming, brighter than the sun itself. All because he’s soon taking you out on the best date you ever had.

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breaking-news-the-aroace-has · 2 days

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The AroAce will accept no criticism. In fact, they have decided to rant about it. (found below the cut)

Some things that are Hallmarks of the classic cinematic Batman are:

-constant depression,

-emotional dysregulation,

-extreme ego and narcissism, and

-refusal to have meaningful relationships outside of casual flings.

the Lego Batman Movie, (along with every other Batman movie) highlights these character traits, and makes sure that the audience knows that they are a direct result of witnessing the death of his parents.

However, what separates Lego Batman from the rest is that he is the only one who realizes that all of those things are deeply unhealthy coping mechanisms that hurt those around him! This movie doesn't romanticize these traits like many other Batman movies. They are portrayed as what they are, and we get to witness the consequences!

Batman's giant ego, his belief that he is the best, the smartest, is such an ingrained and predictable trait that it's what allows the Joker's plan to work. Throughout the film, he discounts and demeans those who are close to him, to the point of telling Alfred, the man who took him in and raised him as his own, that he "doesn't know what it's like to have a surrogate son." He literally and metaphorically pushes everyone who cares about him away, despite them pleading for him to let them help.

It takes him being sent to (arguably) an afterlife for him to realize how much he's hurt others. And even then, at first, he denies it. However, once Lego Batman does understand this, he tries to make things right. He convinces Phyllis, (the 2x4 Lego piece responsible for the phantom zone) to let him return to his world. Upon his return he has to give up his whole, "Batman works alone" mentality, in favor of wholly relying on his friends and family. and when he tries to sacrifice himself at the end of the movie, he gives Robin the lesson that he has learned throughout the course of the movie:

"Sometimes losing people is a part of life, but that doesn't mean you stop letting them in."

Lego Batman changes for the better, and that is why he is not recalled back into the phantom zone. If this were any other iteration of Batman, he likely would have been. This is because Lego Batman is the only one who has actually taken steps to heal from his trauma and actively relies on others for emotional support. Another difference, the "others" he relies on are not romantic relationships! When most batman movies show him in a relationship, it seems to be focused on the Token Hot Woman. But in this movie, it is platonic, familial love that causes him to want to make a change. These relationships are just as valid, and, quite frankly, probably more stable for him at this point in his life.

By the end of the movie, Lego Batman still retains many of the iconic Batman traits. He still runs around at night fighting crime in a batsuit. He is still cool as hell (the character states this explicitly). and he still struggles with the trauma of losing his parents. the difference is; he no longer does it on his own.

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 days

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The Bastard’s Mistress ~ A Don John x Servant!Fem!Reader Fic

So I caught the don John brain rot this weekend…very contagious, 10/10 recommend. This might be @scarlettspectra ’s fault, from all her beautiful gifs she’s been posting!😆 I didn’t go full Shakespearean here but had some fun with the syntax. I apologize in advance. Reader is properly deferential for the time, but she’s got a little spunk.😬

Warnings: the line between dubcon and noncon here is VERRRY thin. I don’t even know. So if that bothers you do NOT read this! What else. Period correct misogyny and degradation. Corruption. I’m so bad at itemizing these things. Please take care. If u have squiks i probs wouldn’t read this…

You are a chambermaid in His Excellency don Alejandro’s hacienda. It gives you a certain distance from things, as you come and go, doing your best to keep the country house clean and stay out of sight. But don Alejandro’s bastard, the fire-eyed boy with such a burning contempt for the world, has always seen you.

When you were young children, don John would play with you all, the offspring of the servants who were too young to work. Not because he enjoyed your company, but because he delighted in ordering you all about. Luckily in those days he ignored you as often as he tormented you.

Then there was a time, when the two of you hovered on the precipice between childhood and adult responsibilities, that you had almost been friends. Or at least, not enemies. He, the bitter outsider with the privileges of a full blooded son, but none of the standing. You, unmoored in your fatherlessness, the fever having taken your sire when you were just a babe.

Don John goaded you into shirking your chores one day to go play in the hills. He’d only taunted you a little, as you played your silly games, which mostly consisted of him manipulating you, ordering you to do this and that, always testing just how far he could go before being met with rebellion. It was still better than working your hands raw in the laundry. “We should run away,” he’d said in that devil-may-care way brash young boys have, so sure the world is destined to fold for them. You, however, had begged to go home, for all it won you. Upon returning your mother absolutely tanned your backside, and you never associated with Don John in such a familiar way again.

You saw him around the grounds, of course, as you scurried from one backbreaking chore to the next, and as he went through the motions of learning how to become a gentleman. Amidst his riding lessons he would wink at you from astride his fine black horse, but the cruel turn of his mouth never failed to halt you in returning it, even if your heart quickened in your chest.

That did not mean you didn’t think of him later though, on your lumpy cot of straw, as urges began to awaken in your body that was well on its way to becoming a woman’s. You saw his face at night, so achingly handsome you could hardly contain your longing. It felt like madness, and so you shoved it down in the deepest dungeon of your heart, as far as it could go.

It was not helpful, or good, the times when young don John passed you in the halls, and you felt that he would like to just eat you up. He would tug at your apron strings with a smirk before striding on to whatever lark he plotted for the day. The unholy feelings just a look from that man called up in you had you reaching for your rosary–and late at night, when all others lay asleep, between your legs.

You’d felt a certain relief when he went off to war with don Pedro. Even though your heart ached for the inevitable change, a part of you hoped he would never return.

As it turns out, your hopes were not to be realized. He has returned to his father’s country house, on the tails of some scandal in Messina. His temper is even fouler than you remember. His scowl, crueler. He has met with some disappointment, out in the world. You hope he will not take it out on you blameless servants.

Perhaps that is too much to ask of the upper caste.

You feel his eyes upon you again, as in the old days, but different. There is a weight in his gaze that makes you uncomfortable in your own skin, as though it no longer fits upon your own bones. It makes you ache for something no pious unmarried girl should yearn for, something you cannot name, only feel in the darkest hours of night when you lay awake on your mattress of straw, your sinful fingers exploring the bud of flesh between your legs.

You decide don John carries the flames of Hell in his burning dark eyes.

You dream of him, as though he has possessed your flesh in your sleeping hours.

He corners you one day, as you are changing the linens in one of the many airy rooms of the hacienda. You eye him warily, as he shuts the door, his large and forbidding form blocking your exit. His dark eyes upon you are black as night.

“What a flower you have blossomed into, y/n,” he muses, stepping slowly into the room with the measured calculation of a predator stalking prey. “No longer the knees and elbows girl I remember.”

“You…have also changed, my lord,” you offer cautiously. No longer the awkward, rail thin youth, his shoulders have the breadth of a man who rides a charger and wields a sword. You have tried not to notice.

“How so?” he fishes, canting his head with a smirk.

Your face feels as though you have caught on fire. “You are…taller,” you offer, winning a cruel little chuckle.

“Oh? I do like the sound of that. What else?” Another step closer, his booted heel clicking on the floor, and you are veritably boxed in between the walls and the oversized bed.

“My lord?” you stall, mortified.

“Did you miss me, y/n?”

This question also takes you aback, and perhaps that is why you answer honestly.

“Sometimes.”

“Well. That is more than any of my relations here will bother to claim,” he answers bitterly. In that moment you still see a boy just striving, yearning for his father’s recognition. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but you always felt bad for him, in a way.

“Did you hear the happy news? Don Pedro has taken a wife, and opts to dwell in Messina,” snarls don John with a mocking brightness.

“How…fortunate for him.”

The man before you makes a sound that suggests he barely restrained himself from spitting upon the floor in his half brother’s name.

“Indeed.” He takes one more step, and you know you are done for, your heart in your chest. There will be no escaping now. “What of you, fair y/n? Assumed the yoke of marriage yet?” The disdain in his words hangs bitter in the air.

You are tempted to lie, but know no good should come of it. “No, my lord,” you answer, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“How fortunate for you.”

Perhaps in your fear, you forget yourself. “John, please–”

He moves to strike, and you are but a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf, quick but not quick enough to evade him. His arm is like a band of iron about your waist, lifting you off the floor in his fury. He slams you down–albeit upon the feather mattress–a luxury you’ve never experienced for yourself, your back accustomed to scratchy tick straw.

“Insouciant wench! How familiar you are, to address me so.” He sounds so cruelly delighted by it, wedging his lean body like a knife between your legs, his narrow hips locked against yours. When you attempt to sit up he easily pins you down, his large hand spanning two of your wrists with ease, his other pressed lightly over your throat. You can hardly hear, hardly think, over the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears. He can surely feel it in your pulse, fluttering against his fingers. You are filled with fear–and the sharp ache of desire, God save you.

“Please, my lord…”

He makes a low sound in his throat, his lips tracing your jaw. “Please what, pretty maid? I have a mind to make a meal of you.”

“Please…don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? That is up to you, my dear. I will have you. Sweetly, or by force, tis your choice.” Your heart lodges in your throat. Your mother warned you about this, time and again. Men are dogs and gentlemen the worst of them. Never let them catch you alone.

And in your darkest heart of hearts, you know that a part of you hoped don John might do just that.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, surprisingly gently for such a villain, but you attempt to turn away. It only wins his annoyance, his large hand turning your face back to him. Before he can press his mouth to yours you say, “You merely seek to make sport of me in your boredom here. It is not right.”

He laughs at that. “Sport, I shall make,” he muses, hiking your skirts above your thighs. “Let us test the truth of your righteous outrage?” Boldly his fingers climb the trail of your leg, to the apex where he finds the damning evidence of your treacherous loins. “My lovely girl, so wet for such a reluctant quarry.” His long fingers dip inside your weeping center, and the sound you make does not resemble protest at all. He smirks down at you like the very devil. “And a virgin my little rabbit is not.”

Javi the stableboy took care of that for you, in a quick and disappointing tumble in the hay. His touch…had felt nothing like this, if truth you tell.

Ashamed, and burning, you look away. Tears trail out of your eyes, and a part of you wishes it shall just be over soon. He frowns at the shining tracks of water upon your cheeks, a menacing scowl that makes your eyes screw shut tight.

“Do not seek to engage my sympathy or my better nature, for you know I have none,” he growls above the dip of your throat, his lips searing as a brand upon your chest.

“That wasn’t always true,” you dare, winning naught but a growl from this ravenous beast of a man above you.

“You are the only one who thinks so.” For the barest moment you see a flash of vulnerability in his eyes–the ghost of the memory of the boy he once was, there and gone like ripples in a pool. It is as though this second of softness spurs him on in his deed, as though he must shove it aside to enjoy his sordid pleasure.

Clever fingers tear at the laces of your stays; you are freed to breathe, but you are bared to his hungry gaze as he tugs down your shift for his delectation. “Such lovely fruits, just ripe for picking,” he muses, cupping your breast in his hand, suckling upon a nipple.

You never knew how such a thing could make your insides clench, your sinning cunt tightening in its aching emptiness. Your hips move against his of their own accord, your legs wrapping about him as you mindlessly seek some relief from this madness. He withdraws with a dramatic pop, laughing at your body’s treachery.

“You are a fiend.”

“Pray, tell me,” he taunts you.

“I hate you.”

“Is that any way to speak to your master?”

He is enjoying this far too much.

“You forget your place, don John, as ever.”

That is when he slaps you. Not hard, nay, your own mother has hit you harder, but it certainly gets your attention. “I will rule here someday, y/n. Have a care with that tongue. I can think of better uses for it.” His piercing eyes fix upon your lips, a moment before he falls upon you, kissing you as though he means to devour you. You tense, thinking to bite him for being so cruel, so conniving, for just using you for no other reason other than he can.

He plays a very dirty trick on you, though.

That dexterous hand slips under your skirts again, swiping up your slick before circling that small nub of flesh that causes you such great tumult and shame. You moan into his mouth, and you feel him smile wickedly against you.

This man is the very devil, you are sure of it.

“Now who is ready to forget?” he taunts you, rubbing you in slow circles that drive you mad, make you writhe for the unbearable tightness coiling between your legs.

You can only manage a small cry, words escaping you. You’ve never felt anything like this, not at your own hands, and certainly not with Javi the stableboy.

“Please,” is all you can manage, and you’re not even entirely sure you know what you’re begging for.

“I like to hear you beg so sweetly.” He reaches to free himself from his breeches, his swollen tip hovering at your entrance. “So beg, wench, what favour is it you ask of me?”

You should entreat him to leave you be–you should beg for his mercy. But the delicious weight of him atop you, this dastardly man whose touch is such sweet sin–you are not sure you wish for him to leave you be. Your whole life has been such a march of drudgery. Even just the possibility of feeling something that is not pain or exhaustion makes you willfully forget every lesson your mother ever taught you, every fiery sermon the Padre ever flung down from his pulpit. Tis easy to renounce the Devil, until temptation has you in its clutches.

“I know not what to ask for,” you answer cautiously, and that at least is true.

Don John smirks down at you, a wicked gleam in his dark eyes.

“Ask for my cock, you stupid girl, and if your quim pleases me perhaps I may be moved to share in the spoils.”

“Yes.” You strain your hips towards him, craving that satisfying, stretching burn of a man’s first thrust. That, atleast, you know something about.

“Yes, what?” he taunts you, delighting in your torment as he holds himself just out of reach.

“Yes, my lord,” you whimper, hating yourself as much as him in that moment. “May I have your cock?”

His smile widens in his devilish delight, almost showing teeth. “Remember that you asked for it.” But he taunts you no further, his thick head penetrating your weeping hole, the fullness of him stealing the very breath from your lungs. He groans once fully inside you, burying his face in your neck.

“I’ve always known you would have the sweetest little cunt in the sierra,” he growls against your skin, and he begins to thrust.

If there is one thing you have always known about don John, it is that he loves to hear himself talk.

“You are mine, little maid,” he goes on, filling you so deeply you fear he must be in your belly. You are not sure you like it, and you only whimper in answer, straining for a better angle against him, seeking that certain friction that made you see stars.

“Say it,” he demands, understanding what you seek very well. You whine, turning your eyes to the ceiling. You know you are a mere peasant, and you know you do not own anything, much less yourself. Yet some small defiance rises in you, for his demanding tone.

“Perhaps I shall, if you make it so.”

You wait for him to strike you again, but to your surprise he smirks with a sort of dark delight, only turning your gaze back to his with a rough hand upon your jaw. “There is the saucy wench I remember of our youth. Do you remember how you used to defy me?”

You don’t very much, recalling that he usually always emerged the master and victor of your games.

“No, my lord.”

“You do not recall striking me with a stick, in defense of a hapless bird?”

You blink, finding it rather unfair of this man to expect you to command the capacity to think in this situation. But then you do recall. You had all been small children. The boys sought amusement in throwing rocks at an injured sparrow. You had taken exception to it.

Don John had sworn he would tell his father and have you executed.

You’d cried for days, but the sword never fell.

You’d nearly forgotten all about it, perhaps willfully burying the memory out of shame and fear. Mostly fear.

The bastard had deserved it.

He never forgot a slight, it seems.

“I always told myself I would have my revenge for that,” he tells you with a smirk, pressing his thumb into your mouth. You try to shrink away, but he has you like a fish on a hook. “Suck,” he commands you. You do not understand why those jetty black eyes boring into yours, paired with that unyielding tone, makes your needy cunt clench around him, only that it is extremely satisfying to see his eyes flutter closed, even if just for a moment.

You do as you’re told.

He uses your own saliva against you, reaching between your legs with that spit-wet thumb to touch you again.

You forget everything else, but the carnal heaven that is his clever fingers with his manhood inside you. The sounds the two of you make are barely human, as you strain and writhe against each other, chasing your release from this hell. Those full lips made for sin devour you–his mouth on your breasts makes you see God, a searing pleasure crashing through you in a spine-cracking rush. How can something that feels so wonderful be so forbidden? Only then does don John truly let himself go, the sound of flesh striking flesh filling the room as he takes you with all his pent up fury. It is not long before he roars his release, filling you with ropes of his hot seed, his powerful body trembling in its tangle of limbs with yours.

For just a moment you wished would last, his fingers lace with yours rather than pin you, his head heavy on your chest as he catches his breath. Yet when he lifts his gaze to you, his eyes gleam with their usual malevolence.

“You will come to my chambers tonight,” he orders you. “For I am not finished with you yet by half.”

When your mouth opens–indeed to give protest–he silences you with a hard but heart-melting kiss, his long fingers tangled unforgivingly in your now loosened hair.

“Do as I say, servant girl. Though if you don’t, I may enjoy making you.” That proud mouth ticks as he seems to imagine it, that fire igniting once more in his mesmerizing eyes. The thought simultaneously makes your blood run cold–and a thrill of desire run raucous down your spine.

This man is the very devil. You are as sure of it now, as you know when the household goes to sleep, you will find your way back to his merciless embrace.

#don john #much ado about nothing #don john x reader #don john keanu reeves #keanu reeves #keanuverse #keanuverse fic

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amalthiaph · 2 hours

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I took an interest in The Bad Batch around the tailend of S2. It's not news to Tumblr that I almost slept on this show. And I cannot thank Caleb Dume enough for being the reason why I pressed the play button for this one. While I haven't been around for most of its active run, and I wish I had been, the last year has been among the best months of my life.

This show challenged my morals, and taught me lessons that I will forever take with me.

Tech taught me to embrace and take pride in who I am. I now think that I am not something that needs to be cured. I needed to be understood and accepted. He taught me that we deserved to be loved and be allowed to live the way we want to (as long as we are not causing harm to ourselves or to others).

Hunter taught me that at the end of the day, we're all still humans. We make mistakes. We fail. But we can learn from them, and we can strive to be better. And I should also take care of my hair bec I cannot accept that a man in a galactic war have better hair than me (Okay, did you honestly think I'm gonna be serious this entire essay?)

Crosshair taught me that at the end of the day, we really are still humans. Sometimes, we make choices that not everyone will understand or agree to. Sometimes, we don't even understand our own choices. But we can learn from them, and we can strive to be better. And that I should also go to therapy bec istg my hand shakes like hell I always need to rely on a pen stabilizer when doing my artworks.

Wrecker taught me that in this world where we can be anything, always choose to be kind. He is a great man who would always be there for everyone, and I hope that one day, I can be that person too. He is afraid of heights, but he climbs and go on high places anyway. Like him, I should also start conquering my fears. Dear Wrecker, I did try conquering my fear of heights last March 9 but I can't. I will try again.

Echo taught me to always fight for the greater good. Almost two years ago, me and a group of people campaigned for a great tomorrow. With pink flags and pink balloons, we worked on our little thing I like to call our rebellion. Sadly, we lost. At times, I am thinking of just giving up bec that's democracy and I cannot go against the people's decision, but characters like Echo and the rest of Rogue One taught me that nothing should ever stop me for fighting for the people's rights and that my love for my fellow citizens should always come first before hatred.

And lastly, Omega taught me to be curious, or more likely to not be ashamed for being curious. Learn about the world. Learn about lots of things. We never know when we need it. While I could say be good at strategy and win 30 grand on card games, nahhh, I'm not that smart.

I also learned to reevalutate myself as an artist. This show taught me integrity. I had ranted about this lately but these characters challenged me in terms of art. I knew that the creators aren't best at proper representation. While I could draw them as they are in the show, I choose to stand for what is right, and represent them as properly as my skills could. In the more technical side, I became good at drawing armors. And this little Actors AU Draw Series taught me to be responsible; I tried my very best to create and post them on time. This increased my productivity.

But enough about me.

There's something I realized two nights ago; we, the fandom, are Bad Batchers ourselves. We can consider ourselves a family, but not one of us is the same and we're all interesting, and capable in our own unique ways. We can have our own opinion and stand about something and still coexist. Like our favorite charactera, we embrace and celebrate our differences.

This show may end. No more Bad Batch Eves, no more cryptic tweets that cause us to hyperventilate, no more Bad Batch Wednesdays but it will live on, through us.

I know there will be a day where we decrease in number, one by one, little by little, but still, the show will live on through our actions, our opinions, our choices we make after May 1, 2024 because I know that all of us were changed in some ways by these characters and this show.

To the crew, your cryptic tweets caused me sleepless nights, but thank you so, so much. It is through your hardwork that we had this wonderful show. Thank you for making every second of the past year so worthwhile and enjoyable for me and for everyone.

However this show will end, whether happy or sad, I am glad it happened. However short my time was with them, I am happy I had been here. However short my time with everyone in the fandom was or if some of you leave one day, still, thank you so much for being part of my life; I am so happy I met all of you.

To Clone Force 99, thank you. I've never loved anything like this before. May the Force be with you.

#the bad batch #tbb s3 #tbb #star wars #amalthia cried while writing this

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yourtongzhihazel · 16 hours

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What are some of your legitimate circumstances of the PRC and CPC?

Im guessing you mean criticisms of which i've scattered them throughout my posts but i'll list some of them here.

One of my biggest criticisms is their lack of internationalism through their non-interventionist stance. While this has certain benefits, such as not drawing too much attention from the imperialists, its benefits are waning and I do not think this is a strong, valid strategy for much longer. Second, the speed at which nationalization and regulation is taking place is slower than what I'd like to see. I'm aware that this could be due to many different reasons but in certain circumstances, it is still valid to criticize. Aspects of the Xinjiang SAR anti-fundamentalism and reeducation law forbids certain personal clothing and expression and some of it is essentially just a profiling law. This is an overreach of state authority and needs to be identified and corrected. The party, sticking with the mass line, is generally in line with the population of LGBT rights but that does mean it lags behind on that front. While it is certainly better than the united states, especially since LGBT rights are expanding, the speed at which rights are advancing is slowly than it can be imo and especially annoying when laws like the overhaul of online drug sales also fails to take into account trans DIY hrt. The party tries to ignore the GPCR in its entirety which I don't think is a fair treatment of it. Yes, it was a failure in general, but it still had positive aspects which should be investigated and learned from. A failure to do so would be to lose out on critical lessons. For some more old-timey criticisms, the elimination of the iron rice bowl during GGKF was not necessary imo.

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philosophiums · 2 days

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hooooo boy i haven't posted a fic here in a long time but @hinamie's itafushi art fully possessed me so please take this offering as my first ever jjk fic

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Night has set in like a bruise – a dark sky framed and mottled by light pollution, a memory of violence hidden behind a veneer of something almost pretty. There’s evidence of life in the distant city, but nothing close by. Megumi can hear a soft thrum of traffic and the occasional shout or laugh, but the immediate vicinity hosts only crickets and the restlessness of his companion.

Itadori is pacing at the bottom of the staircase Megumi is sitting on, and Megumi watches him closely out of the corner of his eye. It’s nothing new for Itadori to hype himself up before a fight, so Megumi isn’t worried, exactly, but there’s something abnormal in the fierceness of his movements, the rolling of his shoulders, the way his head tilts like he’s trying and failing to have a conversation in his head.

He doesn’t want to mention it. Conversations with Itadori are often marred by the reality of what the finish line looks like – they can’t both make it out alive. They both know it. Itadori likes to pretend he hasn’t grasped the reality of the situation, but Megumi understands the depth of the haunting he carries around when he thinks no one is looking. Which means that when Megumi asks after him, inquires into his wellbeing, Itadori brushes it off with a smile and a laugh. And his smile is as brilliant as the sun, so of course Megumi has to look away to protect himself.

Somewhere in the nearby bushes, several of his rabbit shikigami are maintaining a perimeter around the area, allowing him to relax while still doing everything he can to stay on high alert. Shibuya shouldn’t have turned into such a mess, and maybe it wouldn’t have if more people had been suspicious to the point of paranoia. It’s too late to fix that, too late to take away Itadori’s scars, too late to take back the suicide pact he himself signed, but he can at least look ahead to whatever future awaits them. He can do his best to keep them safe.

“Fushiguro.”

Oh no. Nothing good ever comes from Itadori’s serious voice.

Please.

If I die, you’ll kill me, right?

He blinks and finds himself looking at a stationary Itadori, hands in his pockets and eyes on the building behind Megumi. “What is it?”

“Are there really curses in there? I thought they couldn’t step foot in a church.” Itadori looks genuine when he asks, and it wouldn’t be the first foolish question out of his mouth, but the tone he used to call Megumi’s name just… doesn’t match with the question. Seriousness followed by off-handed curiosity isn’t exactly Itadori’s style. This isn’t what he had wanted to say, but something made him pivot into an unplanned conversation.

Maybe Megumi has been paying too close attention to him. Maybe Megumi should know better. It’s all doomed anyway – a heat death guaranteed to happen. There’s no point in devoting so much time trying to learn someone’s intricacies when they’re inevitably going to leave, by force or otherwise. He should save himself the heartache. He should have learned his lesson the first time Itadori died.

His arms shake with the phantom weight of Itadori’s body in his arms, limp and lifeless and bloody with that stupid soft smile still on his face even in death with a hole in his chest. His parting words still circle in Megumi’s head sometimes.

Part of him wishes that Itadori had cursed him in the end. Maybe it would have been easier.

“You’re thinking of vampires,” Megumi says. “Or demons. Curses can go anywhere.”

Itadori makes a sound like he’s not really sure he believes Megumi, which is insane because Megumi is not the one who watches movies with vampires and demons in them. At least, he hadn’t before Itadori walked into his life and demanded movie nights at the school and midnight viewings at the theater.

“A church, though?” Itadori continues, insisting. “Aren’t these supposed to be, like, full of positive energy?” He tilts his head up and to the side, and the closest streetlight reflects across his face, highlighting his jaw, catching in his eyes until they glow damn near gold.

Megumi has to look away. His chest hurts if he stares too long at everything he can’t have.

“Just because something is comforting doesn’t mean it can’t be a curse.” As soon as the words leave Megumi’s mouth, he knows he shouldn’t have said them. Even in his peripheral, almost entirely out of his view, he can see Itadori look at him with his expression opening into surprise or something worse.

Fuck. He really can’t allow himself to be so obvious, especially when they’re hours away from stepping through the barrier around the first Tokyo colony and into the Culling Game. They’re about to put their lives on the line again. Now isn’t the time to lose his composure.

Before he can catch himself, his hand is in his pocket, digging out the pack he keeps for what he considers emergencies. There’s a cigarette between his fingers in a matter of seconds, and his lighter is in his other hand a moment later.

Itadori swipes it before he can light up, and Megumi is left with wide eyes and a cigarette dangling limply between his lips as he looks up at the boy suddenly standing over him. He forgets, sometimes, just how fast Itadori is.

“Since when do you smoke?” Itadori asks, all childish curiosity, not an ounce of judgement in his tone. And yet, the stolen lighter feels like judgement – a withholding of something, well… harmful, sure, but it’s not like Megumi isn’t aware that every inhale of nicotine is an inch closer to his death. What does losing a minute or an hour or a day matter when he’s probably not going to reach the age of thirty, anyway?

“Since middle school,” Megumi replies, reaching out to attempt to quickly reclaim his lighter, but all Itadori has to do is lean his torso to the side and it’s out of reach. “Can I have that back, please?”

“Why?” Itadori hasn’t had such a soft look on his face since they dragged themselves kicking and screaming out of the warzone Shibuya turned into.

“Because there’s a cigarette in my mouth and it would be a waste not to smoke it.”

Itadori makes a face, a petulant little pout just this side of sticking his tongue out. It’s cute, and Megumi has to close his eyes for a moment. “I meant why did you start smoking in middle school?”

The sigh that leaves Megumi’s lungs is heavier than he wants it to be. He’s not… good with emotions, and he’s even worse at expressing them. It wasn’t a problem when he was all alone, with the second-years distant due to their classes, and Gojo either a nuisance better avoided or thousands of kilometers away taking care of a curse too powerful for anyone else to handle. But then Itadori, fresh off the loss of his grandfather, sacrificed himself for not only his friends but for Megumi as well. And he has refused to leave, no matter how hard Megumi tried at first to put up his barriers and protect himself.

Because the truth is that Megumi was helpless from the moment Itadori jumped through a window and crash landed on a curse. He is the very definition of someone with an unshakeable character. The fact that they’re here, now, on the backside of a slaughter, newly scarred and traumatized, and Itadori can still smile at him in a way that softens his eyes proves beyond any doubt that he is who he is and that won’t change. And it guts Megumi from the inside out because everyone who has ever touched his life has become poisoned by him.

He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and holds it between his knuckles. “I don’t know. I wanted…” This time when he sighs, it’s softer, and he moves his gaze away out of embarrassment more than anything else. Itadori and Kugisaki already made fun of him for how he acted in middle school, and he doesn’t want to go through it again. “I wanted people to be afraid of me – teachers, students, upperclassmen, underclassmen, it didn’t matter. I wanted to look and be as aggressive as possible so they didn’t mess with me or Tsumiki.”

Itadori snorts, and less than a second later he’s laughing with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. For the moment, he’s unguarded, and Megumi uses the opportunity to stare. In the low amber light, he looks impossibly young, soft around the edges where his scars and personal losses have hardened him. The pink of his hair dims into the gentlest of dawns, and the happy tears that pearl in the corners of his eyes are more stunning than the thin veil of starlight overhead. In a world overflowing with curses, Megumi has never believed in angels, and yet it’s the only word he can conjure that comes even close to describing the boy in front of him.

Megumi knows he’s in love; how could he not be?

“That’s just like you,” Itadori says, breathless, and Megumi suddenly feels like he’s falling even though Itadori is the one suddenly dropping to sit on the stairs beside him.

Itadori is a morning person, even though he’s slow to wake up. He won’t drink coffee unless it’s iced. He never tucks in his shirt tags. When he’s upset, he throws himself into social situations to hide behind other people’s laughter. He carries snacks in his pockets and will offer them to everyone. These are all details that Megumi has collected about Itadori, stashing them away like a crow with shiny objects, hoarding them as the treasures that they are and that he can never truly have.

He had never once considered that Itadori has been observing him just as studiously in return.

Their knees bump, and Megumi knows he should pull away, but he can’t bring himself to. The night isn’t cold, but Itadori’s warmth is a comfort, anyway. Megumi hasn’t had many comforts in his life.

“Give me my lighter back,” he says instead of acknowledging anything else. His chest hurts. His heart is too loud in his ears. Itadori is right there, lips twisted by his scar, eyes flashing with the humor that’s still rolling through him, shaking his shoulders as he looks back at Megumi.

Instead of answering or acquiescing, Itadori leans forward until their shoulders press together, blocking out the ghost of a breeze flowing in from behind them, and rolls his thumb over the spark wheel until a flame catches. His hand and Megumi’s both come up at the same time to cup around the other side, protecting the small flame from the elements, and it’s tender and intimate when Megumi’s fingers brush against the curve of Itadori’s palm.

He pretends not to notice as he puts the cigarette back between his lips and ducks his head. The first drag to catch the paper and tobacco on fire takes a while, and he is so incredibly aware of how close Itadori is, of the protective shell they’ve made with their bodies as they keep this flame going between them. He can’t think about it, can’t acknowledge it, can’t –

As soon as he sees embers, he sits up and leans away, creating a small pocket of space for him to exhale into. But the flame stays lit, Itadori’s thumb still pressed into the fork to keep the gas flowing out.

Megumi smacks his arm without looking at him directly. “You’re wasting the butane.”

Without protest this time, Itadori listens, and the flame dies with a soft click as the fork snaps back into place.

The stillness of the night around them settles again, crickets becoming the dominating sound over the gentle rattling of leaves and the far distant honking of a car horn. The tobacco sizzles as the fire slowly eats through it every time Megumi takes a drag.

Itadori’s unwavering gaze on him feels like a physical weight. There’s a tender smile there, Megumi just knows it, but god damn it he won’t look. This can’t be a this. There’s nothing here but a road that dead ends on a bottomless cliff. No one has forever, despite claiming that they will, but he and Itadori don’t even have years. They could die tomorrow, the moment they step through that barrier. Fuck, the curses in the church behind them could come out and catch them off guard right now, and no one would know where to look for their bodies.

So it doesn’t matter that Itadori sometimes looks at Megumi like he hung the moon. It doesn’t matter that Megumi understands the plight of Icarus when he sees Itadori smile. He is not going to create a situation that is doomed to end early. He is not going to push his feelings into the world just for the universe to stomp them into the dirt. He is not going to let himself muddy the lines on a friendship that is already too good to be true.

He takes a drag in that’s harsher and longer than the last, fast enough that his lips burn from the fire racing too fast through the cigarette towards the filter. He lets it hurt, tells himself he deserves it, and exhales the smoke slowly with his eyes closed.

For a moment, he just sits there, his arm draped across his knee, which is still pressed into Itadori’s knee, and tries to pretend that everything is fine. It’s normal. It’s just a crush. It’ll go away. He would rather die with longing in his heart than risk living long enough to experience a loss that will crush him.

When he brings his hand back up to take another drag, fingers on his wrist stop him in his tracks.

“Fushiguro.”

“Itadori?” He turns his head and opens his eyes in the same movement, wondering if there’s a problem, if all the actions he took to be obsessively vigilant were for naught, if somehow something got the drop on them. “What –”

The press of Itadori’s lips against his own shuts him up fast and leaves his mind spinning and his lungs devoid of air.

What?

Why…?

Itadori makes a noise at the back of his throat – soft, questioning, encouraging – and Megumi forgets every reason he has ever had on why this is a bad idea.

He kisses back.

It’s not a desperate kiss. There isn’t a sudden light switch that flips on and turns them into feral horny teenagers crawling all over each other, desperate to touch in as many places as possible as fast as they can. Three points of contact is all they started with and all they still have. Their knees, digging into each other in a way that almost hurts, but the warmth is so strong that it doesn’t matter. Itadori’s fingertips oh, so gently resting against Megumi’s wrist, not even touching skin. And the tentative slide of their lips as Megumi tilts his head and Itadori seems to crack a smile.

Itadori’s lips are chapped, and Megumi can feel the texture of scar tissue as they blindly search for an angle that feels better than the others. It probably wasn’t meant to be a long kiss when Itadori first leaned in, but Megumi can’t bring himself to pull away even though there’s absolutely nothing physically holding him here. The instinct to jerk back with his hackles up is there, just under his skin, but every exhale of Itadori’s sounds like a blissed-out sigh as it shivers across Megumi’s cheeks, and he finds himself more and more willing to just have this.

Itadori is the one to break the kiss, but he doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against Megumi’s and just breathing into his space. Megumi feels like he just ran five kilometers; it’s impossible to suck enough oxygen into his lungs to stop feeling lightheaded. His cigarette is still between his fingers, slowly burning itself down to the filter, but Megumi has completely forgotten about it.

“What was that for?” Megumi whispers, eyes flicking back and forth looking for clues in the depths of Itadori’s eyes. It’s an accusation, yes. They could have kept pretending. The pain at the end of this is going to be unimaginable. But it’s also a desperate plea.

Don’t pretend it didn’t happen. Don’t apologize. Don’t say you didn’t mean to.

“I don’t know,” Itadori admits, and that crooked smile is back, perching on his mouth in a way that tempts Megumi to kiss it away. “Good luck? Felt like the right time.”

Megumi drops the cigarette by his foot and moves his hand to Itadori’s face, cupping his cheek and the curve of his jaw. He can feel himself shaking with adrenaline and the fear of an unknown dark path laid out in front of them. “You’re an idiot,” he says, but even he can hear the fondness in his voice.

“Mhm, yeah, you’ve said that before.” Itadori’s hand covers Megumi’s, and the shaking subsides. “But you kissed me back, so what does that make you? Reckless?”

“Insane,” Megumi offers, just to hear Itadori laugh. He isn’t expecting the second kiss that follows, but he’s glad for it, anyway.

It’s funny, he thinks, even as he pushes a little closer and sighs into the shape of Itadori’s mouth, that regardless of the church behind him, regardless of the temples he has walked through time and again, regardless of the habits he hasn’t broken of prayers during the new year in exchange for fortune slips that hold no merit to him – despite religion flowing in and around his life, there is no higher power in the universe he believes in as much as he believes in Itadori.

If anyone can defy fate, if anyone can push through to the other side of certain tragedy, it will be Itadori.

Start by saving me, he had said, and this isn’t exactly what Megumi had meant. But his chest is warmer than if he had tipped back some sake, and he certainly feels like he could face down a special grade curse and win right now.

They’re not going to have forever. They may not even have twenty-four hours.

But they have tonight. They have right now.

“You better not die tomorrow,” Megumi warns, just barely breaking away enough to speak.

Dying alone is all but a guarantee for jujutsu sorcerers. One day, one of them is going to leave the other behind, and it’s going to rip the survivor to pieces and scar like a phantom limb. Even without a confession, their feelings have splattered like a hemorrhaging wound onto the staircase between them. No amount of backtracking, of lying, of pushing each other away could mop it up now – they’ve left a stain, and their hands are doomed to always have each other’s blood caked under their fingernails.

“Would be a shitty good luck kiss if I did,” Itadori says before leaning back with a smile as broad as the sky.

Megumi pushes him away with the hand on his cheek, and Itadori’s laugh overtakes the crickets and the wind and the far-off traffic as he pulls himself back into Megumi’s orbit with their fingers tangled together.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #itafushi #jjk fic #itafushi fic #this is going up on AO3 as well probably as soon as i think of a title for it #3.2k of pining and longing and denial and - finally - acceptance #I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING ANYMORE AAAAAAA #just take it i cannot keep staring at it #my fic

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jaybirdhitman · 3 days

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Have some fnaf au DCA guys to break up my original content hehe. I've been sitting on these guys for a long while and wasn't comfortable with drawing the dca for quite some time( if you see my old au no you don't, i tried to make it in a time when I hated how I drew and ended up falling flat on that project) but my Ghost in the Machine by @/venomousqwille (go read that fic btw it's so fucking good and has fundamentally changed my life) rocketed me into hyperfixating and learning how to draw them, so have my own AU guys. More info under the cut!

They were from a fazbears in canada, not actually daycare attendants but performers in the theatre for kids music. Like the music in really young kids shows that teach them simple lessons. They were only in the daycare itself (which had human staff) when bringing kids to and from the theatre.

A virus swept through the whole plex and effected all of the bots, and since these guys weren't on their own nothing extreme happened (though a couple kids did get traumatized from scary performances and a couple parents did get hurt). After that virus was fixed it left the bots, the DCA's especially different, more aware of themselves in a way. Which kinda sucks because they realize dhow shit their existence was, and not long after that Fazco went under. The bots were auctioned off for money and a small record label managed to get their hand on all three of the DCAs in a plan to grow their label and have recognizable, not human performers. They got modifications and fixed up, made new and dropping the clown and child star looks to instead be more rockstar (the piercings and more punk look are entirely on the bots themselves btw,) And a few test songs and albums were made. With the growing synth rights happening they got a but more freedom in what they could do, tho were still owned by the record, and with the massive success of their music decided to change up their style and look to be more punk rock and hard rock. It was a hit, and the bots got a tour gig. With that style change also came the name changes, they chose their own names and fans loved it even more to see their fave synths giving themself identity.

#my art #oc #fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #moon #sun #fnaf eclipse #eclipse #band au #fnaf band au

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dadvans · 13 hours

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tease tidbit tuesday

tagged by @tiltingheartand, thank you! from an almost finished Tommy POV

They go surfing. Well, Evan surfs, and Tommy just kind of chills from the beach and gets a nice tan. It’s fun to watch Evan show off. He’s still baby deer nervous sometimes with Tommy, like he’s relearning how to walk, or like Tommy is the proctor of a Good Bisexual test, and Evan’s trying a little too hard to pass. But on the water it all fades away as all the overthinking he does melts off him, riding down the line.

He comes out of the water goofy on endorphins after a few waves and collapses cold and wet from the ocean on Tommy, who is warm and dry on his towel, smothering him with a kiss.

“You sure you don’t want a lesson? I’ve been told I’m a very capable teacher,” Evan says, voice dripping suggestively. “Worked my way up and down a few coastlines, you know.”

Tommy likes this side of Evan when Evan lets it out. Maybe they need to go to the beach more, even if he doesn’t really care about getting in the water. “Nah, I’d be shark bait out there.”

Evan rolls his eyes and zips open his wetsuit, peeling it off so the arms hang loose at his hips. “Chances of a shark attack are less than one in three million. You have a higher chance of getting struck by lightning.”

“Should I be worried about you then?” One of the first things Tommy learned about Evan before he really knew him was that the kid was kind of a disaster magnet. What’s the probability of being bitten by a shark when you’ve already been struck by lightning?

“You don’t need to worry about me, not out there anyway,” Evan says with a gentle tilt of his head toward the ocean. He’s delusional. Tommy likes him so much. “Kind of feel like you might have jinxed a second ride out today though. Wanna get lunch instead?”

They wind up at the good kind of greasy seaside bar. Tommy gets the fish tacos that came recommended, but Evan is making love to an oyster po’ boy with his mouth.

“You know,” Evan says, licking at the mayo clinging to the corner of his lips, “I totally fell for the idea of being a pick up artist when I heard about it in high school. Always tried finding new ways to get with girls. I read up on aphrodisiacs once.”

“Are you trying to seduce me, Evan Buckley?” Tommy asks wryly, staring at the half-chewed fried oyster hanging out of his sandwich.

“Nah, turns out it’s all bullshit. Found that out after I took my prom date to this seafood place and ordered us a dozen raw in the half shell thinking maybe I’d get lucky. I looked up at her after slurping down three of them, and you should’ve seen the look on her face. I thought she was gonna puke.”

Tommy snorts the sip of water he was taking back out onto the bar.

“The only natural aphrodisiac I can think of that isn’t like”—Evan lifts his own beer—“or a party drug is ambergris, which is kind of like whale shit, but not really. It’s illegal in the states though.”

“Evan, I’m eating,” Tommy says, but he’s laughing.

Evan, oblivious, continues, “They say it smells like shit on its own too, but something about it has them putting it in perfumes. I can’t remember what. Can you imagine if I showed up caked in whale shit for a date though?”

Tommy looks at him and Evan stares back, smile half-knowing and all hopeful, waiting for anything Tommy is willing to give him.

Just for that, Tommy doesn’t call bullshit. He says, “You think you’re hilarious,” and Evan shrugs, happily taking another bite of his po’ boy.

tagging: @thekookster @plethoriall @marmolita @al-the-remix @rcmclachlan

#delaney writes #bucktommy #911 abc #wip

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welcome-to-green-hills · 2 days

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Now that “Knuckles” is out and assuming you’ve seen the whole series, I humbly request headcanons post-series please, especially with Wade and Knuckles.

Hi Hon!❤️✨

I can whip up a few headcanons for you, yeah! I’ve had some help from @movie-robotnik-positivity to make these:

Knuckles frequently sees Pachacamac around the Wachowski home after his little quest in Reno. Pachacamac rummages through the fridge to eat snacks and messes with the electronics in the kitchen. Knuckles often has to intervene and redirect the ghostly apparition from screwing up technology.

Pachacamac still hasn’t come to terms with the concept of him being a ghost. He still thinks that he’s flesh and blood. It takes a few reminders from Knuckles and Ozzie’s continuous barking that only they can see him.

Sometimes Pachacamac likes to mess with Wade’s head for shits and giggles. These consist of trippy dreams of Wade wearing a Knuckles suit and traveling across a floating island and taking care of creatures in a garden. Wade has been told not to throw the spotted eggs.

Knuckles hasn’t talked about his encounter with the spirit of Pachacamac with anyone at the Wachowski home. That’s an experience that he keeps to himself to feel only.

Since his transition into a spiritual realm—only appearing every so often from the Great Battleground in the Sky—Pachacamac has found inner peace and tranquility. He no longer desires ultimate power. He’s a bit calmer and more relaxed. However, he’s still set in his ways of telling history from his perspective.

Pachacamac is a die-hard baseball fan and pesters Knuckles and Wade to take him to see games.

In order to help preserve some of the echidna history, Knuckles scribes down every oral lesson he can think of. One night, Sonic, Tails, and Maddie found him on the roof meditating on a fable’s moral lesson. Seeing that Knuckles struggled to interpret the words onto paper, the three of them offered to help him write it down as he talked. With their help, they’ve recorded hundred of stories, songs, folklore, and epics to share with others.

As soon as Knuckles arrived home from Reno, Maddie was the first person to confront him. Neither of them fought with one another. All that they did was exchange a glance before embracing into a long hug.

In exchange of learning the Ways of the Warrior, Wade teaches Knuckles how to bowl so he can have an earth activity. Knuckles gets upset that he can’t power bump the pins in order to get spares.

Knuckles has a love for coffee. He drinks an entire pot a day. No sugar, no cream. He gets up extra early to drink an entire pot before he does his daily training exercises.

There’s still a hole in the living room’s wall by the time that Knuckles comes backs from Reno. Wade offered to fix it himself, but ended up in the ER due to not knowing how to control the power tools.

To commemorate the end of the adventure, Knuckles gave Wade a hug.

#knuckles the echidna #knuckles series #knuckles show #knuckles series spoilers #wade whipple #mystery anon #off topic

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deep-sea-anemone · 17 hours

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Random One Piece Headcanons, Part One: Dancing

(Zoro+ Sanji+ implied Zosan)

Zoro and Sanji are both really good at partner-dancing

Sanji grew up learning ballroom dancing in Germa as part of his royal upbringing (he'd have to dance with dignitaries and such). It wasn't something the genetic modifications were designed for so he could actually keep up with his siblings and was the lessons he looked forward to the most (though that might not be saying much)

His mother was always bedridden so they never got to dance together but little Sanji would always show off what he'd learned and tell her that he couldnt wait for her to get better so that they could dance together

The Baratie taught Sanji about swing (and other) dancing. Before then he hadn't known there was any other way TO dance. (Imagine for a moment the Baratie after hours. All the chairs and tables are pushed against the wall to make room for a dance floor. Some of the staff play instruments, the sound is...not great, but it's lively and full of energy and soon Sanji is being spun around the floor by the staff-and it's exhilarating, like nothing he's felt before, and he realizes just how much passion there is outside of the world that he left behind. Picture the party scene from The Titanic, that kind of vibe)

Whenever they celebrate, either on land with new friends in a post-battle celebration, or just a lively night on the ship, he's always the first on the dance floor.

He pulls random strangers (mainly women, but not always-he just wants to dance is all) away from staying back in the shadows near a wall and soon has them laughing and smiling as he spins them around. He has the biggest grin and the most magical look in his eyes and they almost fall a little in love with him-until he opens his mouth anyways

Zoro doesn't really dance. He usually just watches from the sidelines, enjoying conversation and booze.

He is a master swordsman however, so he is quite light on his feet and has good balance, which is why when Sanji pulls suddenly pulls him off his feet to the tune of Brook's violin on the Sunny one night he doesn't completely embarrass himself

It does take him a minute, the cook pauses to show him where he needs to put his feet and normally Zoro would complain that HE should be the one leading, not the cook, but he's being swept around at a breathtaking pace and Sanji has a slightly maniacal grin in his eye and it feels so SO close to the way they fight and Zoro has to admit he doesn't hate the way the adrenaline makes him feel.

He let's Sanji lead cause frankly he's barely keeping up, and he has no idea what he would do if he were actually handed the reins.

He still won't dance with strangers, it's too awkward and really not his style, but he doesn't mind the happiness burning in his chest whenever his nakama coax him over to dance with them

One night after a battle, several of the Strawhats are fairly roughed up, but it's still a victory worth celebrating so Brook plays something slow to match the calmness of the candlelight and the strawhats just slowdance instead. Sanji and Zoro wind up paired together and yes, they were bickering just moments ago and normally they'd be giving each other the stink eye, but Zoro hurt his foot and Sanji is exhausted so Zoro let's his weight fall on Sanji for support and the cook just lets him and they share a look that's so SOFT that neither of them wants the night to end

Neither of them can solo-dance for shit

Sanji just kinda jerks his limbs around and the people surround him quickly learn to give him a few feet of space cause even he isn't quite sure what he's doing.

Zoro kinda just...stands there and rocks back and forth. Chopper tells him to be more enthusiastic so he soes that thing where you put your hands up and keep them still but still dance with the rest of your body. Usopp kindly asks him to stop

Sanji's excited cause Nami always seems to want to dance with him, but really she's just trying to get the cringiness to end

Whenever Zoro and Sanji stand next to each other alone during dances, one of their nakama will make sure to push them towards each other so they will dance together instead. That way no one has to experience the second hand embarrassment of watching their cringeworthy attempts on the dancefloor

Zoro and Sanji don't really mind. They're relieved to have each other during those moments so they don't have to suffer the awkwardness alone.

And...dancing together really isn't the worst anyways. Far from it, actually. It's not that different from fighting, after all, and that's something they do best.

#zoro #sanji #one piece #zosan #op #zoro/sanji #sanzo #one piece headcanons #animeposting #sanji/zoro

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bumblingbabooshka · 2 days

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I’m fascinated by the previous ask’s mention of anime “or the Vulcan equivalent” since anime is literally just Japanese animation would Vulcan animation have a distinctive enough style to warrant a distinct name? What is the Vulcan cultures’ views on animation as an art form (in your opinion).

I don't know enough about animation or art as like an evolving discipline as it relates to society/culture to say much about it in an intelligent way but the newest Dungeon Meshi Extra makes me think about it in a purely 'what would be fun' way

Vulcans also have an incredibly long lifespan so it'd be funny if Vulcans were used to listening to stories that are much longer than other species. [See: Tuvok singing his children a 348 verse story as a lullaby and his children loving it]

You know those soap operas that go on for like decades? Vulcan soap operas are going on for CENTURIES.

I think a lot of the most popular stories on Vulcan center around enlightment or war. In fact I think a lot of Vulcan is probably dedicated to those topics - I headcanon that there are multiple museums and monuments about the many wars Vulcan fought with a heavy emphasis on the great toll it took on their people and how awful these actions were. They almost blew up everything with nukes! But then logic saved them...I believe this is also a common thread in stories that aren't about war - being saved by logic. A woman almost falls for charlatan...but logic saves her. A man almost kills his brother...but logic stills his hand. Etc Etc. A Vulcan author could probably write thousands of books in their lifetime, depending on the age they started. I think having an author with hundreds of books is fairly common and Vulcans are often a bit anxious about reading very good authors of other species...what if they die before they finish writing?? Television shows having like 40 seasons isn't that rare and I think their method of storytelling would probably have to differ from ours in order to facilitate that. That's interesting, isn't it?? I wonder about Vulcan media that isn't Surak's teachings. Like, Tuvok says he likes to read - what's he read about? In 'Riddles' Neelix mentions a "Proto-Vulcan Drama" called 'Clash on the Fire Plains' which has 23 parts. Tuvok apparently has this in book form in his quarters but he's often reading things off his PADD which I assume are also Vulcan literature. It seems that a lot of Vulcan stories we hear about are meant to teach some sort of lesson even if they are also entertaining. When it comes to ongoing media (EX: Television show) I think they'd probably follow a series of arcs and situations with the same characters learning and growing. If you start watching season 82 of a Vulcan program then go back to season 7 it's like a whole new set of characters but they just changed because of their experiences. (As your Vulcan friend will rant to you). It gets a bit ridiculous but it's a bit fun too~ I headcanon that Vulcans in Starfleet will often get together to watch popular Vulcan tv shows' new episodes...alleviates some missing home. Others join in and soon we're seeing tv shows from all over the universe! Surprisingly, Vulcan and Klingon programs are fairly similar in the aspect of 'a lot of battle focused shows which teach lessons' but the exact lessons differ, of course. Oh I bet Vulcan tv shows would also have so much intrigue and drama about clans and marriage and propriety etc which Klingons would love. Klingon: So T'Eyanra is going off with Sarun? Even though she was made aware that Sertik is ill and might be plagued with fever? Vulcan: Yes. And do not forget - Sarun's clan changed the water rights of her own, though she does not know this yet. Klingon: -settling in- Sarun's clan is without honor! That knave... -gasp- and the Ektinslahrah ritual is tonight! Vulcan: -also settling in- Indeed. Oh god this was about anime wasn't it? Well just apply all that stuff I said to anime somehow...Vulcan anime is like one piece's length and death note's complexity but with a shocking amount of painstaking slice of life. I think animation would be taken as seriously on Vulcan as it is on Earth - I can't think of anything that'd make them take it more or less seriously? I picture Betazoid animation would have a heavy emphasis on showing feeling though - like visibly as an ever present cloud behind the characters' heads and you have to know what all the colors mean.

#Q&A #Vulcans #liquidink21 #This was a fun ask & even though I sorta went off topic I hope you enjoyed~!!#star trek needs to stop making 'save the world' plots and START showing Vanime and Klingon Soap Operas!!!#Let me see the daily lives of these aliens!!#Klingons do NOT keep their characters around they kill those babies left and right BUT a lot of characters will be related #so you'll have Krath son of Modul in season 8 who's father's brother's cousin's cousin's sister's husband was in season 2 #and he's here to avenge that death - so WATCH OUT #<- This show takes place in an office #it's easier to remember how a character died and how they were avenged than it is to remember what they did in life #a lot of the time

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